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the many many bastards in my life: or, Sosa you Bitch!

2004-07-12 - 4:45 p.m.

If your name is Sosa Socks or Soda or Sona or whatever, you MUST MUST MUST stop giving out my cell phone number as your number. You haven't had this phone number for two years. I don't care that you can't pay your bills and you think it's absolutely adorable to have collection agencies call me. ENOUGH ALREADY, BITCH!! I'm sick and tired of explaining to creditors and your skanky sleazy friends/ex-boyfriends/johns that this is now my number, mine by right of payment and by virtue of the fact that it hasn't been yours in, again, two years. TWO YEARS, SOSA! Give up the ghost, sweetie, because eventually people are going to stop falling for it. Plus, if I ever meet you, I shall be wracked with indecision concerning how to best beat you into a bloody, moaning, crying pulp. Rest assured, it shall involved removing both fingers and tongue so that you may no longer give out my number (MY number!) as your own. Sosa, you best start running, because what those collection agencies will do is nothing compared to my wrath. The fun has gone out of answering calls from collection agencies AT WORK.

The worms arrived on Saturday, and sat in the post office all weekend long. R picked them up today, and lo and behold, they were almost all dead. This is $20 worth of worms, people, dead. Abundant Earth shall receive a nasty phone call.

I'm in a grumpy mood, all PMS-y and sick of people screwing me every which way. Bastards!!!


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