Tuesday, December 13, 2016

The 2016 Dillon Critter Christmas Letter

Narrated in Morgan Freeman's voice by Quincy
Interjections of frequent harassment by Igor and Yeti
Written in Santa's warm Christmas blood by the cats; Moby, Poe, Fathead, Lily, Petunia, Beepers, Mama, Splave and Shocky


We've decided that each one of us are going to share with you a little bit of what we are thankful for this holiday season, and maybe offer you a Christmas list of crap we want you to buy us. We're not proud. The asshole cats will go first. Why? Well, they won the Yeti toss. I wanted to call HEADS because Yeti has such a big fat skull but nooo...Igor wanted tails. Why do I listen to him? Damn half-breed chug.

Igor the Damn Half Breed Chug


Shocky: What I am thankful for this holiday season is our Savior, the Man with the Plan. President elect, Donald Trump! He's gonna build a wall with his tiny- yet ever so soft hands.

Shocky- Republican



Igor: *sigh* And where will this wall go?


Shocky: Don't you follow political religion? The wall goes all the way to Mexico which is the gateway to hell. That's what Beepers says.


Quincy: Beepers also thinks Satan lives in her sphincter and every time she craps she's birthing shit demons. That's why she won't bury her poop. She's doesn't want them to have to fight their way up from the litter to conquer the world. Stop listening to that crazy-ass cat!
Voice of Reason



Splave: I am thankful for the food bringers. I just wish they would wear gloves when they prepare my food. I know where their disgusting hands have been. And to top it off, they attempt to touch ME with their filthy fingers. But they don't realize their touch is like acid! And it burns, it BURNS!! I need Santa to bring some antibacterial soap.
Splave- Reaching for the Anti-Bacterial Soap


Igor: Maybe Santa has a sack full of therapy for ya, Splave.


Petunia: Psst...wanna know what I'm thankful for this holiday season? Meet me down stairs next to the fresh pile of puke next to the washer. Don't make eye contact with anyone.


Yeti: Quincy, Petunia is selling drugs again down by the puke pile.


Yeti- the Snitch



Petunia: Snitch!!!

Quincy: Shut up you two, we're doing a nice Christmas letter here! Mama, you're up...


Mama: What I'm thankful for this holiday season are the lights. They are sooo pretty. And for sparkly brown crayons and balls of ham.
Mama- Dreaming of Holiday Ham Balls



Quincy: (Shaking his furry head) I'm glad she's got looks because she be stoo-ped.


Beepers: Not thankful. Must...kill....everyone....
Beepers- Homicidal

Quincy: Goddamn it Beepers. You forgot to take your medicine again, didn't you?  Next!


Lily: What I am thankful for this holiday season is the huge hooded litter box smack dab in the living room! Mom was sick of me pooping and peeing on the dog's pee pads on the living room floor and me rolling them in a ball when I'm done- and because I roll them in a ball I fling turds all over the carpet. In my defense, Petunia and Beepers, who RULE the basement are PSYCHO. Every time I go down there to use one of the 6 litter boxes, those bitches are always harassing me. Beepers ambushes me with a turkey baster as soon as I plant my ass in the box and Petunia attempts to sell me catnip, balls of ham and heroin. I can't even take a shit in peace. I'm sick of it. Dammit, I can't be her only client.
Lily- Her Eyes 'All-Aglow' While Staring at her Private Litter Box.


Fathead: What I'm thankful for is not having died from THE AIDS.
Doesn't have "the Aids"

Igor: Fatty, you don't have THE AIDS, you have a just have an issue with your white blood cells. Nothing more. You're on meds. You're fine.


Fathead: Who made you a doctor? And, worse yet, I think I found blood in my stool.


Quincy:  You ate a can of red beets, dumbass.


Fathead:  Should I ask Santa for a prescription for Percocets and an anal thermometer for Christmas?


Petunia: Psst..Fatface....meet me in the basement at the 3rd litter box in 20 minutes. Bring cash.
Petunia- Drug Lord



Quincy: Oh my god... Petunia get your dealing ass back in the cellar. Poe you're up next.


Poe:  I'm glad that I am an only fur-kid here with mom and dad!


Quincy: Umm..wait a minute dude. There are 9 of you goddamn cats and 3 of us pups in this house.

Poe: Oh yeah. Sure, sure. Hey, ah...you think Santa would bring me some heavy duty garbage bags, a hacksaw and a woodchipper?

Poe-Asking for a Wood Chipper this Christmas


Quincy: Jesus Poe, No! You're getting as bad as Beepers.

Poe: Fine. *grumbling in some stupid cat language to himself.* I guess I don't need the garbage bags....

Moby: I'd like to be thankful, I really would, but 2016 was one shitty year. I lost my job at the factory and my wife of 36 years left me for this stray Angora with a man-bun. 32 of my 40 children are hooked on drugs; thanks Petunia. And the vet just diagnosed me with chronic yarn-in-the-ass syndrome from, get this, eating yarn! Now, how the hell is that's MY fault?

Igor:  Moby, you are so full of shit...and yarn. You're a cat, none of the above has happened.

Moby: It could have...
Moby- None too Happy from Contracting 'Yarn-Ass'



Quincy: God help me. Yeti, you're up...

Yeti: I'm thankful for the bed in mom and dad's room. It's so soft and cozy. I get so excited while digging a hole in the comforter; for what reason...I don't know. And once I spin around 20-30 times in the fluffy blankets it takes no time before I just...just...ZZZZZZZZZ.

Igor: The little bugger has turned narcoleptic. Yo, dumbass. Wake up!


Yeti: What...what happened? Did I fall asleep again while talking about being all snuggled up in mom and dad's beee...ZZZZZZ.


Quincy: Let him sleep. He adds nothing to this Christmas letter anyway. What about you Igor? What are you thankful for this holiday season?


Igor:  I'm thankful for the same crap as always- you know; a warm home and good food. It's nice to know that mom and dad let us get in touch with our roots and encourage us to be WILD dogs, occasionally letting us hunt for our food. In our neighborhood, there are a lot of prey to let loose on.  We ate the dickhead neighbors last month. They were way behind on their rent and their kids were fat little bastards who shouldn't have been in the gene pool anyway. We did the landlord and society a favor. Man, that George Foreman grill really comes in handy. It drains off all the Dorito and Mountain Dew flavored fat and leaves only the clean taste of buttery shrimp ass and tears. Oh and I'm also thankful for the ability to lick my ghost nuts. I'm psyched that I'm still limber.


Quincy: Dammit, you took what I was thankful for!


Igor: Heh, heh, heh...


Quincy: You're such a dick, Igor. Well, I'm ALSO thankful for another Christmas letter in the books. This 'being thankful' shit is exhausting. So Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Great Balls of Kwanza and may 2017 not suck as much as 2016.


Merry What-the-fuck-Ever!!!!





















Thursday, December 1, 2016

Black Friday Bitches

So I went Black Friday shopping and stopped at Victoria's Secret. Why? Well, I had to pick up a few things....for a friend.

Honestly, I hate going into that store. The "Bra Specialists" stalk you with talk of finding your perfect fit. Okay, number one, what schooling do you need to become a "Bra Specialist?" Is it a four year program? Can one eventually get their Masters in Tittology? All I can say is...bitch better have some sort of degree. And TWO, there is no damn thing as a 'perfect fit.' It's a goddamn bra! Bra's suck.


Plus, the staff hovers. Come on! My head is the same size as my boobs. So when I try the bras on my noggin in the middle of store, I don't really need a "specialist" looming over me, treating me like I'm some sort of sped. Shut up. It works for me and that's all that matters.


Red makes me feel sexy!


While slogging thru the deep throng of whiny bitches, I happened across a door busters sign on gutichies that were pretty damn nice. And apparently every other cheap gutchie loving bitch did too. The estrogen and Vickie's odoriferous perfume line were so thick I couldn't even get near the display.


Luckily, since I had my thinking-cap on  *see above photo* I scurried out of the store and purchased a small cup of pretzel bites from Auntie Anne's Pretzels. Now, I'll admit, I was a bit hungry but I had other plans for those greasy little nuggets.


After munching on a few of them, I snuck the cup back into the store- in my purse- which is perpetually open because I'm too lazy to snap it shut.


I pushed my way through scary mother/daughter panty shoppers, twelve-year-old baby hookers in training and grandmas with fantastic body image to the round display of panties. Unfortunately for me, there were hands everywhere. Every time I'd grab for a sliver of silky fabric, another hand would pluck it from under my fingertips.

It was time to bring out the big guns or in this case, the bite sized guns. Acting as though I was picking something off the floor, I tiltled my purse so the pretzels precariously perched in my purse bounced and rolled all over the carpet.

The sight of those rogue pretzels co-mingling on the floor with all the lint, glitter and body dysmorphia birthed fear in those women's eyes. But there was one chick who pointed a manicured nail at the doughy buggers and really chummed the panty-lined waters. In a thin, cartoonesque voice she screamed, "CARBS," causing the horde of gutchie glomming females to dart in all directions while leaving me to the unfettered and attainable spoils.

Bwahahahahaha!

My Black Friday experience suddenly became...delightful!

I chose my cheap-ass panties in peace. Isn't that what the day after gorging yourself with great quantities of food is all about; peace and love and new panties?

Say what you want about my tactics but honestly, it was all Auntie Anne's doing. She's the real bitch here.


Tuesday, November 15, 2016

My LAST Bloody Valentine



Noah has parted the Red Sea in my pants for the last time!

I have mopped up my final feminine crime scene investigation! 

Red Elvis....has evacuated my vagina!   Elvis was the name of my monthly hemoglobular expulsion.
:
:
And it's AWESOME.


Yep, this female was deemed privy for a procedure called, ABLATION. Let me Wikipedia that for you....

ABLATION
noun
  1. the surgical removal of body tissue.
  2. the removal of snow and ice by melting or evaporation.
                        SOURCE: The internet.....duh.
So I had either tissue removed or they tossed salt and cinders through my vagina. Damn, looking back on this, I hope it was the first one...

Okay, I'm pretty sure the first one. I remember seeing a little crème brulee torch they would use to burn off my uterine lining.

Holy shit, maybe they DID do number 2. Salt and sugar look the SAME!!!

Ah whatever.

All I know is I will no longer experience the sensation of a massive clot the size of a can of Thanksgiving cranberry jelly dropping-it-like-it'- hot at the most inopportune time in my drawers.


Now, for some woman, this monthly ritual is embraced and considered beautiful. It reminds them that they are goddesses with the ability to bring life into the world. There are woman out there creating art with their menses- standing over canvases and letting their sloughed off cells, mucus and blood, develop into works of art! Like finger painting but....without fingers or paint....

Damn hippies.

Me, on the other hand, I am just DONE. I'm done being a fertile female. I'm done hollering "thar she blows" as my white whale spews chunks from my tired blow hole. I. am. done.

Am I grossing you out?

Yes?

Good. Now you know how most women feel every goddamn month.

You're welcome.

So...how did surgery turn out, you ask?

Well, other than the inevitable stench of BBQ every time I have to pee...I'd say it went pretty well.

I wanted to use my blogging abilities to educate woman who no longer wish to experience hot magma exploding from their vaginal volcano.

So, I have created a few tips to get you thru your own ablation or hysterectomy.

1. Do not stuff a raw piece of meat in your vagina with a note that reads "I could have become someone." It IS funny, but not to everyone. Killjoys.


2. Do not ask them right before surgery if they'll also take 'a little off the top' while they're down there and work in a cute circumcision like your idol, Caitlyn Jenner. Again, not everyone shares our sense of humor.

3. Do not ask for your singed uterine tissue or your uterus in a jar. They make you sign a waiver agreeing you won't ask for it. I guess I need a new idea for Christmas gifts this year...


4. Do not braid your 'carpet' into cornrows with colorful beads and request the nurses to sing Buffalo Soldier as they wheel you into the OR. As it turns out, these young nurse don't know all the lyrics to the tune. What the hell are they teaching them in nursing school??


5. Don't tell them you're a 'squirter'. It's really none of their business but the look on their faces when it spontaneously happens is pure gold. GOLD, I tell you! 
           If you don't know what a 'squirter' is watch the classic porno, 'Why he's really named Squirtle: the darker side of Pokémon.'


6. Do not hand the surgeon this ultrasound and ask him if he'll find a new home for 'Chad.' Honestly, Chad will find a new home on his own. The little scamp.


7.  Do not scrawl a note on your girly-parts that reads, "While you're in there, could you please look for my lost car keys..." I woke up with another note that simply read, 'No.'  I'll be damned if I give them a smiley face on their hospital survey.

8.  While in pre-op, when asked your name and birthdate, do not roll your eyes until the whites show, throw your voice to your vagina and growl, "There is no (insert name here) only Zuul." Not everyone shares our love of Ghost Busters. Although, most people do share our disappointment in Ghost Busters 2.

So to recap without boring the BBQ scented piss out of you:

Ablation-GOOD. 

Having fun at your surgeons/nurses expense-BAD. 

Funny as all hell, but bad.





Monday, October 24, 2016

The Christmas Hippo




Ahhh...the Christmas Hippo. It's a little known fact that there was a 4th wise man, who was Not-So -Wise, and 3 days late to the birthday bash ,who asked the Christmas Hippo for directions to Baby Jesuses crib.

Unfortunately, the hippo smelled the gift the Not-So-Wise Man was bringing, which was weed. And everybody knows hippos dig weed. And when the Not So Wise Man refused to share his stash the hippo ate him....and eventually smoked all the weed.

We celebrate the Christmas Hippo because if it weren't for him, we'd be decorating our homes with ganja instead of poinsettia which a 5th wise man sent by FTD.

Another little known Christmas fact by me....and TJ Maxx department store.


Thursday, September 1, 2016

19 Common Phrases and Discussions at Home that Involve My Pets

It's a known fact that we pet owners talk and sometimes have full discussions with our pets. But what you don't realize is that our pets actually understand what we are saying. They just don't give a shit. I thought I'd open the bathroom door to my home so you could experience the conversations my husband, Ed and I have with our pets.


In case you were wondering, (because you haven't read any of the Christmas letters from the critters. Really, it's your loss because they are hilarious) we have 3 dogs; Quincy, Igor and Yeti.
And 9 cats; Moby, Poe, Fathead, Mama, Petunia, Beepers, Lily, Splave & Shocky.

Moby


Please remember them all. There will be a quiz afterwards.


1. Said as Ed and I leave the house for the evening,
"No parties tonight. And don't make a mess. Also, I'll remind you again, I don't care what the cats tell you, it's not alright to watch porn so be good."
I did find a used bottle of Shea Butter hand lotion and tissues shoved underneath the couch cushions one time. They tried to blame Ed. But I knew better. Ed doesn't use Shea Butter.


2. "All of you. Cats and dogs included--stop shitting in the living room! The house is not your damn toilet." To which they flip me off behind my back. Where do they learn this disrespect from? Assholes.


3. "Why do you insist on stopping right in front of me when I walk? Are you trying to kill your mom/dad?" This is said on a weekly basis.


4. "Igor, get that turd out of your mouth! Ed, don't let him kiss you. He's got shit lips."

Igor aka Shit Lips




5. Said as I'm going to work in the morning,
"I'll be back later. Mom has to make puppy and kitty food money. How about you go to work for me and I'll stay home and sleep, eat and fart all day."


6. Me:  "Ed, I found a pile of cat shit in the kitchen covered up under the throw rug."
    Ed:   "Whose is it?"
    Me:  "I asked but no one spoke up. There wasn't a note either so I don't know who it was."


7. Said after I come home after work as the dogs sit in the kitchen waiting for treats,
"Dammit, you didn't do the dishes... again and you expect a treat? I gave you a list of chores and could you complete at least one while I'm slaving away at work?  Nooooooooo."


8. Said after I have just cleaned up two blobs of puke, a puddle of pee, a pile of creamy poop that I accidently stepped in and smeared throughout the house.
"F**k, f**k, fuck, F*****************K. I take you into my home and this is what you do to your mother..." This is followed by crying and drinking. Me, not them.


9. While getting a sloppy kiss from one of the pups (usually Quincy).
"Don't French your mother."
Quincy P.- Thinks he's French


10. Said to any one of the animals on any given day,
"Stop fighting with your brother! He's going to kick your ass and I'm not going to yell at him because I told you to leave him alone."


11. "Quit trying to nurse off your mother. You've been in this house for over 10 years! How old are you, 57?" Said to Petunia who is the kitten to the mother cat Mama and still attempts to nurse from her....and Mama lets her.


12. "Quincy, I let you sleep on my bed and you wake me up by farting in my face? That is so damn rude. I dreamt I was in Auschwitz!" Ed slept right through the stench.


13. "Igor, quit trying to steal your brother's treats. You're being a greedy hog. Just because you horsed down your Dreambone, you don't get another one."


14. "Yeti, what do you have in your fur? Is that cat food? Stay the hell out of the cat food. You're not a kitty. Don't you give me that look. Ed, the damn dog gave me 'the look' again."
Yeti- Giving me 'the look'


15. Said at LEAST 10 times a day,
"Lily, stop cleaning up the pee pads you're making a mess."
Lily "cleans" the pee pads when they have anything on them by piling them in a big ball which rolls rogue turds all over the room and causes the dogs to pee on the piles which drips into the carpet. And I drink, why?
She thinks she's Hazel



16. "Ed, don't sit there on the couch just yet. Don't ask me why.....just....don't."


17. "Awww...come on! Did I just step on a turd? (looks at foot) Yep, it's a turd."


18. "Yeti, why does your face smell like puke. Never mind, I don't want to know."


19. "You all drive me fucking crazy... but I love you."


I'm a sucker for a happy ending.....






Friday, August 26, 2016

Will You Give me a Quote for my Car and a Penis?

I work at an insurance company where I quote automobiles and homes. So when I received a call the other day for an auto quote I wasn't too surprised.  Annoyed, yes, I was playing Mahjongg and kicking ASS but I wasn't surprised. So I feigned enthusiasm while mother-fu*king him under my breath. I know.....it's a gift.


He says his name is Eric and promptly tells me someone is at the door. I hear him babbling about "perfect timing." Whatever dude, answer the door. Hang up while your at it- I really don't care. I can start a new game of Mahjongg or surf Facebook or eat something I found in the back of my desk.


But I didn't get that lucky. Skippy, (I know his name is Eric but he doesn't deserve that name so he is now Skippy) gets back on the line and tells me it was his wife's ex-husband dropping something off.


I think to myself, what do you want me to do with this information? So I say, "Oh okay." But instead of Skippy moving on to discuss insurance, he begins to tell me that the ex-husband is 6-8 foot tall and is a body builder. I also discover that Skippy is only 5-10 and his wife is 5-2. So I guess now I can pick them out of a line up.


My head is saying, "I don't give a hot shit" but my mouth is saying, "Oh. He's a big man."


Skippy continues to tell me that they belong to the same gym and they were in the locker room after a work out and the ex-husband decides to start a conversation with him while they were both buck naked.


I chuckle a little.


He continues on- telling me that he didn't want to look at the dude's penis but was COMPELLED to do so.


I said the only thing that could be said, "Hey, it's human nature. I'd have looked at it too."


THEN, Skippy starts telling me how HUGE this dude's penis is and that he was impressed.


Again, I said the only thing that could be said, "The man's a body builder so I bet it WAS impressive."


After a few more dick comments, (which to my dismay did not include girth or ball circumference)and me not flinching or getting uncomfortable, I decide I was done discussing penises ( I know. I shocked myself too.) and asked him his LAST name so we can begin the quote, to which Skippy hung up the phone!


COME ON!!!
Really?? 


You called the WRONG agency buddy-boy if you were looking to freak someone out talking about penises. For I am the Penis Queen! 


Okay, that didn't sound as good as it did in my head. Anywho...


I will say that the conversation was the highlight of my day. It's not everyday I get to discuss schlongs with potential insureds. It certainly beats playing, 'how old is this HoHo in my desk and should I eat it."


If anyone else should like to call me at work and discuss penises I would be glad to do so. But please, be polite and not call me at home.


The Penis Queen does need her rest.


Sunday, August 14, 2016

Change BAD

My husband Ed cannot handle change. Even the littlest things spaz him out. And lately, I have been doing some crazy things to him that are shaking him to the core.

For example, last week, I bought him different apples. They were out of Jazz apples so I bought these Envy apples.  You'd have thought tried to sell his left nut.

Our guitar player got us a gig in Ligonier which is MAYBE 25 minutes from our house. Ed's response, "In Ligonier? Why all the way out there???"  My response? Did they fucking move Ligonier??? OMG!  Right nut....gone.

Today, I picked up battery powered toothbrushes. Well, these things AND I must be in league with the devil. He says, "Woman, (when he uses WOMAN, I know I'm a totally horrible wife who uses his man parts for soups and stews), Woman, you are pushing me! Pushing me!!!"  Annnnd now I am in possession of his penis.

So change, in Ed- World  is BAD. And I am in possession of all his wrinkly scrotal kibbles N bits.  And I have no damn use for em....I wonder if Ed will want to donate them to the less fortunate. Yeah...I doubt it too.  Change is BAD.

Guess what kind of meat is in the bowl??

Beef ya sick buggers.

Monday, July 25, 2016

When Penises Attack!!

A zombie penis with homicidal tendencies?  Yes please. This 31 page novelette will keep you laughing and gross you out a little at the same time.  It's only 2.99 on Amazon & Barnes and Nobel and it's on Smashwords for even cheaper!  If you dig it, please leave a review. If you don't dig it.....keep it to yourself.  I have enough disappointment in my life......


I think you might like this book – "Bone Sai" by Ruschelle Dillon. Start reading it for free: http://amzn.to/2a7d3iu

Thursday, June 9, 2016

TOP THINGS TO DO IN JOHNSTOWN PENNSYLVANIA



Johnstown Pennsylvania is nestled in the Western wilds of the state. If one were to draw the state of PA (pronounced Pee-AYYE, like the Fonz), in the form of a man, Johnstown would sit dead center in his armpit. Visualize the area’s lush trees and thick vegetation as axillary hair, which is the technical term for "pit pubes."

Fascinating.

Johnstown is home to the steepest inclined plane in the United States (suck it Pittsburgh) and the infamous Johnstown Floods I, II & III (the latter, as is the case with all trilogies, being the lamest). Johnstown is also known for the Historic Stone Bridge, Coney Island Hot Dogs (yum) and for housing the corpses of long dead steel mills which old-timers remember fondly for their living wages, alcoholism and mesothelioma.

Ahh...those were the days.

But that’s not all. Johnstown is home to a few other hidden gems as well.

So if you ever find yourself in Johnstown, what are some things you can do?

For starters, I recommend asking yourself “Why am I in Johnstown”? Chances are the reason is one of the following:

  1. It is late June, and you've been lured by the seductive aroma of motorcycle exhaust and overpriced chicken lips-on-a-stick that accompany the town’s Thunder in the Valley motorcycle event.

Or

  1. It is August, and you’ve followed the sweet sound of music until you found your way into the Flood City Music Fest at People's Natural Gas Park (aka “Fart Park”). Perhaps you even splurged and got the GOLD tickets so that you could use the gender-specific VIP bathrooms! And yes, that is a real incentive.

Or

  1. It is any other time of year, and your drug dealer is having a tough time making bail so he can't make the usual drop off, Wally World (Walmart)- and to make matters worse your ride out of town got twitchy and left you here.


Regardless of your reason for stopping by, you’re here now. You’ve seen what you came to see. What's a tourist to do now? Well, I've taken all the guess work out of it for you.

In no particular order...


1. The Johnstown Flood Museum


    
Nothing says FUN like going to a museum based on a natural disaster! I love the simulated Conemaugh River ride where you dodge huge logs, jump from roof top to roof top to save drowning townsfolk just in time to make it to Polka Fest (on the first weekend in June) where you are rewarded in Perogie* dollars and Haluski** points.


2. Central Park

 

    
Ah, now we’re talking. A metropolitan oasis…778 acres of nature surrounded by tall skyscrapers and visitors from all over the globe. Maybe you can take a horse and buggy tour or even…


Slow down globe trotter. You’re not at THAT Central Park.  Johnstown’s Central Park is a bit more…Johnstowny. You will find some similarities though. Both parks have benches. And at Johnstown’s Central Park you can even sit on one of those benches and take in the glorious sights of single men from the halfway house, begging for money or relieving themselves in the town shrubbery. From noon to 5 pm watch as pregnant females push their strollers with 4 kids in tow, trolling the park in search of baby-daddies and prospective 'hotties'. It's like an exotic white trash wildlife episode.


3. The Tree (Also in Central Park at Christmas time)
Look closely into the tree. You'll find little presents. Oh yeah.

    
It's a 36 ft. Christmas tree decked out in lights that frenetically dance to beautiful holiday music. So after you ooh and ahh over the display, visit all the quaint boutiques and open store fronts. Wait. You say there ARE no quaint shops and boutiques? So, the Cricket Wireless store that sells burn phones isn't an attraction? What about Subway or the liquor store? No? And town closes at 5 pm? The hell you say! But pull back the tree's ornate boughs and you'll be delighted at the surprises that are tucked away. Are they presents for good little boys and girls, you ask? Well, sort of. Nestled in the branches, away from prying eyes of inquisitive little scamps otherwise known as the Po-Po, are tiny stamp bags of DRUGS. Merry Christmas to you Charlie Brown!


4. Sheetz
 
This is the food mecca of this area. It's a 'convenience store and so much more', founded in Altoona, PA (approximately 45 miles from Johnstown). Food items and their wares are given 'the Sheetz touch' by adding a 'SH' to each word. For example, muffin becomes Shmuffin, pizza becomes Shmittza, newspaper becomes Shnewspaper, and gastroenteritis becomes, well, you don’t want to know. They also are the inventor of the M.T.O (S) which stands for a Made To Order (S)andwich. Sometimes it means, Mine's Too Oily and Meat Tainted Oh Shit.  So in Sheetz-speak if you overhear someone saying, "I had dinner at Sheetzese and had some chocolate Shmilk, an M.T.O and a gob*. Stay clear of the Shitters." It means....just that. Stay out of the Sheetz Shitters. Although, when not defiled they are usually pretty damn clean.


5. The Conemaugh River


    
The Conemaugh is as long as the Amazon River in Africa and twice as deep. It holds many exotic creatures like the Reticulated Waterlogged Moccasin (smuggled in from China and rarely found in pairs), the ever buoyant Nut Gobbling Brown Trout and the relatively new species, the Eastern Syphilitic Manatee (which recently migrated from out East, duh). Just why the Johnstown Housing Authority keeps promoting its waterways as a 'fantastic place to live' to these manatees is beyond me. The unemployment rate is pretty high in these parts. And it's a known fact that manatees don't have thumbs or legs...or can't work without 14 cigarette breaks. And don't even get me started with their whining about how they have to stay in the water or they'll die. It's a damn cop out if you ask me.

Johnstown has a few other places to visit but you can discover those on your own while you're riding your hog during Thunder in the Valley or running from the cops for fingering a box of gobs while you wait for Sir Jeffery of Cornwall- who may or may not show up with your, 'ahem,' package at Wally World.


Enjoy your visit to Flood City! Don't say I didn't warn you...

*     Perogie -   Hunky food (I can say that because I'm part Hunky)
**   Halushki - More Hunky food. (Look it up, I'm not doing all the research for you)
***  Gob - -     A dessert with... stuff in it.


AND NOW FOR THE SMALL PRINT---
This is meant as SATIRE. If this article makes your butt hurt I don't wanna hear it. My butt hurts too ya know.







Wednesday, June 1, 2016

The Truth of How Dogs and Cats are Born

We've all been schooled on the birds and the bees. But if you are a pet owner, especially a pet owner of MULTIPLE pets, you know there is ANOTHER way babies are created other than bumping uglies.


It begins under couches, tables and ovens.  Perverted, I know. But that's how animals roll.



Here, you see the beginning of life.  Isn't it precious? Please excuse the chewed up chair rungs. They're often used for teething.




Within a few days eyeballs and teeth begin to form. Look how sharp they are from honing them on the chair rungs. Aren't those little fangs adorable? He's already eating kibble like a big boy.




This next astonishing photo shows when the ball of fuzz begins to grow its sexual organs and we can tell if it's going to be a boy or a girl.  Congratulations! It's a girl. Or a boy with moobs. Umm...yeah, it's a boy with moobs.





The newly metamorphosing creature's internal workings beginning to produce fecal matter. Unfortunately, it's on my kitchen counter. Bad fuzz ball! No pooping on your mummie's counter!





Here I am attempting to teach the fuzz ball how to use the toilet. And to introduce him to his Auntie and Uncle Pubes. Distant relatives I know-- but family is important.





This little guy is learning how to enjoy coffee. He's almost a teenager now. Although I hate it when he sheds in the sugar.







This stupid little bastard got into a fight with one of his siblings over a tank of gas and an unused French tickler and lost his teeth. Dumbass. Here he is rubbing his sore gums with alcohol. He may be drinking it also. At this point, I don't care, he's on his own.




Here, he was dressed up for Halloween as Marilyn Monroe's muff. Although a bit distasteful, he deserves props for creativity. I was hoping he'd dress like a fun-loving Tribble...eh to each his own.




Christmas time!  He made a friend. I know it's an ornament but this particular little dude is kinda...."special."




Here he is with a full set of adult chompers.  Looking good pal!




It's been a long road, but here is the little fuzz ball fully grown! Isn't he handsome? 






Monday, May 30, 2016

Brother from Another Mother

Soooo...I decided to have my hair dyed blue. Not all of it, mind you, just the ends. It's done in the Ombre technique. Look it up, I'm not explaining it to you.

So me and my blue Ombre hair went to market. And while in line to pay for my cheese, eggs, cat food and a box of  tampons, ie. the super suckers ( I'm getting too old for this shit), this dude in his seventies stood behind me and eyeballed my hair. I could smell the judgy-ness oozing from his pours. Well, maybe it was Ben Gay. They both smell the same.

I just smiled at him. It's more lawful than than punching him in the dick. But unfortunately, he mistook my kind gesture as an invitation to pose a question. With a stupid smirk on his lips he pointed to my hair and quipped, "You know you're hair is blue? Why would you do that?"

The cashier, who had large gauges in her ears and an arm full of ink shook her head but let out a polite giggle.

I didn't know whether to laugh with her or just dick punch him like I originally planned. But I decided to take a different approach.

Relaxing my smile to a flat line I slowly cocked my head to the side and whispered, "The transformation has begun. After the death of three full moons the metomorphosis will be complete and then I will be ready to join my sisters and brothers in planning for world domination."

The cashier turned away from us, attempting to bag my meager groceries. I could see the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders. Her composure had been compromised.

The smirk dripped from his lips as he plucked each of his items off the conveyor belt tossing them back in his hand cart. As he opened his mouth to spew some fire and brimstone, I pressed my hand to my breast and bowed my head.

"Your time is coming. And soon you will be one of us. We will welcome you brother."

The old guy pointed his finger at me as he scurried from his place in line and croaked, "You know, you got a real problem."

The smile that I earlier swallowed ripped through my face as if it were an alien spawn. The cashier shook her head.

"That was hilarious. Mean, but hilarious."

As I snatched my bags I walked out of there wondering; was what I did mean? I wasn't nasty to him. I never told him to get bent. I didn't tell him to mind his own friggin business.

I was polite.

I called him 'brother'.

Should I have been less...creative with my retort? Should I have just played nice and let him shoot a few zingers at me? He was in his seventies, I guess the old bugger earned it.

Oh well, it was too late...or was it?

As I drove around the lot I came across the old bastard, I MEAN-- my 'brother.' His car had kissed the vehicle next to him as he was pulling out of his space. It appeared he had no intention to find the soon-to-be-pissed-off driver as he continued out of his parking space-- as if he did nothing wrong. I took the opportunity to pull next to him.

He glared at me.

I gave him the 'eye-to-eye-I-see-you' hand gesture followed by me bowing my head. I placed my hand on my breast and got the hell out of there.

I drove off feeling...redeemed.

My brother's secret was safe with me.

Although, I'm not sure how safe it is with the security cameras...

This hair is not mine...But it's close...sort of....okay not really.

























Friday, May 27, 2016

Warning: Graphic Photo

WARNING photo is graphic.
Left by the side of the road unwashed and unloved.  Forensics have determined he was tossed from a moving car. Although, the cause of death was drug related, possibly heroin.  Narcan was not administered.

 Eyewitnesses say he may have been in the car with an unidentified family member. Possibly a twin.

Please repost this on your page so we can  bring justice to another lost sole.


Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Dick Purse

Young females are stupid.


Okay, not YOU.


But even if I was talking about you, I'd never admit it. I want you to continue reading my blog.


So back to my initial sentence: young females are stupid. And just WHAT makes young females stupid? Booze and weddings of course. Add a few stray penises to the mix and you have the trifecta of glorious feminine stupidity.


Being a musician and a comedian to boot, (Let me clarify, I'm not a stand-up comedian. When I gig in the band I poke fun at people and make crass remarks between songs--- while sitting on a stool. There is nothing stand-up about me. Be it my attempt at comedy or my morals) I was playing a local club where a wedding party came over from the banquet hall next door. This particular gig, I brought my penis puppet, Bone Sai, (which was created to promote my novelette of the same name. Available on Amazon and Barnes & Nobel!) to entertain the crowd. Now, it's not a small puppet. With a shaft as long as your arm, a detailed scrotal sack and a set of huge TEETH... it's quite intimidating. And just WHY did I bring the penis puppet to the gig? Simple, my husband told me not to. Does that answer your question?


*see photo. Ain't he cute? He was being a little camera shy in this pix.



After my first set, I decided to take the penis puppet to the bar to torture the bartender and because I'm somewhat of an asshole.


As I'm wading through a sloppy sea of drunken wedding guests, three chicks were hanging out near the beer coolers. Recognizing them from their ugly bridesmaids dresses, (the bride must have hated her friends and was damned and determined to outshine the fuck out of them) I smiled  and raised my flaccid penis to eye level. The drunkest of the bridal chicks looked at me and then at my penis puppet and asked with a serious beer slur, "Is that your dick purse?"


A dick purse? Goddamn it! Do they even make such a thing? And if they do- where can I get one? What would a girl keep in her dick purse? Is there a more formal one that could be used for funerals. I was intrigued. But instead, I decided to fuck with her.


"No, this is my dick PUPPET. He helps get me free drinks."


I thought my comment would loosen up the drunk bitches and get the shoe horns out of their tight asses. But no.


The same chick slouched against the cooler, gave me the stink eye and said, "Who buys you drinks? Men or women?"


If I wasn't sober I might have thought she was propositioning me. Ehh...she wasn't my type. But I answered her in the snarkiest puppet voice I could muster.
"Both. The guys buy me booze and slick here gets liquid-love from the chicks. We have a symbiotic relationship."

They're faces fell slack. Well...more slack. I think I lost them at symbiotic.
As luck would have it, the bride stumbled over and looked at me like I had just expelled a big wet fart in her general direction. The bride hiked up her boobs which were popping out of her strapless gown and got in my puppets face.

"That is disgusting. It's my wedding day. I don't need to see that...thing."
Now it was my turn to hold my nose in the air. Bitch is in a BAR in her wedding gown, which is DRAGGING on the floor, mopping up spilled beer. I watched as at LEAST 3 people stepped on it.

I could have taken the high-road, but what fun would that have been?
So I rubbed my accused 'dick purse' up against her face.

Her mouth dropped.

So I POLIETLY said, "Keep your mouth open like that and you're sure to get another dick in your face tonight. Congratulations on your nuptials."
In front of Bridezilla sat a stray bowl of popcorn. I promptly shoved my puppets face in it.

The act of my dick puppet eating popcorn must have sent her and her three "always-the-bridesmaid-bitches' over the edge. They all said some unkind things about my mother, (just because some of those things are true doesn't make it any less hurtful) and backed away from me like I had the plague.

I wished the wonderful artist (Nicole Engvall) who created Bone Sai for me would have inserted a tube in it so I could have filled it with apple juice and pissed in her face.
That was a little mean wasn't it? Oh well, it's not like she's gonna read this blog.....


I got the last laugh though. The groom had asked one of my band mates to play a song so they could dance. The look on her face was priceless as she saw me on-stage serenading them.

I'm sticking with my initial assessment.
Young females are stupid.

And have NO sense of humor.
And don't know a sweet penis when they're assaulted by one.


Bitches will learn....eventually.



Thursday, May 12, 2016

WOMAN!!!!

art by Phillie                                                                                                     Cheesie

Intimate discussions between spouses should not be posted all over the internet for the world to see...unless the discussions are hilarious. And lucky for me, my husband offers up some hilarious interaction.

First off, I should be more respectful of my husband Ed’s anonymity, so from here on out he’ll be known as Clive.

So…one evening, I was sitting on the couch, minding my own business, scrolling through cat videos on Facebook, (They crack me the hell up) when Clive strolled out of the bathroom naked, gently cradling a stack of comic books (He does his best reading in the bathroom) and muttering to himself.

As I stared at his nakedness rifling through comic book stacks on the coffee table, I couldn’t help but giggle. He ignored me but continued grumbling to no one in particular.

I thought, “I’ll bite.”

So I asked in my sweet concerned wife voice, “Hey Babe what cha bitchin about? And why are you airing out your balls?”

Clive gave me the LOOK as he does when I ask him things he deems inappropriate but surprisingly answered my question. Although he never did tell me why he was naked.

“I’m having… issues. Bathroom issues.”

Knowing he was in some sort of distress I took an interest in helping him out in some way. I am compassionate…sometimes. Okay, so I might not be delicate in my approach but after years of marriage-- why beat around the bush?

“So you can’t poop?”

Again I got the LOOK. Clive is not a man to discuss bodily functions. He finds it distasteful and crude. I, on the other hand, find them highly amusing. He rolled his eyes and headed back towards the bathroom.

I dug my heels in.

“I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

He doubled back into the living room, voice raised and testicles a-flapping.

“No. I can’t.”

I offered what I thought, was helpful advice.

“Did you drink enough water today? Did you eat any fiber?”

He nodded.

“Did you eat too much cheese or hold your poop in too long? Maybe you sat on something hateful and it got lodged in your ass?”

Ignoring my smart-assed remark, which he does quite often, he simply shook his head no.

“Do want a laxative?”

“No. I do not want a laxative.” He snorted.

I was running out of ideas. “I may have an old suppository that may or may not work. But I’m not inserting it for you.”

Glaring at me now, he roared, “No I don’t want you to shove a suppository up my ass.”

“Good cause it ain’t happening.” I snapped back but I wasn’t finished being ‘helpful.’

 “Did you try grabbing each cheek to spread them out as far apart as possible and just let the poop fall out? I heard lubing up with Crisco helps. I think ours in butter flavored…”

Sufficiently pissed off at me, he bellowed his most famous line to date, “Woman, don’t tell me how to poop!” And he trudged back to the bathroom and slammed the door.

Did he just scream, “Woman, don’t tell me how to poop??” Oh... my... God, that is hysterical. My husband is a damn comedian and he doesn’t even know it!

I may have that line carved on his tombstone when he croaks.

To this day, when I’m baking cookies or see a naked man reading comic books, I can’t help but smile and fight the urge to offer the dude what may-or-may-not be a suppository.

Sunday, April 17, 2016

Beware of Grocery Store Bathrooms

Grocery Store Bathrooms; Where People Take Shits....Rings and Pennies


It was my mom's birthday and WE, my mom, dad, husband and myself, decided to take a road trip to State College PA for some shopping. It was a beautiful spring day and the car ride from the hell hole of Johnstown to Nittany Lion Country was enjoyable; with great conversations and coffee fueled pit stops.


One of the stops we enjoy making is Wegman's. For those of you who aren't "in the know," Wegman's is a large grocery store which has everything.


My mom and I went to the restrooms on two separate occasions. Mom ran into the bathroom as soon as we got to the store. She has a small bladder, shut up.


Once finished, she came out of the stall and washed her hands. She had lathered them up with soap as ALL PEOPLE SHOULD BUT DON'T BECAUSE THEY ARE DISGUSTING CREATURES, and a little Asian woman starts a conversation with her about the wedding rings on my mom's hand.


The woman asks her if the diamonds were real. My mom, being a street smart like Jenny from the Block, tells her, 'No, they are Cubic Zirconia."


The little Lotus pod then proceeded to grab my mom's hand saying, "They no CZ's, I can tell. Those are real. Let me see," all the while attempting to pull them off her finger knowing they would come off easier when wet and soapy.


My mom, bends her fingers making it tougher for the rings to come off and stealthily pulls out a sword that she picked up from the sword and nunchuck section of Wegman's which was right outside the women's room (see I told you this store has everything) and hisses, at the stinky tofu woman, "back off bitch."


Suddenly, the woman does a back flip off one of the bathroom stalls and lands in one of the sinks. She reaches into her purse for her own weapon but pulls out a very nice looking eggplant instead. The allure of Wegman's fresh locally sourced produce enticed even a thieving ninja who passed up ninja shit!



The woman, knowing she had been bested, bowed to my mom and said, "your instrument is quite impressive." (You'll get this if you have watched Kill Bill. If you haven't, fuck it. Just keep reading.)


Okay. I may have EMBELLISHED the story a little.


Guess which part?


If you guessed 'fresh, locally sourced produce,' you may be correct. COME ON! Spring in PA sourcing EGGPLANTS? Please.


Wegman's bathroom story number two. Not...'number two'- as in poop. Number 2 as in numeric. Just so we're clear.


It was my turn to use said 'bathroom.' After I did my thang, I hiked up my jeans, which had shallow front pockets.


Well, a penny fell from a pocket and hit the floor with a resounding PING.


Now, I wasn't in too much of a hurry to pick up the single penny that happened to fall almost between the stalls YET... still on MY side. I was actually debating whether to pick it up at all.


So, as I turned around to flush the commode, a well manicured and be-jeweled hand reached over into MY STALL and picked up the penny. MY PENNY! The penny I had debating whether to retrieve or just leave. YES, THAT PENNY!


I know we have ALL picked up found change. I get that. We feel as if the good Lord smiles on us when we come face to presidential face with some shiny coins. But to pick up a worthless penny that you know DROPPED from the person in the stall next to you is a bit....I don't know....gross!


I mean, how certain was this woman that Abe Lincoln wasn't sporting a beard from a rogue short and curly?


What if the penny had been kissed by some 'hot chocolate rain?' I had a lot of coffee. Okay, so this story WAS a little about 'number two.'


OR what if I was carrying my spare change in my spam purse? (If you don't know what a 'spam purse' is ask anyone but your mom...)


I'll bet you're curious as to what I did when our stall doors opened at the same time and I came face to face with the Thieving Penny Whore.


Well let's just say....what happens in a Wegman's bathroom STAYS in a Wegman's bathroom.


Oh and, by the way, that is not my likeness in the BANNED FROM WEGMAN'S poster. The gorgeous blonde goddess in the poster is holding a flaccid eggplant. I would never be caught dead holding a flaccid eggplant. I much prefer the supple feel of a Daikon radish or unwashed rutabaga.

EWWWWWW............................
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