Category Archives: Show Offs
So, if you haven’t laughed so hard you peed your pants yet this week…..
But first, be sure to have an extra pair of underwear on hand..or Depends…whatever floats your boat.
On what this is:
And then tell me in the comments what you think it is……extra credit for, ahem, *creativity*.
I’ll tell you what it is on Monday.
No, you don’t win anything for this.
I mean, yes..yes you do.
You win the Internets!
Good luck with that.
….see us leave…at the buffet we visited during the Epic Road Trip of 2012
We all have bucket lists.
Mine consists of things like swimming with dolphins, seeing the Grand Canyon, and visiting Graceland.
You know, cool stuff.
Hubby’s bucket list is shorter, visit the ocean, fart the ‘William Tell Overture’, etc.
It’s now one item shorter.
He’s always said he wanted to feast at an all-you-can-eat lobster buffet.
Well, we found one during our road trip and boy did he feast.
When he piled the first three whole lobsters on his plate the buffet-person glared at him.
Apparently the sign that says “Take ONE lobster at a time, please” is there for a reason.
And hubby is beyond reason.
After the glare-fest he’d go back and get one lobster at a time and then send me up to get another at the same time.
Soon I noticed many eyes following us up and back, up and back, as we visited the buffet taking no notice of the other tasty items offered and zeroing in on the whole lobsters.
The only reason he ate a dozen lobsters was because he could.
He ate a dozen whole lobsters.
I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find on a return trip new signage that reads – “All-You-Can-Eat Lobster Buffet, Except You Crazy Texan With A Seemingly Hollow Leg”
His picture will be posted next to the sign.
He’ll be holding up two lobsters and wearing one of those silly bibs.
It’ll be a proud moment for the whole family.
Yeah, you heard me…take this:
домики для феи
I have no idea what that is, but a search for it brought someone to my site.
And that rawks…like..totally.
Unless that’s some alien form of communication, and I’ve somehow begun an interplanetary war.
In which case it still totally rawks.
I’ll be in my super-secret bunker if anyone needs me.
Our trip to Missouri recently was to help get my mother-in-law’s house ready for sale. That meant cleaning 50-plus years of stuff out of the house, then cleaning up the debris left behind.
One nagging issue we had puzzled over for a while was a pair of lights on the basement ceiling that wouldn’t work.
Changing the bulbs and wallswitch had no effect.
Enter my mother-in-law’s baby brother – some ‘baby’, he’s 72 – and a professional contractor. He showed up after work one day, toting an impressive toolbox. He trudged down the basement stairs with hubby and hubby’s brother-in-law in tow.
The first thing they did was spend about 15 minutes trying to identify the correct breaker to turn off before beginning work. That accomplished, they set about troubleshooting.
Baby Brother: So, a new bulb and new switch didn’t do the trick, huh?
B-I-L: Yep, and we are stumped.
Baby Brother walked over to one of the lights – it’s a ceiling fan – and started jiggling the blades and motor housing. He stared at it from all angles, and finally dragged a stepladder over and began disassembling the housing, to expose the wiring.
Hubby and b-i-l decided to be helpful. Hubby took the blades as baby brother handed them down, and b-i-l held onto the motor and housing as it was loosened, lest it fall on someone’s head.
Baby Brother: I think I found the trouble.
Hubby: (peering up at the exposed wiring) What is it?
Baby Brother: It’s a loose wire. I’ll tighten it.
Baby brother grabbed the necessary tools and proceeded to fix the loose wiring.
Keep in mind that at this point, b-i-l had been holding a good deal of the weight of the housing and fan motor over his head for nearly 10 minutes.
His arms were beginning to shake.
After another 2-3 minutes, in which it seemed baby brother wasn’t really doing anything up there b-i-l began to sweat a little. He closed his eyes against the pain.
Baby brother nodded to hubby and mouthed “watch this”.
Baby brother stepped down off the ladder, but with his eyes closed b-i-l didn’t notice.
Nor did he notice that baby brother had not only fixed the wiring, but had also re-secured the ceiling fan’s motor and housing in place.
Hubby and baby brother stifled laughter as one by one the fan blades were re-attached.
B-i-l was really beginning to show signs of distress as the job finished and both hubby and baby brother stood back to watch him. Finally, b-i-l opened one eye.
BIL: HEY!! What the….?
Baby brother and hubby burst into uncontrollable laughter. I think b-i-l would have taken a swing at one or both of them, but his spaghetti-arms refused to move.
In fact, a couple of hours later he was having trouble lifting a fork to eat.
Hubby offered to spoon feed him.
He was not amused.
We were, though, and it just goes to show you’re never too old to play practical jokes on the unsuspecting.
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog. I’m pretty sure there was a liberal application of typewriters and mugs, but don’t quote me on that.
bullshit adieu, here’s the awesomesauciness year in review….and, in all seriousness..thanks kids.
Here’s an excerpt:
A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,200 times in 2011. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 4 trips to carry that many people.
Apparently, this award comes from other bloggers…and that is awesomesauce. I mean, to have a peer commend you…wow, truly I am honored.
Here are the rules, for getting this award, and pay attention because I may just have named your blog as a winner in this post so there will be a test…later.
A) Show the award on your (my) blog <<<<that’s the picture above.
B) Compose a short dedication to the person who awarded them the award
C) Write a list of five things for their readers that detail things about themselves their readers don’t know, and then;
D) Pay the love forward to five bloggers that they feel deserve to receive the Versatile Blogger Award too.
Truth be known, it was the picture of Bitsy in a purple (squee!) cast and flipping the bird, next to her Cymbalta post that won my heart, but it was Mark’s Cover Letter post that damn-near made me pee myself, that is winning my cyberfriends.
So, for all the laughs, the irreverence, and the award – Mark and Bitsy I heart you and intend to stalk you relentlessly for time and all eternity. What? Too much? Tough…you created this monster, now deal.
List of Five
- I hate lists.
- I like pie, especially apple pie. With ice cream on the side. And warm – the pie, not the ice cream. But if you don’t have ice cream then don’t bother warming the pie. And if you have neither I’ll take a Twinkie. And if you don’t have a Twinkie then never mind, just bring me the check.
- I’ve no clue how to execute a “pingback” or “backtrack”. I have a feeling I’m going to find out though, as I think I have to do that to make the chosen five see this post. I think. I don’t know. *help*
- I’m much older than I blog, but much younger than George Burns would be if he were still alive. I’m pretty sure I’m younger than Bob Hope would be if he were alive, too.
- I was raised by chimpanzees in Africa. Until I was in my mid-20s I didn’t even know clothing existed. Then a group of hunters on safari found me and decided to make a buck or two, so they trapped me and took me back to New York. They dressed me in fine clothes and showed me off to all their friends. I fooled them, though, and escaped. As I was climbing the Empire State Building it occurred to me that there had to be a better way to make a buck. I haven’t found that way yet, but in my old age I’ve given up climbing buildings and consider it a major victory if I can climb out of bed in the morning.
TacoMagic’s Random Insanity – geez, next to “versatile” in the dictionary is this guy’s picture. He’s a gamer, crafter, blogger and I hear he’s a pretty good daddy, too. Seriously, I think given a box of toothpicks and some gum he could make you a dining room set or the Ark. And, he’d include detailed drawings and progress pictures. Taco, you are versatile. Please accept this .png.
Ghostcat Chronicles – Ghostie – as she is affectionately called – is one of the most hilarious people I’ve ever meet in the cyberworld. She’s also one of the most talented artists I’ve ever seen, and she works in paint, pencil, fabric and all manner of medium. She’s also twisted, as evidenced by her My Little Pony reinventions. For this and so much more, Ghostie, you are versatile. Please accept this .png.
Library of the Damned – if you’ve ever read any fanfic, then you know the people who write it are….umm…dedicated. Take that dedication, add the Snark Crew on Library of the Damned and you have the absolute funniest riffing on everything from Pirates of the Caribbean to Harry Potter fan fiction. Snark Crew, you are so very versatile. Please accept this .png.
The Bloggess – I don’t know Jen Lawson, here or on the other side, but I can tell you she strikes every branch on the funny tree while still managing to be warm, kind and engaging. Not only that, but she makes a mean…no, I really mean a “mean” doll house. And, don’t piss her off or there just might be a giant chicken in your future. For making me laugh, cry and ponder, Bloggess you are versatile. Please accept this .png
The Problem With Young People Today Is – a hilarious view of the world from a fellow seasoned citizen, Don Mills. Don mixes humor with real warmth as he dispenses practical advice and semi-serious admonishments to all the damned young people who seem to live just to piss him off. Go and read his damned blog, just keep the damned cussing to a damned minimum, dammit. Because you speak for so many of us, Don, you are a versatile blogger. Please accept this .png.
And, yes I copied and pasted the “Please accept this .png” thing from Mark and Bitsy’s site – so when you click on it you go back to their page. You know why? I don’t have an effin clue how to put it on my site, except as a picture. And, yes I spent a good amount of time trying to figure it out and now I’m just pissed so don’t anyone come on here and tell me how easy it is. If you know, by all means tell me, but don’t make it look easy or I just might send Beyonce over to your house.
And, Mark and Bitsy – you’re welcome for the additional page views….all three of them, since I don’t think all five bloggers I named will actually read this.
Sorry, but I’m that unknown.
It might surprise you to learn this, but even a 3-yr. old can sense his impending greatness.
Well, at least my 3-yr. old grandson can.
It was a hot Saturday morning and we’d attended my 6-yr. old granddaughter’s soccer game in the morning. Right after the game we decided to take her and her 3-yr. old brother out to get some ice cream.
Their parents went on back to the house, no doubt thrilled to have an hour to themselves.
We took the kids back home after cleaning up the ice cream – most of it had melted and been spread all over them, especially the 3-yr. old – and they excitedly told us about going out back to get into the pool and go swimming.
It’s not a big pool. It’s a kiddie pool, so by “swimming” they actually mean wading around in knee-deep water, splashing each other and passersby.
As they were changing into their bathing suits, our 3-yr. old grandson came running into the living room buck naked, and stood there proudly wiggling his wee-wee for all to see.
“My pee-pee! It gots bigger and bigger and BIGGER!” He exclaimed.
My husband replied, “Yes, and you will make some girl very happy some day.” without missing a beat.
Dad giggled and Mom blushed.
I’ve written since I was twelve, and yes that was a long, long time ago.
One of the things I seem to gravitate to are children’s stories.
About a year ago I started the “Angelo and Malcolm” series.
Here, I present the first in the series.
It is, of course, protected by copyright. So play nice.
Angelo and Malcolm
Malcolm had always thought his personality was of the Errol Flynn, swashbuckling, type.
Whoever Errol Flynn was.
Malcolm, you see, was a cat, and he fancied himself a free-spirit. Sleek black coat, long sinewy body, he cut a magnificent figure. Always living by his wits, stealing his meals, and chasing the lady-cats all night long.
His best friend was Angelo, and Angelo was a dog. He was the kind of dog that made one think of Peter Lorre.
Whoever Peter Lorre was.
Angelo had the scruffy brown-black-grey coat of a true mutt, one eye that seemed to have a mind of its own, and liked to say “Yesssssssss” a lot.
“Hey Angelo, wanna walk the yellow line on the freeway?”
It didn’t matter the question, Angelo was a yes-dog. Maybe that was the reason he and Malcolm became friends so quickly. Or maybe it was Angelo’s enormous heart, but more about that later.
Whatever the reason, the two started out on decidedly unfriendly ground…at least, that’s how Malcolm tells the story.
Malcolm had been rooting through one of the better dumpsters in town, the one behind that swanky French restaurant “Chea Ronnie’s” onFifth Street, one night, when he had smelled Angelo’s approach.
Ewww…dog!, thought Malcolm turning up his nose, do they ever bathe?
Angelo walked right up to the dumpster, sat down and proceeded to stare expectantly at Malcolm.
If that dog thinks I’m sharing this feast with him, he’s crazier than he smells, thought Malcolm as he could feel the dog’s incessant stare boring a hole in the back of his head.
Swinging around, and arching his back, Malcolm’s luminous green eyes burned fire as he shouted “WHAT?” down to Angelo.
Angelo just stood up, wagged his tail, and grinned – that happy, goofy, grin that only dogs seem able to create.
“Oh no…no way…I’m not sharing this feast with you.”
Angelo barked, his tail wagging harder.
Malcolm sighed, “Fine…but just one bone.” He rummaged around a little and found a juicy t-bone just the right size to keep the smelly dog busy while Malcolm beat feet outta there. He liked the dumpster behind Tony’s Pizzeria almost as much as the one behind Chea Ronnie’s anyway.
“Here,” he said as he tossed the bone to Angelo, “now skee-daddle!”
Angelo lay down, and holding the bone between his paws, proceeded to gnaw away on the tasty treat.
Malcolm jumped down from the dumpster, landing nimbly on all four feet of course, and taking a last look at the dog he sauntered down the alley.
He hadn’t gotten very far when the unmistakable smell of dog assaulted his delicate nose once again.
“What the….?” He said as turning around brought him nose to t-bone with Angelo.
“Oh no…don’t even think about following me!” He protested as he began backing away.
Angelo barked, or rather tried to bark. It’s not easy when you’ve got a big bone shoved in your mouth.
He wagged his tail at Malcolm.
“What is with you? Look, you smell, your table manners are atrocious, and dude you’re a DOG for cryin’ out loud! Now, shoo! Go! Leave me alone!”
Malcolm turned to around and started running down the alley. He looked back, after a few seconds, to see if he’d lost Angelo.
When Malcolm turned back around, he ran head first into Butch.
Butch was an enormous bulldog, and this alley was part of his turf.
Malcolm, having hit the wall that was Butch, lay sprawled at the big dog’s feet. His head was swimming, and his eyes…well, they just wouldn’t focus.
“Well, well, well…boys, looky here…it’s a widdle puddy tat.” From somewhere a long way off, Malcolm could hear Butch’s taunting voice. Worse, he could smell Butch..and if he thought that crazy dog at the dumpster stunk, well…he smelled like roses compared to Butch.
Shaking his head, Malcolm stood up on wobbly legs. He still felt foggy, and was having trouble focusing, but that didn’t explain the numerous menacing dog faces he was now seeing in front of him.
Butch’s gang circled Malcolm, growling and snapping.
Malcolm looked around for a high perch, something he could jump to and escape this mob, but there was nothing.
I’m in trouble, he thought, very big trouble.
One of Butch’s cronies lunged at him, and Malcolm nimbly sidestepped the attack.
Just then, he heard the scratching of paws coming down the alley at full speed.
He looked up in time to see Angelo’s body flying into the middle of the circle of dogs.
The crazy dog still had the bone in his mouth.
Placing himself between the other dogs and Malcolm, he lowered his head and growled.
Angelo, the scrawny little mutt was staring down a whole gang of dogs who could tear him apart without breakin’ a sweat.
Malcolm wasn’t about to see how this went down, so he took off running in the opposite direction.
He didn’t look back, but if he had, he would have seen Angelo drop his bone in front of the angry mob, turn around, and casually walk away.
They didn’t follow. They were too busy fighting over the bone.
Picking up Malcolm’s scent trail, Angelo followed his new friend to a warm, dry, spot underneath some cardboard in the alley behind Chea Ronnies.
“Yesssssssssss.” Angelo sighed as he laid down next to Malcolm and went to sleep.
Opening one eye, Malcolm looked at the dog that had saved his life.
That’s how they became the best of friends.
From then on you could often find Angelo telling the tale of his rescue of Malcolm – each rendition involving more and more enemies, and of course, more and more heroics by Angelo.
Malcolm would roll his eyes, cluck his tongue, and pretend to nap as Angelo’s audience held their collective breath during these storytelling parties.
A more unlikely, albeit devoted, pair you’ll never meet.