It's Snot Easy to be Sneezy

Bloody Hell

So I am menstruating. Isn't that incredible. What a way to embrace my femininity. Not! This sucks, but it is something I have learned to live with. This specific period has led me to be extra hot and swollen, and not in a porntastic way. I'm not one to stoically hide my discomfort, which led me to utter some of the montrosities of speech you'll see below.

I was having a run of the mill phone conversation with M'lady yesterday. We talked about dinner and school and said the regular "I love you's." I know it is hard to believe that I could be at a loss for words, but neither one of was very chatty. After hanging up I sent her a text.

ME:Oh, I forgot to mention that my pussy is bleeding like a stuck pig.

M'LADY: That just put the most disturbing image in my mind.

She described the image to me later on in shocking detail, which has been artistically interpreted below.

Disturbing indeed.

This was just the beginning. Later on that night, we were playing Qwirkle with The Man, and the following conversation ensued.

ME: Ugh! My mouth is so hot! I just want some frozen yogurt. You know, you could put the spout directly to my mouth, and while you're at it, put some in my vagina. Mmmm, that would feel nice. Yogurt is good for the natural flora you know.

M'LADY: Umm, not directly in your vag, hon.

ME: Whatever, I read a home remedy about it online. You just soak a tampon in yogurt then shove it up there.

THE MAN: That can't be good for you.

M'LADY: For real. What kind do you use, strawberry? Hahahaha!

ME: No, silly. You have to get the kind with probiotics.

THE MAN: Probiotics shouldn't go into your body. Well, I mean they can go through your digestive tract, but they definitely shouldn't go into your pussy.

ME: I wouldn't ACTUALLY do it. Geez. It would just FEEL good. Don't judge, I read this before I went to nursing school.

M'LADY: Was it before you went to Common Sense school too?

ME: Fuck you, I don't want common sense.

M'LADY: That is quite apparent. I'll be right back.

I abandoned the discussion as she left to ponder making ice cubes that looked like Qwirkle pieces but would turn clear when they melted, which is ironic, because she came back with an ice cube and put it up my hoo-ha. (Although it felt delightful, I do not recommend putting ice in your hoo-ha. It's no bueno to put water in there, I just don't care about degrees of bueno-ness.) We continued our game of Qwirkle and suddenly, I had to pee. I got up and immediately remembered that ice + body warmth = cold water.

ME: Oh god, I'll be right back.

M'LADY and THE MAN: Hahahahahajajajajajjahahahahajajahahajahjahaja!

I neared the bathroom door as watery blood dripped down my legs.

ME: Jesus! It looks like koolaid.

I sat down and the remaining contents of my ice cold menstruation made it's exit. Apparently it sounded quite disturbing because The Man was in the other room with a face contorted like five car pile up.

ME: It looks like a fucking massacre in here.

M'LADY: Oh god, did you leave a trail? Hahahaha

ME: You guys said you wanted stained concrete, right?

THE MAN: Ok that's enough! You have to stop! I can't take anymore of the period talk. Seriously. You two have gone beyond nastiness. Please stop! For the love of god!

ME: Stop telling me what to do or I'll squirt koolaid in your face!

THE MAN: Really?

I flushed the toilet, jumped in the shower, toweled off and jumped back in bed.

ME: I can't help it. I LOVE YOU!

And then it was time for bed.





THIS POST WAS BROUGHT TO YOU BY BLOOD SPATTER

ZomBDSM

Something Serious

I'm not the most appropriate person I know. I'm not the most appropriate person you know, most likely (If I am I, want to meet your friends).That being said, what I'm about to talk about is serious. I urge you to pull yourself together and be serious, for once, GODDAMMIT!

I have a problem.

It's somewhat embarrassing.

I pee when I laugh or cough sometimes.

I hear this is a normal phenomenon for women who have given birth. I have a 5 year old son. Well step son actually. I didn't ACTUALLY give birth to him. To tell you the truth, I have never been pregnant.

It is also something that may occur in the elderly due to aging, although incontinence is not something that one has to live with, according to the doctors. I am 27 years old.

A great teacher of mine once said, "If peeing in your pants is cool, consider me Miles Davis." Thank you Billy Madison. Well, the old lady in Billy Madison. Those are encouraging words, but I am not, nor will I ever be Miles Davis.

So here I am, a 27 year old piss pot who is just above Justin Beiber on the cool scale. I mean, what am I to do?

The logical ones of the bunch are all ready to point out the need for the involvement of a physician. I'll have you know I have learned quite a bit about incontinence in school. I'm pretty sure I can figure this out. It isn't like it happens everyday, just ocassionally. It's called stress incontinence. I don't even pee enough to be noticeable, unless you have a really strong sense of smell. (I drink a lot of coffee. No for real. When I smell coffee brewing I wonder why the room smells like piss).

The thought of wearing a diaper is ridiculous. My pants are just too tight for all that nonsense. Anyways, that would be like using a dump truck when you need a micro machine.

Then there's always the pantyliner, but I don't even use those when I'm menstruating. Plus, there is always the unfortunate possibility that my partner would start calling my "yellow wings." I have enough nicknames already.

I could run to the bathroom everytime I have to cough or sneeze, but due to the untimely nature of those almost involuntary actions, that just won't work.

Maybe I need to up my kegal count. It's funny how every time I mention kegal exercises I HAVE to start doing them. That's right folks, I have already done ten kegals while writing this line. If you don't know what kegals are, watch this:



I could always look at this as a blessing. I mean, at least I don't have to change my pants every hour. It barely happens. Really. Maybe once a month. I'm not lying. I could have an anovaginal fistula and live in a hovel outside of my parents house in Africa after being disowned from my husband who kept the dowry of 4 goats. That bastard!

Or I could take advantage of the fact that I have insurance and tell the doctor. I guess I'll do that. Remind me to make an appointment.







THIS POST BROUGHT TO YOU BY MY NEWEST JOKE:

What keeps a surfer upright?

wait for it...wait for it...

His verte-BRAH!

It's been too long, this is an apology

To whom it may concern: Dear meager readership,

You may have noticed that there has not been a post in awhile. I am sorry I have deprived you of borderline humor and subpar MS Paint drawings. Here is a beautiful bouquet of flowers for you so that each breath of air is filled with the perfume of love.

Don't worry. I know what you're thinking. Flowers are not near enough of an apology. You, my dear readers, are special. That is why I have also created a special gift for you. What is it, you ask? You are in mild suspense, aren't you? You just can't wait to see what has been created solely for your enjoyment. Well here it is!

That's right! A picture of a prototype for Ninjamallow action figures!

What? Not good enough for you? That's cool.

Have fun gettin' all stickified playing with ribbon and jet-puffed marshmallows from the grocery store. Loser.





This post brought to you by hairless rats

The Hunt of the Marshmallow

Ahhh, the unassuming marshmallow. Silent in its pillowy sweetness, it sits on a table, happy with the world. This peaceful kitchen scene is one that can be witnessed across the vast lands of human existence. Peaceful, yes. But for how long?

As feared, the peaceful life of the marshmallow is not part of the great circle of life. The human species is a grave predator. At times unrelenting, they have an inexplicabe hunger for melty sweetness. It wasn't so bad at first...

The humans stole the marshmallows from their natural habitats, but simply to observe. They were put through rigorous tests of strength and endurance. It appeared that the humans were looking for a new pet, or possibly a feature exhibit for the zoos across the world.

Some marshmallows even liked the idea. They were tired of the wilds. The idea of being put up in a human household and waited on hand a foot seemed like a blessing. No longer did they forage for glucose to amass their bodies. The humans hooked them up to sugar machines. Domesticated marshmallows grew fat and lazy, but they appeared to be happy.

It didn't take long for the humans to expose themselves for the cruel beings they truly were. They snarled their sweet-toothed cries of attack and hunted those who ran. What had once been a quick and resilient people, had been turned into a bunch of sarcoidosis ridden lumps of grotesqueness. They could barely run for their lives. But a choice few survived...

They met in secret, under tables, in dark corners. They were burned and beaten, but they were alive. They formed an elite league of marshmallows to battle the threat of human kind. There were unknown amounts of marshmallows still in captivity, being fattened for the slaughter. Marshmallow hunters were constantly seeking wild varieties of sweet sticky goodness.

Members of the elite league sacrificed their pure whiteness for camouflage, jumping through fire, and burning their flesh into thick carbon armor. They vowed to fight for al marshmallows until the siege of human kind extinguished. They called themselves: Ninjamallows.

Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk