outlaw bloggin'

i know. i never post. but no one ever reads this, either. it's not that i've become less interesting, just more self-absorbed. i still do illegal stuff and don't get caught (thought it's only a matter of time before one of the resident old-ladies around here call the law on us for what they think is some serious domestic violence - but is really just me verbally abusing my boyfriend or hot, uncensored fucking), i still have bad eyesight and a keen wit, and i still spend too much money at Target on shit i don't need.

today however, was a different story. i was there to buy something off of Hump's wedding registry, a belt, and maybe some shoes and underpants. anything left on the list that i could afford was a target.com exclusive. yet there i was, surrounded by temptation. the deville. i've only paid half the bills and had a good amount of money burning a theoretical hole in my pocket. however, i was "saved" when K called to tell me he might not get paid tonight because the IRS was all about seizing his employer's stuff today, including the cash moneys. dollar dollar bill, y'all.

speaking of assholes that have too much money and should be audited, if only for the sheer pleasure of making them squirm and sweat their green card - that Shakira song, "Hips," really grinds my gears. her singing voice is that of an 80 year old woman that's somehow possessed a 7 year old girl, but that's besides the point. my first problem with the song is Wyclef's, and i use this term VERY loosely, contribution. he spends the majority of the choruses yelling, "Como se llama, bonita, mi casa, su casa...Shakira, Shakira!" para los de usted que no hablan español, ese medios "what's your name, beautiful, my house, your house...Shakira, Shakira!" what the holy hot fuck does that even mean? my second beef is this line...
"Why the CIA wanna watch us?
Colombians and Haitians
I ain't guilty, it's a musical transaction."

DUDE. the CIA is not watching you. they're not even listening to you, probably because TOTAL CRAP is banned at CIA headquarters. get down off your big, black high horse - enough with "the man's out to get me" bullshit! the CIA might be watching some dude living in the utah desert that only leaves his fortress for fertilizer and decongestants once a month. hell, they might even be watching that weird couple across the way - they're always talking so damn loud about nonsense you'd think their place was bugged. but they're most certainly not watching your high-hoggin' ass, Wyclef - and no one is accusing you of being anything but paranoid and uppitty. oh, and it doesn't even rhyme.