Here you have it folks.
Please, if this has left you breathless place your head to your knees and take deep breaths.
If this has left you frightened, well, imagine how my kids feel.
P.s. and yes, I do look this happy all the time. Just ask my husband.
So there comes a time in every military spouses life when “the man” decides you may fill a much-needed space further away then the space you currently fill. In my case the current cavity I fill is in good ole’ Virginia Beach or Vagina Beach if you want to be a douche about it.
I can honestly say that I hate it here and have hated it for the past 11 years. So when the “opportunity” to relocate was “offered” I was actually pretty excited. Our “choices” where the following.
1.New Jersey
2.Florida
3.Washington
Being that I would rather someone glue all my hangnails to a ledge and be pushed off before I go anywhere near N.J that option was out. Also, before I get any “N.J isn’t really like what is portrayed in Jersey shore” dribble, fuck off and write MTV. I’ve been there. I lost a cell phone and 20 points off my I.Q. just driving across sate lines.
Florida. Or Flo-Rida as I like to call it. Wait…what?! That name is already taken by a huge black man who isn’t in Florida?! Damn it all. I guess when I’m old as dirt (and I’m pretty close) I might want to go drown in the miserable swamp land till my wrinkly saggy skin gets as leathery as its amphibian co-inhabitants. But not yet.
Ahhhhh Washington. 3,000 miles away from tourist trap hell. But, what do I know of west coasties? Well for starters….
A: Bestiality is perfectly legal. No, I will not get the fuck out. Here I am thinking sheep humping and horse fisting was a back country red-neck thing. Nope. It’s a Washington thing.
Color me surprised when I ran across that gem. At least they have conditions set in place. Such as not being able to bone an animal over 30lbs.
30 fucking pounds is the cut off limit.<——–See what I did there:) It’s a safety issue for the person doing said fucking. I guess if you’re going to rape your pet it’s good to have some guidelines and limitations. Sigh.
I know that this doesn’t mean everyone in Washington is a doggy-doer so spare me that letter as well.
B: Some of the best music has come from the west coast. Like that one guy who said “real women have scripts and fake breast”. Ok, maybe he isn’t from the west coast but he knows the women there…
C: It rains. A lot. I blame this on all the dirty hippies who refuse to wash their feet.
But seriously, partly, I can’t wait to meet new friends and be in an entire different area. If you are a westie, give me an inside scoop if you please (but not if you sex up your furry friends, that shit’s nasty).
A liberal muslim homosexual ACLU lawyer professor and abortion doctor was teaching a class on Karl Marx, known atheist.
”Before the class begins, you must get on your knees and worship Marx and accept that he was the most highly-evolved being the world has ever known, even greater than Jesus Christ!”
At this moment, a brave, patriotic, pro-life Navy SEAL champion who had served 1500 tours of duty and understood the necessity of war and fully supported all military decision made by the United States stood up and held up a rock.
”How old is this rock, pinhead?”
The arrogant professor smirked quite Jewishly and smugly replied “4.6 billion years, you stupid Christian.”
”Wrong. It’s been 5,000 years since God created it. If it was 4.6 billion years old and evolution, as you say, is real… then it should be an animal now”
The professor was visibly shaken, and dropped his chalk and copy of Origin of the Species. He stormed out of the room crying those liberal crocodile tears. The same tears liberals cry for the “poor” (who today live in such luxury that most own refrigerators) when they jealously try to claw justly earned wealth from the deserving job creators. There is no doubt that at this point our professor, DeShawn Washington, wished he had pulled himself up by his bootstraps and become more than a sophist liberal professor. He wished so much that he had a gun to shoot himself from embarrassment, but he himself had petitioned against them!
The students applauded and all registered Republican that day and accepted Jesus as their lord and savior. An eagle named “Small Government” flew into the room and perched atop the American Flag and shed a tear on the chalkboard. The pledge of allegiance was read several times, and God himself showed up and enacted a flat tax rate across the country.
The professor lost his tenure and was fired the next day. He died of the gay plague AIDS and was tossed into the lake of fire for all eternity.
Semper Fi.
p.s. close the borders
(You may have noticed no ‘foul’ language was used in this. This was so I wouldn’t be offensive…. 
Happy hunting bitches!
Addendum to Holy fornicating search terms Batman!
This is the best I can do…first shoot was taken out of previous post….sorry for the blur.
My mind was blown this morning. Get a load of these search terms that have directed people my way.
In fear of anyone thinking I was making this up, I took a screen shot. For your viewing pleasure….. You’re welcome.
Since these have been noticed this morning I decided that they should be recognized.
dick scum: Dear Sir/Madame,
I am very sorry to hear about your scum down under problem. I am not a medical professional or any other type of professional but I will do what I can to help since you were so rudely directed to my page.
A: Make sure you read all of my post. Laughter is the best medicine. It’s been clinically proven people who laugh daily live longer than people with aids, and I am funny as blazes.
B: Wash yo’ dick son! (with soap and hot water. not just with someone who uses mouthwash)
C: If you are a brand new transgender and aren’t sure how to maintain your newly procured phallus, see B.
D: If you manage to get rid of the scum make sure you only dip it into a clean orifice…not a scummy one. Dirty hoes is a no.
fuck you princess: Dear Thhpbpbpbpb,
Fuck me, no fuck you. I have a pseudo tittle, what do you have? Dick scum.
asshole with football in it: Dear Lost and Found
Sounds like you have lost your ball. May I suggest you look into your neighbors yard first. Or maybe upon your roof. If your football is still not found and resorting to looking for it in someones rectum is your only option you should seriously think about trading your Center.
fuck my mouth: Dear Trolling for a date
Check Craig’s List.
arm pit kiss: Dear Ewwwwww
What the hell? If you are ever redirected to me again feel free to leave a message explaining yourself.
assinatura george washington: Dear Portugal
Love, Princess Von Voodoo
There are two things in this world that scare the shit out of me. Clowns and Sharks. Someone asked me, after I wrote why my fear of 
clowns was completely rational, why I was scared of sharks.
Well you asked for it.
It all started when I was 11 years old. My family was at the beach one day, and my friend Jackie and I were out swimming in the deep blue. There were two older and rather hunky guys not to far away from us, so we proceeded to do all the stupid little girl crap that girls do. I was trying to flip my hair out of the water like Little Hasselhoff Mer-dork and Jackie was talking way too loud with emphatic hand gestures any Guido would be proud of.
The guys turned our way and after a moment they said “Hey girls” and we were like “Heeeeeeeyyyyy” *gigglesnort*. Then “Ya’ll should watch out for that fish.” Ohmahgah boys are sooooo stupid, we are in the fucking ocean, of course you watch out for fish. I reply “Um, okay thanks” and proceed to wonder how many awesome hair flips I wasted on two obvious mentally deficient people.
And then it hits me…..
No really, I got hit. In the back. By a huge and very dead mother fucking tuna. A tuna. Tuna. Tuna. Tuna.
This tuna wasn’t even kinda dead. It was so damn dead. How do I know? It’s middle was missing. Just gone. No guts, no ribs…nothing from gills to tail except spine and milky dead fishy eyes. It’s mouth was open in a terrified death scream and so was mine. I hauled my skinny wet ass out of that water so fast Jezzus got jealous.
So why aren’t I scared of tuna? Well because it didn’t eat its self did it? Nope, a shark did. It ate the middle of a tuna. FYI, tuna in my ocean can get to be 9ft long and weigh 800-1000lbs. I could have crawled inside it as if it were a lightsaber carved Tauntaun.
Why do sharks eat tuna? Because they can. They can eat anything they damn well please, like tasty fat lawyers, but they don’t, due to professional courtesy.
This day stayed with me my whole life. I had nightmares for weeks where a mommy tuna would beg me to help take care of her baby tunas.
I was in a pool once and when a beach ball brushed my back I damn neared past out and wouldn’t go back in all summer.
I won’t go near the shark tank at the local aquarium and I sure in the hell do not watch shark week ( I know that should have been capitalized but I don’t think the slimy bastards deserve it).
I had a friend once who went swimming on her period. She might as well have walked into a frat boys house full of horny drunken ass hats wearing cheese pizza cologne. After I reevaluated our friend ship, I let her know she was welcome to go to her grave alone. I mean come the fuck on. Blood is like Chanel #5 to sharks. True story.
A while back my brother told me about this movie that honored an amazing young surfer who was “involved” in a shark attack and even after having her arm bit off had the “courage” to go back into the ocean to continue living her free buffet dream. First of all, you don’t become involved in a shark attack. They don’t call and make sure your ready for that type of commitment. Second lets not get courage confused with insanity.
A shark ate her arm. It ate her arm. A couple 1000lbs fish with rows of razor-sharp teeth and skin designed to help them be hydrodynamic (that means that even their fucking skin is made to help it kill you faster) chomped off a piece of her body. She goes surfing in the middle of an apex predators home, one takes a piece of her for fun, lets her go, the stupid bitch goes back and someone decides she needs a movie to praise her overcoming her odds?! Fuck you Hollywood. You dumb twats. I hope she paddled in circles all day before you had to shell out for a fucking stunt double in a stumpy suit.
Son of a bitch. I can’t even think straight right now……I know this has been all over the place, but really. They make me flustered.
What I’m trying to say is that I hate mutha fuckin sharks in my mutha fuckin ocean. And that if you happen to drop a limb into the gaping maw of a prehistoric people eater…so be it. It’s your own damn fault. You have been warned. People are tasty.
P.s I’ve missed you too Mike. This is for you.
Why do clowns have fake names? Candy. Bo Bo. Mr.Rags. They use fake names to gain trust from the gullible and so they are harder to find. You know, like strippers.
Who pins ejaculating flowers to their lapel? Clowns. Hey kid wanna smell my flower? *squirt* All over your face!
Who laughs at said ejaculate? Clowns….
Why do clowns always wear gloves and wigs? Anybody who has watched C.S.I knows this one. Clowns are completely shaven so they don’t leave trace evidence. No? Then why the fuck are all their beards stippled on?! They wear gloves because they don’t want to leave fucked up fingerprints. I say fucked up because they dip their fingers in acid to burn the ridges off, but, once they figured out that the police have a database full of burnt pedo fingers they switched to gloves.
Why do they wear such big pants? Two reasons. One: they want to conceal their ragging boners when they smell cotton candy on little kids fingers. Two: they need space to carry away their victims. You can fit at least three small kids, two women or one fat chick in those trousers.
Don’t buy the pants bit? Ok then.
Why do they wear double protection? I don’t mean condoms either. When they are using a fat chick like that damn midget car they don’t worry about D.N.A. Too many donors to separate. I mean that they wear belts and suspenders at the same time. Can’t have an unconscious triplets falling out the ass of your pants.
Why do clowns have to wear such big shoes? Well you know what they say about clowns with big shoes…..they are homicidal fucking maniacs who eat baby kittens and use your blood as bubble bath!! That’s what!
Why are the drenched in neon color, crazy un-coordinated patterns and glitter? To distract your dumb ass from the friendly bum clown who is sneaking up behind you with his rubber chicken shiv.
Why do they have so many pockets? To hide their juggling scarves you say? Nope. Where else are they going to hide their duck tape, roofies, chloroform soaked rags, rope, lube, blind folds, handcuffs and bribe candy? Not in their fucking pants.
Not enough still?
“bed-time” there had to be something done to contain the ever-growing (and I think sentient) mountain of clothing at the foot of the bed. So I did what any industrious city-dweller would do and trucked off to the laundromat.
Yes, the laundromat: situated in between a party store ran by Achmed the sleaze-ball, a “No. 1” take out joint, a Caribbean dive bar and a place that sales ‘real human hair. guaranteed’ . Bull pen of the underpaid, Mensa meeting of the multi-personalities and on this day a collection of old world freaks meets trailer/hood chic.
Laundry-mat patron number 1: was a 50 something dark skin woman with aureoles the size of bologna rounds. How do I know this? She showed me. She showed us all. Through her once white sweater. Mmmmmm, get me some mayo bitch cause now I’m hungry.
Patron number 2: was with number 1 and was wearing a ruffled mini skirt and high-heels. Nothing like watching some cottage cheese thighs and juicy ass fighting for the center of gravity upon precarious heels. She held an entire 30 min conversation only using a handful of phrases. Such as: “for realz” and “whaaaaaa?” and “oh hellllll na he didn’t”.
Patron number 3 and 4: was a nice Chinese lady and her snot nose piece of shit 5 yr old. I mean here I am minding my own damn business and this little bastard leans over my lap and tells me that he has already beat the game I am playing on my phone. So like any rational adult I engage him in a battle of stats….he won. He then bugs me to watch “hilarious cat videos” on YouTube and proceeds to show me a video of a dog giving birth. Great. Nothing completes a nice bologna sandwich than bloody canine vulva.
Patron number 5: was a well dressed and out-of-place college kid. He was also so well dressed because he was a pimp. How do I know? Well because he asked if I would be interested in “making some money on the side” and had a triangle like sales pitch. Or would it be inverted triangle? Anywho. I really didn’t know if I should be offended or complimented. Did I look like a hopeful prostitute in my sweats and CBGB t-shirt? Does a laundry-mat fucktard like me scream “I’ll love you long time”! Fucking maybe, jerk. Or am I so super sexy in my sweats he just can’t wait to rake in the thousands of dollars I’d make and smack me around? Oh how I love the hood.
Last but not least was patron number 6: ever see a toddler trying to carry something so big it was just funny to watch the struggle? That was this man caring in his baskets. I named him Mr. Woo. Mr.Woo is a tidbit left over from a post war era comedy, and Mr. Woo had a real big problem with the sweatshop state of the air conditioner in this particular laundry. “It so hawt! It so hawt in here! What they think dis is some kin of sweatshop! I here to do laundry not sweatshop!” Poor Mr.Woo is about to have a coronary. “You!” He points at me. “You with the hair! You prop doe open. You prop back doe and I prop fwont doe. You do it now!” Well shit. I look for a plastic wedge to fit under the door and can’t find one. I tell him it’s no use. “What? No, you roll sock and stick in doe!” Yo, I am not rolling one of my socks to stick in the damn door. “Well than you use slippa!” Woah Mr.Woo. Woah. I am not propping the door open with my fucking flippy flop. You can kiss my ass. Someone wants to be my pimp! I’m important damnit. He shakes his head. “I have nine grand-daughter. Nine!” I don’t know if he told me this cause I didn’t measure up or what…he grabs a box of Tide, rips the packet of powder out, crushes the box and wedges it into the back door.
Why is it that the weirdest shit happens at gas stations? I have seen fights, vagabonds, cars rolling away due to the parking brake not engaged, drunk people throwing up, people showing way to much p.d.a, and even people with out pants. Screw ‘People of Wal-mart’. Someone needs to do a ‘People of WaWa’ site.
One pretty awesome and one pretty embarrassing thing has happened to me at said gas station today.
After paying for my gas I was confronted by a bum. Excuse me; a transient..for all you P.C. assholes.
Bum: Ma’am do you have a couple dollars you can spare?
Me: A couple dollars?! What the fuck man. What happened to can you spare some change?!
Bum: Don’t blame me blame the economy. Inflation is a bitch.
Did this just happen? (pause for deliberation)
Me: Well shit man. You got me there.
I gave him a couple dollars.
While pumping my gas a guy with a really cool pair of Pumas on (I’m a shoe freak. I’m on the edge of psycho when it comes to shoes. I especially love black high heels, Adidas and Pumas) was pumping his in front of me.
Me: Hey man, nice shoes. I really like em’.
Guy: Oh thanks. Nice D.S.L’s. I really like them….wink*
I have no idea why this guy is talking about Internet crap so I just smile and say thank you.
Later that day I run into my brother (I have four btw) and I tell him about the guy.
Bro: So some asshole tells you that you have d.s.l’s and you smile and say thank you?!
Me: Uh, yes.
Bro: You dumb-ass. Do you even know what that means?
Me: No, I guess not. Is it bad?
Bro: I’m not telling you.
What the crap! I go to my other brothers. They all refuse to tell me and proceed to joke me about being clueless. So I go ask my father.
Me: Hey dad, when a guy tells a girl that they like their d.s.l’s what does it mean?
Dad: Who the fuck said that to you!?
Me: (Ut uh, my dad hardly ever curses) Some guy at the gas station.
Dad: Go ask your brothers what it means.
Me: I tried. They won’t tell me.
Dad: Well shit….
He hems and haws and turns beet red. Oh for the love of Judas Priest!
Me: Dad, I have four brothers. It can’t be as bad as half the stuff I’ve heard.
Dad: Well, it means dick sucking lips hunny….
My jaw drops. My dad just said dick sucking lips. My daaaadddd… Sweet baby jeebus this was almost as awkward as when we went and watched Hostel together. Seriously?! And to think I just smiled and said thank you. Facepalm* You hormonal jerks and all your acronyms.
So I have been asked some questions since this meager blog was started in September. I have ignored them because frankly I don’t like them, but hey, you can’t just ignore things you don’t like to make them go away. If that were to be true the fucking McRib would die already along side Rosie O’Donalld. Oooooo maybe Rosie can eat a McRib and it can then get lodged in her fat neck and they can both die at the same time…..
So I’m here to answer all the random questions…I wish they were fake.
Q: “I really enjoy your blog but I can’t seem to get over all the profanity. Really creative people can write and get the point without such language. Is this how you speak in real life?”
A: Uh, yes?! I mean i don’t call my kids ass hats or anything and I usually wear a ball-gag in public unless I’m provoked….As far as being really creative, well, that hurt my feeling. (I meant feeling, I only have one left and you fucking hurt it) I’m one creative bitch! Com’on, STD harmonica?! Sausage super highway?! Ass monkey!? I mean not even calling a chromosome challenged neighbor spoon master is creative enough?! You Ma’am are one tough costumer. I’m glad you enjoy my blog. One day I might be mature enough not to use such colorful fucking language, but it’s not looking very sodly promising.
Q: “How can you be so harsh on animals and kids with needs?”
A: One kid and I love bunnies. Your mouth. Shut it.
Q: “So when do we get to see your face? I mean are you horribly disfigured? I highly doubt that is your actual picture (though if it were, you’d be hella hot). All I want to do is put a face to the voice in my head. Not like a creepy voice in my head that tells me to touch myself. Like the voice I imagine if I were to listen…this is too hard. You probably think I touch myself while reading your blog. OK! so what if I do?! Is that so wrong?”
A: *I actually tried to write this funny bastard back but his email didn’t work so hopefully he will see this* My dear sir. It is not my actual picture, it is a picture of Elvira, who is hella hot. I don’t know how comfortable I am with posting an actual picture of me. Then again how would you know anyway? Imagine if you will tweedy bird with a ridiculous amount of long curly hair. That is what i look like. You nutty freak. I actually just read a post that is on this subject and funny to boot, Unmasking the Gravatar by Joehoover.
There are some more that I need to answer but this was exhausting enough. Readers, I love questions and comments. I don’t even give a flying monkey’s butt if they aren’t covered in rainbow sprinkles and singing my praises. I would prefer it though:) So, what do you think?
I like to make things. I like to make a lot of things. I mostly like to make people uncomfortable ...mostly.
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