Ask a Crazy Person

The 'Pee Party,' Hooterville Style

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Sat, 12 Nov 2011 03:50:00 +0000

I read what is called a 'plog' (all these newfangledy words, who the hell can keep up with this crap?) on the website for Kansas City's 'Pitch' magazine. The post was an apparently recurring hilarious and demeaning-for-all-concerned adventure into the world of KC'S public bar restrooms.

Then it hit me. I live in a small town, not far from a big town like KC, and we have one of the most interesting bar bathroom scenes around! What a perfect topic for this crazy blog! Of course this begs the question, why has this never been covered before?? We can't be sure, but it is clearly high time!

One of our most bizarre(bazaar) examples of freaky is the curious case of the completely crazy millionaire who built a museum quality over-the-top bar and then purposefully ruined it and abandoned it. It had great restrooms, if you don't count that there was only one stall in the women's restroom which couldn't be viewed on the scurvy hidden cameras that fed straight up to the sawed-off old cooter's apartment right across the street.

Then, there was the famous little Bar B Que bar that used to grace our main drag with the beautiful smell of smoked meats; known for not only the highly talented cook, but also the never-empty table covered in cards, ashtrays, and the ramblings of ancient rednecks in overalls, three feet from the ladies' restroom which was lovingly painted goose puke purple by the owner, a six foot tall red-headed, fully armed ex naval nurse lady.

There were at one time several bars here, but the only remaining drinking establishments are the VFW hall, the Elk's Lodge, one piss poor excuse for a bar and grill that no one frequents, and the gem of a small town, 'Winter's Bone', cowherding, creepy-townie, drunken-fat-lesbian-ladies'-nite bar whose restroom graces the rest of this page.

I love the owner of this bar, who ten years ago resembled a fifth runner up in a fat Ron Jeremy contest, but now looks like one of those Mexican Mariachi dolls made out of shiny orange wood, with painted black hair and a moustache. His persona is legendary baby! If the city officials didn't sort of minutely do their job, I'm pretty sure the number on the sign out front would read 1-800-COCK. There are lights in the ceiling, stripper poles covered in Meth whores, one hundred televisions with every sport imagineable, and the seriously awesome bathrooms you see here.

First of all, considering the average weight of the patrons (either farm-fed or very very thin) only one kind is fitting in this bathroom!

Appparently, according to one of the thinner patrons, there are no locks on the doors so the secret rolling of joints is less easy to accomplish, although it didn't seem to stop the chick from doing it.

This place is awesome, I mean just check out the art. It's so avant-garde that some creature has clearly lived it's whole life there on the bottom right hand corner, died at least five years ago, dried up, and hangs from it's own guts and webs, just blowing in the wind.

The men, in athe obvious spirit of an under-the-radar gambling, gun wearing, skoal sucking, small town ego trip get Clint Eastwood.

Once you walk two steps into the ladies' side, you notice in horror the well used and tired toilet plunger that doesn't even give a crap about hiding anymore, next to the Early-American-Horrid brown sink from 19-0h-shit.

Then, if you have a choice, which if you're drinking in this bar is questionable, you must decide between the stall with the whole door, or the one with swinging saloon doors. It doesn't really matter, did I mention no locks?

But the piece-de-resistance is definitely the ingenious toilet paper holding system. Of course it's on a pole!! You can't steal a roll, hell you can hardly even tear the damn paper off because its behind you, four feet above your head.

Despite the alarming state of where you are required by necessity to expose your privates, not to be confused by the rest of the place where it happens in vomit inducing, voluntary frequency, there are great times to be had. There is always unique entertainment, such as the ever present lesbian plus size catfight slash rubdown sessions, the loud swaggering debates between drunken pool leaguers over who sucks what and when, and occasionally a band.

For me, I avoid this place alltogether, unless I am out in support of a pool leaguer. And have a babysitter, which is as rare as a dirty martini in this town. My bar of choice is nine miles out of town in a two hundred year old Methodist church......where the cook is somewhat famous for the old days, the patrons are old-timers, rednecks, and fat chicks, but the atmosphere is friendly, the decor is dark and homey, and the bathrooms are clean. And the best part is, the restrooms have chalkboards in them where I, and anyone else worth their salt, can express their infatuation with the cook.....and what self-respecting, morally questionable drunk wouldn't like getting liquored up in church?! My kinda place, just sayin'.

Why My Kid Won't Have A Facebook

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Wed, 11 May 2011 16:35:00 +0000

Okay, so I haven't done this blog in a long time. Not because I went and got sane, or anything, but I have a whole passel of kids and want to make damn sure I don't end up on a complete parenting fail blog somewhere. There's one thing that really has me going these days. It's when some underage kid is posting facebook pics that totally make them look like a whore.

I could use my own inner circle for this, but they know where I live. I am amazed at the serious tramp pics that people 'like' and really, how can you like a 12 year old dressed like a street hooker from Jakarta?

What is wrong with these people? They have all their info listed, they have their kid's school groups, their pictures with GPS stamps....I mean how easy is the internet for pedophiles?? Someone hacker savvy with a taste for baby could easily know where your kid is any given school day.

Plus, kids are visual learners. They see something, and they believe it. So when someone online says they are a fourteen year old girl, how are they (or you) to know they aren't a forty-eight year old skeevy perv somewhere in his underwear with a drink and a handful?

This is why I limit the internet around here like the warden of a tiny prison. There is a multitude of vastly useful information on the internet that can be utilized for educational purposes, and that is the beautiful thing about it. That and the way it somehow ties people together, with a nonphysical way to say what you feel, no matter the outcome.

However....it is also the worst of the worst, combining cunning intelligence with speed and accuracy....and if you are a predator, it is like having a superpower. I don't post pictures of my children. OR myself. I don't allow them to have accounts anywhere. Until the age of about sixteen or seventeen, depending on the child, they are not even capable of protecting themselves in any way. That's my job, and I take it very seriously.

So I went to facebook just to prove my point, and let's just note that I have no hacking experience, despite the lunatic ravings of some seriously addled shortbus from down undah. I just did a search for some common girl names, starting with A. Here's what I got. And mind you, I just right clicked and was able to get these photos with no effort at all. If you find yourself or your daughter on this blog it's because the picture makes you or her look like a whore.

Abby. Does she look old enough to have a 'come hither' look?

Brianna. A stereotype is born.

Just for fun, Chastity. From malaysia or some shit....I guess we know what the rule of thumb is for other countries.....if they're still sucking it, it's okay to use another orifice.

And, last but definitely not least, Dawn. Cute. Looks like a Kardashian, right?

Some of society would think that's a good thing. How about lets ask those Kardashian girls how many perverts over the years have tried to get to them? Obviously, if you are famous, you have security, and bodyguards, and like, money and shit. But these little girls are not famous, and I am sure no one will ever notice them on my obscure little blog. But facebook is another arena, now isn't it.....?

If they do notice, and you find yourself or someone you love on this page, consider telling them to at least privatize their facebook pictures. If it's you or your kid, and you aren't too embarrassed to admitting to being showcased on this blog, then by all means, contact me and I will happily remove it, and replace it with another unsuspecting little product of society. Along with my snide comments, I am sure.

More Complete Parenting Fail

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Tue, 07 Jul 2009 17:13:00 +0000

We'll start off today with lovely products that you can buy your child, that will fulfill his or her own unique needs. Say, for example, if you want them to grow up to be lesbian.

Or, for example, if you already know what they are and just want to buy products that help them with self-realization.

Possibly you need a store like this. Do you think it is a consignment store?

Here's a restaurant with the right idea. I always say, I should've eaten mine while their bones were still soft.

I like this motel. I think they should only give the children LSD after their parents have had their fill.

Another restaurant!!! Apparently, you can eat kids here without having to wear shoes.

This is a Safe Surrender Site. Until trash day.

Boy! That daycare is a real dump(ster)!

Maybe you just want to dismember your child and keep it in a safe place. Anything from Disneyland is safe, right?

Now this is a sport you would think little girls (or bitter divorced women) might enjoy better than little boys. But who am I to judge?

Wow. Sometimes these pictures are accidents....what was that I was saying about Disneyland?? "Look, Grandma! It's little Katie, right there holding Mickey Mouse's gigantic penis!"

At least somebody's learning to swallow.

"let's go to the playground, honey......Muahhhahahahaha!"

For tidy upkeep of the slide area....just send the children to China via secret obvious trapdoor.

This one is for little gay boys. Blow it up Sugar!
Your Uncle Gertrude will be so proud!

And one for the little Australian lesbian in your life.

Look! Southern Tattoos for Mardi Gras! But only for white people, wink, wink.

For children of S&M parents. Because any other child will use anything possible they can find as an instrument of torture.

It's so nice that six year olds now have computers to help them learn about sex education.

I have looked at this for a long time. I finally have it. The big fat whale lady singing and playing the piano got the boot, so they sent her on the subway to antarctica to live with the penguins.

To start today's library suggestions, we will have today's only WIN, but it is a loss, as it is no longer in print.

Every time my child has diarrhea, I am stuck to the house changing shitty pants hour after hour, but even so, possibly I will have time to drive twenty miles to a Barnes and Noble to explain the diarrhea. To my three year old.

Everyone needs a pet Dick.

Now, for transportation. At least if this rolls over, the children are so tightly packed in they probably won't move or suffer any injuries. Who needs seat belts in buses, anyway?

This is definitely the way to travel. But they forgot to close the trunk so they could see out the back window. I just don't think that is safe driving at all.

I know! Lets make tiny windows so the children can see where they've been, and appreciate the cattle truck for it's bomb shelter like safety.

I don't even know what to call this.....Lazy Nerd Parenting?

Oh yes! Dangle the small prey items over the tiger's enclosure!!!

Funny thing is, shopping carts have seats for small children to ride in.

I like this idea! I think my mean Grandma invented it. Her house was always spotless.....possibly she had Chinese mop babies hidden in the closet.

Here's a kid who will never get made fun of. Ever. Because the 'Force' is with him.

It must be take your six year old out drinking day.

It is possible to love your boy children too much. They should stop messing with your boobies before age ten and twelve. This mom will never approve of their girlfriends....especially if they have boobs.

Brittney Spears wrote this choreography, and Michael Jackson sold the tickets.

And finally, don't let your two year old keep you from internet porn. Or making it. You can tell by the unaffected look on the child's face that he is used to this....most kids ham it up for any camera. This one takes it all in stride. Possibly the next Ron Jeremy?

Well, folks, there will be more parenting fail as I find it......Y'all come back now, Y'hear?!

Complete Parenting Fail

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Sat, 04 Jul 2009 06:51:00 +0000

I have taken most of these pictures from failblog.org. It was such a funny site, with video fails, and so many parenting fails that I had to share them. If you find yourself actually pictured in this blog post, you need this pin so we will all know who to eliminate next.

First of all, I think this should be a must have item for all families with children in Arkansas.

This is obviously in a PetSmart. only dogs can lick their balls and play with them at the same time.

Some stores are very helpful when you have kids. And are blonde.

Again, with the helpful store. Wouldn't it be nice if all stores had the liquor right under the baby sign? Then, while you are listening to other people's children screaming and throwing a hissy fit in the store you could just have a drink and calm down.

The. Whole. Family. Can enjoy nicotine addiction! Even babies! Because after all, they need to be a little more on edge, especially around nap time.

I wonder if there is a tow lot for unattended children?

This must be a Jewish doctor's practice. Who else would think of having a summer vacation banner advertising bargain drive thru circumcision?

Of course, some stores just sell you the baby. Frozen. And apparently, in a burrito.

I don't think they thought this signage through completely.

This is the first puzzle they use in home preschool in cult families of survivalists.

No wonder my kid can't do math.....
I think this was actually her first number book....funny thing is, I never noticed the extra banana till now. I like to be observant.

This maze is for slackers who can't pass seventh grade for the fifth year in a row.

And yet another maze, this time for the children of conglomerate bank CEO's. There's no possible way to get out of it!

Ahhhh......the smell of fresh idiot on the road.

If you need some spelling lessons, they can be found at really professional flea markets anywhere.

If all else fails, and your kid is outsmarting you, then perhaps this book is for you.

Uhh....I had no idea that Michael Jackson moonlighted as a school crossing guard. Makes sense, though.

This must be European, because we don't let our dead slow children even cross the street.

This sounds like a great camp. I think it would've been safer to send the kids to Neverland.

This looks like it might be the playground on Riker's Island. Do you think they want to keep the kids in, or keep the pedophiles out?

Yet again. Barbed wire on a child's plaything.

Are we raising children in this era to get used to jail?

I think my grandma took me to this playground. When grandpa died. I don't know why, but there's just something about it that creeps me out.

On to party times!!! What kind of parent lets their twelve year old kid look at playboy? And then plans a birthday around it?

This is what Ron Jeremy always brings to kid's birthday parties.

I knew a girl like this once. I think a truck stop and a crew of rescue firemen came flying out of her YOU KNOW WHERE!

Okay, who is doing the painting for these children's rides? Dr. Ruth?

This one looks more like it was painted by the weird carny that keeps following small children around with that one boggely eye.

Way to bring the party home! Hats off to you, Mr. Can't take apart a swingset to make it fit better....

Now we're getting into the really bad parenting fails. This baby looks terrified. Is it related to Brittney Spears?

This guy has no taste, no shame, and two little girls who will grow up and marry just the kind of asshole that he is.

Because fuck strollers.

Okay. Put the baby in oncoming traffic and strap it down so it has zero chance to get away when someone begins to run it over.

And this right here? Complete lack of judgement. If that kid is going to support his family at the age of two by making cheap shoes, little hair ties made of used condoms, and slather lead based paint on all toys being exported from China to the US....this kid definitely needs better transportation. Like maybe a MOM to take the slave child to work.

Well, there will be more parenting fail as I find it, so enjoy!

Even More Bad Parenting

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 06:03:00 +0000

Some people are really bad parents. I know that I have seriously thought about this one myself, although I never had enough tape to actually keep a squirming, wriggling kid on a wall for more than thirty seconds.

This is a friend of mine. The baby is not his, but the parents did not want to lose it so they had their address and phone number tattooed on his arm. Have they never heard of those child safety programs that they hold at the local mall where they take a picture and give you an ID card? (No actual babies were harmed in the making of this blog.)

I have never met this woman. However, the way she manhandles this child is disgraceful. I'd like to see someone do that to her.....but it would take a crane and a union crew to get her off the ground.

Mmmmm, tasty, Mom!!!

Children are sponges. They will learn everything you do, but will rarely do what you say. Except if it includes building new bad habits.

I just used a playpen with mine, but eventually they learned to climb out. This would eliminate that problem, but if they are anywhere near as smart as my cockatoo, they will have to put a padlock on the latch.

Maybe this child wasn't bathed properly before he came to the wildlife attraction. Raccoons are cheaper than Mexican nannies, and you can't understand anything they say, either.

This is how I always felt about my dad, too.

That's one way to corral a rambunctious youngster. Before I observed there were something like county fairgrounds around them, I thought they might be at church, because he seems to be praying. Maybe he is getting ready for the ring toss.....he has made kind of a ring out of the kids arm and pants.

Whatever your parenting style, don't take advice from crazy people. We obviously don't have a clue what the hell we're doing. Also, Brittney Spears should ignore this blog alltogether.

And So It Ends

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 02:04:00 +0000

I used to care what other people thought. I don't anymore. I used to give a shit if someone was stalking me, now I realize that sick crazy people will keep on trying to pull you in, keep on trying to make you a part of their drama. Too bad a person with such a beautiful baby and obviously patient and forgiving wife can be so obstinately stupid. For me, it ends now. There will be no more reasoning, no more pleading to leave me alone. I just refuse to play into the game anymore. So, because of Crazy Stalker Guy, all comments on this blog must be left by registered users. no more 'Anonymous!' Yay! I feel so free. And if you ever show up on my doorstep again, I will shoot you myself.

Bad Hair Day?

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Wed, 18 Jul 2007 23:02:00 +0000

Sometimes, everyone has a bad hair day. it can be a cruel, cruel world when your hair is acting like your worst enemy. people stare. People take your pictures and put them on the internet so people like me can make them even more embarrassing.

This woman obviously just woke up. What lovely person took this picture and put it on the web? Did that same person later find themselves the recipient of divorce papers?

This guy here must have had not only a bad hair day, but a bad face day. And a bad photographer.

This is me.

Here are some famous people with bad hair. And bad luck. This particularly famous woman who I cannot remember who she is is clearly having a bad hair day. Maybe just a bad day period. Maybe she's haveing a bad day because of her period and wanted to tear her hair out then got tired. I don't know.

Valderama! What?! Is?! This?! I'm not sure if it is his hair or something attacking him in the middle of a game.

These two here could do way better. Apparently, when you are famous, drunk, and in custody, they will not let you call your make up person for the photo shoot and fingerprinting adventure. They both look so happy. And I don't believe it has anything to do with their hair.

Even dogs have bad hair days. This one is pretending to be Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction.

I would be seriosuly chicken to go in public with that hair.

Kittens don't like water. That could explain why this one seems so happy with whoever has the camera.....and the squirt bottle and the maniacal sense of humor.

Some people do weird things like this to fix their bad hair.

And some people just wrap Christmas lights around their head to hide the bad hair. It is apparently foot operated, and should definitely be presented to Donald

Trump.

Anyone else out there having a bad hair day?

Can You Have Too Much of One Thing?

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 05:47:00 +0000

I was recently asked this question by someone who we will not name. Mainly because I do not remember who it was. But, anyway, can you have too much of one thing? Clearly, the answer is 'yes'. For instance, this backyard looks like some goombah juvenile delinquent is getting ready for a shipment to Japan.

Obviously this man has had TOO MUCH. His ass won't be so happy when he wakes up.

And lucky for that last guy, his party wasn't at this dorm.

And then of course, we have the answer to 'who ever went up to a cow and said, "I'll drink whatever comes out of there!?"

It's that girl.

And that's way too much. Obviously this plastic cow isn't going to be full of milk, and this woman is clearly in it for the sake of the picture. But just why would you want a picture of yourself sucking cow titty? Even the calf looks confused.....like....'that bitch is eating my plastick frickin supper!'

Oh well. The answer to the question is YES, you can have too much of one thing.

Spray Bottle Parenting

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Wed, 27 Jun 2007 03:16:00 +0000

Quite by accident I discovered an entirely new parenting method. You see, as I have become less physically functional, and my reaction time is a lot slower, my children have found that it takes me a lot longer to get up and so they smart off a lot. Or make faces. Or directly disobey. So, in the process of training the kitten not to get up on the tables, I began using a spray bottle much like this one you see here.

Now you would think, by the way my children react when squirted, that there was some kind of boiling hot lava in the bottle.....but it's just plain old water. And it reaches a smart ass comment much faster and at a greater distance than say, me getting up and smacking the snot out of them. All I have to do now is pick up the squirt bottle and everyone stops doing whatever it was they weren't supposed to be doing.

Of course, this is what everone looked like for the first week, but now, they are way more used to it. And I once again have the MotherPower......

Children are Scary

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Mon, 18 Jun 2007 16:15:00 +0000

So, I have scary children. When I asked myself 'why are my children so scary?' I didn't answer myself, so I went on an internet search for scary children. When I got done, I felt a whole lot better about my own kids....

So then I bought them this book, because everyone loves clowns, right?

Some say my parenting methods are questionable. But everyone knows that if you grow just enough children to feed the other children, then you're okay.

Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes you don't

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Sat, 16 Jun 2007 08:45:00 +0000

This is what I feel like today. I love this picture...it brings all the aspects of the four corners into immediate view, in a serene connectedness. what a shame, she died so young, of cancer. (the artist, Susan Seddon Boulet.) but this incredible art that she left behind will always awe and inspire. what a gift.

Insomnia

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Fri, 15 Jun 2007 07:06:00 +0000

Have you ever felt like this?

Like if you just lay quietly, all the shit floating around in your head will go away?

It doesn't. I've tried lots of things. Basically pure exhaustion must win out eventually. Yet of course it must happen on a night when I have company coming tomorrow........

See, I used to live in a house much like this.

Now, I live in a house much like this. So I am no longer embarrassed to have people over for dinner. I am making a nice Father's day meal of pork tenderloin, cabbage and baby potatoes. Of course King Elk of the Elks won't be there, but my stepdad will. Not my real dad.....let's just say he's somewhere far from my children's social security cards.

Eventually, this is where I want to live. Yes, I realize it's a painting...and not even one of my own. But, there it is. Where I want to be.

And here is where I am......

Elvis Has Left The Building

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Thu, 14 Jun 2007 08:31:00 +0000

Yes, folks, that's right. My family and I have moved.

After careful consideration and some excellent packing, we set off for our new home.

Granted, it is only five blocks away from the shithole we lived in previously, and it is a MUCH better house, moving still took like three whole months and I am still living out of boxes.

We rented a truck, but it did not have such useful advice. It did have a sign promising a much smoother move with u-haul, but I think we would have gotten a better deal if we would have used Jaun-Haul, where they don't speak english but they just move it all for you and they don't gripe in any understandeable language.

It used to be I could load every piece of furniture I owned on 24 foot truck by myself. Then, the last two years hit and I am tragically unable to continue my German Hausfrau technique of living. Basically for a control freak such as myself, being told, 'don't lift that,' or 'put that down', is bad enough. But add to it that I KNOW I cannot do it because of my physical disabilities....and so do the people that know and love me.....and yet....it came time to move and the ONLY person that did not ditch me was King Elk of the Elks and his brother, whom he then later in the evening inducted as an Elk himself. So I was able to get out of constantly being told not to overwork myself by constantly overworking myself and THEN fetching beer.

All in all, I feel like if I ever have to move again, I will just shoot myself in the head and refuse to deal with it. But, as you can see, I am back. And fairly unscathed. Almost not dead. And, not one fucking question while I was gone, not one. tsk, tsk. Soon I will have to begin talking to myself again. What's that? Of course I will get you a beer, self.

Odd Things Around the House

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Mon, 23 Apr 2007 03:04:00 +0000

I am getting ready to move, and I started looking for some new household things. Here are some of the more bizarre yet strangely appealing things that I found.

I like this guy. Cooking and Therapy combined.....and maybe a little VooDoo......

I must have Mr. Suicide the bathplug. Apparently he floats on the top of the water like some of Tony Soprano's unluckier and big mouthed cohorts.

Keep your teeth sharp by flossing via pirhana.

I was thinking of an Easter Island theme....who knew?

For the little piggy you forgot.....the one hanging from your nostril.....

And who wouldn't love this one of a kind dog ass tissue dispenser?

Your dog, that's who.....here's what he must do after you've had a bad cold.

After The Air Drop

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Fri, 20 Apr 2007 21:29:00 +0000

As you can see, the first humanitarian aid cannibal food drop was a complete success.

Notice the good humor and full bellies on the natives.....

For the most part, everything went well. A few of the food packages (like this one) were somewhat obstinate and disagreeable about their fate, but once sedated were happy to get into the 'hot tub' for a little relaxing soak with several large root vegetables and some salt.

Later on in the evening, we were alerted via carrier pigeon that all food packages that were not immediately fed to the ravenous and starving villagers were later smoked, cured and put into a cold storage cave near the settlement. Their gratitude was astounding, and as a gesture of thankfulness they included a very tasty recipe that works just as good on carrier pigeon as it does on asshole. All in all, I'd say it was an adventure worth repeating. Know anyone who needs a seat on the plane?

A Humanitarian Aid Petition

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Thu, 22 Mar 2007 23:58:00 +0000

Do you see these people? They are starving. they are very thin, ribs showing, clearly malnutritioned. Ignore the head on a stick for just a moment. They are clearly hungry.

However, as they are cannibals, many humanitarian aid programs will not consider air drops to their location.

Now see these people? They are an example of what everyone has in their life at one time or another... jerks. They are assholes, they are abusive, they don't pay their child support, and a whole host of other general wrongs against their families and society in general.

I propose we start a website in which you can buy a seat on this 5oo passenger jet for your asshole. They will not need any luggage. Basically, they will be sedated then trussed, smeared with butter, a few choice fresh herbs stuffed into armpits and other crevices. The buyer may choose which fruit they would like stuffed up the passenger's ass, and in their mouth.

In the cargo bays, there will be plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables, rice, grains, wheat and corn.

Each passenger will be equipped with a self opening parachute, and all will be dropped over areas of severe poverty and starvation in cannibalistic tribal territories.

The price of the ticket will have to be high, because we will need to sell all seats, charter the airbus, and hire our own pilots. Preferrably pilots with a passenger onboard. Anyway, what do you guys think? I think Al Gore, Hilary Clinton, and Laura Bush might just sign on. And maybe Larry Birkhead.

Something is Fishy

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 11:03:00 +0000

You know? I think this is what happened to my brain cells. At one time I had some, then some guy in waders came up and just freaking stole them. Or they fell out of my ear. Or they jumped...it's so hard to tell. All I know is, when I found out that the guy was wearing waders and not stylish overalls, I felt just about like this poor large marine mammal and his treasured bucket. Look at the face. Utter shock and disbelief. like Parris when they said, "You have to drive an RV." or Nicole when they said, "You have to ride with Parris". Or my brother when the stick turned blue. Or me when the stick turned blue for like the thirtieth time, and I had only had sex one time that year. Now, granted, it was only March, but if you figure that actually, I had had no sex since the previous spring, I call that a year. Or f@#*ing frustrating, eihter way. This also reminds me of the look my brother had on his face that time he peed on the electric fence, right before he shot nine feet across the church parking lot. Absolute sheer surprise and horror. It was probably the funniest thing I ever saw in my whole life. Except the look on my mother's face when she realized that my brother had dropped trou in the church parking lot and was now sitting with a roadburned ass, smoking penis and hair standing on end bawling like a little baby. I remember going back in and digging all the change out of my purse and leaving it in the offering plate.....because only God could construct something that funny. (I had never seen George Carlin yet)((Or George W)). Oh well. All's well that ends well. Obviously one sperm got away unsinged....at least for now. And luckily found one of the better girls my brother has been with. At least this one does not have a steel plate in her head from a head injury with a car battery which she got from her ex-husband whom she shot and killed. I think all around, this is damn lucky. And, by the way....my mom had this same look on her face when she realized that my brother had procreated.......

A Drunken Shotgun Wedding

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Sat, 17 Mar 2007 23:50:00 +0000

This sign here says it all. Maybe I could talk the King Elk of the Elks into marriage if it were put just this way on the invitations. Of course, since I am going to be departed from my plumbing soon, there will be no shotgun wedding for me. I mean, unless I just get a shotgun, point it at the nearest drunk Elk and either he'll put a ring on my finger or I can put his head on the wall. When is Elk season? I want to make sure I have a permit. I figure, as marriage goes, I could either take it or leave it. I don't really even want to get married anyway. I just want him to want to get married so I can waffle around about it and leave him wiggling on the hook for a change. I'd like to know how to be that one lucky bitch that all the guys want but treat with respect. I'm more like the bitch that does laundry and gives blow jobs (or would but they are apparently unwanted at this time) and puts up with constant absence and relatively no affection and certainly no sex. And no talking. And no help except a little financial help which would probably be less than child support were it ordered. ????? And you know what my Jerry Springerish answer to all that is? I do love him. I think he loves me and is just stupid and emotionally unavailable. And addicted to the Elks Lodge. But I like the new van that the doors open and shut with a remote. It doesn't kill my shoulders and wrists. He's not physically mean, and he is sweet to the girls and is sweet to the baby in the minute amount of time that he is here. So for now he gets to stay. I guess. At least until Elk season.

Hee Hee......

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Fri, 16 Mar 2007 21:28:00 +0000

Okay. So here is an interesting way to take care of this problem.....too bad he's like every other man and won't finish the job. When I was pregnant, this chore of removing the garden became quite a gamble. Because I am obviously some cross between the contortionist and the bearded lady at the circus, not only am I abnormally hairy but also abnormally klutzy. Add a few(haha) pounds and a big round stomach, and I didn't even see that garden for months. I'm sure it was like a blind man's tomato patch.....but I tried anyway, for the sake of the gynecologist. And he probably didn't even care. My friend was also pregnant at the same time but is one of those tall perfect people that just grow a basketball under their clothes and are back in their size one jeans the next week. I, personally, 16 months later, am almost back down to my full blown pregnancy weight! Yay! Anyway, she one time said to me, "I just use a mirror." That had never even occurred to me. So I tried it. Considering that I am also almost blind, very topheavy and have no depth perception, the mirror made me nearly fall down in the shower. I just went back to feeling my way through it and trying not to amputate anything important. I was glad of that when there were fourteen people suddenly observing my v-jay jay during the birth of my son. Obviously, they didn't know the work I had gone to, because everything was shaved....but trust me....it takes a really long time to shave 70% of a cow.

This tattoo here makes me wonder if this woman has a bird and eggs tattooed in her armpits. Or something worse.

This Will Never Happen To ME Again

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Thu, 15 Mar 2007 03:41:00 +0000

This is what happened to me. A lot. This is how I became the founder of the Society for Immoral Repeat Breeders. In fact, one of them is screaming in my ear right now. One won't stay in bed even under threat of death, or even worse. One is sound asleep, but before that felt every single thing that happened second to second was tragic, mean, unfair, dramatically horrible, and worthy of constant nonstop tears and whining. One is smarter than me and lives five hundred miles away from this crap most of the year. And, as much as I love them, lets face it folks...I'm an old bitch. Old. The date on my egg carton is like, salmonella-scary past due. So, for the good of society, I am getting spayed. I tried to convince my boyfriend to get neutered, but he felt that this would somehow limit his options and pecking order at the Bar of the King Of Elks. I saw this picture, and realized that my problem stemmed from the fact that I don't usually want to be on the receiving end of oral sex. If I had just let the man eat....who knows? It could have been breakfast instead of diapers, snot, homework, delinquency and college. All in all, though, it makes me sad that I will never get to have another baby. There is just something about the smell of Baby Magic and amniotic fluid for those first few days.....and then, just every little thing they do being so cute. Until it involves some sort of bodily fluid being propelled out of an unlikely orifice at some ungodly hour. Ahhh, babies. A hysterectomy is the only answer. I worry if one of those eggs got 'spooned' it just may be too old to grow right. I feel this is the best thing for all those leftover eggs. I mean, I am an artist, and Easter is just around the corner....I could paint them and hide them around the neighborhood and let my other children try to find them, kind of like some white trash version of Angelina Jolie. "Go find yer little unfortunate brothers and sisters guys!" This just seems like too much work, though. So, spayed it is. Luckily I get to go to the hospital in like a real city, not our local band-aid station. I truthfully would rather go to the vet than there. This town used to have more bars than people, and more teeth than crime. And the teeth were sparse. The hospital was good then, but I like to be knocked out for these things, and not with vodka and a shot of drano. And, although Raylene can still quilt stitch pretty well through those violent meth tremors, I'd still prefer a real surgeon. Actually, being from this town, most of the spoons we see are not bent in this cute and peculiar way. They're more burned, and crispy. And eggs never sit long enough for four spoons to get that close.

Following Instructions

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Tue, 13 Mar 2007 22:46:00 +0000

This is so polite. The car is totally destroyed, but the sign is still intact. I sound like this when I say something like: 'Thank you so much, child, for bringing my full glass of Dr Pepper across the room and leaving a trail so you could find your way back!' Or like the little guy behind the counter at the 7-11....politest guy in the world. would you like some beef jerky with that please? Please would you like a slushie? Whoever was in this car was probably WAY too rude and drunk to listen to such an incredibly sensitive and polite sign. What was he thinking? The Village is apparently a nice place. Of course, and argument could be made that during the last elections it lost it's idiot, but still, it probably has a few cute antique malls and a small resident population of gays. I'm thinking this tricked out car was just passing through, then the driver passed out, or whatever....and the little jail of 'the village' got a whole new inmate of different stripes.

The Failure to See the Big Picture

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Mon, 12 Mar 2007 22:39:00 +0000

Don't you hate it when you finally catch that big fish and your stupid old dad is trying to get his face in the picture? I mean, obviously, the most important thing here is definitely that no one should eat that fish. It has been swimming in the sewer water! What is wrong with people? You know how they say that during a natural disaster in the South, that they will find the biggest idiot they can for a picture or an interview? Well, here you go. This proves it. of course, Dubya fans may say this photo was doctored, but even if it was, it's still apparent that he can't do anything as well as his father. He'll never measure up. It's like George Sr. is saying...I hired that coonass to put that fish on his hook so he could look like a big man, just like I always have.....

Pretty Obvious What God Thinks

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Sat, 10 Mar 2007 16:55:00 +0000

Well, if this isn't God giving the finger, I don't know what is. I'm just glad it isn't pointing at me for a change, whilst booming laughter rolls from the heavens. I'm glad I didn't take this picture. I mean, I'm pretty sure already that I am on the shit list of the God Who Hates Sinners, and I would feel seriously f#%&ed if this formation appeared in front of me.

The Famed Hershey Highway

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Fri, 09 Mar 2007 03:45:00 +0000

I sincerely hope that these people were using the Anal Lube as a foolproof way of preventing breeding. I know that I am not an overly attractive woman. Nor am I overly small. So I speak from a position of at least some empathy for this unsuspecting woman. However, even this poor(obviously, look at the surroundings) terribly desperate person should not have to take it in the ass like a champ from the likes of this weird looking pervert guy. Is he reading the directions on how to use the Anal Lube? He obviously has a thing for butts, look at the one in his hand - he is smoking the filter. I seriously think that she is embarrassed to be with him. She has a look on her face that says, 'Somehow, I know this picture will be circulated around cyberspace and I will pay for hanging out and letting this guy put it in my ass.' At least he lubed her. That's more than some of us get. Ever had a custody case in court? Then you know what I mean. Ever bought a car from a 'We-Finance-Anybody' outfit? And paid the 'Bring-Your-own-Anal-Lube' interest rate? Yep. You get the picture. These two better get working on Anal Lube that doesn't melt in fire and brimstone, because I am pretty sure they are not on the Favorite list of the God Who Hates Sinners. Wait. Is there a commandment on taking it in the ass? 'Thou shalt not Fornicate with the Ass of thy neighbor?' That could have meant a donkey, though... you know how things get screwed up in interpretation.

Yep. I knew it.

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle) — Thu, 08 Mar 2007 21:25:00 +0000

If I had only known about this earlier. It could have sprayed it on the majority of the women in the town I live in, or at least the food service professionals, and kept at least one boyfriend from marking his territory on those bitches. Hell, I think I will get some and spray it on my daughters when they get older. At $3.15 a bottle, it's cheaper than a pair of locking pants that keep unwanted boyfriends out. Anyway, Unwanted Boyfriends Beware! Your bitch may not be your bitch anymore.