The bitch is back!! A special guest post by my *ahem* good friend, Mrs Winterpepper…
Well. It’s Mrs Winterpepper here again. I’m back by popular demand, or so Lori *sniff* tells me. I’m not surprised, really. It’s unavoidable, given the filth you lot immerse yourself in here on the Internet, that once you come into contact with a lady of my standing and stature you are just instantly drawn to me.
Let me tell you, it happens a lot.
It seems I have created somewhat of a kerfuffle amongst you “blog people”. As I said, I am in no way surprised. So, please, sit down and pour yourself a cup of tea. Splenda’s in the top cupboard, next to the tea laves. And grab the Weight Watchers jam tartlets while you’re there, why don’t you. What’s that, dear? Why, no, I am not on a diet. Thery’e not for me. I just imagined you lot could stand to lose a few stone. *Sniff*. Most people could, these days. Except for that strumpet Lori, of course.I’m forever telling she needs to put on some weight, she is just skin and bone.
Righto, then. First things first. I really must get this out of the way before we go any further. *Sniff*. One Emma K- you may remember I’ve had a run in with the likes of her before, over that atrocious book she helped to pen- asked for my views on *sniff* genital piercing.
Well. Emma, dear, please don’t take this the wrong way- actually, maybe you should take this the wrong way, young lady- the only thing I have to say about genital piercings is this- No. *Sniff* Never mind. I’m a lady and ladies don’t use those kind of words. Lets just say it starts with an “s” and rhymes with “smut”, and leave it at that, shall we? Really. Unless we happen to be discussing piercing of the male genitalia, in which case one does not like to speak ill of a dead royal. But the male appendage is a horridly grotesque thing, and no amount of *sniff* jewelery will change that. Lights out, ladies. Light out.
Moving on. A lovely lady by the name of Dannie asked me, sometime during the media frenzy that surrounded my last post, if I was a schoolteacher. And why, yes, Dannie, dear, I was a school teacher, once. For a good 30 years I taught Year One at Grifington Public School. I was just six months off retiring when the Unfortunate Incident occurred. Allow me to say, here and now, that I was well within my rights to give that child a good spanking. It’s exactly what he should have gotten from his *sniff* parents in the first place.
May I say, Dannie, you come across as a lovely young woman and I do believe we would get on like lemonade on a Sunday afternoon. Feel free to drop in for a chat anytime, dear, but do make sure you call first, I most despise uninvited guests.
Now, the last question for today, I must say, is the work of a most disturbed individual. I actually attended the local police station to make a complaint against this particular gentlemen, but the policewoman was most unhelpful, as she usually is when I approach them with these sort of things *sniff*.
In the comment ledger following my last inscription on this blog, a man by the name of Glen- if that is his real name, most unlikely, given the circumstances- took it upon himself to describe me as a “bit horny“ *sniff*. Now I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I’m assuming it has something to with Glen wanting to *sniff* procreate with me. Quite understandable, but really, Glen, I am most disgusted. I have had a thorough inspection of your “blog-whatever” and have found it to be the work of a person who one can only assume is a free-loving, wacky tobakky smoking hippy.
Glen, you should be very, very ashamed of yourself.
*sniff* Well. That’s quite enough from me for one day. There is only so much culture you people can handle in a small frame of time, given the disgustingly short attention spans of young people today, with your ADD’s and you BookFace and whatnot.
But if there is anything further you would like to know, comments you wish to make, or advice on life or children you are in need of- and surely there’s plenty of you who are in need of that- do let Lori know and she’ll pass your issues on to me during our weekly phone chats where I inquire about the health of her children, how many teeth the baby has and whether she is walking yet and maybe they should take her to a specialist? *sniff* 13 months is awfully late to be walking, after all. My children all walked at 6 months.
Righto then. *Sniff*. Off you go. Don’t bother trying to pop the Royal Doulton into your handbag, I will be counting the cups once you leave.