It’s not my fault that you don’t have a life other than gossiping about other people or talking about shitz that happened years and years ago. You drink like a fish, pop pills by the dozen and try to party like you’re 20. Get a hobby, take up tap-dancing, get a cat, do something constructive but stop expecting me to entertain you and feed you gossip. You’re 55 years old, bitch. —And That’s Why I Don’t Answer Your Calls
This article appears in Nov 13-19, 2014.
…said the tap dancing cat lady to the pill popping middle-aged drunk.
LOOK AT SHAKESPEARE
Drama never ages. Look at Shakespeare.
(Avatar #81: The Coronation Edition of The Halifax-Herald – The Halifax Mail, May 11, 1937)
A pleasure as always.
Cheerio!
Kick and Strrrrrretch! I’m 50. FIFTY years old.
^^^^ happy birthday dude!
55 is not “middle-aged” for a pill-popping heavy drinker.
It’s when the stories start to cycle from A into B into C into D which leads back into A then B…. that’s when you know it’s not long yet.
55 isn’t middle-aged. It’s one foot in the grave and the other slipping on a banana peel.
A 55 year old party girl is both sad and nasty.
I have watched many of my peers who can’t get off the alcoholic nipple transform into human puddles of poison. Those pretty ‘I’ll do anything for a drink’ girls at 60 look like Baby Jane’s REALLY ugly sister, corroded inside and out – the rockin’ dudes of the same age group are either dead or waiting for a fresh liver.
Moderation in all things.
Way to kill an ol’ gal’s buzz.
GOOGLE A KEYWORD
Paste the idea here and reword it a bit. Try and make it look intelligent.
(Fill up the space – as typing is free and I have nothing better to do with my time – November 22, 2014)
Trademark sign-off.
Froot Loops!
And you couldn’t text them this directly because why? Looks like there is a snailmail group starting up – maybe they could help you write them a letter and that way you would be supporting Canada Post home delivery as well. A win – win, no?
Ah, another bitch about my ex.