Happy Scribe

The following podcast is a dear media production. Hello, dear friends, this is going to be a rocky episode, I can already feel it, you know, when you wake up and you're just angry and there's no reason why and you feel just so turned up, a lot of people think that that's a negative thing. For me personally, I'm the best version of myself when I'm just a little bit angry and it doesn't take much. I feel like the wheels are working faster.


I'm well oiled. I'm ready to rumble. I'm the most articulate, visceral version of myself. And that's the bitch that I love. I just got back from like a nine day trip in Lake Tahoe. I've never been a lake person.


I've never really been to a lake. I was at the Malibu lake once. It's really more of a pond.


So I was a little bit trepidation before going, besides staying in a haunted house.


And by house, I mean, it was like it's probably like eighty thousand square feet is the biggest fucking house I've ever been in, allegedly. Marilyn Monroe spent her last week on the planet Earth in that house. And I maybe perhaps thought that I was going to spend the last week of my life in that house because there was a slight poltergeist situation.


Lights were turning on, TVs were turning on, blinds were opening and shutting like locked steel doors would open and then slam shut with no wind factor. It was pretty fucking wild. But here I am still standing. I'm bloated as ever. Here's the thing. I was the oldest bitch in the house.


Now it is my probably my main purpose in life was to freeload off my husband.


There are days where I was like, God, could I have just married a hedge fund dude, a nine to five year. Let me be the you know, the creative one, the more talented one, dare I say. But unfortunately, in my union, that's not the case now. Well, the music industry is a bit of a fuck fest. It's a lot of perks. And me like the perky and the no working. So I just somehow finagle my way in.


I use all the amenities, I drink all the drinks, I eat, all the food. You know, I find a bathrobe in any nook and corner of the house. I immediately wear it 24/7, make myself very, very comfortable, overly comfortable.


Some might say I take the best seat in the private planes. I'm posting photos, even though it's like it has nothing to do with me. These are all luxuries that are accommodated for people who deserve it. And I just freeload like mother fucker. And honestly, I'm amazing at it. So there is that.


I will also say it makes me extremely attracted to my husband to see a how just like how humble and how like unaffected he is by the perks of his job and just to see him, like, grind it out and be present while he's making music, while I'm just sitting in a robe like woofing brie cheese and like drinking at noon, it makes me very attracted to him.


So it's really like it's like a second honeymoon, even though we barely see each other.


Now, the problem with some of these writing camps is that you're in a house with a shit ton of people. OK, we were with eighteen people.


Now, keep in mind, we got covid tested before we flew right before and then anyone who was in the house was tested. I got tested right when I got home. I'm going to see Gloria later.


Negative as can be mentally, physically and covertly. And, you know, there is a lot of socialization that happens at these camps now.


I feel a sense or a need to socialize because I have nothing else to provide. So if I'm not there to write music or play an instrument or sing, I feel like the only thing I can bring to the table is quippy banter. So I feel on the clock in a certain sense. Day one of a writing trip. I'm Sally Jessy Raphael. I'm Rosie O'Donnell. OK, I'm Ricki Lake. I'm Oprah Winfrey. I am busting out talking points.


I'm making people laugh.


I'm ingratiating, I'm charming, I'm living a lie day for I start to get comfortable and kind of settle into my actual personality, which is either a hit or miss. Some people really gravitate towards it. Some people are like, Andrew, could you please send your wife home on a bus? Thank you so much. Now, after seven days, I become well, now I lose all social graces. I'm way too comfortable. I've exceeded my social bandwidth.


It's time for me to go. Bye bye. Basically, it's the bandwidth has been exceeded. You know, I have nothing left to give, so I kind of go into a full hibernation. Now, I am going to be honest, there was a slight, slight part of me that was hoping that I was going to test positive for covid-19 a mild case just so that I could be in isolation for two weeks because I need that. I need to cleanse myself.


I need to reset just everything. Here is my newest burden. I have officially started talking to myself. My friends brought this up a couple of years ago when they saw me talking to myself on vacation.


And I have become hyper aware and stopped for a small period of time. But it's resurrected recently. It's like a constant Carrie Bradshaw narration vibe. But like if Carrie Bradshaw had Tourette's and self-esteem because we know she wasn't having that.


I mean, how many fuckin times Carrie get together? So today I'm at a Trader Joe's and I thought this woman was cutting me in line, but she was just like grabbing some mints or gum or whatever.


So at a very, very inappropriately normal volume, I say out loud by myself, if this bitch thinks she's cutting me, I will fucking lose it. Now, those are things you just don't say at a Trader Joe's. Like, it's completely unnecessary. Everyone's so fucking nice at Trader Joe's. Like now I'm the cunt with the shopping cart full of beige food. Like now I'm that bitch, you know what I mean? This sweet little Asian woman.


And you know what? I'm already on a slippery slope with the Asians after my Cambodian accent debacle of last week. So, like, I'm like, oh, Jesus, Schimel, get it to fucking gether. She looks up at me and she says, excuse me.


And I just look at her and I'm like, OK, I got a gaslight, I got a back pedal. I got to just pivot.


And I go, Huh? And she's like, you talking to me? And I'm like, Oh, no, I was just talking to myself. And she just saunters away. And I'm like, holy fucking shit.


Schimel You need to lock it up.


STATT I do it all the fucking time. Andrew looks at me constantly and was like, You have to shut the fuck up. Do you realize that you're speaking out loud? You're narrating things that aren't even offensive. I'm like, oh yeah that's.


Yeah, no, definitely. You should definitely walk in front of me. Yep. That's great. Yep. Grab that. Bazil. Cheryl, that's absolutely cool. Yeah. Cool. No, no. I'll just wait here like I do that and it's maniacal and offensive but twenty twenty is about growing hashtag growth. Going to try to stop but also think it's funny. I can't help myself. It's Turits. I get a lot of negative feedback when I say that I have Tourette's itself diagnosed mild Tourette's and also if I actually had Tourette's, I would still make jokes about it and think it's even funnier.


So we just need to lean into that narrative. It's an easier way to live. Laugh at yourself, guys. Just have a good chuckle. It takes the power out of the offensiveness. Just think about that. Bruen that Brenda. I always say that metaphorically, I have a dirty mouth, but in actuality my mouth is super clean because I use the quip toothbrush. When was the last time you were rewarded for anything, let alone brushing your goddamn teeth?


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I've just been singing that constantly. Sometimes I also have outbursts like that. I could just be at the gas station. I'm like Jason Derulo. I don't know why. God, he fucking bugs me.


Pumpkin spice latte season is here. Yes, a sweater weather bust out your sad poly blend infinity scarves. Let's go on a ride.


I want to talk about seasonal nails. Who fucking knew this was even a god damn thing? I also would like to talk about men in white Lexus is I hate them both.


Probably equally maybe. I hate now. I think I hate seasonal nails more anyways. No, but seriously, I've had four altercations this weekend with men in white entry level nexuses.


There is a very clear prototype here. They love Lake Havasu.


They are typically in a car go short in a tight V neck with some really tragic sunglasses, perhaps an Armani exchange, and they might as well nip their genitalia at the scrotum and hand it over because they are the bottom feeders of classified general hot guys. Like I would fuck a guy in a sensible Infiniti than a white Lexus.


I'd fuck an amputee homeless dude with a scooter before a guy in a white Lexus I'd fuck resurrected Verne Troyer in a wheelbarrow before a guy in a white Lexus. I want that on my fucking tombstone. OK, hand in hand next to Verne Troyer. Too much too much unsubscribed, then. No, but honestly, like, I'm totally joking.


Guys like guys in White Lexus is Jake Jake, not this may come as a shock to you, given that about four minutes ago I made a joke about, you know, having sex with Verne Troyer.


However, we are amidst a period of atonement for my gentile listeners. Today is Yom Kippur. Hate to break the fourth wall. I'm recording this on Monday. This will come out tomorrow. Now, whilst gallivanting in a haunted house in Tahoe, freeloading off of my husband's writing camp, I was supposed to be thinking back on the year and wronging my or no writing my wrongs and asking for forgiveness for those that I have hurt and kind of taking a deep look inward.


So basically Rosh Hashanah and I could be fucking all of this up.


Listen, I'm culturally Jewish and I never paid attention in Hebrew school because there was a 7-Eleven across the street and I was known for ditching so I could get a pina colada Slurpee in a Slim Jim, which was my breakfast of choice in middle school.


Anyways, so Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish New Year. That was last week. Then you have a period of of atonement when you're supposed to ask people for forgiveness and think about what you could do better moving forward and repent for your wrongdoings. And then you're not supposed to eat all day and you're not supposed to drink water and you like fasting, cleanse your soul. And then you have like a really shitty deli platter with your third cousins.


And that's, you know, that's Yom Kippur in a goddamn nutshell. No, I was thinking about this because I feel like a. Never said this before or even thought that it was important to say, but I'm not you know, I'm not like a joujou, you know, I'm not a super Jew.


I am Jewish ish.


I busted my Haftorah with, you know, index cards that had English writing on them, you know, phonetically, phonetically. Is that the right word? It doesn't fucking matter. But love the culture.


Want to keep it alive. I think it's important. Love the strong family values, love the holidays, love the connection, love the culture, yada, yada, yada.


So I go to temple once a year. I don't know what the fuck they're talking about.


You know, the rabbi makes some grandiose story that takes about forty five minutes too long.


And they talk like this and there's always a plot twist. There's always a Nancy Meyers. All My God, can you believe young Mordecai looked at this man and said, You are my grandfather. I'm like a.. That shit never fucking happened. B, I'm starving, but I do it for Gloria.


It's a cute thing. I like to put an outfit on and, like, be the only blond in the room. So there's that.


And every year that I can remember, probably in the past decade of going to temple once a year, pretending to be a good person while packing snacks in my bag and maybe a little headphone situation so I can listen to my own podcast while I'm at Temple, which is truly the most religious experience I've ever had.


There are armed guards outside synagogues, and I just think that I have just adapted that. That's normal. It's not normal.


I think. I mean, did people raise going to church, have an armed guard in a bulletproof vest standing outside their place of worship? It's very scary. anti-Semitism is fucking real.


Any who are also going to temple once a year is like a rhinoplasty gallery. So there's that. Oh, she is twisting and turning. This is not lovely to say and probably amongst a myriad of other reasons will get me a presidential suite in the darkest depths of hell. However, I want to live in my truth and it is the day of atonement. So I would like to be honest, as a child, you know, we would we would attend a pop up temple once a year because we didn't belong.


We're not super religious, but it was like a thing to do. So our local pop up temple was at a Hyatt about five miles from my childhood home. And while we were supposed to be attending the kids service, I had a genius idea while we were supposed to be fasting, and that was never strictly enforced, you know what I mean?


So they had at the Hyatt, they had like a lobby restaurant that had a delicious crab cake and bread basket.


So probably the first year we were going, I somehow finagled my way into a al fresco dining experience during temple and ordered crab cakes. And then one of the rabbis found me with my cousins having a delicious Maryland crab cake with a, I would say lemon aioli and a little side of mixed greens, as a lady does at age seven.


And then they told my parents and we got in trouble, but not really.


My parents were like, how are the crab cakes? Should we go back anyways? That's all you need to know about me and my atoning and I shit you not.


When the rabbi found us and started to scold us, I looked him dead in the eye at around age seven or eight and said, I'm not fasting because I'm not sorry for anything I've done.


And it's still fucking applies. You know, I guess there are some people that I should say sorry to this year. Obviously, Julián and Derek Hough, I mean, men who drive White Lexus is Verne Troyer, his family, women named Katie.


Brenda, Melissa. I don't fucking know. I tried to say sorry this morning. I thought it would be funny to Andrew to try because he's a new Jew.


So I was like, you know, Andrew, I'm sorry that sometimes I pick fights when I'm bored, but it's not my fault that you don't have as much personality as me.


And honestly, you should be appreciative to be married to a fucking woman that challenges you and increases your cerebral cortex activity. So actually, I'm not sorry. You're welcome. Happy Yom Kippur sluts.


I would like to talk about the new trend on social media of people doing side by side posies in bra and underwear, bikinis, clothes with just a little back arch. All the sudden you're a supermodel. I know that in the pursuit of appearing transparent and brave and, you know, really lifting the veil on the fraudulence of social media.


You're still bragging, though, because let me tell you something, there's not a pose in the world that I could do to make my breasts. Not look like fuckin 80 pound rocks in tube socks, an arch of the back, a pop of the but it's not going to help me my tits, they they sag in a way that is unconscionable.


Now, I'm a thin human being. I would never post something like that because I think it's so it's it's not even tone deaf.


It's round about bragging, you know what I mean?


Like, we need to be woak to people. Did I just use the term woak?


I fucking hate myself. I would like to apologize to the Jewish gods for using the term WOAK. I'd like to atone for that. Never again.


This really isn't sheild because I know about six hundred and eighty five people who have been doing this. And I do think that maybe the sentiment is there to show like, look, I don't have this perfect body. Like if I'm sitting normally I have one little micro role, but there is a lack of self-awareness that really, really triggers me. And it's still self-indulgent and it's not. It's just, oh, it makes me cringe. It's unnecessary. You know, this faux kind of feminism is it triggers me in a way that I can't even explain.


It's so stupid. It's all so fucking stupid. I was like, Jackie, stop complaining.


This is what gets my dick hard. If you don't like it, unsubscribe. This ain't for you by forever.


If you want to post a photo of yourself, just fucking do it without the condescending play by play of like see like Instagram isn't all it's cracked up to be like. Yeah, we already fucking know that. So lean in or lean the fuck out.


Stop. It's mine. Fuck. Great. Oh I'm on a real kick about mine Fakhoury lately. Now I get a lot of questions about people who kind of are confused by my love of a no person. And I think that that gets lost in translation because when I say a no person, I just mean an honest person.


I would I appreciate transparency in every format. So I respect people who just keep it one handle all the time, even if it's it hurts. I don't really have feelings, but if it is not flattering to me or they say you're a stupid fucking bitch, I don't like you, I don't want to hang out with you, I'm like, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.


And I try to surround myself with people who are both self and friend deprecating, if that makes sense.


Now, what really fucks me up in the head and everybody needs to be aware of the the mind fucker manipulator now they're really hard to spot because they're usually very complimentary. They're charming, they're ingratiating. They they love you. I just really want to get be friends with you. And I love your hair and you're so funny. And I miss you. Love you. So proud of you. You're so pretty.


Let me tell you something about Jackie fucking Schimel. She can sniff out a rat. That's my rat sound. Don't be fooled by a snake in the fuckin grass, OK? Compliments when they're insincere are so much worse than insults. I'm no genius, but I do consider myself an expert in intention's. I have been able to call every single piece of shit that I have encountered my entire fucking life far before it was known that they were a piece of shit when they were a regular jewel amongst dirt people that my parents loved.


My friends loved everybody I know, mother fucking rat, OK, sometimes when people are really nice or complimentary, it's to mind, fuck or manipulate you. Other times it's in the pursuit of you mirroring the compliment or sentiment to them to validate them. So you're nothing but a pawn in their sad chess game of self love and they will knock a bitch out just to even even slightly feel better about themselves. So don't get fucked in the head. Not on my watch.


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Oh my God. This is my favorite story of the week. So there is a kind of like a what would we call it, like a photo studio of a set maybe that you can rent in Los Angeles. Boyle Heights, to be specific, for sixty four dollars an hour, it is set up to look like the inside of a private jet. So for sixty four dollars, you and nine friends have complete access to this faux private jet set to take photos, Instagram, TEQ talks, Twitter, Grindr.


Who fucking knows? This is the most disgusting, tragic, pathetic thing that I have heard in a very, very long time.


I would like a roster of all the people that have gone and paid that. Sixty four dollars. Maybe there was a Venmo split because sixty four divided by nine. What is that? Is that like a maybe. Let's do the math here like six dollars and fifteen cents per person, which is kind of a bargain.


I need that roster because Darwinism needs to take its goddamn toll.


You need to have like a real look in the mirror if you're driving to Boyle Heights to take photos in a fake private jet to post on your gram.


Now, in the spirit of Yum KIPP's and looking inward, I will say in true, hypocritical form, any time that I have flown private, I have tried to subtly post on Instagram that I was on a beautiful private plane.


Now I don't I wouldn't do main feed because I think that could be alienating. I would also like to go on record and say that I'm personally not paying for this flight because that's not going to fucking happen. Let me tell you something. If I was going to fly people somewhere, we would take a bus, OK? Because I'm not going to we're not doing that, but I have done that. And it is embarrassing. And I have judged myself and I look around at all the people around me and they're looking at me and they know exactly what I'm doing.


I'm trying to make it funny. I'm like brownies for breakfast.


But it's very abundantly clear that, you know, that's what's happening. And it is because I want people to know that I'm not a loser. And that's terrible. I am a loser, though.


I'm the biggest fucking loser because the winners aren't doing that shit.


But the real losers, see, now we're bringing it back. This is called rationalization. One one. The real losers are the motherfuckers driving to Boyle Heights pay and sixty four dollars and living a god damn lie. When I look at my husband, looking at me, trying to like, covertly take videos of us doing something fabulous, it's humbling. I know exactly like I see him looking at me. I'm embarrassed for the both of us.


He would never he has done a lot way more fabulous shit than I ever have.


I mean, those record labels, let me tell you something all perky, you know, working for jerky. That's me. The perks are fucking real. You could be living in a tent under the four or five, but they're flying and putting me up real fucking nice in the pursuit of maybe in a bop.


Anyhow, it's embarrassing. I will never do that again. I hate myself for it. I hate these people for it. What they're doing is worse obviously. See, we're bringing it back. We're bringing it back any who. Let's talk about Real Housewives of Potomac before I just implode.


It's disgusting. Everybody hates me. Unsubscribe.


Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow. Twenty, twenty the year of breaking that fourth wall. Bravo, bravo, fucking bravo.


Now, if you're sleeping on Real Housewives of Potomac, I'll be honest, I was too at the very beginning of the.


Franchise, I was just like, I didn't understand. I'm like, where the fuck is Potomac? What are these women's kitchens like? I just it wasn't my thing, you know?


I mean, I love, love, love New York. I love, love, love Atlanta.


They just the dynamic wasn't there for me. This season is fucking unbelievable. They deserve all of them deserve Golden Globes. I mean, Ashley Darby, she is the songstress of the worst Bravo song that has ever existed.


I need you to listen to coffee and love and try not to choke on your own bile. It is the most cringe. You know why? Because it's not that her voice is the worst. It's that a it's her and her brother. So it's very, you know, Scissor Sister Huff, Derek and Julianna adjacent. Also repenting. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Last one.


And it's like it's just it's so bad. The lyrics and and the and the melody and everything.


I play it for Andrew when I want him to get up because I know if I play it through the speakers like he's up and he's Rashi, it's so bad.


It's the worst one that has ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever existed. And I mean that like from the bottom of my heart.


So Ashley Darby is an icon. She is a bitch Bible pillar of the community. Her level of calm and just even keeled, effortless blinking does something to my vagina and my soul.


And I aspire to that level of gone girl vibes like the vacant the blankness that she can kick in is and just sips her beer slowly, like bone chilling. I mean, if that wasn't enough, now we have the Candice Monique wine tasting debacle. First of all, she needs a Candice needs to use that footage in an infomercial for her wig line because that shit did not. I was so nervous that it was going to fall, that it was going to shift, that it was going to, you know, Kim's Osieck all like Season two Real Housewives of Atlanta.


And she just wanted to shift it a little bit. Was that the worst week of all time? I mean, that was like a flammable disaster. She needed to sell three of her diamond bangles and just go get like an actual human hair wig so that she could light a votive at home. That was the craziest shit I've ever seen. I'm like, OK, cool, glad that you have, like, a Dior vest and like an Escalade.


But could you maybe just like could we just rejig the format and like, you know, work on what's coming out of your head anyways? It was wild. I am totally team Candice. I don't necessarily like Candace that much. Like, I can't I'm not into Candace. I think Karen Huger is a star, a fucking star.


I think that actually Robin has really grown on me. I kind of miss that cuckoo, cuckoo girl. What was her name? Katie.


Oh, Katie. Fucking Katie. What a wild ride. Speaking of bad hair, Katie, do you remember her last year? She was working the bangs. It was all over the place. It was. It was she needed to Gisele's got her shit figured out. Janelle is gorgeous. Giselle, I think, is maybe the most beautiful housewife.


And Karen is just perfection. Oh, my God.


But I am team Candice on this one. I think that Monique lost her fucking mind in the lack of remorse is very it's also aspirational, but a little bit concerning. I mean, she really fucking went there.


She provoked it with the hair flipping. She starts pulling it and she does not let go. And she's got like five women grabbing at her wrists and she is not letting go.


And can you imagine if, you know, if there hadn't been a camera crew, if there hadn't been women or producers to intervene and then even her cool after she's cooled down, she's in the stairway being like, I will kill her. What did she fucking do to elicit that reaction? I don't understand. Monique needs to take a fuckin beat. Speaking of beat, I flew home early earlier than Andrew.


He had to finish up some work.


And honestly, I was just like socially exhausted, you know, like if I start off strong and it's just a very steady, sharp decline and then I become like fully unhinged by the end. So I came home early.


I was really missing Richard. I pick him up and I don't know if my sister hotbox him or what the fuck was going on. He's got a pretty rock solid stomach.


But last night he when I tell you had it's like he's sharded himself. It wasn't like he pooped in the house. He quite literally had anal leakage. And when I tell you that I was awoken by a stench that you could never forget, I'm like. If this motherfucker is expressing his anal glands, I like we're not doing this right now. He had a full like a river runs through it of feces all over our fucking house, like in every bedroom, up the stairs, down the stairs, on the rugs, like primarily upstairs.


And obviously I situated what happened in our bedroom, but the other two I couldn't fucking deal with. So I thought, you know what, Andrew? Welcome back to reality.


You know, the life of a music producer being whisked away and catered to. Not on my watch, sweet cheeks.


So I shut those doors and I thought, OK, I'm going to track him, pretend like I had no knowledge of this happening post up in a parking lot down the street from our house.


Wait till he gets home. So he is overwhelmed by the aroma of feces and then he has to be the one to take care of it because I just don't do well in body fluids. And yes, I understand that I'm going to have to have children one day and I'm not really looking forward to that either.


So it was kind of a test.


You know, I was testing him to see if he would chisel the shit out of the rug because I just have exceeded my bandwidth.


So I when I tell you that I sat in a parking lot, a variety of parking lots, I could give you I should write a book about the San Fernando Valley parking lots because I know I'm all I love to eat in a parking lot.


I know where the shady spots are. You know, I know where the high traffic area is. I like to eat in the car and I always will go into like a shady corner on the perimeter of the parking lot farthest away from the action. And nothing fucks me up more than when I find the perfect, shady secluded spot.


And then some bitch in a it's always in a minivan, it's always in a champagne minivan with bumper stickers, pulls up with or kiddos right fuckin next to me. And now I can't enjoy my beautiful, you know, freeway view. It's disgraceful. Let me tell you that El Loco in is it Chatsworth on the way to Chatsworth, they give you the crispy, crispy skinned chicken and you can buy meth in the parking lot. So best of both worlds, obviously.


You know, I haven't always led the healthiest of lifestyles, but things to ritual vitamins. I wake up every day, I take my ritual vitamins and I feel like I'm doing something amazing for my mind, my body and lack of goddamn soul.


So there is a point in time where I was literally taking like 18 different vitamins and I had no idea why ritual vitamins was created by a cynic. For a cynic, you see everything that's in these vitamins, they call it traceability. You know exactly what you're putting in your body. I always say it is truly the greatest hits of a multivitamin. Plus, they make them for everybody. They're really designed for the whole family.


They cover men and women. They've got, you know, an eighteen plus multi vitamin A fifty year plus vitamin prenatal, a multivitamin for teen girls. Everyone is covered. There's so fucking great. Plus I have a very sensitive stomach they're coated in kind of like a minty oil. So you don't have to worry about taking them with food. You can put them right by your bedside and take them every single morning. Check the box. You can shove every orifice with enough kale to take over the Western Hemisphere.


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Sorry for the suspense.


So the good news is I came home after posting up in a parking lot and Andrew had extracted all of the fecal matter from all the floors in the house. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I married my husband. Didn't even, by the way, didn't even mention it. Like, what the fuck is that?


Like, if I if I came home and had two straight sledge hammer, chisel dried shit off the floor, I would bring it up every single day for six years. I would tell every member of my family, I would tell all of our loved ones. I'd tell his business colleagues, I would use it as an excuse to get away with basically anything.


I'd be like, Oh, really, Andrew? Remember when I had to chisel shit off the floor?


Yeah, thank you. Bye bye.


I got to tell you, I'm kind of loving him lately. It's weird. You know, sometimes I just like sometimes I always love him, but sometimes I just fucking hate him, like at the beginning of this.


What the fuck was that? Papa, can you hear me gentle? Marilyn. Oh, my God, what's that sound anyways, also? Six hundred and forty five people have asked me if I'm pregnant this week. The answer is nope. It's such a wildly rude and invasive question to ask somebody.


You know, everyone is on a different goddamn path.


And while I applaud women that, you know, having a family and being a mother is, you know, their apex of joy, I really do applaud that. I don't know that that's going to be my apex of joy. I'm going to bust a demon seed out of me, and I'm sure I'll be really, really happy about it. I also don't hate all children. True story. My best friend is a two year old. Her name is Ellen Tina.


She's quite the jet setter, the only framed photos I have in my home, like personal photos.


I don't have a photo of my dead mother. I don't have a photo of what I think. I have one wedding photo. I don't love a lot of framed personal photos. It's not really my it's not my agenda. You know, I don't need to be like. I don't need to be like gang banging people with my with my journey, you know, like if you come into my house, I don't need you to be like here with me in the Bahamas.


This is that all her firm. This is us in London. This is me as a kid at summer camp. Like, it's just God.


I mean, I get it. I get it. It's lovely.


But that's just it's not me. The moral of the fuckin story is that when I'm with my little Damien devil seed, I'll fuckin let you know. Until then, shut the fuck up. Thank you, everyone. Happy Yum. KIPP's and I will talk to you next week. Make sure you give us five stars on iTunes. Follow me at Jacki's Schimel for more delicious debauchery. And is there anything else I need to hock or sell secret project.


Maybe it's OK by.