The Hollatics of Blogging

You commented a fucking lot over the last 12 days.  I am hollering back today because I promised you a while back that I would try to keep up, and we all know that what goes around comes around in the blog world.  I have been tied up literally and figuratively in my own head for the last two weeks.  Today I decided it was time to reciprocate your obvious devotion to me with my own ass-kissing.

All 155 of these comments are on the appropriate entries, but I thought it would be fun to see them out of context all jumbled together without an ampersand and someone’s name.  Thanks for keeping me alive, readers.  I love you almost as much as I love myself.  I hope you will stick around until the end of this flea on crack madness because I have a contest for you at the end of this entry.

Monkey Boy needs to save the drama for his birth momma. Let’s make Dick’s a double date soon. He’s a PITA. I’m used to it. You are right. A weekend away is a weekend away. I will give a whole new definition to childless stepmom next summer.  Our lines/paths were crossed. I love Red Bull. I love Jager. I just did not know they are an item now. Can you tell that I don’t get a day pass very often? The next geekdorknerd fest in Las Vegas is Defcon. He’s a bright crayon. I just hope the system does right by him. I am a firm believer in the mindset that people are “not disabled but differently abled.” I am one of those “different” thinkers too. No wonder we are related. If not, he can be obsessive about having a clean Thomas the Train collection until he is 21. Jebus already knows that we have plenty of freaks in the family. Bullhead might be the normal one. Our entire family will stand together for his battle with the ignoramuses of society. I am sure of it. He’s an only child (for now), so my single-mom sister has her hands full as it is. Quirky is the new black. Would you be willing to administer shock treatments to Sybil? He is the Golden Child. It’s refreshing to only have to think of a clever title. Do it! I knew you would appreciate my snarkiness. Whiners should suck it up. I KNOW! Pouty is for lips not blogs and social media. It takes fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown. I think sour is best reserved for candy. It has a hidden significance. Muahahahahaha! I enjoy being a snark tyrant because I CAN! “Thou” refers to several Stealer McStealersons who attempt to mimic my snarkalicious but have EPIC FAILS often. I am Snarky Spice … duh! I am here for my own personal entertainment. Trust me on this: one does not want to get on my shit list. Worship me like the snark goddess I am. Luckily, I am not at my wit’s end. I am really easy to get along with once people learn to worship me. Ask me no questions, and I will tell you no lies. Anything worth doing is worth overdoing.  Satire is my Savior. I donate to the following worthy causes: shoes, purses, books, and music. Will someone please tell that to the internet trolls? The tags are just further proof that I am not your run of the mill kind of blogger. This is how we do it: voodoo. It is good to want things; it builds character. I love presents (especially surprises). First time visitors either love me or hate me. Either way, you’ll be back. All I really need to know in life I learned from the master snarkmeisters. I don’t do cute. Snicker. So tell me what you want … what you really really want. Asshat and fuckwit are my current favorite smite words. I’ve seen better days. I’ve been the star of many plays. The real question is: Do you think they are whores? You are the Arkansas to my Louisiana. Morten Anderson is my old school favorite. Not to be confused with Dooce, of course. Coffee is my religion. Decaf is the anti-Christ. I love that you can spell flavored as “flavoured” and not look like you are trying to be an Aussie. Quadruple espressos all around! If I channeled my inner Bart Simpson, I’d use Ollie Tabooger. Add caffeine to get the instant human. SHOUT IT ALL OUT! I am a snarkstar! I often ask myself when I became a consumer whore. Envy is a deadly sin. We should have more girls’ only days! Rock on, sistah! You made an appearance (just for moi). Dude, you rock! Some like it hot. I am very pleased with the results. Boog, everyone knows you are my anonymous. You are lucky I let you get away with this stuff, motherfucker. You will get your surprise when you least expect it. Smooches! I think I am leaving the picture up. I am an attention whore in the worst way. What female doesn’t like to hear that she is beautiful over and over again? I love angular bobs! You are so right. New ‘dos make me pee in my pants a little. I needed some red in the worst way. Lifers are not just for jail anymore. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I behold my own beauty too. How did you know that I am a dirty redhead? Giggles. Bad influence wicked stepmonster let Monkey Boy listen to the CD in the car on the way back from San Diego. We laughed our asses off listening to his first-time giggles. Is it conceited that I love my profile? You just put your lips together and blow. Red is my signature color. Did you stop the world to melt with me? Memes are for stealing. Mr. Hankey was in my stocking one Christmas. XOB EHT EDISTUO KNIHT Who ya gonna call? Ghostbusters or Ghost Busters? Your urban garden brings all the boys to the yard. Insomnia will be my bitch soon! I have a spine (even though my inner child is a mean little fuck). I appreciate the delurk. I love when I render people speechless. It is my aim to rotflurry. I should have made him scour the entire house. Ewwww doesn’t even begin to cover it. At least my three beotches cover their piss. Bleach makes me nauseated, but sometimes it is a necessary evil. The house smelled like bleach for hours. He doesn’t sit to pee. He’s a savage used to peeing in the woods. Public and private humiliation serve me well when Monkey Boy is at fault. Make him wear Depends … muahahahahaha! Thanks for giving me another wicked stepmonster idea. He has his own bathroom. Can I throw rocks at him? Cohabitation with teenagers is overrated. The grammar nazi will not edit your comment. If you are who I think you are, your two boys are incredibly cutastic and would never pee in the trashcan. Wink wink! Gut-wrenching is the new comic relief special. I am not going to even ask how you know so much about urethra misfires. His punishment is to read Dickens. Charlie squats in the bush. (You watch movies I like.) As will you. I choose to accept because I am tired of fighting the emo. Will you be sending Justin Timberlake and some duct tape my way too? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease! “Never meaning no harm,” my lily white ass! There is strength in numbers. It’s the waiting that is the hardest part. What’s that Death Cab for Cutie lyric about being loved someday? Yes. That’s it. Nutella is my lover. Some people need to be disciplined. It’s one of those cryptic messages again for the people who break my commandments. Short skirts show off my fucking fabulous legs. I am not Proust. This is not remembrance of things past. I see you left a mark up and down the skin skin skin. Did I cross the line? They still practice corporal punishment in some parts of the Deep South, but there it is left to bad ass administrators like me. I like the retro feel of the paddle on someone’s ass. You naughty minx ~ on the table or the counter? Once I start I cannot stop myself. Whatever kinks your coil. Did you know I have ruby lips and sparks fly from my fingertips? That’s what I keep telling everybody! Comment love will always get you a return visit. Always avoid arguments and alliteration. We just “Keep on Keeping on” like Curtis Mayfield. I cannot rock the boat if I ever expect to be promoted. It’s sadly that simple. I dreamed I was Rick Dees once. Does that count? Obviously, it has not run its COURSE yet. I could be lesbian for one night with Shirley Manson. I know things will work out in the bitter end. I do many things well ~ none of which generate income. I would let Rob Thomas push me down and take me for granted if he wanted. My angst brings all the people to my blog. I see colors in (and silence the voices with) music. There … there … I don’t use jelly. Comment moderation disturbs me greatly. You do sell sanctuary. The corporate ladder might be easier than the school district bureaucracy. I want to be sedated sometimes. I could lick Jameson off another great Irish bad boy … Colin Farrell. Devil Wears Purple is being replaced by “Not a Touchy Feely Bitch” (I think that shall be her name, according to preliminary results.) Music helps to soothe the voices in my head that chide: “Kill them all! Kill them all right now!” My plan is to terrorize the internet one wannabe at a time. Who said all the geniuses were at the Apple Store? I make myself laugh too. Is that conceited? Because if it is, fuck it! Well, I fucking hope so because it is exhausting being this fucking fabulous all of the time. Now that’s the kind of ass-kissing I love. I’d much rather here congratulations when I am promoted. Think nothing of it. You will always hold a special place in my heart because you recognized my excellence first a long time ago.

Which comment(s) did you enjoy reading the most?  If your pick matches my personal psycho hose beast stream of consciousness favorite, I will send you and the person the comment was directed at something fucking fabulous (if you are willing to give me your mailing address because we all know that I am really an internet troll).