Random Pics for Friday

I've been making french toast for breakfast lately, hoping for an appearance from Jesus or his mom. No luck so far but I do see an Ewok in the top slice and a chimp riding a Harley in the one on the bottom. It's sort of like a Rorschach Test, I guess. What do you see? Anything?






The yellow leaves are still clinging to the trees in my yard. I'll miss them when they are gone. Because that will mean they are on the lawn and I'll have to rake them up.







I was cleaning my bathroom (yes, really!) when it occured to me that I have a lot of suppliments. Check them out. That's like an army of suppliments right there. I'd much rather have an army of flying monkeys but oh well.






FLASH! You're on Candid Camera.

THE PRUNELLA JONES STORY starring Jennifer Aniston

Todays episode is entitled "ENNUI"





Sigh. Lately I find myself experiencing a feeling of utter weariness and discontent resulting from satiety or lack of interest. I wonder...is there a fancy word for that? I could go look it up I guess but why bother? What's the point of it all?





Sigh. I don't know. I don't know. Why am I so uninspired and listless lately? When am I ever going to finish my novel? I really need to be on Oprah discussing vegan diets and bowel movements with her and getting famous! What is holding me back from becoming the huge success I was meant to be?






Hmmmm it can't be my looks. I'm positively stunning with a great body, right Mirror Pru?.....Right, darling. Kiss kiss.

What's that, Mom? NO! Of course I'm not in here talking to myself again. I'm not crazy!






Don't give me that look, bloggers! I swear I'm not crazy! Really. Lots of people stand in front of the TV in a bikini for four hours everyday. It's very common. Because as long as you are touching the screen the FBI can't read your thoughts. Clever, huh? Remember that. It also gives you energy. See? I'm starting to feel lots better. Maybe now I'll go tackle my To Do list and write a few pages. That's it! That's just what I'm going to do!





I am going to go get started right now! Well, in a minute. Right after I swim a bit and hook up with this random douchebag. Hey there handsome....




Will Prunella ever get over her ennui and procrastination and become a productive member of society? Will her taste in men ever improve? Is she, in fact, dangerously insane? Will these questions ever be answered, or forgotten in the usual ADHD distraction?

I guess we'll find out in the next episode of THE PRUNELLA JONES STO -- ooo look a shiny thing!

Please Pass the "I Can't Believe It's Not Jesus"

"And he said unto them, this is my body, eat it with butter and syrup in remembrance of me..."

Some guy in Florida found Jesus' face in a piece of french toast. Link. I love this kind of stuff, but I'm not really seeing it here. Looks more like Frank Zappa to me. What do you think?

I sort of love that he ate most of the toast. Sacrilege!

There's No I in UterUS

Tammy Wynette was right. Sometimes it is hard to be a woman. For instance, did you know that you uterus can fall down? I didn't, not until it happened to my mom.

The medical term for this condition is uterine prolapse. The definition is as follows:

The uterus is normally attached to the pelvic floor. However, the supportive muscles and ligaments can wear and tear during life, allowing the uterus, the bladder or both to "fall" down to the vagina. The reasons for prolapse may be one or more of the following:

-- giving birth to large babies, or difficult labor and delivery in general,

-- aging,

-- less estrogen than usual (as in menopause), which weakens the tissues,

-- additional weight or obesity,

-- frequent coughing, say from too much smoking,

-- chronic constipation and the straining to move bowels.


Aren't you glad you know this now?

Yeah, me neither. Ignorance IS bliss.

My mom had to deal with this a few years ago before she was living with me. I remember her calling me up and telling me about it.

ME: What do you mean it fell down? Why are your innards moving?

MOM: It's just something that happens with older ladies. Your Aunt Joyce had it too.

ME: What sort of symptoms did you have?

MOM: I had to pee all the time and it felt sort of...heavy down there. Hard to describe it. Also, when I got a mirror and looked up there I could see it hanging in there.

ME: Gaaaaaahhhhh!


The doctor told my mom she could either have a hysterectomy, or a surgical procedure to tack the uterus back up to where it's supposed to be. She chose the surgical procedure and it all went smoothly. I'd (mercifully) forgotten about the whole thing until last week when she was moving furniture around - she's never happy with the way the living room looks - and she let out a groan.

ME: Mom, are you okay? Did you hurt your back?

MOM: No, it's my uterus. I think it fell down again!

ME: Gaaaaaaahhhhh!


She went off to lie down and after resting a while, decided she was okay. Her doctor told her to quit moving furniture though, so now she wants me to do it. Hell no!! Now I'm super paranoid that my uterus will plunge to the floor at any moment.

Maybe it has started to slip already and I'm just not aware of it. How do I know what my uterus feels like? How can you differentiate between it and say...your pancreas? Guts are guts, right? (Although sometimes I can swear I feel my liver throbbing, but that's usually only after a long night of drinking and debauchery.)The thing is, it happened to my mother and it happened to my aunt. Is it inevitable that it will happen to me? Is there anything I can do to prevent this? And how come no one ever prepares you for this stuff? It's just another one of those nasty surprises that you get to discover for yourself once you hit thirty, like facial hair and spider veins.

Now that I'm thinking about it, one person from my youth did sort of discuss uterine care. You see, when I was about fourteen my mom signed me up for a modeling/charm school/beauty class - no it wasn't Barbizon - taught by a lady named Nell. Apparently she'd been a model way, way back in the days when men wore an onion tied to their belt and nickles had pictures of bumblebees on 'em. We're talking old! I'm not sure what those classes cost but it must have been cheap since we didn't have much money then. I think Nell was also my mother's Avon lady.

Oh boy, I should do a seperate post about that class it was so bizarre! Nell was about seventy and looked like Cindy McCain if Cindy had gotten a bad facelift and wore bright blue eyeshadow with gunky false lashes that resembled taratulas. She often smelled very peculiar. I used to think maybe she had drenched herself with some strong weird perfume, but now I realize that smell was Gin. I wouldn't doubt the bitch was three sheets to the wind the whole time. That would explain a lot of her advice.

Anyway, I've repressed most of that experience but do recall one day when she was giving a lecture on keeping fit. She said we could walk or ride a bicycle but should never - under any circumstances - run, jump rope, or lift weights, because that kind of exercise was too jarring and would make our lady parts fall down.

The ominous way she said the words "fall down" combined with her grim look and tight lipped frown made it clear that this was a bad, bad thing. It instantly scared me. I wasn't too sure what falling lady parts entailed but I wasn't about to ask for clarification. I just thanked the heavens that I was too lazy to ever exercise. The rest of the class must have felt the same way. No one inquired for further explanation.

Only one girl timidly raised her hand and asked if that meant she should quit the track team. Nell told her yes, that she should quit immediately or she might not ever be able to have children. Then a Color Me Beautiful expert came into the class with a bunch of color swatches to help us figure out what season we were -hey, it was the eighties - and Nell ducked out, presumably for a couple of stiff Martinis.

Well huh, who would have thought it but that dire warning might have been the only helpful advice the old bat ever gave. (Well, besides her recommendation not to wear any white brighter than your teeth, which limits me to a pale yellow.) I just googled "uterine prolapse/running" and it turns out that it can sometimes be caused by excessive running. Here's a link if you care to find out more.

As for me, after doing a bunch of research about it I've decided there's really no use worrying about my uterus too much. I mean, I'm still going to do kegels like they are going out of style and I ain't gonna move any furniture anytime soon, but if it falls, it falls. I'll just get surgery if it does. Or else start drinking Gin. Maybe both. Glug, glug!

Stay Gold, Ponyboy

Check out this tree in my yard. Lovely, no?




Nature's first green is gold, / Her hardest hue to hold. / Her early leaf's a flower, / But only so an hour. / Then leaf subsides to leaf, / So Eden sank to grief. / So dawn goes down to day, / Nothing gold can stay.

I have a sudden urge to bleach my hair and rent The Outsiders.

Congratulations President Obama!! Well done America!

Now go away Sarah Palin.

Jagging a snootch

First off, let me say that no Jackie Waffles were harmed during the making of the Halloween story from last week. I got a couple of concerned emails asking me if Jackie was, in fact, dead. (Thank you guys, you were so sweet to be concerned.)I just took this pic on my phone which should prove that Lord Lardass is alive and well and shedding on my couch. It is not neccessary to weep for him.


Absolutely not dead! Just sleeping.


Please weep for me though. I need lots and lots of sympathy as I have a hideous cold! Well, it's not too terrible I guess, but it still sucks. My throat is a bit scratchy and my nose is slightly runny and this morning I hacked and snorfled for a good ten minutes before finally spitting up a giant gooey loogie. It was really gross! So much so that I was tempted to take a picture of it to post, but finally decided against it in case it put someone off their food. See how much I care for you my friends?

All that throat clearing reminded me of the sounds my grandpa used to make when he woke up. He'd always start the day with at least a half hour of chest-rumbling coughing and horking noises while scratching himself, before lighting up his first Camel unfiltered of the day. Gak!

It's been a long time since I've had a cold, I'd forgotten how unpleasant they are. This is because I usually follow my mommy's advice about washing my hands a lot and not touching my face unless my hands are clean. It figures the one time I didn't resulted in getting sick. But I swear to you, I couldn't help it! I absolutely had to pick my nose. There was really no other choice.

What happened was this, on Friday night I went to a big fancy Halloween party given by a couple I don't know all that well. It was all very chichi and swank and I felt a little out of my element but was doing okay, chatting and mingling, when I became aware of some bad things happening in my nasal cavity.

You know that feeling you get when a booger works it's way down to where it's just about to pop out of your nose and go flying when you laugh? And is most likely right that very minute hanging out of your nostril, moving in and out when you breathe, while everyone politely tries not to stare at you in horror but can't help themselves?

Yeah, I had that feeling. And I could tell it was a great big one.

So I excused myself and began frantically looking for a bathroom in order to extract the dried mucus in private. Naturally, naturally, the hostess spied me and picked that moment to bring over about fifty people to introduce me to.

It was so awful! I kept sniffing and sniffling, trying desperately to suck the snot rocket back in but it wouldn't budge. I ended up surreptitiously swiping at my nose every two seconds while smiling and making nice to these poor folks - who probably thought me the world's biggest coke head - but I swear I could feel it hanging there. It was maddening. My fingers itched to go picking.

Finally, I managed to get away only to find the bathroom occupied with a big line in front of it.

Screw it! I was about to leave when I spotted my best friend, Paula Abdul, flirting with a waiter over by the stairs.

"Dude, am I jagging a snootch?" I demanded, grabbing her arm, which caused her to spill a little champagne on the carpet. I was sorry about that but it was an emergency.

"Huh, what?" Paula gave me a confused look.

"You know, is the princess out of it's castle? Am I hanging a greenie?" I was trying to use the polite terms for my condition, but she wasn't getting it so I just came out and asked. "Is there a visible booger hanging out of my nose? I mean, of course there is. But exactly how huge is it?"

She peered at my face intently. "I don't see anything."

"What? There's got to be. Look harder." I swear I could feel it hanging down like a stalagcite from my schnoz. Or do I mean stalagmite? I forget which one points down.

"Honestly Pru, you're fine!"

By that point I'd had it. I figured Paula was drunk and just couldn't see it, and I was sick of this shit. I shoved a finger up there and stated digging for gold, not caring who saw.



Everybody picks, even the queen.


Paula was horrified. "Stop it, Pru! There isn't anything there!" She pawed through her purse and handed me a small mirror. "See nothing."

Well, I'll be! She was right, there wasn't anything hanging out of my nose. It was a ghost booger, I guess.

As soon as I saw that there was no boog, that awful jagged snootch feeling went away. Which was a great relief for about three seconds until it was quickly replaced with deep embarrassment when I realized how many people had witnessed my nose farming. Dozens! It took several drinks and one of Paula's Vicodins to get me able to laugh about it.

Poor Paula though! I kinda ruined the rest of the party for her. She caught my nasal paranoia and spent the rest of the evening guarding against booger slips.



Paula figured it was better to be safe than sorry.


I'll apologize later after my cold medicine kicks in. How was your weekend?

Halloween Tales

Hello, blogger friends. Welcome to the House of Horror. Also known as Casa de Prunella. I am your host, Ishmael. Call me Ish. Please enter at your own risk. Muyhahahahahaha.




Today we will be bringing you a story so scary, you'll wet your pants! Provided you're wearing them, that is. Muyhahahahaha...(cough, cough)....sorry about that, it's the blood. Anyway, prepare yourselves now for the incrediably strange tale of Jackie Waffles: THE CAT WHO ATE UNTIL HE DISAPPEARED!!!!

Let us begin...



Jackie Waffles was your average everyday American kitten. Kinda slow and rather fat, but all in all quite typical. Some might call him the Joe the Plumber of cats.

I wouldn't, but some might.



He enjoyed doing all the typical kitten things, like jumping at door frames.



And tearing the leaves off of plants.



And, of course, sleeping in his tiny bowl.



But his favorite thing in the world to do was eat. He loved to eat so much he would meow pitifully and loudly ten times a day until someone put some food down for him. He could never, ever get enough.



Even after eating ten bowls he would lay around, bloated and full and daydream of ways to break into the pantry where the food was kept. If he could just find some way to get in there, he could eat the entire 20 pound bag of Meow Mix all by himself and not have to share it with the other two cats. Oh, how happy he would be!





Then one day, amazingly enough, his dream came true! Someone left the pantry door open just enough to let Jackie in. He tore open the packaging and quickly gobbled up the entire bag of cat food.





Afterwards he staggered over to his favorite tiny bowl and fell into a blissful sleep, happy to have achieved his dream at last.

Well, you know the old saying Careful What You Wish For, don't you kids? It turns out that this was no ordinary bag of Meow Mix. This bag of cat food, that he had so greedily ripped open and devoured, had been made in China and was tainted with some very, very bad Chinese chemicals. Possibly nuclear waste.


But unlike the Japanese nuclear waste which turned a small lizard into Godzilla, this stuff had the opposite effect on the already massive Jackie Waffles....




What the....?"

It caused him to shrink.




Now he was too tiny to jump at the door frame.




"Crap!"

Tearing up plants was too hard.





And eating was no fun. It took forever, now that the kibble was bigger than his itty bitty mouth.




This sucks, yo."


But the worst was yet to come. You see, Jackie had become so small no one could hear his wee little meows. Certainly not his practically deaf owner.





"Jackie Waffles! Where are you, you big doofus?"



And even more unfortunate for Jackie, his owner couldn't see too well either.







"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"








"Jackie?? Where is that stoopid cat? Jackie?"






Muyhahahahahhahaha.

An ironic end for such a greedy little cat, wouldn't you agree? Well.....sort of ironic anyway? Irony as defined by Alanis Morrisette? Like raaaaayaain on your wedding day....?

Whatever.

My New Love

Back when my dad was alive, he and I used to spend most of our time together arguing. It was a natural thing to do since my dad was a Rush Limbaugh listening, Fox News watching, Reagan worshiping republican, and I'm....not, so when we got together there was a lot of shouting. Really, thinking back on it I suppose it was a good way for us to connect. If we didn't argue about politics then we wouldn't have talked much at all. The only thing we ever had in common was our love of watching MASH reruns while eating peanut butter crackers.

My dad would have loved this election season. I'm sure he'd be lusting over Sarah Palin, and raging against that godless communist Obama. He might have hated Obama even more than Bill Clinton if that's possible. The happiest I ever saw him was during the Clinton impeachment. He used to call me up every night and begin the conversation with, "Did you hear what your buddy Clinton did today?" while cackling madly.

If he were alive right now, I know he'd also be a huge supporter of Prop 8 in California. The thought of gays marrying made him crazy with fear. He had a horror of gays. Whenever discussing someone known to be gay (like my cousin James, for instance) he'd make his wrist go limp and say something in a lisping voice like, "He's one of those tutti-fruttis."

"Wow," I'd tell him, "you're a real natural at that. Are you sure you're not secretly in the closet?"

Like most republicans though, he didn't have much of a sense of humor. Jokes like that would make him scowl.

I always thought the best way to rebel against him would have been to declare myself a lesbian and hook up with the butchiest, most Johnny Cash-looking chick I could find. We'd become truck drivers and wear nothing but flannel and then get pregnant with the aid of a turky baster and the sperm of our homosexual decorator friend named Jeffery. And once the baby was born we'd all march to Washington demanding that the design of the American flag be changed from blue and red stars and stripes, to rainbows surrounding a plate of sushi. Then we'd go on a gay cruise with Rosie O'Donnell. If that had happened, my dad's head would have exploded just like that guy in the movie Scanners.



My daughter...Rosie O'Donnell....turkey baster?!!!! Aaaaaaaaghhhh!


I loved this idea so much I decided to give sapphic love a try once I got to college. After all I went to the Lilith Fair when it came around and had fun, and also enjoy the gentle humor of Ellen DeGenerous, so why not? I even made a list of reasons why lesbianism would be better for me.


1. In magazines and paintings and such I prefer to look at women's bodies rather than men's. A naked man kind of has to be in the same room with me for me to fully appreciate him.

2. My children could have two mommies which would be nice when it came to diaper changing, and other bummer things that come with kids. Also, I'd get my wife to go through the pregnancy, deliver the babe, and breastfeed. That way I'd get a kid without messing up my body and having my boobs sag.

3. Shared period supplies.

4. I'm a girl's girl. Women are fun!


However, I found out first hand that you can't really choose your sexuality. You are either hetrosexual or you're not. It's not something you can really change either way. And why should you have to in order to experience all the benefits of marriage? A person can't help being what they are and loving who they love. Why should this be a problem? Gay marriage should be legal in every state IMO. It's hard to believe it is 2008 and this is still an issue.

My dad - like Sarah Palin - thought that letting gays marry would set a "dangerous precedent."

"What do you mean by that?" I'd ask.

"Well Pru, if you stop defining marriage as between one man and one woman only, you are opening a lot of doors better left closed. I mean, what's to stop someone from deciding they want to marry ten women, like the damn Mormons? Huh? And then the next thing you know, some bozo would try to marry his horse! Or a car or something. You know it would happen." At that point he'd shake his head with disgust. "Your buddy Clinton would probably try to marry a cigar."

How can you argue with that kind of logic? I'd just roll my eyes at him and run off to smoke the demon weed with my friends.

But now, I see that my dad might have been correct. Once a sacred line has been crossed anything can happen.

As the poets say, love makes you do crazy things. I never really appreciated this till now. For you see, my blogger friends, I have fallen in love - crazily, deeply, madly in love - but not with any man.

And not with a woman either.

No, the object of my affections isn't human at all. This may be shocking, I know. Some might blame it on the fact that gays are now allowed to marry in three states. Maybe if it weren't for that, I'd never have been tempted to flaunt tradition and indulge in an unholy, forbidden love. A love that cannot be condoned by most patriotic, right-thinkin' Americans.

Dang you for being right, Dad!

But you know what? I don't care. I don't care that society would frown on our relationship. Society can kiss my ass! I don't care if our getting hitched would make a mockery of the institution of marriage. And I don't care if the bible says it's wrong.


I love this pair of shoes with all of my being and I'm not ashamed to say it. I love them! And if I could wed them immediately I would.




Don't judge me. I couldn't help it. It was love at first sight. I knew we were destined for one another from the moment I tried them on. We are soul mates. Oooops, make that "sole mates." These shoes are everything I have ever wanted. Size 8 narrow, 2 1/2 inch heel silver leather beauties that make my legs look bitchin' yet are super comfortable? Hell yes! Come to me my lovelies, you are mine! I'll make you Mrs. Jones soon!





Oh sure, there might have to be some compromises. I had to put an extra hole in the straps to make them tighter. And I can't wear them everywhere I go - hiking for instance, they might get muddy - but I see the two of us having a long happy life together. And isn't that what's important, after all?




The only thing they are missing is taps on the heels. But since I have no ability to tap dance, it's okay. We'll dance around pretending to tap anyway. We are young and in love! Who can stop us? Not you, Dad. Not you either, Sarah "Bible Spice" Palin! Your "dangerous precedent" has been set already and there is nothing you can do about it. We're here so kiss our rear, 'cause we're not going away!

My love and I are going to tap dance over to Vera Wang right now and look at gowns. Then we are going to get registered over at Nordstroms. Please wish us joy! And if you want to get us something, we'd like a new coat. A size medium cloth coat in sapphire blue would make us both happy. Really.

Hobo Queen

I wanna be a hobo woman
in fact, I want to be their queen.
I'll wander around the country
and dine on bum cuisine.
Which I imagine consists of
Thunderbird and cans of beans.

All I'll need are my sturdy legs
and a pair of steel tipped boots.
When other hobos get a glimpse of me
they will start to clap and hoot.
And hork up big balls of globby spit
in an admiring hobo salute.

As hobo queen I shall have my choice
of the finest cigarette butts.
A cardboard box to keep the rain off my head
and a pair of junkyard mutts.
If anyone tried to mess with me
they'd feel my knife in their guts.

Then I'd wait out in the railroad yard
for the next train to come along,
playing an old harmonica
and singing a fun folk song.
About a bum named Big John Toenail
who could open cans with his schlong.

I'd cuss and fart and fight all night,
maybe even grow a beard.
A silky blonde chin covering
for which I'd be revered.
Because a hirsuit, lady vagabond
is a woman to be feared.

Now you don't need to lecture me
about things like good hygiene.
Because, as every hobo knows
dirt makes the best sunscreen.
Bum wine works well to kill the germs
and bleach my black teeth green.

My breath will positively reek
like an outhouse in July.
My appearance will make children shriek
and grown men start to cry.
But if you dare make fun of me
you'll get stabbed in the eye.

A hobo queen demands respect
so you'd better quit that smirking.
Or my hobo army might get pissed
and then they'll start berserking.
You might not like our filthy life
but hey, it sure beats working.



All hail good Queen Prunella "Strangey" Jones! Oh yeah! Wooooooo!

Debate Haikus

I watched the debates last night. I must say, there was way too much talk about some guy named Joe the Plumber. Who cares about Joe the Plumber? What about Prunella the Stripper? What about my needs, huh? No one addressed those!


Where was John's flag pin?
Does he hate America?
Say it ain't so, Joe!


Palin make good prez
cause she understands retards
being one herself.


Is that an ACORN
stuffed in McCain's cheek or is
he happy to see me?


Looks like he can't tell
Autism from Down Syndrome.
That's mavericky.


Joe the plumber? Yawn
enough with the plumber's cracks!
See what I did there? ;)


McCain/Palin have
an exciting new plan for
healthcare in the U.S.

Doctors aren't needed.
We shall simply ask God to
cast thy demons out!


So Sarah Palin
is a breast of freth air, eh?
blink..blink..blink..blink..blink


Joe the Plumber and
Joe Six-Pack are now in love.
Why can't they marry?


Your concern for the
health of mothers is touching.
(Air quotes) Fuck you bitch!


Angry, mean old man
I'm not gonna vote for you
but will stay off your lawn.

The Power of Vinegar and Water Compels You

Well, this weekend really flew by! I took the creepy vase with me to work at The Boobie Barn and let him read the furure for all the other dancers. For some reason they didn't like very much. A few cried.

Captain Peanut told me to take it away. His exact words were, "Prunella, that shit ain't funny. Get that fucking freaky ass shit out my face before I bust you a new ass." I could tell he was seriously freaked out and this knowlege makes me happy. I am going to have a lot of fun this Halloween.

This one kind of bible thumping girl named Michelle told me the creepy vase was satanic and probably possessed by a demon. She suggested sprinkling it with holy water. This is how that conversation went:

HER: I'm telling you, that thing needs an exorcism. It's unholy.

ME: Do you mean unholy in a Sarah Palin kind of way, or like the antichrist? Oh wait, they're the same.

HER: Huh? Who is Sarah Palin?

ME: (sigh) Nevermind.

HER: If only we had some holy water.

ME: Hmmmm...well, I don't usually carry holy water around with me, but let me see what I have in my locker. Hey, here's some Summer's Eve TM. Why don't we sprinkle some of this on it?

HER: You are going to make God really mad.

ME: Hey, if we put this stuff in our vaginas, don't you think it is bound to be extra pure and good?

So I doused the creepy vase with the douche water while she read some bible passage and everyone gathered around, hoping to see it explode into flames or something. Nothing like that happened though. The vase just giggled like a Japanese schoolgirl and then fell quiet.

Later on, after I brought it back home, the vase told me it had finally lost "that not so fresh feeling", so maybe the exorcism worked. MAybe now it'll spout nice predictions instead of doom and gloom.



"I see giant, stinging moths taking over the world, I see the death of all your hopes and dreams, I see McCain winning the election, I see....."

Or maybe not.

Creepy Vase Knows All...Tells All

Guess what? Not only is the new vase decorative, it also has powers.

"Super psychic powers." (air quotes)

That's what it tells me anyway. It says it can forsee the future. And I'm all, yeah right!



No, it's trooooooo. I can read your future from your aura. Which I am reading right now for you, Prunella Jones. Yes......very interesting...


Oh? Fine, I'll bite. What do you see in my future?

I'm seeing the color green surrounding you. Lots and lots of green...

Really? As in money? Am I going to get lots of money soon?

No....it's more....hmmm I think related to leaves? Grass maybe....

Weed? Am I gonna get a big bag of weed soon? Sweet!

No....ah yes...it's all becoming clearer now. You will be drenched in green slime when the gutters on your house - that have not been cleaned in three years - break off and fall on your head, which shall also cause a concussion.

What? That sucks!

AND THEN the green slime shall transmit hideous parasites and blood sucking leeches unto your skin causing much rashy distress.

Oh no! Leeches?

AND THEN one of the leeches shall lodge itself deep into your nasal cavity where it shall burrow in and use your blood to fertilize the eggs it lays behind your eyeballs

Gah! I don't like this future...

AND THEN the eggs will feed off of the gunk in your eyeballs until such time as the baby leeches burst forth and feast on your brain and brainial fluids

Stop it! No more!

AND THEN a hurricane will blow your house down. AND THEN a pack of hungry bears shall come in from the woods and gobble up your mother and pets. AND THEN one of the bears shall grab a great white shark by the tail and spin it around like a lasso and flog you over the head with it really hard. AND THEN the great white shark shall bite your leg off with it's enormous teeth. The left one I believe. AND THEN the bear shall bite off the right leg. AND THEN rain shall pour forth from the heavens drenching your new suede jacket. AND THEN lightening shall strike your body, burning off all off of your hair and frying your skin, black and bubbling, which shall then burst with weeping sores...

Wait a minute...all of these things are going to happen? This sounds like bullshit.

No, it's true for I have seen it. Do you doubt me?

Um...yeah.

I am 100% accurate. I'll prove it by predicting the futures of every person who leaves a comment on this post. When they all come true ye shall be....what is the word I'm thinking of? Oh yes....PWNED! Muyhahahahahahaha!

Okay then, you're on.

What about it, bloggers? Do you dare?????

The New Hidous Vase

You asked for it - well, Muse did anyway - so here it is, the new hideous vase my mom bought to replace the one Jackie Waffles broke. Take a look.



Ta Da! How much do you love it?



Here's a closer look. Are you freaked out yet? I really want to draw on those faces with a magic marker.



It's looking at you. It sees into your soul.


Oh, Jackie Waffles. yoo hoo, c'mere boy......

Breaking News

Literally.

Jackie Waffles is in big trouble with my mom. He just broke one of her favorite ugly vases.

He was spazzing around the house, like he usually does, when he apparently banged against a wobbly little stand my mom keeps in the entryway - in order to display said ugly, blue vase - causing the pottery to topple off and shatter into a million pieces.

I was at my desk when I heard the crash and saw Jackie streak by in a panic. He went straight to the closet and is now cowering there to escape my mom's wrath.

She is mightly pissed too. You should have heard the language! No one can cuss like an angry old Southern woman.

"That GD cat! Damn him! I'll kill his butt!" she howled, shaking her fist. "You'd better run, yella fella, cause you're no friend of mine anymore!"

"He can't help it, Mom," I said. "He's just a big, dumb oaf."

"You'd better keep him out of my way," she grumbled, while sweeping up the vase shards. "I'll smack him with this broom the next time I see him!"

Too bad I never took a picture of the vase. We could have had a vote on whether it was hideous or not (I'd vote yes). Now it is too late. I didn't even get to take a picture of the pieces as my mom swept them up so quickly. But here is a picture of the now empty stand.




It looks so lonely and empty I think I will find something to put on it to make my mom happy.




What do you think? Everybody loves the down home goodness of Chicken In A Biskit don't they? The MSG makes sure of that.




How about a skull? It would be timely since Halloween is coming up. I do enjoy decorating with skulls. They give the house a nice Hell's Angels kind of ambiance.




A Bob's Big Boy Bank might provide a whimsical touch. Plus, we could make all visitors deposit a quarter before allowing them entry into Chez Prunella. Or else charge them a quarter in order to leave. That might be a better plan, actually. W00t! I'll be rolling in money soon!


Well, how about that? My mom doesn't like any of these fabulous suggestions. She's going off right now to TJ MAXX to buy another ugly vase. Hmmmpfff some people!

Oh well, here's a picture of the unrepentant one himself chilling in his favorite tiny bowl. He's getting big, huh?





What? I didn't do anything. It wasn't me, I'm innocent I tells you! Innocent!....So, do you have any food for me?"