Welcome to the Go Ahead And Laugh At Me edition of Songs Currently Stuck In My Head.
Usually it annoys the fuck out of Me* when people’s initial and/or only response is “that song sucks!”. Insulting Me with your opinion is kinda stab-worthy IMHO. But this time you may giggle, snicker, or lawl at Me, but try not to be rude about it, ok kids? Don’t make Me turn this blog around and go home.
Thanks to a good friend’s kids, the following two songs have been Crazy Glued to My gray matter for weeks:
Yeah yeah, I know this drops Me into the Lame Teenage Girl category, but I think it’s got a fun beat and the lyrics are adorable. If dudes were that sweet more often, I’d probably be (slightly) less gay**.
Whaaaaaaat? The beat is catchy! I can’t scrape it out of My head! I’ve tried! I even used one of those Scrape Ice Off Yer Windshield scraper thingies. That shit just hurt real bad and screwed up My sense of smell for a week.
And thanks to a store I frequent, this song has been squatting in My brainpan for about a month:
This song is fairly groovy to Me. It always makes Me wanna skip and sing along. I love to sing along to the “la la la… WHATEVER” part the best. And kudos for using “Zach Galifianakis” as lyrics. I lawled the first few times I heard that…
So yeah, those three songs are constantly shuffling around in the iPod that My brain bought cheap at a flea market. I keep hoping it wasn’t stolen. It’d be inconvenient if My brain got arrested.
* Never understood the term “annoys the fuck out of me”. If something is annoying, why would it get a fuck out of you? Wouldn’t good things instead get you to fuck?
** As of the date of this post, I’m about 92% gay. It is always subject to change, but neither Gay nor Hetero ever get 0% from Me. It’ll never happen, either.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Welcome to the Go Ahead And Laugh At Me edition of Songs Currently Stuck In My Head.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
This bit of textual verbosity isn’t really part of any of the usual themes you find here on My blog. Though, I’m sure that, while being your usual deviant selves, you might come across such situations.
There are so many annoying sounds out there in the world, and an infinite number of reactions to them.
Some people cringe. Some people plug their ears. Some even claw their eyes out. (For the latter, a nice Hug Myself jacket and Thorazine will usually take care of the sounds.)
But there are some voices out there that are so horrifying and frightening that there is only one thing a person can do to deal with it properly.
Your butthole clenches up, with the might of 350 ton octopi tying a grocery bag into a knot. And they sound as your sphincter prepares for incoming assault is not unlike the vacuum-lock sounds used in sci-fi movies for air-lock doors on spaceships.
Some people’s voices are so very, very, bad, that My tightening butthole will sometimes be tightened up in a Grip Of Death that I start to refer to it as My 2nd belly button.
I could make a fortune with enough carbon and a herd of Upper Class Prissy bitches from Long Island (Suffolk County, mind you) I could poop diamonds all the time! Just shove the carbon on in and sit back as the Hirschfeld Sisters from Speonk to read Me the Sears Holiday catalog, complete with their color commentary on how their uncle Saul can get Me much better deals on REAL leather coats! No lie!
We don’t get a lot of feedback here on this blog, mostly on My Facebook. C’mon kids! Join Me here and answer Me this? How does your body react to Vile Evil, Horrendous voices? I bet some of you are butthole clenchers too!!!!
So I was heading to Tootsy's to work this past weekend, and there was a lot of condensation on the back windshield of My car. I rummaged through said car, looking for a paper towel or something that would help remove the water, but all I had was My bag of work clothes. So I yanked out a pair of Jenni boy shorts that I rarely wear but always take, and wiped the windshield down. Best chamois ever. Neon pink with neon yellow lace. I'm sure My neighbors were more confused than they usually are. I think I'm gonna market shammies in fun colors now. Teeheehee.
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Before I get into this story of WTFery, I want to make it VERY clear that I do NOT in any way dislike people who have
weight issues of any kind. I’ve had weight problems, I’ve dated chicks who the "norm" consider to have weight problems.
NOW! Onto the fun…
I was waiting in line at, of all places, Nature’s Table, for My chow. The very obese lady ahead of Me suddenly, and quite loudly exclaimed; “Ew this is fucking disgusting. It’s more disgusting than being gay!”
My head snapped around and My brows shot for the ceiling at such speeds that there were actual sound effects heard by all.
This behemoth cunt looks at Me and snears, “What? You got a fuckin problem? What are ya? Queer?”
Adding in a lil dot dot dot for dramatic pause:
I couldn’t get My brows any further up into My hairline, as just hiding up in My bangs wasn’t good enough for them.
“Yes I am queer, actually. Please allow Me to clarify something here, for I do not wish to misconstrue. If something is gross, disgusting, or juts bad, it’s gay?”
“yeah…” Jabba The Slut drawled.
“And you say this because gay people and being gay is disgusting?” I asked.
She simply nodded her head, crossing her smug, overconfident arms of meat and fat over her tree trunk of an upper body.
“Ok thanks, I get it now.” I said, “From now on when I see something gross or disgusting or just plain ol shit… I’m going to say “Ew, this is disgusting! This is so FAT BITCH!”
And I turned, salad in hand, and sauntered My fine behind back to work.
Hearing that cuntasaurus squawk and cuss as I walked away was music to My ears.
Tuesday, August 07, 2012
Between common sense, pride, and a bit of OCD, I always have some sort of perfume or body spray on. And that’s after I’m scrubbed clean Like A Boss.
Hygiene is awesome.
Whenever a customer at the bar compliments My scent, I always thank him and reply with “Cause no one likes a stinky stripper!”
Duh. It can’t get more Truth than that.
Well, ok maybe there is a guy out there with a Stinky Stripper Fetish. But, for the most part, customers appreciate a lack of stank on their adult entertainers.
We strippers like a lack of stank on our customers, too.
Quid Pro Quo up in this bitch. Ok? For those lacking any sense of Commonly Used Latin, it means This For That. As in, we bathe, so you should too. I don’t know the Latin for “wash your ass” but whatever it is, I want to burn it onto a 2 x 4 and beat some stanky dudes with it. Seriously.
Nothing makes a lapdance harder to do than trying not to pass out from your foul odor. We have to be all cute, be all graceful, be all sexy, all while wearing Super Tall Shoes, AND we have to keep from fainting because your smell just punched us in the face? No. Do us a bit of a favor and make this job a little easier on us. Take the soap, rub it on your skin. Take the deodorant, and rub it under your arms until yer pits look like snow-covered valleys. Make us think about skiing, that’s how much De-stankifier you put on. Ok?
And for the love of fuck, try your damndest to go home and shower between work and the grindathon you have planned with your local Professional Nudist.
I understand that we are such fantastically amazing women that you can barely contain yourselves and NEED TO GET TO US ASAP! But holy shitballs, please go shower first. We will be VERY VERY grateful for it. Some of us might even grind a bit more than usual to show our appreciation at your lack of nasty.
It’s gotten to the point, for Me personally, that I am pondering making a De-Stank Kit to keep in My locker. It’ll be packed full of soap, deodorant, cologne, handi-wipes, rubbing alchohol, Windex, industrial-grade cleaning liquid, and some Brillo pads. If I could, I’d have a fire hose somewhere in the bar as well.
Gods-damned, motherfucking, nasty-ass, stanky butted, foul, gross, repulsive, vomit-inspiring stinky bastards!
BRB, gotta catch my breath…
Whew, ok! All better! I swear…
So to sum up… guys! If you want us to rub our sexiness all over you, please rub soap all over you first.
Don’t make Me pull a Homeless Dude At A Red Light and chase you down with a squeegee. I will. And after I clean you with it, I will beat you with it.
Some establishments have dress codes. Some are just the choice of the owners, some are common sense.
Like you don’t wear a ball gown to work at Arby’s.
Like you don’t wear a bikini to a 4 star restaurant.
Like you don’t wear jeans to the gym.
Speaking of the gym… hey guys? Can you wear your gym clothes to the gym, but not to the titty bar? I know sweats and jogging pants are comfy and shit like that, but seriously? I DON’T WANT TO FEEL YOUR PENIS ON MY THIGH.
This blog post is for both types of Gym Clothes Customers.
1st we have the dude who honestly doesn’t know that it’s creepy, gross, and skeevy to get lapdances while wearing gym clothes. There’d be less friction if I stuck a whisk up My cooter. Seriously. Kitchen utensils violating My uterus would be 100 times better than feeling your erection through polyester. Write this shit down because there WILL be a pop quiz.
PS: I can’t speak for every chick out there who doesn’t hate the dick, but I personally think that any dude that wears sweats, jogging pants, or pajama pants to ANY bar or nightclub should be beaten severely with the Fashion Stick. Just sayin. Just puttin that out there.
On to the 2nd kind of Gym Clothes Customer.
Yeah, I’m talkin to you, you McNasty bastards. You know who you are. You giggle to yourself while you choose which pair of paper-thin pants you’re gonna sport so that you give us lucky, lucky ladies extra attention with your Freak Stick. You can’t wait until you can use your barely contained Pork Sword to duel with random pelvises… pelvii? Whatever. It’s gross.
If it were up to Me, in every strip club, right next to the fire extinguisher, would be an Emergency Gym Clothes Perv Containment Kit.
Said kit would contain 3 items.
First would be a stainless steel crotch cover. You simply lay it over the offending lap and voila! Instant barrier between the pristine ecdysiast crotch and the Bonerville Parade.
Second would be a can of mace. No, fuck that… a spray can of rubbing alcohol and jalapeño pepper juice. Blind the dirty bastards!
Then, while he’s flailing around blindly, you whip out item number three! A car stereo antenna wrapped in barbed wire. Beat his creepy ass right out of the bar!
And as for you folks who do not fall into either category, I have something for you to remember also!
Dudes, if your wingman shows up to hit the strip clubs wearing gym clothes, threaten his life. Chase his ass back to his closet with a baseball bat. Or a rabid weasel. Whatever. Just get his ass in jeans! Or slacks!
Ladies! If a customer walks into your club in gym clothes, threaten to make his genitalia part of the chum they use on Shark Week. Threaten to coat him in Boiled Peanut-scented body spray and throw him to a pack of vicious, inbred, mountain women!
Seriously people. Just say no to gym clothes in the strip clubs!