Art, fine, but fine art?

So I hope all of you raised a glass in honour of George Carlin.

PFUCKA, George! It's not gonna be the same without you.

-----

And now on to the subject of art.

Recently, someone on one of my boards recently posted some really nice pics of his hometown of Oslo. They included sculpture by a bloke named Gustav Vigeland.


Wonderful, powerful, tender works of nude figures - usually families - like the dad above, toting his two babies. Well it sparked a discussion on how that sort of thing wouldn't fly over here and I wondered, as I often do, about why folks have such a problem with the nude, non aroused, human form. Especially in art.

I mean it's fucking art, for fuck's sake! Shit.

Why would a marble tit offend you? Or a bronze penis in repose? Who gives a great flying fuck at the moon? Does a copper cootch (or a plaster pudenda) in a park somewhere affect your lifestyle adversly?

So Vigeland's on my list of faves.

I also like Spencer Tunick, the bloke who poses all the nude people and photographs them. How cool a job is that?

Recently, I re-discovered an artist and learned that he had a decidedly bawdy side. w00t!


He's Aubrey Beardsley of the elegant Art Neuveau style. I had NO idea that he had done mostly erotica. He's definately my kinda artist:


I'm lovin' the little guy on the left!

So, what's your opinion of nudity in art? I'm not talking about Beardsley type stuff that is clearly erotica. I mean just nekkid peoples. Sculpted, painted, photographed, whatever.

Shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cocksucker, motherfucker, tits

George Carlin passed away yesterday.



"Comedian George Carlin, a counter-culture hero famed for his routines about drugs, dirty words and the demise of humanity, died of heart failure at a Los Angeles-area hospital on Sunday. He was 71.

Carlin, who had a history of heart and drug-dependency problems, died at Saint John's Health Center in Santa Monica about 6 p.m. PDT (9 p.m. EDT) after being admitted earlier in the afternoon for chest pains, spokesman Jeff Abraham told Reuters.


Known for his edgy, provocative material developed over 50 years, the bald, bearded Carlin achieved status as an anti-Establishment icon in the 1970s with stand-up bits full of drug references and a routine called "Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television." A regulatory battle over a radio broadcast of the routine ultimately reached the U.S. Supreme Court."

George in one of his typical walking-the-edge routines. The v. end is particularly funny.



"God is one of the leading causes of death. Has been for a couple of thousand years."

RIP, George. We miss you already.

Memorial day thank you

I just wanted to make sure that evey fuckingbody said - at least - a wee "thank you for all your fucking sacrifices" to all the men and women who have sufferd and feared and died to keep us wankers all free.

Thank them, you motherfuckers.

Thank these blokes (and a few birds) who fucking lost their lives to keep America free.

THANK YOU SO MUCH.

Above and beyond

Since I just posted a rant about folks who can't/won't do their fucking jobs, I just wanted to post this about hotel workers who went through the rubbish to recover some guest's lost shit.

"While tidying up their villa as they prepared to leave the park late last week, Paul Campanale dumped a cardboard bowl, not knowing the container inside it held his wife Karen's engagement, wedding and five-year-anniversary rings.

Park employees warned the couple from Worcester, Mass., that recovering the jewelry was all but impossible. So on Friday, the Campanales and their two children loaded onto a Magical Express bus and headed to the airport.

Back at the Wilderness Lodge resort, executive housekeeper Drew Weaver realized that trash from the Campanales' villa hadn't reached the industrial-size compactor yet. He and seven other volunteers donned protective clothing, emptied a parking lot bin and waded through bag after bag of rubbish to find the rings. And they did."

I'm a bit perturbed that there were no gushing thank yous reported from Mrs I'm-A-Daft-Shithead, but perhaps they simply omitted it.

Kudos to these folks from the Wilderness Lodge at Disney. Good on yer!

Say ... why aren't you all over on my forums posting pics of your ass? I wanna seeeeeeee!

We just added the new Blackadder section, as well! Come tell us your latest cunning plan.

The Evil Genius Woman Forums

The Evil Genius Comics Forums (now, with Blackadder!)

For the blokes

I fucking love Rodney Carrington.

Apparently I'm not the only one.

Straight from one of the fucking fabulous bitches over on my new forums.

What?

You didn't know I had forums?!

Well fuck me!

If you're a chick, or a parent of any sex, check out my Evil Genius Woman forums. If you're a comic geek or movie freak, try the Evil Genius Comics forums.

Bear in mind that these forums are brand spanking new, so not so busy yet (although the parenting one already has a passel of fucking brilliant folks on). ALSO bear in mind that if you are one of me mates or one of muh Pussy Posse that there are PRIVATE, uncensored boards within both forums where you can cuss, tell dirty jokes, post pictures of your arse (if you feel so inclined) and generally be yourself.

Note: If I don't know you, don't like you, or your nads smell funny, you are not getting straight into the private sections. But if you're a cool person and genuinely interested in hanging out, please stop buy, introduce yourself and post. Cool people get VIP'd to the back rooms v. quickly.

Come. Come to the dark side.

Convos from hell

Y'all know I have a niggling piece of straw in my underpants about service people who can't do their fucking jobs. Well, I have two short ones more to share:

D'ye recall my tirade about the bitches who answer the phone at my Local Farming-Type Place?

Yup, you guessed it. I had the misfortune to have to ring them again.

Convo number two:

Dumb Bitch: "Hullo"?
Me: "Hey! I was by there the other day looking for a carry-all and y'all had sold the last one. i was wondering if any more had come in?"
DB: "You lookin for Newberry Farming-Type Place or Newberry Farm and Garden Type Place?"
Me: "Uh ... Newberry Farming Type Place"
*silence*
Me: "I was just --"
DB: "And you needed what?"
Me: "A carry-all. It's a piece of 3pt equipment --"
DB: "Well, I don't know nuthin' about that! Ho'd on."

Uhm, so am I the asshole here or what? If you work for a place whose job it is to sell tractors and tractor equipment but knew fuck-all about tractors and tractor equipment, why the Blue Fuck are you answering the phone?!

Next Convo:

OK, my dumb arse did something spectacularly idiotic that same day by running low on petrol a looooong way away from the only reasonable petrol station in the area. Subsequently I had to stop in a teensy nearby asshole of a town where petrol was over 20c more expensive per gallon.

Well, I live almost on a huge, v. popular lake, the shoreline of which is replete with folks who have more money than sense. What evar. But one of the things these denizens of the lake do is they have no prob filling up the old Monster SUV at any convenient station.

So wee asshole-town station was packed with huge I've-got-a-small-penis-but-lots-of-money Dodge Rams and Ford F-250s and one ugly Lexus SUV.

Well, there were two pumps (four slots) and I queued up behind the car at the outermost pump.

Did you hear what I just said?

"Behind the car at the outermost pump"

Was that in any way confusing?

Just checking.

So I go in, grab a diet Coke, and walk up to Whitney Whitetrash behind the counter. I set the Coke on the counter and take a tenner out of my wad o' cash (hah!) and hold it up helpfully.

WW: "Ziss it?"
Me: "Hey! No. I'd also like ten dollars worth of regular, please. I'm behind the guy at the outside pump. In the silver minivan."

It's a teensy place, so I simply point at my minivan. It's about 25 feet away, max, and every other vehicle save the one in front of mine was a pick-up.

She frowns in fine bovine fashion through the big plate glass window.

WW: "Yerrrrrrr ....?"
Me: "Behind the car at the outermost pump. The farthest pump."
WW: (points at the white Lexus SUV in front of my clearly visible silver van) "That car?"
Me: (misunderstanding) "Yep"
WW: "But he's pumping his gas."
Me: "No, I'm behind him. In line. Behind him. The silver minivan."
WW: "So ... you're not actually IN the car ..."

This stumped me so much that I didn't reply. Of course I'm not in the car. I'm standing right here ...

WW: "... the white car?"
Me: "No, no, I'm driving the silver minivan behind the white car."

She frowned out the window again and I was beginning to think the cooling fan on her brain had gone wonkey. Plus I was getting frustrated.

Me: (stepping partway out the door and pointing elaborately) "See the white car? I'm behind the white car. I need $10 worth of regular. (waves ten spot) In the silver minivan behind the white car!"
WW: (petulantly) "OK, ok. I'm sorry!"
Me: "not a probl--"
WW: "I cain't even put it in till he finishes pumping his gais, anyways!"
Me: (to self: Well, duh, honey. I cain't even pull up to the pump till he leaves.) "However works best for you!" (winning smile)

Again, was I just the dumb asshole here? Did she come from a planet that had no knowledge of minivans? Was she colourblind? Had she never been exposed to any of those delightful children's books that explore the spatial relationships of objects? ("The teddy bear is behind the green train!")

Ahh! I've got it! Clearly, I'm so poorly spoken that even the simplest folk have a difficult time understanding me.

Must work on that.

R.I.P, Taylor

Charlton Heston has died.

He's one of my all time faves. So sorry to see you go, mate.

:( :( :(

'LOS ANGELES - Charlton Heston, who won the 1959 best actor Oscar as the chariot-racing "Ben-Hur" and portrayed Moses, Michelangelo, El Cid and other heroic figures in movie epics of the '50s and '60s, has died. He was 84.
The actor died Saturday night at his home in Beverly Hills with his wife Lydia at his side, family spokesman Bill Powers said.'

'Heston revealed in 2002 that he had symptoms consistent with Alzheimer's disease, saying, "I must reconcile courage and surrender in equal measure."
With his large, muscular build, well-boned face and sonorous voice, Heston proved the ideal star during the period when Hollywood was filling movie screens with panoramas depicting the religious and historical past. "I have a face that belongs in another century," he often remarked.
Publicist Michael Levine, who represented Heston for about 20 years, said the actor's passing represented the end of an iconic era for cinema.
"If Hollywood had a Mt. Rushmore, Heston's face would be on it," Levine said. "He was a heroic figure that I don't think exists to the same degree in Hollywood today."'

Rule, Britannia

This is totally fucking cool.

Srsly.

I'll wait. Check it.

....

....

Right, so, does that make anybody else want to immediately go fuck a British fighter pilot? Or a British race car driver?

Or, like, any sexy Brit with a penis and a heroic aspect?

Or is it just me?

Really. Bring me one. I'd totally do him.

(Blimey! Talk about a heroic aspect!) ---->

(The bloke at the top, btw, is Marvel Comics's Blue-would-totally-fuck-him Union Jack created by writer Roger Stern and artist John Byrne. Dead sexy.)

(EDITED to add: that particular bit of artwaork is a composit of Mike Perkins's version of Union Jack [left. dangerous. sexy.] from Union Jack Vol 2, and Scott Kolins's [right. B&D. Mmmmm.] from New Avengers #5. Thanks to Bodog from The Blog Monster for the info!)

Boy on!

Is it fucking possible that Eddie Izzard is just getting fucking sexier and sexier?

(here with Minni Driver)

Must. Netflix. The. Riches.

Here's a cool article on Eddie, America, transvestism, and the new show.

""I've always known that I was a transvestite," he says. "I fancy girls but I'm a wannabe lesbian. But I'm quite happy being a guy too. I don't do a big mental shift if I'm throwing on a dress.

"It's just a side of my sexuality, a side of my personality, a side of myself - and it's complicated. It's there all the time.

"I call it girl mode and boy mode. Like a superhero - like the Human Torch who can go, 'Flame on', and then he's in flames and then he goes 'Flame off', and he's not. In the same way, I can do 'Girl on' and 'Boy on'.""

An anatomy lesson

So, yeah, Armani revealed the new underpants advert featuring footballer David Beckham:

I drooled over it as did all the women and gay blokes that I know. It's a cool advert.

It's David Beckham in his underpants.

Aye, but here's the thing. I happened to glance at the comments left here and was amused at the people who suggested that he'd been Photoshopped.

Hmmm.

See, I'm a wee bit of a penis aficionado (as well you know) and I'm confoozled.

While I'm sure the pic has been 'shopped to correct shading and blemishes and such, I see nothing to suggest that David's naughty bits, his meat and two veg, Vicki's giggle stick and the twins, has been altered.

Looks like a lovely example of standard issue equipment there. I mean, what are these folks looking at? Are they aware of what a man's equipment really looks like? Have they ever actually seen male genitalia from this angle - live and in person - as in this modest version below?

Or have all the examples they've seen been so depressingly small that Mr Beckham looks egregiously large?

(Not that, let me hasten to say, he looks undersized. I'm eyeballing a nice banger there - pun intended - but nothing freakish.)

I think that the doubters of the photo fall into two categories: 1) jealous men, and 2) that most bizarre of females who honestly has no idea what she's looking at here. She's the woman on my baby boards who (alarmingly) is pregnant, will be raising a child here soon, and seriously has no idea of the actual mechanics of conception, pregnancy, and birth. She had no clue as to what a cervix is or that she ovulated at some midpoint between periods. She sincerely believes that pissing into drain opening chemicals will accurately predict the sex of her child and she refers to her genitalia as "down there" and her husband's penis as his "thing".

People, that lovely, large, firm bulge facing the camera is a scrotum (enhanced and supported by Mr Armani's undoubtedly expensive drawers). Mr Beckham's johnson is laid neatly to his right hand side pointing away from the camera.

Bats come with balls. This accounts for most of the mass in most men's shorts. Something along the lines of this:

A purty scrotum is a wonderful thing. Awwwww ... doesn't it make ya just want to pet it?

-----

PS: have ya ever been surfing pictures of penises on the 'nets and come across one and think: "Say ... that looks just like so-and-so's ..."?

OK, it's just me I guess.

Lois Maxwell dies

Miss Moneypenny, you will be desperately missed.

James Bond: "Moneypenny, what gives?"

Miss Moneypenny: "Me, given an ounce of encouragement."

I really should do some Bond t-shirts for the store. What a great fucking series of films (for the most part).

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UDUMASS

OK, yeah, I'd be fucking ashamed to be from Oregon right now.

Oregon DMV spokesmorons Bell and House (nice, safe, white, middle class, anglo-saxon names) twitter on about how these folks' personalised plates UDINK1, UDINK2, etc are offensive because (brace yourselves) 'dink' : "can be treated as a verb, which gives it a sexual reference, and also can be a racial slur targeted at the Vietnamese"

What The Blue Fuck?

It's their NAME, you dumb fucks!

Also, anyone who knows that 'dink' is a sexual reference would think the plate hilarious and I doubt that a Vietnamese person on the planet would think that some random Oregonian family had chosen, of all things, to insult the Vietnamese race via their personalised licence plates!

For fucks sake, people! Does this sound like the boy in Oz who was banned from school because of his name? (Note, I had this bookmarked but apparently the article has 'expired' from Yahoo and i can't find it. Note to self: quote entire articles from now on so they'll live forever on da net.) Anyway, the kid's name was 'Helle' which is a perfectly acceptable German surname.

Dumbest. Case. Of. Censorship. Evar.

Should I send the Udinks one of my new snarky t-shirts?

Wouldn't this one be a great funny t-shirt for wearing to the in-laws' house? Or meetings at work? (EGH needs this one for some of his co-workers. Not all, just a select few.) Ohh, how about political rallies? Great tees for the upcoming presidential election in 2008! Ha! Wear it to vote.

-----

Oh, here's the entire article:

MERLIN, Oregon - The state of Oregon has ordered a family to turn in the vanity license plates on its cars because their Dutch last name, which is written on the plates, is similar to an offensive word.
The plates, UDINK1 UDINK2 and UDINK3 are on the vehicles of Mike and Shelly Udink and their son Kalei. Two of the plates are five and seven years old. One was issued last year.
Last summer, Kawika Udink's application for UDINK4 was rejected and the state ordered that the other three plates be returned.
"DINK has several derogatory meanings," Yvonne Bell, who sits on the Department of Motorvehicles panel that approves vanity plates, told the Daily Courier newspaper.
DMV spokesman David House and Bell said the word can be treated as a verb, which gives it a sexual reference, and also can be a racial slur targeted at the Vietnamese.
House said the "U" in the front could be construed as "You."
The DMV denies requests for any combination of letters and numbers that may be viewed as objectionable, in any language, by use of phonetic, numeric or reverse spelling, or when viewed as a mirror image, or that would alarm or offend a reasonable person.
Intimate body parts or sexual or bodily functions are taboo, as are offensive references to race, color, gender, ethnic heritage, or national origin or to alcohol or drugs or paraphernalia.
The panel's ruling surprised Mike Udink, whose name is Dutch. He says it is a common last name in The Netherlands.
"Since when can a panel dictate whether your name's offensive or not?" asked Udink, a lineman for Pacific Power.
House said the state has the right to censor license plates, because the state owns them

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Nine one one

Just a quickie to remind you to take a second to remember the folks who died during the terrorist attacks of 9/11, and the rescue workers who worked the scene, hospital staff who cared for the wounded and the dead, and all the soldiers who have fought and died to keep us safe and free.

Personally, I fervently wish for every terrorist of any kind, whether religious, political, or just a crazy cocksucker like McFuckVeigh, should die screaming in agony and choking on his or her own blood.

But that's just me.

Would you like some fries with that?

Can you say: "Quit yer whinging, you great Nancy"?

Does this seem like gross overkill to you?

Number one, who the fuck gets sick from salt?

Number two, and the question the chick asked: what moron would continue to eat a burger so laden with salt that it made him sick? What do YOU do when you bite into something too hot, too cold, too salty, too spicy, too greasy, or that tastes too much like a human finger?

You stop eating.

Duh-huh.

This article says that he didn't eat the entire burger and that he insists that there was something else on it that made him sick. Hmmmm.

Does he think she targeted him as a cop? Also, does this all sound to you like the cop suspects her for some other reason (hates women, she's the wrong colour, knows her from somewhere else)?

Or perhaps he has control issues and is using his postiton to hurt someone just because he can.

This article jumps from making the employee sound sinister to implicating the manager (to whom the chick supposedly reported the salty meat).

Honestly, I can say as an ex fast food employee (I worked at both the chain mentioned and it's closest competitor), I have seen managers insist we use meat that had been accidently left out of the freezer, meat dropped on the floor, cooked meat that was WAY old, and burnt patties. All to make their bottom line look good.

*shrug*

Who the fuck knows? It just really seems like a blown-out-of proportion reaction. I'll be interested to see how this one plays out.

Nakedness and cars!

Uhm ... so, yeah.

"The 37-year-old Chicago man was traveling east to Ohio to visit his mother, police said. He was nude and had petroleum jelly on his hands when a state trooper pulled him over about 10 miles from the Ohio line Wednesday, police said."

'Cause I'm all the time driving with Vaseline on my hands.

How about you?

Perhaps he needs to visit the nude car wash.

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

I love my new hometown. I really really do. This area is quiet, rural, friendly, has amenities such as a Stupor Sprawl Mart, a feed mill, a farm center, and is within easy driving distance of my real hometown, the small city of Columbia, SC - which has everything else I might ever need.

But damned if some of the local business owners don't have a habit that irritates the FUCK out of me.

Many of the businesses are family owned (I'm all for that) by the men (erm, not so much) and often will have the female family members answering the phone or running the register. I have no problem with this whatsoever except for three things:

1) Female (or male for that matter) should know how to answer the fucking telephone in a professional manner, know where records are, know how to, for example, give a refund or schedule an appointment or take a fucking message. Bitch, you are answering the phone for a business! I don't give a ferret's asshole if you are fucking the boss's son, you pick up that phone and the convo should NOT go like this:

Dumb bitch: "hullo?"
Me: "Erm, is this Newberry Farming-Type Place?"
DB: "Yeah."
Me: "I'm calling to see if my farming type equipment is ready"
DB: "Uh ... ho'd on."
*sound of receiver being put down - thunk*
*long silence*
DB: "He ain't here."
Me: "... erm ... who?"
DB: (Sounding irritated and bored) "Joe Blow. He ain't here."
(Joe sold me my farming type equipment)
Me: "Ahh, well ..."
DB: (Clearly irritated now) "He's who you need to talk to!"
Me: "Thank you, I'll call back."
DB: "Uh-huh, bye"
*click*


2) Female (or male for that matter) should know what the fuck she's fucking talking about. You work at a tractor place? You should know about tractors, damnit, at least on a rudimentary level. You should be able to identify one in a line-up (Is that it? Is that one? No, Amber-Dawn, that's a Miata, honey.) You answer the phone at a trailer place? You should at least know what sort of trailers they are (Stock trailers? Horse trailers? Flatbeds? What?) You should grasp the basic concept of the business.

And number 3) Female (or male for that matter) should not be a goddamned fucking bitch.

Again, you slag, I don't fucking care if you are the Queen of the Trailer Park and personally and without assistance squeezed each of the people who own the business in question out of your personal vagina after 2 days of labour, each. This still does NOT give you the right to be a rude, condescending, cunt to a customer (that would be ME, ho).

My money is just as good as anyone else's and I'm there at your place to spend it. Quit acting like a fuckhead and squeeze some Customer Service out of that shiny vagina of yours, why doncha?

Ode to my fat arse - an introspection

As any of you who follow my Mommy Blog know, this fucking diet I'm on is kicking my arse.

It's not that I'm not losing weight. This is Blue's (Not) Patented Die-et. It fucking works. It's hard, but it works.

I've lost an incredible amount of weight since I had my last spawn 4 months ago, but I keep hitting these depressing plateaus that ... well, depress me.

So, I'm standing in the spraWl-Mart and contemplating the crowd and wishing - not for the first time - that I had my camera.

Fuck that shite, I'm wishing I had my camcorder.

Anyway, so right there in the check out lines I observe: a very plump young chick with a happy smile and an attentive and handsome male escort; a very broad-behinded mom (think Aunt Fanny from Robots - "Say hello to my dimpled friend!") with her brood of four attractive, slim, and well behaved children, ages six years or so to about mid-teens; and a piece of work.

The piece of work was young (dunno 15-25??) wearing very tight, very low slung jeans that gave me an unappreciated glimpse of her bum-crack at intervals, a black bra that didn't fit her (can you say: "fat bulging out under the arms"?), and what appeared to be a cheap flesh coloured camisole that came nowhere near the waist of her jeans producing a lovely muffin-top effect guaranteed to put you off your feed. She had on dirty flip-flop type sandals and the flared legs of her jeans dragged the ground and were frayed and filthy.

SEXY!

In addition, (in case you were unaware of her sexual status as mattress) she had an ugly green-black Ho Tag. Did i also mention the black bra under a pale coloured spaghetti strap camisole?


So I'm thinking why can't I just fucking be fat? Why do I need to lose weight? My Evil Genius Husband tell me daily that I don't need to lose any (yes, he's a sweetie under that dirty lab coat).

Folks immediately tell me (and often do thank you very much you fucking arsewipes hope you fall in front of an artic*) that i should lose weight for my "own self esteem".

M'kay ... so fat chicks have no self esteem? Or rather shouldn't have, due to them being big tubs o' lard? This line of thinking suggests just that. That overweight women (men have to be morbidly obese to receive this nugget of arse-vice) are somehow not as good as 'normal' women and so should have lower self esteem.

(Gawd I hate that 'self esteem' crap. A person with high self esteem has an inordinately high opinion of himself - he holds himself in very high esteem [back me up here, Mrs. Chili!]. Serial killers have high self esteem. The correct phrase is: a great deal of self confidence.)

But, you say, those three overweight women you saw were UGLY.

Nooooo. If you think they were, then it's because you were raised in a society that told you that fat is ugly. There are MANY societies who find a fleshy woman attractive and desirable. Should not a person be judged by her character and not her appearance? By how polite, friendly, helpful, honest, etc, that they are?

The only one who was unattractive was the last one and she was so NOT because of her weight but because she apparently was born without the gene enabling her to purchase tasteful clothing that fits her.

So, fuck it, Blue, you say, be fat, we don't care. Buy yourself a box of Krispy Kremes and shut the fuck up about it.

Why do I want to be thinner, anyway?

Well, simply, because I lack self confidence. I have no confidence whatsoever. Never have.

All my life I've been told that the ideal of female perfection is to be 1) thin, and 2) well educated. I can't shake it. The education part takes money, effort, and brains; three two things that I noticeably lack.

But, by golly, I can be thin(ner).

It's clearly a control thing. Something that I can do. Something that I have control over.

Questions is: can I do this without driving my family insane? Or my blog readers?

Hmmmmm.

*An articulated lorry - a semi truck - a tractor-trailer-truck.

Bah!

Well, I'm having a crap-fucking-tastic day. Seriously. My life has sucked llama arsehole for 3 months now.

I have a gorgeous new son, who is doing fab; he's not the problem (or, indeed, A problem). It's me. I suck. I can't seem to organise myself. I don;t seem to have enough hours in my day. I can't seem to lose any fucking weight despite not eating anything. Fuck, if I eat I don't lose, if I *don't* eat I don't lose. Would that make it a lose-lose situation? Obviously fucking NOT.

I need to clean my house (it makes my head hurt to think about it), but I need to work on my shops. I need to work out in the barnyard, but I can't leave the house (wee people running about loose). I want to just get in the car and drive off sometimes. (But then I miss my kids so badly when I do go anywhere which is always the fucking grocery store. That's it. That's the only place I ever go. The grocery store. Where I buy food that I CAN'T FUCKING EAT. How sad is that?)

I wish I could just teleport myself to the beach for about 20 minutes. Just sit on the sand and listen to the ocean. Just be left alone, by myself, for 20 minutes.

Ahhhhhhh.

But, hey, I've been watching a new British telly show that I must recommend (I'm on a recommendation tear). It's called Black Books and is funny, light, and charming. If you like Britcom, you'll appreciate it, I think.

Ohh ... I also found this. I laughed so hard that Bud Light shot out of my nose. And that shite smarts. I am stunned at the overweening stupidity of which some humans are capable.

And to end on a penis note, 'cause I heart me some penis, I have decided that I am against excessive penis piercing. Honestly. I speak from my penis-loving wee heart. I hate to see something as fucking gorgous as a fine johnson disfigured by too many piercings.

(Now before any of you blows a seal, let me remind you that *I* am pierced, so I'm not anti-piercing. Pay attention.)

Check out this (really well done!) FAQ on penile piercings, here.

It's OK. I'll wait.

Hmmm. Hmm. Hmmmmmmmmm.

OK, are you back? You OK? You look a bit green around the gills ...

Shake it off! Did you see that first John Thomas? That was a lovely member! But all that hardware just detracted from the overall look. Maybe a Frenum ring (or barbell, right), or a Pubic barbell or a Scrotal, if you must, but leave that lovely long lad alone after that!

Thoughts?

pfucka

So, I was reading all of my fave bloggers (fucking finally - I get around to doing this, like, once every few weeks, which blows llama dick, but there it is), and I go to make a comment and I get the standard Blogger verify-you're-not-a-robot shit page (I left my comment in, as the blogger in question - one of my Pussy Posse - reads this blog on occasion):

Check out the verifying string.

PFUCKA! Pee-fuck-uh! How cool is that?!

I had actually been noting some of the strange configurations of letters in Blogger's verifying thingy, but had failed to note them down ... until now.

PFUCKA!

LOL, I just love it and consider it a sign. It's a sign! The Gods of Expletives are looking out for their devoted handmaiden.

Jeez, wouldn't that make a great toast? Along the same lines as slainte?

"Now let's all raise our glasses to our founder and CEO ..."

"PFUCKA!"

This is SO a sign that I should say 'fuck' more often. Seriously. Despite what me mum says.





-----





On a slightly different note, I recently had an encounter on one of my boards where a group of us were spanked by a mod for using the word 'penis'. He reminded us that it was (supposedly) a 'family friendly' board.




(In case you're curious as to what sort of board I'd be on where penii were discussed freely, don't get too excited. Someone mentioned baking a penis cake for a friend's bachelorette party. Apparently they're all the rage, these penis cakes. I wouldn't know as no one has ever offered to bake me a penis cake, or thrown me a bachelorette party, or, indeed, a baby shower, even. And I have five kids. Not that I'm fucking bitter or anything. What can I say? I'm a tiresome old broad and no one loves me.)



ANYway, number one, in order to be a member of this board you must be 13 or older. When did the word penis become unacceptable to 13 year olds? If your 13 year old has a problem with that word you are in trouble as a parent. My TWO year old knows what a penis is and will happily point out his own (or, y'know, a family member's) and my 3, 4, and 5 year olds are positively phlegmatic about the whole body part thing. Yeah, whatever; it's a nipple, a testicle, a toe, an earlobe. *yawn*


Of course what really happened was that one of the people on the board complained, I suspect. Let me hasten to say that I'm all about rules. I'm also a pretty respectful person (despite what this blog reflects). So I'm all cool with not discussing penises on a board that I don't own if it makes folks uncomfy. I just don't understand it, is all.

How does one form one's perception of acceptable language?


Is it learned from and patterned after one's parents like our basic language skillz? Sort of hardwired in early? (This is one of the problems facing teachers today: idiot fucks who speak and write like this, send their children to school speaking and writing like they do and wonder why our harried, under appreciated, and underpaid public school teachers can't transmogrify them all into college-bound successes. But I fucking digress.)


I don't buy that ones parametres for acceptable speech are formed early. My dad is the son of a Baptist preacher and he curses like a bastard. I was raised by two people who cursed and was taught that it was an adult thing. I never uttered a curse word until I was in High School. Seriously, I started tentatively cursing when I was 13. I also started my period at 13 (Gee, thanks for sharing, Blue!) so maybe it's a hormones thing.


Obviously one's environment has a lot to do with it. Religion comes into play; a Pagan is more likely to be laid back about body-part-and-natural-act words than a conservative Jew whose faith stresses modesty.

I dunno. I have never cursed in the workplace, I never do so around my Evil Genius Husband's family, or in public where I might be overheard (erm, usually). I say fuck a lot because - as I said in the last post - it's a good word; quite versatile and I'm a grown up who can judge when and where to utter epithets. As for penis, well, it's not a dirty word IMHO it's just a part of a male's anatomy.

What are your thoughts, Randy Readers? Upon what do you base your level of expletives?

While you ponder, I shall leave you with this parting indication of my fondness for you:

PFUCKA!

Non-drunken ramble

Howcome there's always that one person on a forum or bulletin board who is a mean drunk?

You know the guy; everyone is posting late at night, back and forth - essentially chatting real-time, but on the forum - and gradually he begins to change. His tone becomes terse, then belligerent; his replies more verbose, rambling. He starts reacting wildly to ordinary responses. He becomes paranoid.

By the end of the night he's snarling threats/insults and threads are being locked (if there's a mod).

What's up with fuckers like this?

I drink quite a bit. It's one of my sole joys/vices. But I have always been pretty responsible with it. I never drink and drive. I generally drink at home, and have always preferred to. So no fights, no public nakedness, no being stranded without a designated driver. The only person I have inebriated hot monkey sex with is my Evil Genius Husband.

I generally know when to quit. I've never in my life passed out drunk or fallen asleep in a strange place. I've always woken up in my own bed.

In addition I'm a pretty happy drunk. I don't generally get combative at all (in stark contrast to myself when sober.) As a matter of fact I'm a soppy drunk. I tend to love everybody (so if I've ever emailed you in the middle of the night - I was just drunk. I love you, but I don't really want to tongue-kiss you and do your dishes before I leave.)

The board drunk tends to be the painfully socially inept loser who still lives at home with his parents. Runner up is the bloke who's just run his wife/girlfriend off with his crappiness. If it's a mommy/baby board then it's the screaming white-trash bitch who couldn't tell you the correct usage of 'there', 'their ', and 'they're' with a fucking gun to her head, loves jesus but hates blacks and Mexicans, and has named her child something like Savannah Dawn or Chrystahl Lynne or Gunn Steele or Drake Hunter (daddy's a hunter - yeah, we get it already!)

Ugh.

And speaking of tongue-kissing, one of the blokes on my CafePress boards did this brief-if-thought-provoking post on, of all things, drinking straws. Thoughts?

Hmmmm ... hot monkey sex.

The penultimate 'fuck' post

OK, so just recently it was suggested to me (by my mother) that I might curse too much.

Erm ...

Number one, by the woman who, when I was a child, could cuss a drunken sailor under the table. (back me up here, Dad!)

Also ...

What the Blue Fuck is wrong with the word "fuck"?

Wait, this is two-fold. 1) What's wrong with the word, and 2) what's the evil juxtaposition with kids?

OK ... I need to explain, don't I?

Me mum said to me, upon leaving my house after an afternoon of keeping my Brood:

"I wish you wouldn't curse in front of those children."

This has bugged me - obviously, it got me to blog - since.

Seriously.

Yes, I'm a 43 year old mum of five who does curse in front of her kids. I never curse AT my kids. But I do tend to *ahem* express myself on occasion in the presence of my children. Nothing excessive. I don't spend all day sounding like a dockworker.

Is this wrong?

The way I look at it is that there are things that grown-ups do (like drink alcohol, have sex, pay taxes, and curse) that kids don't do. My wee ones are pretty smart cookies. They comprehend that they can't taste Daddy's beer because it's a 'grown-up drink'. They also fathom that saying 'shit' or 'fuck' is verboten.

Some things are just for grown ups. This is NOT beyond the comprehension of (at least MY) offspring.

The word has an indistinct history. There are indications that it stems from the German 'ficken' (to copulate), Middle Dutch 'fokken' (to thrust, copulate, or to breed), or dialectical Norwegian 'fukka' (to copulate).

Honestly, as a descendant of these races (via the Saxon invasion of Britain), I must say:

DUH!

We love the word. It's a good word. It's an expletive ("FUCK!") when you stub your toe, a handy and unmistakable expression of dismay ("well, fuck me"), a to-the-point gesture of contempt or disbelief or disapproval ("fuck this!"), a convenient add-on for emphasis ("I can't fucking stand that" and "un-fucking-believable!"), a satisfyingly expressive epithet ("Fuck you!"), as well as a good old descriptive verb ("Ewan McGregor? I'd fuck him.")

How can that be wrong?

Of course this isn't about language so much as parenting, is it? No one likes to have her mothering skillz brought into question (least of all from her own *&%#ing mother).

Thoughts, gentle readers? Do you curse in front of your children?

Erm ...

Fuck me. Has it been that long since I've posted?

I apologize profusely my readership of ... of ... erm, none (I'd've fucked off as well. Bitch doesn't post regularly. Fuck her!)

*resolves to post more frequently*

*also on her store blog*

*for her online store. Which she shamelessly pimps here*

RIP Anna Nicole

Well, apparently Anna Nicole Smith has died. She was 39. That's like four fucking years younger than me.

Fuck.

I don't know a whole lot about her, as I don't watch telly and am not into most celebrity shit, but I will say that I always admired her not-skinny-as-a-fucking-prisoner-of-war figure.

If *I* had a body like this:



I'd go to the Wal Mart naked. I am not shitting you.

Would you like my autograph?

Celebrity bay-bee!

Evil Genius Husband's very own Evil Genius Party has been featured over at UserFriendly.Org as the Link Of the Day!!!!!

Like, OMG!

Thank you UserFriendly! You blokes rocked before, but now you're ... you're TEH ROXXORZ!!1111!!!!11!!

Don't forget all of your official Evil Genius Party merchandise: tees, mugs, bumperstickers, etc

Vote Evil Genius in 2008!

Really crotchety now! *with update! and penises!*

D'ye remember Kyle?

Bloke from the sex site who googled his competitor (now THAT sounds dirty ... or like a contract hit) and emailed me asking that I pimp HIS site?

Well, he emailed me again:

>I emailed you a couple weeks ago regarding your link to adameve.com on your
>page http://www.hill-liles.com/2005/05/ohh-scuse-me-blogfart.htm and was
>wondering if you had time to get to it. I would appreciate if you link to
>our site, (kyle's site), since it is also useful to your visitors.
>If you want to link to us you can place your site in our directory for free
>at (directory)
>> Thanks-
> Kyle
> (kyle's email)*

Well, Hey Kyle! *waves* I suppose since you're probably not bloody reading this I'll just have to fucking email you:

Dear Kyle,

I'm terribly sorry that you apparently didn't read my blog again after emailing me requesting that I pimp your site. I checked out your site and wrote an entire entry with several links to your stuff.

http://www.hill-liles.com/2006/06/crotchety.htm

I've tried to help you out, here, Kyle and in return you are emailing me again without checking out my blog.

This saddens me. I'm sorry, but now you and your staff will just have to buy some t-shirts:

http://www.evilgeniustees.com/

Have a bloody good day Kyle.

-Blue

What do you think? Too much? Not enough? More penises? Exponential additional use of the epithet 'fuck'?

Ahhh, well ... whatthefuckever.

Say, since I be pimpin ... (and Kyle, if you and the staff are reading, check it:) If you or anyone you know is into the current Pirate craze, please direct them to our newest tees and gifts at

The Evil Genius Comics Pirate Shop!

Arrr! It's gear fit for Jack Sparrow, Davey Jones, and landlubbers alike,now jump aboard the black pearl and sail the caribbean under the skull and crossbones of the Jolly Roger and ....

Oh, piss it! Go check out the shirts.

*Yes I removed the links. No linkey love for people who don't read my blog!

*UPDATE*

Now how's this for customer service? Kyle shot me an email back immediately:

Dear Old Blue-

Man oh man am I sorry. Looks like we put you in the wrong folder. It certainly wont happen again. We actually reviewed your site after you included us and found it most enjoyable and we strongly advise you to keep up the good blogging. You are awesome mate. Watch out when you least expect it I will buy a t shirt.
I have a couple great ideas for a tshirt are you interested?

Thanks-
Kyle
Adultsextoys.com
kyle@adultsextoys.com

What do you think? Does Kyle deserve Linky Love? I think so.

Maybe I was a little lacking on the penises ... I think Kyle thinks I'm a man ... Ok, here's a gratuitus penis pic just for good measure.



(Heh. Get it? Good measure? ... OK FINE. Go shop for t-shirts and/or sex toys.)

Just a little forth of July JAM!

I ... I think I'm having a Trek-gasm!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBXal1GAA4A

"Artwork ... DOPE!"

"Scot-TAY ... beam on down BAYbee!"

"Yo, Scotty ... Bring it!"

The next available operator can eat my snatch

Ohhhh, I am HOT.

And I don't mean 'hot' as in HAWT! I mean I am steamed. Angry. Fucked the fuck off.

Check it:

I have had four babies (alas, probably my only ones, but that's a blog for another day). I have had these babies at the same fucking hospital, with the same fucking insurance, one baby per year, 2002 to 2005. I have a fucking file there, OK?

So, anyway, in 2004 I had a baby in April and was billed for eighty something dollars. I rang the hospital, spoke with a nice lady and was told that it had, indeed not been filed for that whatever-it-was, and that they'd take care of it.

Well today, over TWO COCKSUCKING YEARS later, I get a call from some bint who acts as if she's stoned AND stupid from Receivables Management Corporation on Shop Road in Columbia SC and am told that *I* have to work it out with the insurance company because it's been more than 1 year.

I ask the female to whom I'm speaking if I am correct in understanding that despite my own efforts *I* will have to do the legwork on what was an error on the hospital's part.

There was a loooooong silence.

I could hear her sucking her teeth or something.

Finally she sighs and says, profoundly: "Yeah"

She adds after another pause: "If you don't want this to stay in collections."

I told her that I would be taking care of it, wished her a nice day - albeit a bit tightly - and said goodbye.

I rang the fucking insurance and was cheerfully informed that since a year had passed they wouldn't pay it anyway.

Then I was stuck. It was 4:30. I'm stuck with the bill and stuck with not having any fucking idea who these fucking fucks are at the collections service.

Hmmmm ...

I rang the hospital, got the number and rang Receivables Management Corporation on Shop Road in Columbia SC home of telephone reps who simply fall into long silences when asked questions.

Before I go any further let me apprise you of something. I worked in a telemarketing firm for 10 years. I started out on the phone, was a trainer, a monitor, and ended up their telephone technician. I am VERY aware of all the details of how the phone should be answered and how the business works. Well I'm aware of how a GOOD company - like the one I worked for - has it done.

I rang the collections place at 4:50pm. First, the hold music was obnoxiously loud. Second, I got 'Jay' who just rerouted me to the "next available representative". After a bit, I got a female who didn't identify herself (that I caught.) I gave her my name and telephone number and she immediately said: "Please hold"

I waited, minutes ticking away on my cell, music blaring in my ear.

I waited about four and a half minutes when I glanced at the clock. It was one minute to 5:00. They close at 5.

I waited.

Suddenly, at 5:01 and 1/2 the music stopped. "Hello?" I said. The phone clicked dead.

That bitch cut me off. She put me on hold for SIX FUCKING MINUTES and at 5:00 she turned her phone off.

I rang back in a ... mood and left them a saccharine sweet message to ring me.

OK, Receivables Management Corporation, it's up to you. I will not ring you again. I'm trying to pay this fucking bill that I should NOT be paying and I will NOT be abused by your telephone customer service which fucking sucks a camel's asshole.

Thank you for calling Blue's Blog. You have a good day! Buh-bye!

New Evil Genius Order!

Here it is ladies and gentlemen, a new political party for a new age:

The Evil Genius Party!

Official Press Release:

Election time is fast approaching. How do you feel? Does the electoral system have you down? Feeling isolated in your Red State? Alone in your Blue State? Do you wish we could all just get along? Are you stressed about who to pick, Republicans or Democrats? And which is which anyway?

Now’s the time to join the Evil Genius Party! We are for unity, not division. Universal employment, not acceptable percentages of unemployed. Global peace. Understanding. Choose enlightened leaders for an enlightened age. We don’t play divisive politics, we play You Politics. Working for you to bring improved health, long life, flying cars, and the global peace.

The Evil Genius Party, a 21st century party working for your 21st century dreams.

And, of course, you can support the cause with T-shirts, mugs, and bumper stickers!

"Ask not what you can do for yourself, but what you can do for your Evil Genius!"

Vote Evil Genius in 2008!