This is my life.

I ran over a skunk tonight. A dead skunk, mind you, that's been chilling near my house for the past four days. My first thought was "ohmigod POOR SKUNK". I think it's probably a good idea to mention that I once shed a tear over what I thought was a dead cat on the way to Spokane, only to realize that it was a piece of shredded tire. What I mean to say is that roadkill makes me really, really sad. Even when I realized that it was a tire I was still pretty upset. Anyway, that explains my first thought. Then it was "oh my GOD, what is that smell? It's like a skunk died or... oh. Right, it did."

And then I heard a splatter. A dead skunk getting caught in my tire and splattering on my car splatter. All thoughts of the skunk's poor lost soul - and dignity! it was SMUSHY and undignified - flew out of my mind when I realized that its guts were IN MY FUCKING TIRES and ON MY FUCKING CAR.



I made it home without barfing and went inside to tweet about my unfortunate situation. One of my friends informed me it would be funnier if I had hit a live skunk, and I cried a little because I was friends with someone like that. Just kidding: I didn't cry and I love said friend, even if she is certifiably RIDICULOUS.

But I digress. After I finished flailing via tweet I armed myself with a Maglite and headed outside to assess the damage. I was dreading having to clean skunk from my car in the middle of the night, but leaving it to grossify for the next eight hours would be even worse. Also, let me take a minute to announce my unofficial sponsorship of Maglite flashlights. They're super bright, and awesome for fending off serial killers/rapists/zombies! Anyway, I spent ten minutes looking for dead skunk bits.

AND GUESS WHAT?!

There wasn't any. Until I got to the passenger side tire. And there was what I assumed was a chunk of dead skunk, because it certainly SMELLED like a dead skunk chunk. For the record, I'm sorry I'm so disgusting. But I'm definitely not disgusting enough to do something like scrape skunk out of my tires. Instead I took a drive, hoping it would loosen itself on its own and just go away. And it did, which was neat! So no more visible disgustingness, but it still kind of smelled like skunk so I went inside, grabbed the Febreze, and sprayed that bitch up. Now it smells like skunk wrapped in clean linen.

Other than that, my day was pretty good.

An Introduction.

Hello. This is a blog.

A blog of failure, whose only purpose is to get us a book deal. Our names are unimportant, but I'll tell you them anyway. We're Ernestine and Merryfellow Birdfeathers, but you can call us Rhiana and Britney for short.

I'm Rhiana. To give you a bit of an insight into my mind, imagine that the following scenario comes directly from my life. It doesn't, but just pretend. What if, hypothetically, I went into an alleyway and threatened a nerdy guy with a switchblade. I mean to say I have the switchblade and I'm the threatening one. And as I prepare to shank his ass, I reveal that the switchblade is actually a really cool book light that, in my mind, is anthropomorphic and named Jaqcues. And then he (the nerd) throws a book at my head and I have to get so many stitches. Like, over 9000 stitches.

This never happened. But what if it did? You might accuse me of being a meth freak. I am not. Britney, on the other hand, is.

I wanted her to write an actual post, but she just said "noooooooooo, the picture!". So here's a picture that I drew of her. It is 100% accurate.




You think you know, but you have no idea.