HNT - READY FOR THE RAG BIN

Just getting over pneumonia - see the post below.

::smooches::

Mara

STUPID FUCKING STONER

Ok, so let me set the scene for you. I was hosting karaoke last Saturday night. Before we really get into this story let me tell you that I was sick - WITH PNEUMONIA (didn't know it yet), trying to make that extra buck on the weekend to get Tango something nice for Valentine's Day (looks like he's getting a plumber to fix our pipe that busted today - Happy VD Day Tango pffft).... anyway,

I was hosting karaoke last Saturday night, sick as hell and feeling like a limp wart hog wiener. I really wasn't in the mood to take any shit from anyone. I was SOOOO surprised when my REALLY GOOD FRIEND brought along a whole horde of commrades to help pass the night. Though I was feeling like toast I was looking hawt.... oooh yeah... little preview below...................










<< Yeah, you know it, that's me singing 'I'm The Only One' by Melissa Ethridge...
So, we're just passing the time. I'm sliding through the songs - loaded on friggin Tylenol Severe Head Cold and fuggin Dristan. Yep, doesn't get much worse than that. When another a little hawtie comes up to my friend and is having like bonafied hysterics!! WTF! So, my friend's entire table up and leaves... we're talking damn near 10 people here my friends.

Anyway, come to find out some little wrinkle weinered, shit-for-brains, dreadlocked-dog-turd decided that he was going start something. He looks something like this.....



















Now, let me explain.... I DO NOT LIKE THIS YOUNG MAN. Oh yes.... you heard me say it. I don't usually flaunt my age, but there comes a time when kids are just punk ass kids and adults are adults. Admittedly, I have a WIDE AND VARIED range of friends... and said friend that happened to show up that night is only just beginning to see the light of 20, HOWEVER... there are some that mature faster than others. The dreadlocked-dog-turd is not one of them. AS WELL, I might point out, this little punk knows me (in a round about way) and knows that I work karaoke every weekend. HOW DARE HE BRING THIS SHIT TO MY PLACE OF WORK!..................and steal my spotlight

So, I've decided that it's time to separate the men/women from the boys. You want to play with the growups... you'll pay like a grownup. It's not a threat, it's a promise. If he EVER comes into my place of work again and starts something I'll call all Daddy's friends down at the police station and turn his pock-marked, chicken ass in for dealing drugs. If he's so goddamn high he can't stop himself from causing a scene (a scene that was totally fabricated just to gain attention, mind you) then I think he needs several years to rethink his position in life... or at least rethink fuggin around with Mara on karaoke night!

Ok, some people think it's cheesy, some people think it's great... hell some of you are thinking... Yo, Mara, lighten up. But even though this is just a part time gig..... think of how you would feel if someone you knew started that kind of crap in a place that you are supposed to have control of.

Anyway, my friend handled it wonderfully... getting it out of the bar, actually taking it OUTSIDE for that matter. Thanks Kris... you're the best...



Oh yeah, and this is Kris...










LOL... isn't he nifty!

::smooches::
Mara

FIRST HNT IN A LOOOONG ASS TIME

Nothin like hitch hiking with your feet.

::smooches::

Mara

Confessions of a BART Fartist -

If V is for Vendetta, F is for Fartist. The first part of the word is “fart” for the act of firing bacteria created air and poo particles at an incredible speed. Everyone one does it, and it has been proven that farts bring joy, yet they are taboo in public. The second part of the word is “artist” because that is what I am. Much like Picasso wielded a paint and easel, I have the ability to practically fart on command and have perfected the ventriloquist and ricochet methods which allow me to strike with devastating accuracy from cover much like a highly trained sniper.

My main hunting grounds are the mean streets of BART, which I am forced to endure twice a day for half an hour at a time. Many people from other places tell me that BART is great or some similar shit, but anyone who rides it daily like me knows that it sucks. To pay $10 a day for the right to park and ride to and from work is excruciating, especially on the way home when I think about paying to stand on a packed train with a bunch of self absorbed aholes. But I must give BART some credit, for they launched my career as the most lethal vigilante in history. Here is a list of some of the victims and the methods with which they were punished:

Mr. Read the newspaper to his wife on speaker phone guy: You are on the top of the list for one reason and one reason only; you are without a doubt the biggest asshole in history. Who sits there and yells on speaker phone and reads stories about an axe murderer to his wife during rush hour (in the elderly and handicapped seat no less)? You do. I fought for almost two minutes, desperately pumping the volume up button on my iPod trying to block out your transgressions. My career as a fartist started then, my ignorant self absorbed friend, and you were treated to turkey chili con queso. Oooooh it was hot and wet when I crop dusted you, how did it smell? Call your wife and tell her about it.

Ms. Lower her shoulder and cram her way on to a way too packed train lady: I could not believe you were actually going to try to cram your way on to our way too packed train, but you sealed the deal when you lowered your shoulder and repeatedly rammed your way into the crowded mass of frustrated passengers. It took me a stop or two, but slowly I was able to back my tight buttocks right up to within 2 feet of your short ugly face. I used the silencer once again but you bathed in it. When you cried, “Oh god, who farted?” I was crying I was laughing so hard.

Two teenage girls talking about sex and two teenage guys talking about taking drugs and driving: You have no idea how stupid you sound talking about subjects like that on a silent BART train during the afternoon commute. I saw one lady actually get up and move away because your conversation was so inane and ignorant. Bonus points for the one girl saying she prefers wine and salmon to a beer and burger now, I can’t tell you how impressed we all were with you. The woman behind you who rolled her eyes and slumped in her seat wanted more of your tips on living the high life for sure. And guys, I’m not sure what drug exactly you were talking about taking and then driving on the freeway but I just hope you don’t take anyone with you when you earn your Darwin Awards. I approached smiling, appearing to be heading for the exit, utterly forgettable in my everyday Dockers with polar fleece pullover. You were all sitting together in the “quad” chairs that face each other and no one else was around you for obvious reasons. The ambient noise from the tunnel meant I was able to really make you shiver when I delivered, I am actually shocked that a burnt hole wasn’t left in the back of my pants. It was one of my fall specials, a preseason pumpkin fart that smells for five minutes. By the time you realized what was happening I was doubled over laughing on the escalator in the station, I hope my gas taught you something valuable. Silence is golden.

Next time, more victims and a discussion over which came first – the need to fart or the elevator.

I laughed so hard I though I was gonna pee my pants when I read this... Tango must know this man... hell... if I didn't know any better I would say this WAS Tango!

::smooches::

Mara

IT IS MY BIRTHDAY TODAY

that is all....

::smooches::

Mara