And Jesus's hair, The dino swiping the air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there

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."

I'm sorry I stole your pills and then defaced your home with my Jewish graffiti

So we've been shopping for a new house, and house hunting is, decidedly, a pain in the ass. The only thing that I like about it is that you have a legitimate reason to look through people's stuff. Like, it is totally okay for me to go through people's medicine cabinets because I need to accurately judge if it will hold all of my meds. Our realtor says I don't need to read the labels on all of the pill bottles to judge the size of the medicine cabinet, but obviously I need to see if the previous owner took a bunch of anti-depressants or something because maybe it was their shitty house making them depressed. Or if they take anti-psychotics because they are seeing things, maybe their house is haunted. These are things I need to know.

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.

You would hate them too if their furry heads and powdery wings haunted your dreams

I don't like butterflies. Everyone is so fooled by their beautiful image, they don't even take a close look at these things. THEY ARE HORRIFYING.

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.

This explains everything

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.

A hippo will never eat you, but a bear will fuck your shit up... and I can respect that

I am obsessed with stories about animals eating people. Not just attacking people, actually eating people. Like, for dinner. I've read probably 20 books on the subject and watch every documentary that I can find that shows people getting bit, or talking about how the people were eaten. It's like a sick fetish I realize, but I cannot get enough. I am rooting for the animals. I get disappointed when people talk about their narrow escapes. I guess if they come away horribly mutilated I am somewhat satisfied. It kind of depends on how fucked up they look.

Anyway, so the other night I was watching one of those "When Animals Go Fucking Psycho on Your Shit" type shows when I came to a pretty interesting conclusion: Hippos are hands-down the biggest assholes in the dangerous-animal community. They kill more people per year in Africa than FUCKING CROCODILES, and they are GODDAMMED VEGETARIANS!!! They never eat the people! They eat grass and shit! On top of this, people who actually survive walk away almost completely intact! It's not like a hippo can tear someone's fucking face off with their stubby little paws or whatever they are called. Look at these things! They are just little tiny nubs! No one is going to get their eyes ripped out of the socket by those things!

If you are going to kill hundreds of people a year make it worth my while and EAT THEM!!!! God, you are so annoying with your self-righteous "I won't eat humans but I'll kill them, I'll kill them to death" attitude. It makes me want to punch you in your stupid, fat gut, you smug asshole. Just eat some meat! It won't kill you! My best friend used to feet her pet pig strips of bacon. If her pig could get over that, surely you can force down a few bites of human.

Look at what a bear did to this guy! That I can respect. I mean, he didn't get eaten so he's still sort of a pussy, but at least he did the next best thing! This guy took one for the team and at least made his attack bring pleasure to millions of sick fucks like me. It means something. It has value. And bears don't fuck around. They will eat you. They will eat you in a heartbeat.

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!

Another thing about hippos that really pisses me off is their ears. They are just so stupid. I can't even look at them for too long without getting angry. I mean, I seriously feel a deep burning rage at how ridiculous they look perched on top of the enormous hippo head. And when they twirl them around? Oh my fucking God! It makes me want to scream. Your ears are so fucking stupid, so stupid!!!! JUST EAT SOMEBODY, PLEASE!!!!

*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.

*Update 2: Someone accused pointed out that making fun of animals and swearing at them has already been done. What they don't realize is that I actually hate hippos. I want them dead. That is completely different than swearing at an animal because it is painfully cute. Plus, shut the fuck up. I will steal ideas whenever I please.

My ears are like, not even old enough to drink yet

This website is totally hitting on me and telling me I am young. I don't know what the website is trying to get our of me by this blatant flattery but I'll tell you right now that I'm not falling for it. Like I would really be all overcome with gratitude just because they tell me I am young and that I can do things only teenagers should be able to do. Seriously. I'm not that easy, Website. Like I would really tell everyone I know about how I could be mistaken for a high school student or something. Puh-lease. I mean I appreciate it and all, and I think you are one of the most intelligent and insightful websites I've ever seen but really, your flattery is having no effect on me at all. I love you.

My plan for ukulele-porn driven world peace will not be undermined by that demon girl Hannah Montana and her didgeridoo-playing followers

Lately I have found myself obsessed with ukuleles. I watch you tube videos of indie ukulele covers over and over again. It's almost like a porn addiction because I am both secretive and ashamed of my inability to look away. Except it's not because ukuleles are sweet and pure and porn is rarely sweet and pure. In fact, I really think the porn industry should look into some ukulele soundtracks to clean up their smut factories. I really think they would be able to capture a wider market share. I would totally watch more porn if they classed it up a bit like this.



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.

There is even a rockstar ukulele available.

The one instrument that I think is the opposite of the ukulele and therefore the most likely instrument to spur war would be the Australian didgeridoo. Because even though it has a cool name, it kind of separates itself from the other instruments and acts all better than everyone else just because it is made out of bamboo hollowed out by termites. It's an instrument snob. We didn't want you to join our symphony anyway you smug son of a bitch! It also sounds kind of scary and it used to be that only men could play it and women had to play the lame-ass clapsticks, second only to the ridiculous triangle in lameness. So it's sexist too. It's basically the instrument equivalent of Jude Law. So fuck the didgeridoo and it's attempts to undo my mission of instrument based world peace.

*Update: I can't stop watching! Just look at the people playing the tiny little guitars with their big hands! They look like music loving giants! I wonder if regular sized guitars WOULD sound like a ukulele to giants? That would be totally awesome. I need to find a giant and make them play a ukulele because that would just set me over the freaking edge. I feel like rolling around on the floor and squealing at the very thought!

I might be having a seizure.

*Update 2: I really like nickels.

Greg Hanson ruined the Superbowl and trades slaves with Ragnor the Viking

So before the Superbowl I started writing this post about the time my super cool brother Keith and I went to a Notre Dame bowl game in Jacksonville and got chased down some dirt road by couple of homeless people. It was totally funny too. I was going on about how I kept yelling at Keith that I was sure the homeless people were going to stick us with needles and how we couldn't remember where we parked the car because we left it at some abandoned carpet factory or something. Yeah, totally awesome. Well I let too much time pass and now what could have been a relevant post relating to a current event (i.e. the Superbowl) sounds lame and random. In it's place I will tell you about my arch enemy, Greg Hanson, of Greg Hanson & The Backroads, and how we came to be pitted against one another. It is not random at all.

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 30 26 years old. Any kid I could have would not be old enough to be getting phone calls from whatever gestapo you represent. I am not Greg Hanson, I am not Greg Hanson's mother, I have no idea who Greg Hanson is but I swear to you and to Jesus Fucking Christ that if I ever meet that son of a bitch Greg Hanson, harassing phone calls from little 'I only finished the 11th grade' bitches like you are going to be the least of his problems! Now stop calling!"

After this I decided to make it my personal mission to find this Greg Hanson and take him down personally. I figured there must be some kind of reward for his head, and at the very least I could stop cursing people out on the phone in front of company. My first stop was Google of course. Google that I love with every inch of my Greg Hanson hating being.

The first few results were promising, although somewhat intimidating. Dr. Greg Hanson is the US Senate’s first Chief Information Officer. Well I'm not going to fuck with anyone in charge of my information. I once screamed at a lady at the drivers license place and subsequently failed my vision test seven times in a row despite not needing glasses. Dr. Greg was out.

The next candidate for my plan of vengeance was Greg "Digger" Hanson, a Hollywood stuntman who has worked on such film gems as "Good Luck Chuck" and "Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed." He seemed like a possible match since those films were huge flops and probably left him without much money to pay off his creditors, but then I realized that stuntmen are typically testosterone fueled idiots and would not need to hide behind a wrong number if he had done someone wrong. He would accept, no seek the confrontation that would arise from him being a deadbeat and not paying his bills. Again I was left without a target for my rage.

The third Greg Hanson I found was a lawyer in Minnesota no less. Who could be more likely to receive a bunch of pissed off phone calls than a lawyer with cheated clients? I felt like I had found my man and began leaving him threatening messages in earnest. "Greg Hanson, attorney at law! After almost 2 years of harassing phone calls from all the people you have pissed of, you leave me no choice but to challenge your ass to a duel. If this is THE Greg Hanson, meet me by the Spoonbridge with the giant cherry on it, downtown Minneapolis, Friday at 9 o'clock! Don't fuck with me Hanson!!!"

That Friday I got to the Spoonbridge early so I could set up a trap. I know all lawyers like Life Savers candies so I set a trail leading to a spike pit that I dug that morning. I sat in wait for what seemed like hours. By 12:30 I knew Hanson wasn't showing. I figured I had the wrong Greg Hanson because I explicitly told him that if it was THE Greg Hanson, he'd better be there. I went home and sent him a letter stating that I must have the wrong guy. I even included some of the Life Savers (I wiped off most of the dirt first) as a peace offering. I didn't hear back from him, but I think he forgives me.

The only possible Greg Hanson left was a country singer. Greg Hanson of Greg Hanson & The Backroads. At first glance this looks like your normal average country band. Until you get to their drummer.

WTF? This dude is no country band drummer! He's no drummer at all. He looks like a 1989 IBM programmer with bad, photoshopped long "drummer" hair.

It all began to make sense. This "band" is obviously a cover for some seriously dark, underground shit. His clearly phony band members, his cliche list of favorites, (seriously, your favorite way to relax is to "Ride the 4-wheeler or horse through the pastures on parent's farm near Wilmot." How fucking naive do you think I am Greg Hanson?!?) along with his association of LeRoy VanDyke, a known fast-talking auctioneer leads me to believe this Greg Hanson is running some kind sick, illegal auction. Maybe even a human slave trade auction. Yeah, that's probably it. Well I'm on to you, you sick fuck Greg Hanson. I will bring down your dirty human slave trade if it's the last thing I ever do! I brought down my Girl Scout troop leader in the third grade for skimming the top of the cookie sales, don't think I can't do the same to you!

And for any of you that doubt me, here is the proof. A picture of Greg Hanson with Ragnor the Viking, who is the Minnesota Vikings mascot, and also suspected of being a trader of humans.

*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.