When don't I talk about hoes?

Just now I did some... study for a psychology grad student. It was about teens and sexuality. The scenario I had to read concerned a 15 year old girl who was caught having sex with her 42 year old teacher.
I was asked a couple of questions, and I can't help but think I was a little too lenient on the teacher and harsh on the girl. Oh well, a hoe's a hoe (if the 42 year old teacher looked like Ed Norton... you can't blame the girl, anyone would have banged him).

Talking about hoes!
Over the weekend I finally gave a name to my car. I drove Best Friend Chase down the parking garage and the conversation sparked up.
B.F.C.: Why don't you like your car? It's pretty and shiny!
Me: Because it's a whore.
B.F.C.: It's silvery-tastic!
Me: Yeah... but that's exactly the thing... I see way too many silver 4Runners driving around.

Then I remembered something I had done over the weekend.

Me: That's why on Sunday, my car's name dawned on me.
B.F.C.: What you call it?
Me: Bambi.
B.F.C. was quiet... I'm sure thinking: WTF? What's so special about that? I thought you liked Ariel.
Me: Mom thought I named it after the Disney character, but I named it after a stripper/whore. There are tons of Bambi's out there dancing for money and giving head for crack.
B.F.C.: Oh... (and I'm sure she was thinking: That's sad, AnoMALIE, real sad)
Me: But I guess that's good if a kid ever hears me mention my car's name. They'll think I'm a Disney fanatic, and not someone who's pissed over how my car's the household slut. Everyone drives the damn hoe.
(Silence)
B.F.C.: So... what'd your sister name her Jetta?
Me: I dunno... probably something like "SeXXXy."

And that my friends, is very true. My car gets ridden more often than any of those hoes you see on the Maury Povich show. It sure as hell gets more action than any of the other 3 cars in the house. Gotta go grocery shopping? Oh, let's hop into AnoMALIE's car. Gotta go to church for the third time this week? Oh, let's get in AnoMALIE's car. Gotta drive down to Lake Mead? Well, hello! What else is AnoMALIE's car there for?
Fuck that, Bambi's not my car... she's just there. I have no car. I disown that sleazy vehicle.
...
...
I take it all back! She's never been bad to me... which now she probably will be thanks to me being an ingrate. I'm sorry, Bambi! Take me back!


While we're on an ugly subject, let me show you one of the ugliest tattoos my eyes have ever seen: Now, I truly hope she never finds out about this Blog... I might get beat down (the owner of the tat is Pregnant Cousin's Little Sister, aka PCLS from the Cheddar Fries story). But come on now! That's just fucking ugly. I'm not a tattoo hater, in fact, I like them a lot. I don't have any, but who's to say I'll never get one. Sure, my mom would freak the hell out: Who the hell's gonna want to marry you now?! You've just disfigured yourself, AnoMALIE!
But, I'll live. I could always marry a circus freak and tour the world with him. AnoMALIE and her one tattoo: Married to the Lizard Man that eats bugs for a living. Yeah Mom, that'll happen because of a single tattoo.
However, once a tattoo's there, it's there to stay. If I'm going to upset Mom so bad, I might as well make the permanent mark worth my while. Make it attractive... possibly have some sort of meaning (I've thought about having an integral drawn on my ankle... or something math-related cause I'm a fan. I also joke with B.F.C. about having the structures of purines and pyramidines drawn on my shoulder blades; I can never keep them straight in my head and it's cost me a ton of easy points in my college years. I need a permanent mark of those fuckers and my torturous years as a bio student).

But THAT thing? A lopsided heart... with a letter A that has a tail end reminiscent of a sperm? P-L-E-A-S-E.
The most I'd ever be able to pass that tattoo off as is an interpretative take on my conception: The heart is my mom's unfertilized egg, full of love for her unborn child, then comes the sperm found on the tail end of the letter A. The A could be significant of all the hoops and whatnot the sperm undergoes while in search of the egg. Also, A would be my father, because he chose my name, which has A as its first letter (I'm taking PCLS's point of view here, her name starts with an A).

Badddamn! There you go... and THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is how I bullshitted my way to an A in all English classes... and Philosophy 102.
Thank you, thank you very much.