get your thin hips out of my face

Obviously the Top Model evening exploded into something more bombastic than I had imagined it would. This is conclusively the best possible outcome. There were more Rebecca’s in the room than you’d ever need to change a light bulb. I must have had a little too much to drink, but that’s probably ok because I’m sure no one noticed at all. Even I felt like a Top Model at an exclusive party, though the cocaine was a little thin-to-none to be found, but c’est la vie. I just pray to Mary Kate and Ashley my wrists don’t fatten up too much before that wedding I have to go to next month. I’m going to try and get away with spiked gauntlets. You know, just in case any single-mother bride’s maids try and get one over on me. I hope they have good mushrooms at this wedding. I’ve found that all the wedding’s I’ve been to lately have at least one person on hand to give me magic mushrooms, so this one will be absolutely no different at all. Speaking of cocaine and foreskins, I can’t wait for this weekend to roll around and sweep me up into the magic of the rube-a-side (where all the rubes live). I’m hoping I’ll have a little chat with Jesus on one of those plastic telephones the Church of the Evangelical Communicators sets up. I know I’ve only ever seen their shoddy particle board set up in the northern parts, but I’m hoping (praying?) I’ll be blessed with a vision out west.