Nymphomania or Narcolepsy? 2.0

I guess we all get our 15 minutes of fame. Over the weekend I was asked to appear in 59 Bloggers. A documentary about blogging, duh. I am still apprehensive about it, but I agreed to do it because, why not? This is the e-mail I got. It was kinda flattering to find out that someone other than myself enjoys the blog.

Sabrina,
A friend of yours named Diana — she has a photoblog — nominated
your blog at www.59Bloggers.com, which means if you’re accepted, we
come to your house and interview you on video, for a blogumentary I’m
producing.

Bottom line: we like your blog and you. We’d like to come to your
house. When? Sometime in June. Go read about the project at
59Bloggers.com, then if you want our 3-person crew to visit you in
Agora Hills, let me know. We’d love to include you and whomever
happens to be at your house when we show up. Is 3 a.m. okay?

Thanks,
John Hart / Producer
59Bloggers.com

Seriously though, I am fucking awesome.

Today, Maine wrote about the dangers of having a blog that your friends and family know about. I have to agree with him, but then again I don’t really give a shit since I get drunk and tell everyone about the blog. Although, I do remember when my mom finally got a good look at this mother fucker. It was sometime after one of my sisters found my blog for the first time, and I think I had written about getting so drunk I got gangbanged–because, you know, I am classy like that. Well, low and behold, she showed it to my mom who got all the information from Promises–the local rehab. And she started telling me, “This happens to a lot of people–a lot of people we know. Sabrina, you need help”

I remember looking at her before melting into red and flipping out that I wasn’t ready for rehab. I distinctly remember screaming, “I haven’t even snorted coke off a strippers ass. I am so not going to rehab.” After that, she got the hint and we had the whole, creative liberties talk. Also, I had to go to therapy. AWESOME.

I didn’t really post a lot this month. I feel kind bad. Not as bad as I told this guy that I had gizzard cancer. Then he told me hi’s fiancee’s mother had gizzard cancer also and things were looking bad for her. Then he started to cry. The thing is, I dunno if he was just stupid or fucking back with me because PEOPLE DON’T HAVE FUCKING GIZZARDS. Assholes.

Yesterday, I spent a good hour yelling inadvertantly at some guy sitting next to me while I drank my coffee. I would scream at him and tell him I was really a man. “i’M FUCKING POST-OP. CAN’T YOU TELL!” And he would shrug and probably wonder why they let people like me wander the streets. I told him I got a trach shave, but if he wanted to he could lean in really close and inspect the scar on my throat. He declined my invite. After that, I explained to him how I had to have my brow shave and forehead reconstructive surgery just to look less mannish. I would lean into his face and scream, “CAN YOU SEE MY 5 O’CLOCK SHADOW.” He would nervously say no and pretend to read what was going on inside his coffee cup. So I grabbed my boobs and said, “THESE MOTHER FUCKERS ARE FAKE. PUNCH THEM. PUNCH THEM AND FIND OUT!!!!” After a while I got bored and decided to leave. On my way out, he turned to me and said, “I loved your adams apple.” In this caddy, bitchy way, and let me tell you, no one I pester for an hour gets the liberty to be flippid with me. I turned back to him and said, “Yea, your mom said the same thing when I fucked her in the ass last week.” I am currently holding a vigil in my back yard to the late J.C. with hopes that he will make it possible for me to run into that guy sometime in the future, so I may challenge him to a knife fight. Awesome.

It is almost 4am. If i am still up in an hour I will just go to the gym. This is what happens when you go to sleep at say 5pm ONLY TO TAKE A SHORT NAP and then wake up seven hours later totally fucking rested and unable to sleep anymore. Anyways, I think it is a good time to bring up some important things. Currently, my site has been visited over a hundred thousand times AND THAT’S AWESOME. I am listening to Madonna’s “Into the Groove” super fucking loud and have been contemplating taking pain killers but am, for the most part, bored by the idea. Earlier, I was thinking of the nuggets of wisdom that I have taken from “The Jerry Springer Show”. Things that do not include: BEING A GAY MIDGET THAT FUCKS HIS OWN DAD or BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGLES. But real, honest to goodness widsom. Like the time this chick and her sister were after the same guy and the one sister stands up and says, “You can have him. Dick is nationwide and I don’t need one piece of dick.” Now, let’s stop for a second and think about that. Dick is nationwide and one piece of dick is just one piece too little. In short, why are we spending so much time fighting our sisters for ugly, scrawny guys that have syphillis and a tooth that is rotting out of their mouth–when there are so many other guys to fuck with? Riddle me that!

Dear Sabrinas Vagina,

I can not get a date no matter how much of an effort I make. What do you recommend I try?

Desperate for company

Dear Loser,

Please remember, it is “Sabrina’s Vagina”. The apostrophe in there is very important because it indicates that it is my Vagina and not some vortex. Although, it has been known to suck many a man in. Anyways, this is probably an answer where I should take a lot of time and break down in three parts what is wrong with you. Since I am running short on time and probably would hate you for being ugly I am not going to waste my time with such awesomeness. First of all, and pay attention because this is important:

STOP TRYING SO GODDAMN HARD.

No woman will respect any man that trys that much. And by the way, they are not women, but bitches. Remember that because that is what they act like while they turn you down every goddamn time you fumble around like an idiot while asking them out. Mostly, I reccomend you stop trying. Whatever you are doing isn’t working so don’t do anything at all. I am guessing your main problem is that you are an ugly dork and I am sorry about that. But since there isn’t anything I can do to help your genetic quandry maybe you should try homosexuality. A man will fuck anything, even if it is ugly. Good luck and try not to suicide so much after you read this.

Sabrina’s Vagina

I was on my stomach as the sun cooked the flesh of the backside on my body. Kira sat up next to me as she talked to the gaggle of young girls, waving a waitress over, “We’ll have two more of whatever these things were.” I watched as she pointed to the oversized glasses that were now sitting empty on the table between us. I pretended to sleep. “I am teaching you imporant stuff,” I heard her tell one of the girls while she dug into her purse and took out a wad of cash. “For every guy,” she stopped, turning to the waitress and yelled mid-sentence, “You better make those doubles.” And whipped her head back around to finish the tangent she’d been making. “So, for every guy you go and talk to for us,” she pointed to me, “I will give you money.” Kira took the wad og money and tried to jam it into the top of her bikini. It caused the top of the tube top to roll down exposing the money and part of her aerola. I rolled over to sear the other side of my flesh and was blinded by the sun. I sat up and rummaged through my purse for sunglasses. Kira got up. The little girls followed her into the pool. The waitress came by and dropped off our drinks. I tipped her and watched as Kira sent these girls off to talk to guys in their 20s and 30s. Eventually, I dozed off. Sometime later, as my skin burnt like the fires in the 7th cirle of Hell someone tapped me on the shoulder, waking me up. One of Kira’s little girl handed me something wet and said, “The money is wet. It’s gone bad.” I sat up slowly and called to the waitress. I was going to need another drink.

Dear Sabrina’s Vagina,

Wats with this sore spot I get wen my g/f and I dry hump?

dude it stings so fuckng bad when i touch it!

HoRaCe!

Dear Horace,

How’s it feel to go through life with a name people in 1905 hated, but dealt with because it sounded “distinguished”? Since you are neither distinguished nor entertaining I am going to lay into you. Signing your name LiKe tHis does not make you seem any cooler, in fact, I want to run by your house and bash your face in with a nin iron. I was under the impression that only 14-year-old girls typed like that. Apparently, I was wrong, retards also subscribe to that methodology of typing. And by the way, who told you it was cool to add an exclaimation point at the end of your stupid name? You have nothing to exclaim unless you are gonna declair that you are a tool. Seriously, everyday I find another person that needs to drink a nice big glass of Draino. How fucking awesome.

Anyways, your question disturbed my sleep schedule. Why in the hell are you dry humping enough to get chaffing? Seriously, this is a problem for me. That is a massive amount of chaffing. I realize it can happen, but this isn’t like you jumped in the pool with your jeans on, while you were not wearing underwear and decided to walk around in soggy pants until they dried. If you dry hump enough to get chaffing you need to open the door to other possibilities–things that do not include the possibility of rubbing the skin off your dick you moron. I can respect if the bitch doesn’t want to sex with you, but there are other things you can do. LOTS OF OTHER THINGS. If she refuses, maybe you should take some time to re-evaluate the direction of your relationship. I mean, you want some good sexin and she doesn’t. Maybe you should find someone a little more compatible, someone into the sexin. In the case that she is blind and religious, and you are horribly disfigured–marry the bitch.

<3,

Sabrina’s Vagina

“We have for sexing good time. Yea?” I found myself saying this at least a hundred times a day. I’d taken a job as the Swedish girl at a strip club that ran a “Small World” theme. I’d tell the customers how in my home country, “I am loving gobble up Swedish Meatballs. Yea!” As I bent over and exposed the inner workings of my eventual birth canal. “You like Mexican, Chinese, Black Meatballs baby?” It was always the same response back. I nodded, bent over, peering at them from between my own legs and moan a little. In the meantime, I was rearranging my closet or writing a grocery list in my head. When it got really tedious I tried to recite the intro to the Constitution or the Gettysburg Address. I was an ace at reciting the Gettysburg Address, but I could only get about half way through the Constitution. It was the part, “promote the general Welfare,” that continued to stump me. “Welfare,” I said outloud to myself each time, giggling as I rubbed my not so Swedish breasts together.

I am going to have to admit. The biggest issue of today, other than why someone would ask you out, tell you they will call you to make plans and then not call–would have to be what should I eat for lunch. Lately, I have had too much Mexican food. To the Mexicans I say. Fuck you. I am wearing an ungold amount of perfume today. The stupid perfume bottle exploded in my purse so I decided to lather myself in it. And to perfume I say AWESOME! I kinda feel like I smell like those old ladies that soak their dead, rotting carcass in perfume type juice to cover the smell of death and formaldahyde (or however it is spelled. whatever.) Anyways, I plan to make a few videos whilst I am out tonight and participate in general mayhem. Because, why not? Right. I forget what the fuck I was actually going to post in here because I started it at like 10:30am and it is now about 1:30pm. So fuck you.

Actually, on a second thought I remember what I was going to post. I am now also writing for Choke A Cheerleader. Which, of course, is awesome and stuff. Especially since they host my super favorite clip of Cartman reciting the Aristocrats joke. Also, they are ok that I have peed in a sink before and probably had sex with their moms.

Dear Jeff,

I have to hold Ryan’s cock when he pees. Yes, I know he is gay. Yes, I know this is slightly bizarre. Yes, I know you don’t even want to know why I am explaining this, but let me reassure you, there is a reason. I can. I do it because I can. Also, you know, we have a symbiotic relationship.

Thanks,

Steve

Dear Steve,

It isn’t much of a problem for me. I have been fucking your dad for a while. Now, I guess I will switch to your mom.

Forever,

Jeff

Good Morning Fellow Fuckheads,

I have not been posting mainly because I was called to jury duty. And why, you may ask, would some jackass think someone as nutty as myself would be perfect for “jury duty”? Probably because they didn’t know that the term “pending litigation” is something I hear myself saying every couple of years or so. Or maybe it’s because they didn’t know that my father has been District Attorney, not to be confused with all the stupid Assistant D.A.s out there. The stupid ponces. Anyways, the lame asses at the Malibu Court House sufficiently wasted my time therefore precipitating all the lovely e-mails and messages from all my adoring fans and stalkers asking me to restart the blog. The problem being, after doing the whole super fucking court shit all day long, I was not going home, I was going away from the homestead. This kinda behavior leaves little time to write and barely enough time to keep coherent thoughts. I guess I can make enough posts today to make up for the lack of posts for the entire week or so I have been too fucking cool to bother with this site. If you have a problem with it, or if you have testicular cancer, that isn’t really my problem.

<3,

Sabrina_C

In the movies they always show people climbing in and out of bedroom windows. The thing is bedroom windows are rarely located in places that make them easy to get into. When I was dating Shannah Weinnenhammer I’d climb through the window of her bathroom and slide into a belly flop onto the cold tile floor. There was nothing remotely romantic about it, looking up to be faced with a box of unused tampons and her heiness’s Throne. It went on like that for months. I’d wait for her parents bedroom light become replaced by the haunting flicker of their television’s zombie enducing grey-blue lights.