Friday, June 13, 2014

Quote of the Goddamn Day: Sarcastic Bastard

"Fucker was all strung out and Cobain-y and shit."

I'm allowed to quote myself, motherfuckers. I own the rights and all.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Phrase of the Day: I can't be bothered.

YOUR CHALLENGE: Use the phrase I can't be bothered at least 10 times today.

DICKLAIMER: If you lose your job, or have your spouse threaten to divorce you, this is not SB's problem. My ass is NOT liable for that shit.

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

NO SHIT Comment of the Week: Michelle Duggar Says Birth Gets Easier After 19 Children

Christ, I hope so. The kids probably just plonk right out of her vagina at this point. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s given birth, until somebody points it out. I hear she’s also considering leasing her vagina out as a bus barn to her local school district. GROSS.

Thursday, May 15, 2014

Let's all give a BIG FUCKING SHOUT OUT for the Asylum for the Relief of Persons Deprived of the Use of Their Reason!

According to the Writer's Almanac, today is the anniversary of the first loony bin. Since it's where my fat ass is headed one of these days, I can dig that.

From the Writer's Almanac:

It was on this day in 1817 that the Asylum for the Relief of Persons Deprived of the Use of Their Reason was founded in Philadelphia. It was the first private mental health hospital in the United States. The Asylum was founded by a group of Quakers, the Philadelphia Yearly Meeting of Friends, who built the institution on a 52-acre farm. It is still around today, but goes by the name Friends Hospital.

At the time that Friends Hospital was founded, mental illness was widely misunderstood and treated as criminal behavior. Mentally ill people were tied up, put in chains, isolated, or beaten. The Quakers wanted to model a new type of care. They wrote out their philosophy in a mission statement for the hospital: "To provide for the suitable accommodation of persons who are or may be deprived of the use of their reason, and the maintenance of an asylum for their reception, which is intended to furnish, besides requisite medical aid, such tender, sympathetic attention as may soothe their agitated minds, and under the Divine Blessing, facilitate their recovery."

The group purchased the 52-acre farm for less than $7,000, and tried to create a beautiful place with gardens and lots of outdoor space. These days, the hospital occupies 100 acres, which include flower gardens and about 200 varieties of trees. Much of this was the work of one man who started out at the hospital as a bookkeeper in 1875 and ended up working there and managing the grounds until his death in 1947. One day, he found an azalea that a family member had brought for a patient and tossed out. He tended it in the greenhouse until it was healthy again, took cuttings, and planted those, and from that one plant more than 20 acres of the Friends Hospital are now planted in azaleas.

ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT as Matt McConaughey would say. Fuck yeah.

Friday, April 4, 2014

Remembering Sweet Kurt

I was thinking at lunch that my old dog, who is on her last legs probably, at nearly 15 years old, wasn't even born before Kurt killed himself. He has been gone that long--more than the span of her life. Hard to believe. Kurt and I were born in the same year, and he was the voice of my generation (at least one of them). I miss his sweet presence in the world. I will always, always miss him. And I firmly believe that wherever the essence of him has gone, he is not aware of any of our remembrances. But I will remember anyway.

This is my favorite photo of him.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

This morning's e-mail to the Moms

Went to the dreaded Walfart last night. Had to buy a size 14 pair of jeans. They are a little roomy, but the size 10s and 12s were getting so tight, it’s like my asshole was sucking them up. It was gross-looking. 

Friday, March 14, 2014

Bitching Mentally-Off Newspaper Guy

When I went to pick up coffee this morning, there is some old guy who reads the paper most mornings and then looks up from the paper, and if you are even remotely looking anywhere in his vicinity, bitches unintelligibly to you (or anyone) about newsprint getting on his hands. And you want to say, “Stupid motherfucker, why don’t you just stop reading the paper then?” But he’s clearly off, so you don’t dare. If you hurry up and change your line of vision, like you were watching the TV and not looking at bitching mentally-off newspaper guy, he turns around and starts watching TV too. It’s sort of sad, but it also sort of tickles me—probably out of fear—because I know I am just mentally about one step behind the guy. He should probably be in a now nearly non-existent State Home, and I have to wonder how he gets up to the store. Hopefully the fucker walks or bicycles and doesn’t drive. THE THOUGHT.

Monday, February 17, 2014

Cross-Car Guy

I wish I had a damn picture, quite frankly. 

Near the Wal-Mart at lunch I passed Cross-Car Guy. It’s this local guy who drives around with a nearly full-size wooden cross hanging out of his back car window. I shit you not. What a nutjob idiotic moronic motherfucker. Only in Ohio (or Florida). Maybe the cross helps weight his car down in the snow and ice. Let us hope! That would be about all it would ACTUALLY do. And also I imagine he’s cold driving around with the back window mostly down. ONE MUST SUFFER FOR JESUS!

Joe just told me that in the warmer months, Cross-Car Guy actually CARRIES the cross around town. I mean if he REALLY wanted to impress, he’d drag that shit through the snow and ice! Convenient Christian.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

An Exchange with My Idol, Ms. Moon.

Ms. M: Yesterday when we were in the Costco, they were giving out samples of Cookie Butter (have you heard of this?) spread on cookies. We tried it. It was as awesome as anything could be that has 90 calories per tablespoon. I told the lady handing it out that yes, it was delicious but I would not be buying any because I would take it home and eat the whole jar. She said, "Oh, I can control my eating of sweets. I can only eat so much before I just can't eat any more."
I looked at her and decided that either "so much" was an awful lot or else maybe it's pizza she can't stop eating. The little woman was as round as a door knob.

SB: The guy with the donuts keeps sending e-mails that say stuff like, “DONUTS DO NOT EAT THEMSELVES! GET OVER HERE.” He just wants everybody to wish his fat ass Happy Birthday. Yes, I am a tad cynical about the motivations of my fellow man.

NO, I have not heard of Cookie Butter, but Paula Deen probably came about a thousand times when she heard about it. That was hysterical about the lady. That needs to go on your blog, if it hasn’t already. By the way, it’s pizza I can’t stop eating. Oh, and cookies and cupcakes too. I’m lucky they didn’t bring in cupcakes for Bryan. I would have had to waddle over.

All the Fatties in the Office

All the fatties in the office (except for me) are running over to Bryan’s cube, because today is his birthday, and somebody brought in donuts to celebrate. It’s the only time anybody in this office moves fast.

There is no one more disgusted with obese Americans than I am. In fact, I disgust MYSELF. May I just state, though, that the photo above is NOT me? Thank you.

My Real Housewives of Beverly Hills Recap

I LOVE Real Housewives and will happily discuss anytime. I watch all of them, even Lisa’s stupid knock-off show—Vanderpump Rules. Those kids are all such self-centered idiots. I watch it mainly just to bitch out loud about the young dolts on the screen. The cats sometimes get upset, because they think my raised voice means I am upset with them.
Carlton is a BIG oddball. I am sort of fascinated with her though. She certainly enjoys acting bisexual, but she pushes it so much, I’m not sure that it’s not just a sexy act for her husband. Her cleavage is nasty as fuck. I don’t know if she had a bad boob job or what. A bitch needs to cover that shit up! She'll probably put a spell on me for saying that.
Kyle looked so beautiful in the blue dress she wore to the combo birthday party in the show last night. Damn, what a figure! I can’t believe she’s had that many kids and looks that good still. I look fat and gross and I’ve had no kids. What’s my excuse?
Joyce has GREAT hair, so does Kyle, but she is so sickeningly sweet, I don’t buy it. It’s got to be an act.
I dig Kim. A bitch is just nutty as fuck. Talk about a dry drunk.
I sort of like Brandi, mainly because she amuses me, and because I HATE stupid Leanne Rimes. Leanne must eat herself up with jealousy over Brandi’s pretty face and gorgeous figure. Leanne will NEVER have a pretty face. EVER.
Yolanda would make the best friend of the lot. She is just very centered and calm and has a good philosophy about things. I really like her.

Don't you lazy bitches expect me to recap every episode of Real damn Housewives either! I don't have the time to explain what you  just saw to all of you. I have 8 cats, a geriatric dog, a full-time job, a house, and a Viking to take care of. DO THE WORK, MOTHERFUCKERS!


Friday, December 20, 2013

At the Request of Ms. Moon, Who Is Always and Forever My Idol

Grandma Peg and the Humbel Nativity 

My Grandma Peg LOVED Christmas. LOVED IT. She was nearly giddy with the glee of the damn season (SB calls it the Season of Darkness, so obviously my ass did not take after her. Also, Grandma had really big boobs, and I didn't get those either.).

Anyhoo, Peg loved Hummel figurines, which she called, Humbels, due to a slight hearing problem. (Yeah, and Elvis was Alvin Prescott, as you'll possibly fucking remember from an earlier post, but whatever. . .).

Grandma's ass splurged one year and bought herself the ENTIRE fucking Humbel Nativity. That shit was quite costly, as there is no accounting for taste, and Precious Moments figures were expensive once, too, right? Hummels and the Precious Moments make SB want to gag and bust them up WITH A FUCKING HAMMER, but again, I digress.

Before I go further, I should explain that my tiny southern grandmother was known for her eccentric decorating taste (she even wallpapered the backs of doors), and frankly, she had some fucking weird ideas about what went together. Also, a lot of her house looked like a fucking French whore house, but to her, that was GRAND DECOR, motherfuckers. That shit was posh.

Anyhoo, after purchasing the damn nativity, Grandma decided that her precious fucking manger was not showy enough and that the Baby Jesus should be spotlighted like a Barrymore in a play. After all, his infantile ass was supposed to be holy and worshipped by the animals and the damn Wise Men. He was THE POINT. He was THE STAR.

Grandma rigged a fucking Maglite to the roof of the manger, and SB's brother, Steve, would not stop making remarks and laughing about it. "Jesus Christ, Grandma, the Baby Jesus is going to be blind. How will he perform miracles WHEN HE'S BLIND?"

After that, undaunted by my brother's mirth, Grandma decided that the Humbel nativity didn't come with enough lowing beasts, so she bought some ill-sized cheap porcelain add-on animal figures that looked like they might eat the poor blinded Baby Jesus and worshipping Wise Men.

Well, of course, Peg thought that shit was JUST GREAT! Her manger would be the envy of the neighbourhood! She was SO PROUD of that cocksucking nativity, it was unbelievable. It had pride of place in the living room.

Note: My Aunt M. has the infamous nativity now and displays it every year, replete with the damn Maglite, which my brother still has to make rude comments about.

Friday, December 13, 2013

An URGENT E-mail Discussion with Ms. Moon

[Note: Start from the bottom and read up, bitches!]

David Foster Wallace let his dogs eat out of his mouth. I draw the line there. Ginger eats her own shit. Lately she’s in to eating her frozen turds in the snow. Do you suppose it’s similar to putting Milky Ways in the freezer—I mean in a dog sort of way?

From: Ms. Moon
Sent: Friday, December 13, 2013 9:33 AM
Subject: Re: Lordy, you are all are cold this morning.

Thanks for the heads-up. (haha!)

-----Original Message-----
From: ugadawg1
To: Ms. Moon
Sent: Fri, Dec 13, 2013 9:30 am
Subject: Re: Lordy, you are all are cold this morning.

I’m sort of with him on that. I love Reddi Whip--straight out of the damn nozzle. The cats dig it too. I let them lick the nozzle and then serve Reddi Whip to unsuspecting guests. It amuses me because I think cats are really clean (despite licking their asses), and I eat after them myself.

Friday, November 22, 2013

Our species is disgusting. I am so sickened. May Radoslaw Czerkawski rot in hell, the sorry sick fuck.

Sweet natured: Despite having broken bones, crushed vertebrae and other injuries, the pit bull was friendly.

This poor little girl still liked human beings after her horrific injuries. It just astounds me. I'd like to get put in a room with this son-of-a-bitch, just me and a him and a baseball bat.

Please sign the petition at this link to call for harsh punishment for the evil fuck:

"The two-year-old pooch reportedly was stabbed in the eye, burned, had her limbs pulled from the joints and had her tongue sliced in half like a serpent. It was described as 'medieval' torture." 

Thursday, November 21, 2013

The world WON'T listen, a letter from Morrissey.

                   A pig with a lion.                            
18 November 2013
The world won't listen
I am not ashamed to admit that newspaper photographs in recent days of American TV presenter Melissa Bachman laughing as she stands over a majestic lion that had been stalked and shot dead by Bachman herself left me tearful. Although I have previously felt enraged by the asininity of U.S. congressman Paul Ryan, and political fluffhead Sarah Palin - both of whom also kill beings for fun, there is something especially lamentable about the Bachman smile of pride as the lion - a symbol of strength, heraldry and natural beauty, lies lifeless in answer to Bachman's need for temporary amusement. The world struggles to protect the rhino and the elephant - both being shot out of existence, yet Bachman joins the murderous insanity of destruction without any fear of arrest. This comes in the same week that Princess Anne condones horsemeat consumption - since she is evidently not content with eating pigs, sheep, cows, birds and fish. Although her slackwitted view is reported with mild surprise by the British media, there is no outrage since the crassness and international duncery of the British so-called 'royal family' remains the great unsaid in British print. It is spoken of, of course, but it is not allowed to go further than that. Why does Anne approve of slaughter of any kind? Has she ever been inside an abattoir? Does she actually know what she's talking about? Similarly, on October 5, the Daily Mail newspaper gave us all an "amusing" report of thickwit Pippa Middleton laughing as she stood over 50 birds shot dead by her friends and herself after a "busy day's shooting". We are reminded by the Daily Mail that Middleton is a 'socialite', which tells us that she is privileged and can more-or-less kill whatever she likes - and, therefore she does. The sick face of modern Britain, Pippa Middleton will kill deer, boar, birds - any animal struggling to live, or that gets in her socialite way. This is because her sister is, of course, Kate, who herself became 'royal' simply by answering the telephone at the right time, and this association allows Pippa's kill, kill, kill mentality to be smilingly endorsed by the British print media, to which only the mentally deficient could join in with the laughter. The right to kill animals is endorsed by Prime Minister David Cameron who shoots stag whenever he feels a bit bored. In the Queen's Honors List, awards have been bestowed upon musicians Bryan Ferry and PJ Harvey - both of whom allegedly support fox-hunting. There is not one single instance when an animal protectionist has found themselves knighted or applauded by the Queen. That animals are an essential part of our planet (that they are, in fact, the planet) and must be protected, is a shatterbrained concept to the British 'royals'. Historically, we all remember Prince William proudly killing the baby deer, Prince Harry bravely giving the thumbs-up as he pointlessly ended the life of a water-buffalo, the Queen loading her shotgun in readiness to shoot birds out of the sky. How terribly regal.
Although the natural idiocy of the British 'royals' is internationally acknowledged, it still doesn't make their behavior any less alarming.
Animals who are free (or, if you insist, 'wild') lead lives of struggle; their every moment absorbed by the need to find food for themselves and their offspring. They have a natural instinct to survive - as do animals in abattoirs, but they cannot compete against the loaded hunting-guns of Pippa Middleton or David Cameron. It is by no means a fair game. Has Melissa Bachman considered hunting without a shotgun? We might then be impressed if she manages to bring a lion down. Dingbat coward Sarah Palin shoots at running bears from the safety of her multi-million-dollar helicopter, and the Queen continues to endorse the trapping of the Canadian brown bear so that her senior servile guardsmen might look their prettiest. The babies of the trapped and murdered adult bears are left to die slowly - unable to survive without their mothers. Wearing enough real fur to encircle Russia, our beloved Queen Elizabeth couldn't care less. Death dwells in life.
In lordly London, a proudly moral statue stands on Park Lane. It honors animals that "served" during the war, boldly telling us They Had No Choice.
There is no statue that states: ANIMALS IN ABATTOIRS - THEY HAVE NO CHOICE.
The homicidal mania of the abattoir, the murderous insanity of the badger kill ('cull' is far too soft a word for what takes place - not in order to protect cows – who are butchered, anyway, but in order to make more money for farmers); and from this, we wonder how the human race can make any claims of humanity. We must ask why it is thought that animals deserve such horrific treatment. No British government has ever had an Animal Protectionist MP, yet animals outnumber humans on the planet. It is quite easy, I'll admit, to blame the mentally defective 'royals' for continually setting such a cretinous example where animal welfare is concerned; we recall William and Kate in Canada laughing hysterically as a bull, whose abdomen has been cinched with a bucking strap, is jumping in agony before the stiffly-apart-together lovely 'royal' couple - who are both clapping excitedly. Where is humanity? Where is any sense of goodness and pity? And what is so terribly funny about torture?
The nub of this argument is the press insistence that the 'royals' are in possession of a morality that the rest of us would all wish to rise to, and that they are also a form of church for the British people. No, no, no. Not true.
We are continually told (warned?) that we love the 'royals' whatever their conduct, and we see very clearly how this most dysfunctional family must - at all costs - leave a virtuous emblem on the age, as we also see how no British citizens (for we are not subjects) can be considered qualified enough to question the 'royals' - or to even be allowed to ask why it is thought necessary to have a monarchy in the first place - especially as most countries throughout the world exist quite well without royal boils. Although the cash-cow subject of tourism is frequently raised in order to support the annual 50m grabbed from public taxes in order to lavish on the 'royals', it should be noted that people do not refuse to visit the Eiffel Tower simply because there is no Queen of France.
The mystery in England is why the 'royals' are repeatedly forced upon us with a cleansed aura - one that is not theirs by nature. We are asked to feel round-the-clock concern for the failing health of Prince Philip, yet his offhand civility is all we've ever known of him, and since his life has meant nothing to the British people then why should his approaching death? Although the press is continually conscious of pushing any story too far, there is mysteriously no suspicion of utterly sterile boredom where 'royal news' (i.e, non-news) is concerned. Nothing in the bearing of the Queen speaks to, or for, modern Britain. Speech is a question of rhythm, and even this the Queen has failed to master in her very lengthy lifetime of being unable to address a nation without auto-cue. Is she incapable of speaking directly from the heart? That the future of the monarchy rests on the natural idiocy of Harry, zombified William and airhead Kate, is quite frightening. We, the British public, are trapped.
In our democratic society, how do we call for the 'royals' to resign and retire? Where is our platform? Who will let us speak? We, who are neither apocalyptic anarchists nor extremists, who speak softly and care primarily for the environment and all living beings, feel embarrassed by what the 'royals' do today far more than whatever they did 200 years ago. But how can we speak without being Tasered away? In an England that is said to be democratic, how can a self-elected monarchy have any place? It can't. If the 'royals' are a dictatorship - which they obviously are - then how can England be democratic? When the British public booed Charles and Camel off Regent Street, the British police were ready to turn the tanks onto the very people who are forced to pay for the 'royals'' upkeep. How is this democracy? Evidently, with visions of rising People Power in the Middle East, the British establishment must be terrified that such an awakening might take place against them.
The media, quite naturally, are always ready to report on 'anti-royal extremists', yet I have never once heard the term 'pro-royal extremists'. Evidently someone is only extreme if you don't happen to like their clothes.
People in power never give up power. Look at Assad - if you must; his dingbat wife continuing to smile and wave, wrapped in Fendi, as the people of Syria disappear into dust. It is the same shame that the British utilized whilst claiming ownership of the Malvinas by shooting anyone who stood in their way. How very brave. Imagine if Taiwan claimed the Isle of Wight. Yes, it is that silly. The Queen is conveniently said to have no political power, yet it would be impossible to imagine her government disagreeing with her if she elected to return the Malvinas to the Argentinian people, and although David Cameron is gung-ho ready to see more British and Argentinian boys die in battle for this odd bit of turf, he cannot see the richer intellect in simply returning the islands to their rightful owners. Yet Cameron is haughtily aghast when people run riot on the streets of Coventry stealing hair-dryers worth ten pounds. Outrage!
What is never considered is how the occupants of the Malvinas (who want to bask in the south seas whilst also having the benefit of the NHS, and who number only about 2,500) are quite satisfied to sit back and watch service personnel die defending their post box. Has such selfishness ever been known? What makes it all worth it?
Thank you to Russell Brand for standing up and speaking out in recent weeks. Like anyone who speaks out in modern Britain, he has been shot down. Nothing must interfere with the depressive psychosis of modern Britain, which has become a most violent and melancholic country, with no space for measured debate. Like Russell, I believe that the most powerful vote you can give is No Vote; for the days of Prime Ministers have gone, and it's time for a form of change that is far more meaningful than simply switching blue to red. The print media will only support people who do not matter and who are incapable of instigating thought - David 'rent-a-smile' Beckham; his wife - famous for having nothing to do; the dum dum dummies of the Katie Price set; the overweight Jamie 'Orrible, who tells us all how to eat correctly.
At what point did the dis-United Kingdom become a cabbagehead nation? Where is the rich intellect of debate? Where is our Maya Angelou, our James Baldwin, our Allen Ginsberg, our Anthony Burgess, our political and social reformers? At what point did the shatterbrained scatterbrains take over - with all leading British politicians suddenly looking like extras from Brideshead Revisited? Although it is clear to assess the Addams Family of SW1X as the utterly useless and embarrassing ambassadors of a sinking England, how can we effect change without being tear-gassed? In the absence of democracy, there is no way.
I write this without outburst; a staunch non-terrorist, quietly, calmly and composedly, as I mourn the loss of the land.