She Bangs

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


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

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




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


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




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



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




These are the bangs I got.


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

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

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

Monkey on the Loose!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



Britinia, thrilled to see me.



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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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


Damn that monkey and his substance abuse!

Me Tag You Long Time

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


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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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





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

When Will Oprah's Reign of Terror End?

I don't know if I've mentioned it before but I really like Converse shoes. They are pretty much the only sneakers I wear. I just bought a cute, pale pink pair because I'm sick of all this drab winter darkness. I put them on this morning to break them in and then set about making myself a healthy juice of apples, carrots, and spinach. Yum yum. I'm doing pretty well on the vegan diet resolutions. I had just taken a mouthful of this drink when my mom entered the kitchen and says the following:

"Oh there you are, honey, I need to ask you a question. When you go to the bathroom do your turds float? Because a doctor on the Oprah show said that means your turds are full of fat which is bad."


One thing about apple, carrot, spinach juice is that it's very staining when you spit it all over your new shoes.



Fuck you, Oprah! You owe me a new pair of sneakers!


P.S. I had never considered what my turds did after I deposited them in the toilet but I checked and it appeared that they kinda sank. Or at least didn't float.

Let's Make Lists

5 things I wrote about my boss on the wall of the employee's bathroom before I got fired

1. Kevin is a dildo.

2. Kevin is a fuckweasel.

3. Kevin likes to fart in his hand and then sniff his fingers. I've seen him do it.

4. For a good time call 1-800-ISUK-HARD ask for Kevin.

5. There was a young man named Kevin.
Who had an I.Q. of eleven.
He would fart in his hand
and sniff there quite grand
as he thought that his farts smelled like heaven.




8 things I call my mother besides mom

1. Mumsy

2. Senora Sassy Ass

3. The Amazing Rump Shaking Granny

4. Old Hag

5. Old Bag

6. Sexy Sarah the Sluttiest Old Bag in Nashville

7. She Who Once Flogged Me with a Dishtowel When I was Eight for Calling Her Meatloaf Puketastic

8. Sarahalious Definition Make Old Men Go Loco



5 things people were googling when they found my blog

1. Shirley Manson pooping

2. jello boobs

3. satan in a thong

4. poopsock

5. how to make my prunella cream



7 possible things that could be making those creepy scratching noises on my bedroom window at 3:00 A.M.

1. the wind moving a tree branch against the glass

2. a man with hooks for hands and rape on his mind

3. rabid raccoons

4. zombies

5. my doppleganger coming to murder me and assume my identity

6. there is no noise I'm imagining it

7. a clown

How I Started Out 2008 by Prunella Jones

2:00 P.M.


Ugh, morning everybody. It's a bright and shiny new year, isn't it? One of my resolutions was to start getting up earlier, and spend no more than one hour sitting around in my underwear, scratching myself and staring into space. Looks like I'm off to a great start!



3:15 P.M.


Mmmmm this watermelon is good. Not quite as tasty as a pop tart and a giant coffee from Starbucks of course, but healthy. I vow to be a much healthier Prunella this year. That means I'm going to stick to my vegan diet, exercise, quit drinking, and only snort Adderall once a week. Well, no more than twice a week. Okay, okay, three times a week but that's all!







5:30 P.M.


Time to do some chores. I hate having to line dry my silky underthings, but I've learned the hard way that you just can't throw $400 panties in the dryer. (sigh) Tucksworth, quit screaming in my ear. That guy with the binoculars peeking over the fence is just our neighbor Frank. Hi, Frank!





8:00 P.M


There is nothing more fun than driving around town in my hot little car. Weeeee! Too bad it's so cold today. Brrrr!




9:45 P.M


Now Tucksworth, behave yourself in this hipster coffee shop. No hooting, screaming, biting, or poo flinging, please! And back off this banana, it's mine. I ordered you a plate of chilli cheese fries and a Dr. Pepper. I know you have the munchies, but just chill out till it gets here.




2:00 A.M.


Early to bed and early to rise, keeps a girl from having cellulite on her thighs, right? Something like that anyway. I'll just do a bit of yoga first. I have to keep my back limber so it won't go out on me again. This posture is called "the bridge to paradise." I either learned it from the new Carmen Electra workout video or the Kama Sutra, I forget which.

Happy New Year!

12 Days of Christmas at The Boobie Barn

Come on everybody, sing along!



On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me




A girl who needs to make more money.


On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me



Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money




On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me




Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money



On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me



Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money



On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me



Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money



On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me



Six butts a-shaking,
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.


One the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me





Seven drunks a-wasted,
Six butts a-shaking,
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.



On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me




Eight dorks who think they're big shots,
Seven drunks a-wasted,
Six butts a-shaking
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.


On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me



Nine coke fiends snorting,
Eight dorks who they're big shots,
Seven drunks a-wasted,
Six butts a-shaking,
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.


On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me



Ten trannies teasing,
Nine coke fiends snorting,
Eight dorks who think they're big shots,
Seven drunks a-wasted,
Six butts a-shaking,
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.



On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me




Eleven lickers licking,
Ten trannies teasing,
Nine coke fiends snorting,
Eight dorks who think they're big shots,
Seven drunks a-wasted,
Six butts a-shaking,
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergi Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.



On the twelveth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me




Twelve overdue student loan bills,
Eleven lickers licking,
Ten trannies teasing,
Nine coke fiends snorting,
Eight dorks who think they're big shots,
Seven drunks a-wasted,
Six butts a-shaking,
Five jello pits (lime flavored!)
Four Fergie Ferg songs,
Three dumbass bosses,
Two huge fake boobs,
And a girl who needs to make more money.



The End

I am a dork.

You already know this so I guess I will go ahead and tell you what I did the other day.

The weather was really nice on Friday, very sunny and not too cold. My mom decided she would go for walk around the neighborhood and left about the same time that I drove off to run a few errands. On my way home I spotted her ambling along in her high-waisted mom jeans and goofy straw hat. So I drove up behind her, rolled down my window and hollered out, "you better shake that ass a little faster, old lady!"

I'm sure you can guess what happened next. It wasn't my mom! It was some other old chick. Boy, was she surprised. So was I. We just gaped at each other for a minute until I put the petal to the metal and roared home, laughing like a hyena. God, I'm dumb.

But it did cheer me up. Sorry for being so mopey lately. I guess I just got depressed when I realized I'll never be a teen model. Thanks for all your nice comments and emails.

Well I hope everyone has a great holiday celebrating whatever it is you celebrate. May you all live long and prosper and may I always deserve your good will and friendship — you always have mine.

Cheers!

Three Bad Poems

Christmas
Roasting chestnuts in the fireplace smell nice
the children play with their toys
the uncles drink beer
the aunts squabble in the kitchen
I sip eggnog
and watch Grandma try to smoke a Hickory Farms salami.



Memories
There are some things in life that you never forget no matter what.
Like the first time we kissed,
and the night I ate that bad crab salad.



Jeff
Once there was a guy named Jeff.
He worked at a coffin factory
in charge of mentally challenged adults.
They all loved him,
he was their fwend
and mine too.
He had a big belly, long, bristly beard, and a great goony laugh
that could startle children.
Jeff was sad sometimes,
he drank too much and died young.
It sucks when people die.
Miss you, fwend!


(Poor Jeff. He really deserves a much better poem. I wish I was capable of writing him one.)




My internet paramour Mister Underhill and I have started a blog for our terrible poetry and other angsty silliness. Click here if you want to check it out. I know it really needs some color. We are dithering over the template. Any suggestions are welcome.

This is How I Feel Lately

Real Life Sucks Losers Dry

Sorry for the lack of posting. I seem to be suffering from an excess of the black bile lately. It's probably due to the holiday season. I always feel a bit down this time of year. It's like the misery that I stuff down all year suddenly pops up in my face, like some lame, emo jack-in-the-box and I have a hard time shoving it back in.

Don't worry, Cousin Balki's friend Bryce and I have a plan. We are going to cut ourselves and listen to mY cheMicAL roMaNcE until our humours are back in balance.

If that doesn't work, maybe I'll just add some Zoloft to my daily pharmaceuticals.

I feel wretched. WRETCHED! I will never, ever drink again as long as I live, so help me Xenu.

That is all.

The Pink Ladies

I make it a point to read the news online everyday, even though it's almost always depressing. The endless war, the credit crisis, the way our leaders insist on kissing the asses of the misogynistic freaks in Sauda Arabia, all of it makes me sad and angry. But every once in a great while I come across some articles that lift my spirits and give me just a little hope that everything will turn out fine.

This story made me smile. Click here to read about India's pink clad vigilante women.

You've got to love an article that starts out They wear pink saris and go after corrupt officials and boorish men with sticks and axes.

Basically these chicks, known as the "gulabi gang" (pink gang) are taking back the northern Indian state of Uttar Pradesh, brandishing sticks and axes and going after, among others "men who have abandoned or beaten their wives."

And in Bombay, women have started driving pink cabs, solely for the use of other women who don't want to ride in a car with a strange man. The cab company is even training the new drivers in karate to make them feel safer. Read about it here.

I don't know about you, but the thought of pink clad, karate-chopping, ninja chicks standing up for themselves in India (not such a great place to be a woman) really fills me with glee. You go, girls!




The Pink Ladies are the hippest clique of chicks at Rydell High.

Turkey Talk

November is the cruelest month. It's when the weather starts turning cold here in Tennessee. While I enjoy seeing all the beautiful colors of the fall foliage, I'm a California girl and therefore I freeze when the tempetures dip below 60 degrees. I hate the way indoor heating dries out my skin and sinuses, and I hate wearing a hat outdoors because it messes up my hair. And also, since the weather has turned colder, my cousin Balki can no longer sleep in the shed out in the backyard and had to move back into the house.

Did you forget that Balki was living with me? That's okay, I kinda forgot myself. I rarely see him at The Boobie Barn. He works with the janitorial crew, cleaning up at the end of the night. During the day when it was warm, he liked to sit in the back yard carving little toys out of wood. Now that it is chilly, he lays on the couch with Tucksworth watching reruns of "Making the Band" on MTV. Since I've been suffering from a bit of blogger ennui lately and I don't know what else to do with myself, I join them. Wow, that O-Town was something else, huh?



Cousin Balki. He's very single, ladies!



The wooden toys Balki made. He's hoping to sell them so he can become an American millionaire. Very cute, I guess, but for some reason they freak me out. Those eyes are creepy.


Oh, and I solved the mystery of Captain Jesus. Turns out he is one of Balki's friends from work. His name is Corky, but we mostly call him Captain Jesus because of the suit he always wears. When asked why he wears the suit he just shrugs and says, "because I like it." Can't argue with that.

On Thanksgiving Day we were all hanging on the sofa watching tv, while my mom fussed around with the turkey in the kitchen. I don't much care about a traditional dinner, if it were up to me I would have just ordered in Chinese food, but she loves all that Martha Stewert stuff so she cooked up a storm and invited a lot of people. In addition to me, Balki, and Captain Jesus, we had Mom's new boyfriend, Ronnie, and two more of Balki's friends, a guy named Hamburger Dave, and a guy (girl?) named Bryce. Mom also invited Paris the alien stripper because she feels sorry for her. I didn't invite anyone to eat with us, since I'm basically antisocial.

I like Hamburger Dave, though. He's really easily amused and laughs like a hyena at everything I say. Even lame jokes, like when I say, "hey Hamburger Dave, get in mah belly!" make him giggle like crazy.

Bryce is another story. He (she?) is a weird goth kid that lives down the street from us. I honestly cannot tell if Bryce is a boy or a girl. When I asked Balki he said, "Don't be reedi-cool-us cousin, he is big, strong man!"

Then CJ piped up, "are you sure? I thought she was a girl."

So who knows? I'll post a pic and you can tell me what you think.





Hamburger Dave. His hobbies include competitive eating and collecting condiments.



Bryce. He (she?) enjoys goth music and being androgynous.


Anyway, we were watching MTV as usual before dinner, when "The Hills" came on. That show makes Tucksworth scream in agony and I hate it too, so I quickly changed it over to VH1 and we watched a Behind the Music special on New Kids on the Block. Balki was mesmerized. After it was over he turned to me and sid, "Cousin, I have thought of new way to become American millionaire. I will start boy band. Me, CJ, Bryce, and Dave can sing and dance and look sexy just like New Kids. Good idea, yes?"

I nearly choked on the Bloody Mary I was guzzling, but the others were enthusiastic. Even Bryce was into the idea so maybe he is a boy after all. They started talking excitedly about what kind of songs they would sing. I restrained myself from making fun of them. After all, who am I to kill their dreams? When Paris finally arrived, Balki dropped to his knees and seranaded her with a love song.

"Oh Miss Paris
if I were not embarrass
I would tell you that I love yooooouuuuu"


I had suspected that Balki had a little crush on Paris. Poor guy, she wasn't very impressed with his efforts. She just kind of smirked and whipped out a mirror and applied another layer of gloss to her already goopy lips.


It was a big relief when my mom finally called us all to the table. Before we started eating she made us say grace and then we each had to tell what we were most thankful for. It's a tradition she began a few years ago, after she read about it in Southern Living magazine. Here's how it went:

Mom: Okay, I'll start. I am thankful for my family, good friends, and the pre-roasted turkey from Publix that only needs to be heated for two hours. It's such a wonderful convenience.

Ronnie: I am thankful to have met such a gorgeous and sexy woman like you, Sarah.

He kissed her hand, which made her giggle. I nearly vomited. Old people love, eeeek!

Balki: I am thankful to be here in America where I will soon be millionaire boy bander and I can marry Paris and buy her fur coat.

Paris was busy staring at herself in the mirror again so my mom had to prompt her. "Paris, hon, what are you thankful for?"

Paris: huh?.........um whatever.



Maybe Paris isn't an alien after all. Maybe she's just dumb.


Hamburger Dave: I'm thankful for turkey. And green bean casserole. And gravy. And stuffing. Is that Stove Top stuffing?

Mom: No, it's homemade. I got the recipe from Food Network.

Hamburger Dave: Oh well, that's okay too.

Captain Jesus: I'm thankful for science.

He didn't elaborate so my mom prodded him.

Mom: Oh that's very interesting, Corky. Why are you thankful for science?

Captain Jesus: (shrug) I just like it.

Me: Well, I'm grateful I never got that lower back, tramp stamp tattoo I had considered getting a couple of years ago. I think I'm the only girl at The Boobie Barn without one.

Mom: (making face) Oh you, always making jokes. Quit being so sassy!

Suddenly Balki jumped up from the table, very excited.

Balki: That's it! That's the name for our boy band! We will call ourselves The Sassiest Boys in America! Or SBA for short. What you think?


No one said anything. I think were all trying not to laugh. I know I was. Ronnie snickered a bit but my mom glared at him so he stopped.

Paris: That's hawt.

Balki Oh good. It is settled.

Bryce: Well, I'm not really a sassy boy --

Me: So you are a sassy girl then? (I'm not usually this rude, but the Bloody Marys had kicked in.)

Bryce: (glowering) I was going to say that even though I'm more goth than sassy, I'm grateful to be included in The Sassiest Boys in America. I'm also grateful for Harry Potter. And by the way, Pru, you really need to dye your roots. You've got at least an inch of dark showing in that blond hoochie hairdo.

My hand automatically went to my hair. He (she?) was right. I do need to touch up my roots.

Me: Oh snap! You're sassy all right.

Paris: I'm thankful that I'm a natural blonde. (sniff) Ewwww, what's that, like, smell?

The minute she said that, I became aware that foul stench had filled the room. Everyone scrunched up their noses and looked around in disgusted horror.

Hamburger Dave: It wasn't me!

I knew immediately what it was. My beagle, Shirley, was sitting under the table hoping a piece of turkey would come her way. She's always been a somewhat fragrant dog, but just lately her emissions have been powerful enough to clear a room. It's because my mom is always feeding her table scraps, I think. Once we kicked her out and opened all the windows, we were able to eat without gagging.

So, contrary to my expectations, it turned out to be a pretty nice Thanksgiving. The Great Gazoo didn't show up and bug me, so that helped matters. Tell me, how was your holiday?

Little Green Men, etc..

Damn it.

This week has been busy. So busy that I haven't been able to blog at all, which I hate as it is my only hobby apart from reading. Although, truthfully, reading is more of a necessity than a hobby, so blogging is all I've got. I can't wait to go around and catch up on all of your blogs.

As for my new job selling cemetery plots, well what is there to say except that it sucks. I knew it would the minute I sat down at my desk in the office cubicle farm (I hate cubicles) and found a note the previous seat filler had scrawled on a memo pad and left in the desk drawer. Here is what it said:

This job sucks. You are not going to make any money. You might as well quit now. And whatever you do, don't say the word TRONDANT three times while looking into a mirror!!!! Consider yourself warned.

That word again! I admit that I was really intrigued. I kept thinking about that word the entire week while I called people and tried to convince them to buy a burial plot from me. Incidentally, I'm not very good at selling. Most everyone hung up on me except for this one guy. I almost had a sale on Friday, but I screwed it up at the last minute.

Me:- "....so I know this isn't a very pleasant subject to address, but what is even worse is the idea of leaving this burden to fall on your family..."

Customer:- "I know, I've been thinking about this. I'm glad you called. I'm ready to buy. Here's my credit card number - 337...5.."

Me:- (trying frantically to find a pen to write the number down) "Just one moment, sir. Let me find a trondant to --"

Customer:- "wha....did you say trondant?" (click)


He hung up! I'd totally blown a sure-fire sale. I'd been thinking about that word so much it just slipped out at the worst possible minute. And I still had no idea what it meant. According to Google, it's just a nonsense word. I was pissed!

I stalked back to the bathroom. No one else was around. All the other employees were busy, sucking down Diet Coke and making their sales quotas. While washing my hands I was overcome with the irresistable urge to do the forbidden thing and say the word TRONDANT three times. I blame it on my rebellious nature, and the fact that I'm pretty stupid.

So, with my heart pounding, I stood in front of the mirror and quickly muttered "trondant, trondant, trondant" and sort of flinched, waiting for the lights to go out and my throat to be slashed or something. But nothing happened while I stared into the mirror, except that I noticed it was about time for me to make another appointment for a lip waxing. Damn, I hate the way body hair grows back so freaking fast!

By the time I sat back down at my desk I'd already forgotten about the trondant silliness. I was busy searching through my purse for the business card of my favorite waxer so I could make an appointment, when I heard a voice say, "Nice going, dumb-dumb!"

I looked up and saw a little, green, effeminate man hovering over my desk.



My new little buddy, The Great Gazoo.


Boy, do I ever wish I'd heeded the warning from that note! This little green guy calls himself The Great Gazoo, and he's a jerk. He's always hanging around me now, commenting on whatever I'm doing, ridiculing my fashion choices, cackling, and calling me names. He's so irritating! Hardly anyone can see him besides me, Tucksworth, and Captain Jesus. If you can see him in the picture I put up, it supposedly means something. You are either pure of heart or totally whacked, I'm not sure which.

If I had to be stuck with a little green man from outer space, I'd much prefer Yoda. At least he's good with a lightsaber. I'd love to work one into my exotic dance act. It would be a nice change from juggling knives, and I could swing it at those fucking frat boys the next time they start squirting me with their water pistols.

11/10/07: A Very Odd Day

I'm not really the kind of person who believes in astrology or anything like that, but I'm thinking that the stars must have aligned in some sort of weird pattern lately. So many strange things happened on Saturday that I'm not sure how else to explain it. Here, let me describe what occured and you can tell me what you think.

7:00 AM: I woke up at bright and early as usual, even though I'd worked late at The Boobie Barn the night before. I tried to go back to sleep -- but once I'm up I'm typically up -- so I headed to the kitchen to make some coffee and was greeted by this sight.




I stopped dead in my tracks. It's not everyday you see a guy in a Captain Jesus outfit sitting at your kitchen table. It was a bit disconcerting.

"Um....hi, how's it going?" I said.

"Good," he looked up from the paper he was reading and smiled. "You're out of coffee."

"Oh, there's probably some in the pantry," I said, opening the door to check. It took me just a few minutes to find it, but when I returned to the kitchen he was gone.

When my mom came downstairs a few minutes later, I started teasing her about being a big 'ol slut, and having sex with Jesus.

"What are you tallking about?" she said looking puzzled. "I didn't bring anyone home last night."

So that was weird.

Then I heard some unexpected news. Apparently Big Earl is closing down Classy Earl's House of Class and Tits and turning it into a school for African dance. Who would have guessed he was into that?





I blame that damn 3 Foot Rule that the city has started enforcing! Earl's probably losing business. None of us dancers can make any money since we have to stay at least three feet away from the customers. Now after I finish dancing, instead of walking around lifting my garter for the guys to slide a tip into like I used to, the customers are forced to wad their dollar bills into a ball and wing it at my head. Ouch! Some of them can really throw hard. God, it's so much more degrading! That's mostly why I've been looking for another job.


I heard one of the Jessica's (sorry, I can't really tell them apart) was so bummed about being fired from Earl's, that she got all trashed and accidentally joined the army.




I guess it sucks to be her right now.




Britinia didn't seem to be taking the news of being out of work too hard. This is how she always greets me, so it was no big deal. What was shocking was that she didn't try to run over my foot. Now that was atypical of her.


In the afternoon I had a job interview for a part-time position selling burial plots at place called The Garden of Memories. I usually hate job interviews. All those questions about your strengths and weaknesses really get on my nerves. Like anyone is going to tell the truth. It would be kind of fun if you did though. Can you imagine?

"Well my strengths are that I only show up for work stoned about half the time, and I've never spit in a customers face even though I've really, really wanted to. I guess I'd say my biggest weakness is that when I get pissed off, I tend to take out an AK-47 and spray the room with bullets."

Anyway, the guy who did the interview looked strangely familiar. And kind of like a weasel. I swear I've seen him before somewhere.



His name was Mr. Shore. Here's how the interview went:


Mr. Shore: (looking at resume) So, Prunella, it says here that you've recently been employed as a dancer. Tell me, do you think Walt Disney's body is really frozen and stored in a secret room beneath Disneyland?

Me: Um....well, I've heard that's just an urban legend. But personally, I believe it.

Mr. Shore: Very good. Now when I say the word trondant, does that mean anything to you? (He stared very hard at me while asking this question.)

Me: No.

Mr. Shore: All righty then. You can start on Monday.


It was the most unusual job interview I've ever had, but at least they hired me. I decided to go shopping to celebrate and bought a pair of shoes.



I thought they were really cute in the store, but now I'm not so sure. What do you think? Too much? They're too spikey, aren't they? I don't know what I was thinking.


As I was leaving the mall an old drunk sitting on a park bench hissed something at me. Normally I wouldn't have paid attention to the blatherings of some homeless bum, but one of the words caught my ear because I'd heard it earlier in the day.



"What did you say?" I asked him.

"Beware of trondant," he said with a cackle, using his fingers to make air quotes.

"What is trondant?" I asked, puzzled.

The old drunk didn't answer. He just laughed louder and louder until he got a coughing fit, and then spit out a tooth. Freaky!


I got home just in time to meet the new guy my mom is going out with. His name is Ronnie and he drives a Little Debbie Snack Cake truck for a living. He was nice enough, but honestly, he didn't seem to be my mom's usual type. I can't figure out what she sees in him. He's not terribly attractive. I mean, check it out.




As they were leaving I grabbed my mom and whispered, "what...is he rich? Does he have a big dick or something?"

I was just joking, but she got a big grin on her face and winked at me. How bizarre! She never acts that saucy.


Later on during my shift at The Boobie Barn, I noticed my neighbor Star and her gay husband Al, sitting at a table in the corner, drinking champagne and making out. Ewwwww.



Actually that was more gross than strange. But still!


And then right before closing time, I looked up and saw that freaky new girl, Paris, hanging out and talking with my new boss Mr. Shore.



As you know, I'm convinced Paris is an alien. There is just no way that chick can be human. I was super curious as to what they were discussing, but when I tried to eavesdrop on their conversation they moved away. I bet it had something to do with the "trondant". What could that word signify, I wonder? Maybe I'll find out more on Monday when I start the grave selling job.

All in all, Saturday was a very mystifying and wacky day. Like Dr. Seuss wacky. I truly would not have been surprised if a Star-Bellied Sneetch had shown up at The Boobie Barn and started waltzing with Captain Peanut. But, hey, at least I didn't have to use my AK. So I gotta say it was a good day.

By contrast, Sunday has just sucked ass. How was your weekend?

Bored lately? Me too.

Say, have you ever wondered what you might look like as an ape? God knows I have. Well, thanks to this swell face transformer site you need wonder no more.



A planet where apes evolved from men?


I also checked out how I'd look as a manga character.




If I'd been drawn art nouveau style by the artist Mucha.




If I were an asian woman.




What I'll look like in forty years. Or in five years if I don't start taking better care of myself.




And finally, here's how I'd look as a she-male, tranny hooker.



Gah, break out the Cover Girl cosmetics! I look more like an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.


Well, it's something to do anyway.