A Party For WHAT?!

Do you remember when you got your first period? I was 11, and on a camping trip with my Mom, and her best friend. Anyway, after going to the bathroom, I was a little freaked out.  Dude, it was the 70's!  Sex education didn't cover much back then!  I called out for my Mom, she called her BFF into the melee, and then they gave me:

The Supplies:
 A thick ass maxi pad, with some kind of elastic torture device to hold it in place and a roll of toilet paper.

The Lowdown, Info, 411:
1. The toilet paper was to be used to wrap up your used pad before throwing it away. That way, no one really new you were on your period. (What?)

2. I was now a woman and could pregnant. The hell?! I'M ELEVEN! I"M NOT EVEN SURE I KNEW WHAT THAT MEANT, FOR FUCK SAKE!!  IT WAS ONLY THE 70'S!!

3.  A snicker, an eye roll and the sound of clinking ice in her highball glass was all I got.  I certainly was not the guest of honor at a Period Party.

Yep, you read that right. A motherfucking Period Party!  One of my cousin's daughter's just got an invitation to a Period Party!  Apparently, it’s not enough for a young girl to start menstruating; now that particular life event needs to be celebrated with a themed, invitation-only party. Much like everything else in some of these entitled little asshole's lives today.

Seriously people, are we raising a fucking generation that’s going to expect balloons animals and a godamn cupcake every time they fart or put the toilet seat down? When will this nonsensical bullshit end?

Sure, I agree it's an important time for a young woman, but is it necessary to do it with a party?
Especially seeing as how this will become her least favorite time of the month, starting one day after the "Hey, I'm bleeding" shindig and lasting until menopause or until she can convince a doctor to rip that shit out, roots, eggs and all.

As I sit here, I wonder... Do the guests eat red jelly beans, red Jell-O, drink Big Red soda and give their red balloons panty-liner mustaches?  Does the crazy ass Mother then read them excerpts from Judy Bloom's, "Are you thee God, It's Me, Margaret" or "The Period Book", while they dunk tampon shaped teacakes in their damn teacups?   Um, is it just me or does that sound like a scene out of some fucking whacko Woody Allen movie? 

How do you even plan a Period Party?  Are there places out there to go for supplies?  Are there sections in the party store that sell pretty princess period party pack that includes plates, cups, and pink feminine disposal goody bags? 

Are there games like, “Get The Egg Out Of The Ovary” (Don't get stuck in the fallopian tubes!), or "Tampon Basketball," or, "Pin the chocolate on the menstruating woman's mouth"?  Maybe there are word games like, "How many words can you make out of “Puberty Really Sucks!" or "Help I Have Cramps From Hell!" or my personal favorite, "Bitch, I have raging PMS and will kill you!"

Well, that sure sounds like way more fun than the traditional “run to the fucking bathroom and hope your period doesn’t go through your white pants or everyone in the 6th grade will taunt you until you fucking graduate, dumbass” game we all played, right?

What about gifts for the guest of honor?  What exactly are "Welcome to Womanhood" gifts?  How about a pocket calendar, a red candle, a case of douche, and pimple cream?  AWESOME!  Just what every 12 year old dreams of unwrapping!

And if that weren’t humiliating enough, does Mommy dearest invite older women to the party to “share their menstrual stories” with the tweens?  Yeah, because that's not fucking traumatizing at all!

“And then, girls, there was the time I had my period on my honeymoon, so my husband spent the entire time gambling in the casino while I cried and drank minibar vodka on the bathroom floor."

"Well, at least that was still better than that time I had cramps so painful that I took three Vicodin and crashed the car into Dunkin Donuts."

"OOH!  What about that time I got toxic shock syndrome and almost died from sepsis."

Such good times!  Welcome to womanhood, Sweetpea! Pass the Midol Martinis!”

Look, I know it's important to talk with our daughters about their bodies. Just do it without the fucking the red balloons, please.

Tales From A Dorkville Funeral

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Tacos, Bling, and Bunnies

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

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

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

Today, the conversation went like this...

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

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

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

Pause. Smile. Wait.

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

I bite my fucking tongue and wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sue."

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

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

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

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

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

He waggles his brows again.

His hand has not moved.

"You have to guess my name, first!"

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

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

ERIC. With motherfucking rhinestones. Bling.

Holy fucking shit.

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.

The Christmas Crazy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Future Leaders? We Are So Fucked

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

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

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

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

Bagger: "What are those paper slip things?"

Cashier: "It's a donation card."

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

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

Me: "A coupon for what, sweetie?"

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

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

I make a lot of stupid fucking decisions.

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

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

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

Bagger: "Almost twenty!"

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

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

Me: "Just fucking fabulous."

These assholes will, eventually, be running our country.

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

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

Aging Superhero and Mid-life Crisis

I will be 44 in January. It's time to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.”
Well, I've thought about it. I don’t want to grow up.

First you’re born.
Then you grow up.

Then you work like a fucking dog
Then they squish your titties and stick a camera up your ass in the name of "preventative medicine and early detection.

Then you die.

Yep, I'm sure I don’t want to grow up.

So then I said to myself, “Maybe this is your midlife crisis, Dutch. You need to take a Xanax and nap.”

When I woke up I realized that I had been “dreaming” about shit that only old people think about. Like...

Fiber
Anyone named Obama.
Partially Hydrogenated Vegetable Oil
Nancy Pelosi
Colonoscopies and mammograms
Immigration Reform
Global Warming
Global Cooling
The Communists
Lawrence Welk
Gas prices
The early bird special
My current un-diet
My annual physical
The future
Death

And that was just one dream.

I was dreaming like an goddamn old person.

Where were all the hot Chippendale guys? A shirtless Kenny Chesney?? Where was the sweet little island home? Where the hell was the shoe store with every shoe I wanted in my perfect size? Where were the jeans molded to my perfect ass? That is what I use to dream about.

What in the bloody hell happened to my dreams?

So I’m totally bummed, and decide to shake it off, get tipsy and then, it happened. This came in the mail.

What. The. Motherfucking. Hell.

I can’t believe this.

Me.

In the A.A.R.P?

Do these people know I’m not turning 50 for 6 goddamn years? In the year 2017?

Communist bastards.

This has to be a goddamn satanic cult.

A.A.R.P.? I have an A.A.R.P. card?

They call it the A.A.R.P. because that’s the sound you make when you first open the envelope it comes in.

“AARP!!!!”

Why do I need to join the goddamn A.A.R.P.?

I’m already in the Beer of the Month Club.

This really really irks me. It really really does.

It’s bad enough that I sound like the goddamn “Tin Man” every time I get up from my couch now they want me to have an old person ID card?

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

So I go to their website to write them a scathing fuck you letter

Um…Wait a minute...

Maybe this isn’t so bad.

OOph look! I can get discounts to Disneyland and Sea World and Hertz and Hampton Inns. (I think there’s a law that says old people have to stay at a Hampton Inn or Motel 6)

I can get 50% off a “scientific” BBQ Thermometer that let’s me monitor my food from a 100 feet away.

They obviously these dickheads don’t know me that well. I’m never a 100 feet away from my goddamn food.

I can get 35% off a GPS device if I’m in the AARP.

How come all old people aren’t buying these kick ass things? Maybe then we wouldn’t be reading about these old people wandering the fuck off all the time. They should automatically send a GPS with the goddamn card. ..I'm just sayin'.

I spent an hour on the website. I can get discounts on everything!!! Then it hit me.

AARP is like a motherfucking COSTCO for old people! And it’s all online!!!

I’m starting to think this isn’t such a bad idea.

I start to picture myself coming up to a line of elderly people standing in line waiting for government cheese when I whip out and flash my A.A.R.P. card. “Stand aside assclowns! The Dutchess is here! I’m in the A.A.fuckingR.P.”

I can use this sweet gem of a card for everything! I’ll get it laminated and put it in it’s own little separate wallet spot and keep it in my purse next to that stupid plastic squeezy thing old people keep their change in.

Then I’ll whip it out like I’m a Ninja FBI agent.

“Dutchess of Dorkville, A.A.R.P.”

I’ll be almost like a secret agent for the old and decrepit.

Fuck, I could be an old person’s super hero!

A.A.R.P. Woman!!! Swooping down with long term health insurance and soft food.

I need a cape. SHYEAAAH!

And a walker that shoots Viagra, Celebrex, Bengay, Rolaids and Boniva.

Oh hell yes! I can still be somebody!!!!

“Dutch!!!”

“DUTCHESS!!! WAKE UP!!!”

“What rhe hell do you want Duke!!!?”

“You’re thrashing around in your sleep and yelling yippie-ki-yay motherfucker!!!”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“Then you need to be commited. Now where are you going?”

“To the bat cave mister!”

“What?”

“Jeeze! To the goddamn bathroom okay?”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“I can’t tell you. I can never reveal my secret identity. Then I'd have to kill you, and then who would keep me in Jimmy Choo shoes and Coach bags?”

“Jesus, why can’t you just go out and change your hair color, hire a pool boy or take up real estate like most women having a midlife crisis?"

Well, my dear Duke Numb Nuts, I just might!

Fuck you very much.

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.

Bat-Shit Crazy Magnet

Every Tuesday morning my friend and I go to Starbucks together. I bring my knitting, (Yes I do asshats. The Dutchess has an assload of talents you don't know about. Suck It!) order our drinks and then sit around in the outside patio for an hour or so knitting and gossiping.

What makes this whole outing a fucking barrel of goddamn monkeys, is all of the motherfucking crazies who are out and about nearly every time we go!

Now, you all know that I’m totally used to this. I’m a bat-shit crazy magnet. There is something about me that seems to draw every fucking whack job within a 20 mile radius right to me.

I’m not shitting you. If there is some homeless mumbling weirdo around? It’s me he walks up to. Apparently, I bring out the motherfucking crazy in people.

Once I had a mentally challenged guy of about 18 or 20 grab double fistfuls of the front of my shirt and screech “BOOBIES!” while he yanked to and fro.

HA! No one is immune to my charm and beauty.

Last week we had this homeless guy (who smelled so fucking bad, kinda like rotten fucking fruit and it was making my goddamn eyes water), pull up a chair and sit down at our table! My friend jumped up so fast she knocked her chair over and totally fucking abandoned me! She went running inside and just left me sitting outside with Mr. Fucking Stinky Man!

I didn’t know what to do, I mean, homeless folks have feelings too goddammit. And it seemed to me that my dear friend over-reacted just a tad. So I smiled at him and said ‘Hi!”

He just sat there. He didn’t talk, he didn’t look at me, nothing. He just sat there funking up the goddamn air. If he were a fucking cartoon character he would have had those wavy stink lines and flies buzzing over his damn head.

So, I did what I thought any reasonable person would do. I just sat there, knitting and trying not to throw up until he got up and wandered away.
What the fuck?

Today, we were sitting there knitting away when this man walked by and then stopped short, doubled back and then just stared at us for a good 20 seconds before he went inside and got his coffee. THE HELL?

When he came out he stopped in front of our table and said Lets ROLL! and without even waiting for a response he fucking walked away from us.

My friend is laughing her ass off, and I'm trying to figure out what in the hell is going on around here. Is everyone on fucking drugs or is Starbucks slipping shit in the coffee?

Although, I wish he had slowed down a little though, because it just so happened that he climbed into this giant fucking cement truck and drove away.

A motherfucking cement truck!

I totally would have rolled with him!

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!

Marley And His Bitch

I am still fighting the Battle of the Snot. I despise having a cold, but having one at the end of summer? Suck big ass.

However, something happened around here this weekend that I have been dying to share with you.

The Duke's mother is a ridiculous pain in my goddamn ass sweet woman. For that reason, we roll our goddamn eyes and break out the allergy medicine and Kleenex all forgive her for buying the Duke Jovan Musk for every goddamn federal holiday and all his birthday's since he was old enough to slap some on and go cruising down to the local drive-in in his mustard colored Pinto.

When I saw it sitting on his computer desk the other day, I asked him about it.

"Are you thinking about wearing that shit? You know it makes all of us sneeze."

"Well, my mother is coming in a few days, so I guess I'll start wearing it now so we can all get use to it before she comes."

He'll wear it while she is here, and then I'm sure it will end up gathering dust until I send it the way of the thousand other bottles before it...

I'll give it to the homeless dude that lives behind the McDonald's dumpster. What! Even homeless people like to feel sexy. And, that shit keeps the fucking rats away.

Over the weekend, the neighbor's new puppy Marley, tried in vain to make sweet, sweet love to the Duke's leg on a few different occasions.

While I am all about letting him go at it (I mean, really, he's having his goddamn nuts removed in a week and a half. Would it really kill the Duke to let Marley do the humpity-hump while he was sucking down beers and bullshitting with the people next door? No? I didn't think so), the Duke cringes and shrieks like a fucking girl as he's shooing him away.

After the last incident, I felt the need to explain Marley's urge to dominate him.

"Honey, you know why he humps your leg, right?"

He looks at me, very seriously, and replies, "Because I'm wearing Jovan Musk?"

Oh my fucking hell, I laughed until I dissolved into an uncontrollable coughing fit and peed myself.

Oh hell, I fucking love than man!

Now back to cold medicine, the couch and shitty daytime TV.

Protecting America, One Homeless Dude At A Time

I think everyone in America has a fucking cell phone.

Today I saw a goddamn homeless dude unplug the water machine outside of the Quickie Mart and plug in his cell phone to recharge it.

His goddamn cell phone….

The Hell?

Who the fuck is he gonna call?

Little shitty Caesar's??

Who the hell could be on his “Fav – Five”?

The Salvation Army?
The Local Soup kitchen?
The goddamn Methadone Clinic?

I can just imagine some other homeless guy yelling at him for pushing his cart and using his motherfucking phone at the same time. "No texting and driving, asshole!"

What the hell would you call a hands free device for a homeless guy?

A “One Tooth”?

I was mesmerized watching this shit.

I was tempted to ask him if he had a goddamn “Facebook” page but I could smell him from my SUV and I didn’t have any spare change.

Achmed from the Quickie Mart must have been alerted by someone else because he came balls to the walls out of that store yelling.

“Hullahullahullahullahullahullahullahulla!!! You stop dis right now smelly man!!!”

At that moment it hit me. I was watching the heart of the American spirit.

The homeless guy looked up at Achmed and said, and I quote, “Kiss my ass you terrorist FUCK!!!”

Holy fucking hell! I started laughing my ass off. Then I damn well started to applaud.

Don’t get me wrong. I felt bad for Achmed. He was just doing his job and I know he is not terrorist. But in that one fucking moment I realized that America is safe.

Even if the terrorist bastards could defeat our military, they could never defeat a country of homeless, pissed off, methadone addicts with motherfucking cell phones.

I'm so proud to be an American!

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

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.

This Is Why I Drink At Home

It is also for my Sis, she needs a good laugh. Let's face it, I'm a motherfucking freak magnet so you know where this is going, right?

I was a single Mom for a while and took a second job as a bartender. Where else can a girl meet quality husband material?

No matter what you may hear, I did NOT get fired for drinking more than I made, nor for uttering the phrase, "Shots for everyone...ON THE HOUSE BITCHES!" a couple times a night. Whatever, fuckers.

Being young and naive, I thought bartending was a job where you could meet some great people, and I did. Matter of fact, The Duke and I started dating when I was tending bar.

However, I also knew you could meet some seriously fucked up individuals, and I did. I like to live on the edge, so I would sometimes fraternize outside the of the bar with the people I met.

That is until I realized that all of these people? Are complete fucking nutjobs and I would do well to never forget that shit.

There was this couple that came in every night named Chuck & Cindy. Now C & C, used to invite me and my then boyfriend (The Duke) to play darts with them. C & C were a seemingly normal, nice couple. They made me laugh and we all know I don't need an excuse to throw pointy shit while imbibing adult beverages, so, obviously, we went.

Two hours into the night, I shit you not, Cindy had Chuck in a fucking head-lock and was poking him in the forehead with a dart while screaming, "How good looking is she, Chuck? Huh? How well does that whore sell that beer?!"

You see, there was a big ass poster in the bar we were in and Chuck said some stupid shit about how hot the St. Paulie beer chick was, and how he would so "Nail that down with more than one tack, if ya know what I mean".

Pretty fucking quickly we realized that this was a fucked up relationship (Chuck was 6 feet, 2 inches and well built. Cindy sued the city for building the goddamn sidewalks too close to her ass) and that Cindy had goddamn jealous bone the size of fucking Texas.

She was one scary bitch. When they invited us for a second outing, I HAD to accepted because I didn't want her to beat me the fuck up. Back then, I didn't have a Kansas posse and I was single. I couldn't risk anyone fucking up the money maker, ya know?

So, we went to dinner, drank a couple bottles of wine and headed back to the bar so I could pick up my car. Chuck announced that he had to pee. Cindy was driving, so she pulled into a goddamn deserted parking lot and we idled while a drunken Chuck hopped out of the truck.

As he was coaxing his goddamn dick to come out so he could pee ("S'cold out here!"), Cindy picked up his cell phone and started going through his calls and messages.

The Duke and I looked at each other and cringed because we knew there was no way in hell this was going to end up good. Any stupid ass thing could set her off. The Duke held up his hand, five fingers splayed, and slowly began the countdown.

Five, four, three, two, one-

"Chuck, who the hell is Linda?"

Chuck was still talking to his goddamn dick, which wasn't cooperating, and he turned to look back over his shoulder, confused. "Huh?"

"LINDA! It's right here in your phone asshole! Who the hell is fucking Linda?"

Chuck had just enough liquid courage in him to make a huge fucking mistake. "Oh, riiiiight, Linda. Sweet Linda, She's my other girlfriend, Cindy. Yeah, I fuck her when you're not with me, which would be in the bathroom at our fucking house when you think I'm taking a shit because that's the only goddamned time I'm without-"

Cindy was rounding the front of the truck before Chuck realized she was no longer in the vehicle. He saw the demonic expression on her face, freakishly distorted by the headlights of the truck. He did the only fucking thing he knew to do. That fucker ran.

As he did this high-stepping, bowlegged jog across the damn parking lot, he held tightly to his dick, which ironically, was the very thing that was going to ensure the dumb motherfucker got caught. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw her gaining on him and he squealed like a fucking girl before attempting to move faster.

It was at this time that the combination of fear and physical activity fucked him over and his bladder finally let go. Piss shot out in an arc and Chuck decided two things:

1. He couldn't stop running

2. He didn't want to combine the humiliation of running from a girl and pissing on himself

He wrenched his dick to the right and the stream followed. He was still managing to stay just out of arms reach of Cindy, but that bitch was fucking on a mission and she was catching up. He started to try and reason with this short, jealous, out of control, motherfucking lunatic.

"CINDYYYYYY! I was just fucking kidding! Stop this bullshit! I have new shoes on goddamn it!"

"Stop running numbnuts! Take it like a fucking man!" she screamed back.

I remember being somewhat impressed with the never ending stream of piss.

As we watched in morbid fascination, she caught his arm, whipped him around and busted him right in the goddamn face.

A look of disbelief and shock replaced her maniacal lunatic expression, when, with a bloody smile, Chuck readjusted his dick and finished what he'd started....
all over the front of Cindy.

They broke up.

I decided right that drinking at home was a great idea and that double fucking dates were a big HELL NO NEVER AGAIN.