Witty Rants

Class-A -vs- Class-B Bitches: A Bitching about Bitches.

You know what irritates me? An extensive list of unnecessary fuckeries, to be frank. But let's get down to the business of raunchy, raging, ranting shall we? You see as of late, my greatest pet peeve has slowly become humanity; specifically the female portion of it. Yes. People are my pet peeves; especially the ones… Continue reading Class-A -vs- Class-B Bitches: A Bitching about Bitches.

Lifestyle Rants, Witty Rants


Dear. EVERY. single. person. on. this. planet. with. electricity. hot water. and. a. normal. life. right. the. fuck. now: And believe me when I say, this is not me being all cute and snarky and "Awe, the Fox is harmless! She's just being her sarcastic awesome self, you really can't take her serious"... NO! You… Continue reading ELEVEN.

Witty Rants

The Art of Parting

Sigh. Because if I’ve EVER had a girl-writer-crush… it’s now. Damn Girl, ALWAYS fucking killing it and inspiring me to the fullest! A MUST READ! Like now! GO, damn it.

Damn, Girl. Get Your Shit Together.

This is going to come as a huge shock to you: I’m a fairly saucy woman. Spicy. A firecracker. A real pistol. An over-eater…wait, no, that doesn’t belong there.

I enjoy myself very much. I kick ass, take names, make sure those names are kicking ass, and make sure those asses are kicking names. What can I say, I’m thorough.

Being this way has its benefits. I set my mind to something and just…go. If there is something I want on the other side of a mountain, give me a shallow spoon and watch me tunnel, baby.

There is, however, a dark side to combining ambition, intense love, and brutal honesty.

The arson in me recognizes the arson in you

This post is for my warrior women. My Xenas. My tough mothers. Damn, you are sexy AF. I love powerful women. You bitches aren’t to be trifled with, and I…

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Humor, Letters, Relationship Rants, Witty Rants

Dear Irma;

Hey big momma!I see you girlfriend. Rest assured, the world sees you! You had a point to make, and listen honey- lord knows you're out here making your fucking point. You're one big, bad, crazy, scary bitch, I gotta give it to you! We are impressed, to say the least. Everyone is out here hating on you- ruthlessly… Continue reading Dear Irma;

Witty Rants

Paulo’s Kitchen: Peanut Butter Samwich

Because my blog friends, are PHENOMENAL and I could NOT help but repost this hysterical post that Paul dedicated to me, in a SUCCESSFUL attempt to distract me from Irma- and Chef Paulo posts are my absolute fave! If you haven’t read any of his Chef Paulo posts, I’m not sure what you’re actually doing with your lives! You have GOTTTAAAA! I can’t even. I nearly LOST it! Too clever Paul! So thankful, honestly. This was beyond words!

The Captain's Speech

The following episode of Paulo’s Kitchen is dedicated to my friend, Ely, who is bracing for the impact of Hurricane Irma. Stay safe, Ely.

Previously on Paulo’s Kitchen, Cameraman Sam got under Paulo’s skin during filming.

“Up shut it, Samson!”

“Shut up your face, Samuel!”

“That’s enough out of you, Sam Antonio!”


Tonight, Chef Paulo and Sam are back in the same room for the first time since they, allegedly, fought over who got to the stall in the washroom at work first. Will Sam keep his mouth shut? Will Paulo shut it for him? Find out, NEXT.

Ciao! Bonjour! And hello! Welcome back, Paulomaniacs! I am Chef Paulo and this is my kitchen!

Thank you for joining me. I hope you brought your appetite. If not, eh, what can you do? And no, I don’t have extra appetites to give out. I don’t give out freezies! Oh wait…

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Lifestyle Rants


I've been purposefully physically, mentally, and emotionally avoiding the shit out of this very post since last week when it was first announced that HurriCUNT Irma would be a potential threat to South Florida. But I knew from the get, that this time things might take a turn for the worst, as evident in this… Continue reading I SOOOO HurriCANNOT Even

Caking & Baking, Lifestyle Rants, Witty Rants

POSTpartum Depression

I know that it's Sunday- at least that's what my calendar claims. I know that it's 8:17 pm right this very moment- at least that's what my phone tells me. I know that I'm pissed off about the fact that I've been summoned forced respectfully not really given a choice but to labor on "Labor day"… Continue reading POSTpartum Depression