The celeb gossip site, Dlisted has a daily “Caption This Contest” that I have won before, and this week, I was runner-up again! Most days see hundreds of witty, off color, and funny entries, so I’m always honored when I get picked. Below is the pic, and my dirty minded caption:
“The genie misunderstood when I made my third wish for a hot pussy to grind on my meat.”
1. Had a great week at the beach with the outlaws. Couldn’t have asked for better weather! This was of course the first vacation with the 8 month olds…and I can not believe how much children change things. Gone were the late nights playing games (everyone was too tired and God forbid a noise be made after the babies are asleep). Life for a new parent apparently revolves around when the baby will sleep, poop, and eat. And it is cause for great concern if any of those things happen too often, not often enough, or stray from normal quantities.
2. Have I ever mentioned that I love to read? It’s a running joke among the outlaws that I am some sort of speed reader because I routinely finish three or four books on vacation. Well, I only finished two this time: David Sedaris’s latest “When You Are Engulfed in Flames” which was great of course, though not as funny as some of his previous works. The second was “The Sea of Monsters” by Rick Riordan. It’s the second in a series of “young readers” books revolving around the half-blood son of the God Poseidon, Percy Jackson. Harry Potter fans won’t be able to help drawing comparisons and will no doubt enjoy the series. I finished the first book in that series a few weeks ago. I finished a fourth book just before we left–it had been in my pile of “beach reads” but I just couldn’t put it down. “The Thireenth Tale” by Diane Setterfield. An awesome book…easily the best I’ve read in a while.
3. Maybe the coolest thing at the beach was seeing a water spout form over the ocean. The outlaws hired a photographer to come out to the beach house and take some new family portraits, and as we were setting up on the beach, we saw it forming just off the coast. Just a little mist at first, but eventually turned into a full-fledged water-borne tornado! It lasted for a few minutes, then disappeared as quietly as it started.
4. Ever notice how the shit ALWAYS hits the fan just before you schedule some time off? And no matter how much planning you do beforehand, the shit keeps hitting that fan while you’re gone?? I swear, work is deader than Michael Jackson right now, but I’ve done nothing but put out fires all morning. And I can be free of deadlines, meetings, and have a completely blank calendar, but if I plan a day off my schedule will fill up immediately beforehand so that I am rushing til the last possible second to get everything done. Maybe I should just take more days off and work will get busy again.
This dish is so yummy, you’d think it would take a half day in the kitchen, but the truth is it’s almost as easy as making a sandwich!
Ingredients:
2 Large Chicken Breasts
1 4-0z package of crumbled Feta cheese
4 thin slices of Prosciutto (or Pancetta)
Breadcrumbs
How to cook it:
chop up the prosciutto into small pieces.
In a bowl, mix the feta cheese, the chopped prosciutto, and a tablespoon of breadcrumbs.
Slice the chicken breasts lengthwise, butterfly fashion, and spread them open. Spoon in the stuffing, pressing it down into the chicken. Fold the chicken breast “closed” once it is stuffed. Very lightly dust them with breadcrumbs, and top the breasts with a spoonful of the stuffing (to make ‘em pretty you see)
Bake them at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or so, and voila, that’s all there is to it.
1. It’s vacation time! As you read this I’m probably lounging at the pool or sitting on the beach with a good book. It’s time for the outlaw family vacation. Yep: me, honey, Bonnie, Clyde, two brothers-out-law, two sisters-out-law and two 8 month old babies all in one big beach house for a week. Whether this is actually a vacation or one of those situations in which I remind myself that “that which does not kill us only makes us stronger” remains to be seen.
2. My 401K statements arrived last week. And for the first time in a year, I actually smiled when I saw them. One was up 30 percent, the other up almost 20. Of course, they had nowhere to go BUT up…still, it’s nice to think that just maybe we are over the hump.
3. But, it continues to be bad news for housing, which means bad news for me. It’s got me thinking, what would I wanna do with my life if I weren’t doing this? I haven’t come up with an answer. It’s hard enough right now to find a job at all…but to spring into something new that I have no experience in sounds impossible to me.
4. My youngest brother is apparently a chip off the old block. (He might kill me for sharing this.) He’s had his license less than a month and has already done something that both my father and I have done in the past. Crashed into another car in our own driveway. Of course, when dad I did it we were dinging old clunkers. Lil bro just happened to time his poorly–dinging Dad’s new car with his new Mustang. (Mustang?? Yep. Not quite as nice as the hand me down ding mobile I got as a teenager, but he’ll make due with it)
5. Trying a new category here at the ole Vinyl Village. Easy and tasty meals for the guy or gal on the go. I love good food, but I hate the time it takes to make it. So I’ve got a handful of easy, quick meals that I pull outta the old bag from time to time, and I’ll be sharing them here.
Some poor soul trapsed into the Vinyl Village looking for “grandpa trannies” and had to leave empty handed. Now, you know I can’t have anyone leave here disappointed, so I tracked one down for you right HERE.
It seems a little late in the game to do something that drastic once you’re of AARP age, but to each his her their own. It reminds me of a joke:
An elderly couple walks into a lawyers office and announces that they need his assistance in a quick no-fault divorce. He says he would be happy to help, but wonders why they are making this move after nearly 70 years of marriage.
“Well…” the old man explains, “we haven’t gotten along in years.”
“That’s right.” the lady continues, “but we wanted to wait until the children were dead.”
If you don’t get boobs until you’re 60, I guess there’s a pretty good chance you’ll be taking your dirt nap before they droop down to your knees, right? And by that age, there’s a good chance the “man parts” aren’t working without pharmaceutical intervention, so perhaps there is something to be said for making such a switch in your golden years. I was always curious exactly HOW such surgeries were done. I mean, removing or adding boobs seems easy enough, but the OTHER…well I just wasn’t sure. And I should have remained blissful in my ignorance, that’s all I’m gonna say about that.
According to Facebook, my ghetto nickname is Pookie. “You’re a ghetto princess, you always match your 50 dollar Baby Phat shirt with your 2 dollar chinese store slippers and your weave is always on point…”
I don’t know about the weave, and $50 is more than I have ever spent on a shirt, but Pookie is out in force today. See, what had happened was, The Girl from the Ghetto done awarded me with the “That’s So Ghetto Award.” Shoooz!
This award is given to those who: have to maintain their blog and keep writing posts, not taking off four months here and there. And most of all, they have to be a little twisted, and at times, a little ghetto. They have to write a blog post so damn funny that I’m really laughing out loud while reading it, and not just typing lol in response to what they post.
Now I gotsta pass this award on, but I can’t do it today, honey. I’m bout to go get my weave tightened, my car cleaned, and my fingernails did. Bonnie, Clyde, the two sister women, they baby daddy’s, and they young uns is on they way here and tomorrow morning we gonna load up the car and head down to the coast for a week at the beach shack. While we gone, you can tune in to the complex comedy stylings of Miss Shirley Q. Liquor. Until next week then, BYE BABIES and don’t forget to axe your mama how she durrin!
From the second we bought this house, with it’s pre-fenced yard, Honey wanted a dog.
I’m talking Rudy from the Cosby Show wanted a dog. Visits to the animal shelter every few weeks. Less-than-subtle hints that a dog would make the house so much homier. Only, I would rather have pulled my teeth with a pair of rusty pliers than shared my house with an animal. After college, I had roommates who brought home a Shit-zoo puppy (not a typo…this rabid furball was a shit factory). I hated that dog. It stunk. It chewed up books, furniture, rugs. It yapped. It peed. It made “home” all the less homey. Besides, neither Honey nor I work close enough to the house to go home mid-day for doggy doo-doo breaks, and we travel a lot, so a dog made as much sense as as a screen door on a submarine.
But Honey persisted, pointing out the well-behaved and hygienic animals that various friends and family had. Slowly my stance changed from “I’d rather floss my teeth with rusty barbed wire.” to “I’ll think about it.”
Then, while surfing a pet finding website I found what appeared to be an ideal dog! Already a year old, cute as could be, hypoallergenic, and housetrained! What more could we ask for? It satisfied all of my criteria. I showed Honey, and we agreed it looked like a great pet! But of course it wasn’t as simple as calling up and saying “We’ll take it!” Oh no.
The dog was being trained at a nearby prison. That’s right, a prison. CNN did a story on a similar program recently. After filling out the required paperwork, (They wanted more information than our mortgage broker had) we were invited to visit the dog. At the prison. Of course, the visit was to happen when Honey was out of town. So, despite the fact that I had as much desire for a dog as a grumpy housecat has, it was left to me to haul my ass into the middle of nowhere, North Carolina, to visit this pooch at the penetentiary. Luckily, a friend agreed to tag along with me, and so we set off for the hour and a half drive to the prison.
As the navigation system chanted off it’s directions, we moved deeper and deeper into the mountains of rural North Carolina. I was fairly certain that reenacting scenes from “Deliverance” was what the local folk did when they weren’t at the Baptist churches that dotted the roadway every quarter of a mile or so, and I wondered what I might do to make my mouth less “purty” if we found ourselves face to face with a resident of one of the trash-strewn trailers along the way.
“They all look like they have been built from the same set of plans!” I remarked as we passed the 62nd red brick, white columned Baptist church. We decided that on the way back, we would count the Baptist churches for fun. (I recall there were 41 in the 30 mile stretch of country road–just the Baptist ones, mind you. That doesn’t count the dozen or more “heathen flocks” of Methodists or Presbyterians.)
Finally, we arrived at the prison, an unforboding structure that might have passed for a high school were it not for the razor wire fences and warning signs. All visitors were to check in at the Warden’s office–which naturally sat in a converted mobile home in the parking lot. A prison guard pointed us in the direction of a grassy area bordering the woods and said the dogs would be brought out in a few moments. Literally dozens of other people joined us before the dogs (and their trainers) were brought out. There may have been five or six pooches there to meet and greet, but every single one of the visitors was there to see “Shaggy” the same dog we had come for. The program coordinator relayed that she had never had such a response, getting several hundred applications for Shaggy from all over the United States. I was disheartened. It turns out Shaggy was a designer dog–a CacaPoo or Yorkiedoodle or BichonBeagle or something, and to get a trained one for almost nothing meant he was in high demand.
We met his trainer, a young man who looked the part of a convict. I was really amazed at the sense of pride and accomplishment this downtrodden young man had as he showed the group the tricks Shaggy had already learned. In fact, all of the trainers beamed with a sense of purpose and pride as they showed off their animals. My apprehension about being at prison was gone, and it was plain to see that the prisoners were benefitting from the program much more than the pooches.
The trainers gave each of us a handful of treats and encouraged us to interact with the dogs. I remain convinced that one woman had rubbed herself head to toe with bacon before making the journey that day. Shaggy would come to each of us just long enough to get his treats, and then rush back to Miss Bacon to lick her face and hands. I was convinced (correctly, it would turn out) that I had not made any sort of an impression on either the dog or the folks who would decide who got to take him home. Some two months later, I got a form email that said in many words what I already knew–the dog was not ours.
We actually DID get a dog before that email came though. That’s another story altogether, but it’s a tale for another day.
1. There’s a trailer park up the street from me…for some reason I always feel a little sad about it. The managers have a nice little sign (it’s called something or another “estates”, natch) and plant flowers at the entrances, but the sign has fallen victim to vandals (who doubtless live there) and cars that stray from the road several times. And they always put the sign back up. I don’t know why that makes me sad…just the thought that someone takes pride in a relatively humble place and no one seems to appreciate it I suppose. Anyhoo…I was stopped at the intersection across from the park this weekend and three little kids were out on the street having the time of their life on a Rascal. Yes…someone’s Grandma was no doubt trapped on the sofa of her trailer while these kids trippled up on a Rascal. But they were having a ball!
2. I do NOT watch that show Jon and Kate Plus 8. I’ve seen it just enough to have the opinion that Kate is a first class bitch and Jon is a scrotumless tapeworm. BUT…probably the only FULL episode I have seen was during a recent marathon wherein Kate (pre-reverse mullet) had her stretched out tummy tucked. If you have seen that episode, you know that Kate rested her bitch ass at her surgeon’s home. Well…ain’t it something that Jon is now dating her surgeon’s daughter?? That’s right…his new piece is none other than Hailey Glassman, daughter of the doc who stitched Kate back into shape. Small world up there in Jon and Kate land…
3. I’ve been unmotivated the past month or so–been to the gym all of ONCE. Didn’t do my Wii Fit at all. So imagine my surprise when I got on the scale and had lost SEVEN pounds. I could spit on my idea weight from here. Excited, I went up to the closet and got out my “skinny jeans”–a pair I don’t know that I have ever actually worn out of the house, but have remained, collecting dust, on the shelf until such time that I could get my ass in them. And guess what?? The shit fit!! With a lil room to spare. Thank goodness for the stomach flu I had a few weeks ago.
4. The famous gay penguins have split up…the victim of a homewrecking hussy. Read the full story HERE.
5. And speaking of famous gays…I went and saw “Bruno” yesterday. It was potentially the most offensive movie ever, but the offensive parts were so over the top that you couldn’t be offended by them. I can’t think of any group he didn’t take a stab at. I used free tickets to see it but would probably have waited until it came out on DVD rather than spend ten bucks to see it. Maybe I have a sick sense of humor, but I was DYING….DYING! when Bruno had the psychic channel Milli Vanilli.
I shouldn’t be surprised by anything anymore, but I still get some search terms that make my jaw drop. Following are two searchers with some odd ideas about what to do with “man parts.”
“i stuck my cock into the open toe pump”
Why? A four-inch heel might make you appear four inches taller, but it will not have the same effect on your johnson. And why did you enter this into a search engine? Were you trying to find others with a penchant for phallic footwear? Trust me, if it will fit, someone else has stuck it there. I suspect a good athletic shoe or flip flop might be more comfortable. But if you want to stick your weiner in weird things, I have just the thing for you. The $200 “RealTouch“–a new sex toy that I just heard about. You plug it into the wall and your computer, then plug yourself into it. Then you watch porn, and it syncs itself to what is happening on the screen–using different belts and machinery to simulate on you what you are watching. Very fancy! Of course, the idea of putting my wang into something attached to electricity and a bunch of moving parts is enough to make it crawl up inside me, but it sounds like it might feel better than a damned shoe. Come back and let us know if you try it.
“strange things put in the penis”
Can I just suggest that putting ANYTHING into your penis is strange? It’s a very small hole meant for discharging liquid, not taking in solids. You’ll end up at the urologists office with an embarassed look on your face, and they will not believe you just fell onto that uncooked string of linguine or whatever it is you try shoving up there.
And I always thought “Death by Chocolate” was just a really fattening dessert:
“(CNN) — An employee at a New Jersey chocolate processing plant died Wednesday after falling into a vat of hot chocolate, according to a spokesman for the Camden County Prosecutor’s office.
Vincent Smith II, 29, was dumping raw chocolate into the vat for melting when he fell in from a nine-foot high platform. He suffered a fatal blow to the head from the vat’s agitator, a paddle-like mechanism used for stirring the chocolate.
According to the Camden County prosecutor’s office, three other people were on the platform at the time. One was able to shut the machinery off quickly, but it was too late to save Smith.
The facility, owned by Cocoa Services Inc., is managed and operated by by Lyons and Sons.
The rectangular vat, which was 8 feet deep, 14 feet long and 6 feet wide, was churning a batch of chocolate for Hershey’s when the accident occurred, the prosecutor’s office said. “
What a grisly way to go, but what a story to tell once he gets to the Pearly Gates. If you had to go in a dramatic fashion, what would you choose?
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