This Week in J.Miz, Volume 4

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS


Dwight really needs to switch back to whole milk.

I have a headache THIS BIG. And it has “abstinence” written all over it.

I’m the girl you bring home to Mama. To piss her the fuck off.

The only thing that offends my cat Dwight more than the odor of peppermint is the music catalog of David Bowie.

Tonight I am going to bed alone in every sense of the word. Dwight even shuns me now that he’s lost some weight. #fuckskinnybitches

It’s painfully obvious that most computer software is written by men. Both are always telling you to “finish.”


My tits have an inappropriate habit of staring men in the eyes.

I’ve spent half my life babysitting, and that doesn’t even count my dating career.

My boyfriend thinks a woman’s place is in the kitchen. Makes perfect sense to me. That’s where I keep the poison.

I only date married men. They understand commitment.


One day I will run crying out of a church, in Manolos and Vera Wang. #initforthefashion

I’ll never forget what I said the first time a boyfriend hit me: “You’re gonna need a bigger car than that!”

Childhood is your standard hostage situation that turns Stockholm Syndrome.

After contemplation, I’m thinking the Rapture schedule works similarly to Santa’s. That makes a lot of sense to me because Santa is totally real.

Forget “Fight or Flight.” I prefer “Stab and Run.”

This is an actual T-shirt. These are not J.Miz's actual boobs in the T-shirt.


Puff Diddy changed his name again: “Hear ye, hear ye! I shall now only respond to ‘Princess Fluffer Nutter Hoobastank!'”

Stealing Internet from your neighbors is like having sex with a 19-year-old guy — it goes hard for five minutes tops, and then you have to wait a half hour to get it working again.

I took my niece to the zoo last week. The next day, I was told to come back and get her.


I told my unemployed boyfriend he should start selling weed. I did not tell him to charge me full price.

My neighbors need a stronger Internet connection. I’m bringing this up at the next condo association meeting.

Bum fights have nothing on bum fires. #eyewitnessreport

Eating leftovers for lunch, watching Julia and Julia, then napping with my cat Dwight. After this, I may as well go get some Mom Jeans, a hysterectomy, a soft cup bra and a full-on turtle cheesecake, and go adopt five more cats.

After many years and failed attempts to end my insomnia, I’m going to tattoo sheep on the insides of my eyelids.


I feel like I’m getting one of those Grandma Moses, “Underground Railroad”-type zits. *sings* “Swing Low, Sweet Ble-mi-shes…”

There are definitely two badgers fighting with power washers in the woods behind my apartment.

I don’t know what happened today, but ever since I got home, Dwight has been bitching about his baby mama. NOTE TO SELF: Turn off the music before you leave, or at least don’t put so much Outkast on the playlist. #dwighthasnoballs

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