Twat Stories
Today I finally gave in to curiosity and put the site meter back up on my blog. I missed laughing at the various search terms that lead people to Sam's Stories. Within a few short hours, my goal was realized. Recent searches include: "torture fuck stiries", "twat stories", "emailmanner", and "stories of humping". By the way, if you are looking for "stories" you might want to learn how to spell it. As I chuckled out loud about "twat stories" Chicken asked, "What does twat mean?" I cannot believe that he didn't already know that word.
I'd like to address the bra-wearing public at large right now. If you do not wear a bra, you may skip this paragraph. Ready? Okay. A bra is an undergarment. This means that you wear it UNDER your fucking clothes. There are 3.2 million different styles of bras out there for you skinny little bony chicks that wear cute little summer shirts. Please pick a bra that works with the shirt you are CURRENTLY wearing. This means look at the shirt. Look at the straps on your bra. If the straps are clearly visable then pick another fucking bra. I don't care if it isn't the most comfortable bra you wear. Either take off the fucking bra and let your tits free or put on another shirt. Thank you.
Now, let's address my intestinal issues briefly. I know that you are tired of poop stories. Really, I know. Imagine how tired I am of living a life that contains so many poop stories. Recently I have killed the bathrooms of the following establishments:
Today Chicken and I went to lunch and picked up a gallon of my favorite obsession: Chick Fil A sweet tea. Yes, I can make it at home. Yes, I am a sorry excuse for a Californian if I am drinking sweet tea by the gallon. But it is fucking tasty, people. TASTY. It is also one of the few sweet items that I can currently enjoy. After lunch I attempted to visit my favorite scrapbook store that recently downsized to a smaller suite. This is not the one that I recently killed with my ass by the way. I made it all the way to the parking space when my stomach decided that it was in the mood for killin'. I beelined it to the library instead. I prefer spacious bathrooms with multiple stalls for my dirty work and I have no idea what the new facilities at the scrapbook store are like.
At the library Chicken checked out his third Piers Anthony book. Go Chicken! I am safely at home now and near my favorite room. Dear Intestines and Other Poopy Places Inside: I am done. I give up. Please stop harassing me. Love, Sam.
I'd like to address the bra-wearing public at large right now. If you do not wear a bra, you may skip this paragraph. Ready? Okay. A bra is an undergarment. This means that you wear it UNDER your fucking clothes. There are 3.2 million different styles of bras out there for you skinny little bony chicks that wear cute little summer shirts. Please pick a bra that works with the shirt you are CURRENTLY wearing. This means look at the shirt. Look at the straps on your bra. If the straps are clearly visable then pick another fucking bra. I don't care if it isn't the most comfortable bra you wear. Either take off the fucking bra and let your tits free or put on another shirt. Thank you.
Now, let's address my intestinal issues briefly. I know that you are tired of poop stories. Really, I know. Imagine how tired I am of living a life that contains so many poop stories. Recently I have killed the bathrooms of the following establishments:
- Wal Mart
- Local scrapbook store
- JC Penneys
- Lenscrafters
Today Chicken and I went to lunch and picked up a gallon of my favorite obsession: Chick Fil A sweet tea. Yes, I can make it at home. Yes, I am a sorry excuse for a Californian if I am drinking sweet tea by the gallon. But it is fucking tasty, people. TASTY. It is also one of the few sweet items that I can currently enjoy. After lunch I attempted to visit my favorite scrapbook store that recently downsized to a smaller suite. This is not the one that I recently killed with my ass by the way. I made it all the way to the parking space when my stomach decided that it was in the mood for killin'. I beelined it to the library instead. I prefer spacious bathrooms with multiple stalls for my dirty work and I have no idea what the new facilities at the scrapbook store are like.
At the library Chicken checked out his third Piers Anthony book. Go Chicken! I am safely at home now and near my favorite room. Dear Intestines and Other Poopy Places Inside: I am done. I give up. Please stop harassing me. Love, Sam.
Labels: Poop, Stupid Twats, WTF
posted by Sam at
2:21 PM
4 Comments:
Ok so the site meter thing. How does that work?? I've heard of this but never figured out how you get one etc.
I've never tried the chicken place sweet tea but am totally addicted to MCdon's. Love it.
Thanks for the comment on my blog. Yes I miss my dog. Seems like more today as I thought I was so close to being able to go get her.
Oddly, I never get tired of your poop stories. What is up with you and your poop anyway? I thought I had it bad (irritable bowel syndrome - makes me poop (sometimes quite suddenly after meals.) I kill my work bathroom almost daily.
Anyway, I agree with you on bras showing. I see it constantly here.
I used to love sweet tea as a kid (had a southern mama) but, I'm a diet drinker and just don't want the calories. So, I'm not even going to try it, because I KNOW I'll love it.
Why I really started this comment - I LOVED Piers Anthony books. LOVED THEM! I saved them all for my kids. I think that Prissy will love them too.
Okay....so I have the sitemeter thingy now, but I still don't know how to find out what weird searches people use to find me! Please enlighten me.
Don't you hate the skinny ones with the perky ones? But, you are clearly losing the battle of the visible bra strap. I'm just thankful if they stop there and I don't have to get an eyeful of thong.
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