Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Monday, July 29, 2013
Rainy days and Mondays always get me down. Of course so does the state of the Union and the youth of America. Seriously. Can someone please tell Miley Cyrus to stop dry humping pillows? And stop acting “street,” we all know your heritage, hillbilly.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
It’s a good thing this isn’t life size or, you know, you’d need a microscope to see yours. Oh wait, this isn’t a dick…
Thursday, January 3, 2013
In the style of “My Favorite Things.”
Rain on my glasses, smalltalk, and proposals;
Fast cars and loud bars and stinky disposals;
Your face, DVD players, and tangled up strings;
These are a few of my most hated things!
Rouched sleeves on t-shirts and dogs without leashes;
slow walkers, loud neighbors, and warm, sunny beaches;
overwrought novels and actors who sing;
these are a few of my most hated things!
Yes, your poem bites!
No, you can’t sing!
People are “whos,” not “thats!”
These are a few of my most hated things;
And it’s not the pants, you’re fat!
Happy New Year, assholes!
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Hey party people! Just putting the finishing touches up for the mega-rager I’m going to be throwing tonight. I’ve got my Feminist Kill Joy banner up, the bras are crackling merrily in the fireplace, and the menstrual relief tea is brewing on the stove. Yep, it’s beginning to feel a lot like Post-Sexism Neo-Socialist Utopia! And don’t you worry about getting bored. I’ve got activities a plenty. First, we’ll be pinning the pubic hair on the vagina(I would have gotten witty with the game name, but using euphemisms for vagina steals our power), then we’ll be pushing real hard until our leg hair grows, and then we’ll be taking back the word “cunt.” Be there or be
square whatever shape you want because no one tells you what to do!
Monday, October 8, 2012
There are at least a couple of good reasons not to have a hot tub installed at your home. Number one: it’s not the 70s. But if you just can’t resist the urge to soak in a warm vat of diluted urine and spilled wine coolers, not to fear. The Hot Tug is here. (Hold your applause.) Now you can take your
show urinary tract infection on the road white-trash lake to remind your neighbors of the urgent need to circle-circle-dot-dot give themselves a douchebag shot. It a public service, really.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Something tells me these feet belong to a very lonely woman that probably eats a lot of Dinty Moore Stew.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
I don’t know who you are, pleated-jeans.com, but I know who you’re going to be — the father (or other mother) of my unborn child (or adopted dog).
The only thing worse than my phone ringing is an actual human at my door. So, yeah, let’s add annoyance to injury with a mega-tool-tastic piano doorbell. Jam your Chopsticks or Heart and Soul or whatever other song you learned at Church Camp, then pray to your god that I’m in the mood to kill you quickly.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
I was reading Apartment Therapy (don’t get any ideas, you keep reading BHG until you finish the whole site, young lady / man) when I ran across this photo of a candle app. I was like, “This can’t be an actual thing. Someone is making mischief in the Photoshop.” Wrong. I couldn’t be bothered to click through to read the whole article, so I googled it. It’s real. Owning this app should make you a leper. Like saying “OMG” out loud. You should be declared legally dead and escorted by a mourning procession of your friends and family to an isolated colony where you can live out the rest of your days in a cave reading The Bible by your precious candle app. Unclean!