Horoscopes for the mental – February 11, 2011 – AQUARIUS

Watch how your strategic errors in orientation make hysterical mistakes for everyone who has the misfortune to run across you today, Aquarius. Use those communication “problems” you will have with others to your advantage! Make those who refuse to listen to your insane ramblings feel like huge piles of shit.  Don’t get frustrated with yourself  because your message to mankind is psychotic and indecipherable – turn the tables!  Instead – Make EVERYONE ELSE feel like WORK TRAINING bus riders for their lack of comprehension in understanding your genius!  Set them up!  Then laugh your ass off as, one by one, they run into the brick walls you’ve arranged – such like the bugs that suddenly find themselves in a poisonous Roach Hotel instead of the intended food cupboard.  Observe their turmoil with glee, Aquarius! Pat yourself on the back and KNOW you’ve done a FINE job of screwing up the mind of the innocent bystander once again!


Dating suggestions for aspiring Sugar Babies…

Wouldn’t this be a GREAT way for those women who want to be just like the late Anna Nicole Smith, to become “sugar babies”, but without the hassle of having to pretend to be in love, go through marriage or even (ewwww) having to SLEEP with Father Time?   If a gal plays her cards right, she could start – and end – her Sugar Baby career with just one “almost dead” fart.

The concept is simple really…all she would have to do is to go online and LOOK….(trust me, they are OUT there and waiting for someone just like HER)

Enjoy my prototype…

Meet Banana Peel Bachelor Number ONE..hundred


“Elvin” is 81 or 82, who knows?  Hell, Elvin is just OLD and he wants sex one more time BEFORE he kicks off.

AND he’s willing to pay BIG BUCKS to get it, or to at least THINK he got it, capice?   This means that even if he CAN’T get it up, or if his “date” happens to slip a little sedative into his 7 pm glass of Ovaltine and he “drifts” off to sleep –  not GETTING IT but thinking he did anyway – that “date” still gets paid.
This is the easiest DATE for any aspiring SUGAR DADDY Trainee to go on and make some cash at the same time.
And the best part is, it’s just like taking candy from a baby, or …well,  taking MONEY from Elvin!

Why old people go crazy …

I got to thinking about why old people go crazy.  Now, the normal assumption is that this happens because they usually end up ALONE –  like when their spouse dies on them, after 45 years of marriage – and they can’t take the pain and sadness anymore, so they go nuts.  And in some cases, I suppose that’s true.

However, in the majority of cases where both spouses are still alive and continue to live together, I believe it’s because they are STUCK TOGETHER – that makes them snap.  (Just allow yourself the mental picture of two dragon flies to whom the sex act seemed like a good idea at the time, but who are now, unfortunately, literally STUCK together, yet both of them continuing to eternally move in different directions, long after the thrill is gone – until one of them says to the other “fuck it, keep my dick” then breaks it off just so he or she can MOVE ON)

Just a thought….

A new Face Book Crap Gift for the religious types

This is for all those religious types that have Face Book pages and want to join the rest of us sinners sending Crap Gifts, but can’t.

Those certain holier than thou types who are  unable to even entertain the horrific thought of sending dead fish, an STD lip, or even a sock puppet to someone on their friends list,  as it goes against their RELIGION –  and all that is Holy.

The ones who somehow know that if they  participate the  normal way, they’ll be going to hell with the rest of us sinners.  And we can’t have that, can we?

But it isn’t really fair to leave them out of the fun of Crap gifts, is it?

No, it’s not. So, I have come up with an idea to combine the Crap Gifts of we common sinners with the piousness of those who love and follow our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ – and ram it down the throats of the rest of us, DAY after DAY after DAY…. 

And, I do this from the heart -  so all the Jimmy Swaggert, Al Sharptons, and  Tammy Faye Baker-wannabees can participate in sending crap gifts in their own personal – and Holy – sort of way, without fear of a firey brimstone retribution when they die.  (That is for the REST of us to bare…). 

So, without further ado, I give you the …..

HOLY CRAP! crap gift… 


What do you think? Will it fly at Church Bingo?

Jesus, hellbound, bills, dementia and farts

You fucked up AGAIN!

Last night, I suddenly got teary over a memory of how my parents would take us kids to Baskin Robbins for ice cream every week on Sunday, after dinner.  Sweet yes, but they had an agenda.

They were trying to make up for forcing Cheryl and I to go to Sunday School – EVERY SUNDAY – without fail, where we had to sit out an hour dressed in scratchy clothes and too tight tights to learn about Jesus,  sing songs to praise him, and to hear the breaking news the day after we’d already comitted the latest childhood sin to be put on the list of  unforgivables that guaranteed the the perpetrators hellbound status when he died. 

And Sundays did go on forever.   After this torture was over, we were driven like devastated cattle to the slaughter and  forced to sit with the grown ups who didn’t seem all that concerned about hell, and in fact snored, farted, slept, and burped during the the pastor’s lecture – and then woke up long enough to sing out of tune to the endless songs of praise they tried to fool us into beliving they knew by heart.   And this  occurred in between the stern lecture of an angry pastor who tried to convince us that Yes, Jesus loves us – and no, he didn’t WANT to send any of us to hell – but how could he do anything BUT – when all of us continued to disappoint him every minute of every day?  

We kids would finally be put out of our misery when the collection plate got to us, and each of us put our whole weeks’s allowances in it –  hoping that our buck fifty’s would somehow cause Jesus to change his mind about sending us kids to hell – but we weren’t optimistic about the outcome.

And, of course after that weekly reminder of doom,  neither Cheryl nor I was in the mood to watch the Wonderful World of Disney hour  – the show that signaled the end of the weekend,  and the start of another week of school and eating paste with boogers in it.

So I guess I would have to say that taking  two future hell bound occupants to Baskin Robbins to get their minds off their fates, wasn’t too high a price to ask . But anyway, I digresss.

I called my Dad to tell him that I loved he and Mom, and to thank them for being the best parents in the world – I swear that was my only intention.  But as soon as my Dad answered the phone he started in on how the cable company had sent my bill to their house and I was being cut off on July 9th if I didn’t come up with $100. Next came my auto insurance cancellation notice, and did I know my tags were expired on my broken down Mustang in the driveway? How were Todd and I going to pay our rent? Also, there was a bill from the phone company, did I know that I had to pay 98 dollars by the 10th, or else…..dial tone?

Trying not to cry, I gave up playing dutiful daughter and told him the rest of it. The bank fees that kept accruing even after I dumped my last unemployment check for $76 to cover the SEVEN CENTS I was overdrawn on, and then finding out that they were charging me $35 because I didn’t put it in the day of the withdrawal, which then caused me to bounce a check. The fact that we didn’t have rent, and Todd was sick again from worrying over bills. I told him about how we each had at least 17 job applications a piece floating around online, that no one had responded to. Oh, and our electricity bill that doubled because they charged us a DEPOSIT for a mistake THEY MADE the month before by taking our payment out of the wrong debit card. I told him about how I found out unemployment was over the day I applied to go to school. How I was out of cigarettes and had drank my last sip of wine the night before. How everyone in the neighborhood who had been our best friends when we had money, were now no where around to pay us even a dollar back of what they owed us. Hell, I let it all out.

After sympathysing with me, he told me my mother wanted to say hello. I got all ready to tell her how wonderful I always thought she was and how much I loved her, and said Hello Mom. She says to me, Well, Lisa! How nice of you to call. It sounds like everything is going so much better for you!  I’m so glad!  

I wanted to laugh out loud and almost did – but then for the grand finale to a perfect day, I didn’t realize  I was laying with my face right next the Fluffy’s ass until the second after he farted in it.   So, I called it a night and went to sleep.

I KNEW it – my german nazi bungalow started out life as a trailer

Sometimes Google Earth is stunning! Some of the things you can find ZOOMED up close,  take your breath away – places you know you’ll never get to see in this lifetime, lost forever – if it weren’t  for the wonders of modern technology.  But sometimes, what Google Earth ends up bringing you just takes your lunch away.  Witness below…

This is my “house” or my bunker – to be more accurate. AND, only the part located near the street – SO convenient for those last-minute drive by participants who’d like a “sure hit” – is actually ours. Yes, it’s a small “duplex” – under 700 feet to be sure. And, the front porch is now covered by furniture that hasn’t had the title of second-hand for a couple of decades. Courtesy of Shoe Strings  – for a price – of course.  Not that we desired to have the furniture so much we paid her for it – we paid her because we just desired her to go away.  Anyway, it’s not much, but Fluffy the pit bull is welcomed here, and the rent includes water and garbage – and we LOVE our landlord.


And now, it has taken on another kind of beauty. And that is the beauty of “appreciation”. For as humble as our abode is today, Google Map showed me that it was once something else…

Behold! ALL that’s missing are the wheels…

Back in the day before You Tube there was Yoo Hoo

Note the suspicious glare that Bubba Darryl gives the City surveyors, as they record this picture for Google Earth history. Also notice that Bubba Darryl has something held tightly in his right hand – a can of  Budweiser, perhaps?

At any rate, once it’s empty he will have Ethel May (his sister-wife on the right, behind the trashed El Camino) throw it in his neighbors trashcan.  Then in a day or two – around 2 a.m. to be precise – Bubba Darryl will sneak out back and fish it out of the garbage – along with his neighbor’s cans – and give the whole lot to his new girlfriend (and  daughter) –  Tammy Lee, the other female – to take down to the  recycling center the next time she takes their son (and his grandson) little Bo Seafus , for a walk to the Free Clinic to him checked for body lice again.

Note the classy awning – used for the neighborhood drink a thons and bi-weekly wife beatings  – and that sleek AMC Gremlin sitting next to the roadster in MY driveway…

Like I said…..All  that’s missing are the wheels…

POINTS TO PONDER: Since politicians are so full of shit – why aren’t they made to wear diapers, like the rest of the babies?

A brief commentary on some search words that brought HERPES visitors to my blog

My search engine terms from today 6/23/10

I  want to make just a brief commentary on some of the search terms that people are using  that subsequently land them on my blog. I think they all tie into our nations new obsession – and yes, crazy love – with herpes.  Here are my favorites as I see them:

GENITAL HERPES IN WOMEN – Now, I don’t know if this is a female person who truly wants to find out about her predicament – or if this is a person who’s LOOKING for a female with genital herpes. And, I really don’t want to think about it beyond this mention.

BLACK ASS – At first glance, this key word item looks like someone was looking for a porn site, and ended up here by mistake.  But upon closer reflection, I’m wondering if the BLACK ASS isn’t a result of a combination of the above terms .


Genital herpes + pubic lice + genital herpes in women +  pubic crabs = BLACK ASS (What do you think?)

Now MILD GENITAL HERPES is certainly a more optimistic search term than just GENITAL SORES, isn’t it? Could you imagine the “love connection” dating site intro:

Hi, My name is Tina. I  have herpes, HOWEVER, I would just like to say it’s MILD genital herpes. I swear, it’s SO light, you won’t even notice.  How about giving me a try? I will send pictures upon request.  I’m just itching to meet you! Toodles!

Now, maybe Tina should  hook up with the person looking for WOMEN HERPES GENITAL PICTURE because this person really seems interested in seeing them – I mean, he or she, went to all the trouble to hunt them down, right? But I don’t get what GENITAL HERPES PICTURES ON WOMEN means, do you? The closest thing I can come up with is that it’s one of the “niche fetishes”, where a secret click of horny men – or women – want to glue GENITAL HERPES PICTURES on a woman, and masturbate to them. But do they want the picture wearer to be WITH or  WITHOUT clothes?

GENITAL HERPES ON FACE? OK, Tina isn’t that pathethic, there’s actually someone out there who is broken out with STD ACNE! And it’s probably NOT mild. In fact, she – or he – is probably also dealing with PUBIC FAT. Now THERE is a person who will be living with Mom and Dad for a few years out of high school.

And, what about GENITAL UCUK? Do Russian people have this obsession with the itchy vaginal netherworld too?

Is South Park and it’s gone, some poor infected asshole’s (pun? perhaps) way of trying to use that “Wizard of Oz” move?   You know – click 3 times and say “there’s no place like home” and then voila! You’re home again. So maybe this guy watches episodes of South Park – naked from the waist down – then, as soon as the credits start rolling, closes his eyes, says “abracadabra, and it’s gone!” – and then peeks hopefully at the offending critter infested parts below. But we all know what happens, don’t we?  For all his optimistic enthusiasm, what he sees when he opens his eyes is that – ALAS  it’s NOT gone.

And my favorite (near the end) – Someone in cyber land is interested in fucking an UGLY VAGINA with a VINTAGE DILDO.  However it appears they’re having trouble finding the real thing, because they’re actually thinking of using an old Aunt Jemima bottle.  But FIRST, they want to know OLD AUNT JEMIMA BOTTLES VALUE before they stupidly commit to that “ugly vagina” and end up ruining an irreplaceable antique on a bad piece of poon tang!

Worn out Shoe Strings

This picture is ALMOST the spitting image of  HER – the bag lady we call Shoe Strings. The reason I say almost, is because when my computer crashed I lost my photo imaging program that I was getting really good at in photochopping normal pictures into what I wanted to show you – however,  now I have a newfangled one with all the doodads and I’m frigging lost. Oh well,  just use your imagination…

Back to Shoe Strings. When you look at this picture just imagine her squatter, blacker, bent over like a paranthesis. Grumbling as she skitters, always with  an “up yours” attitude as she slowly wheels her cart to  your front porch. A cart that is filled with either A. the flashlight that went missing from your garage last week, B. The neighbor’s weed wacker that you asked to borrow a couple of days ago – and you didn’t believe him when he said he couldn’t find it, you thought he just didn’t want to loan it to you, or C: Some type of confused rodent she’s trying to pull off as a prize cat at a bargain price. And she comes by EVERY night. ….Ever since you  gave her a dollar and a ride to the Quik Mart, well… you’re her golden goose.

The story of Shoe Strings has been going on since back in September, when Todd saw something in the window at 3 a.m. and went to investigate. What he saw was a pair of “shoe strings” hanging down from the window at crotch level.  It was crotch level because whatever arthritis Shoe Strings has causes her to stay bent at an angle – and our front window is just perfect for her to look into, and scare the bejesus out of whoever’s at the computer.  Her name is Shoe Strings because the first thing we ever laid eyes on was two dirty shoe strings in the window – that of course, turned out to be two dirty hoody strings dangling from her sweat jacket.  But hell, Shoe Strings stuck. My nickname of course – besides, it sounds so much better than “hoody strings”.

Anyway, Shoe Strings has kind of adopted us as her “benefactors” – and I will say she is quite the character. Sometimes, when I’m done researching, writing, and getting my SEO articles back under the deadline, and I can relax, I find her show up visits down right entertaining. But other times – like when I’m going over a bill that shows my car insurance is doubled, or I’m in the middle of trying to figure out just how the hell a 650 square foot apartment can elicit a PG&E bill of $240.oo per month – and she comes knocking on the window, calling “Hey DAD!” (That’s what she calls Todd), those times I don’t feel quite so kindly towards her – and I’ll tell you why.

Shoe Strings is a hustler. She doesn’t give up till she gets what she wants. And, God Love her – I know in her own “streetwise” way she considers Todd and I friends – and vice versa – but we ALL know that when Shoe Strings comes by, she’s not going to be leaving until she’s either sold us something we thought we got rid of at a garage sale the week before,  she’s weaseled us out of our last dollar OR, she talks Todd into taking her somewhere by car.  And just to make sure that WE know she’s marked us as her territory, she leaves one of her two stolen Rite Aide shopping carts on our porch like a calling card, so she has an excuse to return with more things we don’t need.

Now, I love Todd with all my heart. There’s pretty much nothing I  wouldn’t do for him, except for THIS. Todd brought the saga of Shoe Strings upon us all by himself. ALL BY HIMSELF. One night, he was feeling good, was in a great mood, and HE OPENED THE DOOR AND welcomed Shoe Strings into our lives by paying her an unheard of hustler dream street price of  $15 for a stolen lawnmower – and our fate was sealed. Our fate was sealed that night he invited her into our driveway – let her invade our privacy.  Now she’s here forever, or at least for as long as we live here. That having been said – every night as I hear the creak of that stolen cart’s wheel slipping over the potholes in our street, I look at Todd pointedly, and start packing up my things.

This is the one time it doesn’t work on my heart when Todd starts feeling sorry for himself…Too bad!   Or, when he bats those incredibly long lashes and looks at me like, “Aren’t you going to fix this, Honey?”  No. I’m. Not.  So, I smile, grab my wine,  and my smokes – do a Mission Impossible tumble slide past the window if need be so I remain undetected by her eagle eye.. and say out loud – NOPE!  Whoever smelt it dealt it! Have fun.

Even though I love him, this is ALL him. He did it to himself. He finally got enough Shoe String to hang himself with.

Erased book.com



OK.  I know I’ve bagged a LOT on Facebook in the past.     

I’ve called it WASTE book  and MACED book. I’ve picked on the little “fruit fairy” smilies that people obligate each other with – along with complaining about the constant requests from those on my list requesting my  “help” by  sending imaginary livestock to their make-believe farms – requests that still seem truly psychotic to me, but apparently hold perfect logic for those in the final stages of denial.      

And I committed all that sacrilige by adding unflattering photo choppery, to boot.      

I also snidely suggested that someone create a Face Book of the Dead friends list – filled with those who can no longer speak (or request return smilie ) – and, in fact,   can’t do anything BUT help you to look better by increasing the number of “friends” on your list. This, of course, brings a person that kind of popularity – cyberly speaking – that he or she may have never gotten to enjoy in back in highschool.         



And yet – because I’m a study in contradictions, I admit, I unabashedly flaunted that I have no problems whoring myself out for people to add on my friends list.   It’s just like that Jaynes Addiction song – Jayne Says…..”I want him, if he wants me”.   That was all it took – and I rolled around in it, like a pig in shit.      But alas, pride ALWAYS cometh before a fall – chickens  ALWAYS come back to roost,  and my fave – “What you put out in the universe ALWAYS comes back to you.”  And, you’ll know when it’s arrived by the stinging sensation in your anal area.         

 And, today – one hour after bragging to a pissed off gangsta with a flat 40 ouncer and a bad attitude, stalking past my house – that MY face book friends list was a mere THREE names away from reaching the 400 mark – I returned to the website and noticed with a sinking heart that I had been….gulp…deleted by three of them.         

 Yep, that’s right – I’d been REMOVED ON PURPOSE – just like in that South Park episode about Face book.  The one where Stan’s FB stock plummets when he adds Kip Drodry – a kid who didn’t have ONE FB friends on his list for some reason – and then has to drop him in order to gain back his FB street cred.          

 Today, for equally unknown reasons –  I am that person  – KIP DRORDY.  I am that  pathetic little munchkin whose “very existance” depleted the street cred of at last 3 people who once were kind enough to add me and aid me in my quest for Face Book Friends List QUEEN OF THE WORLD! And, I now feel Kip’s pain…      

And, to those 3 people who I thought about maybe NEVER, the ones who so rudely gave me the boot? I still don’t remember who the fuck you are, but I remember I never liked you anyway!  LOL

I wonder if this has actually happened?

Here’s a story for you.  But I promise  –  it’s short.  And to the point.

There was a  vietnamese woman who had a great-grandfather she loved very much.  His name was  PHUC NYONAGNA.

When she grew up, she went against her culture, and married the man she loved – a Sheik, no less! 

 Sheik Alibadoubadah Yousef.  

 They had a child. A boy.  The Vietnamese woman gave him the first name of her beloved great-grandfather – Phuc.  And the boy’s last name was Yousef – after his Daddy, the Sheik.

 So all his life – from birth until he died at the age of 103.  This man was known as PHUC Yousef.

What a drag…

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