Yes, I’m exposing to the world yet another ASSHOLE (THOMPSON8692), but I did it “the EBAY” way…

We have an EBAY account..naturally.

And we recently found that the long stinky arm of politically correct bullshit extends to EBAY – who seems to have jumped on the Blue Pill Bandwagon with the rest of the masses. But I’ll try to make this short and sweet.

Todd tried to sell a JL 1000/1 audio amp for $550 a month ago.  Being that is was EBAY nobody bid on it because they naturally thought they should only pay $19.95 at the most. So we took it down.

A couple of weeks after that we dropped the price to $370.00.  OOUCH! But hey, we need money and others of the same type amp were selling for about that at EBAY. SO we thought we were home free.

We had 7 watchers on the bid. We recevied one illegal email for Todd (from a watcher) asking him to call privately and they could make a “deal” in which no one would have to pay shipping costs. Todd almost pulled the amp off EBAY then, to take the guy up on his offer, but the guy called back later and asked Todd if he could hold onto the amp till he had the money – around the beginning of summer. Right.

So we leave it up. There are 5 watchers, and no bids. Then! At the last minute till THE END – one bid offer arrives in the amount of $360 – $10 cheaper than our reserve bid ($370). NOTE: This was our biggest MISSED clue to this deadbeat whose EBAY handle is THOMPSON8692

But anyway, the bid is over and lucky Thompson8692 wins the JL for a really groovey price.   Now, Todd always checks out the “buyers” by what their negative and positive freeback states on their EBAY site from other buyers and sellers who’ve dealt with them.

And we were NOT encouraged by  the fact that althought this bidder had two positive comments next to his name – he also had TWO negatives comments – and THAT raised a HUGE red flag with us! (For your viewing pleasure, I’ve photochopped them in their original context):

First – a sad tale from Not-too-happy SELLER #1

This is enough for Todd to roll his eyes and say “Shit!” really loud a couple of times. I try to look on the bright side by having him note the date of the Negative Feedback. It was almost 3 years ago. Maybe it was just a SNAFU. And if he really had a strike from EBAY against him, would he still be allowed to buy and sell on their site? No! Come on..It’s EBAY, not Craigs “I’m selling my mother cheap to the first landfill that calls- List. Right?

But alas, another DING from UNHAPPY  SELLER #2

OK.  Todd now emails his buyer polite little email asking him to please respond on winning the bid – you know – just to feel out the situation.  Then a follow-up email that night. And we wait. Well, one and then 2 days goes by – No buyer response. Feeling really grumpy that day because I have to see my relatives that night, I volunteer to send the next email – which borders only minimally on politeness – I hint to him in my best King’s English to stuff a gerbil up his arse – and still, no response.

That night Todd reads the WHOLE policy section of EBAY dealing with  “malicious bidders” policy, and how they handle them.

For your edification –  M.B.s are bidders that ruin a seller’s auction by waiting till the last  minute to outbid everyone, then are never heard from again – as they never had any serious intention of buying the item in the first place.

The outcome of EBAY’s protocol is NOT good news:

1. The buyer has 4 days from the end of the auction to shit or get off the pot and send in the money. And you can’t do SQUAT in regards to getting EBAY involved until AFTER 4 days…Yup- that’s their policy – 4 days.

NOTE: You can send that fucker as many frustrated emails as you like.  As long as your’e ready to kick back and and stew in your own juices when he doesn’t respond, – then going from frustrated to IRATE because EBAY staff aren’t available to even say BOO about it until 4 days are up.  Only THEN can you open a case against the bidder – which will take another few weeks (FOREVER) to be resolved, as EBAY insists on trying the same USELESS recourse of polite emails that have gone unanswered by us – but they MUST do this before they can take the next step.

By then, it won’t matter because by that time you’ve probably googled his address and phone number, prank called his house 1000 times, had 40 pizzas delivered there, stalked his poodle – and  sent someone named RICO to light a bag of smelly dog poo on his porch.

2. NEW EBAY RULE – As far as LEAVING negative feedback goes – which WOULD go a long way in insuring WE hold off our homicical rage against THOMPSON 8692 – it’s NO LONGER ALLOWED.

I couldn’t fucking believe it when I read this shit. Not allowed? WHAT??? So, what does this say to jerks like this? “Oh, come on by and place a FAKE HIGH BID on my Grandmother’s antique brooch – yeah, the same one that I need to sell so we can EAT and PAY RENT and avoid PARK RESIDENCY for another month. Or better yet – How about I go ahead and SEND IT TO YOU FIRST so you can disappear without a trace, not answer my emails, and avoid EBAY for another month until they finally feel like sending you a polite little email asking you if “everything is alright? we may have encountered a problem” email”.

How stupid is that shit? Now we’re not allowed to warn others of malicious bidders, so they have the chance to pull their item from their bid and run like hell if they see the THOMPSON 8692s of the world anywhere near their item? I guess the way the ebay ball don’t bounce…

But then…

I had an idea.

EBAY prohibits Negative Feedback and only encourages the positive, right? (Sounds like our government’s blue pill campaign against the mentality of it citizens, huh – by I digress).

OK, if it’s POSITIVE feedback ONLY they’re requiring, then I’ll be positive… Behold!

And sure enough, cuz my feedback fit the POSITIVE HAPPY green color, the only color one can choose these days to send on EBAY, they allowed it to be posted! Now the world is warned! This guy is DOODY for sure.  And everyone will know it by my POSITIVE FEEDBACK! Oh yeah, and this post of course…


My many STDS have brought me much love…

Let’s here it for the STDS! This is there “Thank you” celebration post, and here to start off the fun is a short ditty by the Herpes Bugtown Choir (sorry there’s no audio –they just formed the group yesterday)  Herpes – take it away!


S  – you’re SIMPLY unbelievable…

T-  TOLD you to check before jumping in that bed…

D – DUH… you thought his pubic louse was a grain of rice with legs…

S -  your life SUCKS now cuz you’re SCRATCHING till you’re red…

A special thanks to the bug-town choir! Great job Herpes all….

The reason for my celebration is simple. I am here to honor both the cure seekers of the Itchy & Scratchy show and the readers who simply lust after all things STD, and have given myself and my blog – if not credibility, at least “click”ability.

For your convenience, I’ve posted some handy graphs from my blog stats to visually show you what STDS have done for ME, Surveygirl46.I hope you can see this (Click on the pic and it will enlarge it in another screen for you)



The left side of the grid shows the date 7/30/09. The day I wrote the post on STD mania dating spreading like wildfire! I don’t know if it was “STD” or “wildfire” which did it, all I know is that this post continues to be a topseller – and I’m not even selling anything except for bullshit!  The fact that I have SO MANY STD (posts) on my blog has caused the traffic to increase in numbers till they reach higher than some freaks can count! In fact, STD mania – this one post has brought in 4,693 visitors since its birth on July 30th. God I LOVE AMERICA! And I love the STDiseasers, the Herpes Hottie Hunters. I love the cliques of clymeadeates and those sporting syphilLIPS – and in my eyes pubic lice has always been nice..

And let me tell you this… AMERICA wants its STDS – in all its many forms and variations. Just take a look at these graphs from today and yesterday!

staty2 staty3

And every day it goes on like this – the views, the clicks, the perverted desires for herpified peneye and the like. Although I’m pretty sure TFU is the clicker as far as the search for MOOBS go but I’ll count her in the love-infest – as an honorary member of course.

Yes, Dr Surveygirl46 does not forget where she came from, and tonight I bow down low to all those with STDS or STDreams and say thanks!

This bug’s for you!

Some alternatives to Twitter…

I’m on Twitter and it’s kinda fun.  It’s a unique social venue –  and it IS cool the times i’m surprised by someone’s written reply to a “random inside voice” comment  I barely remember thinking – let alone remember updating my status with.  And the way the website is arranged, I always feel like I’m hundreds of feet above land when I access it. But these novelties aside, I think the Twitter idea could be improved upon.

1. The Twitter general population has grown to such a mass that it often shuts down from communication overload.

2. My “followers” list goes up and down daily.  Before I found out that Twitter will remove spammers from your list automatically, I thought that one by one the people on my list had clicked on my Herpes posts and had abandoned me – disgusted by what they read. (That also led me to believe that most of my followers must have their own personal STD to get so riled over a humor post.)


So my solution is simple. Since there are so many people on Twitter and they come from so many different backgrounds – it would be a good idea to create some spin-offs to Twitter. And each spin-off would cater to a select group of people and their lifestyles.

Here are two prototypes for your consideration: (don’t forget to click on the picture for a much bigger view:)

For the people who like to play with doody, and for those who can’t stop leaving logs in their pants there’s


And for the STD crowd with their many different personalities, likes and afflictions, its all good.  We just band them together, come one itch come all, and give them a hopping good time with their own site –


See now we solve two problems.  The followers can pick scads of people to follow based on their interests and tastes, and Twitter won’t crash with an overload the next time Michael Jackson dies…

Elves are TRAITORS!!!!

Send your own ElfYourself eCards


This hiphop dance group looks like they belong performing a couple of months back in October, but this was the best they could do. Watch them get down with their freaky elf selves!

Mr Hankey’s just rewards…

sphankI’ve got big news!  After helping so many others, Mr. Hankey’s time for fame is here!  I’ll tell you the details in a moment. But first I just gotta say that we’re all SO proud of him!

I admit, I was one of his  many friends who was against it when Mr. Hankey just decided to do that “brown” movie” out of the blue. I told him, “Hankey – This isn’t  going to be like a Southpark episode, ya know. THIS is a totally different ballgame.  You’re going to be doing a hole lot more  than floating in and out of toilet bowls and popping out to say HiDEE HOOOO boys and girls! Merry Christmas! every 5 minutes.”  ” I mean, sure the movie script I read looks kinda cute, corn-y in it’s own way, but they might just treat you like you’re a piece of shit and take advantage of your innocent nature!” “Did you ever stop to think about that?”  Well Hankey just gave me a sweet chocolate smile and told me not to be so anal,  he’d be just fine – so I shut up. And it turns out he knew what he was doing.

So anyway, on to the news!

“Mr. Hankey makes Booty calls” was such an overnight sensation at the Kitty Kat theatre last  month that a national publishing house (Sorry, I can’t mention the name but it’s a big one!) caught the scent of Mr. Hankey’s rising star, interviewed him, and immediately signed him for a 5 year contract co-writing ‘advice and commentaries for men” in the field of relationships and dating in the millenium. They want him to co-write a couple of books with another writer, THEN they want him to write 3 of his own!  Seems there’s a market for men out there who can’t seem to hook up with any quality ladies.  We all know how hard it is to be single these days, but if anyone can help with advice for the lovelorn – it’s Mr. Hankey with his compassionate heart.  He’d been gone for weeks before I heard anything from him.  I knew he was working around the clock  – co- writing, doing some filming, and posing for those Hollywood glam shots, and whatever else they had him doing.  But  I didn’t realize he’d be able to accomplish SO much in such a short period of time.  Then late last night, I got an email from  him telling me UPS would be dropping off a package for  me tomorrow.  He said I’d be very impressed with what it contained. Well, the package arrived at noon and I couldn’t wait to tear into it! 

Well, it turns out not only has he been a busy little turd writing his advice for the lovelorn, but his work is absolutely brilliant! After you see the prototypes for some of his work,  I know you’ll agree with me that Mr. Hankey is blessed with great talent.  And throw in his natural love and compassion for his fellow-man and those lonely hearts will all be announcing their engagements to a nice girl in no time at all.  Mr. Hankey is a saint! 

Anyway, first things first. This is a copy of the an advertisement for the book he’s co-writing “How to pick up Chicks”.  It’s that “how-to” piece on successful love relationships for lonely men. It’s the one I was telling you about earlier.  It comes out in January 2010 and I’m going to get the very first copy!

See? Look how they’ve linked back to his booty  movie – those book agents are so smart! And by the title of the advertisement it looks like women just adore Mr. Hankey…

Now this is a copy of the cover of the actual book “How to pick up Chicks”…

See the publicity link to his movie again?  (It’s 4th down on “Related Blogs”.)  This is so exciting!!

But I saved the best for last.  Here goes..

You all know that popular skin magazine Hustler? 

 Here’s a copy to refresh your memory, if you’ve forgotten.


Well there’s a NEW magazine coming out this Christmas, and it’s also put out by Hustler.  However, it caters to a slightly more “exotic” crowd. AND –

And they’ve asked Mr. Hankey to be the very first cover story and cover model for their first issue!  It’s a big big honor –  just like being asked to pose for Playboy!

 Doesn’t he photograph well? 

HIDEE HO! Mr. Hankey’s making history and we’re all here to see it!


What the job resume is Really saying…


The JOB resume.  Now more than ever before companies big and small are getting SLAMMED with them.



And EVERY potential employer loves to get a piece of professional-sounding prose like this:






Sounds good, right? Like someone who will willingly sell their time to the ? bidder….(look, there’s no mention of a salary requirement!).  This looks to be someone who will work hard for you, bend over and kiss the ass of the office team, can accomodate your work schedule day or night – and actually seems to LIKE being a slave to a corporate boss for….again…(no mention of a salary requirement)…But…what if all the smoke and mirrors were gone from the charade – and the resume could speak? If the resume could tell you what the “perfect” employee really means by his “catch phrase” openings?  What if what the future employee meant was really more along the lines of this?






Well think of it this way – there still wasn’t any mention of salary requirement!

Save (Mart) yourself a trip if your looking for convenience…(or courtesy)

DISCLAIMER NOTE: With the exception of a few of the assistant mangers at my local store,  I have always found the employees at  Save Mart food chain to be pleasant and very helpful.  This is really just a few people that I have run into. So please, if you’re reading this and you happen to be employed by Save Mart, take it as it’s meant – a saracastic yet truthful post on just  a type of person you’ve probably worked with,  if not there, then at some other place of business.     If you’re reading this and you recognize yourself – SHAME ON YOU, YOU NAZIs!!





Things that piss me off. Let’s start with Save Mart. Witness what their logo statement would profess IF the corporation were to be truthful, which no corporation is, especially these days.


 Look, I know the personnel working in grocery stores have nothing to do with writing policies and protocol.  I know they’re just following the rules as dictated to them by their upper management.  It’s usually nothing personal.  But my neighborhood Save Mart grocery store sure seems to have hired  an overabundance of fat and sloppy, pasty faced, yellow-toothed unattractive female assistant managers who act super pissed off every time they’re interrupted from their frequent bathroom breaks to authorize courtesies for customers – courtesies that used to be the rule instead of the exception. 

And we’ve all seen these types of “management” gals in action – a surly lot normally, who only seem to smile like they really mean it when they’re telling you what you don’t want to hear at the most inconvenient time.  

Just some quick background as it adds to my outrage: Todd and I have shopped at this particular Save Mart for over a year, and many of the personnel know us by name or at least recognize us to say hello to.  A couple of the young female courtesy clerks consider me an older confidant of sorts, and seek me out whenever I’m there to relay their latest parent and boyfriend woes.  Two of the checkers are massage clients of mine and have been to my home.  And last night was the straw that broke the camels back.  Here’s  the  story leading up to the broken back of the camel:

Back in June, someone got a hold of my checking account number and ran up over $500 at WalMart and Walgreens.  I had to cancel my bank accounts and was issued some temporary checks that had no personal information other than my new account number on the bottom.  And the checks (there were 10 of them) were numbered 1 – 10.  Since I had to wait 7 – 10 business days for my new ATM card to arrive, and it was Saturday after banking hours I had no way of getting any cash, so I decided to use one of my checks for grocery shopping at Save Mart.  After an hour of rummaging through items that all looked pretty pricey to me, including dog food, I spent another 45 minutes in a long line while the assistant manager “Tammy”, a short fat grumpy mess of a woman,  pissed off at having to play a lowly  “CHECKER”,  hurries customers through the checkout like she’s marking cattle for the slaughter (or maybe like Hitler sizing up  victims for the next round of  “showers”.)

When it’s my turn, she rings up my purchases quickly without making eye contact, then barks “$74.80, please.”  I pull out my checkbook and license and start to write my name and license number on a check.  Suddenly she announces LOUDLY,  “Excuse me MAM – We can’t take temporary checks here, it’s against policy!”  “OK, next customer please!”  You can see that getting to say this to someone is making her day.


When I try to tell her a digest version of WHY I’m using a temporary check in the first place, and add the fact that I’m a regular customer here, she cuts me off with “I don’t need to know your life story MAM. Policy is We Just Don’t Take Temporary Checks”.  So now a bit irritated I apologize to the line of people behind me, and ask to speak to her supervisor.  She waddles off mumbling”SHIT!” and comes back with an equally pissy, grayer and fatter version of her unhappy self.

“What seems to be the trouble, Mam?” this crab says in a barely civilized tone.  I run through the same story again, faster this time as not to waste her time (I know it takes a LOT of concentration to pop each zit perfectly in the limited space of the bathroom mirror and only 8 hours in the  work day).  I also add that half  the employees on the clock right now KNOW me by name,  and the fact that I have NEVER bounced a check! (Not in a few years anyway).  She looks at me, annoyed and SIGHS a BIG HEAVY OVERBURDENED sigh and says “Sorry, that’s just our store policy” and walks off.  Now I’m on the verge of tears because I have no way to buy food till Monday at 9 a.m. So in front of the 20 people in line who have heard the whole exchange, I do just that and storm off to the parking lot – peeling out of there in my mustang and making a vow to NEVER shop there again. A vow I break  two weeks later when I need to throw an impromptu dinner together for one of our friends and Save Mart is the closest store to our apartment. 


The second event goes something like this:

I’m in the self-checkout and realize that Todd has my ATM card but LUCKILY I have my checkbook!  And even better, the checks are the actual bonafide, all inclusive informatory documents that contain my name and demographics as well as bank information.  My check, the sacrificial VIRGIN check, is number 157.  At the checkout point, I start to write it for the exact amount until I realize both of our vehicles are running on empty and I write it for it for $40.00 over the amount instead.  Well, of course the nice little checker CAN’T authorize my check overage request without a MANAGER’S approval…(Of course, how could I be SO stupid as to forget that?) So I wait with baited breath for the grotesque Tammy, or her equally grotesque older clone,  to coming thundering over.  But instead, it’s a nice looking hispanic lady who looks to have a pleasant personality.  I think maybe I got lucky and will be dealing with a person happy enough with her lot in life not to feel the need to take it out on the customers, but I’m wrong.

Like a nazi war pig she circles me slowly and looks at the check with the printed information on it. “She wants $40”, says the cute young checker.  “NO! I can’t authorize $40! $25 only and HAVE YOU WRITTEN A CHECK HERE BEFORE?”  I almost smart off with, “Well, I tried to but it seems Tammy didn’t like the color scheme or design of my checks”, – but I need the cash so I say only, “Of course, many times.  Would you like to see some I.D.?”  She’s about to put a strong bitch- whammy on me when one of my little courtesy clerk pals comes up to her and says, “This is one of our best customers, give her the $40”.  Winks at me, and walks off.  Surprisingly enough, NWP montones “Fine” and slithers off to instead destroy the “cash on hand” dreams of other hapless customers.  This time I don’t cry.

So after this incident, I figure I’ve done my time at Save Mart as far as being singled out for “checksnubbery”.  In fact, two days ago I actually wrote a check there for $25 over the amount and the whole experience was pleasantly boring and hudrum, like the everyday occurrence it used to be.  The check number I use is 158.  So I figure I’m home free.  (Oh yea of little knowledge in the powers of ASSHOLES…)

Event 3:

After a stressful week of finally getting a place that will take Fluffy, pit or no, and stuffing things into boxes, I find I’ve packed the bread and condiments, along with my ATM and bank transcipts, into a box already transported 10 miles away to our new digs.  So again I have to write a check.  This time the check number is 159.  (I even write in sequence! I’m that careful…)

Of course I’m in a hurry as we have one more trip to make to the new place  before crashing for the night.  I go through self check and write a check for the amount due, only to have the checker tell me, “Sorry, she (whoever SHE is) shut down my till already so I can’t take checks here, you’ll have to wait in line”.  I assure her that’s fine and run over to the only line open.  Taking  my place behind a slow moving line of 10 people with loaded grocery carts, I tell myself to be patient as nothing can be done on my end to speed it along. 

However, when I’m third in line from the check out, the two persons with loaded carts ahead of me graciously allow me to go ahead of them – seeing I was carrying only bread and milk.  Thanking them profusely, I approach the checker and tell her what’s happened at the self-check.  That  takes 20  minutes while she calls the girl over and pummels her with questions about why she wasn’t taking checks from customers. Feeling the heat of the crowd behind me, I mouth ” sorry” and shrug my shoulders. They’re a pretty nice bunch and all but one smiles back. The diatribe between clerks finally finished, my checker reads me the total and I write the check.  She runs it through and is about to hand me the receipt but instead gasps! “Oh no, we can’t accept this check!”  “What?”!!!  I tell her it’s a Wells Fargo check with my name, bank account blah blah blah.  She cuts me off to explain that the problem is the check NUMBER.  Their policy is to refuse any check that isn’t numbered 200 or over.  What?!!!!!!

 I counter back with my usual apologies to the crowd behind me, keep reiterating my disbelief in what I just heard, and ask to see her manager.  Who is another zombie washed out grump; although this one has the start of a faint gleam to her eyes – most likely at the unexpected pleasure of having the personal opportunity to ruin someone’s night with one word – NO!

We engage in the same song and dance. I apologize to the crowd and state my case – and my confusion to why there even is a case  – I again explain I wrote an even lower numbered check here  two nights ago without anyone so much as farting in return.  She ignores what I’ve said, still doesn’t answer my question –  just keeps saying over and over, “We don’t accept any checks with numbers below the 200’s.” 

Now I’m fed up with the absurdity of this crap.  So i look at the crowd and ask if anyone has a pen – I can fix the number right now.  A couple of them giggle. She-Devil is not amused. She starts to say, “Its our pol…” and I come back with, “Hmmm.  So you feel comfortable taking a  check from any  stranger, as long as it’s number is 200 or higher. Did you ever stop to think they may have been bouncing the first 199 left and right?”

I go on, “Or does any number over 200 magically transport the check writer to an beyond-reproach ” status?  Does this “magic number” exempt any check a person writes from being run in your system – the one all groceries have to expos bad check writers who BOUNCE checks?”  “Do you even check those checks?”  Do you want to check my bouncing status? You have the Chex Fax, go for it – but you won’t right?  My check is merely numbered 159.”  Now she’s pissed and I don’t care – I don’t need bread or milk THAT bad. 

SO I part company with the bitch, but not before leaving her with one more thought.  Loudly, so the line of people behind me can hear, I quip “You should know that your “check number checking  system” has a bd leak.  I know for a fact that check 158 slipped through your ranks just 2 days ago.  Right now it’s probably making it’s way through your accounting system, infecting it with viruses and whatever else it can do to foul everything “Save Mart” with it’s evil.  AND I WROTE IT FOR GROCERIES!   BWAH HAAHAHAHAHA… 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed but now I’m happy as well –  I’ve ruined her night like she and others like her at Save Mart have ruined a few of mine, AND I have a great NEW idea for a post – the one you’re reading now.

Just one more thing….The very next day I go back to Save Mart, yes – the same one –  and write them a check for 65.00 using check 270;  which I’ve pulled out of sequence from the box for just this occasion…Two can play at this game..

facebook farm town presents: BoCefus the idiot farmer in “A growing misunderstanding with the Law”


Poor BoCefus.  Not only is the DEA still on his ass over whatever that shit was that  his “cook” Dyna was whippin’ up and selling at the Farm Town Farmer’s Market,  but now he’s really gone to SEED.  See, after the “cooking” incident with Dyna, BoCefus thought he’d just stick to planting and growing his own edibles in the ground – live off his land – to HELL with hiring another cook.  And besides, he LOVES growin’ things.  The problem is he doesn’t have much experience or many “farm” skills.   But someone believed in him enough to give him this nifty facebook Farm Town farm – so he figured he could learn it just like everyone else in Farm Town.  How hard could it be?

Anyway, while he’s waiting for Growing Farm Vegetables for Dummies to come out in paper back,  he’s meets this really cool hippy fella rambling past his farm house one day.   Turns out the guy sells “potted plants” for a living and asks BoCefus if he’d like to buy a couple of “pounds” of his potted plants.  Well, who the HELL doesn’t like potted plants?  After the nice hippy fella assures him that the plants do indeed have colored “flowers”, BoCefus decides to throw caution to the wind and order 400 of them for his farm.

The fella doesn’t have the potted plants on him at the time but tells BoCefus that “Little Hector” will be delivering them to him today at 5 pm.  So after waiting all day for the hippy fella to call him before 5 pm, BoCefus finally gets a message from the fella to meet him in the alley where the Farm Town freeway intersects with the outskirts of Whore Town proper.  BoCefus has never seen anything like the flowers the hippy fells has brought him.  They’re purple, green and brownish and they’re kinda sticky.  They don’t smell too good at first, kinda like a skunk smells after you pop it’s stink sack running it over with your car. But after awhile, surprisingly enough, BoCefus starts feeling light hearted and reflective about his life, and is suddenly cool with  hauling the 400 sticky an heavy “potted plants” home in a plastic Hefty sack.

All that night until the stupid rooster starts in with his screeching, BoCefus carefully arranges the “potted plants” throughout his garden rows.  They look really pretty and somehow just looking at them makes BoCefus kinda hungry…and sleepy at the same time.

That was two days ago – now the god damn Keystone cops are banging at his door again this morning  – this time yelling about his new sticky flowers which are, SURPRISE! illegal, just like Dyna’s Lemon METHerengue pie he tried to gag down last week, with no success.  What the hell? He’s never heard such shit about shit before in his life.

God damn, he better answer the door before they  break it down.  All over a bunch of sticky flowers…Geez…

Thanks for the Red Pill, Gran and Gramps!




  I was thinking the other night that I sure do bag A LOT on senior citizens.  I know it doesn’t seem fair,  but they’ve always called to my heart as one of my favorite subjects to satirize.


I never really reflected on why that was.  I mean I’ve never felt guilty about it either.  It’s kind of like they deserved it for some reason. Then last night as I’m cruising the internet for any pictures of Richard Gere where he ISN’T photographed with a gerbil, a flashback hit me with perfect clarity.  All of a sudden – BOOM! I’m stuck reliving a part of my childhood that was buried on purpose for a reason .. 

After reliving  lovely detail of the event, I find it boils down to one thing. I’m still not done exacting payback from my decades-dead grandparents, nor do I expect to ever BE done.  I now realize I’ve been using the geriatric population vicariously to exact vengeance from “Gram and Bumpa”, but as you’ll see by my story, I’m still feel quite justified in doing so.  And yes, I’m aware that the senior population  itself is innocent of any wrongdoing against me, but so what.  They’re here, they’re old, my grandparents are dead,  they’re PAYIN!

Just so you know, I’m not about to unburden myself of a deeply buried story of grand parental incest – ( old women baking cookies, a photo-happy takin’ Granddad, bottles of Mrs. Butterworth syrup, crying kids, and jazzy porn back ground tunes, oh yeah, and lace doilies) – don’t worry.  Those memoirs were written and posted years ago on an Amish “Anything Goes During Barnraising Season” -themed blog which resides in an forever-undisclosed location in cyberland.


Get the Crisco, the brownies and the litt'uns...

Franklin! The littl'uns are here. Grab the CRISCO, that 1970's Traffic Album, your Kodachrome and those brownies!


So anyway, let’s go on. 

Remember “The Matrix”?  Although the movie was greatly  exaggerated in the interest of the story, it isn’t that far off the mark with the “blue pill/red pill” theory.   For example, in certain situations in your life, you can choose, if you wish, to swallow a blue pill (figuratively speaking) and stay as  ignorant as you can of whatever reality you don’t care to know about. 

Example?  OK.  Say, you don’t WANT to acknowledge facts that your husband is screwing your best friend.  You can “blue pill” yourself and live in denial about it in a variety of ways:  Believing whatever your husband tells  you, getting drunk and staying drunk 24/7, eating yourself into the size of a small tent, devoting yourself to the teachings of Dr. Phil – anything to distract yourself from dwelling on one of life’s little ugly truths is a “blue pill”.    And if you work super hard at it, you can sometimes achieve “blue pill blissful unawareness” –  of not only certain realities BUT also unawareness of your surroundings as well, permanently – or at least long enough for death to kick in and carry you to the official land of  What’s Next – Anything?   Most anyone can accomplish this if they set their minds to it – and the blue pill IS a perennial favorite with a lot of folks. 

But sometimes…

Sometimes you happen to be a poor defenseless little girl – innocently engaged in the happy acts of childhood – chasing butterflies, giving little sister a bloody nose just because, thoughtfully writing out your  Christmas toy wish list 8 months in advance so Mom and Dad have adequate time to prepare themselves for a really EXPENSIVE toy-filled Christmas – you know the usual stuff kids find fun at that age.

And collectively as children, we are happy in our simple, logical views of our world. We’re confident in the order of the universe – Mom and Dad are here and  we’re loved and secure, blah blah blah.  It’s all a certainty to us that the future holds nothing but toys and other fun stuff.  Then one day, seemingly out of nowhere, someone pins you down and force feeds you a “red pill” that tastes nothing like you thought the color “red” would taste…

And after you experience whatever trauma your red pill revealed, you now find it forcing  you to  reflect on life and what you’ve been told is real so far; and you reason to yourself that there’s probably many more “red pill” realities in life than anyone’s ever let onto you.  This is what happened to me.   I was “red pilled” when I was far too young to accept calmly the atrocities of what I witnessed. It not only stripped me of my child’s-fantasy life – that by rights should have continued on for at least a few more years -but it also ended up coloring the way I will always view old age, old people, and every other thing reeking of decay and rot that goes along with it. 

That having been said – May I present “My Editorial Justification for the literary  “gunning down” of  ” the oldies”:

I was 7 at the time.  My grandparents had arrived at our house  for a 3 day visit with the family. The rule was – anytime when they came to visit, one of us kids would be expected to give up her room to them and bunk with her sister for the duration of the visit. We were given the usual bull crap reasons  as an excuse – they were old and frail and my parents didn’t want to “inconvenience” them by making them sleep on the couch and with no privacy.  (Notice my parents never offered to take turns with us and give them THEIR BED).  Whatever.  But my sister and I  adored our grandparents who spoiled us, loved us, told us interesting stories and were just plain fun to be around.  Plus Gram’s hair was always nicely done and her clothes elegant.  Bumpa always smelled good and they both had bright friendly smiles.  I lived for their visits.

So sweet and clean

Such lovely grandparents

My complete disappoint in them, however, came to life on a Cartoon  Saturday –  it must have been around 8:30 a.m. because I remember being excited that Scooby Doo was on. 

Because my grandparents were staying in my room this time, I had bunked with my sister the night before.  When I awoke that Saturday, I quietly dressed and went down the hall to my parents room with the intention of asking my mother if I could have pop tarts for breakfast – (she was always frazzled by Friday and MUCH more easy for us kids to manipulate on the weekends). I knocked on the door once, and  slowly opened it.  The room was empty and the bed had already been made,  but since I could hear a woman’s voice coming from the bathroom dressing area, I figured Mom was in there still getting ready, talking to herself again.  So I rounded the corner …..

OK hold on now – just want to be clear about one thing. What I probably REALLY saw when I came around the corner expecting to see my mother was something like this:

Still scarey - but without the imaginery head of my nightmares..OR is this actually scarier?

VERY doubt about it! In fact, I'm scared now...









But what my CHILD’S eyes saw as I rounded the corner was THIS:  


OR is Grandma #1 SCARIER in actual reality?







 Two monsterous stars of a double whammy creature feature too frightening for even late night TV.  


(NOTE: Just to not sicken you further, I’m NOT going to show a picture of my Grandfather  at this time…real OR imagined – Weren’t the last two enough? DON’T feel cheated – Feel Greatful!)  Anyway…

Turning towards me in obvious alarm, and yelling at me in stereo screech, “GET OUT! We’re not dressed yet!” were two mummified-looking creatures. Their ancient heads with sunk-in eyes, prune-lipped  mouths and corpse-colored pallor,  sat  atop  two obscenely wrinkled and sagging bodies – with bulbous  appendages  reptilian in appearance – a veritable smorgasbord of skin tags, scattered sparse hair and nipple-esque growths.  They were both completely naked, except for socks.  Starting to get the picture yet?  No? Let me continue.

The “woman” didn’t have breasts like Mom or my barbie dolls had – you know, perky and high up on the chest.  Instead her “uniboob” was ONE single wrinkled bag of hanging skin – lumpy and mole-covered – that nearly reached what I know now was her HooHa.   The “bag”  grotesquely swung to and fro – like a pendulum keeping time with the jiggly underarm jello that swayed gently back and forth as she pointed a bony skeletal finger at me to LEAVE!  The “man” was especially frightening but in an almost comical way – the black knee hi trouser socks riding up on his bony ankles with a hole in each toe served only to exaggerate a pale, fleshy worm- tube thingy that was growing to a misshapened grey-haired skin pouch. And the whole damn nightmare appeared to be growing out of his  “pee pee” area, and it looked mean as hell!  As he took a step forward his “worm thingy” suddenly caught air and started moving back and forth in a rhythm,  as if to a pop tune only it could hear.  

I had just been eye-slapped by the double-visual of  both grandparents butt-NAKED!  Fully expecting to turn into a pillar of salt, I did’nt dare look back as I ran out of that room – like the very hounds of hell were after me. 

Just to reiterate to the reader:   My psyche was damaged AT SEVEN YEARS OLD by this sight.  And because I was a bright little thing even back then, I had already figured out within the 5 seconds it took for me to blow that popsicle stand of horrors –  this kind of old age and decay was inevitable.  And it would even happen to me, if  “I was lucky and the Lord blessed me with a long life”, as Aunt Anne used repeat every 15 minutes to whoever was in earshot at family get-togethers. 

And I certainly didn’t need to be hit with that reality at 7 – Come On!  Couldn’t this one have waited to be revealed to me at …say…36?  By then I would have already come to terms a few years before that “it’s all downhill from here!!  Seeing naked, wrinkled, bumpy, toothless, death-masked old people without their cover of false teeth, wigs and clothes to hide the evidence of decay wouldn’t have phased me one bit then! But noooo.   It  had to happen while I still believed in Santa Claus.  

That cherished childhood rite of passage was ruined for me too, by the way.  Thanks Gram!  Thanks Bumpa!  

Starting that Christmas season I was the only kid on the block that couldn’t be made to sit on any Santa’s lap at any mall.  And I absolutely refused to wait up for Santa on Christmas Eve anymore.  I was positive wherever Santa showed up – mall or other, he would be toothless, spotted with growths and hanging worm things, and of course buck- naked except for black trouser socks with the holes in each toe.  And no way was I planning to be within 50 feet of him if  he came down our chimney with his bag of presents  – I’d already seen an old man’s bag of presents, remember? I didn’t need to see it ever again.     

Climb up on old Ruldolph here! I'll give you a present worm th....I mean CANDY cane!

Climb up on old Ruldolph here! I'll give you a present worm th....I mean CANDY cane!









In springtime, I also added to my “realities to avoid” list, areas in my neighborhood where kids had reported seeing the Easter Bunny – No easter candy was worth taking the chance of seeing an Old Rabbit’s Peter.  And finally, whenever I would lose another baby tooth it went secretly  into the garbage instead of under my pillow.  I wasn’t going to be trapped in bed one night, waking up suddenly to see the gummy toothless grin of a cackling ancient Tooth Fairy looking down at me – not  for a freakin’ quarter a tooth.  And I knew for a FACT the Tooth Fairy I’d see would have no teeth – hadn’t he’d been buying them off kids left and right forever? 

Yep, fantasy land for this girl was over… and she was just a baby.

And the geriatric population will continue to pay for the sins of my grandparents…


DISCLAIMER: Obviously this is just a joke.  I love old people – I have several working for me right now – cleaning the bathroom and kitchen tile with their unused Depends.  And although it’s true I really did witness the horrifying vision of seeing my grandparents naked when I was just 7, I never ran out screaming like I had seen the devil, like I implied in my story.  What actually happened was I had a grand old time pointing and laughing at Grandpa’s “worm thingy” until Grandpa broke his false teeth when they fell out of this mouth as he was yelling at me.  When he stormed off to “read Field and Stream” in the bathroom, I then started in on my grandmother …and her ugly old UNIBOOB.

See?  Everyone PROTESTS them, not just me!

See? Everyone PROTESTS them, not just me!

STD Mania Dating is Spreading Like Wildfire! I See MONEY in the Future…

It's really Catching On!


So before you see it on the internet first, I’ll tell you my plan.  I’m jumping on this business opportunity like a rock star with dualing cases of the crabs on each nut – riding the “train” to STD heaven myself! There’s gold in them thar ab- cessed hills, and I’m just as greedy to turn a buck as anyone else is these days. 

Besides, I don’t look at what I’m proposing to be an exploitation of the innocent victims of itchy sores.  They’re aleady exploiting THEMSELVES!  If you need a refresher just go back and re-read Herpes Hotties. See for yourself how the people are bragging loud and proud to everyone! Friends an strangers alike. They name drop that old  “STD status” like UPS drops packages marked “fragile”.  And these STD’rs act like they’re in an “elite” club for the priviledged few.  So I figure, all I’m doing is giving them a few more titillating choices in their search for gooey love.  Here are a few ideas.  Please read them and tell me what you think. Or if you think you have a better idea, let me know. We can split any earnings 95 – me/5- you.  

First on my list is

“The dating site where we take your “passion for rashin’  and turn it up a few more inflamed degrees.”  Questionable mouths like this one are just crawling with tricks to tease and please….1-800-SYPHLICIOUS”

Do you even know all the places her lips have been? She can't remember either!

Do you even know all the places her lips have been? She can't remember either!







Ok, it’s a little cheesy (no pun, I swear), but I had to have at least one venue available for those who like their porn heavily infested.  Don’t judge!  Pesky perverts are people too..

Anyway, on to the next ingenuity.  Designed with eternally frustrated, middle-aged married couples with clymadea in mind.  clysign


“Midlife boredom got you down?  Feeling rashy? Would you like to get trashy, yet the thought of having  sex ONE MORE TIME with that saggy old alien who answers to your wife or husband’s name enough to make you want to push yourself down a long flight of stairs?”  Hold the fort Custer!

“The good people at Herpes Heaven have joined ranks with our old friend clymadea to offer couples like you this exciting new alternative to the same old meatloaf!  Now hopeless middle aged marrieds don’t have to end it all in the usual boring, messy and often illegal ways –  homicide, suicide, going-postal out of the blue in the 10- items- or- less check out lane at Raleys. Now you can safey and morally mix it up with a new willey or HooHa!  And the infection on your erection or in your virgina is always welcome!

“But wait!  There’s more! Your insignificant other is welcomed to join in too!  Now, hold on.  We’re not asking you to roleplay Mr Rodgers and Hazel again. So put that sweater down and the bucket away”.

It’s time for a new game. A swingin’ game – when you become a member of “The ClyMIDEALIFEers”.   When you join our mid life luau you’ll be mixing a lot more than old rancid spit with flabby wrinkled lips because all our members have a case of clymadea too!  So you and the Mr or Mrs can rest assured that nothing will spoil your fantasy of an affair to remember, because everyone’s just as infected as you are!  The only drawback to your adventure is the risk you take of hooking up with someone even uglier and more disgusting than your spouse.  But hey, at least the view will be different for a while.  You may even end up thinking your spouse isn’t all that bad anymore, depending on who you meet here!”  “ClyMIDEALIFErs – Where clymadea can lead to clyMAXea…”


1 800 Take My Wife PLEASE 1 800 Take My Wife PLEASE

 I think this is a great public service idea, don’t you? 

And finally, here’s an idea for those cantankerous, yet lovable old goats that caught some unexpected  crusteceans while engaging in a little deep sea fishin’ in WWII.  Not to worry, you still have plenty of bait to catch some more luscious sea food before you die.  

“Here, our members can meet up with each other as fast as their hip replacements allow”.  So relax, have a little lemonade and trade stories about the grandkids, while your little pets mix and mingle with each other.”

 And you know what the health care profession has been saying for years –  Pets are good for old people – they lower their blood pressure.  And since there’s no doubt crabs have to itch like hell, I’d say they also keep those seniors active!  Hey, it turns out there really is a legitimate reason old people are called crabby – some of them literally ARE!” 


A lot of seniors are secretly crabby...1 800 BE MY PEST  At we’d never call you seniors “pests” – your pubic lice already have that job title wrapped up nicely! Call 1 800 BE MY PEST

I think by next year at this time, I’ll be rollin’ in dough courtesy of STD mania! 













Previous Older Entries