A Farewell to Boobs
Farewell, Redneck Diva. It seems Big Blogger has spoken. Some-
times, I wish Big Blogger would remain mute, like those darling
mimes that everyone seems to hate. Shh...don't let Big Blogger
hear that. Here is your tribute, dear Diva, for your memorable
time in the Big Blogger 2 house. Grab a hankie, you might tear
up a bit. Nawww... Don't bother.
Let me warn you that this tribute is filled with Diva's very own
search information from her blog. A little StatCounter knowledge
is a dangerous thing. Here's proof.
The Cyberhouse is a bit quieter without the Diva. We used to
while away the hours listening at the knee of the great Diva.
She's from the royal order of red assed gentry, you know...not
those common redneck f*ckers.
She was full of advice. It seems like only yesterday she told
us how to make a waterslide wit things around the house, and
gave us free do-rag sewing instructions. She's OH SO URBAN
sometimes.
Cazzie made lots of 'notes to self' with the homespun first aid tips
the Diva dished out. How to treat blisters from monkey bars was
a good one. But I'm not sure where these blisters were, because
the first thing Diva said was "lay your head on this big brass bed."
The next thing I overheard was "his balls twist girl, pull his balls off."
The final treatment was cortisone cream on penis. The guys didn't
really want to hear about all that. I believe it fell under the category
of Too Much Information. They were especially nervous when
Diva held her daily woody roundup.
Diva bent over backwards to make the guys feel comfortable.
She gave them all horseshoe flattop haircuts, and described for
them in detail the stabbin cabin movie. And if that wasn't enough,
she also told them about her redneckdiva porn star wedding.
By the time she was done, they knew where to go for a good
hickey suck, and where to get don't come knockin van stickers.
Every evening, we crowded around the Diva to hear her do her
impersonation of Forrest Gump's friend, Bubba. Only Diva didn't
talk about shrimp. Diva told us about marsha boobs, wench boob,
boobs falling out on roller coasters, and deodorant under boobs.
She's a regular boob expert, our Diva. I can't thank her enough
for leaving out the waist boobs. I mean leaving them out of the
discussion, silly. Not leaving them out for people to look at.
Now Big Blogger has sent Diva wandering with bandana in a stick.
It might take her a while to walk home. While we're all sorry to
see her go, we're not sorry to lose that mouse smell, or the smell
of old milwaukee beer farts.
Farewell, Redneck Diva. The Cyberhouse is better for having
housed you.
times, I wish Big Blogger would remain mute, like those darling
mimes that everyone seems to hate. Shh...don't let Big Blogger
hear that. Here is your tribute, dear Diva, for your memorable
time in the Big Blogger 2 house. Grab a hankie, you might tear
up a bit. Nawww... Don't bother.
Let me warn you that this tribute is filled with Diva's very own
search information from her blog. A little StatCounter knowledge
is a dangerous thing. Here's proof.
The Cyberhouse is a bit quieter without the Diva. We used to
while away the hours listening at the knee of the great Diva.
She's from the royal order of red assed gentry, you know...not
those common redneck f*ckers.
She was full of advice. It seems like only yesterday she told
us how to make a waterslide wit things around the house, and
gave us free do-rag sewing instructions. She's OH SO URBAN
sometimes.
Cazzie made lots of 'notes to self' with the homespun first aid tips
the Diva dished out. How to treat blisters from monkey bars was
a good one. But I'm not sure where these blisters were, because
the first thing Diva said was "lay your head on this big brass bed."
The next thing I overheard was "his balls twist girl, pull his balls off."
The final treatment was cortisone cream on penis. The guys didn't
really want to hear about all that. I believe it fell under the category
of Too Much Information. They were especially nervous when
Diva held her daily woody roundup.
Diva bent over backwards to make the guys feel comfortable.
She gave them all horseshoe flattop haircuts, and described for
them in detail the stabbin cabin movie. And if that wasn't enough,
she also told them about her redneckdiva porn star wedding.
By the time she was done, they knew where to go for a good
hickey suck, and where to get don't come knockin van stickers.
Every evening, we crowded around the Diva to hear her do her
impersonation of Forrest Gump's friend, Bubba. Only Diva didn't
talk about shrimp. Diva told us about marsha boobs, wench boob,
boobs falling out on roller coasters, and deodorant under boobs.
She's a regular boob expert, our Diva. I can't thank her enough
for leaving out the waist boobs. I mean leaving them out of the
discussion, silly. Not leaving them out for people to look at.
Now Big Blogger has sent Diva wandering with bandana in a stick.
It might take her a while to walk home. While we're all sorry to
see her go, we're not sorry to lose that mouse smell, or the smell
of old milwaukee beer farts.
Farewell, Redneck Diva. The Cyberhouse is better for having
housed you.
posted by Hillbilly Mom at 2:58 PM
7 Comments:
This Is Big Blogger.
I would say something, but first I have to get out of this glass box, then walk against the wind while dragging along a small dog.
This Has Been Big Blogger
Big Blogger,
Oh yeah. Pretend you can talk when you get out of that glass box. I hope you didn't soil your white gloves, or rip your black tights. And you might want to check into a makeover type thingy, because your makeup is a bit white and greasy for your skin tone.
Exhibit A: I have used the deoderant under the boobs trick.
Exhibit B: Remind me never to let you write a tribute to me.
hahhaa
Old Milwaukee beer farts?
LOL
Linda,
What's up with that? Do they smell? Will powder not do the trick? That's some powerful boob sweat! Who knew?
Perhaps that is a good idea. By the time I was done, you'd be wishing I'd only talked about the boob sweat. You give me OH SO MUCH ammunition. The sweet nanny love, the mechanical buddies, the shoes, the (alleged) pet murders, the laundry chronicles, the Toilet Capades...
Stacie,
I'm kinda wondering about how such an upstanding member of the royal order of red assed gentry can discuss subjects such as 'pull his balls off'. It seems like a critical red assed faux pas.
Where is Stewed Hamm's box of Kleenex when I need it?
I cannot BELIEVE that in my absence you tributed me and I OH SO MISSED IT!!
Man, there are some sick f'ers visiting my blog...
Thank you, dear Hillbilly Mom. The red-assed gentry salutes you.
Diva,
Perhaps we don't really want to know about that box of Kleenex, what with his colorful snot issues.
There is some serious pervin' done in your stats, my dear Diva. Methinks of baboons whenever methinks of the gentry.
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