Google search that led some sad person to this page: Mimi has big tits.
No. She doesn't.
Although I did get a brief chance to feel on the large side this morning, as I was walking up the subway stairs right behind one of Those Girls. You know, with the hair? And the fingernails? And the Ass Pants? So her ass is pretty much right in front of me, all snug in the stretchy Ass-Pant fabric, and this ass is tiny. I've seen baked goods bigger than her ass. Her ass is pathetically small and wan, like an orphan selling matches in the snow. WHERE? IS? YOUR? ASS? I wanted to cry aloud to the heavens, shaking my fists. Weeping and rending my garment. Because I have a fairly tenuous grip on reality this morning, I came real close to saying something. Damn. I am not a large person but even I have more booty than that.
I think that whole paragraph was an excuse to type “ass” a bunch of times.
I want to go here. I am ever so interested in old-timey “treatments” for mental illness. Oh! As long as we're roadtripping (warning: although I behave myself very well in the car, I do have to pee about once an hour, so be prepared), LET'S ALL GO TO SPONGEORAMA! And the Confederama! Only they're not calling it the Confederama anymore, it seems, which if you ask me is a low-down dirty shame. Why would you ever subtract an “-arama” or “-orama” suffix? I certainly never would. In fact, since I am thoroughly sick of the media tacking “-gate” on the end of every scandal (Watergate was the name of a BUILDING. “GATE” is not a synonym for intrigue), I propose that we call the current mess “Enronorama.” Who's with me?
Here's a page about all the weird shit that can happen in the sky. Click on “Kentucky Meat Shower” and prepare to feel squinky and gross inside.
“Kentucky Meat Shower” sounds like some twisted thing you could ask for at a gay bordello.
This morning alone I have read so much stuff about neurological diseases that I can feel my nerve endings shredding. I feel fragile but curled, like an old sheet of paper that won't lay flat. I am suffering from all of the above. (Except for Gallophobia. I don't fear the French, I just laugh at them.) However, the neurology thing was the last editorial review I have to perform for….well, for two weeks. Publishing. It Never Freaking Ends. (The official motto for the industry.)
Business software for the soft of brain. Even if you ride the short bus, you can still play store with the big kids. It reminds me of some “awards” I came very close to buying at Walgreen's the other day: ribbons with accomplishments on them like “I CAN DRESS MYSELF!” and “#1 TOOTHBRUSHER!” I wanted to give them out to my employees, have a little award ceremony and everything.
—mimi smartypants: with her bright silver frown, she owns the town.