Posts tagged ‘Mr. T’
Go to an Urban club, get drunk on Henny and tell a black man I have cancer so he pity fucks me in the back seat of my Buick LeSabre.
Wear an entire outfit that only consists of one shade of one color–preferably baby fetus blue. But wear whore-red granny panties by Fruit of the Loom.
Have a martini every morning for breakfast, chased with a klonopin.
Tell my grandchildren horror stories about the time I got crabs from Robert Redford.
Invite some other ladies over to play cards, but then spring it on them that we are going to steal cars and hotrod around the desert a la Faster Pussycat Kill Kill!
Wear a tiny bikini to the beach and do the “Old woman shuffle” where I pretend to jog but I am actually going no faster than if I were to walk slowly. Read more…
Okay not really. Frankly I don’t buy into that whole Sally Struthers sponsor a child crap. If I am going to pay for a baby I want it living under my roof, dressing up in the dresses that I put on it, and cleaning my toilets.
And that is final.
But if I ever do adopt a baby, I want it to look like this. I want it to be asian and black and love accessories as much as I do. I also want it to have a full beard and be born with a featherduster on it’s head. Oh, and it has to be a girl so I can enter it into pageants at the tender age of 6 months. Obviously this isn’t too much to ask.