Up My Own Ass

For a while now we’ve known certain things about cats, dogs and bunnies. For one, cats can “has bunnies“. It was only today that I ran across texasgirly1979’s videos on YouTube in which her sweet-as-can-be pitbull, Sharky, has all sorts of friends.

First there are pre-bedtime kisses:

which somehow led to the bunny sleepy on Sharky’s head:

I’m barely even able to keep typing. But if you take the time to look at the rest of texasgirly1979’s videos, you’ll notice it’s not just Sharky that loves other animals. It’s her cat too and just about every animal you can find getting along, snuggling and playing together. Case in point:

I don’t know what she is doing over there to create such a wonderfully docile and safe environment for all those animals, but godbless her for it. They have to be truly happy to not be provoked by any of this.

One of the best parts of thrifting, aside from finding fabulously valuable merchandise that you can flip on Ebay, are the small windows that open, allowing a deliciously voyeuristic glimpse into humanity.  Take Cynthia, for example, who probably didn’t even realize that she tucked these important papers into the book she was reading in the hospital after her near-fatal heart attack. 

This first one is the note from her doctor asking Curves to hold her membership because she is in cardiac rehab.  A perfectly reasonable request, of course.  She doesn’t need the undue stress of this membership hanging over her head, and she could probably use that money for something else, right?  I wonder what she used it for?  Let’s check out this next document to find out!

If you guessed “five cartons of cigarettes,” you would be spot on, my friend.  Please note the dates on both documents. 

Anyone got a light?

I know it’s suppose to be funny, but the meat-arms look real enough like musculature that it makes me sick to my stomach. Enjoy!

Thanks to Marc Chung for sending over a link to a great Cracked article on hidden easter eggs (secrets) in real-life art.

One of the easter eggs is supposedly the “hidden musical notes” inside of Lenoardo da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” piece. The claim is that if you overlay a standard 5-bar musical notation graph across the painting, lining up on the people’s hands and then mark down each of their hand positions you get a small composition of music, like so:

uhh… I love conspiracy theories just as much as the next guy, but just because you played the notes with an organ doesn’t mean it was embedded music. What about this picture? This could be the theme to Jaws — it’s just 2 notes:

… da-DUM indeed.

The rest of the article goes on to show UFOs in action paintings and eventually full on renaissance art-porn which is certainly interesting… including a black-and-white picture of horses ejaculating all over the place. That’s pretty common behavior for horses in the wild, to just stand around in packs, blowing slurry all over the grassy hillside so I can understand why they painted that.

I won’t put that picture here, but I’ll put a different one… of the world’s tallest horse. Holy shit that’s a big horse…

When you think of pervert I imagine you almost always picture a guy like the one in the above picture (note the two arrows and what they are pointing at) — some middle-aged guy with a mustache that looks like a creep. Unfortunately it looks like perverts come in all shapes and sizes as evidenced by Shirley Price.

Shirley Price was a Crosby Middle School alum that, after overcoming some physical handicaps, was invited back to speak at the school to the kids — give them a pep talk of sorts about growing up and working hard.

Instead, Shirley showed up, asked the principal to leave the room, and then proceeded to dive into a speech on oral and anal sex with a group of middle-schoolers — at the end of which she asked the group to keep the content of the speech “secret”.

Oddly enough, there were plenty of teachers in the speech that didn’t say anything while the torrid tale of “where to stick it” was laid out in perfect clarity for these 13-year-olds by Shirley. I guess I can understand some may have been in enough shock to not know what to say or the speech may have taken twists and turns that were unexpected and made it seem less than “horrifying”… or the more likely reality is that half these kids were pregnant anyway and they figured “What the hell, let them learn about alternatives.”

I can’t figure out if Shirley is a sicko, was bored and decided to ruffle some feathers or has more than just her psychical disabilities that she needs to overcome. As a parent, I wouldn’t be thrilled by this, but also wouldn’t mind sitting down with my kids and clearing up what Shirley had taught them. That being said, I’ve met plenty of parents that would go nuclear if they felt someone was teaching their kids that there was anything other than married-intercourse-at-age-30 available to them.

What are your thoughts? What if a “motivational speaker” did the same at your school?

My rant about the state of the universal healthcare initiative is going to have to wait.  Today, I am a douchebag.

For the past month, I have been lamenting the fact that an entire segment of my neighborhood has had their Christmast lights up…and LIT.  Every day we’d drive by and I would say, “Oh, take down the GODDAMN LIGHTS, will ya?  Christmas was over a month ago!  Jesus Christ!”  Every day, right?

The last time we drove by, we came to the conclusion that it must be some sort of neighborhood endurance test.  Whoever keeps theirs up the longest, wins.

Well, today the hubby drove past to see all the neighbors tying yellow ribbons to their mailboxes, with a banner at the end of the street that says, “WELCOME HOME, MATTHEW!!!”

Instantly feeling like a pair of brown shoes with a tuxedo.

So, I’m guessing Matthew just came back from a tour in Iraq, or maybe he’s been recovering in a military hospital, unable to be home with his family at Christmas, and all the neighbors swore to keep Christmas going until he came home.  I imagine that he is enjoying a nice turkey dinner with his lovely wife and children, and they just opened up all their presents – fire roaring in the fireplace – while Johnny Mathis croons softly in the background.  I suppose the fact that it’s January doesn’t really matter too much.

Merry Christmas, Matthew, and welcome home!

Did you actually know you could do this?

I did not know this could be done, although I’ve been obsessed for years with doing something similar to this — using a partner like a chair while they use YOU like a chair.

You have to face each other, and then start to sit down, with your left legs in each other’s groins, and then as you moving down into a sitting position, slide your knee farther under the person’s groin — so once you end up in the “sitting” position, you are actually sitting on your partner’s thigh at a 90 degree angle, and THEY are sitting on your thigh… and you use your right leg just to keep balance.

I tried this with a friend and it was more uncomfortable than I predicted, you end up REALLY close to each other’s face. But I suppose it’s a good way to meet people.

You know what… you Walmart loving hobo… fuck you… just fuck you (click to enlarge):

The freakish resemblance between KC of the Sunshine Band and Anna Paquin?

Indeed, it must.

I almost feel badly about starting my spew with another lame yarn of retail woe, but if we don’t teach these bitches how NOT to be pains-in-the-ass, they will never learn, right?  Of course, by “these bitches,” I mean, “anyone who shops in the store in which I work.”  There may be too many commas in that last sentence.  Watch out, Jaci.

Anyway, so I’m about 30 seconds into my workday, and this woman approaches the register – where I have been momentarily abandoned by my compatriots – and informs me that she has forgotten her return in her car, but she has seated her mother near the fitting room (in one of our lovely leather chairs) and I was also to be aware that her mother is “a little handicapped” and could she have some water? (the mother, of course)

I process this information in my Slap-Chop brain and put the big pieces in order – babysit old lady, get her water.  Water!  Okay, I can get a glass of water.  I hurry to the back and get some nice filtered water for the old bat, very impressed with my own patience and courteousness, and I present said water to the daughter (just for fun, think of “otter”) and expect to return to the register and await the next round of “I don’t know what happened, these pants must be marked wrong.”

As I hand over the glass of water, I am then instructed with, “I need some of these vests to be taken to my mother, and she needs to be fitted for one.”

If my filter were clogged, I would have returned the serve with, “Okay, then why don’t you take some of these jackets over to your mother when you give her the water, and see which one fits.”  Instead, I copped my BEST incredulous tone and said, “Um, OKAY.”

She then led me and the glass of water over to her mother, who looked up at me with her drowsy eyes (I guess “a little bit handicapped” means “unable to function due to a high level of narcotic in the bloodstream”) and just sort of regarded me as she slowly recalculated the total on the receipt from their last stop in the mall.  Feeling cornered and scared, I quickly grabbed a coworker from the fitting room, dragged her over, and introduced her as the girl who would be quite happy to help them. 

A working relationship is but a small sacrifice when the stakes are this high. 

I ran at a full clip AWAY from the lot of them, and cowered behind the cash registers.  Unfortunately, I drew the short straw when it came time to ring them up.  I processed the exchange on her ugly jacket which, by the way, absolutely REAKED of smoke and will undoubtedly be thrown away because it smells like a dirty casino, and added her new purchases from the tragic little clearance rack.  She haggled with me the entire time, and after processing her credit card, she stated to her mother, “You know, maybe I shouldn’t put it on the card.  Maybe I should just pay cash?”  I couldn’t believe it when I heard my OWN voice respond with, “except that it’s already ON the card” as I crammed the receipt in the same smoky-ass bag she brought in with her, and slid it across the counter in her direction.

The whole day was like that.  I tried to take my leave for lunch, and as I was race-walking toward the back room, I heard some lady say, “GET HER!” in an obvious attempt to task me with something completely non-emergent and irrelevant.  I pretended not to hear.  Self-preservation, baby.  I needed caffeine. 

Now imagine the entire scene set to the tune of Rum and Coca-Cola by the Andrews Sisters.

I just do NOT understand this sense of entitlement people have…get your own damn water, try on your own damn jackets, and tend to your own damn mother.  Christ.

Okay, now that I have THAT off my chest…

What the hell was going on at the Golden Globes, tonight?  Who’s idea was it to hire the epileptic cameraman?  Jesus, I had to take a Dramamine halfway through to keep from vomiting, and that WASN’T just because of Mickey Rourke’s unfortunate plastic surgery.  Total “B” crowd on the technical crew.  They had the tables set up so that the rats could SEE the cheese, but had to figure out how to get to it.  I was embarrassed.  They had to shoot a friggin’ flare from the stage just so the winners could find their way to the godamn steps.  I think I even saw one Golden Globe award come apart in the recipient’s hands as he gave his acceptance speech.  Hmmm, I think Jan Brewer might have had a hand in the budget for the award show.

Gotta love Ricky, though.

Speaking of Jan Brewer, she signed whatever the hell governor’s sign making today an official day of prayer for Arizona’s budget.  Really?  REALLY?  How about we pray for a NEW GOVERNOR?  How much more tax money got allocated away from education and public safety so that we can all join hands and Kumbaya our way through the next round of cuts.  Good strategy, though, getting all the God-fearing religious zealots on your side for the next election.  Hey, does anybody know if Ev Mecham is available? (I just Googled him.  He’s dead.  Too bad.)  Oh, that reminds me…happy MLK day, everyone!!!!

author’s note:  Jan Brewer = BAD, Ev Mecham = BAD, MLK = GOOD.

Amen.