We sat as a family on December 25th inside my sister and her husband’s newly purchased country home.

My Grandmother, Dorthy, at 100 years old took the gift I had got her and stared it down.

Days prior I was shopping, and as always, full of anxiety being one with the public. What do you get for a 100 year old woman?

Easy.

A lava lamp.

She buried her nails into the wrapping paper and methodically disrobed her gift.

Upon completion, she held it and stared.

She slowly raised her head and eyed me, knowing that my gift was one of comedic desperation and I was clueless as to what she would want.

“This is lovely, my dear,” she paused briefly, the timing of a sarcastic veteran, “I thought it was a bottle of wine.”

She stole the show. She stole the day.

She was a thief of happiness. An infectious being that radiated that rare energy that wouldn’t allow discomfort or sadness.

“Oh, Corey,” she said, happy I took her hand in mine, “You’re a good boy.”

The doctors said she would have 4 days, I decided she would have another few years, she decided after 20 hours it was time to go.

And go she did.

And what a story she was.

The curtains have drawn, and once again, she stole the show.

I can’t get you a cup of tea, anymore. I can’t make you supper. I can’t bring you your medications and I can’t cover your feet when you are cold.

You were the best roommate I’ve ever had.

You were lovely, my dear.

Asking For My Squirrel

By Heidi Ferrer

This is not a pretty story at all, so look away if you’re faint of heart. Also look away if you’re against masturbation, because I agree with the famous quote by Woody Allen that it’s “sex with someone you love” (hopefully).

Plus, it’s heart healthy and you can’t catch any diseases from it, so go fap today and bless your heart. And I mean that in the good way, not the bless your heart Southern for fuck you way.

Yeah, so I’m on Twitter (@GirltoMom) and I guess it was last Spring that I was coming off of a medication that I had been on for about a year.

Long story short, my little boy had a serious health problem, now he’s basically cured, but at the time I got depressed, went to a therapist and ended up going on Lexapro.

Some people who go on these types of meds lose their sex drive completely, luckily that didn’t happen for me, but I decided to go off of it last Spring anyway and experienced crazy withdrawal symptoms. They included weird nightmares, wild mood swings and intense hyper-sexual feelings.

It was like a million gallons of blood flow was pumping directly to my labia and clitoris. We can say pussy here, Right? Cool. My pussy was pumping.

I had only really just discovered the world of Twitter comedy at that time, the people who are not famous celebrities (yet) like @MidgetSpar, but have these super cool avis, lots of followers, and clever, interesting tweets. If not an art form, it’s at least creative, and it fascinated me.

I was unemployed and had a lot of time on my hands, I’m a blogger and a writer so I work from home anyway…so I ended up spending hours in bed some days on my iPhone, trying to ride out these drug withdrawal mood swings that sometimes included crying hysterically for no reason.

Many people on Twitter are funny, so here I was, hyper-sexual and laughing while reading their tweets and getting turned on reading sexy stuff and well, porn re-tweeted into my timeline, and I was intermittently masturbating and crying and hoping I wouldn’t injure myself.

A tweet of my from that time was:

“When I have a lot of sex I want more, but then I may hurt myself. It’s a snatch 22.”

A lot of people were doing the “asking for a friend” joke format then, and it occurred to me that if anybody saw me, they would cart me away to the nuthouse, so I tweeted this:

“How many times can you masturbate and cry before the police come? Asking for my squirrel.”

One of the funniest parts of this strange situation, to me, was that a lot of people starred and re-tweeted that one, which says to me I’m not the only one out there masturbating and crying after. Good to know. The world of Twitter embraces the freaks, which I still find really touching and sweet.

I was pretty bipolar for a while there, it took about 2 and a half or three months before the mood swings and the hyper-sexuality totally evened out to normal. I used “medical Grey Goose” to survive some of it, which reflected in some of my tweets around that time-

“Hey she’s not only bipolar, unstable and hyper horny, she’s also drunk! Here are her boobs as a thank you. Carry on.”

I’ve deleted the boob pics since then, but I even put it on my personal blog that “OMG I flashed my boobs on Twitter!” so it’s not a dirty little secret or anything. Personally, I’m way more shocked by violence or cruelty in the world, the naked human body is natural, kids.

I am a sexual person, so the sexual tweets are not 100% made up (some are clearly jokes, like I’m not throwing orgies and I don’t have a pimp, etc.) but that crazy period partially created the Twitter persona I have now, Miss B-licious.

She’s me, but she’s also a “hooker with a heart of gold” and an alter ego, my personal blog www.GirltoMom.com is the PG mom side of me and Miss B is mostly raunchy and a fun place to play with my dirty side.

We’ll see where it evolves, but I love being part of a community where you can be batshit crazy, curse a blue streak, and people well, don’t mind a bit. I was stunned I didn’t scare everyone away with my filthy tweets and meltdowns back then.

Since I have a five year old boy, I’m comforted to know that I can delete all of my Miss B tweets someday when he’s old enough to read them, if I want, and still keep the account.

Because I wouldn’t want to lose the kind of friends who stay in the foxhole with you while you crack jokes about your pussy, flash your boobs, fap and water your ladygarden with tears- sometimes of sadness, but mostly from laughter.

You can follow Heidi on Twitter at @GirltoMom

A Road Trip To Forget

The beginning of any relationship is always most fragile. I don’t
think people hide who they are as much as they try to ease the other
person into it. I truly believe there are things that you should
never be comfortable doing around your significant other. This is a
story about one of those things.

A few months into dating my ex girlfriend, we decided to get away
together. Nothing too extravagant, but a much needed break. We
settled on an extended weekend in Nashville. A short 8 hour drive,
and we would be talking with a twang and singing about pick-up trucks
in no time.

On the way down to Nashville, we stopped for lunch. A few hours
later, digestion had occured and nature was starting to call. I’m
stuck in a car with a woman. What do I do? Where do I go?

We were not that far from our destination, so I decided to hold out
until we made it to our hotel. After checking in, going up to our
room, and pretending like it was the most amazing hotel room I had
ever seen, I could hold out no longer. I had to take care of
business.

She started to unpack her things, and I needed to get away. This
wasn’t like being at home. I could not escape to the bathroom
farthest away from everything. We were practically in the same room,
separated by nothing but a thin wall. I turned the tv on to try and
provide some audio camoflauge.

I slipped away to the bathroom and unleashed the fury as gentlemanly
as I could. I did a pretty good job. Quickly and quietly, and a
pretty good chance of not bringing too much attention to what had just
happened. Or so I thought, until I realized that the toilet was not
flushing.

Are you fucking kidding me?? I can’t walk out and just leave this
sitting in there. There was no water in the tank, and no valve to
turn to fix the situation. After standing there in shock for a few
minutes, I had to go out and face the inevitable. I had to tell her
what was going on, and the we needed to get maintenance called and up
here pronto.

My face was beyond red, and I was thoroughly embarrassed. Only a few
short months into our relationship and I had already done the one
thing that men hate doing around a woman. I was married for ober 8
years, and never had my ex wife that close to me while I used the
bathroom.

The maintenance man came up handled things, as her and I sat there
awkwardly on the bed. We thanked him for his help, and quickly
figured out something to go see as a way of getting out of the room.

I still keep in touch with this ex girlfriend. Almost 5 years later,
and this part of the trip has never been spoken of again. I wish I
could forget it just as easily.

You can follow Kind Of A Smart ass on Twitter at @KindOfASmartass

Everyone Has A Talent

Its amazing how everyone wants to find that “special someone” but most are afraid to go there. You know, to that horrible, vulnerable place. The “I don’t want him to know that I live in the land of emotional nerve-ville”. Or that I am possibly a second away from throwing up or crapping myself.

Why is that exactly?

What is so fucking horrible about being vulnerable in life? I think a part of it is based on the fact that we are all too damn afraid to look stupid that we don’t even try. My talent in life is my ability to attract douche bags. If there is a douche bag within a 5 mile radius, I am hopelessly attracted. Its a special talent that I have honed over the years. It’s my douche bag magnet. It’s on me some where. I just need to find where it is hiding and destroy it.

I know in the past my friends would bring me out to meet the new boyfriend to see if I thought he was a “nice” guy so that they could run screaming from the building and from the impending disaster if I did. Everyone has a talent in life and this is mine, folks. But there is a flip side to it all. Do I think all men are dip shit douche bags? Hell no. I know that not all guys would forget about a date due to eating a Kraft dinner and watching PVR.

Yup ladies, it’s happened.

Or would leave you alone at 1:00am in a deserted parking lot instead of walking you to your car.

I have met some gems. But there are those ones that truly blow your mind. The ones that after you say goodnight, your ovaries actually high-five each other, kinda guys. I’ve seen the other side of things. I have met one person in particular that showed me that not all men are evil.

You know who you are.

I’ve also learned that without risk there is no reward. So by this time next year I hope to be de-douche bagged and ready to find the true love that all romantic comedy’s shove down our throats. Either that, or I will just plan on buying cats.

Lots and lots of cats ..and start buying my “I give up” clothes. Who knows, 2014 could be a big year. I might finally get my “big break” and end up on Hoarders with my 78 cats in a moo moo. Good to have goals ladies and gentlemen.

Either way, if anyone wants to trade my douche bag magnet for a nice guy one, I am game.

You can follow Lani Hayden on Twitter at @Lani_Hayden

The GoodBye

I see him across the courtyard and I smile. It is him… Yes? No.
It looks exactly like him and nothing like him all at once. Then his lip curls up when he
smiles back at me. It’s him. That’s his smirk.

The courtyard is full of people we know but they’re careful not to cross the invisible
line that connects the two of us. Their faces are even slightly blurred, as if he faded
them out so I would have no choice but to look at his strange, familiar face. There’s a
fountain to my left but the falling water makes no noise. There are no distractions. He’s
watching me watching him.

The people begin to press in, forcing us together. “You’re dead,” I say, as I
shake my head in an attempt to erase this knowledge from my brain.
He’s dead.

Yet, here he is, reaching for my hand.
He holds it awkwardly, only by my fingertips, and squeezes hard. Too hard. “Tell my
wife I love her,” he says, his eyes pleading.

I feel our time together begin to slip, so I tighten my grasp. It’s useless. With a final
squeeze, he releases my hand with such force that his fingertips leaving mine make a
snapping sound that pops open my eyes. I can still hear the snap somewhere in the
distance but the courtyard is gone. The people are gone. He is gone. Again.

Alone in the dark, my arm is reaching out to nothing. But the sound of that snap echoes
in my memory, and the lingering presence of his hand remains on mine.

You can follow Jenn on Twitter at @Jenninthecorner

You can’t make this stuff up. Unless you’re super religious. In which case, just about everything you believe in is made up. So there’s that.

In any case, someone on my Facebook posted this picture:

This should be called “Lack of Logic”

That’s about the dumbest fuckin thing I’ve ever seen. And believe me, I’ve seen a lot of dumb shit across the Internet. Now I’m not one to use “lol” because frankly, I think it looks tacky. But I don’t get angry or judgmental at people who do use it. That’s their choice, who am I to make it for them? So, why in the name of all things science do people have to believe anything their Christian brethren post on Facebook? I guess we’ll never know…

Christianity: God is good, but Harry Potter, Star Wars, Pokemon, unicorns, and acronyms are all works of the devil.

Seems legit.

You can follow Aaron on Twitter @DarkMessiahNF (opens in new tab/window).

1. Breaking Eclipses Twilight Dawn Electric Boogaloo 2 – $43.6 million

This movie is about an arm wrestling competition. If the stoic bitch wins, Jacob has to fuck some wolf pussy and stop going after babies. If the guy who can’t act with arm muscles wins, ladies and gay dudes will continue masturbating on queue.

2. Skyfall – $35.5 million

3. Lincoln – $25.6 million

4. Rise of the Guardians – $23.7 million

Darth Vadar returns in this 932nd Star Wars installment where he bangs the Tooth Fairy and it really pisses the Easter Bunny off. This movie isn’t for kids, though the marketing suggests it. Every living creature in this film goes full frontal.

5. Life of Pi – $22.4 million

This movie is about an Indian kid (or something) and a big fat piece of shit tiger that go sailing for 2 hours. I know, I can’t wait to see it, either.

6. Wreck-It Ralph – $16.5 million

The long awaited sequel to Boogie Nights. Ralph has abnormally large hands which obviously means he’s gotta big cock and just beats up cartoon pussy for 90 minutes. I dunno.

7. Red Dawn – $14.2 million

Hey, remember that cult classic with Patrick Swayze (and others)? This is like the same thing but with Thor, the little girl from The Hunger Games, and some Nickelodeon stars. Hang in there for the end, when Wreck-It Ralph crosses over from his movie to this, and destroys some ass with his cartoon cock. I dunno.

8. Flight – $8.4 million

9. Silver Linings Playbook – $4.3 million

10. Argo – $3.8 million

Pretty sure Argo is a film about Ben Affleck’s beard running around Somalia asking kids if they ever watched Good Will Hunting. Then he shaves his beard and glues it on the last dog known to the country to disguise it and help it escape where the beard eventually falls off and the dog gets eaten in the Philippines, anyway.

These reviews may or may not be entirely accurate.

Macaroni Monstrosities, Mom’s and Mexico

My Mother, I’m quite certain, will never read this post. I hope. It’s fairly safe to say she’d be mortified, horrified, embarrassed, and humiliated.

Let’s continue, shall we?

Each and every one of us has a lifelong scar within us that comes from the same terrifying place: accidentally walking in on our parents having sex. We heard doors close, we heard giggles, and then we heard strange sounds. Some of us, the incredibly unfortunate ones, actually walked in and witnessed our parents (let’s call it) bliss to our horror, thus creating shock, disgust, internal bleeding and permanent left eye vision loss.

Don’t tell me your own version of events. I don’t wanna’ trade stories on this one.

I recall as a little girl, proudly heading up the stairs to show my Mom the new macaroni art I had created for her. Bursting with pride, I marched to her known place (the den of sin) anticipating a shower of affection and praise. I was unaware of the nightmare that awaited me behind door #1. I didn’t receive any praise. Instead I was greeted with sheer panic, dread and unforeseen monstrosities.

I’ve never been able to stomach macaroni since.

What I can tell you, is what I saw. Skin. Kissing. Kissing of skin. Touching. More skin. Touching of skin. Gross! It was the most chilling show I’ve ever seen. I’ve been to Mexico. I’ve seen some stuff. Nothing has ever come close. Seeing one of your parents bare assed before noon on a Sunday tends to make a donkey show a bit easier to stomach. To this day, my folks still have no idea the trauma they bestowed on me, or that I was even there, because, well…

They were kinda’ busy.

If you are a parent, for Gawd’s sake, even the biggest glass of chocolate milk, a pestered after pay-per-view movie and an endless supply of marshmallows for breakfast are STILL not enough to keep an active child from wandering. Get a sitter, go out for the night, or drop your kids off at Nana and Popa’s. Hmm. Nana and Popa. They had sex too, I’m sure. Ugh. My point is, these scars are real, and they aren’t going away.

On second thought, I hope you do stumble upon this Mom. Your business is now out there, I am breathing a sigh of (shared) relief, and suddenly I have a craving…

For a big bowl of macaroni.

Follow The Sculptress on Twitter @The_Sculptress

Steering Wheel

Whether it’s at 9 and 3, 10 and 2, or at high noon like most of us asshats, we’ve all gripped one. As kids we climbed behind it, recklessly turning it side to side, pretending to drive away from our abusive parents. As teenagers, the day couldn’t come fast enough that we’d finally be facing it with the car actually running. As adults, well, we really have no option, and it fucking sucks. We’ve beat on it when we’re angry, because some asshole cut us off. We’ve beat on it when we’re daydreaming of being the world’s best drummer, when we really have the musical talent of the Black Eyed Peas. It’s the steering wheel, ladies and gents. It is by far the most unappreciated component of the piece of shit you call a car.

The steering wheel has been an integral component of the automobile since its conception. Without the steering wheel, we could not maneuver the vehicle to our desired destination, or narrowly avoid the barrier after chugging a case of Schlitz. Even though its primary use is it to steer the vehicle, it has been upgraded throughout the years, the only constant being its circular shape. From the addition of the horn, airbag and home to features such as cruise control, radio and phone, the steering wheel now looks it’s supposed to steer a fucking spaceship.

So, the next time you’re out and about to get ice cream or simply cruising for prostitutes, give your steering wheel the respect it deserves. I honestly have no idea what that entails, but I had no other way of ending this ridiculous entry.

You can follow Texas Veteran on Twitter at @TexasVeteran

Your Mom Thought It Was Funny

The average person won’t tell you when they think something you said was funny. They will smile, laugh, share your jokes with friends, and anticipate more.

They will use your words in situations and pass them off as their own if it goes over. If not, they jump all over, “I read that online”.

Occasionally you will get the ones who make your day. The ones who let you know what you said, your thought, gave them a minute of laughter.

Bless those people’s hearts. Their pretty anal-tastic hearts.

This is an ode to those who never speak up until you’ve said something they don’t agree with.

The ones who will laugh in the distance and never make themselves known until that ONE joke spills from your mind and makes it’s way to the internet.

Religion, politics, sex, drugs … it’s all funny until you strike a chord.

Then …

… they turn into self-richeous, annoying, crusading, pieces of dog shit.

Cry babies. Pussies. Whiners. Complainers.

Do everyone a favor, my holier-than-thou-art friend, if you can’t vocalize the good .. shut the fuck up with what you find offensive.

Nobody likes you.

Your life sucks.

You have no happiness.

Leave the people who try to make others laugh, be ..

… and go cheat on your spouse again, you judgmental fuck.

Hey, look … it’s Steve Guttenberg.

Futuristic Jews Unite

The End