I need your suggestions. What hair color goes with a bright goddamn orange jumpsuit and flip-flops?
I need your suggestions PRONTO dicklicks! I soon will be hauled off to jail and forced to wear that hideous goddamn jumpsuit with tacky fucking flip flops. Now, I'm not dissing anyone that wears flip flops, but these? They are just ass ugly!
You are probably wondering why I will be hauled off to jail. Some of you may not be wondering at all because you knew it was just a matter of goddamn time before I landed in the pokey...AGAIN. Well, tough shit, I'm telling you about it.
This morning, I was minding my own fucking business surfing blogs, drinking
I know what you fuckers are thinking, "Damn, that Dutchess is not only gorgeous, but she is smart, funny, and multitasks too! Why, I bet she is so good, she can spin 11 goddamn plates, talk on the phone, post a brilliant blog entry and chain smoke all at the same time. Holy fuck! She is amazing!"
*SHUT YOUR MOTHERFUCKING PIE HOLE! YES YOU WERE THINKING THAT!*
Ahem! I decided to stop what I was doing and and launder some of the Royal underwear. Not everyone in this castle thought it was thrilling or funny when I declared this to be "Wear Your Underwear Twice Before Throwing In The Laundry Or Just Fucking Go Commando Week!" *goddamn spoiled sports!*
Thus I, the Wonder Dutchess, stopped what I was doing to go put in a load of laundry. As I made my way downstairs with a laundry basket in hand, humming "The Spiderman Theme", (again, Shut-UP!) I round the corner of the laundry room. My right foot feels this little "squishsplash".
I throw the clothes basket onto the folding counter, look down, and see that I have just stepped in goddamn cat puke. Motherfucker I hate those evil pussies!
I look around to see which cat will be beat. I swear it's silent, and looks like a goddamn ghost town. Not a useless fucking cat to be found. As my blood pressure shoots through the damn roof, I hear the opening music to Clint Eastwood's "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly" in my head.
The goddamn maid already left, so I yank off my fucking socks, clean up the mess, and get the mop and bucket while a string of obscenities spew forth from my mouth. I turn on the hot water and reach for the bleach. Bleach water kills germs fuckers, and leaves my cheap white laundry room tile looking gorgeous. I pour the bleach in, and start mopping.
Hmmm..I'm not smelling that fresh bleach clean smell.
I keep mopping.
What the hell is that strange odor I smell?
I keep mopping.
My alcohol soaked brain fucking finally kicks in and starts sending out questions.
Why is our goddamn throat burning?
Why are our fucking eyes watering?
Why the hell does it feel as if our nose hair is melting?
Why does it feel as if we can't breath and may pass the fuck out?
OH BLOODY FUCKING HELL!!! RUN BITCH!!! CHEMICAL REACTION FUCK-UP!!!!DANGER!! DANGER!! DUTCHESS DUMBASS, FUCKING RUNNNNNNNN!!!!!
Taking a couple minutes to actually processes and get the message to the muscles and body, I keep fucking mopping and begin to cough. About then, the message hits me, and I take off like a bat out of hell, running with the mop & bucket toward the garage door. ahhh..sweet motherfucking air.
After getting some fresh air, I go back into the castle and start flinging the goddamn windows open while thinking about what just happened. We always use bleach water in that bucket and mop. Everyone knows we use that bucket and mop for only bleach water and NOTHING else ever....wait a damn minute... It then fucking dawns on me.
The Spawn of Satan strikes again. He is responsible for this shit.
You see, SoS has been working off the money we paid for the goddamn garage door he crashed into 2.5 motherfucking seconds after he got his driver's permit. The Duke told him to clean the goddamn garage the other day. He was to sweep and mop the floor in there. He was told to use some kind of special fucking floor cleaner that Duke brought home for the garage and driveway. I reminded him to use the OUTSIDE mop & bucket.
Why oh why, for fuck sake, did I trust him to follow my goddamn instructions? I know better dammit! The SoS lives to disobey me. He strives to make me bat-shit crazy and give me grey fucking hair.
I was probably so engrossed in thinking up new advertising ideas for the goddamn new whorehouse, I didn't bother to check and see if he was doing what he was told.
Now, I may have permanent goddamn lung, cornea, and throat damage along with a hairless fucking nose and melting floor tiles. I'm also sweating balls because it's humid and hot as hell outside, but I need to have all of my fucking windows open or I'll die from the toxic fucking gas emanating from the basement laundry room.
I'm going to kill that goddamn boy the second he gets home from football practice.
Oh look! There is the goddamn cat....
"Here Kitty...Here Kitty-kitty. Come here you motherfucking hairball-puking Pussy from hell!"