Cause I said so....
Something crazy is going on at my house. My family loves snacks and they get very antsy when the snack supply gets a little low. As a result, I must resort to hiding my snacks. Lately, when I go back to my hiding place, they are gone! How do I solve this mystery?
Dear Tanner, the Yorkie who can type,
Mee-maw knows you think we are stealing your snacks. I can assure you that we have no interest in your tiny, fake steak bones. However, you might do well to remember that you can't hide ice.
I love you!
Dear Friendly neighborhood stalker,
I love you, too. Send me money.
Poor Tanner! Hope he's feeling better now, did he ever find his testicles??? Or is he still lost.... lol.
Dear Person who cares enough to ask about my dog's hoo-ha's,
He's checked everywhere, to include under the pillows on the sofa and in my shoes. I'm keeping him crazy drugged on doggie cocaine though, so I don't think the reality has set in. He heard his lesbian dream boat barking outside today and he wanted to go to her so badly he nearly figured out how to use sign language. I will cry when he finally attempts to love the women in his life only to find out he's now the Mayor of Dysfunction Junction.
I know you've had a lot of husbands. How do I get my husband to "perk up" in the bedroom?
Dear Potty mouth that thinks I know about those things,
You came to the right person because I so do know about those things. When I was twenty, I read the "Joy of Sex" from cover to cover...although it really didn't involve reading as much as it did looking at creepy pictures of hippies that didn't know what a razor was for, doing things I don't think real people do. Therefore, I consider myself a "do the deed" expert.
First of all, leave a copy of Norah Jones' "Turn Me On" in the CD player of his car. If that don't get him all raring to go, he's not capable of going. Next, leave him a series of...um....less than lady like messages on his phone. (Make sure you actually have his voice mail and not his boss'.) And finally, pretty yourself all up so that you look like a two-dollar hooker before he gets home. (And don't shave your armpits or your legs. The book says men like that.)
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