Screw Up Tuesday.

Tuesday, the day to giggle until your sphincter bursts at the misfortune of others and yourself.

Tuesday is the day when we get the fuck over ourselves and admit what fuck ups screw ups we all are.

Screw ups happen to us all. The screw up takes no notice of race, religion, gender or socio-economic status.

The screw up fairy loves to piss in your ear, no matter who you are.

The beautiful Bettina loves to share her screw ups and loves to hear about yours.

Let’s make this a caring and sharing day.

Let us all piss ourselves laughing at each other.

Do not forget to head over to Bettina’s to comment on the screw ups.

Giggling is good for the soul.

My screw up of the week does not belong to me.

It belongs to Alpha German Killing Machine.

I was talking to the Bunny and there was this grumbling from the side of my bed.

Grr… grr… snarl.

I look over the side of the bed and see an impending disaster.

Alpha German Killing Machine is gnawing at a rather delicate area of his doghood.

And he’s bristled.

OH MY GOD… He bit his…

I should have taken a picture

This is the type of thing I’m talking about.

You get the picture? *shudders*

Jaws that can bite through just about anything.

And he bit his…

Damn, I’m not a guy, but I crossed my legs.

The Bunny heard the pitiful scream of the hound and says “OH FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!! That’s gonna hurt like a muvva”

Poor damn dog goes airborne.

The other German Killing Machine is making Mutley sounds. (sadistic bastard)

Later in the evening my sister walks into the room to find me checking out my dog’s ‘nads.

With a deadpan expression on her face, she says

“You so need a fuck”

I was speechless.

By the way, the dog is still a dog.

A dog that has learned a valuable life lesson… I hope.

So yeah… that’s my dog’s screw up of the week.

But my sister still thinks I love my dog too much.

Bitch.

Now hop over to Bettina’s to check out how everyone else screwed up.

Sex Education.

This is not how we teach the kiddies where babies come from.

Either is this.

A joke sent to me by one of my decrepit friends.

And this will teach mummy to answer the kiddies question.

Once she drags her jaw off the ground.

SEX ED.

Little Johnny was 7 years old and like other boys his age rather curious.

He had been hearing quite a bit about ‘courting’ from the older boys, and he wondered what it was and how it was done. One day he took his question to his mother, who became rather flustered.

Instead of explaining things to Johnny, she told him to hide behind the curtains one night and watch his older sister and her boyfriend.

This he did. The following morning, Johnny described EVERYTHING to his mother.

Sis and her boyfriend sat and talked for a while, then he started kissing and hugging her. I figured ‘Sis must be getting sick because her face started looking funny. He must have thought so too, because he put his hand inside her blouse to feel her heart, just the way the doctor would.

Except he’s not as smart as the doctor because he seemed to have trouble finding her heart. I guess he was getting sick too, because pretty soon both of them started panting and getting all out of breath. His other hand must have been cold because he put it under her skirt.

About this time ‘Sis got worse and began to moan and sigh and squirm around and slide down toward the end of the couch. This was when her fever started. I knew it was a fever, because Sis told him she felt really hot.

Finally, I found out what was making them so sick — a big eel had gotten inside his pants somehow. It just jumped out of his pants and stood there, about 10 inches long, honest, anyway he grabbed it in one hand to keep it from getting away.

When Sis saw it, she got really scared — her eyes got big, and her mouth fell open, and she started calling out to God and stuff like that. She said it was the biggest one she’s ever seen; I should tell her about the ones down at the lake by our house!

Anyway, Sis got brave and tried to kill the eel by biting its head off. All of a sudden she grabbed it with both hands and held it tight while he took a muzzle out of his pocket and slipped it over the eel’s head to keep it from biting again.

Sis lay back and spread her legs so she could get a scissor-lock on it and he helped by lying on top of the eel. The eel put up a hell of a fight. Sis started groaning and squealing and her boyfriend almost upset the couch. I guess they wanted to kill the eel by squashing it between them.

Her boyfriend got up, and sure enough, they killed the eel. I knew because it just hung there, limp, and some of its insides were hanging out.

Sis and her boyfriend were a little tired from the battle, but they went back to courting anyway. He started hugging and kissing her again. By golly, the eel wasn’t dead! It jumped straight up and started to fight again.

I guess eels are like cats — they have nine lives or something. This time, Sis jumped up and tried to kill it by sitting on it. After about a 35 minute struggle, they finally killed the eel. I knew it was dead, because I saw Sis’s boyfriend peel its skin off and flush it down the toilet.

I wonder if Sis is grounded for life and the boyfriend is now known as ‘no nads’

Now I’m fucking angry.

I was reading about this piece of filth over at Anonymum’s blog.

Anonymum, writes a righteously angry piece about this sickening garbage.

I won’t continue on from it. Anonymum sums it all up.

What I will rant about now is the stupidity of mothers.

Most mums I come in contact with are fiercely protective of their offspring.

And rightly so.

Blogging mummies (or mommies for my Northern Hemisphere lovelies) if they do show pics of their kids in the buff, it will be the cheeky butt shot.

They’re as cute as all get out and a source of embarrassment to the kid when he or she is a surly 18 year old at his or her party.

Hehehe… revenge time.

For 18 years that little snot has given you misery (as well as a whole heap of loving moments)

It is mum’s time to pull out the chubby bum and potty shots.

TOUCHDOWN FOR MUM!!!!

Then there are these types of mummy.

Mummy is proud of her little girl who declares that she is pretty, she doesn’t need brains.

She is 11.

Her mother is proud of this?

I’ve already ranted about Miley Cyrus.

I went into a full on bitch fest about Bill Henson’s ‘art’ and the naked picture of a 13 year old.

The kid in Anonymum’s post is 6.

What the fuck is that all about?

In Google searches on my blog I nearly chuck my cookies at what people are searching for.

Baby porn?

What the fuck?

This is not acceptable.

This is not right.

And when mothers photograph their children like this or give consent to this type of pornography, they should have their vagina surgically closed, in case they breed another budding porn baby.

This is the most sinister form of child abuse.

I’m fucking angry.

Always good for a giggle.

A movie that never fails to make me smirk.

Kevin Smith movies are always good for a giggle.

When one hits a mind crushing low, ’tis good to raise the middle finger at religion.

And this movie does that.

Drops a bucket of shit all over organised religion.

When I first saw this film, it was not long after I had my major life changing moment.

Sitting in Mass, questioning it all, and the ‘light bulb’ moment happened.

“What the fuck am I doing here?” I said audibly.

I stand, walk out, and that was that.

No going back.

I mulled over that decision.

I then saw DOGMA.

The question was answered.

And I still believe that I cannot…

Oh heck, you know the rest.

Reflections

I’m sitting here watching Letterman.

I dig this dude.

Showing Dubya for the fucktard he is.

Great moments in Presidential speeches.

Dubya is a fucking scrote.

Letterman can interview Britney,  and Dubya will still sound stupid.

Letterman does it for me.

The man is fucking weird.

I love weird.

I can’t laugh tonight.

I’m stoned enough to raise Hendrix, Marley and Joplin.

I can’t laugh.

Will I ever laugh again?

I can tee hee laugh.

I can guffaw.

I can LOL.

I can’t smile.

When will I smile agian?

I smile for those who need me to smile.

I laugh on cue to keep the status quo.

I jump through the necessary hoops.

I do what is needed.

I am there.

Am I?

Potty mouth on overload.

Naomi has made a very interesting observation.

A person like moi, with a renowned potty mouth, has an aversion to using the ‘c’ word.

I have used it.

Not often, but it has been muttered from these frosty purple lips.

Why do we find this word the ultimate ‘no-no’?

I have another ultimate ‘no-no’ word.

The ‘n’ word that is used to describe people with darker skin.

I would cut my own tongue out before using that one.

But why is the ‘c’ word so offensive?

I have no problem saying ‘cocksucker’

I have absolutely no problem calling a person a ‘cocksucker’

I have no problem with saying ‘prick’ or ‘dick’

Why does the ‘c’ word cause the hairs on the back of our neck bristle?

I explained over at Naomi’s that I think for me it is the delivery of the word.

It’s a harsh word.

Also, in my native language, it is a ripper insult that can get you filleted.

Tell me, what do you think?

And don’t forget to acknowledge the source of this pondering, Naomi.

Hot Hunk Thursday

Yes, wenches. It’s time for a perve at some Hot Hunks.

The Widdle Shamrock is giggling with delight over Hunky Playgroup Daddy.

But she needs more feeding.

The piggies on the hill are getting their groove on.

Let’s save poor Mr. Shamrock from having his banana peeled.

Let’s give the kneecappin’ lass something to get happy happy over.

Heh, Mr. Shamrock might need that banana for another day.

Actually, my first offering is for Bettina.

Axl and his um… um… exuberance.

That’s one helluva exuberant pair of pants.

And this… this… oh my freakin’ stars.

Um… I think I just passed out.

Ok, feeeeeeeeeeeeeelthy peoples.

Send your hot hunky offerings to the Wet, ooops Widdleshamrock.

The law is an ass.

What would you do if there was a known paedophile living in your street?

Wouldn’t you expect the authorities would do something about it?

That would be a reasonable thought.

Apparently if you live in Queensland, this is not the case.

Dennis Ferguson, a scum sucking fucktard, was released from custody after a Brisbane District Court judge granted a permanent stay on proceedings.

Apparently, and hold onto your hats for this, kids… poor old Dennis won’t get a fair trial because of the ill-feeling that follows notorious paedophiles.

And what did “Dirty Den” do?

He allegedly (let’s always remember to use the word ‘allegedly’) sexually assaulted a five-year-old girl in her home.

Gebus Wheezus, will this set a precedent?

Do the kiddy fiddlers now have another way of manipulating the legal system?

And let’s just examine “Dirty Den’s” honour roll of indecency.

• In 1987 he kidnapped three children from their home and raped them, repeatedly. He was charged and convicted with kidnapping, sodomy, gross indecency, indecent dealing and carnal knowledge. He was imprisoned for 14 years and was found to be a low chance of rehabilitation.
• Since his release, Ferguson has been charged with molesting two girls under the age of 5 and living close to schools. His bail conditions forbid this.
• In 2005, Ferguson was found in the company of a seventeen-year-old State Ward.

And Ferguson has now ‘allegedly’ offended again.

What happens now?

Children are being let down all over the place.

I have an idea of what to do with Dennis Ferguson.

It’s not entirely legal.

But the children are far more important than this filthy animal.

You can’t keep a bad bitch down.

After a few days of crying in my beer.

Good farkin’ grief, beer, ick.

You get what I mean.

After a few days of weepy whatever.

It’s back into the saddle, onward and upward, and all those other cliches I hate like a hole in the head.

Time to snigger at life, the universe and everything.

Trisha, one of the mad ass crazy people wonderful visitors to this blog sent me a link to this.

I went back and had another look this morning and found myself giggling.

It’s been rather hard to see the funny side of life lately.

People seem to be kicked in the ass for no good reason.

So many people on the blogosphere have been getting an unwanted visit from that old fucktard “Murphy”

And it sucks big fat hairy donkey’s balls.

So thanks to Trisha (and some unbelievable support from the coven and others) I find that sneaky little smile appearing again.

Time to be my oh so abrasive self again.

To those who have a regular habit of grinding my last nerve to a frazzle.

This one’s for you.

As I’m a fan of sexy bald men… Love ya, Evyl… this made me smile one helluva lot.

And whilst thinking about the ever so wicked Evyl, I stumbled across something that would definitely put a smile on his face. Who says I don’t share the love?

Now there’s a gal that could hold your beer for you. Talented, is she not?

And certain individuals think that I have a disgusting mouth and swear (or cuss, for you Northern Hemisphere lovelies) too much. Heh, like I give a shit.

While I find nothing funny about Tourette Syndrome, I love the buggers who have the misfortune of being afflicted with it.

I was in the establishment that sells cardiac arrest and diabetic comas — Maccas. This guy comes in having a snarl to himself. Everyone does the polite ‘don’t make eye contact with him’ thing. He goes up to the counter and says to the serving wench,

“Bacon and c*** faced egg and c*** sucking muffin”

The store wench is bug-eyed and I try my best not to spit coffee all over “K”

I saw this and thought of the poor bastard who probably gets his head smacked in for things we take for granted… ordering breakfast.

He needs a t-shirt that says this.

Yeah, last week was a bitch.

Now the bitch is back.

I love youse all.

Apart from you… you know who you are.

So mote it be.

A prayer for a little soul that has passed.

It is the way of life that all living beings,

whether early or late,

come unto Death,

that in time,

they may come round again to circle in life.

And so unto Death you have gone,

my little one,

blood of my blood,

flesh of my flesh,

Child of My Heart;

like the frosted bud, never to bloom,

not in the fullness of time

to bear seeds, wither and die.

Yet like the brightest new bud

always a thing of joy and beauty

even for all its unfulfilled promise,

so you were for me a wondrous and magical experience

however short.

Thank you for being my precious gift.

Oh Triple Goddess,

She who opens and shuts all doors,

Lady of all joys and sorrows,

I ask for you:

That the crone flies you to the Summerland,

wrapped in the softest black feathers;

That the Mother always comforts you in Her loving embrace;

That the Maiden always smiles brightly on you.

Know that there will always be an empty place under my heart

that cannot be filled,

where your memory shall dwell forever.

I bid you a pleasant journey,

and a peaceful sojourn.

Rest well,

be renewed

and return again.

Fare thee well, forever.

So Mote It Be.