Here is our beloved Miss Kendra:



Here are knicknacks spotted by the lovely Spinning Girl on her recent trip to New York City:



Any questions?

See you all in 2006

Coincidence, or sign that the End Times are here? You decide.

Ever-vigilant newshound B.A. reports that both
Jesus and Satan have reappeared on Earth.

NAKED!























Satan, left, and Jesus, return to do battle, naked. (file photo)
Jesus prounounced this message for the world: "I am ... crazy, and I need a menthol cigarette."

Satan was found "walking with his boxer shorts around his ankles and screaming wildly, according to the report."

Now, while Satan's actions are consistent with his past, "Jesus" seems to be a bit contradictory. Hitting people with a tin trumpet? I don't think it's really him.

Let's eliminate the anal sex talk with an introduction to The King of Cake.



His blog is full of delicious tidbits. Even a Jesus cake!



He has many more terrifying cakes on display, including Laura Bush in her inaugeral ball gown.

"I think that there's never a bad time to let someone know that the ass is off the table."
–Nick Seaman, June 9,2005

That means NOW is a good time to say... constant anal sex references are tiresome. If that's all you've got, you're not very clever or amusing. I don't know about anyone else, but I've had enough.

Poop jokes demand the proper context. For instance, flinging poop at worthy subjects can be funny. Pooping on people or things that deserve it can, as well. But poop descriptions or discussing how or where or when you pooped is as funny as a fart joke. Remember what happened to the fart joke guy?

I'm not trying to say that I haven't run out of material, or never missed the mark with my humor. I'm just pleading for some diversity in bloggertainment.

Whether sung by Bob Seger, or a duet of Kenny Rogers and Sheena Easton, "We've Got Tonight" is Bad Music.

ROGERS KENNY, DUET WITH SHEENA EASTON lyrics

We've all heard tales of intrepid travelers and audacious adventurers.

They climb Mount Everest...discover the South Pole...even venture into outer space!

But would they eat raw pork from an outdoor vendor in a foreign country?


Dr. Sardonic would. And DID!

He's a badass.

These are halcyon days for our good friend Sysm.

First, Jiggs Casey declares Sysm is the good kind of douche that helps maintain, rather than disrupt, the Ph balance of the universe.

Then, his blog undergoes a makeover, resulting in a delightful film-noir look to his blog that befits his wry and suspicious nature.

Finally, he goes on a posting rampage yesterday, highlighting his fascination with the macabre, his political insights, his parenting philosophy, his obsession with music, and his ability to see into the future.

Who knows what today will bring in the fascinating, spine-tingling world of Sysm.

Infant dressed as Baby New Year:


Cute!


YOU dressed as Baby New Year:


Not cute. Not even a little.

New Years, like Thanksgiving, gets short shrift because of its proximity to Christmas and its dearth of merchandising opportunities – unless you're selling champagne or noisemakers.

That's a shame, because New Years Eve combines some of my favorite activities: drunken revelry, kissing strangers, and fresh starts. For a fresh start, many of us make resolutions. As we all know, two of the most popular resolutions are to lose weight or to stop smoking. Perhaps both.

This renewed interest in personal responsibility brought about by the clean slate of a New Year reminds me of something I learned in the Psychology of Advertising class I took in college.

Every student in the Marketing Communication program was required to take the class, and I am very grateful that I was. The teacher was a woman with a Masters in Psychology who had used her knowledge on behalf of the advertising industry, then felt so dirty that she decided to do penance teaching college students.

We learned many of the mind games employed by advertisers, both overt and subtle. One of the subtle tactics was one not used in direct advertising, but in "public relations" stories fed to and regurgitated by the media. It was used to avoid corporate clean ups by convincing the public that they were equally to blame.

The example she used was the waste disposal issue of the late 1980's and early 1990's. While the bulk of the refuse was generated by industry, people were urged to recycle, and told about how long it took for disposable diapers to break down, and other ways that we, the people, were to blame for garbage.

Now, of course, what they said was true. But they just left out the part about industrial waste. Think about this for a minute; how many news stories have a familiar ring? Greenhouse gases? If you drive, you're responsible. Obesity? Well, you put the food in your mouth, didn't you? Smoking? Please, idiot. Didn't you read the package?

Of course people should accept personal responsibility for their impact on themselves and on the planet. But if you notice, these pushes for personal responsibility are always followed by quiet changes by corporations. Has anyone besides me noticed that food companies are cutting back on hydrolized fats and corn syrup because they contribute to obesity and adversely affect blood sugar levels? That cigarette companies were found to have made their tobacco more addictive than had Mother Nature? But by the time these stories come out, people have already accepted their part of the blame, and the effect of these stories is blunted. People don't get as angry because they're "partners in crime" at that point.

I'm not suggesting that we forgo holding ourselves accountable and blame all of our ills on the corporate monsters we've created. I'm saying we should be vigilant, and demand more information about we buy and consume, so that when we do act like stupid assholes we do so of our own accord.

For example, we've been told for the last decade that we have created resistant bacteria by washing our hands with anti-bacterial soap and demanding antibiotics from doctors whenever we have a sniffle. Now it turns out that the antibiotics fed to livestock and injected into dairy cows are really to blame for most of the situation. As consumers, we should have the right and responsibility to find out what animals have been treated and whether or not we want to eat them. That's how to create corporate responsibility, by using consumer demand. Without the necessary information available to consumers prior to, not after purchasing, it's not really a free market economy.

I suppose it's appropriate that I'm knocked out. I will blog when I'm up to it.

July
July saw brought two significant debuts:

Flash Fiction Friday began challenging and inspiring us to create great literature, and

Monkey begins flinging feces.

Also, departed bloggers Sandra and Underhill break up, somehow causing me to be called a dumb cunt.


August
Cowboy Nick begins riding and Calzone starts perverting the blogospere.









September



My birthday! All other news or events pale in comparison.

October
I win the title of Yodeling Queen, and also celebrate Halloween:


November
The Blog Affiliates of Justice forms, and takes down chronically unfunny, overrated fart-joker The Casual Friday.

I enrage an army of David Soul Fans and wonder Where is He Now?





Which brings us to December...

December is when I ask, what was your favorite blog memory this year?

Hark, and listen to Holiday Joy.

As this year draws to a close and next year looms ominously ahead, I am going to write a month by month wrap up of great moments in Blogdom.

January
First up, my friend and mentor B.A with his January entry, Religious Groups Target SpongeBob Video as Pro-Homosexual.


February
On Valentines Day, Nick had eggs for breakfast.


March
In March, LoLo Lova starts Telling It Like It Is. Apparently, "it" is like this: "Yes, I have big boobs. They're real. And they're spectacular!"









April
On April 28, Melanie and LoLo pimp someone's rubbermaid cart in an act of retribution.

"One of the other @sshole front desks stole one of our carts. It was clearly marked with the doctor’s name. The whores lied and said that “someone” gave it to them. SOMEONE? They couldn’t even give us a name. Whatever. We let them keep the cart….for awhile. One day not long ago (last Wednesday) we stole that beyotch cart back. I will not go into detail as I am not sure who will be reading this. Anyway, we decided the cart needed a makeover so that the front desk would not try to steal it from us again (they are like that too, they would try). So, we decorated it. We pimped it out. We wrote and drew all over it. We fashioned mini-mud flaps for the wheels. We gave it custom plates, front and back as is the law in the State of Ohio. We printed cool pictures of stuff and permanently taped them to the top of the cart. The cart looks SWEET. We were going to install hydraulics, but simply ran out of time (translation, we had done no work for hours and it was becoming apparent that most of our co-workers and all of our supervisors were getting irritated…..although it could have been our incessant giggling whilst decorating)."




Also on April 28, Miss Lis gets drunk, comes home, and eats frozen burritos.

"Frozen burritos are really rather vile," she reports, "they bear little similarity to actual burritos, and the contents rather resemble cat sick - but MY GOD THEY ARE TASTY."




May

Ubermilf debuts! Granny Fanny appears:



June

I... apologize to NICK for BEING MEAN??? WTF??? I guess "I compared his naked body, which I have not even seen, to a cherub lawn ornament.

I said he could dress as Princess Leia in Jabba's lair by stringing two garbage can lids together to form a bra and sewing two bedsheets together to make a skirt."

Then, I wrote the bastard a haiku:
"Nick, I was cruel
I insulted your physique
That was uncalled for"
Clearly, that was before I got to know him well.

Mrs. Slocum-style. Nobody in particular, for no reason in particular. I just hate when my mind is all wound up.

We rolled some of our cookies in powdered sugar. UberYounger decided the excess should not be put to waste.


Meanwhile, Miss Muffin takes her tree abuse to new levels. Known dead so far: one gingerbread lady and one "Our First Christmas Together 1998" ornament; missing: several velvet crescent-shaped santa heads with jingle bells on their caps. Apparently, they offend her kitty sensibilities.

I Googled "twisted brain" because that's how I feel today. To my surprise, it gave me this movie that I had forgotten about.

I remember I was at Penny Goke's third grade slumber party. It was about 2:30 a.m. or so, and I was really tired. Another girl wanted to stay up to watch "Twisted Brain" on TV, but I said, "YOU'RE a Twisted Brain!" and it made the other girl cry.

That's the first and last I'd ever heard of "The Twisted Brain" until now. In retrospect, I should've watched it:

"A nerdy highschool super whiz experiments with a chemical which will transform his guinea pig "Mr. Mumps" from a gentle pet into a ravenous monster. In a fit of rage against his tormenters at the highschool, Vernon Potts (Pat Cardi) goes on a killing spree, eliminating all of those who ever picked on him - the Gym Coach, the School Jock, The Creepy Janitor(Mr. Griggs)& his hated teacher,Mrs Grindstaff. In the end he gets the jock's girlfriend for himself but his happiness is shortlived as the potion turns him into a monster hunted by the towns lame police Leuitenent..."

It sounds wonderful!

I have a "snow headache." It is a sinus-type headache I ALWAYS get before a snowstorm. My headaches have proven more accurate than meteorological reports. Unless I'm coming down with a cold... no, I think this is a snow headache. So, be prepared is all I'm saying.

The UberGirls and I will be baking and decorating cookies all day. I know I promised Monkey my thesis, but it will have to wait. Cookies take precedence!

Sometimes, the mundane experience of one person can serve as a metaphor for what's ailing an entire society.

For example, I went to the grocery store last night to buy cookie-baking supplies for this week. The store was out of flour. Flour! Well, all-purpose flour, anyways. But they had highly-visible, prominately placed, well-stocked shelves full of plush Chihuahuas in Christmas sweaters who barked out "Feliz Navidad" when you squeezed their tummies.



I also couldn't find cookie tins. Or those little mini-M&M's I wanted to use to decorate my cookies.

Now, it seems that we consumers need to stage a rebellion. Retailers and their evil marketing lackeys have decided that in order to find the things we need, we must navigate through a store full of cheap crap in hopes that we will see it and buy it. As someone who frequents grocery stores and big-box retailers, I can tell you that they also rearrange the store periodically so you can't just find what you need and escape quickly.

In my opinion, it's these little annoyances that wear on a person and cause depression and anxiety. What if we all stopped taking our Zoloft and Paxil and went insane on their asses? What if I abandoned all pretense of socially acceptable behavior, and started ripping open packages and throwing things around the store?

"Where's my fucking flour??!!" I could scream. "What's this? Cornmeal? I can't bake fucking Christmas cookies with cornmeal!!! What's WRONG with you fuckwads??!!"

Then, I could take every last one of those ugly, annoying, useless barking Chihuahuas and put them in the roaster with the rotisserie chickens.

While I was considering my various ape-shit options, a stock boy appeared with a new flour supply. If only they new how close they had come to utter mayhem in their store.

I don't know what to write. Monkey's friend Squid Viscious has intimidated me with his statement "Most blogs are people who whine and bitch about their periods or their spouse or the sky or whatever is happening within their breathing space."

I must respect anyone with a clever pseudonym, so I will not publish until I have written something of value.

SYSM has complained that there is "too much cheesecake" on my blog.

I have no idea what he's talking about. The last recipe I posted was for Peggy's Pig Eggs. I've never posted about cheescake at all! I think SYSM is thinking of someone else.

Anyways, I'm back to my chores.



Ubermilf loves a clean house!

Thank you, thank you Miss Kendra for introducing me to the joys of this:

After reading this again, I sound like I'm sneering snootily at this neighbor. I don't know how to fix that, but really I'm feeling warm affection for him, because he's obviously good at heart. I just find his choice of words... odd and endearing, as Monkey said. I love characters, as this guy certainly is. And I love the fact he's different in a neighborhood of crushing sameness. So, please, read this post with the realization that I'm celebrating him, not making fun of him.

Original post:

Last night, my super-secret Santa mission included my brother-in-law. I travelled to his home, a townhouse in an upper-middle-class Chicago suburb, to help him with ... sorry, I can't say.

While we travelled to the undisclosed location for undisclosed purposes for an undisclosed person, he complained to me about his white trash neighbor.

Now, I have nothing against this neighbor, since his butt-ugly white van with the mismatched doors and his tie-dyed curtains are the only landmarks to indicate which otherwise identical, tasteful townhome belongs to Towel Boy.

But then, I'm not awakened at 6 a.m. by a hillbilly bellowing for his dogs. Said beasts were roaming free when I arrived at my brother-in-laws home last night, as a matter of fact.



So Towel Boy told me about pounding on his redneck neighbor's door in his robe and pajamas to inform him, loudly and angrily, that he had once again roused the entire neighborhood calling for his free-range poochies. The neighbor apologized, saying he didn't realize anyone could hear him, because "It was winter."

Later that day, when Towel Boy came home from work, he found this note on his door:



I especially like the P.S.

I, too, was tagged by the effervescent LoLo. I will avoid mentioning the garden-variety weirdnesses I have already discussed, like my obsessive perfectionism.

Here goes:

1. When setting the table, I try to match everything. That includes the plastic tablewear my daughters use. They have matching vinyl (wipe-off! most necessary) placemats, bowls, plates, plastic utensils, and cups. It is vital to my mental health that the bright, primary-colored ABC set not mingle with the soft, pastel-colored Inchworm in the garden with Butterfly set.

2. When I find a story particularly compelling or a male character particularly attractive, I will cast myself as one of the characters. I am always sassy, powerful, beautiful and have exquisite clothes. Often, I save the day. I am never the villainess.

3. To the dismay of Dilf, I peel my clothes off rather than remove them like a normal person. Thus, my jeans will be put into the hamper with undies and socks inside them, as if I dissolved and left the entire ensemble behind. Often, they are disturbingly inside out, yet still all intact as they were when I wore them. They must be dismantled before laundering.

4. I have a hard time paying my sewer bill. It arrives in the mail sans envelope, on a postcard. They are not set up to accept debit card payments over the phone. I can't handle paperwork under the best of conditions, let alone one requiring all of this effort on my part.

5. I can't poop in public toilets. Well, I don't know if I can, because the prospect horrifies me. I've never really tried.

Oh, and a special bonus weirdness: I can't blog without using a picture.

We gave Miss Knit her birthday present. Great job, everyone!

Now, let's all give a thought to Christmas presents. Tonight, I am going on a secret mission. A super-secret Santalicious mission. One that fills me with joy and excitement. I love surprises!

On this day twenty-three years ago, the wonderfully intelligent, fantastically talented, and undeniably beautiful Miss Knit blessed our Earth with her presence.



Isn't she cute? This isn't a current photo, obviously.

All she asks for her birthday is a comment count that exceeds 100. Please, click, give of your time.

She deserves your love and attention.

I've complained about my perpetually angry milkman before. Today is Wednesday, so that means he lumbered menacingly up my driveway again today.

I usually cringe and hide when he comes, but today I had no need to seek cover, because Dilf ran into him outside as he was taking UberElder to kindergarten.

"Hello!" I heard the ever-friendly Dilf happily greet the burly, surly delivery man.

"Have any bottles today?" grunted Milkman in reply.

I'm telling you people, the man is OBSESSED with bottles!

"Oh, no, I forgot this week. I'll put them out next week," breezily answered Dilf, as he sauntered past.

"It's been six weeks since you've put any out," the sour Milkman countered, sullenly.

Now, I know this is a BIG FAT LIE. I put out the bottles LAST WEEK. Personally. Bear in mind, people, this guy had the nerve to leave the annual "Here's a Christmas Card, but Really It's a Reminder for My Tip" in the milk box last week. So, this must be him in full customer-service mode.

I miss Ernie. Ernie was a good milkman. Oh, Ernie, where are you now?

However, even then it's ridiculous. Not the cause -- he gave $55,000 to the Ronald McDonald House -- a worthy charity.

It's just that the thought of one clownish freak giving money to another clownish freak is just too precious.

And here's Carrot Top winning the "Most Terrifyingly Annoying Corporate Mascot, Red-Haired Division:"



Poor Ronald didn't have a chance, comically-large shoes or no.

Carrot Top has a fan. In this picture, he seems as shocked as the rest of us to hear it.

It seems Carrot Top's fan has been busy visiting the many blogs that mock Mr. Top, and has finally gotten around to commenting on mine.

Ironically, I thought a distaste for Carrot Top was something we could all rally around; a unifying force in a country torn by dissent. Nay, I was wrong. Here's what the fan had to say (anonymously, of course):

"TO YOU WHO DOES NOT REQUEST THAT YOU HEAR FOR CARROT TOP FANS YOU NEED TO DO BETTER RESEARCH. FOR A MAN WHO HAS BEN DOGGED BY THE PUBLIC FOR 15 YEARS HE DOES MORE GOOD THAN YOU COULD DREAM OF DOING YOUR SELF LOOK UP ALL THE CHAIRITYS HE GIVES TO THEN YOU CALL THEM UP AND DOG THE MAN WHO HAS HELPED THEM. AND HEAR WHAT THEY TOO HAVE TO SAY"

I did not correct for grammar or spelling. That would ruin the authenticity.

At first, I thought it was Nick or Calzone or somebody playing a little joke on me. But it's not.

He came here, huffy, from another Carrot Top-mocking blog, where he extolled Mr. Top's fine physique two days ago.

Like the irate David Soul fans, Carrot Top's fan throws up the charitable donations as proof of his worth. How do I know he's not doing it for the tax deductions needed because he is so grossly overcompensated for annoying the general public? No, I will not back down from this fight. Carrot Top is creepier looking and less talented than Howie Mandel. And that, my friends, is saying something.

Yes, dear readers, I missed THE Social Event of the Season.



I have avoided mentioning it out of remorse. Words can't express the despair I felt when I looked out my window and saw snow... a blinding, swirling mass of white, which stood between me and my heart's desire. I will never recover from the disappointment; it will shadow me the rest of my days.

Others braved the weather to attend. I'm assuming they didn't live 30 miles away and didn't have to haul their children over to their crabby older sister's house for babysitting, being admonished by said crabby sister to "Not be too late!" I'm assuming they had fun eating fried things and drinking moonshine. I'm assuming they enjoyed listening to Lynrd Skynyrd's Christmas Album and holiday music performed by power tools. But not me. The weather, distance, and reluctant relatives conspired against me in my quest for fun and excitement.

There's always next year.

I found the perfect gift for Nick and Anthony: Shock Tanks.



THE SHORT DESCRIPTION
"Shock Tanks is a radio controlled tank battle. Each Tank is equipped with an infra-red cannon. Every time you hit your opponent's tank, HE gets a painful electric shock from his controller. The object is to knock his tank out of commission, and make him suffer in the process."

I think all wars and disputes should be decided with Shock Tanks.