Author Archives: Angie Longacre

About Angie Longacre

Just writing.

Crotch-kick to Christmas

Hey you guys,

It’s been awhile, huh? Yeah, sorry, mom has been writing a book and looking for a job…and then found one as a copywriter (Snoopy dance!), so she’s been hogging the dang computer a LOT. But back to now…any of you that have read my stuff before know I kinda like to post something for every Christmas. I’m a little late this year, I know, but mom finally let Calgon take her away, so I’m getting some keyboard time.

Ok, so this is my observation for this CHRISTMAS season – you know, the national holiday this country used to be allowed to celebrate. It’s not National Ugly Sweater Day or “Winter” Festival. It’s Christmas. Well, ok, it is technically winter, but this is specifically the Christmas season, damn it. I know it is, I’ve seen the Joe Boxers ads with plump bellied men and women shaking their stuff to Jingle Bells and Santa Baby. Some things you just can’t “mind delete”. Anyway, if you walk into Fred Meyer it might not be so obvious that’s it’s Christmas. It’s like they said, let’s not offend anyone by hanging up sparkly lights and red ribbons, but we’ll put out some decorations for sale in a far-off corner to capitalize on the holiday spenders.

See, mom went in there the other to do some CHRISTMAS shopping, but when she walked through the doors, she was struck by the fact that there was NO Christmas music playing, and nary a decoration. Oh, sure they had their obligatory end-display of Poinsettia and evergreen garnishments for sale, but not one wreath, drape of tinsel or giant candy canes to be found as decoration. Sure those things were for sale in a sequestered corner, but if you went strolling through the frozen stringbean section, and weren’t in that part of the store, you’d have no damn idea it was five days before Christmas. She said she found herself in a rather un-Christmas like mood. She was listening to Maroon 5 piped in through the speakers and looking at bare walls and naked, dusty lighting fixtures.

So, I ask this to the powers that be at Fred Meyer: are you so damn afraid that you will offend some non-Christian by stringing up sparkly tinsel and silver and gold balls (snicker)? Who the HELL can be offended by a green tree strung with popcorn and colored lights!? How fucking sensitive and small do you have to be to become angered by figures with wings on their back and tree-debris strung together in circular formation?! You know, this Chi is not asking for a seven foot crucifix to be erected over the entrance or bibles to be hung from the ceiling! Mom just wants some damn red ribbons, blinking lights – ok, not blinking because those are way too mesmerizing – but pretty lights and evergreen swag. Sheesh.

Your establishment attempts to capitalize on the money spending for the holiday, but you refuse to acknowledge it by hanging a snowman! What if all the people who believe in and celebrate it actually refused to shop at your store between Thanksgiving and Dec 5th? I imagine your sales might smell like Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo.

See, you kowtow to the minority that is “offended” by a fragrant Noble fir bedecked with elves and white snow flakes, but thumb your nose at those you celebrate the NATIONAL HOLIDAY. National holiday…meaning it’s recognized flipping recognized by the GOVERNMENT…it’s an “official” holiday). Thanks so much for flipping the big finger bird to what I imagine is the majority of your patrons. A big ol’ steel-booted crotch-kick to Christmas.This Chi is not fond of hypocrisy. Hell, I can barley spell it.

So, you know what? Mom then went to Big 5 …and sonnabitch, they were playing Christmas music. She actually stayed longer than she intended and bought stuff she wasn’t planning to. And then guess what? She went back to Big 5 the next day – after I returned what she bought at Fred Meyer – and bought MORE stuff. Blow that up your chimney.

Now mom and I are discussing a campaign to boycott FM during the next “holiday” season. If people can cry-baby-pee-pants about Christmas decorations and music, then I’m going to start complaining about the lack of celebration. It’s been a bloody national holiday since 1870! One-hundred and forty fucking years we’ve been “allowed” to celebrate our NATIONAL bloody holiday in this country, but then some Sensitive Sally parade-pissers come over here to reap our benefits and try to tell US how to live and attempt to deny us celebration of our holidays.

And sure, you can argue that, well we are still “free” to celebrate Christmas how we wish in the privacy of our own homes. BUT. Big ass BUT…but part of how we’ve celebrated the holiday is through decorations and music. This IS part of the celebration, damn it! It’s our celebration in THIS country. We’re not in Iraq (most of you would smell like goat or be dead), we’re not in China ( most of you would smell like pollution and be poor), we’re not in North Korea (most of you wouldn’t be reading this or be dead)…we’re in America, where have freedom OF religion, NOT freedom FROM religion.

Merry Christmas, bitches.

Pete the Elf of Chis

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“Pitcher” = Thunder Throat Punch

I am not joking here, the next person who says “pitcher” [pit-cher] when referring to a photo, gets throat punched like they’re in a Bruce Lee movie.

I may be just a Chi, but I have standards and I like to think of myself as educated kind of guy, you know? So, when I hear someone call a photo a pit-cher it makes me want to dip their lips in a hornet’s nest so maybe they have a reason for talking like a retard. Seriously.  And by the way, there IS supposed to be an “ly” on the end of that word, for those of you like to just say “Serious”.

So, little grammar lesson here, ok?…a pit-cher is either:  A. someone who stands on the pitcher’s mound and throws a baseball to the batter or; B. A receptacle for which to pour a beverage from, particularly beer – beer pitcher. A pit-cher and a picture are two different things and are pronounced DIFFERENTLY! See that? There is a “C” in one of them, pronounce it or you get throat punched!

A picture [pĭk′chər] is a photo. See the “C”? No “T”. Pic-ture. You know how lots of people refer to a photo as a “pic”? Yeah, you don’t hear them saying “Hey, I’ll send you my profile pit, do you ya? No. They say pic because it’s short for picture, damn it! PIC-freaking-TURE! Say it!

Look at this….

 

Pitcher FOr Pete's Blog

This is a picture of a pitcher. See that? I have no freaking idea what is happening to the dude’s arm though. That’s some weird alien crap happening there.

And hey, while this Chi is on a grammar rant here let’s discuss “your” versus “you’re”. Yep there are two of them folks. But all I see all around the internet – even from people who are supposed to know this – is “your” for it all.

Quick lesson:

You’re nuts. This means YOU ARE nuts. You are freaking bat-crap looney.
“You’re” is a contraction (like an abbreviation) for YOU ARE.

Your nuts. This means the nuts are yours. “Your” shows possession. Not like Linda Blair Exorcist possession, but like ownership…the nuts that belong to you, dude…your nuts are busted.

Get it? Learn it. Use it. Or I’m opening up another thunder throat punch!

Now for some calming, meditative yoga….

Peace out,

Petey Lee


What the Hella, CAPTCHA?

Ok, even if you all don’t know what it’s called, I’m sure you have seen a “CAPTCHA”. No it is not a Ukrainian sandwich condiment or some southwestern lupine-looking creature that sucks the blood from chickens.  It apparently stands for “Completely Automated Public Turing test to tell Computers and Humans Apart “. Yeah. But, even as a Chi I know about these twisted hieroglyphics. It’s those LSD induced-looking letters at the bottom of some websites that you have to decipher and type in a box in order to proceed with the important things you are doing. Yeah, you know those damn letters that you couldn’t interpret if you had a magnifying glass and decoder ring.

Now, as I understand it, mom says they serve a purpose. She says they are put there to keep robots – or “bots” as those in the know say – from jacking sensitive info, crashing online polls or springing free email accounts to blow spam. I think the purpose is to make you feel drunk and question the legitimacy of your current activities, “Oh crap I am so drunk I’m not seeing double I’m seeing squiggly!

Personally, I think they should have named them AMIDRuNK (Allow Me In Damn (it) Right Now Kidnapper) …’cause it’s easier to pronounce and frankly more accurate. Or maybe WAFWY (We Are Fing With You)…factual and you sound like Elmer Fudd when saying it and sounding like Elmer Fudd is fun.

Anyway, they are just aggravating. Damn. You know, you’re in the groove, finishing up your questionnaire for beef jerky treats, but you get cow-blocked by one of these things. Is that a wiggly o or a lower case e? Dang it. You pick e…NOPE! Wrong answer!

Now what happens? They give you a different one! So, you don’t get to try the o. Ok, so now…is it a q or a FUBARed y? Y or qy or q? You pick the y. BUZZER! INCORRECT! You get another…. and on it goes till you get lucky like teenager on prom night.

The other day I thought mom was going to burst a vein when she got job-blocked by one of these damn things. You know, there she is, plugging along, filling out her application that a prospective company sent her. She wants to get it done and get it to them quickly, but nope. JOB-BLOCKED by a CAPTCHA gatekeeper. Oh sorry, I couldn’t get my application to you for four days, I’ve been trying to do translate your site’s CAPTCHA, finally had to hire a psychic to tell me what it was.

You know, I understand the reason, I do. I’m an understanding kind of guy, but can’t they make it a little easier? Or come up with something different? Ah, I guess there are bigger things to worry about, but you know sometime a guys’ got to vent.

Thanks for listening.

Petey McSweets, catching ya on the flip side…


My Jingle Bells In A Bunch

Ok, last year I did a little rant about the standards of holiday candy (see Sacrilege of Holiday Candy Crossover). Well, this year I gotta say I need to vent again about another holiday standard going down the pooper. You know, it’s Christmas time, I’m the kinda guy wants to be happy and merry and bask in the joy of the season. No, seriously I do. But this wrapping paper desecration has got my jingle bells in a bunch.

What, you ask is wrong with the holiday wrapping paper? Well, I’ll tell ya…it’s BLACK. Yeah, black! For Christmas! And I’m pretty sure it isn’t Jesus’s 50th birthday – but that’s the only time I’ve seen black wrapping paper used for anything. So, unless someone is doing some weird dog-year’s kinda math, black wrapping paper has no business being used for Christmas.

And the only thing I know associated with black during Christmas is COAL and coal is meant for bad kids, right? Didn’t kids used to be threatened with a gift of BLACK coal if they were bad? I jus’ get thteatened with no treats. Anyway, now, we have BLACK wrapping paper! Black is NOT a Christmas color – for the record neither is BLUE – unless you’re Elvis. Then you can have a blue Christmas all you want, but I don’t want to see blue paper or ornaments either …and I do.

I mean, black is usually associated with death and Halloween, right? H.A.L.L.O.W.E.E.N. Completely different holiday. So why the hell are we using it for CHRISTMAS paper when Christmas is about BIRTH, life, love. What, some atheist elf get promoted to a decision-making position at the gift wrapping factory?

Christmas colors are red, green, silver and gold. What is wrong with people that we can’t maintain traditions? Are we just bored with the same ol’ colors, is that it? Well why don’t we start decorating for Halloween in pink and yellow? Wouldn’t that be pretty?After all Halloween is all about “pretty” and doesn’t orange and black get “old”?

Why don’t we change the colors of award ribbons? The “blue” ribbon is boring…why don’t we start awarding ribbons in saying plaid? OR brown? Congratulations! You’ve won the first prize BROWN ribbon! Or change gold medals to black plastic. Gold is scarce anyway. Or hey! Let’s change the colors and shape of stop signs. Whatever color and shape they feel like making at the stop sign factory that day. No need to be consistent. Let’s do that with all traffic signs. No one will know what’s coming up or what to do until they can actually read the sign. Fun!

Do you want to buy chocolate bunnies and red-heart laden items say during the 4th of July? You “love” your country, right? So what’s the matter with hearts all over everything then? Forget Valentine’s Day, we’ll put hearts on stuff every holiday, and black cats and skeletons, too. And why don’t we make some black hearts and flowers on Valentine’s Day? It’s good enough for Christmas. Hell, why don’t we sell Christmas trees for Halloween…well I guess we practically do since Christmas decorations ARE coming out at stores before fricking Halloween.

Yeah, I know, it may seem insignificant, but if we have don’t have customs and standards there is no meaning to anything…everything is the same no matter the day, month or season. If we don’t maintain the things that are special and standard for each holiday, then NOTHING will be special. Don’t you want to have some things that make you think specifically of certain times of the year or holidays? Don’t you want a break from the ordinary?  Easter IS pastels. 4th of July IS red, white and blue. Halloween IS orange and black. And Christmas IS red and green.

And you know, Christmas is NOT “Winter Celebration”. I mean I know Christmas happens during winter, I’m not a stupid Chi, but kids can’t have Christmas parties in school anymore; they have to have “winter celebrations”. They can’t have red & green decorations, gotta be blue and white like…I guess, snow and frostbite. They can’t have Christmas trees, oh no, they have to be “holiday” trees. Do you know what I do on all trees that are not Christmas trees? I pee on them. I mean if it’s not a Christmas tree then it’s just a regular tree, like in the park. I pee on trees in the park.

Ok, anyway,…Christmas is a holiday…called…CHRISTMAS. Would the Jews call Hanukkah something different just because not “everyone” celebrates it? No. I sure as crap know the Muslims wouldn’t allow anyone to call Eid-Al-Fitr by any other name.

So, WHY are people so “offended” by calling Christmas, CHRISTMAS? That IS the holiday! If you don’t want to celebrate it that’s fine, but allow the rest of us that do to enjoy our songs and traditions that our families have for generations in this country.

Hey, how about if you’re so offended by salutations of joy and good will, gift-giving, songs of love and hope, pretty lights on an evergreen or plastic figures and animals in a pretend barn…why don’t those people not accept gifts, stay out of the stores and go to work while the rest of us enjoy family, treats, love, gifts and a couple days off?

I guess I’m an old-fashioned kinda Chi. I just don’t want anyone to take away my Christmas. Hey, Chi’s celebrate Christmas, too you know. I’m pruddy sure I’m getting some chicken treats.

So, Merry Christmas to you all…and to all a good night (jus’ wonderin’ what it would feel like to be Santa).

Peace and chicken,

Petey Kringle

 


Larvae is Latin for….

Ok, you better go pee and grab a frosty beverage this is going to be a long one…

So you know, mom & I just moved. For a few months we were chilling at a generous friend’s house that had an extra room. She even allowed Gussy and the blue devil (Elsa) to live there, too. Nice, huh? I told mom’s friend to put a crucifix on her bedroom door just in case, but she never did.

Anyway, so mom found what she thought was kind of an awesome place for us to live. I mean, it wouldn’t make it onto Celebrity Cribs, it’s not dope, but it’s nice. See, I don’t have an actual yard to poop in, I have to saddle up to the cement patio in the morning, but mom takes me out for a walk after she gets home from work. Ok, so I know it’s not all about me. What I was getting at is…it took mom nearly 6 months to find this place. People want a heck of a lot of money for an outhouse with a view. And they want crazy amounts of money for deposits – as if a swell guy like me is going to trash the place. Of course, you never know what the Unholy Furry One will do.

Actually, mom ran into a lot of weirdos and shifty-eyed cons trying to scam her. There was Barbie & Ken Freak-enstein, the Polish Inquisition Dog and Mortuary Momma to name a few of the freaks. When she got tired of the scammers she decided to play with them to waste their time like they were wasting hers. So she wrote letters pretending to go along with their foils. To read those little gems click on the page “Twatwaffle Rental Scammers”, they’re pruddy funny.

Anyway, so we finally find this place and she thinks it’s going to be good. Maybe it was a little expensive, but we needed our own home, it was nice, the landlord seemed like an upstanding kind of guy, the area wasn’t too bad and mom had room for all her crap. I mean stuff.

Well, the first thing to happen was the discovery of the poodle farm. See, Ken, the landlord lives next store in the other half of the duplex…and he has at least 8 stinky, yippy yappy, crazy-making, untrained, smart-as-a-box-of-rocks, ankle-biting poodles. It’s hard to get an accurate count, you know, it’s like counting a swarm of locust…that bark.

Mom didn’t know how many he had until a few of us were chilling in the driveway after moving our stuff in. All of a sudden there was a mad pack of slobbering, barking, fevered poodles rushing the fence! I nearly had a heart attack, you know. I’m a confident kind of guy, but they scared the beejeezuz out of me. Worse than Elsa ever has. They bat-shit-crazy-bark at everything, all the time – other dogs, people, squirrels, air. It’s annoying as hell.

Then came the smell. When mom went to look at the place and later sign the lease it had been shockingly sunny for days here. It was a summer fit for a chi. Hot sun, little rain. I was digging it. But I guess that kept the stink at bay. Once we moved stuff in and had the first rain, The Stink came. It smelled worse than I ever have…even worse than Elsa. It smelled like moldy wet books and graveyard dirt. The more it rained the worse it got. Every time it rained mom could tell just by the stench.

Now, so as not to bore anyone with the super exhausting details I’ll try to keep it short. See, for over 6 weeks mom had been playing Dick Tracy trying to figure out why the house – mostly the bedroom -smells like dirty wet socks and old lady arm pit…trying to convince the landlord there was actually a problem.  And the bedroom of all places! All we wanted to do was unpack, settle in and make the place feel like home, you know.  You know, a chi appreciates nice cozy, sweet-smelling digs to chew a good bone in. But nooooo, we got Mystery Stank Palace and everything-is-groovy landlord instead.

I don’t mind a little pungent aroma now and then, you know, but this was bad and it really bothered mom. She would wake in the middle of the night ’cause she could smell it. It was like waking up in graveyard.  One night it was so bad I thought I was buried alive….but then I heard the toilet flush. Mom had gotten up to pee. I figured I couldn’t have been buried with a flushing toilet.

Anyway, she was worried her clothes were going to smell stinky, too. She was so stressed out, you know. And not only was the bedroom stinky, but the bath towels weren’t drying! You believe that crap? She alternated towels, but 2 days later her bath towel was still wet!  Clothes she hung up to dry weren’t drying, stuff felt damp all the time. Not cool. It was like living in a putrid sauna, except it was cold.

Finally, she talked the landlord into getting a dehumidifier, but you know, of course he didn’t get the good one, the one they agreed on. He did agree to take it back because it worked like a turd. But it was another week until the other arrived. So, more damp shit for another week. She tried to keep the windows cracked, but then it would get too cold. This was not feeling like “home” AT ALL. A chi does NOT like shivering in his own house.

At least the dehumidifier seemed to take the edge off the dampness. But crap, it was collecting 70 PINTS of water in 10 HOURS! Some people mom talked to who know their stuff said that is NOT good – definitely a “moisture issue” they said. Neat. And that’s using electricity running that darn thing all day and night, mom is worried about that, too.

Then one night, being so sick of the nartsy aroma and leaving windows open mom got a little crazy with the sage and nearly smoked us all out. I like a little sage, you know, but it got so smoky she had to open windows anyway and now her clothes smelled like smoke! Not even sage smoke just smoke. So, smoke, musty old towels and graveyard dirt.

Then one morning she dropped her phone off the other side of the bed against the wall and noticed The Stink was stronger there. Then she discovered a vent! The noxious smell was coming from the vent! Finally a source.

She told Kung Fu Ken – we call him that ‘cause he likes to lounge around in torn karate outfits. Anyway, so he said the vent was supposed to be closed off because it doesn’t work, but “oops” it didn’t get sealed. Yeah. Nice. So he seals it. With “sealing foam”. Cuts a piece of dry wall and duct tapes it over the vent. Jimmy rigged!

So, you know mom was excited and relieved cause she thinks it’s solved, the evil malodorous air is done with. Nope. Couple days later The Stink is back. It must have been able to seep through Kung Fu Ken’s noble barrier.

Now mom is ready to lose it. So, Ken comes back over, ads MORE foam. PHHHFFFFFT. Mom got down there, put an entire layer of duct tape over the dry wall, over the edges, THEN got some heavy plastic to put over the whole deal and MORE duct tape. It looks like crap, but it’s keeping the The Stink out we think.

Then couple days later she’s in the shower and sees a HOLE in the ceiling above the shower!! There is a leak from the roof and it softened up the ceiling and part of the ceiling broke away! Well, Kung Fu Ken is not in too much of a hurry to fix it. What the hell, dude?  Says he will on the weekend, never mind it’s raining like a son of a gun outside and the ceiling looks like it could blow any moment.

THEN, 2 days after that mom comes home from work and notices a darn leak under the kitchen sink!! WTF?! Everything is soaked under there and the wood under the liner is all discolored and gooey. Two weeks later there is still a damn bucket under there. It’s not fixed. Now I know there has been a lot going on, but Kung Fu Ken is retired. Yeah retired as in doesn’t have job he has to go to, retired as in HOME ALL DAY. What, is he writing a book on how to horde rabid poodles and drive your neighbors insane? What does he do with his time that he can’t replace a pipe?!

Then, THEN she comes home la few days later and the damn faucet in the bathtub is is leaking! Not just a little drip-drip, but a steady stream. You know, like it was peeing. AND it was the hot water. It wouldn’t turn off all the way. Mom had to talk Kung Fu into shutting the water off so it wouldn’t run up the water bill. He wanted to leave it like that for TWO DAYS till he could get around to going to Home Depot. What the heck, yo? Even I was starting to get stressed out. Sheeesh.

Now all this time we still can smell “dampness” in the bedroom. It’s not the death stink from before, but smells like wet basement or something. So, Kung Fu Ken confesses that, “oops”, his son told him the drywall in the bedroom wall smelled when they were re-doing the wall, but Jimmy-Rigger told him to seal it up anyway WITHOUT replacing the dry wall! WTF dude? How could you think that was ok? You never heard of MOLD before, dude? In SEATTLE? Sheeesh!

So, now Ken & Ken Jr are going to rip open mom’s bedroom wall and replace the drywall. Neat. Now we have to take a chance and hope Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Jimmy Rig won’t spread mold spores all over the damn house AND fix it correctly.

And as if that is not enough…seriously…mom gets up Monday morning for a shower, pulls back the curtain and…there are three ½” larvae in the bathtub. Yeah, I said larvae. That’s Latin for FUCKING MAGGOTS!

Maggots in the BATHTUB? How the hell do MAGGOTS get in the bathtub? Seriously?! What, is this turning into Amityville Horror? Are we gonna see flies covering windows and mom will start waking at 3:33am every morning wanting to chop us up with an axe?

So, anyway, mom thinks they came from the drain in the tub, I mean where the hell else would they come from unless something is flying in and dropping MAGGOTS in the bath. She poured bleach down the drain, but one appeared the next morning. Now there haven’t been any since then.

So, we’ll see what happens this weekend. That’s when the wall gets gutted. Say some prayers and wish us luck that Jimmy & Rig do it all properly.

Peace out,

McSweets


Dirty Devil In The Bed

So, I’m the kind of guy likes to talk about important stuff. You know like the state of the nation, stupid people, matters of the heart and soul, things like that outside of my little Chi world.  But, sometimes the little things need discussing, too. I need to get out the little ass-itching stuff, you know, so I don’t combust, become an ass hole.

I mean, mom says I’m an ass hole to other dogs when we’re out walking, but I prefer to say I’m being preemptive. You never know when you let down your guard if another fella is gonna take advantage of your neighborly manner. Good guys like me get taken for a ride every day and it’s not in the we’re-ridin’-to-the-beach-and-then-to-PetSmart- for-treats kind of ride. So a little h’ordeuvre attitude is just being smart.

Anyway, back to my reason for venting. See, if I want to sleep on the bed with mom, I have to share it with Gussy and the devil. You all know I call Elsa the devil, ‘cause, well, she is; for more elaboration on my reasoning visit Elsa’s page on this site. Her devil status is explained in detail.

Ok, so sharing the bed with Gussy is not too bad once he gets settled. He has a good heart (Elsa has no heart or soul), but sometimes he doesn’t understand “personal space”. Mom says it’s because he’s a genuinely sweet guy. And a little simple, the guy is simple. I have to wonder why the hell it takes him 3 hours just to walk from the bottom of the bed to the top. I wonder if he thinks he’ll get the bends if he goes too fast.

When Elsa gets on the bed, though, you never know what’s gonna go down. Sometimes she likes to screw with me and rub her beelzebub head against me as if she likes me. I don’t fall for that shit, but mom MAKES me let her! WTF, yo? (Learned me some ghetto lingo.) The unholy ALWAYS has ulterior motives. Always.

Other times her true essence comes out and she bitch-swats Gussy out of the blue. Poor dumb bear is just lying there enjoying his unconsciousness and… BAM! BAM! …Satan thumped by Elsa. Then when he wakes, ripped out of his simple slumber, Elsa hisses her breath-of-the- dead in his face. You know, I don’t know why he just doesn’t bite her in the ass. Well, actually I wouldn’t take that chance, either. His teeth could fall out or his face could melt like that freaky dude with the glasses when the ark is opened in Indian Jones.

So, last night we’re all tucked in bed, sleeping soundly. I got my spot behind mom’s legs and for once she’s not flopping around and fidgeting. She bumps me once in a while, she’s dreaming of spiders or running from vampires and sometimes gets a little twitchy. Anyway, so I’m a cozy Chi, dreaming of running like the wind down the beach chasing seagulls, when I’m rudely pulled back into consciousness by the bed shaking…why is the hell bed shaking?

I look up and see Elsa with her Lucifer leg up in the air, like she’s doing yoga, and her head in her stinky parts, furiously cleaning herself!  What the hell did she have going on down there that she’s moving the bed like that? The bed was shaking like monkeys were jumping rope on it.

I was perturbed, you know, so I got up and went to my bed. But she woke mom, too, and mom has no other bed to go to.  First mom whispered for Elsa to stop – yeah right. She just kept licking and sucking. Eeww – makes me nauseous to think about it. Anyway, so then mom tries shaking Elsa. Nope. She keeps going. Next, mom tried to pet her. Well, that works for the 2 seconds she pet her, then the serpent was right back cleaning its hell hole.

Then I hear mom tell Elsa she smells like shit. Well, duh! The devil doesn’t smell like daisies. By then mom had had enough and actually shoved her off the bed. Woot! Elsa hit the floor on all fours with an angry, wicked screech.  But then, then Elsa comes back 3 minutes later. Back up on the bed…and continues her devil deep cleaning! The nerve, you know? The diablo cares not.

Now, mom was really irritated and with damn good reason. That shit-smelling, bed-shaking furry malevolence had no regard for the other sleeping members of family or the fact that mom has to get up early to earn money to buy her evil ass stinky cat food. Selfish.

Mom shoved her off once more and it worked, but I was worried. You can’t get too bossy with the hell dweller. I was worried she would try to eat mom while she slept. She’d start with her larynx so mom couldn’t cry for help. Personally, I think mom should spray her with holy water and set her on fire. Just in case.

 

 


“Energy Efficient” Blah Blah

So, you know I’m the kind of guy likes to stay up with the times, pay attention to the world around me, stay dialed in. Mom helps of course; she can read a little better than I can. Gussy can’t read at all, he just looks at the pictures.

Anyway, there’s a lot of this new “energy efficient” stuff coming out; energy efficient cars, energy efficient toilets, coffee makers, whole entire homes, all sorts of stuff. Next thing you know they will be making energy efficient Chis. But, I think I’m already engery efficient. Sure I am. I’m aerodynamic, I can run like the wind, but I don’t eat nearly as much as Gussy and he runs like a drunken moneky with a broken foot.

Ok, but see, mom keeps abreast <snicker>of these things, reads about them, researches and turns out many of these darn things are just marketing propaganda…or as mom says, “total bullshit”.

Yeah, so take the “energy efficient” light bulbs. Dangerous and bogus. Yeah. Know why? They have MERCURY in them. You know, a toxic element. I’m not the brainiest Chi in the forest, but I DO know mercury is poisonous; it can be fatal or cause permanent brain damage. Permanent damage. To the brain. Poisonous. And you’d think especially when it’s heated to higher temperatures like when oh, say…you have your lights on for a long time. And a funny thing about that is, those lights lose their “efficiency” after they are left on for long periods of time. So it’s only when you FIRST turn on your lobotomy lights that they are actually “efficient”. No, seriously, I read the official report. Ok, well, mom did, but she told me about it. The amount of money you save in a year couldn’t buy you another light bulb … or even a delicious chicken chew.

Heck, right on the package it tells you if you break one to IMMEDIATELY ventilate and EVACUATE the area, especially small animals. Small animals. Yeah, like Chis. They could die from mercury poisoning. Now who the hell wants to take the chance of getting poisoned just to maybe save a few bucks on the electric bill? Not this Chi. Seriously.  I’m damn sure I don’t want to be a brain-damaged or dead Chi. I’m kind of smart guy, I don’t want to risk that for some illuuuuumination. Sheeesh, we already have one retard in the family (Gussy).

Guess what else? The report also says not sit with your head “too close to the bulbs for long periods of time”. Freakin’ seriously?!?  Why? Will they your hair catch on fire like Michael Jackson’s? Nope.  Will they turn your hair white? Nope. Will they make your hair smell like mercury? Nope. Wiiiiiillll they  burn your forehead like Richard Dryfuss in Close Encounters? No. No. No. No. It’s because they can cause BRIAN DAMAGE.

Oh and on the package it also tells you to not – repeat, NOT – use a vacuum to clean up the fragments as that could send poisonous mercury particles into the air. Yes, on the package, written right there for everyone to see…and to use rubber gloves. Rubber gloves. Now you who the heck wants to have to wear a HAZMAT suit to clean up a broken light bulb?? Mom says she would rather shaver her legs by candle light than have those things in the house.

Oh and you can’t throw them away in the trash. Nope. You’ve got take them to a special your light bulb-could- kill-you recycling place.  So, you know, you may be saving a few cents on electricity, but now you’re making a special trip to dispose of them…using more gasoline. Yep. Think about that.

So, who the hell wants to play mercury roulette with their light bulbs because they might save forty-three cents?

Ok, so then let’s talk about the darn “energy efficient” washing machines. Another donkey crap idea. Well, you know, I do have to say that these washing machines might actually save energy…because they don’t have enough power to clean your bloody clothes. Um, I didn’t mean bloody like real blood from a gaping wound, but you know, “bloody” like when British people use it instead of the word “fuck”. But then again the pansy machines wouldn’t clean actual bloody clothes anyway.

Mom says she could dunk her clothes in the toilet, flush 3 times and they would get cleaner than putting them in one of those washing machines. She says clothes actually go in cleaner than they come out. An 80 year old stroke victim could stir her tea with more power than these “efficient” machines.

So what happens then? Mom ends up washing her clothes twice sometimes because they don’t get clean. So, how “efficient” is that, huh? And it damn sure doesn’t get out my manly hair from my bed and blankets. I guess for those folks don’t mind walking around in grimy clothes so they can feel superior for “saving energy” it’s ok. But heck, I don’t even want my collar washed in it, you know, mom hand scrubs it.  A Chi has to have standards, you know.  Elsa doesn’t. She’s a pig.   Hey…maybe I can talk mom into putting Elsa in the washing machine…

With that soothing fantasy, I will sign off.

Peace out ma peeps,

Peteman