Monday, November 30, 2009
My ass is cramming for a software proficiency exam on Tuesday afternoon. I will be back posting semi-regularly on Wednesday this week.
Hope all of you had swell holiday weekends (here in the States anyway).
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
The writer/singer is Shawn Mullins, and he is such a beautiful artist. I am so in awe of his voice and the way in which he sees the world.
True love it is a rock. Owen was born to shimmer. He was born to shine. Ms. Moon, you already do. I love your way.
This song is for you guys. Mary, I expect you to hold Owen and dance to it. Laugh. Somebody had better take a picture of that shit, too.
American families reflect the diversity of this great nation. No two are exactly alike, but there is a common thread they each share.
Our families are bound together through times of joy and times of grief. They shape us, support us, instill the values that guide us as individuals, and make possible all that we achieve.
So tomorrow, I'll be giving thanks for my family -- for all the wisdom, support, and love they have brought into my life.
But tomorrow is also a day to remember those who cannot sit down to break bread with those they love. The soldier overseas holding down a lonely post and missing his kids. The sailor who left her home to serve a higher calling. The folks who must spend tomorrow apart from their families to work a second job, so they can keep food on the table or send a child to school.
We are grateful beyond words for the service and hard work of so many Americans who make our country great through their sacrifice. And this year, we know that far too many face a daily struggle that puts the comfort and security we all deserve painfully out of reach.
So when we gather tomorrow, let us also use the occasion to renew our commitment to building a more peaceful and prosperous future that every American family can enjoy.
It seems like a lifetime ago that a crowd met on a frigid February morning in Springfield, Illinois to set out on an improbable course to change our nation.
In the years since, Michelle and I have been blessed with the support and friendship of the millions of Americans who have come together to form this ongoing movement for change. You have been there through victories and setbacks. You have given of yourselves beyond measure. You have enabled all that we have accomplished -- and you have had the courage to dream yet bigger dreams for what we can still achieve.
So in this season of thanks giving, I want to take a moment to express my gratitude to you, and my anticipation of the brighter future we are creating together.
With warmest wishes for a happy holiday season from my family to yours,
President Barack Obama
[Note for my UK friends: Kroger is our supermarket chain, like a Sainsbury's.]
[The Thanksgiving holiday and what whitey was ACTUALLY saying.] "Thank you for helping our cracker asses to survive in the New World. We couldn't have done it without you teaching us about how to grow corn and shit. In apology for building strip malls on the sacred land on which your elders are buried, here's some liquor and a reservation for you to enjoy. No--not a dinner reservation--an actual place called a reservation for your Tonto ass to call home. Oh, and should we find valuable minerals or oil on your land, we might appropriate that land, too, (our government gives us the right after all) and just move your inconvenient no-job alcoholic asses to a new reservation. But, thanks again for helping us make it here. We appreciate hell out of it. We really do."
I hope I can keep my turkey down this year. Pass the tomatoes, would you?
There is something so moving about Timothy's childlike innocence and grace and his love and apprectiation for his life and his "children." Tim was a good steward and a sweet and gentle soul. I would have given my right arm to have shared a campfire and a cup of coffee with him. I find him fascinating. I know that, like me, like many of us, Tim struggled with the darkness and drugs and drink before he found his true calling. I'm so glad his bears saved him.
I find the focus on Tim's death understandable, but unfortunate. I have to say that I don't think Tim was crazy, and I certainly don't think he was stupid, in doing what he did. What Tim actually did with his life, giving all of us such an important and miraculously close look into the world of bears and other wild creatures, was such a precious offering. I am in awe of Tim's life work. It was a short life, but a very good life. I know Tim felt that way. He said so many times, and he knew very well the risks involved. He was simply willing.
Thank you Tim Treadwell. I love you. I hope there are bears wherever you are.
[For once, the Moms was speechless, but with a look of abject horror.]
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
The minute I saw the words Another Kent State Death this morning, I felt very sick. Much like the earlier deaths, this death is just plain senseless.
God bless Chris Kernich and his family.
I regularly read a site dedicated to Wallace and his work, which of late has been covering a New York conference on Wallace and his writing. After reading the schedule and subject matter covered by the conference, it's strikes me that DFW has been so dissected and idolized that I wouldn't be surprised to encounter a lecture on his bowel habits. Maybe I should say "His bowel habits," because these folks have placed Foster Wallace in the holy firmament, somewhat akin to a God. Then again, maybe such a subject would not be covered in the conference, because maybe the die-harders think that Mr. Foster Wallace was too elevated to shit at all.
I think this idolatry has done DFW a very grave disservice, because his compassion and HUMANITY are precisely what made his work so great and so essentially his.
I have to honestly say (admittedly, not having known Mr. Wallace personally) that I don't believe DFW would be AT ALL happy to find his very private self so idolized and inspected. Nor do I believe he would enjoy having his work so over-analyzed and dissected.
At this point, I think some of these Wallace-philes ought to just start a David Foster Wallace Fan Club and wear badges and get it over with. Gag.
I also take the liberty to gag on behalf of Mr. Foster Wallace, because he can no longer do so himself.
[Important Note: I need to add that I do not, in any way, mean to belittle the fine work that Nick does over at The Howling Fantods!, a site I read nearly daily. I believe that Nick does all of the hard work of keeping and maintaining the site sheerly out of a love and appreciation for Wallace and his work. I am indebted.]
You should see my poor hands this morning! I have a blister in my right index finger from all the Lestoil mop water and from washing my hands literally hundreds of fucking times (UNTIL THEY FUCKING BLED) to keep flea transfer to a minimum. Also, there were the literally 30-some loads of wash I did. I went through two bottles of laundry detergent. If it wasn't nailed down, my ass washed it.
I hand-mopped all of the tile floors, and on Saturday, I ran up the road to the vet's office for a second can of the over-priced flea spray, JUST TO BE FUCKING SURE. I vacuumed each fucking room over and over and over and even went around the cocksucking baseboards. I spent about 10 hours on Saturday cleaning and at least 6 more on Sunday cleaning. Mr. Clean can kiss my fucking fat ass. I never want to see that smug grinning bald motherfucker's face AGAIN.
To top that motherfucking cocksucking shit off, I ran a brief errand Sunday afternoon, and when I got back, I found that Ginger the Diarrhetic Flea-Infested Wunderkind had gotten up and laid on the couch while I was gone. The same couch I had painstakingly swept (under cushions and in crevices and shit) multiple times earlier that day.
Normally, I put high school text books on the couch to dissuade that bony bitch from taking a nap there. Of course, I had forgotten in my hurry to leave the damn house to put the damn books on the cocksucking couch.
To say that my neighbours probably had their hands on the phone to call the PETA after the way I yelled at Ginger's dumb ass for said couch nap, would not be a stretch. YOU GODDAMN DODO MOTHERFUCKER! YOUR DAMN ASS HAD BETTER STAY OFF THE FUCKING COUCH, OR I WILL FUCKING GIVE YOU TO THE FIRST FUCKING PASSERBY! So there. Poor old flea infested bag of bones. And then I felt guilty after my little temper tantrum, of course. I will see you in hell--next to the bonfire--toasting marshmallows into perpetuity to feed to the good Christian folks in heaven who gave their retirement savings to PTL. There will be an extra chair if you want to help a bitch out.
If any of those parasitic motherfuckers are not dead or on their way to dead at this point, my ass will probably hang myself. I am only half joking.
The whole process wasn't as bad as cancer, obviously, but I think it ranks right under that. It was definitely one of the WORST FUCKING THINGS SB has ever been through in her pathetic life. I'd put it on par with my divorce. Seriously.
SB is the laziest motherfucker on Earth, and to clean like that, is just FUCKING TORTUROUS. It is soul-destroying. HAVE I BEEN DRAMATIC ENOUGH? Okay, enough already. You get it. I'll drop the pity party, but I must add that now, of course, I will have to go home after work each night this week and vacuum the entire house because I will feel itchy iffin I don't. Also, I don't know when I can safely stop vacuuming on a daily-fucking-basis, so it may be akin to that fucker in Greek mythology, holding the fucking rock into perpetuity. That is our word for the day, motherfuckers: PERPETUITY.
Thank Christ, it's a short week.
Poor little fellow. Welcome to the world. Life is hard.
Link to video (very graphic, in case you are a squeamish pussy):
Friday, November 20, 2009
Actually, I know a lot of Badasses, but I'm not passing this shit on to anyone, because then the whole process gets too damn much like those idiotic chain e-mails you get that say if you are my fucking friend send this shit back to me and so on and so forth. The insanity stops here, my friends. Perhaps this is not very generous of SB, but fuck it. I could give a rat's fuck.
That being said, I love you, Dish! Thanks for the honor. I am so glad I virtually met you. You enrich my life, ho.
My name is Isaac, and I have a proposal for you. I just wanted to know if this is something that you would be open minded to do. It’s a complete shot in the dark but I thought I could ask anyways. what the hell you only live once.
I was wondering if you would be possibly open to rip farts on my head/face? I have a fetish where I actually get turned on hearing a guy or girl fart. It’s just a weird fetish that I’ve had my entire life. When i was a teenager i wrestled a lot, and my friends used to rip ass a lot and thats how it all started. My ex girl used to fart as well and that turned me on too.
I’m a real chill and down to earth guy. I’m only 25 years old, white.. I’m a pothead and stoner, completely harmless bro. im a real nice and honest guy. just trying to find someone who can fulfill my fetish.
I would be down to give you cash upfront if this is something you think you would be down to do. How much would you want? Do you fart a lot?
This isn’t anything sexual. . I just want your farts. im mostly str8, i dont talk or act gay, im one of those guys you can have a beer with. this is 100% serious and real. i just want to meet up and chill out.
i could easily get a hotel room near you, and we can chill out there, smoke, watch tv or a movie and whenever you gotta rip ass you just fart on my face thats it. its fn hard to find someone who farts a lot. i would be willing to do whatever it takes to make this happen. i want to make sure your comfortable as possible as well.
i know it would be weird at first but once you get to know i dont think you will have a problem at all. i wouldnt want you to feel uncomfortable im too nice of a guy.
Please let me know if are interested. I have a pic I can send you. If your offended or not interested, thats no problem dude. Like I said it was a short in the dark. But if you fart a lot and want to make some money then I think it’s something you should definately consider. and dude if you fart a lot then we can easily do this like 2-3 times a month so if you need some recurring incomes then this would be perfect for you.
im actually mostly straight, love women. i dont associate myself with even being gay, i dont talk or act gay or anything. im pretty much a regular guy. except for the fact i got a weird fetish and i can get turned on hearing a girl or guy fart. thats ;pretty much it.
please let me know if your down for this and i can send you some pics.
The REALLY AND TRULY FINAL deadline on my project is today, and I also have two more things that have cropped up here at work that I need to take care of by end of day. On top of that, we have a two-hour mandatory company-wide luncheon/meeting today, so I will be short two fucking hours to get everything done. Happy Friday!
On top of that, I found out last night that Ginger (my asshole-licking dog) has fucking fleas! I grew up with animals in the country, and never in my life have I had to deal with a flea infestation. The vet surmised that one of my new kittens may have brought them in. Yippee! And the maintenance medicine that the vet has Ginger on evidently makes her a magnet for fleas. Would have been nice if they had mentioned that earlier. Oddly, I had no trace of the fleas in my house and no bites on me. When I gave Ginger a bath last week, thinking she had some sort of skin rash, there weren't even any fleas in the damn bath water. I had no idea she was infested until the vet found them on her last night.
So much for a nice relaxing pre-Thanksgiving weekend. My ass was up to midnight last night, putting flea treatment on all the cats and washing bedding and shit and vacuuming every-fucking-goddamn-inch of the downstairs, including furniture. The forecast for SB is more of that shit tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday. Plus the vet gave me some spray that I have to spray on the furniture and carpet. I called my sister in tears last night.
If any of you dear folks have dealt with fleas in the past and have any good tips, PLEASE, PLEASE, let me know. With 8 pets, I need to get rid of this shit and FAST! I will flea bomb if necessary, but am trying to avoid that, because of the mess I'm told it makes and because I have three kittens that I don't wish to poison with toxic fumes.
Have a good weekend all. I should be back to regular blogging (I hope) on Monday. Excuse my lack of comments on your blogs today. I don't think I'm going to have a lot of time for reading.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
So you can sort of imagine my disappointment at running across the ad above. Frankly, I don't wish to remember Evel in this fashion.
SB is coveting Evel's scooter though. There's even a basket for a six-pack in the front! DAMN. The Pride Legend is clearly the Cadillac of scooters.
[Little Known Trivia: Did you know that Evel had a son named Stevel Knievel?
You can only finding exciting, but little-known, trivia like this at Sarcastic Bastard. NOWHERE ELSE.]
I'm going to have to work harder. It should have only taken 1 second.
Oh God, isn't that hysterical?! I simply have never had anyone refer to me as a "crazy cat lady" before. How original! FUCK YOU, YOU FUCK FUCKING DUMB ASS BORE OF A MOTHERFUCKER. If you think my ass is sitting anywhere near you at the company X-mas party, you can lick my sphincter, you BIG FUCKING BORE. [I know all this ranting makes me sound mentally unbalanced. NEWSFLASH: I am!]
Anyhoo, that shit made SB an itsy bit angry, especially since it happened before 10:00. Not that ANY AMOUNT OF COFFEE IN THE WORLD EVER would ever fucking improve an encounter with the office blowhard, who is the typical LOUD motherfucker everybody knows (every office or tour bus has one!), who just thinks he is the wittiest funniest person who ever gifted the fucking planet.
This man is SO NOT witty, and SB should know from witty, because my ass was voted wittiest in high school. I am the Queen of that shit, and don't you forget it.
On another subject, my deadline has been extended until today on the work project. It was a bit more complex than we had previously planned on. The crazy cat lady (har, har!) will be back tomorrow, and hopefully this motherfucking work shit will be all wrapped up, and I will be FREE, FREE, I say!
Have a great day, one and all. I will suffer here, working on a boring fucking work project, possibly subjected once again to the office bore, who my ass may shank, if he is fucking dumb enough to approach me before noon. But don't worry about me. SB is a fucking survivor.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
I didn't want anybody to be concerned, but I won't be posting any further today, due to a fucking deadline here at work. If you're lonesome for SB, read some of my old archived shit. Actually, I think the first couple of months that I started the blog (last January and February) were some of my finest posts. I was finding my voice, motherfuckers! Or it was finding me.
I hope all of you have a great day.
Be back tomorrow at some point.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
"I have had patients who swear that they are not eating any more, but still gaining weight, so that tells us there is some kind of metabolic influence going on; I have also had patients tell me that they are not only more hungry and eating more, but that the medicines are encouraging a carbohydrate craving that is hard to control, so we know appetite also plays a role," he says.
[SB definitely had the carbohydrate craving. The singer Robbie Williams said he did, too. Did anyone else taking antidepressants experience this? Just curious.]
Anyhoo, after Ms. Moon gets done knitting that scarf for Jessie, I'm thinking she might combine her love of chickens with her knitting hobby. Those little fuckers need to stay warm at night! The little buttons look like a bitch though.
[Conversation at a party]
What do you do for a living?
I button chickens into tiny little ponchos this chick in Florida knits.
Uhhhhhmmmmmmmm, okay. If you'll excuse me, I think I need to find the bathroom.
[Thinking: fucking elitist snob] Yeah man, whatever.
I lasted maybe for about the first two minutes of this video at the link below. It was all I could take. And if you don't watch, because you don't want to know, so you can go on enjoying your hamburgers, you are a hypocrite and you know it. I think if you choose to eat meat, you should be required to watch this film.
Hatfield Quality Meats/Country View Family Farms, get fucked. This is part of their hypocritical core values statement (direct quote). "We will continue to build on the values that our company was founded upon by striving to operate in a way that will honor the Lord Jesus Christ as demonstrated through our Integrity, Ethics and Stewardship." Assholes.
Tell Hatfield what you think. I am!
Hatfield Quality Meats
Philip A. Clemens Chairman, Chairman of Owners' Advisory Council and Chief Executive Officer, The Clemens Family Corporation.
2700 Clemens RoadHatfield, Pennsylvania 19440 United States
Meat is murder.
Link to story/video: http://www.truecrimereport.com/2009/11/undercover_video_makes_country.php
SB has an OVERWHELMING FUCKING FEAR of snakes (I recoil when I see a stick shaped like a snake while out walking for christsakes), and believe me when I tell you this viddy made me SO SICK to my stomach (SERIOUSLY), I won't be eating until at least supper time. THE SNAKE DIET PLAN.
Rationally, I do sort of understand the snake biting the dumb-ass reporter. Fucker was tired of being messed with. I bite when somebody messes with me at times, too. I sympathize with the snake, but I still don't want to hang out with him.
I took Spanish in high school, and I think the video title translates to something like: SUCK ATTACK. Cool, huh? What bitch wouldn't want to watch something called SUCK ATTACK?
For those of you who are not aware, SB is going through a non-contentious, but still upsetting divorce (after roughly 15 years together), and I am also trying to get off my antidepressants for the first time in many years. To say that I am on a bit of an emotional roller coaster, is probably putting it mildly. I am about as emotionally steady as a pregnant woman (no offense pregnant ladies!) and even cry at commercials or any happy or sad event for that matter. I'm a damn mess. And I am not used to feeling anything normally. The antidepressants dumbed down quite a lot. I didn't realize this until I got off them.
[Please note: I'm not looking for advice. I just ask for your patience. The posting may not be as heavy as usual for a little while. I'm not feeling particularly funny these days.]
As my brother Nick says, "This too shall pass." It will. I know it. Some things in life, you just have to grit your teeth and get through it. There are no fucking shortcuts.
That's where I'm at.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Friday, November 13, 2009
I'm so damn lucky to have such a great blogging family, and Glimmer is certainly one of the people of which I speak. Thank you. All of you. My life is blessed and enriched by your presences. I sure am feeling emotional and sentimental this week. Maybe it's because I stopped taking my antidepressants.
Firstly, I got to converse with my idol and adopted family member, the great and wise Ms. Moon. For two damn writers, who don't much like the phone, we did pretty damn good as talkers. I think we talked for about an hour and a half or more. It was great.
I love you Ms. Moon! Such a damn thrill to finally talk to you! I can't tell you.
Ms. Moon is EVERY FUCKING BIT as great as you'd think she would be if you read her blog regularly. And if you don't read her blog regularly, you damn well should.
Secondly, I went to call the Moms and Daddums, who are out at their place in Arizona for the winter (winter weather pussies), and the Dads sounded mighty tired, and frankly, really old. At first, I thought I had awakened him or some shit, but it was only about 7:00 out there. I said something like: "Yo, pops. How are things? You sound tired."
We talked a little bit, and then I asked where the Moms was, and Daddy said: "Why, she's in bed." He said it like: you should know this shit by now. What's the matter with you? [Well, this was a tip off, the Moms would NEVER be in bed at 7:00 at night. She would get too bunged up about being unable to sleep through the night if she went to bed that early. When you're retired, you get constipated over dumb stuff like that, because you don't have anything real to worry about.]
Anyhoo, that was the tip off that this Moms was not MY Moms and that made this Daddums not MY Daddums.
"Sir, I'm sorry. I don't think I'm your kid."
"Well, you could be, I have nine of them."
I apologized and we hung up and I love that sweet old guy, who oddly even happens to possess the same name as my Daddums: Larry. I would be honoured to be one of Larry's kids. What a sweetheart. God bless him.
He was so nice, I was tempted to go on talking with him. I sort of wish I had.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
If I were only allowed to listen to one musical artist for the rest of my life, I'd pick Rufus. Motherfucker is a musical genius. He's composing operas based on Shakespearean sonnets now.
Elton John said that Rufus is the greatest living songwriter. Can you imagine having Elton John say that about you?
I'm pretty sure I'm naming my new cat after Rufus in feline tribute. That's how great and insane my fanship is. I draw the line at stalking him.
Everysinglefuckingday, SB dreams of retiring, but when I filled out my 401-K paperwork the other day, and they asked me when I thought I might actually be able to retire, I answered honestly. I put retirement age: 95. I have a little hope that I can catch me a rich pepaw sugar daddy, but you can't count on that shit.
I really am.
Normally, I think I am pretty jaded by the moronic conduct of some of my countrymen, but I guess I wasn't as jaded as I thought.
For those of you who are not living in the United States (and I know racism happens everywhere), take a look at the mentality of some of our citizens. Moronocity. I've created a new word for it. Hat tip to Kimora Lee Simmons.
steven A said:
I WISH I COULD WATCH WHAT THEY DO TO THEM IN PRISON. I HOPE A BIG NIGGER WITH THE BIGGEST DICK RAPES THESE BASTERDS. NO OFENCE BLACK PEOPLE.
Posted 11/11/2009 at 06:21:33 PM
Ok Querty... are you from PA???? I don't think that comment makes sense to anyone but locals.
& Steven, really you couldn't think of a better comment?
Posted 11/11/2009 at 06:25:52 PM
I think steven A should think before he types!!!!!!!! What a jerk.
Posted 11/11/2009 at 07:22:27 PM
[VERDICT: steven A is an ignorant motherfucker, who incidentally can't spell for shit. I mean how fucking dumb are you to not only make the damn comment in the first place, but then to add no ofence black people? Jesus.]
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Goddamn the ignorance in this country. All people are created equal. Our country is founded on this principle. ALL PEOPLE. Until gay people are treated with dignity and accorded the same rights as everyone else, we bear a deep and lasting shame as a nation.
If you use your religion to make other people feel less than, shame on you. And shame on our government for using legislation to make a good portion of our citizens feel like they are lesser.
History will judge us harshly, and right will win in the end.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I eagerly await your response.
It is an important book, and I cherish it. Here is a link, if you are interested in reading it. It is a small, but powerful, book.
It comforts me, in these times, that there are still some true elders worth looking to for guidance. When Mr. Vonnegut died, I felt very lucky that the world still contained Wendell Berry.
If he weren't a modest Kentucky farmer, you might have heard of him already. I'm quite sure if Emerson were alive today, few people would know of him. Think about it. They would know all about stupid Britney Spears and those idiots Jon and Kate, but most people wouldn't know a damn thing about Emerson.
I love Wendell Berry of Kentucky. He is a God in our time. And every word is honest and true, and of course, there is little value in that these days, though it's a precious commodity. This poem is a blueprint for revolution. The only kind that really matters.
Manifesto:The Mad Farmer Liberation Front
by Wendell Berry
Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery any more.
Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millenium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion -- put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go.
Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Anyhoo, one time Aunt Carol was driving along the highway, and she saw a lady parked at the side of the road with her flashers on. Aunt Carol, realizing this lady must be in some distress, pulled off the road in front of her and walked back to the lady in the car. [This was in the halcyon days before every asshole had a cell phone.]
When Carol got to the lady, the lady refused to roll her window down. Carol kept motioning to the lady to roll down the goddamn window, but the lady was putting safety first, by God, and there was no way in hell that bitch was rolling the window down.
Aunt Carol, always a quick thinker, reached in the pocket of her suit and pulled out her real estate business card, which included a snappy smiling photo of herself. Carol knocked soundly [again] on the window, waved the card, and said [LOUDLY], "I'm a realtor. I won't hurt you."
I can't tell you whether the frightened woman finally rolled the damn window down or not, but this story has become classical family lore. Classic Carol.
Goddamn, I miss her.
Link to story: http://www.truecrimereport.com/2009/11/sharon_mcdonough_accused_of_to.php#more
Monday, November 9, 2009
[First off, NO, I DID NOT WRITE THIS SHIT. This smells of Craiglist. I must admit, I'd respond to this batshit in order to rescue my dog, even though my dog kept me up last night slurping her asshole LOUDLY. Did I mention it was LOUD? On second thought, maybe I'd let batshit keep her.]
On the way into work this morning, I nearly killed a bitch. I got behind TWO motherfuckers driving BELOW the fucking speed limit and chatting away on cell phones. I will admit, I passed the first old bitch in a no-passing area of the road. That shit was going to give me a heart attack. There is going to be a road rage incident soon! I am going to beat a hapless bitch to death with his/her cell phone. I HATE CELL PHONES. I would like to KILL whoever invented them.
My Uncle Gene and I are both noted for our impatience. Gene will go in to get his car worked on, and if his ass is not waited on in the first two minutes after he enters the service department, motherfucker will get in his car and drive off. SB is about that patient myself. I have driven off after placing orders in drive-thrus before. I am going to die someday. I don't have a lot of time to sit around and wait for shit.
I have also noticed that it's usually a damn retiree holding everybody up. It must be nice to have all the time in the damn world. How selfish to just assume that everybody else does though.
Friday, November 6, 2009
[Seriously, I once heard some doltish American tourists tell a tour guide that they speak American, and the damn tour included English people. No wonder everybody hates us overseas.]
I went out to take the dog for a walk (in the perpetual-fucking-darkness that now envelops Buttfuck, Ohio by 6:30) last night, and I tripped over a curbstone or some fucking shit, and now I am not only sick, but also limping.
Old age is a cocksucking motherfucking cunt bitch. My dumb ass can't even take a damn walk in the semi-darkness now (there were street lamps, after all) without injury. Next thing you know, my doddering ass will be falling down the steps in my house, steps which are extremely fucking tiny (because the house dates to the 1800s) and not made for big size-10 Sasquatch feet like mine. The stairs are a drunken accident waiting to happen, motherfuckers. Mark my words.
Also, there is a sloped ceiling in the bathroom, over the cat's litter box, and every damn time I go to scoop the kitty shit, I knock myself in the damn head when I stand upright. I'll probably concuss mydamnself eventually. Traumatic head injuries can trigger massive personality changes, you know. What if it turns me into an evangelical Christian or some damn shit? Jesus.
CAN YOU MOTHERFUCKERS SAY, "BODY OF AILMENTS"? Tis true. SB is a big fucking goddamn mess.
And that genius, Woody Allen, is right, there is not one damn recompense that I can find for getting older. Not one. And DON'T YOU DARE suggest that peace of mind is a recompense for getting older, because my ass does not have that.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
I am (as far as I know) a straight person, but I am 100% for gay marriage and gay adoption. If you are not, please go read another blog.
Link to Ms. Moon's fine blog entry: http://blessourhearts.blogspot.com/2009/11/im-sad-and-pissed.html
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Warning: It is a child murder and not for the squeamish.
Link to story: http://www.truecrimereport.com/2009/11/1983_murder_of_st_louis_girl_h.php#more
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
"Nobody is that important. They eat, shit, and screw, just like you. Maybe not shit like you, you got those stomach problems."
Link to the whole schmiel: http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays
Monday, November 2, 2009
Also, please forgive my lack of comments on your blogs this week, I'm probably not going to have as much time to read this week either.
Hope all of you are doing swell.