Thursday, June 8, 2017


Let me begin by saying I have never posted anything on Facebook. I started a page to use for work only. Cleverly, I used my cat's name instead of my real name. Not so cleverly, I let it slip to a couple of friends who then became my "Facebook Friends" which ended any chance of using it for work. So now, technically, I suppose I do have a "Facebook" page...that has FB friends and everything...all under my cat's name.

Even though I've never posted or "shared", or "liked" anything, I get feeds from FB friends so I can see what they post. I also get a lot of weird shit from weird places...for example...

This was on my page today from a someplace called "Get It Free".

If You Find A Pimple At The Top Of Your Butt Crack, It May Actually Be A Pilonidal Cyst

WTF??? Why would they send me this? I haven't done any Google searches about Pilonidal Cysts. I haven't joined any FB Groups for "Sufferers of Pilonidal Cysts". So why does this stuff appear on my page? 

Just for the record, there was a cute little cartoon picture of a butt crack with a red pimple looking thing at the top but I was afraid I'd be infringing on someone's precious butt picture copyright if I posted it here. Which doesn't seem right, does it? I mean, if it pops up on my page shouldn't I be able to put it where ever I want?

Since I didn't know about this malady, of course, I had to find out. So then I actually had to do a Google search on Pilonidal Cysts...complete with photos.
I am now very thankful that I don't suffer from occasional or, even worse, Chronic Pilonidal Cysts. 

Seems these little jewels are caused by an abrasion or sore that collects skin "debris" and hair. I found the following little tidbit of info especially disgusting for some reason...the term "Pilonidal" literally means "hair nest". How fucking gross is that??? You end up with a hair nest zit on top of your butt crack.

And, as with all advice about popping're not supposed to pop the Pilonidal Cyst either. You're supposed to use warm compresses until it drains "naturally". How could you not pop it? And what's the difference if it pops naturally or with a little help from a friend...thereby speeding up the process?

Admittedly, the physical mechanics would be a little more difficult than popping a pimple on your forehead, but I've always found that where there's a will, there's a's The Stoopidist Thing.

P.S. I really am glad I don't have one of these things or I'd be forced to join some hobo's ass group of sufferers...all using fake pet names in order to avoid the stigma of being a hair nest butt crack pimple sufferer...or maybe it would be a butt crack hair nest pimple sufferer...either way it would be hobo's ass, literally.

Saturday, May 27, 2017


I read an article last week about the benefits of eating boogers. No kidding. The article said that scientists from Harvard and MIT, among other universities, claim that you shouldn't discourage booger eating in children...GROSS. Seems they think boogers contain a bunch of  "good bacteria" that can benefit your health...or, more specifically, your child's health...because if it benefited your health, that would mean you were eating your kid's boogers...which is doubly gross. Never in my life have I heard of anyone eating someone else's boogers.

I have questions...

Just how many boogers do you have to eat before noticing any health benefits? And for how long? Is there a maximum efficacy level? How are they measured?Size? Weight? Bacterial ingredient quantity? Do you need three heaping teaspoons a day? If that's the case you're probably gonna have to go to the local mucous market and grab a freeze dried "Bag O' Boogies". I would imagine they'd have to be dried, don't you think? Undried would be just too up-chuckable.

I'd like to know who thinks up this kind of thing? Who thinks this is the sort of habit that needs to be studied? And where do they get the people to participate in this kind of "study"? Would you? How much would it take in cold hard cash to let people watch you eat boogers? And record it...because you know they probably did.

I have dogs that like to eat horse poop and cat turds. I'm assuming they must get some nutritional value from them or they wouldn't be snarfing them down. Is something like that going to be next?

Maybe they didn't use "real" boogers, maybe they used "synthetic" boogers. Which, really wouldn't be eating boogers at all now would it? Like eating fake cheese.

Somehow, this seems like one of those stories that just can't be true. Everything about it seems like it would be too difficult. Finding participants...with sufficient quantity and quality boogerage to participate. Because I'm guessing hobo boogers have a different quality of bacteria than someone trying to live in a germ-free environment, wouldn't you?

The more I think about it, it probably wasn't any study about booger benefits at all. It was probably some college kids trying to see just what it would take to get people to eat their own boogers.

Just for the record...I'd eat a booger for a million bucks...and let someone record it...obviously, I have no's The Stoopidist Thing.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

The Husband...An Ongoing Saga

Tonight The Husband had his first experience with Press N Seal...

If you haven't experienced Press N Seal, it's basically a souped-up version of old fashioned plastic wrap. You know, the kind your mom used to think was the greatest invention since waxed paper and tin foil? The stuff that would only stick to stuff you didn't want it to and was nearly impossible to straighten out when it got into a wad straight off the roll.

Well, imagine that stuff magnified tenfold...or a hundredfold (must pause here to Google what a "fold" actually is...).

Don't get me wrong, the new stuff is fab. It just takes a little getting used to. A little patience. Once it sticks to itself, you might just as well throw it away and start over. It takes way longer to unstick it from itself than to throw the wad away and start afresh.

Tonight after dinner, I'm sitting in the chair fat, dumb, and happy after feeding my face when I notice The Husband trying to tear a sheet off the Press N Seal roll. He has his back to me and the noise is what snagged my attention. I never really knew how noisy the sound of plastic wrap not tearing could be...and you can't rip it unless you use the handy little serrated edge...which he hadn't noticed.

After a few seconds of muffled hysteria, I started accidentally snorting. Watching his arms flailing up and down with each unsuccessful attempt to rip off even a snippet of wrap, I expected to soon witness The Husband throw the box in the trash...after throwing it on the floor in disgust. You could hear the wads of Press N Seal making that sucking noise when he tried to unstick it from itself, and straighten it out into some kind of single semi-usable layer.

I soooo wanted to grab my phone and hit the "video" button...and almost did. But then I felt guilty because there he was standing in boxer shorts and a baggy tee shirt...not exactly his "best look" he heard me snorting hysterically so the element of surprise was kinda lost. Uncontrollable snorts of laughter sort of eliminate the possibility of surreptitious actions. Just a little friendly case you feel the need to act surreptitiously. I know I often do.

Imagine my surprise when, after several loud, thrashing, seconds, The Husband actually stopped and looked at the box.  And Halle-fucking-lujah, he found the serrated edge.

He never ceases to amaze me, that man of mine...triumphing in the face of adversity, and forcefully mastering that little bitty cardboard box of plastic's The Stoopidist Thing.

P.S. I actually did Google the "fold" thing. Remember, in the "olden days" when we had to actually look up that kind of shit in a book???

Thursday, February 23, 2017


So, I got a text from Old Chix, Scari, a while back. She thinks I might suffer from Misophonia. I had no idea what this I had to turn to Google for help...again, as usual. I really don't know what I did before Google. You can find out pretty much anything. It's pretty amazing when you stop and think about it.

Misophonia, it turns out, means hating sound. But if you suffer from this syndrome, you're basically annoyed by certain sounds. Which, I'm guessing, applies to every single adult on the planet. I could be wrong, but I'm obviously not the only one who suffers from this "disorder" since there are several websites dedicated to helping sufferers such as myself...and the rest of the human race. I'm thinking pretty much everyone on the planet has some kind of sound or noise that they hate. Don't they?

Why does there have to be some "diagnosis" for every little quirk people have? Can't we just allow people to be quirky? Why do we have to make them feel like they're crazy just because they have a little quirk? We all have 'em...I mean, some quirks may be worse than others, you know, like way, way worse. For those with extreme quirks, maybe a little dose of psychotropic medication is in order. But for most of us, our quirkiness is what makes us, us...

There was one link to a website that offered a "self-test"...along with a disclaimer at the top of the page that there was no current diagnostic test for Misophonia. That's one of those things that makes you go...hmmmm? They've invented a test for the untestable syndrome. The website also suggested you should make use of the information and tools available to see if you do, in fact, suffer from this malady. You know, Google, Facebook, forums, etc. All the usual self-diagnostic tools...

You might wonder why The Scari One would say such a know, basically saying I'm nuts. Well, one night on an Old Chix adventure I had to share a hotel room with her. The next day I merely mentioned that her breathing was annoying and asked if she could please try not to breathe next time we have to share a room. Some people just have no sense of humor.

The Scari One thinks she's a silent sleeper. Why? Because her dearly departed husband, Richard, told her she was. I could see why she might believe that, were it not for the fact that Richard was deaf as a door knob. Jeeeeez, the guy had to have closed captioning on the television because he couldn't hear it stands to reason he wouldn't hear any annoying, squeaky, high-pitched nose-air noises in the middle of the night. But believe me...they're all their annoying glory.

Once you hear those sounds, those rhythmic little nose-air noises, you focus on them...and you can't un-hear them. And when you try to synchronize your breathing to the same rhythm, the person making the fucking noises all of a sudden changes rhythm...All you want to do is sleep but the fucking noises won't stop. You don't even remember picking up the pillow and walking over to the sleeping offender, gently placing it over her face. All you're thinking about is making the noises stop...

Okay, obviously I didn't actually do this...but I kinda wanted's the Stoopidist Thing.

P.S. Guess who else suffers from Misophonia?  Whoopi Fucking Goldberg, that's who. Yes, the Dreadlocked Goddess from The View is a fellow Misophonia sufferer. So at least I'm in good company...

P.P.S. Note to self...must make sure to take psychotropic meds next time I'm forced to share a room with anyone who makes annoying nose-air noises while they sleep.

Friday, December 2, 2016

Turning The Table

I never know if it should be turning the tables or turning the table. Since I didn't know which was correct, I flipped a coin (in my head) and guessed. The singular won the toss. We oldsters are easily distracted by shit like this. And now that I look at it, doesn't it seem like "table" should be spelled t-a-b-e-l? It rhymes with "label", so you'd think it'd be spelled the same wouldn't you? Odd that I only just noticed this after decades of reading and writing it. This happens to me more than I care to admit.
Usually, when I go somewhere with Scari, of Old Chix fame, she's the one who publicly embarrasses something she says or does. If not about me, then directed toward me. For example...

One time a couple of decades ago, we were in a fairly nice department store, in the fragrance section. You know how they have testers sitting on the counter? Well, next to them were the "real" products, one of them being a scented stick of deodorant. Scari picked up the deodorant, popped off the lid, hiked up her shirt and started to stick it under her she was gonna use it right there in the fancy perfume section. 

Once she got the desired response...which was my horrified gasp, she cackled like an old chicken and put it back. She does this kind of shit all the time...loudly...and in front of people.

Today when we were at Costco, it was really crowded. Maybe because it's getting close to Christmas, or because it was the first of the month. In all honesty, if I'd remembered it was the first of the month, I never would've gone shopping. Crowds annoy me. Mostly because they cause lines...long, slow, checkout lines. Truth be told, I never really shop...I buy. I go into a store usually knowing what I'm there for, I get it, and I leave.  Easy peasy.

When we were headed to the checkout area, winding our way through the masses, I noticed a display at the end of an aisle. 

"Do you need another box of Preparation H?" I asked Scari...loudly, and in front of people.

I know it was really immature of me to  do this, but I have to admit, it was really's The Stoopidist Thing.

P.S. She tried to hit back with the "do you need Depends"? But it was weak and too slow...she might as well have said, "oh yeah, well so?"

Thursday, November 24, 2016

Budding Picaso's? Mmmm Not So Much

Everybody seems to be an artist these days...or at least they try to be. I'm no exception. Even knowing full well, and completely accepting the fact, that I have absolutely no artistic ability whatsoever, I got sucked into going to a painting class for that included free wine. Have you been to one of those classes? They're usually held at a bar or restaurant, where they can serve adult beverages. It's a great way to cater to the wannabe artist in all of us. Especially those of us who can't even draw a decent stick figure...that would be me.

I have family members, who shall remain nameless lest they be forever humiliated by having their names associated with yours truly. They decided to take a road trip vacation, driving from Georgia (the state) to Dallas (the a far away state). They're posting their comings and goings on FB and it's fun to see what they're doing on the way. I'll call them R&D, even though they have nothing to do with research and development, which, when I say the letters is the first thing that comes to mind. R is the husband and D's the wife...just in case it needs clarification at some point.

R has been a lifelong Dallas Cowboys fan...since the Staubach days...and that's a long time ago. D, his wife, is a Cowboys fan too. I'm not sure if she's really a true fan, or if it's just her way of surviving life with a Cowboys fan. In any case, she's nothing, if not a good sport...and quite possibly the nicest human being on the planet. No joke... she is the definition of "nice". Always. She's never an asshole.

Sometimes I wonder what that's like? Never being an asshole. Sadly, I'll never know. In an effort to be truthful, I'm really not that sad about it.

Being a really thoughtful husband, R booked a class for he & D at a local paint & sip place in Dallas. It was D's birthday and the class looked to be geared toward couples. I'm just guessin' at this because each of their "paintings" was half of a "Fall In Love" theme...with a fall colored maple leaf on a wood background.

These gigs always have a "theme" picture that everyone paints. Usually, in the area where I live, the class is sponsored by local vineyards and/or restaurants, or a combination of the two. It's good for both businesses, and everybody really does have a good time.

When you sign up, it's billed as a sip & paint complete with wine and snackage. The one I went to provided a tiny plastic cup of wine and dubious snackage...nothing that I would consider proper snackage. You know, like Triscuits or Wheat Thins alongside a cheese and salami tray? Or a big bowl of chips & salsa. No, this one had cheese, but it was weird cheese...the oddly flavored cheese favored by the granola eating crowd...cheese with pieces of "stuff" in it.

When the class starts, the instructor guides you through the creation of your masterpiece. If you finish the thimble sized glass of wine you can buy more, which almost everyone does. What amazed me was how serious everyone was about the painting. I was in the minority thinking that the whole painting thing was just an excuse to eat and drink...kind of like a Bunco game.

People were painstakingly trying to copy the instructors' exact brush strokes. I had to quit looking at my neighboring artist's paintings because they were obviously offended when I laughed. But it was funny...and really hard not to laugh. Here's a bunch of grown assed people thinking that what they were doing was so fabulous that hysterical laughter was verboten! There must be no mirth allowed during masterpiece creation!

When everyone was finished they were all so proud, showing off their paintings. Everyone was complimenting each other on how fabulous their pictures were. Honestly, I'd say 99.9% of the finished masterpieces looked like a kindergartner painted them. No shit.

Everybody thinks as they get older, they get smarter. Nobody gets smarter, they just learn more stuff. You're born smart or you're not. Some people are really, really smart, some people are moderately smart, and some people...are just the low watt bulbs.

There were a lot of pretty smart people in my painting class. All oohing and awwing over their people who should've been able to see with their own fucking eye holes that their painting abilities haven't improved since they were five years's the Stoopidist Thing.

P.S. The class was fun and if you get the chance you should go. Just be sympathetic to oddballs, like me, who find it physically and emotionally impossible to contain their laughter at your toddler-like painting attempts.

Saturday, November 12, 2016

Some Things Just Make Me Laugh

Even when I'm sitting alone in the living room, sometimes I laugh out loud. Tonight, for example, I was watching a comedy show on TV. There were a bunch of different stand-up comics and one guy, Tony Roberts, made me laugh out loud.

Please forgive my eternal was about farting. He was talking about farting while you're sitting and having it come out like a bubble in your jeans. And I've had that happen!!! I started laughing out loud.

But I'm actually kinda curious about where it goes. I mean you can feel the bubble and it goes up or down the ol' butt crack. Does it pop? I've never heard the pop, and now that I think about it, I'm not really sure I've ever felt the pop either.  When I accidentally blow spit bubbles, there's a definite pop...which usually results in little spitlette droplettes going unplanned places. This is always embarrassing.

Fortunately, I've never had anyone around when this sort of fart bubble thing happened...and until I heard this guy joking about it, never really gave it much thought. Now that I know it's happening to other people, though, I'm gonna have to start asking some questions. Old Chix beware...

Like, for instance, if the bubble never popped, would there be no fart stink? Or, is the entire bubble composed of fart stink? If it's the latter, would that make it spread eau de flatulence all along its path? Would it be better to move a little in an effort to try to pop it and let things air out more quickly?

What if your jeans are too tight? Would that make an eterna-bubble that would never pop until you took your pants off? I mean, it would be okay if there was no stinkum until poppage had occurred. Of course, then you'd probably walk funny, like a penguin, trying to prevent poppage. Other bubble farters would probably recognize this poppage preventing gait and laugh, secretly, behind your back...or butt...thankful it wasn't them doing the penguin walk.

Do you think this is how the term "bubble butt" got started?

Obviously,I have way too much time on my's the Stoopidist Thing.