I mean, this doosh calls himself a ‘journalist’ and claims he has some sort of sooper seecrud journalistic right to a private citizen’s intimate thoughts because reasons.
James O’Keefe is a journalist like I’m the Queen of Romania.
The diary was stolen, yes, but the pages making the rounds that I saw do not appear to be written by her. As you can imagine, it has her talking about her father sexually abusing her in the bathtub. So, that's how gross, these people really are.
The whole lot if them are like if halitosis and a ruptured bowel was a personality-type.
Oh it gets lower. the posted 'fake' pages with salacious confession, and if we know these freaks and their 'fixations', and we do, can you guess what they pretended she wrote about? Yeah, it's ... no words.
That was so exciting, that surprising one. I laughed for about-- I laughed for quite awhile. It was great. I'm afraid surprise in writing is something not discussed very often.
Monday: Made coffee. Sat around. Scrounged up some breakfast. Got shot (medical.) Watched some teevee while futzing around on the Internet. And so to bed.
Tuesday: Idem. Trolled one of those "Your warranty is expiring" idiots. And so to bed.
Wednesay: Made coffee. Did my own research. Did some more of my own research. Shredded "important" junk mail. Scrounged up a recording of the revival of Brigadoon with Kelly O'Hara. Listened and liked. Scrounged up a copy of Brian Wilson's Smile. Listened and liked. Finished a book. Read part of another book. And so to bed.
Thursday: Cf. Monday.
Friday: Got roaring drunk, provoked bar fights with guys a foot taller, ripped, and 40 years younger than I am. And so to gutter. [Totally made up. Just my usual dull stuff.]
I have sometimes thought of keeping a diary but the result would be like the above only even more boring.
That was SO FASCINATING. I thought I was the only one like that but I guess I'm not! My only worry all day-- apart from this Armageddon we're seeing-- is that my cat Ray is depressed. So I give him some food every time I go out to the kitches. A tiny bit. Also,I post many clever posts around the place.I'm also reading the seminal book from 1929 on who wrote the Shakespeare plays and sonnets. After one page I was laughing at myself and the entire world. It was not the man from Stratford. Weird eh? Well, hope nothing happens tomorrow to disturb your schedule.
What about cleave? I think it means cut in two and hang on to something.
....like faking pages of a childhood diary? Yeah, they're THAT low.
The yellow "...this is fine..." dog is never in retirement for long.
I mean, this doosh calls himself a ‘journalist’ and claims he has some sort of sooper seecrud journalistic right to a private citizen’s intimate thoughts because reasons.
James O’Keefe is a journalist like I’m the Queen of Romania.
This is why I love the internets. You people are fun to hang out with.
I said it before, but leave it to a creep like O'Keefe to ruin such great things as boats filled with sex toys.
Ralph Lauren dressed the whole family for inauguration, I believe.
The diary was stolen, yes, but the pages making the rounds that I saw do not appear to be written by her. As you can imagine, it has her talking about her father sexually abusing her in the bathtub. So, that's how gross, these people really are.
The whole lot if them are like if halitosis and a ruptured bowel was a personality-type.
Oh it gets lower. the posted 'fake' pages with salacious confession, and if we know these freaks and their 'fixations', and we do, can you guess what they pretended she wrote about? Yeah, it's ... no words.
That was so exciting, that surprising one. I laughed for about-- I laughed for quite awhile. It was great. I'm afraid surprise in writing is something not discussed very often.
My super-duper secret diary for this week:
Monday: Made coffee. Sat around. Scrounged up some breakfast. Got shot (medical.) Watched some teevee while futzing around on the Internet. And so to bed.
Tuesday: Idem. Trolled one of those "Your warranty is expiring" idiots. And so to bed.
Wednesay: Made coffee. Did my own research. Did some more of my own research. Shredded "important" junk mail. Scrounged up a recording of the revival of Brigadoon with Kelly O'Hara. Listened and liked. Scrounged up a copy of Brian Wilson's Smile. Listened and liked. Finished a book. Read part of another book. And so to bed.
Thursday: Cf. Monday.
Friday: Got roaring drunk, provoked bar fights with guys a foot taller, ripped, and 40 years younger than I am. And so to gutter. [Totally made up. Just my usual dull stuff.]
I have sometimes thought of keeping a diary but the result would be like the above only even more boring.
The same FBI that spent all of 2016 insisting that they were investigating that crook HRC and NO TRUMP RUSSIA!
Fuck those guys.
They were endlessly vile to Chelsea.
And often, shocker here, racist to the Obama kids.
Meh, more Rightwing doucebaggery.
Pasty white muthafuckah says what?
That was SO FASCINATING. I thought I was the only one like that but I guess I'm not! My only worry all day-- apart from this Armageddon we're seeing-- is that my cat Ray is depressed. So I give him some food every time I go out to the kitches. A tiny bit. Also,I post many clever posts around the place.I'm also reading the seminal book from 1929 on who wrote the Shakespeare plays and sonnets. After one page I was laughing at myself and the entire world. It was not the man from Stratford. Weird eh? Well, hope nothing happens tomorrow to disturb your schedule.