I’m 9 years old and I’m really self-conscious about standing out too much in a crowd. I’ll just stay on the sidelines and snack on crunch’n munch while I watch the world go by.
I‘ve decided on the navy blue pinstriped Armani, where the hell are my Ray Ban’s? Shit, anyway yes, I’ll meet you for a martini after the market closes.
Surf’s up! I’ve got hot yoga at 2, then I’m gonna grab a Spirulina smoothie and pull bong hits all night. Later.
Please call me Delores. I love a good game of Bridge with the ladies, and writing on formal stationary. Sometimes I spray the paper with rose-water.
I’ll be busy all day on the front of tee shirts, and then I’m committed to a few bumper stickers. I look really good with exclamation points! You may remember me from “That’s Incredible!” back in the 70’s.
I’ll be delivering bad news all day. And you’ll be required to sign for it.
Ha ha ha ha ha! Come to my birthday party! Read my silly blog! I lost my hermit crab! Wanna hear a funny joke? Visualize whirled peas! The elementary school is having a Bake Sale!
Thoust will be cordially invited to my pretentious wedding. It will be black tie, and very formal. I will arrive in a white Bentley. There will be white roses everywhere, a harp quintet for the cocktail hour, and classical music on the grand piano for the rest of the evening. Brandy will be served from snifters. We will release doves and give you Jordan almonds wrapped in tulle.
Sorry guys, stuck in a logo again. These graphic designers can’t get enough of me. I won employee of the month for the 587th time.
I’m so old I pooped my pants.
Busy weekend, I’ll be waiting by the phone for a callback. If Futura or Helvetica are unavailable, I’ve got the part.
On my way to pick up Brian Denehey so that we can work on the lost and found posters for his cat Mr. Wampuss.
I’ve got a few tattoos lined up tonight. After that I’ll be on the window of a Goth clothing shop. Got an interview for a clothing label, I’ll let you know how that pans out.
Goddamnit. Another weekend on the scroll. These Birkenstocks are killing me. I’d like to get off early so that I can slap on some patchouli oil and head over to Bauhaus’ and catch a buzz.
Last week I got a job in bright yellow across a small camo tee-shirt. I was stretched wide across a beautiful set of titties, got to spell “M.I.L.F.” That beat the shit out of hanging out on the sides of military caskets.
I am stressed the fuck out. What am I doing this weekend? Same thing I always am. Books, magazines, advertisements, brochures, Power Point presentations…I have no social life whatsoever.
Footloose and fancy-free! I’ll be hanging out at wine tastings all weekend, same old same old.
I’m the loneliest dingbat on the planet. I’ll just be sitting at the bottom of your font list, waiting around for the chance to make an appearance as the border on some pre-pubescent girls’ “keep out” sign for her bedroom. You know, since she’s beginning to masturbate.