Chinese Restaurant Websites - Shit proofreaders' wet dreams are made of...



This shit was just too much of a sparkly gem not to share it with my peeps.  Let's break this bad boy down line by line.

Welcome to Chin Tao Restaurant!
THANK YOU.  I'M JUST HERE TO SEE IF YOU HAVE AN ONLINE ORDERING SYSTEM.

Located in the beautiful city of HOUSTON,our restaurant has been dedicated to offering the most memorable dining experience for you.
NOT THE BEST SENTENCE; BUT OK.  LET'S MOVE ON, SHALL WE?

We pick ingredients carefully and use only the freshest and nature ones to prepare every dish, and have been trying to cook them in a healthier way to provide the most nutritious food. Much attention has been attached to ensure you a cozy and inviting ambiance where you could enjoy not only the great meal but also the authentic atmosphere.
WE'RE GOING TO HAVE TO TAKE THIS ONE LINE BY LINE, Y'ALL.
"NATURE ONES"?  I'M ASSUMING THEY MEAN "NATURAL".  THE QUESTION IS: DO OTHER RESTAURANTS USE UNNATURAL INGREDIENTS?
"TRYING TO COOK"? LET'S JUST HOPE THEY TRY HARD.
NOT SURE I'M COMFORTABLE WITH ANYONE ATTACHING ATTENTION ON ME...SEEMS BORDERLINE STALKERISH.
ARE ATMOSPHERES AUTHENTIC?
 
The owner and all staffs in Chin Tao Restaurant will greet you with the warmest welcome, whether you are a habitual patron or come for the first time. We have made painstaking efforts to create the tidiest and cleanest dining place, and guarantee you with friendly and timely service. Every of your demand and feeling will be cared in our restaurant.
STAFFS?  HOW MANY DO THEY HAVE, I WONDER?
THE ONLY PLACE I'M A HABITUAL PATRON OF IS MY RESTROOM.  ALSO I'D LOVE TO CUM, I MEAN COME, FOR THE FIRST TIME AGAIN.
"PAINSTAKING EFFORTS"? TO BE CLEAN AND TIDY?  REALLY?  DID SOMEONE DIE IN THE PROCESS?  DO YOU KEEP YOUR STAFFS CHAINED AND GAGGED IN THE STORAGE CLOSET?
EVERY OF MY DEMAND AND FEELING WANTS TO PUNCH EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU PEEPS IN THE TACO. WITH A HAMMER. TWICE. THEN PULL YOUR HAIRS FOR GOOD MEASURE.

If you have any commend or suggestion, or want to get more specific information about us, feel free to contact us at 281-469-0103,or browse our's Website 'www.chintaochineserestaurant.com',we will be delight to hear from you any time!
OH, I'VE GOT A COMMEND!  GET SOMEONE WHO KNOWS ENGLISH TO PROOFREAD YOUR SHIT!
OUR'S?  REALLY?!  THAT'S THE BEST USE OF AN APOSTROPHE I'VE EVER SEEN.
OH, AND THANKS FOR THE WEBSITE ADDRESS... I THINK I FOUND IT WITHOUT YOU TELLING ME WHERE THE FUCK IT WAS.
"WE WILL BE DELIGHT"? MAYBE THEY MEANT: WE WILL BE DEE-LITE.  LIKE THAT SONG? REMEMBER? GROOOOVE IS IN THE HEART.....! I REMEMBER DANCING THE SHIT OUTTA THAT SONG IN HIGH SCHOOL!

Welcome to experience the best meals in our fairyland!

FUCK.  MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE DINED IN INSTEAD OF ORDERING FOR DELIVERY.  I BET THEY HAVE UNICORNS THERE.  I WANNA RIDE A UNICORN.  

Turns out my parents are into some kinky, sadistic shit!

The older I get, the more I wish I was still an ignorant kid.  For some fucked up reason, my parents feel the need to share WAY too much information about their personal lives.  Overhearing a conversation between me and my sister about lady boners and taco rubbing isn't an invitation for my mother to share her favorite foreplay activities.  I do not want to know that old people bump uglies. That's the shit nightmares are made of!  (Or blog posts, as the case may be.)  I also don't want to see my dad squeeze my mom's boob or smack her ass while we are ALL in the kitchen preparing MEALS FOR CHILDREN!  Get a room, mofos!!

But it wasn't until the other day that I first realized that my parents are a lot freakier than I could ever have imagined.  It all started when my mom, sister and I were waiting for my dad to be wheeled back into his hospital room.  He had just had spinal surgery.  When they brought him in, he was still dopey from the anesthesia.  Sis and I were all like, 'oh, poor dad...'.  But not mom.  Oh, no.  That heifer waddled (she uses a cane) over to his bedside and started thumping him all over his face saying, "Babe, are you awake <thump>.... Helloooo <thump>.... can you hear me <thump>?" 

Sis and I just stood there shocked, mouths gaping open.  WTF?!  She was THUMPING him!

Sis:  Uh.  Mom?

Mom: <ignoring us>  Baaaabe... can you hear me?

THUMP.

Sis:  Mom, why are you thumping him??

Mom: What?  Oh, you mean this: <thump>?  That's not a thump, that's a love tap. 

A. LOVE. TAP.  On a man who just had spinal surgery and was laying there all pathetic and helpless.

That's when I first thought, 'something just ain't right' with those two.

But, it's what happened the next day that made me realize I was raised by sexual sadists! 

So, there I was sitting in Dad's room chatting about how he was feeling.  He was out of bed, sitting in a chair.  He was feeling great!  Then, Mom and Sis walk into the room.  We say all our "hi's" and "good morning's".  That's when Mom waddled over to hug Dad.  We weren't concerned for his life or anything... it's not like she's some serial killer... she's just a 4'11", cute, petite little thing.... what kind of damage can her hug cause?  I mean, really.  But, she had it in for him.  She went right over, hugged him and patted him on this back. Hard.  Four times.

HE JUST HAD SPINAL SURGERY.

He screamed out in pain and she was all like, "What's wrong??"  We had to tell her that she just patted him roughly on his back WHERE HE HAD SURGERY.  "Oh. Sorry, Babe," she said and thumped him on the cheek.

And, y'all wonder why I'm all fucked up.

Is it weird that I want a mounted jackalope head?

It's not animal cruelty if an animal dies naturally BEFORE you whack his head off and mount it on a plaque.  Am I right? And by naturally, I mean, accidentally shot by a stray bullet meant for a wild boar or some other nasty animal.  Because, I can't imagine ANYONE purposely killing any of these little fellas:

The center ones were murdered whilst humping, I think.

That's what one of the walls looks like at our neighborhood Ace Hardware store.  I immediately fell in love!  I wanna hang one up in the Winnie... and one in my office... and one over the fireplace.  Hubber wouldn't buy me one though.  He's an a-hole when it comes to adopting new furry things.

Me:  It's not like I want the ones posing for a rape scene!

Hubber: Don't you have enough pets?

Me: Yeah, but THESE pets don't pee and shit all over the place... AND they don't require feeding!

Hubber: AND, they don't make any noise...

Me: See? You get it!  Now buy me three!

Hubber: Hell no, they're too creepy.  What the hell IS a jackalope, anyway?  Have YOU ever seen one?

Me: I'm seeing a shitload of 'em right now.  And, they're not creepy! The're cute... and oh, so soft!  Ahhhh.... Here, pet 'em!

I believe that's when he walked off and left me there, all dreamy-eyed, petting each jackalope an equal amount of strokes so as not to make the others jealous.

One of these little guys WILL be mine!

Shaving incidents and other shit that happens when you're poor

So... you know now that I'm being frugal and all, I've had to cut back on some things.  Things like regular shopping trips for shoes/handbags/panties, uppidy hair stylists, massages, professional pedicures, and..... waxing.  And by waxing, I am referring to the waxing of unsightly body hairs. The kind of hairs that have been known to cause rug burn... the kind of hairs that will poke your husband's eye out in the middle of the night.

Yes, now that I'm a poor, starving writer... I'm hairier than I used to be.  So, once a week (or so) I perform the world's longest shaving ritual.  First the pits... then the legs... then the nether regions.  I've survived mostly unscathed for over a year now - until today.  Today I was destined for pain and suffering.... and lots of blood. 

I shaved a quarter of my left pinky nail off accidently.  Don't ask me how that shit happened.  IT JUST DID, mofos.  I need two hands when I'm grooming down there... and that darned pinky just kinda got in the way.

I think I lost two pints of blood. And, some of my sanity.

I'm convinced that some other snarky bitch had it in for me and made a voodoo doll outta my hair and boogers with every intention of shaving off my entire hoo-ha from the inside out!  But, I am more powerful than that bitch.  I sensed that evil shit coming my way and I thwarted it with my left pinky!  Cheap-ass voodoo is no match for my pinky.  No, sir.

Although, now I'm afraid that my hoo-ha will be a little gun shy about having a razor get too close.  I might have to start a waxing fund on my blog.  Would YOU contribute?

proof that no matter how much pain I'm in,
Hubber can still find a way to be a perv

Sex Pornstar Coupon

According to my blog stats, searches on google for "sex pornstar coupon" directed people to my blog a total of 5 times last month. Not only do I not provide pornstar sex, if I did, I wouldn't be giving out coupons for that shit! I would charge a premium!  I wonder how sad these pervs were when they landed on my bullshitty blog full of parental bitching and moaning and starving artist rants?  Oh, well... fuck 'em.  If they don't like it, they can keep moving.

Also, WTF is a sex pornstar coupon? 

If I were ever to attempt to make money in the sex industry, I've already decided that I'd take a clue from Irena Palm.  Except, I'll be the pimp.  I'd drill a hole in my garage door and let pervs stick their peckers in for a lubed-up handjob performed by senior citizens looking to supplement their social security income.  I'd disguise them as Betty White for that "star" quality.

How much would YOU pay to stick your pecker in a hole for a handjob from Betty White?!

Other interesting google searches that led folks to my blog last month:

• black sucking bitches
• skittles not shittles
• spring break 2012 asses
• zombie princesses
• kids are assholes
• mommy juice
• go rving

Foul-Mouthed Bitches

We've been helping my sister and brother-in-law move all weekend.  About an hour into Day 2, the BIL stops me mid-sentence to inform me that using the words "bitch" and "fuck" as often as I do is unnecessary and completely inappropriate.  That a-hole has some nerve, y'all.  There I was, sweating my ass off helping him move his shit and he feels the need to ask me to filter what comes out of my mouth?!

Well, I'll show him! 

I listened carefully to every word that he and my lovely (and seemingly always appropriate) sister spewed out all fucking day....  and lo' and behold, it was chock full of inappropriate shit.  So, I took notes and I'm going to share THEIR inappropriateness here with the entire world.  Enjoy.

Shit that came out of Sis's mouth:

• I would if I could, but I just can't push it out.
• He likes to stick hard things in his mouth.
• What is penis elbow?
• Just shake it till it comes out.
• Suck on this.
• I think he was black in another life.

Shit BIL said:

• Just the tip, I promise.
• Quit yanking on it!
• My belly is full of Dave.
• Someone smells like ass.  Oh, wait... that's me.
• My elbow is so sore.
• Everyone's sucking on something but me.
• He LOOKS like he owns a mini-van.

My peeps have got some nasty-ass potty mouths, don't they?!  And they wonder why the hell I'm full of "bitches" and "fucks."  It's THEIR fault!

I'm going to the grave kicking and screaming

Today is my birthday and unlike SOME of my friends (mainly THIS one), I'm loving every minute of it.  As most of you know, I've been celebrating all month... because you only live once, bitches! Sure, I'm one more year closer to death, my hair is graying, my skin is aging and my bank account is dwindling... but I'M ALIVE and I have access to fruity, alcoholic beverages, beef jerky and air conditioning.  What more could a girl ask for?!

Honestly, it's the only time I can make my peeps feel guilty enough to do shit for me:  "Hand me the remote, it's my birthday month!".... "Get me a glass of water, it's my birthday week!".... "Rub my feet, it's my birthday eve, eve!"... "Scratch my back, it's my birthday eve!"  "Throw some coconut ice cubes in my rum, it's my birthday!"

That shit works like a charm for me all month.  The rest of the year, they spend most of the time avoiding me, so I have to milk it for all it's worth.

As I type, my girls are cleaning my kitchen and baking their momma a cake.  Hubber is tidying up the living room and ordering the children around (which is equivalent to porn in my book).  I'm sipping on a beverage at my desk, listening to the Beastie Boys and rubbing my feet on my dog's back.  It's like God is actually smiling down on me and saying, "sure you're a bitch, but I still like you."

While I celebrate the anniversary of the day I was born, I can't help but thank my lucky stars that I survived another year without killing myself or someone else (and that shit ain't easy to do when you're me).  I'm happy, I'm healthy and I have the best group of family and friends anyone could ever hope for.  I'm beginning to think they love me, snark and all.

Ok, time for cake... 

Buses, Booze and Fruit Roll-Ups

The youngest spawn thinks that all the cool kids ride the bus.  But, to torture her, I forbade it.  I insisted that I drop her off every morning... waiting in the car line for 10-15 excrutiating minutes behind idiot parents that can't read/see/hear, just so that I can watch her walk into the building.  It gave me the assurance that she actually made it to school and that she didn't skip out to drink Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill and smoke Camel cigarettes behind the school with all the other derelicts. But it wasn't until a few days ago that I realized that the piece of mind I get from dropping her off myself isn't worth the time and aggravation it costs me to deal with the dreaded CAR LINE.  Also, I got banned from the car line for shooting the bird at the crossing guard.  Twice.  

Me: Hey, baby... wouldn't it be fun to ride the bus in the mornings?

Spawn:  Really?!  Yes!!  I can sneak in some fruit roll-up so me and Tyler can eat them together BEFORE the teacher takes them away from us!

Me: You can eat on the bus?

Spawn: No.  I mean, yes.

Me: Whatever... just don't get in trouble!

So, she's been catching the bus every morning this week and so far she hasn't gotten in trouble for sneaking contraband onto school property.  How much harm can fruit roll-ups cause, really?

There's Nothing Like Pap-Smears and Hot, Mexican Soup

(Forewarning: Do not read this post if you are easily offended by medical procedures or the word vagina)

What goes great with hot, mexican soup, you ask?  If you're me (and I know you wish you were), the answer is a pap-smear.  After confessing to my sister that I hadn't had my annual "Well Woman" exam since my tubal ligation 5 years ago, I've been getting nagged to fucking death about going to the damn doctor.  I just haven't felt the need.  What with no need for birth control and no "flare-ups" in the nether regions, I just figured: if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Sis: it's called PREVENTATIVE treatment. You could be walking around all ignorant with cervical cancer... or breast cancer... or a million other different kids of cancers and not even know it!

Me: pffffft... you're just jealous because you still need to worry about birth control.

Sis: I don't need to worry, I AM pregnant.

Me: No wonder you need a vagina swab.

Sis: C'mon, I'll buy you lunch.

Me: Free lunch? I'm in!

Because seriously, y'all... I don't turn down a free meal.  Poor folks gotta take handouts when they can get 'em.  So, I offered my body over to science for 30 minutes in exchange for Mexico City Style Chicken and Rice Soup from Pappasitos.  They sprinkle crack in that shit.  And the little leaves floating on top?  Those aren't cilantro... they're weed.  I know this because after eating a bowl of this shit, I'm delirious with the need for a nap.  And chocolate. 

Who the hell drove me home?!

Addicted to Yet ANOTHER Teenie-Bopper Series

So, before I left on my trip, a good friend suggested that I read The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins.

Friend:  Do yourself a favor and read The Hunger Games when you're on your roadtrip.

Me: The WHAT?  Please don't get me started on another teenie-bopper book series.  I'm still trying to get over Bella's stupid ass from Twilight... and Dumbledor dying in Harry Potter... and Artemis Fowl, the badass, never ending saga...

Friend: OK, stop.  Seriously.  You will love it.  I promise there is no miserable teen angst and all the shit that goes along with it.... I pinky promise.

Me: No fucking way I'm buying the book.

Friend: You're a dumbass.

So, I bought the fucking book because I am NO dumbass.  And I read it.  Every last word of it.  In two days.  It was really good, y'all.  So, of course, NOW I have to see the movie and buy the shirt and all that crap.  I just can't get enough.  Part of me is pissed off that my friend knows me so well... and part of me wants to smack her upside the head for getting me all wrapped up in a new series of books when I have tons of others [supposedly more stimulating] sitting on my bookshelves still unread.

And to make matters worse, fucking Woody Harrelson is in the movie.  I love that guy.  White boys CAN jump! And LENNY KRAVITZ?! Holy Shit, Lenny Kravitz is playing Cinna.  I wanna jump his bones. And, I mean that in a sexual way.

Spring Break 2012: Day 5

The natives started getting restless on Day 5, so we drove them up to the mountains in search of snow.  The entire state of Colorado has been blaming Texans for bringing record high temps with them from Texas on Spring Break.  We were bound and determined to prove to those bastages that it wasn’t our fault by finding a patch of snow and playing in that shit. 

So, up we drove; but alas, to no avail.

Sledding on a two-foot patch of slush wasn’t as fun as it promised to be swimming around in my head.  Also, it was mostly yellow and I vaguely remember my mother warning me about yellow snow.  Instead of taking chances with our health, we stopped for lunch.

...and beverages.

Now, we’re on our way home.  We’re going a different route this time… We just survived the Raton Pass between Colorado and New Mexico.  The Winnie took it like a champ uphill at 35 mph (on a 75 mph speed limit).  I’ll never ever curse large, slow moving vehicles again.  From now on, I’ll just politely go around those bitches and flash the peace sign at ‘em.  And, maybe a boob (if they’re lucky and I’m feeling frisky).