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 I 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.

Thursday, May 12, 2016


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 he 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 you 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.

Fake News from a Friend

Bigfoot self portrait The President’s dead. That’s what the media proclaims. But there isn’t a body. Rumor has it- he was as...