We've got spirit, yes we do...

In honor of the Steelers' season starting tonight, I bring you a video by Lily and Madison...and Madison's iPod.  

Let's go, Steelers.




I freaking love those kids.

Getting to Know...Well, YOU! Happy National Masturbation Month!

Did you know that we're over halfway through National Masturbation Month?

Well, we are.  It's true.  And it's already the 19th. I bet you've got some catching up to do.

Don't believe it?  Read this article and report back to me.  Go on, I'll wait.  I'll even link it again to show you the part I want you lazy wankers to notice.

The celebration of May as National Masturbation Month began in 1995 in San Francisco as a response to the forced resignation of then U.S. Surgeon General Joycelyn Elders.

Are you back?  You didn't read it, did you?  But you should!  It's interesting stuff!  I mean, who knew that masturbation was GOOD for you?  Both men and women reap health benefits from diddling their bits and baubles.  It improves your circulation and releases tension and, hey, you can't get pregnant from it.  Awesome, right?

This month-long celebration has generated some strange contests among the more enthusiastic supporters.  Check out these "current" (2009-10) records:

• The winner of "Longest Time Spent Masturbating/Male" (and also the World Record Holder in this category) is Mr. Masanobu Sato, who in 2008 masturbated for 9 hours and 33 minutes. In 2009 he extended his record to 9 hours and 58 minutes.  Please note that time records indicate duration (length of time for which a participant masturbated).  Damn.
• The winner of "Longest Time Spent Masturbating/Female" was set in 2008 by Ms. Kitty Kat, who masturbated for 7 hours and 6 minutes.
• The winner of "Most Orgasms/Male" was set by Big Rob in 2010—at 83 climaxes, a world record.
• The winner of "Most Orgasms/Female" is Loooo-C, who orgasmed 83 times in 2010.

Makes you tired just reading about it, doesn't it?

Now some of these names don't look real to me, so I can't attest to the validity of the records.  However, if anyone wants to take their best shot at beating these people at their own game, feel free to take matters into your own hands. Judging by those records, you might want to notify your employers before you begin.



Yes, YES, YES.  May is National Masturbation Month.






What are you going to do about it?

Disturbing Adventures in Slumbertown or "Why I killed Alex P. Keaton"

Last night I was under attack.  Zombies came after me in my sleep!

It seems that I was back in my high school days and there was an assembly in the auditorium, which we all know is probably one of the worst places to be in the event of a zombie attack. Everyone knows that when the zombie uprising occurs, you will want to avoid large social gathering places to increase your chances of survival.  True, I wasn’t trapped in the mall, but this did not bode well.

When I became aware of the looming presence of the brain-eating living dead, I realized I needed a weapon, but where to find such a one that could handle this onslaught?  The Props Closet!   I knew there would be an array of swords and sharp, pointy things left over from a recent production of Camelot, sitting ripe for the picking.  Only a Master Thespian, such as I would have remembered they had perfect zombie protection at their disposal.

I pushed aside a canvas flat and found the box I sought.  I chose my weapon quickly, but carefully, remembering that when it comes to zombies, a machete is very handy, and ended up grabbing what I felt was the closest thing.

Holed up in the props closet, armed with Big Ol’ Dream Knife, I braced myself, channeled my Inner Buffy, opened the door and in my strongest zombie-slaying voice shouted,

“Bring it on!!”

Onward they came, these dream zombies made of random bits of my subconscious:

My best friend? *slash* Gone.  

The family dog? *slice* Dead.  

Alex P. Keaton (where the hell did he come from)? *swoosh* Severed.

Some guy with a head wound who may or may not have actually been zombified?  Sorry, dude. I can’t risk it. *zing* Dead.

I’ve got to give props to my weapon of choice.  Big Ol’ Dream Knife required very little upper arm strength from this particular heroine to prove effective against hordes of zombies (I’m not the strongest slayer on the block, you know).  It was amazing, slicing those nasty zombie heads clean off, like…well, like a light saber (to borrow from George’s dream).  Who wouldn’t love a knife like that?  Got a chicken you need quartered?  *slappity choppity*  Done!  Cleaning fish?  *bam* Off with their heads! 

Sadly, I learned that Big Ol’ Dream Knife had one fatal flaw.  It was selective.  Sure, it was able to cut through flesh and bone (ew ew ew ew! *shudder*) but it had noticeable trouble with fabric.  I was able to holster it in my belt loop and it didn’t cut one thread. 

The approaching turtleneck-clad zombies would be my undoing…

Aw, crap.

The WTF Backpack - The Stuff Nightmares Are Made Of

This picture was linked on my Facebook page by a friend of mine (thanks, Bart), so I don't know what terrifically warped person created it, but I'd like to know who would invest their money in such a thing.  Okay, sure.  I'm a little warped too, and if I had the money, I'd probably buy one, but I couldn't justify that as being a school purchase for one of my girls.  

How do you market this as a functional backpack when it looks like it will eat anything you put inside?  I suppose you could direct it toward a group of parents who miss their children terribly when they're at school and want nothing more than to have them attached at the hip forever.  That might work.  I think this bag would stunt their developing independence in the click of a pincers.  

On the off-chance that the makers of this...whatever the hell it is need some help marketing it, I'm willing to help.  Here's my pitch:

Do your kids actually LIKE to go to school?  Are they annoyingly early for the bus, ready and waiting with teeth brushed and hair coiffed?  Do they wake in a chipper mood, chomping at the bit to do a little learning and leave you behind to sort socks and pine for their return?

Your lonely days will be a thing of the past when you get them the WTF Backpack.  Yes, the WTF Backpack will ensure that your precious little babies won't ever want to go to school again.  This nightmare inducing school bag will have your children resisting their education with both heels dug into the ground and their mouths agape in a large O of terror.  

Oh, holy hell!

"I can't do my homework."  

"Why not?" 

"Because it's in...my backpack."

The WTF Backpack.  So realistic, it'll scare the absolute piss out of you.

Would you buy a bag like this?

Are you SURE that's a vagina?

For those of you who are teaching your kids the generic "girls have a vagina" lesson, you ARE teaching them that the proper term for the entire outer package is vulva and not vagina, right? I mean, you know that the words are not synonymous, don't you?  

Just in case, let me give you a quick anatomy lesson. 

Vagina and vulva are not the same thing.  They are not interchangeable physiological terms.

The vagina is part of the inner workings, not the outer.


I asked this question on a social networking forum and got a variety of responses including this one:

"My child is too young to know the technical terms for her body parts." (Ignore the fact that the pet name we have created for her genitalia is four syllables long and she's already made up a song about it.)

And this one:
"Vulva is just a gross word."   (Vulva is not a gross word.  "MOIST" is a gross word.)  
  
And also this one: "It all means the same thing."

(To say that it's all the same thing is as inaccurate as saying that your hand is a finger and your finger is a hand and that's just plain silly.)

You know what this post needs?  Venn Diagrams!  (I know they look like crazy cartoon breasts.  Shut up.)

It's true that all rectangles are parallelograms, but not all parallelograms are rectangles.  
Likewise, all vulvae contain vaginas (or rather, the vaginal opening), but all vaginas don't contain the vulvae.

Yes, there is a difference and the difference is huge.  Vulva = clitoris, labia (2 sets) urethra, vaginal opening.  Vagina = the canal that leads from the vaginal opening to the cervix.   

Do you need another diagram?  Okay, here:  

So if you choose to shave your vulva, that's cool.  Get creative. Have fun with it.  However, if you choose to shave your vagina, it's not going to end well.  Don't use the good towels. 


Now, I know there will be someone who will get all worked up about this. Calm down. You can teach your kids whatever you want.  Don't sweat it because some stranger on the internet told you that it's the wrong word.   You're not breaking any law of child rearing.  No member of the Vulva Brigade will show up and ticket you for referring to your lady bits as your bajingo and hand you some reading material about the inaccurately named Vagina Monologues. I'm not going to take away your euphemisms.  Hell, euphemisms are fun!  Tell them it's a Harvey Wallbanger or a FlufferNutter if you like.   


I'm just saying that technically, it's incorrect.  


To recap:

The vulva is the correct term for the outside parts as a collective whole.

The vagina is the correct term for the "collective hole".  

What's your favorite euphemism for the VULVA?

  

  

To The Obscene Pantomimist In The Car Behind Me

Dear Sir,

I know that you're in a bigger hurry than I am and I can see you in my rear-view mirror as you drum your fingers on the steering wheel and gesture emphatically at me to go ahead and make my turn.  I'd love to heed your request so you could stop waving your hands and making angry faces, but the light is red and I can read.  In case you can't, let me help you out.  That sign across from us says "No Turn On Red".

Stupid ass.

Penis De Milo Lawn Art Update! New Sighting!

I know you've all been wondering what became of the mannequin pieces I wrote about HERE, and then wrote about again HERE and once more HERE.

Well, look who I found!

Found ya, sweetcheeks.

I love Soylent Green because I love people!

Kitchens.  They are the most common room (apart from nurseries) to have some sort of theme.  Some have rooster themes,  some have Italian or French cuisine themes, some have nostalgic 1950's diner themes, some have specific colors that evoke a theme.  The list is endless and spans generations, marking its territory with mushroom-shaped cookie jars and olive or rust-colored appliances along the way.   

Not many people choose cannibalism as a kitchen theme.  

I did.

It wasn't always this way.  When we first moved into this house, "apples" was my theme.  That's it.  Just "apples".    Plain, boring, non-threatening...apples.   But they were everywhere!  I had apples at the end of the ceiling fan pull chains, I had apple clocks and salt shakers and numerous cookie jars (on an apple-lined shelf).  I even painted them on the cabinets. (Side note:  Metal Cabinets are an abomination and should not exist ever, as they are horrifically evil, but that's a post for another day.) 

The kitchen was so ridiculously covered that I eventually developed an aversion to the fruit.  I was sick to death of those frigging apples, but I kept that theme for YEARS.

The apple theme was going full-throttle 
before any of these people inhabited my uterus.

Eventually, I redid the kitchen and something inside me said, "For the love of all that is holy, get rid of the godforsaken apples!  Every kitchen doesn't need a theme!"
However, in my desire to go theme-less, I inadvertently chose one anyway: cannibalism. 

My utensil crock of fabulousness.

It's flecked with Soylent Green paraphernalia.  

My soylent sign.

Mmm...chicken.

Yeah, I guess "Soylent Green" accurately describes my theme.    

But, wait! I have this great spoon-rest, too:

"Would you like more mutton, Clarice?"

So make that "Soylent Green and Friends".    Whatever.  I'm just glad I got rid of those frakking apples.  

I'm really more of a people person anyway.

What did YOU choose? 

Don't Arm Your Food

Alternate title: NO means "NO" - A Lesson In Self-Control 

Pizza seduces me. It tempts me with its slightly browned cheese and its rich and nommable tomato sauce. It whispers, "Eat me" and without hesitation I do. I can't help myself.

I had a(nother) piece of pizza at dinner tonight, despite the annoying little voice that said,

"No, Erika. Put that back. You don't want another slice."

I ignored that voice and went for the second helping:

"Add more crushed red pepper! Mama-Mia, I like-a the spicy pizza!"

*shake-a shake-a shak-AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! MYEYESITBURNSMYEYESOWOWOWOWOW!!!*

Yes. In my fevered frenzy of seasoning, the smallest particles of (really) crushed red pepper caught the wind of the ceiling fan and...I peppered myself.

Ow.

_ _ _ _

After about ten minutes of flushing my very sore, very red eyes under the bathroom faucet and cursing the employees of McCormick Spices and their offspring and their offspring's offspring and anyone who knew their offspring's offspring, I spent another ten minutes enduring watery eyes and an uncontrollably runny nose. I now understand what it is that pepper spray will do to an assailant.

I have learned my lesson. If I insist on forcing myself on the pizza, I MUST NOT ARM THE PIZZA. (Clearly, I was asking for it.) Better yet, I should steer clear of that Italian-American tease and never think of it again.

"NO" means "NO". I get that now.

I guess I didn't really want that piece of pizza after all. Now that I think about it, it probably had a parasite in its pepperoni.

(Ah-HA! Did you see what I did there? I rejected the pizza, it didn't reject me. I dumped it first, therefore I win. Humph!)

Slut. 

My Review of Hand-Painted Striped Stoneware

Originally submitted at Brylane Home

Hand-Painted Stoneware Brightens Your Table! A Brylane Home Kitchen® exclusive! Sunny striped 16-Pc. Dinnerware Set features salad and dessert plates centered by tangy colors-green, blue, red or yellow - so each place setting is unique! Includes 4 each: 10¼'' dinner plate, 7¼...

Hand-Painted Striped Stoneware

BUY THESE DISHES!

By randomninja-writerofwrongs.blogspot.com from Where You Least Expect Me on 4/7/2012

 

5out of 5

Pros: Easy To Clean, Awesome, Unique, Durable, Attractive Design, Nice Weight

Cons: Unfit for zombie warfare

Best Uses: Informal Meals, Decorative

Describe Yourself: Stylish

I bought two sets of these dishes last year and I'm still in love with them. They have not chipped, scratched or broken at all. The colors are fantastic. If I somehow managed to smash half the set, I would buy another in a heartbeat. They're just that cool.

Additionally, in the boxes of the two sets I bought, one mug was missing a handle. It had been broken during shipment, I believe, or perhaps during packaging. I contacted Brylane Home about this and they sent me a replacement mug that very week. (The broken mug made an excellent pencil cup, so I kept it.) I commend the customer service on their resolution of this problem. What an awesome company!

(legalese)

It's that time of year again...

STOP! PICNIC TIME!

I like picnics.  Sure, I mean, who doesn't?  

I can hear you now, my Ninja Babies:  "I love picnics!"  "Ooh, picnics?  I love them so much I want to marry them!"  "Picnics, YAY!"

There is a fashionable way for every picnic enthusiast to be ready at a moment's notice, should the opportunity and/or chocolate cake present itself.  

These are called Picnic Pants and you must have them.   

Fabulous, aren't they?  And they don't limit themselves to only picnic use.  Think about it.  How many times have you been at a party and had no chair or table on which to place your plate of nommable deliciousness and wished you could have a table appear out of nowhere?  (I know, John.  Seven.  It was rhetorical.  Put your hand down.)  How many times have you wanted to launch grapefruit into the street?  (Again, John, rhetorical.)

Anyone who doesn't think these are the best pants ever obviously failed to notice that nifty CUP HOLDER on the side!  I mean, come on, people.  That's freaking cool.

I know what you're thinking:  MC Hammer already made these pants popular in 1990. 

I'll admit I thought the same thing when I first saw them, but no, MC Hammer did NOT invent Picnic Pants.  These people did.  And boy, am I glad!  Imagine the possibilities!

  

I may have to create my own line of picnic wear, come to think of it.  Maybe I can market a pair of cargo pants with extra large rear pockets for carrying your picnic supplies.  I'll call them Junk In Your Trunk.

So get these pants, people.  The next time you're left standing at a party and someone offers you a piece of chicken, your lips may want to say no, but your hips will say:

♫ dunt-dunt-dunt-da-nun-nunt, dunt-da-nuh-nuht, dunt-da-nuh-nuht...♫

Stop!  Picnic time!