Tag Archives: parody

Why Did Chachi Love Joanie Not Me and Other Reasons I Made Out With Posters in the 80s

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Why Does Chachi Love Joanie and Not Me? Plus Other Random Things We All Contemplated in the 80s

He’s so thoughtful!

Why Does Chachi Love Joanie and Not Me? Plus Other Random Things We All Contemplated in the 80s

This leering could be illegal ( I was 9).
We still made-out.

Why Does Chachi Love Joanie and Not Me? Plus Other Random Things We All Contemplated in the 80s

If only this was a
pillowcase!

Why Does Chachi Love Joanie and Not Me? Plus Other Random Things We All Contemplated in the 80s

Yes, 1000
times yes!

 

 

 

 

.

Look I got why Joanie loved Chachi, didn’t we all? The better question is, why did Chachi Love Joanie … and not me? I went through much of the early 80s asking myself this very question. What did Joanie have that I didn’t have? A frizzy boy-cut? A square but endearing older brother? Boobs? For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why that muscle shirt wearing bad boy from the wrong side of the tracks with the “cool” genes of the Fonze and looks of perfection, wasn’t dating me.

I was sure Scott Baio was just as awesome as Chachi in real life and may have been even better looking, since he seemed to dress more on trend in his 2 page spreads in Tiger Beat. Every one of those posters made it to my wall, where he winked or glared at me in a way that I was pretty certain he wouldn’t do for any other 9 year old girl. (Little did I know, those leering looks he gave me from my walls could have gotten him arrested. Not to mention the kissing we did. I don’t want to brag but we may have gotten to 2nd base … I don’t know who was flatter Wall Scott Baio or me.)

After all that heavy petting I was positive that we had a magical connection through his pin-up. I truly believed this, the way at 9 years old, you may believe that if you have a dream about someone else they may be dreaming about you, or the way you believe there are unicorns disguised as horses and some day one of them will expose it’s true self to you because you are a REAL believer. Then you will ride over a rainbow together where you may or may not meet a live Care Bear. (Of course Funshine would’ve been my first choice, but I would’ve taken a run in with Love-a-Lot.)

That said, I knew that one day Scott would come visit our school for some assembly. You know like a One-to-Grow-On in person? He would probably discuss why I shouldn’t try cigarettes or answer the door for strangers or stick my finger down my throat. Because I knew not to do those things already we were a perfect match. I simply had to have my best friend (you know the one with the other half of my best friend charm?) give him a note that read: Will you go with me? Check a box below, yes, no, maybe. The “maybe” was really just a safety net in case a big celebrity like Scott needed to contact his managers and his mother and make sure he could fit me into his busy schedule. I had thought of everything.

Sadly, that day never came, but the loss didn’t linger (like his glares). He was torn down and replaced with Matt Dillon, Ricky Shroder Rob Lowe …

Why Does Chachi Love Joanie and Not Me? Plus Other Random Things We All Contemplated in the 80s

I’d still let him get to 2nd base!

Tom Cruise, Val Kilmer …

Why Does Chachi Love Joanie and Not Me? Plus Other Random Things We All Contemplated in the 80s

Dodged that bullet, huh?

Kirk Cameron, John Stamos (who has me eating Oikos) and Jason Bateman (who I may have a new poster of, I’m not telling, but if I did it would be somewhere between Ryan Gossling, Bradley Cooper, and Ryan Reynolds).
Why Does Chachi Love Joanie and Not Me? Plus Other Random Things We All Contemplated in the 80s
Wow, I’m a serious wall slut.

Tell me I’m not alone, who leered at you from your walls?

Be Awesome, Share This Post

Be Awesomer, Ask Jason Bateman if He’ll “go” With Me

Related: 15 Random Things I Wouldn’t Know if I Weren’t a Gen Xer

What Those Vday Candy Sweethearts Should REALLY Say – After Marriage Edition

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What Sweetheart Candies SHOULD Say After a Few Years of Marriage

I’ve had some awkward V-Day Moments, from my 5yo trying to soap opera kiss me to my hubby trying to stuff himself and champagne into an undersized NYC bathtub in our undersized NYC apartment to my dauther telling me, I make her want to “puke of love”. That said, I’ve decided this year will not be awkward. No, we will all be realistic in our planning and our phrasing.

As I picked up a pack of those V-Day conversation hearts (the candies that are supposed to represent the sweet nothings you would whisper in your lover’s ear before bed, like: I LOVE U, B MINE, KISS ME…), I thought, this is anything but realistic phrasing.   Those sayings are more saccharine sweet than the candy, so I made a list that resembles real pillow talk. These are the phrases that should be etched on those cute little hearts, after a few years of marriage.

Be warned: this list is not for newlyweds, so you can refrain from reading and telling me how blissful your marriage is. Give it a few years. Ahem- I mean, I’m happy for you.

WIFE CONVERSATION HEARTS:

HE GETS THAT FROM UR SIDE

YOU WANNA PUT WHAT, WHERE?

COULD U BE MORE LIKE ADAM LEVINE?

I’M PREGNANT … PSYCHE

R THOSE UR TOENAILS? Continue reading →

Can a Jewish Mommy Kiss Santa Claus Without Being a Ho Ho Ho?

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This is what my house sounds like around the holidays. (Oh, and the rest of the year, but I say “around the holidays” to make myself look like a better parent.)

“Mommy can I have that?” “Will you buy me that?”  “Mommy, my friend’s neighbor’s cousin has that.”  “I want that.”  “When can I have that?” “Mommy?” “Ma?” “Maaaaaaaa?”  “MOM!”  This exchange of words usually ends with:

“If you mention it again, and the answer will be never.”

“Never?  I can’t even have the Easy Bake Ultimate Oven that bakes more batches, when I’m 25?” 

“Sure, but if you don’t have a real oven by then, making cookies may not be the best use of your time.”

“How about she gets it for her next birthday, or maybe Kwanzaa?” my son pipes in. He’s already eying a Penny Board for Secretaries Day, and has informed me that, although we are Jewish, he will be giving up vegetables for Lent.

My children’s Hanukkah wish lists were so comprehensive this year, I was forced to explore alternative channels in my search.  Consequently, I have sent a friendly letter asking someone who has slighted me in the past for a little holiday help.  Some might say it’s more of a formal accusation, but really it’s just a hand delivered note that needs to be notarized and signed on receipt. It goes:

Dear Santa,
I have never complained about you forgetting us Jews in the past, but Continue reading →

Can Jon Hamm’s ‘Package’ Save the World?

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This one’s for the ladies and also gay men with excellent taste: Thoughts from the Suburban Jungle about Jon Hamm’s Penis.

Yes, after all the shares and comments on FB yesterday … I realized this is the question on everyone’s lips: Can Jon Hamm’s penis save the world? (Which in some way means Jon Hamm’s penis is on everyone’s lips and that’s kinda gross, Jon Hamm!) So, I made this for you guys, also, I was really bored and happened to be wearing full make at the time…

(On a side note it was reported recently that during season six of Mad Men  according to the New York Daily News, AMC had to ask Hamm to wear underwear because “This season takes place in the 1960s, where the pants are very tight and leave little to the imagination.” The source also said”Jon’s impressive anatomy is so distracting that they politely insisted on underwear.” The AMC insider also said they had to Photoshop in seasons one and two to cover up Hamm’s distracting bulge.)

Well, I guess I was on to something when I made this video.

ENJOY – XO JENNY

I couldn’t find his penis anywhere in this picture, which was not for a lack of trying.

 

15 Tips to Help Moms Survive Life in Suburbia

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Nearly a decade ago, I moved to the suburbs from NYC (it’s the sole reason I started my blog).  In that time I’ve learned some pretty important things to ensure my survival, nay, my sanity.

If my ‘burb sent out a handbook it would look something like this. Feel free to use it as a mini-survival guide. Good luck and in the words of that guy on Hill Street Blues, ‘Hey, let’s be careful out there.’

  1. All children must be signed up for multiple sports and extracurricular activities, to ensure that no family can plan anything on a Saturday until their kids are too old to want to spend Saturday’s with their family.
  2. Do NOT be alarmed if you try to enter the wrong minivan or SUV, this is common. Try to lessen the confusion by putting fun stickers on your back windshield representing each of your children performing their favorite activity.
  3. You can paint your house one of 477 shades of tan.  Other colors will be categorically denied, so don’t even try it!
  4. If your child has strep or hand foot and mouth, be aware that the entire town will know about it before you get his/her prescription filled. PS this same urgency in passing news applies to affairs as well!
  5. As a suburban mom you are expected to start some kind of craft business immediately. Your choices are: hair accessories, jewelry, embellished clothing, or things you can print on card stock — anything else must be cleared through the Chamber of Commerce.
  6. If you already have a job, you are expected to purchase these crafted goods, in bulk, at the myriad of local holiday boutiques that celebrate everything from Ramadan to Flag Day.  Like PTA meetings, being absent is frowned upon.
  7. If you do not find a grocery store or Starbucks within one mile of your current position, you’re lost and have entered an inferior neighborhood! Please stay calm and return to your suburb immediately.
  8. You are required to join a gym.  There, you must take spin classes with disco lighting, pretzel yourself into a reformer, and learn the art-form that is Zumba.
  9. You will be expected to pressure clean anything and everything from your sidewalk to your dog. Be prepared.
  10. Make sure your dog is cute, as neighbors will constantly stop to pet it. Be warned, the same neighbors will turn you in to the association the first time Rufus barks after 9PM. (Don’t name your dog Rufus)
  11. Make an immediate trip to lululemon/Athetica/GapBody/Target … and pick up workout/athletic/golf/tennis gear that’s trendier than simply wearing sweatpants.  Wear these goods at least 50 -100% of the time; in the winter, simply wear your athletic gear with Uggs.
  12. You will need to attend a mind-numbing amount of birthday lunches/dinners for ladies turning anywhere from 30-50.  Get there early, as who you sit next to (or don’t sit next to) can make or break your day.
  13. Cut back on sex ASAP, as you will find yourself in conversations where moms discuss their infrequent, and unsatisfying sex life regularly — at lunches, parties, dinners, play-dates.
  14. And stop giving blow-jobs! People in the ‘burbs are only expected to give them on birthdays and anniversaries (it’s one of the perks).
  15. Living in the ‘burbs is a little like reading Us Weekly: Everything is sensationalized. It’s fun to discuss “who wore it best,” but not as much fun as playing Fashion Police. You will find yourself looking for cellulite/wrinkles on young skinny moms. And gossip is treated as gospel.

I hope this helps you fit into the suburban life you’ve chosen.  Maybe I’ll see you at the next boutique sale — I’ll be selling picture frames with random findings glued on to them!

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You’ll Love: Top 5 Reasons Moms Should NOT Take Sex Advice From Magazines

The 6 Types of Women You NEVER Wanna Get Stuck With

 

 

First Bennifer Then TomKat Now DiRhea | Celeb Break Ups Test My Marriage

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Like with debacle that was Tom and Katie’s marriage, or the demise of any celeb union, for that matter, Danny Devito and Rhea Perlman’s split, directly impacted my chance at a lazy  happy marriage, don’t act like it didn’t affect you!

Everyone remembers when Devito and Perlman got together right? I mean, I wasn’t born yet but I heard tales.  Yep, just like Brad and Angie, it was a whirlwind — or something like that.  Fine, I just know that they’re both short and funny and if short funny people can’t stay together… who can?  Who can?

Ummm lesson learned. Do not marry someone as short or funny as you!

Listen, following the love lives of celebrities is like couples therapy … only cheaper. I think we’ve all learned some pretty amazing things  for the price of a weekly gossip mag:

The Travolta’s taught me to avoid marrying arguably gay Scientologists, but if I must marry one, to now know that the house must be staffed with people who give happy endings and sign confidentiality agreements.

Brangelina justified me spending our entire life savings on a Chateau in France for my family to live in.  That was the best week ever! Hey, do you think I can trade my food stamps for flying lessons?

I learned from TomKat that marriages with buyout clauses and auditors rarely work. Though sharing lipstick and Louboutins with your 4 year old is always a super awesome idea.

Posh and Becks made me see the need to conceive another child, with the sole purpose of naming it something totally random like, Stockbroker or Almondbutter or Miami.

R. Patz and K. Stew’s recent reconciliation taught me that the love of your life should totally take you back if you get caught on camera, making out with another man. Which is why I unexpectedly mounted a local anchorman in the middle of his “Live at 5” newscast (BTW they really don’t wear pants behind the desk!).

And yes, “DiRhea” once gave me the impetus to stick it out in the tough times to attain similar longevity.

Sure, their celebrity morph name wasn’t the sexiest, but it didn’t stop me from asking Mark during heated arguments, “What would DiRhea do?”

He rarely answered, but I like to think the mere inquiry got us through some tough times.

Now, with the news of DiRhea’s marital demise, I realize, there’s no finish line. You can never throw your hands in the air, run through the proverbial ribbon, and scream “We won! We lasted 3 decades, now we get to coast!”

No, on the contrary, it proves that we’re gonna have to work at this whole marriage thing for like, ever, which sucks because I’m pretty much phoning it in already.  At this point my kids are numero uno and after a short list of important things, like our pets, success, and freshly folded laundry, comes my man.

So thank you DiRhea, because of you I’ll make my hubby a higher priority in my life. Well, within reason.

I mean, if Hollywood has taught us anything, it’s that when women get divorced, they find younger, hotter, more energetic men — with abs!  Madonna, Halle, Demi, Katie C., Mariah, Susan S., Ellen B., you give hope to us all… mmmmmm abbbbs!

The eNup | Why People Should Sign One Before Giving Them Your Email

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E-Nup – When giving out our email addresses we should require people to take an oath promising to refrain from forwarding anything that evokes guilt, fear of bodily harm, or doesn’t mesh with our personal humor requirements. THIS IS WHY…

Of all the things that annoy me about email, people who incessantly insist I need a larger penis, need Prozac or Cialis, and I should be getting said drugs from Canada, the worst offender is the email chain letter. What’s worse is how I handle receiving them — Yes, I erase them right away. Not just because they’re junk mail but because, as ridiculous as it sounds, there’s a part of me that feels that once I’ve read one of those things, the clock has started. How the universe is somehow connected to my AOL account, is a mystery, but a powerful one.

Some chain letters go so far as to mention G-d. The idea that The Almighty is busy checking my inbox and confirming that I have forwarded the mail to the specified amount of people, in the allotted amount of time, seems like a stretch. Yet, there is this irrational side of me that’s like, “What if?” “What if G-d wants me to pass on this sentimental poem about growing up in the 80’s?”

Yesterday, I got one of those emails. In the subject box it read, “Sorry, I Had To. “ I have to say, if your subject is an apology for sending an email in the first place, rethink pushing that FORWARD button. This particular one was a message to empower women, yet to reap the true empowerment you were required to forward it to 9 of your “Sista’s.”

The list of recipients was 50 scroll-downs long. Apparently, Sista’s, hopeful at the thought of being empowered by diligently following the rules set by the email creator (probably a snickering man) were passing this thing around the globe.

This irks me even more because, I spend my days trying to disseminate relatable, humorous stories that look at the lives of moms, women and gen x-ers and here’s some poorly written warning – that actually refers to women as Sista’s – and it’s more popular than my well thought out, hilariously funny, albeit poignant articles.

So I will apologize in advance for the rest of this post.

If you “Like/Share” this article on FB or Email this:

“OMG, Jenny from the Blog at The Suburban Jungle may be the most poignant humorist of our millennium, nay, Ever! You must read her observational humor and slice of life stories as I think they’ve cured my momnesia, plus my wrinkles are 63% less noticeable.”

to 75 of your closest friends within the next hour you will meet with great fortune. Your children will be smarter, your hair will be thicker, your boobs will be fuller, and you’re husband will have a 6 pack again (or for the first time)!

This may be a humor column, but it’s NO JOKE!

I had a paralegal look it over and she said it’s legit.

Just yesterday, a woman in Westchester sent this on to 75 of her friends and the minute she hit that button, she got a call from her Mother-In-Law saying they couldn’t make it over for dinner!!!

Need I say more?

Unfortunately, if you do not take this seriously, I must fear for your safety! A mother in Idaho who ignored this request, was shopping at a Gap later that day, and inadvertently smashed into the window trying to exit the store. She was not physically harmed, but she was extremely embarrassed.

I guarantee misfortune if you do not send this, because I will personally come out to your home or place of work and open fire. I have a moderately powerful Nerf gun that shoots like ten rounds, and those suctions cups can have a very strong stick factor. I could get one right between your eyes and then it would take a lot of spit and pulling to get it off. I don’t know for certain, but it could leave an unsightly mark! All I’m saying is think about it… $10 MILLION or my saliva all over your face?

Okay, tick tock……………………………………………………………………….

Hey Sistas – If you like my writing — share, share, share and share! Ooh, and subscribe to the blog! Ooh, and did I mention I got a show? Oh, and totally comment!

xo

J From the B

The True Bane of Suburbia

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The bane of suburbia… the teenage wannabe gangsta.  Beware their 8 Mile lingo, tee-shirts with moderately offensive sayings, and fro-yo addiction.  They’re hoodlums alright. Well, they wear hoodies and they live in the hood, well, the middle class suburban neighbor’hood.  

So the last two days I’ve taken my son to the skate park at the Kirshberg YMCA in middle/upper class USA.  Be careful with the bigger kids, I warned my son, I don’t know if they’re so good.

“What, those kids are bad?  How do you know?”

“Well, for one, none of them are wearing helmets or pads.”

“Mommmm.”

“Plus, none of them is lucky enough to have his mom cheer him on from the sidelines.”

“Come on.”

“Oh, aaaaand I saw one of them smoking!”

“No way.  No one was smoking” my little innocent said, aghast.  (Kids are really anti-smoking these days.  If only they knew what chimneys their grandparents were.)

“Yo G, I got 4S” one of the older kids yelled to the others.

“No way, Seri is my bitch, yo.” Another yelled back… through his braces.

Wow, you know who thinks these kids are baaad? They do.  I mean, really?  Is this what happens when you’re so bored of suburbia?  Can their parents stop laughing long enough to tell them how ridiculous they sound?

“WHAT’S UP WITH ALL THE LITTLE KIDS?” inquired one of the white suburbanites, who got dropped off in his momma’s Beamer.

“I know, yo.  Is that one on a rip stick?” The one wearing the unfortunate fashion statement of a tee-shirt, which said, “Smell my Bag,” asked…  referring to MY little kid.

My ears perked up, ready to jump in with something like, “You got a problem with my son biatch???”  Oh, I can do “thug wannabe” just as good as these pishers.  Plus, I’ve actually lived in a city, that’s street cred, G… Props.

“Shit, that kid is bad ass, that’s hard to do.” One marveled.

Phew, he’s lucky he called my kid “bad ass,” ‘cause homie was about to get a beat down.  Plus, he  IS bad ass.  I wonder if he knows it?

“Mom, mom watch me do this… mooooooooommmm watch!  Are you watching???” Jake yelled, unaware.

Well, that answered that question.  

Frankly, Jake had no problem with these boys.  He climbed up to the highest ramp and chilled at the top, as all the suburban gangsta’s tried to decide where to go next.  (Hollister, Starbucks, Jamba Juice?)  I know, you wouldn’t want to run into them in a dark alley. It would look like this (insert squiggly dream sequence lines here.)~~~~

“Yo bro, where do you think you’re going, BIATCH?”

“Umm, I was going to Abercrombie, but take what you want…”

“F@ck that, we were going there too!  I got a sick coupon, G.”

As I contemplated the irony of this scene a new playa‘ walked up to me and asked, “Are my eyes ridiculously dilated?”

Oh, this one’s the real deal, huh? Doing drugs at the park and flippant enough to ask an adult about his “tells”?

“Um. yep, kinda.” I answered, “Why do you wanna know?” I followed.  Look, if he’s insolent enough to ask, I get to ask back.

“Oh, because, I just went to Dr. Rothberg, you know the ophthalmologist?  He did those drops and I don’t know if I should skate in the sun before they wear off.” He replied like a kid debating whether to wait the full half hour after eating, to go into the pool.

“Well, sure sure not a great idea.” I said, trying to squelch my laughter.

“Ok then,” he said as if I had given him sound parental advice.  Then he walked into the ramped- up hockey rink and yelled to his boyz, “F@ck this shit, I’m gonna get a f@cking smoothie, yo.”

“Yeah f@ck this, let’s get smoothies,” Smell my bag, concurred.

“No way, bro, I want fro yo, yo.” piped another…

And they were gone, those crazy hooligans arguing off into the sunset about toppings and calorie counts, and spoiling their appetites.

f@ckin’ thugs.

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What Women Do When You Try to Give them a Compliment

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Think you can say something lovely, or kind, or heartfelt to me and get away with it?!?  I don’t think so!

We can’t simply say, “Thank you,” it’s not in our DNA.  We justify compliments by making excuses.  We diffuse them by giving others the credit.  And we deflect them by batting ‘em back in the other person’s court with the obligatory, return of same compliment — Here, now you deal with how to respond, bitch. 

It goes something like this: Continue reading →

How Well Do You Know Your Vagina

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Why do we need to “know our vaginas,” anyway? I’m happy keeping mine at arms length. Yet, I’m told we should be more acquainted. I have to be honest, I think we’re good, me any my hoo-hoo, that is. I’d definitely miss her if she wasn’t around, but we’re not conversing during long walks on the beach, though we do like to take them (so we have that in common — which is nice).

Could you pick your va-jay-jay out of a va-gyne-up?

Recently, in the pediatrician’s office, I was reading a pamphlet on puberty. Please, it’s better reading than an outdated TIME, or a Highlights where all the hidden pictures are already circled (and they always are). Anyhoo, it suggested that ‘tweens (I’m assuming that’s who it was for) should and I quote, “GET TO KNOW YOUR VAGINA.”

If there are any preteens reading this just know, you shouldn’t be — now, go google One Direction and stop reading my columns.

Now that they’re gone…

I began to think about how WE were schooled on puberty. Oh, those awful videos that hadn’t been updated since the 60’s and 70’s, so the people still had combs in their back pockets, bell-bottoms, and afros. I don’t remember the exact details, but I know most were grainy, some slightly resembled School House Rock, and I’m pretty sure one of them convinced me that you could get pregnant from dry humping — if the guy came — which I’m pretty sure no cool guy ever did.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly no “dry hump” virgin. Nope, I know more than a thing or two about the friction caused by two pairs of button fly jeans rubbing uncomfortably against each other, on a waterbed, the bucket seats of a Nissan 300ZX, or the ultra-suede of a basement sofa. Look, I’m a Gen X-er, that’s what we had. Also, I was a good girl (who liked to fool around), which means I was forced to be a “dry hump” slut.

For years, I was convinced that sperm, being so powerful and microscopic, could travel through a guys boxers and Z Cavaricci’s and past my Guess jeans and little Bloomies straight into my cervix. This may be a sign that I didn’t know much about sex… but at least I was on trend.

See, we weren’t told to get to know our vaginas. In fact, I’m a bit concerned that at nearly 40 I don’t know my vagina at all. Frankly, I couldn’t pick her out of a line-up. Seriously, could you? I mean, I could probably narrow it down, like they taught you to do in SAT prep, but any vagina with the same grooming, coloring, and general size — could be mine. How sad is that? I don’t even know if my vagina has any defining marks, characteristics, or other traits that make it uniquely my own.

To make matters worse, the pamphlet may have mentioned that each vagina has a distinct personality. WTF is that all about? She has a personality? Maybe we should be conversing more, I haven’t the foggiest idea what she’s all about. Is she saucy, shy, extroverted? I don’t freakin’ know. I mean, I know she’s obstinate, yet easily swayed. That counts, no? She’s highbrow, well groomed, extremely particular, and yet, I like to think she’s adventurous.

Oh, the contradictions.

My vagina is a flippin’ onion, so many layers. How could anyone claim to truly know her? They, you, I… we couldn’t, so stop trying.

Do you hear me people? I’m saying back off — give my vagina some space. (If I had a nickel for every time I used that phrase…)

And you pamphlet writers, who are either men making a ridiculously misguided attempt at feminism or clueless guidance counselors disconnected from modern ‘tween society, could you work on being a bit more creative? Telling teens to get to know their vaginas and expecting them to take it seriously, REALLY? That’s fodder for parodies. In fact, all I could think of, while perusing your literature, was the SNL skit “You and Your Uvula,” which I’m sure dates me even more than the School House Rock reference. If you must tell girls to get to know themselves, at a bare minimum, slap a picture of Justin Bieber on the cover.

http://img.metro.co.uk/i/pix/2012/07/13/article-1342181591190-140C03F8000005DC-366763_466x310.jpg

YOU, should get to know your vagina!

Most importantly, after pondering this piece and spending some QT with my vag — you know, dinner and a movie, non fat no foam lattes at Starbucks, a raucous round of kegals, panty shopping… I’ve found vaginas, like their owners, are complex creatures, who deserve the right to be themselves, to roam free, to explore. That’s right, we not only deserve better pamphlets, but free range va-jay-jay’s as well.

Ones, who don’t need to be pigeonholed into one personality trait, but can be all things at once (just like us): Happy, sad, elated, shy, giddy, self conscious, confident, and insane.

Have you never seen a woman simultaneously laugh and cry during an orgasm?

I rest my case.

PS – Take a good hard look at your va-jay today, it would be really embarrassing if she ever got arrested!

Magic Mike Ecards Because Who Doesn’t Like Mommy Porn

8 Replies

Well, since we established in yesterday’s Magic Mike post, that I’m possibly addicted to “Mommy Porn” and Channing Tatum’s abs, I thought I’d write some ecards to commemorate the occasion.

Not that finding out you might be addicted to porn or abs, is an occasion, but, it’s a while until my birthday, so why not celebrate?  I’ll pay for it later with a 12 step program that hopefully involves full immersion therapy.  Or maybe I’ll have to apologize to all the abs I’ve coveted in the past, which would totally suck, but I guess recovery is never an easy road.

Continue reading →

Why They Should Have Cat Boxing at Camp or What Happens When You Have to Send Letters About Your Boring Summer

10 Replies
Sometimes the best ideas are generated during periods of total and utter boredom. Also, in the shower but there’s never anything to write with so, I imagine lots of great stuff is lost. Like time machines, renewable toxic waste, alternatives to Obama Care… Well, this is one of those brilliant ideas that I dreamed up and had the good fortune to get on paper.
Shit, someone needs to invent a pad and pen that you can write with in the shower… Continue reading →