Thank you for flying Fucktardia Airlines!

Ladies and gentleman we want to take a moment to thank you for choosing Fucktardia Airlines for today's journey.  We will be taxing away from the terminal in just a moment so please feel free to look out the window and wave good-bye to all of your friends and relatives that have purchased your seats on today's flight.  Make sure to fasten your seat belts as you will be slapped around by fate a time or two before we land in lovely Fucktardia, off the coast of Hell.  In the event of a water landing, please remember to bend over and stick your head up your own ass and use it as a breathing apparatus.  Don't mind the smell as you are probably used to it, being completely full of shit as you all are.

If you look out to your left, you will see the beautiful lives that you've destroyed and the people that you've offended and irritated for the last fucking time.  While you were once a functioning member of regular society, you have chosen to contribute nothing lately and have actively become a pimple on the ass of life.  The balmy weather of the life you're leaving is nothing compared to scorching hot temperatures of Fucktardia because in Fucktardia, they know that nothing is more fitting for assholes like yourselves then to burn hotter than hemorrhoids for the rest of your unnatural lives.

On your right, this is -such- a great treat for all you bastards that love to do nothing more than fuck over the people foolish enough to love you in any way, it's called Moving On Mountain!  Isn't it beautiful?  Just look at the happy people climbing out of the swamp of despair you left them sinking in and see them work their way out to find people worthy of the gift that you threw away so thoughtlessly.  Let's have a hand for these brave, wonderful people!

Oh, now this IS a treat!  As the plane banks to your left, if you look toward the rear of the plane you can see Get A Clue Canyon!  It's a popular spot where thinking individuals frequent to brush up on the finer points in life all of you jackasses couldn't be bothered with.  You know....common sense, compassion, understanding....No?  I'm seeing a lot of confused faces here...Um...let me see if I can explain....Life isn't all about you.  There is a wide world of people out here that seem to learn how to live together and they frequently try to help morons like yourselves by giving you clues to how they feel and what they need.  They actually try very hard to give these clues to you but end up tossing them into Get A Clue Canyon since you all can't process anything that isn't actually affecting your personal existence.  So, others pick up the clues that you so diligently leave behind.

We are now about minutes away from our landing area.  Please form an orderly line at the side doors, don't worry about the fact that we don't seem to be slowing down.  We as a society decided long ago that your kind wasn't fit to live anyway so this is your one and only chance to take a flying leap.  But to aid in your hasty exit from our lives, we did put down a cushion to help you land.  This way you can begin your life on the island of Fucktardia, home of the biggest and baddest fucktards that life has to offer.  Um, yes...you there with your hand up.  Oh, a return flight?  Um...how can I put this gently....?  No one wants you in their lives anymore so we've classified Fucktardia as an island with no outside contact.  Yes, other than that big mat down there, we've done as much to make your lives here pleasant as you have done for ours all the years we've known you.  So, before you all get the fuck out of here, allow me to thank you once again for flying Fucktardia Airlines.  I'm your flight attendant Kissa Meassa and it has been a distinct displeasure to be near you in any capacity for longer than a millisecond.  If you tire of Fucktardia, just remember you can hop in the water and go to Hell.

The Last Will And Testament Of Kissa Meassa

This document was found among all of the balled up tissues and empty bottles of Tylenol following a horrifying bought with the flu.

I, Kissa Olive Meassa, being of foggy mind and sore, feverish body do hereby bequeath all of my worldly possessions to the first person who discovers a cure for the flu. I'm not talking about the "cures your symptoms for four to six hours and then fades away leaving you in a crying, puking ball of feverish snot" medicine. I want my crap to go to the one that invents the "holy shit! I can run, skip, dance, do advanced mathematical computations and dropped four dress sizes" wonder stuff! It can't wear off, it has to actually cure. If you are the lucky person who is able to invent such an advancement in medical technology then here's what you get:

1. Half my family's debt – Don't let it fool you, it's a fortune! Now, you may be dodging some phone calls for a few years and getting some threatening letters, but don't let that scare you. If you can hold out longer than they can, they might just forget the whole damn thing and walk away. So I'm doing you a favor by showing you how the rest of the real world actually has to live, thus reminding you that your medicine had BETTER be priced to allow people like me to afford it.
   
2. Half custody of my kids – Now this one may seem a bit alarming, but look at it this way, they help out a TON on tax return info! Not to mention, little hands can stir lots of little beakers in your labs. But no testing on my babies. I'll come back from the dead and beat the ever living shit outta you!
   
3. Half ownership of my husband – He might not like this one at first, but ladies, this should be an incentive for you to all up your game…He's hot…he's well-endowed….he's eager to please….*wink, wink*
   
4. Half of my crap – That's all the rest of the stuff that's floating around the house. If you feel like cleaning it, come and get it.
   

That's all I can leave for you, but this should make you work all that more diligently toward finding a cure. I know I'm fading fast…It's getting darker and darker…wait….never mind, it's actually getting dark out, but I know that if I could take my temperature I would see that it says 500 degrees. Sadly, it's at the foot of the bed and out of my immediate fingertip range, so we'll never know. As for my family, know that I loved you all and I'm sorry I didn't think a flu shot was needed. I WAS WRONG! I'm lying here in the dark, waiting for the sweet mist of oblivion to take me away…Oddly, it feels like the same sweet mist Nyquil brings…Damn it!!!! Stupid husband doped me up again! Ah, screw this….None of you rat bastards can have any of my fucking stuff. I'm keeping it all! You can all just….

 

Signed,

Kissa Olive Meassa

Mind Your Own Fucking Business

Hey gang, I'm back after a very restful and much needed internet break. I had a very lovely Valentine's Weekend and after giving my brain cells a vacation from the fast-paced world of online communications, I'm back and ready to start talking!

While relaxing in the hotel on Valentine's morning, I glanced up at the local news on the television as I enjoyed tasty scrambled eggs with American cheese. Finally calming down from my amazement at how the room service cart turned into a full sized dining table right in our room, I was amused at the teaser given about a teacher that had been up to something scandalous with her blog. When they came back from commercial and got through all the bullshit weather crap, they gave us the story of Natalie Munroe.

She is an English teacher who decided to create a blog (http://natalieshandbasket.blogspot.com/) to do what most of us do all the time, get shit out of our head before it explodes. She kept her blog anonymous and never used any real names. She wrote about her life as a mother, a wife, a woman and a teacher. She gave no geographical information and never disclosed her place of employment. She spoke about how her students were disrespectful, crude, lazy and disobedient. She didn't specify what grade they were in, what they looked like, or anything that could be used to identify them. She wrote 84 blogs between August 2009 and November 2010. She had nine followers, including herself and her husband; the others were friends of hers. Of her 84 postings, 24 were about or mentioned work. So, why is she on the local news? She committed the act of being discovered by a few students and parents. Somehow, these diligent web crawlers found her blog and took offense at her language and description of the students she worked with. The school took the proactive approach of suspending her and marching her out of the building, flanked by the principal and a security guard. Never mind the fact that she's eight and half months pregnant and hardly in a condition to fight. The hard hitting news report featured interviews with offended students and parents demanding an apology and teachers shocked by their colleague's lack of remorse for her vulgar actions. Then came the response from Natalie, she's not sorry and she's not apologizing. Fucking right on, Natalie!

She wrote an anonymous blog about her life and because some students decided to become investigators, she has to apologize for how she feels about the little bastards she has to attempt to educate? Why? What did she do wrong? Did she post the GPA of a particular dipshit? Did she upload shots taken on her cell of a pimple faced asshole as she handed the principal a write up? Did she post a picture of herself outside of the school proudly flashing the middle finger?? No? Then why the fuck gives that school the right to suspend a qualified teacher who did nothing but exercise her first amendment right of freedom of speech? She never slandered anyone and didn't identify herself in the postings. She signed her blog as Natalie M. She took care to respect the privacy of others, so why is she being forced to answer for sins she didn't commit? Any student in that school has the right to create a blog of their own slamming any teacher or administrator that they see fit. Most have Facebook pages featuring updates about the pains of being a teenage high school student. These all use actual names and identifying information. So why aren't they being escorted out of the building along with her? According to the news report, it's because teachers are being held to a higher standard. To that I say, "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!"

Becoming an educator, politician, television evangelist or parent in no way negates your right to be a human being. You have the right to bitch about your job and if you take care to remove any identifying information and protect your identity as well, you have the right to use the same outlets that the rest of the country uses. She didn't degrade any student in detail and after reading her posts, she didn't lie either! In fact, she nailed these little irritating, hormonal lumps! They are moody, disrespectful, disgusting, sexually promiscuous and a terrifying glimpse into our country's future. The nosy little fuckers that read her posts and recognized themselves shouldn't have been offended, they should have been ashamed! They brought national attention on themselves by opening up their mouths and reading stuff that wasn't meant for them. If they had kept their noses out of her blog, the news would never have shed light on this woman's harmless outlet for her personal thoughts. She took the chance to use a release that so many of us enjoy and by being self-righteous little tattlers, her life is being shoved into the media for all to scrutinize. And they want her to apologize?

They ought to write a personal apology to her and their parents for being such horrible creatures in the first place. The parents need to be smacked in the back of the head for even taking this outside of their home. What they should have done was turn around and slap the shit out of their little DNA disappointment for being terrible little creatures mentioned in her posting. Then they should march themselves over to this woman's house to apologize for not doing more to teach their children to be respectful and a better example of their generation. Hey parents, your little bundles of joy are actually pain in the ass teenagers that make everyone's life a living hell and you do nothing to discipline them. You spoil them and protect them from the results of their actions. You teach them that they have a right to be respected even though they do nothing to earn it. You teach them that as long as they are young, there are no real consequences for their actions and that you will never hold them accountable for their bad decisions. They make it difficult to teach them the basic things they need to know to survive life outside of your house and they are a disgrace of your name. The things they do outside of your presence would horrify you and if you saw what they are actually like, you'd be less inclined to defend it. Your children make blogs like Natalie's necessary. Your children are the reason this country is so quick to sue for shit that has no business even being brought to a court. You are a poor example of a responsible parent because you have the nerve to violate this woman's privacy and demand that she give your child an apology for doing something that you and your child do freely. She spoke her mind and did it with a damn sight more class then you all did. She didn't expose your rotten children for the losers that they are to the media. She didn't stand in front of a camera and demand that you apologize for you not taking responsibility for your actions or lack of in regards to teaching your child respect. She wrote a message to her friends letting off steam that could have been taken into the classroom and delivered to the students directly. Instead, she wrote them down in a way that respected their rights and protected their identity. Yes, occasionally she used a bad word or two. So what? It's her fucking right! And it was your kid's fucking right to mind their own damned business! If they didn't like what they read, then they should have closed the window and moved on. Every one of those parents and students owe her family a HUGE fucking apology for shoving them into the media.

And finally, the school needs to get on their knees and beg forgiveness for ever making this a big deal. Instead of trying to please Mommy and Daddy, they should have told them to pay more attention to the message that was written. They are so scared of bad publicity that they don't even bother to do their damn jobs! You would rather suspend an excellent teacher for using her talent for writing to express herself creatively than suspend the little bastard mouthing off regularly in class? I hope that this becomes the biggest embarrassment to the Central Bucks East High School and that they realize the error of their ways. Protect your teachers and stop bowing to pressure from offended parents and pampered delinquents. Otherwise, create a policy that forbids any teacher, administrator, staff, or student from using any social media site in any way. Prevent all people in your district from expressing themselves in any manner and create a taskforce that does nothing but scan the internet for any mention of your school in a derogatory manner. Make sure that they become full-time Facebook patrollers that monitor any mention of any student, teacher, staff member, administrator or parent. Unless you can do that, give Natalie back her job immediately and get back to work. And stay out of MY fucking blog!

And The Award For Biggest Fucking Loser For 2011 So Far Goes To…

Man, today is the WORST day for me to have to type with my new nails (a part of a very sweet Valentine's Day gift from my sweetheart) because I have to slow down my typing. I got the head's up from Pat to check the local paper yesterday to read about a janitor that hit a kid in the school district. I got distracted and didn't get to read it until a few minutes ago. Reading it made my fingers itch, so let's get to it!

Kid helps clean cafeteria. Kid is being smartass and throws damp rag at janitor. Janitor is 5 foot 2 inches tall. Most kids in that school are taller. Janitor goes to kid's class and smacks him around in front of everyone. Teacher tells class to stay seated. Other students break up fight as teacher stands by watching. Little janitor is hauled away the next day by police. That's the general breakdown of all the players In the story and the nominees for BIGGEST FUCKING LOSER 2011!

At my old elementary school, some things never change. Kids are disrespectful little bastards and the favorite target to direct their torment to that goes unpunished will always be the janitor. The janitor is an adult, but one that has very little authority in the school and is given the thankless task of cleaning up after rude little shits all day long. Most are not very attractive and they usually are pretty quiet. A perfect target for loser bullies-in-training. They put up with shit that would get a kid knocked out if they did it to their parents. And they do all this to get paid next to nothing. Sometimes, psychos get past the district diligent screening process, a background check to see if you ever tossed a kid against a wall or committed grand larceny. Forget covering important things like, "Do you understand that you can't actually beat the hell out of a little prick if they disrespect you?" or " You are in no position to discipline a child with playground style justice."

No need to cover topics like that with a man small enough to stand eye to eye with my 10 year old. Clearly this is a man who has never found his height to be an issue and he probably has found that being small takes him so far in life that becoming a school janitor is a daily celebration for him. What we need to do is make sure that someone like this is placed in direct contact with arrogant little fuckers who have never been taught by their parents to respect adults, no matter their size or occupation. That will show that we value our lovely tiny cleaner and we're responsible educators! What could go wrong? This is a well thought out plan complete with a responsible teacher who would dive in front of a student to protect them from an attack by an obviously deranged adult.

Wait…what was that last part? She did run to her student's aid and protect him from an adult beating his ass in her classroom, right? I mean, only a completely incompetent, fucking worthless, lump of dog shit would stand by and let a child get smacked around by an adult that wasn't in any way related to the child as her entire class witnesses it. And our district only hires the very best educators that minimum wage has to offer! They know that we put our children's lives and minds in their hands everyday and they wouldn't hire immature crack heads who sooner scold the class for standing up and reacting to the horrifying act over the mentally deranged leprechaun who decided to be the shillelagh off of her student.

So, who should receive the award? The honor of being the biggest fucking loser 2011 has to offer so far? Let's give a big hand to LaToya Robinson, folks! Yes, she is a shining example of how an educated person who has taken on the dubious task of teaching some of our community's most disrespectful, annoying, vulgar, angering delinquents can still manage to look like cat vomit compared to a tiny Incredible Hulk trying to settle a score with an 11-year old! She is the epitome of dedication and control. By her deciding to tell her class to remain seated, she shows us that the most important thing to do in a crisis like this is to sit back and watch because we all know the police are going to need plenty of witness accounts and it's easier to say what happened if you stand back and view the whole scene. No need to protect the child from assault because we parents have done an amazing job of teaching our children that we protect children from attacks from adults. Students became enraged by the sight before them and selflessly inserted their young bodies into the altercation and moved Mighty Mouse away from his prepubescent punching bag. Here they come to save day! And does Ms. Robinson instantly race to the phone to call the main office to let them know that a lunatic entered her classroom and punched a child? No! She spares the district the hassle of having to report this to the authorities by doing…NOTHING! My heart swells with pride at Ms. Robinson's heroic deeds! She knew she had a job to do and nothing was going to distract her from that. Her job is to continue to teach her class all they need to know to pass the state standard achievement test and nothing more! She is not a bodyguard, she is not a protector of young lives, she is not a hero, she is a teacher, damn it! So on your feet people and raise a finger in salute to LaToya Robinson, Biggest Fucking Loser Of 2011 So Far! Ms. Robinson, this well manicured finger is for you, congratulations!

Who The Fuck Comes Up With This Shit?

Hey gang, sorry I didn't post yesterday, but with my lovely hormones raging, it wouldn't have been a very nice post. During that special time in my life, the voices in my head say some truly bizarre things and most are not fit for sharing. Here's today's post.

Like most American's, I look forward to Super Bowl Sunday. For all my non-American friends, this is a day reserved for the ultimate game of professional football, (not soccer, football. Deal with it.) and has a very odd tradition of being THE day to watch commercials. Yes, we have made commercial watching a sport! In between plays on the field, millions glue themselves to the television, not to keep track of a battle of which team owns the field, but to find out what will become the best commercial of the Super Bowl. For years, if you wanted to see the funny, innovative, unusual, or just plain fucking expensive commercials, you had to sit through a game that unless you gave a flying shit about either team, your life would be just as wonderful without it. Then came the invention of the internet! No longer do I have to pretend that I give a flea's fart about the game and I can enjoy the commercials anytime I want online.

I was busy last Sunday, so I totally forgot about the game and I was surprised to see that most of the people in the Wal-Mart with Pat and I seemed not to give a damn either, probably because our home team didn't make it this year. We still throw support to the Steelers since they're from our state, but honestly, we'd rather be shopping than watching. Realizing that I had missed the commercials, I decided today to look them up to see all the cool stuff I missed. So far, I've gotten through the first quarter commercials and part of the second. At best, I gave a chuckle at the wife that threw a can of Pepsi upside a chick's head when her husband, who was checking the chick out, ducked and she missed. Out of 21 commercials, NONE were anything worth seeing!

Why are companies relying on fucking loser dipshits that probably live in their parent's basement, playing fantasy games while jerking off to Queen Amidala posters on their wall for their advertising focus groups? Who the fuck thinks that these dumbass commercials featuring smiling morons and computer generated dragons are going to make us suddenly say "Yes the product is grossly expensive and it tastes like piss water, but damn it, I gotta have it because that commercial made me realize that I need to purchase it right now?" These were the most boring, unoriginal, corny, lame, retarded commercials I've seen in a while. What happened to the days of coming up with a funny, catchy slogan or a commercial that's so awesome that you have to send it to your friend? Even annoying commercials like the old Budwiser "Wuzzup" had a catchphrase that lived well past the point of being funny! I know that traditionally the commercials shown during the game are supposed to be targeting a certain audience, males 18-49, but when are they going to realize that once the game is over, they have to try to use those things again to sell to the rest of us?

Quizzno's used to have a talking…I have no idea what that thing was, poop? It was, and always will be, one of the worst fucking things I've ever had the misfortune of fast forwarding through. I have never in my life wanted to eat at that place and showing talking poop or a fucked up squirrel is going to change my mind. If the food tastes good, I'll never know because I can't shake the image of that nasty fucking thing making me go, "why the fuck did they just show me that?" The latest trend in car commercials is to do shit that has NOTHING to do with what you'd ever use the car for, like watching your child run toward your car while he's being chased by a group of bullies and smiling sweetly as he dives into the trunk and quickly buckles his seatbelt and makes faces at the bullies. (I so would have loved for that mom to tell him to get out and put his backpack in the house while the kids were standing there to see his oh shit face!) They also like to have annoying little shits with hair that needs to be cut talking like they have a hard life of dealing with parents who seem to have never slapped the ever loving crap out of him for opening his smartass mouth. (You don't like what your parents are singing? Get the fuck out and walk, you little bastards!) Or they show the cars driving down the streets not doing anything special at all with the words "Do not attempt. Professional driver on a closed course." This is soooo helpful! I was going to take my car out on a city street to and drive with both hands on the wheel! Thank goodness that you told me not to try THAT! Much safer to talk on my phone while flipping off the cab that just cut in front of me as I circle the building for the eighth time looking for a parking space!

The top commercial of Super Bowl XLV was so damn stupid, I thought I had watched the wrong one! There was absolutely no way that a damn kid wearing a Darth Vader costume and trying to "use the force" on things, learning that he can't because IT'S NOT FUCKING REAL, and standing in front of his father's new car holding out his hands to use his "powers" on it as Mom and Dad stand in the kitchen watching their precious DNA disappointment prove that there is no real use for a college fund. Finally, in an attempt to continue to let this spoiled, future bully target believe what so many basement dwelling manchildren pray for every night, he hits the remote start making the car come to life. I have children, small children and I can assure you, not one has ever believed that they had a magical power to start a car. The second that the car would have started, they would have looked around to see where we were because they know how a remote start works. Why? Because they have fucking brain cells. Instead of buying that kid an expensive way to embarrass them in front of company when he races into a room declaring that he their father, buy the kid a damn book. Or teach him how to throw a ball. Teach him anything that may make up for the fact that you didn't realize that kids get their asses kicked for doing far less dorky things. Most importantly, DON'T FUCKING TRICK ME INTO THINKING THAT THIS IS A FUNNY OR WORTHWHILE COMMERCIAL THAT I NEED TO SEE TO IN ORDER TO DECIDE TO BUY YOUR OVEREXPENSIVE PIECE OF SHIT!

By the time I got to that little gem and saw that it was the "best" commercial of the game, I stopped looking at the rest. What would be the point when clearly all they are showing is shit? I'm not going to waste my time watching a man suck Dorito flavor off a co-worker's fingers or snatch another's pants off and sniff them. (That one was so bizarre that I waited to see if he'd start sucking on the pants before deciding to just get on his knees and suck the guy off!) Advertisers have given up trying to appeal to intellect or actual humor. No more will we see clever commercials like my personal favorite, the Citibank identity theft ones with the voiceovers. (Whatever! It lifts and separates!) No more will we smile as we hear a unique catchphrase like "time to make the doughnuts" or "where's the beef". Companies have now given control of our televisions to 13 year old boys who are fascinated with boobs and farts. Watching these disasters, I couldn't help but hear their target group laughing in my head. Bevis and Butthead, this is your year, here's the remote. I'm going to read a fucking book instead.

Think Before You Fucking Speak!

Can I ask you a question? Why on earth do people seem to ask permission to ask you a question? Just by saying that sentence you've already asked the fucking question! Spit it out!!! Stop asking people for permission to irritate the hell out of them! As much as this question annoys the hell out of me, I'm guilty of it at times too. I think everyone has those moments when we do things that would normally drive us up a wall. Here are a few more of the most annoying damn questions and statements that people use all the time:

1. Where's the last place you had it? (Usually a follow up to a hunt for keys or other items that you frantically tear the house apart looking for.)
   
   Proper answer to this is, "Let me think. I do remember them being shoved up your ass the last time I had them, so do me a favor, cram your head up there for me and take a peek!
2.  This is gross….taste this!
   
   I'm sure that someone thinks that they are doing you a favor by offering you the opportunity to share in the disgust, but the proper thing to do is to take your hand and slap the shit out of the one offering it. If that doesn't work, make them eat the entire offending object. This also goes for that lovely, "This stinks, smell this!"
3. Guess who I ran into?
   
   Unless it's my foot, I don't really give a damn who you ran into. The possibilities are endless when it comes to figuring out who on this tiny planet you could have seen. If you want to tell me who you saw, FUCKING TELL ME!! I'm not guessing!
4. Who does the baby look like?
   This question usually comes up immediately after birth. If you have never had the pleasure of looking at a newborn baby, let me help you out. They look like an alien. They are not going to pop out looking like a carbon copy of any human because they just fucking got here! If you want to prove paternity, get a blood test, stop pretending that E.T. looks like his grandfather twice removed!
5. What do you want to eat?
   This is an interesting question. What the person is actually saying is, "What do I want to eat?" The next time this happens, inform them that you are in the mood for monkey scrotums, cooked to perfection and dipped in ketchup.
6. What do you do for a living?
   Punch the person in the face and tell them that you rid the earth of morons who have nothing to talk about so they ask stupid questions.

I'm sure I could go on and on about stupid things people say, but I'd rather hear from you about the stupid things you hate being asked. Let me know what gets your hand itching to deliver a bit of education to the smiling jackasses that utter these jewels every day!

My Foot Tastes So Delicious!

Have you ever been in a situation where you couldn't get your foot further in your mouth? Where every word you say crams it in up to your ankle? Or been near someone committing that dreaded sin of saying the WORST thing possible at the WORST possible time? We've all been there.
I've actually been there several times. So many, in fact, that I think I should consider starting a cookbook entitled, "Sole Cooking: The Tastiest Heels You'll Ever Love!" 

 There was the time when I met one of my husband's co-workers at a holiday party. He had been so sweet and proceeded to tell me all about his co-workers and filled me in on what topics I should avoid. Now, an intelligent person would have paid close attention and taken care to remember what they were told. I, being a fucking moron, grew quickly bored and stopped listening after about the first sentence. So, it was no surprise to anyone that I walked over to a sweet lady that he introduced me to and sat next to her. She seemed kind of shy and quiet, but really sweet. I looked over and said, "You look so hot! You should be out there on the floor with your husband." I looked around and then asked, "Is your date here?" She smiled sweetly and informed me that her husband had passed away the month prior. Pat's face was completely white and pretty much confirmed with just a look that he had JUST told me not to bring that up. She was honestly super nice about it. All I could do was say, "Do you like my shoes? They taste awesome!"

Sometimes you're able to get out of a situation before you have to begin chewing on the heel. I was lucky this past summer during cheerleading camp. I, being a coach, was absolutely tired of dealing with one particularly irritating kid. This kid couldn't cheer, couldn't jump, never had a clue what she was doing, and loved to complain. She also loved to critique others. In short, she was a huge fucking pain in my ass. One lovely summer day, a hive of bees decided to attack the area where we were cheering. A coach and one child got stung. Of course, it HAD to be my lovely drama queen. She proceeded to scream as if the bee had held a knife to her throat while another punched her repeatedly in the gut. After finally getting her to calm down and tell me what happened, I went on a hunt for bee sting medicine. I asked one of the football coaches and he said he would look. As he was looking, he asked what was going on over there because they could hear the screaming an ENTIRE football field away. I told him that a drama queen was working on her Oscar. Then I said that if I was lucky, she'd decide to quit because she was the biggest pain in my ass. I also said that I was sure she'd find a way to miss a week of practice over this little sting and not that it mattered because she was the WORST cheerleader I had ever seen. Another man had been standing off to our right, watching the players. He looked over and said, "My daughter is one of the people who got stung. Are you talking about her?" My heart stopped and my foot began vibrating that lovely tune of, "Open wide, I'm coming inside!" I smiled sweetly and said, "Well, we had three people get stung, which one is your daughter?" He confirmed that I was talking about his precious little ray of sunshine. I laughed and waved him off. "No, I wasn't talking about her! I was talking about the other girl! Your daughter is amazing!" The football coach was looking into his bag, desperately trying not to laugh as he shook his head no indicating that they didn't have the bee sting medication. I smiled and waved to them both and went back to practice, praying that he bought it. He did and told his little flower to rest her sore leg; practice might be too taxing on her fragile body.

One of the most delicious shoe meals came as a result of me not saying one word. Pat and I were at the bank when a woman decided to have a conversation with the teller. We were waiting in the slowest moving line possible, so we were treated to her entire dramatic story. She continued to talk about the most bizarre things possible, like walking to the bank every day to help her butt get tighter so that it wouldn't jiggle so much as she moved, how she hated the way people smelled, but the moment that caused me sheer agony was when she informed her teller that her boyfriend smacked her upside the head. With the same sweet tempo she had been speaking with, she suddenly said, "But I don't want to talk about that!" Now, I'm sure you're thinking, why the hell is this important? This conversation has nothing to do with you, and it sounds horrible. You are correct. So WHY was it that I was standing mere feet away, dying from silent laughter? I tried everything in the world to not listen to this woman's crazy rant, but with each sentence she made it harder for me to hold it in. Have you ever had to hold in a laugh and just by doing that, feel that little giggle turn into a fit of laughter that has tears running down your cheeks? That's what was happening to me. The first few things she said were bad enough to cause me to giggle, but being in a deathly silent bank, it would be obvious that I was laughing at her. The teller was looking at me and doing her best not to laugh either, but I'm not sure if it was because of the story, or me holding in a laugh that threatened to bring me to my knees. The woman finished her transaction and I walked forward with Pat to the teller. She took one look at my tear streaked face and tightly pursed lips and shook her head laughing. All she could say was, "You're going to hell." I couldn't contain it one second longer, and as I collapsed in giggles, I could clearly hear every other person in that back roaring in laughter too!

That little faux pas pales in comparison of my final tale. It wasn't even my slip up. It was Pat's. We were dating and both worked in a department store. I was being trained for the customer service counter and it was his day off. He came up to visit me and moved to the side as a lady came up to make a purchase. She was very beautiful and elegantly dressed. She was also completely bald. I have no idea if it was due to a medical ailment or just her choice, but she was bald. That was not a big deal to me; I've seen lots of bald people, men and women. I tried to figure out where to begin on the transaction when Pat decided to help me out. His eyes were locked on the woman's scalp and when I asked how I should begin, he replied, "Scan her head." My eyes widened as did the woman's, the employee training me, the security guard standing off to the side and Pat's. His mouth dropped open in horror and he said almost apologetically, "No! I mean scan her BALD head!" My mouth dropped open and my trainer immediately ran behind a partition and fell to her knees in laughter, as the security guard completely walked away, not even bothering to disguise his giggling. Pat looked like he was going to throw up and he held up his hands as he yelled, "I mean scan her bill head!" He then immediately ran away, leaving me face to face with a woman who was CLEARLY pissed. I was mortified and all I could do was say, "I'm so sorry about that!" I ran her up as quickly as possible and ran over to him, ready to punch his lights out for leaving me standing there with her, apologizing for him. 

So, I truly think that when it comes to putting my foot in my mouth, I'm pretty good at it! I'm even so good, I can put other's feet in my mouth without even trying! This brings me to my first challenge. I want to know about your very worst, "oh shit" moment. Leave a comment or email it to me and I'll include it in a future post. I'd hate to be the only one nibbling sneaker, and if I know my people like I know my people, you've got some great recipes to share! That's all for now, get back to work!

My Fucking Breasts

I have no idea what suddenly made me want to talk about my two girls, but here it is. I truly love my fucking breasts. They've been with me through thick and thin, literally, and I keep them around, even though they tend to pull me down at times. They make me feel sexy, but sometimes, they make me feel matronly. They look good dancing and at times, they strut their own stuff. So I'm going to give a shout out to the ladies that make the boys take notice.

We weren't always friends. There was a long period of my life when I had no friends to call my own. Sadly, I looked around the middle school locker room and noticed that I seemed to be the only one without friends. Most boys didn't notice me because I didn't have my friends to help boost my popularity, because you're a nobody if you don't have great friends. So I stayed to myself and dreamed of the day when I would be able to rub my crush's nose in my new friends' faces.

I even practiced getting to know my friends. Leggs pantyhose used to come in big, plastic eggs and I used to steal my mother's containers and stick them under my shirt, seeing what I would look like. I was slightly alarmed to think that there was a possibility that I would look like I had bullets smuggled under my shirt, but you can't pick your friends based on their looks, so I prepared for anything that would come along. I even heard girls at school talking about training for their friends by buying bras. Not understanding what they really meant, I snuck into my mother's drawer and grabbed a bra to see how it would help train me for the arrival of friends. If I had even a crumb of common sense, I would have realized that my mother's DDD bra that I could have easily curled up into and hidden away from sight might not be the best item for me to use. Either way, I decided to train like I was headed to the Olympics. I shoved t-shirts, because a whole box of tissue would have been no challenge for one cup, and a few pairs of socks into the device that fit around my waist like Batman's utility belt. Properly stuffed, I pulled up the straps and looked in the mirror. I was completely confused why looking like a cartoon character would help me train for friends. I gave up after the third time my right cup spilled the contents on the floor.

One day I began to notice that hugs were becoming a bit harder to give because I was experiencing a pain in my chest kind of like poking a really sore bruise. When I finally thought of why that could be happening, I raced to my room to peek to see if I had new friends on the horizon. I was disappointed to see the same things I always saw. I felt like it would never happen for me. I had seen adults that had gone their whole lives without ever having friends. Some even resorted to buying friends, but everyone could tell they were fake and nothing is worse than a fake friend. I went to sleep one night, praying, as always, for God to send me some friends. I was never picky, they didn't have to be perfect, they just had to be mine. My prayer was always the same, "Lord, please send me some real friends soon." One night, God answered my prayers.

I woke up and could barely move. Two strangers had snuck into my bed and I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do with them. After my mother found out how I had tried to train with her bra, she bought me a training bra of my own and I have to say, there was NO way that my little trainer was ever going to prepare me for what I had gotten. I was the new owner of two big, painful friends. My mother told me that we had to go shopping and I was kind of excited. My first chance to spoil my new friends! Turns out that we just went to the bra department and I had to try on a million of the confusing things to find ones that Mom told me would help support them. I was just hoping that I could find a way to keep anything from touching them because they REALLY didn't like to be touched by anything. None of my usual shirts seemed to fit my friends' style so we had to buy a couple of new shirts. Not cute ones, my Mom went cheap. I got button down shirts that I hated but had to wear because I couldn't get away with what I used to like. Damn friends were costing me a wardrobe.

Showering was a new challenge. I loved hot showers, but my friends didn't like water touching them, hot or cold. So I had to do things gently, or else they would protest and make me cry. I slept carefully at night because they didn't like certain positions, and they would wake me up painfully if I didn't lie in a position they preferred. They were some demanding bitches! I guess that's what people mean when they say you have to go through growing pains. I had to grow to accept these new painful friends, in the hopes that one day we would get along.

The first time I let people at school know that I had new friends of my own was a day I'd truly love to forget. I walked in proudly and watched as boys stared at me as if I had suddenly sprouted a chalkboard on my chest. They stopped talking to me completely and only ever talked to my friends. These bitches were stealing my thunder! Not to mention, they were still hard as hell to deal with. I couldn't play the way I used to, I had to run differently because the lazy bitches wouldn't pull their own weight and just jumped up and down like fucking huge cheerleaders and I had to keep my arm across them to keep them in their seats in order to run anywhere. They were no fucking help at all! So far, these friends had become more of a hassle than blessing.

We did have a fight once. It was the most painful fight I've ever had with them. It happened while looking through a slightly opened door as we were trying to look out for a surprise guest at a party. When I saw the guest coming, I leaned back to slam the door shut and tell everyone, but my friends didn't pay attention. I shut the door and they were still in the way! They screamed at me so badly, I couldn't stop tears from dripping down my cheek as I tried not to cry in front of a room full of little kids and strange adults. I went home as soon as I could and cried in my room while my friends continued to scream painfully at me. Those crazy bitches didn't get over that one for a few days!

Over time, we discovered that we could live together and even have some fun! Being young and having a mother like mine meant that I had to hide my friends most of the time and I didn't get to buy them pretty things until I was 18. Then I started buying them things that got to let them peek out and let the world know that they existed. They LOVED that! Not to mention that I introduced them to a couple of my boyfriends and they got along beautifully. I even let them have a bit of fun with a couple! Guys loved them but they paid more attention to me. I guess they realized that my girls really didn't have too much to offer in the way of conversation. Hell, I can go days without talking to them! But they did offer some interesting entertainment during special times with one of my boyfriends who eventually became my husband.

We've been through highs and lows. We've been through ups and downs. They've gotten me some lovely things at times like drinks, flowers, and I do believe that they had something to do with getting me jewelry! They've embarrassed me (demanding to be seen fully by dropping the strap of my dress to the side in front of a men's room at the ballet and again that same night at a restaurant where the same man from the men's room was eating dinner with his family as I passed his table. I have no idea if they had a crush on the guy and wanted to make sure that he noticed them or what, but that was the last time that I let them go out that dress!), they've gotten a chance to shine (showing off in a skimpy bra in the middle of thousands of drunk, horny men watching a chicken wing eating contest), and they've taken care of my kids (discovering that breastfeeding is a lot harder than it looks, but rising to the challenge!). We've come a long way together and we still have so much further to go. I hope they decide to get their act together and stop looking so droopy! They may be a pain in my ass (back, actually), but I love them dearly. I never leave home without them and I can't imagine looking sexy without their help. I love getting dressed up with them and making men purr, I even love when they decide to tease and drive Pat crazy! But most of all, I love that they are real friends, they never leave my side, even when I'm sick of them. I think it's a shame that so many women have fake friends because they can't feel the pride that having real friends like mine gives. I think I'm going to treat them to a little massage in the shower in a little bit, they deserve it! If you've got real friends like mine, give them a squeeze for me!

Thanks for the fucking edumakashun!

I'm treating all my lovely friends to a treat tonight. Yes, you are getting, two postings! Whoot!!! Why, you may ask, would I feel this burning need to get something off my chest at this late hour? And to you I say, because it's MY blog and I'll do anything I damn well want!

This is more of a thank you to the educational system. I'm so grateful that I was educated before the time of text messaging! I may have no idea why someone would tell me "smh" when they really mean "shaking my head" or why everyone feels the need to tell me that they are currently "rotflmao" instead of telling me that they are rolling on the floor laughing their ass off, but I can actually type out a message to a person using not only correct spelling but using damn fine grammar too! I thought that perhaps I was showing my age, and if you don't know me personally you can best believe I'm not telling you! I receive messages from my friends that leave me going, WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT!

I'm fine with lol. I'm fine with ttyl. Hell, even Tigger started the whole crap with his sign off, "ta-ta for now, ttfn!" Where I have a problem is when I look at a message to the outside world coming from someone that I expect to set the standard for education. Anyone who's been reading my messages knows that it's been snowing around here. So anytime we hear that the white stuff is going to sprinkled over the city, the first thing we parents do is check the local news for school closings. You wait to see if there will be school and if it will be starting on time. So why on earth would a school district ever want to broadcast the start time for their high school students by using the words "hi skul"? Not HS. Not Hi-school. Hi Skul. Yup. That's what the folks decided to use to let the entire viewing area know that our students would be too fucking stupid to read the words HIGH SCHOOL.

I'm known for throwing around a good wtf, especially when I see shit like this. I can even give a good LMAO when I see things that make me go, "that's it! I'm writing about this because this is too damn good!" But these people have fucked around with our school district so badly that I begin to fear that if I turn my diploma over, I'll see that it's printed on the back of a Teletubby placemat! We as a country are doing a piss poor job of educating today's youth. And if the country as a whole is fucked then how the hell could this district embarrass us further by broadcasting that we are putting our children's future in the hands of an idiot that can't tell the difference between an important communication and the latest text to their bbf.

I'm going to make this short and sweet. Listen up all you ass-sucking, nose picking, texting bastards! I'm trusting you to educate my children. Put down the fucking iPhone and pick up a fucking book! Stop talking to people in a language that even Webster can't figure out. (Webster…as in the dictionary people…learn to fucking read.) Unplug the iPod and stop cheating by having all your books downloaded into .m4b form. Learn to actually write a sentence that has a proper subject and predicate. You shouldn't have to have spell check bail your ass out of every report, learn to fucking spell!!!! Come on, get fucking smarter people! We're getting spanked by the globe and becoming a more stupid nation with every text!!

Now that I've gotten that out of my system, I'm going to kick back and watch some Vicar of Dibley. That Vicar makes me rotflmao! Knim? (Know what I mean?)

This Just In…We Have Fucking Nothing To Report!

(Yesterday I was floored by a migraine, so you're going to have to deal with one less day of Kissa! Enjoy!)

Watching the news has become an attack on common sense. After listening to the anchors thrill me with two minute reports on fires, deaths, governmental unrest, and the all important weather peep show, I am shown an image that I truly hope I never have to see again, granny panties with foam. I'm sure you're probably wondering what horrifying fate did the wearer suffer for it to have made onto my screen during the late night news. I was on pins and needles, hardly able to concentrate on the brutal beating of a teenager that was videotaped and posted by the seven little fuckers that did it while people walked all around. (Those little bastards got jail time, so at least there was a bright side to the newscast!) After yet another teaser that was beginning to rival my favorite weather bitch's, they took care of my agonizing suspense and began to report on…Booty Pop.

What the fuck? You mean you are actually going to do a fucking infomercial on a pair of ugly ass panties that have foam in the ass to make you look like you sat on it all day?? Are you fucking kidding me? I have to fucking turn on my news if I want to be pitched moronic products that will make some people's lives better, but that will also end up on a list of "what the fuck" inventions later on when we as a people realize that the ass we have is just fine? This is some bullshit! I waited and watched in the hopes that they would give a hint as to the newsworthiness by telling folks that the foam could turn your skin sage and cause painful blisters. They actually did a close up on a warning label on the package. FINALLY! Give it to me! What could this fucking gag gift do if I'm stupid enough to wear it? It could cause my behind to get more attention than when I'm not wearing it. Are you fucking serious?? The thoughts that ran through my mind included taking that fucking pair of undies and making that news whore swallow them whole.

Yes folks, we as a nation have begun to give gag gifts way too much attention. We now interrupt actual new broadcast to show smiling images of men and women in a gym staring at a pair of black granny panties with bumps in the ass that look NOTHING like an actual ass. While actually doing something to take care of their own asses, they are being forced to play with a product that caters to people who are too lazy to actually do a fucking squat thrust on their own. My favorite part? They continued to interview people who had absolutely no need for these panties. We are talking people who could have probably used a Booty Not device instead. Why not talk to the stick figures that are walking around sitting directly on their spine? Probably because they don't want their faces on television admitting that they wear false asses! Instead of taking it as a sign that perhaps it wouldn't be a great idea to continue with this story, the creative reporter decided to enter a gym and harass people trapped on treadmills and, I swear to you, a man in the middle of lifting weights. I don't know about you, but when I'm doing anything to improve my body the last thing I want to have is a pair of panties dangled over my face. I'm a little disappointed that he didn't toss the weight at her head. Now THAT would have been must see tv!

The final wrap up was 3am infomercial worthy. These sexy panties that will ride up to the top of your rib cage will change the way that your jeans look on your body. Um…maybe it's just me, but when you buy jeans, you buy them to fit your current ass, don't you? I mean if you have the ass of a two by four, your jeans probably won't accommodate the ass the size of a gorilla, right? So does this mean that I have to buy not only fake ass cheeks, but I also have to buy a wardrobe for them? Damn news people! Now my ass is itching to look bloated! No price is too high in the goal to look like a damn cartoon! Here's my credit card, are the operators sitting on their natural asses standing by to take my info??

Why do they do this to the news? Why cheapen it to the type of shit I avoid morning shows for? I can't stand perky people telling me how I can give my cat the most beautiful false nails in lots of fun colors. (It's real, I swear!) I don't want to see the latest styles of the Snuggie, the biggest fucking joke that was taking way too seriously of all time! I take a pass on watching old people trying to figure out how the hell to work an iphone. Why? Because I don't watch news to be entertained by shit that you could buy at the fucking mall! Infomercials aren't fucking news!! If you want news, then report how someone was strangled with a pair of Booty Pop undies after the man figured out that he was pinching a glob of foam all night. THAT would be news! The fact that they have men on camera saying that this product isn't that great because they don't want to touch a fake ass, while true, isn't news! Neither is the assurance that this waste of a product is not just for women, they've come up with a line of the fake dumpers for men too! YES! I was just saying that I love nothing more than starring at the plumber's ass when he bends over and I've noticed that he's not packing as much as he used to. An answer to my prayers? Thanks, Booty Pop!

Why do they do it then? Simple, to get the manufacturer to hand over free samples for them to keep! Duh! It's underwear, they don't return underwear! You call the place up and tell them you're doing a story on it and they fall all over themselves to get you some freebies to make sure that you are able to put their shit all over the camera! Can we say free publicity? You didn't think that anyone truly thought that this was something that the country NEEDED to know about, did you? The news has become a place to pitch shit that the reporters and producers are dying to own. That's it. If we don't like it, we can just change the channel! Fine, I'll do that! Here we go, a story on a product to cover up the anus on my cat coming up before the sports (It's real, I swear). DAMN IT!!! Where's my fucking remote?

Hey You Damn Kids, Get Off My Fucking Lawn

Neighborhood children turn us into cranky old people. This is my honest opinion. Our children definitely make us into our parents, but those fucking kids that no matter what they do you can't hit them, make you in to that freak who stand in your window at night with a BB gun and night vision goggles! Fucking brats need to be taught a lesson!

When we first moved into our home my husband (a man who never had to live without the modern convenience of a clothes dryer) decided that he wanted to hang laundry outside to get that "fresh air" scent. Later on that evening, I looked out the back window and saw a group of the adorable little scamps playing football in the backyard. I smiled and then screamed. One precious fucker was using my bra as a slingshot! I yelled out the window for him to drop it and they took off like roaches do when you turn on a light. I raced out back and to my horror, my loving husband had put our underwear on display and several items of mine were on the ground. Thank God he didn't put out my period panties! (And ladies, you know damn well that we all have a set of those!)

One lovely winter night my husband and I were snuggled up on the couch watching tv when something hit our door. It sounded like a fucking brick! We jumped up and he ran outside in the freezing snow with just an undershirt and lounge pants on. He nabbed two little cherubs racing away from the scene. He convinced them that he was calling the police because they had actually threw a huge chunk of ice at our glass storm door. One kid held firm to the fact that he didn't do it. The other couldn't stop crying and admitted that the other one did it. Satisfied that he had scared the ever living shit out of them, he let them go. But we spent the rest of the night in the window with the lights off to make sure the little fuckers didn't try it again!

During the summer, our driveway and front steps become the hang out for loser teenage assholes. Nothing sounds better to me than the noise of untalented boys and girls singing their hearts out to crappy music! Hell, they're so talented, they should try out for American Idol! I'd pay top dollar for that blooper reel!! The girls flirt and the boys try to impress them with stupid stunts like jumping chairs and wrestling. Sometimes I would study these behaviors from behind my blinds like a scientist studying the mating behaviors of future Teen Mom subjects. To me, it was annoying but tolerable. To my husband, it made him become "that guy". In a t-shirt and boxers with slippers pumping his fist in the air, it's not summer until you hear him yell, "hey you kids, get off my lawn and stay away from my car"! Yes, I am now married to Mr. Wilson from the Dennis The Menace cartoons!

Drive down the street and these pests seem to multiply. I know just how many kids live in the houses on our streets, but for some reason, we end up with five times that amount of delinquents on our damn property! One lovely little hooker-in-training was switching her ass in the middle of the street with what I can only assume was her ugly friend kept around to make her look good. She was wearing jeans so tight that she looked like an ice cream cone in danger of melting everywhere. I was surprised she was able to stay upright! Switching her gigantic hindquarters, she rolled her eyes as I honked for her to move her satellite out of the streets orbit. She sucked her teeth, probably to remove the last of the cud she had been saving for a snack from in between her hiding spots in her jowls, rolled her eyes and said, "Hit me and I'll sue!" I drove around her, lucky that there was a sliver of street that she didn't cover with her Hindenburg girth, and rolled down my window. She glared at me with a look that confirmed that she was probably dealing with an IQ a couple of points lower than her pants size. I smiled sweetly and said, "Not if I hit you hard enough, my dear!" I'm pretty sure she had no idea what I meant by that, but I didn't have an hour to explain it to her, so I just drove off.

Sometimes these future Maury DNA results guests will even be bold enough to put their hands on my children. One such eye rolling, gum cracking, hand flashing, dumbass actually hit my oldest child. Me being the sweet, loveable understanding woman that I am raced to the bus stop the next day totally prepared to drag her off the bus by her weave and beat common sense into her. When I told her to have her mother come to the stop to talk, she grinned and told her friend that I was going to get my ass kicked when she got there. Pumped up with enough testosterone to make me feel like adjusting my dick in my shorts, I began to get excited that I was going to have a release for my anger. Mom came up and the daughter smugly told her what happened. Her mom did something that made my jaw drop. She flipped the fuck out, but not on me, on her daughter! Yes folks, some neighbors actually discipline their children! She made her apologize and told her to get in the car because when they got home she was going to make sure that she indeed got the chance to kick some ass, her daughter's! I smile every single time I see her. She's a hero to me.

Some kids don't fear the wrath of a parent scolding them. One such pimple factory shoved my daughter and when I told him to keep his hands off of her, he stepped to me and asked "what you going to do about it?" I stepped closer and informed him, "I have no problem going back to jail for beating the hell out a child." His eyes widened and I think he took in my appearance, sleepless due to dealing with a newborn baby and pumped full of post-partum hormonal fury and decided that there might be strong validity to my statement. Needless to say, he hasn't graced our steps ever again.

So what's the moral of today's message? Neighborhood kids are everywhere. You can spray pesticides everywhere and they just come back. In our neighborhood, they come out like ants whenever there's a BBQ near. We need to find a way to make it legal to taser these fucking brats and force them to get off the streets and into libraries. Instead of letting them skate through life learning just enough to read their latest indictment that their public defender hands them, force these hormonal, pus pockets to take their heads out of their lazy behinds and learn something. These mental patients are driving down our country's educational system and causing our government to waste precious dollars to take care of their little "mistakes" that will someday waddle onto our yards to pick up where Mommy and Daddy left off! I think if we can get hunting licenses to help thin the deer population, we should have the same opportunity to take care of those little assholes that defy evolution! Until then, stand guard and keep camped out at the front window. You never know when these fucking rodents are going to attack! Damn kids!

Have A Happy Fucking Period

Let's face it. That special time of the month comes and I can't wait to run out and share the good news with my friends. We go to our favorite club filled with beautiful people and regale each other with trivial facts about current medications we're taking. And then comes the time that we inform them that the tampon we're wearing is so comfortable, we don't even know we're wearing it! We smile happily and do all kinds of cool things as we're bleeding like murder victims. Cartwheels, lounging on a white sofa, dancing with sheer fabric to music that normally would be reserved for doctor's office waiting rooms, all these things are now possible because our uteruses are shedding their lining. And nothing makes me feel more special at that time then another woman telling me to have a happy period.

What? This doesn't happen to you? Well, then I should probably say, "who the fuck has a happy period??" When did advertising companies lose their minds and decide that the only way to market shit we need is to make us seem like sweet, dancing, perfectly made up dolls who show absolutely NO signs of bloating? Want to know what would be a real commercial? Show a woman doubled over with cramps, stomach bloated to look like the beginning of the second trimester of her period with a candy bar clenched in her hand. Then, ask her how she feels about her current product used to sop up the flow of the tidal wave currently flowing from her. Show a person in a dog training outfit, completely protected with padding approaching her to ask her if she feels like going to the club or wearing white pants. If she knocks their ass across the room, THEN I'll believe it's a commercial meant for me. If she doesn't make a mess on the floor, I might be interested in what she's got plugging her up.

I can truly say that I've never shared details of my birth control with my friends to the degree these very odd commercials keep taking it. Does anyone in your group of friends spontaneously start rattling off the side effects of their current birth control pill? If so, take a 2x4 to their head to knock some fucking sense into them. I'd love to see what their focus groups are like, a bunch of people sitting around smoking crack and realizing that they need to know every possible side effect their current medication has but only if it comes to them from a totally unbelievable source. Just how much did those morons get paid? And can I please see footage of the advertising pitch meeting? Have sales actually improved with these shitty commercials? Or did sales go up because women have no other choice than to find something to absorb our monthly reminder that God has no sense of humor?

And this rant is not only meant for birth control and period product commercials. At least three times a day you will be hit with a commercial featuring a medication that you don't need showing people who don't seem like they are sick doing things that have not one fucking thing to do with the product mentioned. And my favorite part? The side effects song! Listen to the list of shit that will happen if you dare try to take care of a minor problem with their rocking meds. The shit that could happen ends up WAY worse then the original ailment that made you pop the pill in the first place! I can't help but giggle at the anti-anxiety meds because the shit they can cause is sooo nasty, I'd be too anxious to take the damn stuff in the first place! When will advertisers finally figure out that we're not fooled by smiling faces and quickly rambled side effects given a the speed of light in the hopes that we won't realize that the medication is going to cause more problems than what we have? Or that showing images of dancing people and elderly people suddenly going for walks in a park doesn't disguise the fact that we have absolutely no idea what the damn medication is for? Those ambiguous commercials are my absolute favorite. I try to figure out what the product treats by the litany of side effects they announce. I've never been able to do it without a Google search.

And my all time favorite type of commercial? The ones for herpes or any number of sexually transmitted diseases! They show sexy people in intimate embraces as the voice over informs you that one of those people has something that if you really knew they had, you'd back the fuck up. Feeling hot yet? Grab the nearest stranger and start snuggling! Who cares that they're a Petri dish of diseases? They're taking medication that will make it seem like a walk in the park! Sure their hair will probably fall out and the anal leakage is only minor and the debilitating stomach cramps may slow down your race to the bedroom, but come on, they look totally healthy! And hey! That wierd guy in your office with the creepy weird smile is probably dealing with a stiffy that pounding you in the break room like a bad porno! Thanks male sexual enhancement medication! Now I can live in awe of the neighbor next door who's headboard continues to pound a constant beat against my bedroom wall! Nothing says sexy than a man with pills to make him hard! I know that if I see an ambulance coming to their house after four hours, he may still be experiencing an erection that thinking of a rotting dead pig carcass still couldn't deflate. Where are those pills and how can I get my hands on them?

Maybe, instead of trying to make me reach for the nearest miracle pill by spending millions confusing me as to why the fuck I would want the product in the first place, they could find a way to make medication cheaper so that the people who actually need their shit could afford it. Stop trying to make medication seem like it's the cure for cancer or any other ailment that would prevent you from living a life that you didn't even want in the first place. Medication is just that, medication. It's not what women discuss during girl's night out. It's not what makes me want to run across a field with a sheer curtain flowing behind me or want to cozy up to my husband despite a yeast infection. Put medication back in it's place, our medicine cabinet, not our tv's! And as for my all-time most hated commercial, YOU have a fucking happy period! I have fucking cramps!

Fucking Eat Shit And Die

A few years ago, I went into the local supermarket to pick up a snack. I was in the mood for Strawberry Newtons, the Fig Newton's tasty sister. I looked on the shelves and finally found them. Without really taking a good look at the package I bought them and went home. Later that evening, I started opening the package and saw two words that can piss me off instantly, fat-free. I was boiling mad because I knew that I had not picked this product in hopes of supplementing my diet, I bought it to stuff my face with a tasty treat. Fighting down my irritation, I bit into the cookie. Let's just say I think the plastic tray tasted better than that shit!

Totally ready to take the blame for not taking the time to read the package carefully, I threw out the disgusting snack and went back to the store the next day. Horrified, I saw that the store only sold the fat-free, fake shit. Not one to make a big deal out of a little thing (yeah, right!), I looked for an employee to see if they either had more of the original cookies in the back or if they were getting a shipment soon. I ran into the store manager and a cashier. Both looked at me as if I had asked them to bake the fucking things themselves! They shook their heads and the manager informed me that they were only stocking the fat-free imposters. When I expressed my disgust at the fat-free, gross copy of a real cookie, they both said in unison, "but they're healthier." This brings me to the point of today's message.

When the hell do I, as a grown woman, get to choose what I eat? I'm well aware of what can happen when you shovel fattening treats into face. I could blow up to the size of a small car. And you know what? I'd fucking like the right to do that if I choose! Little does my local store know that I don't eat too many things in large quantities and I do get exercise on a regular basis and my cholesterol is perfectly normal. So why should they get to decide what I can and cannot eat? By substituting my favorite treat with an abomination to snack cravers in my local area, they are saying that I'm too stupid to eat properly and they need to make the decision for me. I say, fuck that! Let me eat cake!

I won't say that all fat-free foods are disgusting, some are downright delicious and hard to distinguish from their unhealthy twin. But taking the fat out of one of the things I like to eat won't make me suddenly decide that I am now healthy enough to run a marathon or drop a dress size. It means that they made it a little easier to only eat one cookie because who the fuck wants to eat cardboard as a snack? I then went back to the snack aisle to see what other treats they had decided were in desperate need of intervention. I was surprised to see that most of the fat-free shit was sitting next to their delicious sibling. So why single out my pleasure?

I went back to the manager and asked him why they didn't do that to the rest of the snacks and he informed me that over time, they will. I asked him why he was so eager to force me to shop at another store because I was sure I could find the shunned sweets I craved at another supermarket. He smiled and said that the company was only making them in fat-free. Not believing him, I left the store and went to the other local store and sure enough, only fat-free. Pissed off completely, I grabbed another snack that I enjoyed and headed home. On my drive back to my house I began to wonder just when I became too stupid to eat. I remembered a time when I could supersize my value meal at McDonald's without having everyone look at me like I ordered fried baby legs. I could eat the most delicious fries, cooked in animal grease and no one stood over my shoulder telling me that my heart was going to one day fly out of my chest and slap the shit out of me for enjoying a rare, unhealthy meal. I could order off of a restaurant menu without having to see hearts splashed across different items reminding me that if I didn't pick them, I was going to die. A simpler time when I could just open a bottle of Tylenol and the only thing to overcome was the child safety cap instead of needing tweezers, a buzz saw, night vision goggles, rubber gloves and a stethoscope, but that's a different topic for a different day.

I admit, there are times that I wouldn't choose the healthier option if I had any other choice and was pleasantly surprised to find that I preferred the lower fat version. I love wheat pasta because you can't taste the difference and neither can my kids, which is a HUGE bonus! The government does for me what I do for my kids. They make sure that I'm eating as healthy as I can. The difference is, I'm not the fucking government's kid, so stay the fuck out of my refrigerator!! As a mother, I do try to give them healthy snacks and make nutritious meals, but when I as an adult want to eat, let me fucking eat! Stop smacking my hand away from what I like to force me to eat what you'd like! If God had wanted us to diet, he would have made fat-free animals! Instead of saying, "these people are too stupid to do the right thing, so I'm going to make animals taste like crap and make tree bark taste like candy!" If he trusts me to eat, who is the government to go against his plan?

I know that there are people who don't learn good eating habits from their parents and I understand that they are trying to educate them. What I don't understand is what about us that knows better and wants to eat shit anyway? When they forced restaurants to ban trans fat, they also forgot to tell most of them how to keep the fucking flavor as well! They forgot that in America, we have to right to lick dirt off the floor if we want to! Over the years it's gotten to the point that they started sending home letters from the school telling us that our oldest child is in danger of being obese. Let's see, my 10 year old who is only a few inches shorter than me and weighs about a hundred pounds is in danger of one day becoming a school bus! Dear me! I thought the fact that he grows half a foot taller every night and plays football meant that we just had a normal healthy child on our hands. We are so blessed to have a school nurse look at him with calipers and a crystal ball to prevent us from killing him. Hell, if it wasn't for the completely qualified school district, we'd need to get him his own scooter to move his fat ass around on for his eleventh birthday! Crisis averted, thanks government! And my daughter who is barely hitting forty pounds soaking wet and just over three feet tall is in danger of becoming Kate Moss? You don't say! Perhaps I should feed my oldest child to my youngest to even out the whole thing. Or better yet, put her on a strict diet of happy meals, penny candy, and lard. That'll pack on the pounds. Or even still, I'll have the tubby child purge in a bowl for my anorexic daughter to slurp. Sound disgusting? So does the letter sent home telling me that my daughter has a BMI of 1%. What did they think, I was starving her to feed the other one? Or perhaps I was trying to make sure she made weight to join the varsity first grade cheerleading squad?

We have this wonderful thing called health insurance. With this medical marvel, we take our victims, I mean children to the doctor to get checkups every year. My kids have been poked and prodded by highly qualified pediatricians working with one of the best children's hospital in the entire country. Not once have they ever taken me into the consultation room to very quietly suggest to me that I begin to run my child around the neighborhood on a leash, dragging the family on a sled. And I certainly don't remember them sending us home with an iv bag to start shoving bacon grease into my starved daughter's veins in hope of making her ass spread across the room. What they told me was that I had healthy children. You hear that government? HEALTHY CHILDREN! And I didn't have to stick poison control stickers all over the refrigerator. I just had to use common sense. Now there's an idea! Use common sense to tell you that you need vitamins and a balanced diet mixed with age appropriate activates! Wow, I'm so smart, I deserve a cookie! D'oh!

I can end today's posting with some happy news. People agreed with me and now when I go to my local store, I'm so proud to see my original Strawberry Newtons! Yay me! I smile as I walk past them and head to the cereal aisle where I pick up a box of Rice Crispies and a bunch of bananas. I'm going to go home and have a bowl of cereal mixed with little chunks of banana and splashed with 2% milk. But not before I dump a cup of sugar on it! Take that! Victory tastes fucking sweet!

Fucking Weather People

Have you ever noticed how the news has shifted their focus from giving you hard hitting news to covering the weather? Think about it. In the first five minutes of the broadcast you will be given the top stories in abbreviated form and then a sneak peak at the weather. Seriously, we need to be teased with the weather? Meteorologists have become local celebrities and for what? Giving you a peek into the mysterious world of looking out your fucking window and making an educated guess??

Our local news has pumped the weather people up so damn much that they even designed a set around them. Not kidding in the least. If we are having severe weather, then the lights around the set will be red. Otherwise, it'll be shades of blue or green. Thank goodness they decided to color code the weather because I thought that blizzard outside of my window was a figment of my imagination! Have we become so stupid as a country that we can't wait to know what the immediate weather future holds? The only way we could handle waiting patiently through the next fifteen minutes of late breaking news is to be assured that the weather will be coming up shortly and the outlook is calm because the set is calm? Give us a little credit!

What would you think of a teacher who teaches the class that two plus two equals seven? And then goes back and says that they were mistaken and it actually equals three. THEN comes back and says that it actually equals four but the reason that they were incorrect the first two times is because the chalk that they used to write the equation down was a bit too light and it was hard to read it and come up with a conclusive answer? You'd think they were out of their fucking mind, right? When you board a plane, you'd like to think that the pilots with all their instruments are reporting a correct time of arrival, give or take a few minutes. I know I'd be ready to take one of the stingy little airline bricks that they pass off as pillows into the cockpit and smacking them across the head if they were off by about two hours! So if we expect correctness with other professions, why not the weather? If you can't get it right, then stop fucking report it!

Where I live, snow is a full-time news story. Not exaggerating in the least. We had a severe snow storm last year and from six in the morning until about eight that evening, one channel interrupted regularly scheduled programming to report on that which was falling outside of my window. Phew! I'm so glad they told me it was snowing!! I almost put on my fucking shorts and went out for a jog! If they didn't show me shots of people shoveling out cars and children sledding I would have thought that we were in the midst of a damn heat wave! Good job guys! Nothing says we have no idea what real people want to see then dedicating an entire program day to professional news reporters standing outside freezing their overly made up faces off as they invent reasons to be in front of a camera to kill airtime with shots of parked cars covered in snow. I just love when they give us really scientific data by taking a school ruler and shoving it into a pile of snow to show us just how much fell where they were currently standing. But when I watch these reports, I often wonder if the snow that has fallen is the type that would make a good snowball, because if it isn't then I'm going to assume that the white shit piled up in my driveway is dandruff. Thankfully, I don't have to wonder long because at least one reporter on every station will pick up a handful of the mysterious white crap and confirm that it is snow and that it can indeed make a snowball. Crisis averted! Good job guys! You've made the world safe for us idiots once again!

I would love to find out that we as a country join together and demand that these assholes put weather back in their` place! No more will we tolerate meteorologists causing a stampede in the grocery stores because they've predicted the storm of the century only to get a light dusting as they give a weak little laugh and explain why they got it wrong, AGAIN! Or staring out the winding at my quickly disappearing street as I recall yesterday's official forecast that said that the blizzard whipping past my window would only be a sprinkling. If they can't get it right, FIRE THEM!! Or at the very least, put a fucking disclaimer up that says that the best they can do is give an educated guess and when they get it right, it was sheer dumb luck! These gimmick loving weather bitches need to understand that what they do can also be done by fucking LOOKING OUT YOUR FUCKING WINDOW!!! And I can do that without needing a fucking bow tie! Meteorologists, you fucking suck!

Let The Kid Have A Fucking Toy!

As I look outside and see the kids playing in the snow, running up the hill to sled down on their new Christmas gift, I can only think of one thing…how much that fucking toy hurt getting it out of the damn box! Why the hell do they have to package these toys like it's the damn crown jewels? I mean I can understand why certain items would be done for safety purposes, but come on!

Perfect example of this is a gift my daughter desperately wanted, a doll that records video. I won't go into the rant of giving a young child an expensive toy that will ultimately end up naked and stuffed at the bottom of her toy chest because that's a whole different posting! Anyway, this doll looked so innocent in her box. And as a habit, I remove all tags and security ties before wrapping anything to make sure that on Christmas morning when she's tearing into the boxes like a freaking Tasmanian Devil, nothing stops her squeals of delights. So, as the diligent parent that I am, I begin to open the box. The fucking toy is welded into a plastic box that suddenly takes on the texture of sharpened steel. By the time I get the damn toy out, my hands look like I tried to thumb wrestle Freddy Kruger! Knowing that I still have to put batteries in this doll from hell, I continue on. After triumphantly putting the batteries in and taking a few test shots, I look at the new issue I have, how the fuck am I going to get the doll back in the damn box? With the skills generally reserved for those building highly volatile explosives, I get the doll back in. A little invisible tape and it looks like it came straight out of Santa's workshop. Of course, we won't point out the blood smeared onto the cardboard insides.

On to the next item, an oven that bakes yummy treats with a light bulb. Having wanted one of these things all my life, I couldn't wait to open this one! It was one of the few things that didn't need a retina scan to open the fucking thing. Easy to understand directions and no assembly truly required! Perfect! Except for one tiny thing, IT DOESN'T COME WITH A FUCKING LIGHTBULB!!! What the fuck is the point of getting an awesome toy like that and discovering that the MAIN part is missing?? Why not give a kid a jump rope and only hand them the handles and tell them to purchase the rope separately?? Make sense to you??? So , I call my husband to pick up a light bulb on the way home. And realizing that this toy was invented long before the energy saving light bulbs that currently grace all of our lamps, I knew they wanted the old fashioned ones. Some of you may not know this, but light bulbs used to be fairly cheap and came on the instant you flicked a switch! And if you weren't careful, you could burn your fingerprints off trying to change one of those things. If you get a minute, visit a museum to see if they have one on display! Back to the story…My husband proudly returns with a 100 watt bulb, just as I have requested. Only one problem, it's soft white. Did you know that in the old days, some people actually wanted light that you could read a book by and they bought light bulbs that FUCKING LIT UP A DAMN ROOM?? So, on Christmas Eve, guess who sent her man back out to find a clear bulb of appropriate size and wattage? You got it! You didn't think I was going out to get it, did you?

Finally, the bulb is in place, and the box is wrapped. Come Christmas morning, my adorable children tear into the presents with gusto. All of our gifts have been de-tagged and secured with batteries. Ah, all was well in our kingdom. Until we got to the gifts that others had given. Long story short, we ended up with a list of battery requirements that would make Duracell squeal happily and there's still toys in boxes because we aren't smart enough to have figured out the alien twisting code required to extract the shiny pieces of plastic. Do I fret? Hell no! Wrap those packages up for the next birthday party we're invited to! Let those parent's put their Mensa skills to use and open it! As for me, I'll take my kids to the dollar store and tell them that they can go on a shopping spree! After all, what little girl hasn't dreamed of the day she owns her very own Barble, right? So let's give those lovely toy manufacturers a one finger salute in honor of their dedication to securing a toy that cost about 10 cents to make and retails for $69.99 and will fall apart as soon as you figure out the combination to open the fucking thing! You guys fucking rot! May you all get arthritis!

Fucking Menstrual Men

Before I begin on my latest musing I want to take a second to explain why the hell I’m writing this blog anyway. The name of the blog isn’t meant to offend or shock. It’s the thoughts that a polite person who has to smile as people dump crap on them think all the time. Society says that we should not use profanity or be rude, even when people totally deserve it. And for the longest time, I let these thoughts build in my head until I realized something…Fuck society and their polite bullshit!
 

As the mother who smiles politely as she deals with PTA crap or the woman who tries to be the sweet one as a neighbor parks their car in front of her driveway, blocking it for hours or the lover who puts her lover’s feelings before her own only to discover that her own feelings are being trampled on, I say enough. Fuck them all.
 

This isn’t a diary of a pissed off woman, it’s a giant fuck you to proper society. It’s the true feelings that lie beneath the surface and never come out in hopes to keep the peace. In order not to slap the shit out of a Chinese delivery guy as I realize that not only did they not bring type of soda that I ordered, the extra soy sauce packets weren’t included and neither were the chopsticks, I think I need a healthy way to bitch slap those that need it.
 

Some people who know me are going to read things and say, “Wait a minute, I think she’s talking about me!” If you’re one of the people mentioned, you’re welcome. Better to read about my feelings here instead of hearing them screamed at you as I choke the ever living shit out of you. I will never use real names and I will try my best to keep my subjects general because I’m sure I’m not the only one who has had to deal with these people. So, now that I got that crap out…on to today’s message.
 

Guys, this one’s for you. Enough with your fucking PMS!! I’m so sick of these men who have mood swings faster than a pregnant chick. These guys can’t control their emotional outburst and frequently find themselves flipping the fuck out on us for stupid shit. And if one more man tells me that I don’t understand them and that they have bad days too, I’m going to finally let these dickless wonders have it. Men, you lucked out in the “what the fuck is my body doing now” department. You don’t have to worry about your body bleeding suddenly for days on end as you feel like your insides are being constantly hugged by boa constrictor. You will never have to experience the exquisite joy of looking down at your pants as you see the lovely blood red stain that a special time of the month brings.

If you don’t physically get to bleed, then STOP BEING FUCKING BITCHES AND LOSING YOUR FUCKING MINDS ON A REGULAR BASIS!!! I swear, I’ve never noticed before how many of the guys I’ve met get on the rag so fucking often! They get grumpy, they get moody, they fly off the handle for no reason, their feelings are paper thin and they get totally irrational. And I’m supposed to make them feel better? Fuck no! I’ve got my own period to worry about, so fucking quit your bitching! For all you sensitive dudes, slide your panties off and pull out the tampon. Look around the house to see if your balls rolled out of the way somewhere and sew them back on. You are men! Act like it! Because if you don’t, then I feel that we have total justification when we snap your dicks off during OUR special time. 

There’s nothing wrong with being a sensitive man, a considerate man, or even a man in touch with his feminine side. But there is a HUGE problem with being an emotional nightmare. I can’t stand chicks who fly off the handle at the smallest thing and blame it on everything and everyone else. I don’t watch chick flicks and I don’t read the romance novels with Fabio on the cover. Why? Because I have enough fucking trouble dealing with my own emotions. I don’t need to deal with anyone else’s! It’s a full time job during that special time of the month not to rip into people who piss me off like a pitbull into a poodle. I try to make sure that the reason I’m ready to shove my foot so far into someone’s ass that I tickle their tonsils with my toes is a legit one. If I have to stop and control my emotions, so do you!
 

So to all you guys, let me say PMS is reserved for us! We have to bleed, so we claim the right to be emotional landmines! Don’t like it? Fuck off! And take your panties with you!

We women are the fucking best!

Ok, this is the first posting of my brand new style of ranting.  Basically, if it makes you say, "Fuck off", "What the fuck?" "Are you fucking kidding me?" "Fucking rocks", "Get fucked", "Fuck me". And a good old fashioned "Fuck you, you cunt guzzling, shit eating, dog licking, ball chewing, douche needing, ass sucking ball of belly button lint"...then you'll probably see it floating around here.  So, let's dive in.

What the fuck happened to women getting to be women?  I don't mean those stupid stick figures that don't eat anything but the parsley decorating a plate, but the real women who don't rest until they get a man on his knees begging for a break after she rode him harder than a Kentucky Derby champ?  I'm so fucking sick of people acting like only men get to fuck.  Ladies have sex, women fuck.  Plain and simple.  I don't need that romance shit.  Save the flowers for the next time you mess up and piss me off.  When it comes to the bed, all I truly need is room to work and lube in case things go on for a bit longer than either of us expect!  But honestly, stop looking for that lovey dovey shit and face facts.  Men did not invent fucking.

Think about it.  The first person to get fucked was Adam.  Eve fucked him so good that he gave up life in paradise to keep getting that good loving.  And even when God told him to get out, it didn't stop him from tapping that!  How the hell do you think we all got here?  And let's not forget, for every pecker that's standing at attention and begging for the sweet release that only a hot, wet kitty can give it, no man can truly fuck unless he has something that can make him scream out at the top of his lungs.  Women are the true fuckers in life. 

We're so good at what we do that we can bring men to their knees even when they aren't involved in the matter at hand.  Get a good girl on girl action and any red blooded, hetero male will salute proudly.  Why?  Because they are watching us do what we do best!  You won't see that type of reaction if the guys leave us out of the show, now will you?

So, the next time you men feel like strutting your stuff and proclaiming that you know how to throw down in bed, shut up.  And realize that without us, you'd still be yanking it in the dark.  We own the fucking earth and we make you the lovers that you are.  We apologize for the fuckers that we couldn't teach proper technique to.  Sometimes we, the fucking rulers, just fuck up!