I can't make this shit up, y'all....

For the second time in my entire history of motherhood, I attended a Thanksgiving Feast with my child.  The first time, was with the oldest spawn when she was in 3rd grade.  I was in the lunch line with her when some loud-mouthed jackass kid asks my her, "Hey, is THAT your mom?  She's fat!"  In my mind I reached over there and kicked him in his teeny tiny nutsack.  In reality, I shot him the bird and he turned right around and minded his own business.  After that most joyous day, I realized the older kids got, the assholier they got, too.  So, I figured that would probably be the first and last time I'd go and have lunch with my kid.

Fast-forward 6 years and my youngest spawn is in kindergarten.  At this age, kids are still kinda cute so I figured I'd probably be safe against verbal attacks.  Also, my youngest would proably kick someone's ass if they talked smack about me to her face.  So, when I was invited to have a Thanksgiving lunch with her, I said, "sure, let's try this shit again!"

Everything was fine.  Great, as a matter-of-fact.  I chit-chatted in the lunch line with some parents.  I sashayed my fat ass around like the confident heifer that I am.  It was all cool.

That is, until we sat down at our assigned spot at the lunch table.  Directly across from us was another kid and her mother - a police officer in full fucking uniform.

Here's where shit went downhill fast.

Spawn: What does that badge say on your arm?

Cop Lady:  It says, "police officer."

Spawn:  YOU'RE a policeman?!

Cop Lady: Yep.

Spawn: Do you have a gun?

Cop Lady: Yeah... it's right here, see? (tapping her hip holster)

Spawn: Cool!  My mom doesn't have a gun.

Cop Lady: Really?

Spawn: Nope.  But, my dad does.

Cop Lady: Really?

Spawn:  Yeah.  He's a boy.  He likes to shoot stuff. Especially bad guys and SQUIRRELS!

Cop Lady: He does, huh?  (glancing at me)

Spawn: Yeah.  He hates them because they drop a lot of acorns in our pool. Also, they make a mess by the back door.

Cop Lady: Hmmm. (staring a hole in my head)

Me: Hey, don't look at me... I don't even know the guy.

So, there goes our family's reputation with this group of parents.  By the time my tiny spawn gets to 3rd grade, this story will be exaggerated to astronomical proportions.  I'm sure that by then, Hubber will be a convicted felon who kills cute, tiny, doe-eyed puppies and eats their hearts raw. 

The funny thing is... he's never even actually hit a squirrel with his bb-gun. :)

Sheesh.

Sex Toys Are Your Friends (and mine)

All Stand and APPLAUD, Damnit!

It's a proud moment in Snarky Heifer-ville, y'all.  Momma got her first advertiser!  That's right!  Someone is actually PAYING money for a slot on my website! CHA-CHING!  I didn't even have to turn a trick; which makes Hubber a happy camper.

Nevermind that my advertiser sells adult toys.  They're still legit (because the check didn't bounce)... and cool as shit in my book. At first, I was tempted to trade them some ad space for loot.  But then I realized that my cupboard is bare and my peeps need milk and eggs before Hubber needs a blow up doll.  So, I opted for the cash.  Smart, huh?

Another good thing about my newly acquired [best] friends is that I've learned a lot more than I ever thought possible about the adult toy businesses.  There are contraptions for everything, y'all.  Turns out, I don't know shit about kinky sex.

For example, what do you think THIS is?:

No, it is not an attachment for your kitchen blender.

It is a vaginal/anal bi-polar ElectraProbe.  And, if that isn't snazzy enough for you... you POWER it up with one of these things:

I'm dead serious about this shit.  Kinda scary, if you ask me.  Pretty sure I don't want anything inside my hoo-ha that uses electro-thingamajigs in order to operate.  With my luck, my goodies would turn toxic and Hubber's dingaling would fall off in two months. Eeek!

But, wait!  Don't let that stop you from visiting my advertiser's lovely store!  They sell a bunch of normal shit, too.  I promise!  Go check them out: www.PerpetualPerv.com

I ain't no hillbilly, but I sure as heck can write like one!

Just when I thought I couldn't stoop any lower in the writing-for-money arena, I was offered a new gig writing in "hillbilly speak" (which I took without hesitation... duh).  I am getting PAID for using bad language, poor grammar and crappy spelling.  It don't get much better than that, peeps! 

Let me just say, there are some weird ass websites out there, y'all.  This one site is targeted at hillbilly-types who can't afford indoor plumbing but somehow own a computer (with internet access) and want to make money online by clicking on all those bullshit ads and surveys.  The crazy thing is that they have over 9,000 members!  NINE THOUSAND people believe they'll make a living off of clicking on website ads and being bombarded with pop-ups and spammy emails.

I know first-hand that that shit don't work.  Yes, I tried it - many, many moons ago.  But, just to make sure shit hasn't changed since last year, I decided to try it out again for tackling this writing project.  In a matter of 30 minutes, I was able to accumulate $0.05 and 20 wooden nickles.   Five cents don't go far in my world, y'all... and at that rate it would take me 654 gazillion years to accumulate $5 for some Marble Slab icecream.

I think I'll stick to writing.

How do you like yer possum, fallin' off the
bones tender or with a little fight left in it?

I understand the concept of COOKING and CLEANING - just not as it applies to me...

Contrary to popular belief, I did not pull a bait-and-switch on Hubber.  Before I became his ball-and-chain, I made extra sure that mofo understood that I do not like to cook or clean.  I also don't like a messy house.  And, I love to eat.  So, basically, he was hitting the jackpot! 

No problemo, he said, "we're two gainfully employed adults - we can hire help and eat out!"  Back in those days, I had a housekeeper to do the dirty work; and I had all the take-out restaurants on speed dial.

Three moves, a few new jobs, two kids and 6 pets later we're eating Ramen noodles and covered in dog hair. Also, our pool needs to be completely drained of funk, our toilets need a good scrubbing and every inch of carpeting needs to be set on fire.

My house looks like shit, y'all. It seems that at some point after reducing my salary considerably, firing my housekeeper, and letting the youngest spawn take over the house, this shit just got away from me.  My peeps are lucky to have clean dishes and clothes. 

Well, usually. 

We all know I hate doing laundry.  It is a never ending fucking menace.

Me:  Hubber, please tell me you have clean panties for work tomorrow.

Hubber: Are you EVER going to do the laundry?

Me:  Yes or no, Hubber?

Hubber:  If I say no, will you do the laundry?

Me: Probably not. But, I MAY go to Target, in which case, I'll buy you a few new pairs.

Hubber: (rolling eyes) I keep a few spares for times like these. 

Me: Damnit.

I think he's on to me.  He can outlast me and the spawns when it comes to clean clothes!  I wonder if he has a mistress somewhere scrubbing away at his dirty panties in secret?  Anything to keep me from making an extra trip to Target.  Jackass.  I bet he has secret burritos stashed away for days when I don't cook, too!

In case of fire, grab some panties!

Teen Spawn:  Mom, if our house was on fire, what three things would you be sure to grab on your way out?

Me: Is this a trick question?

Teen Spawn: No.  Seriously.

Me: (playing it safe) you, your sister and your father.

Teen Spawn: besides people.

Me: my dog.

Teen Spawn: What about the cats and the lizard and the hermit crabs?

Me: Nah, just the dog.

Teen Spawn: (disgusted) Ok, what three things would you grab besides people and animals?

Me: My purse, my phone and my external hard-drive.

Teen Spawn: YOUR PURSE?  It's full of trash and alcohol!

Me: Exactly.  Oh, and some panties.

Teen Spawn: Panties?

Me: Yeah. What if I burn to death on my way out of the house?

Teen Spawn: How would panties save you?

Me: They wouldn't.  But, see... the house would probably burn down in the middle of the night when I'm in bed.  So, I'll be sans panties.  I can't be caught dead pantiless!

Teen Spawn: You've been caught ALIVE pantiless... what's the big deal? Also, do you even OWN a pair of panties?!

Me: It's different when you're dead... your stuff probably shrivels up and looks gnarly.  I don't want my gnarly stuff hanging out for the neighbors to see!

Teen Spawn:  Are you sure I wasn't switched at birth and my REAL mother isn't some sane person?

Me: Nah, you're mine.  You were the only white baby born that day.  Besides... someday you'll be just a fucked up as I am. Just wait. This shit doesn't really set in until you're around 25.

Teen Spawn: (rolling eyes) Why do I even ask you anything?

Me: Hell if I know.  I thought you knew it all.

Teen Spawn: I hate you. 

Me: Join the club, Sista!

I laugh in the face of stupid writing!

For today's blog, let us take a look at a few online ads for writing gigs. We'll start with this one:

I don't need time wasters, either, honey!  And, you just wasted MY time with this jacked-up ad.  What the fuck is "mix words"?  And why do you assume everyone reading your piece of shit ad is a GUY?  And what's with your requirement for "perfect English"?  YOU are going to judge MY English?  I don't think so.  Also, you're a jackass for thinking that $0.01/word is an excellent rate.  ONE CENT. This ain't the Phillipines!

Moving right along, let's check out this one:

I have a problem with every other fucking word in this ad. What you need is SOME writer to proofread your ads before posting.  Research thinks?  Huh?

"Please let me know with the starting work as "SEVEN"." Uhm. WTF are you talking about?  So far, 14 people have bid under budget on this job.  I am shocked.

Finally, there's this one:

This person likes UNIQUE stuff, that's for sure.  What IS a unique, original writer?  Aren't we ALL unique and original?  I ain't writing 1 page for this weirdo, much less 10.  He/she is probably the dope fiend that got Roger Clemens in trouble.  No thanks.  I have a reputation to uphold, people.

******************* update**************************

You heifers need to quit pointing out the fact that I didn't proofread this entry before posting it!  You can all suck my left tit! Bitches. 

Top 5 List of Stupid Things I've Done That I'm Not Even Remotely Sorry For....

5. Spawn two children. Although my fat rolls and stretch marks would probably beg to differ, I am not sorry in the least.  It was a stupid and crazy thing to do, I know, but deep down, I really love these little heifers.  Plus, who else can I boss around when I'm too lazy to fetch my own glass of water (yes, WATER) or wash my dishes... or paint my toenails?

4. Get married.  Who else would take out the trash, do my yard, clean my pool, eat my taco, stomp on bugs and change the oil in my car?  Not to mention that I have someone who actually signed on to listen to my rants and raves till death do us part.  Hubber does all these things with no hesitation.  Well.  Maybe he hesitates a little.  Nah... he loves being my beck-and-call-boy.

3. Perm my hair. Yes, I know it's not 1985 and that perm chemicals will dry my shit out, so STFU.  Momma loves her some curls.  They're loose and bouncy... just like Hubber likes his women.

2. Adopt a really large dog.  Part mastiff, part boxer?  SURE, I'll take her!  Her poop piles are the size of cow patties; but I don't care!  I call it fertilizer. Also, she eats 60lbs of food every month?  So?  No problemo, I say!  I can buy that shit at Sam's for $30.

1. Exchanged my full-time, good-paying job for a part-time gig with crappy pay.  Who cares if I have to pimp people out on the side for money?  Not me!  I get to stay home and "work", bitches!  Also, I get to spy on the neighbors and make up stories about their comings and goings.  I've already pegged the pedophiles, swingers and drug dealers.  Which reminds me, I need a new pair of binoculars. And, a bb-gun.

I've got my eye on all you beeeyotches!

Don't worry... we didn't sell his testicles.

I decided to go "minimalist" in my house by getting rid of all the unnecessary crap we don't really need. And what better way to unload my crap than by having a garage sale?  My trash is YOUR treasure!  That's my motto for this weekend.  Nevermind that this decision was another masked attempt at supplementing my shameful income.  And speaking of shame... one thing I am not ashamed to do is exploit my children for cash.  I planted those two little heifers at the end of the driveway with a lemonade/popcorn stand; looking all cute an inviting.  It's a shame my girls aren't old enough to be "hooters girls", otherwise, I would have had them out there prancing around wearing next to nothing and washing cars!  This was the best I could do:
 

The little one dressed herself.

...and it worked like a charm!  We raked in enough cash to start working on our bathroom remodel!  And, the girls even raised $50 selling lemonade!  Not too bad for one day!  I mean, it ain't gonna send them to college, but it'll pay for all the Halloween crap they've been asking for. (Please don't tell them I snagged a twenty out of their tip jar for a bottle of booze.)

I also make a killing off of stuff Hubber doesn't need anymore.  He was a little pissed at first because he's so attached to his crap, but he got over it.  Mostly.

Hubber's Quote of the Day: "Do you wanna sell my testicles, too?!  We can put the left one on the 50-cent table!"

Also, purses are always a big hit at garage sales.  I unloaded about 20 of my old bags!  Hubber was so concerned that I was getting rid of too much...

Hubber: You're getting rid of all these purses?  Do you even have any left?

Me: I kept about five.

Hubber: Wow.  I'm shocked.

Me: Now I have tons of room for new handbags!

Hubber: Oh.  Now, THAT makes perfect sense *shaking his head*

It's taking every ounce of willpower I have in me not to swipe $100 out of the bathroom remodel money for new handbags.

There is no limit to the extent of my pimping...

I am one determined heifer when it comes to "working from home", y'all. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I will pimp anyone out for some cold, hard cash.  I even tried pimping myself out, but for some reason, I'm not as good at that.... I guess because I know all my faults and I probably wouldn't even hire me if I were in the business of hiring.  Which I am not.  Well, except for my snazzy logo up there.  I did pay for that.

(Need a graphic artist?  This guy is the shit!)

Anyway... recently, an opportunity presented itself to me.  I was just sitting around, staring at my youngest spawn (who was explaining to me the logic behind her poor conduct reports in school) and wondering what the hell I ever did to deserve such a sassy, smart-assed, loud-mouthed rugrat.  God is one cruel mofo.  As I watched her mouth move and completely tuned her out, my mind was racing with ideas on how I could pawn her off on some unsuspecting soul for a little peace and quiet.... that's when it occured to me.  She's smart.  Real smart.  Too smart, actually. WHAT IF she was destined to be Doogie Houser, Jr.?  At the rate she's going with reading and math and logic, she could be competing with the minds of college students in three years. Tops.  It was at that moment that I realized I needed to get to pimpin' HER ass out.

College is expensive, y'all.  And, although I'm not adverse to child labor, she's only five-years-old and pretty useless.  However, she's a budding artist and her artwork is highly sought after.  And, we've just been GIVING that shit away!  Well, no more of that nonsense.  I've started a gallery and I'm selling her shiz to raise money to ship her ass off to college when she's eight.  Go buy some fantastical art, people... one day she'll be famous and you can say you knew her when...

WHO'S PIMPIN' WHO?!

Why the fuck am I working today?

The mail ain't running today... the kids are off of school... the bank is closed... and everyone's trash will be stinking to high heaven at the curb until tomorrow.  All because it's Columbus Day. Big fucking deal!  We don't celebrate this "holiday" in my house because Columbus could not have actually DISCOVERED a place that had already been discovered.  HELLO? THERE WERE ALREADY PEOPLE HERE!  It's one of the dumbest national holidays.... right up there with MLK day. Don't get me started, people.

So, anyway... here I am working and wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.  I should be plastered in front of the TV like my kids are... or snuggled under the covers in bed with a trashy novel.  Or, better yet, I should observe "Columbus Day" in the proper, most common-sensical way by barging into someone else's house and claiming it as my own.  Where can I find some vials of small pox?

But, sadly, I'm not doing any of that fun stuff.  I'm working.  I've got deadlines to meet today; shit to write and asses to chew on.  I'm sure that halfway through the day, I'll decide I've had enough bullshit and pour myself an adult beverage and chillax a little.  And, when 3:00pm rolls around and I decide to go out and check the mail because I've forgotten it's a damn holiday, I'll be pissed off all over again because my Netflix delivery won't be there.  Christopher Columbus was an asshole.

I Hate Kindergarteners Who Can Read

Specifically, my own kindergartener.  Now that she can kinda-sorta read, I can't lie about shit.  Like when she wants a quarter for a gumball machine.... I used to say, "See that sign right there?  It says, 'out of order'."  Then there's my favorite non-existent sign posted outside of Chuck-e-Cheese that says, "Sorry, we're closed...all the people parked in our lot are at the store next door." I can't pull that shit on her anymore because she can sound words out and use context clues and whatnot on the words she can't quite figure out.  She's too smart for her own damn good.  Or, for my good.  Either way, it's annoying as hell.

What's worse is that the tiny spawn can now half-assedly read my text messages and emails!  So when she's playing "Top Model" or "Monster Farm" (or whatever nonsense is popular that hour) on my iPhone and a text comes through, she turns into a nosey little heifer.

Spawn: MOM! Hubber Hancock just texted you!  .... uhm.. .is "m-o-f-o" a bad word?  Muffu?  Moofoo?

Me: Give me my phone!

Spawn: Please, please, please let me text him back for you.

Me: Fine. 

Spawn: What should I say?

Me: I don't care... go away.

Spawn: Cool!

So = saw and Yo = You.  Kinda cute, huh?  I guess I don't hate it that much.  I guess.  But, this lil heifer needs more schooling on using punctuation properly.