My girlfriend isn't the same person she was when we started dating. She is still nice, kind, funny, and a wild cat in the sack (a real giver, if you know what I mean) but she is a good 70 pounds thicker now. I've tried being subtle about my concerns, putting coupons for Lean Pockets on the refrigerator, but she ignores them and has a four-order of T-Bell Gorditas for dinner anyway.
The problem seems to be getting worse too. We can't fit together in the shower anymore. It's like she's wearing a sack of potatoes around her waist. I know this sounds shallow but let's face it, I'm shallow. Should I dump the fatty and move on?
If you can believe this, as a pre-teen, old Fugly weighted a hefty 406 pounds. Fugly has a ravenous appetite, and during those blistering turn-of-the-century summers, ole Fug would dive into the sea and devour an entire sperm whale. These days Fugly maintains her ideal weight and still gorges on whatever she pleases. How do I do it? I swallowed a tapeworm in 1939 and never looked back.
PP, simply slip a tapeworm into your gal pal's next Gordita and she'll be slim for life.
Last night my girlfriend and I got tore-up wasted and had a wild night of freaky love in bed… you know, the kind with some guacamole and some barnyard animals…. Anyway, I digress. The next morning I had some nasty swamp gas brewing in my bowels, and it was my bed, so I just let it loose. My girlfriend was highly offended and I was hurt that she didn't appreciate the severity and glory of the stench. What should I do?
Just so you know, Fugly adores a gentleman who can blast a pungent tornado out of his brown star. Lucky for you and your fragrant ass, Fugly has a solution to your problem. Simply binge on cabbage, Beanee Weenees and barbequed squirrels, then get all cuddled up in the sack, wait for a gale fore of winds, and blow the thunder from down under in the direction of that uppity shrew. The stench will asphyxiate your no-fun hag, eventually causing death. Once you've disposed of her remains, give lonely old Fugly a call and she will be your new girlfriend. Fugly will worship everything that comes out your ass like the god-like essence it is.
I am a deep fryer at Deloris' Deep Fried Dingleberries, a fine dining establishment near the methadone clinic. The other day I overheard Deloris, my boss, suggesting to the other managers that I be fired! What do I do Fugly? Deep frying cinnamon rolls and Twinkies and gerbils is my life!! How do I keep this job?
Mmmmm… deep fry. Fugly's 12 nipples are getting hard thinking of that bubbly, popping lard basket. Fugly deep fries each meal to keep a glistening oily sheen on her flesh. During the Great Depression, when times were tough, Fugly deep fried the backyard goat's placenta and served it for Thanksgiving dinner. My guest's (assorted vagabonds and squatters) didn't seem to notice it wasn't a fried turkey.
Anyway, Chipster, the solution to your problem is so simple Fugly shouldn't have to tell you: Throw old Deloris in the deep fryer and serve her giblets to customers.