tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77701215388412176132024-03-05T13:07:37.641-08:00All Hams on Deck!Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-7197952469097290062011-08-14T01:15:00.000-07:002011-08-14T01:15:07.383-07:00Don't Hate the Player, Hate Me <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.boardgamescritic.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/board_games.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.boardgamescritic.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/board_games.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What if you love the game, does it mean that you have to love the player too? Board games just got a new level of sexual tension</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">All the world's a stage, and we are only players, or playa' haters. I am fortunate to be in the players category (just look at my wardrobe and you will see that I am not joking). I am a fly girl and I need me some fly guys to keep step with this bitch. In this scenario, I am what I am referring to as “this bitch.” I think of myself in a flattering light, clearly. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Why am I bring this up? Am I bragging about my playin'? Don't worry, I'm not. It ain't braggin' if it's the truth. Also, I wanted to clear up some unsavory rumors about myself that I am some kind of slut lady. Whore rumors never taste good to anyone. Sorry, I meant whore bloomers.</div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-83311598025261117312011-08-12T23:38:00.000-07:002011-08-12T23:38:16.665-07:00Looking for Gloves in All the Wrong Places, Looking for Gloves (Repeat 20 times)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://coastalscrubs.com/images/Long%20White%20Gloves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://coastalscrubs.com/images/Long%20White%20Gloves.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An actor representation of what I look like in church.</td></tr>
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<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I lost my favorite proper white church gloves. The same gloves that I use to handle my raw chicken. If the gloves are white, you can see the diseases on them. I heard that from a doctor. A Witch doctor, so you can trust that. Since I been using those gloves, I have only gotten the chicken sickness 10 times. Pretty good for a period of 2 months! </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> When I went to take the chicken out of the oven, the white gloves got stuck in the oven wormhole. I have lost many things in that wormhole, especially worms. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> felt so attached to those gloves and now I will have to search for a new pair. I hope that there is a reality show I can go on where I will find the perfect white gloves for me. Maybe the show's title will be: Looking for Gloves: Whites Only. </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-82826565652429573232011-08-11T23:57:00.000-07:002011-08-11T23:57:39.471-07:00Running Out of Steam<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://streetsy.typepad.com/.a/6a00d83451e6f169e20133f220195e970b-pi" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="http://streetsy.typepad.com/.a/6a00d83451e6f169e20133f220195e970b-pi" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting to Jesus is just like this. But with a lot more dump trucks. </td></tr>
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<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">My car ran out of fuel on the freeway today. But I learned something very important today; the world seems to define “car” very differently from me. But it's okay! I wish people could just learn to accept to others for who they are. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> It turns out that some people define my car as a small child's rocket. You may have been worried about me being on the freeway in a small child's rocket. I really do appreciate your concern. It's good to know that someone out there cares about me besides Jorge. Because Jorge seems to be distant lately. He keeps talking about how he will have to leave the U.S.A. very soon in order to avoid “execution.” I think he means extradition! He did commit a lot of crimes against humanity in his homeland! Memories... </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Anywho, there is no need to be concerned about me on the freeway because I was on what I define as a freeway, not how the world defines it. So, my freeway is the road to Jesus Christ. Why do I define freeway in this matter? Because a lot of people are trying to get to Jesus Christ, some are speeding, some are going too slow, and some are getting in fatal car accidents but we will all get to him someday. Unless we get in a fatal car accident. So don't die in a car accident on the freeway. You will never get to Jesus. </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-51252540951508332312011-08-10T23:29:00.000-07:002011-08-10T23:29:50.265-07:00First World Problems<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.lakeshoreglazing.com/img/bathtub_refinishing-after.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.lakeshoreglazing.com/img/bathtub_refinishing-after.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Makes a nice bubble bath and a mean spaghetti. </td></tr>
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<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I read something about Gwyneth Paltrow saying that one of the items that she can't live without is a bathtub in her bedroom. People are saying that this is somehow ridiculous for a young lady as Mistress Paltrow to saw that a bathtub in a bedroom is a necessity. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Well, I must stand up for her and as a fellow rich person, I can be in agreeability with her. I need the bathtub in my bedroom. I could not live without it. I could also not live without the fridge and sink. Well, technically the sink and bathtub (and stove for that matter) are all the same thing. Yay for studio apartments! </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-2708372243152679602011-08-10T00:29:00.000-07:002011-08-10T00:29:00.507-07:00Party Boots<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.labsafety.com/images/xl/Timberland-PRO-6H-Wheat-LSS-_i_BMM109757S.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://www.labsafety.com/images/xl/Timberland-PRO-6H-Wheat-LSS-_i_BMM109757S.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This should be an advertising campaign. Steel-toed boots: Keep the party going, all night long.</td></tr>
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<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I needed to buy some steel-toed boots recently. I was going to a rough part of town where there were many places that had some glass and tacks and push-pins on the ground. Like there was a quilting convention nearby that left a dirty mess in its wake and I needed to go downtown and see the disaster that had resulted from the quilting frenzy. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> When I bought the boots, they were surprisingly expensive. Like more than you would think, which is what I mean by surprising. Something that is surprising is something that is not what you would have expected. Therefore this adjective applies to the price of these boots. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> I went to a party in these boots after I went to see the quilting disaster. The party was good expect that it took place at a jewelry store at 2 in the afternoon on a Wednesday. I didn't know anyone at the party. There were two nervous looking young men who kept looking at engagement rings. Also, there was an elderly man with his young blond daughter, who was wearing a red bra-style shirt. They clearly had a strained relationship because he kept asking her what she was going to do for him if he bought her jewelry. Come On! This is a party. You are killing the atmosphere! Be in a party mood like me, with steel-toed boots. </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-70935604254442929182011-08-08T23:09:00.000-07:002011-08-08T23:09:31.048-07:00An Excursion Excursion<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://ecdn1.hark.com/images/000/001/788/1788/original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://ecdn1.hark.com/images/000/001/788/1788/original.jpg" width="233" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best way to win something? Just take it! </td></tr>
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<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I got a Ford Excursion yesterday. Why, you are probably not asking? It was sitting in front of an ATM with the keys in the ignition and I though,t as any local woman says to herself in this situation, “Price is Right this bitch and come on down and get yourself a free car!” So, with my best Bob Barker impression I announced to everyone that the Price was Right and I skipped over to the car and rode away into the sunrise. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">My eyes hurt for a little while because the sun was looking right into my eyes. I have to stop letting the sun trick me like that. That's how it gave me that weird mole. It ate all of my turnips but none of my rats. Sun Lee, my Korean landlord that sold me the weird mole for $459, you tricked me good! But I will never be tricked again. Unless it is by Criss Angel and the trick is that I get to lick the insoles of his feet. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Back to the Excursion. I needed to pick up my dry-cleaning before the store closed at 5. When all these cops kept trying to pull me over (don't they know that stop lights are not rules but only GUIDELINES. Please get a brain), I just ignored them and drove my great new car. After about 3 hours (my dry-cleaners are in Grand Rapids, a full day's drive! Glad I have a comfortable car now!), they shot out my tires. I am in jail now. But yay! Free wifi! </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-79595754363625008252011-08-07T23:56:00.000-07:002011-08-07T23:56:36.093-07:00What Came First: the Cheese or the Cheeseburger?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://blogs.ocweekly.com/stickaforkinit/mcrib.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="http://blogs.ocweekly.com/stickaforkinit/mcrib.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MeatBurger, kind of. If you consider ground up horse hooves meat. </td></tr>
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<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">The eternal question. Truly. But whatever, no reason to ponder a question that no one can answer. So instead I will think about cheeseburgers instead. That's what I usually think about when I have a difficult question that I am thinking over. Like does God really exist? Or when does the McRib come back? But why bother? Cheeseburgers! </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I ordered a portobello mushroom burger but guess what? It wasn't even a meatburger. It was a vegetable made burger. Yuck city! Population: Portobello mushroom burgers and Shirley MacLaine. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I once before was disappointed with a non-meatburger. It turns out he was a she. Worst 2 dollars I ever spent. </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-82444091325319311552011-08-06T00:30:00.000-07:002011-08-06T00:30:13.018-07:00Romp On, Romp On (Sing this in Neil Young voice for full effect)<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.morrisseydolls.com/imgs/789-romper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.morrisseydolls.com/imgs/789-romper.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Romper: Stylin'</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">There is a trend in the world called rompers. They are not those big blow up things that children bounce in order to distract them while parents drink at their birthday parties. They are an item of clothing that is like a pantsuit that has the pants and shirt connected but it is short, so kind of like a shirt connected to shorts. Or a dress that does not have a skirt at the bottom but it is shorts instead. Makes more sense now doesn't it? </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> I bought one off of the Internet last week. I did not arrive until today though. The Internet is so slow. I mean, all the Internet is is a street performer, he should have more time to delivery clothing. But I guess those chalk drawings of snakes or velociraptors don't draw themselves. His toes draw them. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> I tried it on and it is a little bit tight in the crotch. But after I took the sock out it fit a little bit better. Unfortunately, my labia is very cold now. I think I will look very snazzy on the bus. Also, maybe I will finally be mistaken for a child and live my life long dream: ordering off the children's menu at Denny's.</div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-83934910935724423932011-08-05T00:15:00.000-07:002011-08-05T00:15:07.063-07:00Who Knew Ice Cubes were so complicated?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://hiphopwired.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/icecube3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://hiphopwired.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/icecube3.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vodka on the Rocks Recipe: Add Vodka to Ice Cube(pictured above) </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I recently discovered that there is a rapper called Ice Cube. To solve any confusion that this may cause, I've developed an simple flow chart for you in case you are faced with the question, is this frozen water or is this a gangster rapper from the early 1990s? </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Are you cold?</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">→ No: This is neither Ice Cube nor an ice cube. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">→ Yes: Be more speific </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> → Are you an ice cold motherfucker? </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> → Yes.</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> → How do you define a good day? </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> → Sitting in a freezer, without threat of consumption in a coca-cola </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> → Congratulations: you are an ice cube. Delicious and Nutritious</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> → Well, it didn't have to use my AK, so I got to say it was a good day. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> → I'm sorry have to disturbed you Mr. Ice Cube, I will let you get back to picking up that girl you been tryin' to fuck since the twelfth grade.</div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-10095084204680324712011-08-03T20:15:00.000-07:002011-08-03T20:15:21.860-07:00Hidden Talons...oops I mean, Talents.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://activehealthcaresupplies.com/images/Walkers/Knee-Walker_65950-80-lg.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://activehealthcaresupplies.com/images/Walkers/Knee-Walker_65950-80-lg.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No thanks. I have talented legs. </td></tr>
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<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I've always wondered what my hidden talent is. But seeing as it is a hidden talent, I've had a hard time finding it. I've looked in many places, including one embarrassing incident where I looked in my neighbor's house. That one landed me in the big house! Good times. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> But one of my new year's resolutions this year, along with eating more fresh cantaloupe and getting back into televised professional fly-fishing, was to finally find that hidden talent. I thought for a minute while I was learning the clarinet when I was a little girl that that was my hidden talent but it turns out that it is not suppose to sound like a cat screaming. Who knew?!</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> I finally found my true hidden talent today. I found out that I am very good at walking! I was at an old folks' home today, visiting an old man that told me one day that I was his wife, Claire, and I discovered my ability. After I was done telling my husband stories about the zombies I encountered at the Battle of Stalingrad (He should know the truth. I am his wife after all!), I saw all of these lame old people hunched over walkers. Well guess what, 80-year olds, I got two walkers right here. They're called legs! Booyah! Schooled you, gramps. </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-19986842029512281742011-08-02T23:26:00.000-07:002011-08-02T23:26:44.914-07:00Before I Die<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.religionfacts.com/politics/hillary_clinton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.religionfacts.com/politics/hillary_clinton.jpg" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at this face. How can you not give? </td></tr>
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<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Do you ever question what will happen to you after you die? I know that few people think about it. I would say only about 10% of all people under the age of 30 really think about it at all. I mean, you really need to consider, will I be cremated or buried or eaten by rabid dogs? I would like a say in this matter if at all possible. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> That is why I decided that I need a last Will and Testament. But guess what? There is no guy named Will included. I thought geez, guys named Will and Testament never have to worry about being unemployed because so many people need them to prepare for their deaths. It turns out though that it is just a piece of paper prepared by the arbiters of life and death: Lawyers. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> When I went to the lawyer he asked me about my possessions. I thought that he was either trying to assess the value of my property before he stole it or he was just a rude person. Then he asked who I would give my property to if I died. I said probably Hillary Clinton or poor African people. Why do Hillary Clinton and poor African people need a collection of gently used B2K cds and pantsuits? Because they are the ones that are most in need at this time. </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-90347661724603250732011-08-01T23:58:00.000-07:002011-08-01T23:58:39.541-07:00Pillow Talk<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I bet you thought that this was going to be some kind of sexy post. Don't worry, it isn't! I bought a pillow today and I just wanted to tell you all of the gory details. The details are gory because I was watching Freddy vs. Jason for a full 50 minutes before I realized that I was at a movie theater that only showed movies that were released in 2003 and not at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pigeonsitter10.tripod.com/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/pigeon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://pigeonsitter10.tripod.com/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/pigeon.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You gave your life to me. I sort of appreciate it, kind of. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> So, this pillow is pretty good stuff. Like the stuffing is made of feathers. I asked the woman in the Bed, Bath, and Beyond what kind of feathers were in the pillow. She just asked me to please get off of the floor and if I wanted to try pillows, to please go to the bedding area. I guess she didn't want to admit that she didn't know. What an idiot. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Jorge believes that the feathers are made from a pigeon. He sniffed the pillow for about 2 hours and rubbed his head on it for about 20 minutes after that and then stopped because he said he felt dizzy and then he continued for about 10 minutes after that. He then proclaimed that it was made from “the right side of a dirty pigeon, most likely hatched in South Orange, New Jersey and caught by two young men with hearts full of malice and a lust for blood.” Thanks pigeon for giving your life for my pillow. I will avenge you. </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-70302667298252141352011-08-01T00:59:00.000-07:002011-08-01T00:59:13.744-07:00Good Food<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cdn-i.dmdentertainment.com/cracked/img/articles/art_chicksoup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://cdn-i.dmdentertainment.com/cracked/img/articles/art_chicksoup.jpg" width="190" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goes well with saltine crackers. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I called the president of my local elementary school board last night to complain about the school lunches. I don't think that they are nutritious or delicious. Most importantly, delicious. Because what really matters in life? Food that tastes good or food that is good for you? Answer: Neither! It is food that is good for your soul. Or for soldiers. Whatever, all I know is that one time I ate a book that said Chicken Soul for the Soul. I have never had such well-formed bowel movements in my life. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-64374685500150892122011-07-31T02:19:00.000-07:002011-07-31T02:19:55.951-07:00Yeah! Cameras!A question for the ages. How do you get a picture of a camera? I am confused and I am smart. Whose solved a crossword puzzle? This guy! I'm pointing at myself. I am not a guy.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.the-cameras.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/1308341410-32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="http://www.the-cameras.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/1308341410-32.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How did this happen? What my Mom said when she found out she was pregnant with me!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-71936463569365050142011-07-30T01:31:00.000-07:002011-07-30T01:31:02.203-07:00Extensioning Myself<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rsrranch.com/images/Our-happy-horses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.rsrranch.com/images/Our-happy-horses.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't look a gifted whore in the mouth. For the sake of your health.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><a href="http://allhamsondeck.blogspot.com/2011/07/hair-stylings.html">After last week's failed haircut attempt,</a> I decided that instead of cutting my hair, I would get hair extensions. Surely someone that extends hair is much easier to find then someone who cuts it. Everyone is always trying to grow their hair out, so young men in pink button-ups who say things like “girlfriend, please!” must be highly in demand for extending hair. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> When I found an extender, it turned out not to be a person but some kind of sex toy or pliers, I couldn't really tell until I tried them. Definitely pliers. Then I tried again to look for a human person to do my hair or at least a dolphin, they are very intelligent. And amazingly, I found one! Unfortunately, he said it would cost $500! I was shocked and I said, don't you mean 500 rupees, or yen, or rubles. He just left his mouth hanging open and his eyebrow cocked for a while, so I figured that he had had a stroke and I did what I always do when someone has a stroke, I ran away and said “don't bill me, he's trying to trap me! He's doing it on purpose for attention!” Geez, I don't miss grandpa. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Then I decided that since human or synthetic hair was so expensive to put on my head, I would use horse hair for extensions. Unfortunately, I accidentally bought WHORE's hair. Now I have crabs. Third time this month! I guess I'll never get my hair done properly. </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-89016947465347349012011-07-29T00:34:00.000-07:002011-07-29T00:34:59.418-07:00Rupert's Revenge<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://scm-l3.technorati.com/10/06/28/14275/supreme-court-building.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://scm-l3.technorati.com/10/06/28/14275/supreme-court-building.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Site of Rupert's Revenge. Also, site of JUSTICE and my pooping</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">My Mom used to sing me this poem as I went to sleep. Maybe that's why I poop in my sleep on the Thursday before The Feast of the Santo Nino. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Poor young Rupert never saw it coming </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Little small Rupert was never in the running </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Ugly smelly Rupert could never imagine the results </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Dumb disgusting Rupert lost the rhyming competition </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Rupert did not blame himself for his lack of rhyme </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> He blamed the historical time </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> period </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> also limes </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> What could Rupert do? </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> He could sue! </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> That's just what Rupert did </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> He sued and won in small claims court </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> This was on the Thursday before the Feast of the Santo Nino. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Moral of this story: </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> There are people like Rupert that can sue you. </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-47796243679495815482011-07-27T20:04:00.000-07:002011-07-27T20:04:52.718-07:00Fancy Cheese: You Pay For the Stink<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://whatscookingamerica.net/Appetizers/CheesePlate2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="http://whatscookingamerica.net/Appetizers/CheesePlate2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If only you could smell this cheese, you would vomit. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I went to what I thought was a grocery store. But as I entered the very crowed room (why is everyone wearing backpacks all of the sudden? Just because it cost you $400 doesn't make it cool. Not unless that $400 includes an air conditioner, which would make the backpack very literally cool), I noticed that this grocery store was not a grocery store at all. All it sold was salt and cheese. I feel so bad for Walmart, being run out of business by all of these specialty mom and pop stores. Mom and Pop, thanks for destroying Walmart's profit margins! Assholes. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Instead of leaving the store (that would be letting THEM win!), I decided to shop for my week's groceries there. Yum, salt and cheese for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It beats what I was eating last week: Taco Bell hot sauce packets and duck liver. As I looked around the store at the sea of combat boots, Toms, and boat shoes, I felt very out of place in my re-purposed shoes. I didn't feel good enough for them. But then I realized that I need to be happy with who I am. So, I stood up tall and made no apologies for my appearance and when my clown shoes slapped people's ankles. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Between slapping people and making babies cry, I found some cheese in that cheese filled store. But it was very expensive, like what I make in a day minus a thousand dollars. I bought the cheese and then $600 worth of salt. But it was worth it. Cheese, salt, and $100 bills make for a delicious breakfast. </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-82202714789797174252011-07-27T01:57:00.000-07:002011-07-27T01:57:10.699-07:00Lumber, Love, and other Government Conspiracies<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/a/af/Woody-woodpecker-title-card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/a/af/Woody-woodpecker-title-card.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If only Woody Woodpecker could peck away all of the wood between Jorge and I.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">I went to buy some lumber this morning in order to provide some warm on these hot summer days and to create a sense of community in my apartment complex with a bonfire circle of trust and sharing. But unfortunately, as I was leaving, Jorge undermined me yet again, just like he did at the 1998 Nagano Olympics. Let's just say he takes after Tanya Harding; he has some female genitalia. </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Jorge questioned my need for lumber in the middle of July. I told him that if he loved me, he won't have asked me. Also, I informed him that I am on my period, and if television shows and commercials tell me anything, women (note: I am a woman) are extremely unreasonable, hungry, emotional, and downright smelly during their periods and men, who are victimized by terrible, bitchy, period women, are suppose to cower in front of them</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> Jorge did not appreciate this response in this least bit and told me that I am stupid and lumber is expensive and needs to be saved for important occasions like caribou season or for burning Ke$ha CDs. But he did tell me that I am smelly. So, haha, proved him wrong! </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-61327248930023099092011-07-26T00:24:00.000-07:002011-07-26T00:24:08.930-07:00Conversations with Women*<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.service-1.org/uploads/201103/23/imgs/uniforms02_360x391.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.service-1.org/uploads/201103/23/imgs/uniforms02_360x391.jpg" width="294" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minutes before calling her therapist</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I had a conversation today. To make this a little bit more interesting, I'm not going to give you any background information about this conversation. Good luck and god speed. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Me: Man, this chicken is delicious </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Person, Animal, or other (for example: Pop Star Ke$ha fits into this category): I'm not interested in your opinion </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Me: Oh, okay. I'm very sorry if I offended you. I don't know how I should make up for this. Is there a present I should give you that conforms with your cultural traditions? Maybe a wallet or a baby horse?</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Person, Animal, or other (for example: former Governor of Illinois, Rod Blagojevich): No, there is no way you can make up for this, I will have to shun you forever. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Me: Really, but we've become so close since you were last elected. Can I at least have my stuff back? </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Person, Animal, or other (for example: The Loch ness Monster): No, I will keep them as a matter of pride. Like the excellent American film about domestic unrest during the Reagan presidency, Sixteen Candles, I want to keep your underwear to show it to people so that they will think that I had sex with you. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Me: But why? We never slept together. And those underwear are so soiled and smelly, why would you want to keep them?</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Person, Animal, or other (for example: morning television personality, Kathy Lee Gifford): I want your mother to think that we slept together, than I will shame you just as you have shamed me with your chicken question. I think the odor will be good to catch stray dogs. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Me: Well, I guess it would be cheaper than having to buy them from the pound. But promise me one thing: don't harm those dogs. They have fragile self-esteem as it is and making them dress up as chunky firemen will be emotionally damaging for them. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Person, Animal, or other (for example: idiot, Glenn Beck): You will control me no longer! (<i>runs away</i><span style="font-style: normal;">) </span> </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Me: President Bush, come back! You forgot your knitted cap! Your soft spot will get cold!</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">*This is not a conversation between women. </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-77044558610377057392011-07-25T00:32:00.000-07:002011-07-25T00:32:17.077-07:00My DVR, My Dog Videos<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.geek.com/gearlog/images/convert-tivo-files2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="http://www.geek.com/gearlog/images/convert-tivo-files2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TiVo, don't go.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I recently got a DVR (Dog Video Recorder) for the first time. I don't know why it is called a dog video recorder when it does not record any dog videos. Well, not unless I ask it to. It should just know that I want to watch some cool Schnauzer show. But the great extra feature about the dog video recorder is that it not only records dogs but also other types of shows! If I had known this before, I would have cried with joy but after that dolphin accident, I don't have any tear ducts. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> So last night, I recorded (and also taped, just in case!) the show Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. I haven't seen it, but I just felt like I should tell you. It is a milestone in my life that I wanted to share with you, internet. I recorded my first television show on my Dog Recorder. It feels as special as all of the other milestones in my life. I will now list every single milestone in my life. There are 7. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><ol><li><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Birth, duh</div></li>
<li><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My first dog bite (he was delicious!) </div></li>
<li><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Catching, Killing, and Preparing with various salts a young Mother Hen </div></li>
<li><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Seeing my reflection in a mirror (age 8). This list is going in order. </div></li>
<li><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Cage fight</div></li>
<li><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">First day of school (age 21) </div></li>
<li><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Recording my First Television Show </div></li>
</ol><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> I can't wait to watch it. Unfortunately, I got so excited about my milestone, I wet my myself and then tried to clean myself with the Dog Recorder. I tried to dry it with my hair but it just won't work. Oh well, bye DVR, I loved you like a brother, but in a weird, incestuous way. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-29165272770167172382011-07-24T00:30:00.000-07:002011-07-24T00:30:35.070-07:00Oops, Where's My Soul At?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/camera1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="http://static.howstuffworks.com/gif/camera1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now with 10 extra gigabytes for enhanced soul-storage!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">So the aborginoids or something like that, have this idea that whenever someone takes their picture it takes a part of their soul. I tots (short for totally) agree with this theory. Therefore, until yesterday I only allowed my picture to be taken on my birthday and at those red-light cameras that take a picture whenever you accidentally can't find the brake pedal on a red-light. P.S. Does anyone know what a fine is? Because the police came by my house yesterday and said I needed to pay fines or I would be arrested. Stop using those ten-dollar words, coppers! I can't afford 'em! </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Seriously. I ate a bean today on the street. Delish, btw! </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> But horror of horrors, I got my picture taken yesterday for something called “Crimestoppers.” Me and <a href="http://allhamsondeck.blogspot.com/2011/07/second-chance-at-true-love.html">Jorge </a>were just eating at our favorite Mexican place and a camera placed over the doorway took a picture of us as we ran away. I don't know why they are so unfriendly there. Every time we go to the Sanchez's house to eat out of their fridge, they sick their dog on us or try to shoot us. You would think in a recession that business owners would be more friendly. As my Mom would say, what happened to the customer is always right? I guess that's a little different because she only says that at massage parlors. Or as my Mom calls them “massage” parlors. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> I need some tips on how to regain my soul. I'm not into praying because it always leaves me with a weird horny feeling. Killing a person for their soul doesn't gel with my belief that you should only kill someone out of self-defense or when trying a karate move that goes terribly wrong. (RIP, Tony the Turtle). Well, hopefully I'll get it back soon, my chest is feeling icy without it. Or maybe it's because I've been putting ice cubes down my shirt in order to prepare myself for the next ice age. </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-70238635579200437142011-07-22T17:50:00.000-07:002011-07-22T17:50:14.681-07:00Hair Stylings!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.beauty-and-the-bath.com/image-files/mustache-styles-mikaelstrauss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.beauty-and-the-bath.com/image-files/mustache-styles-mikaelstrauss.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goodbye Mustache: I just wish I could be this beautiful</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My hair is growing very long. In fact, it almost touches my fingertips and that's only the hair under my armpits! But the hair on my head is also quite long. I would say that it is at least 6 or 7 inches or centimeters. I don't know the difference between the two, yet. <a href="http://allhamsondeck.blogspot.com/2011/07/mp3-how-i-love-thee.html">I will when I finally learn how to read properly. </a></div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Jorge suggested that I go to the hairstylist if it is really bothering me. He referred me to this lovely man named Dr. Wayniston (I guess he takes his hair-cutting pretty seriously if he wants to be called a doctor. This is evidenced by the band the Spin Doctors and also Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman). </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">He just asked me for the reason why for my visit. I told him that I had excess hair that needed to be removed. He then examined my face, I'm guessing trying to figure out if my face is more heart-shaped or square-shaped. But then he used a laser tool thing (he made me put on glasses and everything! He IS serious), on my upper lip. He was probably just cleansing my aura like the last doctor I saw. He was a witch doctor and ever since I keep seeing my dead ferret when I eat my cereal in the morning. It's more entertaining than the Today Show so I'm okay with it. Then he charged me $1500 and I left. Worse hair cut ever. He didn't even touch my head-hair and my mustache is gone. I'll miss my lip-warmer. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">When I got home, I asked Jorge what kind of hairstylist was that and how did he hear of him. He said he was the best hairstylist he ever had. I guess we just have different ideas about what is good. I guess I will just go to Fantastic Sam's next time I want to see a dermatologist. For those non-English speakers out there, "dermatologist" is another word for hairstylist. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-28861772141356424022011-07-22T00:32:00.000-07:002011-07-22T01:28:37.242-07:00I'm Saving America, One Lick at a Time<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.qrstuff.com/images/sample.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.qrstuff.com/images/sample.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">QR code: If you look closely at it, you may find something actually useful.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">There is a disturbing new trend among youngsters and oldsters trying to be youngsters. I'm talking to you, Jennifer Lopez. And yes, I consider 41 to be an oldster. Anyway, this trend surrounds something terrible on the back of my cereal box this morning and it was not a very confusing and difficult maze to find Lucky the Leprechaun. </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="en-US">It was a strange little box thing. Devilish really. It is part of the conspiracy to turn this country into Pagan territory. Strange symbols. I have one piece of evidence that it was definitely pagans. See my Mom was wrong it was not that the Republicans were trying to turn the good ol'<a href="http://allhamsondeck.blogspot.com/2011/07/globetrottin-seeing-world-with-trots.html"> U.S.A.</a> into Palin territory, it was definitely Pagan. I have never been wrong before,<a href="http://allhamsondeck.blogspot.com/2011/07/computer-graphics-for-extreme-geniuses.html"> except for once</a>. </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="en-US">I asked <a href="http://allhamsondeck.blogspot.com/2011/07/most-heart-breaking-night-of-my-life.html">the lovely Bolivian cashier</a> what this horrify symbol was. After rolling his eyes several times, as is customary in Bolivia when dealing with a ram or bull, he told me that it was a QR code. I asked about what this meant to pagans. Then he stared at me with his face pointed down and one eyebrow up, as is customary in Bolivia when handling dangerous fruits. I figured it was best to leave as I am already afraid of fruit as it is. </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span lang="en-US">I call on all of you, if there are any of you, to resist paganism in all forms. When you see one of these terribly dangerous and somehow sexually tempting codes, you must deactivate it. How do you do this you ask me? (Or you would ask me if you were brave enough to leave a comment? Or if anyone was reading this?) Do what I did: Lick it and then watch a few episodes of Night Court. Goodbye Paganism! Hello justice, nighttime style. </span> </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-37185963408439867772011-07-21T00:38:00.000-07:002011-07-21T00:38:59.920-07:00The Most Heart-Breaking Night of My Life<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.wallpaperpimper.com/wallpaper/International/Asian_Brand/Pizza_Hut/Pizza-Hut-16-TKR5MDX5D2-800x600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://www.wallpaperpimper.com/wallpaper/International/Asian_Brand/Pizza_Hut/Pizza-Hut-16-TKR5MDX5D2-800x600.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jorge's pride is similar to the cheese. It has melted.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Last night, <a href="http://allhamsondeck.blogspot.com/2011/07/goose-stepping-into-my-heart.html">my strong, North Korean, former priest</a> (also known as <a href="http://allhamsondeck.blogspot.com/2011/07/second-chance-at-true-love.htmlhttp://allhamsondeck.blogspot.com/2011/07/second-chance-at-true-love.html">Jorge</a>) and I went dinner at our favorite restaurant, Pizza Hut, a delicacy in Canada, or anywhere where malnutrition is common. I'm sure they just what some food of any kind probably, you know in Canada. </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">We had some real good pizza but Jorge ate very fast. He stormed out the restaurant before I barely had a chance to pull up my underwear (I roll them down when I'm eating a big meal, like everybody else! See, I'm totally normal!). When I caught up to him back at my apartment (He had driven away without me so I walked the 4 miles home. His passion is incredible and irrational!), seven hours later I asked him what was wrong and why I walked so slowly. After we discussed the fact that swimming is only an effective means of transportation when in water and is not considered walking by capitalist, bourgeoisie societies, he finally told me what was on his mind. </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Jorge told me that earlier in the day when he was spying on the the cashier at the local supermarket (Jorge calls him the former president of Bolivia who he calls a “rat who betrayed the deer leader.” Okey Dokey, how likely is it that a rat, who was president of Bolivia, would serve a deer? That has only a 21% probability), he saw that there was a Pizza Hut coupon in the newspaper. Jorge bought the newspaper, discarded the news section (it's like he's an American already!) and just clipped out the coupon. It was 4 Dollars (<a href="http://allhamsondeck.blogspot.com/2011/07/dreaming-of-flying-beast.html">American dollars!</a>) off of a medium pizza. Incredible. Beautiful. God smiled upon us this day. I was in awe by his food fortune. </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">But Jorge went on to explain that he went up to the counter and after he had already ordered extra pineapple, was told that the coupon was only valid at the Pizza Hut across town. Despair rang across Jorge's fattened cheeks and Deep Desire Lips (that's what the color is called on the lipstick) as he admitted this shame to me. I tell this as a precautionary tale, not to humiliate Jorge for his recklessness. This should be one of God's commandments: Thou shalt check the restrictions before thou uselth a coupon. Amen. </span></span></span></span> </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7770121538841217613.post-78920379185116449212011-07-20T00:44:00.000-07:002011-07-20T00:44:43.243-07:00mp3, How I Love Thee<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.apple.com/ipodtouch/features/images/retina_backlighting_20110308.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://images.apple.com/ipodtouch/features/images/retina_backlighting_20110308.png" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">iPod Touch? Okay, but only if I get to touch your Pod too!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">I made two new resolutions today. Who says you need the new year to make resolutions? Also, what is a new year anyway? And how long is a year? Because there is Lunar New Year and Rosh Hashanah and also the Nordstorm's Bi-Yearly sale. </span> </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"> It's all very confusing for an urban, <a href="http://allhamsondeck.blogspot.com/2011/07/childhood-memories-of-peanut-butter-and.html">materialistic</a>, <a href="http://allhamsondeck.blogspot.com/2011/07/computer-graphics-for-extreme-geniuses.html">semi-illiterate</a>, Francophile girl like me. I'd rather be walking around on the exciting streets, shopping, or eating things that are French (I'm gonna guess....Star bursts on top of some raspberry yogurt), and pretending to read Cosmo. (Side note: if I can't read, how can I write? One of life's great contradictions like the Catholic belief in the Holy Trinity. How can they all be one God?) </span> </div><div lang="en-US" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"> My resolutions are that I will shower (yeah, that's gonna happen *wink </span></span><span lang="en-US">wink</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US">*</span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> *cough*) and that I will buy an mp3 player or, as the Germans, Austrians, Liechsteiners and some parts of Switzerland and Luxembourg, mpdrei players. See, I'm a total Francophile. Ich liebe Frankreich! </span></span></span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> Some of you may be asking yourselves, how does she not have an mp3 Spieler (if you're French) yet? Why am I reading this? How did I get here? The latter two you can only answer after a deep amount of soul-searching. I suggesting going the </span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">Eat,Pray, Love</span></i></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> route and getting fat off of a shit-ton of pasta while you listen to what what your soul says to you. Make sure you can hear your soul over your loud pasta-induced farting. </span></span></span></span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> So there you go. A post about mp3 players, kind of. </span></span></span></span> </div>Virginia Hamsworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04103157300667559245noreply@blogger.com0