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!

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

My Little Doggie.

I love my little doggie. Anyone who knows me will tell you that. My little doggie is a two and a half year old chihuahua named Oscar, and I love him to pieces.

He loves me too, and I can't say that I blame him. He follows me everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. In fact, he is the only one who not only can stand it, but appears to enjoy hanging out with me in the bathroom while I take one of my nuclear dumps.

He sleeps with me every night, and he doesn't even care if I fart on him. And I mean my farting butthole directly on his body! Like, as in I sleep on my stomach with my right leg bent, and that brave little soul curls up directly against my taint. And whilst I am slumbering, if I happen to rip an earth-shatteringly loud fart reminiscent of a chainsaw starting, my little doggie just lifts his head, sniffs my still smoking butthole, and then goes back to sleep. Amazing, I know.

He doesn't really appear to care for anyone else but me either. I mean he tolerates my old man, and my mother, and there are a few others he doesn't mind. But he and I are true soul mates. He doesn't like it when anyone gets near me. He has even bitten a few people whom he felt threatened to take my attention away from him.

I know, I know. You're all saying, "I can't believe you let him bite people! The dog whisperer would have a field day with that rat!" But I don't care, I know I'm a dick. I can't help but be a little bit proud that my little tiny doggie is so protective of me. And besides, I don't let him bite people. Sometimes, he just happens to succeed in chomping on someone he doesn't like.

Frankly, I wish I had those kind of balls. There are several people who piss me off on a regular basis that deserve a good gnawing. I'm just not nearly cute enough to get away with it like he does. I wouldn't mind being able to get away with pooping on the carpet and licking my own junk either.

Monday, May 4, 2009


Is it just me, or is baseball the most boring sport of all time to watch on TV? There is nothing more painful than watching a boring ass baseball game where the announcers are talking about playing golf, the second most boring game ever invented. I am not kidding you. I think it would have been more entertaining to sit on my fork. . . naked.

I mean, come on. The pants they are wearing are too loose, you can't see their junk clearly, they all have huge butts. . . am I the only one who notices these things? They don't brush their hair or bathe and I have also heard that baseball players have a bad habit of dry-humping old people. Who dry-humps old people?! Baseball players, that's who!

I'll go to see a baseball game in real life because everyone likes to sit in the stands, eat peanuts, and puke up your seven dollar beer on the guy sitting in front of you. But on TV? Or even worse, on the radio? No thank you. I would rather shove a ten foot wiener into my ear (that's really a no-brainer). So I guess I'll get to the point here. . . anybody have any ten foot wieners laying around? Anyone?!

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Questions. . .

--Have you ever felt so stinking bloated that the button holding your pants closed has the potential to be a deadly weapon??

--Does anyone else on the planet think that Joan Rivers is a scabby old horse-faced hag?

--Don't you wish that all public restrooms had those awesome flushable buttwipes?

--Does anybody else secretly wonder if swine flu originated in humans because some little mexican dude drank too much tequila and boned a pig?

--Isn't it amazing that even though canned tuna smells like a dirty old coot hole that people still eat it?

--Am I the only person alive who would like to see to see Michael Jackson naked out of pure curiosity? I'm mean what's going on down there?

--Does anybody else thoroughly enjoy finding lint in their belly button?

--Have you ever farted in your sleep so loudly that you woke yourself up?

--What ever happened to jelly shoes? Are crocs the new age jelly shoes? Do you ever feel like killing people who are wearing crocs or jelly shoes?

Friday, May 1, 2009

I Hate the BMV!

So it turns out that my arch nemesis in the whole entire universe works at the BMV. Who would have thunk it? She's probably fifty-five years old, she looks like a librarian, and she is a total and completely unflinching asshole! I mean I have seen "lifers" on that show Lockup Raw that are more polite and more concerned with customer service than this old bitch!

I mean how frigging difficult is it to transfer my plates to a new car I bought? Or to change my name on my registration when I got married two years ago? Or how truly difficult was it to put my correct address on my driver's license? I mean, isn't that your job BMV Nazi? Isn't that what you deal with every stinking day of your miserable, hateful, worthless life? And how is it possible that without fail, every time I walk into that place, it is you that waits on me?!

I mean, should I just resign myself to driving the extra distance to go to another BMV just so I can avoid you? You know what?! No, I am not going to do that! I am going to go to the same BMV that I always go to! The one that is super close to my house. And the night before I know that I am going to make a trip to visit you, I am going to eat my fill of hard boiled eggs and drink beer until I pass out.

And when I walk through the door of that joint the following day, with my bowels poised to release the noxious gases they contain, I will stride directly up to you. I will offer my hand to you and you will think that I come in peace. What you won't realize is that the hand you are shaking spent the entire ride to the BMV scratching my bare butthole. And I will smile, and I will fart, and maybe I will even crap my pants right where I stand in front of you. I will touch everything that I can on your desk with my dirty butthole-smelling hands. And all the while, my soul will be smiling. . . and maybe even whistling a little.