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Sugar on the Rag

Dear Murray:

i’m in a bitch ass weird mood today. one thing i hate about being single is having no one to soothe me when i’m on the rag. i’m a selfesh brat today and i want someone to cook me a steak , bring my chocolates, pat my head and say “there there sugah.” i don’t even want to complain about my cramps, i swear. i just want someone nice and strong who smells nice to be sorry that i hurt. i had my ex so well trained in this regard..i almost miss the fucker right now.

i’m thinking there oughta be a service. a trade off if you will. he who is willing to deal with my poutyness gets the “yeah my period is over” bootycall.

whattaya think?

menses maude in maine

GODDAMN. Is that all it takes? Don’t let this shit out or the entire flower and fancy restaurant industries will collapse!

Does this have to turn into one of those fucking self-help group hugathons, though? there, there honey, it’s GOOD blood. it’s GOOOD. it makes life and you were chosen to make life. let’s chant. let’s all be happy. let’s

Fuck, I got carried away there.

The problem here is you are obviously ragging RIGHT FUCKING NOW, and nothing you say counts. Because if you want us to forget all those fucked up nasty things you say to us while you’re on the rag, we have to excuse EVERYTHING you say. Can’t be selective. It’s all or nothing, baby.

So then, bring your ass back here in a week when you’re not flowing like the mighty Mississippi and let’s see if your plan has been altered.

Then, we’ll talk.

Now leave me the fuck alone.

Categories: Limp Dicks

Dear Murray

Dear Murray a tasty, tasty bitch beloved and feared by hordes of basement-dwelling illiterati and their fierce antagonists, the Grammar Nazis. He single-handedly turned the webcam whorefest of Myspace into a lively commerce of ideas, including whether or not the TUBGIRL photo will ever be topped as a postmodern expression of the inexpressible. According to web historians, he has inspired more photoshop projects and syphilis jokes than Britney Spears (who he has been repeatedly linked romantically to). He is also rumoured to be the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby, a disciple of Cliff Yablonski, and the second gunman on the grassy knoll. Although he could not be reached for comment, he reportedly resides in or near the tent cities along the LA River Basin, third right after the walrus sunning station.

He has vehemently denied all charges that he is any any way responsible for that rash your wife claims "is from the heat".

His primary function is doling out advice; the inspiration sprang from an endless and eventually dull repetition of fucktards failed to heed his words.

A secondary result is a dysfunctional family "round table" of people who contribute innumerable one-liners and personal experiences, rarely related in any way to the actual question.

It is estimated that tens of thousands of readers have "LOL'd" approximately 5,395,645,694,167,467,105 times, with the toll expected to rise.

He is immune to kryptonite, chlamydia, and brainwashing.

Wikipedia has banned PENCILTITS's entry, debating the relevance of his tasty bitchiness.