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Saturday, March 17, 2007


...or How Disney ruined my life.

Once upon a time, in a land of hippo-tossing aligators, all stories had a happy ending. The necrophiliac walked away from his dead bitch with a dwarf-fettish, the fox in tights walked out with Maid Marian, and Fieval found his family...wait...that last one isn't Disney...it was better (Can't knock Stephen Spielberg).

Anywho, you notice a theme here? Everything came out fine in the end; better than fine, in-fuckin-credible. So there I was, a young, impressionable youth growing up in the midwest and southeast (chicago and norfolk) thinking that at the end of 90 minutes, I was going to become royalty, get laid, and look like I'd received an instant Extreme Makeover (without the painful recovery period).

No wonder I'm so fucked up. I think I should sue Disney, Julie Andrews, Doris Day, and anyone else who made those damn movies.

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At 3/20/2007 10:36 AM, Blogger honeykbee's whiny, bitch-ass comment is...

Forget Julie Andrews, it's Julia Roberts and that Ione Skye that I want to sue! All that love and happiness and wealth will find you no matter what kind of degenerate you are bullcrap. Horsefeathers!

(Oh and btw? Even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious, if you say it loud enough you'll always sound precocious!)


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