BSF - Short and Sweet

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.

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'.


Blogger Templates

BSF and Green With Envy

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.

BSF and Fuck You

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

BSF, Pussies and Purple Monkey Balls

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.

BSF and A Raccoon

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.

BSF, Ms. Ray, and The Weather.

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.

BSF ~ In Da Hood, Yo!

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.

BSF---- All About The Ef-you-see-kay

It time for.......


Today is brought to you by the word, FUCK.

There are many people that refuse to say the word fuck. Maybe they don't realise that there are very few words that have the versatility of "fuck". Besides its obvious sexual connotations, this incredible word can be used to describe many situations.

Because I fucking rock, I am going to show you how you can use this word in almost any situation.

As a greeting --- "How the fuck are you?"

Fraud ---"I was fucked by the Burger King Drive Through...AGAIN"

Dismay --- "Oh, fuck it."

Trouble ---"Well, I guess I'm fucked again."

Aggression ---"Fuck you!!!"

Disgust ---"Fuck me!!!"

Confusion, Curiosity or Disbelief ---"What the fuck....?"

Difficulty ---"I don't understand this fucking thing."

Despair --- "Fucked again."

Good Job -- "Congratufuckinglations."

Desperation ---"Fuckityfuckfuckfuck."

Incompetence ---"He fucks up everything."

Disappointment --- "This fucking fucker is fucked."

Intelligence ---"He's a fucking genius."

Dismissal ---"Why don't you go outside and play hide-and-go-fuck-yourself?"

Displeasure ---"What the fuck is going on?"

Lost ---"Where the fuck are we?"

Disbelief ---"Unbefuckinglievable!!!"

Retaliation ---"Up your fucking ass!!!"

Laziness ---"He's just a fuck-off."

Pain ---"Fuck ! that hurt."

Pleasure ---"Oooooooh Fuuuuuuck Yesssssssss"

Love ---"Do ya Fuck on first dates?"

Starting a relationship ---"Let's fuck now!"

Surprise ---"What the fucking hell was that?"

Admiration ---"Nice fucking tits!"

Stupid person ---"Dumbfuck!"

Hate ---"You Fucking asshole!"

Condemnation ---"Fuck that shit!"

Disappointment ---"That's not fucking fair."

A poker hand ---"A Royal Fuck."

Ignorant person ---"Fuckstick."

Denial ---"I didn't fucking do it."

Perplexity "I don't know fuck about it."

Apathy ---"Who gives a fuck" or "I don't give a fuck".

Confusion ---"What the fuck just happened?"

Resignation ---"Oh fuck it."

Suspicion ---"Who the fuck are you?"

Panic ---"Let's get the fuck out of here!"

Directions ---"Fuck off."

Sex ---"Let's fuck."

Maternal ---"Motherfucker."

Incestuous --"Motherfucker."

Ambiguity ---"I'm not so fucking sure."

Agreement ---"Absofuckinglutely."

Questioning Authority ---"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Hypocrisy ---"Don't you dare fucking swear at me you fucking fucker."

Praising the Lord ---"Jesus Fucking Christ."

I have a headache ---"Go fuck yourself."

Refusal ---"Oh you can fuck right off."

Pissed off ---"Fuck the fucking fuckers!"

Be quiet ---"Shut the fuck up."

Ostentation ---"He's just bought a big, fuck-off Mercedes."

Sensuousness ---"She was wearing a pair of red leather, fuck-me shoes."

Confidence ---"Fuckin' A I'm right"

Rage ---"Motherfucking fuckers!"

Impressed ---"That was fucking amazing."

Oral sex after 20 years of marriage ---"Fuck you!" (while passing each other in the hall)

Bewilderment or Ignorance ---"Fuck if I know."

Threatening ---"I'm gonna fuck you up!"

Annoyance ---"Fuck off, kid, you bother me."

Annoyance ---"Oh for fuck's sake, what now?"

Pissed off ---"Fuck you, you fucking fuckwad."

Tardiness ---"It's ten-fucking-thirty already?"

Broken down car --"Sir, the fucking thing is a broken down piece of fucking shit."

Professional appraisal of mechanical failure ---"Yep, it's fucked."

Calling someone ---"Yo, fuck face!"

Minors ---"Fucklings."

Morons ---"Fucktards."

Completely naked ---"fucking Buck-ass naked"

Low intelligence---" Fuckwit"

A name for the penis-- Fuckstick (like "I'm going to jam my fuckstick right up your ass")

Thanks ---"Fuck you very much."

Some of the above are mine, and others I jacked from other places. Yes, I know this is a lazy post. Too fucking bad. My foot is swollen, I'm on painkillers, and my fingers are stiff because I'm fucking cold.

I'm living in my denial that summer is really over and refuse to turn the fucking heat on in September. (FUCK YOU Mother Nature)

I'll see you all back here on Sunday for more Drunken Bathtub Reflections.




PS...I found a new favorite blog. I you like the Royal Family's blogs, I think you'll like Green_Eyed Brat too. I think she is a long lost relative. No one can be that snarky and say fuck that many times without being related to us some how.
Go read her

Shoulder Monkeys and A Nightcap

It's time for...

Read the rules, and if you are a fuckstick, don't link up.


My daughter dropped off The Master of Destruction at 5:00 last night. She had a class that went until 10PM, and then had to be at work at 6:00 this morning, so he spent the night with us. Do you know what that means? The MoD was here for 22 fucking hours.

Now, I love that sweet smiling, blue eyed, curly blond headed little boy. He almost makes me want to shoot rainbows and butterflies out of my ass, but today? He was not a little boy.

Today, the MoD was a cranky, whiny, teething, toy chucking, throw himself on the motherfucking ground throwing a temper tantrum, screaming the word of the day...NOOOOOOOOOOOOo as loud and long as he fucking could, demon asshole.

Holy fuck, at one point I was sure his motherfucking head would pop off, spin around ala Linda Blair, and eat the goddamn dogs while flipping me the bird.

With the miracle that is Jim Beam, about 205 Popsicles and 1246 Dum-Dum suckers, we somehow made it through the day without any casualties or loss of limbs.

I am fucking exhausted.

After I pushed MoD and his Mother out of the fucking door at 3:30 this afternoon, I headed to the kitchen where I proceeded to make a ham & Xanax sandwich. After a trip to the liquor store, I came home and was preparing to tap a goddamn main line in my arm and hook up the Corona.

That's when I heard what sounded like a goddamn Bloods vs Crip gang war coming from my living room. I immediately dropped to the fucking floor because my tired ass brain relayed the message, "Yo, the gang bangers from the hood are in the living room vato! We are gonna get smoked or shanked!!"

After a few minutes, I realized that Duke and my lovely Spawn of Satan son were playing XBOX Live on the big screen with the surround sound speakers cranked to ear bleed volume. Asshats about gave me a fucking heart attack.

I spent twenty goddamn minutes lecturing the Duke and the SoS about their driving me to the goddamn brink of madness, and how horrible they will feel if I end up on a fucking highway overpass somewhere with an goddamn AK47 strapped to my chest, picking off motorists and talking to the imaginary fucking monkeys on my shoulder.

Fuck this week, fuck this long ass day, and fuck that goddamn XBOX. It's time for my ambien and wine nightcap.

I will be in a self-induced drunken coma on Saturday so I will see you assclowns on Sunday for our weekly Drunken Reflections from a Bathtub.

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!

BSF and The Telephone

It's time for...

I hate the fucking telephone.

Spawn of Satan's friends find it perfectly acceptable to call at 6 a.m., 10 p.m., whatever. I finally told them that SoS had been sent to boarding school in Pakistan and if they EVER called the goddamn house again, I was going to make sure he joined the Pakistani army.

Then came the telemarketers.

“Duke, why are we getting a hundred goddamn phone calls a day from people wanting to give you information that you requested? I KNEW you shouldn't have opened a facebook account! What information is that damn important? Lottery numbers? Where Hoffa is buried? Lindsey’s coke stash? What?”

He started to stutter.

“Um...well...I was trying to get a laptop. You know, for free.”

“Are you fucking serious? You thought that signing up for all that shit would actually get you a thousand dollar laptop? I’ve always wondered who fell for that shit. Now, I know.

Hey, we could use a plasma TV, too, and....”

“Shut the hell up.”

I finally got rid of the goddamn telemarketers by telling them that my husband had been sent to jail for heading up a meth operation and started sobbing on the phone about how hard it was going to be to feed all of our babies.

HA! Fuck you telemarketers! Problem solved.

This morning at about 7 AM, I was having this awesome dream about Kenny Chesney and his place in the islands when my idiot dog, Sir George, started.

Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark.

Bark, bark.

Barkbarkbark.

Bark.

I finally got up and went outside. The Duke has had this dog on a run for his morning shit time because he was Houdini’ing his way out of the yard.

Now, this is a dog that manages to stand up, unlock the gate, go to a pay phone and call for hookers and a goddamn pizza, but he wrapped himself around a tree once and instead of reversing his steps, he kept running around in a circle like a fucking idiot until his slack wouldn’t even allow him to lick his own ass.

As I was untangling him and screaming at the other idiot dog, Lady grace, to do her business, George saw his opportunity and ran. And ran. And ran around in circles, giggling and dodging me until I gave up, flipped him off and went inside to go back to bed.

I quietly crept into the bedroom, found the most warm and comfortable spot. My head aligned perfectly with the pillow and Kenny was making getting a cold Corona ready for our walk on the beach when Grace started that ear splitting howl she reserves for the special occasions when:

a. I’m having a dream like the one I was having

b. George has grown opposable thumbs and unlatched the fucking gate. Again.

I got up, got dressed and went back outside. Grace was shrieking by this time, devastated that Sir George just left her behind and surely, surely he’s halfway to fucking Canada by now with some slutty poodle named Jennie.

I stood in the front yard, in the quiet, still morning air and listened to the mosquitoes buzzing around my goddamn head. I whistled as quietly as possible while mentally preparing the ad I’m going to place in the paper to get rid of these mother fucking dogs.

George finally comes trotting back into the yard and stopped at my feet. He looked up at me and I looked down at him. Neither of us blinked. Finally, he broke and whimpered.

“That’s right, dog. I’m the one who made the appointment to hack your nuts off and I can do so much worse. Never cross me, asswipe.”

I brought them into the house, and stumbled back to my room. I gingerly removed my clothes, crawled back into bed, head aligned with the pillow, Kenny. Thank you, sleep god. Thank you.

The doorbell rings and my neighbor is yelling, "Hey Dutchess??? I saw you out in the yard and wanted to bring you some coffeecake. You said we'd have coffee sometime, and I'm up, you're up, and I brought the cake!”

I hate those fucking dogs

FUFF Blog Stalk Friday and A Pissy Post

CB changed FUFF to Blog Stalk Friday. Jeeze...just when I could remember FUFF, it's now BSF. Whatever, on with the show...

It was time for my yearly physical, and as usual, the Doc. ordered lab work, blood work, and other shit.

After taking my blood,
Which BTW, why in the fuck do you need 8 goddamn tubes worth? Is Team fucking Edward running the goddamn lab now?

Anyway...The nurse handed me a piss cup and said Doc ordered a urine test too, so I headed to the restroom.

Now, you all know I have mad Ninja skillz, but not many people know that I also have piss test skills too. Since I've been on probation and parole before, I've peed in more goddamn cups than Lindsey fucking Lohan.

I've perfected the skill of aiming without looking and for the guys out there? It's a completely different story when you have a twat. We can't just stick it in the cup and let fucking fly. We have to carefully hold the cup so that our stream, at the very fucking least, hits the side of the cup and runs down. Fuck this up and you walk around with pissy goddamn panties.

Add that to having to hover over the damn toilet (because you don't sit down and then put the cup in place or you end up accidentally touching the fucking toilet water and just, eww, cut my whole fucking arm off, please) and trying to keep your damn dress from getting in the line of fire and you have one tricky fucking dance that takes mad skillz.

I lifted my dress, dropped my thong, and guided the cup into the piss zone. Even though I'm sure I'm in the right spot, I slowly begin to pee just in case.

jesus fucking christ on a cupcake!, I felt the warm piss hit my motherfucking hand. I clenched, stopped the piss flow and readjusted the fucking cup. This cup must be small," I told myself. After making some minor corrections, I relaxed and once again, started pissing. Again, warm piss trickled down hand.

"What. The. Hell." Is my goddamn pussy crooked? I tried a third time, adjusting the cup to where the pee should be coming from. This time, there was no stopping the stream of piss and I gritted my teeth in disgust as I pissed all over my motherfucking hand, the toilet seat and the floor.

When I was finished, I sat down on the toilet and looked at the goddamn cup up to see if any piss got inside.

Well, fuck me. I forgot to take fucking lid off.

I really shouldn't drink before going for these fucking tests.

Then, I noticed that the label on the cup was paper. Just fucking Fabulous. Any other time, it was written on the cup with a goddamn permanent marker. Nope! Not this time.

I tried to wash off the cup and that drenched the fucking paper label, causing it to start peeling off. You couldn't even read my goddamn name anymore.

I whipped that piece of shit cup into the garbage and washed my hands with scalding water. After cleaning the seat and floor and washing my fucking hands, again, I opened the door and called for the nurse.

"Um, I need another pee cup."

"What happened Dutchess?"

"I...I sat on this one. Um...Broke it."

"You sat on it?"

"Yep. Snapped the piece of shit right in half."

"Ok. Just give me the broken one and I'll get you another."

"I can't. I threw it away."

"Oh, well I'll just come in and -"

"Why?"

"We have to account for all medical supplies. I just need to document it."

"So, write it down. This isn't a fucking drug test. I just need another goddamn cup."

"Well, if you could just-"

"OK NURSE RATCHED!! I pissed all over it and tried to wash it off and now it's fucked up, CAN I JUST HAVE ANOTHER GODDAMN CUP?"

"Oh. Yes..um sure...one sec."

I bet there is no fucking piss cup count. The bitch just wanted to make me fucking admit it. Fuck You Nurse Ratched.

Now, go check out the rest of the kick ass people who participate in fuff Blog Stalk Friday.
This is not for the weak and timid. Twat waffles need not click.


It's Friday, BEER ME!!!