Author Archives: Inane Absurdity

Posted on April 12, 2012 | Leave a comment

“I get the whole wand thing, but what exactly are you going to do that requires rubber gloves?”

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Posted in Politics

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Posted on April 12, 2012 | Leave a comment

WWJD?

“I am against birth control, yet I wear sweater vests – a form a birth control. Oy. WWJD?”

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Posted in Politics, Uncategorized

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Posted on April 12, 2012 | Leave a comment

“Don’t worry … I got this. I brought my checkbook.” 

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Posted in Politics

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Swinging in C-Town

Posted on March 17, 2012 | 1 Comment

Why is everyone on Craigslist a messed up crazy person? It would be nice to browse without being molested by freaky ads from people with fetishes. Don’t get me wrong; I am no prude. It’s just that I have to be in the mood to process and accept such information. I am a woman, after all.

To the guy who posted a cock shot under the ‘Furniture’ category, do you seriously think I want to see your pencil dick while browsing for chairs? If your cock was actual furniture, it would be displayed in the scratch and dent section of the store. I’ve seen a lot of ‘furniture’ in my time, sir, and yours is nothing special.

To the people advertising their ‘Quaint’ house for sale, the definition of quaint is not ‘roach infested ghetto crack house in the middle of New Jack City.’ Just saying.

You are so money!

And to the swingers who posted their ad under the ‘For Sale’ category, do you think this will prompt me to make an impulse decision to participate in your ménage à grossness?? As if my thought process goes like this: **Hmmm, nice chair; wow, curb alert!; OH, HEY! I want to screw two Craigslist whores!!!** I barely have enough energy to service my own spouse, let alone having to shave my legs for your diseased asses. Get real. Or do it right and get tested and join a swingers club. They have them, you know. Or so I’ve heard. Anyway, to add to the absurdity, you rated yourselves A++’s and noted you are looking for the same. Newsflash: If you are not Brad and Angelina, you ‘re not A++’s. But if you are, in fact, Brad and Angelina, call me; we can work something out.

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Posted in Inane Absurdity

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Acaba de Ick! Just Ick!

Posted on March 15, 2012 | 1 Comment

Taco Bell now has taco shells made out of Doritos. The thought alone gives me chest pains. The company MUST be owned by the pharmaceutical companies. Filling the hot sauce packets with nitroglycerin is in order, Taco Bell, sí?

As a side bar, if Taco Bell really wants to think outside of the bun, they should add margaritas to the menu. Big slushy lime green margaritas. This might get me to go there. Actually, it would most definitely get me to go there. Otherwise, I cannot bring myself to even look at a Taco Bell.

Taco Bell scares me. I’m especially scared because of what I might become should I succumb to the liquid-y cheesy offerings of such americanized mexican food(‘ish).  It would start with a few tacos and then I’d surely graduate to one of those family packs they advertise (I’d start my drive-thru order by saying “we’d like one of those glutton packs of tacos” .. with ‘we’d’ meaning ‘me’) only to find myself parked in the far corner of the Taco Bell parking lot at 3 in the morning, shit faced from the 11 Dorito shell tacos I inhaled. The shame I would feel would be outweighed by the severe chemical imbalance caused by the faux cheese coating of the taco shells. The only known cure for the imbalance would be more junk food.  The bender I would then go on would be epic, most definitely including Cheetos, Funyuns, and some form of  fat coated deep-fried fatty fat. Not being able to break the cycle, I would develop back fat and big ankles. I cannot have big ankles. I cannot.

Anyway, I shall avoid Taco Bell for now. Unless, of course, I see that little Taco Bell chihuahua drunk off his ass, yapping ¡Yo quiero Margaritas! That will be my signal. Then and only then will I be making a run for the border.  

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Posted in Health

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I’ve never been a fan of gravy

Posted on March 10, 2012 | 1 Comment
I have recently noticed an onslaught of radio commercials for products that control breast sweat. Ick. The commercial I am most fond of is for a product called ‘Fresh Breasts.’ Evidently, breast sweat has reached epidemic proportions and requires a major radio campaign to get the cure out to the sweaty masses. As a big-boobed woman myself, I understand how this could be an issue. It tends to happen to me while using my boobies as ping-pong paddles or when I prop a drink between them. They’ve got skills like that.
The sweaty epidemic gets even better.  There is a similar product called ‘Fresh Balls.’ Oh yes. When I heard of this, I immediately had visions of air fresheners shaped like testicles, swinging from rear view mirrors everywhere. I must say that sweaty breast commercials are bad enough, but I REALLY don’t want to listen to ads about perspiring man junk. Knowing men the way I do, the application of the product alone will inevitably result in everything else becoming sweaty. And I’m really not convinced these sweaty products will work, anyway.  Call me a pessimist, but I’m pretty sure putting some sort of lotion-y, powder-y product in one’s sensitive areas will just produce gravy.  No one wants to be around people who can make their own gravy.

Lady catcher or repellent? You decide.

To the makers of Fresh Breasts and Fresh Balls, please stop with the radio commercials. It’s bad enough that everyone within this tropical hell in which I live is constantly glistening from sweat. I really don’t need visions of them cooking mashed potatoes and gravy in their underpants. Some things need to remain a sweaty little secret, so please just pass out paper towels and call it good.

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Posted in Inane Absurdity

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It’s PMS Wednesday!

Posted on March 7, 2012 | 2 Comments

So I started the week lathered in cranky sauce. Not sure if I’m PMS’ing or just upset that 19 Kids and Counting is still on television.  Speaking of which, isn’t there a point in time when a woman’s vagina loses its will to live?  If I were Michelle’s vagina, I’d pack my bags and head for the barren hills without leaving horndog Jim Bob a forwarding address.  The thought of Michelle allowing HDJB to have sex with her at least 19 times makes me want to throw up in my mouth. But anyway, I’ve been cranky all week so maybe I’m just extra sensitive to the plight of the vagina.

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Let me paint you a picture of my shitty week, thus far:

Despite having cankles the size of softballs, I’ve been trying to stick to my exercise regime. I started out yesterday laying on my exercise ball in order to stretch it allll out. This act inevitably resulted in me rolling off the ball and on to the floor more than once. Mind you, this was only the warm up. I have found that using an exercise ball is a difficult task when you have two very large boobies that like to move in equal yet opposite directions, despite the best bra money can buy. I tried chest-side down on to the ball as well, thinking a different position would help.  Again with the boobies. I rolled off and hit my head on the coffee table. Needless to say, me and my never-give-up attitude gave up.  Later in the evening I dropped a hot pork chop on my foot while cooking dinner for hubby. It’s not the first time I’ve burnt my foot on a pork chop. And as if I need a clincher, I am sitting here right now with freshly spilled ice tea all over my pants. I can’t decide whether I am enjoying the refreshing feel of ice tea all over my nether regions or if I’m just so used to spilling on myself that I don’t care. Whatever the reason, this clearly should be more of an urgent matter to me.

Happy Wednesday.

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Posted in Entertainment, Health

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8 pounds? Bite me!

Posted on March 6, 2012 | 2 Comments

I just perused a magazine cover advertising “The #1 way to lose 8 pounds!” 8!! Not 80, not 38, but 8! Is being 8 pounds overweight such an epidemic that it is worthy of a magazine cover? When did skinny people become the weight loss industry’s target market?  8 pounds is a ridiculous number. What I really want to know is how to lose 25 pounds! Now THAT is cover-worthy! If I wanted to lose 8 pounds, I’d hold my breath for a minute and stop all air intake. Better yet, I’d throw away that 5 pound bag of M&M’s  in my desk drawer, leaving only 3 pounds to lose! Simple diet math.

Skinny people of the world, unite! Don’t let magazines make you think you’re fat. It starts with 8 pounds, and then they’ll tell you you’re worthless unless you partake in 6 hours of tantric yoga a day. Before you know it they’ll have you drinking liquified broccoli through a straw and convince you it tastes like Häagen-Dazs. I know the game. Don’t fall for it. Keep your 8 pounds, skinny people. You need them. And I need you to need them.

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Posted in Health

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Don’t do it, Timmy! Don’t. Do. It.

Posted on March 5, 2012 | 4 Comments

That's a good start, Timmy! And DON'T make eye contact!

It has been reported that Tim Tebow was approached to be the next Bachelor! Let me just say that the Bachelor cat house is the second circle of hell, and is not a place for the innocent or those who pretend to be so. If he accepts ABC’s offer, Timmy will surely be crouched in a corner saying Hail Marys the whole time he is on the show. (Timmy, muttering in the corner: “I saw boobies! Hail Mary, full of grace … I saw boobies! Hail Mary, full of grace ….”)

Don’t do it, Timmy. You walk on water! You ARE Baby Jesus! The Mile-High Messiah! Every hope and dream that this country has for the future is pinned on you one day become the puritanical President of the United States, and you can’t be the PPOTUS if you’ve been molested by 25 women on national television. (Unless you are a Clinton, this will not further your career.) RUN like you are about to be sacked in the end zone, because those girls will do it to you, Timmy. Our nation is not ready to witness the tragedy of your televised deflowering,  so please, for the love of country, RUN, TIMMY, RUN!!

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Posted in Sports

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An exercise in fu(el)tility

Posted on February 28, 2012 | Leave a comment

Piss in the wind!! PISS!! IN!! THE!! WIND!!

The most exciting mishap to occur during a NASCAR race in a long time took place during last night’s Daytona 500. With about 40 laps to go, Juan Pablo Montoya’s car lost its shit and slammed into a truck. This wasn’t an ordinary truck; it was a truck fitted with a jet engine used to dry the track. JET ENGINE = JET FUEL. The truck exploded on impact! Thankfully, no one got hurt. The fire was spectacular, as was the act of trying to extinguish it. As jet fuel poured down the race track, igniting the asphalt and grass and everything else in its path, safety crews with fire extinguishers tried to tame the inferno. It didn’t work. Yes, I said “fire extinguishers.” I can’t make this stuff up. They would have had a better chance of putting the fire out had they pissed in the wind.

Eventually the fire was extinguished with foam and water from actual fire hoses, and the scorched section of the track was re-paved and dried. Dried with leaf blowers. Yep. The NASCAR brain trust wasn’t taking any chances stoking up yet another jet engine. Good call after nearly killing two people by allowing speeding nearly-out-of-control race cars in proximity of 200 gallons of jet fuel. Real good call.  After a two-hour delay, the race resumed.

Because the fire was far more engaging than watching cars go fast and turn left all night, it caused me to conclude that there should be a fire at every race.  A manmade fire will do. I propose that every race should include a jet fuel fire pit, ignited in a safe location on the track, with all drivers parking their cars mid-race to stand around the fire with marshmallows on skewers.  The drivers would surely welcome the break. And who doesn’t like roasted marshmallows? I’m telling ya, NASCAR viewership would increase ten-fold. Short of filling the cars with jet fuel (which would be exponentially entertaining), a fire is the next best thing to capture and keep an audience.

I’m full of ideas, NASCAR. Hit me up, anytime. I’ve also come up with a great way to get Kyle Busch’s attitude under control. It involves his ass and firecrackers. Call me for details.

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Posted in Sports

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