Maniacal Musings

— A flexing anus in my face. Nails trying to claw my eyes out. The dogs. They are the only alarm clock I need.

— No matter how many times I look up the word “necessary” I cannot retain its correct spelling. Spellcheck just fixed it, again. My brain is holding some sort of grudge against it. It seems to be my word Bermuda triangle. I always get lost in the middle, scramble around, get disoriented, and never find my way out.

— I don’t like the hour 4pm to 5pm. Yeah, I don’t know. I need therapy to figure that one out.

— You never know when an anonymous threatening letter will need to be put together. Which is apparently why I have one year’s worth of Entertainment Weekly magazines. Or maybe one day my daughter will need to do a book report on the Hunger Games

— I am a 33-year-old, white, married, mother of one, living on the Oregon coast, and all day today April 4, 2012, I’ve had a song stuck in my head. The song: I’m In Love With A Stripper By: T-Pain

Fucking idiot! My lips enjoy nothing better, than forming those words. I love the way it sounds, I love the way it feels. It warms me like a fresh spring day.

— Someone, anyone, please hear my plea. For the greater good of the world, please stop making Nicholas Sparks books into movies. He can write a million books, but his stories must stop being put on the big screen. Putting absurdly good-looking people in those movies doesn’t make them worth your time, your money or you know, improve the story in any way.

P.S. Here is the plot of them all: Love feels good. Love hurts. Love is bittersweet. Love is a bitch, then someone must die. However, if you feel like you might be an emotional cripple, then go ahead, watch these sappy piles of poo, and test your tear-o-meter.

All sarcastic quips aside, individually some of these movies have qualities that may qualify them as, “okay.” But as a collective they’re too much. Just too much…of something.

Top Aggros This Week #2

In no particular order…

1. Makers of the Playstation. We recently joined the rest of the universe and bought a PS3 and it does not play Playstation 2 games, but will play some of the original Playstation games. Smarty pantsies who make this shit, that doesn’t make any type of goddamn sense. I would like to add, thanks for the streaming Netflix ability. It really…well…doesn’t suck.

2. Uninvited Acquaintance Door Knockers: Do not hop, skip, jump, walk, or drive your happy ass to my front door on a Saturday morning if we are not true friends, and you have not given me a heads up. Courtesy is quite easy to look up on Dictionary.com. I say that because I fear a lot of homes do not have a physical Dictionary anymore.

3. Idiot School Parking Lot Drivers: My daughter’s school has a very small, uncomplicated parking lot. Unfortunately, many parents at 8am have their heads up their ass.

Why for the love of all that is holy, would you stop two feet into the entrance. Common-sense should tell you to pull all the way up near the doors. On top of your original cluster-fuck-dick-move, you then refuse to look over your left shoulder and almost hit me. For some reason it doesn’t occur to you a line is quickly forming into the street, so some of us with god given sense go around, and pull up all the way.

After my child is safely inside the school I quickly get home, and into the shower, so I can wash the dumb off that you dumped all over the parking lot.

I’m going to do some research in this town, and find out which body shop people like the most, and then I’m going to let your ass hit me. That will then give me an excuse to get out of my car, and burn you with rampant, verbal violations.

4. The Cinnamon Challenge: Up until last night I had no idea what this was. For those of you that are clueless to this consider yourselves lucky. But if your curiosity gets the best of you, simply type in Cinnamon Challenge on YouTube and delve into the insanity. Basically the challenge is to swallow a spoonful of cinnamon without choking. So of course when a claim is floating around the internet that you can’t do something without the possibility of hacking up your life essence, everyone must make a video challenging the grim reaper. Honestly, I don’t know if it would kill you, but I’m just being extreme, because the whole concept is some fucktard bullshit. But hey, whatever it takes to pass the time. More power to all the participants. Good luck, and don’t let your mother find out.

P.S. If you want real factoids, the Cinnamon Challenge started back in 2001 and had been posted on a blog of someone I’ve never heard of. The earliest YouTube version was supposedly in 2006. The Actual dare of this genius game is to swallow without vomiting or inhaling the powder.

But I am not a fact fairy. I am a writer who enjoys putting a humorous spin on life. These facts were a courtesy.

Hot Booties: Proof The World Really Is Coming To An End

Last night at 10:55 P.M. my world changed forever. I encountered a commercial that was a sign for “The End Times.”

Because let me tell you something–when a product is created that requires for the consumer to place it in a microwave, and THEN goes from ones microwave to ones feet, then I am sorry, but something has gone terribly wrong, and humans no longer deserve the earth.

I am speaking of a product obviously from the devil himself called, Hot Booties. “Soothing heat to treat your feet,” says the commercial. Yeah, okay, heat on your feet to prepare your ass for fire and brimstone because you fell for this fuckery.

Alright, let me get real about the product for a second. The devil booties are filled with linseed that supposedly absorbs and holds heat. Each set comes with a bootie bag that is used to place the booties in the microwave to heat. The bag is supposed to be so your microwave stays sanitary, but seriously will the bag never end up on the floor? And yes, you can wash the bag, but then do you want your microwave to smell like a spring day?

You can purchase not one, but two pairs for $14.99. The deal being, buy one get one free, but you pay almost $16.00 in processing and handling for two pairs. And if you think that the linseed won’t start to get all “funny” in a short time, then you would be so very wrong.

The cherry on top of this idea are Tim and Taylor, who do the online commercial. Where do they find these infomercial people? Do they send them to How To Be Annoying As Fuck And Brainwash America school? Either they both did a line of crack-cocaine before the camera started rolling, took a handful of Ritalin, or got shot with B-12 right into their bloodstream.

Maybe I’m helping sell this crime against heaven and earth but check out the commercial for yourself at the link below. Beware: You might get sucked in and order them. And I won’t even hold it against you.

https://www.orderhotbooties.com/?tag=im|sm|go|tm&a_aid=011&a_bid=6151f0c2

Spam In A Can: A Love Story

Many people have yet to try the godsend of Spam in a can. Just the mere mention of the word Spam to some people will bring on an over exaggerated mimicking of vomiting. To these people I say, don’t knock it ’till you try it, and as much as I don’t understand it, a few people just happen to not care for processed meats in general like hot dogs, and bologna.

Except for Philippine and Hawaiian cultures, who inhale the stuff because it has been integrated into their world for one reason or another, a lot of people feel this processed block of nitrates is beneath them. But a lot of those same people (from my experience) will shove a hot dog down their throat like a competitive eater. As a matter of fact if you compare the ingredients on some hot dog packages to a can of Spam the canned meat wins. Now if you compare with an expensive uppity brand of hot dogs, it won’t fair as well. A cheaper dog has up to 15 different ingredients, 2 of which make me look like an idiot in front of my 8-year-old. I have to sit here and sound them out like an illiterate trying to read for the first time. Spam on the other hand says: Pork w/ ham, salt, water, modified potato starch, sugar, and sodium nitrite.

So when you have to pinch pennies maybe hide the fact it’s Spam from your picky family. Maybe fry it up, stick in between a hamburger bun, with a load of condiments (like the picture above, doesn’t it look pretty), and perhaps they won’t ask any pesky questions like, “What the hell is this!”

When I was a kid we were quite financially handicapped for a while, so when I saw that gold or silver sheen followed by a dark blue rectangle come out of a brown paper back, (hell, I was just happy to see a brown paper bag, because that meant someone went to the grocery store) I thought it must be freakin’ Christmas! I’ll never forget the actual thought that flashed through my head as a little girl, we are going to eat sooo good tonight! I couldn’t wait for my mom to unroll the metal top. Nowadays it’s a pussified pop top. Back in my day you had to work for that shit!

We would totally eat it “raw” too. None of that frying it up crap. I hadn’t even heard of eating it any other way until I was an adult, and didn’t really touch the stuff anymore. My mom would simply slice it up like a Christmas ham, and we made our smoke flavored, salty, moist sandwiches with lots of mayo.

Until about six months ago, I hadn’t purchased a can of Spam in my adult life, and the only reason I did (and the only reason my husband let me) is because we live in a tsunami zone on the west coast. So we try to keep a supply of food that can be used in emergencies. It went straight into our catastrophe food supply. Who knows, it might even become currency in a crazy apocalyptic situation.