F&ck you, Yes Theory for taking away another valid reason to hate Justin Bieber. The internets blew up after a picture surfaced of some dude (supposedly Beebs) munching a burrito the completely wrong way—taking a bite from the side!
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What is wrong with humanity!?!?
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But, these Yes Theory asshats (I guess they’re You Tube famous? I’m so unhip) had a lot of people fooled.

I can see how it happened. Some chick snapped a picture of her bf eating a Kit Kat the total wrong way—just biting it whole and not separating it into individual bars—and the pic went viral.

But I’m sensing some actual truth in this stunt. And it has nothing to do with Bieber. I think there are a lot of men who don’t know how to “eat” things properly, and this was just another example.

You need to get face-to-face with your snack. You need to gently take a nibble, or else you’re going to create too much pressure, and the taco shell will crack. Eating a burrito from the side forces both hands to have to hold the burrito. That’s a waste of one good hand. One hand holds the burrito, the other… does whatever it needs to.

Learn your lessons.
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We all know that my maturity level is that of a 12-year-old chubby, pimply boy. So it’s no surprise, really, that I can’t even open this email. I can’t even take it seriously-- because I’m not an adult!
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What an unfortunate name. I'm sure it's pronouced "may-sen-gill", but I bet every person has misread his name forever. This guy had to become a doctor to overcome his name. Had to make up for the taunting and name calling of his entire childhood. To carry the last name of a douche? A disposable douche at that?

And I’m sure this guy is married. So that means his wife could be known as “Mrs. Douche.” Because that’s what I would accidentally call her. Freudian slip, you know? Because it’s happened. I witnessed my ex-MIL (my first marriage) say something similar.

We were at a Christmas party thrown by a man with the last name of “Dick.” As we were leaving, we said our goodbyes. She said to the host:

                            “Thank you for a lovely party, Mr. Cock.”

She had no idea what she’d said. Meanwhile, I was in tears. I still laugh to the point of tears every time I think of that story.

Here’s to you, Dr. Douche. Or Dr. Vinegar. 
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Wasn’t it Motel 6 that had the slogan “We’ll leave the light on for you”?

Yeah. Sounds familiar.
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At Vogel Manor, the light is always on. For realz. Bright sunshine. Pouring rain. Overcast. Partly sunny. Sure, I could turn this light off at the switch, but the point is for the light to come on when it gets dark. Apparently, the solar panel is jacked and rarely is this light ever off. 

The upside—we’re always your beacon of light and love. Wow. I almost hurled at that line. LOL

That title sums up how I feel about this ad. Surely, a man wrote this steamy pile of bullsh$t.
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​It reminds of back in the day when some douchecookie decided to write inspirational sayings on the paper adhesive backing of Always maxi pads. “Have a happy period.” Remember that? Obviously, that dude never experienced the hot mess that is a woman’s period. If a guy bled between four and seven days straight, he’d cry for his momma. No way could a male handle the bloating, cramps, bleeding, emotional roller coaster, and the unwise piece of advice--“Just don’t think about it and it will go away.”

But this latest ad from Tampax... Grrrrr! These two gals looking all happy. One’s even foolish enough to be wearing light-colored pants. Apparently, these two must have the nicest, smoothest Aunt Flo ever—because mine is a complete wenchbag. We’re talking wear-two-pairs-of-underwear-and-a-layer-of-paper-towels wenchy.

And the slogans? Pffft.

“You do you.” How ‘bout you go “do” yourself?

“Power over periods”. Really?!?! Because if I had power over my period, I wouldn’t have one at all.
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Eat it, Tampax.

Disclaimer: I am not on my menses while writing this editorial. My venom is my norm.

So, I snapped this pic the other day while out on a drive. Sometimes, I need to get away from the computer screen. But then I find inspiration. Like this picture, and I’m sharing all my twisted thoughts with you.

I love the cleverness of Hooker’s. I was totally giving this company props because I thought it was the name of a tow truck company. But upon further examination, not so much.

Sigh.

If Hooker’s is a family name, well, that’s a tad unfortunate—unless that’s your trade of choice. It appears, though, that Hooker’s is just an office complex. Maybe the Ladies of the Night have a side hustle—which is a legit business. Oh, the irony.

Or… if Hooker’s is a den of iniquity, perhaps the sign is an indication of where the ladies like the action.

Butt… does it cost more? Because some ladies I know say the south end is just for holidays and very, very special occasions.
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I guess we’ll never know.

A gift from Heaven. That’s what I’m calling this. When I came across this picture on my good friend Pat DeLuca’s Instagram, well… I was tingling with joy.
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​A real-life picture of two real-life folk doin’ whatever the hecks they want to in public, in broad daylight. When you get the munchies, munch away!

You know my mind is over-filled with thoughts and questions and feelings:

Was it Taco Tuesday?

Is this a new medical technique called mouth-to-muffin resuscitation?

Maybe she has a magical ranch dressing crotch?

Is this gentleman an ocarina player?

Or more importantly, is this about equal rights? I noticed the sign to the left advertising diamonds. I’ve always said, “if a gal wants some bling, you gotta hop on that thing.” Perhaps he was eyeing a nice pinky ring.

P.S. Nice butt crack, dude.

Fall is here, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels more like August. The past few weeks have been steamy. Last I looked, it’s October. But then I started to wonder if we can call this uptick in warm weather Indian summer—that period of unseasonably warm, dry weather that happens in these parts.

But according to the National Weather Service, you can’t have Indian summer until after the first frost happens. That hasn’t happened yet.

Where did the phrase "Indian summer" come from?

Indian summer was first coined in 1851 in some letter. Then there’s this novel called New England Indian Summer that was published in 1940. The novel is about an imitation of an earlier season of actual strength.

So Indian summer is a positive?

​My bigger concern: can we even call that warm spell Indian summer? Because I don’t want be all non-p.c. Should we re-name it Native American summer or Indigenous Peoples summer?

It’s kind of like a menopausal hot flash. So let’s just change the whole thing up and call it Fall-pause. This way, no one will picket outside the state line.

And, I don’t want to make the Native American dude in those Keep America Beautiful commercials cry. 

That would be bad,
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Recently the hubs and I made a little road trip to Kennywood. We had some free tickets; we were jonesin’ for some roller coaster action and-- people watching. And we got what we wished for, especially in the people watching category.

I’ve never been fashion-forward. I look presentable, and that’s the best I can do. What I do know is how to dress appropriately for whatever occasion arises.

Others do not.

I thought this was just a “younger chick” thing, but getting dressed up to spend the day at an amusement park never ceases to amaze me. Women of all ages and backgrounds were over-dressed.

Why?

1.   Are you hoping to find true love? Or true-love-for-today?
2.  Are looking for a “big-soft-pretzel-with-mustard” sugar daddy?
3. Are you longing for someone to win you all the stuffed animals at those rigged carnival games?

Seriously. It’s hot and sunny. You’re active. If I’ve got “mountain dew” flowing and a small rice paddy developing in my nether regions, then you are too! And I’m wearing comfortable attire!
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​For the love of creation, wear some sensible shoes! This is from a gal that loves some shoes. Your hooker heels are not meant for walkin’—unless it’s to the nearest bar stool or to a bed where you can flop on your back. Your Coach handbag may be stylin’, but it's going to fall into that Bermuda-triangle-death -zone past the first big curve of the roller coaster.

And.. the strangulation of your "kitty." Let. It. Breathe. Moisture-wicking materials are your friend. Not your Boston-Strangler-Victoria’s-Secret thong. Plus, I don’t want to become an accidental gyno because I can see your ovaries.

Sigh.

Perhaps the “amusement’ in amusement park is watching you ladies hooch it up.
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I’m out of energy to even discuss the dude violations…