A Humanitarian Aid Petition

Do you see these people? They are starving. they are very thin, ribs showing, clearly malnutritioned. Ignore the head on a stick for just a moment. They are clearly hungry.

However, as they are cannibals, many humanitarian aid programs will not consider air drops to their location.

Now see these people? They are an example of what everyone has in their life at one time or another... jerks. They are assholes, they are abusive, they don't pay their child support, and a whole host of other general wrongs against their families and society in general.

I propose we start a website in which you can buy a seat on this 5oo passenger jet for your asshole. They will not need any luggage. Basically, they will be sedated then trussed, smeared with butter, a few choice fresh herbs stuffed into armpits and other crevices. The buyer may choose which fruit they would like stuffed up the passenger's ass, and in their mouth.

In the cargo bays, there will be plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables, rice, grains, wheat and corn.

Each passenger will be equipped with a self opening parachute, and all will be dropped over areas of severe poverty and starvation in cannibalistic tribal territories.

The price of the ticket will have to be high, because we will need to sell all seats, charter the airbus, and hire our own pilots. Preferrably pilots with a passenger onboard. Anyway, what do you guys think? I think Al Gore, Hilary Clinton, and Laura Bush might just sign on. And maybe Larry Birkhead.

Something is Fishy

You know? I think this is what happened to my brain cells. At one time I had some, then some guy in waders came up and just freaking stole them. Or they fell out of my ear. Or they jumped...it's so hard to tell. All I know is, when I found out that the guy was wearing waders and not stylish overalls, I felt just about like this poor large marine mammal and his treasured bucket. Look at the face. Utter shock and disbelief. like Parris when they said, "You have to drive an RV." or Nicole when they said, "You have to ride with Parris". Or my brother when the stick turned blue. Or me when the stick turned blue for like the thirtieth time, and I had only had sex one time that year. Now, granted, it was only March, but if you figure that actually, I had had no sex since the previous spring, I call that a year. Or f@#*ing frustrating, eihter way. This also reminds me of the look my brother had on his face that time he peed on the electric fence, right before he shot nine feet across the church parking lot. Absolute sheer surprise and horror. It was probably the funniest thing I ever saw in my whole life. Except the look on my mother's face when she realized that my brother had dropped trou in the church parking lot and was now sitting with a roadburned ass, smoking penis and hair standing on end bawling like a little baby. I remember going back in and digging all the change out of my purse and leaving it in the offering plate.....because only God could construct something that funny. (I had never seen George Carlin yet)((Or George W)). Oh well. All's well that ends well. Obviously one sperm got away unsinged....at least for now. And luckily found one of the better girls my brother has been with. At least this one does not have a steel plate in her head from a head injury with a car battery which she got from her ex-husband whom she shot and killed. I think all around, this is damn lucky. And, by the way....my mom had this same look on her face when she realized that my brother had procreated.......

A Drunken Shotgun Wedding

This sign here says it all. Maybe I could talk the King Elk of the Elks into marriage if it were put just this way on the invitations. Of course, since I am going to be departed from my plumbing soon, there will be no shotgun wedding for me. I mean, unless I just get a shotgun, point it at the nearest drunk Elk and either he'll put a ring on my finger or I can put his head on the wall. When is Elk season? I want to make sure I have a permit. I figure, as marriage goes, I could either take it or leave it. I don't really even want to get married anyway. I just want him to want to get married so I can waffle around about it and leave him wiggling on the hook for a change. I'd like to know how to be that one lucky bitch that all the guys want but treat with respect. I'm more like the bitch that does laundry and gives blow jobs (or would but they are apparently unwanted at this time) and puts up with constant absence and relatively no affection and certainly no sex. And no talking. And no help except a little financial help which would probably be less than child support were it ordered. ????? And you know what my Jerry Springerish answer to all that is? I do love him. I think he loves me and is just stupid and emotionally unavailable. And addicted to the Elks Lodge. But I like the new van that the doors open and shut with a remote. It doesn't kill my shoulders and wrists. He's not physically mean, and he is sweet to the girls and is sweet to the baby in the minute amount of time that he is here. So for now he gets to stay. I guess. At least until Elk season.

Hee Hee......

Okay. So here is an interesting way to take care of this problem.....too bad he's like every other man and won't finish the job. When I was pregnant, this chore of removing the garden became quite a gamble. Because I am obviously some cross between the contortionist and the bearded lady at the circus, not only am I abnormally hairy but also abnormally klutzy. Add a few(haha) pounds and a big round stomach, and I didn't even see that garden for months. I'm sure it was like a blind man's tomato patch.....but I tried anyway, for the sake of the gynecologist. And he probably didn't even care. My friend was also pregnant at the same time but is one of those tall perfect people that just grow a basketball under their clothes and are back in their size one jeans the next week. I, personally, 16 months later, am almost back down to my full blown pregnancy weight! Yay! Anyway, she one time said to me, "I just use a mirror." That had never even occurred to me. So I tried it. Considering that I am also almost blind, very topheavy and have no depth perception, the mirror made me nearly fall down in the shower. I just went back to feeling my way through it and trying not to amputate anything important. I was glad of that when there were fourteen people suddenly observing my v-jay jay during the birth of my son. Obviously, they didn't know the work I had gone to, because everything was shaved....but trust me....it takes a really long time to shave 70% of a cow.

This tattoo here makes me wonder if this woman has a bird and eggs tattooed in her armpits. Or something worse.

This Will Never Happen To ME Again

This is what happened to me. A lot. This is how I became the founder of the Society for Immoral Repeat Breeders. In fact, one of them is screaming in my ear right now. One won't stay in bed even under threat of death, or even worse. One is sound asleep, but before that felt every single thing that happened second to second was tragic, mean, unfair, dramatically horrible, and worthy of constant nonstop tears and whining. One is smarter than me and lives five hundred miles away from this crap most of the year. And, as much as I love them, lets face it folks...I'm an old bitch. Old. The date on my egg carton is like, salmonella-scary past due. So, for the good of society, I am getting spayed. I tried to convince my boyfriend to get neutered, but he felt that this would somehow limit his options and pecking order at the Bar of the King Of Elks. I saw this picture, and realized that my problem stemmed from the fact that I don't usually want to be on the receiving end of oral sex. If I had just let the man eat....who knows? It could have been breakfast instead of diapers, snot, homework, delinquency and college. All in all, though, it makes me sad that I will never get to have another baby. There is just something about the smell of Baby Magic and amniotic fluid for those first few days.....and then, just every little thing they do being so cute. Until it involves some sort of bodily fluid being propelled out of an unlikely orifice at some ungodly hour. Ahhh, babies. A hysterectomy is the only answer. I worry if one of those eggs got 'spooned' it just may be too old to grow right. I feel this is the best thing for all those leftover eggs. I mean, I am an artist, and Easter is just around the corner....I could paint them and hide them around the neighborhood and let my other children try to find them, kind of like some white trash version of Angelina Jolie. "Go find yer little unfortunate brothers and sisters guys!" This just seems like too much work, though. So, spayed it is. Luckily I get to go to the hospital in like a real city, not our local band-aid station. I truthfully would rather go to the vet than there. This town used to have more bars than people, and more teeth than crime. And the teeth were sparse. The hospital was good then, but I like to be knocked out for these things, and not with vodka and a shot of drano. And, although Raylene can still quilt stitch pretty well through those violent meth tremors, I'd still prefer a real surgeon. Actually, being from this town, most of the spoons we see are not bent in this cute and peculiar way. They're more burned, and crispy. And eggs never sit long enough for four spoons to get that close.

Following Instructions

This is so polite. The car is totally destroyed, but the sign is still intact. I sound like this when I say something like: 'Thank you so much, child, for bringing my full glass of Dr Pepper across the room and leaving a trail so you could find your way back!' Or like the little guy behind the counter at the 7-11....politest guy in the world. would you like some beef jerky with that please? Please would you like a slushie? Whoever was in this car was probably WAY too rude and drunk to listen to such an incredibly sensitive and polite sign. What was he thinking? The Village is apparently a nice place. Of course, and argument could be made that during the last elections it lost it's idiot, but still, it probably has a few cute antique malls and a small resident population of gays. I'm thinking this tricked out car was just passing through, then the driver passed out, or whatever....and the little jail of 'the village' got a whole new inmate of different stripes.

The Failure to See the Big Picture

Don't you hate it when you finally catch that big fish and your stupid old dad is trying to get his face in the picture? I mean, obviously, the most important thing here is definitely that no one should eat that fish. It has been swimming in the sewer water! What is wrong with people? You know how they say that during a natural disaster in the South, that they will find the biggest idiot they can for a picture or an interview? Well, here you go. This proves it. of course, Dubya fans may say this photo was doctored, but even if it was, it's still apparent that he can't do anything as well as his father. He'll never measure up. It's like George Sr. is saying...I hired that coonass to put that fish on his hook so he could look like a big man, just like I always have.....

Pretty Obvious What God Thinks

Well, if this isn't God giving the finger, I don't know what is. I'm just glad it isn't pointing at me for a change, whilst booming laughter rolls from the heavens. I'm glad I didn't take this picture. I mean, I'm pretty sure already that I am on the shit list of the God Who Hates Sinners, and I would feel seriously f#%&ed if this formation appeared in front of me.

The Famed Hershey Highway

I sincerely hope that these people were using the Anal Lube as a foolproof way of preventing breeding. I know that I am not an overly attractive woman. Nor am I overly small. So I speak from a position of at least some empathy for this unsuspecting woman. However, even this poor(obviously, look at the surroundings) terribly desperate person should not have to take it in the ass like a champ from the likes of this weird looking pervert guy. Is he reading the directions on how to use the Anal Lube? He obviously has a thing for butts, look at the one in his hand - he is smoking the filter. I seriously think that she is embarrassed to be with him. She has a look on her face that says, 'Somehow, I know this picture will be circulated around cyberspace and I will pay for hanging out and letting this guy put it in my ass.' At least he lubed her. That's more than some of us get. Ever had a custody case in court? Then you know what I mean. Ever bought a car from a 'We-Finance-Anybody' outfit? And paid the 'Bring-Your-own-Anal-Lube' interest rate? Yep. You get the picture. These two better get working on Anal Lube that doesn't melt in fire and brimstone, because I am pretty sure they are not on the Favorite list of the God Who Hates Sinners. Wait. Is there a commandment on taking it in the ass? 'Thou shalt not Fornicate with the Ass of thy neighbor?' That could have meant a donkey, though... you know how things get screwed up in interpretation.

Yep. I knew it.

If I had only known about this earlier. It could have sprayed it on the majority of the women in the town I live in, or at least the food service professionals, and kept at least one boyfriend from marking his territory on those bitches. Hell, I think I will get some and spray it on my daughters when they get older. At $3.15 a bottle, it's cheaper than a pair of locking pants that keep unwanted boyfriends out. Anyway, Unwanted Boyfriends Beware! Your bitch may not be your bitch anymore.

Huh?

sink the bad dog

No, All you Crazy People, It's Monday

This picture is entitled 'free'. This is a butterfly that my girls and I raised from a tiny egg last fall. This picture was taken after the wings had dried, and the butterfly looked stable enough for a light rain and a small breeze. It was a cool experience, raising butterflies. It is sometimes not such a cool experience raising things like, say, children who do not fly away for twenty some years if ever, rather than in fourteen days like a Monarch. Nonetheless, I still find as much beauty in my children and their intricate personalities as I did the butterflies' wings. Face it. As a mom, you face disgusting things like snot and poop and pee and spit and throw up and any kind of food smeared on your clothes, their clothes, the floor, the wall...as the mother of young boys you will many nights have a wet sock after leaving the bathroom in the middle of the night. Or the need for a towel, depending on how deep your young boy sleeps. They never think of these things, those beautiful little children. They are all light, and find joy in the simplest things. They also hit each other and bite each other and talk back and draw on the walls, but the hormone in a woman's brain that even makes them have more than one child kicks in and somehow, we remember those golden moments like first steps and first kisses and first skinned knees and first days of school. Instead of the first time every day you have to ramrod them into doing something, or the first time for the next four hours that you have to change a poopy diaper or clean up vomit during a bout of the puke flu. There's a love that is insane, and unexplainable that we have for our children. It makes us do stupid things like spend too much money on Christmas and yell at them later on in the afternoon when they have stepped on our last nerve and we have had no sleep etc, etc. Oh well. Free. In butterflies and shoes, free is good. In children, free is good. They need to be free. But they aren't. They're the most expensive venture you could possibly imagine....but worth every penny and every moment, gross or good.

It's Sunday Again

On Sunday morning, like most mornings, I always begin my day with a little self love. I just found out that this, not complete and total lack of pet responsibility, is the leading cause of kitten annhilation! I never knew it! Oh, God! All the kittens! I was married for a REALLY long time......I just can't hardly think of it. This is terrible. I had so much guilt already, over not being a good enough daughter, not being a good enough mother, not being a good enough woman....now, on top of all that, I am responsible for an ungodly amount of kittycide. I'm definitely going to hell now. I thought about going to confession, but, I was worried that it might lead to even worse acts, and even more kitten deaths. Plus, I am not Catholic and I think it is stupid to go to confession. Although I am sure Catholics would not disapprove entirely of Margarita Jello shots in the offering plate (if they have such things at Catholic Church, maybe they don't, I dunno I was raised Baptist), conversion is not for me. What's even worse, and another fact that I did not know, is that God has an entire army of killer fudge ice cream bars that eat kittens in apparent sharklike frenzy. Crusading chocolate ice cream bars? I am completely terrified to even look in the freezer. Even though I don't have any kittens, there could be some of those things in there waiting for me just because of my incorrigible naughtiness. Not to mention the masturbation part...........

Happy Friday Crazy People!

Is this sometimes how you feel? I have three small children and one big child....they jump all over you and definitely, it can seem just like this. Of course, I have just as much patience as this kitty if I take many clonazepams and some muscle relaxers, drink a lot of tequila and cannot move to smack the hell out of anyone. In regular life, as in today, nothing much is happening except the usual chaos of having so many children. I have yet to find suitable housing, as the are just no large shoes with a big lace down the front and windows on each side available here right now. I know this....I am tired of worrying, tired of feeling constantly jumped on by children and parents, and think it is time to take a nice, relaxing Friday night.

Substitute Crazy Person