He Who Breaks The Law Goes Back To The House Of Pain

Okay, just so you know, I'm not much of an entertainer. I'd usually rather go out (that way I don't have to clean up my house!) but since Mr. Condescending tagged me with this post I guess I can shovel a clear path through the house so everyone can squeeze in. C'mon in!

I was just teasing about the house of pain thing. It is not in effect at this time.
Although, please don't open any closet doors, okay? You may get hurt in the resulting avalanche.






Say hi to my dog Shirley. She's a dopey beagle with skin problems and very bad breath but she loves people. If you pet her head she will happily jump in your lap and stare at you with big goony lovesick eyes all night.



I'm afraid my bookshelves aren't terribly impressive, even though I do have tons of books. It's just that most of them are scattered around the house or shoved under the bed. I'm not very organized and my shelves end up crowded with the weird stuff that I collect, like hands and pictures of KISS. Oh, and dust. Lots of dust. Hope you're not allergic. I'd rather not collect that, but you know...life is too short to worry about a little dust. We only have till December 23, 2012 after all. That's what it said on the History Channel anyway. Let's live, baby!

If you need a Kleenex they're on the counter top. Aaaa chooo!











When it comes to books, I definitely prefer non-fiction, especially trivia and history and biographies about weird people. If you like them, I've got a big stack of those Uncle John's Bathroom Readers you can browse through. They're on top of the toilet tank in that little bathroom to your left. Yeah, I keep meaning to get shelves in there.

As long as your in the bathroom you should check out the window ledge. See what's on it? Can you guess what that is?



That's right, it's a lady bug graveyard. Good guess!

I know it's weird (and a little morbid) that there are dead ladybugs in the window but let me explain. You see, for some reason ladybugs love that bathroom. They flock to it in swarms, especially in the colder months and then they die. Seriously, I'm forever sweeping up their tiny corpses. It puzzled me until I realized that my bathroom must be their version of Heaven or Nirvana or whatnot. Maybe they send their old and decrepit over here to die, sort of like when elderly Eskimos used to head out to the ice to kick the bucket. So that's why the graveyard stays. Who am I to mess with their great and ancient wisdom? Plus, cleaning is a bore.


Now, what's next? Oh yes, DVDs. I actually don't own a whole lot of DVDs. Usually I just rent them. Oh wait, I do own Season 1 of Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman. We can watch that if you'd like. Have you ever seen it? It's completely insane and therefore highly recommended.


Wanna do some crafts while we watch? Grab the hot glue gun and that bowl of fake eyes, I'll get the old magazines, collage scissors and barbie doll legs, and let's see what we come up with. Or if you'd rather paint, you can finish up this angel plaque.




I think some blood drops around the green one's mouth would look good. Also some evil eyebrows, but paint it however you want. Surprise me.

Are you getting hungry? Yeah, me too. I'm not much of a cook though. I only have two cookbooks. These two.




We could try that recipe for Cooter Stew I suppose. Maybe the Lima Bean Casserole? No? I know, how about an Elvis Sandwich? Had one before? They're great and really easy. Just slather peanut butter, bacon, and bananas between two pieces of bread and fry the whole thing in butter. Fabulous!

Or we could just order a pizza. Whatevs.

Sorry there's no alcohol in the house. Well, there might be a bottle of Grinder's Switch Sweet Table Wine that my mom brought back from Minnie Pearl's house, but believe me you won't like it. It tastes like warm Hawaiian Punch sweetened with an additional 50 cups of sugar. Ugh.

I don't usually keep alcohol around because I tend to guzzle it down immediately after purchase. Don't worry though, I just called my best friend Paula Abdul and she said she'll run by the wine store on her way over. Knowing Paula, she'll be bringing some Vicodin along too. If she does I'll make us up a little drink I like to call The Dr. House Cocktail. Here is the recipe:

First, chop up a Vicodin or 10 into very fine powder. Combine with diet Coke or juice or whatever. Stir. Add a cherry. Guzzle.

Cheers! Paula loves this one. I'm pretty fond of it too, altho I don't usually bother with the diet coke part.

Say, did I ever email you that article about Nutmeg? You know, the one that said eating Nutmeg can get you hella stoned? Click here if you want to read it.

I've actually made the recipe for "Space Paste" a couple of times now and you'll be pleased to know it actually works pretty good. Here have a bite. Tasty, huh? A couple of tablespoons is all you need to get nice and spacey. Careful not to eat too much. The first time I tried this I ate A LOT and got so stoned I could barely move for hours. It was fun though. Here's the recipe.

Space Paste

4 part*s nutmeg (ground from whole nutmeg)
4 parts almonds (soak overnight and rinse)
4 parts raw pistachios
2 parts cinnamon
1 part cumin
1 part tarragon
1 part oregano
1 part basil
1 part turmeric
1/2 part cayenne pepper
1/2 part black pepper
maple syrup (to taste)

*One "part" equals a tablespoon.

See, nothing illegal in there. But like I said, be careful with it. This stuff is powerful! Last time Paula and I got pasted, I woke up naked in the bathtub covered in gold glitter.

I'm not sure what happened exactly. It's not unusual for me to get naked and I seem to recall us placing a prank call to Simon Cowell, but that's about it. Where the glitter came into things I couldn't tell you. Most of the pictures I took from that night turned out blurry except for this one.




I dedicate this picture to Dr. Zibbs. Kiss, kiss.


You guys don't have to go already, do you? The night is young. I thought maybe we could watch some Cartoon Network, or have a yodeling contest. Or hey, how about let's get out the Ouija board and contact the dead?





Come on, don't be scared. It's not dangerous. I haven't been possessed in ages. Captain Howdy swears he won't do that again. Anyway, there's holy water in the cabinet if he does. Now put your fingers on the planchette so we can ask a question.

Ready? Okay, let me think....um...here's one. Oh Great and Mighty Spirits, will my internet friends ever want to come visit me again?

Sweet, it's moving....H...E...L...Wha?...L....N.............O.


D'oh!

Oh well, can't say I blame you. Next time we'll go out.

Bad Girls Go To Hell

Part 1

Sorry to have disappeared on you guys. Believe me, it wasn't intentional. It's just that I met this very mysterious millionaire who whisked me away to his private island last week, so I was busy basking in the sun, sipping fruity drinks, and having lots and lots of sex.

I meant to do a post about my whereabouts (and describe the hawt sex in detail) but right around then I found out that the millionaire had this weird, creepy hobby of hunting humans for sport right there on his island. Things got kinda awkward after that and I had a bit of a hard time leaving. He didn't want to let me go so I was eventually forced to escape with the help of a mutant flying squirrel woman and her sidekick, a gossipy Komoda dragon named Jimmy. It wasn't easy at all, but I won't bore you with the details. Suffice to say that I was very happy to get home!

Of course, no sooner did I get home then my mom started bugging me to get ready for the family reunion in Atlanta, Georgia. Ugh. Apparently I had agreed to accompany her there. She must have asked me when I was high, otherwise there's no way I would've said yes. Not that I don't love her family and all, it's just that they are a very conservative bunch of Fox News-watching Republican churchies with that smarmy holier-than-thou attitude, and spending time with them makes me want to gouge holes in my skull with an icepick.

See, this is why I prefer hanging out with my dad's family. Since most of them are alcoholics and mental patients, they are usually too busy throwing up in the sink and constructing tin foil hats to judge me. Plus, they often have good drugs and don't mind sharing - or at least don't notice when I filch them out of their bathroom cabinets.

Anyway, I knew this was going to suck, but a promise is a promise so I packed up my least slutty dress and went.


Part II


You know, I consider myself kind of a skeptical person. I don't believe in prophesy or astrology or any of that crap but I do enjoy reading books about it and love getting my palm read. Go figure.

Like I said, I don't really buy into this stuff but something happened the other day that gave me pause. I was leafing through a book of Nostradomus predictions when one of the quatrains caught my eye.

The year 2009, seventh month
a great guilting from she who bore you
summoned thusly to the foul city
to suffer there greatly of tedium and vexation.


Wow, talk about things that make you go hmmmm! These lines seemed meant just for me. Reading on, I found more quatrains that related to the family reunion. This one described the hotel we stayed at perfectly.


The place of slumber is a lie
one bed alone, stoney and unwielding
three pillows with all the cushion of a brick
the fourth, squishy as a deflated beach ball.


so true! Me and Mom had to share one crappy bed at The La Quinta Inn. But it was this one that really made the hairs on the back of my neck rise up.


The elders gather round
exchanging tales of an evil Kenyan
their fearful cries echo the chambers
"Oh my God, there's a darkie in the White House!"



Whoa, it's like Nostradomus was in the room with us or something.



Part III


"Please go easy on the drinking tonight, honey," my mom squawked at me as we pulled up to her sister's house. "In fact, why don't you stick to iced tea while we're there?"

"Let me get this straight," I snapped. "After making me drive four hours through fucking Georgia (I hate the state of Georgia) listening to your hideous Trisha Yearwood CDs, and finding out that our hotel sucks and I will have to sleep on a bed that feels like a slab of marble, you won't let me have a glass or two of champagne?"

She sighed. "One glass would be fine, I suppose, but no more. You know how you get when you drink."

"How?"

"Embarrassing! And loud. And you do those cartwheels." She threw me a nervous look. "Please, please don't embarrass me at this party. Just one drink, okay?"

I was insulted of course, but grudgingly agreed. "Fine, but you owe me a Valium when this is over."

I'm wildly jealous of my mom's Valium scrip. She's tight with them too, and keeps them all for herself.

"Deal," she said. "And, you are wearing panties, right?"

"Duh!" I said.

If you'll note, that was my clever way of not answering the question.



PART IV


"Can you believe the horrible things the media says about poor Sarah Palin?"

An old lady named Marjorie is talking to me as we sip our bubbly. The party tonight is for my aunt and uncle's 50th wedding anniversary so tons of their friends are there - average age 116. None of my fun cousins are attending, just the dull ones. I'm bored.

"I couldn't believe that David Letterman saying she dresses like a slutty stewardess. She always looks marvelous and so classy. Now that one - the Kenyan's wife, she wears clothes that look straight from a rummage sale. Even to meet with world leaders! She wore this one dress with dreadful stripes that blah, blah, blah...."

Listening to Marjorie is making me feel crazy. We've been here for two hours and I've already downed four glasses of champagne. I can't help it. Fake smiling can only be sustained for so long without constant reinforcement from alcoholic beverages. I try to ditch ol' Marge by walking over to bar, but she sticks to me like glue, still blathering on about the sufferings of Sarah Palin.

As you may know, I cannot stand Sarah Palin. Listening to someone sing her praises is sort of like taunting a dog by waving a piece of bacon in it's face. It's like inviting a demon to take over your body.

At that moment Satan enters my body and takes over.

"Well, you know that darned liberal media and their gotcha journalism!" I say. "Sarah Palin is the one true hope this country has. I can only pray that she runs in 2012."

"Isn't that the truth1" she nods, smiling. A couple of others drift over and chime in agreement.

"If only Sarah had run for the top spot instead of McCain, she would have won for sure and we wouldn't be stuck with that socialist Kenyan!"

My audience nods vigorously and someone starts to add something about Obama's refusal to show his birth certificate but I have warmed up to my subject now and will be pretty much unstoppable.

"What was America thinking?" I crow. "I mean, Sarah was certified witchcraft-free! I really admire her rejection of fancy book learnin' and such. The only book anyone needs is the bible, after all. It should be obvious that God doesn't want us knowing stuff. Just look at the way He kicks Adam and Eve out of the garden for eating from the tree of knowledge. Let me tell you, Sarah would never have been that stupid. She'd have shot that snake between his beady little eyes and skinned it and made it into a fashionable pair of four inch heels."

"I have a confession," I say. "It's my dream to run in 2012 with Sarah as her vice-presidential candidate. Oh, I know there are many others more qualified then me, but hey, Obama didn't have any experience and he got elected...and besides, wouldn't Sarah and I be hawt together? Having two sexy ladies like us in charge of things would surely convert the gays back to God fearing, vagina-lovers in no time."

Now, I know I'm not a pit bull in lipstick or anything. Don't I wish! Actually, I'm more like the female version of Bugs Bunny when he puts on the wig and tight sweater, but I'd be a great vice president. I can wink like a champ! And also have experience at quitting many jobs. Many, many jobs. And I have read the bible several times and often have conversations with Jesus in my head."

By now I have gotten kinda loud I guess. Everyone is staring at me. Including my mom. Taken with my own brilliance, I rush on knowing she will make me shut up in a minute.

"Jesus actually gave me some good ideas for slogans for our White House run." I say. Tell me, how do these sound?

Palin/Jones 2012: Because W. Was Not Ignorant Enough!

Palin/Jones 2012: Drill Us Baby Drill Us!

Palin/Jones 2012: We Know We're Going To Heaven. Can The Libs Say That?"


After that my mom makes me go sit in the TV room with the kids and watch Twilight.


The End

Question: What The Hell Is This?

Answer: Why it's a great big bowl of grease, of course! Yummy, delicious, room temperature grease. My mom's been pouring her bacon and ground beef drippings into this bowl for at least a year.

If you guessed correctly, then today is your lucky day because it's all yours! Yup, the whole thing including spoon.

Come pick up your prize soon, okay? As I just spilled some on my toe and it's making me want to hurl.

My Pussy Is So Hawt

It's hard to believe that it's been one whole year since I adopted my sweet little gingerbread man, Jackie Waffles. Look how he's grown.


July 2008

Hiya guys, I'm new!



July2009

Bring me Solo and the Wookiee. They will all suffer for this outrage. Hoo, hoo.


Jackie has gotten a bit large, hmmm? He now weighs 17 pounds. Of course, it's not fat he's just big-boned.....well, okay he is fat. I don't mind though, there's just more of him to love. That's why his nickname is Big Fun.

Jackie's hobbies include:


Loafing,





Snoozing,




Tolerating Land Gator attacks,




Napping,




Flying through the air,

(BTW, don't those clouds look like asses? How cool is that?)





and chilling with the ladies while working his bling-bling.









I really like this cat. He's got personality.

I Just Called To Say - FLUSH

Here's a couple of questions for you: Do you talk on your cell phone while going to the bathroom? Have you ever received a call from someone that you could tell was in the middle of taking a dump?

Tell the truth now, have you?

I would bet that at least one of you will say yes, as this is something that seems to be becoming more and more acceptable. Almost every time I pop into a public restroom lately I notice someone jabbering away on a phone while toilets flush noisily around them.

Just yesterday I walked into the bathroom at Target behind a lady who chattering away on her cell about the televised Michael Jackson memorial. I chose the stall next to her so I could continue to eavesdrop on her conversation while I peed. It went something like this:

"Oh, I know. Janet was looking good, wasn't she? My girl was fierce!"

splashy pee sounds that went on for at least a minute

"Mmmmhmmmm mmmmhmmmm. I know that's right."

small fart

"I know! Wasn't that sad? When Paris was crying for her daddy I burst into tears too."

(grunting noises)

"No, really? What did they say?"

This was said a little breathlessly. You could tell she was straining to get a turd out.

"Awww, that is so sweet. Bless her heart, bless her heart."

A big plop as the turd hit the water, followed by a satisfying splash.


At this point I lost it and started laughing. The woman did not miss a beat and kept going with her jabber, apparently dexterous enough to wipe her ass and pull up her pants with one hand while holding the phone with the other. Then she shamelessly flushed and banged out of the stall, while discussing whether or not Brooke Shields had a facelift.

It was really quite impressive.

You know, I don't think anyone has ever called me while taking a crap. Not to my knowledge anyway. If they did, they were pretty quiet about it because if I even suspected they were pooping, I'd say something like, "Hey! Are you pooping? Did you really want to talk to me so bad that you couldn't wait till you were finished grinding one out?"

If you think about it that way, it's strangely flattering. Maybe. Otherwise....eeeeew.


Once I overheard a chick in the bathroom at my gym arguing with someone - probably a guy - on the phone. (Assuming she wasn't talking to the voices in her head.) The place reeked and I certainly didn't add to the freshness as I'd just drunk a large coffee and had a case of the caffeine squirts. I doubt she noticed though, since it sounded like she was in the middle of a teary breakup.

"I know you love me," she hissed from inside her stall. "Yes, you do! Don't say that!"

I wondered what he said? Probably something like, "No, I don't love you, quit calling me", but I'd like to imagine it was,

"Frankly my dear, I don't give a shit!"

Bwahahahahahaha

Oh, how I wish I could release deafening farts at will! I'd have squeezed out a few firecracker-like booms right then for her friend to enjoy. Wouldn't that have really added so much to those poor star-crossed lover's heart to heart? Unfortunately I'm more the silent-but-deadly type. The loudest ones I can muster are barely audible pffts.

It's so disappointing. I just want to add my two cents to the conversation!

Can you hear me now?

TOOT, TOOT!

The Sarah Palin Story

Sarah Palin resigned on Friday.

And in other news, I've just been handed a bowl of Schadenfreude Stew and doggone if it isn't yummy. Mmmm mmm!

As you probably know, I've never been a fan of the former vice presidential candidate. Sheesh, I wouldn't want her running the local animal shelter, much less the country since she's both completely malicious and an idiot which are the worst possible qualities for any person in a leadership position to have. So whew, good riddance and please stay out of office for good, biatch!

That said, I am a big, big fan of Sarah Palin as a public figure.

Why?

What can I say, I find train wrecks fascinating and hers just goes on and on and on providing laughs every step of the way.

I also love her because she's totally the kind of over-the-top character I'd make up for one of my ridiculous short stories. It's still kinda hard for me to believe that she's an actual real person. I mean, a fundamentalist Christian rube from Alaska who looks like a sexy version of Peggy Hill and happens to be batshit crazy? A Creationist who believes we are living in "end times" and that witchcraft is a very real threat? A working mom of five unwilling to support reproductive rights or equal pay for women? A rugged, conservative, Pull-Yourself-Up-By-the-Bootstraps kind of gal who does nothing but whine and cry about the mean ol' liberul media picking on her? Really? This person was actually elected to a public office?

(BTW, if I were writing her dialogue in the story she'd be saying stuff like, "Damn that pesky free speech! Why does God allow it? Dear Heavenly Father, please kill Katie Couric immediately! Oh and as well also, could ya put an icepick in David Letterman? In the guts, thanks.")


Oh yeah, and let's not forget about her family. I adore them! They are straight out of a white trash soap opera, or maybe a William Faulkner novel. We're talking Southern Gothic on ice, complete with a scheming secessionist husband, a knocked-up underage daughter, and a dim-witted bohunk of a grandbaby daddy whose mother is apparently the meth queen of Wasilla. All that's missing is a drunken albino but I bet you wouldn't have to shake too many branches to find one somewhere in that family tree. The National Enquirer should really look into it.

If this tantalizing cast of characters wasn't enough, you also get to add in the rabid base of churchy mouth-breather's who absolutely worship the ground she walks on and dream excitedly of the day in 2012 when she'll win the presidency and turn America into the United States of Jesusland.

Forget about pit bulls, Sarah Palin is a week's worth of Jerry Springer episodes in lipstick.

Wow, truth really is stranger than fiction, isn't it? She outdoes even my overheated imagination. I am freaking impressed.

So now you've got to wonder - at least I do - why in the world would such a power hungry drama queen willingly resign her post at this point in the saga? Because, sorry but there is no way it's to protect her kids from the mean ol' lie spreadin' bloggers. She loves media attention and thrives on playing the victim.

Ah, the plot thickens...





Is she on meth here or speaking in tongues?



I've watched this a couple of times and I'm still not clear why she resigned, are you? Because the voices told her to would be my logical guess, but again if I were writing this as a potboiler I'd make it into something far, far juicier. It really needs to be, don't you think? After all, Dick Cheney shot someone in the face and never even considered quitting for a moment. So what did Sarah do, hmmmmm?

Possible Theories:


1. Sarah's going to rehab for meth and botox addiction.

2. Preparing for the Rapture.

3. Pregnant with triplets by that hawt stud Governor Mark Sanford.

4. Flying off on a magic broomstick to Oz to gather an army of flying monkeys in order to destroy her enemies.

5. Todd was caught having a gay sex weekend with some hairy leather daddies.

6. A psychic told her she'd be president in 2012 so why bother doin' this boring ol' yucky job till then?

7. Something involving stolen tax payer money, bribery, corruption, and moose semen.



Mark my words, it's going to turn out to be one of the above. Possibly all of them.

What a page turner!

I'll Be Your Honky Tonk Angel

Sometimes it seems like I'm the only person in Nashville who hasn't recorded an album of songs.

Seriously, from bagboys at the Kroger to the guy at H&R Block who did my taxes, everyone around here has their own CD which is destined to hit number one on the music charts just as soon as the right producer hears it.

That's what they tell you anyway when asking if you know anybody in the business. No? Give it a spin anyway. Here take a couple, they make great gifts!

No surprise, since this is Music City USA and all. Still, I'm jealous. I want my own CD to badger friends and acquaintances with too!

Although, to be honest I'm not particularly musical. I can't really play any instruments or write songs and I'm a horrible singer but so what? Did that stop Britney Spears? Madonna? Miley "Gigantic Gums" Cyrus? Hell no! Why should it stop me? I'll just let the audio guys work their studio magic on my voice like they do while I concentrate on looking hawt and designing my album cover. I have loads of ideas.

Like, ever since I spotted this on one of those Top Ten Worst Album Covers lists, I've been slightly obsessed with Joyce.





I mean, are they crazy? Why was this one included in "worst" list? It's fantastic! I only wish I owned it and could listen to it daily. It doesn't say what type of music Joyce is singing but I'd like to think it's a little bit country, a little bit religious, and a whole lotta rock-n-roll. You know its got to rock. Sometimes when bored, I imagine the type of song titles that would be listed on the back cover (which IMO should feature both a rainbow and a unicorn wearing a wig). Can't you picture her singing something along these lines?


Crazy Cat Lady Blues

My Jesus Box Tingles (whenever I think of Him)

Dear God, Please Make the Voices Stop

Sausages!

and of course the dance/rap mix My Name is Joyce, bitches!




Gawd, Joyce is so hawt. I'm totally ripping her off for my own album cover design. Here are a couple with the titles. Tell me what you think.








Would it be Restraining Order Free or Restraining Order-free? I'm so bad at grammar and spelling. Maybe "Grammatically Challenged" would be a better title?








That should read "Accidental Porn Star From Outer Space." Stupid Blingee sign getting in the way!







Don't you love the way the moon really brings out the 50 cent sticker in the corner.









Yarr!


I'll stop at four for now, but lemme tell ya I can (and often do) waste hours and hours every day designing the perfect cover. Writing the actual songs is not quite as much fun but I do have a few so far:


1. Blond in the Brains

2. Escape to Poodle Mountain (this one is a ballad)

3. High on Life and Computer Duster

4. I Have a Knife In My Purse (an electronic dance mix where I just repeat the words "I have a knife in my purse and I'll cut you up!" over and over above the funky beat. Sweet, huh?)

5. My Pee Smells Like Asparagus

6. Shootin' Rats At The Landfill With Pop (a totally syrupy country tearjerker)

7. I Know There's No Such Thing As A Sausage Tree (but oh how I wish there was!)



That last one is pretty self explanatory, I think.

So there you go, as soon as I raise the recording fee and write a few more songs my CD will be as good as done. Look for it at a blog near you. Make sure to get several, it's bound to race up the charts as soon as the right producer gets an earful.

Does anyone happen to know Timbaland?