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Hot Barney

Issue Date: Wednesday, Mar. 10, 2004

Dear Lord, my feet smell like Doritos™. I have the ugliest little black leather mules [shoes] on that apparently I wore whist walking through a field of Nacho Cheese Doritos™ … OR… that I wore when it was raining, got them wet, then continued to wear them without socks or nary a stocking and now they smell like puppy breath.

Yeah. I’m sexy like that.


I have a term stuck in my brain that eludes me as to its definition and its origin. Stripper wood. I woke up with that in my head and now it won’t go away. I am not sure if it is a type of parquet flooring used in gentlemen’s entertainment establishments, if it is a type of freshwater fish or maybe a strain of long grain wild rice.


This cracks me up… yup only me. And maybe Clarice. But I must include it in this random entry. I came back from lunch with my husband yesterday and a thought wedged itself in my head between the notion that I needed to pull up my tank under my blouse as not to attract any boobie lookers and that I was excited about lunch with Stacey the Possum Slayer at El Fenix this week.

The thought was this… my buddy Tim, who refuses to sign the guest book, looks like a hot Barney.

Check it.

Now he is much better looking than the above image mind you. But I have seen him take on a case of Bud Lite and win… repeatedly.

Ok, now squinch up your eyes and make the image all blurry… take away the belly… yeah, now add a goatee… and a southern drawl. Better. Give him good soccer legs and make his eyes crinkle up when he laughs… yeah, like that.

Perfect.

Sir Timothy, I dub thee… Hot Barney.

Now sign the guest book darn it!


Clarice sent me an email this morning saying that if I dreamt of Gomer or Kim anymore she would personally crawl into my brain and remove all traces of either one... as she knows and has spent time with both of them. Bless her heart.

I wouldn’t object to the brain scouring, but thankfully I haven’t really even thought about either one since the dream the other day.

That is one of the reasons I love thee Diaryland. You are my one-dimensional therapist. I spew forth the crap that comes to mind and you offer a Pandora’s box in which to keep it. Keeping it for retrospection, reflection or just a quick laugh.

Thank you Diaryland… you rock out with your cock out!

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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.


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