The Pussification of Halloween

Back in the day, kids were in charge of Halloween. You started driving your parents crazy about your costume at beginning of October and if you were lucky, they might take you to buy a shitty plastic mask and a costume that would burst into flames if they happened to be smoking a cig while they were helping you into said costume. If that trip to the store never materialized, you were destined to dress up as a farmer, a hobo, or a ghost and you were going to fucking LIKE it. I happened to be a third sort of kid and always got busy with the Elmer’s glue, assorted boxes and any other shit I found in the garbage or attic. You also got to wear your costume to school if Halloween was on a school day and didn’t have to worry about “offending” anyone. That was the best part of Halloween; the school day parade of costumes. In 2013, you’d be hard pressed to find a school that lets kids parade around in costumes. If we didn’t have parents picking the stupid costumes out, there wouldn’t be a problem with costumes at school. How the hell could anyone be offended by tiny random princesses, hobos, ghosts or farmers?

Once you had your costume on Halloween night, you hit the mean streets of your town with your pint-sized gang of friends. I can’t ever remember my parents accompanying us once we could walk on our own. After snapping a few kodaks, the ‘rents stayed at home, boozing it up, and handing out their candy, and you went on your merry way getting your candy from your neighbors in your crappy plastic pumpkin.

These days Halloween chaps me off to NO END. Parents buy their kids overpriced Chinese made costumes and chaperone them around the neighborhood by CAR. Are you fucking kidding me?! If I see your douchebag self, driving around my neighborhood dropping off your kid at every house, I’m turning off my damn porch light and I’m gonna throw rocks at your pansy ass kids. No lie… I happened to be at an outdoor local mall a couple of days ago and apparently it was Mall and Treat day. Employees got dressed up like superheros and were handing out candy. It was a beautiful fall day. I counted three cars in my 10-minute excursion driving their kids from store to store. I wanted to slap the shit out of those parents. Wtf is WRONG with you?! Get your fat ass out of that car and walk with your kids if they need to be watched. Letting your three year old jump in and out of your car every twenty feet is so damn lame I just want to yank your reproductive parts off right there in the streets and burn them.

This year, Halloween is cancelled because of the weather. It’s supposed to be windy and stormy. To me that is PERFECT Halloween weather. Put your rain slicker on over your costume and brave the elements…. oh wait, I forgot… it would be dangerous for your parents to drive in this weather. Do we move Christmas or Easter or Yom Kippur if the weather is bad? Hell to the NO. Get out there and trick or treat your ass off. I’m waiting by the door tonight for kids whose parent’s had the good sense to leave them alone to be a kid.




Ok, there is one in every bunch that might be an asshole. I can’t decide if the front
row second from the left kid is a coal miner or in black face.

Parenting 101

Let my children breathe sayeth the LORDdAH…. Ok Jesus never said that, but he would have if he had seen the way we raise our kids in these progressive days. Since I mentioned dispensing my amazing parenting advice yesterday, I decided to fling some more bitchin ideas your way. That’s right… it’s your lucky damn day.

Let’s start at the very beginning because it’s a very good place to start.


  • If somebody asks to touch your belly, ask if you can touch some body part of theirs first. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that if it was a dude that asked, you immediately grab their balls. Hard.
  • If someone asks if you know what you are having, you can go with the tried and true “a baby, asshole.” or look at them blankly and ask them what the hell they are talking about like you have no idea that you are pregnant. I also liked answering “a martini”.
  • “When are you due?” is a great question. Count out nine months from when they asked you, especially at the end when you are huge and not interested in entertaining the masses. They end up thinking you are birthing at least sextuplets. Go with that and ask for donations.

In the Birthing Room

  • This is your one shot in life to try out new swears and to get away with anything. I suggest writing some down in advance to make sure they sound as bad as you think. I suggest a Taco Bell drive thru as your testing ground. I think Taco Bell employees have heard everything. If you are worried they won’t speak English and understand your amazing swears, use a Mexican accent to help get your point across.
  • A lot of women are concerned about crapping on the floor while they are grunting out that little puke monster. My advice? Don’t worry about it. In fact, totally enjoy making a mess that someone else has to clean up, probably for the last time in your LIFE. Poop all over that floor and wave your hands in the air like you just don’t care. Insert one of those new Mexican accent swears here too.

The Baby Years

  • Get a cardboard box, a towel, and some pampers if you must. Buying anything else is way overkill. It’s a BABY. It has no thought process and won’t remember if you forgot to buy it a five thousand dollar high chair. They will just shit on it and throw food on the walls anyway. Get a couple of old belts and attach that baby to a regular fucking chair. Fuck you, Consumer Product Safety Commission.
  •  Invest in about 800 pacifiers. Don’t let that little fucker find his thumb cuz he won’t ever stop with the oral fixation. That’s what’s wrong with most men. It would be better to just cut their thumbs off at the same time as the foreskin. Just sayin.

The Toddler Years

  • Don’t buy all those fucking plastic toys. Tell people your are a liberal, bra burning, hairy legged, Birkenstock wearing hippie and give the kid some rocks, sticks, and maybe a refrigerator box for Christmas. The kid will grow up to be the next Steve Jobs and then you can hire hundreds of people to shave your legs for you if you feel like it.
  • Potty training is easy. Just let them poop all over your house and when people come over to visit and start judging you, tell them your pet mountain lion left those piles. Yell for “Kitty” and those judgey pants nosy bitches will leave toot sweet. Then enroll your kid in preschool for about a month and they can do all the potty training dirty work while you go get a manicure.

I know you can’t get enough of this shit. I can feel you taking notes or forwarding this crap to your friends. I know you just are holding your toddler back from becoming a preschooler because you know you can’t do it without my sage advice. I’ll try and help you out tomorrow. Stay tuned…








Adventures in Shopping, Part 1

Since it was raining yesterday and the chances of getting to go lay by a pool and drink beer all day seemed less and less likely, hubs and I decided to do the next best thing: electronics shopping.

Now let me tell you how I actually FEEL about shopping for electronics… I’d rather have a root canal while being crucified and set on fire. Hubs is in charge of TVs and stereos and shit and I’m in charge of computers so when we shop for his crap, I’m bored silly.

The particular item we were bound to spend our children’s college tuition on was a TV. The one in our man cave is about 8 years old and dying of capacitor blockage. I called a friend who knows a guy whose aunt’s cousin knows a shade tree TV doctor. He said our current set is terminal and that we needed to euthanize it and put it out of its misery. Thus the shopping for a new TV ensued.

After determining that the wretches at Costco had closed their store for the holiday, we moved on to a place I hate like fire; Best Buy. Before we get to the adventures of Best Buy though, I have a mystery when I shop anywhere that maybe you Constant Beloved Readers can help me solve.

Whenever I walk INTO a store, the security thing goes off. I can’t figure out why. I’ve dumped my purse out and made sure that a gun with a security tag wasn’t innocently hiding in there… I just don’t get it. So if you can figure out why this happens, I’ll give you a prize. Maybe some glitter from unicorn wings or something.

So back to Best Buy. We walked through the glass doors into Hell. The alarm goes off. I immediately drop to my knees and lock my fingers over my head and scream unnecessarily “it ain’t mine!” After the little old lady manning the door frisked me and determined that I did not have an AK-7 or a stolen shopvac shoved up my vagina, we were allowed to pass into TV Armageddon. Simultaneously, our 10-year-old TV Expert appeared. Hubs explained to him why we were there, “we need a TV” and off we went to exam these technological wonders.

As they blathered on about hertz rates and I wondered why they were talking about rental cars, I spotted a corner that held interest for me – two nice leather recliners facing a TV the size of a semi. The TV was on and obviously had a 3D movie on. I started my way over there to settle in for a while. Just as I was about to plop my ass down, about six kids came running over and stole my seat. God damnit!! Well, those little bastards had found their match in me that day.

Since the snot noses had taken three to a seat and were squirming all over whilst putting on the 3D glasses, I walked over to the TV they intended to watch. I waited until they were all settled in and was pretty sure their little red devil eyes were glazed over. Carefully, as to not draw their attention, I snaked my hand around the back of the TV and unplugged it. The reaction from the snot noses was instant and hilarious. You’d have thought someone ripped their legs off and beat them with the bloody end. Good times.

Meanwhile, hubs had determined that Best Buy did not carry the TV he wanted to look at. We bid the 10-year-old sales boy a fond adieu and moved on the next Paragon of Electronic Hell.

Come back later for part II. I gotta go feed my dogs before they rip the hinges off of the door. It’s like having my own personal pack of hyenas out there.