Things that didn't come in the instruction manual.

When you purchase a product like
THIS …. ( so your kids don't have to get the CLAP )

There are a few freaking things they don't tell you in the instruction manual.



Let me help you all and give it to you "straight."
What they NEGLECT TO TELL YOU .. #1 

1. You will hurriedly put  up Mt. InflatedMoney , get the kids in their suits, peeing in their own excitement only to realize when you are to the FINAL STAGE OF SET UP in the scorching hot " BALL OF FIRE IN THE SKY SUN"….

That there is no "final stage"  piece." 

The fucking part that sprays water-  ain't no where to be seen. 

It's probably flown off to Mexico--which is about what Nenny and I ( mostly me) wished we could have clicked our heels and done.. right about  then and there. 

Bartendah!  Bring me another round yells "no kids" Supah as she swims up to the pool bar in Somewhere Totally Safe Mexico.  ( and then creates a Tsunami wave washing over the bar because she ate Olive Garden this week)  I digress. 

When something like this happens:  Supah is fa- reaking useless.  Pulls up a chair, dreams of STS Mexico and watches the Nenny go to work.   

Nenny is the Macguyver of MCGUYvers.  I AM CONVINCED OF TWO THINGS.  Wait , 3.

1.  I cannot spell Mackgyuver. 

A.  NENNY CREATED MACGUYVER HERSELF out of rusted screws, a diet snapple cap and a pair of pantyhose.

B.   She could build a RUCKING FOCKET SHIP if she wanted to and I could invite you all over for tea and crumpets while we flew safely to Mars in her creation.  This would be no "drink the koolaid " type of situation where I was faking you all out--- if Nenny says she can build it.  It's safe.  And we're GOIN TO MARS BABY!!!  

She BUILT THAT  "unincluded" PIECE FROM WHAT I SWEAR TO YOU was bendy straws we stole from my friends party,  portions of my guest shower and my neighbor Paul's outdoor hose. 

Never mind the clepto issue.

She got it to work.  

The girls have been enjoying Mt. Inflated Money for days. 

However the weather hasn't cooperated as much as we'd like and we also had a trip to the Emergency Room due to FLU IN THE SUMMER.
WHO.
GETS.
THE .
FLU.
IN .
THE .
SUMMER?



MY KID.

During these times of UNUSE. 

What they NEGLECT TO TELL YOU .. #2 

is that youll be babysitting this effer like it's ANOTHER PLUCKING CHILD. 

Nursing it. 

Keeping it from the rain. 

Running like chickens to deflate the effer when the rain cloud beckon!

Running out in lightning LIKE A FOOLIO to retrieve the "electrical components" <--smart.

Flipping the TOTALLY INFLATED EFFER UPSIDE DOWN and following Nenny's "plan" for drying it out properly. 

Cuz she's alllll about proper.  

*clickheelsclickheelsclickheels*

You will also be forced to go outside late at night after it's had it's "Drying time."  You'll feel CREEPY EWWWWWW BUGS CRAWL ON YOU because it is DARK and CREEPY EWWWWWW BUGS crawl in the DARK.

Your sister will not help when she says the word

SLUG.


And you flip your lid and your skin turns itself inside out.
AND once you settle your shit down-- Nenny instructs further.

Nenny says' JUMP."


 to force deflation. 

You will JUMP like a white girl can jump, imagining dunking like Air Jordan in his prime,  becauSE when you're told to JUMP by nenny, you follow directions.  It's how we roll round here.

So you will JUMP

 ( and get some AIR before impact )  ONLY to 

A.  LAUNCH YOUR SKINNY ASS SISTER,(who was innocently trying to deflate HER  SECTION of Mt.INflatedMoney)  directly to MARS.

WHO NEEDS NENNY'S SHIP! ? 




Then you will ROLL ON THE DRIVEWAY LAUGHING SO HARD YOU LOSE WEIGHT----


and then promptly get your ASS UP.. when you remember this word.


SLUG!!

And THOSE are the things they don't tell you about when you purchase this fun stuff :) 

P. U.

Lord have mercy I ate something the other day that crawled inside my body, hibernated and festered into toxic radioactive gas.

 It was so very bad-- men in suits showed up.  Like when they discover E.T and the movie gets all freaking creepy.


Anyways-- my ass and it's issues.

I seem to have repeat Ecoli issues huh?  But this time--- I didnt' poop myself stoopid.  I just burnt all of my  ( limited and quite normal amount of  ) ass hairs each time I farted.


I'm sorry.  It's not often I speak about this.  But there's a funny part-- hold the line please!

I have deduced  on my Clue Master Detective Form -- that I carry around with me:

That it was

the red bliss potato salad
from the man with no sanitary gloves
in Walmart  




When will I EVER LEARN????    * dramatic hands to sky!*
SERIOUSLY.  WHY DO I GO BACK?
AND BACK.
AND BACK.
AND BACK.
AND BACK.


I am ready to file for a PROTECTION FROM ABUSE ORDER.


 So anyways.
I accosted much of my household with inadvertant toxic ass dust--- but the funniest part of this all.

I put my littlest to bed. She's 2.  A fairly new 2.
And devil child.

She VERY rarely lets someone else put her to bed and by " put her to bed" I mean----

require that I lay with her
in this certain area of the bed
until she is dead asleep

It's torturous. Anyone who KNOWS me, knows I cannot sit still for a moment.  I get heart palpitations thinking of all the stuff I could be doing rather than being held hostage by a terroristic two year old who tells me WHERE TO LAY, HOW TO LAY, and WHEN TO MOVE.

And I oblige.  

So she was ALMOST falling asleep.  So she was quite angelic.  In between sleep and consciousness.
Well my ass dust began to rumble and I couldn't help it.


So I burnt up my ass and let one loose.
In the pitch dark.

I could see the flourescent green as it floated up to our noses.

I think it was "nerve gas!'

So I am DYING trying not to laugh and wake her ALMOST NEAR SLUMBER -- but my laugh is not the concern.  This smell is the type of odor that COMPLETELY RIPS YOU FROM SLEEP TO YELL AT YOUR HUSBAND SMELL.

and I catch a glance of her face as I'm peering in the dark.
I think.. NO WAY.

I get a little closer-- to confirm what I see.



And yes.  There she is.  the little terrorist.
Having fashioned her own " gas mask!"


She was HOLDING HER NOSE. 

INSTINCTIVE SURVIVAL MODE IN HALF SLEEP.

Heirlooms

My husband tells this awesome story  about a family car ride he and his family went on when he was  younger.   His family consisted of 4 hoodlum boys, Mom and Dad.   I'll try to do the story justice because he tells it so well.  I'm adding some details to supah it up.

It's a gem-- a
Family  heirloom.


They had this big green station wagon that he tells me looked like this

You know this kinda "ride." The one that bounces you into the wheel well when you hit a bump-- cuz there aren't any seatbelts?

All 4 boys were piled into the back seat.  I imagine elbow shoving , farting and "staring" at each other.   Four boys…. 2 older, DBD and the youngest.    Shit kickin, BMX bike riding, stupid plan making, bone breaking, wedgie bustin trouble making hoodlums.  With buzzcuts.

Tie your sled to the BMX bike, let your brother pull you in the fresh fallen snow … directly into a parked truck.  Breaking your nose.

Those kinda boys.

Dear Jesus.  Thank you sir for giving me only girls. Amen and blessings.



All singing ass fart songs as Dad was driving down the highway.

Because ass fart songs are heirlooms---- ones that DBD enjoys teaching to my daughters.




So Dad was driving.  Dad's a hoot.   Big guy.  Slow southern drawl.  Originally from The "Carolina's"  Grew up husking Tobacco on a tobacco farm.  Amazing life.  Got the hell outta dodge when he turned 18! Went into the military.  God Bless Him.


Amen Dad.
Can you imagine working in a tobacco field for most of your  young life?   And adult life.  Then sayin EFF YOU to that back breaking labor-- only to enlist in the military.  FOR life.


Incredible work ethic--- that does not exist today.  Starting with moi.
An heirloom sadly not passed.


Anyways.. Dad's a hoot.  He moves slow, he talks slow, he a cool dude.   I like to think about him as a young father.  Whappin the boys upside the back of their heads, and specifically DBD a buttload of times.

   Perhaps I should get a broom like his mom used to do and freaking GO TO TOWN?


Everyone needs this old school shit.  Bring on the BROOMS!





Anyways.

Dad is driving.  I like to imagine him whistling the ass fart song along with his boys who are singing it in the back.  Mom is knitting next to him.  Because she was a SAINT.  The woman had cancer most of her life and her boys lives yet knitted hats for poor children in 3rd world countries.

Again.
Ethics.

Missing.

Where's the broom.

Arm restin' on the window ledge.   Cruisin in that big beast of  wagon.


All of the sudden dad starts SCREAMING!

OHHHHH!

OHHHHHHHHH!


Holding his arm.

OHHHH MY GODDAMN ARM!

MY GODDAMN ARM!  I'VE BEEN SHOT!!


Car swerving.
Oncoming traffic dodging the green beast with 4 buzzed hoodlums in the back seat.
Tumble weeds rollin along side the car ( cuz there are totally tumbleweeds in Colorado)

MY GODDAMN ARM!  




OHHHHHH



I THINK I'VE BEEN SHOT!


 PAT , I'VE BEEN SHOT! 


* I IMAGINE PAT ROLLED HER EYES A LITTLE. 


He pulls the car over to a stop.  Cradling his arm. The boys are piled on top of each other in the back seat wheel well… all dazed and beat up from pin balling it across the back seat during Dad's freak out time.


Just as he begins to survey the "shot" damage on his arm -- the hoodlums start FUCKING FLIPPING OUT in the back seat ---- screaming, scrambling and climbing over each other to get to the "back."

THEY'RE SCREAMING like idiots --- kicking each others heads landing on each other trying to now get out of the BACK WINDOW.



Turns out Dad was "shot" by a ……….


















massive bumble bee

traveling at 65 miles an hour.

The bumble bee lived to tell the tale in the back seat of the beast of a wagon and CAME BACK TO LIFE while the boys were staring at it.




I love heirlooms. :)  I wonder what stories my children will tell OVER AND OVER about me ---- that will make them laugh when they're having a rough day.

Burnt Retinas.... It was like...

I was driving home the other day from something that made me drive in that direction.


The SUN was so freakin intense in the sky.

You know the kind that BURNS YOUR RETINAS INSTANTLY endangering your life in the midst of traffic on 376 W.

The kind that makes you SCREAM AT THE SUN GODS like some maniac who's lost it.

The kind of SUN in the sky that crystallizes your windshield and turns it back into FREAKIN SAND!!

( that sounded good right? I'm not a science chic)

So I was SOOO mad that I drove my burnt eyeballs home,  immediately got out of the car,used echolocation to find my way to the front door( because of my burnt ass retinas)  and went into to complain to Nenny.  My sister.



DO YOU KNOW THAT THE FREAKING SUN WAS IN THE SKY~!!!!!

* blank stare*


IT WAS FREAKING HUGE.


* blank bigger stare*


NO SERIOUSLY.  THE SUN WAS SO MASSIVE NENNY  IT  INSTANTLY BURNT MY EYEBALLS !!


IT WAS CRAZY!

IT WAS LIKE...

IT WAS LIKE...



LIKE....


LIKE...



* the words finally GRACE my mind*


IT WAS LIKE

A BIG BALL OF  FIRE IN THE SKY.

My sister and my husband have YET to let go of this "description" that I came up with.

All on my ownsome.
It's hard being me.

Especially with burnt retinas!

Told You So.

I came home today after meeting with our  CPA --

* I'll wait for you to think I'm super important*


**


**


**

waiting****


Yuck FOu!

So I came home and sure enough EVERY cotton pickin window in the house was open.

I was  GENIUS at Clue Master Detective--- and the windows OPEN --tells me something
AINT' RIGHT AT THREE THREE EIGHT.   And it was with the rope, in the dining room…..


Open windows?

Supahdon'tplay'dat. 

I enjoy myself some " artificial climate."

If I wanted to breath natural air--- in the stench of my sweating pits--- I'd.. I'd…. I'd…. gotoa3rdworldcountrywheretheydon't haveluxuries…………. and USDA BEEF.

I've been to Cancun.. people.  I've seen 3rd world.. and smelled rotting taco beef in the air as I awoke each morning from my foggy slumber.  I survived that trip on two things-  alcohol and frosted flakes. 




Well of course DBD was all over it.
Our air conditioner had shit the bed.

Luckily he pushes a cushy job at Honeywell and has HVAC geeks at his beckon call to "take care of this jeeves!"

I call down from the top of the deck--

because I can't see him--- only hear him and his HVAC Geek.

What is it? What's WRONG???????WHY ISN'T IT WORKING???

* beginning to perspire in the 70 degree breezy weather*

I
am
delicate.

 He steps back and holds up evidence of the "issue" at hand.


It's the CAPACITOR--- says DBD.


I gasp a little.

DID HE REALLY JUST SAY IT???



*SOMETIMES BLOGGIN IS JUST SO EASY*

DON'T YOU MEAN THE

FLUX CAPACITOR????




supah is on the ground rolling----
no one else is. 

I TUCKING FOLD you all he was a time traveler!!!!

Holy Mother of Bologna --- if I wasn't right. 

SERIOUSLY.  YOU ALL WANT TO LIVE WITH ME AS YOUR WIFE DONT' YOU?

You know I'm sending  him back in the Delorian tonight to 1982 to get me some REAL hair feathers
 ( today's newest sa- lawn trend)  SCREW THIS ROOSTER FEATHER SHIT.. don't you remember THESE?

You weren't cool unless you were walking around with drug paraphernalia clipped to your freaking head in the form of a roach clip.


So I'm sending him back and I'm goinna rock this shit out…. need anything- from my TIME TRAVELER HUSBAND?

Dance Moms--- Thank you for making me feel GREAT!

Get ready Pittsburgh.
"Dance Moms" taps into town this week!

Actually, it's been here all along, right in Penn Hills. Who knew?

The kicker is, Lifetime TV picked it up and made it into a reality show series.



I'm not sure who to send the THANK YOU note to for this gift to our town.



Those of you who love a good "whack job" reality series-- pop some popcorn kids... This one is FOR YOU!




Set in Pittsburgh’s renowned Abby Lee Dance Company, ( PENN HILLS, PA ) owned and operated by notoriously demanding and passionate instructor Abby Lee Miller, Dance Moms follows children’s early steps on the road to stardom and their doting mothers who are there for every rehearsal, performance and bow…all under the discerning eye of Miller. Presenting a powerful cast of characters sure to raise eyebrows, the series immerses itself in the highs and lows surrounding competition season to deliver an intriguing and dramatic look at the cast’s frantic pursuit of the ultimate National Dance title. Centered on the devoted Miller, who runs her school with an iron tap shoe as she instructs her young, talented students while also dealing with over-the-top mothers who go to great lengths to help their children’s dreams come true, Dance Moms will pose the tough questions many ask about what really goes on behind-the-scenes in the fast-growing and controversial sport of competitive dance.

Is Miller’s in-your-face approach good for her students; or is it too much? At what point does she cross the line and who has the guts to stand up to her if she does? Are these Dance Moms living vicariously by pushing their kids too far? How happy are the students in this unusually competitive sport? What happens when they and their moms become competitive with each other? And, ultimately, who has what it takes?


I love shows like these because I watch them and then promptly turn around and "pat myself on the back" for my awesome parenting.

*pat pat pat*

I look like Mother Momma Theresa compared to these maniac mothers who didn't get the memo--- MOMMA BEARS DO NOT SUBJECT THEIR CUBS TO SUCH THINGS. Even for a REALLY SHINY SPARKLY TROPHY and 15 minutes of fame.

This show has caused massive waves of controversy in the professional dance world and I can absolutely understand where that Tsunami began. While the world of Competitive Dance might actually be a great aspect in some children's lives- this show doesn't even give it a CHANCE to shine. The show focuses on the "drama llama " of ONE studio out there that is so screwed up and warped in it's teaching methods!

It's the Wicked Witch of the East meets Dance School!

Quick! Someone whirl up a tornado right smart! Save these poor girls!


While secretly thanking these women for building ME up without knowing it, I was outraged at them. Enough so that I penned an eloquent letter to them.

Dear Dance Moms,

Bad parent! Bad parent! Bad parent!
* stink eye*


Signed
SUPAHMOMMY
#1 Awesome Mom


I'm proud to send my daughter to a dance school under the tutelage of professional instructors in the dance field who would NEVER think to"create a star" by ripping them to into oblivion.

SOMEONE'S GOINNA NEED SOME THERAPY * she sing songs*

I'm even more proud to be a mom who would never let my own emptiness, yearning for a trophy and dreams of stardom for my child--- rob them of their self esteem and self worth while I stood idly by. I'll just eat some food to fill that void.

LISTEN UP FOLKS.

I screw them up enough on my own… I don't need to pay their dance teachers to help.


You'll have to decide for yourself and I invite you to watch and comment below!

I know three things;

1. This show is controversial and begins this Wednesday at 10/9 C
2. I now have a new "threat" in my home;

DON'T MAKE ME SEND YOU TO ABBY LEE DANCE STUDIO!

LAST.

3. Dance legends are not made this way.


What do YOU think of shows like this ?

Should be interesting.

THE CLAP AND A HOSE.

We have this ghetto fabulous little pool for the girls.  It can tolerate like -- 2 days worth of water and then I become all hazmat psycho about the stagnant water.

DON'T DRINK THE WATER MOO MOO!
YEY YEP-- CLOSE YOUR MOUTH!!!

For God's sake you all!   You're goinna get the CLAP! 

I think that's where you get it from right?
Slimy cess pools?


So after taking a day or so to fill the effer up with a hose that spits water at the speed of a fuzzy caterpillar--- we must drain it.


My yard itself does not even remotely tolerate low levels of water.  If it were a drunk it would be a half beer queer.

 This is thanks be to the engin-asses at Maronda homes who graded my land.   Fucking bass ackwards.  All the water from every yard in the neighborhood runs down the slopes and then down into my yard.  Where it miraculously stops running.  ANd sits.

You think I was worried bout a little ghetto pool's stagnant water and the clap?

You should hear my thoughts when my children are running bare foot in my chernoble mud puddle yard.
( just this one section.. now... don't be afraid to come visit  ya'll )


So emptying the pool straight out into the yard with the grace of an african elephant stepping on the side and letting it all SPILL FREE!!!!  Just won't work.  


SO I was sitting one day in my ghetto Big Lots lawn chair, yelling at my kids to BEWARE OF THE CLAP--- when I thought out a plan to empty the water.  

I'd cyphen it.

Like when you steal gas from cars in the movie.  (??????????why????????)


But I'd use a garden hose.

Right?

I can do this shit.

No prob.

But I'm not sure of the science of it.  So I enlist my sister  ( Aunt Nenny) who knows just about everything about everything ---- to research it so that I do it right the first time. 

We google { GOD BLESS THE GOOGLE} and find that there is a certain way to begin the process using some pressure from the water in  your spigot, disconnecting it, kinking it up tight, and then hurridly placing it in the Clap Pool to begin the process of cyphoning and keep the MOMENTUM going-- or da' flow.

Well we did that.

And DA FLOW.
Didn't keep going. 

We looked like total asses.

I was at the end position of the hose.  Just staring.  Looking for signs of water coming through that damn hose.
NAda.

She was holding the hose down in the water of the Clap Pool.

She shrugs her shoulders.
"It's not working."

No shit Nenny. 



She looks at me again from afar.

I KNOW what she's thinking.

NO.  Says me.

I'm not doing it. 

She smiles.


FUck off!  Says me.

 I'm NOT doing it. 


She is bent over laughing.



I start  looking around to see if there are neighbors watching.


She's on the ground.

Laughing.



You have to start the water flowing--- she gasps inbetween laughs.



I hate you!   hisses me


You have to SUCK IT! 




 I am a good mother. 


SO there I am.
In all my glory.

At the end of my yard.  Positioning myslef on a garden hose ------ all so my children don't get THE CLAP or grow 3 extra toes.


I am a good mother.


Yes indeedy.

But --- I'm not very skilled because I sucked til my head was ready to explode.
and NOTHIN'..


We ended up trying the science method again and got it to work.


Leaving me---- feeling like a cheap whore.


STUPID HOSE!

Don't try to cyphon shit.
You'll get an STD POSSIBLY.

lol

ONLY ME.

Tell Tracy Turnblad I said Hello.

The other day I glanced inside my fake linen closest -- the ones you buy at Target.  The one that the back falls out of or drawer collapses 1 year later.

The ONE that you put MORE crap into because your OTHER real LINEN closest is too full.  Because you are unorganized and would cry if someone opened that Linen closet looking for something.



I love you if you nodded like a true sister.
I kick you off my blog officially if you are not "getting this. "

Be gone with you e-vile one.

Move along.
Nothing to see here.


As I was glancing I noticed something funny I've been MEANING to share with you all for about a year now. Because, YES.  This item.. has been sitting in my fake linen closet for about a year now.


I asked my husband D.B.D. ( DEATH BED DAN) to purchase some aersol hairspray for some reason.. I forget.


I think when I was whoring Yep Yep up for her dance show. 


I figured he would come home with some purple Aussie hair spray etc.

The convo went like this.


Supah:  DBD, please pick up some hairspray.
DBD:  What , like gel? 


SUpah-- No you ass.  Hairspray.


DBD-- OH .. like the pump ones? 
SUpah-- What do you mean pump?  NOT the squirt one.  The   PSSSSSHHHH PSHHHHHHT aresol one?  Can you handle this dude? 


DBD-- shut up.












This is what he brought home to me. 

I ORIGINALLY didn't appreciate his efforts and I'm pretty sure I said something like;


WHAT THE FOTHER MUCK IS THAT?! Did you see Tracy Turnblad while you were purchasing this from the five and fucking dime!?

THis is why I must keep it.


It's proof he can time travel.

I think I might send him back to purchase original stock in Google next and then I am VOTING MYSELF OFF THIS po'mans  ISLAND YOU SUCKERS!  I'LL BE RICH!!!!

DON'T MAKE ME GET JABBA ON YOU!

I've lost loads of weight this year.  Figuratively and literally.  Tons of dead weight in my life in many facets.   My pastor says that it 'falls' off you though… when you're ready.   Or at least when you're ready to kick it or "them" to the effin curb.

I  did some shit kickin this year.


I think she was talking about something much more intense and spiritual-- but I equated it that day to "dead weight"  and I think I was thinking about donuts.

Yes. Pretty certain.

The truth is ….
I was Jabba the Hut.

I would have eaten Princess Leah for lunch shackles and all.

* please lie to me and tell me I was not at ALL fat*
Sugar coat it up …real nice.

I'll wait.




Okay, let's just say YOU SUCK at sugar coating.

Like… REALLY SUCK.

You can stop the horrified look too.

That's Princess  Leah in the background.  

She was just cold so she put on jammies. 

Or was afraid I'd eat her and wanted layers in order to ensure some time to escape while I gnawed through.

I KNOW. 

It is torurous to view that picture.  

I apologize to your retinas

But my only salvation is the new pic I get to take and the size 14 pants on my hot candy gumpdrop arse -- that used to be  a 22.  

But my point is this.
I am not "saved"… I am still Jabba.
Jabba is just waiting.

To come back out.

And when my husband decides to throw a hissy fit tantrum  on the 4th of July because I had the nerve to take two of the three children shopping for '3 HOURS' according to him...Jabba wants to bust down the doors, roll on out  and SIT ON HIS ASS UNTIL HE CANNOT BREATH and is a pancake in the road.

While eating Hershey's Minatures.

Until there is nothing left but Hershey Dark.

Cuz Jabba don't do Hershey Dark.

That's for skinny people.


Seriously DBD… keep pushing it and Jabba's coming back.
Is that what you want?
Did you take a gander up there at the evidence?



One Hershey's Minature at a time DBD.
Jabba WILL be back.  Keep pushing.



Who pushes your buttons?

Ecoli Hot Dogs--- What would the LOGO be?

I was recently sick in my bathroom.
I have no idea why.


That's a lie.
I do.   But then my stupid little post wouldn't have any surprise action if I revealed my sicknesses source.. right out of the gates!


I am a THINKER!

* what did you just say?  My title? *

Crap.

So I was MYSTERIOUSLY SICK.  * insert mystery music*

It wasn't because of the shower that needed scrubbed or the gross floor that is probably ruined from the BUCKETS OF water that SPRAY OUT like a tsunami every. single. time.  I start my shower---

None of those gross things made me "sick."  But I DID notate them while sitting on the mercy seat.



What was I sick from?

* revelation!*


I swear ya'll,  from a  freaking Ecoli Laden hot dog.
Happy Pre-Fourth Hot Dog!
Bin Laden of Hot Dogs.


My sister who recently moved in with us-- swears to me "
it was not the hot dog." 

SHE'S FREAKIN ADAMENT about it too.

Like she's in LOVE with the hot dog.

It's odd.



You'd think she was the cooker of the dogs or something.. all on it's side and stuff…. wearing a TEAM HOT DOG shirt…. but noooooooo.

She didn't cook the effers.  

I was the mo fo that COOKED THEM!



She just CHOOSES to rally to the defense of the weiner.

Like some sick twisted relationship.


He only makes me puke 2x when I eat him.
He's not THAT bad.
You just don't know him like I do.


What the weiner!?


Her reasoning for the unloyal and much unsisterly-LIKE disbelief that I pooped myself stupid because of a
Certain...
Mr.  Ecoli Hot Dog….

is because SHE didn't get sick. 


Get THAT!
It's TWISTED TEA I TELL YOU!


SHE didn't get SICK and poop herself stupid.

So the Ecoli Dog is now…. not at fault.
CASE DISMISSED.

The glove didn't fit!


Well perhaps SUPER TOXIC  Ecoli rests in her stomach on a normal basis!!!

 Therefore creating a fortress against such calamaties of the stomach as -- Ecoli Hot Dogs.

I bet she eats Ecoli Dogs daily!

She could market them.
Make a logo for them.

I wonder what it would be.



The good thing is :   I got a GREAT  post in my head to write while battling with Ecoli Dog.  I notated something in my fake linen closet that houses hair products.


Stay tuned.

Like ….seriously…. don't move.