picture of Debbie's heart monitor, originally uploaded by winnerofthesat.

Hey everybody! How was your Labor Day Weekend? Mine was awesome. I had a great time during the West Indian Day Parade here in Brooklyn that took place a few blocks from my house. By good time, I mean, I barred all my windows with lumber and sat in my apartment waiting by the door with a shotgun and a bottle of Johnny Walker. Before you start calling me a racist, I did that during “Broadway in Brooklyn Week” too.

I discovered That Ashley Girl over the weekend. She gets so much pole crammed into every orifice of her body—Michael Musto, eat your heart out. I don’t know how she can still type with her obviously prematurely arthritic hands permanently shaped into a cock holding clench.

Listen up, y’all. I might be in the market for a new roommate! Tell all your friends. No fats/fems. If you need a description of my ideal roommate, check my old post. That’s how I got saddled with that clown Debbie, so I’d rather take a referral than a total stranger. Oh, speaking of Debbie, up top is a picture of what her heart monitor looked like right before I was escorted from the hospital room she was being treated in.

According to her, she was brutally beaten by some guy named Sebastian. I didn’t really get what she was saying because she wasn’t enunciating properly. The doctors told me to “Get the fuck out of here!” So I told them I’d wait at home for some news on her condition. I do hope she gets better. It’d be a shame having to throw away all these unused maxi pads.

Thanks to a little guidance from my webmaster, I was able to find an ominous omen back in my Reader’s Poll about this Sebastian fellow. Supposedly, according to Debbie, Sebastian has a blog somewhere on the internet. That’s some help. I’ll spend the rest of this week trying to find his blog. If I see anything suspicious, I’ll let you all know.

What else did I do? Oh, I bought a 3 pack of new underwear this weekend. From a little famous maker place called Old Navy. Ever heard of it? Of course you have. They’re briefs that say OLD NAVY around the band. These aren't Canal Street knockoffs. You probably wish you could afford Old Navy underwear, but you’re too busy living paycheck to paycheck and blowing all your money at Conway. So sad! Too bad!

Also, If anyone knows anyone who wants a mangy kitten, let's talk. Now that Debbie may or may not be dead, I’m going to do a little Autumn cleaning--starting with Debbie's cat Oasis. I hate it so much! All it does is piss and shit and moan and cry. If no fellow blogger will adopt it, I'm going to start a "Put Oasis to Sleep Countdown." I just don't have the energy to deal with it anymore.