Miss Miley Satan Cyrus

What in the hell is this world coming to? How in the hell does my local channel interrupt my favorite show to inform me that Miley Cyrus’ tour bus had crashed? Sometimes I wonder if little Miss Cyrus is the antichrist. Seriously – think about it.

All her fans looked as if they were about to hang themselves with their Miley bed sheets until the news informed them that she was not even on the bus that crashed. They all let out a sigh of relief and threw out quotes like I don’t know what I’d do if something had happened to her and life would cease to exist without Hannah Montana.

For fuck’s sake – get a life!

Think about every time you walk into ANY store – you see her picture on everything. I cannot get through one whole aisle without having to utter an Oh god at the sight of the little brat. It won’t be long until you see this bitch’s mug on sanitary napkins and tampons with the slogan “Periods become smiley with Miley.”

This week’s golden cock award goes to Miley’s dad. I’m sure he has something to do with subjecting us all to her paraphernalia. Plus, every time I see him in an interview, I want to smack him back to next week – such an ignorant and arrogant fucker. So Mr. Cyrus, I award you four golden cocks and suggest you bitch slap yourself and your own daughter!

Salvaged Solicitor

I hate solicitors (even more so than digging a garden during that time of month). Being as I live in the suburbs, I have to deal with my fair share. So when this guy shows up attempting to sell me an all-purpose cleaning product, I figured I’d have a little fun.

He went through his whole spiel of how great this product was. He showed me how well it cleaned concrete as he demonstrated on my walkway (I’ll admit that I was impressed as I had been trying to get that stain up for months). I asked if it cleaned rust and he said yes. I showed him the spot on my garage door and he wiped it away with ease. I asked him if it took care of lime stains and he told me yes. I led him inside and he cleaned my shower doors.

I finally told him that I was surely impressed, but needed to see more. I informed him that if I could use it as a laundry pre-treater, I’d be sold. He asks if I had some laundry to test it on and I handed him my son’s jeans (soiled from a football game the day before). He sprayed the cleaner, scrubbed a little, and showed me how well the product worked.

I then led him back outside, let him finish telling me why I should purchase his cleaner (especially now as they were running a buy one get one free promo), and simply offered this in return: Why should I buy your cleaner now? You’ve cleaned all the spots I had a problem with. I thanked him for his time, walked in, and shut the door behind me.

I’m guessing I’ll either never see him again or wake up to an egg covered house in the morning.

Women Will Lie About

1. Her age. The older a woman gets, the less she wants to admit how long she's been around.

2. Her weight. It really isn't important that we've gained a few pounds over the years, is it?

3. Her clothing size. Those things are just too damn confusing anyway so who could get it right?

4. Her number of lovers. One too many and you look sleazy and who knows exactly what one too many is?

5. Her phone number. Sometimes a simple no isn't enough for the persistent pest. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

6. Her true hair color. Like we're going to admit to having grays?

7. Orgasms. Sometimes it's just easier to fake it.

8. Her bra size. Feeling the pressure of the bigger the better.

9. Other women. Sure we say so and so is fat, but it's because we'd kill for her hair.

10. How much we spend. Wouldn't you feel guilty if you spent that much on a pair of shoes?

Backseat Drivers

We’ve all experienced it – the pain in the ass of having someone bitch and complain about your driving from the backseat of your own damn car. Nothing pisses me off more than having to pay attention to not only the road, but also what the dumbass behind me is saying. I hate being told what I’m doing wrong while driving. It annoys me more than running off the road while trying to text my therapist.

I have devised a plan to deter those who criticize my driving ability. As soon as I begin to hear the moaning and groaning, I will simply pull the car over, look the offender dead in the face, and say you have been warned -- another word and I'll give you something to bitch about. I will then continue my journey and if another word is uttered, I will turn the journey into the ride from hell.

I will speed. I will weave in and out of traffic. I will tailgate. I will fail to use my turn signal as I pass along the shoulder. I will use my brakes harshly. I will drive so bad that the offending party will never want to ride with my ass again. Problem solved.

Backseat drivers deserve to be under your car instead of in it.

Darling Little Dick Doll

I am so sick and tired of Dick and his fucking antics. The man said we are over, packed his shit, and left the kids and I, yet he insists on texting me every damn day and makes up excuses to come over. Now that the grass is dormant and doesn't need mowing and he has changed the oil in my car, I do not need him over here for anything (except maybe for sex, but technically, I could get that anywhere). Enough is enough!

I've tried telling him that he didn't need to text me at all and that he wasn't welcome back home, but it goes in one ear and right out the other. Remembering that he said all men are visual creatures, I knew I had to think of some other way to reach him. I had to show him exactly what the hell NO meant.

Rummaging around the house, I had a brilliant idea. Most of Dick's shit had been sold, dumped, or boxed up and put in storage. He did have a few pairs of socks left in his drawer. My creativeness took over and before I knew it, I had made myself a lovely Dick doll. I proceeded to shove a fork in its side and take a picture. I then sent it via text to Dick with the following message:

Leave me the fuck alone or your dick will resemble the doll in the pic. Now fuck off!

Needless to say, it has been rather peaceful ever since. I'm not sure how long it will last, but I will enjoy it while I can. Now if you'll excuse me, FedEx just arrived with my brand new meat cleaver.

Life -- In A Bowl

The funniest thing happened this morning as I sat down to eat my bowl of cereal. It's as if the sugar went straight to my head and sparked something inside of me. I began thinking about life and all that it consists of. I felt the wheels begin to turn as I experienced the "Ohs" of such a revelation: Life revolves around these Basic 4 traits:

The first being that of a Bran Flake. You start out slow and boring. Not knowing much about anything, you often fall for everything. Often referred to as a Froot Loop, you usually rely on Lucky Charms and horoscopes. You soon realize that you have to grow up and take control.

Once you've gained a little wisdom, you become a Corn Flake. You begin telling jokes and trying to be everyone's friend. You find yourself playing pranks and Trix in hopes of having people laugh with you, not at you. Once you realize that the Mini Swirlz of comedy will only take you so far, you begin to change again.

You suddenly morph into a Frosted Flake. You've had it with being the little guy on the totem pole and begin to ice over. You get your Kix from putting other's in their place. You've become the queen bee in your Honey Comb and expect others to take notice. It's only when you realize they aren't that you see the need to change yet again.

You finally reach the point where you see that you can go much further by being kind and sweet. It's then that you become a Chocolate Flake. With your daily smiles and Cheerios, you notice that others flock to you as if you were the world's Fruit n Fiber. At last, you find happiness and this Post is Complete.