Thursday, November 17, 2011

Muddy Penishead?

A real conversation I had with my non-state-sanctioned husband over Gtalk at work today** (yes, I am muddslider, don’t judge):

muddslider: I know right AND she's not mild to moderately retarded either
your god loves me

penishead: my GOD loves everyone
thats why he amde us
made

muddslider: um, have you SEEN carrot top?

penishead: variety
if we were all cool no one would know the difference***

muddslider: oh yeah, god loves the people of walmart

penishead: they are probably so much happier than we are

muddslider: or maybe he loves me so much that he tortures others for my amusement
that is actually a pretty awesome god

penishead: you are a twisted twisted person

muddslider: you're just now figuring that out?

penishead: no i knew it
i just need to point it out to you
maybe you will mend your ways
haha

muddslider: hahaha dreamer

penishead: Adam still loved Eve so I guess im ok

muddslider: even if you have to wear a fig leaf now
and all of our children will have to have sex with each other to populate the Earth

penishead: ugh

muddslider: but at least WE'RE not inbreds, right?

penishead: thats why we are so fucked up
no wonder we cant create a Utopia we're the people from WalMart

muddslider: yep
thanks god

penishead: and its all eves fault. cunning woman

muddslider: No, I'm pretty sure it's god's fault for letting Satan put the apple there
or wait
GOD put the apple there
just to be a manipulative bastard
"oh here, look at these yummy apples, but don't touch them"

penishead: the apple is a metaphor for the woman having sex with satan

muddslider: what??
what kind of Freudian bible school did you got to?
go to

penishead: its enoch

muddslider: who?

penishead: Enoch
 
muddslider: yes I read that, WTF is an enoch, sounds like something from starwars

penishead: he was eliminated by King James and the niceans from the bible

muddslider: little midget people with plasma guns

penishead: The Book of Enoch

muddslider: "Oh no, here come the Enoch! Cover your crotches!"

penishead: HAHAHA

muddslider: this is so going on the blog

penishead: just stop

muddslider: being funny? I can't
that's like asking me to stop breathing or stop painting my nails

penishead: my name is never to show up in your Blog ever
haha

muddslider: you have an alias, you know that
Well, you have several now
but for this one, I will call you penishead

** This was totally a work-related conversation as "penishead" is my unpaid adviser and source of inspiration.

*** I didn't bother pointing out to him that if we were indeed "all cool" then no one would know the difference; ergo, no one would ever get made fun of. Why bother having a serious philosophical conversation when it can degrade into making fun of the lost books of the bible?

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Why America Kicks ASS!

Once, America was a beautiful nation. Not because of the idea of American exceptionalism or the arrogance that  comes with such an idea. Oh, she was exceptional, but not because of her power. She was exceptional because she was the only nation built on the idea that all men are free. America once believed that other nations are also sovereign and that it wasn't in her power or right to be involved in entangling alliances, nation-building campaigns or out-right crusades against any other nation, peoples or ideas.

There was once a time when people minded their own business, but helped each other when needed, welfare was in the form of charity and you respected other people's property (partially because there was once a sense that stealing was wrong and partially because your neighbor would blow you to Kingdom Come without batting an eyelash - or getting sentenced to hard time - if you tried to take his shit). Now we have a government that gets 100% of its funding by theft, throws you in jail for protecting your family and property and tells you what you can and cannot eat and how your children should be educated. They then take your stolen money and distribute it around the world in the form of foreign aid and nation building campaigns, all to "keep you safe".

What do Americans have to say about this?

"Amerika, fuck yeah!" quotes one toothless gentleman from Alabama.

"We have to get the terrorists before they get us!" quotes a housewife from Illinois, while she browses the latest issue of Cosmo. "My government is keeping me safe."

"I am making fortune on my Blackwater stocks!" says a businessman from New York, while he climbs into his BMW.

America, it's awesome, oh yes. We're straight up asskickers and everyone hates our wealth and freedom. I mean, shit, have you walked into a Walmart lately? Have you seen the ultra-cool people and the super cheap Chinese goods?


If I were a radical Muslim terrorist, I would be shaking in my boots after I was finished being totally jealous of this display of sheer AWESOME.


I can definitely say I would NOT fuck with this lady. Especially if my skintone was darker than the paint on the White House. Just sayin.




We raise our kids here in America with not only love and nurturing, but with judicial discipline and ninja training. Now shut the fuck up and get Mommy another beer before I slap those tears out of your god forsaken eyeballs!! Incidentally, if you'd like to purchase the child leash 3-in-1 Harness Backpack, Walmart does carry them. They're even made by Jeep, can that get any cooler? I mean, Jeep is probably made in Somalia or something, but who really cares? We're America, we don't need to make fluffy kid leashes when we have this:


That's right. Do you think they make asses like that in China? I don't think so. In fact, given the One Child Policy, I will bet that female ass (of any shape/size) is a hot commodity in China. Anyone seeing a business opportunity here?
(All photos courtesy of http://peopleofwalmart.com)

Ok, so that was funny, right? Really? Are you sure?

I find it quite sad, because many of these people really do represent the vast majority of "American Culture". the Japanese have samurais and ninjas, Italy has pasta and gondolas, France has wine and french toast... What does America have? Trailer trash, rednecks, 5th generation welfare recipients driving Cadillacs and lots and lots of bombs.

Why aren't you all very, very scared right now?

Friday, September 16, 2011

Open Letter to the Liberty "Movement"

Dear Liberty "Movement",

Why did I put movement in quotes? Because the first thing I think of when those words come out of my mouth (or off of my keyboard) is bowel movement. Right or wrong, all of this shit has left a very bad taste in my mouth and I do not believe any of us are accomplishing what we want (and I wonder what some of "us" actually want to accomplish...).

All too often I see or hear Libertarians, Truthers, Anarchists, Voluntaryists, etc etc calling people "stupid", "sheep", "sheeple", on and on. I hear them telling people they are not educated and they are brainwashed, yada yada. All you people do is run around pretending like you have all the answers. Why? Because you read the Internet?? The tool given to us by social engineers and controlled by social engineers. You spend hours each day reading infowars.com and arguing with others on facebook (probably while sitting in your mom's basement)... Get a life! Those people you call stupid sheeple actually have a better idea than you do about enjoying life. You are proof that those in power are winning when you spend your entire existence fighting them (and each other) instead of living the one life you were given (or, at least, will remember)!!

You are dogmatic like the Christian who wants to save the immortal soul, or the atheist who wants to free people from religious constraints. You want to "save" people by insulting them. You expect them to listen to you, fighting against the "elite" while you, yourself, are behaving far more elitist than anyone they have ever met in their lives. While people are watching American Idol, you are insulting them for celebrity worship, while at the same time, you are worshiping your own subset of celebrities (I like to call them quasi-celebrities). You stand in line to get books signed, shake hands and get pictures that you frame and put on your mantle. You brag on Facebook about meeting some guy that 95% of the population has never even heard of. You flock to their youtube pages and blogtalk radio shows to listen to them preach about "thinking for yourself", and afterwards you spew their talking points to others, insisting YOU are right.

"Big L" Libertarians play the politics game like any neocon or Deomocrat, without any of the same power or funding. Anarchists chastise Minarchists  for being "uneducated statists". Ron Paul supporters alienate 911 Truthers for having the balls to stand up and demand the truth because it "hurts" their political game. Truthers berate LIHOPers for not being "awake". Alex Jones listeners hang on his every word and think because he says to "go check it our for yourself" that they don't have to. The Paytriots want you to fund their lives as "full time activists", like Liberty Welfare. People in the Ron Paul and other "Liberty" campaigns work behind the scenes to gain power and control, destroying anyone who dares get in their way...

All the while, we ALL profess to be working toward the goal of freedom for humanity. Why do those in power keep winning? Because they are unified in their agenda of control, global domination (Pinky: Gee, Brain, what are we going to do tonight? The Brain: Same thing we do every night, Pinky. Try to take over the world.), social engineering and depopulation. They have a common goal, and they don't argue about it. They do it, and they do it right in front of our fucking faces. So while you all are arguing about whether 911 was an inside job or if Gary Johnson is better than Ron Paul, you are being controlled, manipulated and brainwashed just like everyone else, except at least those people are living their lives in ignorant bliss.

You guys can keep your cliques, your cult of personality and your dogma. You are all equally as manipulative and shitty as any other body of power. You are all equally as controlled as Republicans, Democrats and the apathetic. I'm not above it either, no one is. We have lost our humility (if we ever had any) and turned into exactly what we are trying to fight against, and I think a lot of people enjoy it. It's their way of gaining power and fame when they are not good enough to do so in the "real world".

I hope we can all find peace within ourselves, despite the other things going on in the world. I hope we can all never stop searching for truth and being open-minded, that we don't become the dogmatics we rail against. I hope we can all gain a scrap of humility and realize we are not perfect, nor do we have all the answers. Above all else, I hope that you can all learn to work together for freedom, instead of fighting each other insisting that your version of it is the "right" one. After all, freedom is the ability for each of us to do as we please, as long as we hurt no one else.

With as much love as I can muster,
Trbo

Friday, August 26, 2011

TrboPolish

Not a real post, just some shameless self-promotion for my Facebook Page: TrboPolish (turbo Polish (like the country)). It's about nail polish. I love nail polish almost as much as I love eyeshadow and Hot Bald Guys.

https://www.facebook.com/pages/TrboPolish/253427118012899?sk=wall

It's still a work in progress and what I REALLY REALLY want is a male contributor. So, if you're a dude who paints his nails (or wants to start) or know a dude who paints his nails, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE get in touch with me.

One day, I will post about my obsession with Polish and the OCD behavior that goes along with it. Until then, visit the Facecrack page for swatches, tips and more!

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

How To Successfully Be A Redneck

I'm not sure why I chose this title... Because the more I think about it, the more I realize I actually kinda failed at being a redneck. See, you'd think being a redneck would be pretty simple since it doesn't involve money, fashion sense, basic hygiene or a firm grasp of the English language (or any other language for that matter) - perhaps these things were my downfall. I have come to the realization that it takes equal part skill and bad genetics to be a successful redneck and I am evidently seriously lacking in both.

The weather this weekend in da 'Burgh was immensely torrid and, because I a. don't have cooling system that is centrally located which distributes sweet relief throughout my entire home and b. didn't have a swimsuit that would be appropriate for a genteel young lady such as myself to wear in public, Awesome Boyfriend and I were stuck brainstorming ways to cool ourselves off in the midst of the Worst Heatwave EVER. Since I have children and quite frequently make use of their toys and gadgets for my own enjoyment, it seemed perfectly natural to use their inflatable water containment device for my own personal comfort. Unfortunately, by the time I got done blowing up the pool and filling it with water (which I forgot to turn off causing it to overflow and creating a small mudpit in the backyard) it began to storm and by the time ABF got there, I was in the midst of a hormonally induced psychotic meltdown, so while swimming in lightning seemed like a completely rational idea to me at the time, I was once again saved by the unending rational and non-impulsive mind of my male better half.

The next day however, proved to be equally as sweltering and hyperthermia inducing. Swimming (and I use that term lightly, only because water and semi-submerged bodies are involved, it was more like "lounging") in the kiddie pool commenced. We sat in the "pool", drank beer and watch Redheaded Bitch and Chinashop Bull (dogs, people... dogs - their names have been changed to protect their inherent canine right to privacy) make one another's acquaintance for the first time. This involved Bitch attempting to hump Bull from behind... When that didn't work, she went straight for the full facial. This seemed to be more gender appropriate and socially acceptable to Bull, and he allowed it. It was almost as good as watching a cockfight or horse race or some other illegal gambling activity involving animals. Just imagine a 47lbs Husky attempting to hump a 100lbs Rottweiler and getting away with it.

Now you  might be thinking that, so far, we are totally winning at being rednecks... You would be right, except that we were drinking craft beer instead of Old Milwaukee and we were sitting outside a 3 bedroom house with a basement instead of a doublewide on cinder blocks. There was also no trace of old tires, rusted out truckbed caps or half-naked filthy children running around the yard in saggy diapers nor was any country music being blared from a pickup truck with the doors left open to better hear the tunes. I even exchange my white-trashy, too-small-topped swimsuit which was showing more of my boobs than it was covering for a fancy number from Victoria's Secret (specifically designed for the mammarily "gifted") that had just come in the mail. Rednecks don't wear $100 swimsuits. Rednecks don't own anything that costs over $20, unless it's a shotgun and even those are usually passed down from their great great grandpa who was only somewhat affected by redneck genes yet still managed to put in his hours coal-mining or digging trenches or something that made him some sort of sustainable income.

We completed our adventure in backwoods hillbilly bliss by going to dinner at the Texas Roadhouse. What we lacked earlier in auditory resemblance to redneckedness we surely made up for in this place. "I lost my truck and my dawg and my pickup 'cause that woman done left me and now I gotta drown my sorrows in a pitcher of Coors in a bar with a sawdust floor" was blaring from what seemed like the very building itself. Delectable cuts of bovine were prominently displayed behind a glass (probably plexiglass or just plain old plastic) display case where you could choose your own dinner, peanut shells were strewn across the floor throughout the entire place (I think this may have been staged - you know, to make it look more redneck than it really was, cause there weren't any in the bathroom and surely rednecks would definitely eat peanuts in the shitter) and the drink specials were pitchers of cheap beer and different "sweet tea" flavor cordials mixed with things like Jack Daniels and Southern Comfort.

To add to this authentic Texas experience, we were seated directly next to a table full of Mexicans and our waiter seemed a little... "slow". Maybe he was just nervous to be in the presence of the extreme awesomeness of the Dynamic Duo... or maybe a little of both. When I asked about a drink on the menu, he told me that the people who just left his other table had 3 of them. I looked at him very seriously and told him that he should not have served them so much alcohol and then permitted them to drive home. He looked very nervous and stated, "Oh, haha, no, they had three altogether, each of them had one." How each of them ordering only one each demonstrated that said drinks were so fantastic was entirely beyond me, so he either really believed that I was someone from the Liquor Control Board or he was just not the sharpest tool in the shed. "A" for effort, sweetheart, "A" for effort.

Despite being a little slow, quite talkative and a bit socially awkward, he was a good waiter. That is why I chose to express my concerns to him about the rest of the "staff" there. It was beyond me how anyone working in redneck heaven could seemingly hate their job as much as most of the adolescent girls there... When it came time for someone to have a birthday (which invariably happens if you choose to dine at one of these mid-range franchise restaurants on a weekend), the saddle on wheels was rolled out, a little girl was lifted onto it by a reasonably enthusiastic young male member of the staff, an announcement was made and the birthday singing began. Sadly, the girls singing weren't even a micro-fraction as enthusiastic as the young man, otherwise, I would not have been torn between being completely embarrassed at the pathetic performance and fighting the urge to stand up and give that poor little girl the birthday song she deserved.

Not being paid minimum wage to do so, I successfully resisted the latter, but my righteous indignation at the former caused me to have a little chat with our waiter when he came over. I told him that the poor little girl sitting there should have been sung to with some gusto and he should tell those girls that work-ethic is very important in America, as is customer service, and that they should be ashamed of themselves for ruining that poor little girl's birthday. Now she'll probably grow up to be a welfare bum because they'd set a bad example and her crushed faith in humanity will probably cause her to become addicted to heroin (ok, I didn't tell him all this, but this was the point I was trying to get across to him). To my surprise, he came back and said he told the non-singing girls what I said. Awesome BF just kinda glared at me and was all "Great, now we're going to be eating spit". To which Waiter replied "Oh no, they'd never do that! They'd get fired if they did that!"... Evidently, though they tolerate staff that sings to small children less than half-assed, the Texas Roadhouse has a very strict "no spitting in customers' food policy" that is vigilantly monitored and promptly punished by termination. Good to know.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Gross People

Let's talk about gross people. When I say gross people, I don't mean fat, ugly, stinky, hairy people who eat their boogers and wear spandex (we'll talk about them later)... I mean couples who make you want to vomit in your drink because, when they are out in public, no one else seems to exist in their world but the two of them. They're all hand-holding, face-sucking, snooky-wookying, OMFG-would-you-two-get-a-fucking-room and it pisses me off. No, I'm not jealous, I just think if you're going to be all over each other and ignore everyone else and the fact that they are trying in vain to hold down their lunch in your presence, you should just stay home and have sex til you can't stand to look at each other any more.

Seriously, no one needs or wants to hear your "I love yoooou" "I love you moooorrrre" "I love you the mostessst" waste of oxygen dialog. We get it, you love each other... Get over it, move on and talk about something meaningful you fucking kitten licking unicorn humpers. You can't eat love... and while the both of you were sitting there drooling all over each other, I ate your $50 filet mignon that you were going to share. Fortunately for me, you didn't notice; even though the only thing either of you has eaten for the past week is each other's face.

And why is everything "ours"? Why do you speak as if the two of you are one entity? Yeah, yeah, I get the whole "two become one" blah blah bullshit, but seriously... "we had to pop a nasty zit on our back before we got here, sorry we're late" is not only completely disgusting, it's entirely inaccurate. It's not your collective back... He has a back and you have a back. ONE of your backs was infested with said zit and ONE of you popped it. For fuck's sake!

My favorite is "we're on our period"... Ummmm, last time I checked, men don't have uteri and cannot bleed from their nether regions once a month (well, technically, I guess they could, but far from being the normal course of things, I'd say that would be a pretty significant cause for concern). Besides all of that, any man who would even want to own something like that has quite evidently been pussy-whipped into a state of complete patheticness and is an utter humiliation to the entire male species.

That shit gets old... It was already old for everyone else the first time they saw you together, it'll be old for you two soon enough. It will go from "My darling pookie-poo" to "you god damn asshat motherfucker!!" in no time. We'd all appreciate if you'd just stay home and boink each other's brains out until you at least get to the just calling each other "babe" part and spare the rest of us your disgusting, vomit-inducing, brain curdling infatuation fest. We all know you're going to be having knock-down, drag-outs over the color of the curtains and how often you no longer have sex in a few weeks.

In an effort to avoid this with the object of my affection, I solemnly vow to boink his brains out on a semi-daily basis for the next year or so. You're welcome.

Monday, June 13, 2011

It's All Just Ambiguous Expendable Bullshit

Ever have a life situation where it's like you're playing a game and the game is fun, then one day you're thinking "wait a minute, this game is getting old, it's not fun anymore!"? The game ceases to be fun when there is no end, when there is no WINNING. At the same time, when you can't define what winning is, you're forced to continue playing a frustrating game. Then you think to yourself, "fine, I'll just stop playing." But, doesn't that mean you lose? And what is worse? Losing or playing a game you can't win? Yeah, I'm gonna go with losing on this one.


I'm hoping that putting a couple of $5 words in the title makes up for the rambling pity-fest you're about to read. I probably shouldn't even be writing about this... Maybe it's just yet another overreaction. Seems I have been assuming something for the past year that evidently wasn't true. I'm not talking something trivial like assuming that everyone loves bacon, I'm talking something that makes me think of the cliche "assume makes an ass of u and me", except this time I'm kinda the only one who has been made an ass of. It's not the first time, it won't be the last - it's certainly not hard to make me look stupid and naive (even if I am neither), especially if you have a penis and a few choice, suave words (I'm a sucker for an ego stroking).


As it turns out, just because you are sleeping together on a regular basis, talking on the phone a few times a week and showering together occasionally doesn't mean that you are an actual couple. In fact, you're probably nothing more than glorified fuck buddies and no matter how much you want to believe differently, when nothing is being said it's just a stupid stupid move on your part to assume you are anything more. He might tell that Mexican dude in the bar that you are his girlfriend, but that's just so the other dude doesn't try to take you home with him (as if you would go home with that dude, anyway). See, if it's been like a year and his friends aren't really sure what to call you and just end up assuming you're "special friends" then he obviously doesn't think highly enough of you to present you, unambiguously, as his "girlfriend", "lady", "partner" or even "better half".


The best part of all of this is finding out from someone else. Enjoying some good music (that you busted your ass to get home in time to see your "special friend" play) and basically having the bomb dropped on you. It's not as if it's anything more than confirming what you already knew deep down, but after this long, it would be nice to hear it from the source. Then you have to spend the rest of the evening smiling and pretending like nothing is wrong while you're sitting there working all of this information out in your head and it begins dawning on you that, yeah, you knew this - but that still doesn't make it any less difficult to swallow. You feel like a vibrator that's seen too many sets of D batteries - your battery door is held on with duct tape and the only setting that still works is supersonic jackhammer. You don't get much use any more and you're rotting away in a drawer. That was a stupid analogy but you get the point.


The best part of this all is... (Wait, I had a "best part" already, yeah well I guess it just keeps getting better!!!) ...When the realization of being had comes one day before the semi-official one year mark (consummation if you will) of this ambiguous union. I'm probably supposed to be angry. Most people would probably agree that I would have every right to be downright livid. Thing is, I chose to make assumptions based on equivocal, at best, information and subtleties instead of growing some fucking balls and asking that things be made 100% clear.


Today, I feel like someone has played the cruelest possible joke on me... The worst part of this feeling is the realization that I've been playing the joke on myself. I've been warned from every possible angle and I chose to ignore it either because I am naive or because I believe in things greater than myself, in giving the benefit of the doubt. I'm a fucking SUCKER, either way.

Monday, June 6, 2011

Actual Run-in With a Cop (I didn't make this one up and I have the ticket to prove it)

As most of you know, I recently picked up 2 other Freedom Fighters in the TrboMobile and traveled to Washington DC to stand with other activists at the Thomas Jefferson Monument in protest of the ridiculous ruling that we cannot dance with or in honor of our favorite Founding Father. 

I drug myself out of bed at the ungodly hour of 5:00am, a time I rarely see unless it's in a drunken stupor following an all-nighter (preferably with my legs thrown over the shoulders of a HBG). I couldn't leave until 7:00 and I had to drive North first to grab my first passenger. We then stopped in the uh, quaint little village of Morgantown, WV to pick up another lovely lady. About 2 hours into the trip a fascist swine in the beautiful state of Maryland decided to harass me for harming no one. The official charge is "Exceeding maximum speed: 100 MPH in a posted 65 MPH zone". They are extorting $290 from me, presumably to pay for donuts and coffee. I was simply doing my patriotic duty in an attempt to make it into DC in time for the festivities which were to begin at 12:00 sharp.

My original plan was to make the 2 hour drive down to Maryland to fight the ticket, this would require me to take a day off of work (that I could otherwise take and spend doing productive things like sunning myself and getting drunk) and spend another $50 in gas (more donut taxes). My fear was that I would end up with 4 points on my driver's license (and how awful would it be if I couldn't drive???). However, after speaking with my insurance agent today, and sharing stories of getting pulled over for speeding, I was informed that out of state tickets do not put points on my license and they do not make my insurance go up. That being said, I would still normally fight the ticket, but the added hassle and expense of taking an entire day off, finding a babysitter and driving down there to probably lose the case anyway (and probably piss of the judge and the fascist swine and get thrown in jail in bum fuck Maryland) has made me determine that the best thing for me to do is pay the ticket.

Friends suggested that I start a chip in to get help with this. It's not normally something I would do (my awesomeness prevents me from asking for help, even when I need it), but I have to pay this ticket in 30 days or face a warrant for my arrest and suspension of my license. This is where you come in, fellow cohort in World Domination: if all of my friends can chip in even $1, I'll be saved from rotting in a cell with a metal toilet and urine stained cot, getting molested by toothless lesbian convicts.




Saturday, May 21, 2011

Not the End of the World, Just the Rapture

So did you guys hear that the rapture took place today? I know what you're thinking... "Everyone's still here, this is bullshit". My friends, this is NOT bullshit, Jesus really did come to Earth today and take those who are "worthy" according to the bible. No really, I'm super serial.

Let's start at the beginning: Some holy man, whose "organization" has received about $80 million in donations since 2005, has used his divine critical thinking skills to kindly inform us of when the bible tells us the world will end. By some very creative interpretation, we get that the the flood that took place back in 4990 BC (and I can in no way verify that the Good Fairytale Book actually gives this date) will actually take place again in 7000 years because the man upstairs was actually relaying a message to the future people, knowing that his book would survive many thousands of years perfectly intact and accurately interpreted and translated (since he decided at one point all people couldn't speak the same language because then they would become more powerful than him). So when he said the rain would begin in 7 days, what he actually meant was 7 thousand years. That god, he's such an enigma, wrapped in a mystery, deep fried in riddles!

So anyway, when you do the math (look at the link I don't have time for such brain work!), it turns out that today is the day. Yeah, Jesus came today, and since you're reading this, I'm sorry you missed him! Don't feel bad, I was hoping he'd come save me from having to cut my 3ft high grass *sadface*. So I did some of that praying, and I asked Mr. Omnipotent Being why everyone was still here. He told me that the following excludes people from being included in the rapture:

1. Those who don't love thy neighbor, banging his wife does not count as love even if you DID mow their lawn.

2. Those who don't honor thy mother and father. Which nursing home did you send them to again? Oh, and remember that time in high school? That thing you said to them? Yep, you.

3. Those who have had sex during "that time of the month". You know you're guilty. In fact, if you've even sat on something that she just sat on, you're guilty.

4. Sodomy. Yep, you again... Thought that would be a clever way of getting around the blood thing? Guilty! Doesn't matter if you used a condom.

5. Ever said "Jesus christ!" or "god dammit!" in a fit of rage? No? Think you're safe? Nice try fucker... even "piss" makes you... GUILTY! (Fuck and any variation thereof that does not include the words "Lord", "god", "Jesus" or "piss" is ok, god fucking dammit!)

6. Ever cut your grass, exercise, clean or go to work on Sunday? GUILTY!

7. Ever tell you mom the cat broke her favorite Betty Boop knick knack? Or maybe that your belly hurt when it really didn't and you just wanted to get out of going to school? LIAR! No rapture rescue for you!

8. Ever tell your hubby the steamy gossip about the lady next door cheating on her dying husband? Not only is Jesus not coming to save her, he's not gonna come get you either! BAM!

9. Ever eat shrimp, lobster, bacon or locust? (You ate the locust, didn't you???) You lose.

10. Not going to church on Sundays? Oh you do? GOOD! Are you giving God his 10%?? Are you? God's not the IRS there are no exemptions! He doesn't care if you needed your oil changed and your kids live off ramen noodles... CHEATER!

He told me a bunch of other stuff, but I asked him to stop because it was all making sense now. I asked him if Jesus took anyone. God told me that 3 people made the cut: one was in a coma since birth and the other two were solitary, celibate monks who lived off of nothing but spring water and took vows of silence.

It's ok though, we only have to put up with hell on Earth until October. I imagine that means it's not going to stop raining (flood maybe), it will be 95 degrees in Pittsburgh every single day and my air conditioner will die. He's also planning to blast Justin Bieber and Katy Perry music from the trumpets of heaven for all to hear. Oh, and spandex will make a come back.


Pimp Daddy Jesus... He's coming to give you some gospel. That is not a crucifix in his robe, he's just happy to see you.

Monday, May 2, 2011

Osama Bin Dyin'

So we finally killed Osama Bin Laden.... Again. Yes, you heard me. This isn't the first time Mr. Tim Osman has kicked the bucket. This guy's got more lives than a Hindi cat channeling Jesus. Considering he's died like 15 times, THREE times in 2002 alone, I'd recommend that Der F├╝rher Obama (Barack, not Osama, no overt allusions here *cough* Faux News *cough cough*) not start hoisting the "Mission Accomplished" banner just yet. Seems that Mr. Bin Laden is channeling Bowser (or King Koopa, that thing's name seems to have changed from the days when I played Mario Bros.), no matter how many times you make it through the castle and kill him, he's always waiting at the next one, still hiding the princess.


Next is the question of WHICH Bin Laden has been killed this time... See, it seems this guy has at least one other "twin" who really doesn't even look like him. We've got the traditional grey bearded Osama and the more metro-sexual black beard (Just For Men FTW!). Then we've got the fat nosed and the skinny nosed... of course, I'm sure it's the same guy who just got punched in the face by a bad-ass American Marine, who didn't bother capturing or killing him then. Or maybe that happened one of the times they "killed" him but he was then resurrected by Mohammad, who couldn't be bothered with making him look the same... I mean, that works out in their favor right? Cause you know, those dumb Americans will believe anything and they will be so busy calling the people who actually pay attention "crazy conspiracy theorists" that they totally won't notice that the new Bin Laden is right-handed even though he is listed as left handed.

Conveniently, after not even 24 hours, we couldn't find anyone who would bury Bin Laden (I mean, what respectable, America-hating Mosque would want to bury a the Martyr who single-handedly abolished Western infidel freedoms in their backyard!), so we decided to just dump his body in the ocean. This will surely not spark outrage amongst the evil terrorists, considering they are fanatical Muslims, but would be totally ok with their leader not being given a proper burial. There surely won't be any blowback from this! In fact, they'll be thanking us, those sand-dwellers, for giving him an awesome funeral. I've always wanted to be buried at sea, haven't you? And it's also saving them tons of money on funeral costs... It's not cheap to die these days. Damn, we're just a bunch of fucking stand-up guys, aren't we?

So we're all happy this guy is dead, right? I mean, why not? He was responsible for 911, even if  the FBI's Most Wanted listing of him makes no mention of this. I mean, he's only responsible for the biggest act of terrorism in the history of the US, I don't really see any need to mention that in his fugitive credentials, do you? Now we can all cheer because we've spent about $1.2 Trillion dollars, killed hundreds of thousands of people and "showed those fucking camel jockies that you don't mess with the US!"

Remember, this is a never ending war, much like the War on Inanimate Objects Drugs, until we get rid of ALL the drugs, we haven't won. Don't forget, these people hate our freedom. The government was kind enough to pass the Patriot Act. That's the one where they store our freedom in a locker (much like they did with our retirements in the form of Social Security) to keep it safe for us so the terrorists can't steal it. Don't worry, you'll get your First, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth and Fourteenth Amendment Rights back just as soon as we rid the world of Jihadists.

This also means that terrorism has ended, right? And we can all come home now...? No? Well of course not, you idiot! Now all the terrorists are REALLY mad at us and if we don't kill them ALL, they will come here and rape our babies and eat our women! So while it may be a time for celebration, singing National Anthems and chanting "USA USA USA!!" like a bunch of brainwashed drones, we still have to send other people's kids to die fighting wars on transient verbs. It's ok though, because you can still play Facebook General and watch the blowing up of innocent sub-humans on your TV while you drink your piss-water, fluoridated beer and eat your GMO corn chips. Don't forget to wave your flag and yell "God bless the USA!! Turn that sand into glass!!" (because God, of course, blesses those who kill other people to steal their natural resources).


Thursday, April 28, 2011

Open Letter to Covert Celeb Watchers

Dear People Who "Don't Care" About the Royal Wedding,

Evidently, you care more than the average person, like me, because up until a few days ago, I had only a vague notion about some "royal" (I mean, they're not even real monarchs anymore, are they? It's all just for ceremonial purposes and so the Brits can keep saying "God save the Queen" (from what exactly, no one knows... Poisoned sweetmeats, perhaps?)) wedding taking place somewhere in Europe between some royal dude and some chick who I am not sure is royalty (whatever the fuck that even means any more... Maybe she's a Duke or some shit). Now, however, my Facebook  feed is littered with crap about how much people "don't care" about the royal wedding and people who do are "stupid sheeples" or whatever. Seems like the people who "don't care" are talking about it more than anyone else.

Anyway, I get it. You really do care but you don't want people to know you're a secret celebrity stalker with a subscription to People magazine ("it's my wife's" ain't cuttin it, honey, because we all know you're a fat 44 year old loser sitting in your mom's basement). This is like the latest trend in being cool, totally pretend like you're not into whatever you keep talking about, so you look way cooler than the people who are all about it and also the people who really don't care because you can be all like, "yeah, I'm worldly, I know everything that's going on in the world, but I actually know what things are important and what things aren't. Like, you know how the Reptilian Freemason Illuminati headed by Dick Cheney and his demon cat have fabricated Obama's birth certificate and if you argue, your ass is going in a FEMA CAMP motherfucker!! The fact that Kate is springing for a $3.5 million Vera Wang gown and $1.8 million Prada shoes is totally unimportant and I totally don't care because I am cool like that!"

And now I just wrote an entire blog post about it! See, you fuckers turned me into one of you! And this is why I fucking hate people (cue the anarcho-hippies singing some stupid Peter, Paul and Mary song and trying to hug me while I beat them with their "Love Police" bullhorns).

Please just go read some tabloids and stop posting on Facebook about how much you "don't care".

Die,
Trbobitch

P.S. Here's a wedding I care about:


Monday, April 25, 2011

Trbo Needs a New Ride

So I went to Philly this weekend.

Wait a sec, that's the most boring statement ever. First of all, none of you give a flying fuck what I did this weekend unless it involved strippers and heroin (if I tell you it did, will you keep reading? Because it may have involved drugs (not heroin) and/or panty flashes and butt cheeks (not mine)... so yeah, you probably don't care). So maybe if I rephrase that...

So I jumped in the End The Fed mobile and drove 90 miles an hour (or so) down the Tyranny Pike to an epic event in a city that is the epitome of all that is wrong with the state of Pennsylvania. (Not perfect, but better.) I was a bit nervous about making this trip because the ETFmobile isn't exactly a spring chicken any more. Plus, I was too lazy to get an oil change and get her inspected... I mean, never mind the fact that the oil hasn't been changed for about 4000 7000 10000 miles and the inspection was due last month, I was also travelling with my e-cigarette tackle box personal vaporizer supplies (so much cooler sounding) which include hypodermic needles and enough nicotine liquid to kill several orphanages worth of small children (meh, who would miss them?). I also never wear a seat belt and talk on my cell phone.

I can imagine, had I gotten pulled over (which I didn't because I have a fucking radar detector because I am fucking badass and every time I pass a cop I say "Trbobitch 1 - piggies cops Tyrants in uniform Guys who were bullied in highschool and use their position to exact revenge on innocent people Officers of the "law" 0 ZE-RO!") it would have gone something like this:

********************
Officer of the "law": Ma'am, do you know why I pulled you over?

Me: Nope, I sure don't officer. It couldn't possibly be because my inspection has expired, I was going somewhere around 95 in a 55 - I'm not entirely sure because my speedometer always says I'm going either 115 or 20 mph - and/or I am on some sort of government watch list... By the way officer, you look dashing in that uniform, do you press it yourself?

Officer: Actually, I clocked you at 105 mph.

Me: Well, now that is interesting, because my radar detector didn't pick up your radar, so you obviously used some kind of unapproved "clocking" method which makes this entire situation null and void. Thanks for your time officer, glad I could help, I'll be going now.

Cop: Actually, your radar detector probably didn't go off in time to warn you because you were going so fast. Can I see your license and registration please?

Me: Well of course! You're in luck because I am a licensed driver without a stain on my record and I just so happen to have renewed my registration yesterday! It cost me extra because it was 6 months overdue, but I paid it because I am a good, law-abiding citizen like that! I even spend my days visiting old people! Well, my mom's not really old, she's only 56, but that still makes her a Senior Citizen, and I'm not really visiting her, because I live with her...

Cop: I will be right back, you just stay right here, ok?

Me: Considering my car is about to fall apart and yours is one of them there fancy "Police Interceptors", I don't think I can outrun you, so yeah, I guess I'm not going anywhere. Is it ok if I pick my nose while I am waiting?

Cop: *looks disturbed and walks away*

10 minutes later...

Oinker: Ma'am, I ran your plates and it appears you have a bench warrant for some parking tickets from 2005...

Me: What exactly is a bench warrant? Are you going to like, bench press me or something? Because I hate to tell you, I'm pretty heavy and your arms don't exactly look like you've been doing more than lifting coffee and donuts into your mouth, ya know?

Piggy: Ma'am I am going to let you go with a warning on the bench warrant, but I am going to have to give you a ticket for speeding...

Me: I don't really think I was doing 105.

Swine: You were.

Me: Ok well, we're pals, can we say I was doing like, I dunno, 70?

Kid who was bullied in high school: No, I don't think so... What do you have in that tackle box there?

Me: It's not a tackle box... It's a case of supplies.


Bacon boy: Supplies for what?


Me: My personal vaporizer?

Piggy: Are you asking me?

Me: Why are you answering my question with a question?

Oinker: Are those hypodermic needles?


Me: I'm diabetic?

Hammy: *sigh* Ok, look, here's what I am giving you, a ticket for a high speed offense, driving without a seatbelt, driving an uninspected vehicle and I won't bother with one for talking on your cell phone.

Me: Gee, you're awfully kind *bats eyelashes*

Officer: Well, I can see that you are obviously the most awesome person in the world and any chick with a tattoo like that is OK by me... Now just promise you'll pay your parking tickets, ok? Oh, and here's my Facebook, add me *creepy smile*.

Me: Uh, right....
********************

Well, that didn't go too bad I guess...

So anyway, the ETFmobile is not in the best shape and considering the lack of preventative maintenance, it probably wasn't the most genius plan I have ever come up with to drive it 600 miles in the span of a weekend. It was actually going ok until I got to a stretch of the Tyranny Pike and my car started doing this bouncing thing. Like, I'm talking I felt like I should have been wearing a sports bra because I am doing jumping jacks on a trampoline kind of bouncing. I started getting nervous and looking at the other cars ahead of me to see if their cars were also bounding like Kenyan hurdlers over the asphalt. Unfortunately, no cars stayed ahead of me long enough for me to gauge their level of springing... I slowed to 80 mph. I saw other cars behaving like Chinese bobbleheads, so I figured I was ok.

When I arrived at my destination and actually had to make 90 degree turns, I realized that my car sounded like a medieval dungeon with all the fixins... There was a grinding sound that bore a striking auditory resemblance to a stretching rack, complete with a squealing, screaming prisoner (who was being tortured for high treason, naturally). I noticed these sounds were the worst when turning or stopping... So I figured I could make it back home ok, because there really isn't a lot of turning or stopping on the highway, especially at 97 mph.

Of course, I was right, and my car made it home. As soon as I pulled up to the curb, it collapsed in a heap of unrecognizable parts and twisted hunks of metal:


Ooops! Wrong one:


Ok, yeah, I totally made that up. Come on, would I really drive a gay ass car like that? Look at that thing! It's got, "my parents live in a trailer but still got me a car for my 16th birthday 9 years ago because I am a trailer park princess" written all over it... (Yes, NINE years!! Dammit! Shut the fuck up! I'm 25, motherfuckers!)

So anyway, ETFmobile gets looked at tomorrow. Might be time to retire her.... But it was totally worth it, because now I know how truly sexy grapefruits can be....


....I totally ninja'd this picture...


...and I look really hot in this one:


Even that guy in the background is like "Damn! Who is that lucky dude who looks like Adam Kokesh with his arm around that super HAWT chick?!?!?"

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Open Letters: Vol. 2

Dear bald Rent-a-Cop at O'Shea's in Vegas,

Rubbing your bald head does not mean I want to sleep with your grody ass. In fact, when you start throwing your weight around and acting like a douchebag, no amount of baldness would even make me want to look at you. Look, I understand that you're a Rent-a-Cop, but seriously, that doesn't make you anything but a loser who couldn't find a real job (no offense to other rent-a-cops). I only flirted with you because a. you're bald and I just can't resist a clean, smooth head and b. it's always tactical to be in good standing with the folks who can throw you out (not that I have ever been thrown out of a bar before *ahem*).

Thing is, I know no man can resist putting his hands all over me, but you can't even use the excuse that you were drunk (and if you were, I hope you get fired), and no one hits on a security guard expecting (or wanting) to get laid. To further augment your douchebaggery, you proceeded to give my friends a hard time after I left (for reasons that cannot be disclosed without full security clearance), knowing by then that I would not be going back to your one bedroom "efficiency" slum-hole somewhere in the armpit of Vegas. Do everyone a favor and quit pretending like your job gives you any authority or social clout.

Thanks!
Trbobitch

***********************************************

Dear Drunk Girls in Skimpy Dresses,

You got nothin' on me ;-) (But please continue to make me look even hotter by comparison)

Love,
Trbobitch




***********************************************

Dear Swimsuit Manufacturers,

Please make a swimsuit that covers my boobs sufficiently. Seriously, this is getting ridiculous. It's one thing that I can't find shirts that fit properly, but surely there are swimsuits that will cover at least most of the side boob without hanging loosely from the rest of me...? Evidently not. You see, I like to leave a little something to the imagination, I like to reserve the knowledge of the color of my mammilla for special people, but apparently you think everyone wants to be like the girls mentioned above. Either that or you, like the shirt manufacturers, think that everyone under a size 20 has B cups or has silicone bosoms that don't give way to the pressure of tight synthetic fabric biting into them. WTF? All I want is a bathing suit fit for a 20 year old that covers my damn boobs! Please attend to this matter promptly and send me a free prototype.

Sincerely,
Trbobitch

************************************************

Dear Voice,

Ok, this was funny for a minute, especially when I sounded like a phone sex operator. It's not funny any more. I can't yell at my kids, I can't talk on the phone, I can't sing in the shower and I can't tell myself how awesome I am when I look in the mirror. Come back. Please?

Missing you,
Trbobitch

************************************************

Dear Brain,

Stop getting fantastically bright and insanely labor intensive ideas. I know we could go far if we stuck to just one, but all this jumping around is leaving projects half-finished. I would appreciate if you didn't get any more "great ideas" until I finish the 200 things on your list.

Yours in genius,
Trbobitch

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Armageddon

You're standing on the street corner. You don't know how you got there. Your surroundings are completely familiar, yet something is off, as if it's a combination of places you know well. There are two people with you, people you know but who seem completely random. You look up to see a building with gold-toned mirrored windows. The building does not belong there, at that vantage point from the street corner, but even more frightening is what is happening to the building.

You don't know what to think of what you are seeing before your very eyes, then the terror hits you. Even then, the full weight of what is happening doesn't hit you. There is a dragon, a very large dragon, destroying the building. It's completely absurd, but all your brain can register is fear and panic. You and your companions turn to run. You know this is it. The proverbial shit has hit the metaphorical fan.

There is a car, you can't think of anywhere else to hide. You get in the car and you all curl into the fetal position in utter terror. There are blankets in the car, you pile them on top of you, much like a frighten child believes hiding under the covers will protect them from the boogie man. You don't know exactly why, but for some reason, your companions leave you. You're not getting out of that car, so you stay, whatever fate shall befall them is no matter to you; you know this is the safe spot.

From under your sanctuary of blankets, you peek out, through the car window and what you see further solidifies your belief that this is it. You have never in your life felt so scared, so helpless, so terrified. You see the buildings rising up out of the concrete jungle like fence posts. Behind the buildings, from the spaces between you see more dragons, marching in a line. In addition to the dragons are gigantic demons. Your brain doesn't register the absurdity that these things are bright purple, all you can think of is your own survival in what appears to be playing out as the equivalent of the biblical apocalypse. Beelzebub is the first word that comes to mind to describe these things.

You are completely transfixed, so captivated in fact, that you do not see the line progressing toward your position. You see a purple creature coming towards you and your immediate instinct is to play dead. The creature doesn't see you, but decides anyway to use the vehicle you've taken sanctuary in as a chair. As the weight bears down on the roof of the car, you are pinned inside. Trapped, with nowhere to run (as if you had any intention of running and exposing yourself anyway).

It seems that, while the dragons are the destroyers, the purple creatures have a great deal of intelligence, even if they have the appearance of stupid ogres. They are not out to destroy, they are out to convert. While you were standing on the street corner, with no recollection of how you got there - while you were hiding in the car like a child under the blankets - these creatures had destroyed humanity. You are among a slight few survivors. Somehow, you already know this, but you also know there is something else. Something about getting bitten.

Somehow, the creature becomes aware of your presence. It more than likely has smelled fear seeping from your pores like the stench of a rotting corpse, and you know it knows. You know, at this point, if this were a dream you'd awaken in a sweaty fear, heart racing. You don't wake up. Instead, the creature collects you.

You must black out, because you cannot remember how you got into the warehouse. At least, you think it's a warehouse. There's random stuff everywhere, none of it important or significant enough to take note of it or for you to remember what it is. There is a man. But it's not a man. It's certainly not the purple creature your brain christened "Beelzebub". He's going to know you've awakened and you know this. For some reason, you are standing, you've been standing, which doesn't seem to make any sense. Suddenly, you see yourself, but it's not you, but it has to be you, because the only people in this room are you and the man-thing.

"You" are wrestling the man-thing, trying to take him off guard. You find something to strangle it with and quickly wrap it around his neck and take him down. You tie it off while it struggles for air. Yet, you can see, it's going to break free. The complete amazement at your own bravery doesn't stop you from taking off... But you don't know where to go. Again you black out.

When you come to, you realize it has caught you. Again, you know, if this were a dream, this is where you would wake up in a terrified sweat. You don't. You look at your surroundings and realize you are in one of the most beautiful buildings you have ever seen. A cross between a church, an historical building and a brilliant marble mansion. I'm in a bright, white, marble circular room with a vaulted ceiling. It's beautiful and comfortable. I realize I am not being held captive. There are others there with me. I don't recognize them, yet I know them. I am no longer afraid.

I know what's going on outside. I know that civilization is gone. Our buildings are destroyed and our people are dead. It's the utter destruction of the world. Armageddon has just taken place, but I am at peace. I am in this beautiful building, surrounded by these (non)strangers. A man takes you by the hands. You take note of his long dreadlocks. He tells you everything will be ok, you can live here. You want to live there. You remember thinking "the Devil's in the Whitehouse in a big fat comfy chair", you must have heard it in a song.

I think to myself, I can do this, this will be ok. All the while, I don't realize, I have been bitten. I have become one of them.

You are now responsible for what's going on outside, and you're ok with it, because you're still alive. You've survived the terror, it doesn't matter what happened to the others.

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Trbobitch Gives Relationship Advice

Ok, putting the random hilarity aside for a moment... Sorry guys, but it was inevitable, my brain just hasn't been in funny mode, but I need to write. So you're all just going to have to suck it up and play along.

Not to say this won't be funny, just probably not as funny.

I want to write about this because I see so many miserable people whose misery is caused by their spouse, significant other or lesbian life partner. Now, I'm not pretending to be Dr. Phil (he's the relationship guy, right?) or trying to say I have this shit all figured out, but I figure if I can share some of what I have learned, it might help someone (it will certainly help the rest of us who have to put up with your misery).

Things that will make your relationship fail:


1. Lack of and/or bad sex
You can go ahead and sit there and pretend like sex isn't important, and that's your problem. Sure, maybe neither of you want sex, and that's fine, but chances are your man is masturbating to large breasted, small waisted beauty queens getting it up the shitter while you're in bed with a "headache". Eventually, he's going to get sick of his hand. You giving in once every few weeks to keep him happy isn't keeping him happy, hate to tell ya. Laying there making token moaning sounds doesn't qualify as good sex, either. Then you're going to bitch when he cheats. WTF is wrong with you?

2. Jealousy
Yes, he just checked out that waitress, and yes, she is way hotter than you. You already know both of those things, so why do you bother fucking asking? Is he going home with her? No, he's going home with you and if you want to keep it that way, stop nagging him every time he does something as instinctual to a male as breathing. If you want to take it out on someone, go puke up that double cheeseburger you just ate, you pathetic fatass, then maybe you'll look like the hot waitress.

3. Laziness
Remember when you were trying to catch a partner? Remember how you went to the gym and didn't eat double cheeseburgers (yeah, fatty, I'm talking to you again)? Remember how you showered and shaved your legs? You think now that you "caught" a man you can stop? That, my dear, is bait and switch. It's fucking FRAUD. If he proposed to a hot, healthy chick, he expects to be married to a hot, healthy chick, not a fat, lazy slob who doesn't want to have sex. And that is why he is checking out that waitress.

4. Controlling/Possessive behavior
Look, let's get one thing straight right now... No matter how much that ring cost you, no matter how much you "love" that other person... You don't own them. You don't own anyone, except yourself. You don't, and can't, control their thoughts, feelings or actions and when you try, you officially become a psychotic, manipulative freak. You don't have the right to dig through her purse because you are married. You don't have the right to read his text messages because you're married. Furthermore, if you feel the need  to do these things, you have bigger problems...

5. Trust
Enough already! If you don't trust the person you're married to, WTF did you marry them for?? Seriously, are you that pathetic and unsure of yourself that you have to commit to spend the rest of life with someone you don't trust? What's going to happen when you're hanging off a cliff with a playboy bunny? Who's he gonna save? This goes back to #1... Are you giving it to him? Good? Or are you a jealous, controlling, manipulative bitch?? Well, let's all hope, for your sake, you're no where near the edge of a perilous cliff with a playboy bunny.


So, in conclusion, as you can see, I have this shit all figured out. Honestly, it's worked thus far. I just don't worry about it. You have to enjoy the person you're with, not sit around worrying when they are going to leave you or cheat on you... Don't give them a reason to leave or cheat on you! Retard! This shit is not that difficult, but it requires confidence in yourself, because, at the end of the day, you are all you have. You can't turn someone into what you want them to be, but you can turn yourself into whatever you want to be.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

The Crazy Cat Lady

So, as many of you know, I had a brief stint as a Crazy Cat Lady. I figured, I was divorced at the ripe old age of 25 and I would never get laid again, So I would take in every cat I could. GREAT FUCKING IDEA!

A (not so) Brief History

Before I moved into my house, I had a cat that was bought for me as a Valentine's Day present. It was actually a very sweet gesture by my now ex-husband (he was good for the Hallmark gestures, bad at being faithful and doing dishes, but I digress). I grew up with a Siamese cat named Whiskers (yeah yeah, I know) and she ran away after 13 years, so my ex bought me a "replacement". I promptly named her Guinevere, forgetting that this name was reserved for my first born daughter... Before you make fun of me, remember that this woman caused a war that made Arthur a legendary King by cheating on him with Lancelot (who was a total tool!) and leaving the land without a king, which caused the quest for the holy grail and BAM! an entire culture centralized around the actions of one woman. If that isn't badass, I don't know what is. (We'll go ahead and forget the fact that she spent most of the better years of her life - hello sexual peak! - in a nunnery begging penance for her sins). So anyway, Ms. Guinevere is now 7 years old and I still love her dearly.

Then came Maksim. The summer before my divorce, my offspring and I were out shopping. In the parking lot of the local Petsmart, Animal Friends had a little soiree going on, so we decided to attend for the free drinks and fuzzy bundles of animal cuteness. I wasn't in the market for a cat and I didn't think the husband would exactly approve, but I didn't give a flying fuck because I paid the bills. There was a litter of kittens, just left their momma, and being the animal lover that I am (and you fuckers thought I was a heartless bitch, hah!), I fell in love with a little grey kitteh. I decided to adopt him, paid the $65 and took him home. Home to a temperamental Siamese bitchface and a predatory Husky who was bred to kill and eat small animals (and, at one point, chased down, killed and dragged home a fawn, true story). I named him Maksim after my favorite pro dancer on Dancing with the Stars (and told my husband I was just keeping with the "Russian theme" in the family). We made Maksy a cardboard box with a little hole in it to hide in. This worked out well, until I found Nikita dragging him around by the neck. I decided she would be spending more time in the great outdoors until Maks got bigger.

Guin was always able to hold her own against Nikita, even given her small stature, after all, she didn't divide an entire Kingdom and cause the need for an epic quest because she was a weak-ass wuss. I remember one time, we brought Nikita home from being spayed (or spaded, as my mom would say... Sounds kinky). She had also had her dewclaws removed and was quite miserable. She had an E-collar (the cone thing around their neck) and plastic bags on her hind legs so the incisions wouldn't get wet. She refused to lift her head up and walked like a chicken (literally, not figuratively) because of the bags. So basically, I walked her to the car with the entire cone dragging on the ground and her lifting her hind legs dramatically in a staccato motion. When I got her home, my compassion got the better of me and I removed the E-collar. She was completely out of it (remember getting gassed to get your wisdom teeth removed??) and sat, staring, by the dining room table. Well, Guin, not one to miss the opportunity to capitalize on the misfortune of her arch-nemesis  (any doubt she is my cat?), jumped up on the table and decided to see how much fun she could have. She started sniffed Nikita, then start batting at her ear with her paw. She seemed to be thoroughly enjoying this revenge, and all Nikita could do was sit there and occasionally look back, no doubt saying to herself, "I hate you, you small furry thing with a pleasant smelling ass. When I stop seeing things in triplicate, I will exact my revenge by eating you until there is no evidence left and telling the humans you ran away."

So Maks got bigger, much bigger, and Nikita evidently forgot her sedative induced plot for revenge on Guinevere. Guin remained the enemy of both Nikita and Maks, being the emo loner she is. Maks, however, realized that if he didn't act afraid of Nikita, she wouldn't bother him. Either that, or he is slightly retarded and thinks she's a giant teddy bear because he rubs against her and tried to sleep next to her. Or, maybe he has so much fur that she decided it would be too much trouble to eat him.

The Newbies

Then came Squeege. I didn't name this cat. I have a Faerie friend (another story for another time) whose cat had kittens and, of course, I had to take one. So into my life and home came Squeege. The cute little grey Kitteh.

This was followed, not long after, by my adoption of my brother's cat. They hated this cat and wanted to get rid of it. (Keep in mind, by this point, I am a divorced mother of two with a full time job). I had met it once or twice and he was an absolutely beautiful and lovable, long haired ginger cat.

The funniest thing with both of these cats was their gender confusion. The orange cat was known to be a girl. They called her Honey. When I got her, I decided to name her Ginny (Harry Potter FTW!). Then, one day, she/he/it is rubbing against me and I get a good close up of the nether regions. The was no mistaking the two furry orange things I saw. Ginny was definitely a boy. By this time, this cat had started driving us all nuts. It had eaten through every single loaf of bread/bag of buns I bought. In addition to being a total attention whore. We finally settled on calling him Lucifer.

Squeege was originally a boy. We called him Sir Edward Squeege. After a while, I didn't notice anything, um, noticeable, so I decided he must be a girl. Apparently Squeege was just a late bloomer, because the vet informed me that "Lady Squeege" was, in fact, Sir Edward Squeege.

So now that we had all that cleared up... Remember how I reminded you that I was divorced mother of 2 with a full time job? Well, now I also had 4 cats and a very rambunctious dog. By this point, I had also taken to sleeping on the couch. A regular sized sofa with my 3 year old beside me and my 45 lbs. Husky curled up behind my bent knees... And Squeege... Sticking his ass in my face and demanding my attention while I was trying to sleep, cramped in the fetal position with Southpark playing on the TV (the TV I had to replace because Dickfur decided to steal the one I had while I was at working, making money to, presumably, pay the Spousal Support that he sued me for...). Meanwhile, the stench of Stupid Orange Cat would be wafting from somewhere...

Yeah, that's right... Both parts. "Lucifer" had decided to stop cleaning himself and we took to calling him Stupid Orange Cat, because none of us really liked him. Probably because he smelled like week-old Spaghetti-Ohs (which probably don't smell much different than "fresh" Spaghetti-Ohs). He also had this thing where he would bite blankets. You know how cats "knead" to get comfortable? Well, Stupid Orange Cat had this thing where he would bite whatever blanket was on the couch while he kneaded enthusiastically to get comfy. He was very, very lovable, but try as we might, we just couldn't get past the smell or the greasy residue in his fur. Even Squeege, who was one of the only reason we tolerated Stupid Orange Cat - because Squeege LOVED him, stop hanging around him. Maks, the infamous cleaner of the younger cats, stopped trying to clean him. Basically, the entire family completely shunned him. Only the dog would go near him, presumably to try to eat him because he smelled like the kind of thing the dog would eat (i.e. garbage).

It got to be too much for me, between stinky Stupid Orange Cat being, well, stinky and stupid, Squeege waking me up and peeing on my carpet, changing 3 litter boxes, buying cat food in bulk, Stupid Orange Cat spreading his diseases that he contracted from being filthy and vet bills, I had to get rid of some pussy.

I was able to pawn Squeege off on a friend and I kept throwing Stupid Orange Cat outside, hoping he'd run away. If I didn't see him for 2 days, I'd start celebrating, only to hear his obnoxious tomcat meow outside the door moments later. I'd finally let him in out of sheer compassion. I tried to like him, I really did, but the smell and the simple fact that he took no pride in being a feline completely turned me off.

When I moved in with my mom, I took Maks and Guin, as I had every intention of keeping them and I knew Squeege was in a good home. I had called the Humane Society to make arrangements for Stupid Orange cat, and they were full. I also tried Animal Friends, they required and application and I know Stupid Orange Cat would never be accepted to what is, essentially, kitty Harvard. I finally found a shelter an hour a way that I had planned to take him to. Stupid Orange Cat wasn't around on the day I moved out of my house, so, I hate to say, I kind of left him there. At first, I went back every couple of days to check for him and leave him food. I saw him a couple of times and didn't have the carrier with me to take him back (or so I made the excuse). Eventually, I was only going back every week or so, always leaving food and water outside. The one time I actually took the carrier, Orange Cat was gone. I haven't seen him since. There is a part of me that feel like a horrible, cat-abandoning asshole. There is another part of me that says no one in their right fucking mind would have wanted that cat anyway.

There is a moral to this story. It's not anything against cats, either. Cats are great. I love the two I have and they give me absolutely no trouble. The moral of this story is that I had better find a MAN to settle down with, because I don't like the smell of cat piss and am not cut out to be a crazy cat lady.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

A Filler for You Lovely People

So yeah, obviously I haven't written anything for a while. It's not really writer's block, I just haven't had that "aha!" moment where something strikes me as particularly hilarious enough to write about. Maybe I shouldn't have eaten those damned cookies and done some heroin instead... I figured I'd better post something though, so I don't lose all 17 of my followers (who probably don't read my crap anyway).

So update on what I've been doing... Same shit. Next.

I do have one bone to pick here, where the FUCK are all the Hot Bald Guys? I know damn well that I know a lot more Hot Bald Guys than the two who submitted pics!!! Ok, 3, but one guy didn't follow directions. Sooooo.... I need some Hot Bald Heads to go here. If you'd like to submit a Hot Bald pic and be featured (I'll even include a personal ad for you if you're single!) on my page, all you have to do is email me your best Hot Bald pics and at least three sentences about how awesome I am. Easy. Do it. The only stipulation is that you must be completely bald, comb overs and beard heads are automatically disqualified. Same goes for receding hairlines.

That being said, I left a Hot Bald Guy off of my Hot Bald Guys post. I am going to remedy that now.

I am actually getting ready to work on a more serious project... So I may not be so funny for a while.

Don't tell me "Happy New Year(s)", it's January 4th, that shit got old at 12:01 am on January 1st. Further more, I don't make resolutions. I learned a long time ago not to make promises to myself that I cannot keep. I've learned to accept the fact that I am eccentric and lazy and I am OK with it.

Hopefully soon I will have a real post for you. Until then, please send Hot Bald Pics!!!!

Here's a pic of me having a great hair day: