Just simple…I choose to move my two boys over 200 miles away to be with my hubby.  He had a job away from the boys and myself, traveling home only on the weekends.  There are some days I wonder if I made the right choice.

The problem…the hubby and an ex-girlfriend.  What you say?  I think the same thing when I think about this.  He had been communicating with this girl for quite some time before by luck would have it I found out.  She was with in an hour of where we were living.  Didn’t feel really good finding that out.  I found emails…emails with words of “still in love with you”, “I will always love you”, and even one choice little “lets have a fling, get together and see what comes of it”.  WTF!!!!  I have and will never cheat on my husband.  I value my morals too much and myself to compromise myself and my beliefs.

I confronted him.  Asked him to stop all communications and even to send this chic an email asking her to not contact him any more.  I saw this email.  He told me he would not contact her again.  I took faith in him that he would not.  This was 3 months ago.  What did I find today?  He fucking contacted her again!  Sent her a message on Facebook saying he was thinking of her and for her to text him during the day, week days only.  DAMN!  There went that fucking promise.  Then she sent him a message.  Hell yes I read it.  In it he had tried to call her.  WTF!  Ok now I am pissed!  So I proceed to send a message to everyone on her friends list with her same last name in efforts to hopefully alert HER HUSBAND!  Then I sent her a message.   Now hopefully she will know how it feels to have a spouse upset.  Oh yeah, I confronted the hubby again.  Went the same as last time, but this time he deleted his Facebook account.   I don’t go snooping, these things just happen to present themselves to me.  That’s the glory of it.  Every lie or deception he does comes back around and I find out.   I thank God for this.  So now my trust meter has gone back down to zero.  What do I do now?  Did I make the right choice with packing everything up, move away from my family, my friends, loss my job…for all this?  I really do not know.  I want to believe I made the right choice to be with my husband, but he sure doesn’t make it easy.  What ever will I do if this happens again!

Oh yeah, this blog wouldn’t be Callinghimout (her in this case) if I didn’t tell you what her name was.  Shawna Cassity Flournoy…you are not worth the time my husband wastes talking to you.  I hope your husband finds out all this.  I believe in Karma and yours is coming your way.

But Esquire telling dbag guys to go to a Phish concert?

First of all, obviously the mag’s and Phish’s audience don’t jive at all.

Second of all, aren’t you like a dozen years late?

And, by and large, Phish is still not for me. But if you like Music — even if you’ve never driven a used Volvo, covered something with bumper stickers, owned several pairs of worn-down corduroys, attended an AP anything class, or smoked pot indoors with 20,000 people — you should see them play live at some point.

Oh wow – I’m sure that took a long time to come up with.  That’s like saying I hung out with some Jews and we ate bagels.

I haven’t really listened to Phish or been in the scene for ten years, but still, I’m gonna call these guys Assholes.

JAJAJAJAJAJAJA.

Que la vie est drôle.

On est rien qu’amis.

Wow?

Comprends-tu que

Fuis-moi je te suis, suis-moi je te fuis

& que juste en me disant ça, JE TE SUIVRAIS ENCORE PLUS?!

Maudit que y a des gens pas fort fort desfois.

Maudit que t’es con.

Maudit que tu comprends pas que je suis bien!

Maudit que t’es con de faire en sorte qu’on peut même pu redevenir amis comme avant.

A

S

S

H

O

L

E

JAJAJAJAJA.

Je ne fais plus rire à présent.

Parce que y aura pu de John Anderson?
Mais que je veux que John Anderson reste dans ma vie

J-HO

JE SUIS PUNIE.

A CAUSE DE FUCKING NOTES

JE VAIS TUER MA MÈREEEEEEEEEE.

Comment vais-je pouvoir me confier à mon blog alors que je n’aurais pas Internet?
La vie serait vraiment trop plate.

Surtout que c’est l’hiver maintenant!!!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

J-HO

y’all know dose timez when life changes so damn fast u cant keep up and you just wanna slap yo fro till it dont hurt no mo?

WELL DAT HAPPENED TO CAOCAO.

alll becuz of  a boi named REMY’D who didnt know how to be cool, i just wantin’ him to record maybe ONE song wit me, nahhhhhh, he cant do even dat.  we dont even HAVE TO MEET, all i need is for him to send me audio record via email or whatever and i can make the track, i even offered him track with EMPIRE OF THE SUN, but he don’t care, not interested in sending me ONE VERSE, just ten bars or so would do it and my shit would be a hit.

because of that, Pony Canyon Records not interested in my stuff any more, they only want the record if I can get featured artists on board who are ‘fresh’, and they said remy’d sounds good.  so now they off the chrismtas list, niggaz.  check my LEGIT shit in at tha door and say no mo.  only Aftermath and Roc-a-Fella interested now, GOOD told me to fuck off as well.  life so bad right now caocao be hittin’ the weed hard in the mornings, gonna maybe hit the heroin (guy in normo sells the shiz behind place called rock pit every night at like 2, just near skater haven. takes 2 long to travel from penno though just for a hitt(

so NOW since shit turned upside don, Caocao Me in the Ear is NOT where i am at in my life.  that album was like 50% written so far, so not gonna touch it again until I get my shiz together.  felt like I needed somethin more hardcore, something to express cao’s angryu and pain effectively, so I started writin’ somethin new instead, gon’ be on ANOTHER Mixtape which i be doin now and gon’ release FIRST before Caocao Me.  dunno bout mixtape name yet, but here’s the lyrics to first song from, He Raped Me Like We Was Brokeback.

(verse 1)
Woke up one morning, said hi to the world
Life good, bitch gone, but I still got my words
Fuck her, fuck me, all I need is the time
Got less got more, lesbos and a dime
Shit a brick, I say, start a block Caocao
Show your dick in public, fuck how how??
Then one day I find some dope shit
I can laugh, drift off, even take a hit
Coolest blog on the net, we all feel the same
Then one day I look for this dude’s name
Remy’d on my telly, good food in my belly
Life looks up and I wanna get back wit Shelly
I say why not, take my shit to the streets
Get signed, record tracks, bring money in heaps
Then I get a brainwave, my shit don’t stop beating
‘Cause I know a realer nigga than the ones that be sheetin’
His name Remy, his heart on fire like mine
We got wurds that go higher, we got so much time
I wanna hit him up, we’d be magic together
But the fucker waits six weeks to return my calls
I wanna just sit here and cut off his balls
But I wait for him, think the time will be right
Then one day my attempts come to light
He hits me up in my Cafe on the Fourth Avenue
He sits down, takes a shit and checks out the view
Fucker told me to get lost, didn’t wanna be near
And now ‘Pac’s words about niggas echo in my ear
They say…

(chorus)
THAT BOY RAPED ME, HE RAPED ME MUMMY
I JUST WANTED LOVE BUT HE TOOK MORE THAN I COULD GIVE
HAD CHEESE AND HONEY BUT INSTEAD HE SHOT MY KID
JUST WANTED A HUG BUT HE SODOMISED ME ROUGHLY
AND NOW I CAN’T WALK ON THE STREETS WITHOUT NIGGAS BUSTIN’
THIS SHIT WAS BROKEBACK I FUCKED MY DOG LAST NIGHT
BUT THE FRENCH-KOREAN’S CRIMES WERE MORE HEINOUS
YOU RAPED ME

(verse 2)
Niggas told me God was in the details
Didn’t need Talib Kwele to show me blacks lie
Now I lost my fuckin faith in the way shit goes down
All I know is Remy’d and me was fuckin’ around
I got a ghost in my shell and it screams ‘Fuck you’
I got a Hina in my love and she wants to screw
My shit falls out all over his manhwa ass
Now I need an excuse to go jerk my ass
I work my ass, shoot dirt from my ass
And every little thing makes me pump that bass
Did I say that right?  Fish bass
Fishmonger hellmonger hellraiser dog chaser REMY’D
Once I said I’d pump cum with soldiers
One of them was Remy, he was Remy’dorange
That lyric made me, that’s what got me far
The first nigga to pump out orange and a rhyme bought my new car
What else is there to do, I can’t see through
All I’ve got left is ten bitches and a crime wave fuckin’ me over like 50 on Power of the Dollar
He said…

(outro)
What more can I say?  Rape is a crime
Maybe sometime soon the cops be comin’ for Remy
Takin’ him too far with my GHETTO QU’ARAN!!
Yeah I be gettin’ racial and religulous right there
Fuck it bitch, lets just let down our hair
Tommy hit the drugs again, he be takin’ it far
But don’t you nut fuckers worry, I ain’t goin’ far
This gon’ make me again, jus’ wait and see!
FUCK THE HATERS!  CAOCAO PREMIERE 2010!  FIRST MIXTAPE!  LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME NIGGERS!
Don’t go near that Black Secret World even if he offers you candy…
…I just wanted to have a tensome with you and eight or seven ladies, dude.

that song first had 20 verses but i totally cut it down to what you see her becuase my anger was eatin me and i had to be subjective about this shiz.  biggest beef o my life gon’ be with the boi i considered my master… dis fucked up, its like if fiddy and em had a fight (GOD FORBID).

a n y w a y I’ma hit yu guyz back soon wit my new mixtape name and tracklist, and obviously sum new lyrics and audio demos.  hit y’all later!!

gonna go get my hit now… I feel like a dog infested my ear with rat poison that he found in the garbage…

ALL corporates are Earning/ Manufacturing / Marketing / Sales with help of guys, then why they are licking at those Fanny Queefs??.. So Guys, let’s show them our unity and give strong objection to support such campaigns. It’s high time now to show ground to this moron business tycoons.

• Any corporates have highest number of men as employees ( rather than brothels, I am not aware that either any of them in to that business or not?)
• We men use maximum products or sponsor those products on behalf of our wives or GFs
• We men work in hazardous environment for them
• We men Work in odd hours.
• We men Work for more than our half of life for them
• We men pay in higher tax slab to governments.
• We men who never get parental leaves like female use to get maternity leaves
• We men who suffer from all devils of society like false charges of rape, dowry, molestation etc. even though we became victim many times.
• We men always get biased judgements from judiciary even though we have maximum number of lawyers and judges as male.
• We men get comparatively higher punishment for the same kind of crime commuted by women.

So when it time for welfare why always fund / support / advertisement goes in favour of female??

If they can start one campaign we men can start thousand campaigns against them. Don’t taste our patience..

This blog is created to show stong objection to www.shaveindia.com and W.A.L.S promoted by Gillette.

Girls, If you give us razor, and say that shave these stubble then only I am gonna to just ive you a kiss you on your face, Then beware we will give it back to you and ask you to save your pubic hairs, else we are not gonna to F$$$ you. which you use to decorate in different shapes like heart, diamond, moon, triangle, square and many times   smiles also to please / attract men..  

a primal root  review

You know, there’s no clear definition for what Trash Cinema is exactly. It’s always in the eye of the beholder. To me, Trash Cinema can be one of three things. 1) A movie that is so astonishingly bad it ascends to a level of extreme enjoyment on the viewers behalf. (ex. Troll 2, Samurai Cop, Malibu High, etc.) 2) A high budget, high concept film whose final product ends up being a complete piece of shit that’s laughably bad and fun to watch (ex. Queen of the Damned, Highlander 2, Twilight, etc.) and then there’s Trash Cinema of the Third Kind. The films made with a micro budget, and exploitative, politically incorrect, rude, crude, filled to the brim with blood, breasts and beasts. Films that refuse to censor their fucked up visions and provides those of us with hearts of garbage all the uncivilized and depraved kicks we so deeply crave . This third kind of Trash Cinema has become scarce. Especially at your neutered, spineless local googaplex which offers us nothing but  mindless, million dollar, brain meltingly useless pop culture turd smears which do nothing more than recycle the same old shit whether it’s a remake of a beloved franchise or an adaptation of a Hasbro toy line.

Lucky for us, there are sickos still out there cranking out the over the top Trash Cinema Gold despite there being not a single chance in Hell of their work ever being played in a theater next to one showing the latest High School Musical installment. Honestly, this is like a badge of honor. True Trash Cinema Legends such as Herschell Gordon Lewis, Lloyd Kaufman, & Russ Meyer (among countless others) have always operated and created their own distinct brands of Trash Cinema far outside the pop culture mainstream all the while influencing and mutating that same pop culture it from the outside in. These true legends of Trash changed the game forever and they did it without shame, without compromise and without apology. In their wake they have created generation after generation of sick sleaze hounds like myself admiring and craving all things nasty and loathsome. We’ve begun to take matters into our own hands and have begun creating the films that lovingly take us back to the filthy, warped movies that shaped our young lives.

Which brings us to Black Devil Doll. An off the wall, shoe string budget horror, exploitation, comedy bastard amalgam paying homage to an era when filmmakers knew just how fucked up their audience was and were eager to deliver the goods and splatter the results all over the screen. Ah, the good old days.

Written and produced by the loveable visionary behind Brawlin’ Broads Mitch Mayes (http://brawlinbroads.com/main.htm) and Shawn Lewis, the man behind Rotten Cotton (http://www.rottencotton.com/) Black Devil Doll has been hyped for what feels like forever in horror rags, conventions and message boards. Believe it or not the film was produced back in 2007 and gradually gained cult status through a steady does of midnight screenings and festival showings over the years.

Now the wait is finally over for us Trash Collectors because Black Devil Doll is now out on DVD for all of us to watch and marvel at. It’s being sold as a killer black puppet movie chock full of freakishly ample bare breasts, but in all actuality it’s a story of a lonely, young woman with a gigantic rack and the love she has for a mass-murdering, rape happy ventriloquist’s dummy she is foolish enough to fall in love with. This flick’s a heart breaker.

Ah, young love.

Our movie begins with the execution of a 60’s era black power revolutionary, Mubia Abul-Jama, for the rape and murder of 15 white women. He is strapped into he electric chair, a salad bowl is placed on his head, he utters his final words, “I like to eat white butt!” and is deep fried into the after life. Meanwhile, a voluptuous bored young woman by the name of Heather (Heather Murphy) decides to waste some time on the Ouija board, and wouldn’t you know it, she manages to summon the spirit of the recently executed Mubia who shoots out of the Ouija board and into a Ventriloquist dummy that happens to be chilling on the couch. Mubia’s spirit is so strong he turn the dummy black, grows it an enourmous afro, whale sized dick and even changes the dummies clothes!

Heather isn’t too freaked out by this turn of events and over the course of a casual conversation with the now possessed Black Devil Doll Heather ends up seduced and falling hopelessly in love with the guy. Before you know it Mubia has his wooden head plopped between Heather’s legs and proclaiming such pillow talk as “Damn, baby, this some tasty ass pussy! Reminds me of my Momma’s fried chicken!” Such a sweet talker, how could she resist falling in love?

Black Devil Doll & Heather have a heart to heart.

Not long after the Black Devil Doll and Heather become an item BDD breaks it to Heather than he can’t be happy with just one woman. Like a dog he must piss in another person’s yard from time to time. He asks Heather if she can “dig it” and she nods her head in approval as tears stream down her face. Heather agrees to invite over her girlfriends, get them liquored up and let the Black Devil Doll have his way with them while she makes herself scarce. Where will she go? “McDonald’s os some shit!” Black Devil Doll suggests.

Heather's pals hard at work washing their car.

Heather’s friends show up with a case of wine coolers and spend about five minutes worth of running time washing their car in Heather’s driveway immediately upon arrival as Black Devil Doll watches from inside. One of them even buffs the front windshield with her boobs proving silicone has the same affect as Rain-X.

Boobs. For that streak free shine every time.

Once their car is nice and sparkling clean and the Black Devil Doll has jizzed all over the living room window the girls all huddle inside making squeaky noises and showing off their tits (many of which are of the disturbingly fake variety) before playing a dull game of Twister. Black Devil Doll signals Heather to get the fuck out of there. Once Heather departs the remaining girls decide to bathe themselves or go topless sunbathing out in the back yard. This gives Black Devil Doll plenty of opportunities to go murder and rape some “white bitches.”

Killing off some "White Bitches."

And he sure enough does. He bashes some heads in with a baseball bat, slits a throat, electrocutes another, etc. The violence is Blood Feast, 2,000 Maniacs level crud which adds to the cartoonish zaniness on hand. As graphic as it all is it’s so over the top and crappily staged you end up simply giggling at the goofiness of it all.

Heather filled with rage and Big Macs!

Heather comes home to find all her friends naked, raped, and butchered on the Twister tarp. Heather is understandably pissed off by this. Black Devil Doll tries to sweet talk her but this time he’s gone too far! Heather rips open her shirt in a frenzy, grabs her roscoe and unloads a thousand round clip into the puppet she loved.

Hell hath no fury...

In a movie like Black Devil Doll there’s no real subtext or any need to look further into what’s one screen. It’s simple exploitative sleaze. And it’s incredibly juvenile at that. Many of the piss, shit and cum gags are more face palmingly stupid than shocking or outrageous. These are the kind of ideas you and your friends came up with in high school when you were drinking a case of beer and watching a marathon of Troma movies on your old beat up VCR. There’s nothing ground breaking to be found in Black Devil Doll but what can be found here is a whole lot of stupid, disgusting, 6th grade level fun. This is a bad, bad, trashy film but it’s not trying to be anything else. And with a title like Black Devil Doll you know EXACTLY what you’re getting yourself into.

Black Devil Doll endorses Salad Tossing.

Where the movie excels is in the post production department. This movie could easily have been just slapped together as an assembly of just one scene right after another but instead editors Jonathan Lewis and John Osteen managed to add some great visual touches including split screens, collages, and some very cool transitions to make this film look like it cost far more than it actually did. Their editing skills added a lot of style and, dare I say, class to the nasty proceedings. It looks like it could actually be a lost piece of 70’s era grindhouse cinema.

Black Devil Doll carries on the fine Trash Cinema tradition of bingeing on a constant flow of bizarre films, digesting it all, and purging the mixture of all the influences that stuck with you into a glorious piece of  cinema that pays homage to the glorious days of 42nd Street sleaze and Drive-In exploitation grandiose. It’s a love letter to a long lost era of fun, terrible films that were made for those of us with our minds firmly stuck in the gutter. Black Devil Doll lives at the very bottom of the dumpster licking up all the rancid drippings and residue left behind by it’s fore fathers of Trash Cinema. And I cannot thank them enough for sticking to their guns and delivering the grotesque goods.

Stay Trashy!

-The Primal Root

***Be warned, I have been in a mood all day! And I just need to get this out. This is not one of my light hearted whining sessions***

Since coming back from Thanksgiving break, I have had so much stuff to do. It is like school overload. While I was somewhat expecting this, it really doesn’t help that it has happened. I have a ton of stuff due this week, as well as a test next week along with two finals. JOY! Today was a cold, rainy, nasty day, and sometimes those female mood swings, get the best of me. If it weren’t for the stress and the insane amount of loneliness and singleness I feel returning to my apartment after spending an amazing week with [B], I would be able to handle this much better. To add to my general feelings of isolation and segregation, [B] and I have been on different schedules since I returned, and we really haven’t been able to talk on the phone. This really just makes me feel disconnected from my life. Especially when I have been having a rough day and all that I want is for one of his hugs. He has this way of fully wrapping me in his arms to shelter/block me from all those blah and icky things, followed by a little kiss that really makes everything all better. Sometimes I really despise this long distance relationship thing.

To make matters worse, someone I once considered one of my best friends ever, one of the two people I keep in regular contact with from middle and high school, has decided to ignore me. Awesome! I understand being busy, being swamped with so much work that it feels like I am about to drown in it. But, that is still no reason to ignore people. I am stressed and busy as fuck, but I can still manage to make the time to talk to those that matter to me. She has not called me since the beginning of September, at best. I have tried to make some form of contact with her at least every two weeks. It used to be that I would call her; she would text and say “Sorry, I’m working. What’s up?” I would respond along lines of, “I haven’t heard from you in awhile just seeing how things were. Call when you are free” or “This made me think of you, and I just wanted to see how you were, just give me a call” And would she call, no! For the past little bit, I have either called/texted/facebooked her and still no response. We have known each other for over a decade! I know she has time to call others, because I have been on the phone when she tried to call a mutual friend. And I know she has been on facebook, she has changed her pic and stuff. Normally, I would have thought that maybe I said something that has made her mad, and I should probably apologize, but I haven’t been given the opportunity to say anything to upset her! I truly don’t know why she is the way she is. So, to make this easier for me, and to give myself more control over the situation, I have decided that I will still try to reach out to her until my birthday, which is rapidly approaching. If I do not hear from her by my birthday, and if she decides not to AT LEAST send me a ‘Happy Birthday” text, then I think I am going to wash my hands of her. Why should I care about someone that can’t even tell me that she is doing well, but is busy and will try to call when she has more time?!

I don’t know what else to do. It’s not that my feelings are hurt or anything. It is more along the lines of, if you don’t give a fuck about me anymore, then at least just tell me. I think after how much history we have, she at least owes me that. This was someone I used to tell everything to, a best friend, someone I couldn’t imagine going a full day without speaking to. If I were ever to get married, she was obviously going to be a bridesmaid, but now, I seriously doubt that I would even invite her to the wedding, just because she obviously doesn’t care at all anymore. I understand that people grow and change, she isn’t a best friend, she isn’t a friend, and she is barely an acquaintance. Am I wrong to set this deadline on it? Is there a better way to approach this? What would you do? PLEASE help!

I almost ran out of gas while driving to the gas station today. Literally almost ran out; like my gas light has been on for two days, my car was telling me I had 0 miles left in my tank, and the arm was pretty much below the empty line. Why did I let it get so low? That is what my friend asked me today after I sent her a picture message of my dashboard as I was stopped at a red light trying to get to the gas station. I assure you, I have a perfectly good reason for this! I hate gas stations. I truly hate them, and try to avoid going unless it is absolutely necessary!

My aversion to gas stations began when I was 16, and has only continued to grow. When I was 16, I normally got honked at or had some inappropriate comment/whistle shouted in my direction. As I have mentioned before, I don’t like being the center of attention or encountering strangers that seem like giant creepers. I mean, who really likes/enjoys/appreciates these douche bags?! So I started to get gas at night, so people couldn’t see me as well from the road, and this helped for awhile. But then as if the creepers knew what I was doing, the ones pumping gas near me would try to talk to me. I generally sit in my car to avoid this, but during winter with the dry air and static issue (my mother scared me to death with talks of sparks igniting the gas and me becoming a flaming inferno of death) I generally freeze outside my car. So I taken to pretending that I can’t hear creepers when they say something to me.

I have had way too many strange men come up and say some pretty disgusting and terrifying things to me, as a *single* young woman, living in a big city. I have had men ask me out (annoying), a cop telling me that I was “plum sexy” (very annoying seeing as my car was towed), some follow me for a bit in stores (mildly scary), a seemingly drunk man tell me that he wanted to eat me (scary), and one just recently that told me he could like his eyebrows with his tongue (scary and gross), and a guy shout a ‘compliment’ (harassing of course) at me, then proceed to  follow me around a parking lot for several minutes (terrifying). I mean with stuff like this occurring can one blame me? I may add that in general, I am not all done up and looking cute. More often than not, I look like garbage in my opinion. AKA hair not clean and in a ponytail, no makeup, and jeans. The other day, I was super hungover and had to get gas. I was in my clothes from the night before, I had not brushed my hair, and I was most likely a shade of green. This guy walked from his car (parked in front of the mini-store) towards mine to tell me that I was “a traffic stopper.” Well, I was hungover, and instead of pretending I didn’t hear him, I just looked at him and said, “What?!” Simply because at that point in time I looked like I was on the verge of death. He repeated it, and I must have had a very puzzled/nauseated look on my face. He mumbled that it was supposed to be a compliment and walked away. I have been trying, unsuccessfully, to put air in a practically flat tire, and some old creeper walked up, looked me up and down, asked me if I needed help with the hose and winked at me. I said that I was done, then I climbed in my car and drove off with my tire still flat.

I think that my hate for gas stations is perfectly understandable, and is in no way, shape, form ridiculous or overly dramatic. I just wish that people would leave me the hell alone! I am not friendly, I do not smile, I do not invite these fuckers to plague me, so just please, please, PLEASE leave me the fuck alone!

taken from Shannon

I uploaded it on myspace and it was reported as inappropriate. I’m guessing some “Barbie” was offended. Silly unoriginal tramp…whoever did it.

According to my calculations, caffeinated beverages and FDA approved foods do not currently contain any kind of the freebase cocaine product more commonly known as crack. Likewise, I have never seen an episode of COPS where the aging prostitute with shmeared blue eyeliner stains on her cheeks and one shoe was caught smoking cappuccino gas out of the suspicious looking (and smelling) pipe she’d been hiding in her vagina. While these two factoids may seem isolated, I’m here to tell you that they’ve helped me approach an important epiphany of which I’m about to share with you. Caffeine is not the same thing as crack. Crack is not the same thing as a caffeine.

Unless you are between the ages of Fetus and 2 months old, there is absolutely no excuse for you to spaz out like a crazed maniac with rabies after a cup of coffee. I don’t mean to deny that 17 cups of double espressos at 3am might impede a good night’s rest. I do mean to imply that any grown person who has a cup of coffee after lunch and immediately proceeds to act like somebody just shot a potent eight-ball up his/her asshole needs to actually have someone shoot a potent eight-ball up his/her asshole. I mean are you serious people? What kind of home did you grow up in? Was macaroni and cheese drugs too? Were you not allowed to wear your D.A.R.E. t-shirt because it was too risque? Did you take your first drink at age 42? Was it a wine spritzer? Was it Zima? One cup of coffee shouldn’t make you all jittery and unable to concentrate on anything. You shouldn’t have to sprawl out on a cold bathroom floor for thirty minutes to puke and/or sweat it out.

Every time I’m around one of these morons I feel like I am suddenly the lone grown up at the Babysitter’s Club sleepover of my nightmares. I imagine all these adult coffee-tards in flannel PJ sets that are covered in teddy bears (no offense to teddy bears), talking about zits and hickeys and giggling guiltily as they stuff their faces with the chocolate-peanut butter spread they found under someone’s mom’s bed. And then I picture me, sitting in the corner, holding a bottle of Grey Goose and staring at everyone in disgust and confused disbelief. “You can’t have vodka because COFFEE makes you JITTERY?” I yell to them, over and over again. “Kristy? Mary Anne? You won’t even TRY it? You had a Cappuccino and it raised your heartbeat to 239 bpm? What if I mix it with Gerber Baby Apricots or breast milk? What if I let you drink it right out of some lady’s tit?”

And then I’d probably end up knocking the bottle back alone and punching myself in the face repeatedly. This is what I get for attending a sleepover that doesn’t involve penetration, early morning horror, and a clandestine escape.

Just grow up people. Have a cup of coffee and then just sit still! Or shoot some crack in your eyelid, bug out, and try to swallow your own face! Stop getting these reactions twisted already. And remember this mantra next time you see me and your caffeinated beverage in the same room: “COFFEE ISN’T CRACK AND IF I ACT LIKE IT IS, I’LL SOON BE SHOT BY AN ANGRY JEW.”

The Sis and I tried on a few new Thrift Shops for size today, and ba-da-bingo, got some good stuff!

Russel Wright Iroquois avacado dinner plate. $2.99

Shot glass with prancing deer, will have a new life as a juice glass. $0.99

Heavy 3-sided green glass bowl. $3.99

Set of four dinner plates AND fruit bowls. Royal China Starglow pattern. Plates: $2.99 ea. Bowls: $0.49 ea.

Anonymous green planter #1. Will have a new life as a home for M&M’s. $2.99

Anonymous green planter #2. $2.99

Entire box of vintage ornaments. $2.99 My tree needs to get new balls.

Como ya es costumbre, aquí tienen a las candidatas para el título de Tarada de la Semana:

Kate Hudson, por usar un escote que dejó al descubierto que llegó tarde a la repartición de chichis. Espero que entienda que ese tipo de escotes se hicieron para que los usara gente como CoCo o Simon Cowell.

Jennifer Lopez, por avergonzarse ante el mundo al caer de nalgas en los American Music Awards. Gracias a Dios que los premios no se entregan en Asia, porque habría ocasionado un tsunami peor que el del 2004.

Miley Cyrus, por ser Miley Cyrus. No!, en realidad por usar la vomitiva frase “¿no sabes quién soy?” con el empleado de un restaurante.

La encuesta, como siempre, está en la barra lateral y el resultado lo daré a conocer el martes. VOTEN!!!

This year Team Laura and Jim were reduced to making “Just Desserts” We still pulled it off, as usual.

Carrot/Gingerbread cake with cream-cheese frosting. One layer of each.

Butternut squash pie. Better than pumpkin. No debate. A 302 High Street classic.

Hell yeah!!!

I’m droppin’ stitches to pay for my bitches! Yeah, that’s right ya’ll, I’m starting a business! What what? Yea yea (I hope you heard that hip-hop in your head)!

This is just a taste, and the etsy store doesn’t open until 12/1, because I said so, but to whet your appetite, and with no further ado….

here are…

MY

DIRTY

PILLOWS!!!

Like two weeks ago, I received a call from a guy that I hate, [PP]. We went to the same under-grad school, and he was my ex’s roommate. They lived in the same building as me, but below me. This guy really sucks. He is what I have deemed an insecure badass. He always acted like he was awesome and a lot of people liked him, but this was not the case.  He seems to thrive off of drama, and loves to stir shit up just to  be the center of attention. I also had the pleasure of working with him. He didn’t bathe often enough and smelled really badly, our boss at work actually ended up saying something to him about it.Well, things between the ex and I were pretty toxic, and [PP] would tell everyone at work and school about my life’s drama and mess. I don’t really talk about personal stuff at work, it is work, and I don’t think it is appropriate. But he would say stuff about my life when I wasn’t at work, and people would tell me later what he said and discuss my issues with me. I am not okay with this at all. I prefer to keep my personal shit to myself. But [PP] had a big mouth. So I called him out on it, and we got in a huge fight. I basically told him that I would pretend like he didn’t exist and he better do the same with me. He did a few other douche bag things, and after that last conversation we never spoke again.

So like I said, he called and I was pretty confused as to why this douche would try to call me after years of not speaking. Well, I found out why yesterday. I  went to eat lunch with a friend of mine that works with [PP]. Turns out that he is now trying to apply to the school that I am currently going to, and was just wanting to “patch things up.” AKA wanting me to put in a good word for him. When my friend mentioned that she was seeing me, [PP]made some snide comment about me, so obviously he still doesn’t like me, but isn’t against using me. Funny, you are complete and total bastard, but when you want something, you’re willing to call me out of the blue, well [PP], don’t worry. I have plenty of stuff that I can tell the students on the admission panel about you, stupid fucking gobshit! In fact, I would be more than happy to tell them what I think of you, so don’t worry, I have more than a few words saved up to describe you. And don’t worry, I will. I have asked my friend to inform me if he is given an interview at my school just so I can be sure to vouch for his character And yesI am spiteful, just to prove it check this out, I am that spiteful!



Además de que Miley Cyrus va en camino a convertirse en playmate al servicio de Hugh Hefner por sus golferías, al parecer también es una diva insoportable porque según cuentan, recientemente fue por una hamburguesa y cuando le tocó el turno para que la atendieran, el empleado cometió el error de preguntarle su nombre, ante lo cual Miley lo quedó viendo con desprecio y muy perramente contestó: “¿Es en serio?, ¿No me reconoces?, soy Miley Cyrus”, ante lo que el tipo contestó: “Bien por ti, aquí está tu orden. Que tengas un buen día.”. Bien hecho!, ese desconocido es mi nuevo héroe.

Y son cosas como esa las que logran que cada vez que por accidente veo que está pasando Hannah Montana me den ganas de aventar la tele por la ventana.

Bernard Cornwell’s name is fitting, because it begins with a B, and his books are built around the three B’s: Bitches, Beer, and Battle. If we dare be more callous, we can easily translate this triad to reflect Cornwell’s surname, thus rendered: Cunts, Cups, and Combat. Obviously, Cornwell writes books for men, and suffice to say that if I saw a woman reading a Sharpe novel, I’d call her an impostor and a spy – unless she were a lesbian orc. Except, that would be even more suspicious.

Now shut your face and read one of Cornwell’s books before you disdain my sexual profiling; mighty fast you’ll see what I’m talking about. His fantastic storytelling abilities may win over some lesbian orcs, but at heart his novels are about killing and fucking, and these two activities are done by men to men and men to women, respectively; and consequently, I have no doubts that the novels will appeal primarily to dudes. At first blush this may seem prejudicial, but on sober reflection it becomes apparent that Cornwell’s work is the ineluctable male counterpart of chick lit – dick lit, if you will.

I’ll remind you again to fuck off before you, in your wellspring of infinite tolerance, rage against my obscenity. The Pale Horseman, the second book of the Saxon Stories, kicks off with the protagonist riding away from a bloody victory on the battlefield to “plough” his wife, whom he insists is “a good field to plough.” I’ll tell you right now, there’s a lot of plowing in Cornwell’s books, and he doesn’t write about farmers – except to say that their fields will be fertilized by the enemy’s blood. Whether or not Cornwell intends to, he glorifies this shit, and despite the fact that war and sexual subjugation are unqualifiedly wrong, Cornwell is such a damned good storyteller that, in the heat of the read, it becomes near impossible to resist the Hobbesian heteronormative imperative and get swept away in a torrent of the three B’s and/or C’s.

wut?

But despite the iniquity of Cornwell’s worlds – which, we should not forget, are historical, rather than purely fictive, worlds – his books give me great satisfaction. They’re entertainment – entertainment well done, I should add – and they need to be approached with all the enlightenment of the modern age to prevent oneself from becoming a beast through the consumption of their delights.

So take this as both warning and laudation. Whatever desires they might stir in my primal heart, I know that Cornwell’s heroes – who are killers and adulterers all – are bad men, and I caution you to remember that. But if you want a read that will keep you on the edge of your seat and fill you from top to bottom with murderous, rapacious, and unshakeable passion, pick up a Cornwell. And pick one up for me, too, because I’m nearly done Enemy of God.

-bn