MAGICAL POST

God damn Sweet BABY JEBUS and the Orphans....

TUESDAY'S TITS

Never again will I suggest there are no good assets to be found within Victoria...

HAULING ARSE IN FRANKSTON

And how was your weekend? Mine was pretty ordinary as far as weekends go. I did a lot of domestic chores blah blah, hardly what you’d call bangin’ blog fodder.

I did go do to Bayside yesterday to get my nails did. French polish, cause this bitch is fuckin’ classy, aight.

Anyways, Wavey Davey had stormed Myer the day before and bought himself a stack of Calvin Klein shirts which were marked down to a spectacularly low price. Only, he somehow managed to scoop up a size "medium" when he is very much a large (you can belie' dat). Why he bought a medium I do not know. He was probably too busy blowing kisses at himself in the mirror and flexing, but as I wasn’t there, its only speculation.

So. Wavey Davey asked me to return to Myer with his dinky little Girl Sized shirt and swap it for a Real Man’s Size. Yes dear, just have it ready when I go. Put it, and the receipt in the bag!

Let's skip through this story to me, breezing into Myer. I detour past the Dior counter and unload a months salary on crap I don’t need at all, then I take the escalators down to The Man Zone. I spot the shirts on sale, grab a large and go over to the service counter. Easy.

“Hello, I have this Girl Sized shirt that my idiot husband bought and he meant to buy it in Real Man Size, can I swap them please?” I asked with a big smile.

“Of course, did you pay cash or credit?” The laydee asked sweetly.

“Um, he would have paid credit cause you know - hehehehe - broke as fuck! - but it is just a swap, I don’t need a refund” I replied. I start to rummage for the receipt.

“No problem, but I need to credit the card and then recharge it. Silly I know, but that is the procedure.” She painted on the biggest Don’t Fuck With Me Please smile going. Bit early for that, I thought. I wasn’t even using tone or nuffink.

“Kewl! Just a second!” I sing graciously while rummaging in the empty plastic Myer bag for the receipt. Rummage, rummage, rummage more. No receipt.

“Oh dear, it seems my drooling retard spouse has not put the receipt in the bag-“

“Oh REALLY?” She snapped, eyes narrowed. “You have no proof of purchase, is that what you are saying to me?”

Innuendo that I’m a stealer much, love? I feel stung by the accusation. I stand there feeling and looking like the biggest fucking klepto everer.

"Uuuuuum..." I rock a bit and start sweating.

"You have two shirts there is that right, and no proof of purchase?" Her mouth has become a thin, hard line. I am certain I see her left hand reach for something under the counter. The Security Alarm?!?!? Fuckety McFuckster!

“Listen!” my voice is suddenly shrill. “There is no receipt in the bag, I’ll come back with it. I’ll ring Dave, he’ll bring the receipt!” My tone is desperate, my smile is frozen, I look guilty cause from some reason, I feel it. Why, I do not know.

“Madam, I think you need to come with me-“

*runs like a motherfucker all the way to the carpark, with intermittent uncontrollable shrieking*

LAF ATTACK!!

...So I'm at the photocopier, behind one person copying and two other people who are waiting, when Loud Annoying Fuckwit turns up. His idiotic face lights up like a Christmas Tree.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Kitty! Look at at the queue for this machine. It's SO popular, I've never wanted to be a photocopier more than I do right nooooow! I wouldn't mind double siding you much, mind the staples!"

Cuuuuuuunt. I'm in for a long wait for this machine too....Grrrrrrrrrr.

So that's my eardrums perforated then. Awesome. Everyone else shuffles their feet, peers into the distance, and looks uncomfortable.

"Do you mind if I join the queue then? What a beautiful queue it is with you gracing it! I am not sure I'm going to be able to stand here so close to you without wishing we were naked! Haaahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaa!!!" Surely they can hear this prick all the way to reception... ?

Shut UP, fool.

"No LAF, you need to join the other queue, it's been specifically created for you, after all. One must adhere to Company Procedures." I replied.

"Which queue?" He asks looking around, bewildered and looking even more stupid than usual.

"The far queue."

*snickering from all bystanders*

FLUFFY FRIDAY

Alkaholiks-Anonimouse Kat

Don't mind my awkwardly arranged limbs, I'm drunk off my arse and unconscious. My smartarse husband, Wavey Davey, lowered his ordinarily impeccable standards of appropriate societal behavior in order to take this unfortunate photograph of me unconcious on the couch last Friday night.

It is his screen saver at work. Bothered.

WHAT IS HER NAAAAAAAAME?

So this morning I went to the kitchen to get a coffee, and as Lady Luck is my bitch, a girl I have a monstrously huge massive crush on walked in at the same time. I swooned. I haven’t seen her for nearly two weeks cause try and as I might, I cannot find her desk to do some proper flange-chasing. Trust me, I’ve looked. And looked. And looked again.

Anyway. I have had so much time to miss her and wish that I could run into her and be witty and appealing at her, I’ve been preparing in advance. You know, getting a little arsenal of ‘interestingness’ ready. I have been ready for most of this week. I’m now fit to impress her with my warmth, humour and most importantly sexiness. It is all designed to get her to fall in like with me, then hopefully start having lunch with me in the canteen….

Oh. Oh, my nerves.

I’ve been practicing my charmingness in the car to and from work and everything. I am seriously liking this chick. Anyone who gets me talking to myself out loud, it’s big.

So this morning I launched into it with her, while secretly thanking Jesus that I have such awesome hair today. Just as I was about to say “I have been talking to you in the kitchen for soooo long, but don’t know your name?”, in walks Loud Annoying Fuckwit guy. My heart sinks. I clench my teeth and abandon the name-seeking mission immediately.

LAF thinks he is soooooooo funny. LAF also slobbers and snivels at the sight of me and without fail launches into arse kissing performance so cringe-worthy, so staggeringly pathetic, that he has unwittingly become official Office Gossip Fodder.

There is nothing more unappealing than some desperate loser bleating on with “Gee Kitty you are sooooooooo wooooooooondeeeeeeeeeeerfuuuuuuuuul” every chance he gets. Get your tongue out of my arsehole knob jockey! Because you certainly have no chance of ever getting your tiny little dick in there mate! You are wasting your time!

So. LAF starts shrieking out his latest ‘funny routine’ to get my attention. This morning’s "hilarious diatribe" was regarding the weather. It’s quite cold this morning here in Pricktoria, but you know something, that is fairly typical of winter. So he screams “Heeeeeeeys girls! It’s a beautiful summers day out there hey?? Where’s your bikini??” then launches into hysterical laughter. Wot? Does he really think that’s gonna fly? Is that all you got, fool? Clearly he does not practice in his car to and from work like I do.

Me and my future Beautiful Girlfriend exchange a look which screams “what a total cunt hey?” and she gets busy with the skim milk while I am so pissed off I want to shank him with my letter opener.

LAF keeps going with his deafening comedic routine while I gaze at her longingly for as long as I can, before she disappears back into the expanse of cubicles. She smiles at me and passes me the skim milk and I get to touch her hand a little bit.

Want.

The end.

BOGAN TERRORISM IN THE WORKPLACE

Received on company email:

Dress D0wn on 24/7 !!!

On 24 July, L1feline will be having a major fundraising event - Stress D0wn on 24/7. [The Company You Work For] are supporting this by having a Dress Down for Stress Down day. Please make a gold coin donation to your Social Club or H.R. representatives, and don't forget to sponsor the lovely ladies wearing the Stress Down slippers.

RAFFLE TICKETS - 3 FOR $2 - YOUR CHANCE TO WIN A PAIR OF THESE FANTASTIC STRESS DOWN SLIPPERS

The day encourages people and their workplaces to have fun and participate in stress reducing activities in return for making a financial donation to Lifeline, please make a gold coin donation to your- BLAH BLAH BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

*************************************


WOT? What the fuck was that about??!! Did I just read....'fantastic prize'....?

Can someone from HR please point to the planet on which that pair of hideous, Westie-chic thong-slippers with big over sized toes would be considered a fantastic prize?? Cause it sure as shite ain't this one.....

Oh....Ohhhhhh. I seeeeee. I've worked it out.

They must be fucking kidding me! This has to be the handy work of those funny old cunts at L1feline, dishing out a wind up, getting square for all the misery and grief they get pummelled with day and night. I must say though, threatening me with Yobbo Apparel isn't going to get my wallet open to bankroll their call centre as a telephonic haven for stress heads, suicide bidders, or any other sad unfortunate sufferer on their Current List of Sad Fuckers We Help Out.

Just quietly, anyone who would wear these slippers voluntarily needs far more assistance than Lifeline can offer, they are begging to be sectioned, quite frankly. It's obvious that the Pricktorian Wing of the Bogan Mafia are involved in this little charade, from where else would items so heinously 'Ockered Out to Hell and Back' be sourced? Leaning on me for a bounty of "gold coins" is a load of old bollocks too. Who wrote that? Someone who sounds like a demented, modern day, fashion-challenged, blind pirate, that's fuckin' who.

Well your slippers can swivel for all I care, L1feline! The irony of it is, the mere sight of them is inducing such levels of stress and anguish I'm not that far off calling out a CAT Team to talk me down from the ledge.

NOTE: I will not host a single fucking reference to my pink furry uggs either. You'll be deleted immediately if not sooner (Fingers).

The end.

BEGGARING FOR BELIEF

On the way home from work last evening I was driving along the XXXXX Highway, doing about 75 kph and singing along to Fiona Apple's Criminal. I was also drinking my third litre of water for the day and wishing I'd done a wee before I left the office.

Out of the corner of my left eyeball, I spotted a woman on the footpath walking with two unleashed dogs. I didn't think anything, I just clocked them and semi-consciously registered the utter stupidity of walking unleashed dogs next to a four lane highway during peak hour.

Much singing:

"...Heaven help me
For the way I am
Save me from
These evil deeds
Before I get them done
I know tomorrow brings
The consequence at hand
But I keep livin' this day like
The next will ne- FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKING CUUUUUUUUUUNT!!!!!!..."

Next thing I know one of said dogs dashes out into the traffic. The woman with it immediately follows the dogs path and drags me into an impromptu game of Run Me The Fuck Over Please Bitch.

Cue screeching brakes, the smell of burning rubber and the sound of my own desperate screams of terror. I missed her, juuuuust. Why so hysterical?

Cause this moronic half-wit had a very small baby attached to her chest in a carrier.

YES.

I shit thee not my biatches!! This utter cunt ran directly into fast moving, peak hour traffic and put, what I presume to be her own baby, in serious risk of an immediate and probably painful death, over a dog. Yes, a canine, an arse-licking own-shit-eating retarded unleashed DOG.

I have now officially seen it all.

The end.

Oh and before all you fervent turd-collectors out there start crapping on about dogs and how fucking wonderful fleas, ticks, tapeworms and rabies really can be, let me point out that I would never, ever jeopardise the safety of my children for the sake of any other living thing on this planet, dog or otherwise.

KITTY THE STALKER SLAYER

So the stalker is unemployed. Good riddance fuckwad! Swivel motherfucker!

Bothered.

So he might come and stab me 112 times in the work carpark, nobody would help so why bother worrying? I know that I’d be on my own, cause yesterday, as I attempted to get in my car, a gust of wind caused the door to fling open and it brained me in the forehead. I fell down from the force of it too. A male colleague passerby total cunt from my office saw it happen and chose not deviate off course by twelve feet or so and come to my aid. Didn’t even break his stride actually, and I think he may have smirked a little. I was not impressed. He is now on My List.

What else? Oh yes, I heard an excellent quote and I don’t know if I’ve blogged it before, but you can bet your sweet arse I won’t be trawling old posts to check!!

Anyway, I am confident in the knowledge that some unemployed, middle aged, divorced, compulsive wanker who is living in his parents converted garage/bedsit and about to pop his third tube of Pringles for the day, will carefully read through the 240 posts I have already published and proof read them for all major and minor references to any quotes of any sort made by myself and/or others.

If I have blogged the quote already, he’ll sit his fat arse down and although he is lacking the balls to have a blog of his own, he'll spend the rest of the day writing me a 52 paragraph tirade about all the reasons why my repeat mention of it has made him so disappointed and furious and justifiably homicidal. Then he will launch into a 100 page script on the way in which Jesus will save me from Eternal Damnation and revoke my membership to the Self Repeater Cunt Bitch Slut Whore Bloggers Who Need To Be Saved From Themselves Club. I’ll update with updates, just as soon as I get them.

So, here’s the quote I like:

“There is no such thing as winning second place, you are simply the first loser.”

Davo, Kitty’s work colleague.

There is a red mark on my forehead which I might photograph and post later on if I am feeling particularly self-absorbed.

TUESDAY'S TITS

This busty little blogger is very upon the correct

track to getting me all naked and sweaty.

Want.

THIS IS REALLY SILLY, BUT ANYWAY...

bemused

Hi possums, it's a dreary Sunday morning here at SK HQ and I'm about to launch into 60 minutes of gruelling cardio (30 minutes running like a mofo and 30 minutes on the spanking new spin bike WD bought for me) to deheft the lard currently residing all over my fine, phat arse. Hey did I mention I've created a new sad diet blog to go with my challenging challenge? Yeah I know...It's so ironic that I feel I need to set up a separate blog to chronicle my mind-numbing diet and exericse progress, when this blog is a diet blog. Shrinking Kitty was created to chronicle my original mind-numbing diet and exericse progress when I was de-hefting after spawning James.

I just want to clear up a couple of things before I get on with it. Firstly yes, the previous post with the hairy dude was a joke. It's not Wavey Davey. I'm not a liar, it was a joke. A fairly obvious joke. As if I'd post a photo of my husband in that pose, complete with a whiff of scrotum. FFS. Get a grip bitches.

I'd also like to point out that it is so not important that half the commenters didn't even read the fucking post cause they all thought it was Fingers. So there you go, irrelevant much?

Secondly, if you think this blog is a work of fiction and are so incensed by the idea that you have sent me retarded emails about it, go fuck yourself. I'm not replying to anyone who is so unhinged. If you invest that much energy into something so ridiculous you are scaring me. If you really and truly think it matters, you are mentally ill and need professional help. Email me again, without delay, cause I have a wonderful psychomacologist that I can refer you to. He is more than very ecstatically happy to fleece your crazy arse for all the coin he can get...

For the record *yawn* I am a real person, my "real life" friends read this complete shite (I don't know why but whatevs) and I really and truly exist. I am also a piss-taker and like a joke and a laugh. My blog stopped being about pleasing the audience a long time ago.

The end.

FLUFFY FRIDAY

I get a lot of emails complaining that I never post pictures of my uber suave husband Wavey Davey. It isn't that I don't want to, but he is very particular about being pasted all over the Internet. He's super hot too, and I know it would intimidate the male readers that secretly think they have half a chance in a blue moon of poking my whiskers.

Yes I have whiskers at the moment, I'm growing them for my trip to Sydney cause Fingers always talks about poking women in their whiskers.

I don't normally sport pubic fuzz, but I have grown some in the hope that I'll be able to spike his pink lemonade with an elephantine dose of Viagra and he'll be so overwhelmed and disoriented that he'll poke meeeeeeeeeeeeee...

But I digress! I've found this scorching photo of Wavey Davey and because it doesn't show his face I thought it would be alright to post this one time.

super fine

SUPERGRASS

Let’s talk about my week shall we? Everything on the domestic front is serene and kind of...still. I've been watching The West Wing on DVD. Never saw it when it was on the idiot box, and I was forced to watch it at first by Wavey, buuuut it's growing on me. Like mould.

What else? Oh yeah - I chucked a sickie on Wednesday. Why? Cause I’m currently getting hassled at work, which is not doing much for my desire to actually, you know, turn up. Now, before you all start shouting 'You're an old hobag from Hell! You asked for it you tramp, you vixen!!', I will stick my elegantly manicured claws skyward and admit that I contributed on the flirting front initially. Fine. Sprunged.

However, I must point out that once a person, particularly when it is me, has explained their actual interest in pursuing the flirtation to be at a firm and final zero, hostile stalking is not an appropriate response. Now I like a bit of a flirt around the place, and for the most part, which is 99.9% of the time, me and the lads have a great old time at work. Those who have half a clue and a reasonably sound grip on reality are all a riot.

Lesson teached mmmkay? I GEDDIT. Working with this Phat Kat is going to get very boring from here on in and even though there is going to be a lot of complaining and sulking by all the fun boys, I don't care. I only care about me.

So Stalkie McStalker at work, after procuring my mobile phone number from the office directory without my knowledge, launched a full scale Interoffice-Jihad on me, mostly due to my refusal to persist with a boring, crappy flirtation on messenger. I politely said words to the effect of: it reached its natural end, so get over it and please stop demanding my constant attention cause it is really irritating. *yawn...next!*

He didn't respond very positively to that. So I grassed his arse, quick smart. Bothered. I told my boss, and all is happy clappy once more. Sorted. As it bloody should be. I can bore everyone for hours reiterating my new-found understanding of just how pathetic this society has got, yes yes yes - I get that I shouldn't flirt, but being a flirt does not give anyone licence to stalk, harass, abuse or threaten anyone. Particularly when anyone happens to be moi.

Now on to a far more interest topic, one that is just about me and nobody else. Before you scoff and roll your beady little eyes at the screen - get over it - you've shopped here before and you know what I sell.

It's about the state I’m in at the moment. A month or so back I crapped on with some embarrassing, retarded bullshit about not needing to challenge myself to any further challenging challenges of the physical variety. No more intense, punishing diet and exercise regimes. Fuck Calorie King I proclaimed! Enough is enough I ranted! I'm good enough.

Turns out I was only good enough as a direct result of the intense and punishing diet and exercise regime I inflicted on myself. I’ve spent the last month or so getting fatter and it's getting...disgusting.

DING!!! DONG!!! Cue unrealistically tough 12 week challenge!!!….Stay tuned for the sanity-crushing, agonishingly boring, pointless details of my quest to return to Phatness. It might suck for the boys, but there will be accompanying photographs of me nearly nekkids, every week or two. Here is my 'before' picture. You can see there is considerable work to be done...

MEEEEEEEEEE

Belinda, my new hairdresser, is one hot bitch. She gave me actually the new hairs that I wanted.

.

So it's a big fat kiss for her - fanks baby!!

Next thing I want is that fiercely hot stripey skunky ho-hair colour(s) that I tried to get from my ex-hairs girl last time. I did not get, though I definitely did pay...hmmmm. This is what I will do to Belinda's pinks if she gets it right:

Cross fingers hey?

JOY TO THE WORLD! BB IS GONE!

So, who has gone to Sydney to see The Pope? Not me!! I am totally down with World Youth Day, why the fuck not? Hey you know something? I don't mind a bit of religion, but more about that in a future post, I'm sure you are all just gasping to hear my views on all things Holy (and I'm not even talking about sex holes for a change!).

I have just experienced my own minor religious moment here this morning, via a quick glance over Ninemsn's 'headlines'.

I'm clutching my Fur-Lined Phat Kross and thanking Jebus ten fold for his wonderful blessing of Good Shit.

Just when you think society has travelled well and truly beyond the point of no return, spiralling downward into the gutter, something true and right and just and wonderful happens. Something so right on that it shocks you. Perhaps, perhaps....there is hope for us yet??

Yes bitches...Big Brother has finally, fiiiiiinally been shelved in this Great Southern Land of ours.

Oh the happy fuckin dancing going on around my cubicle this morning.

Oh the wonderment. Oh the orgasmic joy.

Oh...the possibility that this may, in fact, spell the beginning of the end for trashy, useless, stupid, cheap, formulaic, utterly painfully shithousely awful and crap programming on the few pathetic channels we have.

When I read about the pack of drooling idiots who churn out the worst television show ever made were 'jumping the shark' with Pam A and her stupid ugly tits, I wondered if things were alright. I hoped it was spelling THE END in big fuck off neon letters. And I was right.

And I am grinning like a motherfucker who is winning!!

Now...next in the line of firing should be those fat cunts and their sook trainers and mostly AJ the Single Mother Benefit Fraudster (what a cuuuuuunt)...

FLUFFY FRIDAY

...and while I'm on the subject of old photo's of myself, here's me being super cool when picking up some of the hottest trade ever. Can see how smooth I am? You can't tell at all that I'm secretly struggling with complete disbelief that this guy is going to take me home.

It gets better, this guy, who's name I never actually found out, did not speak any English at all, not even hello/goodbye, he was visiting from Portugal or who cares really and wanted to be friends with me. I wanted to be friends too.

It was my 27th birthday that night so I taught him to say Happy Birthday Kitty while naked and fucking seven colours out of each other.

When I woke he was gone.

THE PERFECT MAN

I will never forget how for the first time I was so fucking happy to be divorced before I'd even turned 30.

Good times.

TAGGED BY CAT AND I'M FEELING LAZY

This MeMe is from Cat. She tagged me to do another meme, but I’ve already done that one, so I'm doing this one. Cause I’m a lazy hobag.

1. LUST:Besides your current Significant Other who do you lust for or have you lusted for?

Are you kidding me? Let’s stick to blogland so I’m not here for 86 days writing my list of People I Want To Fuck…

ManBlogger Lust: Fingers. The end.

WomanBlogger Lust: Steph and Kylie. Raaaaaaaaaaar. They’re hot and I’m shallow. Bothered.

2. GLUTTONY:What food brings out your inner glutton?Sex

3. GREED:What are you greedy for?Sex

4. SLOTH:What is your plan for an ideal day of sloth?Lying in bed with someone (anyone really) growling my basket. All day.

5. WRATH:Describe a time that you let out a can of whoop ass on someone.Uuuuuuum. Can’t remember. Letting cans of whoop ass are not lady like.

6. ENVY:Who or what do you envy?Single people who can fuck anyone they want without consequence

7. PRIDE:Have you ever had to swallow your pride? What are you proud of?

Yeah I like a gob load of pride. Push it dooooown biatch. That ain’t the only thing Kitty swallows with alarming regularity…

I'm very proud to be the most prolific fuck-monster my psychologist has ever seen. He says I'm poly amorous, and he thinks it is most fantastic. I'm his favourite customer.

HELLO BITCH

So a month back or summink I wrote a post about idiots at work who say hello to me 14 times a day. Every day. All day. They shout it when I’m leaving for the day, swinging my car keys and running at speed for the security door leading to the car park shouting ‘Freeeeeedoooooom’. They saunter past with that easy grin and crap on with: ‘Heeeeey Loooooou! How’s yooooou?’

Inwardly, I scream Shuuuuuuuudduuuuuup fool! I heard you the first 13 times today!

But today’s post is about a guy who went from being one of those dudes, and has morphed into a rude as all fuck total and utter Blanker. Blankety Blankster I call him. My manager Andy has noted it and agrees that he is a rude prick in my direction.

This guy, who has a name but I don’t know what it is, is blanking me so hard it is making me mad. It’s been a gradual process, first he was all inane smiles and fake-cheerful simpering ‘Helloooo’s’. Then he downgraded to a half smile and an accompanying ‘Heeeeey there’. Then I noted that he began to behave like acknowledging me was a bit like chewing back a shit sammich. Now, these days, today, just this moment – he walks past my desk and…nothing. He kind of glances at me furtively with a look that says ‘Diiiiiie biiiiitch!’ and then he scurries down the corridor to his hole.

What is that?

I had a thought this morning. This scampering little rodent works in the I.T. department. My employer has very strict laws about Internet usage, which I obviously do not observe and do not take seriously. There is talk that there is a keystroke recorder system and all sorts of retarded stuff installed on our network to monitor what we are up to. None of this has any significant impact on me, I mean, come on I blog from my desk pc. That's cause I'm hard as and they do not scare me.

This is the same woman who once copied a comment from my ridiculous blog that mentioned sticky arm pits and whatever else and accidentally pasted it into the company database. It cannot be erased. It is still there, I know this cause I opened the record the other day when doing Year End Work and I cringed and felt like I’d been brained with the Idiot Stick. I should really thank Jebus that I did not say cunt, fuck or bugger in that comment hey?

Thanks Jebus! You da man!

Do you think it is possible that this dude was nosing around my usage stats and being a creepy little ferret and has clocked my blog, had a gander himself and then read that post I wrote about Excessive Hello’ing in the Workplace?

Or could the reality be that this guy is just a sooky little turd and I should give him the finger next time I get a death-glance….

Thoughts?

NB: Please note that to mark my First Blogging Anniversary, I was going to post a big old 'Remember thiiiiiis?' post complete with bangin' hot photos of me wearing not much and being a Nawdy Girl and arsing about. A bit of fun!

But, as a clever anonymous person wrote an obnoxious comment about me dribbling crap, and how much better my blog was when I was larking about being a Nawdy Girl - I have chosen to not bother and won't be in the near future either. As if I would cater to someone so nasty.

With the absolute proliferation of internet porn available out there, I cannot believe anyone cares that much about a random housewife in her underdaks. FFS. There are plenty of dirty blogs featuring girls who get very naked, and then crap on about being nympho's. Go there.

So if you don't like my blog content, I recommend you have a good hard swivel.

KITTY THE PHAT KAT TAKES A BREAK

Hi Bitches! Miss me really hard? I have been having domestic disputes and dealing with the spawns at their new daycare - I've been busy.

I told them Ben is Gifted. There was eye rolling and scoffing. I knew they were thinking 'Yeah yeah aaaaall the parents think their kid is clever'.

Today he presented an impromptu seminar with an arrangement of plastic sharks and whales. He was teaching the other children which one was a hammerhead, a white pointer, a woebegone, a grey nurse...the usual shit a three year old does.

Yeah suck on it cunts! I told you he is smart.

Anyway, on to more pressing issues than me being a wanker over my exceptionally clever ego extensions....

It's an Official Phat Kat Announcement!

I'm coming to holiday in Sydney. Now I'll be staying at Fingers' luxurious Cunt Point lair so if you are looking to billet a Phat Kat - I'm all good.

I'll be arriving with my entourage (Tania) Thursday 7th of August and spending most of that weekend playing with my Fingery Man. I will need a few breaks from servicing that cranky old fucker, you know how it is, to get on the piss and lark about chasing a bit of poon too.

Sooooooooooooooooo....Who wants to meet me for a drinkie poo?

FLUFFY FRIDAY

(click to enlarge)

Dear American People Who Read My Blog,

Don't be offended! This post is strictly for shits and giggles! Everyone knows I heart America(ns) very hard! I even chose to reside there for the best years of my misspent youth.

Anyway, I received this from Fingers via email.

Love,
Kitty x

BLOGGING IS AWESOME

Heheheheheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! I'm drinking champagne at 10.29am (on the inside anyway).

What an overwhelming response! Wow...I'm popular. I cannot believe how many people are so moved by me and my silly pink blog that they would put such effort (and clever big words) into their venomous tirades! Go anonymouses at large! Thanks for the entertainment, I really enjoyed myself and I am sufficiently ego-stroked with the knowledge that I'm so God damn interesting, even to those who utterly detest me. I still gots it.

You know, I am planning to seduce and defile meet and greet some lovely bloggy people when I next visit Sydders. Well, I was planning to....but now, I gotta tell you, I'm having a serious seconds thoughts! Some of the people who are emailing me are seriously more unhinged than Freaky Daddy Fritzl and his dungeon fetish!!

How will I be able to spot them in a crowd of gushing circlejerkers?? Hmmmm, it's a toughie. I wonder what Jebus would do. Perhaps I ought to 'find The Lord' and repent for my shit etc. I would, only my schedule is crazy already, you know? My counsellor is a God Squad member....perhaps I could repent by proxy? *note to self: ask about proxifying God and organising salvation etc during next psych session*

Nar, I thunking I just changed my tiny mind about chasing me some Blog Lovin' in Real Time! Who knows who might show up to an Open Blogger Bash, with the express intention of 'shutting me up' for goodski! I think I'd rather have a slumber party with Ted Bundy, Richard Ramirez and let's not leave out that funny old cunt, Gary Ridgway!! At least....I'd be a fuckload less likely to be beaten to an unrecognisable pulp, chopped up into little bits, bagged in bin liners and dumped in a river.

Nar, I think I'll just hook up with Hot Kylie and see if I can't distract that biatch from Crackbook with a different sort of crack entirely.

Steph baby, you can make the Mojitos and take the photos.

Baaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahaha!

CELEBRATE THE MEDIOCRITY!

I remumbered what I was going to blog about just before I was distracted by my own grotesque stench! I was going to remind everyone it is anniversary time!

I has been blogging for one yearski!!

In that year, I have been guilty of Repeated Self-Deletion and of being a complete fucking sook on more than one hundred bajillion occasions. Mostly cause of Fingers being an utter cunt and stooopid haters getting the better of me.I've also started and stopped a variety of other blogs, mostly cause I've got a raging eating disorder and I'm a pervert and like posting porno of myself and telling filthy sex stories!

These fine days, I am one tough bitch and as a result, I have so much more shit in my head to sort out. Again, mostly thanks to Fingers...Thanks baby, and my psychologist thanks you extra hard too! He's had three awesome holidays to Fiji on my back already! *Hugs*

These days, I roll without fear or concern for the hating amongst us all and to prove it, I am enabling Anonymouse Commentering for 24 hours!!! This is to:

1. Let the shy ones say summink without telling us who they are!

2. Let other bloggers tell me what they really think of me/my blog/whatever*

2. Let the haters have a chance to snivel and cower behind the dark cloak of anonymity on SK, just like the old days hey??*

[Update: Screw that idea to the wall! Nothing has changed! More than half my readership are kermit and hate-fuelled! Hmmmmm. You people are so odd. Why would you read about someone you don't like? It makes no sense to me....bored/ don't care enough to go on....]

You know, when I first started blogging as a Fat Bitch with a Newborn Proud New Mum Ready to De-Heft, I had the dots theme and I didn't think a single person would read my posts or ever leave a comment. It is hard being insecure. Wavey Davey came up with the name Shrinking Kitty as it was a weight loss blog to chronicle my efforts. By the ways, I lost a total whopping 20 kilos less than 10 months and firmly reinstated The Former Phatness, no sweat.

*applause*

How naive I was back then! I soon realised how bone-shatteringly boring weight loss blogging is, and the moment I lost the loss angle, starting posting knickers shots and admitting I am chronic fuck-monster and bisexual hornbag extraordinaire, the readers and the comments arrived on mass! Booyah for meeeeeeeeeeeee! I even got a gilt-edged hand-delivered invitation summons to Cunt Point to screw Fingers!

Life can be still be grand even when you're an tired old whorebag hey bitches?

* Of course, I'll be wearing my Comment Nazi cap for the entire time, I mean come on! I'm not a fucking idiot people. Any really nasty comments will be sent directly to the Recycle Bin. No passing go. No $200.

SHORT TERM MEMORY

First things first, I forgot deodorant today. Who else is a dribbling retard and forgets basic hygiene in the morning?....Just me? Hmmmmm. That is a bit embarrassing.

Now of course, I am sitting here panicking that I will stink like a homeless guy by 11am. Of course, it is winter and this office is like the Antarctic. I swear, I have to put ON an extra coat when I walk to my desk. I am positioned fair and square right under an air-con duct. It's about to fucking snow most of the time.

Still, my panic is creating...a perspiration situation.

I have asked everyone I know, and some people that I don't, if they have any deodorant. No roll on, only spray. I don't want to share armpit diseases with anyone thank you very much. I'd sooner make arse-cheek contact with a toilet seat. Nobody has any deodorant. Now, how do you suppose these people go to the gym at lunchtime, workout, shower and change into their work ensemble and come back to work without reapplying deodorant?

It's all lies. They are totally packing deodorant!! They are lying to me cause they are Kermit of my usual excessive Phatness and want me to suffer. That must be their ulterior motive, to leave me in Body Odour Hell and let me stink it up to high heaven. Cuuuuuuuuunts.

Second thing, my door tag for the building doesn't work anymore. I don't know why, it just stopped working. I waved it at the little screen thingy and it did fuck all. I was standing out there at the access door like a fucking twat while the little lights and bing-bongs told me to go fuck myself. Not coming in today Kitty. I waited around for someone else to turn up and let me follow them inside. Nobody turned up for the longest time.

In the end I had to press the courier doorbell and plead my case to the dimwit on the other end who argued with me for nearly a full minute about why I shouldn't ring the courier doorbell. Apparently, it isn't OK to press the courier doorbell unless one is, in fact, a courier. Apparently it is correct procedure to walk around the hugely massive enormous building, in the pelting rain and gale wind to the front door and go via reception so that they can deal with your bullshit problems there instead. I gave the CCTV camera the finger and started shouting about being a courier with an urgent delivery of Whoop Ass addressed to her. She backed down.

What a bitch! COURIER DOORBELL ETIQUETTE? Are you fucking kidding me?? Whatevs! Let me in you fool, it is windy, raining and I am not interested in Idiotic Company Policy. Open the door so I can get to my desk, I have serious blogging to do.

I genuinely can't even remember why I started this post. I will finish it when I remember.

Update: 11.08am - I fucking stink. I can smell my own festering armpits reeking away. Shit fuck and buggery! I have to fake a migraine and get the hell out of here. Stat.

Update: 11.54am - Desperate times call for desperate measures! Girl Next Door (girl at the next cubicle) is away today and on her desk is a bottle of anti-bacterial handwash (no water required). It has a smell! It's smeeeeells goooood! I have just pinched it and dashed into a spare office, hid under the desk, and applied two large handfuls of gooey gel to my pits. I've returned the gel and I'm back at my desk. All I can smell is lovely hand-cleaner perfumey smell. The only drawback is that my shirt is glued to my armpits on both sides and the gel is starting to dribble down my sides toward my waist.