Hello Kitty Adorableness

The Japanese people and SB have A LOT in common. We all love Elvis and sake and Hello Kitty! I know I am speaking on behalf of millions of people I don't know personally, but that's okay. Those fuckers are lucky to have SB as a spokesperson.

I am thinking of purchasing this kitty costume for the Disdainful One. She takes herself a little too seriously.

I Totally Ripped this Shit Off

I totally ripped this shit off from Awkward Family Photos, a site I love, but my ass couldn't resist. I just renamed the photo DORK when I saved it.

When SB was young, my ass was enrolled in ballet and acrobat classes [the Moms wouldn't let me do tap because it was too noisy and might scuff up her floors, so she basically stunted my personal growth in favor or her linoleum], and I did a TA-DA pose just like the geek above. I really only went to classes because I wanted to be in the dance recital at the end of the year. The year's hard work was worth it to get to wear the damn costume, people! And if you don't understand that, then I can't help your sorry asses. Clearly you were not named after Cher, like SB.

There is a picture on my refrigerator still of SB all decked out in said costume, doing the EXACT SAME POSE as the dork. So, I can sort of understand the glee. [The Dork's ass sort of reminds me of Olivia Newton-John getting physical, except that she'd need a good set of tits (or at least SOME tits) and an entire new face and blond hair. Nope, I guess it was just the headband that reminded me of Olivia.]

In SB's photo on the fridge, my face says a sort of grumpy TA-DA MOTHERFUCKERS! HERE I AM. WORSHIP ME. I felt like the sorry small town motherfuckers in the audience were DAMN LUCKY that I took the time out to entertain their sorry uncultured asses. They got to see SB's GREAT TALENT in its infancy.

In our small town, dance classes were taught by Ms. Margaret. She was a redhead, and her claim to fame was that she once danced in Hollywood (or fucked somebody in Hollywood--I can't remember--maybe both). Also, her niece dated Poncho from CHIPS for awhile, but they broke up. There were Erik Estrada sightings and much excitement in Brookville for one thrilling weekend, I can tell you. DID YOU SEE ERIK ESTRADA??? HE WAS AT THE CAR WASH! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? I GOT HIS AUTOGRAPH! HE WAS SO NICE! HIS TEETH ARE SO WHITE, THEY LIKED TO BLINDED ME! HE POSED FOR A PITURE WITH MY GRANDBABIES! WASN'T THAT SWEET? [Jesus fucking H.]

Anyhoo, Ms. Margaret (and don't call her ass Mrs. or Miss Margaret, because your ass would get your shit rebuked) was a little on the plump side and a tad long in the tooth when she taught SB's ass, but it was rumoured that she was a rounder in her day. Bitch had a love life.

She was overall a lovely woman, but you did NOT want to cross Ms. Margaret! She'd raised enough of her own brats that she was not TAKING ANY SHIT from a bunch of smart-assed midget dancers. She was even rumoured to spank occasionally. SB was a pussy and did not risk her wrath. I was not a DEFIANT MOTHERFUCKER like I am today. My societal rebellion came somewhat later in life.

I'm sorry to say that I believe Ms. Margaret is dead now, but her dance studio is still the only game in town. I don't know who the fuck runs that shit. They will never again see talent like SB's, though. That much I can tell you.

It Is Bring Bella to Work Day to Share Her Fucking Preciousness and Lighten the Darkened Lives of My Co-Workers

Today is Bring Bella to Work Day. SB had to fucking spread the kitten preciousness around. I even forced Bella's ass to wear her damn purple bling collar with the tinkle bell and rhinestones THAT SHE FUCKING HATES.

I thought about calling a few close friends here and inviting them to COME LOOK AT MY PUSSY, but if you can believe it, that shit is not considered business appropriate! You can't have any fun in a business office, motherfuckers.

One time, when I was a supervisor (I got layed off from that gig, if you can believe that shit!), I ordered a mini-trampoline and had it delivered to my office, which had a glass window out front. Of course I had to assemble that fucker and test it out. You should have seen the looks on the faces of the motherfuckers passing by the window! So actually you CAN have fun in a business office, but they may lay your ass off for it.

I was telling a male friend on break, when I was petting my pussy, that my pussy is really clean and smells good. Then he wanted to pet my pussy, too!

[The Moms is going to be REALLY MAD when she reads this post. She doesn't like me discussing my pussy in a public forum.]

SB's Favorite Album Cover of ALL TIME

The Mom's had these glasses in the 80s. The SAME EXACT PAIR! The Moms also had a fro in the 70s. I was so PROUD of her when she met me for lunch at school one day. The Moms was stylin, peeps. She was on fashion's cutting edge.

I don't know about you all, but I'm thinking fitty cent (translation: 50 cents) was likely a bargain for this little vinyl gem. Something tells me Joyce probably sang love songs and shit because her ass was trying to look all romantic holding that rose.

Joyce probably creamed her panties over Julio Iglesias and Mack Davis and Charlie Rich. She probably had rescue fantasies involving Barry Manilow. She just looks prim and proper. Those are the WORST ones usually. If I teach you motherfuckers nothing else, let it be that: Watch out for the timid ones--there is a wildness lurking underneath.

Joyce probably had a few too many Kahlua and creams or white wine spritzers one night, and in a moment of CRAZY abandon, had the chorus to Mandy tattoeed on her right butt cheek. YOU JUST KNOW Joyce's dumb ass was humiliated whenever she had to go to the gynecologist after that.

Magic Fucking Bullet Margarita Making

SB stopped by the Kroger last night and picked up some margarita fixings. I bought two bottles of cheap tequila and two things of the Chichi's Strawberry Margarita mix with booze already in it. I like to add extra, motherfuckers. There's no sense in dranking candy-ass tasting shit, if you can't cop a damn buzz.

My ass was tahred after working HARD all day, and I didn't feel like digging the damn frozen drink machine out and washing it up and assembling that shit, so SB had the INGENIOUS IDEA to make margaritas in the MAGIC FUCKING BULLET! Can you say EASY CLEAN-UP, people?

That fucker worked pretty good. I even made one for the neighbor kid (The kid is 25, so any pigs reading this shit, don't try and bust me for serving alcohol to minors--go fight crime, motherfucking pigs--DO YOUR DAMN JOBS AND STOP PICKING ON THE LITTLE GUY! SB is always fighting the man. I am a DEFIANT MOTHERFUCKER like my hero, Steve McQueen.).

The only drawback with the MAGIC FUCKING BULLET was a few sizeable chunks of ice that the midgety dicking device couldn't overcome. I just spooned those fuckers out and roughed it. I will sacrifice for alcohol, motherfuckers!

Spaghettios and Margaritas

This is really weird, but SB has a hankering for Spahettios with meatballs (of course) and frozen strawberry margaritas. Do you motherfuckers see why I might have a slight struggle with my weight?! I'm intuitive eating now, so I can have whatever I want--tonight it's Spaghettios and margaritas.

Now, don't you shiftless fuckers go and picture SB as a TOTAL FAT ASS. Just picture a SEMI-FAT ASS and that works fine.

I am heading for home to begin my feast. Y'all have good evenings.

Jan Crouch Photo of the Day/Month/Week/WTFEver

Looks to SB a little like my holy angel Jan Crouch is grossed-out by the man who's hand she is about to shake. She looks like she may have even puked in her own mouth a little. I'm sure Holy Jan's puke tastes like tapioca puddin.

When you are an ANGEL and a PURE SOUL, you shouldn't have to shake the hand of Joe Blow. It just ain't fittin.

If I Have One MORE Motherfucker. . . .

If I have one more motherfucker walk up to me today and ask my ass a STUPID GODDAMN question, I am going to kill a bitch!

Dash Snow R.I.P.

I'm a little late on this news, but I found out today that the artist Dash Snow died of a drugs overdose. It always gives SB the SADS when an artist, with a particularly unique way of looking at the world, dies.

Here are some of Dash's photos (he also did collages, which often contained his bodily fluids).

The most interesting thing to me about Dash is that he walked away from the de Menil family art fortune early in his life. The de Menils of the art collection. I can't say I'd have done that. SB would kiss grandma's ass to get all of her money, then my ass would rebel and become the family wastrel and piss it all away on parties, drinking, all shades of debauchery, and likely drugs. [I'd like to bring the words wastrel and debauchery back into the common language, too.]

Dash rebelled from his art-collecting family by becoming an artist.

If anybody is offended by the photos above (and I'm not talking about my regular blog family--because I know they aren't Puritan pinheads), then fuck you. I fucking hate Puritans.

Besides his art, this is what Dash leaves behind.

SB Idol: Jan Crouch (with Pink Hair, People!)

Here is SB's beloved idol and precious friend, Jan Crouch. Clearly, Jan had her joy back in this picture. Praise Jesus!

I don't know who the gentleman is, so don't ask me. Whoever he is, he is not worthy to be in such close proximity to Jan's glittery preciousness. His ass needs to back the fuck off.

One Nice Person, One Asshole

Don't your asses be making fun of Tammy Faye! I'm not in a mood to entertain that shit today. Okay, we start with a warning, because my ass is crabby this morning. OOOOHHH, that shit rhymed really good. I was rapping there, people! I have missed my calling. Somebody give my ass a recording contract QUICK!

Anyhoo, over the weekend SB rented the documentary, The Eyes of Tammy Faye. I highly recommend that shit. You know SB has a thing for overly-made up bewigged Christian women. One of my favorites in THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD is Jan Crouch. I especially dig the hot pink wig! Sometimes Jan and I get all worked up and cry together. (At one point, Jan lost her joy and couldn't find it.) That shit sort of bonds two people--depression and crying together. SB is Jan Crouch's #1 fan. I mean that shit, too, goddamnit.

Anyhoo--I digress--The Eyes of Tammy Faye illustrated what a PIG Jerry Falwell was. I already didn't like him for his views on gay people--evidently, AIDS was a plague from God because being gay is a sin--OOOOHHH THAT SHIT MAKES SB MAD!!!

The documentary explained that Mr. Falwell (the asshole in this scenario, if your ass is a little retarded and you hadn't guessed already) offered to help Jim and Tammy through Jim's little indiscretion with dumb ass Jessica Hahn and then took over and ruined their church all because his GREEDY FAT ASS wanted satellite broadcasting. He also called the Bakkers greedy on TV (the pot calling the kettle!) for listing on a sheet of stationary what the board had offered them to live on for a year when he took over. Falwell asked them to write it down and then called them greedy. He had earlier threatened to expose the affair with Jessica Hahn, before the media got wind of it, if they didn't go along with him. Nothing like a good Christian man, huh? FAT GREEDY FUCKING PIG. Did I mention Falwell was FAT? And GREEDY?

Tammy Faye (the sweet and the good of this post) was really misunderstood. I admit that even I made jokes about her and her makeup, and she was really a sweetheart. She embraced gay people and even said on her show that Christians need to be loving to people with AIDS and to show compassion. No shit, right? Well a lot of Christians weren't so loving (like that asshole Falwell). Tammy Faye even forgave that BIG DUMB FAT ASS Falwell, because like Jan Crouch, the memory of that FAT FUCK Falwell was stealing Tammy's joy.

Note: There sure is A LOT of joy stealing going on in Christianity.
Lesson(?): If you want to keep your joy, perhaps you should remain secular.

Tammy was also always appearing on TV with her puppies and kitties, and you know SB is a softy for that shit. You can tell a good person by how much they love animals. If I teach you nothing else, let it be that!

Note: The Moms has this lady in her trailer park in AZ named Mary Grace who doesn't like cats because she is afraid of them. Anyhoo, SB doesn't like Mary Grace. You can't trust a person who doesn't like felines! I have two feline children and that shit is insulting! Mary Grace has insulted my kin, and I do take umbrage.

See The Eyes of Tammy Faye, if you haven't already. It is highly recommended. Two schlongs up.

UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMM, Okay

Link to the Peter Pan Wedding page: http://pixyland.org/peterpan/OurWedding4.html
[Fuckery Warning Level: RED]

In SB's humble opinion, the worst part of this whole red-hot mess is the groom's hair. He looks like he ought to be named Tennille and be dueting with the fucking Captain (who had some freaky motherfucking eyes, by the way--evidence below).

Remember the Dorothy Hamill/Toni Tennille haircut? (Okay--my ass is OLD--we've established that already--so fuck you for thinking it.) SB had one. I thought that shit was stylin, but actually I looked like the little fucking Dutch boy.

Not Much To Say Today Due to the Nocturnal Clampett Invasion

Hello, my dear motherfuckers. I hope all of you had very wonderful and relaxing weekends.

SB had a nice weekend, but got awakened in the wee hours last night by the Clampetts, discoursing loudly RIGHT OUTSIDE the window where I sleep. I swear it was like 4:30 in the morning, and one of the kids who live behind me was headed for the airport, and whoever came by to watch her kids cackled like a drunk when she laughed and talked AT FULL FUCKING VOLUME. "GIRL, YOU LOOK SO GOOD! HAVE YOU LOST WEIGHT?"

Poor suffering SB is a damn zombie today. I had tried to go to bed by like 9:30 last night to catch some extra sleep, because I am still not 100% from my cold, and then THE KITTEN FROM HELL kept playing until I finally shut her in the goddamn bathroom upstairs and then THE BEVERLY DAMN HILLBILLYS had a damn conference outside the window and MOTHERFUCK IT--the best laid plans--and all that shit.

So, SB is a bit tired and down today, and I am missing my dear friend, Ms. Moon, who is enjoying a lovely Mexican vacation. So, when I swung by her blog today, where she has so kindly left us (her blog family) repeater posts to read in her absence (a sort of Best of Ms. Moon), I encountered the post linked below. It didn't help my mood much, but it made me feel even more humanly connected to my dear friend. It also made me ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that she has become one of my favorite writers and one of my favorite people.

I have recently had the pleasure of getting to know Ms. Moon's delightful offspring via the Internet, and I am so damn glad! I refer to the entire family as The Magnificent Moons, and they absolutely fucking are.

Here is a photo of Mr. and Mrs. Moon, which I copped (without her permission) from her site. I love this photo. Could there be a cuter damn couple? I think not.

Link to Ms. Moon's moving post at Bless Our Hearts: http://blessourhearts.blogspot.com/2009/07/when-there-are-no-words.html

SB loves you all. May the day send you unexpected blessings.

Endearing Photo of the Mickster

Mickey Rourke can do no wrong in SB's book. Any guy who loves his dogs as much as Mickey does has got to be a nice guy. And besides, the fucker is just plain cool. I like his battered mug just fine. I am used to it now, and it doesn't even scare me anymore.

This photo really (confused me) touched my cold stone creamery heart. Two of my favorite guys--Mickey and the Jeez--hanging out together.

We haven't had any Mickey news for awhile, and I've missed him, so I just thought I'd share this (weird as fuck) endearing photo.

I Guess Being Our First Black President Means You Shouldn't Speak Honestly

Last night the Moms brought up the fact that President Obama seems so sincere and frank in his communication and how much she admires him for that. The headlines this morning illustrated her point. Evidently, a group of people do not admire the President for being honest at all.

Yesterday, Mr. Obama was honest enough that he somehow got his decent self into trouble by making the following response about the idiotic arrest of African-American Harvard Professor Gates:

"I think it's fair to say, number one, any of us would be pretty angry; number two, that the Cambridge police acted stupidly in arresting somebody when there was already proof that they [Gates and his driver] were in their own home; and, number three, what I think we know separate and apart from this incident is that there's a long history in this country of African-Americans and Latinos being stopped by law enforcement disproportionately."

Now, because of this honest and direct response, newspapers like the NY Post are trying to stir up trouble by implying that the President's comment is proof of some sort of racial agenda.

I beg to differ. What the President said, I reiterate, was honest. I am a white American, and I, too, believe those officers responded to the Gates situation like a bunch of power-drunk babboons. This response was obviously motivated by Professor Gates's race. Shame on them and on all of us, as our police force is only as good as the citizens who fund it.

Bless President Obama for the honesty and straight-forwardness of his response. [I guess after the previous administration, we no longer expect that of our President.] Wrong is wrong. I guess because I'm white, I have the freedom to point that out, and he does not.

We may have elected our first black President in this country, but I'm not sure we've progressed much at all.