Rated G for Gruesome

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. A little orange kitteh lay curled up in his bowl, snoozing happily.






Suddenly startled by a noise, he opened his sleepy eyes. What was that?





Oh Noes!




Valiantly the tiny kitteh struggled and fought with all of his might, but he was no match for the evil (and hungry) land gator who swallowed him in one gulp.


WHEN WILL THIS MADNESS END?

The Adventures of Prozac Pony

Hi there! My name is Penny, but you can call me Prozac Pony. Everyone does. Why, you ask? Because after many years of therapy and a whole lot of Prozac, I realize that life is too short to be sad and alone and I want to spread the word.





I used to be depressed all the time and stayed by myself, never joining in any pony games. Since I was such a downer no one wanted to hang out with me, which made me even more bummed out. It truly sucked.






But that's all changed. Now I have a great outlook and tons of friends. Life is good.

Hey, guys!

Hey Prozac Pony, how's it goin?






Wait.....where are you going? Guys? Guys?







Guys? Come back! Is it....my breath? Is my conversation boring? What?

(cue the music from Jaws)






Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh






UMM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM





Muyhahahahaha. Yummy. Hungry Gator loves mentally healthy meat best! SSRI's are like MSG to me. Makes everything tastier to my mouf!

Still hungry.....






Halp!

Muyhahahahaha. NOM NOM NO--......pleh! Ack, ick, yuck! This meat no good. It taste like crazy.

Paula Abdul Is Divalicious, But I'm Still Working On It

The little devil who lives on my shoulder and tempts me to do bad things is at it again.

Do you remember the one? He looks like Richard Dawson with devil horns, and he's very, very persuasive.

Anyway, ever since I returned from vacation and settled back into the misery of my everyday routine, he just won't leave me alone. All day long he urges me to do stuff I shouldn't, nattering in my ear about how it doesn't matter anyway, life sucks and then you die so have a little fun now, blah, blah, blah and etc.

"Go on, luv," he'll whisper. "Why don't you have an extra Adderall or three, hmmmm.

"Shut up, Richard!" I'll say, covering my ears. "Get thee behind me, cockney charmer."

"You know," he'll coo, "it's okay to powder up your pill and snort it. You are still getting your medicine, it's just a different method of delivery, that's all."

"No Richard! I'm not going to abuse my medication. Survey says, Rrrrrrrnnnnk wrong answer!"



Could you resist a suave bastard like this?


If he can't tempt me with drugs he'll try a different tatic.

"Well then, why don't you grease the stripper poles at work? It'll be mad fun to watch those bitches fall on their asses."

"No Richard," I'll say. "That's wro......wait a minute, that's a pretty good idea actually."

Yeah, sometimes he succeeds. Well, what do you expect? I'm not a saint.

The other day though, he almost got me in big time trouble. This is what happened. I was out at Target with my best friend Paula Abdul, looking at the glittery body products. I had told her about the Diva book and Paula wanted to follow the Frivolous Diva Do suggestion for the week. Oh yeah, here it is in case you want to try it too.

Find some body glitter and pretend it is fairy dust. As you begin each day, make a wish or say a Diva Declaration....

1. About yourself and spruinkle it on yourself before you leave the house.

2. About your car and sprinkle it around your car.

3. About your sensuality and sprinkle it in your bed and in your lingerie drawer.


Paula and I were laughing our asses off and thinking up stupid Diva Declarations like, "Today I allow my Hello Kitty panties to sparkle with enough glitter to choke Mariah Carey, because I am a sensual goddess."

"Oh, I like that one," Paula said. She picked up a jar of Jessica Simpson's Dessert Belly Button Creme and sniffed it. "Ugh, what does this smell like to you?"

I took a whiff. It smelled like old Hostess Twinkies to me. Why does anybody buy Jessica Simpson stuff? She doesn't deserve to make any money from it. It's all crap!

It was pretty damn glittery though.

That's when Richard started whispering. "Put it in your pocket, Pru. Don't you dare pay for that. Fuck Jessica! Just take it, take, it, take it!"

I started sweating. Damn Richard! Why is he so tempting? I haven't shoplifted anything in ages - not since I used to hang out with Wynona Ryder - but I remember the rush. Oh yes! Slowly, very slowly, I eased the tub of creme into my pocket. Ha ha!

The minute we were out the door, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Excuse me, Miss. Can you empty your pockets for me, please?"

My heart started to pound with fear. The security guard was a tall, rusty haired, body builder type. He looked at me with eager anticipation. He'd probably been hanging around bored all day and now there was finally going to be some excitement. He'd get to frisk me and the police would be called and I'd be led away in handcuffs, all because of stoopid Jessica Simpson's sparkly belly butter that stinks like stale cupcakes. How humiliating! How un Diva-like. I cringed.

Thankfully, though, Paula was with me. She whipped out her inner diva and saved my ass.

"Are you accusing my friend of stealing or something?" she demanded. "I am Paula Abdul! I have enough money to buy everything in this entire store, including you! You're kinda cute, by the way. Are you single?"

Stammering and blushing, the guy asked her for an autograph and her phone number. He was so dazzled he forgot all about me and I quickly ditched the stank creme in the nearest trashcan. I'll never do that again! I am scared straight...probably. I hope so anyway. A true diva doesn't steal trashy items from Target. And she ignores little devils who tell her to do that kind of stuff. I should quit making fun of that book and start wearing my tiara to the grocery store like they suggest.

I was so grateful to Paula that I decided to write a poem in her honor. I read it to her last night when we were at our favorite Mexican restaurant, throwing back Margaritas and flirting with the macho, hairy chested waiters. Here it is.

Ode To a Diva
by Prunella Jones

People let me tell you about my best friend,
a super cool chick with a fine rear end.

Her name is Paula, and while she has fame
she is still one classy dame.

We love to giggle, laugh, and joke
and also guzzle rum and Coke

When I hurt my back or bump my shins,
she’ll float me some of her Vicodins.

Paula is so very nice,
she happily checked my scalp ten times for lice.

And when I nearly got arrested the other day
for stealing Jessica Simpson body spray
her quick thinking saved my tail
and kept me from shoplifter's jail.

You are a true diva, Miss Abdul.
With a fierceness that makes Ryan Seacrest drool.
They need to bring back your show, “Hey Paula” it ruled!



Paula was touched by the poem I wrote for her.



Later on when she passed out face down in her guacamole salad, I moved her head over to the side so she wouldn't get sour cream up her nose. And I didn't take a picture of her like that to sell to the tabloids, even though they would pay big bucks and I need the money. Richard was hopping up and down demanding that I do it, but I was able to ignore him. How dare he even suggest it? PAula is like a sister to me!

And I didn't even steal her bottle of Vicodin, even though it was sitting right there in her open purse.

Well......okay, I did take two pills. But the bottle was practically full. She'll never miss them.

Are you Divalicious?

My mom bought me a present the other day.

It was a book called The House That Cleans Itsef: Creative Solutions for a Clean and Orderly House.

"Do you think you might want to read this sometime?" she asked. "It has a lot of good suggestions and it's not preachy."

She looked at me so hopefully, that I had to laugh.

"Aw you're so cute, Mom, of course I will," I lied.

I love books. I'll read pretty much anything if it's interesting enough to me. But housecleaning is not interesting. At all. Besides, I'm sort of obsessed right now with a book I just found while standing in line at The Pancake Pantry. It was in a pile of free books they leave out to make the wait more bearable. The title is I Am Diva! Every Woman's Guide to Outrageous Living and it's one of the wackiest, most ridiculous things I've ever read.






Basically it's just a self-help type book, and it's message is pretty decent - love yourself as you are, be self confident, don't be a doormat, get more enjoyment out of every day, etc. - sort of a touchy feely mix of Oprah and the kind of articles you see anytime you flip through a Women's Day magazine. Ho hum, you've seen this type of book a million times I'm sure.


But the suggestions the authors give is the reason I can't put this book down! Oy vey! They make me laugh and laugh because they are just so damn silly. I'm sorry, but I don't see how buying myself a tiara and wearing it to the grocery store is going to get me in touch with my inner diva and make me more self confident.

The book is full of goofy ass advice like this. Oh boy! Everytime I read over it I cackle with glee. I just love this kind of eye-rollingingly cheesy stuff.


Although I do have issues with their use of the word "diva", which to me conjures up a mental picture of Naomi Campbell or JLo freaking out and throwing a diamond studded cell phone because their chinchilla eyelashes were rinsed out in regular water instead of Evian.

According to my dictionary the definition is:

Diva - a distinguished female singer; prima donna.

So then I looked up prima donna.

Prima Donna - a temperamental person; a person who takes adulation and privileged treatment as a right and reacts with petulance to criticism or inconvenience.


Me thinks the word goddess would have been a better fit for what this book is advocating. Most people don't need any help in being bigger assholes.

So anyway, it starts off with a short quiz to help you gauge how far along you are on the "Diva Contentment Continuum." I scored 80-99 which makes me a "Diva-in-Waiting." So all I need is a little polish on my diamond in the rough. My mom scored 70-89. She's a "Diva-Wannabe" which means she really needs this book. She didn't seem too jazzed about it and declined to play, but I'm ready to start on my journey to Divaness. There are 52 weeks worth of suggestions and I plan to do them all. Or at least a couple, till I get sick of it. Which won't take long, but what the heck I'm broke as a joke right now so I've got to get my laughs where I can.

How about you? Wanna join me? Come on, it'll be fun!

Here are our Diva Do assignments for the week.

1. In order to begin, they said we'll need a diary to record our fabulous transformation from sad sack to hawt bitch. A blank notebook that should be decorated Diva-style with glitter, velvet, or a boa trim. The authors seem to think glitter is very diva like. I'm not sure why. It seems more like a twelve year old's idea of glamour to me, or maybe a tranny's, but whatever.

Okay, so I got a blank notebook from the dollar store. It's pink and sparkly enough to make Mariah Carey gouge her eyes out with jealousy.




But since I'm not really the glittery type, I decided to decorate mine with eyeballs and a cholo sticker I got out of a gumball machine.



There I think that's divalicious, don't you?



2. Next, it says to pick a few Diva role models. "Women who have qualities that you admire. Write them down in the Diva Diary."

Hmmm this one required some thought. There are lots of chicks I admire, but which ones are the most divalicious? It took me a while of pencil tapping, but I finally wrote down three.

Carrie NAtion - She was a leader in the temperance movement in pre-Prohibition America most well known for marching into saloons singing and praying, and destroying the place with a hachet while the men just stood there open mouthed, watching with dismay. I have no problem with people drinking myself, but I just love it that Carrie was such a ball-buster. How can you not like a person who described her bar smash ups as "hachetations"?


Queen Elizabeth the first - What a total badass. She didn't put up with shit. She was smart enough to never marry so she could keep the guys dancing in attendance to her hoping for favors all of her life. I like her big red wigs too.

Paula Abdul - I just love her. Paula can't sing, but somehow she was able to have a career as a pop star and now has job judging other people on their singing ability. And she's able to go to work drunk and stoned everyday and not get fired for it. Damn! You just can't beat that.

You are then supposed to cut out pictures of these role models and make them into a collage, but yeah, I think I'll skip it.



3. "Pick one quality you admire to focus on. Take fifteen minutes each day to reflect on what will be present in your life if you have, for example, more grace."

A quality I admire? Grace is okay, but I'd much rather have the power to shoot lazer beams out of my eyes - so hot that they could burn a hole straight through my enemies innards, and send them off to the hell they so richly deserve. Muyhahaha. If only I could aquire that ability by meditating on it.


4. "Create a new action to integrate this quality into your life. When I practice gentleness, I speak softly and move slowly."

Bah, I've been trying to shoot lazer beams out of my eyes since I was a child. How I wish it would work.


Well, that's it for this week. Man, this journey to Divahood is hard work! I'm too tired to do the "Frivolous Diva Do" at the end of the chapter but if you'd like to here it is:

For a quick shot of fun and silliness, perfect to escape any moment of monotony, jump up and down on your bed like you did when you were six.



Yes, this really is a serious, self help book that you can actually buy at Amazon, and not a humorous instruction manual for half-witted drag queens. I couldn't believe it either.

Summer Lovin

I don't write much about my love life on this blog - mostly because it isn't very interesting - but while I was on vacation recently that all changed. I met and was romanced by a very, very special man. Our time together was short, only a few days, but I'll never forget it. It was like something out of a Shakespearean play. Or maybe a Robert James Waller novel. Beautiful and passionate and doomed from the beginning.


I was having breakfast at a little restaurant in Morro Bay when I first noticed him busing a nearby table. Well, actually I noticed the other busboy first because that one was wearing purple eyeliner and a little bowler hat that made him a dead ringer for Debbie Gibson in her Electric Youth days. I was intrigued by this and started scribbling a poem called "Sexually Ambiguous Busboy" on my napkin. I had almost finished it when I heard a voice say, "You want some more tea?"

"No," I said, without looking up.

"Sure?"

"Yes," I said, feeling irritated. It's so annoying to be interrupted while trying to think up a word to rhyme with androgynous. "I'm sure."

"O-tay," he said, and then the next thing I knew, ice cold tea was drenching the table and paper napkin I'd been writing on, and dripping down my legs.

"Oh! I sorry, pretty lady! Sorry! It was an accident!" he cried, and began wringing his hands.

"You idiot!" I was peeved. The poem was gone, as the ink was now illegible. I stood up, ready to yell at him some more, and that's when I really saw him for the first time and I was......captivated.



Can you blame me?


Tenderly he wiped me off with the filthy bus towel, all the while looking into my eyes with his intense green gaze. And then he gave me a killer grin that could melt the panties off a nun.

"You're pretty," he said, simply, and grabbed my hand. "Are you my fwiend?"

At his touch, the hairs on the back of my neck began to tingle with lust.

"Sure," I whispered, knowing that, indeed, we would be very good friends. "My name is Prunella, but you can call me Pru. What's yours?"

"I'm called Tom," he said. "Some people say I'm crazy, but I'm not crazy. I'm special!"

"Yes," I agreed, checking him out in his tee shirt and jeans (you can see them in the photo above). From what I could tell as he stood very close, he had a decent bulge going on in those pants. "I bet you are quite special."

"Fwiend," he grinned. "Can I have a hug?"

And with that he pulled me tightly towards him, his tiny hands roving over my back and ass in a way that sent shivers of desire down my spine and straight to my hoohah. I felt a warmth like I had never known, from somewhere deep within my loins swell up and spill between my thighs, and I realized then that I had to have him. Even though I knew it was wrong, that society would frown on a tryst between a mentally challenged man and a brilliant young genius like myself, still I decided to go for it. After all, a love like this only comes along once in a lifetime. Besides, there isn't much to do in San Luis Obispo after the sun goes down, and I hadn't been able to get tickets for the Hearst Castle tour.

"Tom," I murmured as we embraced, rocking back and forth. "Would you like to come back to my hotel with me?"

"Oh! Yes! Hooray!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Let's go! Wheel of Fortune is on at 1:00 and again at 1:30! And then it comes on another time at 7:00!"

I was charmed by his childlike enthusiasm. He was so excited by everything, a nice change for someone like me - a woman who had become a bit jaded by life. He was not a smart man by any means, but under his tutelage I found a new joy in the simple things, like slow, wet, sloppy kisses, frolicking on the beach sand, and walking hand in hand with a lover while searching the night sky for UFOs. I even began to develop an appreciation for the blandness that is Pat Sajak. By the way, did you know that Chuck Woolery was the original host of Wheel of Fortune?





My lover, enjoying the new sunglasses I bought for him at Target. He cleaned up quite nicely. In this picture, I had just asked him how large his penis was and he was estimating. He did a pretty good job. Why else do you think I was kept him around for three days?


In return, I taught Tom about the ways of love - hawt sexual love - between a man and a woman, and also the wonders of a heated toilet seat with oscillating rear cleansing. He enjoyed both, although it sometimes seemed to me that he was a bit too into the rear cleansing. I could barely get him off of that thing!



Tom never seemed to stop smiling. Here he is telling me about aliens from outer space. He gets really excited about them.




The few days we spent together were truly magical. Unfortunately, it had to end when the time came for me to head back down to Riverside.

"Tom," I said that night, after he had watched his TV show and I had crammed all my junk back into my suitcase. "I must leave you now."

"What?" he looked stunned. "You can't go, fwiend!"

"I'm sorry, my darling, but I have to return the rental car soon and go back to my life in Tennessee. Now get dressed and I'll drive you back to the group home."

"No!" he yelled, his face turning red. "Nooooooooo!"

He then leapt on the pink velvet couch we'd been sitting on, and began jumping up and down hysterically.

I felt terrible that he was so upset but I really had to get going. Plus, I had visions of the Madonna Inn charging me big bucks for any damage to the furniture.

"Stop that right now, Tom," I said sharply, "that sofa is an expensive antique. Get down!"

"Noooooooo!" He kept right on jumping. "No, no, no! You complete me! You commmmmpletttte me!"

It took an hour and two Valiums to get him to calm down. Of course, I had to lie and tell him the Valium were Vitamin C pills - someone had convinced him drugs were bad - and I eventually got him back to the handicapable home where he lives. It was hard to say goodbye - mostly because he kept screaming You complete me!

As I drove off, I popped the soundtrack to the movie Grease in the CD player and sang along with the Olivia Newton John parts of the song Summer Nights. Whoever wrote those lyrics was quite wise in the ways of holiday romance. It seemed to be written just for Tom and me.

Summer lovin, had me a blast
Summmer lovin happened so fast

(Other boring lyrics that don't relate to me and Tom)

Shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop,shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop, shoo-bop bop, YEH
Summer fling, don't mean a thing, but uh-oh those summer nights
Summer heat, boy and girl meet, but uh-oh those summer nights
Summer dreams ripped at the seams,
bu-ut oh, those su-ummer nights....





A worker from Tom's group home just emailed me this picture. It seems he's been doing nothing but jumping on the couch since we parted.

Some Vacay Photos

My trip to Cali was very nice. I can't believe it's over already. Every day was jam packed with fun, except for the last few when I ran out of money and had to crash with some elderly relatives who wouldn't turn on the air conditioning even though they live in Moreno Valley and it was 100 degrees.

They were like, "Doesn't the fan keep this room so nice and cool, Pru?"

Um....that would be a big no. But what are you going to do? Beggars can't be choosers, etc. It was really nice of them to put me up.

In their sweltering, sweltering guest room.

God, I'm an ungrateful brat! I shouldn't complain. I spent most of my time enjoying the lovely cool breezes of San Diego and San Luis Obispo. I also stopped by Huntington Beach so I could hang out with fellow bloggers LA and Diane. It as so great to finally meet them and find out that they were even more awesome and fun in 3D. We chattered nonstop for hours and hours, and then Diane gave us a tour of her gorgeous beach pad and I got to meet her dogs, the famous Nanners and Noodles.

Unfortunately I didn't take any pictures with them. I meant to, but I was so busy having fun that I forgot. Also, I didn't remember to charge my digital camera battery before I left and it ran out of juice pretty quick. What pics I do have were taken with my crappy cell phone.



Here is the most famous statue in San Diego. I forget what it is called, but it's famous! Really it is!



I like this one better because of the Eurotrashy couple in front of it. I could tell they were European because they were exquisitely accessorized. The fact that they were gibbering in Italian might have helped too. A few minutes later, they asked me to take a pic of them with their bazillion dollar camera. I was tempted to run off with it. Why wasn't I born in Europe? Free medical care and their money is worth so many dollars they could wipe their ass with greenbacks and still have plenty left over. I am so jealous.


In San Luis Obispo I stayed at the world famous Madonna Inn. I loved the way it was decorated in an over the top opulence. And BTW it is not owned and operated by Madonna as my mom asked when I told her about it.



Here is the bathroom in the attached restaurant of the hotel. It looked like something out of Dracula's castle.



Trying to work the friggin camera phone! Yes, my hair looked this fried the entire time.



Posing in front of the restroom stall because I'm all about class, baby!




You may think I'm obsessed with bathrooms (and you'd be right) but this toilet in my room was special. It had a heated seat! I am but a poor lass from the IE unused to such decadence and I must say it felt like heaven on my buns!



It also featured a bidet with rear and frontal cleansing. What happens is a jet of warm water shoots out and bathes the nether regions. Very thorough! I think I may have had an orgasm from it.



Pretty scenery from a beach. This one was in San Diego, I believe. I have a bunch of these but they all kinda look the same.




One of my favorite tourist spots in San Luis Obispo. It's called Bubble Gum Alley. Basically it's just two walls filled with people's used gum and formed into designs and whatnot. Just the kind of thing I love.




Here is my contribution. It was watermelon flavored.

I'm Back

And I'm tired. More later.

The West is the Best

Wow, I'm posting a lot lately, which is very unlike me. Usually I'm much too lazy. What's up with that?

I guess because I'm actually out doing things. Yesterday I flew from NAshville to Ontario, California, so I could take a little vacation in Riverside (where I am from) and San Diego where my brother lives.

Ah, to breath the smogalicious air of Riverside! How I've missed it! It's so good to be back in the glorious Inland Empire. I've been taking a lot of pictures which I will share as soon I can manage to download them onto my laptop. None of them have been topless so far, but you never know.

Photo Post

How much do I love my digital camera? All the fun of photography without the expense of getting the pictures developed. Who invented it anyway? I want to have sex with them.

It's hard to remember to take it with me whenever I venture out, but sometimes I go on photo rampages inside the house. Here's a couple of the latest.






Lil Jackie Waffles crashed out. He plays hard and sleeps harder. He's like a ragdoll when he's asleep and it's so damn cute.










Every gargoyle needs a blond hoochie wig to vogue in. The little one on the left is jealous. Don't fret man, you get to wear it next month!








Shirley did not want to wear Playboy bunny ears. She found it very degrading as she is a feminist.








I added pop eyes to this picture of The Pope that hangs in my bathroom. Why, you ask? I don't know, just felt like it.







WARNING: This next pic could be considered NSFWish I suppose. You can see a little bit of nipple. So do not scroll down if you don't like tits. Or if you are offended by messy bathrooms.
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I call this self portrait Topless at 5:30 AM in the World's Messiest Bathroom. I considered cropping the toilet out, but on second thought I like it better in.

Unflattering Pics of Celebs

I stole this idea from D. Prince. She had a post entitled Celebrities Without Makeup MAke Me HAppy and I thought, "Me too!"

I sort of hate celebs and like to make fun of them. Mostly because I'm super jealous of their insane riches. F them bastards!

Enjoy!







A barefaced Kate Moss is proof that photoshop and makeup are all anyone needs to be a supermodel. Dizzam!






I just love pics of Tom Cruise looking completely off his rocker. There are so many. I sort of have a collection going.





This picture of Fergie with pee stains never gets old. Squirt, squirt!




There are too many hideous pics of Britney Spears to choose from. But I like this one of her picking her ass.

Once when I was a kid I was playing over at a friends house and I did this. My friend's dad said, "Pru, are you planning on going to the movies?"

"No," I answered puzzled.

"Because you sure are already picking out your seat!" he cried slapping his knee, and the whole family laughed their asses off, including the senile granny, two year old brother, and the dog. I laughed too (I had no choice!) but I didn't really understand the joke till a few days later. Hey, I was a slow child!





Probably the worst pic of Maddona ever. I'm fond of it. Look at those scary chompers! She resembles a demented Bugs Bunny.






Paris Hilton doing what she does best. Sucking.




**UPDATE: For Mister Underhill and Fashion Herald. Here is a little pizza faced Cameron Diaz for you.

Check This Out

I was shopping at my local Publix the other day when I noticed this tee shirt.




Very nice sentiment, right? Patriotic.

Well, after seeing that I just had to check the label.




What a shocker. Of course it was made in Nicaragua. I was only surprised that it wasn't made in China.

At first I thought this was funny in an ironic way, but now I just think it's sad.

My New Kitteh, Let Me Show U Him

I haven't thought of any good names yet. I've just been calling him Kitteh Buddy. Got any suggestions?

Fork you, Target!

Meet my new lawn gnome, Fork.

I named him Fork because he looks kinda emo to me with that black eyeliner, and emo types seem to love having sad sack anti-names. I got him by accident on my last trip to Target.

When I say by accident, that's what I mean. I didn't go to Target specifically to buy a yard gnome; I meant to only buy dogfood and that's it. Instead I walked out with a cart full of crap, including Fork here. I don't know what happened but (as usual) I have a theory.

You see whenever I walk in to Target, like most people, I grab a cart thinking that I'll need it for the heavy bag of dog food. But as soon as my hand actually touched the cart I entered a fugue state - possibly complete with drool dripping down my chin - and didn't resume conciousness until I was standing in the checkout line digging for my credit card to pay for the huge amount of stuff I had somehow accumulated.
This is what I bought besides Fork the Gnome:

dog food
cat food
gigantic package of toilet paper
mascara
shampoo
conditioner
hair gel
a monkey cookie jar
socks
2 shirts
a book
lip gloss
a necklace
2 CDs
3 DVDs
a shower curtain
a bikini
paper towels
a package of chocolate covered pistachios


I absolutely do not remember putting any of it in my cart!

See my theory is the red and white bullseye logo they have actually hypnotises you as you approach the store. Then, as soon as you walk through the door, they play that super soft music that whispers commands of "buy, buy, buy" as you meander up and down the aisles.

One time when I was at Target I heard a lady remark to her friend, "I just love this store. It's so well lit."

"Yes," her companion answered, "and the aisles are so roomy."

Tell me, is that a conversation a person would have if their brain were fully active and concious?

Oddly this never happens to me at Walmart. Walmart sucks ass.

Things That Make You Go Hmmmmm

My mom has been complaining for the last few days of a terrible smell in her room. She keeps making me sniff various areas of the room and saying stuff like, "See, right there! Can't you smell it? Something is dead in here, I swear!"

Truthfully I can't smell anything at all, but she was bugging me so much I finally agreed that something stunk so she'd leave me alone. That didn't work, though, as she then started firing questions at me.

Mom: What does it smell like to you?

Me: I don't know. Ass?

Mom: I think something must have died in here but I've looked everywhere and I can't find anything. It's driving me crazy! Do you think that's it, or does it smell more like mold?

Me: No, you're right, this room reeks of the grave.

Mom: (Nostrils flaring like a beagle on the hunt) Maybe it's coming through the air conditioning vent from the attic. Go up there and see if you see anything dead.

So, I had to pull the ladder out and climb up into the tiny, spider infested attic and crawl around with a flashlight looking for dead rats or zombies or whatever the heck else my mom could think of. I didn't see any dead rodents and I was about to climb back down when I noticed an opening in the wall towards the very back. I crept a little closer and shined the flashlight on it so I could check it out.

I'd never had any reason to enter the attic before. The real estate agent certainly didn't bring me up there before I bought the place, and it never occured to me to take a look.

Squinting through the dust, I finally located a lightswitch and turned it on. Holy cow, I wish I hadn't!

The opening was much bigger than I'd initially thought, about the size of a largish television, and circled with red paint. An eerie crimson glow seemed to emanate from the center. As I approached it, a terrible stench filled my nostrils and flies began buzzing around my head. I pulled the neck of my tee shirt up over my nose and kept going.

The opening radiated a terrible heat and what sounded like screams. I stopped right in front of it, unsure of what to do next. Then from somewhere inside the hole I heard a deep, rumbling voice bellow these words,


"get out!"



Well, I didn't have to be told twice! I scrambled out of the attic and slammed the door shut, nearly falling off the ladder in my haste to get the fuck away.

"Did you find a dead rat?" My mom asked hopefully.

"No," I said, "but it appears we have a portal to Hell in the attic."

"But no dead animals? What about a bird? A bird might have gotten up there somehow."

"Mom," I said. "Didn't you hear me? There is an opening to Hades right here in our house. This is like, some Amityville Horror type shit!"

"Oh brother," she said, rolling her eyes. "Well, since you didn't see anything I'm going to call an air conditioning company and have them come flush out the vents." Then she walked off. She never takes me seriously.

I had often wondered what was going on with this place. Now all that weird, unexplainable stuff - the fruit flies we can never seem to get rid of entirely, the green slime that oozes from the refrigerator, that time I saw the dog levitating - it all makes perfect sense. I'm not a lousy housekeeper who occasionally smokes to much pot and hallucinates things, my home is just possessed by demons!

It's good to know, but I'm not planning on moving or anything like that, any time soon. Not with the sweet interest rate I've got locked in on this mortgage.

In other news, I'm still lice free and my head no longer itches.

7 Fun Facts About Vermin

Yep, I've got bugs on the brain lately. I've been compulsively reading about them. Nothing useful though, just trivia. I love trivia. And I really love the word vermin. It's so descriptive, isn't it? One of those words that really sound like what it is. Vermin, vermin, vermin! (Particularly, if said with a German accent.)


ver·min
–noun, plural ver·min.
1. noxious, objectionable, or disgusting animals collectively, esp. those of small size that appear commonly and are difficult to control, as flies, lice, bedbugs, cockroaches, mice, and rats.
2. an objectionable or obnoxious person, or such persons collectively.
3. animals that prey upon game, as coyotes or weasels.

I didn't know you could call coyotes vermin. How about that? It's good to learn something new everyday. Here are some other fun facts I didn't know about vermin:



1. Napoleon may have had scabies. (scabies - tiny mites that burow under the skin and leave behind itchy patches with oozy crusts.) Remember all those paintings of him with his hand inside his shirt? Some historians believe it was there so he could scratch himself while holding long poses for the portrait painter.

That's better than my theory that he was fondling a third nipple.



War is the business of barbarians. And those who itch. Gosh!



2. Cockroaches are pretty amazing if you think about it. Dinosaurs were around for 130 million years. Humans only two million or so. But roaches are 350 million years old and still going strong. They will eat anything, even the sweat out of your shoes, even bits of their own or other roaches bodies! Soap, paper, paint, and even some poisons are tasty to them. They can be frozen, then thawed, and walk away completely unharmed. Roaches are the Rasputins of the insect world.


3. Did you know that male Malaysian fruit bats have boobs that can lactate to nurse their young? I bet the La Leche League would like to know about that. They should make it their mascot.

4. Living in the Middle Ages must have been a barrel of laughs. The common belief of most people back then was that the more you suffered, the greater your chances were of going to heaven. Sweet! So when people got fleas, they did nothing to get rid of them. Probably one of the reasons why so many died of plague, as it was spread by fleas.

5. Oh and get this, boy fleas have not one but two male organs. (That's a polite way of saying dicks!)




6. A fly has bristly hair all over it's body. It's about the hairiest bug in all of insectland. This fact inspired the ancient Romans to use flies as a cure for baldness. What they would do is mash up a couple of hundred houseflies into a paste and rub it on their bald spots. Mmmm I bet that felt nice. Too bad it didn't work.

7. Rats are just as badass as cockroaches. They can fall from a five story building and land on their feet unharmed. They can climb up brick walls, jump two feet high or four feet across, swim for days on end, and squeeze through a hole the size of a quarter. These are freakin superhero powers! How come there isn't a Rat Man movie?



"Hey Granny, what do you think of my Rat MAn idea?"


"Really Granny, there's no need to be rude!"

Link Love

I need to update my links in a bad way. If I do not link you currently and you would like me to, please let me know. I am terrible about this sort of thing, on account of being the most unorganized person alive and not being able to remember squat.

Lice Update: None have been spotted so far. I am cautiously optimistic. I have also learned something about friendship. If a friend is willing to examine your scalp for bugs twenty times a day, they are worth their weight in gold. If not, who needs 'em!




I really want this poster!

Of Lice and Men

Did you know that it is only in the last century that mankind has not been largely covered in bugs?

Think about that the next time you read one of those bodice-ripping, historical romances. It's not quite as sexy if you think of the wicked Duke and the innocent young noble woman, crawling with parasites as they get it on.

I enjoy learning about that kind of gross stuff, although I have never wanted to experience head lice for myself! It looks like I might get a chance to, though. Apparently there is a now lice epidemic going around in my neighborhood. My best friend's three kids are all infested, as are all of their playmates. I have been freaking out about this ever since she told me. I have long, long hair that nearly reaches my waist and it brushes against everything, so I've surely been exposed.

Damn, bugs are so nasty! Anything with little tiny legs like that makes me shiver. I can't even stand it when my dog has fleas.

But lice are very common in childhood and extremely contagious, or so I have been reading on the internet. My mom said I actually caught a case when I was in kindergarten and that it was a nightmare to get rid of. She said she had to douse my hair with poisonous chemicals twice, and pick nits off my head for months before they were completely erradicated. Strangely, I have no memories about this event whatsoever. I can only assume they are so traumatizing that I've repressed them.


One of the main symptoms of lice is an intensely itchy scalp. Naturally my head has been itching non stop since I found out about it.



Because that little itch may be telling you something.


It's probably just psychosomatic since I haven't found any little buggers yet, but it's still driving me mad! Being a somewhat obsessive person, once I get an idea in my head (like, for instance, that I'm crawling with bugs) it is hard to let go.

It's almost like an anxiety attack the way it descends on me all of a sudden. The minute my head starts itching, I feel a compulsive urge to make sure I'm clean. So I make my mom do lice checks several times a day. And if she's not around, I won't hesitate to get whomever is to examine my scalp real quick for bugs. The other day I nearly asked the jewelry counter lady at T.J. Maxx inspect my hair.

I need a box of RID and some Valium STAT!



**Here are a few natural cures for head lice.

Fun With Fiction

So, my mom is taking a creative writing class for seniors down at the YMCA.

Man, am I jealous of whoever is teaching that class! It would be my dream job. I'd give those old people assignments like: "Write about what you were doing on the day those giant space mutants from Jupiter tried to take over New York City."

Then, as soon as some codger inevitably pointed out, "But that didn't happen," I'd scowl at them and say, "Hey, the class is called Creative Writing! Got it? Use your imagination, people."

Yeah, they'd hate me for sure. But it would still be fun. For me at least.

Anyway, the teacher told them to write a story about a car. So my mom wrote out a little story in longhand about how her sister had a car that she thought was jinxed and then asked me to type up for her. It went like this:


My sister and her husband bought a gold Lexus a few years ago. It was a lovely car and very comfortable for taking long trips in, but they had so many bad experiences with it that my brother-in-law was convinced it was jinxed! For instance, they have had several fender bender accidents in the car, gotten several speeding and parking tickets with it, and their dog has gotten sick while riding in it quite a few times, though he normally doesn't have that problem. My brother-in-law wanted to sell the car, but my sister said no. She didn't believe a car could be jinxed.

Well, one morning my sister went to the grocery store while her husband relaxed at home. The Lexus was safely parked in their garage. My brother-in-law was reading the paper when he heard a screech and a terrible crash! A neighbor had been turning around in their driveway and lost control and drove through the garage crashing right into the Lexus.

As soon as my sister got home and saw the damage, she turned to her husband and said, "Warren, go ahead and sell that damn car!"


Cute, huh? The ending has a nice little kick.

I typed it up and printed it out for her, but then I couldn't resist the urge to punch it up just a little bit. After all the class is "fiction writing" and this particular tale was 100% true! Here is the version I came up with.


My sister and her husband bought a gold Lexus a few years ago. It was a lovely car and very comfortable for taking long trips in, but they had so many bad experiences with it that my brother-in-law was convinced it was jinxed! For instance, while driving in the car they have had several fender bender accidents, been attacked by rabid raccoons twice, accidentally ran over a hobo on a unicycle, and were abducted by aliens who subjected them to anal probes on three different occasions (well, they do live in Georgia so that actually might not be related to the car).

Also, their dog was completely normal before the fateful day he jumped in the Lexus to go for a ride. They aren't sure exactly what happened, but by the time they got home, the dog had only three legs, one eye, and a tumor growing on his drool.

My brother-in-law wanted to sell the car, but my sister said no. She didn't believe a car could be jinxed.

Well, one morning my sister went to the grocery store while her husband relaxed at home. The Lexus was safely parked in their garage, where it had been ever since that family of gypsies moved in to the trunk. My brother-in-law was reading the paper and packing his bong when he heard a screech and a terrible crash! A neighbor had been turning around in their driveway and lost control and drove through the garage crashing right into the Lexus. It was a terrible scene. The gypsies were wailing and beating their breasts and chicken feathers were flying everywhere.

As soon as my sister got home and saw the damage, she turned to her husband and said, "Warren, go ahead and sell that damn car!"

"I'll do you one better," my brother-in-law said. Then he turned himself into a giant robot and stomped on the car repeatedly until it was the size of a matchbook, popped it in his giant robot mouth, and ate it.

"Never again shall this unholy car curse the world with it's presence," he declared, and then the gypsies danced and ululated with joy, and the men brought out their fiddles and accordians and they all sang Cher songs well into the night.


I printed out my version too so I could show my mom - I figured she would get a chuckle out of it - but she was taking a shower and by the time she got out I had to leave. So I just put both variations of the story in her bag and told her to have fun.

She was sipping coffee this morning when I asked her how the class went.

"Well, I'll tell you," she said, with an impish look on her face. "I have never been so bored in my whole life. We had to sit in a circle and read our work out loud, which would have been fine except that the stories were so damn dull! These people wrote pages and pages about old cars they used to own and honestly, I nearly fell asleep. At least my little story was quick and to the point. I was going to read my version, but after this one guy went on and on about how great American cars used to be, the whole class was practically in a coma so I decided to read your story to wake them up."

"Oh my God!" I said. "I can't believe you! What did they say?"

Then my mom started laughing her ass off. I had to wait forever for her get the words out.

"Well, they were very quiet after I finished reading it," she said finally. "Everyone was just kind of staring at me. And then the teacher said", here she cracked up again, "well that was very creative, Sarah."


Damn, I wish I'd seen that!

"All right! So, what's next week's assignment?" I asked, rubbing my hands together with gleeful anticipation.

"Oh, I'm not going back," my mom said. "I'm not wasting another two hours of my life sitting through that mess. Besides, now everyone thinks I'm a weirdo."

This is why I love my mom. She IS a weirdo! At least now I know who I got it from.