Tag Archives: HUMOR

Green Eggs and Spam

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What makes a popular poem popular?  Personally, I like poetry that is well structured and rhymes.  But then again, I love “The Cat in the Hat” and “Fox in Socks.”  When I was growing up I was especially into Helen Steiner Rice since my grandmother had what seemed like an unending supply of her work.  That being said, I like to keep it fairly simple.

Now, I have been known to bust out with some pretty amazing poems, especially during some emotionally charged times in of my life (i.e. breakups with boys).  However, a while back I wrote this personalized, hilarious rap for my nephews birthday.  In short, it was sick!  It was off the hizzle!  It got rave reviews by my friends and family, my nephew loved it, and I was overwhelmingly proud of it.

One day, I was wasting time on my computer (as opposed to doing laundry or dishes) and I decided I would post some of my poems on a poetry website.  I was curious how I would be critiqued.  The rap that I wrote for my nephew received the following comment:

“I dont know if you were purposely writing in that form to “make your voice” but while i was reading this poem i was constantly saying “this is lazy”. It might be that Im looking at this in a wrong way. I love how your describing another person with such admiration and i think that a poem is worthy of this person. Its a good poem but to me its painful to read.”
 
I decided to reply to his gentle feedback, and did so in a way that I caused myself to look extraordinarily mentally unstable.  So I said to the young buck:
 
“Awww…darn it!! I HATE that it literally caused you “pain”. And it’s funny that you constantly kept saying to yourself, “This is lazy.” I have had a serious problem with time management skills….my house is an effin’ wreck. You need a Tetanus shot to ride in my car…. And I haven’t been bathing on a regular basis OR brushing my teeth. PLUS, I dropped a deuce in the toilet that was SO rank…but it looked like a dragon. I was kind of proud of it… so I never flushed it; that was 4 days ago. I’m kind of thankful for your review because it was just like God used you as a vessel to get my attention. I am lazy as a as mofo!!! I’m not kidding. I am soooo effin lazy!!! Uggghhhh!!! But I’m going to actually start trying to work on bettering myself. I mean, the Holy Spirit just spoke to me through “YOU”. Thanks for helping me acknowledge that I need to make a serious change. Oh and by the way, I am feeling “convicted” by the Spirit to tell you that it’s “dreadfully” lazy to not capitalize the personal pronoun “I”. I mean, really all you have to do is just hit the shift key at the same time you hit the “I” on the keyboard. Also, and I didn’t hear this from God (I’ll admit that), but I noticed that you having a hard time with the “its vs. it’s” thing. A lot of kids do… and that’s OK because you’re not Jesus and you can’t be perfect all the time. But “it’s”…(when you put an apostrophe in it)…well that is what we call a “contraction” (not the kind that your Mom had when she was having you). Contractions are neat! They’re a short way to write out two words (it is) and combine them into one word, “it’s”. It may seem hard now but if you study this topic and work hard you’ll learn it in no time flat! Thanks for the feedback… I guess I was trying to sound like a black person. I’m not black but I have always wanted to marry a black man. Now that I’ve written this I feel like maybe I need to immerse myself in the culture a little more before I try to join a black family. Seriously. They would never accept me if I am not using Ebonics correctly. I wish they had Ebonics on Rosetta Stone!

To this my critic responded:

“Well April I am no holy spirit, I was just giving my opinion (which this site encourages). I do like your poem, I just don’t like the way you wrote it. I encourage you to continue writing and I hope to see more poems from you. 🙂 “
 
Now I didn’t want him to think that I was being defensive (which I wasn’t) or sarcastic (which I was), so I formulated the following response to the young lad:
 
“You are a REAL poet. I suck ass, big time. I am so humiliated that I even put that lame ass poem on the Internet. I swear to God, what if a perspective employer Google’s me and/or my kids find the logon and password on this site and discover this train-wreck, shit storm of a “poem” (or whatever the hell it is). I do not mean to take up so much of your time. I am not a stalker anymore. I really just want to learn. And Jesus brought you to me for a reason and I swear on my dead, rotting mother’s, worm-infested grave that I am going to “get it” this time. I just need help. Please help me. You are my only hope. I need tips. I need help. Please tell me what I can do to improve this lame pile of shit. I feel like stuffing my head in a porta-potty toilet at a Monster Truck show and flushing it. Please hear my cry and learn me what you know. I will now ask you to refer to me as “Grasshopper” and I will refer to you as “Master”. I’m not an oriental or anything, but I know that those people know a lot about humbling themselves and learning from those who are more enlightened. I look forward to your prompt reply. I am actually going to stay next to my computer and wait. I have a little place to sleep under the desk. I don’t deserve a bed. I am not worthy of comfort at this point.”
 

Would you believe that the young man never replied?  I’m sure he became rather frightened of me.  I mean, after all, that was my intent.  Mission accomplished.

After laughing hysterically as my friend looked on at the exchange between my critic and I, I decided I would take a peek at some of his work.  Here’s what I discovered:

 
Sleeping on Steel
 
To think about death
Is cold and uncomforting,
Like sleeping on steel.
 
 
And then there was this gem:
 
 
What Is Life?
 
Life is __________.
 
 
And then this more complex, obscure piece:
 
 
A Mind With No Fear…
 
As I sat down in the metal beast
I pondered on life’s purpose in detail.
What will I do, where will I go, when is world’s end,
I will never find society’s trail. I pondered for what seemed like days
And the answer was no where in sight.
I was looking for something I could not find
Where others it seemed as finding the moon at night. I was not confortable in my burning machine.
I decided to leave before my thoughts troubled me more
And as I opened the world to my yellow eyes
My mind began to blossom through the door
Into a world not full of smoke, but color.  The land that I felt was strong and firm
As I walked on the sorted stones.
Walking towards a canal of green,
A bright place untoched by dry bones. A sound came to my ears that paralyzed me in happiness
The sound that can only be composed by a friend.
A friend of painted wings and a mind like no other,
A mind with no fear of the end.
 
I sat next to the canal where my friend perched it’s self.
We enjoyed the song, then looked into the eyes of the river.
As we leered we saw different reflections
It saw the world given to him, I saw an answer

No matter what I do, where I go, when the end is
The world will be as new as the day it was felt by man.

As I grow old and turn into smoke,
The flower of my mind still reminds me
The grass is still green, the friend still sings,
The world is not a metal hand.

Now, that may be good poetry ya’ll.  I don’t know and cannot tell, especially when you consider my love for Dr. Seuss.  But I had to reply.  I just had to!  So I reviewed his work, rated his work with 5 stars,  and said the following:
 
“You!!! You are GOOD!!!! I mean it. You ARE. I’m gonna have to give you the props you deserve right NOW. I tip thine hat to thee. You are worthy…. You hit the NAIL on the HEAD!!! The world is NOT a God-damned metal hand. And I am tired of everyone acting like it is! It never was and I think that, at this point, you and I both that this rotten whore of a world is NEVER, EVER going to be a metal hand no matter how much you smoke. Oh sure, there is dank that has made me think that I “literally” had superpowers. I was convinced that I could move the wind’s bastard child with my mind. I felt it in my C6 vertebrae and I farted with a mighty roar…like a hound dog of a trumpet keeping score. I regressed. I paused to consider all that had begot me… and SHE.. and HE. Then I lost track of time and the space continuum. I was VEXED!!! What had happened to that ILLUSIVE metal beast? Was it mocking me? To MINE own self will I remain true. It is depravity, I shriek from the bowels of hell… And I shall walk on this barren land no more. Thank you for giving words to the language that knows no language. The speech of me that speaketh not and shall speak NO MORE!!!!!! {Yet, I still scoffed and I SPAT!!!!}”
 
 
For the life of me, I don’t know why he didn’t respond.  I never heard from him again.  He did change the way I viewed poetry, however.  What I realized is that the more bizarre the poem, the more likely it is that the poetic community will accept you.  I received negative feedback on my themed, humorous, sensible poem that was composed of perfectly rhyming stanzas.  But what if I just made up some mindless, random nonsense and submitted that?  I thought I would give it a whirl.  So I submitted the following (brace yourself):
 
I Am Abubaka’s Daughter
 
Chlamydia, you drunken pot of pig’s period.
You again?  THIS day you come to call?
Why don’t you pick another nest to infest?
Flee from me lest I call the One they call, Boyd T. Malgabor.
Doth thou not know that Abubakah is mine own father?
Hark! Hush now! (hatred repressed {bed never made})
You blackened whore who drips incessantly; crying; crying.
This funk you shall take and leave at once.
ABUBAKAH IS MY FATHER!
 

Man!  I got some great reviews on that little treasure!  Can you believe that?  Now how in the world is that possible.  

Perhaps my hormones are getting the best of me.  After all, I am on day 20 of my 40 day fast.  I have been without sex for 43 days too.  I just don’t understand why some poetry is so mother-humping strange.  Who knows, I may become a poet.  I’ll just write poems like the one above, publish a book with a collection of my works, make a sizable amount of money, and win the respect of weirdo poets all over the world.  Before I do that, however, I am going to brush my teeth and take a nap. 

 

XOXOXOXOXOXO,

♥ Ava ♥

 

 
You!!! You are GOOD!!!! I mean it. You ARE. I’m gonna have to give you the props you deserve right NOW. I tip thine hat to thee. You are worthy…. You hit the NAIL on the HEAD!!! The world is NOT a God damned metal hand. And I am tired of everyone acting like it is! It never was and I think that, at this point, you and I both that this rotten whore of a world is NEVER, EVER going to be a metal hand no matter how much you smoke. Oh sure, there is dank that has made me think that I “literally” had superpowers. I was convinced that I could move the wind’s bastard child with my mind. I felt it in my C6 vertebrae and I farted with a mighty roar…like a hound dog of a trumpet keeping score. I regressed. I paused to consider all that had begot me… and SHE.. and HE. Then I lost track of time and the space continuum. I was VEXED!!! What had happened to that ILLUSIVE metal beast. Was it mocking me? To MINE own self will I remain true. It is depravity, I shriek from the bowels of hell… And I shall walk on this barren land no more. Thank you for giving words to the language that knows no language. The speech of me that speaketh not and shall speak NO MORE!!!!!! {Yet, I still scoffed and I SPAT!!!!}
Well April I am no holy spirit, I was just giving my opinion (which this site encourages). I do like your poem, I just don’t like the way you wrote it. I encourage you to continue writing and I hope to see more poems from you. 🙂
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Awww…darn it!! I HATE that it literally caused you “pain”. And it’s funny that you constantly kept saying to yourself, “This is lazy.” I have had a serious problem with time management skills….my house is an effin’ wreck. You need a Tetanus shot to ride in my car…. And I haven’t been bathing on a regular basis OR brushing my teeth. PLUS, I dropped a deuce in the toilet that was SO rank…but it looked like a dragon. I was kind of proud of it… so I never flushed it; that was 4 days ago. I’m kind of thankful for your review because it was just like God used you as a vessel to get my attention. I am lazy as a as mofo!!! I’m not kidding. I am soooo effin lazy!!! Uggghhhh!!! But I’m going to actually start trying to work on bettering myself. I mean, the Holy Spirit just spoke to me through “YOU”. Thanks for helping me acknowledge that I need to make a serious change. Oh and by the way, I am feeling “convicted” by the Spirit to tell you that it’s “dreadfully” lazy to not capitalize the personal pronoun “I”. I mean, really all you have to do is just hit the shift key at the same time you hit the “I” on the keyboard. Also, and I didn’t hear this from God (I’ll admit that), but I noticed that you having a hard time with the “its vs. it’s” thing. A lot of kids do… and that’s OK because you’re not Jesus and you can’t be perfect all the time. But “it’s”…(when you put an apostrophe in it)…well that is what we call a “contraction” (not the kind that you Mom had when she was having you). Contractions are neat! They’re a short way to write out two words (it is) and combine them into one word, “it’s”. It may seem hard now but if you study this topic and work hard you’ll learn it in no time flat! Thanks for the feedback… I guess I was trying to sound like a black person. I’m not black but I have always wanted to marry a black man. Now that I’ve written this I feel like maybe I need to immerse myself in the culture a little more before I try to join a black family. Seriously. They would never accept me if I am not using Ebonics correctly. I wish they had Ebonics on Rosetta Stone!!! Ugghhh!!! FML!!! :/
I dont know if you were purposely writing in that form to “make your voice” but while i was reading this poem i was constantly saying “this is lazy”. It might be that Im looking at this in a wrong way. I love how your describing another person with such admiration and i think that a poem is worthy of this person. Its a good poem but to me its painful to read.

 

I “Am” Wonder Woman Y’all!

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CHECK OUT THE FOLLOWING VIDEO!!!!!

What a diva!  Do you have any idea how many years I spent dreaming I’d be her someday? What’s more, I was such a fan that my mother and grandmother took me out for a little “drive” one day.  Our destination was to be my surprise.  Little did I know that I was going to meet the real LINDA CARTER!!!!!  Ahhhhh!  And she liked me too!!!!  And guess what my grandmother bought me?

 

That’s how I rolled, y”all!

What I’d do is I’d grab a couple of my mother’s gold, cuff bracelets and rock them with my Wonder Woman Underoos.  The cuff bracelets had to be legit.  If they’re weren’t, I wouldn’t have been able to stop the barrage of bullets that were constantly being shot at me by all the bad guys.  If you’re looking for a good bullet-proof, cuff bracelet, I recommend that you go with something like this:

Hey, jackass… You’re Glock is no match for my cuff bracelets! Don’t waste your ammo, bro. Just go home and stop being evil. You’re wearing me out with all your villainy!

 

After you adorn yourself in the Underoos…eh, I mean, official crime fighting uniform, all you have to do if pop on your bullet-proof bracelets and then…..you spin around and around and around.  You spin like your life depends on it!

Once you’re done spinning your operating with your full powers and you’re ready to kick some ass.  If you misplaced your lasso, like I often did, you need not worry too much about it.  The most important thing is that you’re protected by your cuff bracelets, and that you spun properly.  Trust me on this one

And don’t trip over the invisible jet.  Jet fuel is high nowadays anyway, and just because you’re cruising in an invisible jet, doesn’t mean that you’re invisible.  And, when you’re wearing bright, primary colors, people tend to notice you flying through the friendly skies.  Duh, the jet is freakin’ invisible so you and your Louis Vuitton luggage can be spotted by anyone within a moderate distance from you, particularly if they had that laser eye surgery to improve their vision.

 

Today, in my spare time, I was able to make a little magic happen on my computer.  Wait til’ you get a load of this.  Who is the woman pictured below?  Is that the original Wonder Woman?  No boo, it’s her freakin’ daughter…ME!!!

 

I guess the news is out that I’m taking over the family biz for now.  Wonder Woman Sr. is right smack in the throes of menopause and she’s even too cranky for the villains we deal with.  She get’s attitude real quick now.  And don’t even get me started on her mood swings.  Case in point:

 

She still looks good and all, but “she don’t play“.  She cannot stand to be disrespected, especially by some trifflin’ ho who thinks she’s all that.  She will get crunk on a mofo if they talk to her just any kinda way now.  She’ll smack the shit out of someone in Walmart if he or she even looks at her wrong.  I just wish she’d be a little more discreet and not so aggressive.  I ordered her some of that Wild Yam Progesterone cream.  Hopefully when she rubs some of that on her skin she’ll level out a little.  Until then, I” got this. It was my destiny, I suppose…

Fighting crime and suppressing evil for your safety,

Ava Elizabeth Wisdom

 

 

Tales From the Pole: One of My Proudest Moments As a Stripper

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I’ve been so incredibly serious and dark in all of my posts over the last few weeks.  I’ve been down…I can’t fool you guys.  But you should know that I am one of the most random people you will ever meet. 

Have you ever been walking down the street or through a crowded mall…alone…and all of the sudden your mind if filled with thoughts of something so hysterical that you just begin to howl  in unconstrained laughter?  Oh you try so hard to hide it, but some wild thought has taken over your brain and you’re done for. 

You know you looked as crazy as a shit house rat to all the people you walked by.  You know that your maniacal, seemingly unprompted laughter caused people to question “what the voices were saying to you” and wondering what incompetent doctor was supposed to be managing your meds.  It happens to me all the time.  It’s not cool and it’s rarely convenient, but it sure does happen.

Granted, I have to give props to all the crazy people in the world.  I mean, don’t they mix it up a little bit for us?  I personally appreciate crazy people.  I think the world would just be plain dull without the deranged.  I mean, how entertaining is it hear someone talk to themself…or even argue with themself.  I personally like the people who swat at flies that aren’t really there.

Plus, and you’ve got to admit this…  Sometimes, deep inside, you think you might be a little bit “cray” too.  Now you might not be like me…you might not openly admit it.  But I’m brave.  I’ll go on record to say that I question my sanity like almost every single day.

When I encounter someone who is truly off their rocker, I pray for them.  Then, I inhale and exhale slowly and intently as I bask in the fact that even though I may be a little bit loco… I’m surely not as crazy as that dude over there. 

Now when I was a stripper, I took crazy to some whole other levels.  However, I did it with style, flair, and unyielding creativity.  I think I made erratic, unbalanced behavior look good. 

Now I was mean when I was a teenager, but by the time I was struttin’ under the lights of main stage in my 6-inch slut slippers I can say that I had truly evolved into a kinder, gentler person.  I guess being a stripper softened this gals heart up more than a little bit. 

I would never harm a fly, but if you harmed one of my people…or if you degraded me, you had better watch your back, because I assure you, that no matter your financial stature, no matter your size…you were gonna get it.

Now you see, much to the dismay of the general public, some of the nicest people I have ever met I met in a strip club.  On average, most were lonely regulars who just wanted a friend and someone to talk to.  Friday and Saturday nights kind of sucked though, because we’d draw a younger crowd.  They were what I referred to as the “Bachelor Party Crowd”.  This crowd sucked because they came out in droves.  My club would be packed wall-to-wall but these young bucks didn’t spend the money that the older gentlemen did. 

Audaciously, these young punks were of the mindset that they were too hot to ever have to pay a woman for anything.  But I mean, really dipshits?  I used to make small talk with these guys and ask them what they did for a living.  They’d proudly tell me.  I’d say, “Oh yeah?  Do you get paid for that or anything?”  They would look at me like I rode the short bus all my life and say, “Well, yeah.”  Then I’d say, “Well haha, bitch.  This is MY work and when I come here I get paid.”  They usually got the point, but overall these pompous imbeciles would expect a high-end entertainer like me to do “somethin’ strange for some change“.  I didn’t like it when these punks would come at me with a single, dollar bill folded perfectly down the middle.  What did they expect to get for that?  I mean, we’re talking about 4 quarters here.

Overall though, the men treated me with genuine kindness and respect.  The exceptions to the rule would be some of the Dallas Cowboys who were winning superbowls during the early nineties.  Actually, most of them were cool to me, except one.  I don’t throw out names, but this guy made a name for himself when he hooked up with one of my girlfriends and a few 8-balls of cocaine in a hotel room one night.  That had an interesting outcome!  My friend’s boyfriend was a Dallas cop and ended up getting fired  and catching some serious charges for putting out a hit on this jackass NFL player. 

But the worst guy I ever met will go down in the chronicles of stripper history as far as I’m concerned.  He was a recruiter for a porn company.  He was fairly young and edgy looking.  Of course, I was unaffected.  My man was a competitive body builder and a male stripper at the hottest ladies club in the Dallas! (lol)  Anyway, when I asked for this dude’s name, he told me his name was, “Free.” 

When I tell you that this guy was a colossal douche bag, you have to believe me.  If you looked up the term “doucher” on Google Images, I feel certain that this guy’s mug would show up as the top search result.

He was cocky and arrogant as hell.  For what reason, I have no idea.  I guess he thought we stripper chicks dug that kind of stuff.  We didn’t.  I remember he was sitting at the center table, right in front of main stage.  He wasn’t tipping anyone

I handled “Free” just like any other patron that I came across in the club.  He did not impress me in the least and I wanted him to give up his cash.  Before I boldly and courageously went in for the kill, I tried a little ice-breaker to warm him up and prepare his vile, little heart to give Mama some “paper”.  I said, “Hey, I could really use a drink right now, Baby.”  This reprobate looked me dead in the eye and said, with a demeaning, domineering glare, “YOU get me a drink.”  He was insistent and homeboy was feelin’ real sure of himself. 

Was I hallucinating, did a dude just come into “my” club and order “me” to buy “him” a drink?  Yep, I think he did.  So what did I do?  Well, of course, I asked the gentleman what he was drinking.

He replied, like I was his bitch.  He didn’t say please or thank you.  You could tell this dude thought he was the shiz.  “Glenlivet,” demanded this weasel.  “I’d love to get you a drink”…  I mean it, I wouldn’t miss a chance to buy a REAL L.A porn recruiter named “Free” a shot of his favorite scotch, right?  Well, it was sorta like that.  And so, I slipped off to the dressing room to get some money.

Back then the shots were $7 or $8 bucks.  There was no way that I was spending more than a dollar on this scumbag.  He had been a real asshole to some of the other girls, so I cut some of my closest gal pals a real fine deal that night.  I would need to collect a dollar from at least 6 or 7 of them if they wanted to “help” me get our distinguished patron his scotch.  I collected, the money and proceeded to the bar where my favorite bartender, a superfly Greek named Demetri was posted up.  He was my dog.

Demetri poured that shot for me… Oh yes he did.  Then guess where my black-patent, leather, platform boots took me next?  Well, it wasn’t straight over to deliver “Free” his drink.  As a matter of fact, it was to the ladies restroom.

Now to me, the shit this man was drinking smelled like flammable urine that had been sitting in a stagnant pool of waste at the bottom of one of those dreadful porta pottys… It stunk! It reminded me of a stank, abandoned urinal…or better yet of the nasty Turkish toilet that I was forced to squat over once on a ferry-boat off the coast of Greece.

I decided that since his scotch smelled like piss, he would scarcely noticed if I poured half of that shot out in the toilet.  I did.  Then I voided my bladder right into his cocktail, making certain to bring it right back up to its original fill line.  I smelled the aromatic mixture of scotch and my piss and everything just lovely to me.  In no time I was able to “serve” our visiting dignitary the drink that he had ordered me to purchase for him.  And I did it with a smile

But to my horror, that reprobate glared at me right straight in the eye.  He pushed the drink away from him and over to me.  He said, “You drink it.”  He was the devil!!!

Oh my God!  Oh my God!  Luckily, I have a bit of acting in my background.  I improvised.  I turned up my nose and looked at him like he had just lost his mind.  I firmly responded–quite indignantly and  very haughty–“Hell no.  I would never drink that.  It smells like piss to me!”  Once more this degenerate would glare deeply into my soul.  Next, he would pause for a long, tension-building silence.  I thought I had been made.  Then with his porn industry swagger and a thunderous eruption of gall and bravado, he slammed that drink back.  Oh friends, he slammed it back good!

Bottoms up, Biatch!!!

He made this kind of, “Ahhh” sound.  It was like he wanted so badly to be cool and utter the word, “smooooooth.”  You know?  Like the wimpy guys do in the movies before they lose their breath and begin gasping for air.

“Free” would not actually lose his ability to breath that night as he unknowingly threw back his shooter of scotch and golden water.  He took it like a man…

After I served my guest his beverage I politely excused myself.  As it turned out “Free” might have gotten some sort of wicked buzz off my wicked whiz.  If you can believe it, the dude became more abusive to the girls when I left.  He clearly thought we were whores.  He clearly thought of women as objects that he could exploit.  He tried to degrade some of the other girls and was hassling the dancers beyond anything that was tolerable.  Friends, “Free” was a very, very bad man.  I don’t think he knew Jesus.

“Free” was gently escorted out by two REALLY big bouncers that night.  Although he came in vertically with all that swag, he left horizontally with no swag to speak of?  What had happened to “Free’s” swagger that night?  

Even though “Free” had been kindly shown to the door, I didn’t get a chance to miss him much after his sudden departure.  Consequently if I wanted to remember Mr. “Free”, all I had to do was walk over to the entry doors.  Apparently “Free” suffered a  minor head injury during his graceful exit, because he sure did leave behind some pretty sizable blood stains on our entry doors.  Oops.

Hey “Free”.  Don’t mess with Texas, Baby!  And, never, ever mess with a stripper…  (Now that boy should have just known better!)

The Ballad of Christopher Boston (The Cat)

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I would just like all you to know that my twenty-year old brother, who resides in Norway is a lyrical genius and an incredible goofball with a myriad of talents (namely art, music, and incredible poetry).  He recently sent me his most recent  masterpiece.  It is titled, “The Ballad of Christopher Boston (The Cat).  

My favorite part of the song is where he makes reference to the fact that he doesn’t care whether or not his sister (our sister) has cat allergies!  To know this kid is to love him.  So enjoy the song! LOL!

A Blow-Up Doll With Manners and a Sensitive Side?

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I swear on everything that “Ive seen it all.”  As I was checking my email today I came across a Groupon for the neoteric “Boyfriend or Girlfriend Snuggle Pillows”.  The manufacturer of the pillow boasts that, the “snuggly arm pillow emulates the feeling of cuddling a sleeping companion without the snoring and tossing.  Really?  What about breathing?  I personally like it when my snuggle bunny inhales and exhales a few times during the night.  Also, a pulse is kind of sexy too.

So, I suppose that this is the nicer, more gallant/proper version of a good old-fashioned blow-up doll!  I guess these cuddle bugs will not only hold you in their corpse-like “arm”, they will stay the night as well!  If only the damn thing could serve its companion breakfast in bed!

If you think I’m kidding come in closer for a few tantalizing visuals…

No head, missing an arm, no “goo goo”, and no legs. Never has being held by half a decapitated torso been so emotionally fulfilling!
Looks like “Mama” might like to give a little spanky-spank! Who’s been a bad boy?
Yeah, it’s got some dirty pillows to rest your naughty head on!
“Dirty Bastard! Are you fondling my breast?!”

Now I get that we all have needs, particularly us gals.  But come to think of it, I’ve never heard a man tell me he “just needs to be held”.  However, I respect that the demented soul that invented these “gentle lovers” had the moxie to target both a male and female audience.  Will this be a hit sensation?  I don’t know…but I’m NOT willing to spend $20 (Groupon or no Groupon) to find out!

I consider myself to be a kind, compassionate woman who is “very” in touch with each and every one of my many complex  feelings and flowery emotions.  However, not only would I not be caught dead with one of these, I would laugh my fool ass off at “any” person who kept company with one…even if it was just a one-night stand!  In short, I feel traumatized and altogether flabbergasted!

 

Oh, and to be fair to the  life-partner pillow people, I thought I’d go ahead and bust out with the prices and list of INCREDIBLE features (GAG)!:

Boyfriend and Girlfriend Arm Pillows

Microbead- or polyester-filled men’s or women’s torsos and arms embrace whoever snuggles into the Boyfriend or Girlfriend Arm Pillows. The pillow provides a sense of comfort during winter nights or roller-coaster drops, and keeps dreams from being interrupted by snoring or tossing. The machine-washable body pillows can also function as a neck roll or be used to beat back a single bogeyman who emerged from the closet with a dozen dead roses.

Features
  • Soft polyester- or microbead-filled arm pillow contoured like a man or woman’s torso
  • Boyfriend pillow includes removable microfiber shirt for quicker washing and pinup-calendar shoots
  • Makes a perfect snuggle pillow
  • Dimensions for the microbead Girlfriend arm pillow: 18” x 14” x 4”
  • Dimensions for the microbead Boyfriend arm pillow: 17” x 15.5” x 6”
  • Dimensions for the fiberfill Boyfriend pillows: 22″ x 20″ x 4″

The Deal

  • $20 for a microbead Girlfriend arm pillow ($29.95 list price) plus shipping ($9.95 value; $39.90 total)
  • $20 for a microbead Boyfriend arm pillow ($34.95 list price) plus shipping ($7.95 value; $42.90 total)
  • $25 for a fiberfill Boyfriend pillow ($44.95 list price) plus shipping ($9.95 value; $54.90 total). Choose from the following color options: blue, yellow, red, or black.

-Ava