Thursday, October 18, 2007

People are disgusting creatures.

Yes I mean you....and you! You vile, noxious, vapid, swine-sucking, chicken-vent-felating, baboon-boinking, horse-humping, reptile-rump-ranging, donut-hole-punching, sick, sharting, leaking FREAKS!

Not to insult you or anything.

I recently found a few things I'm told people actually eat. I will list them here so that you may regurgitate your 99-cent convenience store hot dog along with me.

Australians are no longer hot. I was down with Steve Irwin and Russell Crowe but now all that's been ruined and not just because Steve's dead. Who in their right mind wants to go around smelling like they've been tossing some random ferret's salad? I mean besides you, Dyck...we can't all be "Captain Carnal".

Speaking of which, I had a ferret once and while I am vaguely aware that it's not a weasel, it's close enough that I couldn't care less and called it one or the other by turns. Anyway, at no point in this Weaselferret's life did I see it cough up a chunk of something and immediately conclude that said chunk needed to be ground up so that I might later drink it. I don't know what country is responsible for this:

but it's clearly in need of a good bombing raid. The website selling this...."treat" describes their product:

Made from coffee beans that are regurgitated by weasels. The beans are then harvested (picked up) to make this fine flavoured coffee. A great talking point for dinner parties or maybe you might just like the taste of this unusual coffee. Sterilised and safe to eat. Don't believe us? Try it!

How 'bout a nice tall glass of GO TO HELL, YOU GO TO HELL AND YOU DIE! Because no, eat weasel vomit if you must but leave me out of it. Besides, what kind of motherfucking "talking point" are they expecting your party guests to make when you reveal the source of that divinely sweet café au lait they've been delicately sipping for the last hour?

What's the number for the White House dammit? Get these horrible people and their horrible ideas off my planet! The Shrub will do this for me, he hates anything different which I consider to be his one and only respectable personality trait when it comes to ridiculous shit like this.

That up there is Snake Wine. You drink it. You open the top and hope like hell they didn't put a water moccasin in there who can hold it's breath during shipping. Then you pour it into a cup (I'm assuming you'd strain out any unsightly scaly bits) and then, bottoms up!

Again, I'm not quite sure which country has brought us this lovely concoction but since they priced this monstrosity in "euros" I'm going to go ahead and say it's one of those good-for-nothing foreign countries that has oil we most likely "need". So I'm putting this on my list of countries to call Dubya about.

Okay this one comes from the good old U, S of A. California to be exact. And yes, they want you to eat those. Not just eat them though. They want you to PAY to eat them. Where's a good god damned earthquake when you need it? Why is this state still here anyway? The Earth's tried shaking it off like the dingle berry that it is but the bastard seems to have sunk it's organically manicured nails into Nevada's nefarious sediment and refuses to let go. While I'd love to see a gang of showgirls band together and stiletto-stomp them loose I'm truthfully more inclined to enlist the help of the less-annoying state of Colorado instead. The way I see it, if Coloradans use their size 15 snow shoes on those next-door-Mormons to effectively kick-em-where-the-good-lord-split-em, that in turn would nudge them right into those hideous, herpes-infected, herpitarian hooching harlots on the coast and the weight of all of their collective stupidity would send the lot of them plummeting into the depths of the sea never to be heard from again.

And with all of these idiots gone we'd be able to live happily, snake-and-scorpion-wine-free, musky-mint-popping, weasel-regurgitated-coffee-drinking, worm-lunchin' ever after. The end. (my kids love this story)

I'll take trans-fats over this shit any day. Wheel in the 3-pound bacon-covered, triple-cheese burger with fried jalapenos, a side of ranch dressing and a bushel of salty fries....I'm hungry.

..think I can get that with gravy?

Happy Halloween Retards!

I made these templates for pumpkins because I have crotchlings that require entertaining and it was actually kind of fun to make them. Anyway, I'll be testing them out this're all (all 2 of you LOL) welcome to give it a try as well. Let me know if it sucks or not, k?

Oh and yes, they're crude but still give you the general idea. I may be highly talented with an IQ larger than Oprah's bank account, but I have dick to work with creatively so I make do.

They are also crude because I start projects and then get bored and toss them aside like a $2 whore. You name it: knitting, books, children, art projects...I start off well but have almost zero follow through. In fact I have over 20 blog posts I haven't finished....just sitting there .....staring me down every time I log in.


For the truly retarded you just copy/paste it to a document, adjust the size to fit a pumpkin, tape it on, poke little holes all around the yellow bits then cut those out. Or if you're a seriously average individual just print them out and tape them on whatever you have handy. Then go back to stalking barely legal hoochies using this holiday as an excuse to dress like skank whores.

There is also another version of each character that's NSFC unless your name's Britney Spears then ding dang, give Cleetus and Bufford some Red Bull and knives and let 'em wack these out on their own!

Wednesday, October 17, 2007


Blogger sucks anal lesions.

I had this entire huge-ass post written out and what did it do? It choked on it! Not even the heiney-lick would bring it back up. That shit was Pulitzer material too, yo.

So, in light of that I will leave you with this inquiry: Am I the only person who gets this log-in screen EVERY TIME I go to leave a comment on Dyck’s blog?

Aren't the letters supposed to change each time or something? Weird.

Friday, October 12, 2007

That's Officer Bitch to you....

If your child has drowned, don't be a douche and leave standing water everywhere. Be courteous and tidy up before emergency workers arrive. And would it hurt you to brush your hair, dab on some lip gloss or do some dishes? Maybe make some cookies....nothing says "Welcome to my home, my near-dead child is out back but consider me at your service" like a plate of freshly baked snicker doodle cookies.


Thursday, October 11, 2007

Dyck's Dream Home!

*cue angelic symphony of music*

For the man who loves all things "poop", I'd imagine getting to own this house would be the equivalent of receiving 72 virgins for the low-low price of blowing yourself up while standing next to a pack of infidels. Better even than taking a dump in Lowe’s without bothering to find an actual bathroom.

The story behind this palpable panegyric to the potty is enough to press even the most pristine person to the point of near-plethoric peculiarities in their otherwise poised personality. In part...
SIM Jae-Duck was born in a toilet and now he plans to live and die in one - a $US1.6 million ($1.8m) toilet-shaped house designed to promote his tireless campaign for cleaner loos worldwide.

er...he does realize the PURPOSE of these loos right? Regardless you've gotta hand it to the guy for embracing the sobering facts surrounding his birth. His mom thought he was a turd. But does he let that get him down? NO! That's the power of positive thinking folks.

Before he moves in, anyone who is flush with funds can rent it for $US50,000 a day - with proceeds going to his campaign to provide poor countries with proper sanitary facilities.
Get your credit card out Dyck! This is not only the trip of a lifetime, it's your chance to enable those less fortunate to poop somewhere besides the ditch that just so happens to lead to the village's supply of drinking and bathing water. A total win-win! Operators are standing by.....

"A showcase bathroom screened by a glass wall is located in its centre, while other toilets have elegant fittings or water conservation devices,'' Mr Sim said.

Oooo fancy! Don't know how I feel about the "glass wall" enclosure just yet. I'll need to study my poop face and get back to you.

The showcase loo will feature a device producing a mist to make users feel secure. An electronic sensor will raise the lid automatically when people enter, and there will also be music for patrons.

"secure user mist"? ....the fuck's that? I'm thinking they spray you down with some toxic nerve agent that loosens your bowels for you. That's hella nice since it means less straining for those of us who just can't seem to say "no" to carbs. Now, I'll admit to being slightly concerned about any potential long-term effects of this sort of biological laxative. Like....will I grow gills, how many heads will my future children have, if they have more than two can I get some sort of government subsidy to help me feed those superfluous mouths? You know, normal stuff. These things will clearly need to be sorted out ahead of time. But overall, it definitely has that "feel good" marketing vibe about it.

The house, complete with a stream and small garden in front, is named Haewoojae, meaning "a place of sanctuary where one can solve one's worries''.

Two things: why not just poop in the garden? It's fertilizer right? And, "haewoojae" is also the sound you make while evacuating the contents of your basement storage area after downing two Indian Tacos at the county fair.




moving on....

Mr Sim's campaign began during his term as Suweon mayor from 1995 to 2002. His drive to transform toilets into "clean and beautiful resting places imbued with culture'' earned him the nickname "Mayor Toilet''.

Oh now that sounds fun. Picking Mayor Mud Pie.

"Elect Mayor Mud Pie: The Elimination Enforcer"

"What's In YOUR Bum?"

His achievements prompted Mr Sim to launch the Korea Toilet Association in 1999, in time for South Korea's co-hosting with Japan of the football World Cup three years later. Then he decided to take his clean toilets drive worldwide. The proposed World Toilet Association might be seen to rival squeaky-clean Singapore, where the World Toilet Organisation is based, but Sim has said the work of the two bodies will not overlap.

There's just something about the use of the word "toilet" with the idea of two bodies overlapping that makes me uneasy.

"Toilets were once regarded as stinking and dirty places. Not any more. They must be treated as the sanctuary that protects human health,'' Mr Sim said.

I think our attitude surrounding toilets being "stinking, dirty places" has strong roots in the fact that our asses are really stinky, dirty places. The poor toilets are merely guilty by association.

Plus, here I thought that Dyck's obsessive interest in poop and the hole from which it comes was just a ploy to get him some action from the ladies. Now I see he's simply ahead of his time (I said "head"....heh.) and living in a society that sees the shitter as "that place of necessity" that routinely (if you get enough fiber anyway) interrupts our lunch-time afterglow. I see things so much more clearly now......

I always learn so much from that Dyck!

p.s. look at that picture of the house again. It has railing around the entire top portion, the "lid" if you will. Is that for gazing at asteroids? potty parties? checking out your neighbors moon? I suppose that's entirely irrelevant and not at all my point. I can totally see them making a cruise ship that looks like that some day though. Look again, I know you can see it! What would you call a cruise ship shaped like a toilet? The Floater.....The Porcelain Princess? Hmmmmmmm......

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Where "We close at 5:00pm" means God closes at 8:23pm

Texas. Gotta love it.

I'm telling you, the Texas legal system is nothing to mess with. It's not just that they enjoy killing people, it's that they thoroughly enjoy killing people. Fuck Missouri's slogan as the "Show me" state, Texas has them beat as the "kill me" state because anyone who chooses to commit a violent crime there is basically playing the lottery with Jesus....only instead of playing to win money they'll be lucky to leave the system with a few bad stories about anal rape.

Which begs the question:



Got a headache?
Been feeling under the weather?
Maybe feeling a little stressed...
or like maybe your neck hurts a little?

Have you also been swimming in Texas?

Ahhh. I see. Then you're dead.


Diseases are funny.

So apparently swimming with certain people who live in Texas can kill you and not just because most of them can't swim and when excited by the sunlight bouncing off the water's surface would drag you down like the hull of the Titanic. No, in addition to that, it would seem there is also this infection thingie. It's like herpes only for your brain. And "allegedly" (no amoebas have been tried in a court of law) when your lard ass splashes into area lakes ....***insert a bunch of scientific mumbo jumbo here***...then die.

It's the Dave Navarro disease or something...wait lemme look that up again.....

No, that was a slight's Naegleria fowleri. I was close though. Regardless, who woulda thought that swimming and ingesting water that looks like this could be bad for you???? I'm shocked I tell you. Shaken to my core etc....etc. Okay seriously people, it looks like a large puddle of the bi-product of a Fat Bastard colon cleansing. Shaken, not stirred. Are you kidding me!?! That people actually believe nothing bad can happen from having a cupful of this colonic concoction splashed into....well ANY of our orifices is truly beyond me? The fuck people...WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? I realize this is confined predominantly to the southern states. But, what's next for our fine population of rednecks? ....letting your kids sift through the cat box for "crayons"? Oh and by the way, in case you answered "yes" to that last part, I recommend the "burnt sienna" or "raw umber" samples but would steer clear of the "ochre" tends toward the runny and we're drawing here kiddos, not finger painting!

Moving this Navarro complex, it's a straight up death sentence apparently. Like one week you're splashing playfully in some backwater cesspool and two weeks later...*bam* you stop breathing and what brain cells you have left turn to jell-o. I can't wait for the movie version of The Blob or The Fog only it's an amoeba that bungees off your nose hairs and eats through your grey matter. WICKED! More people will need to die in order for them to make a video game out of this though. And, unfortunately, MOST people will need to die in order to get a song as catchy as "Ring Around the Rosie" named after it.

But wouldn't that be neato?

Amoeba up your nosie
You go all comatose-e
you're dead within 2 weeks.

Wow that is a lovely tune. So, if you happen to be the type of person who has trouble connecting with the kids in your neighborhood, try sharing a song. It may just open up the lines of communication and enrich the overall quality of your communal living experience.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Apparently, I've got a Dyck up my ass...

that line alone should guarantee me at least two more new hits this week. Well, that and this:


But moving on...

My last blog post had one pathetic comment. Nevermind that my last blog was last month or anything. How often I write and about what is nobody's goddamned business but my own. Well, mine and the Federal Government's Homeland Security division (HEY GUYS!!!*waving*). But Dyck was the only one to comment and it was totally beyond rude:

Mighty Dyckerson said...
Oh, so now that she's had a baby (again), Ms. Babble gets all the attention??! What do I have to do to get some respect around here, pass a stone??!
August 30, 2007 10:44 PM
naturally, in my head it translated to:

MightyDyckerson said...
WAH! I'm a baby (again), Ms. Babble gets all the attention??! Have raunchy online fetish sex with me or I'll pass a stone??!
August 30, 2007 10:44 PM
Clearly this is not acceptable nor is it the type of readership I was promised in my pact with the Devil. Note to self: check fine print on all legal documents when dealing with the underworld.

Moving on.... I know I've been giving Karla most of my attention since....well, since I reached the height of my tolerance for boredom at work and, finding all good porn blocked, decided to surf for crazies. I'm trying to be honest here people (person?), work with me. I found her almost instantly and was hooked. She's my Blogger equivalent of say black-tar heroine or watching gorillas felate each other at the zoo. Now I realize that this type of unwanted and unrequited behavior could be considered by outsiders as stalking and something most healthy people in today's society don't ordinarily compete for . But, one might obviously point to the fact that, like me, she tends toward breeding (though she's not quite as prolific as I have been...yet). But I think it takes more than passing a writhing mass of sexual bi-product through one's naughty hole to bring two people together. Shocking, I know.

No, I think it's because I can identify with her lifestyle. I too used to mainline toilet bowl cleaner and freebase bird seed. I also have often had random sex with the baggers at the Piggly Wiggly and frequently get arrested for molesting mannequins at Macy's. I get it! More importantly, I get her.

But this Dyck fella.....he's got me all stressed about my target audience. More importantly the fact that I don't have one outside of "HER". Saying it like that makes it sound creepy so let me back up and just take that bit back...mmmmkay? What I'm trying to say is I don't need the stress. Not in my line of work anyway. One wrong move and people die! I don't think Dyck understands that. Perhaps what he does isn't as important to the stability of social order the way mine so clearly is. I understand how easily some people slip into the comfort of their own pseudo self-importance, though I've never had that problem. But the cold hard truth is that eventually, in everyone's life, reality comes nigger-knocking at some point. And it's up to you to decide whether you step on the flaming bag of poo that's left behind or.....

WAIT....where the fuck are you going?

You were reading then you got this strange look on your face and just ....left.

Was it something I said?

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Bringing up Baby

Many of you know my dealer......uh..."friend", Karla. She recently shot a kid out and it's the cutest darn life form I've seen in quite some time. In fact, seeing that baby's squishy face has brought out the care-giver in me. Since the birth of her daughter (son? what did she have again?) I've felt the sudden and oftentimes sickening urge to make the world a better place. Now I'll be the first to admit that doing so could be accomplished through the mere act of choosing not to scream obscenities at old people driving half the speed limit during my morning commute. However, I'm never one to take the easy way out or into any situation. Not to mention, I clearly have next-to-no interest in changing my life too overly much. Logic dictates I should choose something that would look good to the average person and yet not require a great deal of effort or consistency on my part.

Which is why I chose to buy my way into the illusion of a clearer conscience which, in the end, feels the same to me. It's pure genius really. I'll buy something for the little rugrat that outwardly shows my feigned interest in it's future health and well-being. I come off looking like a saintly optimist who's completely in touch with the needs and direction of the average American Family, plus I'm helping out the economy or something-or-other by contributing to local commerce, free trade and if I play my cards right: a year's salary for some 9-year-old working in a sweatshop in Bangladesh. It really is a win-win.

I'm fully aware that given who it is we're talking about here the most likely scenario is she'll just end up hocking a Diaper Genie or set of Baby Einstein DVDs for some smokes and another month on her Valtrex prescription. But I can't worry about that right now. I have to stay focused on what's really important: making myself look better. So, be that as it may.... I'm growing quite confused over what to get and whether the baby will ever set eyes on it if it turns out to be of some monetary value. Clearly I can't get anything too overly expensive or with high resale value not to mention an active trading history on the black market. So it begs the question: What do you get someone like Karla; a lady with everything but class, a clean police record and a year's worth of sobriety since she was like 7?

For me, liquor's simply out of the question...I know first hand that she's got at least 60 bottles hidden in various places at any given time. And trust me, her ingenuity in camouflaging them is only matched by her ruthlessness in their retrieval. It cost me $4,000, 2 surgeries and a month's worth of rehab to get over her last game of "peek-a-booze". I still cringe when I see a bottle of Grey Goose......

So I may not be emotionally capable of contributing to what her husband and friends refer to as the slow inoculation of a nicer, sweeter Karla. At least not ever in that way again. But, since I am in the "giving" spirit, I figure I can help assist the next generation in learning for themselves the arts that are binge drinking, addiction and the morning-after clean-up. As luck would have it, I ran across a series of books I feel best demonstrate the direction today's youth should lean both in education and life-preparation in order to better care for their parents when that time comes. And for this child, that time most likely will come much sooner than she thinks.

Now I know what you're saying: "But Patti, shouldn't the child learn the differences between distilled and fermented liquors and when it's more appropriate to offer pure grain alcohol over something more subtle?" and I do see your point. My gift is only meant as a starter course for the average infant/toddler and is no way meant to supply any child with ALL of the necessary skills required to fully provide the self-medicating assistance so vital to the care of today's stressed-out parents. I only wish it were easier and the information more readily available. Unfortunately, this beginner's manual will simply have to be a good enough place to start. Perhaps this generation of future addicts will do a better job of creating more suitable tools for teaching these valuable life-skills, provided they're not all too hosed to even recognize that spark of innovation when they see it.

I am actually rather fond of the illustrations and the way the author seems to meld the needs of the parents with the type of artwork and content that most appeals to small children. It's virtually flawless in it's design as it provides useful guidelines on a cardboard structure enabling the teething youngster to assist parents without wasting time and attention on their own overly personal impediments. The fact that the author then goes out of her way to acknowledge and reward the efforts of the child with a most gracious display of appreciation at the end....well that is what makes this item well worth it's price tag.

There are other titles in this series, I simply chose this one since it requires no real means of mobility or skill other than the ability to grasp large objects. And we all know she's already doing that!

Thursday, August 23, 2007

So she's always on top....

Man with 78 kids plans 22 more
Monday, August 20, 2007

A one-legged, sixty-year-old father of 78 is lining up his next two wives in a bid to reach his target of 100 children by 2015, according to reports from the United Arab Emirates. Daad Mohammed Murad Abdul Rahman, 60, has already had 15 brides - although he has to divorce them as he goes along to remain within the legal limit of four wives at a time, Emirates Today reported on Monday.

'In 2015 I will be 68 years old and will have 100 children,' the local tabloid
quoted Abdul Rahman as saying.

'After that I will stop marrying. I have to have at least three more marriages to hit the century.' The newspaper splashed its front page with a picture of Abdul Rahman surrounded by his children, the eldest of whom is 36 years old and the youngest of whom is 20 days old. Two of his current three wives are also pregnant.

Abdul Rahman said his large family lived in 15 houses. He supports them with his military pension and the help of the government of Ajman, one of seven emirates that comprise the UAE, which includes the Gulf trade and tourism hub of Dubai.

Islam allows men to marry up to four women at a time, though most marry only one. The UAE is a Muslim country, but is home to migrants from around the world.
I don't even know where to begin so give me a moment to collect myself.

okay. *whew*

the fuck people!? One leg? Seriously. Most guys have three though right (or am I measuring wrong)? HA! I kid I kid!*

No, I'm just baffled I guess. How is this one-legged old man able to get so much poon and people who are far more bangable continue dating "Rosey" night after night... after night? I guess it's possible that one leg is hot in Dubai kinda like getting deathly levels of bacterial nerve toxin injected into one's forehead is hot here. Wait, did I say "hot"...I meant fubar.

Obviously, I can't imagine it but I can admit that it could happen.
Of course, I can't admit to such a thing without feeling like Dubai isn't just another one of them there seven United Arab Emirates (love that last word by the way....looks like "Pirates" know, you're drunk and can't spell or read); it's instead part of a parallel universe where rich people actually go to jail and handicapped porn sells faster than Karla can entice the degenerate friends of hers to make it. It's basically a land made entirely out of cotton candy clouds and licorice trees where people fart cherry blossoms and shit bucket loads of skittles.

This place....this haven for the's like imagining a world where your day starts precisely at noon, you work exactly 2 hours each day and that includes 1 hour for lunch, you're then whisked away to the spa for the afternoon where if you so choose your massage comes with a "happy ending"...then as you're sipping drinks poolside your boss calls to tell you that your one-hour-a-day performance is phenomenal and he's honored to have you on his honored in fact that he feels compelled to not only offer you another 100-grand a year but also the services of his 22-year-old trophy wife and her twin sister who he reveals, have had their eye on you for some time and never one to deny his little darling what she wants, he's taken the liberty of commissioning a limo to pick you up and take you to a privately chartered plane where a team of Asian porn-stewardesses are standing by ready to fluff you all the way to Bora Bora at which time your plane will be met by none other than his bimbo wife and her "identical-except-for-the-beauty-mark-on-one-twins-no-no-special-place" sister who not only both enthusiastically encourage you to find said beauty mark without using your hands.....but are also......wait for it.....


GOD, yeah.....It's really THAT difficult for me to imagine. Where was I?....

Oh yes, Pogo. Don't get me wrong, I love me some turban-wearing gang bangers (a term used here to imply multiple sexual partners at once and not an affiliation with 'da west-si-eeeeeee-d') just like the next person. I just hate to break it to Daddy Ramen up there but the likelihood that ALL of those kids are his is pretty slim. His brother, his neighbor, one of his elder sons hittin' it with his younger step-mom? Yep. All more likely to have happened than the mind-numbing lies he's trying to sell. In fact, I believe even I am more likely to have fathered some of those kids and I readily admit that 1) I don't have a penis and 2) I haven't been to Dubai in like 3 years and that trip was the result of waaaay too much tequila at a high altitude. Regardless, dude is kidding himself and he should feel lucky the closest thing they have to a paternity test over there is eye-witness testimony from whatever family members sleep closest to you every night.

Which reminds me....I used to have a 10-gallon tank of guppies I bought basically because they didn't bark, wouldn't shit on my carpet and were highly unlikely to regurgitate anything into my favorite house shoes. Originally, I bought like 2 males and maybe 5 or 6 females and thought it would be cute to have little guppy babies swimming around in there....sort of like playing God and choosing who would breed. Fun stuff. Anyway this experiment of creationism stayed cute for all of about 3 months when I began to notice that there were just a lot of fucking fish in my pansy ass little $20 tank. I'm not talking "here a fish there a fish everywhere a fish-fish" either. HELL no! I don't even think there was water in the tank at one was just this gyrating sea of reflective scaly bits writhing together like the churning tides as they answer the call of the moon....only it smelled like the Poop Sea and instead of the moon I just had a flickering florescent bulb that cast this eerie green haze into the depths of the tank, which now that I think about it reminded me a lot of Swamp Thing...don't know why. But I was a filthy hovel of a fish tank because I refused to reach into the thing to clean it out. Fish were getting pregnant by the sheer accident of not having enough room to go around each other. Brothers were fucking their sisters, dads had their was the slum of all slums and I finally had to admit that I made a positively horrible God-type-thing. Fish bodies started floating to the top where I'd skim them off hoping none of the other fish had noticed. Fearing that they had and were launching a surprise attack in order to free themselves from the grip of their evil Overlord (namely, me). I had to sleep with one eye open for the entire last week I had them! It was

Anyway...anytime people like this damn-near pull a hammy trying to impregnate everything not quick enough to flee, it reminds me of my fishy ghetto and all of my impoverished guppy families forced to nibble at each other's tails for nourishment. It's not that I didn't feed them, mind you...the food simply never reached the ones at the bottom (but...ain't that always the way???)....

true story.

*I'm so not kidding

Friday, August 10, 2007

Organization...not just for ugly losers anymore

that's spite of the company I keep and the things that entertain me, I'm really quite intelligent...educated even. Well, not in the "legitimate" sense but hey, look at where our great country would be if we required everyone to live by legitimate means. Besides, I can whip up a degree or two to get me by in my sleep...well, actually my kids can but who do you think pays their bills? Well, okay the older one has his own "chemistry" business in his bedroom and that seems pretty profitable (it got me these new shoes and this ring.....OH! and some cute little pill looking things that help me stay up so I can watch my stories: The Real Wives of Orange County and Jerry Springer's Most Shocking. They're also really good at dissolving those pesky clogs in the tub.....I got such great kids ya'll.....). But back to me. I am one organizational machine. As a part-time mom and full-time Wife-for-a-Night...I have to be!

Anyway, before long it'll be time to send the little crotchlings back to detention..I mean school! Where the seeds of knowledge will take root in their little minds and quite likely cause a tumor. But, what doesn't kill them will, by golly, make them stronger and more capable of providing for me in my old age. (I'm a giver) However, with the addition of their school schedules I find it benefits the entire family if I do a few things to help limit the amount of clutter and basically streamline the daily processes we each undertake as we prepare for our individual days. I likewise delegate and correlate the evenings activities so that Mommy's "business meetings" don't get interrupted and the kids get their daily tasks done.

Friends and fiends, I'm here to share my knowledge with you! May you benefit from my expertise.....

Step 1: De-clutter. You might be saying "But Patti, what constitutes clutter?" to which I reply "Jesus people!. How retarded do you have to be to not know when some thing's messy?" It's simple: if it's in your way and it doesn't belong to you, it's clearly trash. This isn't the time to be sentimental either. Grow some balls and then, just like your crusty shorts, stick to 'em. Your spouse might complain about not having "their own things" and your kids might feel like they're "no longer loved" but your ability to free your family space will eventually help them to feel freer to look outside the home for companionship and safety. And that's what being a parent is all about: teaching our kids how to be independent as soon as possible. Which brings me to my second step.

Step 2: Learn to Conserve. This applies to everything from food to electricity and even laundry. It's a common misconception that kids need several sets of clothes. I mean, get real. They only have ONE body right? I've found that by throwing away all of there clothing except one complete set, I free up hours of my time every week that used to be spent sorting and resorting mountains of clothes just to have them get dirty the next week. So long as your child bathes regularly, there's no reason they can't wear the same thing day, after day, after day. Yes, they'll resist this logic at first. But, if you also implement my de-cluttering and food conservation ideas...before long, they won't have the energy to expend on back-talk and sassing. Not only that, but the decreased intake of food will help them get the most use out of their clothes over time. Another common misconception is that people need 3 meals a day. By giving my family safe, over-the-counter sleep aids I've found that they'll naturally sleep through breakfast and lunch. Conserving food in this way has saved my family more than $700/month! Wow! Don't continue to buy into the government and corporate propaganda surrounding nutrition, health and safety. They spread lies such as The Food Pyramid to instill fear and further separate you from your hard-earned money. It's time you reclaimed your financial freedom!

moving on...

Step 3: Delegate. This idea that the parents or adults in the household are responsible for it's upkeep is not only medieval but it's dangerous! How are our children supposed to learn how to re shingle a house, unclog a sewer line or install customized strobe lighting over Mom's vibrating bed if we don't teach them? I am sick to death of watching other parents slave over their children as they happily poop their pants and just expect that someone will come along and clean it up. The time has come for us to stand together and say " is not okay for you to cry between the hours of 8:00pm and 8:00am. is not okay for you to continually force us to take time away from the things we enjoy just so you don't feel alone. And is not okay for you to shit yourself." As adults, we deserve to be happy too and if we continually buy into this ideal that kids can't take care of themselves...well, we simply never will be.

Step 4: Take time out for you. The previous steps might confuse some people into believing that after systematically removing all of your family's possessions and finally getting the kids outside to clean the gutters and fix that flickering porch light that you surely have found more than enough time for yourself. Well, that's simply not the case. Would it surprise you to learn that 97% of all people ever to have lived desire more time?* Moreover, would it surprise you that 85% of women choose to spend their free time on other people?** See, by freeing up your time with my earlier tried and true methods, even the most highly motivated and selfless individuals can get sucked back into their old ways. Study after study *** has proven, when given a window of inactivity we quickly race to fill it with more work. The type of work might vary; it might be binge drinking, fornicating with multiple loose women of questionable cleanliness or simple All-American porn...every one's different. But what isn't different and what can affect us all should we grow careless and lax is what I consider a Global Crisis of Giving. You can hardly throw a stick in a crowded orphanage without hitting a handful (of children mainly) of charities. They all either want your time or maybe your blood....some want money, some want your soul and some even want your wife.

I'll leave it up to you if you want to dispose of family members in such a way. However, there are two things you simply cannot part with; one is obviously your money (crack won't buy itself), the other is your time. Regardless of the cause, it's highly unlikely anyone at the receiving end of any charity even knows you exist. Therefore, it stands to reason that if you choose not to donate of yourself or your money these people will likely starve to death or go blind or something. This is perfectly normal. The important thing is that they do so never knowing it's because of you. It's vital to your own health and sense of well-being that you strive to retain a clear conscience at all times. So please, feel free to discern the truth in whatever way best achieves this goal. However, do try to remember that while "idleness is [indeed] the glove into which evil slips it's hand"... it's also true that "candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker".

Goodnight and good luck.

*99% of all statistics are made up on the spot.
**You can interpret "on people" in whatever way amuses you.
***of course there's no study...idiot!

Thursday, August 2, 2007

Cynicism...the other white meat

I'm old. In fact, I just turned one year older last month (only because the alternative was considered the worse option I assure you). What did I get, you ask? Well, I thank you for caring to be sure. I in fact most graciously received the abundance of:

1) elevated cholesterol (Body by Bacon)
2) a prescription for Lipit0r (now with more anal leakage!)
3) a grey hair in my eyebrow (the fuck?)
4) a rather bad case of constipated diarrhea (the double fuck?)
5) and a pissed off partridge in a pear tree (couldn't give me a happy one could ya?)

Amazing! Yes, yes...I know. I would've settled for a card quite frankly...there was no need to get excessive.

Getting old isn't for sissies, I'll admit that. But the lengths some people go to in order to fight the fade is entertaining, yes, but also buck-ass CRAZY! From slicing-and-dicing to shooting up with other species and even drinking some one's pee (their PEE goddammit!), it's clear people will do damn near anything to at least feel like they're still young. Notice I said "to feel like" and not "to stay" because it doesn't work...none of it. Go ahead...slather on huge vats of fetus cream and plump your shit up with stewed hot wheels and fermented silly putty if you just have to. But know this: you look re-fucking-tarded. Not to mention you smell funny. I mean, whose bright idea was it to bathe in pureed babies and then go tanning anyway? What did you think it would smell like?

Honestly people.

It's with a great sense of redundancy that I feel I even have to say...fuck Clinique, Merle Norman and Este Lauder...your shit's going to wrinkle, crinkle and eventually makes it's way to the complete opposite side of your body. Duh! And it won't matter how many babies you've eaten or how many gallons of urine smoothies you ingest. Nobody dies looking 20 unless they are, in fact, 20 and even then a lot of those look 40 once you remove the perks of PhotoShop and spray-on makeup. So give it up. Instead of focusing on shit that's so useless as to be depressing, why not spend all that easily-won, hard-stolen (whatever) money on things that stand a snowball's chance in hell of making a difference. Like liquor and a relatively decent satellite teevee package.

It's not just that I find this sort of nonsensical behavior in others irritating. No, with age it seems, comes an equal-opportunity, nothings sacred, cynicism. Yes, I'm beginning to realize I hate quite a lot of things and most of those things coincidentally have something to do with people. In fact, the odds are pretty damn high that I'm hating you as I type this and am doing so with every confidence that I'm making the right choice. My cynicism isn't what really bothers me though. I mean, it certainly isn't that others might think less of me or that I'll lose your friendship. Fuck your friendship. We all know you suck so that's not the point. The point is, however, that day by day, year by year, it's becoming clearer and clearer that this is how Old Lady Rage is born. I'm turning into a bitter old hag right before my very eyes and I'm not even sure I care! All the signs are there: I'm overly critical, habitually pessimistic, righteously angry, offensively opinionated and the balls of it, so what.

It's my cynicism that keeps me from buying into the marketing hype that surrounds most "miracle cures" for aging though. So it has it's benefits. Which reminds me: "miracle"..."cure"? Does someone, somewhere honestly believe that god (buddha, jehovah, allah etc.) gives two shiny shits about saving anyone (let alone you!) from aging? Moreover, would he/she/it consider it a disease in need of curing? It's nothing more than time passing you by. And saying "time is a disease" is like saying the month of June hates you. If it could I'm sure it would, but that's not really the point here. No, the point is I'd rather put a stripper through community college than spend one penny buying into the fraud that is the cosmetic side of Commercial Whorism.

It's already well-known that Americans will buy anything. If you don't believe me check out some of these interesting yet disturbing items.

Oh and next time you go in for that collagen injection, consider THIS. Collagen from cadavers huh? Gee. Sounds so "third world" doesn't it? Not so happens in the US too.

Yeah, I'm a cynic. But at least I'm not walking around sporting a $1000 set of Dead Hobo Lips and feeling like I've never been more beautiful.

Somehow, getting this

from this

just doesn't seem....I don't know...what's the word?

Oh yeah!


Tuesday, July 31, 2007

I've been sick

now...before you get all verklempt on me, it was a simple ass explosion and nobody got hurt. Well, it hurt ME but nobody else got hurt see? I'm trying to appear selfless here so cut me some slack. Plus my ass is killing me so I'm not in the best of moods.

Nonetheless...when I wasn't playing anal-eclipse with the toilet water, I was watching teevee. And let me tell you other working-type folks something: teevee land is crazy cool during the day yo! I learned some awesome shit, got entertained and by the end of the day was damn near feeling like a super model. By comparison of course. I watched a show about dwarfs, one about giants (not jolly green ones or even the ones that play professional sports. No I'm talking about the real live ones with gene anomalies, really deep voices and enormous pants and whatnot) and then there were people who had lived through shark attacks and like falling down a mountain on their FACE and still looked pretty (which, if you ask me, is the reason science is so damn important...keep us pretty no matter what hair-brained idea causes us to lob off portions of our anatomy). Humans are so damned awesome!

So get this. One of these shows I watched was called I Am My Own Goddamned Twin (sic). And with a teaser like could I NOT watch.

Babies are being born split right down the middle, half black and half white, a testicle on one side and a vagina on the other. Explore the extraordinary medical phenomena that causes two different babies to fuse together in the womb.

DUDE!!! Okay, honestly, how could I NOT watch? I challenge you to hold up under such a temptation. Not only would you fold, I'm betting you'd pop a king-sized bowl of Xtreme Butter popcorn and even Tivo that shit! Be that as it may, I'm pleased to report there were pictures involved.


I am not making this up...that's a real live baby type thing from Texas (why do they always get the cool stuff?). I think it's right side was a boy and it's left side was a girl. They chose to keep the boy parts and had the girl parts removed. So he/she has like only one ball or something I don't know. I was just looking at it's stripes and feeling cheated. How will my kids possibly compete later in life with these sorts of super kids? Part male, part to be sensitive to your needs while at the same time ignoring them completely...irrationally rational...emotionally unemotional...both a good and bad driver! It'll be chaos! Not to mention...if Men Are From Mars and Women Are From Venus then where the fuck would these folks be from? And more importantly, do they plan on making sex slaves out of us? So many questions.

I think the most confusing yet awesome part of the whole show wasn't the half-n-half chimera baby, but the people who showed no outward signs of the same gene anomaly that caused this baby's appearance but were nonetheless affected. It was basically about these two normal looking women, one older and in need of a kidney transplant and one younger and in danger of getting her kids taken away by child welfare. In both cases the women were told by doctors that the children they carried for 9 months, gave birth to and raised were not theirs. In effect...there's no way you gave birth to these're a liar. I of course immediately thought of Karla, how could I not? These women had pictures, had husbands and family members who witnessed the births and helped in the upbringing. The older woman's grown kids were tested to see if they were a match for a kidney transplant and was told not only were they not a match but they weren't even related! The younger woman was trying to get welfare and child support and was told that while the man they'd tested for paternity was 99.9% the father of her two kids...she was not the mother. They took her to court and nearly took her kids away because they thought she had either stolen them or was pretending to raise them in order to defraud the system.

Can you imagine having to prove you didn't make up giving birth? You have doctor's records, pictures and eye-witness testimony but what can't be explained and is most heavily weighing against you is DNA. How do you prove that when science has created a system by which we trust it without question? People have died because of DNA evidence and conversely others have been given a second (third? eighth?) chance. As a society are we ready to admit that it's flawed?

Long story short...both women are chimeras meaning that at some point during the first moments after conception, when the fertilized egg was just beginning it's cellular division, what was by nature meant to be two separate individuals was instead fused creating one person with two sets of DNA. The shitter about this is that it's not as easy as drawing blood, taking a mouth swab, pulling a piece of hair to determine what's what. In both of these women's individual hairs tested for separate and distinct DNA. And in the older woman in need of a kidney transplant, her individual organs tested for different DNA. So think about it....if they hadn't needed the benefits of testing they showed no outward signs of being any different than normal single DNA folks. They never would've known. We never would've known. I mean, it's easy to see something different when it's evidenced by a line drawn down the middle of a baby.

I guess this is so damned interesting to me because I love it when nature kicks our asses. Every time we decide that we've figured it all out, something happens to show us we aren't any closer to the answers than we were back when bleeding someone was considered an effective cure for everything from headaches to adultery. Each time scientist say "okay today, right now...this is how life works" nature says "oh really?" and we're forced to reevaluate. I love that shit!

Just think about what this means....a chimera results from two fertilized eggs fusing at just the right time. The same can be said for Siamese twins and those people who get tumors removed only to find they had been their undeveloped twin. If you look at how many cases exist and are being discovered and discussed on an annual it too much of a stretch to believe that more people might potentially exist who have yet to have any reason to doubt their DNA? Look at how many people live in our prison system right now, today. Millions upon millions. Could 3 or 5 have this problem? Could they be where they are because of this condition? And what about all of those let go? Could they be guilty?

More importantly...Karla, if you're reading better hire an attorney to come to the birth or something. Better yet, find a judge and shoot the kid out on his desk or something and get the little bugger notarized!

Friday, July 20, 2007

On kids and dogs

This article was sent to me by a child-less by choice coworker. If you don't want to read it, I'll sum it up for you. Basically the author has no kids and is tired of strangers and friends alike helping themselves to her private life by way of all-too-personal enquiries as well as outright fondling in the guise of reproductive concern. She quite firmly states that it's none of their business and what's more is, the reason she isn't breeding even as we speak is because them crazy parents are putting her off and making her damn near wish for sterility (for them as well as herself I'm guessing). In summation, parents with little to no control over their crotchlings and an exaggerated opinion of how they should be viewed by the masses are solely responsible for this woman's decision to have sex for recreational purposes only. And she says all of this while cradling her dog.

Hmm. There's something about this that niggles at the back of my mind....what could it be? Let's see: people and their kids are a nuisance......cradling dog.....cradling? that's for babies right? but she doesn't want those....she clearly likes her dog....heh....look at how she holds a ...what's the a CHILD! Now I know what's niggling me!

More and more these days I'm noticing that kids are out and dogs-as-kids are in. I honestly couldn't care less if anyone in my office, my neighborhood, my city, my state, my country...this WORLD chooses to procreate. That's not what's getting under my skin. Almost every young couple I know that isn't ready to start a family by way of having kids has nonetheless got a dog that they choose to treat like one. They give these dogs birthday parties complete with doggie cake, they take them to doggie-daycare and spend an ungodly amount on their surroundings. Many have entire rooms of the house exclusive to them, not to mention clothes and accessories and toiletries to make them smell like anything but a dog. In fact, my coworkers have all taken to dog rescuing which is a noble cause to be sure. What I'm not sure about is why they think it's okay to bring them to work and not just one but sometimes two or more. These dogs are clearly unbalanced and in need, but many do not like unfamiliar people. So as I go to fill my coffee cup I've been growled at, drooled on, jumped on and had my personal space repeatedly and intimately invaded in that way that dogs have more times than I can count. It's clear they love dogs. I get it. Hey, I love my kids too! So I understand love.

What I can no longer accept or try to understand, however, is the double standard.

For instance take this quote from the above-referenced article:

So why don't I have kids or even the inkling right now? It's because of you. Yes, you: the fanatical mothers of the world. It may seem like ages ago now, but you weren't always like this. You, too, were sneering at the obnoxious parents who brought their infants to fancy, adult, nighttime restaurants or R-rated movies and let them carry on, ruining things for other patrons. You've been terrible advertising for the club that you so desperately need others to join.

now let's change it up a bit to make it about dogs and dog-owners:

So why don't I have dogs or even the inkling right now? It's because of you. Yes, you: the fanatical dog-owners of the world. It may seem like ages ago now, but you weren't always like this. You, too, were sneering at the obnoxious animal activists who brought their pets to grocery stores, your place of business or even your home and let them carry on, ruining things for others. You've been terrible advertising for the club that you so desperately need others to join.

Huh. What a coincidence and yet, when I say this using the same similarities evidenced in their own behavior, the response is immediate and unfavorable. How dare I compare dogs with children in-that-way. To which I can only reply "what the fuck people". These are your "furry children" are they not? I've heard you say so myself. So then tell me exactly why as their "parents" you believe yourself to be immune from the responsibility and respect you demand of other parents? Why is it okay for your dog to jump on me, but my kid can't jump on you? Why can you take your dog to the grocery store but I can't take my child to a fancy restaurant? Why must my children go unseen and unheard while your dog barks whenever and for however long it wants? Why is it okay for your dog to shit in my yard? Can I bring my child to your house to defecate because that would be super entertainment for me. What about scratching? Can my child scratch you and then fiddle around in your nether regions the way your dog does to me? More importantly, can I talk about your dog the way you feel free to talk about my child?

No? Well, isn't that odd?

The truth is, you can't have it both ways. You can't expect for me to acquiesce to your pithy ramblings about animal instincts and how your dog was mistreated by a human once when I call you on their bad behavior. Just as it might be normal and developmentally typical for my 3-year-old to throw a tantrum, you've made it perfectly clear it's not acceptable and isn't something you should be forced to endure. Why then are your dog's natural instincts to dominate and assert ownership over me and my personal space not likewise subjected to such strict conformity out of the same respect you demand? You are the one in charge are you not? And as such, you assume full responsibility much like our adult status makes us responsible for our children regardless of what's normal for them or how they've been treated previously. It's impossible to argue instincts and nature over responsibility and respect when you're busy force-feeding to others the same thing you refuse to practice.

The article continues along the same vein:

No one could possibly love your kids as much as you do, so stop inflicting them on others. Don't bring your kid to adult parties when you're not sure if it's kid-friendly. If they didn't invite your kid, they don't want your kid there. If you don't want to get a babysitter, stay home.

again, let's do some word-exchange:

No one could possibly love your dogs as much as you do, so stop inflicting them on others. Don't bring your dog to human gatherings when you're not sure if it's dog-friendly. If they didn't invite your dog, they don't want your dog
there. If you don't want to get a dogsitter, stay home.

Heh. You wouldn't believe the dirty looks I got for that one. And that's fine, they can hate me, what I say and why I say it but they can't deny it's true. Sure, it's easier for them to accuse me of being a dog-hater than it is for them to see the truth in my words. But honestly, it's my love for dogs that keeps me from having one. I know that I do not have the resources necessary to give a dog a proper home. And I'm not talking about money for perfumes, organic food, daycare or clothes. Dogs don't need that shit. What they need is an owner who treats them like a dog and not like a person. They need the safety of a pack and to know how they rank in it. They need discipline, safety and affection within an overall healthy environment. And I know I do not have the time or patience to spend ensuring a dog would lead it's optimum life while in my care.

Which brings me to my final quote exchange:

Finally, don't make your kid an extension of your own

the obvious dog-equivalent being:

Finally, don't make your dog an extension of your own

How much more narcissistic is it to take another species and force it to conform to your standards of behavior and way of life and deny it a healthy expression of it's heritage? Isn't our domestication of animals to the point of believing no difference actually exists a more fitting example of narcissism than even the most permissive of child-rearing? At least in the realm of parenting our selfish expectations and ignorant assumptions when aimed at total strangers is enveloped in the unfortunate blanket of shared genetics. So as far as "wrongs" go in this argument, I suppose bashing someone else for their parenting of a human makes the most sense at least. And in this feral feud, I could even side with the "Child-less By Choice So Keep Your Kids To Yourself" group as I believe personal space, privacy and responsibility are of the utmost importance. However, by projecting human qualities onto animals and dogs in particular, the mommy-bashers have lost their leverage with me.

I'm here comparing all of the negative finger-pointing, typically reserved for same-species cohabitation, to responsible dog-ownership because the proverbial doggie door was opened by my coworkers with the forwarding of this article. Well, that and I'm simply TIRED of choking on their choices much as they feel forced to choke on mine. I don't condone the extremes of either group here: the child-less or the child-full. But I'll be damned before I allow someone cradling their dog like a baby to talk down about my kids while she's freely representing what's become an all-too acceptable exchange within our society. The exchange of course being the value of an animal's life over that of a human. Because no, you don't have to like my kids. I won't force them onto you nor allow them to infringe upon your space. But you damn well better likewise keep your dog and attitude in check.

Because yeah, if you start talking generalized shit you should know that you're not the only person sick of all the blind, hypocritical prejudices.

Friday, July 13, 2007


Lilly Allen's "Alfie"....sing with me!

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Hey Dickhole!

(no, not you Karla....or any of your retched friends that I know of anyway... although, truth be told, I have no way of knowing where these creeps have been paroled I'll just say "not you Karla" since the dickhole in question had a small penis and you clearly do not....have any penis of course....not for another 18-months anyway)


This morning, I, along with a few thousand other decent, hardworking sane people, was trying to go about the unbearably tedious business of getting to my place of business when my eyesight as well as my personal space was visually and damn near physically assaulted by this steroidal abomination!

wha...the....wh...what is this? seriously.

It's refuckingdiculous! It's also entirely redundant seeing as not only our community but our entire STATE is about as supine and accessible as you know who. Minus a few potholes and other such inconsequential defects that arise from the general wear and tear characteristic of your typical suburban experience, the roads are fine asshole, just fine. It's hardly necessary for you and the other shitforbrains, Wrangler-whoring, dickless, brainless, spineless, mindless, narcissistic butt pirates I'm forced to share air with to invest in what is by any one's (namely my) standards, the equivalent of a jumbo penis extender just to get your sorry ass from point A to point B. Especially when the space between said points is so clean as to be routinely hoovered by some guy in a county vehicle which, ironically, is much smaller than that skyscraper you're driving around. Never mind the fact that his vehicle is responsible for sucking away a seemingly endless supply of gutter debris discarded by an entire municipality while yours just plain sucks. It sucks space, sucks money, sucks our collective cache of natural resources and most importantly, it sucks my patience.

If said sucking was even remotely enjoyable I wouldn't be complaining. But, you know, there's just something about the size of your rattletrap and the careless way you maneuver it in and out of traffic so vigorously that tells me I'm not the first dissatisfied female to cast a disapproving shadow on your "manly ways".

Maybe that's why it's so fuckin' big. Your truck that is. The bigger, the better. The better to drain the life and joy from this planet, from your fellow travelers, possibly from women in general but most importantly, from me.

And that's really what this is about: me.

Well, me and how much I hate you., how much I hate you AND my apparent inability to get whatever message it is you're trying to send. I know it must have something to do with your manliness or perhaps that you're not afraid of heights. Surely there's some method to your madness. I mean, for god's sake, even my 7-year-old thinks your monster truck is more than a tad bit silly. And this comes from a boy who considers picking his nose to be an inalienable right afforded him through the mere act of breathing. Basically.......dude, even my booger-eating crotchling knows that you're overcompensating....for..... something.

And it all comes back to one question: WHY? No matter how hard I try, there's simply no logical explanation why every time I stop at a light your giant schnoz eclipses the sun as it makes that beeline for my tailpipe. It's wearing me down man. really. I'm tired of looking into my rear view mirror and being able to tell the gender of every bug stuck in your grill because yeah....YOU'RE THAT CLOSE!

Exactly whyyyyyyyyy you feel the need to tickle the crack of my ass with your nose hairs at regular intervals is really what's keeping me up at night. Believe it or not I'm truly not writing this to gain some kind of understanding into your inner psyche. And that's not only because I believe it consists of little more than the 3 minutes of internet porn you rocked your world with last night along with such mind-bending questions as: "why does my belly button smell like my asshole?". No, I'm writing this to bring closure to myself and by default any number of other people just like me who find that the coins rattling in their ashtray aren't due to the kickin' bass emanating from their satellite radio. Most likely, it's because you have what I like to call the all-body-vibrator package installed on the exhaust system of your ego-stroke of a tin box you call a truck and you've just parked it on their rear bumper.

So whadya say? Can you ease up a bit off my ass? This isn't your bedroom and I'm not some underage girl on your messenger who's just as impressed with the fact that you don't, in fact, still live with your mother as she is with the fact that you can drive and maybe, like, take her to the mall later and like buy her a pack of Virginia Slims to like share with her Your personal statement is completely lost on me. I'm not impressed and I think you look embarrassing.

Kindly fuck off.

Monday, June 25, 2007

What to do, what to do

In light of Karla's instantaneous confession, I've found I no longer have any use for some of the surveillance, combat and rescue gear donated to us by concerned citizens within Karla's community. I know I'm not alone in my disappointment at this sudden and sad turn of events. It's not every day you get to witness a group of rookie cops straight out of the academy taking down a 30-month pregnant mother of seven* who just so happens to also be the world's leading manufacturer of crystal meth and Cooter Cozies.

Here I thought this would involve months of late-night stakeouts and at the very least a chance to see her on COPS. I've never seen them take down a person of her girth before. I'll admit, I feel cheated. No tapping phone or sewer lines, no strip-searching and probing her relatives as they come to bring food for the kid, and I was really looking forward to that. The Chief even told me I could keep whatever I found on or in whomever I searched! What's not to like about that? And now that's completely down the shitter!

So, in addition to being really bummed. I now have to find some other use for some of this equipment. Raise your hand if you find anything you need....

Don't go jumping all over this one Karla, just because you think they might provide you with a few extra minutes of sleep each night. I'll have you know, they're not made for just lounging around as one would assume based on their purpose. Not that I did or would mind you! But I've heard talk of such things. And I must say, who in their right mind sits around in a diaper for 12 straight hours watching reruns of Charmed and drinking sweet tea? Well, besides you Karla and that other crazy lady. Although, I'll admit, I admire her determination, she's no quitter that one. And I do like me some sweet tea. Regardless, unlike some people I know who get all knocked up and then decide to swear off mobility altogether, some folks actually use these things to get out there and interact with the world. Grant it they're the stinkier of the interactors, but they're trying. While you're what? Laying in state hoping the Schwan's van breaks down in front of your house so you can pounce on it's frozen delicacies? You know, on second thought perhaps you can have the three I had left. It'd do you good to get vertical again.

Also, we sort of broke the budget on this next item. I'd really like to keep it since you just never know who I'll piss off next. But it only gets like .007 miles to the gallon and I'm getting really tired of stopping to fill up at every corner. It comes equipped with a fully functioning live-fire, retractable gunnery system which can hold several types of standard tank ammunition in calibers 105mm and 120mm, through the substitution of easily available caliber .50 ammunition types. The trajectory of caliber .50 SLAP-T (Saboted Light Armor Penetrator-Tracer), M962 ammunition is an excellent match to 2,000m, sufficient to exercise the tank crew with the standard half-scale or full-scale targets. 1,500m capability can be achieved with the use of caliber .50 APIT, M20 ammunition. And lets you think I'm all business and no also has built-in dual DVD players in the head rests as well as an old-style Atari gaming system that includes Pong, Centipede, Ms. Pac-man, Frogger and Break-Out. Only serious inquiries need respond to this one as I'm more than happy to hang out in the thing in lieu of driving it just to get away from my family. So it's not like I have to get rid of it or anything. But if it could be put to better use elsewhere, then who am I to withhold?

Lastly I had about 300 of these shirts printed up. I was envisioning protest rallies, sit-ins and candlelight vigils organized for the sole purpose of saving those poor children. One might argue that the crisis is far from over and while I agree, I also must admit that my own kids might need clothes in the near future so perhaps peddling a few items at the expense of a couple of kids I never met wouldn't be that bad. It doesn't hurt that there are enough sick adults out there that would get a charge out of it too. If you think it's depraved then I apologize profusely and assure you that I in no way meant to either dehumanize a mother doing her best to care for her crotchlings nor profit on their collective plight. If, however, you like one of the items....send $20.00 cash (NO CHECKS YOU WORTHLESS BASTARDS!) to me in an unmarked envelope. The shirts are available in infant sizes as well as XXXL adult for the fatties. Don't' ask me why a fatty would want one, I just know my target audience.

Oh...and leave the money on the green bench outside the Baskin Robins on 33rd and Marshall.

*what, like you're keeping track?????

p.s. if the above picture if blurreee, yo'ure probably drUnk.

Ironically, not about Karla.

Ohmygod! I was just blindsided by my boss' boss. It's what I like to call a "drive-by thesaurusing" know where the person (who by the way NEVER talks to you to begin with) suddenly decides to tell you very important facts about a very important report that you NEVER (yeah, NEVER) deal with. And these facts of such importance? Well, they need to be told to your boss (who did I mention is out for two days?) verbatim. Your boss, of course, is responsible for these facts AND this report but suddenly.....suddenly it's all on you! Because the proverbial torch of accountability has been passed into your unwilling hands.

No, not passed exactly. More like forcibly hurled without regard for the target, the manner in which it was so nonchalantly flung nor the effects said tossing would have on it's recipient. It was basically vomited at me. And I took it full in the face. All wide-eyed and surprised..."did....did he just....he didn't. No he did! oh god stay focused!"

And that's how I feel right now. Thoroughly soaked in the slimy residue of our President's (not to be confused with The President's) fiscally inspired technicolored yawn.

No warning. No agenda or pie graphs or flow charts or even one goddamned slide show!

Just "Make sure the minutes include our discussions on blahblah interest rate sensitivity blahblah Examiner’s blah profitability blahblahblah net worth blah ratios blah rate scale blah peak spending blahsnoozeblah."

*crickets chirping*


who the.....


Okay, I can do this. But I'm going to need to shower the stench of his bastardized use of Managerial Accounting 101 off my frontal lobe. Then I'll google all of the above words that don't begin with "b" and come up with a nice little sentence or two that incorporates them all.

Or I will call in sick the rest of the week with an inoperable brain tumor; an excuse I've been saving up for just such an occasion.

I might be free to work in Karla's sweatshop afterall....and I'll likely know by week's end.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

I've been coerced

nay...threatened! to create a place where all 3 people who accidentally stumbled across my parenting blog might be able to congregate and discuss in lurid detail exactly who the father of Karla's baby is.

Okay, that might be a lie.

The "3 people" is really more like one. But since that one is Karla herself, I honestly don't know if she's planning on FINALLY confessing to what I've long known to be the truth about her current where people won't find her. Or if she's hoping to befriend me, as she's rumored to have done to others, after which she'll be able to use me for god only knows what deviant purpose. I'm quite naive see.


Anyway, I won't lie; she scares me. I mean, between the internet legends, the extensive series of psychological case studies, her lengthy criminal background and a series of heartbreaking videos recently leaked by one brave survivor (a man being held in protective custody) who only managed to escape her soulless clutches after gnawing through his own's become quite clear: she's absolutely bonkers! I can almost see her now...bed-ridden in that filthy hovel of a home, enraged and unable to prey on people as often as her many personalities demand. She's seething at the confinement imposed, ironically, by the only shred of her life that's allowed her to pass for normal all these years. Biding her time, she continues to coax me (and others!) into her deceptively sweet snare with her wily ways and pretty profile picture until one day, BAM! She changes from the docile, mildly retarded persona everyone loves to that of a depraved degenerate. Viciously demanding we supply her with trophies of toenail clippings and earwax candles while systematically wearing us down with her incessant phone calls and blog comments (No Karla, I don't want or need gently used storm windows from New Orleans and I already have several 5-gallon drums of cookie dough!). She's really sick ya'll!


But my horror I seem to have digressed...where was I?

Oh yeah, her purpose for wanting me here. Yes, more than simply satisfying any of her many, twisted addictions, I think her heart longs to confess. To tell the world (okay, just me) the truth: that her second (I know. My GAWD this isn't the first time!) crotchling is not the result of one night of unbridled passion with the man she calls husband as she's led so many to believe. That poor, sweet, unassuming man (bless his heart) still clings tightly to the possibility that he fathered the first one when it's well documented with the Border Patrol that he was, in fact, working 167 hour weeks at Karla's insistence, smuggling midgets from Columbia to work in their basement organizing her extensive, sickening collection of porn and used band-aids. The word on the street (the only place anyone seems to talk about her....coincidence? I think not!) suggests that this time she's having somewhat of a celebuspawn. Seriously! See my guess is, coming here is her way of lightening the already suffocating load from her conscience without anyone finding out. I'm a huge nobody see. So it's damn near perfect for her.

The guy, who as I mentioned is somewhat of a celebrity in addition to potentially being the man given an all access pass to Karla's no-no special place when it mattered most, may have actually played "Spartan #247" in the movie "300".

I managed to locate this picture of him. And I don't know about you, but he kinda looks like her first son as well. Tsk Tsk!