Tag Archives: funny

Lessons in Flushing

Posted in Damned KIDS by

image

Let’s face it. Some bathroom jobs require more than one flush.

In fact, repeat flushing is probably twice as likely when male waste is involved.

Multiple flushes are often a way of life.

As you already know, and just like replacing the empty roll of toilet paper, “Ain’t nobody (but mom) got time for that!”

So, to make things run more efficiently in bathrooms everywhere and to prevent from grossing out everyone in your household with your shitty presents, I’ve come up with fun activities to engage in while waiting for the tank to refill… so you can flush AGAIN.

And again if necessary.

You know… that long drawn out 90 seconds or so that seems like an eternity.

Ready?

The list-

*Wipe down the faucet. There’s almost always spittle, dribble and/or ick on the faucet… which is most likely yours.

*Sing a verse from… “Another one bites the dust” as you intently watch the turd-subject make it’s final swirly lap.

*If there’s more than one turd, bet on which one will go down first.

*Use dental floss to weed the garden between your teeth.

*Count the brackets on your braces.

*Post a guess-how-long-this-is? photo on Instagram and wait for responses.

*Practice your duck face in the mirror and post it on Facebook to annoy the world.

*Play a game of solitaire. (Everyone brings their phone to the bathroom)

*Change the toilet paper roll. -just kidding.

*Play a game of Frootloop toss where you try to peg the unflushable offender with a fruity ring. This activity will fine tune your aim for when you try to win a goldfish at the fair.

*Take a moment to squeeze the trigger on the air freshener that’s sitting right next to the toilet for your spraying convenience. – this activity is highly recommended.

Just… pleeeeease.

Remember, much like the age-old camping rule… leave no trace.

This concludes today’s lesson in Civilized Bathroom Etiquette.

Have a great day.

Addendum – (a month later) because I have a GIANT mess in my upstairs toilet that’s definitely going to require a plunger and a shit-load of disinfectant. Hopefully, I won’t have to get Mr. Anaconda the snake-unplugger-tool out. Fingers crossed AND nose plugged.

The addendum- never attempt to flush more than six squares of TP at the same time. DUH. I don’t care how GINORMOUS your poop is, the toilet can only swallow so much. New rule- if it’s bigger than a hamster, divide it up.

That is all.

Chronicles of ThatGoddamnedCat- Meet LuckyBastard my Chipmunk Friend

Posted in ThatGoddamnedCAT by

image

Let’s face it, a nurses job is never done. This morning I’m having coffee with my new furry chipmunk friend who’s convalescing from an unexpected play date with ThatGoddamnedCat.

I affectionately named her LuckyBastard for obvious reasons, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to make it, as there’s no evidence of broken skin or internal bleeding. Unfortunately, I can’t completely rule out internal injuries because my rodent CT machine is down.

Plus, I’m obviously bullshitting you, because I don’t actually have that much needed piece of equipment that every cat owner should totally own.

And yes, I praised ThatGoddamnedCat for bringing dinner home.

He knows I hate to cook on Fridays.

Brownie points to ThatGoddamnedCat.

The dogs are going absolutely berserk at the moment, because I have LuckyBastard on the kitchen table hanging out in nurse Gina’s ICU for-unfortunate-play-dates-of-ThatGoddamnedCat, which is actually just a warm towel in a tall Hollister bag.

Her yummy chipmunk smell is driving them both batshitcrazy.

image

Actually, Sketch who’s three is the one who’s pacing and nosing around like a juvenile spider money on crack. I honestly don’t think Tucker (12y/o German Shepherd)  even cares, because he’s retired from hunting prey and all other unnecessary dog related nonsense. Also, the poor guy can’t see or hear very well. He lives to chill out and protect the house.

I’m pretty sure he’s only anxious because he’s picking up batshitcrazy little dogs vibes. In fact, his poop just fell out, so I’m like 100% convinced it’s pure anxiety.

*Poop falling out is distinctly different than pooping on the kitchen floor, because this particular dog would never ever do that. He’s simply a well-mannered geriatric fellow who got anxious and well… shit happens.

Truth be told, I think this brainy canine who’s uber awesome in every way, had like one (maybe two) accidents in his entire lifetime.

We brought him home at 6 weeks and POOF! he was potty trained. He’s smarter than most people and a helluva lot easier to train than a human child.

I’m pretty sure he’s still humiliated over that one or two accidents he had when he was a pup, because if I remember correctly, his expression was all like…. “Ohhhh… you want me to go out there?? Why didn’t you just say so, master… I understand over a hundred different languages. Where’s the paper towels and carpet spray? I shall clean it up.”

And that was that.

The little guy on the other hand, who’s a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel was obviously bred exclusively for companionship and keeping humans warm because his only assets are a viable heart beat, cuteness and ability to snuggle.

End of story.

I’m not complaining though. Adorable, snuggly companions who don’t sass, talk back or ask for money are hard to come by.

Back to LuckyBastard. She’s resting comfortably nestled in her Hollister bag where this strapping young beach dude is protecting her. Her breathing is fast, but regular and reflexes seem to be intact.

image

I think she’s going to be fine.

I’m glad she stopped by to visit.

Mornings are anything but boring around here.

The following has been yet another adventure from… The Chronicles of ThatGoddamned Cat.

The end.

 

For more adventures starring ThatGoddamnedCat click here Adventures of ThatGoddamnedCat and here Toasted Mouse and here Here, Birdie Birdie

 If you like this post, feel free to comment and most importantly – don’t forget to SHARE on Facebook! Your friends will thank you for putting a little FUN in their newsfeed.

 

 

How to Avoid Drama for Dummies and Wannabe Queens

Posted in Everything Extreme, Facebook Parodies by

In other words- How to mind your own beeswax and not reap unnecessary emotional havoc every. single. damned. place. you. go… like the freaking Angel of Bullshit.

There’s the Angel of Mercy, the Angel of Healing and the Angel of Death… so why not the Angel of Bullshit?

After all, bullshit is incredibly abundant, it’s everywhere and it’s uber-exhausting.

As you already know, I’m not a fan of bullshit.

To keep this post slightly shorter than say the fourth edition of War and Peace, we’ll only be discussing social drama, the type of social fuckery involving more than one person victim in a circle, whether it’s friends, family or business.

Social drama is distinctly different than solo drama because it attempts to suck you into it’s spinning vortex much like a revved up Daddy Dyson on steroids.

Solo drama is more like when your premenstrual estrogen spewing 14 year old can’t find her poofy red scarf that compliments her Rosemary’s Babys charm bracelet, hair #307 is out of place and IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT, so she screams bloody murder and misses the bus.

Entirely different animal.

In a nutshell, solo drama is often just a case of raging hormones that causes temporary psychosis in young ladies.

If you’re a parent, you’re also a professional ignorer of unnecessary noises coming from your offspring.

No biggie.

IMG_5769

Let me be über specific here and get this derailed drama train back on track.

How to Avoid Social Drama for Dummies- so that you don’t become a trollish hen that people avoid like the plague or a pesky groups of Jehovah’s witnesses on a sunny Saturday morning.

#1- If your friend is venting about her spouse, significant other, boss, family or another friend, your job is to LISTEN with your ears and not regurgitate unconfirmed bullshit or venom.

Stay out of it. This drama tango is between two people who are not you.

Your mouth is only advised to engage, when being supportive and/or objective. Be careful of what you say.

The following examples are ACCEPTABLE responses which demonstrate supportive and/or objective interaction that does not add fuel to the Drama Queens furnace.

Scenario-

[ Drama Queen- blah blah blah blah blah….. !!!!! ]

You- “That totally sucks rotten velociraptor eggs, sorry.”

You- “Bummer. Why don’t we watch Thelma & Louise and order double cheese pizza.”

You- “Let’s go to the mall and buy shit we don’t need!”

You- “I feel your pain which is precisely why my bff is a dog.”

You- “I’m here for ya, man. Let’s go down a jug of Red Cat and fagetaboutit!”

You- “Here, have a super-size Godiva chocolate bar from the extreme emergency vault.”

You- “When I’m pissed I clean. It’s excellent therapy because… shit gets done!”

You- “I have extra xanax, should I make them into cookies or a cake? You pick.”

UNACCEPTABLE examples and sure-fire techniques to ensue that drama erupts much like the angry honey bees in the famous Winnie the Pooh scene

You- “I’m texting Alvin right now to find out if he’s privy to the details of Simon and Theodore’s peanut smuggling operation that we didn’t get a cut in.”

You- “Well, Jenny Piccolo saw him making eyes at Potsies step-sister at Arnold’s.”

You- “I never liked your asshole mom, sister, boyfriend anyway.” <– This one will blow up in your face every. single. time. when the parties reconcile.

How can anyone be this level of dumb?

You- “Let’s shoot her kids cat and leave it in a pot on the stove like in Fatal Attraction.”

Just no.

Poor kitty has enough problems.

Plus, no picking on animals ever.

What is wrong with you people anyway?

You- “Do you want me to call Chatty Chelsea’s cousin, Know-it-all Nicole and try to extract information?”

You-“My mom works with her Uncle Max at Mission Control and there was this one time he heard the mailbox say this…”

You- “Bring it. This girl’s got PMS. I need to cut a bitch”

These are all examples of FUELING the drama.

Just super-glue your ass to the bleachers and be a spectator for fucks sake.

Also, zip your lips if you’re a person who happens to naturally breathe fire… or unnecessary bullshit.

The world certainly doesn’t need this kind of vindictive chaos. Our planet is already fucked up enough.

*If you are guilty of being a generous provider of drama fuel, you’re undoubtedly a Drama Queen yourself and should promptly cut that shit out, because quite frankly, it hurts my brain and messes up the delicate balance of positive energy flowing throughout the universe.

Think about it. The other person is already in turmoil. Do you really think adding gasoline to the burning wreckage is going to be productive?

Fuck no.

Your friend needs balanced objective support, that’s not in the form of bashing, belittling or manipulating.

Lead by example. Be wise, calm and logical.

In the event that the particular situation is causing you or your friend undo anxiety, consider taking up kung fu, sword fighting or kickboxing.

I’d bet 30 minutes of any of those activities would burn off like an entire fun-sized Snickers bar. Plus, you’d get rid of toxic pent up energy.

However, if you continually chose to be the Oreo filling in the middle of others conflicts (that has absolutely nothing to do with you personally) then just maybe… you live for that shit.

You may not even know it, yet THERE it is.

********************************

Behavior patterns are conclusive.

The person smack dab in the eye of every. single. conflict tornado is obviously the fixed instigator-monkey-in-the-middle and absolutely the common denominator… who’s not necessarily an unfortunate victim of circumstances.

Drama is everywhere.

Everyone is faced with it in some shape or form on any given, if not every single day.

You alone make the decision to either A. deflect it or B. nurture it.

Deflecting can best be exercised by both responding in a calm appropriate manner, and keeping it short and simple.

Responding immediately and passionately to each and every rant, whether be by text, fb message or voice mail, not only condones the wannabe royals behavior, but also validates it as justified and appropriate.

Let the inferno die down before someone gets burned.

Think.

Then respond.

If other peoples names continually edge their way into your conversations… you just may be a Drama Queen, the Angel of Bullshit and an absolute pain in societies ass.

image

Be mindful of your actions.

Chill.

Think with your brain instead of responding to your emotions.

Don’t be a busy-body troll who’s hair stands up, much like Pinocchio’s nose- every single time they fabricate or exaggerate the truth.

Nobody wants to play with those badass colorful degenerates.

image

Now, lets all join hands and take a deep cleansing breath.

The end.

Let the dramatic hate mail roll…

 

 

 

 

 

Things that make the Seasons Joyful- or Not

Posted in Everything Extreme by

image

Apologies for the off-season bullshit.

I couldn’t agree more.

Any and all persons posting off-season content on the inter-webs pertaining to the frosty C-holiday ought to be tarred, feathered and run through the wood chipper… twice.

I know, that’s a bit harsh, but the C-holiday doesn’t exactly bring out the best in me. In fact, it’s stress-filled obligatory energy has me spiraling right into the Grinchy Hulk, which is a creature similar to the oversized kick-ass green guy, except with a more wicked, vile disposition and impressively thick psychiatric file to boot.

Grinch Hulk is a force to be reckoned with.

Sing it…

“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch. You’re a muther-duckin prick…”

The following rewrite is a necessary polishing where all of my estranged holiday posts have been carefully strung together like a holiday turd necklace… for your reading pleasure.

Also, I’m sending a copy to each degenerate elf in the North Pole who have nothing better to do as they’re drying out during the annual substance-abuse rehab.

It’s kind of like a community service for short overworked toy-making indentured servants, to prevent them from going North Pole postal.

This is your final chance to turn back. Stop reading. The C-holiday is about to be mentioned.

You have been warned.

 

****************************************************************************************************

Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #1

My favorite part of Christmas is definitely when the kids haul out all seventy bazillion boxes of decorations, dig through them like little spider-monkey’s-with-ADHD-on-crack, flinging festive fuckery everywhere… and LEAVE.

I did say LEAVE.

POOF… they’re gone.

image

Leaving you standing like a catatonic deer caught in Hells headlights.

It looks like hung-over Satan Santa threw up all over my living room.

Shit. is. everywhere.

***********************************************************************************************

Things that make the season JOYFUL- #2

image

FuckYou lights.

They’re distinctly different from regular holiday lights because A. they don’t light and B. they’re wrapped around mutherfucking-garland, which is obviously different from regular garland because it’s tangled in fuckyou lights.

**********************************************************************************************************

Things that make the season JOYFUL- #3

Dismal song lyrics at Christmastime.

Who writes a holiday song about a sorry-sap kid who spends his last dollar buying new shoes for his terminally ill mom?

Is it the songwriters intention to suck every last bit of merriment out of an otherwise festive occasion?

Why not just drown a litter of blind three-legged puppies?

Note to my children- if you buy me shoes as a departing gift, I will hurl them at you like a boomerang. A more thoughtful gift would be something in the ballpark of 80ish proof.

Perhaps the dying mother was an ancestor of a certain Wizard of Oz character and her well-meaning offspring assumed her shoes would be the FINAL impression she left on the world, much like her witchy cousin from the east, in which case and only then, bitchin shoes would be a must have departing accessory.

THAT makes perfect sense and would make the song considerably less pitiful.

Hurray for bitchin shoes.

When I leave this world, I definitely want to be wearing ass-kicking shoes, preferably red patent leather that were not necessarily a gift from my children and probably something I bought from QVC when I was drunk on 80 proof spirits that was gifted unto me.

The lyrics have a whole new meaning now. You will never be able to hear it again, without thinking of flying houses, brooms and shiny red shoes.

You’re most welcome for that.

*******************************************************************************************************

Things that make the season JOYFUL- #4

image

Clusterfucks.

Unfortunately, there are unlimited examples of this particular brain piercing phenomenon.

Today, we’re specifically referring to holiday light clusterfucks.

I have in hand, brand new lights right-out-of-the-box that happen to be a very complicated and entangled cluster. of. fuck. because, as you already know, the fuckyou lights died.

May they rest in peace be recycled in Hell.

I’m tempted to hang them… as is.

In which case, they’d pass for a big fat snowball decoration, which makes sense, since I have a strong uncontrollable urge to hit Santa right smack in the wiener with a frozen snowball. And for the record…I don’t throw like a girl.

I think the sadistic light boxer-upper people over in China are laughing their asses off smoking weed on the assembly line.

“They never get these untangled… bahahahahah!!!!”

*************************************************************************************************************

Things that make the season JOYFUL- #5

image

 

Santa’s reign of TERROR

Let’s face it, Santa’s one creepy mo-fo.

He’s been scaring the bejesus out of innocent children and small domestic animals for centuries.

It’s certainly not difficult to understand why our naive fragile counterparts are scared shitlesss.

He’s a seedy looking vagrant who pops up annually, sticking out like a sore thumb in society.

It’s true that he could probably pass for a fuzzy mutant garden gnome, but that may not exactly be an asset for him, so we’ll just scratch that and move on.

The BIG guy’s larger than life, like a gargantuan stuffed toy that escaped from the crane game, and came to life with the sole purpose of condemning and passing judgement on innocent children.

Judge, jury and executioner.

No wonder kids are terrified.

Yet, parents everywhere continue to feed their children’s greatest fears by unknowingly repeating ritualistic holiday threats.

“Santa’s watching”

“He’s can see EVERYTHING you do.”

“He knows when you’ve been good or bad so be good for goodness sake. Oooohhhh… you better watch out!”

The mixed messages sent by trustworthy adults are absolutely riddled with holes.

“Don’t talk to strangers, unless of course they’re dressed like an oversized garden gnome that escaped from the Home Depot and you want a new Xbox for Christmas… then it’s okay, but only during the last two weeks of December.”

How utterly confusing.

Kids are like animals, they can sense danger.

Their instinctual shrill cries, kicking and screaming are your warning signs to abort mission. Get the hell out of Macy’s.

Now.

Run.

I also heard somewhere that if you play the vinyl 45 record of Santa Clause is Coming to Town backwards, it actually sounds like Highway to Hell, which by the way would be an immense improvement.

Just saying.

Not only is the whole Santa thing unsettling, it’s downright unfair to children.

It’s virtually impossible for kids to behave all of the time. Even the most well behaved kids are gonna slip up now and then.

Messing up is what kids do best.

It may not even be big slip ups, but to the normally well behaved kid, something like feeding your asparagus to the cat, tinkling on the guest towel in the bathroom or undressing your baby sisters Barbies and posing them in compromising positions may be enough guilt to send you spiraling over the morality cliff- straight into a life condemned by Santa induced pyscho-therapy.

*******************************************************************************************************

Santa Substitutes?

After careful consideration, I came up with a list of Santa substitutes that would be significantly less threatening, and therefore more likely to deliver a reaction from children that isn’t terror.

A kinder more gentler holiday mascot without the fangs and claws.

The potential replacements up for consideration are…

*A cutsie spider monkey with a candy cane striped tail. I can imagine this guy swinging from the branches of the Christmas tree. I’d definitely enjoy Christmas trees more if they had monkey’s frolicking in them. Monkey’s are fast, efficient and fun. They could also be rented out anytime after Thanksgiving to complete all of your dreaded holiday errands and attend obligatory functions in your absence. Perfect.

Obviously, they’d poop Hershey kisses.

*The Grinch AFTER he smokes a doobie. (or ten) If he’s feeling too grinchy or he’s already booked up, Cheech or Chong will do in a pinch. Those guys are Fun with a capital F. Plus, they have the required facial hair, can smoke a mean pipe and would be happy to indulge in your obligatory holiday munchy offerings of cookies and milk.

More obscure yet fun replacement options could include…

George Burns.

He’s dead you say?

My point exactly – still less scary than a red velvet garden gnome who smells like beef & cheese.

So, there you have it.

Potential replacements for reign of terror we call… Santa Clause.

*******************************************************************************************************

Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #6

Live sap-regurgitating pine trees that contain something like eleventy gazillion pine needles that will inevitably end up in your underwear… and other dark recesses.

Especially when said sap bleeding monstrosities are acquired during a blizzard… when it’s 10 degrees and blowing out.

Jack Frost definitely blows.

Hell NO, I didn’t cut one down like Carolyn Fucking Ingalls on crack.

Leaving my warm castle and driving to the farm stand in frigid conditions was already extra credit in my mom call-of-duty book.

It went something like this- “That one looks good.” And, a new Christmas-tree-picking-out-record of under 5 minutes was made.

My eeny meeny miney mo blind selection wasn’t half bad either. This year I won at Christmas tree roulette.

Technically, she’s not fully decorated but that’s all I’m going to do. If my minion elf staff would like the remaining dozen or so bulbs and tinsel hung, they can do it themselves.

No kidding… we still use tinsel. The only real perk is glittery dog and cat leavings.

Really.

The yard and litter box are beauteous. Even our pets help defecate… decorate.

Yes, live trees are lovely and they smell amazing, but after 20 something years of pine needle enemas, I’ve finally had enough. Who needs the extra work and aggravation during this joyful season of stress, exhaustion and pulling the last hair out of your head?

Count me out.

A couple of years ago, against my families wishes I bought an artificial tree, figuring it would grow on them.

Technically, I lost by a vote of 5 to 1, in favor of a REALmutherfuckingmessofatree.

I don’t concede easily, so I presented my fake tree as now-we’re-one-of-those-hip-families-with-two-trees kinda thing, hoping sooner or later they’d accept it and I’d be free from tree fuckery forever.

Notta.

I’m still waiting.

For the record, it’s not just the sap and needles that makes my hair stand straight up like Marge Simpson, it’s a combo of that and the ceremonial wrapping and unwrapping of the FuckYou lights, which are inevitably tangled, dead or both every. single. time.

I absolutely despise dancing the tango with lights. The end of that chapter almost always involves scissors, alcohol and singing the annual holiday overture called FuckThis and FuckThat.

So, for the next few months, I will be dissecting pine needles out of my unmentionables and chanting the FuckIt overture.

Having sex with a hostile sticky porcupine (which is actually a tree) is número 6 on the… Things that make the season JOYFUL list.

Next…

Things that make the Holidays Joyful #7

FRIGID temperatures and an over abundance of the nasty white stuff.

Winter sucks Frosty’s snowballs.

Word.

Screw snow.

Also screw Jack Frost, the Abominable Snowman, the Winter Warlock, Snow Meiser, Yukon Cornelius and his pet Bumble, Mr. Softy, Queen Frostine from Candyland and the entire cast of Ice Age.

The only acceptable snow is found in a margarita.

Margaritas and Christmas cookies… perfect.

****************************************************************************************************

Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #8

image

Baking Obligatory COOKIES.

I just renamed Italian drop cookies… YouStickyBastardMutherfuckers.

It seems fitting.

No wonder my Italian ancestors drank so much wine.

Also, since this description happens to fit so many varieties of the cookies I attempted to bake, I shall assign them each a number at the end of their like name.

Example- YouStickyBastardMutherfuckers #1 are snickerdoodles, YouStickyBastardMutherfuckers #2 are Italian drop cookies, and so on and so forth.

Things that makes the Season Joyful #8 is Baking Cookies- those StickyBastardMutherfuckers. I love/hate you.

*************************************************************************************************

Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #9 is Christmas cards.

Not sending them.

Just say no. Let’s save the rain forest together. I for one, am super conscientious of the negative effects deforestation has on my monkey friends.

Monkey’s live, play, eat and fling poop at other monkey’s from trees. (that may or may not be evergreens, but that’s totally not the point here)

One can therefore conclude that Christmas cards are made from bulldozed monkey-family condos and Chuck E. Cheese primate establishments where baby monkey’s eat banana pizza and play Whack-The-guy-in-the-yellow-hat.

Insensitivity toward monkey’s comes to mind when I think of sending Christmas cards, and my love for monkey antics far outweighs my tolerance of humans.

Join the 21st century people and send an e-card.

Also, if you send one card, you have to send all 75 cards, and quite frankly I no longer have it in me.

My goodwill meter run loweth.

I’m a monkey enthusiast who prefers mischievous furry primates with long tails over most humans and I’m totally okay with it,

Note- I happen to love getting YOUR cards. Keep sending them, especially the ones with photos. I love those. I however, have chosen to become an exclusive e-communicator. If you ever get a hand written note from me, know that I’ve definitely been abducted by aliens.

******************************************************************************************************

Next…

Things that make the holidays JOYFUL #10

Mutherfucking turkey, which is distinctly different than regular turkey found in glossy magazine photos or that you’re invited to eat in other peoples homes, because it’s dirty greasy carcass is found in your very own kitchen, that’s why.

I’m sorry if I shocked you by blurting out MUTHERFUCKING TURKEY, but it came shooting out of my brain like a kamikaze pilot. It also came directly from the heart, meaning I really meant it.

I’m a ham and lasagna kinda girl from way back, because A. Saucy Italian food trumps meat and potatoes any day and B. Ham is a no nonsense meal. Meaning, you stick it in the oven with unpeeled potatoes and POOF… Dinner is served!

No sticking your entire arm up the turkey’s ass to remove a neck that shouldn’t be in there in the first place, only to turn around and stuff it with stale bread.
Furthermore, the fancy bird-beast requires mashed potatoes, meaning you get to peel (step one), dice (step two), cook (step three), mash (step four), and cleanup (step five) peeler, spoon, mixers, pot, strainer, bowl, not to mention, bandage your bloody knuckles and clean up potato peels that are everyfuckingwhere, except in the garbage can.
Fun fact- potato peels stick infinitely better than those window clings you decorate with on holidays.

Screeeeeeeeeeech!!!

I almost forgot to bitch about the gravy. The hubinator makes his own gravy, adding an open canister of flour of which most is airborne, a colander, sifter, grease separator, small sauce pan and gravy boat to the on-deck prep station adjacent from the sink from Hell. Yes, he makes his own gravy and it’s delicious. A delicious explosion in your mouth and all over your kitchen.

There are so many steps involved in the preparation of turkey, potatoes and gravy that the FuckYou factor is amplified by like a kazillionish.

You could travel to a foreign country and back in the time it takes to prepare and clean up the dreaded aftermath from a festive birdzilla dinner.

Young ladies, take my advice and have the absolutely-NO-turkey-on-holidays verbiage added to your prenup agreement immediately. You will thank me.

*********************************************************************************************************

Things that make the season JOYFUL #11 is The Groundhogs Day Concept.

image

The Groundhogs Day Concept-according to the movie starring Bill Murray and not the furry rodents big debut in February that he almost always fucks up.

What I mean is, you wake up and it’s Christmas over and over and over again.

My sister and her family live out of town, so in addition to having a full blown Italian seafood feast on Christmas Eve and a Mutherfucking turkey on Christmas Day, we celebrate with her family after Christmas, accounting for Groundhogs Day #2, 3, 4 or however many days they stay.

The prep, the food, the extra bodies, the clean-up… over and over.

Note- not only do these tiring celebrations extend through Christmas, they continue into the final week of December encompassing my oldest daughters birthday and New Year’s Eve. We’ll call these Groundhogs Day #5 and #6 respectively.

Don’t get me wrong- I love my family.

However, I do not joyfully embrace an entire week of holiday overstimulation.

It hurts my brain and makes me grumpy.

Just ask anyone.

There seems to be no flicker of light at the end of this seemingly endless dark holiday tunnel called perpetual Groundhogs Day.

************************************************************************************************

Numero 12 is…

Batshit Crazy Relatives in the house EARLY.

Holiday Tip- If your son ever breaks a bone the first day of snowboarding-after-you’ve-dumped-several-hundred-dollars-into-equipment, hold on to his extra doctor prescribed feel-good pills with two hands. Use the white knuckle death grip if necessary because those babies will come in handy the Saturday morning after Christmas when you wake up with the headache from hell, and your crazy family calls to say they’re on route to crash your living room like Japanese kamikaze pilots on hallucinogens.

Rewind- I thought I had agreed to having a dinner-thing sometime like after 4:00 pm. It’s not even noon, I have comatose teenage bodies draped across every horizontal piece of nonjagged furniture in my house, dishes and half eaten food everyfuckingwhere, and the now crazies on route.

Just… Shit.

Hell no, I’m not scrubbing my toilets, emptying the trash or even removing this mornings hairball from the stairs.

Pearl Harbor was not a pretty sight.

Things that make the season JOYFUL #12- Batshit crazy relatives in the house… EARLY.

***********************************************************************************************************

The Joyful series was supposed to wrap up after #12, making it- The 12 Painful Days of Christmas, but thanks to the Groundhog’s Day Concept, it keeps going and going and going…

Stick a fork in this furry rabid rodent, people… I’m done.

Finite-o.

But wait… there’s more!

Act now and receive #13 – The Brain Crisper Addendum absolutely free!

In fact, we’ll double your order… to make certain your entire brain is toast.

At this point, your brain probably looks something like a deep fried rice Krispy treat.

Sizzzle.

This holiday and post are quickly becoming a nightmare episode of Groundhogs Day where rabid zombie gophers suck the sanity out of our brains using a tiny bar straw.

Quite appropriately, things that make the season JOYFUL #13, the grande finale and unlucky número 13 is… Deep-fried brain cells.

My extended family has finally retreated and the homestead is now marginally quiet. At least until my daughter’s annual New Years Eve/Birthday bash on Tuesday.

God give me strength.

At this point, I’m finding it difficult to put words or more specifically- lucid thoughts together as well as wipe my own drool, because my brain cells seem to be experiencing a sort of coma that’s probably a precursor to brain death.

They’ve gone up in a glittery puff of smoke.

This unfortunate deep-fried state of my grey matter may or may not be the result of random family members prodding my cerebellum with invisible dull corkscrews… or quite possibly from the indulgence of a katrillionish empty calories.

Probably both.

Do not attempt to eat a katrillionish calories at home because you will undoubtedly become a brain dead jiggly amoeba sloth just like me.

I’m seriously afraid to look in the mirror right now, because if Honey Boo Boo’s mom is looking back at me I will freak the fuck out.

Anyway, an amoeba sloth is what the hungry caterpillar really turns into when she gorges on holiday comfort food that’s something like a katrillion cheesy, gooey, deep fried calories dipped in chocolate sauce.

It went something like this…

She ate through two pans of lasagna, one mutherfuckingturkey, three extra cheesy sausage rolls, four trays of Christmas cookies- thosestickybastardmutherfuckers #1 – 4, one fudge roll and one bottle of Godiva chocolate vodka.

Burp.

Nope. There’s no beautiful butterfly here.

No way in hell is this amoeba sloths massive carcass is lifting off the ground.

 

image

This has been an Extreme Mom Bedtime Story and holiday exclusive.

All functioning grey matter has been destroyed in the clusterfuck of holiday chaos.

No surprise, as this time of year, chaos tends to completely dominate my existence, much like an elephant sitting on a flea.

Let the brain cell regenerating begin… NOW.

The Things that make the season JOYFUL is far from over.

The grande finale is not when the fat lady sings – Grandma got run over by a reindeer, but when she finally face plants into home base otherwise known as New Years Day.

Then you may applaud LOUDLY.

If I’m not dead, I may join you.

The End.

Have an Extremely Happy New Year!!!

Secret Mother’s Day… Shhhh!!

Posted in Damned KIDS, Everything Extreme, Holiday Bullsh*t by

image

I’d like to propose a new holiday called Secret Mother’s Day, because we absofuckinglutely deserve it, that’s why.

Secret Mother’s Day would be just that.

A big fat secret.

After careful consideration, I’ve determined that it would be absolutely necessary to conceal it from our offspring, because God knows they’d just fuck it up.

It’s what they do best…. which is precisely why we’re keeping them in the dark.

In addition, we’d also keep it from our own mothers because (no offense or disrespect to them) but, obviously, you can’t thoroughly enjoy your own day as Queen Mother her Royal Highness, if you’re obligated to kiss someone else’s ass. That shit just cancels itself out and makes this day very confusing, not to mention disappointing.

Don’t give me that look.

You know it’s true and I did clarify… no offense or disrespect to them intended.

It just doesn’t mesh.

Nothing like winning a weekend to a five star resort and being asked to scrub the hot tub when you’re finished.

Just no.

This lets the air right out of the balloon of intended appreciation.

So there you have it… Secret Mother’s Day.

It would be an entire day, as in 24 entire hours and not just say a two hour block for brunch– if you’re lucky enough to be on the receiving end of that particular gift.

Alone.

No kids, no spouse or significant other, no relatives.

You’re welcome to bring the dog though, because dogs rock.

I said so.

Dogs are incredibly therapeutic, unconditionally loving and awesome in so many ways where humans essentially fall short. every. single. time.

So, it’s you and the dog.

All you have to do is chose the location (my venue is definitely a beach with warm surf and seashells) the type of lounging device you wish to recline in and what you’d like others (who aren’t your family— remember, they’d just fuck it up and for this reason, they’re not allowed within 100 miles of your special Secret Mother’s Day celebration) to do for you.

My short list includes a massage (that’s not in exchange for sex), cold drinks in fancy crystal glasses with pretty little umbrellas, chocolate covered strawberries presoaked in vodka, a stack of books to be read to me by Channing Tatum, an unlimited supply of chocolate peanut butter ice-cream served in waffle cones and a 20-something boy decoration to fan and water my dog, so he doesn’t get overheated.

That’s all I want.

Scratch that, not done.

Throw in a photographer to capture the evidence of our extremely secret and awesome adventure, as well as an Internet connection to plaster this red carpet day all over social media like the rest of the faux Internet moms who-are-most-likely-full-of-shit.

That’s all I want.

Just writing this proposal relaxed me.

Imagine that.

It’s the little things in life, people.

Grab your imagination by the mammary glands and run with it.

It’s Mother’s Day… Dammit

Posted in Damned KIDS, Holiday Bullsh*t by

249140_594994640513692_22311113_n

As Supreme Ruler of the Kingdom, I hereby proclaim that Mother’s Day be celebrated the entire weekend this year… and forever.

It’s been a rough one, that’s why.

No way is one lousy day of cleaning up your own shit and being on excellent behavior gonna cut it, girls and boys.

Not this year, my precious offspring.

Extreme mom is going completely proactive this Mother’s Day to guarantee that it doesn’t SUCK.

You have been hereby enlisted… as a GIVER.

Therefore, specific TO DO lists will be distributed to each of my brood.

We’re gonna get it right this time.

Here we go.

Mother’s Day… Take 21!!

(The number is accurate. No. Shit.)

ACTION!!!

Here’s a preview of my short list of demands:

imagesCASLN407

*You will bathe the dogs with excellent smelling shampoo, then scrub the entire bathroom including the tub.

YES, this does need to be spelled out.

The powder room and pets shall smell like a fresh meadow.

*Clean my car- that was incidentally trashed by YOU.

You shall vacuum the resident floor rubble and debris that you dragged in, clean all dog slobber off the windows, dispose of dead insect carcasses from the dashboard and remove sticky goo from the cup holders.

Again, sparkly clean.

•Vacuum both sets of stairs in the house and do not attempt to make a new family member out of the pet hair.

NO, I wouldn’t mention this if history hadn’t dictated already that it’s was absolutely necessary.

Plus, we already have our limit of dependents.

Use care not to clog the vacuum. I’m tired of performing a colonoscopy on the Dyson every single time I attempt to turn it on.

This is a proactive exercise, because unfortunately some things do have to be spelled out.

Remember, this is only my short list.

*grin*

Had my children had the foresight to say… toast me a lousy poptart, scribble HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY on a sheet of paper or pluck me a few daffodils from my own garden, I wouldn’t have been forced to make these heinous demands.

6d8035183171b47bf440643eacd39d35

I shall also, hereby be completely EXEMPT from partaking in any of the following on Mother’s Day weekend, which absolutely includes Friday and Saturday… from this year until the end of time.

I shall not cook or touch unprepared food.

I shall not go to the grocery store.

I shall not do laundry.

I shall be exempt from driving you anywhere.

I shall not do dishes… or even look at them.

I shall not answer questions or engage in conversations beginning with:

Will you?

Can I?

I need…

I’m hungry…

I’m borrrrrrred…

It’s not fair…

imagesCAPTJU22







Things that YOU can do for me:

Pretend to be unmiserable.

Make me coffee

Do not complain… about anything.

Most importantly, do this shit WITHOUT being told or reminded.

Anyone breaking the rules of Mother’s Day Weekend will be exiled to the back yard and forced to live in a tent.

I know my expectations are ridiculously high this year.



A girl can dream…



NOTE- This post was from 2013 and my children failed miserably that year.

That’s entirely different post.

You’re not alone fellow moms.

I, and almost everyone who’s not your kids, appreciate the Hell out of you.

Rock on, mamacita’s!! The world as we know it would come to a screeching halt without you.

Word.

Extreme Czar of Special Days

Posted in Everything Extreme, Facebook Parodies by

Dear Trigger-happy-Facebook-sheep who re-post anything and everything,

I have a bone to pick with you that goes something like this… EVERY day can’t possibly be Mental Illness Day, Special Needs Day, Autism Awareness Day, ADHD Awareness Day and Every Other Cause Under the Sun Day.

It just can’t.

This unnecessary grassfire of confusion is total bullshit.

Someone grab the BS extinguisher and douse the ignorance inferno already.

Each cause is entitled to an allotted day, month or whatever.

Fair enough.

I totally respect special cause days. Awareness and education are key in promoting support and acceptance.

My point is simply… the verbiage is all WRONG.

Let’s get it right people, because the inconsistency hurts my brain.

Think of it this way. How outrageous would you be if someone posted, “TODAY is Mother’s Day. Repost on your wall for 30 minutes if you love your mother” on ANY random day in July and December and wheneverthefuckever… over and over again?

It’s ludicrous.

Everyone knows Mother’s Day is in May.

So when this crap pops up repeatedly in December, your brains like “WTF man? Stop messing with me.”

The brain can only be pushed so far before you can fry an egg on it, like in that very famous this-is-your-brain-on-drugs commercial.

This is your brain on Facebook.

Ssssssssssizzle.

So, get your shit together people.

On a completely different, yet worthy note I’d like to officially hose down those lame bully tactics daring you to re-post or share if you’re not embarrassed or ashamed of the said cause or what-not.

Screw you, Facebook bullies. You’re not the boss of me. I’m a rebel who will re-post nothing when manipulated or threatened.

No can do.

Bite me.

Obviously, Facebook could use some sort of official calendar czar to sort through and regulate this ridiculous chaos.

Clearly, people are confuzzled over what-in-the-hell day it REALLY is and I fear that soon they’ll be stuffing chocolate bunnies into red fuzzy stockings waiting for the ADHD Fairy or Temple Grandin to leave them a shiny red choo choo train filled with common sense.

It’s very similar to the wise familiar tale, “The little boy who cried wolf.”

Let’s face it, when something shows up in your newsfeed every single damned day, the BIG event is reduced to background noise when it finally rolls around. It’s SPECIAL is kaput.

It’s kind of like the repetitive movie Groundhogs Day, which quite frankly makes me want to swan dive off a tall building directly into Rodney Dangerfield’s stinky golf bag.

I’m so confused.

This insanity just can not continue.

Here it is in OCD order. An incomplete listing of the days that seem to get the most Facebook air time, screen time or whatthehellever you prefer to call it.

January is Birth Defects Prevention month. (not to be confused with World Prematurity Awareness month which is actually in November and not January)

The March of Dimes who’s mission is to prevent birth defects holds their annual fundraising campaign Walk for Babies sometimes in August, September or October, which is why I diligently listed this cause on our very precise calendar.

Pencil that in.

February is African-American History month not to be confused with Martin Luther King Day which is in January. It’s also American Heart month and Women’s Heart Health month.

Women’s Heart Health month??

Let’s just chill the F out ladies. It’s already Heart Health month. Stop being such attention whores and just share the month with the men. THIS is exactly the sort of thing that gives women a bad name. JC on a stick. Just stop whining. Pretty soon you’ll be demanding your own planet. No wonder you have heart problems. Y’all are self righteous spoiled brats looking for an injustice to bitch about. Bitching raises your blood pressure and will eventually kill you.

Just chill the F out.

March is my birthday, Developmental Disabilities Awareness month and an excuse to drink green beer and kiss midgets. Go figure.

April is Autism Awareness Month. Did you read that? It says APRIL. Pack your Autism decorations away in a trusty Rubbermaid tote, so you may hang them appropriately in April.

Clarification- I post informative autism related information ALL of the time, because I have a son with Asperger’s so pretty much every day is Autism Awareness Day for me. The difference is, I’m not posting some dumb shit that says, TODAY’S Autism Day, so pass it on… every single day.

From hereon in, we’ll all KNOW that World Autism Awarness Day is April 2nd, so we’ll be ready to hang our Autism stockings by the fireplace and decorate our Aspie tree on cue… in APRIL.

In May we recognize Law Enforcement Appreciation, Teacher Appreciation, Nurses Appreciation and Mother’s Day. Under-appreciated service vocations or messy jobs month apparently.

I didn’t say Dirty Jobs you guys. Mike Rowe’s birthday happens to fall in March, same as mine. Lucky coincidence. Some day we’ll toast one another with warm tankards of Guinness and he’ll clean the green stuff outta my fridge.

A girl can dream.

June is Gay Pride month and Father’s Day. Don’t confuse these two. Not all dads are fond of rainbows and not all gay men like neck ties or maybe that’s multicolored rainbow designs on neck ties?

Whatever.

If your dad is gay, you can kill two birds with one stone, which is awesome if you’re a multitasker. (unless of course, your dad is straight and has incredibly poor aim. In which case, you can disregard everything)

September is ADHD Awareness month. Right in time for back to school. Perfect.

Was that a squirrel?

I repeat, “September is ADHD month.”

October is Aids Awareness, Breast Cancer Awareness, Domestic Violence Awareness, Downs Syndrome Awareness month and Fire Prevention month.

*Note- there’s way too much going on in October. Spread that shit out. There are 12 perfectly good months on the calendar to choose from you psycho nut jobs. You’re like bratty little kids fighting over the only blue Popsicle. Someone’s going to have to chose a different month. I’ll just sit here and wait while you sort it out amongst yourselves.

Also, enough with every Tom, Dick and Harry cause having their own ribbon color. Aids started it and everyone had to be a copy cat. Originality is dead.

You need an answer key to figure out which color belongs to whom.

November is Lung Cancer and Diabetes Awareness month. Diabetes, really?? The same month that the Thanksgiving cornucopia’s overflowing with chocolate pudding and whipped cream. Who’s in charge of these things anyway, Homer Simpson?

Incidentally, the Great American Smoke-out also takes place on the third Thursday of November.

How convenient.

Grab a piece of pie to tame your craving and end up with dia-fucking-beet-us.

I’m calling Wilford Brimley to tattle on you.

Last but not least…

December is Political Correctness Awareness month. Seriously? You cannot make this stuff up. Which supports my point that PEOPLE (whomever the officials are) will declare just about ANYTHING worthy of having it’s own recognition month.

Appropriately enough, it’s the very same month people max out their credit cards like gypsies on crack, eat and drink themselves silly and overindulge in any and every possible way. All in the holy sacred name of Jesus???

Whoa…

Our society has successfully managed to reduce the once holy Christmas season to a batshit crazy stressful time measured in profit margins and sales. It’s the time of gimme gimme gimme.

I’m not a fan of the C holiday.

There’s no Christ in Christmas anymore. We may as well change the verbiage to Merry Cha-ching.

Christmas and political correctness share a common denominator in that they’re both equally out-of-control train wrecks caused by too much interference.

Some things should be left alone.

If it ain’t broke…

But, THAT’S a completely different post.

 

Twas the First Day of School…

Posted in Damned KIDS, Everything Extreme, ThatGoddamnedCAT by

‘Twas the first day of school and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring…

Not even a mouse?

But, not because ThatGoddamnedCat was diligently guarding his post.

Nope.

ThatGoddamnedCat is never around when you actually need him, which is partially how he earned his fitting name ThatGoddamnedCat.

Not a creature was stirring, becauuuuse…

Stewart-the-stupid was camped out in the bottom of the family toaster gorging himself on bread crumbs and chocolate Pop tart sprinkles.

Why didn’t he just eat off the floor where there’s almost always a generous buffet containing three square meals?

My extreme theory is this- he must be a teenaged mouse, because everyone knows teenagers are know-it-alls who don’t listen to their elders, which in this case happens to be Mr. & Mrs. Little. (who, incidentally, are most likely still ALIVE, simply because they know enough to stay the-hell outta the toaster)

Unfortunately for their son Stewart-the-stupid, Diva #13 happened to be in the mood for TOAST on this particular dismal morning.

On a similar note, yet completely off on a tangent- one Easter morning, Diva #13 was in the mood for cinnamon buns and turned on the oven where the dumbass Easter Bunny had recently hidden her brothers Easter basket.

The dumbass bunny even saw her do it, but wasn’t caffeinated or conscious enough at the time to process, let alone react to the situation.

By conscious, I mean the dumbass bunny’s body was standing in the kitchen but her brain was still in REM sleep most likely having a Channing Tatum-dipped-in-chocolate-wearing-bunny-ears dream.

And, yes the bunny still hides my kids Easter baskets even though the eldest is 20, because it’s FUN for her, THAT’S why.

Anyway, back to this episode called… Of mice and hungry-girls-in-the-mood-for-toast-on-the-first-day-of-school.

Enter Diva #13.

“Mommmmmmmm!!!!! I think there’s a mouse behind the toaster… I heard a SQUEAK SQUEAK!!”

BEHIND the toaster would’ve been a semi-acceptable location for a mouse, says my half-asleep brain.

I grab my mom cape and fly into the kitchen where I immediately smell burn.

The electrical kinda burn.

I’ve put out at least one of every imaginable type of appliance fire, so my nose knows.

The example below was called the French fry incident of  2012.

“Pheeeew!!” says my brain assuming the dumb furry golf ball sized intruder gnawed through the cord that’s on the OUTSIDE of the toaster.

My mom vision diverts to the toaster.

It’s in the DOWN position and it’s still toasting away.

Sonofabitch.

I quick unplug it with my Inspector Gadget mom arm and NOTHING scurries out.

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit!!!!

Double-triple-quadruple SHITTTTT!!

I just KNOW.

Diva #13- Ohhhhh my God… Did I toast the mouse???!!!

Me- No No No!! (fibbing to spare her from certain emotional turmoil)

Enter #16- Oh my God… she toasted a mouse!!!! Noooo waaaay!!!!

Me- No, he just got… stuck (giving him the evil mom eye that says STFU and walk away. He knows that look)

Breeeeeeeeathe….

Think.

The crisis has been averted temporarily.

Toaster unplugged… check.

My brain flashes back to- it’s the first day of school and we’re already going to miss the damned bus.

Bus missing happens to be the story of our life, minus today’s very acceptable excuse of having a fuzzy morning intruder stuck in our toasting appliance.

Quick run outside and take a few token first-day-of-school pics where hopefully nobody’s facial expression will look anything like the SCREAM guy.

Him.

I generously allow (Big Kahunna’s) #16 to drive my van to school for the first time, so my expression probably does resemble the SCREAM guy.

My nerves say so, anyway.

Diva #13 takes the bus.

Status- Two off to school ON TIME.

Life is good, right?

Wrong.

Now it’s time to deal with how-bad-is-the-carnage-in-the-toaster? situation.

Did I already say SHITTTTTTT!!!!!???

I know I have to, so I insert new batteries into my CSI wannabe flashlight (that’s actually just a regular flashlight owned by people who are me and usually love solving a good mystery, except for when it happens to involve crispy rodents) and examine the scene.

My conclusion- Stewart-the-stupid rodent…. in the far right toaster slot…. smooshed by up&down mechanism…. by Diva #13.

It would appear that the roasting occurred after Stewarts demise, therefore enhancing the dismal scene with aromatic extra crispy dumbass mouse, which by the way, ABSOLUTELY multiplies the ICK factor by like a gazillion.

The moral of the story- always check the toaster before you pull the trigger.

There.

I’ve made you paranoid for life.

I’m sorry and you’re most welcome.

Ps- Just so you know my level of dedication, I spent 99 cents on an app to turn Channing into a chocolate dream bunny.

 

For driving stories involving Big Kahunna’s #16- click here…

 

https://extrememom.net/2013/04/11/big-kahunas-goes-driving/
https://extrememom.net/2013/07/02/cruisin-in-the-jesus-mobile/
https://extrememom.net/2013/06/08/dumb-shit-my-son-says-when-im-teaching-him-to-drive/
https://extrememom.net/2013/07/10/testosterone-powered-vehicles-and-jackasss/

 

For mouse stories involving ThatGoddamnedCat- click here…
https://extrememom.net/2013/07/20/that-goddamned-cat/

https://extrememom.net/2014/05/28/chronicles-of-thatgoddamnedcat-here-birdie-birdie/

https://extrememom.net/2013/09/08/twas-the-first-day-of-school/

https://extrememom.net/2014/06/06/chronicles-of-thatgoddamnedcat-meet-luckybastard-my-chipmunk-friend/

https://extrememom.net/2014/07/16/adventures-of-thatgoddamnedcat-bobbing-for-bunnies-in-the-river-styx/

 

 

Dear School- I Can’t Hear You!!!

Posted in Damned KIDS, Everything Extreme by

image

EEEEHHHHTT!!!  {{buzzer}}

Times up.
School’s over people.
Return to sender.
Notta my problem-o.
It’s not like I don’t care, but okay… I don’t care.
I’m over this school year. It’s done… fini… caput… It’s history, man.
Dear School,
Please don’t bother me with mundane details. If my kid failed a class, just cut the bullshit and send me the registration for summer school.
Thank you.
Ps- You may not realize this, but this happens to be a very PROUD year for me.
Why?
This is the first year since junior high that my spirited lad has NOT received a mandatory invite back to the school for summer detention.
There was the bra episode, the smoke bomb, the locker room escapade, water balloons, the yearbook graffiti… to name a few.
I’m rejoicing.
I can’t believe you school administrative people don’t give out bumper stickers for this amazing feat.
“My kid’s an HONOR student!” blah blah blah…
Well lah-tee-dah….
“My kid evaded summer detention this year!”
 
Check mate.
Let’s PAR-TAH!
Schooooooooooool’s out for summer!!!

Top Mommy Blogs - Mom Blog Directory

Captcha Codes Suck Robot Balls

Posted in Everything Extreme by
 
 image
 
 
 
Captcha codes make me want to smash my computer screen with a sledge hammer.
 
 
 
On average, it takes me three to four tries before I finally solve the almighty puzzle that was ironically intended to prove I’m an independent thinker and not a smart-ass computer bot.
 
 

Fail.

 
 
This makes no sense to me, as it’s no secret that computer bots whoop our mortal asses regularly at pretty much EVERYTHING.
 
 
 
I’ve concluded that these eye-stabbing codes are actually the workings of wiseass robots sitting around a board table smoking weed taking bets on how many attempts it will take us before we finally crack.
 
 
 
 I also suspect there’s a padded room full of captive toddlers and illegible script writing physicians, who do nothing all day but write captcha codes and drink vodka out of a straw.
 
 
 
I wouldn’t be surprised if we the victims (and the butt of their jokes) were being recorded for an episode of reality TV in the bot world.
 
 
 

“Hahaha!! That man is on his 92nd attempt. Taking bets that he self destructs before he gets to 100!!”

 
 
 
 
 

Having been recently tortured by this riddle-type nonsense, I was inspired to jot down a list of things that would be easier and considerably less painful than cracking a typical mind numbing captcha code-

 
 
*Solving a quadratic equation in your head after drinking a pint of Jäger
 
 
 
 
 
*Shaving a female Bigfoot of Italian decent
 
 
 
 
image
 
 
 
 
*Writing a best selling novel… in German after consuming a case of Heineken
 
 
 
 
 
*Removing a steak from the jaws of a hungry female sabertooth tiger with PMS
 
 
 
 
 
 
*Giving a badger a pedicure- complete with pretty little recreations of the Sistine Chapel on each toe
 
 
 
 
 
*Recreating the Mona Lisa on an Etch-a-sketch blindfolded
 
 
 
 
 
image
 
 
 
 
*Getting my kids on the school bus peacefully… on the Monday following a holiday weekend
 
 
 
 
 
*Flossing Jaws teeth (the shark or the gnarly beast character from the James Bond movies- you pick)
 
 
 
 
image
 
 
 
 
Certainly there are more efficient, not to mention less excruciating methods of determining that a person is not in fact a robot.
 
 
 
image
 
Perhaps, a simple check box.
 
 
My race can be best described as:
 
 
American Eskimo…Asian…African American…Caucasian…Latino…Native American…ROBOT

 
I’m pretty sure robots can’t lie because duh, they’re robots.

 
Everyone knows robots are trustworthy.
 
 
Highly intelligent and evil, but nonetheless… trustworthy.
 
 
All in favor of a check box…
 
 
 
image image image image image image image
 

Top Mommy Blogs - Mom Blog Directory

Activities that are safer than using a power drill while your wife’s napping

Posted in Everything Extreme by

imagesCA8DD513

Activities that are SAFER than using a power drill while your wife is napping.
 
Yes, he did.
 
*Practicing handstands in the shark tank wearing a two day old tampon.
 
*Pirouetting over a mine field wearing a tutu made out of 100 dangling beer cans.
 
*Sprinting through airport security clenching a package that says CAUTION EXPLOSIVES.
 
*Mowing the grass in the tiger enclosure at the zoo wearing a hat made of pepperoni.
 
*Taking gum away from a two year old and saying NO.
 
*Wearing underwear saturated in gasoline to a flame throwing competition.
 
*Acting as the gate keeper at Walmart on Black Friday when the special is $10 iPods
 
*Taking a nap on the subway tracks.
 
Did I mention the wife had a headache?

Dunkin WHAT??

Posted in Everything Extreme by

imagesCAD7N46P

My Real Life Trip to Dunkin DONUTS-  OUT OF hot chocolate, munchkins and vanilla frosted DONUTS.
This isn’t the first time.
The last time they were out of DONUTS.
By DONUTS, I mean ALL DONUTS.
Not a single DONUT in Dunkin DONUTS.

imagesCAS9OIC1
If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess it was government run.
Everyone knows the government holds all records for least efficiently run everything.

Possible Reasons Dunkin ran out of DONUTS…

*The donut maker guy got caught up in a marathon game of Candy Crush. (Understandable)

*The employees had the munchies.

*Cheech and Chong just left the drive thru.

imagesCAJ4IOIF
* The time-to-make-the-donuts guy overslept or died.

imagesCAK4J6NA
*Bigfoot got wasted with Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High and they broke in and stole all the donut mix.

*Wilford Bradley bought all of the donuts to save YOUR soul from dia-beat-us.

 imagesCANHLFCG
*A prankster broke in to DD and drew pictures of donuts on the employees  glasses, so it looked like they had an excess of donuts.

*Somebody fed the police department marijuana  pizza, so they needed extra donuts to keep our city safe.

*DD is run by incompetent teenagers and this is just a preview of the end of the world as we know it, and possibly a cure for dia-beat-us.

Vote For Us @ Top Mommy Blogs