Whooo hooo! Sgt. Candelas said he'll try to get me one of those
flamingoes for my front yard, so I'm busy making room for it. This will
blow the neighbor's little "happy birthday jesus" sign right to Hell.
Zip over to my "real site" to see the progress I've made. That flamingo is gonna
pull the yard and trailer together so well!
It's the piece of fine art I've been looking for.
The paper "boy"--hard to call him boy when he owns his own 4 wheel drive and is almost 30--slapped a piece of paper in with the paper today that read, "Happy Holidays from Steve and blessings on the New Year," along with his address. I guess that's so I can mail him his big Christmas bonus. So I put this paper in the box for tomorrow morning: "Happy Holidays right back at ya, Steve. See if you can actually get the paper in the box in the upcoming New year instead of in the ditch where it usually lands."
Ok, people, I've thought about it--mostly when I woke up at 3 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep--and I'm going to make a hott cop magnetic button on Cafe Press. Now when someone wins the award I can send the button to their precinct and embarrass the hell out of them.
What a great way to win friends and influence people!
Does anybody have any suggestions as to what I could put on it? Pic or wording?
I'm open to suggestions.
This is where it would help if all the artistic people who read my site would chime in. All two of you. I soooo want to use the Blow me! thing because the cops who have responded have all had a good sense of humor, but it's wives and gf's I fear. The gurls with guns. So I think I need to make it more G-rated.
Hmmm, Sgt. Candelas had an *EXCELLENT* idea. He asked me if he gets
a t shirt for winning the Hott Cop O'Da Week Award. I should make "I Won Goddess' Hott
Cop O'Da Week Award" t-shirts! Because for some reason I just can't see them wearing the t shirt I'd *like* to make: "Blow Me! I AM A HOTT COP." Oooooo, I could go
with magnetic buttons! That way they can slap it on their fridge.
Or the side of their patrol car or motorcycle.
Friday night I went to bed at EIGHT O'CLOCK just so I could beat Mr. G and Holly to it. I got all the covers I wanted and all the space...and Holly decided to sleep downstairs on her pillow. GUH! Here's the amazing thing, though. I slept till EIGHT A.M.
Last night I had....brace yourselves....a bottle of Rolling Rock
beer...which might explain the next paragraph.
BTW, RR has to be the weakest beer on the planet--Beater would be the beer expert
to answer that q--but it still kicked my ass.
And I still had a buzz after the third blow job.
While there's nothing I like better than sneaking over to the neighbors trailer in the dead of night to take pics of their lawn ornaments, this was above and beyond the call of duty, but I wanted you people to see this. And the Rolling Rock beer buzz helped. She had this sign in lights in her front yard. I said to her, "Wow. I didn't even realize you had
a son named Jesus. When's his birthday?"
And she said IN A REALLY SNOTTY TONE, "I don't have a son named Jesus. I meant our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ!"
I said, "Ooooooo, Him. Well, first of all you're a tad early, and secondly word has it that Jesus wants a wide screen plasma tv this year. If I were you I'd buy it and leave it on the front lawn, He'll get it when He rides past in His sleigh on Christmas Eve. Oh and Jesus HATES Chia Pets. Yes, even the Garfield one."
Ok, this makes me laugh. Some idiots on COPS tried to steal a 6' flamingo from outside the Flamingo Hotel in Vegas. The more I think about it, the more I laugh. At least they had the sense to try and chuck it into a car. I can see some twits trying to drag it down the sidewalk. I'm hella jealous of those flamingoes though. They'd look FABU on the lawn in front of the trailer. Maybe Sgt. Candelas can get me a deal on one. Maybe that one if it's kept for police evidence.
Did anybody see Oprah's show the other day when she gifted the victimes of Hurricane Katrina with their new homes? Did you notice there wasn't a white person in the group?
Bugzzz writes: "I quit working in retail in order to maintain my sanity. It is my belief that everyone on the planet should have to work in retail at least one day in thier lives.(this includes all the schmucks from the corporate offices that make all the rules that look good on paper but never work out on the floor.) And if I could pick a day, it would have to be Black Friday." Whoa. Bugz only gives the Brady marriage a month, tops.
Coincidentally, I quit retail cuz I married the boss and he got me pregnant.
Whoa. Do you remember South's neighbor that tried to teach me Southernese?
Well, he sent me this email. I'm not sure but I think he's trying to tell me something about my ass?
Ways To Avoid A Good Southern Ass Whuppin' the next time you come
down here and update for South, Northern Gurl...
1. Don't fake a Southern accent. This will incite a riot, and you
will get your ass kicked.
2. Don't order filet mignon or pasta primavera at Waffle House.
It's just a diner. They serve breakfast 24 hours a day. Let them cook
something they know. If you confuse them, they'll kick your ass.
3. We are fully aware of how high the humidity is, so shut the
hell up. Just spend your money and get the hell out of here, or we'll
kick your ass.
4. Don't order a bottle of pop or a can of soda. Down here it's
called Coke. Nobody gives a flying rat's ass whether it's Pepsi, RC, Dr. Pepper, 7-Up or whatever... it's still a Coke. Accept it. Doing
otherwise can lead to an ass kicking.
5. We know our heritage. Most of us are more literate than you
(e.g. Welty, Williams, Faulkner). We are also better educated and
generally a lot nicer. Don't refer to us as a bunch of hillbillies or
we'll kick your ass.
6. We have plenty of business sense (e.g., Fred Smith of Fed Ex,
Sam Walton, Oprah, Turner Broadcasting, MCI WorldCom, MTV, Netscape).
Naturally, we do, sometimes, have small lapses in judgment (David Duke).
We don't care if you think we are dumb. We are not dumb enough to let
someone move to our state in order to run for the Senate. If someone
tried to do that, we would kick his/her ass.
7. Don't laugh at our Civil War monuments. If Lee had listened to
Longstreet and flanked Meade at Gettysburg instead of sending Pickett up the middle, you'd be paying taxes to Richmond instead of Washington.
If you visit Stone Mountain and complain about the carving, we'll kick your ass.
8. Don't laugh at our Southern names (Merleen, Luther, Tammy Lynn,
Inez, Billy Joe, Sissy, Clovis, PamiSue, etc.) or we will just HAVE to kick your ass.
9. Don't order wheat toast at Cracker Barrel. Everyone will
instantly know that you're a Yankee. Eat your biscuits like God
intended,with milk gravy. And don't put sugar on your grits, or we'll
kick your ass.
10. Don't talk about how much better things are at home because we
know better. Many of us have visited Northern hellholes like Detroit,
Chicago, and DC, and we have the scars to prove it. If you don't like it here, Delta or US Airways is ready when you are. Move your ass on home before it gets kicked.
11. Yes, we know how to speak proper English. We talk this way
because we don't want to sound like you. We don't care if you don't
understand what we are saying. All other Southerners understand what we are saying, and that's all that matters. Now, go away and leave us
alone, or we'll kick your ass.
12. Don't complain that the South is dirty and polluted. None of
OUR lakes or rivers have caught fire recently. If you whine about OUR
scenic beauty, we'll kick your ass all the way back to Pittsburgh.
13. Don't ridicule our Southern manners. We say sir and ma'am. We
hold doors open for others. We offer our seats to old folks because such things are expected of civilized people. Behave yourselves around our sweet little gray-haired grandmothers or they'll kick some manners into your ass just like they did ours.
14. So you think we're quaint, or losers, because most of us live
in the countryside? That's because we have enough sense to not live in filthy, smelly, crime infested cesspools like New York, L.A. or Boston.
Make fun of our fresh air, and we'll kick your ass.
15. Last, but not least, DO NOT DARE to come down here and tell us
how to cook barbecue. This will get your ass shot (right after it is kicked). Criticize our barbecue, and you will go home in a pine box . . minus your ass.