Mischievously Cheeto-ed

Why does something that tastes so good have to make such a damn mess? Who on god’s green earth would invent something that you eat with your hands and coat it in some neon orange powder that sticks to everything? And why do my kids insist on using the coach, carpet, and curtains to wipe the shit off?

I’ve had it with the orange stains everywhere. I’m tired of sitting down only to have something catch my eye and discover the orange powder has been transferred yet again. This time, it was the curtains that I had just washed the day before. I was pissed! I figured I had to do something or my whole damn house would become cheeto orange.

First, I made a mixture of cheetos and water until I achieved the right consistency (sticky as hell). I then rummaged around my kid’s rooms until I found their beloved gameboys. Finally, I proceeded to coat the gameboys in the sticky cheeto mixture and placed them where they were sure to be spotted – in the middle of their bedroom floors.

It didn’t take long before my kids stumbled upon my mischief. When asked who did that, I simply replied that it must have been the cheeto monster who rubbed cheetos all over the curtains. Needless to say, we won’t be purchasing cheetos anytime soon and I will be teaching my kids to do the laundry (I’ll be damned if I’m washing those curtains again).

Intro

Welcome to Bringing Bitchy Back.

Disclaimer: This blog is full of foul language and pure bitchiness. If you aren’t a fan of either, I suggest you leave now. If you arrived here via google, I’ll be writing about you soon (so bookmark this page and check back often). If you have an opinion, keep it to yourself (I have enough for all of us). If you disagree with me, I pity you because you are wrong. If you become a fan, let me know – I need a record of my stalkers.

About the author: I am a married mother of two. I am opinionated and cocky. I have the ability to tell people to go to hell and have them happy to be on their way. I don’t care if you like me, I’ll simply tell myself that you do. I could probably benefit from therapy, but therapy is for pussies. I am not to be taken seriously. I just like to bitch and write so I hope you enjoy reading what I rant as much as I enjoy ranting it.

Let The Dead Horse Die

I don’t mind being criticized. I don’t mind being picked on or made fun of. What I do mind is repetitive bullshit. I can’t stand someone repeating the same shit over and over again as if I didn’t hear it the first time. Beating a dead horse drives me insane and that’s just what Dick has been doing.

Despite the fact that I have filled out numerous job applications, turned in my resume to a number of places, and have just recently posted an ad offering childcare, I have yet to get myself a damn job. This opened the door for Dick to constantly remind me of how this isn’t helping our situation.

Oh, really? Like I had no fucking idea (even though he has repeated it a hundred times).

Needless to say I had to think of something to shut this man up before I had to put my foot so far up his ass that he wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. I searched around the house and thought of the perfect idea. I grabbed a zucchini, some yarn, and a googled image of a dead horse. I then turned the zucchini into something reminiscent of a demented My Little Pony. I set the dead horse on the counter and waited.

It wasn’t long before Dick started in again. I took a big ladle and whacked the horse on the counter. He asked what the hell I was doing to which I replied: You seem to be having so much fun beating a dead horse that I thought I’d give it a whack (and I hit the thing again).

He seems to have gotten the point and isn’t hounding me as bad. Hopefully someone will call me back soon.

Calling All Perves

I hate perves. I hate men who cannot control their inner sleaze. You see them drooling over every woman that walks past – checking out each ass that rolls on by. Those men who flip through channels just hoping to catch a glimpse of some tits. Those men who cannot control the urge to rub on their balls constantly. These men drive me insane and I have begun calling them out.

I could no longer take it as I watched a man at a local auto parts store. He sat there for ten minutes drooling over a car magazine that had a few pictures of some chick with her ass hanging out. He even had the nerve to "adjust" himself a couple of times. I finally approached him, handed him a bottle clearly marked "lubricant" and told him to think of the fun he could have if he bought the magazine and took it home. He left shortly thereafter with nothing in his hand but his own ball juice.

Another incident was at the park nearby. As I was watching my children play, I noticed Mr. Sleaze sitting on the bench – all giddy over the women joggers and obviously pleased with the bouncing boobage (his head even bobbed as they ran past). I had brought two oranges to go with lunch, but thought they could be used for a better purpose. I took the two oranges and approached the dickhead. I handed them to him and told him if he squeezed them while watching the tits, it would heighten the pleasure immensely. Needless to say, he left with his tail between his legs and rather embarrassed he’d been called out.

So the point is this: Women know all men are perves, but we don’t want to see proof. Keep your inner sleaze hidden or you may run into a bitch like me one day.

Sleepwalking Suzie

Me? I have been sleepwalking like hell! Every night, I find myself in a different room throughout the house – attempting to perform household duties. Just last night, I awoke and found myself in the laundry room folding clothes. The night before, I awoke and realized I was trying to dust the furniture. I think I may be going crazy.

The sad thing is, I seem to be doing whatever it is I fall asleep thinking about. This scares the shit out of me. What if I fall asleep thinking about forking Dick to death? Will I awake rummaging through my silverware drawer or worse, wake up with a bloody fork in hand?

I have thought about tying myself to the bed before falling asleep, but that just doesn’t sit well with me so I’ve decided to use my current predicament to my advantage. Each night before falling asleep, I will think about a chore that I hate doing and have put off – like cleaning blinds and shoveling dog shit from the back yard. This way, my most despised chores will be done and I won’t even remember doing them.

Too bad there isn’t a way to pass this gift onto others. My neighbors need to clean the trash out their yard, Dick needs to take our trash to the dump and change the oil in my car, and I know a few people who could benefit from sleepwalking workouts. But alas, no such luck. So I guess I’ll continue to sleepwalk my way to the cleanest house on the block while hoping and praying I don’t fall asleep thinking I need to polish those forks.

Seriously Lacking

I'm not sure what's wrong with the women around here, but I for one am sick of it. I'm tired of tits and ass in my face everywhere I go. I'm tired of being bombarded with cleavage and ass cracks at every turn. I can no longer take having to turn my head to avoid seeing girly bits and have decided to start speaking up.

It started at a local superstore. While trying to find the proper nails for puncturing teen driver's tires, I see this lady bending down looking for something. After hearing my son giggling, I turned to be confronted with nothing but ass crack. The woman's pants were either two sizes too small or cut two inches too low. I finally approached her and whispered in her ear that she may want to pull her pants up or her shirt down because the sight isn't very pleasing.

The next incident happened at the grocery store. While searching for the perfect blueberries for the pie that I wanted to lace and bake (yes, another exlax surprise for my lovely neighbors) I was greeted with massive amounts of cleavage. I finally walked up to Miss Shit and told her she may need a new bra as it was obvious her current one wasn't supporting the twins properly.

The last episode was at a hobby store. As I was trying to find parts for my son's model rocket, I noticed a chick that was obviously lost. This bitch had on a mini skirt with her ass cheeks on parade and a shirt that looked like it belonged to her two year old and she just happened to feel like squeezing into it that morning. Her clear high heel shoes looked like something found at a strip club. I tried to keep my mouth shut, but that just wasn't going to happen. I finally approached her and told her she was lost and that the gentlemen's club was a few blocks down on the right.

All of these women were rightfully pissed at my remarks, but I will continue to call them out. If I have to be subjected to their lack of clothing, they shall be subjected to my blunt opinion – seems fair to me.

Golden Cock Award - Officer Harris

I seriously despise the cops around here. They are plentiful in numbers as well as attitude. This week's golden cock award goes to State Trooper Harris for his non-people skills and pushy persona.

I was trying to be nice and get Dick's car inspected for him (yes, I'm capable of being nice). I was sitting in the mechanic's shop waiting patiently when my mechanic came rushing back inside. He looked at me funny and gestured to the window. I looked out, saw the cop, and was confused. I hadn't done anything.

The cop comes in and gets the mechanic. I see the two jacking the car up and looking all around. I knew something was going on, but had no idea what. The cop comes back and begins his tirade.

In his opinion, Dick's car is set up for street racing and doesn't belong on the street (which is utter bullshit). It should be kept on a race track (which it has never been nor ever will be). Apparently, this is how people get hurt (yes, dumb people) and because the car had no catalytic converter, he had to put a rejection sticker on it. I tried to explain to Officer Harris that it wasn't my car and he had the nerve to ask if I stole it.

Now I'm pissed and replied: Why yes, I stole a car, saw the inspection was out, decided to bring it back here and get that taken care of before I began my joyride. As for the catalytic converter, I decided to shove it up the owner's ass just before I sped off. Any more questions?

Of course, I ended up showing him my driver's license and the car's registration and was allowed to drive the reject back home. I award Officer Harris four golden cocks (it would have been five, but he didn't write me any tickets) for giving me a lecture on street racing even after I told him it wasn't my car and having the nerve to ask if I stole it. I also hope he shuts his masturbatory hand in his squad car as it's obvious he hasn't been laid in a while.

Holy Moldy

Summer's here, the kids are out of school, and my patience is being tried harder than the OJ Simpson trial. Other than the usual I'm so bored, my son has decided he no longer needs showers. But mom, it's not like I have school tomorrow or anything. And even though I've told him he's beginning to smell worse than our dogs, he is refusing to take a shower.

After his little tirade last night where he actually went into the bathroom and apparently ran the shower for fifteen minutes while building his lego ship (never bothering to actually get in the shower), I figured enough was enough. It was time to get creative.

I found an old spray bottle and mixed green food coloring with water (I was fresh out of kool-aid). I then snuck up to his room and sprayed him while he slept (good thing he sleeps like a rock). Of course, I was awaken to shrill screams this morning as my son comes running into my room screaming he was sick. Holding back the giggles, I told him I was afraid this would happen. I then go on to tell him that his lack of showers has allowed mold to begin to form on his body.

Needless to say, he has had two showers today and almost all the mold has washed off. Ah, the joys of being a parent...

That's A Lot Of Cock

It's been about two weeks since Dick has been back and I have seemingly developed tourette's syndrome. You see, we discovered that we drive each other insane quite often. We then allow those annoyances to turn into heated arguments which in turn, escalate to an all-out brawl. In order to squash all that, we devised a plan -- when we get on each other's nerves, we say the word cock to get the other to shut the hell up. So far, it is working.

The only problem is that I say the word a lot. While grocery shopping, I shout cock as Dick's complaining about the prices began to sound like nails on a chalkboard. While fishing, I yell cock as he is constantly bitching about how windy it is. I said it so many times yesterday while painting that I thought I would begin to show rooster-like behavior. I had already had a habit of saying oh god when I was displeased with something -- throw cock in the mix and I appear to be mental.

The looks I've received are just as funny. The way people react to some crazy bitch shouting cock is downright hilarious. I'm sure some think I'm some sex craved loon, but that's fine by me. It'll give them something to talk about at their next boring luncheon. I'm just glad that I haven't felt the need to polish up my forks and stab Dick in the eyes (yet). I know things will not always be peachy, but for now, I'm going to enjoy the peace and quiet (even if I have to yell cock to get it).

Not So Hot Haters

There is nothing more amusing than watching a bunch of haters. Their jealousy shines through like nipples in a wet t-shirt contest. I'd like nothing more than to round them all up in one great big room, sprinkle them with gasoline, and throw a match right in the middle of them all. They piss me off to no end and I dealt with my fair share of them this past weekend.

Every year, we spend the Fourth of July weekend at the river. There's nothing like fishing and laying out in the sun to forget all your troubles. I had every intention of doing just that this past weekend, but of course, fat chance.

I had set my chair up along the beach and rubbed myself down with lotion. No sooner had I sat down and opened my book, I heard giggles and whispers. I look over and see two women chatting it up and looking my way. I listened a little harder while I pretended to pay them no mind and discovered they were talking about me. Their comments ranged from my big ass to my pale skin. I wanted peace and quiet, but was obviously not going to get it.

I finally had enough. I got up, grabbed a bucket, filled it with water, and marched my ass right on over to the pair. I stood directly in front of their chairs and threw the water on them. They looked at me as if I had lost my damn mind. I politely said that since they thought they were so hot, I figured I'd be neighborly and cool them off. Without giving them a chance to say anything, I turned around, marched back to my seat, and began reading my book in peace. The rest of my weekend was rather enjoyable (and yes, I could probably benefit from a little therapy).

Golden Cock Award - Tom

About a month and a half ago, my brother and I realized that both our football teams were playing each other the first week of the season. The game would be at my team's stadium and I've never been so we decided to order the tickets. I have been waiting for them to arrive ever so patiently and was thrilled when I checked my email and saw that the tickets had been shipped. It has been over a week since they were supposed to be here and of course I'm upset.

I called the post office to inquire as to there whereabouts and was told that a package was left on my steps a few days ago. Now I'm pissed!

For those who don't know, I live in the 'burbs with tons of houses lining snooty little streets and lots of nosy neighbors. When we moved here, I specifically asked that no package was to ever be left on my doorstep. I'd rather pick it up from the post office rather than risk someone swiping it from my steps. I even filled out a little form stating the same thing. Now here I sit, no package -- no explanation.

This week's golden cock award goes to Tom, my mailman. For his inability to follow directions and perhaps fucking up my chances of watching my team crush my brother's team live and in person, I award him five golden cocks. I am also plotting a way to kidnap him, cut him open, steal his organs, and sell them on the black market in order to purchase new tickets.