Dear wife-beater-wearing-no-good-dirty-rotton-hole-digger-sweet-pea-sugar-lips,
I've never had so many 12-year old boys moments in my life than this past month. That may have to do with hanging out with sophistically immature people evry livin day and talking like I'm from the dirty south for a week straight. I've had a permanent southern bell accent ever since a midnight run to the hospital, which resulted in a 2-hour conversation on foot corns fried up real nice in ambiotic fluids along with dutch oven regurgitated 2nd breakfasts. I reckon my humor has hit the hogs, but I ain't ashamed no more. No I ain't, I reckon ever girl goes through a time in her life where ever thing she ever knew feels sliperier than a snot covered doorknob. My mama wanted to whop me upside the head, but I ain't gonna let no mama give me a lickin. Anyhow, I reckon I'll never grow up ter be a well-mannered lady, things just keep on getting way too funny for me to turn down a good ol' knee-slappin' belly-achin' laugh. Don't ever be what they want you to be, or you gonna let the good things in life pass you by. I'm an educated woman, I don't dig no holes.
p.s. in case you were wonderin', and I know you were, type this ~@~ into good ol' gmail chat and get a good laugh for me.
Much Obliged.
Ms. Watson.
No I durn can't get enough of this song neither.
2 comments:
precious.
"I reckon my humor has hit the hogs."
That may be the best line ever written
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