Runnin' thangs!

My office's director and his district manager have both been fired from our company following a very slow year. While the bigwigs at corporate headquarters decide where to take things next, they've left everything in our branch office up to me. Some folks in my position might go with a "business as usual" approach. Fortunately I'm ambitious enough to realize that this is an opportunity to prove myself and get promoted!

Profits are down, sales are down, and the workload is slow. Our prices are competitive, so I'm not sure what's wrong. What I'd like to do is boost our sales. Unfortunately I know nothing about sales! So I've decided to cut operating costs, which will force me to squeeze maximum productivity out of the few employees who remain. But that's not as easy as it sounds! In fact, it's become a rather depressing game of "divide and conquer"!

I began by drawing out a big chart. I wrote down everyone's name and drew lines connecting who was friends with who, who takes lunches together, and who chats around the coffeemaker. I put a red mark by anyone who I think may have been part of last year's failed unionizing effort. I also made notes on the chart about popularity, niceness, and physical attractiveness.

Then I started managing people out of their jobs. I wrote folks up for every single 30-second tardy. I documented every website they visited that wasn't work-related. I monitored their calls, and rummaged through their desks. I even sent a few people in for "random" drug tests. After only three weeks I'd fired one person out of every identified friendship in the building.

The best part was how I avoided an ugly, newsworthy mass-layoff situation. Instead I spread all the firings out over a month of Fridays. This not only helped our company avoid embarrassment, (as well as expensive severence packages) but it also helped develop a sense of self-preservation and paranoia among my remaining staff. Of course everyone is depressed and worried, and I'm the only one who knows that the firing spree is over!

As of this week I've implemented an office-wide training program focused on the importance of showing company spirit! You should see their faces in these sessions, the way I bring them together by forcing them to smile. No, I'm not just making a special effort to deliberately insult their intelligence! And to prove it I'm giving away free company logo sweatshirts to those who truly embody our company values and attitude! Go team!

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Taking back Christmas!

I'm tired of Christmas being one big hump and dump, so this year we're doing it differently. I'm gonna to teach my kids the true meaning of Christmas, even if it means a lot of tears and resentment. It's more important to me that they grow up to be decent people. That's the price of good parenting, and I really don't care how much they hate me for it!

For starters, I'm volunteering their asses to work after school at a local nursing home. I know an orderly there who'll pay me $5 per hour cash for the three of them to sing and read to old people. Their duties will also include emptying day-old bed pans and removing the occasional catheter. I'll receive an additional dollar for every hour they spend fishing recyclables out of the dumpster.

As for gifts this year, they might be surprised to receive something more practical than past years. Each of my kids will get either a shoe shining kit, a package of Dryel (home dry cleaning system), or a jar of jewelry cleaner. After they're done whining I'll explain how they can now earn their $2 per week allowance by carefully maintaining my wardrobe.

Now don't worry, because the kids aren't alone in this. My new husband Phil will be learning about the importance of family this year as he spends Christmas Day with my kids. I already told him that I'll be leaving after presents to "visit Mother", but I'm actually going to meet with my secret boyfriend Maurice, who's buying me an 8-ball of coke! That's what I call a "white" Christmas!

I truly feel bad for all you suckers who are spending yet another year in the stupid Christmas rat race. To make things a little easier for you, I have compiled my handy 4-part holiday guide which will help you get most out of the holiday season:

Spreading your holiday cheer!

Christmas shopping made easy!

Super secret Santa!

If these posts don't get you in the spirit then you really are hopeless.

Ain't nobody happy!

We have a saying in my house: "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy!". You won't catch my kids acting the fool around me! I've got those bitches walking on eggshells in this house. Don't get me wrong though...I'm not one of those sadistic moms! I find it's best to take a more passive, creative approach to discipline!

Like when Brandon threw a tantrum a couple months ago because I forgot to send in the money for his class field trip. I told him, "Tough shit!", but he kept on whining. I told him to stop or he'd be sorry. He yelled, "I don't care! you're stupid!" and ran off to slam his bedroom door a few times before locking himself in. I let him stew in there all night.

The next day he was stuck sitting in the school library while the rest of his class when on their trip. Meanwhile I was at home, selling his bike to the overweight drop-out down the street who always bullies Brandon and his friends. Brandon will have to think about what he did every time that kid rides by on his old bike! That's re-enforcement!

Little Jailen is harder to get through to sometimes because she's only 3. Plus she's fairly well behaved, so it's hard to teach her lessons. That's why I use double-reverse psychology. I'll say something like, "Don't eat the candy I have in my underwear drawer!". She replies, "What candy?", and I'm like, "Don't worry about it!".

Later that day, when I catch her in the act, I yell for a minute, but then let her know that I forgive her for disobeying me and going in my room without permission. Of course the next morning she's asking me where all her Dora the Explorer shirts and other stuff have gone to. I know they're all stuffed in the trash, but I just say, "I dunno, maybe God is punishing you!".

My husband Phil isn't safe from my unhappy ass either! Last night I came home and found that he had forgotten to pick up some pre-mixed cocktails for me from the liquor store. I didn't say a word about it. I just took his Jagermeister bottle from the freezer and sipped off it all night while giving him the stink eye. He never even asked me what was wrong!

But I'm sure he remembered the next morning when he stepped his socks into that puddle of water I left around his work boots. And just to be sure we were clear I also dumped vinegar into his Bubba Jug of sweet tea. If he doesn't mention anything by tonight I'm going to wait until he falls asleep and wake him back up with a nice hard flick to the nuts.

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I'm a Vegetarian! (but I eat meat)

I've been trying to get back in my daughter's good graces lately. She's made it clear that I lost some of her trust during her brief adventure as a runaway. It's been a real uphill battle! Her new thing is that she's decided to become a vegetarian. After reading some of her magazines on the subject, I think this is a hobby I can definitely sink my teeth into!

Of course it's never as easy as just avoiding meat. All that leaves you with is crappy food! So Darla joined a new local vegetarian cooking club. Since I've shown so much enthusiasm for her new found passion, she invited me to be a part of their annual "Harvest Time" potluck. I was so excited that I promised Darla that I'd make a vegetarian version of my grandmother's old world lasagna recipe.

The potluck was a fun idea, and everyone seemed to enjoy my dish. But I wasn't too thrilled with theirs! I don't understand why vegetarians always insist on using so much tofu. And the lentils! And cabbage rolls! Needless to say, I became an instant gas bag. I politely went into the hallway and ripped a long, dirty fart. Suddenly a few young children of the group members ran out of the room and into the center of my fart cloud!

Nearly everyone had helped themselves to a slab of my delicious lasagna. I knew it'd be a hit, but I never expected people to ask for the recipe. Sorry, girls, but it's a family secret! Unfortunately I never did make it to the store before preparing my dish, so I had to substitute the mock ground beef I had planned to use with an old frostbitten package of ground veal.

Well how was I to know that vegetarian's bodies simply "forget" how to digest meat?! The next day they were all chatting on Facebook about how sick they all got. Luckily nobody figured out which dish caused it! Honestly, I haven't had such a laugh since that Summer I worked for that barbecue catering company, when I "accidentally" fed pork hot dogs at a Muslim family's reunion picnic!

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I ain't got all day!

Earlier this week I went to the cupboard for some Beef-a-roni, but apparently the kids had already eaten the last can. I really had my heart set on it! I was so angry that I yelled "motherfucker!", stomped out of the kitchen, and kicked the living room phone jack right off the wall. It's one of those things we all do impulsively, and regret immediately. Now my foot was hurt, and I needed this damn phone jack fixed!

I grabbed my cell phone and called the phone company. After going through a shit ton of really annoying robotic menus I was finally put in the queue to wait for a representative. I was still kind of mad about the whole thing to be honest. I decided it would be best to lie and say that the phone just went dead. She told me that I had the "protection plan" on my account, so the work would probably be covered.

The technician's visit was scheduled for the next day with an 8am to 12pm window. That meant I had to take off work that morning, but still, a 4-hour window isn't too bad. Since I had the morning off I decided to hit up the Bob Evans for some biscuits and corned beef hash. I returned home around 9:15 and found a note on the door. It stated that I had missed their tech at 8:15 a.m., which means he probably got there right at 8. Ridiculous!

That's when Phil came home because he'd forgotten to take his lunch that morning. He was needed at the job site, but I told him that first he needed to call the phone company and tell them that their tech left and that I had been waiting since 7am. While talking to the representative, he didn't sound all that convincing. So I yelled, "Tell them that I saw the truck driving off!". This went on for a few more minutes until I got fed up and took the phone from him.

I bitched at the rep for a few minutes, and I claimed that the tech never knocked. The rep said, "Maybe you didn't hear him, or maybe he didn't see the doorbell.". I yelled, "I don't have a doorbell, smart ass!". Then the rep put me on hold. He came back a few minutes later to tell me that he had spoken with the supervisor and that my technician would add me on as his last job of the day.

Now I had an afternoon to kill, so I drove to O'Charley's and drank a bunch of beers. I got home by around 4:45pm, and the tech was just pulling up. I said, "It's about time!". He said, "For your information I was here at 8:15 this morning for your appointment. Now I'll be stuck here when I should be driving my son to his basketball game." I told him that I don't care about all that and brought him inside.

He inspected the damage and advised me that there would be a charge to fix it, because accidental damage wasn't covered under the plan. I got all up in his face, poking him in his chest and yelling about how I refused to pay and how ridiculous this whole thing was. He quietly walked out, got in his van, and began to drive off. I ran out after him, and threw the broken phone jack at the back of his van. It missed and landed in the street. This whole experience just goes to show that good customer service is dead!

The prodigal daughter!

Darla has finally returned! She's been gone since April, when she ran away from home. Apparently she got her fill of the "real world", and has come crawling back for some sense of normalcy. Even though she's a woman of sixteen now, I was still a bit worried for her this whole time. After hearing about all that she's been through I can't say that I blame her!

Apparently she left town with some wolf enthusiast who drives a 12-year-old Geo Metro. He had promised to take her to Humbolt County, California, but the car broke down somewhere in the Mid-West. They went for help, but ended up getting stranded with a commune of paranoid, drug addicted young hippies. They let Darla's friend go, but made her stay because they thought her pregnancy was suspicious.

While living as their captive, Darla was still able to sneak to a phone every now and then. Unfortunately I was ignoring her voicemails. She was scared and feeling sick from all the stress and homemade soy milk they were giving her, but none of them would let her leave "the farm" to visit a doctor. She escaped five months later by hitch hiking from the edge of the woods.

She immediately checked into a Catholic hospital where they discovered that she had miscarried three months earlier. They were kind enough to remove the calcified remains of the fetus despite Darla's lack of medical insurance. She signed a release form, which is too bad, because the procedure has rendered her sterile. I told her she should still sue those bastards! She'd be set for life!

From there she had to take whatever charity should could find until she finally made it home. But now what's she going to do? She's a dropout with no marketable skills and no baby to claim for welfare, or to use to get checks from a man. I'm trying to convince her to be practical about this, but she's reluctant to take my advice. All I'm saying is that she'll make a decent regular income if she'd consider getting all her teeth pulled. Of course little miss "woman of the world" thinks I'm wrong about that too.

I can't help but feel somewhat responsible for all this. I mean, I didn't stop her from leaving, and I never tried to find her after she left. I also ignored ten letters and at least twenty voicemails over the course of the last several months. And on some of those messages she was downright begging me to help her get home. But I knew deep down that she wouldn't have learned her lesson until she found her way home alone, the hard way.

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Embarrassing the kids!

My damn kids love to accuse me of embarrassing them. It's either my clothes, the way I discipline them in public, or the way I act in front of other parents at school events. I know I do it, but what can I do? Moms are never "cool". They weren't cool even when I was a kid! It's not that I don't try! But nothing I do ever good enough for them, so why do I bother? Pure optimism, I guess.

Back when Darla was just in second grade she started peeing the bed again. Morning after morning I had to begin my day by throwing her sheets in the wash. Enough was enough! I told her that if she wet the bed again I was going to hang her pee-soaked underwear outside for all the kids on the bus to see. The next day I did just that. Needless to say, she stopped wetting after that. I'm not sure if she ever forgave me, but it worked! So what's the harm?

My 9 year old, Brandon, is an even bigger bitch about the way I treat him in front of his friends. I tried to be cool at the JV football game by handing loose cigarettes out to all his little buddies, but apparently they all thought that was weird. Then I wore a slutty top to the "parents n' kids field day", but all the children laughed at my flopping breasts, which made Brandon cry. Then he got mad at the fair because I washed his face off by licking it clean. Well how else does he expect me to remove all that cotton candy residue?

Even little Jailen is getting in on this foolishness. She thinks her three-year-old ass is too big for that stroller. And yeah, she is. She's a little porker to be quite honest. But I don't strap her into the stroller for my benefit. It's so she doesn't run around and get lost! The last time I let her walk on her own she ended up following the wrong mother's ass for several minutes before looking up, realizing it wasn't me, and screaming at the poor women until security had to be called to locate me. Of course I was trying on clothes, so I couldn't even get up there for another fifteen minutes!

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I want the gold, sucka!

All the girls at my work are into running and fitness. They've spent the entire Summer talking about all the marathons and triathlons they've participate in this year. I'm sick of hearing about it! That's why I decided to do a little talking of my own, by bringing in a shiny gold medal! I got online and found a little-known 5k race where I could be assured of an easy win.

The kids and I showed up a little late. The crowd was very small, maybe 250 people. We were told that the race was being held to raise funds for some really rare form of cancer. They only had one lady there who actually had the disease! She introduced herself and tried to sell us a raffle ticket for a chance to win a cute beaded anklet her daughter had made.

I started looking around at the competition. The only two I really had to worry about were this old guy who was really fit for his age, and some dude from Kenya. I pointed him out to Brandon, who nodded back at me nervously. Meanwhile, little Jailen was hiding under the raffle table trying to swipe that bracelet. I tell ya, the kid has taste!

The lady with cancer gave a small speech, and people started to get teary eyed. Then a preacher came up and lead everyone in a prayer. I took the opportunity to sneak off towards the park bathrooms. Then I quickly ducked down into the woods. Everybody said, "amen", and they lined up to start the race. I could see the first 200 yards of the race from my vantage point. They fired the starter pistol and the runners took off.

At about 120 yards I could see my little Brandon leading the crowd at full sprint! That's when he took his dive, causing our Kenyan friend to trip over him and slam into the ground. The fit old guy stopped to help them up, while the crowd ran past. The beauty of this maneuver was that these two would no longer have any idea who was in front of them in the race!

After about 18 minutes I could see the old man and the Kenyan making their way back through the entrance to the neighborhood. They were out in front again! I reached into my bag and opened up the water bottle full of liquid feces that I'd prepared. I knew I would need to appear as though I'd truly pushed myself to the limit! It was now or never!

I poured the whole thing down the back of my running shorts and took off like a maniac, straight out of the woods and towards the finish. My timing was perfect. As soon as I hit my stride I looked back and saw the guys making it around the turn, just as I was heading into the last curve. I could see the whole crowd going nuts as I hauled my out-of-shape ass all the way to the finish!

The feeling of winning was just incredible! Everyone was amazed at my time of 20 minutes 45 seconds. The lady with cancer was so moved by my win that she ran up and hugged me, despite my crap covered legs! The Kenyan and the old man looked confused and a little bit pissed. The walkers finally made it back, and the organizers called everyone in to announce the winners.

They awarded me a gold medal and a handy $200 Visa check card. I thanked them and stepped back into the crowd. Jailen and I grabbed our stuff and headed to the car. We found Brandon lying down in the back seat. He had 2 fully bruised legs and a size 12 footprint on the side of his head. That little man earned himself a nice big bowl of ice cream for being such a team player!

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Let me ride!

Phil has been making good money by contracting work out on some large-scale plumbing jobs. I guess that's why he thought it would be okay to trade in his 1986 Monte Carlo towards the purchase of a gently used Dodge Caliber (without even telling me!). The Caliber only has 12,000 miles on it, which made it way cheaper than a new one. This car is hot!



The problem is that maybe this car is a little too hot! For one thing, it makes my car look like shit. It's totally unfair that he should have a better car than mine. It also makes Phil a little too proud. And you know how those home wrecking bitches will try to get with him just because they like his car. It's not that I don't trust Phil. I just don't trust them bitches!

So last Tuesday I asked Phil if I could drive his Caliber to work. I could tell he didn't want me to, but he let me do it anyway. I guess he didn't get the hint that he was never going to drive this car again unless I'm riding in the passenger seat. If he's going to be driving to job sites all day then he can do it in my ex-husband's old piece of shit Mercury Cougar. It's already beat up, and it gets better gas mileage!

Phil realized by Thursday that I've taken his car as my own. He's been pouting like a child all weekend. I tried to tell him that he should go buy himself another car if he hates the Cougar so much, but I know he can't afford another car payment. Not on top of the payments for this house he bought me, and I'm sure he's still making payments on that ring.

Yes, I could probably afford to buy a new car for myself, but I told Phil before we got married that what's mine is MINE! One of the things I learned from my first marriage is that divorces can happen to anyone. No matter what happens, I will always be in a position to take proper care of me and my kids. Having this trustworthy new vehicle is just one more way that I can prepare for the worst.

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My big fat rummage sale!

I've been out posting signs all over the neighborhood for our yard sale this Saturday. There's stuff for all ages, including many one-of-a-kind items! Plus the kids will be selling refreshments. I don't want them messing up the kitchen making lemonade, so instead we're gonna open the cap on some 3-liters tonight and just sell flat soda as "orangeade". Yum!

Hopefully that fun activity will take their minds off the fact that I'm selling most of their toys. I decided last weekend that anything they didn't play with between Saturday and Sunday was going in the sale next week. They won't know it until they see it all set up on the tables. I'm also selling the stupid papasan chair they love so much, because I'm sick of cleaning our cat's shit out of the middle of the cushion.



Speaking of kids, there are other items in the sale that they probably won't miss. Like Jailen's old crib that lost a couple of the original screws and clips. For some reason that thing snaps shut like rat trap and collapses on top of itself as soon as you put more than 10 pounds of weight inside of it. There was a still a baby blanket trapped inside that I had to remove before I could reassemble the thing.



I've also got some stuff for the guys. Like my ex-husbands record albums, and his military stuff. I had told him that I threw all his things out, but no way! That shit's collectible! I'm also getting rid of my new husband's collection of novelty cologne bottles. He's got a motorcycle one, one shaped like a gun, and even one like a sexy lady! He loves those bottles...but I guess if he loves them so much then he shouldn't be going away to see a football game this weekend!



Last but not least, I'm selling all the crap that the nursing home sent over when my aunt died. I'm asking a very fair price on the grocery bag full of used catheters, and the raised toilet seat cushion (due to a few inches of exposed foam through a break in the seam). I've also got her high-end shower chair up for grabs. It only has a few dark stains on the seat, and one of the wheels keeps popping off. It's a nice chair, especially at this price. Nobody has to know that she died on it!





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Strangers in the night!

Last night I visited Empire, a local bar that's popular with the young people. It's more crowded than usual because VCU is back in session. I only meant to have a couple drinks, but ended up finishing off their last bottle of Bushmill's, along with a couple glasses of hard cider. I headed for the restroom, but it was full, so I stepped outside to pop a squat.

That's when I noticed this good lookin' dude outside the Mediterranean restaurant across the street. He looked pretty young, but had this scary face tattoo, and the piercing eyes of a violent sociopath. After gawking at a group of young college girls he turned his glance towards me. I must admit that after a moment of curious eye contact I was totally hooked!

He followed me into the alley and watched me pee. Then we split the plastic flask of Bowman's vodka that I keep in my purse for emergencies. He broke out a pipe with some meth and we got really tore up. He confessed that he had just gotten out of prison, and only had that face tattoo to keep men from hitting on him in the showers. He dared me to kiss him. I did. Then I dared him to punch the next person who walked by.

From there we kept making dares, and it got really funny. He dared me to grab somebody's ass. I jumped out and grabbed the ass of some poor freshman. And I don't mean a harmless cheek squeeze. I'm talking about a deep grab, with the middle finger hooked towards the balls and everything! That poor boy squealed and ran off swearing like a sailor!

We spent the next hour like that, harassing kids and making bets. I got him to start asking people for change, and some of them actually gave him money! Even the people who turned him down were nice about it. But there was this one kid that said no kind of rudely, and we could tell he had money. We gave him a world of shit, and even followed him up into the student parking deck, yelling and threatening him.

It's funny now, because I never asked this strange man's name, but the added mystery started to make me wonder about the guy. He asked me for a ride, which was fine, but then kept implying that I should take him home with me. I had no intention of doing that, but I made him think that I would. I gave him a couple of pills that I told him were ecstasy, but actually they were these hardcore tranquilizers that I bought from some sketchy bitch at the Greyhound bus station.

So we're riding in the car, and suddenly he pulls out an envelope of money that the prison gave him when he was released. It contained a couple hundred dollars. He said I could have all of it if I slept with him. I smiled and winked. That's when he passed out, face first into the dashboard. I drove on to a quiet side road, emptied his pockets, undressed him, and rolled him into the ditch. This was not easy for me to do, because he was a heavy little fucker, and I could have used the sex.

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I do it my way!

We only get one life to live. Some of you may be satisfied with whatever the lunch lady of fate slops out onto your tray, but I'm not. I demand the best, and I get it! I don't wait around for the good things in life. I take what I want! That's because unlike y'all, I have a backbone! Y'all probably think I'm selfish. But if life isn't all about me then why the heck did God put me smack in the middle of it?

Picture a restaurant at closing. Some of y'all would be too timid to enter, but not me. I'll walk right up in that bitch. I'll even tell the manager to stop all the sweeping and wiping off of tables because it's annoying. Then I'll order up a massive breakfast platter, and demand that each item be served on a different plate. Sure, I may get some attitude, but they only have themselves to blame for not locking the doors!

Another thing I won't fool with is crowded spaces, like airplanes, or DMV waiting rooms. So I make myself comfortable by sitting with my knees spread wide apart, and by taking over both armrests. I'm also not going to hold my gas, or cover my mouth when I cough. The sole purpose of a cough is to project germs as far away as possible, so to cover my mouth would be counter productive. It's not my fault the place is so crowded!

I even apply this attitude towards my driving. I've actually memorized the lights on my morning commute, so it's my pleasure to blare the horn at everyone about 10 milliseconds before the light turns green. And for some reason I always have to spit, and it's nasty to swallow it. So when I'm at a red light or stop sign I like to open the door and spit out on the ground. It's also a good time to pour out any unwanted beverages!

I'm a very busy woman. So yeah, I take parking spaces even if other people are already waiting for them. I also won't hesitate to take up two spaces. I do not need some fool dinging my Mercury Cougar! That extra space is useful too, because when I'm done with my shopping cart I can just wedge it into the side of the car next to me. And I can keep my door open all the way when I'm dumping out my ash tray, (and all those empty packs)!

This last bit isn't my wildest confession, but I'll tell you about it anyway. I always throw my trash into recycling bins. It's not that I hate the environment, I just hate the way trash cans stink! And if I can't find a recycling bin on the curb for Muffin's poop bag, I wait for the first barking dog we see and throw the bag into its yard. It's actually pretty cool because some of 'em will catch the bag in mid-air!

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Roommates suck!

I'm going to be honest. I wasn't ready when I had my first baby. Fortunately my mother was very cool about it. So yeah, I left the baby with her for a few months, and found a place to stay where I could squeeze a few more months of enjoyment out of my own youth before being saddled with a screaming, puking, shit-caked infant. Can you blame me?

I found a nice cheap room for rent in the classifieds. It was in a house owned by a young nurse named Ellen. I paid her a small deposit and moved in without incident. For the first night we got along great! We talked about guys and shared a nice bottle of wine. But soon, like most roommates, we began to have our differences.

For one thing, the bitch had a cat, and I did not want that thing getting on my bed. I would spray it all over with nasty cherry air freshener whenever it came anywhere near my bedroom. Ellen asked me to stop, and to quit wearing her clothes, and eating her snacks. She also asked me to stop telling callers that she was out getting an abortion. Well I'm sorry, but I wasn't trying to be her answering machine!

She complained about me walking around the place naked while her friends were visiting. That was just silly, because this big ol' bush covers up my lady business completely! She would also bitch about me not paying for my part of the utilities, but they were all in her name, so why the hell should I be paying them? I wasn't using that much electricity anyway (other than the dope I was growing in my closet!)

But our biggest problem was that my room was right above hers, and she worked a day shift. She couldn't stand the fact that I was free to stay up late dancing and fucking and fighting while she had to go to bed early. She also seemed jealous of my 50-year-old sugar daddy, who paid all my shit so that I wouldn't have to work.

She finally had enough after returning from her uncle's funeral out of state. She was supposed to be gone all weekend, so I threw this huge rager of a party. At about midnight she came storming up in there and kicked everybody out. Then, as she was telling me off, she walked in her room and found three guys banging a fat hooker on her bed. To make matters worse, the hooker's pimp was sitting in her papasan chair, watching.

Eventually I just gave in to her self-righteous demands and made arrangements to move out. But before I left I made a point of letting her stupid "indoor" cat out the back door. Then I dumped its litter box out into her underwear drawer. And finally, to make sure there was no misunderstanding, I smashed a large jar of kim chee against her headboard, which sent hunks of fermented cabbage and shards of broken glass all over the top of her pillows and bedspread.

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Men can't do anything right!

Getting the kids ready each morning is a huge pain. That's why I like to leave for work before they get up. I enjoy a leisurely breakfast somewhere, or just surf the net at my desk until my shift. That leaves my new husband Phil to wake the kids, get them washed, dressed, and fed before he leaves for work. Of course, being a man, he does a pretty crummy job!

I don't cater to my kids, but it would be nice if Phil would, because he's supposed to be building a relationship with them. They have a hard enough time showing him respect, especially with the way he makes me berate him all the time. So I think the least he could do is pick them up some McDonald's breakfast when they ask for it, or to drive them to school so they don't have to ride the stupid bus.

Phil tries to be the man of the house, but it's hard. I just can't stand the way little Jailen cries when he gets stern with her. That's why I make him plead with her to be good instead. Of course if it was me I'd just let her tantrums run their course. Like at nice restaurant, I'm not gonna waste my time trying to coax a screaming child out from under the table.

Phil would rather waste money with babysitters. I think he's just being selfish, because he doesn't want to deal with my kids all the time. But if he really loves me then he should love my children's tantrums too! Men just can't understand the mentality of a mother who has spent some time being single. He needs to learn that he's expendable. Or, as I always like to say: "It's me and my kids against the world!".

It's not just with the kids though. Phil screws everything else up too! The other day he broke out the grill and cooked up some hot dogs. I know he did this because I'm always saying how much I love grilled meats. But we had run out of buns, and that dumb fucker tried to get me to eat my hot dog on a folded piece of white bread! I just threw it on the floor, and went to Outback Steakhouse...alone!

And sometimes Phil tries to do his own thing without asking me first. Like he'll go get a beer with his coworkers, and I don't know about it until I get home and hear his message on the machine. Then he tries to escape to the bathroom when he gets back, so I have to yell at him through the door. He tries to act surprised at my anger, but he knows what he did! He doesn't need to be going out with his stupid friends! He knows he needs to get home and rub these feet!

The other night I really ripped his ass about how much he annoys me. I told him that I'm sick of how he empties the dishwasher so loudly. And how he's always watching TV shows that I don't like. Then I told him that our sex is too gentle, and that he needs to be more of a man. I mean Christ, we're married! I shouldn't have to tell him what I like!

Phil tried to make it all up to me by apologizing. He even brought me a lovely single red rose. That was the last straw, because he knows that I only like roses that are dipped in gold like the ones they sell in the SkyMall catalog. Other times he's tried to make me happy by buying me jewelry, or clothes that make me look my age. But why? I've made it abundantly clear that I prefer to get clothes from Forever 21.
_

Hazing the new guy!

My company just hired a new facilities manager for our building. Mr. Durwood Walsh is 62 years old, and I'm told that he's had a difficult time finding work. He was planning to retire with his wife, but that was before his old company laid him off, and his 401k lost so much in the recession. I'm glad our company gave him a chance. In light of his situation, I decided to put him through his week of hazing in secret, so as not to embarrass him.

On Monday I introduced myself. Mr. Walsh was very pleasant and personable. While he took the time to stop and meet everyone else, I snuck outside and laid a nice thick slice of cheap bologna on the hood of his car. Later that morning he spent his break time fixing our copier, which was all jammed up with copier paper. That's was nice because it's actually my job. While he was busy with that I took the opportunity to empty my Ped-Egg out on top of his keyboard.

On Tuesday he arrived to discover that "someone" had let all the air out of his trusty hemorrhoid cushion. When he stopped in to the break room for coffee I went over to his desk and shredded all the forms that HR gave him to fill out. Later that day he discovered some mysterious Pop Tart crusts stuffed up into his stapler. And he's been getting a lot of calls from a privatized number, but the caller keeps hanging up as soon as he answers his phone. Who on Earth could it be?

On Wednesday I pretended that my computer wasn't working so I had to use the vacant desk next to Durwood's. I spend the entire day distracting him with annoying sounds. I used my speakerphone to make all my calls with, wore my my noisiest bracelets, and popped and smacked my gum. I clicked my pen, burped, and loudly cleared my throat as often as possible. I also spent 20 minutes slurping the bottom of a milkshake.

On Thursday he called in sick. That's probably because I'm just getting over a flu, and I've been coughing on his stuff all week, especially his jacket. Now I hear from our director that Durwood hasn't been sick in a very long time, and this virus has hit him so hard that he had to be hospitalized! As of his call-in this morning he thinks his wife may be coming down with it too. The really funny thing is that his company insurance doesn't kick in for another 6 months. Still, it's a small price to pay for being part of the team!

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Wild Virginia!

We don't always think about it here in Richmond, but take a short drive West and you'll discover that our fine state is mostly a big beautiful wilderness. There are mountains to climb, rivers to raft, and a variety of animals to feast upon. Unfortunately, our relationship with God's creatures isn't always so fruitful!

I'll never forget the time I used Phil's truck to take our trash to an unlocked dumpster. I stopped off for some coffee at a diner just out of town. While stirring my drink I noticed a couple of greedy crows who were tearing the trash bags in the back of the truck. I snuck out the side of the building and began to open fire with my handgun (don't worry, it shoots copper pellets!).

I managed to hit one of the crows, but it didn't die. Instead it started flapping around and crying bloody murder! For some reason that caused another half dozen crows to show up out of nowhere, and they were all screeching like crazy! Then some people in the diner began looking and pointing. I had no choice but to get in the truck and take off, with a trail of garbage blowing out of the truck behind me!

Then there was our weekend camping trip last Spring. I borrowed a truck cab from a friend so Phil and I could take the kids to spend a weekend in Pennsylvania. The cab had been sitting out in a big pile of dry leaves since last year. We threw the cab on, put the kids in the back, and headed out. They ended up having to take their shoes off so they could use 'em to crush all the spiders that came pouring out of that truck cab!

Come to find out, these were actually Brown Recluse spiders! These things have managed to infest not only the truck, but the kid's bedrooms as well. Brandon and little Jailen are now covered in black, gaping spider bites. I'm sure they'll be a real hit at school this season with these dark rotting holes on 75% of their bodies. It's also a pain for me because the holes must be stuffed with iodine soaked gauze at all times!

My final wildlife adventure involved a solo drunken drive home from a bar out in the county. After three rounds of Coal Miner's daughter at the Karaoke machine I was finally sloppy enough to call it quits. On one of the windy back roads I managed to hit something with the van. I watched as the force of impact launched it's lifeless body out into the woods. I have no idea what kind of animal I hit, because all that was left on the ground was some bloody hair and a gold filling.

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Marijuana fun!

I received a lot of angry comments on my post about marijuana law, so I'm taking this opportunity to clarify my position. Yes, I believe that marijuana should be illegal. My political beliefs have nothing to do with my constant use of the drug. The fact is, smoking weed is a whole lot of fun, and I'm gonna tell y'all why!

Smoking marijuana doubles the effects of alcohol. Any pussy can drive drunk. But are you brave enough to smoke a bowl before taking that wheel? This doubling effect is especially useful when I'm paying full price for drinks, like at a comedy club. After three shots in the parking lot and a toke in the bathroom I get hammered enough to heckle comedians to tears!

Another good thing about smoking weed is the way it inspires us to gorge ourselves with junk food. There are three levels of this compulsion. There's the "eat an entire goddamn bag of Doritos" level. There's the Cici's Pizza/Golden Corral "binge until you can't eat or poop for a week" level. And for advanced users, there's the level where you roll around on a ghetto seafood buffet, gorging yourself like a maggot in a hospital dumpster!

Marijuana is also great just for entertainment purposes. Like when I blow a fat bong hit in the cat's face. The kids think it's hilarious when she gets all paranoid and scratches at their legs! And we had a great time putting a hot roach out on the dashboard of our neighbor's truck, just after his son returned home with it. Poor kid had to ride the bus for the rest of the year!

Smoking pot constantly is an easy road to a happier life. It has helped me to effectively bury my emotions for years at a time. I'm thankful for the safe emotional distance it has created between me and my needy-ass family. And speaking of family, I should add that marijuana also makes boring things more enjoyable, and enjoyable things laughably boring. But who cares, because I won't remember any of it anyway!

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Might makes right!

My ex-husband Kevin and I always had a feisty relationship. He learned early on that when I'm angry I can only communicate through loud swearing and insults. I berated him, shoved him, even threw things at his head as he walked out the door. But no matter how much I pushed him, I never got him to resort to violence. Not even when I yelled, "A real man would fight back!".

During our separation he ended up moving into his mother's house. He had to sleep in his old childhood room, with the same old crappy twin bed and everything. Each night we would fight on the phone, and I'd continually threaten him until I got my way. But I guess I went too far the night that I threatened to destroy all our family photos!

Kevin showed up at the house the following day and got the kids to let him in. Then he went to the closet and collected our box of photos for safe keeping. I walked in and caught him. I ran up and tried to grab the box. He turned, dodged me, and headed for the door. I jumped on his back and tried to choke him, but I fell off him and banged my ankle on the door jamb.

He tried to help me up, but I told him to just take the pictures and go home. Then I called the cops and told them that he had shoved me down in front of my kids. I just wanted to give Kevin a scare. I had no idea how seriously the police took these things! Within an hour they were dragging him out of his mother's house in front of all her neighbors, some of whom she has known for 30 years!

I decided that it had gone far enough, so I called the arresting officer and told him the truth. He wouldn't listen! He said that domestic violence cases were handled differently, and that I'd have to speak on Kevin's behalf at his court date. Unfortunately my divorce attorney advised against it. Poor Kevin ended up in jail for three months, and I ended up with custody of the kids. So in that sense it all worked out.

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I'm a naughty babysitter!

On the rare occasion that I have nothing to do, I like to earn extra cash by babysitting. Did you know that the going rate starts at $5 per hour per child? And it's untaxed! There's no reason to sit home drinking with my stupid kids running around when I could be getting paid good money to do the same thing at someone else's home with their stupid kids!

The kids aren't mine, so I'm not going to be a bitch. I let 'em do whatever the hell they want. And they always want to do what their parents won't let them. So I send them to play in the garage, or let them wrestle a couple of stray dogs in the back yard. While they're occupied with that, I'm taking cash and large coins from their piggy banks, or filling a bag with clothes that might fit my kids.

Since a babysitter isn't a parent, it's okay cut deals with the little fools. I always tell them that I don't want any fuss at bedtime, so I'll let them stay up 15 minutes later if they agree to not give me trouble. What they don't know is that I already turned the clocks ahead an hour, so now I have 45 extra minutes to enjoy myself before their parents get home!

It's when the kids go to sleep that babysitters really get to work. Sometimes you only have a couple hours to get everything done. You've got to eat all the good snacks, and put all the CDs and DVDs you want into the trunk of your car. It also takes time to rifle through their documents and drawers looking for savings bonds and gift certificates. When that's done I spend the rest of the time getting off with the parent's sex toys. And no, I don't bother washing them off when I'm done.

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Y'all need to go through me!

I work for one of the few Richmond companies that's actually hiring right now, yet our stupid HR guy decided to up and quit! Since I already have some experience in these matters, I've been tasked with not only finding his replacement, but also with hiring four more clerks to keep up with all the new accounts. It's a tall order, but that doesn't mean it can't be fun!

I posted the ad on the web, and 80 nice printed resumes were on my desk by the end of the next day. This is as many as I can handle. We actually received more than that, but everyone who sent one in digital format was given an auto-reply that their resume was infected with a computer virus and was deleted. The ad will be online for another week. Every resume I receive after the first batch goes straight into the trash.

Rather than comb through that first batch of resumes I just made our front desk girl contact them all to set up interviews. I decided right off the bat that everyone who got a ride from someone or took a bus to the interview was automatically out of consideration. The appointments were scheduled for after 9 in the morning, so everyone was forced to park and walk in from the very back of the lot (on some of the hottest days of the year).

Upon arrival, each candidate was led into a small, humid, unventilated supply room to fill out a useless questionnaire consisting of about 400 questions. They got 30 minutes to fill it out, even though it takes at least an hour. These questionnaires were then collected, brought into my office, and disposed of. I made them all wait another 20 minutes while I searched for embarrassing photos of them on the Internet.

Then the applicants got a three minute interview with me. I asked them an offbeat question, like, "Can you tell me about something you've done that you're ashamed of?". Then I spent the rest of the time talking about myself or about how great their job will be here at our company. Once that was over they were sent on their way, and I had the secretary call each of them back for a second interview.

When they show up for the second time they'll be told that I couldn't make it in and that we'll have to reschedule. They will never, ever be called back. Not even when they call in a couple days later to inquire. All the resumes will be shredded. I've decided to give the HR job to my bitchy best friend Bethany so I'll have someone to hang out with at work.

Bethany is the perfect choice because she's got a bunch of friends and family members down in Chesterfield County that she can place in those clerk positions. They really need the work. Most of them haven't been able to hold down a job for more than two weeks at a time! If they're as lazy as I think they'll be then our existing clerks are going to need to step it up, because there's a ton of work to do around here!

Festival freakout!

It's that time again. That time of the Summer when I ditch my kids with whatever guy I'm seeing and head out to one of the area's many music festivals! But making the most of a festival isn't always as easy as dropping Ecstasy and letting a gang of high school burnouts have their way with you. Sometimes you need a more comprehensive plan!

Day 1:

If you're like me, you hate hippies, because they're the biggest hypocrite conformists out there. Unfortunately you've got to play the game if you want to move about undetected! So on the first night you should sneak into someone's unlocked car and steal a pair of ratty Birkenstocks, and maybe one of those shapeless hippie girl tops made out of an old pillow case.

It also helps if you stop washing until you reek like cumin and balls. Your toenails should resemble barbecue Frito's, and you should start speaking like a 9th grade dropout. Feel free to wear the same underwear and tampon all weekend. And hairy-ass Venus fly trap armpits are optional, but you've already let yourself go this far, so why not?

Now that you look like shit, you're ready to start making moves. There's a ton of great drugs to be bought, and they don't come cheap! So start stacking cash by selling fake hits of acid and dried non-hallucinogenic mushrooms. Stick with the squares. They don't have a clue, and they've actually got money. Then use your profits to buy everything you can get your hands on, because by tomorrow the drug supplies will become extremely limited!

Day 2:

Things are going to start getting strange. You'll probably be woken up by some obnoxious shithead who's banging on a dumpster with a hammer or something. You've spent all but your last $5 on nitrous balloons, and you've got about a dime bag left in your pocket. It rained hard the night before, so everything is muddy and ruined. The portable toilets are now full-to-bursting with human excrement.

Now's the time to show your displeasure to the folks who planned this stupid festival. So squat and piss right in front of people. If you have to shit, use a stranger's tent. Find a group of college senior dickheads who look more refreshed than anybody because they showed up in an RV. Cut out the RV's electrical system and deflate it's tires.

At night you can have fun by starting a bonfire. Feed the flames by tossing random people's backpacks and sleeping bags in when nobody's looking. Or heat up a marshmallow until it's burnt and flaming and whip it into a dense group of dreadlocked white kids. If things settle down too much you can always rat some people out to the local cops, (who always seem to be prowling around at events like this).

Day 3:

Wake up late, break out your emergency jug of Bowman's vodka, and get drunk. I'm talking "beat your grandmother" drunk. Then spend the morning heckling no-name bands, dancing like a violent asshole, and getting sun poisoning. Pass out on the way to your tent and wake up an hour later lying face down in a muddy tire track, or on a discarded towel that somebody threw up in. Then find your car, take a handful of trucker speed, and drive home like an escaped mental patient.

Politically corrected!

I was in my first week of community college when I learned the true nature of political correctness. It was in photography 101, my only elective. We were assigned an open project so the teacher could get a feel for our talent. My photo was a rich black and white of a beautiful teenage Latina. It was titled, "Shouldn't you be pregnant by now?". I thought it made a real statement.

When it was my turn I had to stand up in front of everyone, present my photo, and then listen to the other students criticize it. After a fairly awkward silence, this guy Mike said, "I think it's offensive!". The teacher asked him to explain. Mike continued, "It's based on an unflattering stereotype." I didn't say a word, even though the prick had completely missed the point.

I decided I would teach him a lesson, but I wasn't sure exactly how. So I followed him out of class and down through the hall. There was a sudden rush of students out of the nearby classrooms, and the hallway became cramped with an ass-to-elbow density of kids. That's when Mike got distracted, then looked down to see a girl who had apparently fallen to her knees.

Afraid that she'd be crushed by the mob, he swiftly crouched and lifted her torso up from behind by her armpits. I saw what was happening as I passed them. I laughed out loud and snapped a quick picture. The girl wiggled and screamed, "Put me down!". Still supporting her, Mike looked down with a puzzled expression to discover that she had never fallen at all. She was a little person.

Placing her down, Mike was clearly mortified by what he had done. The girl just stormed off into the crowd, so he didn't even get a chance to apologize. That's when I ran my ass back to the darkroom and developed the photo. Then it was straight to the library photocopier to put together some petition posters, which claimed that Mike had picked this nice girl up just to mock her in front of everyone.

By the end of that next week the petition to remove Mike from our campus had been signed by over half the student body. The school didn't even have time to issue a response before Mike just up and left. Apparently he had been getting shoved and threatened all week long. I'm not sure he even needed any further education after that. I had giving him the schooling of a lifetime.

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You can't handle the tip!

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Cell phone love!

I don't even like to think about what life would be like if I didn't have a cell phone. This one simple device allows me to live my life to the fullest. It keeps me on top of my family affairs, what my friends are up to, and what time my next booty call wants to meet up for a little game of "No, I don't have a condom either! Ah, who cares? Just put it in!"

Have you ever looked around at your fellow commuters and wondered why they're all on the phone? Who the hell are they talking to at 7:15 in the morning? Well in my case I'm yelling at Phil because my kids don't want to ride the bus and I need him to take them to school. Or maybe I'm calling in sick to work so I can spy on my ex-husband's girlfriend.

A cell phone also has the power to make the people around you feel inferior. But it's not about the type of phone you carry. It's about having someone better to talk to than all the people you're with. It's about planning your next move because wherever you are just isn't cool enough. You don't actually have to be talking to someone. You can pretend. In fact, most of the folks you see talking on their cellphones don't even have service!

What I really enjoy about today's phones is how customizable they are. Mine is pink with rhinestones, and has a miniature dream catcher hanging off the strap. It also has a case which matches my Louis Vuitton bag. And I have the two best ring tones available. It plays "My Humps" for everyone except Luke. For him I've got this hilarious ring tone of Donald Duck having an screaming orgasm.

Luke is our babysitter, and he's is a tall, dark, disturbing fellow who came to our door one night to ask about our home security needs. I didn't think I needed an alarm system, but I did need a babysitter! Apparently he needed the money because he jumped at the chance. He's single, so he's always available at a moment's notice. The kids seem to fearfully respect him.

So Phil and I went on a special date to Bonefish Grill last Wednesday. I left the table to use the bathroom and forgot to take my purse with me. That's when the babysitter called, because my clumsy daughter had fallen through the glass part of the coffee table. I didn't find this out until later, because it took poor Phil the entire ring cycle just to get the phone out of my purse. I got back and couldn't believe the way everyone was gawking. I guess they'd never heard a cartoon duck cum before!
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Gain favor with Satan!

Y'all know I'm a Christian woman. I may not go to church, but I still maintain a personal relationship with our lord God. While my faith is strong, I believe that in these days of uncertainty It's still a good idea to hedge your bets. That's why I'll continue to do a little something each day to satisfy the whims of Satan. It's not difficult. In fact, he seems to be whispering little commands to me more often than not!

Finding your path to the dark lord isn't something you should overthink. It's as simple as doing his work. You see, God loves all creatures, both human and animal. The only true way to impress Satan is by destroying ourselves and each other. So don't turn your life around when you hit rock bottom! Instead, point your mortal shovel straight to hell and start digging!

The dark lord is a bit of a prankster, so try carrying out a few silly tricks in his name! You might decide to make fun of a really nice handicapped person. Or dig up a freshly buried corpse and leave it on the bus on a hot day. And if you feel like you've been too much of a Samaritan up until now you could probably make up for it by curb stomping a Latter-Day Saint!

Sure, not everyone can afford to put two of every animal into an RV and drive it off a cliff. Sometimes we've got to make do with what we've got. Like one time when my friend and I came across a couple of possums who were locked in the heat of a territorial stand-off. They were so focused on hissing at each other that they didn't even notice when I ran up and punted one of them off into the woods like a football! The other possum nearly shit a brick!

One thing God really hates is false idols. So go ahead and sacrifice a goat to Zeus, or accept The Weinstein Company into your heart. Maybe you could become a top-tier member of Amway. Pray to Miley Cyrus. Or visit a Krispy Kreme donut shop, and give thanks to the gods of sugar by making physical love to a hot glazed right off the belt!

There's one last trick which will practically guarantee you an enchanted afterlife as an earthbound demon. All you have to do is betray a true man of god. As powerful as this act can be, It's really as simple as tainting a priest's communion wine with the blood of a virgin. Or as complicated as hiring John Walsh under some unholy contract, then keeping him busy for months with something stupid, like locating your spare set of car keys.

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The angel of Doswell!

I was downtown last weekend and ran into Dale Brumfield, the man behind News from Doswell. He can be a little intimidating at first, because he's about 6 ft 10 inches tall, and he's got hands the size of tennis rackets. We chatted a little about our blogs and whatnot. But then he got this really concerned look on his face and he grasped my shoulder really hard.

He said, "Jocelyn, I'm afraid you're in danger!". I looked around, then back at him. "What the heck are you talking about?", I said. "Your sins!", his voice boomed, "I'm talking about your immortal soul!". I laughed. He said, "Come to Doswell and I'll convince you. When we're done you'll know exactly what I mean." As silly as it seemed, it was an intriguing offer.

So last night I drove up to Doswell after work. There isn't much going on out there that I could see. Just farms, woods, a couple of gas stations, and King's Dominion amusement park. As I turned the car onto a dusty side road I noticed a cock-eyed man sitting on the corner. He had a pile of soiled tube socks on his lap, and a sign that read "Thumbless Mittinz - $5 a pare".

A few miles later I was approaching the Brumfield compound, which was fitted with guard towers and a tall fence. I drove through the entrance gate and was greeted by several homely women and about sixty ragamuffin kids, all running around with dirty faces. They stopped and stared and there was an almost perfect silence. Then a small door creaked open, and out stepped our man Dale.


(click image to see the long view)

He led me beyond the crowd into the surrounding woods, and then into a clearing. He gestured towards an old tire filled with oily rainwater. I glanced down, and there, in that small pool of liquid were the secrets of Doswell. The lives, the hopes, and the secrets of a few hundred lost souls. Dale Brumfield is no reporter. He's a Shaman. And for this brief moment he was sharing his horrible vision.

Without warning, Dale yanked a fistful of hair out of my head and threw it in the water. The previous visions were replaced with visions of myself. I gazed deeper, drinking in the essense of my life, wincing at my many indiscretions. All was laid bare. "I believe! And I'm sorry!", I screamed, and for the first time in my life I fell to my knees and just cried and cried from the darkest depths of my soul. Dale whispered, "You shall be forgiven...".

That's when he kicked the back of my head and I fell face first into the disgusting magic tire water. I tried to lift myself out, but Dale was now forcing my head down into the abyss. My sins must have been worse than I'd thought because he held me in there until I'd completely blacked out. When I finally awoke it was midnight and I was lying on my front lawn. My body was wrapped in soaking wet newspapers, and a pair of socks had been placed over my hands.

Everything felt different. I guess you never know how many sins you carry until you've been absolved of them all at once. I began to realize why Dale would live in a place like Doswell. In a way, that town is full of people like me. Confused outsiders, all of us trying to make it through the day in whatever way makes sense to us. I truly believe that those who have been healed by Brumfield have been forgiven in the eyes of the almighty. One day we'll all be in heaven together, and the rest of you fuckers will be eating shit down in Hell!

Edit:
Apparently the Doswell spin machine is in full effect over this one!

One fine day!

Saturday was a great day. It started with a trip to the CVS for some lube. I like the warming kind, so I make Phil use it even though it burns his dick hole. I happened to notice an old timer reaching into his back pocket for a prescription. He was unaware that he had dropped two $20 bills. I snapped 'em up and darted into the next isle. I hope he's not on a fixed income, or that old fool will be eating cat food for a week!

It felt like luck was on my side, so I stopped at the off-track betting office. $40 dollars on "Daddy's Rash" to win. Of course that piece of shit came in last. I swear to God, if I ever see that horse I'm going to break all four of his legs. You know I'll do it too! I've done worse, and for a lot less! My only consolation was that the money I lost wasn't mine to begin with.

After that I took the kids to visit mother in the nursing home. It's been so long since we left her there that I'd forgotten what a dump that place is. Everybody's all drugged up and moaning, and the hallway smells like a boiled colostomy bag. We stayed to eat with her but the food sucked. I'm sorry, but raisins with shredded carrots is not a dessert! Mom was so happy to see us that she cried the entire time.

On the way home I decided to get us something good as a treat. I pulled into the Wendy's and waited in a really long line at the drive-thru. I ordered three things of chicken nuggets, and paid for them at the first window. At the second window they hand me these two giant bags. I pulled around the building and discover that they'd given us enough food for like 8 people! Me and the kids filled up. Then we found a quiet highway overpass and took turns tossing chili and hamburger patties onto the cars below.

That little puke!

With over a hundred blog posts, you'd think that I'd have mentioned more than one vomiting experience by now. I'm actually kind of a stranger to the barfcore lifestyle. I only seem to blow chunks under the most extreme of circumstances. That's why I'd almost forgotten about this one gnarly experience that happened back when my son Brandon was just a baby.

It was my day off of work and I'd just finished all my errands. It was time to start relaxing! Since nothing works as well for humans as catnip works for cats, I usually settle for a cold jug of Ice Box brand pre-mixed cocktails. My only complaint about their products is how they make me hungry almost right away. That was especially true on this day, because I was out of cigarettes.

We stopped at Shoney's. For some reason that lukewarm cottage cheese on their salad bar was calling my name! When I got up there the lady stocking the croutons told me to take all the cottage cheese I wanted because she was about to throw it out. I lifted the entire metal buffet tray out of it's spot, carried it to our table, and openly gorged myself like some deranged nursing home patient.

I realized as we were leaving that I hadn't gotten a chance to change Brandon's diaper since that morning, just before I'd put him in his little automatic swinging baby chair. That was a mistake, because riding in that thing always left him with a full, sloppy diaper. I usually had to wipe it off his back afterwards!

So I was tired and wanting to head home, change the baby, and take a rest. But I had promised my daughter that I'd take her to a stupid monster truck show. The goddamn place has a closed roof, so the fumes started getting to me right away. I was also feeling somewhat nervous, because there were just way too many white people in there.

We took our seats and I started preparing baby Brandon for his dinner. I held him to my breast and he began feeding. I used my free hand to muffle his one exposed ear from the loud truck noise. Then a couple vendors came by, so I bought a cotton candy for my daughter and a pack of peanuts for myself. The very first peanut was a bad one, and it left a really disgusting taste in my mouth.

I bummed a cheap cigarette off of the woman next to me. As I took my first drag it made a loud popping sound, which was probably just an irregular clump of chemical additives. It made the smoke taste nasty, which made me choke. The cigarette fell out of my mouth and landed in my lap as I gasped for air.

In doing so I managed to inhale a hearty whiff of Brandon's unchanged diaper. There was no time to prepare. I vomited quick and hard, right in the face of my breastfeeding child. So the next thing you know I'm running through the Richmond Coliseum with a screaming, puke-covered baby, one exposed breast, and a cigarette burn in my Wranglers.

I found the concession window and reached for the napkins. Of course they were that cheap, flimsy kind that break into pieces as you try to remove them from the dispenser. Even when I finally pulled a wad of them out, they weren't absorbing worth a damn. As mortified as I was, I somehow had the presence of mind to stuff Brandon into my oversized purse. Then I carried him out to the van, where we waited for my daughter to find us.

Florida babies!

We're down here in our second home, Florida! Once again, we flew into Jacksonville. I have a cousin there, and she's letting us use her old RV. Apparently her ragamuffin kids have been sneaking in there since last summer to relieve themselves, because the toilet was filled the brim with stinky old brown pee.

Using this RV was supposed to be a money-saving measure, but I'm not sure that it's been worth it. Aside from getting about one mile to the gallon, the goddamn thing has no air conditioning, all the seats are covered in leather-textured vinyl. This is unbearable because it's hot as hell down here right now. Also, when the engine is running the whole inside smells like exhaust.

I didn't realize how nauseating this could be until we ate our first meal at a questionable roadside dairy and clam bar. The kids were moaning about their stomachs all the way to Orlando. That's right! I took these spoiled little shits to Disney World! Disney's Blizzard Beach water park, to be exact. It wasn't easy, because it was Memorial Day weekend, so I had to take a special route to avoid all the DUI roadblocks.

Blizzard Beach is a winter themed water park, and there's a little something there for everyone. My favorite part of any water park is the lazy river. The #1 rule for this attraction is that nobody with diarrhea is allowed in the water. I decided to go ahead and get in anyway, because it's not like I'm ever going to see any of these people ever again! That's pretty much my philosophy for everything when I'm away from home.

The food they were selling at the park was decent looking and reasonably priced, but it adds up with three kids. So for lunch they shared a king-sized pack of Reese's cups that were melted from being in my purse all day. They loved it! They walked around all afternoon with chocolate smeared all over their mouths. Talk about shit eating grins!

By two o'clock the sun was really beating down. The ground was so hot that it was burning all our feet. But on the bright side, it's still a water park, so it's easy to cool down, and the kids never whine about having to pee. Phil doesn't know how to swim, so he stayed out of the water. Within an hour the heat had him sweating like pig. The body powder he uses to keep cool had turned to a pasty batter, which was caked into his curly body hairs.

Of course my stupid kids all got sunburned, so they had a blast slapping each other in the RV on the way out of the park. Then they fell asleep. That's when we took the opportunity to ditch them with the RV in a souvenir shop parking lot (with a stick of salted butter to treat their sunburns with). Phil and I took a shuttle to Downtown Disney. It was raining all evening, and I didn't wear a bra, so some folks really got an eye full!

We've decided to finish up our week in beautiful Siesta Key, which was recently rated the #2 beach in America. The kids are having fun throwing shells at pelicans and playing catch with the turtle eggs. It's cool how the state puts little flags on the nests so the kids have less trouble finding them. I think that recent shark attack in Clearwater ruined the joke I had planned, because people didn't appreciate it when I yelled out, "SHARK!" at the sight of a few dolphins.

P.S. I realize now that I should have taken the easy route!

Making his mama proud!

I took my eight year old son Brandon with me to the grocery store last month. He had managed to make some extra money by helping our neighbor drain her foot, so I let him hang around near the toy vending machines while I shopped. Along comes this kid Matt, a porky little outcast who's a year ahead of Brandon in school.

Matt asked Brandon to loan him a quarter. In good faith, Brandon did so. Matt bought a rubbery sticky hand from the vending machine. Then they went outside the store and Matt threw his toy against the front of the building. It somehow got stuck up high where they couldn't reach. Then Matt did the unthinkable. He told Brandon that he would not be paying him back the quarter!

Brandon is at that age where he's learning how to assert himself. It's not about the quarter. Hell, you could throw a quarter at someone and get your money's worth. It's the principle of the thing. So I told him to demand what's his! Our family doesn't take shit! I told him that if Matt won't pony up, go ahead and threaten him.

Brandon usually walks to school with older kids from our block, and they sometimes run into Matt at the last crosswalk. For three days in a row he warned Matt that his older friends would beat him up one day during recess. Brandon didn't really mean it, and Matt laughed it off.

So around dinnertime last night, Matt and his father showed up at our front door. They'd already been around to visit Brandon's older buddies. Apparently his friends didn't get the memo, because they'd beaten the shit out of Matt during recess that morning. His father pulled the back of Matt's shirt up for us so we could see the bruises that covered his back.

Brandon looked shocked. He had never intended for this to happen. Then Matt's father said, "Matt, isn't there something you wanted to say?". Matt looked up at Brandon, stuck out his arm, and opened his palm to reveal a shiny new coin. "Here's your quarter back..." he said weakly. Brandon took it and said thanks and said he was sorry. Both boys looked devastated.

Later that night I found Brandon crying in his room. He felt really guilty about Matt getting hurt. I did my best to reassure him. I said, "I know you feel bad now, honey, but it was for the best. You got your quarter back! You won, and he lost!". After hearing that he smiled. As I left the room I saw him pull the quarter out of his pocket to admire it a little.

Theme parks touch our lives!

The house feels hot and itchy. The dog is shedding like he's got radiation poisoning. We have to get out! I decided that it was time for our annual trip to the theme park. We're sneaking because last year they kicked us out after my son used a ketchup pump to make a mess out of the handicapped bathroom. I told him that from now on, if he wants to ketchup a bathroom he'll have to stomp on packets!

I stopped off at this one shitty gas station, the type where you usually have to complain about the empty glass cleaner tubs in the service area. But this time the tubs were brimming. I grabbed the squeegee out impulsively and the shit gushed blue cleaner all over the pants and shoes of some man who had been standing there pulling paper towels out of the dispenser. He yelled something.

I realized that I should have waited until he was done before I grabbed that squeegee. Unfortunately I had just finished watching Pulp Fiction while smoking over a pile of my children's freshly laundered clothing. Something about that movie makes me want to act bad ass. I left the station with a wet foot, and the satisfaction that comes from kicking the balls of a angry man who had every right to be mad!

It's fun to visit theme parks, laughing and sharing your own memories with your kids. Mine loved hearing about the time I swiped a mascot costume and stumbled around the entrance fondling the mouths of strangers. There was that hot summer night when I opened a can of potato soup at the top of a roller coaster. Or the morning I shot up heroin and rode the gondola all day in the fetal position

You start to feel old when the rides start kicking your ass. I remember how, in younger days, we'd jab at roller coaster safety equipment with sharpened screwdrivers. Sleazy men would ask for help with their flimsy safety bar while sportin' some major wood. Later those men would sit hunching on a bench near the kiddie rides just leafing through porno mags, and nobody would say nothing!

These newer rides miss the point. I'll have to take my kids to a State Fair if I want them to learn the value of barfing straight back into your own face on a centrifuge ride. Or the delight of luring other kids away from their parents and putting them on terrifying rides. The mystery of finding an out-of-the-way old local fair that will still let you powerwash the crack of your ass with a reverse, bent-over flume ride.

I sometimes wish this place was more like those old fashioned theme parks, with the kind of magic that insipires people walk around with their hand in their lover's back pocket, everybody wearing those small loose shorts that offer occasional peeks of hairy junk. It's an experience so timeless, you'll want to do some poppers, gamble on a round of Skee-ball, and then use a straight razor to teach preteens some manners.

Too much stress!

I had a big presentation in front of the CEO on Wednesday afternoon. My knock-off Wonder Bra was sopping with flop sweat. At 3:30 pm, during the middle of a demonstration, I remembered that I'd never dropped off the baby, and he'd been outside in his car seat since lunch! I couldn't get outside to check on him for another 45 minutes!

I decided to get my head straight by taking a personal day on Thursday. I got up extra early for my favorite activity: sitting in the back of a courthouse watching poor people get their lives ruined. Then I drove home to get high. The funniest thing about huffing freon is how I'm getting high for free while my neighbors are sweating their asses off all night!

I let the kids skip school and I drove them to the mall. I told them before we went in that if they get lost inside the mall they'll be abducted and left headless in a canal like John Walsh's son. They were freaked out. We stopped at the food court to feed the baby. I hate the way people stare, but my baby won't eat ripe bananas until I smash them up between my breasts.

As I cleaned up from the feeding I was paged by mall security. They caught my son jamming his own shoelaces into the base of a moving escalator. I explained that the kids are still upset about Easter because all they received was a woman's hat full of low fat Pop-tarts. That's when a big back pimple broke open and started soaking through my white blouse.

After a day like that I'm actually happy to be back at work. Before I get home I'm going to stop off at Dominic's to eat a steak sub the size of a neck pillow. We are out of clean dishes at home, so the children's dinner will be cooked in and served from an old electric foot bath. Anyone who complains is in time out.

Pedestrians not wanted!

The good people of the Lakeside area have really got some balls. For starters, we have more rebel flags, black lawn jockeys, and deflated Christmas inflatables than you'd ever want to see in your life. And rather than walk we drive everywhere, thanks to the absence of sidewalks, lack of businesses worth walking to, and the thousands upon thousands of lonely fenced dogs that bark viciously at anything and everything that moves.

I've always felt that pedestrians are a big pain in the ass. Sure, it starts out innocently enough. You watch an episode of "The Biggest Loser" and all of a sudden you're on a kick to walk up and down every inch of your neighborhood. You start to feel better about yourself, you're getting fresh air, and you're showing off that brightly colored iPod for all that it's worth.

What you don't realize is that you're annoying me, with your waving, your heavy breathing, and your constant gawking. Walkers and runners are always the ones who discover dead bodies or become random witnesses (snitches) to domestic crimes. I think I speak for all of us when I say that we don't need or want you nosey motherfuckers coming around here. If you don't live on my block, you don't need to be walking down it, period!

Another thing that bothers me is how pedestrians always demand right of way, even though they don't deserve it. If you're walking then you're obviously not in that big of a rush. I'm not driving my car because I'm trying to get heart smart. I've got somewhere to be, dipshit, and fast! If you want to walk so bad then maybe you should drive to a designated area, like a mall or a running circle.

Luckily we homeowners still have one tool at our disposal: our dogs. Take my rottweiler, Muffin. He's somewhat of a typical Lakeside dog: angry, stupid, and largely neglected. He got into some trouble in our old neighborhood, so this new home has been the first chance I've had in months to expose him to the public eye. Now he's got a nice little backyard to work with, and there's nothing he likes more than defending it against anyone within earshot.

Having all these dogs around the neighborhood really cuts down on the pedestrian menace. Nobody's making it down a single block without passing through a gauntlet of loud accusing barks. It may seem like a nuisance to some, but I feel we have a right to protect our property, even if that means making the fence vulnerable enough to allow a few dogs to break free every now and then.

So please, folks, take the hint. When I look out my window I'd better not catch sight of you power walking by in your sweat wicking shorts, checking your pulse and chatting with your chubby life partner about the curb appeal of each home you pass. If you fail to heed this warning then don't be too surprised when one of Lakeside's many massive, beligerent dogs appears out of nowhere to chew a prize-winning hunk of flesh from your fat ass.
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Revenge is a dish best served bitter!

I'm happily remarried to Phil, but I can't deny that i still care about Kevin, my ex-husband. That's why it's been difficult lately, dealing with him and the court system. He was finally granted visitation with the kids, which is actually kind of nice, because I get more time to live my life. Since that happened, Kevin and I have tried to give each other as much space as possible to avoid any unnecessary awkward moments.

That was until I discovered that he's been dating a woman that he works with, and I suspect that she may be the whore he was cheating on me with! I've been asking around about this bitch, and she's got this reputation for being a real sweetheart, which tells me that she's a phony, and probably a kiss ass too. I'm sorry, but there is no way in hell I'm going to let a woman like that become the stepmother of my children!

The only solution is to use my cunning intellect and my kids to break them up. I've explained to my kids that she's some kid of succubus, and that she'll eventually try to kill me and Phil, and have their little asses shipped off to a military school. During their last visit I got them to steal me a key to the house. I went over there during work the other day and poured a whole bottle of Nair into his shampoo bottle. I hope she likes bald men!

That got me thinking of other ideas. I told the kids borrow a few other things from her and Kevin. They took a check from her checkbook, so I wrote it out for $1000, endorsed it in Kevin's handwriting, and deposited it into his bank account. I also ran up $300 in charges at the strip club on her credit card, and had the kids hide the card in Kevin's sock drawer.

Then I had them get me her cell phone number. I had my girlfriends call her, coyly asking for Kevin and then hanging up when she asked who was calling. Kevin's girlfriend is medium sized, so I gave the kids a bag of large bras and small panties from the Goodwill, which they've scattered under Kevin's mattress, and around the seats in her car (which is perfect because they share that car!)

If all this doesn't work I have a few other things I might try. I've got an old boyfriend who works at the court house who'd be willing to place Kevin on the sex offender registry. Or I could get the kids to drug his food, and I'll leave an anonymous tip with his job to get him drug tested and fired. And if all else fails, I'll hide in a parking lot and break her mouth with a wrench.

25 Diseases you might survive

1.Stiff neck from sleeping in some backwards ass position
2.Chicken pox the size of jumbo pepperoni slices
3.Throat so sore that it gives you a burning earache
4.Leg pain while you're trying to fall asleep
5.Nose that's running and clogged simultaneously
6.Black sock foot stench plague
7.Morning after stranger sex pee sting
8.Big fat rash from a soiled hotel room comforter
9.Dental work that includes a needle jab to your gumline
10.Refried bean gas from Planet F
11.World class foot cramp in the middle of the night
12.Scorching skin lesions from a jagged shaving razor
13.Mononucleosis sympathy pains
14.Complete taste bud removal from scalding hot pizza
15.Extreme disorientation after a massive turkey dinner
16.Five sneezes in a row, triggering a total brain reboot
17.Bee sting in between your toes while wearing sandals
18.Cat scratch fever from some scummy broad at a Bon Jovi show
19.Cardboard paper cut that removes your entire left hand
20.Body rejecting a sip of bad milk like it was a baboon heart
21.Lips so dry they crack and bleed at the corners of your mouth
22.Jaundice-colored hands from rolling pennies all day
23.Unintentional elbow jab to the titty
24.Warts that serve no purpose other than to make you self-conscious
25.Mysteriously sore balls from out of nowhere

Western Henrico must secede!

As you know, I recently moved from the City of Richmond to the Lakeside neighborhood of Henrico County. Richmond was actually part of Henrico until 1871. Then Richmond became it's own thing, and Henrico became this oddly shaped wrap-around county we see today, which borders the city mostly on the Northwest and East sides.

The problem is that Western Henrico, where I live, is awesome. It's full of jobs and nice malls and pretty houses. Eastern Henrico, on the other hand, is full of rabid raccoons, dumpy apartment complexes, schwag weed, and broke ass no-account fools. That's why I propose that the Western part of Henrico County should secede from the Eastern part. Here's a map so you can see what I'm talking about:

[click for larger image]

As you can see, we'll need some new names. Western Henrico County is a premium area, and "Henrico County" is a premium name, so we should probably keep that name and let the Eastern folks come up with something new for themselves. The Eastern part of the county may actually have a better historical claim to the "Henrico" name, but we've got better lawyers, so it shouldn't be a problem.

Currently the only worthwhile things in Eastern Henrico are the Richmond International Airport and the Richmond International Raceway. Luckily our smaller, more efficient new Henrico County will have the money to build a new top of the line airport for the Richmond area. We probably won't build a new raceway, because it's loud and a pain in the ass, but maybe we can build a pro football arena instead.

I know a lot of you must be excited about this concept, and I want you to know that I'm interested in hearing your thoughts and feelings. I also need help coming up with a Glenn Beck style grassroots campaign, full of whiney rhetoric and tacky protests in the streets. So let's get things started by forwarding this post to your local friends and family. Together we'll help Henrico County come into it's own!

Parenting ain't easy!

I've gotten dozens of angry comments from you non-parents who think raising kids is so simple. I can understand why it would seem that way from the outside. I just wish you could spend this week in my shoes. I've taken off work because my kids are on Spring break (somebody has to watch their asses!). The worst part is that we're stuck at home together. I was going to take them somewhere, until I remembered last year.

I had taken them all to the King's Dominion amusement park for some fun and rides. Little Jailen, who was two at the time, started whining after only three hours. Then she got all dehydrated and blacked out. It pretty much ruined the day for everyone. I reminded her about that this week, and told her that she's the reason we weren't going anywhere this summer.

On Monday we all went to the grocery store. I made the mistake of taking them through the checkout with me. As I should have guessed, they totally flipped out over the candy rack. I told them "no" and they started throwing a group tantrum. So I tossed a candy bar onto the belt and said, "Fine!". But once I got them strapped into the car I opened the candy wrapper and ate the whole damn thing right in front of them. Tough love never tasted so good!

On Tuesday I screamed at them to either play inside or out. Then I put baby O.J. in the tub with a mouthful of Bubble tape and headed upstairs to the computer. After a while little Jailen started banging on my bedroom door, and I yelled at her for being inside. She kept banging, so I swung the door open, and she told me that Brandon had fallen off his bike. That idiot had managed to dislocate his shoulder, and had to drag himself home all the way from the cul-de-sac. I told them not to play so far down the street!

On Wednesday my pregnant 15 year old daughter decided to run away. We've been fighting like cats and dogs lately, so I'm not sure that I even want her to come back. Then I think that she's probably hiding out in some unwed mother's shelter getting all kinds of bad advice from god knows who. Eventually she'll realize that she needs me to help guide her through the realities of pregnancy and motherhood.

So it's Thursday now, and I'm pretty much at my wit's end. I just had to figure something out. The thing is, I never hit my kids. A good parent knows that it's better to outsmart them. They wouldn't ever eat their vegetables until I told them that broccoli helps you fart. So this morning I told them that the wooden spoon (which I use for spaghetti sauce) is stained red because I'd beaten my first child to death for misbehaving. It seems to be working so far!

Keep marijuana illegal!

As a married woman and mother of four, you'd probably expect me to support the current state of marijuana laws. It may surprise you to learn that I'm a regular marijuana smoker. Knowing that, you may expect me to be pro-legalization. Once again, you'd be wrong. I'm firmly against the legalization of marijuana. But unlike most folks on my side of the argument, I have solid reasons for taking this stance.

For one thing, my cousins are prison guards. Their job security depends on constant prison overcrowding. They also make good money supplying marijuana to certain prisoners. And it's understood that most drug convicts make excellent prison bitches for the truly violent offenders. Simply put, legalization would put our nation's fragile prison economy at risk!

That's just the start. Think about how illegal drugs give our law enforcement a valuable tool in arresting minorities when need be. Additionally, legalizing marijuana would strip our state police departments of their ability to seize and auction off the homes and cars of anyone carrying more than a half ounce of marijuana. You think taxes on decriminalized marijuana could make up the loss? Think again!

Another drawback of legalization is that everyone who is now drug free will probably start smoking the day it's all legalized. This is particularly troublesome because these newbs will start freaking out. School buses will be crashing left and right, companies will fold under a weight of too many sick days, and folks will stop taking themselves so seriously. That's pretty much what happened before the fall of Rome!

Even if we can look past the threat to our adult population, we must consider the children. Once legally regulated, marijuana will be as hard for kids to buy as alcohol is now. So you've got to wonder about what they'll go for next. Freon huffing? Suppository abuse? Free-based jenkem? By the time we know what the next thing is they'll already be hooked!

Of course our more enterprising young people won't be able to focus on their studies, because that $200 per night profit from dealing drugs will be gone. Rather than just selling a few bags on a Friday night, these once promising young students would be forced to spend 12-16 of their best hours per week in low paying fast food or grocery bagging jobs. Parents can kiss those straight "A" report cards goodbye!

So as you compose that letter to your representatives in congress, begging them to legalize pot, prepare yourself for the bleak future that follows. Today's drug mafia leaders will become tomorrows high-paid consultants for major corporations. They'll be deliberately tainting our marijuana supplies with addictive carcinogens, much the same way tobacco and soft drinks are tainted today. Sure, you're laughing now. You won't be laughing when the blood's flying, and you're screaming!

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