Book Book Book EDIT: Story Time with Ms. Enna

Have you never seen my book cover? Yeaaaah, that's because it has my real name on it. So don't tell anyone, and I won't tell anyone my real name either.

No, wait. I will tell people my real name. I mean, I enjoy getting PAID, and in order to do that they need to know my name.

So, yeah, don't plaster this all over the internets...please. I don't want to get hate mail at my HOUSE too.

(My book cover link used to be here, but then I took it down)

Now, for a little story time with Ms. Enna! Gather around the story-time rug, my children, Ms. Enna is going to tell you a story about why you do not post your real name on the internets.

Ms. Enna woke up at the asscrack of dawn like usual, and got ready for work. Then Ms. Enna went to her local 7/11 to buy chips and pop and a Redbull because Ms. Enna likes eating crap for breakfast (AKA Ms. Enna likes to eat a "whores breakfast")

And Ms. Enna went to pay for her purchases.

And Ms. Enna's purchases were DENIED because Ms. Enna tried to use her debit card and apparently she had no monies.

This surprised Ms. Enna, seeing as Mr. Eric just got paid the day before and Mr. Eric doesn't ever spend money because he is cheap, leaving Ms. Enna a boatload of cash to have at her disposal for her daily Whore's Breakfasts.

Ms. Enna hopped on her bus and went to work.

When Ms. Enna arrived at work, she checked her bank accounts, and Ms. Enna had NO MONEY IN ANY OF THEM.

Nada. Zilch. This made Ms. Enna angry, not only because she had no money, but also because she didn't eat yet, and lordylodry does Ms. Enna like to eat, you know, at least ONCE a day.

Ms. Enna called her bank, who told her that the previous night, right about the time Ms. Enna posted her REAL NAME on the internets, someone stole her identity and went on a spending spree.

And Ms. Enna dropped the F-Bomb quite a few times.

THE END!

Ok, in fairness, my bank was really nice about it, and I am getting all my money back, as well as the overdraft fees for the checks that are BOUNCING SKY HIGH LIKE THEY ARE MADE OF FLUBBER WRAPPED IN SUPERBALLS. Eric doesn’t know yet, but something tells me (checks watch) he will find out in exactly 30 minutes when he goes to try to buy himself something to eat.

I get to leave early and head out to the bank and file a police report. OH JOY.

Also, I don’t think this had to do with me posting my name on the net, but in the event it did, I took it down.

The irony here is that today is our “Eat-Out” day, meaning we treat ourselves to lunch and then usually just get a pizza for dinner. (I know, we need a better name for this day since the current name sounds way more sexual than intended. Though, in fairness, I usually get crab legs on my “Eat-Out” day for lunch, and that is downright an orgasmic experience.) Eric is going to try to get something to eat and be denied. And then when we get our money back he will insist that we buy another gun because the world isn’t a safe place anymore. I wish just once he would try to distract me with crab legs. I swear, I would let him buy black-market SCUDs if it came with a side of crab legs.