Maybe Zsa Zsa should be a man

I just feel like writing for a bit. Maybe I’ll find something useful to link.

I did the laundry today. Five loads. I love folding clean clothes and distributing them to everyone. It gives me a sense of accomplishment. Tomorrow I iron. I’ve been damn lazy about ironing – just doing the things I need for the next week. I may do it all tomorrow. Hanging up an ironed shirt is cool.

A few words for the guys that think housework is beneath them: blow me.

Ohio State beat Memphis today. I need Georgetown to go to the final game – two more wins. I had to distinguish my entry in the company pool somehow. The worst I can do is third. If Georgetown wins two, no other games matter – I will the pool. I think the top prize is a nice iPod … not sure. I don’t pay attention to such things. For me, the process of winning is what matters. That’s why I do well at the poker table. If you care only about the process, then you never let a card go unnoticed. If you never miss a card, you rarely lose for the night.

So Zsa Zsa Gabor’s husband, Prince (Prince?) Frederic von Anhalt, claims that he’s been nailing Anna Nicole for decades. That would be more than one. Nicole died at age 39. He was banging her since she was 19?

The guy says that Zsa Zsa, age 90 now, “was angry after he announced last month that he could be Dannielynn's father, but added that she has since forgiven him.”

Ninety? How would that conversation go?

Z: Dahling! How could you do such a thing to me?
P: But Zsa Zsa, you ever see that girl’s tits? Man!
Z: Dahling, you hurt me terrible with such talk.
P: Cut me a break, Z. I mean, my god, look at you. Your frickin’ old. You’re staring down the century mark, and think I could do only you? You ever smell yourself around 3 AM? Why do you think I bring home all the bark bags from our flights everywhere? Zsa Zsa, I love you, you know that. My sun rises and sets on you. But sticking it in you is like sticking it in a hallway. A cold, dark, drafty hallway. Only rarely is there a semblance of a leak in the roof. You’re dried up, Z. God, I want to vomit just talking about it.
Z: OK, then, I forgive you!

Was he just so good with his dick that his wife wanted one of her own? Married 17 years; divorced 18 months. He (the original guy) is paying alimony. His ex-wife (the new guy) transgendered completely. The original guy says he should be able to stop paying now that she’s a he. The court is going to rule on it, but it makes no sense. Payments will go forward. The only circumventing events in paying alimony are material change in financial condition and subsequent re-marriage.

How do you explain to your new wife that the “Tony” you are sending the alimony to is actually your ex-wife Susan? I guess you could look at pictures and see the resemblance. Do they stop shaving their legs? Does the gaseous volume of their farts increase? (That’s the only difference between men and women – the farts have the same amount of stink, our’s are just bigger.

How bad in bed to do you have to be to have your wife no longer even want to have a vagina, let alone allow you to touch it?

Speaking of interesting relationships, I realized tonight that everyone that I have lived with as an adult – except for my daughter – wound up in therapy. It’s like a record of some sort. You see, too many people play the game badly. They are lazy slobs that expect the others in the home to do everything but the “manly” things. Learn how to cook. Clean up after yourself and everyone else, and don’t look for approval like you’re a six-year old. Just do shit. Then you will realize how to mess with their heads by … I can’t let out my secrets. Sorry.

I can feel a deep flip coming … better post this before I am gone.