You remember Nancy W. Kappes (paralegal), right? If you don’t you need to go here and catch up. Back? Awesome. Well, she was MIA for a long time due to I’ll-let-her-tell-it but she’s alive, and it feels selfish to keep that kind of news to myself. The latest from Nancy (who I’m fairly certain wrote this in the hospital on morphine while recovering from surgery. True story. That’s fucking dedication, y’all):
MEA MAXIMA CULPA. Yes, Jennikins, I fucked up once again. As a sage once said, “I want to go to the very bottom and come back and write about it.” Yes, I went that far and by all that is holy and Christ in a rowboat, sweetie, can I be forgiven? Jesus on a stick, I feel like fuck!
Could you somehow let it be known I am back and the reason is I have been waiting on my tickets to the “Maury Povich” show where I will represent Joseph [the Holy Spirit is using a pro bono attorney – dumb ass] in the case of Paternity of one Christ, Jesus. We are going to get this question the fact OVER cause goddamn! this Baby Daddy question needs an answer once and for fucking all. It will be the Ultimate Consummate Baby Daddy Show Ever. Jeez. And if you think getting a fucking dove to stick out his tongue for a swab is easy, lemme enlighten you.
Okay, well I am back on the methadone which is lovely with brandy, along with the regulars so if you have nothing else to do [like waxing your driveway] give me a shout. I’ll be here all week and try the shrimp scampi. Plus it’s only 12:30 here. Gawd in the good old days we’d be high as a kite and trying to properly dress for the night’s debauchery.
My Trail Mix runneth over.
Nancy W. Kappes (Now known as…fuck, I don’t know…”Larry”?)
Happy NWK Week, motherfuckers. And in entirely unrelated news…the weekly wrap-up of shit I was doing when I wasn’t here causing boobquakes, pointing out zombie furniture design flaws and being taken far too seriously.
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 the internets:
- I was on front page of AVN for 10 minutes, which is apparently a big deal (link is so, so, so NSFW) and also got a small shout out on Woman’s Day Magazine and The Daily Beast. I honestly don’t even know which one of these is more baffling.
- I kind of freaked the fuck out after receiving the most insulting PR pitch ever.
- My daughter got a tattoo. Also, she’s rubbing off on me.
This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:
- Fuck you, flowers.
- “I have yet to have to eat a meal as delicious as the mini bearloaves he and I would make that evening, under the stars, in the Betty Crocker EZ Bake we had brought along.”
- No one else I show this to thinks this is funny but me.
- This is something I hope to God I never have to write but her amazing courage inspires me.
This week’s wrap-up sponsored by…nobody. Or possibly someone. I can’t find my notes. My God, I suck at this. Okay, wait. This post sponsored by my friend Katherine Center who isn’t actually a sponsor in the slightest but who sits up with me late at night while I read her my convoluted diary and that’s kind of awesome. Also, she just published “Get Lucky” which is my favorite of all her books. You should totally buy it. It smells like clean laundry.