Dipping her well manicured toe into the burbling, turbulent waters of love, sex, and stoma's... it's Flabby time.
Today, a letter from a poor sod.
Wassss up Flab girl?
Was changing my setup yesterday morn. Carefully laid out new wafer and bag by the sink. Removed the old crap off my well toned stomach and hopped in the shower.
Emerging clean and green, I was soon dry and ready to rock. With the B-52s "Wild planet" blasting, attached the wafer. Went to grab the bag..... it was gone! "What the hell" I stammered. Wasn't on the floor. Not on the carpet in the hall. I ventured downstairs. Upon eyeballing my natural state, the wife, normally unamused by the antics of yours truly, voiced her immediate disapproval. "Seen my bag anywhere?" I ventured. Receiving an incoherent reply, I quickly stepped into the kitchen. There, chewed and bit to shit... was my new bag. In the clutches of my cat. Letting loose a few hastily formed cuss words, I reached for it, and was rewarded with a feline claw to my right pinkie. Friggin' hurt.
Oh Flabo..... that was my last new bag.
What ever shall I do?
Clawed in the buff.
Yours truly,
Beachboy
Dear little Bitch,
Number one... I am NOT Flab girl or Flabo !
The name is Flabby. You must have a teeny penis affecting your world view. Your brain somehow got fried sitting on hot sand. It's no wonder your darling little kitty abuses you. Hell, if I was there, I'd steal your bag and scratch yer scrawny ass too. Here's a tip.... toss the cat a kibble, then snatch the bag.
Man up fool.
