Tag Archives: humor

Marked for life…

2 Jul
Irony, coincidence, or karma?
Irony, coincidence, or karma?

If you have to ask who this is, you aren’t getting the subtle humor mocking him here. Here’s an idiom hint for those not paying attention to world news and Washington politics:

It was obvious he was guilty of espionage, it’s a plain as the mole on his neck.

Get it?!

Adventures in porn…

15 Nov

It all started when my favorite morning radio crew started going on and on and on about porn. How they all watch and enjoy it – well, not together, but you get the gist.

I used to watch porn. Not like every day, but I do fondly recall my first time seeing Debbie Does Dallas. Hell, I remember my second time watching that, too.

Today’s porn is what I call hit-n-quit, nail-n-bail, and smash-n-dash. If you need me to explain that, then you’re not watching enough porn. Shame on you.

The boyfriend asked me what porn turns me on. I really had to think about that. Not so much a fan of girl on girl, mainly because all that scissoring looks awkward – plus those strap on’s would scare even Black Beauty into winning the Triple Crown.

So I gave this more thought. And did some research. And by research, I mean, you know what I mean. What about inter-racial? Gay or bi-sexual? Anal? MILF? Fetish? Midget? As you can see, I have given this all a LOT of thought (rolling my eyes.)

I don’t get it.

I decided the best thing to do is to start with the basics and move on from there. My first adventure was your basic one guy, one girl flick. I spent more time critiquing their bodies than anything else. Such as “Dude, she’s got fucked up teefs, you might reconsider that mouth hug there…” and “Why does he have a Farmer Ted tan?”

Alright then. On to the next. This one sounded intriguing and had a plot! It was even shot on location inside a public restroom. My curiosity totally got the best of me – I mean, really? Yes, really. The producer / slash leading man/ slash cameraman met the girl IN THE STALL and after a clinical discussion about what she would and wouldn’t do (nothing was off limits), and whether she had any STDs or questions (which she didn’t or so claimed), it was strip down baby and on our knees. On the bathroom tiled floor. With no knee protection! And see folks, herein lies my problem. I started yelling “What a dick! She’s gonna be bruised for DAYS!”

Then he switched positions and yes, people, he sat ON TOP OF THE TOILET SEAT and she reverse cowgirl’d him. How is this even possible you ask? Yeah, same here. I screamed “This is totally hilarious – I mean, come on, who can even DO that?!”

OK, now what?

I’m perusing the titles and intro’s and stills on the porn site to see what else might be worth mocking watching. Oh look, here’s a man with his entire FIST up a girl’s butt… Or maybe the bukkake one… Or what about the…

Sigh.

Last night, I tried anal. I just love saying that. The girl had a nice ass. I think she bleached too. So no mocking from me there. But the video was only about 4 minutes long and ended with her giving oral – to which I gaped in horror over the chances she just got E. Coli or hepatitis.

Maybe the problem is that I’m expecting something that home porn simply cannot deliver. I mean, even the cat is bored here.

Where’s my catnip?

I worry that, for me, porn is like a train wreck. I can’t turn away from it, I’m fascinated by the carnage, and feel bad for everyone involved. Next up: midget porn. If nothing else, I can check that off my bucket list of things to do before I die.

50 Shades of dissapointed…

1 Aug

Nothing disappoints me more than wasting my time. Except of course, wasting my money. Or spilling a martini.

Thank god my Mom bought this trilogy and I got to download it for FREE. So there’s at least that. Oh, and that this little trilogy thingy gave me something to snark about. #FTW

I skimmed through finished the book in like two days. My friend Molly warned me that the sex scenes would spiral into mind-numbingly boring, so I was prepared at least for that. But the plot and writing was just so freaking absurb.

And it kinda pisses me off they refer to this as Mommy Porn. First, that’s demeaning to mom’s who like to get their freak on, and second, this was less e-rotica and more poor-rotica, so I found this hilarious picture that about sums it all up.

It’s been weeks since I finished the book and I am now just getting around to writing the review. Why you ask? Well, because I was raised on the adage “if you have nothing nice to say, then don’t say anything… until you have something really good and biting ready.”

The thing that disappointed me so much about this book is that it barely took off its panties to sit on the rim of sexual decadence. I expected a more uninhibited view into the world of psychological and sexual exploits.

Plus, these two characters are so annoying that I just want to flog the shit out of them both. And unfortunately, for them, they’d enjoy it, so what’s the point?

So I decided to not even bother picking stupid plot points out and mocking the crap out of them. Sorta. On the other hand, if you want a succinct review read Richard Branson’s – I’ll fly Virgin fo sho now!

Instead, I’ve decided to devote this blog to fantasizing about how the movie is going to capture the pure essence of certain scenes.

  • Tampon: Remember when Christian literally yanked the tampon out of Ana’s hoohaw so they could have sex? I almost puked at that – so I feel sorry in advance for the key grip.
  • Blow jobs: There is nothing our girl doesn’t enjoy more than playing the saxophone and even more fantastic for her is the instrument’s climactic finale.
  • Washing Toys: I can’t wait to see how they tackle this one. Open scene… Ana walking downstairs with butt plug in hand (pun intended) and runs into the maid on the way, who is clearly on her way to that playroom to clean the peen filled sheets. If there’s a God out there, she will write the scene with the humor that this affords. Please close up on the maids face when she’s taking inventory of the toy chest. Please!

My tip to you, if you haven’t read these books, is to hurry up and do so! You’ll either love it or hate it. Either way, conversations with and among women have never been more livelier, so for that, EL James, thanks. Errr, laters baby.

I’ve lost it…

9 May

I seem to have lost something. Maybe I left it in a drawer in my old house. Or it’s sitting in a box on a shelf in my storage closet? I used to carry it with me every day and now *poof* it’s simply gone.

The odd thing is I don’t remember losing it. I guess I didn’t even notice it was missing, which is almost more upsetting than not having it anymore.

I’m talking about my snark. My passion for sarcasm and antics. My funny.

I used to find this hilarious…

I’ve worn it like a trench coat covering my naked body, allowing me to flash my goods at random passersby and feeling all proper at the same time.

Just a year ago, I was discussing the family dominatrix with my friend’s father. Just before that, I was dancing on a table with a hot young actor. Since then, nuttin.

So now I begin the hunt for my old humor and mirth. I’ll start at Walmart to see if I can find it there.

Does this really need a caption?

My winking ass…

7 Apr

I think the hiatus is over. The writer’s strike has ended with an increase in snark and immaturity. (Preface: I have no particular problem with large ladies, I’m just relating the antics here…)

For example, today my bestie, T-bomb, and I were at our favorite local hangout for our bacon, lettuce, tomato, and avocado sammies (except she ruins it by putting Feta cheese on hers). We’re drinking some vino and laughing and maybe feeling sentimental because we’re here after all to start the packing party (the ex and I just sold the place). And then, out of nowhere, she turns around, and with extreme shock tells me “Shut up! I know that chick over there – in the barf pink shirt!”

I disregarded the whole SHUT UP thing cuz that’s what besties do.

I see pepto-dismal bitch and ask what’s the backstory (I’ve been finding EVERYTHING has a back story…) And she proceeds to tell me that some little piglet had been bullying T-bomb’s gorgeous girl for years and one night, during a school dance where T-bomb was chaperoning, she had the udder misfortune of running into the little piglet and her farm friends. Who were oinking and pointing at her beautiful girl.

Apparently, Farmville isn’t a myth on Facebook. It’s alive and well, and snuffling in the suburbs.

So T-bomb decided enough is enough, the trough was E M P T Y.

Nice teeth, but you smell like shit. Just saying.

She flipped her hair and confronted the little swine. “I’m watching you. Keep this in mind.”

Later, after the dance, T-bomb was feeling pretty proud of herself – no one is gonna mess with my kid! But then, dun-dun-dun! Here comes the little piglet’s mama. She had the nerve to put her pudgy finger in T’s face and snarl “You talked to my daughter?”

T: Um, yeah.

Mean mama: The next time you have something to say, you can say it to me.

T: Well, the next time your daughter tries to bully mine, we’ll have a problem.

Mean mama: *snuffle* Oh yeah? You think I care?

T: You better care.

Mean mama: *glaring* This isn’t over.

T: Yes, it is.

G L A R E

………………

So today, I saw the Mean Mama and I gotta say, I’m afraid. Besides the barf pink t-shirt, she looked friggin scary. I wouldn’t want to tangle with that one.

But I gotta give high props to the T for protecting her girl. Mother’s love knows no limits. Especially when it comes to confronting scary women whose nasty daughters are mean girls. Or little piglets as T puts it.

Dancing with the devil

30 May

I lead a perty darned good life. One filled with interesting and funny people who tell me the most outrageous things. I suspect they do this because the more scandalous the story, the more I laugh, clap, and sparkle. Gawd I love my friends!

Villa Tranquilla

So this post is about the weekend we had recently in Sonoma. It was HER birthday and she invited a group of friends and family for some drunken debauchery.

And of course, good wine, good food, good times, and general insanity.

In advance, HER told me that I would really like her dad, but to watch out. She said “Oh, yeah, he’s gonna just love you.” She said this part part looking me straight in the eye and laughing. I cocked my head, cuz after all, she knows me. I mean KNOWS ME. Knows what a huge flirt I am and how I tend to instigate crazy antics.

Anyhoohaw, we meet up at Flowers along the Sonoma Coast and while it was like only 10:30 in the morning, drinking wine just felt natural for HER and I. Since we tend to spend a lot of weekends together, we tell ourselves it’s totally okay to start drinking whenever we want because it’s always 5:00p somewhere.

Wine tasting? NO, they gave us four WHOLE BOTTLES to drink. Yay!

So after the first day of tasting drinking a barrel full of wine on an empty stomach, HER dad arrives at Villa Tranquilla. He’s 69 years old (he says with a wink and a leer), fit, flirty, and quick to laugh. Oh hell to the yeah! He and I bonded faster than two fingers and some super glue.

He’s drinking whiskey in a wine glass (oh the humor!) – and I’m drunkety drunk apparently feeling very comfortable with him. It was mutual. V.E.R.Y. And while us womenfolk were off in the living room dancing, the menfolk were in the kitchen (making us food *thanks*) – well, all except for HER dad. He’s hanging out with us ladies in the living room.

I was in charge of the playlist so I decided some Rihanna was needed. At one point, HER dad and I were dirty-ish dancing. For the rest of the weekend he continually reminded me that I am responsible for pulling his “inner thigh muscle too hard“. I of course reminded him that he should’ve stretched more before dancing with the devil. He loved this!

So the next day, after drinking my dirty mary’s for a little hair of the dog recovery, and then hitting our first winery, we all headed to lunch. I sat near HER dad. Who regaled me with so many stories that I laughed so loud it was somewhat reminiscent of Sally showing Harry in the diner how a fake orgasm is properly done. Fist slamming the table and screaming Yes! Yes!

Pronounced: DOM-IN-NOT-TRICKS

You see, he announced to me that they have a dominatrix (pronounced DOM-IN-NOT-TRICKS) in the family.

Me: Get out!  *open handed slapping the table*

HER Dad: Oh, it’s true. And she’s quite hot.

Me: Wha?  *slamming the table screaming YES!*

HER: People, this is lunch.  *rolling her eyes*

Me: I love you!!

HER dad: She’s a professional.

Me: As in “I get paid to help you work out your submissive issues?”

HER dad: Yes, and she’s married to my nephew.

Me: So let me get this shit straight *clapping with glee*, she ties her “clients” up and helps them work through their bid-ness and then goes home. Where possibly her husband casually inquires “How was your day, dear?”

HER dad: Yes, exactly. It’s quite fascinating.

Me: Does she use whips and chains and other props, like a riding crop or dog collar? *completely fascinated*

HER dad: Yeah, I think she does.

HER: GUYS!!!

Me: *sorta shamefaced, and now grinning slyly at HER dad with a gesture indicating ‘we’ll continue this convo later’*

By the way, Harissa French Fries are the bomb. Seriously good. And if you don’t already know this about me, I am a huge foodie.

Overall, the weekend antics and whatnot was epic and just the right amount of naughty! HER dad flirted like a pro with me, to which he openly admitted and frankly, I so totally dug! And there was lots of drinking, dancing, laughing, and storytelling. HER family is crazazy insane in a very good way – and I’m certain we will do this again. And by this, I mean everything you think I mean.

For now, in vino veritas. There is truth in wine. Where it’s from, how it grows, it’s environmental influences, how it’s made, smells, tastes, and makes you feel. Like the bouquet of life, wine reminds us how precious each bottle is, and how special it is to open it to good friends.

To HER for including all of us on her special day – I love you girlfriend!

Ironic not bionic

9 Apr

Chatting with a friend the other day, I realized folks don’t know about my brush with the brush. And by brush, I mean foliage on the trail.

It all started when I saw that Coke commercial. You know the one with the chick roller skating? This is a special kind of skating.  Quad skating with a twist! I used to do that shit when I was all badass back in da day. Rex-style skating with T and S. So I immediately bought a pair and had them shipped.

Now, I didn’t buy smart shit like wrist and knee pads – oh no no no. Not this gal. I be invincible. I am after all BOLD.

Anyhoohaw, my coveted skates arrived and the hubby tells me not to use them til I buy protection.

ME: Of course not. Have a nice day.

HUBBY: I mean it.

ME: *smiling* See you later.

So I worked from home back then and my boss worked in Texas. So at 3p pacific time, I grab my skates and head to the trail. Schwing!!

I’ve got my iPod on old school R&B and it’s all fun and games until I hit the fucking acorns. I’m ass flying through the air and I know this aint gonna end well. I land wrist first to protect my precious backside.

I’m sprawled half on the trail, half in the foliage. I knew my wrist was shattered about 30 seconds after I landed. And I’m winded.

Dude on a bike goes riding past me. Doesn’t try to stop. I squeak out “helllllppppp” in this tiny voice. But he hears it thank the good lord baby Hayzeus.

BIKER BOY: Oh, I didn’t see you there. I thought you were a dead dear.

ME: *ok, I’ll let that go* Hey I broke my wrist. Can’t move. Do you have a phone?

BB: Yeah sure.

I call 911. Panting miserably now the shock has worn off.

ME: *spying his water bottle* Can I have your water?

BB: Yeah sure.

In his defense, what a great guy, but a man of few words.

911 drives on the trail with sirens blazing. Ambulance dude refuses to give me an IV and some serious drugs. I’m begging. I’m pleading. I’m crying. I might have tried flirting, but I think it would have gone unnoticed because of the twigs and pebbles in my hair.

At the ER, they jack me up on morphine. For the record, this is NOT my drug of choice. Not that I have one. A choice that is.

Turns out my trip down memory lane and into the shrubs along the trail were gonna require surgery, 2 (yes tw0) titanium plates and 8 (eight, yes 8!) inch long (yes 1″ long) screws.

So while I’m held together with sooper strong hardware, my software (aka brain) could use some better parts. And by parts I mean better common sense.

The irony is this: After crushing my wrist, I put the skates in the spare closet where they are now collecting dust and holding the memories of misplaced trust. And maybe some dirt and pebbles from the trail. I refuse to visit them. They are on time out. Like me.

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