Friday, February 08, 2013

And now for our first installment of, stuff stupid people say!

Now just saying one of these doesn't automatically make you stupid; we've all had our moments of saying really stupid stuff. Particularly when pressed and you don't know what to say or when talking to someone you don't remember at a funeral. You will say some inane crap you can't believe came out of your own mouth. "He looked so... *flailflailflail* ...peaceful!" "Um, it was closed casket. He got run over by a tank."

So, let's make it stuff stupid people voluntarily say, stuff they think is a real humdinger.*

*awesome people say humdinger.

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"

No. No, it doesn't. Okay, it might sometimes. Maybe you learn from a broken heart and vow to never get it broken again (except you probably will, because people who pick assholes tend to keep picking assholes. Sorry, Taylor Swift.) Maybe the guy who had a grenade blow up his foot and a piano fall on his head then took a cream pie to the face and somehow survived is sitting in his wheelchair with his feeding tube, thinking how strong he feels and drooling. But, he probably isn't. He's probably thinking, goddamit, why couldn't it have been a bullet to the face instead of a cream pie? And what was I doing in a Bugs Bunny cartoon?

Most of the time, what's traumatic enough to be defined in terms of not killing you gives you PTSD, or an unfortunate medical condition, or at least some pretty heavy baggage. Humans are not meant to take abuse, we are meant to sit on decks drinking cocktails with little umbrellas in. This is a scientific fact.

Friday, February 01, 2013


Ok, since when does adding -licious onto the end of everything make a new word? And what does it even mean? Aren't cheetahs exciting enough on their own? Well, I guess it does make anything sound fun. It's amoebalicious! (Hey, makes as much sense as cheetahs.) It's... taxlicious! (You can totally use that, H&R Block.) Damn, you smell hobolicious today! Is that a new cologne? "Good job plastering that crack, Wally. You're spacklelicious!" "...uh, thanks Ted." Do we have Beyonce's butt to thank for all this? Thank you, Beyonce's butt.

Anyway, this week's pageant director looks reasonably normal. At least, you can chalk up her decision to wear one of those car seat covers you buy from a guy on the side of the road who may or may not be wanted in 17 states as a shirt to being "cheetahlicious." But then, she opens her mouth.

AND I QUOTE: "We love to see the transformation of a little girl into a woman who looks like she's 19 or 20, even though she might only be four." ... buh? "And that's what we're about, making them become better women for our future."

And there you have it. This is how these people justify this nonsense. If you look like a woman before you're potty trained, you'll be president someday! I... um... spluh... I got nothin'.

Moving on! To Bald Knob, Arkansas, which is way funnier than anything I could have made up about Arkansas. Life is so poetic sometimes. This woman somehow has a 5-year old daughter, even though she's clearly 65 years old.

Man, it must be hard livin' in Bald Knob. Apparently the town's only industry is a coal mine asbestos factory meat smoking plant, and this woman has been working there since she was four. I see no other explanation.

Next stop, Blytheville Arkansas:

Ladies and gentlemen, the last bookstore on earth. Let's have a moment of silence.

The emcee, who apparently got lost on her way to the Pirate Wench... licious pageant. Arrr! I mean, RAWR! ...cheetahs?

And then there was the mom who said "There was a lot of competition in her age division, because her age division had a lot of competition in it." You know what, I'm gonna give this woman a break. All the dumb things they say sound exactly alike anyway, so I can't blame her for getting confused. She might as well have just read from my list of T&T tags. Stiff competition... bring your A-game... rock that stage... diva... Madison... cro-own. Awesome, I'm going out for a smoke.

The winner of the pageant was named Vegas. Suddenly, Madison doesn't sound so bad. At least no one can make "what happens in Madison" jokes. (I'm pretty sure nothing happens in Madison.)

I want one of those sparkly cat crowns, BAD. Like, kick-you-in-the-crotch-bad. RAWRR!