Mother’s Day…  A day on which we’re meant to celebrate all the wondrous joys that constitute “motherhood”.  Unless, of course, you have my mother.

The popular image of a mother is a woman who kisses away tears and bakes cookies.

If a child is unfortunate enough to cry around my maternal unit, he/she would hear the following, “Feeling sorry for yourself, aren’t you?”  Plus, my mother has never been in our kitchen.

Some mothers collect dolls, teddy bears or Hummel figurines.  My mother collects rocks.  No.  Really.

Some mothers just tie their hair back, throw on some jeans and take the little tykes to the park.  I went to Elizabeth Arden with my “dressed-to-kill” mother for 5 hours at a time while her hair was streaked.  Instead of heading to the park after the hairdresser, my mother took me to The Plaza for lunch.

I think you can see a pattern developing.

You would think that when a mother drops her only child off at college, she would offer words of wisdom.  Some parting information that she wishes to convey.  Maybe something like, “Study hard” or “Make friends” or even, “Be careful”.  Do you know what my mother called out to me as her car was driving off into the horizon?

“Make sure you coordinate your clothes.”

Truth be told, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Mommy Park

P.S.  True to form, when my Mommy saw this photo, she said, “It’s a shame I didn’t have highlights in my hair that day.”  I rest my case.





This ad asks the question, “If you died today, what would happen to your family’s future?”  Looking at the “grieving widow”, I think that answer is rather obvious. She’s going to spend the insurance money on sin, sex and other sensual and salacious sports.

Does the insurance company really think that this ad campaign will encourage men to buy policies?

This widow, who I’ve christened “Lolita Lottalips“, looks anything but upset about her husband’s passing.  In fact, it looks like Ms. Lottalips may have given hubby a helping hand into the grave.  I mean, it wouldn’t take much.  A rickety ladder, a supposed need for something on a high shelf and..  PRESTO!  Lolita’s days are filled with shopping and her nights are filled with the pool boy.  Or, rather, she’s filled with the pool boy.

If an afterlife exists, her recently cold and stiff husband is watching Lolita make other men hot and stiff.  Showing up at the funeral dressed like a femme fatale might be a clue that her grieving process includes full-body contact.

Let’s face it.  The newly fatherless boy, who I’ve named Timmy, won’t be spending much quality time with Mommy in the future.  Unless, of course, bringing Mommy her martini counts as “quality time”.  Lolita is going to wait until he’s a little older before she pays any attention to him.  That way, she’ll be able to make inappropriate passes at Timmy’s school chums.

(And, “chum” is what they would be.  I think she might be a shark.)

Now that I think about it, I believe Lolita Lottalips may be my new hero.  Hmm…..

Clothes make the man.  Unless, of course, his clothes are made of other men.  Or, in this case, replicas of other men.

Penis Man

Yes.  This man is wearing a penis covered costume.  Please take a moment to revel in the sheer repulsiveness of this sight.

However, the titillating question is…  why did he chose this cockamamy ensemble?  What is the thrust of his argument?  What point is he trying to drill home?  Is he mounting some sort of campaign?

(I’ll stop with the puns before this humor reaches its peak.)

Is he attempting to alert others that he is, in fact, so well-endowed that only a sea of penises can compete with his prowess?

Perhaps, he’s one of Marvel Comics lesser known superheroes.  Ladies and gentlemen, I present “Penis Man“.  His powers include the ability to harden at a moment’s notice, to penetrate anything in front of him and to produce ruffies out of thin air.   His only known weakness is immediate flaccidity when the word “commitment” is mentioned.  Wait a minute.  This sounds suspiciously like most guys.  Anyway….  When he isn’t fighting the never-ending battle against blue balls, he reverts to his alter-ego, Mr. Willy Johnson, a mild-mannered prophylactic salesman.

I couldn’t cum come to a conclusion.

Facebook 101

Wikipedia defines Facebook as “a free-access social networking website”.

Yeah.  Sure.  That’s one way to look at it.  I have my own definition.

Facebook:  The internet’s equivalent to a woman walking past a construction site filled with horny day-laborers.  

Wait.  That’s not a complete definition.  

Facebook:  A site that mimics a dingy bar that serves 190 proof Everclear to those horny day-laborers… making them even hornier.

Wait.  That isn’t the full story, either.

Facebook:  A virtual dive where horny men (cloaked in anonymity) feel free enough to send obscene messages to complete strangers.

Let’s be clear…  I enjoy flirtations.  I enjoy the exchange of lustful thoughts between two consenting people.  I enjoy the carnal delights that two interlocking bodies can provide.  However, I’m just old-fashioned enough to believe that this line doesn’t work:

hey bby… u r gr8… will u suck my b@lls“.

What does he think I’m going to say?

Gee.  Since you asked so nicely, sure thing.  Drop your pants and whip out those bad boys while I pucker up.”   

For some reason, these “invitations” are always delivered by the world’s most disgusting men.  At least, I think they’re men.  Many are so hairy they should see a groomer.  Honestly, if this guy weren’t in the safety of his basement, would he ever proposition a woman?


Oh yeah…  Stay away, girls.  I saw him first.  Someone better hold me back.  My lust is overwhelming.  I’ve never been so turned on.  The mere thought of becoming lost in Sasquatch’s fur makes me tingle.


Mission Statement

Some people use blogs as a personal diary.

OMG.  Today in school, Danny walked right past me and didn’t even look in my direction.  I’m just going to die.  Or, maybe, I’ll write a lame goth poem about it.

Some people use blogs as a cyber-soapbox on which they stand and proffer their mind-numbingly dull opinions.

After having watched C-SPAN for three days straight, I feel compelled to point out the Representatives’ erroneous statements.  It’s not like I ever planned to get laid anyway.

Some people establish blogs in order to promulgate a particular point of  view.

The Illuminati is the real power behind everything.  The word “illuminati” contains the letters L, U, N and A.  That spells “luna” which means “moon”.  And, we all know, that Skull and Bones members moon each other.

My aim is far simpler and far less noble.  I enjoy mocking, making fun and generally taking the piss out of things.  More times than not, that includes myself.  Sad but true.

Therefore, in an effort to make the world a better place, I thought I would share a few examples.  OK.  That’s a lie.  I don’t give a damn about making the world a better place.  I just thought it would be funny.

Jane Austen said it best:  “Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, DO divert me, I own, and I laugh at them whenever I can.”

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