Why is it that everyone is content to get married, buy a house, and squirt out some babies? None of these things sound appealing to me. I want to answer the call of the wild, throw my money away on rent, and hump anything with a boner and a pulse. Fugly, please tell me about your unique lifestyle choices.
Fugly has enjoyed a liberated lifestyle much like the one you've described. Although, instead of money, Fugly has traded lewd sexual performances with a cactus and extraneous organs for the privilege to reside in meat lockers and morgue drawers.
Fugly also wished to be babyless but sadly Fugly came about in an age before birth control tablets. Sure, there were pre-historic condoms fashioned out of swine guts and lamb hides, but Fugly was far too horny to bother with such devices in the heat of the moment. So, despite Fugly's persistent prayers, the man-seed took root in Fugly's crusty old uterus and babies made, so Fugly fired them out like a cannon and right onto the carnival's railroad car. Then one sad day Fugly's uterus grew weary of the abuse, sprouted legs, and sprinted out of Fugly's sea scallop.
Fugly is lonely now.
Sweet Fug of Mine,
The bathrooms in my office all have multiple stalls, and there are no nearby one-holders in which I can drop off the Cosby kids at the pool. I try to save my number twos for home, but sometimes a girl's just gotta defecate. My problem is that I just can't make a ca-ca while there are other ladies in the bathroom. I need to be more anal-nonretentive. What do you do when you've got a turtle head poking out, but no privacy?
Free my B.M.,
Fugly grew up in a time before indoor plumbing. Fugly would creep out her mother's pouch and tiptoe into the "earth house" as it was called. An outdoor shitter if you don't catch my drift. Because of Fugly's rural upbringing, Fugly has shunned this modern device called a "toilet." I don't trust it. What if a snapping turtle leaps up and clips off a slab of Fugly's swinging labia? That's a risk Fugly is not willing to take.
Anna, you must take a page from Fugly's book and start using the litter box. You get to dig a fun little hole, let loose, then bury your evil deed in wonderful tub of deodorizing crystals. Once the clump has cooled off, throw it in the dumpster or fling it at an insubordinate employee.
I want to be Sarah Palin for Halloween. I've almost got my costume together; I have a sassy woman's business suit, glasses, and a rifle. I've also mastered that bizarre accent and I've found someone who can craft the perfect up-do. Now all I need is a special needs baby to carry around. Where do I find one?
I find you to be a very crass and insensitive woman. Special needs babies are nothing to be joked about. But since you're in the market, Fugly can trade you one for a Volkswagen Beetle and a Hannah Montana sleeping bag infested with smallpox (don't ask). If a live one is going to be too much trouble, Fugly has a few embalmed little nuggets for the low low price of $50 and a small lizard. If these two options are out of your price range then you can always go the discount route and slap a helmet on a Chucky doll.