Oh yes, dear readers, I’ve been off the radar for a LOOOOOOOOOO (gasp for air)OOOOONG time. Didja ya miss me? Tell me you did, I need your love…gimme, gimme, I need, I need!
All kinds of neat braindroppings have been piling up in my head lately. The piles have been building up like elephant droppings, so if I don’t release them from my devious mind soon it might get ugly. So off we go, let the trumpets blow, and hold on because the driver of the mission is a pro (shout out to Slick Rick).
Braindropping #1 – With summer alive and kicking, I’ve noticed way too many out-of-state drivers on Connecticut highways. To be precise, New York drivers. For whatever reason, when they pass the border of Connecticut they drive like grandma behind the wheel of a 1976 Cadillac. Apparently, they aren’t familiar with the three lane highway and the concept of passing lane, travel lane and slow lane. Hey you with the New York license plate, if you want to drive like Grandma Moses, do it in the slow lane NOT the travel lane fouling up the flow of traffic. So to all you New Yorkers invading our somewhat beautiful state, I want you to all go back from whence you came and drive like the maniacs I know you are capable of being. If you don’t go back, we’re gonna invade YOUR empire state, cut you off as much as possible, use the E-ZPass line when we only have cash, flip you the finger to show we can be just as obnoxious as you, and breakdown right in the middle of the Whitestone, Tapanzee, and any other bridge your state has. If you don’t heed my warning, we’ll send Massachusetts drivers down there who’ll foul up your traffic flow in a way that’ll make you pull out your Glock, and who’ll use “wicked”, “cah” and “pahk” (translation: car and park) in every other sentence. Then you’ll really be sorry.
Braindropping #2 – I’ve been reading the news about all these sex scandals with these politicians. First Arnold Schwarzenegger, then what’s-his-face from New York who inappropriately tweeted nasty pics of himself (given his looks, I’m sure what he’s got to tweet wasn’t all that much to look at). Okay, lemme say this about that. Why is everyone in such an uproar over the fact that men cheat on their wives, have babies with women other than the one they married, and send I’m-too-sexy pics of themselves to strange women they’ve never met? Because they hold a government office we should expect that they’re not human or just as nasty as the average horny male? I raise the bullshit flag on that one, my friend. A man is a man is a man, and if he’s got an itch he’s gonna scratch it, only this dude was using Twitter to scratch his itch thinking he wasn’t cheating if he doesn’t get his (beep!) wet. Do you know how many pics of erect tallywhackers are out there floating around on the Internet? I was on a chat app on my iPhone and I sent a message to a guy commenting on how serious he looked in his profile pics and that he should lighten up, and he responded with a pic of his schlong, hand in a death grip around the base of it like a baseball bat to make the veins pop and everything. I was like, “whoa, partner, that’s SO NOT what I was looking for” and I quickly blocked him. How nasty is that? You don’t know me from a can of paint and you’re sending me a pic of your privates? Here’s a fact of life people: some men cheat. Remember that one simple fact and you won’t get so upset over a politician having a love child. Oh and by the way, check your history people because Arnold ain’t the first man to do it.
Braindropping #3 – I’ve become quite a buppie. I’ve been gravitating to Starbucks lately, sipping on my grande bold pick of the day in a venti cup (space for dairy) and nibbling on pumpkin bread or iced lemon loaf. Linen capri pants have become my best-est friend and I sashay around town with my cute Dooney & Burke East/West tote (compliments of the layaway option at TJ Maxx) and my Anne Klein charm bracelet watch (compliments of a kick ass auction on E-Bay). To break up the monotony of sitting in the house all day during summer break, I venture forth to my closest Starbucks with my iPod and SkullCandy earphones and knit away. About two weeks ago I chatted up an older woman in the line while waiting for my caffeine fix and as our eyes scanned the goodies behind the window, we got on the subject of how ridiculously priced a little red velvet whoopie pie the size of a quarter was and she gave me a lead on two places where you get more bang for your baked goods buck. “There’s a bakery on Main Street that sells cupcakes that are bigger than that for only three dollars!” she said with a smile. Three dollars? Lemme tell you something, for three bucks that cupcake better give me the orgasm of my lifetime. Notice I use the personal pronoun “my” instead of the indefinite article “a,” which shows I’m taking possession of said orgasm. And that orgasm had better be the type that make my eyes roll into the back of my head and make me forget my name for a good minute or two. Hells bells, I can buy a box of cake mix and make cupcakes (plural tense) at home for three bucks. I know what you’re thinking. How can a woman who sips Starbucks; rocks Swarovksi jewelry, Anne Klein accessories, and Dooney & Burke bags; and will pay $10 for a skein of yarn be so flurpin’ (my newest substitute for the f-word) cheap? See, I don’t mind shelling out the dough for ladies accessories because I can wear them over and over, thus recouping the investment I’ve made in the purchase. But paying three bucks for a damn cupcake that will run through me in a day is something I just can’t get with.
Braindropping #4 – There’s something seriously wrong with me. I’ve been tempted to use the f-word….a lot and for no good reason than to have it slip from my lips. There’s a children’s book that just came out called, “Go The F**k To Sleep” by Adam Mansbach (warning: it’s a very tongue-in-cheek children’s book. Only the most demented parent would read this book to their child) and the audiobook with Samuel L. Jackson is a scream; no one says the f-word like Samuel L. Unfortunately I can’t post a link to the audiobook, which was at one time posted on YouTube but has subsequently been yanked by the publisher Audible because of copyright laws (but you can download for free if you click on the Audible link). But ever since I’ve listened to that audiobook, I’ve wanted to drop the f-bomb at least twice in a sentence for full effect, even though I chastised a six-year-old I was tutoring who used it one day. It’s ok if an old broad like me drops the f-bomb; hell, with all that I’ve gone through in my life I have earned the right to say it as much as I like, but when a six-year-old does it that’s not cool and it’s time to break out the leather belt for an old fashioned ass whoopin’. For all you parents who think it’s cute when little Johnny cusses, invite grandma over, stand little Johnny in the middle of the living room and have him say “F**k you, Grandma!”
Braindropping #5 – I’ve been slowly learning all these texting expressions that is strangling the English language: SMH (shaking my head), SMFH (shaking my f**kin’ head), MILF (mother I’d like to f**k), DTF (down to f**k), so on and so forth. Boy, you young people got nothin’ better to do than to think up this shit, huh? You mean “mother I’d like to f**k” has too many syllabus to text, eh? Here’s a suggestion: so that you don’t leave us old people in the dark you can always shorten the longer version instead of using the acronym! How about, “Mom2screw” or maybe, “Ma2f**k” in place of MILF? And what about “booTcall” in place of DTF? It’s cleaner and people from my generation would understand it better. And in place of SMH you could just use “damn!” (or dayum! if the offense is really horrific).
Braindropping #6 - I am tired of “Jersey Shore” and the person who a reporter from The New York Times described as “a turnip turned on its tip,” Snookie Polizzi. ‘Nuff said.
As the summer wears on, I’ll be sure to have more braindroppings for you to muse over. Until next time.
All my love,
The Tasmanian Devil
