Posts Tagged ‘gross’

I’m a Horrible Person

April 3, 2013

First blog for 2013! In April! Woooooooooo!

While I could kick off the second quarter of the year with something sweet and personal, I’m cutting straight to the nitty gritty, to the recesses of twisted minds, to conversations I have with my friends.

Today’s was brought on by a news headline from the Oregonian about a loyal police dog passing away from cancer. Being an animal lover, I clicked the link to read more. There I found this photo:

Sweet, right? You look at him and you’re all, “You’re a good boy! Capturing criminals and chasing down perps and… OH GOD NO!” 

Because once again a happy dog photo is ruined by a happy dog dick.

Go ahead and look. I briefly contemplated zooming and cropping for further elaboration, but you have eyes and I have a conscience.

That reveal prompted this conversation with a friend of mine. We’ll call her Stacy. I apologize in advance.

Me: Am i a horrible person for seeing this story, and noticing the red rocket within 5 seconds? {link}
Stacy:  ewwwww
Me:  that’s why dog dicks ruin nice photos!
Stacy’s new status message – Stephanie:  that’s why dog dicks ruin nice photos!   
Stacy:  fair enough
Me:  hahahaha. 

glad my comment on dog dicks warranted a status message
Stacy:  thought you’d be ok with that. glad you’re on the dog penis photo beat
Me:  it’s happened to me too many times. i know to look now. you’d be surprised how many people have framed photos of dog dicks because they just didn’t notice beyond the happy dog face
Stacy:  I mean, what is the photographer supposed to say? “Sorry, but can you get your K9 to put away his schlong?” gross
Me:  i dunno, you just wait it out? splash cold water on it?
Stacy:  I would like to think I am a proficient photographer, but I have no idea how to quell a raging dog boner
Me:  i dare you to google that
Stacy:  absolutely not. i think we both know how to calm a dog boner
Me:  1. get a dog
2. he has a boner
3. ????
4. get rid of boner
5. profit
Stacy’s new status message – Stephanie:  1. get a dog 2. he has a boner 3. ???? 4. get rid of boner 5. profit  
Me:  is it a coincidence that your last name is Barker and you’re a part of this conversation? i think not
Stacy:  hahahhaha
Stacy:  Barker – noun, tender of raging dog rockets
Stacy: – reporting breaking dog boner news
Me:  i’m sure we could make Heater work there too, but it’s a stretch and technically no longer my last name
Stacy:  yes but Duffy sounds like an apparatus a Barker would use in raging said raging dog dong
Me:  Duffy – noun: a device used by a Barker to quell canine erections during photo shoots.
Stacy:  this is so gross. i cant even quote that. but it’s so aptly put

Stacy’s new status message – Stephanie: Duffy – noun: a device used by a Barker to quell canine (censored) during photo shoots.
Stacy:  consider everyone annoyed with me

I have a far less gross, yet still crazy, dog post to share with you soon. 


Topical humor

March 4, 2011

In which I justify eating unusually bad food with Charlie Sheen quotes while texting my best friend Pat.

Me: I just ate a regrettable amount of Chinese food rather than going to the gym. WINNING.

Pat: Tiger blooooooood!

Me: It’s just sweet and sour saaauuuuce!

Me: I saw that pile of food and thought, no, I can’t. Then I realized that can’t is the cancer of happen.

Me: So it happened.

Charlie Sheen Boom Winning Tiger Blood F-18

Fanny pack o’ pennies

February 25, 2011

Shit yeah!

Around the age of 11 I had a purple and lime green satin covered fanny pack. Back then they were still an acceptable means of stowing your personal items, and at that age those mainly consisted of loose change and gum wrappers. The gum wrappers would go in the smaller outer pocket, the change in the large main pocket.

Considering I’m only really spending money on gum (oh the days!), that collection of loose change would grow and grow. It basically became a dirty penny sack strapped around my waist, and it jingled with every step. The pocket that held the change became filthy and was my first official introduction to how gross pennies really are, what with their dirty penny smell. I soon dreaded having to stick my hand in there.

After a while the thing was so heavy and dirty and gross that I stopped wearing it. Which was a blessing, considering the fanny pack was then officially passe.

Thankfully there is no photographic evidence of a pound of pennies in a purple pack near my prepubescent punany. See what I did there? Alliteration, kids. Alliteration.

Hoarders, an Ode to Cleaning

November 29, 2010

We watched Hoarders for the first time last night, and never have I felt a stronger urge to clean. I don’t think Sean has either, because he got so antsy during the 44 minute episode that the moment it was over he shot up and raced downstairs to start scrubbing overlooked corners and throwing things out. Unfortunately we were at his apartment, so it bore the wrath of A&E induced OCD and my little house is still (comparatively) filthy. I think I’ll be watching Hoarders at home just to inspire me to break out the old toothbrush and start scrubbing oft neglected nooks and crannies in every room.

When I was house hunting a little over five years ago, we came across a house like these. Initially it seemed no different than the other houses we’d been looking at. However the first detail we noticed was a foreboding omen: a thin, soaked through paper plate underneath runny, canned spaghetti sitting out on the front step in the rain. Just, abandoned there, being mildly disturbing. We side-eyed it warily and followed my realtor up the steps.

When the door opened and we stepped in, our eyes took a while to adjust to the darkness. The only light came from a giant television at one end of the living room and there were things (magazines? newspapers? bodies?) piled up waist high everywhere. Our feet were standing in the narrow path that had been cleared through the indistinguishable rubble, and in the dark were small dogs/creatures/things scurrying about. Two large women sat in front of the behemoth television and squinted at us intruding upon their hovel. Our sense of politeness persevered, and despite initial impression and the vague horror stirring up within our guts, we continued through the house.

My dad, eternally optimistic and sometimes a little too daring, opened an adjacent door and was startled to find a wire-thin, strung out, topless and clearly unwashed man sitting on a twin sized mattress in a closet-like room. Dad apologized and the guy kind of waved it off and returned to his… sitting. Arms close at our sides, we continued on to the kitchen. The small rodent dogs of the shadows were yapping and I was trying not to step on or trip over them lest they make me touch anything. One of the couch creatures hollered at them to shut the hell up.

In the kitchen there was a little more available floor space, but every single square inch of the counters and dining table were covered in filth. Dirty pans, dishes, old food containers, mold, mildew, flies… it was horrendous. At this point I was dying to get out of there, afraid the junkie from the adjacent room was going to come out with a rusty shovel and conk us over the heads at any minute. I refused to touch anything. My lovely, kind realtor tried to remain professional, but you could tell that even with his years of experience in a rural town he was recoiling ever so slightly. Dad once again decided to do the unthinkable and GO INTO THE BASEMENT.

The basement! Like nothing bad could be in there! Thank god I hadn’t seen the movie The Descent yet, otherwise I’d run out screaming.

We decided to not return the way we came and instead took the nearest exit toward the backyard while we waited for dad to (hopefully) return from the depths of rained-on-canned-spaghetti-on-the-outside, Hoarders-among-us on the inside, creepshow house. When he came out he said that there wasn’t anything in the basement except a dirt floor… and a bare mattress on it that clearly had been used recently.

With that note we bushwhacked our way around the outside of the house, desperate to return to the safety of our cars and never look back.

I don’t know how it happened, but someone eventually bought that house and fixed it up, and today it looks quite nice… from the outside. The inside? Well… I’ll keep an eye on Hoarders.


November 12, 2008

Not to post two videos back to back, because I don’t want to continuously partake in that half-assed style of blogging, but I couldn’t get very far in this video because it is MESSED. UP. For something being so natural, after a while it becomes really, really goddamned creepy. Mothers of the world, please don’t do this shit. Thanks. The emotional stability of our future society depends upon it.

Today’s Grossness: The Most Interesting Guy I Know

October 9, 2008

Today’s Grossness is brought to you by my dear friend (and mortal enemy) The Most Interesting Guy I Know. I won’t spoil the story, but will warn you that if you have a squeamish tummy or happen to be eating tapioca right now, I urge you NOT to click the below link. Otherwise, go forth and prepare for the ultimate in TMI.

Another hint: this picture.

Fully Competant Taxidermy

Fully Competant Taxidermy


You Deserve a Break Today: R. Kelly

October 6, 2008

Today’s You Deserve a Break Today goes out to R. Kelly, who was recently awarded $3.4 million for some crap that has to do with a tour last year. Yes, the dude with a penchant for pissing on underage girls (before, during, or after boning them?) still galavants about town, making millions, singing about being trapped in a closet and I’m sure still takes in a minor or two. Did you know he also believes he can fly?

So, why R. Kelly deserves a break today? Because he’s the 2000s lesser OJ. Sure, OJ killed a couple people, went on a highly-publicized, lengthy trial (oh! don’t forget the infamous chase in the white Bronco that interrupted me watching Family Matters), was found not guilty, and spent his years up until today being the guy who “didn’t” (wink wink, nudge, nudge) do it. Now he’s been convicted of a far less grisly crime and looks at doing some serious time in the clink.

R. Kelly just boned some teenagers and engaged in some harmless water sports. Ah, and lest we forget, he married Aaliyah when she was FIFTEEN. He had known her since she was TWELVE. Her album they were “working on” was titled Age Ain’t Nothing But a Number (and yes, I did own it). The lead single was called “Back and Forth”. You see where I’m going here. That’s without discussing the other charges of lewd conduct with a minor, child pornography, etc. etc. etc. Basically, the dude is a little fucked up with his wang. He also endured lengthy court battles and came out unscathed when it seemed pretty damn obvious he was guilty.

The point being, R. Kelly is in that middle, eye-of-the-storm period that OJ so lavishly enjoyed for 13 years. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if R. Kelly shopped a book titled If I Did Fuck and Piss on a Fourteen Year Old Girl within the next five years or so.

So R. Kelly, enjoy your break today. Because you’re going to fall upon the fate of Orenthal James and do some stupid shit in a few years and THEN you’ll have your ass handed to you. Guaranteed there will be a few dudes in prison who would absolutely giggle at the chance to make you their private, singing urinal.