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It's my own dumb fault for carrying my wallet in the back pocket of my backpack. It's my even dumber fault for carrying my Social Security card in my wallet. So I can't exactly fault the woman who assumed my identity and used it to open up a bunch of credit cards in my name. Mind you, I don't think it's okay that she did that--stealing is still illegal down among the proles, as well it should be. But the perp is not the sole source of this whole mishegoss. And while it doesn't excuse her crime, I would hazard a guess that the $1K watch she charged on that fraudulent account is going straight to her veins. Why else would she bother? Simply put, the girl needs help.
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I have a confession to make: I hate famous people.
It's not because I hate the fact that some of them are morons and are known for nothing more than showing their goodies to the world, and it's not because they have lots of money and fame and incredible shoes and bodyguards and perfect children.
I hate them because they're pretty. More specifically, I hate them because they flaunt it. And they date Vanessa Minillo just to prove it.
That's right. Most specifically, I hate Nick Lachey.
Because he's pretty.
And he knows it.
Never mind that I could never be with someone that pretty, although admittedly I am currently pseudo-dating someone who is just as pretty, if not prettier than both Nick and his ex-wife Jessica put together. It's just that...well, no one should be that pretty when they have a penis between their legs; the fact that he shows it off, and on new year's, no less, is just fucking rude. As for Vanessa Minillo...well, we all know she's there like a great pair of earrings or a fabulous purse. It just makes the ensemble look altogether yummier.
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All’s been quite on the squawk box front lately, eerily quiet as a matter fact (click for parts one, and two). As it turns out it’s because the squawk box hasn’t quite been itself lately. It’s as if it just couldn’t muster the energy to let out the slightest peep. Hmm... I wonder why that is—maybe, just maybe, it’s because some moron cut the wires! I imagine its the same guy who tore it off the wall last time, and probably the same genius who, after trying to break into my apartment building with a hammer, just stood there among the broken glass in his underwear, a beer in one hand and a hammer in the other trying to tell the cops through beer belches and slurred speech that he didn’t do it.
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What is it,or is it just me? Lately I feel as if I do not agree or go along with the crowd it's the cold shoulder or distant voice on the other end.Well enough is enough,grow up is what I say,we all have diffrent intrest.I also don't get it with people that have new kids,I have a somewhat new kid, I am the same person I was before she came the only difference is now we are 3 instead of 2. I can still go out and be an adult.My child has not changed me in anyway.Most of my friends seem not to be able to difference themselves from mommy and daddy to john and jane. I love my child just as much as
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Rats have moved into my townhouse. The last time this happened, I called the association and reported it. They poisoned, and one of them came inside searching for water. It raced around berzerk helter skelter though my living room, squealing in agony. My girlfriend was visiting me at the time. The poor little thing ran across her foot. She screamed. I was afraid she was going to have a heart attack. Poison killed all the rats last time. Some died in the walls and rotted. The smell was awful for months.
This time I procrastinated about dealing with the problem because poisoning them was such an ordeal last time. I dread setting wooden snap traps, because it's so easy to catch your finger in the process, but it seems a lot more humane to kill them that way. Glue traps immobilize them, but it doesn't kill them. I don't like the idea of throwing them in the dumpster alive stuck to glue. I can't afford one of those high dollar electrocution chamber rat traps that is supposed to kill them immediately. The longer I procrastinated, the more of them showed up. They were pooping everywhere, even in my kitchen sink.
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I am really tired of reading and seeing people telling other's "WHAT YOU SAY IS WRONG,THIS IS HOW IT IS!"who's to say what is right and what is wrong.Last time I looked we still lived in a country that allowed free speech and free thinking. Everyone is entitled to express themselves on what ever topic they want. This a place just to do this, it is not ment for arguements on who thinks has the better reason or answer.This is important that this is an outlet,let's all remember that.
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The squawk box redux. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, more beautiful than waking to the sounds of summer in the city... the mouthwatering sizzle of trashcan seepage cooking on the pavement, the melodious droning of car alarms with snooze buttons, and the newly returned, heartwarming scream of the anti-pigeon squawk box.
Yes, it would seem that my landlady made good on her promise to snatch up the first available squawk box as soon as it hit the shelves. And damn, did she trick it out! This baby came complete with kicker box and grudge-match cage. It’s an in your face challenge to whoever tore the fucker off the wall last week. Booya! Grab a bat and go apeshit all you want, there’s nothing bringing that baby down... except, of course, the sheer weight of pigeon shit. Because pumpin’ up the volume on the bird screams is just getting the pigeons all freaky, all puffed up and making pigeon fuck sounds as they get their groove on, on top the cage. And for a pigeon there’s nothing better after bangin’ than a good shit—screw that whole lame having a smoke thing.
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You know what? I just found out 5 hours ago that the "woman" who stabbed my cousin to death was given 5 years probation. This is so fucked up on so many levels... First of all, my cousin was like a brother to me, my confidante, my protector when I first went to college, introduced me to the good and the bad of everything that my naieve mind could handle, and kicked ass for me when necessary. Now he is gone.
Second, she was pregnant with his child when it went down, and he was so excited about his kid coming it permeated through the phone when we talked a week before this bullshit happened. He was trying to get his life together and get his shit straight, had jobs, stopped smoking all of that weed, stopped getting fucked up all of the time...I guess it was for nothing.
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Why is it that people have to crawl up your ass when thay step onto an escalator? I live in Chicago and when coming from the subway I take the escalator most times. I always give the person in front of me plenty of space so that I don' have my head in their ass. I can't for the life of me figure out why some people have the need to stand one step behind me, one of these day I am going to just let one rip and turn around an laugh. Then I will tell them "Bet you give people space next time". I have a need for my personal space, I guess some people just don't care about that but I do.
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Yes it’s another balmy 100+ degree-day here in Chicago. Hot enough to make the water in my toilet boil, but not quite enough to inconvenience the goddamn pigeons that have launched their own “shock and awe” shit-fest on my back porch. Nothing, and I mean nothing, can deter these flying shit-bags. Once they’ve brought you the freedom and democracy they promised, they just park their asses and tell you they’ll return control of your porch once you’re ready to handle the responsibility.
This is nothing new, the occupation has been going on for literally years. I just hoped that maybe the heat would roast the little f@!kers. After more complaints than I can remember my landlady finally decided to do something about it. One morning I woke up to find these big yellow, goggly-eyed, beach balls hanging from the rafters. I thought maybe they were some kind of peer-pressure/embarrassment thing—like a “your mom dresses your porch funny”. I also thought, right, like this is gonna work. And just to bust my balls, it did—but only for week. Then my landlady launched phase two. She installed this obnoxious squawk box that was supposed to sound like birds in distress. It screamed all day and all night until someone tore it off the wall. At which point I got a shocked call from my landlady saying that she couldn’t believe someone would do such a thing. Really?
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