Calling all rednecks

Well, I did it. It’s the very last day of NaBloPoMo. I’m pretty proud of myself, I have to say. And now, it’s time for a break. I may be back, I may not. Who knows, in this crazy topsy-turvy world whether I’ll have anything to say in the future. All I know for sure, is that for right now, NaBloPoMo has broken me.

Aw, I’m just fuckin’ with y’all. I’m enjoying this more than ever and I have tons of crappy stories I haven’t told yet. However, if y’all wanna leave a bunch of comments begging me not to quit, so that I, in turn, can post how grateful and touched I am by the outpouring of support, well, who am I to stop you?

But, seriously? You fuckers aren’t getting rid of me that easily! Ha!

Now, given the popularity of yesterday’s post, I’ve decided that I want to make an internet redneck quiz. So, if you all would be so kind as to leave your suggestions for questions in the comments, I’ll put that bad boy together. Pookie says he’s sure there are already some out there, but he’s also sure that we can do it better. Let’s do it for the Pookster!

Speaking of Pookie(s), I got an e-mail yesterday from someone here in blogland telling me that their nickname is Pookie. This person also threatened to hunt me down if I told who it was. So I’m not gonna tell y’all.

But I am going to have a lot more of this kind of thing in my posts: “OMG,Y’all, Pookie totally rocked my world last night. Pookie is the best lover evah. I just wish Pookie didn’t have to have Barry Manilow playing to get off.” Just to fuck with the other Pookie. Because, once again, and I don’t think I can say this too often, I am immature.

Ok, on to more serious matters. I got a call from a friend last night that her husband, one of my best friends, and a true brother to both Pookie and I, is in ICU with an as yet undiagnosed illness. They live about an hour away and Pookie and I are leaving shortly to go see him.

His name is Jack and I’ve mentioned him sporadically here. The reason he hasn’t had more airtime, if you will, is that he’s always whining about not getting more airtime. So it’s been my pleasure to screw with him by not writing about him. We are both terribly mature.

Jack’s a good guy, and if you’re the type to pray, please add him to your list today.

Finally, I have a video that I’ve been on the fence about posting because,well, it’s kinda dirty. But I’m posting it today in honor of Jack, who would love it and would laugh until he fell over.

If you’ve ever heard of Rodney Carrington, you’ll know what you’re in for. If you haven’t, get with it, you poor bastard!


The most accurate, yet really kind of offensive internet quiz I’ve ever taken

Congratulations! You are 0% ghetto

It looks like you keep yourself out of the ghetto and are living ghetto free. Also, you may be white.

How Ghetto Are You
Create Your Own Quiz

Although, one of the questions was, and I quote: “3. Do you know anyone (including yourself) named Pookie, Nay Nay, Shaquita, Boo Boo or Tawanna?”

I answered yes, of course, but apparently the quiz sensed that Pookie is just the nickname I have for my equally non-ghetto husband. Damnit! I was hoping to be at least 10% ghetto, if only so that my kids will think I’m cool.

If one of the questions had been ‘Have you ever been shot/stabbed in the face?’, my score would have totally shot up. Also, I hang out with pit bulls a LOT. Surely that has to count for something.

Ok, I admit to a shortage of gold chains, but I have a lovely tennis bracelet that Pookie bought me for out last anniversary and, while I don’t generally chug 40′ s of an evening, I have been known to have a little Bailey’s in my evening coffee.

Ooh! One of my neighbor’s has a toilet in his front yard! Does that count? Although, he is renovating and therefore I expect the toilet to be gone posthaste and also, I believe the potty in the front yard is more redneck than ghetto.

Man, I just can’t win.

He went after those three mice next, the sick bastard

So, this one time, at band camp, my brother stabbed me in the face. Ok, so it wasn’t band camp, it was our living room, but my brother did indeed stab me in the face.

About an 1/8 of an inch from my eyeball, to be exact. That’s right, I was almost BLINDED whilst being stabbed in the FACE by my BROTHER (be honest, y’all. Do the caps make it all that much more dramatic or are they just a pain in the ass?)

Anyway, one day, way back in 1978, when I was about 9 years old and my brother Joel was about 15, we were play fighting. He was pretending to try to stab me and I was pretending to fight him off.

(Okay, one of the reasons I took so long to tell this story is that I cannot figure out how to tell it without my brother coming across as a vaguely retarded psychopath. I assure you, he is neither. However, I will concede that he was a huge dumbass who should have known better. In fact, he’s still a dumbass, but he hasn’t tried to stab anyone in years.)

So, anyway, we were playing and he was holding his old (rusty!) pocketknife over me. I, in turn, was holding his arm and hollering my head off (because that’s what you do when someone is trying to stab you. I still have a finely tuned sense of drama)

Now, he wasn’t exerting any pressure on my arm; he wasn’t actually attempting to stab me, but he wasn’t holding his arm’s weight up either. So when I let go of his arm and went to get up, his arm fell and the knife landed very close to my left eye.

To be truthful, I didn’t even know I was injured until my brother’s face went white and he told me that I was bleeding.

We lived way out in the country then and had no phone. My mother was either at work or at school when this occurred and Joel was responsible for the rest of us. Which is rather hilarious, if you think about it.

Anyway, the closest phone available to us was at the little mom and pop store down the road from our house. So Joel slapped a paper towel or something over my eye, picked me up and started to run down the road, with my other brothers running alongside.

He ran until he couldn’t carry me anymore (about 200 feet, the pussy), put me down and told me I was going to have to run. Which I did, because to be honest, the blood running down my face was really starting to freak me out.

We get to the little store and the sweet little old people there assure us that I am fine and then call my mother and assure her that I am fine and then hand out Hershey Bars and Cokes to all of us.

Now, I called Joel this evening to get his memories of it and he was hopped up on muscle relaxers because his back went out. Karma? Oh yes.

He said he didn’t remember there being any blood. I asserted that this perception was due to his guilty conscience over having STABBED ME IN THE FACE, and if there hadn’t been blood, why in fuck had we run down the road to get help. He conceded my point.

Anyway, I told him that he was lucky that Mom hadn’t killed him. He replied that he was lucky he hadn’t killed me. I told that wasn’t likely but that I was very glad he hadn’t poked my eye out as it would have totally lessened my attractiveness to the opposite sex. Then he said something vaguely dirty about my possible popularity as the one-eyed girl.

I think it’s obvious that neither one of us learned a lesson from this, don’t you?

Right after I post this, I’m going to take a nap

For all two of you who might have been wondering why I haven’t posted yet today, I have a good excuse. Patsy came up yesterday and spent the night and I’ve been busy hanging with my homie. We played Scrabble, shopped for shoes to replace the ones GargantuDog ate, and just basically hung around, doing nothing.

She just left for home (wah) and I am going to have to tell her that Little Man just said, ‘Mimi can’t be my pit crew anymore’. I’m sure she will be shocked and saddened by this news.

While Patsy was here, she showed me how to record audio with my cell phone, so I have two recordings of Little Man singing to share with y’all. As soon as I figure out how to do it. Which really means as soon as Pookie figures out how to do it. I think my ineptitude with all things technological has been well documented.

I have made a promise to myself that I am going to By God sit down and write out the stories of How I Got Stabbed In The Face and How I got Run Over On My Birthday tonight, so hopefully one or both of those will be up tomorrow.

In the meantime, watch this video and see if history repeats itself.

And now, as foretold, I am off to take a nap. I must be psychic or something. Y’all be quiet and keep the TV down, hear?

The Hound of the Baskervilles

Meet Tonka. Her name used to be Honkytonk, but they were calling her Honky for short. Now, even if I didn’t have neighbors of many colors, I wouldn’t be real hot about stepping out my door and yelling ‘Honky!’. I also wouldn’t call a dog ‘Cracker’.

So we’re calling her Tonka for two reasons:

1) It sounds enough like her old name that she won’t be confused, and..

2) She resembles a Tonka Truck in her ability to go anywhere she damn well pleases. We’re thinking about painting her yellow and installing a horn.

She’s the sweetest old girl you ever saw. Never met a stranger, apparently. Her behavior thus far has been pretty exemplary with a few notable exceptions. First and foremost, whoever said this dog was potty trained was a lying sumbitch. We’re working on it and coming along just fine, but in the meantime, just know that there are few worse ways to start your day than finding one of the Great Lakes in your front entrance way.

Secondly, I have to take Contrary Jr. shoe shopping today to replace the three pairs the dog knoshed on, kibble apparently not being enough. It was a one time incident, mostly because we immediately went out and bought the biggest fucking bone in the world for her to chew on.

Thirdly, she thinks she’s a lap dog. Even as you protest, wheezing and short of breath, she will climb into your lap and take a nap.

Other than that stuff, which we’re working on and making progress with, she’s just about the best dog you could hope for. Plus, she stinkin’ cute.

How could anyone resist this?


We have a guest post from my stepson, Pookie Jr., today! I think you’ll find it very amusing, especially if you’re a Poe fan.

You all, no doubt, remember Gracie, the nudist pug, from my story of her sweater, or, more specifically, her refusal to wear it. For those of you newer to this blog, the short version is that I sent an e-mail to Contrary describing my valiant efforts to clothe my pug, Gracie, in the dead of winter with a sweater, and of the… less than satisfactory outcome that ensued. Contrary thought it humorous enough to post on her blog. I think this was on her old site, so the actual text has probably been lost. (Ed: Oh, ye of little faith)

Gracie, when she is hungry, has a very destructive habit of tearing at the screen door. Now, the glass door behind the screen is always closed, so she has no hope of getting through it, but it does usually does grab somebody’s attention, thus getting her fed. Over time, this has ruined the screen door, destroying it completely from about knee-height down.

Recently, when we grew tired of staring at the ruined screen door, we decided to purchase one online that was advertised as “indestructible”, much in the same way the Titanic was advertised as “unsinkable”. See, the thing about these “indestructible” screen doors, is that, like the Titanic, they take a lot to destroy, but when they do go, they go spectacularly. At first, everything appeared fine. Gracie scratched and bit and chewed at the door, all to no avail. Yet one day, while I was sitting watching TV and eating a turkey sandwich (the door is right behind our couch), all of a sudden I hear a very loud ripping sound. I turned around, and almost half
the screen, in one piece, had come off the door.

Gracie and Dixie (my other pug) were busy having a fine game of let’s-chew-each-other’s-faces-off, as they are prone to do, right in the middle of a pile of what just moments before had been the lower half our screen door. Gracie was promptly yelled at, which sent her into some kind of doggy-funk, and she sulked off to her doghouse. Dixie chased her tail for five minutes and the ran in circles for awhile.

Below is what I imagined happened to Gracie after I went back inside, and the thought process she had while committing the heinous act. It is slightly more poetic form than is my normal style, but nonethless I believe it still gets the point across. Oh, and in case you had any doubts, yes, it is shamelessly plagaraized from The Raven, and no, I don’t care.

The Pigeon

Once upon a pug so dreary, as she pondered, fat and weary
Over many a quaint and curious day of yonder lore
While she lay there, only napping, suddenly there came a tapping
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at her house’s door
‘Tis my Andrew,’ she muttered, ‘tapping at my house’s door-
only this and nothing more’

Ah, distinctly she remembers, though she really ought have not,
As each seperate dying thought wrought its ghost upon the ground.
Eagerly she wished she wished the morrow; – vainly she had sought to borrow
From her Andrew to his sorrow- sorrow for the lost screen door –
For the new and costly mesh whom he’d only, only called ‘screen door’ –
In tatters now for evermore.

Presently her soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer,
‘Andrew,’ she said,’For only thine forgiveness I implore;
but the fact is I was starving, and I saw you that turkey carving,
and so now here you come tapping, tapping at my house’s door,
O forgive me, for thine mercy’ -here she pushed open her door-
Her bone there, and nothing more.

Deep into her bone peering, long she stood there, wondering, fearing,
Doubting, thinking thoughts no poor pug had ever dared to think before
Yet the silence was unbroken, and the bone, it gave no token,
And the only word there spoken were the whispered words, ‘Screen door!’
This she whispered, and echo mumered back the words, ‘Screen door!’
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into her doghouse turning, all her thoughts within her burning,
Soon again she heard a tapping somewhat sharper than before.
‘Surely,’ she thought, ‘surely that is something at my door;
Let me see then, what there is, and this mystery explore –
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; –
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Open her she flung her door, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
Came that way a stately pigeon of the wonderous days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made it; not a second stopped or stayed it;
But, with the mein of Andrew it sat, perched next to her doghouse door –
Perched upon her bone of rawhide just beside her doghouse door –
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this smoky bird beguiling her sad tail, oh, into wagging,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
‘Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, though,’ she said, ‘art sure not smidgen
Ghastly grim and ancient pigeon wandering from the daily yore
Tell me what thy business be here beside my doghouse door!’
Quoth the pigeon, ‘Nevermore.’

Much she marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living canid being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing this bird beside its doghouse door
Bird or beast upon a rawhide bone, beside a doghouse door
With such a name as ‘Nevermore.’

Startled at the stillnes broken by reply so oddly spoken,
‘Doubtless,’ she said, ‘what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore –
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
of “Never-nevermore.”

But the pigeon still beguiling the pug’s sad, sad tail into wagging,
That she nudged her cushioned bed in front of bird and bone and door;
Then upon the plastic sinking, she betook herself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore –
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking ‘Nevermore.’

Then, she thought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls muffled on the grassy ground.
‘Wretch,’ she cried, ‘thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee
Respite – respite and nepenthe from my thinkings of screen door!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget the lost screen door!’
Quoth the pigeon, ‘Nevermore.’

‘Prophet!’ said Pug, ‘thing of evil! – prophet still if bird or devil! –
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee at my door,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this grassy land enchanted –
On this house by regret haunted – tell me truly, I implore –
Is there forgiveness for his pug yet in Andrew, I implore!’
Quoth the pigeon, ‘Nevermore.’

And the pigeon, never lifting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the rawhide bone of Gracie’s, just beside the unhappy hound;
And its eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the sunlight o’er it streaming throws its shadow on the ground;
And Gracie’s soul from that shadow that lies floating on the ground
Shall be lifted – nevermore!

A cool contest and a hot recipe

There is a really cool Swiffer contest going on that I thought you all might want to know about (Thanks Nicole, for the head’s up!).

Y’all can visit here from November 15 through December 30 and submit a photo(s) of your interior holiday decorated home. During this time, one photo will be chosen each week and posted as “favorite home of the week”

In addition, participants will be chosen via random sweepstakes selections and will win the following:

1. Grand Prize Winner: $3,500 toward a home makeover
2. 25 First Prize Winners: A Swiffer WetJet
3. 6 Weekly Winners: A year’s supply of Swiffer Products

Now, who couldn’t use $3,500.00? I know I could. So carry your butts over there and see what the fuss is all about.

Now, onto other matters: There was a minor clamoring for the stuffing recipe that my mother-in-law gave me. So here it is. Oh, and no pressure or anything, but if you screw this recipe up, your crock pot should be taken away from you. Seriously. If I can do it, anyone can do it.


4 1/2 cups cornbread
1- 16oz package Pepperidge Farms Herb Seasoned dressing mix
2- 10.5 oz cans cream of chicken soup
2- 14 oz cans of chicken broth
1 medium sized onion-chopped
1/2 cup celery-chopped
4 large eggs
1 tbs rubbed sage
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper
2 tbs butter

Combine all ingredients except butter in large bowl and mix well. Spray inside crock pot with Pam (or otherwise lube that bad boy up), spoon mixture into crock pot and then put pats of butter on top. Cook on low setting for 4 hours. Serve and collect compliments graciously.

Ok, I’ve talked about a Swiffer contest and posted a recipe. Honest to God, what is the world coming to? I have an awesome entry coming tomorrow from my genius stepson. Be prepared to be amused and amazed.