Sounds interesting but not for every one….

I don’t really think I want to know what’s going on here.

“I’m more female than you’ll ever be”

Don’t flatter yourself there sweetheart. Just because you pee out of your butt, like all females, doesn’t mean that you are half the woman I pretend to be. Being a female means a lot more than just having tatas and a hoo-hoo (and peeing out of your butt). Being a female means responsiblility…and having tons of unprotected sex with middle aged hispanic men. I seriously doubt you are responsible enough to have sex with ANY hispanic men. I guess all the time and energy that went into the women’s suffrage movement mean nothing to you. Get it together.

“I just go all three ways. Dudes, chicks, Martians.”

Just a quick little note here - midgets really hate being called “martians”. I wouldn’t do that in public. Midgets are an ancient and barbaric race, they would have no problem plunging their tiny fists into every crevasse of your amorphous body. I imagine it would feel something similar to being caught in a strong hail storm.

“I swear, it’s the sexiest way to age ever.”

Dream on. Dogs age 7 years for every 1 human year. What could possibly be any sexier than that? They don’t ask anyone’s permission, they just age. Independance like that is admirable. Plus, the women really dig that dominant, take-charge attitude.

“…virgin ears.”

Haha, who are you kidding? I really don’t think anything on your body could really be considered “virgin” at this point, do you?

Well, about my birthday… every year, my tumors– they’ve grown so large they’ve actually grown brains and legs and split off of me, I consider them like my babies– carry me out of the house, in my tub, down to the local sewage dump. There, I stare into the greenish glow and breathe the sacred fumes until our lord and master, a being named Flurple, appears. Oh how his feathers flutter and fling!

I make an offering of pork skin and rum, then plead my case. Some years I am given a birthdate, some I am not. This has gone on for a good thirty years. I swear, it’s the sexiest way to age ever.

I suppose a few garbage bags glued together by gravy would cover me enough that I may be able to leave on my yearly pilgrimage without the shrieks of the unworthy defiling my sweet virgin ears. Thanks for the advice!

You’d be surprised how supple and slimy your skin becomes with exposure to enough gravy. It’s a mixture of the core meats– chicken, pork, beef. Perfect for my scaly complexion.

That’s disgusting, you’re way too old.

A few things though…

You “may” be turning eleven in two weeks? I’ve never met anyone who’s birthday wasn’t the same day every year. Advancing a year in age, on the day of one’s birth, is pretty much standard practice from what I understand. I’m just curious as to who/what decides whether or not you are allowed a birthday…and when.

In response to the specialty clothes, I really think you’re making a big deal out of nothing. In my humble opinion, people severely underestimate the many uses of the garbage bag these days. I mean c’mon folks, garbage can be thrown anywhere. Why ruin a perfectly good box of multipurpose bags when there are plenty of highways, oceans, and public parks to hold our garbage? Think about it.

…Oh, and just a quick question: Don’t your fingers and toes get all wrinkled and pruney from sitting in that gravy all day?

Don’t worry about me being naked, because my family can’t afford to hire a specialty clothes maker. I just get homeschooled naked, in my tub of gravy. It’s delicious. Want to try it?

Then again, my girlfriend is the extreme jealous type. Everytime the mailman comes she stabs him in the balls for trying to steal my innocence. It’s sweet.

I don’t need a real doctor, I’ve eaten too many already.

So, come on over, hotstuff. The gravy’s getting cold.

The butter and syrup alone account for half a dozen boners at least. You can imagine my delight when some whipped cream and/or fresh fruit are involved.

Make me some waffles, naked (you, not the waffles), and I may consider allowing you to become my love slave. I will even provide a personalized collar and leash, along with a variety of spanking devices (ex. waffles on a stick), each specially designed for your body type. I can only hope you are prepared for the varitable boner-fest that will ensue.

And, yes, I love you too Lorien. Though, I feel obligated at this time to admit that I am not actually a doctor. Frowny face

I am, however, a very talented idiot, with many years of experience….if you’re into that sort of thing.

~Toodles~

Docktor Romansnack

Done and done. I have come to the conclusion that I am awesome. Thank you for the advice Mrs. Freud, I now have a deeper understanding of my sweetness and a greater appreciation of my super sexy physique.

On another note, I have also concluded that you suffer from acute axiety, most likely caused by bleeding from the a*shole. Gross. It would be cool to see a TV show about you though, I must admit. You could be like an internet vigilante who cracks down on e-criminals with her own unique brand of whinny, humorless justice. The show could be about how you spend your nights patrolling the internet for offenders and bringing them to e-justice! Oh, and also about how you spend your days as a mild mannered student with severe rectal irritation. I’m telling my secretary to get TBS on the phone this afternoon. They probably won’t go for it since I don’t even have a secretary and all, but, god, that show would be hot.

“It’s great how you build yourself up there while resorting to stereotypes and 6th grade level arguments.”

This could not be any more incorrect you f*cking inbred piece of redneck trash. 6th grad my a*s. I mean, at least I don’t smell like poop….like SOME people (ex. you).

“I am NOT a redneck.”

This is also incorrect. You ARE a redneck, you are just the last person to realize it. You silly little sh*t.

“I’m a website designer and I’m still in highschool.”

MySpace and downloading porn don’t make you a “designer”. Hey, I just crapped on a piece of paper, I’m a writer!

You have a lot to learn about technology you flabby hick. Learn to master the hard stuff first, like toilet paper and kitchen utensils, THEN move on to computers.

“GET A LIFE.”

Post up some inane babbling that hasn’t already been said a million times on this site, THEN you can tell people what to do with their lives. Until then, you are a joke. A joke with a bloody a*shole. Go back to the drawing board and think of something original to say, or leave the e-heroics to someone that can actually form an original, cohesive thought.

Trashy b*tch.

Have a blessed day,

Docter Rodentback