Which is the correct way to announce to someone that you ever so enjoyed seeing pictures of her and her new husband:
Earlene, I'm so pleased that you decided to share all the nudie pics of you and Cletus from your honeymoon on Facebook.
OR
Earlene, I'm so pleased that you decided to share all the nudie pics of you and Cletus from your honeymoon on the Facebook.
Also, when you've been scratching your balls and the itch just won't go away, do you search "itchy balls" on Google or the Google?
I'm asking because I say "the." A lot. I post naked pics on the Facebook and search "fried chicken and sweet tea diet" on the Google. I furnish my house with exclusive goods from the Wal-Mart and enjoy fine breakfasts from the IHOP.
You can imagine my happiness when I walked in to the Goodwill the other day and saw this handwritten sign on a whiteboard at the entrance:
If you were in the market for an RV (and don't lie--you totally are) and someone recommended Tom's RVs to you, you'd go there, right? It sounds like a good place. Tom sounds like a nice guy. Everything sounds reasonable about that. But would you go to Raper's RVs? Right. That's what I thought.
So please tell me, if you're in the RV business, and your first name is Tom and your last name is Raper, why wouldn't you just stick with Tom's RVs????
Go ahead. Dial 1-800-RAPER. I guarantee Chris Hansen will be at your door faster than you can say, "But she said she was 16!"
And then I saw this. At the drive-thru. Of a Long Dong Silver's. WHERE THEY SERVE FISH:
Not to sound too judgmental, but if you've got fish and seafood allergy and you're too stupid to avoid the Long Dong Silver's, then you deserve whatever reaction you get.
What can I say? The lure of the Long Dong is apparently tough to resist...
So there I was. At the Target. Christmas stuff as far as the eye could see. Except for this here lovely Hanukkah setup:
And I overheard two young, uh, ladies having the following conversation:
Young Lovely 1: Oooooh! Look at these notepads!
Young Lovely 2: And these plates! I love the blue!
Young Lovely 1, curiously stroking the menorah you see there on the top shelf: And check out this candle! Soooooo cool!
Young Lovely 2: Yeah, it's a Jewish candle or something.
Young Lovely 1: Makes me wish I were Jewish. I would SO be buying this stuff. If I were Jewish, I would buy everything here. It's all so cute!
And then, before I could get my free-with-contract phone out to take a picture (and, believe me, what a sight they were), it was too late. Like a couple of Gentile unicorns, they were off to spread fairy dust in the housewares section.
My annual satellite radio subscription was about to end, so the good folks at XM called to ask me if I'd like to renew for another year. Helpful, aren't they?
XM: So would you like to continue your subscription?
Sweet Tea: Yep.
XM: Okay, so that'll be $175. What type of card will you be using?
Sweet Tea: It's an American Exp...WAIT. What?! One-seventy-five? Did I really agree to pay that last year?!
XM: Hmmmm...let's see. No...it looks like you paid $99. But that was a special rate.
Sweet Tea: Well. If you're wishing for me to continue my subscription for $175, you can wish in one hand and crap in the other and see which gets filled first. Cancel.
XM: Are you sure you want to cancel? With XM, you get unlimited sports, music, talk, weather...
Sweet Tea: CANCEL. Cancel, cancel, cancel. All that's free on regular radio. And XM plays just as many commercials as anyone else these days. If you think I'm one of these yayhoos who has more dollars than sense, you can just think again.
XM: Okay, just let me transfer you to our cancellation department.
Sweet Tea: Don't bother. You tell the cancellation department. XM's not going to pawn it off on me--surely they pay someone out of that SEVENTY-FIVE PERCENT PRICE INCREASE to handle cancellations without having to waste my time...
XM: Cancellation department, can I help you?
*Crap! He just transferred me in the middle of my rant!*
Sweet Tea: I need to cancel my subscription.
XM: We're always sorry to lose a customer, but I can handle that for you. Can you tell me why you're leaving us?
Sweet Tea: Prices are ridiculous. Cancel. Cancel, cancel, cancel.
XM: Well...hold on...it looks like we have a special rate here of $89. With taxes and fees (Sweet Tea comment: Yeah. Right. Uh huh.), that comes to $99.
You know what ol' Sweet Tea needs right now? A motivational speech:
For what it's worth, I watch this video every single day. Sometimes it takes more than a nip o' gin to get me out of bed, y'know?
Share some o' that holiday spirit and forgive ol' Sweet Tea for her long absence. (If you're seriously pissed at me and you can't suffer through whatever it is I have to say, just skip to the end of this post for my cheap plea for forgiveness.)
Anyway...a couple of weekends ago, I headed down to my dear Aunt Cin's (Arkansas is in driving distance now, y'all!) for a Christmas Crafternoon--we were going to make wreaths out of Christmas balls. BALLS. Lots and lots of BALLS. Wreaths of balls. We had balls for days. Balls to the wall. (Seriously, we said balls all weekend in every conceivable way.)
The wreaths we had in mind took only three things: a coat hanger, ribbon, and BALLS. Shape a coat hanger into a circle, string it full o' balls, tie on some ribbon, and here you go:
Pretty cute, right?
Thing was, we had a TON O' BALLS left over. We were BALLS DEEP in balls.
You guys...we decided to make a tree o' balls. I'll spare you the details...here's the result:
Tragic, isn't it? Sweet mother of pearl, it looks like it has tits. Just look at it for a minute. Take it all in. Let it sink in. Be glad it's not in your house.
Yeah, well. What can I say? My pimp dropped me (too old). My clients dropped me (too rickety, not into the new-fangled kinky stuff). My landlord was no longer willing to barter for payment (if I ain't bein' too subtle). Life got complicated, fast. Jesus took the wheel and I ended up here.
Long story short: I went through some life changes. Still going through them, actually. But I love this crappy little blog. I love you bleaders. And I love typing incoherent threads every night as I'm killin' a bottle of Thunderbird. Or Bartles and Jaymes. Or Mad Dog. You get the idea.
So I'm back. Not every day, but here and there. So when you need some gratuitous boobs...
Sorry, I was having a fat day...
...or license plate philosophy...
How fucking motivational
...or random hot pieces...
Slow down, ladies. No pushing.
...you can count on ol' Sweet Tea.
For those of you who find all this beneath you, please see my accountant, Lucille. She totally gives an eff and she'll refund your subscription fee in full:
Lucy: she cares. Your refund: she's on it.
Anyway, check back soon. Shit's about to get real.
We all know Spring is fleeting. Sometimes, though, Spring leaves us before we're ready.
One day, branches are heavy and fragrant with fluffy, sweet-smelling blossoms. Before we know it, the blossoms wilt and fly with the wind. They're still recognizable, they're still beautiful--lining the sidewalks, carpeting the ground, dotting the grass--but their days are numbered.
Sweet Tea is going on a little hiatus. Drink up every bit of Spring you can.
Whether the idea of Britain's royal family infuriates you because they've never known a single day of real work and they live in unimaginable wealth, or you are so awed by them that you woke up at 3am to watch Diana's funeral procession even though you were taking an honors courseload that was so heavy you had to have the dean's approval and Will and Catherine's wedding just to see what she'd wear, even though it meant you would be dead at work the next day and it would be the only thing on TV the next three days, can we all agree that, at the very least, the royals are interesting to watch?
That said, I thought I'd do a super-fun Cathy (aka Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge, ugh) vs. Gramma Betty (aka, Her Royal Highness, Queen Elizabeth of Fucking England, bitches) comparison, just to make sure we all know what's what and just to reiterate the fact that--sometimes--Grammy's little princess needs to be reminded who's queen.
Colors
Ah, Cathy, don't you look so appropriate in your lovely, knee-length navy blue dress and your shiny hair and your....snoooooooore. Oh, I'm sorry--must've fallen asleep. Thank GAWD I awoke just in time to see the lovely Easter Egg vision with the gazilion gilded buttons and the See If I Give A Fuck, Commoners Ruby Red lipstick. (Should I even mention Camilla? Ol' girl don't stand a chance...)
Shoes
If they could talk, Cathy's shoes would say, "Dearie me. Prancing down the aisle of the church has left me quite tired indeed. Are you quite certain we must walk through at least 100 commoners to the waiting Rolls?"
Gramma Betty's shoes say, "Diamond Jubilee, bitches! That's 60 years I've been on THIS throne, muthafuckas! Park that car in the garage, Jeeves--Gramma Betty's about to work this fuckin' crowd in her sensible, beat-up kicks! Hide 'n' watch, bitches!"
(Also, another win for Gramma Betty in the color department! AND: Seriously, how adorable is this picture??)
Rack
Holy shit. Take it off, Betty! Set those beautiful mammaries free! No comparison necessary.
Photobomb
Bitch knows how to photobomb. The future queen. On her wedding day. AHAHAHAHAAA!!!
Do we even need to tally the score? Bitch would mop up a barroom floor with any trick's ass without even needing to straighten her pink and purple hat. Then she'd down a straight shot of scotch and be the hell on her way.
If you're sick of getting your worship on behind the closed doors of a church and you'd like a more public forum to demonstrate your religious humility, then look no further than the ass end of your car!
Jesus, take the wheel!
Can we agree that you're just begging to be made an example of when you combine a dick parking job and a dick rhetorical license plate question?
Before anyone sends me hate mail, know that I'm not making fun of religion or being religious. Far from it. Actually, I'm making an argument for the sanctity of religion and being religious: as far as I'm concerned, even if your convictions are pure and strong, it kind of cheapens them as soon as they're stuck out there on the hind end of your vehicle, stopped at the Taco Bell drive-thru.
Is this really the place that you want to share your private, innermost, dearest convictions with the world? And how do those convictions look when the driver in front of you cuts you off and you give him the ol' one-fingered DC-area howdy? Is this where you want to be driving a license plate asking What Would Jesus Do To You?
Are you ever out and about, mindin' your own, and you smell the unmistakable stench of bullshit in the air? Even if you look around and see all evidence to the contrary, your bullshit-smellin' nose don't lie, amirite?
The bullshit: "Joe Paterno: More than a man. More than a coach. You touched our lives and our souls."
The thin veil: "Joe Paterno: Less of a man--or even human--than we ever imagined. Nothing more than an over-glorified football coach. You looked the other way while a grown man touched little lives and souls for no other reason than...being an over-glorified football coach. Hope they serve Denny's in hell. Or warm applesauce. Or warm milk. Or whatever."
The bullshit: Two of three people using phones. At the table. In a restaurant. One's the mom; one's the kid.
The thin veil: My husband and I are soooo busy, y'all. Sooo important. Save your judgment, because what looks like rudeness on my part, indifference on my husband's, and rude indifference on our kid's is just our way of teaching him to multi-task. Manners? That's what school is for, bitches. But, hey, look--at least we all wear St. Patrick's Day green together! Yay for family time!
The bullshit: KFC. A #1-rated Zagat restaurant.
The thin veil: "...within the mega-chain category..." Still. I call shenanigans.
Y'all have a great weekend, take it easy, and I'll see you back here on Monday.
Do you give an eff about clothes or fashion? Most women seem to think it matters, and then a funny thing happens: they start thinking that what they think matters to everyone else.
News flash, bitches: it doesn't. Ain't nobody give a damn.
Still, they go on. One fashion "sin" that seems to get a lot of attention is VPL: Visible Panty Lines.
Here's what one proclaimer has to say:
VPL has been a fashion faux pas since time immemorial, unlike what people sporting it might think. VPL generally happens if the bottoms are too tight or the panty is of a size smaller than required or both. Smaller size panties do not make your ass look tighter. It wounds up making you a subject of laughter behind your back.
"Since time immemorial"? Nice, real nice. Way to keep perspective, bitch.
And another:
For many fashionistas, VPL scores at the top of the worst fashion blunders. To avoid this fashion calamity, opt for seamless nude underwear or thongs.
Yeah. A thong. That'll fix things. In addition to being nasty conduits to infection, the panty lines they create say, "Form a line, boys. No pushing."
The problem with all the clothes above isn't the panties--it's the clothes.
It's like this: I don't wear big ol' granny panties and I don't wear skank-tight clothes. BUT. If I happen to bend over or the wind blows or you catch me at the right angle, there's a chance you may see a VPL. And there's a reason: I'm wearing panties, dick! Don't like it? Quit lookin' at my ass!
Who loves ya, male bleaders?
(As you may have guessed, these are just some of the outtakes from my recent moonlighting gig...try not to judge too harshly.)
Today is the first day of Spring. If poets, spiritualists, and lowly English majors are to be believed, then Spring is the season of life. And if Spring is indeed the season of life, then God is the greatest poet ever:
You know how some folks say that everything happens for a reason? I just can't believe that. Period. As far as I'm concerned, some stuff just happens. I'll spare you the details, but I'm convinced of it.
That said, I don't think that it's any accident that God gave my mom to the world on the this day, the first day of the season of life.
How lovely and fitting that her birthday falls on this day as a reminder of opportunity, of hope, and of new beginnings. This is a season to enjoy the freshness of life, the sweetness of flowers, and the awakening of the earth, because Spring is short. It will be over in a breath.
"To Spring" by William Blake
O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
The hills tell each other, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime.
Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languished head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.
Happy Spring, dear bleaders--we have only so many Springs in our lives, and I hope you and I have many together.
