Thought I didn't have the guts to do it, huh? Well, you thought wrong people. Here I am. Fully naked and shameless! That's right. I'm a bad, bad, girl!

He's doing it AGAIN! Look at his eyes all beady and excited. He's making all these bird love sounds and humpin the blasted thing into a whole other zip code!

And I have to hear it all cause he's right next to my desk. For cryin out loud! Is everything in this house over-sexed?












Bird Porn. That's what it is.
Long Dong Webster.

I've taken the pics, loaded the pics, posted this, and he's STILL at it.

Ok so where do I go to find a ho for Webster? he clearly needs one.

Actually anything with wings will do. Sayyyyy, I think I know where I can get him a ho. I'll be back. If I don't get killed first.

Meet Mrs. Webster bird.

Webster, like every other animal in this house, has gone full “horn-doggie”. He’s been making mad, crazy, parrot love to this thing for the past 3 days. At first I thought, nawwww, he can’t be doing what I think he is. But there he was, wings spread out around it, making all these peeps and mewling sounds, thrusting and panting. And when he pulled away ….. well let’s just say ….. there was evidence, by damn!









In the meantime, Smilin George is still humpin his bunny until he reaches victory then has to wobble fast as he can under the nearest chair before Lucy grabs his left over hanging victory and plays with it like a tug toy.








And then there’s Creepy Lola. Creepy Lola was supposed to be dead by now. She was born with a hump in her back. She has cataracts, arthritis, and no teeth. Lola’s greatest offense and the true reason for her nickname is ……. She’s a poop eater. She not only eats it, she takes left over turds into her kennel and guards them like they’re a great delicacy. She’s been operated on for breast cancer which came back last year. And still at the ripe old age of 19, she continues to live! Go ahead and laugh but I’m telling you, there may be something to this poop diet. I do believe Creepy Lola has discovered the secret of living forever. I think I’ll just die when my time comes.


Sigh. Lucy was my only normal animal. And now she’s become convinced her tail is out to get her. She chases it all the time. Round and round and round, till she gets dizzy and falls over.

My question is, what the hell is going on? Why is every living thing in this house a circus freak? Is it me??? Say no.

This weekend Miss Ellie had yet more news for us that she’d not gotten around to disclosing for …. Oh ……. 10 years or so. Not that we needed to know this one.

“….and when your cousin, Joey had cooties a few years back of course we didn’t dare tell his mother, Mary because, you know how she is.”

Bob’s jaw dropped. “Joey, had what? When?”

“Cooties,” she replied casually. “I suppose it was about 10 years ago, maybe a little more.”

“What’s wrong with cooties?” I asked her.

Ellie’s voice knobby must have gone up 4 notches or better when she answered that one. “ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

“Maybe not,” I answered cautiously.

“She thinks you’re talking about the game,” Bob told her. This cause Ellie to laugh so hard she choked on her coffee.

“No, silly,” she tells me, “the other cooties.”

By this time, I am almost afraid to ask but, I had to know. “What other cooties?”

“The sexually transmitted kind.’

“Whaaat???”

“Crabs,” Bob summarizes.

“Crabs? The kind that crawl around in your underwear?” I was shocked. Never, EVER, have I heard crabs referred to as cooties. Cooties are cute little bugs you put together. They’re cute. Did this mean that as a child I had been fingering penis bugs? Vaginal creepy, crawlies? I swear to you, I may be scarred for life over this.

“So how did he get rid of them,” Bob asked without skipping a beat or noticing my obvious dismay.

“Oh, I don’t know how they get rid of them. Some kind of ointment, I imagine, Ellie decided.

“If I had them, I’d call the Terminix man and ask him to put his hose in my britches and spritz me.” They both looked at me like I was nuts. Right. Like either of them had a better plan.



Educational? Oh, fer sure, dude!

















"If we don't die before we wake, we pray that cootie game , you'll take."

I wish I could say, “We have floor! Arf arf arf!”. Um….. but I can’t.
We try. Sort of. We’ll be working along, making our usual minimum progress when all of a sudden, I’ll say, “Hey! You know what would be good right now? Dairy Queen.”

Or Bob will say, “It sure is a nice day outside. Why don’t we go for a quick ride, grab a pepsi, and then, we’ll come back and finish this.

Or I’ll look up and find Bob staring down my blouse.

It’s always something. We mean to get her done. But the need to play over-powers us.

This weekend, I SWEAR, we will finish it. We will. …… I hope.

In the meantime, we’re considering some big life changes.

We need to ponder this a while so I’m not saying anything yet but we are both now feeling the need to get crazy and take some chances. If it was up to me, we’d already be in full crazy mode. Bob’s a mite more conservative. But he’s coming ‘round.

When we finally make a decision, I will tell you all about it. I’m thinking, it’s time for some fun.
A whole lot of fun! WOOT!

This guy looks pretty good, huh? Probably handsome as hell. Worn out from too much party time the night before. Cause he's most likely always up for a good time. Cool?

Yeah, right up until you find out that the reason he's always available to party is, he still lives with his parents, even though he is well into his thirties and only works part time.

And it's not just the guys people. I personally know of a 40 plus year old gal who's mother signs her apartment leases and pays her rent. Most likely she got tired of having her live in her house, blogging all day. Does this gal work? FUCK NO! She blogs.

Think these are the only two out there? Think again. Statistics show there is a plethora of not so young adults who would much rather allow their aging parents to pay their way than work.

Are parents morons these days? People, take your life back. Kick these assholes to the curb. They'll use you as long as you allow it. Say, NO! Are you going to continue to sacrifice what should be the happiest days of your life for a lazy, spoiled, brat of a kid? Who's not a kid at all? Pay their way till you die?

I totally understand that no matter how old your kid is, you still think of them as your kid. I get it. I do. But I also believe that parents have to stop this crap! NOW! If they can't survive on their own, there's always the good ole local shelter. Probably no internet access there but, what the hell?

My 80 year old father, who left me when I was 7, (and didn't show up again for 40 years when he thought he was dying) now has 4 kids by a woman my age. He supports 3 of them. The oldest is 30 and drinks from the time she wakes up till she goes to bed. She also has 2 kids he supports. He'll most likely die, still supporting them.

If you are in this situation, I urge you right now to say, ENOUGH! Get them the hell out of your house. Don't pay their apartment rent. Stop being a patsy. They're using you! You have a life too. Live it. Don't donate it to spoiled, loser, know it all, adults.

There. I'm done.

If you've read this and seen yourself on the loser side of the story, Fuck off!
If you've read it and seen yourself on the used side of the story, SMARTEN UP!

Survival of the fittest still applies. Like it or not. We work. We eat. That's how it rolls.

This just in from the House of Crab where 3 weeks ago the Terminix man appeared, poison in hand, saying, "They won't bother you again ma'am. We're on the job now."

So far, the mouse glue board has disappeared from the basement. I can only assume the mouses have carried it off.

The ants got pissed off. Disappeared and came back in full army gear, many times bigger than they were before the poison.

And they say .......


Terminix man! Your poisons are delicious. Bring more, FOOL! We laugh at your silly costumes. We defy your black magic potions of death. We will annhialate you. (and we can't spell for ka ka)




Pissed off Crabby House ants have taken over the city ladies and gentlemen. War is upon us. For Heaven's sake, hide your muffins and cookies. Or just eat them, FAST!

Emergency calls have been placed to the Teminix men, who have vowed to fight back with everything they have.






Meanwhile, back at Ant Headquarters, A.K.A., "The Hive", much laughter and chewing can be heard.

Could it be, the big-eyed, many legged, critters have launched a secret plan?









Maybe so.

Following a recent mind-blowing perfomance at the Cowpie Field, popular cowbellist and belly dancer extrodinaire, Jamwall, began to recieve countless gifts and love letters from a woman calling herself, "Orgasmic Othelia".

In one such letter she promises to wrap her luscious thighs around Jam's ears, burying his face into her womanhood until he passes out from lack of air. Needless to say those near and dear to Jamwall (mostly Cowpie women who have claimed first dibs) have become quite alarmed.


Cowpie women, lead by the notorious (possibly mis-spelled due to learning disability) and ruthless, Tumbleweed, have been taking turns following Jam's tour bus around the country in an effort to protect him from suffocation by the woman they now call, "thigh Lady".

"We WILL find her. And when we do, she's goin down," declared, Manny as she relieved what was apparently a hellish itch under her left armpit.

"We'll make her wish her momma never met her dadee," agreed, Milkmaid, plucking a course hair from her chin.






But ..... it was the team of Suze, Signgurl, and Crabby who finally spotted the stalker as she snuck upon Jam's tour bus.

Naturally not willing to risk bodily harm they called upon, Seequin, Buddah girl, and Roxie to take her down.

Unfortunately they were busy chatting it up at a local cafe with a former ChipNdale dancer. So they called, Barman and Sal.

"But you don't understand," wailed the stalker as they carried her away, "He completes me! I NEED MORE COWBELL! I WANT IT! GOTTA HAVE IT!"
Sadly, a few minutes later Sal spotted a scantily clad woman in a near by boutique, leaving Barman alone with Thigh lady. Barman was found unconscious and at this time seems unable to speak coherantly (also likely spelt wrong).

"We may never know what she did to him, " Gareth told reporters. This is exactly why Zen Wizard and I refuse to get involved in these cowpie women's hair-brained schemes.

This summer I've seen lots of dead people cause .... well, they've been droppin like flies in Bob's family. Most of my family already bit the dust so I have tons and tons of experience with corpses and funerals.

Here's what I've decided. No way in hell am I having an open casket. Anybody touches that lid to raise it up and I swear I'll have it spring loaded to snap your digits clean off. And I'll tell ya why. Cuz the people who make up dead folks can't do hair worth a shit. Not to mention a dead person wearing make up is just ...... not right.

I've seen old ladies go to meet their maker lookin like a two dollar whore. Bright red lipstick, ratted up hair, pink clown cheeks.

And then people stand around the coffin saying things like, doesn't she look natural? NOOOOO! She looks like a dead whore. They take this innocent little cookie baking grandma and pimp her up like character from the famous porn film, "HOT OLD BROADS TAKE THEIR TEETH OUT AND DO IT RIGHT."

These whack job beauticians aren't touchin me, I tell you. When I'm dead, close the lid and slap a buffet on top of it with keg on both sides where the flowers should be. Then have yourselves a good time and write lots of lewd comments on my sign in book. That'll make me happy.

There. Now you all have my dying wish.

Hang on. Other kind of love. Not the bedroom one.

I realized something today and it set me back on my heels. So let me ask you, if you were to answer honestly, how many people do you believe have truly loved you in your lifetime?

For me, the answer is 3. Bob, definitely. Bob does. And both of my sisters. And that's pretty much it, near as I can tell. And in all fairness we're talking go to the matt kind of love. You know the do or die stuff.

Now this is not to say that there aren't several who have and do kind of love me. Just not the really big kind. Especially the dog. The dog is crazy about me when I rub her belly or give her a bone. I tell you she can't get enough of me.

So how about you? In your heart of hearts, how many people do you believe have truly loved you in that way?

UGH! and ARRRR!
We are in the midst of a gala full weekend celebration here. It's a big event and I planned to be wide awake for the whole thing. But I today, though I continue to celebrate, happily, I am operating on oh....maybe 2 hours of sleep.

Why? Because of these blasted foxes. For some reason they've decided to spend their late night evenings in my back yard. Fine by me. Not so fine by Lucy, who has become a raving loon over it.

All night long ..... WOOOF WOOOF WOOF WOOOF! Then she's quiet. I fall into a deep sleep. WOOOF WOOOF WOOF WOOOOF WOOOF!

At one point I stumbled out of bed, threw my robe on and took her outside thinking, maybe she just needs to eliminate. Half way across the yard a nice little breeze blows and my robe flies open so I'm naked to the world. Apparently I'd lost the tie thingy betweent the bedroom and the yard. So I'm out there trying to pull my robe shut with the dogs leash in one hand when BOOM! Lucy takes off. Or tries to. I had the leash wrapped around my wrist so basically what happened was I fell flat on my face in the grass next to pile of dog crap, while my idiot dog continued to pull at the lead.

I tell you, I wanted to kill her. Really. So I look up ready to yell at her and I see the foxes. They're just standing over there on the deck across the way comfy as you please staring back at Lucy. Nice and calm while Lucy is loosing what little mind she has.


This is the second time those foxes have vexed me. Tonight, I plan to out-fox them. Assuming I can stay awake.

That's right, I'm gonna catch a couple of foxes. I'm building a trap when we get back from the rest of our gala celebration weekend. Then we'll just drive them out to farm country and let the Amish folks deal with them. I have it all figured out.

Somebody please tell me, why .... oh why has Crackerjack forsaken us?
Is an evil gnome stealing the good prizes out of the crackerjack boxes and replacing them with scraps of paper?
It was so exciting to get bring home that box of crackerjacks and hope that this time you'd get the ring or the car and now ......

It's a travesty I tell you! A crime against man .... and me. I like the hidden surprise.
And is it my imagination or, do they not even taste as good anymore?

A protest is called for here. Naked if neccessary. (sometimes all they understand is the march of a thousand bare asses parading before them, demanding a big surprise)

Join me people. Rage against the machine that is modern time. Rage against throw away prizes.


Lest you forget (or weren't born yet), these are the kind of prizes that used to come in crackerjacks. That's real metal or something like that. And we had rings and hand stamps, necklaces. A prize was a prize, damn it!















Crackerjack, shame on you! SHAME SHAME SHAME!

I'll give you some hints.

She's sassy.

She's sexy.

She's all Texican.

And she can't pole dance worth a shit.

That's right guys! Give up the birthday wishes for MILKMAID. WOOOOOOT!



















Since it's your birthday, I threw Sam in. Don't say I never gave ya nuttin. And, don't ride him too hard. We have to give him back tomorrow.

Ok, since Crab is up to her neck in tile and Little Kids coming, how about a redneck drunk story? Most of this is true. Wait, no, all of it is sadly true.

We stopped at our local bar hangout a few weeks ago after a night out in 'town', which is in Houston, not podunk Cut and Shoot. The bar is a hole in the wall little dark joint, but it's close to home and we've actually made a few good friends in there.

So we are standing in the middle of the bar, between the actual bar itself and the area where the pool tables are. It was kinda late, bout 1 or so, enough time for the rednecks to be rocking.

And they were.

There was a group of younger kids in the pool area, two gals with SHORT shorts on, flip flops and big wide rhinestone belts on. The boys all had their pressed Wranglers and funky straw hats on.

At the bar was a younger couple as well, they'd been talking to one of the big bouncers that's actually a friend of ours. Mike. BIG cowboy, really nice tho.

All of a sudden, we hear "FIGHT" coming from the back of the pool area. We look back and Tim (the other bouncer) had one of the young boys pinned to the wall by his neck. Mike comes running out, tosses his big straw cowboy hat on the pool table and grabs the other side of this kid, cuz he's not going down without a fight. They hog wrestle him out the door.

In the mean time, we hear more yelling (of the girl type) coming from the pool area. We look back and the two gals have Mike's cowboy hat on the floor between the pool tables, their flip flops OFF and stamping all over this hat with their barefeet. Screaming like wounded pigs. In comes the other gal from the bar, trying to rescue Mike's hat. Hairpulling and foot stomping galore.

I was laughing my ass off at this picture. I would have paid good money for a video camera. It was JERRY SPRINGER TO THE MAX, I swear.

Anyway, right shortly after, the boyfriends grabbed the Rhinestone Redneck gals by the shorts (I'm not making this up), gave them wedgies beyond their back tattoos as they carried them out the door. The other gal's boyfriend had her by the cheeks of her face, yelling Private Ryan style to her, as he walked her backwards out the door.

I had tears running down my face from laughing. Maybe I was just drunk, but it WAS funny.

Turns out, it wasn't Mike's hat after all (hey, isn't there a song about that?) It was one of the boyfriends hats they were doing the barefoot hillbilly stomp on.

All in fun, on a Saturday night in Cut and Shoot. Don't ya wished you lived closer to me? We go to all the high class joints!

I'm practicing. "No." NO!" "Nope." "Not a chance." "Ferget it." and "Fuck you. Figure it out yourself."

How's that?

I have friends who call every time something needs fixing. Family who calls whenever they get themselves into a jam or need a favor or just plain want something. IMO, these people are spoiled rotten. They don't have to solve their own problems or fix their own broken things because, there's always somebody on their list of people to use they can get to do it for them. And ........ are they around any other time? (say it with me) "NO!" As of yesterday, I'm quitting them. Cleaning out my people closet. Sloughin off the dead wood.

I'm not even a good person so how the hell did I end up with a bag load of users?

Say it with me folks, "no." It's easy. One syllable. Two letters. It can set you free. And it's fun to say.

Everybody out there now who has been the victim of users, and spoiled brats, join me. (and you all know you have at least one, probably more) Cut them loose. Pitch them out into the rapids and see what they're made of. Who knows? Maybe they'll learn how to fix their own stuff. Take care of their own business. Hell! Maybe they'll do some work! (sure and I'm gonna grow wings and soar with the eagles. Bullshit. But, it could be a good thing to turn these folks out on their own.

And I'm also gonna stop being so fucking nice all the time.

As you know, I can’t handle funerals and especially not “viewings”. Dead bodies make me nervous. I don’t know why ........ but I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that ……HELLO! THEY’RE DEAD!

Today was the first of two days of torture for me because when I get nervous, I giggle like a loon. This proves most especially embarrassing if you are at a funeral where many of the family and friends don’t know you.

My plan for today was NOT to go near that casket. But, as luck would have it, I ended up with Miss Ellie (Bob’s mostly blind mother) duty. Ellie ALWAYS goes straight up to the casket. And there is ALWAYS a dead person in it. I tried to dissuade her. “Ellie,” I said, “your broken pelvis is still mending why don’t we just sit down here. It’s a long way up to the casket. And come on, it’s not like you can see anything anyway.” But noooooo. Ellie has to do the proper thing and pay her respects.

Up we went, closer and closer, until I could see the pink lining. I tried to just look aside at the flowers. I tried staring at the ceiling. Then Ellie says, “What’s that around her neck?”

“I dunno.”

“Did you look?”

“um. No. No. Not really.”

“Well would you?”

“Whyyyyyyyyyy?”

“I want to know what she’s wearing.”

“Whyyyyyyy? Are you gonna get one too? Oh, can’t we just go sit down?”

“What’s wrong with you,” she asks, getting irritated.

“Dead people freak me out,” I hissed back at her ..... just as the dead woman’s son came up behind us.

“Dude, I really liked your mom, lots. I did,” I told him in an effort to not seem like a total ass. “I just have this, phobia or something. I get nervous and……

on and on I went sounding more and more like a complete idiot while he just nodded and smiled.

“Now look what you’ve done, “ I told at Ellie as he walked away.

“I didn’t do anything,” she insisted. Carl’s deaf. He didn’t hear a word you said when he walked up.

“oh, thank goodness!”

“He reads lips.”

Crap. This meant that the comment I made as he was coming up behind us was safe but every thing I said directly to him….. well he may have gotten it. Looking over at him as he talked to his wife, I pretty much knew for a fact that …. oh yeah …. he definitely got it alright.

Enough humiliation for me? Nope. Not yet.

Ellie continued to bug me about whatever it was hanging on this gals neck. She absolutely refused to go sit down till I checked it out.

So I did. The nerves jingled and jangled like mad. I swear my belly rose right up to my throat. The braying jackass in my head was about to take over and with Ellie hanging onto my arm I could NOT get out of there to save myself.

In a family funeral, it's ok. They all know me. They know what’s gonna happen if I look and nobody really cares anymore. But this was different. I only know a couple of these folks.

I tried sooooo hard to just keep lips pressed tight together. I tried thinking of odd ball things, anything to get my mind offa the impending giggle fest.

But Ellie was merciless! “She looks better than I’ve seen her in a while.”

GET THE FUCK OUT! First, Ellie is blind! She can’t see crap. Second, how can a woman who is majorly dead, look better now than alive?

I lost it. I just lost it. I’m sorry. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s disrespectful but, I giggled so hard I got the hiccups.

And Ellie says, “What’s wrong with you? Oh, this is terrible. Do something. Think of something sad. You’re going to hurt their feelings. Do you want me to pinch you? Will that help?”

Tomorrow is the funeral. And last I heard, I haven’t been banned. Please let it be a closed coffin. Why, oh why, don’t people just let me skip these things?

Are you feeling lonely? Looking for a companion to help while away those long lonely nights?

Here at Crab Romanitc Inovations, we can help!

We have devised the perfect mate. So life-like you can take them on dates and nobody will ever know they're not human!

We call them, Larry and Betty. But you can change their names to suit your own personal taste.

And here's the best part. They not only serve your needs, they speak!

Larry says:

1. Honey, enough about me. Let's talk about you.
2. I got a new credit card just for you.
3. Let's redecorate the kitchen!
4. Can I rub your feet?
5. I have 9 adjustable inches for you. But let's take our time. I only want to please you.
6. I'll do the dishes. You rest.
7. You look so THIN. Maybe we should get some ice cream.
8. Angelina Jolie looks like a deformed bulldog next to you, my beauty.


Betty says.

1. YES! YES! YES! Right there. Do me. Do me hard. You're such a stud!
2. All I need is your (fill in the blank) to be happy.
3. I've cooked your favorite meal.
4. Can I get you a beer?
5. Would you like me to take off my blouse now?
6. Oh boy, the game is on. Would you like me to massage your neck while you watch it? I promise I won't talk.
7. Why don't you go out with the boys and have some fun. I can take the trash out.
8. I bought you another remote. And some chips.