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Friday, June 29, 2012

Dun Dunt Du DA, It’s Wonder Dick!

This week, inspired by the fabulous Lily, writer of the super funny blog The Incoherent Ramblins of a Moose! I took a look though some of my old blogs (posted on Myspace which should tell you how old they are).  I came across this one and decided to share the laugh I got from re-reading it.

You know I have some pretty fabulous friends and nothing surprises me anymore, but they never fail to amuse me. Yesterday was no exception. Sitting around the table on my patio yesterday with friends and family, laughing at the tall tales from our youth, one of my friends heard me ask another friend where his nickname came from, and thought that the question was directed at him. Instantly he goes into a story that at first made us wonder what in the world he was talking about, but then had the rest of us laughing so hard our sides hurt!
He started off by tooting his own horn, talking about being with so many girls in his single days that my cousin started calling him Wonder Dick. (I think the name probably came from "it's a wonder your dick hasn't rotted off yet!" But this is HIS story). So anyways, he then goes on to talk about this crazy shirt he had that had something hanging in the back almost like a cape. In fun he had drawn a WD in a superman type of way (standing for Wonder Dick) on the cape like part of that shirt. Shortly after he had gotten married the kids were gone, he was feeling frisky, and the wife was on her way home. So deciding to be playful, he strips down to his birthday suit and puts on his WD cape awaiting his wife's arrival. It's after dark when he hears a car pull up. He runs to the door, listens for footsteps, and just as he hears them at the door he throws the door open in all his gloriousness saying, "Dun Dunt Du DA!"
I'm sure he looked something like this, only not covering his penis!
Photo source The Dave & James Blog
and to his horror…it was not his wife, but his parole officer.
In a complete state of shock and humiliation, he slams the door and runs for his pants. The parole officer is outside dying laughing as he heads back to his car, deciding to try a visit another day. As he's pulling out of the driveway, the wife is pulling in. Still laughing so hard that tears are welling in his eyes, he stops the wife only long enough to ask her if her husband is doing drugs. Denying drug use and looking puzzled by the laughing officer, the officer says only, "You'll have to ask him…I can't tell you", while gasping for air through his laughter.
So the wife comes in completely bewildered to find a super embarrassed, fully dressed, limp dick for days to come husband to hear the tale of her superhero sporting a hard on, and not much else, doing the grand door opening for his parole officer. He suddenly didn't feel frisky anymore.
I'll bet that the cape was retired after that day, and that the parole officer learned to call first!
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Monday, June 25, 2012

Fabulous Blog Ribbon

Anyone who knows me or has even read my blog for any amount of time knows I hate mornings, Mondays and EXPECIALLY Monday mornings.  Today was no exception.  After a restless night, it took everything in me to get up and start my day and the day has been a typical Monday full of aggrevations and irritations until a few minutes ago, when my day got brightened with one little email.

Thank you, Kelly!! Writer of the awesome blog, Dysfunctionally Functional.

In the "Blogosphere", there are little recognitions that Bloggers bestow upon each other in recognition and appreciation for other Blog(er)s.  Yesterday, Kelly bestowed a new one on my blog presenting me with the "Fabulous Blog Ribbon" which will be proudly displayed on my blog.  However, accepting imposes certain requirments upon me.

In order to accept you must:
  1. Post the rules on your blog.
  2. Name five of your most fabulous moments, either in real life or in the blogosphere.
  3. Name five things you love.
  4. Name five things you hate.
  5. Pass the ribbon on to five other bloggers. (Leave them a comment to notify them of their win.)
5 Fabulous Moments
  1. Giving birth to my son. 
  2. Receiving my diploma. 
  3. Divorcing my ex-husband. 
  4. Scuba diving at the base of the Piton Mountains in St. Lucia
  5. Getting my camera back after it had been stolen (with some very compromising photos of me still on it).  You'd have to read about it or have been there. 
5 Things I Love
  1. My children, family and friends.  I don't know what I'd do without them, and couldn't imagine my life without them. 
  2. Good food (and cooking good food).
  3. Traveling and experiencing new adventures.
  4. Being creative.  Whether it's writing, taking pictures, coming up with a new receipe or just coming up with an outside the box idea to get something done, creativity is a fuel that feeds my soul and lifts my spirits. 
  5. Interesting and intelligent conversations. 
5 Things I Hate
  1. Cockroaches. any explaination needed?
  2. Laundry.   
  3. Being late or others being habitually late.  It gets under my skin and causes me anxiety. 
  4. Mornings...Mondays...and especially Monday mornings.
  5. Small crowded places. 
5  Other Bloggers To Pass The Ribbon To  
    (There are way more than 5 bloggers I feel deserving but I will tag only 5 in the hopes of cutting down on the amount of repeats any one blogger gets as these can be time consuming when tagged in several task oriented posts.) 
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Monday, June 18, 2012

I Need A Brain Scrub and A Bleach Bath

Back in October of last year, I wrote a blog entitled Bestiality…It’s No Longer Just Your Daughters You HaveTo Watch!  I hadn’t thought much else about it until I awoke Saturday morning to find a new comment on it.  Ask any blogger and they’ll tell you we love getting new comments, but not this weekend.  Posted by “Anonymous” was a comment almost as long as the blog itself geared at persuading me that bestiality or “zoophilliac” tendencies was a natural and acceptable “sexual orientation”.  Are you freaking kidding me?  Never in my wildest dreams did I think some sick deviant would actually try to defend the practice on my blog!

I was already feeling the need to soak in a scolding hot bath of bleach and scrub my computer screen just to remove the filth his comment left me feeling when I went on to read his position on consent.  “…an animal can give consent just as well as a human, though in their own way.  If you pet a dog backwards it bites, so it’s obviously trying to tell you it doesn’t like that; if you scratch it behind the ears and it moves closer to your hand, paws your leg, and wags its tail, it clearly wants more; if you slowly begin to move your hand down that dog’s backside and up its leg, well, you’ll know soon enough whether or not to go further.”  Um, really?  I seriously just puked in my mouth.  I think I need a brain scrubbing after that argument. 

I have a dog (though I won’t be posting any pictures of her today so Anonymous Freak doesn’t fall in love and become her stalker).  She is notorious for rolling over on her back exposing her tummy hoping I’ll rub her belly.  Nowhere in that gesture do I get “stick a penis in me” from her.   Ok, to be fair, I don’t have a penis but I don’t get that from her when she exposes her belly to men either.  I found myself thinking “I hope Anonymous Freak gets bit in the dick by a rattlesnake and it falls off leaving him a grotesque pit of a mangina!”

Anonymous Freak ended his first (yes there were more) comment asking me “what do you think about bestiality now?”  Oh my God!  Is he serious?  He asked as if his comment was going to make me want to go bang a horse or get freaky with my puppy.  I think I was very reserved in my response to him only briefly comparing his view on consent to that of pedophiles, letting him know he wouldn’t be invited to dinner to make passes as my animals and saying I felt the need for a shower (and not a fun one) just from reading his post.

I thought it was over until the next morning when I awoke to not one, not two, but three comments trying to influence my view on Anonymous Freak’s apparent “orientation” of choice, and they were longer and more disturbing than the first.  Now usually I am a live and let live type of person and don’t give a shit what someone else is doing or what their freak flags are, but this just got under my skin in a feel like I need to be decontaminated after just the thought of what this predator is trying to justify way.  

In the second response he states “I haven’t advanced to the point where I’ve done anything with a real animal and I don’t think I plan to.” He goes on to say “I have my own dogs, and the thought actually scares me, although I will admit I have considered the possibility, though only in the way that everyone who finds something sexually exotic has considered it, but never acted upon or really intended to do it.”  UM…BULLSHIT!  I call bullshit on this one.  He’s spent way too much time researching and trying to justify the deviant behavior to be a casual fantasizer.  And what the fuck does one find “sexually exotic” about an animal?  I mean, is it the way they’ll eat other animals’ shit, the way they lick their own assholes, the way they drool…I mean REALLY?

He goes on and on and then states “While children are still growing physically, mentally and sexually, and generally immature as far as their decision-making skills go, adult animals are fully grown, sexualized creatures which, depending on the species and as far as science can tell us so far, can possibly make at least some choices, foresee consequences of those choices, and even might have full sentience.”   And “While children are, for the most part, undeveloped, adult animals on the other hand are fully developed sexually and possibly on a conscious level too.”  Dude.  Having sex with an animal…ANY animal, no matter how smart the species or breed…could NEVER be any more acceptable than a caregiver at a home for the mentally AND physically disadvantaged having sex with his patients, and that’s looking at it from the angle most in your favor.  An adult animal may be sexually mature, but it’s mature to have sex with another of its kind for procreation purposes, not to have some pervert stick a penis in because its without ability or comprehension to stop the act.  Sex with animals is a crime against nature and should be treated with the same consequences as sex with children would be.  It’s not the animals problem that you can’t get laid by a human woman.

He went on and on, then commented again as if I needed to have my brain further polluted by his filth and if by doing so I’d understand and agree with his justification.  Anonymous Freak, there can be no justification.  You’re a sick bastard and a predator even if you haven’t acted on your fantasy (highly unlikely).  It’s only a matter of time before you join the ranks with the likes of these folks charged and convicted of lewd and lascivious acts against animals.  News flash, even if an animal doesn’t know something is wrong or abuse, you do.  When you finally do get busted and locked up, may you get some rare, medically resistant, flesh eating bacteria in your penis.  Until then I wish you a limp dick.

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Thursday, June 14, 2012

Talking Shit…Literally

I know that girls aren’t supposed to burp and fart, let alone poop, but lets get real for a second…we do.  I work about 20 miles from my home and I have discovered that the road between home and work becomes endless if the urge to shit hits me.  I’ve many times found myself bouncing on the edge of my seat, butt cheeks clenched tighter than a steel vice grip, talking to myself saying, “Butt cheeks don’t fail me now!”, praying to God that I didn’t have to clean my car seat when I got home.  There often becomes a point where the urge will let up a little and I’ll find myself thinking, “I can make it”, until I make the turn into my neighborhood.  It’s like my bowels can sense that a toilet is near and the urge to spew the hot stinky gelatinous goo becomes almost unbearable.  The clenched butt cheeks begin to quiver and spasm as the pressure between them builds to dangerous levels, then as I turn into my driveway and park the car, I cannot immediately get out for if my ass leaves the counter pressure of the car seat, my butt cheeks alone will not contain the nastiness within.  So I sit there…sweat beading on my upper lip, bouncing in my seat, waiting for a moment when I feel it’s safe to make a mad dash to the bathroom.  The only problem?  The second I get out of the car, I’m again fighting the bowels vs. butt cheeks battle.

There’s an unmistakable walk of someone who’s about to shit themselves.  It’s easy to spot.  The lower half of the body usually leads, the butt cheeks move in a different rhythm than a normal gait as they strain to contain, the legs are straighter, the stride shorter yet the pace quicker with the back arched slightly backward to give support to the battling butt cheeks.  As I go in the door, I’m beginning to unbuckle and unbutton so that there will be no delay when I reach the bathroom.  The ass muscles are burning from the strain and then it happens…that precious moment when I quickly and clumsily plop onto the toilet with unstained panties, victorious! (Go Butt Cheeks!  Go Butt Cheeks!) The next few seconds release is arguably better than any orgasm as shivers rush through my body and I surrender to the toilet giving it my love offering. (Ok, maybe that’s going a little too far)
This woman obviously knows what I'm talking about.  See the look of total satisfaction?
 As bad as that situation is, it’s even worse when I’m not alone.  I recently found myself in this shitty situation.  I’d gone to dinner with man friend, then stopped at a store to pick up needed supplies, aka tequila.  We were talking with a friend when unexpectedly and without warning my tummy started gurgling, abdomen started cramping and suddenly I was in full on battle of the butt cheeks mode.  I was able to get out of the store and into the truck (hopefully without drawing too much attention to myself with my “don’t shit on yourself” walk).  It was only a couple minutes to the house, but those couple of minutes felt like hours as I found myself wondering why in the hell man friend had cloth seats instead of leather, thinking how much more difficult those seats would be to clean, and how mortified I’d be if I had to.  I could feel the sweat about to bead as he pulled into the driveway and I sprung from the truck and did the butt clenched poo poo gallop into the house.  While on the toilet I realized that making it to the toilet and the moments that followed were better than average sex.  This got me thinking…is it as good for you as it is for me?  I mean, we might not talk about things like this, but surely I’m not the only one to ever fight the bowels vs. butt cheeks battle.  With all the assholes in the world, mine cannot be the only one to strain unbearably against the butt cheeks.  So I’ve done what anyone in my situation would do and started asking.  I mean, inquiring minds want to know (ok, maybe just mine).

I’ve now talked to man friend, girl friends and guy friends about this shitty topic and while everyone’s experiences are different, we all have them.  After a tequila induced conversation with my guy friend CH last night, I decided it was time to make the taboo topic of poo poo a public topic. 

So what’s your most memorable or embarrassing bowel vs. butt cheeks battle?  

btw CH...I kinda liked your title idea of TTC (Turd Touching Cotton), but talking shit just seemed so fitting.
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Thursday, June 7, 2012

Road Trip...WV Mountains, Hooters, Hillbillies and Toxic Fumes

This past weekend, I took a four day trip to the beautiful mountains of West Virginia.  My baby sister, who once lived with me but now lives with her paternal aunt and grandpa in the mountains, was graduating from high school so it was time for a road trip.  Friday morning my son and I are packed and ready.  We were soon joined by my baby sister’s (BS) best friend from middle school, then stopped to pick up my mother and off we went.  It took us about 8 hours to drive through Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia before we finally hit the West Virginia border.  It was rainy a good portion of the drive but the beauty of the mountains and the excitement of seeing family I hadn’t seen in over a year had us all in good spirits. 

I was driving on I77, my mother was taking pictures from the front seat and my son was taking pictures from the back seat.  As we climbed higher and higher on windy roads through the mountains, we eventually got so far in the woods that the ONLY radio station we could get was a blue grass station.  So here we are in the boonies listening to banjo music wondering what type of people we would encounter when we reached our destination.  The wilderness of lush greenery was beautiful and was occasionally interrupted by a small town or a run down shack in the middle of woods on a hill and I could just picture some old hillbilly man with few teeth sitting on the porch in the evenings playing his banjo with a huge wad of dip in his cheek as he spit off the side of the run down porch.  This brought on the whole mountain men, hillbilly stereo type conversation.  Little did we know how accurate we really were. 

My siblings and extended family live in a tiny mountain community of Lynco, miles away from any suitable lodging facilities so we were forced to stay in the town of Beckley and drive an hour each way to see them.  We arrived in Beckley at about 6:30 p.m. and decided to take a look at a few of the hotels before deciding on which one to stay at.  The people at the front desks were SO rude!  The friend traveling with us got a bit upset saying, "These people don't know us.  Us southern girls have both manners AND guns!"  As we were eating hostess cupcakes I came up with a brilliant idea to fit in better.  I told everyone that we should take some of the chocolate icing and black out a tooth or two and then everyone would think we were natives!  I know, BRILLIANT.  I then looked at my mom (who is missing a front tooth) and told her she didn't have to worry about it because she was already there.  For some reason she didn't find that near as funny as the rest of us did.

After unpacking our luggage at the Baymont Inn and Suites, we set off to baby sister's work, aka Hooters for a family reunion (I know...what a fabulous place for a reunion with the kiddos!).  A couple interesting things happened during our time at Hooters.  I got to meet my newest niece for the first time who is now four months old and so freaking cute I could just eat her up!  My son thought he'd died and went to hotty heaven but definitely didn't like the way one table of guys was looking at his aunt.  Then just after we ate, there was a ruckace on the other side of the restaurant.  All the waitresses were gathered and clapping for what I presumed was someones birthday.  Then BS comes running toward me and grabs my hand saying come here for a minute.  I assumed she was taking me to meet some of her coworkers when I suddenly became aware that I'd been set up.  It had been MY birthday a couple days before this and the gathering of clappers were preparing to embarrass ME.

Me standing on the chair praying I didn't lose my balance,
giving baby sister the look while son clapped along.
A paper sash was placed around me saying Happy Birthday and signed by all the waitresses.  Wearing my high wedge sandals I was asked to stand on a chair and try not to fall off and bust my ass or break my neck (which was harder than you might think in those shoes).  The waitresses then all began clapping loudly drawing all the other patrons attention to this ordeal as they sang their version of happy birthday and I gave BS the "you're so gonna get it for this" smile.

Baby Sister having a big time.
Other than the few minute chair balancing act, it was a good time connecting with my siblings I hadn't seen in a while and their paternal aunt.

To save money, my mother and I shared a room.  However, we were not alone.  While BS's BFF went home with them, my 14 year old little brother wanted to stay with us.  So it was me, my mother, my 11 year old son and my 14 year old one hotel room.  It wouldn't have been so bad except the hotel served boiled eggs for breakfast, and the boys ate them...a lot of them.  By lunch time it was a regular fart fest in that hotel room.  Both the boys farting away, trying to out do the other in both noise level and stinkiness.  They'd bust out laughing and let another one rip, further assaulting my nasal passages.  I might have been ok with just the two of them but then gas hit my mother, and when it comes to stinky farts, my mother is the champion!  She can clear a whole building I tell ya.  What comes out of that woman's ass should be bottled and used as a biological weapon!  I had to throw a couple in myself just to make the room smell better.

A short while after the fart bombing, we took to the roads to go for a BBQ with the family.  Thank God we'd be outside for a while.  We drove through winding roads with little to no shoulders and steep drop offs as we wound up the mountains toward our destination.  The only thing interrupting the wilderness was the occasional coal mining operation.  The scenery was beautiful and we eventually made it our river bank BBQ destination.
Beaver playing on the other side of the river from us.
The next few pictures are just a touch of the awesome sights from the overlook of the park we grilled at.  West Virginia is truly a beautiful place.

The next day was BS's graduation, so we make the winding drive and arrive at the high school to find that it is packed.  Every person in two counties must have been there (though it took three of them to equal a whole set of teeth).  I didn't realize there could possibly be that many people in the area.  Graduating along side BS was a Hatfield.  One of the direct descendants of The Hatfields and McCoys, Hatfields and I found out that the Hatfield cemetery was only about 15 minutes from where we were. 

It was a great ceremony after which my mother, two sisters, niece and BFF went for a celebratory dinner.  Being a small mountain town, the culinary selection was limited so we decided on Giovanni's which is basically a mid scale fast food pizzeria.  As we're sitting there eating I saw several interesting things while looking out the window.  Down the road there was a trailer where reflective overalls were being sold on the side of the road.  I was informed that they were coal mine uniforms, but found it interesting they were sold roadside from a small trailer parked somewhere in town.  Walking down the road was a man in overalls with no shirt or shoes with a wad of dip in his cheek so big you'd have thought he had a tumor until I saw him spit a big stream of nasty brown slobber on the pavement.  There were several people riding four wheelers through the middle of town, and this guy taking a casual stroll with his dog through the downtown streets on his lawn mower.

While a good many of the people would hurt my camera if I attempted to capture their images, the scenery is amazing.  These are just a few of the sights I saw along the way.
Left to Right:  My gigantic 11 year old son and my shrimpo 14 year old brother.

The next morning it was time to get back on the road and head home.  I'd put my son on egg restriction, but apparently not soon enough because I learned a very valuable lesson on Monday.  Road Tip of the Day: When traveling with a male child, always bring a gas mask.  The child's asshole must truly be wore out as he farted for the entire 11 hours we were making our way home.  I'm not talking about small stinkless farts; I'm talking about seat vibrating, nostril burning, something crawled up his ass and died type of farts.  I think I'm still feeling the effects of the toxic gas exposure from the ride home as surely I've been poisoned from the noxious fumes emanating out of his asshole.  But as much as I'm complaining, at least I wasn't the one who had to sit in the back seat with him. 
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