A Portrait of the Trials of Motherhood

DAMN. Thanks to all you bitches who do the largely thankless job of mothering ALL us other bitches.

The Damn Cat Shat All Over the Moms' Good Blue Carpet. Fucker.

Recently, the Moms and Daddums went to visit my yuppy brother's ass out in Massachusetts. SB got stuck taking care of their bitchy, freakishly tiny Siamese (fucker is a Flame Point) cat, named Boo. We think that Boo is actually my Grandpa Heeter reincarnated. There are a number of justifiable reasons for this, such as the tiny little motherfucker showing up out of the blue in mom and dad's back yard all declawed and shit and the fact that the little bitch is all grouchy-looking like Grandpa Heeter. [Side Note to All You Bitches: Boo also sort of resembles a damn space alien and/or Steve McQueen. He does! The photo for this post is NOT actually Boo, so don't be getting all superior and shit and thinking, "That motherfucker doesn't even slighty resemble a Steve McQueen space alien." Fuck you, because you don't KNOW.] Also, Grandpa Heeter was a grouchy cheating alcoholic bastard [this is going to make the Moms MAD, but it's true], so we figure the fucker probably didn't exactly reach reincarnational heights, hence cathood.

Anyhoo, the Moms had just paid to have the good blue carpet in the dining room, professionally cleaned. Boo's dumb ass was previously having some kind of shitting issue, but he was leaving his shitty deposits on the hard basement floor, so the good carpet was not in peril.

Before leaving for my yuppy brother's, the Moms said that she thought Boo was over the shits, but just to watch out when I stepped down into the darkened basement, IN CASE.

The first trip over to the folks', the little bastard had shit in three different places on the basement floor. Since Daddums (paranoia deep destroyer) turns off the water whenever they are gone for more than a day, my ass had to figure out how to get the dried shit up off the basement floor. I did the best I could, motherfuckers, but that shit was not easy to get up.

The second trip over to tend to the little fucker, the motherfucker had shit all around the dining room table (about eight cocksucking times), and again, some of the shit had dried and stuck to the good blue carpet. SB was on lunch hour, so I had to spend a good half of my lunch hour cleaning up the little bastard's shit. Fucker. I wound up laughing hysterically, until tears ran, when I thought about how MAD the Moms was going to be! I even called the ex-husband and had him laughing about HOW MAD THE MOMS WAS GOING TO BE.

I told Boo: "You'd better stop that shit right now, Boo, or else the Mom's and Daddum's will put your shitting little motherfucking ass TO SLEEP!" Fucker was disinterested, totally unconcerned. Fucker. Did I mention Boo is a fucker?

Before they left for the trip to MA, the Moms and Daddums took me out to dinner for watching Boo. After they got back on Saturday, I told them that Boo stressed me out so much and was such a damn pain in the ass, that I expect a spa weekend or some shit. I think it's only fair.

Did I mention that Boo is a goddamn Grandpa-Heeter-Steve-McQueen-space-alien-looking fuck fucking fucker? Girl, you know that shit is true!

Coping with an Unfinished Life

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/10/fashion/10GREEN.html?_r=3&scp=5&sq=david%20foster%20wallace&st=cse

The BIG Box of Crayolas

When SB was a kid, my ass was such a brat, I would cry and throw a HOLY FUCKING FIT whenever I broke a crayon in the BIG box of Crayolas or whenever I was forced to sharpen one of those bitches. The uniformity was fucked up, people! This, we could not have. My ass watched Sesame Street--I knew that 1 bitch out of 52 DID NOT BELONG WITH THE OTHERS! You can't have that shit, motherfuckers! That shit is unacceptable.

Then, my Abuelita (Grandma for all you poorly educated fucks) or Grandpa would have to run to the Five & Dime store and buy my ass a WHOLE NEW BIG box of bright perfect Crayolas. Otherwise, THERE WAS HELL TO PAY!And I am NOT even kidding. Most of my family gave me what I wanted growing up rather than deal with my unholy raft of shit. SB was a damn handful.

Even as a child, I knew it was EAT OR BE EATEN, bitches. And I still think that.

Shit SB Says in Comments to My Idol Ms. Moon

Thanks for the book tips, but I think I only have enough mental faculties for Fluffy Kitten. Besides, I like to touch shit. That's how a bitch learns! I used to poke my fingers into the ground hamburger in the grocery store when I was a kid. The Moms once had to purchase a few packets of hamburger because some grouchy bitch caught me. The Moms was SO MAD!

I'm not linking to Ms. Moon, you bitches better have found your way over there by now!

Is Anybody Else Tired of Hearing About the Fucking Arquette's Marriage Break Up?

Random question of the damn day. SB is personally sick to fucking shit of it. Must be a slow news week. I could give a fiddler's damn fart. Like we wouldn't have guessed that old girl didn't like to fuck. A bitch can tell that shit by the constipated look on her fucking face.

Next story news whores!

The Many Moods of Mercer

Okay, not the many--the ONE DAMN MOOD of Mercer--disdainful as fuck. She hates your ass. Get over it.

She is also a random biter. I dig that about her. When I get old, and my fat ass is in a nursing home, where some ungrateful family member (FUCK YOU IN ADVANCE, MOTHERFUCKER!) dumped me off, I may take up random biting myself.

Shit SB Says

I have no patience with this new-agey love everybody bullshit. When somebody starts talking that crap, I just roll my eyes and sigh. Occasionally, I just get up and walk out while the utopian motherfucker is still blathering on.

A radical pessimist's guide to the next 10 years

I loved this, but then I'm a pessimist, who always believes everything CAN GET MUCH WORSE and maybe we ought to panic NOW, people.

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/national/a-radical-pessimists-guide-to-the-next-10-years/article1750609/singlepage/#articlecontent

Quote of the Damn Day: Annie Lennox

[On romantic love. . . .]

It's a fine thing if you can get it, but then if you're a person like me, it will take you to a place of anxiety, because it can never be sustained. We want it – but when we get it, it's terrifying because you could be hurt, abandoned, and it's actually a really risky place to be.

An Interesting Exchange About My Sears Post

Dear SB,

My name is Tammy and I work for the Sears Cares Escalations Team. I am sorry to hear that we have lost your family as customers. If there are unresolved issues we need to address, we would appreciate the opportunity to have one of our case managers work with you and/or any member of your family to address any concerns. We would also welcome any feedback you may have on improvements we can make. If you are willing to give us chance; please contact my office via email at searscares@searshc.com . In the email, please provide a contact phone number and the screen name (SB) you used to post on this site.


Thank you,

Tammy W.
Senior Case Manager
Sears Cares

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Sarcastic Bastard replies...

Tammy W.,
Good try, but I'm not falling for that shit. SB was born at night, but not last night (not even the night before last!). SEARS EMPHATICALLY DOES NOT CARE.

Sarcastic Bastard
Senior Blogger
Sarcastic Bastard

p.s. What would my family do with the 60 years of animosity we directed at Sears? I shudder to think.

George Is Out of the Slam. SB Can Breathe Much Easier Now.

I am being serious for once. I adore George Michaels, as a dumb friend of mine once referred to him. I was REALLY bunged up about George being in the slam. I slept poorly. I didn't want to eat. [Okay, so I lied about that. I ALWAYS WANT TO EAT. Whatever. The point is I suffered, motherfuckers.]

Anyhoo, I am VERY RELIEVED George is out, even though the damn British tabs are already saying he's disappeared on his first night out of the pokey. None of your business, you fucking pack of wankers. LEAVE GEORGE ALONE!

I think George is THE GREATEST LIVING SINGER, bar none. I also think he's a damn genius. And also, his shit is danceable and he has a nice ass. BONUS!

Shit SB Says in Comments to Her Good Buddy, Swedz

I didn't know Canada had Thanksgiving. What are they thankful for? That they are not Americans? Okay, that works.

I Just Like the Damn Photo, Okay?

It had to be the 80s, mothahfuckas. SB had hair just like that bitch on the right. And mom (dad?) is just plain SCARY. Girl, you know that shit is true!

OOPS, I Had to Change the Title of that Last Post

Original Title: Ms. Moon on Fucking Bob Dylan

Ms. Moon did not fuck Bob Dylan. I guess that's how it might have read though.