Thursday, August 07, 2014

Company Makes Lamps For Women’s Headlights

Sasswear has created lighted LED pasties. This may be the stupidest idea of all time, because no man worth his salt needs to be reminded where women’s breasts are located.

Though inspired by music festivals and raves, Sasswear’s Light Up Pasties shouldn’t be pigeon holed to these non-everyday events. The entire line of Light Up Pasties uses hypo-allergenic, reusable adhesive so no extra tape or glue is necessary to apply them, and removal is probably around 25 times easier than the One-Handed Bra Unclasp.

Light Up Pasties come in half a dozen different shapes and as many colors. The included batteries last over 20 hours and are replaceable when tapped. Sasswear also notes that their LEDs light up the pasties’ entire surface area, and their rainbow flash of colors can be seen several blocks away.

These are now mandatory for the co-bloggers. I’m wearing mine now, and they feel kinda sexy. That don’t make me queer, right?

Stand Up For Women

There is a product on the market called P-Mate, that allows women to pee standing up. Now, I have never had a desire to do that. I kinda enjoy sitting. Although, I do despise public restrooms and I have never peed in the woods for fear of going all over myself. This fear did force me to leave some high school parties early. By party, I meant a keg in the woods somewhere. I will only go to campgrounds with clean facilities. I never roughed it in the wild. I am an inside, clean bathroom kind of woman.
If a man finds himself without access to a restroom, he can simply turn his back for privacy. Now, the same can be said for women. Easy to use with everything from pants and shorts to skirts, P-Mate is a disposable, recyclable, cardboard device that allows women to discreetly relieve their bladders while standing—no dropping your drawers required.
You know this may just be the product for someone like me. Someone with pee fright.

Monday, August 04, 2014

Shooting The Star

While trolling the usual sites for story ideas, I came across this article, which simply had to ruin the first Star Wars film for me.

Well, not ruin, but it did make me think for a moment – and I hate thinking.

Think about it – the hangar they land in, the detention bay, the tractor beam controls, and the garbage chute are all within an elevator ride and a heroic chasm swing of each other. Luke and Han are in and out of the Death Star in maybe an hour.

Sure, the Death Star has turbo lifts, and we do see Luke and Han riding one, but those things aren’t moving at the speed of light. The circumference of Earth’s moon is 6,783 miles. Assuming the Death Star is around the same size, even if the turbo lifts were moving as fast as a commercial jet (about 500 miles per hour), it would still take 13 hours to get from one side of the facility to the other.

It would be a nightmare to work in a place that size. What if Vader needed you to take some documents down to Accounting, which is 12 hours away from your department by turbo lift?

I wonder if they hired stormtroopers for that, or just some nebbish like Milton Waddams? “Um, I believe you have my hydrospanner…”

The Hostess With The Mostest

I took my daughters to their favorite restaurant for breakfast. After they behaved well in church, they deserved a reward. Okay, so I bribed the girls.

I have to bribe my kids with breakfast to behave well during mass. Like you have never done it. Don’t judge me.

While we were waiting for our table, (it took 35 minutes which is a short wait for this place) I was watching the hostess. She was a cute-looking college girl. She was proudly wearing a Saint Joe’s t-shirt. She had sun-kissed blonde hair, a nice tan, freckles over her cheeks and nose, and a constant smile on her face. She was really cute… until she opened her mouth – which she did frequently since she was chewing her gum like a cow.

When she spoke, she had that annoying Philly accent. She also said the weirdest phrase over and over again. She said, “Give me a solid second and your table will be ready.” What the heck is a solid second? Growing up in a somewhat urban area I know what a case quarter and an ink pen are, but what is a solid second?

I am guessing it is a measurement of time used exclusively by her, because her co-hostess questioned her about the phrase. Or maybe she learned it in college.

Saturday, August 02, 2014

Rent-A-Gent Promises You Won’t Get Bent

A new website is offering all the perks of hiring a male escort… without the worrisome hassle of having sex.

Rent-a-Gent is a new offering with a twist; the men on its books are contractually obligated not to have sexual encounters with clients.

Operating in 12 states from all corners of the U.S. and gaining fast popularity, the men on the Rent a Gent books are all deemed handsome, intelligent, and multi-talented, and you can hire them as companions for $200 an hour.

To investigate the Rent a Gent concept, 32-year-old writer Melanie Berliet, based in New York, booked Anthony; an actor and fitness instructor, for a three hour liaison. “He was, without a doubt, a true gentleman, and a naturally amiable, well-educated guy.”

Pfft, so am I, and as an added bonus, I guarantee I’ll bang ya! (I’m not kidding. I literally have no standards.)

Monday, July 28, 2014

Glum's The Word

In the past – okay, in the present – I have been accused of looking miserable ALL THE TIME. I get a grumpy or blank look on my face. I credit this expression to my profession. Teachers are not supposed to smile during the first month of school. It’s an unwritten rule.

When I had kids I was tired all the time. Smiling and looking happy takes energy. Who wants to smile when they have no energy? Not this lady.

My ever-so-pleasant husband tried to come up with a name for this glum expression I wore everyday. I was briefly called “Miss Miserable” and just plain old “Grumpy.” I was called grumpy so often by him that I bought myself a Grumpy t-shirt from the Disney store. I wore it to bed, so he would know not to even try asking for any affection.

A few months later he had a new name for my expression – Bitchy Resting Face. I do not know where he heard it or read it, but it stuck. He told our neighbors and family members. The name was used a few times, until I developed my “If looks could kill you would be dead face.” Then people stopped using the phrase BRF around me.

I want you to know that I am a happy person. I have pleasant and even happy expressions in my repertoire. My smiles are reserved for my children, my students and people who make me feel really, really happy. I do not give smiles away for free. You need to earn them.

You should read the article in the link. It’s pretty true. I should know. My name is Mollie and I suffer from Bitchy Resting Face.

- Mollie

Wednesday, June 04, 2014

My Friend Vica

With all due respect to the rest of you, He Said His Telephone Number Was 911 is now my favorite commenter. Yesterday he introduced me to the next Mrs. Earp: Eva “Vica” Kerekes.

Yes she is gorgeous, yes she is a redhead, yes she has freckles, and yes she is chesty. She’s basically Christina Hendricks’ twin sister.

However, Vica has something going for her which Christina does not. Vica was born and raised in Slovakia, which is like, prefect plus awesome!

I am officially ruined for other women now. It’s over. There is no one else but Vica.

Hmm, I wonder if she digs dim-witted, shapeless men?

Oh, and if the picture on the right doesn’t do it for you, the video clip below the fold will. I guarantee it!

Friday, April 04, 2014

Men Behaving Badly

First of all, I want to extend my deepest, most heartfelt sympathies to those harmed and murdered by the creep at Ft. Hood a couple of days ago. I wish I had a perfect way to phrase how heartbroken these incidents make me and that I know that my feelings of sadness are but a fraction of how those personally touched by the event feel, but this is the best I can do.

My good buddy Wyatt recently posted on the subject, and his post says a bunch of stuff I agree with, but in particular I want to focus on the last two paragraphs. Go read it; I’ll wait.

Regarding animosity toward police from those in the military… This is definitely “a thing”. I speak as a veteran of the Army and specifically of the MP corps. Let me put it this way: if “cops = pigs”, then “MPs = pig shit”. It’s not simply that there are a lot of wannabe thugs in the army – there are, of course – it’s that there’s a distortion of the feelings of camaraderie and brotherhood that one gets in the military going on. I hate to call out one MOS, so I will reduce it to saying “combat arms jobs”. Male-only world, with very few exceptions (I don’t have numbers, but there are likely still fewer than a dozen females, who are basically guinea pigs in these MOSs). These are the guys who truly do see the most combat action, and experience the worst that war has to offer. I’m not denying that at all, so before any fellas get their pretty blue panties in a twist, I know that they get the worst of the shit.

Thursday, October 31, 2013

Hate Mail O' The Week

This week’s hate mail comes from “M. Brown.” M is responding to an article I linked in November, 2008. November. 2008! Clearly, he was so incensed he had to respond… five years later.

M’s e-mail is below, unedited, save for the asterisks:

First of all I wanna say f*ck you and you need to watch what the f*ck you put up on your site my brother was murdered by Philadelphia police I have his autopsy report and there is no mention of gunshot residue on his body and f*ck all the other idiots that posted on this that are influenced by propaganda and don’t know the facts before they crucify a person in the media…my family has still not seen a gun that he supposedly shot 3 times at officers and he was not an idiot. My brother was not a saint and very troubled we went thru hell as kids and I’m not making excuses for his crimes you do the crime you pay the price but don’t disrespect my brothers life when you don’t have all the facts I do…so if you have some concrete evidence fine if not SHut ya f*cking mouth this man was my brother, a father,a son someones child a f*cking human being that no one in your tax brackett gave a f*ck about regardless….feel free to contact me! His loving brother who won’t rest til justice is served.

Wow, someone wasn’t invited to the National Grammar Rodeo. You can read the media report of Mr. Norman’s demise at the above link and come to your own conclusions. I’ll simply add two important items. First, a coroner’s report will not list whether gunpowder residue was found. That information would be included on the Crime Scene Unit’s report. Second, Mr. Norman’s gun would be recovered and held as evidence. It would not be shown to a victim’s – and definitely not the offender’s – family. You know, because it’s evidence.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Hate Mail O' The Week

This week’s hate mail comes from Selena Bennett, the mother of Khalil Burton… Wait, that can’t be right; they don’t share the same last name. Oh, I forgot. Nowadays, people don’t have parents; they have “baby daddies.”

Any hoo, Selena is angry about this post – written two years ago – about her son, who fled from police because he had a pistol in his waistband. When police tackled him, Burton’s gun went off, and a round struck him in the groin, killing him.

Apparently, that’s my fault. Or something.

Here is Selena’s literary masterpiece, unedited for your reading pleasure:

“U know what I just read all the Fucking comments about my son Khalil Burton who died almost 2yrs ago. All I have to say is I pray u never have to be a parent who child dies from choices they made. I pray u all r perfect n I pray that u never make wrong choices bc when n if u do somebody will judge n say fucked up shit about u that may hurt ur parents heart! They may even say something about ur perfect children to GOD forbid! Look up my record n I beat u can’t talk that shit about me. Punk asses hiding behind emails n blog’s talking SHIT!!!”

Actually Selena, we just “talked shit” for about a day or so, then moved on to important matters. I realize you want to blame someone for his untimely demise, but your son was a drug dealer who had an arrest record in two counties by the age of 18. After his arrest in MontCo, he continued to sell drugs. On top of that, he was carrying a gun on the streets of Philadelphia and decided to run when the po-po showed up. If he listened to their commands, he would still be alive today.

Here endeth the lesson.