maro Lip Schtick: February 2005p

Monday, February 28, 2005

LilRed's Oscars minute

Here are the things that struck me about last night's Oscar telecast:

1) Chris Rock - funnier and more tasteful than I thought he would be.

2) Cate Blanchett - the epitomy of class.

3) Drew Barrymore - stop over-enunciating, please.

4) Scarlett Johansson's left arm did some sort of weird dangly thing when she presented. Did anyone else notice this? Creepy.

5) The aisle vignettes seemed a little awkward.

6) Jeremy Irons - what a kidder!

7) If Morgan Freeman ran for President tomorrow, I'd vote for him. What a bad ass.

8) Gwyneth Paltrow - lovely.

9) Julia Roberts - not so much. By the way ... who the f*ck is Marva, and who the f*ck cares?

10) Renee Zellweger - better as a brunette, but still a major bugger.

11) Beyonce - two words: hot, hot, hot!

12) Clint Eastwood - very cool to bring your mom and to introduce her to the audience. You seem like a good guy.

13) Hilary Swank - I don't care what anyone says. Your dress kicked ass. Oh, and, your breasts are fabulous.

Sunday, February 27, 2005

Between a Rock and a hard place

I love the Oscars. I have since I was a young girl. And I've loved most of the hosts. From Bob Hope to Johnny Carson, Steve Martin to Billy Crystal, Whoopi Goldberg to David Letterman ... they've all had something great to offer.

And who could forget the 1987 triad of Goldie Hawn, Paul Hogan and Chevy Chase as the hosts with the most? OK, OK. I got a little carried away with that group.

But back to my original point. It's not that I don't think Chris Rock is funny. It's just that he's predictable.

Without fail, Chris Rock always plays the race card. Always has to mention that he's one of the only black guys in attendance at whatever function he's attending.

Don't get me wrong ... he's right. And that's a shame.

But it's time to come up with new material, Chris. You're talented.

So much so that you shouldn't have to rely on the color of your skin to get a laugh.

Solitary confinement

They say that when you have a problem, talking (or in this case, writing) it out can be extremely therapeutic. And the first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem in the first place.

So, here I am, taking that first step.

I used to think it was no big deal. Something I could control. I mean, I'm a pretty good girl in general, but this is one of my few vices.

At first, it started gradually. I thought I could get away with it when no one was watching. You know, I'd sneak away after lunch to do it. I don't think people paid much attention because I always brush my teeth right after lunch. I'm sure they just thought, "Oh, she's got to leave early to go brush. She's obsessed with dental health."

There have been times when I would come home on a Friday night and binge until the wee hours of the morning ... only to find myself feeling guilty and ashamed for my behavior.

It became obvious to me that I had reached the point of no return when friends would invite me to social gatherings and I would turn them down because I wanted to be alone at home where I could indulge my secret.

Wanted to be alone so I could hide my issues.

Wanted to cater to the problem that was eating away at my time, my friendships, my life.

I knew I needed help, but didn't really want help. Not then.

"I can get a grip on this," I would think. "No one has to know. And I'm sure I'm not the only person in the world who has ever had this problem."

Then it hit me. If I don't do something soon, I may lose everything. I'm not going to let this ruin my life. There are plenty of things I am proud of and don't want to squander away just because I lost control. My home, my job, my friends, my family, my cat. They are all worth fighting for.

So, can anyone recommend a good Computer Solitaire-aholics Anonymous group?

Friday, February 25, 2005

Un-fresh as a daisy

I was just in the shower and cut myself shaving with my Daisy disposable razor. I noticed that it had a wee bit of rust on it.

Does this mean I have to get a tetanus shot?

Yikes.

Thursday, February 24, 2005

The phoenix rises

Thank God I'm sporting my Oops! I crapped my pants! undergarments today because I think I just soiled myself.

Could it be?...

Welcome back to the flock, RedDirt. I've truly missed your long-winded rhetoric about topics that mean nothing to me.

It's about time.

The downward spiral begins

I think my crusade against WalMart is working:

America's Most Admired Companies 2005

Last year Satan's lair was first place on the list.

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

'roid rage

You know how I feel about the use of steroids in sports. Cheaters!

The steroid debate in major league baseball continues to heat up daily. And Jose Canseco isn't helping.

Or maybe he is. Because I think he is proof positive that the whole league in general is a mess. With his ridiculous interviews and stupid statements at the forefront of the steroid controversy, maybe baseball will be cleaned up after all.

Keep up the good work, Jose!

Idiot.

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Heeeeere's Johnnie!

Gilbert, that is.

Johnnie's high energy defense coupled with Terrell Everett's wacky offensive moves helped push the Sooners past the Jayhawks tonight:

71 - 63.

Good job, guys. Not only did you play with a lot of "Heart, Hustle and Hardwood," but you helped me get my cardio workout in for the day.

Although I now have concert ear because of the noise in the good ol' Lloyd Noble Center.

That's OK. Better deaf than a loser.

Monday, February 21, 2005

Movie mulligans

Self-proclaimed movie (er, film) aficionado Chase has graced us with his list of greatest remakes ... a dozen, to be exact.

Great list, my friend, but there is one glaring omission. How could you forget -

Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights?

I mean, c'mon! At least give it an honorable mention.

Or, in this case, dis-honorable.

Sunday, February 20, 2005

In the pink

My mom called me today in a tizzy.

Mom: I checked your blog today and the picture you posted on your profile isn't you!

LilRed: I know it's not me. That's why it's funny.

Mom: But why would you put a picture on there that isn't you?

LilRed: Because some things are better left to people's (and by people's, I mean stalker's) imaginations.

Mom: Well, who is it in the picture?

LilRed: Are you kidding me?

Mom: No. Who is it?!

LilRed: Unbelievable. I realize that someone younger than, say, 25 may not know. But c'mon!

That's pretty much it. Nothing more to the conversation. I think it's funny though that she still doesn't know.

Tee hee.

Prideful and prejudiced

I had lunch with a few days ago with a male friend of mine. I made the remark to him as we sat down that our hostess was, for lack of a better word, hot.

Why is it so easy for women to notice attractive members of the same sex, but men have such a hard time with it?

Now hear this! Guys - it does not make you gay if you notice that another man is good looking. In fact, quite the opposite. Showing that you are comfortable enough with yourself to recognize that another dude may have nice shoulders or great hair ... well, to you I say, "Kudos!"

And while we're sort of on the subject. Men - stop assuming that just because another man is gay that he's going to "hit" on you.

First of all, to think this way is to give yourself way to much credit. Do all straight women hit on you? I doubt it. So why would gay men?

Secondly, gay men are interested in, duh, other gay men! Trust me, a gay man's not going to waste his time with you knowing that you like women. Why would he?

For those of you who are not getting it, I'll give you an analogy. I am heterosexual. Therefore, I am interested in pursuing relationships with men. That's not to say, as I mentioned earlier, that I am unable to check out hot female babes. But that doesn't mean I want to seek them out for dating purposes, either. Sinking in yet?

I guess my whole purpose of this post is to say: let's put the homophobia back where it belongs...

... in the closet.

Wednesday, February 16, 2005

If this blog's a-rockin' then don't come a-knockin'!

Sometimes I beat myself up because my blog isn't all cerebral and intellectual and stuff. There has been the occasion or two when I have actually tried to stir the pot with my thought on politics or topics that seem a little more earnest:

Half Empty
Happy Birthday, Pa
New rules of Yule

But when I go back and look at my blog, what do people seem most interested in?

Canker sores
Drag queens
Spelling dilemmas
RedDirt torment
WalMart ill-will
Teeth nightmares
Scary-ass Barbies ...

... and a host of other useless subjects.

So my promise to you is this: I'll keep putting out the crap, and you can keep reading it.

Because hells bells! Don't we have enough political mumbo-jumbo, overly thought-out commentary on things that really matter already? I'd much rather stick to what I know.

And that sure as hell isn't much.

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Oh, honey! You shouldn't have ...

I'm always appreciative when fellow bloggers and anonymous readers check in with Lip Schtick to see what's up in my world. So, needless to say, I was happy that some of you felt my pain as I waxed philosophical about a few fashion no-nos that really get under my skin.

One such bloggist had a quandary for LilRed (don't you hate it when people refer to themselves in the third person?) in reference to a gift she received yesterday from her main squeeze for Valentine's Day. I knew I had to use the question for a follow-up post.

Chevy Rose asks:
Where the h*ll do I wear a sweater covered in red hearts, ribbons, sequins received last night from romantic old hubby? Any advice? I'm thinking my funeral.

Well, Chevy. I'm glad you asked, as I believe I can be of some assistance here.

My thoughts initially are that the sweater to which you refer (and, by the way, I wish I could have been there to see your expression when you pulled it out of its wrapping) is probably a little too flashy for you to be buried in. I would suggest a nice suit with perhaps an heirloom brooch for your last rites.

Perhaps there was something about the sweater, in all its garish glory, that kindled a spark in your husband from early in your courtship. Who knows?

But, since most men are driven by the needs of the dumbstick, I suggest that you wear the sweater in the boudoir, preferably with nothing else.

You see, Chevy, this methodology will help you kill two birds with one sequin.

First, you'll have the pleasure of knowing you're making your husband happy by wearing the garment ... regardless of how heinous ... that he picked out especially for you. And second, by employing this tactic, you won't actually have to wear the sweater in public.

Also, you'll be doing him a favor by showing him that you love him so much that you want to wear the sweater, and more importantly, that you're willing to get your groove on with him in spite of the tacky thing (which is really at the root of most men's actions anyway).

I hope this helps, Chevy. Be sure to keep me posted.

Anyone else out there have a problem that needs LilRed's (I know, there's that third person thing again) attention?

The doctor is in.

Monday, February 14, 2005

See no evil, speak no evil, wear no evil

I'm no fashion plate, but I would just like to share some Glamour magazine-type "don'ts" that I saw at the mall yesterday (be sure to picture the little black box over these people's eyes as you conjure up your mental images).

1) Ladies, young and old: your super low-rise jeans and baby t-shirt are not so cool when you have a gigantic wad of blubber squeezing out between them. And please, if you insist on wearing this ensemble, stay away from the food court. I'm trying to eat.

2) Cleavage is not pretty when your breasts look like half-filled hot water bottles.

3) Just because you have a tattoo, doesn't mean we all want to see it. Please keep in mind that it is still winter and halter tops are not acceptable, even in the name of displaying your paint.

4) On that same weather note ... I don't care that it was 70 degrees today. It is not time for flip-flops (or, as they used to call them in my day - thongs) yet.

5) Lesbians* and redneck men - Please refrain from sporting mullets. It's 2005. Join those who have left 1988 where it belongs (and that would be 17 years ago), won't you?

6) Gay men* - please stop the tweezing. Enough said.

*Before you people get all "Quit with the gay-bashing" on me ... I happen to have several les-bionic friends whom I absolutely adore. And none of them wear mullets. And my gay friends all know that unless one has a mono-brow, there is no need to tweeze.

That's your LilRed fashion faux-pas minute. Enjoy.

Sunday, February 13, 2005

LilRed's got it pretty good

Sometimes we take for granted how good things are. We find the petty things to complain about and make them seem as if they are larger-than-life problems.

Today, I'm making a vow not to do that. I came across this blog last night:

Alzheimer's: Living With An Impostor

Sometimes you need a good smack in the jaw to realize that in comparison to other people's real problems, things aren't so bad.

In fact, they're pretty darn peachy.

Friday, February 11, 2005

Red Dirt has left the building

A few posts ago, I tried to, as Chase so eloquently put it, try to smoke that bastard outta hiding (the bastard being, of course, Red Dirt). Man that's a lot of commas.

An Anonymous reader had, what I think, is a fantastic idea.

When Red Dirt goes on hiatus (or whatever you want to call his disappearing act), perhaps he should think about employing a guest blogger.

All the great hosts do it ... Johnny Carson had Joan Rivers, David Letterman and Jay Leno fill in for him throughout the Tonight Show's run. When Letterman was having major heart surgery a few years ago, he had a bevy of guest hosts taking the reins.

So, I would like to be the first to suggest Red Dirt's inaugural guest host for the Red Dirt Blog:

Click here

Trust me, loyal Lip Schtick and Red Dirt fans. If that doesn't get him, nothing will.

Win one for the Snipper

I know this is old news by now, but for those who haven't heard:

Welsh rugby fan cuts off testicles after win

Sheesh, that must have taken some balls.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Ciao, Chow

USC offensive guru Norm Chow is headed to the bigs. He's leaving the Trojans to become the offensive coordinator for the Tennessee Titans.

Good for him ... but I wonder if Matt Leinart is re-thinking his decision to turn down all that NFL coin by staying at USC one more year?

If I was Leinart, I'd be pissed.

Oh, and as a sidenote - first the Trojans, now the Titans? I see a pattern developing here ... better be careful, Norm. People'll think you have a thing for mythical fighting men in short little skirts.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

Can-canker-ous

I feel a little out of sorts. It could be because I have a canker sore the size of Texas in my mouth. Wait - does it go without saying that it's in my mouth? I mean, isn't that where canker sores usually occur?

And the best part? It's located right along the inside my lower lip where it gets optimum rub-against-the-top-of-my-bottom-teeth action.

Fun!!!

P.S. - No, the canker sore image is not me.

Tuesday, February 08, 2005

Baby's first Lent

I'm not Catholic, nor am I very religious. But a friend of mine was telling me what she is giving up for Lent this year (for those who are curious, she's giving up her fave fare - Mexican food).

So that got me thinking. Maybe I could give up something. Personal sacrifice builds character, doesn't it?

Then, it hit me. You'll recall a few weeks back that I was "Outta control." Which led me to decide that for Lent, instead of giving up something, maybe I should do something ... about my waistline.

I have decided that starting tomorrow, I am going to exercise every day until Easter.

Some may think, "Big whoop. So you're going to do something that's good for you. Where's the sacrifice there?"

I'll tell you where the sacrifice is, Bub. I detest working out. It's not fun to me at all. That's not to say that I don't feel awesome about myself when I leave the gym ... but getting motivated to work out on a regular basis? Well, let's just say I'd much rather be on my couch, remote in hand, watching my Melrose Place re-runs.

And as part of the regimen, I am no longer allowing myself to eat after 7 p.m.

Here are the caveats, if you will:

1. I get Sundays off. Hey! This is my Lent! I'll take Sundays off if I want.
2. The "no food past 7 p.m." rule does not apply to fat free milk.

My goal is to try to lose 5 pounds by Easter. Do-able? I think so.

One thing I am going to try to keep up with in the meantime is updating my progress each day right here on Lip Schtick. And I'll do my very best to be honest about my progress. I figure if I am risking taking a brow-beating from loyal readers for falling off the wagon, well, that's motivation enough.

If anyone else would like to share their Lenten success stories, please feel free. And, any words of encouragement you would like to send my way are appreciated.

Words of discouragement, on the other hand, will be ignored.

Monday, February 07, 2005

I fell in love ... with a drag queen

I swore when it happened that I'd never tell anybody (except for the people who are close to me, and they would have found out anyway).

But some time has passed, and I feel better about things. In fact, it's almost therapeutic to write about it now.

I know I'm not the first person this has happened to. I just never thought it could happen to me (especially since I have so many gay friends, and I pride myself on having a pretty accurate "gaydar").

I met this guy about five years ago. He was living with a friend of mine ... a female friend, but their relationship was completely platonic.

We hit it off immediately. Now, I have never been one to be attracted to men based off looks alone. There has to be more - ambition, sensitivity, sense of humor, brains. But I have to admit, this guy had the dark brown hair and green eyes that I do happen to find the most physically attractive.

Our relationship blossomed slowly. He was my best friend. He gave me the unconditional love that we all want, and in my eyes, he could do no wrong. He was caring, giving ... had a heart of gold.

But there was always something there that just wasn't "quite right."

He seemed to be the most at ease in social situations around other men. And not just "hangin' out with the guys" interaction. He just really enjoyed their company more than the company of women.

And there were times when I felt like he paid more attention to his grooming habits than even I did. I'm a one-bath-a-day kind of gal. But not this guy. He was clean as a whistle. Personal hygiene was his obsession.

He also preferred cuddling. Which was great, actually. But strange.

I started to get a little suspicious when I noticed that items in my dresser drawers or closet would be moved, or even missing. At the time I didn't think too much about it. "I'm just really busy and could have misplaced that camisole," I rationalized. "Did I leave that necklace at the gym?" I pondered.

As much as I tried to blow off these "Surely this isn't what I think it is" thoughts, one must always remain true to their gut instincts.

My suspicions were confirmed when I came home one afternoon early from work to find who I then thought could possibly be "the one" parading around my house in nothing but a chocolate and white-colored fur coat and gold sequin choker:








Needless to say, all bets were off at that moment.

I'm not mad ... I never was. He had to be true to himself.

And I think that's what we all should be.

Sunday, February 06, 2005

Leaf it alone, continued

One of my fave bloggers, Lexagirl (of Lexablog) fame, checked in yesterday to give her two cents on this whole Toronto Maple Leafs issue.

Said Lexagirl:

I think there is an exception to the rules regarding proper name nouns when you pluralize proper names you just add an s.

Example: Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs (instead of dwarves). But then maybe Disney has had it wrong as well?

Hmmm ... maybe you're right. So would it then be,

"Ali Baba and the Forty Thiefs," or
"Desperate Housewifes," or
"Days of Our Lifes?"

I may be stretching a little on those examples, but who knows. It's all very interesting to me. And for those who don't find the mysteries of grammar to be as enlightening as I do? Well, to you I say ...

... speak for yourselfs.

Saturday, February 05, 2005

Show me those pearly, uh, gums

As if there weren't already enough reasons to not use meth.

I file this in the "duh" category.

Will sue for cookies

I just pulled this from my "You've got to be kidding me" file:

Colorado Teens Fined for Giving Cookies to Neighbor

Sickening.

I don't know who disgusts me more ... the woman who sued (for being a litigious wench), or the judge (for not recognizing that not all teens are interested in going out, getting wasted and getting their groove on).

A pox on both their houses.

A la cart

I visited my local neighborhood Target store last night. As I pulled into the parking lot, I was extremely pleased to find that there was not one stray shopping cart left to roam freely about ... they had all been placed in the cart receptacle areas.

So, out of sheer necessity (because things have gotten really hectic lately), I thought I'd recycle a past comment and use it as a post.

From "Ask Me anything," Mick inquired:

Please explain to me the human condition that deludes a person's conscience to think they've the right to leave that four-wheeled battering ram of a shopping cart in the parking lot when they're done with it...can you start a grass-roots movement to license shopping cart operators...oh, no license?, well then I can only sell you what you can carry sir.....

My reply:
We must be on the same wavelength because I absolutely loathe the fact people leave their shopping carts in parking lots. If I had the proper vehicle to do so, I'd load up the cart, follow the SOB home who left it, and leave it on his front frigging porch.

Now, onto the answer. I think people leave their shopping carts for three reasons:

1) Based on the obesity rate in Oklahoma, people are just too fat and lazy to take the cart back in or to place it in the appropriate outside receptacle. That's not to say that the abandoned shopping cart issue is reserved only to Oklahoma. I'm sure it happens everywhere. But let's face it, we could all use a little extra activity. Why not get some in by returning your cart to its appropriate area?

2) People are just plain inconsiderate. They think "let the employees come get the carts." Well, I'd like to come to those people's offices and leave a bunch of my crap lying around. I'm sure they wouldn't take too kindly to that.

3) Some people just don't take pride in themselves or their belongings. Aside from the fact that returning carts is the right thing to do, I return them because I don't want the damn things crashing into my car. I like my car and want to keep it looking nice.

Hope these answers shed some light on the shopping cart situation. I sure enjoyed ranting about it.

Oh yeah! For those interested in useless trivia, the shopping cart was invented by Oklahoman Sylvan Goldman.

Way to go, SG. Now we know who to blame.

Friday, February 04, 2005

Leaf it alone

Just when I think I've gotten all of the grammar rules straight ...
... shouldn't it be the Toronto Maple Leaves?

Dean receives permanent tenure

Well, I think it's safe to say that the double-secret probation on Delta house has been lifted. Dean Vernon Wormer has graduated to that grand university in the sky.

I'll miss Dean Wormer. His words of wisdom will forever ring true: "Fat, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life."

What a sage.


Thursday, February 03, 2005

Oh where, oh where has my little Boston gone?

On my way to work this morning, I noticed signs posted on poles around my neighborhood that read:

Lost Boston
No collar
REWARD

Wow. Massachusetts must really be sad to have lost such a fine city.

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Care-free, apparently

I have a neighbor who sports a yard sign that reads:

Democrats Care

She may care, alright. But one thing she doesn't care enough about is her house.

Now, if I were to walk a mile in this woman's shoes, I believe I'd spend less time putting up tacky yard signs and a little more time "caring" about getting all the crap that litters my lot placed in the proper receptacles. A little more time "caring" about how my landscaping could be cleaned up a little. A little more time"caring" enough to tear down the WT chain link fence that surrounds the front yard.

But wait, if I did that, then I'd have to "care" more about the gigantic dog that lives on the front porch that I never pay attention to.

What else might I change if I could, you ask?

Oh, I don't care.

Is that a groundhog I see? No, it's just Red Dirt!

This is a challenge. I challenge RedDirt to come out today and face the fact that he could possibly see his shadow for the first time since his last post ... January 16.

Let's face it, RedDirt. Most of us think you're full of crap. But that doesn't mean you should join Punxsutawney Phil and just hole up for weeks. After all, crap is what makes the world go 'round.
You see, your blog is like my eyebrows. I'm not sure what purpose they serve, but I'm sure I'd miss them if they were gone.

So get off your can and throw us a crumb, will ya? We need people like you around to remind us that we're a lot more fun than you are.

You can run, but you can't hide. Not forever, anyway.

The final four - Bachelorette style

Following the previous Fabrice-bashing post, Anonymous wanted my thoughts on the final four of the created-for-television love affair that is "The Bachelorette." And since I am meeting myself coming and going these days, I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone and post on the subject, rather than simply commenting ...

Unfortunately, Jen cut the diamond in the rough that was Ben. What a good guy. Not the hottest (that would be Jerry), but he definitely would have been my pick. Sincere, down-to-earth. Ben seemed like good people to me.

John Paul grows on me more and more. But that could be bad, like a fungal infection under my toenail (by the way - is anyone else completely grossed out by the toe fungus commercial where the little cartoon germ lifts up the toenail and jumps underneath?).

I digress.

I swear I had seen John Paul out and about in Oklahoma City before the show. He looks so EXTREMELY familiar. However, his mouth freaks me out a little. It's that smirk. I can't decide if he's sincere, or a smidge creepy...

Jerry gets the points for easiest on the eyes, but there's something not quite right there. Can't put my finger on it. I do, however, think it's overwhelmingly romantic that he always kisses Jen on the forehead. HOT. And respectful.

Wendell is kind of that guy's guy, but he seems a tad goofy. Well-intended and sweet, yet goofy (not to be confused with demented and sad, but social - a "Breakfast Club" line for all you folks not caught up on your 80s culture).

And then there's Ryan. No heat with Ryan whatsoever. Pretty nice guy, but nothing. Needs a better haircut.

So there you have it. I can't quite make a prediction on who "the one" will be at this point. Especially since it looks like next week's visit with the parental units looks to be less than optimum in the enjoyment (is enjoyment a word?) category for Jen. Some of those mothers (with the help of a little creative editing, I'm sure) seem like they're going to be bitches on wheels.

But if I have to make a guess today, I'd go with Jerry.

P.S. - In the "They said it would last" category, well, it didn't. Apparently Bachelorette #2 (Meredith) and her knight in shining armor (Ian) have decided to throw in the towel.

First Brad and Jen, now this.

What is happening to my role models?

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Fabrice not so fab

I've never understood what American women find so attractive about men with French accents. French men in general have always seemed a little smarmy to me (granted, I don't actually know any French men, so all I have to go on is what I see on TV).

Which gets me to my point. I am an avid "Bachelorette" watcher, and have been since it started a few seasons ago (remember people, I told you before that I enjoy crappy television).

What the hell this season's bachelorette Jen ever saw in that sawed-off little runt Fabrice, I will never know. He exemplified everything I don't like about French men: the sleazy accent, the "I'm better than you because I'm French" air ... you name it. Everything about him is just wrong.

Oh, and the little stunt in which he "cut" Jen before she had the chance to cut him? Whatever, dillhole. Way to show your manliness after you wept like a little girl last week. OK, OK. I have nothing against men who are in touch emotionally and can shed a tear every now and then. But Febreeze is just a tool. He gets no points for turning on the water works.

And another thing. Chicks don't dig guys who leave them sopping wet after a makeout session. Febreeze gave French kissing a disgustingly bad, if not wet, rap. Ick.

So, I say good riddance, Frenchie. Pack bags. Move 'em out.

Oh, by the way, Gene Simmons called. He wants his tongue back.

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