Saturday, July 4, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
And if they continue to displease me I shall throw dirt in their tank for 40 days and 40 nights. I smite thee, Sea Monkey sinners!
Holy crap! I was totally their God! God Lemish. That is so freaking awesome! I think I'm going to buy some new Sea Monkeys and feed them long enough so that their society has time to evolve and build the awesome castles that I was promised on the front of the box. I will make them build images in my likeness and punish them when they have not pleased me by unleashing a plague of goldfish on their asses. Let's see how long those fuckers keep having pre-marital Sea Monkey sex after that.
Friday, May 29, 2009
More on string-instrument porn and some random pictures from the vault of Lemish
Oh, here are some unused pictures that I have saved because I thought I might use them someday but never did. Unrelated to ukulele porn, but still
For an unpublished post about the dangers of flying penises. An update to my mom's crazy warnings.
Here is a cute parasitic worm. I love parasites. Not in the way that I would personally want one, but I love to hear other people's stories about their parasites and how gross they are. One of my favorite pastimes is watching youtube videos of people removing botfly larva from their bodies. I totally don't watch videos about them or anything though. What kind of sick person would do that!?!? Sick fucks, that's who. (I named him Chester.)
Here is a picture of my friend Katrina playing the world's largest tuba. I think this was for a plan I had about creating a marching band where everyone carried huge instruments. I still might put this plan into action, so nobody steal it because I'm pretty sure it's awesome.
I forgot to post this for a special Christmas greeting.
My head on The Last Unicorn's body. This was just for my personal use.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
No one ever tells you not to spray your junk with Scrubbing Bubbles because it burns and will not make it less purple. I just did. You're welcome.
As I mentioned previously, Lemish's Husband and myself are in the home buying process. And because this process is
So tonight, as another cost saving measure, I thought I could cut back on some of my grooming costs and try an at-home bikini wax. NEVER TRY THIS!!!!
Everything started okay. The wax melted smoothly in the microwave, and I applied it without burning myself. The cloth strip went on easily and I followed the timed directions. However, when I went to remove the strip, something went horribly, horribly wrong.
First of all, fuck. It hurt like nothing I have ever experienced. When I was ten a piece of glass from our fish tank sliced through my ankle after I stomped on it because my mom was being mean and I was trying to teach her a lesson. I had a 5 inch piece of glass covered in fish shit sticking out of my leg for 30 minutes before I got to the hospital, and let me tell you, that pain was NOTHING compared to attempting to pull this wax strip off of my junk.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
I can't think of a title that doesn't involve drowning vaginas and a bunch of seamen, and I'm just too classy for that
My mom called me last night concerned.
Lemish's mom: "I want you to be really careful if you go in the ocean."
Lemish: "Mom, I live like 1200 miles from the nearest ocean."
Lemish's mom: "Yeah, but you might take a trip and I'm seriously concerned."
Lemish: "Okay, what is the issue? Did you see floating medical waste or watch Jaws again or something?"
Lemish's mom: "No, the ocean is filled with flying black penises."
Lemish: "..."
Lemish: "..."
Lemish: "Mom, these are the things that you say to me and then deny later. Then I look like the insane person saying 'Hey Mom, remember the time you told me the ocean was filled with flying black penises and how fucking crazy that was?' and you'll be all like 'I never said that!' and look at me like you are insulted and tell me I should go to church with you."
Lemish's mom: "Well maybe if you went to church with me more often there would be fewer flying black penises to worry about."
Lemish: "Touché Mom, touché."
Friday, May 1, 2009
I'm sorry I stole your pills and then defaced your home with my Jewish graffiti
Aside from looking through the home owner's stuff, they rest of the home buying experience is stressful. It's hard to find a house that people didn't totally fuck up by adding their own style elements. And I feel like the second we do like a house, someone else is going to come in and snatch it out from under us. So to avoid this I came up with a really awesome plan to dissuade any other buyers from buying one of the houses we like; I draw satanic pentagrams all over the place.
This is a totally awesome plan. No one is going to buy a house from a bunch of depressed devil worshippers! The house will be ours. We can totally low ball the seller too because we will be the only offer. "We shall give you $5 for this house. Good day Sir." And they will have no choice but to take it because once word gets around that they are devil worshippers they will get fired from their jobs and be totally poor. Everybody wins!
So anyway, I decided to put my plan into action at a house we saw last weekend. While my husband had the realtor distracted by concerns about "structural integrity" I quickly drew three pentagrams inside the master bedroom closet with a sharpie. I also wrote "I love the Devil!!!!" with a big pentagram around it like an evil Valentine. Just in case the people were from Canada and didn't know what a pentagram was.After that, I went around back and started drawing some kick-ass pentagrams on the garage. My husband walked up all concerned and said "Oh my God, what the fuck are you doing? Vandalizing the house?" as if he wasn't totally in on my plan already. I was like "Isn't it obvious? I am making the owners look like scary devil worshippers so no one will put an offer in on the house. I know, I am awesome, no need to thank me."
So then he was like, "Are you a complete idiot? That isn't a pentagram. It's a mother-fucking Star of David, symbol of the Jewish faith! You look like a Jewish gang member out here tagging this place up for the Sabbath or some shit."
Then he tried to pull the sharpie from my hand to scratch out my work. I screamed at him to stop. "First of all, I don't think you are right. It has 6 points, just like 666. That is totally the Devil's favorite number. And secondly, if it is the Jewish star, you can't just cross it out! Someone could see us and think that we are all anti-Semitic. Like the owners decorated their garage with these symbols of their faith and we come along and are all 'Nuh -uh, won't have any of this crap while we live here. Heil!' Plus, there is probably some curse involved that's put on people who defile religious symbols. We are probably fucked even talking about this! In fact, I think we should write down how much we love Jewish people so that the curse knows we are cool."
So I started writing things under my stars, like "We wish we were Jewish!" "Kosher or DIE!!!" "Cut up penises for everyone!" Well right about then is when the realtor showed up to check on us.
We were escorted to the curb and asked to leave and not contact them again. As my husband forced me into the car I was screaming and sobbing out the open window "We love the Jews! We love the Jews! I was trying to draw Devil worshipping symbols, that's all! Please give me this house. Puh-lease!!!" I frantically scribbled down my offer on a crumpled piece of paper and threw it out the window at the realtor.
I'm hoping to get their counter-offer some time this week.
Friday, April 24, 2009
You would hate them too if their furry heads and powdery wings haunted your dreams
So they are terrifying, hairy, flying bugs with wings made of powder. And for some reason, someone thought it would be an awesome idea to put images of these horrifying creatures on every accessory manufactured for teenagers. That means I am assaulted by their image even in places that I should be safe, like inside.
There are many reasons for my dislike, but I think the primary reason is that when I was 4 my mom caught a monarch butterfly and thought that I would like to see it. So while I was away at pre-school she stuck the butterfly to my new bulletin board in my bedroom with a thumbtack. Right through the disgusting powdery wing. When I got home from school, the butterfly was still lightly flapping it's wings against the board. That's right, she tacked a LIVE BUTTERFLY TO MY BULLETIN BOARD! To my FUCKING bulletin board. Upon seeing this, I completely lost my shit. I think I may have blacked out for a minute, because the next thing I remember is sitting on my floor covered in tears and shredded pieces of powdery wings.My mom claims to this day that the butterfly was dead when she found it. But this is also from the woman who says she "forgets" dancing around me in a circle saying over and over again, "I'm a witch, I'm a witch!" when I was little, which totally happened. How sick would I have to be to make something like that up? Clearly, she is not to be trusted.
*Update: So I was totally going to put a picture of someone killing a butterfly and call them my hero or something, but the first result I got was this and I was too disturbed to look any more. I'm going to go throw up now.
*Update 2: I was informed that me choice of accessory was not appropriate for a teen/tweenager so I have replaced it. I'm sure I will now be criticized for choosing something that, while age-appropriate, is not exactly an "accessory." But fuck it, you get the picture.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Goonies never say die. (Especially when they are deaf vigilantes of justice.)
Anyway, if I was a Goonie I could be out saving the day all the time. Like if I was ever stuck in a McDonalds drive-thru lane and a carjacker came up to me and was all "give me your fucking car, you Goonie!" I could totally foil his plan. I couldn't just drive way and go for help because I would be completely blocked in by the asshole in front of me ordering his 12 Big Macs, so I would have to come up with a different Goonie plan.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Monday, April 6, 2009
Mine is about vah jays
Cheating the system doesn't make my victory any less sweet
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
I pity the fool
*Update: I used my time traveling abilities to post this after April 1st because I forgot to post something about April Fool's Day and I'd already found this cool picture. Who but Jesus could give me these astonishing powers? He loves me. And dinosaurs.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Next time you feel me up in Walgreens I'm going to kick you in the Cadbury Eggs
So I stopped at Walgreens on my way home from work and, as usual, started buying all kinds of crap that I never planned on buying to begin with. And because I only planned to buy toothpaste, I didn't grab a basket or one of those weird little tiny shopping carts they have there. This meant by the time I made it up to the cashier I had my arms full stacked up to my chin with bullshit like light bulbs, Q-tips, and Shamwow cloths.
While waiting in line I saw some Cadbury Cream Eggs for sale and of course I had to get some. I reached out like an idiot and half my shit went tumbling to the floor. I couldn't bend down to get it without dumping the rest of it too. There was this old couple behind me, maybe late 60's, and I kind of gave them a half-smile like "sorry, I know you fuckers are old but do you think you could bend down and pick up my shit?" This was apparently a great strategy because the old man immediately bent down and retrieved my batteries and Glade plug-in refills and started stacking them back on top of the rest of my useless crap.
What a nice old man right? No! Dude blatantly rubs my right boob for like 3 seconds while stacking my stuff, right in front of his wife! I couldn't believe it! My shock was so great that, of course, shit just tumbles right out of my arms again. I thought, no way is he going to do it again, but yes! He did! Boob rubbing part deux! I think it was even longer the second time because in my panic, I had dropped a good portion of my stuff. He rubbed the boob with the back of his crusty old fingers for the good part of a minute. I almost threw up.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
A hippo will never eat you, but a bear will fuck your shit up... and I can respect that
Could a hippo pull that off? No way! Here is a hippo-attack victim. Notice the difference? This douche looks bored out of his mind! No disfigurement at all! What a selfish motherfucker.
I am equally angry at the hippo and his "victim." The hippo for refusing to swallow, and the dude for looking so damn impressed with himself for surviving. HE DIDN'T WANT TO EAT YOU, YOU GLIB BASTARD!
*Update: My husband says that I used too many swear words in this post. I am now even angrier at the hippos for getting me so mad that I look like a complete psycho. I hate them so much.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
My ears are like, not even old enough to drink yet
Monday, February 16, 2009
My plan for ukulele-porn driven world peace will not be undermined by that demon girl Hannah Montana and her didgeridoo-playing followers
In fact, I am positive that there would be world peace if it was mandated that all songs be performed on ukuleles.
I wish this dude was my weird, red hat wearing french grandfather who would sing me songs of the sea on his ukulele and make delicious pastries for us to share.
Even Disney who, despite being the harborer of the anti-Christ and the catalyst for the ensuing apocalypse, is always at the forefront of feel-good brand association has jumped on the ukulele bandwagon.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Greg Hanson ruined the Superbowl and trades slaves with Ragnor the Viking
My husband and I moved into our current place in September of 2007 and shortly after set up a new home phone line. Almost immediately we began getting calls for a Greg Hanson. At first it was just one or two a day. "Is Greg Hanson there?" We got off with an easy "you have the wrong number." However after about a month the calls started getting more and more numerous and got kinda shady. "Is Greg Hanson there? Well when was the last time you saw him?" We were like "We don't know the dude, you have the wrong number."
A few months into it we started getting close to 20 calls a day from various flooring dealerships asking for, you guessed it, that rat bastard Greg Hanson. When we asked to be removed from the list the people would tell us that someone named Greg Hanson recently went to a flooring expo and put his name and number in the main box to be contacted by every flooring vendor in the tri-state area. Motherfucker.
A couple of months and hundreds of calls later the flooring assholes stopped calling. Yes, I know we could have simply changed our number, but I wasn't going to let these flooring jerks and the evil Greg Hanson determine my fucking destiny. I had stood up against my tormentors and had emerged victorious. Or so I thought....
It was at this point that we started getting downright harassing phone calls. They would call and ask for Greg Hanson of course, and when I told them they had the wrong number they would say things like "Are you sure you don't know Greg Hanson? This isn't Greg Hanson's mother?" And I would be like "no, I wasn't lying the first time, YOU HAVE THE WRONG GODDAMNED NUMBER!" To which I received a reply like"We know this is you Mrs. Hanson, we need to talk to Greg now." I couldn't believe it. I said "listen you fucking bitch, I'm only
*Update- The date stamp on my blog is clearly fucked up because if I had posted this before the Superbowl took place it would not make any sense. Unless I am traveling through time without my knowledge which totally makes sense because I never know what day it is and frequently find unexplained bruises on my body. That could also be explained by all the drinking.
Friday, January 23, 2009
My milkshake... is cleaner than yours
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
I'm going to use the headless bodies as diversity paperweights
Last week I grew tired of the charade so I devised a strategy that would allow us to keep the tree up for another few months at least. I figured I could hang a bunch of Martin Luther King figurines from the tree and make it a Diversity tree. What racist asshole decided that Martin Luther King day didn't deserve a tree anyway? Like Christmas is so superior? I realized that I must make a Diversity Tree to stick it to The Man! Equal Tree rights for all, motherfuckers!
So I bought some MLK bobble heads online and tried to hang them from the tree, but they were too heavy so I pulled their heads off and just hung those up with some twine. I was pretty happy with it and felt like not only had I finally brought justice to a tragically under-decorated holiday, I'd also allowed for an extended period of laziness by giving us a reason not to take down the tree. This is why I was totally surprised when people started freaking out. They were like "you can't just hang decapitated Martin Luther King heads off of a tree with pieces of rope! Don't you know how that looks?" And I was like "Hell yeah I do, it looks like a kick-ass Diversity Tree!" because it totally did. They kept going on and on about how bad it looked, and how I was celebrating the practice of lynching, all the while completely ignoring my festive 'Diversity! Yeah!' tree topper.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Maybe my real name is "Tries too hard to be funny." Like an Indian or something.
See what I have found
A little ways away from here
While digging in the ground
Come away melinda
Come in and close the door
Its nothing, just a picture-book
They had before the war
Daddy, daddy, come and see
Daddy, come and look
Why, theres four or five
Little melinda girls
Inside my picture book
Come away melinda
Come in and close the door
There were lots of little girls like you
Before they had the war
Oh daddy, daddy, come and see
Daddy, hurry do
Why, theres someone
In a pretty dress
Shes all grown up like you
Wont you tell me why
Come away melinda
Come in and close the door
That someone is your mummy
You had before the war
My brothers faced a similar fate. The older of the two, Keith Richard, was named after Keith Richards.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
The terribly true story of Gospel Sue and Pee Pants and the time my soul was saved
There was a really strange family that lived in our neighborhood when I was little. They had a giant bell attached to their front porch that they would ring when it was time for their kids to come home for dinner. That wouldn't be so strange if we lived, like on the prairie or something, but we lived about 20 minutes outside of New York City and it was 1984, not 1884. Their youngest, Danny, was my friend but even at 4 I knew he wasn't one of the "normal" kids. They were super religious and had all kinds of rules about what kinds of games their kids could play. Danny wasn't allowed to dig in the dirt. I don't even remember the fucked up reason he gave us for that but we just continued digging to China without him.
They had two twin teenaged daughters named Heidi and Bambi. I shit you not, Bambi. Who names their kid that and doesn't completely expect them to grow up to be a stripper? I'm pretty sure the girls were already up to something with the Albanian drug dealers who owned the pizza shop around the corner. They made awesome pizza.
Anyway, one day Danny and his family invite me to a "puppet show" and ask my parents if it would be alright for me and another kid from the neighborhood to join them for about half an hour. My parents, obviously oblivious to the general weirdness surrounding this family, agree. They should have known something was up. His parent's faces lit up with crazed smiles like they'd just heard we'd declared war on Albania or that doing blow was a good way to restore your virginity.
They took me and the other kid with sucker parents into their Jesus mobile and we were off to see the puppets. On the way we stopped to pick up their "advisor." The door opened and I was almost knocked unconscious by the smell of knock-off Chanel number five. A sparkly blue mass of blond curls and mascara slid into the truck. She leaned down close into my face, smiling wildly and said "well hello Darling, my name is Gospel Sue" and poked the tip of my nose with her long, squared off
I tried to do a Google search for a picture of Gospel Sue to show you guys, but I guess her confession that she was once told by the blind, bastard child of a whore that one day she would be known the world over as the "Messenger of the Spirit" didn't quite work out. I have done my best to create a composite image of what she looked like. I think it is a pretty fair representation.
The other boy from the neighborhood and I were instructed to get down on the floor of the truck. We weren't given an explanation, there was plenty of room in the truck for us to sit. I was 4, I thought my best friend was Big Bird, I didn't think to question why we were sitting on the floor so we did it. The rest of the trip seemed to take a very long time and I occupied myself by picking at the sequins on Gospel Sue's pants.
Finally we got the "puppet show." Now, I don't see how this could be really true, but I swear I remember that the place they took us to was an abandoned hot dog factory. I remember walking among the machines in the dark and the whole place smelling exactly like you would expect an abandoned hot dog factory to smell, like ass.
So they took us down into the basement of the hot dog factory (and this is another hole in my story because do hot dog factories have basements?) The basement consisted of three large carpeted rooms. The other neighborhood boy and I were escorted by Gospel Sue into a room with three other confused looking children while Danny and his family went in to the main room do to do whatever they did in there; roll around in loose hot dog meat probably.
Gospel Sue sat us down and proceeded to tell us that we were so lucky because they had brought us here to be saved! We were in terrible danger and she was going to lead us away from the danger. I assumed this was some kind of prelude to the awesome puppet show we were about to see so I laughed a little with anticipation. Gospel Sue's head whipped around, her eyes narrowed, and she said "there is nothing funny about your soul burning in hell for all eternity is there? Don't you want God to love you? Or would you rather have your skin burn up in a fire and never get to see your parents again?!?" I think that was the moment I realized there would be no puppet show.
She made the five of us kids get up and stand in a circle and hold hands. She held my hand and dug her nails into my hand and began shouting "God forgive us! God, Jesus forgive these children their sins! Their parents might be damned to Hell for their wicked ways but must these children suffer?"
She held our hands up over our heads and instructed us to yell "Please save us from the fire God! We don't want to live forever amongst the hellfires of Satan with the sinners! Forgive us Jesus and save us!"
I had no idea what this bitch was talking about, my hippie parents were from the church of "be nice to other people" and had never mentioned hell, but I was there yelling my head off to be forgiven. It seemed like the right thing to do. This Satan character sounded like a bad dude and I wanted to see the goddamned puppet show like I had been promised. Some of the other kids were not as enthusiastic as me. A few kids were crying and asking for their parents and the boy from my neighborhood had peed his pants. Gospel Sue stopped holding his hand after that.
This shouting business seemed to go on for a while. After a while I got tired of it and started lifting up my dress to check out my Wonder Woman underoos and tried to remember if I even liked puppet shows. By this point Gospel Sue was wriggling on the floor and had been singing Amazing Grace over and over again for about an hour. Pee Pants had gone into some kind of over-traumatized coma and was lying on the floor, straight as a stick with his eyes closed twitching a little. One of the other kids had turned over all the chairs and was playing some kind of war game with himself. He occasionally stuck his fingers out of his fort and made shooting noises while pointing at all of us. A little girl in the corner was scooping dirt out of a plant then carefully sprinkling it into her hair. She looked like she might have eaten some as well.
I looked up as Danny walked into the room and told us we had to go now. We shook Pee Pants awake and got out of there. Apparently we were leaving Gospel Sue to continue her worship. As we got back into their truck Danny's parents asked Pee Pants and I if we'd had a good time. It's fucked up but I think I might have actually told them I did have a good time because that was the polite thing to say. Pee Pants, sitting next to me on the floor of the truck, remained silent.
It was pitch black when we pulled into my driveway and my parents came running out of the house yelling. Danny's dad mumbled some bullshit about the puppet show taking longer than they had anticipated and drove off with my dad yelling at him about how he was going to rip his fucking head off and shit down his throat. My mom was crying and asked me if I was okay. I said "well I guess because my soul will no longer be burning in hell with you and Daddy." Then I showed her how to lift your arms and kick your legs and say "Jesus suck the sin out of my bones!!!" so that she could be safe too.
After that day I wasn't allowed to play with Danny any more. Pee Pants got moved to a different school after after he developed some compulsion to pull out all of his eyelashes and hair and then eat it. Danny's family eventually moved after his sisters ran off with the Albanians. I pretty much got over the whole experience but I do notice that my eye will begin to twitch uncontrollably whenever I'm in the presence of either gospel music or any type of puppet. Oh and I still ask Jesus to suck the sin out of my bones, but really, who doesn't?
Monday, January 5, 2009
OCD spells P and cream soda bottles make shitty shivs
Usually I am able to hide this shameful deed from the "normal" people but the other day I was driving home from work, rocking out to my The Best of Bob & Marcia album (my totally awesome 70's hippie reggae. "Young, Gifted, and Black" is like my personal mantra.) when my favorite song came on, "Pied Piper." So I am sitting at a red light innocently hand jamming away. Unfortunately for me there are a lot of 'P's' in that song. The guy facing me apparently thought I was having some angry Tourette-like episode and started honking his horn at me over and over again. Well I can't stop while I'm in a hand jamming groove so I just kept on throwing out those P's like I was some 90's west-side gansta rapper.
The light turned green and I drove off. I stopped a few miles up the road at a gas station and went inside to get some cream soda. When I came out the guy from the light was parked next to my car waiting for me! I was totally freaked and walked quickly to my car. I held my cream soda bottle by the neck, ready to smash it and slash the fucker with my rudimentary shiv in case he wanted a Piece of Me.
The guy looked at me and said "do we have some kind of problem?" I got so nervous that my soda slipped and smashed on the ground. Awesome, there went my shiv. I had no other choice but to be honest with the guy. I was very reluctant to do this because everyone knows that the OCD penalty for revealing my ritual is that I lose five minutes off of my life for every person I tell unless I spin around three times after telling them.
"Oh that is just this thing I do, kind of like a dance? I spell out the first letter of every song with my hands.... but I don't know the sign for P..... and see... I can't mess up my rhythm for fear of the acid...." and then I spun around three times.
I think he understood because he immediately broke eye contact and got back in his car. I finished spinning and got back into my car, figuring screw the cream soda. My Ipod shuffled to the next song, "Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps" by Cake and I was on my way. I love that song.