… or is it?

There have been some ghastly rumors going around I feel I need to address. Let this post serve as one that separates FACT from FICTION.

FICTION: JillianApproved has decided to close up shop.

This is not true. Now mind you, I could have been the one to start such a rumor… but I’m setting the record (and myself) straight. It’s not happening. Yeah yeah, I know it says I update twice a week and those of you who visit regularly know it’s a damn lie. That will change. See, I learned something: you can’t put creativity on a fucking schedule. That shit flows whenever it flows and you just need to be there to catch it. Needless to say my cup hasn’t runneth over in quite a while. So no more schedule, no more deadlines, and no more feeling bad about not updating when I said I would. From now on, it happens WHEN it happens.

Consider this the beginning of a new era. You’re welcome.

FACT: My Fantasy Football team sucks more than a crack-whore in a dark alley.

You know what? I can admit that shit. So I drafted bad. Whatever. Who knew Carson Palmer was going to be the pile of shit on an otherwise delicious plate of would-be victory? Who knew Chad Ocho Cinco would, thus far, be such a non-factor? Who knew Derek Anderson would have such a shitty start to the season? Apparently everyone but me. And to think, there I was on draft day confidently picking players I just knew were going to tear it up. I have only myself to blame as I head into Week 4 with 3 straight losses.

Worst. Fantasy. Season. Ever.

FICTION: Teenage girls have anything remotely relevant to talk about.

They don’t. Or maybe they do. I mean I really shouldn’t judge, in fact maybe I should give them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps it’s just the girls on my bus that are mindless chatterboxes going on and on about shit that would make me kill myself if I HAD to listen to it longer than I currently do. I’m sure elsewhere in this vast and beautiful universe there are tons of teenage girlies that enjoy stimulating conversation wherein boys, MySpace, or “hotness” is never mentioned. That’s possible… right?

But maybe you need a sample of the high-pitched drivel I speak of: (Names have been changed because I don’t care enough to learn their real ones)

Sasha: Omigog! Omigod! Omigod! I saw Aaron today! He is sooooooo cute!

Gina: (emits a sickening squeal) I know, right??! He IS SOOOOOO cute!

Terri: Aaron? Is he the cute one???!!

Sasha and Gina: YES!!!! We think he is sooooo cute!

Terri: Omigod!!!! I think he is soooooo cute, too!!!!!!!

So yeah… these girls need to shut the fuck up. I doubt they will ever know how lucky they are I don’t just drive the bus right into the center divider. Just the thought of their motionless bodies and the blessed quiet that would follow… No one could blame me, better yet, no one SHOULD blame me.

FACT: This blog is called “JillianApproved: Humor, News, and Nonsense” but has never done anything news-related to date.

This is true. I have more fun doing the nonsense part to be honest. But, I have come across several news stories that I thought were funny, or interesting, or worth mentioning for various reasons. Just recently I heard about a guy in Baltimore who is suing a doctor for stapling his rectum shut causing him to go 17 days without taking a dump.

Hahahaha. Seriously.

I would write more on the story, but the article I found was funny all by itself: - Take special note of the quote they get from the victim’s attorney.

Man sues Md. doctor, says butt stapled shut

Not too long ago, I StumbledUpon the awesomeness of “What I Should Have Said”. The premise behind this site is simple. Users are encouraged to share a situation in which they neglected to come up with a witty or scathing retort, then take an opportunity to express what they should have said in the first place. A lot of the anecdotes are downright hilarious and well worth the read. If you have some free time, I recommend checking this place out.

Being a fan of Seinfeld, anything to do with second-chance-responses (SCR) makes me think of the episode where George was insulted by a co-worker for eating too many shrimp. Long after the incident occurred, George thinks of the retaliatory Jerk Store line and spends the remaining part of the show trying to use it.

“Hey George the ocean called, they’re running out of shrimp!

“Oh yeah? Well the Jerk Store called, they’re running out of YOU!”

More clever one-liners...

Robert Downey, Jr. is HOT; HOT like a habanero chili pepper soaked in Tabasco sauce, wearing a wool sweater in the flaming recesses of Hell.

I was tempted to limit my post to that one sentence, but I thought it would be a waste. I mean, with so many words in the English language, surely I could expound on my feelings for this man (no offense Jan, but you know how it is).

Last Saturday Jan and I made plans to go to dinner, then see Iron Man afterwards. Needless to say I was pretty pumped about the whole evening. We wound up going to Marie Callendars where I gorged myself on their sinfully delicious Chicken Fettuccine Alfredo. My God that dish is good. If you want to know what it feels like to have your taste buds reach a level of euphoria known only to the few strong enough to survive such pleasure, then I suggest you order this entree next time you make it into one of these fine establishments (Best. Sentence. Ever). The sauce was full of flavor and so rich and creamy, the chicken was delicious and tender, the pasta cooked to perfection. Yeah, it was definitely some good shit. I could practically feel my arteries closing up as I shoveled bite after bite into my greasy face. But fuck it. My mom always said I would die with a full stomach, and dammit she’s right. It’s no secret I love a good meal.

This is where it gets good...

So I have big breasts. It’s not unusual for people to stare and beg to rub things on them, only to leave disappointed when I refuse. As a teen, the heat missiles strapped to my chest were good for drawing the attention of seedy men. I remember how pimps used to hit on me, ensuring I would never opt for a life on the street. Nothing made the walk home from school more uncomfortable than hearing shouts of, “Damn gurl, bring those juicy D’s over to Daddy!” This of course, was cause for offense. If I were ever going to sell myself, why have a middle man? Surely I’d be better off NOT having someone beat me and take half of my money? That’s just Bad Business 101. No way those fools were gonna play me.

More about 'big ole titties'...