This rain is getting to me. Fuck, it has given me sinus pressure and migraines for three God damn days now. And I don't give a shit if it's the misty, fuck-up-your-hair-but-only-need-your-windshield-wipers-on-low-speed type of rain or the bullshit that has blown every leaf off my trees and knocked my beautiful potted mums over, it just sucks ass. I seriously thought I looked outside my window and saw that crazy wicked witch on her bicycle riding past my bedroom window, a la' Wizard of Oz. But then I figured it was one of those kids they pay $20 to stand on the corner near a Halloween superstore and wave hopped up on Mountain Dew Slurpees and a couple of hits of shitty acid jumping on the neighbors mini trampoline. Either way, I think some sunshine would be in order here.
We got pretty much fucked last winter with the bitter-ass cold and loads of snow. I hate winter sports. I have skied a handful of times in my life and always end up swearing and falling on my ass. I hate driving in, shoveling, or playing outside in the snow so forgive me for my winter wonderland disdain. Then came our "summer" which barely made it to 80 degrees during the day. The water at the local pool might as well have been lake Michigan in mid-May because it never fucking warmed up. I love taking my kids to a pool in the middle of summer where they swim for 15 minutes then bitch about it being too cold.
"We're bored! Can we have some ice cream?"
Kiss my ass, I pay for this membership so the kids can enjoy something besides the germ utopia daycare. When you raise my dues next time, how's about installing a heater in the fucking pool instead of shrinking the field greens salad size, adding imported pesto jiz sauce to my black bean burger, treating my family like Nazi Germany for eating fucking Goldfish crackers in your cafe, and doubling the prices of your mediocre meals. Okay? Praise the Lord for my dear friend who has a heated pool and ALCOHOL so we can really enjoy summer. And our group is a load of fun, hot bitches, so who's missing out NOW? See if I ever order your holistic, honey-based organic orange banana smoothie poolside again. Whose turn was it to jerk off in that mix this week? Give me regular, high fructose corn syrup-based, unnatural food coloring slushies that make my kids smile and not gag, then maybe I'll revisit your pool. And put some fucking tequila in in next time.
Fall lasted all of about two days. Where the fuck was my "Indian summer"? We had TWO days of nice, maybe 70 degree weather and then BAM!!!! A giant "fuck you!" worth of cold and rain and rain and rain.... Guess what, it's STILL fucking raining? I am beyond pissy about this. There's nothing I can do, don't blame God, blah blah, blah... Fuck all you freaks who wake up with your "Praise the Lord it's a NEW DAY!" t-shirts and bumper stickers and always see the bright side of things. How the hell can you see the bright side when it's always fucking dark and gloomy?!!! All I see now is soggy shit-land of leaves. I would rake if it ever dries out for more than 2 hours. By the time this shit stops I will either have leaf gravy sloshing through my entire lawn as if Boston market yacked on my property or it will freeze over and I will have a brownish orange tie dyed skating rink to skitter over and probably slip and break my hip over. Never in my life has weather made me such a raging bitch. I feel like a 80 year-old bitty living in Boca, complaining about the early bird special being raised to $10.95.
Is it so much to ask for my kids to actually wear their fucking Halloween costumes for one simple lap around the school? Can it stop mother fucking POURING for those 15 minutes? Why do you have to fuck up my KIDS' day? That's when I get all ghetto mom apeshit. Fuck this bullshit. As I am typing it is actually raining HARDER. Fuck you, Mother nature, you dirty weather whore cunt. You are a usless hag who needs to be replaced by someone who is not bitter and takes out her frustration by giving the fucking clouds dysentery for weeks on end. if I wanted to live in this shit I would have moved to Seattle by now. If the weather is anything like this I bet they sell fucking straight razors with their Starbucks lattes.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Tape and Tuck Tina Turner
Have you ever been to The Baton Club in Chicago? It is a musical revue show where drag queens impersonate famous singers and lip sync their songs in gaudy outfits, St. Tropez tan pantyhose, and one hell of a bikini wax. These "ladies" have breasts, some better than the others. Many of the man titties enhanced by a daily estrogen smoothie or two are apparently still very male. Just because your chest is hairless, greased up like a pig at the county fair, and glamorized by a little gold lame, I still see your pecs--your flabby, pushed up pecs. Victoria's Secret called and would like to remind you that that one-size-fits-all lace thong has lost the wrestling match with your schlong. Either buck up and buy some bikini briefs or super glue that trouser snake a little better when you sashay down the stage.
There were "ladies" of all shapes and sizes. The anorexic black girl who had implants that looked like PB&J Crustables under her translucent skin was scarier than the thought of Jon Gosselin getting a reality show with Michael Lohan. I could play her clavicle and ribs like a xylophone. A skinny, black, glittery xylophone. She really wasn't very good, had terrible rhythm and dance moves, and I think was very fucking hungry. Do they lock her in the naughty drag queen dressing room with only Tic Tacs to eat? Is she rationed 1/2 a crust of stale bread until her hip sways and step ball changes are on tempo? My friend and I each gave her some singles out of pity. Not because she deserved them, but maybe she could slam those Tic Tacs and use the energy to drag her skin and bones to McDonald's for a little dollar menu value after the show. Poor thing.
The grand dame of the show was a robust,....... oh fuck it, she was a God damn HEFFER. At least pushing three FITTY (Not a typo, like FITTY CENT..), this lady came out in a animal print caftan that very well could have displayed a true-to-scale map of the fucking Serengeti. Lions and tigers and fat rolls, OH MY! Her intro but wasn't even the worst of it. Remember "If I Could Turn Back Time" when Cher sang in that semi-sheer black mesh unitard on that giant air freighter with all the soldiers? Well Porkarella Deville apparently ATE the soldiers, fuck, maybe even the ship, and had the balls (though they were magically hidden) to come out in the same size 28 unitard and wig. Fucking Christ, I didn't know whether to laugh, vomit, cry, or take a Xanax. If I could turn back time I wouldn't have gone fucking BLIND from this routine. Clearly done for shock value, this bitch was sporting a FUPA like none I have ever seen. For those of you who have never heard of a FUPA, it means Fat Upper Pussy Area, in which said victim has a mound of fleshy flab that protrudes below the belly, hanging over the cooch like a dough curtain. But now that I look back to this unitard-clad, man FUPA, I wonder if it is really considered a FUDA (Fat Upper Dick Area)? Are perhaps a FUWPA (Fat Upper Wannabe Pussy Area)? This chick with a dick I will dub FAFUWPA (Fat As Fuck Upper Wannabe Pussy Area). It was something to behold.
"Chili Pepper" was as spicy as ketchup. This bitch had more makeup than Tammy Faye Baker. From 8 tables away I could count her individually caked eyelashes. She looked like Joan Rivers hocking her line of Jewtastic Jewels on QVC. White pantsuit, fur stole, white pumps, hair reminiscent of Linda Evans on Dynasty. She came out initially in a leather mini skirt and fringy jacket, thrashing around and attempting to dance. Here's a tip. If you are a dude who really, really likes to wear women's clothes and makeup and can moves in heels, TAKE SOME FUCKING DANCE LESSONS. Arthur Murray studios could maybe at least give you a sense of rhythm. Maybe she was ugly AND deaf because bitch done looked like she was vacillating between having a grand mal seizure and trying not to let loose her explosive diarrhea. Frantic and clueless. Her last number was an homage to the fucking Golden Girls because she looked like Bea Arthur. And that bitch probably had a dick, too.
The Beyonce "Single Ladies" was excellent. Great moves, no exposed cock, energy. The one "lady" from Hawaii was beautiful. The blonde bombshell had us all dropping our jaws in disbelief that she was a dude. Boobs, hips, tiny nose, female facial features, no man hands. Crazy. Tape and Tuck Tina Turner rocked it in her Oprah-style wig. But then we surmised maybe it WAS Oprah up there. 'Tis an unsolvable mystery. The waiters were hustling our two drink minimums about while simultaneously blocking our view as they shimmied in between wasted bachelorette parties. These ladies took turns depositing single dollar bills into the "cleavage" of the performers. They all had fucked up penis headbands, penis wands, feather boas, and/or super wasted friends who thought it was funny to grind up against anyone who they passed. I myself never had the joy of having a bachelorette party but I sure as fuck can tell you I would not be sporting any cock accessories on a night on the town with my girlfriends. Your drunken, stumbling stupor and shot-slamming cronies are enough of a give-away that you are about to be married. Put the dick jewelry away. Take a tip from the Single Ladies onstage, sometimes hiding it enhances the mystery. Mantra for the night? Put those dicks away.
There were "ladies" of all shapes and sizes. The anorexic black girl who had implants that looked like PB&J Crustables under her translucent skin was scarier than the thought of Jon Gosselin getting a reality show with Michael Lohan. I could play her clavicle and ribs like a xylophone. A skinny, black, glittery xylophone. She really wasn't very good, had terrible rhythm and dance moves, and I think was very fucking hungry. Do they lock her in the naughty drag queen dressing room with only Tic Tacs to eat? Is she rationed 1/2 a crust of stale bread until her hip sways and step ball changes are on tempo? My friend and I each gave her some singles out of pity. Not because she deserved them, but maybe she could slam those Tic Tacs and use the energy to drag her skin and bones to McDonald's for a little dollar menu value after the show. Poor thing.
The grand dame of the show was a robust,....... oh fuck it, she was a God damn HEFFER. At least pushing three FITTY (Not a typo, like FITTY CENT..), this lady came out in a animal print caftan that very well could have displayed a true-to-scale map of the fucking Serengeti. Lions and tigers and fat rolls, OH MY! Her intro but wasn't even the worst of it. Remember "If I Could Turn Back Time" when Cher sang in that semi-sheer black mesh unitard on that giant air freighter with all the soldiers? Well Porkarella Deville apparently ATE the soldiers, fuck, maybe even the ship, and had the balls (though they were magically hidden) to come out in the same size 28 unitard and wig. Fucking Christ, I didn't know whether to laugh, vomit, cry, or take a Xanax. If I could turn back time I wouldn't have gone fucking BLIND from this routine. Clearly done for shock value, this bitch was sporting a FUPA like none I have ever seen. For those of you who have never heard of a FUPA, it means Fat Upper Pussy Area, in which said victim has a mound of fleshy flab that protrudes below the belly, hanging over the cooch like a dough curtain. But now that I look back to this unitard-clad, man FUPA, I wonder if it is really considered a FUDA (Fat Upper Dick Area)? Are perhaps a FUWPA (Fat Upper Wannabe Pussy Area)? This chick with a dick I will dub FAFUWPA (Fat As Fuck Upper Wannabe Pussy Area). It was something to behold.
"Chili Pepper" was as spicy as ketchup. This bitch had more makeup than Tammy Faye Baker. From 8 tables away I could count her individually caked eyelashes. She looked like Joan Rivers hocking her line of Jewtastic Jewels on QVC. White pantsuit, fur stole, white pumps, hair reminiscent of Linda Evans on Dynasty. She came out initially in a leather mini skirt and fringy jacket, thrashing around and attempting to dance. Here's a tip. If you are a dude who really, really likes to wear women's clothes and makeup and can moves in heels, TAKE SOME FUCKING DANCE LESSONS. Arthur Murray studios could maybe at least give you a sense of rhythm. Maybe she was ugly AND deaf because bitch done looked like she was vacillating between having a grand mal seizure and trying not to let loose her explosive diarrhea. Frantic and clueless. Her last number was an homage to the fucking Golden Girls because she looked like Bea Arthur. And that bitch probably had a dick, too.
The Beyonce "Single Ladies" was excellent. Great moves, no exposed cock, energy. The one "lady" from Hawaii was beautiful. The blonde bombshell had us all dropping our jaws in disbelief that she was a dude. Boobs, hips, tiny nose, female facial features, no man hands. Crazy. Tape and Tuck Tina Turner rocked it in her Oprah-style wig. But then we surmised maybe it WAS Oprah up there. 'Tis an unsolvable mystery. The waiters were hustling our two drink minimums about while simultaneously blocking our view as they shimmied in between wasted bachelorette parties. These ladies took turns depositing single dollar bills into the "cleavage" of the performers. They all had fucked up penis headbands, penis wands, feather boas, and/or super wasted friends who thought it was funny to grind up against anyone who they passed. I myself never had the joy of having a bachelorette party but I sure as fuck can tell you I would not be sporting any cock accessories on a night on the town with my girlfriends. Your drunken, stumbling stupor and shot-slamming cronies are enough of a give-away that you are about to be married. Put the dick jewelry away. Take a tip from the Single Ladies onstage, sometimes hiding it enhances the mystery. Mantra for the night? Put those dicks away.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Trim That Shit
Though my last post referred to bush trimming (and the innuendos were many I am sure...), this one is about trimming the bush that resides in your pants. It is a debate and personal choice, one which has become more and more practiced, some to the point of baldness, as the trends have changed. If you ever had the chance to look at a Playboy magazine from the 70's or early 80's, a woman's pubes were au natural. The bigger and bushier the better. It was like a bonsai tree of muff, a perfectly mounded afro that probably had to be combed down to fit into those Jordache jeans. The hubby and I watched a Russ Meyer movie when we were in Paris. (It seriously happened to be the only channel not in French or German so I succumbed.) The lead "actress" had a glorious mountain of hair on her box, she was fluffing it out with a pick it was so robust. As a kid who snuck a peek at my Grandpa's Playboys stolen by my brother or my parents' Joy of Sex book, I remember thinking it was quite normal to imagine that when I would become a woman, I would have a Michael Jackson afro on my cooch. Alas, this does not have to be the case.
I hate pussy hair. I think it is annoying. I am not trying to keep my twat cozy warm like it's hanging out, waiting for the bus in the rain, that's what fucking PANTS are for. So why does a woman's shit have to grow out, longer, and thicker, and WIDER every year she ages? If I went balls out and decided to forgo shaving, waxing, or trimming my poon for, let's say for the sake of argument, a year, I'm afraid I would have pubic hot pants. Is is really, really necessary to have that much hair growth down there? And what man likes that? It's like Indiana Jones trying to find the lost pussy cave if you don't maintain your muff. A nice bikini wax to keep your pubes neat and in line, maybe get out the scissors to trim them nice and short. Get it together, ladies. When I see you at the pool, in your mumu swimsuit, reaching for the Pringles can for your whiney kids, I don't want to mistakenly glance over and see Chewbacca peeking out between your legs. If it's too much to tuck up in there, get out the God damn weed whacker and go to town.
On the extremist opposite side, there is the school of thought that bald is better. A "Brazilian" leaves a small Hitler-looking mustache on your labes. Like a miniature landing strip at the O'Muff International Pussyport. Everywhere else, including your asshole, is hairless. Squeaky clean. Nary a pube in sight. Is it creepy to have no hair and feel like you did before you went through puberty? Naah. Unless you are wearing your daughter's Hannah Montana panties. Is it creepy to ask your esthetician to slap some wax on your stink star and rip it clean? Maybe. Depends on your relationship I guess. I say less is more. Less shit to get tangled in like a God damn boobie trap. I am anti-pube.
If you are a man you need to be responsible for maintaining your jungle, too. If you are flexible enough to bend over after a long day at the office and can take a whiff of your own balls, there are two things I am thinking. One, you are quite flexible and probably prefer Danny's Swingin' Salami Lounge to Hooters. And two, you now know what we women lovingly refer to as "swamp crotch". Not only does your nutsack need to be thoroughly washed before I even contemplate venturing South of the border but please, for the love of God, keep those nuggets pruned like Martha Stewart's vegetable garden, got it? We don't mind a few sprouts but if we need to de-thatch, aerate, and pull weeds just to find your zucchini, guess what? The ladies are gonna shop in another vegetable garden. Just don't think that because you have the Almighty Penis that your little Garden Fairy is supposed to drop over in awe and amazement at it. Please, at least make it palatable so we don't cough up a God damn hairball.
If you are a vegan beast who is anti-deodorant, anti-meat, anti-razor, you are whore-ganic. That is just fucking rank and nasty. Don't get me wrong, I am all about the tofu, but Jesus Christ, you fucking STINK! Please stop standing by me and my posse at the gym. Wanna know why? Because your bush and your pits look like you are wrestling squirrels, that's why. I am going to razor-rape you in the parking lot of Whole Foods so watch out. I'll be the hairless one who smells like Kukui Nuts and vanilla. Don't be afraid, you will thank me when your husband can actually see your twat and it doesn't smell like a red onion salad. You're welcome.
I hate pussy hair. I think it is annoying. I am not trying to keep my twat cozy warm like it's hanging out, waiting for the bus in the rain, that's what fucking PANTS are for. So why does a woman's shit have to grow out, longer, and thicker, and WIDER every year she ages? If I went balls out and decided to forgo shaving, waxing, or trimming my poon for, let's say for the sake of argument, a year, I'm afraid I would have pubic hot pants. Is is really, really necessary to have that much hair growth down there? And what man likes that? It's like Indiana Jones trying to find the lost pussy cave if you don't maintain your muff. A nice bikini wax to keep your pubes neat and in line, maybe get out the scissors to trim them nice and short. Get it together, ladies. When I see you at the pool, in your mumu swimsuit, reaching for the Pringles can for your whiney kids, I don't want to mistakenly glance over and see Chewbacca peeking out between your legs. If it's too much to tuck up in there, get out the God damn weed whacker and go to town.
On the extremist opposite side, there is the school of thought that bald is better. A "Brazilian" leaves a small Hitler-looking mustache on your labes. Like a miniature landing strip at the O'Muff International Pussyport. Everywhere else, including your asshole, is hairless. Squeaky clean. Nary a pube in sight. Is it creepy to have no hair and feel like you did before you went through puberty? Naah. Unless you are wearing your daughter's Hannah Montana panties. Is it creepy to ask your esthetician to slap some wax on your stink star and rip it clean? Maybe. Depends on your relationship I guess. I say less is more. Less shit to get tangled in like a God damn boobie trap. I am anti-pube.
If you are a man you need to be responsible for maintaining your jungle, too. If you are flexible enough to bend over after a long day at the office and can take a whiff of your own balls, there are two things I am thinking. One, you are quite flexible and probably prefer Danny's Swingin' Salami Lounge to Hooters. And two, you now know what we women lovingly refer to as "swamp crotch". Not only does your nutsack need to be thoroughly washed before I even contemplate venturing South of the border but please, for the love of God, keep those nuggets pruned like Martha Stewart's vegetable garden, got it? We don't mind a few sprouts but if we need to de-thatch, aerate, and pull weeds just to find your zucchini, guess what? The ladies are gonna shop in another vegetable garden. Just don't think that because you have the Almighty Penis that your little Garden Fairy is supposed to drop over in awe and amazement at it. Please, at least make it palatable so we don't cough up a God damn hairball.
If you are a vegan beast who is anti-deodorant, anti-meat, anti-razor, you are whore-ganic. That is just fucking rank and nasty. Don't get me wrong, I am all about the tofu, but Jesus Christ, you fucking STINK! Please stop standing by me and my posse at the gym. Wanna know why? Because your bush and your pits look like you are wrestling squirrels, that's why. I am going to razor-rape you in the parking lot of Whole Foods so watch out. I'll be the hairless one who smells like Kukui Nuts and vanilla. Don't be afraid, you will thank me when your husband can actually see your twat and it doesn't smell like a red onion salad. You're welcome.
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