The Dutchess of Dorkville

2012-01-31T18:15:00.002-06:00

Hello Asshats!

The Dutchess is not pleased, not pleased AT ALL.

Peons, minions, and even my fucking family, (except The Duke), forgot my goddamn 45th birthday last Friday.

WHAT THE HELL, PEOPLE!?
WHAT THE MOTHERFUCKING HELL???!!!

Before I kick some hooker ass, I'm declaring an emergency time out.

I'm heading to the closet with my IPad to watch Netflix, while consuming a pan full of brownies, and a bottle of tequila.

BY MYSELF!

Too late to suck up now. Carry on, ass munchers,

A New Weekly Habit

2012-01-25T16:40:00.001-06:00

Hello Royal Watchers!

I have a full e-mail inbox. I get e-mails from all over the world.
*Some of it is hate mail. (fuck you assholes)
*Some of it is junk, (no, really, I do not need any penis enlargement cream).
*Some of it is from prison inmates that want dirty pictures of the Royal Family. (pervs!)
*Some of it is from people begging to be part of the Royal Family. (sorry, we are no longer accepting applications for Royals. (but we will always accept booze!)
*There are some e-mails from people who are just curious to know what goes on in the Royal Castle.

SO, being the loving, ~~drunken~~, kind, ~~stoned~~, Dutchess that I am, I have decided to implement a new weekly blog. I bring you...

Dear Dutchess

That's right, you lucky assholes! Every week I will pour through my inbox and pick out certain letters and questions that ~~sent bribes~~ I will then put here and answer them.

Don't roll your fucking eyes, ass wipes! This will be fun.

Get to your damn computer and ask me anything.
Got a question about the Royals? Just Ask.
Got a problem, dilemma, or a bitchy Mother In-law? Send it in.
Need to know how to make a killer Rum Punch? I'm your girl!

Then, just shoot me the e-mail at:

dutchessofdorkville@gmail.com

Simple, yes?
Good.

Here is an example. I received this e-mail yesterday.
Dear Dutchess,
I LOVE the Royal family, and NEVER miss a blog post. You Royals sure know how to par-tay. I was wondering, what do you all do when you are not road tripping, cruising, or throwing a party?
Love, Your #1 Fan

Dear #1 Fan,
Although your enthusiasm is a little creepy, I will let you in on a little nightly ritual we partake in.
The Queen, myself, and the Two Royal Princess-es get together every night. The gators took this video last night.

We sometimes dance around naked, but trust me, you don't want to see that.

Now, the success of this new weekly post depends on YOU. Don't let me down fuckers. I know where you live and I also have a shovel, duck tape, and a tarp and I'm not afraid to use them.

I am sure that one day someone will make a fancy button for Dear Dutchess, but for now, pretend.

A Bathtub, Some Wine, and a Few Notes

2012-01-20T14:57:00.002-06:00

Hello my pretties. The Royal Family has been called into action because of some cunt blister parading around as someone's mother. It has made everyone in the kingdom twisty and stabby. (for good reason)

My Bitch Switch was already turned on because:
A. I have another MRSA infection, and feel like the botton of Queenie's shoe. And not the pretty, sparkly, red ones, but the ugly ass birkenstocks.
B. I have bronchitus
C. Stupid people in general piss me off.
D. There is a goddamn snow storm raging outside my window and the Royal bootlickers have decided they are too good to get thier little chihuahua paws snowy, and will just piss and shit on my back porch instead.

So, I did what I do best. I grabbed a large box of wine, filled the tub, and jumped in. You lucky bastards! Without further adieu, I bring you:

Proof that a box of wine contains more philosophy than all the books in the fucking world."

Dear Duke,
We have been together a long time. Sometimes, I know what you are going to bitch about before you open your damn mouth. All I have to say is, " I will take 'Same Shit / Different Day' category for $200.00, Alex."
Love, Dutch

Dear D#1,
I know you are beautiful and smart, However, you need to remember that I have (almost) 45 -ohmyfuckinghellhowdidTHAThappen- years of life experience, and I just might know a few things that you don't. So, have a glass of sit the fuck down with a chaser of shut the hell up.
All My Love, Mommy-Dutch

Dear 17 year old Spawn of Satan,
I know that you are SO OVER your parental unit. Just remember, I drink coffee so I don't bite your head off every morning and I stay medicated so i wont kill you...don't say i never did nothing for you.
Love, Parental Unit Dutch

Dear D#2,
No! You can not borrow my broom to sweep up your Bullshit, I'm busy riding it tonight!!!
PS. You'd better learn to hula hoop, your halo is slipping.
Love, The Original Bitch Witch-Dutch

Dear Second Cousin,
Thanks for the wedding invitation. However, maybe you should consider this...A man may think why should he buy milk when he can get the cow for free. I say why buy the pig, just for a little piece of sausage.. Food for thought.
Just sayin, Cousin Dutch

Dear Next Door neighbor that took my paper out of my driveway this morning, and then lied about it,
Karma is on her way, and man is she fucking drunk.
Fondly, Neighbor Dutch

Dear royal Boot-licking Chihuahua's,
Newsflash: The Poopcicles you insist on scarfing down are made of frozen poo. STOP IT!
Gaging, Dutchess

That concludes the note section of this post. Onto my weekly pet peeve.

Mom. When people see that word, for the most part, they think of unconditional love, support, one that knows you like none other, and one that always has your back.

Well, that is what you SHOULD think when someone says the word Mom. Unfortunately, for some of us, the word Mom is equal to evil, hateful, bitter and worthless.

If you are in the latter category, I'd like to use your for a speed bump.
Women's bodies were made for child bearing, but just because you pushed a baby out of your crusty vagina, it doesn't make you a Mom.

The One Where he Dutchess Makes A Declaration

2012-01-13T16:29:00.000-06:00

I have come to the conclusion that the Royal Family is going to hell in a hand basket.

Oh, alright then. We definitely are going to hell, and probably NOT in a hand basket, but I'm referring to a figure of speech, assholes.

Maybe this Royal Family has expanded too much. We all must walk around thinking, well fuck, there are Eleventy Royal Family members, someone else is bound to post. Fuck it...BEER ME!

Maybe there are too many goddamn kingdoms to take care of. Everyone must not have time to post because the flying fucking monkeys went on strike, and the palaces are looking like pig sty's.

Maybe we are spread out too far. All of the running between castles to see who has the best shoes and booze, leaves no time for a goddamn blog post.

Maybe The Royals have way too many other fucking outside commitments and distractions. (I'm looking at you Facebook, Kindle and Netflix!)

I don't really know. But I do know this...

I DON'T FUCKING LIKE IT.

Where is my Royal Family of yore?
The Royal Family that entertained me every fucking day.
The Royal Family that drank, hung out, and argued together on our blogs.
The Royal Family that posted more than once a goddamn blue moon!

I, your Royal Dutchess, is making a Royal Declaration.

HEAR YEA, HEAR YEA, ROYALS, YOU'D BETTER START BANGING OUT AT LEAST ONE POST A WEEK, OR ELSE I WILL COME TO YOUR PLACE FOR MY NEXT BATHTUB SESSION, AND IT WON'T BE PRETTY. IT'S TIME TO DO ...AHEM...LANDSCAPING, AND I WILL NOT HESITATE TO USE YOUR FUCKING RAZOR.

Without blogs to read, my on-line shopping is out of control and I spend too much time playing Words with Friends and Family fucking Feud on my iPhone. Which? Fuck YOU timer! Some of us are slow texters.

That is all.

Tales From A Dorkville Funeral

2012-01-09T19:12:00.003-06:00

As you also know, (and if you don't, where the fuck have you been?) my family is bat shit motherfucking crazy.

You also know I had to attend a family funeral last Friday.

Grab a beer, brownie, and a seat, assholes. I'm going to tell you all about it.

My Uncle Al passed away on New Year's Eve...in his garage, with his dog at his side. She wasn't a service dog, just a regular dog. That dog was so important in his life, she made it into the obituary. This pissed off his grandchildren, whom were not mentioned in said obit. Bad move, Uncle Al. They were the ones that picked out his "final resting" outfit.

Let's just say that when you get to heaven, (or hell, whatever...), if you see an old white guy with a perpetual smirk, wearing a blue polyester suit, paisley tie and enough gold chains to make the local pimp jealous? Congratulations! You have found my Uncle Al. My Uncle was always a practical joker, so he should be 'aight with pimpin' in the ever after, yo!'

When his wife, (my Aunt Yvonne), died 5 years ago, he got a little weird. He started talking to the television and became an Agoraphobic (never left the house) overnight. This worked for him until he accidentally burned the motherfucking house down because he fell asleep smoking a fatty. RIP Uncle Al.

My cousin Mary was there. She is my age and has partied so hard that she looked older than my Mother. To be honest, I went around the corner, bumped into her, and about shit myself. She is one scary lookin' bitch.

My Aunt Marge was also in attendance. She is the last living relative of my Grandmother's family.  She kept muttering about some family conspiracy, the city poisoning the water, and how late this funeral was being held.  It was from 4-7pm, but when you eat dinner at 3:30, 7pm is like midnight.

She had bottles of water in every pocket of her trench coat.  I'm pretty sure the Funeral Home Director thought she was packing heat because every time she got within 10 feet of him, he would nervously eye her bulging pockets and start sweating.

My cousin Ross is 59 years old, still has no job and lives in his Mother's basement. Thing is, he has been tested and is a genius with a sky high IQ. I'm thinking he may have people in his freezer because really, still living in his 80 year old Mother's house? *cue creepy music*

My cousin Sherly is so skinny and pasty looking. I think she is either a real life fucking vampire, or has an eating disorder. She lives in California, and walks around telling everyone the sun will kill them, and that she has to watch her weight to fit into nice clothes.

Umm..hello...anyone there? This bitch needs some fried foods, sun, and if they don't put weights in her shoes, I'm pretty sure the wind around here will up and carry her bony ass away.

My cousin Al jr smelled like a walking distillery.  His breath even made even MY eyes water when he talked to me. AND? I thought he would literally fall out of his damn chair during the service.

Speaking of the service, when it started, a small woman with permed frizzy, 70's hair, wearing Birkenstock's, ugly slacks and a shawl got up to speak.

I thought it was a neighbor, or the funeral home director's Mom.  Then I noticed some kind of pouch around her waist, a holy water sprinkler in her hand, and a gargoyle on the cover of her "bible".

Turns out, she was the Pastor/tree hugger/shaman/high priestess/whatever they chose to do the service. I started to wonder if she would sacrifice a chicken, or light a bong and pass it around. While I'm good with the bong passing, the chicken thing would have freaked me the fuck out.

Then she opened her mouth and the voice of an elementary school librarian popped out. About that time, my Mother started coughing...and could. not. stop. This made me giggle because my Grandmother used to be the wedding/church/funeral hacker. My mother hated that. I can't tell you how much pleasure I got out of turning to my Mother and saying, "WOW Mom, looks like Gram made it after all!"

After shunning my Mother, the gargoyle lady continued with the service. However, each and EVERY time she mentioned how in love my Uncle Al and Aunt Yvonne were, 50 years, blah blah, Al and Elizabeth are in heaven now, Al and Elizabeth were happy now...soul mates....blah, blah...wait...WTF?

All of a sudden, the Duke is discreetly poking me. I can't look at him because I will loose my shit if I do, and while me laughing uncontrollably on the floor may be entertaining, it would be highly inappropriate. That crazy tree hugging elder called my Aunt "Elizabeth" instead of Yvonne, at least a dozen times.

And then it happened.  My drunk cousin, who was listening to this shaman talk about his parents stood up and yelled, "WHO THE FUCK IS ELIZABETH AND WHY THE BLOODY HELL IS SHE WITH MY DAD IN HEAVEN??? !!!"

He then stumbled to the coffin, leaned over and said, "Damn Dad, that's cold-blooded! I'm going to miss you, you old son-of-a-bitch. Fuck, I need a cigarette!" And proceeded to stumble to the left, wiping out 2 flower arrangements and a potted plant.

And with that, the Funeral Director jumped up, thanked everyone for coming, and pretty much asked us to leave. Only my family would get thrown out of a funeral home.

That's it. This drunken Dutchess is making an appointment with her Doctor to make sure I am taking enough pills to deal with that kinda crazy running through my effin blood.

A Bathtub, Some Wine, and a Funeral

2012-01-05T17:13:00.001-06:00

Ok kids, this has been a busy week for your Dutchess, and with a member of my real life family kicking the bucket, it looks like it just got longer.

I need to prepare for the impending avalanche of carnies and circus performers, that make up my family tree, and I can think of no better way than heading to the bathtub with my box of wine. Without further adieu, or spilling of wine, I give you...

"Proof that a box of wine contains more philosophy than all the books in the fucking world."

I want to address The bitch with cunt blisters:

First? BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA... Someone apparently cracked open a bottle of Bitch Be Gone.

Second? Apparently, you forgot exactly who you were dealing with. Let me reintroduce myself...Hi I'm Chief-slap-a-bitch from the sock-a-hoe tribe, ANY QUESTIONS?!

Silly bitch, tricks are for hookers...OUR hookers. That is all I have to say about that,

Yesterday, while cooking a gourmet meal in the microwave, (FUCK YOU! The box said it was gourmet), I heard the Mission Impossible theme in my head, and decided to hit the stop button on the microwave just as it got to :01. made me feel like a bomb specialist.

Wouldn't it be cool if breast implants came with squeaky toys inside!!

With the Iowa caucus going on, I can hardly stand watching the news. Every damn story seems to be about the impending election. However, I also noticed something else. It seems 90% of the damn commercials are about Viagra and Cialis. Election, erection, election, erection. I've decided either way, we're still fucking screwed!

NOTE TO SELF: Napkins used after eating hot wings and then shoved in your damn pocket should NEVER be used as toilet paper no matter how much you've had to drink.

I think it's time to eat better, and maybe even loose a little weight. I asked my body if it wanted to work out today and it told me, "Listen here fatty bitch, do it and die."

I decided to grab a bite to eat and I ordered a salad at Mickey D's. Does anyone else think that going to McDonald's and asking for a salad is a lot like going to a whore house and asking for a hug? I'm just sayin'

Tomorrow I will attend a funeral for my Uncle Al. Family functions will never be the same. At the last family funeral, our midget 2nd cousin (Leroy) brought a ukulele and serenaded my dead Great Aunt. That is a true story, jokers.

At the end of the song medley, Leroy said, something about when one door closes...., and before he could finish, my Uncle Al said, "it's because I slammed that mother fucker shut!" I'm going to miss him.

See?? Insanity doesn't run in my family...it wanders in slowly greeting each person with a smile and a goddamn cookie.

And on that note, and the fact that I've shaved my legs and it looks like a goddamn Yeti was swimming in the tub, it is time to close this session of Drunken Bathtub Reflections.

If you need me, I'll be standing in the front yard like a flamingo wearing pink tights and a tutu waiting for Google Earth to come by and take my picture..

See you next time assholes,

New Year's Eve With The Dutchess

2012-01-01T01:30:00.000-06:00

Well, fuck. After clomping around this fucking floating city, in heels, carrying a pan of motherfucking brownies, party favors and 2 bottles of the pink sparkly champagne, all fucking night, I missed the party.

So, I decided to park my ass, pop open the bubbly and drink every last drop.

Now I;m drunk, alone, and all I have to say is this...

YOU BITCHES KNOW I AM DIRECTIONALLY AND TECHNOLOGICALLY CHALLENGED!

NEXT TIME, LEAVE ME A GODDAMN TRAIL OF, ~~POT SEEDS~~, BREAD CRUMBS, ASSHOLES!

Happy motherfucking new year. If I don't get off this ship, I'm jumping the fuck over the railing and swimming home.

Carry on.

Drunken Reflections From A Ship Bathtub

2011-12-29T15:22:00.000-06:00

I can't stand this pigsty of a ship. I know you all are hookers, but for fuck sake, have a little Royal Pride and pick up your goddamn wrappers.

Because they are all ~~ruining my buzz,~~ driving me crazy, I decided a long, drunken soak in the tub was in order.

I ordered a box of wine, lit fire to any and all swan towels I saw, filled up the stateroom's bathtub with hot water, and climbed on in.

That's right assholes, The Dutchess is about to give you a belated Christmas Present.

It's the return of ...

"Proof that a box of wine contains more philosophy than all the books in the fucking world."

These hookers are on my last nerve. That they are still on board and alive is proof that miracles do happen every day!! I didn't choke the stupid out of anyone today. See.. a fucking Miracle!

I had tacos for lunch today and since then, I've been wondering something. If southern women are called southern belles, should we call Mexican women taco bells?

Because we are on a Cruise, and I forgot to pack the weed whacker, I succumbed to a Brazilian wax yesterday. Now? My goddamn pussy is so swollen it looks like I'm hiding Mick fucking Jagger inside of my twat, except there was no room for his fucking lips. I'm going back to the "natural" look. Fuck you.

OK, so if it's "tit for tat", what the hell is a tat? and do I really want to trade my tit for it?? My tits are huge, and it better be worth it.

After watching Toddlers and Tiaras, I wanted to ask the Mom of the little kid wearing too much make up if she got gang banged by a fucking Crayola box.

Shower heads are great, but what about a vibrating tampon? It could make the "wrong time of the month", the right time of the month!! Just sayin'

As we have previously established, my boobs are huge. My bras are the size of a goddamn party tent.

Apparently, my bra also doubles as the Bermuda fucking Triangle. It collects random shit throughout the day, without me noticing. Stripping for today's bathtub session, I found enough fucking food particles to feed a starving Ethiopian child for a day. Fucking crunch tacos are my downfall.

Well, that's all the wisdom I'm imparting to you asshats today.

You can thank me ~~by way of cash, grass, or rum,~~ later.

In Port

2011-12-25T00:13:00.002-06:00

The ship is docked, and we are all off getting drunk and corrupting locals at the beach bar.

Peace out, assholes.

It's All Fun & Games Until You Freak Out The Dutchess

2011-12-23T13:59:00.000-06:00

In addition to drunk hookers, theme bars, and strange, naked activities, there are other amusing and whimsical things to be found on this ship.

At first, I thought I was just drunk and seeing thing. Then I realized that the cruise cleaning staff can do amazing things with towels.

The first day, I found this cute seal waiting near the bathroom sink

I found this angel on my bed that evening

The next day I found an elephant and a pig

Amusing, no? However, I think I forgot to tip them, because things started to get a little weird. I found this little guy the next night

and this one, which I think the Queen had something to do with

then this, WTF? Is it a monkey, or Osama Bin Laden

Then, I got drunk, and may or may not have hit on the cabin boy, because these were all over my room the next evening

Then, something happened. Something that sent shivers down my spine. I walked into my room and found this...

SWANS!!!!!!!!!
...aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaakkkkkkkkk!!!!!

I seriously hate swans, geese and goats. There was a traumatic zoo incident back in the 70's that I refuse to talk about. Suffice it to say, those fucking things creep me out.

After a slight panic attack, a 5th of Cruzan Rum, and a little somethin' somethin' from my good friend Willie, I calmed down.

The Queen thought it was fucking hilarious. All of a sudden, everywhere I look, there are motherfucking swans...

That's is it. I have to get off this goddamn boat.

Secrets and Ass Burn

2011-12-22T00:17:00.000-06:00

Hi kiddies, it's your ~~perpetually hammered~~ Dutchess here.

I have figured out that these big floating cities have a dark side. A side they don't mention in those glossy brochures and pretty little ads. But, because I have your best interest at heart, Internet, and wouldn't want you to jump on the next cruise without all the information, I will tell you all about it.

You see, what these assholes didn't mention, was that you have to walk eleventy fucking miles every time you want to do anything around this damn boat. It's fucking exhausting!

And?  I love my stilettos and can do amazing things in them. However, between walking 50,000 step a day and trying to keep from tumbling off of them while the boat rocks with the motion of the ocean, my feet are starting to resemble bloody stumps.

So today,  The Queen and I decided we needed to find something to do that didn't require much walking, but was still entertaining. We settled on going to the top sundeck for drinks and a dip in the pool.

After an undisclosed number of special brownies and Salty Dogs, my ~~drunk ass sibling~~ loving Sister looks at me and says, "Hey Dutch, I double dog dare your ass to go down the high slide!"

Well, fuck me. If there is one thing I can't turn down it's special brownie's, a cold Corona, and a double dog dare.

Looking at this monster, I knew I needed a couple extra ~~eight~~ shots of liquid courage.

I hiked my ass up to the damn top, (see? more goddamn waking!) grabbed a rubber floaty thing, and got in line. While waiting my turn, I saw this sign, showing how to use the slide.

Well, lookie there, a position I am familiar with. I'm so going to rock this slide! And with that, I took a running jump onto my floaty thing...which, perhaps, may not have been the best move. As soon as my ass hit that goddamn floaty thing, it shot out from under me with such speed and force, that took down the lifeguard and her assistant.

I was going to say sorry, but it was too late for me. I was hurling down this monster slide with nothing protecting my royal ass....literally! This motherfucking slide was so fast, I thought for sure it would spit me out on the other side of the goddamn ship!

It was just about then, that I started to feel a slight tingle in my ass...and not the good kind. Holy mother of the tequila worm, I think I smell burning flesh! Then it hit me...

THIS GODDAMN SLIDE WAS GIVING ME A MAJOR ASS BURN IN VERY SENSITIVE PLACES....AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!

By the time I finally made it to the bottom, I had barely escaped with my ~~bathing suit~~
life

Motherfucker! Today was the wrong day to wear a thong.

Maybe it's time to stick to shuffleboard.

A Christmas Scavenger Hunt...Royal Style

2011-12-20T22:07:00.000-06:00

I'm drunk, my sweet laptop caught a goddamn bad, bad, ju-ju virus, and no one told me the Royal Scavenger Hunt required me to traipse my big drunk ass around this giant floating fucking city searching for items on a list.

I couldn't find my goddamn room last night. How in the hell am I going to find shit on a list?

The crap I do for this fucking family (sigh)....here we go

First on the stupid list, Christmas Lights. After this picture was taken, the crazy ass hookers fell into the hot tub, and it did NOT end well. On the bright side, any John with a poodle hair fetish needn't look any further.

Next up, a Christmas Tree...My drunken sister thought it said a Christmas KNEE. I keep telling her she needs to wear her damn reading glasses....

Then we were to find something red...That was a no brainer...my prized possession.

Then something green....another no brainer...another prized possession. After taking this pic, a little smoke break was in order.

However, after that break, things started to get weird.

A mini Santa was the next thing to find. Ho Ho HO WHAT THE HELL? A Santa with his dick in a box! (if you don't get that joke, search You Tube for SNL Dick in a Box, assholes.)

Find a silly hat was next up. BTW, I'm pretty sure this is the new Captain of the ship, so if we get lost in the Bermuda triangle, you'll know why....The Captain was a dickhead

Onto the next item, it said I had to find a motherfucking Pirate...I called a few hookers to help...

I SAID A motherfucking pirate, skanks!! I did NOT say PIRATE FUCKERS!

The next item was to fins a real, live, Santa. I swear to you, I must be a fucking FREAK magnet. This is the Santa I found, All I can say is, I'm glad we left orge child and all of the other crotch parasites back home.

After finding this? I had had, enough. I set that motherfucking list on fire, fired up a scooby, and headed to the nearest deck with a bar.

I'm sure glad that tomorrow, we will be docking at an island for the day. I've got to pick up some fresh brownies and more eye wash. That Santa picture is burned into my damn retina.

Stay tuned for more of the Royal's High Sea's Adventure, assholes.

2011-12-19T23:02:00.000-06:00

Hiya Assholes!Well, the Christmas Cruise of 2011 is underway. First, let me just say this, we are not on a ship, it is a motherfucking floating city!

Hookers are everywhere, and having a grand old time. Some are enjoying the sun...

Some are karaoke-ing all night

Some are winning "Best Cruise Coconuts" contests

And some of those ho's are even learning new skills!

One poor hooker decided to play Titanic

Unfortunately, the bitch was so drunk, she fell overboard.
As for me, I couldn't find my goddamn room, so last night I ~~passed out~~ slept on one of the outside decks.

Oh fuck you, don't act like it's never happened to you!
Tonight is the Ship Scavenger Hunt, and there is no telling what we'll find!Stay tuned, assholes!

PS. Even though I love all of our hookers, I personally don't give a rat's ass who stays or who goes. HOWEVER, if you try and take the gin, the brownies, or my stilettos, I'll cut your ass.

The Royal Family Hits The High Seas

2011-12-18T18:23:00.000-06:00

At the Hooker Convention last week, Queenie and I overheard someone talking about a cruise they had just been on. We heard there were many, many restaurants, themed entertainment nights, dozens of pools, fun activities and too many bars to count.

Well fuck, that sounded like heaven on earth, and honestly? That's as close as any of us bitches will ever get to heaven. Then we heard this...

IT'S ALL INCLUDED IN THE PRICE OF YOUR TICKET!

When The Queen heard that, she peed her pants, let out a slurred, "WOOHOO" and crab walked to the computer to buy our tickets.

That's right assholes, The Royals have commandeered a cruise ship. We set sail, heading to the warm, blue, Caribbean water to island hop and relax tomorrow.

Well, we hit the high seas tomorrow, providing someone is sober enough to make sure we get to the ship on time.

I was gone so long, this place is a sty! I'm hoping that someone will update my Royal Family links, change fonts, pretty up and clean this blog while I'm ~~stoned outta my mind~~ sleeping tonight. (HINT HINT)

Stay tuned, fuckers, you do NOT want to miss the royal christmas Cruise of 2011!

Attention! I Have An Important Announcement

2011-12-16T18:40:00.000-06:00

After an extended ~~stay in an undisclosed mental hospital~~ leave of absence

I'M BACK BITCHES!!!!

The Royals are gearing up for the annual Christmas reunion, and I hear we are going on a cruise! The high seas will never be the same!

Stay tuned assholes, you are not going to want to miss this!

Missing in Action!

2011-06-13T10:15:00.003-05:00

The Dutchess has disappeared. The Royals are quite worried. We sent out the search party to find her.

She was last seen here.

We sent the bartender to check out her wine cellar. It was fully stocked, and untapped. This worried us. We also checked the green house, the plants were starting to die from lack of water. The bartender rushed to the garden hose and saved every plant. Thank God for that. Had the bitch come home to find her plants dead, we would have all been in deep shit!

The body guard searched the castle, thinking maybe she had drowned in the tub with a smile on her face and a glass of wine in her hand. She was not there.

The Vet and the Princesses, searched through her closets. I personally never thought she would be lost in her closets and did not understand this, until I saw them fighting over that hot red set of stiletto shoes! Hey, we won't steal from you, but we will raid each other's closets for purses and shoes if one of us pass out!

The Queen, being the Queen, set her fat ass in the big chair and demanded gin and tonics be brought to her while she decided what the next step would be. After half a bottle of gin, she came up with a plan that would surely bring the Dutchess home!

Queenie put a ~~call~~ TEXT in to Sir Eats Alot, to bring a U-haul. He backed it up to the door and we started hauling out all the booze and plants from the Dutchess's castle and grounds! Sir, drove it to our personal storage unit.

She then sent a TEXT to Cop Fargo and reported that Dutchess had been robbed and kidnapped! Top Cop, being the loyal cop she is, got right on the case. Last we heard, the Popo, the CIA, and FBI were all on the lookout for a Blue Van, with a crazy brunette hanging out the sunroof screaming...

I LOVE BROWNIES!

We're pretty sure she will be returning home soon! Until then, keep your eyes open for our beloved DUTCHESS!

Deep Thoughts From The Dutchess

2011-04-05T15:44:00.000-05:00

BLOGGER IS FUCKED UP, AND NOT PUBLISHING MY LINE BREAKS. THIS WAS NOT SUPPOSE TO BE A GIGANTIC FUCKING PARAGRAPH. SORRY IF IT'S HARD TO READ.

With the time change, a couple weeks ago, gone are the days of it being dark outside by 5:00. Now I can sit in my living room soaking up the beautiful afternoon sun that pours through the Southwest windows. Hell, it's been a long damn winter.

As I sit around, enjoying the sun, I have nothing better to do than think. We all know where that ends up, now don't we?

The last time my fucking train of thought derailed, it killed 68 passengers, 12 pedestrians and a goddamn cat. Well, cinch up the seat belt and hold onto your hat, that is what you're getting today.

However, if there are casualties, it's not on me. No one is blogging because everyone is swagging. How the fuck am I suppose to write a blog post? I ~~steal from you fuckers~~ write because you all inspire me to.

When your not blogging, my mind is left to roam....aimlessly...by it's self... Today I'm ~~really stoned~~ , not "reflecting from my bathtub". Today I'm giving you, "Thoughts from the Couch".
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why is it that a "Test of the Emergency Broadcast System" never interrupts the commercials?

I've been babysitting my grandson a lot. I have deduced that the dinosaur's didn't go extinct. Barney showed up and they all committed fucking suicide.

Blind people should not skydive. It scares the crap out of their dogs.

Throwing Skittles and saying taste the rainbow might be fun, but don't like Skittles. I love Taco Bell... maybe I should chuck a fucking taco and scream THINK OUTSIDE THE BUN!!! to the next asshat I have to deal with.

Speaking of tacos...If southern women are called southern belles, are Mexican women called taco bells? I'm just saying'.

Southeast Wisconsin is riddled with dumb fucks living in KNOWN FLOOD PLAINS. When Spring comes, every godamn day it's, "OH NO ITS FLOODING!" I think the next time it rains, I'm going to drive by and scream, "It's okay, don't panic, I have a ShamWow!!!

New song..."If you're angry & you know it punch their face"!

What if breast implants came with squeaky toys inside!!

I want to go to McDonald's and say "I would like a McWeiner, and can I super size it that?"

OK, so if it's "tit for tat", what the hell is a tat? and do I really want to trade my tit for it??

Some days I really wish karma was instantaneous.

When the glass is half full, just add the goddamn Vodka and stir.

LIES I Tell You...ALL LIES!

2011-03-30T00:11:00.000-05:00

As you know, the Kingdom has been overrun with a fucking plethora of Swaggers. At first, it was a cute little hobby. However, that cute little hobby soon turned into a great big poo flinging monkey on the back the monarchy.

The entire fucking Kingdom was in jeopardy, so I took matters into my own hands...or hand because one of mine is broken. Adrianna, my my kick-ass bodyguard and I staged an intervention.

For the most part, it worked. However, our beloved, Drunken Queen, would like you to think otherwise. She would like you to believe she got one over on us. She wants you to believe her...uh...less than brilliant bodyguard was actually able to sneak in an IPhone, 2 laptops, and a list of Swagging sites into Swag rehab. She wants you to believe she Swagged in the shitter.

I call bullshit with a side of ugly donkey balls. She was not Swagging.

Check THIS out. Did you see her new, fancy, animated blog header? Did you see the darling little animated heart beating Royal buttons? Did you see the sweet little pop up boxes that say random things when you hover over certain areas of her blog? Yeah...that's what I'm talking about.

The truth is that she was holed up in the goddamn shitter trying to learn new code for her blog. We all know good and goddamn well that the Queen is as blog code stupid as I am. It took weeks for her to learn how to log the fuck in when she first started blogging. Now she wants you to believe that while in Swag-hab she not only Swagged her tits off, but that in her spare time, she also learned and implemented new blog code?

Oh hell no. The jig is up, my lovely Drunken Queen. That gin soaked brain of yours can swag with the best of them. That gin soaked brain can also, apparently, learn new cool blog code tricks. But, there is no way in hell your gin soaked brain can do both at the same time. Your cute little animated, button beating, pop up boxed blog tells the story sweetie.

It's okay Sister dear, your just going through Swag with drawls. Here honey, have another brownie. It will all be okay.

And? Tell that bodyguard of yours to watch her effin back, the REAL bodyguard is looking for her.

Now, I have four episodes of Gossip Girl (fuck you, don't judge me), an ice cold Corona and a fresh baked pan of brownies that demands my attention.
Carry On.

All Good Things Must Come To..

2011-03-22T23:43:00.000-05:00

...a screeching fucking stop. That's right gang, the
is over.

Between broken bones, food poisoning, a fake kidnapping, a fake ransom note, a missing Princess (PWT), enough Mardi Gras beads collected to make every goddamn Drag Queen in America happy, and the realization that the Queen and I were embarking on a blogging milestone, it became apparent that it was time to rally the buses and hookers, and head home. (How's THAT for a giant run on sentence? BOO-YA motherfuckers!)

What is the milestone the Queen and I are approaching? Well, you nosey asshats, we are celebrating our 10th anniversary of finding each other, and blogging together.

Yes, that's right. Queenie and I have been ~~kicking ass, taking names, and generally pointing, laughing, and making fun of people~~ at this shit for 10 years. That's longer than my first and second marriage put together! (yes I'm on number 3..Shut UP fuckers!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ok, so that up there was a post I started a while ago, and right in the middle of composing it, Blogger Duct taped Momma Duck . All Royals were called to action, and by the time I got back to my post, ~~because I eat too many special brownies and drink way too many Coronas~~ I was so upset, I lost my train of thought.
Fuck off! I'm old, my memory isn't what it use to be. Onward and upward
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now I want to address something...something I think is damn near as evil as that goddamn Facebook... It's called Swagging. That's right, I said Swagging. The drunken Queen stumbled across this site one evening while hopping around the Internet.

I showed up at the castle for our weekly business meeting and found her almost manic. She was all "Free Money!" and "Gift Cards!" and "EASIEST SHIT EVER TO PAD THE GIN SUPPLY!"

I watched her cackling like a mad woman, filling out surveys, searching with their engine, and collecting points. Her bony little fingers were flying so fast over the goddamn keyboard, I swear I saw smoke. She was starting to scare me, so I told her we would postpone the meeting and to call me in the morning. I went home.

After a couple days without a blog post or a peep from the Queen, I began to get concerned. A couple days later, we all got an e-mail from the Queen. In the e-mail, she never mentioned gin, hookers, gators or Willie. It was a call to Swag. She talked of silver, gold, and Amazon Gift Cards. Most of the Royals, ~~because they are fucking afraid of her~~ jumped on the Swag Wagon.

Not me. No-fucking-siree. I was alarmed. When the Queen doesn't mention gin in an e-mail, something is defiantly not right. I knew I had to head over to her castle.

Along the way, it dawned on me that all kinds of things were amiss. No Royals were posting on the blogs, except PWT , and her posts were more like a fucking Swag survey instead of her usual brilliance.

All of our best hookers were MIA from their corner. I noticed the grass needed mowing at the Retirement Home, and I swear I heard a baby crying from the back room.

I noticed the The Royal Prison was being run by the fucking inmates, The Royal Newspaper hadn't been published in over a week, and The Ogre Child hasn't been heard from in over a month! Holy fuck! This is not good.

When I arrived at Queenie's, I noticed the gators were almost dead, the pool was dirty, and the bartender had a sign on the bar that said "Be Back...Whenever". WTF?

All of a sudden, I rounded the corner, and there she was. She was sitting at the computer, in a ratty ass bathrobe, her hair sticking up in every direction, the ashtray was over flowing, and her glass was EMPTY! I shit you not people.

As I slowly approached her, I noticed her eyes were glazed over, there was drool coming out one side of her mouth, her fingers were gnarled over the keyboard and she was mumbling about gift cards and only a few more pooooiiiinnttts!!!

What. The. Hell. Then it dawned on me. This Swag shit is a mother fucking cult! A David Korech and the Branch Davidian type, mother fucking cult!

People are sucked in, brainwashed, and then just shut out the rest of the damn world. No blogging, no wild partying, no blog smack downs, no nothing! Their entire existence seems to become clicking, swagging, and points.

We've got to figure out how to save the Monarchy from this Jim Jones like madness before the entire fucking kingdom falls apart!

It's time to come up with a plan. Put on your thinking cap, asshats, and for fuck sake, DO NOT DRINK ANY GODDAMN KOOL-AID!

The Royal Story...Told In Limericks

2011-03-17T14:49:00.003-05:00

There once was a blogger named Dutchess
Many said she was truly fucking scrumptious
Through the blogosphere she would go
Drinking, cussing, smoking, and so.
This bitch sure knew how to raise a big ruckus.

Then, very much and quite out of the blue
Dutch stumbled upon an old crazy lady in a shoe.
A farm in Nebraska is where she was from
where shoot first and ask later was her rule of thumb.
EMT, farmer and Queen are only some of the jobs she could do.

Fast friends and kindred spirits they quickly became
It was obvious to all they must have the same family name
Pretty soon they were plotting, scheming and hatching a plan
World domination was too hard so that plan they shit-canned.
The world wide web was destine to be their claim to fame.

Through hangovers, wannabes and Internet trolls
The Sisters with a beer tab crown did reach their goals.
A kick ass empire they did build
A palace with gators and the gin was always chilled.
Believe it or not, the entire Kingdom was supported by Ho's.

Parties, road trips, and special brownies they perfected
Famous or just infamous, they were socially connected.
Some have tried to overthrow them, copy and destroy
Silly fucking bitches will never hold a candle to the real McCoy.
They will chew you up, spit you out and you'll be rejected.

So on this drunken St. Patrick's day
Hoist your green beer and let's all say
Long live the Dutchess and the drunken Queen
Funny, witty, charming, and always a little obscene.
May you reign forever and a day.

To all you lurkers, readers, family and loyal fans
Thank you for being a part of our crazy ass plans
Without you all, we wouldn't be here
Corrupting the entire friggin' blogosphere.
For now we'll just get drunk, because we can!

Happy St. Paddy's Day all!

Don't Duct Tape The Momma

2011-03-14T17:02:00.001-05:00

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances." adopted December 15, 1791

That, my friends, is the 1st amendment to the Constitution. It basically prohibits the making of any law "respecting an establishment of religion", impeding the free exercise of religion, infringing on the freedom of speech, infringing on the freedom of the press, interfering with the right to peaceably assemble or prohibiting the petitioning for a governmental redress of grievances.

It is no coincidence that free speech is the very first amendment of the Constitution. People were concerned about the power of the government.

A 1646 Massachusetts law, punished persons who denied the immortality of the soul.
In 1612, a Virginia governor declared the death penalty for a person that denied the Trinity under Virginia's Laws Divine, Moral and Martial, which also outlawed blasphemy, speaking badly of ministers and royalty, and "disgraceful words."

After the American Revolutionary War, The drafting and eventual adoption of the Bill of Rights, including the First Amendment, was, in large part, a result of these concerns, as the Bill of Rights limited the power of the federal government--(copied from Wikipedia)

More and more, our 1st amendment right is being taken away from us. Books, music, television, movies, and art have all become subject to what someone in a position of POWER deems morally or ethically right.

Over the weekend, those in a position of power at Blogspot decided they do not have to abide by our 1st amendment right. They censored a fellow Blogger...a Royal, at that. Hrummp!

Momma Fargo's blog tells the story of her life as a female cop. She wrote a story about what happened on a particular call. There was nothing demeaning, derogatory, or pornographic about that post. However, Blogger didn't like it, and not only took down her post, but they shut down her blog and offered up her URL to anyone that wanted it. After she complied with their demands, they gave her URL back to her.

What the fucking hell is going on? If you have or read blogs, you know that they are a venue where we can talk about our lives, our thoughts, our opinions, concerns. They are a place to gather news, information, and even a place where idiots can spew hatred, or make up vile lies. They give us a chance to step into the authors life and mind. They give us a place to have a small voice in this big universe.

I agree that sometimes those minds, lives and voices are downright disturbing. However, this is still America and that gives us the right to free speech.

I know many consider censorship in the United States as a necessary impingement on our right to free speech. They claim it is for the safety to the public. (Oh woe! Think of the children! That rap music is destroying our teenagers!) Some consider censorship to play a major role in maintaining social standards.

I know many of us consider that to be a bunch of bullshit. I believe censorship is an imposing, unreasonable restriction on the freedom of expression. PERIOD.

We have every right to say our piece on whatever subject we want to. Unless we factually lie and cause outside groups to be financially harmed (libel and slander), we can and should be able to state our opinions, no matter how far fetched, foul-mouthed or ridiculous it sounds.

What I don’t understand is why these people are taking the responsibility of protecting ourselves, more importantly our children, out of our homes and into the hands of others?

I want to bitch slap these people around and yell loudly and clearly, “Why don’t you do some fucking parenting, take some goddamn responsibility and stop blaming others!”

If you don't want the responsibilities of being a parent, grown-up, or asshole in the United States, there are plenty of places in this world where the powers that be will happily tell you what you can and cannot, say, eat, watch, read and live.

No one is forcing you to read this blog, or listen to rap music, or to watch an x-rated skin flick. Quit your motherfucking whining, pull your grown-up panties on, and make decisions that are right for you and your family.

I'm all for you having and expressing your opinions, values and crackpot ideas.

Just don't come to my house, or blog, and try to force your views, morals and values on me.

The Big Easy

2011-03-06T21:25:00.000-06:00

The next stop on the...

had to be
New Orleans, of course!

Mardi Gras is full of drunken debauchery, mayhem, voodoo and King Cakes. Ya know, just like any other day with the Royal family, only with spicy Cajun food. I swear that when the buses rolled into The Big Easy, I heard the devil say "Oh fucking shit!".

We hopped the first float that came by

The Princesses, always trying to "out do" each other, started a bead collecting competition.

After seeing this sign...

The rest of us jumped off the float at Bourbon Street.

After a night of bar hopping on Bourbon Street,

things started getting out of control.

Queenie heard they had King Cakes at Mardi Gras and had to have one. I told her not to trust this lady

The bitched laced the Queen's King Cake with something powerful. I found her behind the bakery like this an hour later...

Somehow we got separated from the Royal Vet, Royal Bartender and my Bodyguard. By the time we found them, the Vet had a "kick-ass" idea on how to get more beads than the Princesses...

As the Queen and I made our drunken way back to the bus, the Queen started singing a familiar song. I ~~was so goddamn drunk~~ couldn't put my finger on what song it was. She was still singing as we boarded the bus. Apparently, the bus driver thought she was giving him directions. Some of the hookers may or may not have wet themselves when we pulled up here...

Fucking christ on a cupcake, I hope Fat Tuesday comes soon. We are wearing out our welcome in Voodoo City.

On an informative note:
I bought Voodoo Dolls that represent people that piss me the fuck off.

If you are one of those people, don't be surprised if your hair randomly catches fire or mysterious cigarette burns pop up in random places.

AND? I have a PUBIC (no NOT public)SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT::: Napkins used after eating spicy Cajun food and then shoved in you pocket should NEVER be used as toilet paper no matter how much you've had to drink. Just sayin'

WARNING: The Royal Family Is At It Again

2011-03-01T18:00:00.005-06:00

Lock up your husbands
Lock up your sons
Lock up your whiskey cabinets
Girls lock up your guns
Lock up the beauty shop
No telling if they’ve heard the news
Call the boys downtown at Neiman Marcus
Tell ’em lock up them high-heeled shoes

When the Royals take a road trip
There ain’t no slap dab a-tellin’ what they’re gonna do
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You heard right, you lucky bastards. The Royal Family is about to embark on another adventure...

The Royal Spring Break Road Trip

Stay tuned for more details. The bus leaves at the end of the week!

Tacos, Bling, and Bunnies

2011-02-22T17:17:00.002-06:00

Most of you know my love/hate relationship with Burger King.

TYet, time and time again I go back because they have frozen Cokes and kick ass tacos...mmmmm..I would trade my first born for an endless supply of those fucking tacos.

So, there is this guy who works the drive thru. He's, but really fucking weird. He's nerdy, wears glasses and uses the same corny jokes every single time I go through the damn drive-thu. They just never get old to him.

Today, the conversation went like this...

"Hey, there, pretty lady! I betcha get tired of hearing that, huh?"

Now, I don't answer. I just sit there, smile and wait. I have to because he holds my money hostage until he's gone through his entire goddamn routine. If I try to talk, it only delays my sweet, sweet reunion with the tacos.

"Nah! You don't get tired of it! HAHAHA!"

Pause. Smile. Wait.

"How about this weather? I hear we are suppose to have freezing rain. Will that DAMPEN your spirits? Will it? Dampen? Get it? Dampen?"

I bite my fucking tongue and wait.

"I tried to be a stand-up comedian, but I kept sitting down! HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!"

He is practically doubled over with laughter. At least he's nice. However, I'm pretty sure that he goes home at night and boils tiny bunnies.

"Didn't you come through here this morning?"

What? Wait a damn minute! This is new. This isn't part of his routine. This requires participation and I am afraid.

"Umm, no. I try to limit myself to one drive thru a week."

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I could have sworn you came through. What's your name, again?"

I never told him my name. I'm not crazy. I like my spleen right where it is, thank you very much.

"Sue."

"Sue, Sue. Okay. What's my name?"

At this point, he places his hand over his pants as though his name tag is pinned to his dick and he's trying to hide it. He waggles his eyebrows at me. I am fucking stupefied.

Then again, it's not out of the realm of possibilities that his name tag is pinned to his wiener.

I have been in the drive thru for what feels like an fucking hour. It has been, in reality, about 3 minutes.

"I have no idea. I just want my change, my frozen Coke and my damn tacos."

He waggles his brows again.

His hand has not moved.

"You have to guess my name, first!"

"I don't know, fuck. Ben. Joe. James. Larry. Hannibal. Chester."

With flourish, he throws his hand in the air and VOILA! There's a belt buckle the size of my fucking head with the name Eric on it.

ERIC. With motherfucking rhinestones. Bling.

Holy fucking shit.

Message from the Queen!

2011-02-15T19:06:00.002-06:00

Hi folks, our beloved Dutchess fell last night and hurt her hip and hand. She will be ok, except we had to hire someone to bake brownies and hold her wine glass.

It appears the hand she fractured is in fact her smoking hand, so we have also provided her with a man to hold her special smokes for her.

The doctors have patched her up and she is mending, but could be a bit before she is able to type.

Bitch had enough problems typing with two fucking hands.

We are concerned that she will want to keep the cabana boy that holds her ciggies for her long after she heals, but we're thinking it will be well worth the cost.

If she has someone to hold her wine while she types,, she can sip,, and blog twice as fast..

Don't forget to wish the bitch a fast recovery.. she likes that shit.. when she's sober enough to read it. It will make her feel good.. oh.. no.. wait.. it's the pain killers and wine that are making her feel good... you guys just make her smile... oh wait.. that may be the pills and wine too..

Oh,, just do it cause it will make you feel good.. k.. nuff said..

Get well soon dear sister.. I hate carrying all the weight of the Royal Kingdom without you.. Your phone will be ringing if I get over whelmed.. and you know how you hate when your phone wakes you up from an awesome dream..

Love ya sister..
the queen..

Catching Up And Something You Need To See

2011-02-07T11:54:00.003-06:00

I returned from a vacation of clear blue water, palm trees,beaches and rum, just in time to run smack into the worst goddamn blizzard since 1979.

26 motherfucking inches of snow fell within 24 hours, it brought 60 - 80 mph winds with it, causing 15ft+ snowdrifts.

Beautiful Lake Michigan had 25 ft seas. That is unheard of. That was that Mother nature welcoming me back home. Bitch

The gods, not to be outdone, blessed me with a double ear infection and bronchitis. Saturday I was at the Doctor's office whimpering, wheezing and begging for him to make it all stop. 2 antibiotic and some ear drops later, I feel like shit. Fabulous.

I am completely deaf in my left ear, which is not always a bad thing around this place. However, because of said ear, everything I do, breathing, chewing, drinking and etc... is amplified in my own head, and quite frankly, getting on my fucking nerves.

So, while I go back to the couch, I need you all to head over to Mama still Wears Gucci

She is upset, sickened, and desperate , as are the rest of us, to get the word out and shed some light on something called "DD" or Domestic Discipline. This is a disgusting form of abuse that some are trying to disguised as a "lifestyle choice". Bullshit. Please go to Mama Gucci's now.

Back with a vengence!

2011-02-02T12:48:00.002-06:00

You may have noticed the Queen and I have been kind of laying low. We spent years building up a kingdom only to give it away to our beloved PWT.

Seemed Hookers, Pimps, Body Guards and Vets, were just too much for two old ladies to deal with. We dropped the keys of at PWT's, wished her luck, and headed out on our little journey.

We decided we wanted a more refined kingdom. One that could sustain itself over the next hundred years. A Kingdom that would some day become a legend, like Cher, or Ole Blue Eyes. When you heard the word KINGDOM, there would be no doubt what they were talking about.

We started out buying the Royal Retirement Home. Once it was up and running, we moved on to purchase a PRISON. We set it up, hired employees and moved on to our next business.

Last night, we bought a NEWSPAPER. We've hired people to run it. We hope you enjoy reading all the latest news on the ROYALS. We've hired some wonderful reporters there.

I wanted a new castle, and the Queen, being the Queen, went out and bought me a pretty pink one. She even gave me a cadi and a Panther.

We were able to purchase a castle for her to move in to also. They are right across the street from each other, so we pretty much rule the block.

So, as you can see, THE QUEEN and THE DUTCHESS have bounced back with a vengence. We dedicate this video to anyone who thinks they can knock us down, and expect us to stay there.

I Feel Pretty, Oh So Pretty!!!

2011-02-02T12:38:00.003-06:00

I'm back from my Caribbean vacation and have decided to move back home. We are still running the retirement home, (those people are fucked nuts), and the prison, but there is no place like home.

I was inspired by the beautiful sunsets in St. Croix, so I've had the castle revamped, painted it pink, planted some palm trees, and even lassoed me a black panther!

Stay tuned for more news coming soon!

Twilight....Not the Stupid Vampire Movie

2011-01-13T17:34:00.006-06:00

The twilight of my life is catching up to me. Co-running a Kingdom of hookers makes for some damn hard living.

Shit is sagging, stretched out, and this Dutchess feels fucking old.

It's time to slow down.

Time to eat Early Bird Specials.

Time to watch The Golden Girls and Murder She Wrote.

Time to wear comfortable shoes! OK, maybe not...fuck you.

The point is, it is time for The Dutchess to pass the torch to the next generation.

Quit whining. I didn't say I was leaving blogland. I just said I'm turning the Keys to the Kingdom over to the next in line.

The Queen and I have decided it's time to retire. We can be found at The Home For The Aging And Decrepit

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

2011-01-12T22:46:00.006-06:00

EDITED: BY ME A COUPLE TIMES BECAUSE OF TWISTY PANTIES AND GOOD GIN

It seems the kingdom has lost their collective fucking minds. I'm not linking up every goddamn post that explains the recent chaos. I suggest you look at the previous post, click on the Royal's individual blogs, and get caught up.

I have pretty much had ENOUGH. The bitching, the pressure, the name changes, people coming and fucking going, haters, trolls and stalkers have all pissed me the motherfucking hell off.

The Queen has got to be off her rocker if she thinks I'm taking over this crazy motherfucking kingdom! Contrary to popular belief, I will not be taking over for The Queen. Once she decided to leave, so did the rest of the fucking kingdom. No one consulted me AND? She sent the fucking crown to PWT!

Can you spell VIVA LA REVOLUTION?!!!!

This has been an interesting year. I have met a group of ladies I have become friends with. They are funny, sexy, strong, and always have each other's back. I have laughed harder, this year, than I have in a very long time. However, I am too goddamn old and tired to run this fucking joint.

However, when I choose to make you family, it is a conscious decision that I don't take lightly. I love hard, and forever.

Right now, my granny panties are all twisty and I just need to ~~get higher than Willie Nelson on his tour bus after a show in Pot Stalk, Arkansas~~ detach, rethink, regroup, and start a motherfucking revolution.

I'll be peeking in on you.

Guest post from the Queen!

2011-01-10T08:44:00.003-06:00

FIRST,, YOU NEED TO GO READ THIS SO YOU UNDERSTAND WHY THE QUEEN IS MAKING A GUEST POST ON THE DUTCHESS' BLOG..
otherwise, you're just going to be here going WTF?
(that's right bitches, I have the keys to Dutch's castle!)

Years ago,, a band of three little bloggers was formed..they were..

After several years of blogging, their little family of ROYALS.. started to grow...
First,, they adopted the PRINCESS OF ASS, TRASH, AND CLASS

AND THE DAME OF THE PENIS PLATTER AND HER SIR

IT WASN'T LONG BEFORE THEY KNEW THEY NEEDED A BARTENDER.. so they hired

THEN WITH ALL THE MOVING..THE GATORS GOT SICK SO THEY HIRED A VET

As the Royals became bigger and the tension over the beer tab crown kept rising.. we decided we needed some security. We made them apply..and our readers voted.. the top five were..as follows..and we hired them..

>

PWT GOT ALL KINDS OF PISSED OFF THAT SHE DIDN'T HAVE HER OWN BODY GUARD..AND HIRED ONE OUT OF HER OWN FUNDS.. SO WE GOT..

AFTER SEVERAL DUI'S THE ROYALS HAD, HAD ENOUGH OF BIG BERTHA AND WE HIRED A DAMN DRIVER

ONE DAY WE SOBERED UP FOR A MINUTE.. AND REALIZED WE DID NOT HAVE A DRUG DEALER THAT COULD GET OUR XANEX TO US AT A DISCOUNT. It was at that point that we turned to MOMMY KICKING CANCER'S ASS. cause we knew with all the treatments she was going through.. she could get us anything we wanted... so we hired her..We call her Candy Girl..

THEN THE OTHER NIGHT,, WE WERE BREAKING IN THE DAMN SKANK HOOKERS ON THE LOWER EAST SIDE..AND REALIZED THEY NEEDED A LITTLE HELP WITH THE MAKEUP.. SO WE HIRED A MAKE UP ARTIST..

then, OUR BARTENDER GOT MUGGED TWICE.. SO WE HIRED GUCCI TO GUARD HER

Then, last night.. CB got a hair up her ass.. Got all up in arms that she did not have her own personal body guard ~~damn little pussy girls~~ and hired her own body guard..That is how THIS DUDE got into the family.
I THINK THAT PRETTY MUCH COVERS THE ROYAL HOUSE...I DON'T THINK I LEFT ANYTHING OUT.. BUT IF I DID.. THE BITCHES WILL LET ME KNOW..
THE QUEEN..

It's Like A goddamn Parade Around Here

2011-01-09T22:52:00.005-06:00

Our once small, but mighty, Royal Population has been growing.

Actually, the mother fucker has exploded into what is quickly becoming a goddamn metropolis.

I swear, every time I look up, some new hooker, bodyguard, goddamn shoe organizer and others, are walking past me.

Do you know how unnerving that shit is for a drunken, pill-popping Dutchess who enjoys partaking in the reefer madness?

More than once, I thought the goddamn castle was being stormed by the fucking Po-Po. People I don't recognize wander around and into the secret kitchen where I ~~hide out, play Farmville and get drunk~~ make the special brownies. This is not good, godammit!

Twice this week, I have thrown perfectly good bags of weed to the goddamn gators, and once stuffed CB's new flamingo with Xanax trying to get rid of any evidence! Talk about one chilled out fucking bird!

But I digress...

It's like a fucking low budget parade with all of the high heels, black eye liner, fishnet stockings and teased hair traipsing around here. We won't even talk about what the girls are wearing!

Also? Don't even get me started on the fucking tanker truck of Super Hold hairspray that rolls up every other day. One mishap, and we are all going up in a goddamn mushroom cloud of Aqua Net, bitches!

I have nothing against a good parade. Hell, with a super boob lift, I might even qualify for the...nah, never mind. If I lifted these giant melons to pre-kid, Parade Princess position, my fucking nipples would end up near my goddamn earlobes where people would mistake them for goiters or some such shit.

All these people and fucking the noise is getting to me. We all know I need my Kenny time

Okay!! We all know I need my Kenny time, Corona, a little of the maryjane and Xanax... blah, blah, blah...

None of which I am getting, by the way, because the Dame has been laying low and I keep having to wrestle the motherfucking gators to get my weed back so I can bake the goddamn assload of brownies these people consume every-fucking-day!

I'm fucking exhausted!

Someone needs to take pity on an old saggy, stoned Dutchess. I need every one's new buttons added to this blog. I need someone in charge of taking notes for the day's events, now that the Queen is back at her day job. I am always missing shit that happens around this damn castle. I also need someone to make me a dior-fucking-rama so I know who the fuck all of these new people are!

If I have to jump into the gator pit one more time? It's gonna get ugly.

BSF - Short and Sweet

2011-01-07T11:39:00.002-06:00

Well, by now, I'm sure the blogging world has exploded with news of the return of our Crazy Ass Brunette.

That also means that

Is back in full force. Jen did a wonderful job keeping BSF going while CB was away, and now they will be co-hosting together.

I suggest you stop over at one of their blogs, read the rules, and if you don't suck, link up. SLUTCODE: Duck-Billed-Platypus

I only have a few Fuck You Friday's for today.

1. FUCK YOU this cold and flu that have bitch slapped my ass and made me call them Mama. I have had just about enough of both of you.

2. FUCK YOU wind chill and cold weather. My goddamn joints ache, and my gas & electric bill rival that of the national fucking debt.

Time for my regular shot of Dayquil and heating pad.

New Year, New Dutchess

2011-01-04T13:42:00.003-06:00

Well, hello lovers! I'm finally back from Christmas vacation.

Aww, you are overcome with pure unabashed joy, right? Right!

Well, this is a new year, (Happy 2011 Hookers!), and that means another chance to start afresh. I don't usually do resolutions because, quite frankly, it's hard to remember things made while smashed and stoned on New Year's Eve.

This year, I knew you all would be wondering what the Dutchess will do in 2011, so I wrote them down!

1. I will stop suggesting that we go streaking at every party I attend.

2. I will get a mammogram and not be embarrassed when the Doctor opens the door and calls, "We're gonna need the Biggun's 2000 for this set!"

3. I will always “check for paper” before leaving the restroom. (shut the fuck up asswipes, like it has never happened to you!)

4. I will try to figure out why I *really* need nine e-mail addresses.

5. I will spend less than one hour a day on the Internet

6. I will stop lying to myself. (see above)

7. I will never again take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.

8. I will learn to forgive and forget when it comes to my blood sucking, ass chapping, worthless waste of air beathing oxygen people I call my In-laws.

9. See number 6 and read number 8 again.

10. I will strive to shave my legs more than once every couple weeks. I caught the goddamn sheets on fire three times last year and spent $20,000 on Draino.

11. I will try a new haircut and never again think anyone can ever rock the Roseann Rosanadana look.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Kill Me Now

2010-12-30T23:32:00.003-06:00

On top of two weeks of cooking, baking, playing hostess for not one but FOUR damn Christmas parties, (3 of which were at my castle...not counting the one planned for Saturday with part of the Dukes family) dealing with my other In-Laws and a 250mile one way road trip to see my baby sister, I have the motherfucking flu. I haven't had the flu in a few years and this is just un-fucking-acceptable. I demanded that little flu fucker stay away from me when my grandson, 2 daughters and the housekeeper fell ill.

Unfortunately, the flu gave me a great big fuck you...in the ass. Fever, chills, coughing, stuffy nose, aches down to my decrepit bones, and other....disgusting symptoms that I can hardly think of, let alone type.

I have been in pajamas for two fucking days. Aside from the Tylenol and NyQuil, the Dutchess has been drink and smoke free for damn near three days. I know, RIGHT!!!

I am seriously contemplating flinging myself into the goddamn gator pit.

Holiday HNT and Wishes

2010-12-23T00:01:00.000-06:00

I figured I'd bring a little nudity back to Dorkville for the holidays.

But first, the Great and Powerful Os has given us a small assignment for this one.

We are to pick three bloggers/HNTers that you'd give Christmas wishes/gifts to, with unlimited means and resources. I'm going old school on this one.

My three are no longer doing HNT, and most don't blog anymore either. Some of you old timers will know of whom I speak. The rest of you may have to comb Os' early archives for these HNT Hotties of Christmas past.

My first thought was of a Blogger called Muse. A blonde bombshell with a passion for pit bulls and the outdoors. She is gutsy, sexy, and always feisty. Remember her HNT pics from the hotel window in New York City? H.O.T! I would give her a huge house, a special device so she can talk, everyday, to her son who is about to be shipped off to the Middle East, and an endless supply of money to rescue all the pit bulls she wanted. Then she could come back to blogging/HNT with no worries.

My second gift goes to a hopeless romantic with a heart of gold and will of steel. Real Live Woman's Simply Leen is smart, funny, and gorgeous. Unfortunately, her Prince Charming turned out to be a toad. She moved back to California, went back to school, and working her ass off at a job she likes. Her words are almost as captivating as her eyes. I'd give her 4 front row concert tickets to any show she wanted to see for the rest of her life. This Simply Sexy Woman needs music as much as she needs the air she breathes.

The third and final gift goes to a guy I found on a Winding Crooked Trail. Edge is a cut above the rest when it comes to writing and photographs. I think he still blogs every once in a blue moon, but I do miss his sexy-artistic HNT photos. I think I'd give him the gift of time. Edge had a health scare, found his beautiful red-headed soul mate, married her, and then battled a county, or two, to be with her. They both have had more than their share of life's sucker punches and deserve the next 100 years to be blissfully happy.

Merry Christmas readers and HNTers of Christmas Past and Present.

The "girls" and I hope your holidays will be merry and bright. Not feeling merry or bright? Then I hope you have enough spiked eggnog to get through it. Or at least some sexy Christmas fun... Ho-Ho-Ho!

Happy

Six Days Ago

2010-12-16T23:52:00.006-06:00

Steph at Babes Rocking Miami sent out a call for help. Will you all respond?

One of the most horrendous things that could ever happen to a family, happened. No Mother, Father, Grandparent, family should ever have to go through something like this....

THORNTON, Colo. -- A 1½-year-old boy was run over and killed in the driveway of an in-home day care Thursday afternoon.

Thornton police said they found the boy suffering from severe head trauma in the driveway at 9221 Jackson St. at 4:42 p.m. The child, identified as Riley Lawyer, was pronounced dead at a local hospital.

The owner of the day care, 34-year-old Robyn Miller, was backing out of her driveway when she struck the child, said Thornton police spokesman Matt Barne. Miller was going to pick up some other kids and she thought she had loaded all the children into the vehicle, but obviously missed Riley, Barnes said.

As she was backing out, she knew she ran over something but she did not know what she hit, police said. When she got out she found Riley underneath the vehicle.

"She drove physically over the child. The child was not pinned," Barnes said.

Police said drugs or alcohol are not suspected in the accident.

Miller is "devastated," Barnes said.

The boy's mother was driving from work, on her way to pick up her son, when the accident happened, his family members said.

My grandson is the very same age, and I just cannot imagine. I know it's Christmas time, and we are all strapped for cash, busy, and more busy. However, if everyone of us could send just ONE dollar, we can make a difference for this family struggling to deal with the unthinkable.

Click the button for more information.

If you don't use Paypal or your credit cards on the Internet, you can mail your donation directly to the bank that has a memorial fund set up at the following address...

Riley Daniel Lawyer Memorial
Wells Fargo Bank
9828 GRANT ST
Thornton, Colorado 80229

Think of your children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, or any other child you love. Then think of how you would feel should the unthinkable ever happen.

My Christmas wish is to stuff the donation box until it overflows. If you just can't donate, maybe you can send a card or short letter. Just something to let them know they are not alone, and that we all are grieving their loss.

Thank you lovers. Thank you so much.

Bad Blogger, Hari Kari, and The Holidays

2010-12-14T14:31:00.004-06:00

I'm aware of the lack of new and entertaining posts around here.

I'm aware that I haven't been a good blog friend. You all deserve much more than the drive by post viewing with no comment left behind that I've been doing.

All I can say is, I'm sorry. Internet, I love you, and hate neglecting you.

I wish I could promise that I will be fresh, charming, witty, and pee your pants funny with new posts EVERY SINGLE DAY!

But I can't. I'm crazy busy this time of year. In addition to my regular schedule, there are a shit load of Christmas parties to attend, gifts to purchase, a Christmas Day open house to ready for, baking, cooking, ~~drinking~~, and eleventy-thousand presents to wrap.

Throw in an early blizzard, wind chill factors (that have me seriously thinking those global warming people are all smoking fucking crack), and my baby sister having heart surgery after a mild heart attack on Saturday.

Do you know what you get? A Dutchess that barely has time for a good shit and hot shower, that's what.

I doubt life will slow down until ~~I've been driven over the goddamn edge and committed hari kari with the fucking scotch tape~~ after the holidays.

Unfortunately, that means that you all will have to put up with this sporadic mediocrity and more drive by's for a couple more weeks.

However, I will make it up to you all at the party, and buy you a pretty pink pony, for being so patient.

What party?

Well.... Do you want to party like a ~~rockstar~~ Royal on New Year's Eve? Of course you do! (If not, you are a fuckstick)

Here is your chance. GO HERE RIGHT NOW . You will find all of the details and what not's. It's going to be a huge blow out full of drunken mayhem and debauchery. You don't want to miss it.

Blow OUT, asshats, not blowjob. .. jeeze!

Until next time, lovers...

BSF, Genetics and an Award

2010-12-09T23:19:00.011-06:00

It's time for...

slutcode: whips and chains.
Go link up assclowns.

This Friday I give a big FUCK YOU to my genetic make-up.

My Mother is in her 60's, and knows how to use and navigate the computer system at her job, but the Internet? Not so much. She calls it "the MSN thingy inside the little blue 'e' on the screen", because I set MSN as her homepage on Explorer.

I bought her a laptop for her birthday this past May. Even though she doesn't know anything about the world wide web, she really wanted one and more than anything, she really wanted to learn how to use it. For the first two weeks her laptop was a $2,000 electronic solitaire game. Once she began to familiarize herself with that, she "found" pinball.

"Yes, mother! Oh, sure. I bet you are! You're right. No one plays pinball better than you, for you are the one, the only, Pinball Wizard!"

I have sat down at the computer (for many painful fucking hours followed by Xanax blackouts) showing this woman step-by-step how to do basic computer shit. I also have handwritten and typed (saved on her desktop in case she loses the paper version) instructions for each task.

She still calls every single time she logs into explorer. She has been doing this for seven fucking months. I've decided, she is either...
A) trying to kill me slowly and painfully
B) fucking with me to find the breaking point she couldn't find when I was a child
C) really a goddamn airhead in need of a refill
D) hitting the sauce again
E) all of the above

Guess the answer and you'll win a prize. If you said "E - all of the above", I say, ding-ding-ding, we have a winner folks. Step right up and claim your prize. It's a lovely prize really. It's the goddamn sanity I no longer have. Congratulations!

When I was little, I thought this was not only the prettiest lady in the universe but the smartest. I must have been a crack baby to think such bullshit!

Don't even waste your damn breath with, "Dutchess, shame on you, that's your mom!" or "Dutchess, that's not nice!"

I'll tell ya what's not so fucking nice. Last night I was at home,~~drinking heavily and watching Celebrity Rehab~~ minding my very own business. My phone rang, and it was my mother.

We exchanged the regular bullshit pleasantries and before long, she was going in for the kill. I e-mailed her some photos taken of my Step-Dad at our last get together and she was having "a devil of a time" retrieving them.

I decided to send her the photos again, but this time through instant messenger. She said she had to have these pictures right away. I wondered if my Step-Dad was trying out for some modeling gig I didn't know about.

"Okay Mom, first open your MSN IM."
"My what?"
"The little blue guy with the butterfly thingy."
"I don't see that."
"It should be on your far right, at the bottom of your screen."
"There's nothing down there."

"Mom, do you remember where I told you to find the volume to listen to Cher?"
"Oh, down there! I see."
"Okay, click on the little blue guy."
"The little blue guy?"
"Yes. Your MSN instant messenger."

"Honey, I don't want to chit chat. I want to get those pictures of Dad."
"Trust me Mom, I don't want to chit chat either! This is how I plan to send the pictures to you. Could you please click on the blue guy two times, very fast for fuck sake?"
"With my left clicker or my right clicker?"
"Always your left Mom. Unless I say, 'right click', it's always your left."

I am now hand signaling the Duke to bring me the bottle of Jim Beam

"I don't know why I can't remember that. You say it all the time."
"I know."
"Oh, there it is!"

She said this with such surprise, it was almost hard to be mad at her. Almost.

"Great! Now you need to sign in. Did you keep the password saved?"
"The password?"
"Never mind that. Is there a place for you to hit 'Sign in'?"
"Yes, right on the little rectangle box."
"Good! Hit that."
"Sign in?"
"Yes."

"Okay. Well now it's doing this weird thing and the little blue guy is spinning around and around."
"That's okay. It's signing in."
"Remember when you were little and would spin for hours and hours. You were such a cute kid."
"Yes, I remember." (It was what I did when you were making me lose my fucking marbles mother, of course I remember.)

"Oh look! The Dutchess is online."
"Yes I am. I am waiting for you."
"Well, here I am," she giggled. I beat my head on my desk.

This went on for quite some time but she finally made it to MSN IM. I was proud, for a second.

"What you need to do now is hit 'Accept'."
"I don't see that."
"It's in the little blue flashing box at the bottom of your screen. The one that says, 'Dutchess conversation'. Do you see that?"

"Oh, that's you."
"Yep, still me." (big swig of whiskey)

Then I noticed something. She seemed distracted. I could tell I didn't have 100% of her attention, more so than normal.

"What the hell are you doing Mom?"
"Oh my god! The president's legs just went out from under him. Oh my god!"

I hop on CNN's website. I checkout US, Homepage, World news and nothing.

"Was this during a press conference Mom? Where is the president?"
"On the television."

I run to the television, only to figure out that my mother was watching her fucking West Wing DVD's on her television!

"Mom, I gotta go."
"What about my pictures?"

I'm thinking, fuck your pictures and fuck West Wing and while you're at it, fuck me for being so goddamn stupid. What was I thinking, buying you something you are too damn insane to operate!

"When I come over next week, I'll retrieve them from your e-mail, okay?"
"Oh, that's a great idea! I just wish I could look at them right now. But it's okay. I can wait."

"How nice of you. Thanks for being so patient with me Mom. I have to go ~~STAB MYSELF IN THE FUCKING HEAD WITH A BUTTER KNIFE~~ take a bath.

If this is what I have to look forward to, I think I got fucked, big time in the DNA lottery.

At least I won an award this week. Check it out...

I'm a fucking rock star, yo! Thank you Jen.

The Christmas Crazy

2010-12-08T23:18:00.006-06:00

I've been thinking y'all. I don't believe it's my depression that has my Christmas Spirit in a funk. It's our fucked up families.

Between The Duke and I, we have a large extended family. His side of the family is full of drama filled polish grudge holders, and my side of the family is chock full of the crazy, with a heavy sprinkle of redneck.

Duke's Mom, and Dad refuse to be within a 10 mile radius of each other. The divorce was 38 goddamn years ago. (I'm not kidding) GET. OVER. IT.

My family are a bunch of drunken rednecks who frequently holler, "Dude...Watch This!", usually followed by some kind of 911 call.

In order to keep the the damage to a minimum and the PoPo out of the annual Christmas pictures, we have a Christmas with each group individually. It goes like this...

**Christmas with The Duke's dead ex-wife's family two weeks before the 25th (don't fucking ask).

**We throw an annual X-mas party for our employees a week before Christmas.

**Christmas Eve at the house of The Duke's Dad (a Kenny Rogers pre-facelift look alike who shows old home movies of all the dead relatives and the duke's dead ex-wife) along with his
Step-Mom (Evil Whack Job)
Youngest Sister (who is perfect, just ask her)
her very young boyfriend. (She says boy toy is an extreme fighting champion. I think he's a fucking Mime. I've only heard him say seven motherfucking sentences in 3 years), and
her 2 teen boys (a drug addicted musician and an in the closet gay teen) and

**An Open House here at the castle with gifts for my family that includes,
my Mom (the original C.R.A.Z.Y)
my Step-Dad (who looks so much like Dick fucking Cheney, I keep looking for Secret Servicemen and wire taps)
my Sister, (who is a wanted felon)
her boyfriend (who looks like a grubby version of Grizzly Adams).
her three kids (niece 1 who was kicked out of town by the cops -true story-, 1 nephew that lives with his recently Transgendered Dad..er Mom...?! wth..., niece 2, who lives in her own little world -who can blame her-),
my Step-Sister (Dick Cheney's daughter- who is a born again Holy Roller)
her husband (the out of work carpenter)
their 2 young kids, and our close family friends on Christmas afternoon.

**Christmas night we spend with The Duke's Mom (who makes my goddamn eye twitch)
his Step-Dad (who can smoke any kind of meat you throw at him and says "you know" after every three fucking words)
his Brother (the twice divorced lawyer with a porno problem)
his Other Sister (who is a member of every fucking on-line dating community but has yet to find her soul mate) and
her 2 boys (one is a 25, year old, pot smokin' jobless video game addict who still lives with his Mommy and a 16 year old who was just arrested for streaking across the football field while flipping the bird to everyone that looked at him at the crosstown rival football game).

It goes on for fucking days, and by the end, I'm usually screaming ala Clark Griswold...

"We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse."

After a Griswald rant and mild breakdown, I crawl into a fetal position, rocking, twitching and mumbling, until someone pops the goddamn cork on a good bottle of Cristal on New Year's Eve.

This year may be a little different. At every party we always do a little "White Elephant Gag Gift Grab Bag Extravaganza".

Look what I stumbled across and snapped up for the White Elephant Grab Bags...

A Vagina Tissue Box Cover...with a full bush!
I hope my Mother In-law or Holy roller Step-Sister pulls this gift. Their heads just may spin around and implode. I can't fucking wait for Christmas.

Real Live Woman

2010-12-05T22:38:00.004-06:00

I love being the Dutchess, honestly. Dorkville is where I let my creative mind have an outlet. It's a place to share the wacky stories of my freak magnet filled life, a place where I can be a member of the outrageous Royal Family, and have a blast doing it.

However, underneath the Dutchess, is a real live woman. This real live woman has dents, dimples and flaws. I need an outlet for my real life too. I thought about creating another blog just for that, but then decided that was too much fucking work. This is my place, this is where I belong, and thus, this is where I will continue to write.

Most of the time, I will be the Dutchess you all know, love and have become dependant on for your daily guffaw. However, sometimes, just sometimes, you are going to get the real live woman. Today is one of those times.

I was diagnosed with serious clinical depression (among other things) years ago. For the most part, I have it under control. This time of year is particularly tricky to navigate as the days are shorter, the skies are greyer, and I'm cooped up in the house because of the harsh upper Midwest winters. It's cold and we got our first real snow of the season Friday and Saturday.

Lately, it's been hard to find my funny, to see the vibrant colors of life, and to find simple joy. I don't want to do anything except read, sleep, and stay in my pajamas. I have no energy to do anything.

I sit here tonight staring at a naked Christmas tree, and I honestly have no desire to decorate it. I have no desire to bake, shop, wrap presents, or whip the house into a Christmas wonderland.

But, tomorrow is another day and with each new day comes a new chance.

PS. I will continue to protect my identity be remaining the Dutchess. There are good reasons for that and one day, I may share them with you.

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BSF Revival and A Friday Fuck You

2010-12-03T15:53:00.006-06:00

So, CB stuck her head out of whatever fucking hole she's been hiding in long enough to say a few words at the revamped....

Click on it, read all about it, and get on fucking board. BTW, slutcode: penis platter

Anyway, if you played BSF with CB in the past, then you need to kick your ass into gear and play along with Jen

If you don't? FUCK YOU

Also? A great big FUUUUCK YOOOU to the goddamn Winter Storm Advisory that is in effect now until late Saturday. Have I told you how much I fucking hate snow, and cold weather?

FUCK YOU Ghirardelli chocolate brownie mix. I made you thinking that because you were just a "mix" my exquisite palate would certainly rebuke your vile chocolate crumbs. In a surprise move, you're almost as good as my special from scratch brownies. I now have to face my new trainer (yes, another one...bite me) with brownie breath.

Dear In-Laws, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, and FUCK YOU. I am fed up with the way you treat my husband. I am very close to ripping your goddamn faces off. Not a great look for the impending Christmas gathering pictures, just sayin'.

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Tis The Baking Season

2010-12-02T11:33:00.005-06:00

You all know about my famous brownies. You probably don't know, however, that I'm a kick ass cook and baker. Cake decorating isn't my thing, but I can bake one hell of a tasty cake.

Every year about this time, I get out all of my baking supplies, (and the cooking sherry, thank you Julia Child), and start my holiday baking.

Yesterday was Sugar Cookie Day. My sister always comes over on Sugar Cookie Day. We make a day of drinking, baking, and decorating. I always make sugar cookies early, because they taste better if they have a couple weeks to sit in cold storage (ie: the garage).

I have to admit that I love this annual cookie making tradition. We mix, measure, cut out, bake, decorate, drink, laugh and although messy, it is always well worth it.

I think yesterday, we drank too much cooking sherry. By the end of the day, we had cookies.

Thousands of fucking cookies.

We had cookies everywhere.

I’m a fat chick trying desperately to lose a few pounds before going to the Caribbean in January. I’ve lost close to twenty pounds in the past 3 months.

I didn't overeat at Thanksgiving because I was seriously sick with -OMG I'm gonna die-, flu.

So I’m staring at thousands of cookies.

I’m getting cookie cravings.

I’m ready to go on a Safari to hunt and kill the fucking Keebler Elves.

I need a goddamn cookie.

My sister’s a skinny person.

Skinny people don’t get cookie cravings. (bitch)

Skinny people love to give fat people cookies and candy for Christmas, because it fills skinny people with Christmas cheer and fills fat people with chocolate chips.

Skinny people also get cookies and candy from other skinny people as well. They don’t eat the stuff they just leave it out so us fat people can see it and go fucking insane.

“We need to get these stupid fucking cookies out of the house.”

“What’s the big deal? Just use willpower you’ll be fine.”

(I don’t know who this “Will Power” is but this son of a bitch needs to die.)

“Sis, I have no will power. If I had will power I wouldn’t have made the goddamn cookies in the first place.”

“Have “a” cookie and then that’s it. Your craving will be satisfied.”

"Did you just blink twice and wiggle your goddamn nose? Oh… well… then I’ll just have one cookie and then I’ll be okay. That’s all I need just one cookie. Just one little cookie. That’s all I need. That’s kind of like going to the Macy's Half Off Yearly Sale and only BUYING ONE FUCKING SHOE!!!”

“Have a carrot.”

“Oh thank the heavens I can have a carrot. Whooooo Hoooooo thank you Santa. And on the eighth day God created carrots and celery and all the rest of that shit that doesn’t taste like FRESHLY BAKED COOKIES!!!!”

“How about an apple?”

“That sounds great. Can you find an buttercream frosted golden sugar cookie apple in the fridge for me? Cause that would sure satisfy my craving. Well can ya…..bitch?”

“Are you done?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to get a goddamn apple?”

“Yes, but it fucking sucks.... Hey, do you wanna make fudge together tomorrow?”

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All Hail The Queen

2010-11-30T16:39:00.005-06:00

It's a special day for the Royals. Today is our ~~drunken~~ fearless leader...
's
BIRTHDAY .......
Help us raise our glasses (those fuckers are huge), and toast our fair Queen.

But, I suggest you heed my advise...

DO NOT ask her how old she is. This is the last guy that asked her age.

DO NOT mention candles. After what happened last year, we have nixed any kind of candle or open flame.

Lastly, remember to say...

Happy Birthday Sis, I love you.

Future Leaders? We Are So Fucked

2010-11-29T22:37:00.004-06:00

Whenever I check out at the grocery store, I always grab one of those little slips that add an extra dollar amount to my bill for the local charity. The Duke gives me shit about this all the time.

Duke: "You know you're probably paying for blow and cheap strippers for some fat ass with a bad toupee.," "The amount that actually goes to the needy is 1/2 a goddamn penny."

Me: "I'm buying warm jammies and juicy boxes for homeless babies, so shut your heartless whore mouth AND LET ME HAVE MY DELUSIONS, ASSCLOWN."

Tonight, while the cashier was scanning the donation slip thing, the bagger's face seemed to show a teeny bit of forced interest.

Bagger: "What are those paper slip things?"

Cashier: "It's a donation card."

Bagger: "Oh. I thought it was a coupon."

Ok, I'm mildly interested in where this might go...

Me: "A coupon for what, sweetie?"

Bagger: "That place, you know, The Food Bank."

I smell blog material, so I decided to let this play out.

I make a lot of stupid fucking decisions.

Me: "Do you know what the Food Bank is?"

Bagger: "It's a bank. Where they keep food, ya know? The name says it all, lady."

Me: *blink* *blink* *blink* "How old are you?"

Bagger: "Almost twenty!"

About this time, I noticed another young employee now standing behind the first bagger.

Bagger #2: "Dude! You musta got your friggin' PhP or PC or whatever in 'stupid'! Ha!"

Me: "Just fucking fabulous."

These assholes will, eventually, be running our country.

Me: (turning to the cashier) "Can you hold my cart, please? I forgot the goddamn whiskey, and that just won't do."

It's A Wrap

2010-11-27T14:29:00.004-06:00

Yes, it's sad but true. The...

comes to an end tonight. Oh quit sniveling, goddamnit. We well be back with the usual Royal shenanigans as soon as everyone is unpacked, showered, and had some time to regroup.

We had one hell of a good time. If for some reason, though I can't think of any, you missed a part in the Royal Road Trip, head over to The Queen's Castle . On her left side bar is a list of our stories from the road. She put it in a neat little package, all in order and shit, for you asshats to enjoy. I know, right??? Who knew the Queen was such a damn techi!

Truth is, we finally drank the bus dry and she had a sober moment. That scared all of us and we turned the bus around, and headed for home. FAST!

Today is Dame Penis Platter's birthday. Hop over and give her some love, and Southern Comfort.

And finally? Yes, Willie Nelson was just arrested for possession of pot on Friday. Let's just say, I fucking TOLD him to avoid Texas. All my exes live there, and nothing good ever comes of that.

Holiday Words of Wisdom From The Dutchess

2010-11-24T22:21:00.001-06:00

AND? My famous turkey recipe
8-15 lb. turkey,
1 cup melted butter,
1 cup stuffing mix,
1 cup uncooked popcorn,
Salt and pepper to taste.
Preheat oven to 350.
Brush turkey with melted butter.
Fill cavity with stuffing and popcorn(uncooked).
Place in baking pan with neck end towards the back of oven.
Listen for the popping sounds.
When the turkey's ass blows the oven door open and flies across the room, it's done.

You Knew We'd End Up Here

2010-11-23T20:04:00.000-06:00

The next obvious stop in the...

is.....

This was all the Queen's doing. You see, the Queen has a thing for cowboys and things that are shiny. As we were passing through Vegas on our way to California, our drunken leader saw this...

The Queen let out a "YEEHAW!!", and before we could grab her, she was out of the bus and shimmying her way up the pole to the lighted Cowboy of her dreams.

At that point, we all knew we'd be here a while. However, this proved to be a lucrative stop because there is no better place for a rolling bus full of hookers, than fabulous Las Vegas.

While the ladies were setting up the Rolling Pleasure Palace, I decided to try my hand at some slots. That's when it happened.

I got the "fever" playing the "Wheel of Fortune" dollar slots. I think they pump inaudible hypnotic suggestions over the casino floor that say "feed me bitch, feed me, feed me over and over again. That way you either go to the goddamn buffet or throw another hundred-dollar bill into a dollar slot machine.

I couldn't seem to leave this one Wheel of Fortune machine. It had some kind of hold on me. I just kept playing, waiting to hear "WHEEL....OF....FORTUNE!", and spin for the big money win.

I found myself talking out loud using gambling terms. I'd hit that "max bet" button and yell, "Baby needs new shoes." "Momma needs to pay the rent." and "Forum Shops! I will make you my bitch!"

No matter how much cigar smoke wafted over me from the octogenarian who was plugged in to the slot machine on my right, I wasn't leaving my goddamn machine. (I was due for a win, I could feel it.)

She started getting a little pissed with me when I kept yelling, "Grandma needs the goddamn patch!"

I think she gave me the finger. It was a little bent and crooked, but it definitely resembled the finger.

It was at this moment that a couple stumbled up to the machine on my left. They looked like poster children for Wal-Mart.

He had a tee shirt with a black motorcycle vest over it, blue jeans, long hair, a moustache and a goatee. She had the hair, moustache and goatee and jeans but no tee shirt, just the black vest.

It's 8:30 in the morning and they're both drunk. Viva Las Vegas, baby!

He was slurring over and over again that he needed to "FUCKING EAT!!!!" and wandered off. She somehow managed to stick a twenty into the slot machine.

Of course her machine let out a "WHEEL....OF....FORTUNE!!!" on her very first fucking pull. She leans back to look up at the wheel spinning around and just as the wheel stops on one hundred dollars, she passes out with her head tilted back and her mouth wide open.

With a cigarette hanging from her mouth.

It was just hanging there. Kind of stuck on her goddamn lip.

I was tempted to use her mouth as an ashtray but I'm sure the elderly bitchy cigar queen on my right would rat me out.

It was at this moment that I noticed the tattoo on the passed out woman's left tit. I wasn't intentionally looking at her left boob, but it was sticking out of that black vest taking a look around for fuck sake.

On her left tit was a tattoo of Captain America.

Which is odd....

Flipping the bird.

Also odd....

Pointed at me.

Um.... Not so odd.

I've now been flipped off by the tit of passed out trailer trash on my left and "old mother cigar breath" on my right.

Yes, bring the kids; Las Vegas is fun for the whole fucking family.

And then "it" happened.

I hit the.....

"WHEEL OF FORTUNE!!!"

THAT WHEEL STARTED SPINNING!!!

ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS BABY!!!!!!

WOOOOOHOOOOO!!!!

I TOLD YOU I WAS DUE!!!!

I cash out the machine and grab my ticket.

"Smoke this grandma!!! Hey bitch, tuck that in, you'll poke someone's eye out with that thing."

I'm a motherfucking winner.

Las Vegas survived a visit from the Royals, but it may never be the same. Maybe the others will yell you their Vegas story, but sometimes, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas....

Tornadoes, A Bus and A Birthday

2010-11-22T23:49:00.001-06:00

First of all, I have something to clarify. YES, ASSCLOWNS, I KNOW DUTCHESS IS REALLY SPELLED DUCHESS! I'm a drunk stoner, not stupid! Lot's of names sound the same and are spelled different.
Wendy - Wendi
Georgia - Jorja
Ginger - Jinjer
You get the point.
I like spelling Dutchess. It's slightly off center, unique, odd, and wrong. Sounds like it fits me to a tee...or tea. And? IT'S MY FUCKING BLOG AND I CAN DO WHAT I WANT. KAPISH?

Good. Now, on with tonight's installment of "Tales from the Road".

This heavy duty drunken drug fest aboard the Insane Hooker Bus would be enough to send Whitney, I'm a fucking crack ho and I like it, Houston running to rehab.

Add a huge family birthday bash for the Spawn of Satan, a 2 year old no nap asshole stuck to me like flies on shit, tornado sirens, (which BTW, Mother nature, it is No-fucking-vember you bitch. Enough already!) hail plopping down on my new fucking mustang, an ice sculpting contest and a motherfucking cat fight. Know what you get?

After a few drinks, Xanax, and a fat doobie, all was right with the world and we were back on the road.

Then, we stumbled upon this sign

Of course we took the damn exit. And hoo boy! The girls got excited when we saw this next

As we crept around the bend, we found it....the Motherland.

We piled off of the bus and went to the nearest bar where we engaged in karaoke, dancing on tables, and a cherry stem knotting contest. I was running out of steam, and headed back to the bus for some much needed alone time. That's when I noticed something strange going on.

The hell? The motherfucking bus was being invaded!

*kcshhhhhhk*Houston, we have a Pussy problem.*kcshhhhhhk*

I sprinted ....ok, assholes, I walked, back to the goddamn bar to inform the Queen about the Pussy invasion. The drunk bitch had obviously been slipped a ruffie. All I could get out of her was..."Pussies? The more the merrier! Let them on the bus~"

Let's just say that the pussies are out of control and, the Royal vet says they have eaten a good portion of our best stash.

Personally? I think the Pussy Patrol is up to something more sinister than eating out premium pot. I've seen some pretty suspicious and disturbing things the past couple days...

Now, I may or may not be a touch paranoid from all of the Mary Jane we've consumed on this road trip. However, I'm beginning to I think the little pussies are either planning a coupe, or they are some kind of invasion of the Body snatcher-ET phone home motherfuckers, and they are training to take over the Royal family.

What say you, Internet?

Bitches, Bra's, and Brownies

2010-11-21T02:30:00.007-06:00

Hiya people. Dutchess here to give you the 411 and our current 10/20 before we jack it up and head it on down the line to continue ...

Copy that good buddy, come back?

Wait, you are not my CB radio. Dammit. OOOhhhh!!!!!GODDAMNIT! STOP STOMPING ON THE FUCKING BREAKS! The Queen was drunk when she hired the new bus driver. He may very well kill us all.

Anyway, everything is pretty fucking wild here on the road. There is drinking, bitching, pole dancing and even a nightly damn LIMBO contests. (Which, BTW, the Queen has won every night. That bitch is freakishly limber and could get a job with the goddamn Chinese Circus. Here is the proof:

We have a small grow house and easy bake oven on the top of the bus where I reside. I've been making my famous "Special Cookies and Special Brownies". (Ok, so I;ve outsourced the baking part to the kids bus. Fuck you! Child labor laws are not applicable on the Royal Bus, and someone has to work the liquor pulley and tend to the plants.

However, I need to rethink the recipe amounts. The kids are starting to scare the shit out of me.

I passed out last night and when I awoke this afternoon, the five pounds of Baked Brownies was gone, Princess was walking around singing Janis Joplin tunes and flashing the peace sign and the bus now looked like this...

We've had a few mishaps too along the way. We've invented a delivery system between the alcohol buss and the main bus. It's pretty fucking sweet, however, the boobies broke free and are all on the loose.

With all of the starting, stopping, and slamming on of the breaks, a few of us have a motherfucking black eye, or two.

AND, don't be fooled by the Gay Gators Dragged to his Death story. The fucking out of control boobies got together, fucked him up, and had a gator barbecue. It wasn't a total loss though, because Sir is a fucking expert on leather and made us all matching thongs. Someone better UPS us some bras before the boobies eat the children, If that happened, who would bake the goddamn brownies?.

OOOhh!!!! Looks like we've reached the exit to our next destination.

Peace out!

A New Royal Adventure

2010-11-20T00:33:00.005-06:00

That's right bitches. The Royal Family is going on a road trip this week.
Our illustrious

summoned all of us to the castle today. I think she had too much gin, and possibly got into my special cookies. She was giddy, and that is never a good sign when it comes from the Queen.

Before you know it, she ordered me to corrupt our
Top Cop

and sent all other staff and royals home, pack a bag and then get on this...

The Princess

is busy mapping out a route and we are hitting the dusty trail at first light....or Noon. What?! We are Royals and need ~~time to recover from the night before~~ our beauty sleep.

All of the Royals and Staff will be along on this road trip, and we will be bringing you our tales from the road.

Trust me, you DO NOT want to miss this. Click on the tab that says "Royal Family" to find links to all of us.

Birthdays and Pink Rabbits

2010-11-18T16:31:00.006-06:00

My Son, the Spawn of Satan, turned 16 on Monday. We are having a big birthday party for him on Sunday, ~~because I need blog fodder and a family party is sure to produce that~~ and I have a million things to do.

My mom offered to help, and I jumped on that shit. What I didn't know, was that she was bringing my nephew and niece along (4 year old twins). I wasn't happy, but I made a huge batch of grape Kool-aid, gave them each 2 cookies, spun them like little sticky tops, and turned them fucking loose in the the basement where there is a playroom.

An hour later, my Mom and I are elbow deep in party favors and decoration preparations. I have pretty much managed to drown out the shrieks, giggles and sound of shit being thrown around because I am my happy place with my Corona by my side. I didn't realize they had moved upstairs to where the XBOX is.

I hear the demons coming down the stairs and my nephew explodes into the kitchen waving my pink rabbit vibrator like its the motherfucking Olympic torch.

He is being chased by the other crotch parasite. As I stand there with my eyes dangerously close to falling out onto my goddamn cheeks, he starts running laps around my mother and shrieking, "Look, GiGI! Look! If you turn this thing at the bottom, it shakes!!"

My mother is nodding in her grandma way and turning her head to and fro, trying to get a better look at the object my nephew is clutching.

Corona be damned. My mother's husband has prostate cancer, so I know she hasn't had sex in a long time, but I'm pretty sure she still remembers what a goddamn dick looks like.

I skid around the corner like scooby-fucking-doo and launch myself at my nephew. I snatched it out of his grubby little hands and disappeared up the stairs before the little asshole even realized what had happened.

After he finally stopped screaming (I threatened to give him away to the creepy Rednecks down the street if he ever went into my bedroom again. I told him they would change his name to Bubba and make him rub their feet), my mother asked me what he had been playing with.

I looked her straight in the eye and said, "Did you know that Susannah stole your car one night when she was 17, and screwed that Trevor dude in the backseat?"

Susannah is my sister. My Mom gathered the two little assholes and left immediately.

Susannah has called me numerous times. I'm not fucking answering.

Not My Goddamn Fault and An Asshole

2010-11-17T16:54:00.002-06:00

I have been busy this week, and have not had time to read your blogs. Last night I was playing catch up and found out someone is fucking with the Queen. I am pissed off.

Listen up you intellectually bankrupt, impotent, cocksucking, prick. The smothering weight of your life-long failures are pressing down on that pickled, ineffectual, tiny brain of yours causing you to become confused.

I will extend one meager favor and clarify a few points for you now, since you don't seem to have the capacity to put a short string of thoughts together to gather a valid conclusion.

YOUR wife got the wrong idea. YOUR wife sent ridiculous e-mails spewing bullshit and typos all over hell and back. YOU acted like none of this was your responsibility to fix or clean up. I know you are pussy whipped, but, much like that unused, shriveled dick hanging between your cheesy thighs. No one is responsible for your weak existence except you.

YOU put the Queen's real name out on the world wide web for all to see. Just because you always use your real name (or so you say), doesn't means everyone else does. It wasn't your call to make. You know nothing if her struggles or why she chooses not to use her real name for blogging.

I know it must be difficult living with your nut squeezing wife in the sack-of-shit-no-life-to-conceive-of-I'll-try-and-fuck-with-someone-else's skin of yours. But the person you're fucking with happens to be my sister. And if you've EVER in your life encountered someone that won't hesitate to rip your fucking throat out and laugh into the gaping hole of what's left of your soul, that would be me.

Enough is enough.

And Now.....The Rest Of The Story...

Hi, I'm The Dutchess, and I am a shopoholic. (Hi Dutchess!) I can't help it. I cannot be blamed. It's ingrained in my damn DNA.

I'm convinced that if a lab ran my chromosomes through their chromosomometer, at least one pair would resemble dollar signs. I'm hard-wired to spend money and I'm a believer in retail therapy.

Since I spend a fair amount of my time meandering through department stores feeling up clothing and molesting the merchandise, I seem to find myself occasionally resembling a bull in a china shop. Fuck you. This too, is not my goddamn fault. (Well, most of the time).

I will admit that I am accident-prone to the 11th degree. I'm the person who's shakin' her ass on the dance floor like a pro, and then slips on an olive, sails under the nearest table, pulling a groin muscle and ripping my favorite jeans.

I believe this charming trait of mine also acts a some kind of magnet. Chairs jump into my path, walls lean over and smash my damn head and drawers magically shut on my fingers. If being in the comfort of my own home wasn't dangerous enough, deciding to go out into the retail world can be deadly.

There's the clothing that always, always, always, comes spontaneously flying off the fucking hanger as soon as I get near it. There are stores that jam all their shit so tight and stacked so high that you can't help but pull it all onto your head when you're just trying to find your goddamn size!

And it's because of this, that I'm now afraid of an inanimate object. An innocent collectible my middle daughter has been collecting since she was born. A harmless, insignificant knickknack that should not cause anxiety and ass-squenching. A new phobia was created for the Dutchess today, and it's not my goddamn fault.

I was cruising the gifty areas of a large department store, relaxed and happy, silently gathering useful potential-gift information. I'd hit the jewelry counter, sauntered through the shoes then headed up to the third floor to check out housewares. After nixing the knives and poo-pooing the plates, I came upon a large display of snow globes. There were globes of all sizes. Big ones, small ones, medium ones, and itty-bitty teeny-tiny ones.

They were mostly Christmas scenes with little houses, wintry trees and snowmen. A few contained a maniacal Santa busting a gut with his gloved paws on what I'm sure was supposed to be his big jolly belly. However, Inspector 17 must have been drinking spiked fucking eggnog at her station. The drunken bitch let a shitload of Kris Kringle's go by with him obviously grabbing his North Pole and Jingle Bells.

I continued to check out the dozens of orb's filled with their glitter and snow and drifty drift shit inside. I picked up a few and gave a tester shake to watch the magical sparkly filler spin and float around, landing on the permanently attached objects inside.

Then I saw a really elaborate large-sized globe that seemed pretty cool. It was a winter wonderland scene complete with several cabins, their tiny windows glowing from fireplaces inside, a forest surrounding the houses, children's sleighs resting in the snow banks. It was colorful and festive. And fucking HUGE.

I don't know why I treated this one differently than all the previous globes I'd so thoughtfully and gently looked at. However, this time I decided to turn it totally upside down instead of giving a delicate wee shake. It wasn't even a conscience decision. It was a reflex really. In fact, maybe I had had a miniature shopping seizure. Whatever it was, it wasn't my goddamn fault.

I held the globe in both hands, and with a quick turn of my wrists, I flipped it. Before I could blink...CRASH!!! The globe separated from its base faster than whale shit in an motherfucking ice flow.

In what seemed like slow motion, I watched it fall to the ground and literally explode on the floor. My ears were ringing from the deafening shatter of glass. It sounded like a goddamn grenade had had been launched right there in the middle of Macy's, briefly silencing the Christmas muzak playing overhead.

I was mortified. I was frozen. I tried to kick-start my brain and process what the hell just happened. My only thought? GET THE HELL OUT! I quickly put down what was left of the globe, the little wooden corpse that was still in my hand, and did an about-face; sweat tickling my stupid forehead as I made a b-line back to the escalator. My face hot and flushed with horror.

I thought I was home free until I spied a sales lady staring at me, her lips puckered into a tight frown, while she glared at me. Her steely eyes focused on my feet. She hadn't seen it, I was sure, so how could she know that apocalypse had been me??

That's when I looked down and saw the evidence of my snow-globe murder. My jeans and shoes were shimmering with the dripping evidence. From the knees down I was saturated with magical sparkly globe water and covered with fake fucking snowflakes.

Our eyes locked on each other. Mine wide with guilt. I mustered a panicked, phony grin, nervously giggled, said "Merry Christmas". Then ran away.

It wasn't my goddamn fault.

The Power Of The IRS

2010-11-16T16:02:00.000-06:00

You can always tell when you're talking to someone who's been audited by the IRS.

You mention those three letters and beads of sweat pop out on their head. Their eyes take on that look you usually see on sheep right before they mow all of their fucking wool off - the one that says, "You're going to leave me naked and I really don't understand why, goddamnit."

A couple weeks ago, Duke and I received a letter stating we still owed a balance for a mistake (not my own, but, hey, who cares? It's the fucking IRS!) that was made for the 2008 tax year. The problem was that the amount I presently owe should have been reduced by the incredibly painful check that was cashed by the U.S. Treasury on November 8th in 2009. Holy shit that was a lot of fucking money. The notice I received did not reflect that payment or the fact that we ate nothing but dry motherfucking granola for the next 2 months because of that payment. And I had to sell a goddamn kidney.

I called to question the notice, thinking, like the Disney character that I am, it would be a painless procedure.

My daughter's head was 40 centimeters around. When I started screaming for someone to please kill me with the fucking speculum, the nurse gave me an aspirin and a pat on the head. THAT was less painful.

My "Hey, check this out!" moment that ended in the ER with electricity burns? Not as painful.

I BROKE MY PUBIC BONE ON A MECHANICAL BULL. (true story) MILDLY PLEASANT IN COMPARISON.

After answering a series of questions and working around the language barrier (there are 4 people in the whole fucking free world who could have interpreted her questions and 3 of them are native to her country. Seriously, the representative and I finally agreed that my payment was "misapplied".

"Well, what the hell does that mean?" I asked.

"I don't know," she answered.

"At least you're honest. What the hell do I do now?"

"I don't know."

"Ok, that won't work on this question, Paraguinamay. How do you know it's been misapplied?"

"I don't."

I put the phone down, banged my forehead into the wall four times and and made myself a triple shot Jim Beam and coke. When I returned, Paraguinamay was patiently waiting.

"I had to make a drink," I explained.

"I know. Everyone does," she said.

"So! We have no idea where my money is and you have no record of me ever paying that ridiculous amount. I have a cancelled check right in front of me, but you can't find it."

"That is correct."

"Ok. Transfer me on. You know you don't want to deal with this shit. Just tell your supervisor I became verbally fucking abusive."

"Ok, hold please."

As I sat and listened to the classical music (intended to calm us down and keep us from tearing our own jugular out. I got YOUR number, IRS), I wondered: if money is received at the U.S. Treasury but there's no House Representative who needs a sex change and a blow-up doll at that exact goddamn moment, does the money really exist?

According to the supervisor, that would be a resounding "no".

"Dutchess, I need you to read me the series of numbers on the back of the cancelled check. That will give me exact information as to where the payment went."

"Ok. 7825154541123484645433 and 8954162148545612345413 and 2555548884541548864545876454 and 3258878954562158546315 and 154154584786545123654dash 48654585598744121545645 dash 235969565458854554865. And a zero."

"Thank you. One moment."

"You seriously got all of that? Or are you dicking me?"

"Mmm. Searching..." supervisor said.

"What's the square root of 9,365?"

"I have no idea, but I can tell you that 9653449 is a stella octangula number."

"You need a whole fancy office just for your head, don't you?" I asked.

"Well, bad news. I can't find it."

"Your head?" (maybe the extra shot of Jim Beam the in the third refil wasn't a good idea)

"Your money."

"Oh, fuuuuuck," I groaned. "It was sent to some group in Africa who study the mating habits of dung beetles, wasn't it? You can tell me. I can take it."

"No clue. You'll have to send a copy of that check to our research department in Cleveland," he answered.

"Cleveland? Noooo You might as well tell me to send it to the fucking Taco R Us on Main street. I want you to research it. You have the office size brain."

"I can't do that, Ma'am."

"But you told me the medusa oblongata thing!"

"Stella octangula," supervisor corrected.

"Yes! Exactly! You'll find my money!"

"Do you have a pen to write this address down?"

"What happens if they don't find it?"

"You'll have to pay it, again."

The HELL?

"But...I paid it, I have a cancelled check. Money gone."

"I'm sorry, Ma'am."

"And what happens if I won't?"

"We'll put a lien on your assets," supervisor said ominously.

"Ha! I have an old Shaun Cassidy poster, a pair of Converse from 1985 and a stale bag of mother fucking Doritos! Can I send THAT to Cleveland?"

"Seriously. They'll even take your dog if it has any resale value."

"I'd like to see you try, bitch!" I choked and hung up the phone. Cleveland, indeed.

Twenty minutes later, a land hurricane with a tornado hit our area and lasted 3 fucking days . The IRS does not fuck around.

However, I WANT MY SHINGLES BACK, YOU IRS FUCKS.

A Drunken Bunch of Random

2010-11-14T17:18:00.000-06:00

First, thank you all for stroking my.......... ego a bit. Y'all make me all warm & fuzzy inside... Or maybe it's the 5 rum punch drinks I've had. Whatever, either way, it feels nice.

Dammit, now I have to sit myself on the naughty step because my imagination is out of control. (yes, I watched Supernanny! Fuck you! Friday TV is for shit.)

On with the show.

It's Sunday, and that means it must be time for....

I watch a lot of those crime shows...48 hours, CSI, Law & Order and etc... I could make it look like fucking Tinkerbell killed you. Just sayin'

Sometimes I just want to tell my Sister in law that I hope she gets diarrhea and can't get her pantyhose off.

Some people fall right the fuck off of the ugly tree and land in the stupid bush.

I need someone to help me find my weekend. One minute it was here, and the next it just up and disappeared. Bastard!

While skipping through the castle today, I started to sing "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine"...then I realized, NOPE, it was just the Xanax talking.

Therapy helps, but yelling obscenities is cheaper and fun to watch how people react.

My dream job would be driving the fucking KARMA bus.

Maybe I could get away with running around hitting people in the face with a stick while screaming, "FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS BEER-A-LICIOUS GET A GODDAMN GRIP YOU FUCKSTICK!"

If you say everything happens for a reason, one more time, don't be fucking shocked when I punch you in the goddamn throat and say "It must have happened for a reason, asshole".

The flying monkeys refused to take me somewhere exciting. I shall now feed them to the goddamn gators.

I'm taking the Spawn of Satan back to the hospital. They forgot to install the teenage mute button.

My fortune cookie said my life will be peaceful and happy. Ok, who gave the good drug to the fucking cookie?

Duct tape... makes me smile just thinking about it.

I wonder what would happen it I ran through Burger King screaming, "I'm the other white meat!"

Strap-on is no-parts spelled backwards. Coincidence?

And this whole post? was just more proof that a box of wine contains more philosophy than all the books in the fucking world.

BSF and Green With Envy

2010-11-12T13:21:00.002-06:00

Well, it's Friday, and that means it's time for

Only, it's no longer CB's. Our Royal Bartender, Jen , is now hosting Blog Stalk Friday. Get over there and give her some love. It takes big cajones to voluntarily step into CB's stilettos, and Jen is doing a great job.

So, I know I have been a slacker when it comes to blogging lately. I do have a good reason though...other than the drunk factor, you asshats.

I am intimidated. That's right folks, I, your Drunken Dutchess of All Things That Fucking Rock, is feeling almost unworthy.

Why, you ask?

Well, have you been reading the rest of the Royal Family? If you said no, you must live under a fucking rock. Check out my Royal family page for all of the links. Fuck, they are some funny bitches, and the funny just keeps on growing.

Our newest Royal is

I believe her Royal Name will be The Countess of Kick-Ass, but we are awaiting confirmation from the Queen.

Go read THIS over at the Queen's place. After you finish laughing your ass off, add her to your blogroll and follow her. I promise that little fucking brat will become your favorite Royal (other than me, of course). She is that good.

However, it's really motherfucking hard to be as great as they are every single goddamn day. My asshole blinking cursor mocks me on a daily basis. It even whispers, "Forget about it Dutch, your blogging mojo has left the building".

I hate that fucking cursor.

Know what else I hate? Insecure women.

If you think your SO is having a torrid fucking affair with a women
a. He never met in person
b. that lives at least 1000 miles away
c. who is extremely busy feeding gators and running the Family Brothel Business
d. while keeping tabs on the beer tab crown
e. AND is the head of a lovable, but out of their fucking gourd, Royal Family?

Get a goddamn grip, pull the stick out of your ass and take the dick out of your ear. You need several stiff drinks, and a mighty kick in the ass for being fucking stupid.

However, I must also say congratulations. You have been nominated for the Dumb Bitch of The Year Award. That makes you a special kind of stupid.

Vegas, A Shower, and Elvis

2010-11-10T23:42:00.005-06:00

They say that 90% of all fatal accidents occur in the home. Usually because someone did something stupid.

They didn’t say anything about flesh wounds in a 5 star goddamn hotel in Vegas.

I don’t know what’s worse. Doing something stupid that causes injury to yourself or having to tell your spouse that you’re an idiot.

The first night in Vegas, I couldn’t sleep. I don’t think I was able to close my eyes for more than a damn minute. By the next morning I was beyong fucking tired.

However, when in Vegas, you just suck up the free cocktails, and keep moving. There are things to buy and shoes to see people! After a marathon shopping expedition, I decided to head back to the room, shower, and catch a cat nap before dinner and our Carrot Top plans.

You know how the sounds of the ocean, of the waves crashing against the shore can help you relax? You know how just the sound of raindrops can make you feel totally at ease and at peace with the world?

There’s something about water that’s just calming.

Apparently, it’s not a good idea to get that calming feeling when you’re in the shower.

That’s right people. I fell asleep while I was taking a goddamn shower.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if there had been perpetually hot running water.

But there wasn't.

When the hot water ran out….

I woke up.

In what only could be described as a “WAAAHAAAAT THHHHHEEEE FUUUUUUCK!!!” moment.

In that moment, your body is not connected to your brain. Because if it was it wouldn’t have jerked my fucking head back striking the tile causing me to momentarily go back to sleep.

Oh I woke up again. But not until I had dropped to my knees. My brain at this point was saying to my body, “HEY DUMB BITCH GET OUT OF THE SHOWER!!!!”

Using my mad NINJA reflexes, I jumped out of the shower. Well... I started to jump and then my brain remembered that I don’t do that shit.

So now I’m wet, cold, naked and wedged between the toilet and the sink which is the spot I fell into coming out of my reverse 2 ½ with 2 ½ twists in the pike position while holding my ankles… or something like that.

I believe it had a 4.9 degree of difficulty.

“I’m okay!”

That’s what came out of my mouth a second before I realized I wasn’t okay. I don’t know why I said it. There was no one there to hear it accept me because the Duke was downstairs ganbling in the casino. Maybe I was trying to reassure myself that I had a shred of dignity left.

I felt the back of my head to make sure I wasn’t bleeding, saying out loud to myself, “I may have a concussion. Maybe I should go to the ER.”

Then the remainder of my stupid kicked in and I called the Duke on his cell phone. I needed the loving, caring, sympathetic ear of my soul mate.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“It’s not funny, assclown, I could have been killed.”

“That would have made a great episode of CSI, and since we are in Vegas, maybe I would get to meet that sexy Jorja Fox.” (hahaha…)

“Thanks babe, I fucking hate you.”

“Okay I’m done laughing. (hahahaha…) Are you bleeding?”

“No.”

“What hurts? (hahaha…)

“Other than my pride? Everyfuckingthing.”

“Do you think you should go to the (hahahaha…) doctor?”

“You’re still laughing.”

“I’m just picturing you explaining this to the ER Doctor. HAHAHA!!! I’m sorry babe. HAHAHAHAHA!!!!! I can’t help myself.”

"Would it help if I told you I was limping?"

"Yes.... (hahaha...)"

"In sickness and in health motherfucker, in sickness and in health."

"In sickness and in health maybe. But I don't remember anything about being stupid in our wedding vows."

"Ouch... Maybe we should renew them...with an Elvis impersonator in blue Suede Shoes"

I need a drink.

ALSO...there has been an apparent "Super Fuckstick" sighting over at the Queen's castle. I will have more on this tomorrow, but go check out the Queen's place. We have some troll ass to kick people.

Drunken Vegas Bathtubs and An Award

2010-11-07T23:11:00.004-06:00

Well kids, I'm back from Sin City ( I know you missed me) and it's Sunday. That must mean that it's time for...

If you have ever been to Vegas and walked along the strip, you have encountered homeless looking people trying to hand you baseball card looking things. Those people won't take no for an answer, and if you try and walk away, they throw the fucking thing at you.

It's just better to take it, throw it on the ground with the other eleventy thousand already there and move along. The jail in Vegas is amusing, but not from behind the bars. Trust me on this.

All of the cards have naked girls on them with a star over their love box. Why a star? Why not a heart, a square, a smiley face or, (my personal suggestion), a Hello Kitty? Just sayin'.

Oh, and if you are one of those naked girls on the cards? Fucking stop it! I wear 5" heels in Vegas and need to keep my head down and watch where the fuck I'm going. With all of you on the ground looking up at me, I feel like I'm walking down the road of broken fucking dreams. Vegas isn't suppose to be depressing, goddamn it!

I would like to thank Wolf over at The S.N.A.F.U. report for this award.
Wolfie dear, you rock, and obviously, have great taste! I am giving it to The Royal Family and Staff.

I'm jet-lagged and I'm pretty sure my brain has turned to mush, so that's it for now kids.

P.I.N.T Buh- Bye

2010-11-02T02:02:00.006-05:00

EDITED BY DUTCH: CALM DOWN FOLKS, I'M NOT LEAVING BLOGLAND.

A Box of Wine, The Flu and A Drunken Dutchess

2010-10-31T22:12:00.005-05:00

Welcome to the Halloween Edition of

I love Halloween. It's the one time of year you get to dress outrageously hooker-ish, get tanked, and eat candy until your teeth fall out.

Ok, ok, asshats. It's the one time a year outside of the Royal castle, you can dress outrageously hooker-ish, get tanked and eat candy until your teeth fall out.

However, Halloween 2010 was not one for the record books. Here are a few highlights from the Dutchess' Halloween Debacle 2010.

Bad wine - It started last night at friend's Halloween pre-party. You know, the house drinks you have before going to the real party. She had some cheap ass bottles of wine, but I'm all about cheap wine, so I decided, what the hell. I don't know what the fuck it was, but the damn bottle had a penguin on the label. That should have been my first warning. Penguins are not found in Napa Valley, or the South of France. I don't think the Hostess was amused when I kept giggling and telling her to "pour me some more of that Ripple!"

Five inch heels - Super cute...Super fucking stupid for a drunken Dutchess at a rockin' bar crammed with people and stairs in the most fucked up places. The bonus was a quick hoo-ha shot after tumbling off the fuckers as I was stepping down from the dance floor.

Stress - the Duke is determined to see how long it takes me, after a thousand fucking phone calls when I'm out for "Girls Night", to go fucking sniper and mow everyone down with a goddamn Uzi. I've developed a tic in my face, for fuck's sake.

Anger - Someone did a really shitty thing to my bestie. I will be calling the relatives in the bayou to perform some bad ass gris-gris on the offender, mark my words. I hope all your children have extra appendages, you fuckstick.

The goddamn flu - I woke up this morning and started throwing up. My bowels were jealous of the attention that my esophagus was getting, so they decided to get in on the action. I felt wretched and everything that wasn't nailed down was coming out one end or the other. Now, I know this is far more information than anyone truly needs, but you have to know how dismal my situation is to truly appreciate the fact I'm here writing for you all.

I'm pretty sure that while I was on my knees yakking, I was anally raped by some fucking ass pirate with a goddamn penis that was on fire. For the first time in my life, I'm considering buying Tucks Medicated Pads for my pissed off no-no hole.

I need a vacation...and some ointment.

Halloween HNT

2010-10-28T00:29:00.001-05:00

It Thursday so it's time for

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I give you, my Halloween HNT.
I'm No Angel

There is lots of Half-Nekkid goodness running about the Internet today. Go over and give our fabulous host Os a Halloween hello.

A Glimpse Of The Real Life Dutchess

2010-10-27T12:44:00.011-05:00

Some of you know I live in Wisconsin, and now I guess all of you do. Please curb your need to stalk me. Remember, I have mad Ninja skillz.

Anyway, there has been some crazy ass weather around here for the past couple of days. A "land hurricane" hit the county hard Tuesday morning. The weather asshats say this could be the strongest wind storm seen in the area in more than a decade.

This land hurricane, was comparable in pressure to a category 2 hurricane. Isn't that fucking special? If I'm going to have to deal with a hurricane, it would have been nice to have been somewhere tropical. Fucking Mother Nature!

Severe thunderstorms, moved northeast at 70 mph, and raced through southeastern Wisconsin between 5 and 8 a.m. Tuesday. BTW, really Mother Nature? You couldn't have picked a better time than the ass crack of dawn?

It also produced an F1 tornado not far from here. It did damage, but thankfully no one was killed. I know an F1 tornado is nothing to you Royals down in Kansas. However, up here, it is a big thing in October.

Now that the actual storms have passed, the focus is still on the wind. It has been blowing steady at 30-40 miles per hour with gusts up to 70. I kid you not, it actually blew over my chihuahua while she was taking a shit in the backyard. The second time I let her outside, I was smart enough to put her on a leash. Very Bad Idea. Let's just say that chihuahuas actually can fly like a kite. She is now hiding under the couch. I think she may be traumatized.

This fucking wind machine is to continue Wednesday and Thursday. The power around here is sketchy at best, so I thought I'd show you some pictures that were taken yesterday abd today as my daughter and I drove around our county and the one just North of us.

the guy in the red truck draped with downed power lines was scared, but not hurt.

Trucks were pushed over

Power lines, trees, and debris everywhere. You can also see how the weather changed throughout the day as we took random pictures.

OK gang, that is it for show & tell today.

East Bound and Down

2010-10-26T00:05:00.004-05:00

Where was Sheriff Buford T. Justice when I needed him?

Here’s a phrase that will never come out of my mouth again, “Let’s just rent a U-Haul and move this shit ourselves.”

I was a little girl (ok, so I was 13, whatever) when Eddie Rabbit sang about "Driving His Life Away". The minute I heard that song, I knew I wanted to drive a big rig for a living. (That was livin' large and dreaming the dream, huh?)

I have already stated that the vehicles I prefer to drive are my truck and the SUV. I love them, and don't tell me about my carbon fucking footprint, m'kay?.

I figured a little U-haul truck would be a piece of fucking cake. Apparently that’s incorrect and a fail.

You see, the Duke has been busy lately and I needed to put some old furniture into storage. I got sick of waiting for him to get around to it, so I decided to do it my damn self.

If you’ve never been to one of these storage mausoleums, it’s a real fucking treat. Here is a place, full of shit that people don’t want, but pay to store, that is more secure that Alcatraz.

First of all, they get nervous when The Royals want to put something into storage, but they try to be funny about it. “I see your part of the Royal Family. Who are you putting in there? Ha ha ha.”

“Nobody you know.”

Then they ask the token Homeland Security question. “You’re not planning on storing any chemical or biological agents in here are you?”

“Planning? No… I’m not “planning” on it.” The asshat then asks me to take my shoes off and go through a metal detector.

Meanwhile, seven guys who sound like they’re spitting when they talk are unloading drums of goddamn fertilizer, and screaming something about jihad in the space next to mine.

So I rent my space, on the third floor, and head over to U-Haul with my youngest son and daughter to rent “El Trucko.”

I called it “El Trucko” because anything that fucking big needed a title. I had reserved a small truck but they were all out so we got “El Trucko” at the small truck rates.

This fucking truck could have moved all of Mexico in one goddamn load.

I only needed to move a 241 pound 36 inch Sony TV, TV Stand, Dining Room Set and a bed.

When I hopped up into “El Trucko” I was immediately disappointed. There was no CB Radio.

How the hell was I gonna ask my good buddies if they’ve got their ears on without my goddamn CB radio?

I improvised and got out my cell phone and called my kids who were following behind me.

“Hey good buddies, I just passed another Kojak with a Kodak, this place is crawling with bears, where the hell are you? Bandit to Snowman, you got your ears on?" Can ya hear me now?”

My son was afraid.

“Mom, please don’t screw around in that truck. This isn’t “Smokey and the Bandit.”

Side Note: Line from the movie that makes me laugh every. single. time.
"Nobody, and I mean NOBODY makes Sheriff Buford T. Justice look like a possum's pecker. (Junior: "Except for that-") Shut your ass."

Too Late, I had already turned into Burt Reynolds or Jerry Reed. Actually I was more like Dom Delouise in “Smokey and the Bandit II, but whatever.”

As I’m driving back to my house to “load up” (that’s trucker talk, yo!) I started thinking of the wide open road, fresh air, country scenery, and where I could get a basset hound I could name Fred, it dawned on me. Maybe I was supposed to join a union to drive something this big. Maybe I was supposed to be a member of the Teamsters.

But the Teamster mind set wasn’t as much fun as the Smokey and the Bandit mind set so I kind of improvised it a little.

“So... How y’all doin? "What we're dealing with here is a complete lack of respect for the law."

Anyway not only am I not a truck driver... I’m no mover either. We dropped the fucking TV three times.

I knew we should have given it to the goddamn homeless guy.

Driving back to the self storage place, I started to sing, “East bound and down, loaded up and truckin, we gonna do what they say can't be done…..”

My daughter was crying.

When I pulled into the self storage lot there was only one space to park in and it was between two other very large trucks...of course.

Here’s another phrase you never want to hear yourself utter, “I think I can squeeze this baby in if I get the right angle.”

So, after I hit the front end and ripped the fucking bumper off the first truck, I found that although I was now fitting neatly into the space, there was no room to pull the ramp out of the damn truck to unload.

So I nudged it forward…ever so slowly…..

Now my front bumper is locked with the rear bumper of the goddamn truck in front of me.

My son was now suicidal.

“Jesus Christ Mom! Now what do we do?”

“We unload the fucking truck.”

We dropped the TV two more times and snapped a leg off of one of the dining room chairs, but I packed that stuff into that space like a shopping cart at a Mississippi Wal-Mart sale.

Then I went to the front office to confess to the crash while my son figured out how to unhook the trucks. I think he let air out of the tires to lower “El Trucko”.

“I kind of hit a truck back there.”

“We know we have you on our video surveillance cameras.”

Video surveillance?

This is a self storage facility filled with shit that people will eventually forget about.

Video surveillance?

Who designed this fucking place? The same guy that came up with the wrapping on DVD’s?

For a nice twist, the truck I tore the bumper off of is owned by a Korean swap meet vendor.

I told him I’d give him a 36 inch Sony TV if I didn’t have to report this to my insurance company.

I’m 10-7 good buddies...come back.

Some Wine, A Bathtub, and A Dutchess

2010-10-24T14:59:00.005-05:00

It's Sunday and that means it must be time for...

You fucking people disappoint me. Last Sunday I put up my spiffy new grab button on the sidebar, a Mr. Linky and invited you all to join me in my bathtub.

NOT ONE, NOT ONE OF YOU MOTHERFUCKERS JOINED ME IN THE TUB. WHAT. THE. FUCK.

After consoling myself with a vast amount of alcohol, (and a brand new Mustang Convertible because you fuckers made me question my cool status), I asked The Duke what his thoughts were.

Without missing a beat, he says, "Babe, it's the Bush. The SOS pad convention you are hosting near your crotch scares the hell out of everyone."

So fine, asshats. Since my mad nip twirling skillz, boxed wine and drunken rambling doesn't impress you, I succumbed to a Brazilian wax yesterday.

Now? My goddamn pussy is so swollen it looks like I'm hiding Mick fucking Jagger inside of my twat, except there was no room for his fucking lips.

I am not a happy Dutchess. No Mr. Linky for YOU this week!

Speaking of unhappy, I have a bone to pick with this ever growing Royal Family.

Someone better start coordinating days off. Since CB left, most of you are fucking slacking. I drove past many empty street corners this weekend. That shit just isn't acceptable.

I don't fucking care if you are mourning the loss of CB . Get back to your corner.

I don't care if you got stuck in the moat. Climb the goddamn wall and get back to your corner.

I don't fucking care if your goddamn shoe broke. Duct tape that mother back together and get back to your corner.

I don't fucking care if you have double vision. Strap on an eye patch and pretend you're a goddamn ass pirate. (BTW we charge double for that.)

I don't care if you have the fucking clap. Get a shot penicillin, squeegee your pussy, and get back to your corner.

I don't care if you think you need fucking rehab since becoming part of the Royal Family. Take another Xanax, shut the fuck up, and get back to your damn corner.

We have on staff:
A Queen
A Princess,
A Dame,
A Countess yet to be named,
Security Momma,
Security Vixen,
A Security Peon,
A Security Zombie,
A Personal Security Person,
A Royal Bartender and A Royal Vet

There is no reason for empty fucking street corners. The Queen and I may be shit faced drunk, stoned, seeing double and hearing voices, but we have been running this business for a long time. Make no mistake, we notice when you are not there. Don't think you can get away with this missing in action shit.

Not everyone is a slacker. Some of you are on your regular corner giving ass and taking names. But, some of you? Not so fucking much.

If you are slacking, here is your warning...

Unless you cleared a day off with the Queen or myself, your ass better be on duty next time I drive by in my new fucking Mustang.

Now that we have that all straightened out, I must finish watching Denver get the shit kicked out of them. Where is Elway when you need him.

BSF and Fuck You

2010-10-22T00:06:00.004-05:00

Ok, normally this is Blog Stalk Friday with CB. I have no idea who CB is passing her BSF baby off to, but I'm sure it will be back very soon.

This has been a super shitty week for your Dutchess. So, today, after having been knee deep for most of this week, in the shit slinging sty that is my extended real-life family, I decided to pull into Burger King for a large Dr. pepper.

Oh yes, my dear assclowns, you know where this must be going, right?

I was desperate for a Dr. Pepper and I decided to give them another chance.

But of course, they never fail to send me on my way gripping the fucking steering wheel in a blind rage, screaming, "My way, motherfuckers! MY WAY!"

So, I swing through the drive-thru and I order a simple large Dr. Pepper. Here's where it gets fucking strange...

I pull up to the first window and a guy opens it up with a huge smile on his face. I flinch and cower in my seat. I'm not fucking prepared for this unexpected turn in my relationship with BK. After I calm myself, I hand him 5 dollars.

Freaky BK Guy With Shit Eating Grin: "Ha! Can I keep the change?"

Me, with an equally dazzling sneer: "If you'll stop smiling like you just killed your mother and ate her goddamn ear, absofuckinglutely!"

Freaky BKGrin: "Huh? Ha! You're pretty!"

Me (rolling my window up and leaving just enough room for him to slide the bills through. Fuck the change): "And you're creepy! Ha!"

Freaky BKGrin: "Think we got enough rain?"

Me: "Well, you didn't drown, so I guess fucking not."

It dawns on me by now that this guy can't possibly hear a word I'm saying. He is only hearing the voices in his head.

Freaky BKGrin: "It didn't dampen your spirits, did it? Ha!"

Me: "Me? Oh, nooooooo, I'm the happ-happ-happiest motherfucker you've ever seen. I take my meds every single day. You should try it Mc-fucking-Grinner."

Freaky BKGrin holds out my money. I roll the window down enough to snatch it and roll it back up before he can eat my damn head. He just smiles. I move up to the next window.

BK Girl With Scowl and The Dull, Lifeless Eyes of The Mentally Void: "Here."

She hands me my drink and I relax because this is the BK I am use to.

The drink is a medium. Of fucking course.

Me: "Excuse me. I asked for a large."

She glares at me and turns to whatever ass pirate they call a manager.

BKScowl: "She said she asked for an large."

Now, I haven't been back to BK in a while for one reason: They hate me and they remember my face.

The last time I was there, I was hungover, I was smack in the middle of a goddamn hot flash, and it was 8 a.m.

They're all just fucking lucky to be alive after they did the exact same shit to me then as they were doing today.

Don't they know you never, ever, ever doubt a customers word when all it will cost is a measly .44 cents (which I was sure I had already paid).

I pulled out a dollar bill when Scowl came back because I am in no mood to fuck around and just want my goddamn Dr. Pepper. I didn't want to argue or go to fucking jail either. With CB leaving this week and throwing the whole fucking blogosphere into mourning, it would have taken DAYS for someone to realize I was missing.

I silently handed BKScowl her the dollar and watched her walk away. She came back, gave me my large Dr. Pepper and shut the window without saying a word.

Oh. No. She. Didn't. Now I was pissed. Defcon 5 motherfucking pissed. I reached over and rapped on the window.

Scowl: "Yes?"

So, I paid the difference for the medium to large size, but you still didn't give me any change. That dollar was not a tip, sugarbitch."

Scowl: "What?"

I glanced behind me. It is a shitty, cold, rainy day and there is no one behind me. I put my car in reverse and back up to Freaky BKGrin's window. He opens. Grinning.

Me: "Steve, I don't want to deal with Beckky The goddamn Wonder Bimbo anymore. Can you please give me my fucking dollar back?"

BKGrin: "My name's not Steve!"

Me: "Whatever. Can I get my dollar?"

BKGrin: "Hang on! Ha!"

He disappears for a couple seconds and returns with my dollar. See how fucking simple that was?

Me: "Sam, you've been wonderful. Oh, and the girl at the next window? She said you're hot. Ha!"

My way, motherfuckers. MINE.

And to my fucked up, drama desperate, shit slinging good for fucking nothing dicklick ex-brother in-law....This is for you

A Wicked Goodbye

2010-10-20T16:34:00.003-05:00

Ok gang, it is

They are having a send off for everyone's favorite Royal Hooker, The Crazy Brunette. They have asked for stories and other things. I have so many stories, but if I tell you, I'd have to kill you.

Lucky for you assclowns, I have had a goddamn, king size headache all fucking day and my Ninja Killing Skillz are all askew.

So, instead, I am leaving you with my most Favorite CB post EVER. Enjoy!

I Fake Dainty Like I Fake Orgasms

Aging Superhero and Mid-life Crisis

2010-10-19T20:12:00.007-05:00

I will be 44 in January. It's time to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.”
Well, I've thought about it. I don’t want to grow up.

First you’re born.
Then you grow up.

Then you work like a fucking dog
Then they squish your titties and stick a camera up your ass in the name of "preventative medicine and early detection.

Then you die.

Yep, I'm sure I don’t want to grow up.

So then I said to myself, “Maybe this is your midlife crisis, Dutch. You need to take a Xanax and nap.”

When I woke up I realized that I had been “dreaming” about shit that only old people think about. Like...

Fiber
Anyone named Obama.
Partially Hydrogenated Vegetable Oil
Nancy Pelosi
Colonoscopies and mammograms
Immigration Reform
Global Warming
Global Cooling
The Communists
Lawrence Welk
Gas prices
The early bird special
My current un-diet
My annual physical
The future
Death

And that was just one dream.

I was dreaming like an goddamn old person.

Where were all the hot Chippendale guys? A shirtless Kenny Chesney?? Where was the sweet little island home? Where the hell was the shoe store with every shoe I wanted in my perfect size? Where were the jeans molded to my perfect ass? That is what I use to dream about.

What in the bloody hell happened to my dreams?

So I’m totally bummed, and decide to shake it off, get tipsy and then, it happened. This came in the mail.

What. The. Motherfucking. Hell.

I can’t believe this.

Me.

In the A.A.R.P?

Do these people know I’m not turning 50 for 6 goddamn years? In the year 2017?

Communist bastards.

This has to be a goddamn satanic cult.

A.A.R.P.? I have an A.A.R.P. card?

They call it the A.A.R.P. because that’s the sound you make when you first open the envelope it comes in.

“AARP!!!!”

Why do I need to join the goddamn A.A.R.P.?

I’m already in the Beer of the Month Club.

This really really irks me. It really really does.

It’s bad enough that I sound like the goddamn “Tin Man” every time I get up from my couch now they want me to have an old person ID card?

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

So I go to their website to write them a scathing fuck you letter

Um…Wait a minute...

Maybe this isn’t so bad.

OOph look! I can get discounts to Disneyland and Sea World and Hertz and Hampton Inns. (I think there’s a law that says old people have to stay at a Hampton Inn or Motel 6)

I can get 50% off a “scientific” BBQ Thermometer that let’s me monitor my food from a 100 feet away.

They obviously these dickheads don’t know me that well. I’m never a 100 feet away from my goddamn food.

I can get 35% off a GPS device if I’m in the AARP.

How come all old people aren’t buying these kick ass things? Maybe then we wouldn’t be reading about these old people wandering the fuck off all the time. They should automatically send a GPS with the goddamn card. ..I'm just sayin'.

I spent an hour on the website. I can get discounts on everything!!! Then it hit me.

AARP is like a motherfucking COSTCO for old people! And it’s all online!!!

I’m starting to think this isn’t such a bad idea.

I start to picture myself coming up to a line of elderly people standing in line waiting for government cheese when I whip out and flash my A.A.R.P. card. “Stand aside assclowns! The Dutchess is here! I’m in the A.A.fuckingR.P.”

I can use this sweet gem of a card for everything! I’ll get it laminated and put it in it’s own little separate wallet spot and keep it in my purse next to that stupid plastic squeezy thing old people keep their change in.

Then I’ll whip it out like I’m a Ninja FBI agent.

“Dutchess of Dorkville, A.A.R.P.”

I’ll be almost like a secret agent for the old and decrepit.

Fuck, I could be an old person’s super hero!

A.A.R.P. Woman!!! Swooping down with long term health insurance and soft food.

I need a cape. SHYEAAAH!

And a walker that shoots Viagra, Celebrex, Bengay, Rolaids and Boniva.

Oh hell yes! I can still be somebody!!!!

“Dutch!!!”

“DUTCHESS!!! WAKE UP!!!”

“What rhe hell do you want Duke!!!?”

“You’re thrashing around in your sleep and yelling yippie-ki-yay motherfucker!!!”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“Then you need to be commited. Now where are you going?”

“To the bat cave mister!”

“What?”

“Jeeze! To the goddamn bathroom okay?”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“I can’t tell you. I can never reveal my secret identity. Then I'd have to kill you, and then who would keep me in Jimmy Choo shoes and Coach bags?”

“Jesus, why can’t you just go out and change your hair color, hire a pool boy or take up real estate like most women having a midlife crisis?"

Well, my dear Duke Numb Nuts, I just might!

Fuck you very much.

Holidaze

2010-10-18T17:37:00.000-05:00

Halloween is my favorite for a reason. Give me some spooky stories and a truckload of chocolate over Santa and his bastard reindeer, any day.

So, I am just recovering from the labor-day picnic, closing the pool, and putting the summer away and into the back of the closet, ~~with that yoga mat I'm gonna use again some day~~. I had to run to the drug store ~~for some condoms and beer~~ , to refill my prescription, and that is when I saw it. That isle.

You know the one I'm talking about, people. It's usually stocked with cheap flip-flops, sunscreen and school supplies. However, now, it's overloaded with tinsel and an animatronic snowman who grabs its belly and loudly laughs when you pass by giving you a mild fucking heart-attack in the process.

WTF people? It's OCTOBER. Stop shoving Christmas down my motherfucking throat! There's a lot of things I'd rather have in that isle; red foil wrapping paper is not one of them.

I decided to try and ignore it. Fuck it, I'm going to avoid that area of whatever store I go into. Which is decidedly difficult since I'm the queen of retail therapy and find myself cruising through stores on a regular basis.

I was doing O.K. I have been able to mentally block out the bells hanging from the rafters, the Grinch slippers, and the stupid singing snowmen. But yesterday was just too much.

I needed to go the mall. Shut up. The Duke bought a new Mustang convertible on Saturday. He called all fucking giddy and shit saying, "Dutch? I wasn't planning on it, but I just bought a new car."

The hell?

After thinking about it, I decided that I needed some new shoes to match the new car. And maybe I'll pick up a goddamn Rolex that I wasn't planning on buying.

Anyway... As it happens, my best friend was already there and we decided to meet up for some much needed girl-time. Everything was going great until we made our way to the center of the mall.

Now, I'd been able to turned a blind eye to the ornament store, and didn't acknowledge the stockings hung with care in shop windows. Then, I saw it.

There in all it's motherfucking glory was an 80 foot. 1/2 decorated, fake Christmas tree. And to top it all off, nestled under its huge boughs, was none-other than Santa fucking Claus's "workshop" being built.

I say W? T? F? and call BULLSHIT!

IT'S NOT EVEN HALLOWEEN YET!!

Isn't this against some kind of damn holiday rule?

Are we going to see the goddamn Easter Bunny traipsing around with that naked New Year's baby?

Should we give heart-shaped boxes of candy to our lovers on the goddamn fourth of July??

Preparation and early shopping is one thing, but come the fuck on! You store owner people are push the limit every year to ridiculous fucking proportions.

Do you realize that we are bastardizing turkey day? Which, in my opinion, is far superior to X-mas anyway. You don't have to do a damn thing except show up at someone's house wearing stuff your pie hole-accommodating stretchy pants.

Thanksgiving is being totally glossed over. How can we going to lose sight of celebrating the raping, pillaging and ripping-off of our native fore people?

Is it nothing more than a goddamn race to see who will get the Hershey kisses wrapped in brown foil 4 months before you sit down for Turkey Day Dinner?

Christ on a cupcake, fuckers! Stop it!!!

A Bathtub, Some Wine and a Goodbye

2010-10-17T16:45:00.002-05:00

It's time for...

What a kick ass button, huh? It was made by The Royal Formerly Known As Princess of Class, Trash, and Sass. Yes, I said formerly known as.

The crazy hooker went all rouge on us. She turned in her keys to the Kingdom, quit her other bloggy jobs, and decided to have a real life.

What a selfish bitch. She got us hooked on her fuck yous, hookerfaces, whores, blog stalks, and stilettos, and then? She quit us like a bad fucking habit.

Oh stop all of your wailing and teeth gnashing, assclowns. Just calm the fuck down. The rest of the Royals are still here, and we are now taking applications for a new Princess.

CB, no one will ever fill your stilettos, and we will miss you. The blogosphere we be a little less bitchy, a little less crazy, and a little less funny. Even though you are a five foot nothing, there will always be a huge gaping hole where you once stood. I heart your face, Niece Skankypants.

Remember, you can always come home again. Just click your heels, down few shots of gin and a handful of Xanax, and there we will be.

Great, now my fucking bath is full of tears...wait a minute...saltwater makes things float....check out my boobies! Those girls look downright perky.

The new button is for you all. We all know how much I fucking hate rules, so there are no rules for this. Just play if you want, post the button and link the fuck up. Simple, no?

BSF, Pussies and Purple Monkey Balls

2010-10-15T00:15:00.008-05:00

Purple Monkey Balls is the SLUTCODE of the day for

I've been trying to keep this from you, but, now, I must confess. I'm a cat owner. OK, make that catssss. I have 2 of them, alright? It was never my idea to have cats.

One beautiful summer day, about 13 years ago, I was in the shower. The Duke took that opportunity to drop a lost, sick, runty little kitten into my pet starved 8 year old daughter's arms. Fucker.

That little whore of a pussy got knocked up, and we ended up keeping one of her kittens. I was outnumbered in the fucking "lets keep a kitten" vote.

See, cats make little horns pop out of my fucking head. They make me do naughty things like put tape on their paws and flick drops of water their direction just to see them freak the fuck out when they get hit with what they think is evil acid mystery water.

Oh fuck you PETA! These sneaky bastards try and drink from my morning cup of Kahlua and coffee with a paw fresh from the shitbox.

I know those bitches would kill me if they could figure out how. I've seen them staring at me with that look in their eyes. You know the one. The one that says, "You're so lucky I don't have opposable thumbs, you loathsome idiotic fool, or you'd be a red stain in my litter box by now.

They also do the rudest, most horrible, disgusting, annoying, continuous shitty thing I have to deal with that I did not sign up for.

The puking. All the puking! All the GOD. DAMN. PUKING!!

What is it with puking pussies? Seriously? Have we ruined kitty's digestive tract with processed kibble in the shape of little fish that smells like fermented shit and fryer oil?

Is this revenge for depriving them of the rotting roadkill, lizard tales and long strands of dental floss they long to eat?

In the middle of the fucking night, after I've finally fallen asleep, I'm jolted awake by that unmistakable sound. The noise that only comes from the belly of the beast and the seventh realm of hell.

HORK HORK HORK HORK HORK HORK.

How in the hell can something that weighs 9 pounds make that kind of a sound?

I jump out of bed only to find the cat's head spinning completely around with puke flying across the carpet at the speed of light.

My eyes are wide as saucers, my hand clasped tightly over my threatening-to-gag mouth, and she daintily licks her lips, looks at me like, "what!?", and then sashays past me as if the fucking hurl holocaust didn't just happen in the goddamn hallway.

Did I mention? IT WAS THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT!

There are certain things I don't mind doing on my hands and knees at 3 a.m. Cleaning cat puke it not one of them.

I took the puker to the vet, only to find out they don't know why she throws up.

Why thank you Mr. High Priced Vet. Thank you for letting me enjoy my day chasing, tackling, and trying to stuff a freaked out pussy into a carrier. After taking time to stop my wounds from bleeding, I also had to listen to her pathetically wail during the 45 minute drive to your office. All so you could tell me, "Umm, I don't know why she is puking all the time."

That? was just fucking super!

Now, go give CB some love for being the Hostess of this little game.

HNT #4 EYE See You

2010-10-14T12:42:00.004-05:00

Welcome to Thursday's favorite play along...

The eyes have it... Well, that's if by "it" you mean wrinkles.

Bite me, I'm one jolly fucking bitch, and those are well earned smile lines.

Now, go give the Great Os, our host, some love.

Wicked Wednesday

2010-10-13T11:59:00.005-05:00

First, thank you all for your well wishes. I am feeling a little better, but my funny isn't. Uncooperative fuck!

However, because I know some of you are going through wicked Dutchess withdrawals, I've decided to participate in

The task was to post your favorite witch ever.

Well, my choice should be obvious. I choose Frances, Jet, Gillian and Sally. The ladies from the movie Practical Magic.

I mean, Midnight Margaritas? Fucking brilliant. You Tube is being douchey, and won't let me embed the damn thing, but there is a link when you click play. If you've never seen movie, WTF, have you been living under a rock?

No Bathtub, No Wine, and No Dutchess

2010-10-10T23:25:00.005-05:00

THANK YOU FOR MY NEW BATHTUB BUTTON CB! YOU ARE SKANKTACULAR!!!!

Unfortunately, there will be no Drunken Reflections today. I know, I know. That makes you sad, disappointed, heartbroken, and on the verge of tears.

However, after spending most of the goddamn day in the Emergency Room, it has been determined that I, your Drunken Dutchess, am sicker than a fucking cheerleader on homecoming.

One trip to the pharmacy, a couple heavy duty pain killers, and a fever that refuses to go lower than 103.4, I bypassed the wine and bathtub and headed straight for the warm pajamas, a hot toddy and bed.

I will be back with Drunken Reflections next week, and as soon as I feel less like shit someone scraped off their shoe, and more like me, I will be back to your regularly scheduled daily posts.

Now, to prevent you from having to endure one more run-on sentence, I bid you farewell. Fuck you, I'm under the influence of pain killers and massive antibiotics, asshats. Farewell sounded like a good way to end this shitty drivel.

Somebody Will Be Shanked

2010-10-09T00:30:00.002-05:00

I received an emergency shout this morning from The Queen. Bloody fucking hell.

It's my day off and, after my encounter with the man-eating-axe-murdering raccoon, I really needed my goddamn day off.

However, when one of the Royals blow the emergency whistle, we drop everything and come running. We're family, a chosen posse, per say, and THAT'S how we fucking roll. So, here I am...on my day off.

Apparently, Asshole Annie decided that the best thing to say to a fellow blogger whose 22 year marriage had been blown to hell in a million pieces, was that it was most likely Karma that got her.

She went on to play computer psychoanalyst with diarrhea of the goddamn mouth. She was spewing stupid cliches, lessons to be learned, and various other shit. Her comment to this blogger in pain was longer than most books the Duke reads.

To Asshole Annie I say, "Are you fucking dicking me? "

Unless you are paid $150.00 an hour for your assvice and guidance, shut your motherfucking pie hole.

I know you are not the brightest fucking crayon in the box, but unless you were raised by a pack of fucking dogs, you should have at least a smidgen of empathy.

At the very least, you should have been able to tell (from the author's post), that she was in pain and heartbroken. She was walking through her own personal hell and common fucking sense SHOULD have been your cue to either wish her well or just fucking move along, keeping your criticism and assvice to yourself.

As if that wasn't enough, you then hid your profile. Hmmm, you can dish it out, but can't take it, huh?

Silly bitch, you can run from the Royals, but you can't hide. You did, however, fuck up my day off. For that alone? You just earned an automatic nomination to the Dumb Bitch Hall of Fame! For the rest of your bullshit? You just earned a Royal Blog Ass Whipping.

There will be shanking.

See you all on Sunday.

BSF and A Raccoon

2010-10-08T01:03:00.000-05:00

It's time for Blog Stalk Friday.

Today's fuck you is to the giant man eating raccoon that has moved into the woods near the side of the castle. It is also for the scary movies that cause this Drunken Dutchess to freak the fuck out.

It was The Duke's turn to pick a movie. He chose to watch "The Road". I loved the book, so I agreed.

Big fucking mistake.

It wasn't "Saw" scary, it was creep me out and make me fucking jumpy scary.

After the movie, the Duke went to bed and I decided to stay up and catch up on some shit I had recorded on the DVR.

Our Family Room is at the back of the castle. It has french doors that open up to the back deck, pool, hot tub, and past that, the back yard. The castle borders State Prairie land along the back and one side. That makes the back deck, completely private, so I don't have curtains or shades on the doors in the Family room. We do have outside motion detection lights.

You see where this is going, don't you?

I was drinking a corona, watching a little TV, enjoying a midnight toke or two, and in general, minding my own damn business. That's when it happened...

I ran to the kitchen to grab a new pack of cigarettes and was just walking back into the family room when the motion detector got set off. Now, normally, I wouldn't even think twice. We have had deer, skunk, raccoon, an occasional fox, and I've even seen a wolf, mosey through the backyard because of the dense wooded land surrounding it.

However, because of the fucking movie, ~~and the paranoia inducing pot I was smoking~~ my brain immediately thought, "OH MY FUCKING HELL A SERIAL KILLING AXE MURDERER IS ON MY DECK RIGHT OUTSIDE THE DOOR!!!!"

So I freeze. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do when confronted with a wild animal or serial killer.

But then I realized that I was just a stationary fucking target. Then I thought of that episode of Swamp People where if you run in a zig zag pattern an alligator is not supposed to be able to catch you. I figured alligator....serial killer... fuck it, close enough! I was about to zig when it dawned on me that there was not enough room to zag.

By this point my heart is beating through my chest. I am going to die….. Oh fuck!!!

Then my ninja survival skillz kicked in and I started to bob and weave. So I’m bobbing and weaving, weaving and bobbing trying to make myself as small as possible
when I actually see something moving on the goddamn deck!!!

STOP DROP AND ROLL DUTCH! STOP DROP AND ROLL!

That’s what my brain was telling me.

I dropped.

It wasn’t a clean drop.

And I forgot to motherfucking roll.

It was more like Tiiiiimmmmmbbbbbberrrrrr!!!!!

So I’m on the ground and because I'm scared fucking shitless, I’m too afraid to get up and look at what is on the deck.

I start to belly crawl out of the room like I’m a goddamn Navy SEAL. I’m trying to blend into my surroundings. Become invisible. I am the night. For a brief moment I became fucking Rambo.

A very brief moment.

Then the Duke came around the corner.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Ummm I don't know!?”

“Get up off the damn floor and give me a good, I repeat, good explanation for why in the hell you are making enough fucking noise to wake the dead and crawling on your belly....HOLY SHIT! There is a huge raccoon in the deck!"

I'm all, "Motion light, serial killer, axe, and...what the hell did you just say?"

"A raccoon just ran off the deck... Wait a minute. You thought the raccoon was a serial killer and then thought that crawling on your belly would stop him from killing you? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!"

Fuck you, fuck your movie, and fuck you Mr. Raccoon.
_____________________________________________________________
Our Skanktacular host is looking for a few ideas for the BSF, so click the button and give her some love.

HNT #3 - She's Got Legs

2010-10-07T08:44:00.005-05:00

The Duke declares this, "A sexy pair of stockings and great fucking legs."

For more Half-Nekkid-ness, click the blue button, and don't forget to give the host, a little love too. Thanks Os!

A Boil On The Ass Of Technologly

2010-10-05T22:59:00.002-05:00

Over at the NEW ROYAL FAMILY BLOG there was a question about the root of all evil.

F.a.c.e.b.o.o.k.

That word alone sends me rocking back and forth in a fetal position on the goddamn floor. I also am missing some hair from pulling it out in wasted moments of f.a.c.e.b.o.o.k. frustration.

I remember when new technology was fun. I remember when I thought I had excellent problem solving skills. A blog? Yes! sign me up. Flicker, add on codes, myspace, and games? Woohooo!!! Bring 'em on! I get off on finding new sights and figuring shit out. Until f.a.c.e.b.o.o.k. came along, and turned me into my damn mother.

Apparently, everyone has a FB account and raves about the demon seed. The Queen ~~forced~~ finally talked me into getting my ass on the social networking train, and this is what happened.

I logged on and set up an account. I started adding friends, looking for long lost Johns, adding farmville, liking pages and posts, and thinking, well fuck, this isn't so bad.

Then the shit hit the goddamn fan. I started getting messages, bulletins, invitations and people trying to poke me. Things started dinging, pinging and ringing. I was given flair, surveys were popping up, questions were being asked, fake virtual drinks were being passed and IM's started popping up here, there and everywhere.

All. At. The. Same. Motherfucking. Time.

Pretty soon my head was buzzing, my blood pressure was through the goddamn roof and I was sending sunsets, flair and drinks without knowing exactly how the hell it was happening.

I started getting paranoid that some random axe murder would find me and poke my ass. And? What the fuck was flair anyway and why the fuck do I need or want it?

I sat there in a daze with my fucking eyes glazing over. As I neared an epileptic fit, I wondered what had happened to the mad multi-tasking skillz I was so proud of.

The pings, dings, and other bullshit just kept coming. Pretty soon I was crying, swilling gallons of tequila and pulling my goddamn hair out just trying to keep up.

After the 2nd bottle of Patron, I knew it was time log out. If not, I would drink myself into oblivion and quite possibly end up in desperate need of a fucking wig.

That fucking evil social network bastard gave me nightmares and caused me to suffer from post traumatic stress syndrome.

To this day, I need to take handful of Xanax and do a shit load of shooters before even talking about that boil on the ass of technology that is f.a.c.e.b.o.o.k.

That said, if you fuckers need me, leave a comment here, leave me a question over at out new collaborative Royal Family Blog, Dorks, Divas and Darlings, e-mail me, send a fucking carrier pigeon, or motherfucking smoke signals. Just don't look for me to be back on that goddamn fa.c.e.b.o.o.k.

I'm getting too old for this new technology shit.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go meet the Duke for the 4:00 early bird dinner special, buy some granny panties and then yell at some kids to get off my goddamn grass.

Commie Bastards And Halloween

2010-10-04T17:43:00.005-05:00

It’s October, and that means Halloween is just around the corner.

Naturally, my son's school came out with a list of the “best” treats and “worst” treats for Halloween.

Here’s a partial list of their “best” treats:

“Pretzels, crackers, and popcorn. If you get whole-grain versions of crackers and pretzels, you can add some much needed fiber to the season’s high-chocolate diet.”

Yeah, right. That’s just what we need. A bunch of little crotch parasites running around with too much fiber in their diet from all the whole grains they’re scarfing down. There will be legions of little farters roaming our neighborhoods.

Well, that's just fucking beautiful.

“Pumpkin seeds, almonds, peanuts, and trail mix”.

Peanuts? Aren’t they constantly warning us about peanut allergies and now we’re supposed to hand this shit out?

Trail mix? Are you shitting me? Trail mix? Where are these kids Trick or Treating? The fucking old west?

“Juice boxes. (just check the label to make sure it’s juice & not colored sugar water!).”

What the hell is wrong with colored sugar water? I grew up on motherfucking Kool-Aid and Tang, and I turned out okay. Maybe if more kids had good old Kool-Aid they’d be able to stay awake in their goddamn math class.

Here’s their “worst” list of treats.

“Gummy bears, jelly beans, caramels, fruit leather, gum, and other sticky treats. Full-sized chocolate bars. Cookies and snack cakes. Stay away from the following snacks voted worst vending machine snacks for kids by the Center for Science in the Public Interest: Chips Ahoy!, Oreos, Hostess HOHOs & other snack cakes, Keebler Club & Cheddar Sandwich Crackers, & Starburst Fruit Chews.”

Um… Back the fucking pimpmobile up.

Who in the hell gives out Keebler Cheddar Sandwich Crackers for Halloween? If I’m Trick or Treating that’s a house that is getting toilet papered.

And who are these fucking communists at the “Center for Science in the Public Interest”? That’s right communists. Anyone who doesn’t like a fucking Hostess HOHO has to be a goddamn commie bastard.

Gummy bears? Come on! What are old people and babies supposed to eat?

And Chips Ahoy? How can you knock a food that’s basically saying hello every time you look at the bag. That’s not a bad treat. That’s a motherfucking happy treat. That’s a treat that welcomes you home, goddamn it.

They’re bashing Starburst fruit chews too? What the fuck? It says fruit right on them. We’re supposed to have five servings a day of that shit, right?

I say fuck these commie assholes. Don’t listen to these people that want to ruin Halloween.

Load up your kids with their trick or treat candy and chocolate. Thousands of fucking dentists are depending on us. Just make sure to check out their bags first and snag a few of the good treats for yourself.

You know… Like the Keebler Cheddar Sandwich Crackers….

A Bathtub, A New Blog and A Box of Wine

2010-10-03T15:31:00.004-05:00

Alright everyone, listen up because I am only going to explain this shit once. The Royal Family has a NEW BLOG. It is a collaboration, and we are counting on all of you, yes you assclown, to make this work. You ask questions, we answer you back in the comment section. Easy, no?

Anyway, back to the reason you have all gathered here.

I have not been able to get the play along button thing together because I am seriously blog stupid. The Princess of Class, Trash and Sass made me a kick ass button, but I have no fucking idea where I saved it AND I have no idea how to put the code box underneath so you all can take the button and play. That means you are off the goddamn hook one more week.

Farm Aid concert was great, until the fucker 2 seats down puked his stupid drunk guts out. That is a story for another time.

I'm fucking exhausted and coming down with something. I'm achy, have chills, a sore throat, and my nose is snotty. Therefore, you poor fucks get a bunch of random shit I wonder about. Enjoy.

Why does Jello have a smell when you add the powder in the water, but when it "gels" the smell is gone?

Why do doctors leave the room when you change? They're going to see you naked any damn way.

If a lesbian has sex with other women but never with another man is she still considered a virgin?

Why is the Lone Ranger called 'Lone' if he always has his Indian friend Tonto with him?

When Atheists go to court, do they have to swear on the bible?

If a nursing mother had her nipples pierced would the milk come out of all three holes?

If a stripper gets breast implants can she write it off on her taxes as a business expense?

If parents say, "Never take candy from strangers" then why do we celebrate Halloween?

How come lemon dish washing liquid contains real lemons, but lemon juice contains artificial flavorings?

How come a cat's ass go up when you pet them?

At what point in man's evolution did he start wiping his ass?

Why is it that no matter what color bubble bath you use the bubbles are always white?

Can you still say "Put it where the sun don't shine " on a nude beach?

If you put a chameleon in a room full of mirrors, what color would it turn?

Is "vice-versa" to a dyslexic just fucking redundant?

That's it, that is all I have for today. Happy Drunken Sunday assclowns, and DO NOT forget to visit the NEW BLOG.

BSF, Ms. Ray, and The Weather.

2010-09-30T22:56:00.008-05:00

Well, it's finally Friday and you know that means it is time for

Go read the rules of you intend to play. The Princess of Class, Trash and Sass AKA Crazy Brunette, will fuck you up if you don't.

So, I've been watching late night TV and infomercials again. What?!! My ShamWOW comes in handy after I've worked out on my Total Gym. And, if I spill the fresh glass of juice I just made in the Jack LaLane Juicer? ShamWOW saves the shitty day.

Now, shut your motherfucking pie hole or I will string you up with my Perfect Pilate's Doorway Studio, put your body in my Space bag, and bury you in the back yard under a plethora of fucking Aqua Globes. Ahem...

Anyway, back to late night shiTV. What the fuck is the point of abbreviating something if each and every time you use the thing, you explain what it's short for? You're just making the motherfucking sentence longer and you're ANNOYING THE SHIT OUT OF ME. Stick that in your EVOO (extra virgin olive oil) and suck it! I'm talking to you Rachel Ray...Fuck you.

Fuck you idiots and your assinine lawsuits
Whaaaaaa... I ate a hamburger and now I'm fat. How was I supposed to know? Whaaaaaa... I didn't realize that I fucking suck at sports and now I'm suing because I got hit by a line drive, didn't win the MVP, or was cut from my high school team. Boo fucking hooo.... I am so fucking incompetent that when my website got dropped from Google for screwing with their system I decided to sue them....

Fucking morons, they sue for the most ridiculous of reasons. I'm just waiting for someone to take a shit and sue a goddamn broccoli farmer somewhere because it smells unpleasant thus causing "severe emotional and psychological distress."

Fuck you Tupperware Lids
My Tupperware lids like to disappear as much as my socks do. It’s just really damn obnoxious and I don’t care to waste time hunting for missing lids. End of story.

Fuck You Mother Nature
All day concert tomorrow, and I am going to freeze my goddamn nipples off. You can not look hot in a motherfucking parka, and if I wore one, where would I hang my nipple tassels that I am going to hypnotize Kenny with?

Sorry I'm late with my fuck you, but, better late than never. See you Sunday, or not. I just may be on the road with Kenny....or an ugly roadie, whatever.

And, I do not have a button for Bathtub Reflections yet, so you fuckers are off the hook for Sunday.

HNT #2

2010-09-30T00:00:00.001-05:00

Ok kids, it is time to play with Osbasso and company.

However, this week, there is also something very special to participate in that kind of goes hand in hand with HNT. The ninth annual

It's a fundraiser for Breast Cancer research. In the past 8 years they have raised over $64,000. Go check it out RIGHT HERE .

Since I am all about helping to rid the human race of this awful disease, I am submitting this picture of my ladies. Good posture and a great bra can make even my old saggy boobies look outfuckingstanding!

Happy HNT everyone!

Let's Get Naughty

2010-09-29T14:32:00.004-05:00

I figure if it is good enough for the Queen, blah blah blah you know the rest. So today, I'm joining the Naughty List.

There are rules to this shit, but we all know I don't do rules, so click on the button and check them out.
Now, on with the show.

Here are the 5 Naughty Questions:

1. When did you first realize you had a naughty streak?
I was born naughty for shit sake, but I guess I realized it at age 5. The first day of kindergarten a boy in my class asked me to be his girlfriend. He said he would bring me a candy necklace if I said yes. Of course I said yes. At nap time we put our mats next to each other. No, you fucking pervs, nothing happened, I was 5 years old!

On the walk home, (yes, we actually walked to and from school without our parents, back in the day), a blond boy...a first grade blond boy, said I was pretty and funny and then he kissed my cheek and asked me to be his girlfriend. He was fucking blond, you know I said yes. The next day boy 1 brought my candy necklace. I took it and then broke up with him. Yep, naughty.

2. Have you ever stolen anything? What? why?
Yes. I broke into my little sister's piggy bank and took twenty buck from her. I just HAD to buy the super neat hot pink rollers for my roller skates before anyone else.

Look, the roller rink was the Facebook of it's time bitches. Your super cool skates (not in-line) told your status, you went to the DJ and dedicated songs that clarified what you liked, you hung out with your besties in the snack bar, and skated to a slow song with the one you were in a relationship with. Now that? Was a social network, assclowns.

3. Have you ever cheated at anything?
In the interest of time and carpel tunnel, I will list the top 3. I cheat at games, my taxes, (up yours IRS assholes!), and on my 1st husband. Fuck you, he was my learner husband; kind of like training wheels for a bike.

4. Your most used position for sex?
After 10 years of marriage, position doesn't matter. On the rare occasion there is not a daughter, grandson, or the Spawn of Satan with his posse of smelly, pimply teenage boys around, the Duke and I throw our clothes off with wild abandon and have hot monkey sex anywhere, and anyway we can. It's the best 6 and a half minutes of my fucking week.

5. One place or thing that's in your fantasies but rarely or never in your sex life.
If you read me, you know it is Kenny Mcimafuckinghotie Chesney.

Ok now, play if you want, hook up to the link if you do, and don't forget about

Football and Kenny

2010-09-28T17:00:00.000-05:00

I know I have been kind of scarce around here the past few days. I am blaming it on football and Kenny Chesney.

I love football. I always have. I can talk football with the best of them. As a little girl, I was a Chicago Bear fan. No brainer there. I was born and lived in Illinois and if you pronounce it IlliNOISE, I will fucking cut you. My whole family are Chicago fans. You could say I cut my proverbial teeth on Bears football. I also perfected the art of drinking a cold Old Style beer, but that is another fucking story.

When I moved to Texas, as a teenager, I was converted into a Cowboy fan and started drinking Lone Star Beer. Shut-UP assclowns! If you live in Texas, you are required, by law, to drink the shitty beer and be a goddamn Cowboy fan.

Texans are fucking crazy, y'all. They take their football, beef and secession from the United States seriously. You can only live there if you play by their rules. If not, they will slap a lame fucking hat on your head, stick your stupid ass on a bull named The Grim Goddamn Reaper, and call you the star attraction at the fucking Saturday Night Rodeo.

In my twenties, I saw him, and it was all over...

I know, right!!! I have been a Bronco's fan ever since. I've always been a sucker for a blond with a nice ass. I thought about moving to Denver and allowing Mr. Elway to ~~whatever the motherfucking hell he wanted with me~~ marry me. However, Duke fucked that one up. He met me, kept me drunk and well fed for a year. Then he whisked me away in a drunken, pill popped haze, to Vegas one day.

All I remember is copious amounts of booze, lots of bells, pretty sparkly lights, someone (who may or may not have been me) screaming "Let It Ride, Bitch!" at least a hundred times, and Elvis in a cheap wig asking me to promise that I would never step on the Duke's blue suede shoes, never have a suspicious mind, and to love him tender for always.

Next thing I know, I'm married and on a plane back to Chicago in the middle of motherfucking winter. I haven't been sober since.

The Duke is a Bear fan. It's in his family bylaws. Dukes Mom is a Butkus, which is pronounced buttkiss for all of you non-football fans. All these years later, and that STILL fucking cracks me up every. single. time I say it. Her 3rd cousin is Dick Butkus, hence the mandatory family bylaw about being a Bear fan.

Anyway...

Duke has season tickets for the Bears. Even though I love football, you will not find my royal ass at Soldier Field when it is cold. I don't care if Jimmy Choo has a goddamn 75% off sale set up there just for me, I am not going when it is cold.

Soldier Field sits right on the banks of icy Lake Michigan in the Windy City. When it's cold, it is also damp, and usually, windy. That kind of cold sinks right into your fucking bones, and turns your lips a butt ugly shade of blue, no matter how many goddamn beers you drink. This means that there is about one fucking game a year I will attend in person.

Last night was the game for this year. It takes days to prepare for this game because the Duke is the Master of Tailgating in the stadium parking lot. We must be there eleven-ty hours early, to drink, eat, drink, eat again, and finally go to our seats and drink some more. The age old rival that is Chicago and Green Bay always make for a good time and a great game.

I mean, who doesn't love loud drunken assholes reminiscing about the '85 Bears? They can also do the wave and spill their fucking beer on the person in front of them while singing/slurring Bear Down Chicago Bears? They are my people.

Then, there is Kenny Chesney; the true crack of my worst addiction. The Farm Aid Concert is in Milwaukee in Saturday. It is an all day concert, and because we have front row seats, I have a lot of prep work to do. I need a full body wax, haircut, mani-pedi, lipo suction, botox, a new sexy bra, a new pair of kick ass shoes, and hypnosis classes.

Kenny will be so taken with my magnificent beauty that he will pull me on stage and ravish me right fucking there. If not, I will spend the entire concert hypnotizing his ass with special hypnosis tassels attached to my tits and then make him my sex slave. Whatever, I'm good with both.

His new album came out today too. He has been making the television rounds promoting it, and I must see every one. Look bitches, with 900 satellite channels, and my usual drunken-xanaxed state of being, it's a lot of fucking work keeping track of what channel Kenny will be on next. I'm fucking exhausted.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go to Best Buy before my hypnosis class. The cheap ass "CD World" store didn't have the limited, deluxe, edition of Kenny's Hemingway's Whiskey.

Security and a Bathtub With Wine

2010-09-26T23:21:00.004-05:00

First of all, congrats to the new Royal Security Detail . You are now one of the few, the proud, the keepers of the drunken castle. Good on ya.

Second, one of our Security Team is writing a diary on her Royal Experience. Do not miss this, go HERE NOW for a peek into our world as Donda sees it.

Finally, let's move along to what you've come here for...

"I'm fucking tired. I wonder what this family would do if I just stayed in here...forever. Would they worry? Knock on the door? Call out my name, beg me to come out because they can not imagine life without their beloved family matriarch? HA! I've had way too much wine and must be fucking delusional."

Maybe for the next few days I will only shout "Let them eat cupcakes!" no matter what is said to me. Unless it's the Duke, to whom I am only going to say, "Eat Me!...Mmm cupcakes. I love cupcakes. May as well Spackle a giant cupcake to my goddamn ass because that's where it will eventually end up." Speaking of cake...Why is vanilla ice cream white, but a vanilla beans and vanilla extract are brown?"

What the fuck is wrong with my sister in-law? She is always saying "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart." All I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart."

While driving yesterday there was an asshole in a BMW swerving, honking, riding my ass and the car next to me on the highway. I fucking hate dicksticks like that. But, I loved the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars and I teamed up to prevent the dickstick from cutting in at the front. I was fist pumping the air yelling "Stay strong, brothers!" Then, a block from home I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it... thanks Mario Kart....assholes.

I hate to miss a call by the last ring. I'm all, "Hello? Hello? Dammit!", but when I immediately call back, why the fuck does it ring nine times and then go to voicemail? After I didn't answer did they drop the goddamn phone and run away?

It's been chilly here. I fucking hate being cold, and hate the thought of winter being so damn close so I decided to protest winter, I haven't shaved my legs in a couple weeks. Oh fuck you, and shut up the hell up. I've been married over 10 years, and a blow job or a 4 minute fuck doesn't require smooth legs.

However, I want a little sumpin' sumpin' from the Duke later, so I shaved my legs. Holy fuck y'all. I went through two damn blades and my tub now looks like someone sheared a fucking Yeti in here.

On that note, it's time to wrap this up.

But before I go, I want to tell you that I'm getting pretty fucking lonely in this tub. Next week, I am making this a Drunken Bathtub Orgy. That's right fuckers, I am going to pay someone to make a drunken reflection clicky button, and then I'm putting a Mr. linky thing up. You all had better play along.

You come here and ogle my drunken reflections every motherfucking week. Now it's time to grab some booze, drop your drawers and get in the fucking bathtub. C'mon, show the Dutchess what you got. Next Sunday....be here or ~~I will hunt your motherfucking ass down~~ be square.

BSF ~ In Da Hood, Yo!

2010-09-24T02:17:00.000-05:00

Ok hookers, it's time for Blog Stalk Friday. Go check out CB and the rules of BSF, then play and link up.

HOWEVER>>> IF YOU ARE A FUCKSTICK, DO NOT LINK UP

With housing prices at an all time low, there has been many neighbors come and go in the past year. If you have been reading me, you already know about the house across the street. That is where the Missionary family lives and prays for my eternal soul on a daily basis. Poor fools.

In the next house over, the Rednecks reside. The house on the corner is where you can find the Gangsta Thugs and, a migrating tribe of illegal immigrants calls the third house from the left their casa.

Some days, I sit outside with a beer and a smile just to watch the unbelievable shit that happens.

With the turnover in neighbors, people have stolen my damn welcome mat, a small, portable barbecue grill, flowers from my flower garden and an ugly little garden gnome.

The gnome was just a test subject to see how far a thief would go. It worked out for him, though. Now that little gnome bastard is doing commercials and traveling the goddamn world. He never writes though, the ungrateful little fuck.

A new family moved in right next door. The Neighborhood Welcoming Committees were out, as expected, to watch and welcome the newcomers to our little hood family.

I took my Corona to the porch and sat down to check things out. I was merely curious as to whether I was going to have clowns to the left of me as I already have Jokers to the right. (HA!)

They had one child who appeared to be about seven or eight. Well fuck, I do not need another snot nosed kid knocking at my door at asscrack:30 asking if I want to buy fucking girl scout cookies, wrapping paper, fake Rolex's, and other wares.

I turned my attention to the goings-on of the Committees who were judging the new peeps. It went like this:

Rednecks walked over first. They were just looking for a Jimmy Johnson logo so they could have a right-quick beat down in the driveway.

I would love to see this. It would be a tangle of "sumbitchs, "gawdamm asshowulls," mullets and homemade tattoos. I'm sure the men would just stand back, watch and smoke.

They will also listen for tidbits of conversation from new people and then expand on that shit until the rumor is flying that the new neighbors are fucking goats and having blood orgies.

The Gangsta Thugs just hang around wanting to see if they have any good shit to steal. They also want to see what they drive. If it's more fly than their '97 Impala, they will not hesitate to sell a fucking child or pimp their hos so they can buy more bling and bigger rims just to show you who's the better Pimp.

The Husband of the people moving next door went to his normal, non blinged truck and pulled out a large, slobbering Pit Bull. He moved slowly toward the house, trying to control the beast. The Gangsta Committee adjourned in a goddamned hurry.

The Fiesta Family came next. At any given time, you can hear the chatter of illegal aliens. They are migratory farm workers and will change out families every three months. They have the one of the larger houses on the fucking block and are content just to stand in the driveway and watch you move in. If you are female and alone, lawd help you.

They have their own special alerts for getting the attention of the rest of the males in the family. One minute there will be one harmless looking Hispanic dude standing there in a wife-beater, rubbing his goatee and estimating how many bambinos you can squeeze through your hips.

The next thing you know, it's like something straight out motherfucking La Bamba. They magically appear from out of nowhere. I think there are a LOT of tired pussies in that house.

Once they realized that the woman next door is married, they vanished. Only the posse of dirty, disheveled children remained.

Since then, I have become more and more convinced that the new people are hiding another child over there. There is always loud running, thumping, screaming, and crying, coming from their side of the fence. I thought there was no way a child that age could act so fucking spastic.

I seriously debated calling the police once, because I thought they were beating a toddler one morning. This kid screamed, and I do mean screamed like he was being fucking killed, for an hour.

I would hear him/her screaming and then hear various thumps and then silence. It would be quiet for two to three minutes and then the running and screaming would begin again.

I thought one of two things was happening: someone was beating the poor kid to death or the pit bull had fucking gone rabid, eaten the godamn parents and was now going for the baby. I drank a bottle of good wine, put on my big girl panties and went next door.

I found out that there is only one kid, and he is not being abused. He is simply possessed by every motherfucking demon in the 7th Circle of Hell.

His idiot parents are a couple of pussies who don't believe in the age old tradition of "exorcising" the demons by beating the shit out of the little asshole. Apparently, this is his "normal" temper tantrum.

So I say a big fuck you to the new neighbors. You are raising just what this goddamn world needs, another self centered, self entitled, spoiled rotten, I want my own way, useless waste of space asshole. Congratulations.

I think it's tome to get drunk and give my foam air assault riffle a little work out.

Have a good weekend, and I'll see you fuckers on Sunday for my weekly Drunken Reflections From A Bathtub.

History, HNT and Osbasso

2010-09-23T01:14:00.001-05:00

I've decided this post will be a bit serious and then a bit sexy, but probably not the funny you have come to expect here. Don't worry hookers, the funny will be back tomorrow.

Now, it's time for a brief lesson on Dutchess History. Some of you know this is a fairly new blog, and it is.

Most of you don't know that I'm an old timer in the blogging world. I had a blog from early 2005 until 2008. I then took a year plus hiatus due to illness, family, stress and burnout.

It's hard to be 100% you when your family, co-workers and 3D life friends find and read your personal blog. Not that I have anything to hide, it's just that when I would post HNT, or bitch about work, or tell a hilarious anecdote about home, family and etc..., someone was bound to take things out of context, get hurt, upset or offended.

When that happened, I found myself becoming inhibited, censored, and trapped in a place that use to make make happy, but had become a place where I no longer wrote with abandon, but instead, worried about everyone else. It was fucking exhausting!

I keep my old blog up, and sporadically post every few months. I have kept in touch with a few really great blog friends, and try to keep up with the old bloggers that are still blogging around.

One bloggy friend, however, never stopped asking me to come back to blogland. I went back and forth debating if I wanted to blog again.

Then I ~~was kidnapped, drugged, threatened and forced by a Queen to take my place in the Royal Family and get back to work~~ decided to come back.

However, I missed the freedom of the anonymity of early blogging. I missed writing without pause and having a place to be just me.

So, I went for a new name, and new digs, and voila, here I am. (you lucky bastards).

I use to LOVE playing Half-Nekkid Thursday, and after visiting Gucci Mama and seeing that Os is still doing the amazing HNT, I decided that I'm jumping back on that wagon.

Behold! The Dutchess' first (kind of)

Meet the ladies...All mine, all original!

Now, click that little blue button up there and go give Os some sugar.

Do You Do Wicked?

2010-09-22T14:32:00.000-05:00

Ok gang, our very own Royal, Princess of Sass, Class and Trash has been busy as ever. (read: cheating on you with another blog). Her and her new cohorts have developed a new site called...

In all of their bad girl goodness, they have come up with something new for Hump Day that will no doubt be chock full of naughty, guilty pleasures.

That said, I think you all need a shake-up, your damn cages rattled a little, someone to up the wicked ante of this new endeavor.

Y'all I'm just the Wicked Dutchess to do it.

Let's get started with the definition of the word...

wick·ed

adj. wick·ed·er, wick·ed·est

1.Evil by nature and in practice: “this wicked man Hitler, the repository and embodiment of many forms of soul-destroying hatred” (Winston S. Churchill).
2.Playfully malicious or mischievous: a wicked prank; a critic's wicked wit.
3.Severe and distressing: a wicked cough; a wicked gash; wicked driving conditions.
4.Highly offensive; obnoxious: a wicked stench.
5.Slang. Strikingly good, effective, or skillful: a wicked curve ball; a wicked imitation.

adv. Slang
Used as an intensive: “a... body suit, which she describes as wicked comfortable” (Nathan Cobb).

Wicked is a fun word to say, go on, say it, see? I love it in all it's forms and when you see the definitions it's obvious that it's the fuck of non four letter words, a wicked fucking versatile word covering everything from evil, severe and distressing, highly offensive to playfully malicious and mischievous. Noun, adverb, adjective. Fuck me wicked, wicked fuck me, you're an evil wicked fuck, an evil wicked fucker, wicked bastard, bitch.

Let's get down to the nitty gritty. I find playfully malicious the most intriguing of the above definitions. There is a certain look for playfully malicious and body language is no small part of the overall effect.

It's like giving you a look while I hold a leather paddle swatting it against first, my ass, then yours. A look that gives you pause as to just how fucking wicked I am.

If I put the paddle in the palm of your hand and you close your fingers around it, do you think I would give you the satisfaction of seeing me flinch or grimace?

Would my look be playful or petulant? What's my body language when I take your palm to my lips? Would my wicked tongue lick your lips, would you lick mine?

Do I turn and sashay, do I flounce? Would I look over my shoulder, do I beckon or entice?

Would I startle, surprise, shock you or rock you with my fucking wickedness? Would I rock and shock myself? Would I embrace your form of wickedness?

Are scratch, mark and bite in your toybox? Tell me about it.

Get over to Bag Girl Bloggers .

Let's play wicked, wickeder, wickedest, winner take all. Just be sure and leave cute at home and give nice the fucking day off.

Wednesday just got wicked fucking hot.

Best! Present! Evah! and Carol Brady

2010-09-21T01:32:00.001-05:00

First, I want to say a great big thank you to Dame Penis and Sir. They invented THIS KICK ASS BEST PRESENT EVER

I know, you're jealous, right?!!! Sir has some bad ass skills. He must be related to MacGyver, or maybe the inventor of the Shamwow.

Hey! I wonder what he could come up with if I gave him a gum wrapper, a creepy garden gnome, a foot of purple yarn, and some nipple tassels.

Anyway..

Tonight was the premiere of Dancing With The Stars. I could give a fuck, because the Saints game was on, but the Duke is head and nuts in lust with Brooke Burke.

Make no mistake, the Duke is all sports all the time, but Brooke will always beat a Saints game in his eyes. He was willing to miss the kick-off so he could sit and stare at the TV with a stupid grin on his face taking in all the Brookalicious tits and ass goodness.

Although, because I'm the one he gets actual blowjobs from, I say football trumps Brooke Burke. Fuck you, I win.

So, as the Duke and I were watching the Saints game, he would quickly flip over to DWTS during commercial breaks.

This drives me fucking crazy. He gets in his Brooke-zone and forgets to flip back.

I missed the first fucking touchdown, I have been in a bitchy mood all day, and this is just fucking annoying the piss out of me.

I looked at the Duke, rolled my eyes and said, "Go back to the fucking game assclown!"

Duke says, "It's a commercial, and the Man Code CLEARLY states that I'm allowed to do this, so I'm flipping, (you off) ahem, during commercials. Deal with it Dutch."

"The hell? Did you just say you were flipping me off?"

"No babe, nope, uh-uh, not me."

"Listen asshole..... Oh jesus christ, look at that... I HATE that douche bag, Jersey Shore, Situation guy. I could care fucking less about his abs or stinking laundry... The only "Shore" I'm interested in is The Gucci Shore

....wait....

Is that Florence Henderson?

Did she just lift up her goddamn shirt and flash us her ancient tits in some cheap, tired looking white bra? What the hell would Mike Brady think? What in the fuck is she... "

Next, I hear a strange gurgling sound coming from the direction of the Duke. I look over and his eyed are bugged out, his mouth was in a perfect O, and was opening and closing repeatedly. Kind of like a fucking guppy. I thought he swallowed the lime in the Corona and was now choking. Just fucking great.

I sprang to my feet, (yes sprang, I have mad Ninja skillz bitches), and just as I was about to give him the Heimlich Maneuver, the Duke looks at me with glazed over eyes and starts to stutter.

....That. Is. Not. My Brooke.

Old...uh... saggy skin white woman in a bra.

Why? WHY? WHHHHYYYYYYYY?!!!!

Oh my god...ABC...Assholes...

Never. Do. That. Shit. Again.

Now I'm scarred for fucking life and my goddamn eyes need retina transplants!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Serves him right. Never flip off the Dutchess because it will bring about some bad juju on your ass.

I need to take my ass minimizer for a spin around the block. See you hookers next time.

A Bathtub, Some Wine and TMI

2010-09-19T17:29:00.000-05:00

Welcome to this Sunday's edition of......

(I'm sorry Niece Skankypants. I have no fucking clue where my new bathtub button is. If you have it, please fix it for your favorite drunken Auntie.)

As we have previously established, my boobs are huge. My bras are the size of a goddamn party tent. I bought new bras the other day had to move the TV and entertainment center just to make room to for those bad boys.

When it rains, I can just whip off my bra and blanket everyone as we run for the fucking car. Hell, with a few support beams, I could probably rent my tits out when it rains during the SoS's football games for use as a lento/shelter.

Apparently, my bra also doubles as the Bermuda fucking Triangle. It collects random shit throughout the day, without me noticing. You'd be surprised (or not) as to what I find in my bra when I strip my clothes off.

There are always food crumbs. If I ate something particularly crunchy or crusty, there could be enough fucking food particles to feed a starving Ethiopian child for a day.

There is an occasional stray strand of hair, a few ashes from a cigarette, spare change, a wayward olive from my dirty martini, and hey lookie there, a fucking Cheeto.

I love my boobs when I'm in the water. Look at them girls!! They are hoovering where they are suppose to be instead of skimming my kneecaps. The are round, and buoyant. Fuck, they look good in the water.

Then, I spot my unkempt love box. I've been a little lax on landscaping lately. Now, I am not a shave it naked kind of girl. I fucking prayed and said Hail Mary's for 2 goddamn years, begging for pubic hair when I was 10. There is no fucking way I'm shaving that shit off now. However, the Duke prefers it nearly bare, so we compromise. I leave a nice landing strip, and he is happy.

Right now it looks like some damn brillo pads revolted, had a meeting near my crotch and fucking died there. While walking around naked this morning, the Duke said, "Damn Dutch, I bet we could find Amelia Earhart in there." Good one, assclown.

I often wonder what would happen if I quit drinking.

**The Duke wouldn't have to pull over every five minutes so I can pee, and then watch me come out of the Quickie Mart with useless shit like glow sticks and a twelve-dollar bottle of fucking barbecue sauce.

**I would remember where my keys and pants are Every! Single! Day!

**The Royal Family could spend the extra cash they reserve just for my bail money.

**That fucking weirdo from the liquor store would stop calling me to tell me about the new shipment of Jim Beam arriving, asking if he should hold a case for me.

**There would be no more stupid sobriety checks. FYI the Po-Po has no sense of humor when you say, "Fuck no I'm not drunk. I don't remember drinking a thing.".

**No more being afraid to answer the phone the next morning and hearing a detailed account of exactly how many people saw me run fucking naked through the neighborhood the night before, screaming, "Viva la Royal Family Bitches!"

**Never, ever having to ask, again, "What kind of respectable place pierces a goddamn body part when you're too fucking drunk to blink?"

**No more arguments about the shear fucking genius of Buck Owens.

**When I accidentally call the 12-year-old cashier at Wal-Mart a fucking dumb ass, the Duke would not be able to say, "Don't mind her. She's just hammered."

**I would have nothing in common with the homeless guy behind the fucking dumpster.

**My family would have to deal with new and exciting meals instead of my favorite go to meal, Drunken Barbecue.

**My body would probably freeze up, refusing to process things and I would be in the bathroom sobbing and screaming "Why the fuck won't it just come out? WHY?!"

Oh the horror!

Now, if you will excuse me, I need a fucking drink....make it a double.