It takes a lot to faze me. Consider me fazed.

So, I get weird shit in the mail all the time because I have readers who know me and who see weird shit and automatically think of me.  I’d like to think that’s a compliment.  Last week someone sent me a severed hand on a stick.  I’ve gotten scrotums and cobras and a box of dead hamster and books on Victorian venereal diseases and old taxidermy manuals and each time I think “My God, I’ve found my tribe” and Victor thinks “Is it too late to divorce her?”  And the answer to both of these is a resounding “Oh, hell yes“.

And today I opened a box from a reader (Stefano) who I once met at a reading.  He is lovely and Italian and he found this in a small shop in New York and thought I needed to have it because his wife was afraid it was going to eat their faces off while they slept.

She has a point, Stefano.

Hi.  You're never going to sleep again.

Hi. You’re never going to sleep again.

Hang on.  I’m shrinking down more pictures.  You need to see the rest of this but it’s publishing slowly.  Probably because this creature is busy eating your computer screen so it can get to you.  Just saying.

More coming…

Photo #2 for everyone going “WHAT IS THAT?”.  It’s a mermaid, you guys.  Obviously.

Like Sea Monkeys if they were on steroids and wanted to eat you.

Like Sea Monkeys, if they were on steroids and then you forgot to feed them and then they crawled out of their tank and wanted to eat you.

It would be easier to say that this terror doesn’t belong in my house, except that it fits perfectly between the insect funeral scenes and the dead mice playing musical instruments.

I didn't even add a filter here.  It exudes it's own filter.

I didn’t even add a filter here. It exudes it’s own filter.

It looks shocked.  It might be mocking me.

It looks shocked. Or it might be mocking me.  Frankly, everyone in the house looks a lot like this at the moment.

There’s grass and stuff in its mouth and I want to take it out but I’m pretty sure that’s a trick to get you to feed yourself to it.  Not falling for it, mermaid.

Regardless, the bar has been set, people.

Stefano, my hat is off to you.  Also, please clean out a spare bedroom as we will be sleeping at your house until we have ours blessed by a priest.  A young one and an old one.

PS.  Someone asked what the cats think of it.  Ferris Mewler is hidden in a cupboard.  Hunter S. Thomcat is keeping an eye on the situation.

He'll never eat fish again.

He’ll never eat fish again.

My search results terrify me.

Every few weeks I check my search results to see what people were looking for that brought them to this blog.  Then I blog about them and then I get even more weird search terms the next week.  It’s like I’m asking for this.  Stop blaming the victim, you guys.

The strangest searches that brought people to this week:

“What will happened if centipedes go inside your ear?” (Screaming, probably?)

“Does anyone pronounce the L in caulk?”  (I find it’s more fun if you don’t.)

“Why is everything making sense in my life?”  (Frankly, that would be disconcerting to me too.)

“Not my fault your ugly.” (Fair enough.  Not my fault you can’t use “you’re” properly.)

“Human baby eating”  (I’m confused.  Are you wanting to know what human babies should be eating, or the best way to eat human babies?  Please be more specific.)

“How to make people think you are a wizard”  (Good luck with that.)

“I burnt the fucking soufflé.”  (You’re not alone.)

“What’s that thing near my veginer?”  (No idea, but that’s probably my favorite new pronunciation of “vagina”.  Vej-Eye-Ner.  That is awesome.)

“Can I move my buried dog?”  (Not while it’s still buried.)

“My life goal is to end up on Jenny’s weirdest search term blog list.”   (Success!  Now go reevaluate your life goals.  You can do better.)

“If my boo is not answering his phone can I pop up at his house and ask do he need to borrow your phone charger?”  (I like your style, lady.  Be my new best friend.)

“My spirit animal is fisting Steven Seagal.”  (Wait.  Is your spirit animal currently fisting Steven Seagal.  Or is your spirit animal Steven Seagal, who is currently fisting?  Either way, it’s unsettling.)

Penis spatula  (Well, you wouldn’t want it to burn, I suppose.)

Mouse riding on octopus (The weird thing here is that seven different people looked for this.  I’ve disappointed seven people in one week.  At least.)

Where can I buy lemonade flavored crystal meth?  (You meant to type “Crystal Light” didn’t you?)

“Feels like I have been stabbed.”  (Check for knives.  You may have been stabbed.)

“How much is a 20 dollar bill worth?” (Huh.  Is this a trick question?)

“When can baby see squirrels at night?”  (I don’t even know what’s going on here.)

“Midgets that are tired of being hit on.” (First of all, we don’t use the word “midget” anymore.  Secondly, it’s “who” rather than “that”.   Third, WHAT IN THE FUCK?)

“You mean I’m not a reptile.”  (You sound disappointed.  But if you typed this you are probably not a reptile.  Or you’re a very talented reptile.  Either way?  Good news.)

“Large bulge above the naval extending to rib cage looks like an alien is about to burst out.”  (Why are you googling this?  GO SEE A DOCTOR.)

“Always bring the banana to your mouth.”  (I’m not saying I disagree, but why are we even specifying?)

“Rotten banana in vargina” (Ah.  And now I see why we’re specifying.  Also, it’s “verginer”.  Not “vargina”.  Please update your spellcheck.  And please put down the banana.)

“How to know if something is appropriate for social media?”  (And you found yourself here.  How terribly ironic.)

“Third eye grows out of your forehead and wants to eat your brain.”  (I think we’ve all been there, friend.)

“Aliens gave my cat a beard.”  (But…how can you tell?)

“Is it safe to fix a loose needle on meth syringe with superglue?” (None of that is safe.  Everything you said is unsafe.  I’m not sure why I’m having to clarify that.)

“Why should you never fart on somebody’s balls?” (I don’t have an answer for that.  Or a response.  Or words.  speechless.)

“What is the worst thing that could happen if you put glue on your lips?” (A third eye could grow out of your forehead and eat your brain?  An alien could burst out of your stomach?  Someone could fart on your balls?  Apparently, just about anything.  None of us are safe, y’all.)

Not fit for decent society.

Someone left me a comment recently saying that I was “not fit for decent society.”  And they’re right and I sort of wonder who they thought they were surprising.  I’ve known I wasn’t fit for decent society since I was seven and did a book report while wearing roller skates and twirling a baton (true story).  But that’s okay.  Because decent society isn’t really a good fit for me either.  In fact, “in decent society” is one of the most terrible places to spend any real time.  “In prison” is almost as bad as “in decent society” but not really because at least in prison you don’t have to wear panty hose.  Also, you might be judging me for choosing jail over country clubs because of panty hose, but I think that just proves that I’m not fit for decent society.  I just proved myself right in an argument I was having with no one.  In other words, please stop trying to insult me because I’m much better at it than you are because I have more practice.


And in other news, it’s Sunday, which means it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

Made by my friend Matthew (The Oatmeal.)   He's made of awesome.

What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Matthew Karsten, a man who has seduced ostriches in South Africa, climbed erupting volcanoes in Guatemala, hitchhiked across America, and enjoys the luxury of “luggage-class” travel in Thailand. Join him in  his ridiculous & fascinating adventures around the world at The Expert Vagabond. Want some new photography for your wall? Check out his online gallery full of amazing people, landscapes, and animals from around the world.

Sheep are dangerous to nipples

Today is Throwback Thursday, which means I get to just post an old picture and not write anything, but I never do it right because I can’t follow directions properly.

This is me with a sheep:


I think I’m about 6.  It’s not my sheep because we could afford sheep until I was much older, but I’m assuming it was a neighbors since I’m barefoot and obviously walked there.  You can see a small bald spot on my head from when I discovered the awesome noise that scissors make when they cut hair.  I’m wearing a dress that I think my mom sewed out of an old sheet and it was my favorite dress ever.  It was like I was already in bed when I was wearing it.

The shitty thing about bottle-feeding a sheep is that they try to rip the bottle out of your hand because they’re super selfish and want ALL OF THE MILK ALL OF THE TIME, but then if they pull the bottle out of your hands and you drop it they just look at you like it’s your fault even though they were yanking on it like they were furious you even had it.  And now I’m wondering if they do that in real life with their mother’s nipples.  Like, do they grab hold and just yank hard like they’re trying to rip off her boob and run away with it?  If the sheep mom has two babies do they try to rip her in half?  Is this why my neighbors were always letting me feed sheep babies?  Was it because all of the sheep moms were recovering from dangerous boob injuries?  Or do lambs just get that grabby with milk bottles because they assume that you must have ripped off a boobie yourself and they want to hurry up and get away from you as quickly as possible because you’re obviously a dangerous nipple-ripper?

These are the questions that will never be answered.

My husband says they’re questions that should never be asked.

I’m not quite sure which of us is right.

Men don’t understand cravings.

Conversation with Victor:

Me: I think I’m craving heroin.

Victor: What?

Me: Well, I assume it’s heroin.  It could be crack.  I don’t really know.

Victor:  Start over.  Make sense this time.

Me:  You know when you’re craving something, but nothing satisfies the craving and so you just keep eating?  But nothing works and so you’re full but you’re still craving something but still you don’t even know what it is that will satisfy the craving?

Victor:  Not really.

Me: Well, normal people do and I’m one of them, and I’ve eaten everything in the pantry and I’m still craving something else so I’m assuming it must be something I’ve never had before.  Something like heroin.

Victor:  Right.  So popcorn didn’t satisfy you, so you just automatically assume you need heroin?

Me:  Or maybe meth.  Maybe I need to find a meth lab.

Victor: Just stop talking.

Me:  I was just thinking that meth labs aren’t like regular labs because they’re faster than regular labs.  Like, if I need to know if my chest x-rays are clean it takes days for a doctor to let me know, but if I go down to that meth lab by the lake I’d probably get served immediately.  Or shot immediately.  One of those.

Victor: How do you even know where a meth lab is?

Me: I don’t, but I just assume that there are some by the lake.  Because scientists like water sports.

Victor: Scientists?

Me: I’m pretty sure if you work in a lab all day you’re considered a scientist.

Victor:  Not if it’s a meth lab.

me:  It’s a loose definition, but I’m pretty sure it still counts.

PS. Don’t do drugs.  I’m not sure why I even need to say that but I assume someone will see this post and tell me that saying meth labs give fast service encourages drug use.  It doesn’t, but if you think silly words are enough to make people become drug addicts then you probably also think that me saying “don’t do drugs” is enough to stop people from ever becoming addicts.  Because apparently my words are magic.  Who knew?  So love your fellow neighbor, stop making the Kardashians famous, and send me a dollar.

This made more sense when I was unconscious.

Last night I dreamt this really profound statement which I suspected I’d forget if I didn’t write it down, so I jotted it down quickly and fell immediately back asleep.   This morning I woke up to a note that says:

“On conquering a giant mountain: It wasn’t the mountain that was important.  It was the horse.”

And I think what I meant there was that life is like climbing a giant mountain, but in the end you realize that life is not about the accomplishment and is really much more about the company you keep while getting there.  Which sort of makes sense.

Except that it also sort of also implies that I think life is less about reaching your goals and more about sitting on other people’s backs while they carry you there.  Which is kind of shitty.  Dream-me is kind of an asshole, I think.

Never give dream-me a piggie-back ride.  She’s sort of a dick.  Sorry about that.


And in other news, it’s Sunday, which means it’s time for the weekly wrap-up:

Made by my friend Matthew (The Oatmeal.)   He's made of awesome.

Illustration by my friend Matthew (The Oatmeal.) He’s made of awesome.

What you missed in my shop (Named “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):

What you missed on the internets:

This week on shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:

This week’s wrap-up is brought to you by Eva, The Tattoo Tourist.  Six years ago she had a preventative double mastectomy and then covered her scars with tattoos.  As she says, “Getting tattooed healed my relationship with my altered body and reignited my creative curiosity.”  She just started kickstarter project to visit and interview artists and fans and curate it all into a beautiful photo book.  I’m a backer.  You might want to be too.  Check it out here.

Dogs love (to eat) me

So I was just sitting here in my office when I saw a dog wearing a coat who  was walking across my yard.  Then I notice that she was limping and then she ran out in the road and someone almost hit her so I ran outside to pick her up so I could bring her in and call whoever was on her tags.  She was one of those tiny purse dogs (I don’t know dog names) so I figured I could just scoop her up but she kept an inch away from me every time I got close and so I ended up walking after a strange dog in a coat for like a mile.  And it kept running in the road in front of other people’s cars and I’d have to dart out to get them to slow down and they’d give me a look like “Keep your dog on a leash, bitch” but I DON’T EVEN HAVE A DOG, SO STOP GIVING ME EVIL EYES.  And then I finally got close enough to pick the dog up and she was like “Hey, I’m a normal wounded animal and you’re a stranger so guess what’s gonna happen?  This.  This is going to happen.” And she bit me.  Not hard, but enough that if she was a zombie I’d be cutting my hand off right now.  And then I couldn’t let go of the bitey dog because then it would run off and I wouldn’t know if it had had it’s shots and I’d probably get rabies.  And I couldn’t call Victor to help me because I’d left my phone and never told him where I was going so he was probably out looking for me and mad that I just disappeared.   So I’m getting bit by a bitey dog in a jacket and I’m also defensive about Victor probably yelling at me about this all being my fault.  And people outside checking their mail kept giving me looks like I’m a bad dog mom because this dog was definitely not pleased with me and I’m like “THIS ISN’T EVEN MY DOG.  I’M THE GOOD PERSON HERE.  YOU GUYS ARE THE ASSHOLES.”   But I said it in my head because I figured yelling would just freak the dog out more and increase the biting.  Then I finally get to the house the dog belonged to and the dog’s owner was very sweet and grateful to get the dog back and the dog has all it’s shots and everything is good, except that the dog has to go to the vet for the limpy-leg thing and probably for heat-exhaustion too because it’s not really cold enough in Texas for a dog to be wearing that heavy of a coat.

So then I walked back home and I went into Victor’s office and he was sitting there and I said “Well, I don’t have rabies” and he just looked at me and said “Why would you have rabies?”  And then I realized that he never even noticed that I missing and was being attacked.  So I explained and he was like “This all happened while I was on my conference call?  You’re just picking up stranger’s dogs all willy-nilly?”  And yes.  I was.  And I want a medal.  And for someone to assure me that my tetanus shot is up to date.  And for dogs to get out of the street.  I don’t think I’m asking too much.

PS. There’s probably a lot of typos in here but you can’t blame me because I just got bit by a dog.

PPS.  This is the second time I’ve been bitten by a random dog.  Dogs think I’m delicious.  That’s not the kind of flattery I need.