Deal or NO Deal-er …

I just have to admit I’m getting to like it here. Todd yells at Fluffy so loudly every night, that even the spanish street gangs give him respect knocks when they see us together outside – God Bless em’ they don’t even PRETEND that they’re not looking for my black eye.

Good one Heesay...

Anyway, here’s a short story that happened about a month ago. I still crack up whenever I recall it.

I told you about the colorful people who live next door. For 35 years they’ve owned our part of the city as far as the “let’s make a deal deals” go down. (if you get my drift). No one messes with them – not even the POPO – although they tend to mess with each other whenever they all start drinking their 40 ouncers at 11 a.m.

But they’re cool to us – they’ve got our backs – and since they start so early with the party favors, come 6 pm they’re all asleep, passed out, or have been hauled away to jail for disturbing the peace a few hours back. And I have to admit I LOVE to hear them talk freely, in their natural habitat – unfettered by the bogus “politically correct” society us WHITEYS get our faces mashed into each and every day of our lives.

On any given day, as I open my door to let Fluffy out for the 5th time in 5 minutes, I hear delicious fragments of conversation, like broken thought patterns, coming randomly from the daily giant party next door:

“An she was SO BLACK I din’t knowd if that wash er eyebrows or a got damn musstache or WHAT!”

Git yo ass home an give Mama some LUV...

” I LUVV YA MAN, why ya gotta be so fucked up to me? Fuck YOU! I lied, I fuckn hate your black ass, always have ASSHOLE”

and my new favorite catch phrase –

How YOU doin?

“How YOU doin! Darnell, get yo skinny black ass offa that heifa and get it in 5 or I’ll be whupin’ it again for everone to get a second showin’!”

Of course, we silently shut down all appliances to hear the diatribes. God their funny as shit! Anyway, sorry to digress…

One particular night I was unloading groceries from my car with our mutual friends, when this beautiful sophisticated black women, dressed in a gorgeous blouse and slacks gets out of her car, carrying a paper bag and approaches us. The friend looks at me, worried. I silently telepath this thought, “Not to worry, I know she’s black and we’re white in a black neighborhood, but she’s SMILING, k?”

So I say, Hi, can I help you? And she answers, “Do ya all know where the house is with the vans? The broke down ones that are always parked in the driveway, can you tell me how to get to it?” She holds up the paperbag and says, “I got Tony’s dinner and he’s gonna be mad at me if I’m any later”. Suddenly it dawns on me that she’s referring to our favorite neighbors place.

I say, “Oh, you mean Willy?” She looks surprised at first that a white girl listening to heavy metal in a mustang would know Willy by name, then she holds up the bag, and says gleefully, “Yeah, Willy! I have his…oh Hell! who am I shittin? We ALL know this ain’t dinner I’m carrying in this bag”! And we both laugh for about a minute, until she sashays off with a, “You all have a great night now!”

My friend looks scared, I just say, “GOD I love this neighborhood”..


Wow WHAT a catch! Does he have a brother? ….


More and more people seem to be ending up on the sharp end of my weinie roasting stick these days. It must be all the bullshit I’m no longer willing to put up with now that I’m quite aware that every birthday brings me one year closer to death. Who has time for the needless crap anymore?

This time it’s on a more personal level. This didn’t happen to me, but to a friend of mine – on an internet dating site last night – so yes, it was personal.

She happened to be over at our house, using our computer to check in with her dating account – and ran into a real jackass.

It went down like this:

While chatting up some guy for an hour or two, my friend gets an “alert” that someone is interested in her so she puts the other guy on hold while she checks out the new offering.

Once she clicks on his handle (Ray9 – guess his name is RAY – 9 must stand for his maturity level) she sees he has one of those blank gray avatars they assign to someone when they don’t have a picture up yet. And the following conversation is typed beween them:

My friend: (Types) I like your pic! (with a smiley face at her own joke – cuz there’s NO PIC, right?)

Ray50(we found out his age – he doesn’t wear it well): Well, I don’t like your picture.

My friend: (Rightly offended at his attitude towards her harmless joke) Why don’t you stick it up your ass?

She takes a break at this time to call me over to see this in person. Then she clicks on his profile again and starts laughing. “Short man syndrome Lisa, he’s only 5′ 3”, he’s self-employed, he’s a few pounds over weight. Either way, I tell her, he’s a 5 ft pile of infected shit (I’m not giving him that extra inch(ish), no way)

So a few minutes later she gets another email on her dating site, and doesn’t want to open it. So I ask her if I can read it instead? Sure. And I read it aloud.

Ray50: Why don’t you do the same girly? I can tell by your picture what an unhappy gal you are. Worn out looking and useless, in fact the only thing of beauty in that picture is that poor old dog you’re hanging all over.

As she starts to type him the redundent “stick up your ass” routine email again, I stop her. “Allow me”, I say.

ME: Dear Little RAY of sunshine:

I have no idea where all this anger is coming from but I can tell you that it has been misdirected towards me. I was only making a small joke at your lack of picture. Did’nt anyone ever tell you that humor is a very good thing for the man who possesses nothing else in the way of attracting a female? Obviously you missed that lesson in the charm school you went to.

As far as my picture goes – you don’t like it? Fine, not everyone likes everyone – not a problem. But your angry attitude tells me that you often miss the boat with the ladies here on BootyCall. I think you should resign at once and become a member of

Maybe you’d have better luck there fucking the ladies with your asshole attitude before attempting to fuck them with that pathetic little gherkin between your legs that’s so obviously the thing that’s made you so very pleasant to the rest of the world.

Have a nice day.

Oh PS – Sorry, There WAS a picture of you in that avatar, after all. I guess your being so short makes it as hard for me to make out your tiny little face in a picture as it must be for your date when she’s trying to find your tiny little penis. My bad.

Where's my DICK?

For some reason, we didn’t hear from him after that. (I hope he sees this)

Somebody call an exorcist….please?

Spammers have invaded my SPACE BOOK

This is the latest assault of the spammer – FACE BOOK (it figures).  I went to my inbox thinking I had gotten a message from one of the close friends on my list I barely know, but added – because statistically speaking, having nearly 300 face book friends make me look SO COOL – instead, I got this:




Is there NO place I can be where you DON’T find me? Some place I can feel safe in where I don’t have to worry about you popping out at me like some psychotic Long Duck Dong, to freak me out with your creepy “All is well” Buddha leer? Thanks to the nighttime dreamscapes I see all night long, I’ve had to throw out my incense and my Top Ramen – they remind me of you.

Are ALL of you spammers ASIAN? And if so, are ALL Asians spammers? (Thanks a lot for THAT conundrum keeping me up at night, by the way) And if so, as children were you required to take classes on appearing from thin air to say non-sensical things to the rest of us, using words in sentences that aren’t really words, just made up jumbles of English, Asian and God knows what?

And by the way – if you think I’M going to your blog and read the satanic incantations you call POSTS out loud while clicking your ads, so you can make me summon a demon, you’re crazier than you look…

Neighborly generosity


My guy and I like to be generous to the people who make up our fair neighborhood – and spread the warm cozy Ned Flanders feeling, whenever we’re able to do so.

We loan out the few odd bucks we have here and there, when we can. We’ve helped the independent business person in our neighborhood by buying his or her goods and wares, if possible.

We don’t do these things for personal affirmations either. You know – so everyone can witness us in our acts of goodness – and pass it on how cool, handsome and monied the white-ass couple down the street is. No, it’s that we really believe in paying it forward as a universal principle – one that should be followed by all who live and breathe. And yet – there’s an even more important reason we help these people who come our way.

We’ve learned over the last couple of years that people, in general, who come to you to borrow money, or implore you to purchase whatever it is they’re selling – tend to pull a vanishing act once you’ve given them whatever it was they came for. And we like that!

The familiar scenario usually goes like this: You’re feeling good about yourself cause you’ve just loaned some money to a sad case who just got laid off, and has three kids. As the “borrower” skips off with a big smile on his face, and your last $100 in hand – you start asking yourself where you know him from. Then it comes to you in a flash – you know him from the “park”. He’s actually a single homeless man with no children, no job that anyone can ever remember him having – and it appears there’s been no soap on his body for awhile too. And $100 buys a LOT of Thunderbird. The odds of him actually appearing at your door the next Monday as promised, are pretty low – unless he pops up to “borrow” some more money so he won’t be evicted from the park, of course.

But the important thing is…he’s gone! That’s what matters.

Here’s another example of the borrower-disapperance theory:

As you step out the door, late again for work, you notice an unkempt psychologically challenged woman with gray hair still in hard plastic Wal-Mart rollers, leaning sideways on a red and black lawnmower – blocking your driveway (the lawnmower, you observe, somehow doensn’t quite fit the “theme” she’s presenting). She’s blocking your car from leaving, and she knows it. As she taps her foot in time to her bobbing head, you finally see that the yellow chick motif on her one remaining bedroom slipper actually matches the soiled pattern on her house dress. The reason you didn’t notice her cool fashion accessorizing before, is because you’ve spent the last 10 minutes trying to avoid the part of her dress from the belly button area on down – it’s easy to see she’s not wearing anything under that house dress – and it’s pretty short on her to begin with. But you need to get to work, and she still refuses to budge an inch. Unless…UNLESS? Yes, go on..

Unless you buy the red and black lawnmower from her for cash. And she’s not leaving for under $30.00. And you have to get to work and she needs to GO. Maybe you can help each other out – you can skip lunch the rest of the week – it’s worth it. So you hand over the $30, and start to wheel the vaguely familiar- looking lawnmower into your garage to look at after work . And as you turn – voila! The lady vanishes… maybe she heard someone found her missing bedroom slipper? Could be! Whatever, Easy breezy, Fugeddaboudit, right?


That night as you’re in your garage looking over your new purchase, it suddenly dawns on you where you’ve seen that lawnmower before. And you’re more than right. It’s only been plastered on BOLO posters all over the neighborhood lately, and discussed on all the local news shows – why, it appears to be a famous lawnmower. Why? Is it a MAGIC lawnmower? Right. Does it talk? Please!

It’s just the lawnmower that’s wanted by the police – it’s that same one a mental case used to chop up a SIKH transvestite into pieces a couple weeks ago. The same mower that seems to have vanished along with the missing psycho tranny-killer. Until now anyway.

And what was the local news saying about the case? Oh yes, that the only clue left at the scene of the crime was some nasty dirty bedroom slipper with a sadass yellow chick appliqued on it. And you pause to contemplate a couple of things: First, how are you going to explain how a murderous lawmower came to be in your possession, and 2: Maybe the red paint on the lawnmower isn’t actually RED PAINT.


Yeah, There’s many reasons certain types of people may decide they have some place to be immediately after they’ve gotten froom you, what they’ve come for. But does the reasons really matter in the scheme of things? Isn’t the fact that they just DO IT the important thing? The end to the means is all we ever ask of them in return.

WTF is it? Does anyone want to buy it? I’m selling it for a good price…

Hello to all. I didn’t realize that I’d been away that long until I looked at the date on my calendar and realized that it’s been over a month since I bored anyone with my version of Tales from the Crypt. So here’s an update.

In an effort to keep myself OUT of the bondage of cubicle life once my unemployment runs out, I have taken on a venture to be an online seller of antiques. This wasn’t something that I decided for myself – it was one of those things where I became the owner of a bag of vintage jewelry that fell off a turnip truck one day. (literally) and since I live on the street where the every cops DON’T know you’re name – let’s just say it was easy to obtain.

Anyway, from that bag o’ jewelry I learned some things. First, I learned that I don’t know a lot about jewelry. I SWORE this looked real.

And so did some schmuck from Craigslist – who, luckily for him – flaked. But then I looked at the maker’s stamp inside the ring – I think it stands for IDIOT. SO, if anyone wants to buy it – I’ve knocked the price down to $10 from $200.

Secondly, I learned that SACK sells…

Not BALL sack, perverts – MONSAC – for 8.10 plus shipping..

A real GUCCI? For $15 dollars?

Then I learned when shopping at second hand stores, just because the “good stuff” is kept behind the glass counter, doesn’t mean it’s an actual GUCCI you bought…

You’ve just been FUCKYOU cheed…

But the very best thing I could learn, I learned from the victorian period – this is called a Sugar Caster. From researching it – is that it’s NOT a victorian DILDO (that was right on the EWWW list after URN)

I think that I would have had visuals for the rest of my life…

Fun with Face book applications…

The internet has many different variations of “family tree” makers  floating around in cyberspace these days  – take your pick at any site you end up on.  There must be a demand for them for some reason.  Maybe there’s thousands of people  online searching for any logical explanation that would make sense of the existence of certain morons in the immediate family, or maybe it’s just a  cross word puzzle in pictures for the extremely bored.

I was on Face book minding my own business, ducking hugs, smileys and elf videos – when I was hit out of the blue by the Face Book version called “Family Link”.  It does no good to ignore it – you’ll be continually “virused” by it until you finally stop what you’re doing and take care of your family tree RIGHT THIS INSTANT! So now you have to go to your “friends list” and rifle through all the losers who always ask for money, food, a place to live, bail – you know….AKA relatives…

(Here is the Face Book application logo if you’re interested (or want to avoid it…)





   So next you get to this screen. Let’s take a look at how it’s set up. Drag and Drop Relatives.


 Drag and Drop RELATIVES huh? Hmm… What a great idea!

Put an end to all that “borrowing” and other irritating habits they practice when you’re around – once and for all!



Run this by the next irritating relative that corners you to catch you up on the last 10 boring years of his life!

The spector of Phil continues on…


I find I HAVE to revisit a new favorite – the man who was the inspiration behind my photochop creation the SLUGGY    –  Mr.  Phil Spector.          


You must have heard of Mr. Spector by now, but I’ll break it down for you anyway.          

Phil  was a talented and quirky record producer – a 1960’s music legend. The originator of the “the wall of sound” production technique and a songwriter, Phil was also responsible for the success of some talented musicians who are still working today.   This quirky genius was also married to  Ronnie Spector, lead singer of the 1960’s girl group,  The Ronettes.  Ronnie was apparently terrified of her husband and stated as much in a book she wrote about her life.             

And it turns out that Phil was to get even “quirkier” over the next few decades, and in 2007 gave in to homicidal urges when he killed an actress in his Malibu home  – for what?  Well I suspect it may have been the crime of  laughing at whatever ridiculous doo he was sporting at the time he was trying to get her in his sheets.   But old Phil told the cops her death was an accident – in fact, he actually stated that the actress “slipped and kissed” the gun she was shot with, while in his bedroom.   So, do I say this to justify my need to photochop and bag on yet another defenseless pyscho?  Well of course I do. Look at  him! He obviously deserves it.     

As you may notice from the above picture  – Phil’s  ‘doos have changed over the years, yet he’s never swerved from looking extremely creepy. Personally, I think he looks a lot like actor Beverly Archer of “Mama’s Family” fame.  Ms. Archer was awesome as skinny, nervous next door neighbor Iola Boylen.  I watched that show faithfully into reruns – it was hysterical for its time!     Here’s a promo of the Mama’s Family crew in the 80’s.  Beverly Archer is the one sitting on the bottom left.  (The gal in the pink gingham dress who looks like she’s seriously regretting her decision to forgoe her usual  “OOPS I crapped my pants” adult briefs in honor of  picture day.  Well hell – who can blame her?  They probably bulked up under her pantyhose and made her dress puff out all unfeminine-like)       


Anyway, I really notice a resemblance to Phil Spector in her face.  Especially in this next photo taken at the end of their last season:         



And just look at this next picture of him with his latest ‘doo – how could ANYONE NOT  be rivited to THAT HAIR?        


It looks like he’s either wearing a Dollar Tree bath scrubby on his head or some really hairy woman left her hooha velcroed to his dome during the performance of some unnatural act.    And I do have one more theory regarding Phil and that particular hair “don’t”, but I should stop right now.  To continue writing in detail my thoughts on the mind of Phil S. would only serve to pervert and taint a beloved childhood memory, so familiar to us all.  I really shouldn’t spoil it for the yet unborn.     

But because I’m “inappropriate like that” I’ll do it anyway. Behold…    

Children make a wish and BLOW on the head of dandelion...


       Ok, try not to think about that sweet caption you just read when you view this next pictoral portion of my theory about Phil’s hair.  Ready?  Ok.       

Phil has always wanted to be just like a dandelion...!


Here is my theory:  Now that old age, decaying brain cells and the psychotic tendencies have come to fruition, Phil is finally taking his dandelion desire public.  I know, I know – innocent kids blowing dandelions was probably a horrible set up.  And I agree, Phil Spector is even grosser than “HEY!” child molester-rocker Gary Glitter for a number of reasons. But anti-taboo blogging is my forte…so how could I not?  And face it – the mere thought of witnessing an evil “dandelion-troll” as he throws eyeball daggers at the world from a courtroom in which he is being tried for murder, well…it’s more than funny to me.          

So, because Phil has done me the solid of making me laugh my ass off with his different ‘doos and his very persona,  I now present to you a photoshop exclusive!  A tribute to Phil and his quest to be a dandelion. And I must warn you – this is serious art and is meant to be sold at an auction and placed upon the wall of the gentry. Behold! An object d’art  – created  with an illegally used photo or two, and my fine chopping abilities applied at just the right time, of course.         

Note that I attempted to paint Phil in a softer, more humane light…       


Instead, I’m fairly positive that I’ve created a piece of art so horrific that one  shudders at the mere thought of inheriting it from an elderly relative one day. For starters, where would one hang such a monstrosity? and for what reason would you want to assault the eyes of innocent people who visit your home?  what reason indeed…Hmmm.  I’ve got it!   

My soon- to- be famous immortalization of  Phil/Dandelion could be utilized as the worst punishment a child could imagine.  The portrait would be placed INSIDE the child’s bedroom – in fact, hanging on his bedroom door as recompense for whatever the child has done.  Think of the years you could save having to deal with a spoiled brat.   

You simply force the child to his room and lock him in for the night – with the painting – and let Phil do the rest of the work.  After a night of being glared down at from a crazy human dandelion from hell, a former holy terror is now sincerely remorseful and has changed over night into an angel of helpfulness to his parents!    

The only downside is for the rest of their lives, whenever a dandelion happens to be in their range of vision, all that little Johnny or Suzy will be able to see is that ugly troll with his huge head of wiry brown pubic hair glaring at them satanically in their traumatized minds.     

 That’s so cruel, isn’t it?   But why stop there?   Why not put a permanent stop to the annual “I want…..”  Christmas list whine-fest expense that always hits you painfully in the ass like you’re being buggered for the first time by Rudolph himself.  Go ahead and be creative – ruin Christmas for the ungrateful turds too.  Phil will be happy to help – with a nice christmas rememberance just for the kiddies, like this:        

 (I know it’s lame but there’s something about the bow on the top of his pubes that always makes me smile….)

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!

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