Burying the hatchet, and other debauchery.

The following are SO VERY NWS and also document why you should probably buy stock in Tylenol today.

Fun with Sharpies!
Question: is it still "humiliation" if you're not just unfazed, but downright proud?

My back, in an early state of deconstruction.

My back with Ronco Rocker.
I do think it's cool that although there's less than 24 hours between the photos, most of the marks from the first one are completely gone. I've got Wolverine Healing Powers. Also note the second "WHORE," of course.

Um.
So yeah, that's a hatchet. It's a fucking hatchet. (Also, I am the kind of slob who leaves her watch on in bed. Ugh, I'm disgusted with myself.)

And honestly, it's a fucking shame that I don't show my face on the blog (and I'm sure as hell not showing it in the same frame as that), because I think the whole tone of the photo is changed when you can see that I'm laughing my fucking ass off. Decontextualized, it looks sort of fucked up and degrading; in context, my attitude was much more "hey dude check this out" than "this is what I've sunken to."

My breasts the next morning.
Christ that's sore! Christ that's awesome.