Deep Thoughts From The Dutchess

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What if breast implants came with squeaky toys inside!!

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

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

Some days I really wish karma was instantaneous.

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

Holiday Words of Wisdom From The Dutchess

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

Bitches, Bra's, and Brownies

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

Copy that good buddy, come back?

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

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



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

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


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



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

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

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

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



Peace out!

A New Royal Adventure

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

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

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


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


The Princess


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

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

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

A Drunken Bunch of Random

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

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

On with the show.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

My dream job would be driving the fucking KARMA bus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some Wine, A Bathtub, and A Dutchess

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



You fucking people disappoint me. Last Sunday I put up my spiffy new grab button on the sidebar, a Mr. Linky and invited you all to join me in my bathtub.

NOT ONE, NOT ONE OF YOU MOTHERFUCKERS JOINED ME IN THE TUB. WHAT. THE. FUCK.

After consoling myself with a vast amount of alcohol, (and a brand new Mustang Convertible because you fuckers made me question my cool status), I asked The Duke what his thoughts were.

Without missing a beat, he says, "Babe, it's the Bush. The SOS pad convention you are hosting near your crotch scares the hell out of everyone."

So fine, asshats. Since my mad nip twirling skillz, boxed wine and drunken rambling doesn't impress you, I succumbed to a Brazilian wax yesterday.

Now? My goddamn pussy is so swollen it looks like I'm hiding Mick fucking Jagger inside of my twat, except there was no room for his fucking lips.

I am not a happy Dutchess. No Mr. Linky for YOU this week!

Speaking of unhappy, I have a bone to pick with this ever growing Royal Family.

Someone better start coordinating days off. Since CB left, most of you are fucking slacking. I drove past many empty street corners this weekend. That shit just isn't acceptable.

I don't fucking care if you are mourning the loss of CB . Get back to your corner.

I don't care if you got stuck in the moat. Climb the goddamn wall and get back to your corner.

I don't fucking care if your goddamn shoe broke. Duct tape that mother back together and get back to your corner.

I don't fucking care if you have double vision. Strap on an eye patch and pretend you're a goddamn ass pirate. (BTW we charge double for that.)

I don't care if you have the fucking clap. Get a shot penicillin, squeegee your pussy, and get back to your corner.

I don't care if you think you need fucking rehab since becoming part of the Royal Family. Take another Xanax, shut the fuck up, and get back to your damn corner.

We have on staff:
A Queen
A Princess,
A Dame,
A Countess yet to be named,
Security Momma,
Security Vixen,
A Security Peon,
A Security Zombie,
A Personal Security Person,
A Royal Bartender and A Royal Vet


There is no reason for empty fucking street corners. The Queen and I may be shit faced drunk, stoned, seeing double and hearing voices, but we have been running this business for a long time. Make no mistake, we notice when you are not there. Don't think you can get away with this missing in action shit.

Not everyone is a slacker. Some of you are on your regular corner giving ass and taking names. But, some of you? Not so fucking much.

If you are slacking, here is your warning...

Unless you cleared a day off with the Queen or myself, your ass better be on duty next time I drive by in my new fucking Mustang.

Now that we have that all straightened out, I must finish watching Denver get the shit kicked out of them. Where is Elway when you need him.

A Bathtub, Some Wine and a Goodbye

It's time for...


What a kick ass button, huh? It was made by The Royal Formerly Known As Princess of Class, Trash, and Sass. Yes, I said formerly known as.

The crazy hooker went all rouge on us. She turned in her keys to the Kingdom, quit her other bloggy jobs, and decided to have a real life.

What a selfish bitch. She got us hooked on her fuck yous, hookerfaces, whores, blog stalks, and stilettos, and then? She quit us like a bad fucking habit.

Oh stop all of your wailing and teeth gnashing, assclowns. Just calm the fuck down. The rest of the Royals are still here, and we are now taking applications for a new Princess.

CB, no one will ever fill your stilettos, and we will miss you. The blogosphere we be a little less bitchy, a little less crazy, and a little less funny. Even though you are a five foot nothing, there will always be a huge gaping hole where you once stood. I heart your face, Niece Skankypants.

Remember, you can always come home again. Just click your heels, down few shots of gin and a handful of Xanax, and there we will be.

Great, now my fucking bath is full of tears...wait a minute...saltwater makes things float....check out my boobies! Those girls look downright perky.

The new button is for you all. We all know how much I fucking hate rules, so there are no rules for this. Just play if you want, post the button and link the fuck up. Simple, no?

A Boil On The Ass Of Technologly

Over at the NEW ROYAL FAMILY BLOG there was a question about the root of all evil.

F.a.c.e.b.o.o.k.

That word alone sends me rocking back and forth in a fetal position on the goddamn floor. I also am missing some hair from pulling it out in wasted moments of f.a.c.e.b.o.o.k. frustration.

I remember when new technology was fun. I remember when I thought I had excellent problem solving skills. A blog? Yes! sign me up. Flicker, add on codes, myspace, and games? Woohooo!!! Bring 'em on! I get off on finding new sights and figuring shit out. Until f.a.c.e.b.o.o.k. came along, and turned me into my damn mother.

Apparently, everyone has a FB account and raves about the demon seed. The Queen forced finally talked me into getting my ass on the social networking train, and this is what happened.

I logged on and set up an account. I started adding friends, looking for long lost Johns, adding farmville, liking pages and posts, and thinking, well fuck, this isn't so bad.

Then the shit hit the goddamn fan. I started getting messages, bulletins, invitations and people trying to poke me. Things started dinging, pinging and ringing. I was given flair, surveys were popping up, questions were being asked, fake virtual drinks were being passed and IM's started popping up here, there and everywhere.

All. At. The. Same. Motherfucking. Time.

Pretty soon my head was buzzing, my blood pressure was through the goddamn roof and I was sending sunsets, flair and drinks without knowing exactly how the hell it was happening.

I started getting paranoid that some random axe murder would find me and poke my ass. And? What the fuck was flair anyway and why the fuck do I need or want it?

I sat there in a daze with my fucking eyes glazing over. As I neared an epileptic fit, I wondered what had happened to the mad multi-tasking skillz I was so proud of.

The pings, dings, and other bullshit just kept coming. Pretty soon I was crying, swilling gallons of tequila and pulling my goddamn hair out just trying to keep up.

After the 2nd bottle of Patron, I knew it was time log out. If not, I would drink myself into oblivion and quite possibly end up in desperate need of a fucking wig.

That fucking evil social network bastard gave me nightmares and caused me to suffer from post traumatic stress syndrome.

To this day, I need to take handful of Xanax and do a shit load of shooters before even talking about that boil on the ass of technology that is f.a.c.e.b.o.o.k.

That said, if you fuckers need me, leave a comment here, leave me a question over at out new collaborative Royal Family Blog, Dorks, Divas and Darlings, e-mail me, send a fucking carrier pigeon, or motherfucking smoke signals. Just don't look for me to be back on that goddamn fa.c.e.b.o.o.k.

I'm getting too old for this new technology shit.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go meet the Duke for the 4:00 early bird dinner special, buy some granny panties and then yell at some kids to get off my goddamn grass.

Security and a Bathtub With Wine

First of all, congrats to the new Royal Security Detail . You are now one of the few, the proud, the keepers of the drunken castle. Good on ya.

Second, one of our Security Team is writing a diary on her Royal Experience. Do not miss this, go HERE NOW for a peek into our world as Donda sees it.

Finally, let's move along to what you've come here for...


"I'm fucking tired. I wonder what this family would do if I just stayed in here...forever. Would they worry? Knock on the door? Call out my name, beg me to come out because they can not imagine life without their beloved family matriarch? HA! I've had way too much wine and must be fucking delusional."

Maybe for the next few days I will only shout "Let them eat cupcakes!" no matter what is said to me. Unless it's the Duke, to whom I am only going to say, "Eat Me!...Mmm cupcakes. I love cupcakes. May as well Spackle a giant cupcake to my goddamn ass because that's where it will eventually end up." Speaking of cake...Why is vanilla ice cream white, but a vanilla beans and vanilla extract are brown?"

What the fuck is wrong with my sister in-law? She is always saying "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart." All I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart."

While driving yesterday there was an asshole in a BMW swerving, honking, riding my ass and the car next to me on the highway. I fucking hate dicksticks like that. But, I loved the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars and I teamed up to prevent the dickstick from cutting in at the front. I was fist pumping the air yelling "Stay strong, brothers!" Then, a block from home I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it... thanks Mario Kart....assholes.

I hate to miss a call by the last ring. I'm all, "Hello? Hello? Dammit!", but when I immediately call back, why the fuck does it ring nine times and then go to voicemail? After I didn't answer did they drop the goddamn phone and run away?

It's been chilly here. I fucking hate being cold, and hate the thought of winter being so damn close so I decided to protest winter, I haven't shaved my legs in a couple weeks. Oh fuck you, and shut up the hell up. I've been married over 10 years, and a blow job or a 4 minute fuck doesn't require smooth legs.

However, I want a little sumpin' sumpin' from the Duke later, so I shaved my legs. Holy fuck y'all. I went through two damn blades and my tub now looks like someone sheared a fucking Yeti in here.

On that note, it's time to wrap this up.

But before I go, I want to tell you that I'm getting pretty fucking lonely in this tub. Next week, I am making this a Drunken Bathtub Orgy. That's right fuckers, I am going to pay someone to make a drunken reflection clicky button, and then I'm putting a Mr. linky thing up. You all had better play along.

You come here and ogle my drunken reflections every motherfucking week. Now it's time to grab some booze, drop your drawers and get in the fucking bathtub. C'mon, show the Dutchess what you got. Next Sunday....be here or I will hunt your motherfucking ass down be square.

A Bathtub, Some Wine and TMI

Welcome to this Sunday's edition of......

(I'm sorry Niece Skankypants. I have no fucking clue where my new bathtub button is. If you have it, please fix it for your favorite drunken Auntie.)

As we have previously established, my boobs are huge. My bras are the size of a goddamn party tent. I bought new bras the other day had to move the TV and entertainment center just to make room to for those bad boys.

When it rains, I can just whip off my bra and blanket everyone as we run for the fucking car. Hell, with a few support beams, I could probably rent my tits out when it rains during the SoS's football games for use as a lento/shelter.

Apparently, my bra also doubles as the Bermuda fucking Triangle. It collects random shit throughout the day, without me noticing. You'd be surprised (or not) as to what I find in my bra when I strip my clothes off.

There are always food crumbs. If I ate something particularly crunchy or crusty, there could be enough fucking food particles to feed a starving Ethiopian child for a day.

There is an occasional stray strand of hair, a few ashes from a cigarette, spare change, a wayward olive from my dirty martini, and hey lookie there, a fucking Cheeto.

I love my boobs when I'm in the water. Look at them girls!! They are hoovering where they are suppose to be instead of skimming my kneecaps. The are round, and buoyant. Fuck, they look good in the water.

Then, I spot my unkempt love box. I've been a little lax on landscaping lately. Now, I am not a shave it naked kind of girl. I fucking prayed and said Hail Mary's for 2 goddamn years, begging for pubic hair when I was 10. There is no fucking way I'm shaving that shit off now. However, the Duke prefers it nearly bare, so we compromise. I leave a nice landing strip, and he is happy.

Right now it looks like some damn brillo pads revolted, had a meeting near my crotch and fucking died there. While walking around naked this morning, the Duke said, "Damn Dutch, I bet we could find Amelia Earhart in there." Good one, assclown.

I often wonder what would happen if I quit drinking.

**The Duke wouldn't have to pull over every five minutes so I can pee, and then watch me come out of the Quickie Mart with useless shit like glow sticks and a twelve-dollar bottle of fucking barbecue sauce.

**I would remember where my keys and pants are Every! Single! Day!

**The Royal Family could spend the extra cash they reserve just for my bail money.

**That fucking weirdo from the liquor store would stop calling me to tell me about the new shipment of Jim Beam arriving, asking if he should hold a case for me.

**There would be no more stupid sobriety checks. FYI the Po-Po has no sense of humor when you say, "Fuck no I'm not drunk. I don't remember drinking a thing.".

**No more being afraid to answer the phone the next morning and hearing a detailed account of exactly how many people saw me run fucking naked through the neighborhood the night before, screaming, "Viva la Royal Family Bitches!"

**Never, ever having to ask, again, "What kind of respectable place pierces a goddamn body part when you're too fucking drunk to blink?"

**No more arguments about the shear fucking genius of Buck Owens.

**When I accidentally call the 12-year-old cashier at Wal-Mart a fucking dumb ass, the Duke would not be able to say, "Don't mind her. She's just hammered."

**I would have nothing in common with the homeless guy behind the fucking dumpster.

**My family would have to deal with new and exciting meals instead of my favorite go to meal, Drunken Barbecue.

**My body would probably freeze up, refusing to process things and I would be in the bathroom sobbing and screaming "Why the fuck won't it just come out? WHY?!"

Oh the horror!

Now, if you will excuse me, I need a fucking drink....make it a double.

A Rare Saturday Post

Listen up gang bangers/bad-asses/throat punchers and the rest of you kick ass motherfuckers.

The Queen has sent forth a kingdom wide demand request. She wants to assemble a security detail for the Royal Family.

Fuck knows we could use some. Dame Penis has Sir, and he fucking rocks, but even he cannot handle all of our collective bullshit at the same time.

CB aka Princess of Class, Trash and Sass also had a shout out for a few Good Men or Women and you can read about it HERE .

And the Princess of Slut Town also has a few requirements for her security detail input.

To sum it all up, we tend to piss people off. If fuckers would just agree with us and do what the fuck we want them to do, this could all be avoided.

But noooo, there is always a fukstick asswipe in the bunch. Inevitably, said Fuckstick asswipe pisses one of us off, and we end up kicking some serious ass. Then all fucking hell breaks loose.

We tend to pass out, run amok, fall off bar stools and/or lawn chairs, trip on our stilettos, trip over things that jump out at us like modgepodge and art supplies, and occasionally cut, or bruise ourselves from said falling and tripping.

We have also been known to break hearts, faces, random dishes, the bank, car windows, small appliances, and other things thrown in the heat of a drunken moment.

There are times we even fuck up things on our body like toes, vaginas, lips, asses, and... well, you get the idea.

We also tend to have to run from the Po-Po or an angry John at least once a week.

So, as you can see, we need security. Not just any security, but bad ass mother fuckers. Some of you have thrown a hat into the ring to be considered, and here is where you can be of some use.

We are going to allow you asshats to vote!

I know RIIIGHT! Yes, we're awesome that way

That said, and the fact that today is my fucking day off, I'm going to end this here.

GO AND VOTE! NOW!!! WHAT ARE YOU FUCKERS WAITING FOR? The Royal's well being and safety are at stake. GOOOOOOOO!


Now....did someone say steak?

A Bathtub, A Box of Wine, and A Pinata Pussy

Ok kids, it's that time of the week.....

The Spawn of Satan is working on getting his drivers license. He had a lesson with his instructor yesterday. The guy said the SoS is a very nervous driver. Maybe I should quit reciting "The Lords Prayer" every time I ride shotgun.

Oh, and it's probably not helpful to keep hanging my damn head out of the window screaming at bystanders that "HE'S GOING TO KILL US ALL!!!" Whatever.

The Master of Destruction spilled his chocolate milk on the dog. Poor dog looked at me with sad eyes and began licking his raisin sac where his berries use to be. I think he is plotting our demise.

My feet smell like play dough. What the hell is that about?

The Duke comes up and says, "You're like a sex pinata, I'm going to beat you with my stick until candy comes out." That hit me like a ton of you've got to be shitting me bricks. No woman would be immune to that kind of sweet talk, huh?

"I have an idea" If you're with me and you ever hear me say that, hit me over the fucking head with the nearest heavy object and subdue my ass by any means necessary. Nothing good ever comes of my ideas.

"Trust me." If you're ever with me and I say that, run for your goddamn life. Scream for good measure.

I showed the MoD how a Slip -n -Slide works today. Maybe I should have just swallowed my fucking pride and listened to the Duke. He was listing all of the dumbass reasons that pudgy, middle-aged people should never try to propel themselves down a slicked tarp in broad daylight.
With a defiant look, I lined up my intended path, lowered my head and ran (ran! with running! Look, Ma, no fucking brains!) forward to the slide. I stepped three paces onto the slide of death and launched myself forward.

The only problem was that I never quite got down low enough to move forward. Instead, I dove into thin air, hovered long enough to squawk and realize that this shit was going to fucking hurt like hell and then I dropped like a goddamn rock onto the mat. The air whooshed out of me and the MoD doubled over in hysterics.

I gingerly felt for broken ribs and tried to roll over. I had grass up my fucking nose. I laid on my back, panting, and the Duke stood over me with a disgusted look on his face. "It's not even worth saying 'I told you so.'

Fucking asshat better put away his stick. There will be no pinata pussy tonight.

No Xanax, Whores On Strike and Drunken Bathtubs

Attention all Kingdom Whores. I'm out of Xanax, and make no mistake, it's not pretty, funny, or cute. So, before I accidentally kill someone, listen the fuck up!

I don't give a goddamn rat's ass what you skanks wear,

I don't give a shit about any goddamn blogcation.

I don't give a fuck about some hair loss (just kidding, I'm not that much of a bitch, but without Xanax, my priorities are a bit skewed)

I don't give a dick about any missing song lyrics , law suits, a strike or any other whiny ass titty baby excuses you may have for skipping out on your job.

THE BOOZE AND PILL SUPPLY HAS DRIED UP. GET THE FUCK BACK TO WORK HO(s)!!

Now, it's time for

My tits are fucking ridiculous and should quite possibly be registered as a deadly weapon. I broke a fucking bra!

I was standing in the bathroom wearing my strapless bra and panties while getting ready to go to a wedding when all of a sudden, I heard a loud "POP!"

I watched in horror as the snap on the front of my ginormous bra ricocheted like a bullet shot out of a high powered fucking riffle off the mirror and then embedded itself into the wall behind me.

If not for my mad Ninja Ducking Skillz, I would have lost my goddamn eye. I heard a huge sigh of relief and then my boobs broke free and ate the fucking dogs.

If I were a cheap stripper I would so change my name to Melanie Mammaries.

Speaking of strippers. Duke and I got married in Vegas. After attending the wedding last night, I have one question. When did weddings stop being about the bride and groom, about celebrating love and an open goddamn bar?

It has become a cluster fuck of details.

Pick your flowers, pick your colors, the date, the food, first dance song, party favors, mementos, and on and on. Just the thought of all that bullshit would have me contemplating death by fucking Drain-o.

Let me plan a wedding. I think the perfect first dance song would be "Another One Bites the Dust".

Party favors, and wedding mementos? Fuck a goddamn box of cutesy Hershey kisses with names and date on the bottom.

I think Xanax in a pretty box for a party favor would be the shit. How about a sweaty guy named Lou set up in the back ready to tattoo our names and wedding date on the body part of your choice? Now THAT is a fucking memento asshats.

After last night I have come to the conclusion that some people are like a fucking slinky....not good for a damn thing, but you still can't help but smile when you shove them down the stairs.

It's almost time for the NASCAR race in Atlanta, so I will leave you with the advice I gave the Bride when we left...

Husbands have two emotions: Hungry and Horny. If you see him without an erection, make him a fucking sandwich.

Dumb Bride, bitch thought I was kidding.

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
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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.

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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!

A Bathtub, A Box Of Wine and an Old Lady

Hello fucksticks. Before we get started, I need to clear something up. I am alive and drunk and hopped up on pills well.

My lovely sister, The Queen, put out an APB on me. She even put my face on fucking milk cartons!

Crazy Drunken Ho forgot that Friday, I was in jail. However, I was able to bribe Big Bertha so I could participate in CB's Blog Stalk Friday.

AND Saturday is The Dutchess' Day off. Fuck! Even Big Ernie needed a day of rest.

In her crazy drunken defense, she gets nervous when the Duke and I go missing because in our younger years, that usually meant that more crotch parasites would be joining the family nine months later.

However, after the Spawn of Satan made his appearance almost 16 years ago, I had all of those procreating parts removed, stomped on and then burned to a fucking crisp.

Now, grab your favorite boxed wine, pull up a seat and sit the hell down. It's time for...

Duke decided to relax and go fishing this afternoon. He promised an endless supply of Corona if I went with. You asshats know I couldn't say no. Now I wish I had. Drinking ice cold Coronas at the speed of light only means one thing. Holy mother of christ I had to pee!!!!!!

Because we were in bumfucked nowhere, the was no restroom. I could only hold it for so long before I thought my goddamn bladder might explode. I finally accepted defeat and went to pee in the goddamn woods. Each time I did, I got attacked by our new state bird. The fucking mosquito.... On my ass. It was the only goddamn part of my body that wasn't soaked in Deep Woods Off.

I guess if I were a mosquito, my ass would seem like a fucking buffet. I can hear the mosquito now, (in a ridiculous Mexican accent, because, obviously).

This Julio Mosquito, Gringo Ass Hunter. "Holy frijoles! Look at the size of it amigos! If I can take this mamacita down, her borrico will feed my whole family for a year! I had better creep up on her, though. She's not in her natural habitat vato, and could be muy loco!"

Speaking of Cheech and Chong, WHAT??? Mexican accent-ed mosquitoes remind me of Cheech and Chong, so eat me fuckers!

Anyway, being a lizard might be fun. Not that pretentious gecko fuck on the commercials, but something cool like a chameleon. How goddamn funny would it be to blend into the refrigerator and scare the fuck out of the SoS. Or I could wait in the shower for The Duke and just as he is washing his balls be all "Heeeeer's Johnny!!" HA!

I was trimming the fucking Velcro factory that surrounds my lady bits, when I spotted them. What the motherfucking hell??? THERE ARE GODDAMN GREY HAIRS... on my vajayjay, my chachi, my whisker biscuit, poontang, cooter, twat, coochie, snatch, alter of love, fun hatch, pink taco, vaginator, bearded (in my case Amish) clam, ....

OK , so I got carried away, whatever. Holy fuck y'all, my beaver is turning grey. This simply will not do.

Maybe I should wax it into a landing strip, or just go all out and go for the smooth look. On second thought, FUCKING HELL TO THE NO! Been there done that, ended up with my ass cheeks glued shut, my pussy stuck to the tub and a fucking scar on my puffy lady lips. Fuck you, Shut-UP!

Maybe I'll just dye it. I could dye it a really cool color like green...no, green might make it look moldy and nobody likes a moldy snatch.

Maybe blue. Then I could pretend it was the Blue Lagoon and tell The Duke to dive in, the water is just fine while humming the tune "Endless Love".

Maybe orange...no that would remind me of a bad Mexican dye job. The Mexican Hat Dance song would play in my head causing me to shout "OLE!" Every time I took a shit.

I always wanted a pink pony. Now I can have a hot pink pussy. I could shave the pubs into a big P and be the Pink Pussy Avenger. Wonder what my gynecologist would think.

Maybe purple. Would kinda give new meaning to the Purple People Eater song. SWEET! I could totally make up new words. "It was a one hole, one clit, shiny purple pecker eater."

Maybe it's time to go. My ass itches, fucking Julio!

Drunken Reflections From A Bathtub

I was soaking in the tub with a huge glass of wine after cooking a huge meal for my kids and my guests (my Mom & her Hubby who just got back from Mexico). I stopped at some point to reflect about the fact that my train of thought is seriously fucking twisted. Here. I’ll show you. This is my thought process, unedited, while bathing tonight:

“Fuck, I’m tired. I wonder what my kids would do if I just stopped feeding them. Would they live on Kool-Aid packets? stale cheetos? Dry macaroni? I bet if they were Ethiopian they could live on damned near anything. They’re so spoiled. I hope they didn’t burn the goddamn cookies.”

“christ on a cracker my tits are huge. People aren’t fucking kidding. I wonder where I get that from? No female in my family has boobs this fucking size. (I grab a ship that my grandson uses for a tub toy) S.S. Minnow, S.S. Minnow, this is the S.S. Boob. Come in, over. We have been torpedoed and are sinking. Requesting assistance. (Moving the boat closer to my tits) Ha! Dumb Fucker! (Shoving the ship under a boob) That’s what you get! Manned by a man, I bet! You have been shipwrecked and there is no return!!”……”Wow. I’m so fucking strange.”

“I bet I could feed an entire goddamn village on these babies. Sally Struthers didn’t just disappear from the radar and not get any more shitty commercials. I bet those fucking kids attacked her nipples and sucked her dry. She’s probably wandering in some village somewhere, all 82 pounds of her. Damn. That’s what I need. A bunch of starving children to suck all the calories out of me. Fuck you, Dr. Adkins.”

“Ick. I need to shave my pussy. I look like I’m harvesting Velcro for fuck sake. I don’t know why it matters. No one wants to see this. My grandmother had twelve children. No wonder she was a fucking hunchback. How do you handle being pregnant for nine goddamn years? I’d kill a motherfucker and build a shrine to that Bobbit chick.”

“I should get out of the tub. I have to pee. I should just pee in here. No, that’s disgusting. Then I’d be stewing in my own pee. That’s just fucking wrong. I’d be like an oyster. Of course, if the Duke is willing to throw some cocktail sauce on me and eat me with wild abandon, I’d be okay with that.”

Now you asshats know. I know that you wish you didn’t, but tough shit, it's my castle. I should make this a weekly thing. Drunken Bathtub moments. Fuck Yeah!

MAYBE I should just stop drinking and allowing myself access to the computer.