We get asked a lot of things. Little things, big things, funny things, stupid things and some utterly fucking retarded things. Here’s where Babby enjoys herself most, because she has the opportunity to help others in a meaningful way.
Thanks for asking Babby. I understand your concerns and have given your situation a lot of thought.
I think I need to break it down here, because you’ve given me a lot of information to process. Here is my impression of your most unfortunate situation:
There’s good news and bad news.
First the bad news: Your daughter seems to have the inability to keep a job. From your message, I get that you’re pretty sure she’s not stealing money. However, have you considered that she may be a crack whore who isn’t good at that job either? If she’s not stealing the money for her pimp, perhaps she’s moderately retarded or just lazy and that’s why the drawer is constantly coming up short.
Now for the good news: She is 20 years old. It’s not your problem anymore.
More bad news: I never published your comment, so your website address and the Google ad you embedded in it won’t be seen by anyone.
A little more good news: Since she’s workering with these managers a lot, she probably won’t have to take your advice and quit. Your current problem will be solved pretty soon and will be replaced by the problem of an unemployable adult child-leech.
You asked what I would do if this were my daughter. Quite honestly, I’d just kill myself in the most painful way possible, right away.
That job do seem to suspicious to me too. Even more suspicious is that a mother would rather see her daughter scrub toilets or pick up cigarette butts than learn how to correctly run a cash register. It’s also just a tad amusing that you would attempt to post this ridiculous garbage on the Internet.
You asked for my opinion; I hope I have fulfilled your every desire.
Got a question for Babby? Just leave a comment anywhere on this blog and she’ll try to help.
So, the other day some guy decided to make me jealous by getting extra bacon x10 on his Subway turkey melt. He knows I love bacon – I mean, who doesn’t? He also knows that the turkey melt is my favorite sandwich. He had this delicious sandwich for lunch that day while I had cereal, my other favorite food. I couldn’t stop thinking about all that bacon though, so I talked to my sister about it. She happens to run a restaurant and decided to hook me up.
All day today I kept getting these images e-mailed to me from Wendy’s phone. She’s quite artistic and obviously has bacon on the brain like the rest of us.
Om nom nom nom… seriously, that’s all I can say about this picture.
And here we have the pig with a black olive eye, lovingly crafted from strips of delicious bacon. Wendy, I sure hope you didn’t try to feed me something a black olive touched. You know I hate those things.
When I saw this, I really couldn’t comprehend that much bacon going on one sandwich. I didn’t know if I might be hallucinating or having an extremely good dream or if she was cooking enough bacon for a small army. I just didn’t know. I hoped it wasn’t a cruel joke.
It wasn’t a joke. This was my dinner. I ate half and showed the loser the pictures while I gloated over my 14 bacons on one sandwich. It was truly a masterpiece. I mean, usually we don’t photograph food unless it’s one of the disaster cakes Wendy likes to make for special occasions. 14 bacons on one sandwich was a special occasion in and of itself and I’m glad there are pictures to document this wonderful experience.
I ate half and saved the other part. Then later, I finished the whole damn thing. Tomorrow might be rough, but it was worth every bite.
14 bacons takes the title in the Bacon Cup, as it breaks Jason’s lame record of only 10 extra bacons. Plus, to add insult to injury, I didn’t even have to pay for this – it was a gift from my sister. So, I’m throwing down the gauntlet, issuing a challenge. If you think you can beat 14 bacons, go ahead and try it. You have to eat the whole thing and there needs to be proof of a more magnificent sandwich than this, if it exists. I don’t believe it does. I’m pretty sure I’ll hold the title for quite a while.
This kills me:
“Put my foot down your throat ’til your shit’s in my shoe.”
I don’t know how old this is, but it’s a gag-fest. Shouldn’t her handlers make sure she’s put together before putting her on a stage? How hard is it to tuck a string? /facepalm