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July 23, 2024

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Working Girl Laments! Snowfuck To The Rescue!
By: ChicaLishis

How terrifically annoying. My alter-ego, The Lovely Miss Norton, got all freaked out about our finances, and started whining about how we have to cut back on cheap boys, expensive liquor and wham-glam additions to our wardrobe and then, without even consulting me, up and got a job! A JOB! Do you understand the ramifications of such an action? I am now, against my will, dragged out of bed at 6 am each morning, to, get this, get ready for work! I am subjugated to the whims and desires of other people, like, I have to do what they say, WHEN THEY SAY IT! Can you fucking believe this shit? I tell 'ya, as soon as I get The Lovely Miss Norton alone, and I'm not so weary from a day of cow-towing and brown-nosing, I'm gonna strangle her delicate, swan-like throat until her beautiful blue eyes pop right out of her head. I mean, I could of cut back; maybe only one new pair of sling-back Blahnik knock-offs a week, or, given up my extensive collection of feather boas to resale (except the pink and the black ones) for a tidy sum. I wasn't completely opposed to drastic measures. But she hardly even gave me a chance to compromise. Jesus, she's always been a panicky bitch, I guess I should have seen this coming.

So, what does this mean for you, my darling readers? It means I've hardly got a thing to type about. All this working leaves little time for drinking and carousing and gawking at silly little musicians playing their silly little songs. And, not one absolute second to make up tall tales to tell you. Instead, I am relying on the generosity of another alter-ego, Snowfuck, Your Bitchin' Christmas Elf, to present you with an article of high-hilarity, sure to warm your cockles. Word on the street is that Snowfuck's a damn good cockle warmer. I wouldn't know. I'm too busy WORKING.

Snowfuck is regarded by hardly anyone as an expert advice dispenser. In fact, while amusing, she's quite slow. And yet, people still regularly request her guidance in matters of the heart, etiquette, plumbing. While The Lovely Miss Norton fretted about some stupid work deadline or something equally retarded, Snowfuck and I pawed through the mail bag, and after much guffaws and "Oh my, I'm a clever girl!" gasps of adulation, chose the choicest of the lot.

Dear Snowfuck,

Snowfuck? Who names a kid Snowfuck? That's the dumbest name I've ever heard.

Anchorage, AK

Well Mike, if that's your real name, my wonderful mother named me Snowfuck, and I've been proud to carry the Snowfuck banner every since. Sure, it was hard during my school days; kids can be so cruel, calling me Snowfuckles, Snowfuckluck, Fuckie, Snowie, Fu, Sn. I can't deny that those words hurt, especially the last two. Why do children have to be so mean?

In conclusion, SHUT UP!

Your Bitchin' Christmas Elf

Dear Snowfuck,

What is the etiquettely correct time to leave a dinner party?

Dallas, TX


First of all, I do not think "etiquettely" is a real word. So, until you're sure of it, I wouldn't go using it in societal conversation.

Second, I need a little more information to determine the appropriate time of departing. Here's my rule, I leave right after I gobble down my second helping of dessert unless there is a super hot guy at the table OR there's a chance someone's gonna break out tequila shots as an aperitif. If both conditions are met? I may stay 'til morning.

Your Bitchin' Christmas Elf


You're so bitchin'. Christmas and New Year's always depress me. How do you make it through the holidays without getting totally wiped and wanting to hang yourself, or your cat?

Boston, MA


Wow. I'd never even contemplated hanging my cat. I've thought about stringing up the 'ho in the apartment above me, or the mailman when he's late with my Social Security check, but I never considered the cat. I'm gonna keep my eye on that cat from now on. The first sign of trouble, whoosh! Up he goes.

Christmas depresses you, huh? I don't know if I can help as my memories of Christmas past have me sailing through the holidays with glee. Mom (who wasn't a Bitchin' Christmas Elf, just a fantastic bitch) used Christmas day to hone her craft; lobbing verbal bombs at Daddy such as "What on earth made you give me that?" and "It's Christmas mother-fucker! I'll drink the whole goddamn bottle before noon if I FEEL LIKE IT!", and the one that always brought him to his knees, "Santa's better hung than you." There is something truly beautiful about a hate-hate relationship, no matter what that nasty therapist said. Then, late night, after Mother had passed out and Daddy had finished crying, he'd get up and burn us a tuna casserole for our Christmas feast. Good times. Me, him, and a bone dry pasta entrée.

And how can you not like New Year's Eve where you are socially expected to pour as much liquid depressant down your throat as your belly can handle? Sorry Cassidy, but if this time of year don't make you happy, I think you're beyond redemption.

Your Bitchin' Christmas Elf

Thanks Snowfuck! You always come in handy during times of crisis. Now, I've got to get busy getting The Lovely Miss Norton fired from this humiliating position of abject slavery and back on the road to ruin. See you next year!

Thugs Holydays,

Do you have a deep desire to give cold hard cash to Chica and expect only her self-satisfied smugness in return? Email your pledges to "Chica Lishis NO JOB Foundation" at [email protected]. Do it for the children.

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