The Birth of Mini Assorted Marshmallows

Once upon a time in Texas, there was a marshmallow and a bowl of sherbet.

It wasn't long until that sweet spark of love was ignited between the two confections. She lit him on fire and he melted her into a puddle. They were the sweetest couple the world had ever seen.

After a short courting, young love turned into low budget B movie porn scenes. They went at it like crazy. He licked her bowl clean. She couldn't resist his candy cane. Being from Texas, the two had never heard of protection, and thus they went bareback and brazen. Like the thousands of southern teenagers before her, Sherbert found herself swollen with child.

Marshmallow tried to be a good partner and take care of his lover. He spoke sweetly to her, but she had turned cold. She even became cannibalistic, requesting pickles and ice cream.

The day finally came when the offspring sprung forth from the icy cold nether regions of Sherbet. It brought the two beaming parents together in a moment of bliss and miraculous joy at the being they had produced in that moment of sweet nastiness.

Sherbet and Marshmallow looked down at the bundle of joy and instantly realized their baby was different. It was like nothing they had ever seen. He was a perfect mix of rainbow sherbet and marshmallow, an exotic sweetness unknown to the world. They had a hard time naming him, but finally came up with Assorted Marshmallow. The friction between the two parents had melted away like shaved ice in an oven and they joined together to raise their baby boy.

Things were great for the child as an infant. He was showered with love from his parents and given all the opportunities to express his little baby self. Unfortunately, things changed as he started exploring the world outside of his peaceful home.

No one knew what to do with this oddity of a being, so as with most unexplained phenomenon, people began to taunt him. He couldn't walk down the street without people yelling things like "Look, there goes the Rainbow Boy!." Some called him "colored" and others called him "fruity." All he wanted was some acceptance, but it was nowhere to be found. The cruel world had showed it's prejudice and hatred, and Assorted Marshmallow, in his youth and inexperience, felt he had nowhere to turn.

One day while Assorted Marshmallow was out for a walk, a freak accident occurred at his home. A goat had spontaneously combusted and in a last ditch effort to escape the flames, it race through the streets, crashing into the front door of his parents house.

The happy parents were taking a nap and didn't even realize the house had caught on fire. By the time the blaze was staunched, it was too late. Assorted Marshmallow ran in tears to the blackened remains of his home and discovered his mom and dad in caramelized puddles in the charred remains of their bed. The emergency crews had not been able to save them and their son was left alone and shattered.

As he walked the streets in a daze, hearing the usual taunts and seeing the sad sight of his parents' corpses floating in his vision, he came to the conclusion that he could not take this life anymore. He pulled all his resolve together and walked towards the human part of town in search of a gun. As expected, there was a shotgun on a hillbilly's porch. He had no fingers so he crawled inside the barrel, in hopes that the man would find something to shoot at. Invariably, the crazy man shot, as he was in the midst of a feud with the neighboring family. Assorted Marshmallow felt the heat of the gunpowder and was no more.

The sad story of hatred and suicide had a bittersweet ending. The shotgun had blown the boy to bits, scattering colorful mini marshmallows across the sky. Assorted Marshmallow gave his life to the unknown creation of mini assorted marshmallows, which have become a treat for millions since his death.






THIS POST WAS BROUGHT TO YOU BY FRUSTRATION AT HATRED

Twisted Sister

My sister had the short end of the stick growing up. She and I get along wonderfully now that we're all grown up, but back then it really wasn't fair for her. She was the youngest of three, had an angry tantrum-like personality, and was accident prone. The good thing about all those attributes is that there are numerous stories to relate to my beloved readers.

Like the time her hair caught on fire. It was a lovely Hannukah night, probably one of the later days since there were so many candles lit on the menorah. We were all excited, getting ready to open presents and eat latkes and other Jewish stuff. Suddenly, there was a scream and a burst of light. My sisters hair had taken to the flame like Whitney Houston to a crack pipe. It must have been put out quickly since there were no fire trucks or ER visits, but those seconds of smelly burnt hair were enough for years of laughter at her expense.

Then there was the time her head got rolled up in the car window. My dad was driving his Ford Focus with his three kids being their usual rambunctious selves. My sister had her head out the window like a playful puppy, hair blowing in the window and giggling. Suddenly, unbeknownst to the doglike child, the window started rolling up. She didn't notice until it was too late. Then the screaming started, followed by my brother and me laughing hysterically.

"Dad!!!! Dad!!!! Stop roling up the window! Stop! It hurts!" she screamed, struggling to pull her head back in.

"What are you talking about?" Dad asked. He wasn't rolling up the window.

"Roll it down!! Ow!! Ow!!!" she wailed.

Then Dad figured it out.

"Take your hand off the window button. "

She was rolling her window up herself. Between the screams and fear, it took her a few seconds to register what he was saying, so my brother and I got at least fifteen more seconds of unrelenting joy.

One day we were all out riding bikes with Dad. We were calling each other names and riding along under the summer sun. Then my brother and I zeroed in on the easy target, little sister. After we exhausted insults like "poo brain," "booger eater," and "dork face" one of us decided to make up a word and see how it worked. I wish I could remember the actual word, but since I don't I will make one up. The taunts began.

"Hey zorktron, why don't you pedal faster!"

"Hey zorktron, you smell like a butt!"

"What ya doin, zorktron?"

"Shutup!" she squeeled.

"Ok, zorktron, I'll shut up," I said.

"I'm not a zorktron," she said, starting to cry.

"Oh yes you are, zorktron," my brother retorted.

"Oh yeah?" she said.

"ZORK-TRON! ZORK-TRON! ZOR-TRON!" we chanted in a deafening sibling roar.

In a forceful effort to prove to us she was not a zorktron, my sister launched into a pedal pumping attack. With gaining speed, she crashed her white and purple training wheel clad bicycle into my back wheel. Then she fell over, getting a few scrapes. Way to go, Zorktron.

There are so many stories from childhood revolving around my sister that I may have to start a bi-monthly series. We'll have to see.





THIS POST WAS BROUGHT TO YOU BY SIBLING RIVALRY

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