Wednesday, September 27, 2017

I Can't Believe I'm Watching The Weather Channel

The Husband can watch The Weather Channel on TV 24 hours a day. It's his "go to" station. Never mind that it's a loop that plays over for hours, AND they get the weather forecasts wrong all the time. It's like watching reruns of wrong weather forecasting. (Okay, in the interest of fairness, they do occasionally get it right...sometimes.)

Until this weekend, I never thought I would welcome seeing The Weather Channel with its horrible music and mostly wrong predictions....but I've snapped...

In the immortal words of Popeye, "That's all I can stands, I can't stands no more!".

This whole fucking football thing is making me crazy. Is there nothing going on in the world that's maybe just a little more important than "who's kneeling or not kneeling" during the national anthem? Seems to me there were just some hurricanes that caused a whole bunch of problems for a lot of people. But, that's probably not as important as who's kneeling or not kneeling. I mean, poor little Puerto Rico loses power on the whole fucking island...but it's more important to talk about who's kneeling or not kneeling at a football game.

Crazy dude in North Korea wants to nuke us, and the big guy on Pennsylvania Ave. tells him "You'll be sorrrrrry" in between early morning tweets about the ever so important topic of who's fucking kneeling or not kneeling!!!

People on the left hate the Prez. The guy could shit gold bricks, miraculously bring about world peace, cure all diseases, and they'd still manage to find something to bitch about. People on the right who love him act like he's so fucking wonderful, that he may in fact shit gold bricks, and make excuses for every little thing he does that causes outrage among the masses.

But the majority of us are "Middle of the Road Joes". We go to work, go home, have families...just the normal shit that makes up our lives. None of us MRJ's really wants to be constantly bombarded by outrage from the left or right. So why not just shut the fuck up for a little bit?

I'm soooo sick and tired of every fucking thing being politicized. I mean, have you even tried to watch a TV awards show? Such moral outrage, and courageous words of wisdom. Am I wrong, or do they seem like the most ungrateful group of One Per Cent'ers on the planet? Fucking ingrates. Although, I admit, if Ricky Gervais is hosting I may have to suffer through, 'cause he's really funny.

The other side is no better. We MRJ's have these two obnoxiously loud voices yelling at us from both sides...and you ALL sound like assholes!

Please, just think about us oldsters. We can't take the stress, you know? Maybe you could just tone down the outrage a teensy weensy bit. We're too old to learn new things like "peoples proper pronouns". What does that even mean? When would it even be a problem? And, more importantly, do we need another fucking law about it?

For the most part, we MRJ's just wanna be left alone to live our lives. You know, come home, eat a little dinner, watch a little TV, maybe see a football game, without members of the various Assholian Tribes insisting on endlessly inflicting their point of view...

Kinda like what I just did...It's The Stoopidist Thing.

Tuesday, August 1, 2017

It Happened Again...

No, I didn't accidentally fart in public. At least not that I'm aware of. Although, I suppose the older I get, the more I can expect those little bodily outbursts. I mean, is anyone exempt? If they are, I'd like to know how I can get in on that particular exemption.

Sadly, this was least for me.

A couple of weeks ago, there was a surprise gala for Terri, the oldest of the Old Chix. She didn't want any kind of party so of course, her daughter in law, Steph, threw her a SURPRISE PARTY!

And guess what old people like more than anything else??? Taking pictures of other old people! And grandkids, they like taking pictures of grandkids too. But since this was a party sans children, all that was left to take pictures of were other old people.

Let me tell you, this place was filled to the brim with oldsters. Everyone there was a blue head. It was a whole crowd of Far Side folk.

Happily, for me, The Scari One rocked the Far Sidian face better than all the rest of us. Usually, I take top Far Sidian honors.

Unhappily for me, the entire debacle was captured digitally by none other than sweet little Laura S... who, bless her heart, then made DVD copies and mailed them to people. She's just so fucking thoughtful, our little Laura.

Cindy S., no relation to Laura S., though you wouldn't know it, given their mutual membership in the Suzy Snapshot club, took pics and plastered them all over FB. Thankfully I escaped her lens.

Lois, Chris, & Terri, fared the best on this photographic go 'round. But honestly, I've never seen a bad picture of Lois. She's one of those women who always looks good. Sometimes we hate her. Okay, not really. At least the rest of the Old Chix don't. But, I think I might. She sees a camera and automatically smiles. I see a camera and automatically put on my Far Side face. I don't even have to's just natural. I'm blessed that way.

You'd think after all these years I'd be a little more gracious about the whole picture taking gig, wouldn't you? But the older I get, the more I look like an old, wrinkled, weasel faced Asian woman whose eyes disappear when she smiles. Just for the record, I have no Asian ancestry...that I know of, but my eyes turn into slits in my face when  I smile.

Maybe it's happened all my life and I just never knew it. Or now that I'm old & wrinkled I notice it more...either way, it's The Stoopidist Thing.

Monday, July 17, 2017

Why Didn't She Tell Me????

You know how you walk down an aisle in a store and you see a woman who has a button popped open? Do you tell her? I do...always. Why? Because I would want someone to tell me.

So imagine my surprise when my little co-worker, The Princess, who I thought was my friend, didn't tell me!!!

Oh, it wasn't a button that popped. It was worse....

I'm a confirmed cosmetic junkie. There's probably some deep, dark, dastardly reason why I feel compelled to buy all kinds of makeup. I don't have any idea what it is and to be truthful, don't really care. Home shopping TV channels make it easy to indulge my habit.

One of my latest purchases was a trio of clear lipsticks. They're like a solid gel stick, that leaves just a hint of color on your lips...supposedly adjusting to your...or, in this case, my, skin tone.

I showed one to The Princess this morning and told her if she wasn't afraid of cooties, she should try it...mistakenly thinking her hesitancy was somehow related to a fear of germs.

She tried it and got the "hint of color"...the one I thought I had. That was, until the end of the day when I went to the bathroom and saw my face in the mirror when I went to wash my hands.

It looked like I had hot pink clown lips. No shit...the brightest fucking pink you could imagine was plastered on the ol' pie hole. I was horrified... I tried to wipe it off with the paper towel after I dried my hands and it wouldn't wipe off. It felt like a nice lip balm going on so I just kept slathering it on all day, completely unaware that my lips were getting pinker and pinker with each slather.

When the wet paper towel failed me, I left the bathroom and headed back to my office...with my hand covering up the fuschia lips. I was laughing by this time...because, really, what else could I do.

I stopped by to give The Princess a piece of my mind on my way back...

"Why didn't you tell me my lips were bright pink?" "How could you let me walk around like that?"

She laughed sheepishly...obviously because I looked like an ol' pink lipped clown screeching at her.

You know how you see an old lady in a store, all pale wrinkled skin, no color on her face at all...except for bright red lips? And you think to yourself, holy fuck, doesn't she have a mirror in her house? What's with the lips grandma? Why didn't someone tell her???

I have no idea how this happened...she is me...or, I am her...or somehow I got her fucking's The Stoopidist Thing.

Political Correctnesss

I was walking down the hallway at work one day recently and I came upon this picture/mural/poster on the wall...

You're probably thinking WTF??? Well, welcome to my world...because that's what I was thinking too. I had to go back to my office and get my phone just so I could take a picture. Nobody would've believed it if I'd tried to explain there was a giant poster of Sasquatch waving from behind a tree with a spaceship hovering overhead.

You might be under the impression that kindergarteners made this poster...and you'd be sadly mistaken. The less than talented artists who proudly displayed this masterpiece are none other than employees of the building where I work.

I'm sure this is some kind of "team building" exercise meant to bring co-workers together and establish a sense of camaraderie. Maybe everyone spent their lunch hour huddled together with crayons and construction paper laughing & having a great time. If that was the case I'm sure it was fun and a good time was probably had by all...until they got to Big Foot Boobage...

 ...which looks like two empty circles on his chest...or her chest. Kind of hard to tell. Shouldn't there be some little dot of a nipple somewhere in those circles? I mean, male or female, there should be nipples, right?

If you look closely, Big Foot has fingernails & toenails. He/She even has green eyes, defined lips, teeth and lots of detail was important to the artist...and yet no nips.

I can totally imagine how this happened. In this uptight, politically correct world we're living in, everyone is soooo afraid of "offending" anyone about anything.
You can imagine them huddled around the table, wondering how to draw boobage on an imaginary ape like creature, can't you?

"What should we do?"
"No! What if someone complained?"
"It's not like a porn picture, it's nature."
"Should we just cover it up completely with hair?"
"Apes don't really have hair there, do they?"
"But it's a Bigfoot, they're not real anyway."
"Let's just not put anything there, then nobody can complain."


I don't know about you, but I'm kinda sick of all the political correctness every-fucking-where I go. I can get that they wouldn't want to display any lower genitalia on the mythical creature. Then they'd have another it a boy or girl Bigfoot? How do we draw a dick on a Bigfoot? But, male or female, all mammals have nipples, don't they?

So, unknown artists, next time the creative juices start to flow, don't hold back. If you're going to take the time to attempt to draw a chest area complete with nipple-less boobage, add a little dark dot of a nipple. Doesn't have to be a rosy pink or anything like that...just a little dot to show you know where it goes.

It's the Stoopidist Thing....

It would have been funny if they'd drawn nipples and then stuck pasties to cover them up. I wanted to draw them on myself but I was too slow. I also wanted to stand in the women's restroom wearing a Scream mask and long black cape at Halloween just to see the reaction of women coming in. Maybe this Halloween...

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.