Sit down, it's not gross.
It is, in fact, a sort of People's Choice Award for Sexy & Talented Bloggers - which I am, duh. See?
So I get this cool award and I get to write a story to go with it [which is doubly awesome, since I am looking for blog fodder and am still basking in the righteous indignation you've all shown on my behalf, which makes creative thought difficult. You are a blood thirsty lot, you are. I like that about you. I also like thinking about the fact THAT I WAS RIGHT. Gah. I need to settle down.].
Here are the rules:Without further adieu:
1. Make up ONE totally ridiculous story about yourself that is a complete rip-off from a movie. It can be as long or short as you want; clean or crass as you want.
2. Pass it on to whomever you feel is deserving of this STD - or accept it and keep it for yourself; it's your blog - it's your choice.
I'M PRO CHOICE!
3. If you choose to accept this STD, please link your acceptance post back here. (I'll keep it open for at least all summer.) There's a very good chance that I'll be sporadically choosing random winners to get some of my
world famousmediocre Estro-goodies.
I know you want some!
I'd spent the day with the Tarleton twins, playing one against the other, enjoying flirting with those silly Gingers when Brett Tarleton dropped the bomb on me:
The love of my life - the wussy, Leslie Howard-looking puss Ashley Wilkes - was going to marry his insipid and pale faced cousin Melanie Wilkes. EEEEEWWWWW.
I would put a stop to that.
I put on my most shoulder baring, boob thrusting dress and went to the picnic at 12 Oaks, where I told Ashley that I loved him.
He, equivocal no-balls-having bastard that he is, finally admitted he loved me but that he was going to marry Melanie, who was so stupid that she thought I WAS NICE. Dumb bitch. I'd show her.
Anyway, Ashley turned me down, and this scoundrel Rhett Butler showed himself to be a sexy, dangerous and impudent . . . excuse me, I need to collect myself. Anyway, he was a jerk.
Then the war broke out.
Then I married Melanie's brother to serve two purposes: Spite Ashley's sister India and keep my enemies closer [read: Melanie].
Then Melanie's brother died.
Then Rhett bought me at a dance. I was still in love with Ashley, of course, but my body was saying YES YES YES to Mr. Butler.
Then some more war stuff happened.
Then I wore a dress made of green velvet curtains [in the South! in the heat!] to try and screw Rhett out of some money to save my plantation. But that jerk was in prison! And, even more importantly, his funds were frozen! Useless bastard.
Then I married Frank Kennedy, who was going to marry my stupid sister Sue Ellen, because he had a barrel full of money, and I may be many things, including a woman who will prostitute herself for her plantation, but I am not stupid.
Then Frank died.
Then I married Rhett.
Then we had a baby.
Then she died while riding a horse.
Then Rhett told me to fuck off, but not in those exact words.
And then I realized, fuck this, I'll deal with all this bullshit tomorrow.
And that was how I met your mother.