Like A Good Neighbor...

Guess what?     No!  Willie is NOT using my shed as a grow house!  NO!  I have not put up the  "Hookers "R" Us" "OPEN for Business" door sign!  I haven't even been found passed out naked in the front bird bath while yammering about the fucking sky falling and the pool shrinking!  Your guesses suck tits, people!

"I have new neighbors!  Yep!  That's right!  Brand spankin' new neighbors!  Now, I know what you're thinking,

"OH HOLY HELL! NO ONE WARNED THEM!"
"ABORT!! ABORT!! DON'T BUY THE HOUSE, PEOPLE!
RUUUNNNNNN, YOU DUMB FUCKS, RUUUUUNNNNN!

I know, I know, but hang on!  History doesn't have to repeat itself, right?  I'm the simpler, kinder, changed by life, Dutchess.  I am the Dutch that can learn from history instead of being confined by it!  I can be informed, and empowered by it instead of being dictated by it!  This is going to be GREAT!  I'm finally going to be a good neighbor!

I cut a pretty bouquet of fresh cut Peonies from my front flower bed, wrapped them in a pretty bow, and went and welcomed them to the neighborhood.  I smiled, made nice, and I was charming, dammit!  I was feeling pretty great about my new self! 

Well, a couple days later, the wife of the new neighborhood BFF's knocked on the door.  She noticed my grandbaby playing outside earlier and figured him to be close to the same age as her darling rug rat.  She went on to say that she really needed to run to the grocery store and wondered if I'd be interested in watching kid dynamo for an hour.

SHUT UP!    I can hear you laughing, asshats!  These people don't know old me!  I have too changed!  I even took down the pentagram, and the sign over the door that says we keep and eat all girl scouts whom dare enter!

So, of course I said yes!  She then tells me her little angel is gluten free, and she doesn't believe in sugary soda.  The hell?  Believe in it or not, bitch, the soda exists!  But, I smile, say sure, and wave buh-bye.

Ok, here I am going to stop and explain that I am old.  I'm not even sure what the fuck gluten free means, but I decide a snack is in order.  What better way to get to know a child than to feed them?  Genius.  I called for my grandson, and he and rug rat sit at the breakfast table. 

I decide Kool-aid isn't a soda, and grab a couple boxes and hand them to the boys.  The phone rang, and it was some asshole telemarketer.  I swear, I had my back to the boys for 3.437 seconds and I turn around to ask the boys if they would like an apple, because an applies healthy, right?

Holy Fuck!  The grandson and his angelic rug rat sidekick have managed to get the lid off of a box of Costco cupcakes and have crammed as many as they could into those darling little piranha mouths in some whacked out competition!

I glance at this once angelic kid who now is in a wild eyed eating frenzy with a face smeared in frosting muttering something about how could his commie bitch parents never have told of this bliss!

Well, fuck!  I don't think those are gluten free, and maybe the kool-aid wasn't such a good idea.

Needless to say, when Mom picked up kid dynamo, he was at the height of his sugar rush and kinda reminded me my Uncle Shorty.  A tiny, sugared up, flesh colored blur of fury with incoherent stuttering, and swearing, pinging off the walls.  Sorry!

I think my neighborhood BFF status just lost an F.

Pass the wine, Please.  This good neighbor shit is hard!

A New Weekly Habit

Hello Royal Watchers!

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

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

Dear Dutchess

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

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

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

Then, just shoot me the e-mail at:

dutchessofdorkville@gmail.com

Simple, yes?
Good.

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

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



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

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

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

A Bathtub, Some Wine, and a Few Notes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Birthdays and Pink Rabbits

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Glimpse Of The Real Life Dutchess

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Trucks were pushed over

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


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

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!

Shoulder Monkeys and A Nightcap

It's time for...

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


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

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

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

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

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

I am fucking exhausted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

Spiders, Exhaustion, and a Ratty-ass Robe

First, thank you all for playing FUFF here while CB was away.

As you all know, the Royal Family has been a bit discombobulated the past couple weeks, and quite frankly? I'm fucking exhausted, and that? Leads me to this morning.

This morning, after another fucking night of little sleep, I rolled out of bed, showered, threw on my ratty-ass bathrobe, headed downstairs and opened the garage door to get my newspaper from the driveway because our paper boy throws like a goddamn girl. Guess what? I walked right into.... A FUCKING SPIDER WEB!!!!!

AGHHHH BLOODY FUCKING HELL!!!!!

IT WAS ON ME!!!!!!

There are only two things that scare the hell out of me.

Old people at The Sunday Morning Buffet.... and SPIDERS!!!!! I HATE those bastards!

So I'm flailing my arms, kicking my damn feet, trying to do anything to get this nasty fucking thing off of me.

I'm pretty sure I looked like a white goddamn ninja on crack!!!

Then I think, what would they do on Animal Planet because, doesn't everyone?

STOP, DROP and ROLL!!! (Not a good idea on a cement fucking driveway by the way.)

WHAT??!! Isn't that what you are supposed to fucking do?

Hell, I don't know but at that moment, I'm trying anything.

I even start beating myself with the damn newspaper.

With my fucking neighbors watching me...

Across the street from me is a house newly rented by a missionary family. They like to get up early and go for a walk, pray, part the damn sea, whatever...

I don't think they're used to seeing a 40 something fat lady rolling around on the cement beating herself with a goddamn newspaper wearing nothing but her ratty-ass bathrobe.

In my fucking panic and sleep deprived brain, I thought the spider was "in" my goddamn bathrobe.

What would you do if you thought you had a spider "in" your fucking bathrobe?

That's right asshats, I tore the ratty-ass bathrobe off OKAY???

I'm not ashamed to admit it, dammit.

I think I saw the Missionary Mother from across the street dropped to her knees and started fucking praying.

The other onlookers were laughing.

I only wish I were making this shit up.

So, I casually picked up my paper like nothing was wrong and sprinted like the Ethiopian runner in the goddamn Olympics, back into the house. Of course, I literally bumped into The Duke who was getting ready to leave for work.

Um....

It's kind of hard to explain to The Duke why I'm coming into the house with nothing on but the business section of the fucking newspaper.

He gets that look on his face, you know, the one from living with the Dutchess for 14 years, and says..

"Do I even want to know?"

"IT'S NOT MY FUCKING FAULT!!!"

"Where is your robe?"

"Outside."

"You left your robe outside?"

"Yes I did assbag."

"And there's a good reason for leaving your robe outside?"

"Yes, of course there fucking is."

"And that reason would be?"

"I was attacked by Brown Recluse Spiders."

"What?"

"I think there were three of them bastards, some sort of goddamn gang, they threw me down and tried to bite me. I managed to beat them off with the paper and my robe."

Rolling eyes, "Put some clothes on and go get your robe."

"You go get my robe."

"You want me to go get your robe off the driveway because you're afraid of a spider?"

"Noooooo. I want you to set my motherfucking robe on fire or give it to a fucking homeless person because I'm never wearing that ratty-ass robe again."

"What did you do to those Missionaries across the street?"

"I think they're giving funeral rites to one of the spiders. I may have killed him with the goddamn sports section."

"Tell me again why I married you."

"Because you saw me without my ratty-ass robe on 14 years ago and fucking gave me a standing ovation?"

"Try again."

"Because I complete you? I don't fucking know!!!"

He then turned to leave for work and busted into a fit of gut wrenching, snorting goddamn hysterical, laughter.

I may or may not have threatened to stab him with a meat thermometer in fucking neck.

Insomnia, Ninja Cats and A Blow Job

I'm an insomniac and live on very little sleep. For the most part, I'm good with that. I've been this way as long as I can remember, and it's just who I am. There are days, however, that it all just catches up, and I'm fucking tired, yo!

Yesterday was exhausting and tried my fucking patience. After a day of traffic jams, mind numbing errands, bickering kids, barking dogs, laundry, cooking supper and a dozen an after dinner drink, I was ready to go the hell to sleep.

What's that sound, you ask? It's the sound of the universe laughing. Just ignore the bastard.

I dropped into bed at 10:30, thinking to myself, "whoa! I haven't voluntarily went to bed this early since goddamn grade school!", and close my eyes.

Enter the Duke. He thinks me going to bed before 2:00AM is code for "let's have hot monkey sex". 5 minutes later, (Shut the fuck up, don't judge, we've been married for what seems like forever. Or maybe I am just that fucking good). I close my eyes again, and start to blissfully drift off to sleep.

There is suddenly, what sounds to be my cat in a WWE/WWF (make up your fucking mind McMahon) Battle Royal cat fight, outside my window.

Motherfucker, I hate cats. I curse the day the Duke brought that goddamn fleabag cat into our lives. I jump out of bed, go over to the window and yell at the cats to shut the fuck up and go fight elsewhere.

Ah...Silence...I guess I told those harry bastards. I sink into bed and.....the fucking cat fight starts up again with a vengeance.

I can feel my fucking bliss starting to slowly recede. I'm going to kill that damn cat. Ok, probably not, but she sure as fuck is going to get her ass in the house for the night. I head downstairs, whip open the front goddamn door, stomp down the front porch into the drive, and the cats freeze.

Well shit, my cat is not even out here. Matter of fact, I now hear her meowing, from inside the mother fucking front door, goddamn pussy!!

No matter, these assholes are going to relocate their fight one way or another. So, I start walking toward them, shooing them away. This ballsy orange bastard cat with a death wish, starts to growl at me.

I'm thinking, Oh no you fucking didn't! I then make a hissing sound, hoping to scare them away. (again, no judging, I'm fucking sleep deprived, assbags!)

That crazy orange bastard comes charging right at me. I scream, because what if it's rabid! The fucker has ninja like speed and just before smashing into my leg, he dodges to the left, swats at me, catches my leg with his claw and takes off into the night.

jesus christ on a fucking cupcake y'all, I'm a motherfucking victim of a goddamn drive by, from a fucking CAT!

I go back into the house and try to talk to the Duke about rabies, drive-bys, and a ninja bastard cat that just attacked me.

Mr. "I Could Sleep Through a Train Coming Through the House", mumbles and turns over. It's amazing how you can love someone one minute and want to punch him in the fucking throat the next.

I stalk to the bathroom, wash out the scratch that is now slightly bleeding, and trudge back to bed to attempt sleeping again.

"Whooo who who whooot". My eyes pop open. What the fuck? "Whoo who who whoot".

Holyfuckamoly, you gotta be kidding me! We haven't had an owl around here since last fall. I step out onto the balcony and light a smoke, and start talking, trying to scared it away. I can't see it, but I know the fucker is there somewhere. I finish my smoke, and hadn't heard the owl, so I go back to bed. "Whoooo who who whooot".

I'm wonder where that fuck that orange ninja attack bastard cat is, and cursing the motherfucking universe.

At this point, I'm the only one awake and the sounds of the family sleeping is really beginning to piss me off.

"Whooo who who whooot". Awww fuck it, the universe is totally fucking with me so I decide to get up. I pace, I read, I smoke, and then think coffee sounds like a brilliant idea. More of that sleep deprived thinking, obviously.

I finally end up going to bed at 4:39 am, but that's ok. Duke said he would take Lord Crash to football practice and Prissy has to work, but drives herself, so I'm thinking I'm going to get to sleep in. Yeah Me!

At 6:01 this morning Lord crash has lost his goddamn mind and is singing, "Oh, What A Beautiful Morning" at the top of his fucking lungs. I hurl a string of obscenities his way, and tell him to SHUT-THE-HELL-UP!

I pull the covers over my totally bliss less fucking head and vigilantly vow to go back to sleep....Just as I hear a motherfucking chainsaw firing up, and the shredder machine starting at the house across the street. They are clearing their back lot to put up a garage.

Duke comes out of the bathroom and sees his Dutchess standing in her ratty bathrobe with crazy eyes, crazy hair, clutching Lord Crashes Bow & Arrow in one hand and a bottle of Patron in the other mumbling something about murder one, a bow shoved up the neighbors ass and killing the next mother fucker that makes one goddamn sound.

I glare at him, daring him to say one. motherfucking. word.

Duke looks scared, licks his lips, stammers and finally says, "ummmm, this Saturday, Vegas, room service, expensive shoe shopping, and a suite at the Golden Nugget?"

He is sooooo getting more than 5 minutes of hot monkey sex AND a blow job. I may even swallow.

Fences Make Good Neighbors

When you live next door to a fucking whack job, your life sometimes feels like a sitcom. You often wonder, "Is this shit real or did I toke too many funny cigarettes? Where'd these freaks come from?" All too often I find myself shaking my head in disbelief.

One lady, Lulu, who thankfully, has since moved away, called the police on us. She told them that we had tunneled through her garage wall and stole her frozen food.

Police have to investigate all reports of break-ins, regardless of how fucked up they sound. When the sheriff came to us and told us why he was there, we had trouble not laughing in his face. He had some history with her and knew she was nuttier than a shit house rat.

As he backed out of our driveway, I reminded him to put an APB out on the bag of broccoli and Pizza Rolls.

About a year and a half ago, we got no eyebrows Denis, who again, thankfully, moved away. He is another motherfucking wacko. A harmless wacko, but a wacko nonetheless. He was the type you we would see outside religiously on Sundays at 7 a.m. drinking an Old Style over an open fire. I guess you can't drink all day if you don't start bright and early, which, hey, I don't have a problem with. It's the fire that scares the shit out of me.

He burned all of his trash, and lawn debris and then anything the neighbors threw out during the week that he considered burnable. It wasn't Sunday morning if you didn't hear that familiar "Whooooosh" from the gasoline soaked pile he lit. He kind of reminded me of Beavis and Butthead, "Fire, fire!"

It's a little nerve-wracking when someone who drinks beer first thing in the morning, has a fire raging in their yard.

When no-eyebrow Denis moved, Maniac Mike moved in. He likes the drink too. He can often be found trying to fix his car with a tool in one hand and a Miller Genuine Draft in the other.

One day, not too long ago, we pulled into our driveway to find Maniac Mike mowing our lawn. He was on a riding mower, one hand on the steering wheel, the other wrapped around a beer.

I swear, that asshole was mowing at top-speed. He was whipping around the trees in our yard like it was the lawnmower races and he was shooting for first place in the goddamn obstacle course. The Duke and I looked at each other before getting out of the car. I quickly hopped out of the car and ran toward the front door, maniacally laughing and said to the Duke, "Tag! You're it."

I went straight to the kitchen to point and laugh. When I looked out at the backyard, I could clearly see, Maniac Mike had been there. He might as well have just mowed his motherfucking name into the grass. All the mow lines were wobbly and there were two empty Miller Genuine Draft cans on the ground. Folks, our yard isn't that big to be able to down those two plus the one he was working on when we drove up, especially at the rate of speed he was going.

When the Duke finished talking to Mike, he came in the house with a shit eating grin and said, "Mike was trying to do you a favor so you would cut his hair."

"Cut his hair?! How does he know I can fucking cut hair?"

"Oh, I guess I might have told him."

"goddamn you little asshat!"

It wasn't long before Mike was sitting in front of me with his nappy ass head. He was so smelly, B.O. and cheap beer, plus his hair was matted and dirty and he had grass clippings stuck all over him. I feared he had small fucking woodland creatures living in that mop of his that would jump out at me. I made a mental note to kick the Duke's ass later. Practically gagging all the way, I managed to wash his hair and cut it and have him out of our house in 15 minutes. His smell, however, stuck around much longer.

When I finally got a chance to really checkout his crooked lawn cutting skills and pick up his beer cans, I noticed he mowed over our entire garden. I wish I knew that before I did his nappy fucking hair. I would have returned the uneven favor.

Maniac Mike stopped me in the driveway this morning, asking if I would cut his friend's hair. I quickly lied saying, "My scissors are too dull. I need new ones before I can do any one's hair." I don't know why saying no is so difficult. I hate that about me. What I was really thinking was, "No fucking way, pal. If he is your friend, he is likely a smelly, nappy-headed, nasty ass douche bag just like you, so, fuck that."

His friend arrived shortly after I went into my house. He was driving a riding mower down the street. I swear on everything pink and leopardy, if this guy touches my lawn, I will totally pull a goddamn Edward Scissorhands on his ass.