My ex-girlfriend Bette and I broke up a while ago, but since she's a broke-ass ho and we live in San Francisco (which is hecka expensive) she's been unable to find a place of her own. Fugly, it's been 4 effing months. I own "our" place, so I can't go anywhere.
How do I get this poor ass biotch to vacate my abode? I try to drop subtle hints like last Tuesday when I wrote "GET OUT" in blood on her windshield, but she just can't take a hint! Damn my lesbian U-Hauling instincts!!
Fugly could always use another hand down here at The Tuna Mine Ranch. Fugly would let her stay here in exchange for a few light chores. Is she fit? Can she pull a plow for several hours in the scalding heat? Topless? Bottomless? Only wearing a Mexican wrestling mask? Can she spoon Fugly when it gets chilly? She'll also need to shave Fugly's toes every two days and sew up the occasional wound (Fugly has taken up jousting).
Many of Fugly's ranch hands have escaped in the night, so Fugly would have to lock Bette in the chicken coop at bedtime (a fun trick Fugly learned from the feel-good motion picture, Changeling). At day break, Fugly will send her carrier pigeon, Becky, with a little roofie sack attached to her claw. When Becky arrives, take the roofies out and put them in Bette's porridge. When Bette wakes up, she'll already be strapped to the plow in Fuglyville.
See you soon!
My mailman is super hot and I want to have sex with him next time he brings my Tiger Beat to the mailbox, but… I'm scared. Fugly, what if he rejects me? How do I make the first move? I can't make some obvious joke about his package, that's beneath me, plus, what if he didn't have a package? He might just think I'm retarded. I watch The Postman Always Rings Twice every single day! I dream about his postal touch, but sadly, my postman only rings once. Fugly, how do I bag this Delivery Dream?
Postal for Penis
Fugly's gorilla grandmother always said that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. She used to feed Grandfather Slut delicious bananas while she feasted on the ticks on his back. Fugly sincerely believes in Grandmother Slut's philosophy. Fugly thinks you should feed this man—no, not a roofie (Fugly isn't completely lacking in romance, rather, uses roofies only when mates are resistant)—feed your mail-mate a delicious meal.
Here's Fugly's recipe for seduction: when the letter carrier will arrive at your stoop with a glossy new Tiger Beat, stop to sniff your delicious confections. You will invite him in, tell him to have a seat, then turn on "The Humpy Dance" and rip off your tear-away track pants with a ferocious lust. He will be overcome with desire, throw his letter sack to the ground and ravage you. Afterwards he'll be fired for missing his delivery route and you'll have to support him, feed him, and pick ticks off of his back… forever.
There is this mortician who is, let's say…. different. Maybe the best way to describe him would be Gilbert Grape meets Gomez Adams. This man has been sending me lustful/sinister emails for some time. Then this weekend he invited me to The Killers concert.. Fugly, I love The Killers, but I have a strange feeling that he's going to kill me instead. Since he's in the death trade, he'd know just how to dispose of my sexy remains. Fugs, how do I know if I will see The Killers or just get killed?
A date is a date. If it ends in death, well, then at least you don't have to pay. Fugly would love to date this mysterious lord of the underworld. Mmmm, we could exhume some old corpses and steal shimmering treasures from their coffins, then go look at dead bodies in the morgue and cremate them, and afterwards we could turn into vampire bats and fly off into the night. Ohh, Fugly is getting very excited. Jennifer, accept this date, then Fugly will show up as your understudy date. I think you've just found the man of Fugly's twisted sexual dreams.