Friday, May 25, 2007

Celebrity Gossip of the Day!

HOT BREAKING NEWS: Dick Cheney was caught raping the bloated corpse of Jerry Falwell. In his defense, Cheney responded "well, that tease would never give it up when he was alive and he honestly doesn't look any different."


MADONNA EATS BABIES!: Have you noticed how Madonna looks a bit like she should be living under a bridge lately? It's no coincidence! After giving up Kabbalah and having no luck getting into Scientology (she's too creepy for them), Madonna has a new religion: Ogreism. Madonna is now an ogre and, as is made painfully obvious by the state of her mug, she is embracing this new philosophy wholeheartedly. She decided on this new path when it became terribly clear that she wasn't going to garner any good publicity for her African baby purchase. She had to put that cute little baby to some use and, you guessed it: she ate him! Waste not, want not, Madge!


SCIENTISTS HAVE PROVEN....ice cream only has 10% of the fat and calories if you smoke it instead of eating it.


OPRAH, A CYBORG?: You betcha! Dr. Phil, however, is not a cyborg. He's merely a pudgy old cracker that is stupid enough to take orders from a talk-show hosting cyborg. Idiot.


MARY-KATE AND ASHLEY TO UNDERGO CUTTING EDGE SURGERY: Twins Mary-Kate and Ashley Olson, encouraged by recent innovations in separating conjoined twins, have opted to undergo a new groundbreaking procedure: they are planning to become conjoined twins! Since they're basically one person anyway, it only makes sense to inhabit a single body. The details are: each twin will have one leg removed, as well as part of their livers, and be fused down their sides up to the waist. The arms on both twins will be left intact, so as to treat the public with highly amusing conjoined-twins slap fights.


ANGELINA JOLIE QUOTE OF THE DAY:
"I like my kids like I like my beer: imported. Domestic children don't have that full bodied flavor that I crave."
Yes, that's right, Angelina Jolie eats children. Hanging out with Madonna much?


BLAKE LEWIS DEAD!: Blake Lewis, runner-up for this year's American Idol crown, was murdered by an angry mob shortly after the live announcement show. On the show, Blake appeared in a duet with Doug E. Fresh, thought by many to be the original beat-boxer and infinitely more awesome than Lewis could ever dream to be. A mob of old school hip hop afficionados grabbed Blake as he was exiting the Kodak theater. Shouts could be heard from the assembled rioters, "I'll show you BEAT BOXING, you little wannabe bitch!", as they proceeded to beat him to death with boxes.


LOCAL NEWS: The International Mr. Leather competition is being held in Chicago this weekend. The early favorite to take home the title is our own Intern Steven! Come out and show your support for a hometown boy in assless chaps!

What does Memorial Day weekend mean to you?



To me, it means the International Mr. Leather Competition.

Yes, this is real, and it happens every summer in the Chi. Go Downtown (downtown proper, not stupid suburban I-call-every-part-of-the-city-downtown-because-I'm-dumb) any evening this weekend, and you will see flocks of leather daddies on the streets. Shocking and delightful! I mean, when do you ever see leather daddies downtown, and in such amazing numbers?


I know I've been a bit negligent on the postings here this week, but I've had a terrible head cold. Being sick makes me about 83% meaner on average, so it's not that evil has left the building along with my good health. Evil hasn't left the building, and neither have I. I haven't been hitting the streets to menace middle age hippies with retarded petitions (against 'bad juju' or some other hippie nonsense. stupid hippies...I have a story here, I'll share it eventually), interacting with drug dealers in the 'hood, or getting made fun of by homeless folks. I've been inside, working and being crabby. I hate being sick. Life sucks, I hate everything.

Alright, got that out of my system, back to the major problem at hand: International Mr. Leather. My comrade, Sleepy, wants to attend the Black & Blue Ball on Monday night (blue ball! heehee!). So the quandary is thus: What do I wear?

I know, I know, those of you lacking vision will, of course, say that I should go with bondage gear or leather at the least. Evil lord Satan knows I wouldn't have to go shopping, but it just seems so ....OBVIOUS. It's adorable to hear kids say they're bucking convention by dressing goth or punk or whatever it is people do these days, but it's really just choosing a different culture to conform to. Hey kiddies, how different are you REALLY when all your friends look exactly the same as you (and not a one of you is doing anything innovative, by a long shot)? That's just a somewhat unrelated aside, but the point is that I'd rather go against convention than just go along with the crowd - even if the crowd in question is a lot of men in leather harnesses and assless chaps. So...the options for the Black & Blue Ball are:

1.) Cheerleader
--I have this nutty, super super short, micropleated mini skirt in baby pink that I've just been waiting on a proper event to work. I got it for a dollar at a yard sale and loved the hell out of it, but it's too short and too pleated and too pink to get away with in everyday vernacular. Also, I've got plenty of junk in my trunk (eat your hearts out bitches!) and it looks kind of like an opaque tutu - very costumey. All I'll need is some ponpoms (does anyone out there have a pair?), white sneakers, and some kind of jersey. Plus, I look darling in pigtails.

2.) Prim 50's Housewife
--The antidote to leather daddies, I just need some little white gloves.

3.) The Devil
--Why only rock the devil horn's on Halloween? I could fabricate a new pair in black and blue in homage to the ball. Seems a little too on their mark though, and I would prefer to go against the grain.

4.) Indian Princess
--I don't think this would do, but I rarely get to sport my sari and it's extremely comfortable (and sparkly). Plus, massive amounts of giant gold Indian jewelry.


I'm leaning towards Cheerleader right now. Maybe I can borrow a bullwhip from my neighbors down the street and do Bondage Cheerleader, I'd really like to wear that ridiculous skirt. I may just have to get Intern Steven over here for a little fashion show. I can see the scene in my head already: I'm halfway inside the closet, hurling fabulous garment upon fabulous garment at Intern Steven while he wobbles about trying to support a giant pile of clothing in his arms and dodging shoes as they go whizzing past his head. The other scene I see is Intern Steven languishing on the couch, cigarette in one hand, dry martini in the other, looking too cool and inherently blase. Sip of cocktail, drag of cigarette, one cocked eyebrow, and the line "Jillian, doll, you could be wearing a garbage bag and everyone would look like they attired themselves in roadkill next to you." You're so right, Steven.

Pray to Satan for my speedy recovery,
J Killa

Thursday, May 17, 2007

THE DEVIL PAGE Top 10!

Hi there everybody,

It's a slow day over here at Evil HQ, so I've been indulging in some celebrity gossip online. Aside from the fact that I have no clue who most of the people they're talking about are, it appears to be Celebrity Rating Season once again. I know, I know, it seems like it was only minutes ago that a bunch of self-impressed brain trusts with better than average looks patted themselves on the back for something or another...oh wait, it probably was only minutes ago considering how many awards shows these idiots like to throw for themselves.

Anyhoo, a number of magazines that I don't read have compiled lists of who they think is the most beautiful or sexy or whatever, because lord Satan knows that the only interesting thing about anyone is what they look like. Boy oh boy, did they get it wrong though. Apparently, Lindsay Lohan is the sexiest woman alive, but that's only because I refused to appear in the magazine that writes the list (shit, if you want nearly nude photos of me, you'll just have to hide in the bushes outside my windows like everyone else, dammit!).
HOT CELEBRITY GOSSIP! Lindsay Lohan has Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy, also known as Mad Cow Disease. Even more shocking: she caught it from Oprah! Even even more shocking: Oprah got it from eating Dr. Phil who, as everyone knows, is a mad cow.

I've decided to compile my own list because, as everyone knows, my taste is nonpareil. For your enjoyment, I present....

JILLIAN'S TOP 10 HOT ASS BITCHES

1.) Henry Rollins
Oh Henry, how do I adore thee? It's been a while since we've spoken, and I know now that it was a mistake to dump you for Brad Pitt. He's got nothing on you, baby (and all he wanted was my superior genes for his breeding experiment. Hope you like my leftovers, Angelina!).

2.) Hot Nerd
There is some show on about FBI guys that solve crimes or something, I have no idea what it's called, but there is one seriously hot nerd on that show. I love me a hot nerd.
*I have done some research and Hot Nerd, shockingly, is not actually named "Hot Nerd". His name is Matthew Grey Gubler (even the name sounds nerdy, be still my heart!) and the show is Criminal Minds.

3.) Christian Bale
Hey "Batman", make some more movies where you run around naked. Thanks.

4.) David Stuckey
If you've not yet heard of this Social Worker turned Male Model turned Astrophysicist turned Actor, just you wait! He's going to be EVERYWHERE once his show "Walker, Texas Ranger: The Early Years" debuts. It showcases Walker (texas ranger) in his wild youth as a gay Chicago scenester and his subsequent spell at a Christian de-gaying camp that turns him into the steely eyed lawman you all know and love.

5.) Nick Cave
Yeah, I know dude's ugly, but he has more talent in his schlong than everybody on all of those other lists plus a thousand. I know this from experience, heh heh heh.

6.) David Boreanaz
He has some show on tv these days, blah blah blah. I recall his deliciousness from the esteemed Hot Man and Monster Show (although their press offices keep trying to convince me the show was called "Angel" or some nonsense).
Honorable Mentions
- British Hot Man from The Hot Man and Monster Show
- Black Hot Man from The Hot Man and Monster Show
- Bleached Blonde Hot Man from The Hot Man and Monster Show

7.) All the dudes in The Covenant
While I admit that the plot left much to be desired, as well as the acting and special effects and....well, you get my point....the one thing this movie didn't scrimp on was scantily clad "teenage" boys. And they are good looking. Jailbait-licious I would be tempted to say, if the actors playing highschool students weren't actually in their late twenties. Any possible opening for these talented actors (by "talented", I mean "foxy") to remove their clothes, the makers of this movie had them do so. So to you, makers of The Covenant, a salute! May you continue to make soft-core porn for girls, passing it off as "supernatural thrillers", for the rest of your days.

8.) Seth MacFarlane
You know how women say that a good sense of humor is more important than looks? They ain't lying. In case you're hopelessly out of touch, Seth writes and produces Family Guy. Any day of the week, Seth. Call me.

9.) Neil Patrick Harris
I'm here to give you the straight facts (pun intended) about ol' Doogie's recent announcement that he's a big 'mo. I admit, I made him do it. Neil and I have been engaged in a steamy romance for many a moon, and my psychotic jealousy just got the best of me. Yes, ladies, I know he's a perfect specimen of manhood, but I wouldn't have had to take such drastic steps if women weren't running up to him and throwing their clothes off every time we went out in public. So I made him "come out of the closet" so we could get a little peace from the women stages SWAT-type attacks on the home we share in Paris. Now he has gay men shoving their cocks in his face constantly, but that doesn't bother me at all.

10.) Taye Diggs
I don't know if you actually have a job these days, but I've recently promoted my cabana boy to intern. I'm keeping the position open, waiting for your inevitable (and excited) call. Kisses, and make sure you wear your speedo to the interview.


There you have it, the only list worth listing.





I've got spirit, yes I do!

Hey bitches,

This is the new official home of my hateful rantings! I know you're all so excited you could just pee and, trust me, I know how you feel. The world has been screaming out for more Jillian, and I certainly hate to disappoint my fans (not to mention the shouting outside my windows is reaching a fever pitch and even a hellspawn like myself needs her beauty sleep). Additionally, all cosmic signs pointed to auspicious beginnings this week. I finally cashed in on the soul of a certain doughy bigot that I bought a while ago; hope you're having fun with my buddies downtown, Falwell! All is well in the underworld, and it's time for me to take my message to the people!


Jillian the Devil

An open letter to Bill Gates


Damn you, Bill gates! I know we had that falling out after I grabbed the last bottle of grapefruit juice at the Fruteria...I slapped you, you slapped me, then the hair pulling...but I thought we had put that behind us. Why do you feel the need to keep me from watching bad horror movies on netflix?

I attempt to use the new netflix features, and the site tells me I have to employ the dreaded Internet Explorer. Now, that's not hating on you personally, Bill: Internet Explorer sucks ass, you told me so yourself when we were in Vegas for our "girl's weekend". This was after you did a dozen body shots out of Kevin Federline's navel, so you might not remember clearly. Anyway, I open netflix with Internet Explorer and it says I don't have the right version. That's just fucking like you, Bill: I remember that time you saw my Louis handbag and thought you all clever saying "Uh, Jillian, that bag is so Version 4.0!". Catty bitch, I know you were just jealous (note to my readers: he was totally sporting Ugg boots at the time!).

I go to the Microsoft site to get whatever stupid downloads and patches I need to jimmy my system into not being obsolete after two minutes, and could you possibly pack any more black, small print text on these pages?! Bill, in case you're drunk while reading this (there's about a 200% chance of that), THAT WAS SARCASM. I go half blind trying to find the bullshit I'm looking for, and I get a new screen where you happily tell everybody that you need to "authenticate" my version of windows by sending me a bunch of spyware. This seems awfully familiar, like that time you installed hidden cameras in the men's room at Microsoft HQ to "authenticate" the rumors about the size of Rick's package.

I manage to download Internet Explorer 7, which is what netflix (must be owned by your new boyfriend) says I need to play bad horror movies, restart my computer, reopen Explorer, go to netflix....AND IT STILL SAYS THAT I DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT SOFTWARE! WHAT THE FUCK, BILL! I did everything I was supposed to, but am I enjoying The Hunger right now? NO, I'M NOT! So yes, I get it, very funny. You got me good this time.

In the spirit of reconciliation: I'm sorry I told everyone at the club that you looked like an over the hill streetwalker in that fuschia wig you were trying to rock, but "club kid" is just not a look that works for you. You left your rhinestone nameplate necklace in my car, I'm going to messenger it over right now along with a case of grapefruit juice (and a case of Bombay, you dirty lush ;) Please, please, please make my computer work. Besides, if you don't, I'm going to tell everyone what you and Jude Law were up to last weekend. I saw the stains!

Kisses,
Jillian

"I'm a cowboy!"

Sunday, May 13, 2007

"I'm a cowboy!"

Oh, good lord. My father has a tendency to say ridiculous and also somewhat gay shit. My sister and I, being complete dicks, will make fun of him for years for some of the choice quips he treats us to. He knows he's gonna hear about it, but says these things anyway. Things like:

"Try the asparagus, it's quite refreshing!"

Or, while watching an old James Bond movie
"Wow, look at that upper body strength!" [gay!]


I certainly wouldn't want to neglect a staid Dooley tradition, so I offer the latest and possibly gayest one yet. My parents are visiting my godparents at their horse ranch in Arizona and my father just emailed me a video of him out riding. Sit please, and compose yourselves: the subject of the email is "I'm a Cowboy!". Dig that hole a little deeper, Dad.

Hell has frozen over

Friday, April 13, 2007

Hell has frozen over

Why do you say that, Jillian? What unthinkable thing could possibly have occured?

Well, I'll tell you: the homeless in the 'hood actually complimented me on my attire today. I had a number of theories as to why they took such exception to my gear. Maybe they just hate bright colors, because their world is so dim. Perhaps they're color blind and, while they know I've got something eyeball-searing on, they cannot appreciated personally and are very bitter. Maybe they just don't like black people (like me), or maybe they just don't like me. Any number of possibilities for why these dudes are so fucking shitty to me all the goddamn time but, today, I got a definitive answer from the homeless' mouths.

A brief backstory: I was dressed this afternoon in a wholly different fashion than I normally opt for, ie a business suit. Not that unusual, per se, although my business suits tend to run towards bright colors as well or weird shapes (think sci-fi villain). I had an important meeting today, so I dug out a terribly conventional dark green pantsuit and paired it with black pumps and a black sweater. Conservative was the order of the day; hell, I was even wearing a watch (something I never do). This ensemble didn't look bad, of course, as I myself am mostly incapable of looking bad. It just looked boring, very very boring.

Naturally, I go to the effort of dressing as blandly as possible and the homeless go nuts over it. Moreover, they seemed rather shocked to see me dressing this way, as was evidenced in their comments: "Wow, you actually look nice today!". Jerks. I certainly didn't want to pass up a golden opportunity, so I took my chance and asked "So I don't normally look nice?"

THE VERDICT: The reply to my above query was thus: "You're a pretty girl, but you always look so damn weird." Trendy, I can be accused of. Slightly goth-rock, sure. Actual weird, however, I only really trot out a few times a year and it's certainly not even close to the average ordinary gear I throw on to grab a paper at the Fruteria. I guess the homeless are just terribly conservative in their clothing preferences. Awfully strange for a bunch of folks that typically smell like urine.


Everybody's a fucking critic,
J

I'm about to eat my words

Thursday, April 05, 2007

I'm about to eat my words

Prepare yourselves, this doesn't happen often...

So, I'm watching The View. Well, not really watching so much as working while it's on the television behind me. The women hosting the show were talking about saying 'bitch' on television. I didn't realize you were allowed to say that on tv, but that just goes to show how out of touch I am. Anyhoo, one of the ladies was lamenting about how people still take offense to the term and her quote was fucking priceless:

"You're not allowed to say 'bitch' anymore, now you have to say 'Ann Coulter' "

Amazing! Notably, the other hosts on the show thought this was hysterical but the audience really didn't laugh at all. My guess is that the freaks showing up for a studio audience spot at The View are probably those middle America haters that voted in Bush twice, or they spend too much time watching The View and other tripe to actually have any idea what's going on in the news. Who cares, that comment slayed me. Red-haired lady on the view, you're the shit.

J

I'm crabby

Thursday, March 22, 2007


I'm crabby


Yes, crabby. I've been going out too much lately and my brain is a little fried at this point in the week. I've been doing a lot of work, from home no less, which keeps me from being in the cheerful sunshine. I was hanging out with Brooke last night and our conversations always lean towards the weird. Add to that all of the art films I've been consuming lately, and the result is that I didn't get much sleep last night because I was having weird dreams about getting emails of pictures of strange naked men who can suck their own cocks. The dreams were so off and disturbing, I actually woke up and thought it really happened. So I'm a little crabby.

To indulge my shitty mood, here's a collection of bitchy things I read today:

Stop photographing yourself
. The majority of self-portraits are annoying and bad because humans are far too self-aware to photograph themselves in any sort of candid, honest way. Everyone puts on their photo face (usually mopey, serious, or blank), squints their eyes, and tries to look timid, shy, sensitive, and/or tough. It's really gay.


Don't go around the streets like happy-go-lucky all is right with the world brow lifted weird ocular "beaming" muscle engaged, light in the tip of your toes, hey look at him, hey look at me: I'm a fucking fraud leprechaun. [I add this in because it was basically me yesterday. 5 people called me a leprechaun and I was very self-satisfied in an obnoxious way. Go rainboots]


Would it kill you to not live like depressing Satan? Pedestal ashtrays piled with butts and a roommate named Andy who lives in a diaper he folded out of his curtain are totally unacceptable.

Don't take pride in your shitty work. You're like that Curlis Cue redhead my mom was dating who gave me a Curlis Cue toothbrush and windily explained how the curled bristles stimulate the gums. [Seriously, I don't even find what I do interesting]

Another day, more alleged strife at "The View:" Now, Elisabeth Hasselbeck apparently thinks Babwa has completely lost control over the show, and she's steaming mad that Rosie had a whole show devoted to her birthday.

According to Rush and Molloy, Elisabeth is still stewing over yet another on-air verbal smackdown from Rosie two days ago, and her anger only intensified yesterday, when the entire hour was all about Rosie's 45th birthday – the show was wall-to-wall Broadway musical numbers. What's more, says a R&M source, Hasselbeck "also thinks Barbara doesn't have any control over the show anymore." [I've included this so everyone can see how fucking ridiculous the women on that fucking abominable show are, not to mention how ridiculous the show itself is. Someone do the world a damn favor and off these bitches. It will cure cancer, I swear]




I think that's quite enough. I apologize for not being terribly interesting today. Hold on a sec: even at my worst, I'm still more interesting than most. Plus, if you've gotten this far, you've already read the entire post. You've wasted your own time, and I won't have any complaints about it. I'm going to go scowl now.

I hate everything,
Jillian

The Jackass Chronicles Pt. I

[If I'm feeling particularly motivated, I'll move all the entries from my old blog over here to the new site. I can't guarantee such motivation, so you'll just have to be content with these few that I feel perfectly illustrate my unbelievable brilliance. Okay, everything I write does that, these are just the newest.]


Sunday, March 18, 2007

The Jackass Chronicles Pt. I

I really shouldn't be allowed to go out, and giving me booze should be upgraded to a federal offense.


It is now 1:30 in the afternoon and I'm still a little drunk from last night. I took Bridget out for her birthday last night: we decided on a seemingly mild mannered evening of wine bar and a show at Schubas. Brooke and Jack completed our entourage, and they showed up at my place around 6pm. I had already put back one cocktail by this point, and we gathered some alcoholic reinforcements from the Fruteria to wait for Bridget to show. Bridget is always late, so we had time to go through a few more drinks in the interim.

Gin Makes You Sin

I managed to behave myself at the wine bar, albeit I was drinking Viognier rather than my usual cocktail. I didn't menace anyone or throw glasses, but I reached critical alcohol mass halfway through my first pint at Schubas. Here's what happened:

We were suffering through the first band, and they were fucking awful. Additionally, they were all wearing various articles of women's clothing. Not fun party dresses ala Pansy Division like you'd expect from a band full of dudes that are doing some jokey crossdressing. It was more demure but that's not a good thing; it looked like they rooted around in a 60 year old woman's closet and just grabbed the first handful of whatever and put it on. I will give props to the trombone/guitar player for his thoroughly amusing dance-like marching and huge curled mustache drawn on with marker. His fly was also down for the whole show.

In any case, the music was shit and I took it upon myself to let them know. Not particularly loud, I said "Go away" rather blandly a few times after they finished songs. This dumbass bitch behind me took giant offense to this and felt compelled to tell me that "it's not easy to get up there and play, don't be insulting!" in her best Lincoln Park aghast at humanity tone. Now, I call her a dumbass bitch because I went from insulting the band to menacing her, but can you really blame me? She made herself a target. I looked her in the face and said "Shut the fuck up, you stupid cunt! Good lord, girl, you've got some nerve speaking your mind to me. Get gone now before I shove your ass in traffic." Naturally, she was shocked. Brooke asked me what was going on and I told her "the stupid bitch behind me had something dumb to say" and went back to drinking. I am nonchalantly cruel and mean.

We came to see Baby Dayliner and he was on next. He was being awfully slow "setting up" (come on, it's one dude and a suitcase, what's to set up?) so I heckled the poor guy. I said "Stop fucking around and play some music". I was only about 5 feet away and the look on his face when he turned around was priceless. Very surprised and also kinda pissed, then more surprised to see the perpetrator standing there smiling pleasantly at him.

Baby Dayliner put on a fantastic set, you all should have been there, and his dancing was off the hook. I decided to try to pick him up after the show. He's hot and I'm retarded, it was inevitable. I complimented his set, introduced myself, he introduced himself, and proceeded to make more eye contact with my tits than my actual face. I can't really blame him, he was poised on the stage for a great few down my dress which was very low cut to begin with (such is the reason I didn't get kicked out for menacing other patrons, heckling the bands, or smoking where I wasn't supposed to repeatedly. Oh, I also got into it with one of the bouncers because he accused Bridget of sneaking in the side door we were standing near during the show. I told him not to be such an asshole and to fuck off). Anyhoo, Baby Dayliner wouldn't come out drinking with us because he said he had to hang around for the headlining group and we were leaving right then. Oh well, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

On a fun side note, the last time Bridget and I went to Schubas, we spent the night drinking with Mojo Nixon and the guys in his band. We had seen and met them all the night prior at a show they did in Batavia, and they demanded we go see them the next night too. It was tits: we walked into Schubas and Mojo stopped mid song to annouce to the crowd "Hey! There's the cool girls we met last night!". This would all probably be much more impressive if anyone I know actually knows who Mojo Nixon is. Shame on all of you, he did an album with Jello Biafra for chissakes.

We left Schubas to go meet some of Bridget's friends in Lincoln Square, where we managed to put back even more booze. Sippin' on gin and juice, laid back, with my mind on my money and my money on my mind. Yep, I was singing the song in the bar with a few of the guys. I believe I told everyone I was black, and possibly also Snoop Dogg. People who know me hear crap like this all the time, but I had just met these dudes. We were all so damn lit, I can't imagine they took much notice.

After the bar closed, we hit up the nearest taqueria, where one of the dudes Bridget knows tried to cop a feel on her surreptitiously under the table. Can't really blame him either, we were all shitfaced and Bridget a pretty girl. However, he has a girlfriend, and no amount of drunkenness makes cheating on your girl or boyfriend allowable. Cad. Besides renaming Bridget's friend Jonas "The Great Pumpkin", I was about as well behaved as could be expected. I didn't hit anybody.

It was after 4am, me and B went back to my place to chill. I opted for another wildly inadvisable cocktail, likely leading to the surprisingly long lived drunk that I'm still enjoying now. Presently, Bridget and I are sitting in my living room screwing around on our respective computers, and Jody is on his way over to do the same. There's no tp in the house, but I'm hesitant to go out for more. My earlier trip into the outside world resulted in me calling someone a dickhead for blowing a stop sign, but I wouldn't have had to do that if he hadn't stopped his car to ask me why I gave him the finger.

St. Patrick's Day appears to make me crazier than usual, this is why I usually stay home.


Jillian, Resident Jackass