I have a cousin whom I've nicknamed “Hot Mess”, because she is. And she proudly keyboard-vomits her life on Facebook.
She’s regaled her “friends” with woes of her divorce and her deadbeat husband, love of her three teenage boys (who can read this on FB), her budding Mary Kay business that went bust after she yelled at people for not buying anything, and her quest for a sugar daddy.
That’s just a small taste of Cousin Ick.
She’s a year older than I… which means she is well grown. But she’s still that bratty little girl that I wanted to bitch slap.
In her quest to be a “kept” woman, this is her latest profile pic.
What. The. F%ck.
Seriously. I’ve seen all her profile pics. The most flattering shots are the camera-up-high ones. I don’t know how she’s gonna catch any “D” in this pic, unless she plans on getting a “D” in her nose hole.
Seeing straight up anyone’s nose is not a good profile pic.
From the “Don’t Believe Everything You Read on the Internet” files, a “home remedy” that sounds like a real pain in the ass. Literally, a pain in the ass.
I’m sure most of us have experienced Vicks VapoRub at some point in our lives—usually mom or dad rubbing the menthol monster on our chests when we were sick.
I stumbled upon this on Pinterest:
What in the af is going on here? Someone is willingly spreading their butt cheeks and applying VapoRub? Hell-to-the-NOOOO!
According to this non-medical individual, you can use Vicks for this:
What if it gets into your butthole? Won’t it burn? Accidents happen all the time!
The comments had me in tears:
I’m not gonna try this one. But if you want to, go ahead. Then share your experience with us: email@example.com.
While on my way to play radio at the Home of Rock and Roll/97.5 WONE (shameless plug), I was stopped at a light behind this truck. And instantly, my inner 10-year-old boy started to snicker.
All I could think of was “A Dukie (dookie) Pile (Pyle)”, and how proud this company is about delivering dookie.
That is all.
I saw this recently at a Chinese buffet, and had to snap a pic—after laughing out loud.
I was wondering if the food below was actually fun? Looked like nothing special. And I really didn’t know what exactly “fun food” would mean. The closest thing I could think of would be ballpark food—because you’re at a game and those are fun, so the food is fun by default.
But then, I got to thinking. Thinking about hidden meanings.
Perhaps the authorities should be looking at Chinese buffets and not the obvious Asian spas and massage “businesses” for prostitution. Maybe there’s a secret handjob shake code. If a person selects the Mei Fun dish, that means they’re looking for a happy ending—not the almond cookies or pudding being offered out in the open. The person grabs a plateful of Mei Fun and that indicates a certain service. A return trip for another plate of Mei Fun means yet another service.
Think about it…
Oh, no. Don’t tell me overalls are back in fashion. This is from the Venus catalogue. I love this company’s clothes. But I just can’t….
I haven’t worn overalls as fashion since last century. Literally. They never fit right because my inseam is not normal and I always got a frontal wedgie. You’re welcome for the visual. Plus, overalls make it a pain in the ass to handle bathroom functions in a snap—so to speak.
I wore overalls professionally this century when I portrayed the character “Miss Kathy” in the Emmy-nominated Ask Gilby children’s TV show.
Now, I’m too damn old to wear overalls. I’ll never rock this look. I never did previously. My boobalas would be tucked into the front of these overalls, resting nicely on top my “flabs.”
Babies look good in overalls. And farmers. And ladies with supermodel bodies. Even fat dudes look better than I.
Unless I become a country music babe, or intoxicated, I can’t see myself choosing this. I’ve #FashionFailed again.
Everybody’s preachin’ the awesomeness of the Keto diet. But are the ladies on Keto preachin’ the awesomeness of their stanky crotches?
The Keto diet has some side effects like: Keto flu, Keto breath, and Keto diarrhea.
Now, Keto crotch. While there is no hard research yet, many women are reporting their “tacos” have gone rank.
When your body goes into ketosis, it produces ketones. And that makes everything smell like nail polish remover.
Some gynos say it’s not the ketosis causing the odor, but a disruption in your jay’s pH balance.
Whichever, I don’t want either. This is why I’m a believer of moderation versus the elimination of food groups.
Here's to pleasant-smelling jayjays!
I have to give this “dude” props for his honesty. He’s trolling to find a desperate woman so he can rip her off. Oh, wait. That’s his true intention disguised within his quest for love.
Even if I were looking for love, and even if I believed this email, I couldn’t date you. First of all, you can’t even spell your name. Is it “Michael” or are you some Frenchie and you pronounce your name “Micheal”? Second, you want to be “friends” but you want to “date”. Mixed signals right off the bat.
And third, go eat a bag of dicks. Good luck on your search for “love”.
I love, love, love the emails I get. On occasion… on many occasions… it gives my mind the chance to wander into Inappropriate Land. I feel at home there.
Here’s a fascinating email:
Does this mean that ladies are supposed to have a conversation with their jayjays?
I suppose an intimate convo between a 20-something and her jay might go something like this:
JayJay: We need to talk.
(Moment of silence while JayJay tries to find the right words to say)
JayJay: I don’t know where to start, so I’m just gonna put it out there. I’m not happy with what you’re putting inside me.
Sara: What are you talking about?
JayJay: That sloppy fat ass you brought home last night!
Sara: Well, well........ I was lonely. And…
JayJay: This isn’t the first time. And you let him throw up in me! Do you know how gross that is?
Sara: I mean. Things got out of control, like, pretty fast, and I wasn’t thinking…
JayJay: I liked you better when you were into rabbits and eggs. Leave it to the pros!
JayJay: Why do you hate me so much?
Sara: I had a lot of Fireball, okay?
JayJay: Stop. Drinking. Fireball.
(The conversation breaks for a moment)
JayJay: I love you. Why can’t you love me? Just you?
Sara: Because I could go blind, right?
*End of scene
There’s nothing worse than an unsolicited package request. Whether a dick pic or a scam involving an unclaimed package.
Check this out:
Let’s break this down:
I’m really tempted to email this guy from a newly-created Gmail address. You know, have some fun from him from a rarely-used laptop in case he’s smart enough to trace an IP address. I mean, Chuck sounds like a decent guy. He cares about my abandoned package!
What exactly can “cause” your job? Cause you to do your job? Get someone to grammar check and spell check your bullsh*t.
“Review the secret”? I obviously don’t know what the effing secret is regarding my so-called abandoned package, so you picked the wrong person. Also, why would this be a secret if this is about my package?
So whose package is this? You said it was mine, but apparently it’s not. It's some diplomat's? Why should I care?
My mind hurts just trying to figure out what this even means.
Wow! You can cut through red tape in 48 hours? You’re a miracle worker! Also, there would be no way in hell I’d allow you to come to my house. Nice try. I can’t believe you’re working this for a measly $3,700. Guess that amount doesn’t seem unreasonable to the easily-fleeced.
What is it with this whole “if you’re still alive?” So my “heirs” don’t reap the rewards of my abandoned money if I’m dead? Here’s my response:
Dear Mr. Griffin…
Kindly eat a bag of sweaty dicks.
Love, The Very-Much-Alive,
Editor-in-chief Kathy Vogel shares what's on her mind... through her fingers.