Kraut Katastophe

Well wouldn't you know it. The fucking "air-tight" (HA! My ass!!) plastic container slipped out of my hands spilling juicy sauerkraut all over the carpeted floor. In desperation I got the dog and encouraged her mightily to consume it. This is why, when my kids followed the strange sounds coming from the laundry room, they found me standing over their dog hissing in my Darth Vader voice, "EAT the fucking kraut! EAT the fucking kraut!"

Suddenly she's, like, all particular about what she'll eat. THAT'S rich, considering this is the same animal who has consumed puke that didn't originate with her (I don't know why that seems MORE disgusting to me than eating her own yak but it does) eggs that were 3 days old with ants on them, her own fecal matter, poopie diapers from Mr. Nasty, etc.

She had a couple of bites and suddenly her ears retracted to the back of her head. She slowly looked up at me like she was really seeing me for the very first time and then ran away to play with my children. Thanks for NOTHING.

So. Honey was not intimidated by me. There are strings of kraut dangling all over the floor, the bottom of the fridge as well as the door to go to the garage. And it does indeed smell like something really bad happened in there. Of course, the smell will probably pale in comparison to Honey's farts when she processes what little bit of the kraut she actually ate.

Yep. Everybody's a winner today, folks.

If I were you I'd go to Humor-Blogs and read something funny. Hopefully it won't be something quite so odiferous. (That's right. I used a big word. Four syllables, folks.)

Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!

I have to make this quick as I am BUSY today. BUT. Did you hear about the woman in South Florida who was mauled by two cheetahs? I read that headline and thought to myself, "Holy shit! I'm going there in a couple of weeks! What? Are there cheetahs roaming the streets there now? Are they in the Everglades? How will I protect myself and kids from this danger???"

Then I opened the article and realized that this woman ENTERED THEIR CAGE. She went in to do a demonstration and the people at the "cat sanctuary" (?!) said that one of the cats was distracted by a bouncing ball outside of the cage and then pounced on her, biting and clawing her.

I know that I'm not a cheetah. But I have actually been distracted by a bouncing ball myself. And not once, after many of these occurrences, did I knock someone to the ground and scratch and bite their back. NOT ONCE! When asked for a reason as to why the cheetahs attacked the lady I think the sanctuary spokesman should have said, "Because it's a fucking cheetah!" I think they made that bouncing ball story up just so it wouldn't seems so bad.

Cheetahs aren't like humans who have a very distinct pecking order of mammals they will and will NOT eat.

Now that I'm thinking about it, I think that it would be more newsworthy if someone entered a cage with two male cheetahs and walked away unscathed. Cheetahs eat other animals. It's what they DO, who they ARE. It's like walking into oncoming traffic, getting hit by a car and then saying, "What the fuck did you do THAT for??!" And then you mumble "...asshole..." under your breath as you stumble away.


Hit me up on Humor-Blogs! It is SO like, you know!

Oohh...I LOVE a good streptease!

Well. I'll be a monkey's uncle. I took my three kids to the pediatrician this morning to find out...Hot Damn! They all have strep throat! What glorious, glorious news!! This explains why I've been feeling like I had mono...I just figured that my laziness was coming to a head. But, no, I'm pretty sure I have the funk, too.

So everyone stayed home from school today and it has sucked. The girls have been fighting, the baby has been leaving snail trails of snot everywhere he goes...you know, your basic suck fest.

So that's my first set of issues. My second is that someone in my 8 year olds class told her about sex. She came home on the bus a few weeks ago and was being all weird. Finally, in that warm maternal way of mine I said, "WHAT???!" She said that someone had told her something but she wasn't allowed to tell anyone else. Naturally I pinned her to the wall and tickled her until she spilled it. Here is how the conversation went:

Her: Well, she told me about sex.

Me: (I was thinking, FINALLY she's asking me something that I actually KNOW something about!) Oh. Sex. Well, a lot of times kids your age don't really know the deal and spread things around that aren't really true. Why don't you tell me what she said and then I'll tell you if it's true or not.

Her: Ok. That'd be great. She told me that the man puts his penis into the womans vagina!

Me: Ahem.

But I was thinking...WHAT THE FUCK?! Must. Not. Giggle. ::giggling commences::

Me: Sorry about that. I guess...I think I just...uhhm.... Yeah, I'm just a little caught off guard here. I'll pull it together. ::more giggling:: I promise to pull it together, Honey. OK. So what this kid told you is actually true.

Her: (Look of horror on the face.) THAT'S SO GROSS! UGHHHH!!! (buries face in the pillow crying)

I started thinking, oh shit. Here comes another giggle. Must. Suppress. Laughter. (snort escapes from nose)

Me: I know, Honey, that it's hard to understand...

Her: It's not hard to understand, MOM. It's just totally disgusting.

Me: (more stifling laughter)

Me: Listen, Sweetie. I know it seems gross to you but it is a very natural thing. It is, afterall, how babies are made. Dogs do it, cats do it...it's how mammals make their babies.

Her: Well I'm never gonna do it! Is there any other way for humans to make a baby?

Me: Well, a doctor can take the sperm from the man and put it with the egg of the woman. Then he puts it into the womans uterus where it hopefully grows into a baby. (I'm feeling pretty good at this point because I've almost gotten my giggles under control.)

Her: Oh. Huh. Well, is that how you made me?

Me: Blank stare...it's sinking in that she's just asked me if her dad has put his penis in me to create her...ahem. So I say, "Uhhhh...no, it's not."

Her: OH MY GOD THAT IS SO GROSS, SO GROSS, SO GROSS!!! OH MY GOD.... (more sobs into the pillow.)

So I try to comfort her and then she lays another one on me, "Well, there is actually more that she told me." I braced myself and asked what and she said, "Well, she said sometimes they 'do it' in the shower and sometimes, when they are both - you know - naked - the woman sits on the mans lap for an hour..." So I burst out with laughter. An hour! Ha! Ooops...and I'm once again reeling it in....

I know what you're thinking, and you're right. I TOTALLY shanked it. The highlight of my day was when my husband got home. She was angry at him (because now she knows where he puts his pee pee!) and refused to look him in the face. He looked at me inquisitively and I smiled an evil smile and said, "Welcome to the party, Pal!"



I learned everything I've ever wanted to know about sex and MORE at humor-blogs!

New Shampoo

Today I bought New Shampoo. I couldn't wait to come home and use it. (And yes, I know that I'm a total dork.) Anyway, I put the baby down for his nap and hopped in the shower. After wetting my hair I read the back of the shampoo bottle. DID YOU HEAR THAT?? I read the back of the bottle. I realized that I do this every time I buy a new brand of shampoo.

The instructions on my new bottle said, "Apply, lather, rinse." I have a feeling that whoever wrote that wanted to write, "Apply, lather, then rinse. You dumbass. WHAT? You were expecting a different instruction? Like maybe the way you use this product changes from time to time?! It is shampoo, you Tool. Wash your fucking head and then go put your helmet back on."

So. I have revealed myself to you as something less than a mental giant. Fine. But my hair is clean. And it smells really good. Plus? I don't really have to wear a helmet. I just made that up.

I totally have it going on....



Clean hair feed to humor-blogs.

My Warning to You...

My husband and I are, of our combined siblings, the first to have had kids. At first we were drunk with the power of it as people would drop everything and run to us if we asked. But then...it got a little lonely. After all, our kids don't have anyone to sit with at the kids table during family dinners. Which means that they sit at OUR table. I think you can see my point. So it is with DEEP happiness that I can announce that I have TWO sisters-in-law who are currently on the nest.

I started wondering if there was anything I should tell them that I wish I'd known when I first had mine. You know, the stuff nobody tells you but you wish you had been warned. Here comes your warning.

The Boy Problem

Baby boys can and DO get erections. I'm not sure how the experts recommend handling this but I always respond by laughing hysterically. I mean REALLY. My husband thinks I could give our son a complex by my reaction. But I say if this is the way he's planning on going through life then maybe he NEEDS a complex.

The Girl Problem

When a baby girl is born some of the mom's hormones are passed into her. Makes sense, right? What DOESN'T make sense is that sometimes the infant girl - when she's just a few days old - can GROW BREASTS AND HAVE A MENSTRUAL CYCLE. This happened to us with our first kid. We had just come home from the hospital and I was changing her diaper. I noticed that there was blood on it. Naturally, as this is my first kid and I don't know what the hell I'm doing I freaked out.

I began pulling off all of her clothes looking for the injury resulting in blood. That's when I noticed the hooters. (Cue the circus clown music.) I screamed downstairs for my husband and we began inspecting and apparently looking for a sign on her that said, "Aha! The problem is right HERE" with an arrow. Her boobs looked like someone had shoved two walnuts under her nipples. We began running around like the Keystone Cops looking for a manual to tell us why the fuck our tiny baby was fast-forwarding her way through puberty. Good times.

General Problems

For some reason, kids don't seem to notice that they need to vomit. Until it has already happened.

If you have stairs your kid(s) will, at one time or another, fall down them. Count on it. Also? In that situation it is completely not helpful to throw yourself down the stairs after them. But you'll want to.

Dogs will eat the contents of poopie diapers in under 7 seconds. And then they will try to lick the babies face in gratitude. Don't shoot the dog as it is probably standing too close to your baby.

Sometimes babies don't shit for a few days. Don't freak out as it will come when it gets GOOD and ready. Constipation advice for the new parent can seem alarming. Everything from "Give her some pear juice" to "Lube up your pinky and shove it in her butt" are thrown at you from well meaning relatives. Just keep feeding her and be ready with the baby wipes.

Lastly I would like to say that I love being a mother (baby boners and all). BUT. Sometimes...well, let's just say that I understand why not everyone signs up for duty. My mother-in-law gave me a sign that sums it up: "Having children is like being pecked to death by a duck." When my kids ask me what, exactly, that means and why is it hanging prominently in the kitchen I always say, "Well, it means pecked to death in a good way."

How about you guys? Any advice for the parent-to-be??

OH! I almost forgot! This is important: your baby will only be deeply and truly fascinating to you and the other person who helped you make it. Please do NOT bore your friends, coworkers, bosses and extended family (read: me) with the minutia of the baby's day, "Oh, Constance had a poopie diaper at 8 o'clock today! She normally doesn't go until closer to 10! Isn't that strange? And did I mention that she rolls over now? Yep! It's SO cool! She can roll over BOTH WAYS. The book says she isn't supposed to do that for another week. She's SO advanced...."

OK. I'm done. Back to your advice. Whadya got?

Feed to humor-blogs.

The Elusive Mr. Ears

When my daughter was almost 3 years old she walked into my bathroom and asked me where her Night Night was. Night Night, AKA Mr. Ears, is a stuffed rabbit with whom she sleeps. As the 'lady' (term used loosely) of the house I get asked constantly to locate things that do not belong to me. (Where are my keys? My shoes? My wallet? My stuffed rabbit?) And I'll admit that I find it deeply annoying. In fact, on the right day, it can take me from zero to sixty in about 4 seconds.

Staring down into her lovely blue eyes I said, "Honey. Night Night is your bunny. He's YOUR responsibility. You just had him in your hands and I am sure that he is wherever you've left him. Go and find him yourself." Watching her walk away I felt a sense of pride, knowing that I was instilling in her the importance of being responsible for her own things.

Moments later, she re-entered the bathroom - bunnyless. "Mommy! I can't find Night Night and I've looked EVERYWHERE!" Grrr. Through clenched teeth I replied, "Honey. This is your bunny and your responsibility! You are the one who lost him. Back track your steps and I'm sure you'll find him." She sluffed out of the room with her shoulders crowding her ears.

I sagely stared into the mirror thinking, "Christ. Could I just have 5 minutes to myself to dry my hair?! Is it really too much to ask???"

Less than one minute later she was staring at me from the doorway. "Mommy?" I stared right back at her with my best Don't Ask Me Your Stupid Question Again look on my face. She trumped me by very clearly and calmly asking, "Where is my fucking Night Night?!"

She now had my undivided attention. I turned off the hair dryer - convinced that it had distorted her question - and said, "...w-w-w-what did you say?". She looked me square in the eye, took her right hand with the fingers pulled together (classic Italian gesture used to emphasize a statement) and laid it on me, "I SAID...Where...Is...My...FUCKING...Night Night?!"

Well. Isn't THAT just wonderful.

So I realized - at this very moment - that I had some serious soul searching to do. I mulled it over quite a bit. I need to quit swearing. My two year old just dropped the F-Bomb. She's not even in school yet so I can't blame this on some kid on the bus.

I figured that I had a choice to make:

Option 1: Teach my kids that there are some words that I say that they may NOT say.

Option 2: Try to quit swearing, at least in front of the children. My kids would grow up thinking I had some kind of strange speech impediment, "Where are my f...... keys? Give me the god d....! Where in the h... is the car?!"

Option 1 it is. So I told her not to say fuck anymore and helped her find the god damned bunny. And, in case you were wondering, it was on her bed just SLIGHTLY under her pillow. Right where she left it.



Have you lost your fucking Humor-Blogs? Fear not, my young whipper snapper! Click here!!!

Childhood Fears

I was a nervous kind of kid growing up. There was a lady who lived across the street who didn't have a right arm from the elbow down. Nobody would give me a straight answer as to where the rest of her arm was RIGHT NOW and what the hell happened to it. Was she born that way? Got caught up in a major biker fight? An army of rabid flesh eating armadillos got her? WHAT?! To make matters worse she was the kind of woman who shellacked on the makeup. She looked like she couldn't stand next to a 60 watt light bulb without her face melting off. It was extremely creepy (bless her heart).

I used to take the fastest shits in town back then because I would worry that her hand would find it's way into MY toilet and goose me. Which would obviously be a very bad thing. I also would climb into bed and then meticulously pat down the sheets all around me in case her arm found it's way into my room and began commando crawling under my sheets to "get me". Fortunately we eventually moved away without me ever being attacked or goosed by the errant arm. But it still managed to scar me.

As if THAT wasn't ENOUGH for me to worry about, one of my biggest fears growing up was that my dad would pull his hanky (you know the one...he uses it every day but it only gets washed once a quarter whether it needs it or not) out of his pocket and try to wipe something off of my face. I'd start running in slow motion screaming, "NNNNOOOOOOOOO!!!"

But the worst was when Mom would pull a very used looking Kleenex out of her bag and lick it. With a long, super gross wet swipe of the tongue. You know, to get it REALLY moist to wipe off whatever offending morsels we had on our faces. She'd then start barking at us to approach her. My brother would lock eyes with me and I could tell we were thinking the same thing, "Fuck it, Dude. Let's make a break for it. You know she can't catch us if we split up and run..." But, crafty chick that she was, she would use her Jedi mind tricks and we'd sullenly go stand next to her, waiting to be hosed off with a snotty, spitty used tissue.

It's really no wonder why I am a weird adult.



Need something wiped off of YOUR face? Humor-Blogs will do it with a CLEAN tissue.

It's Bacon, Baby!

Never in my life have I uttered the phrase, "What the...oh, man...yuck...this has TOO much bacon on it!" I've never even thought it. Which leads me to conclude that there is NO SUCH THING as too much bacon. BLT's, salads, bacon and eggs...I've had it all. As a matter of fact - now that I'm thinking about - the only thought I've ever really had is, "You know...this could really use a little MORE bacon. I didn't quite get enough of it."

My husband makes a delicious salad that has an onion and bacon topping on it. We have to be careful when serving it to friends because some people will simply scrape off the top and put it on their plate, leaving naked lettuce for the rest of us. Very uncouth, I know. But like I said - it has bacon in it and they want MORE. Here is the recipe:

Don's Salad

1-2 heads Romaine lettuce, chopped
5 slices raw bacon, chopped into 1/4 inch wide strips
1 onion, chopped
Ranch dressing (Don't buy it ready made. Buy the little pack and put a cup each of milk and mayo. It makes a HUGE difference.)

Cook the bacon in a pan until it is mostly crispy. Throw in the onion and continue cooking until it is soft and transparent. Let the bacon mixture cool a little (so that it doesn't wilt the lettuce). Put your lettuce in a large bowl. Using a slotted spoon sprinkle the onion and bacon mixture on it. If you are feeling particularly cheeky you could crumble some blue cheese on top. Serve it with the Ranch dressing on the side. Prepare to watch your trusted friends and family selfishly scraping the top of your salad onto their plates.


You know who has NICE bacon?? Humor-Blogs, that's who.

Coming Soon, to a Court of Law Near You!

I'm thinking about suing my neighbors kid. And let me tell you why:

There is a lawyer who is suing the casino's in Atlantic City because she lost her house, her lucrative business and her parents home (?!) due to her gambling addiction. It seems that she began going to Atlantic City to "relax" after her hard work as a Big Deal lawyer and pretty soon she became compulsive about it. She began "liberating" funds from her clients escrow accounts to pay for her habit which led to her being disbarred for stealing and generally just being a piece of shit.

All said and done she lost about a MILLION dollars. She is suing the casino's for $20 million. The casino's treated her like royalty by picking her up in their limo and paying for her suites at the hotel, etc. And now she's suing THEM. Unbelievable.

But then it occurred to me...

I am going to SUE that damn GIRL SCOUT who lives on my block! If she hadn't come to my home with her little pig tails and her big, doe eyes I NEVER would have bought those frigging Tagalong cookies! They are cookies of the devil...it's like a vanilla cookie with a smear of peanut butter on it and then it's DIPPED in CHOCOLATE!

I am, after all, only human!

And to make matters worse they PURPOSEFULLY put them in trays with six cookies per row. So you could never just have 2 or 3 cookies. NO! You are COMPELLED to eat the whole row! And then you realize, "Well, shit. I've eaten one third of the box of cookies. But seven is such a lucky number...I may as well have one more cookie. And then that second row is compromised. The next thing you know, TWO thirds of the box are gone. Whoops! What the fuck am I going to tell my kids??? They know that I bought these! You start panicking...which leads you to stuff the remaining six nuggets of death down your gullet and to scurry outside to bury the box and wrappings in the bottom of your garbage can at the curb. Which is why, when the bus gets to your house, the first thing your kids see (plus 50 of their little friends from school) is you, climbing out of a large garbage can, pulling a banana peel out of your hair.

I am totally going to sue that little stinker for everything she has. I'm so glad that it isn't MY fault that jeans are now too tight and that the kids saw me dumpster diving. I was really beginning to worry. I guess I owe the Gambling Lawyer a debt of gratitude for clearing this up for me.

I find that, after pissing away my family fortune at a casino and then gorging myself on Girl Scout cookies, Humor-Blogs really cheers me up. Check it out!

She's a Maniac, Maniac on the Dance Floor!

There is something about me that you probably don't know. I don't really talk about it much because I don't want to be perceived as a braggart. But today that's gonna change. Because I don't have anything else worth talking about.

I, my friends, am the Ellis Island of Aerobics. Yes...thank you very much...it is true. Cloaked somewhere in my pheromones is a scent that apparently screams,

"Give me your uncoordinated, your unbalanced, your spastic movers. Hey, YOU! Yeah, you...the one with the big hump on her shoulders! Get on over here, girlfriend! And while I'm at it, I'll also take the stealth farters and the people with no concept of personal space (which very sadly seems to go hand-in-hand with bad personal hygiene habits)."

I don't have any empirical evidence to support this claim other than the fact that every time I go to aerobics I find an empty spot as far away as possible from others. As soon as the music starts people lunge in my general direction, anxious to crowd around me. And in addition to the aforementioned groupies for some strange reason I also seem to attract those who do not speak any English (the language the class is taught in).

So this is why the rest of the class is perfectly synchronized and I look like I'm in the middle of a Saturday Night Live skit. It makes getting a good work out difficult because all I can focus on is not getting my toes stepped on and breathing through my mouth (so as not to smell anybody). The irony is that they all probably blog about ME saying, "Yeah, there is a girl in my class who danced a spastic jig, frantically pulling up her feet all the time. What a dork! PLUS she's a MOUTH breather! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!"

OK...you've had your stay. Head on back to Humor-Blogs!

Atlanta: What Are We, In Freakin' Kansas??!

Some of you may know that I live in Atlanta. We had some really bad storms last night so I went to MSNBC.com to see what they were reporting. Here is the headline with a picture:

Gee...we were hit by a "possible" tornado. Let's review the facts:

1. The tornado siren went off about 5 minutes before the windows were blown out of this building.
2. There is a line of damage about a mile long.
3. Residents reported hearing a roaring noise right before their homes blew away.

So...it was either a tornado or ...a big sneeze? A cheerleader pillow fight, gone awry (don't you HATE it when that happens??)? We have skyscrapers that have damage from top to bottom. I'm going to take a risk and say Holy Wall of Clouds, Batman! A TORNADO HIT OUR TOWN!

That wasn't so hard now, was it?


Hopefully no houses landed on top of Diesel, Wicked Warlock of the West at Humor-Blogs. That would totally suck. For him.

The Imperfect Life of the Politicians Wife

There must be some sort of finishing school for politicians wives. They are like Stepford Wives on crack or something. In Adulation 101 they'd learn how to stare at their husbands with awe and interest when listening to his thirtieth speech of the day. They don't HAVE to stifle the yawn because they aren't bored. No! They are completely enchanted listening to him opine endlessly about his political crap.

The school would also have a course in "Looking the Part" where the wives would learn in-depth reasons for wearing multiple strands of pearls while in a gray skirted suit. Naturally they will also discuss the importance of having hair shellacked with spray so that it looks like a helmet.

One of the more important classes would be called, Smiling and Nodding: A Politicians Wifes Best Friend. The ultimate test of the programs' success is if the husband invites her to a press conference where she - holding his hand and looking on with sad yet understanding eyes listens to him tell the world how he fucked the maid, the whore, the intern, and/or the male Brazilian masseuse. They then walk off of the stage, again - holding hands.

Just once I'd love for one of these women to snap out of her trance and say, "You did WHAT???! You mothah FUCKAH...!" Then she could proceed to publicly kick his ass in front of the CNN camera. He'll be (the sniveling wuss that he is) sucking his thumb in the fetal position as she repeatedly kicks him screaming obscene references to his miniscule manhood.

These women must have some sort of secret support group to try to regain their self respect. They meet once a month in a damp basement and sit in a circle. Of course they wouldn't use their real names...

Woman # 1 "Hi. My name is Sue and my husband used to get hummers from his intern."

All, "Hi, Sue!"

Woman #2, "Pfft. You think THAT'S bad?! Hi, my name is Amy. My husband announced on internationally watched television that he had been pumping his male assistant for 4 years. And is if THAT wasn't bad enough the guy was hairier than a fucking gorilla."

All, "Hi, Amy!"

And so on. So, here is the latest "Stand By Your Man While He Admits to Putting the Stones To Someone Else" couple. I wish that I knew her so that I could invite her over for some Margarita's and politician bashing. She's pretty...kind of looks like Jennifer Anniston in a few years. What is she doing with him anyway???



And what the hell is with this guys face?! It looks like his throat is trying - somehow - to swallow his lips from the inside. He should just fly away with his big Dumbo ears and leave that poor woman alone.



Humor-Blogs. Not just for hookers anymore.

Pot! Hookers! A Boat!

Why is pot illegal? I don't enjoy it myself so this isn't really about ME but seriously...why? It's a plant that you grow and then smoke. It relaxes you, right? If booze and tobacco products are legal pot should be, too. I'm just saying. And while we're discussing legality issues, what about prostitution? Let me get this straight, it's legal to give it away but it's ILLEGAL to sell it?! That's stupid.

I've TOTALLY gotten off topic here. And I'm reeling it in.... I'm back!

OK. Remember her?



Her name is Dawn Wells and she was the actress who played Mary Ann on Gilligan's Island. They should have called her Mary Jane, though, as she was picked up for possession of some grass. Here is her mug shot:




She looks like she could totally go for a pizza and a plate of nachos. I have to say though that as far as mug shots go it's not half bad. I wonder if she was trying to look nice, imagining this shot on the front page of The Smoking Gun or if she was just fixating on how much longer it'd be until she could get the nachos.

They've just wrapped up her trial and she got 5 days in the pokey for having the pot! That sucks, man. I think a Three Hour Tour of the prison would have been MUCH more appropriate.

When I get the munchies I go to Humor-Blogs.com!

Protesting at Funerals: A Look at the Deranged and Demented

I normally like to write about funny things. (At least they are things that I find funny.) They are usually attempts to be funny in a ha-ha kind of way, although sometimes I will throw in something that's funny in a weird way, just to shake things up. But what I want to write about now isn't funny at all. It is shocking and horrific.

There was a girl from my home town who was murdered at Auburn University last week. Her name was Lauren Burk and she was 18. She went to our local high school and although I didn't know her many of my friends children did. She's being buried today. Her family is, naturally, heartbroken. It was a random, tragic and violent attack. That's really bad enough.

My husband drove by the funeral home yesterday and noticed that there was a small army of Harley Davidson riders holding American flags. They appeared to be guarding the memorial service. It turns out that they were asked to be there to protect the family because a group called the Westboro Baptist Church decided that they were going to PROTEST this little girls funeral. What, you might ask, were they protesting? Well, I was curious about that myself and I went onto their website to figure it out. Here is what I found (you may have to click on the jpeg to view it):

After reading this I literally felt sick. Then I wondered about the guys on the Harleys (why they were there, where were they from, etc.). So I looked them up. Apparently these WBC freaks protest regularly at the funerals of American Soldiers so the patriot guard goes and stands - holding American Flags - to keep out the unwanted, aforementioned loonies. I inferred (based on the WBC press release) that they have lashed out at Lauren's family because some of them are Jewish. Gee. I wonder what Hitler would say. I know that we live in a country that celebrates free speech. But I think, frankly, that this is TOO MUCH. Why this poor family had to deal with this kind of BS on their darkest days is really beyond me. It demonstrates an egregious lack of respect that is just revolting.

To my atheist/agnostic/non religious friends: Please keep the Burk family in your thoughts.

To my religious/spiritual friends: Please pray for this family.

To the members of the Westboro Baptist Church: My only hope for you is that you are incapable of breeding. Because the LAST thing the world needs is more people like YOU.

And to all: Please join me in honoring the Patriot Guard. Their website is www.PatriotGuard.org if you're interested in learning more about them. As for the WBC, I refuse to link them to my website. But if you want to read about some hate-filled assholes, just google it and I'm sure you'll have plenty to read.

Although he totally supports their mission I doubt that my husband will join the Patriot Guard. The reason is simple. The Patriot Guard keeps the peace using peaceful, nonviolent methods. That is so admirable but, unfortunately, my husband is a little too hot tempered. He would not be able to stop himself from physically removing any unwelcome and disruptive people from a funeral.

Ugh. Enough talk about the crazies.

Here is a picture of Lauren. She was smart and beautiful. My deepest sympathies go to her parents, family and legions of friends.




(I am linking this to humor-blogs even though it's not funny at all.)

Splish Splash, an Accidental Bath

Do you know what literally AND figuratively sucks? Public toilets with an automatic flusher, that's what. I wouldn't mind them a bit if they flushed ALWAYS at the right moment. But they don't. Sometimes you are just sitting there, doing your thing and WHOOSHHHH! Your naughty bits are caught in the cyclonic flurry of dirty water being pulled - with surprising force - down the tubes. The worst is when the toilet sprayer/bowl filler isn't positioned properly. You'll know you're sitting on one like that when suddenly cold toilet water is sprayed all over your undercarriage. That always feels so nice and refreshing, doesn't it?? It's moments like that when I like to have a nice industrial grade piece of sand paper with which to scrape the epidermal layer off. Because soap and water just won't get me clean enough after dirty public toilet water is sprayed on my ass.

Now I know why these auto sprayers exist. It's because people (not you and me, obviously, but other, piggier people) don't flush public toilets. For some twisted reason there is a subculture of people who will do The Deed and leave it for the rest of us to happen upon. WHY?! Are they particularly proud of their effort? Is it a practical joke? Are they so Busy and Important that they forget??

Regardless of the reason I don't see why I, a committed flusher, am subjected to these heinous toilets. I will decide when I am done and we're ready to flush.

Another problem I've heard about is people who don't wash their hands after "going". So what's next? A machine that decides for you that you MUST wash your hands at that second and then it - with NO warning - sprays soapy water on your hands? The second the stall door opens a small bucket dumps, with mediocre accuracy, where your hands are SUPPOSED to be? One out of every five toilet users would leave the room with a big splash on their shirt.

OH. And daylight savings time SUCKS. Whoever dreamed this little nugget up can kiss my left nut.

Hey humor-blogs...flush THIS.

Intersection Ignoramus

Today I went to the grocery store and was looking for a parking spot in the ginormous parking lot. There was an intersection that had a four way stop. Each point of entry even had its own stop sign. I approached at 2 MPH, stopped and then eased forward. So then this asshole to my left, who approached the intersection a few seconds after me, doesn't stop and just...GOES through it while shooting ME a look. I'm like, "Ummm...HELLO...?!"

I slammed on the brakes and she had to turn her wheel to go around my front bumper as I'm in the middle of the intersection. She's on her cell phone (OF COURSE) and she's staring at me like I'm the fucking idiot who almost caused the accident. She stops, too, in front of my car to stare at me, and then, shaking her head continues on.

So now I'm pissed off. She can't give me that look! She's the one...! I now have an impulse to follow her car. It's a strong impulse. But what am I gonna do? Beat her up? I have a two year old in the back seat. What I really wanted to do is make her walk with me to the intersection and review the FACTS of the incident:

Me: Hey there. We almost had an accident, eh?

Her: Well, you...

Me: (cutting her off) No, no, no. That was a RHETORICAL question. So listen. Do you see that LARGE red octagon?? Um-hmm...it's red, see it there? Out here, in civilized society, we call that a 'STOP sign'. Yeah. And when you SEE one of those you are supposed to...STOP. Contrary to your apparent belief it is not a 'Plow Through At Ramming Speed And Kill a Beautiful Young Mother and Her Adorable Yet Precocious Two Year Old Sign'.

Me: (again, not allowing her to speak) But hey. You fucked up. I get it. Nobody is perfect. What I would really like to talk to you about is the LOOK that you gave ME after you almost crushed the front end of my car. You may be unaware of this, HOWEVER, when you fuck up and almost hit someone else's car you are not ALLOWED to look at them like THEY are the idiot. No! You are supposed to shrug your shoulders, put a surprised look on your face and put your hand up in a stationary wave that says, "YIKES! I almost hit you there!! So...sorry about that!"

Her: Ehhhh...

Me: OK. I can see that I've confused you. I'm not surprised. Let's go through this again. I'll try to speak more slowly for you: You. Failed. To. Stop. At. The. Fucking. Stop. Sign! Do. It. Again. And. I'll. Kick. You. Until. You're. DEAD. Got it?? Super. Have a nice day now.

And then I'd walk away muttering about what a giant ass hat she is but feeling good, knowing that I've made this planet a better place then when I found it because I schooled this chick on the proper etiquette of almost causing an accident.


feed humor-blogs.com

Q and U, sitting in a tree...

My daughters got off of the bus yesterday and were excitedly discussing a wedding.

Thing 1 (8 year old), "...and then he said will you take 'you' to stand by her side forever and ever..."

Thing 2 (6 year old), "....oh, man! and then what happened??"

Thing 1, "...'que' said YES, I will! And then the guy was like, And You? Will you take Que to stand beside forever and ever??"

Thing 2, "Wow. So they're married, huh? Wow."

Finally I chime in and ask what the hell is going on. Both girls began frantically describing - in stereo - the video of the wedding they were shown in class. There was a minister... flowers... the works. So here is what I FINALLY discerned: someone at their school staged a wedding between the letters 'Q' and 'U' because they are always used together in words.

It took me around 10 minutes to finally figure it out. By the end of the conversation my girls are looking at me with expressions that imply, "Poor Mommy. She really has NO idea what the hell is going on. Jesus. Look at her. NOTHING."


feed to humor-blogs.com

Drying the Twins

OK. My husband told me that yesterday's post sucked so I need to put something else up. Therefore I've been looking for something funny. And I'm looking everywhere.

Here is a possibility....

After my Pilates class this morning I went to the restroom where there was a young woman and her hairdryer. She was completely dressed and her hair was dry and pulled back in a pigtail. She did not appear wet (currently, recently or otherwise). The dryer was on, inside her shirt and she appeared to be drying her breasts. It made me wonder what the hell she had going on in there.

So I went into the stall, peed and figured that by the time I came out she'd be working on something else. But no. She still had the dryer on and in her shirt. She was chatting with various people and seemed to be genuinely unaware that what she was doing was odd.

As you may have surmised, I myself have breasts (no applause necessary). But I find that whenever the need to dry them arises that a quick wipe or two with a towel and we're there. Presto!! The twins are dry! I ran out of things to pretend to do in the locker room so I had to leave (or face the accusation of being a pervert/stalker like this guy) but by my estimation she had been blow drying her hooters for at least 5 minutes. Hrumph. I wish I'd asked her. There is no pool at this gym so it's not even like she was drying a bathing suit.

Well, damnit. I just re-read the above and, as you've probably already noticed, it isn't horribly funny. Just weird. Oh well. Maybe tomorrow someone will slip on a banana peel or something. Until then...

feed to humor-blogs

Jumpin' Jelly Legs!

Aiieeeeee...!



She must have seen a spider or something.

feed: humor-blogs.com

Not my favorite Italian...

You know who bugs the hell out of me? Giada De Laurentiis. She's a "Celebrity Chef" on www.foodnetwork.com. She speaks perfect English with an American accent. But she's of Italian descent. Fine. Who gives a shit. But there are three things that really bug me about her. And without further ado...

1. Every shirt she wears is tight and low cut. OK. We get it. You have tits. Congratulations...
2. Her head seems abnormally large.
   
3. Although she speaks English in a normal manner, whenever she says a word of Italian origin she clenches her teeth and throws a heavy Italian accent on it. OK. We get it. You're Italian. Big fucking deal.
   

Am I jealous? Maybe. Resentful? You betcha. But the word, in English, is PASTA. It shouldn't sound like "bhpahssstah". I'm just saying....

She does have a nice rack though, I have to admit. I wonder how that little neck supports the big head with all of those teeth. She must get her strength from all of the bhpahssstah she's eating.

feed: humor-blogs.com

PS Before you go and get your knickers in a twist, you should know that I am part Italian. So don't hate on me!

Can I get some FRIES with that SHAKE???

In my early twenties I used to ride my bicycle to college. We lived in South Florida and school was only 7 miles away. It was good exercise, plus, the scenery was gorgeous. The only thing that made my ride uncomfortable was that I had to go past a construction site where a new hotel was going in. Every morning I would hear cat calls, jeers, whistles, and such as I scurried by. The soundtrack in my head was playing the same music that plays in the Wizard of Oz when that bitch takes Toto away from Dorothy. Da na na na na NA na. Anyhoo, I always ignored the construction workers unless they said/did something REALLY gross and then I'd shoot a withering look in their direction.

One day, out of nowhere, I rode by and NOTHING happened. I slowed down thinking, "Um, hello?! It's me...." They looked up and indifferently went back to work. I completed my journey to school with a perplexed expression on my face. "What the fuck?? I thought I looked pretty cute today. I'm even wearing a low cut T-shirt that usually drives them nuts! Maybe they don't like my shorts? Perhaps there is another bike rider who is cuter and they used up all of their comments on her?? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?"

The next morning I kept my head down as I rolled past them, embarrassed to no longer be worthy of their whistles. A few days went by and I had gotten used to not hearing them. I tried to gracefully accept my new role as the ugly stepsister but secretly I hatred it and wondered where I had gone wrong. And then, just as abruptly as it had gone, the whistles came back. My face lit up and I smiled broadly at the workers. Relieved, I made my way to school where I walked around with a spring in my step.

I can't help but wonder who the first cat-calling construction worker was. Apparently it caught on like gang busters. I also wonder if any woman has ever stopped, turned around and said, "Well Meow to you, too, big fella! Why don't we go get sweaty in that port-o-john of yours??" Years later their kids would ask how they met and their mother will say, "OH, it was SO romantic...I rode by Daddy's construction site and he started making this loud clucking noise...I turned to look at him and THEN he began flicking his tongue at me while wiggling his eyebrows in this suggestive way...I thought to myself 'Now THERE is the man for me...and the rest is history!'.

feed: humor-blogs.com