Kill Me Now

On top of two weeks of cooking, baking, playing hostess for not one but FOUR damn Christmas parties, (3 of which were at my castle...not counting the one planned for Saturday with part of the Dukes family) dealing with my other In-Laws and a 250mile one way road trip to see my baby sister, I have the motherfucking flu. I haven't had the flu in a few years and this is just un-fucking-acceptable. I demanded that little flu fucker stay away from me when my grandson, 2 daughters and the housekeeper fell ill.

Unfortunately, the flu gave me a great big fuck you...in the ass. Fever, chills, coughing, stuffy nose, aches down to my decrepit bones, and other....disgusting symptoms that I can hardly think of, let alone type.

I have been in pajamas for two fucking days. Aside from the Tylenol and NyQuil, the Dutchess has been drink and smoke free for damn near three days. I know, RIGHT!!!

I am seriously contemplating flinging myself into the goddamn gator pit.

Tornadoes, A Bus and A Birthday

First of all, I have something to clarify. YES, ASSCLOWNS, I KNOW DUTCHESS IS REALLY SPELLED DUCHESS! I'm a drunk stoner, not stupid! Lot's of names sound the same and are spelled different.
Wendy - Wendi
Georgia - Jorja
Ginger - Jinjer
You get the point.
I like spelling Dutchess. It's slightly off center, unique, odd, and wrong. Sounds like it fits me to a tee...or tea. And? IT'S MY FUCKING BLOG AND I CAN DO WHAT I WANT. KAPISH?

Good. Now, on with tonight's installment of "Tales from the Road".



This heavy duty drunken drug fest aboard the Insane Hooker Bus would be enough to send Whitney, I'm a fucking crack ho and I like it, Houston running to rehab.

Add a huge family birthday bash for the Spawn of Satan, a 2 year old no nap asshole stuck to me like flies on shit, tornado sirens, (which BTW, Mother nature, it is No-fucking-vember you bitch. Enough already!) hail plopping down on my new fucking mustang, an ice sculpting contest and a motherfucking cat fight. Know what you get?



After a few drinks, Xanax, and a fat doobie, all was right with the world and we were back on the road.

Then, we stumbled upon this sign

Of course we took the damn exit. And hoo boy! The girls got excited when we saw this next


As we crept around the bend, we found it....the Motherland.

We piled off of the bus and went to the nearest bar where we engaged in karaoke, dancing on tables, and a cherry stem knotting contest. I was running out of steam, and headed back to the bus for some much needed alone time. That's when I noticed something strange going on.





The hell? The motherfucking bus was being invaded!

*kcshhhhhhk*Houston, we have a Pussy problem.*kcshhhhhhk*

I sprinted ....ok, assholes, I walked, back to the goddamn bar to inform the Queen about the Pussy invasion. The drunk bitch had obviously been slipped a ruffie. All I could get out of her was..."Pussies? The more the merrier! Let them on the bus~"

Let's just say that the pussies are out of control and, the Royal vet says they have eaten a good portion of our best stash.


Personally? I think the Pussy Patrol is up to something more sinister than eating out premium pot. I've seen some pretty suspicious and disturbing things the past couple days...

Now, I may or may not be a touch paranoid from all of the Mary Jane we've consumed on this road trip. However, I'm beginning to I think the little pussies are either planning a coupe, or they are some kind of invasion of the Body snatcher-ET phone home motherfuckers, and they are training to take over the Royal family.

What say you, Internet?

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.

East Bound and Down

Where was Sheriff Buford T. Justice when I needed him?

Here’s a phrase that will never come out of my mouth again, “Let’s just rent a U-Haul and move this shit ourselves.”

I was a little girl (ok, so I was 13, whatever) when Eddie Rabbit sang about "Driving His Life Away". The minute I heard that song, I knew I wanted to drive a big rig for a living. (That was livin' large and dreaming the dream, huh?)

I have already stated that the vehicles I prefer to drive are my truck and the SUV. I love them, and don't tell me about my carbon fucking footprint, m'kay?.

I figured a little U-haul truck would be a piece of fucking cake. Apparently that’s incorrect and a fail.

You see, the Duke has been busy lately and I needed to put some old furniture into storage. I got sick of waiting for him to get around to it, so I decided to do it my damn self.

If you’ve never been to one of these storage mausoleums, it’s a real fucking treat. Here is a place, full of shit that people don’t want, but pay to store, that is more secure that Alcatraz.

First of all, they get nervous when The Royals want to put something into storage, but they try to be funny about it. “I see your part of the Royal Family. Who are you putting in there? Ha ha ha.”

“Nobody you know.”

Then they ask the token Homeland Security question. “You’re not planning on storing any chemical or biological agents in here are you?”

“Planning? No… I’m not “planning” on it.” The asshat then asks me to take my shoes off and go through a metal detector.

Meanwhile, seven guys who sound like they’re spitting when they talk are unloading drums of goddamn fertilizer, and screaming something about jihad in the space next to mine.

So I rent my space, on the third floor, and head over to U-Haul with my youngest son and daughter to rent “El Trucko.”

I called it “El Trucko” because anything that fucking big needed a title. I had reserved a small truck but they were all out so we got “El Trucko” at the small truck rates.

This fucking truck could have moved all of Mexico in one goddamn load.

I only needed to move a 241 pound 36 inch Sony TV, TV Stand, Dining Room Set and a bed.

When I hopped up into “El Trucko” I was immediately disappointed. There was no CB Radio.

How the hell was I gonna ask my good buddies if they’ve got their ears on without my goddamn CB radio?

I improvised and got out my cell phone and called my kids who were following behind me.

“Hey good buddies, I just passed another Kojak with a Kodak, this place is crawling with bears, where the hell are you? Bandit to Snowman, you got your ears on?" Can ya hear me now?”

My son was afraid.

“Mom, please don’t screw around in that truck. This isn’t “Smokey and the Bandit.”

Side Note: Line from the movie that makes me laugh every. single. time.
"Nobody, and I mean NOBODY makes Sheriff Buford T. Justice look like a possum's pecker. (Junior: "Except for that-") Shut your ass."

Too Late, I had already turned into Burt Reynolds or Jerry Reed. Actually I was more like Dom Delouise in “Smokey and the Bandit II, but whatever.”

As I’m driving back to my house to “load up” (that’s trucker talk, yo!) I started thinking of the wide open road, fresh air, country scenery, and where I could get a basset hound I could name Fred, it dawned on me. Maybe I was supposed to join a union to drive something this big. Maybe I was supposed to be a member of the Teamsters.

But the Teamster mind set wasn’t as much fun as the Smokey and the Bandit mind set so I kind of improvised it a little.

“So... How y’all doin? "What we're dealing with here is a complete lack of respect for the law."


Anyway not only am I not a truck driver... I’m no mover either. We dropped the fucking TV three times.

I knew we should have given it to the goddamn homeless guy.

Driving back to the self storage place, I started to sing, “East bound and down, loaded up and truckin, we gonna do what they say can't be done…..”

My daughter was crying.

When I pulled into the self storage lot there was only one space to park in and it was between two other very large trucks...of course.

Here’s another phrase you never want to hear yourself utter, “I think I can squeeze this baby in if I get the right angle.”

So, after I hit the front end and ripped the fucking bumper off the first truck, I found that although I was now fitting neatly into the space, there was no room to pull the ramp out of the damn truck to unload.

So I nudged it forward…ever so slowly…..

Now my front bumper is locked with the rear bumper of the goddamn truck in front of me.

My son was now suicidal.

“Jesus Christ Mom! Now what do we do?”

“We unload the fucking truck.”

We dropped the TV two more times and snapped a leg off of one of the dining room chairs, but I packed that stuff into that space like a shopping cart at a Mississippi Wal-Mart sale.

Then I went to the front office to confess to the crash while my son figured out how to unhook the trucks. I think he let air out of the tires to lower “El Trucko”.

“I kind of hit a truck back there.”

“We know we have you on our video surveillance cameras.”

Video surveillance?

This is a self storage facility filled with shit that people will eventually forget about.

Video surveillance?

Who designed this fucking place? The same guy that came up with the wrapping on DVD’s?

For a nice twist, the truck I tore the bumper off of is owned by a Korean swap meet vendor.

I told him I’d give him a 36 inch Sony TV if I didn’t have to report this to my insurance company.

I’m 10-7 good buddies...come back.

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.

School and a Celebration

This morning I rejoiced. That's right asshats, I jumped out of bed, pirouetted throughout the hallway singing The Sound of fucking Music. Fuck you, don't judge me.

SoS just gave me a dirty look and said, "Nice Mom, REEEAL nice. I'm so happy my misery makes you feel so happy.

Today was the Spawn of Satan's first day back at school. Ohmyfuckinggod it came just in the nick of time. The boy made it though the summer, (again), without me killing him. I love him, but he is 15 1/2, and well, enough said.

I chose to celebrate and took myself to Burger King for a ham, cheese and egg crossandwich and a BK Mocha Joe.

I go in, and this is what happens.

The order taker stands with her hand poised over the register and just stares at me.

"Well, good morning to you, too. I'd like the ham, egg & cheese croissanwich value meal with a large Mocha Joe. Not the small. The large."

"$5.58"

"I'd like that to go. Just in case you were wondering."

"$5.58."

"Okey dokey."

I hand her my debit card and wait. When she returns to me, she hands me a stained, brown paper bag and a medium Mocha Joe.

I looked at my receipt, just to be sure before I went fucking apeshit postal. Sure enough, I had paid for a large upsize.

"Excuse me, I specifically said large. You guys do this to me every single time I come through here."

"That's the size that comes with the morning value meal."

"Normally, yes. But see this right here? See? You charged me 40 cents for the upsize. I paid for a large."

"That is the large in the morning."

I stopped, mouth open and just stared at her. I seriously felt like I had just entered a whole new realm of completely fucking stupid.

"What? Are you kidding me? Do the large cups have to have their cheerios before they grow into their normal size? Is there some sort of cup fluffer that comes in here at lunch? Does sizing change all over the world when you start slinging Whoppers? What the hell are you talking about?"

"That's our large in the morning. And the large is an extra large."

"So, what's the extra large?"

"What?"

"Oh, fuck me. What do I need to ask for to get a large, extra large, whatever. Look. I haven't had a morning to myself since June. I need a Mocha Joe and I can't explain to you how close I am to pulling my own head off and throwing it at you."

"Forty cents."

I get home, add Kahlua to my mocha Joe, turn on Regis and Kelly and take out my celebratory breakfast. My ham, egg & cheese croissanwich had no cheese on it. Check your nightly fucking news.

BSF and The Telephone

It's time for...

I hate the fucking telephone.

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

Then came the telemarketers.

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

He started to stutter.

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

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

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

“Shut the hell up.”

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

HA! Fuck you telemarketers! Problem solved.

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

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

Bark, bark.

Barkbarkbark.

Bark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hate those fucking dogs

PINT: Dutchess Style

I'm tired and fucking old. You asshats get this today...

ME

My new award from Donda...