Posted in Humor, Life

Is That Vibrator Secure?



Let’s talk about this for a moment.  Because we have to.  So, the problem here is that tons of people have purchased a vibrator that can be controlled across the internet.  And they are mad because the manufacturer could and did collect information about how and when it was used.  So now, everyone knows that Susanita Eichenbarchen (name changed to protect the freaky bitch) from DesMoines has a lover in Seattle who likes to make her vibrator randomly pulse from the lowest setting to the highest setting and back again, in rapid succession, as if it was timed to some dub step.  Do I have that correct?

They might also have discovered that 72% of users with a .edu email address like to set it on low and leave it there for hours, as if it was soothing them while they studied biochem and statistics.

Would it shock you that 67% of .org users only put the app on their OWN smartphone and didn’t bother to give the control to anyone else?

98% of Gmail users bought one, turned that bitch on, gave out the passcode to anyone who would listen, then sat back and enjoyed the ride.

So the makers of WeVibe are paying millions to users because someone knows that pussydestroyer1972221432543@hotmail controls the vibrator of slideitinme3297532689@msn and when they use it together, the sessions last about 20 minutes.  When SIIM uses it alone she’s making it an entire 2 hours and 25 minutes, so we can conclude that PD is done WAY before SIIM is and is really not very generous with his/her time.   But I digress.  Let’s back up a minute.

They paid millions of dollars to people who didn’t know this information could be obtained, when it’s used across the internet.  I mean even super secure government agencies get hacked on a regular basis?  And these people didn’t think it was possible?

Listen WeVibe.  I would be ecstatic to help pioneer a program whereby you supply women with a vibrator and maybe $1,000 and you can collect any information you want on the use of said toy and even call me and ask me follow up questions about it.  If it turns into a camera and can be used to spy on us though, we need to know that up front and then it’s not a flat fee, but pay-per-view on that footage.  I bet I can give you the contact info of a large group of people who’d also be willing to join me. It’d be cheaper for you in the long run.  Plus, if you read my ramblings yesterday, you know I have use for something exactly like this.  Hit me up.  I have a Gmail account.

Posted in Humor, Life

Coffee Everywhere


I decided that I wouldn’t write on the weekends. I will do my little TV watching and writing for that entertainment website I told you about earlier. I’ll learn things and try things and keep notes so I can have a little bank of sorts. That way if I get really sick or something, I’ve got some things lined up to share.

I’ve really been missing my favorite bartenders from a little place I used to go to near my house. They’ve all left there and are scattered around here and there, so I made it my plan this weekend to find at least one of them, and go see a friendly face. I had to drive pretty far to see him, but seeing Matt for a bit made it worth my while. Next weekend, I’m going to go back up there because he’ll be working with another of my favorites, Brandon. They can serve me coffee, I’ll tip like I’m spending the day drinking beer, and it’ll be a winning situation. Maybe I’ll convince one or both to go have a beer after they’re done working.



It is said that coffee, as a drink for human consumption, began in Ethiopia. A goat herder, possibly named Kaldi, noticed his goats would not sleep at night after eating berries from certain trees. He told the abbot from the local monastery about the way the goats behaved. So, the abott got some of the “berries” (coffee beans, presumably) and made a drink with them. And do you know what happened? It kept him awake and energized on the evenings when he had to sit up and pray all night. So, there you have it. Coffee made religion less likely to put the monks to sleep. Yes, I went there.   Now go read about the history of my second favorite beverage, coffee!



Well, I tried a couple of things over the weekend, mostly things like going to the bar at Kroger on Saturday before grocery shopping. I didn’t get a seat, because it was packed full. Apparently, in my area the Kroger bar is the place to be on a Saturday afternoon. Instead, I shopped, went home and opened a beer that was in my fridge. Hellrazer IPA by DuClaw. It’s got an ABV of 7.5%, but it really didn’t taste like an IPA at all. I rated it like a 3.25 on Untappd, but it really wasn’t anything I’d go out of my way to find.


While I was shopping, I ran across something that combined two other things I like a lot – coffee and yogurt. Dannon makes a coffee flavored lowfat yogurt. This is not that “lite” yogurt, where they give you fake sugar and what not. This is your standard lowfat yogurt with all of the sugary goodness you’d come to expect. Sort of.


Here was my logic (and yes, I had to apply logic in order to be able to purchase just one container of this yogurt). I LOVE coffee, and I do mean I LOVE coffee. I put ½ and ½ in my coffee, but I’ll use regular old 2% milk if I’m out. This is made with 1.5% milk, so it’ll be similar to coffee, right? WRONG.

I cannot begin to tell you my disappointment when I first opened this container. Now I’m used to stirring my yogurt, but the top of this container seemed to be mostly water. I figured it made sense – coffee is made with water. So, I checked the expiration date (March 25, 2016), stirred it well and then…I smelled it.

If there’s one thing I learned from Stephen at beer school, it’s that if you’re going to taste something, you should smell it first.  Much of your sense of taste comes from the associated scent.  As an aside, you probably want to do this with EVERYTHING you’re going to put in your mouth for the first time. Just saying. Anyhow. It smells like… plain yogurt. Huh. So I taste it, expecting the vibrant taste of well-creamed coffee to fill my mouth.


Now, I have to tell you this before I go on. I have had a lot of things in my mouth, most of which I sort of knew what I was getting before hand. I knew what the texture would be and, for the most part, the taste. Sure, there are some variations depending on fruit, salt and alcohol content, but the basic texture and feel in your mouth is the same, regardless. Back to the yogurt.

I put the first spoonful in my mouth and realize that this coffee flavored yogurt tastes just like plain yogurt, with a special something at the end. My tongue was disappointed. But wait! There’s this aftertaste! Is it? Could it be the coffee flavor I was looking for? Why does my mouth feel dry? Why don’t I taste coffee?   Fucking hell, this may very well be the worst thing I’ve ever had in my mouth, and I was married to a guy who rarely ate fruit. That’s how you know this is bad.

Not willing to give up completely, I decided the next best thing is to add something to it. You know how you can add flavored lube to a dick and have it taste like strawberries and rainbow kisses? I added some actual coffee to this bitch. And…

I didn’t think it was possible to make this worse, but I did it. It’s like if a guy was wearing a condom then took it off and you put your mouth on that man sausage, you’re still going to taste that latex, even if it was “luscious berry flavored”. True story.   I’m going to add more coffee and…

Holy shit balls, this is like soup. A disgusting, baby-poop colored soup that tastes like every disappointment you’ve ever had in your life mixed with the goodness of milk, sugar, and something that may have once resembled coffee, molded and pressed into a dry-tasting pile of shit in a cup and stamped with the misleading label of “COFFEE”. It is the fruit roll-up of the strawberry world, but the generic version that is sitting on a shelf for a couple of years.  You don’t want that inside of you.  Just like a few of the guys I’ve “dated”.  I use “dated” here the way Dannon used “Coffee” on this label.  It’s not really accurate, but it’s what people want to hear.

I thought maybe if I sucked it through a straw it would help, but that really didn’t work and now I’ve got this mouthful of really soupy, dry tasting bullshit yogurt in my mouth and I keep telling myself, “You just need to swallow it and it’ll all be over.” That’s how I got through the last half of my marriage and that’s how I got through that last attempt to make something out of this tub of crap.

Yeah, so that’s a no. I’ll keep my coffee straight up, thank you.  Tell me something “coffee flavored” that really IS coffee flavored and I’ll love you forever.  Maybe.  I mean, forever is a really long time and if I didn’t give birth to you, it’s really likely that I’ll just “love you long time.”

Posted in Humor, Life

Better, Stronger, Faster

“We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We can make him better than he was. Better, stronger, faster.” – Oscar Goldman on The Six Million Dollar Man


Every year, millions of people make resolutions for the new year.  Most people will give their best effort and will fail miserably.  I’m no different.  I’m going to quit smoking, start running, eat healthier, be a better mom.  I’m sure whatever it is, I’ll give it my honest effort for a couple of weeks and then watch it all come crashing down.  Because life choices are not something you can simply decide to do differently.  They’re built on years of experience, bolstered by predictable outcomes and are ingrained in our psyches, forever steering us in a direction that we’re essentially destined to head.

This is not to say we cannot change, but I think when we point out particulars is when we get into trouble.  Saying “I’m going to eat healthier” is an admirable goal, but one that is so easy to drop the first time someone offers you a bacon cheeseburger and your favorite IPA.  I think a much better resolution would simply be to say, “this year, I’m going to make myself happier”.  This way, I’m not roped into changing one thing about myself, but can find success by stringing together some wins in various aspects of life.

So I’ve thought about things that make me happy and I’m going to try to do several of those things every day.  Some will be easy, like masturbating.  I can certainly do that just about every day!  Even on those days I’m pressed for time I can certainly spend 10 minutes at the end of the day pushing my own buttons in the proper order, at just the right pace.  I’m far better at that than anyone else I know, so I’ll give myself that.

Seriously, I’m not even sure what I was going to say here anymore, mostly because I took a nap and did item #1 on my easy happy list, then came back and couldn’t think of what I meant to say. Yes, it was THAT good.  So I read my fancy little block quote up there, and the only thing I could think of was what if I rewired my vibrator?  Found a new motor that was, you guessed it, better, stronger, faster?  Holy crap you guys, I think I’m on to something.  What if I use the same motor that is used in an electric sander?  Or a drill?  I’ll try this doing new happy things tomorrow.  Right now, I’m going to go buy a soldering iron and some other things from Lowes that may be used to, um, technologically improve my life.

Here’s to 2016!

Posted in Humor, Life

Occupy This!

I am so sick of all of the “Occupy YOUR CITY HERE” bullshit that’s been going on.  Allow me to take a moment to piss everyone I know off because:

1)    Everyone has an opinion about this

2)    I haven’t pissed you off in quite a while

3)    This has nothing to do with sex

I read recently about the horror of a police officer killing a dog at one of the “Occupy Your Mom” protests (although she prefers men with jobs, so I’m not quite sure how that works).  Everyone was saying that there was no reason for this.  True, there probably wasn’t, but let’s look at this from the view of the creepy guy who stands outside of your house every night while you get ready for bed, in hopes that you forget to close the blinds and he gets a chance to see a little nipple:

If you’re going to any kind of formalized protest where there are hundreds or even thousands of people, DO NOT BRING YOUR FUCKING DOG.  I don’t give a shit if it’s a Pit bull or a Chihuahua.    If you’re not planning on putting that bitch on a spit and sharing her with a group of hungry fellow protesters, along with some marshmallows and a jug of moonshine, leave it at home.  You’re really just asking for trouble.  The dog I’m talking about was a pit-bull. While it may be very possible that it was the sweetest, most friendly dog ever, the fact is it’s still an animal that runs on instinct, not sound decision-making skills.  I wonder, had this been a pug, that got trampled by the crowd when someone yelled out, “free cheese!”, would you all be pissed at the “Occupy Something, Somewhere” crowd for all moving in unison toward something that was being handed to them, or the owner for bringing the dog in the first place?

Now, there was an article the other day in the paper about how much money this movement has taken in through donations and such.  It was upwards of a half million dollars.  The problem was that organizers weren’t sure just how to best spend that money.  I have a fucking idea.  How about you take that money and buy some winter clothes for some kids who have none, or feed families of people who are out there busting their asses for menial wages and just don’t quite make enough to feed their children?  You know, the ones who were top-level executives, but took jobs at McDonalds or as day laborers when they lost their jobs, just to try to maintain some ability to feed their families because they aren’t too proud to be at the bottom of the ladder.  They’re just happy as shit that they can even be on the ladder at all.  Fuck, they’d be happy if they could be the guy that holds the ladder so someone could climb up.

Any time you get a large group of mouthy people together, there is going to be trouble.  This happened at my 40th birthday party when I got in the face of the bachelor who was set to ruin his life and called him a pussy for not swallowing the entire contents of the blowjob I paid for.   People are pissed about police brutality at these rallies.  Here’s the thing.  If I’m a cop, and 1500 people surround me, all thinking that they’re right, and my job is to keep them in line,  I’m probably going to fuck up and go a little gung-ho, trying to protect my own ass.  From a purely psychological standpoint, when you’re in a situation like that, you get that fight of flight response.  I’m not saying it’s right, but here’s a cop that the crowd is already pissed off at just because – get this – he’s doing his god damned job.  And he’s got to keep some guy from pissing on a bush in public.  So, he taps him on the shoulder and says, “Hey buddy, put your dick away or I’ll have to give you a ticket.”  Then 30 other people turn around and start screaming at the cop to leave the guy alone or they’ll kick his ass.  Think it through.  You’re the cop.  You have a few other cops behind you and a giant sea of angry, pissed off, out of work people who have been sleeping in tents for a few weeks.  The crowd starts jeering and throwing their own shit at you, just like monkeys at the zoo.  Maybe someone pushes you.  Suddenly, you realize you have a billy club, and if you don’t use it, you may not make it out unscathed all because you showed up TO DO YOUR FUCKING JOB.  Keep in mind that I’m not excusing the use of excessive force and police brutality that’s been reported.  I’m just saying that without the environment, it wouldn’t be happening as often as it is.

Another big problem I have is the amount of money it is costing to pay the police overtime due to all of this protesting.   In just one month,  New York City has had to shell out an additional $3.2 million for overtime police costs.  Multiply that nationwide, add in sanitation crews and other city workers, and it’s not difficult to see the financial impact this is having.  Know who pays that?  The taxpayers.  GREAT way to siphon off more of the money we pay in taxes.  That’s sarcasm, in case you didn’t recognize it.   It’s not hurting Wall Street, it’s hurting every American who pays taxes.  In a time where we’re cutting costs in education, so our kids aren’t getting all they probably should be at school, my tax money now has to pay for your ass to hang out all fucking day, playing hacky sack and smoking dope?

And what the fuck is Kanye West doing out there?   How about Susan Sarandon, Michael Moore, and a whole host of other celebrities?  Here’s an idea – have THEM pay the overtime to the police force.  They’ve got the money.  And why are you protesters embracing them?  They’re part of that magical 1% you constantly bitch about.  I’ve got news for you – they’re coming out to show their support, not because they believe in your cause, but because it gets them publicity, or because they believe in your RIGHT to be there. In Kanye’s case, he probably just doesn’t appreciate you getting more attention than he is.   Don’t confuse them supporting your right to be there with supporting your cause.  If they’re not buying you a cup of coffee and a breakfast burrito, they don’t really give a shit about you.

Now, it may seem like I’m anti Occupy A Neighborhood Park so the Local Kids Have Nowhere to Play.  So, let me be sure I offend the other people as well.  You know the ones claiming that those who make more money shouldn’t be punished for working hard; or the ones who say that everyone who is an Obama supporter is looking for free handouts; or the ones who belittle the occupier’s right to Occupy Taco Bell.  To you people, I say, get your head out of your ass.  Your sweeping generalizations about how people who lean toward the left are “fucking liberals” are really a detriment to society as a whole, as are those serious Christian folk who find it acceptable to rip on gay people, people of different faiths and people who like a little double penetration every now and then.  Keep your rhetoric to yourself.  Because while you’re out there ripping on the people who believe differently than you, I’d like to remind you that in the end, you’re just as fucked as the rest of us.  When the world floods or the sun smashes into the earth at an alarming rate of speed, causing us all to perish in a fiery hell, you’re going to die, just like the rest of us – screaming in pain, while shitting your pants.

You know what’s wrong with this country?  It’s not the Democrats or the Republicans.   It’s the fact that we don’t seem to be putting enough emphasis on the importance of proper grammar.   Well, that and everyone thinking that their way is the only right way.  I’ve got news for you – just like giving a blow job, there is no one right way.  Some guys like a finger up their ass when you do it, some don’t.  Remember the Diff’rent Strokes theme song?  “What might be right for you, may not be right for some”?   You know, Al Burton, Alan Thicke and Gloria Loring (the people who wrote that theme song for you less-educated folk.  You’d know that if you weren’t too busy Occupying the Shitter or writing anti-Obama slogans) knew just what the fuck they were talking about.  It wasn’t just about the joy of adopting African American children when you’re an old, rich white man so that you’d have more help carrying heavy shit to the attic.

What about this whole 99% shit; all of the complaining that the 1% aren’t paying enough taxes?  I’ve got news for you – if you don’t have a job, you aren’t paying taxes either, you stupid motherfucker.  In fact, studies show that 46% of households either pay no federal income tax or receive more back from the IRS than they pay in.  So really, it’s the remaining 54% of us that are totally fucked.  If you still want to take away that 1%, then do us all a favor:  educate yourself and be one of the 53%.  Seriously.   Here’s the thing.  I’m not the 1%.  But you know what?  I’m not the 99% either.  Apparently, I don’t exist.  This whole thing is really messing with my head and causing me to have an identity crisis.

I’m a single mom, working full time, going to school full time and raising my kid.  The only thing I have time to do is to Occupy My Own Vagina on a regular basis.  I have more important things on my mind like why my ex is STILL not working or paying me any child support.  I swear to whatever God you want me to that if I ever find out his ass is participating in any of these protests instead of busting his ass to find a job, I’m going to take a policeman’s billy club, and some guy’s Pomeranian and Occupy His Asshole, repeatedly, with no lube.  I’ll then use my entrepreneurial spirit and turn it into a pay-per-view that only 1% of you can see, with Kanye West announcing the action.  What?  A girl’s got to make a buck somehow.

Posted in Humor, Life

Look Mom! I tried something new!

In my effort to try new foods, I’ve decided to try one new thing every week.

This week’s experiment – a kiwano horned melon.

The Kiwano Horned Melon

Not knowing how to eat this horny bastard, I started by cutting it in half.  And then, I was stuck.  Convinced I’d done something horribly wrong, I sought the advice of Wiki.

Before you go and laugh at me, let me show you what the inside of my halved kiwano looked like.

Kiwano innards

Yeah.  What the hell do you do with THAT?  I bet somewhere, some man is thinking, “I’d stick my dick in it!”

I, on the other hand, Googled   “How to eat a kiwano melon”.  I went with the first result:

The description alone had me laughing hysterically.  Ah yes, this fruit was misnamed!  It should be a horny melon,  not a horned melon!

“…. 3.  Hold the remaining half up to your mouth. Slowly, but firmly, squeeze the fruit from the lower end. Small, semi-slimy sacs of fruit, each containing a cucumber-like seed, should come to the cut surface of the fruit.

4.  Lick or suck up at least one sac of fruit and seed.

5.  Pinch the sac of fruit gently with your front teeth. The seed should be between your teeth and closed lips. Suck the sac of fruit through your top and bottom teeth. Your teeth should be pinching enough to hold the seed on the outside of your teeth, yet still allowing the sac of fruit to be sucked to the back of your mouth.”

(OK, by now, I was laughing harder than I have laughed in a very long time.  I decided this can’t be real.  I read on…)

“6.  Don’t spit the seed out into the bowl unless you don’t want to eat it. They aren’t toxic, by the way, they just don’t have any taste.

7.  Chew or suck on the sac of fruit, swallowing it once you have savoured the flavour. Repeat until you’ve had your fill of kiwano!”

I wish I would have had instructions like that the first time I ever sucked dick!!

After reading that, I knew I just had to try it.  So, I grabbed my melon and squeezed until the sac was ready to be licked and/or sucked.  I gently touched my lips to the sac.  I took it into my mouth.  I swallowed the seed.  It was very juicy.  I had juice on my chin and I calmly said to Jerry, “Hand me a towel.”

My impression?  It tasted very much like a banana.  But it was green and jelly-like with seeds.  It was ok, but nothing I would never eat in public.  I also don’t think I’d pay $2.99 for another one.  However, they are native to the Kalahari Desert so I know what to look for should I ever find myself stranded there.

What should I try next?  Will it have a graphic description somewhere telling me how to eat it?  Do you have any suggestions?

Posted in Humor, Life

Remember this when you’re old

When I was younger, one of my favorite phrases to use when I was frustrated was, “Well fuck ME.  Fuck me right in the ear.”  Remember that. 

A friend of mine recently told me about her 22 year old daughter getting yet another piercing. 

Aside from ears, she has her nose, her Monroe, her tongue and now her lower lip right in the middle of it.   Because I happen to know the history of her daughter, I suggested that perhaps these were done for a purpose.  I suggested it would be possible to tie her mouth shut using these strategically placed piercings. 

We laughed a bit and talked about what that would all look like when she’s  elderly and in a nursing home.  Then, I went a step further. 

Our conversation went something like this:

Me:  “You know who I feel sorry for?”

Her:  “Who?”

Me:  “Those people walking around with the gigantic holes in their earlobes and metal or plastic washers inserted.  Or maybe they’re bolts.  I don’t remember what you call it.”  (I know now that they are called ear gauges.)

Her: “I don’t understand what those are for.”

Me:  “Neither do I, but just think – one day, when they’re senile and in a nursing home, some pissed off orderly is going to come in, and decide his dick fits right in that hole.  Can you imagine waking up to some guy fucking your earlobe?”

Well, can you?

Posted in Humor, Life


Either way you spell it,  it reminds me of Tiger Woods.

What is PGAD, you ask?   PGAD = Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder

“A U.K. woman has been diagnosed with persistent genital arousal disorder after falling off her Wii Fit board and damaging a nerve, the Toronto Sun reported.

“Amanda … has sexual urges up to 10 times a day since she fell. A doctor confirmed her diagnosis.

“It began as a twinge down below, before surging through my body,” Flowers told a U.K. newspaper. “Sometimes it built up into a trembling orgasm.”

“PGAD is defined as persistent sexual arousal syndrome as “intense feelings of genital congestion and sensations that are typically unaccompanied by any conscious awareness of sexual desire,” according to Dr. Sandra Leiblum, who coined the term several years ago.

“… the sensations can last hours or even days, and they truly are unwanted and intrusive.”


“She said even the slightest of vibrations, from mobile phones to food processors, turns her on, The Daily Star reports. “

(They turn me on too when I have them near my crotch.  As an aside, when Dee was here, I had my cell phone on vibrate and had it in the back pocket of my jeans.  While we were standing in line at the rental car place, someone texted me.  The darn thing started to vibrate.  I did not feel the vibration on my butt cheek – I felt it in my snatch.  I even said something to Dee about it.  True story.)

“Amanda, 24, said with no cure she has to control her passion by breathing deeply.

“Hopefully one day I’ll find a super stud who can satisfy me,” she said.”

She should look up Tiger Woods or Jesse James.  Didn’t David Duchovny have a sexual addiction as well?


Humorous anecdote.  When I went to the link above to read this story, there is a video to the left.  When you click on the video, it’s about the earthquake mayhem in China.  While that is NOT a funny situation, when paired with this story, it’s fucking hilarious.  I wonder if Ms. Flowers had an “earth shaking” orgasm.  Or perhaps the vibrations from the quake could have sent her over the edge.  Hey, you never know!

Now people, PGAD is no laughing matter.  You can read about what PGAD truly means and meet two women who have struggled with it here.

An excerpt that I have to comment on:

“Dearmon said the only way to rid herself of the uncomfortable sensations was to masturbate to three consecutive orgasm.

“My whole life had been altered. I couldn’t even go out to lunch with friends,” she said. “To achieve three consecutive orgasms takes a long time. I felt my whole life being robbed.”

Dear Ms. Dearmon:

If it takes a long time for you to achieve three consecutive orgasms, you’re simply not doing it right.  I can teach you.



I don’t know about you, but tonight, I’m getting on my Wii Fit.  I’d really like to get in touch with Ms. Flowers to find out how, exactly, she fell.  I mean if I have a medical condition, perhaps I could get insurance to pay for a whole bunch of really awesome sex toys!