I don’t know man, fuck is on your biscuit?

When I was a kid, I was always sticking up for the underdog.  I don’t know why, that was just my deal.  I’ve always been outspoken and, as “the pastor’s daughter” at a small private school, I had influence. People just didn’t mess with me. Or if they did, my ADD caused me to be too spacey to notice the mockers, so their bullshit was wasted on my dumb ass.  I was often totally checked out, daydreaming…staring into space.  And since my parents treated me like a normal kid, I didn’t quite develop all the bullshit baggage that pastor’s kids are known for.  So, whenever someone was getting picked on by others, I’d get all up in the bully’s shit. I learned early that it doesn’t take much for me to get people to do what I want. Privilege aside, that was just my reality, and I was aware of it.

Today, I want to explain some aspects of bullying. Because what I learned was that bullies BRING OUT the bully in me.  And in all honesty, I don’t LIKE how that feels. I don’t like BECOMING the bully. It feels shitty to me. And once I’m in the mode, I want to DEFEAT the bully. And I’ll stop at nothing to defeat. I become what I hate.  Isn’t that how bullies are developed in the first place?

In everyday life, I don’t find myself encountering bullies in person very often.  I think there have been three or four people in the past ten years of my life where I remember thinking “this person is a bully, and they are making me want to bully”, so I very intentionally separated myself from them. Otherwise I’d just sink to their level. I’d make sure that I could do what I could to help the underdog but, at the end of the day, those people will always be bullies. I can’t change that. Especially by treating them in a way that probably turned them into that in the first place. I’m sure they were bullied as kids or whatever, by their parents or someone else, and they have this chip on their shoulder. I can’t fix that chip. I have some empathy, but I also have sought out counseling to help me change the parts of me that are hurtful to myself and others. If you aren’t doing that…. now is the time to man the fuck up.

Every once in a while…. I am made to feel like shit by a man.  It doesn’t happen to me as often as it might happen to other women… I often don’t give a shit about what people think anyway, and I surround myself by good men.  And don’t get me wrong—women can be extremely hurtful to one another. So I’m not trying to be a man-hating femi-nazi here.  But when it happens—when a man says something that leaves me feeling like trash simply because I have a beautiful ‘gine—I get Really. Fucking. Pissed.

Today I am done. I am fed up with people with penises who think that women live and breathe for men.  I am so over that.  I have learned that there is a certain population of men who literally think this. They think when I get dressed and do my hair and my makeup and put on cute clothes, that I am doing it to get THEIR attention.  The fucking audacity of this is mind-blowing to me.  I cannot imagine walking around this earth presuming that people are acting in such a way to get my attention—simply because I am a penis-bearing human. (If that were the case, which it is not. Mama has the lovely labias).

I was recently reminded of how fucking mental this makes me— a really cute picture was taken of a beautiful girl and posted on Facebook. There was nothing weird or inappropriate about the picture, she just happened to look crazy fucking hot, as per the usual.  And it inspired a couple of male friends to say something about it. And it wasn’t “hey girl, you look great, have fun, you’re awesome.”  The comments were more along the lines of “why are you dressed like that?” and how she clearly wants attention so why can’t they say whatever they want about it…. Bla bla bla. It saddens me that this even happens.  A girl is left feeling so diminished by the comments about her looks, that she decides it may be better to hide. To not show her beauty. To not shine…

I am infuriated. I apparently have friends that are bullies.  And I CAN’T FUCKING STAND THIS.

I am here today, friends, colleagues… to offer up some wisdom for you. And YES it is wisdom so listen real close. Because after this, bullies get deleted from my life.

She dressed that way because I asked her to. BECAUSE SHE LOOKED AMAZING in that outfit. So she did. She wore the outfit I liked. Now, ultimately I don’t really care what she wears.  But she had a few options of clothes that fit her style, and I told her which one I liked the best.  Lesson you should take away from this: NOBODY CARES WHAT YOU THINK. That night was all about us. Not you.

The second thing goes a little deeper for me.  The idea that you can say whatever the fuck you want because someone, in your mind, is INVITING it.  And this, ladies and gents, is part of the root philosophy of what has become known as “rape culture”.  There is an inherent disrespect for women at the core of this way of thinking.  Because, at the end of the day, if someone is “asking you” to treat them poorly… with less value than they really actually have as a person… so you’re going to do that shit???  And in this particular circumstance, how is looking nice for a night out with your girlfriends perceived as being asked to be treated poorly again?

What if we went ahead and reversed things.  I mean… a moderately chubby guy who goes out dressed “nerdy”, wearing Airwalks from Wal-Mart or some shit like that MUST be just ASKING to get rude and degrading comments, right? Otherwise he’d obviously work out, eat well, and get a fashion consultant.  At MINIMUM…. Shop at Target.  He clearly wants to be treated like shit. Duh…  It’s like this guy in a wheelchair who vandalized a church for loving gay people. IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY FUCKING SENSE.

So I will leave you with this:

  1. I’m sorry someone treated you poorly or disrespected you in life, inspiring you to do the same to others. That sucks for you and it sucks for the people around you.
  2. Deal with your shit, and start being a better person.

Cracka rap needs more ass.

The Food & Wine Hedonist recently asked me to write a music piece for his blog.  GO READ THAT SHIT. It’s about the white parent raps that go viral and annoy the shit out of everyone. BOOM!

CLICK HERE for some food and wine hedonism, sprinkled with commentary from yours truly about how people should eat shit.

Don’t poop on me: A Universal rule in sex and other life scenarios.

Tonight I get home from running an errand for a friend, and Sugardaddy’s watching Star Trek: Next Generation. Again. Guess who’s NOT getting laid tonight. This bitch.

But let me break this scene down for you.  The episode involves Deanna Troi (the notorious “hot” chick on the Starship Enterprise’s crew) and her mother, who are of an alien species that can sense other’s thoughts and feelings and, I don’t know, have a lot of sex and go to weddings naked, and other stupid geek porn fantasies like that. Now, if you’ve ever watched this show, you’ll know that Deanna Troi’s mom is a serious fucking slut. She’ll reappear every now and again and try to get a VIP pass to party with Captain Picard’s trouser snake. Cap’n ain’t havin’ any of that shriveled slut’s diseased shit. (He’s classy like that… all French with a British accent and shit).  So a good portion of this particular episode involves watching old-mom-slut try to fuck like three different dudes on the starship.

Then …THEN…, Sugardaddy turns to me and says “You know what I like about the Fresh Beat Band*? That dark-haired chick? She kinda resembles Deanna Troy. Yeeeeeeah.”

Fuck my life.

And this is where I’d like to point out that some shit just shouldn’t happen.

There is a point, ladies and gentlemen, with many MANY things in life, where we as a society surpass the limits at which we need to FUCKING STOP. I’m talking about sex, I’m talking about politics, I’m talking about the small window I get into the imagery that may or may not go through my nerdy husband’s head as he makes marital relations to yours truly. And you know, it makes the throw-up come up into my mouth. It really does.

May I advise you of some things? All ya’ll dudes out there who watch porn and think that you are now pornstars and can do weird porn shit? Please read THIS link.  Now, I am going to blow up your brains at a later date with information on how to please your woman. But that right there needs to be mass distributed.

Now. My people. My fellow Americans. Democrats, Republicans, Moderates, “Independents” (whatever the fuck that means), Libertarians, Socialists and Fascists… lend me your ears, little lambs. Shhhhhhhhhh gather ’round. Are you listening? Please stop being so fucking stupid. I’m serious, just stop.

Let me tell you about a little thing called “mutual masturbation.” Can you say those words? Muuuuutual. Maaastuuurbaaation. This is when two or more people do or say things that make themselves and/or the other feel good, affirmed, validated, excited, ecstatic, hot, turned on… the list goes on. The point I need to make about mutual masturbation, and why it’s relevant here, is that it’s NOT REAL. Nothing is being PENETRATED. It is not real intercourse. It is not real fucking. There’s no. mutherfuckin. penetration, people. And this is where things can get a little… off course. Because it is at this exact point that leads me to ask: “What exactly is getting you off right now?” Because if you just think and talk about hopeful shit that sounds like the magical fucking land of Oz and spank yourself until you cum in your own hand, that don’t mean shit to anyone but you. And if it’s the actual act of pooping on someone that is hot to you, you need to fucking get therapy, or get the fuck out!

So when you’re watching the political conventions, Fox News, CNN, or listening to NPR, watching Meet the [fucking] Press on Sunday mornings, or reading something from Focus on the [fucking] Family, may I suggest that what you really like about it is not actually real? It’s someone telling you something that makes you feel good, logical, or right in your convictions, and it has just enough reality tied to it that it makes you believe it’s the real shit. But it’s not. It’s not the real shit. Like when you tell me you aren’t racist, sexist, classist, elitist on SOME level deep down, intentional or unintentional. Go fuck yourself. Because if you haven’t come to terms with the fact that life is complicated, messy, lacking easy answers and solutions, then I’m not totally convinced you’ve really experienced people. People who are in your life, your community, your planet. Those people? They want to climax too, asshole. They want to feel their bodies exploding in ecstasy, just like the next guy. Because at the end of the day, if you’re not doing something real, participating in something real, if you’re NOT penetrating something, you’re just masturbating. And the only person getting off is you.

*For all of you childless readers, Fresh Beat Band is a children’s show on Nick Jr. that makes me want to kill myself.

Someone’s going to need to be my slut in order to convince me to watch the next season of True Blood.

Sookie is still goddamned retarded, and not in the good way. How is the main character of a show so persistently intensely stupid?

I saw a lot of white ass tonight in the vampire authority’s jail cells. That shit is not okay.

Janina Gavankar has little boobs that strongly resemble my little boobs. I liked my little boobs before, but Janina makes me love them. I feel affirmed by one of the hottest women on earth. That goes a long way. That may be the greatest ‘value add’ of this season to my life.

Alcide wore very little of his shirt. Thank you Alcide.

I’m not a fan of Lafayette’s supernatural powers. I reminisce on the days when he was an innocent drug dealer, prostituting himself out to vampires, calling everybody “hooker”, cynical about life and intolerant of the supernatural bullshit. Where is that Lafayette? I want him back.

I was grateful for the fact that we didn’t have to watch any more of the inbred redneck panther people. They never should’ve been on the show anyways. Nobody likes rednecks. Especially inbred rednecks.

One of those damn faeries in the secret club reminded me of Vanessa Williams in ‘Dance with Me’, but high. That did not help me want to watch the next season.

Bill STILL HAS AWFUL HAIR, one of the cardinal sins a man can commit, but he is also still EXTREMELY FUCKING BORING. And watching him “make love” makes me want to kill myself.

Erik Northman is still the most fuckable blonde guy out there right now. (Besides my husband, of course… ehem). He may be the only reason I tune in next season, and it would then be categorized in my entertainment portfolio as porn.

What would you say to Ralston?

Today, I have something very special for you dirty crackas.  A regular of Milk & Honey ~ Geeks & Gangstas who goes by the moniker “Doodoomamajuju” has a sweet lullaby bedtime story for you. It’s Friday, and we want you all to start your weekend feeling warm and cozy inside, yet refreshed and intellectually stimulated. I think this contribution by Doodoomamajuju herself directly achieves these things.  Kisses! And enjoy.

Hi Doodoomamajuju*.

Bigfoot may have an upset stomach. He was trying to poop while our four were outside and it looked like he was having a hard time.

-Ralston*

Let me set up this scenario for you… I was getting out of work at noon and wanted to spend the day sitting in my back yard drinking heavily and doing some general plotting (revenge, murder, kidnap, etc). I decided that a day full of “plotting” required a nap, but this realization was shat upon by the incessant yapping of my neighbor’s 4 small dogs (yes, FOUR). If that wasn’t enough, my neighbor (the male of a weird unfortunate looking couple) sent me the message above on facebook. Now, mind you, I had not been able to take the nap I needed and was beyond livid at this point. So livid, in fact, that I was in my kitchen sharpening my knife collection and cleaning my gun(s) (at the same time, yep– that’s talent) preparing for the sheltie genocide that was quickly approaching. Let me also add that this is not the first time my Dahmer-esque neighbor exhibited an unhealthy infatuation with my dog. In the past, he has taken pictures of my dog in my backyard without my consent and gone as far as knocking on my door to let me know my dog “wanted to come inside” the house. So, that just adds to the utter creepiness of this whole situation… as you can imagine.

On a side note, I made a joke about having a stroke to my wonky-eyed neighbor and she informed me that she had just suffered a stroke a month earlier. Awkward.

Anyway, I had not seen this message until well after I had begun piecing together death threats using letters from old magazines and drops of my blood when my husband BEGGED me to restrain myself and resist the urge to respond in any way to the message. Fuck that. I love a good sheltie genocide and I love piecing together death threats using letters from old magazines, but I love my husband more than I’d love the look on my wonky-eyed neighbor’s face when she finds me standing in her backyard surrounded by the limp lifeless corpses of her “children”.

That being said, I know what you are thinking: “what the fuck is this guy doing with FOUR (4) muthafucking shelties? Why the fuck is he WATCHING a dog take a shit?” and “what the fuck is up with her wonky eye?” These are great questions and ones that I have asked myself countless times before this point, but there remains the pressing question of: “How do I respond?”

Here are a few ideas I’ve come up with:

-Taking a shit on his front porch along with a letter telling him my dog is “feeling a lot better now”

-Killing all four dogs and leaving their heads in the neighbor’s mailbox

-Calling the newspaper and reporting him for watching my dog defecate while masturbating in the presence of children (that didn’t happen but you can just imagine what would have transpired had I not stepped in)

-Reporting him for “animal hoarding” to the local authorities

-Slipping brochures on treating lazy eyes under his door in the middle of the night

-Calling in an anonymous tip about a man raping dogs in the neighborhood (I shit you not, there is a story about a man raping a dog…and it was caught on tape!)

Thank you, Doodoomamajuju, for sharing your awkward predicament with us. I believe our audience can help. I for one would have taken advantage of your neighbor’s inordinate love for dogs, and asked him to personally administer an enima on the dog. He clearly cares. I think he would have done it.

How would you all respond??  Perhaps you can think up some things during your weekend binge-drinking sessions.

*The name of the individual has been changed to protect their identity.

What happens at RiversEdgeMusicFestival stays at RiversEdgeMusicFestival (and on the internet…forever).

Fuckin’ awesome weekend with my sister-in-law (known in blog-land as doodoomamajuju, or “Ju” for short) at the Rivers Edge Music Festival in St. Paul, Minnesota. First off, let it be said that she’s one badass sexy muthafucka. Ju, that is. And she was one of maybe six non-whities at the festival. Making her the sacrificial lamb of the Asian community of the greater Midwest. On more than one occasion I thought to myself, “White people at concerts. What the fuck?”  What is it with white people not wearing shoes at concerts? That’s so fuckin’ nast. The array of white shame thrust in my face was incalculable. Dear guy with the t-shirt with cutoff sleeves that said “it ain’t gonna lick itself”, we all know you have never seen a vagina. And you likely never will.

I also got to meet Satan this weekend. He’s no where near as intimidating as I expected him to be. He really just wanted to enjoy the Flaming Lips. Who put on a DAMN GOOD show, by the way. Even Satan was pleased. Look how he’s been inspired to share his water with his neighbor. That’s downright Christ-like.

May I be so bold as to offer up some fashion advice for all you sexy crackas that frequent summer concerts and music festivals? Please stop wearing fucking fedoras. That shit is not cool. The ONLY person in the land of the free that should EVER wear a fedora is THIS guy. No one else. Please stop wearing them.  Also, the only–and I mean the ONLY–person who can wear boat shoes and not look like a total douchebag is Sugardaddy. And that’s because he’s a serious geek and doesn’t try to be lookin’ all “boss” in fuckin boat shoes. Hooker please. Best t-shirt award goes to this guy, wearing the Vanilla Ice t-shirt. Well done, sir, for also not looking like a pretentious asshole at today’s show. You are one of the few, and you did well. With your “I don’t give a shit” attitude–if you act swiftly and strategically– you may just see a vagina at some point in your lifetime.  You know who else might get to see a vagina one day? This dude with the faux-hawk and amazing mustache, who was so kind as to have his picture taken with Ju. He stood mext to us the night before at the Tool concert, and his mustache was like a bright star in a sea of fashion darkness. Especially when a dirty little shirtless white dude with “dreads” pushed up behind me and started getting all up on my shit. We will call him Edgar, because he had a tramp stamp on his back that literally said “Edgar”. Either that’s his name and he tattooed it there so that the nameless stranger who would bend him over that night would know what name to call out, or that’s the name of the person who owns him, and has branded his name where he can see it when he’s making him his little bitch. Either way, to me, the bitch who yelled at him, he will forever be Edgar. Another little piece of advice… if you are at a Puscifer concert, leave your flowery parasol at home. Just a suggestion.

Also, may I wax a little bit on the whole VIP deal? Now, I understand that you have to pay a LOT more to be a VIP. So, unless you get something substantial out of that deal (which in this case you did not), you will only look like a huge fuckface by standing in the VIP cage… directly next to everyone else… as we roam freely on the less than crowded concert grounds.  I’m not kidding, you look like fucking tools.  So, it could not have been for any other reason than to punish you by drawing attention to this douchery, that this woman decided to hula hoop like a damned fairy in the middle of the VIP cage.  Oh, and 19-year-old girl sitting forlornly like a scorn hipster against the inside of the VIP cage wall, smoking a cigarette like fuckin’ Johnny Depp, I’m sorry that your parents decided to cut you off and force you to grow up and pay for your own shit like the rest of society… like VIP tickets to this music festival. Here, let me buy your poor entitled ass a beer. Oh wait, you’re 19. That’s not legal. Here, here’s a double-shot-no-fat-vanilla-latte. No whip. (*get a job*).

Ooooooooooooh wait a minute….!!! So THAT’S why you would buy VIP tickets to sit in that pathetic little cage. To stay away from THESE guys. The goth emo muthafuckas who love to feel the depth of emotion from the music, the trees, the earth, the sky, and from each other’s rarely washed bodies. HOURS later, we walked past them laying on their blanket, legs intertwined and arms around each other, listening to Flaming Lips. I’m sure they are still there, three days later. Because these guys would do some dramatic shit like that.

Douchebag Award goes to this guy with the ankle tattoo, wearing a polo from Abercrombie or American Eagle or some shit like that, sitting alone on a blanket he brought from his mommy’s house, smoking a cigar with his one little douchey knee up in the air. You, my love… I want to destroy you.

A very special “Thank you”  goes to Steve, the frizzy red-haired corn-rowed hippie from Minot, North Dakota, for sharing the Mike’s Hard Lemonade on a hot summer night, thereby keeping Ju nicely sloshed during the Tool show while she watched the love of her life Maynard James Keenan serenade her. Also, special thanks to the two large dudes (aka “Johnny Knoxville” and “Bouncer”) who cleared a path toward the front for us ladies at the Puscifer show.  You really deserve a little boobie flash from us, but you’re not going to get it. Thank you for your grace and sacrifice.

Sugardaddy serves a tool his “Last Supper”.

If you got a gun up in your waist please don’t shoot up the place (why?)

Cause I see some ladies tonight who should be havin my baby… baby…

‘Big Poppa’, Notorious B.I.G. (1995)

Today went down in the books as the “Maundy Thursday Massacre”, round these parts.

No later than 9 a.m. this morning I get a call from the manfolk of the house. He rarely calls me from work because, while I care for two small children who I love deeply and birthed from my own womb, he cares for 3 semi-useful yet mostly-douchey supervisors and 60 craft employees backed by a union that may or may not enable them to act like children, for which they cannot be fired.

He is a better person than I, because he seems to be able to productively manage the generally high level of bullshit he gets dished every single day, while working within the confines of these union contracts and the limited mental capacity of his management staff, who make it a point to fuck up all kinds of shit every single day, leaving Sugardaddy to clean up the mess. I’d just fight a ho. That’s just my style. But all of this makes very clear why he happens to be such a sweet and patient husband. This is just now dawning on me…

Anyways.  So he calls me this morning while the little people are still eating breakfast and I’m doing the dishes in my underwears, so I ask “What’s goin on?”  I thought for a moment I was wearing some kind of sexy lingerie after what I heard next.  “I just wanted to talk to someone who isn’t a complete fuck-up.”  What did I do to deserve such a compliment, you ask?  Someone’s gon get some tonight, beeeitches! Talk that romantic talk, Sugar. Mama like.

So he goes on to tell me of the bullshit disaster he walked into this morning because his 3 tool supervisors can’t tell their asses from the donuts they’re shoving into their faces.  When I excitedly asked if he was going to fire someone (I love that shit, I really do. I mean, I get hot from people getting fired), he said no, but he was going to tell one of them to pack up his shit and get the fuck out, because he wasn’t coming back to work at that station.

I wished him a happy Maundy Thursday.  He replied, “You bet your ass it is, because that guy just got his last supper from this place.”

Which brings me to my point: May the love of your lord and savior Jesus Christ bring you the peace that surpasses all understanding this weekend, as we remember his death and resurrection. Also, mayhap things would be a little better if we laid down our guns, and found some sexy ho to make love to, no?  Let the wisdom of Biggie Smalls rest in your hearts and minds this Easter weekend.