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.