Sunday, September 30, 2007
We went to Amish country yesterday and I found a new friend for Lucy. But Bob wouldn't let me bring him home. Not to fret. I'm not giving up! I'm smitten! Your job is to help me think of good reasons why Bob should let me have this bull.

Smiling nicely for the camera, Crabby is blissfully unaware, until she lifts her foot and hears the swishy sucking sound, that she is standing in in a big fat mound of turkey poop.
Destiny has brought them together. Crabby will love him and hug him and take him home. And he shall be named, "Pitt licker".
Crabby enjoys Pitt licker's gentle kiss until she feels a gentle tugging on the side of her scalp and realizes ..... he is eating her hair.
Only having eyes for Pitt Licker, Crabby is unaware, that the jealous horse is about to bury his nose in the back of her head and sneeze.

Hey there, little buddy! Wanna come home with me for Thanksgiving?
Bob refused to let the turkey have his side of the garage till Thanksgiving. So now I'll have to buy a turkey. Unless ........ he COULD STAY IN THE BASEMENT! WOOT! Manny will have to catch him when it's time to..... you know.... cook.

Today is the last day for voting. If you'd like to cast a vote for the Cowpie Field just click on the button to your right and it will take you to the thumbs up place.
Wait....I meant left. It's left. I write with my right hand so, the button is left. You can't miss it. It's gray and orange. If you don't want to..... THAT WOULD JUST SUCK ...... I mean, I totally understand it's a lot of trouble ...... TO CLICK A FRIGGIN BUTTON ..... what I mean to say is.... it's ok, really. Winning doesn't matter. LIKE HELL IT DOESN'T! I'm a good and giving person and I don't blog for recognition or attention like that. YEAH, RIGHT.

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posted by Crabby at 7:47 AM | 17 moos from the field
Friday, September 28, 2007
You ladies ever get one of these cards? Didn't think so.

In fact, just this morning, Jake, the fruit of Bob's loins, said to me and I quote:
I am in menopause. My mood swings make Sybil look like an under achiever. I'm not a morning person, and hadn't finished my first cup of coffee yet. It is my firm belief that not pummeling thee living hell outa Jake this morn is my "bought and paid for ticket" into heaven. Which happily means I can scratch "make sure you're getting into Heaven," off my todo list.

But .... it gets better. When Bob arrived at the table I told him what Jake said, waiting for his sympathetic response. (NOT REALLY!) And he adds, "Every man knows that 10 days out of every month a woman is going to be a complete bitch."

ARRRRRRRRRRRRGH! He's been reading Slicks blog too long. LOL!

On behalf of women everywhere, let me just tell you fellas, you DO have your crotchity moments. Oh yeah. You do.

Around here it's when Bob can't find something. The longer he looks the more annoyed he becomes. Most of the time he accuses me of either hiding it from him, or tossin it out. 8 out of 10 times, the object in question can be found right in front of his face. All he had to do was move something off the top of it.

And don't EVEN get me started on backseat driver nagging. Jake is the WORST back seat driver in the history of back seat drivers. I swear to you every five seconds it's..... watch out for that car up there ..... curb! ....... you're going to have to stop up here ...... now .... slow down ....... you wanna turn here, don't forget your turn signal. NAG NAG NAG! Bob is almost as bad, which is why I refuse to drive with either 0f them in the car.

My feeling ....woman have a damned good reason to get bitchy. We are innocent victims to our hormones. Let a guy suffer the agony of sore, swollen breasties and see how well he takes it. PAH! He'd walk around holding onto his boobs, howling like a moose with it's balls caught in a bear trap.

Men, obviously, get testy for no reason at all. I mean, Yeegads! They're blessed to have us! Every man should drop on his knees right now and say....Thank you for my woman!

BTW. I don't know who's doing all the voting over there at bloginterviewer but.....SWEEEEET! You guys rock! I wanted you all to know that just because I stopped bugging you for votes doesn't mean I don't appreciate the hell out of them and each of you! Thank you so much for supporting me and my goofy Cowpie Field.

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posted by Crabby at 5:01 AM | 22 moos from the field
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
After experiencing years of strange oddities in the shower this reporter decided to dig in and get the real dirt on soap. The facts aren't pretty. Consider, if you will:
Out of nowhere, a hair, or hairs, appear on the bar of soap. You inquire from the only other person who uses the soap, asking if he has been carelessly rubbing said soap over hairy portions of his body again. He responds adamantly, "Who me?" It wasn't him. And you know it wasn't you. Yet, the soap has been haired. Not wanting to touch the mysterious hair, you rinse, and rinse, and rinse some more, until at last the hair disappears. Turning the soap in your hand you begin to lather only to discover the hair has reappeared on the other side! But how?

Finished lathering, you return the soap to it's holder and begin to wash. You find yourself relaxed by the spray of warm water on your skin and begin to hum. All is good with the world until......suddenly....... the soap (which has put on weight) lands on your big toe. Unthinking, you quickly swing your foot up to safety. Throwing yourself off balance you end up with your ass planted over the shower drain which is now making great sucking noises as though it had just had it's oxygen cut off.

You begin washing your hair (no where near the soap), bend down returning the shampoo to the floor when........ without warning ..... you receive a blow to the head rendering you temporarily unconscious. When you awake, you find yourself dazed and confused gazing up into the pretty lights, muttering....."mommy". It takes several moments before you regain sanity and realize you've been attacked. You look around and see....absolutely no one and nothing .......except that innocent bar of soap lying on the shelf? Coincidence? I think not!

Our soap is attacking us, people? Admit it. You have had one or more of these experiences, haven't you? So. What are we gonna do about it? I say we fight back. But how? How?


thanks to Angela Marie in the comments section below, it has been brought to my attention that bar soap is not the only place pubes gather. they are also in our beds, people! Which means, in your sleep ..... you could unknowingly sniff up, and swallow enough pubes to create a
hairball! This could require a trip to your doctor to have a pube hairball removed. Oh the shame of it. Go! Go now! Check your beds. Leave no cover unturned. Protect yourself!

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posted by Crabby at 11:40 AM | 43 moos from the field
Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Do her feet smell like Parmesan cheese? Did he rub them? What did "Broke Bitch" really do with the stolen salad dressing packet?

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posted by Crabby at 10:34 AM | 20 moos from the field
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Well, she's definitely improving cause she's getting meaner than goat spit.
Because I have a slight fever (thank you emergency room hock and hackers) I can't go to see her till it's gone. So yesterday I called her to make a simple request. Soon as she answered the phone I knew she was testy.
Manny: HELLO!
Me: Hi. So? How are you feeling now? Any better?
Manny: No! I want 7up and Squirrel is late. She said she'd be here at 3:30.
Me: Ask one of the nurses to get you some. The hospital has soda.
Manny (slurring): I think they're putting something in it.
Me: What do you think they're putting in it Paranoid Polly?
Manny: I don't know. It doesn't taste right.
Me: Oh well. Does squirrel's cell phone have a camera on it?
Manny: No and WHY?
Me: Can you ask one of the nurses to snap a pic of your urine bag and send it to me?
Manny: Oh, HELL no! What are you gonna do? Blog it?
Me: Yeah.
Manny: Well, forget it.

(So I don't have a urine bag pic to go with my post cause Manny's in a snit. Too bad cause it was a great visual.)

First thing I did when I got there the other day was check her bag to see if she was doing any better.
Manny: Why do you and squirrel always go for the urine bag as soon as you get here. Stop playing with it.
Me: I wanna see how much is in there and if it's any lighter.
Manny: No and no. It still looks like something you'd get off a Chinese Buffet. Now put it down before you drop it.
Me: I won't drop it. I just wanna drain that part up there down into here.
Unfortunately at that point I raised the bag too high and the urine went backwards up the tube.

The elderly lady in the bed next to Manny went home yesterday. For some reason she was suddenly in a rush to get out. Guess she was weary of hospital food. Now Manny has a new roomie.

After an extremely impatient, Manny waited all day for 7up, The Squirrel finally arrived with a bottle of ice tea.
Manny: Tell me that's not all you brought.
Squirrel: No. I have Sierra Mist in the other pocket.
Manny: Sierra Mist doesn't taste like 7up. I wanted 7 up!
Undaunted, the Squirrel handed her a glass of ice and the soft drink.
Manny: That's too much ice. It'll dilute the fake 7up.
Squirrel (sighing) Not if you don't pour a lot in there at a time.

Manny took a couple of drinks from the cup and promptly threw up. She does this a lot. Begs for food or water and still can't hold it down. Makes me feel terrible to eat in front of her.

Then Squirrel gave Manny a sponge bath. When she was finished she said, "Now, I'm not washing that part down there. You have to do that yourself. I'm no gardener."

Manny's new roomie who was pretty talkative in the beginning has become very quiet. I wonder if she's sicker? All I know is, I gotta dump this fever so I can get over there and get a pic of that urine bag before they take out the catheter.

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posted by Crabby at 7:46 AM | 30 moos from the field
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Monday we took Manny, my sister, to the emergency room. She was in excruciating pain, hadn't been able to hold food down, and had a fever.

For those of you who may not know, emergency rooms are teaming with sick people. Every kind of sick. From the bleeders, to hock and hackers, to my personal least favorite..... the wheel chaired, bucket carriers. Here's a tip: If you are sitting in the emergency room waiting your turn and some one is wheeled in sporting a bucket on their lap......MOVE! Go as far as you can.

After 2 and half hours of waiting we were finally called back. The emergency room is divided into two categories. Much like baseball. You have your majors and your minors. Manny, because she has kidney disease, was in the majors. Understand ...... this does not mean if her kidney was running around on the worn out carpet threatening sick people with a urine-filled sub-machine gun that she would get in any quicker.

Being the blogger extraordinare I am ..... I just happened to have my camera. The first thing Manny had to do after changing into a backless gown was produce a urine sample. This proved to be an impossible task. What you see here is me listening at the door for any sound of urination, while Manny. hidden inside, calls out....."You're not standing right outside the door, are you?" Eventually my feet began to hurt and I started making water noises, hoping to speed things along. Still ...... nothing. One male nurse suggested she squeeze real hard.
Just before they came in to start a barrage of tests Bob happened to notice the dead clock on the wall. "That's a bad sign," he said to no one in particular. "oh no," Manny groaned.
The first blood guy came in and as he leaned down to draw what looked like a quart of blood Manny very seriously told him, "I can smell that alcohol."
"You mean the stuff I cleaned your arm with?" he asked innocently.
"No, the stuff you drank last night." Sadly, making him laugh wasn't a good plan because the blood catching tube came loose and Manny's blood spilled out all over the bed and floor. Manny hates the sight of blood. Especially hers.

When the second fella came in to take more specific blood samples (don't ask me. blood is blood far as I'm concerned) Manny who's pain had become more intense began telling this poor guy that she had a living will and her sisters were allowed to pull her plug.
"What plug?" I asked playing with the setting on my camera.
"The life support plug! Squirrel has 1st dibs, you're second, and I put Bob in there just in case you and squirrel wimp out."
"why does Squirrel get first dibs?"
"Well, you don't have to get all testy about it. You don't even need Bob on there cause I'll unplug you. I'm a busy woman. I don't have time to sit around watching a sick person."
At this point the young man taking blood looked at Bob for reassurance. Bob nodded and simply said, "The whole family is crazy. You learn to live with it."

After another 3 hours of testing and Manny complaining about the fact that her underwear didn't match, (she was also wearing granny panties which she failed to mention but I noticed when she got up to try and give another urine sample and her gown flew open) a doctor came in with the verdict. Manny was being admitted for acute renal failure.

The past couple of days have been bad ones. Manny continues to be very ill and in pain. Though I must admit they are giving her some crackerjack pain meds. This morning Manny's kidney began to function at a more normal rate. It will be awhile before she's out of the woods but this is very good news. At last we are headed in the right direction.

Yesterday I told her she looks really good even though in truth she looked like a beached blow fish. Hopefully soon she won't be so puffy or we'll have to come up with a new blogger name for her. Puff Manny?

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posted by Crabby at 6:39 AM | 27 moos from the field
Friday, September 14, 2007
posted by Crabby at 4:00 PM | 20 moos from the field
Crabby is busy making her interview movie for you. So I thought you might enjoy a little nursing home humor, curteousy of Barman.

Ethel was a bit of a demon in her
wheelchair, and loved to charge around the nursing home, taking corners on one wheel and getting up to maximum speed on the long corridors.

Because the poor woman was one sandwich short of a picnic the other residents tolerated her and some of them actually joined in.

One day Ethel was speeding up one corridor when a door opened and Kooky Clarence stepped out with his arm outstretched.

'STOP!, ' he shouted in A firm voice.

'Have you got a license for that thing?'

Ethel fished around in her handbag and pulled out a Kit Kat wrapper and held it up to him.

'OK' he said, and away Ethel sped down the hall.

As she took the corner near the TV lounge on one wheel, weird Harold popped out in front of her and shouted 'STOP!

Have you got proof of insurance?'

Ethel dug into her handbag, pulled out a drink coaster and held it up to him.

Harold nodded and said 'On your way, Ma'am.'

As Ethel neared the final corridor, Crazy Craig stepped out in front of her, Butt- Naked, and holding his 'You-Know- What' in his hand.

'Oh, good grief,' yelled Ethel,

'Not that Damn Breathalyzer Test again!!!'
posted by granny got game at 9:34 AM | 7 moos from the field
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Know why this guy is holding his head? Cause it's pounding like a bustard. He's just looked at the clock hangin' up there on the sky and noticed, he's late for the surprise party his wife is throwing for her mother. Poor sap. He might as well be a eunuch for the next couple of days. And all because he is not "on time".
What I want to know is, who says there has to be a "time"? The way I remember it, Adam and Eve left paradise wearing a couple of fig leaves. I personally don't remember God giving them a watch as a parting gift.

Yet here we are, rushing around, slaves to time. We not only add up the years since our births but when we croak, those numbers for born and died are prominent on the chunk of rock that marks our "time" here.

Everywhere you look people are rushing like they just caught their butt hair aflame and can't find a water source. Our lives are run by a gadget that was never supposed to be here in the first place. If it was a good idea, God woulda hung a big cock up in the sky where everybody could see it. Well ...... HE DIDN'T! There's light to play in and dark to sleep in and that's that.

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posted by Crabby at 2:00 PM | 14 moos from the field
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
I Lucy, friend to skunk, wish to share my life story with people (who I love like wienies).
Please watch. I Lucy, am lonely today. Smell like skunk. People do not understand skunk. Skunk good to cuddle. Run very fast. Lucy fast too, like skunk. Lucy chase skunk. Crabby chase Lucy.
Crabby say, "NO LUCY! NO!"
Lucy keep running, running, running. Very happy. Smile big for skunk.
Crabby make scary bad voice. "Peeeeee U! Lucy, STOP!"

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posted by Crabby at 12:51 PM | 24 moos from the field
Thursday, September 06, 2007
As you all are aware I've been slightly put out by the idea of having Miss Ellie in a jar on my mantle. Quite honestly, Ellie's presence, urn or no urn, gives me the heebies. Makes me feel like she's watching me all the time. Nobody wants anybody's Mom watching them all the time. It's .... just ..... not natural. Some things Mom's don't need to see, you know?

Last night we went to dinner with our neighbors and the subject of cremation came up. Turns out two of my neighbors brothers died and one was cremated. His kids came to the funeral home with tupperware and divided him up 3 ways. Little dad for me...little of Dad for you...arm here, leg there, head over yonder. You get the idea. Each kid took their portion of good ole Dad and did their own thing with him. Understand by now my jaw had already dropped so low it rested wetly in the gravy on my plate of Scottish meatloaf. That's when things took a turn for the bizarre.

"So, they all scattered him in different places?" I asked again.

"Well, no. The daughter keeps her portion in a care bear."

"Say what?"

"You of those build a bears? She had him mixed in with the stuffing."

"Nuuuuuh UGH!"

"Yes, by golly, she did."

"nuh UGH!"

"I can have her bring him over and show you."

"nnnnn no. No thank you."

Let me tell you people, there is no way in HELL I am getting cremated. Knowing my kid, I'd end up in one of those Taco Bell dogs on the dashboard of his car with my head wobblin' every time he hit a bump!

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posted by Crabby at 1:49 PM | 41 moos from the field
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Ok. I'm gonna' need some help figuring this out. Possibly more than usual.
With this dandy device here..... do you tippy toe on cat-like feet, sneaking up to the crapping canine .... smoothly slipping it beneath the dropping turds? Or do you medicate the dog with valium or some type of heavy alcoholic beverage so he just doesn't give a crap (pun intended) that you're behind his anus with a cup on a stick waiting for movement? (again, pun intended)
On this one, do we spray directly up the dog's ass, hindering risk of bowel movement... possibly forever? Or ...... do we spray (with teensy bar straw attachment) onto giant steaming pile of dung, until it becomes something, I assume, would be akin to fossilized dog shit?

But the kicker is....after such extreme poop intervention.... why would ANYONE want to buy an entire bag of........... fake dog poop??? Real product. I swear! Hell, I'll freeze up a bag of fossilized Lucy poo and sell it for half price on ebay!

If you thought I was finished....think again. This....oh this is a real beauty here. The doggie cell phone. That's right, now, no matter where your dog is, for the low, looooow price of seventy something bucks.... your dog can hear your voice up close and personal saying....... blah blah blah blah, fido. blah blah blah blah!
Listen up. Dogs don't understand English. Trust me! The only words they know are....... biscut and weinie.

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posted by Crabby at 2:50 PM | 19 moos from the field
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
I know how you all love it when I get into yet another competition. So I went out and found myself a whole new thing. But .... and you're gonna hug me for this .... YOU don't have to vote! WOO HOO!

I spent the whole last two days playing Frisbee Golf! LOVE IT! LOVE IT! LOVE IT! Not any good at it. But I love it anyway.

Here's how it works.... you're in the woods, you, your trusty frisbee, and your competition. The idea is to toss the frisbee through trees, over streams and bridges, tick and snake infested fields, and land that puppy squarely into the wire basket, staying at or under par.

Note the enormous degree of focus I maintain while sizing up the situation. With great care I toss my magical disk.

And do a fine job of smacking thee hell outa this tree right here. Meanwhile my ne'r do well competitors, Bob and Jake, chuckle gleefully.
Later in the game I began to improve. Partly due to practice...partly due to unsnapping my pants to allow my bloated refried bean belly some breathing space. Again.....I take careful aim, fully focused on the job at hand.
The snap is off! Annnnnnnnd............

(I feel certain it was a sudden gust of unexpected wind that sent my loyal frisbee into the tick infested field. Certainly it was no fault of my own as I'm sure you all know.)
For the record ...... THIS is where your frisbee is supposed to end up. And this IS my very own frisbee. You can tell it's really mine because ..... it's red!

My best score out of 2 days was 98. Not even a team of clowns could get me to tell how far over par that is. But I AM NOT GIVING UP! I will beat these guys if it kills us all.

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posted by Crabby at 7:30 AM | 21 moos from the field
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Last night I dreamed I was being chased by clowns.
This morning I made the mistake of telling Bob and Jake about the dream because....HULLLOOOO! I friggin' hate clowns. They scare the pee outa' me!

Bob: I don't understand why you hate clowns so much.

Jake: Yeah. What'd a clown ever do to you?

Me: Because you don't know what's REALLY going on under all that makeup. And they have those giant pockets to keep weapons in and stuff! You....can NOT ...... trust a clown!

Bob: What about wooden dummies? Do you like those?

ME: NO! I hate dummies with their fake mouths that go up and down like weird little mouth guillotines. And those glass eyeballs that roll around in their heads? Always lookin' at everybody, sizing them up, watching every move, like freaked out wooden serial killers or something.

Jake: I thought you hated telemarketers.

Me: PAH! Everybody hates them. Telemarketers should be sent to an island inhabited by cannibals with nothing but their headsets and a pair of sneakers.

Bob: So you hate clowns, dummies, and telemarketers? What about Mimes?

ME: practically choking on my coffee: ESPECIALLY Mimes! A mime followed me once at Sea World. Everytime I told him to go away he imitated me. When I tried to turn around and just ignore him people started laughing because he was doing stuff behind my back. I SWEAR I seriously imagined pushing his head into the whale tank and holding it there till the bubbles stopped coming up.

Now, I should have known all these questions were a set up. But nooooooo. In my was early and I'd only had one cup of coffee.

Bob: you know those coffins that have corner momento plaques for photos of things that were special to a person when they were alive?

Jake starts laughing.

Me: (now suspicious) what about them?

Bob: when you move on, Jake and I will get you one and have a picture of a clown, a dummy, a telemarketer, and a mime on each corner.

Jake chuckles.

Me: Oh no you won't! Besides, I don't wanna be buried. I wanna be taxidermied. I already told you guys that.

Bob: We can't. It's not legal in this country.

Me: So take me to another country and bring me back after.

Jake: How would we get you back into this country?

Me: Toss a blanket over me! Do I have to do "all" the thinking around here?

Bob: I can't do it. Having a dead woman on the sofa would hinder my future dating endeavors.


Jake: She has a point.

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posted by Crabby at 7:30 AM | 20 moos from the field
Saturday, September 01, 2007

Because far too often this blogger posts like...totally dumb stuff. I have decided to post one smart person question per week. I mean...intellectual. (spelled it right. I know because I looked it up.)

My question for this week is....... "We set aside one day each year to celebrate Labor Day so....why don't we set a day aside to celebrate the slackers?" Bet nobody ever thought of that before, huh?

Had to add this in cause I didn't wanna make a whole new post. Ok....when Bob and I go to the market he often comes up behind me and rubs my shoulders. Today he said..."Boy wonder what would happen if I accidentally did that to the wrong woman?"
One of us thinks he'd get knocked on his can. The other one thinks the woman would lean into it like Lucy getting her ear scratched.
So which do you agree with? Theory one...or theory two?

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posted by Crabby at 8:56 AM | 14 moos from the field