Tuesday, December 13, 2011
All Hail to Agnes Morehead.
You know, I always looked up to her. I loved the way she'd rip off Maurice's (her ex) head, or tell Derwood to step off. As a little girl watching this show already in syndication, I'd clap my tiny hands in glee while she turned Derwood into an ass or ape.
Speaking of apes, asses and turds.
Cactus Man wrote me.
But you're saying, "He can't. You blocked him!" Well, not apparently on Myspace, which I hadn't checked in so long, I was suprised my password still worked.
He asked something to the effect of how was I doing. I didn't answer that but simply wrote, "I hope your grandma is doing well."
He wrote back all whiney. "How come you never ask about me?"
My inner Endora came out, and while I would have taken great pleasure into turning him into a giant cactus, or something you'd find at the bottom of a toilet, I simply wrote,
"Because, Cock-knocker, I'm sure you're doing well enough chasing the ladies and building them false castles in the air. Best, Natalie."
Then I laughed, hit "send" and then deleted his email.
I mean, really?