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Tag Archives: I am going to hell
I promise, I asked Devon for permission to blog this
As Devon and I were getting ready for bed: Devon: Losing all this weight means I can see my penis better. Me: Umm…that’s awesome! Go you! See, I’m not the only one who says weird things. I try to be … Continue reading
Christina Aguilera needs to get off my damn lawn
I saw this link over at Oh, Noa and had to share. WTF happened to Christina Aguilera? She looks like someone’s divorced, middle-aged alcoholic mom stripping at amateur night to prove she’s still got it. I was floored when I found … Continue reading
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Tacky Plastic Jesus needs to die
I need your help again, guys. Backstory: I was about 5 when my grandfather, my mother’s stepfather, shuffled loose the mortal coil. As my mother and I were going through his house, I wanted something to remember him by, so … Continue reading
Even the dead can be fashionably late
Uncle Tommy, one of my father’s younger brothers, died Saturday, and the funeral was today. The funeral mass was supposed to be at 10 am. The hearse finally pulled up at 10:30, giving us just enough time to squeeze in … Continue reading
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Another job bites the dust
Goddamn aliens, stealing Earthling jobs. If MyWayCup Coffee hadn’t hired an alien to work for beans, a human could be standing on the corner of E. 23rd Street enticing you away from Starbucks.
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Do you hate your baby? Buy this hat!
This is the latest thing for babies who find staying vertical just a little too scary. Or their parents, I should say, because if your baby can’t walk upright yet, she probably doesn’t have the motor control to order this … Continue reading
Knitters will stab you
Knitting is serious bizness.
One day down and no one else has died
But casket shopping is some freaky shit, y’all. I know they’re just boxes for storing dead people, and there are no dead people in them in the showroom, but there’s something not right about touring a room full of them … Continue reading
Fuck me, Ray Bradbury
Something wicked this way will come.
Phuck phone calls
I hate the telephone. Hate it like I hate splinters and parking tickets and spilling honey vodka all over my keyboard (which has been repaired and returned, thanks for asking). If your friend insists on interrupting you every 10 words … Continue reading
