Tuesday, April 5, 2011

[SNUGGLES] And how was ur day, Mummy?

Pls to tell me all about it, k?

Thursday, March 31, 2011

An Open Letter to My Dogs

An Open Letter to My Dogs

Dear Snuggles and Clover:

Good gravy, what in the world did you two eat? Are you even aware that your farts can penetrate Kevlar? The next time I need to sandblast something I'll just bottle some of your abominable flatulence. You have a permanent fog hovering around you like Pigpen from Peanuts. I no longer have any nose hair. Your farts can peel varnish and dissolve acid. True story, I once saw a pit bull fart make Chuck Norris cry. The smell is so bad my eyes are watering and my nose is running. And by "my nose is running" I mean, like, my nose literally jumped off my face and ran away in fear and revulsion. It went into the Witness Protection Program and now I'll never find it. The fallout is truly heinous. The blast radius is the width of a city block. I now have a new theory for what killed off the dinosaurs.

With nothing but love for you (but not your gas),


Our bad.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

What is smellier than Brussels sprouts being cooked?

Here is a very short list of things that might possibly smell worse than Brussels sprouts:

  • For example, one of those situations we've all come across at one time or another, where a bum ate spoiled tuna fish, then threw up in a pair of old shoes he found in a dumpster, and then decided, screw it - I'm still gonna wear these shoes because, well, they're shoes. And they're better than what I've got... which is no shoes. You know... that old chestnut.

  • Matthew McConaughey wearing an adult diaper.

  • Satan's sweat after eating bad Mexican for a week straight.

  • A pile of jock straps in the Green Bay Packers' locker room after Super Bowl XLV. Worse still: Brett Favre's jock strap. Cuz he's just gross.

  • The breath of a Komodo dragon with halitosis.

  • The seafood counter at a grocery store, having been abandonded after a nuclear holocaust.

  • Maybe this?

  • The big vat of old cooking grease out back of a Chinese restaurant. In 100-degree weather. In a Detroit slum.

  • The big vat of old leftover pieces of stomach out back of a black market clinic... you know, one of those places that cuts out part of your stomach and then staples it so that you can only eat one grape at a time? Yeah, that.

  • The "Bog of Eternal Stench" from The Labyrinth. AFTER David Bowie has thrown those pants in and tossed in some onions and garlic, stirred everything up real good, and made a nice stew out of it.

  • Jonah, after being puked up by the whale.

  • That stuff that comes out from between your teeth while you're flossing, if you saved it in a mayonnaise jar for a year straight, then buried it in a hole in your compost heap, then dug it up after another year and opened the jar to take a big whiff.

  • A giant's butt crack at high noon. (I don't know what that means.)

  • A bucket of chum past its expiration date.

  • Rasputin's beard.*

  • Tom Selleck's mustache. Just kidding. Tom Selleck's mustache should probably be knighted.

  • A line of Porta-Potties outside a Phish concert.

  • A hippie with a foot fungus standing in the middle of a sewage treatment plant in the middle of a cow pasture in the middle of a hog farm in the middle of a landfill.

Yeah, I know I pick on hippies. But in my defense, it's only cuz they're gross.

So here's my challenge to you: come up with the best and funniest description of the worst thing you ever smelled and leave it in the comments. I will put the best ones in a future post.

*Grigori Rasputin was one of the nastiest guys to have ever lived. He always reeked because he didn't bathe. His hair was always a greasy, matted mess. And his unkempt beard was often crusted with old chunks of food.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

The Open Letters Blog

Almost two years ago, some other bloggers and I decided to start a blog together where we could post all of our open letters. We've decided to open it up for submissions and if your letter is good enough, we might post it on The Open Letters Blog. Head on over to today's post to read more.

Monday, March 14, 2011


As I mentioned a while back, my parents are staying with me whilst they build a new house. Now, I have to say... when it comes to all things foul-smelling, I thought pit bull farts were bad, but my friends, there is something much worse and far more nefarious, I must tell you. Mom and Dad eat a TON of vegetables. Like, vegetables coming out of their ears. In particular, beans, broccoli, and cauliflower. You may be thinking that I'm going somewhere else with this - maybe that parental farts are worse than pit bull farts. But thankfully, that's not the problem since they take Beano like it's their job.

Some slogans Beano rejected...

Beano: "So you don't smell like you pooped your pants."

Beano: "Ew, you're nasty."

The problem is the veggies themselves. Mom is constantly cooking some abominable smelling retch-tables in my kitchen, which then stink up the whole house. If rotten eggs had armpits and didn't wear deodorant, this is what it would smell like. It's like a diarrhea factory on fire. It's what it would smell like if poop had a bowel movement*. The worst of the lot is the batches of exceptionally malodorous kraut, broccoli, and cauliflower that Mom cooks to smithereens. And in particular, Cauliflower was my enemy numero uno until a new smelly veg moved in last week. I submit to you... the Brussels sprout. Mom has started roasting these things, or frying them, or just torturing them to death, or something. I don't know, whatever. The point is, the stench is so horrifyingly putrid. It's like a rotten cauliflower crawled up a Brussels sprout's butt and died. But before any of that happened, 43 pit bulls farted on a skunk and then the skunk got hit by the smelliest garbage truck in the world, which was incidentally being driven by hippies. The skunk unfortunately got stuck to the tire of the garbage truck like a piece of old chewing gum. Then the truck proceeded to drive into the cauliflower's butt. Really just a chain reaction of unfortunate, stinky events.

I think this may qualify as child abuse. Does anyone know of a hotline I can call or something?

*EDITOR'S NOTE: My brother, Jake, insisted on me giving him credit for this one since he came up with it. I don't mind doing that. He got his sense of humor from me anyway.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

An Open Letter to the State of Arizona

An Open Letter to the State of Arizona

Dear Arizona:

What the crap? Why are you exempt from Daylight Saving Time? That is so unfair, State of Arizona. I, for one, am not a happy camper. This business of springing forward, falling back, hopping sideways, and skipping in circles is getting a little frigging old. And I will be hating my alarm clock with that little bit of extra fervor come Sunday. But you, Arizona? You’ll be happy as a clam, secure in the knowledge that 8 AM is still 8 AM and all is right with the world. Except for the part of the world that is springing forward! Lame!

Totally jealous of you,

Oklahoma, USA

cc: Hawaii

Monday, March 7, 2011

More Questionable Decor

Come on, you know you wanna do this to your house.

Honey, I know you want to mount your latest kill on the wall, but can't we compromise and just put one antler on the coffee table? Fair enough?

Yes, I know what you're thinking: I've always wanted a chair that allowed me to poop without having to get up from my seat and walk into the actual bathroom. Well then you need...

The Poop Chair (patent pending)

"With convenient poop hole in the back."

Poop Chair 2000: for those with more contemporary taste in poop chairs.

I know what you're thinking: I've always wanted a footstool that looked like a clove of garlic with the top chopped off. Today is your lucky day, my friend.

In the wild, baby tables huddle underneath the mommy table for warmth and protection.

What's that? You say you don't need a soap dish? Well, how about a button dish? Surely you need a button dish.

Button Dish (patent denied)

"For all your button dish needs."

Shriveled Egyptian mummies make a whimsical statement in this otherwise stark room. Now, let's talk about what shrunken heads can do for your kitchen...

Thursday, March 3, 2011

Word Verification

Sorry, folks. I know typing in those stupid gibberish words are annoying as all crap, but I'm getting spammed left and right, so I've added it. Sue me!*

*Please don't sue me. I'm getting out of debt and I'm on a budget right now.

And I don't like spam!

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Smells like freedom... and burning plastic.

Jake filmed the destruction and posted it on his YT page.

(sorry if you see this more than once in your reading list... was trying to remember how to size the video down)

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

An Open Letter to My Credit Card

An Open Letter to My Credit Card

Dear Credit Card:

I know this might seem like it's completely out of the blue, but... well... how do I say this? To put it as gently as possible, I'm breaking up with you, you jackhole. I know, I know... I'm sorry. We've had some great times. We really have. Remember that shopping spree at Anthropologie? Remember when I got LASIK? Remember when Snuggles had to have unexpected surgery? Yeah... I'm still paying for those things. Not cool, you know? Your manipulative ways have held me captive in your unrelenting grasp for too long. I've come to realize I'm just another number in your little black book. Account No. XXXX XXXX XXXX 0231, actually.

And so, Credit Card, I'm cutting you off. I'm cutting you out of my life completely. And, well, I'm actually going to literally cut you up as well. And believe me when I say it will hurt me more than it will hurt you. Because I will actually have to start paying for things. And it's going to sting for a while. But in the end, it will turn out for the best. For both of us. Well... maybe not for you. But definitely for me. And hey, chin up; someday we'll look back on this and laugh.

It's not you. It's me. Well... actually, it is you. It's 100% you, and you suck.

Not so fondly,

(your soon to be debt-free ex)

P.S. I've been seeing someone else. His name is Ca$h Money.

Monday, February 28, 2011

Model Behavior

I love the way models pose in catalogs. It's always so... natural.

Yes, Officer. I understand that I've been placed under arrest for "Modeling While Under the Influence of an Ugly Mauve Shirt Tunic Thing", and yes, I understand my rights as you've read them to me.

They told me these beads were made of shell, so I'm listening to see if I can hear the ocean.

This bag is so large I can hardly hold it up.

I really need to pee. Can I be excused from the photo shoot?

I've got an itch right... about... here.

Really? Cuz I've got one right back here. We should totally start a club!

I hate you.

Just kidding, lol!

I have scoliosis.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

An Open Letter to My Alarm Clock

An Open Letter to My Alarm Clock

Dear Alarm Clock:

I hate you.

That is all.



Friday, February 18, 2011

[CLOVER] Pawprints, shmawprints

When Mom bought these fancy cover thingies for all the pati-o furnichur, I was all, why in the world would furnichur need to wear Snuggies? She mentioned sumthing about protecting the furnichur from the wether, so I guess that's what they're for. Cuz I can't imagine any other possible use for those covers. Nope, can't think of a thing.

It wasn't me.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Questionable Decorating

Real people that don't live inside catalogs don't decorate like this. But wouldn't it be fun if they did???

Oh, dear. How are we ever going to camouflage this Airstream camper?

Wait! I've got it!

Perfect. Now no one will ever notice it...

Oh, honey, don't mind that huge crack in the wall. We can always hide under this gigantic pile of pillows if chunks of plaster start to fall off.

"F" stands for what. The FRICK.


Oh, I forgot. This picture comes from the pages of the newest Hoarders Room Decor catalog.

Oh my stars. It's the Enchanted Forest of the Wrinkled Duvet Covers. Praise be.

My dearest darling,

I am writing this letter to tell you how intoxicating your love is. It is much like a summer breeze gently caressing the branches of a stooped willow tree. It is not at all unlike the way that one guy loved that one chick in The Notebook. Some might say our love is akin to a rushing flood and the world is a tiny beaver dam that the flood of our love is bursting through like so many twigs. O this love, I cannot contain - oh drat. I've gone and written on my bedsheets again. I've really got to stop writing love letters while I'm on Tylenol PM.

The matching gigantic boulder nightstand, dresser, and highboy really create a sense of harmony in this space. It was a good choice to move the bed into the shade, though, so as to avoid pesky afternoon nap sunburn. Now if you'll excuse me, the sun is setting, so I shall turn on my 14 bedside lamps and read for a bit.

More questionable decorating to come...

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

'Nother Round of Vintage Ads

Two sizes-Regular and Hospital

Seriously, I do not want to know what hospital size is.

And the award for most racist gelatin advertisement goes to...

The copy on this ad reads:

"Mammy sent dis ovah"

JELL-O is known to all sections as "America's Most Famous Dessert." In the South, for instance, it is inexpensive enough to be found in the cabins of the old plantation. It is delicious enough to meet the standards of good living at the "Big House." It is dainty enough for milady's afternoon tea. It is appealing enough to turn the sinful, of any color, away from his neighbor's melon patch.

Yes, please read that again, if you need to. Jell-O: America's Most Famous Racist Dessert.



(Looks like fun, though.)

Effanbee Dolls, you say?

"Hey, that's a really nice effan' bee doll!"

"Yeah, you like my effan' bee doll? You want to see this effan' bee doll up close?"

"HEY! Get that effan' bee doll outta my face!"

Reminds me of these:

What're you doin'? Oh, nothing. Just sittin' here eatin' some elfin' crackers is all.

Early graffiti.

Yo, that's a mad tag, yo.

How to keep your silk underwear and stockings: don't go to a Tom Jones concert.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

[SNUGGLES] Pack-packs!

Wanna know wut my favorite thing is? I know you prolly does! It's my pack-pack! Mummy got them for us to wear wen we take her for a walk. She puts sum weight in them so we get a workout and we sheep good at night. Mummy always sez, "A tired pit bull is a happy pit bull," wutever that means. I do know that I'm ready for a good rub-down when we get home and that my tung hangs out real far and I smile lots. Mum sez the pack-packs give us a job to do. It's pretty cool to have a job to do. Cuz then I can bring home da bacons. And I like bacons a lot. We walk better wiff our pack-packs and don't try to pull so mush. We like to pull so mush so Mum can go MUSH! and then we pull her real good like one of them super hairy sled goggies. Also, Mum sez sumtimes I am "leech reactive" and my pack-pack makes me walk nicer on leech. I dunno what a leech is, but it sounds slimy. [Note: my sissy Clover just tole me that leeches suck.] All I know is that "Backpack Time" is my most favoritest time and I love when Mummy sez it's that Time!

I shud also prolly tell you that the first time we came home after we weared our pack-packs, Mummy noticed that the straps were "chafing" my big muscley chest. Since I like to flex and show off my chest for the laydees, I tole her we needed to do sumthing about this. So she buyed some neesox from The Targets and sewed them so they wud cover the straps. The straps feel mush better now and we look super cool, too. The sox is stripey and have skulls and crossbonez. I like my new sox cuz for one, any kind of bonez is good bonez. And for two, it makes me feel liek a pirate and that's cool cuz I awreddy has a eye patch! Anyways, if you decide to gets a pack-pack, make shure to tell your mummy to get some neesox. Yours don't hafta have pirate things. They cud have butterflys or pokadots or spayships or wutever!

Pls no paparotzis, thx.

Come on, let's go awreddy!