Wartortle…

And that is the Mystery Pokemon of the day.

Anyway…

A girl at work has returned from vacation and her breasts are noticeably larger. Inevitably the gossip ring is spinning (lead by yours truly, as I am a busy body that likes a good dish of juicy prattle) and it’s slowly moving about that yes, those are fake breasts.

I will admit that I have issues with my body. I don’t like my thighs or my arms, and I really hate my stomach. At one point I went as far as to contemplate plastis surgery to correct myself, but later realized that (1) I don’t have the money for it, and (2) there is something strangely heinous about plastic surgery.

When I used to watch shows like “Extreme Makeover” I was always appalled at how different the people looked after their surgeries. And when they went out to their big reveal, their families were always cheering and crying with joy.

If I went on Extreme Makeover and had a big reveal, I think my parents would be crying with sadness because it would mean that I thought the looks they gave me with genetics were so awful that the only way to change things was to look totally unlike them.

That, I will never do…I love my parents, and thus there is no way I am going to be an ungrateful child by getting a nose job or chin implants. If I turned out ugly, then so be it. It’s still my parents’ face.

However, should I ever venture to get breast implants then mini-missile launchers are the only way to go!

“Told you not to look, biatch!”

There is a new pope in town…Pope Benedict the 16th, to be specific.

And that concludes the “current events” section of my entry. Hope you all feel more informed.

That awesomely horrific picture is me, killing someone Remy LeBeau style. You know…GAMBIT.

It’s because I just can’t win at Hold ‘Em EVER due to my poor poker face. Frustrated with the idea of losing $2, I went into my happy place and conjured up an image of me, as Gambit, bum rushing people with playing cards after they cleaned me out of chips. Mmm…savory.

And why not? If I were Gambit, I would totally forego the “save humanity from itself” lifestyle and just enter the World Poker Championships everyday. And then, when I lose to someone like Annie Duke or that guy with headphones, I’d just blast them away with the very cards they used to beat me. That’s right, it’s like ripping your own arm off and waving it at you.

I am one handsome mofo, mon ami.

P.S. I know that dude in the picture has no shoes. Or even feet. But that’s because I already tore them off with my crazy cajun baton.