Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Blast From The Past #3

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...


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.

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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!

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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.

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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!

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Blast From The Past #2

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?"

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The new girl.

"," 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.

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First she ran around the pole in circles. WTF?

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

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

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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.

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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.

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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

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 play in 2 acts by Prunella Jones


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

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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!

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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.

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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!

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Jessica Hummmmmph!

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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!



Enter a very peeved Britney Spears.

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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!

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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!

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Cash No Britney, not the Escalade!


Thursday, September 17, 2009

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

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.

my pimped pic!

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.

my pimped pic!

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.

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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!

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Hope, Change, and Hawtness

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.

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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.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Picture Post, 'Cause I'm Lazy

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

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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.

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

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

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Barry Manilow smoking a doob next to a lava lamp.

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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.

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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"?

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

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

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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.

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

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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?

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Sunday, September 06, 2009

Why Paula? Why?

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.

paula sob

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!

Friday, September 04, 2009

Juliet Explains It All

"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?

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

The Spirits Are Telling Me They Are Bored

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 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.

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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.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Restless Hearts: A Soap Opera

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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)

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

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What? Jackie...what are you saying?

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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!

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

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

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

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

Door opens.

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

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Oh shit!

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Excuse me? Who are you calling a tramp?

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I'm calling you a tramp. Whore!

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

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


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

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

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Hey guys, guess what! I can lick my nose! I interrupting something?

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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.

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


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

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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.

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

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Dang these fleas!

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

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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!