Interactive Internet: Make My Anti-war Signage

Kam's grandma is this big Houston socialite who is very well known in the area. She is also a compulsive gambler and contributes about a gazillion dollars to the Las Vegas economy each month. She can pretty much stay at any Vegas hotel for free due to her status as High Roller, which according to her stories can be traced back to the early 1950's when she regarded the likes of Bugsy Siegel and Frank Sinatra to be among her close-knit group of personal acquaintances. Grandma's famous quote: "Nobody knew how to treat a customer like the mob. Las Vegas has gone to shit since they ran the mob outta town!"

All outward appearances would indicate that Kam's grandma is a total southern belle. She's got her nails perfectly manicured and polished, her hair primped just-so into a poufy little bob, her accessories paired perfectly with her outfits. She drives a Cadillac and prides herself on running with the wealthiest of Houston crowds and was often featured in the local newspapers for being the bitchenest hostess in town, back in the day. But turn your back for two seconds on dear granny, and she suddenly turns into a vicious, blood-sucking gossip. She will effortlessly berate you, your appearance, your job, your car, your intelligence, your dog and your entire family, and she'll not stop until she's traced your lineage back to the founding fathers and THEN she'll talk shit about Thomas Jefferson, too. As you can imagine, spending any amount of time around her is rather intimidating, seeing as how I know she will be picking up her cell phone within minutes of my departure to inform everyone this side of the Mason-Dixon line just how saggy my ass is.

Most of the family shrugs it off, that's just life with grandma. Especially her sons, who allow her to rule every aspect of their lives. There is no doubt in anyone's mind that Mama runs the show. She STILL tells her grown ass children where to go and what to do. She runs the family business from her bedroom. If she says the office door needs to be painted red, then by golly that door WILL be red by the next morning (and in fact, their front door IS red). Without sticking my nose where it ought not be, let me just say that granny is not, nor was she ever, too fond of Kam's mom. Because Kam's dad went ahead and married her DESPITE HIS MOTHER'S STAUNCH PROTESTS (gasp!), she has always held a grudge. She makes no secrets about her feelings towards Kam's mom. In fact, she blurts them out openly in front of anyone and everyone, in hopes that eventually the gossip will get back to Kam's mom. I'm pretty sure the feelings are mutual. She has even involved me in her crazy gossip games. She'll tell me things about Kam's mom (some of which were so completely outlandish and petty and I have to stifle laughter) knowing full well that I am going to run to Kam, slack-jawed and mortified, to tell him OH MY GOD, GUESS WHAT YOUR GRANDMA JUST TOLD ME...

So basically, when granny jumps, everyone asks how high. That's how it's always been and that's how she likes it. The exceptions to the rules are her grandchildren. I kid you not, she has some of the most fucked up grandchildren on the face of the planet (the kids on Brat Camp are angels in comparison), and I'm not just speaking of Kam and his siblings. But to grandma, those kids are fucking golden. They are the apple of her eye, which is truly how a grandparent-grandchild relationship ought to be. It just frightens me a little, because I am dreading the day when I will be batting for the same team as Kam's mom, because that team has no fans. In the battle between wife and mother, a good man always chooses his mother. This family takes that social standard to the EXTREME.

This week, grandma has been phoning the office, harassing her children, grandchildren and all of the ex-cons and strippers who also happen to be employed there about attending the anti-war protest this Saturday. If nothing else, this woman is vocal and dammit, she WILL be heard. I guarantee that you will never meet a bigger Bush hater in all your life. I encourage all airport security personnel to check her shoes thoroughly before allowing her to board an aircraft. Consider yourselves warned.

So it would appear that she might have conned her favorite grandson into driving Miss Daisy to the anti-war protest downtown. She even has a sign. Any among you who could say no to a politically impassioned 80-year-old WITH A SIGN need to hurry up and call ahead to make your reservations in Hell. Spaces fill quickly, act now.

I asked Kam what his grandma's sign says, exactly, but he is not sure. I think he was afraid to ask. I said that I want to make a sign that just has one long string of expletives, something like FUCKBITCHASSCOCKSHITCUNTLICKER. That way when I get on the news they will have to blur out my entire sign, and the people watching will say, "Wow, she is really fervent about her disdain for the war! I wonder what her sign says?" This idea was quickly thwarted by Kam, who informed me that more likely than not, a sign like that won't even make it on the air, so what's the point in even making it? Kam's brilliant idea is to have a sign that says HOW DID OUR OIL GET UNDER THEIR SAND? I tend to think this is not the best idea for a sign, because after all, we ARE in Texas and the sarcasm will no doubt be lost on many a redneck.

How about you guys? What do you think our signs should say? And make it good; I'm busting out the glitter for this baby.

PS- This post might come off as being more negative than intended. Bottom line is, how fucking cool is it that Kam has a grandma he can go to an anti-war protest with? I'd consider myself lucky if my grandma even knew there was a war going on. She still thinks OJ is a newscaster and Dennis Rodman is an NBA superstar (and to this day proudly displays his autobiography in her guest room). Kam's grams is actually a pretty hip lady, all things considered. Actually, I often end up having a good time while hanging out with her, as long as I don't let myself think about the shit talking that's going to commence once I'm out of ear shot. Bring it, grandma. May our mutual hatred of the Bush strengthen our womanly bond.


"Everything Will Be Alright"

As I sit here and listen to The Killers' song of the above title, I find myself pondering if those words are even true. Sometimes I think this country is doomed, in more ways than one.

These are some photos I captured the morning after the storm. They are all from inside my neighborhood.

Directly under where it says, "Rory Bledsoe sucks at life" they had spraypainted, "Gretta, I'm going to be a doctor!" That's reassuring.

These two trees fell across the entrance to my apartment complex.

Sleep-deprived doctor poses with tree

I had my choice of front row parking spaces. Normally this area is packed, with cars even parking along the curbs.

My neighbors put these sandbags out on Friday right before the storm. The sand is still there today. I'm beginning to think they're trapped inside and can't get out because they put 1,000 lbs of sand in front of their door. Brilliant.

My apartment is directly to the left of this photo


Good News/Bad News

I've been reduced to sniffing Expo dry erase board markers for energy.
I worked 17 straight hours Friday night.
I was sent home in the morning because they had no bed for me.
I had no electricity upon arriving at said home.
I slept in the buff with the windows open, which no doubt proved quite unfortunate for the corneas of those who dared glance in the general direction of my apartment. Not unlike Medusa's reptilian mane, a mere glimpse at my cellulite-filled ass is enough to leave even the bravest of men frozen in terror with an expression of repugnance etched onto their stone cold faces.

I've been reduced to sniffing Expo dry erase board markers for energy.
My electricity is finally back up.
I got lots of cool pictures.
I actually saw a man outside, holding down his combover against hurricane-force winds. Unfortunately, I was unable to get a picture of the combover tragedy. (File under BAD NEWS).

Blessings to all those who found themselves in Rita's path. What a hussy!


Thar She Blows!

We're waiting for the worst of it, she's almost here. Our winds in Houston are around 50mph but they are expecting up to 80mph soon. We still have power at the hospital but who knows how long that will last.

This place is a freaking disaster. My unit which typically has 15-18 patients has 33. Every bed is full. There is no place for the staff to sleep (contrary to what we were promised). There was no parking anywhere. By the time I arrived to work around 5pm, the wind was whipping around and it was already raining. I had to walk close to a mile with my suitcase and big bag just to get to the hospital. The wind was picking up all the sand from the zoo/park and it was like walking through a sandstorm in the desert. I am the only regular night staff person that showed up. Everyone else didn't call, didn't show. Kinda like the president did; he was supposed to come to Texas this morning to discuss the state's disaster plans. He, also, was a no call no show. I ask you, America, what was the last job YOU had that you could no show for and still expect to be employed the next day? I can pretty much say that most if not all of the staff members (who are REGISTERED NURSES and have LEGAL AND ETHICAL OBLIGATIONS to their patients) who no showed will likely not be employed come Monday. I wish I could say the same for the president.

When I left my apartment for work, my car was one of three in the parking lot. There were people outside, observing the abandoned buildings, and they pointed and gawked at my car as I drove by with an expression that said, "where the hell does THAT idiot think she's going?" on their faces. There were only a few other cars out on the streets.

Right now on the radio they are describing some major fires blazing in Galveston. Some people were injured pretty severely. Yesterday during the mass exodus, a bus full of elderly folks from an assisted living center caught fire, and 20-some odd residents were killed. Only a couple escaped, with major burns. They say an oxygen tank was positioned too close to the fuel tank and caused an explosion. I would like to think that whatever staff members were aboard should have known better. What a tragedy.

There were several other deaths on the road, as well. Because folks were running out of gas before they even got outside of Houston, many chose to sit in stand-still traffic without their A/C on. As you can imagine, this was quite dangerous for some elderly folks as well as some youngsters. I stopped watching the news yesterday, so I don't know many details on how many fatalities there were. I do know that when the local PD's received 911 calls, they were unable to make it to those in need because of the wall to wall traffic. No one would let the G-D ambulances through. People can be such complete assholes.

Most of the extra patients we have here on my unit are elderly people who were abandoned. They don't need to be hospitalized. They're not sick. They were just burdensome to their families who likely evacuated after dumping their "loved ones" on our front porch. I suppose it's better that they brought them here rather than leaving them home alone. There are also people who think that hospitals are shelters. I even think that one local news station BROADCASTED that this hospital was operating as a shelter (WHOEVER YOU WERE- FUCK YOU!). Many people just showed up here with some cockamaimie story about how their oxygen tank was low, or they were feeling weak, or whatEVER- normally things we would remedy quickly in the ER and send them on their way. But today, they couldn't do that. All of those "patients" had to be admitted, along with their entire extended family that they brought with them. Essentially, this IS a shelter. One such patient's wife complained to me that their bed was squeaky and how were they supposed to sleep tonight with a squeaky bed and what was I going to do to fix their squeaky bed??? Uh, sorry. Be grateful you HAVE a bed, because when I get off in the morning I will be welcomed by the floor, like the rest of the nurses here. I don't mean to be bitter, not at all. It just seems that with nearly a WEEK'S warning, people would have made other arrangements to be safe during this time rather than relying on the tax payers' dollars to put them up in a (squeaky) hospital bed that costs thousands of dollars per night. There were busses and planes that took people with lesser means out of this city. Why people wait until the last second to try to find safety is beyond me.

Otherwise, there are lots of down power lines I'm hearing about, not much flooding so far (thank god) and just a lot of heavy winds. I hope the folks in Cameron are safe- looks like they're gonna get it bad.

Keep praying people! Thanks for your concern. Let's all do what we can to help those who are going to be really affected by this storm.

Here We Go...

In the final hours before Rita is projected to hit, this city is completely abandoned. The roads are completely empty, even the freeways which, less than 24 hours ago, were lined with 2.5 million cars trying to evacuate. They told folks that if you weren't out by 9am today, then you'd better stay put.

I stopped watching the news and listening to the radio. The media is way too dramatic even for me, a self-professed drama queen. I instead calmed myself by watching a few episodes of Reno 911. Lt. Dangle has a tendency to make me feel as if all that is wrong in the world can be righted with the power of his daisy dukes. So hot.

I'm all packed up to go to work and expect to be there for a few days. Although the storm has shifted significantly since Monday and Tuesday, when they first started urging people to evacuate, there's still gonna be a lot of chaos around here. The worst they are anticipating is a 6-12 foot storm surge in Galveston (compared to 20+ feet they were forecasting just Wednesday), and 75-100mph winds throughout the city. Unless the storm stalls out on top of us, there won't be much rain. We are now officially on the "clean" side of the storm. Unfortunately, that means that Louisianna is on the "dirty" side. The thought of those people experiencing yet another giant storm causes me more anxiety than if it were headed right here. Especially since until just yesterday, they weren't really forecasting the storm to be headed in that direction. I hope and pray that everyone in Rita's path has gotten the hell out of Dodge. At any rate, I suspect I'll be stuck at the hospital for quite awhile, not because of the storm so much as the fact that there will be no employees showing up to work. Everyone has left, and considering the fact that it took people 12+ hours to get from just inside the coast to just inside the city of Houston (even with the contraflow lanes open!), it is going to be no easy task getting them all back home. The process will likely take days, and until then, those of us who stayed behind have to keep things going.

I do feel a huge sense of relief, though, that Galveston is not going to be hit as hard as expected if only because my idiot dad is still at home, the only person in the entire area who did not evacuate. He is in evacuation Zone B- as in, there is ONE ZONE who is asked to evacuate BEFORE HIM, that zone being the people who have sand for front yards. My dad is like a giant kid in that he thinks rules just don't apply to him. He thinks bad things just won't happen to him. This is also why he has never seen a doctor, not once in his entire life. Don't get me started.

When my mom talked to my dad yesterday and asked him just what the hell he thinks he's going to do once that storm hits and rips apart his roof and blows out his windows, his reply was that he is going to ride his bike down to the jewelry store down the street and start looting. That's my dad. (PS dad, I like diamonds.)

Anyway, all in all I'm sick of all of the drama already and wish that we could just go ahead and get it all over with. In fact, I'm almost looking forward to the electricity going out so that these TV news morons can shut the hell up already. WE'RE TIRED OF HEARING YOUR WORST-CASE SCENARIOS. Take a break, go change your tie, SOMETHING. I'm tired of seeing your face. Holy hell, they even EAT on the air.

Bottom line, I hope everyone is safe. That seems to be the case as most establishments- including my apartment's leasing office- have been boarded up and abandoned (gee thanks, no we tenants don't need boards, but I appreciate the offer.) My car is one of TWO in the entire complex. There is just no one left behind, which is a good thing. I hope that everyone is safe and more than anything, I hope that Rita keeps losing strength. She has slowed down significantly since she started her approach from Florida. They at first anticipated her landfall for tonight, now they're saying it will be tomorrow morning.

In other news, I miss Oscar. I've never had to sleep at home without him. It's very eerie. I keep thinking I see him follow me into every room as he usually does, but as it turns out I'm just crazy. I even caught myself as I was about to call out to him last night at bedtime. I hope he's enjoying his little vacation with Nessa and her family. He is probably clawing them into submission as I speak.

So that's the word, folks. I'm getting ready to head in to work here pretty soon. Time for one last nap before the real fun begins. Good luck to everyone!


Get Up, Get On Out

Rita, I have two words for you: SUCK IT.

I just dropped Oscar off at Nessa's house- THANKS, GIRL- where he will hopefully be safe and sound. A drive that normally takes 25 minutes took me three hours. The most daunting part of it is, headed back into town I was the ONLY CAR for a 30 mile stretch of highway. I must have looked like a total fucking fool.

People are panicked. Hopeless. Frantic. No one expects to return to find their home intact. Rita is now the third most intense storm ever, in the history of storms since the beginning of storms period. There is no gas. There is no water. The CVS pharmacy near Nessa's house had "RITA GO HOME" displayed on their electronic billboard. They have now started calling mandatory evacuations all over the city, my area of residence included. I can't leave, though, because I've got to work. I was told to bring changes of clothes, toiletries, food, sleeping bag, and water when I come in. We will be there for quite awhile. They are telling us there will be no power for 2-4 weeks. They are telling us Galveston will be gone.

On my way to Nessa's with Oscar, I was tuned into AM news radio. There was a woman who called in, begging for help. She was in tears. She owns a kennel on the West End of Galveston (where there is no sea wall and where the storm is expected to cause the most damage). She has 30 cats and 20 dogs and has no where to take them. Emergency Management wouldn't help her. SPCA wouldn't help her. Animal rescue organizations wouldn't help her. She doesn't have carriers or transportation. In fact, I tried to buy a cat carrier for Oscar today and there is not one single one left in this entire city. The freeway headed into Galveston had already shut down to incoming traffic, so there was no way anyone could get there to help her. In tears, she explained that she had her husband go out and buy a can of orange spray paint to mark their roof with, so that after the storm passes the rescue crews would know there were animals trapped inside. I highly doubt she'll even have a roof after this storm hits. My heart, it's officially broken.

The mayor of Galveston announced around 6pm tonight that if there is anyone left in the county, they are on their own. There are no more busses. There will be no more convoys headed out. If you're still there, they are leaving you to fend for yourself against a Category 5 hurricane.

Maybe everyone IS overreacting and behaving very emotionally due to Katrina. But so fucking what? Why would anyone expect us to act any differently? This storm is already stronger than Katrina. Although we are above sea level, there are areas of Houston that are very, VERY prone to flooding, which is why a tropical storm a few years back caused such significant damage. It's not a joke, this could be bad.

Cell phone services are touch and go at best. I talked to my dad earlier, when the storm was upgraded to Category 5, and he still insisted on not leaving. At that time, the drive from his area to Houston was over 5 hours (normally a 30 minute trek). There are no hotels in Dallas, Austin, San Antonio, Oklahoma City, Baton Rouge, El Paso. There is no where for these people to go. They are estimating that it will take more than 24 hours for them to get to Dallas, but even then there is nowhere to stay, so they will be forced to keep going. Regardless, I think everyone is wise to be safe and evacuate.

So... that's the latest. I've got nothing else. I'm gonna go pack up everything dear to me in a suitcase and take it with me to work. We'll all just be hoping for the best. I feel better knowing that my precious kitty is safe (hopefully!) out at Nessa's house. Her son was freaking ECSTATIC to see a small, friendly animal that he could kiss (open mouthed- so cute!), poke and slap. Oscar will take it and ask for another, he just loves being around people. Although, I think Baby D's squeals of delight actually frightened him a little. Damn, that baby is THE definition of the word squeal.

More later, electricity permitting.


Rita Wants to Squab

Meet my dad just once, and he'll undoubtedly tell you exactly why, over fifteen years ago, he relocated his family to Texas. He cites one and only one reason for wanting to move to the Lone Star State, a place he had never before given two shits about: hurricanes.

My dad has an unhealthy obsession with hurricanes. All natural disasters, really. He's an equal opportunity storm lover. When we moved to Houston my dad was all, "Okay, we have arrived. Bring on the hurricanes!" But none came. He was livid. As he's aged, my dad's sanity has declined at an exponential rate. Each year as hurricane season approaches, my dad gets out the little storm tracking guide that is included in the local newspaper and attaches it to his fridge as his beacon of hope for the coming season. He vigilantly charts each and every storm that might, by some far-fetched warp of the imagination, reach the gulf coast. At the age of 45, my dad moved from the suburbs of Houston to Clear Lake, a developing city about 20 miles outside of Galveston. He said he was moving so that he could be closer to the storms when they came for him. He is completely fucking delusional. I think, given the opportunity, my dad would start a religion similar to Scientology; better known as Stormotology. He is anxiously anticipating The Big Storm, and when It arrives my dad will be outside waiting, ready to be delivered to the mother land, better known as Oz.

Any time there is a storm prediction, whether it be a tropical storm or a tornado or a simple thunderstorm, my dad rides his bike out to Galveston and waits for it. That is, of course, after he tracks it on his tracking guide and listens to about 16 straight hours of commentary on CNN. When Tropical Storm Allison hit a few years back, my dad was at work. He tried desperately to get out and see the storm, but being that he's the boss man and next to none of his employees showed up to work, he was stuck. As was his Corvette, which accumulated a good foot of water inside. But my dad didn't care, oh no! He was just happy that a storm of note- one with an official name- came through his city.

Don't get me wrong, my dad doesn't wish for the death and destruction associated with natural disasters. He is just fascinated with them beyond what could be considered normal for a reasonably well socialized male over the age of 8. When Katrina hit, my dad spent days locked inside his house, glued to CNN, sobbing his eyes out. In the past five years, the only thing capable of turning my dad's proud Republican heart against his beloved President was his utter incompetence during Katrina. My dad, who makes no secrets about his stone-encased, blackened and shriveled soul, actually cooked up tons of food at his restaurant and drove out to the Astrodome to feed to evacuees as they arrived on their convoy of busses. If that didn't buy my dad a ticket to Heaven, then there just ain't no way he's gonna get there. This is the man who, when told as a young 3rd grader about JFK's tragic assassination, shrugged his shoulders and proclaimed, "Sweet, we get the day off from school. Let's go steal some cars!"

With Rita fast approaching and Katrina fresh on everyone's minds, this city is a fucking loony bin. Better safe than sorry, I certainly agree, but I have never seen so much chaos in all my life. My dad said that he got into an actual PHYSICAL CONFRONTATION when attempting to purchase two cases of water. He got in a fight with a man who already had TEN PLUS cases of water in his cart, but wanted the final two to add to his collection. My dad shanked the guy and got the fucking water, but I don't know how much good it's gonna do him. When I called to find out his evacuation plan, he curtly informed me that he would be staying put. He has water, a flashlight, plenty of vodka, and is currently charging the batteries to his video camera. He is ready for that bitch Rita. I wouldn't be surprised if he has cemented the tripod to his patio, ready to catch the world-famous video footage of the worst storm to hit the Texas coast in nearly a century.

Deeper inside the city of Houston, where I live, there is also no more water. There are no carts available at the grocery stores. The checkout lines stretch far into the aisles. There was no more fucking canned tuna. NO. MORE. TUNA. This is gonna be a doozie. Meanwhile, I've taken a cue from my dad and am charging my laptop, cell phone, camera, and ipod. My mom, who lives waaaaaaay on the other side of town, far from the areas being evacuated and really no where near the storm's projected path, is already hunkered down in her bathtub, with three matresses piled on top. She is using her acutely honed meteorological psychic storm tracking skills to predict that a Category 5 hurricane is going to position itself directly over Tully Street, more specifically right on top of HER HOUSE, and rip everything to shreds. When I asked her if she could watch Oscar for me over the weekend just in case, she told me to bring a cat carrier because they would likely be fleeing on foot during the eye of the hurricane after it rips through her home with unparalleled ferocity, destroying everything which such malice that her entire neighborhood will be nothing more than floating atoms unidentifiable by the human eye. Oscar is SO not going over there.

So keep us all in your thoughts, folks. I'll be at work where I guess I'll be the safest, all things considered, but will also be working my ass off for an ungodly amount of time if this thing is actually as bad as they're predicting. And make sure you watch CNN and pay special attention to any aerial copter shots of the coast. The guy standing out on his patio with a Marlboro Red and a tumbler of vodka screaming, "FUCK YOU, RITAAAAAAA!" into the 150 mph wind would be my dad.


Are You Ready for Some SUCK?

Is that not the cutest freaking thing you've ever seen? Check out www.stuffonmycat.com for more fun and adventures.

In other news, I want to apologize for being an asshole blogger of late. Things have been unbefreakinglievably busy and I just haven't made much time for posting/reading/commenting. Not that you people care; it most likely means more time for you to get out of the house and use your sexually perverse wiles on more innocent young topless hopscotch victims.

Now that football season has made it's long awaited debut, my boyfriend has officially lost his fucking mind. For the next five months, he will eat, breathe, sleep and shit football. I don't stand a chance. The only way I can even hope to get his attention in the bedroom is by dressing up like a Texans cheerleader, and that's just a disaster waiting to happen because everyone knows that they only design cheerleading costumes to fit infants and anorexics.

I suppose my predicament is no one's fault but my own. After all, I do live in Texas; state motto: FUCK THE WNBA, GIVE US MORE FOOTBALL. I challenge you to walk into any bar in this city after a Houston Texans game and NOT find at least a dozen grown men sobbing uncontrollably. I ask you, my logical-minded peers, WHY DO THEY KEEP GOING BACK FOR MORE? The Texans fucking suck! They're not the Oilers! The Oilers are LONG GONE!

DO YOU HEAR ME, KAM?!? Your beloved Oilers... they're gone! They left you and this shit-hole of a city behind at the first prospect of more money and a better stadium, and I've got news for you- THE TEXANS WILL, TOO. Why don't you try investing your dedication into something that will stick around no matter what, through thick and thin? Like syntax, gravity, Republicans or Michael Jackson (damn, that guy just won't go away, will he)? On second thought, I'm not sure I'd prefer you spend five months of the year pining over Michael Jackson. So I'll hang my head in shame, resigned to the fact that... yes, America, I am the girlfriend of a Texans fan.

If you need me, I'll be looking at pictures of cats on the internet until, oh about next January.


Therapy For The Masses: Brought To You By Spoonleg, RN

I just want to take this opportunity to respond to some of my readers out there since, according to gostats.com, it appears that most if not all of you are seriously fucked up. What are you people thinking? Do you honestly believe that I won't find out what terms you googled to find my site? Because I KNOW. And now, so does your mom because I just emailed her about all the enema porn you've been downloading onto her PC. That's right, you're SO busted.

I seriously sit here in shock and awe, pondering what these people are really expecting to find when they search the internet for this shit. Whatever it is they're lusting after, I can only assume that my blog isn't it. Good God, I hope my blog isn't it. I used to be proud of my 56,000 hits; now I just cry myself to sleep at night knowing that 50,000 of them were from registered sex offenders and the other 6,000 hits were from me, checking to see how many registered sex offenders had left me comments. You people make me sick.

Examples and commentary are as follows:

Topless karaoke- Not a bad idea, actually, although I don't recall ever discussing this particular topic. I think there might be a niche for this sort of activity, kinda like last weekend when Kam mentioned to the token gay couple that there should be a Chip 'N Dales car wash offered at the end of the MINI rally. They spent the rest of the day winking at him and "accidentally" rubbing their palms all over his banana hammock.

Hopscotch topless- Now this, on the other hand, is a VERY bad idea. Ouch. Like seriously. And get real, dude... everyone knows that after the 2nd grade, hopscotch is no longer cool. I can say with much authority that in the 2nd grade, there was no part of my body that jiggled, wiggled, bounced or flapped enough to make this concept even remotely exciting.

Boobs of a nurse while examining her patient- That's just creepy and only happens in B-list pornos. Okay, there was that one time I was wearing a button-down scrub top and the sleeve got caught on the door handle and every single snap popped open just as I was asking my patient, "Are you ready for your sponge bath?" But that was only ONE TIME.

Yeti urine yoga nurse- I know exactly which post this query linked to, and I can only hope that whomever was searching this VERY SPECIFIC TOPIC was merely trying to locate my blog. Because let's face it, there can't be a lot of websites out there dedicated to ALL FOUR AT ONCE. Urinating yetis? Sure. Nurses who practice yoga? Definitely. Nurses who collect yeti urine? It's possible. But nurses who urinate on yetis doing yoga? Well let's just say you'll only find that discussion RIGHT HERE, at Casa de Spoon.

The ponytail hump hairstyle for prom- For some reason, I am the #1 search result for this. WHAT THE FUCK ARE THE KIDS DOING THESE DAYS AT PROM, I WANT TO KNOW. This is quite disturbing. Do you people have any idea how much it costs to get a stylish updo for prom? WAY TOO MUCH TO LET SOME HORNY REPROBATE HUMP THE SHIT OUT OF IT, THAT'S HOW MUCH.

Venereal monkey spelunking- Amanda B., if this was you, just fess up now and save yourself some embarrassment.

Can valtrex make you feel drunk or depressed- No, that was just the elephant tranquilizer I slipped in your drink last night. Wait, you have herpes?!

Fuck me if you love jesus- Good thing I don't.

Spanking Hermoine- Kam, how many times have I told you to leave that poor girl alone? Just because restraining orders don't apply to the internet doesn't give you the right to continually harrass innocent tween movie stars. God, I thought it was over after Lindsay Lohan hit puberty.

Anal anorexia- WHAT.THE.FUCK. How is that even POSSIBLE? "Man, my anus is starving! It's only had one stick of sugar-free gum in the past three days! Be honest, does my anus look fat?"

Sensual enema- For a small fee, I can make this happen. I'll even clean up afterwards, for an extra charge.

Foley catheter torture- See above.

Shit-slave- Do not see above, do not pass go, do not collect $200.00. Unless you buy me like, LOTS of drinks.

Penis restraints- Where I'm from, we call those wives.

Daddy molest my panties- Is this a request? A demand? An accusation? Daddies who have nothing better to molest than a pair of panties really need to work on their social skills. If I ever caught my dad groping around in my thong drawer, I'm pretty sure I have to promptly regurgitate my last 3 meals into his briefcase.

Mommy come wipe me I feel so durty- Wow, get help. STAT.

Pimpstress Mocha- Uh oh, someone from the club tracked me down by my stage name.

She amputee on her legless butt- I think I just blacked out for a few minutes. Holy fucking grossness, Batman. HEY, DUDE, YOU FORGOT TO MENTION THE COLOSTOMY BAG. Because the only thing sexier than two stumps and an ass is two stumps, an ass and a colostomy bag. Oooh, we could call her, "Stumpstress Mocha".

Ben Affleck's SAT score- Might I suggest... GETTING A LIFE. (addendum: this was one of only two of these phrases that I actually took the time to google myself. Upon deeper reflection, I realized that I really DO wanna know Ben Affleck's SAT scores. Only because I'm ultra-competitive like that, and really want bragging rights to say that I creamed Ben Affleck on the SAT's. NOW who needs a life??)

I got a 970 on my SAT- Wow. If this is the same person who did the previous search, I have to admit that I think even Ben has your ass beat. In the club of "People Who Did Better Than You On The SAT's", everyone IN THE GOD DAMN UNIVERSE is a member.

If you don't know me by now you will never ever ever know me song lyrics- This is my personal favorite. In the name of posterity I will answer this query now, to make sure than any future readers seeking this information will find their every desire satiated.

If you don’t know me by now
You will never never never know me (ooh)

All the things that we’ve been through
You should understand me like I understand you
Now girl I know the difference between right and wrong
I ain’t gonna do nothing to break up our happy home
Oh don’t get so excited when I come home a little late at night
'Cause we only act like children when we argue fuss and fight

If you don’t know me by now (if you don’t know me)
You will never never never know me (no you won’t)
If you don’t know me by now
You will never never never know me (ooh)

We’ve all got our own funny moods
I’ve got mine, woman you’ve got yours too
Just trust in me like I trust in you
As long as we’ve been together it should be so easy to do
Just get yourself together or we might as well say goodbye
What good is a love affair when you can’t see eye to eye, oh

If you don’t know me by now (if you don’t know me)
You will never never never know me (no you won’t)
If you don’t know me by now (you will never never never know me)
You will never never never know me (ooh)

If you will excuse me, it is now time for me to schedule a lobotomy to rid myself of all of these disturbing mental images. You people disgust me.

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