Tag Archives: funny

I really don’t think that’s a good idea.


I’m spending some of the time my brain hates me brushing up on languages I used to be really good at. Specifically, I’m working on my Spanish and my German skills. At the same time. Because I’m an idiot. (Also because they are two different families – Romantic & Germanic – and don’t have a lot of overlap in areas that would be confusing, such as if I were doing Spanish and Portugues, French, Italian or any of those other languages with fewer than 9,000 declensions per verb form.)

Originally, it was a little bit depressing because it showed me how much I’ve forgotten. But then I started getting into it and realized I hadn’t forgotten as much as I thought.

Still, I think the people writing the lessons might be on crack. I’m pretty sure that horses aren’t supposed to eat bread and that making a duck drink milk might actually be a felony in some states…. They also reminded me that the soldiers aren’t green, the baker will not dance and that my mother is not a priest. They have some strong opinions.

But who knows? Maybe ducks really LIKE milk and I just never noticed because I’m lactose intolerant. Wow. Way to be self-absorbed AND enzyme deficient, me.

I do know how to tell you a straight up lie in German. It involves children happily eating onions. I also had to declare repeatedly in both languages that I am a man. (I’m not. That I know of, at least. Shit. Maybe this language program knows something I don’t and is just waiting till I’m fluent enough for them to spring it on me that I’m a dude and just never noticed. Way to make me paranoid, LANGUAGE!)


Oh well.  I fully expect to be bilingual by the end of the week. That’s realistic, right?


I’m usually smarter


A couple of weeks ago, I entered an argument with a wall about who had the right of way.  Physics decided to back up the wall because physics is a jerk. The results of this miscarriage of science were several very mean thoughts, a ridiculous headache and a pair of broken specs that I could not locate.

See, I’m extremely nearsighted. Legally blind, in fact.  If you take away my glasses, the world disappears.  This doesn’t make you David Copperfield, though; it just makes my eyes pretty useless without adequate backup.  Did I mention this whole thing happened during an attempted potty break at 3 a.m.?  That might be TMI but it also kind of explains that it was dark and I didn’t shout words of anger at Newton just because it would have woken people up.  Because I’m considerate. Unlike science.  (The Jerk.)

I keep an emergency pair of older Rx glasses in a place I can reach even blindly because there are times I didn’t put my actual glasses where I thought I did when I fell asleep and therefore cannot function until they’re found.  But this happened on the other end of the house.  I had to navigate the entire obstacle course between my broken and unlocateable glasses and my not-broken, but not-particularly-useful glasses without any optical enhancement. In the dark.  I broke a toe.

I eventually located my old glasses, put them on my face and cursed because everything was only somewhat less blurry.  So this time, I hobbled half-blind, injured and cranky back across the dark house to locate broken glasses, assess the damage and attempt to fix them.  (I just really want to point out the jerkishness of science since I feel it played a vital role in making the night so miserable. Sorry all you science-lovers, but really, science is a jerk.)

If you cannot see, you should not attempt to glue things with any sort of permanent fixative.  Because due to the continued mean-spiritedness of science, they not only attach acetate earpieces to the rest of the frame, but they also attach your hand to the frame.  Possibly twice.  (Shut up.)

When your newly detached-from-your-hand glasses finish drying, you will put them on and realize that you have obviously done a very bad job.

Then you get to wait for almost 2 weeks for new glasses because science is a jerk and hasn’t invented teleportation yet.

So remember:  I’m not clumsy. Science is just a jerk.

It made more sense in my head….


So there’s not really a post today, as you can tell because it’s all dark outside and I usually have a post up around lunchtime. But sometimes life demands that you take a day off.  Or possibly three.  And then life will troll you and you will accidentally have an allergic reaction, take a grown-up dose of benedryl by taking several pediatric melty tabs of benedryl and when your BFF wonders why you’re so out of it, you’ll tell her with a meaningful look, “ALL MY SKIN IS BEES” before falling dead asleep again.

Probably you didn’t have a stroke.  At least if you’re me.

And that’s a good thing. Which is really the lesson to take from this.  Not how to OD on baby benedryl. Because that is almost never a good idea.

Adventures in Cough Syrup (Rerun)


Sorry: today’s a rerun from last year.  The goats are taking longer to draw than I thought AND there was a #Sharknado to contend with.  Please forgive me and enjoy this tale of drugs and lies. (But in a fun way.)


If you’ve ever seen television (and I know, because I almost never watch, but wait — I’m getting ahead of myself), then you have seen this stupid monkey with better fashion sense than I have on my best days. You know the one. The orangutan with

Stupid Monkey

You can tell he’s evil. Only evil looks that good in green.

the Slytherin scarf? (Seriously, first hint there, guys.) This stupid monkey would have you believe that getting cough relief is simple.  This monkey makes you think that you can just go to Robitussin, click a few buttons and then they’ll give you a moron proof code for Your Perfect Cough & Cold Relief™.

This monkey is a lying sack of fuzz.

I have had a cough since last Sunday and lost my voice (much to the relief of many around me, all of whom are welcome to go eat a shoe) on Tuesday.  Then the REAL coughing began.  This came after about 3 weeks of not sleeping because fun fact about me, I happen to be crazier than a whole box of squirrels with chicken pox.

Anyway, I couldn’t sleep — again — because sleeping would let the mucus demons settle just enough and they’d get cranky and decide to rip my chest open just to make things more interesting. (NB: This version of the story could have something to do with my hitting the NyQuil pretty heavily at this point.)

Anyway, NyQuil wasn’t helping. Delsym promised 12 whole hours of relief.  Delsym lied to me AND tasted like slightly sweetened butt, grilled over a raging butt fire, sprinkled with freshly plucked BUTT.  It was insult, injury AND NO COUGH RELIEF WHATSOEVER rolled into one.  I’m a bit bitter. I hope one day with therapy that I’ll move past it, but the outlook is not good (I asked my magic 8 ball; I call him Keith).

So two strikes so far. Then I decide I’ll believe the freaking monkey even though I know enough about pharmacology to know that the only difference between Delsym and Robitussin DM (the one the monkey said I needed) was guafenesin. Basically, the D part is supposed to make you hork less, but the M part (guafenesin) is supposed to make the times you hork useful.  (Also, spell check believes that instead of guafenesin, I mean “deafening.” Draw your own conclusions there.)

Not only did it not stop my horking, I now had overdried sinuses, so the horking was all dry and non-productive and yes I’m writing a paragraph about snot, but I’m done now. Go on to the next one.

So, miserable and convinced that I would die of the lamest chest cold ever — though if I could convince people it was mucous demons, at least my obit would be interesting — I did what any sane human does when all of one’s arsenal of non-professional knowledge has failed her. I called and croaked at my grandmother.

Granny fixed me up, all right. Her instructions were, “Sip it if you can. If you can’t stand it, drink it hot; you won’t taste it.” These words terrified me. I didn’t ask what was in it because I was almost sure it was better not to know. But that night, I took a swig, gagged — and didn’t cough. MY GRANDMOTHER WAS A GENIUS! She’d invented a cure for the EVERYTHING. It tasted like donkey butts, but it was WORKING. …and I was a little dizzy.

That’s when I called and croaked at Granny to find out what was in this genius blend.

She told me: 1/3 lemon juice, 1/3 honey & 1/3 whiskey.  Yup. My granny had cured me with a bottle hot tottie.

Still, the cough isn’t entirely gone yet, but… I don’t really care much.  (hic)

Friends Don’t Let Friends Crush Candy




5 Things We Should Legislate That Are Not Vaginas


It seems like the government — and especially the state governments — are running out of things to legislate so for some reason they feel the need to tighten or renew restrictions on my anatomy.  This is bothersome, especially when you consider there are SO MANY OTHER things they could be legislating.  Since I couldn’t think of anything better to do, I made this handy list.  I hope it’ll help Rick Perry and other lawmakers who can’t find things to make rules about that don’t involve my body:

1. Make Pajama Day Official.  Seriously, our nation NEEDS this.  Free us from the unforgiving regime of grownup clothes by instituting a once weekly (at least) mandatory pajama day.  Yoga pants, lounge pants, etc., will be seen as perfectly acceptable and in fact REQUIRED attire in order to be considered grownup that day.  It’s only fair. Most days, people only believe you’re grownup if your clothes involve a waist band.  I find this needlessly limited. Free the mumus!

2. Require media to sign up as either tabloid or news source — and then make them stick to it.  That way if I want to know which celebrity just punched which baby seal, I can go for the tabloids.  If I want to know why we’re blowing up certain countries, I can watch news.  (Related:  make them tell the truth. Lies are just mean, guys.) And if you run out of legitimate news for the day, you have to shut up. The end. I expect that’ll lead to some half-days and less of the 24-hour style “news” networks, but… I’m okay with that, actually.

3. Make Twitter lift the limit that sends you to Twitter jail.  Well, not you.  Honestly, I probably don’t know what you tweet about and I might not be interested.  Mostly, I mean me.  Because in the last 2.5 weeks, I got jailed about 7 billion times (conservative estimate) and that’s wrong. I’m legitimately awesome and should get to tweet all the things.

4. If people insist on making public policy based on religion, make them let public policy determine their religion.  This means that if this week we’re feeling Hindu, we can vote your Jesus out of office.  Or the other way around.  Polity Faith Policy.  It even has a catchy name. AND if deities had to run for re-election, you’d probably see more in the way of miracles just to keep the constituents happy.  Breadmakers, fishmongers and winemakers might be unhappy, but your average religious potluck would benefit greatly.

5. Legislate the number of ridiculous things a legislature can legislate in a given period of time.  If they’ve already made 3 dumbass decisions, they don’t get to make any more that year.  They have to make good decisions that benefit the people they represent or they have to fight bears while naked and covered in salmon sauce. And there’s no “get out of bear fight free” card by vacating a dumbass decision you already made.  No.  You have to be willing to die for your decision.  Literally.  So:  legislate my anatomy?  You fight bears while naked.  Seems fair to me.

Also, this was going to be a 10 item list, but I got bored.  Still, I think the bear fights make up for it.

Expertise: I haz it.


In the age old trope of letting commenters supply content, I’m going to answer questions posed in the comments today. Unfortunately, they were all spam and seemed to be very interested in the illicit candy post.  Oh well: you gotta work with what you’ve got!

From Spammer McSpamsalot:

Excellent put up, very informative. I’m wondering why the opposite experts of this sector don’t understand this. You must continue your writing. I am confident, you’ve a huge readers’ base already!|What’s Going down i’m new to this, I stumbled upon this I’ve discovered It positively useful and it has aided me out loads. I hope to give a contribution & aid other customers like its aided me. Great job.

Dear McSpam:

Aww!  You flatter me!  I had no idea you needed so desperately to know about the existence of cooterpops. Actually, now that I think of it, I was rather glad to have no idea… You know what? Let’s move on.  Because now I’m kind of afraid you’re going to tell me what the “opposite experts of this sector” think about these things and that’s going to give me nightmares. Thanks.  I can assure you, though, that as long as the world is bizarre, I will continue my writing. My huge readers’ base will be happy to know that the Internet is still full of terrifying things and I will continue to write about them, even though today I’m answering spam comments on my blog. You and the porn comment were tied for being featured today, I might add. Thanks for pulling ahead by being sufficiently vague; I didn’t really want to talk about Russian brides today. When I fell over the existence of cooterpops, it was my sole mission to point it out so that others need not stumble into those parts of the web. And as you seem prone to this whole “stumbling upon” thing, it’s good to know the sacrifice of my dignity and the searing of my retinas “aided you out loads.”  I think.  Unless that’s a bad thing, in which case, I’m sorry?

Love & Liquor,

Auntie Ms. Hazard

Tune in next time for “Top Ten Reasons Mitt Romney Really Needs Me As A Running Mate.” (Probably.)