So, you’ve chopped off your husband’s penis. Okay, maybe he was about to become your ex-husband and maybe you poisoned him and maybe you thought it would add a little somethin’ to the story if you tied him to a bed and used a ten inch knife to castrate him… Obviously if you’ve planned this far ahead, you know exactly what to tell the cops after you calmly tell the 911 operator that yeah, there’s a bit of a medical emergency in your apartment.
What, everyone will wonder, were your words of brilliance that comprised the reasoning for such a brutal deed? Obviously: “He deserved it.”
That, ladies and gents, is the kind of woman who lives in the same lovely county as I do. This crazy bitch CUT OFF HER HUSBAND’S PENIS. WITH A KNIFE.
Oh, but it gets better… because really, once you’ve dismembered the same man you promised to love and cherish til death (or unfortunate litigation) do us part, why not go a little crazy?
She… God, it hurts to even write it… she… she put… his penis… down…the garbage disposal. Ack…the noise that must have made!?!
Loraina Bobbit, wherever that nut-case is, must be writhing with jealousy of this lady who dared to so blatantly one up her. And I, in the comfort of my room (after having sent this story to almost everyone I know), am writhing with some sort of morbid curiosity at what has to go so fucking wrong in your life that this seems like even a slightly acceptable idea.
Upon telling D about it, she pointed out that really it’s the only way to make sure your ex doesn’t sleep with anyone else… but really, after they imprison you or find you a cozy, padded cell, you won’t be doing the deed with anyone either. Unless Freddy Kruger is looking for a lady friend.
The Libra asked me where I was last night, trying to insinuate that I am capable of such outbursts. (For the record: I am not. I might get a little needy, or throw a tantrum from time to time, but I will leave you with your penis).
My coworker simply said, “Please, please don’t tell me you think this was cool.”
And now that the story has spread like wild fire and men the world over are investing in pad-locked protection for their members, you’ve got to be concerned that shit like this even goes on on a Monday night. Personally, I’m concerned that shit like this goes on in what seems to be a high-end, affluent, relatively normal community. Have we, as a culture, moved so far past the predictable, I’m-burning-all-your-stuff-because-you-suck acts, that we succumb to physically marring someone? Revoking their man-card in the most literal (and disturbing) sense?
You know this bitch was thinking that she wanted to cause some irreprable damage. She was sending a message. I pray to the heavens I never have to understand that message, but hot damn! Was she calm through the whole ordeal? “Oh, you need that? Hm… well, look, yeah, there’s still bits and pieces left! We’ll just sew it back on. There! Good as new. You’re fine honey, stop whining, you’re just making it bleed worse.”
It’s a penis. They NEED those… that’s where they store all their hopes and dreams and aspirations for future and self worth. It would be like robbing me of my wit. (ha. ha).
Sigh. There’s a man out there, in critical condition now, without a penis. And a woman, in jail, probably getting high-fives from her fellow basket-cases.
And there’s me… morbidly relieved that there are people out there so out of their trees that they make me look not only normal, but awesome, and wondering what the motherfuck anyone could do to actually deserve getting Lorana Bobbitted.
Gentlemen, hide your penises. She’s coming for them.
I’d Like to Thank the Academy… of Bloggers. Well, only the good ones. Not the weird ones who write about porn and/or the environment.
I got an award. For blogging (from THIS girl). Which means a number of things— primarily though that people actually READ my blog which is sa-weeeet! Also it means that I am not crazy, which is always a little bit of a fear of mine, and it means that I have to do some stuff and keep on sending this bad boy around to keep the good joo-joo going.
As a receiver of the Stylish Blogger Award, I have to do the following:
- Present seven facts about myself.
- Name half dozen bloggers I think deserve the award. Contact those people.
- Create a link back to the person who gave you the honor.
Now for the facts about me…. I bet you’re ready to pass out from anticipation.
- I wanted to be a gynocologist growing up. Then I realized I wasn’t very good at science, and the reason my grades were so good was because I was a superb bull-shitter (still am)… but nobody wants someone who is just pretending to be good at their job when their job is telling you you might, just maybe, it sort of looks like, herpes.
- I’m adopting. I’m having my own little ones as well. Non-negotiable.
- I work in politics, as a legislative staffer…. and it’s a weird job. I make sure my boss (elected official) doesn’t get himself in trouble, I make him sound smart, look good and seem like the second-coming. And sometimes that’s cool… sometimes it’s exhausting… like today.
- Biggest fear: being left behind. Being abandoned. Winding up alone…. also, winding up fat.
- I don’t re-wear socks. I throw them away. I don’t know why.
- I live out of my car, and this seems to work fine for me. Not for people who try to ride in my passenger seat and get a spiked stiletto up the ass.
- Funny trumps all. A funny guy trumps a hot guy. A funny conversation trumps a tough one. A funny day trumps a shitty week. Funny will always win… the way to my heart is definitely through my… hm… this was a poorly thought out phrase. Shit. Anyway, make me laugh and I’ll love you forever.
And now I get to pass the lovely award on! This was hard because I follow some pretty impressive bloggers, who undoubtedly have received many an honor from many a junior blogger. But I’m gonna go ahead and throw em another kudos, because I’m generous like that. Also, because I’m very tired and don’t want to peruse the internet in search of some up and coming bloggers when I already know a bunch of super-studly ones. Like the following:
Alone… with cats
Youkitschme (D’s blog!)
**I’ve been completely neglecting my blog lately. Which makes me sad. And because now we know people other than my mom are reading this, I assume those people are sad, too. (key word: assuming). I have plenty to write. PLENTY. Like hickeys.***