rash, she calls it anal

I have this friend. Her name is Rash, and holy crap is she awesome. I call her Rash because she is a demon masturbator (her cooter probably gets all chafed and overused, hence ‘Rash’).

One of my favorite things about her is that we don’t even have to talk about how, pretty much, I am her favorite person. To be honest, I think she likes me so much; it essentially blurs the line between our friendship and lesbianism. Anyhow…

Rash is intelligent and wildly brave. She dresses fashionably and consistently. She is beautiful, loyal and outrageously funny. Rash is successful and determined. She does what she wants and she doesn’t fucking care if you like it.  

Rash is also a complete freak.

She has an artist’s eye for bumping uglies with gentlemen. Her vagina is not unlike Las Vegas - high traffic and full of glitter. She has no problem asking a guy from across the room to come over and sit on her face until her itch is scratched.  I’m telling you, this woman is one bold, boss, ball breaking mother fucker. She will not have your shit. She will not have it.

 "emotional compatibility and penis size are not mutually exclusive." - Rash 

where your poop is

I thought about this while hovering over a seedy toilet at a bar. 

The floor was gross, and there was a quarter sitting in the gross. I was so conflicted as to whether I should risk getting hepatitis and pick it up, or walk away from the game. 



I've gotten a new twitter account, as the old one was hijacked and destroyed.  You guys should all follow me on twitter, cuz I spread them smiles like they're herpes - BITCHES!


shame on me

Not long ago, I made my big move from Europe to North America.  And I’ve started to do this thing that I hate that I do. It’s a really big nope.  It’s so wrong and confusing and I try so hard not to do it while I’m actively doing it. Moving here, I’ve noticed people here have this nasty habit:

Dudes fucking spit.

I do not like this. I don’t know why they do this, is it a penis thing? I don’t know. And I guess I don’t really need to know. All I know is that when they spit...my brain and I have a conflict of will power.  I can be walking around all ‘raindrops on rosé and whisky in mittens’ and then I hear that “AAAaaaaargggttttttth SPLAT!” and ...oh God, I’m so gross.

This is the thing I do - disgustingly, unbearably, without fail, I do it – I look at their god damn spittle. That’s right. I shamefully look at the ugly mouth deuce that was spat out on the ground. And it’s bad enough that I look at it, but if I hear the splat and don’t see where it lands...I LOOK FOR IT!

And it’s never ok, I never look down and think “oh what a delightful slop that man just made with this mucus membranes!”,  It always looks like day old vanilla custard and I always want to stop living afterwards. The shame and absolute revulsion that enters my body from this just sits and festers in the very core of my existence and will probably end up destroying me and likely planet earth.

So if you’re reading this and you’re a spitter, please stop. You’re going to kill us all.