I just realized that the previous post, written in haste while my son chanted, "Shut down your computer…shut down your computer…." so that he and I could watch a movie, may have led some to concur that The Queen Dianne is living at the Greenleaf Estate. Not so. I can barely get people to come in and sit down in that little house, let alone consider it an actual living space for human habitation…for some reason it is viewed as one shitting ruminant short of being a barn. Speaking of which, the other fallacy I may have unwittingly promoted was that Dianne was peeing on my carpets. Again, no. There were puppies present.
Fact Cheques
31 Thursday Dec 2009
Posted in Uncategorized
EyeHerdEwe 
I think you’re bleak efforts for covering up Dianne’s weak bladder is comical… You weren’t at the restaurant on Saturday. I waited until I couldn’t wait anymore, I almost shed a single tear onto thefreshky c
vaccuked carpet at my feet when I finally realized you weren’t comming, but that was too much effort for my only remaining emotion to handle. I’m starting the process of writing a book, titled “Memoires of Gay-shhhhhhhh” I may need some proof reading if you’re free from your Tuesday night book club or Wednesday night strip poker.
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It’s not a WEAK bladder, its a DOMINANT bladder and, frankly, I’m afraid of what it could do should I challenge her/it. You should take that under advisement.
Save your tears for tuesday, campa. That is when we celebrate The Day of Derek, at, as I’ve said, the establishment of your chosing, with bottomless soft drink, just like you like your men.
Tuesday. Bricks. 29. Love you like the son I’ve had but who won’t let me dress him.
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