The Sad Saga of Larry (R.I.P.)
It shocked me to learn that ÜberYounger had somehow turned 26 years old, married, had a couple of children, and became a widow virtually overnight, yet that's what happened. According to ÜberYounger.

Last week, just before dinner, Younger pulled up alongside me as I sat on the couch. She had one baby in a stroller and one strapped in a backpack. Truthfully, one of the "babies" appeared to be a stuffed dog, but I'm not one to judge.

I was informed that Younger was now 26 years old and the proud mother of two children, Olivia and Karen. I asked how Younger managed to raise two children all by herself, considering she had no job.

"I own an ice cream parlor," she announced.

And the father of the children? "He's dead," she stated matter-of-factly. He's the one who left her the ice cream parlor, by the way. His name? "Larry."

Really? How old was he? "27," she answered. Wow, that's really young to die. "He smoked too much," she responded.

That's incredible. It usually takes years and years for smoking to catch up with you like that. "Well, I accidentally put a stick of dynamite in his cigars, and he exploded."

Ah ha. Well, it was time for dinner. During dinner, after a typical discussion of how each person's day had gone, Younger picked up on the story of Larry's demise.

"Not all of him died, you know," she said between mouthfuls of spaghetti. "They found a foot." Which one? "His left foot." Ah, like Daniel Day Lewis.

In the coming days, the story of Larry continued. She kept his foot in a pickle jar, so that her daughters would remember their dad. Sadly, this caused a cessation of her mail delivery, as the mailman saw the foot in the jar through the window, and fled in terror. Can't say that I blame him.

Now, for more terror, let's continue our journey through the holidays of February, with our delightful guide:

I'm Beginning to Think It's Just Dilf
The more I thought about the odd and weird occurrences I witness from time to time, the more I realized Dilf was involved.

Exploding cabs? Dilf was with me.

Seeing a man in full Gorton's Fisherman gear, minus pants, riding a bicycle down a busy street on a bright sunny day? Dilf was with me.

Another man wandering the neighborhood in assless chaps? Dilf again.

Now, Double Post will attest that sometimes I see unusual things without Dilf -- but that could just be the residual effects from wearing his pajama pants. No, I never had an upstairs neighbor who wandered the halls in ratty boxer shorts, knocking on doors asking people if they had any Milnot for his coffee. That was all Dilf.

Of course, when I was married to the Evil One, we had a neighbor who raised chickens and fed them in the morning wearing nothing but a Speedo and a hat. He looked like the Skipper from Gilligan's Island. However, once I ditched him, that weirdness stopped.

While I ponder the possibility that Dilf is a magnet for strangeness, enjoy the latest video tribute to our wonderful February holidays:

Honest Abe would be honored.
Driven to Madness
Other people can drive down the street without incident.

Oh sure, there's the occasional accident. But that's merely annoying or tragic... not truly bizarre.

Not so with Dilf and I. Longtime readers may recall the time a colossal rubber penis came bouncing down LaGrange Road toward us.

Then, there was the time a school bus full of grade school children assaulted Dilf with a salami sandwich.

Dilf was driving to work, an odd occasion in and of itself because he usually took the train. But he had to transport some equipment into the city, so he took the car. It was autumn, a lovely day, brisk, but not too chilly. Dilf had the window cracked to enjoy the cool air.

That was his downfall.

An unruly crop of hooligans in a school bus in an adjacent lane of the highway spotted his car pulling up alongside them. They were likely en route to a field trip to a museum or such, but they should've been going to a juvenile detention facility, because they threw one of their classmate's sandwiches -- a salami and mayonnaise sandwich on white bread, to be exact -- out of their bus window and through the small, narrow opening of the window Dilf had but merely cracked open an inch or two to let in some air.

It landed on the face of the instrument panel, leaving a smear of creamy mayonnaise across the glass. One bite had been taken out of it prior to its launching.

Dilf's reaction followed this sequence: startled, angry, admiring. Yes, it was dangerous. Yes, it was disgusting. But you had to admit, it was a one in a million shot.

For a look at someone else who's one in a million, let's look at a video about another February holiday, Groundhog's Day:

The Weird. The Odd. The Über.
This week, we will explore the many bizarre and unexplained phenomena that follow the ÜberFamily.

I have witnesses, you know. Accompanying me to the grocery store? Be prepared to see a shopping cart tossed up in a tree, and a strange man with a briefcase marching around the parking lot, glancing furtively around and darting in and out of the cars.

Also, January comes to a close this week, making way for all the fabulous February festivities. Here to combine strangeness and holiday celebrations is our friend in his mother's basement:

Wait, Maybe THIS Is the Theme

Yeah. Definitely.
The Upcoming Week's Theme
It's been below zero for a few days now.

Yesterday, Nick said he spilled coffee on his jacket and it turned into coffee-cicles on his walk to the office.

Of course, I haven't experienced this myself. I've been in my pajamas the whole time. But I hear it's just awful outside.

Please enjoy the final Batman installment, featuring one cool chick:

More Fun for Procrastinators! Now With Less Batman!
I stole this from CTK. Be a rock star with your own album! Here are the rules:

Go to……

1. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first article title on the page is the name of your band.

2. http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.

3. http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/
The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4. Use your graphics program of choice to throw them together, and post the result as a comment in this post.

Here's mine:

Quick, get the Bat Signal! Batman HATES Lying!
Batman has been fighting crime a long, long time.

It's time for him to take out the trash.

In other news, Sysm has his annual Superbowl Squares available. Longtime readers may recall that I one a quarter last year, and became a syndicated cartoon monkey as a prize.

My donated prize is 2 dozen football-themed cupcakes, of course.
Bad Music Thursday: Batman, the Musical

You read that correctly.
Don't Wear Wednesday: Bathing Suits OVER Clothing? No, No, No!
Tits McGee Is Gonna Have a Little Chat with Batman

What the hell, Batman, you cheap bastard?

He's a fucking gazillionaire and he's ripping off Batgirl?

What an asshole.
This Week in Coupons: Holy Foul Food Fabricators, Batman!
Even Batman goes shopping, and he knows a good bargain when he sees one:

So, I trust Batman will peruse the coupon section this week and pursue the villainous purveyors of putrid pablum responsible for Superbowl snackfoods. Is it not enough to be forced to root for either the New England Patriots or the New York Giants, during an election year offering political candidates of similar dreadfulness?

NO! Says Tyson, who thinks we should eat things such as these, or SuperPretzel (indeed! posing as a superhero!) who believes these belong in our gullets. (Incidentally, take a look at what the pretzel people are really trying to sell in their "other news" box: free soft porn? soft boob? Are these people wholesome? I think not!)

But those food fiends are petty criminals when stacked against the real villain of vittles I found hiding in my coupon pages: Spam Singles. In a pouch.

I think I've made my feelings about shelf-stable meat in a pouch clear previously; but this... this... multiply the freak factor times a gazillion billion!

Imagine the stench that would greet you as you tore open the package, then the sight of the pink fleshy blob vomited forth from the package, resembling some sort of flattened pig fetus. Then, the fluid that would accompany it! Like the afterbirth of Satan's spawn, oozing onto your plate and befouling any area it touches.

I tell you, it must be stopped!

(*Photo courtesy of The Food Pornographer, an awesome site)
Sunday Funday! Let's Rock n Roll!
I want to confront evil villains this week.

But it's Sunday.

So I'll start tomorrow.

In the meantime, let's dance!

...And Now for Something Completely Different

That'll shake the ol' cobwebs from this stanky blog.

Go, Batman, go! She totally wants you!
Please Send for Doctor Zaius

I believe I have some damn dirty ape disease.
Danger: Keep Out!

Ubermilf may return tomorrow, if health authorities allow.

Blogged with Flock

In Other Disaster News, George Bush Is Still President

While pro-choice advocates are concerned about the fate of abortion rights in the hands of Bush Supreme Court appointees, it seems something else outranks the fate of itty bitty unborn babies: the rights of corporations to cheat people out of their hard-earned money.

That's right, as long as those nasty, unwashed hordes of investors insist on threatening those poor, innocent, vulnerable titans of industry, the Supreme Court will not rest until every last CEO can rest his head on his downy-white pillow at night, untroubled and worry-free.

Surely the Supremes must fear the reaction of our mighty Decider in Chief to this ruling. After all, he spoke with such strength and conviction in 2002, at the height of the scandals which precipitated these lawsuits.

I'm waiting for his wrath to descend upon the highest court in the land. I'm sure it will be any day now.
I Am SOOOOOOO Tired of Disasters
My Theme This Week? Oh, You Want a Theme???!!!
Do you see what time it is right now? 1:09 a.m. CST. Why am I up at this hour, you ask? Even Übermilf needs beauty sleep, doesn't she?

Because the motherfucking dog whined to go outside at 12:22 a.m. CST. And, because she's been on Prednisone due to her earlier encounter with a spider, she has to urinate more frequently. And I wouldn't want to clean up that mess in the morning, if I rolled over and went back to sleep instead of heeding her warning.

Well, I'm here to tell you, folks, I would rather clean up dozens of urine puddles than one skunk attack. That's right -- she got full-on blasted by a skunk when she went outside.

Nick, I believe you probably met the pleasant little fellow with the fragrant discharge. You know, on Saturday? When you said, "There was a skunk in your neighbor's front yard?" Strike a bell? Yeah.

I couldn't find the doggie shampoo so I used mine instead. Then, I went on the net and discovered a remedy of items I had on hand (baking soda, peroxide, and a teaspoon of dish detergent.) I don't know if it worked; she's upstairs in the bathroom with the door closed.

Oh, and Dilf? I hope you're enjoying Detroit. What the fuck, dude? I need a vacation.
More Really Bad Poetry
Don't wrestle on the stairs!
What would happen if you fell down?
Don't play on the stairs!
You're sure to wear a frown.

Elder, where are your shoes?
Did you look in the shoe cubby?
Or in the basket by the door?
Are they in your room?
On the closet floor?
Elder, where are your shoes?

I really like my black bra
I wish it was clean
My black bra fits so nicely
And makes me happy
And looks good under this dress
I really like my black bra
I wish it was clean
And Now, Really Bad Poetry
Nobody understands
The pain of a 7 year old
When her younger sister won't share the Slinky
Nobody understands
Why she must kick her bedroom door
When no one responds to her valid complaints
About the Slinky
The Slinky
The Slinky
For fun it's a wonderful toy
But not when your little sister won't share hers
She should be cast out from family life
For her outrageous actions

It's 2 a.m.
So says the clock
The witching hour, when vomiting starts
You hear it strike

Can you make me a grocery list?
That would make me happy.
The End
Bad Music Thursday: Didn't Think I'd Find a Teddy Bear Song?
And no, it has nothing to do with Elvis. Although I did find a Swedish Elvis impersonator who... never mind that now. I give you:

More Evil Bear Imagery
I am not the first nor the best to discover the evil of teddy beardom. That award clearly goes to this site.

Which is where I found this:

Have a good day.
Double Post and Her "Friends"

Clearly, she has a problem.
When Teddies Go Bad

Double Post is some sort of teddy bear apologist who thinks they can do no wrong.

I beg to differ.

This is but one example, but I don't have all day to list them all.
This Week in Coupons: Diets and Makeup and Bears, Oh My!

I had 25 billion gazillion coupons in my Sunday paper this week; of course that's just an estimate. Roughly 87 percent were diet-related for the resolute, beauty products comprised another 10 percent, horribly ugly and useless collectibles made up another 2 percent, leaving 1 percent for Saran Wrap and canned fruit.

I was horrified, horrified to meet Hartley via my coupon section this week.

Okay, it's not so much the bear that horrifies me than the fact that adults would spend $80 on a teddy bear. And not just a small handful of people are so willing -- as you can see from the link, he's on backorder.

It must be because he's "full of Boydsian charm!" Maybe that's code for heroin. At least that would make some sense to me.
Sunday Soliloquy
It's technically Sunday, right?

Moxie is crying.
The Benadryl is not working as it should.
Another sleepless night for mommy.
I can give her more medicine in roughly 25 minutes.

Nick is coming over to bake tomorrow, although I'm not supposed to help him.
They're having some sort of contest at Sysm's work camp.
When he walks through the door, they all sing, "Leader! Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah LEADER!"

Also, B.A. likes Italian Spiderman, but I like Indian Spiderman better:

Moxie's Mumpish Muzzle Merits Medical Management

After taking her habitual morning constitutional in the backyard, Moxie began frolicking and chewing on branches and toys and whatever else she does in the backyard.

She came inside with swollen cheeks, which I assumed was her trying to smuggle in bits of forbidden debris from the backyard, like pine cones or bark bits or a dead animal or something.

But no. The cheeks were all hers.

Dilf called our conveniently located but mediocre veterinarian, who informed him they had no available appointments, but directed him to an emergency animal hospital if necessary. The problem is, we don't know if it's an emergency.

Dilf is taking her to PetSmart's doctor for a quick evaluation. He's not back yet, so I don't know the verdict.

It's probably just something she ate.
The Look of Love
Ladies, if sitcoms are to be believed, this is the man we all want to marry:

(photo courtesy of Rock-A-Belly)

Following the precedent set by the brilliant Jackie Gleason, yet never remotely matching the genius, endless tv "comedies" trot out the tired "sloppy useless oaf married to the hot sassy lady" cliché.

The message? Ladies, you'd best keep yourself as attractive as possible while never expecting anything good out of men. After all, there seem to be an endless supply of sexy, capable, forgiving women out there, but every single man seems to be as slovenly, dopey, and sometimes downright dangerous as the next, so you better just get used to it.

But they've warped "The Honeymooners" formula. Did Ralph Cramden ever drive his bus up onto a sidewalk, killing dozens of people while he was distracted by a sandwich? Did Ed Norten neglect his sewer duties to go out drinking, causing a dangerous build-up of gas that resulted in an explosion?

No, our generation has honed the archetype into an antihero not only devoid of positive behaviors, but whose selfishness often results in harm to those around them. And it's supposed to be funny. We're supposed to root for him to disguise and get away with his misdeeds, and even when discovered (because, let's face it, he's waaaaay to stupid to manage a cover-up), he gets nothing more than an irritated scolding.

These shows are not only tired and relentlessly unfunny, they are insulting to both sexes, married life, and families. Writers, if and when stop striking, please strike this formula from your repertoire.

If the executives say, "You know what we need? Another show like 'According to Jim.' Can you make me one of those?" -- go back on strike. No one will blame you.
Happy New Year Week Continues
Of course, losing weight isn't the only resolution out there. People resolve to change all sorts of things -- to stop smoking, stop biting fingernails, stop mailing nude photos of themselves to Lynn Redgrave -- in short, people want to break some bad habits of the past.

I'm here to help. And it's Thursday, so that help's gonna be musical.

Oh, Peter Cetera, the music you've given the world could fill endless Thursdays... but I don't want to start something I couldn't finish.
Happy New Year! Time to Self-Flagellate!

Ah, the New Year's Resolution. What's Numero Uno? Why, losing weight, of course! Because we are in the midst of an obesity epidemic! Just look at our female celebrities, fatties each and every one of them! Apparently, male celebrities don't go swimming. At least, I've never seen a picture of one on the cover of a gossip rag at the grocery store.

Yes, indulging the urge to eat has replaced indulging the urge to fornicate as the worst sin imaginable. As long as you leave farm animals, cadavers or the guy who played Screech on "Saved By the Bell" out of it, you can have any kind of sex you like and no one's going to bat an eye.

But eat a doughnut? In public? Only if you enjoy scandal.

I am not part of the obesity "epidemic." I am a member of the vast swath of Americans whom I will call "A Little Chunky." I would call us "Alchies," but that might cause confusion. Despite living in what Men's Health Magazine considers one of the most obese cities in America, I don't see many truly obese people. Of course, I don't shop at Walmart.

What I do see frequently are the Chunkies like me. Apparently, we are not killing ourselves or driving up the costs of health care for the skinny people, so I'm not participating in the annual New Year stampede to starve myself.

And for those who want to smirk and make snide remarks about my robust figure and love of carbs? Hmmm. My New Year's Resolution is to not care.
Things that won't stop me from blogging
A glass of Chianti Classico
A monstrous helping of eggplant parmesan (courtesy of Nick -- Thank YOU!)
An entire bottle of Veuve Clicquot

Happy New Year!!!

It is entirely possible that I will be too hung over to post in the morning.
Name: Übermilf
Location: Chicago Area

If being easily irritated, impatient and rebellious is sexy, then call me MILF -- Übermilf.

So you want more huh?
Click here!

Perverts, scram. There's nothing for you here.

Now, who wants cupcakes?

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