Grossed Out

I went to brunch with Al. I had a conversation with one of the townies, and she asked me about Glen. I told her that he was history. Her reply was; “You know where your bread is buttered.” WTF?!? Excuse you?!?

 

Envious much?

Ok your pathetic cowness, Here is the deal. You see these diamonds? These rubies? These pearls? All of this gold? I bought them. I bought them with my own money. Not Al’s or ANYONE else’s. You see this Coach bag? That’s right, I bought that too, AND the silk bandanna tied to the handle. This silk turtleneck? Uh huh, My money again. These Emu boots were purchased by me as well. As were my black Levi’s. If I’m a whore then Al is the worst, Cheapest trick in the history of Christendom because he has PAID for precious little, if any, of my classy bitch gear.

In your defense, you’re not the first cheap dirty mind in this town that I’ve had to educate. It’s a thankless task. I don’t think that there is enough mega-tonnage on this planet to open that tiny mind of yours.

Let’s get one thing straight: I BUY THE BREAD, I BUY THE BUTTER.

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