Tag Archives: humor

Stiff… the finale.

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It shouldn’t surprise you to learn that it took me longer to blog about this book than it did to read it.

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To be honest, I blew through it in a day…. but I figured not everyone would enjoy that high a level of corpse saturation, so I’ve spread the snippets out over time.

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Placenta cocktail?

I can honestly say even I will never be that desperate for a drink.

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Though I could totally rock that hat..

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Powdered human penis?

The key words here are “taken with alcohol”. Geesh, I would hope so.

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And to think the only thing my husband took home all these years was post it notes.

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Please don’t buy me this for Christmas.

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Admit it, over the years you’ve received some truly awful holiday gifts. No matter how well intended, that 1,001 Uses For Fruitcake recipe book sucked.

So this season instead of making a list of the things you want?

Make a list of the things you don’t.

I’ll start…

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I don’t want a set of cat butt coasters with strategically placed pink dots. Nope.

Not now, not ever.

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Santa’s Sweaty Sack?

Santa is everywhere this time of year, but perhaps we should try to reduce the trauma to our children and leave his odiferous sack out of the equation.

But topping the list of things I don’t want for Christmas?

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Urinal shot glasses.

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That gift is a sure way to get yourself barred from the man cave.

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Ball tax… and other nonsense.

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Yes, it’s true.

The Maine state government has finally gotten around to taxing your dog’s balls.

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Beware “fully equipped” friends.

You could be next.

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I had to do a double take on this one. Although holiday poop gift ideas wouldn’t be an odd addition to my news feed at this point… that’s actually actually a shrimp poop removing tool.

And who doesn’t want to find one of those in their stocking Christmas morning?

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2020 is my husband.

While I carry a washable cloth mask in my purse, he uses those blue paper things and I find them hanging everywhere. Rear view mirror, stick shift, hat rack, door knobs etc.

Sanitary it’s not.

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Cocktail tweaking and a very spoiled cat.

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As you may know, I enjoy a cocktail now and then.

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So it should come as no surprise that I enjoy the occasional cocktail tweak as well

Here are two I’ve just discovered but have yet to try…

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Thyme and orange G&T’s sound fabulous.

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A drop of blackberry jam in my Cosmo?

Why not!

( Though I can guarantee you my quantity levels will be considerably higher. 0.75 Oz of Cointreau? Bitch, please! )

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Lord Dudley Mountcatten does not require cat food tweaking and is perfectly happy with his Fancy Feast. This does not mean he isn’t spoiled rotten in every other way…

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Yes, he’s commandeered my heating pad, and yes… if we don’t turn it on when he pounces on it we get the look.

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I love my town.

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It’s time for small town news again…. so city folk can see what they’re missing.

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No worries. Said piggy was reunited with his family and is safely back home.

The want ads in small rural towns tend to look a bit different.

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Spleeny- New England : peevish and irritable with hypochondriac inclinations.

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I’m almost afraid to ask why someone wants to rehome a skeleton.

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I’m going to pass this one on to my husband because he came home from breakfast with the boys the other day bitching that his omelette had gone up a dollar.

I know I’m paying more for groceries, it stands to reason restaurants are as well.

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Let’s play.

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Yes, we’re still doing these.

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The easy answer is dust bunnies, but let’s actually take a look. I’ve been known to use the space under our bed for storage so there’s no telling what we’ll find.

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As of today, there are two things. A box of extra dishes….

Because #1 – you can never have too many dishes. And #2 – when the current pattern you’re using hits the sale rack, you stock up.

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The other item crammed under our bed is a turntable used to convert vinyl into MP3 files. The husband bought it for my birthday a while back because I have a massive album collection. He also bought me the iPod that holds 35,000 plus songs…. so I spent countless hours ( read days, weeks, months ) playing and converting the obscure music of my youth.

Moon Martin? Check!

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The Flying Burrito Bothers? Sure.

And man, did I love me some Del Fuegos.

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So fess up, what’s under your bed?

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