Boy Scouts Done Lost They Mind!

We live in a neighborhood – and in said neighborhood we have “The Scouts” – Girls and Boys. Having been a Girl Scout, when fundraising season comes along I certainly don’t mind Smith handing out seven bucks for a box of Caramel Delights – or that he buys enough Thin Mints to keep himself sustained long after the apocalypse – but Boy Scouts?! You guys have lost your badge-loving minds. WHO CHARGES $55 for popcorn?! Are the Boy Scouts run by crazy people? Who’s making this popcorn? One Direction and the 1996 cast of Friends? Listen, this is not Mayflower times. Corn is no longer “the hot new thing on the streets,” so stop charging us like these nuggets are made of gold.

But she taught y'all how to make that shit!

Damn, that’s cold. She taught y’all how to make that shit.

If I had to sustain myself with popcorn, I’d be dead by lunchtime… of boredom. There aren’t even fortunes or magical gems in this stuff. Every year y’all sucker us in by sending those lil cuties around in their tiny neckerchiefs, but y’all won’t get me again. I KNOW HOW TO PRETEND I’M NOT HOME LIKE A CHAMP!

Ding Dong – no one’s home, chumps!

Come back after hurricane season and I will give you my Chef Boyardee cans, but until you guys stop thinking you are selling popcorn to Donald Trump, I ain’t buying. Hmm popcorn or gas for the month – which should I choose? Doi. How’s about I just give you ten dollars, you make some cookies and keep your popcorn for the rich and famous?

Additionally, y’all better start waving back after fundraising season is over or I’m turning the sprinkler settings on randomize. Acting like you don’t know my ass – but bishes gotta offload some kernels and all the sudden it’s like “Oh Hi, Miss Nicole!” Then a month later I wave and y’all act like I’m passing out candy bars and puppies from a van with no windows.

Shut up, you live next door and I baby sat you twice.

Game. Set. Match. I WON’T BE FOOLED AGAIN!

P.S. The winter theme on the tin was lovely.

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Thank You Thursdays!

When I realize it’s Thursday, (because normally I do not know what day of the week it actually is and I go by “it feels like a Tuesday today” kind of logic) I’m going to make a conscious effort to post something I am thankful for- because “Thankful Thursdays” sounds good and I’m going to make this a universal thing just like that time when I made short busses come into style. With that, today I’m thankful for the ability to find humor in most anything. It always makes life entertaining. Let me share a few random places that have left me with the giggles lately:

1. This quote from Michael Scott on The Office about a character he made up and cried about for a non-existant movie he never made:

He had no arms or legs. He couldn’t see, hear, or speak. This is how he led a nation.

*This* is how he led a nation? *This* is? That just makes me lmao!

2. That time I saw an ice cream truck that read “Watch out for the childrens.” That’s right, “childrens” – with an s. How many dang kids are eating popsicles there that “children” needs to become more plural?!

WAIT FOR ME ICE CREAM MAN!

3. This girl’s reaction to seeing her spotty coverage map on this Verizon commercial:

What the hell am I seeing right now?!

4. This meme @SngleMomConfssn posted about diets:

JUST SHUT UP!

JUST SHUT UP!

5. The sign burning out on our Embassy Suites, to only reveal “Assy Suites” (Forgive the blurriness, Smith was driving at the speed of light and I took this shot right before we blasted back in time.)

Dang, I gotta mini fridge and a writing desk - these suites is assy as hell! *4 stars*

“Dang, I gotta mini fridge and a writing desk – these suites is assy as hell!” *4 stars*

6. Inspirational Mr. T on a unicorn:

Follow your dreams, fool!

7. And this “What I gotta put this on, #PowerRanger?” quote from this girl about it being to hot out side this past summer. (NSFW – language)

Bahaha! Laughing is good. Anyhoo – find something that makes you laugh and share it today! Happy Thank You Thursday!

Grandma’s Cleaner

YOU WILL!

YOU WILL!

The doorbell rang at about noon today. Smith, wearing only one sock answered the door. I should offer that he was fully clothed besides the one sock, but please know that I debated informing you of that for at least 3 minutes. It is unclear to me why he was only wearing one sock, but he had been wearing just the one sock for at least 3.25 hours by my guestimation. I was cleaning so I did not proceed to the door. Come to think of it, I usually never go to the door because I am almost always in my underwear. Don’t you judge me, I like to stay nimble incase of a fire or natural disaster. Anyhow, from where I was I heard the following:

Smith: “Mumble mumble”

Man Voice: “Good! Mumble Mumble?”

Smith and Man Voice: “Grumble grumble mansounds.org”

I then heard them both giggle as they went outside and closed the front door behind them. I thought: “I wonder if they were talking about I can has a cheesyburger.” (cause that’s what I giggle about 8-15 hours of my normal day to day.)

(How can you not laugh about this?)

10 minutes later Smith came storming into the house from the garage exclaiming “QUICK! I need a squirt bottle! Where are the squirt bottles?!” (As if we have so many of them that there is some sort of room or storage space in our house just for storage of said bottles.) After pulling the contents of the under sink cabinet out, he retrieved a bottle and literally ran out of the back door with the squirt bottle in the air, “I’ll be back in a minute… I gotta… mildew! This is AMAZING!!!”

Hmm… was the visitor a scientist? At this point I was curious, but not curious enough to put on pants. Fifteen minutes after that Smith came back in to retrieve money. Five minutes after that he brought in a hot pink bottle of solution that he just bought off of, for all I know was, a vagabond.

Smith talked me into putting on pants to show me all of the things he and this strange man cleaned around our house to “put his solution to the test.” I was pleasantly surprised because when I say this stuff cleaned, it cleaned the shit outta some shit. Mold on bricks, gutters, break dust, the ground, a wall of something or other. It was pretty cool. I think Smith thought so too because he acted as if the solution was an Easter Miracle. He currently has the bottle “resting” on my side of the bed. The point of this story is, if someone comes to your door selling “Grandma’s Cleaner” put on some pants and buy that shiz. Then clean some shiz. You’ll be happy you did. Unless it turns out that this shiz is poison, but he literally squirted it in his mouth as part of his demonstration. Now I want to spray it in my mouth just to see if it tastes like strawberries. Which is likely how they used to knock off kings and shit back in the day. Well played, vagabond. Well played.

*squirts*

P.S. I found this guy selling Grandma’s Cleaner on YouTube. Smith said this wasn’t our guy, but that he was just as entertaining.

Happy Gangnam Holidays!

So here we are, and the weeks of holiday travel are upon us. Where did the time go? Just last Friday you were suckin’ on hot dogs at the 4th of July picnic and now you are mere moments away from getting to see a male family member throwin’ back some ‘nog dressed in only his dingiest of underwearz. Wherever you are this season please stay safe, be merry, find a time to laugh so hard that you pee at least 4 drops of joy-filled urine, taste the dang fruitcake, and for the love of gingersnaps make one of these for your family and/or friends!

Enjoy Smith, starring in A Very Merry Smith Gangnam Style Christmas at the link below:

A Gangnam Smithmas

Click for a Gangnam Smithmas or use the link below!

A Very Merry Smith Gangnam Style Christmas

Merry Kwanzannukahsmas!

The Rhinestone Cowboy

In my offline life, among other things, I am a singer. The first band I was hired to front was a country band.

Proof.

I did not know any country music at the time – but I learned quickly and grew to enjoy the genres. The manager of the band and I hit it off and became close friends. With that friendship, I learned all things country. There were rodeos, NASCAR races, George Straight concerts, moonshine, cowboy hats, front porch-pickin, boots… trailers, sexy lady mud flaps – it was country-tastic. On one of our many country-themed adventures, I was asked to accompany Tim (the manager) and his friends to “The Country Corral.” I inquired as to what the heck that even meant.

“What the hell kind of place is that?”

“Ah, it’s great! There’s a dance floor and it’t packed! We like to sit on the side and watch all the lady butts.”

“So, let me get this, you want me… to go to ‘The Corral’… and stand along the side and watch lady butts with you? MMMMmmm… nyew.”

“No, we just do that sometimes, you gotta go!”

So, after a bit of coaxing and bargaining, I agreed to go:

“Well if we get out there and I crack a window and hear banjos, just remember that you did that to your buttholes – not me.”

YEEHAW! (Click to buy these vintage notecards!)

The journey to The Country Corral was composed of 6 people: Myself, Tim, his bff Kevin, and Kevin brought his work friend, Slick. (Slick brought 2 work friends, that we lost at the door and I haven’t seen them since.) I don’t think “Slick” was his real name, but he answered to it and it was all I ever knew. Slick was an odd nickname to me, because “Slick” was a city boy – but by gawd, he was eating this country shit up with a spoon!

We arrived at the crowded door, and eventually made our way towards the bar. On our way, we saw it. The mechanical bull line. This was no country fair mechanical bull – this was a training bull, with a line of actual rodeo cowboys in wait.

“Look at that!” Shouted Slick

“Yeah buddy, I don’t think that’s for you tonight.” Said Tim

We found a table near the band and took a seat. Slick watched that bull all night from our camp. Slick also drank Goldschlager until he was so marble-mouthed, that I heard him introduce himself as “Shit” to some chick.

“They call me Schlitt”

It was about 12:15AM when Slick announced. “Sheyy evurybuday, *hiccups* I’m gonna dew et! I’ma ridin’ that bull!”

Yeah buddy.

Being a little tipsy ourselves, it sounded like a great idea at the time and we enthusiastically accompanied Slick over to the ride line. After a 30 minute wait amid buckles and boots – tennis shoe wearing slick finally got his turn. Slick was wobbly as hell on approach, jittering all over the bounce house-like fall mat floor. Slick eventually mounted the robo beast and the rodeo began. The bull went down, Slick snapped up. The bull went up, Slick slapped down on that shit like a sack of potatoes. Now, let me explain that Slick was wearing tight jeans. I think he thought they looked like cowboy jeans. But they did not have the same quality stitching, because when Slick’s ass smacked down on that bull – he split his jeans clean open. The entire inseam right down to the knee. It was like make shift denim short chaps with matching denim leg warmers. Kevin, Tim and I almost pissed ourselves laughing. Odder even, Slick didn’t know he was riding that bull in his panties until the end of the ride, where he was ultimately tossed head over foot 5 to 10 feet, exactly 4 seconds after the ride began.

Woaaaah, Nelly! (Click to buy this vintage notecard.)

After about 2 minutes of adrenaline detox, Slick noticed his jeans. Slick was pissed. Drunk Kevin and Tim then said, “Hey man! I think we can fix ’em up!” We retreated to the car where Tim whipped out a giant roll of duct tape from the trunk. (I’ve since learned that most boys are traveling with duct tape in their trunk. Duct tape to boys must be like extra shoes to girls.) Tim and Kevin then began to piece the jeans back together with the tape. By the end of it all, we retuned to The Country Corral dance floor with Slick and his new shiny silver jeans.

It’s worth noting that at about 3:45AM we were cutting said jeans off of Slick outside a Waffle House. Lots of beer and booze make permanent duct tape jeans a poor choice in apparel.

“We can stay up late, telling manly stories, then in the morning… I’m makin’ waffles!”

What Not To Be For Halloween

As a girl, Halloween can be a time of great inner turmoil;

“What should I be?”

“What can I be that no one else with think of?”

“How can I be the absotively cutest me possible and still wear somewhat sensible shoes for the shit ton of walking I will be doing downtown?!”

Deep inside, I would say the majority of us girls long for fun costumes, where we can display our unique sense of wit, style and humor… only to be quickly bridled by our feminine side. That bitch is yearning to feel sexy, look pretty and by gawd, to set them boobies free! It is a tale as old as time itself.

Oh gawd, is no one dressing traditionally sexy this year?!

Most of us have likely had the year where we were like “screw it, I want my best friend and I to be Wayne and Garth and gawd damnit, we’re going to be the best dang Wayne and Garth this side of the Mississippi!” Then you showed up to a party or a club to be ignored by dudes for that damn sexy, buttcheek-baring Alice in Wonderland!

Likely the only time you’ll be comfortable being something goofy.

Damn you, Alice!

Personally, I haven’t done the funny/odd costume. The closest I got was dressing up as a goth girl… with cute makeup and pink hair. Even though I think the quirky costume would be MUCH more fun to execute than the sexy counterpart, I have elected traditionally girly costumes because I already feel like a little dude most days – because I am forced to shave way too much and my hair is cut kinda short… yeah, it’s really only a matter of time before I’m able to rock a boner all on my own.

So believe me girls, I feel ya, but we have come to a point in time where our costume choices are fugging up the space time continuum and life on this planet, as we know it, may never be the same again. We have tried to get the best of both worlds by combining the sexy with the oddest of odds. In doing such, we have finally flown too close to the sun on wings of pastrami. We have blown the fuse on the “what is okay to make sexy” box.

With that said, I found the following costumes. I am almost speechless about them. I cannot figure out why this is happening. I have been taking showers like that dude in The Crying Game just to try to wash the memory away- but these things cannot be unseen. Worst yet, they can’t be unmade. They’re made, and they’re selling like hot cakes, and it’s all our fault, ladies.

Sexy Bert and Ernie:

What in the eff, Bert?!

Sexy Burger:

I can see her sesame seeds! WHY? WHY?!

Sexy Angry Bird:

You’ll be an angry bird when photos of you wearing this shit surface in a few years.

Sexy Big Bird:

Oh no she di’int!

Sexy Corn:

Guess who’s showing up in your own poo tomorrow- surprise, it’s you!

Sexy Potato Head:

Easiest way to stay single.

Sexy Mario and Luigi:

I “mustache” you to stop.

I could go on, but I don’t want to throw up in my mouth. Ladies, you may think you’re being cute by wearing one of these, but you are sure to end up boning the dude that works the fryers at Carl’s Junior. It won’t even be the best fryer dude, or the loner one with potential, it will be the one who’s only there because he likes to get high so much that he can’t afford to buy his own fries. Allow me to outline your night in 4 easy steps:

1. You get to the club, rocking your mustache and plunger

2. Get ignored by all the cute dudes

3. Get drunk

4. Do the walk of shame in the morning from fryer guy’s mom’s house.

Do you know how hard it is to do the walk of shame with a plunger? Don’t worry, you’ll find out.

Houston We Have Opossum

Hello, I’m going to make you beat yourselves with your own shoes!

Two years ago, Smith was spreading some bags of mulch in the front yard. At the bottom of the stack, between the last two bags he found a baby opossum! It looked like a cute, tiny, weird kitten. We couldn’t figure out where the mother could be, or why she had left her baby in such an odd place. We assumed she was out looking for food or turning tricks to make ends meet. Baby opossum wasn’t scared of us at all. He just looked at us or slept while we worked around him. When we were finished with the yard work, we didn’t want anything to harm the baby in the mother’s absence, so I made a tiny opossum house out of a beer box and placed it over him. There was a tiny front door and tiny windows and tiny stickers. It was super cute. We checked on the little guy throughout the evening – but by morning, the house was abandoned with only a tiny tuft of opossum hair left behind.

Cut to, two months later I was laying in bed at about 3am, when I heard someone trying to break into our pool area! “Ah shit, this is it! Where’s my flashlight?! I gotta prepare for battle!” I nudged Smith awake with my hand over his mouth. Smith was like “muryesh?”

“Someone… is trying… to break in… listen…” I whispered.

“Ah hell nah!” Smith jumped to his feet and ran out half naked with a garden stake and my flashlight. (He clearly thought it was going to be vampires out there.) Side note: that he sprung to action out of a dead sleep- that shit is brave as hell to me. I was just preparing to hunker down behind the bed crying “Now I’ll never get to see the iPhone 6!” until the burglars finally broke through the threshold. Then I would spring into ninja like kicks and tiger like scratching motions and slap fight them until my untimely demise. But not Smith, he’s my big strong man!

Smith snuck outside, and shone the light in the area of the noises. Much to my surprise, it was not the Taliban, it was a young azz opossum! Likely the same opossum from the front yard. He was trying to break into our roof gutter and appeared to be the Vin Diesel of opossums. Totally  BAO; bad ass opossum. Smith even tried to spray him with the hose to get him to leave, lil bastid didn’t even move – he just took it and shook the water off and looked at us. “That all ya got, bitches?!” Like he didn’t retreat or anything. Totally bad ass.

I tried to get a picture of him but I kept freaking out running away like a little bitch. My iPhone actually snapped a pic, mid bolt, to remind me of my weak constitution:

Warp speed!

Smith eventually got the lil guy to move to a tree and quickly developed a plan; Smith would get on the roof to chase BAO further into the tree and I would stand guard with the hose, to distract BAO, should the opossum become aggressive.

I look cute, but I will “pick you up with my mind vision and shake you like a dawg.”

What Smith didn’t take into account? That I would be the dude in those war movies, that’s sitting watch in the woods somewhere and keeps hearing sounds and eventually just mows down everything in a panic. RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

Tropic Thunder

I kept hearing that lil bastid in the trees, but it was so dark I couldn’t see him so I would just freak out and start shooting the shit out of everything. Every time I sprayed “the opossum,” it was actually Smith I was mowing down. Smith eventually said, in the nicest of ways; “Baby, if you spray me in the face one more time, I’m gonna snap.” Being the lookout for the opossum was hard, because you could smell him just before you could see him, and he’d just pop up like a wack-a-mole, sending me into a panic. This smell/sight /panic process is how I now imagine all those people who have met big foot must have felt like – just before they shit themselves.

This opossum, who I’ve lovingly nicknamed Lamonte, doesn’t know he’s “nocturnal.” Which is why I once came home at about 3pm to find Smith chasing Lamonte in the backyard, armed with only a sandal and a twig. Smith, not the opossum. Opossum don’t give a shit. I was like “What were you going to do if he attacked you? Beat him about the ass until he promised to move? What if he’s kinky?! You might as well just throw a welcome mat up there and get to tweaking your nipples!”

SO, we’ve been fighting this lil dude for 2 years now. Mainly because every pest place we’ve called wants to kill him – and we’re just not down with that. We don’t want him to go to meet baby Jesus, we just want him to find a home that isn’t our roof. Anyhow, Lamonte comes back to move into the gutter every 4-6 months. Must be like the official opossum sabbatical time frame or something. Yesterday, I saw Lamonte shimmy out around 2pm. I made the mistake of telling Smith, who quickly climbed onto the roof and began some “construction.”

Yeah, then this piece goes like this… yeah… perfect. HONEY, GET ME THE ELMER’S, WILL YA?

Lord only knows what Smith made up there. I’m too clumsy to investigate anything more that 5 feet off of the ground. He was on the roof from 2:10 to 8:15pm. Only stopping “construction” for 15 minutes to gather supplies at the Home Depot. Smith told me what he did up there- but mind you, Smith is like a mad scientist and I am a girl who gets distracted easily. This is a diagram I made for you to understand how I understand Smith’s opossum diverting construction to be:

I might have misunderstood or totally nailed it. Either way, good luck Lamonte, may the force be with you.

You know I made a special-tee for this! Click here > Opossum Tee

The Secret Visitor

A few years ago, my workplace sent out a memo reading something like:

“We will have a secret visitor on Monday. For security purposes we cannot disclose their identity, but we ask that you please make sure your area is clean and that you dress appropriately for our guest.”

I immediately jotted this information down in my special notebook of things I don’t give a shit about:

My notebook of “Things I Don’t Give a Shit About”

However, most of the company began to lose their minds at the thought of who it could be. You could hear so much heavy whispering, it sounded like bitches were casting spells-n-shiz. They couldn’t handle the secrecy. “Who is it? Who can we ask? How can we find out? Who do you think it is?” And so on, and so on.

I became inspired from all of the buzz. I quickly enlisted the help of my cubical neighbor – a crazy 3d developer named Stephen. We both worked in the graphics department, which they keep very dark to minimize the glare on our monitors. This cloak of darkness was the perfect setting for my ninja-like hijinks. First, we began sneaking into any unoccupied cubicles and loudly “whispering” conversations on the phone with no one. The script was loose, but it went something like this:

*Fumbles phone*

Whispers: Hello? Yeah, so I totally found out who ‘YOU-KNOW-WHO’ is going to be… *pauses to provide dramatic emphasis for the surrounding ears*

Well, if I tell you… you can’t tell a soul, promise? I could get in trouble, okay? Promise? Okay. It’s… Prince… like the musician. *Pauses* I know I’m totally excited. I love his music too… okay I gotta go!

*Click*

Amid our cubical tour, Stephen and I would take detours into the common areas and just start a conversation like: “OMG did you guys hear who the visitor is?! *looks both ways to make sure no one is coming as if we are about to reveal top-secret info* It’s totally Gary Coleman.”

(Please forgive me, Gary Coleman was alive and well when this happened. I even met him later in the same year, oddly enough. Along with the twin brothers from Harry Potter and The Fonz. If you want to know what magical setting facilitated meeting all of those people at the same time – it was in the butt crease of carnivals known as the Central Florida Fair – which took place in a farty dirt patch somewhere near downtown.)

Please pretend this is a tribute photo of poor lil Gary C.:

R.I.P. Ass Dan and poor lil Gary Coleman

Anyhow, people would immediately say:

“Really? Why the hell would Gary Coleman be coming here?”

To which Stephen quickly responded “I think cause the owner is a fan or something and Coleman is coming to town because he’s starring in Mr. Bojangles, so he’s doing a tour of the joint for us to make him some posters.”

(Please note, at this time the company really only created government simulators and training for the military type graphics, not posters for former child-stars.)

“What’s Mr. Bojangles?”

“Dude, get out from under your rock- it’s only one of the most successful touring shows ever, it’s got dancing and passion and great music.”

“Really? Gary Coleman is a dancer? I didn’t know that.”

“Oh yeah, he’s like a classically trained ball room dancer or something. That’s how they found him for Different Strokes, actually, at a dancing thing.”

“Wow. I totally didn’t know that…”

It was a short time later we could hear people conducting friendly whisper arguments about how one side knows it was going to be Prince while others heard it was Gary Coleman.

When anyone asked what I was going to wear for the event I said, “I totally have a purple crushed-velvet outfit – I’m wearing it just in case, cause it’s a 50% chance that it’s Prince!”

Needless to say, Stephen and I ended up staying late to finish the work that we had neglected during our shenanigans campaign trail. One of the executives approached us when he saw we were still at our desks…

“Yeah, since it’s officially after hours, and so that you dress appropriately on Monday, I just wanted you guys to know that the governor is our visitor. Please keep this information to yourselves. I am telling anyone that’s here because, for some reason I’ve gotten a lot of questions about Gary Coleman and Prince, and I just don’t want anyone showing up with their collectable Arnold action figures or Prince albums.”

Stephen and I began to giggle. To which the department head, Rob, said “What’s funny?”

“Well, they kinda maybe might have gotten that idea from us.” We disclosed our full story to Rob. By the end he was laughing so hard that he literally slapped his knee. He seemed most amused at the made up Mr. Bojangles the musical part.

By gawd, don’t forget the dancing!

Monday came, and the governor (Jeb Bush, who may or may not be part Cyclopes) showed up. Meh. He was tall as shiz. I think he was nice, but there was a camera rolling the whole time, so I can’t be 100% certain. I could totally spot who was a Republican that day though, because they were all rocking Jeb Bush boners.

There were a few people in our department that actually felt a little let down that Prince and Coleman were a no-show. I wonder if the governor picked up that vibe off of anyone. Most of our victims were highly amused, and approached us like “I thought it was odd, but I totally fell for it. Is the Bojangles thing happening?”

A side note worth mentioning: that same day, a dude got in trouble for having porn-like material on his monitor during the governor’s visit. True. Story.

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