One super fat bottomed girl.

THE KING HAS DIED.

I know that it’s fucking cliché to be blogging about Michael Jackson’s death but goddamnit, it’s such a shocker. :( The world is mourning for the passing of the King of Pop and I’m right there, grieving along with everybody else. (Except June, who called MJ a freak so I’m going to punch her in the tooth. -_-)

And I know that it’s even more of a fucking cliché to be mention how his music made a difference in my life, but it definitely did. I grew up listening to this dude eh, my childhood is filled with memories of Mum singing along to him and Dad carrying me on his shoulders, dancing to Beat It. Yeh, everybody dies and so would he, but not now and not like this.

Goodnight and goodbye, Michael, you’ll be sorely missed. Nobody ever got close to you. Nobody has and nobody ever will.

Beware the evil Burrito Man.

(Reblogged from Nongnongdongfongbong)

Too funny, in a slap-my-forehead-in-exasperation kinda way.

Holy Ass.

Not more than five minutes ago, I walked out into the living room and spied my mum dancing in front of the television in a short shirt and her little holey thong-like underwear. She was holding a packet of crisps in one hand, and was humming ABBA’s Honey Honey with her eyes closed.

I saw half her ass. That image is forever seared into my memory.

Jesus Christ, please hear my fervent prayer and never ever put me through that again. Amen.