Stuff that cracked me up this week

 

I’ve had a week that’s felt a bit like this guy’s… all tangled up in a fucking tree. I’m not sure exactly where it went. Because I got nothing done. I found myself sucked into twitter more than I should have been. Dang… what a time suck that is. But you guys are so funny! Good times. If you haven’t followed me, come get in on the conversation… @bullcasm. Or you can click the follow link in the sidebar.

Come to the dark side. We have cookies.

 

 

leghair

 

Anyway, yo… some good shit going down this week. I found this little tidbit “in the news.” I think I may have to get me soma this action. How sexy is this!? Chinese ladies are getting into “hairy manleg stockings” to “turn guys off.” There is such an array of things I could say here. But I’ll refrain. Mostly because I hate nastygrams from readers. But can you imagine? If this isn’t just a publicity stunt, this would ROCK. I could stop shaving and pretend I’m hot… just wearing “stockings” to stave off would-be lechers. Too bad the hair lasering is working. I lack a truly impressive coat. Dammit. I guess I’d look like I bought the cheap knock offs. Oh well. That’ll work too. Check out the whole story.

 

poop-appWhile we’re talking about stuff we’ve got to have, check this out. When they say, there’s an app for everything, they’re not kidding. Have you ever worried that you’ll forget where you’ve pooped? “Hmmm. I seem to have misplaced something. Where did I leave that?” Or perhaps you’re not facebooking quite enough. And an app that simplifies telling everyone where you just took a dump is just what you’re looking for. Well here you go, people. There’s an app for that. I swear, I think some people I’ve seen on facebook are already using this. Facebook: the place where oversharers go to talk about their last meal and their last shit. There’s a golden tag line in there somewhere. You’re welcome, facebook.

The rest of these photos are compliments of Epic Fail. Which, if you haven’t checked it out, beware. It will suck the rest of your time that you have left after twitter, and cause you to snort in line at the grocery store. Learn from my mistakes, friends.

poo-camera-sign

 

This sign was, of course my favorite. Given my recent experience with the local poo flingers, (need to catch up?) this sign would have been very useful to avoid issues before they became steaming bags of crap in my planter. Though I don’t have grandchildren. I would cross it off and put, “my husband.”

threesome

 

 

 

 

 

And then we have this gem. Dude. Where have you been all my life? I can only imagine this is pure chick magic. Boy, you charmer, you. The man of any girls’ dreams. Ok. Maybe some.

 

farter

 

 

I wonder if t-shirt guy ^^^ has a kid. But no, seriously dads, farting is hysterical. Especially when you let ’em rip in the car. With the windows up. Those are especially funny. Which is why mom’s post cute things like this on the internet. Note: my children did not do this particular work of art. If they did, it would have said, “when he farts on the dog’s head.” He’s a giver. Not a waster.

 

broken-pen

 

 

And lastly, I know we’re always harping on the importance of punctuation. Ok, maybe we’re not. But roll with me on this. Punctuation can be the difference between helping your uncle Jack, off a horse; and helping your uncle jack off a horse.

Proper spacing can be just as crucial.

 

 

Have a good weekend!

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… and this was BEFORE happy hour

For sure, it’s time to bump up the kegels. I’m not quite to the piss-myself-when-I-sneeze phase yet. But sisters, we know what childbirth does to a girlfriend’s body. And it does suck. Seriously. This morning I had a moment with my kids, and nearly laughed myself into an embarrassing situation. I feel like karma may be requiring the need to offer a moment of empathy-silence for the already-there Depends and Poise pads market. I’m going to cover my bases here. Shall we bow our heads?

Were you doing some kegels just now? ME TOO!

So this morning we were on our monthly shoe size upgrade for my son. Nothing, I repeat nothing grows faster that a teen boy’s feet. This is the first time in his life that he outgrows his shoes before he destroys them. We were watching TV the other night, and I was looking at his massive monkey feet on the ottoman. And I swear to God, people. I could SEE them getting bigger. It’s like fucking corn. I could HEAR them growing.

We had some fun in the shoe department… other than realizing that he’s nearly maxed out the sizing at Target, and will shortly not be able to find shoes to fit him anywhere. Yes, the kid is growing faster than the retail market can keep up with. What the hell? Do ape feet run on my husband’s side of the family? Have you seen my mother in law’s feet? I’m certain it’s his side. Moving along. Maybe I can get banned from next year’s Christmas too.

shopperSo check this out, people. Who knew the Target shoe department had such a sense of humor? It’s like a fun house. Our mirror-placement discovery required a silly photo to share with you all. It was a nearly-Depends-worthy moment. Prompting my realization that I’ve grown far too lax on the kegels.

I think my daughter disappeared, hoping no one would think she knew us. I don’t know many boys who would pose for an epic fun-with-mirrors pic like this. He’s a pretty rad kid. Despite the ape feet.

 

 

 

Happy hump day!
And if it’s not raining where you are, happy dry hump day!

 

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If a camel winks at you, just run.

I know, this is an old one. I saw it a few years back. And I’m pretty sure I laughed my ass off at that point. Though I can’t be certain. Let’s be honest. The older I get, the less I remember. But it’s totally in my nature to disregard the horrifying reality, and go straight for laughs at the expense of someone’s life… or lack thereof. Ya, I suck like that. Stop nodding your heads in agreement. You people are here, which makes you just as bad, by association. Isn’t it cool how I drag you down with me? Welcome to the trailer park, people.

Anyway, I ran across this again the other day. Initially I laughed myself into a snort. But I started thinking about it. Poor Pam woke up that morning, and may or may not have thought about a camel ride. But I’m thinking her expectations probably would have been more like her in the saddle, rather than her ginormous furry friend doing the riding. I’m certain she never expected to go this way. Who would, right?

I mean, for crying out loud, I hope the last thing I see before I die isn’t a camel penis coming at me. There are for sure worse ways to go. But how much would it suck, knowing that what was going on was the funniest thing that’s ever happened to you, while at the same time knowing you’d never be able to tell anyone. Mostly cuz you’d be dead.

So I just wanted to say, R.I.P. Pam. I’m sorry your camel was so rapey. What an asshole. Although I think we’ve all known for a long time that camels are assholes, right? And I’m really sorry I laughed. Both times. And to the rest of you, if you ever see a camel with a boner, it’s probably best not to stick around. Just run. I don’t know why I’m thinking in a zig-zag pattern. Or maybe that’s just alligators. Oh well, it probably can’t hurt. You’re totally welcome.

 

P.S. Spell check is telling me there’s no such word as boner. No wonder this spell check is so uptight.

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Happy Neighbor Feces Day!

I’ve been a little busy doing some P.I. work. One of my neighbors made a deposit in my front planter. Well, not her personally. That would have provided far more humorous footage. Actually, she dumped her dog’s biz-in-a-bag in my planter. And after review of our security footage, I came up with images of the missing owner of the forsaken crap bag. I love security cameras.

crapper-cam

Left: Cone of shame dog emerges from behind the planter. Right: Two seconds later, we see the shitbag flinger, a split second after bag release. Seconds prior, she was visible at the top of the frame, carrying the bag o’ crap. Did I say I love security cameras?

The caught-brown-handed photos had to be put to good use. Otherwise, why have the cameras, right? So I put this sweet little yard art together. I think it beats the hell out of garden gnomes, don’t you?

crapper-sign

 

I’m thinking I need to get her a cone of shame of her own. So she and her pooch can match. Maybe I’ll put one on her porch for her to wear. Gucci, of course. I’ll write on it for her:  “I’m a bad, bad girl. I left bags of my dog’s shit in my neighbors’ planter. I should be punished. Please point and laugh at me.”

I’ve had fantasies. Seriously. Not those kind, you sicko. My fantasy involves knocking on her door and handing her the shit bag, while squirting her in the face with one of those puppy training squirt guns. Then sternly pointing at her, and in a firm voice saying, “No, BAD girl.” I can see my mug shots in the newspaper under the headline, “Neighbor assaults Asian lady with squirt gun and bag of feces.” Second thought… perhaps it’s a bad plan.

I also like the idea of gathering up every piece of dog doo I can find in my yard, and on the green belt and delivering it to her personally, in a gift bag with a card. I can write on the card:
Good neighbor, I had no idea until you left me the kind gift on my yard; that a bag of dog feces is a gesture of neighborliness in your culture. I apologize for my ignorance. And I promise to uphold your cultural practice with strict regularity. I will even inform all of our neighbors that we have been terribly remiss. And we should all shower you with the feces of your cultural practices, as a show of good neighborliness. Thank you so much for providing me with this education. Happy Neighbor Feces Day!

crapper-signplacement

The actual bag of crap is attached to the sign.

I’m pretty sure that would be fun.

I don’t know what my next move will actually be. I’m enjoying the fact that my neighbor’s photo is on a sign in my front yard with a bag of dog shit attached. I’m all about shame as punishment, in a case like this. However the crap bag is getting a little ripe in the sun. I may have to return it to her soon. I’m pretty sure my neighbor doesn’t like the sign. Though she’s walked by it twice since I put it up. I may need it translated into Chinese for full effect. I’m not sure she can read it as is. She doesn’t speak English… at least not to any of her neighbors. My other neighbors can read it, however. And that, my friends is the important part.

There are worse things than doing something stupid in full view of security cameras. But doing something stupid in full view of a blogger-nerd’s security cams gets you instant douche nugget status on the interwebs, baby.

Happy Neighbor Feces Day, y’all!

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Lily the Dungbeetle has a Certain Ring to it.

buddha-squirrelIf my dog ever had good karma, I’m pretty sure that’s blown to hell now, thanks to Sally Skanktail.  As we’ve already discussed (here), mine is already screwed, based upon my interaction with certain lizard friends. But in addition to the fact that my dog is a closet ho, and loves wearing the Sweet Baby Slutbag wig—or she totally would if she could get her paws on it—I spotted her nemesis, Sally Skanktail, this morning flirting with the Buddha statue. And that can only mean one thing. Bad news for my poor little pooch, Lily.

Sally Skanktail is the girl on the yard with the bad, bad attitude, and the rattiest tail a squirrel can have, and still be called a squirrel… rather than a rat. You do know that’s the only difference between a rat and a squirrel is the fluffy tail, right? Ok, that’s a total lie. But Sally is a bit of a rat. She peruses our yard regularly for eatables, which drives Lily, the terrier troll absolutely nuts. Sally knows that Lily is generally captive behind the glass. So she enjoys taunting her with her daily dance of The Nutcracker, performed on the wall. She’s pure evil in a squirrel-fur tutu.

Sally Skanktail doesn’t always know when Lily’s outside, and Lily occasionally gets a good run at her. But Sally always wins the foot race to the tree, where she looks down on Lily and barks at her, and flips her off with her little squirrel paw. Ok, probably not. But that’s how I imagine it. I wish I had some video for you here. Because the entertainment value of the dog barking at the squirrel, and the squirrel barking back at the dog in the same rhythm and cadence is Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom gold. In fact, I’m pretty sure Sally is plotting to kill Lily. I’ve seen it in her eyes. I’m telling you… she’s evil.

So this morning, when I saw Sally caressing the Buddha’s cheek with her mangy tail, I knew exactly what was going on there. The skanky little suck up—she’s trying to line up Lily’s next life assignment. Poor Lily. If she doesn’t start being nicer to Sally, she’s going to come back as a dungbeetle. But little does Sally know, slutting around with a statue gets you no pull with the Karma people. At least I hope that’s the case. Because my own lizard nemesis spends a hell of a lot of time hanging around the Buddha guy, sitting in his lap, and whispering in his ear. So I suppose if there’s something to this, Lily and I could be feasting on the same dung pile some day. And I’m pretty sure I don’t like dung.

Stuff that Cracked Me Up This Week

fingerpull

If you’re jonesing for someone to play “pull my finger” with… here you go, toot your little heart out. Promise me you’ll try clicking the screen in different places for a variety of flatulence faire. Have a fartalicious time, my friends. You’re welcome.

 

boob-pillow

 

 

Now here’s something I never knew I needed. A life preserver for the girls. Huh. I guess some are worth saving. I think I’d let mine drown. And then get a new pair. Seriously. Who knew boobs didn’t float? And that this was a problem? Want one?

postit

 

 

I think we can all agree that it sucks not knowing who you’re waking up with. It’s pretty awesome that Post-its has figured out a viable solution. Way to go, Post-its.

 

 

nice-underware-matt

 

This goes without saying, right? I think I need this. Can someone tell me where I can find one of these?

Please. Found it! Thanks Karel!!

 

myLittlePonyDog

 

 

This dog has asked that a flaming bag of crap be placed on her human’s doorstep.
She’s willing to provide the crap.

Please hurry. (more info)

 

 

 

potmoms

Photo from Epic Fail. Anyone want to own the photo cred? Contact me.

 

 

And in honor of the last day of school, after all the children went home, the PTA got together in the lounge and had an herb exchange, and admired Principal Smith’s sweet new vase.

Rock on, Principal Smith. You’re an inspiration.

Happy summer!

 

 

How *not* to acquire household help

Learn from my mistakes, people. Not that this would ever happen to any of you. I was off my game. Obviously.

Hubby:  Does this shirt look too short?
Me:        Mmmmaaaaybe a little.
Hubby:  Ya. I’m pretty sure it shrunk.
Me:        You know, I’ve been meaning to complain about that laundress. I think we should replace her.
Hubby:  What?
Me:        Her work is a little questionable. And she’s bitchy. She’s doesn’t even turn the socks right side out.
Hubby:  Um. We don’t have a laundress. You do the laundry.
Me:        Exactly!
Hubby:  But you’re free. Why would we pay someone, when you do it for nothing?
Me:        She’d do a better job?
Hubby:  But you’re FREE. I don’t have to pay you to do the laundry.
Me:        When you think about it, I’m not free. I don’t exactly have inexpensive taste.
Hubby:  (sound of an air mattress deflating)
Me:         And there’s the shoe problem. And the handbag addiction. And let’s not forget the liquor bill.
Hubby:  You’re right. I probably should replace you.
Me:        Um. Wait. I didn’t really think this one through.
Hubby:  You don’t say.
Me:        Well, you know, considering that you’re aware my domestic skills are remedial, at best…
Hubby:  At best.
Me:         … and yet, you still expect me to do the laundry. If you think about it, this is your fault.
Hubby:  (stink eye) Obviously.hmmm-face
Me:        Did you ever consider that your shirts haven’t shrunk?
Hubby:  (screamy) Do you think you’re helping your case at this point?
Me:        Um. I’m going with no?

•••

Maybe crafting an argument after a few glasses of wine isn’t the best plan.

Like acid without the pesky flashbacks

cushzilla-top

Both photos: cushzilla.com

I’m totally a “to each his/her own” kind of chick. Who am I to judge? I mean, hell, whatever floats your boat. But I think maybe I need to take a remedial sarcasm and pointless bullshit class. Doggy/kitty hooker wigs? Is there a fetish subculture I’m missing out on? Seriously, I try to keep up on those… purely for entertainment value, of course.

Maybe someone can help me out here? Are we making fun of our dogs? Or making them feel pretty… oh so pretty… and witty, and gay? Do they like this stuff? Or are we belittling and demeaning them for pooping on the rug, or chewing the couch, or something? If so, does this work? Because if it does, bring that shit on. I’m all for punishment in the form of abject humiliation. It does seem to work with the kids.

“You pooped on the rug again, Lily.”

(paws the carpet, avoiding eye contact) “Sorry mom.”

“Alright then, you get ten minutes on the yard in the purple Sweet Baby Slutbag wig.”

“But mom, please, I look awful in purple. And the other dogs will laugh at me.”

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about pooping on the rug, Lily.”

puppy-family-2

An Oscar to her humans for keeping a straight face.

I don’t know. Is it just me? I don’t see this really working out here. I mean, I’m willing to give it a try. But I’m pretty convinced my dog is a closet slutbag anyway. She’d probably secretly like it… but then pretend she hated it, so I’d keep using it as punishment. Kind of like I used to do when I’d get sent to my room. Where I’d read. For hours. The louder my stomping going up the stairs, the longer my punishment would be. I’m telling you, people. Even back then, I was showing signs of fucking genius.

Maybe I’ll give it a shot and see what happens. Perhaps she’ll get a little more spring in her step. A little more confidence. Although she’ll probably want matching purple Go-Go boots too. Slutbag.

I’m willing to try something new. All in the name of keeping life interesting. I look at it as a mind-broadening experience. Like acid without the pesky flashbacks. Now I just have to decide if she’d like the purple or the hot pink. I’m willing to jump into a new experience with all fours. Can someone tell me where I find the matching Go-Go boots?

Don’t mind the jelly on my face

kids-beach-HIThere are no words that ring terror in a mom’s soul more than “summer vacation.” Ok… “Mom, I’m pregnant”… maybe… under some circumstances could possibly surpass it as most terrifying phrase. But given the way I’m feeling at the moment, I may later question the validity of even that comparison.

As much as I’m experiencing nausea and empathy pains for my son, who is now up to his neck in his first experience with a real “finals week.” I’m also pretty sure that what I’m experiencing is complete and utter panic. By the end of this week summer will officially be upon us. Though I’m almost certain that summer vacation with two teens is not a legit reason to retreat to our panic room with a cache of gluten-free crackers and a 12-pack Mike’s Hard Lemonade. I am nonetheless tempted.

My husband, the pragmatic bastard that he is, had to remind me that we don’t actually have a panic room. What the hell kind of house doesn’t have a panic room? Jesus. What are we supposed to do when someone breaks in while we’re here? He had to remind me that the chances of this happening were so small that it didn’t make sense to have a special room for it. Besides, we live in a nice area with a low crime rate, and we don’t really have anything that anyone would want to steal. Ok. He’s got me there. But now where am I supposed to go drink my Mike’s and rock gently in the corner? He suggested yoga. In September. Sweet Jesus, someone help me. I think this is what heart palpitations feel like.

No. No way. I’m not doing this. I’ve decided I’m embracing this summer like a child.

Summer is a lot like a jelly doughnut. It’s all completely awesome, right? And when you really bite into it, it makes a mess—and makes it really difficult to appear professional in any way. You just have to dive in and go for it. Jelly be damned. That’s my plan for the summer. I’m diving in. I’m self-employed, and I don’t have to be professional, dammit. My posts will be sporadic. And I probably won’t get to sit down and write as often as I’d like. But I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this. Because I just don’t have that many more years that these little people will be here to turn my summers into jelly doughnuts.

Now I’m pissed I’ve used this analogy. I’m jonesing for an actual jelly doughnut. And no one makes really good gluten-free jelly doughnuts.

Shit.

Oh well. Summer is here. Let’s do this.  Happy jelly doughnuts, people!

Stuff that cracked me up this week

photo 2-2

All I can say is,
if you’re going to put dildos out there,
people are going to pick them up
and act like nine-year olds with them.
I’m pretty sure, faced with a plastic purple penis,
everyone turns into a nine-year old.

(Someone sent me this photo. Anyone have a cred?)

 

 

 

This is the most snortworthy  video of the week.
Possibly of the year so far.

•••

I felt a little bad for the kitten. But then I remembered they grow into cats.
And cats are dicks. So, anyway.   Ya….. Here you go.

photo 3-2

•••

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

•••

•••

No children died in the making of this video. I don’t think. Though I can’t be certain.
My German is rusty. And by that, I mean I can order beer and ask where the bathroom is.

Only a German would go ahead and post a video in which his kid got squished like a bug.
Oh, you silly Germans.

•••

photo 2

Thanks Epic Fail. Photo cred?

 

 

 

Happy Friday, y’all!
I hope your weekend is
better than the best dump
you’ve ever taken.

In. your. life.