Tag Archives: funny

I Quit the Stick

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Yes everybody, it’s true.  I have quit the stick.  What stick? you may ask.  Well…it’s not my addiction to certain sticks, I can assure you.  I have not quit using drum sticks (because they’re loud), dip sticks (because they’re useful), broom sticks (because I need to keep my house dust free with the added bonus of alternative transportation) or beating people with ugly sticks (because they deserve it).

Out of guesses yet…?

Well I will tell you.  I have in fact quit killing myself willingly with “The Tobacco Death Stick!”

Ah yes, otherwise know as coffin nails, ciggies, cigs, smokes, fags or cancer sticks.

I truly loved that burning, smokey, smelly, smooth, son of a bitch cigarette that dangled from my mouth and fulfilled almost every need that I had. Yet, like the lecherous lover that sucks the oxygen from your soul and all goodness from your heart, I got rid of them, albeit sadly and reluctantly, just like all girls do in bad relationships.  So these days have been filled with the wonderment of withdrawal, anger, crying and insanity among other things.  I thought I might share them with you, as my friends are sick of listening to my pathetic whimpering nicotine addiction drivel anymore. And let me please assure you, it is really pathetic.  So, let’s all get out our ice cream and tears as we go through my last 50 days of saying goodbye to my  ‘ol friend Nicotine.  The love affair that lasted 22 years.

The first thing I have realized is that smoking was my answer to everything in my life….and I Mean Everything!

Happy? Smoke. Sad? Smoke. Bored? Smoke. Lonely? Smoke. Stressed? Smoke. Had a good day? Smoke. Finished a chore? Smoke. Feel Fat? Smoke. After sex? Smoke. No sex? Smoke. Need something? Smoke. Hungry? Smoke. Feel Bad? Smoke. Feel good? Smoke. Feel cool? Smoke. Writing? Smoke. etc…etc…etc..

Now that I am not smoking, how am I filling all those freaking voids you ask? Well here’s how…

Happy? Cry. Sad? Cry. Bored? Yell, then hate your life, then cry. Lonely? Cry, then eat, then cry. Stressed? Furiously walk while crying like a lunatic and yelling to yourself in the street. Had a good day? Think of your tight pants, then yell and follow it up with pathetic sobbing and ice cream. Finished a chore? Do another chore and another and another and another then cry on the floor when you’re tired. Feel Fat? Cry, then buy new pants, then a doughnut and follow that up with hating your life. After sex? Resume sex as there is no relief. No sex? This is a dangerous one… there will be a combination of crying, yelling and cursing while consuming a banana, followed by a kick in the nuts to a random male. Need something? Go and buy it and if there is not enough money, then cry for hours while cursing your pathetic existence.. Hungry? Eat the entire contents of your fridge and then cry. Feel Bad? Eat the entire contents of your fridge and then cry. Feel good? Eat the entire contents of your fridge, which should change your mood to bad and then cry. Feel cool? You no longer feel cool, unless feeling cool means large muffin tops and crying.. Writing? Cry, then write, then cry, then eat the entire contents of your fridge, and cry then write then cry too much to write. etc…etc…etc…

I have realized that I am now a very Large Asshole!

The fact that I am a cranky bitch asshole motherfucking dick 99% of the time now really pisses me off!  I mean, I was a bitch before and a smart ass and honestly a bit of an asshole, but I did not hate every fucking thing on the face of the earth, every damn minute of my life as I do now.  It is insanity.

On T.V. I witnessed the reunion of long-lost relatives who were separated by war and famine. I watched them run towards each other with yearning and tears.  Mother and child, husbands and wives, together again after so much pain and I literally thought…

Fuckers.

I saw some Girl Guides skipping down the street happily and I thought..

What? No Cookies for me? I HATE YOU!

I won $10 with my lottery tickets and I thought…

10 Bucks? What a Piece of Shit Crap Assed Prize That is. (Until I realized I could buy two bags a chips with these winnings)

I saw two people holding hands in the park and I thought…

What a pair of Fuckers!

(now this was probably a true statement, but I did not mean it literally. I did mean it with hate though).

I wake up and think…

Fuck.

I’m sure you get the picture. It isn’t pleasant on a good day. I am a miserable bitch.

I have a 10 Pound Pooch

A pooch is what my daughter calls a little tummy and due to quitting and excess eating, I now have a 10 pound pooch that despite exercise, is making my pants tight and my morale low.  I figure my only chance of embracing the pooch is to become a super hero with a pooch.  I will name myself either Super Pooch or Poochahontas, and I will slap the criminal element of the world down with my excess pooch ponch and knock them unconscious.  Could you imagine flab fighting crime? It would be impressive and creative and I wouldn’t have to buy that Bow Flex. If I give the pooch a job, then maybe I can accept it for a little while. Maybe.

Now, I  have to Go…

As I write this I have literally started crying.  I will now drink water and chew gum while crying.  It seems that I cannot even finish a blog post, as this was the time of night I smoked and so now I am insane.  The tears are making it hard to type and I still have to eat the entire contents of my fridge tonight then lay on the floor and hate even breathing.  So I say, wish me luck. I think I am going to need it on multiple levels now. If I can only turn my love of nicotine to hate and this pooch to an 8 pack, life may again be livable.  Maybe.

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My Top 5 Terrific Time Wasters

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Well, it seems it has been a year since I have written in this blog due to my excessively over dramatic life and so I am glad I am back.  I’d like to add that  almost ALL of the dramatics I have been experiencing  within my life, have absolutely nothing to do with my actions.  I was simply existing and people full of tomfoolery and hijinks, randomly jumped into my life like half-witted ninjas.  They created excessive  dramatic chaos that  a 12-year-old girl would be proud of, tried to disassemble my life and generally tried to repeatedly wasted my time. Oh…and did I mention that the main culprit of this excessive dramatics was a 40-year-old man?

?

Yes…I said a 40-year-old man, who is really a 12-year-old girl at heart.

Since he has the heart of a 12-year-old girl, I tried to pass him a note 5 years ago that said “I don’t like you anymore. YOU STINK!!! Our marriage is over because YOU are not my soul mate and you have the COOTIES!!.”

He ignored that note unfortunately…

Along with that, I have been trying to raise three teenagers into adults.  Raising three teenagers, mostly on your own will make you feel like tap dancing around a nuclear bomb on a wobbly glass table is a good day. Still, when I wasn’t  dealing with the tap dancing, molding young minds, keeping their asses in line, keeping their asses alive or the 40 year old’s girly dramatics… I did manage to waste my time, avoiding my reality, in various vacuous ways that I will now describe to you in detail. I am simple-minded and therefore easily amused and so here are my Top Five Time Wasters from the past year…

1) I Read 50 Shades of Grey…and Survived with my I.Q. Intact!!!

I had been listening to the whispered gasps of women, huddling together and gossiping about the naughtiness that was apparently 50 Shades of Grey,  E.L. James’ BDSM “romance” novel.  There was flushing and blushing and tales of “not being able to put that book down!”.  So…I was having a slow week in the dating world and thought… okay, let’s just see what this book is all about.  I was actually looking forward to reading some hot sex scenes and possibly picking up some tips…

Instead, what I found when I opened the book was this…

All this talk about steamy scenes, wild sex and then to find, there was absolutely nothing within them that was shocking or really enticing.  I mean…I do those things on a Tuesday when there’s nothing on T.V.  The lead character Anastasia Steel was about as exciting as cardboard and as intelligent as oatmeal. This also lead me to thinking about the ratio between the number of women that liked this book and their average IQ. Which I’m assuming goes something like this…

2,435,675: 65

This then lead me to thinking… man, there are a lot of dumb asses out there.

2) I Saved a Naked Soupy Alcoholic From Being Homeless

Now I  don’t want to say too much on this subject as it involves someone I care about, but I will try to summarize.

One of my best friends had an altercation at her home with her spouse and his family.  This was a naked altercation that also involved fighting naked in soup on the kitchen floor, being very intoxicated (which I think is a given), at one point using the phrase “CLEAN IT UP!” which I think is a fantastic statement in general, but in this case was directed at her spouse and the floor soup and then finding that she could not return to her residence until the “domestic situation” was resolved.  So, she came and lived with me.  Within the next 30 days we laughed, we cried, we kept our clothes on, avoided soup and she stopped drinking. So, within my year, 30 days in May were occupied with her well-being and housing her, until she could fly again with clothes on and without soup or alcohol.

Before I move on though I have to say… Fighting naked in soup is something you should be proud of. Not many people could say on their deathbed…”And I’ll always remember that time I fought naked in soup.” It may be weird, but  it is impressive, my dear on the wagon  friend.

3) I Used “Wunderbar” at the End of all of My Sentences. 

This I have done to amuse myself here and there as I go through life.  The Wunderbar at the end of the sentence must be stated with dramatic emphasis or it is no longer fun.

My favorites are as follows…

“What a Bitch! Wunderbar!”

“Go fuck yourself! Wunderbar!”

“Is that a man or a woman? Wunderbar!”

“I think it’s infected. Wunderbar!”

“Who trained that weasel? Wunderbar!”

and lastly…

“Do you have a large box of Super Absorbent Tampons? Wunderbar!”

4) Created New Songs, from Old Ones and Sang Them to My Dog, About my Dog

This is something a do unconsciously and often. I mortify my 15-year-old daughter whenever any of her friends are around when I do it.  Still, if I have mortified her, I always continue, as that is the type of mother I am.  I have sung such favorites as:

 1) Little Stinky Monkey Won’t You come Out Tonight? Come out tonight? Come out tonight?  Little Stinky Monkey   won’t you come out tonight, and dance by the light of the moon. (Original song: Buffalo Gals)

2) I love dogs, I love dogs.  Does everyone know that I love dogs? (Original Song “I Love Fudge” from PBS Show Arthur).

3) If you love stinky bitches and getting caught in the rain (Original Song : If You Like Pina Coladas)

5) Created New Species Names for my Dog as Being a “Dog” is Just Waaaaay Too Boring

I often create new names for the type of animal my dog is, because she is crazy and therefore, I believe that being a dog is just way too normal for her.  I often walk around my house and when I find her in my bed asleep state….

“Why, is that an African Pigmy Bed Weasel?”

I’d like to add at this point that the strange species names have the same effect on my 15-year-old daughter as the singing if anyone is around and so is just that much more amusing.

Here are some other names I have given my dog over the past year to amuse myself:

Stinky Monkey

Goggles Pizano

Goggle Eyed Platypus

Stinky Duck-billed Bed Weasel

Dutch Dimensional Carpet Croucher

Squirrely Eyed Pig Weasel

Google Eyed Stinky Elephant Chaser

Grouchy Stinky Covert Farter

and these are just a few of my favorites…

That, dear readers, was just a window into the distractions I have entertained to make my life more livable. I hope you have enjoyed it.

I will leave you lastly with a picture of my Yodameister as she deserves some more recognition and love.

I’ve Got a Bat and it Ain’t a Louisville Slugger

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Well it’s been a busy hectic summer and I’ve been working through most of it, so I decided to take the family up to the cottage for a much needed break.  I closed up the house, packed the kids and the dog, took them up to the lake and finally relaxed!  It was a little chilly that week but the break from the grind was just what the doctor ordered.  Little did I know what was waiting for me at home and how it would make it’s appearance!

So after a week, I reluctantly packed up the kids and the dog and headed home.  We got home, unpacked, and settle back into our house as I mentally prepared to head back to work.  As we all settled in for the night, a very furry unwanted vistor lurked somewhere in the house, just waiting for his grand entrance.

Around midnight I was feeling sleepy and decided to go to bed for the night.  I fell into a blissful slumber with my dog sleeping at the end of the bed. All the teenagers in my house decided to stay up, as they do in the summer, much like the undead or freaks on meth.  

While I was sleeping, I thought I could hear the phone ringing and ringing and ringing and ringing and ringing.  It would stop for a few seconds and then it would start to ring and ring and ring and ring and ring again.  This began to pull me from my blissful slumber.  I was soooooooooooooooooooooooo tired and it took me quite a while to be coherent.  There was no phone in my room, as the kids leave them all over the house, so the ringing was distant, although still very annoying. Here is the part where I learned the lesson electronics and self-preservation mean more the teenagers than assisting your poor old mother. 

Get ready for the fun that I experienced with only my googly eyed dog to save me, which by the way absolutely did not happen, as she was looking for me to save her.  Typical. You’re on your own when it comes to kids and wimpy dogs.  Zombies at your door? You better load that fucking shotgun, because the kids and the dog will be running for the hills and there will be no help for you. You will have to take them out all by your little old self.

After one million rings of the phone, I completely wake up.  I get out of bed and turn on my bedroom light.  I KNOW the kids are awake in the house and so I walk out into the hall and yell…

“Why the hell is nobody answering the phone?????!!!! It has been ringing and ringing forever!!! Also, where the hell is the phone, so I can answer it if none of you will???”

The response came from my youngest daughter,  from the bathroom on my right.  This was the response…

“Mom! It was me calling from my cell phone! We’re all in the bathroom!  There’s a BAT IN THE HOUSE!!!!!”

At this statement, I turned and looked towards my now lit bedroom and this is what I saw…

 

This was the moment when I shit my pants.  After the shitting was over, I screamed a scream that would make Janet Leigh proud, grabbed my google eyed dog by the collar, as she was cringing behind my legs and ran down stairs. I actually never stopped screaming the whole time I was running.  It was the longest scream of my life!

I had enough sense when I did run downstairs to open my screen door wide.   I somehow remembered in my panicked state that someone had told me in the past, bats can sense air movement and may fly outside if you open a door.  Then Yoda dog and myself hid in the downstairs bathroom and watched until the bat actually flew out.

I then spoke to my kids and this is what I found out:

They saw the bat flying around the main floor like this

This was the moment that they shit their pants and then ran insanely to the upstairs bathroom to save themselves.  Let it be noted, my youngest daughter, as terrified as she was, remembered in her terror to bring her cell phone, which should give everyone an indication of how important her cell phone was to her and how close to her heart it must have been as she took it with her and saved it from the bat.  Let it also be noted that as she ran upstairs, she ran PAST my bedroom door, which was OPEN and she did not close it!!  Showing just how much she cared about myself and Goggles Pizano (my google eyed dog), how she worried for our safety, while we were sleeping unaware of this crazy flapping rodent in our midst.

Now that they made it to the bathroom, they were terrified, but now safe and so they devised a plan to help me and the dog, as they had left my door open (I still can’t believe this!!!) and were not willing to venture out again to close it.  They decided that they would call me to warn me of the impending disaster from my daughter’s cell phone. 

So, the kids called and called, and I of course slept and did not answer.  They left me a really helpful voice message at first that said

“Bat Emergency!! Bat Emergency!!!!! Mom! Wake up and get out of your room there is a bat in your room!!”

as we all know I slept on..

My daughter ran out of minutes on her phone as so could not directly call anymore. So they began sending messages to my phone via text to land line,which would make the phone ring still.  The next message was left in a robot voice saying…

“Get out of bed there’s a bat in your room”

then

“Oh my God just wake up and get the hell out of there!”

then

“Mom! You need to wake up and run.  Get out of your room!”

then

“There is a bat! Get out!”

All of these messages were left on our answering machine, which is nowhere near my bedroom. They were left in a soft robotic voice, that wouldn’t be able to warn anyone of any impending disaster as its pronunciation was phonetic and it sounded like an insane Stephen Hawking. It was also hard to decipher as the insane Stephen Hawking robot left the message so quickly, it would have made Speedy Gonzales proud! (I’m showing my age at the last comment) I’m surprised each statement did not end with “Arriba! Arriba! Ándale! Ándale!”

I asked them, why did you not open the door a crack and scream?  God knows that any Mom would wake up instantly upon hearing one of their children screaming!  They answered that they were too afraid to open it even a crack in case the bat got into the bathroom. Really? As if the bat would sense a slight crack in the bathroom door and say to himself,

“There hasn’t been enough shitting of pants upon my arrival. Let’s just take this up a notch, shall we? Chances are, I will fly right into the door and injure myself, but I’m a bat that likes to live dangerously, because let’s face it… I’m a masochistic and evil bat that’s in this house to give these people a reason to wear adult diapers!” 

I’d like to note, that statement would only have been uttered, if my ex-husband was the bat!

So basically as the kids were calling and leaving their messages and not screaming, my bedroom looked similar to this…

It was the most action my bedroom had seen in months!!!

Just not the type of action I’d like to see again. The feeling was similar to dating a normal man and finding out he likes to wear pink girly thongs in the bedroom.  Not a good thing or anything your eyes would like to witness a second time!

At least the bat that was in my house, was not wearing any women’s underwear.  That might have pushed my terror over the edge!

And so, this is the story of how a survived a good batting. Good night all! I wish you rodent and transvestite free homes, unless of case you are partial to either of these things and in that case enjoy!

Buona Notte!

Weird Medical Treatments From the Past and the Way I Think…Which Can Be a Little Scary

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I sat down one day on my couch and was thinking about life and the weirdness of it.  I was having these thoughts to avoid cleaning my house, which is a technique many people use.  Sitting on the couch that is, not necessarily thinking.  Gossip Girl was on T.V., which immediately made me reach for the first available bucket to puke in and then it hit me…  If bloodletting was still in existence in this day an age, all of these whining anorexic freaks on this show would probably be dead.  God!  That might solve quite a few of the world’s problems right there. Still, although I would love to see the tragic end to these and many other whiners and just general idiots, I also thought in my head…what in God’s name were medical practitioners thinking for the past 2000 Years!!!!  That sapping the very essence of life out of someone’s body would cure anything, except for life maybe.  Sooooooo, here is the first subject of my enticing entry

BLOODLETTING (otherwise known as a medical treatment invented by a bunch of assclowns who couldn’t tell the difference between their ass and a cure)

Ah yes, bloodletting or phlebotomy as it is referred to in modern medicine today, is the practice of drawing blood from the body for the treatment of many diseases . We’ve all seen it in movies, or read about it in the past, but do any of us really appreciate the truly weird and idiotic theories behind bleeding someone in the attempt to cure numerous human ailments?  Apparently, slicing open a vein and letting the red stuff roll into a cup, vase or bowl, cured the following human ailments and possibly more.  They are as follows:  fevers, headaches, backache, arthritis, asthma, acne, cancer, coma, herpes, insanity, tuberculosis, jaundice, plague, gonorrhea and many, many more.  Really?…  Really?………… Really?????????????????? (Yes, that’s right that many question marks)

Now over the years there were many theories and reasons for bloodletting but the main theories apparently are that bloodletting cured all of these vastly different ailments because they were caused by two common problems. 1.  The impurity of the blood and 2.  The over abundance of blood in the body. 

My Thoughts: Who the F wrote the Medical Journals for those 2000 years???? (that’s right four questions marks.  I’m that confused). Sounds like it might have been the work of a large group of complete freaking morons taking a guess in the dark, while picking their asses  and then implementing it with glee and complete stupidity and ignorance.  To add to this moron theory, might I just say that I originally said 2000 years but some debate over 2000 years that this had been in practice.  Sooooooooo… as they were racking up the dead bodies in piles, while “curing” them of everything from headaches to gonorrhea, no one clued into the fact that they were probably losing more patients than curing them?  No one clued in for over 2000 years?????????? (yes I’m that confused still).  Or, maybe killing them was curing them as when you’re dead you’re no longer feeling the pain or spreading  gonorrhea to anyone but a necrophiliac, so in a sense it is a type of cure.  Killing your patient that is.  Still, it seems like evolution of the brain had a 2000 year brain fart so to speak, in the areas of medical science.  Like I said before, bloodletting may still cure a lot of the world’s problems, but other than saying that, I’m not going to go there (hint..hint…. gossip girl….Ke$ha…informercial hosts…)  Where I will go is to my next, much more interesting subject in our medical past called…

FEMALE HYSTERIA (Otherwise known as, I need to get some or I’ll go insane on your ass and not in the good way you may be thinking of.)

Now, this medical practice interests me greatly, especially because it existed in a time when sexual activity of any kind outside of the marital bed was strongly frowned on, except of course if it was with your doctor.  This took place mostly in the Victorian Era, when the rules were strict and the skirts were long and yet, if you were exhibiting signs of being  just your average bitchy female, you would be sent to your doctor for a friendly pelvic massage, with your good old  husband or parents fitting the bill.  This leads me to my next thought…Who knew that on top of draining people’s  bodily fluids, Victorian doctors where legitimate prostitutes?  Who freaking would have thought?? I wonder if the Medical Board of the day would bitch slap the doctors if they did not amass enough female hysterics per week?  At any rate, this condition and cure is just way too amusing to leave alone, so here goes…

If you were a woman and  single, a nun (it’s nice to know they at least got some from somewhere), wife, mother, or grandmother and were exhibiting some of the following symptoms:  heaviness in the abdomen, shortness of breath, a tendency to cause trouble (what woman doesn’t do that?), insomnia, nervousness, muscle spasms etc… you were then sent to your doctor for a good old pelvic massage.  This is where your medical doctor would “stimulate”  you manually to orgasm, which was also known as hysterical paroxysm.  Then, for a time I assume, you would be “cured” until the next bout of “hysterics”. 

My Thoughts:  Now, there are a few things that I think about this situation.  First, what the F was everybody thinking????? A woman could not show her ankles, was generally repressed and would have been outcast from society for sex before marriage and yet her husband paid for her sexual favours from her doctor??? ( I know, the three questions marks, really get the point across!)  Now think of this, in today’s day and age, we are apparently sexually open, liberated and accepting, but if a medical doctor was to introduce this as a possible cure to even depression in today’s day and age, he would immediately lose his licence to practice medicine, be deemed perverted and may even be arrested.  Interesting twist don’t you think? 

Considering the amount of men I have met that have no flipping clue what they are doing sexually with a woman’s body, I can’t imagine just how many more men were out there who were even more clueless then. Who probably didn’t even care to even find out what their wives needed and were part of the club I so affectionately like to call the “Jump on, Wiggle and Jump Off club”. So, in this instance, I commend medical science of the Victorian Era, for embracing Female Hysteria and it’s cure.  I mean, as women we all know about self pleasure and if you don’t, you seriously need to wake the hell up! Still sexual stimulation is always more fulfilling when another person is involved, even if it is your damn doctor!  If your doctor is even remotely good looking, all the better.  It seems that in this time, it was strangely widely practiced for husbands to have family doctors do their work for them, which leads me to my next thought of…

Just how many of these women wanted to leave their husbands for their doctors or started affairs with their doctors??? (Yes, three again, to make the point).  I’m guessing that many did want their doctors much, much  more than their husbands, as he would be the one with the magic fingers that brought on the fun. These Victorian doctors were probably the best paid gentlemen in town, if you catch my drift. Just imagine, attending a dinner party of prestigious proportions and sitting at the table are five wives of prominent men that you cure of Hysteria every month (among other things).  That’s a very interesting take on a harem situation along with our perception of the world’s oldest profession. So therefore I say, hat’s off to you Victorian Doctors, as there are still women today who will never get a date with anything other than their vibrator and I bet they wish you were still around and in practice, manually stimulating everyone back to health and good humour one orgasm at a time.  I know the nuns of today would probably appreciate it. 

Although, I guess if it was still in practice, our health care system would probably collapse in less than a week.  So, I guess it’s the old, “be careful what you wish for” situation, but other than the taxes, I say a much needed medical treatment, that beats hot yoga or meditation any day. Which leads me to the last part of my post which is totally unrelated to women having reached orgasm by their doctors…

Well goodnight all.  I hope you have a good one with all of yours.  Stay tuned next time when I discuss… If You Drink Excessively and Want to Date Me, I’ll Make Sure to Swallow Glass, So I Cannot Attend.

 

Top 5 Reasons My Ex Should Get Bitch Slapped (and a few things that would change my mind)

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    Reading the news today and watching it on T.V.,  it has become apparent that domestic violence is on the rise.  I’m not sure if it’s the economic stress of families having to work harder and longer for survival, if it’s the fast paced stress of life in general or if it’s just a bunch of multi generational dumbass hooligans believing that they can bitch slap their wives, children or other individuals and that they are just above the law, which is sadly too often the case. 

Whenever I see another women’s shelter go up, my heart goes out to the poor women that have to run there, as I am a woman too and know what it is like to be oppressed.  My next thought though is always the same.  With all the bitch slapping that happens to poor innocent people on the streets and in their homes….why hasn’t someone bitch slapped my ex???

There is a movie named Bitch Slap, Perez Hilton was bitch slapped and millions of people on this earth daily are having their asses handed to them on a platter for no good reason and yet this man, who sticks his middle finger in the face of karma,  remains unscathed!!! I tell you it’s only that the universe has not been paying enough attention to a bitch that needs a good five-finger salute!

 I’m not speaking of myself of course (doing the bitch slapping), but can’t the universe just send down some much needed retribution and for once slap the shit out of someone who has it coming??! 

I’ve taken it upon myself to make a list for the universe on the reasons it should be done… and hopefully will be done.  Here they are…

My Top 5 Reasons The Universe Should Bitch Slap My Ex

(plus a few things that may change my mind)

1) I Have a Sneaking Suspicion He is Possessed by the Devil

He exhibits strong signs that he is possessed by the Devil.  He is mean, says horrible things sometimes in tongues, occasionally suffers from projectile vomiting, levitates in anger and otherwise, yells, farts and has aged significantly in the past 3 years to look 40 years older than myself. 

Now lets peruse this point a little… When watching any type of exorcism on tv or in the movies, I’m pretty sure that the priests are not cuddling the afflicted but have been known to slap the beast right out of the person, with the backhand of Jesus, while saying the prayer of exorcism. It may make things better, but at the very least, it will make me feel better and that’s all that matters.

2)  He Argues Against any Scientific Fact, Truth, or Even His Own Point of View .

This is an interesting point that has more than one interesting story.  This man will argue against any point, any fact or any truth that exists in the universe.  You could walk up to him and say “Hi! It’s Wednesday!” and even though it is in fact legitimately Wednesday, he will argue immediately and say something like “It’s not Wednesday!  It’s Thursday dumbass! What kind of person thinks it’s Wednesday when it’s Thursday.”  Absolutely nothing, not even 10 accurate calendars, God, Father Time, and a very honest old woman could convince him otherwise.  Do you feel your hand itching yet at the annoyance? No?  Maybe?  Let me make this little scenario a little simpler….He’s standing there, you walk up and say “Hi!” and he will immediately yell “Low!”…and there you have it! A begging for bitch slapping that no one can deny!

Before I move onto number three, let me just say we have put this to the test…I listened to him argue a point.  I remembered the viewpoint and subject matter he was arguing for.  I sat back, cleaned my house, went to work, paid my taxes, did a cart-wheel, knit a sweater and let a week pass.  After 1 week I decided to revisit the argument with an interesting twist. I argued for his point and he immediately argued against it with a fervent anger that would make OJ Simpson proud!  It was shameful display that would embarrass even the  most professional of debating teams.  Still you know what stops an argument.  A good old school pimp slapping, in the vocal cords.

3) He’s a Couple of Pills Short of Sanity

I really think this point says it all. 

Slapping crazy happens all the time, even accidentally. Just putting it out there…

4)   His Cheeks are Ripe and Full

It’s true.  His cheeks are meaty and ripe for the slapping.  I dare any serial slapper to walk past him without issuing a bitch slap, pimp slap, or ask the eternally funny questions of “What did the five fingers say to the face?” with a smack across those jowly jaws That would make anyone smile, except him of course.

5)  Slap is Afrikaans for limp.

and he is…

Now Here’s a Few Things That May Change My Mind

1) If he had a personality transplant or became someone else

2) If he spontaneously combusted

3) If he won the lottery did not tell me and being that we’re still “officially” married, I took him to court and was awarded it all.

4) If I won the lottery myself and kept it all.

5) If he read this blog and felt verbally bitch slapped or at the very least slightly abused.

Well, good night all.   That’s all I have to say about bitch slapping those who call it to their souls. 

Stay tuned next time when I discuss, “Why do women wear short skirts when we already know they have a vagina? No physical proof is needed. Or is it?”