Archives For Words

I’ve held off on posting about this because until recently, the search terms that bring people to my blog haven’t been all that funny.  But now I have a pretty decent crop to share with you.  None of them are dirty or really demented, though.  That disappoints me.  Obviously I’ll have to increase the naughty content here to get some good keywords for next time.

I’ve cut & pasted these directly from the stats page, no editing.  Thanks, crazy Internet people!

what is the psychic word for weebles
I think it’s “Veebles.”

whats is the metaphiscal word for weebles
Wow.  I would like to peer inside this person’s head to see what prompted this question.

what does it mean when everytime u see a weeble in yur house u think of a person
This puzzles me on many levels.  What’s with the Weebles in their house?  The way the question is phrased, it almost sounds like this person sees them unexpectedly.  Do they just show up?  Because I think that would disturb me more than anything else.  Also, what person do they think of when they see the Weeble?  Is it always the same person?  Or is it just someone at random?  And do they always see the same Weeble?  I have so many questions.

how long can you be nice to someone you hate
My personal best is about five minutes.

men with massive legs
Really?  Massive legs?  Hey, whatever floats your boat.

trust no man, fear no chicks
This feels like it should be the slogan for a modern-day He-Man Woman Haters Club (you get bonus points if you know what this is without Googling it).

he is my kryptonite and like superman, i am powerless in his wake
I’m going to need to see a photo of this guy.

i think a dead guy is hot
Join the club, honey.

does alex trebek know urdu
My guess is no.  But if he does, then I’m going to need to learn how to say “patronizing fucktard” in Urdu.

why are reiki practitioners so flakey
Because we’re made with many delicious layers of butter and puff pastry.  Also, fuck you.

Hey, nice rack

August 1, 2012 — 213 Comments

Yes, this post is about what you think it’s about.  It’s about boobs.  Cans.  Hooters.  Melons.  Jugs.  Sweater meat.

My friends, I am not a flat-chested woman.  I’m packing heat.  I’ve wintered well.  My cups overfloweth.  Mind you, I’m not complaining.  It comes in handy quite often.  I’ve got a built-in popcorn catcher.  And it’s a convenient place to keep a tissue or money when I have no pockets available.

There are, however, some drawbacks.  The most annoying being unsolicited comments from representatives of the XY chromosome pairing.

I started getting comments and catcalls when I was a teenager.  Now that I’m in my 40s I don’t get as many but it still happens occasionally.  And it’s not like I’m pulling a Sue Ellen Mischke, walking around wearing just a bra.  I can wear the baggiest of sweaters and some slack-jawed idiot will still zero in on my chest.

Do I find it icky when guys make lewd comments?  Ewww, yes.  Do I think it’s sexist and degrading?  Fuck yeah.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized about launching asshole-seeking missiles at these knuckle draggers.

But my other feeling is, if you’re going to make a sleazy remark, you should put some thought into it.  Make it memorable.  Pithy.  Because I’ve heard a lot of really lame stuff.  Loud kissy noises, a variety of animal-type grunts, many yells of “Woooooooo yeah!!!!” or words to that effect.  Once a guy came up real close to me, gaped at my torso and said, “BIG ONES!!” in a voice that sounded eerily like that of Cheech Marin.  And for international flavor, I’ve gotten a lot of “Ayyyyyyy mami!!!”

Come on, fellas.  Don’t phone it in with a disgusting noise or a wolf whistle or something juvenile like that.  Those are all really played out.  You can do better.

I’m not saying you should doff your hat and proclaim, “My dear lady, your mammaries are quite bountiful and luxurious indeed.  Good day to you!”  But if you’re going to be a douche, at least make an effort not to be a stupid douche.

The best line I ever heard was when I was about 17 or 18.  Anyone remember those t-shirts sold by Haagen-Dazs back in the glory days of the 80s?  They had the H-D logo on the front and an ice cream flavor on the back.  I had one (mine said Coffee).  One day when I was wearing it, I was walking down the street and saw a guy ahead of me leaning against a parked car.  I had a feeling he was going to be a problem.  I just looked straight ahead and hoped he would leave me alone.  He didn’t.  As I passed him, he said, “Haagen-Dazs, huh??  Nice scoops you got there, honey!”

Now that was clever.  Respect, bro.

Catwoman vs Cat Lady

July 26, 2012 — 148 Comments

We saw The Dark Knight Rises this weekend.  It was awesome.

After the movie Mr. Weebles and I talked about Catwoman.  I was underwhelmed by Anne Hathaway’s performance but Mr. Weebles liked her. (There’s a shocker.)

Then we got to discussing “Catwoman” and “Cat Lady.”  Both are used to describe females with a feline association, but they have very, very different connotations indeed.

Halle Berry as Catwoman. You’re welcome.

Catwoman conjures up a certain image and attitude, whether she’s the original cartoon version, or whether she’s played by Eartha Kitt, Julie Newmar, Michelle Pfeiffer, Halle Berry, or Anne Hathaway.  Catwoman is sexy, bad, sly, and very agile.

Cat Lady, on the other hand, is not what you’d call sexy.  She likes cats so she can’t possibly be bad.  She’s probably not very sly.

There but for the grace of God go I.

And if she’s agile, it’s only because she needs to be to avoid constantly tripping over Muffin, Babykins, Whiskers, Sir Floof, Mittens, Stripey McStriperson, Arianna Fluffington, Blacky, Chairman Meow, Buttons, and Mrs. Puff.

Should you find yourself in the unenviable position of not knowing whether a female of your acquaintance is Catwoman or Cat Lady, here is a quick guide for your reference:

Catwoman:  Wears an exotic perfume, something like Shalimar or Opium.
Cat Lady:  Wears a heady mix of catnip, Febreze, and tuna juice.

Catwoman:  Her wardrobe has a lot of leather, rubber, and thigh-high boots with stiletto heels.
Cat Lady:  Her wardrobe has a lot of bathrobes, sweats, and ratty slippers, all liberally covered in cat fur.

Catwoman:  A wild animal in the bedroom.
Cat Lady:  Has a lot of animals in her bedroom, but none of them wild. Except for that time Mittens thought Cat Lady’s vibrator was an intruder.

Catwoman:  She’ll cut you and you’ll never even feel it.
Cat Lady:  She’ll apologize profusely for the scratches inflicted by Buttons, he was just playing!

Catwoman:  Speaks in a throaty, seductive growl.
Cat Lady:  “Who’s a good baby? You are! Yes you are! Oh yes you are.”

This was inspired by Mooselicker, who mentioned both Dr. Seuss and Abraham Lincoln in a comment on my last post.  It gave me the idea to rework the Gettysburg Address as a Dr. Seuss poem.  I like to think Lincoln would have appreciated it.  And the message is just as relevant today as it was in 1863.


‘Twas eighty and seven years past, so they say
That our founders created the US of A

With all of us equal!  The Wuggles!  The Fuzzins!
And even our naughty Confederate cousins!

Now there’s a war and it’s bad and it’s sad
But a time will soon come when we’ll all be quite glad

That our nation still stands and our country’s still here
And we’ll all drink a toast with a mug of Sneetch beer

These bravest of soldiers did not die for naught
We need a do-over to do what we ought

So let’s have no more of this Civil War folly
And remember our government’s purpose, by golly

Of people!  By people!  For people!  Yes!
But right now this country’s one heckuva mess

I want for this country a sort of rebirth
So all these nice freedoms don’t perish from Earth.

This morning I rode the elevator in my office building with a chick who was talking on her cell phone.

During her conversation, she said the following: “Yah, yah, but like, I mean, really, like, y’know. Seriously.”

Um, what?

This wasn’t said in fragments, as if she were acknowledging what the other person was saying. This was one sentence.

I had to frantically commit this list of words to memory before I got off the elevator so I could record them here for posterity, but it wasn’t easy. I’m pretty sure I’ve done permanent damage to my brain.

How did we get to the point in our society where a random combination of adjectives, adverbs, conjunctions, and other words constitutes a full sentence? Obviously the person on the other end of the phone knew exactly what was meant by these verbal droppings. And although I hate to admit it, I suppose I probably would have too, if I knew the context of the conversation. But that’s not the point.

Because, like, seriously? WTF?