Thursday, December 18, 2014

A Discourse

Why do the fattest fucking people always own the tiniest cars?

Uhhhhhh. . . maybe it's because they buy extra food with all that money they save on gas? How the shit should I know, do I look like fucking Dr. Oz, motherfucker?

Ms. Moon (the Idol of My Wretched Life) Asked My Fat White Ass to Post this Shit Again. Ho-Fucking-Ho.

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.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

A Bitch Needs to Check Her Ego, Not Wreck It

I watched Alanis Morrisette on Oprah’s Super Soul Sunday last night, and Oprah sort of drives me nuts. She cuts in on her guests and always makes the conversation about her. And she’s supposed to be so “evolved.” What the fuck ever. Can you say Ego Queen?

Friday, August 15, 2014

My Heart Is Heavy.


All of life is a coming home. Salesmen, secretaries, coal miners, beekeepers, sword swallowers, all of us. All the restless hearts of the world, all trying to find a way home. It's hard to describe what I felt like then. Picture yourself walking for days in the driving snow; you don't even know you're walking in circles. The heaviness of your legs in the drifts, your shouts disappearing into the wind. How small you can feel, and how far away home can be. Home. The dictionary defines it as both a place of origin and a goal or destination. And the storm? The storm was all in my mind. Or as the poet Dante put it: In the middle of the journey of my life, I found myself in a dark wood, for I had lost the right path.

--lines from Patch Adams


Thursday, August 14, 2014

Some of us think he's a patriot. I think our Founding Fathers would agree.



“I care more about the country than what happens to me. But we can’t allow the law to become a political weapon or agree to scare people away from standing up for their rights, no matter how good the deal. I’m not going to be part of that.”

--Edward Snowden

http://www.wired.com/2014/08/edward-snowden/

Thursday, August 7, 2014

This Morning's E-mail to My Idol, Ms. Moon

I am reading Billy Bob Thornton’s book and really enjoying it. I guess everybody thinks he’s weird, but he seems normal to me. Angie Jolie’s intro was really sweet.
 
Sleeping all day sounds great to me. I love to go to bed at night and hate to get out of bed in the morning. Psychologically, there is something VERY WRONG there. Obviously my life lacks fulfillment.
 
I watched Jersey Belle and sort of enjoyed it. That Jersey chick is a damn hoot. But they always stereotype Southern women, like they are so sheltered they have never heard a damn cuss word before. Also they are all into formal teas and shit. I’d rather have a needle poked in my damn eye than go to a tea in fancy dress where nobody cusses.
 
I saw that about the woman in Tallahassee. Couldn’t the dumb bitch just have told her kids that she didn’t want to watch the grandkids anymore??? WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH PEOPLE????? I heard the little brother heard the 7 year old say, “Please don’t kill me.” Jesus.
 
I have coffee on this end too. Kati Kati blend from Starbucks. Why can’t those corporate fucks ever give anything a normal name? I don’t even like asking for it. I’m afraid I’ll mispronounce the shit.

 

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.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2646617/Mother-19-Michelle-Duggar-47-giving-birth-gets-easier-multiple-children.html

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.