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i am a megalomaniacal genius whose every attempt at world domination is foiled by the unintentional interference of the hordes of imbecilic morons i am surrounded by and forced to mingle with. i am exacting my revenge via my blog, where i shall accost, insult, expose and embarrass them by sharing their stupidity with the online world. oh, and i will give bad, misleading advice to the unfortunate souls who write in requesting my wisdom in an attempt to expedite their visit from the angel of death and thereby eliminate one more mentally bereft obstacle from my path. finally, i intend to use my blog to amass my own personal army of willing morons whom i can exploit and abuse for fun and profit. kind of like rush limbaugh, except i am brilliant, gorgeous, beloved, and not addicted to opiates or spareribs. *this is a disclaimer. the contents of this blog are for humor and entertainment only. if you are delicate or have no sense of humor... leave. and die.

Monday, March 15, 2010


     Greetings, my miserable masses of unwashed minions.  I know you have been breathlessly anticipating the latest edition of the printed testament to my opulent wisdom, and I shall not disappoint you.  I am aware that your pitiable lives ring hollow and incomplete without the benefit of my brilliance, and that without me you are more confused and indecisive than Kirstie Alley at the start of her buffet-busting breakfast.  Have no fear.  I have heard your pleas for instruction, and I have generously taken the time to answer them today.  As previously promised, one column a month shall be dedicated to dispensing my near-divine wisdom in an attempt to make sense of the tangled mess you have made of your meaningless lives.  Let's dive right in.  Or let's not, actually, until I make this one demand:  if you write me seeking advice... LEARN HOW TO TYPE AND SPELL YOU THUNDERING IDIOTS!!!!! I spent more time editing these fecal emails than I did writing my own statements.  I mean, seriously, you imbeciles.  I could have shoved a pen up a chicken's ass and kicked it across a sheet of paper and come up with a grammatically superior letter than the bilgewater submissions that seeped into my inbox this week.  Use Spellcheck.  Open a dictionary.  Do something other than show me your developmental retardation.  A blind epileptic in mid-seizure could type more legibly for Heaven's sake!!
     Anyway, on to the letters:

Dear viciouspeach,
I've got myself in a load of trouble at work and am terrified.  I am a receptionist at a gynecologist's office.  You see, I  am married and have been sleeping with my boss for several months.  I am now pregnant, and am sure he is the father.  I can't lie to my husband about it being his because we are both caucasian and my boss is from India.  I have no clue what to do.  Can you please help?
                                                                                                       Terrified and Pregnant in Tallahassee

Dear Terrified Tallahassee Twat,

     From the bottom of my heart I want to thank you for the 33 minutes of uninterrupted hysterical laughter that the irony of your situation has brought me.  It has won you the honor of being my first advisee!! Congratulations!  And congratulations also for the little bundle of Punjabi joy that your unfaithful snatch is going to regurgitate in a few more months!!  I can't wait for little Rajiv or Apu or whatever to come make a living hell out of your existence and destroy your happiness, career, and marriage in one fell curry-scented swoop!  Let me ask you, when you signed up to be a gynecologist's receptionist, did you have to take the job title quite so literally, you ignorant puta?  I shouldn't help you because you deserve the catastrophe lying in store for you.  Not because you are an immoral slut who betrayed her vows and lied to her husband.  I can see past that.  Not because you have made a mockery of the "sacred institution" that some of our more, shall we say, well-groomed and stylishly dressed friends are having to fight and swishily march for the right to enter.  That I could forgive.  And not because you are a wonton, nymphomaniacal, gold- digging whore who can't keep from lifting your skirt over your head and using your rotting pie-hole to try to advance your career.  I can relate.  And not even because you, as one who works in a COOTCHIE DOCTOR'S OFFICE, are the FIRST person with access to all forms of contraception and had all the tools at your disposal to keep your adulterous little rendezvous secret.  All that I could accept.  No, you deserve your world to split apart like your legs and swallow you up because you are without a doubt the DUMBEST homewrecker to ever shove her heels behind her head and crack a smile.  You risked everything to sleep with a member of an ethnic group found to have, on the average, the SMALLEST PENISES of any group on the planet!  You sacrificed your bratwurst for a Beanie-Wienie!  Pendeja.  And a chutney-flavored one at that.  Why do you think they invented the Kama Sutra?  They had to make up for the lack of size and emphasize the motion rather than the meat.  That's why they don't eat beef in India... there isn't enough in the whole country to give ONE woman a decent mouthful!!  Well, if you want to save yourself and not give birth to another tech-support phone jockey or 7-11 attendant, (or a nuclear physicist), here's the plan:  book yourself an appointment to see your boss as his patient ( I assume you have a health plan that covers his services) and have him perform an abortion on you.  Hey, he stuck little Shakti in there; let him yank her back out.  And tell him who the father was just as he finishes up.  The look on his face and the irony he experiences will surpass even the irony of a gynecological receptionist receiving a "fertility treatment" by her own gynecologist!

Dear viciouspeach, 
     You are a huge asshole.  How anyone can be so cruel is beyond me.  I have only one question for you.  What can I do to prevent you from blogging anymore?
                                                                                                                 Disgusted Reader in San Bruno

Dear Disgusting Douchebag,

     That's easy.  Fill your bathtub with cool water. Plug in your hair dryer  and turn it on.  Then strip naked and hop into the tub while still holding on to the hair dryer.  I promise you will never have to read my blog after that!

     So there you have it.  Two lost souls given a new direction and lease on life.  A very wise lady recently suggested I use my blog to help people work through their problems and make a positive change in the world.  I hope this proves I took her good advice to heart. :)  Remember you too can benefit from my brainy advice.  Just address your questions to "dear viciouspeach"  at  I will respond to my letters once a month, maybe more often depending on the volume.  Until next week, keep your eyes open and keep up the fight against Moronism.  Or go play in traffic if you discover you are a moron.  Either way, it will be doing us all a service.  Thanks.

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