Oh hello there, good people of blogland! My name is Velveeta and I am a very good friend of Prunella's. I told her I would post something as she is too crabby to do it. You see, she had very bad news. Her car needs a new transmission, which will cost her nearly $3000. This has made her veeeery, veeeery angry, and she has been cursing and throwing things all week. And the screams! I yi yi!

I told her chill out. I said, "buck up little soldier. It will all be s'okay. S'okay? S'alright? I say this in my tiny, hilariously high pitched voice. And I smile real big and encouraging like this.



See? And then what does she do but give me the finger and snatch my new weave off. It is a nice weave too. I just got it from the Britney Spears collection for 7/11.




(sigh) It is veeeery hard to be a friend to someone so ungrateful but I try I really do.

Why Do I Carry So Much Freakin Crap Around In My Purse?

This is my purse. It's not very big, but it's pretty damn heavy. That's no surprise, I guess, seeing how it is stuffed full to bursting with things that I really don't need to be carrying around with me. How does this always happen? Whenever I change bags I start off with nothing but my keys, wallet, checkbook, tampons, and maybe a lip balm, but somehow or the other I start to aquire things until it's as weighty as a boulder. My handbag is like my own private Sisyphus's rock, and someday it will crush me. Or at least cause major back problems.


Here is list of what I'm hauling around today besides the wallet, checkbook, cell phone, etc..

1. A hardback book. (I usually carry a book around with me at all times as I am terrified of being stuck somewhere with nothing to read. This one is called The Center Cannot Hold - by Elyn Saks and it's about one woman's struggle with schizophrenia. It's a really riveting read.)

2. Clear scotch tape.

3. Gum.

4. Earplugs. (I bring them to wear when I go out to concerts in an effort to save my hearing, but never bother to put them in.)

5. Hair trimming scissors. (Why are they in my bag? I don't remember.)

6. Kleenex.

7. 1 teabag, Lady Grey flavor.

8. Fruit flavored Mentos. (They are the freshmaker!)

9. My lucky rock.

10. A bottle opener/corkscrew/knife thingee.

11. Tarot cards.

12. 1 and 1/2 Lara bars.

13. Billy Bragg CD case (no CD inside the case).

14. My address book. (So that's where it was! I was looking for that sucker.)

15. A cheap bracelet from Target (just in case I feel a sudden need to accessorise).

16. Nail polish. (Why? You just know it's going to break and spill all over everything.)

17. False eyelashes.

18. A polishing cloth for glasses.

19. My purple librarian glasses without the case. (I lost it somewhere.)

20. A lucky blue dot torn out of a National Enquirer. You are supposed to rub it and it will bring money to you. Hasn't worked yet, but I am ever hopeful.

21. Dark chocolate covered graham crackers.

22. Junk mail.

23. Old lists of stuff to do that I probably didn't.

24. A box of homeopatic calming drops. I don't know if they work as I've never opened the box, but it's comforting to have them with me just in case I freak out or something.

25. An Itunes download of the Into the Wild soundtrack. I need to download that thing today!

26. Burt's Bees lip balm (my favorite).

27. A little skeleton figurine riding a motorcycle. (I bought it at Goodwill a couple of weeks ago for fifty cents.)

28. 17 ATM receipts.

29. 1 coupon good for $3 off dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant (expired of course).

30. 1 little plastic grey alien figure that I bought for a quarter out of a machine. Her name is Gleep, and she often commands me to set things on fire.

31. My digital camera.

32. Assorted pens and eyeliners.



No wonder my shoulders are always sore! I just weighed myself holding this thing and it is five and a half pounds. I'm an idiot. And did you notice that there are no tampons in the bag? Naturally, the one thing that I would actually want to have with me when I leave the house is not there. Yep ladies, I'm the girl that hits you up for a pad or tampon or whatever you've got when you're trying to do your business in the restroom. Sorry about that.





Look at all this crud!




What's that, Gleep? I should do what?....No....no I couldn't! They are my internet friends..I..I..don't want to harm them. Please don't make me!

This made me laugh like crazy. What a rotten brother. I'm glad you tube wasn't around when I was a teen.

"In the butt" is now my new favorite phrase.

Evil Eye

There's a stye in my eye
and it's feeling quite bone dry.
How I wish that it would hit the road.
Because I can't stand the itch
my eyelid's swollen like a bitch
and it looks like it just might explode.

This stye resembles a fat pink tick.
To gaze upon it would make you sick.
Here is a letter that I wrote to it:



Dear Vile and Painful Eyelid Lump,

Go away! Go away! I've had enough of you. Why won't you leave?
I've been coddling you for days. I've soothed you with wet tea bags
and hot towels. What more do you want? You've teased me by shrinking
down and acting like you are leaving, but then roaring back the minute
I apply a little mascara and liner. Quit doing that! I need to wear
that stuff when I'm working at The Boobie Barn, as I suffer from
plain face syndrome. No one will tip a girl with no lashes and a mutant
third eyeball shooting out of her face. They are cheap bastards at the best
of times. And some jealous bitch dancer started a rumor that I had an outbreak of herpes in my eye. I bet it was Paris. I'm going to fix her good! As soon as you go away, that is. So go away!

I've got things to do. Now poof - be gone!


Thank You,
Prunella

P.S. Beat it!

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



Dear Prunella,

Ha Ha. Suffer!

Kisses,

Your Stye


P.S. I see my dear friend period bloat also stopped by to pay you a visit.
Say hello for me, won't you?

A Public Service Warning

What can I say about Tom's Oven Baked Fries?
They are so very great.
The jalapeno and cheddar flavor is particulary good
which is why I overate....them.

If you try even one of these zesty little sticks
you'll want to shovel them all down your throat.
Your fingers will be coated with spicy orange dust
and your stomach will balloon out with hideous bloat.

BEWARE!

Her Boots Aren't Made For Walking

Well, my computer problems have finally been fixed. At least I hope they have (knock wood)! Being without it for a week made me realize just how very addicted I am. Don't ever leave me again, my precious, precious interweb!

Although, not having a working computer did force me to spend a little more time paying attention to my mom, which is a good thing I suppose. My mom is a fun lady. But, good Lord, the woman can talk! I mean, yeah I'm used to her nattering on and on endlessly, but when I'm surfing the net it's easy to tune out her chatter. It's sort of like hearing the grown ups talk on a Charlie Brown television special, all "Waaammph, waaaamph awaaaampha waaaamph." Requiring me to do nothing much except mutter, "yes ma'am," every once in awhile.

But without the cushioning glow from my monitor, I was actually forced to start listening to what she was saying. Apparently she knows every single thing going on in this neighborhood at all times and she worries a lot about terrorism and gangs.

I also noticed that she leaves the house early in the morning wearing a strange getup. She has this red, cape-like poncho with slits that she puts her arms through, a Britney Spears styled newsboy type cap and giant bug-eyed sunglasses, her usual mom jeans, and a pair of boots that look like something Wonder Woman would wear if she was a senior citizen. Those boots are sassy! Way too sassy for running errands.

"Where are you going in that outfit?" I asked her the other day. "You look like you're ready to fight crime."

She just stuck her tongue out at me and said, "wouldn't you like to know, Miss Nosy."

Now this is very unlike her, as she is usually happy to give you a minute by minute detail of her daily plans. It got me thinking and soon I deduced what was really going on. I think....no, I'm pretty sure my mom might be a superhero.

This is not a joke. I am dead serious. If you watch movies at all you know that it's common for superheros to disguise themselves as ordinary, everyday people. That way they can move around easily amongst the rest of us and no one will ever suspect them. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Here are my reasons.

1. My mom is a very virtuous person and a total do-gooder.

2. She disappears for hours during the day, saying she's going to the YMCA to walk or having lunch with her friends but that's an easy excuse, isn't it? Who's going to check up on her? And who knows what she's up to at night when I'm at The Boobie Barn?

3. You have to see this outfit! I think the bug-eyed sunglasses give her extra strong vision powers. Perhaps she can melt steel with them too. That poncho looks like a cape. Every super hero needs a cape. I wish I could post a picture of her wearing this ensemble but she won't let me. She did, however let me snap a photo of the boots. Tell me these boots aren't made for kicking bad guy ass in cushiony comfort. They are sassy!



My mom modeling the sassy boots in question. She knows how to strike a fierce pose!


4. For an old lady she is very strong. She's constantly pushing the furniture around in order to vacuum under beds and dust under the TV. The one time I tried to move my couch from one room to another, I threw out my back.

5. Well, that's all I have so far but I'm sure some more will occur to me.

Just a minute ago she came dowstairs dressed in her action garb, saying she was heading out to go shopping at TJ Maxx.

"Yeah right," I said. "I'm on to you, old lady. You're really on your way to cleanse the mean streets of downtown Nashville of villiany and wickedness, isn't that right?"
And then I sang a little theme song I made up for her (to the tune of Spiderman.)

Sassy boots! Sassy boots!
She's a hottie in sassy boots.
She fights crime.
All day long.
And then at night she hits the bong.
Look out!
Here come her sassy boots.


And instead of getting annoyed with me for joking that she smokes marijuana - she never would in a million years! it's against the law! - my mom just smiled mysteriously and said, "Maybe I am. I'll never tell."

She is. Her name is probably Sassy Boot Woman.



Want to see which superhero you are? You can take this quiz to find out. I'm Catwoman.

I Have Angered the Internet God

Gonna teach this sucka a lesson!


I don't know what I did, but my internet connection has been awful all week. Very, very slow and then it will go out completely for several hours. Whenever that happens I fall to the floor in screaming convulsions of anger, foaming at the mouth and cursing in tongues. Geez, when will this agony end? Should I sacrifice a goat or something? I set a glass of wine and a bowl of Cool Ranch Doritos in front of the modem last night, and promised to quit shoplifting lip balm and bowling balls if the internet would only please, please, come back to me. It's my precious! When I woke up this morning I noticed that the wine was untouched, but the Doritos bowl had been licked clean, and the connection has been a bit better. What does that tell us? That the great cyber god is a teetotaler who enjoys flavored tortilla chips, that's what!

Or else that my dog, Shirley, got into the chips. Whatevs.


*By the way, when I tried to picture what an angry web deity would look like, the closest I could come was a miffed Mr. T in a dress. Do you see it, or I'm a way off the mark? What do you think He would look like?

Kumquats!

Ever tried them? These little suckers are delicious. They are like little tiny oranges that you can pop in your mouth and eat, peel and all. It's a very tart/sweet taste. And I love the name kumquat. It sounds like some sort of pelvic exercise, doesn't it?

"After having a baby, Jan did fifty kumquats a day to tighten up."

Or it could be used as a term of endearment.

"Come to me, my little kumquat."

Or maybe I'll use it as an alternative to cursing.

"Oh kumquats! You kumquating beeyotch!"


Hmmmm. Okay, I don't really know where I'm going with this. Oh well, what else is new, huh?

8 Reasons Yesterday Rocked

I woke up early, but not at the crack of dawn like I usually do. The sun was shining and the birds were chirping and I was full of energy and good cheer. For a minute I was puzzled. What was different? Why had I been able to sleep in past sunrise? Then I realized that my neighbor's dog was not barking (1) for once! Maybe some investigators from the Humane Society had shown up and arrested my bitchface neighbor and I'll get to watch her being led away in handcuffs on an episode of Animal Cops. Or maybe someone had thrown the poor mutt some poisoned meat and put him out of his misery. Either way it was nice to finally have a night of uninterupted sleep!

I bounced out of bed and made my breakfast. Fresh squeezed orange juice and whole grain toast with vegan cream cheese and candy sprinkles (2). Yum yum.




Hot tea and Adderall were also important parts of this nutritious breakfast.


Mister Sprinkles makes everything taste better. All food should come out of a clown shaped container if you ask me.



After breakfast I took a quick shower but avoided shampooing my hair. I'm letting it get good and dirty before I dye it back to my favorite shade of hoochie blonde. A hairdresser gave me this tip. Apparently the grease and oil help keep the bleach from eating holes in your scalp. Plus filthy hair makes it is easier to keep my tard bangs swept to the side(3). It will be such a happy day when those things grow out.


Since I wasn't scheduled to work at The Boobie Barn(4) I decided to go shopping. Although I only had $19 in my pocket that was plenty as my favorite places to shop are Goodwills, Thrifts, and Dollar Stores. Check out this cool Chewbacca notepad(5) I scored. Perfect for a girl who loves wookies and making lists.



Chewbacca is my favorite. You know, it always bugged me that at the end of Star Wars, Han and Luke got medals but Chewie didn't. What was up with that?


On that note, this video (6) made me laugh.




And later while practicing my normal afternoon yoga routine, my chakras suddenly fell into place and I attained enlightenment(7) accepting the divine within myself and becoming one with the universe. That was pretty sweet.


Namaste! My mantra goes something like this - Krishna, Krishna, Gesundheit. Try it sometime.


I ended the day by attending a Lesbian Spanking Festival(8) with my good friends Lindsay Lohan and Paula Abdul. Unfortunately I don't have any pictures to post from there. I brought my camera with me but.....I got busy. Sorry.


All in all yesterday was pretty perfect. That gypsy curse my family has been living under for generations appears to be lifting. Finally! Good thing I met that psychic who lives behind the dumpster of the 711. She's the one who clued me in. A thousand dollars to get rid of it seemed a little excessive to me, but it looks like that money was well spent, huh?


**One of these things may be a lie. Can you guess which one? I'll post the answer in the comments.

Tucksworth and Tacos

Let's say you have a monkey. A batshit crazy one, but he's your pet and you love him. Then one day he disappears and you receive a letter informing you that he's been kidnapped. You'd probably assume it was true and try everything you could to get him back, right?

Well, not if the monkey in question was Tucksworth.

I was suspicious from the first when I got that ransom note. For one thing, it was written in fingerpaint on the back of my electric bill. Also, it was smeared with Cheetos dust and grape jelly, two of Tucksworth's favorite snacks. In fact he enjoys eating them together. The only other person I know who likes that kind of gross combination of foods is Britinia. I wondered briefly if she might have had something to do with his disappearance but she denied it, and I realized she was too dumb to plot anything as complicated as a kidnapping. Sheesh, she can't even manage to get a decent weave!

And then there was the picture that had been stapled to the note. Remember the one, of the monkey getting electrocuted? It didn't really look like Tucksworth, but I was so horrified I didn't question it. Upon further examination I realized it had been cut out of Stop Vivisection Now! pamphlet. I'd been duped. That rotten little ape hadn't been snatched at all! He just felt like running off. The whole kidnapping thing was a scheme to get me to send him more Adderall. I guess he really developed a taste for it after downing my prescription that day he freaked out. I was pissed off that he'd pull something like this, but not really surprised. Tucksworth loves drama almost as much as he loves Cuervo Gold and fine Columbian.

Alert reader Helen let me know what was going on after she spotted him in this Taco John commercial. Thanks Helen!





Look at him ride that dog!

I didn't think I'd be seeing Tucksworth again now that he's famous and all, but he crept home late last night full of remorse and begged me to forgive him. He looked really tired and his fur was all straggly. All the money he made from his acting job is gone. Lord knows what he spent it on. My mom didn't want him back. She hates his mess and thinks he's too much trouble. He IS too much trouble and a spoiled rotten brat besides, but it's hard to resist those sad, pleading, monkey eyes.

This morning I woke up to find the cats tails tied together and my mother furiously scrubbing cream cheese and peanut butter off of the TV screen. I guess I'd better have a talk with him at some point. I'm too exhausted to do it right now, though. The new managers of The Boobie Barn installed a mechanical bull and they are making every dancer learn how to ride it so we can participate in Buck Naked Bullriding Fridays. I'm not very good at that sort of stuff. I can't seem to stay on for more than three seconds. Plus it gives me motion sickness.

I scrawled this poem in the employee rest room last night.



The thing about Buck Naked Bullriding
is that it makes you bruise your shins and throw up your tacos.
Other than that it sucks.

3 Threes

Three Reasons My Neighbor Deserves a Dagger in Her Midsection

1. She leaves her dog outside 23 hours a day and he barks his head off.

2. She never answers her phone or responds to any complaints about her barking dog.

3. She wears super tight, ugly sweatsuits with the word Juicy written on the butt and has major bitch face.



Three Reasons The Boobie Barn Should Be Set on Fire

1. It's been taken over by a new management team even worse and more moronic than the last, hard as that may be to believe.

2. They have decided to install a mechanical bull so we can have something called Buck Naked Bullriding Nite. Hee haw!

3. Five words. Frat boys with water pistols.



Three Things I Hope I Can Do Today

1. Get rid of those stubborn mildew stains in the shower.

2. Take back my horribly overdue library books.

3. Refrain from stabbing my neighbor and setting The Boobie Barn on fire.

The Devil and Miss Jones

Do you ever feel like there is a devil on your shoulder urging you to do bad things? I have one of those. He looks like Richard Dawson from the 70's when he was on that show Match Game, except with devil horns. It's so damn hard to resist Richard. For one thing, he has that charming accent. It always makes whatever foul thing he's suggested sound perfectly reasonable, almost a shame not to do really. And he calls me "luv" in that cheeky way of his. He's just so good at wheedling.

For instance, this morning he recommended that I chop up and snort my daily Adderall pill.

"Go on then, luv," he said with a grin. "You've been good for quite a while now. You deserve to have a little fun."

"Quit it, Richard," I said, uncomfortably aware that the very thought made my heart pound with anticipation.

He knew he was getting to me and pressed his advantage. "Well just swallow a couple more then, three or four. One won't do anything much. You need it. You're very muddle minded lately."



Tell me, could you resist a suave motherfucker like this?


I'll admit I was super tempted. I opened the bottle and stared with longing at those gleaming orange and white pills. I poured out four and held them in my hand, considering.

But luckily I have an angel on my other shoulder who convinced me to only take one by shaking her head and giving me a stern look. She doesn't always win, but she did today. Thanks, babe.



My angel. She has her work cut out for her.


By the way, if your cable carries Game Show Network then I urge you to check out The Match Game. It's so amazing to see the stars smoking while they play the game, and the humor is so naughty. I swear the other day I saw Betty White give Charles Nelson Reilly the finger.

The Ballad of Lil' Stripeyhead

I'm watching you.



Let me tell you a tale that begins right here
in a house in Tennessee
about a plucky, scruffy, tiny cat
by the name of Lil' Stripeyhead Lee
and this kitten she lived with no other thought
than to eat Friskies and scratch at her fleas.

Till the day that my mother decided to come
to my house in Tennessee
and bring with her a cat who is hideously fat
and bad tempered to the highest degree.
This cat's name is Mae and she's older than dirt
and therefore not terribly pleased
to make the aquaintance of another feline
especially one covered in fleas.

Stripey was thrilled, from the first, to meet Mae
and she sniffed her new friend with glee
"I love you, let's play!" she seemed to say
while sharing her Chicken of the Sea.
But day after day, refusing to play
the old cat would smack her and flee.
Yes, day after day, the old biddy named Mae
rejected these friendly pleas.
Hissing and pissing on Stripeyhead Lee.

But this little furball, for one so small
is determined to a remarkable degree.
And she will not rest till she succeeds in her quest
to make Mae her playmate it seems.
"Love me!" she cried, "I will not be denied!
Quit trying to run off and flee.
From my love you will never be free!"
Sniffed Mae, "Get away from me."

Now a day won't go by that I don't hear a cry
from the frustrated Stripeyhead Lee.
And the sun never beams without bringing me screams
from the pissed off Stripeyhead Lee.
And as much as she's tried, Mae just cannot hide
from this kitten, this kitten she must live beside,
in a house in Tennessee
with this stalker named Stripeyhead Lee.



Love me, bitch!"



Halp!

This Is What Happens When You Give An Insomniac A Camera

Last night I dreamt I had turned into a tiny little doll and woke to find it was so.


"WTF?"


I'm not sure what happened exactly, but there I was, barely three inches tall and stuck in a land that looked suspiciously like my bathroom countertop.



"Wow, this is weird! Oh well, at least I have a cute outfit. Very renaissance fair."


It was trippy. Unfortunately, I quickly became bored. There was nothing much to do but wander around in the Nail Polish Forest.



"Bo-ring!"


And hang out in the Valley of Supplements.


"This is so not fun."



I tried talking to the locals, but we couldn't seem to communicate very well.



Me: "Hey, how's it going?"

Monkey 1: "Who said that? I can't see!"

Monkey 2: "Mmmmmph mmmphh."

Monkey 3: "WHA?...WHAT?"


There was some other sort of weird gargoyle type creature around but it didn't talk. It only seemed interested in staring worshipfully at a can of Pringles.



"Ewww, salt and vinager flavor. I prefer regular."


What was a tiny doll to do? I was lonely.



"This sucks. I must have really pissed someone off. Woe is me."


I kind of fell back on my butt since my little doll legs wouldn't bend, and felt very sorry for myself. It was my darkest hour. But suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a shimmering light. Looking up, I saw dazzling gold picture of a kindly man in a funkified pope outfit.




"It is the Pope! The one who died a few years ago, not that new one. Oh Your Holiness! Please sir, I beg for your help. I don't know what's going on, or if I'm being punished for something, but if I've got to be stuck here on the bathroom sink can I please have some company? Pretty please? A talking lion or something? Come on, that's not too much to ask, is it? I'm not that bad a person, really I'm not. I mean, how many times have I cursed and taken the Lord's name in vain?




"Three million, two hundred and sixty seven times."




Shit! God dam--........uh.....sorry bout that."


It looked like I was doomed to sit all alone in an infrequently cleaned bathroom forever. But then --







"Hola, baby! Que paso?"




"A man! Sweet! Thank you, Mister Pope. I'm so glad I have your picture on my bathroom wall instead of Xenu's."

Picture Post

Well, it's been fifteen days without Adderall. BOOOOO!

I guess I am sleeping a bit better. YAAAY!

But feeling kind of meh. BOOOOO!

Although, it's given me a chance to catch up on Oprah. YAAAY!


Sorry, that's probably annoying. I'm done now. Promise.

YAAAY!


In other other news, my new camera is pretty cool. I'm trying to get into the habit of taking it with me wherever I go. I took it to the grocery store not long ago. Here are a couple of pictures from that outing.



I like grocery shopping late at night when it's practically empty. The workers are more laid back. I caught this enthusuastic young lad singing along to Oasis. Publix has good piped in music, not that boring muzak stuff. I joined him for the chorus - "...and after all, you're my wonderWALL!"

Isn't he cute? Why I just want to pinch his cheeks I do! The cheeks on his face, that is. I'm not a filthy minded old woman. Not yet anyway.





Look at these cool Passover toys. Man, do I wish I was Jewish. Baptists don't have anything this good. Who could resist a toy bag of plagues? You can't see it in the picture, but it comes with a tiny rubber hand covered in boils. I almost bought it but it was $10.99 and I'm poor.





Nashville is getting so cosmopolitan. Check it out, y'all, we gots us some British food now. One of these days I want to try the Spotted Dick pudding. That name makes me snicker. And also, think of Michael Jackson for some reason.





I did buy this candy bar. It sounded intriguing - rose flavored candy covered in chocolate - but I had to spit it out. It tasted like a mouthful of my grandma's perfume. Bleh.



On the way out of the store a pretty interesting thing happened. I managed to step in dog shit. Now maybe I should've been paying more attention but it was dark and what, do I live in Calcutta? Who would expect dog poop in a grocery store parking lot? It really pissed me off. I put the shoe in a grocery bag before I got in the car and when I got home I threw in on the back porch, figuring I'd deal with it after I unloaded the groceries.

One week later.


Note the actual, unphotoshopped stink waves. Isn't this camera amazing?

My Mother's Afro Pick: A Gift of Love

Here is a sad tale that I'd like to share
about the time my sweet mom put a perm in her hair
that was so tight she resembled a fuzzy blonde bear.
No comb could run through it, which made her cry and swear
and sit slumped over sadly in her rocking chair
because looking in the mirror filled her with despair.
Wanting to help out, I searched the shopping square
hoping to find something that might help to repair
the frizzed out halo of tough, crinkled hair.
At the drugstore I examined the tools for tress care
and discovered some picks to soothe and groom afro hair.
There were plenty to choose from, but I wanted one with flair
and I found a black comb featuring a fist in the air,
which to my eight year old mind was a cool thing to wear
in thirty-six year old, suburban, white lady hair.
But my mom didn't agree and her eyes they did glare
as my dad laughed and laughed till he fell out of his chair.
"Really funny," she hissed, and stormed off to her lair.
Looking back, I think that was a bit unfair.
I wasn't trying to be a smart ass, at least not then and there,
but mom never did use the proud fist on her hair.
I guess the moral of this story is - choose your gifts with care.


Hope everyone has a happy Valentine's Day. I've been busy, but I plan to get back to blogging soon. I bought a sweet new digital camera so I'll be able to post pictures as soon as I figure it out. Don't expect me to post a bunch of pics of my boobs though, I send those straight over to the Rate My Rack website.

A Cheery Poem for Monday

What would you say if I told you that
I have secret fears I'll trip over the cat
and plunge backwards down the stairs and land on my head
the impact would make my skull shatter and shred.
At the bottom of the steps the cement floor would turn red
from the blood and the brains and the spinal fluid
my body so broken I'd prefer to be dead
but I'd end up like Christopher Reeve instead.
I picture it all and it fills me with dread.
Maybe, just maybe I'll get rid of my cat.
Cause I really don't want for my head to go splat.

She Bangs

Ho hum. I haven't blogged much lately, mainly because there is nothing much going on here. Well, besides Tucksworth going on a speed binge and Britinia threatening to kick my butt good. I haven't seen Tucks in over a week, but I did receive a strange note in my mailbox yesterday. Here is what it said:


WE HAVE UR MONKEY AND WE ARE HOLDING HIM PRISIONER.
IF U EVER WANT TO SEE HIM AGAIN THEN U KNOW WHAT YOU NEED TO DO AND
WHEN U NEED TO DO IT.

P.S. ATTACHED IS A PICTURE TO LET U KNO WE MEAN BUSINESS!




Here is the picture they sent. Those bastards! They are ready to fry his little monkey ass.


Isn't that weird? Someone is holding Tucksworth hostage! I have notified the police and they are working on it as I write this. Poor Tucks, I hope he is staying strong. That picture gave me chills. It reminds me of Lindsay Lohan in that craptastic torture movie I wasted ninety minutes watching I Know Who Killed My Fake Twin Sister. And the worst thing is I have no idea what they want me to do, much less when I should do it! Do you?




In other less worrisome news, I got my hair cut the other day and it looks terrible. I knew that would happen, that's why I only get a haircut once every three years or so. I got five inches cut off the back which went okay but for some reason I lost my mind and asked for bangs.



I asked for long, sexy bangs like Kate's.




These are the bangs I got.


Why do hairdressers always do this? You show them a picture of what you want, and state clearly that you don't want your bangs to be too short and they still make you look like a contestant in the Special Olympics! As usual I didn't protest, just tipped her well and went home seething. Well, I guess it will grow. I'm glad that's over with anyway. Now I don't have to bother with another haircut until 2011.

And lastly -- my mommy has left me! She took off to go slut around Florida until the weather in Tennessee warms up. As much as I have complained about having her around and how she gets on my nerves, I find myself missing her. Way more now as an adult than I ever did when I left home at eighteen. What's up with that? Also, it appears that the guy she drove down to Florida with is a total dipshit. I've only met him a few times and I was going to reserve judgement, but as they drove off I noticed his car was covered in Fred Thompson '08 stickers.

I guess I just need more help nowadays. After all, no sooner did she leave then my monkey overdosed on Adderall and got kidnapped by crazy vivisectionists, and I got a really hideous haircut. Come back soon, Mom! I worry about you off in Florida with a dipshit! Plus, well.... the shower is starting to get kinda mildewy. Hey, it's not going to clean itself, you know?

Monkey on the Loose!

Owning a monkey is a big responsibility. It's a lot of work to keep them healthy and happy. They are like children, really. I guess it's been awhile since I've blogged much about Tucksworth, the pet monkey who used to assist me with my exotic dancing act. As you may remember, he's been very unhappy since I've been forced to leave him home. Poor Tucks loved getting dressed up in his little tuxedo and performing, even if it was just in a skanky gentleman's club for an audience of drunken frat boys too busy throwing up on each other to pay much attention. With nothing much to do all day besides terrorize the dog he turned to alcohol, and when the vet put him on Antabuse and he could no longer drink, he became a total pothead.

I guess I should have put a stop to it right away, but I was feeling pretty down myself for a few weeks. Tucks and I spent most of the month of December curled up on the couch smoking weed, eating pizza, and watching reruns of Friends, and every trashy show offered by VH-1. (We both enjoyed Rock of Love BTW. Heather was robbed!) Even though it wasn't exactly happy time, it was nice to hang out together. I felt like the two of us really bonded. I promised him I would find a place where we could perform together again, and he agreed to quit slipping cat turds into my mom's oatmeal. Things were boring but peaceful.

That is until my pot dealer's parents got divorced and he had to move to Atlanta with his dad. Now that he's gone I don't have any connections and Tucksworth is bummed. Seriously bummed. Nothing has worked to cheer him lately, not even visits to the zoo to laugh at the caged monkeys which he normally loves. He wouldn't even get out of the car. He just sat there in the back seat, fondling an empty packet of Zig Zag rolling papers. I knew I had to do something. I couldn't take his baleful stares anymore, not to mention the way he'd been shitting in my bed.

So anyway, yesterday I took him to the vet who prescribed Prozac and more Antabuse to keep him off the sauce. It's expensive but very necessary since I can't find any marijuana. A stoned monkey is a mellow monkey, but Tucksworth is a really mean drunk. The last time he went on a bender he broke every dish in my house and shaved a swastika on the back of the neighbor's cat. They didn't appreciate that as you can imagine. The neighbor lady still flips me off whenever she sees me.

Gah, it is so hard to deal with an addict! I thought we were having a good day but I was wrong. Here is what happened. We got his scrips, along with my Adderall filled at Target and then stopped by the video store to rent some movies. Tucksworth refused to take his medicine unless I bought him some Captain Crunch cereal so I swung by the Kroger on the way home. As we walked into the store I noticed he was looking a little glassy eyed and sweaty, but before I could really examine him we ran into the one person I had hoped to never see again, Britinia.

Remember her? The terrible dancer who made me leave Classy Earl's House of Class and Tits? Damn, but I hate her! Working at The Boobie Barn has been so humiliating! I itched to slap her smarmy little face. Instead I just nodded at her and turned to walk away as I have good manners, unlike her hillbilly self. Everything would have been fine if she hadn't decided to ram her cart into mine and confront me.

"Hey you, bitch!" she scowled. "Yeah, I'm talking to you. I heard you been sayin things about me around town what ain't true. You been spreadin lies that I'm the one what contaminated the stripper poles at Earl's with pubic lice. That wadn't funny cause it ain't me I swear! Now all the other girl's keep spraying Lysol on me!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, giving her my best disdainful look. "You're crazy."

Tucksworth was starting to get really agitated. He began jumping up and down in the cart and hooting.



Britinia, thrilled to see me.



"Don't you call me crazy," she said, getting right up in my face. Her cigarette breath was awful and up close I could see her teeth were orange with crusted cheetos. "I'm the best dancer in town. Everybody loves me, while you're just a scrawny loser with a monkey who stinks! Why don't you put a diaper on that thing?" She gave me a small shove which sent me reeling backwards. I am basically pretty wimpy and Britinia has the strength of ten loonies. It was looking bad for me till Tucksworth jumped in between us, chattering and screeching and acting really wild.

"Ewwwww," she taunted. "You think you're so hawt, Prunella, but you cain't even get you a smart monkey. This here one is a retard!"

I guess it was that last insult that did it. Tucksworth can't stand to be made fun of. With a high pitched cry he flung himself at Britinia and started attacking her weave in a frenzy, pulling out fistfuls of hair.

"Aaaaaah, get it off a me!" she wailed. I tried to grab him but Tucksworth was incredibly worked up. He grabbed my purse and started beating her about the head and shoulders with it.

The manager of the store and several workers rushed over to us. "Miss, you've got to control that ape," he hissed as he struggled to capture the flailing monkey. Tucksworth easily evaded him and started running up and down the store screaming and throwing cans at the customers. "Does he have rabies or something? What's wrong with him?"

Good question. I couldn't believe what was happening. Sure, Tucks has his moments but he'd never gone berserk before. Usually he'll just fling a little poo when he gets mad and that will be the end of it. I winced as I heard glass shattering and what sounded like a few small explosions coming from the back of the store. What could possibly have caused this?

I got my answer when I spotted an empty prescription bottle of Adderall with my name on it on the floor. That little bitch must have snuck the meds out of my purse and downed the entire bottle when I wasn't looking. No wonder he was freaking out. He was on speed! Quite a bit of speed. I explained to the police and animal control people what must have happened but he'd already escaped.




Britinia vowed to get me as the ambulance hauled her fat ass off.


Damn that monkey and his substance abuse!

Me Tag You Long Time

I got tagged by Memphis Steve to do the 8 Things You Might Not Know About Me thingie. You know the one.


Here are the rules--1) Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves. 2) People who are tagged need to write a post on their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules. 3) At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. 4) Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.



I've done this one before; I think everyone who's been blogging for any length of time has done this one a few times at least. But you guys pretty much know everything there is to know about me. Geez, I've even shown you my boobs! So I'm thinking I might do this one in haiku form. It's more fun that way. Well, it's more fun for me at least.



I Get Mad
Sometimes I get so freaking furious
that I feel like setting something on fire
I usually just cuss though.



Dance Bitches
Whenever I feel like dancing
I put on The Strokes Is This It
and pogo wildly around the room.



Revolutionary
I was born in 1756 and fucked all the founding fathers
Washington was my favorite cause he could go all night
plus he looked hawt in his wig.



A Word of Advice
When your dildo boss gathers everyone together for a mandatory meeting
don't stand behind him miming like you are sucking cock while he blathers
he might fire you.



Crossing Over
If you use a psychic to try to contact me after I'm dead
and I say, "Help me! I'm burning! Burning!"
then I'm probably in heaven, you know how I kid.



Slosh
If everyone had a goldfish bowl for a head
I'd fill mine with sea monkeys
goldfish are for serious people.



When I Write My Memoir
The book of my life will start off with this line:
"I blame Oprah for causing my nervous breakdown"
so what if it's not true, I belong to the James Frey school of memoir writing.



Limburger
Oh my beloved, oh my stinky, stinky cheese
your soft, fatty goodness is the reason I can't be completely vegan
I never thought I'd love something that stinks like the devil's asshole.





Okay, there you go. Now for the tagging part. I'm not going to tag eight people because following the rules is a drag. Screw rules, man! Instead I'm tagging everyone who is currently wearing underwear to do these eight things in haiku form. And if you are not wearing underwear then you have to do it twice, you big slut!