AdventureWorld

Vote for Me, I Have a Hoo-ha!

If I’d known that having a vagina was (apparently) the only qualification one needed to be Vice President of this country I might have thrown my hat (or would it be underpants?) into the ring. My hoo-ha is way more qualified to be Vice-President than Sarah Palin’s.
My hoo-ha is very smart-- it has an MBA and a library card.
And unlike Ms. Palin’s hoo-ha, my hoo-ha does have foreign experience. It’s had diplomatic experience with Ireland, Germany, Scotland, France--just to name a few (because to name any more would make me look like a total whore).
My hoo-ha will never produce a teenage daughter who'll get knocked up and bring embarrassment to the Religious Right Republican party.
Mine is low risk, high reward hoo-ha.
And, of course, my hoo-ha is in pristine condition.  Like a really expensive car that never leaves the garage, my hoo-ha has retained its value even in this time of recession.
Now, that’s impressive. Way more impressing than playing the piccolo.

To Bee Or Not To Bee

This morning when I woke up I rolled over and found myself eyes-to-eye with a bee sitting on the my pillow. He was just sitting right beside my head like he’d been put there as payback by some peculiarly impotent Godfather.
Even when I yanked my head back with a hearty “fuck me!” he just sat there and didn’t move at all. He didn’t even do that creepy thing, when they start moving their stinger up and down like they’re all excited and just can’t wait to plant that little bastard into somebody.
He was dead. Just sitting there posed like he’d been stuffed by a tiny taxidermist.
How odd.
Odd that he was still alight as in life, but more odd that he got that close to me and didn’t sting the shit out of my face because that would be exactly the kind of thing that would happen to me. Like right in the eye.
He was sitting RIGHT THERE, right beside my sleeping face. Presumably, he was alive for at least some of the time that he sat there but for some reason he spared me.
Or maybe he just couldn’t be bothered, where’s the sport in stinging someone who's sleeping—it’s probably no fun to sting people without the yelping and crazy hand-flapping they do when they’re awake.
Maybe he was a very bad bee and God smote him righteously, petrified his little lustful ass right on the spot, all Sodom and Gomorrha-like.
More likely God was trying to smite me and missed. Except he never misses.
Who knows, it shall remain an eternal mystery.
Anyhoo, I removed the bee from my pillow with tweezers because I couldn’t remember if that thing about their stinger still being able to sting you when they’re dead was true or not. When I googled it later to find out (because inquiring minds want to know, dammit!) Buzzle.com said yes it can still sting you and, incredibly, Buzzle has a bee on it’s banner even though it’s not a website about bees at all! [gasp]
Coincidence or conspiracy? You be the judge.

Rapture

I was looking all over the Riverwalk Center for a bookstore and couldn’t believe there wasn’t one in the whole place, but the directory had no bookstore listed and the map showed no bookstore either.
This is just SO WRONG I thought--a shopping center with no bookstore? Inconceivable! (and I do know what the word means).
So, I was wandering around, greatly piqued, looking for a bookstore anyway, as if I could will one to appear from sheer vexation.
Then this smoking-hot brotha’ started flirting with me (me!) and he asked me what I was looking for. I flapped my map at him and said “don’t you hicks even have a bookstore?!” (in a kidding way of course because (1) he was really dreamy and (2) I used to be a hick my own damn self—but at least I was a book loving hick.
Anyhoo, he told me he knew where a bookstore was but he kept flirting instead of dispensing directions and I was all about The BookQuest (not that other quest).
I was tired and I needed to gogogo! get a book, jump into my jim-jammies, and snuggle in my fluffy-delicious hotel bed (best hotel bed ever, I kid you not).
The brotha’ declared that he was in love with me and I said “not really, it’s merely an instant infatuation because amidst this sea of sweat pants and bad hair I’m downright exotic. Or like a shiny object”
He laughed and laughed and said now I love you even more.
I said “hook me up with a book and I will love you back ..although from afar”.
He said “look at us—brought together by a crappy map”
“So romantic I could just swoon”, I said. “Better than those bodice-ripping books with Fabio on the cover.”
Then he did a rap about the map that was crap and how it led to our  shopping center love affair. He did it Dr. Seuss-style.
I said I love Dr. Seuss.
He said I know you do.
I started to walk away but turned and said “one fish, two fish”.
He said “red fish, blue fish”.
We looked at each other and laughed some more and then I was gone.

Bathroom Philosophers

On this trip I started doing something I’ve been meaning to do forever. I wrote down some of the things people had written on bathroom walls. It’s always interested (and often amused) me what people consider profound thoughts.
Some are thoughtful, some are insightful, some are downright hilarious in that is this person for fucking real?? kinda way. Bathroom walls are a place where the profound and the purposeless reside in hilarious juxtaposition.
Of course I actually find the most absurd ones as potentially profound and wonder if the graffiti’er was really clever or really stupid. I choose to believe clever because that makes it more fun and it makes me feel a wee bit better about the collective intelligence from sea to shining sea.
So here goes, with my favorite absurd one first and then no particular order:

•  You smell like fish. I don’t like you anymore.

• If you’re not outraged you’re not paying attention.

• Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a battle.

• A life that is planned is a closed life, my friend. It can be endured, perhaps. It cannot be lived. [the writer perhaps intends the “my friend” to add the gravitas that ups the profundity factor; it does kinda give it that Master Po to Grasshoppa’ nuance]

• Let your life speak.

• You watched him treat me like that. What makes you think he won’t do the same to you? [SNAP!]

• Life is a garden. Dig it!

• Think inside the box. [so many possible interpretations]

• [and from a kindred Deadwood spirit] Announcing your plans is a good way to hear god laugh.

And last, but not least, something that made me laugh and laugh.

• Mommy, wow! I’m a big kid now.   -George Bush

 

Manly Men, Minor Miracles, and Minutia

Mr. Melonhead

I took a Photoshop class last week and made a Mr. Melonhead out of fruit, veggies, and pasta. He was the best Mr. Melonhead ever. The teacher even said the mustache made of curly endive was sheer genius (ok, she actually said "really creative" but sheer genius was what she meant, she just didn't want the rest of the class to feel like a bunch of losers).
I was so chuffed with Mr. Melonhead that I wanted to keep him and send him to The Goose and tell her to stick it on the refrigerator as a joke. I knew she would laugh and laugh ..and then she'd stick it on the refrigerator. I thought I downloaded it onto a CD but, alas, it was not there when I went to fetch it for this post. *sigh* It was monumentally fabulous. Trust me on this.

He's a Lumberjack, He's OK

I'm going to Alaska in a few weeks. I think I shall get me a lumberjack while I'm there. Or a fisherman. Some kinda manly man for a one-night stand. Yes, I think I just might want to go whoring around in the land of Manly Men in Gore-Tex.
I'm sooooo done with this accidental celibacy. And back in the day there were plans for a more spiritual kinda "sexual awakening" (awakening: as in from a coma) but we all know what happened to that plan. And any future plans.
Yeah, he really wanted to be the one, it was kinda a big deal. And now, in my own crazy version of loyalty I can't go down the path of special and spiritual and meaningful anymore; vacation sex seems more like the thing now. Git-R-Done.

Make Mine a Minor Miracle

Tomorrow I meet with my doctor to discuss what to do about the fact that I am failing miserably on this, my fourth!, treatment plan. I know she's been just waiting for me to accept this ain't working because, well, it's not. The X-rays show more bone erosion and I'm in some kinda flare constantly. Right now I can hardly use my left hand at all. And I kinda need both my hands--hands are handy. I think that's where the word came from.
Also, my right knee and left elbow are flaring like a motherfucker. It's hardly a minor inconvenience not to mention THE PAIN. Ouch ^1,000,000
Anyways, my doctor wants to try a new drug but I'm pretty sure the one she's talking about my insurance won't pay for. It's a new one that you get through infusions every 2 weeks at first and then every month. But the infusion is only 30 minutes! Holy crap! The ones I have now are 3 hour eternities. Of course, then you have to add the hour that it takes them to get a fucking IV going. Buggering buggery!
But like I said my insurance won't pay and since it will cost thousands of dollars for just one dose (really, my pharmacy bill is $17,000 every infusion) I don't know what kinda options I actually have. She had mentioned putting me back on the chemo drug in addition to the infusions but there's that whole pesky liver damage to consider.
That multiple biopsy clusterfuck a couple of years ago still makes me want to puke.
I try not to think about it.
But I just did.
[vomit]

I’d Do Me

Fabulous Gay Friend saw me in my spiffy new clothes that actually fit and he did a double-take. He said “You’re getting skinny! You are, aren’t you?” and gave me a queer eye once over. And then he told me how cute my outfit was and how darling I looked and how he likes it when I wear my hair with all the curls.
I told him thanks and that even I thought I was looking pretty good, which is no small thing because I am so critical of myself that if I can say my ass looks good in my new white jeans then it must be a bona-fide fact. I told FGF that, yep, I had passed the biggest test of all that morning--the I’d Do Me test. If I look in the mirror and say I’d Do Me then I know I got my mojo back.
I haven’t said I’d Do Me in a long time. It was like a spiritual experience.
Every girl should have a fabulous gay friend, but not a Fabulous Gay Friend, because he’s a singular sensation and he’s all mine. Just as I am all his. I’ve never met his partner and FGF wants to keep it that way because although he adores his partner he doesn’t want me to become their “couple friend”. He wants a close friend that is just for him. I totally get that.
FGF said that women’s asses weren’t really his thing, but he knows a nice ass when he sees one. Gender doesn’t matter in some ass attributes you see, like is the ass in question where it should be or is it riding too low—a truly universal gender-neutral ass assessment criterion.
Anyways, I have to get my newly improved ass ready for work. Cute curls cost me an extra five minutes.

Hick Up

I've been so busy lately that I am, as the Goose would say, plumb wore out. I could tell how tired I was on Friday because I was turning into Little Miss Cranky Pants--I struggled against it all day long.
Thinking about how the Goose would say  "you're just plumb wore out" reminded me of all the other fun stuff they say in the boonies ..so naturally I made it into a post. I wrote them down as they came to mind this weekend.
Most of them I heard growing up in Bumfuck, TX but a couple of them I picked up from a friend who grew up in some small southern town.

BUSY:
Busier than a one-eyed cat watchin two mouse holes.
Busier than a cat covering up shit on a marble floor.
Busier than a one-armed paperhanger
Busier than a one-legged man in an ass kickin' contest.
Busier than a set of jumper cables at a family reunion.
Goin' twelve ways to Sunday.

ATTRACTIVENESS:
She’s pretty as a speckled pup in a red wagon.

OLD:
He's been around since Hector was a pup.
She's two years older than dirt.
Old as Methuselah

WEATHER:
Hotter than a billy goat in a pepper patch.
Hotter than a June bride in a feather bed.
Hotter than a two dollar pistol
Hotter than nine nekkid women in a Volkswagen.
Colder than a well-digger's ass in Idaho.

DELICIOUS, OR NOT SO MUCH:
So good it'd make a puppy pull a freight train.
So bad the dog had to lick his ass to take the taste out of his mouth
The coffee's so strong, you can float a pistol in it.

SHORT:
She's so short you can see her feet on her driver's license.

EMOTIONALLY AGITATED IN ASSORTED WAYS:
I'll be on you like white on rice.
I'm nervous as a whore in church.
He's got his back up.
She could start a fight in an empty house.
She's so nervous she has to thread her sewing machine with it running

MOTORMOUTH:
He’s got enough tongue for ten rows of teeth.
She could talk a coon right out of a tree.

UNWORKABLE:
That dog won't hunt.

UTTERLY CLUELESS:
She/he would stand nekkid in front of a walk-in closet.

CLUMSY:
Like a monkey fucking a football (I think only my father says this)

NOT TOUGH ENOUGH:
If you can’t run with the big dogs get back on the porch with the pups.
Scared as a sinner in a cyclone.
If he was melted down, he couldn't be poured into a fight.
She wouldn't bite a biscuit

JUST ‘CAUSE YOU SAY IT’S SO DON’T MAKE IT SO:
You can put your boots in the oven, but that don't make them biscuits.
Just ‘cause the cat gave birth in the oven, that don't make them kittens biscuits.

CRAZY OR DRUNK:
Seven bubbles off plumb
All his biscuits ain’t baked (hillbillies love their biscuits!)
Crazier than a run over dog
She came right off the spool.
He’s drunker than Old Cooter Brown.

MISCELLANEOUS:
She's got more airs than an Episcopalian.
He's all hat and no cattle.
Fell over like a relative at an open bar.
I've had fun before. This ain't it.

Vote For Pedro

Today's funny is brought to you by Oldest Brother, who is still recovering from the poontang post. heh.

It was the first day of school and a new student named Pedro Martinez, the son of a Mexican restaurateur, entered the fourth grade. The teacher said, "Let's begin by reviewing some American history. "Who said Give me Liberty, or give me Death?"
She saw a sea of Blank faces, except for Pedro, who had his hand up. "Patrick Henry, 1775." "Very good!" apprised the teacher. 
"Now, who said, "Government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth?" Again, no response except from Pedro: "Abraham Lincoln, 1863."
The teacher snapped at the class, "Class, you should be ashamed! Pedro, who is new to our country, knows more about its history than you do!"
She heard a loud whisper: "Screw the Mexicans!"
"Who said that?" she demanded. Pedro put his hand up. "Jim Bowie, 1836."
At that point, a student in the back said, "I'm gonna puke." The teacher glared and asked, "All right! Now, who said that?" Again, Pedro answered, "George Bush to the Japanese Prime Minister, 1991."
Now furious, another student yelled, "Oh yeah? Suck this!" Pedro jumped out of his chair waving his hand and shouting to the teacher, "Bill Clinton to Monica Lewinsky, 1997!"
Now, with almost a mob hysteria on her hands, the teacher said, "You little shit.  If you say anything else, I'll kill you!" Pedro frantically yelled at the top of his voice, "Gary Condit to Chandra Levy, 2001."
The teacher fainted, and as the class gathered around her on the floor, someone said, "Oh shit, we're in BIG trouble now!" Pedro whispered, "Saddam Hussein, 2003."
Finally some kid threw an eraser at Pedro, and someone shouted "Duck"!
Pedro yelped “Dick Cheney, 2006!”

For Meghan Cause She’s All Pregnant and Stuff

My online pal Meghan wanted to see a photo of my cute new hairdo.  I don’t usually post pictures of myself on my blog unless they're old ones or there was that one in a snorkeling mask which could be anyone of course. But since Megz is having to tough it out through all that pregnancy drama I felt like she deserved an exception. Well, and it is a really cute hairdo.
So, since there’s no one else around my house I decided I’d try to take one myself which led to disastrous results but also some much needed hilarity. So there again goes that Boomerang thing where I wind up doing something good for my own self  by doing something for somebody else.  Plus I like to laugh at myself, it's liberating.
It’s really hard to take a picture of one’s self unless one has a timer on one’s camera. One did not. I had to hold the fucker out and point it at my head and shoot and hope for the best. I did not get even close to the best—in most every shot I looked like a demented Christina Ricci.
In real life I look nothing like any kind of Christina Ricci. But I was always shooting at an angle that exaggerated my big eyes, flattened my nose, and made my upper lip disappear. Not that Christina Ricci has a flat nose, just that other stuff ..which is adorable on her.
And I always looked either crazy or dull-witted. Or like I was making some sad attempt to look all come hithery. OK, one time I was trying to look all comical-smexy by dangling some glasses I never wear out of my mouth. I was going to say something like “I’d still go gay with you even though you’re all pregnant and stuff” in a caption under the photo.  I thought that would be funny but the photo just wasn’t hot enough to pull it off. Dang!
Also, I put on my glasses that I don’t really need or ever wear just cause I thought I’d look smexy with my Bettie Paige bangs and my brainiac glasses but mostly I just looked like Marilu Henner. A whole lot like her. But I don’t look like her in Real Life and anyways she probably doesn’t have any leopard spot jim-jammies.  But probably her character in Taxi did.
Also I had on shiny lip gloss and it was bouncing way too much light back. My bottom lip looked ginormous which would be ok except not when you have no upper lip showing. Then it just looks plenty strange. So I rubbed it off  and went with nekkid lips.
Anyways……

Penis Envy

Phallic Logo Awards. No kidding.