Laugh Your Balls Off!

Hey ChetWatkins.com’ers – The following is Lizzie Redner’s very first post.  Give her a warm welcome.

-  The Editor

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Hey Internet. Have you ever been through the hell that is quitting smoking? That’s what I’m living right now. Yeah, that’s right. I’m quitting smoking. Today is day one and to say I feel aggravated would be such a deep understatement. I feel like I could snap my arm out and catch a squirrel in my white knuckles and bite its head off like I was biting into a candy apple. No no, my friend. To say I am aggravated would be like me saying that drinking human breast milk in my cereal every morning would be just kind of icky. truth: that is not just icky, it is bone chilling. Truth: I can’t think straight nor can I sit still long enough to make this blog post worth anyones time. So if you are reading this, I’m sorry.

Lets get that out of the way. I am sorry for wasting a minute of the only life you have on this earth. I also apologize for what I can count on being the most aggressive and poorly crafted post ever put on the Chet Watkins website. I’m a nice girl. I am. I’m a good person. But right now, lets just call a spade a spade. Look man, I don’t wanna die. That’s why I’m quitting. Also I don’t want to keep buying expensive eye cream if I am just gonna look like an old map in a few years. I quit a couple years ago and then I thought I could have just one and be OK. And as it turns out that is exactly how everyone else on the planet goes back to the filthy weed. Just one.

I cant write right now. Honestly. They made me do this. I’m the only member of Chet who hasn’t blogged. I don’t know why. It intimidates me and plus I hate the word blog. It grosses me out and I just don’t trust it. Don’t get on me about this right now. I get overwhelmed.  Today I ate my weight in pasta and then had some fucking chocolate and pastries. And some jerk off said, its good you’re trying to quit, but you don’t want to get fat either. To this I replied, “says who?” with my mouth completely filled with scone. Seriously. Says WHO? Oh, and in case I forget, S my D you callous dillweed. I have feelings and they bleed like hell.

OK, so where was I? Oh yes, I have NO FUCKING IDEA. Because my brain right now is like TV static. Or like a close up of a hair follicle. Or the underside of a starfish. It’s Chinese water torture. Can I say that? Too soon? OK, new topic. Today at work I told my boss that when I was in high school I used to buy $2 buds of weed and get blazed during my free period. Which brings me to my next topic of discussion: would anyone be willing to be my personal escort who makes sure I DON’T SAY SHIT LIKE THAT TO MY BOSS? I wouldn’t be able to pay you, but to anyone looking to class themselves up a bit, it would be great experience observing a real lady. I mean a real refined bitch. I don’t know if you know this about me, but I’m incredibly deliberate with everything I do. This shit isn’t even funny. I got fired from my job before the one I have now. You know what the reason was? My shirt was wrinkled. but secretly I think they were just threatened by me because I have such large hands and 12 fingers and I can carry 37 plates on one arm. Not kidding. Once, I ate elephant meat. Once I went to the bathroom in a remote Chinese village in the Sichuan province and wiped myself with paper money cause I couldn’t find toilet paper. Once I made a broth with the wood of a birdhouse, the wings of a scallop and the noble ancestry of Eleanor Roosevelt. One of those stories is true. One is not true. And one is a wish. OK, I should wrap this shit show up. If you have any questions dial 1-800-WIL-LTHI-SBEF-OREV-ERPL-EASE-GODM-AKEI-TSTO-P143.