Make sure your volume is up! 🙂
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.
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?
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. 😉
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.
FROM ME TO MY LOVELY MINION
“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.)
FROM MY MINION TO ME
“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. 😉
I’m telling you, if I’d worked as hard in high school as I do now on Angry Birds, I’d have been able to skip college entirely.
They say the first step towards solving a problem is admitting there is one. Well, here I go. I’m an Angry Birds junkie. Full on, tap the vein junkie. When Angry Birds first came out a few people showed it to me and it looked so boring that I had no interest whatsoever. Then one day, while fucking off and wasting time with my Minion (my awesome employee at my last job), I played it for a few minutes on his phone. After what felt like 5 minutes, but was more like 19 hours, he was finally able to wrench his phone out of my fearsome clutches. Each time, prior to his phone’s eventual release, when he’d edge closer to my drooling, glassy-eyed self, I’d growl through gritted teeth, “I’ll give it back you when you take it from my cold, dead hands.” Charlton Heston and I make quite the formidable pair. 🙂 He wisely backed away until he had no choice but to risk life and limb in order to retrieve his phone. I only stabbed him once, so I think he fared pretty well.
Since then, I’ve played and played and played until my fingers hurt, my eyes crossed and my patience sapped. Those sonofabitching pigs!!! Why are they such nasty little bastards? Why, when lazily relaxing in a block of wood, can’t they just DIE when they tip over? WHY? Is God punishing me??? 😉
Here are my thoughts on each evil, time-sucking, life-draining version:
My hubby and I will sit outside in the backyard, playing one version or another on our phones (which is MUCH harder than playing on a computer) and all anyone who might overhear us would hear would be, (stop reading if you don’t like cuss words!) “Damn son of a bitch fucker! I’m going to fly to Rovio and kill all those whores for ever writing this program! I hope they all die in a shitstorm of, well, shit. Why didn’t their mothers drown them in the tub when they were infants??? DAMN THESE PEOPLE!! ARRRRRRRGH!!!!” Then, when I’ve gotten 3 stars on everything there is to get 3 stars on I say, “DAMN those people at Rovio! Why can’t they churn this stuff out faster? I don’t have any episodes left. What am I supposed to do now? Do you know when the next release is? I need to look it up to see if I can find out. Yeah, there has to be one soon.” All of this is said with imploring eyes and a little spittle caught in the corner of my mouth (icky!).
I’m quite sure that depiction rivals any other kind of junkie. Angry Birds is my smack. There is no doubt about it. I have it on my Kindle Fire, my Nook, my phone, through Facebook. And when my last phone was dying a horrible death I refused to get a new one until I could find a way to back up my Angry Birds games so that I didn’t have to restart them from the beginning. I’m quite sure doing so would have landed me in the looney bin.
After all this confessing and cussing, I think I feel the need to go play some Space to see if I can beat my own high scores. Those pokey puppies at Rovio are taking their SWEET ASS TIME releasing any new levels, so a girl has to do what she has to do–revisit what I’ve already conquered. It’s like when a single girl wants nookie but doesn’t want to add any “numbers” to her growing list of partners. She can just go back to where she’s been before, have some fun, but keep the same count. (Ladies, you know what I’m talking about here!) I’m going to go do the same thing with Angry Birds, though it is slightly less satisfying I must admit.;)