Another helpful hint from Hell-on-wheels...
When you put a new flea collar on your dog and you stretch it to activate it, you really should wash your hands before you eat a coupla pieces of sticky candy. Or else they're making sticky candy with a slightly bitter taste, these days. Ick.
God...
I'm not SICK sick, but I definitely tasted it last night and today my stomach is a little pissed at me. Not much, but enough.
Oh well, fuck it. I dare a flea to bite me now. It'd be funny to see the look on it's little face as it dies an instant death.
However, given a choice, I'd much rather see the expression on Eric's BC's face if only God would have HER die...Of course, in my most cherished version of those events, she wouldn't have a face left to see. Or head, for that matter.
Still...I'd look. And giggle. And, spend every day of the rest of my life thanking God and telling everybody exactly how cool he is. As in wearing a sandwich board. And, ringing a bell. Naked, if need be.
Psst...God! You hearin' this? Please? Eric needs a break and this seems like the only way it's gonna happen, unless of course, You send us a lawyer who wants experience more than cash. C'mon, Big Guy...put her outta her misery. And us. You know you've taken lotsa lots better people...Stevie Ray, John Ritter, my Uncle Henry, Eric's Dad...Those were nice, talented people who were loved and loved in return. The BC is none of the above. She's just a mean, hard-hearted, money-grubbin' punk. She drove her first son to suicide, her daughter to the nut-hut and You only know what she's doing to Eric, Jr. Could You pleasepleaseplease help us out here?
Thanks,
me
Don't ask me how I got from fleas to her...I don't know, except they're both pests. And blood suckers, to put it lightly.
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