prunella de ville

Things I Learned in 2010

2011-01-03T18:35:00.007-06:00

1. If your mom has a vintage manger scene of which she is inordinately fond, sets it up at Xmastime, and proudly crows to anyone who will listen about how collectible the figurines are and how she only paid $10 for it, DO NOT, I repeat, NOT juggle the Baby Jesus with a couple of oranges. Because you will almost certainly fail to catch the Baby Jesus, and his head WILL pop off, and your superglue repair job WILL be spotted eventually by your mom. And she will never let you forget it.

2. If your cat likes to leave gruesome presents on your front stoop of the lil critters he's caught and tortured for hours and hours until they finally died, remember to wait until dark before throwing the corpses on your bitch-faced neighbors lawn.

3. Lemons! If you enjoy guzzling red wine and ingesting large quantities of recreational pharmaceuticals like I do, then remember lemon juice is your friend. Squeezing and drinking a couple every night before you go to bed (I suggest throwing the juice down the hatch like a shot of tequilla) will scrub your liver fresh and clean for the next day's debauchery. But, be sure to brush your teeth afterwords.

4. Oh yeah, that reminds me. If an old filling breaks off of your tooth, DO NOT ignore it for months and months because you WILL end up having to pay over $1200 for a root canal and a tooth cap that will feel like a big ol Chiclet in your mouth for ages till you get used to it.

5. And this one is a biggie. Listen well and heed these words! If your new guy has a bipolar ex with a meth problem, and she sends a manic stream of threatening texts detailing all the reasons you suck and deserve to die, DO NOT laugh it off! And you should especially NOT finally break one day and fire back a snarky text that ends with "take your meds please, you wackjob." Because that will make her really mad and she WILL take out her demented anger on your car, and you WILL have to fill out police reports. And then you WILL get so paranoid looking over your shoulder, expecting a psychopathic bitch wearing adult diapers and carrying duct tape and pepper spray to show up at your door at any moment, that you have to spend a couple of days hiding out at your best friend's house, where her adorable children WILL discover the novelty talking vibrator - that you bought as a joke and then forgot about - in your backpack, and that WILL lead them to ask some very uncomfortable questions that will embarrass you greatly.

There you have it blogger friends, a little bit of the very hard won knowledge that I, Prunella Jones, acquired in 2010. Actually most of it is from the past few months because who can remember all the way back to last January?

My journals aren't much help in that department either. I flipped through them, but apparently I didn't write very much this past year. There's barely anything in them aside from doodles of Coneheads, evil trees, and people with shark teeth, grocery lists, to-do lists (without very many items checked off) occasional scrawls like, "what if we can't find Atlantis because it was actually located on Mars?" and a few measly paragraphs of a story I started writing about hologram twin hotties from the future and their pet severed hand that crawls.

This makes me sad so I'm going to try very hard to post something everyday here so I don't forget stuff, and my mom can't throw it out like she does with my notebooks or "messy looking papers."

That woman is a total clean freak. I just don't get that. To each his own and all that, but dayum, you won't catch me spending my golden years organizing the contents of my pantry in alphabetical order that's for sure. I plan to drink a lot and drive my enormous Cadillac into various mailboxes while on my way to the bingo parlor, like any proud senior should.

So, tell me, what did you learn in 2010?

Jackie W Is So Over This Christmas Stuff

2010-12-25T20:41:00.005-06:00

Not me though. Well, not yet anyway. I still have plenty of alcohol and space cakes.

Hope everyone is having a great holiday. Merry Christmas to you all!

Random Lists

2010-10-12T12:58:00.004-05:00

5 Billboards I Noticed While Driving Through Kentucky and My Rebuttals To Them

1. Jesus IS Lord

....and???

2. Hell IS Real!!!

Yes, it it. Most people know it as Kentucky though.

3. REPENT!

Make me, fucker.

4. If You Died Today, Where Would You Spend Eternity?

Sailing through various universes and dimensions. Duh.

5. Jesus Died For Our Sins!

So, give him a medal already. Geez!

3 Nicknames I Call My Mother Daily

1. Sassy Boots
2. Lady Nag Nag
3. Madam Mother

5 Nicknames I Call My Cat

1. Lard Lad
2. Big Fun
3. Johnny Fatboy
4. Fat Boy on a Diet, Don't Try It, Attack Yo Ass Like a Looter in a Riot
5. Toilet Paw Jones

The Top 5 Worst States I've Spent Time In, In Order of Shittiness

1. Georgia
2. Georgia
3. Kensucky
4. Florida (except for the beaches)
5. Arizona

12 Things I Enjoy In No Particular Order

1. conspiracy theories
2. UFOs
3. books
4. cashmere sweaters
5. eccentric people
6. trashy gossip
7. monkeys
8. contemplating parallel universes
9. cartoony art
10. ventriloquism
11. lucid dreams
12. thunderstorms

My Top 3 Favorite Legal Drugs

1. caffeine
2. Adderall
3. sugar

3 Books I Am Currently Reading and What I Think of Them So Far

1. Seth Speaks
by Jane Roberts

Trippy channeled information about death, past lives, lost civilizations, etc., written in the early 70's. I love this kind of stuff.

2. Drinking, Smoking, and Screwing: Great Writer's on Good Times
Edited by Sara Nickles

My kind of stories!

3. The Secret Architecture of Our Nation's Capital: The Mason's and the Building of Washington D.C.
by David Ovason

Just started this one, but it's already blowing my mind. Looks like astrology was a pretty big deal to our forefathers. That certainly explains why Nancy Reagan relied on that astrologer so much during the Regan era.

10 Reasons Why I Have a Sneaking Suspicion That We Are Actually Living On a Prison Planet That Is Run By an Evil Overlord Who Gets Off on Torturing Us

1. the stomach flu and every other nasty illnesses (how come there aren't any viruses that make us feel good? Wouldn't it be in their best interests to make the host happy and well? Seems like there should be at least one just according to natural selection?)

2. mosquitoes and other bitey insects
3. constant rules, regulations, and paperwork required for everything
4. cellulite
5. the fact that so many turds (example: Glen Beck) are millionaires
6. pimples
7. allergies
8. war
9. politics
10. the fact that we only live about 80 years and our teeth only last for about half that time without costly attention.

I'm a Mean Woman Sometimes...

2010-09-14T14:22:00.009-05:00

Not very often, of course. Most of the time I am a fairly happy and wildly optimistic person. I like to think of myself as a playful little sea otter spirit inhabiting a human body. I smile a lot and am full of jokes and good cheer. In short, I am a constant joy and a wonderful to be around**. One chick I used to dance with even nicknamed me Mary Sunshine.

Although usually she'd say it like, "shut the fuck up, Mary Sunshine. No one gives a rat's ass!"

Yeah, I wasn't too popular at The Boobie Barn. I like to talk a lot, and dancers - at least most of the ones I've met - don't like to discuss the kind of topics that get me all excited and blathering. Like, for instance, the nature of consciousness, conspiracy theories, or how on December 21, 2012, I expect us all to turn into butterfly people. For some reason stuff that fascinates me bores and irritates most of these ladies.

Once, when I tried to share my theory that the TV show "The Facts of Life" was a great allegory for our world with Mrs. Garret representing God and Blair, Jo, Tootie, and Natalie as the four archetypes of humanity, someone squirted FDS spray in my face.

(Sigh)

It's so hard being a Tootie in a world full of Jo's.

Anyway, as I was saying, I rarely get really pissed off or even cranky. But some days...well... let's just say they are the reason that I don't own a gun.

It seems like these moods always tend to coincide with getting my period. But that's probably just a coincidence, right?

I had one of those types of days recently and was told that it wasn't pretty. I don't remember what happened exactly because intense rage kinda makes me black out. (The Vicodin I took for the cramps may have - ahem - contributed to that as well). Luckily my best friend Paula Abdul was hanging out with me and she snapped a few pictures with her new camera. She just emailed them to me. Let's check them out together, shall we? Hopefully they aren't too embarrassing.

Oh yeah, I remember this. It was early in the morning and I was leaving Big Earl's after a hard night of ass shakin'. I had to hoof it as I had just smashed the windshields of every car in the parking lot with a baseball bat, including my own. (What can I say, once you get started it's hard to stop.)

That guy in the picture is my weed dealer. He told me he was out of everything except shitty dirt weed and that was still going to cost me $50, so I popped him in the face. Guess I'll have to apologize if I ever want to get the good stuff again.

Hmmm, this is from later in the afternoon when I took my car in to get fixed. I had hoped a nap and some Starbucks would sweeten my mood, but they had little effect. The bill was outrageous! Plus, that damn mechanic had a really smarmy attitude, and was probably trying to gouge me because I'm a girl and know nothing about cars, so I grabbed him by the hair and banged his head against the wall until he agreed to throw in a free oil change and tire rotation.

Meh, I don't feel too guilty about that one.

Ugh, this happened while I was driving my grandma to the laser clinic to have her tattoos removed. I should have known better. She was REALLY getting on my nerves, talking about how wonderful Glenn Beck and Sarah Palin are, and how she was going to sell her house to send them the money so they could restore America's honor or some sort of griftery bullshit. She had just gotten to the part about how she planned to move in with my mom and me, when I spotted a bag boy from the Kroger I frequent, loping happily along on his skateboard. Suddenly, I remembered the time he had put a carton of eggs and loaf of bread in the same bag as some canned goods and my rage exploded!

So, I pulled over real quick and kicked him in the face. Grandma was a little confused as to why I was beating up such a nice-looking boy who was probably single, and I wasn't getting any younger and my eggs were going to be dried up soon, etc, blah, blah, blah. In order to shut her up, I hollered out that he was a socialist who supported Obamacare.

Well, that worked really well. Too well, actually. Grandma called him a no-good, red commanist and smacked him in the nuts with her purse. Since her purse is always loaded down with about 20 prescription drug bottles full of pills (no fun ones unfortunately), several books, several more books on tape (Grandma is suspicious of CDs), a few yard sale tchotkes, and at least three shelves worth of Walgreen's pharmacy items - it probably hurt a lot. I remember he made this kind of half groan/half screaming gurgle and dropped to the ground clutching himself.

Dammit, he IS pretty cute. Hopefully he'll forgive me and is still able to have children. Thank goodness Paula was there to stop Grandma from smacking him again.

What the...?

Oh yeah, Paula must have taken that one while we were at the bar, waiting for Grandma's laser session to be over. It took a while. She has a lot of shitty tattoos.

Wow, I have no memory of this one at all and neither does Paula. Maybe Grandma took it? Where is Grandma anyway? I don't think I've seen her since then.

Oh well, no matter. See how much happier I look? My eyebrow furrows are completely gone. That just goes to show you that a little ass-kicking and a whole lot of alcohol are the very best cure for cramps.

**Exceptions include the times when I'm hungover, suicidal, feeling fat, itchy, bored, am out of drugs, or can't stand one more minute of my mother's nagging.

An Update on the Blogger Known as Prunella Jones By Her Good Friend Velveeta

2010-08-15T13:56:00.011-05:00

Oh hello there, good people of blogland! My name is Velveeta and I am a vedy good friend of Prunella's. She asked me to let you all know that she ees fine, just vedy busy right now working on her autobiography/cautionary tale "Prunella J: Portrait of An Adderall-Gobbling Jello-Wrestler", and installing new wood floors in her house so that she won't have to die on piss-stained carpeting when the moon crashes into the Earth in 2012.

She also got a iPhone and is now positively obsessed with playing Words With Friends and Angry Birds. In fact, that's all she ever do. Play those games hour after hour, chuckling to herself dementedly and screaming out, "BOOYAH, PEGGY HILL" whenever she score big points.

Uh oh. Guess I shouldn't have said that last bit. Now Pru is mad at me. I can tell because she just spit out her gum at me and hit me in the eye. OUCH! That was vedy uncalled for!

What do you mean, don't tell them that? Why not? Eet is true!

I am vedy worried about you, Prunella. You know eet is not healthy to never put down the phone ever. Why, eet is practically attached to your body! You are vedy nearly one with eet, like a cyborg or something. Eet is dangerous! Everyone knows the iPhone's are the mark of the beast! You are on the road to Hell, my frieeend.

And, you know you are lying to your blogger frieeends about working on your book. You haven't done anything creative in months! You don't write your poems. You don't draw your pictures. You don't astrally project yourself into other dimensions any more - not that I approved, of course - but at least it was something, s'okay?

No, now you just sit and play those silly games over and over, and make cultural references that no one who has not watched every episode of "King of the Hill" would possibly be able to understand!

Not to mention your new found addiction to Nicotine gum and lozenges, which is preety pathetic considering you have never even smoke cigarettes! Why would you do that? Eet's not normal!

What?

Nicotine protects your brain from the fluoride that's in the water? I never heard of that. Did you get that from one of those crazy conspiracy websites that you are always reading? You should delete those bookmarks, s'okay, eet's making you vedy strange. What would your frieeends say if I tell them you had made a helmet out of a rubber swim cap, tin foil and Gortex to keep the aliens from listening to your thoughts, eh? They'd think you were nuts! Probably because you are!

No, I will not shut up, s'okay? I have a right to criticize you since I'm the one who got up at 3 A.M. to bail your ass out of jail after you got caught sucking the nitrous out of 24 cans of whipped cream at Kroger and then putting them back on the shelf.

Don't you dare give me the middle finger, Missy! It's your own fault your life is such a mess! No wonder your man left you for that fat lady with five kids whom he met while playing World of Warcraft. He no doubt got vedy tired of hearing your endless theories about how the Illuminati are secretly manipulating the weather and inserting subliminal messages into movies and pop music. Really Pru, how could you expect the poor guy to stick around after you set his Jay-Z CD's on fire? He loves Jigga!

And, I'm sorry, but saying Walt Disney's frozen head is running the world from a secret vault under Disneyland and he commanded you to do eet is not a vedy good excuse! Eet makes you sound completely insane. I'm serious, I think you need help, s'okay?

Oh, so you were just kidding about that, were you? Well, your sense of humor is vedy strange. I haven't forgotten about the time the figure of Jesus suddenly appeared in the oil stains under my car, and I prayed to eet for weeks before finding out that you and Paula Abdul made eet as a practical joke!

No, that WAS NOT funny! I vedy nearly donated my house to the church so the driveway could become a holy shrine! Golden Palace.com still leaves messages on my phone! Stop laughing, you crazy beetch, or I am going to tell your new boss at Big Earl's that you are the one who carved "Phillip likes to sniff his own farts" into the wood of the bar. You'll be fired for sure, even though eet ees true, I've seen him do it too.

(gasp) How dare you insult my weave! No I did not get it from the Britney Spears collection for WalMart! FYI, it was vedy expensive! You are just jealous because that haircut you got makes you look like a soccer mom!

Oh jes, I went there, s'allright! What are you going to do about eet, huh? Huh, Mees Soccer-Mom-haircut?

(Sigh) You are soo predictable.

Caught! Exclusive Pictures of Jackie Waffles Gettin' His Freak On

2010-04-08T08:57:00.011-05:00

Sometimes in the Spring, a young cat's thoughts turn from snoozing and making sure he gets fed 23 times a day, to other, more primitive desires...

Thus didst this happen to our young Jackie one bright day in April, when he suddenly noticed that the goofy mermaid head he liked to nap on was really quite attractive, with nice, biteable hair.

"Snore, snarfle...huh? Hmmmm."

"Hey baby, how you doin'?"

"Looks like we're all alone here, honey. Just the two of us.

(whisper) Wanna get it on?"

"NOM NOM NOM"

(frenzied flinging)

"MMM HMMMM!"

LICK... "Oh girl"...LICK, LICK..."you so fine!"

"Did you like that, baby? Don't worry, the fun is just beginning."

Cue the porno music...

Bam Chicka wOw

Blam Chicka Meeow

Bam Chicka Woo Woo

Damn Chicka and How!

"YES, YES, YES! Oh Bab-"

"What the hell? Get that camera out of here, Pru!!!

And Now A Word From The Beaster Beagle...

2010-04-04T11:49:00.000-05:00

Time sure does fly...

2010-03-10T14:18:00.008-06:00

...especially when you hang out in La La Land with this guy. He's hypnotic!

Is it really March already? And 2010 too?! Sheesh, that's the LAST time I will trip on Nutmeg-laced space cakes, I swear!

Blast From The Past #3

2009-09-23T13:42:00.003-05:00

Okay, looks like I should have just named this look back at old posts "Britney and Tucksworth Appreciation Week" since pretty much all my old favs star Britney Spears as my trashy rival and Tucksworth, my helper monkey with a substance abuse problem. In this post, you learn the real reason Britney went bald...

Karma

Why is it that whenever I try to have the least little bit of fun, karma has a way of making me pay for it immediately? All of you guys who warned me that there would be repercussions for teasing my mom were so right. I just wasn't expecting it to happen so soon. Why can't karma leave me alone for five minutes and go find OJ Simpson?

This weekend started off pretty good. I was in a great mood because I had finally found someone to take Tucksworth off of my hands. You remember my alcoholic, ex-helper monkey, Tucksworth? Well anyway, my cousin Delmont thought Tucks would make a great mascot for his fraternity house, so he drove down to pick him up this weekend. Delmont had never visited Nashville before so I showed him a few of the sights, but then I had to trudge off to my horrible new job at The Boobie Barn. I gave Delmont a key to the house and told him to go out and have fun. Tucksworth was sitting on the sofa, sullenly watching Animal Planet and gave me the finger as I left. He's been in a foul mood ever since the vet put him on Antabuse.

So anyway, I went to work and it was a nightmare. This new club sucks! The customers are allowed to purchase spray guns and shoot water at the girls as we dance. One sadistic little fucker kept aiming the stream at my face which caused my false eyelashes wash off. I badly wanted to kick him in the face but had to settle for spitting out my gum in his hair. Ugh, it was almost enough to make me reconsider quitting Earl's.

I crawled home at 2 A.M. wanting nothing more than to take a quick swim in my pool and relax with a glass of wine.

But there would be no relaxation that night. I could hear crappy pop music blasting from the patio as soon as I drove up. My beagle, Shirley, was baying loudly, like she always does when she's distressed. I figured Delmont was doing a little entertaining in my pool, so I marched back there to let him know the party was over. I wasn't angry or anything, since I used to be a college kid myself, but I didn't want my snooty neighbors calling the cops on me again.

I went out to the pool and snapped off the music. "Hey guys, it's time to...." I began, but stopped mid-sentence because I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Delmont and Britney Jean, skanking up my pool.

Do you remember Britney Jean, the brilliant "dancer" who made me lose my place as the star of Classy Earl's House of Class and Tits? There she was in MY pool, humping MY cousin, and wearing MY new Prada sunglasses!

Yes, Delmont is good looking. The Jones side of the family are all smokin' hawt. Unfortunately most of them are dumb as cement.

"Hey, cuz," Delmont greeted me with his usual cluelessness. "Come on, join the party!"

Britney Jean glared at me. She was no happier to see me than I was to see her. From all the bubbles in the water that surrounded her, I could tell she was farting in my pool. I was furious!

"Bitch," I hissed. "You get your country ass out of that pool and give me back those sunglasses!"

"Excuse me," she said coolly, "But my name ain't bitch, it's Britinia. I jes' changed it since I'm a star and all now. And I ain't going nowheres. Delmont done tol me this is his house!"

I scowled at Delmont, who gave me a sheepish smile. "Sorry about that, Pru," he said, while climbing out of the pool. "Come on, Britinia, we've got to go."

"Where the hell is Tucksworth?" I asked. I couldn't believe he wasn't out there flinging poo at Britinia, as I had trained him specifically to do that. Then the unmistakable smell of pot smoke hit my nostrils.

They let Tucksworth smoke up my entire bag of weed!

"Delmont, how could you?" I shrieked. "You know, he has substance issues!"

"Well we had to give him somethin," Britinia smirked. "The vodka was makin' him puke. You don't know much about takin' care of animals, do you?"

Just then my grouchy neighbor poked his head of his bedroom window. "All of you shut the hell up or I'm calling the cops! And I'm reporting this to the neighborhood association, Jones. We want you out!"

Goddamn, I hate that neighborhood association! I'd had enough. "Get the hell out of my pool, Britinia! Right now!"

"Make me," she taunted.

You know how in stories people will say they "saw red" to describe getting angry? Well, that actually happened to me. At that moment I was so mad I literally saw everything washed in a red haze. I think a blood vessel might have popped in my eye.

I grabbed Britinia by the hair to haul her out of the pool. She didn't budge so I pulled with all my might. Then she shrieked and I heard a loud ripping sound, and the next thing I knew I was on my ass, holding her weave in my hands. She was totally bald! Holy shit!

"Bitch, I'ma kill you," she screamed. "I jes paid $30 dollars for that weave!"

She jumped out of the pool and was on top of me in a flash. Now I have strong legs and know a little ju-jitsu, but Britinia outweighs me by a good twenty pounds. She quickly knocked me to the ground and started banging my head on the patio tile. Delmont took his sweet time rescuing me. He told me later it was because he was hoping we'd start ripping each others clothes off and kissing. Once he finally figured out that wasn't going to happen, he grabbed Britinia and hustled her out of there. As she was leaving she swore she'd make me pay for ruining her hair.

Her exact words were, "I'ma get you good!"

Now here I sit on Sunday morning. My monkey is stoned and I'm out of weed (and Cheetos), my pool needs to be drained and fumigated, my neighbors are out to get me, and I think I might possibly have whiplash. My mom, who was out on a date with a nice man she met at church, missed the whole thing. From the smile on her face, it looked like she had a pretty good time. That's why I don't understand why I am being punished so terribly for the little bit of teasing I gave her. Karma sure is a bitch!

Blast From The Past #2

2009-09-22T23:14:00.002-05:00

This was another post from 2007 starring Britney Spears. I was kind of obsessed with her during her trashy, rebellious period. I love the bad girls. The gossip blogs have gotten so boring now that she's been behaving herself for the past year. I live in hope for the day that she will break free from her handlers once more, shave her head again, maybe rob a bank and then shoot Kevin Federline in one of his fat sausage legs. You know she wants to.

My Crappy Weekend

Oh my God, I am so hungover today. I drank way too much red wine last night and my head is throbbing. It feels like my brain is throwing itself around my skull, trying to escape. Ugh, this is all Big Earl's fault! The only reason I got drunk was to try and blot out the events of this weekend. And to get rid of the urge to kill Earl. It didn't work in either case.

You see, ever since my helper monkey Tucksworth bit Earl's fingertip off, I have been his whipping girl. He's been punishing me by making Deelishus Diamond the Friday night headliner, while I have to work the unpopular Thursday afternoon shift. We all dread Thursdays because that's when the bus from the retirement home comes by. Those grouchy old men always complain about everything. You know, the food is bad, the drinks are too expensive, the girls were much sexier back in their day, blah, blah, blah. Plus it's not exactly lucrative. After three hours of dancing, all I had to show for it was ten dollars in quarters and nickles, which stretched my thong to my knees.

Then Earl told me he'd found a replacement for Tucksworth. I wasn't real enthused since I don't want just anyone throwing knives at me. "Is she a professional?" I asked.

"She's a great talent," he growled. "She's been dancing for years, but she's never worked the pole before. Get your ass in here early tomorrow and show her the ropes."

Well, that wasn't very inspiring news. Pole dancing is an art, you can't learn it just one afternoon, but I figured it couldn't be too bad if she was already a good dancer.
Oh, how wrong I was!

My heart sank the moment I saw her.

"Hey, y'all! My name is Britney Jean," she said to me, while chomping gum, smoking, and guzzling a Red Bull at the same time. "That's sure a cute outfit you're wearing. Want to trade clothes?"

The new girl.

"Um...no," I said, taking a long, long look at her ripped up fishnets and grubby leather bustier. She smelled like she hadn't bathed in weeks. I glanced back at Earl, not believing he expected me to dance with this. He gave me an evil little smirk.

"Work up a lezzie type act," he ordered. "Make it a sexy!"

Britney Jean let out a loud belch. "No problemo," she said with a big smile, "I can do sexy in my sleep!"

"Okay," I sighed. "Show me a few of your moves." I wanted to see what I had to work with. It turned out to be even worse than I expected.

First she ran around the pole in circles. WTF?

Then she did sort of a funky chicken type move, complete with arm flapping.

And then she kind of just stood there and pretended to hump the pole.

When she slid to the floor in a big finish, I distinctly heard her fart.

I was speechless! This was a great dancer? All of the other girls were snickering and Joe the bartender made a loud puking noise. I cut my eyes over to Earl, expecting him to be livid. Instead, he was gazing up at her with awe. "She's fantastic!" he whispered.

Earl, watching Britney Jean's performance.

Earl was so impressed with Britney Jean that he decided she didn't need me. In fact, he demoted me to a waitress, so I quit. How dare he treat me this way! I marched right across the street to Earl's biggest competition, "The Boobie Barn" and got hired on the spot. It's okay, I made some decent tips but I don't know if I'll be able to stand my new boss. His name is Tom and he's even weirder than Big Earl if that's possible. You won't believe the kind of freaky stuff he's into. Here's a picture of him.

My new boss. He likes to be saluted.

The Nazi stuff creeps me out! But the good news is that he's only about five feet tall and all the girls say he's gay so I won't have to worry about him pawing me. Still, I'm angry about the Britney Jean situation. And the very worst part is that she apparently sold out the house on Saturday night. That's right! "Fans" came from miles around just to watch her "dance" and lip sync to some awful 90's tunes. What is wrong with people?

Blast From The Past #1

2009-09-22T10:18:00.004-05:00

Welcome to "Blast From the Past" week here at the Prunella de Ville headquarters. I decided to shake things up a bit by revisiting a few of my old favorite posts to see how things have changed since then. Did you buy that?

Okay, okay, the real reason is because I'm too lazy to write anything new. Also, I'm having have bad menstrual cramps right now - the kind that make you want to tear your hair out and smash something - and that reminded me of the time, way back in 2007, when Britney Spears shaved her head and beat the crap out of some paparazzi's car. Oh, how I loved bald, rebellious Britney!

This post was written during one of my periodic Shakespeare-obsessed episodes, when I like to reread a bunch of the bard's plays and then pattern mine parlance to evoke the vernacular of the great William Shakespeare. In other words, I babble like a loon while my friends roll their eyes and wait for it to pass.

A MIDSUMMER'S NIGHT ARGUMENT

A play in 2 acts by Prunella Jones

Scene 1 THE PARKING GARAGE

Enter Jessica Alba and her boyfriend Cash, dressed in black.

Jessica My Lord! Thy disposition is great and I hath felt in the past thy mind pure of unclean qualities. I had long admired thee, indeed for thy virtues, but no longer! Nay!

Cash My good lady? What sayst thou? You doubt mine virtues and goodness? What nefarious villian has turned thou against me, pray tell? Who hast thus spake evil of me? I demand vindication!

Jessica Good sir, I have heard many a brazen tale of your love for another. O how I have wept o'er thee! If thou dost love another, fairer maiden, thou must make thy desire heard. Indeed I demand satisfaction of this intelligence!

Cash Madame, I am most sorrowful and grieved. Thou dost doubt mine love for thee which shines hot and bright with the power of a thousand suns.

Jessica Oh doth thou now protest? When you hath only recently bequethed admiration to a certain gentlewoman by the name of Britney? I have heard thy veneration for her "well shaped buttocks." Thou dost bring shame upon mine breast and the name of my family.

Cash Now Mistress, I desire only thee. Be thou blest with unthankfulness? I am not such a sickly creature, heaven praise!

Jessica Hummmmmph!

Jessica Marry you I shall not. Against all cheques, rebukes, and manners thus I will retract the colours of my love and my goodwill. Unless thou tellst thy hartlot farewell. I'll be not thine friend but thine enemy!

Exit

SCENE 2. AT NIGHT IN THE STREET

Enter a very peeved Britney Spears.

Britney Nay, good sir! Nay, master! What foul confidence have you thus relayed to me? It is the rankest compound that ever offended a nostril! Love me you do not? How is this possible? Is this a vision? Is this a dream? Do I sleep? Why dost thou cuckold me? You have promised me marriage! Thy sperm didst bind us together.

Cash- speaking off stage Nay, Britney. You mistook mine erection for love!

Britney What sayst thou? What sayest thou? I'll have thy brains ta'en out and buttered and given to thy dog for a New Years gift! I abhor thee! Oh but you had been drowned like a fiend but the shore was shelvy and shallow. Devil! You shall not go unpunished. Though what I am I cannot avoid, yet to be what I would not shall not make me tame: if I have horns to make one mad, let the proverb go with me: I'll be horn mad!

Cash No Britney, not the Escalade!

End

10 Things You May Not Have Known About Jewelry Designer and Internet Blogging Sensation Wendy Brandes

2009-09-17T17:52:00.005-05:00

Occasionally when I'm not busy making my political views known or splashing pictures of my vagina across the internet, I like to write things about celebrities. Deep investigative journalism pieces, like when I interviewed Dr. Zibbs and that time I went behind the scenes with Carleen Sue Washington, hair weave specialist to the stars. Exciting as these profiles were to do, they pale in comparison to this one I've just written. That's because I actually know Wendy B - we kind of grew up together - so I know all of her dirty little secrets. Heh, heh, heh.

You guys may think you know all about the internet's latest darling Wendy B but you'd be wrong. Oh so wrong!

How wrong? Well, let's take a look.

1. In college Wendy B was famous not only for her love of beer and drugs - she was insatiable! - but also because she managed to stay fresh, clean, and neat as a pin while getting shitfaced. It was a truly amazing thing to see.

Here is a picture I snapped of her after an all night kegger. Note how cute and fresh she looks. Her clothes aren't wrinkled and her lipstick is not even smeared even though she'd just hurled after winning a hot dog eating contest. Bitch splashed barf all over my shoes while hers remained pristine. Then her snake ate my shoe when I kicked it off. It really bummed my trip, man.

2. Wendy B is only three feet tall. It's true, technically she qualifies as a munchkin. She's just very, very good at making herself appear much taller through her clever use of clothing and accessories. See, you never would have guessed if I hadn't told you, huh?

3. She taught me everything I know about pole dancing. And I know quite a bit!

4. Wendy B is 249 years old. She was born in 1760 (which makes her 6 months older than me) and has had sex with every president up until the last couple as she swore off presidential humping when she got married. According to Wendy, Teddy Roosevelt was the best lay but her favorite was Lincoln because he had a nice long and thick package. The worst was Andrew Jackson because of his terrible tobacco breath.

Having fucked every president myself - except for Obama, but I'll get you yet, Barry - I have to agree with Wendy about Teddy. He could go all night!

The worst for me was Taft because he collapsed on top of me and I was nearly crushed under his bulk. Also I'll always hate Benjamin Franklin for fooling me into thinking he was president so I'd fuck him, even though he wasn't. Well, how was I to know? They didn't teach girls to read back then. But, I digress, know back to Wendy...

5. Wendy B stays so youthful-looking because she takes very good care of her skin, avoids too much sun, eats well, and because she is immortal.

6. She's one tough broad! She was the 1991 Women's Kickboxing Champion, and she still enjoys getting out the gloves from time to time.

Wendy B after a typical night of kicking the asses of those unlucky bitches who tried to outfashion her. FYI she got the black eye and bite marks from Anna Wintour.

7. She is a violin virtuoso. In fact, Wendy is so good that she once outplayed the devil himself. That's right. Apparently she was hanging out in Georgia one day playing her fiddle when the devil came along and bet a fiddle of gold against her soul. So they had a fiddle playing contest and, of course, Wendy beat him soundly. Then she smacked Satan over the head with the heavy instrument and went and had the gold melted down. Thus started her jewelry making empire.

8. Wendy B can shoot radioactive lasers from her eyes when she's angry. Believe me, you don't want to piss her off.

9. A few of these facts may be...ahem...slight exaggerations.

10. Except for number eight. That one is completely true, so watch out!

Hope, Change, and Hawtness

2009-09-16T19:18:00.006-05:00

You know, I joke a lot about running for president, but the more I think about it the more the idea appeals to me. I like Obama and all, but he is just a little too conservative for me. Plus, we really need a woman in the White House. Why not me?

I am absolutely right for the job of running this country. There is not a doubt in my mind that I could balance the budget, end the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, improve our relations with every country on Earth, reduce our reliance on oil, and make sure every American has health coverage. And I could do it all in four short years. My methods may be a bit...unconventional, but I know they'll work. Here are just a few of my ideas.

1. I will bust up every company deemed "too big to fail." If they are too big to fail then they are too big period.

2. Wall Street executives will be required to pay reparations to the American people for their recent bit of jackassery.

3. Any company that ships their jobs off to another country shall be required to pay a 90% "fuck you" tax on their profits. And for all the Republicans who will whine that those companies will leave America and take their jobs with them, well they already took their jobs away, dumbass! So they can go ahead and get the fuck out. Companies who hire Americans will get most excellent tax breaks.

4. The CEO's of all banks and credit card companies found guilty of usury by charging outrageous interest rates shall have their knees and teeth busted out with baseball bats.

5. Any so called "crime" that does not harm another person or their property shall be taken off the books. That includes drugs and prostitution. All drugs will be completely legal and available over the counter to anyone over the age of 18. They will be taxed like cigarettes, with the money going to pay for rehab for those who need it. Likewise prostitution will be taxed like cigarettes with the money going to job retraining for those prostitutes who want it, and to make sure young women (and men) are not forced into this job.

6. Free birth control for all. Absolutely free and available to everyone at all times. And not paid for by your taxes either. No, instead I'd make all those pro-life groups pay for it. Since Randall Terry and his ilk are so interested in making sure no fetus is ever aborted, I'm sure he will be happy to urge his rabid followers to reach deep into their pockets and finance the country's condoms and BC pills.

7. We spend way too much money on the military. The DOD budget for 2009 was $515.4 billion dollars. This is insane when we already have enough weapons to blow up the world 10 times over. I would cut that budget down 90%.

But Pru, you are probably thinking, that will leave us unprotected! T-t-terrorists will get us! And Russians! And other mean types that hate our freedoms!

Don't worry, duckies. I got us covered. We'll still have an army. It just won't cost as much because it will be a monkey army and the monkeys will work for food.

What a monkey army may look like.

You may think I'm kidding but nothing could be further from the truth. A monkey army would rock! They wouldn't even need any weapons. Can you imagine how terrifying it would be to have five thousand pissed off monkeys coming towards you with their teeth bared, ready to rip your face off? And monkeys are very quick and agile and wouldn't take kindly to being shot at. I'm betting the enemy would shit their pants and surrender immediately. This could very well end modern warfare as we know it.

Also, if Putin rears his head and looks like he's even thinking of invading Alaska, I will invite him to The Boobie Barn, where my crack team of combat strippers will wrestle his ass into submission in the jello pit.

These ideas are just the tip of the iceburg, guys. I have tons more.

And lemme tell ya, if some dumbass Joe Wilson-type called me a liar at one of my press conferences, I'd march down there and slap the shit out of him and also kick him in the penis for good measure.

Don't let my little hippie act fool you. I'm plenty ruthless when I wanna be. Believe me, I'd run congress and the senate like Dorinda ran her stable of hoes in the movie "Truck Turner".

Isn't she magnificent? If I were even half that hawt they'd call me President Colonel Sanders 'cause I'd be finger lickin' good! Oh yeah!!

In your face, Sarah Palin! 2012 belongs to Prunella Jones.

Picture Post, 'Cause I'm Lazy

2009-09-14T12:12:00.017-05:00

Oops, I should maybe mention this is probably Not Safe For Work, unless you work at Classy Earl's or The Boobie Barn.

I did a double take when I saw this photo. This lady is a dead ringer for my mom! If my mom had black hair instead of blond and hung out with dudes in douchey shirts that is. She's too classy for that though. Besides, Mom usually puts Bud Lite in her beer bra.

Wouldn't "Mabel is Unstable" be a great name for a band?

I've been there, Mabel, I know how it goes.

Barry Manilow smoking a doob next to a lava lamp.

I made this then forgot about it. It still amuses me though, given my raging immaturity. Plus, that lady really looks like she let one go.

I made this one too, just out of pure meaness. Doesn't the lady with him look like she wishes he had a bigger "gun"?

Another social security collector against socialism! These people are making me think that a death panel might be a good idea.

Not Mrs. Slocumb though. She was the hawtest old babe ever. I love her wigs! RIP Mollie Sugden.

I want to write a book about the people in this picture. There is just so much weirdness going on. I imagine John Bult is Julie's older cousin whom her parents force her to marry. In my novel, Julie would stab John in the neck with a rusty ice pic and then hitch-hike her way to the big city to find happiness as a roller derby queen. Look for it soon at a book store near you.

I have way too many pictures of myself naked and 'shopped to look like a cartoon.

A scary cartoon. Even my pubic hair looks evil!

If I were blue and glittering naked clones from planet Shower Curtain, I'd (we'd) sing in high creepy voices like the Mothra twins while blasting you all with a cool ray gun that looked like a hair dryer.

Schnieder looks like he could handle the twins. Oh yeah, baby!

Chanel should use this hawt ass critter to sell lipstick. That is one fierce...whatever it is. Tyra who?

One more naked pic, because I never tire of them. This one is my fav. Expect to see a lot of it when I run for vice president in 2012. I'm thinking my slogan could be "A Bush You Can Believe In!" Sound good?

Derp!

Why Paula? Why?

2009-09-06T12:16:00.003-05:00

I am livid right now! Absolutely livid!

Why you ask? I'll tell you why.

Apparently my former BFF Paula Abdul was spotted out partying the night away with...with...I can hardly bring myself to write her name...MileyCyrus! That's right! Remember her? The oafishly untalented hillbilly who tried to beat me for the 2009 Pole Dancing Championship? Yeah, that MileyCyrus.

Oh, I've heard rumors that the two were hanging out together before this, but I always laughed them off. Paula knows how I feel about that little skank and she would never, ever do that to me, right?

Wrong! Look at this picture.

My former BFF Paula Abudul is dead to me! Dead I tell you!

Here is the poem I just wrote to try and sort through this episode.

Paula Abdul why you dissin' me?
Mark my words, one these days
you'll be missin' me.

Who held your hand
through Ryan's BS
and all of the media liars?
Who helped you scratch the word "Douche"
on Simon's car door
and slash all four of his tires?
Not MileyCyrus!

Oh Paula!
How could you you betray me
how could you succumb,
to a jail bait, ass-shaker
with gigantic gums?

I guess there's nothing left to say
at least in this little verse
if you're willing to throw our friendship away
just because I helped myself to a Vicodin or twelve from your purse.
I bet MileyCyrus will do much worse!

Juliet Explains It All

2009-09-04T13:32:00.004-05:00

"O happy dagger!
This is thy sheath; there rust, and let me die."

Romeo and Juliet

Don't worry. This post has nothing to do with Shakespeare or anything. I just wanted to start off with one of my all time favorite lines. Because, whenever things are going kinda badly or boring or whatever, I like to quote Juliet while making loud gagging noises and mime stabbing myself in the guts with an imaginary knife.

Why am I telling you this?

Well, it's so that you'll understand what I mean when I describe my week for you as, "oh, it was a happy fucking dagger kind of week." Stabbing motions... GAAAAAAGGGG!

Yep. That sums it up pretty well, I think.

P.S. I haven't forgotten your questions for the spirit world, it's just that contacting the dead with a pendulum is much trickier than anticipated. According to my New Ager friend, this requires lots and lots of quiet meditation beforehand, and sitting still while quietly concentrating is...well, not one of my strengths, that's for sure. I'm working on it, though.

How was your week?

The Spirits Are Telling Me They Are Bored

2009-08-26T13:58:00.004-05:00

I can see dead people.

Well okay, not really, but I'd like to. I'd like to see them, and speak to them, and have them answer me back. Who wouldn't? It would be so cool to be a medium. I have a million questions about the afterlife.

My mom and I used to watch that "Crossing Over" show where the psychic guy, John Edwards, would go over to an audience member and say something like, "I see a lady behind you with gray hair and a nice smile. She loves you very much."

And of course the person would gasp, "Grandma!" or "Mom" and start crying tears of joy. Then the psychic would deliver some sort of bland message from Grandma like, "She wants you to know she's not suffering anymore, she's happy," and the audience would break into wild applause as if something amazing had just happened instead of bullshit.

That show would piss me off to no end - tho it didn't prevent me from watching it, of course - because well, imagine being dead and finding yourself actually able to communicate with your loved ones. Would you really only want to just reassure them that you are fine and not suffering? How boring! Personally, I'd want to have a bit of fun with my relatives.

"Oh my goodness," John would say, "I see a willowy blond woman behind you and it looks like she's screaming....screaming in agony. And she's saying...it sounds like...Help me! I'm burning. BURNING!"

Rest assured, if one day a psychic ever says that to you, then it's most likely me fucking around from the spirit world after having been killed by a psychotic Twilight fan. Well, geez, I'll need to find some way to amuse myself while floating around on a cloud. What the heck else am I going to do all day, sing Kumbaya? Ugh!

Anyway, I only bring this up because I've been thinking about my dad lately. He died right around this time four years ago from heart failure. We had him cremated (as he requested) and then were kinda unsure what to do with him after that. I wanted to sprinkle him somewhere, but my mom balked, and my brother had no opinion, so dad's been sitting in an urn upstairs on top of my mom's television.

It's a pretty good resting place for him, I think. He really loved TV.

Meet my dad. His urn doesn't really sparkle like this. It should though, IMO.

My dad and I never really got along in life, but now that he's dead I enjoy having conversations with him. Like every once in awhile, usually during a commercial break, I'll glance over at the urn and say, "Hey dad, do you know that we have a black president now? And his middle name is - get this - Hussain!"

Then I cackle a bit and picture dad's ashes whirling around in a frenzy inside of his jar.

"And guess what?" I'll continue. "Our black Muslim president is planning on making a death panel to kill off all the mouthy old people so we don't have to pay them social security."

This makes dad spin so fast the urn practically levitates.

"Since there will be no room for crips in our new communist state, Mom will probably be joining you as soon as she breaks a hip. Won't that be nice?"

At that point, I'll start to worry that the top to his container might explode and blow his ashes all over the room, so I quit taunting him. Besides, the House rerun I'm watching is usually back on by then anyway.

This morning, upon reading that Ted Kennedy died, I thought, - Oh good, now dad will have someone new to argue with. He'll love that."

Ted probably won't enjoy it, but maybe he'll luck out and there's alcohol in the great beyond. Do you think there is? This is one of the things I'd really like to hear about. Why doesn't John Edwards ask these types of questions?

Oh, that's right. He's a fraud. Duh!

You know, not too long ago a New Age-minded friend gave me a really pretty, rose quartz pendulum. I'd forgotten all about it. Ever heard of them? Basically, they are a tool that is supposed to help to help you contact the deceased. What you do is hold the pendulum above your open palm and ask it yes or no questions. If it swings back and forth that means yes. If it goes around in a circle, that means no.

Or maybe it's the opposite way? (Note to self, check on that.)

If there's nothing good on TV tonight, maybe I'll get out the pendulum and try to get in touch with my dad, or Ted Kennedy, or some other dead person. If I do make contact, is there anything you like to ask the spirits? Leave your questions in the comments and I promise I will do my best to answer them.

Restless Hearts: A Soap Opera

2009-08-22T12:20:00.020-05:00

It had been a long, hawt day for the residents of Casa de Prunella. But even as the sun sank into the sky, the heat index was rising higher and higher...thanks to the restless hearts inside...

(Cue the cheesy music)

In vain have I struggled. This will not do. Stripeyhead, you must allow me to tell you how much I admire and love you.

What? Jackie...what are you saying?

I'm saying, I want you. I must have you! Oh, I know it's wrong, but I can't resist. You are like my own personal brand of catnip!

But...are you sure? No, we can't...this is madness!

Look into my eyes and tell me you don't want me.

Oh God, I do! Lord help me, but I do!

Well, why don't you come over here and show me, honey?

Door opens.

Wha...what the hell is going on in here? Jackie? What are you doing with this tramp?

Oh shit!

Excuse me? Who are you calling a tramp?

I'm calling you a tramp. Whore!

Bitch!

Jackie! Are you just going to sit there and let your slut insult me like that?

Baby please, baby, don't be like that. I can expla--

SLAP!

Ooff!

Groan... Damn, that woman can hit hard!

That's it! I've had it with you, you cad! You've humiliated me for the last time, Jackie. We're through!

Hey guys, guess what! I can lick my nose!

Um...am I interrupting something?

Why yes, Shirley, you are. You see, I was just getting ready to call this ass an ass and smack the shit out of him.

Naw Girl, listen up. You are the one I--

SLAP!

Ooof!

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! Never talk to me again!

Wow. Guess what, Jackie? I think Stripey is mad at you. And so is Mae Mae. And my butt itches and I have fleas and some of them just jumped on you.

Oh, woe is me! My heart is broken. And so is my schnozzle! The pain...the humiliation...the fleas...how can I go on? How can I...zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Dang these fleas!

Uh, Jackie? Do you see that weird light in the sky? It looks like...

Oh my god! Aliens!!!

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Can Jackie's heart ever mend? What about his schnozzle? Did aliens just attack? And will Shirley ever be able to get rid of her fleas???

Find out on the next episode of Restless Hearts!

Why Do I Drink?

2009-08-18T16:13:00.003-05:00

To get drunk, of course.

If you need me I'll be in the bar.

S'okay? S'alright!

2009-08-17T14:12:00.013-05:00

I've been thinking about my career options lately. They aren't so great.

Sure I can make scads of money right now just by shaking my naked ass and twirling around on a pole, but that won't last forever. In these uncertain economic times, a person needs job security. That's why I've decided it would be a good idea to branch out a bit a bit and learn a skill that will always be in demand.

I've decided to become a ventriloquist.

Now, I know it won't be easy and will require lots of time and effort but I think I can do this. My mom found an old book of ventriloquist tips for me at the thrift store, and I've been practicing throwing my voice for the past few weeks. It's not really all that hard, actually. The hardest part was finding an affordable dummy. They can be quite expensive, but luckily I came across a whole boxful of puppet parts at a garage sale and was able to cobble a few together and so far so good. I think I'm a natural.

Here, let me show you a bit of my act and you guys tell me what you think, okay?

PRU: Hi everyone, I'm The Amazing Prunella and this is my friend Mrs. Danvers. Say hello to the folks, Mrs. Danvers.

MRS. D: Sinners! The day of judgment is at hand. Ye shall be judged, oh yes! Hahahahaha!

PRU: Now, now Mrs. D, what makes you say that?

MRS. D: It was written...America shall become desolate; for she hath rebelled against her God. And they shall fall by the sword, the filthy heathens, one by one: their infants shall be dashed into pieces, their women stoned with bricks, their men castrated, their tongues ripped out, and their eyeballs gouged squishily. And no one whose testicles are crushed or whose male organ is cut shall enter the assembly of the Lord. For my god is a jealous god and those that curse his name shall have their heads chopped off and thrown into the river of blood and heads. BLOOD AND HEADS!

PRU: Whoa. That's a little bit...well, nevermind. Wanna hear a joke? Knock knock -

MRS. D: It is you who are the joke, young Jezebel! The BIBLE has much to say of you and your carnal sisters. I quote:

"Yet she increased her prostitution, remembering the days of her youth when she engaged in prostitution in the land of Egypt. She lusted after their genitals as large as those of donkeys, and their seminal emission was as strong as that of stallions."

PRU: Wait....stallions?

MRS. D: Lo, shall he punish the WHORES, sending an angel with a mighty sword. And he shall stabith thee in thy guts, and ripith out thy still beating whore heart, which shall be fed to demons and lizards. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.

PRU: Um....

MRS. D: Blood must be spilled! Yes, BLOOD - thick enough to swim in - for only then shall the TRUE believers be lifted from the kingdom of dragons --

PRU: OKAY! Thanks Mrs. Danvers, but now let's hear from some other friends, shall we? Everyone, I'd like you to meet my pal, Pete in the Box. How's it going, Pete?

PETE: Are you alone?

PRU: Yes, well I mean, it's just me and a few people from the internet.

PETE: The internet? Are you crazy? Don't even go there, I'm warning you. I wrote a letter to President Bush and told him about the super computer being built in Belgium in order to warn him, but instead he took that knowledge and used it to build a giant hurricane machine. You don't really believe Hurricane Katrina was a natural disaster, do you? Cause I can assure you, it wasn't.

PRU: Whatever, okay Pete. Why don't you sing a song while I drink this glass of water?

PETE: Take a Vitamin C while you're at it and wash your hands. The government is getting ready to release the really deadly Swine flu virus this month. That stuff in the Spring was just a test. They are already building FEMA camps to lock up all the people who refuse to get vaccinated. Don't take the shot, though! It's contaminated with AIDS. And leprosy. This is all part of Obama's plan to get everyone sickly enough so he can implement his death panel of doom.

PRU: Sigh.

Okay then, moving on. Let's talk to Johnny! Hi Johnny.

JOHNNY: Hel-lo.

PRU: How are you feeling today, Johnny?

JOHNNY: Vedy good. S'okay.

PRU: S'okay?

JOHNNY: S'okay. S'alright.

MRS. DANVERS: (interrupting) FOOLS! Behold, I will corrupt your seed, and spread dung upon your faces, even the dung of your solemn feasts; and one shall take you away with it...Malachi 2:3.

JOHNNY: Oh, oh! S'notokay! S'notalright!

PRU: Please Mrs. Danver --

MRS. DANVERS: Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, wig for a WIG!

JOHNNY: AHHHHHHH!! NOOOOOOOO!

Ba-dah-dah! The End.

Well, that's it so far. Do you love it?

These dummies are a trip. It's almost like they have a mind of their own, or something. But I think with a few tweaks, we'll be ready to debut the act at my nephew's fourth birthday party this weekend. Kids love talking puppets so I'm sure we'll be a big hit.

OMG!

2009-08-14T12:34:00.004-05:00

OMG!

I may have just accidentally swallowed a bug that landed in my tea.

I think it was just a gnat, but what if it wasn't?

What if it was something far worse?

What if it was some kind of flying, parasitic, mosquito-like thingee?

What if its laying it's filthy, squirming eggs in my esophagus right now?!

It probably is!

Parasitic, flying mosquito worm eggs that will hatch within days and make their way up my throat, and through my nasal passages into my cerebellum and burrow deep into my frontal brainial cavity!

And then the worms will settle in, feasting on what few smarticles I have left, growing fatter and fatter on my diminishing thoughts, until they are poking out of my ears like linguine and I am left a drooling idiot.

Then I'll spend my days twiddling my thumbs and nodding my head along to Jonas Brothers songs until I am hauled before Obama's newly reformed government health care's dreaded "Death Panel."

Fox News said that the Death Panel will be staffed by Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Dr. Kevorlian, and Dick Cheney. What if that's true?

They'll kill me for sure!

After harvesting my salvageable organs, of course, to sell to the highest bidder.

And then they'll grind up whatever is left of me and add it to cow feed for the extra protein.

And then...OMG!

When the cows are slaughtered and ground into meat patties and sold to grocery stores around the country, some of you will eat them.

Hamburgers containing me and my brainial cavity worm eggs.

Which will hatch in your intestines and start to multiply...

Even if you are a vegetarian you'll still get them because the wormy cow shit will be used as fertilizer to grow your soybeans and veggies, and also seep into the ground water.

OMG, I've just killed us all!!! Humanity is doomed! DOOMED! We will all be dead by 2012 because of me!

I'm so sorry.

Does anyone have a Valium? I need to go lie down for a while.

Snaps

2009-08-12T09:44:00.011-05:00

Sweet Zombie Jeebus but my mom is driving me crazy today! She's tearing up the house in a cleaning and organizing frenzy and it's really harshing my mellow. So in order to get her to shut her yap and leave me in peace, I agreed to go through a few boxes of stuff in the closet. It was mostly junk but I did find a few pictures to share with you guys.

Here's one of me as a precious newborn with Grandpa. My mom said I cried constantly throughout the first few months of my life, and looking at this picture I can see why. I didn't want HUGS! Geez.

Hard as it may be to believe, I wasn't always supermodel gorgeous. Like many kids, I definitely went through an awkward stage. Oh well, at least my jazz hands were always fierce!

Ah memories. This one's from high school when I won the Miss Inland Empire Poultry Princess pageant. Check out the bitch in pink, you can tell she's choking with jealousy over losing to me. The very next day she tried to steal my boyfriend, but I fixed her good. I started a rumor that she was born with balls and a teeny peen and soon everyone was calling her Tammy the Tranny. Ha ha ha! After that, she got knocked up by this crazy homeless vet named Gimpy who lived behind the roller rink, and then she dropped out of school. I wonder what she's up to now?

That's Grandmaw Jones at Christmas. She's so easy to buy presents for.

Here I am as a rebellious young teen hanging out with my Uncle Frank at his trailer in Hemet. God, just look at that picture! It's so crazy! I mean, can you believe I actually used to drink Bud Light? Eww!

Oh yeah, this one's from my wedding. Did I tell you I got married once? Probably not, it's a really sad story. You see, immediately after we exchanged vows, my new husband was abducted by a UFO. It was incredibly traumatic, as the aliens beamed up all the champagne along with him. And it was the spendy stuff too, not cheap swill! We got a discount because his cousin owned a liquor store. I was utterly heartbroken and still am.

Damn you, aliens, for taking away the only man I'll ever love!!! Oh Sam, I'll never forget you,... ur...shit, I mean Stan. That's right, Stan. The best 45 minutes of my life was the time I spent as Mrs. Stan....um...I think it started with a B. I'll ask my mom, she'll know.

Hmmmm, I think this pic is from the 2008 Gathering of the Juggalos festival. Or maybe 2007...anyway, good times. Woo woo, Riverside 'Lo's representin', y'all!

Hey, this one is pretty recent too. LOL, I don't even know who these people are. I was just shopping for rugs one day after visiting the wig store, and noticed this group of hipsters getting photographed, so of course I jumped in.

My shades are definitely the hawtest, don't you agree?

There Can Be Only One!

2009-08-10T15:45:00.008-05:00

Let's get one thing straight. I, Prunella Jones, AM the star dancer and main attraction at Classy Earl's House of Class and Tits. Everybody knows this.

It took me the last few months to claw my way back to primo headlining status after being forced to leave The Boobie Barn (in order to avoid getting my ass kicked), and I don't take kindly to impudent little jailbait upstarts trying to knock me off my pole. I am not going anywhere!

Right now I am making top bank with my Sarah Palin impersonation. Have I told you guys about it? It's really sweet and so totally easy. All I have to do is pile my hair into a big bun (with a little help from Bump-It hair volumnizer, I just know she uses this product), slip into a slutty stewardess looking suit with some thigh-high stockings, and plop my purple schoolmarm glasses - seen in the pic below - on to my nose.

The better to see you naughty little mavericks with, oh yes!

Then when the DJ says, "Everybody make some noise for the sexy Saraaaaah!" I come out, winking and mugging, and slowly peal my clothes off to the song "Barracuda" by Heart while everyone goes wild.

After I get naked, I just have to toss out a few, "you betchas" and "doncha knows" and "quit staring at my Trig-feeders, you dirty libs!" and the cash money flies towards me. I can't keep up with all the lap dance requests. Even the die-hard Republican's love it.

This is as it should be, of course. I was put on this earth to be a superstar.

That's why the new dancer at work better watch herself.

Puh-leaze. Who wants to see her shake it? Besides Pedo-Bear I mean.

Just look at this boring little hillbilly. Who is she trying to kid? Get this, she calls herself, "MileyCyrus" - what kind of stripper name is that I ask you? And honey, the skanky, Lindsay Lohanesque, kinderwhore shorts wearing, grinding-on-an-ice cream-cart while lipsincing to "Sugarwalls" has been done to death. It's so 2002.

Besides, it attracts all the pedophiles and everyone knows they are terrible tippers. Not to mention being really, really creepy.

As opposed to the run-of-the-mill, only slightly creepy horndogs we usually attract, I mean.

Look little girl, I'm thinking it's about time for you to pack up your zit cream and leave the ass shaking to the pros, mmkay. Classy Earl's may be a big place but I'm afraid it's not big enough for the both of us. Remember what happened to Britney Sue Spears when she tried to horn in on my popularity?

Oh, that's right. You were probably still in diapers then.

Well, let me let you in on a little secret, sweet 'ems. You know that douchenozzle she married and reproduced with, KFed? Who do you think introduced her to him? Hmmmm?

That's right, it was me. I'm ruthless, honey. I'll do anything it takes to stay at the top of this business. If you continue trying to (finger quotes) "out-sexy" me on the stripper pole, then you may as well consider yourself served.

It will be so on!

Morons for Moronica! Hoo-ray!

2009-08-08T12:31:00.006-05:00

My fellow Americans, I have a dream.

Yes I do, shall I tell you about it? It's for all those non-moneyed, conservative Americans out there too stupid to vote for their own interests.

Not sure who I'm talking about? Let me clarify.

I am talking about the teabaggers, the birthers, the Rush Limbaugh worshipers, the gun-loving, mouth-breathing, cousin-fucking, "Real Americans" who are storming Town Hall meetings across the land, threatening violence so that they can be allowed to have their healthcare rationed and denied by the CEOs of insurance companies, rather than have any sort of option from the horribly incompetent and evil gub'mint. 'Cos that's dirty, dirty socialism, doncha know?

The people who say "OMG they're going to make the insurance companies actually compete with a low cost alternative partially paid for by people with too much money. ZOMG HITLER!!! Where's my gun, Cletus?!!

The hearty, true patriot, Joe Sixpack/Fake Plumbers of the land, I have a dream for you.

I have a dream for all of those who love unregulated markets, Glen Beck, and Jeebus. For those with IQs slightly lower than Sarah Palin but just above dishwater. For those who worry that their children will turn to witchcraft because they read a Harry Potter book.

I have a dream, all right.

My dream is that the people I've described will rise up and form their very own country. Possibly in Texas.

Now Friends, if this describes you, I implore you to seriously consider this idea.

Think about it. Why would you want to stay here with the rest of us secular humanists types and fancy mustard lovin' libs, paying taxes to a President (who wasn't even born here!) who wants to kill old people and steal your money so he can abort retarded babies and harvest their stem cells for a bunch of damn elitist scientists? I've also heard that he plans to make sex changes mandatory for all those who refuse to be vaccinated with the ghey. Bill O'Reilly told me so, so you know it's true.

Secede, my friends! Secede and make your own country. This is the only way!

Secede and do it now, before that Kenyan takes your guns away! You know he wants to. Hurry up, secede! Take Texas! Turn it into a country just for you and those who think like you do. A country that you can be proud of. It could be called "Moronica" or "Real 'Merica" and Sarah Palin can be your queen.

Wouldn't she be a lovely queen? All the pansy libs would die from jealousy over her beauty and smartness. And anyone who made fun of her or questioned the things she said could be shot immediately.

Just think of it. Close your eyes and imagine. Dream. Can't you see it? A place of your very own where no one has to pay taxes ever! A place completely independent! A place with good Christian family values.

A place with no polysyllabic words.

In short, I'm talking about a Republican utopia.

In Moronica there will be no abortion EVER. Nope, not even if your wife is dying or your 12-year-old daughter gets raped. God has sayeth unto Fox News that a fetus is way more important then the uterus what holds it, therefore it must be so. You won't have to worry about that anyway 'cause these things won't happen as long as them womens keep their slut legs together anyhow.

No homo-fairy-fag gheys allowed in your country. (Men with a wide stance are okay, though 'cause that's not ghey.) Ditto for them welfare-lovin' dark people and funny talkin' furiners. Everyone in Real 'Merica will be good ol' bootstrappin' rugged individualists and mavericks what speak English just like Jesus.

Nobody, but nobody will get a free ride in your republican paradise, this I'll personally guarantee. Because there won't be any of that nightmarish Social Security crap for you. No, old people, the retarded, and disabled will strap on their boots and get to work everyday if they want to eat just the way the good lord intended, dadgubit.

Luckily health care won't be a problem because everyone knows that prayer cures cancer and abstinence cures everything else.

In Real 'Merica there will be a church on every corner and no schools to infect your children with librul ideas like evolution and putting g's on the end of words. No libraries neither. That's socialist. Anyway, readin's a waste of time and not very bootstrappy.

And think how handy it will be when The Rapture begins. All of you good Christians will be right there in one place, making it that much easier for the angels to lift you up to Heaven.

Nope, nothing in Real "Merica (or Moronica) except good ol' bootstrappin' rugged individualists and mavericks. Yep, yep. How wonderful it would be! What a dream!

Except....hold on. I just realized something.

Now that I think about it, Real 'Merica already exists as a nation. Duh! How have we not noticed this before? It's called Somalia.

No need to form a whole new country when that one meets all your requirements.

Check it out. Somalia is a teabagger's paradise. There is no police, no government officials meddling in business. No regulation of anything. No TAXES! No LAWS! No public health system. Nothing but pure boot-strappiness! HEE HAW!

Of course, there are quite a few darkies, but hey you guys got plenty of guns. Run 'em off, send 'em to Kenya and the country is yours. Obama will be happy to give them Somalians some sort of handout once they get up there to his homeland.

Just think of it! Real 'Merica right there in Africa.

Once the rest of the continent gets a load of your fine democracy you know they'll be wantin' it for themselves for sure, and soon enough the land will be covered in WalMarts and McDonalds. Can't you see it? Brings a tear to the eye, doesn't it? John Wayne and Ronald Reagan would be so damn proud.

So what are you guys waiting for? Get to it! Off with you all of you to Somalia quickly! Have a good trip and don't forget to write. Oops! I forgot, there is no post office there either.

Oh well, no loss. I certainly won't miss you at all, that's for sure. Buh-bye!

Curses! I Was Trying To Keep This A Secret!

2009-08-06T11:46:00.004-05:00

Damn you Birthers, and your relentless digging for the truth! Happy now? You'll pay for this, oh yes, when I call upon my father to bring up the zombie army and have them feast upon your brilliant brains! Ha ha ha!

does whatever a spider can

2009-08-04T09:24:00.003-05:00

Last night I went to call my dog in and almost walked into a giant spiderweb right outside the door. An enormous spider sat smack in the middle of it sucking the juices out of some hapless bug.

None of these pics turned out very good. The spider just shows up as a flash. I assume this is because he's radioactive.

giant spider sits
waiting to jump on my face
suck the eyeballs out

Help!!

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

2009-07-30T07:58:00.013-05:00

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

2009-07-28T10:07:00.007-05:00

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?

2009-07-16T15:59:00.003-05:00

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

2009-07-12T12:43:00.001-05:00

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

2009-07-08T12:41:00.003-05:00

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

2009-07-05T23:27:00.008-05:00

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

2009-07-02T21:54:00.007-05:00

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?

My G-g-g-generation, Talkin' ' Bout It

2009-06-26T17:22:00.006-05:00

I just read an article all about how yesterday's deaths of Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson is some sort of big defining moment for Generation X.

“These people were on our lunchboxes,” said Gary Giovannetti, 38, a manager at HBO who grew up on Long Island awash in Farrah and MJ iconography. “This,” he said, “is the moment when Generation X realizes they’re grown up.”

As a member of that particular generation, all I can say to this is "huh" - in my most cynical voice while rolling my eyes, of course.

Celebrity deaths don't really upset me, I guess. Sure, these people have been famous for as long as I've been alive but so what? I mostly think of Farrah Fawcett as the chick with great hair who starred in Lifetimesque TV movies and went whacko on David Letterman a few years ago. She seemed nice and all, but honestly I'd be more bummed out if Kimmy Gibbler from the show Full House died.

And yeah, I'm old enough to remember when Michael Jackson was black and hung out with Bubbles the Chimp and Thriller was always on MTV - and MTV played actual videos instead of boring reality shows for that matter - I just was never much of a fan, preferring Duran Duran and The Pretenders. To be fair, lots of kid's in my class did love him tho.

This one particular kid, I think his name was Eugene, wore a different sequined glove to school everyday and spent recess practicing his moonwalk. He got really upset when this little ditty started going around the playground.

"I pledge allegiance to the flag
Michael Jackson is a fag
Pepsi Cola burned him up
Now he drinks the 7-up."

The mean bully boys would get right in his face and chant it over and over while the hapless kid cried and tried unsuccessfully to hit them. For some reason I always think of that scene whenever I hear the Pearl Jam song "Jeremy".

Poor old Eugene, I hope he's not having a nervous breakdown today. Those sequined gloves of his could probably fetch some bucks on Ebay.

Speaking of bucks, I once bought a 12 pack of Michael Jackson candy bars at The Dollar Store that I found out later are pretty rare. Does anyone remember these?

Glitter added by me. I like things fancy.

Bet those candy bars would sell well today. Too bad I got hungry and ate them. They were very tasty as I recall.

So to summarize, that article was dumb, Kimmy Gibbler rocks, and I really like chocolate.

The End

4 Television Related Confessions

2009-06-22T11:40:00.008-05:00

1. I wish life were like an episode of that old show Three's Company. That way my only problems would be paying rent and avoiding the homophobic landlord, and jiggling would make pretty much everything better. I'm great at jiggling so this would have worked out nicely for me.

Also - and this is a highly embarrassing confession - I really wouldn't mind it if reality came with a laugh track. Because whenever I make a smartalecky quip or zinger, I do sorta halfway expect to hear the studio audience kick in with high pitched giggles and applause.

2. Does anyone else think that Spencer Pratt from The Hills looks like someone grafted a toddler's head onto an adult's body? Is it just me?

3. To my great shame, I'm starting to find the goofy guy from those annoying Free Credit Report.com commercials sexy. Somebody slap me.

4. Sometimes while trying to will myself out of bed in the morning, I hear Richard Dawson's voice in my head saying something like this:

One hundred people surveyed, top five answers are on the board, here's the question. How will Prunella Jones spend her day?

Buzz Buzz!

Um....checking off everything on her to do list in a timely and productive manner?

Let's see....show me to do list!

BRRRRAAANK, wrong answer.

How about bleaching the three inches of dark roots back to blonde? That's what she needs to do anyway.

BRRRRAAANK. Nope, not on the board.

Oh, I know! Screw around on the internet and waste time like the true slacker she is!

Hmmmmmm. Survey says?

DING DING DING DING DING DING DING!

Holy Water Burns But It Gets The Job Done

2009-06-18T22:21:00.004-05:00

Now that my demonic possession is over (thanx Father Damien), I've been obsessively following the Iranian revolution. I'm really loving watching this large group of people standing up and demanding something of their government....in realtime on the internet! Go protesters! I just can't get enough updates on this situation. It's got me on the edge of my seat. I wish I could fast forward to tomorrow and find out what happens after the call to prayer. It seems like this is going to be the make or break moment.

Here is a good link if your interested in seeing videos and pics of the protests Iran After the Election. Check it out.

I also stumbled across this quiz a minute ago and it seemed timely.

Your result for The Would You Have Been a Nazi Test...

The Expatriate

Achtung! You are 23% brainwashworthy, 14% antitolerant, and 5% blindly patriotic

Congratulations! You are not susceptible to brainwashing, your values and cares extend beyond the borders of your own country, and your Blind Patriotism does not reach unhealthy levels. If you had been German in the 30s, you would've left the country.

One bad scenario -- as I hypothetically project you back in time -- is that you just wouldn't have cared one way or the other about Nazism. Maybe politics don't interest you enough. But the fact that you took this test means they probably do. I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt.

Did you know that many of the smartest Germans departed prior to the beginning of World War II, because they knew some evil shit was brewing? Brain Drain. Many of them were scientists. It is very possible you could have been one of them.

Conclusion: born and raised in Germany in the early 1930's, you would not have been a Nazi.

The Would You Have Been A Nazi? Test
- it rules -

Take The Would You Have Been a Nazi Test at HelloQuizzy

I'd prefer to believe that I would have been a member of the resistance but...yeah, most likely I'd have skeedaddled. Probably to Switzerland cause I like chocolate and yodeling. How about you?

The Devil Made Me Post This

2009-06-07T14:33:00.004-05:00

Sorry to have disappeared on you all. I didn't mean to, it's just that I've been very busy with my new job - acting as an earthly host for demons - and what with all the screaming, 360° headspins, and bed levitation, there just hasn't been much time for anything else.

Not to mention the pea soup projectile vomiting keeps mucking up my keyboard.

Things are looking up though. A priest is on his way. I should be back to blogging normally in no time.

Well, as normally as I'm capable of at any rate.

Ewwww, that pea soup is so gross.

To All My Friends

2009-05-24T11:29:00.006-05:00

Why is every movie that I really love so damn hard to find on DVD? Why must they be so annoyingly obscure?

I have a hankering to open a bottle of wine and watch Barfly this weekend, but every online link I've found so far has been dead and none of the local video stores carry it.

See, this is why Blockbuster sucks. They have five hundred copies of The Hannah Montana Movie and every big action piece of crap that Tom Cruise ever starred in, but not a Mickey Rourke flick made in 1987? None of the clerks have even heard of it? Come on!

In desperation I turned to Amazon figuring I'd just buy the DVD but that was not to be either. It's out of print now and selling for $250.

Sigh.

If you are rich and enjoy unconventional movies, then I highly recommend that you snap up a copy right this minute. (And then send it to me after you've watched it, okay?) You won't regret it.

Barfly is one of my all time favorite films. This movie just has everything. A quirky plot where nothing much happens, a cheerfully obnoxious drunken lout for a hero, lots of sly, lunatic humor, Mickey Rourke when he was hawt, numerous funny and profound lines that I find myself quoting over and over, good poetry, a raggedly glamorous Faye Dunaway throwing a beat down on dainty little Alice Krige in a very Dynasty moment, and the best performance of Frank Stallone's career.

Of course, this is the only Frank Stallone performance I've ever seen, but he really does a good job. His mustache is particularly outstanding.

Barfly was written by the boozer poet Charles Bukowski, and is one of those movies you either love or can't stand. Someone once sniffly told me he hated it because it's an unrealistic portrayal of alcoholics and he thought it glorified the life of a Skid Row bum.

Okay, I can see that point of view. Personally though, I'm glad there isn't a preachy message of repentance at the end and the characters all remain adamant drunks. Geez, it's a movie! If I want realism I'll go watch an episode of Intervention.

Here is one of the fight scenes between Mickey and Frank Stallone's mustache, featuring Frank's great line, "I'd hate to be you if I were me!"

Check out the blonde chick at 3.39. Now that's acting!

Have you seen this movie? If so, what did you think of it?

Past, Present, And Future Avatars

2009-05-20T09:52:00.012-05:00

My mom was complaining to me on the phone the other day about her wrinkles. She said she was considering getting some Botox, or maybe even a face lift.

"Why would you want to do that?" I asked her. "Don't you realize how lucky you are? Being an old lady is the ultimate disguise! You can get away with all kinds of stuff now. No one ever suspects the sweet old granny!"

She thought I was joking but nothing could be further from the truth. I really love old ladies and am really looking forward to becoming one myself. It seems like it will be very liberating, don't you think?

I mean, sheesh, there will be no messy periods to suffer through, no more worries about staying pretty and keeping my body firm and thin, and if you think I cuss a lot now, just wait until I no longer feel the need to conform to even the bare minimum of socially acceptable behavior. It will rock!

Who's gonna to mess with me? You? Sheeeeiiit.

When I'm old I will eat want I want, drink as much as I want, get loud and mouthy while stating my opinions (no one ever tells Grandma to shut up!), and keep busy by heckling and pestering the politicians I find loathsome. I'd enjoy that much more than playing bingo.

If weed is still illegal in thirty years, I will perform civil disobedience by growing pot plants in my backyard to share with other seniors. IMO marijuana keeps you spry. I mean, look at Willie Nelson. The man is in his 70's and still plays a zillion concerts a year even though he smokes more weed than Cheech and Chong put together.

If it is legal, maybe I'll open up a hemp bar like they have in Amsterdam. Hell, I wish I could do that right now! How dare the government deny me my right to practice capitalism! Jeez, you'd think the Republicans would be all for that, but no, they prefer the boners they get from trying to legislate morality. Maybe I'll just take my cane to Washington and beat down a few senators. Might as well spend my last years having fun before it's time to meet Jesus.

Hopefully I'll be a cute old lady with big saucer eyes and rosy pink cheeks, the better to fool them all. That way when I end up working as a WalMart greeter no one will ever believe that I am ripping off everything in the store that's not nailed down and selling it for discount out of the back of my truck. And when I hand customers a cart and say, "Welcome to WalMart, Lardass!" with a sweet smile, they'll figure they must be imagining things. Surely that darling little granny didn't just insult them, did she?

If called on it, I'll just act confused, maybe even cry if necessary. Heh heh.

Good Lord how I love Betty White. Isn't she the coolest chick ever? She was always my favorite of The Golden Girls. Look at her - all pretty and neatly coiffed and unafraid of splattering your brains all over her lovely camel coat.

Fuck those Red Hat clubs! I'm getting me a gun!

I really need to take shooting lessons because there is nothing cooler than an old babe who can handle a firearm like a pro. Just look at these pictures and tell me these broads aren't badass.

Where's my senior discount, bitch?

When I say get off my lawn, I ain't playing.

You know, I've always wanted to get a gun and shoot out a television screen for no reason just like Elvis was rumored to do every so often. Blowing away an entire wall of TV's would be even better, wouldn't it? Every time I pass by a Sears I imagine how sweet it would be to pull a giant handgun out of my purse and take down every TV set in the electronic section.

Of course, I'd never dare do anything like that now, but in thirty years? Hell yeah! That's when I can blame it all on senility.

No wonder they call them the golden years.

No my name ain't baby, it's Prunella. Miss Jones if you're nasty.

If I Could Be Like Mike...

2009-05-19T08:58:00.006-05:00

Did you know that former Arkansas Governor (and God's favorite little soldier) Mike Huckabee is an amazing poet? Well, it's true. Click here to see just how amazing...ly bad he is.

It gave me a chuckle anyway, and inspired me to write a few horrible poems of my own about this matter. Here they are.

Hey Ho, Let's Go!

Oh GOP oh GOP
so very mad at Pelosi.

Republicans WILL NOT abide
lying liars who just might have lied
and for once I'm on their side.

We really should investigate
this Nancy Pelosi chick,
right after the war crimes trials
of Rumsfeld, Condie, W. and Dick!

Limericks Are Sinful

There once was a big douchebag named Mike
whom only Chuck Norris could like
although torture is fine
Nancy should resign
Waa waa go cry some more, bible thumper.

Huckabee Douchbuggeree

There was an old dork named Michael Huckabee
stuffed full of fail and lots of suck-a-ree
tried to impress Rush Limbaugh with poetic fuck-a-ree
poor old dumbass Huckabee the wanna-be.

Too much fun, I could do this all day. Bring on the investigation, GOP! Let's see exactly how much and when Nancy knew about the Bush administration's ordering of torture. Wheeee! I could probably get a chapbook out of all the poems it would inspire.

2009-05-17T23:00:00.002-05:00

This one goes out to Gunner Sykes. Ha ha ha, the day of miracles (and hot smelly gas) has come! Halleujah!

Not This Story Again....

2009-05-17T13:45:00.003-05:00

I don't know about you, but I am sick to death of hearing about and from Miss California, Carrie "the bible says gays are evil" Prejean.

"Oh noes! I didn't win a beauty pageant because the way I answered a question revealed my vapid ignorance and intolerant attitude. Therefore, my right to free speech was obviously violated. Waaa waaa."

Does anyone else find it ironic that she is whining (wrongly) about her First Amendment rights being denied because she said she is in favor of denying gays their right to marry?

And now she's on every news show and will probably end up getting a book deal out of the whole thing. Goddamn, I HATE the way this country rewards mediocrity.

Fuck you, Carrie Prejean! Perez Hilton was right, you ARE a stupid bitch, and I hate you for making me agree with Perez Hilton because he sucks too!

It figures that Sarah Palin would stick up for her. Sarah is another brainless former beauty pageant contestant with zero understanding of tolerance, respect and equality, who cries about being a victim of the mean old liberal media.

ATTENTION LIBERAL MEDIA: This bitch's 15 minutes of fame need to be over! Sarah Palin's have been over for ages. Can we please kick these two redneck, trailer trash idiots back to the obscurity they both so richly deserve? That's not too much to ask for, is it?

What and/or who are you sick of hearing about lately?

I Like To Move It: The Virtual Lapdance

2009-05-15T14:12:00.009-05:00

Hooray, I'm feeling much better today! I'm so happy not be coughing all over the place. I feel like shaking my ass like a Polaroid picture.

Wanna see me wiggle it just a little bit? Here you go.

My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps! (Check it out)

Whoot! There it is!

Why I've Been MIA

2009-05-14T08:17:00.008-05:00

I know what you've been thinking.

You've all been on the edge of your seats wondering, "Where in the world is Prunella Jones?" while humming that Carmen Sandiego song, right?

Okay, probably not. (Curse you!)

Where have I been, though? Was I out taking the virginity of all three of the Jonas Brothers?

Nah, I already did that back in January.

Actual photo of me with the Jonas Brothers, hours before I made them into men. Well, that is, I made two of them into men. The prettiest one turned out to be strictly dickly, unfortunately.

Was I out partying?

This hat is much more comfortable than it looks.

Usually that's a safe bet, but nope, not this week.

Well then, obviously I must have been hanging out in a creepy old hotel in Colorado with my twin sister, Mary Kate, wearing fabu ball gowns and practicing bulimia, right?

Actually, we are not bulimic! Bulimia is sooo yesterday. We are anorexic. Duh!

Surprisingly the answer is no. I haven't been feeling well enough to do anything much -well, besides play around with Blingee - I have been sick as shit. I think I may have even had (cue the scary music) THE SWINE FLU!

I'm not sure if I did or not since I didn't go to a doctor. But, damn, was I ever sick! Holy shit! I could barely get out of bed most of the week.

It started on Friday. I was feeling a little...off. Not bad, but not so good as usual. My energy was really low.

On Saturday I woke up with a sore throat, but I figured I could power through, so I swallowed a ton of Vitamin C, loaded my pockets with zinc lozenges, and went on to Earl's.

Attention Classy Earl's customers: I'd like to apologize for coughing in your faces like that. Hopefully all the alcohol you guys were guzzling killed any flu germs that may have drifted your way.

Also, to the Asian gentleman with the Buddy Holly glasses: I was just joking when I said that my spitting a zinc lozenge on your lap cost extra. I did it accidentally while trying to suppress a cough and tried to play that off to cover my embarrassment. Thanks for the extra twenty though!

By Sunday morning I realized that I could be dying, so I took to my bed and stayed there. It really sucked.

I looked up the symptoms of Swine Flu on the CDC website. Basically, it's just the same as the regular flu, headache, fever, sore throat, lethargy, lack of appetite and coughing (lots and lots of coughing.) I also had a bit of runny nose and some nausea. It could have just been regular flu, I guess. If so, it was really hideous one. I hardly ever get sick usually, and when I do I'm able to shake it off after a day or two, but this - holy crap! This was horrible!

At one point I actually called a friend and asked her to get in touch with Dr. Kevorkian for me. He's out of jail now, right?

Anyway, I'm glad to be feeling better. Still not 100% but much, much better than yesterday. Hallelujah and praise almighty Xenu!

Bad as it was though, I gotta say I had some really amazing ideas while feverish. Super genius stuff! Like, it occurred to me that once we get this cloning stuff down pat, we should totally clone Jesus. Wouldn't that be cool? If we did that, we would - in essence - be becoming gods ourselves by bringing the messiah back to the world on our terms instead of waiting for God to get around to it. Can you imagine? The fundies would go apeshit! Especially when Jesus told them all to quit being such hypocritical cocks. Oh man, I would love that so much! I'd spend the end of days laughing my ass off.

"But Pru," you are probably thinking, "we'd need some of Jesus' DNA in order to clone him. We don't have any."

Yeah, I know. That bugged me too. Then it hit me. We could use The Shroud of Turin. If it's the real deal we should have no problem getting DNA from it. And if we can't, then that would prove once and for all it's a fake. Good idea, huh?

While in my feverish state, I also decided that we should clone Rasputin. Mostly because I was a history major and have always been intrigued by his hypnotic eyes and rags to riches to freaky death story.

Okay, that last part is a lie. I really want to clone Rasputin because he was rumored to have a twelve inch dick which he used to fuck the ladies of the Russian court all night long. Supposedly he could go for hours and hours. Therefore it is crucially important that we clone this guy. I need him to be my sex slave.

Not that I wouldn't welcome Jesus as a sex slave too. Of course, I'd love that! What girl wouldn't? But I figured he'd be too busy helping the sick and poor and casting the money changers from the temple and stuff. He probably wouldn't have enough time to get busy with me. :(

Anyway, one of them really needs to rise again, don't you agree? And by them, I mean either Jesus or Raputin's giant schlong.

I know what I'd vote for. Which would you pick?

So to summarize, the swine flu (or whatever it was) really, really sucked ass. I'm very glad I survived it. And, we need to ferry some of that stimulus money to a cloning program STAT!

How was your week?

Repressed Memories

2009-05-08T10:39:00.006-05:00

Just out of curiosity, I decided to take Words suggestion and google the phrase "Buck up, little soldier" to see if it came from some place legitimate or if I'd made it up. Right away I found this poem:

Carry On

It’s easy to fight when everything’s right,
And you’re mad with the thrill and the glory;
It’s easy to cheer when victory’s near,
And wallow in fields that are gory.
It’s a different song when everything’s wrong,
When you’re feeling infernally mortal;
When it’s ten against one, and hope there is none,
Buck up, little soldier, and chortle:

Carry on! Carry on!
There isn’t much punch in your blow.
You’re glaring and staring and hitting out blind;
You’re muddy and bloody, but never you mind.
Carry on! Carry on!
You haven’t the ghost of a show.
It’s looking like death, but while you’ve a breath,
Carry on, my son! Carry on!

And so in the strife of the battle of life
It’s easy to fight when you’re winning;
It’s easy to slave, and starve and be brave,
When the dawn of success is beginning.
But the man who can meet despair and defeat
With a cheer, there’s the man of God’s choosing;
The man who can fight to Heaven’s own height
Is the man who can fight when he’s losing.

Carry on! Carry on!
Things never were looming so black.
But show that you haven’t a cowardly streak,
And though you’re unlucky you never are week.

Carry on! Carry on!
Brace up for another attack.
It’s looking like hell, but -- you never can tell:
Carry on, old man! Carry on!

There are some who drift out in the deserts of doubt,
And some who in brutishness wallow;
There are others, I know, who in piety go
Because of a Heaven to follow.
But to labour with zest, and to give of your best,
For the sweetness and joy of the giving;
To help folks along with a hand and a song;
Why, there’s the real sunshine of living.

Carry on! Carry on!
Fight the good fight and true;
Believe in your mission, greet life with a cheer;
There’s big work to do, and that’s why you are here.
Carry on! Carry on!
Let the world be the better for you;
And at last when you die, let this be your cry:
CARRY ON, MY SOUL! CARRY ON!

Robert W Serviceman

As soon as I read the first line, bells went off in my brain and I remembered that my dad had a framed copy of this poem hanging in the bathroom when I was a kid. Duh!

I don't know why I'd forgotten about it. My brother and I used to say that to each other all the time in our daily verbal abuse.

"Hey, guess what? Jesus hates your guts."

"That's okay, I'm still gonna greet life with a cheer. Jesus can just kiss my rear."

"That's right, buck up little soldier. Even though you're so stupid you make Jesus, and every other guy who sees you want to puke. Carry on anyway. Carry on, I say!"

"Yeah, I labor with zest and give of my best and you should too. Even though you are a balding dwarf elf who will die a virgin. Carry on! Carry on! "

"I may be unlucky, but I am never weak. I will carry on, though my sister is a freak. With a face that makes the angels shriek. Carry on!"

"Very good little soldier, fight the good fight and true. Though you look like a turtle and smell like a zoo. Damn, Jesus really must hate the heck out of you. Carry on!"

"Okay, who said the D word?!" my dad would shout. "I heard it! Both of you go to your rooms right now!"

How could I have forgotten that poem? It's probably had at least as big an influence on my own poetry as Dr. Seuss. I also liked the one that went "This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one's mine..."

Jeez. No wonder I'm so bucked up.

Q and A and TMI

2009-05-06T14:53:00.005-05:00

Bill Stankus from Just A Moment Of Miscellany tagged me with this long questionnaire.

1. What are your current obsessions?

Lately I enjoy finding old pictures at the the thrift store and "improving" them by painting or gluing inappropriate stuff into the pic. Sort of like a 3D version of Blingee, I guess.

Like, I found this old photo of an angel watching over some kids on a bridge.

It's sweet, huh? But it would be much cooler if the angel was chasing the kids instead, don't you think? As soon as I can find a clear pic of one, I'm going to put a chainsaw in her hands and then alter her expression slightly to make her look insane and the kids more freaked out.

I'm also digging this gif of Christopher Walken. (Hats off to whoever made it.)

Whoa, psychedelic. Hopefully this isn't giving you a seizure.

It would be fun to make something similar. Perhaps one of me naked, holding a chainsaw and floating through space?

I like to do these "art projects" even though they are completely dumb. Hey, it keeps me off the streets!

2. Which items from your wardrobe do you wear most often?

Jeans, tee shirts, and my Jesus sandles are what I wear for hanging out at home. If I'm going out then it's nicer jeans, nicer tees and hawt shoes.

3. What's for dinner?

I don't know, what do you feel like cooking?

4. Last thing you bought?

Some L-lysine for my canker sore. It's much better today BTW.

5. What are you listening to?

A Ghost Is Born by Wilco. Love that band so much! Can't wait for their new album.

6. If you were a god/goddess who would you be?

Probably Eris, the Greek goddess of chaos and mischief. Heh heh.

7. Favorite holiday spots?

Anyplace I've never been to before.

8. Reading right now?

The Portable Obituary: How the Famous, Rich, and Powerful Really Died by Michael Largo. I'm a sucker for trivia books and anything morbid.

9. Four words to describe yourself.

Just four? That's hard. I'm really fascinating! Let's see....Dreamer, Slacker, Philosopher, and Dork.

10. Guilty pleasure?

Tons, but does it count if I don't really feel guilty about them?

11. Who or what makes or made you laugh until you’re weak?

Well, I love the show It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia. The episode "Charlie Gets Molested" nearly made me pee my pants. I like outlandish, absurd type humor.

12. Who or what makes you so angry you could scream?

Joe the Plumber and Sarah Palin represent everything I hate about America. I would happily throw feces at them if I ever got the chance.

13. Planning to travel to next?

My mom is making go to my aunt's wedding anniversary party this summer. Since they live in Atlanta I'll be forced to drive through Georgia again - shudder - other than that no plans, but I'm open to anything. You never know.

14.Best thing you ate or drank lately?

It wasn't all that lately, but the best thing I ever ate was a deep fried Mars Bar. Damn, that was good! Also, if I were super rich, I swear I'd be fatter than Oprah from going to fabulous four star restaurants every single night, and being able to throw back the finest vodka and caviar whenever I felt like it (which would be often.)

15.When did you last get tipsy?

Probably last weekend.

16. Favorite ever film?

Rubin and Ed. I don't know why this movie is so obscure. I haven't been able to find a DVD of it, which sucks because it's so great. It's about an eccentric, unsociable, young man who is forced by his mother to make some friends before she'll return his stereo to him. He is joined on a trip through a desert by a pyramid-scheme salesman, as they search for a location to bury a frozen cat. Who wouldn't love that? Plus Crispin Glover, my all time fav actor, is in it.

17. Care to share some wisdom?

Sure. Unfortunately, I don't have any. Sorry. :(

18. If you could change one thing in your life what would it be?

I'd love to be stinking rich. (Sorry for stealing your answer, Bill.)

19. What are your blog turn-ons and turn-offs?

I enjoy clever posts and people who seem like they'd be a lot of fun to hang out with. Also, anyone who challenges me to look at the world a little differently. I'm forever getting crushes on various bloggers.

Turn-offs include people who use their blogs in place of therapists. Come on! I understand and all but it gets really dull. I get tired of saying "buck up, little soldier" constantly.

20. Favorite website?

Youtube.com. I go there several times a day, every day.

The End

Okay, I now hereby tag everyone who has not already done this one. You know who you are.

The rules are as follows: you've got to answer all the questions, change one and then add one.

Ouch!

2009-05-05T07:51:00.005-05:00

I have a giant canker sore in my mouth that hurts like hell. It's been brewing up for the last few days on the top right hand corner inside my upper lip. I took some Vitamin C last night hoping to quell the ulcer before it got explosive, but it must have been too late. This morning I woke up feeling like a nuclear bomb had gone off inside my mouth. My upper lip is so swollen it resembles Lisa Rhinna's hemorrhoidal trout pout. Gah! What can I do to get rid of this thing?

I googled home remedies for canker sores and here are the ones I've tried so far:

1. Put salt on it. It may burn a little, but that means its working.

Cool, I thought. I've got salt right here in the cabinet. Let me just rub a little on......Yeow! Who the hell suggested this one, Dick Cheney? It burned like a motherfucking fire from the depths of almighty hell. I had to rinse it off immediately, but even so it still throbbed for an hour afterward. Not recommended.

2. I've had an old family remedy of baking soda mixed with a little water to make a paste. Just dab a bit on and although it might sting for a minute, it shrinks and gets rid of the sore within 2 days.

This one didn't sting too bad, but it doesn't seem to have helped. Plus the baking soda paste keeps dissolving and oozing down my throat. Yucky.

3. Just dab some honey on your sore and boomb, it'll reduce the pain almost immediately and will heal the canker in as short as a day.

Nope. It is tasty however.

4. Gargle with Peroxide!

I don't have any. My mom has some Lysterine which would probably be about the same thing. I'd rather not try it though, because I suspect that will burn even worse than the salt.

5. Avoid eating potato chips!

Well, duh!

6. Apply a wet black teabag to the ulcer. The tannins relieve the pain.

I only have green tea, but I tried this and it does work a little bit.

7. Just take a little earwax from your ear and apply it to the canker sore. It's said to be a sure cure. It may have some antiseptic value, and it may protect the sore.

Ewwww. No.

8. Avoid stress.

Well, it's a bit late for that now. Besides, it's kindd of hard not to be stressed when a crazed and hulking Twilight fan wants to break your arm.

9. Swish some Milk of Magnesia around in your mouth several times a day. It coats the ulcer and relieves the pain.

I don't have any. I may go to the store for it in awhile though.

10. L-lysine. 3 tablets a day until the canker is gone. Works great!

Hmmmm...I did a little research on this one and it appears that it might be helpful. I'll look for it when I go to the grocery store.

It's been ages since I've had a canker sore and I've forgotten how much they truly suck. This is why morphine needs to be sold over the counter, dammit! Friggin busybody "just-say-no" "drugs are bad, mmkay" asshole politicians and their archaic drug laws! If I'm over 21 and can pay for it, it should be no one's business what I put into my body!

Okay, end of rant. Sorry, pain makes me pissy.

Since I can't get any morphine, do you have any suggestions to heal this sucker up quick and take away this mouth misery? What works for you?

Bye Bye Boobie Barn, Hello Classy Earl's

2009-05-04T09:46:00.007-05:00

Which do you want to hear first, the good news or bad news?

The Good News: I'm alive and well and haven't had my ass kicked.

The Bad News: Actually there isn't any bad news. I just like to be dramatic.

So, here is what happened. On Friday I actually went over to Hot Topic and contemplated the Twilight merchandise, looking for some cheap trinkets that might appease the Bella's, when I got a call from a friend telling me not to come in to work. Apparently Bella was already there, bragging about how her boyfriend had showed her how to break my arm with some sort of karate move and that he had filled the place with a bunch of redneck friends who were taking bets on who would win in our jello fight.

Well, that did it. There was no way I was going to show up for that! Thank goodness she called before I wasted my money on any "Team Edward" crap. Screw it! The Boobie Barn sucks anyway, and I am way too good for the place.

Out of curiosity I asked her how many people were betting I'd win. None, she answered, that's why they'd had just switched to betting on how long it would take Bella to kick my ass. Two minutes was the popular prediction.

I was strangely flattered by that. In reality it would probably be more like 15 seconds.

Since it looks like The Boobie Barn is off limits for a while but I still need to make some chedda, I swallowed my pride and headed back over to Classy Earl's House of Class and Tits.

Regular readers might remember that I used to dance there all the time, until my monkey, Tucksworth, snatched Earl's toupee off of his head and threw it at the buffet table. It landed in a pot of Egg Drop Soup and was ruined which made Earl livid (even though it forced him into getting a much nicer hair weave that looked a thousand times better IMO.) Click here for the full story if you're interested.

Anyway, after that altercation Earl made my life so miserable that I quit, but since hearing the place was under new management, it seemed like a good time to go back.

The Good News: Classy Earl's really IS much classier than The Boobie Barn. No jello wrestling, not so many frat boys, and the bathrooms are a lot cleaner. Also, I haven't noticed any Twilight freaks yet.

The Bad News: Lots more competition!

Unfortunately the place is loaded with gorgeous girls, quite a few of whom are actually good dancers. (Not that it matters since the customers don't really care about dancing, it's just a pride thing with me.) Will I be able to make bank here? Hmmmm...don't know yet. It was pretty easy to be a big fish in small pond full of skank, but now it looks like I'm really going to have to work it.

The Good News: This post is over so now I can go read your blogs and see how your weekends went.

The Bad News: This post was kinda disappointing. I know you were hoping to click over and hear details of how I shoved Bella's face into the jello and beaned her in the head with a hardback copy of Twilight. Believe me I wish that had happened (God, it would have been satisfying!) but there was no way I was going to take a chance on getting a nail broken, much less my arm.

I'll leave you with a picture of the cool jewelry box I found at the thrift store on Sunday for a dollar. Check out this hawt fighting chick.

She looks like she's ready to throw down, huh? I only wish I could kung fu some Bella's while wearing such a stylish outfit.

Mrs. Edward Cullen Is Going To Kick My Ass

2009-05-01T10:41:00.008-05:00

Here is something I'd really like to know.

WHAT IS IT ABOUT TWILIGHT THAT MAKES ITS FANS SO INSANE?

I truly don't get it. It's just a dumb book (and movie) about a dorky sparkling vampire and the extremely dull girl he busts a nut over. I couldn't even finish reading the damn thing because it was so boring.

But the people who love it, really, really love it to the point where they are nearly demented and you'd better not slag their precious book or they will hurt you.

I've recently found this out the hard way. Mrs. Edward Cullen has promised to kill me this weekend.

Of course, it's my own fault. I should just keep my mouth closed. Why is that so hard to do?

I guess I'm just sick of it all. Twilightmania swept through The Boobie Barn a few months back when the movie came out and shows no signs of ever going away.

It's so crazy. The first thing that happened was that overnight nearly every girl wanted to change her stripper name to Bella.

Chicks who used to go by Diamond or Shiva or Raven all want to call themselves Bella now, so you have to listen to the DJ boom out "Everyone make some noise for the beautiful Bella!" about a hundred times a night.

Alice, Rosalie, and Esme have all become popular too, which never fails to make me giggle. I swear if you went by the names alone you'd assume these broads were senior citizens at a bingo parlor in Boca Raton, instead of exotic dancers who get naked every night.

Pale skin has become all the rage. I used to be one of the only chicks in the place who didn't slather herself with fake orange tan (at least not a whole lot) but now everyone wants to be as pale as possible and sparkling with enough body glitter to make Mariah Carey gouge her eyes out with jealousy.

And do you know how many times I have been forced to hear that song "Go All The Way Into The Twilight" since all the Bella's want to dance to it and make it their theme song?

I swear, I've about had it with this mess.

So last weekend when a Bella - formerly known as Candy - asked me, "Who do you think is hotter, Pru, Edward or Jacob?" I did a very bad thing and answered her honestly. I said I thought they both sucked and that Twilight was one of the most retarded books ever written and that I couldn't even finish reading the book because every chapter was lowering my IQ by ten points.

Wow, was that ever the wrong thing to do. I've never been terribly popular at The Boobie Barn, but now every Bella there (not to mention all the Alice's, Esme's, and Rosalie's) wants to kill me.

Seriously. I've been threatened with death.

The other day while sitting at the dressing table troweling on some makeup, I caught a Bella (who used to call herself Venom and I believe her real name is Twyla, so you have to admit that Bella is an improvement) glowering at me in a way that made me a little nervous. I ignored her though, till she came over and sat on the table right in front of me. It was obvious that she was super angry.

"What?" I asked, knowing that she wouldn't go away until she'd had her say.

"You know what, Pru? You ain't all that!" she hissed. "You walk around here like your shit don't stink, but you're no better than the rest of us."

I almost laughed at that, but she was really pissed off and this particular Bella is no one I want to mess with. She has a body like a high school wrestler, very wide shoulders with long muscular arms and no neck. In fact, she resembles the singer Pink quite a bit, except with more tattoos and much meaner. If she wanted to, she'd have no trouble beating the living shit out of me and it looked like she really wanted to.

Picture Pink here with sparkles and demented eyes and you've got Bella.

"You are mistaken about that," I said finally, striving for a light tone. "I'm perfectly aware that my shit stinks, I just don't care if it does."

Then I smiled at her as if to say, 'isn't all this silly? Let's be friends!'

"Want a piece of gum?" I offered.

She got right up in my face, so close I could count the nostril hairs around her nose ring.(7) "You and me this weekend in the jello pit. I am going to rip your hair out and kick your scrawny ass! Hope you enjoy the taste of that jello 'cause you are going to choke on it, bitch!"

Whoa. What do you say to something like that? It was all so dramatic and dumb, I had trouble taking it seriously.

"Oh, give me a break," I said. "Is this because I insulted Twilight? You want to kick my ass because I pointed out that a character in a book who is described as a sparkling, 100 year old virgin is not only not hot, he's completely ridiculous and sounds like a bipolar freak that most people would want a restraining order to keep away from? Really? This is what is making you so angry? Because I called Edward a pedophile doofus?"

"He's sexy and amazing!" she screamed. "He can be a little overprotective at times but that's only because he loves Bella so much!"

"Jesus!" I said. "It's a book! A badly written piece of crap book, not real life! And who cares anyway? Why don't we just agree to disagree and forget about it?"

She made a fist. "You're going down! I'm going to fucking kill you and that's a promise!"

Well.

Now that it's Friday I've got a sinking feeling in my stomach that I really may get my ass beat in tonight and it scares me. I can't fight anyone! Yes, I'm much taller then this chick, but I'm very fine boned and delicate with zero muscles and no arm strength whatsoever. She will kill me and I'm way too beautiful to die! Help!

What to do? What to do?

I've been thinking and thinking about this all morning. Do you think she'll buy it if I show up with a bunch of "Team Edward" merchandise and declare my new found love for Twilight or will that just piss her off more? Please advise.

Sweet Family Memories

2009-04-29T12:27:00.006-05:00

Growing up, my brother and I were pretty good kids. We did as we were told, got decent grades, and didn't fight too much. At least, there was no physical fighting. We never hit each other or even had very many real disagreements, but we did enjoy verbally needling each other with the worst insults we could think of. We could (and did) do that all day long, much to my mom's chagrin.

Since cussing was forbidden in our house, we couldn't just call each other an "assbitch" or a "shitbrain" like most siblings do. We weren't even supposed to say "shut up" because my dad thought of that as swearing. So we were forced to be a little more creative, and looking back, my parents should have just let us cuss. Then they'd have probably been spared all the offensive crap we came up with instead, like blasphemy.

For some reason we got into the habit of constantly telling each other that Jesus hated the other one. Man, that was fun. I can't remember why it started. Probably because we both loathed church, particularly the Sunday school my mother dragged us to every week. I especially hated that class, and would spend the entire hour arguing with and haranging the teacher with all sorts of sacrilegious questions.

"Why should I worship God when he was such a jerk?" I'd rant. "I mean, look how he treated poor Job? And turning Lot's wife into a pilar of salt just for daring to gaze back at her home was way harsh. If you think about it, why should anyone fear the devil? He never killed anyone, unlike God who would happily smite entire villages just for not praising him enough. It seems to me that Satan was the unsung hero of the bible for being the only one who refused to put up with God's abuse of power!"

I'm sure that teacher detested me.

Anyway, my brother and I came to really enjoy trading blasphemous insults. One of our favorites was telling each other that Jesus hated him. This had the added bonus of upsetting our mother too.

"Hey, guess what? Jesus hates you."

"Jesus called. He left you a message," we'd say while sticking up a middle finger.

"Guess how much Jesus hates you?" Spread arms wide in crucifixion pose. "This much!"

Poor guy, probably doesn't find that joke too amusing.

My mom, who was quite the churchgoer back then, was horrified.

"Stop it right now!" she'd hiss at us, looking around nervously as though worried that God would strike someone dead for our heresy. "Don't say things like that!"

Naturally that just egged us on more.

We then took to making up songs about how much Jesus hated the other one, usually sung to the tune of whatever cheesy song was playing on the radio at that time. I've forgotten most of them, but I do remember one he sang about me that went like this:

Sung to the tune of "Sussudio" by Phil Collins

There's this girl with a flat behind
who's stupid all the time
p-p-pruudio oh oh
Now Jesus don't even know her name
but he hates her just the same
p-p-pruudio oh oh

I retaliated with this:

Sung to the tune of "We Built This City" by Starship

Well Jesus really hates you, especially your face
and God himself agrees, that you're a big disgrace
Knee deep in the hoopla, you make them want to puke
all three of them together - Father, Son, and Holy Spook!

But our hands down favorite thing to do was question each others paternal heritage, which we did constantly. We loved to speculate on what sort of disgusting mutant had raped our mother in order to produce such a freak. A typical exchange would usually go something like this:

"You have a butthole in your chin."

"So do you."

"No, mine is more of a handsome cleft. Yours is definitely a cavernous butthole, and it's also slightly off center, which points to especially low quality breeding. Your father was most likely a mouth-breathing carnie who raped mom at the county fair."

"Well, your father is obviously a dwarf. Or possibly an elf. Or maybe both. You were probably conceived from the sperm of a hundred little people when mom was gang banged at a munchkin convention. You are a dwarf elf and this is your theme song.

Slightly under 4 feet high
with a ruler for a nose and three glass eyes
so hideous he'll make you cry
it's Dwarf Elf! Dwarf Elf!" I'd sing.

"Oh yeah," he'd counter. "is that what the voices are telling you today? It's so sad to watch your mental deterioration as the schizophrenia slowly overtakes your brain. It's inevitable, you know, since mom was raped by that demented guy who covers himself in tin foil and impregnated with you. Soon you'll be joining your real father down at the supermarket parking lot, babbling to everyone who walks by about how the CIA developed killer bees in a lab while trying to assassinate Castro. You are already starting to grow some bitchin hobo whiskers just like your pop. And once he makes you your own tin foil hat you'll be the spitting image of him."

If my dad happened to overhear one of these exchanges he would get upset. Although not, as you might think, at the suggestion that he wasn't our father, or that his wife had been gang raped by various trolls and lunatics. Instead he would be pissed off at the cussing.

"Did you just say the B word?" he'd yell. "Go to your room right now!"

My parents got used to these daily exchanges, I guess. We never really got in that much trouble for them. Except for this one day when we drove our mother over the brink.

I can't remember what we said that set her off. I'd like to think it was the time I told my brother that the real reason Jesus hated him was because God came down from Heaven one day after getting drunk on sacrificial wine and raped our mother while disguised as Phil Collins. And because God's sperm had been contaminated with Phil Collin's DNA, the resulting child - my brother - was a dwarfy idiot with bad musical taste and a propensity towards early balding, whom the angels referred to as Jesus 2: Electric Boogaloo.

"Look Jesus," they'd elbow him and smirk. "Here comes your retarded brother lil' Jesus "Shabba Doo" Shrimpstone. Wow, you must be so embarrassed to be related to that spaz!"

I'd like to think it was that one that drove our mother over the edge, but I can't really remember if it was or not. But lemme tell you, I'll never forget what happened next.

My mom, who must have been in the laundry room, came charging into the kitchen where we were washing the dishes while taunting one another, screaming angrily at the top of her lungs.

"Stop it! Stop it at once! I can't stand it anymore!" she shouted, her face the color of a tomato. "You children are horrible! Absolutely horrible!"

Then she snatched up a damp dish towel and began flogging us with it while screaming about how horrible we were.

That was a bit surprising because she'd never smacked us before, but not really alarming. The wet towel slaps didn't hurt much. No, the really alarming part was that she did all of this while not wearing any pants! No underwear either, just totally naked on the bottom. She was wearing a shirt, though.

I guess she'd been doing laundry and thrown her pants and undies in? Whatever the reason, it was really disconcerting to have her yelling and smacking us with towels while her furburger was totally on display. We were pretty shocked.

And when I say furburger, I mean it literally. It was obvious that my mom didn't believe in using a razor down there. Her bush was positively sasquatchian.

(I know sasquatchian is not a real word. I just made it up to try to describe the hairiness of my mom's pubes. It did kinda look like she had Bigfoot in a head lock.)

My poor brother didn't know where to look. "Mommy, please put on some pants!" he pleaded, while trying to shield his eyes.

By that time she was in a frenzy and kept whipping us with the towel and yelling that we needed to be taught a lesson, and she was going to tell our dad to beat us with a belt when he got home.

Like I said, it was shocking. My mom was usually pretty modest. Not that she'd freak out if you saw her undressed, but she was never one to walk around naked or anything, especially not in front of my brother. We just stood there open mouthed and gaping, unable to believe what was happening.

Then, just as she began winding down, the absurdity of the situation struck me and I started laughing my ass off, which made my brother lose it too. Our laughter fired mom up again and she grabbed another dish towel so she could double flog us as we rolled around on the floor laughing.

"How....dare....you....disrespectful....horrible...." she panted in between whippings. I honestly tried to stop and get a hold of myself, but every time I looked up and saw that giant bush in between her petite little legs staring me in the face, I lost it again and cackled even louder. My brother laughed silently, shoulders shaking and shaking until he hiccuped.

"That's it!" My mom finally screamed. "Get out of my house, both of you! Get out now! I don't want to see you again until you learn some respect for God!" With that she threw the towels at us and stalked off. We got up to leave, but the sight of her angry little bare ass wiggling as she marched up the stairs set us off yet again. By the time we made it outside to the driveway we were clutching our stomachs in pain.

You know how it feels when you laugh so hard you kinda strain your stomach muscles? And it starts to hurt really bad, but even then you can't stop laughing? That's the kind of pain I'm talking about.

We spent the rest of the day outside on the grass, blaming each other for driving mom insane and bursting into fits of uncontrollable giggling that nearly made us gag, until she called us in for dinner. My mother seemed to be over it by then and never referred to the incident again.

If you ask her about it now, she claims not to remember ever doing anything like that and claims I'm making it all up. I know I didn't hallucinate this, though, because anytime I feel like needling my brother all I have to do is hum a few bars of the Primus song "Winona's Big Brown Beaver" while he's taking a drink. He ends up spitting and choking every time.

My mom has never understood why we nicknamed her Winona. She thinks this song is dumb.

Chicken Fight!

2009-04-25T12:28:00.009-05:00

Did you see this? Gawd, Sean Hannity is such a sad little whore. It's so easy for him to offer to be waterboarded for charity when he knows there's not a chance in hell of it happening. Even if it did, you know they'd go super easy on him and he'd smugly announce that waterboarding was no worse than the log ride at Disneyland.

Anyway, I don't really want to see Sean waterboarded, much as he deserves it. I don't sanction torture (unlike the Bush administration). I sure wouldn't mind seeing a good fair fight, though. Especially if it was for a good cause.

So, here is my idea. Let's put Sean up against a couple of chickens. He can have some razorblades attached to his feet just to make everything nice and fair. Then put him in the ring with the chickens and let them go at it. Keith Olbermann can donate a $1000 to charity for every second that Hannity lasts. It could then be broadcast live on every news network.

Genius, huh! I predict some lucky charity would make about $10,000 before the chickens tore Sean a new ass and he ran away crying.

You know what would make this even better? If Rush Limbaugh went next. I'd empty my savings account to see that fat windbag - red-faced and blubbering with terror - trying to girlslap a couple of very pissed off chickens. I'd record the fight so that I could put it up on Youtube and keep putting it back up the very minute Fox News got it deleted.

What a shame this will never, ever happen. Rush would be too much of a wuss to even get in the ring. Oh, he'd talk big about it for weeks beforehand, but when it came time to actually start the fight, he'd whine about his hemorrhoids or something and produce a doctor's note to get out of it. Then he'd get back on the radio and claim that the chickens were Obama-loving Muslim Socialists anyway and his moronic fans would applaud and the Republican party would bow and kiss his hemorrhoid-laden ass some more.

Squawk, squawk, squawk! That's all these turds ever do. Go fight some chickens, Sean. Let's see what you got, tough guy.

Shameful Secret

2009-04-24T15:42:00.006-05:00

I was just watching a few minutes of the clip below when it occurred to me that Levi Johnston (Bristol Palin's baby daddy) is a total *DRILF.

#Douchey Redneck I'd Like to Fuck

I'm really ashamed to admit this. I usually can't stand rednecks, guys who wear not-stashes, brainless Ashton Kutcher types, and anything even remotely connected to Sarah Palin (she makes me nauseous). However, young Levi is looking pretty bohunky with those bedroom eyes. Hubba hubba. I sure wouldn't mind climbing on top of him for a few hours of fun.

Although, he'd have to wear two condoms since his sperm have proven to be very good swimmers. And promise not to talk at all before, during, or after.

If those conditions were met then... oh yeah! Yee-haw! I'd ride 'em like a cowgirl!

Ugh, I think I just made myself a bit queasy.

Do you have a shameful secret you're willing to admit to? Tell me!

Check It Out

2009-04-23T13:01:00.003-05:00

Attention Citizens!

Look what I just spotted at the grocery store yesterday. Chocolate covered prunes! Oh, they call them "dried plums" but they are prunes all right. Talk about a laxative! I ate a couple of handfuls of these after dinner (they taste pretty good) and went to bed, only to awaken in the middle of the night with an urgent need to drop a mighty deuce. They are basically a better tasting version of chocolate flavored Ex-Lax. So if you find yourself in need of a good cleansing pick up a bag of these babies. I imagine a cup of coffee alongside them would make the ultimate colon blow.

There, that was my public service announcement for the week. I knew you'd want to know.

And for all those who've been asking for it, here is your artsy nude pic of the week.

I finally got bored with the photoshop program but Blingee never gets old!

Who Is Dr. Zibbs? The Interview

2009-04-22T09:45:00.008-05:00

Who is Dr. Zibbs?

I mean, apart from all the obvious stuff. Of course, everybody knows he's a world famous, wildly popular blogger, creator of the award winning That Blue Yak, and the internet's current "It Boy". But who is he really? I was recently given the chance to find out when he granted me one of his rare interviews.

I wasn't sure what to expect. I've never interviewed anyone famous before.

Oh sure, there was that one time I talked to Britney Spears's hair weave specialist, but that wasn't such a big deal. Plus, I've heard all the rumors going around about Dr. Zibbs and they are kinda freaky. You know the ones, about how he's really a 400 year old vampire/werewolf hybrid, who spent 200 of those years chained up in the basement of lunatic asylum. And how he supposedly penned Men Without Hats one big hit song, "Safety Dance." I've even heard that he once worked for Stevie Nicks blowing cocaine up her ass with a straw after she ruined her nostrils, and that he has 14 wives and 60 children in 49 different states. So needless to say, I was a bit intimidated.

Meeting the man did nothing to set me at ease. We made arrangements for him to stop by my house last night, which he did, roaring up the street at midnight in a rusty Ford Mustang filled with giggling blond co-eds and a guy in a bear suit, and driving over my bitchfaced neighbor's trash can in the process. It was one heck of an entrance.

"Sorry 'bout that," he shrugged, as he plopped down on my couch and gave me a killer grin.

Physically he wasn't at all what I was expecting. I mean, he had a hook for an eye! And another for a hand! And he was dressed in a clown suit! Apart from all that though, he was kinda hawt in a handsome, possible serial killer sort of way. I suppose I was thinking of that when I started the interview off with a really dumb question. (His answers are italicized.)

"So, Dr. Zibbs....um are you a serial killer?"

Uhhhhh....hmmmm," he thought for a minute. "Exactly how spread out do the killing have to be to make it a true serial killing? And what if victims weren't important?"

I wasn't sure how to answer so I just stared. He stared back. It was so quiet I could hear the clock ticking and the dog scratching her fleas. I decided to let that one go.

"Okay then, next question. What is your birth date and astrological sign? Do you check your horoscope daily even if you think it's bullshit?"

"My birthdate is January 8. I never look at horoscopes because it's BS and boring."

I was still slightly nervous so I made a dumb joke for the next question.

"Are those Bugle Boy Jeans you're wearing?"

"Why no," he seemed puzzled. "They're clown pants."

I blushed. "Sorry, nevermind. So, aliens exist and have been to our planet - yes or no?"

"I will say no because there is zero evidence other than the UFO image in that one pyramid," he said, then sat back and let out a belch so loud it sounded like a gunshot and made my dog jump.

By then I was starting to relax and get into the interview.

"If you could switch lives with a blogger for one day, who would it be and why?"

"Cameron because I saw a picture of his wife and she looked pretty cute. I'm not sure why he took it down."

"Maybe because dudes like you were skeeving on her?" I offered. Dr. Zibbs gave me a half smile that might have been amusement, or possibly gas since he belched again.

"If you were a pirate what would your name be?"

"Peggy "the parrot whisperer" McBeard.

"Have you ever worn a Fu Manchu mustache?"

"NO. I shave everyday. I grew a goatie once and a bit of it on the chin came in grey. Plus, it's hard to eat without getting food caught in it."

"Which finger do you use to pick your nose? Are you a righty or a lefty?" D'oh, too late, I remembered the hook hand.

Dr. Zibbs held up the hook, which gleamed wickedly in the lamplight. "I only use sanitized medical instruments," he sniffed.

"What is the secret of your success?"

"Being fabulous but I'm going to stop using that term because I think it might mean gay."

"I know you are a fan of Twitter. If you had to summarize your life in 140 characters or less, what would you say?"

"Creator and Taker of lives and souls," he chuckled and let out another gunshot loud burp. My dog, who had drifted off to sleep by his feet was so startled that she jumped up, barked, and farted at the same time.

"Ha ha, good dog!" Dr. Zibbs cackled and stood up. "We've done ten questions, right? Time for me to motor."

"Wait!" I cried. "I feel like we are just getting started here. You don't reveal much. Can I ask ten more?"

"Sorry baby," he grinned. "I intentionally don't reveal too much. But if there's anything else you want to know just ask me. I may or may not tell you but...." then he winked (with his good eye, not the hook one) slapped me on the ass, and was gone.

From my window I watched him climb back into the chick filled car. The guy in the bear suit waved and blew me a kiss as Dr. Zibbs gunned the motor and backed over my bitchfaced neighbor's trash can again - spraying garbage all over her otherwise perfect lawn - and then raced off into the night.

So, who is Dr. Zibbs? I, for one, still have no idea. And he likes it that way.

Vacay Over

2009-04-21T11:49:00.004-05:00

I'm back now. Did you even miss me?

I meant to write a long post describing my vacation in detail, but I'm feeling too lazy so instead I just made a up a handy score chart for rating the experience.

Hilton Head Vacation Score Chart
Rated 1 - 10 with 10 = the best

Beach - 9

Hotel - 8

Weather - 6 (very chilly, but it did warm up nicely on my last day)

Restaurants - 8 (good seafood)

Alcohol - 10

Companionship - 10+ (I met up with a very handsome and mysterious man from my past and we boinked like bunnies)

Tacky Souvenirs - 3 (couldn't find any super tacky ones, dangit)

Drive There - 2

Drive Home - (-)14

All in all, it was a nice little vacation apart from the drive there and back. And that mostly only sucked because of the fucking state of Georgia. Fucking Georgia kicked my ass!

Attention all residents and lovers of Georgia. I am now about to slag on your state in a rather harsh way. Read no further if this will inflame you.

Georgia is a big ass state. And the thing is, it's really boring to drive through. There is nothing there except for trees. Why do they bother with speed limits? You should be able to go a hundred mph in order to get through it as fast as possible. Instead they have speed limits that go from 55 to 65 to 70 seemingly with no other intent then to be able to ticket drivers. I saw more cops holding radar guns while traveling through Georgia then I've ever seen in my life.

Plus they have very few rest stops and two I did pass were closed. For someone who likes to stop and pee every 60 miles or so it was torture. Sure, I could pull off the freeway into one of the numerous little shithole towns scattered here and there, but I was reluctant because I noticed a curious thing. Most all of these exits had railroad crossing arms at the entrance and again at the spot to get back on the freeway. Why? To block travelers from coming in....or leaving?

In my overheated imagination I became convinced that these little towns were full of crazed and horny albino pinheads lying in wait for women driving alone. As soon as one pulled over into one of their crappy gas stations, they would then give the signal.

"Close the gates, Cleteus! We got us a woman what ain't related to us! Hee haw! Geh geh geh!"

I vowed to avoid these places, but 200 hundred miles later I was desperate for a pee so I had to stop at one. I called my mom first though and told her the name of the town just in case I was never heard from again, so they'd know where to look.

I swear, I could practically hear the banjos playing as I got out of the car. The first thing I noticed when entering the store was a large, hand lettered sign on the ladies room door that said, "Restrooms for paying customers ONLY!" The second thing I noticed was that the word "customers" was misspelled. And the third thing was that the mean hillbilly at the cash register talking to what looked to be the town whore and possibly his sister (the had the same missing teef) was glaring at me, so I couldn't just sneak into the bathroom.

Grudgingly I bought an overpriced bottle of water and then made sure to splash the seat when I finally peed. It wasn't hard to do considering there was no toilet paper. Fucking Georgia!

On the way home, I found that a few portions of 75N were closed down to one lane so they could do some sort of roadwork. Basically it took three and a half hours to go 80 miles. I spent the entire time making up poems about how much Georgia sucks. Here are a couple of examples:

Fuck You Georgia!
I hate this state so bad
Your fucked up traffic is making me quite mad
Screw you, Georgia!
This state's a piece of shit
no one should ever visit
(if you do bring a toilet kit).

Georgia sucks, this is quite true
If it were a band, it'd be Blink 182
If I lived here I'd have to sniff glue
every single day
instead of monthly like I usually do.

There once was a hawt girl named Pru
stuck in traffic while trying to drive through
this hideous state
making her quite irate
said Pru to Georgia, "Fuck you!"

I thought that I should never see
so many toothless hillbillies
even more so than Tennessee
Four out of five dentists agree
the only thing to do in Georgia is flee.

Well, there are many more since I was stuck for so long but I think you get the picture.

In conclusion I'd like to say, Hilton Head Island is lovely, go visit sometime if you can. But avoid going through Georgia as it sucks ass. That is all.

Hilton Head Update

2009-04-18T10:58:00.003-05:00

There are so many things to like about Hilton Head Island. Beautiful scenery, a great beach, tons of really good restaurants, AND the local Piggly Wiggly is dedicated to making sure everyone can find the butt wipes. Who couldn't get behind a place like this?

Road Trip!

2009-04-16T11:31:00.002-05:00

I packed up my bikini and headed to Hilton Head Island yesterday. Oy, what a drive that was! It took nine hours. I've got plenty to tell you about, but right now the beach is calling...

Later!

The Musical Fruit

2009-04-13T19:48:00.003-05:00

I've never been a big fan of beans. They're kinda yucky IMO.

That said, I was hanging out with a couple of vegans on Saturday and ended up having a bean and cous-cous burrito with them and it was pretty good. The burrito also contained shredded cabbage, hot peppers, and salsa. I liked it so much, I had seconds.

Then for dessert, I had one of those decidedly non-vegan bottles of Starbucks frappuccino.

Right around the same time, I suddenly remembered that I'd forgotten to take my daily multiple vitamin so I popped it in my mouth and happily set off for a night of booty shaking at The Boobie Barn.

You see where this is going, don't you? For while I cluelessly drove to work, singing along at the top of my lungs with The B'52s CD on the car stereo, an evil death cloud was brewing in my stomach.

That's right, the combination of beans (which I rarely eat), cabbage, grains, caffeine, dairy, sugar, and vitamins created the kind of hideous gas that can only be described as nuclear.

By the time I got there, the farts were slowly beginning to leak out. At first I wasn't too worried. The situation seemed bad but controllable. I figured I could always suppress the worst of the stink until I could go release it in the safety of the bathroom stall. But it soon became apparent that there would be no controlling this gas.

Try as I might, I could not keep myself from farting every three seconds or so. The best I could do was squeeze my butt cheeks together to keep from farting audibly. It seeped out of me in a noxious wave of silent-but-ultra-deadly stink fumes, and by the time I had gotten my false eyelashes and thong on, the room smelled like hot shitty ass. The other girls were wrinkling their noses and looking around, but I decided to act oblivious, having grown up with the rule: "The first one that smelt it delt it"

To help you visualize this scene, I've thoughtfully recreated it in this picture using nail polish.

Dramatic Reenactment of the fartroversy:

"What the fuck?!" One of the girls screamed. "Whoever doing that shit is a very nasty individual! Nasty!"

There was a chorus of yeahs, so I figured I'd throw mine in too. Then, of course, being me I had to take it farther.

"My god, it smells like an ass factory in here!" I yelled. "One of y'all should be ashamed!"

Then I picked up a bottle of perfume (Maybe Baby by Benefit) and started spraying it around the room. It was a good thing I did, because another wave of eye watering stink picked just that moment to slip out and waving the fragrance bottle around helped to disburse it a bit.

Everybody took my cue and started squirting perfume and cologne around which soon created an even worse stench. I'm not sure how best to describe it. A bouquet of rectums set on fire and put out with toilet water comes close except maybe browner. Whatever, I'm surprised it didn't immediately peel all the paint off the walls.

Needless to say it was a very, very long night.

For the other chicks anyway. I ended up having a great time. By the end of the evening I was lifting up my leg and daring customers to pull my finger. What fun! No wonder my dad enjoyed that joke so much.

Artsy Nude Photo Of The Week

2009-04-10T15:40:00.005-05:00

As you can see, I'm still not tired of playing with these fancy photoshop tools yet.

Have a great weekend.

Where The Wild Things Are

2009-04-09T15:18:00.003-05:00

I don't know anything much about birds, except that there are tons of them here in Tennessee and most of them seem to be situated right beside my bedroom window. And they all like to burst into song at the crack of dawn every morning. It wouldn't be too terrible to awaken to a few gentle twitterings and tweets, but the birds here are LOUD and one especially has a call that sounds just like he's saying "Fuck you..hee hee hee...Fuck You!"

I call him the the Fuck You Bird and fantasize about buying a BB gun and blasting him out of the tree.

I've never seen so much damn nature as I have since moving to Tennessee. My backyard literally teems with life. There are all kinds birds and snakes and little rodenty creatures, and I even see deer from time to time. Not to mention all the greenery and flowers and bugs.

This is a radical change from Riverside, California where I used to live. Riverside is pretty urban and very close to the desert. The only wild animal life I ever saw there were one or two fat and fearless raccoons digging through my garbage, and loads of dead skunks lying in the road after having been run over forty or fifty times.

It was still pretty noisy, although in a completely different way. There weren't a lot of birds around, but I would usually awaken early several days a week to the sound of my drug dealer neighbor beating the shit out of a deadbeat customer in the street, or else some sequence of screaming, gunshots, and police sirens. To hear all four at once was not uncommon. You get used to it though. I slept like a baby in my old neighborhood.

But all this woodsy stuff here in the burbs freaks me out a little. I've never been much of an outdoorsy type girl. Grass makes me itch, and pollen in the air makes my nose run. I much prefer to admire the beauty of nature the way God intended, by watching documentaries on Animal Planet. Coming face to face with wild animals scares me.

Last night, my dog Shirley cornered some sort of small feral beast in a tree and wouldn't stop barking. I hoped she would get bored and come back in after a while, but she stubbornly refused to come when I called. It was about 11:00 P.M. and I knew the neighbors would be getting pissy, so I reluctantly grabbed a flashlight and went out there.

It was super dark as there aren't any streetlights around here. I couldn't tell what sort of animal Shirley was barking at, all I could make out was a dark lump among the branches, but it's eyes glowed a devilish red as I shined the flashlight on it and it hissed in a way that made all the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

"Come on, you stupid mutt!" I yelled at Shirley, and attempted to grab her collar but she kept skittering away from me. By that time her frantic barking had turned to howling and she started growling at me for trying to pull her away.

"Shit!" I thought. I didn't know what to do. In Riverside if a dog barked for a long time at night, someone would just go over and shoot it. I almost wished that would happen. This is why I don't own a gun because lemme tell ya, I was tempted to shoot her myself. I knew if I didn't shut her up soon, there'd be a whiney note in the mailbox tommorrow, saying something like this:

Dear Neighbor, I am going to call the Home Owners Association on you! I didn't pay good money to live next door to a godless heathen who sunbathes in the nude and can't control her beagle! Blah blah blah, etc.

I knew it would go like that because I've already received a couple of those.

The thing in the tree hissed again, louder and more angry sounding and I began to worry that it might have rabies. If it did, it would surely jump out of the tree right on to my head and scratch my face off. Scary! Can you imagine what a nightmare that would be? I stood there paralyzed with fear for a good ten minutes or so until it occurred to me to turn the hose on and pelt Shirley with a stream of cold water.

That finally did the trick. She's a total wimp when it comes to getting wet and ran inside immediately. I went to bed after that and forgot about the whole thing until the Fuck You birds woke me up this morning. I really hope that rabid possum or whatever it was is gone and won't be coming back anytime soon. Jason Vorhees in my backyard with a chainsaw wouldn't scare me nearly as much as a small furry savage critter that can scratch and bite.

Fucking nature!

Don't Try This At Home

2009-04-07T09:20:00.006-05:00

Ugh, yesterday I really felt like crap, all worn out and headachy. I suppose it was my own fault though.

No, I didn't go out and get drunk the night before. I've pretty much quit drinking because alcohol has too many calories. Also, it tends to make me even louder and more obnoxious than usual and eventually end up vomiting on my shoes. And hey, now that I'm ponying up $200+ bucks for a pair of heels, I don't want barf on them!

So no, no alcohol was involved. But, just because I no longer like getting liquored up doesn't mean I don't enjoy a good altered state of consciousness every now and again. Who doesn't? So I decided to try a little experiment.

I've often wondered what would happen if you combine massive amounts of caffeine with a sleeping pill. Would it be like dreaming while you were awake? Would the two just cancel each other out and do nothing? Would you get pleasantly fucked up? Or end up hurling on your shoes? Since there was nothing good on TV that night, I decided to find out. (Though I did change into an old pair of sneakers first, just as a precautionary measure.)

First I drank an energy drink that listed 60mgs. of caffeine on it's label. Then I had a double shot of espresso. Just in case that wasn't enough, I munched on a few of those Starbucks chocolate covered espresso beans. Delicious!

Feeling the heart pounding, teeth clinching rush come on, I then went to the medicine cabinet for phase two of the experiment. I had planned on taking an Ambien, but was annoyed to discover that the bottle was empty. Geez! Why do I do things like that? Why would I take my last pill and then put the bottle back in the cabinet instead of throwing it away like any normal person would?

I blame the filthy lyrics of heavy metal rock music and Tipper Gore for failing to protect me from them. They have obviously rotted my brain.

Since there was no Ambien, I took three, 3 mg. Melatonins instead. Then I laid down on the bed to see what, if anything, would happen.

I had hoped for a soft and dreamy yet lucid state, that would help me achieve a very profound level of meditation, allowing for greater insight and inner wisdom.

Instead, I quickly fell into a coma-like sleep so deep it was like being buried underground. I woke up three hours later with a pounding headache, aching muscles, and a lake of drool pooled all around the side of my face and inside my ear. Gross! I never did get back to sleep after that but while lying there I did experience a sort of trippy hallucination-type event.

Wow, was it ever weird. and the funny thing is, you were there, and you, and also YOU! I'll tell you what I remember of it.

It started at the Berlin Wall. All This Trouble and Krissyface and I were hanging out there, singing a few salty sea shanty's and smearing green paint all over each other when XL came over to us.

"Hi guys," he said. "Did you know blueberries are good for your brain? I just ate three buckets full and now my smarticals are tingling, and I can play the spoons and smell bacon a hundred miles away."

At that point we all smelled the bacon, warm and wonderful so we began walking towards it. Then I found myself inside Paula Deen's cozy house, sitting at the kitchen table next to Joyless Prole who was wearing a Pope hat and crying. I wondered why he was so sad, since he looked quite fetching. Plus, Paula was frying us up some kind of buttery dish and the aroma was making my mouth water. But when she put a plate down in front of me it turned out to be a menacing looking raw pig's heart with a hypodermic needle shoved through it.

"Eat up your pie, Pru," Paula Deen hissed, through angry gritted teeth. "Eat it or I'll shove it down your goddammit throat!" Then she burned me with her cigarette and I started crying too.

Next, I met a strange lady who turned out to be Girl Interrupted. She made me nervous. She took me in and gave me breakfast.

And I said, "Oh, do you come from the land down under? Where women glow and men plunder? Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?"

"No," she said. "I come from London where the women can grow a beard on command and the men belch a lot."

"I don't believe you," I said. "Prove it!" So she grew a beard right then and it was very handsome.

Then we were walking down a long road when a pickup truck pulled up next to us. There were 40 giant slobbering Rottweilers in the back, along with a demented albino playing an evil banjo tune and grinning dementedly at us. Suddenly a man stuck his head out of the cab and whistled at us, and even though he had a hook for a hand and another for an eye, I recognized him as Dr. Zibbs.

"Get in," he ordered, handing us both a jar of mustard with his hook. We did as we were told and we all drove off just as the banjo player switched to a KISS song. I think it was "Lick It Up."

After a while I found myself in a really nice red sports car being driven by Wendy B and Bill Stankus. There were two steering wheels, and as Bill turned one way, Wendy turned the other and they argued about this back and forth in a strange Click language.

This went on for a while until we all got out of the car and took turns shooting a cheese sandwich off of Warped Mind of Ron's head with an AK-47 while Ron sang a little song that went like this:

Gosh, these bullets are a blizzard.
Don't hit me in the gizzard!
Oh I'd rather lick a lizard
than have to watch The Wizard of Oz.

Then 800 midgets showed up and we all danced a hoe down till the sky began to rumble and purr.

Freaky, huh? The purring turned out to be my cat Jackie Waffles who had snuggled down on the drooly spot by my ear. He likes wet things. Where the rest of that bizarre head trip came from, who can say?

All in all, it was an interesting experience. Though because of the wicked hangover it caused, I won't be doing it again. Not anytime soon anyway. Well, not real soon. Maybe next week.

Shit, I'll probably do it again tonight.

2009-04-05T11:32:00.006-05:00

I woke up this morning thinking about a really crazy romance novel I read when I was about fourteen or so. I can't remember the name of it, or who it was by, which is making me sad because I'd really love to get my hands on a copy. It was truly one of the most insane books ever, and I know it's been a big influence on my own writing.

From what I can remember the plot went like this: A good old southern boy with a rednickish type of name (Delbert or Delmont? something like that) decides to leave his shitty southern hometown and make his way to California. While stopped at a gas station he meets the heroine, a trashy girl who's been abandoned there by her last guy. She basically offers Delbert her pussy in exchange for a ride to California. He likes the idea, so he hitches up her rickety trailer to his truck and off they go, fucking their way across the country.

Since it's a romance novel they fall in love of course, and have a lot of strange adventures. At the end they meet up with this really kind preacher and his wife (in Texas?) who are building a roller rink for the members of their church. The preacher feeds them, gives them money, and lectures them both on how they should quit sinning and get married. They argue and squabble about this advice and storm off, and you figure it's only a matter of time before the two are declaring their love in a happy ending, right? But that's when the novel took a completely bizarre turn.

In a very WTF plot twist, the preacher goes completely nuts, gets a high powered rifle, and starts shooting the church members while they are blissfully roller skating around to disco tunes. He also slits his wife's throat. Then Delbert and the chicky (maybe her name was Candy? Sandy?) meet up with him while he is surrounded by cops and convince him to turn himself in.

I think at the very end they do go on to California together but that may be wrong. I can't really remember, even though I must have read it a hundred times or so. Does this book sound familiar to anyone? It was published in the 1970's by some little publishing house, I think. Not Harlequin or any of the other big romance publishers. I found it at a thrift store and the cover was missing.

I loved it because it went against all of the romance novel cliches. The characters were flawed in a delightfully quirky way. The hero wasn't all that dreamy, he had a temper and got into a few fistfights. The heroine was kinda slutty, and not all that bright. Then there was the whole whacked out holy roller/roller rink murder rampage.

I really doubt something like this would be published today, which is a shame. It was a million times better than that stupid piece of shit Twilight book. I'll never understand the appeal of that one. Bella is a boring twit who stumbles around so much she should wear a retard helmet, and Edward is a dull weirdo. Would you really want to be with a guy who spent his nights staring at you while you slept? Ewww.

Of course, maybe I'm hallucinating again and this book I've described is just my dream novel. If it rings a bell though, I'd be eternally grateful to the person who can tell me the title or author.

Just Because It's Friday....

2009-04-03T15:28:00.012-05:00

...and because it's Joyless Prole's birthday, and I felt like it, here are a couple of "artsy" nudes. Happy Birthday JP!

A Bit Of Family History

2009-04-01T16:56:00.004-05:00

I've recently learned something very interesting. My family is cursed.

From what I've been told, it all began with my great-grandfather, Ebeneezer Malachi Jones, back in the early days of last century. Apparently Ebeneezer was a dour, prudish, bible thumping old bastard who hated anything fun as he figured it must be sinful. He preached against dancing, card playing, sex for anything but procreation, and said that God required every bit of extra money go to the church (that he ran). Only by listening to him, he assured the beaten down members of his community, would they ever be allowed entrance into Heaven. Ebeneezer wasn't really all that popular, but considering the only other church in town advocated snake handling and arsenic drinking, he pretty much ran the show.

So when a group of gypsies wandered into his village one day, bringing with them laughter and music, and selling a potent Ecstasy/Viagra-like herbal concoction they saucily named "Kingdom Cum", my great-grandfather didn't like it one bit. He doubled his preaching efforts, calling the gypsies, "Satan's Salesmen", and issuing warnings that drinking their love potion would cause promiscuity, insanity, and baldness.

He really should have thought of a better threat though, as he himself had a huge bald patch that he tried to cover up in a Donald Trump-type comb over, but which, of course, fooled no one. Also, his wife was not quite right in the head (she thought she was a duck) and his daughter was the town slut.

Well, quite a few of the townspeople found this quite amusing as you can imagine. They laughed openly at Ebeneezer and quit attending his church, preferring to spend their free time guzzling gypsy drink and boinking like bunnies.

Humiliated and seeing his income threatened, Ebeneezer tried everything he could to drive the gypsies out of town. He accused them of witchcraft. He called them Socialists. He made fun of their facial hair. He said God was getting really pissed. When none of those things worked, he set their caravans on fire and shot all of their monkeys with a pistol. That worked.

As the angry gypsies left town - with giant bags of gold strapped to the backs of the women and children, since the monkeys were all dead - their ancient king pointed a withered brown finger at my great-grandfather and said, "A curse be upon you, Proctor Jones. Neither you nor any of your descendants shall ever be allowed to forget the way you have wronged my people. Not unless you truly practice what you preach. Muyhahahahaha."

With that, he spit on the ground, made the sign of the evil fork, and then belched three times in a row. The gypsies all cheered and made rude noises, screaming and hooting, "Shit yeah, now you've been cursed, biatch!" as they slowly lumbered away.

Ebeneezer gloated as he watched them go. He paid no attention to their silly voodoo and indeed, forgot all about it, being super busy as he was trying to get the townspeople to quit partying and start fearing Hell again. It took some doing, but luckily for him the corn was a bit moldy that year and he was able to point to this as evidence that God was really, really mad.

Ebeneezer's slutty daughter, Martha, was the first to take notice of the curse. Knowing of her father's punitive attitude towards sex, however, she wisely said nothing. Ebeneezer heard whispers and snickers that the gypsies revenge had come to pass, but saw no evidence of this himself. That is, not until a few weeks later when he found himself a bit frisky and decided to make his wife perform her biblical duty.

He had barely gotten down to business when he heard a strange sound, sort of like a high keening moan.

"Did you hear that?" he asked his wife.

"Quack quack," she muttered, (remember she was completely insane).

He looked around uneasily but didn't see anything unusual. The bedroom was completely dark except for one loan flickering candle that he had forgotten to extinguish before getting freaky. Murmuring a quick apology to Jesus, he blew out the flame and went back to sating his filthy desire.

"Sccccccrrreeeeech," the horrible noise started up again, louder than before. It sounded remarkably like fingernails on a chalkboard, or a passel of screaming monkeys. Ebeneezer was again startled, but he knew all the monkeys were dead and besides he only needed another 15 seconds or so to finish up, so he ignored the commotion and carried on.

But he never did get to bust a nut that night, for the next round of unearthly screechings were so loud the bedroom window pane shattered, spraying glass all over the room.

Ebeneezer jumped up and ran to the door, barely remembering to pull up his special holy underwear with three hundred tiny buttons. Fifteen minutes later, when most of the buttons were closed, he commenced his investigation. Flinging open the door, he fearfully peered out into the night. What he saw out there made what was left of his hair stand on end.

For there in moonlit yard stood a ghostly white caravan hitched up to seven glowing monkeys wearing tiny caps with little bells on them. Gathered around the wagon stood several spectral gypsies, holding tambourines and fiddles. As his mouth dropped open in shock, the transparent gypsies smiled and began to play a hellish tune that could be heard throughout the village. The women beating their breasts and ululating, the men fiddling and banging tin cans together, and the monkeys gnashing their ridiculously long fangs and scratching angrily at the reins, resulting in an ear numbing cacophony.

As Ebeneezer watched in horror, one of the demon monkeys broke free and ate his daughter's cat.

One by one the neighbors timidly appeared, holding candles and torches and gaping at the eerie apparition.

"What is going on, Proctor Jones? What sort of ungodly display is this?" they demanded.

Before Ebeneezer could gather his wits about him to try to form an answer, the phantom gypsies sang out, "Intercourse! The wicked proctor is having intercourse!"

The crowd gasped. "Is this true, sir?"

"No! No, I..." Ebeneezer began, but the gypsies cut him off.

"In the butt!" they sang. "He's putting it in his wife's butt!"

The shocked crowd gasped again. One woman screamed. "Sinner!" they cried.

Ebeneezer hung his head in shame. And as he fell to his knees and admitted his hypocrisy to the townspeople, the ghastly, glowing zombie gypsies slowly began to disappear, their nightmarish song fading quieter and quieter until once again the only sounds heard in the village were the chirping of crickets, and the quacking of Proctor Jones poor, crazy wife.

Now, you might think that the gypsy curse would be ended when Ebeneezer confessed and recanted his sanctimonious ways. He certainly hoped that would be the case, but alas, it was not. Gypsy curses are apparently really hard to get rid of. From then on for the rest of his life whenever he tried to do the nasty, a ghostly Romani band would appear and serenade the neighbors with a blow by blow account of his actions.

Worse, he couldn't even masturbate as that would make one lone monkey appear, hooting derisively and making filthy gestures, and my great-grandfather was far too prudish to give the gossips more reasons to wag their tongues. He spent the rest of his life in bitter, sexual frustration which caused him to become an ardent supporter of the Republican party.

His daughter had no such compunctions though, being a slut and all, so the villagers grew used to wailing of the ghostly gypsy band.

And though the eighteen children she eventually bore all had different fathers, they were bastards who carried the Jones surname, and thus were doomed to the curse.

Growing up, I never heard a word about this bit of family history. I certainly never heard any screaming gypsy songs. (That may be because my parents slept in separate beds.) Although, now that I think about it, I did hear a lot of screeching monkey sounds when my brother hit puberty.

As you can imagine, losing my virginity was quite a shock. When a ululating woman in a kerchief showed up at my date's frat house and sang a song entitled "Prunella's Getting Gang Banged", I figured it had to be a hallucination from all the roofies in my beer bong. Now that I know the real reason, everything makes so much more sense.

I mean, don't get me wrong. It still sucks and all. But the good news is that those horrible squealing noises are not coming from my vibrator. You don't know how much money I've spent trying to get that thing fixed!

Boobie Barn Update

2009-03-29T11:56:00.007-05:00

I know I haven't written about my job at The Boobie Barn for awhile. That's mostly because it's been such a bore ever since my helper monkey Tucksworth took off, and the management banned me from twirling flaming batons while I dance because they don't have enough insurance.

Every night there is just so dang dull. The routine never changes, I dance, I go out and work the crowd selling drinks and lap dances, I faux wrestle some other chick in a vat of green jello - being ultra careful not to pull out her weave (it's tricky), and then I go home. Ho hum.

You know, when I first started shaking my ass for money I enjoyed it a lot. I loved the excitement and partying with celebrities (like that time Kevin Federline came to town.) I love the nightlife, I like to boogie. Most of my jobs before this have consisted of sitting in a cubicle in some taupe colored office, pushing paperwork around and making lists of exotic ways to kill my coworkers - for example, shoving a spoon down the throat of the guy in the next cube who would take an hour to eat his yogurt, making disgusting slurping noises the entire time. Gah! Dancing seemed like the perfect career for someone like me, but lately it's become just as tedious as any office job I've ever toiled at.

So I've been trying to spark things up, to make it fun again, otherwise I might as well go sling chicken wings at Hooters. I tried playing music that I like instead of the usual club tunes favored by everyone else, but the DJ would get annoyed and yank off my Grateful Dead CDs before I could get even halfway into the jam. (Which was actually a relief because thirty minutes of twirling upside down from the pole turned out to be murder on my thigh muscles.)

Then there was my Krautrock phase when I wore a short black wig, a black leather thong, and thigh high boots and scowled at the audience while barely moving to Kraftwerk. Although that one was surprisingly popular with the frat boys - especially after I added a black whip to the costume - it got old after a while.

Then I made up a cute little tap dance/strip tease to The Carter Family classic Bury Me Under the Weeping Willow Tree which ended with me doing a back handspring off the stage into the vat of jello. I never made it that far however, because the guys started booing and throwing cocktail napkins as soon as the music started. Geez, you'd think Nashvillians would have some respect for Americana, but obviously that is not the case.

I've read that the music of The Carter Family and Ralph Stanley has been used by our soldiers to torture Iraqi prisoners with much success. Apparently it makes terrorists scream like nothing else. What do you think?

Captain Peanut gets annoyed with me. "Quit all that artsy shit and just bounce them tits," he advised me. "And don't forget to push the drinks, that's how you make money, not all this kindergarten fuckery."

I ignored him, of course. I am an artiste! I need to express myself! Besides, if I'm not having fun it will be just a matter of time before I start making up a new kill list. And this time his name will be at the very top. (That fucking DJ is next. God, he's a pretentious bastard! I'd like to drop two turntables and a microphone on his head.)

Luckily for them, I think I've finally stumbled on a winning routine. Last night I painted my face like Gene Simmons and danced to a medley of KISS songs, while waggling my tongue at the crowd every few minutes. Then at the very end I bit down on some fake blood capsules and let the red stream dribble down from my lips in a dramatic finish as I went into my trademark splits.

Wow, it was a hit! The dudes went crazy and I made a butt load of cashola. The only problem is that the fake blood is very staining - today my mouth, neck, and breasts look like they've been sprayed with strawberry Kool-Aid. What a shame I can't just spit fire instead. It would be so much cooler too. Stoopid, boring, insurance company!

*Note to self, find out who insures The Boobie Barn. Add them to list.

Shameful Moments In History Re-enacted With Nail Polish

2009-03-26T10:24:00.007-05:00

Charlie's Nerdiest Angel

2009-03-24T12:48:00.002-05:00

Hi everyone! My hair looked especially dirty and lank this morning, so naturally I decided it was picture time! Guess I'd better go get another box of L'oreal Hoochie Blonde #27.

But, hey, aren't these glasses totally Tina Feyalicious?

50 Great Things About America

2009-03-22T10:11:00.007-05:00

What do you like best about your country? What sort of things spring to mind when you think about your homeland? If you're an American, did you immediately think of mom, apple pie, and baseball?

I only ask because I saw a really inspiring art display at the library the other day. It featured paintings by a bunch of 5th graders with the theme "50 Great Things About America." As an amateur painter myself, I was eager to check it out. (Yes, it's true. In addition to being a poet, dancer, romance writer, chainsaw juggler, and three time yodeling champion, I am also an amazing artiste. Is there no end to my talents? Truly I am a 21st Century Renaissance Woman!)

Anyway, I loved this. The poster boards were divided into fifty little squares with a drawing in each and what the drawing was supposed to represent written underneath in case you had any doubts. Since this was obviously a school project, most of the beginning squares were of the usual school history stuff: George Washington, the flag, the Statue of Liberty, the Declaration of Independence, Betsy Ross, pilgrims, etc...but once all that was out of the way there was some really great pics that made me laugh.

You know, it's pretty hard to come up with fifty patriotic things. One kid, obviously trying to stretch out the George Washington theme listed "wooden teeth" with a great drawing of some gnarly brown chompers. Another wrote "freedom" and illustrated it with a picture of a guy smiling and possibly getting jiggy - the squiggling lines surrounding him suggested dance to me. Well, how else would one draw freedom? I thought it very fitting.

But my favorites were the oddball things near the end as the kids were obviously struggling to come up with anything to fill in those damn squares! Here they are in no particular order: monster trucks, Hannah Montana, soup (Soup! I love this kid!), George Bush (d'oh, future Republican voter!) Jesus, karate, Batman, vitamins (what???), and Dollywood (with a fabulous picture of Dolly Parton featuring her giant boobs.

Now I'm dying to make one of these paintings! I plan to go to Michael's Art Supplies today for a canvas, some acrylic paint, and a ruler to make those fifty little squares. That part will be easy, but the question is - what should I fill them in with? What are my favorite things about America?

So I started making a list. This is what I have so far:

1. Paula Dean and her sticks of butter
2. Bigfoot
3. Magic 8 balls
4. taxidermy
5. Valium
6. Venus Flytraps
7. Intercourse, Pennsylvania (the name makes me snicker every time)
8. Rumspringa
9. shrunken heads
10. the TV show "What's Happening?" (I loved Big Shirley)
11. witchcraft
12. Viking helmets (as everyone knows the Vikings discovered America)
13. Jesus riding a dinosaur (the Creationists assure me it was so)
14. filthy limericks
15. chicken waffles
16. knife throwing hillbillies
17. Charles Nelson Reilly (the most famous knife throwing hillbilly of all)
18. robot butlers
19. mullets
20. Sleestacks
21. the Bermuda Triangle
22. Christian rappers
23. taco trucks
24. the flying monkeys of Oz, Kansas
25. the annual Women's Tobacco Chewing competition (I can't wait to enter one day!)
26. urine therapy (very big in Chattanooga I hear)
27. the boogeyman
28. coniferous forests
29. the ancient and bitey feral cat people of Norco, California
30. peyote fudge
31. chimps that speak sign language
32. bouffant hairdos
33. Socialism
34. heated toilet seats
35. eye patches
36. Astrology
37. TV's MacGuyver (Patty and Selma are right, he is dreamy!)
38. Perrier
39. Frankenberry Cereal
40. Frankenstein
41. Senator? Al Franken
42. goat sacrifices to the internet gods
43. the space aliens who will be landing here in 2012 to guide us into a new era
44. Hello Kitty panties
45. zombies
46. Cobra wrestling
47. chocolate covered bacon
48. Ouija boards
49. penciled in cholita eyebrows
and last but not least
50. 14 karat gold, Elvis collectors plates for only $29.99

Whew, it was hard trying to come up with fifty uniquely American things that rock, but I think I got her done. What would you add to the list? What am I forgetting?

More Things You May Not Have Known About Your Favorite Celebrities

2009-03-20T11:40:00.007-05:00

Kayne West is slightly radioactive. If you've ever wondered why his girlfriend is bald, well now you know the scoop. The poor girl had better be taking lots of Vitamin C, because her teeth will be the next thing to go if she's not careful.

Handsome High School Musical star Zac Effron only pretends to be a closeted pretty boy. In reality he is completely straight and involved in a polygamous marriage to both Kardashian sisters. You can see why Disney desperately wants to keep this info quiet.

In addition to her many other talents, Sarah Palin can snatch a fly in midair and eat it just like Renfield in the movie Dracula. Mmmm mmm good! She's been quoted as saying that they taste "mavericky."

I've seen many reports lately that Mischa Barton is anorexic. Not so! No, it's just that every time she sits down to eat, the food insults her fashion choices which causes her to burst into tears and run away wailing. Poor girl. That would put me off my lunch too.

Actually I'm lying. Nothing puts me off eating.

Beautiful Lost star Michelle Rodriguez wears secret, magical, Mormon-type long underwear with sacred holy knees underneath her clothes at all times. In fact, so do I, and so does every rich/famous person in Hollywood. Why else do you think Jehovah blesses us with money and fame and not you? Duh.

Shhhh it's a secret though, so don't tell. Put that dress down, Michelle!

PLUS! Can you guess the celebrities in these blind gossip items?

Which up and coming young heartthrob likes to feast on hyena meat laced with PCP, while marching in place to bagpipe music and staring at himself in the mirror? Hint: It's not who you think!

This one is a shocker. This married, aging, Oscar winning/nominated actor who is probably C list if you look at what he does now, but would probably only ever appear above the title has had a 15 year habit that is finally beginning to surface. It seems that our married star enjoys certain filthy acts that involve... how can I put this delicately? I really can’t. Let’s just say he enjoys putting his boy thing into a WOMAN's girl thing. You know...down there! In and out, in and out until....you know. Ewwwww!

Anyway, enough of the sordid aspects. It seems that for the past 15 years our actor has used the same professional to tend to his freakish addiction, who was the model of discretion. She retired at the end of the year, and since then our actor has tried out the services of three or four other professionals who don’t have that same level of discretion and have been blabbing all over town about our actor’s crazy and disgusting fetish.

Which actress/model has shocked friends and family recently with her insatiable addiction to taxidermy? Hint: It's not Bea Arthur.

Fans of this beloved TV family's sweet reality show would be shocked if they only knew the truth. Not only is this couple not married like they claim, the kids on the show aren't even theirs! In fact, they aren't even kids, they're midgets pretending to be kids! And worse, the midgets are Satanists! And everyone is drunk! All day long! Hint: Yes, it's them.

The Prunella Jones Story: My Day As A Man

2009-03-18T10:37:00.001-05:00

You're not going to believe me. No one in their right minds could possibly believe me, but it's true, really it is.

When I woke up this morning I found I'd turned into a man! There I was, on some disgusting bare mattress in a dingy room that smelled like beer, farts, and old sweat socks, with a lumpy, muscled body and armpits that reeked of sweat and Old Spice.

Surely this was a dream? Yes, of course, that had to be it. I'd been out very late celebrating St. Patrick's Day the night before. This was merely the effect of too many green beers, I assured myself. I started to roll over and go back to sleep, but then my eyes flew open and I yelped with pain as a beer bottle jabbed me in the nuts.

What the hell? I decided to take a look at myself in the bathroom mirror. After all, you don't turn into a man every day of the week. Maybe I was imagining it - or hallucinating.

Nope, it was real all right. I was a man, baby, and a bulky, pin-headed one at that.

As you can imagine, I was a little upset. I like being a girl! I like being pretty, and smelling nice, and wearing cute clothes and makeup! Okay, having to deal with a period and PMS is not the greatest thing ever; but still, I much prefer a pair of xx chromosomes, thank you very much.

I wasn't sure what to do next, so I moved the beer mess aside and lay back down on the mattress. After a while I got bored and did a few stretches, while studying my new form in the mirror. It could be worse, I suppose. At least, this man body is athletic. It's not bad looking, either. Not really my type - I prefer lanky, long haired guys who resemble our lord, Jesus - but I bet lots of chicks would dig it. Hmmmm......interesting.

You know, this might be kind of fun. As soon as I fix this godawful hangover, I might just get on the celly and call up a few girlies, and try out this new "equipment" of mine.

Let's see here, what might be some good pick up lines? How about this one..."Hey baby, is that Windex you're wearing? Because I can see myself in your pants. Oh yeah, come to papa!"

Good, right? My new man brain assures me that it's a winner all right. In fact, I now realize I am awesome in every ~BURP~ way! I think I'll trade my little Honda in for a 2009 Hummer SUV and then take a piss in a beer can while I'm driving down the street.

Being a man is going to rock!

3 Simple Things We Could Do To Help The Economy, But Won't

2009-03-15T10:20:00.004-05:00

1. Legalize Gay Marriage- It boggles my mind that in the year 2009 this is still an issue. What is wrong with people? I've never heard a good argument against gay marriage. Pretty much all of what I hear involves either the bible or "tradition", which is lame and stupid reasoning. It is obvious to me that we can't just sit back and let the states decide for themselves because the churchie types will always do their best to sabotage things (I'm looking at you, Asshole Mormons. (Prop 8 in California ring a bell?)

It is also obvious to me that Americans will have to be dragged forward by force - kicking and screaming - into accepting same sex marriage, but I have no doubt that they will eventually once it becomes the law of the land. After all, interracial marriage was banned until 1967 and now no one blinks an eye about it - well, that is, they might, but others tell them to shut their racists mouths, thank goodness.

So, how would legalizing gay marriage help the economy? Simple. It would help get money flowing again. I mean, look, even the smallest wedding needs a cake. Buying a cake means a job for the baker. Then, of course, there's flowers (making jobs for florists), music (DJs or musicians), food(catering), booze(liquor stores, bartenders), new outfits(retail), a photographer, renting a place to hold the reception, etc. Wedding guests will buy presents, new outfits for themselves, get their hair and nails done, etc. Honeymoons would mean money spent on travel, hotels, restaurants, and eventually....well, you know the divorce lawyers would make some money too. If everyone is making money then they aren't laying off workers and closing businesses.

It surprises me that the wedding industry is not screaming for this. It surprises me that everyone is not screaming for this! Why are we letting poo-pooing, loud mouth, right wing religious zealots take this sorely needed money out of our economy? Screw them! They can take their bible and stuff it! If there really is a god do you think he really gives a rat's ass who you marry or have sex with? He's obviously very busy intervening in the outcomes of basketball games. (Sorry to stray from the topic, but it always bugs me when players thank God for helping them win. Puhleaze!)

Speaking of religion....that brings me to my next recommendation.

2. Tax the Churches- Why are churches given a tax exemption? It is my understanding that it's because of the First Amendment call for a separation between church and state. That is, freedom of religion in return for religion staying out of the government. Fair enough, I could get behind it if that was the way things actually worked but they don't. Religion is all over politics.

Today's churches have become active political campaigners, sticking their nose in every issue from abortion rights to gay marriage to stem cell research. They are using their money to influence votes (again Prop 8 in California immediately springs to mind) and that is not acceptable! It should not be allowed. The separation of church and state is NOT being followed in this country, and therefore I feel it's only fair for churches to lose their tax exempt status.

At the very least, I think churches should have to pay property taxes. A church is using up valuable land that other people could pay taxes on fairly. Damn, in Tennessee alone this could generate millions of dollars in revenue because there is literally a church on every corner here. That money could then be pumped back into the community.

Churches as a whole take in considerable money, pay nothing in taxes, and always want more. And where does that money go, exactly? If I actually gave money to a church I'd sure be very interested in finding that out. Traditionally churches are supposed to fund charity, which I imagine that most do to varying degrees. But hey, the Target corporation gave three million dollars to charity last year and it still had to pay taxes.

It's time for churches to pay their fair share. After all, if they really believed in charity for all then they'd have no problem with their tax money being used to fund universal health care.

Either pony up, or shut up and get the hell out of politics.

3. Legalize Marijuana- Come on, you know this needs to happen. You've doubtless already heard all the arguments in favor of it. If you haven't just click
here and here for quite a few logical reasons.

How long has this whole War on Drugs been going on anyway? How much money has it cost and how much have we gotten out of it? Is pot any less available because of it?

Prohibition has never worked. Not for alcohol, not for drugs. In fact, it makes things worse. Every time I turn on CNN lately I hear about the drug cartel wars in Mexico and Lou Dobbs whining for the government to send troops to protect the borders. Damn Lou, why don't we just legalize weed and put the drug cartels out of business? Let the government tax it and watch the money flow in.

It would, you know. Plenty of people would happily pick up a bag to smoke after work, the same way they pick up a six pack of beer. The arguments that say that Americans wouldn't buy taxed pot because they'd grow their own is silly. The beer industry certainly hasn't suffered from home brewing being allowed. It takes effort to grow qood quality weed and most people are too lazy. In addition, think of all the money to be made from the merchandise that goes with pot. Bongs, papers, pipes, grow lights, tie dyed tee shirts, salty snacks. (If it gets legalized, I swear I'm buying stock in Frito Lay!) And hemp itself has loads of uses, everything from paper, to cloth, to biofuels.

It's already the number one cash crop of California. Why aren't we making money off of it?

You know, I remember watching that "very special episode" of the show Different Strokes as a small child. Do you remember the one? Where Nancy Reagan gave a talk to Arnold's school and pitched her "Just Say No" campaign to the kiddies? Even way back then I was skeptical. I remember thinking, "what a bunch of crap. That's never going to work. That old biddy should mind her own business and get a new hairdo, because that one looks like a helmet."

I guess I wasn't the only one who scorned her message. Willis and Kimberly certainly didn't listen to Mrs. Reagan either.

Look, humans like to alter their brains. We have since time began. We will till time ends. You've used drugs. Everyone has. Caffeine, alcohol, chocolate, tobacco, all of them used daily by people across the country, all of them change our brain chemistry. Marijuana is no different. It's not a gateway drug anymore than cigarettes or coffee are. We won't suddenly become a nation of stoners. Pot is not evil. I'd argue that alcohol is much, much worse. Alcohol is legal. Are we a nation of falling down drunks?

Legalize it, tax it(fairly), and set aside a portion to pay for drug and alcohol rehabilitation.

Well there you go. There are my three ideas to help mend the economy. I really think those three things would do a lot more good then what is currently being offered by the Dems (throw money at everything) and the Republicans (do nothing, let the markets and Jesus fix everything). Too bad none of these will even be considered.

Some things You Might Not Have Known About Your Favorite Celebrities

2009-03-09T10:58:00.005-05:00

1. Jennifer Love Hewitt is really, really addicted to Starbucks.

,

2.Jude Law is descended from a long line of leprechauns. Don't ever try to mess with his Lucky Charms!

3. Beyonce has a hook for hand, but her PR people always hide it with photoshop. It's true. She likes to hire hook-handed bodyguards too.

4. David Beckham drinks Alize.

5. As a child, Rush Limbaugh had occasional precognitive glimpses of the future. They made him very excited.

6. Katie Holmes has rabies.

Al Reveals More

2009-03-06T15:18:00.002-06:00

My spirit guide, Al, is really a fountain of interesting information. While we were meditating yesterday, he revealed to me that right now, in another dimension, I am a pregnant sea monkey queen with really bad posture who drinks nothing but pink rice milk. I thought he was kidding, so I asked him to show me a picture.

Far out, huh? I'm not sure who the floating head belongs to, but I suppose it doesn't matter. Al assures me that floating heads are the norm in that particular dimension.

Curious to find out what your doppelganger is up to right now in a parallel universe? Email me a picture and I'll ask Al for you.

Meet My Brain

2009-03-04T19:42:00.006-06:00

This is my brain.

This is my brain on drugs. Groovy drugs that is, not boring ones like aspirin.

This is my brain on sugar, blingees, and the devil's music.

This is my brain dressed like a pirate. Yarrr!

And this is Donna, the twin sister who never developed properly and was absorbed by me in the womb, who now resides in my brain and makes me do bad things.

Any questions?

If so, please address them to Donna. She gets angry when no one pays attention to her. And just between you and me......she's kinda scary when she gets angry. (shudder)

My KISS Infatuation Continues

2009-03-02T20:15:00.003-06:00

I cannot get enough KISS in my life lately.

I've been obsessively watching their old videos and concerts on youtube whenever I get the chance. I even watched the TV movie KISS Meets The Phantom Of The Park which took a lot of dedication, as it was really terrible. I'm predicting right now that the Disney Channel will soon remake this mess with The Jonas Brothers and/or Miley Cyrus.

Did you know that KISS saved Christmas? Uh-huh! Well, at least they did on an episode of Family Guy.

This song deserves to be played at ear bleeding volume.

I love the cheesy eye bit at the end.

Paranormal Stuff

2009-02-27T08:53:00.006-06:00

Ever read a Sylvia Browne book?

If you've never heard of her, she's some self proclaimed "psychic" who used to be a frequent guest on The Montel Williams Show. That's where I first saw her and I was immediately captivated. Not because of anything she said mind you, but because of her super long fake nails. They were really ugly and I was mesmerized by the way she kept scratching at herself with the tips of them as she answered questioned in her deep, craggy smokers voice. It amazed me that anyone would take her seriously, because, honestly, she seems completely full of shit. But, hey, she's entertaining.

This image came up when I searched for "Sylvia Browne's fingernails. Looks like I'm not the only one who noticed those talons. Caw, caw!

Apparently she's written a shit ton of books and they sell like crazy. I found one at the library the other day and flipped through it. It was pretty goofy - all about how her spirit guide told her heaven is 75 degrees and you get to go to lectures (whoopee!) - but I had to marvel at her genius. Man, what a scam! She rakes in the bucks with this stuff. I'm jealous! I wanna be a psychic too! Where the hell is my spirit guide?

So I went home and googled "How to contact your spirit guide" and loads of articles popped up. After scanning a few I decided to try it. What the heck, it seems easy enough. Here's a link to the one I used.

First, you have to get comfortable. I sat down on the bed in lotus position and tried to clear my mind. That's the hard part. I always have trouble meditating. Whenever I try to clear my mind it fights back by making me remember old song lyrics or picture completely inappropriate people having sex together, like my old high school principal getting it on with Ronald McDonald. Eww, stop it!!!

Finally I got my brain to somewhat settle down, but then forgot what was next, so I had to look at the directions again.

Find a quiet place, free of distractions. Relax and get comfortable. Clear your mind. Focus on your guide.

Send the thought ... Hello!

You may hear a greeting, but this is not necessary.

Send your Yes or No question telepathically or verbally i.e. Is today Monday?

Relax and allow the answer to come naturally as a thought.

All righty then. "Hello!" I said out loud. I thought I heard a derisive snort in response, but figured it was my imagination.

Then I asked the question, "Oh great spirit guide, am I insane?"

Because, you know, I'd really like to know the answer to that one. Who cares what day it is.

Right away I heard a voice sneer out not just one, but three different replies.

"No, you're not insane, just stupid."

"Yes, now shut your insane mouth and take this Thorazine."

"Insane? In what respect, Charlie?" (That one was said in a Sarah Palin voice.)

Oh, great, it looks like my spirit guide is Al Jaffee.

Or wait, is he dead? Maybe Al and I just share the same one. No wonder I loved MAD Magazine's Snappy Answers To Stupid Questions as a kid.

I glanced down at the directions again. It didn't say anything about what to do if your spirit guide was a sarcastic jerk. Maybe there were others. Sylvia Browne has two after all.

"Okay Al," I tried again. "Are you my only spirit guide?"

"No, the others are Bigfoot and ET."

"Yes, I drew the short straw, dammit."

"Yes, 'cause you smell."

How annoying! I really wanted to ask all the other questions on the list but Al seemed determined to never give me a straight answer. Look how cool they are:

* Explain reality.
* How big is the universe?
* How and when was it created?
* Is there life on other planets?
* Do entities watch us from UFO's or other places?
* Did I know you in an alien form?
* Are there angels?
* Who is God? (Close your eyes and think Show me!)
* Are there many/any dimensions? (Close your eyes and think Show me!)
* Can a soul exist in more than one dimension?
* Does the future co-exist with the past and present?
* Do we have free will?

I'm dying to know this stuff, aren't you? Finally, I decided to try one last time.

"Okay, Al. Quit with the smart ass bullshit and show me who God is." I closed my eyes and concentrated really hard.

This is what he showed me.

At last an answer that made sense! I've always sort of suspected it anyway.

Review: An $8 Chocolate Bar

2009-02-25T13:34:00.006-06:00

I should really stay out of Whole Foods Market. It's just too pricey for the likes of me. Every time I go there, I end up spending way more than intended because everything is so tempting. Really, it's like nirvana for anyone with extra crunchy, granola, hippie type tendencies (me). Like Pavlov's dog, I salivate at the sight of all natural, organic products and reach for my wallet without thinking, only to moan about how poor I am afterward. How weird is it that only the rich can afford to be hippies nowadays?

Anyway, while there the other day I noticed some chocolate bars that looked especially good. One intrigued me because it was made with sea salt and smoked almonds and some other stuff that sounded pretty dang deelicious. I thought the price said $2.99, which is still kinda a lot for a chocolate bar, but I figured it was fairly large so it'd be worth and threw it on the pile in the cart. After paying and loading the one (tiny) bag into my car, I pulled out the receipt to find out why the final price was even more rapetastic than I'd imagined. Well, it turned out the candy bar had cost $7.99. Eight bucks for some chocolate! I could just picture my ultra frugal father rolling in his grave at the very idea that his daughter would pay that much for candy.

"You march back in there and return it at once!" I envisioned ghost dad howling from his red cloud in Republican heaven, where he and all the other old grumps probably spend their days shaking their heads, while discussing how Obama is ruining the country with his pork barrel spending. (I'm sure he's deliriously happy.)

I did consider returning it for maybe half a minute but I'm far to lazy for that. Plus, by now I was rabidly curious as to what an $8 bar of chocolate tasted like.

"Screw you, pops," I said to dad's ghost. "I'm gonna smoke a big bowl of pot and eat this bar while watching The Rachel Maddow Show on MSNBC, and then I'm going to masturbate to a fantasy of me and Rachel having a hawt lesbian threeway with...Hillary Clinton!" Hopefully dad's corpse spun a few thousand times at that thought. I like to give him some exercise from time to time.

So, ....what does an $8 chocolate bar taste like? Sadly, it was just okay. I mean, it was tasty and all - the sea salt mixed with sweet milk chocolate was a nice savory combo - and overall it was way yummier than a Hershey bar, but I was expecting cosmic, orgasmic bliss, you know? And it just didn't deliver.

Unlike the liberal, lesbian threeway fantasy, if you know what I mean. Wink, wink.

Prunella Jones, True Patriot

2009-02-23T12:35:00.007-06:00

Well, I'm mighty proud to say I did my bit to stimulate the economy this weekend by buying some $20 shoes at Target.

Kinda cute for cheap shoes, eh? I decided that I love my country too much to pass them up.

Comfortable too, allowing me to stretch and bend and stay fit so as not to become a burden to the taxpayers.

Check this out: Red shoes, White skin, and Blue toenails. Damn, I am one patriotic bitch!

Pictures Of My Pussy

2009-02-19T10:23:00.005-06:00

Pussy cat! Of course I meant Jackie Waffles.

Look how big he's gotten. He's only nine months old and he weighs thirteen pounds. I can only imagine that in a couple of years he'll be dragging his belly on the floor as he crawls to his food bowl.

Here he is hanging out in one of his favorite spots, the bathroom sink. I've never seen a cat that loves water so much. He likes to cup his paw under the running faucet and get a drink, and then he'll settle down in the wet sink and snooze.

Wha'choo lookin at?

UPDATE: Lulu pointed out that Jackie needed dressing up.

I think this really expresses his personality quite well.

KISS Me, I'm An Insomniac

2009-02-17T20:54:00.003-06:00

Why, oh why do we need sleep? I wish we didn't have to. It's such a pain in the butt.

I may have mentioned my problems with sleep a time or two on this blog. Yeah, it's a misery. Basically, it takes me hours to zonk out, and then when I finally do snooze I'll awaken off and on throughout the night. Most of the time I can usually manage about four to six hours this way, which to me is pretty high functioning. But sometimes it seems that train to Slumberland just passes by me completely and I'm left staring after it with burning eyes as a sadistic conductor gives me the finger.

"Toot, toot. All aboard the Sleepy Train. All that is....except for you, Prunella Jones. Go get your ticket stamped or something, bitch, and better luck tommorrow....or not! Muyhahahahahaha."

The other night about 4 A.M., I was wandering around the house like a zombie when my eye fell on these stoopid little antique statues that my mom put up on the mantel before she left for Florida.

***FYI: My mom used to own an antique store and she has boxes and boxes of unsold stuff stowed in my garage.

Now I don't know why, but the damn things have been getting on my nerves. I hate them! They are such sad sacks, with their pained, yet somehow still smug expressions. Don't they look like the kind of people who use the same paper towel for a week, drying it between uses, in order to save money? And then bitch about it endlessly while also disapproving of anyone who doesn't? Ugh.

It was bringing me down, man. See for yourself. Would you want these sour pusses passing judgment on you while you are trying to chillax?

Oy vey, if only we were still in the old country instead of sitting on the mantel of this tacky little house.

I guess I'm just not much of an antique lover. I prefer bright, shiny, new, plastic crap.

Anyway, I tried to watch some TV but those statues were eyeing me and making me nervous. I considered tossing them in the closet, or "accidentally" losing them in the trashcan --"Ooops, I swear mom, I don't know what happened!" -- but then I got a better idea. I decided to improve them.

Viola! Now higher in Detroit Rock City flavor. Much better, right?

Well, it seemed like a good idea at 4 A.M.

Shit.

My mom is so going to kick my ass.

I want to write something new but .......

2009-02-11T22:00:00.003-06:00

.....lustful Swamp Things keep carrying me off, you know how it goes.

My Two Cents

2009-02-09T11:48:00.002-06:00

So many things in the news pissing me off lately. Grrrr. Where to start?

The Stimulus Plan- Look, I am basically for this thing. Something obviously needs to be done and if we're going to borrow money, I'd much rather it be spent on our infrastructure than thrown down the sucking black hole of Iraq (end this shit now!). However, I'm still pissed as hell about the bank bailout. All that money given to the very people who caused this mess with no oversight whatsoever and they use it to give out bonuses and buy jets? Fuck them!

Why couldn't that money have been used to fund a national debt forgiveness program? They could've started with paying off every college loan in the country. BOOM right away you'd give people a little more money in their pockets to buy things with to stimulate the economy. Besides, it's ridiculous that young people just starting out in life are saddled with so much debt because of the obscenely high cost of college! (Oy, I could bitch about this all day, it makes me so furious. Yes, I do owe thousands in student loans.)

Then work on at least partial forgiveness for mortgages and credit card bills, which would ease the pressure on families and get them spending again. When you think about it, you have to wonder why we allow this bullshit to continue. I mean, thirty years to pay for a house with most of the money you pay each month going for interest? What is that if not usury? Why do the bible thumpers that run this country allow this to go on? Oh right, because money is their real god. Duh.

Anyway, if the bailout money were used this way then Americans would have some disposable income in their pockets. Then they would buy things instead of hanging on to their money. Companies would get more money and not have to lay off workers. The economy would start to stabilize, no?

Please tell me why this wouldn't work? The money all goes into the banks regardless. Why should they just get a massive check cut to them with no strings, while any sort of similar deal for the citizens is socialism? Give the money to the people so they can pay off their debts, and the banks still get it. It's a win-win situation all around. Why has this not even been considered?

Actually, if I had my way, I'd seize the personal assets of every CEO of every company involved in this whole fiasco including Wall Street and take back every bit of the bonuses they paid out over the last several years. That money alone could get a universal health care plan off to a healthy start. To fund the rest I'd seize the personal fortunes of the Bush family, Dick Cheney, and every slime bag who made millions off the cluster fuck festival that was the Iraq war.

Yeah, I am that pissed! Aren't you? I'd love to see heads rolling. Because, and this is the sad thing, I really don't think anything will change unless the people at the top are made to pay with their own personal money. That's the only way to get it through their thick heads that you don't fuck with people's livelihoods.

Michael Phelps Smoked Dope- It amazes me that with everything going on in with the economy people are outraged about this. WTF? The kid won eight gold medals, he obviously disproves the theory that potheads are unmotivated losers. The fact that marijuana is still illegal is the real crime here. Legalize it, make it as available as alcohol and cigarettes, and tax it the way they are taxed and BOOM you've got more money flowing into the economy. And you've just freed up the police to focus their resources on getting harmful drugs like meth off the streets, and put many drug cartels out of business.

Also, I find it crazy that snack companies are dropping Phelps as their spokesperson because of this. Are they high? Stoners with munchies make up a good percentage of the snack buying customer base.

Screw you Subway! Your sandwiches ain't all that great anyway. I'm more than happy to take my bidness to Blimpies.

The Octupuplets- Why are people so afraid to call this woman a loon? Because she totally is. Anyone with a pair of eyes can see that if you watch her interview with Ann Curry. I mean, she's obviously delusional. Getting her master's degree in counseling will give her the money to raise fourteen kids? Really? It pays that well, huh? And she can go back to school this year to do this with no one to help out but her poor fed up mother, who is already overwhelmed with the care of this bitch's six other kids. Really? All these children to pay for and she spends her money on lip injections? (I spy a nose job too.) Methinks someone has an Angelina Jolie fixation.

Not that there is anything wrong with plastic surgery, or even having fertility treatments for that matter. If you can afford that stuff, go for it. If you love kids and want to have fourteen of them, eight all at once, well, whatever (you're nuts) knock yourself out. Hey, if this chick could afford these babies (and their health problems), had plenty of help to care for them properly, and the endless amount of time necessary to devote to them and their six brothers and sisters, I might be less annoyed, but the fact of the matter is that she doesn't. She has serious mental issues, a probable pregnancy fixation, and while something needs to be done for these kids (adoption!) I hope she won't be given endorsement money and book and television deals for this bullshit.

I have never understood why people who have huge litters of children in one pregnancy are applauded. Eight babies at once! It's a miracle! Ummm, no it's not. It's very bad for the babies and completely selfish of the parents. If women were supposed to carry more than two babies at a time, we'd have more than two boobs. What's more, even if the parents do have insurance these kind of births cost millions and make the rest of us pay more while we get nickle and dimed for every little office visit.

I don't get the appeal of shows like Jon and Kate Plus Eight besides the freak show element. I watched the show once and thought Kate was a huge bitch, her husband a complete wimp, and the whole family very annoying. I get that they only wanted one more baby and ended up with six embryos, but they should have reduced. I'm sorry, but if you are going to use this technology, then you shouldn't be allowed to claim that God gave you a miracle so you must be allowed to keep them all. (I mean, if you are going to use that argument then you'd be forced to conclude that God must not have wanted you to have kids in the first place or you wouldn't be using fertility drugs.)

Anyway, I think to prevent these sorts of things from happening, insurance companies should make it a standard that in cases of IVF/fertility drug pregnancies they will only pay for two babies. If the parents want to keep all six, eight, twenty fetuses that take, fine, but they'll have to pay all the expenses for those children themselves. I actually can't believe the companies haven't done this sort of thing already, given how happy they are to cancel the policies of people who dare to get expensive diseases like cancer or diabetes.

And that's all I have to say about that. If you need me to solve any more of society's problems, I'll be in my room painting more zombie gnome figurines and yelling at the television set.

The Hat That's Taking America By Storm

2009-02-03T22:25:00.004-06:00

You know that hat Aretha Franklin wore to the presidential inauguration? It's really popular!

From the hawtest celebrities to the average Joe, everyone's sporting the "Aretha" lately.

All four members of KISS have declared it one rockin chapeau.

Jesus and Elvis are full of love for their "Aretha" headgear. And also for turkey apparently.

Even my crazy uncle Jesse has one. He named his "Sis" and feeds it peanuts.

Don't have one yet? What are you waiting for? I've heard you get a free plate of hot wings with every purchase.

Can I Haz Some Too?

2009-02-03T15:30:00.004-06:00

This video of a little kid all stoned after a trip to the dentist's office made me chuckle. Then I got jealous. How come this kid gets legal Ecstasy while my teetotaling dentist only ever gives me Novocaine? Shit, I need to find a new one pronto!

I particularly love the part where he asks, "Is this real life?" Been there! Dad is kind of annoying though. He totally should have quit nattering and put on some tunes. It helps with the mellow.

Some Things I've Been Meaning To Get To, Gotten To

2009-02-01T19:07:00.007-06:00

I was tagged by Sweet Cheeks a couple of days ago to do this:

1. Choose the 4th folder where you store your pictures on your computer.
2. Select the 4th picture in the folder.
3. Explain the picture.
4. Tag 4 people to do the same.

Okey doke. Here it is.

Explanation: I vaguely remember making this a while back for some reason or another. It's a phrenology map illustrating the different areas of my brain. What I imagine it should look like anyway. Except, if I were really truthful I'd probably label about half of my brain as "unused."

Hmmmmm, you know now that I'm looking at this pic, it strikes me that this would make an excellent meme. I should make a blank phrenology head and tag people to fill it in. Sound good? Would any of you do it? If you won't - too bad! I like the idea. I've always wanted to start one of these things. Let me just put that on my "to do" list right now.

Item #137. Start annoying internet meme.

Done! Heh heh, you guys will really be in for it when I get around to this. (Item #136 is clean out the refrigerator, so it might not be till April or so.)

As for the "4th Pic", I tag anyone who has not already done it. You know who you are.

Now, on to the second piece of bidness.

I won a cool prize from Winnipeg Princess a few weeks ago and I've been meaning to show it off ever since, because it's really cute and something that was sorely needed. Check it out.

Nice, eh? Now I don't have to beg for tampons when I'm out and about because I always forget them, or else lose them in the black abyss that is my purse.

It's really awful when I need one while at The Boobie Barn. Most of the other girls are so unhelpful. The last time I asked, everyone ignored me except for this one chick named Patrice who screamed, "Shut up, Stupid!" and tried to stab me with an eyeliner pencil. I didn't take it too personally though, since she usually does that to someone at least once a week. Yikes, I can only imagine what her phrenology map would look like.

So anyway, thanks again Princess! If you've never been to her blog you should definitely go pay her a visit. Not only does she give away good stuff, she's also fun and cute as a button.

There, two items crossed off my list. I feel so efficient now.

Help!

2009-01-31T19:23:00.004-06:00

If you are looking for Prunella Jones then I'm sorry to tell you that it is too late. I just attacked and ate her brain minutes after she finished painting me. It was tasty, although a little on the small side. More of a snack then a meal I'd say. Well, let this be a lesson to you, kids. Never try to zombify your garden gnomes because you never know what might happen......do you? (cue demented laughter)

2009-01-26T22:20:00.008-06:00

Sorry to be so quiet lately, I'm feeling a little run down. It's so cold and wet here and depressing. And I've been really busy. I spent the past week trying to get my tax stuff together (always a nightmare for someone as unorganized as myself) and turning all three Jonas Brothers into men. Now I'm just plum tuckered out.

The last pic you will ever see of the boys with their "purity" rings on. Heh heh.

Maybe I need some more vitamins or something?

Hottest New Looks for 2009

2009-01-21T13:26:00.004-06:00

Fashion forecast for 2009? Sizzling hawt! Today Gossip Girl Blake Lively shows off the newest trends.

Hope and Change are in the air and they're wildly flattering! Obama Chic can turn a boring black outfit positively presidential. These are accessories you can believe in.

Barock-n-roll hat, $218. Obama vodka $20.

Here's a question. Do you assume that recession = style depression? That's a misimpression that needs a quick correction! Just add a geometric progression to your custom configuration and create a new obsession with your gorgeous dress expression!

Did that sentence make sense? Of course not. So why should your clothes? Duh.

Kitschy Walmart belt $861. Hypnotic dress by You Are Getting Sleepier $9,027.99.

Hey, hey! Who doesn't love a clown? Well, except for those people who find them terrifying, of course. But who cares about them? They are probably ugly anyway. And poor. Bright, fun clown elegance will have the world pointing and laughing this Spring.

"Demented" eyeglasses $679. Rainbow wig $1,012.

Hsssssssss. Cha-Ka like! You don't need to fall through a time doorway to know that a spicy Sleestack mask will add a dash of urban sophistication to the most boring formal bathing suit.

Bathing suit $912. Sleestack mask by Enik, price given by request.

Hey Mr. President!

2009-01-20T17:13:00.003-06:00

What a great day!

I have to admit, I really enjoyed seeing this.