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Platinum Protection needed against Basement Funk

So far, analysis on the Porn Twin is that I am not delusional. I’m starting to have Joey Tribiani’s “Identical Hand Twin” theme song running through my head, except with Porn Twin lyrics. It’s crazy wacky stuff. Trust me. It is.

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The Weet-Web is now up, albeit very depressingly boring. And some of the photo links don’t work.

It’s here . Or you can click on Chubby Tinkerbell to get there too.

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Yesterday, I realized that I had done absolutely nothing on my “to-do” list, so I kicked it into gear on the laundry. Did eight million loads of laundry. Ok, four. But then Esteban tells me as I’m starting to go downstairs: “I put some of that stuff that was in the washer in the dryer. I didn’t know if your pants were supposed to be put in the dryer, so I did.” Oh. Apparently, when in doubt, go for the easy route, eh? ‘Cause the four pairs of my pants which were hanging on the line behind you DIDN’T FUCKING CLUE YOU IN?

I shouldn’t be so harsh on him. It was a very nice thing and it meant that I didn’t have to rewash that load to get rid of Basement Funk smell. I hate Basement Funk smell. In the summer, wash can only linger in the washing machine for 5.23 hours before it is permeated with The Funk. And it takes a good soaking and twice the amount of Downy Mountain Fresh green softener to get rid of The Funk. I’d rather wear stinky B.O. clothes than clean clothes that smell of Funk. It’s enough to incite you to vomit.

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I got a new deodorant. It’s Secret Platinum Protection. Platinum must be the reason it costs a buck thirty more than the regular Secret. But with the American paranoia about smelling like sweat, it sells anyway. Not like Secret is a low-priced brand anyway. It’s about $2.29 a stick. But I buy it because it doesn’t make my armpits break out in a horrible plucked-chicken-skin rash.

That’s another reason I’m a freak . I’m allergic to deodorant.

So anyway, the Platinum Protection thing is semi-liquid form. It squeezes up through these little applicator hole things. Click click click click click to get it to squeeze up and then schmear it into your pit. Then you have to click click click click click click to get enough for the other arm. It’s like applying vanilla frosting to your body.

I wonder if that would work for deodorant because as far as I know, I’m not allergic to vanilla frosting. Butter cream frosting either.

At this rate, I’m going to get about 9 applications of Platinum Protection before I’m back to the straight, less than Platinum, standard Secret. Strong enough for a man, but made for a vanilla-frosting-feeling allergic-to-deodorant freak.

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Is it just me or does one of the boys on Jackass look a little Down Syndrome-ish or maybe like the big brother of that kid from Deliverance. I don’t know his name. It’s not Chris Pontius, who is also known as Party Boy. And it’s not Steve-O or Bam Margera.

And I think it’s fairly plain that Chris Pontius likes to get nude. He thinks he’s one hot stud muffin. But he dances like a tard.

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I shouldn’t be so hard on Esteban. He’s really a very good husband. Just a little lazy. It’s very nice having someone, who upon waking up in the morning and seeing me, says “Beautiful Girl!”. And he means it.

Collectively now: “Awwwwwww”

So I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. Esteban is wonderful. And sweet and caring. And much nicer to me than I am to him.

For those of you playing along at home, his cough has not gone away and he’s getting a refill of his horse suppository antibiotics. And he’s smoking the entire time.

Sweet and caring but not neccessarily smart.

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Not a great diary entry, I know, but it’s Monday. And I’ve got a headache. So stop looking at me that way.

Just think instead about how disappointed you were by “Mummy Returns” and be glad that I’ll be back tomorrow with a hopefully better entry.

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