Monthly Archives: July 2012

There is a hell, and it is populated by puppets.

It’s something we do, as adults, to reminisce about our childhoods. How wonderful it was. How everything was better then; more innocent, the days longer, no responsibilities, no worries, no cares.

So freeeeeeeee…

We tend to forget that childhood is a minefield full of terror and we’re lucky to get out alive.

There are a lot of terrifying things when you’re a child. Television shows that you don’t quite understand and therefore scare you, full of naked adults and people shouting and violence; the rumors of what happens once you get to high school, with the mean teachers and  mean other kids and ALL THAT HOMEWORK; and then of course there are puppets.

What? Puppets?

Yes. Puppets.

When I was a kid, there were very few things that were more frightening than puppets. And they’re for children, you see. They’re supposed to entertain children. Some sadistic son-of-a-bitch created these things, labeled them “for children,” and then sat back and reveled in the fear they engendered in the youth of the world. Well, there’s not ALL for children, but adults think they’re ok for children, because they’re just PUPPETS, so they feel safe entrusting their children with them. BIG MISTAKE BUB.

I don’t know what’s so frightening about puppets. The same thing that’s so frightening about clowns, I guess. You can’t see the face of the person who’s running them so you don’t know their true intention. The scary ones look murderous and maniacal. They have voices full of lunacy that are just a touch too high. Their stubby little arms flail without rhyme or reason. And they seem like they would pop up alongside your bed in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep, saying, in their too-high voice, “Here I am, Amy! Want to give me a hug? How about a kiss? How about a nice kiss? WITH MY SHARP SHARP TEETH?”

Now, I don’t hate all puppets. I’m fine with marionettes. Of course, the Muppets are fine. As mentioned the other day, I didn’t mind most of the puppets on Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. I wasn’t scared of anything on Sesame Street. Shari Lewis and Lamp Chop were ok, but she was kind of weird. (That baby-voice was offputting.)

Also, she wore way too much eye makeup.

But then there were the other things.

Wayland Flowers and Madame. Do you remember this? If you’re young, you might have missed out on this wonder altogether. This was pretty popular when I was a little one, like in the 70s and 80s. Madame was TERRIFYING. sj and I were talking about this just the other day. Look at that FACE. Wayland Flowers was EVERYWHERE for a while. With this stupid, loud, bawdy puppet. Here, in case you were too young, you can see what I’m talking about, and why this would have been terrifying for a child.

(Yes, I know, this is awesome because Bea Arthur. But look at that terrifying puppet! With her clacky mouth and her feathery feathers and her stupid sex jokes! She made me VERY NERVOUS as a child. VERY VERY NERVOUS. And you never knew where she’d pop up! You’d be watching television and all would seem fine and BAM! THERE WOULD BE MADAM!)


Then there was this movie. Have you seen this movie?

Aw, look how young Anthony Hopkins was. That’s the only nice thing about this. I can guarantee you that.

This is a movie about a crazy person named Corky (Hopkins) whose insanity manifests through his terrifying ventriloquist dummy, “Fats” (who, as you can see, looks very much like Hopkins, which is SO WORRYING) and then Fats insists Corky start killing people, so he does. Or Fats does. Or they both do. Either way, there is a murderous ventriloquist dummy in this movie, and it is HORRIFYING. Oddly, it was written by William Goldman. Who wrote The Princess Bride. WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME GOLDMAN?

I’m sorry. It was mean of me to post that. But how would you believe me if I didn’t? I wanted to show you an actual scene from it but apparently it was TOO TERRIFYING FOR YOUTUBE and I couldn’t find anything appropriate. Or, inappropriate, I suppose.

Fats would totally eat your face, I’m not even kidding.

But before I watched that, I saw THIS, which I think was even WORSE:

Most Twilight Zone episodes I just found awesome and intelligent and fun and cunning, but there were a couple that terrified me. This was one of them. You’ve seen this, right? This stupid dummy with its huge eyebrows and it ENDS UP TAKING THE MAN’S PLACE AND IT IS BLOOD-CHILLING.

I think I mentioned this before, but when my brother and I were little, a family member (I don’t remember who) bought my brother ventriloquist dummy for Christmas. Who thought this was a good idea? I have no idea. It was this doll:

Because there’s nothing a kid wants more than a Charlie McCarthy doll. Especially in the 80s, when he’d never heard of Charlie McCarthy.

My brother tried for about five minutes to learn ventriloquism – which is SUPER-HARD, you guys, especially the P’s and B’s and any letter you have to move your lips for, pretty much – and then gave up. That doll creeped us both right the hell out. So he put it under his bed. WAY under his bed. And then surrounded it by other things to keep it safe under there and not able to escape and eat his face while he was sleeping.

Seriously, who gave that to my brother? And thought that was a good idea? He didn’t ask for it, and didn’t want it. He wasn’t an indoorsy-toy kid, anyway. He liked outdoorsy toys, or things like Transformers or G.I. Joes. Who thought he would make a good ventriloquist?


Then there was this, which isn’t quite puppets, but still made me VERY NERVOUS when I was a kid:

Stupid Mummenschanz. They would pop up on The Electric Company and The Muppet Show and they’d have toilet-paper faces and be all silent and quick hands and I COULD NOT SEE THEIR FACES and I THEREFORE DID NOT KNOW THEIR INTENTIONS and you all KNOW that makes me super-nervous. I DON’T LIKE THAT, MUMMENSCHANZ. (SIDE NOTE! I have a sliiiiiiight less hate-on for them because their name is German and I’m a grown-up now, but even that pretty German can’t change the fact that it’s German for “mummery” and mimes are effing FREAKISH.)

All of this creepy puppet-talk leads up to this article that I was pointed in the direction of yesterday. I don’t look back on my childhood with nostalgia. I look back on it and I’m just pleased I survived it.

In case you didn’t see this the other day, and would like an Amy-recap, well, I can’t say I’m PLEASED to give you one, but I think it’s like a public service. You need to know. And you’re probably not going to click. It’s ok. You might have a happier, better life if you don’t.

In Florida (what the HELL is happening in Florida?) a man named Ronald William Brown has been a Christian puppeteer for a long time. People trust him with their children. He drives their children to and from church. He has a ventriloquist dummy named Marty. As you can see from this oddly-grainy video clip, he’s not very good at it. His mouth moves a lot.

That dummy (the doll, not the man) is creepy as hell, yo. But they all are. There’s never been a not-creepy ventriloquist’s dummy. sj informs me this is a real thing and that she actually saw this program on television before. Shudder. SHUDDER I SAID.

Anyway, apparently there’s been a huge multi-state child porn sting going on lately. Ol’ Ron Bill got caught up in it. WHAT? NO NO NOT A BELOVED VENTRILOQUIST! Heh, that was a trick AND an oxymoron.

Ron Bill (I’m pretty sure he just goes by Ron but I like that he has two first names so I’m-a gonna use ’em) made friends with a man in Kansas named Michael Arnett. Which reminds me of Will Arnett, so I’m going to call him Gob. Ron Bill and Gob found they were kindred spirits, just like characters out of Anne of Green Gables,

Kindred SPIRITS!!!

because they shared a love of the following:

  • child porn;
  • child murder;
  • and cannibalism.

Ron Bill and Gob communicated back and forth about their love of the above, sending photos of dead and/or naked children, sharing their desire to kill and eat children, you know, like you do. Oh, wait, no, NO ONE DOES THIS. Ron Bill even had a certain young parishioner picked out that he wanted to make his victim (“I imagine him wiggling and then going still,” our ventriloquist friend said) and then Gob showed up one day so they could make their BFF-ship THE REAL DEAL, yo. But Ron Bill was scared of taking things to the next level so he avoided Gob while he was in town. I’m imagining he said things like “I’m totally busy with my dummy this weekend, Gob, you know how it is! Sorry, dude! It’s not ME, it’s YOU!”

(Ron Bill has dealt with the cops twice. He’s not lily-white. The cops found boys’ underwear in his car once, but he said he used them for his dummy – NOT A EUPHEMISM – and he didn’t get in trouble, and the neighbors reported him another time, I assume for being a Creepy McCreeperson, but again, nothing came of it. His neighbors all thought he was weird. You know, one of those.)

Ron Bill’s defense here is that it was just talk, he’d NEVER hurt anyone, and therefore he is INNOCENT. Well, he’s innocent of ACTUAL murder and cannibalism, maybe. He had child porn and child snuff photos and that’s a crime. Also, who’s to say that he wouldn’t have given into to these urges eventually? You don’t just talk about these things for fun. I mean, come on. It’s one thing to say, once and a while, you might want to burn down someone’s house in anger. It’s quite another to repeatedly discuss (and view photos of) child porn, cannibalism, and murder. You can say you were just foolin’, but there’s no take-backsies here, Ron Bill. We know you’re a creep and you got stopped (hopefully) just in time.

Also, listen, DON’T TRUST VENTRILOQUISTS. Look, this is another one of his “programs.” What kind of weirdo enjoys talking to little kids about porn using a ventriloquist’s dummy? This is just WEIRD.

So what have we learned today, my little tater tots?

Puppets are freakish and scary and NEVER EVER FUN. Ever.



An open letter of apology to London

Dear London:

Listen, I’m really sorry.

The other night, #MittShambles started trending on Twitter. I’m usually really out of it, news-wise, so I of course had to research what the latest Mitt-tastrophe was.

Guys! YOU GUYS! I gots me a street named after me, yo!

Oh, holy hell, London. I am so, so embarrassed. Seriously, I’m glad I don’t have to look any of you in the eye today, because I’d be as red as a beet.

Oh, so embarrassed.

Oh, wait, maybe some people are as out of it as I am, news-wise, and are wondering what went down. Because I love you, I’ll fill you in.

On Thursday, Mitt Romney (who will be running as the Republican Presidential candidate here in MERKA later this year) went to London. It was ostensibly as a fundraiser – there are a lot of rich American Republican businessmen living and working in London, and he was having a $75,000 a plate fundraiser for them (or, I guess, for himself) – but while there, he decided to show the Londoners what it would be like once he’s elected President, by doing some speechifying, and some interviews, and meeting with some fancy London bigwigs. Easy enough, right?

$75,000 a plate? Better come with a home, a hot man, and a European tour, buddy.

Oh, no, not at all easy. Not at ALL easy. Yikes.

Listen, I’m not great in front of people. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I often start running off at the mouth because my nerves get the better of me, and I say very stupid things that are not at all indicative of me as a person. I think a lot of people do that. It’s not just me. I’ve seen more than enough bad speeches to know I’m not the only one petrified in front of people saying stupid things. That said: the man is trying to be the leader of the United States. THE WHOLE UNITED STATES. OF MERKA. You kind of have to be good at speeching to lead the country.

In case you’re not aware, the Olympics are going on in London. Well, when Romney was there, they were about to begin. They were one day away. FURTHERMORE, in case you were ALSO not aware, Mitt Romney was the chief executive of the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics in 2002. So Romney, I guess, thought it was ok that he got all judgey-judgey about the way the London Olympics were being run and set up and such. You know. As you do. When you’re trying to make a good impression in a foreign country.

Bill. Aw, Bill. Remember the speeches he used to give? *swoon*

Shit, did I mention how embarrassed I am, London? Let me reiterate. I’m so embarrassed. So, so embarrassed.

So first, Romney started saying shit like the London Olympics might be in trouble because of security concerns, and that it was “hard to know just how well it will turn out.”

He also said there were “a few things that were disconcerting” about the Olympic preparations. “The stories about the private security firm not having enough people, supposed strike of immigration and customs officials, that obviously is not something which is encouraging.”

And then I just…kept talking? And talking. And talking some more.


(In news of the BURN!, David Cameron – he’s the Prime Minister, come on, you know this – said “We are holding an Olympic Games in one of the busiest, most active, bustling cities anywhere in the world. Of course it’s easier if you hold an Olympic Games in the middle of nowhere.” HA HA! Listen, the Brits are pretty polite. This is a TOTAL burn. This would be like if a MERKAN said “SUCK IT ROMNEY YOU PODUNK ASSMUNCH.” Only with more middle-fingering. And we’d probably shoot him in the face.)

Good one, Cameron!

Then Romney was all “oh, oh shit, did I do that?” and backpedaled with a sweeping “um um um any little boo-boos will be overshadowed by the extraordinary demonstrations of courage, character and determination by the athletes.” (Everything in that sentence up until “overshadowed” I made up. Also, that’s not an apology or even a backpedal. That’s a privileged kid who doesn’t know how to say he’s sorry who realized people are mad at him attempting to save face. And failing. Miserably.)

I kind of imagine it like this, only without the awesomeness of Fred Willard or “A Mighty Wind.”

In additional news of the “what the eff?” Romney also:

  • forgot the name of Ed Miliband, the leader of the Labour Party, and in order to save face, called him “Mr. Leader” (his name wasn’t like Muhammad Hosni El Sayed Mubarak or something. It was ED, for the love of Pete. You can’t remember Ed? You high or something, Romney?)

    It’s ED, Mr. Romney. ED. TWO EFFING LETTERS.

  • Met with the leaders of MI6, but obviously was SO STOKED that he got to sit at the cool kids table for two minutes and maybe also thought he was in maybe a James Bond movie that he TOLD EVERYONE. I wasn’t aware of this, but apparently MI6 is England’s Fight Club? And you all know the first rule of that, right? Shit, Romney. I’m pretty sure Goldfinger’s under your bed right now or something ready to suspend you over a tank full of sharks while he tells you about all of his evil plans and schemes, giving you time to escape, if you’re wise enough to use it. (Isn’t Goldfinger a James Bond badguy? The one with the scary grill? He is, right? I think I remember Dad making me watch that once. OH SHIT FINE I looked it up and his name was “Jaws” and he was from the movie The Spy Who Loved Me. I really dislike James Bond movies. They’re all the same to me.)


    Also, I guess there’s another secret service called MI5, and he also met with them, and one of Romney’s advisers spilled the beans about that, too. (I’m getting the feeling that a., maybe all these secret societies shouldn’t meet with any yahoo running for president of MERKA, and b., Romney and his people were totally narcs in high school. Or hall monitors or something. Something asshatty.)

  • He also said he was really looking forward to watching volleyball from the “backside” of Downing Street which made a lot of British people giggle because that totally means bum, you guys. BUM! (Also, who even uses backside in that sense? Weird. Unless it’s a rich person thing. Is it a rich person thing? I wouldn’t know. Romney would.)

    Here is the backside of a hedgehog. Hee! Backside!

  • One of his advisors said that Obama didn’t understand America and Europe’s shared “Anglo-Saxon heritage.” Some news outlets are saying that Romney himself said this; some are saying an advisor said it. Either way: RACIST, YO. Because Obama’s got African-American heritage, he can’t understand the troubles we seen, can’t understand our sorrow? Please excuse me while I laugh myself into a hernia.

Londoners were really, really disgusted with Romney.

OK, London? Listen. I’m so sorry. I want to make it very clear: MITT ROMNEY DOES NOT REPRESENT ALL OF US.

Mitt Romney is a bullying rich boy. (Seriously, if you take nothing serious from this entire post, click on that link and read it. And then share it with people who vote in America. Yeah, it’s a story for another blog, one closer to election, I’ll talk more about it then – but we’re one election away from this man being our president, my fellow Merkans. Someone who not only bullied gay teens in school, but someone upon whom it made NO IMPACT. He DOESN’T EVEN REMEMBER DOING IT. He calls it “pranks and high jinks.”) Someone on Twitter the other day compared him to a middle-aged Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. I don’t know if there’s been a more apt comparison since he poked his Whac-a-Mole head out of the ground to try to be the next GREAT BIG LEADER OF MERKA.

Put your head back in your hole, Mole. We don’t need you here. We have a hammer in case you pop up again. Whack. Whack.

I’m so sorry he came to your lovely city in the middle of your lovely country and he shit all over you while you were preparing for this gigantic event that you’re probably all nervous about. I’m so sorry that some of you are all “you bloody Americans!” and all stompy-stomp and giving us dirty looks. I’m so, so sorry.

We’re really not all that backward and embarrassing. I promise. Gah, I’m just beyond embarrassed. HE DOES NOT SPEAK FOR ALL OF US.

I just found this a few minutes ago. Apparently, Romney’s not going to apologize. It’s all on me. (Did you all know about this?)


I have no idea how the election’s going to shake out. I really don’t. I’m petrified about it, to tell you the truth. Because I don’t want a gay-bashing, jingoistic, bullying, glad-handing rich boy running my country. Please don’t think I do, London. As much as all of you, I wish he’d never opened his mouth when he was across the pond; he makes all of us look bad.

I lived in London for 5 months in college. Your city was a city of wonder. There was always something to see and do and it was so bustling and so thriving and so beautiful and I wish I hadn’t been so homesick because I would have been able to appreciate it more. You have wonderful theater and actors and movies and art and architecture and history (and oh, oh, oh, how much do I miss being able to stop into the store and buy a Flake bar whenever I want one? SIGH) and I’d give my EYETEETH to go back and visit you again now that I’m wise enough to look at all you have to offer with my grown-up, much less eye-rolly…um…well, eyes, I guess.

I’m seriously drooling right now.

Please don’t judge us by our most asshatty denizens. We have such better people to offer.

Please accept my most abject apologies. If it helps at all, I am happy to come over. I would remember Mr. Miliband’s name, I would totally zip my lip about meeting with your secret agent men, I’d never mock your abilities to have the Olympics there (because, honestly, I don’t know anything about the Olympics) and I would totally never mention the ass-side of your buildings. I can be a lady when I need to be. Totally can. I think you’ll see I’d be an EXCELLENT ambassador of awesome. I’d leave and you’d be all “GO GO MERKA!” and it would be the best thing ever.

Send that plane ticket on over. I’d be happy to stay at a mid-range hotel. The chocolates on the pillow don’t have to be that fancy. I’d settle for a Flake bar.

And listen, London: I’m so sorry. Seriously. Here is black and white picture of Benedict Cumberbatch with facial hair. He is one of my favorite products of yours. Can you look at him and be mad at us? Can you really? I can’t. I look at him and my mad-feelings just melt away. Just meeeeellllltttt away.

With all the apologies in the world, plus a few more, and a very red face,

Love, Me.

Miss Edith speaks out of turn. She’s a bad example and will have no cakes today.

Time for some weird, wild, and wonderful news from the world. There’s a LOT of weirdness going on around this big ol’ planet. First I found one article, then another, then ANOTHER, and well! How could I just let THAT pass? I could not. No no no.

I promised Ken I would not talk about The Goat Man of Utah because:

So keep an eye on Ken’s blog (which you should be doing anyway, because it is consistently awesome) because he has promised to talk to us about The Goat Man of Utah at some point, and listen, it is going to be the BEST. Because Ken is OF THE GOATS.

(I was totally going to surprise Ken with this but then I decided I couldn’t because that photo up there is CRACKING MY SHIT UP. S0 I totally just tweeted it to him. I probably shouldn’t be any sort of secret-keeper. I try REALLY HARD to keep secrets but sometimes I just get SO EFFING EXCITED about things. Ken says that instead of telling all of YOU I should be telling KLOUT because I consistently forget to go over to Klout and give him sarcastic +Ks about his goaty influence. So the minute he told me to do that, I went to Klout and not ONLY gave him +Ks in goats, I gave him a whole NEW topic, because Klout is super-weird about things? And the topic was “Hey, Pa! There’s a goat on the roof! [Game].” What does it MEAN? This is a GAME? It seems like it might be a pretty easy game to win. Like, if there’s a goat on the roof, and you see it, you’re the winner, right? WINNER! Oh, shit. I just looked this game up and it’s a REAL THING. From the 60s! A Parker Brothers game! Where the goal was to get your goat to the roof!


Oh, man, 60s. You were not only filled with psychedelic drugs and love children, you were filled with WHIMSICAL BOARD GAMES.)

OK, let’s see. Today in news of the weird (both from MERKA and also China!) we have a cat burglar of PORN, another burglar (this one of MAN-MEAT), VAMPIRES VAMPIRES VAMPIRES!, and how sorely sex education seems to be needed in China.

Let’s see. We’ll start with the porn-burglar.

So, in Oregon, a man was breaking into houses. He wasn’t stealing anything! No no no. He was breaking in to do something much more important: to watch porn in other people’s homes.

SO much more fun in other’s homes. While they’re sleeping about a foot away. Right? Right? Wait, NOT right? Ugh, I AM CONFUSED ABOUT THE RULES.

He had internet at home. And apparently also porn. But it was just SUPER-EXCITING to break into someone else’s home and…um…pleasure himself on someone ELSE’S computer.

He got caught because a kid woke up in the middle of the night and was all, “Dad? What? No? WHAT ARE YOU WATCHING? WHY ARE YOUR PANTS OFF?” Yep, he was jackin’ it in a room with a kid sleeping in it. Winner!

Then they matched his…um…fingernail clippings? Yeah, let’s go with that…to fingernail clippings found in two OTHER houses and realized he was the Salami Smuggler. I don’t love that. Someone help me think of a good moniker for this guy. I mean, other than Pervy Pete. That one’s taken, obviously. I haven’t talked about him much lately, but don’t worry. Pervy Pete’s still here. You can’t get rid of Pervy Pete without a LOT of antibiotics.

So! In Oregon, apparently it’s a THING to break into people’s HOMES to watch porn on their computers. I like that there are three people in the world who can say “I never visited that site! THAT’S NOT MINE!” and NOT BE LIARS.

Next! Stolen organs – no, not kidneys, you thought it was kidneys, didn’t you? Not kidneys.


Well, just one penis. But I’m sure it meant a lot to the person who it was stolen from.

Mr. Fei Lin, a man in China, was sleeping like a baby one night when a group of unknown nefarious ne’er-do-wells broke into his home. They put a bag over his head, and in his highly agitated state, he was not aware of what was happening. They left, and he took the bag off his head. And realized: DUDE MY PENIS IS GONE. Only, he was in China, so he thought it in Chinese, obviously. I bet screaming sounds the same in Chinese and English. It’s like the universal language. Like LOVE.

Apparently, Mr. Lin was a local lothario, and had ALL THE SEX with ALL THE LADIES. The spurned lovahhhhhs of the ladies that Lin took out a’steppin’ are suspected of being the gang of penis-removers. No one can prove it, though, and NO ONE CAN FIND THE PENIS DUN DUN DUNNNNN. Aw, Mr. Lin. I’d tell you to keep it in your pants, but you’d have to find it first, now wouldn’t you? I’m sorry. That was super-mean and he was the victim of a horrible crime, even if he was kind of a dog. I couldn’t help myself IT WAS TOO GOOD. I’m not a saint, here, people.

Give us the monster! Or…the guy that’s been boning our lay-deez!

So! Porn porn porn housebreaking porn, and STOLEN PENIS!, and now – VAMPIRES!

You know how we’re all freaked out about the zombies? I think probably that’s a good way for the vampires to sneak in, when no one’s even thinking of them, and then TAKE OVER.

In Massachusetts, a random lady was at a playground. She had something in her hand. “What’s that in your hand?” the local kiddos asked her. (Ew, no, this isn’t going in a weird gross place like that, don’t worry.) She was all, “it is a baby bat! Want to hold it?” and most of the kids were like, “Um, STRANGER DANGER! STRANGER DANGER!” but not one little girly, who was like, “I want to hold the cute baby bat!” and the lady was like, “YES YES” and then the girl held the bat and the bat bit her, well, DUH, and the girl’s mom brought the girl and the bat to the hospital and SURPRISE, that bat had RABIES.

Sure, they LOOK cute, until they INFECT YOU WITH RABIES. Or maybe vampirism.

No one can find the bat-lady.

That’s because she’s a VAMPIRE, of course. Getting her pet bats to bite people and give them the rabies. Or the vampirism. No, of COURSE the article isn’t saying vampirism. The article isn’t just going to SAY something like that. I do like this quote from the article: “The woman told the children she had a degree in bat biology, according to the Daily Mail. She has not yet been identified.” Does that NOT sound like something that a VAMPIRE would say? “A degree in bat biology.” Strangely specific! Oddly stilted! YES YES YES!

Am I the only one who imagined the person hanging out in the playground to look a lot like this?

Do you like daisies? I plant them, but they always die. Everything I put in the ground withers and dies.

So sure they cured that girl of her “rabies.” SURE THEY DID. Listen, I watch a lot of True Blood and Vampire Diaries and Buffy and Angel and such. I know about the vampires. I know. There’s no cure for vampirism. Well, staking. Staking cures vampirism. Do you think they staked that girl?

Finally: China! Where they are quite confused by what’s real and what’s a sexual enhancement aid!

Twice recently (once last month, once this month) China’s made some sort of weird huge snafu concerning a sex toy. It’s kind of concerning. I feel like maybe they need to take a class.

First: last month, when digging for a well, these villagers found this thing. And they were all, what is this thing? We do not know. We will call the news! So they called the news, and the news sent over this very young, very sweet reporter, who did a HUGE report on what she THOUGHT was a magical, mystical, underground mushroom, that had only been rumored, and there was a legend it granted immortality.

Then people started watching the program and were all, “Um…lady? That’s a sex toy.”

(That link’s all in Chinese, but there are subtitles. And also not the most safe for work. But as I’m unemployed, what the hell do I care? There’s a mushroom/sex toy in it, is all I’m saying. It just made me laugh because EVERYONE TOUCHES THAT THING. And who knows where it’s been? Also, side note, who threw their sex toy down a well? Hee! I AM DONE WITH YOU NOW, FLESHLIGHT! DOWN THE WELL WITH YOU! I WISH YOU INTO THE CORNFIELD!)

You’re a bad sex toy! A very bad sex toy!

It’s like the people who used to look at Georgia O’Keefe’s artwork and say, “vaginas? What? No. THOSE ARE FLOWERS.”

What a pretty flower! What do you MEAN it’s not a flower? OF COURSE IT IS DUH.

Then, just a few days ago, 18 cops in China worked together to save a drowning woman for over an hour. A huge crowd gathered. Everyone was very worried about this poor lady. Would she be ok? An hour in the water, that was a long time! And they finally got her out! A huge sigh of relief went up throughout the crowd!

And it was a sex doll all along.

The sex doll doesn’t seem to have taken well to the watersports. Heh.

The cops “presented it to the anxious crowd, who quickly covered their children’s eyes and walked away.” Hee! NO NO JOHNNY DON’T LOOK. A drowned lady, that would have been ok, but a DIRTY DIRTY SEX DOLL! That’s not ok.

So I see this problem having two prongs, so to speak:

A. People in China need to be more educated about what sex toys and aids look like, and how to recognize them versus either the real thing or a magical mystical legendary dual-headed mushroom;


B. People in China need to learn to dispose of their used sexual toys and aids in a less public and more sanitary manner. In the garbage? OK. In a well or in a river? NOT OK CHINA.

So! What have we learned today, ladies and gentlemen and everyone else that might or might not be skulking here and there reading my blog or just hanging out here for the photos of wet sex dolls? Don’t break into homes to jack it; don’t sleep with the lady-friends of angry men in your town; don’t handle wild animals, even if Drusilla from Buffy tells you it’s ok; and don’t throw your sex toys away all willy-nilly. THINK OF THE CHILDREN. Also cops and small-town villagers and innocent-looking news reporters.

Dammit, now I want something with mushrooms in it. Yum, mushrooms.

Oh, want. WANT.

We major in foolishness here.

Let’s talk about happy things today. We all need some happy, right? Right.

Right after the Aurora shootings last week (shh, I know that’s not happy, we’re getting to the happy) there was a petition circulated online to get Christian Bale to visit the victims in the hospital. I saw that and thought, “Nah, that’s not going to happen. Christian Bale’s kind of an asshat.” Because remember when he was all shouty on that movie set that time and all “Am I going to walk around and rip your effing lights down, in the middle of a scene? Then why the eff are you walking right through? Ah-da-da-dah, like this in the background?” So I was fairly sure that Christian “Ranty McRant Rant” Bale wasn’t going to make a trip to Colorado and visit people in the hospital. He was probably too busy being angry and throwing shit, I don’t know.

I was pleasantly surprised to see this not too long afterward.

He not only went to Aurora and visited with the victims and the staff of the hospitals, and went to the memorial site to pay his respects, he did this not at the direction of his production company, but on his own: “‘Mr. Bale is there as himself, not representing Warner Brothers,’ said an assistant to Susan Fleishman, the executive vice president for corporate communications at Warner Bros.”

That’s class, right there. Yeah, sure, it’s good PR for him – especially as someone who needs some good PR after that ranty old rant – but he didn’t have to do it. And he still did. It had to be hard for him, but he did it anyway. This had to mean a lot to the victims. PR op or not, it was a nice move on his part.

I meant to talk about this back when it came out, but, well, you know, life got in the way and shit. And now I have all the time! And remembered it! You probably all saw this. You should watch it again. It is infinitely cheering, and also makes me a little sad because aw, childhood!

Also, it’s nice that this is the first example where autotune didn’t make me want to gouge my ears out with chopsticks. Also, aw, remember Daniel Striped Tiger? I loved him.

I did not love Henrietta Pussycat as much, because she was all “meow meow MEOW meow” and that made me nervous.

I don’t remember these puppets looking so frazzled when I was little.

I also used to be petrified – PETRIFIED – of Lady Elaine Fairchilde and her strange facial issues which now that I’m old I think are rosacea.

…or maybe end-stage alcoholism.

Lady Elaine had a weapon called the Boomerang Toomerang Soomerang. Why did anyone in a magical land need a weapon? Oh, wait, it wasn’t supposed to be a weapon? Well, it always scared the shit out of me.

Here’s the scary-ass boomerang. It made shit DISAPPEAR and it was FRIGHTENING.

I never understood why creepy Lady Elaine had to be in the Land of Makebelieve because she was very obviously some sort of scary witch, and the rest of those people were nice enough. I mean, King Friday was kind of a dick, but royalty often are that way. There’s not a lot you can do about that. They’re all privileged and such. It comes with the crown.

King Friday & Queen Sara. Did you know King Friday’s full name is King Friday the Thirteenth? That’s worrisome.

In looking back at this, without realizing it, Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood really was an earlier version of Pee Wee’s Playhouse, wasn’t it? I got my first dose of severe weirdness super-early.

I mean, if the whole Playhouse wasn’t a Land of Makebelieve, I don’t know what it was.

Also, if you happen to go to the Mister Rogers IMDb page, and look at the quotes, you might get the giggles about how sexually-charged some of the dialogue is, accidentally. It was a quieter time, my little marshmallow peeps. A gentler time. A time in which you could say things like “insert it in my hole!” and no one thought twice about it. Now, it makes us giggle hysterically. Is is better now? Worse? I don’t know. I sure do like my cell phone, and there are a lot more good television shows on to watch than there were when I was a kid. (I used to be SO MAD when the television went off the air at the end of the day. Television all day long = proof that things are going to be ok. Especially for those of us who cannot sleep.)

Let’s see. What else is happy. It really has been a little-black-raincloud week, hasn’t it? It’s not just me. Other people are noticing this, too. I think there’s something in the air. Do you know who I blame? Well, do you?

I put a SPELL on you, Amy! And Amy’s people! HA HA HA!

YES. He has put a happiness-hit out on the WORLD. Or just on all of my people, because he knows I’ve been mocking him. Well! This will not stand, I can tell you that right now. DO YOU HEAR ME TOOTHY? IT WILL NOT STAND. It is not MY fault your wife left you because you’re a crazyperson and she doesn’t want anything more to do with you and she took away your child and now you’re dating some other woman like FIVE SECONDS LATER and she looks like she was genetically created in a lab to the specifications of “generic pretty ethnic girl.”

She looks like stock footage, doesn’t she?

Toothy! Why can’t you be alone for like five minutes? What is wrong with you that you can’t have five minutes of time to yourself? Also, how have you put a spell on me and my people and made us all miserable? Well, maybe not ALL, I still have some people who are really cheerful, but they’re always cheerful. But a lot of people are super-grumpy! Because I think you’ve hit them with a JOYSUCKER RAY of some sort! Probably something that was created by your cult. Listen, you cut that out. I know you’re mad at me, but there’s no reason to take it out on my people, too. CUT THAT OUT TOOTHY MCTOOTH-TOOTH.

To cheer us ALL up, the kickass Cara sent me the following tweet earlier which made me beyond happy:

YAY HONEY BADGER! Not a single shit was given. NOT EVEN A SINGLE SHIT.

OK, off I go. I know! This is so short! Sorry, cinnamon rolls, have many many many things to do. Job searching and such. Errands. Have to make myself leave the house. Starting working at my part-time job full-time tomorrow. Love all your faces. Happy weekend!

No rest for the wicked

Well, here we are at Friday. What a week, right? A lot of shit has gone down. A LOT. The week didn’t really turn out rainbow kittens like I’d predicted, did it?

I think this might have been more like what the week was all about, after all. Sorry about that.

Huh. Guess I’m not a psychic. Oh, well. I’ll cross “Miss Cleo” off my “potential jobs I might be good for” list.

Miss Cleo totally looks like she’ll take no sass-talk here.

NO, I don’t really have one of those lists. You really think I’m that organized? Oh, please. About 85% of the things that I do, I do on the fly. I’m not great at the whole big-picture thing. Well, I try. But it doesn’t work out so well. Who can tell what’s going to happen in the future? I mean, you can plan and scheme, but you can’t force it to happen. No no no. That doesn’t work. Also, I tend to get VERY CRANKY when something I’ve planned and schemed didn’t work out. Every time I make a plan that falls apart I have to deal with a stompy period where I’m all WHY ME WHYYYYY so I kind of stopped making plans. I know. That’s probably not the best way to go about it, is it? Very defeatist. BAD AMY.

So things are going to get pretty busy for me. I know, you’re thinking I should be all lady-of-leisure and kicking back and such. I think Ken is very disappointed I’m not reporting back on all the crap daytime TV I’m watching (or not watching.)

Lounge, lounge, lounge. (I have no idea how to do this correctly.)

I can’t afford to kick back. In a week, my health care disappears; I have to start paying for it myself. I don’t know how many of you have had to deal with this nonsense, but COBRA coverage is like as much as rent each month. I need to have some money coming in while I look for a new job if I want to pay my big bills every month – COBRA, car insurance, rent, cable. My student loan is still being sorted out since it was switched to a new company, so I don’t owe money on that until September (and if worse comes to worse, I can get those payments put off a little longer; the student loan people are pretty understanding about unemployment.) Anyway, in order to get a little money coming in, I called my part-time job today; the head of HR over there is going to call me tomorrow and let me know what they have available for me on a weekly basis. Nothing permanent, just fill-in stuff, but it’s money. I appreciate it more than I can say. Almost more than anything, something like this is part of why I kept the part-time job as long as I did. Well, yes, of course I needed the money. But it was also nice to know if things got catastrophic, they’d be there for me to fall back on, if I needed them. About seven years ago, my office closed – was bought by another company, and we were all let go – and my part-time job stepped up then, too, and made it so I could pay my bills. (Well, as long as I worked 8-10 hours a day, 7 days a week, my bills were covered. I have a lot of bills.) I won’t (hopefully) have to work that much this time around, but it’s nice to know that’s available to me and they’re there for me. Thank you, part-time job! So appreciated! Anyway, that job’s the one where there’s no internet, no phones, etc., so you won’t hear from me much when I’m working (and I won’t know what hours I’m working – they’re going to be as-needed.)

I’m not a Mister, but I will be busy! Also, I like how this guy’s a squashed jellybean.

Do not fret! I will still be blogging. My life will pretty much be work, job hunt, blog, sleep, repeat repeat repeat. (I can’t help but be a little crotchety they couldn’t have waited until AFTER my vacation and AFTER my book release to do this, so I could enjoy those things, but oh, well, since when has life gone according to plan?)

So far, I have applied to eleventy-billion jobs, and a few of them are actually jobs I really and truly both want and think I would excel at. I’m not going to go more into detail than that. As we know, THAT can get you in trouble. Shush, me. Just keep your fingers crossed for me. TIGHTLY crossed. All the time. Day and night and day and night. NEVER UNCROSS THOSE. Thanks.


Oh, and if nothing happens, I have something offered that starts in November. Again, I won’t go more into it than that, but it’s something huge, and a big change on a lot of levels, but it would also be pretty awesome. So if nothing shows up before November, I have that there, waiting, and that’s nice to know.

Oh, my parents’ reaction to this whole thing have been…less than overwhelming. Underwhelming. I am whelmed. My mom’s all “you got what was coming” and my dad’s in a deep depression about the whole thing because I’m NEVER going to find a job, not EVER, there are NO jobs, this is THE WORST THING THAT’S EVER HAPPENED, life has ENDED, OH DOOM, OH GLOOM! I informed him I was pretty cool about the whole thing until I talked to him and he was stressing me right OUT and he said, “yeah, well, imagine what it’s like in MY head!” I…can’t, actually, I’m really busy dealing with what’s going on here. Calm, Dad. CALMMMMM. I told him not to stress until I started calling him from my car because it was also my bedroom and I was taking showers in the rain, but he said he was getting a jump-start on it. SIGH DAD. SIGH. All will be well. There are jobs. I will find one of them. I will. You can’t tell me I’m never going to find a job for the rest of my LIFE.

I will stand outside and wait for rain! So I can get CLEAN!

OK, enough job crap, right? You’re totally the most sick of this. Me, too. On to other things that are less stabby.

It’s almost book release time! And since I am sad underemployed girl, you’re all going to buy MULTIPLE COPIES, right? Right. Awesome. Shit, job stuff snuck in. No, but seriously, even though I have a million things on my mind, I’m still so excited. Less than a week! This coming Wednesday! I will give you the link where you can buy it and everything! Review copies are on their way (well, if they’re not, they will be soon!) and I’m super-excited, if not a little distracted. I can’t wait for you all to read it. Oh, you can all add it as to-be-read on Goodreads, if you’re so inclined. I got to make an AUTHOR page! How exciting is THAT? The most, is how much.

Oh, do you remember a while ago, I mentioned the guy who hangs out in our garbage area right next to the dumpster on the couches for no reason I can ascertain and it’s worrisome? He was there the other night when I got home, so I pretended to be texting but took his photo. But I think he saw me, because when I looked up from the photo I’d taken, he had walked to the FAR END of the garbage area and was giving me the old stink eye. Then I went in to get my mail, and when I got back out, he was GONE, and so was the couch or chair or whatever he was sitting on, which is even MORE confusing. Where’d he go? Where’d he take the furniture? At least I think it was a couch or a chair. As you can see in the photo – or NOT see – it’s virtually impossible to see what he’s sitting on.

Click to embiggen. Sorry. It is a SUCK photo. And I tried to be cute about captioning and THAT’S too small. But when I went to take another…he LEFT. He was NOT into photo-taking.

Anyway, there’s the Garbage Man. He hasn’t been back since. I think I scared him away, like a villager who thinks I’m trying to steal his SOUL. Garbage Man, I don’t want your soul. I’m perfectly happy with my own.

Enough randomness for today. Off to do a million more things. I really think I need idling lessons. I’m quite bad at this. 

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