What's better than a picture of a celebrity that's pissed herself? NOTHING.

I was bursting with fruit flavor-y goodness until I checked my email. Sometimes asking for other peoples’ opinions on things is not fun. Because a) you might not want to hear what they have to say, because maybe in your head you know they’re right, or b) they’re an uninformed asshole (i.e. My Fan who likes to call me a hoar).

Sometimes it’s hard to read what other people have to say about you.

And, speaking of peoples’ opinions, you DO NOT have to have a blogger account to comment here. My settings are for anyone to comment. All you have to do is select ‘other’ and you can put your name and URL.

Fret not, my little non-Blogger babies.

I am still copying my old entries over here, so that my new lovelies can read all of my insightful and hilarious genius from days gone by, so hopefully in a couple of days, they’ll all be there.

Thank god I only had 170 entries, and not some ungodly number like… 508. Poor Lando.

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I may have made a decision I'll regret later, and decided to get a second job. Mama needs some moneys.

Bills, bills, bills. And they aren't going to pay themselves.

So, I am going to start assisting real estate agents and set up their databases for them for fat stacks, yo.

And, if I play my cards right, I could turn this into all kinds of money and opportunity, because real estate agents HATE administrative work, and are willing to pay handsomely for people to do the paperwork and data entry crap they're too busy to do. Enter Andria and her awesomely wicked administrative clerical skills.

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Thanks to Ashley for pointing out pictures of my least favorite singer, Fergie of the ear-piercing, suicide-inducing Black Eyed Peas pissing her pants. Go look for yourself.

That is all kinds of awesome.

Speaking of celebrities, I watched Kathy Griffin's new show last night on Bravo, which I was excited about, because I LOVE Kathy Griffin. But... I don't know. Watching her bitch about having to pay for everything bothered me. It's hard to be sympathetic watching her sit inside her ginormous Hollywood Hills house and cry about having to pay the decorator to gay it up, or whatever phrase she used. But I will still watch it, because I think she's hilarious. And anyone that makes a career out of making fun of dopey celebrities is alright in my book.

Though I am burning with jealousy.

It's Thursday, kids. Bobby and Whitney night. YES. I can't believe how totally hooked I am on that show, and the train wreck that is the lives of Bobby ("I'm Bobby Brown.You know? Bobby Brown? From New Edition? I wrote My Perogative? Roni? Bobby Brown. I'm married to Whitney Houston. Yeah, that Bobby Brown.") and Whitney.

How could you not love them? They sing about biscuits and gravy.

I love when celebrities break free from their publicists and show what morons they really are. Who knew, before this show what a ghetto piece of trash Whitney was? Look what a lunatic Tom Cruise turned into when he fired his publicist and hired his Scientologist sister. Or Britney. Oh, Britney. I don't even know where to begin with her.

I hope more stars fire their career-savvy publicists and decide to do it themselves. Then this blog will practically write itself.

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Hey! If you haven't already, go vote for me in Warcrygirl's keychain contest.

Unlike Kathy Griffin, I am poor, and need all the free stuff I can get.