Thursday, July 28, 2016

Don't ALL Families Talk About This Stuff?

This isn't a real post: it's a collection of random snippets I captured in my phone during conversations with family recently, so I apologize in advance for the lack of cohesive ending.

Things my awesome relatives have said to me recently:


"Oh yeah, didn't you know billy goats attract females by pissing on their own whiskers?" This is important to know if you own a billy goat and no female goats, because apparently they will just piss on ANYTHING that walks by their pen*. Because presumably they're irritated at the lack of female goat attentions, and have an abundance of piss.

*No. I did not get pissed on by a cranky horny goat in retribution or because I look like a female goat or for any other reason. The story involved was a good 30 years ago, and will likely end up in some collection of weird family tales someday.

Also, pygmy goats are fucking adorable and leave tiny hoofprints all over the roof of a car if they can. Which is disconcerting when you're a tired high school student who goes to open your Chevy Caprice wagon (because who drove to high school in a super-cool maroon grocery-getting-tank she could barely park? THIS GIRL.) in the morning only to find devil prints the size of a quarter all over the hood and roof.

Teeny tiny demons held dance parties to bad 90's pop music on my car. I'm certain of it.

"Um, no, actually, I'm pretty sure pigs always look at people as edible." Yeah. Not kidding there: I really did always think that pigs would eat people if trained to do so (you know, like starving dogs eating Ramsey Bolton, or like the pigs in the Hannibal Lecter sequel, or that creepy serial killing farmer in Canada...yes, Canada has serial killers ABOOT).

For the record, the story that went along with this quote was rather horrifying, about a woman my grandma knew of who fell in the pen when feeding the pigs one day. A huge sow she'd raised (read - spoiled like a pet) from a piglet ATE HER CHEST AND SHOULDER.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Honestly, I have no further guilt at all about bacon or cute little piglet faces, because they look at us as people-bacon. Bring on the barbecue.

"Well, if the elephant is Kiki's 'sex toy' then let me know and I'll bring it home." The elephant in question - a purple stuffed animal. Kiki - a rather adorable four pound female chihuahua with a penchant for sexually abusing stuffed animals SO vigorously she humps them from one end of the room to the other. Yup, she's fixed. She doesn't care: she WILL DOMINATE ALL THE STUFFED ANIMALS. Even elephants, apparently.

And really, what better way to end a post than giving you a mental image of a tiny dog humping her way across a floor with a poor purple elephant taking it like a...well, like an elephant, I suppose.


Monday, July 04, 2016

Amazon Thinks I'm a Man-Witch

So a friend of mine forwarded me a link to a "reclaim your masculinity" dude's blog the other day, which I read and enjoyed as another facet to views gender roles and equality (a subject which I give a lot of thought, actually). I didn't agree with everything he wrote, but I can see some of his points. I was interested at least reading the back-cover copy of his books.

So I looked him up on Amazon. Yeah, not so much for me. But still, all perspectives fill out an argument, and it's interesting to know. (For the record, I stopped bothering when I saw a bunch of "more like this" books supposedly related to his title which ALL varied on the same theme: keeping the little lady under control and making sure she provides enough sex to keep your marriage happy. Because only marriages where women know their place, under their man, are happy.)

And that's when Amazon decided I'm a man-witch. A married man-witch, with a terrible sex life, apparently. I have a mix of pagan books, "man-workout" books, "fix your sex life in your marriage" books, and "male" philosophy books on my recommended list all of the sudden.

I'm not going to lie, I'm interested in reading Cicero's On Duties and I sort of want to peruse How To Become a Modern Viking regardless of the books' intended penis-people audience (A Man's Guide to Unleashing the Warrior Within is a pretty clear subtitle).

But, dear Amazon, looking at something about dudes finding their tribe probably doesn't mean I'm interested in The Married Man Sex Life Primer or The Purposeful Primitive (which is apparently a workout book for dudes).

There are others that make me gag a little, and so now I need to do searches on Amazon for other stuff JUST to clear out the poor marketing results. The pagan suggestions are helpful...the "understand devious female behavior" and "be a real man so your wife obeys" ones are just...sigh.

So:

Unicorn masturbation?
Viking Weapons for Chicks?
Deadpool?

Other suggestions?

Sunday, May 08, 2016

Why I Can't Ever Attend the Kentucky Derby

I watch the Triple Crown every year...from the no-hat-required, jeans-friendly couch in my house. My family texts off and on all day before the Kentucky Derby: after all, for those of us in Minnesota the Derby is the last sign that winter is truly over, because horse racing season has begun. It's similar to Winter/Construction being the two seasons up here, except Race season is far less annoying traffic-wise.

Anyway, we make fun of the horrendous outfits (OH MY GOD Rutledge, really? How far the mighty Top Gear host hath fallen), the hats that could apply for their own zip code and MUST require a gallon of mint juleps just to step out the door (assuming a head that huge could get through a doorway), and the host (who apparently stole life-size My Little Pony hair to create that cotton candy pink thing on his head).

I know it sounds mean, but if you're going to go to a multi-million dollar event wearing a hat that literally looks like you stole it from Strawberry Shortcake and be on camera, I have no sympathy.

This year, we discovered it's possible I need a new prescription for my glasses.
ACTUAL horse's name: DESTIN.
What I saw: DESITIN (for those of you without spawn or diaper-changing duties EVER in your life, Desitin is a baby butt cream).

I'm not kidding, the following texts flew from LA to Duluth, MN, to Minneapolis yesterday:

Me: That horse Destin? I keep seeing "Desitin instead and I think his name is BUTT CREAM.
Me: GO BUTT CREAM!
Mom: Run your butt off!!
Aunt: RUN BUTT CREAM RUN!
Aunt: What # was Butt Cream??

Race happens (NO TEXTING DURING THE RACE!)

Aunt: Poor Butt Cream came up from the rear...butt lost.*
Mom: ROFL
Aunt: Butt Creme will get it in the end.

And that's why I can't ever go the Kentucky Derby in real life. 

*For the record, Destin kicked himself into serious high gear on the final stretch and came from the back of the pack to 6th.
Go Butt Cream!

Dear porn surfers: I bet THIS wasn't what you were looking for when you googled "butt cream" and, again, NO SYMPATHY. Mwahahahaha.