Knocking you Up!

For those of you who don’t know: I make Snarky Cards: Brutally Honest Post Cards. I sell them from a box that hangs beneath my boobs in bars. And that’s what I was doing last night, at The Ash Street Saloon and Berbati’s Pan.

Fenbi: International Superstars played at Ash Street and it fuckin’ rocked. Just like I said it would. I even danced a little. I think dancing knocked my leg a little sideways, or maybe it was that weed that that homeless guy smoked me out with after the show, but I’m pretty sure that I walked sans limp all the way to the bus stop. It was magical. All of a sudden, my legs both worked, and they moved in tandem, without complaint. I had three whiskeys and a fat blunt in me by then, but even the cold couldn’t touch me, and I was in awe of my own body, working again. I blame Fenbi, for making me wanna dance so bad.

Today, in honor of bodies in general, I posted a new Snarky Card for all you Knocked Up Bitches. I hope you like it!

I betcha thought that you needed some penis and vagina action in order to get knocked up, huh? Nope. It's not true. It's just Jaeger. You drink enough of it, and a baby magically starts growing inside of you. That's why I don't touch the stuff. I stick to whiskey, and I've been baby-free for 15 years.
I betcha thought that you needed some penis and vagina action in order to get knocked up, huh? Nope. It's not true. It's just Jaeger. You drink enough of it, and a baby magically starts growing inside of you. That's why I don't touch the stuff. I stick to whiskey, and I've been baby-free for 15 years.

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