As I am walking home today, I happened to notice several women pushing their whelps in strollers. On all, I noticed small necklaces with little jeweled children hanging from their lipid-laden necks.
Why is it so important for these sows to broadcast to all the world the number of moving melons they have passed through their busy birth canals? Is it perhaps because now that they have become disgustingly unattractive, they need the world to know that once upon a time it was an entrance as well?
It is these very soccer mom types that always put me off on the notion of marriage. Even when I was just a wee lad, I would see these prodigious mini-van drivers, and sneer in disgust at their frosted hair, and psuedo-lesbian haircuts. Lets fact it, long hair = better. It certainly doesn’t help when the extreme de-feminication comes usually after they have let themselves go way past the point of “honey, I’m working late tonight” hooker party, on the “loving” husbands part.
Do they look at themselves? These soap-opera loving, tsk-tsking, news regurgitating blobs of fleshy matron-ness, do they ever realize that their husbands watch desperate housewives too, so that they can have a different image in their minds as they are attempting to find that filthy muff before they can roll over and call it a night?
It is that bland, suburban portion of our country that is inherently despicable, quivering lumps of force-fed opinion. Working in a group home just makes you see how much we all live in one.
Group Home America,