Posts Tagged ‘funny’

Grandpas

September 20, 2012

Hi blog! I have so many wonderful wedding and honeymoon posts in store for you. So many! And they’re soon to come! Instead, I bring you this brief chat excerpt between MY HUSBAND and I from today. Because I still have no words.

 

Me: So I just received a call from my grandfather…
Sean: Tell me more….
Me:  He called to ask me to design the invitations for his “celebration of life party” in the next 6 to 12 months, which he wants to have before he dies. NEWS TO ME. Also, he’s been watching some science shows, and apparently scientists are closer to discovering the 7th dimension, and he’s really looking forward to seeing those other dimensions.
Sean:  THIS MAKES MY DAY
ALL THE DIMENSIONS !!!

 

I love grandpas. Sean is going to be an amazing kooky grandfather, I know that for certain.

Oops, just publicly mentioned that we have inclinations toward procreation.

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Marcel the Shell with Shoes On

November 16, 2011

I go through a lot of internet in the average week. A lot. I briefly toyed with the idea of sharing what I find here, and may still do that, but much of the time I’m not a fan of parroting the daily viral video or meme beyond a Google Share (RIP you glorious bastard. There is a hole in my heart where you once lived) or a link tossed up on Facebook.

But this. Man, I love everything about this.

Wednesday Night Phone Call

October 6, 2010

In reference to gifts for our upcoming anniversary…

Sean: Want me to tell you what your gift is?

Me: Why would you do that already?

Sean: Because it’s AIDS.

Sean: Ugh, women talking.

Me: Oh, so should we just stop talking about presents then?

Sean: No, because it’s something a man said. Ronald Reagan approves of this message.

This is turning into a quote blog

August 30, 2010

This afternoon I was furiously covering up Sean’s face with blankets, and during the process exclaimed, “Put him back! He’s not done yet!” (reasons unknown)

Sean instantly gets a mock sad face and says, “Awww. I was a preemie…”

Don't pick for another two months.

It’s true.

Thank you, Google Reader

May 28, 2010

This national entertainment news article was so perfectly poised next to a local news piece.

In related news, if you want to read the BEST. REVIEW. EVER of SATC2 (this coming from a girl who used to love the series and didn’t bother seeing the first movie), please, dear lord, go here.

Debating with Graffiti

March 26, 2010

Where: On a car of a westbound freight train outside of Hood River, Oregon.

Graffiti: “That nigga Drones a crack head” in orange spray paint. Fairly legible calligraphy.

Retort: This character Drone may in fact be smitten with certain illegal substances, but arguing your viewpoint with punctuation errors is no way to come off as a credible judge upon said person. Go back, add an apostrophe, and then we’ll discuss Drone. Maybe it’s time for an intervention.

Debating with Graffiti

March 25, 2010

Where: On a car of a westbound freight train outside of Hood River, Oregon.

Graffiti: “Fuck da haters” in black spray paint. Fairly legible calligraphy.

Retort: In some regard, I can see true merit in disregarding disparaging comments from your detractors. By doing so you can focus more on what you want out of life without letting them and their negative opinions bring you down.

However quite often their “hating” is for just cause. Are you standing by your babydaddy even though he’s locked up in the pen for hitting you and running from the po po when they caught him brewing up some sweet ass meth? Okay, their thoughts on your relationship are completely valid and should be taken into serious consideration.

This graffiti could also be taken much more literally as a suggestion to fornicate with said detractors. If these people are intent on their hating, and they are multiple persons (as indicated by the pluralized “haters”), I highly recommend using several methods of protection from both disease and pregnancy. Nobody wants a hating AIDS baby.

Vintage Blog: Dead Baby Locket

March 16, 2010

Today I’m dredging the depths of a previous blog for a Classic Madam Von Sassypants moment in time, titled The Epic of Giglamesh. Come along, shall we?…

In lieu of posting blogs that people are actually anticipating, I’m writing about my necklace.
Also known as: The Necklace that Almost Cursed Me.
Also known as: Dead Baby Locket.

I like finding neat things at second hand stores. More so, I like purchasing the neat things I find at second hand stores. The Dalles is home to the single greatest, as-yet-undiscovered-by-hipsters St. Vincent de Paul ever known to upright man. Lea can attest to this for me.

On a fine Saturday morning, when everything was at least 25% off, I happened upon a lovely golden locket, with swirling script detail and a nice, decent weight to it. $9? Done.

As the fine and upstanding employee of S V de P was ringing up my purchase, it only then occurred to me to look inside. With a simple click the locket opened, and there staring up at me with black, unfocused infant eyes was this… thing.

Obviously it’s a newborn baby. With a big ol’ birthmark on its forehead. And a freshly-squeezed-out-of-a-vagina skull. And saggy alien cheeks. And no neck.

Thusly my imagination began to wander. Who would donate a locket with such an old picture of a baby? Either the parent had little to no contact with their child, or the kid is dead. I’ve assumed the latter. They had to get away from the horrible memory of the baby perishing from Infant Scurvy or Uglyitis or The Plague or something. So it was tossed in a heap of never-used baby clothes and given to S V de P.

What to do with such a find? I have no images I feel truly warrant being carried around on my neck, so I don’t know what to replace it with. Using a knife to peel out the baby picture seems a little harsh, like the figurative abortion that never happened, so that option was out as well. As a result of my indecision, I’ve been walking around with the picture of a dead baby that I never knew around my neck.

At first it was a little creepy, especially since things kept going wrong. My computer died. My hot tub died. I was hit with a giant, unexpected and unaffordable bill. My favorite pair of shoes became stinky. It got to the point that if one more thing went wrong, I’d toss Dead Baby Locket into the Columbia and make peace with the heavens.

Luckily, nothing else happened. (and just for you, karma, that window of time where this could be a curse has closed, so don’t damn me for saying nothing bad happened!) To appease my deceased accessory, I named the dead baby Gilgamesh.

Since then he has enjoyed a life in my cleavage, truly the cradle of life, and being a conversation starter at bars. “Want to see my baby?” is the best pickup line ever. Follow it with a nonchalant “He’s dead,” and you’ll be knockin’ boots that night. Guar-an-teed. Ask Gilgamesh.

What not to wear…

September 15, 2009

The scene: Me driving to a friend’s soiree, in the dark, last night.

The ensemble: Pretty awesome little get up. Just needed a little bit of nude lip gloss.

The action: Reached into my purse, grabbed the lip gloss. Put it on as I drove, in the dark, without a mirror. Hey, it’s clear gloss. Can’t go wrong.

The delayed reaction: Two minutes later, felt my lips. They weren’t glossy. They were matte. Then remembered the deep, bright red lip stain I had in my purse.

The reality: My face looked like this:

That or Heath Ledgers Joker, your pick.

That or Heath Ledger's Joker, your pick.

The solution: Upon parking I rubbed off as much of the stubborn stuff as I could. My fingers looked like that dog’s paws. Still couldn’t get it all off. Covered up the remainder with nude lipstick.

The recovery: Instantly told the HILARIOUS story upon my arrival, thereby offering an instantaneous excuse for me hoorish face. Rocked hoorish face the rest of the night. Cringed upon looking in the mirror at home. Still had a good time.

While we’re on the subject…

July 2, 2009
Lamebook pwns the Facebook

Lamebook pwns the Facebook

Via Lamebook.com.