More Tricks from 2006


  1. I vacation in Wisconsin
  2. Todd fills in for me; Booger objects
  3. Auntie Julie's murder investigation begins


  1. Flower Fairies invade my home
  2. Miss Kendra makes me an apron
  3. I anger my fellow Downers Grovians with an opinion

  1. I realize Dilf = Alton Brown = Thomas Dolby
  2. I threaten to kill a recipe lady
  3. ÜberYounger goes on a rampage
More Sick from 2006


  1. Mrs. Kathy has a baby; I offer advice
  2. My mom dreams of meat and is hospitalized
  3. Miss Muffin dukes it out with a squirrel

  1. Home Depot attempts murder
  2. Miss Amanda gets married; a herd of moose stampede us
  3. Hugh Hefner pisses me off


  1. Take Eyeballs off the menu, urges ÜberElder
  2. I shop for Dilf's Father's Day gift
  3. We have a parade

2006: Was it All a Dream?

Here's what happened the first three months of 2006, or at least how I blogged it:


  1. Went to Cleveland to visit Mel and LoLo.
  2. Had a great time.
  3. My family thought I went nuts and ran away.


  1. Dilf's employers steal him for nearly an entire month; I am forced to take out the garbage.
  2. ÜberElder tied ÜberYounger to a chair.
  3. We celebrate Paczki Day in style.


  1. I write an infomercial to sell Todd.
  2. St. Patrick's Day.
  3. Don't Wear Wednesday is born.
Bad Music Thursday: Moldy Oldie Gary Puckett
Some of my younger, luckier readers likely have no idea who Gary Puckett is. I apologize for destroying your bliss, but that's what Bad Music Thursday is all about.

Here's a vintage video that captures the horror:

I have some very specific complaints about Mr. Puckett. For one, he is creepy. If you listen to the song example I just gave you above, I shouldn't have to explain why.

For two, almost all of his songs sound the same, at least the ones that became top 40 hits. I couldn't find audio or video samples to prove my point, but you can either trust me or look them up yourselves.

Did I already do a Bad Music Thursday on this guy? Am I making any sense? Am I writing in English? Good Lord, the doctor gave me some strong medicines.
I went to the doctor today.

I've been sick for the past week. Let Johnny Pipewrench mock my pain; it's been pretty bad. In fact, I welcomed my menstrual cramps last week as a diversion. Sure, it was pain, but it was a different kind of pain.

So the doctor gave me three different kinds of medicine today. I took my first doses, but so far, my ears still feel like someone stuffed a pound of sausage into each of them and swallowing feels like childbirth (only this time I'm trying to push something in through a narrow fleshy opening).

However, I have every hope I will feel better tomorrow. Or I'll die. Either way, my misery should cease fairly soon.

I'm not coming back until I'm myself again.
Merry Christmas!
Hillbilly Tapas: The Social Event of the Season
Sweet, sweet Hillbilly Tapas. Would the holidays be complete without it?

While my cuppe
d balls with prison dip recipe did not win the coveted "Best Of" prize, I still managed to enjoy myself immensely.

Here I am, with Fat Drunken Cupid. He's dropping his pants. Surprise! He never does that!

y, the surprise is he kept his underwear on.

Do you like my holiday ensemble? White fishnets and red fuzzy slippers completed my look.

What's that hanging from Fat Drunk's mouth, do you ask? Why, it's a clove cigarette! To make him yet more attractive to women, Fat Drunk smokes smelly cigarettes. Hands off, ladies! He's got a steady date. We'll let you know when she wises up, which should be any day now.

Here I am making my singing debut, with Dilf at my side. The woman next to me used to work with Dilf three jobs ago. I don't remember her name; I'm bad with them under the best of circumstances.

I do remember the John Deere hat, though.
Reverand Jack has quite the collection.

Finally, a picture of Dilf falling off the wagon.

Don't tell my mother.

It's my old pal George Michael. Have I mentioned I'm very anti-sex-in-public-bathrooms? Because I am. It's very unsanitary. And rude. And an improper use of space. Aren't there zoning laws or something? Anyways, this song sucketh mightily:

In general, I hate Christmas songs that moan incessantly about the private love life of the singer on Christmas. What the fuck do I care? We're not celebrating your feelings. Frankly, you're not that interesting.

And this song takes it further by featuring George Michael's high-pitched still-in-the-closet Wham voice to boot. Hooray! Everyone knows if George Michael were to give a body part to someone, it wouldn't be his heart; it would be this:

They bleeped the word "dick" on Saturday; I assumed they said "Cock in a Box." That would've been funnier. Oh, well.

Merry Christmas everybody!
Mom Down! Mom Down!

... and the next thing I knew, I was in bed trying to jimmy open a piggy bank with the Übergirls, and Dilf runs in and says, "Girls, quit taking advantage of your mother when she's in an altered state!"

I'm so very, very sick.
The British Have a Lot of 'Splainin' to Do
First Spotted Dick, now this:

I Will Not Eat It on a Train, I Will Not Eat It on a Plane...
Well, the Cuntzilla Warning has been downgraded to a Cuntzilla Watch. An elevated threat level of Cuntzilla activity, if you will. Conditions are ripe for a Cuntzilla attack, and chatter has suggested Cuntzilla activity in the works, but as for now, Cuntzilla has not chosen to act. So, we wait.


A more imminent threat exists, and that threat is tofu.

I have often toyed with the idea of becoming a vegetarian, not for idealogical reasons, but because I don't trust our nation's food supply, and it's easier to find locally-grown produce from people you trust than meat.

But one thing has always stood in my way ... tofu.

I hate tofu. I hate the thought of tofu. I hate the texture, smell, and appearance of tofu. It's a curd from a vegetable? A plant food with meat-like protein and vitamins? This isn't something God made. It's the devil's trick. It's what Adam and Eve actually ate in the Garden of Eden that got them kicked out. I bet their bad gas helped give them away, too. Tofu is evil and squishy -- two things I don't like.

And now its health benefits are in question! Ha! After years of being cajoled and threatened into eating tofu because of its supposed powers to cure everything from bunions to cancer, it appears tofu is bad. It's baaaaad! And we should've guessed it would turn out this way.

Every time a new diet fad comes along, it turns out to be dangerous. High carb, low fat? Obesity. Low carb, high protein? Heart disease. Tofu? The research results are a bit murky, but I'm putting my money on slow, painful death.

Whenever someone keeps urging you to "eat it, drink it, come on, try it," it reminds me of the malevolent presence from my past, who has since been lost to the mists of time, who convinced me to try Southern Comfort in a bar once. Straight up, no chaser. (Was it Gazoo? It might have been Gazoo. Gazoo, if you're reading this, fie on you!)

Anyway, to make a long story short, tofu is the Southern Comfort of the food world. Tastes bad, could kill you, overall scourge of mankind.

Have a good Monday.
Next Week: Cuntzilla News!
This week: I've got things to do. With Buck Owens.

You can consider this your Weekend PinUp, too, if you like Buck Owens as much as I do.
Bad Music Thursday: Michael McDonald

I could list dozens upon dozens of musical abominations perpetrated by this lamentable loser, but I'll pick this one because the refrain barely has words. It kinda has syllables.

And he's nasal and soft-rock. No sir, I can't say I can think of anything nice to say about his music. Bad music, indeed.
Sometimes, Familiarity Breeds Content

Don't be like this guy in the picture. It's not good for your health. Really.

I’ve been in comfy cozy mode for a while now, and my viewing choices have reflected my mood. Last night I watched Rick Steve’s European Christmas, which, as the title suggests, shows how different countries in Europe celebrate … well, obviously.

A particularly charming custom to my mind came from Italy. In the small towns and neighborhoods, children bring a holiday cake called Panettone to widows without any nearby family. I thought it was a wonderful tradition: the widows got a breath of fresh, young air and the kids got a healthy dose of wisdom. How beautiful.

Then I told Double Post about it, and she said, “That could never happen in America. Some thugs would show up to the old ladies’ doors pretending to be kids, and then robbing them. Then some old people would abuse the kids.”

Thank you, Double Post.

But she has a point. How many towns and neighborhoods have residents who know each other well enough to trust? Do you talk to your neighbors? Do you even talk to your families? We are sorely lacking in cohesion, because cohesion has its bad side, too.

When people are tightly knit, they know one another’s business. They annoy, judge and bother each other. But by turning our back on those negatives, we have given up some very vital positives.

We don’t care for each other, play with each other, or protect each other. We don’t understand each other, help each other, or make time for each other. Much.

And why do we roll our eyes at spending time with our families? Not fakey "phot-op", pretend togetherness, but time when you truly talk and listen and interact fully. Family is a basic building block of humanity. How many of us neglect it?

Granted, some people have truly poisonous situations in their lives – alcoholism, abuse, and violence, for example. Yet how many of us avoid family togetherness because people are fussy, bossy or intrusive. They get on our nerves. They know all the buttons and how to push them.

I’m not discounting how quickly some of those habits can become painful. But if your family is so debilitating, you need to replace it with something real and meaningful. If you’re putting on a “mask”, it’s not real. You have to put your real self out there, vulnerabilities and all, and allow people to both love and irritate you.

I wish I still had my great aunt and grandma around to complain that the coffee’s not hot enough this Christmas, or insist on a full Polish meal instead of the funky hors d’ouevres I plan on serving. It wouldn’t bother me nearly as much now.
Don't Wear Wednesday: Whatever This Is
I've Been a Bad, Bad Blog Buddy. But I've Got Christmas Stuff to Do!

Please forgive me; I tend to lose my head this time of year.
What Cookies Should I Bake This Year?
I'm open to trying new things. Well, if those new things are cookies, that is.

Now, I know I must bake those sugar cookie cut-outs so ÜberGirlies can decorate to their little hearts content, but I'm looking for something more. Fresher... edgier ... something new. Something to excite me.

So, I'm turning to the freshest, edgiest, most exciting people I know -- you guys. What should I bake this year? Tell me, tell me do.

Apologies to Miss Kendra, whose dairy and egg allergies make cookie eating treacherous.
Weekend PinUp -- 'Tis the Season!

It's me again.

Of all of my weekly features, I felt sure Dilf would pick to do this one. Perhaps he knows not where I keep my secret stash of pinup pics, but I highly doubt that. Dilf loves him some old-timey pinup girls, with their busoms and their curves and their wholesome goodness mixed with maximum minx-iness.

Dilf has impeccable taste, if I do say so myself.
Dilf here…
Thanks Kendra
Some pretty pretty baubles came today. The missus was very excited about a bag and some magnets. I became interested after she informed me that both the bag and the baubles were ho-made. The baubles featured blog images and the bag even had an inside pocket. I guess they're supplemental income or something. Anyway, She was happy and that's always good.

Dilf here…
I'm steering as best I can. I thought I'd find you all some "Manly muffins" to offset the cupcake overload, but I got this instead.
How sad.

My Computer Has Been Burgled.

When it comes back, I'll be back.
Bad Music Thursday: Was Billy Joel Ever Good? Because He Sure Isn't Now.

You may have correctly guessed from past Bad Music Thursdays that monotonous repetition in songs annoys me greatly. Also, stupid lyrics. This song has both!

Consider this line: "Rock and roll and cola wars, I can't take it anymore!"

Clearly, Mr. Joel's drinking problem is no mystery, if he finds cola wars too stressful to handle.
Don't Wear Wednesday: Suspenders without a Shirt

Because, Baby, It's Cold Outside!
War on Christmas Becomes Yet More Ridiculous

Last year we had retailers selling "Holiday Trees", this year we have them adding "Merry Christmas" as a disclaimer on each TV ad, just as Budweiser adds "Drink Responsibly" to the end of theirs.

What is happening, people? Look, I'm glad to see the silly practice of changing every mention of Christmas to "holiday." It fooled no one and offended many. Everybody knows what's "Christmas," what's secular, what's Kwaanza, and what's Hannukah. If you're selling decorations, label them appropriately or you just look stupid.

On the other hand, do we have to go overboard? Do sales clerks have to hastily and fearfully wish customers "Merry Christmas" or risk a boycott? Why can't they just say, "Thank you, here's your change?" If they see someone loading up on candles, gold-wrapped chocolate coins and a dreidel, they can decide to say, "Have a Happy Hannukah" if they so please, "Merry Christmas" to the guy buying a Nativity scene, or "Enjoy Kwaanza" to the lady buying her red, green and black candles. Does it have to come down from corporate? Is there no common sense left in this country?

If you're a zealot about this time of year, get help. You're making life unbearable for the entire month of December.

What's a zealot? Let me give you a couple of examples.

Normal person: I saw a really interesting presentation at the library this weekend. It was about how winter holidays are celebrated throughout the world...

Zealot: You mean Christmas.

Normal person: Well, yes. But you know what they do in Southeat Asia? They...

Zealot: I can't believe I'm hearing this. I never pegged you as an anti-Christian before, Stan.

Normal person: I AM a Christian, it's just that I found it educational to see...

Zealot: I'm afraid I can't just stand here and listen to your hate speech any longer. I hope you enjoyed that slideshow at the library, Stan. Too bad it was your one-way ticket to hell.

Kids, step away from Santa! He's not real! He's a tool of Satan to separate you from Jesus! Your parents are lying to you!

(frightened children start to cry)

or, this:

Normal person: Would you like some eggnog?

Zealot: I can't believe you're trying to force your religion on me. This is America and I can believe what I want. I mean YOU believe (rolls eyes) that a virgin gave birth to God, who doesn't exist by the way. I can't believe you're an adult and you still believe in fairy tales, fairy tales that have been the cause of every war mankind has known. You're just a tool of the corrupt establishment.

Normal person: Is that a "no?"

Zealot: Kids, step away from Santa! He's not real! He's a tool of retailers to separate you from your core values! Your parents are lying to you!

(frightened children start to cry)

We should put aside our differences and work together to ask the important questions of the season, like, "Can't Santa put a stop to Bratz?
I Don't Have Energy to Research Anything

So I'll do what I always do in this situation -- steal from B.A.
Flash Fiction Friday: Run for your Life!

She ran in front of the convenience store window, wildly waving her arms, desperately trying to get the clerk’s attention. He never looked up, engrossed as he was in his comic book and iTunes. She could’ve run inside…why didn’t she run inside? But no one could blame her for not thinking straight at that moment. She continued running, hoping to find a gas station with a more attentive attendant.

She didn’t look behind her, but then again, she didn’t need to. She could hear the low, throaty chuckling, labored breathing, and heavy footsteps. She knew he was still after her.

Who could’ve predicted that her guilt-induced visit to her childhood friend would’ve ended such horror?

Twenty years earlier, it was she pursuing him. They were children then, playing a spirited game of tag. She chased him into the street, tagging him just as he was struck by a delivery truck. She didn’t realize, as she tearfully watched the paramedics load him into the ambulance, that it would be the last time she would see him.

Until tonight. She had heard neighborhood rumors that haunted her, that he had suffered severe brain damage, that he was institutionalized, that he was insane. She couldn’t bear to discover the truth; but then, with adulthood came responsibility. She had to make amends.

She contacted his parents. Jimmy would be thrilled to see her, they had said. Jimmy didn’t get many visitors, they added. It will do Jimmy such good to see her again, they claimed.

So, she headed to St. Dymphna’s Hospital for the Mentally Impaired. She looked down at the crumpled paper clutched in her hand, upon which she had scrawled his room number. She gathered her courage, pressed the elevator button, walked into his room. She doubted he would recognize her.

How wrong she was. As soon as he caught glimpse of her, he leapt from his bed, shouting gibberish. Three orderlies tried to restrain him, aiming a syringe at his neck, but missing. He threw them to the ground and lunged at his long-lost best pal. While the other portions of his brain had long ceased functioning, whatever lobe housed the need for revenge clearly lived on.

He lumbered noisily after her as she ran for her life, managing to stay just ahead of his outreached, grasping arms. At 11 p.m., the streets of their sleepy little town were empty. There was nowhere to run, no one to hear her cries for help.

She decided to take a shortcut through the cemetery, beyond which lay a new subdivision of mini-mansions. Surely someone would be home to answer her pleas for safety.

Growing tired, she could sense him gaining on her. She panicked, and turned her head to look over her shoulder, failing to see the newly dug, empty grave in front of her.

She fell into the hole, landing with a thud, paralyzed both by fear and the broken ankle she felt snap beneath her. Unable to defend herself or attempt escape, she could do nothing but wait to be ripped apart by the hulking maniac who rightfully blamed her for his condition.

His face loomed over her, breaking into a malevolent grin. As she saw him reach for her, she closed her eyes, not wanting to witness her own demise. She felt his heavy hand on her shoulder, and heard him triumphantly bellow….

“You’re IT!”

Sorry about that. But, if you'd like to see some better stories, ones that DON'T incorporate my dad's old jokes into them, click here and check out JJ's Purgatorian site.
I'm Gonna Bust Her Kneecaps, I Swear to God
Remember that room mom I complained about? The one who never does anything? Well, she decided to do something for the school this morning, and that was to call me at 5:55 a.m. this morning to tell me that school was canceled today. And could I please call the other students in Elder's class with last names starting with A through G? Thanks so much!

(Actually, Dilf spoke with her, because I was heading to my desk downstairs to find the phone list. Also, Younger was screaming because she had been awakened suddenly. Then Elder started asking, rapid fire, "What's wrong what's wrong what's wrong what's wrong?")

Dilf wound up making the calls, because Younger had dissolved into hysterics and she insisted only I could help her. Then, we turned on the news, where our school closing was announced. Then, we received two auto-dialer calls from the school district telling us the same thing -- at the much more humane hours of 7:30 and 8 a.m.

To clarify why this woman annoys me so much, let me tell you who she resembles in both physical appearance and behavior:

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?

I am Online
Add me to your Buddy List
Join my Chat Room
Send me E-mail

My site was nominated for Hottest Mommy Blogger!

adopt your own virtual pet!

follow me on Twitter
Design By:

Online Casino
Who links to me?

Listed on BlogShares
Blog Directory - Blogged Ubermilf at Blogged

My blog is worth $40,646.88.
How much is your blog worth?