Proof I’m a Dead Girl

and a little bit of bitching.

Hey. Look, so why didn’t you tell me that Kathy Griffin has been stealing my material? She’s all “When did Madonna become British?” And now I’m hearing her talk about how much she loves VH-1 and how the divas on the Diva show aren’t really divas. Hello? That’s three of my pieces from the past couple of years! None of you wrote to me about this? I’m all like Jerry Seinfeld over here. And a little Kramer. “Two point eight percent financing on a Chevy? That was my idea!”

I think that perhaps you guys don’t believe me when I tell you that Cal is trying to kill me. Or maybe you do believe me, but you don’t realize how much danger I’m actually in. So, here you go. Here’s proof. Here’s your precious Cal that you guys think I’m overreacting about…

see cal sleep.

So sweet and innocent. I know. But listen:

That’s a laundry basket. Not like a tiny basket. That’s a laundry basket, yo.

or how about this one?

Look at the size of him, people.

He’s going to kill me. For real.

He wants me dead.

He could smother me in my sleep.

He could sit on my stomach until I suffocate.

Or put his big belly on my face.

Not kidding.

i’m just sayin’.

Okay? Do you really need further proof?

I didn’t think so.


I don’t want to hear another word about it. I’m a dead girl.

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