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Reblogged from heylookawriterfellow:

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Welcome to my new interview show, Waffles with Writers! Every month I will chat with a working writer over a nice, waffle-centric meal.

Today’s brunch guest is Madame Weebles, who is best known for having recently taken the blogging world by storm with her sometimes profound, sometimes profane, and always compulsively readable posts. Decades before she named herself after a 1970s choking hazard, however, Weebles’ writing credentials were firmly in place; her career includes long tenures as both a professional historian and medical editor.

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I recently had the pleasure and honor of being interviewed by Mike Allegra, Children's Author Extraordinaire. Come on over and join us. And if you're not already following Mike's blog, you should be. Seriously. Follow him.

Reblogged from Copybot:

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Dear Hyundai and your advertising agency, Innocean,

This is my dad.

His name is Geoff. He married my mum in the eighties and had two little girls, by all accounts the loves of his life.

This is the note he left when he committed suicide in his car:

And this is your new ad.

As an advertising creative, I would like to congratulate you on achieving the visceral reaction we all hope for.

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Per my post from yesterday, this is EXACTLY the sort of bullshit I'm talking about. Hyundai execs need to understand that their advertising is in disgustingly poor taste. Let the viral shaming begin!

Reblogged from Isaacs Picture Conclusions:

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Hello and welcome to another edition of ISAACS INTERVIEWS!! Today I proudly present interview session two with the great and powerful MADAME WEEBLES from the wonderful, hilarious, wry, poignant and occasionally sentimental FEAR NO WEEBLES! Have you ever met MADAME WEEBLES?? If not – you SHOULD! Her site is a fantastic place to be! And just so you know a little back story, MADAME WEEBLES used to be a NYC Cop who once vacationed in L.A.

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Please join me for Part 2 of my interview, where Mr. Isaacs asks more hard-hitting questions.  I'm serious, I still have the bruises.

Reblogged from Isaacs Picture Conclusions:

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Hello and welcome to another edition of ISAACS INTERVIEWS!! Today I proudly present interview session one with the great and powerful MADAME WEEBLES from the wonderful, hilarious, wry, poignant and occasionally sentimental FEAR NO WEEBLES! Have you ever met MADAME WEEBLES?? If not - you SHOULD! Her site is a fantastic place to be! And just so you know a little back story, MADAME WEEBLES used to be a NYC Cop who once vacationed in L.A.

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Friends, I've finally hit the big time. I've been interviewed over at Isaacs Picture Conclusions. Check it out. It's honest, hard-hitting, disturbing, and has a hint of lemon.

The baby squirrel

Madame Weebles —  January 30, 2013 — 219 Comments

It happened on my way home from work one summer night.  I was around the corner from my building.  There were about eight people crowded around a spot on the sidewalk.  I went to investigate.  They were all staring at this little creature, no more than 2 inches long, barely moving.  I couldn’t tell what it was.  A baby rat?  A baby mouse?  Then I heard someone say it was a baby squirrel who had fallen from his nest.  Apparently the squirrel’s nest was on a fire escape several floors above us.

Everyone was just standing there.  Nobody was doing anything to help this poor little thing.  Some evil bastard suggested that someone should stomp on it to put it out of its misery.  I didn’t know what to do but I was furious at how everyone just stood there, staring.  I wanted to scream at all of them:  “What the fuck is wrong with all of you??  This is a living creature who needs help!!”  I don’t remember what I actually said, but I yelled something as I shoved people out of my way to get to the squirrel.  I had some tissues with me and I gently picked him up and wrapped him up in the tissues to keep him warm.  He was so light.  His eyes weren’t open but he moved every so often.

So there I was with this injured baby squirrel.  Now what?  I frantically searched for a working pay phone (this was 1999, pre-cell phone days).  When I found one, I called the ASPCA.  I spoke with a very nice woman who apologetically explained that they didn’t accept squirrels.  I asked if she could suggest somewhere else, but she didn’t know of a place that might be able to help.  By this time I was almost hysterical and I was crying.  I didn’t want this baby squirrel to die.

Then I saw a woman who lived in my building.  She said, “Oh, you know who helps squirrels?  Bernie Goetz.”  Bernie Goetz???  The Subway Vigilante??  The guy who shot some would-be muggers on the subway back in 1984?  My neighbor said Goetz lived nearby and that he was known for rescuing squirrels.  Who knew?  I needed to get his phone number.  Back to the phone booth.

While I was on the line with the operator, I noticed that the baby squirrel had stopped moving.  I looked more closely at him and realized that he was gone.  I thanked the operator and hung up.

I suppose I wasn’t really surprised that the little guy died.  I don’t know how far he fell, but it was far enough that his injuries would have been severe.  I had hoped to get help to him in time, but I couldn’t.  At least he wasn’t alone at the end.  Even if it was a giant creature holding him in a tissue in her hand, he wasn’t alone.

I walked over to Washington Square Park and found a nice tree.  I dug a small hole and buried him.  I’m so sorry, little squirrel.  I wanted so badly to save you.  I’m so sorry you fell from your nest.  I hope you didn’t suffer too much.  I tried, I really did.

I said a little prayer over the tiny grave and cried all the way home.

A Response

Madame Weebles —  January 11, 2013

Reblogged from HonieBriggs:

To predatory lenders that use the postal service, the telephone and the internet to offer credit to anyone who has little or no ability to repay debt

To greedy bastards who hide behind attorneys

To putrid scum that floats on social media like this:

Samara
facebook.com/profile.php?id=100003407324248 x
145.100.191.24The New Boyfriend badge is now avaialble and it only goes to my heighst tipper, if they can maintain there boyfriend status for a period of time (see boyfriend page)Also now available is the Christmas Badge tip 600 tokens and get yourself a special prezzie from your princess!

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This could easily be a Fuck You post, but it was written by my friend Honie. Go visit her.

Reblogged from A Clown On Fire:

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A Special Message from Le Clown

White Baby Jesus™ and Le Clown have worked together to create a very special secular XMAS™ e-card. Being engulfed by the holiday spirit, Le Clown would like to send an e-card, with a very special message, to the Westboro Baptists Church folks. However, Pastor Fred Phelps is ignoring my tweets, and does not seem interested in my e-card, which makes me a sad clown, and as I've said many times before, a sad Le Clown is an ugly Le Clown.

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Not much I can add here; the members of Westboro Baptist Church are evil and insane.

Not really.  Well, maybe.

I’m doing a post soon to thank and acknowledge everyone who has bestowed awards upon me.  When other bloggers accept awards, I enjoy reading their “10 things about me” or “answers to 7 questions” usually associated with the awards.  I like knowing about people’s quirks, random likes and dislikes, answers to wacky questions, etc.  So I decided to write a bunch of stuff about myself in lieu of doing the awards ones.

So here it is, a bunch of random shit about me:

  • Whole portobello mushrooms scare me.  I’ll eat them, but not if they’re whole.  When they’re whole they look like little aliens and they creep me out.
  • I’m an only child.  People ask me, “What’s it like to be an only child?”  I never know how to answer because I have no other frame of reference.  All I can say is, it was good.  And no, I wasn’t a spoiled brat—my parents made sure of that.
  • For some reason I have a fascination with Victorian undergarments.  All those corsets and stays and petticoats and stuff.  Despite the fact that they were probably extremely uncomfortable.
  • I love pistachio ice cream, but I dislike pistachio nuts.
  • I detest honey (sorry, bees, I still love you).  Just the smell of it makes me queasy and hurts my teeth.
  • When I was a kid I played the piano.  I haven’t played in years, so it would take me ages to get my chops back.  But I’d love to learn how to play the harpsichord and the pipe organ.   I’d have to buy a really ornate candelabra for that, though.
  • Despite playing piano for many years, I utterly suck at reading music.  I literally still have to count the bars on the music to see which note it is:  “Okay, that’s one, two bars up, above the bar, so that’s an A.”  It’s brutal.  For me it’s much easier to play by ear.
  • Third and final music-related fact: I’ve composed a jazz tune, although I haven’t actually written it down or arranged it yet.  It mysteriously started composing itself in my head when I was about 8 or 9.  I have no idea why.  It’s nothing I’ve ever heard, and to my knowledge it isn’t a song that already exists.  It’s a ragtime-style piece, and over time it wrote itself, adding more passages every so often.  The song is finished now, and I can hear the whole thing in my head with all the instruments.
  • My elbows are double-jointed.  Mr. Weebles finds it alarming.  (And sadly, I am double-jointed in no other areas.)
  • My favorite curse word is “motherfucker.”
  • I cry whenever I watch movies or TV shows where animals are hurt.  Even if they’re computer-generated animals.  I sobbed my guts out at Godzilla, and I refuse to watch King Kong or Mighty Joe Young.
  • Even though I’ve seen every episode eleventeen million times, I still laugh out loud at I Love Lucy, Seinfeld, and The Golden Girls.
  • I really love practical jokes, as long as they’re not mean.  That’s the one thing I really miss about office life—playing pranks on my coworkers.

So there you have it—random info about Weebs.  It feels a little self-absorbed to do this but you know what?  It was fun.

But enough about me.  Let’s talk about you.  What do YOU want to know about me?

Reblogged from Fear No Weebles:

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I've been wanting to write about Kitty Emeritus for a while now. Kitty Emeritus is one of the many names for our dearly departed cat who died more than two years ago at the ripe old age of 19.

Her real name is Pickles. I almost never called her that; I had 2,051,942 nicknames for her. But it didn't matter which name I used because she ignored all of them.

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This is a reblog of one of my favorite posts, about my most beloved pet. November was always a big month for us; her birthday was November 4th, and I adopted her on November 8th. She's been gone for almost three years now. I wanted to repost this last week but better late than never. Happy birthday/anniversary, my little one.

A quickie

Madame Weebles —  November 7, 2012

Because who doesn’t love a good quickie?

We had some impressive flooding on my block (fortunately no property damage), and Chez Weebles lost power for a week.  My blog got pretty soggy, but after running it through the clothes dryer a few times I think it’s finally dry.  I’ll be putting up a proper post once I iron it, because it’s hard to type when it’s all wrinkled.

Missed you all so much!