LAUGHING TIL I CRY

 

Orange Is The New Black

Ummm...No, it's not.

I cannot stand fads. Like Bacon.

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NOT THAT BACON!!! GEEZ!!!!
Besides, he'sa married man.

Anyhoo, I mean this.....

Really?!

NOT NOW, KEVIN!

Seriously?!
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KEVIN, STOP IT!

Shades of New Coke

I now shun bacon, because of the hubbub!

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How To Eat A Chick

First, grab the offending chick by his cute little tail.

Then, bite off his eyes. One by one, so he doesn't see ya coming.

Next, bite off  his little beak. You don't want him alarming all the other chicks.

Then you must bite off his head  and roll that morsel around in your mouth and savor it.

Next you will want to bite off any defects you find.
Bonus! Mine had a bump on his chest. No more!

Then take your headless chick and chew off his little toes.

Next, chomp his body from his tail. Be careful of your fingers.

Lastly, eat his oh so lonely tail.

And that my friends,

I'm the blonde one in the middle!

is how to eat a Peep!

 

The Most Relaxed Fish on the Planet

I love fish tanks. I find them calming and entertaining.
Little fishies swimming back an forth. The sound of the bubbles breaking the surface.

Did I mention that I want one?

No little bitty tank. I want 30 gallons plus!

Georgia Aquarium- Largest in the World- 6.3 million gallons!

But here's the problem.

Fish don't remind me to feed them.

My monkeys have stomachs that are bottomless and they remind me, let's just say constantly.
But, I digress.

Today, meaning Tuesday. I was visiting an assisted living facility and guess what?
Yep! They have a fishtank. Fifty maybe, sixty gallons.
But I don't really recall what type of fish there were and this is why.

There is a floater.
There he is just bobbing away at the top.

I think to myself. "Huh, I don't think people want to be reminded of death in a place like this." So I tell the receptionist that there is a dead fish in the tank. Problem solved, I guess.

So, when I am leaving I see Mister Floaty giving me the ol' white eye. And again I tell the receptionist.

BECAUSE I AM FREAKIN' ANAL!

OKAY!

WHATEVER!

Anywhoo....

She says they have a fish tank service and she will call them, so that they can fish Mister Floaty out.
But, first she gets up and goes to look at the tank.

She's looking at the tank and I can tell she can't see Mister Floaty. Did I mention that Mister Floaty is more than four inches?

She points to the bottom of the tank and says is that the dead one?

 "giant algae sucker", Pterygoplichthys pardalis

And I say....

"Umm, no. The dead one is the floating one."

She says...

"Are you sure?"

You know, she may have a point. I am not a fish doctor.
Though, I bet I could play one one tv.

The Similarities of the Catholic Church and Public Bathrooms

First, let me just say this is not a bashing of the Catholic church.
Secondly, read on.


When I was just an itty bitty chick, I had a mom.
A religious mom.
Sunday school teaching mom.
Catholic Sunday school teaching mom.
'Nuff said.

Anyhoo....

Every Sunday we went to church.
Every Sunday.
My favorite parts were putting my quarter in the offering plate and the jelly donut I got after Sunday school.

OH MY GOSH!!! I get extra good points for not blaspheming right there!

What absolutely drove me nuts, was what I called in my later years, Catholic Calisthenics.

Something like this.

SIT
STAND 
KNEEL
STAND 
SING
KNEEL
SIT
PRAY
KNEEL
STAND
HOKEY POKEY

HECK! I was a little kid. I couldn't fathom the next move.  I was always in a constant state of stress and confusion. And with no air conditioning, a small sweaty state of stress and confusion.
Not to be confused with my current state of confusion.

Anyhoo....

Public bathrooms or Public enemy?

Here is my problem.
Technology.

Do I flush the toilet?
Or does it flush it's self?
Half flush or full flush?
WHAT THE HELL?! THIS ISN'T STARBUCKS!!

Do I flush with my foot?
Where's the flushie handle?
What's that little red blinkie eye thingie?!
Am I being filmed?
WAIT, I'm not done and the damn thing flushed. EW!


Do I pump the soap dispenser?
Or is it automatic?
Is it soap?
Is it hand sanitizer?
Why is there hand sanitizer when the soap is right here?
WTF?!

Water?
Do I turn the handle?
Pull the lever up or down?
Push lever to the right or left?
Jam the button on the top for 5 seconds of boiling hot water?
Holy crow, no handle.
Wave my hands under the faucet?
What's that red blinkie thingie? Am I being filmed?


Do I have to push to get a paper towel?
Or do I have to turn the damn thingie on the side of the dispenser?
Where is the damn thingie?
Is it the automatic evil eye that refuses to give me more than one paper towel no matter how many times I wave my damn hand in front of it?
Wipe hands on pants.
Wait, why is there a red blinkie eye thingie? Am I being filmed?

Or worse!!! That stupid hand dryer.
The big ugly white one with the chrome blower. Sit there for a damn half hour and still have to wipe your hands on your pants.
Or is it the freakin' Dyson? You know the one. Airblade or some sick twisted blowie thing. So if you can stand it to dry your hands you get the bonus gift of deafness.

So, essentially what I am saying is that, with both the church and public restrooms, I get the same thing.

I go in with a fair idea of what is going to happen and come out dazed and confused and well, damp.

My church, back in the day.

 

Let's Stay On Topic, Shall We?

So my last post had to do with public restrooms.
Let's continue this vein of thought, shall we?

I swear to everything you believe in that this happened.
In fact, it happened last month.

I solemnly swear..

Recently, I had the occassion to visit a public restroom in a hospital.
There were three stalls.

Three stalls

It was similar to this, with the exception of the third stall which was the handicap stall. Or as I like to call it, "Mine".

Anywhoo....stall one and three were occupied so I chose the empty middle stall.
I'm clever like that!

Now, as most women can tell you, we try to be discrete as possible. Seriously, it is ridiculous.
As if we all haven't read the book.....

Except me, rose petals, dammit!

They should come out with a book, "Everyone Pees"
I, of course, do not. I water flowers.

Anywhoo....

So, it is deadly quiet.
Quiet.
So, quiet, that if an ant walked across the tile floor, we would think it were tap dancing.
Sniper quiet.
Library closet quiet.
Helen Keller quiet.

Got it, yet? I mean silent.
Snow falling on cotton, quiet.
Bear shitting in the woods, quiet.

Then.....
from the handicap stall....
I hear
the unmistakable
sound
of
a
tampon being unwrapped.

And
I
loudly
and
excitedly
said.......

DID

SOMEONE

BRING

CANDY?!!

 Now, remember that tap dancing ant? 

Well, he must have shucked those tap dancing shoes for house slippers,because it was quiet.

I mean, depths of the ocean quiet.

I mean, far side of the moon quiet.

Meanwhile, I'm in the center stall. Both hands clamped over my mouth and tears streaming down my face.

 

Obesity in America

Not my butt!!

Personally, I am allllll for it!!!

Again, not my butt!

Bring on those fat juicy buttocks!

Not butts, that I personally know.

That's right girls! I want you to pile on those pounds!
I want your cup to overfloweth until you damn near EXPLODE!!

HELL!  I will even buy you a box of Girl Scout cookies!

Yes, yes I would.

NO, THIN MINTS FOR YOU, SISTER!! I want you bursting out of your big girl panties!

You go, Girl!

That's right! Samoas Girl Scout cookies! Alllll for you!

In fact, eat the whole nation of Samoa!!! You can start with this lovely family right here!!

Not my family.

And don't forget to finish up their last meal.

Now, you may be asking yourself...."Self? Why is the Chick on the Big Butt Bandwagon?"
I looked for a picture of a Big Butt Bandwagon and found nada. Humph!

Well, of course, it is entirely self-serving.

It's because I am tall. And I am tired of squeezing in between the toilet paper dispenser and the hanging trashcan on the other side. I am tired of having to damn near straddle the toilet just to close the door behind me in a public restroom. When did they decide to shrink the public stalls to the size of commercial airline lavatories?!

Plenty of room to dance, but no room to pee.

So, Girls. Get BIG, Get Round, Get Fat. The bigger you get, the more room I get.
If you happen to knock out a wall of a stall, all I can say is "Bless you, you Beautiful Behemoth."


 
Ps. Not that I ever have use for a toilet, as only rose petals fall from my butt!
Indeed!

A Fox, a Skunk and a Bowl of Chili- A Fable

I wanted to make chili as the weather had been, well...chilly. 

It is currently 65 degrees, so my timing  is off just a bit.

Not my bowl of chili

Off to the store I go
and on the road I see,
something crossing
in front of me.

I look and squint,
raccoon, I think.
But a raccoon ?
I blink.

Weasel or stoat was my next guess.
It's shining stripe gave way to itself.
A skunk,
 it appeared in some duress.

Not my skunk

Off it shot, from the rumble of my Ranger.
To  the neighbor's cattle pen,
Certain danger!


Young cattle were laying in the warm day's sun.
Quickly they stood, 
eyes open so wide.
When that striped stranger bumbled on inside.

Said striped stranger looked up,
surprised but no anger.
Turned tail and ran off from my ensuing laughter.

Home I come from so far away,
to make the chili for my day.
'Tis quiet and calm as I chop and saute.
Soon broken by dog's loud bay.

Such ruckus they create,
Through the window I see
their object of hate.

'Tis the wily red fox 
in all of his glory
just laying right there
in scorn and not harried.

Not my red fox

I open the door 
to converse with the fox.
"Stay away, young fox."
I did consider throwing rocks.

Wily fox, looked back at me
blinked
and got up slowly.
He trotted with much disdain 
to plop himself down ten feet
further away.

Back to the quiet and back to the chili,
I open up the meat.
One pound beef
One pound turkey.

Ground turkey is what I desire,
not this pink putrescent  mire.

My meat of choice 
is not slimy nor slick.

But boy, did those dogs 
eat it in one lick.


The moral of the story is....
Don't buy turkey in a tube.

The End.

Ps. Literary license was used for my vehicle choice and my writing license was immediately revoked after publishing this horrid poem.

...

Onions and Cabbage Patches

Just so you know, my boy is a city boy, much to my chagrin. This was never more so evident, until one day last week.

I live wayyyy out in the countryside and I love it. My boy lives in NYC and he loves it.

When we decided to go on our little adventure Saturday, he drove over to my house. I got in the car and as we were driving by miles of fields, I would point out what was growing out there.

Corn.

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Beans.

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Corn.

Hay.

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Onions.

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When I pointed out the onion field, he said, "Onions grow on the ground?"

Now, I must confess this child of mine is smart and the funniest person I know. But what kind of mother am I that I never told him how onions grow. I would think that even schools taught the basics of agriculture.

I have concerns.

I'm cutting this post short, because if he doesn't know where onions come from, I had better explain the whole "Where do babies come from?" and F A S T !

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