that disappearing act you do is inappropriate

April 24th, 2012

they are called “yoga pants,” …not “saran wrap pants.”

duh.

do everyone a favor, and before you leave the house in your spandex/yoga pants/tight gym gear, bend over in front of someone and ask what type of underwear you’re wearing.  if the person standing behind you can name the color, print or texture of your undergarments, please change.  too many times have i been blessed to witness the “now you see them, now you don’t” black leggings.  no, it probably doesn’t phase me as much as the pre-pubescent teenage boy who is bicep curling eight pounds in the corner of the gym, but regardless, tight sheer pants went out with popularity of jane fonda’s workout videos.

it’s okay to look a little grungy at the gym.  you are there to sweat and get healthy, not audition for a latino-rap music video.  comprende?

yogapants

black leggings are like vampires…don’t subject them to direct sunlight.

renee carol heals all wounds. especially the ones where you run over your own cat.

March 25th, 2012

to make a week worse than it already was turning out to be, my mother accidentally ran over one of the family cats the day after my grandmother’s funeral.  he was old, almost had reached 18 years of age, but was suddenly yanked from this world thanks to the fuel efficient (and apparently deathly) toyota prius that my mom drives.

i was sitting in class when it happened and was lucky enough to get that “special” text message regarding the carnage.  the conversation that follows is a blow-by-blow of what was said between my mother and i.

mom: shit! i ran over rowdy this morning.  we had to ether him.  i was leaving for work and backed over him.  it was a total accident.

me: ma, look on the bright side: the way rowdy went out was way more rogue than choking on a meatball.*

me: toyota could have a new ad campaign that appeals to dog lovers.  the prius; environmentally savvy, economic fuel efficiency, detrimental to felines.

me: i knew rowdy was getting up there in age, but i told you that i wanted him to go “peacefully,” not “prius-fully.”  i guess you confused the two.

me: haha mom.  you have to joke about this.  i am just poking fun to lighten the mood.  but honestly, i wonder how many MPGs you’re going to get, now that you have cat meat on your tires?

mom: there’s fur stuck in my tires and  on the driveway.  i feel terrible.

mom: they are tiger paw’s, you know.

me: ahaha! no!

me: go figure.

me: ma, it was just the way things were meant to be.  you gotta laugh off the tears.  lord knows i am right now.

mom: i just got a kindle fire from best buy.  the cashier asked how we were and we told her that we just buried our mom and i ran over the cat.  i bet she won’t ask anyone else how they’re doing.

me: haha prob not.

me: this has inspired me to make a new version of the game Clue.  a likely option will be, “it was Nancy Carol in the garage with the Prius!”  mystery solved.

i am going to miss that kitty.  he had uncontrollable tremors in his old age and was losing his senses, but he was a good boy.  rest in peace, rowdy…and don’t worry, i don’t think there are hybrid vehicles where you’re headed.

*a little side note: my parent’s neighbor accidentally killed one of her (small) dogs by feeding it a meatball.  the little mutt choked on it and that was the end of that.  at least his last meal didn’t consist of kibble and bits and ass-licking, right?!?

game of dodgeball, it’s Nana and jesus versus the rest of us

March 12th, 2012

people have different ways of dealing with the loss of a loved one.  some turn to poetry, some turn to food, and i turn to comedy.  naturally.

recently i lost my grandmother.  the sweetest little old lady that you’ve probably never met succumbed to the perils of aging and quietly passed away on March 6 of this year.  there was the visitation at the funeral home, the catholic church service and then the luncheon following the mass.  all were pretty standard functions, minus the fact that renee carol was in attendance.  what follows below should not be interpreted as a sign of disrespect, but more of final salute to my sweet little grandmother.  out of her four grandchildren, she knew that i was most likely the one to stick her foot in her mouth and do stupid and outlandish things.  so, blogging in her honor is my way of saying, “farewell, Nana.  i love you always!”

now let’s immortalize you on the internet.

funerals are always a drag.  yes, there is the obvious reason that people are gathering to mourn the loss of a loved one, and then there’s the realization that hits you when you notice how many bat-shit crazy people you are directly related to.  i figure there’s no getting around it.  someday (arguably if not already) i will lose my damn mind along with the control of my bowels.  when the paternal AND maternal sides of your family show signs of delusion, you’re pretty much fucked.

the visitation for my Nana was on a sunday afternoon.  as horrible as this is to admit, i couldn’t stay for the whole thing because i had other things that needed to be done before the weekend was over.  Nana was always pretty understanding, so i knew she wouldn’t be mad at me for not staying the whole eight hours.  i didn’t go up and look at her in the coffin because we all pretty much know the dead body of a loved one never looks as wonderful as the living thing.  i decided to pay my respects to her photos, instead.  my grandma was a short little thing with wavy red hair and looked like a pinup girl.  blessed with twin torpedoes on her chest, she was a buxom bombshell until the day she died.  my grandpa wasn’t a fool, and you could clearly see that he knew what true beauty was.  unconditional love was definitely present in all of the photographs that they shared together, and it was nice to see that marriage surviving past 72 days was, and is, a possibility (ahem, kim kardashian).

after flipping through the pictures and trying to avoid direct eye contact with relatives that you know you really can’t tolerate mingling with, my mother dragged my brother and me out to meet some of her friends.  i figured, hey, if they know i am the spawn of nancy carol, i can pretty much say anything dumb and get away with it.

“this is my son, brian,” she said as she pointed to my brother.  “he’s two years younger than renee, but he owns his own house and works with computers.”

ah, so it’s going to be like that? i wondered how many people she had already given that introduction to behind my back.

“…and i’m renee, the one with two part time jobs, still in school and struggling to be a young professional,” i said.  “but it’s nice to meet you.”

“oh, she’s just like you,” the women said to my mother, laughing.  sure, i was trying to lighten the mood with my comedy, but what i was saying was also true.  too bad i wasn’t kidding about the mediocrity of my life.

while chatting with the people that i wasn’t trying to avoid and overhearing conversations, my roommate and i mentioned that there should be a list of things that one shouldn’t say out loud at a funeral.  ringing in at the top of that list was, “hey there, (insert name).  how are you doing?”  to which the response was, “well, i’m still breathing.”

i kid you not.  we all say it in everyday life without even thinking.  when it slips out in this particular scenario, you can’t help but laugh at the awkward timing of the expelled phrase.

that was just one instance among many other catch-phrases and horrible outfits on display.  when i decided it was time to go, my brother and i said our goodbyes and crawled out the door.  i had enough awkward family moments for one day, i needed to rest up for part deux.

the day of the funeral service was horrible weather.  rainy, a little chilly and just plain gloomy.  being the complete opposite of my butch mother, i wore 5-inch platform heels with a skirt to the church service.  you’ll find out later why this was a bad idea, but for the time being, i’ll inform you that just two nights prior, i was hanging out with friends in downtown royal oak and tripped over a set of train tracks.  my knees took a minor beating, but i was hell-bent on wearing skirts this weekend to the funeral services.  i don’t get to break out my fancy heels all of the time, so dressing up and showcasing my addiction to bargain-buy designer pumps prevailed.  my skirt, high heels and bashed up knees were on display for jesus and my grandmother.

while i was sitting in the church pew, i kept glancing at the statue of jesus on the cross.  and what would you know?!?  he has bilateral bloody knees, as well…however i doubt his were from clumsily tripping over railroad tracks in downtown royal oak.

the ceremony was a catholic one (read a very, very long one) and my brother and i had no idea what in the hell to do at what time.  stand up, sit down, chant, father, son, holy spirit, throw up a gang sign, hug your neighbor, etc.  the body of christ was offered and i almost thought about eating it because my stomach was singing along with the church hymns.  i retracted that idea when i saw the priest attempt to swallow the cracker, but instead look like he had just embarked on the Saltine challenge.  (don’t know what that is?  youtube it.)

i’m not catholic, so i knew eating the body of christ (or just being in church, for that matter) was probably a bad decision.  as i was thinking about that, i started to smell burning.  literally, the scent of something burning was lingering in the air.  okay, okay, jesus, i’m sorry i am so hungry i thought about devouring your body and then some, but knock it off with this burning smell.

i wasn’t the only one who smelled it, so at least i know someone else had been as hungry as i was and was thinking about inappropriately eating a christ cracker.

we stood up and sat down some more for the service and then my mother leaned over to me in the pew.  “we just heard that you and your brother are going to help be pallbearers,” she whispered.

“are you kidding me?!?  did you see my shoes?  this could be bad!” i said in despair.

“well, your dad said that if you can walk in them, then you’ll be fine.”

fan-freaking-tastic.  at this point, i really regretted wanting to chow down on a christ cracker out of my own selfishness.  i get the point.  i had inappropriate thoughts about eating a wafer when i’m not catholic and now i have to help carry out my Nana’s casket in heels.  POINT TAKEN.

when all was said and done, me and five other relatives took our positions on each side of the casket.  now mind you, this church was not set up for someone to walk in the door, hand-in-hand, let alone while bear-hugging a casket.  to say it was a tight squeeze would be an understatement.  also, my family is shockingly not made up of tall, swedish models, either.  two people plus a casket walking through the door frame of the church must have looked ridiculous to whomever was standing on the outside.  we probably all looked like baby hogs emerging from a birth canal with the way we were squeezing out.

when the casket was out the door, then it was time to descend the small staircase to the street.  the stairs and railing posed the same threat; too many people, not enough room.  we maneuvered our way down the few steps with only a minor incident when my hips decided that they wanted to become comfortably wedged between the casket and the hand rail.  i thought that maybe no one had noticed until my uncle, who was traveling behind me, said, “don’t worry, i’m wearing my fat suit today.”

awesome!  i had to reply, “yeah, i wear this ass everyday.”

directly following the service was the luncheon at the catholic school behind the church.  my brother, roommate and i walked in to the gymnasium where it was being held and the first thing out of my mouth was, “i bet we could have a bitchin’ game of dodgeball in here.”

“did you really just say that?” my roommate asked.

of course i did.  i verbalize all of my asinine thoughts.  i don’t think my grandmother would have expected it any other way.

rest in peace, Nana.  you will continue to be loved and missed tremendously…and i promise to never change from the granddaughter that you knew and loved unconditionally.

thank you for my hall pass to continue to be a dumbass.  i won’t let you down!

that tina, she knows what she’s talking about

February 17th, 2012

On page nine in Tina Fey’s book, Bossypants, there’s a quote that couldn’t be more true: “..and egomaniacs of average intelligence or less often end up in the field of TV journalism.”

i should know, because i was one of those egomaniacs at one time (possibly of average intelligence or less).  sure, i went to college thinking that i was going to get a degree in business, but after realizing that i have the math skills equivalent to that of a drunken wombat, i retired that idea.  my next idea of “brilliance” was probably one of my worst: going in to the field of broadcasting.  i studied, participated in class projects and extra-curricular activities and even did my internship at MTV in New York.  i did it…i graduated from CMU with a bachelor’s in broadcast and cinematic arts with a minor in journalism.  and from there, i have since worked in almost every job field BUT broadcasting or journalism.

i suppose there could be two reasons for this college degree failure. one, it’s almost impossible to get a good gig in the broadcasting industry right out of college that’ll pay you what you think you’re worth with benefits.  that’s right.  if $18,000 a year without any health insurance sounds like a dream to you, then by all means, go in to broadcasting.  two, i lost my love for myself.  now, i’ll admit i never was a narcissistic prick, but there was something awesome about seeing my over-sized Hungarian head on the big screen.  i felt that if i were cool enough to get on tv, then i was someone worth watching…and then those assholes from the jersey shore ruined everything.  they might be on tv, but i am not going to say that they are always worth watching.

since realizing that i’m just your regular average joe, i lost my urge to be on tv.  people who are on tv usually are there because they either blew their way to the big screen, or their love for themselves and less-than-average paychecks skyrocketed them past everyone else suited for the position.  don’t get me wrong, i’d still go in to radio.  i figure, i don’t necessarily want to be seen, but being heard will do.  and if i’m only being heard, then the listening audience clearly wouldn’t be able to tell that my hair hasn’t been washed in a few days or that my outfit of choice is a t-shirt and sweat pants.

maybe some day i’ll go back to thinking that i’m tv-worthy.  the tell-tale sign will be when i start giving out life-sized cut outs of myself as stocking-stuffers at christmas.    until then, you’ll find me lounging around in a relaxed outfit that doesn’t smell too terribly bad, eating celery sticks and hummus while browsing the TMZ website.

i told you.  i don’t love myself…as much as i love stupid celebrity gossip.

the million dollar question

January 10th, 2012

what is it like to be renee carol?

well, why don’t you ask the person who recently stole my identity?

i know it must be alluring to see me, walking down the street, in my thrift-store threads, box-dyed hair, 5-year-old dirty winter coat with my pants tucked in to my knock-off Uggs (not in the fashionable way.  i look like i just threw my boots on and ran out the door…mostly because i probably did.)  it really must provoke someone to do something so dishonest and disgusting, such as stealing renee carol’s identity.

i figured, if someone is dumb enough to want to try and be me, even if only for a day, i might as well spare them the effort and just describe what i’m really like.  here it goes.

if you really would like to get to know me, let’s start off by taking a peek in to my car.  one would find that it has a personalized edge (dog hair) followed by a hint of carelessness (minor stains, scratches and things that have yet to be identified on the floor mats.)  it’s littered with gum wrappers (i enjoy combating halitosis) and old fitness magazines (because i’m a meathead by trade.)  i have an assortment of different music cds, ranging from taylor swift to screamo rock, once recorded by my old roommate and his band.  one would also find a valentine that dates back to 2001 from a girlfriend of mine (ask me to keep an important receipt? no way.  make sure i keep a silly valentine?  no prob.)  there are bobby pins in the cup holders, loose change strewn about and missing pieces from the interior of my car that i’m sure are buried in the crevices of my seats.  there you have it, renee carol; unorganized, all-over-the-place and likes shitty music.

moving on, we will dissect renee carol’s room.  one phrase to describe it?  thrift store goods and bargain-guy orgy scene.  pay full price for something when i don’t have to?  no way.  if i bought it, i probably either used a coupon for it or got it on discount.  i bought my king-sized bed twenty percent off (just bought a mattress though, no box spring.  i figured why spend the money on one if i didn’t really need it?  throwing a mattress on the floor is wayyy more urban than having a nice bedroom set. psssh.)  almost every item of clothing i own was either worn by someone before i owned it or bought on clearance.  i don’t hang nice pictures up in the places that i live because i usually don’t plan on staying there for extended periods of time.  shoes…shoes reproduce like hamsters on ecstasy in my world.  but yet again, bought on clearance or at my favorite recycled clothing retailer.  i have no qualms about putting my feet in something that some stranger has worn before, probably sans socks.  it’s like playing footsie with a (presumably) hot stranger of the same sex.  it’s how i get my thrills.

let’s upgrade to the bathroom.  there are more gadgets and products in there than a porn star’s dressing room.  hair, makeup, perfume, lotions…all the essentials when it comes to being a woman.  that bathroom cupboard that i’m supposed to share with the boyfriend?  well, i guess it’s still considered “sharing” if i take up 95% of it and the other 5% is left for his “manly” items.  bottom line?  i buy far too many beauty essentials to share my bathroom with others.  i’m selfish, yet manicured (sometimes.)

i own a used computer, an old-school tv, and lots of vitamins.  you want to browse the internet at mediocre speeds, not receive HD channels and stay on top of your health?  swing on by, i might be able to help.  my bank account is sub-par, i recently started going to college again and i eat food off of the floor.  being me is certainly not fabulous.

word to the wise; the next time you want to be somebody, pick someone who doesn’t trek around town with a wallet-full of coupons for almond milk and holes in her socks.  choose someone who can afford to buy nice things and won’t eat food from the floor…

…and for those of you cringing at that, i’ll have you know it was fine.  i utilize the five-second rule.  it’s a concept to live by.  i’m keeping it classy, one fallen m&m at a time.

this better be one hell of a year

January 4th, 2012

if the mayans are correct, then it’s going to be our last.  do i really believe that?  hell no, but it sure is a great excuse to do all kinds of stupid shit, anyway.

my year started off in nashville, tennessee with great friends and boat-loads of people who thought kicking off the new year on broadway street would be a great idea.  at the time, i didn’t exactly know when the new year had chimed in, due to the fact that the massive crowd wasn’t giving a countdown and the audio went out for the live talent.  so it’s safe to assume that this year might be the beginning of my intellectual descent.  i kicked it off not knowing what the hell was going on, and i am afraid that this might be a recurring trend throughout 2012.

as for resolutions, well, i suppose i hadn’t really thought of any before the new year got here.  last year i decided to watch more educational programming, so i stayed tuned to the history channel for two straight months and gave up on the jersey shore.  i learned how the states got their shapes, educated myself about ancient aliens and even decided that if i were to live in any era, i would have chosen to live in detroit during the 1920s, all thanks to the history channel.  as for what was going on in new jersey, well, i had no idea.

but, just like most things, resolutions come and go.  that’s why this year i have decided to not make any at all.  i need to constantly improve on myself rather than make silly little temporary changes.  (i started watching crap on TV around march of last year.  i could only learn so many things about history…i needed a break.)  so, my improvements that need to be constantly worked on include;

1.  being an asshole. i find at times that i am too nice to people, and too forgiving in certain situations.  i need to hike up my skirt, grab my (invisible) balls and just start speaking my mind.  now, i don’t intend to hurt feelings, but i might piss some people off.  when you’re sick of being walked on for so long you do one of two things: become as asshole, or sew the word “welcome” on to all of the items in your wardrobe.  nobody wants to be a door mat…and if you put the word “welcome” on all of your clothes, (especially your undies), then you’re just going to look like a total skank.

2.  educate myself, the old-fashioned way. i’m headed back to school in a week, but this time my class schedule does not include watching the history channel.  i figure that if i am ever going to get anywhere in life, i need to keep learning new things (AKA wasting more tuition money.)  blow jobs can only get you so far…the rest you can leave up to education.

3.  stop spending money on crap that doesn’t matter. now, i was never one to waste money on getting my nails manicured, getting my hair done every 12 weeks or draping myself in lavish jewels.  if you ask me, all of the aforementioned sounds pretty gay.  what i DO like to spend money on includes: booze, gym clothes, makeup, hair products and booze.  typically in that order.  i need to stop spending like i am trying to dress an entire soccer team in workout gear, like i am yearning to be a drag queen with all of the makeup, as if i am trying to style my hair like i am going to be starring in a beauty pageant and like i am drinking for two. (insert off-color-fetal-alcohol-syndrome-joke here.)  i only have one body, one face, one head full of hair and one liver to worry about.  dropping (presumably) thousands of dollars a year on this stuff just doesn’t make sense.  i can look like a drag queen without all of the makeup.

resolutions are for pussies.  (see!  i am already improving on my asshole abilities right now!)

happy new year, fuckers.

wongfoo

that’s me on the right.

who spiked my eggnog with prenatal vitamins?

December 25th, 2011

it’s the holidays.  as small children and and people who resemble jesus are having the time of their lives, renee carol sits back and reminds herself of why this christmas is better than the last; she didn’t wake up by herself in a vegas hotel room, hungover as shit, dry-heaving in the shower.

true story.

last year my family and i spent the week leading up to christmas in las vegas, creating more reasons for us to remain on santa’s “naughty list.”  as tradition would have it, my brother and i ventured out the night before we were flying home (christmas eve) and proceeded to get hammered on the vegas strip.  one casino after another, one drink after the next, one fuzzy memory followed by another we’d soon forget.  before i knew it, i was drunk-dialing someone who actually resembled jesus while eating a can of pringles with hot sauce sprinkled on top.  after putting myself in to a chip and alcohol-induced coma, i passed out on the living room floor in our condo and called it a night.  sorry i didn’t leave cookies for you santa, but my drunk ass ate everything in sight.

when morning came, i got out of bed (up off the floor) and looked around.  everyone was gone, there was pringles and hot sauce covering everything and my mouth tasted like the scene of a high-fructose corn syrup gang-bang.  great.  now i know how macauley caulkin felt in home alone.  just. like. that.

i dragged myself in to the shower, held on to the marbled wall and leaned forward to only half-way regurgitate my souvenirs from the night before.  santa brought me a wicked hangover and i didn’t appreciate his cruel gesture.

but the painful christmas didn’t stop there.  rather than fly home with my family to michigan, i was flying solo back to arizona, because that’s where i lived at the time.  the second-half of my christmas 2010 was spent trying to catch my connecting flight at the san diego airport, surrounded by holiday cheer.  it was at that moment that i vowed to myself to never be alone on christmas again.

so here i am in 2011.  one full year later and it seems as though everything has changed.  i didn’t wake up hungover and alone on christmas in a vegas hotel room, i instead woke up at my parent’s house in my old bed.  i set my alarm to get up early to go see my god son open up gifts from santa and then i came back to my parent’s house and had a nutritious meal of chocolate chip cookies and banana bread.  no hangover in sight…and yet, this still doesn’t feel right.  i guess it’s really not a holiday unless i am feeling miserable.  the more and more i thought about it, all of the holidays in my adult life have been spent feeling miserable due to one thing or another.  some people have certain moments during the holidays that stick out and symbolize why that moment is so memorable.  somewhere along the lines of, “well it’s not christmas until aunt ann gets all liquored up on butterscotch schnapps and starts saying mean things to people.”

where was that moment for me this year?  where was my drunken aunt ann calling me out for being a failure at everything in life?  where was that one moment that makes me miserable and truly makes this holiday season MY holiday season?!?

then there it was.

“i am never going to get grandchildren, am i?” my mother asked.

well, shit.  NOW it’s the mother fucking holidays.

as a family we have already collectively decided that next year’s celebrations will be spent in las vegas again.  me and my empty womb will be stumbling down the strip, scoping out the street dogs that most resemble a baby, that way i have something to take back to my mother for next year’s christmas present.

happy holidays…from my dysfunctional family to yours.

it’s about time i got a little crazy

November 29th, 2011

the boy and i were having a conversation the other day about crazy things that we did when we were younger.  clearly, we grew up in two totally different worlds.

the boy: “when i was about 15, i tried all kinds of things with my girlfriend at the time.”

me: (in utter disbelief) “WHAT?!?  when i was 15, if someone asked me if i wanted to ‘experiment,’ i would have gone in my parent’s fridge and grabbed a Zima.  Eww, you’re slutty.”

zima

i’d still rather experiment with a Zima now-a-days than do some of the crazy shit i’ve seen on youporn.com.  i’d take getting fucked up on lightly carbonated fake-beer drink than a bukkake facial any day.

i’ll see your samuel l. jackson, and i’ll raise you a william shatner

November 13th, 2011

negotiator2

my negotiation skills are magnificent.  case in point:

me: “my boobs will be better after i get a boob job.”

kasey: “you don’t need a boob—”

me: “shut up.”

end of conversation.  i win.  i think.

your poor use of grammar deters me

October 20th, 2011

Drunk Female Wanted (warren)



Just like the heading says..
I know its unusual but I am looking for an average to slim build female who will let me watch them get high or drink.. Then we will have a little adult fun. I will buy the goods for you. or $ for your time.
Email me if your interested.
YOU must send me pictures and a contact number in the first email.

Im 29 from the eastside.

while stumbling around on craigslist, i ran across this gem.  why did i click on it you ask?  that’s not important.

anyway, as i was reading what this person was looking for, i couldn’t help but notice all of the grammatical errors littered throughout this post.  of course, i may have been interested in your service, but now that i know you’re a complete moron, i’ll pass, thanks.

let’s correct this essay of (presumably) non-consensual sex:

Drunk Female Wanted (warren)

*first off, great attention-getter.  ladies with no class and the self-realization that their lives can be classified in to this category will be attracted to your headliner…as was i, apparently.


Just like the heading says.. yeah, yeah, i got it the first time.  you’re looking for a floozy.
I know its it’s unusual but I am looking for an average to slim build female who will let me watch them get high or drink.. (why two periods?!) Then we will have a little adult fun. I will buy the goods for you. (yet again, no need for this period) or $ for your time. unusual?!? no.  i never would have pegged this post as “unusual.”  requesting to watch someone consume mind-altering substances and then part-take in “adult fun” is something that i request on public search engines often.  what turns me off about you is, you are getting picky with whom you’d like to have adult fun with.  i would have figured, since you posted this on craigslist, your qualifications and expectations would have been sub-par.  also, with your less-than-elementary knowledge of proper grammar, i feel the need to correct your listing like a school paper.  lastly, if you weren’t aware, offering to pay people for “adult fun” is considered soliciting prostitution and you were implying that you’d buy “the goods” which can get you in to another legal mess, altogether.  i’m no lawyer, but i’m definitely not a complete jack-hole, either.

Email me if your you’re interested.
YOU must send me pictures and a contact number in the first email.
why is the emphasis on YOU? you mean to tell me that my dad can’t send you pictures of me for this particular request?  whatever.  you’re so demanding, and i don’t think i like where this relationship is going already.

Im I’m 29 from the eastside. i bet you’re not, and if you’re referring to being from the “eastside” of Moronville, then you’re right.  good luck with this one, sir.


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