STYLETHREAD -- LET'S TALK SHOP!

Duuuuhhhhhh............

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Hypothetically, if one had as much money as Dear Brit does and had all the time in the world to do whatever one so chose, why in the world would one galavant around town in a towel and furry slippers, whilst pregnant no less?  Hmmmmmm?

Where are the cute preggo clothes?!?  This is a black mark for all pregnant-womankind!

I love the letter from K-Fed:

Yo bitches. Cletus McK-Fed here.

Yeah, yeah, I know. I know, a’ight? But she really wanted a damn baby and the bitch who signs the checks gots the power, you know? It was all blah blah baby blah blah baby blah blah fertile blahedy blah something about Justin blah. Damn, I just got tired of hearing it, you know? And I thought if she had a baby and shut up already, maybe she’d stop buying so many damn dogs. Did you hear that bullshit about the incest puppies? Christ. I told her a thousand damn times that the dogs aren’t fucking related and that even if they were, who gives a shit? They’re fucking dogs dude, and her whining about it was totally harshing my buzz. And then she started crying again and shit, and, dudes, I just COULD NOT TAKE IT anymore. So I hit her with El Spermination. Maybe this will keep her busy for a while so I can take off to Vegas with my BOYZ. [Big ups to Fresno! Yeah yeah!]

On the DL, I gots to admit, dude: I am kinda proud of my swimmers, you know? I am FEE-IRTLE. [Or FED-IRTLE? Heh. Heh. Heh. God. I’m good.] Who KNOWS how many babies I got in this town? Hells, I’ve tapped A LOT of ladies between here and the Nevada border. I know I gave that one chick the syph, but who knows what else I been giving ‘em, if you know what I mean and I mean mini-Feds. I’m making myself a damn basketball team, dude. Maybe we can go on the road and get away from Loudmouth over there.

Dudes, she’s starting whining about my clothes. Yeah. She’s all in a muumuu and shit and she’s crying that my shoes are untied and my manpris are all tore up and why can’t I dress like a grown-up and DAMN BITCH, my manpris are all tore up because your damn dogs keep trying to bite me and end up coming away with the hem of my pants, bitch. Thank God I buy XXXL. Damn.

And then she made me get these damn hair extensions because she was tired of people calling me “90210” and then we saw a rerun of You Got Served on STARS and she was all up in my grill about how hot I look with hair and shit and what the hell else am I supposed to do? She changed the PIN on our ATM card AGAIN and not to 1234 this time. So I gots to get the hair until I figure that shit out and I can blow town again.

A’ight. I gots to get out of here. I’ve got like seven child support payments to mail before the 15th.

Late.

K Fed