Fetch My Flying Monkeys

I suffer from insomnia about every three to four months or so. It's horrible. If you've never had it you need to thank whatever God you worship. I go for weeks with sleeping, maybe if I'm lucky, four hours a night, but it's usually more like three. Some nights zero. I've tried the big sleeping aids like Ambien and Lunesta and they suck. Oh sure they knocked me out in the beginning but then the weirdness began to happen. I'd forget how I got to work in the mornings, I mean zero recollection of the drive and once on Ambien I woke up with my clothes still on, well, one leg was outside my jeans and apparently I had shaved it. One leg. I know. What the fuck? Anyway, I had to stop with the meds and just learn to deal with it best I can. Being an insomniac makes you a zombie. You're super, super tired but sleep doesn't come so you just run on auxiliary batteries you never knew you had, and you look at the world through a haze of exhaustion and a constant low buzzing sound in your ears, and you just function on auto pilot hoping you don't kill anyone because even with a bulbous head, you know you're way too pretty for prison. A plus side to insomnia is you have more time to think of ways to aggravate your pets.

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My weekend was filled with a lot of screaming, hair pulling, death threats, and tears. Yes, I went clothes shopping. Jesus Christ. It's still almost 100 degrees outside and there's nothing in the stores but winter wear. What. The. Hell. And OH MY GOD, it was like EVERY store thought "Well it's the end of August, Fall must be here!" so they had their AC turned down or off and there I was misjudging my size again, because in my head I'm super thin and tall and smart with lots of friends, and as I struggled pulling jeans over my thighs the sweat started pouring off of me under the blinding cellulite-enhancing fluorescent lights. I finally just said "Fuck It" and went home and cried into a bag of Cheetos while sitting in front of a fan wearing my oversized "Frankie Goes To Hollywood" t-shirt and my elastic waistband pajama shorts and watched a movie the Internet told me to.

So I rented Kick-Ass and it was an okay movie. It is nothing like you'd expect it to be from the previews. I thought it would be about a bunch of do-gooders getting together to play super heroes with a lot of slap-stick comedy thrown in. It may have had a tad of that but mostly it was about a mentally deranged guy, Big Daddy, played by Nicholas Cage, whom I have loved since Raising Arizona (LOVED that movie), who's hell-bent on revenge. He trains and brainwashes his daughter, Hit Girl, to be his side-kick and they go after the dude who years earlier framed Big Daddy and sent him to prison. Hit Girl was clearly the star of this movie and the best/most disturbing part of it was watching this little ten year old slaughtering people with glee. I think she was ten, I don't know anything about kids and I'm too lazy to google it. Also you get to see an adult kicking her ass. Do not watch this movie if the line between movie world and real world is blurry for you and you're all sensitive about watching a crazy-ass murderous little kid get beat up. You rarely witness this kind of child violence in American film, but it really should be shown more often. I personally would pay extra to see a child punched out in every film. Oh hush, I kid, I kid. Or do I?

Anyway, for not really developing any of the characters enough for us to really give a shit what happens to them I give it two Ed Crying On Account She Can't Have No Baby:

And for its gratuitous violence and cursing and showing a ten (?) year old psycho kid getting punched in the face repeatedly I give it three Baby in the Highway, which means "pretty cool":

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Saturday morning Richelle picked me up to go to the psychic. On the way there she said it was an Indian Psychic that her cousin's second husband's sister goes to and that he's so good he told her she was going to have a baby and she did. Richelle's cousin's second husband's sister that is, not Richelle. And I was all, "He'd better not tell me I'm going to have a baby. I don't want to see some baby psychic." And Richelle was all, "No, girl. He's good. He'll know you're barren and hateful." And I told Richelle she could go ahead and pay me now because I could see her future and it involved me kicking her ass. This continued all the way there, and by "there" I mean down a dirt road to a mobile home right next to the Congaree Swamp. "Jesus Christ," I said to Richelle, "I think I saw the name 'Serial Killer' on his mailbox." She laughed, and I laughed back, but as soon as we entered his home I wished I had come strapped. I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe a room full of people waiting to go back behind a pair of beaded curtains. What I saw was a huge Indian dude with a long braid down his back sitting in a recliner eating Ramen noodles and watching the Disney channel with no one else around.

Richelle went first, going with Chief Ramen to the kitchen table. I sat there pretending I was watching Hannah Montana or some such Disney bullshit, but I was actually mentally planning my escape should the need arise. I slipped my cell phone out of my pocket and held it in my hand so that I could dial for help real fast and then maybe use it as a weapon. Yeah, I was sure an iPhone upside a 300 pound homicidal psychic Indian's head would do some real damage. Damn you Steve Jobs for not making a brick app.

All I kept thinking was, "Please don't kill us, please don't kill us" and then I told myself to stop thinking that in case he could read my mind and it would make him spring into action faster. Wait, I thought, he's a psychic not a mind-reader. Then I thought if I hear Richelle scream I'll run for the door real quick (Richelle would be on her own for making that barren and hateful remark) but he'd probably use his psychic powers to hold the doors shut and then have vases and shit fly across the room and slam into me. But then I thought "No, wait that was Carrie." "Burn me with fire?" No that was Drew Barrymore. I was sitting there thinking what a psychic serial killer's power would be when Richelle walked back in and Chief Ramen said it was my turn.

I sat across the kitchen table from him and he was just sitting there staring at me and I wanted to tell him I was born with this bulbous head, but he probably knew that being psychic and all. He kept staring and I was feeling uncomfortable and I wanted to open my shirt and show him my surgery scars and freckles so he wouldn't want to kill me and wear my skin because there were too many seams in it and the pattern was a bit off. But I sat there and looked back into his eyes thinking I'd use my own powers and I started mentally projecting my thoughts at him. "You do not want to murder this girl. I repeat, you do not want to murder this girl." Then he started talking about general psychic stuff, telling me things about my personality that really, could have been about anyone who is awesome, and then he told me I'd live a long time (long enough to get out of this trailer and down the road I thought) and that it would take a long time before I would be completely happy. Great. Then he asked me if I had any questions for him and I kind of went blank for a while. I finally asked him for lottery numbers and he frowned at me and said he didn't do that. I said "Oh, okay." He kept looking at me expecting another question and I was all "Fuck what do I ask him?" So I asked him "At what age will I die?" and again he said he didn't do that but that I would be old and he kept looking at me wanting more questions so I said "Will I ever be with George Clooney?" Then he looked at me like I was retarded and I thought "What the fuck Chief Ramen? I want to know. Maybe." I frowned and he started to get up and he told me I owed him $45 and I said "Oh, oh" because I had just thought of another question as I was handing him the money out of my pocket. He looked at me like "Wha?" after he took my cash and I held my left hand up and pulled the thumb back a little with my right hand and I said "My thumb hurts when I move it like that, do you know what's wrong with it?" I think at this point he really thought about murdering me, and he sighed and said "Go see a doctor." Fuck.

So basically I paid $45.00 to be told how awesome I was by an Indian. I still don't have any lottery numbers and I still don't know what the fuck is wrong with my thumb. But at least I'm alive and I ain't having any babies, so there's that at least.

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I visit a few blogs on my blogroll that post pictures of half-naked women daily or every so often. I'll open the page sometimes and my eyes are slapped senseless by saline stuffed mammary glands and airbrushed ass. I like to read the comments on these entries because men looking at boobies are funny.

So a week or two ago I was over at Curtal Friar's Fountain Abbey and he was posting his "Daily Babe" entries and I noticed all of them posted that week were redheads. Of course me being the redheaded attention whore that I am and this being the Internet where the only thing that keeps me from having a multi-million dollar modeling contract is, well, REALITY, I had to comment that I was a redhead. Then I noticed he was having a poll on who was the sexiest babe he had posted that week and I kind of wrote my name in. I know. Sometimes I have cocktails when I read blogs.

So dude called me on it and wanted a sexy picture. Shit. But what the hell, right? I'm just as pretty as those skanks, I mean, if you kind of stand way back and hold your head to the right and squint. So I sent him a boudoir picture I used to send to George Clooney until the judge told me I had to stop just happened to have on my hard drive. At first I was all worried, thinking "I hope this doesn't turn around to bite me on the ass." You know, like one day maybe ruin my chances at running for president. But then I remembered that my world domination plans don't really involve being "voted in" so much as "taking over."

And because the Internet can be cruel, and just because I have a bulbous head doesn't mean I'm not sexy, I am asking you all to go HERE and rate my sexy boudoir picture 5 stars or more. Yes, write some extra stars in because I don't really feel that 5 stars could really represent all of my hawtness. I'm not posting my pic here because I don't want to be one of "those women" that are all "Oooo look at me and how sexy I am." Even though I totally am.

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J called me last night and asked how I was and I told him my thumb was still hurting. He told me again to go see a doctor. I told him I didn't want to go and that I thought I had thumb rabies. He was all "There's no such thing as thumb rabies, Laura" and I was all "You don't know that." He said he did know that and then started telling me all about rabies, well, HIS version anyway. But I stopped listening to him right after he said there was no such thing as thumb rabies because all I heard was "blah, blah, blah." When he stopped talking I told him that I should call Make-A-Wish because I think thumb rabies might be fatal and I want to see if I can't be put on the list for a wish before my disease got all gross and shit. He sighed "Don't tell me, you want them to arrange a meeting with Clooney AGAIN" and I could hear his eyes rolling through the phone. I said "That's right and this time they better not hang up on me." Then J told me again that there was no such thing as thumb rabies and that Make-A-Wish was for little kids and that they weren't pimps for celebrities and their stalkers with made-up diseases. Then he made me promise I wouldn't call them. So I promised, but I had my fingers crossed on my good hand behind my back and even though he was on the phone and couldn't see me he said "You have your fingers crossed don't you?" I then called him a witch and told him to stop using his devil magic to spy on me, and he said "No. I just know you." So I said "Well, you know what comes next then" and I hung up on him. And because apparently Make-A-Wish is some kind of adult-hating Nazi group that's prejudiced against people with thumb rabies, I emailed J a wish list so he won't feel all bad when it turns out I do have thumb rabies and he feels all guilty and shit. I am thoughtful like that.

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It's been a while since you all have had a Crazy Betty update, but Sunday afternoon I heard sirens and looked out and there were firemen running up to her house. I didn't see any flames or smoke, and I'm not sure if insanity is flammable or what, so I really don't know if her house was on fire in there or if she took a crazy ride to Imaginary Brimstone Land and she called 911. Anyway, it was nice to see the firemen being all fireman-y, which means hawt. If I hadn't just woke up from my Couchland vacation to the sound of sirens and Jack barking and had had time to brush the Cheetos out of my hair, I may have casually walked outside, you know, to see if I could be of any assistance as I arched my back and licked my lips.

Oh, and have you all ever gone into YouTube and noticed the links to other videos on the side so you click them and you're all "what the hell?" because the next thing you know you're watching a video of someone getting a giant boil lanced and you're all "Fuck that's gross" but you keep clicking one after another of all the related videos then you're searching "giant cysts lanced" and pretty soon you're thinking "These aren't that gross." and you know you've just desensitized yourself to pus and you think "Wow this is what Paris Hilton's boyfriends must do."

Now here's the second day of my vacation that I am not spending in California:

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I was walking Jack the other morning while the temps were only in the mid 90's. We were walking past one of the many "colorful" houses on the outskirts of my neighborhood. And by "colorful" I mean "total crack house." Anyway, we're walking along and I noticed a strange, wild haired, squinting man standing on the porch smoking a cigarette and staring. The porch was decorated with a dirty stained-by-God-only-knows-what living room sofa and a matching recliner with a wonky broken back that was leaning to the left. He nodded his head and said "Hey" and I nodded back and said "Hey" and then I had to stop momentarily to yank Jack off of an empty case of Sudafed sitting by the road. The man walked towards the edge of his porch and said "Evah thought bout breedin'?"

It could have been my over-sized Popsicle stained USC t-shirt with the sexy sweat stain that was forming a V at the neckline, or my ratty hair that I threw up into a scrunchie without the benefit of a brush that caught his one good eye. I was a vision to behold. My look screamed "I'm Britney-off-her-meds-crazy, bitch, and I need some lovin'."

"Umm no thanks, I'm kind of in a relationship and I..."

"Your dawg," he yelled. "Have you evah thought bout breedin' dat dawg? My sistah-in-lah has a gurl weinah dawg."

"Oh. No, he's neutered. Fixed. Uh, castrated." I sputtered back, relieved, yet oddly disappointed that he didn't mean what I first thought he meant.

"Damn shame. He's a nice lookin' weinah dawg." Then he turned and went back in his house because, I assume, his latest batch of meth was ready. I looked down and Jack was looking up at me. And I said "Dude, you totally got propositioned, and you're welcome."

P.S. OH MY GOD, ya'll! George Clooney nominated me for Best Humor Blog! I told you he was reading me! Ha! I was all "What the hell?" but then the Attention Whore in me kicked in and I am now going to pimp for votes! Soon I will be making outrageous campaign promises! You have to sign up once, then VOTE FOR ME because the more attention I get, the closer I get to Clooney happier I am! Click this thingie here:

A vote for me is a vote for FREEDOM! Thank you for your support and attention.

** You will not get spam for signing up at that site. Just uncheck the box that asks if you want updates when you create your account.

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So it's hotter than the surface of the Sun here and I told J we should take a vacation because we never take vacations. He thought I meant to the mountains for a few days but I said "No, I want to go to California" and he's all "What's in California?" I told him I liked Southern California, particularly San Diego. It's not humid there and we could drive to LA and stay for a few days too. Then he's all "Oh, I get it. You want to go to Hollywood where Clooney lives." And I said "Hollywood is where a lot of movie stars live." Duh. Then he said he really can't take much time off because he's all important and busy and besides he wasn't going to take off work so I could stalk George Clooney. I tried to tell him that if I wanted to stalk Clooney we had better go to Italy and then he said he'd take me to DOLLYWOOD Tennessee to maybe see a star and ride a roller coaster but that's it and then he laughed. Maniacally. This pissed me off so I told him to forget it. But I didn't forget it. I started emailing him pictures and travel deals to California, hundreds, nay, thousands of them, all day long. Finally he sent me an email back that read he really couldn't take me to California, maybe in the fall, and to please stop sending him all the California spam. So I did. But not before drawing and sending him this:

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A list of stuff that happened over this holiday weekend-

1. I didn't win that Zombie Cross-Stitch Kit giveaway. Apparently my answer:

I would make it and give it to my meemaw. My meemaw is dead, but I am certain I will see her again, like, after the apocalypse. I would give it to her right before I bust a cap in her head, that way I won’t feel so bad. I would also take it back after, if it wasn’t too splattered, so I would have something of Meemaw’s to remember her by.

wasn't as good as:

I would give it to my friend Trisha. She’s pretty crafty. And it would give her fiance something to remember her by after she’s eaten. There’s no way she’ll survive the coming zombie apocalypse, but he’s pretty well prepared.

But I'm not going to be all jealous and petty about it. No. I'm going to be mature about it. I'm not going to say that the giveaway must have been rigged or that those people must HATE humor like J hates freedom. No. I'm just going to say "good." I didn't want it anyway. It would have been just one more thing in my house collecting dust. Na-na-na-na-poo-poo.

2. Dennis Hopper and Gary "Arnold" Coleman died. I knew Dennis was in a bad way from the last photos I saw of him, but I didn't know Coleman was sick. He was supposedly a crazy, violent fucker as an adult. I know he was annoying as hell as a child. Oh well. Now maybe he'll be able to find out what Willis was talking 'bout at last. Art Linkletter died too so that made it three. They always say it comes in threes, so I was wondering if Clooney's WHORE was considered a celeb after Arnold died. But it doesn't matter now. Art went and ended the Star Death Trilogy. Dammit.

3. Speaking of the WHORE. J thinks I may have to take it down a notch or two on my love for Clooney. Hi, George! Seems I've been getting another regular visitor to this here blog of mine:

J thinks it's George Clooney's legal people. I think it's a producer or something wanting to do a movie about my life. I will of course play myself. George Clooney will play J and I will also be the writer and director to guarantee there are plenty of wild, nude love scenes. Wait. What?

4. A lady who I see every weekend at the grocery store gave me a rose because she knew I had served in the Armed Forces.

How randomly nice is that? Yeah, I felt kind of bad because she approached me from my blind side and I elbowed her in the throat and then tasered her ass. I kid. I kid. Every time I think everyone in this town is an asshole, I get proven wrong. And that's kind of nice.

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In my excitement to announce that GEORGE CLOONEY READS MY BLOG I had forgotten to remind you all again that May is Zombie Awareness Month. If you follow that link, they have a blog and they are always having giveaways. I entered a giveaway to win a Zombie Cross-Stitch Kit. To win it you had to tell them who you would give one of the completed patterns to. This was my entry:

I would make it and give it to my meemaw. My meemaw is dead, but I am certain I will see her again, like, after the apocalypse. I would give it to her right before I bust a cap in her head, that way I won’t feel so bad. I would also take it back after, if it wasn’t too splattered, so I would have something of Meemaw’s to remember her by.

Keep your fingers crossed that I win. I'll find out later today I think. If I win it, I will hold one back for my zombie meemaw and then give away a completed one on here. Don't worry I won't bust a cap in your head after, I mean, unless you're a zombie or really irritating.

Now this is for George. It's a video that shows us together, George. We make a great couple. Don't pay any attention to my head floating in the air there. It does that sometimes.

Thanks again to my friend Sheri Gilmour who created these most excellent videos and believes that George and I belong together and she owns an iPhone. I also own an iPhone. Just saying. Call me, George Clooney.

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I wasn't going to say anything for fear of spooking him off, but what the hell, I like to live dangerously. Guess who has been reading this blog? Go ahead, guess. Give up? Okay, I'll tell you. GEORGE CLOONEY. Yes. My Boo! How do I know? Well, take a gander at this from my site meter:

Como, as in LAKE COMO. That's right. Where George Clooney lives. I've seen it coming in every day for a few weeks. EVERY. DAY. And staying. Probably oohing and ahhing over my genius. Maybe even touching himself, saying my name..wait...what?

Anyway, I told J about it (the visits, not about George touching himself)and he didn't believe me so I showed him my site meter summary and he said "It's probably his 'people' scouring the web looking for rumors on him. Either that or his security people have your blog picture on their blackberries now." And I told J "No it's him, I can feel it." He rolled his eyes. I told him jealousy was not his color and he said "Well, prison orange could be yours." Then J said "It may be his girlfriend who saw how you call her a WHORE and a succubus and she's calling her legal team in on you." I told him she could not dispute the truth in court so I wasn't worried. Remember, J hates freedom, which includes speech.

So, don't be shy, George. My email address is over there on the left side, near the bottom. Oh, and I made my banner just for you. Hope you like it. Call me, I have a coupon for one free beer at the tractor pull.

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J refused to take me to Red Lobster to celebrate George Clooney's birthday yesterday. He was all "No. I'm not taking you to Red Lobster to celebrate Clooney's birthday. That's ridiculous." I told him he was ridiculous. I then I collapsed into a puddle of my own tears. Okay, it wasn't exactly a puddle of my own tears. It was some spilled water from Jack's water bowl. And I didn't really collapse, I just kind of slid. But I was still sad we weren't going to Red Lobster. I really like those garlic biscuits.

J called me later and said he'd take me to Red Lobster for my birthday next week. I told him no, I couldn't go to Red Lobster now. He was all "Why the hell not?" I said "It will just remind me of George. Now Red Lobster is George's and my 'place'." He was all "What the fuck?" and I explained to him that now I will have the memory that he refused to take me to Red Lobster for George's birthday so now it was George's and my "place." He then hung up on me. See what I mean? JEALOUSY.

Now here's a short film featuring two of my favorite things, George Clooney and zombies. Remember, May is Zombie Awareness Month. I don't know what that really means, just remember it. Many thanks to my friend Sheri Gilmour for these hysterical cards!

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A Birthday Poem For My Boo
By Laura Ledford

Today is the day you turn forty-nine.
If it were up to me you'd already be mine.
But it's not up to me, this everyone knows.
You're living in Italy and dating stupid hos.

But I'll push that aside to wish you the best.
And you'll be with me after you've dated the rest.
Just as long as you use them, and not make them bridal.
'Cause if you ever get married I'll go suicidal.

I won't think about that now, and I won't think about that later.
For I know in my heart you're just a serial dater.
But I know when you meet me we'll be forever together.
'Cause you'll be locked in my basement, bound with strong leather.

So Happy Birthday George Clooney, may you have many more.
Now come be with me and dump that nasty-ass WHORE!

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Sheri Gilmour created this card just for me and I laughed so hard I had tears running down my face. You know you have a good friend when they indulge your insane delusions of grandeur. I wanted to share it with you all on this special Mexican holiday that we gringos have no fucking clue about.

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Not only is May Zombie Awareness Month of the Zombie Research Society, but May is also the birth month of two very important people. One being George Clooney and the other being me. That's right, my Boo and I are both May babies and this got me to thinking about just how much George Clooney and I have in common. So let's list a few of them, shall we?

• George was born May 6. I was born May 11.
  
• George is from Kentucky. I am from Kentucky.
  
• George played a doctor on television. I have played "Doctor."
  
• George has acted in a lot of movies. I have watched a lot of movies.
  
• George once owned and loved a pet pot-bellied pig. I love bacon sandwiches.
  
• George is a millionaire. I am a thousandaire.
  
• George owns a villa in Italy. I own a ceramic Christmas Town made in Italy.
  
• George likes pie. I like pie.
  
• George is friends with Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. I like pie.
  
• George dates whores. I'm a wh...wait. What?

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George Clooney's neighbor emailed me, ya'll! Oh yes she did. Emmy Award Winner Fightin' Mad Mary emailed me and sent a picture of the back of George Clooney's house in Studio City, California. Thank you very much, Mary!

That is my George's gate and those are his/our tennis courts and the top of his/our guesthouse.

This is what I'm talking about, people. Mary took time out of her busy day to send me this picture because she knows George and I belong together and no judge can keep us apart. Now there is just one degree of seperation between me and my Boo. Soon there will be none.

As soon as the soundproofing, door bolts, and ankle chains are installed remodeling is finished on the basement, I am heading for Studio City on my vacation. I shall not be long. Here's my itinerary:

P.S. In case you're wondering, the goat with the red bow is bait so George will come out and stare at it, as in "The Men Who Stare At Goats." And the chloroform and duct tape, well, anyone who's ever dated knows what those are for.

P.P.S. People ask me all the time what J thinks about my love for George. Mostly he rolls his eyes, and makes little circles with one index finger on the side of his head, which means he's pretty jealous and insecure about it.

P.P.P.S. J just called and said my picture wasn't so much an intinerary as it was "evidence." See what I'm talking about? Jealousy.

Posted by Laura at 04:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (22) | TrackBacks (0)

I've been blogging for several years now trying to educate you people. Just last week I introduced Stick Science to you after Sheri Gilmour found some weird shit in her yard. When I posted that entry I hoped that you all would absorb it and pass it along. Kind of like leprosy, but without any body parts falling off. Well, I found someone who did just that. Cbullitt at Soylent Green did an entry spreading the news of Stick Science to his readers. I commented that I should deputize him and because I'm lazy and have no research funding, he had his own badge made which is way better than getting leprosy.

This is what I'm talking about, people. Listen to me, spread the news, and then reward yourselves.

I'm thinking we should have a Blog Stick Science Expo Week next week. Everybody needs to find some gross, weird blob in their yard, poke it with a stick, photograph it, and document your findings in an entry. If you don't have a yard, look in your bathtub drain or something. And don't be poking and photographing your spouses and neighbors and shit. We want real scientifical science here. So do it! Or not. But if you do, let me know, since I'm the head scientist of this project.

P.S. I'm like that Marlin Perkins dude who was on Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom where I sit back and talk about tagging the lion and you all are like my assistant, Jim, who wrestles it and gets all fucked up and mangled.

P.P.S. Or I'm like Captain Kirk landing on a new planet and you all are my Away Team and you're all wearing red shirts and get killed almost immediately while some hot, yet bizarre alien falls in love with me.

P.P.P.S. Or I'm like a super rock star slash dancer slash zillionaire and my boyfriend is George Clooney and we spend most of our time, when I'm not on tour and he's not filming that is, shacked up in his villa, nude, making... Wait. What?

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Years ago I used to run. I used to run every day come rain or shine. Some days, at least twice a week, I would run 15 plus miles at a time. I never ran under 6 miles. I was obsessed with running. Running made me feel invincible. I was Super Laura.

Then I killed that skinny bitch with Cheetos flavored kryptonite and boredom.

So now I'm attempting to get back into some kind of shape besides round and it sucks balls. And not tasty, awesome donut balls rolled in powdered sugar goodness, but big, sweaty, nasty balls rolled in stinky gym shorts of despair. But I'm not here to bore you with my diet and exercise plans. No, I'm here to bore you with my hatred of this WHORE:

That photo was taken two days ago. Yes, they are TOGETHER. That's the opposite of APART. Apparently my voodoo is broken. So I need to get down to my fighting weight and handle this matter once and for all. I don't know what that means. Hell, I don't even know what I just wrote. All I know is I just spotted a rogue M&M under the bookcase so I have to go now.

P.S. That rogue M&M turned out to be an escaped Excedrin Geltab. Shit. Very disappointing. Well, at least I don't have a headache anymore.

P.P.S. J just called me and told me I shouldn't be telling people what's all up in the Bible. I told him he was just jealous that I understood the Bible better than he did. He disagreed with me so I called him a heathen that hated religious freedom. He hung up on me again. Now my headache is back. Shit.

Posted by Laura at 04:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (21) | TrackBacks (0)

Don't you hate going over to someone's house expecting a good time and then suddenly they pull out their photo albums and for the next two hours you're trapped looking at pictures of their fucked up family and pets and the boring places they've traveled to and you have to fake being interested when in reality you would prefer a massive aneurysm than suffer looking at another picture of them standing by a road sign and just when they've reached the last page of the album they pull out a movie projector and you're all "FUCK" but you sit there anyway because you can't think of a good excuse to leave and you're still waiting for that aneurysm? Yeah, me too. So let's begin, shall we?

When I spotted that sign I knew I had to have some. I swear to God, sometimes I eat like I'm 12 and my parents left me home alone with money and the keys to the car. Well, okay, I actually hot wire the car in my head.

Found another photo that Jack took on my iPhone of me in bed with, well, you know who, GEORGE CLOONEY.

Speaking of Jack, he's doing great and he's taking this time working on his World Domination Plan in Facebook. That piece of art was sent to him by a fan. I don't know what's more terrifying, the thought of Jack becoming world leader or the knowledge that an adult drew that. (I kid! I think it's a hoot.) It is now Jack's campaign poster.

And speaking of kid, just seeing how a goat would look in the new neighborhood.

Now, if your head hasn't exploded yet, here's the home movie part, so this should do it. This is a short video I took on my iPhone of Jack a few months ago. He's always been a jumping fool, but that career is over, which is okay, because world leaders just sit around being fools anyway.

P.S. Did you know I have an iPhone?

Posted by Laura at 04:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (20) | TrackBacks (0)

GEORGE CLOONEY has ended his relationship with his Italian girlfriend ELISABETTA CANALIS  WHORE, according to a report.

The Hollywood heart-throb has been dating the model/TV presenter since last July (09) and their romance was rumoured to have turned serious at the end of 2009, although a rep for Clooney dismissed reports of an engagement in November (09).

The couple is said to have split shortly after this year's Academy Awards ceremony in March (10).

A source tells Grazia magazine, "They'd been on the rocks since February, but held on to make it through awards season.

"They decided to go to the Oscars ceremony in L.A. together, but they didn't attend any showbiz after-parties together. George jetted straight out to Hawaii on his own for a few days later."

One of my readers, Jersey Jim, was the first to send me the news yesterday in comments. Words can not even express my happiness. I know you're suppose to be all sad for people that lose love blah blah yada yada boo hoo but this chick was a WHORE and succubus. Just look at how miserable and unhappy he looks. It's my mission now to turn that frown upside down naked. Wait. What?

To celebrate this momentous occasion I had a party last night. It was just my animals and I sitting around in party hats drinking Cherry Kool-Aid and watching "A Perfect Storm." I got a good sugar buzz going, then I started taking a shot of Kool-Aid every time the camera went to Mark Wahlberg's face and he was mouth breathing. Within 10 minutes I fell over into a sugar coma. Woot! Woot!

Posted by Laura at 03:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (13) | TrackBacks (0)

I have this on my sidebar under "Links To Enjoy" and I thought it was pretty creepy:

A couple of months ago my friend's cousin (a single mother) had gotten a new cell phone. After a long day of work, she placed her phone down on the counter and started to watch T.V. when her son came to her and asked if he could play with her new phone. She told him not to call anyone or mess with the text messages and he agreed to do so. At around 11:20 p.m. when she was getting tired, she decided to tuck her son in and go to bed herself. She proceeded to his room to see that he wasn't there. She went to her room to find him sleeping on her bed with the phone in his hand. Browsing through her phone, she noticed only minor changes such as a new background, banner, ect. and headed towards the picture section. She began deleting the pictures he took when she came across the last one... When she first saw it she could not believe it. It was her son sleeping on her bed, but was as if the picture was taken by someone else above him. It shows the left half of what seems to be an old woman's face.

Okay, that's spooky shit right there if it's true. It got me to thinking how I'd react to waking up and looking at my cellphone (which just happens to be an iPhone) and seeing a pic of me sleeping in my bed taken without my knowledge. Ghost or no ghost, that's fucked up.

So this morning I got up, and while getting ready for work, I picked up my iPhone and saw that my photo app was open. What I saw next was shocking. It was a photo taken while I was sleeping of my bed... here, see for yourself:

P.S. I was kind of mad that the only pic of George in bed I could find had him with a look of horror and remorse on his face. But then I thought that's probably pretty much how he'd look in my bed. In my head though, I would call it his "afterglow look" and then he'd make me pancakes.

Posted by Laura at 05:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (26) | TrackBacks (0)

First, I would like to start this off by saying thank you for reading my blog. I know I joke about being an attention whore, but I really am. I don't get enough attention in my day to day "real life." In real life no one thinks it's funny if I go off on a cussing tangent or go on and on about my pretend relationship with George Clooney or when I start listing off people I want to stab. No, I just get weird sideway glances and then people start whispering about "3 days of observation evaluation" and such. I really do love that people read my crazy shit and I would hug and kiss you all if touching people I don't know personally didn't creep me out so much. I also adore people who comment. I would not only hug and kiss you, but would co-sign on a loan for you. Not really, but you get the idea.

From time to time readers email me. They send me sites or pics they found on the web that they know I'd enjoy or just a note to say they like my site or that I made them laugh. This, people, is better than winning an award. Seriously. Stuff like that keeps me blogging. And there's no joking about that.

I guess the whole point of this entry is to thank you, the reader, for reading my blog. Thank you also for taking the time to comment. You people rock.

Oh, and to justinblack109 who told me I was doing it wrong and I quote:

"need to stop with the fucking stupid goats and the faggot Clooney and stupid ass T-rex before my head explodes from the stupidness"

This is for you:

Never. Gonna. Happen.

Cleanup in Aisle 5.

Posted by Laura at 05:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (40) | TrackBacks (0)

Everyone came up to me Monday wanting to discuss George and his WHORE. What a fucking mess. I am done discussing her. I'm sick of her. She just simply does not exist to me anymore. There's nothing more to say.

What I am going to say is, if you're not roasting all of your vegetables, you're doing it wrong.

Here we have Brussels sprouts, sweet potatoes, asparagus and onion. Always throw in some onion. Drizzle with olive oil, pepper, kosher salt and bake.

Words cannot describe the yumminess. You'll never want your veggies cooked any other way.

Apparently this goat still wants to discuss her. Goats are very in tune with people.

Posted by Laura at 05:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (21) | TrackBacks (0)

Oh shit. One of them must have been hiding in the limo.

Posted by Laura at 01:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

Unlike Angelina Jolie and Madonna, I don't go around the world collecting babies. No, I just go to makemebabies.com and pop out as many as I like in a matter of minutes. Seems weird I know, but I don't have to worry about stretch marks, hemorrhoids or an episiotomy to see what a mini-me and some dude mixed together is going to look like. And the best thing is, I can just delete them when I'm tired of looking at their faces. No jail time.

So I went over there like a big ole' fertile whore fresh out of rubbers and experienced the miracle of creating a few babies. Personally, I don't see what the big deal is, but now that I have them my maternal instincts are kicking in and I feel the desire to drag them out in public and force people to look at my babies and tell me how beautiful they are. So look at my beautiful babies and if you feel the need to buy them gifts, like I hear people like to do, their momma prefers cash.

This is the baby Brad Pitt and I had together.

I didn't bother naming her. I'm selling her to Angie.

My next baby is one I had with "I'm Rick James, Bitch."

Yeah, I know Rick James isn't around anymore. Maybe that's why my baby didn't come out quite right. Maybe Rick's DNA was either fucked up from drugs or it wasn't refrigerated correctly. Either way, the kid's a total mess. I named him Worfie.

You think Worfie's strange looking? Look at the baby I had with Marilyn Manson:

Yeah. Spooky. Who would have thunk it? I'd bet there's three sixes on him somewhere. I named him Damien.

Now here is my "special" baby. This is the baby I had with Michael Jackson.

I know. What the fuck? They must not refrigerate those sperm tanks at all. I am just glad I didn't have to squeeze that melon noggin out of my tootie. Jesus. I had high hopes I would get a child with talent so I could quit my job and just manage her career via my diamond encrusted iPhone from Neverland Ranch while riding a unicorn, but I think I'm going to be lucky if she can learn to tie her shoes. Shit. 

They say a mother should never show favoritism. And I know I've only been a parent for maybe a half hour, but it seems longer. More like an hour. With my vast experience as a mother, I can tell you that mothers do have favorites. Here's mommy's favorite widdle precious bundle of joy:

I am not surprised that we make pretty babies together. Not. At. All. It's like God wants us to be together, except c'mon, if you read this blog you know there won't be any babies. We'll just go through the motions of making one. Constantly. Like, ALL THE TIME. Everywhere.

Wait. Where was I? Oh yeah...

So if you're thinking about having a baby, go to makemebabies.com to see what that little shit is going to look like. You can upload a picture of your husband, or boyfriend, or a random guy on the street and see how the baby is going to turn out. Forewarned is forearmed. If I can prevent just one ugly baby from being made, my job here is done. Just say no to ugly baby making.

Posted by Laura at 05:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBacks (0)

1. I am obsessed with owning one of these:

A pygmy goat. I've researched the care and feeding and even priced them. The problem is that I live in the city. I need to move, because my life will not be complete without a pygmy goat in it.

2. I have a new account on Facebook and would like for everyone to "friend" me. I dumped my other account where folks from school were adding me, then ignoring me, THEN "unfriending" me. Fuckers. Click this thingy and "friend" me NOW:

And DO NOT UNFRIEND ME. I don't care how annoying I become. Because believe me, I will become super annoying. I've been having fun on it so far. I am still looking for the quiz that tells you what kind of rancid meat you are. I am guessing I am like week old ground chuck.

3. I had to leave work early Monday because I felt pukey. I still feel a little pukey. I cooked a pot of chili after I got home. I wanted to cook it before the ground chuck went rancid.

4. I had to renew my CWP. I was hoping they had live human targets. They didn't. I called and asked. I just renewed online. Bummer.

5. I think I have road rage. I cuss almost everyone in my path. I don't cut people off, or pull a weapon, or even flip them off. I just cuss. Stuff like "Hey motherfucker, why don't you speed up?" "Get the fuck out of my way, motherfucker." I bet if I had a pygmy goat I wouldn't road rage as much. I think I will name my goat "Lil Motherfucker."

6. Jack has rabies.

7. Dogette and I are forming a "gang." We always come up with some crazy shit, then lose interest shortly after. We're like ADD bloggers. We're going to have gang colors and gang signs and crazy shit like that. Why you ask? Because we think it's funny. That's all you need to know, unless we invite you into our gang. And there may or may not be an initiation that may or may not involve killing someone. Well, not really killing, maybe more like maiming. And by maiming, I mean giving a wicked Indian Burn.

8. I still want one of these:

And I won't name it "Lil Motherfucker." I will name it "Daisy."

9. I am really into watching "Hoarders" on A&E. Jesus Christ. What the hell? A crew comes in with pitch forks and cleans their shit up. And most have collected actual "shit" too. It's so gross. So they clean it all up for them and you just KNOW within a few months they're back hoarding. Every time I watch it I clean out a closet or something. I'm waiting for a "Hoarders Marathon" to do my spring cleaning.

10. I want this too:

And I will hug him and squeeze him and name him George.

P.S. Oh my God, ya'll. I couldn't find the "What Rancid Meat Are You?" quiz on Facebook so I took the "What Crazy Bitch Are You?" quiz, which is kind of the same thing, but not, and it says I'm Courtney Love and at first I'm like "Ewww, no" then I read it and it's so spot on. My fave parts "if anyone messes with you or the ones you love, you will fuck them up." and "you are blatantly honest and sometimes people can find this a little hard to take but you really don't give a shit." Who knew Facebook quizzes were so insightful.

Posted by Laura at 05:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (24) | TrackBacks (0)

I have, for years, secretly kept a list of people who may want to murder me. Is that weird? I don't think so. I know I have a tendency to create situations in which my death would probably not be the worst-case scenario for other people. I don't do it on purpose. Well, okay, at least half of the time I don't do it on purpose. Well, okay maybe 30% of the time I don't, but that's neither here nor there. And just how ironic would it be that I end up stabbed?

It recently occurred to me that I should post the list here since the other runs a risk of being stolen or tampered with. I mean, it's not very secure in my desk drawer is it? It also changes from time to time, and it would be best to edit it here instead of say the "murderer" editing it. So here it is, as of this moment:

 People-Who-Should-Be-Investigated-in-the-Event-of-my-Death List 

1. J, for obvious reasons. C'mon. I probably drove him to it.

2. My neighbor, Crazy Betty. She knows where I live and By the Blood of Jesus she has zeroed her crazy in on me.

3. The reptile people at work. Yes, the ones who keep turning the heat up to 200 degrees. I (along with another normal temperatured person in the office) am a thorn in their side. I will always do battle with you, reptile people. You will be defeated, unless you kill me first.

4. Steve Jobs. He's always stealing from my iTunes account and I have publically accused him of this on my blog. Also, I have a working liver.

5. The Chinese. Because I am always bad mouthing them with posts like this and I refuse to shop at WalMart. I do eat their food though. A lot. That's probably why they've allowed me to live this long.

6. George Clooney's WHORE. I mean, I do call her WHORE and voodoo her skanky ass. She should not only be questioned in the event of my murder, but slapped around and maybe cattle prodded tasered, then slapped around some more. Yeah. Waterboard her, then slap her hard, then taser her again. WHORE.

P.S. Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if I really WAS murdered, and they actually DID use my People-Who-Should-Be-Investigated-in-the-Event-of-my-Death List to investigate?

P.P.S. Wait. No. No it wouldn't be funny one damn bit.

P.P.P.S. Except for #6. That would be funny. Maybe I'll fake my own murder for that. Yeah, fake my own murder. I'll implicate that WHORE. Set her up. Then take on a new identity. George Clooney will be mine at last. We'll finally be together and that WHORE will be imprisoned. Umm, nevermind.

Posted by Laura at 05:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (13) | TrackBacks (0)

It's gotten colder. It's raining. It's supposed to turn to sleet and ice shortly. The temperature tonight is going to be in the 20's. I have plenty of bread, milk, and eggs. I do, however, just have 2 rolls of toilet paper. TWO ROLLS. I will try to hang on. Ration them. Single sheet time. I will be brave. I will fight the good fight. I am uncertain how long before I can get to a store. I am uncertain even if the stores are stocked. There is just one thing I am certain of, and that is that my next month's electric bill will be $28,000. But I can't worry about that right now. I must just worry about making it to the next day, and the day after that. Oh, the things that go through your head during these trying times. But I've lived life to its fullest. I have but two regrets. I regret not buying double rolls, and I regret eating a bowl of Raisin Bran last night for dinner.

I will try to keep you updated. Or not.

Posted by Laura at 11:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (13) | TrackBacks (0)

Ugh. I have rabies AGAIN. This time it's Asian Rabies. I ate too much Chinese food for lunch and now I don't feel too good. But look at me. Yes, LOOK AT ME. I'm here blogging for Attention Whore Month. I'm dying from Asian Rabies and still I crave attention. Oh, and look at this. The Chinese are fucking with me still.

I'm ALL these things. In bed too. It's like they mock me. Now I have their rabies. Damn you, China.

I heard again today that George Clooney may be getting married to that WHORE. I don't even know what to think. I hope it's just a rumor. It really upsets me. So much so that I wrote a little poem. Yes, I write poetry when I'm all lovelorn and melancholy.

Oh George Clooney don't you marry that WHORE
She's skanky and nasty and VD ridden I'm sure
She won't make you happy like I would every day
Please give me a chance, please take me away
OR I'LL FUCKING STAB HER

Speaking of my Boo, George, he is having his big ole' Haiti charity hoopla telethon this Friday, so everyone should tune in. Also, this telethon he's hosting gave me a brilliant idea. I need to make a HUGE donation so I can draw his ATTENTION to ME. I doubt that I can make a personal donation that could impress George Clooney. My only hope is to be a fund raising bundler. So I want you all to click this button and make a donation. I'll gather it together and donate it in MY name and since I am certain ALL of you will give till it hurts, the donation will be SO LARGE that I can request sexual favors a DATE with him. A DATE. PEOPLE! Sure, it would be kind of like a pity date, but goddamn, A DATE! I could distract him from that WHORE long enough so that he would fall madly in love with me! So click the button. DO IT. DO IT NOW AND HELP ME WIN A DATE WITH GEORGE CLOONEY!! HELP HIM LOVE ME! Oh, and help Haiti. DO IT! CLICK IT!!

Ha! The button actually links to The Salvation Army Earthquake Relief for Haiti. Yes, I was very DECEPTIVE there wasn't I? IN YOUR FACE, CHINA!

P.S. The Salvation Army is not one of the charities receiving proceeds from the telethon, but it's one of the only human charities I trust.

Posted by Laura at 05:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (16) | TrackBacks (0)

I trust most of you survived The Great Non-Stab List Monday of 2010. As promised here's this week's Stab List, one day late:

1. The sales clerk at the MAC cosmetic counter at Belk's. I went to the counter to get an eye-liner and the chick was applying a thick coat of make-up on her already heavily made-up face. So I waited patiently, actually intrigued that so much make-up could be worn by an individual NOT in a circus. So she turned to me as if she was annoyed and said "Can I help you?" I asked for the liner, and without lifting the pencil lip liner held to her lips she said "I think we're out of that." I stood there expecting her to, I don't know, GO LOOK. She just continued applying her make-up! I just laughed and said "Fuck this, I'll come back when the manager is here" and leaned in to make a big deal of reading her name tag "TARA." She just continued applying her make-up. STAB!

2. The lady with the baby in her cart at the grocery store who made a production out of baby talking LOUDLY to it THE WHOLE TIME SHE WAS SHOPPING. I think this bothers me so because these women make a BIG PRODUCTION of doing it. They are like "Oh, look what a wonderful Earth Mother I am! I talk to my child!" Lady, the only way that would impress me is if you spoke Klingon to the kid. Because that would be fucking cool.

3. Conan O'Brien AND Jay Leno. Who the hell cares? I don't. I have to work a REAL job and I can't stay up to watch either of you. I'm sure you both have enough money so that even your great-great grandchildren will never have to work. Go away.

4. AARP. They are sending me literature! Fuck you AARP! I am still young and vibrant. (Shut. The. Hell. Up.) You are confused, AARP.

5. Drama Queens who don't even know that they're Drama Queens. This is Attention Whore Month so they need to know it's ALL about me, not them.

6. I want to stab J because he called me laughing, saying he just heard on the television that George Clooney was getting married to that WHORE. I screamed "YOU LIE YOU SONOFABITCH!" And he laughed harder saying it was true. I hung up on him and may or may not have collapsed into a pool of my own tears. I'm not saying.

Posted by Laura at 04:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (22) | TrackBacks (0)

Things I Should Stop Doing In 2010

1. Stop wanting to stab everyone I meet. I should probably get on strong tranquilizers or hallucinogens so I can bear to be around other human beings.

2. Stop cussing J out and putting him on said Stab List and hanging up on him and telling him I would drop his ass in a skinny minute for George Clooney. I should really appreciate him more.

3. Stop obsessing about George Clooney and calling his women WHORES. I need to live in the real world more- see above.

4. Stop gloating about having an iPhone to anyone who will listen. There's people in Mongolia who don't even have a smart phone.

5. Stop dressing my dog up and laughing at him while I photograph him. He has feelings. No intelligence, but feelings.

6. Stop accusing Steve Jobs of being a thief. I drink when I surf iTunes so my math may be off.

7. Stop calling my neighbor "Crazy Betty" and show her some compassion. Perhaps even bake her some cookies one day. Maybe slip in a few of those tranquilizers.

8. Stop thinking constantly of ways I could fake my own death and get away with it. I should really try to solve my problems under THIS identity.

9. Stop editing my blog after I publish it. I am not even kidding. You can read it then hit refresh and it will be different.

10. Stop cursing and taking the Lord's name in vain so much, and pasting a T-Rex as God all over my blog. I should remember my religious upbringing and actually fear going to Hell.

11. Stop drinking when I'm alone and calling my ex's and telling them I was pregnant when we broke up and secretly had their baby and that they owe me back child support but that I'll take it in one lump sum and never bother them again.

12. Stop borrowing my friend's kids when I arrange to meet these ex's to pick up the check.

Things I Will Stop Doing In 2010

1.

Posted by Laura at 07:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)

Nicole at Autum People wanted to run a test on the shipping of her Chunka Munka's Tasty Treats. She asked for "test subjects" to send her products to. And for FREE ya'll! I could not believe it. Of course I jumped at that deal, I'm no fool.

I got Swedish Cinnamon Almond Biscotti, Chai Tea Mix (16 HUGE ounces!) , and a Lemon Quickbread Mini-Loaf.

Oh. My. God. Homemade goodness! Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm is all that can be said. They are all delicious and they arrived quickly and beautifully packaged and fresh. Seriously, visit her Etsy Store if you want to send someone something special, or if you're like me and are all greedy and want it for yourself. I hid mine from J. Oops. I mean, I ate them all. Yeah, that's it. All gone.

Thank you, Nicole!

P.S. This is the first time I was a "test subject" that I wasn't left with temporary blindness or facial paralysis. Hey, I was poor in college and my stripping career wasn't working out. Everyone kept wanting change. Or refunds. Fuckers.

Posted by Laura at 11:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBacks (0)

It was brought to my attention that I failed to put a Stab List up this week. This may be a shorter list than usual because I was in a Nyquil-induced coma for a large portion of the week, but it doesn't mean I want to stab these people/things less.

1. The asshole douchebag who came to work sick and hacked and coughed without covering their mouth. You are a fucking disgusting bio-hazard who infected half of an office. You deserve to be stabbed repeatedly, cut into pieces and removed by a medical waste company in several orange bio-hazard bags.

2. Daytime network television producers/writers/creators. What the hell? Is everyone who stays at home and watches tv supposed to have the IQ of an idiot? Thank God for the Law and Order marathon on TBS.

3. Makers of cough syrup. C'mon, your products taste like liquid shit in a bottle AND they don't work. You know how desperate a person can get to stop a cough long enough just to get some sleep, and you promise shit you can't deliver on your packaging. You are liars and you all deserve to be stabbed.

4. Pharmacists. They see you are sick as hell, that all you want to do is go home and NOT be an asshole bio-hazard who hacks in public, yet they take FOREVER counting out 30 pills and sticking a label on it. They have all 3 of their assistants doing some kind of inventory while they get on the phone to give some jerk who calls in free medical advice. Seriously, there is something very wrong with that situation.

5. All of the whores who are ratting on doing Tiger Woods. This makes you special? I just wish when shit like this happens that they wouldn't get compensated for "their story." But they will. Handsomely I'm sure. This is the kind of stuff that makes me get all stabby. People rewarded for bad behavior. And ya know, I'm not even talking about screwing the guy, I'm talking about spilling your guts after. At least be a whore with some class. Shut the fuck up.

6. People at work who turn the thermostats up to 85 degrees and it's not even winter outside! Yes, the battle of the thermostats in the office has begun with the fucking reptile people. Wear a sweater you inconsiderate sonsofabitches. Sometimes I sit at my desk, sweating, mentally picturing stabbing you all. And I'm smiling. Sometimes laughing. Manically.

P.S. Please note that I did complete a full Stab List AND managed to curse more in one entry than ever before! Sometimes I amaze myself. Not about the cursing, or that I want to stab all these people and things, but that I haven't.

P.S.S. Oh. Hell. No. A reader, jw, send me THIS. This skank needs to be shanked. PRONTO.

Posted by Laura at 07:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBacks (0)

I was into my third day of having this rotten cold/flu. I was lying on my couch with my bed pillows and a quilt pulled over me. I was on my fourth box of Kleenex, with at least one box used and discarded on the floor around me. My nose was red and chapped. My eyes were watery and red and swollen from no sleep in two days. I gathered my hair into a ponytail a few days back and it had ratted out all along the back and sides, but I was too weak to put it back up. I hadn't brushed my teeth that day. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. I'm all "Who the hell?" I peeled my face off of the pillow and reached to untangle a cough drop from my hair as I looked outside and saw a UPS truck. Shit. He wasn't leaving the package. I opened the door a crack and said "Yes? You need a signature?" He said he didn't need any signature but it was heavy and he'd bring it in for me. I debated then opened the door and told him he could just set it inside. He came in with a gigantic box, set it down, and then turned around. Oh. My. Fucking. God. Dude was GORGEOUS. Like male model hawt without the gay. My mouth dropped open and I coughed or sneezed or both and quickly held a used wadded tissue I had in my hand to catch a fresh stream of mucous that was escaping my left nostril. I managed a muffled "Thank you" before the right nostril started leaking. He said something like "No problem" and turned and was out of my life as quickly as he had come. I looked down and through my open robe saw my tattered and torn t-shirt had a greasy butter stain from a failed attempt that morning at trying to eat some toast. I sighed, said, "Fuck it", and took another swig of Nyquil.

This is a poor Photoshop re-enactment. I say poor, because I look way better in this than I did "The Day The Gorgeous UPS Guy Delivered My New Desk Chair." The gorgeous UPS guy is being played by George Clooney because, well, he's gorgeous. There was way more used Kleenex scattered about, more cat hair, possibly a yakked up hairball, and there was also a mini-doxie dancing around yapping his head off. There was though, at least one cat sitting there licking his ass. I'm pretty sure of that. So actually, only the cat licking his ass is true to the story.

Posted by Laura at 07:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (13) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by Laura at 08:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (15) | TrackBacks (0)

Did you all realize that soon it will be 2010? Yes, 2010. Let that soak in for a minute. I don't know about you but when I was a kid most sci-fi movies about the future were set in that year. They had flying cars, complete meal capsules, travel to colonized planets, wore tight uniforms with go-go boots (the girls anyway-the men wore unitards). And of course they had my beloved killer robots.

Not only do we not have these things but we don't have any cures for major diseases. We can't teleport. We don't even have any holodecks to play in. Hell, we can't even make a cough syrup that tastes good. We don't have any of these things and guess what? We probably won't have them in any of our lifetimes. That's right. We'll never see these things. NEVER. And that pisses me off. And who do we blame you ask? The scientists? The government? Our educational system? Well, yes we can blame them to some small, tiny degree. But most of the blame belongs to this-

Whore Island sound bite  Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy sound bites

Posted by Laura at 06:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by Laura at 06:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

I know you have all been anticipating Monday’s Stab List so without further ado:

1. The South Carolina Department of Transportation that closed down a major road, blocked it off, and put one detour sign that lead me into “the projects” with NO DIRECTIONS on how to get out. It was early and still dark and all I knew was I wanted the fuck out of there.

2. The “helpful” lady at Target who followed me around to tell me what products she uses and why. I didn’t ask you, lady. Twice I managed to smile and say thank you and walk away. She followed me. I headed for the knives in house wares. CLEAN UP IN AISLE 5! That last part happened in my head.

3. The fire ants that have taken over my yard, or as I like to call it, The Abandoned Lot. One mound is shaped just like a pyramid. Same size as one too. No shit. I hate fire ants. Since they’re too small to stab individually, I just sprinkled poison on them. It was less satisfying.

4. The lady on the elevator who let her snotty nose, sneezing kid actually smear its BOOGERS on the keypad. I said “Oh Jesus Christ that’s gross” to a blank stare and exited on the wrong floor just to get out of there.

5. The garbage men who once again failed to empty my trash bin. Maybe it’s my tall grass scaring them off. I don’t know. I just want them stabbed.

6. People who ride mopeds in rush hour traffic. What the fuck? I want to stab you and your scooter and throw you both in a ditch.

Posted by Laura at 06:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (15) | TrackBacks (0)

My Top 10 Imaginary Boyfriends
I should say The Top 10 as of today's date. All are subject to change at any moment, excluding #1. He's permanent. Call me, George Clooney.

1. George Clooney

2. David Beckham

3. Johnny Depp

4. Denzel Washington

5. Patrick Stewart

6. Ralph Fiennes

7. Edward Norton

8. Hugh Laurie

9. David Boreanaz

10. Robert Pattinson

Posted by Laura at 06:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (23) | TrackBacks (0)

I've had it. This 9-5 shit just isn't for me. I've thought it out and decided that I need to take my life in a new direction. But what do you do when you have no discernible talents or ambition?

Sex tapes.

Laugh if you want--but look what it did for Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian. They're millionaires! Spokespersons! Fashion icons! Yeah, I know they're both idiots. But ya'll, they're millionaires!

Well okay, so I'm not exactly going to sell a sex tape of me getting busy. Because, well, yuck and also I think I'll go broke that way. No. What I have in mind is much like the way I ran my stripping business in college. Yes, I was a stripper; well, okay, no I wasn't. I would go to the clubs and threaten to remove articles of clothing unless the dollar bills got handed over. Hey, it paid for tuition, housing and a new car. Not too shabby, eh? Now for my sex tape business, I'll build a site and THREATEN to release a sex tape unless people send me $19.95. That's right. I'll take Paypal or Visa/Mastercard. You pay me NOT to make a sex tape. It will be like you're saving the world or something. Think of it like you're winning points for heaven. "But St. Peter, I helped stop the making of Laura's sex tape!" "Well, in that case we'll forget about that family of five you murdered, come on in!"

I'll be a millionaire! I'll go to LA and live the life. If my math is right, I should have a resisting arrest charge for attempting to climb George Clooney's gate by March. I'll do a short stent in rehab and BAM, not only rich BUT famous. Then I'll do what celebrities do--wear fancy sunglasses.

Posted by Laura at 06:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)

I hope everyone is entering the giveaway. I want you all to be prepared for the Zombie Apocalypse, but I can only afford to outfit one of you. The rest of you are doomed will have to outfit yourselves; except Eric who won the last giveaway. But then I didn't ARM him, so his chances still aren't good. Just to clear some things up, you can take the $125.00 in an Amazon gift certificate or iTunes cards if you already have a chainsaw or are a pacifist and know you're going to get eaten anyway. Comments need to be made on that entry. If you click on that blue button above this entry it will take you to the giveaway. If you want to enter the giveaway but feel bad talking shit about George Clooney's WHORE, then too bad, you are ZOMBIE BAIT. Look, friends support friends. Just look at what Dogette sent me to add to my voodoo altar scrapbook:

Posted by Laura at 06:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBacks (0)

I am exhausted after my emotional roller coaster yesterday. I would like to thank all those who supported me during one of my darkest hours. And to the ones who didn't (DUANE and GARGS), BURN IN HELL, FUCKERS!

I would also like to take this opportunity to say that if any of you guys are following me on Twitter and I haven't followed you back, let me know. I get so many spam bots adding me that I don't know who is real anymore. Yeah, I'm a total lamer. If you're not following me on Twitter you are missing out on pics of my lunches, pets, and total sporadic moronic babble. Sometimes I talk smack to the celebs, but they just ignore me. Now I bet you all know why I don't work in advertising.

You can see by the pie chart above that your education is continuing. Knowledge doesn't stop just because I have a crisis. Also, Dogette left a gem of a FACT in comments on the last entry, which I am now presenting to you all:

*This excludes anyone that isn't George Clooney's WHORE living in Studio Fucking City.

Posted by Laura at 05:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)

Every morning I listen to the CBS News before I go to work. This morning as I was getting sleep crud out of the corner of my eyes I heard "Actor George Clooney moves in Italian girlfriend and gives her a ring, details after this commercial break." What the fuck? Did I hear that right? So I ran into the living room, turned up the volume, and stood there waiting for the story. Sure enough, they said he moved his Italian WHORE into his Beverly Hills home and has given the WHORE a ring. Their words, I swear, well, that's what I heard anyway.

Now at this point of my tale I want to convey how I felt at that moment, so I made you a pie chart:

I then Twittered the news I had just heard because I was rushed for time and I needed words of support under 140 characters. Within minutes, tweets of sympathy started pouring in. Some (Dogette) even suggested that I take a personal day. Others (Alison) showed their support by ranting about the WHORE.

Driving to work I knew what to expect throughout the day; people would start coming up to me going "Oh, did you hear George Clooney is engaged?" with smirks on their faces. Others would email me photos and stories (GARGS). I couldn't take the day off, so I just got my Stab List out and a pen ready.

Then I got an email from Dogette telling me the news reports were false (FALSE!) and she sent me a link where George's people denied the rumors. Here's a pie chart expressing how I felt after reading that story:

Yes. LIES! ALL LIES! What the fuck has the media become in this country? Don't they have FACT checkers? Anyway, I'm looking into suing them for mental distress. J says I'd have a hard case to prove because I'd need to prove I was stable prior to the false report. Here's a pie chart of how I felt when J said that:

Posted by Laura at 02:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (21) | TrackBacks (0)

I think Dogette linked to someone who had made a map about a month or so ago showing their comfort area of driving. (I cannot remember who or where, but if it was you, let me know so I can give you kudos or a link. Ahh, Sad Old Goth is the blog- thanks Jim!) I stole borrowed the idea and made my own map so I could show you my crazy. Graphics are very important when displaying insanity. In this map I show my "Safe Area." This is where I am comfortable driving. Please note that more than half of this area is Fort Jackson; a military post that I haven't been on since I became a civilian YEARS ago. It's also important to point out that my "Safe Area" is a fucking island; an island surrounded by scary shit I will not drive in. My "Safe Area" is so small I can barely turn around in it, and escape through the scary is limited and terrifying. It's almost like I need to be airlifted out. But once outside the scary zone is freedom. I can drive anywhere there, excluding the cities listed in the legend though. And that list can always be added to as the crazy takes over and/or I take more vacations.

*My favorite city to drive in: Minneapolis-St. Paul, Minnesota.

**My favorite state to drive in: Wyoming. No speed limit. No other cars. Yippee ki-yay, motherfucker.

Posted by Laura at 04:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBacks (0)

I am my own worst enemy. Here I am running my mouth about weekend blogging and how everyone should and I really don't have time to blog today. I am doing it anyway because I know you all would love to jump all in my shit about it and well, I'm not going to give you the satisfaction.

I haven't been taking enough pictures with my iPhone to do my "I spy with my little i" series. So I can't just slap up some pictures for you. Well, I did take this one at work one morning as I was getting out of my car.

I know it looks like some littering asshole just had some KFC and decided just to dump his value meal there. That's what they want you to think. That be chicken bones alright. But that be Voodoo. I know my Voodoo. I mean, well, I read about it before, and have seen it on tv and movies. Yeah. Littering assholes.

When I took the dog out early this morning I saw Crazy Betty in her yard, in her nightgown by the way. I stopped and stared at her thinking maybe she'd write me another letter I could share here but when I left the house a little while later there was no letter stuck to my door. What kind of messed up world are we living in where you can't even depend on the crazy to do their shit?

Anyway, I had to go to the store this morning and the only thing I can report is that I wish I had heat seeking missiles on my car. Damn, I hate all other drivers on the road. Seriously. Ohhhh, I did spot a magazine that I thought would have George Clooney with his WHORE in it and I picked it up and went searching for a pen. But the cashier was smacking her gum and yelling "NEXT" in a real loud annoying voice. So I got kind of discombobulated and threw it back in the rack. I wasn't going to buy it. I want the defacing to be seen by the public. That's the point of the movement-"The Defacing the WHORE" campaign. Join me, people!

Wow, look at this entry. Let this be an example to all you non-weekend blogging folks out there. I am a very busy important woman with very important things to do and I managed to blog. What could be so important you ask? Well, I have been inspired to get back into my art and making crafts. Want to see what I have been working on?

Well okay, I bought the magazine. But I needed it for my art/craft project. I call this piece "Die WHORE Die! (or at least have really bad cramps)."

I have to go now. I'm running out of pins.

Posted by Laura at 09:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

It has been an educational week. Not only have I been educating you all with my Facts, but I have been learning how to blog over at Two Nervous Dogs. Apparently I have been doing it all wrong. I will try to do better, but I doubt I will.

There will be blogging this weekend again even though I'm doing it wrong. So all the cool people let me know if I need to go check out your blogs. I don't like just checking on my own. I am extremely lazy and it also pisses me off to pop in to find Friday's, or even Thursday's post, and then come Monday people are all "Oh wow my weekend was so busy! We went to meet Biff and Buffy, yadda yadda." I want to stab you.

Today at work I was sent two pictures of George Clooney with his new girlfriend in two seperate emails. I don't remember this supposed girlfriend's name. I don't want to look it up. I don't want to remember her name. Let's just call her WHORE. Anyway, I'm emailed pics of him with this WHORE and I'm thinking "Goddammit stop sending pictures of this WHORE" Then I got an email from Dogette that read "Oh! I saw Clooney's pic with some 'gal pal' in People magazine this morning. Took a pen out and blacked her teeth out for you. Salon owner LOLd when I explained." Now this is what I'm talking about people! I am going to ask all of you to do the same. When you are out and about having an exciting life and you see a magazine or paper with a picture of George Clooney with the WHORE, please blacken her teeth, give her acne, funky-ass glasses, or just bear down real hard with a pen and scrape her face off for me will you? I would love it. You can even send me a pic of your work or post it on your blog! We'll start a grassroots operation here! But please do not email me for reimbursement when you are forced to pay for defacing these publications. Just know that I appreciate you and your efforts.

Oh, I almost forgot. I learned this in Dogette's Blogging Workshop- "Knowing when to use graphics to ENGAGE your readers."

Posted by Laura at 05:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (10) | TrackBacks (0)

With the economy being the way it is, I have decided that the animals need to start pulling their weight around here. Today I took some shots of my dog Jack for his portfolio. Since there's more work in Hollywood for females, especially blondes, I had him getting in touch with his feminine side.

He wasn't very happy about it at first.

I'm trying to get him an audition as a stripper/prostitute on the popular police drama CSI: Miami.

Well actually it's for "Dead Hooker Number 3."

I think he nailed it.

Posted by Laura at 01:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (18) | TrackBacks (0)

I think the rabies went into my eye. My eye hurts. How weird is that? I googled it and the pics were so fucking gross of eye diseases that I closed it down and am just going with the rabies thingy again.

Oh, and because people seemed to like the pissed off sock monkey that I make, I have decided that I will have another Zombie Survival Giveaway and one of the pissy monkeys will be part of the giveaway. I'm thinking maybe Day of the Dead (November 2) will be the giveaway date unless I do it sooner. It depends how my rabies progresses I suppose.

And I know no one is reading this because you're all out having fun, laughing and drinking wine with your pinkies in the air pretending your date is interesting, but I want some book recommendations. I want to get an audio book because not only do I have just one good eye due to ocular rabies (I made that up-I should be in charge of naming diseases) but I'm too lazy anymore to even turn pages. So if ya'll know any GOOD books, let me know. I like any good story-just no fucking romance. God. I HATE romance stories. So, if you recommend a romance novel I will fucking hunt you down and stab you. I hate biographies too. No one is that interesting to me to warrant a full book. If you recommend a biography I will hunt you down and punch you in the throat. I also dislike mysteries. Non-fiction is kind of boring too. If you recommend a mystery or a non-fiction I won't hunt you down, but you will be dead to me. So let's just say I like horror okay. Just horror. Good horror.

Also, there will be blogging this weekend. Dogette and I have started a campaign to end this "I don't blog on weekends because I have a life and I am busy being a fulfilled human being." bullshit. People, you are not fooling anyone.

So, to wrap it up, I have rabies in my eye, there will be another giveaway with a monkey involved probably on a Mexican holiday because I'm worldly like that, and I need a scary book to listen to because turning pages takes too much energy, and you people need to blog on weekends like the cool people do.

Posted by Laura at 06:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (13) | TrackBacks (0)

I got this a few weeks ago:

I still haven't gone anywhere. I started turning it on going back and forth to work because I had downloaded Eric Cartman's voice from South Park (no, they did not have George Clooney) and I liked his sassy directions. Some days I would even take a different route home just so I could hear Cartman cuss me out in different ways. He says things like "Turn right at the light, asshole. Jesus Christ, I said turn right you goddamn Jew!" Yes, Cartman is a foul mouth little bastard and he makes me laugh. Then one day as I was approaching a four way stop Eric said "At the stop sign turn left into Kyle's mom's vagina."

After that I switched to some British guy's voice for audio directions. But, you know, as much as I appreciate hearing a British accent, I kind of miss being called an asshole and a cocksucker while driving. It's not the same when I have to read the lips of other drivers.

Posted by Laura at 02:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBacks (0)

I called my dermatologist Monday as instructed for my lab results. I was told that the final results weren't in yet. Great. So I placed a call to the Make-A-Wish Foundation to once again see if they could arrange a hook-up between me and George Clooney. An unidentified rash that could or couldn't be rabies should make me eligible, right? Well apparently not. They hung up on me.

J called me to see what the doctor said. I told him that it was bad and the only cure was this:

Yeah, one of those fancy designer Dell laptops. He laughed, suggested I get a second opinion and then hung up on me.

So I called the doctor again today. I guess they must have had a lot of emergency acne cases and were too busy to call me themselves. I spoke to the nurse who informed me I didn't have MRSA but that I had a skin infection(!) that I could have picked up from anything after my super-duper razor rash (that's a fancy Latin medical term, by the way.) So the lotion he prescribed last week has just about wiped it out and I am to continue that. I asked if the rash was contagious because I'd like to use it as a biological weapon on some people and she hung up on me.

So it's not MRSA, or leprosy, or rabies. I called Make-A-Wish back and asked them if the new diagnosis of infected pits would qualify me for that hook-up with George. They got enough info from me to probably get a restraining order then they hung up on me too. Fuckers. All of them.

Posted by Laura at 04:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

I have had several people come up to me this week to tell me that George Clooney has a new girlfriend, an Italian actress named Elizabetta Canalis. They're like, "Laura, George Clooney has a new girlfriend." Then they stand there to watch my reaction. Some bring popcorn.

People, no matter how I may go on and on about my love for George and joke about a restraining order and alleged witchcraft/voodoo usage, I do realize that he is a fantasy. He is a sex symbol movie star. I have about as much chance of being with George Clooney as I do being crowned the next Miss America.

I like to exaggerate my crazy on here and sometimes I go over the top. And although I may have stalker tendencies, they are limited to interweb trolling due to, well, not only the law but my inherent laziness. People, stalking takes energy.

So to anyone out there that feels the need to attempt to "rub it in my face" that George has a new girlfriend, I just want to say I know. It's all good.

Oh, if you haven't seen a picture of George's new girlfriend, here she is-

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to clear off some space on my mantel for the crown I'll be winning.

Posted by Laura at 04:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBacks (0)

Call Me, George Clooney
A poem of obsession admiration by Laura

I knew it was you since the Facts of Life.
I dreamt that someday I might be your wife.
I even carved your name in my arm with a knife.
Call me, George Clooney.

Then you played sexy Doug Ross on a show called ER.
Your career really took off, you became a big star.
I built you a shrine, I don't think that's bizarre.
Call me, George Clooney.

Then came all the movies, the list goes on for a mile.
Oh your sparkling eyes, that sexy ass smile.
Around my neck I'd wear your blood in a vial.
Call me, George Clooney.

They say that I need a psychological assessment.
Like drugs and therapy could be a replacement.
When all I want is you locked in my basement.
Call me, George Clooney.

Posted by Laura at 04:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (10) | TrackBacks (0)

• Zombie movies. Followed by werewolf movies. The bloodier the better.
  
• Shows that feature hardcore drug addicts. I'm talking serious drug addicts that are all nasty and fucked up. Examples: Requiem for a Dream and Spun. LOVE THEM.
  
• Anything about dinosaurs. I used to be able to name them all when I was a kid. A few weeks ago Discovery was having a dinosaur marathon. I watched it all day and into the night. Rarrrrw!
  
• Anything about carnival freaks or conjoined twins. Especially conjoined twins. I will even watch those 20/20 specials about the separating of conjoined twins, but lose interest once they're separated.
  
• Anything with George Clooney. No brainer there. Call me, George. LOVE HIM.
  
• Stories about famous people that died from syphilis. There were a lot of them. I like to watch the shows and think "Ewww you nasty. You had syphilis."
  
• Those little kid beauty pageants. NOT the pageant itself; I like when they feature their fucked up stage mothers that swear they aren't fucked up stage mothers.
  
• Spelling Bee competitions. LOVE THEM.
  
• Movies with Drew Barrymore in them. I don't know why. She's been in some crappy movies. My favorite though is 'Boys on the Side'. Oh, did you know Maurice Barrymore, patriarch of the famous Barrymore family, Drew's great grandfather died from syphilis? Ewww he was nasty.
  
• Any show featuring the surgical removal of a 25 pound or greater tumor. The bigger the better.
  
• Movies about hauntings that say they are based on true stories. I know they're all bullshit, but while I am watching them I'll think, "Oh my God this really happened."
  
• Animal attacks. I like to watch animals give a good ass whooping. Especially if the narrator says something like the person being attacked provoked it. Then I'm like high fiving the air and yelling things like "Woot! Bite him again!" while they're getting their asses handed to them.
  
• Biographies of real life serial killers. Sometimes I wonder if their minds were ate up with undiagnosed syphilis. Ewww. Nasty.

Posted by Laura at 04:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBacks (0)

Last week I spotted this creature hanging on for dear life on the outside of the building at work.

Yeah, a bat. I thought about letting it bite me so I could get super powers or something. But I figured that it would just give me rabies. Then I thought, rabies would get me out of work for a while. But then I remembered the movie "Old Yeller" and I didn't want to be taken out to the barn and shot in the head by some kid in overalls, so I just took a pic and left.

These are signs at a church I pass by every day. They help me remember why I don't go to church. You know, besides that whole catching on fire and writhing in pain thingy that happens when I cross the doorstep.

I don't know why I photoshopped out the pastor's name. I mean, it is a public billboard sign for all to see on the road. I guess it's because my team of lawyers are all busy working on lifting that restraining order and I figured they didn't need more work. (Soon, George. Soon.)

We went to The South Carolina Aquarium in Charleston this weekend. I had high hopes of taking a lot of fantastic photos. Let's just say if I worked for National Geographic they not only would have fired me, but it's highly likely they would have punched me in the throat for wasting their time. I'm just going to blame the 120 degree heat I had to endure walking there and all the nasty ass paw and nose prints from all the rug rats smeared on the glass. Yeah, that's it. Oh, here's a sea turtle.

Here's Charleston Harbor where I took pics of the boats and ships that passed by.

When I got home this flyer was in my door.

Now here's a church I may have to check out. I'm thinking they may have some zombie survival classes. I can get behind that. Amen.

Posted by Laura at 06:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (11) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by Laura at 11:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

This is for Jennifer who requested that I make a list of the men I have made out with in my sleep. That's right, while I was dreaming, not while I was unconscious. That entry will be done another day. It's not my imaginary boyfriend list either, because I have no control over who was all up in my koolaid while I snoozed. Here's a dozen ( ! ) in no particular order, and let me just say right up front, I am a REM whore.

• George Clooney - Duh.
• David Beckham - Until he informed me I was also the nanny and I woke up screaming.
• Mister Rogers - Yes. Fred Rogers. It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood that night.
• Ozzy Osbourne - No shit. I couldn't understand a word he said either.
• Jean-Luc Picard - Not Patrick Stewart. Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise. Maybe it was the unitard, I don't know. All I know is his phaser was on stunning that night.
• Clint Eastwood - Not old Clint, but Dirty Harry Clint.
• Brad Pitt- Not breeder Brad, but Legends of the Fall Brad.
• Bono - The U2 singer. I think he kept his funky glasses on too.
• Denzel Washington - Who hasn't?
• Cary Grant - The young one. I watch a lot of old movies. He was a hottie. And speaking of old movies...
• Atticus Finch - Not Gregory Peck (though he's totally a hottie too), but the father in 'To Kill A Mockingbird.' I think Boo Radley watched.
• Barney Rubble - Yes, Fred Flintsone's neighbor. I dreamt in animation once, and apparently I'm an adulterous slut in cartoon world too.

Posted by Laura at 04:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (12) | TrackBacks (0)

May 6 is my man's birthday. I am posting this early because I am sure he'll be too busy with his Hollywood parties to google his name on his birthday. This is called trolling. So Happy Birthday George Clooney! Call me.

I tried to send you a birthday present, but FedEx kept demanding I get out of the box. They also insisted I put my clothes back on. So instead I'd like to invite you to dinner at my house. I built you something special in my backyard.

That's Jose my neighbor in the background. Don't mind him. He sometimes screams things like "Ay Carumba! Loco lady with her voodoo!", but he's fairly harmless. Except when he calls the police while I'm performing my full moon naked rituals star gazing. Tasers hurt by the way.

But I'll never hurt you, George Clooney. Unless you're into that sort of thing. Then I'll get my spurs. Yippee ki-yay, Happy Birthday.

* Six more days left to enter THE ZOMBIE SURVIVAL GIVEAWAY EXTRAVAGANZA!

Posted by Laura at 04:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (21) | TrackBacks (0)

Wow. My inbox runneth over. For this installment I chose this question because it made me laugh. Thanks Joe.

It's late. You're home alone dressing up your pets for an impromptu tea party. There's a knock on the door. You look at the clock. "Who the fuck could that be here this late?" You open the door and there stands George Clooney. Your heart flutters, your pulse quickens. "Oh, George!" Then you look closer. Something's off. His eyes are fixed and dilated, his face is ashen. He opens his mouth and drool starts to form and fall from the corners. "Brainssss", he moans. He's one of the undead. Zombie George. What do you do?

Great. Finally a man that wants me for my brain and he's a fucking zombie.

First let me say, it's like you've been looking in my window at night. So if you have, you will know that on those impromptu tea party nights I am usually wearing these-

Yes, my Chuck Norris Action Jeans.

So I kick Zombie George in the chest. Sorry George, but you're a fucking zombie. I slam and lock the door. My pets scatter in all the commotion, knocking over the tea and crumpets and wee little cups and saucers. Lacy bonnets fly everywhere. I easily jump over all the spillage because I am, again, wearing my action jeans, and I rush for my hall closet. I grab my pistol and slip it into the waistband of my action jeans, and then I grab duct tape. I run into the bedroom and grab my fur-lined handcuffs, slipping them into the front pocket of my action jeans.

At this time I imagine Zombie George is still knocking at my front door and moaning. So I slip quietly out the back door and sneak up behind him. I tap him on his shoulder and when he turns around I do a Chuck Norris round house kick upside his head, knocking him over. Thank God I had my action jeans on. I then quickly pull out the duct tape, jump on him and start wrapping the tape 'round and 'round his head, covering his mouth. Then I cuff his hands and wrap his feet with the duct tape at the ankles. With him secure, I'd unlock the front door and drag Zombie George into the house.

I would then straighten up the tea party mess and dust and vacuum (HEY! GEORGE CLOONEY'S IN MY HOUSE! First impressions are important!) At this point I would unload my deep freezer. With the freezer empty, I'd start dragging Zombie George over and heave him up a little at a time until I could get him into the freezer. Before shutting the lid though, I would unzip his pants and take a peek. Hey. I'm still human.

There he would stay in his Maytag Cryogenic Unit until there was a cure or a really good sale on Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia Ice Cream. Hey, I'll need the freezer space, that shit's expensive. I may be crazy, but I'm not insane. Priorities man. Priorities.

Posted by Laura at 03:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

I think my iPod is haunted. Every morning I set it to shuffle while I'm working and every morning it keeps playing "You Can't Always Get What You Want" by the Rolling Stones like every third or fourth song. ALL DAY LONG. And it's not because I don't have enough songs on there. I have over 500. It's been doing this for a while so I marked the song on my iTunes so that it would come off my iPod when I synced it. Well, guess what? It's still on my iPod and still playing every third or fourth song on shuffle!

I got to thinking that maybe someone's trying to tell me something from the other side. The other side as in Ghostville, not New Jersey. So today I really listened to the song instead of just mouthing the words lip-sync style, pretending I'm on stage and talented (also known as "Britney/Simpson Style".)

I saw her today at a reception
A glass of wine in her hand
I knew she would meet her connection
At her feet was her footloose man

You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you might find
You get what you need

Oh. My. God. Is the universe trying to tell me to be happy with what I have? To stop wanting something I can't get? That maybe I should stop wanting George Clooney and just live my life and appreciate what I have?

NAH.

I'll just delete that song off my hard drive. Call me, George Clooney.

Posted by Laura at 05:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

According to the poll, most of you want more cussing and all of you think I'm awesome. I agree with all you fuckers.

I don't have too much new here. Oh, Hell's about to freeze over. Yep, there's going to be a freeze here tonight. It's April. It's the south. The end is near. I hope you all have been practicing your zombie killing skills.

I cooked Mongolian Beef tonight. The recipe will be after the jump if you want it. Here's a picture.

Yes, that's one of my sushi plates. I like being proper and all hoity toity when I eat. Seriously, I'm just one stage of crazy away from having tea parties with my pets. Don't worry. If I ever do, I'll take pictures for you.

While traveling the web looking for something of interest, I found a site where you can make movies. Of course it's rather primative, with Lego looking like people, but that didn't stop me from making a flick. So pop some popcorn, sit back, relax, and enjoy.

Continue reading "Move over, Martin Scorsese" »

Posted by Laura at 05:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (10) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by Laura at 06:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

I stayed home Saturday and decided that I wanted to watch a movie. I really didn't feel like brushing the Girl Scout cookie crumbs off the front of my sweatshirt, so I rented a movie at Amazon dot com. Since I'm all about ghouls, goblins, and gore I choose to watch Twilight. It's a story about a family of vampires, taken from a series of books that has found great success. After watching it for a few minutes I realized it wasn't very scary but that I was completely and totally mesmerized by the star vampire. This guy-

Dreamy Edward. I know, right? After a little while I became aware that I was almost drooling after this fella and I was subconsciously adding him to my pretend boyfriend list. Shut up. Yes, I still have THE list. Then the chick in the flick (wha? there was a chick? whoever the hell she was) asked him how old he was. He said "Seventeen." I suddenly got very uncomfortable. I was envisioning getting nasty naughty with a teenager! What. The. Hell. Shit, I'm a pedophile! Soon I'll be rounded up in a Chris Hansen predator sting! "I swear we were just going to TALK! What beer, condoms and handcuffs, Officer??" I haven't felt this confused since I started noticing Harry Potter's muscles and hottness. Oh. Did I say that out loud?

As soon as the movie was over I googled Robert Pattinson aka Edward. Yay! Thank God. He's 22! I'm not a perv! I'm just a cougar! Yay!

Then because I'm highly susceptible to suggestions, and I wasn't finished eating my GS Caramel delites, I watched another movie after Twilight that Amazon suggested. It was a foreign vampire flick dubbed in English called "Let the Right One In." This movie was actually better than Twilight, even though it didn't have a TEENAGER hottie in it. But I still watched Twilight again later that night.

Rawwrr!

Posted by Laura at 01:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (9) | TrackBacks (0)

This is an article from The Washington Post:

Just when we thought we'd seen it all from PETA -- the animal rights organization known for high-profile celebrity ads -- President Ingrid Newkirk has come up with this: George Clooney-flavored tofu.

In a letter sent to the actor, Newkirk said that PETA has been offered his gym towel (obtained right here in D.C.!) and wants to use his sweat to create Clooney tofu that will "spare animals from being killed for the table." She went on to explain that the science is pretty simple, like "making artificial chicken flavor for instant gravy."

Newkirk, a big fan of Clooney, told us yesterday that the towel was offered by a PETA supporter with the idea of auctioning it off, but she immediately thought of using his perspiration for bean curd: "I thought, 'What would make tofu more attractive to people?' ... I can see people having parties to try CloFu."

Clooney's not biting. "As a mammal, I'm offended," he told us yesterday through his rep. 

To hell with tofu. First off, if I had a sweaty DNA laden towel that belonged to George Clooney the first thing I'd do (after dry humping it) would be to take it to one of those cloning labs and have me a George Clooney made. And not like an infant (ugh) Clooney, but a full size adult model. With working parts. Maybe even get a warranty on those parts. 'Cause I'm sure there will plenty of wear and tear.

Posted by Laura at 04:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (7) | TrackBacks (0)

Tracy: "Oh my God, Laura! Who is this woman with your man?!"

Looking at her monitor I see this-

Me: "Oh, that's the chick from ER that he co-starred with. I think he's going to come back for the finale of ER."

Tracy: "Oh. I was going to say, I'd drive you there just to watch you kick her ass."

Posted by Laura at 06:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

I feel really bad. I cheated on my man. I know. Can you believe it? I'm not proud of myself but I feel confession is good for the soul. Please don't think too badly of me. I wasn't even awake when it happened. No, I didn't go out partying and get slipped a roofie. If only it was that simple. Last night I had a dream that I was getting all biblical with this guy-

Yeah. David Beckham. He kind of looked like that in my dream too, except way less gay and in color.

He's always been in my imaginary boyfriend pool, but this dream was starting to push him into first place (yes, George Clooney's spot!) until my dream took a sudden turn into the horror realm. Right before things got really good I heard a kid crying and David said to me with his sexy British voice, "Go have a look at him, love, you're the nanny." NANNY?  OH. HELL. NO. I woke up with a start in mid-scream.

So I've decided to clean out my imaginary boyfriend pool and stop being such an imaginary whore. I've decided to dedicate myself to one man. George Clooney, call me. I'll never stray again.

Posted by Laura at 06:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (10) | TrackBacks (0)

I am on my way out shortly but wanted to post some pics off my phone. I don't know why. Maybe it's because I got nothing for content or maybe IT'S BECAUSE I NEED A BREAK FROM YOU PEOPLE MAKING FUN OF MY ONE TRUE LOVE- GEORGE CLOONEY. That's okay, laugh. One day you'll be sorry. YOU'LL ALL BE SORRY!

Umm, alrighty then, moving right along.....

These were taken in a neat little store downtown called the Bohemian. I liked these wall clocks-

Here's a Santa on a fish for over $300. I got two. NOT.

Here's a sculpture of Joseph. He's the hater that posed as GEORGE CLOONEY on my previous post's comments and professed love to himself. It didn't surprise me. I'm sure he loves himself quite often.

Oh, here's a pic of the basket I made for J's parents for Christmas. Lots of booze and chocolate and candy. They love me.

Christmas 2008.

That's all I got. Oh, one more thing. If everyone that commented on my previous entry would please send me just a few strands of their hair, I'd greatly appreciate it. What's that? Why, you ask? Well, it's a surprise.

Posted by Laura at 02:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

Instead of doing a list of good things that happened in 2008 or a list of New Year resolutions I have no intentions of keeping, I thought I'd just do a list of things that never happened in 2008 that I really, really wanted to. We'll call this:

                                   My 2008 Regret List

1. George Clooney never contacted me. I write about him here on my blog in hopes he'll google himself and realize just by my words that he desperately needs me in his life. It never happened. I won't give up though. CALL ME, GEORGE CLOONEY.

2. I never actually punched anybody in the throat this year and it's one of my favorite things to say. That, and "CALL ME, GEORGE CLOONEY."

3. Another year has passed and there still are NO KILLER ROBOTS available to the general public. This really pisses me off. But I haven't given up hope. I have though changed my mind on my robot's name. Instead of Bill, I will name him GEORGE CLOONEY.

4. J refused plastic surgery to make him look like GEORGE CLOONEY. God, I ask for ONE FREAKIN' TINY FAVOR. I'd like to punch him in the throat; J, not you GEORGE CLOONEY.

5. I didn't win the lottery. Of course I would have used all the winnings to pay off the judge and have the restraining order lifted so that GEORGE CLOONEY and I could finally be together.

6. My acting career never took off this year. Of course I put absolutely no effort towards it at all, but that's beside the point. It was my dream to co-star with GEORGE CLOONEY and have the stereotypical leading man/co-star love affair. I am not without acting experience. I got rave reviews on my performance in a play once. The nuns said they had never seen a better tree.

7. I never moved to California. I really wanted to be closer to THE PACIFIC OCEAN. Yeah, I bet you thought I was going to say GEORGE CLOONEY. Loser.

Posted by Laura at 06:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (14) | TrackBacks (0)

Last night I posted my Photo Challenge entry below and also worked on my site a little. I put my favorite banner/masthead up temporarily until I construct a winter banner. I may just stop doing seasonal banners and stick to just this one. I don't know. Suggestions, anyone? I also made my George Clooney button that's over there on the left. Anyone that has been reading my stuff knows that I love me some George and I thought the whole restraining order thing funny. Also, I'm hoping that by mentioning GEORGE CLOONEY enough here that one day he will google himself ('cause we all know actors do this) and he'll find me and want to hook up. Yes, GEORGE CLOONEY, I mean you. Call me.

Anyway, I finished late, went to bed and this morning I opened my site and gave it a once over. I can truly say that I think I have succeeded in looking like a total lunatic to the outside world. Here I have my love of guns, my whole tale of what I would do to intruders, how I would lie under oath with my fake tears of remorse, my unnatural love and obsession of a movie star (GEORGE CLOONEY), my intrigue with zombies and the Amish, and there's even spilled vodka at the bottom of the page. And this is without reading the archives about my whole world domination plans. I look like I am a total gun totin', finger condom wearin', movie star stalkin', horror movie obsessed, pathological lyin' sociopath redneck lush. YAY! Now I won't have to do an "About Me" page!

Posted by Laura at 09:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

Over the past three months I have been kicked off four message boards. I'm not really complaining. I know why I was kicked off, and most the time I deserve it because I like to be an instigator. Especially on religious message boards. But the last message board that I was banned from I am calling bullshit. The reason for my dismissal? Because I said this guy was unattractive.

Sure he has a nice body. He's an athelete. He's a swimmer. He has muscle. And he is unattractive. But because he's an Olympic hero after winning a lot of gold medals, he's  supposely sexy. Umm, no.

A man is in the spotlight, has some fame, and women go nuts over them. I've seen this phenomenon before firsthand. Years ago I was dating a guy in a blues band and Lee Atwater was joining them onstage one night to play a few songs with them. The guy came through the door with a whole entourage of mostly women with their boobs hanging out that were literally throwing themselves on him. Then the women in the club went wild. A politician for crapsake! It was amazing. Here's what Lee Atwater looked like.

Not sexy.

But all the women in the bar that night wanted to fuck him. All but one. And seriously, it wasn't because he was a republican. It was because he definately was not sexy.

So I guess I'm unpatriotic or something for not considering Michael Phelps hot? Yeah, whatevah.

Now here, bitches, is what a HOT athelete looks like.

Posted by Laura at 04:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

An old friend called me the other day and in the midst of the conversation said she was over George Clooney (a collective imaginary boyfriend) and had moved on, that she was now into some guy on the U.S. gymnastic team. I don't remember what his name was. I really wasn't paying any attention. Then she said "Too bad you're not over him as well."

I replied "Bitch, please. I have like five imaginary boyfriends. Which actually makes me an imaginary whore. But that's not the point. The point is not to put all your eggs in one basket. That's how you roll with this."

Posted by Laura at 05:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)