1eegrims1ey's Blog

So that is where I came from -- I was birthed by Amy.

I'll never forget that night I was conceived.

Not even an avatar -- just my name setting there and blogs coming from every direction.

The Infectious Sense had created me and sent out the password to all her cronies so they could attack me.

I still can't believe she doesn't know one of her buddie is a traitor.

The password was immediately sent to me, I logged in and changed it.

And now here I am.

I read your blog and IF I did not know you I'd probably feel a little remorse.

One thing I did learn from all this -- I owe Proud American a big apology.

All this time it was you sending me credit cards and magazine subscriptions (which I am still trying to get off my credit record) and blaming Proud American.

PA -- my humble appologies.

That down -- my last comment for now

Now ONE to go

We all know what the phrase LMAO means.

But -- have you ever wondered what would happen if someone actually did this?

On the surface you come to the conclusion things could get pretty messy.

Well folks -- this morning POV finally tore down the shroud of mystery hanging over LMAO.

He totally lost his -- and the results were retched.

Passing_Out_Valium
Jun 27, 2008 | 10:03 PM

You mean Grace, the drug addict who thinks "god" will eventually heal her Grace?

Sorry for the insensitivity, kinda goes with the theme around here.

As far as that goes, yea, so what? That was like a year ago and I already explained myself.

Get out much? Or, do you consume your life reading past posts in order so find solace in your empty life?

-POV

The "Grace" he was referring to was Greatful Grace, who has not put up a blog in nearly a year.

So now I know.

When you actually do laugh your a** off, you leave a big opening that reveals what you actually are made of.

In POV's case he would have been much better off in keeping that hidden.

Two Arab mothers are sitting in a cafe chatting over a plate of tabouli  and a pint of goat's milk. The older of the mothers pulls a bag out of her purse and starts flipping through photos. And they start reminiscing.

"This is my oldest son Mohammed. He would be 24 years old now."

"Yes, I remember him as a baby," says the other mother cheerfully.

"He's a martyr now though," mum confides.

"Oh, so sad dear," says the other.

"And this is my second son Kalid. He would be 21."

"Oh, I remember him," says the other happily, "he had such curly hair when he was born."

"He's a martyr, too," says mum quietly.

"Oh, gracious me....," says the other.

"And this is my third son. My baby. My beautiful Ahmed. He would be 18," she whispers.

"Yes," says the friend enthusiastically, "I remember when he
first started school."

"He's a martyr, also," says mum, with tears in her eyes.

After a pause and a deep sigh, the second Muslim mother looks wistfully at the photographs and says...

"They blow up so fast, don't they?"
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