An Embarrassment of Bitches

[Ed. Note: What follows is the first of some guest blogs by Rabbitch while I am settling into my new space and new job this week in Washington, D.C. They are unedited. Be afraid. Be very afraid. - Rebecca]


Greetings kiddies! Good to see you over here instead of over there where we usually chat.

Madam is off showing the folks in DC how to party (and also, more than likely, how to deal with their erectile dysfunction) and has asked me to pop in from time to time and attempt to keep you amused.

My god, the power! I can link to myself over there and then I can link over there to here and end up with some sort of bizarre blogful clusterfuck.

The only disadvantage that I can see is that I hardly have enough material for ONE blog and, having agreed to do this I shall, of course, write hers first and end up with nothing but a page full of ass for myself.

I'm quite sure my stats will be back in single digits by the time she returns.

Clearly I'm a Christian martyr.

Despite my many threats of spending an entire two weeks posting daily step-by-step directions on how to make the perfect dishcloth:



I have decided instead to take pity on her (and her stats) and, instead, post something that will make The Person Known As HotThreads moist.

Yes, my slipper collection.

Miz Rebecca, seemingly, has a rather limited collection, being a) snobby and b) gifted with great big flipperfeet. In fact, from what I understand, The Dead Muppets (tm) are pretty much her only pair of mention.

I, however, having no taste whatsoever and having completely average (and why does this not surprise anyone) feet, have ... well ... a somewhat more extensive collection.

Keep your eyes on this spot for further revelations.