Beat the Heat, Not Your Meat

It is no mistake that last week was a fucking scorcher. God seems to be punishing all of us for our indecency. Speaking as a person with no air conditioning, I have really been taking God's wrath quite personally. What have I been doing aside from my normal, routine cunt-tery that deserves such malevolence? My nights are spent lying in bed with my handheld spray fan, screaming, crying, shitting myself to sleep in pain. It just isn't a good look. I'm vetoing this heat wave. I say no and after all, the world DOES revolve around me.

Other people? Don't be ignorant.

One can also attribute the hellish weather to other haps. Following the death of the Cory Monteith I am pretty sure the Westboro-Baptist church had a little pow-wow with the big guy and they made some kind of douche bag agreement. The Westboro Baptist church has been INSISTING for years that "God hates fags." Rude.

But the list does not end there... God supposedly hates pretty much everyone besides, well, them. Strange coincidence? I guess so. However, the W-B church has an extra LARGE bone to pick with the gay community. After all, homosexuality is THE DEVIL!

With the death of Cory Monteith there is no time like the present to protest a seriously evil man. Glee needs to be stopped. WE MUST TO STOP THE GLEESTERS!!! It is just too gay, far too gay for the Westboros.

So the W-B Church has been setting up their picket signs, camping out, getting ready to protest the funeral of the year. It is their big moment to shine. The weather could not have been more perfect for such a (pointless/ ignorant) cause.

However, as the weather seems to be mellowing out and the Westboro Baptist church continues to preach the word of heterosexuality... Anthony Weiner seems to just be getting started heating things up! (Perhaps he is continuing to spread the word of heterosexuality? This is a serious question I pose).

Do you hear something? A faint, distant sound that seems to be increasing in velocity with every second as we speak? Yup. That is the sound of Anthony spanking the monkey, choking the chicken, painting the pickle or beating the meat if you so please.

YOU BETTER WORKKKK ITTTTT GURRRLLLL

In the words of Ms. Cyrus, he can't stop and he won't stop. Anthony Weiner is his name and sexting is his game... and holy shit is he good at it. The only thing he needs work on is the whole getting caught aspect...

...not that it even matters. His wife seems to be going with the flow of things. Holding on to true love...standing by her Weiner. Now that's a ride or die bitch. That's my kinda biddy.

These two are truly in love and no amount of cheating, lying and dick pictures are going to change this.   Forget Noah and Allie, forget Romeo and Juliet. I dream of a romance this passionate and this intense.

So many people are hating on Weiner for being a perverted sex freak but I say get the fuck over it. Who in the fuck cares? They are all haters anyways. They are jealous that they can not get away with the same sexcapades. I mean, boning and cybering tons of other biddies AND still being able to keep your bottom bitch? Dude's a fuckin G.

Stay cool biddies. Shit is wild out there.

XOXO,

Jules

Pretty Sexy Liars

Lies. We all tell them from time to time. Some small, some large, some cute and some not so cute. But at the end of the day one must come to the same sad conclusion that we are all liars. However, we are not all very good ones, or pretty sexy ones...but liars nonetheless.

As a child I lied about pretty much everything. There were two lies that I frequently told and to this day it is a serious miracle that my parents were not reported to child protective services. The first one I told was that I had an older brother who my mom killed and buried in the basement. You know, just your typical harmless white lie. We gave him the proper burial he deserved and everything (I'm not an monster!) It was just his time to go apparently.

The other lie that I loved to tell was that we had a dog that we kept in the closet and only fed once a day. "But what about barking?" my friends would inquire. "Oh, this one does not bark...or move." The weird part is that no one questioned this. Apparently no one found this cruel or unusual to keep a live dog in a small closet all day long? I like to think that I, the young biddy queen, was conducting somewhat of a social experiment. Everyone failed. I am judging YOU guys, quite frankly.

It was almost instinctual for me to lie. Part of me thinks I did it because some delusional part of me thought if I lied it, it would come true... wish fulfillment if you will. Another part of me was just bored and had nothing interesting to watch on television (The episode of Clarissa Explains It All that I was watching was over or something) or I was sick of having my barbie dolls make out with each other. Just when I thought I had everyone wrapped around my lying finger, my Kindergarten teacher Ms. Rose exposed me.

So I may or may not have lied and said I had an imaginary younger sister named Sarah. That's neither here nor there. It was not her place to tell my mom about it. If a lil biddy wants an imaginary sister named Sarah, then fucking let her have the imaginary sister DAMMIT.

Anyways, enough about me. Let's get the shit here. I have compiled a list of my favorite liars of all time. The best, the boldest, the prettiest and the sexiest.

1) Bill Clinton
There are two reasons why I absolutely love Bill Clinton as a liar. First of all, to continue lying with such authority and conviction after you were pretty much caught red-handed is fucking hilarious and BALLER.

If you are going to lie, you might as well commit to it. The second reason why Bill Clinton is among my favorite lying biddies is that blow jay lies are the best kind of lies. Especially blow jays that end in skeet all over a dress. I am sorry, but who blows their load all over a dress and does not think to clean it up?

Control your skeet my good hoes. Control it.

...and also... be proud of your blow jays. Hold your head up with dignity and pride that you received one, Bill, because Hilary sure as hell is not gobbling that knob anytime in the near future.

2. Bernie Madoff

Yeah, I said it. Bernie Madoff is another favorite of mine. Anyone who steals from the rich is a fucking bad ass mother fucker in my book. Yeah, maybe he is a little bit of a sociopath...but then again, who isn't these days? Anyone who is stealing from greedy, dumb, rich people is my biddy of mine. What a fucking G.

Too bad he got caught and is in jail now and shit. Lol.

3. Pinochio

This ho is a liar that we all know and love. The thing that sucks for him is everyone knows when he is lying... not only that but he needs a massive nose job. Not cute. Not cute at all.

Anyways, I like these three biddies very much and I think you get the jist. Embrace your lies, people. And more importantly, embrace the liar. The bottom line is that most people can not handle the truth anyways. Maybe one day when they are grown up and mature, but until then let's just keep it classy...

Favorite Liar Honorable Mentions:

My ex

My psychiatrist

My dog

XOXO,

Jules

My Wet Hairy American Summer

Summer is a time of joy, a time of relaxation, a time of celebration and (most regrettably) a time of unwanted nudity. All of these things are enough to make me want to put myself into a coma.

Joy? Happiness? I will not be a part of any of this!!!

NO NO NO NO NO!!!!!

Tantrum completed. Now, wise biddy minions, please hear me out. The beginning of the summer is usually marked with the Fourth of July. For as long as I can remember I have hated this holiday with a passion. The reasons for my hatred have changed over the years, of course. When I was younger I could not FUCKING stand the sound of the fireworks and fire crackers. I mean really, think about it, fireworks look cool but fire crackers are kind of pointless. It is just loud noise. Whoop de-fuckin-doo.

But now I hate it solely because the holiday is fucking stupid and people act like even bigger idiots on this day. Everyone likes to post all over facebook about their thuper cool, thuper patriotic plans. How about no... INSTEAD, how about I sit on my ass and eat blueberry pancakes with my dog while watching a marathon of Gilmore Girls. I have no desire to mingle at parties with plebeians and common folk.

Nothing good ever comes of talking to people. Especially drunk people. Especially "patriotic" drunk people. Especially "patriotic" drunk people who think it is funny to say "'murica" over and over. 

Like...no. That's not cute or hot or anything.

Enjoy your barbecues, enjoy your burgers. I will be enjoying mine in the safety of my own home.

What most concerns me about summer time is the unwanted nudity that we are faced with almost everyday. Some days I do not even want to leave my house in fear of seeing something that I can never unsee. The dumb biddies that rock the bootie short, the crop tops and (as I discussed last week) the dreaded cleav are only the tip of the ice berg. Yeah, those are unpleasant situations and shit but I am mainly speaking of the fifty-something year old men on the beach who have absolutely no regard for anyone else's sanity...or stomach.

Picture yourself lying on a beautiful beach. The sound of the waves hitting the shore, the feeling of the ocean breeze caressing your skin and the sand massaging your toes. Then, you open your eyes and see a man walk by wearing a sweater. "Okay, whatever," you think to yourself. You close your eyes but then think, "Wait, a sweater on the beach? What's up with that?" So you open your eyes again only to realize the horror... the absolute horror that it is not a sweater at all. That is back hair, that's some full grown motherfucking back hair. ONE HUNDRED PERCENT man fur. Not cute.

Someone bring that thing back to the Bronx Zoo where it belongs!

Normally, I would not make fun of people's bodies but I find this especially offensive for various reasons. First of all, it is absolutely disgusting. Back hair is just not acceptable. It kills every lady boner within a one hundred mile radius. Second of all, what gives them the nerve to walk around with all that fur when women practically kill themselves getting bikini waxes all summer? What if we had women rockin' bushes all over the place? It would be madness! Women would be banned from beaches. Men just could not handle the bush. They could not handle the realness.

Now, I do not want any misconceptions. I am fully supportive of women weed wackin' the bush (or maybe even a cute little corn-row action now and then), I am merely pointing out that we should not just end the weed wackin' rules at the bush. Back hair should be wacked thoroughly and completely as well. If anybody has a problem with this, then keep your fucking clothes on gentleman.

HAPPY SUMMER BITCHES!!!!

XOXO,
Jules


P.S. Individuals who wish to wear speedos in public must get verbal permission from yours truly. Call me or text me to make an appointment.