Patriotic Vajayjay? Just, NO!

With all of this flag business going on, I figured I'd throw my opinion in the ring.

There are lots of things I love: Rum punch, Kenny Chesney, Corona with a lime, the beach, my beloved island, Irish Coffee, and, of course, shiny things!

There are many things I hate, dislike, and find repugnant, and high on that list is American flags as bathing suits.

I'm all for being patriotic.  I love this country, warts and all.  I proudly display an American flag on my porch, support our constitution, inalienable rights, and have the utmost respect for our troops. However, some things just piss me off.

Today, I had to go to the store I loathe going to.  It's always crowded, there are only 4 registers open, EVER, and people are just fucking rude there, it rhymes with Walmart.  Now, everone knows it's not my favorite place, but seriously, where else can you get 487 rolls of toilet paper, a 20 gallon jug of laundry soap, ammo for the gun and a giant jar of beef jerky, all for under 30 bucks?

As I walked in the store, I was greeted by this on a sale rack:

Here’s the thing: the American flag isn’t even supposed to touch the ground! Did you know that the people handling the flag always wear gloves? Do you want to know why?

It’s a respect thing, asshole! If people have to wear gloves to touch the flag, I am pretty fucking sure rubbing your damn pleasure taco on it is NOT OKAY!

Like I said, I am all for freedoms and thankful for those that have fought and died to protect us.  BUT, perhaps while you are recreating a Girls Gone Wild type escapade while chugging beer from a fucking funnel, how about you wear something other than our nation’s colors? A corona bikini, or maybe something sinister airbrushed on those perky little ta-tas? Whatever, just leave Old Glory on the damn flag pole!

Hey Guys?  This request is for you all too.

Please don’t wear flag swimtrunks and have your saggy ass and wobbly man bits defiling the flag, dammit!

By all means. Celebrate. Get drunk on a plane, Watch fireworks on a boat... With beer... With fireworks and fucking sparklers for all I care.

However, for the love of Mom and apple pie, do NOT prance around in an American Flag bathing ensemble. I can’t fucking take it!

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,

The One Where he Dutchess Makes A Declaration

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. 

 

Don't Duct Tape The Momma

"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.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

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.

It's Like A goddamn Parade Around Here

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.

Kill Me Now

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.

BSF Revival and A Friday Fuck You

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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Holidaze

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!!!

Commie Bastards And Halloween

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….

Chocolate and Bullshit

I have a sweet tooth, especially when I'm out of Jim Beam emotionally upset. So, my question is this.

Is it possible to consume so many Hershey Kisses that you accidentally poison yourself due to the fucked up mid-quality chocolate they are made of?

Is 483 too many?

Is it a bad sign that the Duke's head now has a little point with a goddamn paper streamer sticking out the top?

Is there a fucking cure?

Anyway...

Everyone embellishes, stretches the truth, fibs a little. It’s part of human nature. We can’t escape it. And sometimes it’s necessary. There is a time and a place for brutal truth, and appropriate reasons to blur it. However, the level of bullshit that we encounter in our daily adult lives is fucking staggering.

Even though I totally appreciate it when anyone is trying to make me feel better with well-intentioned assvice, I sincerely wish they’d save the tired fucking cliches for someone who’s less hostile.

There are some sayings that just make me want to beat the hell out of people with a flaming fucking 2 by 4. Such as...

Age doesn't matter, you can do anything you set your mind to.
One of the biggest goddamn lies ever told to anyone in the history of the motherfucking world. I mean come on. You can not!

I'm never going to be a defensive tackle for the Bears. (Damn, I love those shiny fucking pants). I can't become a trapeze artist. Besides the fact I'd have to work with fucking clowns, you know I'd fall and kill myself. And I'm sure as fuck never going to be President. The pay sucks and I already have a million fucking people who don’t like me, I don’t need whole countries trying to bomb my ass.

You have nothing to fear but fear itself.
Oh yea? Tell that to the guy with the rattlesnake happily sharing his fucking sleeping bag. What a load of shit. Thanks for trying to convince me that spiders can be useful, and I just need to face my fear. But...Fuck. You. I don't need to face anything, I don't need to get over my goddamn fear either. I need to take prescription medication and mix it with alcohol, fuckstick.

It's just going to be a little pinch.
Bull-fucking-shit! Little pinch my ass. Why don't I take that gleaming needle and plunge it into the soft part of your fucking gum and we'll see if it feels like a little pinch. Lying whore.

It's not you its me.
Ha-Ha motherfucker! It's SO you.

If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all.
What a crock of shit. Everybody wants the fucking dirt. We love gossip. The dirty fucking details and the sordid secrets. Most people lick their lips with anticipation when being let in on the juicy fucking secret. That's why I prefer "If you don't have anything nice to say, come sit by me"! Now there's a fucking cliche I can get behind.

Now, speaking of lies and dirty secrets, it's time for a couple ice cold Coronas and the season premiere of 90210...Fuck you, don't judge me.

Just A Couple Of Things

FUCK YOU BLOGGER!!! If you delete, lose, what ever the hell you are doing with my post for a third time, I will fucking drop kick your stupid ass to the curb.

Also, why do you keep deleting the goddamn comments I leave on other blogs? I KNOW the blog owners are not deleting them (but if you are..STOP IT ASSBAGS!).

Seriously, stop fucking with me blogger, it's been a long goddamn day.

Also...
Dear Dipshit in the grocery store standing in front of me in line,

If you know you are going to write a check, (because why should you step into the 21st century and have a fucking debit card) please, PLEASE have your checkbook out and pen ready BEFORE the cashier tells you the amount. Hell, why don't you live dangerously and fill it out, except for the amount, before getting out of your wussy fucking hybrid car.

Why the fuck must you wait until the cashier tells you how much you owe before you begin rummaging through that godamn hefty bag of a purse to even find your checkbook? Look bitch, if you think I enjoy your entertaining little treasure hunt? I don't whore!

Do you know that while you are pilfering through your hefty bag of a purse, STILL LOOKING FOR THE FUCKING CHECKBOOK, I am having fantasies of beating the hell out of you? Oh yes, I dream of many things while you make me wait. Like yanking that fucking huge bag away from you and shoving it right up your ass.

I also think about running into your heels with my grocery cart until they fucking bleed. I even think about waiting to clip you with my goddamn truck as I exit the parking lot and much more!

For your own safety, either get a damn debit card, or have the check made out already, m'kay?

Thanks Much, Heel Bruiser In Waiting
*******************************************

I fucking hate public bathrooms, but when the beer starts to overflow, a girl has to do what a girl has to do. That said, I have some assvice for you.

Do not, under any fucking circumstances, talk on your godamn cell phone while in a public bathroom. Besides being EEEEWWWWW and just fucking disgusting, it is confusing to those of us who may be drunk and already in the bathroom.

I was sitting on the white throne when a voice echoes off the damn stall walls, "Hi! What are you doing?"

What. The. Fuck? Did someone I know follow me in there? It's a good thing that before I could embarrass myself with an answer, you continued your stupid phone conversation.

I have two words for you..."Stop it"! They should take away your fucking cell phone privileges for that. There are places where you should never have phone conversations and a public bathroom is one of those godamn places.

********************************************

And just in case any toy packaging pricks read my bullshit,

I'm seriously worried about your mental health. You must be fucking insane to think that securing a toy in a box wrapped tighter than a fucking chastity belt on a 17th century virgin is a good idea. Why in the hell must you make everything so difficult to open?

I had the pleasure of purchasing some (twenty-fucking-four) cute little plastic football figurines for my grandson. He loves football, so I got him a whole team. I fucking rock like that.

When I got home I started to try and open them. At first, I was excited, but soon, between the squeals of excitement, came the "fuck you motherfuckers I will KILL YOU!" of frustration.

At first I laughed, thinking it was funny that a bottle of Draino, rat poison, and goddamn bleach was easier to open than these cute little toys. I had to remove tape, pry off twisty things, cut through plastic, and break apart random cardboard bits.

Eventually, I stopped laughing and fucking started crying as I broke down trying to wrestle these brand new goddamn toys free from their bondage.

Since my time and sanity are precious to me, I gave up and set them all on motherfucking fire.

Why do you feel the need to torture parents and grown-ups? Do you sit in a room and cackle at the thought of anxious adults breaking a sweat, pulling out random chunks of hair, and turning into scary fucking sociopaths while trying to extract a new toy from its package? Does it make you giddy to know that I am cursing you fucking nut jobs and plotting your eminent fucking demise?

I have a gun, and will fucking use it!

BSF, Football Moms and Dead Pants

It's time for Blog Stalk Friday.

Read CB's rules, or she will cut you.

Dear Football Moms Booster Club, Thank you ladies for working hard. Here’s my 50 dollars, now go the fuck away already.

But that’s never good enough. Oh no, once they see you have a hard time saying no they keep after you like a great big group of motherfucking stalkers.

They are everywhere. In the grocery store, at Starbucks, the bar, and even the goddamn car wash. I can’t go anywhere that I don’t run into one of them.

And if that’s not bad enough, the fuckers are huggers.

When I run into one of them somewhere it never fails that they screech my goddamn name and and then bounce over to throw their fake tan arms around me making my eyes water with their fucking Chanel No 5 perfume.

Have you ever wanted to slowly roll your car over the Football Moms Booster Club President just to make her shut her endlessly yammering goddamn mouth once and for all?

Yeah, me either, but I bet it would work.

I also had to lay my favorite pants to rest today.

These pants… They were fucking perfect and I was fucking perfect in them!

Oh, its true that on the outside they were nothing special- draw string black cotton active wear kind of pants- but it was the 5% spandex that made them motherfucking magic.

That touch of spandex that wasn’t enough to make people say ‘EW! That old woman is wearing spandex pants!” but still made them cling to my ass just a little so that I looked like I had one sweet ass.

It was the touch of spandex that made them so forgiving to my pot belly- holding it in when it needed holding, but letting it out when I sat down so that they never created that goddamn roll of fat that pushes up over the waist band of too tight pants when worn by chubby women like me.

A girl could fucking breathe in these pants and they carried me through many bouts of PMS, never faulting me for the bloating and the bitchiness. And they were black.

Both versatile and slimming!

So when they started to wear a little thin in the butt I was willing to forgive them, and when they got a little hole in the butt I shrugged and did my best to sew the bastard up.

Even when the material was so thin that trying to sew the holes did nothing more then add new goddamn holes, I still thought they were great pants and wore them around the house or to sleep in.

But its all over now- last night they came out of the dryer torn from the butt seam all the way down to the knee area.

More loin cloth than pants now.

My damn screams could be heard all over the neighborhood when I shook my fists at the sky and screamed WHY....fucking dammit all to hell... WHY!!!??

One would think Duke Asshat would have recognized my anguish and offered me comfort by way of hugs, Coronas and ice cream sprinkled with Xanax, or at least a small fucking backrub or something.

But, oh hell No.

What he did instead, when I came running from the laundry room screaming, crazy-eyed and waving my motherfucking loin cloth pants over my head, was say- Well, it's about damn time, I really hated those stupid ass pants.

I’m so getting a fucking divorce!

Internet, I Miss You

Stealing my neighbors wireless internet is sketchy and not consistant.

Time Warner cable, I fucking hate you. One of your technitions dug into the ground at the house next door and severed the mother fucking underground cable lines on Monday, asscrack of dawn.

STILL waiting for the goddamn cable company for fix thier goddamn mistake. They say sometime today, so maybe sometime this evening I will be able to type a post.

Until then, send good liquor and emergency xanax supply pronto bitches!

Cell Hell

I have a problem with my, and in general ALL cell phone providers. In all fairness, I do live right on the shore of Lake Michigan, and I get that there are no cell towers or what the fuck ever, out there, and that interupts my service.

It seems that no matter which douchey service I have had, "I just can’t hear them bastards now".

You know that fucking map they they show you about their cell phone coverage areas?

Well, I’m that one little spot on the map that has no goddamn coverage.

Only my little white spot? Seems to follow me wherever I fucking go.

Yeah… I know… I'm sure you all have a great cell provider that is all rainbows and fucking unicorns. I'm sure your customer service people are nothing short of Mother fucking Teresa. Mine? Not so much. I also think mine is connected to organized crime.

I'm pretty sure the Mafia has something to do with my current cell phone company because I have to pay 200 goddamn dollars to get out my “contract.”

I tried to switch cell phone providers again yesterday.

I got to talk to “Kimmie” at the cell phone sales booth.

Kimmie was the sales rep at this little store from hell whose sole purpose in life was to make me feel like an goddamn idiot.

I had to wait for Kimmie to stop playing “Farmville” on her “phone” before she could help me.

Oh there was another young man there; his name badge said “Vance”. Vance wasn’t allowed to talk to customers yet. He wasn’t properly trained in filling out the “contract.” So Vance just stood there waiting for Kimmie to harvest the fucking crops in her phone.

When Kimmie finished playing. the first words out of her idiot mouth were,

“What’s up?”

After rolling my eyes, I said “I’d like to switch my cell phone service.”

“Why?”

(Why? WHY?)

“My coverage sucks serious ass.”

Vance decided to chime in, “That’s great Mam, we have many different plans but you look like our basic 450 minute plan to me.”

(I look like a 450 minute plan? What the fuck does that mean? This asswipe doesn’t think I have anyone to talk to? People talk to me. There are a lot of people that want to get a hold of me dicklicker! People call me all the time! I call people all the time. People like talking to me. I could talk for well over 450 goddamn minutes.

You are a douche, pull up your motherfucking pants, go back to college and get real job. This ass probably smokes dope and sleeps on a futon with his Wii....or maybe that's me. meh)

“Just give me the 450 minutes plan. If I have to spend anymore time than is absoulutly necessary, I may have to jam this phone down your throat.”

“So have you looked at the different phones we have available?”

“I’d like a pink one.”

“That’s our WMD9800. It comes with Bluetooth, MP3, Video and Text messaging, Mobile Web 4G, e-mail, a camcorder and a 5.0 mega pixel digital camera.”

“Um...I would like a phone that makes phone calls, does it make motherfucking phone calls?”

“Um… I think so…”

“How much is the pink one?”

“$449.00 with the discount for a two year contract.”

“What. The. Hell....How fucking much?”

“That phone is $549.00”

“$549.00? I better get a free picture of Matthew McConaughey before he did that "I don't wear deoderant, and stink like a goddamn pig" shit because that? Totally ruined a fantasy of mine.

“That’s a different wireless service Mam.”

How much for a phone that’s just a simple fucking phone?”

“We don’t have any phones that are just phones.”

“Look I don’t need MP tooth or camera mail or the Avatar movie downloaded into my ficking phone. I don't need any of that fucking shit. I just want a goddamn phone that actually works.”

“Well they don’t make plain phones anymore you have to get one that has something on it.”

“That’s motherfucking ridiculous. What’s the least expensive phone you have?”

“I can probably get two cans and a real long piece of string for you Mam.”

I think these fuckers have a death wish. Hpwever, jail ruins my buzz, so I just saod "Just show me the cheapest gooddamn phone.”

"Okay Mam, here’s the BFD8190. It’s $50 but then you get to send in a rebate and you get your $50 back. So it’s like a free phone.”

“Why can’t I just get the goddamn phone for free then? That way I don't have to worry about the mail, time consumed and all of the other fucking obsracles one must hurdle to get the rebate.”

“Cause that’s not how it works Mam.”

“But that’s fucking stupid. You are selling me a phone for $50. That’s not a free phone.”

“I said it was “like” a free phone.”

“Hey numbnuts, the numbers on this phone are “like” too small; I can’t dial without hitting two numbers at the same time.”

“Well I can upgrade the phone if you sign a longer contract and then you can have this phone for $149.99”

“Is there a rebate?”

“Yes Mam”

“How much is the phone before the rebate?”

“$349.99”

“So I send in the retarded rebate form and get $200 back.”

“Yes Mam.”

“How long does it take to get my fucking rebate?”

“Six to eight weeks.”

“What if I sign up, get the phone, and find out I don’t get service in my area?”

“Have you looked at our service map? We cover almost the entire country. You can even get service in Alaska.”

“I’ll remember that if I ever want six months of motherfucking darkness. What’s this little white spot on the map here?”

“Oh that’s some chick that lives right on Lake Michigan. We’re trying to drive her insane by blocking out her signal wherever he goes.”

“Uh huh…. So if I don’t get service?”

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know you have up to fourteen days to cancel.”

“So if I cancel I get my $200 dollars back when I turn in the goddamn phone.”

“Um... no…”

“How long does it take to get my damn money back?”

“Six to eight weeks.”

“So it’s “like” I get my money back, but you guys just get to “like” use it for a while?”

“Well I guess it is kinda like that.”

“So how much are the fucking cans and the string?”

“I can give you those for free Mam.”

“Can I play Farmville on them?”

“I don’t think so Mam.”

.................................................................

“HEY!!!! CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW???”

“PULL THE STRING TIGHTER!!!!”

“CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW???”

"WHAT!?"

Oh fuck me, I need a drink and a pencil. A pencil to jam in this asshole's neck, and a drink so the fuvking booking process goes calmly

Merlot, Menopose, and A Moustache

As I sit here drinking some Merlot, eating chocolate covered almonds and picking at the goddamn hair growing out of my chin, it occurs to me that it really fucking bites that we don't get to choose our gender.

I am apparently going through some sort of fucking menopause, 'tread softly around me lest I claw your motherfucking nuts off' type physical & mental thing.

While shopping with my Mom and Aunt at this cute little boutique, I tried on a few things. Then I do what I always do, get close to the mirror. I was squinting and trying to see if the mutant fucking hair had re-appeared on my chin. It's been sprouting there for about a year now. It used to be funny when I would go cavorting through the house on all fours, doing my best billy-goat impression. Now, a year later, the shit's not funny anymore. It won't go the hell away. (We won't even TALK about the how I'm finding more and nore white hairs in my eyebrows).

Satisfied that the hair was dormant for the time being, I began to move away from the mirror when I saw something even. more. horrifying. Some of the hair on my fucking upper lip had gone from pretty invisible to fucking black. Only three or four, but, whatever! That constitutes a motherfucking moustache to me, assbags.

I ran wildly from the store (yes, I left my purse in the dressing room. A MOUSTACHE IS GROWING ON MY FACE, FOR FUCKS SAKE) and launched myself out of the door and into the fucking SUV before someone could see me.

My mother and my aunt stopped talking and looked at me with mild interest. No one who knows me is surprised by much anymore. I'm sure they initially thought I fucking robbed the joint. They slowly followed and once in the SUV I turned to my Mom.

"Mom. What the effin' hell is this?" I leaned over and put my face within millimeters of hers. I jabbed a finger accusingly at the offending hair.

"What? Oh. Yeah, that happened to me when I was about your age, too." She turned back to my Aunt. "Didn't you have that problem? You know, with the hair?"

"Oh, yeah, but mine started when I was about twenty one or so." She's nodding her head and they're looking at each other like I'm talking about a goddamn pimple and not my impending metamorphosis into a hairy man. What. The. Hell.

"I have a fucking moustache. A FUCKING MOUSTACHE. Why did you do this to me? It's hereditary, isn't it?" I wrenched the rear view mirror around and stared, bug eyed, at the hair again.

"Dutchess, watch your mouth. It's just some damn hair. Do like I do. Wax it."

Aunt piped in. "Oh, that gets tiresome. Just shave the damn thing."

I looked at her like she had just suggested I slice off my goddamn nipples and throw them around like miniature fucking Frisbees.

"Shave it? Woman, get something straight. I shave my legs, I shave my pits, I have even been known to shave my no-no holes, but I DO NOT SHAVE MY SON-OF-A-BITCHING FACE. I am not a man and I will not just accept the fact that I'm turning into one."

My mom is still disinterested in my crisis. "Where is your purse?"

"It's in the damn dressing room."

"You left it in there?"

"Do you see my goddamn face? Do you? Can we get back to this, for fuck sake...please?"

"Oh, good Lord. You think that's bad, wait till it starts sprouting out of your nipples."

After I cocked an eyebrow at her in sheer horror and then realized she was serious, I immediately left the car, walked into the adjacent store and bought three bottles of the best of Merlot (aka: one with the highest alcohol content) I could find.

Later that evening, the family just gave me a wide berth as I drank straight from the damn bottle, lamented about hairy nipples and hit everyone up for a donation for full fucking body electrolysis.

I have $82 of the estimated $8,000 it will take. Feel free to donate.

FUFF and My Love/Hate (mostly hate) Relationship With Mother Nature

Dear Mother Nature,

Thanks for all the fucking rain you have provided this summer Especially today. No, really. Thanks so much. As you can see, my flowers look fucking awesome!

I don’t even have to remember to water them. At all. Really. So thanks. A lot


Aren’t the poppies to-fucking-die-for? Truly?

So here’s the thing, Mother Fucker Nature. I’ve kinda had it up to my tits with the rain for this summer. Actually, all the way up to my tits, in my nose and out my goddamn eyes. With. The. Rain.

Let’s talk. I know, I know…usually by this point in the season I’m bitching about the humidity fucking up my hair. So you thought you’d switch things up a bit this year and flood fuck us with record-breaking downpours. How motherfucking sweet. Really.

Know what’s really sweet? This is really sweet


This is my new outdoor furniture. Purchased this year. For outdoor goddamn enjoyment and entertainment. You know, summer fun ? Have you fucking heard of it? It’s totally kick ass. All the cool kids are doing it. Or they’d like to be. If it were not for the goddamn rain.

Thanks to you, and your rain, I can’t use any of it. When the rain stops, the chairs are too wet to sit on. When the rain stops, there are ginormous puddles and my side yard could be mistaken for a fucking small pond. Where there are puddles, and ponds, there are motherfucking mosquitoes. And we don’t even need to discuss the motherfucking mossies again, do we?


And today? Tornadoes, ear splitting thunder & lightening and 5 inches of fucking rain in 45 minutes? Really?

Roads are closed, trees down and Mitchell International Airport was even evacuated. Did I tell you that I have to fly the hell out of there for vacation? Look, I REALLY NEED this vacation. I need room service, I need to sleep in and not have to make my own bed. I NEED NEW SHOES!!! Jimmy Choo has a shop at Caesar's dammit! You're a woman, I know you understand, right?

So please. I hate beg you: Give me a little break-y, will ya bitch? Just a teeny one. One round of 24 hours without downpours, tornado watches and “severe thunderstorm warnings.” One. That’s all I ask.

And don’t go getting all fucking bitter ’cause I’m asking you to change. Don’t start thinking of ways you could get back at me with, say, a week of record low temps in the desert when I'm in Vegas.

Don’t even fucking go there. ‘Cause you know what? No matter how much of a spiteful bitch you can be? You’re not half as bad as I am with a goddamn hangover and no sleep. Just a little tidbit for ya.

So are we good? We clear on that? Yeah? fanfuckingtastic.

Thanks Much,

PS...Mother Nature, sweetie, ...Every motherfucking channel has been on "Storm Team Coverage" since 4:30. Thanks for making me miss Big Brother you skanky whore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you liked this, go check out the other Fucked Up Friday Followers

Letters From The Dutchess, Volume One

Dear Illinois Department Of Transportation,

Oh for fuck sake! Why oh why are you still doing road work on the SAME GODDAMN ROAD you were working on 2 years ago?

Rush hour is fucking bad enough, but because of you dillholes, the usual hour and a half commute took 3 and a half motherfucking hours. I had to be up and on the road at the asscrack of dawn this morning. That? Makes the Dutches a very unhappy bitch.

Lucky for your road crew at Mile Marker 103, I had my favorite coffee, with Kahlua of course. If it would have been a regular cup of motherfucking joe, I would have whipped it at the 5 assbags I saw standing around, laughing, and enjoying motherfucking donuts this morning as I passed by. I SO would have nailed their motherfucking asses too. Because at 3.5 miles per fucking hour? I've got kick ass aim.

BTW, if I had a job and my production rate was double what yours was? I'd STILL be fired so fast, my fucking head would spin. But not you, nope. Instead of actually completing the job on-time, you DOUBLED THE FUCKING TOLLS on the toll road to compensate the over budget problems.

Nice, but do you think you could at least do something about the ginormous fucking pot holes that are big enough to make small foreign cars disappear?
Thanks Much, dicklickers.

The Dutchess
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Douche Bag With The Expensive Suit and BMW,

Riding my ass and honking your fucking horn repeatedly not will make me, nor the other 4 fucking million cars in front of me, magically hover in mid air so you can speed to your oh-so-important job.

It will, however, cause me to give you a mighty double middle finger salute, damn you to hell and hope that the fleas of 100 mother fucking camels infest your pubic hair.

I'm also curious, Mr. Black BMW, as to why you accelerate to 120 MPH when you can plainly see that 750 feet in front of you, the fucking traffic has come to a goddamn standstill?

You have to know, assclown, that you will need to slam on your brakes to stop. Do you know that when you do that, other motorists panic, spill their coffee and shit their pants because they believe they are about to be involved in a demo motherfucking derby type sandwich crash?

But hey, you were able to pass 2 cars in the 750 feet, so all is good, huh?
Fuck-you-very-much, jackass

You got off easy because Lord Crash was in the car with me. Take note though, If I see you again, I will ram your motherfucking ass with my SUV until you are dangling over the motherfucking expressway, spilling your favorite coffee and shitting your designer fucking pants....I have 4WD, do NOT fuck with me.
Piss Off dickweed.

I'm Okay, You're Just Stupid

Oh the people. The stupid people that is…oh how they make my fucking head hurt. I often wonder how some of these jackasses make it out of bed in the morning without someone holding their tittie-baby hand and reminding them where they keep their clean fucking underwear.

Anyway... Today I received an alert from the
Royal Family.

Look asshats, when the Royal Family sends out an alert, there is shit that must be done to prepare. First is, sobering myself up, which -by the way- pisses me off.

There is also the hassle of contacting local enforcement agencies. You see, when the Royal Family is on the move, we are obligated, by law and parole conditions, to tell the motherfucking authorities. Don't ask. If we told you, we'd have to fucking kill you.

We must warn local bartenders, because well..., obviously. And lastly, there is the task of stocking up on weed, Xanax, skittles, anti-bacterial soap, shanks, nip clips, cupcakes and other shit necessities.

I was given the task of stock piling the goods and contraband. Ok, I'm good with that, until I get to the fucking ATM.

This is NOT rocket science dicklicks. You drive up with your card already in hand. You put it in the goddamn slot. You enter your PIN that you should have MEMORIZED. You make your little transaction, grab that cash and be on your merry fucking way. Period. End of sentence, end of issue.

I will now present a list of things that it is NOT okay to do while at an ATM if there is a person behind you. (If you are the only one at the motherfucking ATM and there is nobody waiting, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do, smoke a joint, pick your nose, slap the monkey, or recite a fucking sonnet, I don't give a shit. But as soon as someone pulls up behind you, shut the hell up and move on.)

1. It is not okay to have to rummage through your purse or wallet to find your ATM card. Have that bitch ready. I don’t want to wait for you to dig through your shit. My time is valuable. There is only a small window of oppertunity for me to accomplish my task before my body starts going into serious motherfucking withdawls from being sober the family arrives.

2. If there are people waiting, it is NOT okay to make more than two fucking transactions. One is preferred, but if you need to check and see if you have any money in the first place, no big deal, I’m feeling generous and if you aren’t capable of having some idea of how much money you have, I won’t hold it against you. But, an ATM line at 7:asscrack in the morning is NOT the time to wire money to motherfucking Pakistan, or purchase stock or whatever in the hell you were doing.

3. It is NOT okay to groom yourself while you are at the ATM. I swear if I see a brush or lipstick come out I’m going to hit you with my car bitch. No joke. Get your shit done and MOVE THE HELL ALONG. If you want to put on make-up, wait until you get back on the goddamn road like the rest of us.

4. It is NOT okay to back through the ATM so the person in the passenger seat can use it. Buck up you pussy, tell the driver your PIN. Your bank account is NOT a matter of national goddamn security no matter what your Mommy said. Don’t be such a pansy assed bitch.

5. It is NOT okay to have to consult a piece of paper for your PIN number. The whole point is that it needs to be something you REMEMBER. The only exception to this rule is if it is a new card and you have just received the PIN number. You get this pass only once. Know your shit yo!

6. Once you have completed your transaction it is NOT okay to organize your fucking purse or wallet. If you are one of those people who cannot cope with your money floating on your seat for a fucking minute until you get going again, pull into a motherfucking parking spot and get your shit together.

7. It is NOT okay to turn off your car while making a transaction. This is mostly a personal thing but it gets on my booze free nerves. Look assclown, don’t turn off your peice of shit pinto, just put on the parking brake if you can’t handle keeping your foot on the brake. I drive a goddamn stick-shift so don’t give me that bullshit about killing the engine. Put that bitch in neutral and use the fucking parking brake. It's not going anyfuckingwhere.


8. If your window is broken and you have to use the ATM by driving up and getting OUT of your vehicle, it is NOT okay to use the fucking ATM. You have two choices douchebag. Get your shit fixed OR (anyone… anyone… Bueller… anyone…) GO THE FUCK INSIDE!

Seriously cunt chewer. Does that sign say “Walk-thru ATM” No. It fucking does not. It says “Drive-thru” ATM.

Do you walk through McDonald’s to get your fucking Big Mac and super size fries? I’ll hazard a guess that you don’t.

But if you do…you are wrong, you are buttmunch stupid, and you should be put out of your own goddamn misery.

Oh look!!! It's Beer:30! Now, asshats, who is buying the first round of shots?

An Open Letter

Dear Motherfucking Skunk That Sprayed My Dogs,

You know what? I know you pulled this stunt because the Dutchess had a tooth pulled today and I'm just not on my A game. I was gonna kill your stanky ass. Then, I remember I can’t kill you. You were just defending yourself when you sprayed, right?

Fair point, and because I'm in pain, drunk as a skunk and can't see straight enough to chase your smelly fucking ass a fair person full of the awesome, I will let you live, FOR NOW.

However, consider yourself warned you skunky motherfucker, these are my plans if you spray my dogs again.

I will fucking kill you. I will kill you 12 times past dead. I will tear your goddamn head off and post it on a spike in my front fucking yard yard so that ALL your trashy skunk friends know to fear me.

No, wait. I have a better plan.

I will find your little skunk wife and allow the motherfucking gophers to have their way with her. Yes, my friend, gophers are well known for being rapists. Tough shit, accept it!

I will then call your skunky cable company, pretending to be you, and have all channels in your comfy little den deactivated... except for the jesus ones. Take THAT motherfucking skunk.

I will go online as you and post racist anti-skunk rants so that the next time you stop at your skunk community bar and trash can, you will get the fucking shit beat out of you by your own kind.

I will register you as a piss ass Democrat. In Dorkville, that is it's own death wish, mother fucker!

I will get you hooked on Lost, back when it was awesome, and then make you watch every goddamn episode until you finish the whole long and pointless fucking ending.

I will get you a boxed set of every goddamn dumbass Lorne Michael's produced comedy based on an SNL skit, and force you to watch every single one. Of course I will have removed the Blues Brothers movie because that movie kicks ass.

I will order "I Love Gerbils Up My Ass" skunk monthly magazine in your name but send it to your neighbors addresses. That way everyone will wink in a knowing _you're a goddamn freak show- kinda way at you, but you will never understand why.

I will have a motherfucking cocktail party and invite you over 30 minutes after everyone else. You will come to the door. I will, quite loudly, say “get out of here you stupid motherfucking gerbil assed skunky freak show!” and totally not let you in.

Maybe I will slip you a motherfucking mickey, take you out to the country, put a Marilyn Manson shirt on your ass and drop you off. I'm sure the fucking hillbilly hicktown skunks will kick the shit out of you, and maybe even cut your balls off.

And, you skunky cocksucker, I might just give you little side burns and call you Elvis, because I fucking can, you little dicklicker.

I may even pump you full of narcotics and take pictures of you drooling and crapping yourself. You will then become the poster child for the skunk community's "Just Say No campaign".

Get the idea you skunky motherfucker? Don’t fuck with my dogs... again.