May My Glorious Agony Be Your Joyful Entertainment! ;)

Alrighty, then.

Here is a tale for those of you who enjoy laughing at my outrageously awkward and/or painful adventures.

Whether it’s me unknowingly showering in and drinking from my mom’s douche bag as a child, or being tortured by sadistic massage therapists or having the buzz muff, Lord knows I’ve given you all much reason to laugh at me. But I’m good with that.😉

Here’s the latest saga. May you revel in my misery…




I flew to Boston a couple of weeks ago. Got there just fine. All was good.

Then, I flew home on Monday. Ummmm…let’s just say that the travel home was not quite as enjoyable.

So, I get to the airport and get in line to check in. I go up to the counter and start the process of getting my boarding pass. While the chick is typing away, I get a call on my phone that my flight has been delayed. You’d think the chick at the counter who was checking me in would have mentioned that because the delay was so long that it was going to make me miss my connection in Charlotte.

Since she didn’t think it was important, I brought it up. She said, “Oh, yeah, I didn’t even notice that.” Great. Just great. I asked if she could get me on another flight and she said she could get me on an American flight into Chicago (I was originally booked on American–shittiest airline on Planet Earth), and then from Chicago to Phoenix would be on United.

Works for me, as long as I can get home at some point in the next 12 hours.

Then, she tells me that the flight to Chicago is also delayed but only by 30 minutes, so I should still have about an hour between flights…no big deal. I’m good.

I head off to security, and though I’m wearing scrub pants like nurses wear with no zippers, buttons, or anything other than cotton, I set off some kind of terrorist alert in security. Apparently, whatever I’m smuggling into the Boston Airport is in my girlie parts and needs to be investigated thoroughly.

The TSA chick tells me what she’s going to have to do to me and I was like, “That’s fine. Do what you need to do.” I’m not one to begrudge TSA for keeping us safe.

Alas, I had NO idea that I was about to get a near-gynecological exam in front of EVERY DAMN PERSON IN THE FRIGGIN’ AIRPORT. People literally stood there, dumbfounded, as she pretty much checked me so intimately that she knows how close a shave I have in my nether regions.

'Doctor Smith - At your cervix.'

The other TSA agents, and every person within 50 feet, stood there staring, mouths agape, while she felt me up like a randy teenager in the backseat of my 1973 Buick LeSabre.

When she finally finished getting to 3rd base, and everyone else finished plowing through every item in my suitcase (panties included!), and after I was tested for bomb residue, I walked over to collect my things and look up the number for the Rape Crisis line. Of course, one of the TSA guys (not a bad looking fellow to make matters worse!) was standing there looking at me with a shit-eating grin. I laughed and said that normally I get paid for things like that…especially if there’s an audience.

Gotta keep a good sense of humor, right?? Good grief…

Next time, I’m going through security like Vince:

Tired of being slowed down at airport security, Vince began to travel in only a pair of Speedos.

Then I grab some grub, call my sissy and have a fun chat about my molestation, and then check to see how long of a delay this flight to Chicago really has. Well, what was a 30-minute delay is now closer to 45, which only leaves me, according to the chick who checked me in, about 45 minutes to deplane, find my new gate at Chicago O’Hare (the biggest friggin’ airport in the world), and board. Time’s a ticking…

Finally, I get my ass on the plane, plop down in one square foot of space and then sit. And sit. And sit some more as the plane goes nowhere.  The tarmac becomes our home for another 15 minutes. Now my “making my connection” time is down to 30 minutes and I’m starting to panic a bit. But eh, fuck it. It is what it is and worrying about it isn’t going to make the plane take off any faster.

At last, we are vertical and hit crazy turbulence. So the pilot is going up and down, up and down, trying to find us a pocket of air that wasn’t so rough. But what does that do? Keeps us in the air longer. The clock is now down to 20 minutes between flights, less so unless I’m the very first person off the plane (not gonna happen), and I realize there is no way in Hell I’m going to make my connection. Ugh.

When we finally start our descent the guy I’d been chatting with says that he thinks I actually have a little over an hour. Turns out the chick who checked me in didn’t account for the time zones. Well thank God and pass the gravy! I’m getting home tonight! Woo hoo!

By the time we land and my ass gets off the plane, I have 15 minutes until my connecting flight starts boarding, so I know I’m gonna have to run. Now, I don’t really consider myself a “runner” in real life. Only when a herd of dog-sized spiders are chasing me or they are giving away samples of Ben & Jerry’s. But that night? I was gonna be flying through the terminal, heart attack be damned!

As I get off the plane I ask the flight attendant if she can direct me to the United terminal. She says, “Sure thing! Walk WAAAAAAY down that direction and when you get to the Chili’s, turn right and walk about 4 blocks.” Holy moly! How in the hell am I going to make it? But I was a determined lass and I broke into a dauntless run.

I get all the way there (by now I’m on the edge of death) and see my flight number at the gate, but… it says the plane is going to Vegas, not Phoenix. WTF? So, I go ask the attendant and she looks at me and says, “Oh honey, you’re screwed. Your plane arrived at a gate at one end of terminal 3. Now you’re at the exact opposite and far end of terminal 3 and you need to be at the very opposite and far end of terminal 1. And your plane takes off in 30 minutes, but they close the doors in 20. You are never going to make it.”


Crazy Sign

Below is a map of Chicago O’hare, in case you’ve not been there. If you need some way to gauge how far of a walk it is from where I was HORRIBLY AND INCORRECTLY directed to and where I actually needed to be, just note that there is an entire hotel and 4 parking lots in the middle of the airport and that’s not even 1/2 of the distance I need to go.

Black dashed lines indicate the WRONG trek that horrible women sent me on.

Red dashed lines indicate the correct location I needed to get to in Superman-turning-the-clock-back-flying speed.

Can we all say it together? Fuckadoodledoo!

But I’m one determined broad. I like my hubby and miss him and WANT TO GET THE HELL HOME!

So, I break into a run. And I mean a run like Satan is chasing me with the TSA lady from earlier and a fiery speculum with my name on it.

I’m sure after about 100 yards that I’m going into cardiac arrest. Then I figure a stroke isn’t far behind.

Please kill me

I look furiously for one of those “beep beep beep” carts that lug people around. I’m willing to give the driver all the cash I have (and possibly some seriously deviant nookie) for a ride to the farthest ends of the earth. Nope. Not a one to be seen because it’s about 10:10pm at this point and they are all happily at home.

I keep running and running and running, then I finally see one. Hallelujah! When I’m about 15 feet from it, and elderly couple get onto it HEADING THE OTHER DIRECTION, of course.


I keep running. Sweat is pouring off me. I’m beet red in the face, I’m sure. My heart rate is an easy 200 beats per minute and I’m sure that death and a missed flight is my destiny in the next 5 minutes.

I finally get to terminal 1, having no idea that the C gates are at the FAAAAAAR end of terminal 1 after an escalator down, 2 moving walkways (one of which was not working–big shock there), then an escalator up, and then my flight is at almost the very last gate. Of course. So I keep running.

I make it to the gate as they are about to close the door, but I MADE IT YOU FUCKERS!😉

I get on the plane, now with a splitting headache, heart palpitations and soaking wet. But I’m on a plane and if I stink it up, so be it!

3 and a half hours later, I arrive happily in Phoenix.

But no, this saga is no where near done yet.

The chick next to me in the plane is a very kind and funny flight attendant, lucky for me. So I ask her what terminal we’re landing at. Terminal 2. I’m parked at terminal 4. Of course. So I ask her if she knows how to get to the Sky Train. She groans and says that the Sky Train doesn’t go to terminal 2. I’ll have to hoof it to terminal 3 to catch it. Normally they have little carts that’ll take you there, but since it’s 12:30 at night, there are no carts. Shocking.😉

So, I go down, get my luggage, dig out my keys and put them in the outer pocket of my travel backpack, snap the pocket shut and start trudging to terminal 3. Oh, and I failed to mention that I was breaking in a new pair of shoes that have a sole so thick and yummy that it’s like walking in soft sand. My calves and thighs were burning so badly that I thought they might spontaneously combust.

I finally get to terminal 3 after a ridiculous amount of cursing and sweating, get on the Sky Train, arrive at terminal 4, walk to the parking garage elevators, go to grab my keys, and the pocket where I put them is unsnapped and the keys are nowhere to be found.

At this point it’s 1:00am. I’ve been up for 21 straight hours, run a marathon, bathed in vat of sweat, died twice and come back to life. And now my keys are missing.

What did I do? Well, I can tell you that I’d lost my sense of humor at this point, so I sat in the floor and cried for 10 minutes. I, and I’m not kidding, can’t recall the last time I cried. It’s got to have been at least a few years. But I just sat there and wept the tears of a child who lost their teddy bear out the car window on a deserted freeway at night. Oh, and I cussed a lot. A LOT.

Finally, I realized that my only options were to retrace my steps or throw myself down a flight of stairs.

So I got up and got moving.

Back through terminal 4.

Back onto the Sky Train, looking in every cabin.

Back through terminal 3.

Back to the hike from terminal 3 to terminal 2 (dragging 40 pounds of suitcase the whole time too!).

Back to baggage claim.

And there my keys were. I must have somehow snagged my backpack’s pocket when I was getting my luggage and they fell out. Thank God they were there.

So then I headed back on the seemingly never-ending trek from terminal 2 to terminal 3.

Got back on the Sky Train to terminal 4.

Got off at terminal 4 and slogged through my puddle of tears on the floor.

Found my car.

Drove my exhausted ass HOME SWEET HOME!

And took out a hit on everyone who’d messed with me that day.

KIDDING! Please don’t send the FBI to my house. It’s kinda messy and I’d be embarrassed. Plus, me no likey prison.


By the time I got home I was so tired and so strung out that I couldn’t fall asleep and was up ’til 5am, so I had to call in sick to work. So, I guess there was one silver lining! Sometimes a girl needs a day off to get some well-earned sleep!

Lord have mercy…what an adventure!

Good news is, I made it home in one piece. Oh, and I got a 90-minute massage the next day to make my poor aching muscles feel better.

Squirrel massage



May all of YOUR travels be molestation- and stroke-free!😉

Unless you like being molested.

Then I hope for you lots of grabby-ass hands all over your fine self!

I have officially seen it all. Good grief.

Okay, so those of you who know me know that as far a I’m concerned, women never have to “use the bathroom” for anything besides powdering their noses.

I don’t like bathroom talk.

If I could, I’d pretend bathrooms don’t exist.

I don’t wanna know what goes on it one, why I shouldn’t “go in there for 20 minutes” or anything else related to bathroom things. It’s just gross.



You guys have heard me before say that my idea of heaven is that when I die God will let me play with a truckload of non-pooping otters. It’s not heaven if they poop on you.puking dog

So, needless to say when I saw the latest Cottonelle ad I almost threw up in my mouth, out of my mouth, on to the cats and all over the floor.

Seriously, don’t we all know the purpose of toilet paper?

I kinda wanna kill her. ;)

I kinda wanna kill her.😉

Do we really need a commercial where a girl in white pants, who has clearly snorted too much blow, asks a man if he thinks this new TP  is so good that he can go commando? (Cause there are just so many new fangled things one can do to TP to make it tons better—ugh, idiots.) And I love that they picked someone with a delightfully cheery British accent…does that somehow make it more proper to discuss your bowels and what they do?? Good Lord…

Anyway, apparently, rippled TP is the first and only difference between having a poopy butt and not having one. Does this mean we’ve all walked around nasty our entire lives until this particular TP? Yay! Saved by new TP! Now I can have a friend or two because I’m not basking in my own glorious filth all day, every day.

While I am loathe to give this gross and disgusting company any publicity, click on Miss Poo’s jolly face to watch the revolting video where, when you get down to it, she’s asking strangers, “Can you wipe your ass well enough to not get filth all over the inside of your pants?” I mean, c’mon people? Really? Is NOTHING SACRED ANYMORE!!!???? Must we talk about mookie stinks making a permanent home on your panties in such graphic and disgusting detail on television???

So, here’s what I vote for.

Below is the kind of TP ad I wanna see (though I’d rather see none at all!).

The TV screen would be all white with a still shot of a roll of pristine TP (and maybe an otter or two) and it would have a voiceover that read:


This TP is not made of razor blades.

This TP will not cause you to bleed, get herpes or go insane.

Use it like you’ve been using TP for decades and it’ll do about the same thing that all others do.

Oh, it’s a little softer, if you like that kind of thing.

Now, go back to your happy life and forget I’ve just spent 15 seconds talking about your ass and its relationship with TP.

Thank you and good night.

That’s all I need to know, dammit!

I need nothing more than that and I’m good.

So can we please just say no to these kinds of ads?

Plus, I’m a Charmin girl anyway.

I had an 11th grade student of mine 100 years ago when I taught high school write a poem about me and my butt being squeezable like Charmin*. Lordy, those kids were wonderfully inappropriate. Anyway, I’ve been a Charmin girl ever since cause it still makes me giggle.

Okay, no more butt talk. I’m out.

*Click here to hear Mr. Whipple yet at women for squeezing the Charmin.😉

Sucky Customer Service Reps Can KISS MY ASS!

So, I try to never leave the house.couch potato kitty I find staying at home keeps me happy and healthy and less stressed. Plus, if I go out then I have to put on makeup and brush my hair…it’s just so much to worry about. Okay, half-kidding here, but seriously, I’ve spent the majority of my life ripping and running about so it’s nice to be able to stay home a fair amount of the time. And today is a perfect example of why I like to remain on my sofa.

dye job

I got my hair dyed on Monday. While it looks pretty, it’s not what I wanted it to look like. So I got in my car and drove to Sally Beauty supply. It’s about a 15-20 minute drive, but I figured it was worth the extra time in the car during rush hour to get help from the experts.

Well…I coulda asked my cat Moopy and gotten more help.Moopy

I walked into the store and there wasn’t a soul to be seen. I could have robbed the place blind were I so inclined. I said, “Hello,” in a very nice voice and I got a, “Hey,” said back to me. And that was it. I still didn’t see a human anywhere.

So I said, “Can you please help me with some hair color?” She finally comes out of the back room and I explain what I’m looking for (which was a black hair dye with a blue undertone). She said, “I’ve never heard of that. Here use this.” And she hands me bright blue hair dye. I mean solid electric blue hair dye. So I explained I meant blue/black. (Every fuckin’ manufacturer in the world makes it.) She said, “Look, I’ve really got to get back to what I was doing,” and she walks away.

Moments later I hear her say into the phone, “Yeah baby. I’m back (insert grunt here). So, (insert gum smacking noise) what do you want for dinner?”

My head about popped the fuck off. Grumpy CatREALLY? REALLY? That’s what kept you from being even slightly friendly or helpful? You are seriously getting paid to essentially tell me to go fuck myself while you sit in the back room, smacking gum and chatting with your boyfriend about dinner? I wanted to go in there and rip her head off and then shove it up her ass. Alas, I just stuffed my pockets full of expensive make-up and left.

KIDDING!!!!! I’m the kind of person who gives money back to the store if they give me a dime too much in change. But I’m telling you, she wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass if I had. What a hideous employee.

Then, on to my next stop: TJMaxx.

I had to return 2 rings. So I get in the return line, wait for almost 10 minutes, get to the front and the very polite girl says, “Oh, you have to go to jewelry to return it.”

Okay, fine. Not her fault and she was nice, so I was polite, thanked her for the help and went to the jewelry department.

Where I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Finally after about 8-9 minutes a girl comes up and asks if she can help. She was very nice and smiley, returned my rings with no problem. And when we were done returning she asked if I wanted to see something else. I told her I’d scoped out a few necklaces and rings I wanted to see and was ready to try them on.

About that time a girl walks up to the counter and the chick who’s helping me turns around and talks to her for about 5 minutes about her shoes. Happy feetNOT KIDDING at all. For fuck’s sake. Really? I’m sorry your feet aren’t happy. You poor thing. Mine aren’t very happy either standing here waiting on your rude ass.

Then she finished up her very important, “My feet are sore” conversation and I say, “Hi again, can I please try on a few of these rings?” At which point she turns around, walks to the other side of the counter and starts helping people who had just walked up that moment.

Yet again, WHAT THE FUCK????

Now, for those of you who don’t know me well, or only know me via my sass-mouthed blog, you may not know this, but I am polite to a fault. I mean ridiculously polite. I say excuse me when someone rams into me. I’m a please, thank you, you are welcome kind of person. I always say hi. I usually find a way to compliment someone when doing business because it’s nice to see a smile cross their face. So if you are thinking, “Well, maybe you should adjust your attitude, missy!” just know that I never have one in a store. I really am stupid friendly.

As such, I have no clue why people suck so much!!!! When I’ve worked with the public in the past I’ve done my very best to take care of their every need and make them feel respected and appreciated in the process. Is such an attitude unheard of anymore in customer service?

I’m constantly stunned by the lack of giving a shit so many people have about their jobs and the way the treat people while at them.

I don’t know about you, but I’m thankful every day that I have a job. And so I do my damnedest to do it to the very best of my ability, and 90% of the time with a smile on my face. (Trust me, sometimes it is SOOOO hard to keep my sass mouth at bay, but I do because I’m at work and it’s the professional thing to do.)

Might I make a plea to all customer service reps out there (and I’ve been one before, so don’t think I’m being all accusatory and talking out of my ass without understanding how hard of a job it can be): If you don’t like people or can’t fake that you like people–GET ANOTHER FUCKING JOB! There are plenty of jobs where you can sit in a cubicle and not deal with the public. Do that instead.

There is never any reason to be an asshat to someone, especially if they are being nice to you. I understand if someone is treating you like shit that it can be difficult to maintain your cool, but for the rest of us out there that are kind and treat customer service reps with the respect they deserve, can you please at least pretend to do your job?

For those of you who do that grinding job of dealing with the public and still manage to maintain your kindness…THANK YOU! I know it isn’t always easy, but people like me sure appreciate it.🙂

That’s my rant o’the day!heat

Whew! That was exhausting!

Oh, and on top of everything my air conditioner died last night and it’s only 95 degrees this week. Ugh. Kill me!🙂

I hope you guys have a good week.

Just Say No to dickheaded people.🙂  Hugs!  :)

FREE Books! Just for you! (And everyone else.) :)

Okay, I promised that I’d do another book giveaway and the time is nigh!😉

You can download to your Kindle, or any other freaking device on earth onto which you can download the Kindle reader, any or ALL of my 3 books (download the reader by clicking HERE).

Just go to my Amazon age (yep, click HERE to get there) and let the downloading frenzy begin!

Last time I did my Kindle giveaway all of the books went to #1 (HOLY SHIT CAKES!) on the Kindle Free Top 100 list (my mom was very proud!). Totally freaking cool! I was quite delighted, to say the least. I have to admit, I wouldn’t complain if that happened again.

If you like any of them, I’d be forever grateful if you’d leave a great review. I’d offer you my first born, but as I’m a childless old bat that would be an empty promise. Will eternal gratitude suffice?

Here are the 5-day freebies, in case you have no clue as to what I spout on and on about.😉

Horribly sarcastic, naughty and full of curse words. NO ONE should read this, unless you like that stuff. ;)

Horribly sarcastic, naughty and full of curse words. NO ONE should read this, unless you like that stuff.😉

Maybe slightly less mouthy, but still full of piss and vinegar (and tons of heart too)

Maybe slightly less mouthy, but still full of piss and vinegar (and tons of heart too)

A cookbook? Where the hell did that come from? It is chocked full of goodies though. TOTAL YUM!

A cookbook? Where the hell did that come from? It is chocked full of goodies though. TOTAL YUM!

Anyway, I hope you guys love them–that they make you laugh and help you to have the most joyful lives and happiest taste buds.

Oh, maybe telling you when this is going to happen would be a fine and dandy idea… Duh… Drool…

Friday, May 2nd – Tuesday, May 6th.

I picked those days as my dad’s birthday falls during them so it’s kinda a shout out to pops for his birthday. Good grief, I’m a sentimental old fuck.😉

Love you guys! Enjoy! XOXOXOXO

PS: Tell all your friends to get their free copies too. Who couldn’t use good food and happiness and maybe even some naughty nookie?


Okay, to say you’ve been warned is an understatement. I did an entire preemptive blog post about NOT READING THIS!😉

It really is sinfully inappropriate and has VERY bad cuss words (yes, including THE worst word as far as women are concerned). So, if you read this, read at your own risk.

Now that the disclaimers are on the table, let’s get down to the good stuff.🙂

I had a job a while ago and hired a wonderful man to work for me. He is the funniest, smarmiest Brit and we got along famously from the moment we met. Of course, as a boss I was initially such a good girl around him (meaning I didn’t say, “Fuckedy fuck fuck fuck” and kept my sass mouth to a minimum).

Well, one day while in the studio one of us (I don’t even recall who) slipped and said Fuck and no one cared (duh…). All I remember thinking is that it was such a relief to know that we could talk like normal people and not worry about our language.

Well…from that point on it just got wonderfully worse and worse. Then we started hanging out outside of work and became even better friends.

Even though he was technically my employee, I certainly considered him more of a coworker as we busted ass together everyday to get the job done. I became “Boss Lady” and he became “Minion.” We still hang out and have the most egregious conversations that make me laugh and laugh and laugh.

So, we finally got to the point where our one liners would make us giggle so hard that we created twitter pages and would post the awful things one another would say. But the good part was that what we’d say was still totally organic and not for the sake of posting it. We just kept on like we always had, but occasionally documented the craziness. Below is a sample of the hideous shit that would come out of our mouths. I’ll start with my unforgivable sassiness, then move on to his.

I hope this actually makes you laugh as none of it (well, 98% of it) doesn’t have a single mean thought behind it. It was all just for comic relief as we worked in a fucking nut house and needed to let of steam lest we burn the place to the ground.



“I rule. Never forget it lest ye be reminded in unpleasant, analy intrusive ways.” (Really, just a general observation that anyone working for me should believe down deep in their heart.)

“Go masturbate to midget porn in the parking lot.” (I figure sometimes a man needs an unusual kind of release!)

“I will dress in all vinyl and lick shoes.” (On how I could launch a fetish website where I don’t actually show any body parts but charge a fortune to pervs who like shoe licking.)

To another coworker: “Bitch, I will knock you out.” (And I will, dammit!)

“I’m the girl that goes to Albertson’s to take a shit.” (God…I can’t believe I’m not deleting this one. Well, any of you who’ve read my Intimacy book already know this. Someone kill me, please? I share way too much.)

“With a little ketchup, children taste like chicken.” (Yeah, I don’t know. I’m a horrible person.)

“I’m nothing if not offensive.” (Ain’t that the truth!)

“I think my boobs grew overnight. They won’t stay wrangled today.” (THEY WOULDN’T! Sometimes it feels like either elves came in during the night and tailored my bra a size smaller or God went “Ding!” and grew them a size while I slept. I’ll never understand but woo hoo to big boobies!)

“I have no dignity, it’s all been raped out of me.” (Yep. Truly horrible. But we giggled like school children in church.)

“The number of old men that have seen my boobies…” (Okay, I don’t really think there are that many…but for some reason the comment seemed apropos at the time.)

“She’s so douchey I can smell vinegar all the way over here.”  (Honest to God, that bitch was such a douche that I wanted to start calling her Eve…as in Summer’s…)

“Go gay. You can share clothes.” (I think this is a great idea for everyone!)

“Cantaloupe, my friend. I’ll bring in a wig you can stick on it tomorrow.” (Okay, side story to this one. I always think that if I were a guy I’d stick my pecker into all sorts of things. I think I’d start with a warm cantaloupe. Cut out a hole and have at it. Seems perfect! So, I used to share that philosophy with some of my friends at work and even created a Ms. Cantaloupe name plate with her photo on it—a cantaloupe with a blonde wig, big blue eyes and pouty red lips. Needless to say it was just wonderfully horrifying. So, I said that lovely comment to my wonderful minion when he was whining about not getting laid enough. Ha!)

“Fuck a duck.” (An oldie, but a goodie.)

“My dear, you are so sweet and I appreciate it, but FUCK THAT TWAT!” (In response to my lovely minion apologizing to me about a situation we got into at work with the girl that smelled douchy. Tee hee hee. She is/was/will always be a major twat!)

“I’m going to bring a dick to work, just so you can suck it.” (This is one of my all-time favorites. I thought my minion was going to choke to death he was laughing so hard.)


“I’m not into water sports, but whenever I see Fergie I kinda want to pee on her. Is that weird.” (YES that’s weird, you fucktard! But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.)

“Had a dog assplosion. On my way.” (A text explaining why he was late to work. He was usually late and I didn’t care, but I loved this particular excuse.)

“In one sentence I cock blocked the dude she was with and made her cry. WIN!” (Horrible man! Though the girl to which he is referring was a total hosebeast, so I can’t fault him too much.)

“In the words of a wise woman I USED to like, ‘Eat a bag of dicks.'” (Quoting me, because I say horrible things! He only USED to like me cause I left and went to a new job, stranding him with all the asshats we used to take on as a team. Poor thing…)

“Kill me plzthxbye.” (I’m always willing to lend a guy an ax…or hammer…or some other device for killing. I’m that kind of friend!)

“Dear Jesus, thank you for Soma and weed… Without these things I would surely scalp my current boss and violate her corpse in a fit of rage… Which might create a bit of a legal snag.” (After I left my job, my wonderful ex-minion texted me this about his new boss. Ha! I felt so loved and missed!)

“My mother just asked me if I’ve seen my father’s penis. I really want to die right now.” (I kinda wanna die too.)

“Buses? How the fuck do you spell the plural of buss?!?! I need another drink.” (Yep, not always sober at work.😉 )

“…other than the fact that you like to encourage me to make love to inanimate objects, you mean?” (Look, if a man is having a dry spell I’m all about encouraging the use of alternative forms of relief. I’m non-judgmental like that!)

“Because you’re a sick cunt.” (While you might think this is just horrible, that shit made me laugh soooo hard!! Who says that?? To their boss? It was awesome. God only knows what I said to warrant such a comment—probably something equally horrible, if not worse.😉 )

“I just bought a mentally challenged guy a whiskey. That makes me a philanthropist, right?” (Good Lord…this is wrong in so many ways…He’s clearly going to Hell.)

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” (Yep, you can see why I like him so much! That kinda talk is right up my alley!)

“Jesus Herbert Christ.  Women are fucking horrible (present company excluded).” (Hey, at least he excluded me, though I’m sure I’m often quite horrible.)

“I want to kill anything that has a vagina.” (HA! I know I’ve wanted to kill all pecker-having creatures before, so I totally get this sentiment.)

“Know this: I am the most awesome guy you ever met.” (His humility is his most endearing quality.)

“Hoarders” totally ripped off my show “Silverfish Charlie and the Cat Pee Kids”. (EWWWW!!)

“Why am I always the ruiner of lives?” (Because he’s so good at it?)

“Do you know anyone that makes and/or sells moonshine?” (Yep…there may be a drinking-related problem there.😉 )

“For the record, I didn’t start the fight.” (Yeah, yeah…that’s what they all say.)

“I now have one less item on my bucket list. Just watched a deaf girl sing karaoke.” (Bless her heart! I’m a total karaoke chicken—I could take a lesson from such a brave girl!)

“What in the name of Jupiter’s asshole is True Cloud?” (Does Jupiter have a butt? I learn something new everyday.)

“Portable studio? Rape dungeon? No one can hear you scream.” (Rape dungeon! Holy shit. You’d think this might make me scared of him and the millions of hours we’d spend alone at the office…alas, it just made me pass out laughing. This was in reference to us getting a functional recording studio that could move around at the whim of a bunch of bosses who think letting you stay in the same fucking desk area for more than two weeks is a shit idea. Fuckheads.)

“There’s something sinister about eating eels that just came out of your own asshole.” (Honest to God…I don’t want to know. Isn’t eating anything out of one’s backside kinda fucked up?)

“Is it weird that I’m erect now?” (I assume all men are erect all the time. So no. Not weird.)

“Okay, I’m going to find a ram to sacrifice for you.” (How sweet! I’ve never had anyone sacrifice anything for me before. I feel all special.)

“Why are they killing our cube?” (Yep, yet another example of bosses moving us around for no good damn reason. Whoever wrote the business book“Who Moved My Cheese?” should be shot and killed. I can only imagine that businesses have spent $10,000,000,000,000,000 simply moving their employees from desk to desk to desk because God forbid anyone get comfortable at the office. It might actually lead to an employee being happy on occasion. PS: For those of you who know that piece of shit book, I one time had to dress up like one of the mice and perform like a trained monkey at a sales conference. It was horrible. I did NOT get paid enough money to make such an ass of myself. Total SUCK!)

“If it weren’t for alcohol, I’d probably be a serial killer. I’d only target morons though.” (I’m pretty sure he is a serial killer. He gets this look on his face that thrills me and terrifies the masses. I know he’s a kitten on the inside…way, way, way, way down deep.)

“I’m awesome, but I’m not a prostitute.” (Then, my friend, you are not awesome.)

So there you have it. While I do NOT miss that job one tiny bit (wanted to die everyday), I totally miss the insane amounts of fun my minion and I had together. We worked hard but managed to take the edge off with truly horrible discourse. Love him for making my days brighter through inappropriate behavior. Woo hoo!

Hope you aren’t all disgusted beyond belief, but remember, I warned you so NO GUFF!😉

Love ya! Have a great weekend! XO

PS: My minion is the same person who turned me onto Angry Birds. FUCKER! At least I finally kicked that habit…now if only Candy Crush would explode and die.😉