justin beiber thinks she's handsome.

all of us young girls have a lesbian raging inside of us, i will be the first to admit. i was lucky to learn to work with mine early, let her be free to grow and become a part of who i am. for most girls she's forced to stay inside while she just twists and deforms! she ends up looking like those gross feet that they (used to) be so fond of in china.

my lesbian has become something totally asexual. she's always letting me know when there's a beautiful woman that i see, always encouraging me to tell her and make her day. by allowing me to be so open to the sexuality of women, i can use what i take in and make it a part of me. every part of me gets better when i allow every part of me to reach its full potential. my inner lesbian has become a connoseur of the finest women in the world because she never had any boundaries. i have realized and cultivated my female energy!

eventually something will come along that makes twisted and hidden lesbians inside of the mass stir. for the younger generation, it appears to be justin beiber. nobody likes him because of his music, nobody likes him because he's handsome. THEY like him because he's a safe way to let yourself be gay.

submitted now, for your approval, are truly beautiful women from various sources. lust after THEM! give THEM millions of dollars, justin beiber is not worthy of your hard earned jizz and money.

4fil.

to my peenie

more often than i'd like i stay up late because there's too much going through my head to sleep-

the three feet you are away from me at night is the furthest we are ever apart. i watch your tiny little body flap around, wrapped in my good silk robe. you sleep in it because you say it smells like me.

sometimes i feel like i failed you. someone so good didn't deserve to be born into the life you were handed. but if it weren't for my impulsiveness and bad decision making you wouldn't be here, you're the product of my irresponsibility. you're the reward for unconditional love and that's why you came to me. i feel guilty, greedy, lucky, undeserving, blessed and content beyond my ability to describe to have you. you justify my lack of judgement completely. you've nullified any lesson i could have learned from diving headfirst into a pool of sharks.

today you told me you don't want to be called lily anymore. you never liked that name, even when you were a tiny infant you insisted on being called hoy or gim gimmley or brin brinya. i wish you could have picked your name when you were born because i'd have happily named you peenie. you're a small toddler and you've already reinvented yourself.

you reinvented yourself into everything you were always going to be, despite your situation.

-ammin.

how to bag you a husband

the buzz on the streets, depending on whether you're hanging out in the good part of town or not is that i'm about to be off the market again for good. until now i've positively refused to give out dating and love advice because, despite my chisssled abs and stunning features, all of this information can and will be used against me to take the few good remaining fish in the sea off my dinner plate! here is some prime information from my best selling book i'm working on for my phd. pay close attention, ladies:

• although it's not terrible advice to go after a doctor, it's certainly not good advice. the last thing you want to do is bag one fresh out of medical school. the student loans are as unattractive as the dark circles around the eyes and the general dissheveledness of one actually in medical school. if you want to go down this route, go for a well established surgeon and nothing less. i dated my fair share of doctors and i could never quite get over the fact that those hands sliding down my pretty little body were just hours earlier on and in some infirm, mucous steeping invalid. i didn't have any luck with plastic surgeons either. the more successful they are, the more pockmarks they seem to have. a little piece of advice i've been hoarding away from all of womenkind is this: plumbers are the new doctors. in this day and age they have the potential to make a much larger salary plus they have none of the general expense that comes with being a doctor. and remember, plumbers pick their jobs, they don't have to deal with feces if they don't want to. doctors do not have this luxury.


• even before the great stock market crash of '08, i always told my inner circle of friends that it was a foolish move to marry their hedgefund manager, no matter how successful he seems to be. these guys spend their entire day at work playing with immaginary numbers and they can't control any of it. you're not going to find a real man in this industry for this very reason, a MAN likes to be in charge of everything! marrying someone who works at the MVD is a better move because they get to lord over everyone at work, which means they won't have to push you around.


• a good bet is to pick someone with a lot of potential energy as opposed to kinetic. sure, that real estate developer who has been calling you day and night has a flashy car and a hillside mansion but you know what? so do i and i don't have a job. any job i take has the potential to add a helicopter and a GV5 to my sum where he's likely already over his income potential. how do you find someone who is going to turn out to be something? ask him to smoke a cigar. if he looks good doing it, he'll probably amount to something. if he fumbles around with it at all the deal is off.


• although when selecting a husband money will be your top priority, it's also important to consider that you're going to have to talk to it too. most husbands have nothing interesting to say so you might consider picking a really pretty one. but be aware that if you spend a lot of time tuning someone out and just looking at them, you're going to find yourself looking for imperfections on what you thought before was a perfect face. and believe me, you'll find one.


• because you're going to have to tak to it, sometimes it's acceptable to marry some professor type. i say, the more they look like a wizard the better. don't go for the scrawny bespectacled type, they tend to have greasy hair. go for the gold and go after the head of some interesting department like anthropology or cryyptozoology. keep away from the more practical departments like economics. if you're going to subject yourself to that kind of nonsense, go after the flash in the pan hedgefund manager i talked about up there. but divorce him at the first sign of hard economic times!


• science types are in high demand right now because everyone is getting their jizz all up in the air over jeff goldblum. i'm not going to lie, the sciency types aren't the worst you can pick. they are usually cute, even if they're absolutely hideous. and at least they can probably teach you to make meth if bad times come to pass. this type of man has a high chance of having pooping-himself problems later in life. i have a science degree so i've been around the lot.


• marrying a gay guy sounds too good to be true and a lot of times it is. i did this once, i thought i was in for a big gay lifetime of restoring antique furniture. instead the only gay bonus i got was hearing a lot about kevin spacey, who i don't care much for anyway. if you're going to be a beard, make sure your gay doesn't publically lust after every busboy that refills his mountain dew glass; mine did and it was humiliating!

once you've found one worth bagging it's important to put out, ladies. men don't emotionally bond with you until after they've jizzed in you, this is a fact. if you're worried he's just going to ditch you after he gets the good stuff, this means you're not very hot in the sack. if you know you're going to fall short here, learn to cook extremely well. it's easier to learn to be an excellent chef than an excellent lover. or you can hold his car keys hostage. or threaten him with physical violence. it's important to do this early on in the relationship if you want to establish any kind of fear in him.

if all else fails, just hold up a picture of me and say i'm your mom and you'll probably end up looking just like me one day soon. it worked for almost all of my friends

holiday greetings, allies, commrades and people so good looking that i overlook your dreadful personalities and include you among my friends! i love you all.

2010 was indeed the year that God Himself took a big steaming dump on my pretty little face. although you know my tale ends with the glorious rapture i deserve, it took quite a journey to get here. i've been quiet about it for the most part and i think it's one of those things that you can't really ask someone about but enough is enough, here is what went on, grab a mug of mountain dew and sit down in your favorite club chair by your roaring fire and enjoy the tale i present to you now:

on a late spring evening, i was standing in my mother's kitchen making hamburgers. they were going to be delicious, i had some grass fed ground beef and i got an excellent idea to finely chop up some butter while it was really cold and mix it in with the beef. it was the good europeon butter too. i was making the hamburger patties and suddenly my phone went off. it was noneother than my husband at the time, one phil garcia. he was clearly in an intoxicated state, as he often is, but this time instead of going on about radiohead or the greatest failure in sports history that is the houston astros, he demanded i come home and have a talk. i put the hamburgers away, with much regret, and went to go see what his problem was.

when i got home, i found a drunk slob draped over my patio furniture in the back yard. phil had spent the day drinking with his sleaze of a friend mike padilla and had clearly had a few too many bud lights or whatever similar crap they drink. i don't understand how anyone gets drunk off of that unless you drink like twelve of them. i suppose that's just what he did because then and there he announced that he wants to take some time apart and only a true lunatic would ever want such a thing. i asked him why and after literally hours of prodding, i found out my husband was slutting himself all over town with albuquerque's most demure and elegant beauties...

angelica cordova spells las vegas 'los vages'. no lie.

this is angelica cordova. i wish i had a better picture so you could appreciate her teeth and jowls for what they really are. phil said he was having an emotional affair with this one, which is what set off the red fag (that's a typo but i'm keeping it).

i understand affairs as well as the next creep but angelica cordova (when i say her name i pronounce it 'an-hell-ee-ka cor-th-ova' in a really funny accent) is no angelina jolie and i am by no means jennifer aniston! i discussed it with phillip and he told me that it has reached the point where he can only get off while wearing a diaper and talking like a baby and he knew i would NEVER go for that, which is why he sought out less discriminating women. he had to scrape the bottom of albuquerque's disgusting barrel to come up with these enchantresses who were willing to play mommy and the bad, bad baby. he fell down weeping before me and begged for my forgiveness, his tears of adultry stained my pucci palazzo pants. i simply crossed my arms and kicked him away by my stilleto heel.

as the night progressed, i found out phil had several other side pieces. this one's name is kirsten ramsay and she and phil had been scissoring their taints together from the time we got engaged:

the holiday inn express's finest and nothing less!

and there were at least four others, i'm sure all with more beautiful facial features and bone structure than the last, including his ex-girlfriend, shannon duffy (now shannon payne- good luck with that marriage when karma pays you a visit):

beautiful!

i had heard enough. phil's confessions poured forward, but i stopped listening when he said he wanted nothing more than to be suffocated by an elderly woman in glasses and lipstick. at this point i wrote him off as a total creep. although i had invested my entire life into our marriage and family, i realized this was something that could never be salvaged and more importantly, i didn't want lily to grow up thinking it's acceptable for men to wear diapers and be smothered by the elderly.

i filed for a divorce immediately. it was something else to have my entire life crapped all over in a matter of a few minutes. can you imagine waking up one day without knowing a thing and going to bed that same night knowing your husband is a pervert of the worst kind(scroll back up if you need help imagining.)? it is an unnerving experience, and i needed to get my mind off of diapers and lipstick so i emptied out phil's nose-job fund and booked myself a luxury safari.

i flew in to nairobi where i met my guide, ree-o nairuumbu. during the long jeep ride to the chimpanzee institute, i told ree-o nairuumbu everything that had happened to me. he shook his head and said this was no time to be looking at a bunch of filthy chimps. he then said i needed to give into my bloodlust and took me instead to amboseli, where i would experience my first kill. i had no idea what i was in store for. he said goodnight to me under the moonlight outside of my exquisitely appointed tent. in my hands he placed the very rifle his father had given him before he made his first kill. it was beautiful, i didn't think guns like it existed. the end of the barrel flared out like a trumpet. the butt was laden with the finest ivory i have ever seen. as my fingers traced the beautiful carvings on the ivory, i felt compelled to thank ree-o nairuumbu for everything. when i looked up, he was gone. i retired to my tent with my gun.

ree-o nairuumbu, shortyly before his untimely death.

as the dawn broke the next morning, i was awoken by his familiar and comforting voice. i quickly got dressed in my finest balmain safari-inspired outfit, which i thought would be entirely appropriate by was not well received by ree-o nairuumbu. we are going miles into the brush, don't you realize? he asked, wildly gesturing to my five inch heeled safari boots. i gave him a smug smile and climbed into the jeep. when he had found just the place- a pristine watering hole surrounded on one side by a lush group of thick trees, we got out. as we got ready to set forth into the thickets, we heard the crunch of leaves before us. i panicked and grabbed my beautiful rifle but it was too late. a single shot rang out and ree-o nairuumbu fell to the ground, dead, the bullet going right through him and hitting the jeep behind us.

someone had shot him and clearly they were going to do me in next. i pointed my rifle towards the general direction the shot came from and closed my eyes. i aimed on instict and fired on passion, passion for my dead friend and passion for life itself. i was not ready to die.

my shot echoed off the water. i heard a grunt and a thump. i had hit my target. i pushed forth to investigate, against my better judgement. the first thing i had ever killed was a human being and now i would see what i had done.

i saw his face, turned towards me as he fell. his eyes were open, staring forward, his mouth open as if he was angrily yelling at someone. as i reached forward to close his eyes, the least i could do for him, i heard something moving towards me in the brush not three feet before me. my rifle had been left beside ree-o nairuumbu's lifeless body and now it was clearly my turn to die. i looked up in terror at my soon to be murderer as he came through the bushes, showing himself to me. i gasped in shock.

the man who stood before me was noneother than my oldest and dearest friend, doctor david storch! before i could process what was happening he yelled at me, angrily, 'you shot my guide!'. i looked down at the man i had shot. he had no gun anywhere near him. i looked back to david who was holding a large rifle across his chest and said the same thing to him, 'you shot MY guide!'. he looked at me, puzzled. we roared with laughter and shared a long overdue embrace.
we headed towards ree-o nairuumnbu's jeep, laughing and talking like not a day had gone by. david was on his annual safari to bag himself a black rhino, which he was certain he was shooting at at the time of the terrible mishap. we climbed into the jeep and doctor storch turned the key. the engine revved then gave out. it was then that we realized we were stuck in the middle of africa with no guides and no jeep. i covered my face in horror, but david simply chuckled.

back at camp, after the double murder/accident

it turns out he knew this land well. as we trecked through the grasslands towards the camp, david told me everything that went on in his life and i did the same. he was shocked to hear about phil, who happened to be his fraternity brother and best friend from college!

the dusk fell as we reached camp. david lit up a cigar and leaned over the deck outside my tent, looking down upon the plains. as he spoke of the vastness of the serrenghetti, i noticed the air of regency about him. i saw the moon glow in his beautiful brown eyes as he smiled at me. i never got my rhino, he said, and with that, i pulled him into my tent. we made passionate love until we were interrupted the next morning by the authorities in regards to the double murder at the watering hole.

as is true in america is also true in africa, there is nothing a little bit of cash can't cover up. deals were made and we were advised to leave kenya as soon as possible. we were flown home in a gulfstream jet, where david and i discussed our future. in that twenty-one hour flight, we decided we must combine our lives into one.

when we returned home david moved in with me in my albuquerque palace. the divorce was finalized, i got full custody of lily, all the property and the entire collection of gold bars, pizza rolls and doubloons. after hearing of phil's misadventures, the court immediately deported him to texas. he currently lives in houston and is never on time with his child support. he has gained no less than thirty pounds and has aged about ten years. his face is etched with a duality of the sadness of a man with nothing who once had anything and the satifaction of a pervert finally satiated.

dr. storch and i are getting married in may. we will take our honeymoon in kenya and maybe this time get a rhino. we have been traveling all the time, something i have always wanted to do. we are going to sell our house in albuquerque and move to santa fe. dave's parents gave us some land granted to them by noneother than the king of spain, on which we will build a house and have no mortgage at all. david is working on writing a sitcom and i am just basking in the glory that is my new life.

sometimes when God takes a dump on your face you think oh gross, someone just shat all over me. it's even in my mouth and stuff. but then you realize that the feces of God are far more glorious than the finest gold of man and you rub them in your hair and all over your body. this year, i was truly blessed with God's excriment.
i hope your adventures this year were equally grand.

LOVE,
mr. and mrs. dr. david storch, esquire
lily, callaway, and dupree


a closing thought from dr. david storch...

i was assured by my guide, mambazo nguili, that the black rhino i was in search of had roamed in the black of night to a group of small lakes like watering holes approximately 55 kilometers from our camp. it was crucial that I find this beast and take from it his treasured horn, an item most necessary for me to lure what I had secretely traveled to amboseli for.

you see, as a doctor of cryptozoology it is my life's ambition to prove once and for all that the prehistoric beast known as mokele mbembe was indeed real, a fact that i knew all too well. one year prior to the fateful trip in question i was on safari with my apprentice, young roman wolf-cecil, a squire that proved his worth the year before while we treked the wilds of panama in search of the legendary chupacabra, but that is another story all together.

i remeber it as if it were yesterday, we were deep in the swamp when we came upon the massive beast, finally i would have the evidence necessary. before i was able to get what i needed, mokele mbembe caught young roman wolfe-cecil's scent, which was rather pungent after spending so much time in the swamps. in what seemed an eternity, i saw the creature consume the entirty of my young lad and i pledged that i would return to avenge his death.

unfortunately before i had a chance to whisk bonnie into the swamp and come face to face with the man eating mokele mbembee, the authorities were escorting us out of the country only to return as fugitives with a price on our heads... but we will return, regardless of the price.

rick owens jeans

a few weeks ago, i was stomping through that stupid new venetian hotel when my day was absolutely ruined because a really excellent woman walked by me and ruined my buzz. the pants she was wearing were perfect for the universe at that very moment, god himself was wearing a lesser pair of pants! and she wore them like she knew, like she had planned this. she was upstaging god and she knew it and she enjoyed every moment of it.

i can't even describe to you this feeling; i got it once before in the elevator going up to the engagement ring floor at tiffany's on fifth when i looked over and the man standing next to me had the best jaw bones i had ever seen. i was torn between elation at having had the chance to see the world's best jaw line and uncontrollable wrath- that i did not get such a bone structure. the fact that we were buying my engagement ring became just a boring detail of that day.

so ever since i saw that bitch- prostitute to you, golden idol to me, i have been determined to find great pants too. This is an easy job for me, i only take easy jobs because i'm lazy, as i already have them. the problem is that in order to wear the pefect pants, you have to have the perfectly desirable physique of a twelve year old boy. i already don't eat so a diet is out of the question, and exercise is disgusting. the only way to drop pounds for me is to give up the good stuff!

so, for the past twenty-one days, not a drop of booze has passed these lips. i've lost weight and look good in pants but it's not worth it at all. i am pretty but i am miserable! i think the fun in all of this is that i must have been really intoxicated when i saw the lady with the perfect pants because, seeing them again, they're not that great.

entry summary: poor people eat pop tarts.

republican comrades chillax because we're picking up the slack for the poor people for far worse things than healthcare.

i live in a state that has public healthcare. on a state level, it works out really well. although i certainly don't think everyone is entitled to it, i don't think it's the worst thing we can be spending our money on, especially if we get the money from the right places-

here's a fun article about the science behind fast food:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/mar/13/obesity-salt-fat-sugar-kessler

healthcare and this fast food crisis are not only goin' hand in hand these days, they're violently butt fucking eachother and the fast food is the guy on top. i am somewhat of a personal chef for a living. if i cook a well balanced, healthy meal that consists of organic produce and non-factory farmed animal products, it costs me about one and a half times the price that eating out at a really decent restaurant would and about four times the price of fast food. fast food is going to win, for this fact alone, taste and dependency aside.

when you eat yo'self a whopper or a bucketta chicken, you're eating food that has been scietifically altered for you to chew fewer times, chemically built to cause your body to feel false emotions of happiness and accomplishment and is completely devoid of almost any nutritional value other than mass in your stomach. it is possible to become physically dependent on this crap and it's cheap. and there are so many people who are too stupid to care.

what should enrage you is that years down the road, most of our healthcare money is going to go to pay for diabetes treatment. if lap bands aren't covered by insurance now, they will be. because that's how bad things have become, we need to make our stomachs smaller because we don't have the willpower to do it wourselves. kidney transplants, costing hundreds of thousands of dollars will be necessary for poor kidneys subjected to the daily wrath of the shit you are putting in your face hole. not you, probably. if you're reading my blog you're hella smart. and in really good shape. and good looking. but you, as in that guy you saw in the escalade at the drive through. THAT jackass.

i don't think anybody thinks that big macs, little debbies, cheesy poofs, and pop tarts are healthy for you. but they're cheap and if you've been eating them for this long, why stop now? new mexico is a really poor state, kind of. every time i go to any grocery store other than whole foods or trader joes, someone on line in front of me is paying with 'EBT', and i always look at what they're buying. it's always the same shit. there are ALWAYS doritos present. ALWAYS. the food that is purchased, rather handed out, is always food with the purpose of filling the stomach and pleasing the maw, never for nourishment.

i don't think you can convince these people to make better choices but we certainly can FORCE them with a hefty sin tax for sugary fatty processed shit. if them funyons is a dollar extra, maybe that money can be better spent on what your poor abuelita had to spend her limited funds on- beans and rice and potatoes? maybe if you can't feed your entire family of six hijos and yourself for a ten spot at the mcd's, maybe you would have to prepare something at home, and maybe in preparing it you would take a moment to think about what it is you are feeding your children?

please tax the hell out of this stuff, not just for the sake of the stupid but even for the sake of people like me, who eat junk occasionally for the sheer ease of not having to get out of the car to pick up lunch? a sin tax will help put in persepective what this mass feeding really is.

this is going to piss a lot of people off and a good ad campaign can let them know, or at least tell them, that this is for their own good. if they put up a stink it makes them absolute animals. if we have a public healthcare system and allow the lifestyle choice of millions and millions to go on as it does, we are committing this sweet country's suicide. there is NO way that we can pay for the health problems these people are creating for themselves. unless we go the soylent greens route.

so don't be mad that the government is going to mandate that a pregnant woman who has been dropped from her insurance is going to have to be covered. i've been down that road, it's IMPOSSIBLE to get coverage, no matter how much money you are willing to pay a month. and getting knocked up was something i did (or at least some guy did) to myself. i can't imagine how i would feel if i were dropped for having cancer.

be mad that the government is encouraging the the poor and stupid to be walking fiscal time bombs and YOU're going to have to pay to fix it. be mad that the lady in front of you at the store bought that coordinating new nike track suit and shoes with the money she saved feeding her kids party pizzas and SHIT that will pump their little bodies with chemicals and fat.

lily and i are working on our french so that one day when mr. obama's gun to the country's head does go off, we can move to paris and open a carnitas stand. they way our abuelitas made them.