Archive for August, 2009

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You must have hated this moose…

August 31, 2009

There are many valid reasons why I plan to not be around well into my 70’s.  What?  It’s not going to be a morbid post.  Promise.  When have a ever let any of you down?  That’s right.  When I say I “bring the funny” well, I bring the funny dammit.  Even in posting about death, webie gal has a way.  Keep on reading…you’ll see.  And then you’ll leave a comment telling me all about how you doubted me at first and then found out that I wasn’t lying and this post was funny.

Now that we’re all good again, I’ll outline my not-at-all-irrational reasons why I don’t want to be around come 2050.

Let’s start with the blaringly obvious so we can get it out of the way.  Going to the shitter in your pants is bad enough when you’re a baby (all you non-parents out there need to trust me, diaper rash is AWFUL) but to do it in advanced age and after eating “adult food” has to be the single worst experience of someone’s life.  And not just the someone who has to look around with the face of “man, what smells so bad?” while Quaker Oats laced poo slowly creeps up their cheeks.  I’m also thinking about the people around them.  AND – let’s not forget the poor bastard who gets the honor of “doing the paperwork” and helping to clean the mess up.  Hell no.  Uh-uh.  Not gonna be me.

Next, there’s the little matter Social Security.  Never mind that I’ve been paying into the f*ck-ass system since I walked to my first part-time job at the tender age of 15.  I won’t see one cocaine-laced dollar bill in return.  Why?  A-HA my friends!  That’s for another post.  I promised you funny, and, let’s be honest…there is nothing funny about our current-state-of-our-economic-union.  Add the fact that my 401(k) has gone down faster than a call girl on a first date and you’re looking at an old woman eating cat food off store brand butter flavored crackers.  Hey, at least I like tuna.

Then there is the small matter of getting ugly.  I don’t fool myself.  I’ve seen pictures of me now and 10 years ago and I’m not hard of seeing.  I’d always hoped I’d age like a Sophia Loren or Ann Margaret but, it ain’t happening.  My eyes are baggy, my ass is saggy and my breasts are too gross to even discuss without a PG-14 rating.  Please God — take me while I still have a little something left (that isn’t dragging on the floor behind me).

Even with all of that, I still think losing my mind is the single biggest reason I have no interest in making it onto one of Willard Scott’s Smucker’s labels.  I pride myself on being quick-witted, sharp-tongued and ready for anything.  In my innocent hunt through my grandma’s closet this past weekend for Q-Tips, I came face-to-face with my worst nightmare: the woman is pushing 80 and has officially LOST HER MIND.  No words can do this justice and there is no simple explanation for what I’m about to show you.  All I can tell you is “I’m sorry”.  I’m sorry that now NONE of you will continue on with the delusion that you will escape the dreaded “getting old and crazy” that is coming for us all.  Our only hope is that we die while we’re still sane enough to recognize that —

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A DEAD BIRD IN A CLOSET ORGANIZER IS NOT “NORMAL”.
bird-flu

*While I could find a reason to justify just about everything else the old lady had hanging in her oh-so-fancy-over-the-door-organizer (yes, that even included the shredder lubricant) I could not dig deep enough for this one.  I do have 2 possible explanations.  One is – bird flu.  The second one is – she’s coo-coo-pants.

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Let’s be honest…

August 30, 2009

I’m always telling people how I wish I took more pictures.  I really do love photography and find the art of capturing a moment, a feeling, an object, to be fascinating.  No matter if you are inclined to “artistic-ness” or not – you can usually spot a great composition when you see one.  Being a hard working, short on “me time”, full-time wife and mom…I don’t get the opportunity to go out into the world and snap away at will.  But, like the Gatorade ads of today say: No Excuses.

In the D.B.K (days before kids) I used to be very particular about my car – it had to be clean and it HAD to be clean.  I know, I know…those of you who know me in person and have seen my desk at work are saying to yourselves “Kelsey clean?  Shocking!” [in your best and snarkiest sarcastic tone, no doubt].  Call it what you will, I simply can’t function in dysfunction.  My hubs usually has the opposite approach when it comes to living life.  He just lives it.  Balls hanging out, toenail clippings on the floor, not-at-all-rinsed dishes in the sink, lives it.  And while I can admire that about him – I’d always prefer he tried to do things my way when borrowing my car.  Add his “style” a couple of kids under the age of 4 and lunchtime on the go and what do you get?

This:
reality

In my younger years I might have flown off the handle (again, you all are saying to yourselves “Kelsey freak out? Shocking!” [and your sarcastic tones are improving]) but as I age and become more mellow, I find myself taking something gross and inexcusable and making it into art.  I plan to call this one “Clippies With a Fry On Top” and make it the first in my upcoming series of “A Bug’s Eye View” world of photography.

*Javi, if you’re out there reading this (and of course you are), I know you’re proud.

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That’s telekinesis Kyle…

August 28, 2009

I get such a kick out of knowing I can inspire others to find, document and share funny things.  My oh-so-awesomely-aware work neighbor emailed me this tasty nugget first thing this morning from his “archived for your funny pleasure” collection:

bumpersticker

I thought it was fitting to share with you all tonight considering it’s been a year since Mrs. Lipstick was unleashed on a then unknowing population of the lower 48.  As much as I hate all the fan-fair that surround most anniversaries – I couldn’t pass this opportunity up.  There are so many things that make this funny find certified Webie World gold, I’m almost foaming at the mouth just thinking about where to start.

For one, the monikers of “Mac & Momma” are knock-it-outta-the-park classic.  While my neighbor giggled saying he couldn’t ever recall Mrs. Lipstick being referred to as “Momma”, I struggled more with trying to connect “Mac”.  Here I was all day thinking I was on it (doggoneit) when I so boldly exclaimed: “Mac must have to do with Maverick”.  Yep.  I thought I had it all figured out.  And why wouldn’t I believe that?  I am the chick who was smart enough to bring my laptop to jury duty, remember?  Ask the pretty blond – she does.  Leave it to my beloved hubs to come into the room, take one look at the picture, and tell me how “Mac” is short for “McCain”.  F*ck.  I really am an idiot – just realized 14 hours later.

Eh…so what.  My being dumber than a rack of staple guns doesn’t take away from the fact that using Microsoft Paint to cut out “Mac & Cheese’s” head and shoulders is freakin’ funny.  Being a graphic professional, I’ve gotta give it to the artist who crafted such clean lines and straight angles.  No easy feat…especially when you’re hungover from a caribou hunting trip.

Of course we must call out the clever rhyme.  I don’t know about you but all it takes for me is a well crafted slogan to shift my vote in another direction.  Who knows what might have happened if this little arts-and-crafts-hour gem would have been mass produced.  We could be sitting here tonight watching YouTube videos of “Mac and the defibrillator” and “the wild adventures of moose hunting Momma” as opposed to boring health care debates on C-Span.

Lastly, there is the placement of this homemade wonder on the back of the car.  It’s not on the lowly, plastic bumper – oh NO!  It’s stuck smack-dab-center of the trunk lid below the keyhole where everyone can get a good look-see.  I’m going to refrain from making any snide remarks about still having it proudly displayed nearly 10 months after Electoral College defeat based solely on the fact that anyone who reads this that knows me in person has seen the “O Crap!” bumper incident cover that I still sport today would call me out.  Never mind that mine was professionally manufactured and actually does double duty covering up the large hole I acquired while not at all intoxicated — fair is fair.  So, instead, I will end by asking our artist of the hour to please pay $4.95 for a quick run through the car wash.  Do it for “Momma”.

*Thank you to my now infamous work neighbor Nick for snapping this pic and sharing it with a friend.  I feel obligated to add that he did so with the verbal disclaimer of “not that this is any kind of political statement on my part one way or the other…”.  That’s ok.  I got nothin’ but love for you, man.  Sharing humor transcends all party lines.

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Ain’t gettin’ my corn bread…

August 27, 2009

I’ve been living a lie.  All these years I’ve been pretending to ‘fit in’ – to not be ‘a misfit’ – to be ‘one of them’.  But I’m not.  That realization came to me around 8:49AM when I had dropped my 3rd f*bomb (in the presence of senior management) within 15 seconds — and — without the addition of any nouns.  Just like talking to oneself is an art form, so is swearing.  It really has to be done right in order to have an impact without turning people off.  Let’s be honest…my granny pantie lines and no-deodorant-ever-seems-to-work-for-me issues are enough to do that job.  I’ve had to master the art.

I honestly have no idea how I ended up in a corporate job.  I’ve been through the check list in my mind a thousand times and I still can’t make it work.  And it’s not as if any long division or ‘x=’ shit is involved.  It’s truly baffling.  Let’s run down a short list of “I shouldn’t be working in corporate” criteria:

1.  I came from a broken home.
2.  I used to dye my hair purple.
3.  I pierced my own ear while watching a Madonna video.
4.  I only got something like 800 on the S.A.T. (and 400 of those points were for including my name – score!)
5.  I dropped out of community college after 3 semesters.
6.  I bar-tended before I was old enough to even legally drink.
7.  I used to date Cuban guys, freeloaders, drug users and wanna-be pro wrestlers.
8.  I dropped X nearly every weekend for most of 2001.
9.  I graduated from art college (and it wasn’t even S.C.A.D.)
10.  I yell, laugh out-f*cking-loud, make perverted jokes and cuss like a fry cook in a Long John Silver’s restaurant.

The single biggest argument as to why I believe I am not living my true destiny?  I think this is funny (and I would TOTALLY order a full dozen of these to pass out to all of my friends):
cookies


*Thank you Google for keeping it clean when I asked for an image search of “f*ck” and, to Natalie Dee for being a “Sharing Machine” and allowing me to include her comic.

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You licked and you put…

August 25, 2009

I’m always one to help others.  Ask anyone who knows me in person and they will tell you – “Kelsey is always helping others.” One such example of this happened last Friday morning.  After I nearly drown in the toilet from an unbeknown-to-me broken toilet seat mishap in the ladies room, I decided to warn the next innocent female of “stall number second from the left” in the hopes that an innocent ass could be spared the humiliation of dunking cheek in a half-flushed crapper.

I left a hand-written note:
caution

This morning, I noticed the note was still hanging up and the seat was still out to kill someone.  I guess one is required to send an awkward “um, the toilet seat is busted in the ladies room…” email to someone in some “we fix the shitters” department in order to have such things repaired.  No one sent me that memo – so – the seat has yet to be repaired.  It was kinda annoying to me until around 5:13PM this evening when I went into the bathroom to rinse out my cup.  Yes, that is correct.  I am far too lazy to trot my plus-sized self down to the break nook (I call it a “nook” since nothing that small and rub-your-butt-against-mine would ever qualify as a “room”) and clean my cup out in the sink so I make the shortest trip and duck into the bathroom to do the deed.  What?  I use hot water…it’s clean.

Anywho, when I went in – I noticed an addition to my Sharpie Marker warning:
toiletseat

Apparently I’m not the only one who has no f*ing idea how to go about getting this seat repaired or replaced.  At least a co-worker took the extra few minutes and printed out all the information that should be required by the non-existent “shitter fixers” so the job can be done quickly, efficiently and at a far lower cost versus buying the product at Lowe’s.

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There are those who call me…Tim…

August 20, 2009

Today was one of those cosmic f*ck-you events where anything and everything seemed to go wrong.  ‘Wrong’ in the sense that shit was busted up and people were foaming like rabid dogs as the afternoon dragged on.  There was a bright spot though – free donuts.  3 dozen of them from none other than “Dunkin’ Death”.  But, since I’m the only person on the planet who instantly gets heartburn with just a whiff of their deep-fried goodness, I was kind enough to offer my share to a co-worker.

Approximately 7 hours later, this fancy guy showed up on the scene:
doodie

*Like the return of spring after the long, dark winter – The Rican Suave has once again blessed us with his humor.  While most people would savor each delectable bite of this waterfall-glazed delight, he chose to give it 2 eyes and a “Mr. Bill’esk-perma OH-NO!” pie hole.  I was informed, however, that the bow tie and top hat were provided by outside sources.  Almost an A+ Javi.  Almost.

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Just a fancy butt…

August 18, 2009

I really wanted to take a picture of something to post up here tonight on my way home, but, since the kids were in the back seat and most people frown upon someone stopping in their lane without warning – I didn’t.  Then I thought about walking up to the main road to take the picture tonight to share here on the blog, but, since our dog decided to tear into the garbage and shit in not one but TWO rooms of the house after consuming said garbage – I didn’t.  I would plan to take the picture tomorrow morning on my way into the office, but, it most likely will be 5AM and the marquee sign will probably not be lit.  What does all this mean you ask??  Simple.  I’m overworked, under stress and too lazy to walk less then a mile.

Turns out my shitty life and lazy ways are your funny gain.  Since I’m obviously not going to go to any effort to take the picture myself, I resorted to performing my favorite verb in the English language: I Googled it.  I know, I know…technically “Googled” isn’t a verb (yet) but I use it so damn much that I think it should be.  Hell – if Dr. Phil can use phrases like “You go poop in the potty and we’ll go see Nemo!” than I certainly have every right to Google things.  *I just spent 16 minutes scouring the internet looking for that sound-bite of Dr. Phil.  For all of you who might have wondered just how dedicated I am to my craft here at Webie World – that should answer it.

I digress.

Come and get me big boy...

Come and get me big boy...

The Taco Bell (or, Toxic Hell as dubbed by my hubs) near my house has a simple call-out on their marquee: Volcano Box.  As I drove by and read those words, all sorts of images came to my mind of just what might constitute a “Volcano Box”.  The words were so simple, so clean, so enticing.  But all I could think about was something along the lines of….let’s just say I had to make myself not go there and post a link to the YouTube video.  Knowing I’m not the only one out there who is thinking what I’m thinking – enjoy trying to remember the greasy-sleaze-bag guy’s name when you search for the clip.

I’ll give you a hint: it’s Brandon Davis.