Payback Is A Bitch Named Pansy

So. Pansy has this best friend that Pansy has known SINCE LONG BEFORE first time ever Pansy saw Mr. Pansy's face. Don't be frightened by the visual you just conjured up as to how old, wrinkled, haggard and used up said best friend has got to be. Nevertheless, La Bella Pansy still allows said horribly antiqued, haggy friend to be seen in public with Pansy on the occasional occasion.

When first ever they met, Pansy referred to friend as "that B-word"; as our relationship escalated Pansy started referring to friend as "that C-word". However, Pansy confesses [hangs head in shame here] that Pansy has been wrong about disgustingly dusty, creased, elderly friend from the start. This friend should be referred to as "that DoubleG-word" at minimum. Pansy would Sooo DO DoubleG so fast, so much and so long if ever given the opportunity, even though neither Pansy nor DoubleG are Lesbanese. Because DoubleG is a fucking babe. Like Pansy is a babe, although Pansy is a More Politely Sized BigD fucking babe. SPECIAL EDIT FOR THE STUPID IMPAIRED: DoubleG is indeed a direct reference to friend's BOOB SIZE. Sure, it's not quite accurate. She won't let me get "close" enough to really find out. What a fucking prude that bitch can pretend to be.

Four of us friends are trying to make a lunch date and always one of them other bitches had a "conflict". Pansy never lets anything conflict with her feeding trough time. Tiring of the email merry-go-round crap, I just SET the damn lunch date already, tell them all to fuck off and finally it's a done deal. God, I really would so do DoubleG. Anyways, everyone agrees to the lunch date, but DoubleG's response email includes this question: "Okay, but who is [name of most major cahuna in the law firm I work for] and why is he coming to the lunch?"

I almost died. I cannot believe it. Somehow I had accidentally cc'd this Boss of the Bosses attorney into this gruesomely (yet wondorously) profane e-mail! I freaking actually sweated the proverbial bullets for 24 hours before I found out that the "cc" was a joke on me perpetrated by DoubleG! I was vulnerable to the trick since I have nerve damage in my hands from chemo and I often hit many odd keystroke combinations resulting in weird computer mess ups which I spend a lot of time correcting. Things that I don't even know how I made happen.

Now it is ON. That bitch DoubleG fucking punked ME! Pansy Punk Queen Palmetto! I must needs kill her back, but good. And that DoubleG does have ever the most hot humpity-humpable Back, too. Mmm, mmm, mmm! Most of all I am amazed, horrified, mortified and really feeling highly vindictive that I fell for this e-mail trick of hers so totally hook, line and sinker. But I am worried because I am not immediately coming up with any ideas. I am in such shock that my normally quite reliable Brain Worms have been equally stunned. I can NOT visualize any payback schemes! Oh, how I fret and gnash my fangs and wring my claws. I shed bitter, scaly tears. The days quickly go by and now it is The Day Of The Luncheon.

What to do? What to do? Suddenly(!), on the way in to work, the Brain Worms burst out of their coma and it's EUREKA TIME! Oh, bless you, Brain Worms, bless you! I stopped at the office of a doctor. I do not know this doctor or anyone there, but I pop in, tell the staff "No, I do not fucking have an appointment here", snag a business card and continue on to work. Oh, I am hardly able to endure the wait for this lunch now, I tell you! I inform no one else attending the lunch of my Grand Plan since they can then add to the impact by truly being innocently taken in as much as that fucking, back stabbing DoubleG bitch so-called best friend of mine.

Once at lunch, I excused myself to go wash my hands which almost gave me away since they all know I usually just meticulously lick my hands spanking clean before meals. How I'd like to spank some o' that DoubleG! Spank her all pink and sweaty! I find the bar waitress and asked her to deliver an orange juice to my friend with the doctor's business card as if the drink came from a secret admirer. Waitress was a bit reluctant but I swore (and not even in foul language!) to her I was a friend of DoubleG and this was just a payback. After I got back to the table, a bit later the waitress comes over with the orange juice and she says "compliments from a gentleman admirer at the bar". She hands the drink to DoubleG who gets all flushed, batting her eyelashes and giggly. On the card I had written: "Call me! I can repair your prior work!" and a big smiley face with hearts for eyes. The card is for a plastic surgeon.

Well guess who fucking totally fell for it? HAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA! YESSSS!! That STOOPID Double-Fucking-G whore! With her totally natural DoubleG-ness she has spent her lifetime being annoyed by stoopid assholes making inappropriate remarks. She makes Carol Doda look like a pre-teen. I know her "weaknesses" as well as she knows mine! DoubleG just about went ballistic as she looked the card over and over, unable to believe the fucking nerve of the message. She even turned around to find the beast to give him a piece of her mind. How providential that two completely innocent business men were sitting at the bar at that moment! DoubleG began to really get mad and in a quite firm tone of voice demanded of the waitress to point out exactly who had sent this fucking drink and card to her. The waitress, in an Oscar-worthy performance, looked at the card and feigned great shock herself. I am sing-songing "DoubleG has a boyyyy...friend" and the others are asking "What does the card say?" because they did not know. They also then get all incensed. DoubleG is also becoming mortified at the thought that some man has decided that not only has she had implants but that they need fucking fixing! I finally cannot prevent my laughing.

It took DoubleG awhile to really believe I had pulled this punk on her. She was a bit worried that a surgeon really had sent her the juice/card and that I was merely pretending I had done a punk on her.

Now it is EVEN MORE FUCKING ON! Neither of us will be safe for quite some time, I fear. Don't start something with Pansy what you don't have the strength to finish to the death. Of one of us.


p.s. Pansy is DisPleased. Some piece of shit, loser slow-brained fucker thinks Pansy is running some kind of fucking "request blog" here and asked for this particular story. Dear Mr. Slow who is now going to be even more slow: Pansy was going to relate this story ANYWAYS so do not think you have been granted your "request." Know this, Mr. Most Slow: when Pansy finally tracks you down--and, oh, she most certainly shall no matter how far you run, how deep you burrow in your futile efforts to escape Her Wrath--Pansy is going to tear you so many new assholes and so thoroughly remove all your undersized, unused, useless equipment your new name will be "Swiss Miss".

And, furthermore......[passes out in apoplectic seizure from rant against Slow Man]


Brain Worm #1: Sheesh! Is she out?

Brain Worm #2: Yes.

Brain Worm #1: Okay. Hey, people, go ahead. Ask Pansy for a story. Even if you don't know her, just toss out a topic. We Brain Worms can gare-rawn-teee Pansy has a story. Mebbe she'll even make one up. Not that she has time to do that....she has too many Real Life Adventure stories still to spew.

Brain Worm #2: Ssshhhh! She's coming to.


Pansy awakens, groans, look around. "Now. Where was I? Oh! Yeh. And then there was the time......"