-image-Go Phillies

I went to the Phillies game on Friday night.  It was a great time.  The girls and I made it on Fanovision….Anyone see me??? 

-image-A little late but Appropriate

You will love this!!!!
Please watch - and pray for our men and women in service to our country.
This has nothing to do with politics, it’s not for democrats and not for republicans\ it is for Americans!!!
Hoo-Rah!….
A must See Video … Ending is fabulous!
I am now passing this on for you to watch.  Its not enjoyable, it is riveting!  When you are done pass it on too, I think its important…  If you are a vet, I say, Welcome home brother and from the bottom of my heart THANK YOU!!!!!

Just click on the line below and have your speaker on!
  http://www.nragive.com/ringoffreedom/index.HTML

Natasha

www.phillylady

-image-Say Hello to my little friend….

I told my girlfriend, Francesca, that I wanted to be bilingual but couldn’t decide on a second language compatible with my personality.  My smart-alecky friend blurted “I don’t think Rosetta Stone has a program for Pig Latin.”  Just for context, that remark came from a 42-year-old Italian-American princess who has been giving blow jobs to guidos in tracksuits under the boardwalk at Seaside Heights, NJ since she was fifteen. 

Having some elementary understanding of Pig Latin from my days as a parochial schoolgirl in knee high socks and a plaid skirt rolled up at the waist until it barely covered my sweet ass, I surprised her with “Ohway ymay odGay! ay atThat isway aughablelay omingcay omfray abe”Bay: igPay inway ethay ity.Cay 

She didn’t know I said “Oh my God!  That is laughable coming from “Babe: Pig in the City.”  It drove her nuts that I wouldn’t translate and that I kept teasing her in Pig Latin for everyone in the restaurant to hear.  I proclaimed in Pig Latin “ou’veYay adhay osay uchmay ockcay inway ouryay outhmay atthay I’mway urprisedsay ouyay ancay alktay ithoutway umblingmay.”  I wouldn’t tell her what I said and was enjoying that she was perturbed, when a cute guy who obviously understood that I said “You’ve had so much cock in your mouth that I’m surprised you can talk without mumbling” stopped in front of her as he was leaving, grasped his crotch, and said “aySay ellohay otay ymay ittlelay iendfray.”  He left the restaurant laughing his ass off.  She demanded “What did he say, Natasha?”   I laughed so hard that I literally pissed my pants.  I’ve never told her that he said “Say hello to my little friend.”

Natasha

www.phillylady.com

-image-Drill baby drill

Oh my God!  A blown-out underwater well is spewing approximately 200,000 gallons of crude oil a day into the Gulf of Mexico.  And the environmental and economic impact of the spill promises to eclipse the Exxon Valdez disaster.  The spill has already interrupted commercial fishing from the Mississippi River to the Florida Panhandle. 

I don’t know jack about offshore drilling; however, I must be a safer “drilling platform” than any of the fixed or floating platforms on the continental shelf.  I mean, drilling me almost always causes an intense “explosion” (now and then some natural gas); however, while I go down every chance I get, I don’t sink; my boobs are too big (giggle). 

I did some online research into offshore drilling platforms and learned that there are several types: fixed, floating, semi-submersible, jack-up, spar, tension-leg, drillships, unmanned—I don’t like those—and the tower that best describes me, “compliant.” 

Drilling me will not lower the price of gasoline, but you could conserve heat and lower the thermostat by cuddling with me, and thus reduce America’s dependence on foreign oil.  And drilling me is eco-friendly.  It can’t harm seabirds, turtles or shellfish. In fact, you’ll be drilling a “clam” with absolute safety (giggle). 

Oh, you have a “drill pipe.”  What an exciting coinkydink.  All I have to say now is “Drill baby, drill!”

Just food for thought

Enjoy the day

Natasha

www.phillylady.com

-image-I Can Rock Your World…

Oh my God!  A volcano is Iceland is spewing so much ash that airplanes all over Europe are being grounded.  Isn’t nature amazing? 
I don’t put out “ash,” but I’ve caused more than a few vigorous eruptions at my place, if you know what I mean, and several men have had so much fun that they’ve missed their flights out of Philadelphia; however, I’ve never been responsible for grounding airplanes.

I read that the Eyjafjallajokull—and you thought you were a mouthful—volcano has erupted for the second time in less than a month.  That’s not such a big deal.  I cause multiple eruptions without getting out of bed more often than that.

Did you know that Iceland’s multitude of volcanoes have erupted a third of the World’s total lava output?  I’ve been lax about compiling vital statistics like that on my sexuality and cannot tell you how much hot semen I’ve induced in eruptions, but I probably could have covered the ancient city of Pompeii in cum.  Imagine archeologists digging through 30 feet of jizz. 

I don’t know if that sticky secretion could actually stop anyone in their tracks (except for the guy with the orgasm), but I do know that dry semen is really difficult to get out of my hair.  All that protein coagulates in warm/hot water.  So if I covered Pompeii in cum there would only be traces of hair left for archeologists to find.

There really are parallels to orgasms and volcanoes.  Volcanic eruptions are the result of plates bumping and grinding, then there’s a sudden release of pressure, and an explosive discharge of hot fluid that rises up through a pipe, or vaginal contractions in females that make the earth move.
No, I’m not a volcanologist.  I’m more like Mother Nature.  I just do what “cums” naturally to me.  And like Mother Nature, I can rock your world (giggle).

Natasha

www.phillylady.com

-image-I speak Cock..ney

I dropped to my knees faster than the tits of a thick-bodied wet nurse that’s suckled more offspring than Octomom when a British friend said “blow me.”  The dumbfounded dandy climaxed faster than the dot-com bubble.  How was an Italian-American girl to know that blow me is a cockney exclamation of surprise?  He was so surprised that he shouted blow me twenty or thirty times before and after he came.  He repeated it so fast that he sounded just like a flat tire on a dirt road.  “Blow me, blow me, blow me, blow me, blow me, blow me.” 

Cockney parlance is perplexing and often unintelligible.  But I guess the weight of a cock that hangs to your knees puts a lot of tension on the vocal cords.  Lor’ luv a duck!  A lolly lick what large would have a one time looker singing “Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves…” 

I’d make it an imperative to bone up…  What the f…?  Bone down!  It’s a phrase meaning to study, like cramming for an examination.  Oh, I understand now.  Cramming me for an exam in sex education is what you had in mind.  You want to be vale-dick-torian.  Just for that, you’re staying after school with your pants down (giggle).  As I was saying, I’d have to study cockney pronunciation and slang before escorting in London.  Oh my God!  How embarrassing it would be to confuse four-ply and foreplay when buying tires.  But I know it would be a “Goodyear” for the tire salesman (giggle). 

I actually find cock very entertaining.  Oh, excuse me; I left off the “ney.” (lol)  But seriously, how could any “twist and twirl” not be amused by lingo that includes such colorful phrases as “keep your pecker up?” 

Incidentally, you don’t have to fly to London.  I speak cock.  Oh, darn; I forgot the “ney” again. (lol) 

Natasha

phillylady.com

-image-I am taking a Moment

Many of you are accustom to me writing my humors’, sexy spin or what ever it is I feel like talking about.  Well, I would like to take a moment to express my gratitude.

Today is not only St. Patrick’s Day, it happens to be the birthday of a very dear friend. Some one who I refer to as my “Guardian Angel”.   As we go through life, many people enter in and out for one reason or another.  However, there are few that touch our world that goes far beyond anything earthly or material.   

I wish you a wonderful day and many more birthday celebrations.

Happy Birthday to you..

Happy Birthday to you…

Happy Birthday,

Happy Birthday,

Happy Birthday to you…. And many more my friend….

-image-Lucky

I wanted to compliment the Irish this St. Patrick’s Day with an essay about the Emerald City…  Huh?  You say I’m confusing the Land of Oz with the Emerald Isle?  No, I don’t think so; I saw the “Wizard of Oz,” it’s loaded with leprechauns.  You say they’re really Munchkins?  But aren’t they the doughnut balls sold at Duncan Donuts?  Fugeddaboudit!  I confess than an Italian American MILF doesn’t know jack about Erin’s bra.  What?  It’s Erin Go Bragh?  Well, that just proves it; however, I do know something about Lucky the Leprechaun.  You know Lucky.  He’s the smiling leprechaun pictured on boxes of Lucky Charms cereal. 

I feel sorry for the little guy, because he’ll never get lucky with marshmallow diamonds.  Yeah, I know diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but what girl gives up the poontang for a spongy confection?  Don’t leprechauns go to school to learn about pots of gold?  Maybe Lucky was sick that day.  Lucky, if you want to score with the lady leprechauns, pots of gold are tried-and-true.  Gee-whiz, Lucky, haven’t you ever seen a Goldline commercial?

Lucky, didn’t you watch the 2010 Winter Olympics?  All those well-built babes were after the same prize…  Purple horseshoes?  No, you fatheaded fay, they wanted gold!  And unless you want to add blue balls to your list of multi-colored marshmallow bits, you’ll use real pots of gold, not ones made of corn syrup and albumin.   Get my drift?

Lucky is playing with fire.  Imagine the danger Lucky would face from a South “Joisy” girl who broke a manicured fingernail pursuing him over the Irish moors for his pot of gold, only to get a box of “magically delicious” cereal.  Lucky would be safer bilking a banshee than a Jersey gold digger.  She’d stuff pink marshmallow hearts, green clovers, yellow moons and orange stars up Lucky’s “arse” until he started babbling like a prison inmate at Mountjoy.  “The three of ‘em came in the showers, constable, all oiled up like, and they kicked me fuckin’ back door in.”

Lucky, food is fine, but it won’t win any hearts.  How much pussy do you think the Keebler Elves get baking fudge cookies in a hollow tree?  The answer, Lucky, is zip, zero, nada!  Yeah, they’re packing “fudge,” all right, but each other’s. 

Where can you get your own pot of gold?  Gosh, I don’t know, Lucky.  My pot of gold has always been my magically delicious “box.”  You could be a dentist elf like Hermey on the Island of Misfit Toys.  He extracts gold teeth.  Hey, maybe you could pack fudge for the Keebler Elves.  Just pretend your emerald green dick is a baker’s peel and you’re loading magic ovens.  Having a wee willy is no excuse, Lucky; “A little elfin magic goes a long way.”

Here’s an Irish limerick for everyone who wants to get lucky.

Lucky little leprechaun

Who sneaks about my lawn

Stop hiding under clover

And bring that gold on over

And you will be worn-out come the dawn.

-image-Wild Mushrooms

I love to cook and was aroused by a recipe for a wild mushroom tart.  I was immediately sold on the dish because of the word “tart,” and because of my vision of creamy custard dripping over the top of a mushroom phallus.  The image of oodles of pudding-like cream spurting from moist mushrooms was mouthwatering.

I collected all the ingredients: butter, shallots, garlic, cognac, olive oil and fresh herbs.  I only needed wild mushrooms.  I’ve known cooks who gather their own wild mushrooms.  Why not me?  I mustered up the confidence to make like floozy of the forest and went to the Internet for an online primer on distinguishing edible mushrooms from the poisonous varieties.  The wealth of information I found did nothing at all to quiet my fear of needing a liver or kidney transplant should I pop the wrong pileus.  How would the tabloids report the event?  I can only guess: “MILF massacred by malicious mushroom” or “Fiery floozy fucked by fatal fungi.”  Oh my God!  The tabloids wouldn’t dare print “Oyster mushroom clobbers hairy clam.”

I succumbed to the misgivings of menacing morels and cased the custard concoction into the crappy concept chamber pot.  The only wild mushrooms I have a taste for now are the polished parasols found on pulsating peckers.  They’re great for stuffing “tarts” (giggle).

Natasha

www.phillylady.com

-image-Led Pasties

I have a dynamic “chamber of commerce” (giggle) that provides unparalleled services to residents and tourists in Pennsylvania and Connecticut; howbeit, there’s always room for growth (giggle) in my business.

It’s in my self-interest to energize the economy in general, but especially in Pennsylvania and Connecticut, where lighthouses attract sightseers and their money to communities on the coasts.  It follows that the economies of both states would benefit from more beacons.

A beacon is an intentionally conspicuous device designed to attract attention to a specific location.  Lighthouse beacons help guide navigators to their destinations, but so do signal fires, radar reflectors and radio beacons.
As none of the ordinary signaling devices are as beckoning as a light-o’-love, I searched for a light that’s better suited to the task.  To my gleeful surprise, I found an LED pastie.  Now goatish guys and gals across the U.S.A. can hone in on nipples in the dark with the pinpoint precision of a smart bomb.  You’ll never confuse her nose for a nipple again.
Why not just shoot fire from my tits like Lady GaGa?  Look, I don’t care if you earned a fire safety merit badge, lighted matches and my mammary glands don’t mix.  I know you were a straight-arrow Boy Scout—your “arrow” actually bends a little bit to the left—but stick to toasting S’mores!  Oh, don’t look so downhearted.  You could earn another merit badge by making your own LED pasties.  I’ll teach you how.
You’ll need a utility knife, craft foam (preferably black), fashionable fabric, matching thread, sewing needle(s), 5mm LEDs, two 2025 lithium batteries and an adhesive like Aleen’s Tacky Glue.  Oh, yeah, you’ll also need boobs.
The first step is to measure the areola around the nipple to determine the appropriate size circle for your pasties.  Hmmm…I suppose placing your open mouth over the nipple like a sucker fish might work; however, I recommend using a jar lid or paper plate to find the right size pattern for your foam circles.

Use your pattern to make four foam circles.  Now make Pac Man-like cutouts in the four circles.  The depth of the cone that forms the pastie will be determined by how large you make the cutout.  Two of the circles should have slightly larger cutouts.  They’ll be used for the top of the pasties.
Next glue a square of fabric over the larger pasties (tops).  Then position the batteries and LED inside.  Sew the bottom half to the top half when you’re happy with their placement.  Now you’re done.
Use your imagination and you’ll find lots of uses for your LED pasties.  You could use them for a nightlight or to read a road map.  How about using them like airport runway lights for your darling “dirigible?”  Dock your rigid “zeppelin” between them for a titty fuck… Oh my God!  Your hard-on would look like the friggin’ Washington Monument all lit up at night.  No, really, it’s that big. (lol)

Natasha

www.phillylady.com