http://www.courthousenews.com/2009/01/14/Woman_Says_Anti-Abortion_Nurse_Removed_IUD_Without_Permission_Then_Lectured_Her.htm

WHAT THE FUCK

"Everyone in the office always laughs and tells me I pull these out on purpose because I am against them, but it's not true, they accidentally come out when I tug."

Call me crazy, but if I saw a string chilling out in some lady's cervix, I would not pull on that shit. Strings do not randomly appear in cervixes. It's probably there for a reason. "Hey," I would say, "you have a goddamn string up your vagina. What's it doing there? Oh, it's an IUD? I'll just not touch that, then." I would especially not keep pulling on them if I knew that they come out when you do that. Was this bitch expecting a bunch of scarves to come out?

This place is right down the road from my house. I don't feel comfortable knowing that news making stupidity of this caliber is situated so close to me.

I feel like something a dog threw up, which is appropriate, considering my activities for the morning. I basically got up at 7:30, hopped on the Gastrointestinal Distress Express to Upchuck Junction, and curled up in bed until ten, when I woke up and decided to drag my ass to class because I apparently hate myself. I'm blaming it all on my period, which is what I normally do in these situations.

I take heart though, because Jon Stewart is always good for what ails ya:

"She'll feel extra fab prancing around in these Hot 2 Trot wedges by Mia."

Seriously?

And to think of how I used to complain about having to wear these horrifying pink and white-striped overalls that my mom absolutely loved. You know, when I wanted to feel "fab" in grade school, I wore the sparkly scrunchy in my hair. It meant I could still play kickball and tag and didn't run the rick of breaking my ankle during recess or on my way to the bathroom.

Seriously? Two and a half inch heels? "Hot 2 Trot?" "Prancing around?" In grade school? Seriously?

Hark, friendslist! Do you smell that? That faint odor of food in the beginning stages of putrification? Crane your necks up, and I'm sure you can smell it. You smell it, don't you? The smell of garbage?

My bad. That's coming from my residence hall.

( Onward! )

http://www2.timesreview.com/NR/stories/T081808_nasta_den


He was not just a "popular" art teacher. He was a man who went above and beyond what it is to be a teacher; he genuinely cared about his students and drove them to succeed and better themselves. He attended all of the high school's drama productions, and even assisted with set building and design. He stayed after school with the students who wanted to continue life-drawing, and had sessions with them. He was the only teacher who I remained in contact with after graduating. I had known him since tenth grade.

He ate lunch with us in the art room. He let me sneak into his class during study hall. He got pizza when he and his students set up for the art show. He helped me during one of the most difficult portions of my life. He introduced myself and my friends to House, citing it as the "most unintentionally funny show ever." He loved The Soup. He illustrated books. He worked on Ren and Stimpy. He had a sense of humor about absolutely everything. He was a teacher in the truest and most unadulterated sense of the word, and as of Sunday, August 17th, I am more hollow on the inside. Vincent Nasta was what I can only aspire to be.

Rest in peace, sir.

Let's talk clementines, friends. Are you scared of them? You should be.

I used to like clementines once. They were like oranges, without the commitment. Oranges presented you with the task of peeling a softball-sized behemoth and wondering how you were going to consume that much fruit in one sitting, to say nothing of you inevitably getting it all over yourself. But clementines? Those are friendly. So I asked my dear mother to pick some up. When she came home with the bag, I could have clicked my heels! "Oh boy!" I exclaimed as I sauntered into the kitchen, my cheeks aglow with girlish delight. "Clementines! My day is complete!"

And then I saw the bag.

I have heard people say that when you look into the abyss, the abyss looks back at you, and you take away a small piece of the other. If that is the case, then I would like someone to come to my house and kill me, because I cannot bear to live as a quartered women, housing this monster inside of my soul like a squalling demon baby.

( If there are any pregnant women or small children in your vicinity, please ask them to leave the room before clicking this link. )

LOL

(SHUT UP I KNOW SOME OF YOU HAVEN'T BEEN EXPOSED YET)

WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?

WHY WOULD YOU EVER DO THIS?

WHY DO THEY HAVE HANDBAGS?

THEY DON'T

HAVE

HANDS.