Dear guy-that-keeps-sending-me-multiple-viagra-emails-every-single-day-of-my-life:
Yes. I know that I’ve continued to shut you down by ignoring you, installing a spam filter, asking to be taken off your list and informing you that my name is actually not “Mr. Jenny the Bloggess” but you wouldn’t quit. You were tenacious and determined and so absolutely certain that I didn’t have what it took to “satisfy my woman in the sack”. And you know what? You are totally right. I don’t even have a woman. Or a sack. That’s how much you’ve nailed me. You are the quintessential Can-I-have-your-number guy who refused to back down and so finally I realized that there must be some sort of cosmic reason that you’re badgering me and that’s when I broke down and bought the damn viagra.
And it has done nothing to my penis.
In fact? My penis is completely missing. Gone. Sure, some people might claim that it never existed at all since I’m a girl but that wouldn’t make sense because then why would I keep getting viagra ads? THAT WOULD BE RIDICULOUS. Clearly the viagra was working as I slept, I grew a penis large enough to “impale her with my furious lap rocket” (as you promised) and then it fell off. Or disintegrated like a vampire in the sun. I’m not really sure. All I know is that the enormous penis that I paid for is MIA and that happened directly after I started taking your medication so I think it’s pretty obvious that viagra causes penises to fall off. Way to go, asshole.
I have mixed emotions about my penis falling off since it apparently fell off before I could ever try it out but according to the thousands of emails you’ve sent me, a “throbbing cock-a-sorus rex is the only real reason for living” and so that’s why I have no choice but to sue you for $86.4 million.
On the other hand, I am standing extremely erect today and I’m not sure if that’s a side-effect of your drug but I’m willing to knock off the $.4 million because good posture is important. Except that I just realized that maybe the only reason that I’m standing up so straight is from the lack of my giant missing penis weighing me down and now everyone on the street can probably tell that I’m missing a penis just by my posture alone. Wait. Hold on. Let me check with the neighbors.
Okay, I’m back. I asked if they could tell that I don’t have a penis and they were all “Um..of course” and then I started crying and they looked at me weird and shut the door quickly and I can only assume that’s because they were so appalled by my new deformity. AWESOME, VIAGRA. NOW I CAN’T EVEN GO TO THE GROCERY STORE WITHOUT PEOPLE NOTICING THAT YOU MADE MY PENIS FALL OFF. I’m like the fucking Elephant Man now. Except that he had a penis. So technically? I’m worse.
Please send me the $86.4 million immediately to my paypal address. And I know you have it because it’s the one you keep spamming. Also, please add an additional $10k for pain and suffering for every thoughtless “Turn-your-sad-Rumpleforeskin-into-an-angry-Thor’s-Hammer” email that you continue to send me. You’re. not. helping.
You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.
~Jenny
Okay, so first of all my kidney infection was doing much better until last night when I seriously considered removing my left kidney myself because it hurt so much but it’s behind me and I’m not that flexible so then I thought about calling a hooker because you always hear those stories about people going off with a hooker and waking up in a bathtub of ice with one kidney gone and what I gathered from that is that hookers are good at surgery but I don’t even know where to find a hooker because we live so far out in the country. Also, with the way my luck’s been going I’d get the one hooker who doesn’t know how to illegally remove a kidney. So instead I went to the doctor again and he was all “Well, your pee looks fantastic” and I was like “…Thank you?” and he’s all “I just mean that the antibiotics are really working on the infection but your kidney’s are still inflamed so I’m going to give you a shot” and then the nurse came in and was all “Bend over. This is going to hurt” and I just kind of stared at her because “Um…what?” Apparently she had to give me the shot in my hip because it was ” much too big for your arm” and it hurt so bad I almost kicked her. But I didn’t because I’m a grown-up. And because they said that they’d call in a refill on my xanax. But I suspect that the only reason they gave me that horrible shot in the first place was so that I’d be distracted from the pain in my kidneys and would stop complaining about it. That shot is like the equivalent of “I’ll give you something to cry about”. Then the nurse asked if it hurt and I was all “Nope! Feels great!” because I was afraid that if I said it hurt she’d rip off my ear or stab me with a pen to distract me from the distraction pain. I wasn’t thinking very clearly at that point.
Then I drove an hour to the nearest pharmacy to pick up the xanax and they were all ”Oh, we don’t have xanax in stock. WE’LL HAVE TO ORDER IT.”
(This is a space to let that shit sink in.)
So then I called Victor and I was all “What kinda fucked-up, backward, hillbilly town did you move us to?!” and Victor was like ”You might be overreacting” and I was all “Well that’s probably because I MIGHT NEED SOME DAMN XANAX” and Victor was like “Well, you certainly can’t tell. Did you react this well when you were actually at the pharmacy?” and I was all “Are you even listening to me? THEY. DIDN’T. HAVE. XANAX.” Then Victor said “Well, I’m guessing they’ll stock up for next time” but he said it with less of a “clearly-they-are-trying-to-destroy-you” kind of tone and in more of a “Great. Now we can never go back to Walgreen’s” kind of way. Then a squirrel bit me in the eye. That last part is made up but it sounds like something that would actually happen to me. That’s the kind of week this has been. Also I haven’t had any booze or caffeine in 6 days because of my kidneys and I think I might be having withdrawals because my brain is mush and I asked the doctor if I could get some methadone and he said he “wasn’t that kind of a doctor“. I don’t what he meant by “that kind of a doctor” but I’m assuming he meant “helpful”.
I apologize for this whole post. If I had some methadone I bet it would make a lot more sense.
Updated: For everyone asking me why in the hell I moved to this scorpion-infested, God-forsaken suck-hole, this is the view from my street:
It does have some small perks.
And no xanax. Apparently.
Fuck. Now I’m mad again.
Comment of the day: If you decide to go through with the whole hooker kidney removal surgery thing, be sure to label which kidney she needs to remove. Because that would suck if she took your good one. Except I am pretty sure hookers take kidneys to sell on the black market, so if you label your bad one, then she will probably actually take your good one because how are you going to sell an inflamed kidney on the black market? Hookers don’t have time to worry about these kinds of things. They are paid by the hour, Jenny. So what you should do is mark your good kidney as the bad kidney so she will think she is taking your good kidney when she is really taken your bad kidney. Man, swindling hookers can be confusing. That is some espionage shit right there. But if you pull it off, you will have actually just screwed a hooker, but she will be the one that just performed an illegal activity. You win. Twice! Also, you should totally use Sonic ice to fill the bathtub because that stuff is the best. ~ Scott
Victor’s home (yay!) and he leaves again tonight (mother.fucker.) but it was nice because when he got home from his work retreat he was all “I’m exhausted. Can you rub my temples?” and I was like “Um…no. I have piratitis, remember?” and he was all “Like…fear of pirates?” and I was like “No. It’s a severe kidney infection and I feel like crap. You should be rubbing my temples” and he was all “Well, my kidneys hurt too. I had a lot to drink. Plus my throat hurts from all that karaoke” and I was all “If this gets worse they’re going to put me in the hospital” and he was like “Oh, and my company rented out an amusement park for my team and my back hurts from riding the roller coaster too much” and I was all “On the way to the emergency clinic someone ran over a cat right in front of me” and he was all “Did you see these pictures of me hula-hooping? I didn’t even know I could hula hoop” and then I was all “I found a scorpion in the toilet. Now I’m afraid to pee but I can’t stop peeing because I HAVE A LIFE-THREATENING KIDNEY INFECTION” and he was like “I understand. When I was in the airplane I bit my lip. Hurt like hell. But then I got bumped up to first class so I had ice cream to sooth it. They were out of chocolate though. It was pretty devastating”. Then I just stopped talking because I’m too weak with piratitis to find the guns.
.
PS. Turns out it’s not “piratitis” but “pyelonephritis”, but “pyelonephritis” sounds like a fear of pylons, which sounds fucking ridiculous. So I’m sticking with piratitis.
.
PPS. Victor did rub my temples so I guess that makes us not even close to being even.
.
And now, my weekly wrap-up of shit-I-did-when-I-wasn’t-here, although it’s kind of crazy long since I didn’t do it last week because my dog died. Also, this is the most depressing post ever. I apologize.
I'm using this graphic because I don't have one of me on my deathbed.
This week on Ask the Bloggess:
This week on my sex column (which is satirical and vaguely safe for work if your boss isn’t a douche-canoe):
This week on Good Mom/Bad Mom on the Houston Chronicle:
This week on the internets:
This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:
Comment of the day: I googled “pyelonephritis” and one of the symptoms was “Mental changes or confusion” and then the whole post made more sense. ~ Stoic
No Sunday wrap-up today. I have an acute kidney infection and Victor is still out of town so I’m letting Hailey be in charge of the house until he gets back. Nothing’s on fire yet and she made me lunch of tootsie-roll stew. Which is just tootsie rolls in a bowl of frosted flakes. She’s trying, y’all.
I’ll be back soon.
Today I wrote a post on my sex column about all the really horrific google searches that bring people to my blog (but that I didn’t want to write about here because that’s just going to result in even more people finding my blog when searching for “What can meth do to your vagina?”) but the thing is that there are plenty of horrific search results for my blog that don’t have anything to do with sex at all. Probably. Actually, hard to tell, now that I think about it.
Actual google searches that lead people to my blog last week:
Wow, y'all.
I think the most baffling one is “Mother fucker” because first of all, I think you spelled it wrong. Unless you meant for there to be a space in the middle. In which case? Ew. And secondly, exactly how far do you have to wade through the Google results for “mother fucker” to find my blog? It’s disconcerting.
Updated: Huh. Apparently? Not that far.
I'm #3, you guys.
If I had a resume this would be on it.
