Category Archives: weddings

Aaah, a marriage made in heaven. A frog and a pig. We can have bouncing baby figs.

One of my readers, the lovely Angela (hi, the lovely Angela!), upon reading my post about our sad young friend in Bali who fell very much in love with a very seductive cow and then lost his love to some angry villagers and a watery death, thought that further investigation needed to be done into interspecies marriage, because listen, that article was totally not in-depth enough. We both felt bad for the poor cow, and were wondering if the drowning happened pre- or post-nuptials, and in what language the nuptials were conducted? Balinese or Cow? And what language IS cow, anyway? Does it even have a name, or is it just called Cow? Because I can’t imagine that’s the case. That would be like if all human language was just called Human. That seems…speciesist, somehow. We aren’t living in the Tower of Babel, here.


Anyway, in honor of Angela – do not let it be said I do not love my readers! – I did EXTENSIVE RESEARCH into interspecies marriage. I am NOT going to go into interspecies CONSUMMATION of the interspecies marriage; because, well, ew, and I don’t want to become the place where people go for all manner of bestiality advice and/or information. I’m sure there ARE such places people can go for such things. There’s EVERYTHING on the internet. I just don’t think it needs to be HERE. I mean, sure, I’m all for new readers. I just don’t think THAT sort of readers. Because they’d just get disappointed if they came back a few times and realized I wasn’t supplying a constant source of animal pornery.

SO, due to the WONDER of the INTERNET, I have researched interspecies marriage for you. Surprisingly, there wasn’t as much out there as you might think. I know! It’s kind of shocking.


A Very High-Profile Interspecies Relationship

For over thirty years, a very high-profile interspecies relationship has been going on RIGHT UNDER OUR NOSES. Right under them! And according to my VERY IN-DEPTH RESEARCH, they MAY WELL BE LIVING IN SIN, you guys! SIN! This cannot stand, I mean, come on, now. Sinful sinfulness! This couple had their own television show, shoving their liberal agenda down our throats for years. Once their show ended, they continued their hippie-dippie love-in shit with movies. MOVIES! Not only that – MOVIES THAT WE SHOW OUR CHILDREN! I know, you’re all probably shocked beyond belief.

Who’s involved in this relationship, you’re asking yourself? AND HOW CAN WE STOP THIS?

Yep. I know. It’s pretty horrifying. A PIG. And a FROG.

According to this strangely in-depth and really well-researched entry from something called “Muppet Wiki” (yep, who knew? That’s totally a thing) Kermit and Miss Piggy have been telling differing stories about their relationship for years. Sometimes they say they’re married; sometimes they say they’re living in sin; sometimes they say they are very much in love; sometimes they say they’ve broken up. They have their ups and downs, those two. Well, what can you expect from a cold-blooded and a hot-blooded species? They’re not meant to get along. Also, not to get disgusting (I KNOW, I promised I wasn’t going to go into this) but male frogs climb on female frogs’ backs and fertilize their eggs as they lay them. I’m pretty sure that isn’t going to satisfy someone as high-maintenance as Miss Piggy. Hi-ya! (Also, she doesn’t seem like someone who’d want all that mess. She seems very…I don’t know, cleanly.)


I know some of you are saying, “AMY! I know they’re married, I saw them get married!” Well, my little strawberry shortcakes, if you remember correctly, that was a dream sequence/part of the musical (I don’t remember, it’s been years since I watched that – wasn’t it part of the musical, but Miss Piggy hired a real minister to make it real, or something?) in The Muppets Take Manhattan.

So there you go. Damn hippies trying to FORCE INTERSPECIES MARRIAGE down our THROATS. Don’t even get me started on Gonzo and those chickens. Although I don’t think he ever married any of them, and also I don’t know that Gonzo is an animal. What the hell IS Gonzo, anyway? (Huh. The internet says he’s an alien. Also, be careful, babes. If you don’t specify and just Google “what is Gonzo,” you get a page called “What is gonzo porn?” and then you of COURSE have to READ that, because you’re CURIOUS like a CAT, then you imagine how FUNNY that might be to WATCH, then you’ve lost 30 minutes.)


It’s Not All Bollywood and Nose-Piercing Over There

In India, it’s a custom (not a COMMON custom, but a custom nonetheless) to marry a dog for a variety of reasons.

Ooh, look, a MANUAL.

In 2003, a girl in India married a dog to ward off an evil spell. How did they know she had an evil spell cast upon her? Because she had a tooth that wouldn’t come out of her upper gum. Don’t ask any further questions than that. It can only lead to madness, I’m sure. So in order to break the evil tooth-spell, she had to marry the village’s stray dog. Because that’s a thing that they do. I’m not here to judge. She doesn’t have to do anything ICKY with the dog. It’s a ceremonial thing. And she’s free to marry a human when she grows up. So it’s a cultural thing, I guess. Also, dogs are pretty awesome.

VERY dapper.

Then a man in India in 2007 married a dog to atone for the fact that he murdered two dogs years before, and HE was under an evil curse. (I’m tending to believe more in the dog-murder curse than the tooth-gum curse, to be honest.) He was a total dickweed and he stoned two dogs to death and HUNG THEM FROM TREES (he’s totally being haunted by dog-ghosts and GOOD, you GO, dog-ghosts, eat his WHOLE FACE OFF) and then he was all, “Damn, I feel like I’m under a little black raincloud, HOW TO FIX THIS?” and then he married the town’s stray dog. I feel like, based on these articles, Indian villages may have a lot of stray dogs. That they marry. For curse-reasons.

You may kiss the bride! A wet, sloppy kiss.

Then, in 2009, an infant in India had to marry a stray dog because otherwise in the future, it was predicted he’d be eaten by a tiger. Again, he can marry a human when he grows up. And he WILL grow up. Non-tiger-eaten. Because of his marriage to a dog. I would include a link to my source material on this one like a REAL GROWNUP JOURNALIST but MSN pulled the article and I cobbled it together from the comments on their pulled article and the Wikipedia. You can probably find it if you’re crafty. Or just accuse me of lying, I’m down with that.

No eatin’ by a tiger! Not for THIS baby!

FINALLY, in dog-marriage news (but NOT in India) a man married his dog in Australia a couple of years ago. “What curse was HE under, Amy?” you’re asking. None. He just really, really, REALLY loved his dog. (I’m really hoping in a bro-way, and not anything else. I refuse to think of anything else. NOTHING ELSE.)


Too Shocking for Springer. TOO SHOCKING FOR EVEN SPRINGER!

In 1998, Jerry Springer had an episode titled “I Married a Horse.” It was considered TOO SHOCKING FOR TELEVISION, and not allowed to be aired. (Also on the episode along with the horse-dude were a lady who was in a very…um…graphic relationship with her Schnauzer and a man who was an equal-opportunity dog-lovah and hadn’t settled on any specific special lady yet. Or, bitch, I guess.)

Because THIS is much less offensive than HORSE MARRIAGE.

The horse-dude also had a documentary made about him. (Best comment on that post? The one about the “stable” relationship. Heh. I’m a pre-teen boy with my sense of humor.)

The moral here? America is down with baby-daddy-drama and people ripping out each other’s weaves and a lot of bleeped cussing, but NOT ok with animal…um…husbandry.


You Can’t Always Expect Goat-Marriage

I’m kind of poaching on Ken’s territory here. Because, you remember, right? You remember the rule?

And also, “you can’t always expect goats” is totally Ken’s thing. Look, he’s the first thing that comes up when you search that on Google and everything. As it should be. But this very all-inclusive research piece I’m doing on behalf of the BETTERMENT of the WORLD would not be complete without mentioning this.

In Sudan (or is it “the” Sudan? Because we don’t say “the” America or “the” Finland or whatever) a man was startled while performing goat-loving. “When I asked him: ‘What are you doing there?’, he fell off the back of the goat, so I captured and tied him up,” the owner said.

The owner left the goat-aficionado tied up, and went to the “council of elders” (um, AWESOME, I want a “council of elders,” even better, I want to be ON a council of elders, I would be VERY MERCIFUL, most of the time) and the council of elders said (if I may paraphrase, because it’s like this might be my audition for the council of elders) “Dude! Don’t go to the po-po. Make him pay you some sweet dinero, and then make him marry the goat, since he’s already used her like a wife, yo.”

Aw. So pretty! White is totally her color.


The guy married the goat, and they lived in wedded bliss for about a year, until the goat died of VERY suspicious circumstances (“choking on a plastic bag” which I think is a Rough on Rats excuse if I’ve ever heard one) and the best part of the Wikipedia entry is “The goat was survived by a 4-month-old kid.” Well. That means the goat either a., cheated on her husband, or b., the man and his goat had an interspecies BABY.


Marrying dogs and turtles = marrying the person you love

According to some very progressive politicians* (*not at all progressive) we’re all one step away from marrying animals anyway.

You see, here in the United States, we have six states (Connecticut, Iowa, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New York – YAY NEW YORK – and Vermont) that allow same-sex couples to marry, and recognize their marriages with the same rights and privileges as any other couple. AS EVERY STATE SHOULD FOR THE LOVE OF PETE. Cough. Cough cough. Sorry. My politics slipped in. Pardon MOI.

BUT, with each state that allows same-sex marriage to happen, we’re closer to the total breakdown of society. And that total breakdown comes in the guise of marrying DOGS and TURTLES.

Per Rick Santorum:

“In every society, the definition of marriage has not ever to my knowledge included homosexuality. That’s not to pick on homosexuality. It’s not, you know, man on child, man on dog, or whatever the case may be. It is one thing. And when you destroy that you have a dramatic impact on the quality.”

And per Bill O’Reilly:

“Bill O’Reilly again theorized that the legalization of gay marriage could lead to interspecies marriages, stating to Margaret Hoover, ‘[Y]ou would let everybody get married who want to get married. You want to marry a turtle, you can.’ O’Reilly has previously suggested that gay marriage could ultimately allow for a person to marry a goat, duck, or dolphin.”

Well! Goats, ducks, dolphins, turtles, and dogs! That’s quite a damn petting zoo of marriage. Dammit, gays! STOP RUINING SOCIETY WITH FORCING ME TO MARRY ANIMALS! Oh, what, wait, you’re not…your marriage is not forcing me to marry an animal? And it’s a civil rights issue and no one’s telling me I can’t marry the person I love, were I to actually find someone to love, AND it totally injects all kinds of money into my state’s economy? Well, shit, marry it up, gays. Marry. It. Up. I’ll run the risk of duck-marriage, and since goats are Ken’s, he’s in charge of that situation.



A Very Strangely-Written Folk Tale

According to this Cheyenne folk tale, which I believe has lost something in translation or writing or whatever, a chief’s daughter had illicit relations in the middle of some very dark night on her hands and when she hugged him, she put red handmarks on his back. The next day, at a dance, she looked for the man with red handmarks on his back (because…no one bathed there?) and none of the men had red-handy-backs. BUT A DOG DID DUN DUN DUNNNNN. The chief’s daughter was mega-sad that her lovah had been a dog. (Nowhere in this story was it mentioned that she’d had sex with a shapeshifter of some sort. How did she not KNOW it was a dog? Was he not furry with a tail and smaller than a human? CONFUSING.)


Because she was sad (or a psychopath) she took the dog into the woods and beat it but it ran away. (Um, yeah. OF COURSE IT DID.) Then she gave birth to seven puppies. As you do.

She hated her puppies and told her mom to KILL THEM KILL THEM ALL but her mom was all “those ma grandpuppies, yo!” and took care of them. Their mom eventually was like, “Huh, I guess I don’t hate my litter as much as I thought. I guess I can throw a tennis ball around with them a little or whatever.” BUT! Once they were old enough, their dad showed up and took them away LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT.

Aw, MOM. Why don’t you love us? Boo.

The chief’s daughter was super-sad and was all, “Hey, mom, make me a bunch of puppy-moccasins, I’M GOING TO GET MA BABEHS” and then chased them down. They were in a tent with a young man who ignored her. (Probably because when he was a dog, SHE KICKED THE SHIT OUT OF HIM?) She fell asleep, and when she woke up, the kiddos and her ex-lovah were gone. This went on for 3 more nights. On the fourth night, she could not find them, and thought to look up in the sky (I don’t know why) and saw her puppies, which were now the constellation the Pleiades.

There are only 7 stars in this. Where did the shapeshifting dad go?

What is the MOST confusing about this is that it’s called “The Girl Who Married a Dog” and she CLEARLY did not marry a dog. She had some SEX with a SHAPESHIFTER who was either always a dog, or masquerading as one, and then gave birth to a litter of star-puppies. Also she was an animal abuser and a negligent mom.

This is a very confusing folk tale.

There! Angela, ALL THE RESEARCH into interspecies marriage! I don’t know if we know any more than we did when we started, and we’re still not any further along in understanding why they drowned that damn cow…but! ALL THE RESEARCH! ALL FOR YOU DAMIEN!

Buying (and marrying) the cow

You totally get two posts today. You’re the luckiest.

I’m writing this a couple days in advance – you know, as I do – and have a job interview today, which is super-duper-scary. I haven’t had a job interview in almost seven years. I’m not ever quite sure what to say, or what they *want* me to say, or how best to represent myself, or what you’re supposed to wear, and when I’m nervous I talk too much and laugh obnoxiously. I’m trying to reassure myself by telling myself that no one enjoys job interviews. Well, maybe job interviewers do, since they have all the power. I can’t imagine an interview is as awkward for an interviewer, right? I’ve never interviewed anyone. Have any of you interviewed anyone? Is it easier to be on the other side of the desk? It must be, right?

Oh, THIS looks scary. I would not like this at ALL.

So in a couple of hours, I have to get all professional-looking with PANTYHOSE! and a SKIRT! and shoes with HEELS on them! (well, the heels aren’t very high, let’s be honest – I’m not much of a high-heel kind of chicky, they’re too unstable) and then I drive on down to the office and meet with the people and hope they like me and hope I don’t embarrass myself. Eee! Nervous-making!

Damn you, pantyhose. So CONSTRICTY.

I am also telling myself it’s not the end of the world if I don’t get it, that everything happens for a reason, blah blah blah blah, but it’s not helping much. I still have a very nervous tummy filled with all MANNER of butterflies. I’ll let you know how it goes. Unless it’s totally the worst. Then I probably will pretend it didn’t happen.


This is going to be random-crap-day. When you’re home most of the day, you don’t have a lot to blog about, I’ve noticed. I’d better find a job soon, yeah? Or you’re going to start getting posts full of “IT IS 1PM! I MADE SCRAMBLED EGGS ZOMG!!!1!” You can argue I was only one step away from madness already. You might even be right.

Yesterday, BFF sent me this article. Yes, this is the whole article. He thinks the last sentence is the best. I tend to agree, although there’s another sentence in it I love almost as much.

An 18-year-old boy in Bali who was caught having sex with a cow was forced to marry it in front of hundreds of people, according to video from Buzz: 60.

The teen said he thought the cow was a beautiful woman and it wooed him with compliments, the video says. Officials didn’t buy it, deciding on the marriage as punishment.

The teen passed out during the ceremony and the town decided to drown the cow.

(As you can see, BFF gets me, because he knew I would love this article a great deal.)

Ooh, look how pretty Bali is. I want to go to Bali.

“…thought the cow was a beautiful woman and it wooed him with compliments” is my second-favorite part of the article, in case you were wondering. (Of course you were.) Wooed him! With compliments! “Oh, young man from Bali!” (Shit, I need to come up with a name for him. INTERNET! I NEED YOUR HELP! I asked the internet and it says a name for someone in the Brahmana caste in Bali might be “Ida Bagus Ngurah” and I’m pretty sure if you had sex with a cow you’d be a member of the Brahmana caste. Because isn’t a Brahma a type of cattle or something? So this kid’s name is Ida Bagus Ngurah henceforth. HENCEFORTH SAYS I. I’m going to call him Ida, though. “Oh, Ida!” says the cow. “You have such lovely eyes and such intelligent thoughts! Please be my interspecies friend! There is no one I love more in the whole world, as you are the sunshine of my life and the grass in my field!”

Wink wink! Those are some sultry eyes!

But those damn officials! They did NOT BUY IT. Nope! Because he tried to get the milk for free, they made him totally buy the cow. My mom always SAID that wouldn’t happen. HA HA MOM. It happens in BALI.

Look how depressed that cow is. The MOST depressed.

Then our friend Ida I guess got overwhelmed during the ceremony – probably because of his overwhelming love for his lady-friend – and swooned like a Victorian lady, and then – and this is perplexing – the town decided to drown the blushing bride. That part’s a little confusing. Why are they drowning the cow? That poor cow. It just wanted to be LOVED. It complimented the object of its affection with the intention to woo; it won its quarry; and then, on the HAPPIEST DAY OF ITS LIFE, it was DROWNED. This is the worst wedding day ever. You’re all happy and getting married and then BAM you’re getting drowned by a crowd of townsfolk. Dammit, Bali. I’m never coming there to get married to a cow NOW.

*sniff* I’m just going to go over here and…DROWN, then.

I am back from the job interview! This is like a post full of time-traveling, isn’t it? Are you confused? Don’t be confused. I saved the draft and went to the interview and came back. LIKE A BOSS.

I don’t want to talk about it too much because we all KNOW that blogging plus work = BAD BAD NEWS but I think it went well. I think you either leave a job interview with a good feeling or a bad one. A good feeling doesn’t mean you have the job, of course. And a bad feeling doesn’t mean you’re down for the count. (My last job? I had the WORST feeling when I left that interview. I was all, “They HATED me. I’ll NEVER hear from them again.” Two days later, I had the job. AN OMEN FOR BAD THINGS TO COME? Perhaps.) But I feel like it went very, very well. I liked the people I met with; I feel like I answered the questions they asked in the way they wanted, and truthfully, without coming across as a simpering sycophant; I feel like I was a good fit for the position; it’s close to home, I like the location and the hours and the company size and – and you’re going to laugh at me – it felt COMFORTABLE. I live my life on hunches and guesses and whims, sometimes. It’s what I do. I like a healthy dose of both magic and whimsy in my life. So I left with a very good feeling, like everything just clicked. Will I get the job? I don’t know. The person who hires is out until next week so they said they might not get back to me until late next week either way. But at least I left knowing I did everything I could do and it went well.

Ooh, look, like the Hoff, I have a GOOD FEELING. Don’t you hassle him. DON’T YOU DO IT.

(BUT, I was as nervous as a…hell, I don’t know, nervous-person, and had to keep my hands tightly-laced in my lap the whole time because they were shaking so badly, and they had me fill out a lot of paperwork before they talked to me and if they’re hiring based on handwriting, they’re not going to hire me because I was shaking SO BADLY my handwriting looked like a third-grader’s. Also, at one point they asked me a question? And kooky Amy came out? I can’t HELP it. I can only hide her for so long, you guys. They asked me what I’d think about doing something, and that something sounded AWESOME, and I said, “I’d get to DO that? How awesome would THAT be?” Luckily, they laughed – nicely, not weirdly – so I think kooky Amy was welcome. To an extent.)

So cross your fingers. I think this place would be good. I mean, if it doesn’t work out – well, things sometimes do, and sometimes don’t, I suppose – it won’t be the END of the world, but it’d be nice to put one in the win column, especially after last week.


Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go geek out over the fact that I WROTE A BOOK and IT’S ON SALE TODAY YOU GUYS! Here, in case you missed my early early EARLY morning post, like EIGHT A.M. ZOMG, here’s the one where I freak out all over THAT news. Love your faces. Have a fantastic day!

Ice Weddings vs. Ghost Dogs: a very serious decision to make.

Well, in a very exciting move for people who like things that are EXCITING, our resident Science Fellow, Andreas, is up and moving his family to a WHOLE NEW COUNTRY next month. Aren’t you totally the most excited about this? He seems to be under the impression that probably most of the internet doesn’t find this in the least bit interesting. I BEG TO DIFFER, ANDREAS. Moving? To a new COUNTRY? That is TOTALLY exciting! I mean, it’s not like you’re moving into your mom’s BASEMENT across TOWN because you got laid OFF because you showed up at work HIGH or something. That wouldn’t be exciting. I wouldn’t have the least bit of interest in THAT. But this! THIS is exciting!

Oh, shit, we probably need his graphic. I keep forgetting that.

OK, so since this is TOTALLY the MOST EXCITING, I thought we should probably do a little background into this, so we can all get the most pumped with Andreas. Oh, don’t get me wrong. ANDREAS is TOTALLY pumped. But I think we ALL should be pumped. MOVING TO A NEW COUNTRYYYYYY! Come on, that’s really noteworthy, you guys.

So! Currently, Andreas lives HERE.

Does anyone notice the thing on this map that made me laugh so hard I totally spit lemonade on my computer desk?


I think he’s had a successful run there. I mean, they NAMED a damn CITY after him.

This is the Isle of Man. Do not call it England. People who live there do not like that. They also do not like to be called British. They are Manx. When Andreas told me that, I said, “Like the CATS?” and he said, “Yes. Just like the cats.” I like to imagine he said it with a long-suffering sigh. I think a lot of my friends receive my more bizarre conversational salvos with kind of a long-suffering “Oh, it’s AMY, what are you going to do, her brain’s wired a little differently than you’d expect.”

Andreas will be moving to:

Ta da ta DA! FINLAND! Which you all know I like to pronounce obnoxiously. Like Fin-LAYND. Andreas listened to my pronunciation a few weeks ago and said it was alright that I did that. I trust his judgement. He is Finnish, after all. Who else are you going to trust in these matters? So I’m kind of excited, because next month I can say, “My friend Andreas, who lives in FinLAYND” and it’s TRUE, unlike the months I was saying it and he actually didn’t even live there and it was a thing I’d made up in my head when I first knew him.

So then I thought, you know what would be awesome? I think we should probably compare and contrast some important things about the two places. That way, we can see what Andreas is leaving BEHIND and what he’s moving TO. And we can SCORE the two places. Won’t that be fun? Because I don’t know if it’s a good idea for Andreas to just willy-nilly move somewhere that can’t even win a simple compare-and-contrast competition on some weird chick’s blog. MAN do I hope FinLAYND wins, I really have my heart set on this.

Ready? Oh, isn’t this going to be the most fun? I’m pretty sure it is. I’m not sure if Andreas thinks it is. Luckily, as I type this, he is ASLEEP. Also, he kind of already gave me permission to geek out all over his move, and if I’m given permission I’m totally tracking mud all over your nice new carpet. It’s your own damn fault. Be more SELECTIVE next time.

First, let’s compare the flags of the two nations, which Jim helpfully pointed out a few weeks ago.

This is the Finnish flag. Isn’t that nice? It’s very restful. It makes me think the Finns know what they’re doing, and also would be calming about it.

This is the flag of the Isle of Man and I have to be honest, it scares the beejeebers out of me because it reminds me of THIS:

Right? It’s like one of those composite dolls the creepy neighbor future serial killer made in Toy Story. I don’t know what’s up with those legs and no head and such.

The internet tells me the flag of the Isle of Man is known as “three legs” and is based on a 13th century Manx coat of arms. It gives me the willies. I’d imagine that chasing me all around all the time.


Now: coats of arms.

Here is the coat of arms of Finland:

This is nice! There is a scary lion with his tongue sticking out all ruffian-like, and swords, I do so like swords. And I like the color scheme. Nice job, Finland.

And the coat of arms of the Isle of Man:

See, I would TOTALLY dig this one, if not for that creepy leg-monster! I like the FALCON and I like the RAVEN (which some random website tells me are named Dexter and Sinister, how kooky and fun is THAT?) and I like the fancy CROWN and I like the nice WORDS underneath it which the internet tells me means “whichever way you throw me, I will stand” (UGH! That totally refers to those CRAZY CREEPY LEGS! I mean, I like it, it’s really motivational, until you think about those LEGS being THROWN at you and they’re all STANDING and then HOPPING toward you. This is nightmarish.)

POINT: It’s a draw. I like falcons so very, very much. But those legs make me unable to give this win to the Isle of Man. And that lion with his crazy tongue make me laugh. NO ONE GETS POINTS AND NO ONE LOSES ANY.)

Now, the FUN stuff. Shit, who are we kidding, it’s all fun stuff.

The mythology of the Isle of Man:

  • The island was ruled by a Celtic Sea God (sea gods are always awesome)
  • There is a ghostly black dog called “Moddey Dhoo” who wanders through a castle (castles and ghost dogs? excellent)
  • There is a fairy bridge that you have to wish the fairies good morning or good afternoon or whatever when you cross it or you will get bad luck
  • Peel Castle, where the most excellent ghost dog lives, is supposedly the Arthurian Avalon. It is also a VIKING CASTLE you guys. And so pretty! Look!

So, what do you have, Finland, hmm? I hope you’re up to this challenge.

Finland has:

  • its own WIKIPEDIA page about mythology. Oh, shit, Isle of Man, this isn’t looking good at all. You just had a little SECTION on another PAGE.
  • A whole very exciting creation story about us all being formed out of an exploding waterfowl’s egg (BAM!)
  • An awesomely-named God of Sky and Thunder – ready for this? Ukko. I’d totally worship a god named Ukko. A god named Ukko would GET SHIT TAKEN CARE OF.
  • Some sort of strange bear-issue where “the bear was considered the most sacred of animals, only referred to by euphemisms.” (I included this specifically for Ken. He does enjoy a good euphemism. I’m sure he could come up with some ursine euphemisms, were he called upon to do so.)
  • Ooh, check this, a “sampo,” which was a magical mill that made flour, salt and gold OUT OF THIN AIR. I could use that. I’d like something like that. “My soup is so bland!” “Wait, I HAVE SAMPO! Kachow! Zing!”

POINT: I have to give this to Finland. Only because they REALLY seemed to put a lot more thought into it. Come on, Isle of Man. Step it up.

Everyone’s favorite part of travel: FOOD.

The food of the Isle of Man – well, listen, I’m biased because I hate all the foods. But the national dish seems to be boiled potatoes and herring. I don’t…this sounds terrible. Just so bland and terrible.

They also enjoy chips, cheese, and gravy. I think this is poutine. ANDREAS. Do they enjoy POUTINE on the Isle of Man? I thought that was just a Canadian thing? I have nothing against poutine. It is DELICIOUS. It looks like hell but it’s very, very good.

Seafood is common. Because they are an ISLAND. I like that very much. I could live on seafood.  They also like lamb a lot. I’ve never had lamb, because, aw, lambs. But one time I was trickily tricked into veal and it was delicious. So probably lamb is very good, too. Baby animals are unfortunately quite tasty, even though you want to also cuddle them. It’s quite a conundrum.

Ooh, they also make over 578 TONS of cheese a year. I would like all the seafood and cheese and poutine. Nice job, Isle of Man.

How about YOU, Finland?

Finland has many exotic berries. Here are some: bilberries, lingonberries, cloudberries. These all sound like things you would find at Willie Wonka’s factory, and make me want to try them all immediately. I want fairy-tale berries!

Finnish people love fish. LOVE LOVE LOVE. I can dig that, Finnish people. I ALSO love all the fish. They ALSO love herring. What’s with people in Andreas’s two lands loving herring? I don’t think I’ve ever eaten herring in my life, now all I read about all day is herring, herring, herring.

Also, Wikipedia seems to think the Finnish people pick berries, mushrooms and fish all day long. I think maybe they have jobs, Wikipedia, but it’s a nice mental image. Also, yum, mushrooms. Andreas, will you mail me some delicious Finnish mushrooms if Finland ends up winning this thing?

However, Finland does NOT win my love for the fact that everything I read says “blah blah blah THEY LOVE RYE BREAD” and I’d rather eat the lunchmeat off my hand-area than eat rye bread, so deep does my hatred of rye run. Also, I read this thing that says when times were tight, Finns made bread out of rye and pine bark, and it was not good or easy to slice, but some weirdo dirty hippies are making it again and saying “IT IS GOOD FOR YOU.” Of COURSE they are. Those damn hippies. Don’t eat trees. You are not a beetle.

“The Finnish breakfast traditionally includes a substantial portion of porridge,” says Wikipedia. I like this because of the “substantial” part, and because it makes me think they’re all like the Three Little Bears over there.

Also, if you live in Lapland, Wikipedia says one of the things you’ll be eating is sautéed reindeer. Andreas! Will you be in LAPLAND?

POINT: Shit, I have to say Finland. Mainly because they, again, seemed to try harder. I don’t think the Isle of Man is giving this competition their all, really. Also, look at this: this is a dessert that the internet tells me Finland has to offer.

This is laskiaispulla. Sometimes it has ALMOND filling. Finland, if you end up winning this, I would like a whole shipment of these adorable things, but NOT your pine tree rye bread, please.

Tourist attractions! Yes. Now, Andreas will NO DOUBT want to visit some exciting tourist attractions, and so I had the FORESIGHT to look some up for him.

Were you aware that Lapland – where, as you’ll remember, you will be eating sautéed reindeer, is the HOME of SANTA? It’s true. And you can VISIT his home! It is called Santa Park.

On this utterly confusing website, we find out many things.

Santa’s favorite food is apparently “Mrs Claus Christmas pudding!” (Google Chrome translated this page for me. In a…befuddling way.) “Porridge recipe is very secret, and none other than Mrs. Claus do not know it. The Wizard Elves are, however, revealed one of the secret ingredients of porridge: “What-I-sting-it?” Spice.”

“What-I-sting-it” is my new favorite thing, and I will be saying it on a regular basis. NO, I don’t know what it means. Does that matter? It is AWESOME.

We also learn way more than we want to about Santa:

“Korvatunturi is also home of Santa Claus: for this reason it is not the secret cavities can not Santa Claus in addition to other than Mrs. Claus and elves.”


Also, there are creepy photos like this one:

Yeah, that’s a taxidermied reindeer that Santa’s grinning about.

BUT, best of ALL, you can GET MARRIED THERE!

Look! A spectacular ICE WEDDING! With a CANDLE and also ICE! Andreas, this is really the opportunity of a lifetime. I bet if you got married here Santa and his taxidermied reindeer would come. Think of the photos in your wedding album! NO ONE would have photos like this!

OK, Isle of Man. Time to step it up. What’s your claim to fame?

Well, there is the Mann Cat Sanctuary, where you can see many Manx cats. I’d like that.

Ooh, and the Curraghs Wildlife Park. You KNOW I’m a sucker for animals.

And many fine historical and crafty places. Um. This isn’t looking good, Isle of Man. Finland has ICE WEDDINGS.

POINT: Finland

OK, let’s tally, shall we?

Isle of Man: Um. Zero. Shit, I am so sorry, Isle of Man.

Finland: ALL THE POINTS. Except the one that was a draw where no one got points because they were both fine.

ANDREAS! Congratulations! YOUR MOVE TO FINLAND IS A VERY GOOD CHOICE! Will you take photos of ice weddings and reindeer and fairytale berries for me?

Dear Finland:

Please note that Andreas is one of my favorite humans, and, subsequently, take very good care of him. The Isle of Man attempted to KILL HIM IN A FIRE recently. Well, I suppose that wasn’t the whole ISLAND’S fault, but I think it might have been a factor. Either way, I was utterly distraught at the idea of losing him and totally had the most nervous of nervous stomachs because he makes my life a happier and better place every day. So, Finland, please take the best care of Andreas and his family. OR I WILL COME MELT YOUR ICE WEDDING CHAPEL WITH A MERKAN BLOWTORCH. Then where will Santa keep his taxidermied creeptastic reindeer and secret cavities?

Please feel free to send me mushrooms and cakes with almond filling. Thanks ever so.

Love, Amy.

Can’t you hear the music’s pumpin’ hard like I wish you would?

As I mentioned yesterday, I was eagerly anticipating a package from Duncan and Renni (and I TOTALLY spelled Renni’s name wrong yesterday because I am a LOSER, please forgive me, apparently I am adding random “e”‘s all over the place, I don’t know why) with my awesome present in it, and they did NOT DISAPPOINT.

Backstory first, though. It is always best to lead up to something awesome with a lot of teasing and such. Did I just give away my entire sexual strategy? Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

OK, in case you haven’t been paying attention or you were busy with this thing they call a “life” or whatever, here’s the scoop. Late September, my father and I went to a swanky restaurant with the fanciest salt and pepper shakers I had ever seen on the tables and I really, really wanted to steal them, but he didn’t think that was a good idea because when is pilfering ever a good idea? Although one time when I was young and also kind of drunk a friend and I stole a shit-ton of dishes from a Red Lobster because the service was slow and it seemed like a really good idea at the time but for the life of me I don’t remember why now. Those margaritas are GIGANTIC, you guys. Like a SWIMMING POOL of margarita, and it’s ALL FOR ONE PERSON. I think I still have the crab claw cracker thingy around somewhere. Is there a statute of limitations on stealing from the Red Lobster? In case there isn’t, I’m not saying what town it was in. I can’t even imagine how hard I’d have to fight to regain my street cred if I was locked up for stealing crockery from a chain seafood restaurant.

So I talked about the salt and pepper shakers on here, wistfully, and how I only had a salt shaker from the dollar store and a plastic pepper shaker like the kind in cheap pizzerias. But even worse, that ran out in the meantime, and so I was using the tin I bought pepper in from Aldi as my pepper shaker. Here. I took photos.

Pepper "shaker". Yes, those are delicious cookies in the background. Jealous much?

Salt shaker. My countertops are disco-tastic.

So whatever, these are totally sad. Then Duncan, one of my commenters, said if I posted a PO box, he would MAIL ME A FANCY PAIR OF SALT AND PEPPER SHAKERS.

Listen, I could lie and tell you this was all part of my master plan when I started blogging. Like, first, get a lot of followers, then sell ad space, then get paying writing gigs, then people start mailing me shit, then WORLD DOMINATION. I could totally tell you that. It would be a complete LIE, but I could say it. I lie ALL THE TIME. Like, a lot more than the average person, to be completely frank. Sometimes I lie about things that don’t even NEED lies, just to lie about something. It’s a compulsion. It’s a curse.

But no! Truth be told, totally awesome swag was never even something I thought about. Because – and this is me being honest – I have very low expectations about things. This is a learned reaction to the world. Go through life with high expectations, and what do you get? Disappointed. Kicked in the teeth. Go through life with low expectations, and what do you get? What you expected to get, mostly. But also, once and a while, a shiny thing happens, and you are SO EXCITED about it.

FREE SALT AND PEPPER SHAKERS FROM SOMEONE WHO READ MY BLOG AND PAID ATTENTION. This is a very exciting thing. I know. You’re sitting there thinking, “Harrumph, who gives a single shit about salt and pepper shakers.” WELL. To YOU I say, did anyone send you anything FOR NO GOOD REASON AT ALL LATELY? You’ve totally just got a case of the green-eyed monster, my jealous friend, so bite me up one side and down the other, because I have AT LEAST ONE FAN and I have SWEET SWEET SWAG.

Anyway. Back to it.

So I don’t have a PO box, but the theater does. So Duncan, and his friend Renni (spelled right this time!) and some undetermined fourth party (I thought the other person would be the third party, but Renni assures me that I am the first party, which made me feel like A VERY BIG DEAL) conspired to send me a package there. At this point I am bouncing like Tigger because GIFTS GIFTS GIFTS! Also, I dropped the shitty dollar-store salt shaker on my foot, which was ouchy and also dented it. I don’t know either. Maybe I have a titanium foot.

I got an email the other day from the person who checks our PO box at the theater: “You got a strange package. It’s in the box office.” Yippee!

Went over last night to watch a critique performance of our upcoming show Faith Healer (which, if you live in the area? You need to do yourself a favor and get a ticket for. I mean, it’s not even expensive. It’s $15. Or 2/$15 with any state or government ID. Or $10 with a student ID. Or 2/$15 on Sundays with one of the coupons from the Entertainment Book. IT IS CHEAPER THAN A MOVIE AND IT’S LIVE EFFING THEATER PEOPLE. It’s amazing. I cried. CRIED! At the CRITIQUE! Actual tears, not just getting sniffly! Tears came out of my eyeholes! So exquisitely beautiful and such an important piece of work!) On my way in, ran into one of the other board members.

“There’s something for you in the box office,” he said.
“I know! So exciting!” I replied. Bounce, bounce, Tigger bounce.
“I think it’s wrong.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Feet? Something about feet?”
“What do you mean, feet?”
“What are you getting with feet?”
“I don’t KNOW, I haven’t SEEN it,” I said, and ran in.

It was addressed to the theater, with “Lucy’s Football” over the address. Feet. Ah. He’s older. Email sometimes befuddles him. I didn’t bother explaining.

One of the other people at the theater saw me grabby-handing it and asked about it.

“What did you get?”
“It’s a present.”
“A present? From who? Here?”
“Yes. Um, I don’t know who.”
“Oooh! A secret admirer?”
“Um. Well, I guess. Not really a secret. His name is Duncan.”
“And how do you KNOOOOW Duncan?”
“He reads my blog? And I guess is a fan?”
“You have a blog?”
“And people read that? People read your blog?”
“Like, how many people. A lot of people?”
“I don’t know how many. A lot.”

I am not 100% sure where this conversation is going but that’s how I am with most conversations because I don’t pick up on social cues so I just moved onto doing something else.

Because I wanted to take photos of the present, I waited until I got home to open it. I am the queen of delayed gratification. It’s sick, really.

And now…ladies and gentlemen and those pervs that keep coming here hoping I’ll talk about porn or whores again…without further delay…


The PACKAGE! Well, the back of it. The front was too stalker-enticing. Look at my man-hands. Good gravy.

The package! Ripped open! Hello? What is peeking out in there! SO EXCITING!


I am being Vanna White right now. MAN HANDS MAN HANDS WTF

"Remove Before Use." OR WHAT, FANCY-PANTS. Oh, no salt will come out. Nevermind. (MANHANDS!)

You can tell I'm fancy now because of the pinky-lifting on my manhands.

New shaker CONQUERS old shaker! The war is WON! And there is much rejoicing! (More cookie porn in the background for cookie pervs)

Pepper stands triumphant on the body of its FOE! Takedown!

Duncan, Renni, unnamed fourth-party affiliated with Duncan and Renni, thank you so much for my present. I love them and will cherish them and will make every single effort in all the world not to drop them on my foot. Mostly because they are HEAVY and I think would break my foot. Unless it really is titanium. You are awesome, and this was really very unexpected and just so nice of you. Thank you so much. You all get the OPPOSITE of the Douche of the Week Award. You all get the UnicornRainbowKittenSparkles of the Week Award. Huzzah!

And, on a completely unrelated note, tomorrow is Kickass McGee‘s wedding day. Kickass McGee is trying to keep calm, so I don’t want to say anything that will freak her out at all. So instead of a wedding WARNING, I will tell her a VERY FUNNY STORY. True story, Kickass McGee: once upon a time, I was in a play with a guy with rage issues, and there was a baby doll in the play that was supposed to be the baby Jesus. (Not a nativity play. A very sacrilegious play about nuns.) Ragey McRage one day was going all stompy-stomp and noticed baby Jesus just sitting there so he picked up baby Jesus and started pulling on its head trying to pull it off. He started doing this at every rehearsal because that head was really stuck on there. One night, the director was late, so you had Ragey pulling on baby Jesus’s head, another actress smoking in the building, me kicking the snack machine trying to get it to let loose my hostage Reese’s peanut butter cups, another guy kind of rocking in the corner, and another guy pretending to play Russian roulette with a toy gun. The director came in, saw this shitshow, and started yelling at everyone. No one heard a word because it was SO LOUD in there until the very end, when somehow it got so quiet you could hear a pin drop; then she SCREAMED “AND I JUST TRIPPED OVER BABY JESUS’S HEAD. GOOD JOB JIM. YOU FINALLY DECAPITATED JESUS.” I’m pretty sure I pulled a muscle laughing at that and it still makes me laugh when I am stressed. Hope that helps, honey badger, you badass mammajamma.

(If you get the title and what it’s referring to, I’d like to push you. Push you real good.)

In the dark night of the soul, it is very hard to see what is trying to eat your face.

This is kind of going to be a random crap Friday. That should become a thing. RANDOM CRAP FRIDAY! For when your brain is so fried from the rest of the week that you can’t concentrate on one thing! But really, when you look over my posts, you see that a lot of them are Random-Crap-Whatever-Day-It-Was-At-The-Time so really Random Crap Friday wouldn’t so much be a “thing” as it would be “just another day where I have too much crap to talk about.” 


Wednesday night, I started watching Insidious. And it scared the CRAP out of me. It was a horror movie done well. A slow-burn, scary children, creepy things happening, stuff jumping out at you, frightening violin music, probably the devil, horror movie. NICE. Plus ONE, Insidious. Then I had to turn it off about halfway through, for two reasons: one, because two shows I wanted to watch were coming on, and two, because I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I watched the rest of it. 

So last night, when it was still light out, I turned on the second half, because I am a big baby. And the second half of Insidious? WAS STUPID. 

Here’s the thing. (Don’t worry. No spoilers. Unless you consider film values to be spoilery.) Horror movie people? I get that the dark is inherently scary. I totally get that. Things aren’t as scary in the light as they are in the dark, either in movies, or in real life. But if you make a movie SO DARK that you can’t see what it is the character is reacting/screaming to or fighting with? THAT IS NOT SCARY. It’s really just frustrating. I spent about an hour having this monologue with the movie. 

“Ooh, don’t go in there. Why would you go in there? That seems like a stupid move. Why don’t you have a flashlight? Well, it’s totally pitch-black in there. Good call. Why are you screaming? What do you see? Because I can’t see anything. Is something touching you? How would I know that since I’m not you? I mean, I can’t see anything. My television screen is just black from corner to corner, with screams coming out of the speakers. Oh, there, you’re back in the light. Good. WHY ARE YOU GOING BACK INTO THE DARK YOU HAVE NO IMPETUS TO DO SO. Oh, good. Well, I can’t see again. Ah, a total surprise you’re screaming again. Maybe you have Tourette’s. Do you think you have Tourette’s? And you just scream like it’s a tic? I don’t know. I mean, there totally could be a demon waiting to eat your face hanging from the ceiling, but I wouldn’t know, and neither would you, because it’s like the pit of blackness in your kid’s bedroom. Why don’t you have some nightlights up in there or something? Someone could stub a toe. OH GOOD MORE SCREAMING. THIS IS A TOTALLY FULFILLING MOVIE EXPERIENCE.” 

Maybe if you have a better television or DVD player than I do, you would have a better experience with this movie, I don’t know. It was fairly good up until I couldn’t see things. Then it wasn’t so good. But maybe it would have remained good if I could see what was happening? Probably it was a masterpiece, but I wouldn’t know. 

And it’s not just Insidious that’s like this. This is a problem with a lot of current horror movies. I just can’t see anything. Is it because the special effects are awful and you know I won’t be scared so you don’t want me to see them too closely so you make it really dark? I get that, because remember in Signs (why am I talking about Signs so much lately? That’s odd) when you were SO SCARED of the aliens until you SAW the aliens and then you thought, hmm, that looks like a prize from the bottom of a cereal box and isn’t even the least bit scary? That’s all anyone could talk about once that movie came out. Which was sad because it’s still one of my favorite movies ever. Whatever, I don’t judge YOUR taste in movies, so shut it, Sparky. 

Also, while we’re talking about it, stop making me want to see movies I know are going to be a steaming pile of garbage, production companies. I am specifically talking about Paranormal Activity 3. Now, when Paranormal Activity came out, I was SO STOKED to watch this. This looked AWESOME. Like the Blair Witch Project all grown up. I was so excited. People said it was the scariest movie they’d seen all year! Then I watched it. 

Well, either I’m broken and jaded, or it was garbage, because here’s my review of Paranormal Activity in a nutshell. I feel like I don’t have to tell you spoiler alert because it’s like 4 years old or something, right? Paranormal Activity is a movie about two people that about 5 minutes in you want to see murdered in completely bloody and creative ways that keep filming themselves for no reason anyone can ascertain and then things happen to them that aren’t even in the least bit scary, but only like a handful of things, and the rest of the movie is them SNIPING AT EACH OTHER. CONSTANTLY. It is THE MOST AWFUL THING EVER. It’s like Ghost Adventures if Zak was dating one of his fellow adventurers and they had a falling-out. It’s so, so bad. It’s “fighting fighting fighting something falls off a table kind of mysteriously and it might even just have been gravity fighting fighting in a whiny-ass voice fighting there’s a photo in the attic that shouldn’t be there fighting fighting loud unexplained noises fighting oh look a knife now it’s over.” I honestly think painting my nails and clipping coupons would have made for a more enjoyable two hours. 

So Paranormal Activity 2 kind of came and went, and I of course had no interest in it (the only thing I remember about it is I think it had something to do with a haunted baby and in the trailer they kept saying the baby’s name over and over in a stupid and repetitive way) and then the trailers for Paranormal Activity 3 started airing and DAMMIT they look really good. But I will not be suckered! It will be GARBAGE. Even though the early reviews I read say it’s actually pretty good I WILL NOT BE FOOLED PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 3. Also? Do you know who the directors are? Those dorks that made Catfish. We TALKED about Catfish. It was a TRICK. I AM NOT GOING TO BE FOOLED BY YOU CATFISH DORKS! 

On a happier horror-related note, I am LOVING American Horror Story. Yes, I know, a lot of people think it’s cheesy and borrows way too much from other horror tropes and what have you. I get that. And as a huge horror fan, I am aware of the horror it’s borrowing from. But I don’t mind. It’s innovative, it’s a cool thing to have on television, it’s bloody, it has some genuine scares (tell me you didn’t jump a little at the beginning of the second episode with the killer and the nurses! That was SO AWESOMELY SCARY!), it has some excellent performances (I am NOT looking at you, Connie Britton, but I AM looking at you, Jessica Lange), it’s creative, and it has a lot of stories to tell that keep it fresh. Absolute kudos to you, Ryan Murphy. I look forward to this every single week. 


So remember we talked about the fancy restaurant and how they had super-swanky salt-and-pepper shakers there and I wanted to put them in my purse SO BAD but my father was not all that approving of me stealing them because he thought probably they’d arrest me because they were worth more than my  house? Well, one of my readers, Duncan, who MIGHT just be the coolest of the cool, wrote and offered to send me swanky salt and pepper shakers OF MY VERY OWN. Well! Since I am currently working with a salt shaker from the dollar store that was in my Christmas stocking a few years ago and it has a dented top from the time I dropped it on my foot, and a pepper shaker which is just the tin container that the pepper comes in, I of COURSE jumped all OVER this. Who knew that when you are a SUPER FAMOUS BLOGGER you get presents? I mean, people like The Bloggess get presents, but me? Well, if I had known that, I would have started blogging YEARS ago. Anyway, Duncan, Duncan’s friend Rennie, and an unnamed friend who I cannot thank but I’m sure is also awesome, sent the package out last week, and the package with my salt and pepper shakers is (I think – what else would it be, it’s not like I get a lot of mail) waiting for me at the theater, where I will be going tonight to attend a pre-critique of our next show. I AM SO EXCITED YOU GUYS I CAN’T EVEN. A present! A present I do not deserve but am getting anyway from a COMPLETE STRANGER! I think this kind of means I HAVE FANS! This is SO MUCH BETTER than the time this guy I barely knew gave me a basketball jersey that was three sizes too small “because it looked like something you might like” and I am still totally confused about that. I will report back sometime this weekend with MANY PHOTOS detailing my swag. SO SO EXCITED. 


If I had known earlier that I would get more blog hits than ANYONE EVER IN THE HISTORY OF EVER by doing a post about handsome men that I want to boff, I would have done it MONTHS ago. Seriously, I had more site hits yesterday than I have since I moved over to WordPress. This made me just joyous. Who doesn’t love handsome men? Also, this seems to prove my point that I have a lot of female and gay male readers. Oh, and maybe also pervs who want to hear about me getting it on. YOU ARE ALL WELCOME HERE. Even you, pervs. But keep it in your pants. No one wants to see that, ok? 


This isn’t so much part of Random Crap Friday as it is something that made me snort lemonade through my nose the other night, but the local news station did a report about how the New York State Police are abusing tasers (as in, tasing people all over the place for no reason, not like snorting them or something), and in the beginning of the local news show that airs from 8-9pm, the anchor (who I like very much, she is very serious, and sometimes gets very sarcastic and mean in a funny way) was teasing stories that were upcoming, and looked at the camera very seriously and said, “Don’t tase me, bro. New York State police are abusing the use of tasers…” AND SHE DIDN’T EVEN SMILE. And the photo card thing she was voicing over SAID “Don’t Tase Me Bro” on it LIKE IT WAS A SERIOUS TAG LINE. I loved that so hard. How can you say “Don’t tase me bro” without laughing? AWESOME. 


No, of course I didn’t forget! This might be the last wedding tip that Kickass McGee reads before she becomes a Mrs.! So of course it needs to be a doozy! 

Today’s tip: Watch out for strangely feminine gardeners with all the manure and an axe to grind

Paraphrased, per Snopes

An Australian woman, upset that her long-term boyfriend had dumped her and then two months later was getting married to who SHOULD have been his rebound girl, disguised herself with a false beard and moustache and masqueraded as a gardener to get into his wedding. Once there, armed with a bucket of wet cow manure, she found her ex surrounded by friends and therefore inaccessible, so decided to dump the manure on his bride, ruining her dress. 

Well, first, I have to wonder, what the hell, Australia? First you had the kerfuffle with the kookaburras, and now manure-flinging? And second, you go, manure-flinger! Way to commit to a plan! Listen, you guys, she DRESSED UP as a gardener. I mean, she didn’t just wait outside for them to get into the limo, or something. She put on a little COSTUME. This is DEDICATION, right here. 

Kickass McGee! Please speak to your intended and be sure that he has no angry exes who have nefarious plans like manure-flinging, because I don’t want to have to come there and kick anyone’s ass for ruining your big day. Because I would, Kickass McGee. I totally would. Maybe put someone on bouncer duty at the entrance, and have them tug on all the moustaches, or something? That would weed out the people just DRESSED as gardeners. Or have them feel the gardeners for tits. That’d also work. Downside to both of those plans: real gardeners, or female gardeners, might punch them. Best to not have your wedding anywhere garden-y, I’d think. 

Happy weekend, all!

%d bloggers like this: