Everything I Like Causes Cancer

It's no big secret that I love my city. I do. It's the biggest small town in America and I like it. But today? Well, today I fell a little more in love with it. See, a couple months ago the City opened a new park/art exhibit/playground called Citygarden and I went there today. Holy smokes, is it fantastic. I was amazed by the size of it, how beautiful it was, that there were actually people congregated somewhere downtown on a Saturday, and by the amount of fun everyone was having. Projects like this are supposed to bring communities closer together and this one certainly does.

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.
Oh yeah, I also need to know if I should buy those wellies at the end. KTHXBAI!

LOST:  small, black and white speckled motivation, missing since 4 pm yesterday; timid but responds to food that makes noise like bags of chips and boxes of cookies; no microchip, collar or tags but comes to the name "Maynard."  Maynard is an indoor/outdoor inspiration and weighs about 20 pounds.  One testicle.  REWARD.

I'm kidding!   We had a ball.  I feel like I've always known Sass and I can't wait to meet her family and do it again.

When I was moving in here, getting things put away and settled, I noticed a laundry chute in the bathroom.  I thought it was cool and got excited to use it.  Until I started thinking, however, about not actually being able to see down in the hole, and about not knowing with certainty what had and had not been tossed down there (severed limbs), and also about how it seemed like a place that spiders might like a lot.  And it skeeved me out so bad that I never thought about it again.

WOUNDED DEER ATTACKS HUNTER WHO SHOT HIM

ASSOCIATED PRESS
12/01/2008

SEDALIA, Mo. --- A Sedalia hunter bagged a big buck on the second day of firearms season, but the kill caused him a lot of pain. Forty-nine-year-old Randy Goodman said he thought two well-placed shots with his .270-caliber rifle had killed the buck on Nov. 19. Goodman said the deer looked dead to him, but seconds later the nine-point, 240-pound animal came to life.

The buck rose up, knocked Goodman down and attacked him with his antlers in what the veteran hunter called "15 seconds of hell." The deer ran a short distance and went down, and died after Goodman fired two more shots. Soon Goodman started feeling dizzy and noticed his vest was soaked in blood. So he reached his truck and drove to a hospital, where he received seven staples in his scalp and was treated for a slight concussion and bruises.

Stories like this crack me up. I am neither for nor against hunting. I grew up on a farm – my parents killed a lot of things and we ate them. My step-dad hunted and fished for whatever was in season. He even saved all of his vacation time during the year and took off from November to January in order to trap full-time. The money he made from the furs he trapped was essential to us. That said, I have never been able to kill anything. Hell, I can barely kill bugs.

So yes, stories like this crack me up. While I wish Mr. Goodman no serious harm, I love that the deer put up a good fight and got in some licks. It's supposed to be a "sport", right?

The other gals didn't know it but I was able to convince a handful of other bloggers to show up by telling them that I was having a contest and giving away a Wii.  

The gals showed up right on time and we immediately hit it off.  I don't even think it took five minutes before we were doubled over laughing.  Every good thing you've ever thought or read about these gals is true - they are gorgeous, funny, smart, warm, and just generally awesome.

The mimosas didn't hurt, either. 

These three kept to themselves, saying there was some ridiculous comment count quota required to be in their "club" but after a couple drinks they loosened up and stopped acting like dictators dick taters.  We killed a bottle of champagne (What? There were nine of us!) and then headed out for bloody marys and more food.

I think the champagne got to Sass because there was a little smooching goin' on in the parking lot as we headed into the restaurant.  The rest of us pretended to be nice and went in but really we watched from the front door and giggled. 

I am writing today to say thank you for selling smaller cans of the staple vegetables like green beans and corn. I'm a single gal who isn't fond of leftovers but can't eat a whole regular-sized can of vegetables in one meal. So thank you, I appreciate the thought you've put into your packaging.

Have I told you lately how much I love you? Really. Each and every stinking one of you with your links to slankets and snugglies and warm jammies and your offers of hot toddies and fresh-from-the-oven grumblecakes.

I. Love. You.

Your comments warmed my heart and made me happy again - so happy that I have stopped whining and am bringing the sexy fun back to EILCC.

On my first trip around the blog block this morning I noticed that Dr. Zibbs has vowed not to comment anywhere until at least three people leave him Snapvine voice messages. For those of you who might’ve missed yesterday’s hijinx, let’s just say that a number of us discovered the wonder that is Snapvine, a widget you can add to your sidebar that allows other people to leave voicemail comments. The first message left yesterday was from Dr. Zibbs to H and I can’t stop listening to it. We all know the good doctor is “gifted” but his messages are a scream. Click here to listen, but not until you finish this post.

Shortly thereafter Dr. Zibbs left an original rap piece for me called “Ode to a Missouri Gal.” To listen, click on the “Gwen’s Voice Comments” on my Snapvine widget over there to the right. If you have never trusted me before, please do so now. You’re only shortchanging yourself if you don’t.

With that said, The Good Doctor is upset that people aren’t leaving him messages. Please help me keep him happy and leave him a message so he will come back out and play.

On my second trip around the blog block today I saw that Southern Belle has started a really fun comment game. Quoting directly from her post, to get you enticed:

"Here's how it works:

I make a wish.

The first commenter grants the wish, but gives it a negative outcome. Then they make their own wish.

The next commenter gives that wish a negative outcome and then makes
their own wish and so on...

Here's an example:
SouthernBelle: "I wish I had X-ray vision"
1st Commenter: "You have X-ray vision, but you can't turn it off so all you see are people's gross insides. I wish I was invisible" etc. etc."

Yes, she IS a creative genius. A couple rounds have already been played but it would be so much more fun if all of you crazy kooks would go over there and play. I am continually amazed by the creative energy you monkeys have and want to see your names over there, adding your special brand of spice to the game.

Go!

Which led me to wonder if the rest of the world will get more work done today.  Which led me to wonder more specifically about my own International fan base . . . 

I suspect Poobomber's routine won't change much . . . he'll punctuate his smoking with hilarious post after hilarious post and our feed readers will be as stuffed as we are at the end of the day.  Reading his posts will be a welcome reprieve from listening to Aunt Judy talk about her recent bunion surgery.

I heard Spud Mack has gone missing.  He was last seen carrying a brown bag full of vegemite sandwiches and muttering about finally getting some peace from the American earbashers.  I suspect he's been in the theater ever since Australia opened over there yesterday.

Katrocket can't be bothered to miss us.  She's too busy paying attention to her new blog Fire That Agency.  I guess I can forgive her callous disregard for my addiction to rocketradio because all of our favorite funny people are over there talking about bad advertising campaigns.  You should bookmark it and go back when you've recovered from your tryptophan coma but are still too stuffed to move and have to sit in one spot with your pants unbuttoned.

I imagine The Imaginary Reviewer's day filled with imagining a traditional Thanksgiving dinner in an American home and being thankful he doesn't really have to be there after this week's deluge of horror stories about creepy, angry, belligerent, intolerable family members who scared (scarred?) us as children and are still across the table.

Here's hoping you guys have a productive day.  As soon as we can escape without being noticed we'll be back to see what you've accomplished.

I know I promised to go back to the end of this post and deliver the last however-many obscenities but my staff meeting ran long yesterday and by the time I got back to my desk it was so late in the day that I needed to hit the ground running and keep the pace.  So no update.

Which is actually, I think, a good thing because I had all day to think about this sick series (imagine a ticker tape running obscenities in the back of your brain all.day.long) and came up with a much better end for it than just posting a list of obscenities until we hit 10%.  Booor-ing.  Trite.

I’ve decided to catalog and post, in order of receipt, all the filthy terms from your raunchy comments and we’ll see how high we get.  Much more fun and interactive, don't you think?  Assuming this was ever fun.  It seemed like you were having fun.  Is this getting awkward now?  Yeah?  Well, tough shit because I have to complete this scientific, pornographic jihad or it will consume me.  My mind is already so saturated with filth that ordinary, everyday conversations are morphing into smut.  For example, yesterday in the smoking lounge this guy I know was talking about Internet Explorer 6.  I heard him say Internet Explorer Sex and thought he was saying he'd jammed up his computer with porn.  I also asked him if his cat’s name was Shit.  In all fairness, the cat is named Poo.  I was close.

Anyway, let’s do this thing before I get fired or punched:

Fuckin’ A, fucking, fuck, bullshit, fucking bad-ass, shit, penis, vagina, vagina, vagina, badassery, badass, fucking badassery, tit, clit, pussy, slit, chuff-pipe, frottage, cockroar . . . 

I have no idea what a cockroar is.  I even looked it up.  Imaginary Reviewer?  Can we get a translation, please?

 . . . sexual, badass, sexual, badassify, bitchin’ badass . . . 

Here it comes, hold onto your hats.

. . . felch, badass, felch, fucking, felching . . . 

Seems like once you add felching the party mix no one can taste anything else.

 . . . fisting, badass, Poo . . . 

Poo was used as a name but I’m counting it because he’d want me to.

And then there it was . . . the one I’d been waiting for all day . . . Eric came through with George Carlin’s Seven Dirty Words, the Holy Grail of obscenity:

. . . Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, Tits . . . 

Not only that?  He threw in a badass and another tits just because he’s a freak like that.

. . . felching, fisting, fucking assholes . . . 

Go back and read that run again, we'll wait for you.

. . . badass, felching, donkey punches, dirty sanchez, Cleveland steamer . . .

There they are, the ones I was going to link.  Thank you, Pistols.  You could have posted anonymously and I’d have known it was you by the romance in your voice.  The only one I'd add to that list is the Cincinnati bowtie.

And finally, we bring it on home with:

. . . felch, schlong face, buttmunch, cream pies, and um . . .assalingus.

Though I linked to many of these terms and acts, I only had to personally research a handful.  I don't know whether to be ashamed or proud.  Slick suggested I deserved some sort of award for the poem and I agree, but I think it should be for the series.  You guys get busy making me an award and I'll be over there - points to corner - curled up in the fetal position, reading scripture in an attempt to evict the gutterslut who's taken up residence in my medulla oblongata.

I was going to say frontal lobe but medulla oblongata sounded dirtier.

Make it stop.

Help me.

superpoop.com

Thanks to Sass for the straight-up dope tip on Superpoop.  I wasn't sure it was possible but I think it might even be funnier than Married to the Sea.

See that button over there in the sidebar? The bright green one that reads, "MY BLOG IS X.XX% BADASS." Well, you can click that button, enter your blog's url, and it will tell you just how badass your blog is. I'm not sure what the highest possible rating is, nor do I officially know the criteria but I suspect it's based on the number of obscenities on your site. I think poobomber invented it; I could ask him but I'd rather find out scientifically.

At the time of posting the meter registered 3.93% badass. I've written a poem cock chock full of curse words and obscenities. In a minute I'm going to hit publish and then run to see what happened to the rating. Vurry scientific, no?

My Badass Poem

Shit hell damn fuck,
cock sucking vagina penis.
Balls and tits on the head of an ass;
whores, sluts,
perverted dildo bastards.

If it works, I invite you to join me in the comments. Blue it up. Let's see how high (low?) we can go. If it doesn't work, I invite you to admire my erotic poetry. Since we're going to be fucking around, I've activated word verification, the Trojan of the Internets.

UPDATE, 11:46 AM:

You guys are cracking me the fuck up! Zibbs, that poem is tits. I've realized, however, that the button doesn't automatically update nor does it register the wonderful profanity you've dropped in the comments like a big turd, which is a total fucking rip-off. Poob should fix that, don't you think?

That said, I am not some lame-ass fucking quitter piece of shit. In order to keep the badass rating soaring skyward today, I vow to come back periodically and post one previously unpublished obscenity for every comment I get. So keep 'em cumming - it's like making a pledge to your local public television station but filthy and your mother would hate it.

So far there are 11 comments. Here goes nothing:

cock ring, dickweed, cunt, asshole, titties, rim job, blow job, hand job, glory hole, nipple, anal

UPDATE 5:10 PM

Another six comments and I see things have degraded into felching and fisting. I fucking love you assholes. Here's your next six obscenities:

genital warts, gangbang, son of a bitch, god damn, cum stain, fingerbang

Be sure to cum back later - I came up with some incredibly nasty ones that I want to link to but can't on this computer.

What's that old addage?  Starve a fever? . . . no . . . feed a cold? . . . no . . . I know!  Starve a cold, buy bling for a fever.  That may not actually be the old addage but it's mine and I'm old so it counts.

Changed my mind!  Go away!

Aw gaddammit, I thought I heard you close the door!

Scene: the Blockbuster at Holly Hills

You know, when I named this blog I really didn't consider the hot-button connotation of the word cancer.  I'm an impulsive gal so forward thinking isn't my strong suit.  Interesting, sometimes gross, searches have been bringing people here since 2007.  Imagine their disappointment when they find me, a perfectly healthy asshole who smokes while she sits in the sun.  Precious.