kokopellinelli: (Dean WTF Face)

There are no words.

Text under cut, for the link-phobic )

These people are RUINING their child. Hell, probably have already ruined her beyond repair. I don't feel sorry for them, because they've done it to themselves. But I feel sorry for their daughters. Both of them.


Also, designer pacifiers? REALLY? They're just gonna get covered in baby spit! What the hell's the point??
kokopellinelli: (Fat Ass)
Ricky Gervais and Elmo
I'm not entirely sure what's going on in this video, but I love Ricky Gervais and, after this video, I think I might be on my way to loving Elmo as well.

And this one, I stole from [livejournal.com profile] chowyunsmut on my flist:
Mow the Lawn
You'll have to click the link for this one. Probably not so safe for work...
Never feel untidy...just spruce up your Aphrodite!

kokopellinelli: (What You Say?)
What the FUCK?

Grandparents Ordered Hit on Family )

I just can't think of words to use. For a couple to decide, together, that they could hire someone to kill their daughter-in-law and GRANDCHILDREN (not to mention the dog) because their son is a fucked-up sicko who likes to rape children...it's just indescribable.
kokopellinelli: (Default)

Dutch Pedophiles Go Political )

I just...buh.
kokopellinelli: (Default)
So, I went downstairs with the dog a while ago so she could wee, and decided to pop into the basement to grab a couple rolls of TP. I noticed an envelope stuck into the crease in the door. That happens sometimes...occasionally, people think we live in the basement or something, despite the simple fact that if they LOOKED TO THEIR LEFT, they would be able to see the bottom of our staircase. The one that leads to our DOOR, and not our BASEMENT.

The letter says that they need one of us to take a survey, and they have to keep coming back and coming back till they've made contact with us. Enclosed is a business card, and we have to call the number on the card and tell them when someone is available to be interviewed. Why the hell they can't do it over the phone, I don't know. The name on the card is a woman my mom knows (and of whom she holds a low opinion, apparently).

Anyway, being a good little citizen, I tried to call the number. A woman answered, sounding drunk off her ASS.

Drunk or Stoned: Hullooooooooooooo? *sounded also like I'd awakened her or something*

Me: ...Hi. Is this Survey Lady's office?

DoS: Nooooooooooooooooo?

Me: O_o Okay. Thanks. Must have the wrong number. Thanks!

DoS: *mumblemoo*

Me: *hangs up* Okay, that lady was drunk or stoned or had paste in her mouth or something.

Mom: Knowing Survey Lady, probably all three. Yeah, see? 4 in the afternoon. Definitely drunk, at least.

We look up the number in the phone book, and see that while it's not Survey Lady's office, it is her HOME number. Wouldn't you think that DoS would have informed me of that? Or am I being naive?

Anyway, I called the number again and this time just asked to speak to Survey Lady.

DoS: She ain't here right now.

Me: Do you know when she'll be back?

DoS: mumbleLittlewhilemumble.

Me: ...Okay. Thanks. *hangs up* WHY THE FUCK TO PEOPLE HAVE TO BE WEIRD? If you want me to CALL you, STOP BEING FUCKING WEIRD.

Mom: *proceeds to tell me a long involved story about how Survey Lady's father was someone respectable, and Survey Lady herself used to be a beautiful girl, and then her mother ran off with some guy and broke up his marriage, and his wife talked about that little whore breaking up a marriage and then SHE went and had an affair with some OTHER guy and broke up HIS marriage...then that circled back to Survey Lady and how she's now an anorexic with bad teeth and many children and "if any of them are old enough, they're sure to be fucking. Sorry dear."*

Me: What the hell is wrong with the people in this town?

October 2011

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