Could I possibly say “probably” any more? I don’t think so.

in I am totally overrated, mixing medications, Posts that will get me hate mail, Random Crap, stuff better left unpublished, terrible titles

So this morning I went out to to check on the miraculous boobie mushroom and it was fucking gone.

And I was a little upset because I’m pretty sure my neighbor stole it to sell on ebay but I just said a little prayer (in the form of me flipping off my neighbor’s house) thanking God for letting me see the miracle boobie if only for a short time.  It’s like it was a sign that life is fragile, or that I’m watering the lawn too much.  Then the really weird shit happened.

Yesterday several of my readers pointed out that the miracle boobie was probably a sign from St. Agatha, who is best know for being the patron saint of breast cancer after she dedicated her life to God and then had her boobs cut off by some jerks for not whoring around and then God healed her.  But then she died anyway.  It’s complicated.

I do have standards, y'all.
I do have *some* standards, y'all.

But then, like a foot away from where the miracle boobie had been, was this:

One's bigger than the other, just like in real life.
One's bigger than the other, just like in real life.

A double boobie mushroom.

I mean, technically it doesn’t have much of a nipple and the areola is kinda brown and not really breast-like at all, but still.  The point is that the miracle boobie was cut down in it’s prime but then grew back, exactly like when those guys cut off the boobs of St. Agnes and they miraculously grew back.  But I suspect they didn’t grow back very well because why else would she always be depicted carrying her old boobies on display in a cake dish?  Probably because the new ones looked like these:

Technically I've seen worse.
Technically I've seen worse.

Even miracles have limitations, y’all.  Plus, St. Peter was the dude who actually came down and re-made her boobies and I’m pretty sure Saints don’t have sex so he probably didn’t even know what they were supposed to look like.  He was probably all “BANG! Pretty hot, right?” and Agatha was all “Um..huh.  You know what?  They’re fine.  I’m not going to use them anyway.”

PS. I went just back and read the whole story and it turns out that God gave St. Agatha a miracle to make her boobs grow back but then left her in prison to die by being rolled over hot coals naked and shit. The hell? I mean, I don’t want to question miracles but maybe letting the guard forget to lock the door would have been a better one.  Or maybe turning the hot coals turn into pudding.  But no, God’s all “They cut off your boobs?!  That shit is totally not kosher.  I GRANT YOU NEW BOOBIES!” and she was probably all “Um…Thanks? But maybe I could also get out of prison?”  Except probably she didn’t even say that because when God gives you a miracle you have to just smile like you love it even if it’s totally not what you wanted.  And probably even when she was dying she was all “Okay, I’m gonna use the present face so I don’t hurt God’s feelings but seriously? My boobs are getting destroyed here in these hot coals too.  What the hell, dude?” but probably she didn’t say it out loud because she’s a martyr and that’s what martyrs do.  Except I’d totally say it out loud because “Ow.”  And then maybe God would be all “OH! Crap, I’m so sorry! Brain fart.  What would the point of me giving you new boobs and then letting you get tortured?  What is wrong with me today?” and I’d be all “Dude. Don’t even worry about it. I’m totally having one of those days too.  Also, thanks for the new boobs.  Even though they kind of look like mushrooms” and he’d be all “What?”  and I’d be like “Nothing.  It’s nothing.  I’ll let myself out.”  Because God has more important things to worry about than my boobs.  Like famine.  And…locusts.  And that’s why I think that maybe these mushrooms really are a sign from God.  Or that they’re just mushrooms.  The point is that I learned more about St. Whats-her-name and her boobs so either way, I’m spreading God’s word.  They’re probably going to name a whole building for me in Heaven.

Comment of the day: Maybe God told Peter to give her saline implants. It would put out the fire, be deemed a miracle. Win/win.  St. Peter.  He’s always fucking things up. ~ Dingo

118 thoughts on “Could I possibly say “probably” any more? I don’t think so.”

Read comments below or add one.

  1. catholic school taught me that her breasts were TWISTED off…. even worse… god basically fucks over everyone who really REALLY loves him…

  11. See. This is why I don’t talk to God. And you know what? My boobs are pretty fantastic. Only one freckle, not like those crazy freckly mushroom boobs. So maybe the secret is to IGNORE God, and then he’ll be all “C’mon, look, I got you something. Do you like them? Pretty nice right? Hey, c’mon just talk to me. I love you. And I got you the nice rack and everything. I will sleep on your porch if that’s what it takes. No seriously, it’s cool, I’ll just be out here if you need me. Cold and alone.” And then he starts crying and you ALMOST feel bad and let him in and then you remember that you ended the relationship for a reason and you really shouldn’t encourage him.

    Or maybe I’m confusing God with my exboyfriend, only HE never got me anything.
    .-= Just A Girl´s last blog ..Home Sweet Home =-.

  17. Oh noes! Sneeze Steve’s Tree Brain fungus gets stolen sometimes, too. Are you going to have it made into a tiki mug like he did?

  19. God made it rain for days and I couldn’t go out and do anything just so you could have yard boobies. Your welcome.

  20. I’d have to say that the most likely scenario here is that God gave St. What’s Her Name the power to sprout an image of her boobs anyplace she felt like it. In this case, it was your lawn. Cut down the pair and let’s see what grows back – the story will keep getting better!
    .-= Jacquie´s last blog ..poor kanye west =-.

  21. Dude!? It’s like she’s all “Boobs anyone? Would you care for a boob? Have some boobs, won’t you?” Um, no. Thanks. I’ll pass.
    .-= mommica´s last blog ..Apologetic =-.

  22. I totally missed out by not growing up Catholic. Jews have all the guilt and none of the really good stuff like boobs on a tray. That is awesome.
    .-= Barbara´s last blog ..Train Wreck =-.

  23. Thanks for that lesson. It was so informational that I’m pretty sure I can skip Church for another 2 years. Also, how come I didn’t learn about the boob saint in my Catholic high school? I’m not even Catholic. Was that education good for nothing. Geez.

  26. Well, after that last paragraph, I’m pretty sure I know what happened to the mushroom from yesterday…you ate it in your morning omelette, and that’s why you’re turning Catholic and talking to God with your present face. Psychedelics are not your friend.
    .-= a´s last blog ..What’s wrong with people? =-.

  27. Thank you for the religious post. I feel so Jesusy now. God bless you and name his shit after you. And thank you for making me laugh every.single.day. Amen.
    .-= Tiruba´s last blog ..My Grandma =-.

  28. Do you know how fucking hard it was to read this post with Kanye West plastered all over it?! I assumed you meant for us to struggle to read this fucking post for a reason. Then I find you’ve posted it WITHOUT Kanye West and I’m pissed.

    What I take away from this experience is that God will have NO FUCKING IDEA what to do with you when/if you do get to heaven. He will be totally stymied. The saints, however, I’m not so sure about after this post. They may burn down your heavenly “mansion” (Gospel of John, Chapter 14 – KJV). So consider yourself forewarned.
    .-= Pop and Ice´s last blog ..I have a new do =-.

  29. This is pretty much amazing, and while I’m sad the mushroom boob is gone, I was inspired by the Saint Agatha reference to do a little research. According to google image search, that chick pretty much always carried around that boobie tray. Imagine the attention that would get nowadays. lol
    .-= Purple-Foxglove´s last blog ..REVIEW: The Xenogon =-.

  31. Boobs on a tray? Obviously my religious upbringing left out a few things. Suck it, Sunday school teachers. WE played Bible baseball. Recite a verse and move a base. Now how lame is that? Thank you for the education. I want to be prepared if there’s a pop quiz.
    .-= Michele´s last blog ..Count Dracula Dotee =-.

  33. I really don’t know why, but my first thought was that this is all “build it and they will come” sort of thing. Because that movie was TOTALLY about God and Heaven and stuff, right? Except, well, the baseball part – and not so much about boobs. But you could build like a boob museum – and people will come. But hopefully not literally…Because then you would need, like, a cleaning service. And I’m pretty sure you’ve lost the God if you have people doing THAT all over your Boob Museum.
    .-= Minivan Soapbox´s last blog ..Coming To A Town Near You =-.

  35. Since you’ve obviously seen the light and are now spreading God’s word, do you think you have a shot at another interview with Lisa Whelchel? Maybe Kirk Cameron is available?
    .-= Dingo´s last blog ..Fine Feathered Fiends =-.

  41. “Welcome to Heaven .
    . . . . if you need to freshen up a little,
    the Bloggess Building is right in front of you. . . . . the one shaped like a giant knocker.
    Oh , . . .It’s a long story . . . . . .maybe some other time….”

  42. I am totally making a pilgrimage to your yard. Maybe the boobie mushrooms can work miracles like the grilled cheese sandwiches with Jesus’s face on them. Would it be too shallow to ask the mushroom to get me laid?

    Yeah, you’re right. It totally would be. God, I’m a selfish bitch.
    .-= TxtingMrDarcy´s last blog ..Back Off, Queen Elizabeth =-.

  43. Her boobs were twisted OFF?!!…kind of like getting a mamogram…a little more, just a little more. Is that uncomfortable, oh good…just a leeeetle more. There! Are you cryi…oops it fell off. Well I will just go plant it in The Bloggess’ yard and I will make you multiple mutant conjoined boobies….then you can make stuffed boobie duxelles with them, and have a dinner party.
    .-= A Vapid Blonde´s last blog ..Sometime’s Its The Little Things That Get You Through The Day =-.

  45. Wow. Just wow. Your yard is amazing. It’s like a mushroom boobie making machine. You could just start selling these things right next to your daughter’s lemonade stand for your neighbors because if they want them that bad they should have to pay you instead of stealing them in the cover of night. Bargin hunter boobie implant seekers will be very happy!

    Oh and someone should let Barnaby Jones know he’s supposed to protect his territory and that now includes boobie mushrooms!
    .-= LB @Wait, She Said What?´s last blog ..Sex toy makers are now trying to cash in on necrophilia. =-.

  47. The boobies-on-a-tray thing isn’t unexpected. My sister is an art historian and from the paintings I’ve been unwillingly subjected to I can pretty solidly state that Renaissance artists were as bloodthirsty as a pack of teenage boys playing “Doom.” There was a fashion for depicting saints with some little reminder of how they were martyred, and when we visited the Smithsonian a few years ago there were a number of pictures of St. Lucia, part of whose torture had involved having her eyes ripped out. Well. There were enough disembodied eyeballs to stock a Hellraiser movie. Eyeballs disguised as the leaves of a plant. Eyeballs perched jauntily on serving platters (imagine *that* dinner party. “Hi, Lucy! What’s for din—aiyeeee!”). Eyeballs flagrantly laying right out in the open, unaccountably ignored by Lucia and everyone else in the painting, as though eyeballs on the table were an everyday occurrence (“Dammit, why don’t you kids learn to put your eyeballs away?”). Anyway, my point, which I bet you thought I’d forgotten about, is that a platter full of breasts seems almost mundane in the larger scheme of martyrdom painting. I’m fairly sure that Clive Barker gets his material from “The Lives of the Saints.” Also I apologize for making “eyeballs” not look like a word any more.
    .-= Cobwebs´s last blog ..Twisted Ambience =-.

  54. Holy Crap. My friend was St. Agatha for Halloween once and I totally thought she made it up.

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  57. You are the little sister I wish that God had sent me. In fact, you are the whole damn family I wish I’d gotten… What an ingrate, right? But that’s beside the point. Sorry, it just came out.

    What I logged in to type is that you are always being upstaged by your readers. I’m sorry, again, but it’s true. It’s like you are the “starter” in San Francisco Original sour dough bread, every time you make the dough, you have to keep a little cup of raw dough in reserve in order to start the next loaf of bread. See? You have a seizure of hilarity, you blog it out, and (having made me pee my PJs) you start this massive avalanche of snappy and laugh-inducing repartée. I love coming here.

    This shit would never play in France. Take my word for it. I’ve tried.
    .-= La Framéricaine´s last blog .."Let Your Fingers Do The Walking…" =-.

  62. God just gave St. Agatha new boobs to to teach those medieval titty twisters a lesson. Which backfired not on God, but St. Agatha. Unfair! God likes to use us to flip off people with whom he REALLY has an issue. Like that time I got engaged to an atheist who converted to Catholicism who then turned gay and became a priest.

    Wait. Was it my boobs?
    .-= Linnnn´s last blog ..My Uncool Behaviors As Observed By My Spawn =-.

  68. I’m guessing this is why a vasectomy success rate isn’t 100%.

    You get a vasectomy and then God is, like, ‘I see your testicles are no longer functioning…I SHALL GRANT YOU A NEW FUNCTIONAL VAS DEFERENS!” and then – BAM – you’ve got twins on the way and now you think your wife banged the UPS guy and now you have to get a second job so you can buy strained peas and diapers and wet wipes and shit.

    Some miracles suck.
    .-= moooooog35´s last blog ..It’s a LUMbar…not a FUNbar! =-.

  69. Steve’s Tree Brain comes once a year and is stolen. Now you can follow in the Blogger Fungus Tradition.
    It’ll be back next year!

  73. My favorite part of that is how you totally forgot which saint you were talking about mid-way through. Is it Agnes or Agatha? Because one of them is looking down at her awesome cleavage in heaven right now and thinking WTF?
    .-= Candy´s last blog ..Full Metal Jacket =-.

  75. I’m pretty sure Heaven’s buildings are all already named because God knows everything that’s going to happen. But maybe you could campaign to have a mention in the alumni newsletter or something? That might be good.
    .-= ajnabi´s last blog ..You Could Just Lock Me Up =-.

  76. Hm. Would your building in Heaven be one large bathroom with comfy couches and unlimited supplies of alcohol and Xanax?

  77. Great. Now I will spend all day wondering what the meaning of the sign is supposed to be… while wondering whether it’s a good decision to send my kids to catholic church religious classes every Sunday…

  80. Wow… don’t know WHAT’s up with the boobies on a plate (makes me think of Snakes on a Plane). But I’m wondering why they are so fresh looking. I mean really, they were CUT OFF. In the picture they aren’t even bloody. And they had probably been on that plate for awhile. Plus, she certainly doesn’t LOOK like a person who just had her boobies cut off right before the picture was painted. And painting takes a LONG time. Wouldn’t she have died of blood loss? Or at least the boobies would have shriveled a little? Maybe get a little gangrenous? I don’t know. I suspicious of the whole story. That’s the way it is with God things. All a little weird and can’t be proven. Sneaky deity!

  81. Poor, poor St. Aggie. But, if God had simply given her an out of jail for free card, no one would ever know about her and she’d remain some faceless chick with old boobs. Big whoop, right? So all that torture paid off in the end because she got to become a saint. Like they say, God works in mysterious ways… fucked up ways, maybe, but who am I to judge?
    .-= Momish´s last blog ..When You’re Good, You’re Good =-.

  82. Funny, I’m currently “watching” a boobie mushroom on eBay, just found it the other day when I was searching for a portobello sandwich after reading your last post. I haven’t actually bid on it yet, I always wait until the last minute and swoop in to undercut someone else, but when I do I’ll check it over and let you know if it’s your boobie mushroom or just some other random boobie mushrroom.
    .-= Bejewell´s last blog ..But Seriously, What Happened to All the Forks? =-.

  83. At my high school (all girls and catholic) my religion teacher dressed up as St. Agatha for Halloween- she had two Hostess snow balls with candy on top on a silver platter. It was hilarious, yet disturbing.
    .-= Connie´s last blog ..Prognosis negative. =-.

  84. And that? Is why I don’t believe in god. What dude would let a perfectly good rack get burned in hot coals when he could have saved it. Oh, maybe he was still playing with the ones that got cut off. Huh, maybe god makes more sense than I thought. Why listen to a woman whine when you could just play with her cut off boobies?
    .-= shine´s last blog ..TMI Thursday – Possibly my worst date ever. =-.

  85. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard of God intervening for a saint in anyway. Normally he observes dispassionately while they are roasted alive, shot with arrows or generally disemboweled in some gruesome manner. Agnes was probably hot, and we all know pretty girls get preferential treatment.

    Wouldn’t two mushroom lawn boobies be called Grass Tits?

    I don’t know, but thank you Bloggess for doing the Lord’s Work.
    .-= Trooper Thorn´s last blog ..More Great Moments in Kanye West Interruption History =-.

  86. I think the lesson to be learned here is that men can never figure out what to get women even when the man is like ruler of the universe and omnipotent and omniscient and omnipresent and omnibenevolent and omnivorous and all that kind of shit because women are just completely unfathomable.

    But God did kill a couple of friends of the guy who was tormenting Agatha I guess figuring that having no friends would be a cool punishment but I’ll bet the guy just went out and got new friends since he was a rich and powerful guy.

    My favorite thing from Wikipedia: “The shape of her amputated breasts, especially as depicted in artistic renderings, gave rise to her attribution as the patron saint of bell-founders.” I’m just picturing a couple of bell-founders looking at a picture of Saint Agatha:

    BF1: Wow! Those are some perfectly shaped bells that lady is carrying around. Let’s model our bells after them.
    BF2: Those aren’t bells. Those are her boobies.
    BF1: WOW!!! She had a couple of nice boobies. I wish my wife’s boobies were like those.
    BF2: They are nice. Let’s make her our patron saint so that we can keep pictures of her boobies with us all the time.

  88. Amazonian’s used to cut off their left boob so they could shoot the bow better. I think if god grew it back they’d be pretty pissed. Or maybe god would smite them for cutting them off. I’m not sure.

  89. This is so weird, I saw a portrait of St Agatha in a gallery on Saturday (my daughter and I were giggling about the boobs on a tray) and now she is on your website. Is God trying to tell me something?

  90. So I read this post, and got all excited because…awww…..this is a Jesus blog now! Maybe if I show it to my mother, she will quit twisting MY boobs about sending my kids to a super expensive Catholic school, and instead, let me home school them and supplement their Jesus classes with THIS website. It would be so much cheaper, and I wouldn’t have to wait in a car line, except wait…when would I crank call my mother in law and pretend to be the grim reaper? This plan is obviously flawed.

    Also, I am pretty sure when I met you in Chicago you had the present face.

    You can’t see it in your comments section, but I may or may not be totally furrowing my brow right now, which is totally making the people around me in line at Panera super uncomfortable.

  91. And this is why I love you… and why I when I saw you over there at the BlogHer, in that one lobby-like area, I called out to you “SAINT!”… wait no… Anyway, I flagged you down and nearly toppled you. And then I was all, “MynameisJennyonthespotandijestwantedtotouchyourskin.” Or something like that. Talk about miracles. And you didn’t even call the cops. You are a lot like St. Agatha.
    .-= jennyonthespot´s last blog ..The Confessional – I almost made call backs for the local drill team. =-.

  98. I was in my boyfriend’s yard last night and looked over and said, “NO WAY!!! IS THAT A MUSHROOM BOOBY?!?!?” I walked over, and sure enough. Maybe they’re not signs from God. Maybe they’re signs from aliens that are getting ready to invade us. We’ll be too busy looking down at all of the boobies to see them coming.
    .-= Freak Magnet´s last blog ..Yeah, yeah, yeah. =-.

  100. After reading one of the comments it made me think about what if God had screwed up and Agatha hadn’t actually lost her boobies but was really carrying a couple of bells on that tray. But God gave her a couple of new boobies anyway so Agatha found herself walking around with four boobies! Would that be a good thing? And would Victoria’s Secret custom make a bra for her?

  101. So I just found your blog today and it was definately the highlight of my day (so far). Especially since I thought I was the only one who talked to God in my sarcastic voice and I was beginning to wonder about how he was handling it. After reading your blog…I see I’m not alone! I’d never heard the St. Agatha story. Wow. And kudos for growing strange mushrooms in your yard.

    ♥Gert
    .-= Gert´s last blog ..Unwanted visitors… =-.

  102. So, Agatha really worked as a waitress in an old tavern? And she didn’t know she was suppose to serve Ale or wine or… whatever the fuck they drank and NOT boobs? That painting looks like she worked at Hooters and got all mixed up. Maybe she was ON mushrooms? Or maybe the Baby Jesus was? Or… maybe she’s trying to communicate with you through your lawn? Or MAYBE she was really still alive all this time living in your basement and YOU KILLED HER AND BURIED HER IN YOUR LAWN AND NOW HER BOOBS ARE GROWING UP THROUGH THE GRASS??? YEAH! MAYBE IT WAS JENNY in the front yard… and… you secretly wanted Agatha’s boobs as lawn ornaments.

    Maybe I’m the one on mushrooms.
    .-= Hercules Charnas´s last blog ..DUMB’S DAY AND THE DESTRUCTION OF THE MIND AS WE KNEW IT =-.

  103. I am more than a little ticked off right now because I DO go to church and even sing in the choir and I have NEVER been blessed with even a nipple mushroom in my yard and in fact have never even seen one so I think its clear God likes you a lot better than he likes me even though I almost never say “fuck” on my website. But He probably knows I think it, so that explains everything. And anyway, congratulations on your second blessed miracle in as many days. You heathen.
    .-= lettergirl´s last blog ..Name that Smell =-.

  104. Why do I feel like you’re Catholic? Is it the incessant talk of saints? The incessant swearing? And why do Southerners get away with so much tactless trash talk and insubordination (a favorite term I often used when teaching middle schoolers). Is it the accent? Or the use of “y’all?” Just so you know…I’m on to you!
    .-= alison @ cluck and tweet´s last blog ..I’ve Turned Into THAT Kind of Mother =-.

  105. Ok, we’re in Australia (from the US) and my husband JUST got back from a visit over there. He was showing me pictures and totally had a boob mushroom (more second boob type-not perfect first boob type) (yes, with his shoe thrown in for contrast) and I was like “Oh, it must be boob season in the states.” He doesn’t even question why I say these things.

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  110. so are you going to be St. Agatha for Halloween? You could just carry the mushrooms on a tray.

  112. I’m pretty sure what Agatha should have done was put out the fire with milk from her new boobs. It totally would have made sense.

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  117. What do you expect from a man who let his own son get crucified ?
    ( I shouldn’t have said that, we are having a BBQ tomorrow; Now I am going to trip over a garden impkement and fall into the charcoal pit and burn my boobs off… unless I go out whoring tonight, or something. )

  118. You just *know* she was being harassed by a couple of ancient ass-hats and prayed to God to “please take away these wretched boobs” and God was totally phoning it in and waved his hand and said ‘granted’ or some shit and the poor girl loses her tits. Not a happy camper.

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