Category Archives: NOT dismembered baby feet

UPDATED: Cats eat babies. Apparently.

I was just on the phone with my friend Karen and I was in the middle of (unsuccessfully) convincing her about the importance of guns on roadtrips and then I heard that hurk-hurk noise of a cat throwing up so I ran over to scootch Posey toward the tile and the vomit was all glittery and he looked at me grumpily because I pushed him while he was throwing up and I was all “Posey, if you wouldn’t eat tinsel then you wouldn’t throw up tinsel” and Karen was all “Your cat is eating tinsel? That can’t be good for him” and was like “No, I think eating tinsel is normal for a cat.  It makes changing the litter all festive” and she was all “And this is why I don’t have any cats” and I see her point but she also doesn’t have any guns so I think maybe this is less about cats and more about why Karen needs say yes to things more often.

But then I was all paranoid that maybe tinsel was bad for cats so I went to look it up but when I started to google “cats eat tinsel” this came up:

Oh, Google. Why can't I quit you?

Then, of course, I had to click on “cats eat babies” because I DON’T KNOW WHY.  And the answer given for why cats eat babies makes sense.  Except for the end.


Also, I did look up “Should cats eat tinsel?” and it turns out that no, no they shouldn’t.  So now I have to pull all the tinsel off my Christmas tree.  Way to ruin Christmas, Posey.

"I also ate two ornaments."

PS.  Don’t yell at me for being a bad cat owner.  I rescued Posey from certain death 14 years ago so every day is a gift.  A gift filled with significantly less sparkly Christmas trees and sad, sad holiday vomit.  Also, he has arthritis and is allergic to himself and likes to sneeze copious amounts of snot in your face while while you’re sleeping.  But he did make a music video for African orphans (true story) so stop judging him.  He’s like the best cat ever.

PPS.  Victor just pointed out that Posey may have been trying to kill himself.  Awesome. And now I’m all depressed again.

Updated: Occasionally robot websites will auto-insert links to my blog into their product posts.  It pretty much never works out for them:

"What pet foods are best for my cat?" "Cats eat babies." Well, that's unfortunate.

Netflix thinks I’m a religious psychopath

So last week Victor installed Netflix on our Wii and I don’t understand how that works so I just stared at him blankly when he tried to explain it and the entire time I’m like “You are wasting money” but he did it anyway and now I can’t stop watching movies about serial killers.  And then this morning I woke up and Netflix is all “Hey, you like dark biographical documentaries…here’s a movie about cremation” and I was all “Well, okay, Netflix, if you say so” and then I totally did like it and Victor came in and was all “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” and I was like “No.  I’m taking a break because Netflix gave me an assignment.  You started this” and then he was all “IS THAT A DEAD BODY?!  Why are you watching that?  WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU?” and I was all “I happen to like ‘dark, intellectual biographical documentaries‘ so stop judging me” and he just stared at me and so I flipped back to the menu to show him that I wasn’t just making this shit up and he was all “It doesn’t actually say ‘intellectual’ anywhere” and I was all “Well, it’s implied” and then Victor flipped through the other “I bet you’d like this” movie suggestions and all the suggestions were about serial killers and Jesus and he was like “Really? You are going to get the cops called on us” and I’m all “How did the hell did Jesus get in there?” and what’s really unsettling is that I HAVE NO IDEA HOW JESUS GOT IN THERE.  I don’t know if it’s a sign from God or if the Netflix people trying to convert us.  Either way it feels kind of inappropriate and a little pushy.

PS.  Oh.  Wait.  Turns out Netflix thinks I need Jesus because Hailey keeps watching these vaguely Christian Veggie-Tale movies.  Awesome. Netflix is sending The Passion of the Christ to my 5-year-old.

PPS.  Okay, true story?  Netflix was just like “Hey, you know what you should watch?  Grey Gardens. Here it is.  I got it for you” and I was all “OH MY GOD, I LOVE GREY GARDENS” and then Victor was all “Grey what?  It’s 2:00 in the afternoon.  Why are you still in bed?

Netflix officially understands me more than my husband.

It’s not what it looks like.

This morning my friend Kevin sent me this picture.  Because it reminded him of me:


And then I vowed never to speak to Kevin again because I’m pretty much unoffendable but there is actually a line and that line is babies-being-impaled by-penises-through-their-solar-plexuses and I was all “THAT SHIT IS DISTURBING, KEVIN. NEVER EMAIL ME AGAIN” but then he called me and was like “What’s wrong with you?” and I’m all “What is wrong with you?! Why would you even send me that?” and he’s all “Um…because it’s hysterical?” and I yelled “YOU SICK FUCK” and then he took me off speaker-phone and was all “Why are you yelling at me? This is totally your kind of thing” and I screamed “OBVIOUSLY YOU DON’T KNOW ME AT ALL, KEVIN” and then he was like “Hang on…you think that’s a penis, don’t you?” and I was all “um…yes, because it is a penis” and he was like “WTF, Jenny? Have you ever even seen a penis?  Penises don’t have teeth” and I was all “You are making this worse.” And then he sighed and demanded that I go look at the picture again.  And I did.

And it turns out I owe Kevin an apology because it’s actually a baby in a chicken suit with an alien bursting out of his belly, which I kind of understand because when my kid was that age we put her in a cow costume and I was all “Something’s missing. Probably some sort of phallic alien eating through the baby’s sternum”. So this is me, alien baby parents, applauding you. Also, in the future I’d appreciate it if any pictures sent to me had a disclaimer stating “This is not a penis”.  Unless it is a penis.  Then maybe don’t send that picture.  Unless it’s a penis I really need to see.  I don’t know.  Just use your best judgement.  There aren’t any formal rules on this sort of thing.


On a completely unrelated note, I didn’t do my weekly wrap-up on Sunday because something more important came up so I’m adding it here:

    This week on my sex column (which is satirical and relatively safe for work if your boss isn’t a douche canoe):

    This week on the internets:

    • This blog was named a finalist in the 2010 Bloggies for Best Writing on a blog and Most Humorous blog.  Immediately afterward I posted about my friend trying to commit suicide and then the post right after that contains possibly the most poorly-written conversation about aliens-that-look-like-penises ever published.  People finding my blog for the first time are probably very confused right now.

    This week on Good Mom/Bad Mom on the Houston Chronicle:

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

    Comment of the day: I prefer my version.  (My daughter was not harmed in the making of this photo.) ~ Pete

    Victor says this conversation is about me “not being able to behave like an adult” but I’m pretty sure it’s about how he loves Hitler so damn much.

    Conversation with my husband about Hitler:

    Victor:  This house is a wreck.

    me:  This house is a creative haven.

    Victor:  No.  It’s just a wreck.

    me:  Well, I don’t know why you’re telling me about it.  It’s not my job to clean the house.

    Victor: Yeah, actually it is.  Remember?  You were going to quit your job and work on your book?  And clean the house.  And do the errands.  That was the deal, remember?

    me:  Not really.  That doesn’t sound like a deal I’d make.

    Victor: “I’m going to be the best housewife EVER.  I’ll just write and clean and cook.” Sound familiar?

    me:  Fuzzy.  I was probably drunk when I said all that.


    me:  Oh.  That does sound like something I’d say.  Are you mad about the blowjobs?

    Victor: No.  I’m mad about the fact that we both work at home and that this home is a fucking wreck.

    me:  It’s not that bad.  You’re over-reacting because you’re kind of an anal freak.

    Victor:  You are using a frisbee as a plate.

    me:  What? I’m not-oh hang on, this is a frisbee.  Weird.

    Victor: *glare*

    Me:  Dude.  I’ll wash it afterward. It’s probably dishwasher safe.

    Victor:  It’s not about whether the frisbee is dishwasher safe.  It’s about the fact that you’re using a fucking frisbee to eat on because there are no clean plates.

    me:  There are totally clean plates.  I just saw this on the counter and grabbed it.  Technically it’s a kick-ass plate.  It even has a lip on it so you don’t spill anything.

    Victor:  How does this not bother you?!

    me:  IT TOTALLY BOTHERS ME. I can’t believe I ever agreed to clean the house in exchange for quitting my job.  I can’t believe you’d even think that would work.  If anything you should have known better when you made that deal.  This is all sort of your fault.

    Victor:  I’m going to strangle you.

    me:  And I’m going to replace all our plates with frisbees.  Because I’m a visionary.

    Victor:  I’m fucking serious.

    me:  SO AM I.  THESE FRISBEE PLATES ARE AWESOME.  Besides, I don’t have time to clean because I’m busy doing social media stuff.

    Victor:  What did you accomplish today?

    me:  A lot.  Social media maven…stuff.

    Victor: No.  What exactly did you do today?  Quantify it for me.

    Me:  It’s not quantifiable.  There aren’t even metrics for the shit I do.

    Victor:  Try.

    me:  I re-watched the first season of Chad Vader.

    Victor:  ?

    me:  For research.

    Victor:  The fuck?

    me:  AND I did this doodle about Hitler.

    bloggess hitler toon

    Victor:  That’s…not even remotely funny.

    me:  Dude, it’s totally funny.  You know? Because people always say ‘They only hate me because they’re jealous‘.  But then it’s Hitler and everyone really does hate him and isn’t jealous at all?

    Victor:  Not funny.

    me:  I think I just need drawing lessons.  It took me like two hours just to work out how to put a scarf on a stick figure.  And that’s why I didn’t have time to clean all the soup I spilled in the microwave.  By the way, don’t look in the microwave.

    Victor:  I’m going to lie down until the urge to kill you passes.

    Then he left and never came back.  And I had to clean the microwave because I’m responsible and also because it started to smell like clam chowder even in the bathrooms.  This is why it sucks to be me.  Also, I’m pretty sure that my husband is anti-Semitic.

    PS.  Victor says that not laughing at a joke about Hitler doesn’t make you anti-Semitic but that’s I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what an anti-Semite would say.  They have terrible senses of humor.

    Comment of the day: Your Hitler seems to be choking on a chicken bone. If that had happened to the real Hitler in the late 20’s so much could’ve been avoided. Of course then the Hitler jokes wouldn’t be as funny. ~ Carolyn Online

    I’m way too whiney to think of a witty title for this right now.

    zombie baby


    So the other day I cut through the park on the way to an appointment when I see these babies and I’m like Oh my God, those are the cutest babies ever but where are their parents and OH HOLY SHIT.


    And that’s when I’m all “Fuck.  That baby is a goddamn zombie”.  Fantastic.  Oh, and now the other baby is infected and it’s a zombie too.  Fucking great. Awesome.  That’s exactly what I needed today was to be stalked by two zombie babies.  I mean it’s not that big of a deal because they can’t walk yet so I just have to keep shoving their heads away from me with my shoe, except what the hell do I do now?  It’s not like I can kill a baby.  Even a zombie one.  And where the hell are their parents anyway and why is this my problem? GET OFF ME BABIES. And then a police officer shows up and is all “IS THERE A PROBLEM HERE, MA’AM AND WHY ARE YOU KICKING BABIES?!”

    And I’m like “No officer, there’s not a problem.  I’m just kicking these babies because they’re fucking zombies.  And it’s really less of a ‘kick’ than it is a ‘benign but effective defensive maneuver’.  What? No, actually I’m not going to lay down on the ground with my hands behind my head because that’s where the zombie babies are.”  And then I got distracted because the officer was being an asshole and that’s when one of the babies chewed through my Achilles tendon.

    So long story short?  Yeah. I had a terrible day.

    PS.  This post is really just a metaphor for the kind of day I’m having because someone sent me that picture and he was all “I thought this would cheer you up” and I’m all “THESE ZOMBIE BABIES ARE FUCKED UP.  STOP SENDING ME THIS SHIT” and my friend implied that I have emotional problems for immediately jumping to the conclusion that the baby was a zombie but I have an excuse because I’m dying.  And yes, that’s a slight exaggeration but not by much because I’m taking this chemo drug for my rheumatoid arthritis and it’s making me throw up a lot and and the outside of the bottle is all “YOU’RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE“.

    Actual text meant to scare the shit out of you, I assume:

    “Some side effects of methotrexate may cause death. You should only take methotrexate to treat life-threatening cancer, or certain other conditions that are very severe and that cannot be treated with other medications”

    Which sounds ungood, right?  But actually my arthritis has been in a remission for the last couple months so technically the worst part was just the treatment itself because it makes me throw up all the time.  So last week I convinced my doctor to cut my 10 pill dose down to 8 pills which was awesome because I stopped throwing up but then I woke up this morning and I can barely walk.  Awesome.  And what really sucks is that NO ONE EVEN KNOWS WHY THIS DRUG WORKS.  They’re guessing it *may* work because it fucks up your immune system and keeps cells from growing properly so your body attacks your immune system instead of your joints.  Because who needs a working immune system when you have an autoimmune disease that makes you so sick that your best option is to take a drug that can kill you?  Basically it’s like being stabbed in the neck to take your mind off your stubbed toe.  And that’s why today my feet feel like tiny zombies have been gnawing on them.  See what I did there?  Full circle. Moral:  Rheumatoid arthritis is worse than being attacked by baby zombies.  I think someone has said that before.  Probably Hemingway.

    Comment of the day: I think this is just evolution in action: the big baby is going straight for the brain, & the little one is trying to figure out how to eat a SHOE. I’m assuming survival of the fittest works for zombies.  I mean they’re technically dead, right? I’m confusing myself now. ~ Drolgerg

    Now I just need to find someone who sells human skin

    Sometimes I’ll be in the middle of talking to someone and I’ll be all “HOLD ON. I have to write something down because if I don’t I’ll forget it forever and I’m pretty sure it’s brilliant” and then they sit there in my office looking at me uncomfortably while I spend two minute typing furiously and then I’m all “DONE!” and they’re all “So…what did you just write?” and I look at it and realize that it’s the sort of thing that should never actually be shared so I say “Oh, something about servers and, you know…process analysis?” and they’re all “Then why did you ask me how to spell ‘labia’?” and then I pretend they aren’t there anymore and they leave. Then later I think I should go back to delete it but I can’t because I never delete anything I write so I have 187 draft blogs that are just one paragraph of stuff that even I look at and go “Fuckin-A, I need help”.  Like this post I wrote and never published last month:

    I think newborn babies are kind of gross.  They’re adorable like 2 weeks later when they start looking normal but babies fresh out of the womb are all new-boiled and look like something that had to be forcibly removed from your body.  Because they are. And everyone else thinks that newborn babies are the cutest things ever but no one ever thinks other things you had removed from your body are cute and the only thing that really separates babies from other organs are skin.  Hence, if you were to remove your gallbladder and immediately cover it with skin then it would be cuter than week-old baby.  I haven’t checked the math on this but I’m pretty sure it works and also my horoscope says “If others can’t see what you’re proposing is the coolest thing since the ipod, don’t sweat it.  Persevere!”  And that’s why I’m going to start wrapping skin on medical waste and selling it directly to customers. 

    And then I’ll look at the post again and I’ll be all “This bitch is gettin’ published” and but then right before I publish it I’ll read it again and I’m like “The hell?  I need more medicine”. Now I’ve read it four times and honestly I can’t even tell what I was trying to say. Basically I’m just posting this so that everyone who’s all “Why don’t you write something every day?” can know that there’s a lot of total shit just like this that never gets published and you should probably thank me for not making you read it.

    UPDATED: Wait. I just read it a fifth time and I’m pretty sure it’s brilliant.

    UPDATED AGAIN:  No.  No, it’s not.

    PS.  Meth is a miracle drug and I highly recommend it.  It’s like getting healed by Jesus except that instead of leprosy I had arthritis and instead of being healed I’m just too high to notice the pain.  Also, I haven’t slept in 4 days and last night I vaccuumed my cats.  I FEEL AWESOME.

    Comment of the day: Newborn babies are completely gross. When I visited my best friend in the hospital the day she gave birth to her daughter, I was holding the baby and kissed her on the cheek, and then later my friend is like, ‘I’m going to give her her first bath later’, and I was like ‘what? Hasn’t she already been washed??’ and my friend was like, ‘no, she’s fresh out’. And then I gagged and vomited in my mouth a little bit because I basically kissed my best friend’s uterus juice and that shit is not cool. ~ FruGal

    I’m like the Thomas Edison of inventions that use dead cats

    I was just telling my friend (Kregg) that they should sell clarifying toilet paper. Because (just like how once a year you’re supposed to use a clarifying shampoo to strip all the excess conditioner and shit out of your hair) there should be some kind of gritty toilet paper you use once a year to strip all your junk of all the lotions and chemicals in toilet paper and then Kregg was all “Yeah, I don’t think I’d use anything that would ‘strip my junk’ but maybe that’s something that would be appealing for you girls since you have to use toilet paper so much. I mean, I can’t even fathom how much you girls have to wipe because we men only have to wipe when we poop” and he said it in this condescending way like he was totally better than me just because he didn’t have to wipe as much and I was all “”Well just imagine what bears must think of you” and he was all “Um…what?” and I explained that it’s just a matter of perspective because if bears could talk they’d be all “Really?  You wipe your butt every time you poop?! That’s fucked up.” And Kregg was all “Yeah…that is fucked up” but I’m not sure he was talking about the bears.

    I also came up with another idea to re-purpose used breast-pumps to suck dead kittens inside out because then…TA DA!…fur-lined mittens for homeless people.  I told Kregg about it and he was all “That’s…weird” and I’m all “It’s weird that no one’s ever thought of it before.  Because no one wants dead kittens or used breast-pumps so this way we’d be keeping them both out of the landfills and helping the homeless.  It’s practically carbon zero!”  Then Kregg mentioned something about PETA and firebombs and I was all “I’d only use kittens that were already dead from non-communicable diseases, Kregg.  I wouldn’t just go around haphazardly turning live kittens inside out.  I’m not a monster, for God’s sake” and frankly I’m a little insulted I even had to clarify that.  I’m doing this to help the homeless.  Not for my own personal kitten-mitten collection.  We live in Texas, y’all.  I don’t even need mittens.

    Comment of the day: I wouldn’t exactly call you the Thomas Edison because he invented lots of shit and you really only came up with one use for a dead cat. You’re more like a George Edward Alcorn of dead cats. ~ ShallowGal

    Disney World is a lie (now less offensive)

    Note:  This post isn’t going to make a lot of sense because I wrote it and it was more than usually inappropriate so at the bottom I said (for this post only) I would delete it if anyone asked me to and someone did so the redacted parts contain stuff that I swear to God is probably not as bad as what you’re imagining.  Or possibly worse than what you’re imagining.  I guess it just depends on how fucked up you are.  Also now the comments will probably confuse you even more than usual.  You know what?  Just skip this post altogether.  Come back next week when I write about something less offensive.  Like the holocaust.

    Last weekend my in-laws took us to Disney World with us and I took so much xanax I almost went into a coma.  Things I learned at Disney World:

    1.  On the flight, when you’re watching “Love Actually” on your ipod and you realize that there’s a full-on humping sex scene in this sweet romantic comedy and you decide to freak out your husband by waving the humpers in his general direction you should keep in mind that his parents are sitting right beside him and will probably see it too and you’ll want to explain that you weren’t watching porn but you can’t find a way to broach it on a crowded plane with your 4-year-old beside you and all through the trip you’ll be waiting for the right moment to just clarify that you don’t watch p0rn on airplanes but that moment totally never comes.

    2.  Redacted.

    3.  A third of the Magic Kingdom was shut down because they were filming the Disney Parade that airs on Christmas and the Disney worker who was scooting us off the lot and into (swear to God) the back alley was all “Sorry folks, but this is how we make the Christmas parade magically happen on Christmas” and I was all “Oh, you mean by cheating.  Asshole.”  I didn’t say it out loud because my kid was there but I’m pretty sure he could see it in my eyes.

    4.  I ate bad clams the first night I was there and got violently, violently sick.  All the characters look leering and fiendish when the only thing you want to do is find a place to throw up.

    5.  Disney World is supposed to be all magical but I didn’t see a single magician.  I did see lots of animals though and none of them were masturbating but that was less “magical” and more of a “nice change from what I’ve come to expect from our zoo”.

    6.  If I ran Disney World I’d make all the restaurants fill their hamburgers with glitter so later you’d actually poop glitter and it would be a magical surprise

    7.  Everything in Disney World is shaped like Mickey Mouse’s head.  Sandwiches, plates, pancakes.  I was honestly afraid to ask for a tampon.

    8.  At the “It’s Tough To Be a Bug” show everyone in the audience got acid sprayed on us and we were all farted on.  This is part of the fucking show.  Farted.  On. 

    9.  We stood in line for hours so Hailey could see Mickey and he didn’t even talk.  Like, he just stands there and waves like some kinda incompetent mime.  Next time I’m bringing my own Mickey costume and right when Hailey gets out of the car I’ll jump out and be all “Hey!  It’s me, Mickey!  And not the shitty mime Mickey…the real Mickey.”  And then I’ll be all “Nice to meet ya!  Now get on those rides and if you see a long-ass line to meet me you can just skip it because that’s the crappy deaf Mickey and (redacted).”  Then Hailey will probably cry but either way she won’t want to see Mickey again and we can jump straight to the teacup ride which was awesome in that kind of way that will give you whiplash if you ride it with your husband who doesn’t seem to remember you spent all morning throwing up bad clams.

    10.  Tigger was awesome.  Unlike that asshole Mickey who bonked my kid in the noggin with his big, fat nose. And then when Victor was all “You trying to give my kid a concussion, Mickey?” and he didn’t even respond at all, which I’m pretty sure is an admission of guilt.  We’re totally gonna be millionaires.

    Update: It’s come to my attention that I’m kind of an asshole and pretty much all of my awesome readers have had a make-a-wish-kid at Disney and they are all very nice about it but honestly for this post and this post only, ask me to take it down and I totally will.  No questions asked.  This must be what it feels like to grow a conscience.  It feels like hell.  Is this how you guys feel all the time?  That must sucks.  I feel like the Grinch when he realized what a bastard he was except that I don’t have any toys to give back.

    Comment of the day: There’s nothing wrong with a Mickey shaped tampon. Especially if you have a Mini Shaped Vagina. ~ Marinka

    I’m not even sure why we *have* katanas anymore

    So the other day I was wearing the only clean thing in my house, which was a beach sarong that’s basically two giant scarves tied around my neck, and it’s super-comfy but at the slightest breeze it flies open to reveal my nipples to the world.  This is called foreshadowing.

    So I ran some errands and when I parked in front of my house I saw Quiet Asian Guy in his yard and considering how often he’s seen me naked I was mindful to arrange my scarves and exit the car all lady-like and  I was feeling very smug about not showing my junk to the neighbor when I tripped on something and practically broke my ankle but I still kept hold of my scarves with a death-grip because I have determination but then I turned back to see what I’d tripped on and it was A GIGANTIC FUCKING SNAKE and this is where I totally lose. my. shit and run into the house with my scarves flying wildly behind me, and I’m screaming at Victor to get a gun and I run to grab a sword and then Victor gets all yelly that I’m overreacting just because I wanted to use a katana to slice up a snake in the street.  Because he loves snakes and wants me to die.  Apparently. 

    So we go back outside and the snake is still there but his head is sqwooshed so Victor thinks I probably ran over him with my car when I was leaving which means it was UNDER MY CAR WHEN I GOT IN, like in those emails where the gang member is hiding under your car and he slices your achilles tendon for his gang initiation, except this is even worse because instead of a gang member it’s a snake who doesn’t have a knife so he’s going to have to chew your achilles tendon in half.  Yeah.  So now you get why I was so freaked out.   So then I realized that no one would believe this so I took a picture of the snake but I couldn’t capture how HUGE it was and I needed something for scale so I grabbed some coins to throw at the snake but I didn’t want to get too close because it could be faking death to lull me into a false sense of security.  So I’m tossing nickels at it but they’re all bouncing off and rolling away and that’s when I realized that I’m standing in the street throwing change at a dead snake like it’s some sort of performing monkey with an accordion.  So I tried a few more coins before I remembered how bad I was at “quarters” in college and then Victor noticed I’d swiped his change bucket and started yelling at me that I’d better be picking that shit back up and of course that was not going to happen so I just kicked the change into the storm drain and walked closer to take a semi-closeup of the dead animal I ran over for you, gentle reader, because I’m a blogger who cares.  Would Guy Kawasaki do that for you?  (Answer: Probably not because I’m pretty sure they don’t have snakes in California.)  And I thought about putting a little tip jar beside the dead snake just to fuck with whoever found him next but I didn’t want to get that close and also I didn’t have a tip jar.


    I added the bear and the lightening bolts because the picture didn’t capture just how fucked-up the whole thing was.  And that’s why now when I get into my car I have to circle it first, looking underneath it for snakes and then when I get in I leap into it from several feet away just in case a snake is hiding in the wheel-well, except that when I did it this morning I misjudged the height because when I jumped in I  totally slammed my forehead into the roof of the car and I panicked because I could feel myself about to fall backward onto the asphalt and all I could think about was how much it would suck to get bit in the eye by the wheel-well snake and so I desperately grabbed the steering wheel and caught it although I did break two nails which sucks but is better than being bit in the eye by a snake. 

    And also I lost my checkbook.  That’s not related to the snake thing but it sucks too.

    Comment of the day:  See, that’s one of those Driveway Vipers. The squished head with the tire tracks is just camouflage. Its hunting method is adapted for a suburban environment. First, it sneaks into your driveway and plays dead under your car, being careful to avoid the tires. You dispose of the “dead” snake but you’re so freaked out that you start doing stuff like leaping into your car and smacking your head on the door frame. Next thing you know, you’re lying in your driveway with a concussion, at which point the snake returns to chew your Achilles tendons at its leisure.   You got off lucky. Your best defense at this point is to start wearing a helmet when leaping into your car.  We’re doomed, people. The snakes are out-evolving us. It’s only a matter of time before one starts camouflaging itself as a katana and then you’d be standing in your driveway trying to kill the squished head snake with the katana snake while the Sunday paper snake sneaks up behind you. ~ Steve

    An open letter to Apple regarding dead hobo fingers

    Dear Apple:

    My iPhone is very pretty but also totally useless because it thinks I’m dead.  I assume it was designed to only recognize live human touch on the touchscreen but I guess my hands are too cold and so my phone rings and I desperately try to answer it but 80% of the time it won’t work at all and I start screaming at my phone and then my husband rolls his eyes and gently touches it and then it totally works and he looks at me like it’s my fault my phone doesn’t think I’m real.  

    I’m pretty sure it’s the same technology used on this TV my grandparents had that was all 80’s-high-tech because the buttons on the TV could only be pressed by living flesh for it to work but it didn’t work for me at all and if I was the only person at their house I had to hold the dog up to the TV to change the channel.  And when I pointed out to the rest of my family that this was a dumb feature because it’s not like we’d had a problem with zombies or the refrigerator trying to change the channel they just rolled their eyes at each other like I just didn’t understand technology.

    Pretty much the only way I can get my phone to respond to my touch is if I heat up my hands by rubbing them together really fast and then I look like Scrooge McDuck menacingly plotting to steal gold from orphans.  So basically this phone which is supposed to make me look cool makes me look even stupider than before.

    What I really want is to be able to use one of those stylus pen things but apparently it would have to be a stylus made out of human skin and when I asked about it at Best Buy they made me leave the store.  At this point my only option is to go back to my old phone or to use the detached finger of a dead hobo which would be difficult because people get all up in arms about that sort of thing even if you do explain that he wasn’t using it and also it kind of takes away from the coolness factor of having an iphone if you have to use a dead hobo pointer to use it.  And now that I’m thinking about it I’d probably take his pinkie instead because it would be smaller and easier to press those tiny keyboard buttons.  But still there would be the problem with temperature because probably the dead hobo finger would be just as cold as my own finger unless I kept it in my bra or something.  I can’t help but think this would be less of a problem if the iphone responded to any touch and not just particularly warm flesh because then I could just use a pencil and not have to think about putting dead hobos fingers in my bra.  And also I’m always misplacing my pens so I’d probably have to cut all of the fingers off all the dead hobos I find so that I have back-ups when I misplace them which would be difficult because I’ve only found two dead hobos in my whole life and as much as I love technology I’m not about to start murdering hobos just so I can use my damn phone.  Anyway Apple, I can’t imagine I’m the only person with this problem so you should probably fix it before a rash of fingerless dead hobos start turning up all over America because that sort of thing can’t be good for your image.  Also, apparently I have a lot of readers from Finland and when they read this those people are probably going to start ripping off hobo fingers too and where Finland goes, so goes the rest of the world and then when the craze gets to Yugoslavia maybe they start ripping fingers off live hobos and blaming it on substandard iPhone technology and then where will you be, Apple?  Screwed.  That’s where. 

    Save the hobos.  Save the world.


    PS. I emailed this letter to Steve Jobs and he totally never responded.  It’s been almost an hour.  Horrible customer service.

    Comment of the day:  I once rode the subway in NYC and sat across from a dead hobo. I rode all the way up to 200th and Brodaway and he didn’t move one iota. And the smell, OY. well, lets just say..he was dead. And nobody got up to tell the conductor or whatever they call them in those little closets in the train that there was a dead hobo on his A train. I am pretty sure it was the A train. The numbered trains seats are too small and uncomfortable for big American butts, dead or alive.
    Anyway, this dead hobo didn’t seem to bother anyone but ME? I get mad drunk once and hurl all over the subway floor ONE LOUSY TIME and everyone is up in arms and going to pull the little guy out of his closet to show them. Well, excuse the hell out of me. The little guy in the closet didn’t do anything. He just looked at the floor and went back into his closet. I did. I got up and moved. It was kinda gross.   Anyway. Aside from the smell, the dead hobo on the subway didn’t bother me. I just sat there riding north, wondering what his life must have been like and how it came that he would die in a subway car. He didn’t move or breathe or anything. I got off at 200th. He must have been headed for the end of the line, that’s the next stop up.  ~ Always, Buddy