You know how sometimes when a blogger has a birthday, all the other bloggers get together and do tributes and write accolades and blah blah blah bunch a wannabe saints blah blah?

Yeah, well, someone has a birthday today. But THIS isn’t his blog. This is MY blog. It’s supposed to be about ME.

So, in honor of his birthday, I thought I’d let him talk about me for a while….
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Hi kids. Mr. Fabulous here. I am completely whacked out on Vicodin right now. God, I love Vicodin. Vicodin is always there for me. Vicodin, unlike Donna Pearson, The Harlem Globetrotters, or the Monroe Doctrine, has never let me down.

Oh, the guest post. Right.

This is for you, baby. Ignore the background singers. Stupid background singers.

Shopping Her Life Away

Well the big sale retail shopping on a major scale
Clearance up ahead check the rack looking for a deal
Gotta keep buying
Britt’s slapping patrons, giving them an elbow
Breathing heavy nipples at attention face all aglow
Gotta keep buying

Ooh Britt’s shopping her life away, buying stuff everyday, especially shoes
Ooh Britt’s shopping her life away, poor Jarrod’s in dismay

We love Britt. She’s a goddamn national treasure, that’s what she is.

Goodnight, everyone!

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Happy Birthday Fabulicious. If anyone deserves to live another year, well, it’s probably me. But I’m happy for you just the same!

Don’t you forget, I need your help with my baby brother!

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Beginning March 8th, I will have at least one guest (and at times as many as 3) staying at my house every. single. day. for a solid month. I fear my blogging may suffer a little (as well as potentially my sanity and my sex life), so I have enlisted some help from other fabulous writers to help fill some of the gaps my packed schedule might leave.

As part of this endeavor, you get to enjoy some Friday Fiction courtesy of the lovely Claudia.

Please be sure to leave her some comment love.

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The Driver

Pulling the limousine into the diner’s parking lot, the driver smiled. The diner was quiet. Through the windows, he saw a few drunken teenagers and a couple of cops. Perfect.

“Will this do, Ms. Lamberton?”

“Yes, Vince. Thank you. Please. Come in with me.”

“Of course.”

Every Saturday night for more than a decade, his boss purchased her overnight companion services. When Vince took this job, the butler informed him that he would need to be available to take her home around two in the morning. Standing at the door, the driver watched as the old man gave her a wad of cash, kissed her cheek and walked her to the door.

The old man was slowing down. And tonight, Vince reaped the benefits.

“Stay with her, Vince. Make sure she gets home safely,” the old man said.

For the last six months, he drove her home to her penthouse apartment near the Colorado state capital. He watched her hips sway until she was safely in the elevator. He’d return to his room in his boss’s estate with that image burned into his brain.

But, tonight was different.

Tonight, she was hungry.

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