Thursday, October 30, 2014

Surgery Patients; What to do Before and During your Hospital Stay







Most of us have had something ripped out or jammed into our flesh at some point in our lives. It's not the most pleasurable experience- except for the anestesia, mophine drip or day old pudding with the "skin" on top. But I digress. Before anyone saunters in to the hospital for their slice-and-dice there are a few rules of protocol that should be followed. Nine to be exact....


1. Wash your privates. This may seem odd when you're having a tonsilectomy but trust me, your naughty bits need to be well-scrubbed, coiffed and smelling like Grandma's roses. Your genital appearance and scent will be the fodder for many discussions during surgery so make a good impression and the giggling should be kept at a minimum. No one needs their scalpel whelding doctor giggling.


2. Ask everyone in the hospital to sign the napkin you have writ your last will in testament. You gotta figure at least ONE of those signatures has to be a lawyer's. That's Pro Bono services, baby. But don't show anyone the stuff you're giving away! Bastards will try and pay off the doctors so you won't make it and your organs will be donated to Guatamalan children who are starving in Africa.





3. Wear as little clothes as possible. Naked is best. They make you remove all your clothes anyway and throughout your stay you move your stuff from one locker to another 20-30 times before someone finally steals them. People love to steal shit from hospitals. Cotton balls, surgical masks, YOUR clothes. Besides, they give you a gown to wear. It's all good.


4. Bring as many relatives and friends as you can. You will need the support. The nurses and doctors enjoy having rooms packed full of people. It makes them look like their hospital is the 'cool place' to hang out, just they are on most soap operas.




5. While they're rolling you down the hall and you reach the holding room for surgery, entertain your roommates waiting to be Ginsu-ed with rousing renditions of Don't Fear the Reaper, Knocking on Heavens Door and my personal favorite, Highway to Hell. Nothing is so uplifting as song when you're going into surgery.





6. Let the doctors and nurses know you have read every article on Wikipedia and Web MD about your ailment and procedure. Better yet, bring in all the articles because these doctors might need some points of reference. It's been a while since they were in med school.....





7. Always ask for the porn channel during an overnight stay. Hospitals are BORING without the porn channel. Don't let them tell you they don't offer it. They do. You just have to be really insistent. Fecal tossing is a great way to get what you need.

8. Wash your privates. Yes, it needed saying AGAIN. You're genitals are disgusting. Scrub the shit out of them. And if you DO have shit in and around your genitals, what's wrong with you?

9. Do not tease about contracting Ebola. A few months ago it WOULD have been funny but today people have no sense of humor. It IS okay to ask if the emergency protocol suit worn by the medical team in case of Ebola is sexy. Here's proof that there is one such suit.....

Wednesday, October 22, 2014


The Worst Scary Stories Never Written: Yet.....



I know a few things about scary horror stories. So take my word for it, if these stories are ever written; the great horned beast will rise from his trappings of Hell (which is probably a disgusting scripted reality show starring the Kardashians) and from his belly will brew a noxious fart that when unleashed from his pert sphincter, shall envelop the earth, raping your nostrils and clawing through your throat.

Only then will you truly understand the beasts Biblical rage and you will giggle! For the beast cannot properly digest queso dip.

His evilness is lactose intolerant. 

Enjoy the list and feel free to add to it!!

  •          Digging up Mommy
  •           I was Haunted by Chas Bono’s Breast Fat

  •          Children of a Lesser Corn
  •  
  •          The Monster that Wouldn’t Come Out of the Closet
  •          Black Cats- Racist Witches

  •          Eating for Two -You and Your Tapeworm
  •  
  •          I Sold My Soul for a Kia Optima (Better Gas Mileage)

  •          The Sandwich that Wouldn’t Be Eaten
  •          Why Black isn't Always Beautiful (The story of 
    •     Frostbite)
  •  
  •          Why Grilled Cheese will NEVER Talk

  •           Grammy put Pappy in a Home Because He's Going to 
    •     Die... and I Helped!

Friday, October 17, 2014

Mongols and Aliens and Dinner Oh MY!


Mongolian Beef
 
 
“What shall we do with him father?” ten year old Lok asked as he edged closer to the trap set by his father.
Cong grabbed his son’s thin shoulder and pulled him close. As a millet farmer in this small
Chinese village, Cong was more accustomed to gathering crops than creatures.  
“He may have allies hidden within the landscape. Where there’s one there are usually many.”
“Shall we string him up to warn the Mongols?  To set an example?”
Cong placed a calloused finger over his lips. “Hush your mouth. He may understand you.”
“How can such a creature understand our words? Look at him.” Lok picked up a stick and poked the interloper in the belly, stirring a pig-like grunt.
“He is simple.”
Seizing the stick from his son’s hand Cong cautioned “Simple or not he could be dangerous.”
“Where is his clothing? Has he no shame?”
 “A clever ploy” Cong replied while scratching his chin, “to silently attack us like the tiger.”
Lok’s curiosity refused to waver.
“I’ve never seen a Mongol before. Their heads are so round. His skin is like ash. And just look at his bulbous black eyes. They’re nothing like us. They’re ugly.”
The invader shook the heavy bamboo bars of his cage and screamed. The noise pierced the otherwise quiet countryside.
Lok retrieved his stick and beat the top of the makeshift prison and hissed.
“Silence you ugly beast” commanded Cong. “We don’t need any more of your kind here.”
Cong knelt in front of his prisoner to study him further.
“We’ve been lucky my son. This village has yet to feel the command of the Mongols. We have never laid eyes on the Nomadic faces of the invaders. I’ve prayed that we would be free from their oppression, but it seems the gods have other plans.”
A long slender arm reached for the stick as Lok continued to beat on the bamboo cage.
Exasperated at his son’s childish nature and the ungodly wails of the invader, Cong snatched the stick from his son and flung it into the surrounding millet field. Instead of landing with a thud on the soft dirt, it echoed with a hard, startling crack.
Both father and son stared at each other, trying to decipher the unfamiliar sound. Without a thought, Lok ran through the towering millet.
“Get back here foolish boy! You do not know who may lurk in the fields, waiting vengeance for his imprisoned kin.”
Lok appeared from the millet. “Father! This Nomad rides alone on a metal horse the likes I have never seen.”
Cong ventured into the field, inching closer to the strange metal horse that lay derelict on a patch of crushed grain. 
“Can I touch it father?”
Cong shook his head. “No. This could be a trap.”
He examined the wreckage a little more closely.
“It is said the Nomads have captured blacksmiths from various lands and forged extraordinary armor and weapons of destruction.”
Forgetting his own warnings, Cong cautiously attempted to touch the sleek grey metal. The prisoner’s screams quickly drew his hand back.
Father and son ran toward the cries.
The captive had grown feral, violently hurling himself into the bamboo bars and shrieking in an exotic tongue.
Lok retrieved a larger stick.
“I am afraid father. What do we do now?”
Cong withdrew a blade from his waist band. “We fight for the freedom of our village son. He is one lone Mongol.  We are many.”
Once again he knelt in front of the naked grey man wailing in front of him.
“Besides, our village has been without meat for so long. It is said Mongolian beef is a delicacy. I think it is about time we give it a try.”

 

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Split Personality- Ladies, Meet Your Inner "Corky"



The Zen of Becoming a Kinder, Gentler Asshole


Corky


HEADLINE:  Post marriage, women develop and spew from their loins their “Inner-Corkies.”   It’s not as romantic as it sounds so let me explain.  Before I got married, I got along pretty well by myself.  I became an educated women, I got a job and successfully problem solved tasks from the mundane to the bizarre.  But once I married, something… changed.   It was ME, but only in my husband’s company.   See, occasionally, I morph into a mentally impaired Cro-Magnon-like dude named Corky who proudly displays twelve pair of underwear on his head and has a disembodied penis as an imaginary friend.  In case you’re wondering, I don’t know his imaginary penises name. We haven’t been properly introduced. Once provoked, my alter ego comes on me like sperm on a colossal set of fake tits-- hot and fast.

One evening the sprayer/hose from the kitchen sink leaked and my husband asked me, quite seriously,

“Hey, there’s a leak in the sink.  Did you use the kitchen hose correctly?” 

HUH? Did I use the hose CORRECTLY?   What the hell does that mean?  My body writhed, my face and neck twisted and contorted like a newly hatched alien baby and with a violent shake of my middle finger, out popped Corky. 
Holy shit! 
Where did he come from?  
My inner being was trapped while Corky started drooling and spraying himself with the hose.

“How Corky not know how to use water sprayer? Corky love water. Ha, ha, ha. Corky wash dishes in toilet next time.  Spray face, spray face!  Corky no use hose no more.   Water sprayer too complex for Corky.  Bad Corky!”

It really doesn’t help that my inner Corky sounds like cookie monster on crack when he speaks…

And what did my husband think of Corky? He acted like he hadn’t even noticed the outburst.  WTF?  Corky eventually reabsorbed back into my vagina.  Why does everything come in and out of my vagina?  Whatever.  It’s never long until he expels himself from my crotchel region again.

Just yesterday, I was driving with my husband and it began to rain. He glanced over at me and sighed as if I hadn’t noticed the changing weather.

“It’s raining. You know, you need to turn on the wipers and your lights?” 

With that, my head twitched and my body trembled.  This time I didn’t bother fighting the inevitable.  I opened my mouth and let out a scream that would have impressed the metal singer blaring on Sirius radio.  With the zest of a crisp fart breaking on leather seats, Corky exploded into the driver’s seat, ready and willing to navigate the car through the rainfall.

“Lights go on, off, on, off, on, off, on, on, on, on.  Corky want to lick wipers.”  With a maniacal laugh, Corky bashed his head on the steering wheel 10…20…40 times. 

“Beep, beep, beep.  Corky crash into house and kill us both.  No more need for lights. HAHHAHAHAH!”

You know, for being such a sped, Corky has some pretty good ideas.
              
The only time Corky doesn’t show up is when we’re having sex.   I’m a friggin guru then.  Some days, I just wish my inner Corky would pop out right when we’re about to ‘do it.’  

I can picture it now, “What this? LUBE? Corky love lube.  It Minty!”  

I can picture Corky snatching the lube and squeezing half the tube in his mouth.

“Make tongue numb.  HA HA!  What you doing?  Why you hand in you pants?  What you taking out of pants?  Uh uhh!  No, no.  Corky not put that in mouth!  Mom told me to say, ‘no!’   Get that away.  It smells like pee.”   

If Corky had a vagina, I could hear him laughing hysterically if he accidently queefed. 

“Ha, Ha!”  Corky make noise with Jayjay.  Make laugh.”  QUEEEEEEF   “Corky make pretty music with front butt.   Queef, Queef, Queeeeeeffffffffffffff!”   I can imagine him queefing to the tune of Yankee Doodle or something just as melodic from Queensryche. 

So, when you’re husband stares at you like you’re some crack-head dipshit, who eats with her feet and waxes stray cat’s assholes- just embrace your inner Corky and expel the crazy bastard from your vagina. Trust me, you’ll feel much better. Plus, you know you don’t have enough bail money for murdering your spouse and with your complexion you’d look like hot hell in prison orange.

Thursday, October 9, 2014

Men of Silver


This story is for the uber SUPER Geeks. You know who you are......


Check out Randommization.com   for more cool pix!
Men of Silver 

“Jeez Louise, think you could turn the heat up in here?  It’s freezing.” Bruce Wayne grumbled, wrapping his old cape around his shoulders.

Clark Kent yawned. He’d heard this gripe from his former team mate before, “How many times do I have to tell you, you old bat, there isn’t a thermostat in the Fortress.  You always underdress. Put on my slippers. They’ll warm you up.”

Bruce starred at his host, the prior Man of Steel and leaned forward in his own recliner.

The awkward silence and eventual one word answered that followed said it all, “Who?”

Agitated, Clark stripped off his identity suppressing bi-focals and rubbed his less than super-eyes.

“What do you mean, ‘who’?  I didn’t say anything that required a ‘who’ for an answer. What are you now, a damned owl? ”

Confused, Bruce pointed a finger at himself.

“No Clark. I’m Batman. Remember?” he sucked his dentures, “It’s okay. I forget who I am sometimes too. Luckily, someone stitched my name in my underwear,” he said, still pointing to his chest.

Clark patted his addled friend’s hand and sighed.

“Yes, Bruce. I know you all too well. We’ve fought many battles together. Remember the epic war with Darkseid? You were magnificent in that encounter. By the way, I ran into Darkseid at the Justice League Retirement Community. He’s still a prick but with the glaucoma and osteoarthritis, his once forbidding Omega Beams are only good for warming his cocoa.  Plus, it’s hard to get around in a nano-second when you’re riding a hover-round.”

Bruce laughed. Clark missed listening to his old comrade’s laugh. He enjoyed reminiscing about the good old days where the good guys always vanquished the bad guys.

Bruce eagerly chimed in.

“Oh and you know who else is still hot?” he solicited with a bony elbow to Clark’s weakening arm- apparently not hearing any of the conversation.

Lois Lane. I would have had a shot with her if it wasn’t for Superman,” he leaned in and whispered, “I did touch her boob once.”  

Clark balled up his fist, but resisted to follow through with a strike. Instead, he snatched up Bruce by the arm in a less-than-powerful grip.

“I think it’s time for you to go home Batboy.”

Bruce slowly rose from his chair.

“Wow time sure flies. Tell Alfred to bring the Batmobile around.”

“Alfred’s dead, Bruce. He’s been dead for over 20 years,” Clark snipped, no longer in the mood to circle the planet known as memory lane.

“I think he’s stealing my silverware,” Bruce hissed, shaking a gloved finger in Clark’s face, “I know he’s been hiding my things. Yesterday, I found my codpiece in the breadbox. I should fire him.”

Ushering Bruce out the fortress door Clark rolled his eyes which accidently set fire to couch. After a wicked coughing spell brought on by emphysema, the Man of Steel finally managed to blow out the flames with his icy breath.

“Damn cataracts,” Clark griped.

Knowing his old friend would need assistance traveling home he enlisted a fellow superhero to be his traveling companion. Clark pulled Bruce close and practically screamed in his ear.

“Bruce, Alan is going to take you home. You remember Alan Scott? A.K.A Green Lantern?”

Alan offered an outstretched hand, “Good to see you Bruce. It’s been too long.”

“Oh Alan, Alan Scott. Rumor has it you’re now one of those queers, right?”

Clark hung his head. But Bruce persisted.

“I had to have this discussion with Robin so I’m going to have it with you too. I just need to get one thing straight…ME. Got it?”

Alan bit his lip. The likes of the Joker and Penguin had been his arch nemesis in the past but now the villains resided within him disguised as years of concussions and the ravages of dementia. He was then and now the Dark Knight. He forced an awkward smile.

“Good, now take me home. I’m freezing my bat balls off. Clark, why don’t you turn on the heat? Your Fortress is as cold as the White Witches tit,” he snickered. 

Alan shot Superman a befuddled look. Clark waved and shuffled back inside. Patting Green Lantern’s shoulder, Bruce grinned and shouted, “Up, up and away!”

And with a single invocation to the Earth and a lick of green flame both Batman and Green Lantern were gone.

Clark dropped in his recliner and closed his eyes.

“That was my line…I think.”

Monday, October 6, 2014

Clam Chowder Recipe- Excerpt from my Upcoming Cookbook


Clam Chowder


When I was a youthful blasphemer, two sexually retarded Jehovah’s Mormons sashayed on my porch expecting to find me vulnerable, in compromising positions and knee deep in sin. And damn it, they did.  While sucking down bourbon mixed with… bourbon, those clean cut boys stuffed my thong with pamphlets, (I found that odd but I went with it), and inquired if I had accepted Jesus as my personal savior. Well, I couldn’t lie, because I had accepted Him.  Hell, I invited him over for cocktails.  He was perched upstairs at my wet bar nursing a Bloody Mary and giggling over Scientology…and the fact he was drinking a Bloody Mary.  He’s funny as all shit that Lord and Savior, but a bit touched by more than the “Holy Spirit,” if ya smell my drift.  These Je-Mormons asked to come in to talk about Jesus, but I didn’t think it was proper since He was right upstairs and has that “super hearing” and all. So I politely slammed the door on them. After a rousing game of titty-twister with a few of the less popular Apostles,  Jesus and I had a good laugh at the poor defenseless bible beaters expense and had this dish for a reverent dinner. Sometimes, I like to serve this with those yummy crackers they pass out during Mass. To quote Andy Griffith, “Mmm...mmm.  Good Cracker.” They’re also nice when you run out of tortilla chips to dip in salsa.  Everything’s better with salsa, except for this chowder……


Ingredients

  • Drizzle of olive oil
  • 1 Tbs. butter
  • 4 stalks celery diced
  • 1 bag frozen diced onions (don’t ask me for the fresh equivalent cause I don’t frigging know)
  • 2 bay leafs
  • Salt and pepper
  • A half cup of white wine
  • Ass load of peeled and diced potatoes
  • 1 nice size frozen fish filet without skin and bones
  • 1 bottle of clam juice (approximately)
  • 5 cans of minced clams (reserve the liquor) It’s called LIQUOR because clam piss would be off-putting.
  • 1 can of chicken broth (approximately)
  • ½  cup heavy cream
  • Sprinkling of seasoning (salt to taste)

Place a big ole’ pot on medium heat and add the drizzle of olive oil and tablespoon of butter.  Salted?  Unsalted?  Who gives a rats ass, it’s only a tablespoon.

Dice up all your veggies, celery, onion and potatoes.  Plot the first two ingredients in the pot and let sweat. Ooooh yeah, sweat baby sweat. Once sweaty and disgusting add ½ cup of white wine. Let reduce for 5 minutes or something.

Throw the diced taddies in the pot. Don’t be gentle! You have no idea the lives those potatoes led before besmirching your kitchen.

Toss in bay leafs (or is it, leaves?  Hummmm…), salt and pepper.

Pour in bottle of clam juice and all the LIQUOR from the minced clams and can of chicken squeezings just enough to cover the potatoes.  That’s why in the ingredients it reads (approximately). See, I’m not as stupid as I read…     

Add the fish filet once the potatoes began to get soft and flaccid, heh heh heh. Dump in the clams and let them mingle with the rest of the party.

Pour in 1 cup light cream. Do I have to tell you to stir it? Well, okay then, stir it…ya sheep. Taste for seasoning.

Serve with some bread, oyster crackers or communion wafers. Okay don't get all uptight. They don't HAVE to be blessed wafers. Killjoys.
 
 
Check out someecards.com for the one YOU love.....
 

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Using Big Ben Rothlisberger to Get My Cookbook Published


The Steelers win to the Superbowl (over 3 years ago) has helped me decide just how my cookbook is going to be published. Im going to accuse Big Ben of touching me inappropriately in the frozen pizza isle of Giant Eagle. Here is my direct quote to Star Magazine…

In my best Pitssburgh ackscent,

“I was in da Giahant Igle, jus mahdin mah own bizness. Ah was Bahin some Jumbo and made mah way over to da frozen pizza section and Ben Rothlisberger came over and asked if ah liked pepperoni or sawsage. He wasnt tawkin abaht on mah pizza, datswhat he calls a ladies 'special parts'. Ah tole Ben he shud be shamed ah hisself, disgracing me in the Giahant Igle like dat. Ah kin never watch the Stillers again. I am traumatized to go into another Giahant Igle for fear of Ben ogling mah pizza.  He tainted my feelins towards Jumbo too. “  

Without Accent
“I was in the Giant Eagle, just minding my own business.  I was buying some Jumbo and made my way over to the frozen pizza section and Ben Rothlisberger came over and asked if I liked pepperoni or sausage.  He wasnt talking about toppings on my pizza. Thats what he calls a ladies special parts.  I told Ben he should be ashamed ah himself, disgracing me in the Giant Eagle like that. I can never watch the Steelers again. I am traumatized to go into another Giant Eagle for fear of Ben ogling my pizza. He tainted my feelings towards Jumbo too." 

Yinz think dis will work?

My Top 15 Children’s Books by Functioning Addicts


TOP 15 Children’s Books by Functioning Addicts

1.        My Daddy’s in Jail Because he Touched Me

2.       What to do When Your Imaginary Friend Goes into Rehab

3.       So You Want to Join A Gang?

4.       The Little Penis that Couldn’t

5.       My First Prostitute

6.       When Good Beer Goes Bad

7.       Dr. Seuss Shit in My Hat

8.       The Jungle Juice Book

9.       Superfudge, Highway of Love

10.   Clifford, the Big Engorged Liver

11.   Dick in Jane’s Sphincter

12.    Earning Your Red Wings: A Dot to Dot Coloring Book

13.   “A” is for Anus

14.   Kleo the Chlamydia Ridden Koala

15.   Poop Schutes and Ladders  (Okay, it’s a game.  So what?)

I deleted this accidentally.....ooops.

This is what I look like. Taken before there was color film. Yep, I'm ancient. My house didn't have a bathroom or WALLS so I had to squat where ever I could squat. Thank you Johnny Hargnett for waiting till I pulled up my pants to take the pix.  Always the gentleman.



Wednesday, October 1, 2014

To blog or not to blog....who really gives a damn?

Today, my imaginary friend John Monaco suggested that I start a blog. Now, I don't always listen to my imaginary friend because I've been burned by his "suggestions" many times before. Petco did NOT think blasting R Kelly on my ipod and spraying vanilla pudding all over the animals tanks and cages on Valentine's Day while screaming 'Critter Orgy' was funny. I will be allowed back in Petco April-ish of 2019....maybe.
 
That debacle aside, I've decided to start this BLOG. I'm thinking of writing about sports, politics and a little Malaysian kid named Sven. Nevermind, Sven doesn't dig sports. He had a rock that he used as a soccer ball but the family ended up eating it. Hard times for Sven.
 
I have named my blog, Ruschelle Dillon's- Puppets Don't Wear Pants.  Because...well....they don't.  No self respecting puppet would ever don a pair of dungarees. And if they do, they're a Commy. Did I spell that correctly?  Ehh...I don't care. You smell my meaning.
 
This is where you kids come in.  I need stroked. In other words, I need people to read what spews from my herpies riddled lips. Don't worry, I'm not contagious....anymore. I can't promise class but I can promise entertainment. If you are easily offended this is not the place for you. Just thought I'd put that out there because there's ALWAYS someone who is offended. Yeah probably, YOU. Go watch some Holly Hobby videos or something...but leave this deliciously devious blog alone...or I'll tell my mommy!
 
What to expect here?  Well, humor, videos, stories, events, reviews etc.  Whatever I want to post- cause this is my blog bitches! And when I say "bitches" I mean that in the sweetest way possible.
 
Any readers out there other than Batman?
 
 

My Horror Tree Interview with THE Theresa Derwin

Feast your bleeding eyeballs on this enlightening yet humorous interview with Theresa Derwin.  Definitely an author to watch. https://...