Shame On Me
OK, so I haven't posted nuthin' in a long ass time. My life is a tragedy. Get off my back.
How tragic? How tragic is it that as I write this I am lip synching to "HOLD ON" by Wilson Phillips and I LOVE IT! Sophocles (spelling?) Ennis, c'est moi. Remember when Chris Farely used to do Carnie Phillips and he'd make that pop wannabe excited/please like me look how positive I am face. Then he'd wack Chyna and that other bitch out of his way and eat chips or something. Or am I flashing back to a party during which my goodest pal Wilson and I mocked them on our own and gorged Doritos while we slathered the same damn Doritos all over each other trying to look as repellant-sexy as possible?
Oh, it's the brigde, "Dont you know that things'll change, things'll go your way if you hold on for one more day." Lyrics deep as a wading pool...for pygmies.
Moving on. I hereby decree that all ye who partake of this blog use thy Common Sense and get your butts to a screening of "Shut Up and Sing," the doc that follows the Dixie Chicks "embarrassed that Bush is from Texas" ado about nothing. Natalie Maines has serious balls. They're huge. I don't know how she manages to walk. More importantly, she also happens to be a heck of a songwriter, smart and funny as hell. (Marry me, Natalie?) When shown a pic of the dude who threatened to assasinate (spelling?) her during a Dallas performance she wipes the tension in the air with a casual, "He's kinda cute." I, for one, am proud that I tried to take my melting Dixie Chick CDs out of the flaming garbage can. Granted, I realized that I could sell 'em instead of burning them in effigy (ugh! spelling?). But whatever. Actions speak really strongly or something like that. And FUTK.
Vote tomorrow.
Not convinced?
Listen to Angie Harmon.
posted by Shannon E. Ennis at
Monday, November 06, 2006
How tragic? How tragic is it that as I write this I am lip synching to "HOLD ON" by Wilson Phillips and I LOVE IT! Sophocles (spelling?) Ennis, c'est moi. Remember when Chris Farely used to do Carnie Phillips and he'd make that pop wannabe excited/please like me look how positive I am face. Then he'd wack Chyna and that other bitch out of his way and eat chips or something. Or am I flashing back to a party during which my goodest pal Wilson and I mocked them on our own and gorged Doritos while we slathered the same damn Doritos all over each other trying to look as repellant-sexy as possible?
Oh, it's the brigde, "Dont you know that things'll change, things'll go your way if you hold on for one more day." Lyrics deep as a wading pool...for pygmies.
Moving on. I hereby decree that all ye who partake of this blog use thy Common Sense and get your butts to a screening of "Shut Up and Sing," the doc that follows the Dixie Chicks "embarrassed that Bush is from Texas" ado about nothing. Natalie Maines has serious balls. They're huge. I don't know how she manages to walk. More importantly, she also happens to be a heck of a songwriter, smart and funny as hell. (Marry me, Natalie?) When shown a pic of the dude who threatened to assasinate (spelling?) her during a Dallas performance she wipes the tension in the air with a casual, "He's kinda cute." I, for one, am proud that I tried to take my melting Dixie Chick CDs out of the flaming garbage can. Granted, I realized that I could sell 'em instead of burning them in effigy (ugh! spelling?). But whatever. Actions speak really strongly or something like that. And FUTK.
Vote tomorrow.
Not convinced?
Listen to Angie Harmon.
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