Exacerbate Exacerbate EXACERBATE!

So, I'm back, and I could regale you all with tales of my family, describe how much I drank and subsequently behaved due to the drink, even post pictures of myself doing the Cotton Eyed Joe without vomiting all over my husband. But, I'm not going to do that, because I have a responsibility to you people. I have a responsibility to inform you, keep you entertained, maybe even convince a few of you to stop wanking off so much and spend your energies doing more productive things, like curing cancer or organizing your sock drawer. (You know who you are, and for God's sake, take your hands out of your pockets while I'm talking to you. Sheesh!)

However, since I don't give a rat's ass about responsibility, I'm going to chatter on and on about whatever the hell I think is entertaining to me. I can promise that there will be no pictures of celebrities with small dogs attached to their persons, however. (For this post. After this, all bets are off.) Despite my promise to Pops, there will be no half naked pictures of Janet Reno, either. (And, despite all appearances, the mention of Ms. Reno naked is not a cheap bid for skeevy Google hits. This is: ALL ANGELINA JOLIE, ALL NAKED, ALL THE TIME. So is this: BRAD PITT FOUND NAKED IN A DUMPSTER WITH SMALL ANIMALS ATTACHED TO HIS BODY.) See? Chatter chatter chatter. My blog, my rules.

Speaking of my blog, I've discovered something either really pathetic or really helpful, depending on which side of the screen you're sitting on. I was going to take a break from all things Bloggy, only to discover that that exacerbated my general pissiness with everything. I have no real point here, except to say that writing makes me happy (or less pissy, I suppose) and that I will take every opportunity possible to use the word 'exacerbate.' You know what would be funny? If exacerbate actually meant 'stoppage of wanking off.' Which I told you all to STOP DOING, and PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM. Oh, wash them first, GOD! (Chatter chatter chatter entertain entertain entertain!)

Re-reading what I just wrote (is it considered re-reading if one is the writer? I don't know if writing something constitutes reading it, especially in my case), you'd think that I don't have any sort of plan, or do any sort of rough draft before I spew forth my entertaining chatter (those of you who said 'More like inane drivel' under your breath can just go to the back of the class). You'd THINK that, but you'd be RIGHT. Rough drafts and planning and any sort of cohesive logic is/are for sissies. Yes, Stephen King (found naked in a dumpster with small animals all over his body) is the biggest one of them all. No, I do NOT have every single one of his books, and I do NOT want to hang out with him, and if he asked me to write a book with him and play the cowbell for his band, I'd have to say OH FUCK YES, but I wouldn't be in the least happy about it. Fame and fortune and money coming out of your keester whenever you slap your name on something? Who the fuck would want that? I bet that money coming out of your hindquarters would EXACERBATE whatever sort of hindquarter ailment you may have. Not to say that Stephen King has any sort of bum issues, and he (Stephen King) is most definitely not having an affair with a NAKED ANGELINA JOLIE and I do not have PICTURES OF ANGELINA NAKED.

No small animals were harmed during this blog post.

Chuck Norris approval rating: 2.3 Roundhouse kicks.

It's All Relative.

First, forgive me for the sucky post title. I know not what I do, I only know I had to get Nekkid Rider off the top of my blog.

So, that being said, I'm just going to chatter on and on, and you all are going to pretend that you care.

I took CatDog into the vet today for her shots, and the vet tech was quite impressed when, as he was taking her temperature, I reassured her by hugging her head and telling her not to worry, just pretend she was in prison. Damn, but I'm funny.

In a few days I'm loading up the car, the kids and whatever clothes bearing receptacle I can find that is not a Hefty garbage bag, driving 4 hours in one direction, staying in a hotel where there will be a shitload of family members hanging around in one general location for a lengthy amount of time doing varied and miscellaneous stuff. I will eat, drink too much, probably not dance because I will be very busy being put on display by my mother, chasing after my devil spawn and having to answer the question exactly 2.3 jillion times: "And who's daughter are you, again?" Then I will drink just a little bit more, do the Chicken Dance, and eventually find myself face down in a hotel bed. Hopefully mine.

So, there you have it. I will be not posting a little bit more than I usually don't post, David Hasselhoff and his Wonder Wrinkles are gone a little bit more, and you all DO care. You really do.

Baywatch Placeholder of DOOOOOM.

Discuss.

(You click, he gets bigger. And you know you want him bigger.)

How Many Miles Must a Man Walk ...

and how many times must a woman rip out stitches before she stabs someone in the leg with a knitting needle? (And, conversely, how far can a man walk with a knitting needle stuck in his leg?)

Yes, I've decided upon a project for this fancy little number:

I had my doubts, as it looked and was talked up as an 'easy project' and would only 'take a few days.' Knitters are BLOODY LIARS!

Really, what in the hell was I thinking?!?

Updates and pictures provided as deemed necessary. Profanity and obscene finger gestures are included, at no extra charge.

*Unnecessary update #1-I can do cables! Or ribbing. I can do bumpy stuff! See?

But I'm doing it too loosely, so need different needles. Knitters are not only bloody liars, they are also hopeless spendthrifts. Crazy, lying indigents, the lot of 'em (us).

Stupid Things That Make Me Inordinately Happy

That my daughter pronounces 'The Simpsons' as 'The Sim-Sims'.

Farting cats.

My son playing with my hair while we watched farting cats.

Gum. (No, not really, but if I said 'rum' that would make me sound like a total boozer.)

Tequila.

Beer.

KITTENS! I MEANT KITTENS.

Meeting old friends after a very very long time and jumping up and down and squealing in the parking lot then going to the zoo and doing unspeakably vile things to ice cream cones.

Humorous Google Hits performed by Maj. McSkeevy and his Band of Oddly Shaped Miscreants.

Starting new projects that I really have no time for but there is a set of really cool buttons waiting for me at the end of it.

Will Ferrell. (Yes, I said it, and I immediately regret this decision. No, I need more cowbell. Um, wait ...What's your favorite color?)

Snoring kids, dogs and husbands. Preferably mine, but any will do, in a pinch.

"I can't remember how this list ends, but your mother is a whore."
(No, not your mother. No, not yours, either. Oh, just click on the link, and I'll leave your mother out of it.

HappyFunBall's Completely Useless Post

Tropical Depression HappyFunBall has been downgraded to General Annoyance and Pestiness With Just About Everything and Everybody. People in the area can expect sudden outbursts of profanity and airborne shoes. Local authorities are asking that people not panic, don't question unless absolutely necessary, and carry a Twix candy bar at all times. Temperatures should level out within 5-10 days.

The humor level of this blog has hit an all time low, and an increase in funny pressure is not expected anytime soon.

The management would like to announce that the person(s) responsible for the above blog post has just been sacked.

The management would further like to announce that the above post was not a real post, in and of itself, but merely a test to see who was paying attention.

The management now wishes to announce that the person(s) responsible for the above test failed miserably and has now been sacked.

The management wishes to express it's heartfelt regret that they are unable to announce anything else, or conduct any more tests, or do anything managerial whatsoever, because they have also been sacked.

Es-Ki-Mo!

Ok, so depression sucks. Even mild cases, though less so than the really bad stuff. However, before I let this post turn into a chronology of how much life can suck, I'll list off other things that suck.

When you type in a page to look for, and the task bar on the bottom of your screen says 'Done' but all you're looking at is a blank white screen.

Hitting your head on the wall and knocking yourself unconscious for half a day.

Paper cuts.

Paper cuts on your tongue.

Dog/Cat/Child vomit.

Boogers.

People who save their space in a book by laying it down so the pages are spread out on the surface and are really destroying the spine and haven't these people heard of bookmarks?

This list.

Sweaty feet.

Cold feet.

The fact that the people on Sesame Street are all actors and Maria's real name is Sonia Manzano and she and Luis are NOT REALLY MARRIED and I feel so dirty and ashamed.

Proper punctuation.

Missing your favorite television shows.

Famine, pestilence, genocide and daytime televison.

Headaches in the morning.

This movie.

Free-floating anxiety and feelings of despair and worthlessness and the horrible feeling that you truly are alone in the universe and there is no point to life and the vague and unsettling fear that everything including your existence itself is an illusion, fabricated by an evil third party for some sort of dastardly world domination plan and resistance is futile.

Brussel sprouts.

Giant Ass Slippers and Demonized Kittens ...

These are a few of my favorite things:


A herd of wild yarn balls invaded my house and, since I already fed them once, they won't go away. I'll keep them, fatten them up, and next Fall make a scarf out of them.


Here is the unfinished HP scarf, with 13 more stripes to go. And yes, we have enormous marshmallows in our living room to display stuff on.


Here is my darling headless husband with his Festivus Pole.


Look upon me, and fear the LIPS! Then give me some tuna.


These are really huge orthopedic shoe lookin' slippers. I love them.


CatDog has her reservations.


No, she pretty much hates them.


But, she is no match for the gigantic shoes of doom.


She gave up a valiant fight ...


but the Orthopedic Shoes of Death prevail in the end.


"I'm back from the dead. Give me a steak, or I'll eat your brain."



(Yeah, I'm back, bitches. Deal with it. I am.)

Not Quite Friday Free For All

First off, this blog will be largely ignored for a while (SJ, commence mocking ... NOW), as I need to do something else. I don't know what else, but something. Depression is only fun for a short while before it gets to be really fucking ANNOYING.

Secondly, this isn't so much a Free For All post as a really fucking short post.

See?

Finally, a Resolution I Can Get Behind.

In the year 2006 I resolve to: Molest more hamsters. Get your resolution here

So, I said I didn't make resolutions. Except this one, and those furry little fuckers are just asking for it.

Many thanks to Flamingo Jones for allowing me the freedom to show my true self, and creep everyone out just a little more than usual. Looks to be a good year.