Five Things-The Ping Edition: 4/14/14

1) Oh for fuck’s sake..they’re never gonna find that fucking plane.

It’s gone. Vapor. Too bad Malaysia lacked the balls to handle this whole mess correctly from the beginning. No wonder Al Qaida loves it there–y’all are clueless.

All of the possible runways long enough to support a Triple 7. (via NorthShoreJournal.org)

All of the possible runways long enough to support a Triple 7. (via NorthShoreJournal.org)

As much as I’d like to think the crew and passengers are safe, they’re not. It’s heartbreaking, and the families didn’t have to go through this shit storm.

 

2) One thing I’ve discovered is that if you get enough coffee in me, I can sing just like Carly Simon. True story.

 

3) Update to number 2: Add pot with the coffee, and I can sing just like Carol Channing.

 

4) One of the fun things about being a writer is if anyone fucks with you, you can write about it. Put it down on paper, in blog, book, or even on the bathroom wall. One doesn’t have to write it out verbatim which is nice. Plus, writing it out word-for-word could land you in court. I had this happen to me recently–being verbally berated for being me. I honestly don’t know where it came from, and I’ll admit it stung a bit.

Kinda like a kick to the tits when they’re sore–you know, like right before menses starts.

I told a few friends that being called fat and ugly wouldn’t have hurt so much.

However, almost as quickly as it entered my soul, it left and being the creative type that I am, I immediately wrote it all down for future use. It’s been put in the holster and will surface at the primo moment.

Until then, anything you want to say to me, g’head and mail it to my ass.

 

5) It’s PROBABLY not a good idea to fuck with an airline on Twitter about Al Qaida.

(via NY Daily News)

(via NY Daily News)

It gets better. Really.

(via Uproxx)

(via Uproxx)

 

When they made you dumb, they made you really dumb.

(via Uproxx)

(via Uproxx)

The Jiven’ Five: 10/9/13

Sorry I’ve been so quiet for the past week or so, but I’ve been busy…wait for it…WORKING. Yep, McCrabby managed to land herself a part-time–possibly temporary– gig. I can’t go into details just yet, BUT it does allow me share my gifts of writing, yapping and telling stories. Of course, the bottom could fall out and I’ll be back to keeping the couch down and yelling at kids to stay out of my liquor cabinet.

1) Ok, if I ever spied a man wearing such a tie, I’d have him arrested. This just screams douchebag.

A sampling courtesy of KickStarter.

A sampling courtesy of KickStarter.

Apparently, this new fangled neck wear is all the rage among …well… I don’t know who or what for that matter. Hmm..maybe I need another image. You know, one that shows the Shortti in action.

(courtesy KickStarter.com)

(courtesy KickStarter.com)

On second thought, I’m gonna have to slap on a big NO on this one.

Next!

2) Umm…..

(via Facebook/Business Insider)

(via Facebook/Business Insider)

I just got off the phone with my lawyer about going into the masturbation facility business. I’m gonna make a wad of cash building places where folks can quietly go blow their wads. And y’all thought I didn’t have any bidness sense. Haters.

Turns out our military industrial complex ain’t too keen on Marines choking the chicken and she-boppin’ all over Afghanistan. In fact, they’re so turned off by it that the powers-that-be concocted the above warning and posted it inside all of the porta-potties on the bases. Some on the inside think it’s a joke with one medic saying that you can’t get anything via semen (well one can get pregnant) unless an open wound happens to be in attendance. Eww. I couldn’t care less if Marines are playing with themselves..seriously. They’re in a shitty part of the world, fighting an even shittier war so why NOT let them diddle their puds every once in a while? Sheesh. It’s the least we can do.

3) I am very curious about this.

Screen shot 2013-10-09 at 9.31.24 AM

 

I’m morbidly curious. There, does that explanation sit better with you?

4) Oh goody. He’s single again.

(via altmalcontent.wordpress.com)

(via altmalcontent.wordpress.com)

Too bad he didn’t have the cajones to JUST age gracefully. He looks like one of my Il Bisonte handbags.

5) You really wanna know why I’m easing into veganism? Here’s one of the many reasons. H/t to Mother Jones.

40 Percent of Your Chicken Nugget Is Meat. The Rest Is…

bones, nerves, skin, feet, eyes, hair, claws, intestines, arteries, Republicans, herpes scabs, pus, scar tissue, Rick Santorum, afterbirth, varicose dick veins, egg shells, Brook Astor’s crotch, Pig Newtons, shedded snake skin, haggis, panty scrape, meconium, Putin’s asscrack sweat, Laplander jiz, Rice-A-Roni, John Boehner’s gin-soaked salty nutsack and pubic lice.

Ok, I went a titch overboard there, but you get the general idea. That shit’s bad for you.

 

 

Five for Friday: September 27, 2013

Another work week has come to an end. While for me, the one who’s been unemployed for about 140 weeks, it’s just another day. To me, days just flow into one another. One doesn’t have more significance than another. They’re all the same to me.

I’m not being a Debbie Downer, it’s the truth. This is my life these days.

I’m living the dream, folks.

1) Who knew that Portland would have one of these?

(via CasaDiablo.org)

(via CasaDiablo.org)

I haven’t considered working there–not yet. But, it is tempting. I didn’t find this whilst trolling for jobs in Portland, I found about it via the media. Turns out, New Jersey’s Great Hope to Save ‘Murica From Itself has been embroiled in a milquetoast imbroglio with a ‘stripper model weirdo’ who peels her clothes off for moola at a vegan strip club in Portland, Oregon.

Wait..what? Who cares about the politico having secksy time via Twitter with a woman he ain’t supposed to that’s been done too much and is now very boring. Yawn. But…um.. A VEGAN STRIP CLUB? Get the fuck out! Now, I do understand the allure of vegan restaurants, vegan grocery stores, vegan vacations…but a strip club? Like knowing that the peelers don’t wear animal products and that the food menu is vegan. Yeaa haa. Super. How PC. Very cool, very hip.

One question: Who goes to a strip club because it’s vegan.

You’re doing it wrong. Or, it’s so right that it just blew my mind.

2) Food of The Gods.

Screen shot 2013-09-27 at 1.51.00 PM

 

It’s Oreo Peanut Butter. I can die happy now.

3) Ahhh…. my hometown. From DNAInfo.com

Prof’s Former Student Arrested after Crush Turned to Stalking, Police Say

“COOK COUNTY CRIMINAL COURTHOUSE —  A former Harold Washington College student’s crush turned criminal when she was arrested for stalking, authorities said.

Ghemeilia Butler, arrested 10 times for trespassing at the city college and for stalking her old teacher, “imagined in her mind that the two of them had a relationship.”

(via Chicago Police Department)

(via Chicago Police Department)

Ok, ok…I understand how some folks get all ‘hot for teacher’–I think that’s a very common occurrence. Those crushes usually disappear within a week, or by 4th period. But, this is a 34-year old woman, and she was in college and the whole thing is just stinkin’ weird–especially this part:

“Butler was a student of the unidentified professor for only half a semester in 2011, Assistant State’s Attorney Lorraine Scaduto said.

Scaduto said Butler has been arrested 10 times for trespassing and violating an order of protection the teacher has against her.

Butler also sent more than 500 pages of emails to the professor, at one point suggesting that the two “get married and live in the victim’s classroom,” Scaduto said.”

Yep, I’m still cringing too.

4) And I thought meth was bad.

via MoralLowGround.com

Flesh-Eating Drug Krokodil Hospitalizes 2 in Arizona

(DANGER WILL ROBINSON!! Extremely graphic video!)

“Medical authorities in Arizona have reported the arrival of a frightening flesh-eating drug that’s sent two people to the hospital with horrific injuries.

KLTV reports desomorphine, commonly called Krokodil, is very popular among the poor in Russia, but until now, there has been little or no reported use of the homemade drug in the United States.

Krokodil, a potentially deadly mix of codeine and hydrocarbons such as oil, gasoline, alcohol or paint thinner, causes flesh to rot from the inside out and can result in users developing festering sores that resemble crocodile skin, hence the drug’s name. Users inject it into their veins, which causes severe damage to blood vessels and tissue and, in some cases, rots flesh so completely that raw bone becomes exposed. Although Krokodil is boiled before injection, potentially lethal impurities remain.

According to KSAZ, doctors claim the average life expectancy of a Krokodil user is about three years, as the drug literally eats addicts alive.”

You take this drug and you rot from the inside out. Then, you die. Does anything else need to be said on the subject?

Yes.

Russia is a shit hole.

And ..

Don’t fucking inject this shit into your body!

5) One of my favorite songs.

 

 

Phive Tings: September 25, 2013

1) When Mother Nature wants to get your attention, she does it with a bang.

Damn.

via The Telegraph UK.

Pakistan earthquake island is a ‘mud volcano’

Dr Brian Baptie from the British Geological Survey says the island that appeared off the coast of Pakistan after the earthquake is a “mud volcano” formed as gas and water forced its way to the surface.

Holy shiite. So, even though this 7.7 magnitude quake killed over 300 people, it managed to create an island because why the hell not?

2) It’s no secret that many child stars don’t age well. Some turn to drugsand more drugsSome become strippers then go and kill themselves. Some turn into punk rockers and cameramen/script supervisor. Then, there are those who turn out well, but they’re no fun to talk about, which leads us to Kirk Cameron. Turns out this born again, gay hatin’, blames-the-Holocaust-on-Darwin, Christian is now God’s Dear Abby. Don’t believe me? Then, you’re going to hell, but first read this.

via SFWeekly.com

Kirk Cameron Answers Your Letters to God

God is tough dude to get a hold of see, unless you’re Kirk Cameron. He and the Big Guy are chums–so much so that he had to make a movie about his relationship with God. Oh and Cameron’s–oh SHIT. We missed it. The screening via Liberty University was last night and we fucking missed it. Shitty shitty piss piss fuck fuck.

But WAIT! My sources tell me that this cinematic tour-de-force will be screened AGAIN on October 3rd. Anyone care to join me?

3) While we’re on the subject of religion, another big star of the 1970s/early 80s is having a tough time with her abode.

Olivia Newton-John Holds Exorcism At Florida Home After Contractor Suicide

(via ibtimes.com)

(via ibtimes.com)

via The Inquisitr.

“Olivia Newton-John hired a priest to perform an exorcism at her Florida home after a contractor committed suicide on the property last month.

Christopher Pariseletti was believed to have been having financial difficulties with his business and asked the 64-year-old Grease star for a loan to keep it from closing. He killed himself with a shotgun by the pool while the home was empty and was found by another contractor. Pariseletti was apparently seen crying earlier that morning.”
Aaaaaaand that’s all you really need to know about this story. Why? Because I’m too lazy to write about it.
4) Oh, Florida, Florida, Florida.
via Raw Story.

Yet another Florida man arrested at strip club for leaving kid in car

(via Raw Story)

(via Raw Story)

Why am I not surprised by the word “yet” in the headline? Anyone care to take a stab at as to why?

5) Game, set, smash!

Martina Hingis Teams Up With Mother, Mother’s Boyfriend To Beat Up Husband

(via Exposay.com)

(via Exposay.com)

Apparently, Martina Hingis has a hard time keeping her balls in the court, and likes to play doubles with more than one partner, and her hubby didn’t care for it. So much for tennis being a game about love.

That’s one helluva slam.

Five Things: September 19, 2013

I thought I’d put my Feedly reader to good use and point out some of the more outrageous/interesting/heinous/gnarly/silly, etc. stories cruising around out there.

1) Apparently, Stand Your Ground REALLY only applies to white folks when they shoot black and brown folks, not the other way around. How dare you think that the law is applied evenly and fairly? You think it is? Then, it’s time to take off your fucking rose-colored specs because they’re blinders smeared with shit. Seriously. Don’t believe me? Check this out.

H/t to politicalblindspot.com

ANOTHER Jailed African American In Florida Is Told ‘Stand Your Ground’ Doesn’t Apply To Him

Screen shot 2013-09-19 at 3.28.59 PM

Michael Giles (courtesy of PoliticalBlindspot.com)

Funny thing about laws, they gotta apply to everyone. Oh wait, this is Florida so there’s the rub. While I am not a fan of online petitions, this one might be worth signing.

2) It’s deja-vu–1991 style–all over again.

Why?

Gennifer Flowers is back in the news. She’s now yammering about how that if it weren’t for Chelsea, she and Bill would be all married up n’ shit by now. Oh, and Hillary’s a bi-seck-shul, by the way according to Gennifer via Bill. AND, Hill’s eaten more pussy than Bill. Just sit with that one for a minute. Let it absorb in your being and ooze in and out of your  ….

I know what you’re trying to do now–you’re trying to get that image of Hillary muff diving out of your mental Rolodex. You know what? IT CANNOT BE DONE. I’m sure some of my Sapphic Sisters can relate though.

(courtesy of monstersandcritics.com)

(courtesy of monstersandcritics.com)

You get what’s going on here, yes? Well, Hillary will probably run for POTUS in 2016, so the Right Wing is starting early with the rumor mill. HOWEVER, what they probably don’t realize is that by saying that Hillary swings both ways, she’s collected all of the gay money and has shored up the gay vote. Gays have lots of cash and lots to say, and unfortunately for our brothers and sisters on the right, lots and lots of influence. Nice try, RWNJ, better put a call into Monica to see what she’s been up to lately, you know, as a ‘just in case.’ If Monica is busy, there’s always her.

3) Good luck, Felony. You’re gonna need it.

(via imgur.com)

(via imgur.com)

4) Bring up your dead. I know you saw what I did there.

This case is still very much alive in Boulder these days.

Here’s what I’m talking about. Apparently, some folks just can’t let dead baby beauty queens stay dead. This was a horrible case–not just the actual crime, but how it was handled and screwed up by the Boulder Police Department and the Boulder DA.

(via KTLA)

(via KTLA)

But, what’s extremely important here is the indictment against the Ramseys was never made available to the public. It was presented to a grand jury, they voted to prosecute the Ramseys for the murder of their daughter, JonBenet, but the prosecutor never signed it. Why? This is what Charlie Brennan, a reporter for the Daily Camera and the Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press would like to know. Simply put, in a so-called free society, there has to be transparency. As journalists, this is our main job–to be watchdogs for and of society. We uncover the corruption, the crap–the bad behavior if you will–that so many of our esteemed elected officials would rather you not know about. I know I’ll be following this story because I don’t think it’s over yet. Stay tuned.

5) Finally, a song for today. Tis a grand one too. Enjoy.

Dawg Daze

Why, yes–I am back.

For the moment at least.

I’ve been buried in a story about this dead gal, and while it’s been quite the education, it has also taken over my life for the past month. I’m done and now I wait.

Yeah..yeah..yeah…I know we’re in the Dog Days of Summer and my three readers are probably either on vacation in Branson, or in prison. See, I figure that it’s been a while since I’ve paid any attention to this blog, it’s best that I don’t jump in–tits first–since most of my writing for the past month has been about serious stuff. I don’t know what’s funny anymore.

Fortunately, I have my fellow humans to once again prove to me that we live in a world that is always chock-full of weird and wacky shit. So, attention must be paid.

You know what? Sleep is so overrated. It is. Eight to 10 hours of shut-eye a night is for pussies. I’ve been an insomniac for years, and I’m not *quite* sure why my body/mind doesn’t require sleep, but I have a damn good idea as to what might be one of the many causes.

All I can say is HOLY FUCK.

New Spider from Laos Named after Actor Dominic Monaghan

I don’t give a red rat’s ass that there’s a spider named for some actor, it’s the fact that Mother Nature has decided that this world needs another fucking spider. Why a spider? WHY, DAMN YOU?!!? Is a new species of spider *really* necessary? Why not something harmless like a new horse species? Or an even hedgehog? (like that’s possible)

I’m off to buy a hermitically sealed house.

Oh… this kid needs therapy. Peepee whacking in this case should be done by someone with sharp stick. Yes, I understand this is what young lads do, but there is something fakakta about a ‘tween jackin’ it on mom’s Martex towels she got on special at Macy’s.

Yeah..yeah..yeah…Anthony Weiner. Big whup. You’re a choad, not because you were sexting (I mean really, who cares?), but because you said you weren’t going to do it anymore after your last very public “oops.” Plus, you think that New Yorkers are stupid, which we all know ain’t the case. True story–New Yorkers will always be the first ones to tell you just how smart they are. *YAWN.* What I love about this story is how the word ‘slutbag’ is now part of the McCrabass vernacular. The said thing is, Barbara Morgan will probably get a new job before I do.

I like this hed better: “Monkeys throw poo at selfish people.” Too bad the story isn’t about poo-flinging because that would be something I could get behind.

Finally, I am a journalist because I hope to cover a story like this someday soon.

Passenger said he only wanted to travel together with his ‘beloved’ pet
Screen shot 2013-08-02 at 8.48.17 PM

Aaaand I’m done.

 

Boned

Why am I surprised when an infamous person’s 15 minutes of fame is extended thanks to the brilliant idea of making a sex tape?

I keep hoping that humanity will man-up and put the kibosh on this phenom and actually heap huge rewards upon those of us who worked out asses off and played by the rules. But, as long as there’s a buck or two–or a million–to be made, Z-list celebs and their penchant for recording every fucking move for their half-wit fan base will continue until the sun explodes and kills us all.

Let this sink in and we’ll discuss it.

From The Daily Beast.

Report: ‘Teen Mom’ Signs $1M Porn Deal

“Looks like Farrah Abraham’s “sex tape” is being made into a porno after all. The Teen Mom star reportedly inked a nearly $1 million deal with Vivid Entertainment for the release of her tape, after initially claiming it was for private use only. The porno with James Deen allegedly comes with a classy title, too: “Farrah Superstar: Backdoor Teen Mom.” While most suspected the tape was good old-fashioned porn, Abraham and even Vivid founder and co-chair Steven Hirsch ran with the “sex tape” ruse for a while. Deen, meanwhile, tried to set the record straight that no one would believe it was for private use. “I said I’m like the worst person for this job because, not to be arrogant, but people are gonna know me,” he told The Daily Beast.

farrah.abraham.500x332

For those of you who don’t know who Farrah Abraham is, she is one of the stars of MTV’s reality series “Teen Mom.” Like all of the participants on that show, Farrah realized that as soon as her water broke, being a teen mom just plain sucks wang because not only does she have to deal with the trials and tribulations of being a teenager, she’s also a new mom! From what I’ve heard, being a new mom at any age is the toughest gig around. From time to time I would watch the season which featured Farrah, but had to stop due to the chronic laryngitis I got from yelling at the tee vee.

Admittedly, Farrah was different from most teen moms featured because her baby daddy died in a car crash prior to the birth of their daughter, Sophia, so she didn’t have worry about which baseball cap the baby daddy would be wearing when he picked up their kid for a play date with his new girlfriend’s kid. Or whether or not his facial hair was properly cared for.

Admit it–that’s mighty sad.

However, throw in her porn paramour, James Deen

main_308960k

 

the sage advice of the King of All Snake Oil Salesmen, Dr. Phil,  and we can use an egg timer to tell us exactly when she’ll be spit out of the ass-end of the porn industry. Well, that and the fact that she’s about as bright as a dove bar.

Am I completely surprised by this? Nah, but what this tells me is I need to have a teen mom, make a sex tape and collect a sub-mental fan base.

I’m going back to bed.

A Somber Anniversary

This week marks a frustrating and sad anniversary for me: Two years ago–January 21, 2011–was my last day at my editing gig at a trade/B2B publication here in Chicago.

First, allow me to back it up a titch and regale you about how the fun began two weeks earlier.

I arrived at work on that crappy cold-as-fuck morning, had just enough time to put my stuff down on my desk, take off my coat, and say hello to my co-workers before the Editor-in-Chief asked me to take a walk with him. I found this a bit odd since he never paid me much attention, unless it was to gripe about something, or if he needed me to order some sort of pen.

So, when we rounded the corner that separated the newsroom from sales, and into a small conference room where the resident HR drone was waiting, my stomach flip-flopped. My mouth went dry and my chest felt like it was going to resemble Kane’s in “Alien”–but with my heart bursting out & smacking both the EIC and HR right in their mugs instead of a parasite that would eventually kill the entire fucking masthead. A wry smile crossed my lips for a brief second at that thought, but it quickly vanished when I heard the following:

“Um, yeah. Julia. We’re going to lay you off–it’s nothing personal of course–we’re just eliminating your position so we can add more to the sales team.”

What happened next few minutes was a blur. I do, however, remember giving the EIC a look that would kill a planet, tightening my jaw until it ached and feeling the tears starting to build up. Sadly, the death glare didn’t land because he wouldn’t look me in the face, but he did manage to set the land speed record for waddling out of the conference room so he could alert my colleagues of my fate.

You know, to save face and look like a fucking hero.

“Gosh, we really like Julia, but tight budgets are preventing us from keeping her on. So, I know she’s looking for work, so please help her out if you can.”

My immediate boss was absent that day so when she got my tearful phonecall an hour later, needless to say, she was furious. The next couple of weeks were a blur of phonecalls to friends slash possible employers, resume prep, buckets of tears, lashing out at everyone, allowing my shocked soon-to-be-former co-workers take me out for lunches and post-work drinks, and trying my damndest to not kick both the EIC and ME in the balls. It took alll of my god-given strength to NOT throw my ass in the shitastic Chicago River when I learned that an intern would be doing my job.

Not personal, eh? Go fuck yourself.

The last couple of years hurled all sorts of puke/jiz-filled crappy crap at me. I don’t know which moments were the most fucked-in-the-head: Was it the the snow storm that hit the area about a week after I was canned? Or was it the pubic-hair freezing cold that pounded Chicago in the ass afterwards? Or, was it going out to LA to look for work and have many jobs dangled in front of me only to have them taken away just as I was making arrangements to move my life west? Maybe it was three interviews I had with a certain Chicago media outlet that always hired someone too young and inexperienced over me, only to have that person leave a few months later because the work was “too hard.” This happened three times.

It coulda been the publisher in Florida who flat-out asked me my age during a phone interview, and when I gently reminded him that what he was asking me was, gosh, ILLEGAL, he proclaimed he didn’t care. I ended the interview soon after.

Perhaps it was the approximately 500 carefully crafted resumes with the appropriate key words and phrases I sent out that were probably mocked, laughed at and tossed in digital circular files–I have no idea which one of these events have helped push me down Crap Mountain the fastest, but I do know this much–

THE LAST TWO YEARS HAVE BEEN A MAJOR PIG FUCK.

Somedays, I can’t move. I don’t leave the apartment. I read my New York Times, the New Yorker, maybe watch my stories on the tee vee, watch porn on the computer–anything to distract me from the fact that I am a miserable failure. While I am well aware that there are many in my situation–and in worse situations–I can’t worry about them. Does that make me cold & heartless? Naah, it makes me realistic because I highly doubt they give a red rat’s ass about me.

Other days, I work on my book that no one will ever read, do Bikram yoga and consider cooking meth in my kitchen. I help other friends find work, read reports and a thesis or two for a pittance. I cheer when my friends find work, and am sad for them when they lose their jobs. My happiness for their successes is genuine, but so is my anger and resentment. It’s difficult to be around friends who are successful and have jobs, so I don’t go out much. Plus, this city is expensive.

I’m thankful for my health (knock on wood), and the facts that I’m well-educated, and don’t have a mortgage or kids to worry about. I don’t want to think about where I’d be if either of those were a factor.

I felt some cold-comfort upon learning that both the EIC and ME were canned under new management. Since it’s not my style to revel in someone else’s misfortunes, my happiness immediately turned to concern because they both have families and mortgages. But then again, they’ll probably find work before I do, so fuck ’em.

So, what am I to do? Keep getting out of bed every day. Keep on with the writing because my book is turning out to be a gem.

And most of all, not listen to those folks who tell me I can’t succeed. One of ‘those folks’ happens to be me, but that voice is getting fainter and fainter with each passing moment.

I think Madonna said it best below.

Petraeus’s Pussy Problem

What former CIA Director General David Petraeus said in a statement after it was discovered by the FBI he was playing hide the ballistic missile with his biographer, Paula Broadwell, author of the tome about her paramilitary paramour titled, [B]All In, was expected and quite dull. Zzzzzz….

“After being married for over 37 years, I showed extremely poor judgment by engaging in an extramarital affair,” Mr. Petraeus said in his statement, expressing regret for his abrupt departure. “Such behavior is unacceptable, both as a husband and as the leader of an organization such as ours. This afternoon, the president graciously accepted my resignation.”

Whoopsie!

Just for once, I’d LOVE to hear an apology statement by a government official upon resignation given in the appropriate lingo of his/her career choice. Confused? Well, here’s what he should have said:

“After slipping my warhead past Ms. Broadwell’s strategic defense systems, I have surrendered my position. I have waved the white flag, admitted that civilian poontang was my Waterloo. I apologetically let loose many an improvised explosive device in her fox hole, and my actions are regrettable. I am currently engaged in intense peace negotiations with my military spouse of 37 years, and am hoping for a truce but I have an inkling my actions have only created my own little DMZ. Therefore, the Commander-in-Chief, who has never spent one damn fucking day in uniform, acted like a major pussy and accepted my resignation. What a pud. Me? Well, I’m a SCUD stud!”

Way to acoustically jam her, General.

Exorcism a la Plinky

So I signed up with Plinky to help me with this NaBloPoMo thingy.

Supposedly or Supposebly (choose whichever version best displays your edumacational achievements) the daily inspirations on Plinky are supposed to help me with this daily writing task.

Not bloody likely.

So far, the ‘inspirations’ I’ve spied involve describing a time when you felt your loneliest, if you could invent a holiday what would it be, and something about kittens. Sure, some of the responses are heartfelt and heartbreaking but I’d rather not air mah dirty laundry that way.

Until today.

Whilst in my pre-caffeine part of the morning, I came across this suggestion:

Have you ever had to end a friendship?

Plinky’s prescience is impressive. Recently, I went through a mutual dumping of sorts. I said something horrible, immediately apologized (actually three times which in hindsight is two times too many), yet this former friend decided to take my bad behavior one step further and tell the targets of my insult what I had said.

Oops.

Over the next few tear-filled, angst-and guilt-ridden days, the realization hit me like a box of human shit that this friend of over 20 years was never a friend because she didn’t have to take my horrible insult to the next level. A phonecall coulda and shoulda been made asking me what was up & had that happened, then the chaos train would’ve stopped. See how that works?

Live and learn, plus it’s time to have my friendship radar adjusted. Fuck it–I’ll just get a new one.

Of course I regret my behavior and miss my former friend from time to time, and what happened has brought me pain, plus a healthy dose of introspection.

I take responsibility for my actions, and am done apologizing.

However, anger surfaces from time to time, which ain’t pretty because what I could say to them would melt the skin off their faces and cause their tits to tumble off their chesticles. It’s very tempting, but why would I want to waste such a wonderful combo platter of wit, wisdom and high-brow insults on folks who have proven themselves to be tone-on-tone half-wits and what’s the term? Frenemies? Yes, I’m using a term so associated with the early aughts, but it works well in this case.

When I was going through this, a good friend told me that this woman–plus the two I offended who I believed to be my friends–don’t deserve the tears I’m shedding.

He’s absolutely correct, and now there is peace in the dome.

Onward and upward.