Pope Eggs Benedict became the first pope in 600 years to resign as the head bitch in charge of the Catholic Church today and he did so because he's taking a more lucrative job as the head coach of Penn State's football team. No, Pope Eggs Benedict is giving up his tiara, because he's old and because he wants to focus all of his time on his real love: modeling shoes for Prada. This reminds me of when nearly every Catholic woman in my family fell to the ground, screamed and boxed the air over the news that the Elvis of popes, Pope John Paul II, died. Pope Eggs Benedict is the Steve Sanders to Pope John Paul's Dylan McKay, so I don't know if any abuelitas are punching the sky over this news. But everybody has something to say about this including noted pope hater Sinead O'Connor who went on her site and congratulated Pope Eggs Benedict for quitting his job.
I would like to congratulate Pope Benedict on his wise decision to retire before the very worst of what has been going on is discovered. I appreciate his alluding to some of it in his statement and assure him The Most High forgives those who can faithfully say they did wrong.
The church had been brought into dreadful disrepute by lies and blasphemies against The Holy Spirit. Benedict’s greatest achievement is this act of retiring. There is a chance now for the church to be re-built and made fit to house The Holy Spirit.
Who cares if Sinead is dressed like a middle-aged suburban dad on a cruise to Jamaica, she should be pope! If Sinead was pope, I'd probably start going to church on Sundays, because I really want to sit through an entire mass dedicated to the trials and tribulations of the difficult brown.
This is what happens when your "difficult brown" is once again left lonely and bereft. Sinead O'Conner rolled up to a television appearance in Dublin looking like me on a Monday morning. Roll the fuck out of bed and hope the shit on the floor that you're putting on is clean. If I end up in a Jesus hoodie, unflattering trashbag pants, a woven Rasta belt, and Amy Winehouse's "weekend" ballet flats from the estate sale - so be it.
Sinead's marriage might have ended(?) due to her search for wedding night drugs.
(What was the big fucking hassle for her husband anyways? I'm getting married next fall and I would much rather visit a crack shack on my wedding night then having to do other "traditional" wedding activities. Such as explaining to that willful cunt Aunt Florence that I've banned the Chicken Dance from my reception.)
And her face might be puffed up from the anti-psychotics. But she keeps on pluggin'. I admire her ass. I was briefly touched when I figured that the messages to herself that she had written on her feet were perhaps to keep calm during a plane ride. Many people have a fear of flying. Then I realized she lives in Ireland and took a cab to the studio. And then I realized those messages were probably actually meant for her feet because she anthropomorphizes them or they're instructions for herself when her brown is being transformed from "difficult" to "easy."
In case you're wondering, a 5-second-long marriage to a drug counselor can't survive a honeymoon at the crackhouse, an overdose and hate from "evil" Irish journalists. Not even butt fucking until your rectum rips like a picture of the Pope can fix all of that. Sinead O'Connor wrote on her website last night that her marriage to Tenhead McHateDrugs is completely over this time and the only companion she needs in her life is an anal balloon pump. Here's a piece of what Sinead wrote:
Ireland is a very fucked up country. Certain sections of our media are pure evil. These people, along with others caused enormous damage deliberately and maliciously to my innocent flower of a husband, purely because he was with me. And so his association with me became something very bad for his life. And slowly since we were married I became very ill as result of what was done to my husband and i was unable to cope. And became depressed..
The behaviour of one particular paper resulted in very serious damage to my husband and myself personally and consequently made the marriage untenable so that it is now over and I hope the media will kindly leave the poor man alone to get on with his life.
I will never again associate myself romantically with anyone as I could not bear to see these things done again to someone I love.
I have been told by the one paper who tried to destroy my husbands job that it is entirely my fault they did as I don't just shut up and sing.
Well guys.. I'm gonna be me. And if anyone doesn't like that they can seek therapy. Because I am wonderful. Exactly as I am. As Bridget Jones would say. And I shall continue being me. If being me means certain Irish media will try to destroy my romantic life.. So be it.. I have ten fingers and a number of toys (not really the toys.. But need them now so maybe u cud all post me some!)
Sinead also wrote that she's taking her meds again and a psychiatrist told her that she's not bi-polar. So the ex Mr. O'Connor can go back to his pre-Sinead world and every now and again think about how he helped her realize that the brown in difficult brown is really the Irish media. But for real, who knew the Irish media was that damn gangsta. Those bitches can destroy marriages and ruin lives in just a couple of weeks. Hmmm. Can't they remove their shank from Sinead and point it toward something that's actually made of pure evil. You know, like the Kardashians. It's the least Ireland can do for giving us Bono. We'll call it even!
This morning, I took my dog down for his first public piss of the day and I wore a hat like this and glasses like these to do so. (You can judge me all you want, but it's raining like a bitch here and I think that's the heavens' way of throwing me shade and weeping over my jacked up look so you don't have to.) When I got downstairs, a dude who works in my building stopped mopping and said to me, "You look like a Chinese Ron from A Different World!" Just like that. I'm not Chinese, but I figured that any day that starts out with A Different World reference is going to be a good day. I was wrong, because I came upstairs and read about Sinead O'Connor trying to overdose her way to the afterworld again. Is the brown that difficult, Sinead? Damn.
Between trying to get the taste of activated charcoal out of her mouth, Sinead told The Sun (You know, because when you try to get a date with the Grim Reaper, you tell The Sun first!) that she swallowed a bunch of pills last Thursday in L.A. Shortly after Sinead overdosed, she let out a Twitter plea and asked her followers if they knew of a good shrink. Why Sinead didn't ask her on-and-off-again therapist husband for a recommendation is beyond me, but she eventually got the help she needs. Sinead told The Sun:
"I took an overdose. God obviously wants me around — though I can't think why. I just had to make a cry for help."
Can somebody ask Tim Tebow that since he's hogging up the invisible soup can connection to God, can he please take a moment from praying for another homerun (or whatever the hell they do in football) to ask our lord to tell him why he's keeping Sinead here. I'm pretty sure God will say that he's keeping Sinead around, because the difficult brown movement needs a public voice and she needs to hear that.
Sinead O'Connor's marriage to Barry Herridge quickly fell into a coma on her honeymoon night when she dragged his ass to a Las Vegas crackhouse looking for the good shit. Shit was a little awkward since Barry is a drug counselor (Note to self: Ask your new husband if he's a drug counselor before you drag him to a crackhouse on your honeymoon night) and so they went their separate ways. But just like the feeling in my no-no when I sprinkle a little salt on it, Barry has come back to Sinead and she Tweeted about their reunion last night. WARNING: Reading Sinead's Tweets could cause your brain to wall slide against your skull, because this reads like it was written by a horny, handless caveman with a concussion on his head (or by Courtney Love):
Spent beautiful evening of love making with nine other than husband! Who turned up angelically we decided to be boyfriend and girlfriend
guess whohad a mad love making affair with her own husband last night?
Yay!!! we decided to be boyfriend and girlfriend again an stay married but we did rush so we gonna return to b friend g friend
an be sickenly happy an go counsellin an move in in like a yr like regular people.. but stay married an we all in love an fuck every other
motherufcker who dont like it.. so me all happy!! me love me hubby.. he love me... fuck who no like it.. God is good!
so sinead got laid!!!
an all well.
yay!!! me husband is a big hairy cave man an came to claim me with his club : ) and now im in cave-land.. yay!! we both go panto!
In Sinead's defense, Barry most likely easied her difficult brown last night and the spasms from her culo veins shot up to her fingers leaving them numb. And she was stoned into another dimension. Both of those things are the signs of true true love.
In a shocking turn of events that nobody saw coming, Sinead O'Connor's marriage to the sweet-faced tenhead man lasted just a second longer than 7 hours and 15 days. Sinead announced on her blog last night that she is quitting Barry Herridge after being married to him for a total of 18 days. Sinead writes that because Barry's family pushed hard pressure on him (the same way a peen pushes hard pressure into Sinead's asshole to turn her difficult brown into easy brown) to leave her ass, she has decided to end their love. Here's a piece of what Sinead wrote on her site last night:
Within 3 hours of the ceremony being over the marriage was kyboshed by the behaviour of certain people in my husband's life. And also by a bit of a wild ride i took us on looking for a bit of a smoke of weed for me wedding night as I don't drink. My husband was enormously wounded and very badly effected by that experience and also by the attitude of those close to him toward our marriage. It became apparent to me that if he were to stay with me he would be losing too much to bear. And that being with me was not going to serve him positively , career wise or any other wise. I saw his life leave him because of how people close to him reacted. And I can't take anyone's life. And a woman wants to be a joy to her husband. So.. U love someone? Set them free.
He is a wonderful man. I love him very much. I'm sorry I'm not a more regular woman. I truly believe though it is painful to admit, we made a mistake rushing into getting married, for altruistic reasons, and weren't aware or prepared for the consequences on my husband's life and the lives of those close to him. He has been terribly unhappy and I have therefore ended the marriage. I think he is too nice to do so. And too nice to trap.
He is as I said, a wonderful man. We part amicably. I wish him to be free and happy and loved and supported and for him to have privacy as that is utmost important for his job and for the children he treats as a therapist so I plead on theirs and his behalf for media to please leave him and his family alone. I really beg this.
You know, not all loves are meant to last forever. Barry spent his honeymoon doing some Pineapple Express shit while looking for some weed all over Las Vegas and I'm sure if he rubs his peen really hard and puts his hand to his nose, he can still smell Sinead's difficult brown. That is real love right there. And what I've learned from Sinead's ten second queef of a marriage is to always keep the name of a good weed man in every city on file.
On Wednesday, Sinead O'Connor announced out of nowhere that she's celebrating her 45th birthday by marrying her boyfriend of a minute Barry Herridge. There was a part of me that figured that hard-up Sinead was just riding high after finding a dude who really gets into the difficult brown and once she came down from the ass sex euphoria, she'd cancel her wedding plans. But nope. Sinead went through with it and married Barry in a Pink Cadillac parked inside of The Little Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas yesterday. If that last sentence convinced you to throw Sinead's name in as a contender to beat Kim Kuntrashian's shortest marriage of 2011 record, then this might keep you from doing otherwise: BARRY'S A THERAPIST! Barry probably has access to good meds and he's not afraid of a little poop noodle. This love will last forever. Here's what Sinead wrote on her site this morning:
Dear friends... amongst whom I include whomever may be reading this with a view to writing about the glorious marriage.
Am blogging this cus media people are naturally seeking me.
On sunday I will put up blog on whole day. Too glorious for words.
For now though, as you will appreciate, it's a bit of a 'Can't. Talk. Cock. In. Mouth'. Situation.
Speaking of cock in mouth, is it just me or does the new Mr. O'Connor look like the gay-for-pay hooker from Revenge after giving head to a helium tank and swallowing all of the gas? Oh, that doesn't matter. It also doesn't matter that Mr. O'Connor just made my gaydar meter shut down before leaking out Irish cream. Sinead is smiling like her no-no is about to eat some Irish peen and that's all that really matters.
Sinead O'Connor will have to change one of the lyrics in Nothing Compares 2 U to "I went to the doctor and guess what he told me, guess what he told me, he said, gurl your asshole is about to explode" (been there, heard that), because after a long search she has finally found her
hole mate soulmate who will regularly battle "the difficult brown" with her until divorce does them part.
Back in August, a horny as all hell Sinead posted a personal ad on her own website where she wrote that she was looking for a 40-something, anal-loving, half-blind, employed, hairy rugby player who doesn't have the name "Brian or Nigel" on his drivers license. The search has officially been called off, because Sinead announced on her blog that she's making her boyfriend Barry Herridge her fourth husband tomorrow. As Sinead's brown sugar walls quiver in anticipation of the wedding night, she typed this announcement out on her blog:
With enormous joy myself and my beloved boyfriend Barry Herridge will be getting married tomorrow, December 8th 2011 at 'an un-disclosed location' in my absolute dream wedding ceremony. We will post a photo or two here on the site as soon as possible afterward.
Very happy girl. : )
What a romantic love story. It was just a few months ago that Sinead was begging for dick online and now she's getting married to the villain from Megamind. There really is hope for all of us. Who cares if Sinead's last marriage barely died a quick death back in April! Who cares if her latest marriage is eventually going to split in two like a picture of the Pope in her own hands! Who cares if her new husband's got 10 pounds of brain in a 5 pound skull! Who cares if when Sinead and Barry bow their heads to thank God for the genitals they're about to eat she has to use a crane to pull his head back up! The only thing that matters is that Sinead is FINALLY getting some regular peen.
The bad news is, Sinead O'Connor is not talking about getting ding dong dicked in the culo by a blind hairy man not named Nigel. The badder news is that I just used the word badder and I'm not about to talk about delicious pancakes. The real badder news is that Sinead has switched from talking about swallowing Irish peen to talking about swallowing death inducers until she's singing "Emperor's New Clothes" in a basement lounge in purgatory.
UsWeekly points to Sinead's Twitter where a few days ago she asked her followers if they knew of a way she could ride the one-way rickshaw to the afterworld without her kids finding out that she offed herself.
Had to go psychiatrist for routine renew prescription etc. She says I'm a bad mum and mental for talking so openly about sex in public.
So now I wish suicide wud kill me.
I fucking hate Ireland so much.
All this shit we're not supposed to say. Including suicidal feelings, sex, etc. U just get treated like a crazy person. I want to go
To heaven SO bad. Have for yrs. But I don't wanna abandon my kids. But if I cud die without them knowing I did it myself I wud.
An I know every1 will say I'm a cunt for saying that.. But fuck all this shit we're 'not supposed to say'. I'm so tired. 24 yrs
Of being treated like a crazy person. Can't manage any more. Badly wish cud die without it ruining my kids lives.
Dr. Kevorkian died so Sinead O'Connor could let out an ode to suicides on Twitter.
Because telling a bunch of strangers that you want to Kurt Cobain yourself won't get you a visit from the cops, the cops visited Sinead and made her talk to a mental health professional again. Sinead has since jumped on her blog to write an open letter to anybody who's thinking of embracing death. You can read the entire thing here, but here's just a small piece:
I do believe suicide is a sin. Because u may as well have murdered every one who loves u even remotely. Including 'God'. And we all have people who adore us.. Even if we think we don't.
Its a lie too, suicide. It doesn't solve your problems. It only makes them infinately, un-countably worse. Its a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Which brings u a whole rake of new karmic problems. Its selfish. And shit. So.. Let's not do it.
BUT Its ok to FEEL suicidal. That is most definately neither a sin nor a sign necessarily, of madness. Its quite normal to feel that way sometimes.
And its not only ok but MANDATORY u SAY when u feel suicidal and ask for help.. And anyone who criticises u can fuck off so they can for themselves and is only afraid of their own 'madness' .
People who express suicidal feelings are least likely to act on them. anyone who gives u the remotest bit of shit for expressing suicidal feelings is a wanker and is to be politely asked to permanently vacate your precious company. Even if its ur mudda-fuggin Mama.
Sinead is crazier than an Athlone scumbag riding a hippo and Tweeting for suicide advice is the kind of shit I would expect from a 12-year-old Emo-in-training who just discovered Morrissey, but it's still good news for all of us that she chose not to reenact William H. Macy's New Year's Eve suicide scene from Boogie Nights. The world needs more strong hos who will fight for their right to take it up the ass.
Attention all half-blind, stubble-having, employed rugby players who are not named Brian or Nigel, Sinead O'Connor is hornier than a Catholic priest at an altar boy open call and is looking to get dicked before she starts humping cab bumpers (her words). There comes a time in every DFD (desperate for dick) gay's life when he falls in love with Sinead all over again and this is the time for me. Sinead's hungry hungry O'Poon is chomping at the bit and she put its moans for peen into words on her blog.
Sinead sounds so desperate that a ho would think her only requirement is a "getup ready dick," but she actually gets pretty specific. Very specific.
My shit-uation sexually/affectionately speaking is so dire that inanimate objects are starting to look good as are inappropriate and/or unavailable men and/or inappropriate and/or unavailable fruits and vegetables. I tell you yams are looking like the winners. I actually do know a woman who is a performance artist from America. I have a photo of her being escorted arm in arm by two uk police man onto a plane back home cuz she humped a yam in the middle of her show. I just know that's going to happen to me if I don't take drastic action.
Needless to say what I do for a living makes it hard for me to find men that only want me cuz they like my (legendary) arse. Yet I am in the peak of my sexual prime and way too lovely to be living like a nun. and it's VERY depressing.
So I've been pondering on whether or not I should join some Irish dating agencies. Of course if I did it would end up in papers so I may as well save myself the registration fees. Besides which a friend of mine uses dating agencies and half the men actually have wives.
Am in desperate need of a very sweet sex-starved man.
He must be no younger than 44.
Must be living in Ireland but I don't care if he is from the planet Zog.
Must not be named Brian or Nigel.
Must be blind enough to think I'm gorgeous.
Has to be employed. Am not fussy in what capacity generally but vehicle clampers need not apply.
Leather trouser- wearing gardai, fire-men, rugby players, and Robert Downey-Junior will be given special consideration. As will literally anyone who applies.
I like me a hairy man so buffed and/or waxed need not apply.
No hair gel.
No hair dryer use.
No hair dye
Stubble is a non-negotiable must. Any removal of stubble would be upsetting for me.
No after shave.
Must be very 'snuggly'. Not just wham-bam.
Must be wham-bam.
Has to like his mother.
Has to like his ex and or mother/s of his children.
Has to live in own place.
I must end now as I have a hot date with a banana
Applicants can apply through my secretary at email@example.com
Sinead posted this plead for peen on August 20th and she thought she found a hairy fuck beast to handle her right, but then he told her he has a knocked up girlfriend. So Sinead's vagina is back to shooting out flares and the search continues. Sinead has since dropped the "No Brians or Nigels" requirement and said she'll also consider ladies. Oh, and if you cringe at the poop noodle, Sinead isn't interested.
I've been repeatedly asked will I 'do anal sex'. Let me make it very clear.. Any man I contemplate has to be into anal sex.. It was a family paper so they wudnt have printed it but let me now take time to make VERY clear that yes I 'do anal' and in fact I would be deeply unhappy if 'doing anal' wasn't on the menu, amongst everything else$$ So if u don't like 'the difficult brown'.. Don't apply... I've had reasonable complaints from lesbians that they have been excluded. This was terribly remiss of me and I would now like to make it clear that women will also be very much considered. As will Brians and Nigels.. Since there were complaints there too.
The difficult brown?! I think we're all done here. I hereby nominate Sinead O'Connor as head writer of all our Craigslist, Grindr and OKCupid ads.