Im going To Egypt After Labor Day Because I heard its unsafe and I love a challenge, especially when its presented by the United States, You Down Bro?

Here is my Itinerary:

I would ideally go the weekend after Labor Day, as I spend Labor Day with my family in Quoque because we are Bougie as Fuck. 

September 13, 2015:

·      Fly to Cairo, Egypt and go to the Four Seasons Hotel.

On the airplane, I would have a glass of Champagne in first class and ask the person next to me if they wouldn’t mind reading one page of my book and telling me their honest opinion. My book is called Nazi Cocaine and has heavy incest undertones.  I would not watch any TV. I would take an Ambien and Xanax mushed together that I keep in a locket next to the picture of my Dead Grandfather, a Nazi War Criminal, so that I could be fresh for my trip when I land.

September 14 2015:

·      Breakfast at the hotel containing a traditional Egyptian breakfast, falafel and pita and hummus. I would make sure to say thank you in Arabic (shukran) and ask the waiter how to say, I love your eyes. I know the first part is Aheb.  

Then I would take a taxi to Sakkara to visit the first pyramid ever built Sakkara area to visit the Sakkara Complex. I would tip the cab driver extra.

·      Then I would go back to the hotel and change my clothes to take a pole dancing class at Private Pool Studio located in Cairo.

·September 15, 2015

·    Then I would tour the Saladin Citadel including Mohammed Ali Alabaster inside and inquire if it is possible for an American to become a sultan’s wife.

·      Then I would visit the Hanging Church and the Ben Ezra Synagogue and perhaps orchestrate a ménage a trois with the tour guide and a museum worker if I fancy their appearance.

·      Then I would return to hotel bar. I would meet a British stranger. We just drink champagne and make out and decide to have dinner together, but he is leaving tomorrow and possibly has ties to a low tier terrorist organization. It is never confirmed. 

·      We go swimming in the hotel pool. We smoke hashish. I cough and Vomit and give him B minus Head. 

·     

September 16, 2015:

·      Breakfast in the hotel

·      Then I visit Khan El Khalili, Cairo’s old bazaar, and buy presents for my friends including sexy underwear for myself.

·      Then I visit the Mosque and Madrasa of Sultan Hassan.

Then I visit the famous Mohammed Ali Mosque.

Then I have dinner alone at a nearby restaurant that the hotel recommends. I speak to a family of Persian tourists. They invite me back to their hotel for more wine and singing. I steal most of their shit.

·      Then I get invited to go out with some of the barbacks at the Four Seasons. I go and regret schmoozing with the help.

September 17, 2015

·      Breakfast at the hotel

·      Then I take a bus and spend my last two days in desert at Bavaria Oasis where I meditate and connect to my deeper spiritual self and let go of weight and demons holding me back from realizing my full potential. I realize my sexual relevance. I ride a camel into the Sahara and camp under the stars. I do a lot of writing by the fire. I do a lot of push-ups. I makee my own food.

September 18, 2015

·      Midday, I return to the hotel and go out for dinner, workout and relax. I purchase a machine gun from a random man who wants to trade it for my passport. I give him a fake one..

September 19, 2015

·      I wake up early and rent a moped to Mt. Sinai, the mount of biblical fame. I hike to the mountain’s summit during the afternoon to enjoy a dramatic sunset from its peak. I brought champagne instead of water, so I am a bit drunk and dehydrated, which allegedly brings one a greater solo orgasm in some Egyptian sects.

September 20, 2015

·      I return to NYC and have sex in the bathroom on the flight with the Pilot.

My Jizz Stained Soul Cycle Pants - A love Story

Alas, I was hooking up with one of my father's friends a low tier consultant who I blacklisted from Wall Street after the Crash of 2008 when he refused to take me to Nello's and buy me a bracelet without a blow job in the bathroom. Now, a little, older, a little wiser, a little drunker, and a little faker (in the face, not the soul) I realized that I should un Blacklist him from Wall Street and give him another chance.

I met him at an AA meeting, because I love the Coffee, the material, and the cult like chants at the beginning and end, and the folk provide a great audience to practice my blaccent and ebonics phrases while explaining that I was adopted.

He kept staring at his watch and checking his phone, an AA no-no, when I realized he was a newbie and chuckled slightly. He was sweating and his hair was matted to his forehead, and he had tan lines from his wedding ring. Either in the middle of a divorce wave, or thinking about plunging in.

I approached him after the meeting and asked him if he remembered me. He did. I told him I was sorry for Black Listing him, and suggested we go to the nearby strip club for steaks and gin. He noted my attire, which was my usual get up, Jizz Stained Soul Cycle Pants, my mother's beat up chanel bag, and A Shirt that Said Fuck With Me in the front and Ill Get the House in East Hampton on the back.

He agreed and the rest is History. The past is History the Future is a Mystery and the Present is a Gift. Thats why they call it the Present. Conde Namastay.

Sex Tips for Ladies Who Are Fancy Slash Aspergers As Fuck

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Lena Dunham is a Goddess

I've always hated that fat fuck. Why? Because she murdered the illuminating illusion that New York City is a glamorous cosmopoltatin city, in which I could feel super towards those living in Nebraska or Long Island. 

Her show GIRLS, or more accurately described as CUNTS in essence made New York lose its dark true Lenny kravitz grit. The show exhibited 4 whiny White girls trying to get laid and not work hard  in unsophisticated venues. I was bored and horny and if I wanted to watch little girls whine about problems I would have watched Sex Slave Porn. 
 Not to mention she gave chubby girls the ability to believe that they too were cool as long as they were artsy writers.Alas, a cold hard truth, No one will truly believe what you have to say is funny or cool unless you have a flat tummy an alcoholic father and a house in Malibu, and a blessing from the Pope respectively. Every Fat Writer has an equal thinner and more Superior Counterpart. 
But When Your NewYorker Piece EMERGED on how much you despise Jews  and thus exposed yourself to the cultivated nuanced clique of Self-hating Jews,  I realized that you are not so bad after all. 
So, alas, miss Dunham I have misjudged you. As you have finally called out the Jews who don't pay on dates and who look like dogs. You go with your bad self. I respect your liberal cellulite a little now, and whole heartedly say that I am down with hot recent sexual abuse of your sister and hatred of the Israelites. And those who poo-poo it. Well, I guess they are not that kind of girl.
With love

What Color is your parachute? I don't care, as long as I can jump out of it and Land on a mattress with 500 Egyptian thread count sheets in a SUite in Hell with the Devil Himself.

What are you supposed to do with your life? Is this a question for people who aren't suicidal? My biggest accomplishment is when I am not a cunt to my doorman and successfully shoplift from Christian Louboutin and not throw up all over my boss when I give him head. Alas, I was at tea with some of my sorority sisters at the George Sanc in Paris, when they were talking about the jobs they have, the men they are dating, and the books they are reading. Cum again?

I don't care about your suicide attempt unless you hurled yourself off of the Carlyle Balcony

I was having a late night drink with my 8th grade math teacher, a man whom I had my first wet dream over. We had recently reconnected at a Gala to raise money for Latino's interested in going to Space. He approached me and said he liked my necklace. Cut to rainy night, shared cab, and a late night Jazz bar with wasabi peas and candy covered almonds for snacks in the ashtray. Cut to knees touching and pre pubescent sexual throw backs to quadratic equations and Victoria Secret bra straps. 

He told me that he had a life changing experience and tried to kill himself by an overdose of a drug that was easily acquired and thus became easily bored. Normally, I find suicide sexy if it involves a will that I play a significant role in, but his middle class attempt at which to end his life was less Kurt Cobain/Tosca and more Felix the Cat. 

Seduction Techniques: Come over and Watch Fox News and snort accutane?

Alas, it has come to my short attention span, that my technique to seduce and destroy is of the skill set of an 8th grader with a pollyanna purse full of anti depressants, razors, and a burned communist manifesto, After conversing with some contemporary attractive stylistic ladies who have mastered the art of authentic mysteriousness without seeming like an asshole, sort of, I noticed that perhaps my methods are less effective, as 'Lets order food and get fucked up" sounds much chiller and more sophisticated and less aspergers than "want to come over and watch Fox News and Expensive Porn from 1995"

Lessons Learned. Goals for future dates, talk Less about my therapist's poor interior decorating, and more about how I drunkenly tried anal with a Sultan in St Tropez, and "truthfully" was intrigued. 

Do you look good in Balmain and Smoke Blunts? Heres my pager

March Goals:
Be friends with people who know what mutual funds are

take all of the skittles out of the dylans bins and replace them with Quayludes

Have brunch with DMX

make Dynamite

obtain a Phi Beta Kappa Key and snort coke off of it

memorize all 54 African Countries

Learn which strands of marijuana go best with foie gras

get Le Bernadin on Seamless at my place of Business

orchestrate a menage a trois at a french rodeo with a Midget and a very wealthy non white person

Wake sleeping babies from their Naps

Have a Charity Ball at an Insane Asylum to raise money for Harvard Westlaw

find my clitoris without a compass

remove the jizz off of my xanax scripts

Get more instagram followers than ISIS

learn about the death penalty and live burials

walk to South Dakota

Why does the Fairy Godmother Show up only when there is Party and Cindy has nothing to wear?

My (Kobe) Beef With Cinderella; Why does the Fairy Godmother Show up when she does;  there is a Party and she has nothing to wear?

Alas, I spent the weekend in Cabo with my nearest and dearest skinny Republican Southern belle Mermaid from University, I have just become her son’s fairy Godmother. This means that when she and her husband die, I will obtain their entire life insurance, liquidate all of their assets, acquire their 17 thoroughbred horses, their golden encrusted Crib and keep their son as my own to love and cherish. And by that I mean watched over by an obese nanny from the West Indies when times get tough.com.

I digress.

Unfortunately, my dear friend does not find it amusing to roofie other hotel guests and push them in the pool or take Diet Pills that are not yet FDAsshole approved. So we went to the pictures. A perfectly fine way to spend the evening, as I always enjoy purposely vomiting buttered popcorn and watching lower class people makeout.  

She and I crushed up my quayludes into my pina colada and ventured out to the Mexican Movie theatre to watch Cinderella, the multi billion-dollar story in which an anorexic underfed servant/bitch marries a prince and leaves the party early before she returns to her pathetic existence.

I have a multi milly issues with the story of Cinderella.

I am of the firm belief that if you are in an abusive relationship whether that be with a parent, boyfriend, attorney, or midget lover you must pack your monogrammed knapsack immediately. Cinderella does not, which suggests that she is a masochist who quite possibly likes the abuse.

Cinderella gives stepmothers an internationally horrific reputation.  Troubling; since I plan on being a step mother who takes a firm stance on what age consumption of hard alcohol is appropriate at dinner under the supervision of adults (3) and how much money you can spend to get laid (your age plus 1200 dollars per week) and will take this up in Divorce court should I have to.

Cinderella’ abuse, while whether or not she likes it, is disturbing to even the most abused such as yours truly. Cinderella is brutally assaulted, underfed,  and emotionally undernourished which sets her up for a bad sex life and a worse marriage.

If Cinderella really had a Fairy Godmother capable of turning a Hay into Hermes, then why show up so late? My understanding is that this Fairy God mother, showed up at the time when there was a party and Cinderella had nothing to wear. An existential crisis that I believe Sartre covered in NO EXIT. But, where was she when she wasn’t being fed? Banished to the attic? Told she was worthless? Beaten with a broom? When her father died? Fairy Godmother decided to show up when there is a fucking ball perpetuating that the only way to escape abuse is through an advantageous marriage and a false identity.

The Prince’s immediate obsession with Cinderella based on 5 seconds of chemistry, a hard-on and a desire to marry someone not royal thereby not threatening his fragile ego. He becomes obsessed with her without knowing her name; just the physical manifestation of her anorexic ballerina lithe like form.  

Alas, Cool your Jacuzzi jets- as I’m not saying that Cinderella should be fat, or even normal looking, but he should perhaps know her political persuasion or her drug of choice before making her the princess to his low tier kingdom. Beauty Fades. Dumb is Forever.

Cinderella; nearly as bad as Pochahantas but at least shes white.

See you at the St. Regis