Clean the shirts on their backs by putting one on yours.

The putrid piles of
clothing in my house are proof
of this one truth: I

hate doing laundry.
But at least I have the means.
Some out there do not.

The term that is used
is “natural disaster.”
I’m sure the victims

feel anything but
natural picking up the
pieces of their lives.

I have not suffered
severe destruction but
just thinking about

the devastation
after floods, hurricanes, and
twisters, I shudder.

At such desperate
times, I can imagine that
all help is welcome.

Tide is offering
practical help to those who
need it in this way:

You buy a shirt here;
proceeds provide clothes cleaning
service for victims.

So now even if
I am not cleaning my own
family’s clothing…

I can take comfort
in knowing that I’m helping
clean laundry elsewhere.

Because you want to get inside my brain more often, right?

Do you Twitter?

Yes?  Ahhh.  You know the love that is Twitter.   The somewhat conflicted love tempered by (fail whale, damn you, you bastard!) hate and yet, mmmmm.  Love.  So, if you already Twitter?  You should make sure that you follow me.  *Because I randomly say such incredible and insightful things there such as,

“It’s true, I’m a Nude Askhole. Please asscept my hardfelt asspology. Can you ever whoregive me?”

***

“Suddenly I feel as though Twitter just handed me a big hit of X.”

***

“I might have to have sex with him now. I mean. He just changed out of PJ’s to go buy me ice cream.”

***

“Going to get groceries. Do they sell a better outlook on life at Walmart? Even if they do, it’s probably made in China and has lead paint…”

***

“I want magic anti-gravity paint. Just enough to cover my boobs. Bras suck.”

If you don’t Twitter, I would like to introduce you to your newest obsession. (Notice how I have given you no choice in the matter.)

Start off by clicking on this pretty birdie!

Get your account and follow me.  For the *above stated reason.

And when it gets all screwed up because someone over there dicked with the code again, like, for the eleventy-billionth time, because they can’t keep their sticky, stupid-dummyhead fingers off of it for, like, 10 MINUTES, then don’t get mad at me, and stuff.

Really, all the times when it screws up just make you want it more.  It’s unpredictable in its ability to actually work the way it was intended, so that toooootally makes you want it more.  And like, really badly, too.  I mean, when it works it’s so good.  And you never can tell when it’s going to do that!  So the attraction is undeniable.  Must.Twitter.Before.System.Crashes.Again.

It’s psychology, dummy!  And I know, because I have degrees in that.  So, you know, I can say stuff like this.  And you are not allowed to question me.  I am Lotus Carroll BA/MA.  Or something.  (Okay, more like BSMF, if you know what I mean.)

Oh, and there is also this thing called Plurk.  I like it, and all, but I really did start to get rather pissed off about the “Karma” Score glaring in my face all the time, making me feel the need to achieve something.  I can’t deal with that, people.  Because if there’s a goal to be reached, a grade to attain, I somehow feel I must.make.highest.score.or.die.  “Run in your little wheel, hamster, run!”  Ugh.  I so don’t need that right now, seriously.  Twitter just lets me be me.  It’s not waiting for me to jump through enough hoops before I become “enlightened.”

It knows I have already achieved Nirvana.  (I just laughed so hard I farted.)

(PS: that was TOTALLY the type of thing you might see me say on Twitter!  How ironic.)