An open letter to Moany

Hello ladies and germs. Old Lloyd has been missing in action for a while. As most of you know, I've been in rehab for my clinical vicodin addiction. Thank you all for your prayers and cute cat cards. And now, an open letter to DMoany:

After reading your blog, "Crappylicious," I think we finally get it:
You like to eat poop. You're very comfortable with who you are, and you like to eat poop.
Now keep the poop out of your pants.

P.S. Lose your bitching and tell your mom to call me. We had a great time last night.

Back from the brink

What up asses --

This is a test of the emergency Lloyd system.
'Ol Lloyd here never left, just had some pressing business to tend to.

More updates to come soon!
Seacrest out.

It has been a while, but I haven't forgotten (and I hope you haven't either) that DMoany is D biggest loser. D end.

RIP

Although I have really no reason to mourn - I don't know anyone who died in the coal attack - I still feel pain. I still weep. It's been a while since the coal attack. I think about it all the time. It deeply affected me. I will NEVER forget that day. I was at the bank. A customer came in and told us that coal had attacked the miners, and he was trying to get a TV so we could watch the crazed coal. I thought he was making it up - testing my banking skills. When I got out of the bank, I saw my friend Margo. I asked her if she had heard about the coal attacks. My landlord didn't even say anything. He just wanted to know where last month's rent check was. ASSHOLE!

I watch the footage and look at the pictures. I can't imagine the horror of what really happened when the angry coal attacked those miners, but I know that I am changed. For one, I am buying a hybrid car ASAP, bitches.

Doing a heck of a job, if I do say so myself

What up asses --

Lloyd here with my final musings on the last year. Some of you brownise out there have thought that I am not real, that I am some sort of cruel trick one of your pals are playing on you.

Don't flatter yourselves, asshats. Lloyd is as real as rain, and so is Mittens, for that matter. Don't be hatin' the man you so wish you could be. (DMoany, I am talking to you and your First Amendment Hatin' ways.)

So, without further ado, I give you my resolutions for 2006.


-- Punch that stupid pony down at the petting zoo in the mouth. I was feeding it carrots. It stole the whole bag from my Nephew's hand. I want revenge.

-- Learn to tango. I hear chicks dig a man who can cut a rug. Once I get the moves down, look out world, here I come.

-- Eat less brownies. This year feels like a Rice Krispie Treats kind of year, don't you think?

-- Find even more crappy blogs like DMoany's and that Vaupel and company (see links at the top right of my blog) and call them on their shit. The world needs less crap in it, and I am the man to reduce it.

Well, that's all I have now. No doubt there will be more. Can any of you brownies out there think of any I'm forgetting? If not, we'll be in touch.

-- Lloyd

If you love free speech, HOLLA!!!!!

Well dykes and dogs, it looks like my friend Dumbovan Asskinson is at it again with hating all over the First Amendment. He won't let old Lloyd post a comment. Dumbovan even has another blog dedicated to arts & crafts. You can find it at www.designupfront.blogspot.com, but don't try to comment because Dumbovan will only allow those he likes. Since Dumbovan won't let me share my comments on his ramblings on his blog, I decided to post his blog on mine and then share my comments. The following crap is from www.isyournewbabymakingyougay.blogspot.com. My comments in red.

"I have lost about 20 pounds since moving. Who knew that moving to a state known for beer and cheese would actually have a slimming effect? Your mom, that's who.

When I moved out of my grandpa's, I weighed about 215 pounds. Porker. Yeah, I know. According to the BMI calculator on the Men's Health Web site, being that weight at my height was a dangerous combination. Well, not super dangerous. More like "eventually you will die, but your eventually is a whole lot closer than someone else who weighs less than you." Eat more. Get that whole death date moved up.
So now I wiegh about 195. Porker. I would like to say that this is because of a strict diet and detailed exercise regime. However, it is mainly due to not eating as much and eating less junk, with a bit of exercise thrown in when I feel like doing it. "Doing it" you're not. I am positive of that. However, I have still not reached the "safe" weight suggested by the BMI calculator. I still have to lose another 20 pounds for that. Make that 200.

Anyway, I'm going to go look at myself in the mirror now. And probably jack off to Oprah."

Weight Watchers can shove it

Lloyd has been reborn from the ashes of burnt brownies, asses!

I like to call my hiatus a little something called "liposuction"
That's right, I had 37 pounds of fat sucked out of my back. Jealous? You should be.

When I came to, I was a new man. With 37 pounds lifted from my hot bod, I had to fight the ladies off with my bedpan.

They were all like "Let me give you a sponge bath" and "Let me get you a Jell-o square" and "Did you ring for a nurse?"

Yeah, I had it going on. Well, I let them do what they wanted to me, but I gave them a fake phone number so they can't call me now that I'm back home. I don't need a flock of bitches all up in my business.

Besides, there's this girl named Rachel at the pet store where I get Mittens' food, and she is always flirting with me.

Last time I was in there, she asked me if I wanted to pet her ferrett in the back room. Oh yeah.

Well, you all have been warned. Lloyd is back on the block and ready to rock!