I'd Like To Say I'm Bigger Than Sliced Bread But I Don't Want To Make The Bread Cry.

Technically it's almost sort of end of the year and it's the time people wake up and make promises and look back at the last year and say "Holy crap that last year totally ass-raped me and I'm still extremely sore from it!" or when you look back at it and you say "Holy crap, I just ass-raped that last year and I'm going to give this new year an ass-beating too!" and then you move on and forget about any ass-rapings you may or may not have received and focus on the new year.

But until I can manage to do that I've got to look back at this year and what this blog is and how awesome it's been sitting here in front of the computer pecking my little fingers to death to bring the humour and the laughter and probably make all of you feel as if I've soiled you.

And it might also be because our plans to head home have been delayed by a day and I don't have any funny travel stories to tell you because that probably wont happen until tomorrow. So you're sort of suck with this cheap year-end-round so I can forcefully show you how awesome I am.

How I Ass-Raped My Readers (Or, Top Ten Blog Posts Of 2011)

10. That White Stain You've Been Sleeping On? Yeah, That Totally Could Have Been Your New Brother.

9. It's Like She Does This Everyday.

8. Because When You Eat Soup You Automatically Have To Shit.

7. Being The One Not Pushing Out The Baby, I Am So Tired.

6. Poop University, I'm Going!

5. Polygamy Just Sort Of Made My Life Awesome.

4. What DO Meth Stains Look Like On A Carpet?

3. I Had A Give Away.

2. Unicorns: Judgemental Asshole Prudes.

NUMBER ONE:

The Littlest Hobo? More Like The Stupidest Hobo.



And that totally sums up my blog for 2011 and you can be rest assured that this blog will be pumping out more of that pure, offensive, Orphan hating gold that it's known for. Or maybe more kitten punching just because.

Christmas: It Totally Fucked Us Over.

So just when I thought that Christmas wasn't going to do anything stupid and destroy our holiday and I was politely tipping my hat to it and extended the hand of truce, it reared it's ugly head and kicked me square in the lady balls and then spit on my face and stole my hat. Because that's what Christmas does -- kicks you in the lady balls.

Our vehicle, we learned, is a ticking time bomb that can explode at any time it damn well chooses and stop working on us because somewhere inside of it there is a hole that's spewing liquid like it was diarrhea and that? That is bad, I guess. I don't know dink all about cars but I'm assured that it is a horrible thing to happen and so beyond expensive to fix that it's just laughable to even fix it.

And then the roads that we need to take home are all full of of avalanches and danger because once again Mother Nature is bleeding out of her soiled vagina and refuses to take out her tampons and let us catch a break.

Christmas: No One Died This Year.

Christmas has basically come and gone and considering that I haven't lost any limbs and The Pilot still has all of his limbs and the dog hasn't been stolen or murdered, I'm going to have to say Christmas was a complete fucking success.
We all got great gifts and some great gifts where given and everyone had a great time.

Did I mention that no one was murdered yet?

Christmas with The Pilot's family has been different, that's a good safe word for it right? This is the first time in my twenty-three-odd years of life that I haven't spent Christmas with my family and The Pilot is French and we all know the French are fucking weird so I wasn't sure of what I was going to encounter this Christmas.

Basically Christmas boiled down to the fact that The Pilot and I had to creatively come up with a way to avoid Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve because we are Godless heathens and sit around watching Gremlin's while everyone else was trapped at an extremely boring Mass that left a bitter taste in their mouth and complaints.

The Pilot and I had no complaints over Gremlins.

And then at Midnight we got to open our gifts because that's how the French roll and then after that gift opening? Yeah, we had a big ole French feast of meat pie and other delicious stuff and when we finished eating? It was totally 3:00am Christmas morning.

And then we slept all Christmas day and then had Turkey dinner.

Oh, and watched The Green Mile because that's totally what the spirit of Christmas is all about.

The Pilot and I totally also messed with his mothers nativity scene and when she found it under the tree Christmas Day, The Pilot totally got the blame for my horrible misdeeds.

And then we made shortbread and The Pilot got banned from decorating cookies because he wanted to be offensive and I totally got called the best genuis ever when I made a Bigfoot and Mr. T cookie.

Christmas: Still Alive But Will Probably Change

One of the wonders of being on Christmas Vacation is not having to get up in the morning and drag my ass out of bed because I've got to work. Instead, I get up in the morning and drag my ass out of bed because someone may or may not be making me homemade blueberry waffles because that's how it rolls in The Pilot's house. Waffles, bitches.
We got to The Pilot's parents house on Saturday after a sleepless night at the Disco tech because when I book a fucking hotel I apparently book the party hotel and don't even get invited to the fucking party. It's like high school all over again where it's the Womb Mate throwing the party illegally at my parents house while I'm away for the night babysitting and when I get driven home by the parents of the kids I'm babysitting? Yeah, kids are totally puking over the balcony. Talk about awkward. That's what that hotel stay was like.

High school kids can suck my dink, is what I'm saying.

And then we nearly died on the road because it decided it was going to be a bitch and just suck. Ice? Snow? Rain? Icy Snowy Rain? WHY THE HELL NOT? Mother nature wouldn't be doing her job if she didn't wake up in the morning and decide that "You know what's the best part of waking up? Fucking with those two assholes trying to have a Christmas vacation." and that's totally what she did.

And then she put in her tampon because she was obviously bleeding out of her vagina and flipped a logging truck for good measure so we'd get stuck on the highway for an extra two hours.

Mother Nature can suck my dink, is what I'm saying.

But thankfully The Pilot gets us there while I spent a majority of the time napping and his parents welcome us with open arms but more importantly dinner I didn't have to cook or order at a window,and all is right with the world.

Ha, as if I was totally going to leave this with a fairy tale ending because what type of person would I be if I did that? Probably one that punches cancer kids in the face to steal their wish from that magic foundation and sees nothing wrong with what she did when Hospital security begin to question her credentials and connection with the cancer victim.

We decided to go shopping and that apparently offended Mother Nature because she decided to piss all over the hill leading to The Pilot's parents house and then freeze it so that we almost crash into the ditch and off the face of a cliff and nearly ruin our tires to get up the hill because sliding down it backwards wouldn't work because it'd be a domino effect and just kill the people behind us but that's slightly OK because hopefully their mangled bodies and broken cars would soften our fall.

Mother Nature can massage my balls, is all I'm saying.

Christmas: It Hasn't Killed Me Yet

My Christmas road trip has officially started and so far I'm proud to say that the drive to Calgary hasn't killed either of us yet and we haven't killed each other yet even though we sort of maybe came suspiciously close to dying when The Pilot saw an airplane in the sky and paid more attention to that then the merging traffic in front of him. So, we only almost sorta died.

Our road trip was riddled with arguments that started in fits and crackles over who was in charge of the music and several of my face book statuses totally explain what happened there:

Surprisingly, I haven't jabbed out my ears yet.

And then I fell asleep and woke up to endlessly repeating Christmas music and a boyfriend who was read to through the radio out of the window after ripping it from his vehicle because it just wouldn't stop and he had misplaced his own iPod so he couldn't listen to something better.

And then I pointed out cows.

Then we got to our hotel which actually turned out to be a motel and now I think we're going to be murdered in our sleep because the front desk guy was protected against the worst possible case scenario by sitting in a cage made out of bars because at any moment monkey's on tanks will attack a horrible motel.

And then we got a room that happens to share a wall with what I am assuming is an Indian Techno party because that is the only way I can describe the horrible music radiating from the wall.

Favorite part of the trip so far? When I asked The Pilot if we could stop for gas by innocently saying "Is that a gas station we can stop at?" he responded with, "No, that's a rape station and we are never stopping there."

Which, honestly, is pretty good advice to live by.

Is It Considerd A Good Gift If You Wrap The Cancer First?

Because we are going away for Christmas this year and most likely will die on a road trip or divorce each other and go into a custody battle of who doesn't want the dog, I've come to the critical choice that I'm not doing butt-hole-all to decorate this apartment for Christmas because this obviously must mean I'm the worst person in the world and ruined Christmas for a dozen orphans who later got Christmas cancer and Christmas died. Or so The Pilot might claim when he retells how I so cruelly denied him the pleasure of putting up Christmas lights all over the place because for some reason he treats them like mood lighting and if he had his choice they'd be up all the damn time.

Last year I let him go all out and he had Christmas lights over everything and if I hadn't of stopped him the dog would have been strung in lights and wrapped around the tree as a Christmas decoration. And he would have suddenly become a Christmas Tree Nazi that would hold me at gun point if I dared come close to his tree while it was being decorated and lo any who dare not to delightfully fluff the tree so it looks more real-y and less cheap-y.

I'd be a liar if I said it didn't make me laugh cruelly every time we'd walk outside of our apartment and find everyone's door decorated with Christmas stuff or see that ours is basically the only balcony that isn't lighted up like the entrance to a Gay Bar because he'd get a sad, frown-y face and point out all the Christmas cheer while simultaneously calling me the Christmas Devil. It's not my fault that his soul dying is a sweet, sweet nectar I'm shockingly addicted too.

But eventually his sad, Christmas puppy dog eyes got tired of pleading and begging with me for Christmas cheer, and decided that they were going to take matters into their own eyeball-y hands and do something about Christmas. Because that's what his fucking eyeballs do, can make Christmas happen.

And what did those eyeballs do? They stole my fucking Christmas sweater that I totally forgot that I owned and that may or may not have been hiding in a box inside of a box under another box in our avalanche prone closet and he wore it to work.

And he became a fucking celebrity. 

Everyone at the airport found themselves gravitating towards him and complimenting him on my sweater and I, Christmas sweater thief victim, had to read all of his texts about how stupidly awesome he was and that I should suck someones dink because I nearly ruined Christmas but he saved the day and the world from my Christmas Cancer Giving ways.

And then he gave Kayne a Christmas mustache ride. Because that's how you save Christmas. 

 

 

But joke was on him because he later had to wear that into the grocery store and he went from being a Christmas Celebrity to that guy who wears clothes that makes everyone else think he's going to murder them in their sleep and turn their faces into Christmas sweaters to wear into other grocery stores to lure more people into being Christmas Sweater victims.

If I Don't Get Slaughtered, I'm Considering It A Good Christmas

Christmas is almost upon us and the one thing about Christmas that is almost a dead certain is the fact that I'm going to be going on another road trip to British Columbia and it also certainly means that something terrible is going to happen on this road trip. It's not like I'm being a road trip grouch or anything but considering that the last few times I went on a road trip we had several dead animals flung at our windshield and that one time I started hysterically crying because our hotel got messed up and I ended up having to sleep in a grocery store parking lot. Yeah, that time was fun.

This year we are driving down to The Pilot's parents' house for Christmas because for some reason it always ended up in the last two years my parents got all the holidays and The Pilot's family was neglected. I'm not sure how that ended up happening as it did but I'm also not saying it may have been rigged that I always won the road trip destination lottery. Because it's fixed. That's what I'm saying.

Of course this means that we're going to have to pack that asshole that lives with us into the back seat and it's always fun to be on a two day road trip when your dog acts like you've punched his mother in the uterus and destroyed his siblings in front of him or something because that's how he totally acts.

I'm anticipating horrible things to happen that will eventually turn out to be something we can laugh pompously about in years to come because I imagine myself to be rather pompous in my old age and the type of person that will drink Bourbon from fancy glasses and wear golden underwear and blankets made out of thousand dollar bills.

Basically, I picture myself as Donald Trump when I'm older and that's fucking weird because I'm a girl and don't have a penis.

The Littlest Hobo? More Like The Stupidest Hobo

Oh hai, I'm going to ruin your fucking life.

Now, I’m sure some people would be ecstatic when a stray dog wanders into their town and instead of spreading rabies and shitting on lawns, he goes around and solves mysteries or kidnappings or prevents a murder from happening. Like, that dog would be a fucking hero and every attempt someone makes to adopt that dog sort of goes along the lines of the person begging the dog to stay with them because he just solved a fucking murder but the dog just straight up ignores their request and wonders off to the next town to solve more mysteries.

And then the town is left a better place because this dog totally did some awesome shit and made everyone happy.

But you know what? If that was my town and that dog started to solve my mysterious, I’d straight up lose my shit. Like, those are my mysteries to solve if I ever get around to it and who needs a fucking dog stealing my thunder and preventing me from being a town hero and having people beg me to live with them because I’m so fucking awesome.

Or what about the criminals that actually committed the crimes and made the kidnapping of little Orphan Jane seem all mysterious and unsolvable? How do you think they feel that some fucking dog showed up and ruined their shit by finding the little girl and causing the criminal to go to jail? It doesn’t matter that the criminal kidnapped an Orphan and wouldn’t have ever got some type of ransom because no one cares about Orphans. But it’s the principle of the matter. No one wants to be the dude in prison who has to announce in the showers, “ I’m only in jail today because I was outsmarted by a stray fucking dog. If you decide to shove something up my ass, that’s OK. I deserve it because I got outwitted by a dog.”

Do you know who the real victim is of The Littlest Hobo? The towns dog catcher because whenever he attempts to do his job and catch that stray dog and throw him in the pound where no one will probably adopt him because if he’s trapped in a pound he can’t solve mysteries, he looks like the biggest asshole because he’s trying to jail a dog hero.

I guess the biggest question is why hasn’t that dog been eaten by a bear yet?

That’d be the best episode ever.

Let this be a lesson to all you potential mystery solving dogs out there: You solve my fucking mysterious and I will personally see you eaten by a bear.

Acting If Your Dog Can Write A Blog Post = Legally Insane

Dear Kindly Readers,

Some of you may know me from my first starring role as the little dog that tattoo'd that man that sort of looked like a Greek pornstar but in fact he's just the man that lives with me and sometimes feeds me but mostly let's me get away with murdering little babies. That is, if there was any little babies in my house. They'd be so murdered. And that man, yeah I totally threw up in his mouth once too because he was giving me lip.

Others might know me from the fact that I can't ever let the people who live in my house take a dump in private because them being away from me? Yeah, totally makes me go bat-shit insane with jealousy because they could totally be playing with another dog in that bathroom or just not. loving. me. So I have to burst down the door, preferably with a mouth full of food, just so I can excitedly jump all over them and spray food in their lap because that food was totally sprayed in love and not at all because I'm a giant asshole.

What you might not know about me is that I'm a giant dick. Like, last night for example when that chick who pays my bills couldn't sleep and kept getting up to check the clock because her life sucks and she has to be up early. Each and every time I decided it was going to be the best joke in the world if I sneakily stole her spot on the bed and kick her pillows to the floor because it's funny. And when she has to clean up that mess, yeah I totally do circuits around the room before I jump on her stomach to show her who owns this house. Then maybe I'll jump on the Greek guy who sleeps next to her.

Or maybe I'll leave the room to eat my food and come back with a mouth full just to drop in her face because I'm an asshole who likes to fucking share my food.

And then when she is awake in the morning and ready to go to work, I'll turn the other fucking cheek when she tries to give me a kiss or a pat because she's a bitch that doesn't get a good "Chewed Food In You Face Joke".

But mostly because I'm an asshole.

The Tattoo Could Of Got Awkward But It Was Just Mostly Awesome

When The Pilot grew a mustache for the month of November at first I was like "Holy crap that is a cool idea" and then my feelings quickly went to "Holy crap, you look like a greek porn star from the 70's that fell from fame because he molested like little greek boys or something.". So when it came for him to shave it off because November is over, we did what any kickass couple would do when one of them looks like a Greek Porn Star/ Boy Molester and we made a movie.