Possible NEW Crackhead Nose-Picking Neighbors

The kids next door are moving out. SB chased their asses off in record time. Just kidding. Actually, they found a house in a neighbouring town--the town where SB grew up. Think corn and tractors and FFA, motherfuckers. That's my home town. That's where I come from.

NOTE: FFA stands for Future Farmers of America, but I used to call them Future Fuckers of America, because that shit is immature, and SB still thinks that shit is funny, because it is.

Anyhoo, people have been stopping by to inquire about the For Rent sign out front. Last night, a lady and a few straggly mangy-looking kids and her boyfriend, who I shit you not, picked his nose (but did not eat it, thank Christ), knocked on my door. The lady had sores on her face (methhead), and then I remembered seeing her and the nose-picking boyfriend coming out of a house close by, where I suspect drugs may be sold. Neato.

This lady asked whether my ass got booted for having the yard sale FROM HELL. [She thought it was my half of the house that was for rent!] The monstrosity, the SHEER PHYSICAL FUCKING SPECTACLE, of this fucking sale IS THAT BAD. If it was Christmas time, I'd just throw some X-mas lights up on that shit and it would look like some sort of LOOMING MODERN CHRISTMAS SCULPTURE, and my ass could sell bottled water and charge admission to look at that shit. Surely the local news would feature our house, and we'd win some sort of shitty Chinese-wang local prize.

If I had a damn cell phone, I'd take a damn photo and post that shit, and then all you motherfuckers could collectively gasp. You would gasp, too! Count on that shit. But SB is a good non-complaining neighbour and that shit just amuses the fuck out of me. The yard literally looks like LITTLE KENTUCKY. Ohioans always pick on Kentuckians. We have to be superior to somebody, motherfuckers.

Now, I have to worry about methheads moving in to the other half of the damn house and burning that shit down or poisoning the pets and my ass. CAN YOU SAY METH LAB EXPLOSION, MOTHERFUCKERS? It's a distinct damn possibility. I watch COPS. I know how that shit works. The po-pos have to wear masks when they go into the damn meth labs. And I have a kitten! I have a NEW and FRAGILE fucking life to worry about, people!

And, no, before you ask--this is a small rural Ohio town--it is not typically filled with druggies and low-life sorts--just my particular nitch in the town. Lucky me!

It is raining here today, and SB feels like shithell. Bella, the new kitten, makes more noise than the bloody fires of blooming hell because she is HIGHLY NOCTURNAL, and SB's dumb ass made the mistake of buying her a rhinestone-studded purple tinkle collar with a bell. Did I mention the new collar HAS A BELL and that it tinkles almost CONSTANTLY? Little sleep, peeps. Little sleep.

I finally got up and removed that shit (Bella hates the fucking tinkle collar anyway and kept trying to get it off her own neck frantically--it was quality entertainment), but by then it was 4:30 a.m. so a fucking LOT of good that shit did.

When I left for work this morning, both Mercer and Ginger were in their beds SLEEPING. Those young bitches will wear an old motherfucking ass out. If I teach you motherfuckers nothing else, let it be that shit right there--I repeat: Young bitches will wear your ass out! And well you know it.

SB Is Back but Still Sick as Fuck

Kiddies,
SB is back today, after missing work yesterday and half a damn day today. I sound like Froggy from the fucking Little Rascals, and I think I am running a damn temperature still, but I am here. Let no man (or broad) call SB a damn wimp.

My window at the house is still covered over by yard sale fucking items because the kids decided to extend the fucking sale through next weekend, too. Whatever. I'm easy going for a bastard. The kids and their three kids visit my doddering ass and that shit is like a hurricane descending and LEAVING GREAT AND VAST PEACE in its wake, but I sort of enjoy the temporary chaos MAYBE BECAUSE IT'S TEMPORARY.

Anyhoo, SB has also adopted the kitten the kids rescued from the highway. She is black and medium-haired and sweet and three months old. I've named her Bella. Mercer and Ginger (the Diarrhectic Wunderkind) are tolerating her nicely because they are cranky old farts like me, and change is not their bag. In fact, Bella got tired of Ginger smelling on her and took a whack at Ginger. She may wind up ruling the whole damn roost because Mercer could give a shit. She has the personality of Jerry Garcia. Her ass is LAID BACK, motherfuckers.

Well, there's your update. I'm still alive, just barely. I got in a fight over the campfire with my conservative cousin, Chris, over the weekend, but that shit is another story for another day. We weren't rolling around on the ground or anything. IT WAS A VERBAL CONFRONTATION. Just say Bush or Cheney around me and my ass goes BALLISTIC! It is also good not to ask SB, "What about all those lives Bush saved by going into Iraq?" Excuse fucking me. Say whaaaaaaa?

My love to all you motherfuckers. Hope all is swell.

New SB Feature! Bastardly Pets

SB is a tad grouchy this morning because I've only had three cups of coffee, so bear with me here people. Bastardly Pets is a new feature that I'm adding to the site, where I am going to feature friends' pets.

We are leading off here with my dear friend Lou's cat. Interestingly, Lou, who is one of the nicest people EVER in the world EVER, says the cat is just not that into her. The damn moggy loves Lou's husband the most! Jesus. Fucking felines. What are you going to do?

Lou said the cat gets all sorts of horrified when she tries to hold it. Of course, SB reminded Lou that it is ALWAYS MORE FUN TO LOVE THE UNWILLING! Why is that, people? I love to kiss the Disdainful One, while her fat ass squirms and writhes and tries to escape. Human nature is perverse like that. We love rejection! Treat us like shit, and we're coming back for some more!

Anyhoo, SB WILL FEATURE ANY AND EVERY PET that I receive photos of, even if it takes me until I'm a grey-haired memaw. Grandpets are okay, too.

Please send pet photos to my e-mail account: ugadawg1@woh.rr.com Also, if you like, please send a brief snippet about the interesting quirks or personality of the pet photographed, such as: Fluffy likes to eat the crotches out of my step-daughter's underwear. But we still love her! She is an indispensable part of our family unit!

My readers want to know something about the damn animal. Not just look at the fucking photo.

For those of you SB readers who aren't that keen on pets, you are just going to have to skim over the Bastardly Pets. I'm sorry, but we can't please everyone because that would make my shit crazy. Besides, if you fuckers start telling me what I should post on my site, I might as well pack my bags and move over to communist fucking China or to Russia or some shit. Can you imagine about how long SB would last in either of those two countries? My ass would be shot within about an hour, because I'm a goddamn rebel, and I'LL SAY WHAT THE FUCK I WANT!

Now this Shit Is Some 80's Hair, Motherfuckers

Here we have a prime example of BIG ASSED 80's hair, peeps. Fuck the Flock of Seagulls guy--Howard Jones had it going on. I saw Howard in concert multiple times. LOVE HIM. [If you happen to read this Howard, please leave a comment and update us on your life. No promises, but maybe we'll even rename this blog The Howard Jones Fan Spot in your honor.]

Also, I think we have the ultimate question here on this album cover, don't we? What Is Love? Damned if I know. [Did you ever find the answer to this, Howard? If so, help a bitch out and leave that in the comments section, too.]

Howard was always deep lyrically. His ass was singing about Gaia and shit and telling us not to live our lives for one day and all that. I heard that he is living a quieter life now and is a bigtime Buddhist chanter. So that's lovely.

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 Diarretic Wunderkind Eats Cat Shit

Ginger, the Diarrhetic Wunderkind, has picked up a new habit. We had to move the Disdainful One's litter box recently, and it is now in the utility closet, nearer to the door. Said door is kept propped open, obviously, since Mercer can't open it her-damn-self (she doesn't have opposable thumbs, people, and besides her ass is not tall enough to reach the knob).

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.

The Disdainful One Won!

Hot damn! It looks like the Disdainful One won the SB poll for most gorgeous fucking bitch. Thanks to all who voted!

I'd feel a whole lot better if the Disdainful One could keep her food down. She has been to the vet multiple times of late, and we can't figure out what's wrong with her. She is throwing up right and left and has lost quite a bit of weight.

And yes, this is another reason for the sour mood today. I absolutely worship, Mercer. Sadly, some days I feel like taking care of Mercer and Ginger is my sole reason to exist. That's about as good as it gets, folks.

I am struggling, struggling. . . .

She's a Talker by Neil Goldberg

I totally stole this clip from Michael at Dlisted (link on right), a blog I read daily. I'm not sure why it's so compelling, because it's like 100 gay men brushing their damn cats and saying the same thing, but I love it! SB is fascinated by any human activity that has little or no meaning. That's why I watched the ENTIRE republican convention.

Mercer, the Queen of this Damn Blog, isn't such a talker so much as a DISDAINER. And I have already embraced the fact that I am going to die the neighborhood cat lady (like these gay men), and no one will notice I am dead and so the cats will have to eat my body (including my eyeballs) in order to live. Maybe if the smell starts to drift into the hallway, or the mail backs up, one of my estranged neighbors will call the po-pos. Then the cats will all go to the Humane Society, where they will be old and catergorized as "people eaters" and no one will want to adopt them (everybody always wants a damn kitten). Then, my pussies will all be euthanized humanely. They always say "euthanized humanely." But it really means gassed. There is nothing humane about that shit.

A Literate Pussy

This literate pussy reminds me of Mercer, the Queen of this Damn Blog! Mercer is especially literate. That ho is always reading over my shoulder. She thinks War and Peace is the big suck, too. Two pussy phalanges down!

Vote Motherfuckers!

In honor of Pete Burns, Queen of Gorgeous Glam, SB has started a new poll on the right side of this blog. AND PETE HAD BETTER WIN, TOO! (Or Mercer--either one--Pete or Mercer--both Queens of Gorge).

Pete, we love you, and we wish you a speedy recovery! We also hope you get some lovely drugs in hospital!!

NOW VOTE, MOTHERFUCKERS!

[Admittedly, Bobby Trendy is a tough act to follow. He sort of personifies the Glam. And also, Bobby HATES Howard Stern, and SB bets he is one happy motherfucker to see Howard indicted this week. Comments from Bobby T. welcome!]

Now This is a Cat Toy, Motherfuckers!

The Disdainful One needs one of these! Hell, SB needs one of these--hours of drunken fun!

It Is Too Dairy

And dairy is one of the basic food groups, therefore, it must be good for you. Yes, the Moms fed this shit to her growing chicklet on a blanket outside (in the sun with no sunscreen!) on Chicken in a Biskit (what's up with that spelling anyway--can't those fuckers at Nabisco spell?) crackers. Moms hadn't yet entered her Jane Fonda health food craze phase, where she shoved carrot sticks, grapes, and little tiny boxes of raisins at us, while the other lucky little motherfuckers in the neighborhood got Rice Krispy Treats.

Anyhoo, SB digresses momentarily in her bitterness. Back to the fucking ninth Wonder of the World. It's Kraft Easy Cheese! Fuck that, it's cheese in a goddamn can. Can you smart college kids out there improve on that? And SB recommends this shit with a dry red wine. Of course, what don't I recommend with red wine? EVERYTHING goes better with red, red, wine.

Mercer recommends it, too (not wine--EASY CHEESE--stay with me here, people--it's not that hard). She eats it right out of the spray nozzle! The Disdainful One knows quality food product when she tastes it.

If there is anybody out there who denies that man has evolved as a species, I think the concurrent evolution of cheese-food product is strong evidence that we damn well have.

Aerosol cheese is also a distinctly American invention. That means, we take something perfectly good the way it is and bastardize it by trying to improve upon it. And trust me, the fine folks in Europe aren't going for processed cheese food product at all, let alone junk-filled crap that you can squirt out of a can. Uh huh. No fucking way.

I can hear the conversation between the two American food scientists and inventors of Easy Cheese, wearing lab coats, in the early part of the 1960's.

Food Scientist 1: Stan, is there a way we can improve on cheese? We need to make cheese more exciting and appealing to the modern American consumer.

Food Scientist 2: How about spray cheese in a can, Bob? Now, that would be a gimmick that would sell like hotcakes! It's convenient, modern, and one of the basic food groups. I think American mother's will really go for it, as long as they're not too health food crazed.

Food Scientist 1: By gum, I think you're on to something there, Stan! We'll call it Easy Cheese, or do you think it should be Easy Cheez, with a z? Those guys over at Nabisco come up with some pretty snappy names, and by God, stuff like that moves product!

Food Scientist 2: Who gives a fuck, Bob? What kind of fucking drug are you on?
[Okay, Stan didn't say that. I've just gotten carried away. Kennedy was president. There was no cussing.]

The Mean Mercer (I Mean Kitty) Song

This is genius, people! Sheer greatness! One of you dumb music agent fucks needs to stoop hoovering the coke and give this guy a recording contract!

Cory/Mr. Safety is kind of like a better-looking, more talented Vanilla Ice! Kidding Cory. We kid because we love! SB is a huge fan!

Dead or Alive: Hit and Run Lover

Here is THE LOVE OF SB'S LIFE, PETE BURNS! Okay, so the love of my life is actually Her Disdainful Majesty, Mercer, but Pete's ass is a close second.

SB especially likes the part in the viddy where Pete licks his lips!

WARNING: The glam is blinding. Put on your sunglasses before viewing.

The Grouchy Grandpa

SB is back! Probably no one even noticed I didn't post a goddamn thing yesterday. But I like to think hundreds of you WERE TERRIBLY DISAPPOINTED that I didn't post and that you were checking the site countless times and groaning in disappointment that there were no NEW posts. Let me have my damn illusions, people! How would any of us live without illusions? And also, when you picture me, I want you to picture Angelina Jolie in your minds, because we are practically twins.

Anyhoo, the fucking washer went out, so I had to be at home yesterday for delivery of the new one, plus SB had to run the diarrhetic dog to the vet for an early morning blood test because--get this--her pancreas may be the issue causing her intestinal difficulties. Just like her mom! It's her pancreas, people! The irony. Naturally, the blood test and the scheduled delivery of the damn washer overlapped, so it was a chaotic morning. And you know how SB LOVES MORNINGS anyway!

Also, on the two-mile or so drive into the office this morning, some dumb fuck headed straight at me on my side of the road because he was talking on his damn cell phone, trying to score drugs or meet up with a hooker or some shit. He stopped with his goddamn front bumper about two feet from my front bumper. Then, get this--the asshole waved at me like: I'm sorry I'm a dumb preoccupied fucking asshole. I see I am in your lane, so please pardon my stupidity.

Sometimes, as in this case, I am grateful for my depression, because I don't get worked up over anything, including impending death. I'm like: Is this damn sonofabitch coming at me? Is this fuck in my lane? I didn't see my whole life flash or anything. I didn't even get nervous. I think my reaction time is a bit slow. Fucker could have hit me, and I would have reacted about the time the ambulance techs got me to the nearest hospital. It's a good thing, people! I have very little stress overall.

As a result of all of yesterday's washer/diarrhetic turmoil, SB and Mercer, the Queen of this damn blog, slept poorly last night. When I did sleep, I dreamt that Gordy and his Real Dolls were chasing my ass around, trying to grab me and dip me in plastic to join the old hareem (harem). So, please forgive the quality of the posts that may emanate forth today, due to SBs lack of sleep. On second thought, FUCK THAT SHIT! I don't owe you damn people anything! No one's forcing your ass to read this shit! Go read Ann Coulter's damn blog, if you don't like it. I am a wee tad grouchy this morning.

Being grouchy reminds me of my Grandpa Heeter--no, not the Grandpa who took me to the liquor store with him--the other Grandpa, who owned a carry out. Grandpa Heeter was the grouchiest person SB has ever known. He used to yell at me and my cousins: You damn kids stop running around upstairs! You damn kids stop making so much noise! As a result, for the longest time, I thought the word kids was always preceded by the adjective damn. [I would have my revenge, though. Grandpa H. was prejudiced, so I used the photo of a black grandpa to represent him above. HA, HA!]

Anyhoo, Grandpa even used to bitch out some of his carry-out customers. He was no business man. This one poor hapless regular customer used to come in and buy Natural Light beer, and one day, Grandpa told him to get the hell out of his carry out if he was going to buy that goddamn cheap beer all the time. After the poor flustered guy left, I had to ask: Well, if you don't want him to buy the cheap beer, then why do you stock it?

Gramps DID NOT LIKE THAT SHIT, let me tell you.

The Many Moods of Mercer

Okay, okay, so I lied. One damn mood: DISDAINFUL.

Sarcastic Bastard Recommended: Whisker Lickins Chicken & Cheese

I bought these new treats for the Disdainful One, and they smelled so good, I had to try them! They are delicious! I highly recommend them for you or your pussy.

p.s. Mercer loves them, too! She even comes to me when I dole out the treats now, rather than my having to take the treat to her ass and beg her to eat it. We call this progress, people! Hot damn.

Cat Toes

SB has a thing for cat toes. It just sends me into hyperdrive when Mercer does cat toe stretch and extends each little toe out separately! I just have to do the this little piggy thing! Which she hates. And then the Disdainful One attacks me, and I have to go back to work with blood dripping down my wrists and sutures on my mangled hands, but it's the price of feline love, people! Well worth it, well worth it.

Anyhoo, I just ran across this excellent picture of cat toes! Bonus: There are even EXTRA toes on this moggy. I don't know which is better--the picture of Jan in her pink wig or the close up of the cat toes. You be the damn judge, people. I can't make up your minds!

Early Morning Bagism with Mercer

This morning my grouchy ass was awakened by the Disdainful One, climbing in and out of a large brown paper shopping bag in the closet.

First Words of the Day: MERCER--YOU ARE NOT YOKO ONO--GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THAT BAG!

Not in a Charitable Mood Today

SB is a grouchy, uncharitable motherfucker today. It is snowing (again), and I hate the cold and goddamn snow. I just want to stay at home and snuggle with the Disdainful One.

Also, some of the fuckers in the cubes nearby are driving me nuts. Everytime it even threatens snow, all these guys talk about is the weather. They pull up the radar. They speculate on how many inches we might get. They talk about going home to work if the snow gets heavy. Who gives a shit? What is going to happen will happen, and we'll deal with it then, I figure.

Also, one group discusses lunch all the time, beginning at about 9:30 in the morning. Where are we eating today? What sounds good? I think pizza sounds good today. I really could go for a large pepperoni. Do you think it's on special? Then, when the fuckers get back from lunch, they starting talking about where their asses are going to eat tomorrow for lunch. Several of these folks should not be eating at all for about a month or so. Got me?

Tonight, after work, I'm going to a nearby bar for a drink or two with some of my really fun co-workers. This is pending the weather for some, of course. I can tell you this: SBs fucking ass is going. SB would drive through a whiteout for cheap beer! It's dollar draft night, people!

SB's Omentum-Reducing Fitness Plan

Since you kind readers (shiftless motherfuckers) haven't exactly been forthcoming with the dieting tips, SB has been forced to come up with her own damn fitness plan. I have been jogging twice this week so far, and I have run a combined total of 1.5 miles! Boy, am I tired. The only problem I have, is that while my omentum may shrink, my TITTAYS are going to wind up hanging to my fucking waist because I refuse to wear a damn sports bra.

I tried to run really quick tonight so I wouldn't miss the third rerun of Rock of Love Bus. You can't miss Bret telling a sorry-ass ho to get the fuck off the bus! Fuck Shakespeare. That's drama!

When I was getting in the shower tonight, I asked Mercer whether it was my imagination or did my omentum appear to be a little less hangy. Her response was noncommittal disdain, but I think this fitness shit is paying off.

I find that running is sort of meditative, and I can't help myself, try as I might, I usually think deep thoughts. Tonight, I was pondering a question that Michael (God of All Bloggers) at Dlisted asked earlier this week. The question was: Do you think it's okay to rinse and reuse dental floss? It came to me while jogging that it is probably only hygienic if you swish the floss in dish soap before the rinse, but then it should be okay to be a cheap motherfucker and reuse it.

Your thoughts on this highly important matter, people? We may all need to reuse floss soon in this economy. You can post your thoughts in the abandoned ghost-town fucking comments section if you like. There actually is a COMMENTS FEATURE to this blog, people. Please motherfucking use it once in awhile.

p.s. SARCASTIC BASTARD LOVES TO HEAR FROM ENGLISH-SPEAKING JAPANESE PEOPLE!