Saturday, September 02, 2006

[This is an ancient draft I found in me blog. The second line mystifies me - I think my evil twin has been horning in on my blog and leaving little calling cards to surprise me]

Universal truths that ensure an unbreachable gulf between me and Martha Stewart:

I am to pastels as to she is to hooker pads.

I will never, ever host a clam bake.

[WHAT on earth, I wonder, did I mean by "hooker pads?" Anyone have any theories for me?]


Anonymous said...

The home of a prostitute?

nongirlfriend said...

What the hell is a hooker pad?

lilfeathers2000 said...

I haven't a clue hon but it opens a lot of thoughts to ponder.

LJ said...

What I'm coming up with is not fit for print, I'm afraid. But it was sure interesting to think about.
Shall we call you Sybil, darling?

phlegmfatale said...

anonymous - I'm guessing the home of a prostitute was what I intended by that expression.

nongirlfriend - see above

lilfeathers2000 - It's wacky, innit?

lj - *L* I'd still like to see what you came up with. Yeah, you can call us Sybil.

nongirlfriend said...

I promise, someday I will get you that Buck N Ruck photo.

FHB said...

Hooker pad, pad of a hooker. I'm guessing very few amenities, a queen size bed with dirty sheets, and some sort of wretched shag carpeting. Martha would gag, hense your point.

Anonymous said...

Jesus, chicken, it's the difference between clams and cod. The listeners decide.

About five years ago I stole this package from the company mail. It was decorated as a present with some kind of purple bow.

I stumbled across it about a month ago and opened it and some girl was crushing on this idiot and sent him a copy of that what color is your parachute book.

A hooker pad is where you go when the reflection starts turning colours that you don't understand until the smell hits you.

Anonymous said...

I have had enough of this.

If you girls want to know about syllables, write twelve of them.

Here is an example:


ut oh, the witch has posted. bye.

Barbara Bruederlin said...

I used to live across the hall from a hooker pad when I was a starving student, and got a look at the place when the hookers (yes, plural) moved out. It was truly nasty.

shpprgrl said...

Things that make you go hmmmm.

Meg said...

In the rugby-playing nations, hookers are hunky, so their pad is somewhere you might possibly want to go if you are so inclined. (I'm trying not to grin at my first not-too-subtle but accidental double entendre; it doesn't happen so often, but I'm surprised I knew how to spell it.)