The non-sequitur post from hell.
The emails I’ve received for the wrong KatieGirl@gmail.com are worth reporting:
UPDATE: Received today 11/14 “I can’t poo any longer i thought my butt was stronger! but I need your help to tacke this deamen out! Juust stick your hand up there and move it everywhere until u u puulll it. Ouuuuttttt ooooo ya ya yaaaa!!!!!!!!!”
I bought software from StreamingFlix.com under the name Katherine. For the record, it’s Katie Louie Schwartz, mothah fuckah.
I received this religimail from Jonah â€œHi Katie how are doing do you have Ewan yet i do i am on discovery 2:6 verses, john 1:1 Ecclesiastes 7:20, acts 4:12, psalm 86:11,then i will be on discovery 3:1. I don’t mean to be stickler, but shouldn’t John be capitalized? Who is Ewan?
Xoung sent me a gazillion fucking images that his father, the graphic designer created. Oh, and this is so neat, about 30 additional images of watermelons and eggs. Good stuff.
Jalen, a teenager, or tweenager, keeps sending pictures of himself to me, standing in a uniform behind the American flag. In each of his emails, he assures me that he’ll be coming for a visit in 31 days. Though I’ve emailed him repeatedly to tell him that I’m the anti-Christ, I mean, the wrong Katie, he forges on with his correspondence. I admire his commitment.
Kimkubugirl signed me up for GamesGames.com. So excited, definitely a screen name I would’ve chosen for myself, right?
Katherine is looking for jobs in the government sector and generously signed me up, what a honey. I think my writing skills will get mad play working for the FEDs or the CIA. The only thing I worry about is that my reports would be too loquacious. I guess I should wait and see what kind of govy gigs I’m offered first. Though, seeing my resume would be helpful. Too bad she didn’t post that. Oh well.
Penelope created the sweetest Waverly Place Postcard for me. My screen name is, “Urapooop”, at the Disney Channel, also known as Duckow
Someone graciously signed me up for IKnowThat.com, “The Internets most innovative children’s learning website”. Seems like a fit, right?
While Blair was testing his emails, he included me in his â€œtestâ€ list, which also included a newsletter of his updates. I think it’s great that he’s made progress in trying to stop chewing his toenails and peeling the skin off of the bottom of his feet. I said as much, but I never heard back.
This is by far my favorite: You are receiving this e-mail because you are a Christian (What gave it away for you, the nickname Jew Girl, the original blog â€œAll The Way From Oy To Veyâ€, or the fact that I have I’m a Jew plastered all over my fucking blog?), and you might be interested in being kept up to date on relevant, progressive Christian news and media (To be clear, zealotry is the antithesis of progressive. The two are not synonymous. You can thank me later.). As a member you will also benefit from regular email delivery of FREE invitations and coupons for national and local events, and concert tickets (To tent revivals? Will there be snakes? I’m totally down for the serpent gig.). You will also receive free money saving printable coupons directly to your inbox for popular Christian ran businesses (Thank you. In this economy, coupons are a girl’s best friend. What about non-Christian businesses that are going under faster than you can say Psalm, do we get coupons for those, too?).
I should’ve listened to Cormac… What was I thinking creating the email addy I did?!
Recently, it occurred to me that people standing alongside American Flags are, of course considered patriotic, but more than that, they are associated with being republicans. Whereas liberals who are seen with the American Flag as it is; or as a form of flag art are considered unpatriotic. Weird. This bugs the shit out of me. Whether I’ve wrapped my Jew x 4, buck naked ass in a flag, or something else, why does public perception deem me as less patriotic?
Why does it seem like Born Again Christians (not Christians), have the highest rate of children that skew retardedish? Having read more Born Again blogs, like hundreds, I’ve noticed that each always depicts an over abundance of discerning subtext that to me, reads like, If only I coulda, shoulda, woulda thrown myself down a flight of stairs when I was knocked up. Of course this is hidden under the gushy gushiness about their, not one, not two, at least three blessings (out of 5-10 loin fruit) that drive them mad. But, but, but, they love them oh, sooo much, despite the fact that they each have a panoply of disorders like, MR/ID, Down Syndrome, ADD, ADHD, Turrets, Tic disorders, Elimination Disorders (yes, shitting), Anxiety and mood disorders, and that’s just the tip of that retardoberg. Forgive me for being so retardarific and not realizing how rewarding a twitching, clucking, catch-me-if-you-can, shitting machine can be.
It’s no secret that I love midget jokes, fat jokes (hey, I’m a Jew x 4 and have been for the past 3-4 years now, I can make fat jokes), Jewish jokes (again, heebarella here), ethnic jokes, retarded jokes, religious jokes; pretty much everyone is fair game, myself included. In fact, I am the brunt of 90% of my jokes.
All of that being said; midgets hold a special place in my heart for a myriad of reasons. Namely, midgets are bad ass.
Iâ€™ll never forget when I did stand-up at my first Gay Pride event, I saw a black, gay midget (word). He inspired the hell out of me. Talk about overcoming obstacles, he epitomized just that, and with great style, humor and intelligence loved him. I killed that night, and decided that perhaps midget sightings might be good luck for me.
Over time, whenever something major of concern was happening to me, if I saw a midget, everything worked out. To this day that holds true. If I need to see a doctor for a big test or I’m at the hospital for a medi-crisis, or waiting on test results, I ask my dead dog for a sign that everything will be okay. If I see a midget, a cripple, or someone with an oddly dangling, misshapen, or missing appendage, that’s my sign that everything will be okay. Oh, sorry, I forgot to mention those other things. Oops. Again, I’m enamored with their perseverance. If the roles were reversed, I’m too much of a pussy, I’d shoot myself. Louie Jew knew me well, maybe better than anyone, so he knows what I need to see to know that I will be okay. And, yes, I ask him for a sign, always. When the guy delivered his ashes to me, I knew he was sent by Louie, he had a short misshapen arm.
The last time I was in the hospital, I was so terrified, too many unexplained things were happening in my body I didn’t know if I’d be walking out. Please, who the fuck walks into a hospital these days thinking they’ll walk out, outside of a body bag and with minimal collateral damage anyway?!
During my last hospistravaganza, about two-hours into sitting in the waiting room, in what felt more like a psych ward, though it was a pleasant disposition Jewish hospital, a beautiful midget strolled by without a leg in a wheelchair. I smiled and said to my ma and my sister, I’m going to be okay, lookâ€, darting my eyes at the dame in the chair and saying, It’s a sign from The Kid.
You can imagine my heartbreak when I learned that retard and midget were politically incorrect words.
Kerri sat me down and explained that she had bad news. Oy vey, was I ready for a shit storm of epic proportions. Retard is socially unacceptable; it’s politically incorrect to call someone retarded, especially retarded people, she said.
I asked, What about crippled retards, they’re exempt, right? Throw me a bone, Ker.”
Flippantly, Kerri asked, How frequently do you run into crippled retards?
Funny she should mention that. Recently, I had run into a crippled retard or just a crippled prick. I was walking by, as he was rolling by, and he grabbed my shirt and called me Fat
I turned around and said, Stop rolling, criptard. Don’t you fuckin call me fat. At least I can lose weight and walk. What can you do?!
His response was so flawless, I can roll around and call people names and they can’t do shit to me cause I’m confined to a wheelchair.
Wheelchair or not, you’re an asshole. I said.
In my opinion, what he said was so tragically beautiful, â€œI know, but nobody sees me.
That made me think.
We sat at a coffee shop for an hour, laughing our asses off. I even showed him my jacked Lady Balls.
Masturbation yeah, not really working out for me these days. Not sure if it’s thyroid related or what. If I’m lucky enough to come up with a fantasy, I have to Blackberry it in or I’ll forget what I wanted to spin my yarn about in the hope of achieving, even a sordagasm. Even then it’s impossible. I lose focus and forget what I was fantasizing about. I miss those days of getting in and out of my box in under 10 minutes.
I think I’m done venting now… Don’t hate me.