If you would care to add your name and help to steer the Senators to abolish this bullshit, below is the link. It only takes a minute, but it's damned important. Thank you.
http://my.barackobama.com/page/content/repealdadt?source=20100525_MS_act&keycode=&email=ugadawg1%40woh.rr.com
Friday, May 28, 2010
The Japanese Squirrel with a Big Nutsack Costume
Get yours early. Supplies are limited.[Also, the Japanese are weird. I dig them, but motherfuckers are weird. That shit is an empirical fact.]
I Lost Another Follower: Goodbye You Fuck Fucking Fucker
FUCK YOU to that follower, I say! You will be missed about as much as a case of the clap or the herp. Go read Pioneer Woman's shitty blog. That's where you REALLY belong.
Happy Memorial Day?
Is it appropriate to say that shit? I mean--to wish others a "Happy" Memorial Day. Well, fuck it. I just did it--appropriate or not. I make the rules around here. I am the decider, as an infamous moron once said. A moron that I would not piss on if he were on fire. A moron who, when he dies, I am going to have a party to celebrate, and I'm damn serious.
Here's an interesting image to leave you motherfuckers to ponder over the holidays and shit. [I know it's not holiday appropriate, but fuck it. I am the decider.]
I am well aware that the economy has hit us all hard (even the pedo Easter Bunny), but still. This costume makes the Easter Bunny's nuts looking obscene(ly small). It also accentuates his man boobs. Shit is unfortunate. Little dude is scared. So is SB.
Happy Memorial Day, motherfuckers! God bless us, every one.
Here's an interesting image to leave you motherfuckers to ponder over the holidays and shit. [I know it's not holiday appropriate, but fuck it. I am the decider.]
I am well aware that the economy has hit us all hard (even the pedo Easter Bunny), but still. This costume makes the Easter Bunny's nuts looking obscene(ly small). It also accentuates his man boobs. Shit is unfortunate. Little dude is scared. So is SB.Happy Memorial Day, motherfuckers! God bless us, every one.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Somebody from Oak Ridge Is Visiting My Site!
I got all excited and thought it might be The fucking Oak Ridge Boys visiting my humble site, but then I remembered The Oak Ridge Boys are from Oak Ridge, Tennessee, not damn Oak Ridge, New Jersey. Fuck me.
Another Photo I Happen to Damn Hell Like
This is another damn lunatic (theme!) photo I just happen to like. Bitch likes cats. This is like pre-Jocelyn Wildenstein, peeps. Ho has a painted face because they didn't do all that damn plastic surgery shit in those days. SB would hang out with this ho. We'd have a good time. We could dress the cat up and shit. Can you tell the cat is a little frightened? Fucker is sitting on the FAR END of the damn sofa. He's taking NO chances.SB has always wanted to be institutionalized. You could watch crappy TV all day long, you wouldn't have to work, except to make t-shirts or some damn shit in occupational therapy, and you would get lots of free drugs. And BONUS, I wouldn't have to shave my damn legs, because they DO NOT trust crazy bitches with razors. Of course, I would find it hard to go to the bathroom if an attendant had to go with me and watch me. There are downsides to everydamnthang. If I don't teach your special-ed asses anything else, let it be that!
I Just Like the Damn Photo, Okay?
This is some damn weirdo on the grounds of a lunatic asylum fucking about. The loon in the front is obviously amused. At least I assume she's the crazoid. Perhaps it's Amorous Statue Guy who is the batshit.
From the Inimitable Shitmydadsays
"No. Humans will die out. We're weak. Dinosaurs survived on rotten flesh. You got diarrhea last week from a Wendy's."
Link to the whole ball of wax: http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays
Link to the whole ball of wax: http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays
More Shit SB Says: On Being Vegetarian
I was a total vegetarian for six years when I was younger, but I got hungry for a McDonald's fish sandwich and fell off the wagon from there. Next came a Quarter Pounder. After that, it was anybody's ballgame.
Now, I see cows grazing in a field, and I am tempted to stop the car and get a fork and the old A1 out.
Now, I see cows grazing in a field, and I am tempted to stop the car and get a fork and the old A1 out.
More Shit SB's Ass Says in Comments
I would definitely be drinking while taking those meds, since it warns against it and all. I always drink when it says not to combine with alcohol. It makes for a tidier buzz.
Shit SB Says in Comments
I love the pictures, and I can't believe how fast he has grown.
He's going to be a genius, I just know it. That's what my Grandma Peg said about all her grandkids. She would have been sorely disappointed had she lived to see us as adults.
He's going to be a genius, I just know it. That's what my Grandma Peg said about all her grandkids. She would have been sorely disappointed had she lived to see us as adults.
Whatever Happened to John Mark Karr of the JonBenet Ramsey Case?
This is truly weird. As if the motherfucker wasn't strange enough before.
Link to story: http://blogs.sfweekly.com/thesnitch/2010/05/john_mark_karr_formed_jonbenet.php
Link to story: http://blogs.sfweekly.com/thesnitch/2010/05/john_mark_karr_formed_jonbenet.php
I'm Back Today, My Fat Ass Had the Damn Flu
I was away from work and the computer yesterday and at home, recuperating from the damn flu. I thought it was the start of an ulcer, but then my ex-husband called and said he had the same symptoms and that it was flu. He came by on Saturday to pick some stuff up and to visit the Diarrhetic Wunderkind, so I guess he gave it to me then. He said it's going around his office. Lucky me!
Anyhoo, I'm back, but still not in top form. Hope all of you are fairing better.
Anyhoo, I'm back, but still not in top form. Hope all of you are fairing better.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
One that Haunts Me: The Cabin 28 Murders
"But I do know this. There is evil in this world, and evil was in that house that night."
Link to story: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2001/06/10/MN128511.DTL&hw=Keddie+Sharp&sn=001&sc=1000
Link to story: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2001/06/10/MN128511.DTL&hw=Keddie+Sharp&sn=001&sc=1000
A Bitch Doesn't Feel Like Posting Today
SB's ass may be working on an ulcer. A bitch was mighty sick last night. If I run across something of interest, I'll post later.
I love all you motherfuckers!
I love all you motherfuckers!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Shit SB Says in Blog Comments
If mindless smut is banned, what's the damn point?!
You're not becoming all puritanical like the damned Americans are you? Please don't.
You're not becoming all puritanical like the damned Americans are you? Please don't.
Shit SB Says
Don't act all lofty and shit because you're a heterosexual male. There is nothing grosser or dirtier than a damn vagina. You're not superior.
Katie Price Is 32! (My Ass)
STAY AWAY FROM THE TANNING BEDS, KIDDIES! They make a bitch look old.p.s. I only have eyes for Harvey in this photo. Jordan's dumb ass can wear hot pink all she wants. Bitch can't overshadow Harvey!
Jane Fishman: Ride the Rails and Close Your Eyes
Jane Fishman: Ride the rails and close your eyes
Journey on Amtrak yields interesting conversation
By Jane Fishman
You don't have to take off your shoes to be seated. You don't have to hear, "The security level is orange" a million times. You don't have to worry someone's going to take your toothpaste if you pack it in your carry-on bag.
There's a good chance you'll meet people who like to play pinochle or canasta or gin.
Most times (in Savannah, at least) there's free parking at the terminal and a parking lot that's right next to the station.
You get to see ravines, rivers, roofs, miles of marsh and straight into people's living rooms.
No one is nickel-and-diming you about an extra piece of luggage. Some stations even sell trail mix or rice crackers. The aisles are wide. The food is not half bad.
In the end, you only need three things to travel by train: time, patience and the good sense not to ask what's going on, why aren't we moving or how long are we going to be sitting here. You've got to give all that up.
When you ride the rails, you have to close your eyes and be Zen about it all.
"A cow is crossing the tracks," the conductor says. "You can't hurry a cow now, can you?"
"The power's out. We're trying to find out why."
"Flash flood warning. Had to slow down to 35 or 40."
And the most common: "CSX. A freight train." A lumbering, bumbling, bullying freight car with all the time in the world. Why? Because CSX owns most of the tracks. Amtrak is the poor relative. We, the people of Amtrak, get the crumbs. We have to beg. We have to wait.
It's a love-hate relationship, riding the rails.
3 hours in New York
Last week, en route to a gardening workshop in Milwaukee, I rode the Silver Meteor, the Lake Shore Ltd., the Hiawatha and the Capitol Ltd. For some of us, boarding a train with a name not a number is a deal-maker, almost as good as watching someone use a pencil to assign a seat. No incessant keystroking. No government I.D., either.
When I got back, I learned that you can go to the Amtrak website to see the on-time performance rating of each train. While mine were on time, the average ranged from 78 percent to 90 percent. Best not to look.
During a three-hour layover in New York City's Penn Station, which shares the block with Madison Square Garden, I walked down 44th Street, then Fifth Avenue, pulling my luggage (more wheels; we love wheels) to have Japanese food with my cousin, Laura.
In Chicago, where I decided to spend the night with an old friend (no extra charge for getting back on the train), I emerged in Union Station, where the waiting room, called the "Great Hall," is 110 feet high. Still pulling my luggage, I walked through Millennium Park, went to the Art Institute of Chicago and then took the Brown Line to Addison.
If I were a resident of Chicago, I - a senior citizen - would be riding all public transportation free, thanks to the disgraced and now deposed Gov. Rod Blagojevich, who instituted the policy when he was a candidate, something no one will ever have the guts to revoke.
'Flying is for the birds'
Between Chicago and Milwaukee, I opted for the "quiet car," where cell phones are not allowed. But even in the other cars, where people are on their phones and watching movies on laptops, the noise is muted.
By the time I was facing my fourth overnight segment, I gave in and asked about sleepers. They had one vacancy out of 50 on the train. It cost $500. "Think I'll get some Jim Beam instead," I said. There are cheaper sleepers in the $125 range (which covers breakfast, lunch and dinner), but they go fast.
Just when you think you can't sleep sitting up - though the seats are much roomier than plane seats and there are foot and leg rests - you open your eyes to a whole new vista and you remember a dream, so you must have slept.
On the return trip, between Chicago and Washington, D.C., (there are no direct routes in train travel so get that idea out of your head right now), I rode the classy double-decker Capitol Ltd. with the roomy and modern "Sightseer Lounge Car."
In this car I shared a breakfast table with a man from Wyoming representing the Louisa Swain Foundation. Miss Swain, I learned, was the first woman to vote in a general election - in 1870 in Laramie, Wyo. Who knew? The last time he flew was in 1988. "Flying," he said, "is for the birds."
We shared the table with a couple from New Jersey. They were traveling with their daughter who didn't want to fly because she was five weeks shy of giving birth.
Later on, I met a Palestinian man from Montreal, an art dealer, who thinks of trains as stress-relievers, and a lawyer who uses the time between Morgantown, W. Va., and Washington, D.C., to work on briefs.
He represents coal-miners and was reading "And We Are Not Saved: A History of the Movement as People."
I could be wrong, but I don't remember having these kinds of conversations on planes. Then again, I don't remember anyone giving me a red carnation, either, which is what the waitress in the lounge car did after breakfast.
I'll take the train again. I'll read. I'll talk to people. I'll look out the window. I won't be in a hurry.
Journey on Amtrak yields interesting conversation
By Jane Fishman
You don't have to take off your shoes to be seated. You don't have to hear, "The security level is orange" a million times. You don't have to worry someone's going to take your toothpaste if you pack it in your carry-on bag.
There's a good chance you'll meet people who like to play pinochle or canasta or gin.
Most times (in Savannah, at least) there's free parking at the terminal and a parking lot that's right next to the station.
You get to see ravines, rivers, roofs, miles of marsh and straight into people's living rooms.
No one is nickel-and-diming you about an extra piece of luggage. Some stations even sell trail mix or rice crackers. The aisles are wide. The food is not half bad.
In the end, you only need three things to travel by train: time, patience and the good sense not to ask what's going on, why aren't we moving or how long are we going to be sitting here. You've got to give all that up.
When you ride the rails, you have to close your eyes and be Zen about it all.
"A cow is crossing the tracks," the conductor says. "You can't hurry a cow now, can you?"
"The power's out. We're trying to find out why."
"Flash flood warning. Had to slow down to 35 or 40."
And the most common: "CSX. A freight train." A lumbering, bumbling, bullying freight car with all the time in the world. Why? Because CSX owns most of the tracks. Amtrak is the poor relative. We, the people of Amtrak, get the crumbs. We have to beg. We have to wait.
It's a love-hate relationship, riding the rails.
3 hours in New York
Last week, en route to a gardening workshop in Milwaukee, I rode the Silver Meteor, the Lake Shore Ltd., the Hiawatha and the Capitol Ltd. For some of us, boarding a train with a name not a number is a deal-maker, almost as good as watching someone use a pencil to assign a seat. No incessant keystroking. No government I.D., either.
When I got back, I learned that you can go to the Amtrak website to see the on-time performance rating of each train. While mine were on time, the average ranged from 78 percent to 90 percent. Best not to look.
During a three-hour layover in New York City's Penn Station, which shares the block with Madison Square Garden, I walked down 44th Street, then Fifth Avenue, pulling my luggage (more wheels; we love wheels) to have Japanese food with my cousin, Laura.
In Chicago, where I decided to spend the night with an old friend (no extra charge for getting back on the train), I emerged in Union Station, where the waiting room, called the "Great Hall," is 110 feet high. Still pulling my luggage, I walked through Millennium Park, went to the Art Institute of Chicago and then took the Brown Line to Addison.
If I were a resident of Chicago, I - a senior citizen - would be riding all public transportation free, thanks to the disgraced and now deposed Gov. Rod Blagojevich, who instituted the policy when he was a candidate, something no one will ever have the guts to revoke.
'Flying is for the birds'
Between Chicago and Milwaukee, I opted for the "quiet car," where cell phones are not allowed. But even in the other cars, where people are on their phones and watching movies on laptops, the noise is muted.
By the time I was facing my fourth overnight segment, I gave in and asked about sleepers. They had one vacancy out of 50 on the train. It cost $500. "Think I'll get some Jim Beam instead," I said. There are cheaper sleepers in the $125 range (which covers breakfast, lunch and dinner), but they go fast.
Just when you think you can't sleep sitting up - though the seats are much roomier than plane seats and there are foot and leg rests - you open your eyes to a whole new vista and you remember a dream, so you must have slept.
On the return trip, between Chicago and Washington, D.C., (there are no direct routes in train travel so get that idea out of your head right now), I rode the classy double-decker Capitol Ltd. with the roomy and modern "Sightseer Lounge Car."
In this car I shared a breakfast table with a man from Wyoming representing the Louisa Swain Foundation. Miss Swain, I learned, was the first woman to vote in a general election - in 1870 in Laramie, Wyo. Who knew? The last time he flew was in 1988. "Flying," he said, "is for the birds."
We shared the table with a couple from New Jersey. They were traveling with their daughter who didn't want to fly because she was five weeks shy of giving birth.
Later on, I met a Palestinian man from Montreal, an art dealer, who thinks of trains as stress-relievers, and a lawyer who uses the time between Morgantown, W. Va., and Washington, D.C., to work on briefs.
He represents coal-miners and was reading "And We Are Not Saved: A History of the Movement as People."
I could be wrong, but I don't remember having these kinds of conversations on planes. Then again, I don't remember anyone giving me a red carnation, either, which is what the waitress in the lounge car did after breakfast.
I'll take the train again. I'll read. I'll talk to people. I'll look out the window. I won't be in a hurry.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
A Notice to Sarcastic Bastard Commenters
Sarcastic Bastard was an English major in college. If you cannot write with at least a modicum of skill, please do NOT comment. I will delete your shit in frustration! This is NOT a forum for dyslexic motherfuckers.
Also, I'm a grouchy former English major. Did I mention I am grouchy?
p.s. This is NOT directed at any of my regularly commenting blog family. Thank you.
Also, I'm a grouchy former English major. Did I mention I am grouchy?
p.s. This is NOT directed at any of my regularly commenting blog family. Thank you.
Quote of the Damn Day: Mick Jagger
While trying to publicize "Stones in Exile," a documentary about the making of the Rolling Stones' 1972 album, "Exile on Main Street":"We were young, good-looking and stupid then. Now we're just stupid."
[I know what Mick means. I'm dumber than fuck now, too. You lose brain cells and shit when you get old, especially if you do a lot of drugs and drink. If I teach your dumb asses nothing else, let it be this! But whatever, ignorance is fucking bliss, and that means your stress level goes way the fuck down. I could care less about most things going on in the world these days. Whatever is my favorite word now.
For fucking example: Oil spill? What oil spill? I'll be dead soon. I could give a fuck. Whatever.
(Just don't let the fucking cable go out while I'm watching The Real Housewives of New Jersey! That, I care about A LOT.)
Listen up youngsters, or don't. I could give a shit. If I wanted damn kids, I'd fucking well have had the little bastards. SB doesn't have time to be your font of wisdom, so don't idolize me. I work a damn full-time job, take care of seven cats and a diarrhetic dog, and have an over-sexed Viking boyfriend (okay, it's ME who's oversexed). My plate is full!]
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Quote of the Damn Day: Nicholas Cage
"I love all animals. I have a fascination with fish, birds, whales - sentient life - insects, reptiles. I actually choose the way I eat according to the way animals have sex.
I think fish are very dignified with sex. So are birds. But pigs, not so much. So I don't eat pig meat or things like that. I eat fish and fowl."
[Uhhhhhmmmmmmm, okay.]
I think fish are very dignified with sex. So are birds. But pigs, not so much. So I don't eat pig meat or things like that. I eat fish and fowl."
[Uhhhhhmmmmmmm, okay.]
I Just Like the Damn Picture, Okay?
Can you say Dork family commemorative photo? Yes, I am mean today. Okay, I'm mean everyday. Whatever. I'm not Doris damn Day, so shoot me. Fuck you.
The guy in the MASH shirt slays me. The fucker is practically leering. And the shorts and tube sock combo is really hot.
The guy in the MASH shirt slays me. The fucker is practically leering. And the shorts and tube sock combo is really hot.
The Puritans Are Trying to Ruin All the Damn Fun Again
The Moms used to say that there is nothing worse than an ex-smoker.
Case in fucking point: http://www.truecrimereport.com/2010/05/linda_garcia_sued_over_smoking.php#more
SB enjoys a goddamn smoke on the patio, too, once in awhile. Dude's a sphinter hole.
Case in fucking point: http://www.truecrimereport.com/2010/05/linda_garcia_sued_over_smoking.php#more
SB enjoys a goddamn smoke on the patio, too, once in awhile. Dude's a sphinter hole.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Shit-for-Brains Dad
What chance does this poor kid have in life? If she inherits his looks or his brains, she's pretty much fucked.
http://www.trutv.com/video/it-only-hurts-when-i-laugh/daddy-doofus.html?link=truTVshlk
And, why is it so funny when motherfuckers fall?
http://www.trutv.com/video/it-only-hurts-when-i-laugh/daddy-doofus.html?link=truTVshlk
And, why is it so funny when motherfuckers fall?
I Am Linking to One of My Own Early Posts Because that Shit Was GOOD, If I Do Fucking Say So
A blast from SB's past!
I rip everybody else off, why shouldn't I rip off my ownself?
Link: http://sarcastbastard.blogspot.com/2009/02/sb-featured-site-ginger-brookes.html
I rip everybody else off, why shouldn't I rip off my ownself?
Link: http://sarcastbastard.blogspot.com/2009/02/sb-featured-site-ginger-brookes.html
SB LOVES Mayor Ben!
The moral of this story is: Don't wake a sleeping pepaw because a bitch might get spanked!
Link to story at Dlisted: http://dlisted.com/node/37307
Link to story at Dlisted: http://dlisted.com/node/37307
Shit SB Says While Hiking with the Viking
You're shitting me. You actually like that song? The Girl from Ipanema is the cheesiest motherfucking song EVER written. Gross.
SB Has a Brush with Celebrity
I saw Dave Chapelle and his mother out shopping over the weekend. They were going in to a pottery shop.
I was sitting on a patio, having a beer with the Viking, and I looked over and noticed the profile. At first my dumb ass thought he was an old co-worker, and then, I done figured that shit out.
It was probably fortunate that a fence separated Dave and I, or I might have gone all cracker on his ass and freaked out and started yelling and hyperventilating and bowing down and shit. I really do think he's a comedic genius. He is also a fellow Ohioan. Poor bastard. I guess you can't have everything.
I was sitting on a patio, having a beer with the Viking, and I looked over and noticed the profile. At first my dumb ass thought he was an old co-worker, and then, I done figured that shit out.
It was probably fortunate that a fence separated Dave and I, or I might have gone all cracker on his ass and freaked out and started yelling and hyperventilating and bowing down and shit. I really do think he's a comedic genius. He is also a fellow Ohioan. Poor bastard. I guess you can't have everything.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Jane Fishman: Birthdays Keep Rolling Along
Jane Fishman: Over 60 and still living
Birthdays keep rolling along
By Jane Fishman
I gotta admit it. Turning 40 was a blast. A real turning point. I remember thinking, "I'm 40 and I'm still standing and the world keeps turning. Not bad."
I asked for so little back then.
Who could forget 30? I was living in Chicago and going to a neighborhood carnival in Lincoln Park.
It was an unusually hot May Day. When everyone else wanted to go on the Tilt-a-Whirl, a ride that always made me dizzy and crazy, I came up with, "I'm 30. I no longer have to do anything I don't want to do."
Ever since then, that has become my mantra.
Moving into 50 was pretty smooth, too. Another decade. But this one represented a half-century. Very cool, no?
After that, the numbers and associations get sketchy.
Fifty-two stood for 52 Pick-Up.
Fifty-five represented double numbers, which to me is always lucky, because - until the turn of the century when some esoteric mathematical formula kicked in - each of my double-number birthdays fell on a double-number year: 55 in 99, 44 in 88, 33 in 77.
Fifty-seven became Heinz 57, named by Mr. Heinz because five was his lucky number and seven his wife's, which means it could just as easily have been Heinz 75.
Another decade
Then came 60 and a little deja-vu. Yet another decade, except this one came with a frequently mentioned maxim. Sixty, I was to hear repeatedly, is the new 50. Move over, all you new 50-year-olds.
Sixty-two meant Social Security. (Sorry again to those who come behind me; I'll try to leave some funds for you).
At 64, I hummed "When I'm Sixty-Four" all day.
At 65, I entered the arcane and esoteric world of Medicare diagnostic codes, which are two-letter words that basically start with "N" and end with "O."
For instance, according to Medicare, a person can only have one pap smear every two years.
"Well, how much does it cost if I want to pay for it?" I asked my doctor's receptionist. She had no idea. No one had ever asked.
Which brings us up to 66, another double-digit year, reminiscent of Phillips 66.
It's also the direct international dialing code from Thailand. But my personal favorite association for this birthday is Route 66 ("Get your kicks on Route 66").
I'm considering changing the ring tone on my phone. But which version to use, Chuck Berry or the Rolling Stones?
A moot question since I have never changed my ring tone. I am famous for pushing the wrong button on the remote control and turning the television screen to snow. For this reason alone I will never live by myself - not if I ever want to watch the final day of a golf tournament or some nature show.
The other day I unearthed one of those giant boom boxes, the kind guys used to walk around with on their shoulders. I found all my old cassettes. What a joy. What a pleasure. One that I can operate. You push play, it plays. When it clicks, you push eject and turn it over. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
Another possible association for this birthday is Sweet 66. It may not have a ring tone but it does have a nice ring to it, even if no one gave me a charm bracelet or a string of pearls - both of which I got for my Sweet 16 birthday and still have, somewhere, probably hiding with my grandfather's Masonic ring, also lost.
Live in the moment or plan for the future?
Birthdays. They just keep rolling along. Although this time I am considering staying with 66 for the next four years. Or maybe eight.
Then again, I'm liking the idea of saying I'm 76 so then people can say, "Wow, you look really good for 76."
I'm hoping for a little break in the next decade or so. I'm remembering what cartoonist/comedian Nicole Hollander said in her "Tales of Graceful Living from the Planet Denial.''
"I am sure that by the time I'm ready for assisted living, we will have a more enlightened attitude toward dying and Craigslist will offer heroin for barter or sale."
Later on, she writes, "Before visiting the health food store, I go to the bank and take out a home equity loan. Then, fortified with sufficient cash, I enter the store, in a spirit of reverence and suspension of disbelief, to pick up herbs to cure what ails me."
Works for me, as long as we still have the home equity loan option.
So far I haven't made any radical changes in my life except for choosing the expensive haircut over plastic surgery. Although, I am in the hunt for the Medicare code for drooping eyelids.
But I still have questions, every day. Do I save or do I spend? Do I go easy and prepare for 20 more good years or go crazy and live each day like a madwoman? Live in the moment or plan for the future?
The bad news about birthdays rolling around is the rolling. It's become accelerated, moving from a slightly hilly plane to one with circuitous mountain paths. The good news is we're still having birthdays.
As a 6-year-old announced when we were gardening together and someone brought up the subject of grandparents: "My grandmother is 60 and she's thin and she's still alive."
Still alive. Well, OK, then. I'm down with that.
Birthdays keep rolling along
By Jane Fishman
I gotta admit it. Turning 40 was a blast. A real turning point. I remember thinking, "I'm 40 and I'm still standing and the world keeps turning. Not bad."
I asked for so little back then.
Who could forget 30? I was living in Chicago and going to a neighborhood carnival in Lincoln Park.
It was an unusually hot May Day. When everyone else wanted to go on the Tilt-a-Whirl, a ride that always made me dizzy and crazy, I came up with, "I'm 30. I no longer have to do anything I don't want to do."
Ever since then, that has become my mantra.
Moving into 50 was pretty smooth, too. Another decade. But this one represented a half-century. Very cool, no?
After that, the numbers and associations get sketchy.
Fifty-two stood for 52 Pick-Up.
Fifty-five represented double numbers, which to me is always lucky, because - until the turn of the century when some esoteric mathematical formula kicked in - each of my double-number birthdays fell on a double-number year: 55 in 99, 44 in 88, 33 in 77.
Fifty-seven became Heinz 57, named by Mr. Heinz because five was his lucky number and seven his wife's, which means it could just as easily have been Heinz 75.
Another decade
Then came 60 and a little deja-vu. Yet another decade, except this one came with a frequently mentioned maxim. Sixty, I was to hear repeatedly, is the new 50. Move over, all you new 50-year-olds.
Sixty-two meant Social Security. (Sorry again to those who come behind me; I'll try to leave some funds for you).
At 64, I hummed "When I'm Sixty-Four" all day.
At 65, I entered the arcane and esoteric world of Medicare diagnostic codes, which are two-letter words that basically start with "N" and end with "O."
For instance, according to Medicare, a person can only have one pap smear every two years.
"Well, how much does it cost if I want to pay for it?" I asked my doctor's receptionist. She had no idea. No one had ever asked.
Which brings us up to 66, another double-digit year, reminiscent of Phillips 66.
It's also the direct international dialing code from Thailand. But my personal favorite association for this birthday is Route 66 ("Get your kicks on Route 66").
I'm considering changing the ring tone on my phone. But which version to use, Chuck Berry or the Rolling Stones?
A moot question since I have never changed my ring tone. I am famous for pushing the wrong button on the remote control and turning the television screen to snow. For this reason alone I will never live by myself - not if I ever want to watch the final day of a golf tournament or some nature show.
The other day I unearthed one of those giant boom boxes, the kind guys used to walk around with on their shoulders. I found all my old cassettes. What a joy. What a pleasure. One that I can operate. You push play, it plays. When it clicks, you push eject and turn it over. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
Another possible association for this birthday is Sweet 66. It may not have a ring tone but it does have a nice ring to it, even if no one gave me a charm bracelet or a string of pearls - both of which I got for my Sweet 16 birthday and still have, somewhere, probably hiding with my grandfather's Masonic ring, also lost.
Live in the moment or plan for the future?
Birthdays. They just keep rolling along. Although this time I am considering staying with 66 for the next four years. Or maybe eight.
Then again, I'm liking the idea of saying I'm 76 so then people can say, "Wow, you look really good for 76."
I'm hoping for a little break in the next decade or so. I'm remembering what cartoonist/comedian Nicole Hollander said in her "Tales of Graceful Living from the Planet Denial.''
"I am sure that by the time I'm ready for assisted living, we will have a more enlightened attitude toward dying and Craigslist will offer heroin for barter or sale."
Later on, she writes, "Before visiting the health food store, I go to the bank and take out a home equity loan. Then, fortified with sufficient cash, I enter the store, in a spirit of reverence and suspension of disbelief, to pick up herbs to cure what ails me."
Works for me, as long as we still have the home equity loan option.
So far I haven't made any radical changes in my life except for choosing the expensive haircut over plastic surgery. Although, I am in the hunt for the Medicare code for drooping eyelids.
But I still have questions, every day. Do I save or do I spend? Do I go easy and prepare for 20 more good years or go crazy and live each day like a madwoman? Live in the moment or plan for the future?
The bad news about birthdays rolling around is the rolling. It's become accelerated, moving from a slightly hilly plane to one with circuitous mountain paths. The good news is we're still having birthdays.
As a 6-year-old announced when we were gardening together and someone brought up the subject of grandparents: "My grandmother is 60 and she's thin and she's still alive."
Still alive. Well, OK, then. I'm down with that.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Shit SB Says
Why do the fattest motherfuckers always park in the handicapped spaces? I know it's uncharitable of me to point that out, but what the fuck. Just because your ass is wide does NOT mean it's fucking handicapped. It's just fat and gross. Bitches should be walking off the chunk. I don't want to have to look at that shit.
SB Recommended Movie: The Lovely Bones
Two dicks up!I read the novel and liked the movie almost as much as the book. It's the kind of movie that hangs with you for awhile afterwards though. I was uneasy all night after viewing it. It makes the audience aware of how little we can do to protect those we love. The film also makes the point that the only thing that survives a death is love. When a person dies, a relationship lives on.
Also, Stanley Tucci is creepy as fuck as the murderer.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Condolences from a Typical Ill-Educated FOX News Viewer
Iam So Sorry To Hear Of You Dear Daughter's Death! just from What I Heard & Seen On FOX New's Bring's This Tragic Death Of Such a Bright & Beatiful Daughter! That Some Thing Go without saying! That You Daughter is in Hevean with our Lord! & I Know that Your Family is in Deep Mourning! My Thought & Prayers are With your Family an as Mother's day Apporaches it will be a Diffult Day So I will say an Extra Prayer for Yall on this up coming weekend! Again I am So Very Sorry!
Is It Too Damn Much Trouble to Proofread a Funeral Guest Book Entry Before Submitting that Shit?
so sorry about your loss a angle went to heaven
Dipshit.
Dipshit.
There Is Something Wrong with Motherfucking Blogger and I Can't Post Comments Currently
Hopefully, this shit will be corrected soon. Jesus.
Monday, May 10, 2010
This Is Some Sick-Assed Shit Raht Here
Link to tale of necrophiliac grossness: http://www.angelfire.com/magic/scotlass/voncosel.html
I think I'm going to puke my lunch up.
I think I'm going to puke my lunch up.
Uncle Gene and Health Insurance from Cousin Sheila (His Progeny)
Gene was at this VA meeting trying to get their health care insurance and too many people were asking questions that had already been answered. Gene was like "Jesus Christ, he just said that," and he got up and left. He told me there was no point in being alive with the health insurance if he had to spend his life in meetings with old people that couldn't keep shit straight. So if my mom goes to the poor house after paying for his health care, you'll know why...
[Thanks, Sheila!]
[Thanks, Sheila!]
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Shit SB Says
I keep having a few drinks while I watch Intervention, and I can't seem to remember how the damn show ended.
Quote of the Damn Day: from My Hero Harvey Milk
“It takes no compromising to give people their rights. It takes no money to respect the individual. It takes no survey to remove repressions.”--Harvey Milk, in a 1973 speech during his first unsuccessful run for supervisor
I love you Harvey, and the good you did lives on after you.
Some Reasons that Uncle Gene Is My Idol
If a chatty motherfucker calls and Uncle Gene answers, he will listen for awhile and then just hang up on the mouthy bitch, mid-sentence.If Uncle Gene gets held hostage by a chatty motherfucker in a car, his ass will exit the vehicle before it's even come to a complete stop. He'll spring out while that bitch is still rolling, just to escape the diarrhetic verbalist.
Uncle Gene prefers places like biker bars, where there is potential for drunken gun fire or places where the waitresses have their chichis or asses all hanging out and shit.
Gene drives like he's the only motherfucker on the road. Gene is King Shit. He'll get over on the freeway without paying much attention to the motherfuckers in the next lane. If they honk or flip his ass the bird, Gene doesn't give a flying fuck. He was vice-president of a major corporation, and he doesn't give a fuck about a bunch of damn peons in a Saturn.
If Gene has to wait in line more than two minutes for anything, his ass will get in the car and drive off. Gene believes in good customer service. And besides, he doesn't have time to dick around waiting with a bunch of damn peons.
Gene was in the Korean War, and he pronounces it: KO-rea. And he IS NOT getting in a damn Hyundai to go for a ride or eating sushi EVER AGAIN, so don't fucking ask.
Gene doesn't drink pussy drinks. Motherfucker drinks a damn martini or Jack Daniels on ice. Wine coolers are for candy asses.
He's a mean pilot and sailor, but he'll bark out orders if you're not doing things right. Gene has no patience for addle-brained morons. He might even make you cry! So get with the damn program!
He's mean-humored and can be grouchy as fuck. See picture above.
Don't Tell Gramps the Bitch is an Imposterer
Clearly it was the height of his damn vacation. Gramps didn't realize that the real Cher probably wouldn't work a joint with plastic chairs.Let him have his dream, people!
p.s. The memaw in the background looks a little uneasy.
My Brother's New Blog Site
Check this shit out and leave Nick a comment and say hello. He has way more blog traffic than my wretched ass, but whatever. A bitch has got to advertise her fam.
Link: http://sometimestheydontcomeback.milkboys.org/
[WARNING: There is some sexy gay shit on the site. If you are easily offended, fuck off.]
Link: http://sometimestheydontcomeback.milkboys.org/
[WARNING: There is some sexy gay shit on the site. If you are easily offended, fuck off.]
Fucking Hypocrite: Anti-Gay Christian Right Leader George Alan Rekers Caught Returning Home from Vacation with 'Rent Boy'
Link to story of BIG FUCKING HYPOCRISY at Towerload: http://www.towleroad.com/2010/05/antigay-christian-right-leader-george-alan-rekers-caught-returning-home-from-vacation-with-rent-boy.html
There is nothing wrong with being gay. SB's theory is that we are all a little gay deep down inside.
There is nothing wrong with being gay. SB's theory is that we are all a little gay deep down inside.
Stuck in Between Two Pairs of Monumental Chichis
If they decide to hug her, bitch is a goner. Her ass will suffocate.
The Born-Again Biker Neighbors from Hell
The born-agains are the noisest bunch of motherfuckers I've EVER had for neighbors. The other night, the Viking heard Mr. Born Again yelling at his dog (a LOUD L-O-N-G stream of obscenities). Every morning, Mrs. Born Again sneezes and snots and yells at her kids on the other side of my bathroom wall, while (I presume) her Christian ass is sitting on the crapper. Then she bangs the toilet lid and the cupboard doors, as she prepares for her unemployed day.This morning, SB woke up late, so was in a unGodly fucking hurry, and when I let the Diarrhetic Wunderkind outside, I noticed Mr. Born Again was trying to start his car OVER and OVER. The car with no muffler. No dice. [The car is a piece of shit with party plates on it, so I assume that at one point, Mr. Born Again got busted for DUI.]
Sadly I could not watch the fun continue, my ass had to run up and hop frantically in the shower, and the moment I got my fucking hair full of shampoo, the Diarrhetic Wunderkind starts barking and growling at the top of her lungs downstairs. I was not alarmed, since I was pretty sure she was barking at Mr. Born Again, who probably couldn't get the damn car started and was wandering back and forth up the walk to the house. What could a bitch do? I was soaped up in the damn shower. I had to let the DW bark and bark. So now, my neighbors are probably mad at me for my dog barking uncontrollably.
Also, there is no longer one shred of privacy in my home. There is literally NEARLY ALWAYS one of the Born Again motherfucking family wandering around outside my windows or even looking in my windows directly (in the case of the nosy Born Again offspring from hell).
Only eight more months and the cretin family will move.
What is the term for killing a neighbor? You have matricide for killing a Moms, patricide for knocking off daddums. Do you suppose it's neighborocide or some shit? Jesus.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
What the Fuck Should I Make for Dinner?
Compliments of my lovely reader, Ashtree.
Link (a bitch be linking her ass off today!): http://www.whatthefuckshouldimakefordinner.com/
[This is officially an SB recommended site. Two dicks up! I would have called the site: What the Fuck Should I Make for Dinner, Bitches?, if it were mine.]
Link (a bitch be linking her ass off today!): http://www.whatthefuckshouldimakefordinner.com/
[This is officially an SB recommended site. Two dicks up! I would have called the site: What the Fuck Should I Make for Dinner, Bitches?, if it were mine.]
Man Is So Fond of Pussy, He Marries It: Compliments of Dlisted
Link to oddball story that is what the nightly news should cover so that I would actually watch it nightly: http://dlisted.com/node/37129After reading this, I now feel that my own commitment to pussy falls short.
More Wisdom from Shitmydadsays
“You seen my cell phone?...What’s it look like? Like two horses fucking. It’s a phone, son. It looks like a phone."
I Will Never Have Half His Talent
My brother wrote this for a friend of ours, and I am so proud of him. I will never have half his talent.
Link:
http://puthelotioninthebasket.blogspot.com/2010/05/ian-sits-at-back-of-his-english-class.html#comment-form
Link:
http://puthelotioninthebasket.blogspot.com/2010/05/ian-sits-at-back-of-his-english-class.html#comment-form
SB Is Fine, Motherfuckers. Just Uninspired.
This blog is not dead. SB is not dead either. Just uninspired.
I'll be back when I have something worth sharing or saying. I just didn't want you motherfuckers to worry.
Mwa!
I'll be back when I have something worth sharing or saying. I just didn't want you motherfuckers to worry.
Mwa!
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