October 27, 2006

October 16, 2006

  • Observations on Living with Special Man Friend (“SMF”)

    A continuing series (until I get dumped for a better piece o’ ass)

     

    1.  I don’t move around much while I sleep. I’m like those models in commercials that sleep in a perfect pose with the bedding perfectly tucked under one arm, and with perfectly coiffed hair and perfectly done makeup. Yes, I’m exactly like those models when I sleep, except my hair is tangled in knots, mascara is smeared under my eyes, and I have stinky breath. My point is, when I slept alone, the bedding was remarkably undisturbed the following morning.  However, now that SMF lives with me, I wake up in the fetal position, shivering and bedding-less.  He doesn’t steal the covers; the sheet, blanket and duvet are usually in a big heap at the end of the bed or on the floor.  I admit, sometimes this is a result of our hot, frantic sex-makin’, but I cannot blame the Constant State of Bed Disarray on our lovin’ alone.  I’ve tried everything – tucking in the sheets tightly, handcuffing SMF to the bed, slipping coma-inducing drugs into his nightcap – but nothing works. This messy-bed phenomenon has perplexed me for quite some time, but last week I discovered something even more curious: SMF had completely removed the pillowcase from the pillow during his sleep! How’s that for a rambunctious sleeping partner? Fortunately for him, I can sleep through anything, even his apparent nighttime krumping.

     

     

October 13, 2006

  • Consider Yourself Warned

     

    IMG_13721

    Where: Subway; Milan, Italy

    My Italian is a little rusty (and by “rusty” I mean non-existent), but I’m fairly certain this sign says,

    “PLEASE DO NOT ATTEMPT TO HAVE SEX WITH SUBWAY DOORS.”

October 12, 2006

  • JORDANSMORGASBORDEN: The Funniest Niece on the Planet

    (age 11)

     

    Heidi: You’re the best!

    Jordan: No, you’re the best.

    Heidi: Okay, I’m the best, but you’re a close second.

    Jordan: You’re the best, I’m second best, and Uncle Greg is third best.

    Heidi: Really?  I’m surprised you still say that since he doesn’t come visit you much anymore.

    Jordan: Well, Aunt [TheGoddess] is right up there.

     

    *     *     *

     

    At camp, there was an altercation between two girls, after which the “pretty one” began teasing the “fat one” about her weight.  On Thursday, the whole group went to the beach and the pretty one got stung by a jelly fish in her private region.  Upon hearing this story, Jordan giggled uncontrollably and said, “All’s well that ends well!”

     

    *     *     *

     

    [At the grandparents’ house]:


    Heidi: Time to go!

        Jordan walks into the bathroom.
    Heidi: Is this going to be a long one?
    Jordan: Trust me . . . you want me to get rid of this here.

     

    *     *     *

     

    Heidi: How do I look?

    Jordan: You look great . . . especially from the front. From the side . . . not as much.

        Later: 

    Jordan: Mom, don’t feel bad. All fat people look fat from the side.

     

     

October 11, 2006

  • I Did Not Have Sex with That Man, Gary Gulman

    Or, Why You Should Poop Before Your Special Man Friend Says Something Hysterical

     

    I’ve written extensively about comedian Gary Gulman’s obsession with me.  I totally understand why this perpetually-sweaty manly-man would want a piece of my sweet ass, so I’ve politely tolerated Gary’s unsolicited sexual advances (that cannot be seen by the naked eye).  I didn’t realize, however, that his undying fixation on me would affect my relationship.   Sure, I noticed Special Man Friend’s (“SMF”) pouts when I said I wanted to watch Tourgasm on HBO.  And I detected his ever-so-slightly accusing tone when he asked me why I liked my Funny Bone Comedy Club souvenir glass so damn much. But it was during a moment of alcohol-induced honesty when SMF finally asked:

     

    “So you haven’t had sex with Gary Gulman?”

     

    “Gary Coleman — I won’t deny it, but Gary Gulman? No. Are you being serious?” I asked.

     

    Indeed, he was.

     

    I burst out laughing.  In fact, I laughed so hard . . . I farted.  In an effort to cover up this embarrassing faux pas, I said, “You made me laugh so hard I farted!” (Clever, yes?) He said the farting didn’t bother him, but he’s a fucking liar.  Obviously a man would prefer a non-farting girlfriend over a farting one, right?

     

    Thanks, Gary.  Thanks a lot!

     

    See previous Gary posts HERE, HERE and HERE.

     

     

April 10, 2006

  • The Special Man Friend (“SMF”) cooked dinner on Thursday night and we ate it at the table.  By ‘table,’ I mean the one with the chairs near the kitchen, not the one in front of the television in the living room. Weird! Apparently this table has uses other than holding my mail, purse, and keys. While the SMF was slaving away in the kitchen, I was reading blogs.  Guilt got the better me, so I went into the kitchen and asked if there was anything I could do to help.  He removed something called “Thai eggplant” from the fridge and started speaking in tongues, using words like “baste” and “fryer” and “shallots.” Have I mentioned that I can’t cook? I stared at him blankly; surely he understood that my offer to help was an obligatory formality, and not one that should have been taken seriously? He was supposed to respond, “No baby, why don’t you go take a bubble bath while I prepare your meal, and then afterwards, I’ll give you a nice back massage.” I guess he didn’t get the memo. Unless he wanted me to whip up a bowl of cereal, a PB&J sammich, or some toast, I was worthless in the kitchen.  So I did what any other reasonable person would do in this situation:  I pulled out my Treo and started playing Bubble Breaker.

     

    *          *          *

     

    I won the NCAA Tournament office pool.  I don’t know anything about basketball, and I didn’t watch a single game all year, but I was so far ahead in the pool that they declared me the official winner even before the Final Four games.  I’m a bad ass.

     

    *          *          *

     

    I’ve started tanning.  I’m going to St. Maarten in a couple of weeks with the SMF and I need a base tan or I will burst into flames as soon as I get off the plane.  The manager at the tanning salon took one look at me and told me she wouldn’t allow me to be in the bed for more than 7 minutes.  My skin tone is Baby Butt White, which I just realized would make a great new Crayola crayon color name.  Along with Pubic Hair Black and Vaginal Discharge Yellow. Don’t steal my ideas, bitches.

     

    Overheard

     

    Female bartender: I watched My Date with Drew, but I was disappointed that they didn’t show any boobies.  These days, if I’m paying $8.00 to see a movie, I want to see some titties.

     

    Male bartender: You know what? If I said what you just did, you would have hit me.

     

    Female bartender: No, I wouldn’t. I’ll show you my boobies, if you want.

     

    Male bartender: I wouldn’t pay $2.00 to see your boobies.

     

    Female bartender: If I paid you $2.00, would you look at my boobs?

     

    Drunk customer: I’ve got $2.00.

     

     

    These Xangans Made Me Snarf My Grande Non-Fat No-Whip Mocha

     

    “The alarm clock went off, and I thought it was a joke. I opened my eyes only to discover it was ‘O’fuck o’clock!’ (Excuse my language. I am trying to stop swearing) After 35 minutes of snooze tag I realized I now had only 15 minutes to get ready. In my haste I believe I shaved off half my goatie, swallowed some Irish Spring, and only brushed the teeth on the right side of my mouth.” – freebirdgonewild

     

    “and i call you L. because L is for Lucifer, as my friend dav correctly pointed out. now, normally i wouldn’t trust dav on discreet names for my paramours, but he recently had a near-death experience (weed + alcohol = transcendence, “i woke up shivering…it was like i was shitted out of the womb of the cosmic consciousness”). and he told me he was reborn as the messiah. so i am the prophet, i preach his word: L is for Lucifer.” – dzhan

     

    “We need a Victor’s Secret, to make really manly underwear.” – ToxicNed

    “This last one is what the Seattle skyline looks like when you’re driving across the I-5 bridge.  Or what it looks like if you left your contacts soaking in borrowed saline in a glass beside the sink because your luggage is checked and you missed your Seattle connection due to tornadoes and you didn’t have your contact kit with you so a lady gave you some saline solution at the same hotel the airlines stuck you in Kentucky and in the middle of the night you got up and either drank the contacts or you poured them down the sink and so the next day you’re walking around Cincinnati, New York, and Seattle and everything looks just like this.” – Daffodilious

    “Damn you, vile woman who dwells in the cubicle next to mine!  A pox upon your house!  I hope your son grows up to be a serial rapist!  Well, as long as he doesn’t rape anyone I know, that is, or anyone who doesn’t deserve it, for that matter.  In fact, I hope he only rapes mass murderers, hobos, and prostitutes, and, really, doesn’t so much rape the prostitutes as procure their services and then skip out on the tab only to be hunted down and beaten toothless by an angry pimp.  And then I hope he gets molested by doctors in the hospital.  And not, like, nice doctors in porn flicks, but large, scary Eastern European ones with sinister purposes and cold hands.  Yeah.  That’s what I hope happens.  That’ll learn ya to keep walking up behind me and coughing in my face eight times a day just to tell me you’re sick, you stupid, ill-mannered bitch!” – Goatsniper

March 14, 2006

  • Neuti-What?

     

    I thought the scented tampon was the stupidest thing ever invented.  I was wrong. 

     

     

    Is this:

     

    A.  A jellybean; or

    B.  A testicular implant for dogs.

     

    If you answered B, you get a gold star.  Neuticles: absolving the guilt from chopping off your dog’s nuts.  Thanks to Heidi for the link.

     

    You can also purchase Neuticles merchandise HERE.  FYI – my birthday is in August.   

    My Attention-Whoring Started at a Young Age

    My mom recently came across this letter from the publisher of the Guinness Book of World Records, which, apparently, is a response to a letter I wrote:

     Click on image to enlarge.

     

    Free Advice (worth every penny)

     

    If you dribble your drink on your pants, just urinate on yourself.  People may think that you‘re incontinent, but at least they won’t know you’re a sloppy drinker.

     

     

     

    Co-worker: What did you get for lunch?

    TheGoddess: A tuna salad sandwich.

    Co-worker: Ew. Your office is going to stink!

    TheGoddess: Good. Maybe the tuna will cover up the fart smell.

     

     

    Jordansmorgasborden: The Funniest Niece on the Planet

    Age 10  

     

     

    Jordan:  I know a kid who got cut by a rusty nail.  I’m not sure if he needs a Tetris shot or not.

     

    Heidi: I spy . . . something red and white and bulls-eye like.

    Jordan: The Target sign!

    Heidi: Yep.

    Jordan: Or the other Target sign!

    Heidi: Could be.

    Jordan: Or someone with Lyme’s disease!

     

    There is a radio commercial where a guy is having difficulty saying the phrase, “abominable snowman.” Once it was over, Jordan says in her best you-are-such-a-dumbass voice, “It is ABDOMINAL snowman!”

     

    (Jordan is in the tub) 

    Jordan: Mom, come watch this. (She is spitting water in the air like a fountain)

    Heidi: Great.  Jordan, I can see your boobs.

    Jordan: So? I don’t care.

    Heidi: You don’t care if people see your boobs?

    Jordan: Nope.

    Heidi: Okay.  I’m going to take a picture and show them to everyone.

    Jordan:  Fine, just as long as you tell everyone that they’re Britney Spears’s boobs.

    Heidi: No one is going to believe that.  Britney Spears has big boobs – she bought herself some fake ones.

    Jordan: Well, tell everyone that they’re her original boobs.

    Heidi: Yeah, they might believe that.

    Jordan:  Okay then.

    Heidi: Jordan, I am not taking a picture of your boobs.  That’s completely inappropriate.  You’re not supposed to show people pictures of your private parts.

    Jordan:  Well then, I guess I can’t ever get my camera published.

     

    Heidi: Cheaters never win and winners never cheat

    Jordan: That’s right.  Spoken like a true . . . person.  And I said person because I couldn’t think of another nice word to describe you.

     

    “I’ll have you know that that’s two days’ worth!” – Jordan’s response to Heidi’s disgust at Jordan’s soiled underwear.

     

    (Heidi thinks she heard Jordan say something that sounded like “eat shit.”).

    Heidi: Did you just say ‘eat shit’?!?!?

    Jordan: NO!!!  I said, “I say what she says.”

    Heidi: That’s not what it sounded like.

    Jordan: I swear!

    Heidi: Uh-huh…potty mouth.

    Jordan: I swear on your grave!!!

     

    (trying to explain the word ‘pimp-slap’ to Jordan)

    Heidi: Well, a pimp is a man who is a flashy dresser and sells women’s bodies to other men.

    Jordan: Ew. Why would they want to dissect somebody?

     

    Jordan: Just a question… is Judge Judy on the Supreme Court?

     

     Amusing Google Searches That Brought People to This Site

     

    Bea naked shirt

     

    Bea Arthur naked pictures

     

    Why make scented tampons

     

    Dolly Parton math equation boobless

     

    Extremely hot quotes for xangas

     

    Tampon smell

     

    Fear of sperm

     

    Little Red Riding Hood menstruation

     

    Lois Griffin nude

     

     

    GUEST BLOGGER: SPARKY

     

    My friend Sparky read my blog and got inspired.  I think it was all the talk about pooping, which, I admit, is very inspiring.  Sparky is too lazy to create is own goddamn blog, so he suggested I post the following tidbits in my blog. It’s not like I’ve been writing shit here lately, anyway.  I should warn you, however, that Sparky is my same person who thought it would be a great idea to hang a fixture with sixteen candles directly underneath a smoke alarm:

     

     

    Sparky looking appropriately embarrassed and shameful.  

     

    1.         Stop-n-Chat Etiquette

     

    In case you live on Pluto, you probably know that a “Stop-n-Chat” occurs when a person is minding their own business and walking some place when someone, whom they know and either (a) don’t know particularly well or (b) don’t like particularly much, approaches to initiate meaningless banter (credit for this concept originally belongs with Larry David, one of the great geniuses of the 20th century, alongside Krusty the Klown and Glen Quagmire).  I wonder what the rules are when you have a Stop-n-Chat with someone that you really strongly dislike.  I feel like the available responses to such a situation include:

     

                A.         The gouging out of one of your enemy’s eyeballs.  However, this technique requires restraint, as you must leave the other one unharmed so that your nemesis will live the remainder of his days being forced to witness the horrible disfigurement that you have inflicted upon him.

     

                B.         Suggesting that you are late for your doctor’s appointment and that you think his concern about your recent diagnosis of the HN-5 strain of Avian Bird Flu and the suggestion that it has “gone airborne” merely reflects his having been brainwashed by the liberal media, who are naturally in bed with their “big Pharma” allies.

     

                C.         Farting.  Loudly.

     

    Are there any other choices?  I think I’m all tapped out.

     

    2.         Proper Procedure for when a Man is Stalking You and Threatening to Kill You

     

    I live a blessed existence.  I really do.  For example, about a week ago, I was speaking to a colleague of mine named Scott and walking near 16th and K when a fine looking gentlemen approached me (hereinafter, “Deranged Bum”). Deranged Bum was dressed in all black garb (including black tee shirt and black trench coat).  He wore headphones, but I surmise that he wasn’t listening to anything as the headphones weren’t connected to anything (except, perhaps, the voices in his head).  Finally, he carried a small leather bound book which contained either (a) a list of people whom he has decided to murder or (b) Martha Stewart’s latest collection of crepe recipes.  I did not communicate with this man in any way (or even look at him).  To this day, I have no idea why I appeared to have been placed amongst the elite group of those whom he has marked for death.

     

    As our drama unfolded (hereinafter, the “Lunch Hour Standoff”), I was speaking with Scott on my cell phone and walking up the street in a vain effort to locate one of the eighteen Cosi’s within six blocks of my office.  As best as I can reconstruct, the “conversation” took place as follows:

     

    DB: I’m going to fucking kill you.

     

    SPARKY: [stunned silence and continues walking up street]

     

    DB: Listen to what I’m sayin’ man.  You’re going to die.

     

    SCOTT: What the hell is going on?  Is that guy talking to you?

     

    SPARKY: [whispering into the cell phone] Don’t you fucking hang up on me right now!  If I die, I will make sure to curse your seed for a thousand generations.

     

    Our hero walked for several more minutes, all the while being threatened by DB.  After two blocks, our champion decided to stop at the corner of 18th and L with the goal of allowing DB to fly over (similar in many respects to the technique made famous by Maverick in Top Gun).  Unfortunately, unlike the hapless Mig-21 fighter pilot who overflew his target and met with an abrupt end, DB did not fall so easily for such a trap.  He merely stopped 10 feet behind me, at which point our dialogue resumed:

     

    DB: I’m going to kill you and your whole family.

     

    SCOTT: He knows your family dude?

     

    SPARKY: [silence]

     

    DB: Your whole family!

     

    SCOTT: You should kick this guy’s ass for talking about your family.

     

    SPARKY: [recalling that morning's press reports describing in graphic detail a knife attack that had occurred in Lafayette Park, approximately 8 blocks away] I don’t think that’s advisable in the present circumstances.

     

    During a moment like this, when one believes that death is imminent, the human mind can be a finicky thing.  In this case, the little grey matter resting beneath my ears made the decision that the safest course of conduct was not to enter into a store, which could close off my escape routes, limit my visibility and hamper my full execution of the repertoire of hand to hand combat techniques at my disposal.  Rather than enter a store (or ask for assistance from a stranger), it was decided that the best decision was to cross the street halfway, stopping in the middle of traffic and pretending like I was confused.

     

    DB, upon seeing this tactically brilliant maneuver, quickly fled the field of battle.  In the After Action Report, it was determined that DB must have concluded that either (1) I was the superior combat strategist because I was forcing him to cross several lanes of downtown traffic in order to render the killing blow, and thus, his proposed death match with me was no longer in his self-interest; or (2) I was even crazier than he was and, as a result, DB owed me respect and could not in good conscience continue to threaten my life.

     

    I’m having my team of experts break down the “Lunch Hour Standoff” and I anticipate their Summary Memo within a week’s time.

     

     

     

    Gratuitous photo of Sparky’s crotch.

     

    These Xangans Are Funnier Than You

    (Yes, some of these are really old, but I haven’t posted in 5 months!)

     

    It’s not important how my penis got stuck in a porpoise’s blow hole, all that matters is that the surgery was a success. – otherbrotherdarrell

     

    I no longer need a “key master”.  It’s kind of morbid but my friend told me about it.  My friend would leave a set of his house keys in the top drawer of his desk.  He tells a co-worker (the assigned “key master”) to check on his house if he doesn’t show up to work for 3 days – just in case he died at home.  Well, that’s the serious side of bachelorhood and living alone.  Whoopee! Now my wife gets to find my rotting corpse at home. – pmanmeister

     

    The one thing I’ve learned while working in my current job is that I have got to be the most horrible Solitare player ever. – grisashubby

     

    Seriously, what is better than dancing… on rollerskates.  Clearly nothing. – lawlessgoddess

     

    This is the time of the year when I lose all faith in humanity when I see two women fighting over a dish on sale for $9.99 because it’s the last one with a box.  And though I’m tempted to say “you know, Mikasa is Japanese for middle-class crap, right?” I drop it on the floor instead so they will both stop fighting about it.  The one nice thing I can say about my employers is that they don’t make me pay for items I damage. – BettyDoesLife

     

    It feels like an underwear up the ass day today. – Literature_Chick

     

    The only good clown is a dead clown. – ToxicNed

     

    Usually after a few drinks, i tend to talk about my vagina… alot. - SueTalksTooMuch

     

    I soon realized that there was a reason to have tv shows on a cable movie channel: they could show boobies.  – akathatoneguy

     

    In an effort to rid the world of drugs, I’m going to start doing all of the drugs in the world. – ryan_jl

     

    I have always wanted to have a word of the day… not like on Pee Wee’s Playhouse where everyone screams when they hear the word of the day (but this could be fun in a bar) but like a new word that I learn and have to use that day in a sentence. I just worry I would get bored with the idea and start going with the word “fuck” for each day. Maybe I already have? – JaneEliz

      

    I’m thinking of instituting Islamic law when it comes to driving.  If I see you driving stupid, then I get to chop your driving foot off.  Then I’ll put the feet on a necklace and wear it around.  Because you don’t mess with the guy with a foot necklace. – troydetmer

     

     

     

October 13, 2005

  • Tampons Aren’t Supposed to Smell Like Roses

     

    Click on picture to make larger

     

    A closer look

     

    “Tampax Fresh – the only cardboard tampon that doesn’t smell like cardboard.”

     

    This is a real ad.  Ripped right out of the People magazine from my dentist’s office.  Tampax is now offering the first scented tampon. Scented?! What kind of sicko smells a tampon? Do you really care what a tampon smells like when you first take it out of the box? Believe me, after a ‘pon has been marinating in your bloody coot for a few hours, it is not going to make a difference if it originally smelled like cardboard or a field of daisies.

     

    I double dog dare any of you to argue that this is NOT the dumbest ad campaign ever. What the hell is going on in this picture?  Under what circumstances would a woman ever be in her nightgown, holding Tampax under her chin while sitting in a . . . lake? Plus, no respectable woman would wear white when Little Red Riding Hood comes for a visit during Butt Sex Only Week.  Certainly not after Labor Day!  Please.

     

October 9, 2005

  • Caption This!

     

     

    Stuff I Hate

     

    19.  That my leg hair seems to grow 100 times faster between the hours of 8:00 a.m. – 12:00 p.m.  Even if I pass the early morning leg hair test (by running the palm of my hand up and down my leg to make sure there is no unsightly stubble), I will always have gorilla legs by lunchtime.

     

    20.  The pinhole that is poked into every Starbucks coffee lid underneath the words “Caution Contents Hot.” You don’t recall seeing it? It’s there. Go look right now.  I’ll wait . . . . okay.  Is there a purpose for that little hole? I mean, other than to squirt drops of grande non-fat no whip mocha on my forehead each time I take a swig?

     

    21.  Figuring out the plural form for Starbucks.  For example, I was telling my boss how many Starbucks locations there are immediately off exit ramps on I-64 (I can’t tell you how to get to my house, but I know there is a Starbucks located 0.5 miles off of Exit 256B, even though the sign says it is 1.3 miles away).  I could have said “Starbucks locations” like I did in the last sentence, but that would be intellectually lazy.  Instead, I’ll take a blog poll.  What is the plural form of Starbucks? Starbuckes?

     

    22.  People who think they can pluralize any word by adding an apostrophe s.   That really gets on my nerve’s!

     

    23.  Xangans who constantly update the date/time stamp on their old, unedited entries so they appear at the top of my SIR list every fucking minute.  Dude, I already read your shit.

     

    24.  That annoying beep from Nextel Direct Connect Walkie Talkies.  Still, that the beep doesn’t annoy me as much as cell phones clipped to one’s belt.  I mean, really.

     

    25.  People who wear those hands-free cell phone headset devices on their ear even when they aren’t talking on the phone.  Hello? Are you a goddamn cyborg?

     

    26.  Misleading sales ads.  Like when I see a sign on top of a clothing rack that says “SALE! $10.00 and up!”  I suppose the key words are “AND UP” because usually, except for one cheap ass tank in a size zero that is marked down to $10.00, everything else on the rack is $58.00. 

     

    27.  That the shortened form of the word ‘refrigerator’ is ‘fridge.’ Shouldn’t it be ‘frige’?  Where did the letter d come from? Someone explain this to me now.

     

    28.   People in the service industry who call me a fat ass by pretending to give “helpful suggestions” about my order.  Examples:

               

                TheGoddess: I’d like a Coke, please.

                Waitress: A diet Coke?

     

                TheGoddess: I’d like a grande mocha, please.

                Barista: Non-fat and no whip?

     

    29.  The concierge at the hotel in D.C. I stayed at last month.  I asked him where the closest Starbucks was located, and he told me that there wasn’t a Starbucks nearby per se, but the hotel across the street had a Starbucks stand open every weekday.  Au contraire mon frere!  The dumby concierge is a big fat liar.  The hotel across the street had a coffee bar, but it was not a Starbucks.  I think it was called Perk Works.  Perk Works?!  Listen, you can call any dark-colored carbonated beverage a Coke, you can call any plastic covering for your leftovers Saran Wrap, and you can call any copy you make a Xerox copy.  BUT THE WORD “STARBUCKS” CANNOT BE USED AS A BRAND EPONYM TO DESCRIBE ANYTHING THAT RESEMBLES COFFEE.  Starbucks is Starbucks.  Everything else is just coffee.  So sayeth me.  

     

    Try Finding A Bra For This

      

     

    When Lindsay Lohan said she was going to work out with a trainer and eat healthy because she “wanted her boobs back,” she should have been more specific about the location. [Photo from The Superficial.com] 

     

     Random Email Exchange

     

    TheGoddess: The only things you left in the hotel room that I saw were your deodorant and a comb.  I packed both.  I’ve been using your deodorant to control my crotch sweat, but I’m happy to return it.

     

    Heidi: That’s funny.  I’ve been using the deodorant to control feminine wetness!

     

    TheGoddess: I guess that means we’ve technically had sex.

     

    Heidi: Yeah, and that’s not even counting that time we were really drunk.

    From JORDANSMORGASBORDEN: The Funniest Niece on the Planet

    Age 9

    Jordan: That was the first kiss I’ve received from someone who wasn’t a relative. – announced to our dolphin swim group after she got a ‘kiss’ from Lester the Dolphin at Discovery Cove.   

    Heidi: (assisting Jordan with science homework) Which of these scientists thought the earth was the center of the universe?

    Jordan: Cornucopias.

    Jordan: I like your t-shirt.

    TheGoddess: Do you even know what it means?

    Jordan: (indignant) Yes! It is talking about Brad Pitt and Jennifer Lopez.

     

    Jordan: Mom, what is that pink triangle thing on Brady [her dog]?

    Heidi: That’s his penis.

    Jordan: (giggling) Do all boys have one of those?

    Heidi: Well, it looks a little different on a human, but yes, all boys have a penis.

    Jordan: (still giggling) I’ve never seen one before… they’re gross.

     

    Jordan: (singing Avril Lavigne’s Complicated) . . . take off all your crappy clothes.

     

    (We are teasing Jordan for getting the lyrics wrong)

    Jordan: Stop making fun of me!

    Heidi: Maybe you need to learn the lyrics.

    Jordan: Maybe [Avril] needs to learn to be a better singer.

     

    Jordan: I’ve decided that when I get married, I’m going to have my wedding in Hawaii . . .  but my groom is going to pay for the airfare.

     

    Jordan: In thirty years, we will have clothes that can talk.  And that will be cool. [Ed. Note: I’m not sure I want to hear what Jordan’s underwear has to say].

     

    More Offensive T-Shirts From My Collection

    From T-Shirt Hell, which brought back their Worst From Hell T-Shirts, no doubt because of the overwhelming response to my call to arms.  

     

    My t-shirts don’t just offend; they also raise money for breast cancer research:

    I had to wear a bra for this picture.  Boobs, support . . . get it? Ha! October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, so go buy your t-shirt HERE.

     

    MORE INDISPUTABLE EVIDENCE THAT GARY GULMAN WANTS ME TO HAVE HIS HOT, COOKIE-LOVIN’ BABIES

     

    see previous Gary entries HERE and HERE

     

    Not surprisingly, Gary did send me a totally unsolicited (except I gave him my address) autographed picture of himself, as promised:

    At first I thought there was no way this was actually Gary’s signature.  It was probably a stock photo forged by some PR person because surely Gary is too busy lusting after me to sign autographs, right?  But he must’ve made an exception for me. When I attended another show of his a few months later, he begged that I let him sign one of his CDs to give to me.  Reluctantly, I agreed.  I personally witnessed him autograph the CD, and after extensive analysis, I’ve concluded that the handwriting is the same as above, even though he signed the CD “Gary Gut.”  Gary Gut?

    I can’t help but notice that, once again, Gary added a HEART, TWO Xs and TWO Os.  That’s two kisses and two hugs, folks, which is practically making out. At this point, I started to feel a bit guilty about Gary’s shameless crush on me; after all, he does have a girlfriend.  But before I could break free from his love-grasp, Gary insisted I take another picture with him, so there would be photographic evidence that he did not, in fact, have sweaty pits after this particular show.   

    I know this picture looks innocent, but I swear on the baby Jesus (even though I’m not religious) that Gary isn’t wearing any pants.  I had to crop out the good dirty parts to protect the virgin eyes of my younger readers, so you’ll have to take my word on this one.

    Given our busy schedules, we probably won’t see each other again for a while, but Gary promised to write often:

September 26, 2005

  • My Sunday Nights Have Meaning Again!



    This is so totally not photoshopped.  I swear.*




    These Xangans Made Me Snarf My Starbucks Grande Mocha


    (which is really painful when you order it extra hot)


    “7:15 AM Wake up and yell at the alarm clock ‘cause he’s a ‘goddamn liar.’” – ryan_jl


     


    “Best pickup line I’ve heard: ‘Hey, mind if I hang out here for a bit until it’s safe to go back where I farted?’” – Garick


     


    Back at New England College and it’s been pretty damn awesome. I’m livin with Devin this year and it would be pretty cool, but he keeps on muttering in his sleep, “Boy, I sure do love balls in my mouth and dick in my ass.” It’s pretty creepy, but no one is perfect. Except for me. I am. – Willy_Fisterbottom


     


    “Sometimes things smell like b.o. that aren’t supposed to.” – Matira


    “97 is the number of steps that I have to climb in order to reach the area of where one of my projects is taking place. If I had built those steps, I would’ve thrown in 3 extra steps just to make it an even 100 and I would make the last three steps into a tiny little escalator.” - jysaac


    “i look at my page statistics, and think ‘maybe people actually read this.’  then i realize that 10 out of 12 page views are from the ‘Lois Griffin Nude’ guy.” – trx0x


     


    Yesterday in English class I got a few more papers back that I had written. Every single one a fucking A-. Not one solid A. Not that I am some over achieving bitch that cries when she gets an 89% instead of a 90%, but this is ridiculous. The only conclusion I can come to, is that he has some kind of sick vendetta against me because I won’t sleep with him. Which is completely ridiculous, because I totally would!” – BeckNCallGirl


     


    “When you’re firing a prop gun that has a blank in it, you still have to be careful because there may be material or debris in the barrel that can come out when the weapon is fired. This rule applies to farting too.” – toxicned


     


    “Bill sat down at his typewriter and the words immediately began to pour out of him. Apparently, the smoothie he’d made from one of his old philosophy textbooks didn’t agree with his stomach. He picked a few paper scraps from between the keys and resolved to try again later with civics.” – FlashFiction






    * Okay, it is photoshopped.  I admit it . . . I superimposed Patrick Dempsey’s head on the body of the male model I posed with for the latest cover of Entertainment Weekly.  I figured I needed this explanatory footnote for those readers who actually thought I was IMing with God in my last entry.