to do
A while back Mr. Fab wrote his dear readers sick and twisted post cards. I did not receive one. No postcard for little miss CamiKaos. Ignored. Unloved. Dejected.
Of course in all fairness I didn't ask for one or give him my address so eh, probably not so much his fault?
This brings me to my point, my idea thieving... my further consumer whoring...
I'm taking a trip and when I go I am sure to see postcards everywhere. EVERYWHERE.
So who wants one?
I, the greatly inflated CamiKaos, will send you a post card. I can't guarantee it will come from that place, I may get tired of mouse faces and princesses and little boys who refuse to grow up (cause hello, we've all seen that).
But if you ask me for a postcard here in the comments and then send me an email (mommifiedme at gmail dot com) I will send you one. Oh and that email, it should contain your address... even if I know you out there, in the real world, even if I hand made your wedding invitations, even if I am your crazy twin, cousin, sister or your sister in law (I really do mean it send me your address if you want one cause I am shit at recalling addresses).
So do you want me to send one? To you? Of your very own? In my very own handwriting from my own little hand?
Because I have the love. And because it is a really good idea. That isn't mine.
Now I can't vouch for the content of the postcard. It could be naughty, it could be nice, it could contain saccharine sweetness, be full of lies or confess to horrible things I've never done (or did I?).
None the less I am jumping on the postcard bandwagon, so if you want one I will hook. you. up.
That's right.
I have the love people, and I need to get rid of it.
