It's Labor Day weekend, and while everyone is planning bar-b-ques and beach/pool outings and celebrating Monday off...I am panicking about the pool in my parents subdivision closing.
I don't know if you people realize....but when I am tan, I look 30 lbs lighter and 6 inches taller. I need to be tan. I need to lie out and fry my precious skin. It's a sickness and I have not found a 12 step program for this. I have to be near a pool to get maximum tanning. I cannot lie in my backyard. I can't even get down to the beach, because my previously broken foot doesn't work well on sand. Actually, it sucks. I look like an elephant waddling and clomping. Not a pretty sight.
I seriously am going to have to start spray tanning or fake baking. Which brings me to another problem. Do you tan the areas that are usually covered by your bathing suit? I am cringing at the thought of having to lift my fat bags for the sprayer person to spray my belly....and the claustrophobic tanning booths freak me out with the handle bars on the ceiling.....oh, and you know what else irks me? You have to PAY for this kind of tan....as if!
"Maybe" I should just lose 30 lbs and embrace my paleness.....who am I kidding? Holy Hell.....
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Piss and Vinegar
We have a new member of our family. Her name is Charlie. Charlie is a 10 week old black lab puppy. She has puppy breath and the softest fur you could ever imagine. She bites with her little razor teeth, but usually only the kids. (So, I am safe?) She loves to go outside and roll around in the grass, and chase butterflies and run so her floppy little ears bounce in the wind. She is sweet and shiny and loved so much.....but you know what? The damn thing won't piss or shit outside. I mean, we will be out there for 20 to 25 minutes with her....she'll prance inside and squat on my beloved black plaid carpet. Holy Hell.
I should probably back up and tell you that we don't have a fenced in yard. We have an invisible fence and a doggy door, so when she is old enough to train, she will have 24 hr access to the yard.....but at the moment, we have to stay outside with her. Which is irritating. Especially when she decides to pee on black carpet. Wanna know what sucks about black carpet? You can't see wet spots....so, usually I find the wet spots with my feet. I spend all day chasing dog around, because I am waiting for her to squat. The rest of the main floor is tile or wood floors....so does she piss on a hard surface? No, she goes for the absorbant, beloved, black plaid carpet. I sop up piss with paper towels, clean the floor, and then shoot up the pad with a syringe full of white vinegar (it cuts urine smell...oh, and I also have a special padding that doesn't absorb liquids...so I got THAT going for me) So, basically, I spend my days chasing Charlie with paper towels, Resolve and a syringe. I hope to God I never answer the door with the syringe in my hand?
Poop. Now, call me crazy....but I'd rather her just poop in the house. First of all, it's solid and doesn't leave any residue. It doesn't absorb into the carpet. But it stinks to high heaven. I mean how could such a huge smell come out of a little ass......and that's another one of my hobbies: watching her pink eye to see if it starts to protrude...that's when you know she's about to blow. What has my life come to?
Piss and vinegar.
I should probably back up and tell you that we don't have a fenced in yard. We have an invisible fence and a doggy door, so when she is old enough to train, she will have 24 hr access to the yard.....but at the moment, we have to stay outside with her. Which is irritating. Especially when she decides to pee on black carpet. Wanna know what sucks about black carpet? You can't see wet spots....so, usually I find the wet spots with my feet. I spend all day chasing dog around, because I am waiting for her to squat. The rest of the main floor is tile or wood floors....so does she piss on a hard surface? No, she goes for the absorbant, beloved, black plaid carpet. I sop up piss with paper towels, clean the floor, and then shoot up the pad with a syringe full of white vinegar (it cuts urine smell...oh, and I also have a special padding that doesn't absorb liquids...so I got THAT going for me) So, basically, I spend my days chasing Charlie with paper towels, Resolve and a syringe. I hope to God I never answer the door with the syringe in my hand?
Poop. Now, call me crazy....but I'd rather her just poop in the house. First of all, it's solid and doesn't leave any residue. It doesn't absorb into the carpet. But it stinks to high heaven. I mean how could such a huge smell come out of a little ass......and that's another one of my hobbies: watching her pink eye to see if it starts to protrude...that's when you know she's about to blow. What has my life come to?
Piss and vinegar.
Friday, July 23, 2010
It's Always About The Strippers
So...I've not blogged in some time. For many reasons. One part is that I've just not been feeling the funny. Life is pissing me off. It's hard to be vulgar and funny and when you're just not feeling it. Okay....I'm feeling the vulgarity...but not the funny. Whatever.... Another part is that Donna writes about dogs fucking and all other types of nonsense and really....who can compete with that? Honestly...what can I possibly write about that would topple that mound of insanity?
So....I'll just write about my daily life and hope it at least entertains a person or three....so here it goes.
My day started out with my friend Foti....a.k.a. Fake Date Foti...He's like, well, the guy who invites me out to events that his regular trampy girls can't clean up well enough for. Me? I'll doll up....extend a hand...behave myself...and then all is good. EVERYONE needs a fake date....and I'm your girl.
So Foti was experiencing his first trip on the South Shore Train line to Chicago...he was off to his first game ever at Wrigley Field. So looking forward to it -- and what happened? Well the train hit a car....he calls me at approximately 9-ish and says...."Nance...I'm looking out of the window of the train...and the ass of the car is under the train car. You may have to drive me to Chicago."
My response? No fucking way...get a shuttle..unless there is a promise of dinner and a handsome man involved at the end of this journey...I'm SO not on this journey.
In the interim, my son Jack called. He's 16...working in Chicago half of the week as a life guard and living my nephew. Here's the deal: Jack: "Mom...I just got hit by a car." Me: "Ummmm Jack...shut the fuck up...that's not funny."
Bottom line is that he broke ONE TOE. ONE!!! Who in the hell gets hit by a car and only breaks one toe....What the Fuck...
So Foti...He sat for 2 hours on the unmoving train....and eventually got on his merry way......arrived in Chicago ..... And then...
He called and said he wanted to go to a strip club...and would I find one for him as he doesn't know Chicago at all. Sooooo....being the good Fake Girlfriend that I am? What did I do? I GOOGLED this shit...I googled strip clubs....I looked at pics of naked strippers...I determined that some are better than others....and then chose one for Foti....the most expensive one...cuz I'm a bitch and Foti needs to appreciate what I do....damnit!!!
It'a been a stressful day...but in the end? It's always about strippers...
So....I'll just write about my daily life and hope it at least entertains a person or three....so here it goes.
My day started out with my friend Foti....a.k.a. Fake Date Foti...He's like, well, the guy who invites me out to events that his regular trampy girls can't clean up well enough for. Me? I'll doll up....extend a hand...behave myself...and then all is good. EVERYONE needs a fake date....and I'm your girl.
So Foti was experiencing his first trip on the South Shore Train line to Chicago...he was off to his first game ever at Wrigley Field. So looking forward to it -- and what happened? Well the train hit a car....he calls me at approximately 9-ish and says...."Nance...I'm looking out of the window of the train...and the ass of the car is under the train car. You may have to drive me to Chicago."
My response? No fucking way...get a shuttle..unless there is a promise of dinner and a handsome man involved at the end of this journey...I'm SO not on this journey.
In the interim, my son Jack called. He's 16...working in Chicago half of the week as a life guard and living my nephew. Here's the deal: Jack: "Mom...I just got hit by a car." Me: "Ummmm Jack...shut the fuck up...that's not funny."
Bottom line is that he broke ONE TOE. ONE!!! Who in the hell gets hit by a car and only breaks one toe....What the Fuck...
So Foti...He sat for 2 hours on the unmoving train....and eventually got on his merry way......arrived in Chicago ..... And then...
He called and said he wanted to go to a strip club...and would I find one for him as he doesn't know Chicago at all. Sooooo....being the good Fake Girlfriend that I am? What did I do? I GOOGLED this shit...I googled strip clubs....I looked at pics of naked strippers...I determined that some are better than others....and then chose one for Foti....the most expensive one...cuz I'm a bitch and Foti needs to appreciate what I do....damnit!!!
It'a been a stressful day...but in the end? It's always about strippers...
Libby
Talk about a heartbreak.
Losing a puppy exactly 48 hours after you got her.
A sweet, 12 week old black lab with paws the size of hockey pucks and long legs any girl would dream of.
Gone. But not forgotten.
A friend saved her from the streets and I welcomed her into my heart. A heart that had been closed to the idea of having another puppy in my life. I opened my heart for Libby...and God took her home. I was meant to give that dog the best 48 hrs of her short life. She was meant to find me to help me realize that I am ready for a 4 legged bundle of joy. My heart has been opened.
I will always remember that sweet Libby.
Losing a puppy exactly 48 hours after you got her.
A sweet, 12 week old black lab with paws the size of hockey pucks and long legs any girl would dream of.
Gone. But not forgotten.
A friend saved her from the streets and I welcomed her into my heart. A heart that had been closed to the idea of having another puppy in my life. I opened my heart for Libby...and God took her home. I was meant to give that dog the best 48 hrs of her short life. She was meant to find me to help me realize that I am ready for a 4 legged bundle of joy. My heart has been opened.
I will always remember that sweet Libby.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Was Jesus a drunk?
Just when I thought I have seen or heard just about anything, I was proven wrong when I attended a festival thrown by my church. A Catholic church. A Catholic church across the street from my neighborhood. Ran by carnies that obviously aren't from this side of the tracks.
Let's talk about the appearance of a traveling festival carnie, shall we? Jorts seem to be the pants of choice. And I don't mean those ridiculous jean shorts that men wear with socks and sneakers and Nascar t-shirts or tucked in golf shirts and belts....I'm talking about the jean "capris" that boys wear that are usually hanging down so half of their boxer-clad ass is showing. Usually, there's some grafitti-looking logo on the back pocket of a dragon or a tiger or something and then that pocket has a chain that is attached to their wallet or maybe a nipple, or God forbid, their pecker. Usually black sneakers and tatted up legs complete the ensemble....someone I'm hoping action-packed NEVER brings home to meet me. The chicks look like they've been rode hard and put away wet. Usually, with a tattoo inching up their neck from inside the collar of their uniform shirts. I spoke to 3 chic-carnies...and they were all smoking Newports. Newports and jorts...wow, they rhyme.
So, action-packed decided she wanted to ride on the carousel....We handed the carnie 2 tickets, and she jumped on a horse. The carnie flipped a switch, and off action-packed went. At this time, the carnie noticed my sexy stocking I wear to keep swelling down. I told her my story, and she pulls up the pant leg on her tapered mom-jeans to show me her scar on the top of her foot...(I should add she was wearing flip flops and that her feet were the color of dirt)...."You still taken the pain pills?" Uh, you talking to me? "I'm still taking the vicidin, even after 2 years....I just keep getting them because my boyfriend likes to crush them up and snort it. I have to hide my purse from him cuz he'll take all of my shit and not leave anything for me. I stills got pain. You stills got pain?" (at this point I am wondering why in the fuck people like her think I want to talk to them) "My boyfriend is a fucking spic. Those fucking spics are thieves. He takes my drugs. He has an addiction problem. I's don't know why I don't kick him to the curb. Shiiittt, he rocks Momma's bed all night...those spics fuck like rabbits. Good and fast." Huh? Huh?
So, action-packed is off the horse and running across the grass to the choo-choo train. All righty, all aboard. I swear she isn't 5 feet away from me and this female carnie sees the sign I must have written across my forehead that reads: "Tell me your shit...I wanna know" She starts by talking about how quiet festival is for a Saturday night...and I made the mistake of asking if Friday night was more crowded. "This fucking 'n' (now, I am going to jump in here to tell you that she used the 'n' word in whole...and as much of a non-filtered vulgar person you all think I am, I refuse to use that word, and even typing 'n' bothers me, but....) took my purse and ran off with it. And I was yellin at that fuckin 'n' to drop my fuckin purse, I had my cigs and mys money in that damn purse. Fuckin' 'n'...they're all thieves..." (I was going to tell her that spics fuck like rabbits, but decided to bite my lip) "My bosses kid ran after him and got my purse....all my cigs were in there...." At this point, I decided to go to the beer tent....
So all of us school parents and alums and friends of the beloved principal that retired, are all in the tent sporting green and waiting for her "toast/roast" to begin. The priest (um, I so shouldn't type this...but, uh, nobody likes the priest) is standing on the stage saying a prayer and half of the people in the tent are ignoring him....Which I find funny. Hey we all know I'm going to hell...so he throws his hands up in disgust and walks off the stage...which, Thank God another parent noticed and asks if I saw that or I would have thought I was dreaming...then, the toasting begins for KB, and people would not shut up in the back of the tent...SOOOO...unfiltered-mouth turns around and yells "Shush!"...which helped, of course, and then I clearly noticed it was the priest talking. (I'm going to hell, remember?) And at this point, I notice he's downing plastic cups of red wine....great. Was Jesus a drunk? I don't think so?
I drag my kid out of there, and as we are driving home down our street...we notice a gaggle of people walking through my neighborhood. I am like half-tempted to roll window down and tell them to stay home...but it IS a fundraiser afterall, so I just wave and smile. I hope none of them stole a carnie's purse or bought the priest a drink...oh, who am I kidding? I hope they did...and then went home and fucked like rabbits high on vicidin.
Let's talk about the appearance of a traveling festival carnie, shall we? Jorts seem to be the pants of choice. And I don't mean those ridiculous jean shorts that men wear with socks and sneakers and Nascar t-shirts or tucked in golf shirts and belts....I'm talking about the jean "capris" that boys wear that are usually hanging down so half of their boxer-clad ass is showing. Usually, there's some grafitti-looking logo on the back pocket of a dragon or a tiger or something and then that pocket has a chain that is attached to their wallet or maybe a nipple, or God forbid, their pecker. Usually black sneakers and tatted up legs complete the ensemble....someone I'm hoping action-packed NEVER brings home to meet me. The chicks look like they've been rode hard and put away wet. Usually, with a tattoo inching up their neck from inside the collar of their uniform shirts. I spoke to 3 chic-carnies...and they were all smoking Newports. Newports and jorts...wow, they rhyme.
So, action-packed decided she wanted to ride on the carousel....We handed the carnie 2 tickets, and she jumped on a horse. The carnie flipped a switch, and off action-packed went. At this time, the carnie noticed my sexy stocking I wear to keep swelling down. I told her my story, and she pulls up the pant leg on her tapered mom-jeans to show me her scar on the top of her foot...(I should add she was wearing flip flops and that her feet were the color of dirt)...."You still taken the pain pills?" Uh, you talking to me? "I'm still taking the vicidin, even after 2 years....I just keep getting them because my boyfriend likes to crush them up and snort it. I have to hide my purse from him cuz he'll take all of my shit and not leave anything for me. I stills got pain. You stills got pain?" (at this point I am wondering why in the fuck people like her think I want to talk to them) "My boyfriend is a fucking spic. Those fucking spics are thieves. He takes my drugs. He has an addiction problem. I's don't know why I don't kick him to the curb. Shiiittt, he rocks Momma's bed all night...those spics fuck like rabbits. Good and fast." Huh? Huh?
So, action-packed is off the horse and running across the grass to the choo-choo train. All righty, all aboard. I swear she isn't 5 feet away from me and this female carnie sees the sign I must have written across my forehead that reads: "Tell me your shit...I wanna know" She starts by talking about how quiet festival is for a Saturday night...and I made the mistake of asking if Friday night was more crowded. "This fucking 'n' (now, I am going to jump in here to tell you that she used the 'n' word in whole...and as much of a non-filtered vulgar person you all think I am, I refuse to use that word, and even typing 'n' bothers me, but....) took my purse and ran off with it. And I was yellin at that fuckin 'n' to drop my fuckin purse, I had my cigs and mys money in that damn purse. Fuckin' 'n'...they're all thieves..." (I was going to tell her that spics fuck like rabbits, but decided to bite my lip) "My bosses kid ran after him and got my purse....all my cigs were in there...." At this point, I decided to go to the beer tent....
So all of us school parents and alums and friends of the beloved principal that retired, are all in the tent sporting green and waiting for her "toast/roast" to begin. The priest (um, I so shouldn't type this...but, uh, nobody likes the priest) is standing on the stage saying a prayer and half of the people in the tent are ignoring him....Which I find funny. Hey we all know I'm going to hell...so he throws his hands up in disgust and walks off the stage...which, Thank God another parent noticed and asks if I saw that or I would have thought I was dreaming...then, the toasting begins for KB, and people would not shut up in the back of the tent...SOOOO...unfiltered-mouth turns around and yells "Shush!"...which helped, of course, and then I clearly noticed it was the priest talking. (I'm going to hell, remember?) And at this point, I notice he's downing plastic cups of red wine....great. Was Jesus a drunk? I don't think so?
I drag my kid out of there, and as we are driving home down our street...we notice a gaggle of people walking through my neighborhood. I am like half-tempted to roll window down and tell them to stay home...but it IS a fundraiser afterall, so I just wave and smile. I hope none of them stole a carnie's purse or bought the priest a drink...oh, who am I kidding? I hope they did...and then went home and fucked like rabbits high on vicidin.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Ummmm....Okay...Donna (a.k.a. "sunshine") has been on a roll.....a roll that I've totally expected of her. Me? Not so much....not feeling a theme for the blog...not feeling the funny....but whatever...my life is a bit a of mess so why not laugh.
So....I'm currently single...kids away on a vacation with their dad who always shows them a good time.... Can I write -- as Donna does -- about vibrators, ugly dog sex, diagonal sleeping husbands and gargling snores? Absolutely not..although I have experience (huge, pages of experieece with it...).....Here's what I can discuss..
#1 I need a book called "Dating for Dummies"....Thinking I may have a sign above my head...that only I don't see...that screams
"SINGLE" .....while not a bad thing, I'm not sure what to do with it. Creepy guys....wierd requests...Just not sure how this all happened....
#2 Told my long-time hair sytlist to "go for it"...and now Im a blond...and rocking a puerto rican tan...because I can...is this a good thing? Most likely no....but I'm still going to go for it. Cuz it's ALL about me...
#3 While I appreciate the good wishes and nonsense that ensues...let's be clear: I've not been playing checkers for the last several months....have you all not gotten the memo? Let's be clear once and for all: until further notice...it's all about me...
#4 It's all about me...have I mentioned that? Just checking...Come the end of the summer it'll change...but for now?....
Let's be clear.....It's all about me...and it needs to be that way...and too bad if you don't like it...if so...I'll see you later rather than sooner...
N-
So....I'm currently single...kids away on a vacation with their dad who always shows them a good time.... Can I write -- as Donna does -- about vibrators, ugly dog sex, diagonal sleeping husbands and gargling snores? Absolutely not..although I have experience (huge, pages of experieece with it...).....Here's what I can discuss..
#1 I need a book called "Dating for Dummies"....Thinking I may have a sign above my head...that only I don't see...that screams
"SINGLE" .....while not a bad thing, I'm not sure what to do with it. Creepy guys....wierd requests...Just not sure how this all happened....
#2 Told my long-time hair sytlist to "go for it"...and now Im a blond...and rocking a puerto rican tan...because I can...is this a good thing? Most likely no....but I'm still going to go for it. Cuz it's ALL about me...
#3 While I appreciate the good wishes and nonsense that ensues...let's be clear: I've not been playing checkers for the last several months....have you all not gotten the memo? Let's be clear once and for all: until further notice...it's all about me...
#4 It's all about me...have I mentioned that? Just checking...Come the end of the summer it'll change...but for now?....
Let's be clear.....It's all about me...and it needs to be that way...and too bad if you don't like it...if so...I'll see you later rather than sooner...
N-
As Seen on TV...
Aviator man has decided that I am not entitled to a good night's sleep. I don't know who died and left him the sleep-decider person....but he's about to be introduced to his new sleeping digs: sofa city. Snoring. He has been snoring. And sleeping diagonally. I don't know which is worse. He sleeps on his back, without a pillow (they're in a heap on the floor between the bed and the nighstand, WTF?) and gargle-snores. SOOOO irritating. So I nudge him. About 6 times one night. And then he looks right at me and makes some pissy remark at me. Listen, aviator man, I'm not the one gargling while lying diagonally in our bed. Geesh.
So, I'm one of those that after I've been disruptly woken up...I can't go back to sleep. So I stare at the ceiling. Or check my iPhone. Or I crutch myself to the bathroom....but mainly I end up turning on the boob tube. And then I get sucked in. Shit.
Infomercials. Worst invention EVER! Usually the oddest products. Usually end up at Bed, Bath & Beyond with an "as seen on tv" sticker on the front of the box. Ok, so I really was concerned that someone had slipped me some sort of hallucenagin (sp?) before I fell asleep the other night....I saw a commercial for some sort of chopping device called "Slap Chop". It's this chopper thing that you can use to chop onions, nuts, etc....and not have to use a knife and if you act now, you will get bendable cutting rubber thingy, so you can fold and slip chopped items into pot or plate, etc....oh, and if you REALLY act now you'll get not one, but TWO of these fuckers PLUS a grating thing for cheese...It gets better....the guy doing the info is the ass wipe from downunder that wears the headgear microphone (Oh, I don't know, a reg clip on mic doesn't work for him?) that has replaced that hyper fuck, Billy Mays. (RIP khaki pant, blue shirt wearing cokehead?) So this ass wipe is promoting the "Slap Chop"...and some high school intern whose daddy owns the company decided to "funk" up the commercial a bit....he decides to turn it into a fucking club remix..."slap your troubles away..." "watch this" Oh, fuck me.
Have you seen Booty Pop? Do you know what these are? Panties with padding on the ass...yes, I said it "ass padding"....So, you're at a club...and some guy is noticing your lucious rump...you hook up, you go home with him, you undress in front of him...and wa-la...you gots a flat ass! He's gonna kick you out to the curb. This is worse than a padded bra.
The Magic Bullet. I have to tell you the truth about this product. So, I had never seen this infomercial before. I had no idea what the product was. 4 or 5 Christmases ago, I was opening presents at my Mom and Step Dad's house. My mom has this big grin on her face and hands me this large, rectangular box. She's all excited and says "Look at what McGuyver got you!" (We call my step dad that because he is always fixing shit with bread wire twisty things and duct tape, but in a good way) "He got me one, too!" So I start ripping the paper off...and I see this big white box with the words "Magic Bullet" written across the front of it. Now, I should also add the fact that my step dad is from Germany, and sometimes gets confused with things...and at this point, I'm thinking that McGuyver bought my mom and I each a vibrator. I look over at Aviator man who is smiling, but I can tell he's not sure what's in the box, either. And I mean this is a BIG box, and I'm wondering if it's a party pack of vibrators...and I am freaking out, because wouldn't YOU if you thought your stepdad bought you a party pack of vibrators???? My mom is all "open it! Open it!" And I'm all...it's ok..."I don't want to open it all up"...and my mom is "but there's all different colors, so people know which one is theirs if you have a party!!" OMG! My mom thinks I'm gonna have a vibrating bullet party with all of my girlfriends to pleasure their vajayjays with? She rips the box from me and opens it up....And I realize it's a kitchen blender with all different attachments, including cups with colored rings so your guests know which cup is theirs. Of course, it's a blender....would you have known it was a blender. And then the following week, I saw the infomercial. (Can I just add here that I use this bullet, weekly?)
I swear to God that Cathy Mitchell probably has some sort of porn or sex industry background. GT Xpress 101. That's the grill thingy that puts all of your food in a semi-circular pocket....Have you ever watched how she lures the old dude into her pocket meals? Have you ever watched how her wig slips in this infomercial from the excessive sweat that is dripping off of her forehead into said pocket meal? Doesn't that sound yummo?
Ron Jeremy originally was the celebrity endorser for "Extenze". The male enhancement pill that is all natural. People. Seriously, if ingesting something from nature made your peepee large, you would see men smoking bongs and chewing cud 24-7...first of all, why would ANYONE want Ron Jeremy promoting ANYTHING for them? He is nas-tee...OMG...I get it....he and Cathy Mitchell!!!!!
So, I'm one of those that after I've been disruptly woken up...I can't go back to sleep. So I stare at the ceiling. Or check my iPhone. Or I crutch myself to the bathroom....but mainly I end up turning on the boob tube. And then I get sucked in. Shit.
Infomercials. Worst invention EVER! Usually the oddest products. Usually end up at Bed, Bath & Beyond with an "as seen on tv" sticker on the front of the box. Ok, so I really was concerned that someone had slipped me some sort of hallucenagin (sp?) before I fell asleep the other night....I saw a commercial for some sort of chopping device called "Slap Chop". It's this chopper thing that you can use to chop onions, nuts, etc....and not have to use a knife and if you act now, you will get bendable cutting rubber thingy, so you can fold and slip chopped items into pot or plate, etc....oh, and if you REALLY act now you'll get not one, but TWO of these fuckers PLUS a grating thing for cheese...It gets better....the guy doing the info is the ass wipe from downunder that wears the headgear microphone (Oh, I don't know, a reg clip on mic doesn't work for him?) that has replaced that hyper fuck, Billy Mays. (RIP khaki pant, blue shirt wearing cokehead?) So this ass wipe is promoting the "Slap Chop"...and some high school intern whose daddy owns the company decided to "funk" up the commercial a bit....he decides to turn it into a fucking club remix..."slap your troubles away..." "watch this" Oh, fuck me.
Have you seen Booty Pop? Do you know what these are? Panties with padding on the ass...yes, I said it "ass padding"....So, you're at a club...and some guy is noticing your lucious rump...you hook up, you go home with him, you undress in front of him...and wa-la...you gots a flat ass! He's gonna kick you out to the curb. This is worse than a padded bra.
The Magic Bullet. I have to tell you the truth about this product. So, I had never seen this infomercial before. I had no idea what the product was. 4 or 5 Christmases ago, I was opening presents at my Mom and Step Dad's house. My mom has this big grin on her face and hands me this large, rectangular box. She's all excited and says "Look at what McGuyver got you!" (We call my step dad that because he is always fixing shit with bread wire twisty things and duct tape, but in a good way) "He got me one, too!" So I start ripping the paper off...and I see this big white box with the words "Magic Bullet" written across the front of it. Now, I should also add the fact that my step dad is from Germany, and sometimes gets confused with things...and at this point, I'm thinking that McGuyver bought my mom and I each a vibrator. I look over at Aviator man who is smiling, but I can tell he's not sure what's in the box, either. And I mean this is a BIG box, and I'm wondering if it's a party pack of vibrators...and I am freaking out, because wouldn't YOU if you thought your stepdad bought you a party pack of vibrators???? My mom is all "open it! Open it!" And I'm all...it's ok..."I don't want to open it all up"...and my mom is "but there's all different colors, so people know which one is theirs if you have a party!!" OMG! My mom thinks I'm gonna have a vibrating bullet party with all of my girlfriends to pleasure their vajayjays with? She rips the box from me and opens it up....And I realize it's a kitchen blender with all different attachments, including cups with colored rings so your guests know which cup is theirs. Of course, it's a blender....would you have known it was a blender. And then the following week, I saw the infomercial. (Can I just add here that I use this bullet, weekly?)
I swear to God that Cathy Mitchell probably has some sort of porn or sex industry background. GT Xpress 101. That's the grill thingy that puts all of your food in a semi-circular pocket....Have you ever watched how she lures the old dude into her pocket meals? Have you ever watched how her wig slips in this infomercial from the excessive sweat that is dripping off of her forehead into said pocket meal? Doesn't that sound yummo?
Ron Jeremy originally was the celebrity endorser for "Extenze". The male enhancement pill that is all natural. People. Seriously, if ingesting something from nature made your peepee large, you would see men smoking bongs and chewing cud 24-7...first of all, why would ANYONE want Ron Jeremy promoting ANYTHING for them? He is nas-tee...OMG...I get it....he and Cathy Mitchell!!!!!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
