You Searched For: unicorn

UPDATED: The lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown. And for my heart.


This week my friend (Seana) saw something on the side of the road and slowed down to take a picture out of her car window because it was fucked-up and she was pretty sure I needed it.  And she was right.  We all need this:

And at first I was just happy knowing that a random unicorn is cheerily hanging out with a smiling lion on the side of the road, but then I started thinking about how nice it would be to own that taxidermied unicorn and then Victor said that I couldn’t have it because I already had a taxidermied pegasus and then I just shook my head at him because the man obviously doesn’t understand anything about “matched sets”.  For example, I could use them as book-ends and put stuff between them.  Stuff like the other antique taxidermied animals I don’t currently have room for.

So I called the shop that was keeping my unicorn and said, “Hey.  Weird question, but I heard you have a dead unicorn in the street and I’m interested in bringing it into my life,” but turns out I dialed the wrong number and the woman on the other line was very confused, but she was also elderly and seemed a little lonely so I ended up talking to her for ten minutes about dead unicorns (Hi, Edna!) and it was quite nice.  She was very supportive of the idea.  Or afraid to hang up.  Difficult to tell.

Regardless, I called the right number the second time and the guy on the line was like “Oh, yeah.  You mean Pat.”  The dead unicorn’s name was Pat.  Pat the Unicorn.  It was like that bunny in the toddler book, but less alive.  Or more alive, since the unicorn was once real. Sort of.

Turns out that Pat was once a beloved, old family pet who eventually died of an irritable bowel problem in Alabama in the 60’s.  The grieving family was sad and so the father (a taxidermist) decided to surprise them with a unicorn made out of their dead, diarrhea pony.  It might have been the worst present ever.  Or best.  Hard to tell with taxidermist’s children.  We’re a weird bunch.

The bad thing though, is that Pat was an heirloom and an Alabaman (Alabamanian?) treasure and so he is fucking expensive.  I still briefly considered it (because it would be fun to write “diarrhea unicorn corpse” as a business expense on my taxes) but Victor yelled “SPENDING REAL MONEY ON A DIARRHEA PONY IS CRAZY EVEN FOR YOU” and he had a point.  So I called my sister to see if she wanted to go halfsies on it, because then it would be more justifiable.  She said she’d pass, but pointed out that it was close to the same amount of money to get a fancy gym membership for a year, and that I could just put some wheels on Pat and then put a harness around my shoulders and drag Pat up steep neighborhood hills, like some sort of magical, princess resistance-training.  And I’m pretty sure that’s a great idea because PAT IS ALREADY ON CASTERS, so I can take him for walks, or drag him behind the riding lawn mower when I go to pick up Hailey from sleepovers.

I was totally in.  “UNICORNS ARE THE NEW KETTLE-CORN” I yelled at Victor.  He looked at me strangely and I explained that they were weights, and he said “Wait.  Do you mean “kettle bells”?  God.  You can’t even debate this properly.”  Then he told me that I could buy Pat just as soon as I could justify spending money on a dead diarrhea pony that I probably would never exercise with at all.  And he was right.  I can’t justify that kind of money.  So I decided that I should sell shares of the unicorn to try to raise the money.  It’ll be a communal unicorn.  A communalcorn.  I’ve tried kickstarter several times and they never approve my stuff, so instead I’m going to sell shares of Pat on my shop.  All I need to do is sell a shitload of Double Unicorn Success Club certificates before Pat is sold off to someone else.  Impossible?  Probably.  But I sort of specialize in impossible.  And also in “incredibly stupid and somewhat dangerous.”  We play to our talents.

You need this. And it's on a postcard so it's made for sharing.

So what do you get out of this?  Not much.  Plus, you’re buying shares of a communalcorn that I haven’t even bought yet, which I think might be considered “illegal speculation” on my part.  So you get to say that you’re part of a unicorn crime ring, for one. And if this actually manages to happen, you will also get to see pictures of me and Pat on various adventures, and I’ve even gotten a small town to agree to let me show our communalcorn in their yearly parade and you can come and be on the float, which will probably just be me dragging Pat around behind the lawnmower while I scream “UNICORN SUCCESS CLUB FOR THE WIN!” and throw candy corn and glitter at baffled strangers.

Now, it’s more than possible that Pat will be sold before we can ever raise this money, and so if that happens all profits from the certificates will be donated to Project Night Night, because that’s what Pat would want.  That unicorn corpse is doing God’s work and he’s not even ours yet.

PS.  Do you have any thoughts on what you’d like to see Pat doing?  Leave them in the comments, people.  We may not have a unicorn, but we do have hope, imagination, and a series of questionable decisions that have brought us here.  And I, for one, think that’s a very good thing.

UPDATED:  In the two hours that this post has been live we’ve raised almost $500 toward buying Pat the Unicorn, which is both awesome and frightening at the same time.  Sadly, I called to check on Pat and was told that he was just sold.  It was a very dark moment in the Lawson household and I think I’ve learned that the time to buy a dead, diarrhea communalcorn is when you see a dead, diarrhea communalcorn.  These are the tough life lessons you learn on the streets.  I’d like to think that Victor went out and bought him as a surprise, but when I asked him, Victor looked at me like I was insane.  The upside is that the $500 will now go to helping homeless kids, and that’s kind of awesome, although selfishly not as awesome as getting a unicorn that you can use to stage a liquor store robbery.  The good news though is that this has inspired me, and so I will now be taking my taxidermied pegasus (Flyza Minnelli), finding the perfect unicorn horn for her (please send links if you see any) and attaching wheels to her feet because THIS COMMUNALCORN THING IS GOING TO HAPPEN, YOU GUYS.  It’s just too bad-ass not to.  All further Pat fundraising will go toward buying a horn, foot-wheels, a bad-ass leash and enough giant helium balloons to float Flyza Minnelli around the neighborhood like the magical, flying communalcorn we all need in 2014.


You did this, Unicorn Success Club. Take a goddam bow, you magnificent bastards.

UPDATED AGAIN: An artist’s conception:

And that’s why twitter exists. For pictures of unicorns snogging.

Remember yesterday when I said that getting a morphine-drip was like being frenched by a unicorn?  Well, it’s sort of been stuck in my mind ever since and so this morning I tweeted this out:

Random assignment for bored artists today: An illustration of a woman making out with a unicorn. #artforawesomeness

The responses were astounding and they helped me to find, lose and then find again my faith in humanity.  This is why twitter exists.  This is why we’re here.  Because there is such great joy in embracing the bewildering art of taking a joke way, way too far.  Thank you for taking that journey with me.

And in case you haven’t followed it on twitter, here are just a few of my very favorites.  (Click on the pics for links to the artist’s awesomeness.)

You guys are weird.

Never change.

Unicorn Success Club

Yesterday Victor was trying to think up names for a new business.  Something like “Systems-Integrity-Formula-Buzzword-Blah-Blah.”  I don’t really know because I got bored and stopped listening.  Instead I decided to help him out by coming up with some much more exciting names for his dangerously boring sounding new business.

me: How about…Dragonfire!

Victor: No.

me: The Dark Forces of Narnia.

Victor: That’s not even a real thing.


Victor:  What?

me: Because it’s for people who are successful and who like unicorns.  OR for successful unicorns.  I’ve just doubled your market.

Victor: No.

me: Are you shitting me?  Because if you aren’t going to use “Unicorn Success Club” I am.

Victor: For what?

me: FOR UNICORN SUCCESS CLUB, that’s what.  It’s for everyone in the world who’s confident enough to be in something called “Unicorn Success Club.”  It meets the first week of Awesome.  Our team mascot is a cougar.

Victor: Huh.  You’d think it would be a unicorn.

me: Nope.  Too obvious.  It’s a cougar RIDING A UNICORN.  But not by force.  They’re friends and they work together for justice.  Imagine getting attacked by a cougar…

Victor:  I feel like I’m already there.

Me:  Then?  Imagine that it’s a cougar riding a unicorn of justice.

Victor: Right.  You should make it breathe fire and shit diamonds.

me: Don’t be ridiculous.  Fire-breathing cougars don’t exist.  Plus, they’d singe the unicorns.  That is a terrible idea.  You are out of Unicorn Success Club.

Victor: I was never in Unicorn Success Club.

me: Everyone is in Unicorn Success Club…until they get thrown out.  These are the rules of Unicorn Success Club.

Victor: So I got kicked out for having a bad idea?  That’s pretty harsh.

me: No, you’re just suspended for two weeks for endangering the unicorns.  If anything I’m being too lenient.  But you can get back in early by doing something ridiculously awesome.  Like rescuing lemurs, or describing Pink Floyd laser shows to the blind.  Or similar.  Whatever.  We’re pretty flexible in Unicorn Success Club.

Victor: You know what?  I’ll just wait my two weeks.  Or forever.  I’m leaning toward forever.

me: And that results in three week suspension.  Waiting rather than doing something awesome just adds to your time.

Victor: Fine.  I’ll make up my own club.  It’ll be NINJA-RAMA 3000.  Our mascot is a stallion with a bear’s head.  Like a centaur, but with a bear.  Filled with righteous fury.

me: That’s actually pretty bad-ass.  Bonus points for creativity.  You are back in Unicorn Success Club, and you just became a candidate for  Double Unicorn Success Club.

Victor: I already regret asking this, but…

me: It’s a unicorn with two horns.  A double unicorn.  Twice as awesome.  Looks like a big, deformed goat.  Made of awesome.  Still being ridden by a cougar. AN INVISIBLE COUGAR.  Because they’re the most dangerous.

Victor: Just…please stop talking.

And then I stopped talking because apparently Victor wanted a moment of silence to ponder how mind-blowing it would be to see an invisible cougar riding a double unicorn.  (Hint: It’s imponderable.)

And that’s when I realized that I might need to increase my medication, but also that my husband and I were destined to be together forever because there really isn’t anyone else weird enough help run Double Unicorn Success Club with me.  And that’s one hell of a good realization.

And also a very, very weird one.

PS.  As a result of actually finishing this post you are all now official members of Unicorn Success Club.     Here is your t-shirt and your certificate of membership.

Dues are due the first of every whenever, payable to whatever charity or bar you prefer.  Also, as members you can add anything you want to the charter or rule book.  Please do so in the comment section.


An open letter to the pet sitter that we probably won’t send because we’re not monsters and also we don’t want her to run away.

Next week we’re going on a road trip from Washington to Colorado so we hired a pet-sitter to watch the cats and Lizard Bordan and keep us from being robbed but we weren’t sure if we’d be able to meet with her personally before we left so I decided to write her a letter to leave on the table just in case, and it quickly devolved into insanity because I was drinking.

Dear pet sitter.

Welcome to our house.  We have 42 cats. They are JJ, Squirts, Little Tommy, Diarrhea Paul, Tater and the rest are named after all of the former members of Menudo.   Tater is missing his back legs (he came that way) but we made him peg legs out of old chicken bones. You can hear him coming unless he’s on carpet. Then he’ll sneak up on you. Unless he’s eaten the chicken legs.  Then you have to get new ones and reattach, as usual.

I know you’re technically a “pet sitter” but we always leave a sandwich out for the ghost of Michael Jackson. If you don’t mind, I mean. Also, please sing to the soul of my Aunt Susan. She is not at peace. We captured her soul in a box under the stairs but she’s tenacious. She might possess you. Do not listen if she starts talking to you.  Maybe consider saying Lord’s Prayer and burning some sage before you leave so her spirit doesn’t follow you home. Up to you.  I don’t want to tell you how to do your job. You’re the professional. 

The cats are soothed by a daily live dance show. Nothing elaborate. Just gyrate.  It doesn’t have to be professional. Do not play music though because it bothers them. If you can’t dance without music then hum the Star Spangled Banner. That’s what we do. If they still seem irritated after your dance it might be Aunt Susan doing a mocking dance behind you.  Cats are sensitive to angry spirits and sarcastic dance.  Just scream “QUIT IT, SUSAN.  THIS IS WHY YOU HAVE TO LIVE IN A BOX” and start again.

When entering and leaving our home please give the finger to our neighbor, Randy. He’s a real asshole and we want him to know that other people are catching on. Maybe yell, “WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID, RANDY.”  Feel free to ad-lib.  

If the cats pee on the floor please make them feel better about it by peeing on the floor next to them. Then clean it up immediately and shame yourself. They’ll understand what you’re doing. 

Do not turn on any lights when you visit at night.  It disturbs the bats.

Sometimes there are bats.

We did have a viper but you don’t have to feed it because it disappeared a few months ago. Maybe shuffle your feet across the floor like you do around stingrays so he knows you’re coming and you won’t step directly on him.  He would probably hate that.

Also, I don’t want to tell you what to do, but maybe make us a cake for the day we come back? Just as a gift. Cakes are delicious. Some of us are on a diet so maybe half no-carb and the other half chocolate wedding cake.

If you could breed the cats while we’re gone that would be fine. But don’t breed them with animals that aren’t cats. We don’t want to come home to a griffin or a centaur. This isn’t the Island of Doctor Moreau. This is our home. Also, don’t let Susan name any newborns. That’s our job and she is awful at it. That’s how we got Diarrhea Paul.  (Who, as you will see, is accurately named but it’s a bit too on-the-nose.  We don’t need reminding, Susan.)

You must feed the colony of raccoons who live under the porch by hand. Do NOT feed the bad ones. You’ll know which ones the bad ones are. Trust me. Do not get human blood on the porch. It attracts stuff.  Don’t feed the stuff.

You said you’d also take care of plants. Dont get them wet.  Wait, no, that’s gremlins.  Do get them wet.  But not too wet.  They can’t swim. 

Please do not put pajamas on the cats until after 8pm. It messes up their sleeping schedule. They’ll act like this is all new but I assure you it’s not.  Their Instagram accounts should be updated each day.  Please review the last 3 years of posts so that you can understand and imitate each of their personal voices.  If you don’t get 3 likes per picture you’re doing it wrong.  If you get more than 11 likes on a picture please note whatever you’re doing because that is a record.

If we die while on vacation you become the legal guardian of all of our animals and also Aunt Susan.  You can’t have the bats though.  No one owns bats.



PS. Inflatable unicorn horns are under the sink if needed.




Jesus, you guys. I DON’T HAVE THE ANSWERS. But I do have a lot more questions now.

Every so often I go look at the search terms that brought people to my blog and then I think STOP DOING THAT.  But then I decide that it would make a funny post and share some of them even though writing these phrases here will inevitably just lead to more terribly baffling searches leading here.


The most baffling terms that led people to my blog this month:

  • I bought a sick monkey on ebay (I can’t tell if you’re complaining or bragging)
  • What happens if you have a hole in your eardrum and an ant crawls inside your ear?  (I don’t know but I will never sleep again.)
  • How to prevent a tittie from growing on your ear (Is this a real concern?)
  • when i laugh my belly button pops but i am a boy  (Wait.  Do you think this is normal for girls?)
  • Chrissy, I fucking hate you and I want you dead by tomorrow morning bitch.  (Jesus.  I don’t know who Chrissy is but someone get her to safe house.)
  • best personal peeing (Is this an award? Congrats?)
  • what if a gnat flies in my nose and i find him in my ear a week later (How do you know it’s the same gnat?)
  • There are cobras that look so!!so!! cool!!!!! and are the biggest cobras found ever and ever like never seen before that’s why they are cooll!!!!!
 (I have no idea what you’re talking about but your excitement is contagious.)
  • Where can I volunteer and get a small money as a thank you (That is not how volunteering works.)
  • Dear google please help me with my question
 (That is not how google works.)
  • Can cats swallow a baby?  (That is not how cats work.)
  • How much money is in a $10 bill (Is this a trick question?)
  • windex enema used by serial killers  (No.  Stop it.)
  • strange and disturbing things about my old little pony (What?)
  • straight white pubic hair that feels like a cat whisker (What??)
  • Inflated cat butt (What???)
  • single cougar boobs (What????)
  • DIY cat outfits (Wha- Oh wait.  Yes. I’m in.  Come on over.)
  • how much nyquil to make me unconscious
 (This is exactly the week I’ve had too.)
  • can single white rapid hair growth on forehead be a sign of early pregnancy (Probably not.)
  • danger nipples (And I just found my new band name.)
  • He put a dick on my forehead and said I’m a unicorn (He sounds like a keeper.)
  • Why do I have white stuff on my face? (Hmm.  Nope. Too easy.)
  • True stories about everyone is telephoning to congratulate you on still being alive (That is a very specific genre.)
  • What does a feces smell prophetically represent if I’m awake and not dreaming (If you’re awake and you smell feces you may have shit yourself. That’s not symbolic or prophetic. That’s real life.)
  • Oh look. One of the peasants has a blog. (Ow.)
  • poto bagina (I don’t know what you’re misspelling but I know you’re misspelling it)
  • Dead squirrel in attic smell (That is my least favorite yankee candle.)

Conclusion: There are a lot of confused people in the world and they are all ending up here.  Which makes sense in a way.  Welcome.  I think.

September is a real bastard and should be treated with copious ferrets.

September is an asshole.  I don’t why.  Maybe it’s the lack of sunlight or the end of summer or some sort of ancient curse, but regardless, it’s always a hard month to survive if you have depression.  I’ve pulled out my light therapy magic box but it’s not entirely enough so yesterday we went to the pet store so I could cover myself in medicinal ferrets. Unfortunately this pet store knows me so they were like, “ONE FERRET AT A TIME, LADY” and “WE WILL FRISK YOU WHEN YOU LEAVE” but one was enough to kickstart the happy.  It wasn’t quite strong enough though so we went to one of those zoos that’s not really a zoo because the animals are running around free and you just drive through and throw food at them.  It is one of my favorite things ever and not just because it’s hilarious to see Victor get mad about a traffic jam that consists entirely of ostriches who don’t give a fuck about where you have to go.


Even better, Victor isn’t entirely trusting of large wild animals so he yells, “OTHER SIDE OF THE CAR, FRANK.  I DON’T SUPPORT YOUR PANHANDLING” (he thinks they will listen better if he uses names) or “GET AWAY WITH YOUR BLACK DEMON EYES, LARRY.  I KNOW YOUR GAMES” as Hailey and I feed them and assure them he really doesn’t mean it.  Then he yells “I MEAN IT, LARRY.  AND I WANT MY SOUL BACK.”  But then eventually he’ll see some sort of animal with a limp or a missing horn and he’ll get all mushy and feed it and yell at the other animals about how awesome this broken animal is so that it will feel better about itself.  It’s basically how he wooed me and it totally worked.

"He's not missing a horn, Larry. HE'S A UNICORN." ~ Victor

“He’s not missing a horn, Larry. HE’S A DAMN UNICORN.” ~ Victor

We went at the end of the day so most of the animals were already full and sleepy but I did have an encounter with a zebra who was terrifying, derpy and noble all at once.


"Knock knock motherfucker." This zebra has NO chill.

“Knock knock motherfucker.” This zebra has NO chill.



If you squint, his snout looks like a black panther, which is probably a very good defense if lions attack during the night.

We also met an emu (I think?) who reminded me that birds are our closest relations to dinosaurs and I fed him out of the bag while Victor reminded me that the almost-velociraptor probably wanted my meat sausages (which I thought was a gross because I don’t have a bag of penises, Victor, but then I figured out that he meant my delicious fingers) but I totally would have let this guy chew on my fingers because the smiles he gave me were worth everything.  And I’m sharing it with you because LOOK AT THIS FACE.

"Hello. I'm from the Dark Crystal. I'll just live in your nightmares from now on."

“Hello. I’m from the Dark Crystal. I’ll just live in your nightmares from now on.”




And then I felt better.  And I’m sharing it so you will too.  Just remember that as dark as September gets there are ridiculous near-dinosaurs waiting to smile enormously as you hand-feed them.  And that’s worth sticking around for.

PS. You know when a guy is trying to be all suave and he lights two cigarettes for him and his honey?  Not as cool as you think it looks:


Dead Duck Mystery SOLVED

Okay, first? Click here to read about the mystery dead duck I found at 2am in my bedroom last week.  Because last night we solved the mystery.  And live-tweeted a crafting night that will not soon be forgotten.  This is why twitter exists:













So here’s what I’m thinking: Last year when I was on book tour I’d always come home with a suitcase full of long-dead gifted taxidermy and crocheted penises and haunted dolls and severed limbs and sometimes when I’m unpacking I don’t always have the energy to find a good place for these things and that’s why sometimes Victor opens a drawer and finds a unicorn horn or a bag of raccoon penises, but I suspect when I was unpacking all the drawers were full so I probably tucked the duckling in the fake flowers on my nightstand until I could find a safe place for her and then forgot she was there for a year until she fell out.

It’s anticlimactic, but so is life.

Maybe “anticlimactic” isn’t the right word.  I’m not a good judge of these things.


So.  Last night I picked up Hailey from her stage make-up classes and this week they did zombies and serial killers and – because my car has fallen for every zombie trope available – it immediately went dead and stranded me there with a bunch of undead children.

Screen Shot 2016-04-28 at 9.22.03 AM

Victor came to jump me off (not a euphemism) but my car was like, “Nope.  I see dead people.  Fuck y’all.  Leave me  out of this” and so we had to have it towed.  Then this morning I was noticing that lots of other big bloggers have ads all over their instagrams and twitter and shit and I never do so I thought maybe it was just because I’m not pitching properly and I decided to start sending out test ads to car companies to they could see how awesome I was at ad copy and then they could give me a car because I think that’s how ads work?  I don’t know.  I don’t really do them but I figured I would start big since I don’t know the limits.  So I sent out tweets like these:

Driving a @OfficialChevy made me fulfilled as a woman & cured all my split ends. #notanadYET


Driving a @Cadillac was so exciting I got an erection and I don’t even own a penis. #notanadYET

I was about to send out my next one (FORD: More space.  More towing capacity.  More room for the bodies in the trunk.  Isn’t it about time?  #notanadYET) but then Victor was like, “Hey, your new car is here” and I was all, “JESUS, THAT WAS QUICK.  I JUST STARTED TWEETING.”  But then he stared at me in confusion because it turns out he was talking about the loaner car he just picked up for me.  BUT!  This sort of seems like fate because I really like this car AND it totally has a hundred dents from hail damage all over it and it’s used so technically Cadillac would be getting off cheap if they just let me have it.


Nice. But…it’s missing something.

Plus, I have a deal for you, Cadillac.  Give me this car and I will personally pay to have a unicorn fighting a narwhal airbrushed on the hood.  That way you win because people are gonna be like, “WTF?  Caddy has changed with the times.  I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW I NEEDED THAT CAR UNTIL THIS MOMENT” so it’s great publicity for you, and I get a free car with a unicorn and a narwhal battle on it.  Plus, for once Victor can’t say that I’m not allowed to immortalize great scenes of history on the hood of my car “because we paid too much for you to ruin a car with your ridiculousness, Jenny” because WE DIDN’T EVEN PAY FOR THE CAR.

Everyone wins.  Especially you, Cadillac.  And America.  And the unicorn.  Because a unicorn would totally win in this battle.  Unless it took place underwater.  Then I have to rework the odds.

So what I’m saying, Cadillac, is that you need me.  And I need this car.  I need a car that brings joy and whimsy to the world.  Let’s do this thing.

PS. I tried to get Victor lay on the hood like a model and he just walked away so then I thought I’d put my papillon (Dorothy Barker) on the hood but Victor was like, “YOU DON’T PUT DOGS ON HOODS, JENNY.  EVEN TINY DOGS.”  This is exactly the kind of bullshit I’m working with every day, Cadillac.  Help me, Cadillac.  You’re my only hope.

PPS. Spellcheck refuses to even recognize the word “narwhal”.  It’s all “Did you mean navel?”  What the shit?  Why would a unicorn battle with a belly-button?  This is why narwhal awareness is so important.  Let’s start this conversation before it’s too late, Cadillac.


What are you even looking for? Seriously. What the shit.

Every once in awhile I look at the top searches that bring people to this blog, and then I think, What?  Why?  What?  And then I share it with you because honestly it’s jut too fucked up not to share.

The strangest searches that lead people to my blog this week:

pierced dog ears (Stop it.)

Did unicorns ever exist? (They still do.  They’re just very strong and they’re called rhinos.)

If it weren’t for my big balls I could have won. (I’m not sure what the contest is but I think this is a very good excuse for anything.  Track.  Spelling bees.  Whatever.)

What was wrong with the doll in the land of misfit toys?  (Low self-esteem?)

Hyena in my belly button (Please, God, tell me you misspelled “hernia”.)

jenny the squirrel nude  (So confused.)

lf you laugh in a dream you hand out sperm.  (Is this a dream interpretation?  Because I think you’re doing it wrong.)

What does she mean when she said I am going to miss your blabbering (It doesn’t seem like a good sign.)

What causes belly button to protrude and get wounded  (Hyenas?)

What’s great about eating brownies?  (Pretty sure this is a trick question.)

Taxidermy pygmy goat for sale (Send me pics.)

What does it mean when u did in your ear it feel like something crawls away when i smoke (You’re totally high right now, aren’t you?)

women’s gurgling belly adult movies (Is that a new thing?)

Why is my umbilical cord chilly (I don’t even know what to say here.)

You know that i’m not going to fucking marry you regardless of what you say (I’m already married but I still feel rejected, so thanks.)

i am a number less than 3,000. when you divide me by 32, my remainder is 30. when you divide me by 58, my remainder is 44. what number am i?  (Are you coming here for math homework advice?  Because you are in the wrong place, my friend.)

Can I use a hot glue gun stick to make a anal plug? (OH MY GOD, NO.  Wait, do you mean before it’s heated?  But still, probably still no.)

Why do I have a long, clear hair on third eye?  (I think you’re concerned about the wrong thing.)

Cats eating baby brains.  (How did it even get this far?  Because babies heads are protected by skulls and cats really only eat the face meat at best.  Have you confused cats with zombies?  Also, why are you googling this.  Call a hospital.)

Recreational drug I smoked taste like burnt plastic (I think you might be smoking plastic.  Is your bong plastic?  Because that’s how you get cancer.)

The secret about watermelon (Is the secret that it’s delicious?)

What is a hat vulva?  (Well now we both want to know.)

Beaver shot (I’m not sure if this is a hunting thing or a sex thing but either way I’m not into it.)

I’m going to disney world but i dont know because i can’t read  (What?)

I have 3 nipples.  (Are you one and a half people?) call.back (What’s happening here?)

I think they replaced my generic xanax with genericer xanax (“Genericier” is my new favorite word.)

This is the second time my potato pain doctor is late sending in refill  (THANKS, OBAMA.)

Goat shoes (Sure.)

I put banana in my veginer (1.  That doesn’t sound sanitary, but it’s probably better than hot glue. 2.  Forget “genericier”.  “Veginer” is now my new favorite word.)

My meth won’t melt.  (I guess I don’t know how meth works.  Are you bragging or complaining?)

My cat seems like she is feeling good what am i doing right? (I want to high-five you and also I’m confused.)

Why are girl scouts such bullshit  (Mom?)

alligator lizard in my toilet (What is even happening here?)

ear digging bugs in cambodia  (Nooope.)

dead squirrel wall  (There’s a dead squirrel in your wall or you have a wall built out of dead squirrels?  Either way, ew.)

hamster vargina seal broken (This is just a random string of words, right?  Please?)

Twitter my little pony friendship witchcraft aeroport (Am I high?  Are you high?)

Why am I so muscular? (Wow.)

Angry because my cat don’t pick up my phone. (Pick your battles, dude.)

can i eat kfc mashed potatoes with inflamed gallbladder? (No.  Use your mouth.)

hydrogen peroxide in ear to remove roaches   (AAAAAAAAHHHH.)

You will be my valentine or get the hose again? (Well, that escalated quickly.)


And now, the weekly wrap-up:

bloggess sid

Shit I made in my shop (Named “EIGHT POUNDS OF UNCUT COCAINE” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):


This week’s wrap-up is brought to you GloHoliday Travel a helpful, easy-to-use travel tips and holidays guide site.  Don’t let life pass by without taking the opportunity to roam the world and see new faraway places. has a busy Pinterest and Facebook page filled with wonderful travel ideas, videos and pictures to inspire you. To see some of the wonderful vacation tips and holiday ideas on the site just head over and check it all out at

What if I fuck this up?

First off, my book is officially released to the public at midnight tonight and I’m terrified and excited all at once.  I’m getting tons of tweets from people who’re getting notifications that it’ll arrive at their house in the morning, and a few who somehow got it early and are already enjoying it.  I can only assume those people convinced their bookstore that today is Tuesday, or possibly they know the value of well-placed bribes.  Either way, I salute you.

Tomorrow is the book launch party and you have to come.  If you don’t know what I’m talking about go here for the details.  It’s all online so you can come even if you’re in your pajamas or nude or a cat.  (I mean, you can even come if you are a cat.  Not if you’re in a cat.  Don’t do that.  Ew.)  I’m still looking though all of your party name suggestions and I can’t pick just one so I’m currently leaning toward “The Church of Bloggessianism Presents The Furiously Happy Hour Fight Club Nonsexual-Orgy Featuring John Stamos If He Feels Like Getting In a Blanket Fort with Ferris Mewler and a Taxidermied Raccoon: The WE’RE HERE AND WE’RE NOT USED TO IT Party“.  I doesn’t quite fit on a t-shirt though.


BUT!  I’m afraid of technology so tonight let’s do a 5 minute test, okay?  If you happen to be online tonight (Monday) at 6pm central go here to this test page I just made and we’ll see if it works, okay?  This is not the same page that the actual party will be tomorrow (Tuesday).  See my last post for that link.  And if everything goes pear-shaped on Tuesday then we’ll just take over twitter, or I’ll break into the business center down the street and conduct the largest conference call in the world.  Whatever.  It’s our party and we’re winging it.  Prepare to take to the streets if necessary.  And by “take to the streets” I mean “hide in your bathroom with your phone.”

PS. John Stamos is not in any way expected to be here but he hasn’t blocked me yet on twitter and – in fact – he’s following me so I suspect he’s an introvert like us and will be lurking.  He seems like a lurker.  But in a really good way.

PPS.  I think this is the first time I’ve ever shared a recipe on this blog but just in case you want to match what we’ll be drinking here tomorrow during the Furiously Happy Hour I’m sharing a few of my drink recipes…

Cheap Shame:  Mix one part Strawberry Hill to one part Sprite.  Serve over ice in a disposable cup.  Remember 7th grade with equal parts fondness and horror.

Booze slushie:  Make a snow cone using your vintage knuckle-scraper Snoopy snow-cone maker.  After 15 minutes, a broken knuckle and two inches of melted snow-cone give up and curse loudly.  Go buy a real snow cone maker or a blender.  Pour whatever you have over the snow cone.  I prefer Chambord, cheap amaretto, box wine, or that rum Kenny Chesney makes.  Stop judging me.

The menstruating unicorn:  Smirnoff Ice over Cherry 7-up served with a lit sparkler.  Watch your bangs, y’all.

Water:  It’s just water.  It’s what I drink when I’m thirsty and it’s very refreshing.  I recommend.