Sunday, August 9, 2009

Vagina Pockets. . . Are They REALLY Necessary?

Giney pockets. This has been the hot topic of conversation/speculation between my friend Moose and I recently. Girls, you will all know what I'm referring to here. I'm talking about the women's underwear that usually comes in a package that has that one special feature that all lady's underwear should include. . . a giney pocket. You know the part I'm talking about. The part where they don't sew the crotch padding to the actual underwear in the front, leaving a strange and incredibly useful vagina pocket. I own several pairs of underbritches such as these, so I have decided to dedicate this post to all the items that I may or may not decide to store there.

So the next time you see me digging around in my crotchal region, it's not just the crabs. . . I may be retrieving my. . .

1. Cellphone. What better place to keep my cellphone than nestled safely next to my vagina. I mean it is a Blackberry Storm after all!

2. Roll of quarters. For those times when I am parched and require change for the pop machine, or maybe it's a gumball that I desire. BAMO! Roll of quarters within reach!

3. Driver's license. Who needs to carry a purse to the bar ever again!! Just throw your ID into your vagina pocket (along with that cute pink lipstick, I mean there's plenty of room for both!) and get ready to paint the town.

4. Sunglasses. I mean sure, when I sit down they will probably shatter under the girth of my vagina, but they fit in there so snugly!

5. Keys. I will never lock my keys in my car ever again. Oh no, not me! Not when I have my spare set shoved into my vagina pocket!

6. Chia pet. I don't even own a chia pet. But I'm gonna run out and buy one specifically for my giney pocket. The sheep is the one I want!

7. Wii controller. How badass will I appear when I hump my way to slaughtering my opponents at Wii bowling?

8. Garage door opener. What a great party trick! How is she making the garage door open and shut like that?! It's amazing! Thank you vagina pocket!

9. The Yellow Pages. For those days when I just can't quite see over the steering wheel and I need the four extra inches of vagina height. . . giney pocket saves the day.

10. Fear. Really, there is no better place to store your fear than in your vagina pocket.

11. And finally, my flashlight. People will exclaim, "Is that you God, I can see the light!" Nope, that is just my vagina, illuminating the world.

As you can see, this is one of the most revolutionary inventions in all of humankind. So I challenge you, dear readers. . . What will you shove into your vagina pockets? Hhhhhmmmmm?

Thursday, July 30, 2009

July in Ohio. . .

July in Ohio is more unpredictable than Gary Busey at an awards show ceremony. (Ps. I freaking love that guy and his brain damage. . . and his 20 rows of teeth!) This July has been cold and rainy, and quite frankly, rather depressing. Like, what is this place Forks Washington?! Ok, I just showed how much of a juvenile dork I am, making that Twilight reference. Well, all I can say for sure is that this sucky schizophrenic weather would be far more tolerable if my husband was an extremely hot (he already is pretty hot, by the way) vampire who was trying to win my affections over a lovable, if not irritable werewolf! Was that too much?

Anyhoo, all this rain and cold has made me feel a bit lethargic. And we all know that I naturally have a penchant for laziness. I guess that it is just the luck of the Irish that I have even gotten out of bed this entire month! Well I take that back because the first part of the month I spent at Lake Cumberland soaking my liver in jagermeister, working on my skin cancer, and trying not to drown. But the last few weeks, the only activity that I could muster was blinking and breathing in and out.

It is safe to say that I am officially sick of this weather. I am hoping that August brings scorching temperatures and lots of sun or else I am considering mailing a box filled with my poop (and maybe a booger or two) to the weather channel.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

R.I.P. Michael Edwina Rhianna Frito-Lay Faygo Pop Jackson

I bet you didn't know that was his full, god-given name, did you? Well, it was folks. And now MERF-LFPJ is gone forever. Like everyone else on the planet, I grew up with him/her. As a small child, I gleefully grabbed my junk and developed an unhealthy love for all things monkey. I caught my jerry curl on fire, and I dreamed about dry-humping Macaulay Culkin. I truly loved all of his songs and I still do today.

I've been watching all of the coverage on television, and listening to all the speculation about his cause of death. What?! Really?! I could answer that for you right now!! As a matter of fact, that is not even what we should be speculating about because it is so obvious. Clearly he overdosed on his birth control medication, which is becoming a leading cause of death in legendary pop stars. And while sad, that is not what we should be focusing on at a time like this.

The real question that we should be asking ourselves people, is what was really going on down there. . . you know, in his britches. . . like, what did his junk look like?. . . if he even had any at all. So, I'm sure that you won't be surprised to know that I have several theories of my own about what MERF-LFPJ had going on down south.

What if. . . his junk was the only part of him that they were unable to bleach, resulting in his wiener looking like a slightly curved chocolate covered banana, nestled gently atop two Cadbury eggs?

What if. . . his wiener had a big tattoo of Donald Duck on the shaft and his ballsack was tattooed to look like a big pile of gum balls?

What if. . . he had his wiener extended, thinned out, and dyed bright red to look like a glorious red licorice super rope, and had the hair removed from his balls so that they looked like two delicious hard boiled eggs?

What if. . . he had his wiener and balls molded into a life-sized model of Arnold from Diff'rent Strokes?

What if. . . he had his dude junk transformed into lady parts reminiscent of a gordita supreme with extra sour cream from Taco Bell?

What if. . . the junk he was born with was grossly disfigured, looking like a battered bowling pin from Poelking lanes, sitting precariously above two ten pound gold sparkly bowling balls?

What if. . . he had his wiener removed completely, leaving behind his enourmous ballsack, which can only be described as a large white pillow case filled with two juicy cantaloupes?

And finally, what if. . . he has no junk at all and instead looks like a naked Ken doll. . . except skinnier. . . and pale. . . and sort of like a girl. . . and really fucking weird! Like so weird that it is like nothing you've ever seen before, EVER!! So crazy and strange is his junk, that you can't even wrap your feeble human brains around it.

So, I will pray until the moment that I croak that someone is smart enough to snap a picture of that bizzaro junk so that I may lay my bewildered eyes upon that sweet gift from God. Until then, I can only dream of gazing upon the magic that MERF-LFPJ flashed to fifteen percent of all the small boys in California.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Is Anyone Still Out There?

So as you all well know, I took a brief hiatus from this here little blog. Why, you ask, did I leave you all hanging that way? Why did I stand you up like that hot guy/gal who works in accounting and stares at your junk every day on their way to the fax machine? Why haven't I returned any of your incessant phone calls and refuse to comment on your whiny facebook page posts? Why did I ditch you to hang out with my aunt who only has one arm and send you a text saying only, "you suck"? Well maybe it's because you have a gross amount of earwax oozing out of your hair-filled earholes, and your breath smells like a fart. . . Or far more likely, is that none of the above happened at all, and in fact the reason is as simple as I am one laaaaazzzzy bi-atch. And ps......I don't even have an aunt with one arm (but if I did her name would be Helga and she would wear one of those hooks because she lost her arm in the war. And she would use her hook to hold her virginia slim 120 cigarettes, on which the filters would be caked with bright red lipstick that she frequently scrawls haphazardly across her wide, fish-like lips. Too much? What?! So I have a really vivid imagination! What do you expect, I'm an only child!!)

Anyhizzle, here I am back again. I'm sure you are all wondering what I have been filling my time with during my time away from this endearing blog. Maybe I went deep sea fishing with a crusty old seadog captain, who I ended up having to kill and feed to the sharks after he honked my boob one too many times. . . Or maybe I dropped in on my old college buddy's archaeological dig in Bangcok(man I love the name of that town!), only to contract amoebic dysentery and spend my entire trip in Thailand sitting on the shitter. . . Or still maybe I caught a Yankee's game during a sight-seeing trip to New York, only to have A-Rod flash me some wien from the outfield, starting a cat fight between me and Kate Hudson. . . Or far more probable, maybe I have been stuck at my incredibly boring job for an unbelievably great amount of time, left gazing out of the the third story window at the murky, turd-filled river below, thinking that if I could only pry that window open, I would certainly hurl myself out of it into said river and deposit another turd into its waters.

Wow, I need to catch my breath after that one! I bet you guys have surely missed my insane ramblings tremendously! I mean really, how could you not?

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Daddy Sang Bass. . .

What kind of kid would I be if I didn't dedicate a post on Mother's Day to my dear old mother? She's been dreading this moment, as she is a frequent reader of my stupid blog. But you can't run and you can't hide, Mamma, today I am blogging about you!

So what can I say about my mamma. . . Well, she's a good sport, and she's got a good sense of humor, which are musts when you have a kid as weird as me. She's an avid reader and she likes to cook. She likes gardening and is a big fan of birdhouses. She also smells strongly of depends and ballsacks. I am totally kidding about that last part, by the way. I tell her crazy stuff like that because it makes her laugh, although I don't know how funny she will find it that I put it on my blog.

And now that I'm thinking about it, what's a Mother's Day post without a funny story about my mamma? Well it would be no post at all, I tell you! So without further adieu, here is a funny story about my mother (don't kill me mamma, you know it was funny).

Several years ago, my mamma accompanied us on a seven day cruise that we took to the carribbean. We went with a big group of friends and it was a total blast. As anyone who has been on a cruise knows, the worst days on a cruise are the first day and the last day. The reason behind that is that embarking and disembarking blows. It is nothing but a whole day filled with hurry up and wait.

On our last day, we were going through the million mile long line to disembark. My mother was there with us and we were helping her with her bags. Well it just so happens that Mamma was not in the best of spirits that morning. She was cranky and complaining and being a general pain in the balls.

It was then that my incredibly witty husband turned to her and said, "Kind of cocky this morning, aren't we?" It was all down hill from there because I found that absolutely H-I-L-A-R-I-O-U-S. I started laughing uncontrollably and decided to dub her "Mamma-cock." Then everyone in line started laughing and we decided that Mamma-cock should have a badge with a giant cock on it. We started saying, "Badge em Mamma-cock! Show them your badge and get us to the front of the line!"

By this time, even Mamma-cock found it funny. Kelly and I started singing that old Johnny Cash song, Daddy sang bass, except with a few small changes.
He would sing, "Daddy sang bass."
And I would sing, "Mamma sang cock."
And together we would sing, "And me and little junior joined in!"
It really was a catchy tune. Needless to say, that put everyone in a better mood, including Mamma-cock.

Anyhoo, the moral of that ridiculous story is that my mamma can roll with the punches. She's not afraid to laugh at herself and certainly not afraid to laugh at me. We do a lot of different stuff together, and we always have a great time. She just recently retired after forty years at her job, so we have a lot more time to hit the town.

So here's to you Mamma. I would have loved to have spent the day with you, but unfortunately I had to work. Instead, I'll make you a big yummy dinner on tuesday like we planned. (See this post wasn't that bad, right Mamma-cock?)

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Ok, Someone Might Have to Hit Me Over the Head.

This post might not make much sense because my thoughts are very disjointed, and scattered crazily about my enormous brain. I guess that is sort of always the case, but today it is even worse than usual. I seem to periodically go through bouts of insomnia, but lately it has been worse than ever. Over the last two days, I have only slept a total of two hours, as best I can tell. And strangely enough, I'm not even tired. I just feel really weird, and almost kinda drunk. . . sort of.

I don't really know what to do, other than go get a prescription for ambien, but I hate taking pills. But I truly can't seem to go to sleep. I just lay awake in my bed tossing and turning a million times and then playing with my little doggie until I know that my old man is about to strangle me, and then I have to just get up. I seriously spent pretty close to 800,592 hours on facebook during the night. I bet you didn't know there were that many hours in the night, but there are. And I spent them productively by playing mafia wars and a myriad of other stupid games on facebook. What?! Don't judge me, there was literally nothing else on the planet to do. There was nothing on TV, no movies I haven't seen, nothing to eat. . . the only other thing was cleaning, and there was no way I was doing that.

Even my little doggie at one point looked up at me and said, "Lay down and go to sleep you crazy bitch!" But I didn't listen. Or to be more accurate, I just couldn't. I would like to sleep. I miss sleeping. A lot of times I have really vivid fun dreams that are weirder than crap (I'm sure you can only imagine how weird they are, what with how strange I am during waking hours). But. it. is. not. happening.

Oh yeah and the other part I forgot to tell you because my brain is misfiring, is that we no longer have a family doctor. He just up and sent us a letter a couple of days ago saying that he was leaving his super successful private practice to go treat military personnel on the base. I told my old man that I thought that he had probably been boozing it up and they fired him. . . from his private practice. . . My old man just shook his head and tried to pretend that he wasn't married to an idiot. What do you want from me, I'm sleep deprived!! So now I have to go through the total pain in the butthole of trying to find a new family doctor.

I think instead of going through all that bullcrap, I'm just going have Kelly hit me over the head and knock me out. . . maybe with a really big weiner. Wait, that didn't sound right. Maybe I'll just stick to the ambien.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Corn in Your Poop for Sure.

As some of you may know, I rather enjoy cooking. I also have a husband and many friends who rather enjoy eating. Match made in heaven, I know. And whilst it might seem unsettling to eat something that I have prepared, what with my penchant for pooping and wiener handling, I swear I always wash my paws after said activities.

I do quite a bit of cooking at my house, mostly for my old man. And unfortunately his palate is not very sophisticated. That's not a dis on him, he likes what he likes. It just greatly limits what I can cook for him that he will actually eat, which can get kind of boring. He is the typical "meat and potatoes"-eating red blooded male. Seriously folks, the list of vegetables this man will eat is very short. So, I spend a lot of time thinking up new and exciting ways to fix canned corn!!

I thought I would share one of the recipes that I came up with recently because it turned out pretty well. I call it:

Corn in Your Poop for Sure (serves 2)


1 can of white and yellow whole kernel sweet corn
2 slices of bacon
1/2 cup chopped sweet onion
1/2 cup chopped apple (any variety of apple will do and you can leave the skin on or peel it.)
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon chili powder
salt and pepper to taste

Cook your bacon until crisp and remove from skillet. In the bacon drippings, saute the onion and the apple on medium to medium-high heat until the onion is translucent (approximately six minutes). Open the can of corn and drain off all of the liquid. Add the entire can of corn to the apple and onion mixture. Crumble the crispy bacon and add it to the corn. Stir in the cumin and chili powder and allow to cook for approximately five to six minutes until heated through. Salt and pepper to taste.

I know the apple sounds like a weird addition, but it compliments the sweetness of the corn well. And if my old man will eat it, that is really saying something. Plus, you'll have a toilet bowl full of corn studded turds to look forward to!