HOWDY! This is a platform for me to express myself. To bare my thoughts, emotions and life stories. Leaving bite-size pieces of me before I go. I graciously invite you to comment, swap stories and thoughts. Please post your comment or get in touch with me here.
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save me from this misery*To whom it may concern:I beg. I plead. I implore. I beseech you. On all fours. I'll lick your dog-pooed soles. Hell, I'll lick your dog too... If you'll save me from this miserable job. I'd like to retire. Pronto! NOW! NOW! NOW! Here's what you can do to help: Please find me a stinking rich, yet old dying man, whose last living wish is to get married to a boobsylicious damsel in distress and have great sex every living hour. I'm willing. See my hands waving in the air. And both my legs too? No, I am not practising acrobatic of sorts. I'm in utter desperation. And here's my $trategy: $1 I will make you [the rich dying old man], fall desperately in love with me. $2 You will then propose. [It's okay if you can't kneel down to do it.] $3 I will accept on one condition - Transfer all your properties and monies under my name. Let me spell it for you, dear - it's A-N-J-A-L-I. Ok, ok, I shall not be selfish. Let your 12 children share the 12 percent. And okay, your favourite son can have the Mercedes too. In fact, I'll throw in the driver as well. $4 We will get married in Las Vegas. By Elvis. Okay, okay, for your sake, my wrinkled dearie, no Elvis. We will have Frank Sinatra marry us off then. Sheesh! But no relatives. No children. No grandchildren. Same goes for the great grandchildren too, paps! Oops, I mean 'my dearest'. $5 On our wedding night, I will wear the skimpiest Brazilian thong you have ever laid your eyes on. I'll pair it with 2 clover leaves to cover the nips. Ooohhh...you like that don't you, you old fart. Heheh. I mean 'my darling'. $6 Then, to get the ball rolling, I will prance around and let you chase me around the room. Haa...what's that you pant out, my dear rumpled prune? What? Your heart is beating too fast? Not fast enough, my puckered one. Not fast enough... $7 Run, dear, run. C'mon...you can get me. Oh yes, you can, if you'll just run a little faster. $8 Ooops. Your heart stopped beating. $9 That was a grand funeral, dear. *sob* $10 Hello, Warrick Brown? July 28, 2005 // anjali* pranced on tip-toes all over the keyboard at 10:44 pm | |
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