Thursday, April 30, 2009
This here is the aptly named, Midge, my God dog. Midge is, well, kind of short of stature and all. That shit is genetic, and there wasn't dick Midge could do about it. I'll bet that maybe some of you readers are height-challenged, too, and that's okay. They make those grabber thingys now to help you midgety motherfuckers reach stuff up high.
Since Midge doesn't have opposable thumbs (which is WAY OVERRATED anyhow), the grabber devices aren't going to be a whole lot of help to her--so she's got to put the cute to work. When you're as cute as Midge, people fall all over themselves to help out and get stuff for you.
Midge is SO CUTE that if they held her up in the midst of battle over there in Iraq, there would be a TOTAL cease fire. The fucking war would be OVER in the blink of an eye.
Notice, dear reader, that in the top photo, Midge has got a damn bone or some shit. For a small sucker, she eats A LOT. You wouldn't believe it.
SB is very proud of Midge, so don't be saying any negative shit in the comments, like pointing out how she is a little pop-eyed and all. I do take umbrage to that shit. Comments about Midge's OVERWHELMING CUTENESS are welcome, however.
MY ASS IS DYING OF THE CUTE RIGHT NOW.
SB NEEDS ALL THE DAMN READERS SHE CAN GET, so in an effort to keep all your precious asses safe, I'm going to post valid advice on how to avoid the swine flu, instead of the fear-mongering crap that's coming from such overflowing cess pools as Fox News. Fuck you, Bill O'Reilly. Sean Penn hates you and so do I.
Tips for Avoiding the Swine Flu
1) Wash your hands A LOT.
2) Don't waste your money on surgical masks. You just look stupid (like Heidi and Spencer) and they don't do a goddamn thing.
Here is a short poem that Mr. Berry wrote that comforts me when I worry about the world as it is today, with the economy and the threat of swine flu looming. This poem also hangs on my refrigerator.
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
— Wendell Berry
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Why do nursing homes always smell like warm piss? Surely they could do something about that smell.
My husband's Aunt Jean is currently an inmate (I use this term intentionally) in an old folk's home near us. Jean's a dear lady, but visiting her gives me the MAJOR SADS. It depresses the fuck out of me (I know this may come as a shock to you motherfuckers, due to my normally cheery disposition. Everybody gets depressed sometimes, people! So if you want to read some Pollyanna bullshit, this may NOT be the post or the blog for you. Go over to Rachel-fucking-Ray's goddamn bullshit Web site, if you want chipper.)
It's always WAY TOO FUCKING HOT in the nursing home, and the old women and old men are usually wearing wool cardigan sweaters. WTF?
In the home, there are a variety of futile activities to try and cheer the oldies up and to keep their brains functioning, such as crafts and sing-alongs on the piano in the dining room. The piano player in the home sucks REALLY BAD. I'm guessing that he is a volunteer because nobody would pay to hear that shit. I wouldn't be able to digest my damn food with that fucker plonking around. Sometimes, they put little pointy party hats on the pensioners in the dining hall to try and make shit festive, but it's futile as fuck. [Aunt Jean refuses to wear a hat! She is a damn rebel! It makes me proud.]
Once in awhile, when Mr. SB and I are visiting Aunt Jean, one of the old loonies smells young blood, and plods over in her wheelchair (always shuffling in the wheelchair by walking her feet out in front of the chair, rather than using her damn claws to propel the wheels forward--I don't get that shit--this takes too much damn time--I feel like screaming at her--YOU'RE NEARLY AT DEATH'S DOOR--USE YOUR GODDAMN HANDS--GET YOUR ASS MOVING--but I don't, because it wouldn't be polite to take that tone with an elder).
Anyhoo, this one particular old fucker always starts showing off when we're there and telling poor Aunt Jean stuff like she just got back from a five-star breakfast at the Hilton with her rich son, Ted. This old loon is batshit crazy, and Aunt Jean just ignores the old whore and rolls her eyes a lot and then asks us if we will wheel her back to her room, which I think is the polite way to handle it.
The other day when we visited, Aunt Jean had the SADS, and she wanted to go home (I can't say as I blame her with the piano playing and all!). Jean told me that she felt bad and that nobody believed her. [I have that kind of face and people are always thinking I'm interested in their complaints and I'm really not.] Anyhoo, I told Aunt Jean that I believed her. If you feel bad, you feel bad. You ought to know, Aunt Jean. I believe you, I said. I think Aunt Jean needs to be on some MAJOR-LEAGUE antidepressants.
I've tried suggesting that Aunt Jean pass the time by dating one of her table mates in the dining hall. I pointed out that the one guy has a lot of hair and what appears to be his original teeth. Aunt Jean is widowed, but she won't go for it. I guess no one compares to Uncle Kenny.
I'm going to blow my brains out if I ever have to go to the nursing home. It's really horrible there, and to top it off, some of the inmates yell continually. I would seriously have to throttle the screamers. My nerves can't take that shit.
The only good part of visiting the home is that one batshit pensioner keeps mistaking me for Nicole Kidman and asking for my autograph. When I sign With Love, Nicole Kidman, I make that bitch's day. [And don't ask me if I look like Nicole Kidman, either. I look about as much like Nicole Kidman as a cat's asshole. It was wonderful dancing with Hugh Jackman, though.]
I tried to do some chanting myself to improve my Karma, but Mercer wants to chant along and it sort of ruins the vibe. [If you have any suggestions on chanting with a cat, Howard, put them in the comments. The readers here would like to get to know you well.]
The 80's were my heyday, peeps. I wish I had a picture of myself back then. SB ruled! I had big rockstar hair and wore lots of glittery band jackets with VERY BIG shoulder pads. I was flash! Rick James was my personal style icon. Since I grew up in a farm town, I was quite the spectacle. I was a TREND SETTER, motherfuckers! Everybody else wore flannel shirts. FLANNEL SHIRTS! The horror. The horror.
Below is a photo of the ultimate 80's shoulder pad-wearing icon (besides myself, of course). I'm going to dig out my old Howard Jones and Duran Duran CDs tonight and dance around in my new chic-as-a-motherfucker jacket.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
I heard Bill Murray was sort of afraid of Sharon when he worked with her on the film Broken Flowers. That made me laugh. If you haven't seen Broken Flowers, rent a copy. I liked it so much I bought it for my own collection. It was fantastic.
Anyhoo, Ginger has now taken to eating Mercer's shit when the door is inadvertently left ajar. I do laundry in the utility room, so the door is left ajar from time-to-time. Of course, every time I catch the Wunderkind, I threaten to beat her until the PETA intervenes, but she has a VERY SELECT and short-term memory, and the yelling is fairly ineffective.
Sometimes, Ginger tries to sneakily eat the gourmet cat poo, and I go to pet her, and her fucking nose is covered in Tidy Cat. There is also motherfucking Tidy Cat Multiple Cat formula in the bottom of her water bowl, so I have to empty it and refill it all the time because I'm just sure the perfumey shit they put in Tidy Cat probably causes THE CANCER.
There are also occasionally Mercer turds that do not pass muster for whatever reason (these turds are not up to Ginger's obviously lofty culinary standards), lying on the carpet outside the utility room. Then I yell, "MOTHERFUCKER!" And the Diarrhetic Wunderkind shoots up the stairs, only to sneak down again when the yelling dies down, which sometimes takes awhile.
Ginger is also into trying to eat Mercer's new expensive-as-fuck gourmet cat food, so I spend the morning yelling stuff like: "GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN MOTHERFUCKER OR I AM GOING TO BEAT YOU TO DEATH AND THEN THEY WILL HAVE TO CALL THE PETA AND THEN YOU WILL GET TAKEN BACK TO THE POUND, NEVER TO BE REUNITED WITH YOUR LOVING MAMA, WHO IS SHUT UP IN THE POKEY FOR DOG ABUSE!" or some shit like that. This does not exactly make for a peaceful morning, and you know how much I enjoy mornings to start with.
I am afraid Ginger will not be the winner in the Doggie Obedience category at the county dog show this year. Apologies to those prepared to root for her.
My Support Posse: (In no particular order. SB is a random sort of bitch.)
My inimitable fellow crank, Alec B., God love him! http://alecbeattie.blogspot.com/
The genius/writer/poet/painter/all-around Renaissance Man, Shane: http://memoiresofaheroinhead.blogspot.com/
My very smart, very special, very dear, Nick: http://myblogfatalflaw.blogspot.com/
The very sweet, very honest, Anna Grace: http://ppfaceannagrace.blogspot.com/
My girl struggling with the nictoine, the lovely Ann: http://auntannisgnarly.blogspot.com/
One of the nicest people I've never met, Marc: http://makemarc.blogspot.com/
My very good-hearted and funny friend, Lou: http://http//brokenheartedmom.blogspot.com/
The very wise, warm, and witty, Sheria: http://theexaminedlife-sheria.blogspot.com/
My very dear, sweet, wonderful, Nan: http://downoffthesoapbox.blogspot.com/
My sister-in-law, who has church basement issues, God love her: http://debmademe.blogspot.com/
My homie, the irreplaceable, sKILLz, whose blog is now by invitation only, and my ass ain't been invited, and I don't know how to get ahold of her to invite me, but I still love her anyhow. Currently, I am just imagining all the great shit she is posting over at her site that I am missing out on: https://www.blogger.com/blogin.g?blogspotURL=http%3A%2F%2Fabrooklynbitchesrants.blogspot.com%2F
The beautiful, ethereal, brilliant Naomi, who was once a life model in an art class--now that takes balls! http://http//junkylifenaomi.blogspot.com/
If I forgot anyone, I am an asshole and I'm sorry. That shit wasn't intentional. Anyway, I love you all. Thanks for being around.
SB's ass is Team Manson. Go Chuck!
Monday, April 27, 2009
The Moms and I can't wait to see your cute little face in all the product endorsements.
University of Georgia Football #1! GO DAWGS!
I mean I know that God/Jesus are supposed to be ever-present with all of us, but I really do hope the Christ has better things to do than join us for a round of golf.
I have an Aunt who thinks Jesus helps her find shit she has misplaced. She really does. Her ass praises Jesus all the time (THANK YOU, JESUS!) when she find her glasses or a book she misplaced. I tell her--okay that makes sense, Teta--people are dying of cancer right now, BUT SOMEHOW Jesus has the time to locate your damn belongings. Okay, that makes sense.
And obviously, Jesus also has time for a round of golf. Is something fucked up here, or is it just me? I think the Jeez needs a little help prioritizing. Can we get the Lord our God a personal assistant or some shit? His ass needs help with effective use of time.
The Moms and I saw The Soloist yesterday. It was the best, most entertaining couple of hours I have spent in a movie theater in awhile. Highly recommended.
Both Jaime Foxx and Robert Downey were unsurprisingly terrific. There are a couple of actors that I will run right out opening weekend and pay an outrageous ticket price to see their films. Robert Downey is one of them. Sometimes, I forget what a fine actor he actually is, because he makes it look so easy and natural. His face is able to register exactly what his character is feeling very subtly. I guess we have similar senses of humor, too, because he never fails to make me laugh.
Anyway, the reviews I read on The Soloist before I went to see it were lukewarm. The reviewers mainly said that the actors were great, as expected, but the script was a little too sentimental and predictable. I like sentimental in this unsentimental time in which we live. The movie centers around the power of friendship and how, sometimes, the most important thing you can do as a friend is simply to show up and be present.
Two thumbs up, motherfuckers!
Friday, April 24, 2009
My brother had a drinky birdy. We used to fight over it. I forgot about them, until I saw this FABULOUS DEAL. Now, your ass can afford two drinking birds--one for each kiddie--and nobody will have to fight over that shit.
SB adores Marlon Brando. I even loved him after he got to be a fatty. I don't give a shit. Even as a fatty, Marlon was still cool. I particularly liked to watch him fuck with interviewers. His ass even made Larry King (Frog Face Larry), nervous. Now, that's power! When you have that sort of power, you have to use it carefully, or I guess you can just use it to fuck with people.
Marlon was one of my other favorite actor's (Jack Nicholson's) neighbors. Marlon once threatened to turn his home into a fan site/mausoleum when he died, just to get Jack all worked up. That's just how Marlon was. Like I say, he was always fucking with people.
Marlon also once asked his housekeeper to lock his gates to the estate from the outside so that he couldn't go out and pick up fast food. But then he got hungry, so he called McDonald's and told an employee there that he would give the guy $50.00 to drive up to the estate and throw some burgers and fries over the fence. That made me laugh. Marlon's ass knew he had resources. And it's a smart man who knows how to use resources, motherfuckers! Don't forget that.
One of my most treasured possessions, besides my life-sized bust of Elvis in primary colors, is a copy of Marlon's excellent autobiography that he autographed. It says, "To the October babies. Love, Marlon."
Help a Jedi bitch out and feed this hungry warrior. It takes energy to do battle with the Evil Empire, motherfuckers! And don't you forget it.
Anyhoo, SB's ass is hungover and tired today, and I'm a gonna say it--Beyonce's dumb fat ass drives me nuts. That ho is everywhere! You can't escape her. And the fact that this is so, makes me realize that Grandma Heeter was right--hell is right here on Earth.
I think I would vote Beyonce's fat ass off the planet BEFORE Paris Hilton's skank ass, and that's saying something. Better, we could vote them BOTH OFF THE DAMN PLANET!
Frankly, I didn't enjoy seeing Beyonce rubbing her nasty fat booty all over Hugh Jackman at the damn Oscars this year. Hugh's my damn man, and I am just sure that Beyonce grosses him out with her big old butt. He probably wished one of the guy dancers would rub all over him instead. I can't be certain.
And don't you damn Beyonce fans be trying to leave nasty comments here. I've got the Comment Moderation turned on because of that imbecilic turd, Loving Christian Dave Gee, God love him.
This is a gay-friendly, Beyonce-hating blog, and fuck off if you don't like it. I don't need your damn readership, if you are a Beyonce fan! I'm not that damn desperate! I don't think. If my readership goes down too much, I may post something pro-Beyonce. I'm a whore for stats, people!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Murphys were independently wealthy (Gerald's father was the founder of Mark Cross, the luxury goods store), and they lived their lives as high art. The Murphy's friends were mainly artists, as well. Their group of friends included: Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Cole Porter, Jean Cocteau, and Pablo Picasso. It was said that Fitzgerald had quite a crush on Sara Murphy. It is also believed that the Murphy's were the models for the characters of Dick and Nicole Diver in Fitzgerald's novel, Tender is the Night.
Gerald Murphy was a noted semi-abstract painter in his day. He also assisted on sets for Sergei Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes.
For having such bright, beautiful, promising young lives, the Murphys later years were filled with anguish. Gerald was forced to take over as President at Mark Cross (a job he detested), due to medical bills, and he never painted again. Both of the Murphy's sons died tragically young--one of TB and the other of meningitis.
Sara and Gerald were lovely and elegant and kind. They were even known to finance their artist friends who were down on their luck.
There are several good biographies of the Murphy's available if you want to read more about them. The books make for a nice summer read.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I don't know whether Ronco is still in business or not. I kind of sincerely doubt Ronco made it through the Bush years (I barely made it myself), but anyhoo. . . there for awhile, Ronco made fucking everything except a damn automobile. If you needed a popcorn popper or a lint roller, try Ronco. I think even my double-album Donny Osmond's Greatest Hits was pressed by Ronco. But that sort of brings back a tough childhood memory for SB.
I begged and whined at the Moms and daddums for the double-record Donny Osmond album WITH THE POSTER (from Ronco) for at least six-fucking-months, and then, when I finally received it on my birthday, I decided to take it into school for show-and-tell. I WANTED EVERYBODY TO KNOW WHAT A HUGE DONNY OSMOND FAN I WAS! I wanted all the kiddies to know what excellent taste in audio fare I had at such a tender age. And then, (TEAR!) walking out to the driveway to get in the car to go to school, SB was holding the album the wrong way (NOT BEING CAREFUL WITH MY PRECIOUS GIFT FROM HEAVEN), when one of the precious fucking records fell out of the sleeve and crashed onto the driveway. It was the record that had Puppy Love on it, too!
A GREAT BIG CHUNK chipped out of the cocksucking vinyl. I cried and cried and cried all over my Sear's Winnie-the-Pooh-and-Piglet-Too designer ensemble. It was heartbreaking.
SB had the SADS for over a week. The Moms and daddums told me that I had to learn an important lesson and learn to take care of my things.
BULLSHIT. I WANNA NEW GODDAMN DOUBLE-RECORD SET, I said. I really did. I actually said that. The rents knew, even at my tender young age, that stopping me from cursing was a lost cause. Their new mission was to teach location cursing--in other words, where cursing was most appropriate (home) and where it was not (out).
Also, I have a question for you, my beloved readers (and I SINCERELY MEAN THAT--call me Sincere Bastard for just a moment), to ponder. When you don't dress up ALMOST EVER and you finally do, why do human beings think it's such a fucking stitch to ask: Have you got a job interview?
HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! (To quote my idol, Loving Christian Dave Gee, who adds color to this world, God fucking love him.)
Monday, April 20, 2009
I particularly enjoyed the BURN IN HELL comment, where Loving Christian Dave types BURN IN HELL and then HA! over and over. Clearly, he's a very literate, as well as loving guy, and he's got a lot of time on his hands there in the mental hospital. It just confirms everything I said in the Gay Rights post about Christians who don't understand the first thing about Christ.
Dave, you are a fucking-imbecilic-pinheaded-dipshit-moron, but I still love you, because you add color to this world.
However, no offense, but if you are going to heaven, then frankly I'd much prefer hell. Besides, I'm still hoping there will be an open bar in hell, lots of techno music, and a gay dance-off. It would be ironic if you wound up there also for being such a hater. I don't think anyone's going to want to dance with you.
p.s. Thanks to the King of the Pinheads, I will now be following Lou's suggestion and using Comment Moderation. One asshole always ruins things for everybody else. Thanks, Dave!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Last night I was awakened to the sight of the Disdainful One, trashing my Zen meditation garden. It's one of those little Buddha and stone-filled sand gardens, where you can make a sorry-assed attempt at raking the sand and getting lost in the doing, when things are stressful. It's SUPPOSED TO BE a calming activity. Maybe the Disdainful one was raking the sand with her damn claws and trying to find serenity. Who knows with cats?
Anyhoo, there was sand on the fucking coffee table and sand all over the damn carpet this morning. I tried to be contemplative as my ass swept up the mess, but it was kind of difficult. I'm not sure I make a very good Buddhist. I'm a little tightly-wound for Zen.
I still don't know what the attraction of the Zen meditation garden is for the Disdainful One. I just cleaned her damn litter box yesterday, so. . . She also has this strange reaction to candles (loves them) and Buddhist chanting. I went through a period where I was chanting, and Disdainful's ass tried to chant too. She kept meowing and rubbing on me the whole time I was trying to get lost in the chant. It was a little distracting. I didn't know whether she was trying to join me or distract me from attaining Enlightenment. Who the fuck knows with cats?
Maybe Mercer and I were Buddhist monks together in a former life. Obviously, if we were, this is a not a beneficent reincarnation for either of us. We must have been lazy Buddhists. One of us got turned into a cat and the other is a depressed motherfucker.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Link to Fatal Flaw's response: http://myblogfatalflaw.blogspot.com/2009/04/supportive-environments-help-build-them.html#comment-form
Friday, April 17, 2009
Bitch needs to throw down the trowel.
Okay, now I'll say something nice. Pammie is good-hearted and does a lot on behalf of animal welfare. So, SB can't hate on her too much.
I'm not gay (I don't think), but I have a lot of gay friends, and you either believe ALL (WO)MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL, or you don't. I emphatically DO. It's what made this country great and will make it so again, once the ingorance is waded through.
Why can't everybody just let everybody else live in this country? It's certainly none of my damn business if another couple of adults wants to get married. And it's not yours either! I'm talking to you pinheads out there! It's nobody's damn business but the couple marrying. Have some sense.
Jesus didn't treat people like crap and demean them and make them feel bad about themselves, and if you're persecuting people in His name, you don't understand the first thing about Him. You had better get your Bible out and read it AGAIN.
It's embarrassing and insulting to me as a human being that in 2009, the issue of gay marriage is even STILL an issue. We might as well burn infidels and live in the damn Dark Ages for all the ignorance and stupidity abounding.
I'm with Harvey Milk--who is a great patriot and my hero and also was a very decent human being--we should ALL be OUTRAGED about this treatment of gay people. This persecution is bullshit and it's totally unconstitutional. Here's a photo of Harvey, because I love him, and they may have killed him, but they didn't still his voice or his spirit. Right will win in the end. It almost always does.
If you can't tell, this is an issue I feel VERY STRONGLY about, and I am fucking well past the point of being polite about it. Polite doesn't get things done. I don't want my younger family members to think I sat on my ass and did nothing while this insanity went on. I don't want them to be ashamed of me, as they would almost certainly be if I didn't speak up about this. And rightly so.
Frankly, if you are not gay-friendly, I don't want your ass reading my damn blog. Your hatred is not welcome here.
And remember, right will win in the end.
This article is from the NY Post this morning.
By JENNIFER FERMINO
Comparing his crusade to legalize gay marriage to the country's epic civil-rights struggles, Gov. Paterson yesterday hitched his falling star to a controversial, and likely doomed, bill to allow same-sex unions in New York.
"We have all felt the pain and the insult of hatred. That is why we are all standing here today . . . We stand to tell the world we want marriage equality in New York state," he said.
If the measure passes, New York would become the fifth state -- after Massachusetts, Connecticut, Iowa and Vermont -- to allow gay marriage.
But that's a very big if.
Religious leaders will fight hard to defeat the bill. Archbishop Timothy Dolan spoke against gay marriage Wednesday -- the very day he was installed as head of the powerful New York Archdiocese.
The bill also faces an uphill state Senate battle. Several members of Paterson's party have come out swinging against it, including Ruben Diaz of The Bronx.
"It's a challenge the governor is sending to every religious person in New York, and the time for us has come for us to accept the challenge," said Diaz, an evangelical pastor.
Several other Senate Democrats -- whose party has only a two-vote majority -- have said they oppose a same-sex marriage bill.
Even some supporters have questioned the wisdom of bringing it to a vote, fearing failure would ruin chances for future legislation.
But Paterson yesterday insisted, "Civil rights don't wait for the right time."
Paterson -- whose poll approval ratings are at a historic low -- dismissed speculation that he was backing the bill to draw attention from his widely panned $132 billion budget plan. He said he has been an outspoken advocate on the issue since 1994, and noted he championed the same-sex marriage legislation in 2007 that failed in the state Senate.
"If I didn't introduce the bill, you could get up and say, 'Is the reason you're not introducing the bill because of your lack of popularity after the budget?' " he said.
Paterson, dismissed criticism from Dolan, saying, "I was christened Catholic . . . But this is a civil government."
Standing by Paterson was Mayor Bloomberg, who said, "I don't think the government should be in the business of telling us who we can or who we cannot marry."
Also on hand was City Council Speaker Christine Quinn, as well as the bill's sponsors, Sen. Tom Duane and Assemblyman Daniel O'Donnell, all of whom are gay Democrats.
The bill will give gay couples 1,324 rights that they are currently denied, Paterson said. They include the right not to testify against a spouse and to automatically get a late partner's pension. Other rights are more trivial, like one that gives the spouses of horse-track stakeholders free passes for races.
Meanwhile, Lee Miringoff, a pollster at Marist College, said that the governor is "trying to develop a constituency" by lending support to the bill, "but ultimately, the economy is where things will matter for him in terms of public support."
There are about three different forum sections on Lyle over at Websleuths alone. One of the commenters is the detective that did the original investigative work on the Stevik crime scene. I believe his name on the forum is Cold Case Man.
Link to Lyle Stevik case: http://www.doenetwork.org/cases/233umwa.html
Poor Lyle. He must have family that misses him somewhere.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Keddie Murder Web site: http://www.cabin28.com/
There is a lot of squabbling and infighting in the discussion forum, but there is still some good information to be had there. Besides, SB loves infighting! It makes life interesting.
At the very least, Jerry should take the rents to Lenscrafters and get their asses some updated eyewear! They look like members of fucking Devo. [I know Devo are from Ohio. Shut up.]
"From checking out Playboy I always thought — jeezum, we still don’t have a better word for it than vagina, do we? —I thought it was behind the pubic hair, and it faced horizontal. You know, east/west, not south. So the first time I got to third base, man, I was hunting for a long time."
Also, who the hell says jeezum? Well shucks, SB hereby proposes that we start a campaign to add the word jeezum back into common language usage, along with davenport and libation. I personally use libation ALL THE TIME!
This man represents the best of the American spirit, people. Can you say entrepreneur?
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Amaze your crackhead friends!
This is the kind of shit that one particular side (the drunken side) of my family would find hysterical. This trick would be big entertainment to their loaded asses at a family barbeque.
If you are so inclined to order this shit, here's another link:
SB is not responsible for explosions or fires.
If you're wondering how the photo ties in with this post, the couple are supposed to be freakish fat-assed knee-socks-with-baggy-shorts wearin' fucktard American tourists. In other words, Floridians. The rest of the world can't wait to see the damn back of them. Actually, we feel the same way in Georgia.
Good thing for your asses that we ponder and cool down some before we kill!
Aileen skipped the ponder part. That ho just went for it.
One of my old bosses needed data to support everything. His motherfucking ass was like Spock. In the midst of sex with his wife, Cherie, he probably needed to see data to be sure she came, which she didn't, because she was an utter bitch and walked around with a damn stick the size of a goal post up her ass.
PLEA DEAL IN FELINE FLING
"Project Runway" finalist Kenley Collins avoided having to don drab prison duds yesterday after pleading guilty to disorderly conduct for hurling a cat at her fiancé.
The plea deal means Collins, 26, has to stay out of trouble for a year, but otherwise won't have a criminal record. She's also required to refrain from throwing any more cats at -- or even seeing -- ex-fiancé Zak Penley.
"I went through hell and back over this," Collins told The Post. [SO DID THE CAT.]
Collins was initially charged with second-degree assault, a felony, but charges were quickly reduced.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
I don't even like to sleep with any kind of doll in the room with me. Take the Cher doll, for instance. The Moms had to put her out under the Christmas tree, or my ass refused to sleep in my bedroom, the Christmas that Santa brought her. See photo below and maybe your dumb impoverished ass will understand why.
You can imagine my horror at encountering the viddy below over at Dlisted. I may have to get all of my stepdaughter's damn dolls out of the house before I can get some shut-eye tonight! This is one of the grossest things I have EVER seen IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!
Leech Women Tribute *PUPPET MASTER* - video powered by Metacafe
This clip really gives SB the yucks! My stomach actually feels queasy. Evil dolls!!!!!!!!!!!
Did I mention I also have a thing about doll hair? My appetite goes away if I so much as see a doll on a commercial while I am eating. It just totally gags me. [There is a story here, but we're not sharing that one today.]
IDEA: Maybe I should start carrying a doll around all the time so I can finally lose that stubborn 20 pounds!
I could write a book: The New Doll Diet. It could be a bestseller, people! I don't need your damn negativity. I have enough of my own.