Just think of all those freaky-deaky nice Catholic boys out there in need of a comforting embrace. Mmmmmm….

Funniest thing heard so far today:

Rush Limbaugh saying, “This babe Nancy Newkirk…”

(normally I don’t listen to ole Rushie, but I’ll give it to the bastard, he was on FIRE today)

Swear ta Pete, I’ma put a bounty on the head of the first cartoonist to craft an illustration of the Pope and the Schiavo woman:

~in heaven

~making conversation

~embracing one another

~generally interacting in any way

You know somebody’s gonna, people. Just give it a minute.

Rounding out the celebrity death triumvirate (even though the Pope is or is not ‘officially’ dead at the time of this writing), the Chicken Tough Man died. The very obvious joke would be to say that now they’ll have chicken with their vegetables in the great beyond, but that would be a horribly nasty and tacky thing to say, and I want presents for my birthday.

One of you go do it.

Last-minute, panicky post before I go to bed.

DAMN it!

Tough times call for extreme measures, champy.

I can’t recall ever, EVER in the history of this blog-thing having announced my birthday to you, humble and delicious Muffinasses.

However, please glance at the title of this entry.

This is an emergency situation: I JUST USED MY VERY LAST LUSH BATH BOMB!

(the one I was hoarding up like a big cheapskate because no fresh ones were materializing on the horizon)

(my last dollop of Dream Cream disappeared just after the first of the year, boo-dee-hoo)

I AM BEYOND BROKE!

IT IS MY BIRTHDAY! (when I was born, they –meaning my cruel, cruel extended fambly– told my father I was a boy. “HAPPY NEW BABY SON, HENRY!” he was understandably startled at my lack of penis and beefy boy hands. “APRIL FOOL’S! SHE’S ACTUALLY A DELICATE LITTLE BLONDE FLOWER OF FUTURE WOMANHOOD, AHHHHAHAHA!”)

I humbly present for your consideration a recently-altered wishlist. I mean, come on, won’t it make you feel great to know that at least one Hellabamian will smell loverly for sure?

pee ess…once upon a forever ago, I was a Menudo fan. Roy Rosello was THE HOTNESS, hear me?? One year, as a birthday gift, my best friend and next door neighbor Michelle made me a pillow case with Roy’s face on it (things like that were expensive back in the day, and Mich was riiiiiich, just so you’re aware of the tony company I kept). You know, so that I could practice kissing him for our inevitable future meeting and smoking romance. Alas, Roy has disappeared, so if any of you can dig him up, he’d be an acceptable substitute for a Lushdotcom gift pack. Just explain to him that I despised the dorky-assed black and red striped muscle shirt that he sometimes was (surely forced into and despised) wearing. You’re a pal. But not as big a pal as Michelle.