Monday, February 27, 2006
Twice in the past couple of months I have heard it said that dogs do not love. That they are animals and animals have no sense of such things.
As a child, my sister and I were unwanted by family and shunned by neighbors because our Mother was not only divorced but worked as a
bartender. We were to quote the neighbor lady 2 doors down, “White trash”. At the time I was seven and my sister 4. We didn’t know what
white trash was but got the idea quickly enough that it was not a good thing to be. Most especially when you are not allowed to play in the neighbor’s yard with the other children.

Our mother worked a split trick. Which meant she was gone day and night. We had family in the neighborhood but none of them wanted two extra kids to look after. So at 7 and 4, we were left to look after ourselves. My father had disappeared to parts unknown. Occasionally he wrote. Mostly he didn’t.

Yet, we were not alone. We had the most amazing dog. Every day when I
got out of school she’d be there in the school yard waiting to walk me home.
Every night when we tucked ourselves into bed, she’d climb in with me and
cuddle. At the slightest sound she would raise her head alert for any
danger. And the one night when danger did come by way of a peeping Tom,
she made it clear enough that she would protect us with her life. Hackles
raised, teeth bared, she ran toward the window where the man’s face peered
in at us. Apparently he wanted no part of her because he quickly left.

Later we found out the peeping Tom had broken into a house down the street. I don’t know
what occurred after the break in because this was something discussed by my
Mother in whispers over the phone.

After a couple of years my Mother was forced to sell our home. We would
have to move in with my grandmother who just happened to have an aversion to
dogs in her home. A lady came to take Tippy away. She tied a rope
around her neck and began to pull her out the gate. My sister and I stood
sobbing for all we were worth as that big black dog, the only love we had
ever known, pulled against that rope for all she was worth trying to get back
to us. Her cries were hauntingly sorrowful and I carry them with me still.

She was my playmate when no one else was allowed to play with me. She was
my parent. My protector. My friend. And years later I learned that
she grieved herself to death weeks after she’d been taken from us.

Never question a dogs love. They love unconditionally. And sadly, sometimes
better than humans.



I know this has been a long story but please continue to read.


Tia was beaten in the head with a baseball bat. The blows devastated her face, blinded her in one eye and destroyed her teeth. She was left at the farm house to die along with her unborn puppies. Somehow she lived, gave birth to the puppies and kept them alive until a neighbor told HUA about her. HUA went immediately to rescue this amazing girl. She watched as each of her puppies was carefully loaded into the shelter van. Then she was gently lifted inside. Although she had every reason to fear people, she was trusting and grateful for the kindness.


In the state of Ohio animal abuse is still a misdemeanor.

If you have a dog, go give him a hug. And never, NEVER take for granted that wagging tail. These creatures have so much to teach us. The question is not "Do they love?" But are we so pompous that we might think otherwise.
 
posted by Crabby at 7:26 PM | 40 moos from the field
Friday, February 24, 2006
It was bound to come up. And finally it did. This morning at breakfast. The conversasion I most dreaded.

"What do you want us to do with your body when you die?" Bob asked. "Creamation or burial? If I creamate you I think I can save enough money to buy a big screen tv. I'll put your urn on top", he added, looking hopeful.

"Forget it, " I snapped back. "I'm not frying for anybody. And I don't wanna be buried either. It's too cold in the winter to just lay out there doing nothing."

We dickered back and forth over this with Bob continually coming back to the big screen tv and me continually nixing it. Until finally Bob came up with a plan I rather fancied. Taxidermy.

"We can have you mounted to your computer chair and prop you up in front of your computer."

"Do you promise to switch blogs off and on through the day so I can keep up with what's happening?" I asked, now getting excited for the first time since the discussion began.

"Well, no. I'm taking your computer. I was planning to put up a fake one in there. You won't be able to see it anyway. They'll use marbles for your eyes."

"WHAT????? WHY CAN'T I KEEP MY OWN EYEBALLS?"

"Ever smelled hamburger after it set out for a couple of days?"

This started a whole other argument.
Then Bob came up with this idea.
"We'll make a crabby doll with a screw off head. Creamate you and pour the ashes inside."
Once again I pointed out, "I don't wanna be TOASTED BOB!"
It has finally been decided that I would visit the taxidermist and he would create eyes that at least looked like mine. I keep my own computer (or I would haunt it mercilessly causing many crashes) and they sit me in my desk chair in
front of my puter. And I will be wheeled in the living room in front of the tv in time for American Idol and Suvivor. Then on weekends I will earn the money for Bob's big screen tv by taking a job as one of those people who stand (or in my case sit in a desk chair) on the corner holding "close out" sale signs.

This is a good plan.
 
posted by Crabby at 9:20 AM | 27 moos from the field
Thursday, February 23, 2006

Get out the towels ladies. Cause Barman has taken out the hose.

Is it hot in here?



PS. Tumble, I need a different head from you. One that doesn't look like I'm getting ready to pull your teeth.
Trust me. Just....trust me.
 
posted by Crabby at 10:49 AM | 21 moos from the field
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
I don't know how to do this crap. It's too blasted confusing! First I had the plan to be in between Heaven and hell and bring all these cool dead celebs on the blog so we could play with them. Well, I created Elvis, followed blog instructions, invited him over to join the team (which is ME) he said yes....and he never showed up.

Ok. Alright. No Elvis.

So then during the wee hours of the morn whilst I was tossin my bladder to the left and right I got this other really cool idea. Strippers! I was gonna make a board of strippers. Well, not exactly strippers but .......

Anybody here ever seen Coyote Ugly? That kind of thing. cute little outfits dancing and we would all throught the magic of cut and paste go to work there too. I even had outfits picked out for Denny, and Captain Carl. And they were so darn cute! Then I was gonna have the old ladies protest because we were all getting rich stripping and they weren't allowed. So then we'd bring in the old strippers. The story-lines were cool as hell.

So I found myself some strippers. this time I created the stripper board on this board. Fine and dandy but guess who's profile you pull up when you think you're gonna be lookin at hot bodied young gals....that's right....mine. A 54 year old woman in an over-sized sweater who likes cow-tipping and twizzlers. Sure. That's just what you wanna see when you go to a gentleman's club.

I CAN'T DO IT! I CAN'T. IT'S IMPOSSIBLE I TELL YA!

friggin blasted damnable thing! And it's not just cuz I only slept two hours. I had lots of sleep when I was tryin to see dead people. It's me. I'm techno-stupid.

I don't care. I'm keeping the strippers. We'll just have to pretend.
 
posted by Crabby at 12:23 PM | 16 moos from the field
Bed at 10:30. Read till 11:20. Toss, turn. toss, turn. Asleep by maybe 12.

sometime beofore 2:30 am. I have to pee. Ignoring it. Must sleep. Turn over. Hope to settle urine to more available spot within bladder.

Turn over again.

Bladder becomes irate. "GET UP RIGHT NOW OR I'M LETTING GO RIGHT HERE!'

Fine. Get up, stumble into bathroom. Peek at clock. 2:30 am. Appease pushy bladder. Wash hands. Stumble back to bed.

Turn right. Left. Right. on stomach. turn right. Left. beat pillow. hang leg over bedside. lay on back. turn right. Left.

4:45 am. Give up. Slip on clothes. Paddle out to guest bathroom so as not to awaken the man of the house.

Look in mirror. "Damn I look good for 54. Really good. I practically turn myself on looking at how good I look." (voice inside head speaks up) "Oh really? Turn on the light."
"Screw you! Why aren't you asleep like the rest of them anyway? Leave me alone."

Look in mirror again. 54? In six years I'll be the same age my Mother was when she died.

Taking pulse. Seems ok to me. Did I need a timer for this? Naw. It's good.

What to do? Eureka! Take a movie of the dog eating breakfast.

Take a movie of my reflection taking a movie through the window.

Bored with movies.

Eat cereal. Drink coffee.

6:04 am Nobody is up anywhere. Not even in other houses. It's a ghost town. A GHOST TOWN!

Dog needs to go out. Open back door. Something big and dark runs across yard. Reason with dog. Now is not a good time. Dog says, "Bite me. I have to poop. NOW!"

6:07 Looking for weapon. Spot singing monkey. Snatch up singing monkey and selfish dog. Go outside. Can't see a thing but dog has pooped. This is unmistakable. Whatever was running in yard has probably died from noxious gasses emmited by big yellow dog. I may die too. Cover nose with singing monkey. Shuffle back to house.
 
posted by Crabby at 5:49 AM | 9 moos from the field
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
As you know, I try to avoid senior day at the market. Why? Because they torture me. And I swear I think they do it on purpose now. What bugs me most is no matter what day I go, a bus load of the doddering, foot shufflers is there ahead of me.

The worst are the foreign seniors. Not only do they block isles but when they get to the produce, every single freshly grown fruit must be touched, poked, sniffed, and discussed loudly in a language that I don't have a clue about. However, I suspect what they are really saying is, "Five bucks says the redhead gives up on the fruit first." While the other lady answers, "You're on. I say it'll be the young man 3 people behind her."

OH and do NOT get me started on those stupid motorized carts. My heels are black and blue! If they aren't allowed to drive a motor vehicle on the street, how come they can get behind the wheel of one o'these foot mashers? And they drive together in horizontal rows! Like they're out for freakin stroll in an abandoned old lady park on a lovely spring day.

Then....then....we have the "excuse me dears". These are the ballsiest of all seniors. As you are reaching for the item of your choice (which takes 2 seconds to decide on for a normal thinking person) the excuse me dear will approach from behind, reach in front of you, say cheerfully, "Excuse me dear," and take what ever the hell they want. Sometimes up to 3 items. While you stand there ....waiting....and waiting. One lady got my hair caught in the gigantuan ring she wore. It took forever to get free of her. And I left behind a chunk of hair you could build a chihauhau with.

Well. No more! Today an "Excuse me dear", plows into me from behind with her motorized gimp maker and says...."Excuse me dear," as she tries to scootch her cart between me and my Great Grains cereal. Well by damn I was ready for her. I said, just as cheerfully, "Oh. I don't hardly think so, missy!" Yeah, I did it...and you know what? I LIKED it.
 
posted by Crabby at 5:07 PM | 14 moos from the field
Step right up, folks. See the amazing kook magnet woman! You can stand her anywhere, north, south, east, west...doesn't matter. Kooks will flock to her instantly.

That's right. It's me. I'm jinxed. I come from a long line of loonies and I attract loonies. They are drawn to me like mosquetos to a bug zapper. zit ziiittt ziiittttt, with an occasional POP!

Last night was POP.

When I was 7 (about a hundred years ago) my Dad left. I did not hear from him again until oh.....2 or 3 years ago. He called to tell me he had prostate cancer. Then quickly he filled me in on his other activities. He is married to a woman my age and has 4 kids. Turns out all together I have 7 brothers and sisters scattered hither and yon among these United States. You could be my sibling. That's how Dad rolls. His brother has 15 kids scattered about. They are Scottish and my personal opinion is that they are trying to overthrow America by repopulating it with Scottish off-spring. Sadly, there's nary a full blooded Scottish lass to be found in these parts so said off-spring are, in fact, mongrels. Mixed breed scotts.

Turned out, the old man was having trouble with the misses. She was having an affair with an old boyfriend on-line. Many e-mails were sent in Dad's need to "talk". It's all good. Doesn't hurt me to listen.

Last night his wife called me, drunk out of her mind asking why I'd sent a pic of my sister and I when we were little to my Dad with the caption on it that read, "We're ok on our own."

I don't have a clue what she's talking about. Didn't sent it. Never heard of it. Told her so and hoped that she would please now for the love of Pete, hang up the phone and let me get back to what I was doing. But noooooooooooo. On and on it went for over a half hour. She had gotten into my Dad's mail, found the pic, and was convinced I'd sent it.

As anyone over the age of 21 knows the only time a drunk is tolerable is when you are drunk too. It's dulls the mind and creates a buffer. I was not drunk last night. So I had to listen to this woman's ramblings about how my dad is always angry with her for no reason. Personally I think it could the be cocaine and booze that sets him off but...what do I know? Not my business anyway.

Why after over 40 years I have to all of a sudden be drug into my Dad's new families problems? Because, I am a bonefide kook magnet. It's been proven over and over again. If there is kookdom out there, it will find me.

Is there such a thing as a functional family? Do they really exist? Seriously? Are all you people out there surrounded with normies? Or has an occasional loon turned up in your family?

Talk to me. Just a yes or a no. Tell me I'm not hangin alone out here on the nut tree.

PS. Dad's prostate cancer is in remission and he now has a prescription for "the little blue pill". He's itching to travel again. So keep a look out for a randy 80 year old Scott with a gleam in his eye. He may be headed your way.
 
posted by Crabby at 8:56 AM | 13 moos from the field
Sunday, February 19, 2006
I am trying to gather accurate information for something I’m writing and I sure would appreciate any help you guys can give me.

How many of the people you post with, do you consider to be “friends”?
Have you ever befriended someone on the net only to be betrayed by that person at a later time?
How many Internet friends have you met in person?
Were you disappointed?
Or were they everything they represented themselves to be?

My husband thinks that the vast majority of people on the net misrepresent themselves. Do you agree with him?

Few final questions. (Yes, I am the quiz lady and will be featured in a major motion picture with Angelina Jolie playing the part of me.) And that has to be the truth cause, well, who would make that up?

How many hours do you spend blogging a day?
Do you blog everyday?
Do you find yourself checking your posts for comments like a crack head?
Have you become a numbers person?

My answers.
1. friends – 1 and I believe 3 more in progress but time will tell.

2. Betrayal - LOL! Oh hell, yeah! I admit it. I get sucked in easy if I like the person. (or who they pretend to be) I’m a sap. And I’ll probably continue to be a sap. Because I still believe people are basically, good. Sadly, even when I am betrayed I still find myself thinking things like, “They didn’t mean it. They just got caught up in something and accidentally sold me up the river.” Or is it down the river? Either way, I’m in the river, knee deep in muck.

3. I have met no Internet friends in person. A group of us came very close once. We had a hotel booked in Chicago, plane reservations made, had even decided who would be rooming with who. Then 9/11 happened.

4. Misrepresentations? Yes, of course I agree. And yet I find there are a few brave enough to be just who they are. And even they will embellish. Which is fine because it makes for good reading and we like that! At least I do.

5. I can spend a good 5 – 8 hours a day on here. Generally 3-4 days a week.

6. Yes, I am a crack head poster. And yes, I sometimes find myself getting caught up in the numbers game. That’s when I walk away and give myself a reality check because in truth, that’s when it stops being fun and starts being work.

I encourage you to feel free to post your answers anonymously, most especially if you are concerned about hurting someone’s feelings answering the Q’s in that first paragraph.
 
posted by Crabby at 9:01 PM | 30 moos from the field
Friday, February 17, 2006
That's right. I'm on drugs today. Every now and then I get migraines from an old injury I recieved when I was 18 and stupid.

I feel the need to share my brain and what's going on in there right this minute.

e-mail. Whoa! It's like you type it out, hit a send button and it flys through space darting through tunnels, hither and yon and in a matter of nano seconds lands squarely where you asked it to go. How cool is that?

Cameras.....freaky magic. With a click of a button you are here and also there..... in the camera. How does that work? I asked the big guy today and he said, "Satan. It's his work."
Satan, is that right? Are cameras yours. Big guy doesn't realize I can ask the source on this one.

Sex.....this has gotta be the bestest thing God ever gave us. How cool is sex? I mean, does anything feel better than that? I don't hardly think so. Especially when your guy wakes you up in the middle of the night and you're half way between sleep world and wake world. WOW! It's the best ever. Therefore, God must be a really cool guy to think up that one and just give it over for free.

River Rocks....I can hold a river rock for hours. They're all smooth and perfect. How do they get like that? Other rocks aren't smooth and perfect.

OO. Bad thought. I just flashed on what we look like inside, organs and bones and all that. That's gross.

I wish there was a dog that didn't make poops.

I wish I could wake up in the morning and already be clean and brushed so I didn't have to do all that stuff when I could be doing more fun stuff.

I think it would be scary to be locked in a museum at night alone. We have a mummy in ours. She freaks me out.

I think it would be cool to be locked in a mall at night.

I could not be a prostitute. They have to have sex with guys that can't get girlfriends. that can't be fun. Even if you closed your eyes I bet it's still bad.

I hate it when a guy sings to me in a public place. That has happened to me twice. Both times I sat there wishing I had a gun.

I do NOT like the clogging! What the hell! I will never clog. Not even if someobody threatened to kill me if I didn't. Clogging bites.


At this very moment. I am getting yelled at cause I am not in the shower and we need to go somewhere. I find myself extremely calm in spite of the yelling. But I will shower.
 
posted by Crabby at 9:10 AM | 24 moos from the field
Thursday, February 16, 2006
We went out to dinner with Fred and Ethel last night and I mentioned I had planned to show everyone how I got the forehead hicky but I lost the end of the movie. Now unlike me, Ethel is a very organized person. Unbelievably, she went to a box of tapes (ALL LABELED!) and just whipped that puppy right out.

In my defense, I try and show you that the evening actually was a long series of free drinks. Free drinks are my favorite. Why? They taste better because they're free and you can have as many as you want. This is why we no longer go to buffets. Once the big guy has plunked down his hard earned cash at a food buffet he is hard pressed to get me back out. It's paid for. And I can have all I want.

Responsible friends would have slowed me down but noooooo. They like to see me make an idiot out of myself. And they know right after the first drink ....it's gonna happen. I'm a very happy drunk.

Without further ado and adon't I offer up for you the infamous forehead hicky movie.

MYSTERIOUS FOREHEAD HICKY
 
posted by Crabby at 3:33 PM | 6 moos from the field
It's a Baywatch HNT today and I don't know, is it me, or does Signgurl make a better looking Pamela Anderson than Pamela herself?

I like that flower for our little hippie chick, Ing.

And as always, the Captain is just plain HOT!

If you want to take part in the HNT's here at the cowpie field send me a head shot.

My addy is freefallingfriday@yahoo.com

Everybody and anybody is welcome.
 
posted by Crabby at 9:23 AM | 24 moos from the field
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
You guys have to tune in tomorrow for HNT starring, Signgurl, Ing, and Captain Carl. I'm very tickled with myself on this one.
 
posted by Crabby at 5:25 PM | 2 moos from the field
K, this pic is just so the guys won't feel left out.

















Now the real stuff. Girls! Tell me who is hotter, hairless chest man? Or my Mel?

I mean look at that face! How can you NOT think Mel is totally hot?


 
posted by Crabby at 11:21 AM | 20 moos from the field
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
In my last and final defense to gain entry into Heaven's gated community.

We all know that I am not a particularly a good person. I have admitted it straight up. Nor am I by any means the brightest specimen of the human race. Which brings me to this....who is worse, the admittedly not so good person who bungles her way through life or the people who take advantage of that dumbness in an effort to entertain themselves? Hmmm?

In this photo...look closely at the facial expression. What you see here is a face being pelted with blown snow. Why? Because the husband unit is standing off in the distance with a camera laughing his ass off because the blow out portion of said blower is pointed directly at my face. Did he tell me it was adjustable? NO!


In this photo you will see a blissful me. We were on a vacation in Maui that that my husband unit and his pal Fred had won for a job well done. Fred just happens to be married to my very good friend Ethel. Who along with Fred and Bob set me up for this little ditty we see here. The scenero....free drinks...all you can guzzle. And I had just accepted a bet. Who can drink more, me at 5' 2 and 108 pounds, or 6'2" Fred at I think 197....not sure. (at the time heights and weights weren't mentioned. Nor did I think of them.)


This is me after the drinks accepting yet another bet to ride the big horse. I got up there and could NOT get back off. Just sat there giggling hysterically for oh...maybe 15 minutes.

Once I'd been pulled offa the horse, I was walking backwards singing Tom Dooley and fell butt first into the fish pond. Even strangers got that picture! The management however, was not so pleased. From there things slid straight downhill. The entire afternoon is a blur. All I know is when I got back to my room there was parrot poop on my shoulder and my bra had gone missing. (It was later found hanging on the statue by the piano
bar.) I don't even remember being at the piano bar but movies taken at the time do, in fact, reveal my presence there.

I took a nap. Woke up all refreshed and ready to go again. And then that night at the company dinner they had a free bar. That's right. More free booze. And that's how I ended up with a hickey on my forehead the next morning. I can show you exactly what happened. I have it on film and will post the movie.
 
posted by Crabby at 9:39 AM | 24 moos from the field
Monday, February 13, 2006
Signgurl mentioned nose picking in her post today. And as luck would have it that subject stuck in my nose....er...head.

Just yesterday I was driving down the street, pulled up at a stop light and there next to me was a lovely black Lexus. Driving it was a nicely dressed lady, nice hair, yadda yadda. And she was digging away inside her nose like there was a diamond hidden up there. Every few seconds she'd pull her finger out, take a look at it, remove debris somewhere in her lap area, and then get right back to work.

Now what I'm wondering is, do people think that when they are in their cars, you can't see them? Or do they just not care? Does everybody take a peek at what they've unearthed when they pull out?

Signgurl was in a Casino when she witnessed the nose picker. My nose picker was in a car. Have you seen a nose picker lately? Come on. I know you have. Where?

And here's a thought for you, do any of these nose pickers work in the food industry? Are they dentists or hairstylists? Think about it. They have to be working somewhere. We could be eating millions of boogers everyday! And one wonders further.....could this be the true cause of the flu? Mad cow disease? Cavities?

sigh. I'm sorry. I get deep sometimes. And yet ......... I must ask myself, have I touched a nose-picker this day? Is one on me somewhere? Maybe in the back where I can't readily view it? I'm changing my clothes right now.
 
posted by Crabby at 5:37 PM | 19 moos from the field
The things I do to save my immortal soul. OY!

As some of you may know in an effort to further suck up to the powers that be hoping for a nice comfy spot in heaven, preferrably as far away from Boy George as possible, (the man never stops talking) I decided to do a really nice thing and take Satan to the mall for a make-over.

I mean the man is homely! I know I'm not the only one to notice this. He needed help. Truly.

Anyway, it turned out to be a big mistake. HUGE! The guy is a royal pain in the ass. Every time I'd turn my back he was grabbing at women or setting things on fire and don't even get me started about all the shoplifting he did! Although he did pilfer me a lovely emerald necklace. Sadly, St. Peter heard about it so now I have to give it back. Thank you very much!

So really I got nothing out of the deal. Except extreme stress. You have no idea!

Here's an example of a typical conversasion.

Me talking to Sales girl whilst Satan (I thought) stands patiently waiting next to me: "See? His skin tone is soooo muddy. I'm thinking maybe you would have a foundation that might lighten him up and maybe some blush to bring out his pink tones?"

Salesgirl looking past me to somewhere beyond: "What's he doing?"

I turn around and damned if he hasn't once again tossed off the trench coat I gave him to hide his tail. He's standing there flicking his stupid toungue in and out at some little kid and bellowing...."COME WITH ME. BURN IN HELL!" (yeah, like that didn't get old after oh....the first 15 times he did it)

So I get over there, snatch him by the ear....AGAIN...make him put the coat back on....AGAIN, and pull his sorry ass back over to the cosmetic counter, all the while hissing at him, "Didn't I tell you just 5 minutes ago to lay off the damnation crap? DIDN'T I? Well, you can just forget about the frapacinno, BUDDY!

On and on it went all day long. I tell you it was like taking my retarded dog to the mall or...or a rabid goat or something. He's sooooo imature!

Anyway, I don't know. Does he look any better....at all? I felt like the pink didn't really work but the sales lady loved it on him. I still think the peach would have been better with his eyes.

I took him to manicurist to get his horns filed down to an acceptable height but he threw a hissy fit when she turned on the filing machine. He's such a PUSSY! I SWEAR he is.

So I had to get a hat and a hair piece. $45 bucks out of my own pocket!

So, what do ya think? Better? No? Yes?
 
posted by Crabby at 11:39 AM | 13 moos from the field
Friday, February 10, 2006
Yes, I did it. And I'm glad I did it. I pilfered Ing's head. But in my defense, is she or is she not HOT in this dark hair? Ok, she'll be killing me soon so let's move on before I run out of time.

I decided to run a new thing on Friday. I'll tell you 2 of the blogs I read this week that I really enjoyed and you tell me two of yours. (no you can not choose your own. that's cheating.)

Mine.

1st. I have to say Jamwall. I had not been to his blog much till just lately so I never realized how cool he was at this stuff. Though I did enjoy giving him a hard time recently, I have to say he rocks out at blogging! Not only is his cut and paste work outstanding but he's original. Very cool place. If you haven't checked his site out you really should. The link is on here.

2nd. Flamingo. I am so sure most of you already know him. But again I only started going lately. He brings up lots of different subjects and I find myself getting worked up over an issue one day and laughing the next. That's good blogging in my humble opinion. He writes about whatever moves him on any given day. Cool. Again, if by some chance you haven't been, the link is on here.

Ok tell me two of yours.
 
posted by Crabby at 4:20 PM | 12 moos from the field
Thursday, February 09, 2006

There. That's out of the way. Now we all know I'm about to say something possibly offensive to some people. And on I go.

(after reading and maybe venting please get back below and turn in your "not guilty" votes. I thank you.)

Ok. So this chick says, her dog, a labrador retriever, ate her face while she was sleeping. Granted she took meds first but..... hellOOOOO! Doesn't it hurt like bloody hell when somebody eats your face right off your body? And a lab? Come on, lady? What the hell did you do, rub bologna all over your snout before you downed the dope and passed out? Labs are like Goldens. They're LUV puppies. Hyper, yes. But blood thirsty. Not hardly. You musta had a face that looked like a rawhide bone before.

She also says she didn't notice anything was wrong till she tried to smoke a cigarette and didn't have any lips to put it between. (somebody, please stop me. anyone? anyone? Ok then) WHAT THE HELL??? Ya wake up your face is nothing but a bloody stump...one would assume..... and ya can't feel it till you try to find a place to put your cigarette????? Get OUT!

She gratefully told reporters, "Now I have a face like everyone else." Wrong O, babycakes. NOW you have a face like Hilary Clinton. You better call your doc toot sweet and order you up an economy sized bottle of whatever the hell you had before because you're gonna need it. There. I said it. The democrats may beginning stoning at approximately 9 pm. After Survivor please.

Thank you and don't forget to get down under this hateful post and vote me "not guilty" so I can get into heaven.
 
posted by Crabby at 3:56 PM | 27 moos from the field

I barely squeeked through on the first trial with a non-guilty. Giving me one point toward Heaven much to St. Peter's dismay. For some reason, I annoy him. No idea why. Unless he's still moping about that stapler incident.

Anyway the 2nd trial is about to begin so make yourselves comfortable and sign in with a guilty or non-guilty. However you see it.
Defendant is accused of amusing herself by making sport of her child.

The facts. The testimony.

The School Bus incident.
On that day I can't recall if school had been closed because of the weather or if it was a holiday. But I think it was a weather thing. Any way I decided it would be fun to send Jake out there to wait for the school bus anyway.

"You are NOT?" My friend and neighbor, Terry, said, laughing.

"Oh yeah. I really am. I even weighted down his lunch box so he'll think there's something in there. He's putting his shoes on right now."

"Ok," she said. "How much we going for this time? Dollar?"

"Yeah, dollar will do. What's your guess?"

"I say no more than 3 minutes."

"You're making this too easy. He'll stand out there at least 5 minutes maybe longer."

Now the bus stop was right in front of our house and there were usually anywhere from 5 to 6 kids waiting. On this day it was snowing hard and not one kid was present. Well, except for Jake who stood by the curb, lunch box in hand.

Terry and I talked on the phone while we waited. "What's he doing now," she asked with 2 minutes down. She could see him from her window but I clearly had the cat bird seat. "Is he making snow balls?"

"Yep." I told her. "Yes, he is. Just putzin around. Not a care in the world."

"How can he not notice there are no other children?"

"He has my blood in his veins." I explained simply. "Long as he's there, that's all he cares about."

Five minutes went by and sure enough he continued to wait. After six we decided I'd have to go out and get him. Which I did! Then immediately went over to collect my buck.

Now before you judge me on this just think about how happy he was when he found out there was no school that day.

2nd offense. Blue poop.

Not my fault! I claim innocence on this one. I made cookie monster cookies for the neighborhood block party. Jake ate more than his share. Next day he came running in to me...."Mom! Mom! Come see! I made a blue poop."

Sure enough, it was bluer than the deep blue ocean. "Oh dear." I told him. You have blue poopitis.

"Can it kill you?" he asked.

"Naw. It doesn't kill you. It turns you into a smurf. You know like Papa smurf?"

"I don't wanna be a smurf, mom."

"None of them did, son. But that's what happens when you make a pig out of yourself and eat too much blue stuff."

Jake looked down at the floor like he'd lost his best friend. "What if Willow the cat eats me?"

"It'll be okay. She'll poop you back up. Smurfs aren't digestable."

Now before you all jump up and cry guilty I told the little whipper right away that I was kidding. So I don't even see why this is an issue. Except he still holds a grudge.

3rd offense. Mom of the Flying Mombonians.
Before Jake was born I took a pic of a trapeze lady at the circus. I kept it. Don't know why. When Jake got older and saw the pic he asked me who it was. "Oh that's me. I used to be a trapeze artist."

"YOU WERE!"

"Oh yes. I was very famous." Now he was down right fascinated with that photo. The whole idea of Mom flying throught the air with the greatest of ease just tickled him so much that I never told him the truth. Consequently when he was in the second grade, darned if he didn't take that picture to show and tell.

I was head room mother that year and knew all the teachers. Mrs. Goe called that afternoon laughing so hard I thought she'd choke. (it was well known by then that I enjoyed setting Jake up) "I can't believe you pulled this one off," she said, still laughing.

"What'd I do?"

So she told me all about Jake standing up in front of the room telling the class about his mom, "The Flying Mombinian". He took a lot of heat from other kids. Then he whipped out that photo and damned if they didn't all believe it too.

Mrs. Goe being the responsible adult that she is gently told them all that Jake's mom was just having some fun with him again.

You wouldn't think a little second grader could get so ticked off. But when he came home he was red-faced angry. "YOU ARE NOT EITHER A FLYING MOMBONIAN!" he shouted.

"I'm sorry. I told him. You are right. I wasn't. But I had to say that because I was undercover. You see son, I work for the government. I'm a secret agent. And we had to make up a past for me so the spies from other countries won't find out who I really am.

"Really?" he asked, doubtful, yet hopeful.

"Really."

And there you have it. Not all of it..... but my fingers are sore. I urge you to judge me fairly. Can I help it if I have a creative mind? Was that not a God-given gift? I thank you. the end.


 
posted by Crabby at 9:38 AM | 20 moos from the field
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Most people when they die have a clear shot of going one way or the other, right? Well, apparently not. It seems that I am not quite evil enough for the devil and not quite nice enough for the Big Fella. They have been fussing over who had to take me for 3 days now. Finally in a game of rock, paper, scissors, the Lord lost leaving the devil to make the final call.

So Satan decided, "wouldn't it be a hoot to put her on trial for all the things you "Meaning the Big Fella" found not so nice. There are a total of 12 trials upcoming. If I am found guilty of most, then hell gets me. If I am found innocent by majority, I'm all heavens.

In the meantime the good Lord has put me up in a section of Heaven called "The Floater Zone". You would not believe who all is in here with me! But I digress.

Take a seat. Trial one is about to begin. As luck would have it. The whole thing started with ........ a gazing ball and a beer. OO. I'm up to testify now. Wish me luck cause no way do I want to go to hell. It's full of Mensa members, IRS guys, and TV faith healers. ICK! Oh and the place smells like month old B.O. and boiled eggs. Not to mention... it really is a furnace down there. No kidding!

The Gay Ball.

We have these friends who are ....... unique? Yeah, that's a nice word. Right?
Anyway, the wife is a mite on the prejudice side. (And that really was nice) Soon after we moved into our house they came over and she spotted a gazing ball in the courtyard. It belonged to the previous owners. I wouldn't buy one of those things if ya paid me to. Reminds me of my grandma and she always wore this prune face that I........never mind.

So, the wife sees the gazing ball and says...."Ew. You have a gay ball in your yard?"

"A what?" I asked innocently.

"A gay ball! Gay people put those in their yards so other gays can find them."

"UH .... hhhuh. oookay."

"No really," she insisted. That's what they're for. You better get rid of it."

Now in my defense, I was very nice to her even though as we all know by now I have a very big mouth and a tendency to uncontrolable blurting. But I didn't say a word. Not a peep.

A few nights later our other friends were over. They brought beer. Even though I like to boast about shots of tequila and stuff ... the truth is, I can't handle my liquor. Half of one light beer and strange things happen. (I swear it is the truth) my nose goes numb and soon after I find myself frolicking giddily through the land of "Go ahead and do it. You know you want to."

To make matters worse, I'm an idea person. That night after a beer and a half. I dug out a box and taped the gay ball to it with some signs. I don't quite remember exactly what they said, something about, "If you're queer, you can find your life mate here." Stuff like that. Between giggles and hiccups I was able to persuade my good friends and much put-upon husband to don black clothing and sneak over to our other friends house with me.

When we got there my friend, Ethel, and I, snuck into their front yard with the gay ball. Actually I snuck into the yard because Ethel hid behind a tree that was all of 4 inches thick. What a geek!....oo ..... I mean, good for her.

Where was I? Oh yeah, so I left the gay ball in their front yard and then we ran like the wind back to the car laughing our asses off, went back to my place, had another beer pleased as punch with ourselves. We....ok me....wrote a song to the tune of "short people" substituting "gay people". It was very clever if I do say so myself. We dialed their number, got their answering machine and sang our hearts out.

Several days went by and we heard nothing back.... then finally unable to take it anymore, either Fred or Bob called the guy to ask if he found the ball in his yard.

EGADS! He was livid! He said his neighbor had come over and asked who could have done such a thing and was X (not his real name) gay? Then he told them that the ball itself had to be destroyed! That he had smashed it to bits.

Had to be destroyed? Did it come to life, turn into a gay guy and chase him around his desk? (sorry. that was mean) But come on, now really, wasn't that just a little extreme?

Anyway. That's the gay ball story. Judge me as you will. I did it. I admit it. And I plan to do another run over there. Well I did before I died. This time I'm taking pink flamingos and condoms. and I am NOT telling anybody what I'm doing with them!








 
posted by Crabby at 1:43 PM | 18 moos from the field
Monday, February 06, 2006
I had forgotten how easy it is to be taken in by people with agendas all their own. Happily I have done no more than stand up for what I, myself believe. Not so happily, I have been caught up in a pile of weird mails that add up, in the end, to nothing that has any significance.

I opened this blog to have fun. Lately, it isn't fun. And that's where I get off the train.

In all honesty, I don't know anymore who are the good guys and who are the bad. I only know it's more drama than I care to deal with.

I've been mailed numerous times for help with a problem that nobody ever really wanted help with. I have been stalked, threatened, and made fun of. And for what? Nothing that ever should have been an issue in the first place.

I will continue to maintain every confidence because it goes against my grain to break my word. But understand this....it's over!

I don't give two shits about any of this crap. When it's a legitimate compaint or hurt that's one thing. When it's all about jealousy....screw you! Fight your own damn battles.

Do NOT confuse me with someone who is easily used and says nothing. That would be a mistake of monumental proportions.

This is public now with no names mentioned. Leave me the hell alone and it will stay that way. Bug the shit out of me again. And we go at it. Understand?
 
posted by Crabby at 3:25 PM | 19 moos from the field
Sunday, February 05, 2006
After many death threats, the friends (friend) of Crabcake took up a collection from all bloggers who would rather see Crabby live than die. The money would be used for Crabcake to appear on a national news program in an effort to diffuse the would be killer before time ran out. After 12 hours of collecting door to blogger door a total of $3 had been tossed in the "save Crabcake" cup.

Disappointed but not disheartened Crabcake walked her fingers throught the yellow pages until she found a news program she could afford located somewhere in hills of West Virginia. Actually in a shack in West Virginia.

HeeHaw by the fire was happy to get the $3 as they were in dire need of pork rinds and beer. Fire being an extra .50 was not provided.

In the following film you will see not only Crabby's desperate plea for her life on HeeHaw by an empty fireplace, her escape on a cruise ship bound for the bahamas and finally ..... well, see for yourself.

BLOGGERS COME THROUGH FOR CRABBY. OR DO THEY?
 
posted by Crabby at 7:55 PM | 14 moos from the field
Friday, February 03, 2006
I'll be in the lab this afternoon. I'm making a special newscast.

I'm famous you know. Like celebs and stuff. Got my very own death to crabby mails and some death to crabby blog posts. Oh you know. I try not to let it go to my head but then I keep thinking......

If the president has secret service fellas, well, shouldn't I? I mean somebody hacked a site to get to me BUDDY! That's big! That's huge! I ...... am somebody! Yes, I am.

I must get off my well-fed butt-cheeks and create! For.....as long as there is life in me....I shall ....what's that word? I forgot. I shall...something something....hmm.

It's not coming to me yet. Damn my aging brain! Who knows what else has gone missing that I might have forgotten I forgot?

I'm off. There is much work to be done.
 
posted by Crabby at 1:42 PM | 7 moos from the field
The other night I was too pissed off to comment on this even though I couldn't help but notice.

Your mission as I understand it was to lure your prey (me) over to the JC board where a new scam was fresh in the works. K, that's pretty easy. Especially since Bill went ahead of you and laid the ground work all out just like a picture manual.

So I read these posts and then....there you are. And you say, "I wanna be satan someday." Even at that moment when I was raging, ticked off, hot and in full murder mode, a voice inside my head looked at that and whispered....."Ah, Jamwall. That's it?" "I wanna be satan someday?" That's like sitting in math class and the teacher asks, what's two plus two and somebody stands up and hollers, "TURKEY?"

Sigh. It's true. Sometimes you men are like big dumb yellow dogs. Just layin around all happy and wagging and not a clue, nor care what it is you're doin.

A clear directive. And this is all you came up with. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HA HA HA HA HA HA! God love ya.

You might notice after I lost my temper I went through deleting links left and right but could not bring myself to delete you. Why? I dunno. I guess I have a liking for big, dumb, yellow dogs. Even when I'm pissed. I just couldn't hit the delete key. It seemed too mean to attack a guy who I picture in my mind giggling happily while he types..."I wanna be Satan someday."
 
posted by Crabby at 8:56 AM | 12 moos from the field
Thursday, February 02, 2006

As some of you may know by now somebody out there wants me dead. Yes. And thank you for considering me for that honor. That's just friggin great!

Now, before anybody jumps to any conclusions and we get off on a whole wrong track here. I do NOT.....repeat...do NOT believe it is anyone from JC site. Well, at least no one who was writing it. I did consider it could be the MIL then I remembered, she's blind. Oh and she doesn't have a puter. There that's taken care of. Where was I?

Oh yeah. Take a look at me? Go ahead. Give yourself a minute. Do I LOOK like a threat? Do I look particularly bright? No.

Technically, I fall somewhere between idiot and slow bus. Remember when I tried to add links alllll by myself? I got a lecture from Milkmaid that lasted ...well, I'm not sure how long it lasted because I drifted off. But a long time. She kept saying things like....."Don't touch ANY THING on the template. NOTHING! Don't even go back there."

Jake had to teach me how to post pictures.......twice. The first time didn't take. Don't ask me why. I just forgot all of it.

So we've established that I am not exactly a technical threat.

That leaves us with two more.

I am so beautiful that all the other women either want me (depending on sexual preference) or want me dead. Again, LOOK AT THE PICTURE! Do I look remotely beautiful? Nuh ugh. Not even.

So it can only be....blog content. Let's see what have I written about that might cause someone to want me dead.....hmmmm. Well, there was the Olga story. The mole people. Um....what else.....dogs...making fun of dead people, the honeyhive adventures (which I didn't start). Actually, I don't write about much of anything with any substance. Yet.....it could be the dead people. Dead people have no humor. I know this for a fact. I've been forced to go out to dinner with dead people. No wait......wait wait wait. I was imagining them dead. That's totally different. Ok. I got nothin.
 
posted by Crabby at 7:46 PM | 9 moos from the field

Milky and I would just like to share with you a little naked bit of ourselves.

Check out those jowls, baby! Nobody but nobody wears jowels like Milky does.

She's a vision, I tell ya! Embarrassing to admit it but sometimes I even dream about her.
 
posted by Crabby at 12:51 PM | 11 moos from the field