Sit'N'Spin

I broke my nephew's Sit'N'Spin a few months ago because evidently there's a weight limit. I sat down and when I tried to spin, all I heard was a cracking sound as the center wheel came off in my hands. Why? Why don't children's' toys support fat uncles? There are kids fatter than me that still would like to sit'n'spin. What better way to reduce overeating for kids or adults than being nauseated by spinning? I guess they figure if you're round you might as well just play that game the Fire Men taught you. "Stop! Drop! N'Roll" Except fat kids like to turn it into stop, drop-and-eat-all-skinny neighbor-kid's-cinnamon-rolls.

I remember at the age of 8, running with my friends, pretending to be on fire, and because SOMEONE in the group was so lazy he didn't want to run anymore he yelled "STOP. DROP and ROLL!" And everyone else was like, "that's dumb" and this boy that had spent all summer eating gravy, spice cake, french fries, and hamburgers was like "Uhm, no it's not. It saves lives and look" *drops, n'rolls* "I'm not on pretend fire anymore" and this other kid who was stinky because he pooped his pants all the time was like, "you're still dumb, and we're still on fire, see ya!" and with that they left the fat kid all alone to Stop, Drop, and Roll home. But on his way home the stinky kid's mom was like "HEY *fatty*, come get a cinnamon roll, I just made them" So fatty went over and as stink-o's mom answered the phone he ate them all cuz the mom didn't really say not to and she left them out and there only 3, but they were kind of like Grand's or something, so they were big and OH so good. Then fatty ran the rest of the way home cuz he felt like he maybe shouldn't have done that, but secretly was happy to have punished the other kids since they'd called him dumb, but was thinking "now who's the dumb one, stinky skinny kid?" Ok, do I have to spell it out for you, the fat kid was me!

The lesson of the story up to this point is that fat kids should NOT be left out because they'll eat all your snacks, they should be left out because they'll turn into fat uncles that break your toys.
But the story does not end there. I played Stop Drop and Roll in many forms even into my early 20's. Except at age 21 it turned into the STOP drinking vodka long enough to DROP that pill into my mouth so I can ROLL the rest of the night. That didn't last extremely long and since I turned 25 it's been more along the lines of STOP eating Chipotle burritos, DROP moola on bills, and ROLL over in bed so I can sleep 12 more hours, all while maintaining my perfect shape - ROUND.

The new, yet uncannily the same, morale of the story is: Parents don't let the Fire Department try to save lives with the whole STOP DROP and ROLL shpiel. All they're doing is creating another fat uncle that will break his nephew's toys, and your clogged-artery heart!

Poor Thing

First I want to say, I don't hate pets, just mentally challenged pet owners. And though, I can't help myself but laugh, I'm slightly saddened by the stupidity of this lady at work. This lady was out for a couple days so I just asked if she was on vacation. Her teammmates were like "oh no, you didn't hear..her puppy died"

"Oh no, seriously?"

"Yeah, she was driving with her windows down, and went around the bend really fast, and the puppy flew out the window and died."

"Uhm, excuse me! How the hell did that happen?"

"Well she had it on her shoulder petting it, when she got the bend in the road she needed both hands to steer, so she let go of the puppy, and when she did, it FLEW out the window!"

The poor puppy, but can you visualize this happening, or being the person behind her seeing a puppy fly out the window?

Granny and Gramps

Some quotes heard at my grandparents house, these are my dad's parents from Eastern Kentucky. They're the little endearing qualities that make them who they are and ain't nobody gonna change 'em. My sister and I, when we were kids, would balk at going there because they were so backwoods, country bumpkin. Now, how I long for the simple life. Keep in mind Grandpa is hard of hearing, so Grandma has to yell. He's 86, uses a walker, she's 78 and has arthritis.

#1: Gma W say, in her accent, to Gpa W: "CHARLIE WAKE UP! Ya fell asleep with tobacc-ie in ya mouth ageeen an' iz drippin' down your chin onto the pocket T-shirt I just worshed."

#2: Hearing Gma W say, in response to a commercial where a lady is trying to decide what to wear in a closet full of clothes: "Well, I don' have that prob'em. I know what I'm a wearin'. A sweatshirt and jeans, or a sweatshirt and peddle poooshers."

#3: Gma yells "CHARLIE, get in here! It's time to prick your finger!" under her breath "I'll prick mine too, see if can have me a piece of that there punkin pie"

#4: "CHARLIE, put your teeth in, supper's ready!"

#5: "CHARLIE, cover your mouth when ya choke so you don't spit on the Salmon Patties!"

#6: Gma: "I keeps me some flour 'round in casin' anyone wants me to make homemade bizkeets. But not many people are 'round for br'kf'st anymore"

#7: Gpa trying to talk with a wad of tobacco...

HIM: schowzwokgon?
ME: huh?
HIM: I said SCHOWZWOKGON?
ME: I'm sorry Gpa, I don't know what you're saying?
HIM: "Oh sh..." removes wad "how's work goin'?"
ME: Oh it's fine, same ol, same ol.
HIM: "yeah". bites off a new chew.

His wads of tobacco used to liter the yard. My cousins and I would be playing freeze tag, and it never failed, one of us would a) sprain our ankle on a huge dried hard tobacco ball, or b) step in an oozy sticky gross thing and have to go use terpentine to remove it from our shoe. Our parents never let us go barefoot in their yard. They said it was because of nails, but we all knew the real reason.

The best, though, would be mowing the lawn in the summer. When one of those hardened tobacco lumps gets wound up in the lawnmower, it launches 20 yards. We could only hope it would knock out the grumpy old woman's window next door. She was one of those people that had a snappy yappy little dog that looked just like her. One time she gave me a tootsie roll. It was chalky and dried up. I think she'd had it for years. I was afraid to eat it, I was 5 years old, and she looked like a witch. Gray fazzly hair, warts on her face. But it was candy so I ate it anyway.

The moments so uncomfortable, back then have become the memories I cherish today.

TAG! You're IT!

I pulled this little tiny skin tag off my neck the other day. Don't worry, I'm ok. It didn't have a warning lable on it like pillows and mattresses do, but it did bleed like a mo'fo'. So now every time I'm bored or nervous instead of biting my nails or pulling my hangnails, I pick my skin tag scab. A few days ago I thought it best to let it heal to prevent it from turning into a giant neck tumor. I put a band aid over it, and tried to play it off like I was covering a hickey, but then everyone pointed and laughed and was like "you with a hickey, get real." When I pulled the band-aid off, the skin tag had turned into a button! For cryin' out loud! It looks like I have a dog nipple on my neck! The new look of the "button" made me so nervous I started picking it off again. I seriously would rather it turn into a tumor than have a dog nipple sticking out. I mean, I'd rather not be lying on the floor when suddenly the neighborhood puppies come barging in to suckle on my neck. Also, if it turns into a tumor it's covered by my insurance, otherwise having it removed would be cosmetic. Oh, I'm probably exaggerating, ya know, making a mountain out of a "mole" hill.

Scat-A-Gory's***

I saw an ad in the paper that Pleasure Palace was having a big sale after Valentine's Day. What better time to stock up for the future? So I decided to drive by and see what the dealio was. When I arrived at the said location, though it stated "Pleasure Palace" on the sign, it was obviously a Wendy's because it was shaped just like all Wendy's are always designed - with that greenhouse looking thingy that's all windows. So needless to say, it was NOT a palace, which was UNpleasurable. I wonder why they didn't use the Wendy's sign and paint the red head with pigtails into a saucy sex kitten? How hard could it be to make Wendy look hot? I mean, come on, ADD A MOLE! She already brings to mind hamburgers and fries, and that's the closest thing to sexy you can get in my opinion. Hmm.

While balking at titles such as "When A Man Loves A HIRED Woman" and "Where the Red Fern and Bush Grows", I saw that boobie candy was buy one get one free. So I picked up two, because nobody wants a uniboob, only to realize WHY it was so cheap. They were past the expiration date. Who desires to eat curdled boobies? Well, the hobo at the entrance beggin for change - that's who. He's blind so I didn't think he'd notice the date being expired and the only bumps on bobbie candy aren't braille, so I thought it would be a nice way to feel like I gave to the needful in society. Man, he gobbled them down quick! I never saw anyone eat bobbies like THAT before. A few minutes later as I was browsing through the half off half eaten edible panties, I hear what sounds like water gushing and splatting on the floor. The curdled boobies had given the blind hobo diarrhea and he was taking a splat in the dungeon display! That pretty much ended my shopping spree.

Hobo's misfortunate bowel movement had me thinking about colon cleansings which brought to mind colonics. Websters's Online Dictionary lists a colonic as "irrigation of the colon." Who wants a canal coming out of their colon? Why are famous people so into that? Is it because they're so full of sh*t that they need a special treatment that a good old squat'n'plop won't solve? Do famous people with kids purchase Keri Colonic dolls instead of Betsy Wetsy dolls? Oh and by the way, if you punch "colonic" into Google, the first thing that comes up is "Colonics Made Easy" and "Colonics & Colon Cleanser". COLONICS MADE EASY? I'm sorry, but, what do the directions on something like that say:

Step 1. Eat.
Step 2. Sit.
Step 3. Open irrigation system.
Step 4. Sh*t.

I don't know about colonics, but I do have an idea about what might make regular bathroom time a little easier. A toilet with stirrups and arm rests! Cuz you know how hard it is to push when you ate too much cheese! All I'm sayin' is that a little better leverage wouldn't be so bad, would it? The arm rest would be so helpful when you eat jalapeno's for dinner and the afterburn becomes too much, and you're forced into a standing ovation. You know what I mean, squeeze the buns, clap the hands, thinking the burning barage is going to stop. OUCHIE.

So I wrote a little dity about when I take a shi*ty.

Yo! Yo! This ain't no song about smiles and kissin'
So stop gasin' and listen
To sounds reverbin' from '[da bafroom
Boom Boom Boom.
My tummy's as full as a hot air balloon.
So get out da way Beeoch, get out da way.
SirTalksALot need a colonic cleansin' today.
Word!

****My apologies for the scatologies contained within this post.****Some events have been sensationalized***

I'll Huff and I'll Puff...

I'll huff and I'll puff...
..after trying to run for 2 minutes. At the urging of my roommate, who seems to think exercise is such a wonderful way to spend spare time, I donned my runnings shoes, sweat pants, and band-aided my man boobs, so the sweaty shirt wouldn't rub the sensitive parts raw, and put on a dock workers cap so my ears didn't get chilled. I'd have preferred to take a nap, actually I had already snoozed for a few hours before he got home, but another nap is NEVER out of the question. We open the garage door and there in front of the house are a bunch of construction workers changing a tire. It was exactly like they were working. There were 10 of them standing around watching 1 guy work on the tire. Anyway, we start stretching, and I can't help but crack up when I'm stretching because I think it looks so staged, though I know it's necessary. Pulling arms behind your back, pulling legs behind your back, trying to balance while standing on one foot, putting one leg out to the side while bending your other knee. So off we go, and I'm movin' groovin' and runnin' all stupid until I actually start to feel the burn in my emaciated lungs. The sweat starts pouring, I start huffin' and puffin' like an asthmatic in a dust storm, I look at my roommate and he's all like NOT sweating, NOT huffin', and NOT puffin'. Eventually I got my second wind and was able to keep up. Towards the end of the run, which was maybe 2 miles, my stomach starts squirting acid up my esophagus. All I can think of is Zantac, then we pass Eastern Piazza Court, and I'm getting dizzy, so I think it says Pizza Court....now I want a big greasy pepperoni pizza with Parmesan Zantac sprinkled on top...mmmmmmm. Nearly 1/2 an hour later, after my beet red face fades to a healthy pink sunburnt look, I feel good. Not just good like I drank 5 beers, or 3 vodkas, but really good. Like MAN-I'M-GLAD-THAT'S-OVER-WITH good. Tonight I may just take a long nap, eat pizza, drink beer, and appreciate having man boobs and a beer belly. Oh wait! What should I have for dessert?

Have You Ever...

Have you ever written a poem about a girl, and the girl was like, nobody's ever written a poem about me before, and then they show it to everyone, and then everyone thinks you like her, and she probably thinks you like her, and you think you like her, but then you're like "whoa" she's kinda strange (even thought you're weird too, but not as weird as her, and your weird in a different way)? And then you meet her parents and her mom thinks you're hot.... AND she tells you that her mom thinks your hot? And you're like, "so did she tell me that her mom thinks I'm hot because her mom really WANTS me, or did she tell me that to see if I'd ask her that, or see if I'd be like "tell her she's hot too"? How does a guy respond to a girl whose mom thinks that? Then she brings her bald dad to name that tune at BW3's and he talks about the only reason he played sports was to "get laid" and you think...."what a weird-o." Why not play something like bingo and get laid by old laid-ees with golf visors on and pull the reverse Anna Nicole Smith, because all you can think of is how old bald guys saying the word "laid" feels creepy. It's not like I'm not going to punch him in the arm and say "way to go! is that how you ended up with kids, playing sports?" And when you go to her parents house the dad has killed and hung the heads of a zillion animals, and you feel like there may be a spot left on that wall for you, even though I'm not from. Then you meet the married step brother, who's wife is MIA, probably at her parents, because the step brother is the most psycho of all the family members, asking girls to punch him and bite him at a small gathering where drinks were served. Perhaps serving him a tranquilizing dart would have been a better plan. Then he bit the dog because the dog bit him. And you end up liking her friend more than her, then after you like her friend, you like her friend's roommate, but that would just be wrong to ask the friend's roommate out when she's the last girl standing after the others pass out from binge drinking. So home you go....mmm WHITE CASTLE is on the way. MUST STOP.

I'm frightened to just "write" poems about girls now. Maybe I should interview them first.....

What Is MORE Disturbing?.....

...Peter Pan with cameltoe or Peter Pan sporting grapes and ding dong?

As I was spreading Jiffy Peanut Butter on my bread, it reminded me how my mom would only buy Peter Pan brand peanut butter and how I hated it because "choosy mom's were supposed to "choose Jiff" and mine didn't. Later I realized she wasn't choosy about peanut butter because she didn't eat it! Thinking about Peter Pan PB got me to thinking about Peter Pan the play, and how Mary Martin, a WOMAN played, "the boy who never grew up". How does a parent explain that to their children? And what would be so bad about a boy playing the part meant for a boy?

Here are a few of my ponderances/questions:

#1 I'm sure at some point along the way Mary Martin's tights must have been pulled "too tight" when she was hoisted above the stage to "fly", most likely causing cameltoe. How did a parent keep from cracking up? What if a little boy, whose hero is Peter Pan, asked, "Mommy why does Peter Pan have the same parts as Wendy instead of a peter, like me?" Talk about causing a gender identity crisis!

#2 Is the rumor true that Mary Martin just HAD to wear maxi's with wings, so she could fly right?

#3 If Peter Pan is really a woman, then we have a reverse case of the Crying Game. And when Peter finally grew up, that would either make our little Wendy a little lesbian, or a little disappointed when she reaches for the Ho-Ho and ends up with a camel toe-toe.

#4 Why couldn't the costume designer just have designed the pants a little more loosely? Did they have to be skin tight? This would have solved the whole problem, thus avoiding any of the sexus testimonium, and allowing the proper person to play the part.

#5 (Somewhat Unrelated to subject) Did Peter Pan ever remind anyone else of Kermit the Frog? And Kermit always sounds like he has peanut butter in his throat.......possible connection?????

FINAL THOUGHTS: Mom's, avoid having your son think about Peter Pan's gender bending issues by being a choosy mom that chooses Jiff!

Shi*hole Sweater

Today I'm wearing my "shithole" sweater, so dubbed by some completely out of line curly blonde-headed chic at the sports bar. I was just minding my own business (and other peoples) when this 20-something gal comes in looking 40-something, already drunk, with an old geezer. She does a shot of Jaeggermeister and he lets her stumble around doing the tipsy talk and touch. She started heading my way and I started to feel studly, like I must look good so she wants me. Well, she comes up to me and says, "Your sweater's a Shithole! My brother had the same exact one and gave it to the Goodwill because my mom bought it for him, and he HATES anything mom gives him....so..he gave it away." Throwing her arm in the air in a gesture of tossing rubbish. Her last word trailed off into the high pitch whisper tone characteristic of drunks who are about to get emotional.

The whole scene started to remind me of Episode 14 of the Torkelson's when money troubles coincided with Prom. To compensate, and not deprive the poor child from experiencing her most cherished event, the mother bought the eldest girl (with the squeaky voice) a prom dress from the Salvation Army and sewed a giant fake flower over the hideous ink spot. When Torkleson arrived at prom, the bitchy rich girl, who'd weeks before donated the dress to charity, ripped the flower off revealing the ink spot below, exposing the wobble-voiced Torkleson for the Salvation Army shopper that she was. I think she screamed, cried, and ran out of the prom, but that is neither here nor there. It was hilarious!

I didn't scream and run out of the sports bar like a debunked debutante, I was like "Hell yeah my sister bought this for $1 buck at the Goodwill, what a steal!"

This required me to stop and admire my discount shopping sister and how it runs in my family. My aunts prom dress was a such a bargain, she found it on Blue Light Special for $10 at KMart! And Grandma with her strategically placed pins and scarves, never wears anything less than designer, but never pays more than $20 for clothes. Of course, when she wore a broach in the middle of her back we were forced to stop taking her to the Gabriel Brother's Hole-Sale.

Back at the bar, as I was minding someone else's business, and hitting on some other man's woman, the drunk girl was turned towards the wall, head bobbing up and down, with her arms out in front of her like a mummy trying to walk up a hill. She started falling back against some random guy that was sitting on a bar stool, it looked like one of those battery operated walking puppies that yaps and barks and when it bumps into something it reverses then tries again. She must have done it 4 times before the old guy came and took her away.

The morale of the story is: Never let a good deal be tarnished by a bad drunk!

Violinists/Fiddlers:

Have you ever watched a violinist and wondered 'why is their head SO into the music, always moving along with their arm?' Seriously, every solo violinist I've seen gets into the groove, but only with their head and arm. "Flight of the Bumble Bee" is murder to play, I'm sure, but seeing it performed is like an epileptic seizure on stage. I was tempted to shout "for the Love of God, turn off the strobe light", but there wasn't one on.

Does their neck eventually become permanently sideways? The only reason I wonder this is because yesterday I fell asleep with my neck kind of sideways for about 10 minutes and when I woke up it really hurt. They have to practice for hours and hours, which is likened unto work. I was resting. If my neck hurt from resting, wouldn't theirs hurt worse from work?

Do they date each other? It would seem the ideal mate for a violinist would be another violinist. Being that their heads would always tilt in the same manner, and quite possible, at the same angle, therefore, when turned toward one another, their mouths are lined up for kissing to avoid bumping noses.

Does a fat violinist with a double chin need a bigger chin rest on the instrument? Speaking of fat violinists, they'd be good at eating tacos...in fact a seasoned violinist ONLY eats tacos - the food designed to be eaten with a tilted head per that commercial a few years ago. Ok, I made that up, I don't know what they eat.

Does a violinist ever rebel and become a fiddler? Are they shunned by society for "crossing over"? Why the rift?

Fiddler's are FUNNY. Especially in blue grass. They sit there in overalls and keep the beat by exaggeratedly stomping their foot up and down. Fiddler's are usually the skinniest person in the bluegrass band too. I wonder how many calories stomping one foot can burn and, does this create a muscle imbalance in their legs? Hmmm, considering most fiddlers in the US are probably in Appalachia, having a leg imbalance could be an asset. It helps walkin' on the hills folks. In light of this, I think Fiddler's have a "leg up" on violinists. (ba-dum dum crash) Besides that, the fiddler can always date the hot chic whiskey jug blower whose lung capacity is just amazing. And, once the band finishes their set, you can do laundry on the washboard or eat dinner with the spoons! Try getting any functionality out of a classical musician's instrument.....