UPDATE! I Still Hate “The Christmas Shoes” With the Intensity of A Thousand Burning Circles of Hell
I think there’s a dangerous tendency in our society to assume certain things about pregnant women. I’m not just talking about the “Ha-ha, are you craving pickles and ice cream?” comments…
And GOD HELP ME, but this looks kind of amazing right now…
I’m talking about the idea that pregnant women, due to their general state of gestation-ness, seem sort of softened by the whole nurturing angle of it all. And this is kind of true (to some degree at least) thanks to the hormones that throw me into uncontrollable sobs whenever I see a trailer for The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.
He’s aging backwards! She’s aging forwards! Jive Turkey weeps in both directions!
But then there are the people who seem to keep waiting for me to break out the huge pastel maternity pants covered in teddy bears and who assume I spend my free time singing lullabies to my belly while crocheting custom-made lavender-scented diapers for the little darling. As anyone who visits my home in the evenings can tell you, there is not so much crocheting going on as there is napping and laughing at re-runs of Family Guy. And then there’s my mother, who is absolutely scandalized by the very idea that I’m spending my Friday and Saturday evenings ON STAGE, of all places. And when I told her on Thanksgiving that the show was called “Chicks with Dicks?”
Heavens! Where are my smelling salts?
Anyway, I’ve taken to listening to Christmas music at work lately, as is my yearly tradition from Thanksgiving to the holiday break. This means my work day is filled with a whole lot of Kenny Rogers and Clay Aiken and Celine Dion (Oh my God, you can belt, WE GET IT), and it also means that I have to once again be exposed to the most awful Christmas song to end all awful Christmas songs:
I’ve been quite plain about my distaste for certain horrific Christmas songs, but I thought maybe this year my tolerance for the sappy, heavy-handed schmaltz of the motherfucking Christmas Shoes would be greater, thanks to the sheer amount of hormones coursing through my system.
And then I heard the song.
So that’s a “no” on the Christmas Shoes, then?
I’ve taken this learning experience as an opportunity to write a heartfelt letter to little unborn Spats, informing her that if she ever leaves my deathbed to go to the FUCKING MALL to buy me RED PUMPS with some STRANGER’S MONEY, I will summon my last bit of strength to slap her square across the face before I go meet Jesus that night.
Disclaimer: Jesus not responsible for the contents of this blog post.
Now that that’s settled, I have to share with you the plethora of bizarre search engine terms that have brought people to my site lately. I know I just did this not too long ago, but the Internet’s craziness seems to have expanded tenfold over the past few weeks (I blame the economy), and I’m seeing some of the most interesting shit that’s ever come across my blog stats:
- waching sexey movieis/videos sexx van turkie/movis turke sex: I am only sure of two things here: 1) that is the most creative spelling I’ve ever seen, and 2) Sexx Van Turkie is my new stage name.
- basket p*rn: I spent an embarrassing amount of time imagining what THIS must entail, and all I came up with was the conclusion that it would involve a hell of a lot of splinters.
- don’t be a turkey read a book!!!!!!!!!: Not entirely sure if all those exclamation points were necessary to do a Google search, but hey. At least this is a message I can fully endorse.
- fatass freak: At your service.
- health systems boil are mole in crack of: I think my stats cut this search term short, which…doesn’t really matter, because I’m 99.99% sure what the next word was.
- poop in pants: Please God, don’t let this be a fetish.
- chicken pots: Yep, still getting these.
- mannah montana miley cyrus has a sex: Sudden thought, gang: wouldn’t “Mannah Montana” be a pretty awesome drag queen name?
- i talk to hannah mannah: A twist on your old “I see dead people,” phrase, albeit a much scarier one.
- oops i’m naked: I don’t really think Google should be your first resource in that case, but whatever.
- jesus wept: Tell me about it.
“Seriously, if you associate my name with this filthy blog one more time, someone’s gonna get smote.”
Entry filed under: Gobble-gobble.