My friend recently asked me if John Lennon was a part of The Beatles.
Of course I stared at him stunned in which case he said, "John Lennon is a musician, right?"
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Are we still talking about Tiger Woods?
Seriously?
I ran into my own mailbox once, in the middle of the day, sober, not talking on the phone or texting or anything? Can I make headline news?
***Regrettably a True Story***
Thanksgiving quotes....
"Everyone expects me to act like a crazy bitch so I'm going to act like a crazy bitch!"
-Said by my mother at 9:30 a.m. that morning.
Me: "Why did you flip your son off during the prayer?"
Brother-in-law: "Because he's having a birthday soon."
Friday, November 27, 2009
Thanksgiving - A brief update
My favorite part of Thanksgiving, (apart from the food) was the prayer given by my father. It went a little something like this:
"Heavenly Father, we're not Catholic...."
Glad we cleared that up!
"Heavenly Father, we're not Catholic...."
Glad we cleared that up!
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
And it begins....
I think I'm going to have to document the Thanksgiving madness in smaller increments so I can better digest it. Starting with last night....When I told my mom we needed to talk "Thanksgiving" and she threw her hands up in the air and started waving me off saying she didn't want to talk about it. Then she had to add that nothing was going to get done anyways so why bother....this is normal. This is why she becomes a basket case on Thanksgiving....But I got her to talk about what needed to be done and pulled in reinforcements from family to help things move a tad smoother.
So I'm feeling pretty good about that.
Then I wake up this morning and my husband tells me that he couldn't sleep last night and got to thinking about all the things he is frustrated about with my sister and her husband (regarding a business that he started with her husband) and decides to send her and her husband a pissy e-mail.
It was her birthday today.
Ooops. Guess my husband forgot.
My sister's used to someone freaking out on her on her birthday. What my husband did still doesn't beat the year that my sister got the double flip off from my mom. But I think it's in close second.
I can already feel myself wanting to stress eat....I guess I can be grateful for the fact that there will be plenty of food to do that with tomorrow.
So I'm feeling pretty good about that.
Then I wake up this morning and my husband tells me that he couldn't sleep last night and got to thinking about all the things he is frustrated about with my sister and her husband (regarding a business that he started with her husband) and decides to send her and her husband a pissy e-mail.
It was her birthday today.
Ooops. Guess my husband forgot.
My sister's used to someone freaking out on her on her birthday. What my husband did still doesn't beat the year that my sister got the double flip off from my mom. But I think it's in close second.
I can already feel myself wanting to stress eat....I guess I can be grateful for the fact that there will be plenty of food to do that with tomorrow.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Thanksgiving Traditions
Thanksgiving isn't a holiday I look forward to because my family is crazy...hence the douche blog.
The last two years my father has told me to eff off. Of course he said the actual word, but I will edit it out and use eff instead so that in a hundred years eff can be the first three letter curse word.
With that being said I'm thinking that if my dad tells me to eff off this year I'm considering it a tradition.
See the last two years he told me to eff off because I was sitting in HIS chair. I didn't know he had a chair, but what usually happens is I end up doing everyone else a favor by cramming myself into the smallest space around the dining room table in the cramped dining room. Then when my father yells at me for being in his chair and orders me to move, I do him another favor by relaying to him (since apparently he's not seeing it) that his 300 + lb ass is not going to fit there, and he needs to sit elsewhere, hence the eff off. Naturally I say it with a little more class than that...just a little....
I also may have some friends coming for Thanksgiving, which should be interesting since my family has no filters on what they should or should not say in front of/or to people they don't know. Politeness doesn't exist within these family walls.
I remember last time I had a friend over my father asked him if he was gay. Awkward.
In which case my friend responded with a surprising, "I don't know, maybe."????? and we're still waiting for the closet to swing open on that one?!?
Oh, family traditions, can't wait to see what happens this year. I'll keep you posted!
The last two years my father has told me to eff off. Of course he said the actual word, but I will edit it out and use eff instead so that in a hundred years eff can be the first three letter curse word.
With that being said I'm thinking that if my dad tells me to eff off this year I'm considering it a tradition.
See the last two years he told me to eff off because I was sitting in HIS chair. I didn't know he had a chair, but what usually happens is I end up doing everyone else a favor by cramming myself into the smallest space around the dining room table in the cramped dining room. Then when my father yells at me for being in his chair and orders me to move, I do him another favor by relaying to him (since apparently he's not seeing it) that his 300 + lb ass is not going to fit there, and he needs to sit elsewhere, hence the eff off. Naturally I say it with a little more class than that...just a little....
I also may have some friends coming for Thanksgiving, which should be interesting since my family has no filters on what they should or should not say in front of/or to people they don't know. Politeness doesn't exist within these family walls.
I remember last time I had a friend over my father asked him if he was gay. Awkward.
In which case my friend responded with a surprising, "I don't know, maybe."????? and we're still waiting for the closet to swing open on that one?!?
Oh, family traditions, can't wait to see what happens this year. I'll keep you posted!
Monday, November 16, 2009
Speaking of Karma
I say what I'm about to say in reference to my last post...
One of the really difficult things about an anger blog, for me, is that I realize that you can't really be angry at someone or something without realizing on some level that you, too, are a douche. (This is true in most cases, NOT all, and if your assuming your case is the exception there is a 99.9% chance that you are WRONG.)
***Brief Moment of Psychobabble***
All anger is a projection
Now with that being said, anger is a human emotion that gets to be expressed. It doesn't, however, validate your own superiority, and reinforce your right thinking.
Speaking of Karmic Projection:
I'm about to turn 27.
I live with my parents.
I'm broke.
I am getting adult acne.
Basically I'm reliving all the things that sucked about being 17.
What the hell?
That is why I want to acknowledge that I've got plenty of my own douche just as much as the next person does. Even the dumbass douches that listen to Glenn Beck and Sean Hannity.
But seriously, people who use the word "gay" to denote something other than happiness or same sex attraction are super-douches. It had to be said.
Thank you and goodnight.
One of the really difficult things about an anger blog, for me, is that I realize that you can't really be angry at someone or something without realizing on some level that you, too, are a douche. (This is true in most cases, NOT all, and if your assuming your case is the exception there is a 99.9% chance that you are WRONG.)
***Brief Moment of Psychobabble***
All anger is a projection
Now with that being said, anger is a human emotion that gets to be expressed. It doesn't, however, validate your own superiority, and reinforce your right thinking.
Speaking of Karmic Projection:
I'm about to turn 27.
I live with my parents.
I'm broke.
I am getting adult acne.
Basically I'm reliving all the things that sucked about being 17.
What the hell?
That is why I want to acknowledge that I've got plenty of my own douche just as much as the next person does. Even the dumbass douches that listen to Glenn Beck and Sean Hannity.
But seriously, people who use the word "gay" to denote something other than happiness or same sex attraction are super-douches. It had to be said.
Thank you and goodnight.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Karma
I've decided that I would like to assist in fulfilling peoples karma. What more noble a calling can you have then to be the deliverance of someones karmic debt. But in order for me to do this, I will need YOUR help.
I've decided, for now, that I'd like to start paying karmic debt to all those people who ignorantly and flippantly say "that's so gay." in regards to something that is stupid or ugly.
I will begin this quest by gathering names of those who use such phrases, and begin to use their name instead.
"That's so gay," now becomes "that's so Jessica." I also thought about using racial profiling since most of the people I know that say dumbass things of this nature are white teenage males that don't know what it's like to be a minority. So what would it be then? "That's so cracker?" "That's so prepubescent teen?" I'm working with the logistics here, but you get the idea.
Next week I think I will do George W. Bush supporters karma where a member of you household will be tortured.
Oh, too soon?
Okay, Glenn Beck, and Sean Hannity supporters then. We will force you to listen to the ramblings of paranoid schizo's that have delusions of being a real reporter, and I'll make sure that one of the paranoid schizo's has loose tear ducts to make it fair.
Oh wait, you're already doing that. Silly me. I'll think of something more karmically legit for that one.
I've decided, for now, that I'd like to start paying karmic debt to all those people who ignorantly and flippantly say "that's so gay." in regards to something that is stupid or ugly.
I will begin this quest by gathering names of those who use such phrases, and begin to use their name instead.
"That's so gay," now becomes "that's so Jessica." I also thought about using racial profiling since most of the people I know that say dumbass things of this nature are white teenage males that don't know what it's like to be a minority. So what would it be then? "That's so cracker?" "That's so prepubescent teen?" I'm working with the logistics here, but you get the idea.
Next week I think I will do George W. Bush supporters karma where a member of you household will be tortured.
Oh, too soon?
Okay, Glenn Beck, and Sean Hannity supporters then. We will force you to listen to the ramblings of paranoid schizo's that have delusions of being a real reporter, and I'll make sure that one of the paranoid schizo's has loose tear ducts to make it fair.
Oh wait, you're already doing that. Silly me. I'll think of something more karmically legit for that one.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Submission:
A couple weeks back, I attended a concert... It wasn't a decent sized venue and the turn out was pretty good, until.... The Douche Band started to play... by play I mean make noise at decibel levels so high that it wouldn't surprise me to learn that lawsuits were pending against these noise loving jack-holes.
Maybe it's just me but when I shell out my hard earned cash to go see a band in concert - I actually want to be able to HEAR the music - and not my ears ringing. I was tempted to post the name of the local douche band I'm referring to in this post... but I've forgotten their name - I'll let you decide if that's a fortunate or unfortunate fact.
Now, I love music - all sorts, so don't think this is a genre thing... actually I'm not sure what genre these guys were - is there a genre called Assorted Rock Instruments in a Trash Compactor - Amplified?
You just know these guys have issues with their daddy's... And I'm gonna go ahead and side with their dads on this one... whatever the issue is... quit your noise making and go get a real job - not that being a musician isn't a real job - but it is a job that requires a skill you obviously don't possess... maybe you've heard of it... it's called talent. Coming straight from a fight with dad, who I'm sure prays nightly that his son will come to his senses and do something beneficial with his life before he damages his hearing and or chemically fries his last few remaining brain cells - and really just wants his garage back...
The Douche Band started their sound check... which unlike the other bands that played that evening had nothing to do with ensuring that their instruments were tuned or at harmonizing volume levels to each other. It was all just: more, more, more, higher, higher, a bit more... a little louder, keep it coming, higher, higher if you got it... Then the lead screamer said something like I want it to roar like a T-Rex... and blow people's ear drums... he didn't say that last part, but I'm pretty sure that's what he was after. I know the saying - If it's too loud... and I'll admit, I'm not a big fan of loud, but when a quarter of the audience consisting primarily of 16 - 25 year old's, (and a few straggling old-guys who are there with their teen aged daughters - poor bastards) flee the venue to escape the pain induced by your music and the ones that do remain plug their ears and scream at you to turn it down... that's not enthusiasm for your "music"... it's because your "music" is too loud. Did you hear me? I said... IT'S TOO FRICKEN LOUD!!!!!!! you over modulated douche bag a-holes!
So, mid-way through The Douche Band's set, the drummer of the band we'd come to see came across me and my SO in the lobby with our fingers in our ears and offered us earplugs. (By the way this guy is one of the nicest, sweetest, most dedicated people I've ever met and is one hell of a musician to boot - no noise - just pure talent.) Even with ear plugs it was still too loud to return to the theater, but it was dulled just enough for me to discover what I had suspected from the very beginning - I mean besides these guys having daddy issues... the one benefit of playing so freaking loud... because you suck.
P.S. When the headlining band apologizes for you playing, thanks the audience for sticking around despite you and further, expresses they hope the audience is still be able to hear them play - that's not a good thing. Listen to your poor deaf daddy... give him back his garage and go get a job you're better suited for - like demolition, or something at at gun range maybe... I think you'd like that, guns are pretty loud.
-Douche Anony
Just a short note referring to my last post. My douche friend that was getting weird about the boob job offered me some advice concerning my skin eruption encouraging me to try Apple Cider Vinegar on it, which did the trick! And he has no idea that earlier that day I was douching the crap out of him. I love you douche blog.
A couple weeks back, I attended a concert... It wasn't a decent sized venue and the turn out was pretty good, until.... The Douche Band started to play... by play I mean make noise at decibel levels so high that it wouldn't surprise me to learn that lawsuits were pending against these noise loving jack-holes.
Maybe it's just me but when I shell out my hard earned cash to go see a band in concert - I actually want to be able to HEAR the music - and not my ears ringing. I was tempted to post the name of the local douche band I'm referring to in this post... but I've forgotten their name - I'll let you decide if that's a fortunate or unfortunate fact.
Now, I love music - all sorts, so don't think this is a genre thing... actually I'm not sure what genre these guys were - is there a genre called Assorted Rock Instruments in a Trash Compactor - Amplified?
You just know these guys have issues with their daddy's... And I'm gonna go ahead and side with their dads on this one... whatever the issue is... quit your noise making and go get a real job - not that being a musician isn't a real job - but it is a job that requires a skill you obviously don't possess... maybe you've heard of it... it's called talent. Coming straight from a fight with dad, who I'm sure prays nightly that his son will come to his senses and do something beneficial with his life before he damages his hearing and or chemically fries his last few remaining brain cells - and really just wants his garage back...
The Douche Band started their sound check... which unlike the other bands that played that evening had nothing to do with ensuring that their instruments were tuned or at harmonizing volume levels to each other. It was all just: more, more, more, higher, higher, a bit more... a little louder, keep it coming, higher, higher if you got it... Then the lead screamer said something like I want it to roar like a T-Rex... and blow people's ear drums... he didn't say that last part, but I'm pretty sure that's what he was after. I know the saying - If it's too loud... and I'll admit, I'm not a big fan of loud, but when a quarter of the audience consisting primarily of 16 - 25 year old's, (and a few straggling old-guys who are there with their teen aged daughters - poor bastards) flee the venue to escape the pain induced by your music and the ones that do remain plug their ears and scream at you to turn it down... that's not enthusiasm for your "music"... it's because your "music" is too loud. Did you hear me? I said... IT'S TOO FRICKEN LOUD!!!!!!! you over modulated douche bag a-holes!
So, mid-way through The Douche Band's set, the drummer of the band we'd come to see came across me and my SO in the lobby with our fingers in our ears and offered us earplugs. (By the way this guy is one of the nicest, sweetest, most dedicated people I've ever met and is one hell of a musician to boot - no noise - just pure talent.) Even with ear plugs it was still too loud to return to the theater, but it was dulled just enough for me to discover what I had suspected from the very beginning - I mean besides these guys having daddy issues... the one benefit of playing so freaking loud... because you suck.
P.S. When the headlining band apologizes for you playing, thanks the audience for sticking around despite you and further, expresses they hope the audience is still be able to hear them play - that's not a good thing. Listen to your poor deaf daddy... give him back his garage and go get a job you're better suited for - like demolition, or something at at gun range maybe... I think you'd like that, guns are pretty loud.
-Douche Anony
Just a short note referring to my last post. My douche friend that was getting weird about the boob job offered me some advice concerning my skin eruption encouraging me to try Apple Cider Vinegar on it, which did the trick! And he has no idea that earlier that day I was douching the crap out of him. I love you douche blog.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
a douche of epic porportions
where do I begin?
First lets point out that I have some serious, gross, ever growing infection on my face. This isn't one of those "bad breakouts" that I got when I was a young little lady. No this is something more horrific entirely that's lasted the past several weeks and is swelling so much that it's actually made my eyes puffy. WTF?
My ever sensitive daddy keeps telling me that it's because I eat chocolate. A lifetime of eating chocolate and only now do I suddenly have an infectious, inflamed growth on my face.
Which, of course, every time he says this I want to have a freakout of epic proportions but instead shove my mouth full of chocolate (spooning it into my mouth as I write this post).
It's so bad in fact I've had several people ask me what happened to my face. If it were normal acne, people wouldn't ask, they'd just stare when they thought I wasn't looking. But this is something else entirely, I've been asked several times if I'd gotten bruised or burned.
I'm starting to have visions of Spaceballs and the alien that jumped out of the guys stomach and began tap dancing. It feels like that's what's happening to my face.
And of course every time I put make-up on it, it gets inflamed even more so I have to expose the alien race for all to see.
So granted I wasn't in the best of moods when my husband informed me that he had found out that a married male friend of mine was making up lame excuses to feel-up a stripper.
Let me explain...
His wife, who's boobs have inevitably gone the way of the after-baby-sag, wants to get a boob job. My male friend says "you wouldn't pay for a car without test driving it, and since I'm paying for her to get a boob job I should be able to test it out to see if I will even like what I'm paying for."
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.
Until you have morphed your body into something unrecognizable to carry YOUR child for 9 months, only to have to breast feed that baby in the middle of the night with your nipples screaming and straight up sobbing, only to have your boob's deflate when your milk dries up, YOU have no fricken right to stand on your self-righteous high horse and say "Well I'm paying for it..."
Nevermind that its not your body and has nothing to do with you, you don't get the right to say it's something your paying for, and therefore get to "test drive it."
Let me put it another way. Lets say you were to pay your wife for everything that she does. Pay her for childcare, laundry (starching your stupid white shirts just right), cleaning the house so it's immaculate, oh and doing all your college course work (no lie). Calculate that! And when you do you will realize that your wife is making more money than your stupid sorry ass, and therefore can use the money you make at your pathetic and meaningless job to do whatever the hell she wants. Got it?
I feel slightly better. But the chocolate wasn't satisfying enough.
Dammit!
First lets point out that I have some serious, gross, ever growing infection on my face. This isn't one of those "bad breakouts" that I got when I was a young little lady. No this is something more horrific entirely that's lasted the past several weeks and is swelling so much that it's actually made my eyes puffy. WTF?
My ever sensitive daddy keeps telling me that it's because I eat chocolate. A lifetime of eating chocolate and only now do I suddenly have an infectious, inflamed growth on my face.
Which, of course, every time he says this I want to have a freakout of epic proportions but instead shove my mouth full of chocolate (spooning it into my mouth as I write this post).
It's so bad in fact I've had several people ask me what happened to my face. If it were normal acne, people wouldn't ask, they'd just stare when they thought I wasn't looking. But this is something else entirely, I've been asked several times if I'd gotten bruised or burned.
I'm starting to have visions of Spaceballs and the alien that jumped out of the guys stomach and began tap dancing. It feels like that's what's happening to my face.
And of course every time I put make-up on it, it gets inflamed even more so I have to expose the alien race for all to see.
So granted I wasn't in the best of moods when my husband informed me that he had found out that a married male friend of mine was making up lame excuses to feel-up a stripper.
Let me explain...
His wife, who's boobs have inevitably gone the way of the after-baby-sag, wants to get a boob job. My male friend says "you wouldn't pay for a car without test driving it, and since I'm paying for her to get a boob job I should be able to test it out to see if I will even like what I'm paying for."
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.
Until you have morphed your body into something unrecognizable to carry YOUR child for 9 months, only to have to breast feed that baby in the middle of the night with your nipples screaming and straight up sobbing, only to have your boob's deflate when your milk dries up, YOU have no fricken right to stand on your self-righteous high horse and say "Well I'm paying for it..."
Nevermind that its not your body and has nothing to do with you, you don't get the right to say it's something your paying for, and therefore get to "test drive it."
Let me put it another way. Lets say you were to pay your wife for everything that she does. Pay her for childcare, laundry (starching your stupid white shirts just right), cleaning the house so it's immaculate, oh and doing all your college course work (no lie). Calculate that! And when you do you will realize that your wife is making more money than your stupid sorry ass, and therefore can use the money you make at your pathetic and meaningless job to do whatever the hell she wants. Got it?
I feel slightly better. But the chocolate wasn't satisfying enough.
Dammit!
Monday, September 14, 2009
Kanye. Oh Kanye.
So about two weeks ago a friend of mine was mercilessly making fun of me for not knowing who Kanye West was.
Now, after seeing Kanye completely ruin Taylor Swifts speech at the VMA's last night and another gem that I googled today with Kanye talking about Hurricane Katrina, I've realized I am grateful that he has stayed off my radar for so long. Because frankly he is one of the biggest douche's I have ever had the privilege to douche. Wow.
After this post I'm going to try my best to forget him. Just like I've almost forgotten Paris Hilton. Almost.
If you didn't see Kanye make a total ass of himself at the VMA's click on the link below.
http://www.comcast.net/video/kanye-west-s-vma-outburst/1252443416/Comcast/1252800479/
If you would like to see the hilarious and sad Hurricane Katrina video. Check out the toolbar.
Now, after seeing Kanye completely ruin Taylor Swifts speech at the VMA's last night and another gem that I googled today with Kanye talking about Hurricane Katrina, I've realized I am grateful that he has stayed off my radar for so long. Because frankly he is one of the biggest douche's I have ever had the privilege to douche. Wow.
After this post I'm going to try my best to forget him. Just like I've almost forgotten Paris Hilton. Almost.
If you didn't see Kanye make a total ass of himself at the VMA's click on the link below.
http://www.comcast.net/video/kanye-west-s-vma-outburst/1252443416/Comcast/1252800479/
If you would like to see the hilarious and sad Hurricane Katrina video. Check out the toolbar.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Take The Hint, Get A Clue & STFU!
Submitted Story:
My wife and I had friends visiting from out of state, while they were here we took them out to dinner at my favorite restaurant/pub. We'd just finished dinner and were chatting, when some guy who looked vaguely, distantly familiar - as in didn't I see you at a stop light last week? familiar - who has been sitting at the table next to us for most of our meal says my name.
I had no idea who this guy was.
Days later, I'm still not sure but I think he might have been an acquaintance from back when I was trying on church - like ten years ago. I didn't even remember this guys name, I had to ask. Seeing as how I know the waiters better than I know this guy, I was hoping to go for a quick exchange of cordial greetings and then back to my dinner guest - my friends I haven't seen in months, invited out to dinner and whose conversation was just interrupted by a practical stranger.
A stranger who just couldn't take the hint....
Attempt #1 to end the conversation: Well it was nice to see you again, I hope your family is well.
By the way, I hope you're family is well is not an invitation to tell me all about your family, or your wife - what's her name OR to engage me in a lengthy conversation about what I do for a living. (All of which he did.)
Attempt #2 to end the conversation: Introducing my out of town friends, and stressing the fact that they are from out of town, are here for a very short while and I haven't seen them in months!
By the way. this is not a segue to ask me all about my job, my family and what I've been up to for the past decade. (Thank god my friends have a sense of humor. They found the whole situation highly amusing and were concealing their laughter behind bright red faces, huddled together as if sharing some private - and hilarious - conversation)
Attempt #3 to end the conversation: Completely fed up at this point, (wishing I drank more) and much to the delight of fellow pub patrons, the wait staff, my wife and my friends - who all get that I'm trying and failing to end this conversation, the guy who apparently knows me and my family SO well asks: "How's your mom?"
My mom died over five years ago, a prominent member of our community, more than one local paper wrote articles (not standard obits) about her life/death. The city where she worked built and dedicated a walking trail in her name, and police and fire services shut down roads for her funeral motorcade....
So I replied, "My mom?"
Douchebag: "Yeah, you're mom. I haven't seen her in a while. How's she doing? How's her health?" (now, from time to time, despite my mother being so well known, I do run into people who didn't hear about her untimely death. It's a sensitive issue that I usually tackle with a velvet glove because it's always a bit of a shock for someone receiving the news for the first time. but I was completely fed up with this guy.)
So I replied, "she's dead! " With absolutely NO attempts to sugar-coat or soften the blow. So as neighboring tables erupted into laughter including one guy who shot his mouthful of Guinness all over three of his dinner companions, and one of mine, the douchbag (finally) showed appropriate response by gasping and clutching his hand to his chest.
(P.S. My mom died of a massive heart attack - you've just got to love the irony in that.)
Much to my chagrin, death is not a conversation ender. In response to his shock he stuttered "What? When?" (I guess they were really close or something) I continued with my dead mother assault: "It's been a few years now."
"Six," my wife offered.
"Five and a half," I did the math.
Sensing the next, in a line of questioning I've become quite familiar with, I decided to take the initiative to answer before the question was asked and said, "But my dad's doing great!"
Attempt #4 to end the conversation: (The one that succeeded.) I decided to take the 'out of sight, out of mind' approach, before the conversation that wouldn't end somehow found its way to politics, or worse - religion. And so, after neglecting my friends and entertaining the masses for well over fifteen minutes, I stood and said, "Well, we were just leaving." My friend quickly finished his black and tan, while our wives gathered their purses and we left, continuing OUR conversation in the parking lot of the restaurant.
So now, days later, the story has made the rounds and far away friends are texting me to ask: How's your mom? (Whom I'm sure is also having a good laugh, where ever she is... ) To which I respond: She's dead! (she finally gave up the goat.)
Until the next douche,
How's your mom? How's her health?
My wife and I had friends visiting from out of state, while they were here we took them out to dinner at my favorite restaurant/pub. We'd just finished dinner and were chatting, when some guy who looked vaguely, distantly familiar - as in didn't I see you at a stop light last week? familiar - who has been sitting at the table next to us for most of our meal says my name.
I had no idea who this guy was.
Days later, I'm still not sure but I think he might have been an acquaintance from back when I was trying on church - like ten years ago. I didn't even remember this guys name, I had to ask. Seeing as how I know the waiters better than I know this guy, I was hoping to go for a quick exchange of cordial greetings and then back to my dinner guest - my friends I haven't seen in months, invited out to dinner and whose conversation was just interrupted by a practical stranger.
A stranger who just couldn't take the hint....
Attempt #1 to end the conversation: Well it was nice to see you again, I hope your family is well.
By the way, I hope you're family is well is not an invitation to tell me all about your family, or your wife - what's her name OR to engage me in a lengthy conversation about what I do for a living. (All of which he did.)
Attempt #2 to end the conversation: Introducing my out of town friends, and stressing the fact that they are from out of town, are here for a very short while and I haven't seen them in months!
By the way. this is not a segue to ask me all about my job, my family and what I've been up to for the past decade. (Thank god my friends have a sense of humor. They found the whole situation highly amusing and were concealing their laughter behind bright red faces, huddled together as if sharing some private - and hilarious - conversation)
Attempt #3 to end the conversation: Completely fed up at this point, (wishing I drank more) and much to the delight of fellow pub patrons, the wait staff, my wife and my friends - who all get that I'm trying and failing to end this conversation, the guy who apparently knows me and my family SO well asks: "How's your mom?"
My mom died over five years ago, a prominent member of our community, more than one local paper wrote articles (not standard obits) about her life/death. The city where she worked built and dedicated a walking trail in her name, and police and fire services shut down roads for her funeral motorcade....
So I replied, "My mom?"
Douchebag: "Yeah, you're mom. I haven't seen her in a while. How's she doing? How's her health?" (now, from time to time, despite my mother being so well known, I do run into people who didn't hear about her untimely death. It's a sensitive issue that I usually tackle with a velvet glove because it's always a bit of a shock for someone receiving the news for the first time. but I was completely fed up with this guy.)
So I replied, "she's dead! " With absolutely NO attempts to sugar-coat or soften the blow. So as neighboring tables erupted into laughter including one guy who shot his mouthful of Guinness all over three of his dinner companions, and one of mine, the douchbag (finally) showed appropriate response by gasping and clutching his hand to his chest.
(P.S. My mom died of a massive heart attack - you've just got to love the irony in that.)
Much to my chagrin, death is not a conversation ender. In response to his shock he stuttered "What? When?" (I guess they were really close or something) I continued with my dead mother assault: "It's been a few years now."
"Six," my wife offered.
"Five and a half," I did the math.
Sensing the next, in a line of questioning I've become quite familiar with, I decided to take the initiative to answer before the question was asked and said, "But my dad's doing great!"
Attempt #4 to end the conversation: (The one that succeeded.) I decided to take the 'out of sight, out of mind' approach, before the conversation that wouldn't end somehow found its way to politics, or worse - religion. And so, after neglecting my friends and entertaining the masses for well over fifteen minutes, I stood and said, "Well, we were just leaving." My friend quickly finished his black and tan, while our wives gathered their purses and we left, continuing OUR conversation in the parking lot of the restaurant.
So now, days later, the story has made the rounds and far away friends are texting me to ask: How's your mom? (Whom I'm sure is also having a good laugh, where ever she is... ) To which I respond: She's dead! (she finally gave up the goat.)
Until the next douche,
How's your mom? How's her health?
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Wow. I just got douched....
I'm douching you for not douching the douches who spam douche blogs with there douche bag porn douchings. Douche
Thanks for the submission. Humbling indeed to be douched by a complete stranger...
Thanks for the submission. Humbling indeed to be douched by a complete stranger...
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Aye Douche
So I have some good news. It wasn't my brother with his child on his lap reading my posts and leaving strange comments.
I started to realize this once the comments were left in Japanese rather than just a random button being pushed.
Then someone had to point out to me that I didn't have a word verification so I was getting spammed by porn sites. Yipee. So with that being said now you have to do a word verification to leave a comment so I don't get absurd comments from Japanese peeps selling porn.
Good day
I started to realize this once the comments were left in Japanese rather than just a random button being pushed.
Then someone had to point out to me that I didn't have a word verification so I was getting spammed by porn sites. Yipee. So with that being said now you have to do a word verification to leave a comment so I don't get absurd comments from Japanese peeps selling porn.
Good day
Monday, August 31, 2009
Douche of the Decade
I don't really have much to say other than this guy is the a big fat douche. See for yourself:
http://www.goodasyou.org/good_as_you/2009/08/audio-this-culture-war-is-all-fun-and-games-until-someone-wants-to-execute-you.html
Anonymously submitted
I also have to add that I have listened to this big fat douche and have been inspired to become a recruiter. Because I would rather have more Clay Aiken's in the world than bigots.
Isn't he adoreable....
Douche...
http://www.goodasyou.org/good_as_you/2009/08/audio-this-culture-war-is-all-fun-and-games-until-someone-wants-to-execute-you.html
Anonymously submitted
I also have to add that I have listened to this big fat douche and have been inspired to become a recruiter. Because I would rather have more Clay Aiken's in the world than bigots.
Isn't he adoreable....
Douche...
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
What the douche?
I'm getting the strange feeling that aliens are trying to contact me through the comment section of my blog to tell me that they are the ones that created the swine flu.
Either that, or my brother (who shouldn't even know I have this blog...)was reading it with his child on his lap.
Check out the link:
http://anonymous-douche.blogspot.com/2009/06/swine-flu.html
The last three comments are pretty telling....
P.S. And if it was my brother reading this then all I have to say is....Hi, and no I'm not going to apologize for previously douching you.
Either that, or my brother (who shouldn't even know I have this blog...)was reading it with his child on his lap.
Check out the link:
http://anonymous-douche.blogspot.com/2009/06/swine-flu.html
The last three comments are pretty telling....
P.S. And if it was my brother reading this then all I have to say is....Hi, and no I'm not going to apologize for previously douching you.
Integrity just bitch slapped me in the face...
Integrity is a bitch. And I'm not just referring to my dog who ate all my toffee cover almonds today while I was taking a nap.
It's a bitch in the sense that If you don't stay in integrity with yourself you slowly start to feel like you're the average run of the mill douche bag. Ya know the type. The one that doesn't follow their heart. That obsesses over things being clean and tidy, that cares more about appearance then being genuinly true to themselves. Who's dream's are drowned out by vegetating in front of the TV or the computer reading stupid blogs...
And no, I'm not referring to this blog...of course.
Let me begin.
I took a job transcribing a story for a local self-published author who had hand written the document.
I thought it wouldn't be so bad. He's paying me well. The story is short. Ya know the usual, blah, blah, blah, that goes on in your head to talk you into stupid shit.
So there I was typing away and I suddenly began to realize within the first few sentences that this was the worst piece of literature that had ever been written.
Oh goody.
At about page thirteen I had to verbally tell myself to STOP rolling my eyes as it was distracting from typing.
What also distracted me from typing was me having to stop and rub my forehead and whimper every few pages.
Your probably asking yourself. Could it be that bad?
Well let me just say this, other than the CONSTANT spelling errors and lack of punctuation and grammar, the story is consistent with Leave it to Beaver dialogue which is maddening to me just in itself.
The worst part is that I can't bring myself to honestly tell him that I think his story would better serve mandkind in a fire then as a book.
So I grit my teeth and smile when he asks if I like it, and say "yes" before quickly changing the subject.
Hence the integrity issue. It seemed like I used to be out of integrity all the time without any skin off my back (which is not true, but I'm in denial of that small fact).
But now I say one thing out of Integrity, and I start to feel all...weird. Combine that with transcribing a story that I would rather bomb into a thousand pieces than be responsibly for helping it see the light of day, and I start to feel like a crazy person.
Now as a former therapist, now currently out of work and living in her parents basement, I think I have gosh darned earned the right to psychobabble! And psychobabble I will!
***Psychobabble commence***
Integrity is all about being a part of the whole. When I'm out of integrity I'm out of the whole. And when I'm out of the whole I start to see things logically as being one way or another rather than a part of the larger whole. In turn I start to see myself that way. At which point I begin to judge myself and others. Do you see what I am saying?
***Psychobabble complete***
With that being said I have to point out that that is why I quit my job as a therapist in the first place. To stay in integrity with myself. Because I realized in order to be a therapist you have to be slightly psychotic. And if you're not already that way, being a therapist will make you that way. So if you're wondering if your therapist has mental problems. The answer is yes, and it is likely to be caused by YOU, and your incessant whining and lack of accountability.
Which, again, is why I quit my job. I didn't want to be crazy. Well, MORE crazy than I already am, I should say. I think the turning point was when I find out that the three professors I looked up to in college were all mental. My first one suffering from clinical depression, (no wonder why her class was always an easy A) the other having narcissism, and the third professer cheated on his wife and ran off with my friend while we were presenting at a conference together *awkward*
I guess those who don't do, teach. Which is also why I quit my job as a professer. And live joyfully transcribing horrid stories in my parents basement.
With that being said don't follow in my foot steps. Follow your heart. Always speak the truth, even if it hurts. And don't be a douche.
It's a bitch in the sense that If you don't stay in integrity with yourself you slowly start to feel like you're the average run of the mill douche bag. Ya know the type. The one that doesn't follow their heart. That obsesses over things being clean and tidy, that cares more about appearance then being genuinly true to themselves. Who's dream's are drowned out by vegetating in front of the TV or the computer reading stupid blogs...
And no, I'm not referring to this blog...of course.
Let me begin.
I took a job transcribing a story for a local self-published author who had hand written the document.
I thought it wouldn't be so bad. He's paying me well. The story is short. Ya know the usual, blah, blah, blah, that goes on in your head to talk you into stupid shit.
So there I was typing away and I suddenly began to realize within the first few sentences that this was the worst piece of literature that had ever been written.
Oh goody.
At about page thirteen I had to verbally tell myself to STOP rolling my eyes as it was distracting from typing.
What also distracted me from typing was me having to stop and rub my forehead and whimper every few pages.
Your probably asking yourself. Could it be that bad?
Well let me just say this, other than the CONSTANT spelling errors and lack of punctuation and grammar, the story is consistent with Leave it to Beaver dialogue which is maddening to me just in itself.
The worst part is that I can't bring myself to honestly tell him that I think his story would better serve mandkind in a fire then as a book.
So I grit my teeth and smile when he asks if I like it, and say "yes" before quickly changing the subject.
Hence the integrity issue. It seemed like I used to be out of integrity all the time without any skin off my back (which is not true, but I'm in denial of that small fact).
But now I say one thing out of Integrity, and I start to feel all...weird. Combine that with transcribing a story that I would rather bomb into a thousand pieces than be responsibly for helping it see the light of day, and I start to feel like a crazy person.
Now as a former therapist, now currently out of work and living in her parents basement, I think I have gosh darned earned the right to psychobabble! And psychobabble I will!
***Psychobabble commence***
Integrity is all about being a part of the whole. When I'm out of integrity I'm out of the whole. And when I'm out of the whole I start to see things logically as being one way or another rather than a part of the larger whole. In turn I start to see myself that way. At which point I begin to judge myself and others. Do you see what I am saying?
***Psychobabble complete***
With that being said I have to point out that that is why I quit my job as a therapist in the first place. To stay in integrity with myself. Because I realized in order to be a therapist you have to be slightly psychotic. And if you're not already that way, being a therapist will make you that way. So if you're wondering if your therapist has mental problems. The answer is yes, and it is likely to be caused by YOU, and your incessant whining and lack of accountability.
Which, again, is why I quit my job. I didn't want to be crazy. Well, MORE crazy than I already am, I should say. I think the turning point was when I find out that the three professors I looked up to in college were all mental. My first one suffering from clinical depression, (no wonder why her class was always an easy A) the other having narcissism, and the third professer cheated on his wife and ran off with my friend while we were presenting at a conference together *awkward*
I guess those who don't do, teach. Which is also why I quit my job as a professer. And live joyfully transcribing horrid stories in my parents basement.
With that being said don't follow in my foot steps. Follow your heart. Always speak the truth, even if it hurts. And don't be a douche.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Dentist
So I was at the dentist yesterday getting a cracked tooth fixed and I can feel the drill with it's squealing insanity piercing my tooth.
Just the usual.
I've told my dentist several times and on several occaisons he's had to give me more of that watchyamacallit, to adequately numb my mouth.
And everytime he says to me:
"Just raise your hand if you're having any pain and we'll fix that because you're not supposed to feel anything."
Then when I do his song changes to:
"Well that's unusual, you're not supposed to feel anything....hmmm....You should be numbed up pretty good."
As if he's doubting me. As if I'm med seeking. As if I want to be poked again and look like a stroke victim after my appointment for the next three hours, with the drooling and what not. (Not that there's anything wrong with that!)
But nevertheless after about three more shots, and the loss of feeling in my left ear I could no longer feel the pain.
Douche.
Just the usual.
I've told my dentist several times and on several occaisons he's had to give me more of that watchyamacallit, to adequately numb my mouth.
And everytime he says to me:
"Just raise your hand if you're having any pain and we'll fix that because you're not supposed to feel anything."
Then when I do his song changes to:
"Well that's unusual, you're not supposed to feel anything....hmmm....You should be numbed up pretty good."
As if he's doubting me. As if I'm med seeking. As if I want to be poked again and look like a stroke victim after my appointment for the next three hours, with the drooling and what not. (Not that there's anything wrong with that!)
But nevertheless after about three more shots, and the loss of feeling in my left ear I could no longer feel the pain.
Douche.
Science Fiction and Fantasy Huh?
Disgruntled writer seeks to douche!
Today I would like to douche literary agents.... So if you are a literary agent... listen up!
If you say you are interested in science fiction but don't rep a single science fiction writer or work, take science fiction off your 'we accept these genre's' submission list and stop wasting my time! Douche!!! Also, despite what you may have seen on the Sci Fi channel (now SyFy (douches for the name change, but that's another post)...) Witches, the paranormal and pro wrestling are NOT science fiction! You can tell because there's NO SCIENCE!!!! (Sci Fi / SyFy channel - that's a double douche to you for the wrestling - the rest of it I'll let slide, since apparently science fiction and fantasy are best friends - or bleep buddies or something.)
-Douche Anony
Make sure you read the next part of the e-mail they sent me....hilarious.
****WARNING****
It's PG-13 for you innocents.
( I pre-edited the post for language... feel free to exchange the 'bleep' for the 'fuck' that was intended if you like. And feel free to douche this post script remark... I am feeling rather douchy at the moment... Also... while you're at it, douche yourself for not having your own submission guidelines.)
Submitted by a disgruntled douche
Today I would like to douche literary agents.... So if you are a literary agent... listen up!
If you say you are interested in science fiction but don't rep a single science fiction writer or work, take science fiction off your 'we accept these genre's' submission list and stop wasting my time! Douche!!! Also, despite what you may have seen on the Sci Fi channel (now SyFy (douches for the name change, but that's another post)...) Witches, the paranormal and pro wrestling are NOT science fiction! You can tell because there's NO SCIENCE!!!! (Sci Fi / SyFy channel - that's a double douche to you for the wrestling - the rest of it I'll let slide, since apparently science fiction and fantasy are best friends - or bleep buddies or something.)
-Douche Anony
Make sure you read the next part of the e-mail they sent me....hilarious.
****WARNING****
It's PG-13 for you innocents.
( I pre-edited the post for language... feel free to exchange the 'bleep' for the 'fuck' that was intended if you like. And feel free to douche this post script remark... I am feeling rather douchy at the moment... Also... while you're at it, douche yourself for not having your own submission guidelines.)
Submitted by a disgruntled douche
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Guttersize!
A real thing according to my husband who had a brilliant revelation the other day about his gut.
My husband realized that his gut hangs just over the elastic waistband of his underwear. With this realization he presupposed that it was the elastic waistband causing the gut issues, not his addiction to ice cream.
Thus Guttersize happened. An easy process to get rid of that flab with out lifting a finger. All you have to do is wear your elastic waistband just around the prominent bulge of the gut, rather than underneath it.
So Don't lose that gut, simply redistribute it!
Guttersize! Apply directly to the gut!
Guttersize! Apply directly to the gut!
Guttersize! Apply directly to the gut!
(Available at Walgreens)
I can see the infomercial now.
A million dollar idea that we can sell to all those people who believe getting in shape includes fad diets, no exercise, and gut redistribution.
I'm sure in ten years of wearing your underwear waistband like Erkle it will make a smidgen of a difference. Keep it up honey!
***Note***
If you don't know what commercial I'm dually douching right now refer to the videobar.
P.S. I wish I was kidding about this post but I'm not. When my husband explained this to me and group of his friends he was dead serious and has consequently been wearing the elastic waistband of his underwear just around the bulge of his gut. It's hilarious...yet sad.
My husband realized that his gut hangs just over the elastic waistband of his underwear. With this realization he presupposed that it was the elastic waistband causing the gut issues, not his addiction to ice cream.
Thus Guttersize happened. An easy process to get rid of that flab with out lifting a finger. All you have to do is wear your elastic waistband just around the prominent bulge of the gut, rather than underneath it.
So Don't lose that gut, simply redistribute it!
Guttersize! Apply directly to the gut!
Guttersize! Apply directly to the gut!
Guttersize! Apply directly to the gut!
(Available at Walgreens)
I can see the infomercial now.
A million dollar idea that we can sell to all those people who believe getting in shape includes fad diets, no exercise, and gut redistribution.
I'm sure in ten years of wearing your underwear waistband like Erkle it will make a smidgen of a difference. Keep it up honey!
***Note***
If you don't know what commercial I'm dually douching right now refer to the videobar.
P.S. I wish I was kidding about this post but I'm not. When my husband explained this to me and group of his friends he was dead serious and has consequently been wearing the elastic waistband of his underwear just around the bulge of his gut. It's hilarious...yet sad.
Monday, July 27, 2009
The almost 40-year-old virgin....
I would like to douche the almost forty year old virgin (39 years 9 months 23 days) who called me before his weekend mini-break with his boyfriend to inform me that he wasn't planning on being a virgin after said mini-break and then called me a couple of days after to inform that he was in fact, no longer a virgin... (Squeee!!!)
Having said that, I must give props for his straight-faced ability to brag to others that he'd had more sex that weekend than he'd ever had before.... So they must have done it.... once?
-Douche Anony
Yeah I'm going to have to add that if you can still count the number of times you've had sex, it's not worth bragging about.
Having said that, I must give props for his straight-faced ability to brag to others that he'd had more sex that weekend than he'd ever had before.... So they must have done it.... once?
-Douche Anony
Yeah I'm going to have to add that if you can still count the number of times you've had sex, it's not worth bragging about.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Homo-sex-skew-als!
BOO!
There it is. Gayness. Like a scary ghost creeping up on us all. Luckily I've looked at some trends with the gay men and women in my life and realized that there is a way to avoid becoming gay, and gearing our children on a path where they two will avoid falling into the pernicious trap. Prepare to be amazed.
****Before We Begin****
Seriously consider whether you want to keep reading. The choice is yours.
1. Heterosexual parents gotta go. Every gay person I know has two heterosexual parents. Strangely enough most of them are still married. I'm thinking a broken family with maybe a bisexual parent thrown into the mix might protect your children. I don't know. I'm just saying.
2. Men need to get laid at a young age. Every gay man I know never got any action from the opposite sex while they were young. Forget abstinence. Abstinence is for future gays. They go so long without sex that they start thinking their into guys. So if you don't want your son to be gay, best to forget the abstinence speech. (Note: Some of you may be thinking that the reason why they didn't have sex with girls is because they are GAY. Well you know what I say to that! "Blah, Blah, Blah, I can't hear you.")
Oh and for the young ladies out there abistinence is key. We all saw the Seinfeld episode where George turned a woman gay. The key to protecting yourself and your children from becoming gay is to NOT have sex with men. Especially if they have a receding hairline. TRAUMA.
Moving right along.
3. All of them were raised in a church that were pro marriage between a man and a woman. All that pressure to be married to the opposite sex obviously must have been too much to handle so they snapped and went gay. I see it happen all the time.
****Or theres always the other option****
Which would be to embrace in a very lovingly way that gay people are simply that way because that's how they were born.
Which brings me to my next point:
****The Gay Gene****
Yes, it does exist. And the only reason why I write this is because I'm feeling exhausted by people who don't yet know this. It's tiring really. I'm falling asleep just thinking about.
****Warning****
This isn't a particularly funny post. Unless you have a weird twisted sense of humor, which I can appreciate.
So I am debating on whether I should go on a self righteous tirade about other self righteous people that assume being gay has to do with upbringing, or choice, or whatever....
****Important Note****
I chose into the self-righteous tirade.
You know, personally, I'm all up for choosing into something that I would be judged and oppressed for. Who wouldn't choose to be gay and have everyone condemn you and oppress you? Honestly.
****FYI****
My last comment was a joke coming from a smart ass.
Truthfully....
I have a profound respect for anyone who chooses to follow their truth despite what others may think or do to them. Case in Point: Jesus Christ. He was pretty cool like that.
Jesus's whole purpose for his life was to teach about LOVE. Love thy neighbor as thyself. I find that when I do that, I truly realize that my neighbor is more like me than I had previously judged. Case in Point: Gay's choose to live their truth just as I choose to live my truth.
****Another Important Note****
I'm not quite sure if this is a Jesus approved post, due to all the smart ass comments, and self righteous undertones....Unless we're talking about the Jesus I recently picked up for Tijuana.
****However****
Jesus does approve of looking towards other people with love. But it doesn't count if it's the self-righteous "love the sinner not the sin" kind of love which I've already previously douched.
So with that said if you would like more info on the gay gene you can look up Dr. Dean Hamer the person who has been credited for finding it, it's called the Xq28 chromosome.
Dr. Hamer has Phd. from Harvard.
For those of you who have enjoyed the benefits of Prozac and other antidepressants you can thank him for finding the gene for the serotonin transporter.
He's also written a book about The God Gene, believing our spiritual experiences are hard wired into our genes.
Der.
We are God and God is us, why wouldn't he be hard wired into our genes?
Makes perfect sense to me.
Anywho. I really just had to write this post because I was genuinely irritated and couldn't work on my other creative projects because of my rage.
Rage a-hol.
Oh yes.
Very therapeutic.
That's whats great about people today. Forget organizing protests to deal with the rage and create social change. Just blog about it and then forget you ever wrote it.
Nice.
There it is. Gayness. Like a scary ghost creeping up on us all. Luckily I've looked at some trends with the gay men and women in my life and realized that there is a way to avoid becoming gay, and gearing our children on a path where they two will avoid falling into the pernicious trap. Prepare to be amazed.
****Before We Begin****
Seriously consider whether you want to keep reading. The choice is yours.
1. Heterosexual parents gotta go. Every gay person I know has two heterosexual parents. Strangely enough most of them are still married. I'm thinking a broken family with maybe a bisexual parent thrown into the mix might protect your children. I don't know. I'm just saying.
2. Men need to get laid at a young age. Every gay man I know never got any action from the opposite sex while they were young. Forget abstinence. Abstinence is for future gays. They go so long without sex that they start thinking their into guys. So if you don't want your son to be gay, best to forget the abstinence speech. (Note: Some of you may be thinking that the reason why they didn't have sex with girls is because they are GAY. Well you know what I say to that! "Blah, Blah, Blah, I can't hear you.")
Oh and for the young ladies out there abistinence is key. We all saw the Seinfeld episode where George turned a woman gay. The key to protecting yourself and your children from becoming gay is to NOT have sex with men. Especially if they have a receding hairline. TRAUMA.
Moving right along.
3. All of them were raised in a church that were pro marriage between a man and a woman. All that pressure to be married to the opposite sex obviously must have been too much to handle so they snapped and went gay. I see it happen all the time.
****Or theres always the other option****
Which would be to embrace in a very lovingly way that gay people are simply that way because that's how they were born.
Which brings me to my next point:
****The Gay Gene****
Yes, it does exist. And the only reason why I write this is because I'm feeling exhausted by people who don't yet know this. It's tiring really. I'm falling asleep just thinking about.
****Warning****
This isn't a particularly funny post. Unless you have a weird twisted sense of humor, which I can appreciate.
So I am debating on whether I should go on a self righteous tirade about other self righteous people that assume being gay has to do with upbringing, or choice, or whatever....
****Important Note****
I chose into the self-righteous tirade.
You know, personally, I'm all up for choosing into something that I would be judged and oppressed for. Who wouldn't choose to be gay and have everyone condemn you and oppress you? Honestly.
****FYI****
My last comment was a joke coming from a smart ass.
Truthfully....
I have a profound respect for anyone who chooses to follow their truth despite what others may think or do to them. Case in Point: Jesus Christ. He was pretty cool like that.
Jesus's whole purpose for his life was to teach about LOVE. Love thy neighbor as thyself. I find that when I do that, I truly realize that my neighbor is more like me than I had previously judged. Case in Point: Gay's choose to live their truth just as I choose to live my truth.
****Another Important Note****
I'm not quite sure if this is a Jesus approved post, due to all the smart ass comments, and self righteous undertones....Unless we're talking about the Jesus I recently picked up for Tijuana.
****However****
Jesus does approve of looking towards other people with love. But it doesn't count if it's the self-righteous "love the sinner not the sin" kind of love which I've already previously douched.
So with that said if you would like more info on the gay gene you can look up Dr. Dean Hamer the person who has been credited for finding it, it's called the Xq28 chromosome.
Dr. Hamer has Phd. from Harvard.
For those of you who have enjoyed the benefits of Prozac and other antidepressants you can thank him for finding the gene for the serotonin transporter.
He's also written a book about The God Gene, believing our spiritual experiences are hard wired into our genes.
Der.
We are God and God is us, why wouldn't he be hard wired into our genes?
Makes perfect sense to me.
Anywho. I really just had to write this post because I was genuinely irritated and couldn't work on my other creative projects because of my rage.
Rage a-hol.
Oh yes.
Very therapeutic.
That's whats great about people today. Forget organizing protests to deal with the rage and create social change. Just blog about it and then forget you ever wrote it.
Nice.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Gotta love the TMI quotes
Shia Lebeouf claims his sense of humor is derived from "seeing my parents have sex, smoke weed, my mom being naked -- just weird hippie stuff."
Thanks Shia.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Quotes that don't make sense
Ya know the old saying "give up the ghost" well my douche bag relative thought it was "give up the goat," which apparently makes perfect sense to him since he had a goat that died when he was a kid. Note the person that said this is a respectable business man. The quote was, to be exact:
"My old phone finally gave up the goat."
Good times.
"My old phone finally gave up the goat."
Good times.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Swine Flu
So yeah, had a little swine flu scare. Not a big deal except that EVERYONE else is freaking out...
***Important note to the story***
I live in my parents basement. Don't judge me.
***Back to the story***
I have the swine flu. Or do I? If you ask my doctor she would say there was a chance that test showed a false negative. If you ask a few of my various family members they would tell you I’m basically pre-apocalyptic.
It's the FLU people. Exactly the same as the flu! Except we are calling it a pandemic, highlighting every known death and, and blaming it on the poor little piggies.
If we highlighted every person that died every year from the flu people would probably be wetting their panties. There's no big dif. Seriously.
If I told you I had the regular old flu would you quarantine me to the basement?
Well, with my family, that would still be a yes, but it’s worse now because apparently it’s the swine flu!
See here’s the problem. I had symptoms of the swine flu a couple days before I got officially tested. So before I was tested I had family calling me, that weren’t even around me when I had symptoms, wondering what my symptoms were and worrying that they were going to develop it, that the pandemic would spread, and kill off some of my family members in the process.
My mom’s boss, you know, the one I douche bagged like five posts ago, sends my mom home and won’t let her come back to work until it’s confirmed that I don’t have the swine flu. And even then, she’s still gotta wait a week.
Then I've got my friend, who when I told her I had the swine flu exclaimed "You're going to die!" and basically began funeral arrangements.
Interestingly enough she is the one that gave me the swine flu...
I think everyone should freak out a little more over me having a cough and body aches for a few days.
Then to top it off, my brother called and wanted me to get tested, and was very annoyed when I told him “no” because I didn’t have insurance and didn’t want to pay for it. Douche Bag. So my mom fronts the bill, I get tested and guess what I DON'T HAVE the SWINE FLU, yes, it could have been a false negative since I was already treating it with Tamiflu, but it probably isn’t! Nevertheless, my family is upstairs playing cards and I’m sequestered to the basement.
So I guess the point I’m trying to get at is I probably have a cold, or maybe the regular old flu, and even if I did have the swine flu it’s almost exactly the same as having the regular flu.
FACT, the regular flu kills people, just as same as the swine flu.
FACT, you can recover from the swine flu without treatment, just like the regular flu.
FACT the swine flu was engineered to create mass hysteria….Just kidding. I’m not that right winged.
Actually, for those of you pre-apocalyptic Armageddon types let me just say that it’s probably better that you get the swine flu and build up immunities to it for when God unleashes the real nasty plagues.
What doesn't work with that logic though is that it totally takes God out of the equation. God was the one that said there would be an apocalypse, but apparently the all-powerful God has no control over who lives and who dies during it. I guess that part of the “end of days” is all left up to chance.
I guess.
Douche Bags.
And for those of you who are agnostic, well your just screwed.
***Important note to the story***
I live in my parents basement. Don't judge me.
***Back to the story***
I have the swine flu. Or do I? If you ask my doctor she would say there was a chance that test showed a false negative. If you ask a few of my various family members they would tell you I’m basically pre-apocalyptic.
It's the FLU people. Exactly the same as the flu! Except we are calling it a pandemic, highlighting every known death and, and blaming it on the poor little piggies.
If we highlighted every person that died every year from the flu people would probably be wetting their panties. There's no big dif. Seriously.
If I told you I had the regular old flu would you quarantine me to the basement?
Well, with my family, that would still be a yes, but it’s worse now because apparently it’s the swine flu!
See here’s the problem. I had symptoms of the swine flu a couple days before I got officially tested. So before I was tested I had family calling me, that weren’t even around me when I had symptoms, wondering what my symptoms were and worrying that they were going to develop it, that the pandemic would spread, and kill off some of my family members in the process.
My mom’s boss, you know, the one I douche bagged like five posts ago, sends my mom home and won’t let her come back to work until it’s confirmed that I don’t have the swine flu. And even then, she’s still gotta wait a week.
Then I've got my friend, who when I told her I had the swine flu exclaimed "You're going to die!" and basically began funeral arrangements.
Interestingly enough she is the one that gave me the swine flu...
I think everyone should freak out a little more over me having a cough and body aches for a few days.
Then to top it off, my brother called and wanted me to get tested, and was very annoyed when I told him “no” because I didn’t have insurance and didn’t want to pay for it. Douche Bag. So my mom fronts the bill, I get tested and guess what I DON'T HAVE the SWINE FLU, yes, it could have been a false negative since I was already treating it with Tamiflu, but it probably isn’t! Nevertheless, my family is upstairs playing cards and I’m sequestered to the basement.
So I guess the point I’m trying to get at is I probably have a cold, or maybe the regular old flu, and even if I did have the swine flu it’s almost exactly the same as having the regular flu.
FACT, the regular flu kills people, just as same as the swine flu.
FACT, you can recover from the swine flu without treatment, just like the regular flu.
FACT the swine flu was engineered to create mass hysteria….Just kidding. I’m not that right winged.
Actually, for those of you pre-apocalyptic Armageddon types let me just say that it’s probably better that you get the swine flu and build up immunities to it for when God unleashes the real nasty plagues.
What doesn't work with that logic though is that it totally takes God out of the equation. God was the one that said there would be an apocalypse, but apparently the all-powerful God has no control over who lives and who dies during it. I guess that part of the “end of days” is all left up to chance.
I guess.
Douche Bags.
And for those of you who are agnostic, well your just screwed.
Monday, June 29, 2009
can i quote you on that...
"Is Vermont a state? Because I thought it was in Wisconsin."
-said by my geographically challenged friend
-said by my geographically challenged friend
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Adoption Douche
To commemorate Madonna finally getting permission to adopt "Mercy" James from Africa, I offer you this hilarious SNL video.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Mom Douche
I'm going to do it, I'm going to douche my mother, the woman who gave me life I am douching. And I'm doing it in lieu of father's day, since I know my daddy would like that. Which is why he's a douche, but that's a whole other story entirely.
***Some unknown facts about my mother***
She's predicted the end of the world three times.
When she was pregnant with me, she rode a horse to induce labor. And now I have learning disabilities in the area's of speling and gramar. So if you are ever reading my blog and wanting to edit it...blame her.
She denies that she's predicted the end of the world three times. It must have been one of her other personalities that said it.
She sees herself as a "realist" not a pessimist. Which is another way of saying she's a pessimist.
She has a category of things that are basically of the devil. They include: Doctors, George W. Bush, and Ammonia.
I'm pretty sure, but can't guarantee that I learned the "f" word from her.
For those of you who have read anything Eckhart Tolle, I am her "pain body"...Thanks for the reminder...mom.
She owns EVERY self help book that ever was. She has read only a third of them.
She fills up a 1/4 sometimes 1/3 measuring cup every day with pills, herbs, vitamins, that sort of thing, and has that for breakfast. Then she doesn't eat anything usually the rest of the day. Hey ya know a good way to get your vitamins? By eating food!
And now, for the finale....
I'm out with my mother and sister to a movie. About half way through the projector stops working and the lights come on. So naturally we just sit there, hoping that someone else will go tell them it's not working, so we don't have to get up and move. And my mother, being the REALIST that she is, predicts that the film has melted, and we will know longer be able to continue watching the movie. When we asked her what would have melted the film she said, "The candle behind it."
Now just think about this for minute...
My mother thought that what was projecting the picture on to the screen was a candle. A CANDLE. Wow. That is some serious candle. It's a wonder films don't melt all the time if this is the technology we're using!
Seriously, my mother is a senior citizen and all, but what time does she think she is from? The Flinstone Age?...Had a dinosaur as a dog, drove cars with my feet, watched movies via bonfire projection?
I don't understand. And if I were to call her on it, she would deny that she even said that because of her multiple personalities that can't keep track of what the other one is saying or doing. So there ya go.
Mom, you gave me life, and I love you, even if I am your pain body. But your kind of a douche:)
***Some unknown facts about my mother***
She's predicted the end of the world three times.
When she was pregnant with me, she rode a horse to induce labor. And now I have learning disabilities in the area's of speling and gramar. So if you are ever reading my blog and wanting to edit it...blame her.
She denies that she's predicted the end of the world three times. It must have been one of her other personalities that said it.
She sees herself as a "realist" not a pessimist. Which is another way of saying she's a pessimist.
She has a category of things that are basically of the devil. They include: Doctors, George W. Bush, and Ammonia.
I'm pretty sure, but can't guarantee that I learned the "f" word from her.
For those of you who have read anything Eckhart Tolle, I am her "pain body"...Thanks for the reminder...mom.
She owns EVERY self help book that ever was. She has read only a third of them.
She fills up a 1/4 sometimes 1/3 measuring cup every day with pills, herbs, vitamins, that sort of thing, and has that for breakfast. Then she doesn't eat anything usually the rest of the day. Hey ya know a good way to get your vitamins? By eating food!
And now, for the finale....
I'm out with my mother and sister to a movie. About half way through the projector stops working and the lights come on. So naturally we just sit there, hoping that someone else will go tell them it's not working, so we don't have to get up and move. And my mother, being the REALIST that she is, predicts that the film has melted, and we will know longer be able to continue watching the movie. When we asked her what would have melted the film she said, "The candle behind it."
Now just think about this for minute...
My mother thought that what was projecting the picture on to the screen was a candle. A CANDLE. Wow. That is some serious candle. It's a wonder films don't melt all the time if this is the technology we're using!
Seriously, my mother is a senior citizen and all, but what time does she think she is from? The Flinstone Age?...Had a dinosaur as a dog, drove cars with my feet, watched movies via bonfire projection?
I don't understand. And if I were to call her on it, she would deny that she even said that because of her multiple personalities that can't keep track of what the other one is saying or doing. So there ya go.
Mom, you gave me life, and I love you, even if I am your pain body. But your kind of a douche:)
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
the yeastie-beasties
Ya know what I'd REALLY like to douche bag right now! Acidophilous....
You heard me right, I'm douching a...uh...what the hell is acidophilous? Mineral? Vitamin? Herb? Well whatever it is, it's meant to combat yeast build-up in the body, for which I have been specifically taking it for....and what do I wake up with this morning?
I'd have you guess, but you're probably thinking "she wouldn't go there"...oh but I would!
A friggen YEAST INFECTION! Which the treatment for comes in packages of GOO. GOO people!
Not to mention I have aqua marine colored hair from the swimming pool, which is a whole other douche I can't get into right now because none of you would believe me anyways.
But what am I supposed to do? Walk into my local grocer, with mermaid hair, checking out with a box of vaginal cream and the itching desire to...well you know. Ridiculous I tell you...
Oh and one other thing OSAMA BIN LADEN is an asshole douche bag for threatening the U.S. once again....
It had to be said. And right now I can't come up with anything more clever than that to say because of the unholiness happening in my underwear.
Is this a TMI?
It's a TMI.
You heard me right, I'm douching a...uh...what the hell is acidophilous? Mineral? Vitamin? Herb? Well whatever it is, it's meant to combat yeast build-up in the body, for which I have been specifically taking it for....and what do I wake up with this morning?
I'd have you guess, but you're probably thinking "she wouldn't go there"...oh but I would!
A friggen YEAST INFECTION! Which the treatment for comes in packages of GOO. GOO people!
Not to mention I have aqua marine colored hair from the swimming pool, which is a whole other douche I can't get into right now because none of you would believe me anyways.
But what am I supposed to do? Walk into my local grocer, with mermaid hair, checking out with a box of vaginal cream and the itching desire to...well you know. Ridiculous I tell you...
Oh and one other thing OSAMA BIN LADEN is an asshole douche bag for threatening the U.S. once again....
It had to be said. And right now I can't come up with anything more clever than that to say because of the unholiness happening in my underwear.
Is this a TMI?
It's a TMI.
Friday, May 29, 2009
STooPid Ppl R dooshees
Well I logged in today to Douche my mom, because lets face it, I've been dying too....that doesn't sound right....but anyways...I got this anonymous douche submission and thought it was too good to wait. But before I post it I would like to answer a question I received a few days ago concerning my "Mother Nature" Douche post, wondering "How exactly do you go about douching mother nature?" as far as the specifics go in actual douching...I gotta be honest with you the first thing that came to me was China. So that's the answer I'm sticking with.
In the vein of quotes that don't make sense, I would like to douche "stoopid ppl" who comment on blogs. Here are some totally 'warm vinegar wash' comments I came across today....
**** "He's too cute to be gay."
As if cute and gay were somehow interrelated... ???
**** The next one is actually an amalgamation of more than one comment, basically telling the blog writer to step off, stop hating and just LEAVE [Actress X] ALONE! And, that pictures don't make you dating someone or a lesbian... These were in response to the bloggers post about [Actress X] and who she may or may not currently be dating.
You know, because it hurts celebrities when you blog that while they have been seen out and about with someone they may or may not be dating one another. Is this celebrity a lesbian? I don't know/care, and am still just baffled as to how these people made the leap from 'this may be her boyfriend' to 'she's not a lesbian...' Wait, sorry it was more like: 'SHE'S NOT A LESBIAN EITHER!!!! WAAH!' My condolences to [Actress X] - her fans are idiots.
**** "...ya’ll need 2 hop off hah diyck so much yah don’ need 2 kno hah like that means yuh just 2 damn nosey"
WTF? This was part of one of those aforementioned comments written by one of the aforementioned idiots. Overreact much? But that's not what I wanted to douche on... People who write phonetically are stoopid. Hey, why use an actual language to communicate when you can just make one up right? And as if the phonetics alone aren't stupid enough apparently this person speaks with an accent... and I guess thinks [Actress X] has a penis???? I don't know!
NOTE: I am not douching ALL blog commenter's, only the stupid ones... if you found yourself getting defensive and upset by this post... or found parts of it hard to read because it was thought out, punctuated, used capital letters, etc... I'm afraid you may be one of the stupid ones. Sorry you're a douche.
-Douche Anony
THANKS FOR THE SUBMISSION!
In the vein of quotes that don't make sense, I would like to douche "stoopid ppl" who comment on blogs. Here are some totally 'warm vinegar wash' comments I came across today....
**** "He's too cute to be gay."
As if cute and gay were somehow interrelated... ???
**** The next one is actually an amalgamation of more than one comment, basically telling the blog writer to step off, stop hating and just LEAVE [Actress X] ALONE! And, that pictures don't make you dating someone or a lesbian... These were in response to the bloggers post about [Actress X] and who she may or may not currently be dating.
You know, because it hurts celebrities when you blog that while they have been seen out and about with someone they may or may not be dating one another. Is this celebrity a lesbian? I don't know/care, and am still just baffled as to how these people made the leap from 'this may be her boyfriend' to 'she's not a lesbian...' Wait, sorry it was more like: 'SHE'S NOT A LESBIAN EITHER!!!! WAAH!' My condolences to [Actress X] - her fans are idiots.
**** "...ya’ll need 2 hop off hah diyck so much yah don’ need 2 kno hah like that means yuh just 2 damn nosey"
WTF? This was part of one of those aforementioned comments written by one of the aforementioned idiots. Overreact much? But that's not what I wanted to douche on... People who write phonetically are stoopid. Hey, why use an actual language to communicate when you can just make one up right? And as if the phonetics alone aren't stupid enough apparently this person speaks with an accent... and I guess thinks [Actress X] has a penis???? I don't know!
NOTE: I am not douching ALL blog commenter's, only the stupid ones... if you found yourself getting defensive and upset by this post... or found parts of it hard to read because it was thought out, punctuated, used capital letters, etc... I'm afraid you may be one of the stupid ones. Sorry you're a douche.
-Douche Anony
THANKS FOR THE SUBMISSION!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Ska-Douche
So I was sitting at the laptop the other day ranting about what a douche Paris Hilton is, as if we didn't already know that. But nevertheless, it needed to be said, and I need to say it. Then what I do?
Oh, spill a large glass full of water all over the computer. The funny thing is that after I wiped it up I kept using the computer not realizing that it's internal operating system may be feeling a bit moist at the moment. Then before I can finish my post the computer starts shorting out. Yeah. It's toast.
What makes it even better? A. It took me like, 15 minutes after the computer quit working to realize that it might not be working because I spilled water all over it. and, B. It's not my computer...it's my dad's computer. Good times.
So, yeah, I'm a douche.
Oh, spill a large glass full of water all over the computer. The funny thing is that after I wiped it up I kept using the computer not realizing that it's internal operating system may be feeling a bit moist at the moment. Then before I can finish my post the computer starts shorting out. Yeah. It's toast.
What makes it even better? A. It took me like, 15 minutes after the computer quit working to realize that it might not be working because I spilled water all over it. and, B. It's not my computer...it's my dad's computer. Good times.
So, yeah, I'm a douche.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Ah. The married life...
When you're married when does wooing, seduction, and foreplay turn into four simple words. "Lets get it on."
Much sexier said when being serenaded by Marvin Gaye.
So I've included on the side panel a Flight of the Conchords song saluting married life love making. (Note: The top video is PG, the lower three are a music videos so they are PG - 13.)
Much sexier said when being serenaded by Marvin Gaye.
So I've included on the side panel a Flight of the Conchords song saluting married life love making. (Note: The top video is PG, the lower three are a music videos so they are PG - 13.)
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Ted, the Douche
So I uh, was hoping that when I created this blog that it would work as a forum for others to share their stories of douche baginess, but I haven't gotten any submissions, so apparantly I'm the only one with either A. Serious Anger Problems, or B. Serious Douche Bag Problems. Only time will tell.
So here I unveil my FIRST douche bag post. I saved it on my computer after I wrote it, long before I had this blog. I figured it would never see the light of day. It's probably one of the meanest one's I've written. That and the one about my mother. But I figured I'd hold out on posting the one douching my mother until it WASN'T mother's day, to show some respect and what not.
So here it is....My very first douche: Ted.
I’m at film festival near my home town and I’m talking to Erin who’s documentary FagBug was just shown. I smile at her, she’s cute and seems gentle and nice. She searches through a small wad of cash for change for a Fagbug sticker I just purchased and asked me how I liked the show. I, of course say I loved it, which wasn’t a lie, and think about my gay brother and wish he was there, even though he is total annoying older brother pain in the ass.
Then shortly after that, the crowd scatters and another, um, person (Ted, lets say) begins to discuss an issue he had with the projector on her film, (which it was shown late due to this,) and on his tangent he says something along the lines of “screwed up the buthole”.
First of all, who says that? Honestly I am dying to know who actually says that? And secondly in front of a lesbian/gay rights activist? Hello? I was out of breath from shock and by the time I was ready to say “dude, did you just say 'screwed up the butthole'"? and laugh in his face, it was already too late.
Now maybe it’s not that big of the deal, but it seemed offensive. Yes this is what is offensive to me. Lewis Black, the potty mouth comedian, I find hilarious, saying things with bigotry undertones, not funny.
So next time you say something is “gay” try saying it’s “festive” festive is the new gay. Or if you feel like saying someone “jewed” you out of something. Smack yourself across the face. Or next time you find yourself calling someone a “cotton picken” liar, take a sledge hammer to your left knee. And next time you hear yourself saying “love the sinner, not the sin” poke a finger in your own eye and curse yourself for having sex, eating, pooping, laughing, loving, and everything else that is completely natural for you. And make sure to feel really, really guilty about it until you’ve shamed yourself into a corner where you just want to die.
Thank You and Amen.
Secondly, I must say that I am douche bag for being such a douche bag hater. But, hey, love the sinner not the sin, right?
Oh and to check out Erin’s cause by going to her website: www.fagbug.com
So here I unveil my FIRST douche bag post. I saved it on my computer after I wrote it, long before I had this blog. I figured it would never see the light of day. It's probably one of the meanest one's I've written. That and the one about my mother. But I figured I'd hold out on posting the one douching my mother until it WASN'T mother's day, to show some respect and what not.
So here it is....My very first douche: Ted.
I’m at film festival near my home town and I’m talking to Erin who’s documentary FagBug was just shown. I smile at her, she’s cute and seems gentle and nice. She searches through a small wad of cash for change for a Fagbug sticker I just purchased and asked me how I liked the show. I, of course say I loved it, which wasn’t a lie, and think about my gay brother and wish he was there, even though he is total annoying older brother pain in the ass.
Then shortly after that, the crowd scatters and another, um, person (Ted, lets say) begins to discuss an issue he had with the projector on her film, (which it was shown late due to this,) and on his tangent he says something along the lines of “screwed up the buthole”.
First of all, who says that? Honestly I am dying to know who actually says that? And secondly in front of a lesbian/gay rights activist? Hello? I was out of breath from shock and by the time I was ready to say “dude, did you just say 'screwed up the butthole'"? and laugh in his face, it was already too late.
Now maybe it’s not that big of the deal, but it seemed offensive. Yes this is what is offensive to me. Lewis Black, the potty mouth comedian, I find hilarious, saying things with bigotry undertones, not funny.
So next time you say something is “gay” try saying it’s “festive” festive is the new gay. Or if you feel like saying someone “jewed” you out of something. Smack yourself across the face. Or next time you find yourself calling someone a “cotton picken” liar, take a sledge hammer to your left knee. And next time you hear yourself saying “love the sinner, not the sin” poke a finger in your own eye and curse yourself for having sex, eating, pooping, laughing, loving, and everything else that is completely natural for you. And make sure to feel really, really guilty about it until you’ve shamed yourself into a corner where you just want to die.
Thank You and Amen.
Secondly, I must say that I am douche bag for being such a douche bag hater. But, hey, love the sinner not the sin, right?
Oh and to check out Erin’s cause by going to her website: www.fagbug.com
Monday, May 11, 2009
Douche Bag of the Week - Thomas Edison - yeah, you heard me right!
Lets take this moment to douche bag a historical figure, because frankly Thomas Edison has been getting on my nerves lately.
I mean the guys all "Look at me I invented light bulb! Blah, blah, blah!"
When really he stole a bunch of Tesla's work and patented it himself! Douche Bag!
Yeah! That's right Tesla was the one with the brains! Especially when it came to a little thing called ALTERNATING CURRENTS.
Ye see people, when it was being decided how electricity would run Tesla was for it alternating, and Edison was for it being direct. Which created the war of Alternating Currents (Tesla's idea) and Direct Current (Douche Bag's idea), and later became the inspiration for a kick-ass band named AC/DC.
Now with that little history lesson out of the way, lets get to the heart of the douching here. When the AC vs. DC debate began, Edison wanted to prove that HIS was better and he did this by gathering up dogs, cats, horses, cows, and on one occasion a friggen ELEPHANT and publicly electrocuting them to death. To death people! In order to prove that AC was "dangerous" even though it's a bunch of B.S. and that's what we actually use NOW! But do we ever learn of this when we talk about how "great" Edison is, the animal killer/douche bag/ stealer of inventions, guy!
No we don't. So I am also douching our school systems, and history books, and my hideous teachers, I know you try, but try harder.
And God bless.
I mean the guys all "Look at me I invented light bulb! Blah, blah, blah!"
When really he stole a bunch of Tesla's work and patented it himself! Douche Bag!
Yeah! That's right Tesla was the one with the brains! Especially when it came to a little thing called ALTERNATING CURRENTS.
Ye see people, when it was being decided how electricity would run Tesla was for it alternating, and Edison was for it being direct. Which created the war of Alternating Currents (Tesla's idea) and Direct Current (Douche Bag's idea), and later became the inspiration for a kick-ass band named AC/DC.
Now with that little history lesson out of the way, lets get to the heart of the douching here. When the AC vs. DC debate began, Edison wanted to prove that HIS was better and he did this by gathering up dogs, cats, horses, cows, and on one occasion a friggen ELEPHANT and publicly electrocuting them to death. To death people! In order to prove that AC was "dangerous" even though it's a bunch of B.S. and that's what we actually use NOW! But do we ever learn of this when we talk about how "great" Edison is, the animal killer/douche bag/ stealer of inventions, guy!
No we don't. So I am also douching our school systems, and history books, and my hideous teachers, I know you try, but try harder.
And God bless.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Quotes that don't make sense
"It's like kicking a dead chicken over and over again."
-Me, yeah I meant horse...never been too savvy with the sayings.
-Me, yeah I meant horse...never been too savvy with the sayings.
Quotes that don't make sense
"I have opinions of my own --strong opinions-- but I don't always agree with them."
- George Bush
- George Bush
Friday, May 8, 2009
Quotes that don't make sense
"I think gay marriage is something that should be between a man and a woman"
- Arnold Schwarzenegger
- Arnold Schwarzenegger
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Min Pin Nightmare Take 2
You may want to read my previous post if you haven't to understand the nightmare that I am in...
I know what your thinking...adorable....right? Wrong!
In the saga of the min pin nightmare I've got some bad news and I've got some good news. The bad news? IT (as in the horny little min pin) is still feverishly in love with my male dog. And even though my dog has got sixty pounds on this little rat, IT still pines after my dog with that sex-crazed look in his eye.
Unrequited loves a bitch. I get it. But I am seriously considering castrating the dog myself Lorena Bobbitt style.
Meanwhile I’m feeling horribly guilty because the reason why they asked me to watch their dog in the first place is because I’m a total animal lover.
Listen to Bob Barker people and spay and neuter your pets!!!
The good news?
I begged a friend to take the dog after he gets out of school. Which is douchetacular! I basically told him that if he didn't come get the dog that either me, my husband, or my dog, may kill IT. My friend laughed, disturbed that a bleeding heart animal lover such as myself couldn't handle a little rat min pin. But only if he knew!
I know what your thinking...adorable....right? Wrong!
In the saga of the min pin nightmare I've got some bad news and I've got some good news. The bad news? IT (as in the horny little min pin) is still feverishly in love with my male dog. And even though my dog has got sixty pounds on this little rat, IT still pines after my dog with that sex-crazed look in his eye.
Unrequited loves a bitch. I get it. But I am seriously considering castrating the dog myself Lorena Bobbitt style.
Meanwhile I’m feeling horribly guilty because the reason why they asked me to watch their dog in the first place is because I’m a total animal lover.
Listen to Bob Barker people and spay and neuter your pets!!!
The good news?
I begged a friend to take the dog after he gets out of school. Which is douchetacular! I basically told him that if he didn't come get the dog that either me, my husband, or my dog, may kill IT. My friend laughed, disturbed that a bleeding heart animal lover such as myself couldn't handle a little rat min pin. But only if he knew!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Holy Douche!
I don’t even know where to begin with this douching. I guess it all began when my friend asked me to watch her dog that she recently acquired, a min pin, and being the dog lover that I am, I said sure. She said it would be in a couple weeks, and texted that she would call me later with the details.
Well the call never came and the next day I went out of town. Then the next day after that I started getting calls from her husband wondering when he could drop the dog by since they were leaving tomorrow!
What the hell?
We’ll just write it off as mommy brain – even though that is the lamest excuse in the book. Mommy brain is short for, “I’m taking those supplements that taste like chocolate and are completely synthetic so they don’t do a damn thing.” Joy.
So whatever, I forgive her, and move on. We arrange for the dog to stay elsewhere until my husband and I can return from our vaca and pick the dog up. Well at first the dog seems fine, you know skittish and weird like all small dogs are, but then I noticed it also hadn’t been neutered.
I didn’t worry too much about it until IT met my other normal sized (by that I mean BIG) dog and devoted itself to humping his ankle mercilessly. Oh and I refer to the dog as “IT” because I don’t know what the hell his name is.
Well, my dog doesn’t like being humped for fifteen minutes by a rat every five seconds so we tried to get IT to leave my dog alone by offering it a stuffed animal – which it doesn’t take until I rub the scent of my male dog all over the stuffed animal. So not only is IT a horny bastard he’s also gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just saying. Maybe if it was my girl dog she’d be okay with the humping, but my boy dog? not so into it. In fact he now growls whenever IT is in a five-minute radius of him.
Well, as I said before, the stuffed animal seemed to work like a charm for IT. I wondered if IT just needed a good humping before he could settle into his new environment. Well after fifteen minutes of humping…it really hadn’t stopped...it started to get a little scary. The dog’s erected self was frighteningly huge! HUGE! Especially in comparison to his wee little body.
By this time I didn’t even want to go near him for fear IT might attack me with the red rocket…shooting for the moon this one was. Not to mention that this dog was going at it like he was trying to win an award for best porn star. So much so that IT’s shlong began bleeding profusely on my nephew’s stuffed animal. (Yes, I gave the rat dog my nephew’s stuffed animal -- don’t judge me).
So with a bleeding shlong on my hands I am now forced to stop him and examine his gargantuan thingy to make sure it’s okay! I mean this is the stuff the nightmares are made of! And when I say bleed, I don’t mean a few drops of blood, I’ve had flesh wounds produce less blood than this dog’s shlong. And since this is only hour three of the horrid event, I’m sure their will be much more irate blogging, as I try to process what the hell I got myself into.
The only problem is I don’t even know whom to douche at this point? The dog for being sex crazed porn star or my friend with the mommy brain. But really in the end, I guess I only have myself to blame. So, I can admit it. I’m a douche.
Well the call never came and the next day I went out of town. Then the next day after that I started getting calls from her husband wondering when he could drop the dog by since they were leaving tomorrow!
What the hell?
We’ll just write it off as mommy brain – even though that is the lamest excuse in the book. Mommy brain is short for, “I’m taking those supplements that taste like chocolate and are completely synthetic so they don’t do a damn thing.” Joy.
So whatever, I forgive her, and move on. We arrange for the dog to stay elsewhere until my husband and I can return from our vaca and pick the dog up. Well at first the dog seems fine, you know skittish and weird like all small dogs are, but then I noticed it also hadn’t been neutered.
I didn’t worry too much about it until IT met my other normal sized (by that I mean BIG) dog and devoted itself to humping his ankle mercilessly. Oh and I refer to the dog as “IT” because I don’t know what the hell his name is.
Well, my dog doesn’t like being humped for fifteen minutes by a rat every five seconds so we tried to get IT to leave my dog alone by offering it a stuffed animal – which it doesn’t take until I rub the scent of my male dog all over the stuffed animal. So not only is IT a horny bastard he’s also gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just saying. Maybe if it was my girl dog she’d be okay with the humping, but my boy dog? not so into it. In fact he now growls whenever IT is in a five-minute radius of him.
Well, as I said before, the stuffed animal seemed to work like a charm for IT. I wondered if IT just needed a good humping before he could settle into his new environment. Well after fifteen minutes of humping…it really hadn’t stopped...it started to get a little scary. The dog’s erected self was frighteningly huge! HUGE! Especially in comparison to his wee little body.
By this time I didn’t even want to go near him for fear IT might attack me with the red rocket…shooting for the moon this one was. Not to mention that this dog was going at it like he was trying to win an award for best porn star. So much so that IT’s shlong began bleeding profusely on my nephew’s stuffed animal. (Yes, I gave the rat dog my nephew’s stuffed animal -- don’t judge me).
So with a bleeding shlong on my hands I am now forced to stop him and examine his gargantuan thingy to make sure it’s okay! I mean this is the stuff the nightmares are made of! And when I say bleed, I don’t mean a few drops of blood, I’ve had flesh wounds produce less blood than this dog’s shlong. And since this is only hour three of the horrid event, I’m sure their will be much more irate blogging, as I try to process what the hell I got myself into.
The only problem is I don’t even know whom to douche at this point? The dog for being sex crazed porn star or my friend with the mommy brain. But really in the end, I guess I only have myself to blame. So, I can admit it. I’m a douche.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Quotes that don't make sense
"We need to go down to secondy-second street."
-said by my douche nozzle husband
-said by my douche nozzle husband
Monday, May 4, 2009
Mom's Boss? A Douche...
It has been my experience that people who are capable of running large organizations, such as administrators, business executives etc. tend to be major douche bags, or at least have douche bag tendencies. Example: Donald Trump. 
The hair is practically screaming, "Look at what a Douche Bag I really am!"
Well, my frail, old, senior citizen mother happens to be working for one such douche bag. Now who my mother chooses to spend her time with is none of my business, considering my father is also a noted administrator douche bag, I’m sure she enjoys the company of them in some sort of sick masochistic way. So, ya know whatever, good for her.
But here comes the problem. It’s now affecting me!
My mother travels frequently with her work. And she invited my sister to go along on one of the business trips…and then I found out and invited myself…really not important how it was all set up.
What IS important is what Mr. Douche Bag (A.K.A her boss) did when he found out about our little family excursion. With his little grinch heart he decided that my mother would no longer be going on that trip, and that her co-worker would go instead.
Forget about the fact that my mother has ALWAYS gone on this particular trip and knows all the clients in that area. Forget about the fact that my sister has mommy abandonment issues and really needed serious QUALITY time with her mommy. Forget about the fact that I was super duper excited to go. And now…we’re going to have to pay for the hotel by ourselves, which I am not particularly happy about.
So Mom’s Boss…I am grateful for this opportunity to label you a douche bag. A label, I’m sure you’ve had, even before I emerged from the womb. And I take this pleasure in telling it to the world.
YOU’RE a DOUCHE!
The hair is practically screaming, "Look at what a Douche Bag I really am!"
Well, my frail, old, senior citizen mother happens to be working for one such douche bag. Now who my mother chooses to spend her time with is none of my business, considering my father is also a noted administrator douche bag, I’m sure she enjoys the company of them in some sort of sick masochistic way. So, ya know whatever, good for her.
But here comes the problem. It’s now affecting me!
My mother travels frequently with her work. And she invited my sister to go along on one of the business trips…and then I found out and invited myself…really not important how it was all set up.
What IS important is what Mr. Douche Bag (A.K.A her boss) did when he found out about our little family excursion. With his little grinch heart he decided that my mother would no longer be going on that trip, and that her co-worker would go instead.
Forget about the fact that my mother has ALWAYS gone on this particular trip and knows all the clients in that area. Forget about the fact that my sister has mommy abandonment issues and really needed serious QUALITY time with her mommy. Forget about the fact that I was super duper excited to go. And now…we’re going to have to pay for the hotel by ourselves, which I am not particularly happy about.
So Mom’s Boss…I am grateful for this opportunity to label you a douche bag. A label, I’m sure you’ve had, even before I emerged from the womb. And I take this pleasure in telling it to the world.
YOU’RE a DOUCHE!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Quotes that don't make sense
"Pull yourself up by your coattails."
-anonymous douche bag
...did you mean bootstraps?
-anonymous douche bag
...did you mean bootstraps?
I could douche my husband every week on this thing
But I'm going to try not to. Because I love him. However, I must, MUST, post this.
So my husband and I are going to a birthday party for his step-mom and of course on the drive there he tells me that we were supposed to bring a salad.
Douche.
I wish that I could say this was the first time that he's done this, but it's not. Almost every time we're asked to bring something I find out about it after we've already arrived, while were pulling into the driveway, or a few blocks from the party. I consider this an improvement that he remembered a good 30 minutes before we got to the place. Good job honey! :)
I also wish I could say that I am getting used to this little quirk of my man, but it pisses me of just the same. I know he's ADD and can only handle so much information at a time...but seriously.
So instead of calling him a douche bag, I bite my tongue and don't say anything, ya know in order that I don't damage his self-esteem and what not. Instead I take deep breathes and count backwards from ten, as he decides to swing by the store and take care of it.
Here's the kicker. He calls his step-mom and asks her how many people he needs to bring salad for. Did I mention it was a SURPRISE birthday party?
Yeah....
Surprise sufficiently ruined. Thanks honey. I love you. But you are a douche nozzle.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Douche Bag of the Week - Mother Nature
In lieu of recently celebrated Earth Day I would like to take this opportunity to Douche Bag Mother Nature.
Now I’m a fan of Mother Nature just as anyone else. I like going for hikes, listening to the babble of an incandescent river, having delightful conversations with birds, and squirrels, and trees, and rocks, and dirt, and that sort of thing.
It’s not like I’m a tree hugger or anything. Besides trees don’t like being hugged. Would you want to be hugged by random sweaty stranger? Didn’t think so.
So while I love Mother Nature, I often times feel baffled by her lack of consistency in the weather. (Which you can’t always blame on global warming and cloud seeding, but lets do it here just for fun.)
Therefore, I blame global warming and cloud seeding. Oh, and our collective carbon footprint (whatever that means) as being responsible for the weather sucking.
It seriously withers away my soul when, one day, I am frolicking outside without shoes, bathing in the sun, feeling a slight itch of hope that my life perhaps is getting better and the only reason why I’ve been crazy the last six months is NOT because I’m hormonal but because I’m vitamin D deficient, and the sun reminds me I have a reason to live! And then it snows, and the itch of hope becomes the rash of injustice!
That’s why I’m douching Mother Nature, and since I missed Earth Day I’ll throw in a complimentary douche for global warming, and mankind in general for our carbon footprint.
Now I’m a fan of Mother Nature just as anyone else. I like going for hikes, listening to the babble of an incandescent river, having delightful conversations with birds, and squirrels, and trees, and rocks, and dirt, and that sort of thing.
It’s not like I’m a tree hugger or anything. Besides trees don’t like being hugged. Would you want to be hugged by random sweaty stranger? Didn’t think so.
So while I love Mother Nature, I often times feel baffled by her lack of consistency in the weather. (Which you can’t always blame on global warming and cloud seeding, but lets do it here just for fun.)
Therefore, I blame global warming and cloud seeding. Oh, and our collective carbon footprint (whatever that means) as being responsible for the weather sucking.
It seriously withers away my soul when, one day, I am frolicking outside without shoes, bathing in the sun, feeling a slight itch of hope that my life perhaps is getting better and the only reason why I’ve been crazy the last six months is NOT because I’m hormonal but because I’m vitamin D deficient, and the sun reminds me I have a reason to live! And then it snows, and the itch of hope becomes the rash of injustice!
That’s why I’m douching Mother Nature, and since I missed Earth Day I’ll throw in a complimentary douche for global warming, and mankind in general for our carbon footprint.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Quotes that don't make sense
I like sex, but not as much as I like ligers.
-said by my douche brother while having sex with his wife.
Windows Live™ Hotmail®:…more than just e-mail. Check it out.
-said by my douche brother while having sex with his wife.
Windows Live™ Hotmail®:…more than just e-mail. Check it out.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Douche Bag of the Week - Taxman
The Douching begins with tax season, which for all of you should be over, unless you’re like my douche brother-in-law who doesn’t even look at his taxes until they’re past due. Tax season for me is like a fresh wound waiting for salt to be poured in it.
First, I would presuppose that at this time of year when it’s time to do taxes that if your going to pay someone $300 to do your taxes, when your starting your own business, that you pick an agency that gives you feelings of warm fuzzies knowing that your taxes are safe in their hands.
You don’t necessarily want an agency that’s going to put off your taxes to the last minute. Or, who, when you call, tells you that their working on your taxes RIGHT NOW and you will be called in a couple of days. But then never call, and say that same thing the next four times you call. Or when they do get to your taxes, tell you they did them wrong and will have to re-do them. Then calls you on the day taxes are due, just before closing, to let you know that you need to come in and sign your taxes so they can file them before they’ll be penalized.
Warm fuzzies? Gone! Gone I tell you!
Well that’s where my story begins. When, the day after taxes are due, my husband and I drive fifteen miles to the building with said taxman, that told us we could come in that day to file our taxes.
Already in my mind, I am and going through various scenarios of how I can bitch these people out without getting flustered, fumbling over my words, or resorting to violence. My task would be difficult.
But I’m confident as my husband and I approach the building. My chest puffed up, and then a tug on the door….and it’s locked.
The curse words fly.
My husband keeps his cool and calls the agency on his cell phone while I throw my arms up in the air and stomp around loudly. And just when I think that the taxman is the douche bag of the story, it turns out to be, my husband. Who, when getting the answering machine of said taxman, begins to leave a sickly sweet, “hey we were told to be here today and no ones here, we’d really appreciate it if you could give us a call.”
By this time my jaws dropped to the pavement and I’m glaring at my husband who then quickly adds “and we had to drive quite a ways to get here.”
Wow Honey. You zinged him with that one!
All the time I’m resisting the urge to pry the cell phone out of my husbands hands and tell Mr. Taxman to stick a rocket in an unsightly place and light it….
Instead I just stomped around some more.
And now I hereby knight my dearest sweetie pie, not only my first Douche Bag, by also Douche Bag of the week.
First, I would presuppose that at this time of year when it’s time to do taxes that if your going to pay someone $300 to do your taxes, when your starting your own business, that you pick an agency that gives you feelings of warm fuzzies knowing that your taxes are safe in their hands.
You don’t necessarily want an agency that’s going to put off your taxes to the last minute. Or, who, when you call, tells you that their working on your taxes RIGHT NOW and you will be called in a couple of days. But then never call, and say that same thing the next four times you call. Or when they do get to your taxes, tell you they did them wrong and will have to re-do them. Then calls you on the day taxes are due, just before closing, to let you know that you need to come in and sign your taxes so they can file them before they’ll be penalized.
Warm fuzzies? Gone! Gone I tell you!
Well that’s where my story begins. When, the day after taxes are due, my husband and I drive fifteen miles to the building with said taxman, that told us we could come in that day to file our taxes.
Already in my mind, I am and going through various scenarios of how I can bitch these people out without getting flustered, fumbling over my words, or resorting to violence. My task would be difficult.
But I’m confident as my husband and I approach the building. My chest puffed up, and then a tug on the door….and it’s locked.
The curse words fly.
My husband keeps his cool and calls the agency on his cell phone while I throw my arms up in the air and stomp around loudly. And just when I think that the taxman is the douche bag of the story, it turns out to be, my husband. Who, when getting the answering machine of said taxman, begins to leave a sickly sweet, “hey we were told to be here today and no ones here, we’d really appreciate it if you could give us a call.”
By this time my jaws dropped to the pavement and I’m glaring at my husband who then quickly adds “and we had to drive quite a ways to get here.”
Wow Honey. You zinged him with that one!
All the time I’m resisting the urge to pry the cell phone out of my husbands hands and tell Mr. Taxman to stick a rocket in an unsightly place and light it….
Instead I just stomped around some more.
And now I hereby knight my dearest sweetie pie, not only my first Douche Bag, by also Douche Bag of the week.
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