The Camel Toe (and other crimes against nature)

There are few things in this world that I just completely loathe. Snakes are at the top of the list. As is the piece of gristle I always seem to find when eating hotdogs and hamburgers (what the fuck is that thing anyway?! A knuckle?? A nipple?? A ::gulp:: toe nail or something??! WAIT. Don't tell me. I can't handle the truth.).

But just as offensive as the above has to be the dreaded camel toe. For my mother (and any other readers who don't know about this phenomenon) I will explain. Here is what the toe of a camel looks like:



A camel toe is found on women who have their pants crammed impossibly up their hoohah's and there is a visible crack. You can clearly see the outline of their junk. You may even, dependent on a good light source, be able to screen for genital warts and other physical abnormalities. (Note: my husband said that this was too gross to print. But I did it anyway. I've always been an ass when it comes to that kind of stuff. I really have no idea why he married me. Except for the very fact that I rock. Back to the camels...)

Pretty much the only time it's ok to have a camel toe is if you look like this:

If you look like this, you will be forgiven but everyone will still laugh about it behind your back.

Of course if you're a woman of a "certain age" and choose to wear a subcutaneous skin-tight cat suit some might deem it less of a "Camel Toe" and more of a "Cougar Track". You be the judge.


This...there is NO excuse for (bless her heart).



If your hoohah looks like the ass of an average sized man...it might be time to lay off the twinkies. (I'm just sayin'....)

If you believe in working towards a Camel Toe Free Society, click here! And if you don't believe in my society then you really need to begin researching some kind of a 12 step program for why you are so fucked up. There might be other people out there like you and you should go and find them.


A Camel Free Link to Humor-Blogs is RIGHT HERE! It's just that easy, folks!

And the winner is...

I know you've probably had trouble focusing on all of your other very important work while waiting to hear WTF this is:

I was planning on having a poll to determine the winner but the fact is one of you knew exactly WTF this thing is. Color me surprised! Besides, figuring out how to use the poll creator software would have taken me forever. So, without further ado, let's give a big hand to Alice of Honey Pie Blog fame! If you have a second go check out her blog...she's a funny lady!

OH! I almost forgot - the winning answer. Smarty pants Alice knew that this is a Bush Baby and it was probably saying, "If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill...as God is my witness, I'll never blink again."

All I know is that this fucker is haunting my dreams.

Kudos, Home Girl!!! Way to know your rodent-esque mammals!


Feed to humor-blogs

OK, kids, one more day to enter my inaugural contest which is tentatively called, WTF is that???!

Click here to enter:

Let's close it by end of day Tuesday, shall we? Good luck!


Feed to humor-blogs.

WTF is THAT?!

I have a challenge for you. It's a little game I like to call WTF is that?!

So take a look and then let me know WTF you think it is and WTF you think it is saying/thinking. Because I really want to know. I also want to know if it bites or if it just stares at you with its hypnotic yellow stare until your brains squeeze out of your ears.



The winner of this contest (yes, it's officially become a contest since I wrote the last paragraph) will get (more of) my undying adulation. Not to mention NOTORIETY, which is pretty super awesome. And did I mention the adulation??


Humor-blogs! Don't go to the light! We need you..........you....complete...us....



PS Mom - if you are reading this WTF=what the fuck. Just thought you should know that to appreciate the essence of this particular blog post. It is, after all, important stuff we're working on here.

PPS Here is a little something that may, or may not, be related to the creature above:




I've said it once and I'll say it again - WTF is that?!

Hoping for a Housekeeper

I don't have a housekeeper which is unfortunate as I suck at cleaning stuff. And this is why I live vicariously through my friends and neighbors housekeeping experiences. And as soon as someone comes to my blog and spends millions on my Amazon.com link then I'll be able to afford somebody. Ooops. Does that make me sound bitter??? Cuz I'm not. Just click on my humor-blogs link to nowhere and I'll be happy.

Anyway, on to today's topic. There is one lady who cleans for the majority of the neighborhood. She's from Brazil and doesn't speak any English.

The funny thing is that she doesn't speak any Spanish, either. She speaks Portuguese, which is what most people from her country speak. But some folks in my hood just seems to ignore that fact and continue to speak to her in either broken high school Spanish or in slow English that is this loud.

It must kind of suck to be so misunderstood. It's bad enough that scraping your husbands errant urine off of the toilet is in her job description. Of course she always has the option of learning a little bit of English so that she can say,

"Listen, Lady. I have two things to tell you: ONE - I speak PORTUGUESE. Which is NOT Spanish. Which means that when you use pigeon Spanish on me like "como es usted?" I think that that you are sort of stupid and obviously don't give a shit that in my country one would say "como e voce" if they wanted to know how you are today. Also? When you don't speak a language it is not at all helpful to have someone shrieking it at you. I'm not DEAF.

And here is my second issue - tell your pig of a husband that he needs to have his prostate checked as it just isn't possible that a healthy one would be so incapable of actually shooting the urine INTO the toilet. COMPRENDE???"

Still...I'd love to have a housekeeper. Yo quiero...




Here is that helpful little humor-blogs link in case you missed it above.

Et tu, Cesar?

Cesar. If you are listening, I would like to offer my most humble apologies. I did not intend to moon you. After all, I barely know you. And I gave up mooning virtual strangers months ago.

Why did I do it???! I have no idea. Here is what happened: Cesar is a handsome Latino who speaks little English. He came by yesterday to look at our basement so that he could prepare an estimate to finish it.

This afternoon I had to go tee tee and was therefore - as I do sometimes - sitting on the toilet. My cell phone began ringing in the kitchen and as my husband has been sick I did a quickie wipe and then ran out of the bathroom to retrieve to phone to ensure that the husband hadn't passed out or something. My pants were somewhere between my knee's and ankles.

It wasn't the hubs. It was Cesar. Who was at my house. Outside my front door. In eye shot of the potty from which I fled, pantsless. It's nice to meet you, too. Thank you for hand delivering your proposal and for calling me to announce your arrival instead of ringing the doorbell. I couldn't understand a word you said but it was probably just some stammering about how you didn't want to wake up my baby in case he was napping. That's fine. I'm just glad that I didn't turn you to stone or anything. Cuz that could totally happen. Go home and rest your eyes. You'll be fine.



I'm going to put a link to humor-blogs.com even though my stuff doesn't seem to be going through. I guess they are still having issues. Did you know that whenever you click on the humor-blogs link that my blog gets a vote? So click for me and my moon, please!!

The Day in Review

Things that suck about today:

Husband has influenza. And, according to him, nobody has ever been sicker.
Dog is still bleeding from her tutu. Having a dog in heat is HIGHLY overrated.
Both daughters cannot find their sneakers. Seriously - what are the odds??
Son is still two years old (and therefore having tantrums in every public forum we forage into).
Hubs and I are both on a diet. He's lost 14 pounds. Me? 6. (that mother fucker)



Things that don't suck about today:

I don't have influenza. Yet.
My kids aren't sick. Yet.
It is a beautiful day in Atlanta.
Humor-Blogs.com is back up! Woo Hoo!

There you have it, folks. The Monday afternoon, pre-cocktail update. Cheers!

Go with the flow...

I have some very interesting news. It's kind of gross. And if you are married to me you don't want to know the following information. So kindly go click elsewhere (but remember that we're having steak and martini's tonight - so don't forget to come home!).

Guess who got her very first period???

Can you guess? You know it isn't me.... But I have two daughters, right? Could it be one of them??? Nope...it's THE FUCKING DOG.

She's not a baby anymore....

What a cruel, cruel joke. I have three little kids and I saw little spatters of blood throughout my house. I began freaking out and looking for cut off fingers in the corners of the house and under the sofa to no avail. Further, I couldn't find the bleeder and nobody was crying. Then Honey (or, as she'll be known from now on - THE FUCKING DOG, or TFD for short) walks by me leaving little plops of blood in her wake. Fan-fucking-tastic.

So the girls start freaking out and I explained to them what it means and that we'll need to get TFD fixed ASAP as she came from a litter of NINE puppies and that would push hubby over the edge of sanity. Thing One started crying because we're "denying TFD the chance to be a mommy". I say I'm ENABLING the chance that she will continue to live with us here at the house. Besides, at this point I feel like I'm helping her out. I'm gonna stick my neck out and take a guess that having nine offspring isn't all that it's cracked up to be.

I began wondering about how long her cycle would last so I spent a little bit of time on Google which is where I saw this:

At first I thought that they were some crotchless fetish panties from Victoria's Secret or something. But then I saw that these are "Satin Dog Panties". All you do is put a panty liner in them and you're little girl is ready to go! They are $20 a piece! Sorry, but I REFUSE to buy TFD underwear that costs more than MINE did.

Here is the other thing. I've just started my period, too. You know how they say that women who spend time together often times menstruate together? Well I'm now wondering if that isn't true for all mammals, rather than just humans as I had previously thought. So does this mean that all of the female squirrels living in my yard are currently pissed off at their mates, craving chocolate and have stomach cramps?? Hmmm....



Hopefully it's NOT true for those who blog together. If so, it's gonna be kind of bitchy at humor-blogs for a few days....

Other People's Kids

I've never been a huge fan of other peoples kids (OPK). I guess I'm just an ass that way. Other women talk about their biological clock going off whenever there is an infant around. I must be a mutant as I am most definitely missing THAT gene. (Thankfully.) So when you've just had a baby and you want ME to hold the baby and I say "No, thanks" I'm not just being polite. I really don't want to hold the baby. I'll do it if you need to go cop a squat on the can or something, but I'm not dying to hold your kid. Nothing personal.

Today I took Thing Three to check out a preschool in my area. He's two now and I think it's about time he learn how to search and destroy in someone else's shit for a while. We were on The Tour when I noticed two little girls sitting primly on their little carpets. I didn't like them already. They had hair bows like this:

I had the urge to tap them on shoulder and say, "Hey. Nellie Olson called from Little House on the Prairie. She wants her ribbons back." I mean REALLY. If the ribbon is big enough to propel a helicopter then it is too big for your kids hair. Period. There should be some kind of equation for this kind of stuff for the people who don't know any better. It'd look like this:

If bow = > 0.5(head circumference), then bow = TOO FUCKING BIG

And Another Thing...

The other thing that pissed me off is they had a sign up that someone in the class had a peanut allergy therefore nobody could have anything with peanuts in it for lunch. When the hell did this crazy logic start??? If your kid is deathly allergic to peanuts then I think you need to teach him not to eat anything with peanuts in it. And if he's so allergic that being in the same air as a PB&J would kill him then you need to either send him to school in a plastic bubble or keep him at home. Or maybe start a Happy To Be Peanut Free School for the Nut Challenged. But to impact the lunch choices of 19 other kids in the class? Bite my ass, please.

I guess I'm done bitching. For the moment. Until the next time.

Sent to humor-blogs for shits and giggles.

I AM The Spud Queen

I love cooking dinner for family and friends so we tend to have a lot of dinner parties. It's funny, though, how sometimes things go unexpectedly wrong. Many moons ago we had invited Wayne and Melinda over for dinner. I had prepared steaks and twice baked potatoes and Wayne had just said how delicious everything tasted. He was about half way done with his spud and taking another bite when all of a sudden there was a CRUNCH about THIS big. Needless to say, conversation came to a screeching halt.

We all stared at him in shock. His face seemed similarly surprised and his jaws had quit moving. He very slowly began taking inventory of his teeth with his tongue. Eventually he pursed his lips together and very slowly (and with great apprehension on my part) produced a stone from his mouth. Everyone at the table stared expectantly at me so I began stammering, "....what the...well...how did THAT get in there??" (Cue the awkward silence as everyone spent some time thinking about what I might have done to fuck up dinner.)

My husband eventually cleared his throat and said, "Huh. Well, the potato must have grown around the rock. You know, in the dirt. Where potatoes grow. (::ahem::)" We all sat there in more silence contemplating that I had already baked these potatoes, cut them in half and then scraped out the insides to mash them with my cheese and whatnot. I must be a shitty masher to have not noticed the ROCK in mashed potatoes. I'm just glad he didn't lose a tooth.

Talking about potatoes has me WANTING potatoes. Did I mention that I'm on an Atkins diet? Yup. No spuds for me for a while. With or without the errant stone. Here is my current favorite spud recipe. Ya'll try it and I'll live vicariously through your carbohydrate consumptions.

Michy Potatoes:

A word to the wise, you'll need about twice as many as you think as people will try to bogart these.

In a large mixing bowl put 1/4 cup dijon mustard AND 1/4 cup course grain mustard. Add a half cup olive oil, about a tablespoon of seasoning salt and freshly ground pepper. Cut up a small onion and throw it in. Stir it well. Cut up about 4 medium sized potatoes (I leave the skin on.) and throw them in the bowl mixing well.

Roast them at 375 on a baking sheet with a rim. Stir them every 15 minutes or so until their done. It takes between 45 minutes to an hour. Add more salt if necessary.

They are really awesome. But watch out for the rock.


I'm feeding my potatoes to humor-blogs RIGHT NOW. Yummy, yummy!

You funny, funny little tax man!

Those IRS guys are just SO funny. Truly hilarious. Stop it...my sides are killing me.... At least I assume that they are joking. I mean, they MUST be joking. They don't really think that after SUFFERING for hours to fill out their ridiculously complicated forms that I'm just dying to give my three dollars to the friggin' Presidential Election Campaign. Right?? RIGHT??!

And am I crazy or would they use this money to do what I DEPLORE, which is run back-to-back advertisements when I'm trying to watch TV and then have recorded messages call my house when I'm doing something really important (like writing this blog)?

Does anybody give money to this? It must be the IRS' extremely feeble attempt at cracking a joke to ease me into the realization that I just paid a shit load of money for my kids to go to the World Famous Georgia Public School System where the motto is, "We're 49th! We're not the worst in the country! Yee haw, ya'll!"

So here is a list of things that I will do BEFORE I ever consider give up my three bucks:

* Purposefully slam my hand in the car door.
* Bite off at least one inch of my tongue.
* Have unprotected sex with a Haitian prostitute.
* Run for President (after the prostitute - obviously).

I hope this clears things up.



The taxation rate at humor-blogs.com is LOW, LOW, LOW. Check 'em out!

The Truth About Balls

I happen to be a big fan of vasectomy's. In fact the only issue I see with them is that not enough people get them. Even worse is the problem that the guys who do get them are the ones who have good, strong qualities that are worthy of being passed down to future generations. The other guys - you know the ones I mean - propagate their species like there is no tomorrow and produce legions of lazy, abusive and, far worse, unattractive children.

My point is, men who step up to the plate and get a vasectomy are heroic. Really. And I've become a little bit fixated on the matter ever since one of my friends told me about his experience. He said that he was led into a FREEZING examination room. (That just seems mean, doesn't it?) He was a little bit nervous and sat there twiddling his thumbs. Eventually a very large female nurse came in and invited him to remove his pants and underwear. He was instructed to sit on a METAL table in the cold room - pantsless. Here is where the weird thing happened...she - without appropriate warning, mind you - grabbed the end of his penis and PULLED it (like I said, it was a very cold room). She then duct taped it to his leg, leaving him to think WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT FOR?! She never explained the purpose. In fact, she never even said, "So. How's it going?" or "Listen, man, brace yourself as I'm getting ready to try to find your penis which will have retracted itself into your stomach as it's cold as hell in here. Then? I'll yank it really hard and tape it to your leg. And, go."

She must have sensed his need for retrospection as she left him alone in the room - for 30 minutes - naked in a cold room with his dick taped to his leg. While he was sitting there he was trying to imagine why this action might have been necessary. The procedure is done on the balls. Was his package so enormous that they were worried it would be in the way? Maybe the guy before him got an erection and they now tape that shit down to prevent something similar from happening and embarrassing everyone? I really want to know. And this is why, every time I meet someone who has had a vasectomy I ask my question, "So...did anyone grab your junk and duct tape it to your leg??"

I have yet to have anyone else say yes. SO. Where does that leave us? Should my friend sue? Leave a tip for above and beyond service?



Please either turn your head and cough OR click on the humor-blogs link here. I'd guess that, after a week of being on vacation my ranking is somewhere below the Save the Dust Mites Blog.

That Thong Thing

I'm not sure why but this morning I wore thong underwear. Don't worry, I didn't get another tattoo like I did HERE. It might have had something to do with my Laundry Situation which involves all of my clothing being anywhere in the house EXCEPT folded and in my room. But that's another story.

Back to thongs. Wearing one got me wondering about the first person to invent the thong. I imagine a woman sitting on her bed, admiring her favorite underwear. She'd be thinking, "These are almost perfect. But they restrict my outer ass TOO much. And...now that I'm thinking about it I'd like to have my inner ass MORE restricted. In fact I'd like to have the underwear material actually mashed up against my sphincter muscle. That would be PERFECT."

And here we are, centuries later. I wonder if this woman could have envisioned the legions of women who dutifully shove lycra up their butts due to her invention. Strippers, sunbathers, Fat Grannies who have NO business in them but do it anyway to see people try to swallow their own stomach bile at the sight, etc.

Of course, if it was a man who invented the thong his inner monologue was probably more like, "My wife is a total bitch. I'm going to teach her a lesson by mutilating all of her underwear so that she has to wear it shoved up her butt. Tee hee hee!"

Either way, I'm glad that we have them. Sort of. For the most part. Unless I'm doing a lot of walking and then my downstairs area starts feeling a little chaffed. And not in a good way, either.

End of thong story!

So listen. The Blog of Bex is taking a break. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves while I'm gone! And you should totally go by Humor-Blogs! There is some funny stuff there, like, all the time! Bex, OUT

Toilet Tendencies

My kids believe that I am omnipotent. And to be honest I don't have a problem with their misconception. I find it to be helpful in many cases. Here is an example of my power - I can walk into any bathroom in my home and tell who the last kid in there was.

I know what you're thinking...HOW do I DO it??? I'm going to break my code of silence and tell you my secrets.

OK. Here goes:

If it was Thing One I'll know it was her as the toilet will not be flushed and there will be enough toilet paper on top of the water to create a nest for Big Bird.

I think the "H" stands for "HEY! Why don't you try FLUSHING that fucker?!"

If Thing Two was the last one in the bathroom there will be yellow water and an impressively sized dump in it. No toilet paper whatsoever. She's not a flusher either, for the record. I guess she could be using toilet paper like this...

...but I can also go into the laundry room at any given time and easily point out which panties she has worn. 'Nuff said.

Thing Three is still in diapers. Ironically he is the only kid in the house who does flush the toilets. Unfortunately he does this chronically and without cause or reason. Possibly he has seen me going through the house in the morning on my daily Turds in the Unflushed Toilet Patrol and is mimicking my behavior. Happily he doesn't repeat the running commentary which is usually something like, "Well, I'd better go look in the girls bathroom...JESUS CHRIST. Is it SO hard to flush the fucking toilet?! WHY must they leave this for ME to find. I was in labor for three damn days and THIS is how they repay me???! While I'm up here I'd better go check the guest room toilet, too...OH MY HOLY HELL...."

Thing Three follows me around and watches with interest as I flush his sisters shits. He also seizes this golden opportunity to use every single toothbrush that he finds on the way. I'm not really sure what his deal is with the toothbrush fetish. But, as I've already pointed out, there are worse tendencies he could have.

When you click HERE a toilet flushes at Humor-Blogs headquarters! Try it....