Bad Girls Go To Hell

Part 1

Sorry to have disappeared on you guys. Believe me, it wasn't intentional. It's just that I met this very mysterious millionaire who whisked me away to his private island last week, so I was busy basking in the sun, sipping fruity drinks, and having lots and lots of sex.

I meant to do a post about my whereabouts (and describe the hawt sex in detail) but right around then I found out that the millionaire had this weird, creepy hobby of hunting humans for sport right there on his island. Things got kinda awkward after that and I had a bit of a hard time leaving. He didn't want to let me go so I was eventually forced to escape with the help of a mutant flying squirrel woman and her sidekick, a gossipy Komoda dragon named Jimmy. It wasn't easy at all, but I won't bore you with the details. Suffice to say that I was very happy to get home!

Of course, no sooner did I get home then my mom started bugging me to get ready for the family reunion in Atlanta, Georgia. Ugh. Apparently I had agreed to accompany her there. She must have asked me when I was high, otherwise there's no way I would've said yes. Not that I don't love her family and all, it's just that they are a very conservative bunch of Fox News-watching Republican churchies with that smarmy holier-than-thou attitude, and spending time with them makes me want to gouge holes in my skull with an icepick.

See, this is why I prefer hanging out with my dad's family. Since most of them are alcoholics and mental patients, they are usually too busy throwing up in the sink and constructing tin foil hats to judge me. Plus, they often have good drugs and don't mind sharing - or at least don't notice when I filch them out of their bathroom cabinets.

Anyway, I knew this was going to suck, but a promise is a promise so I packed up my least slutty dress and went.


Part II


You know, I consider myself kind of a skeptical person. I don't believe in prophesy or astrology or any of that crap but I do enjoy reading books about it and love getting my palm read. Go figure.

Like I said, I don't really buy into this stuff but something happened the other day that gave me pause. I was leafing through a book of Nostradomus predictions when one of the quatrains caught my eye.

The year 2009, seventh month
a great guilting from she who bore you
summoned thusly to the foul city
to suffer there greatly of tedium and vexation.


Wow, talk about things that make you go hmmmm! These lines seemed meant just for me. Reading on, I found more quatrains that related to the family reunion. This one described the hotel we stayed at perfectly.


The place of slumber is a lie
one bed alone, stoney and unwielding
three pillows with all the cushion of a brick
the fourth, squishy as a deflated beach ball.


so true! Me and Mom had to share one crappy bed at The La Quinta Inn. But it was this one that really made the hairs on the back of my neck rise up.


The elders gather round
exchanging tales of an evil Kenyan
their fearful cries echo the chambers
"Oh my God, there's a darkie in the White House!"



Whoa, it's like Nostradomus was in the room with us or something.



Part III


"Please go easy on the drinking tonight, honey," my mom squawked at me as we pulled up to her sister's house. "In fact, why don't you stick to iced tea while we're there?"

"Let me get this straight," I snapped. "After making me drive four hours through fucking Georgia (I hate the state of Georgia) listening to your hideous Trisha Yearwood CDs, and finding out that our hotel sucks and I will have to sleep on a bed that feels like a slab of marble, you won't let me have a glass or two of champagne?"

She sighed. "One glass would be fine, I suppose, but no more. You know how you get when you drink."

"How?"

"Embarrassing! And loud. And you do those cartwheels." She threw me a nervous look. "Please, please don't embarrass me at this party. Just one drink, okay?"

I was insulted of course, but grudgingly agreed. "Fine, but you owe me a Valium when this is over."

I'm wildly jealous of my mom's Valium scrip. She's tight with them too, and keeps them all for herself.

"Deal," she said. "And, you are wearing panties, right?"

"Duh!" I said.

If you'll note, that was my clever way of not answering the question.



PART IV


"Can you believe the horrible things the media says about poor Sarah Palin?"

An old lady named Marjorie is talking to me as we sip our bubbly. The party tonight is for my aunt and uncle's 50th wedding anniversary so tons of their friends are there - average age 116. None of my fun cousins are attending, just the dull ones. I'm bored.

"I couldn't believe that David Letterman saying she dresses like a slutty stewardess. She always looks marvelous and so classy. Now that one - the Kenyan's wife, she wears clothes that look straight from a rummage sale. Even to meet with world leaders! She wore this one dress with dreadful stripes that blah, blah, blah...."

Listening to Marjorie is making me feel crazy. We've been here for two hours and I've already downed four glasses of champagne. I can't help it. Fake smiling can only be sustained for so long without constant reinforcement from alcoholic beverages. I try to ditch ol' Marge by walking over to bar, but she sticks to me like glue, still blathering on about the sufferings of Sarah Palin.

As you may know, I cannot stand Sarah Palin. Listening to someone sing her praises is sort of like taunting a dog by waving a piece of bacon in it's face. It's like inviting a demon to take over your body.

At that moment Satan enters my body and takes over.

"Well, you know that darned liberal media and their gotcha journalism!" I say. "Sarah Palin is the one true hope this country has. I can only pray that she runs in 2012."

"Isn't that the truth1" she nods, smiling. A couple of others drift over and chime in agreement.

"If only Sarah had run for the top spot instead of McCain, she would have won for sure and we wouldn't be stuck with that socialist Kenyan!"

My audience nods vigorously and someone starts to add something about Obama's refusal to show his birth certificate but I have warmed up to my subject now and will be pretty much unstoppable.

"What was America thinking?" I crow. "I mean, Sarah was certified witchcraft-free! I really admire her rejection of fancy book learnin' and such. The only book anyone needs is the bible, after all. It should be obvious that God doesn't want us knowing stuff. Just look at the way He kicks Adam and Eve out of the garden for eating from the tree of knowledge. Let me tell you, Sarah would never have been that stupid. She'd have shot that snake between his beady little eyes and skinned it and made it into a fashionable pair of four inch heels."

"I have a confession," I say. "It's my dream to run in 2012 with Sarah as her vice-presidential candidate. Oh, I know there are many others more qualified then me, but hey, Obama didn't have any experience and he got elected...and besides, wouldn't Sarah and I be hawt together? Having two sexy ladies like us in charge of things would surely convert the gays back to God fearing, vagina-lovers in no time."

Now, I know I'm not a pit bull in lipstick or anything. Don't I wish! Actually, I'm more like the female version of Bugs Bunny when he puts on the wig and tight sweater, but I'd be a great vice president. I can wink like a champ! And also have experience at quitting many jobs. Many, many jobs. And I have read the bible several times and often have conversations with Jesus in my head."

By now I have gotten kinda loud I guess. Everyone is staring at me. Including my mom. Taken with my own brilliance, I rush on knowing she will make me shut up in a minute.

"Jesus actually gave me some good ideas for slogans for our White House run." I say. Tell me, how do these sound?

Palin/Jones 2012: Because W. Was Not Ignorant Enough!

Palin/Jones 2012: Drill Us Baby Drill Us!

Palin/Jones 2012: We Know We're Going To Heaven. Can The Libs Say That?"


After that my mom makes me go sit in the TV room with the kids and watch Twilight.


The End