Please return your faulty uterus

Guts are fun for the whole family. Nothing brings a family closer together than talking about liver function or how many ways a spleen is useful. However, please be aware that your uterus may be faulty.

Apparently, small children could pull off the ovaries, sticking them in their mouths and choking on them. I myself have never had this problem, but I'm not saying that it couldn't happen.

Direct from the recall site: "If you gave the uterus as a gift, please forward this email to the recipient(s)."

"If your...uterus is NOT accessible to young children, and you wish to keep your beloved uterus, you may opt-out via email."

Click for full text re: your recalled uterus

They cannot replace the uterus once you return it, but they will give you a refund and a discount on another organ. You have many to choose from:

"The giant orgy of guts includes heart, lungs, liver, kidney, brain, pancreas and gallbladder."

I am ordering this post-haste because they referred to this being a "giant orgy". I'm all in.

If it is "being used by a young child, please remove it immediately."

It would seem to me that some child, somewhere, is going to be broken-hearted at the loss of her uterus at such a young age. So sad. Now what will she hang her dreams of the future on? Certainly not her ovaries.

There are those who will say, "Shame on you for making fun of people. You know some young girls do have to have their uterus removed for medical reasons." To those people who grumble at me, I say, "May you choke on my ovaries".

This may replace my "Suck it, all of you" line since Tina Fey used it at the SAG Awards, or the Globes, or wherever that was. She can choke on my ovaries too.

XOXO

Adults just don't do that!

I realize this may offend some of you. And you know what? I'm ok with that. Mostly because over the last few months, no less than 5 people have told me that initially, I either scared them or seemed unapproachable. Someone once told me that your true self always shines through no matter how hard you try. Maybe this is a side of myself that I should embrace.

Grrrrr!

Still here?

Good. I have a proclamation and you don't want to miss it.

If you are over the age of 22 and straight, you should never have the letters Q and T together on a vanity plate. Ever.

You're too old to be a QT or a cutie for that matter. It's OK for gay men to have because the majority of them are QT's.

I tried to looking for an exception to this rule, and cannot come up with one. Nope, not a single one exists. Not even Quentin Tarantino - unless he's gay. In that case, he should QT it up, boi!


For other things adults should not ever do: GO HERE



XOXO

We're Still Learning

Jerry and I have slept in the same bed for over a decade and yet he is still learning things about me. I’m assuming this is something new, as this is the first time he’s mentioned it. He presented it to me as if it were something new that had developed. Our conversation went a little something like this:

J: “I learned something new about you while you were sleeping last night.”

Me: “Here it comes. What happened? Did I fart?”

*CRICKETS*

Me: “Well?”

J: “Yes.”

Me: “Did it reek?”

J: “I don’t know. My nose is still all stuffed up from my sinuses.”

Me: “Then it didn’t smell. Because if mine has any scent at all, you’d know it even if your snot had cemented itself inside your nose.”

J: “Stop. You’re supposed to be a lady. LAAAAY-DEEEEEEE.”

Me: “It’s a fact of life. Everyone does it.”

J: “Yes, but polite people leave the room so others don’t have to be uncomfortable.”

Me: “I was sleeping!”

J: “You still need to know that you did it. I mean, I don’t fart in front of you.”

Me: “You did that one time, after surgery. I know you were horrified, but I have to tell you, it made me feel like you were more human.”

J: “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

Me: “OK.”

*LONG PAUSE*

Me: “Was it loud?”

J: *Sigh* “It was audible. There was no question what it was.”

*More silence*

Me: “Did it…”

J: “Just stop.”

Me: “Well, now I don’t think I can sleep in the same bed as you anymore. I mean what if it happens again? What if it smells? Will you file for divorce?”

J: “Stop.”

Me: “Oh. My. God. You’re already planning on filing, aren’t you? It was one little toot! You laugh when Josh does it.”

J: “He’s a kid. He’s a boy. You’re my wife!”

Me: “But…”

J: “Stop.”

*AWKWARD SILENCE*

Me: “That’s it. I just need to stand up and fart right now so that it’s no longer awkward. Ripping one in front of my husband shouldn’t be awkward.”

J: “Yes, it should be awkward – it’s common courtesy. And no, you should not stand up and do it right now. Ladies don’t even talk about this! ”

Me: “That’s because they’re too busy doing it. I shouldn't stand up? Would leaning be better? I'm used to leaning. That's what my mom and I do.”


J: “Let’s change the subject because this is not helping my vision of you as a delicate woman. Can’t you be more lady-like?”

*Thinking of appropriate new subject*

Me: “Fine. I’ll be back. I’ve gotta go take a huge crap.”


Yeah, I got your “lady-like” right here!

Good text should last forever

Just because I'm busy today, I'm going to transfer some of my MySpace profile over here.

ABOUT ME:   

I am all that and a bag of Funyons. Don't believe me? Hang out here a bit. You'll soon discover the truth.

I was born roughly 9 months after my parents had sex. My mom was kind of conservative, my father a hippie. I was then left on the steps of a large church and picked up by a family of gypsys who later "sacrificed" me to a pack of wolves. However, I was able to win the wolves over, mere moments before they devoured me, by cooing at them and blinking very rapidly. They raised me, and gave me the name "WOOFWOOFAROO", which was pretty much what they named all of their girl children.

Later, I was picked up by social services and labeled "little naked girl" and my natural mother felt bad and came forward and claimed me. She later pressed charges against Lady Annisia, the gypsy leader, for kidnapping, just to save face.

When I was 12, I was on the news for being the youngest vendor at a benefit to help the volunteer fire department where I lived. I was peddling pussy. I had 4 customers, but as it was getting later and I still had more to give, I just gave the rest away.

When I was 14, I moved to "the big city" where, tired of moving around and changing schools, I vowed to never EVER make another friend.

I broke this vow in July of 2006, when I made a MySpace profile. Ever since then, I've decided that I'm just not an in-person people person.

And so, I have set out to be that uber-popular cheerleader person who I accidentally pushed down a flight of stairs in high school. Only, I'll do it by blogging and instead of cheering, I'll beg you for money. How's that sound?

Political junk seems to be all the rage these days - and rumors, oh hell those are really making the headlines. And so....

I once had a threesome with a past female VP hopeful and the chocolate Kennedy. The chick yelled out, "You betcha and Yay Jesus", while I stuck my finger in her butt. Suddenly, a crotchety old man slinging words like "surge" and "maverick" appeared, riding one of those dinosaurs that Ms. I-coulda-been-VP doesn't believe in.


CURRENT INFO:

Married, kids, dogs, picket fence, out of your league. That's me summed up. Occasionally, I am a professional pirate and at other times - ninja. I have an incredibly short attention span, which makes it difficult to have any hobbies or work on projects.

I hate glitter graphics. I hate "FIRST!" on blog comments. I hate "Thanx for the add" graphics. I hate most vegetables and I believe that the secret to immortality may very well be to not eat any of them.

I really dislike it when people call me a biatch, a biotch, or anything similar. We're not in the third grade. Your mom probably isn't hanging out here, and if she is, she's not going to wash your mouth out with soap if you have potty mouth. It's B-I-T-C-H. Get it right, spell it right. Otherwise it's just your insecurity talking. If you can say BITCH, you can spell it, ok?

Oh, another thing? Nowhere in the history of the world has a kiss ever sounded like "MUAH". Not even Grandma's kisses when her teeth are on the dresser.

You should be fully prepared to have me refer to you as "hooker" or "whore" and if you're not, there's the door. For me, it's a sign of affection. Let's face it - who doesn't love hookers?

..

One of these days, I'll get the rest of it over here, but for now, that should hold you!

Happy Monday!