I Would Like To……

I would like to dip Paula Deen in butter, roll her in flour and then drop her into a huge deep-fat fryer.

Then, once cooked, slice her into little bite-sized pieces and feed all the hungry kids in the world.  I’m sure she would taste like a yummy, plump chicken.

I would like to make people understand that praying does absolutely nothing and waving your hands to the sky only makes birds and aliens very nervous.

Thanks a lot religious freaks, I’ve been waiting for years to be captured by aliens and taken away from this planet.

I would like to lock all the Kardashians in a rubber-walled room with three dictionaries and see who figures out how to open it first. Continue reading


Ode to Mountain Dew

(I thought I would re-post this for some of my newer followers and since I continue to struggle with this addiction)

According to Wikipedia, in 1940 two Tennessee beverage bottlers named Barney and Ally Hartman invented the formula for Mountain Dew. 

Below is my tribute to those two fine men:

I walked into the 7-11 and quickly made my way to the back of the store where the drink coolers are located.  Immediately, I could see it staring back at me.

The 12-ounce, green canned goddess looking into my eyes.

It was screaming, “touch me, open me, drink me down you dirty boy.  I won’t quench your thirst, but I taste so good, so slippery and so sugary.  Everyone is drinking me, just take me, take me now.”

I couldn’t resist, I grabbed it and jumped to the cashier and butted in front of an old lady with blue hair and a walker.  I couldn’t wait.

Beads of sweat began trickling down my forehead towards my nose.  The cashier looked at me like I was a crack or meth head looking for my next hit.  Well, she wasn’t that far off.

Much like meth addiction, if I continue my assault on these green canned goddesses, my teeth are sure to start dropping out of my mouth indiscriminately. Continue reading

In Defense of Bobby Brown (that girl was Poison)

Hey America, please quit blaming Bobby Brown for Whitney Houston’s death.  Last time I checked, Whit had full control of her own nostrils and esophagus.

Just because Bobby’s pinky fingernail is about 5 inches long, that doesn’t mean that he forced Whit to snort away.

Just because they had a reality show that clearly exhibited to the world their incredible addiction problems, doesn’t mean it was his fault.

Just because Kevin Costner was trying to be the first whitey to hit Whit’s skins doesn’t mean…..well, that isn’t really relevant, I just wanted to throw that in there because it sounded cool. Continue reading