Womb Mate; An Undiscovered Rhodes Scholar.

While digging through our guest room in an attempt to start decluttering our shit, The Pilot and I came across a big box of shit that was titled "Womb Mate" and to my curiosity I pulled it out and decided I had to snoop. Which, of course, is what older siblings do and it was in my house it basically consisted of "mine".

However, I called her up on Skype to get an insight over what I was reading and finding in this box. Even though it was full of crap (Which, I must assure you she says is all great wonders and needs to be kept) I found a gem. A gem of stories.

Stories, dear readers, she's graciously allowed me to share with you on the blog. And by "allow" I mean she demanded because she was all "I'm super smart and funny and your readers need to share in my super smartness." and then she sang the Kit Kat song until my ears bled and I gave in.

I present to you: "The New Dog".

The New Dog

Once a pon a time there was a little boy named Jack. He lived in Mackenzie, BC. He always wanted a dog. He would bag and bag his parents for a dog. But they would say "NO!". Finilly one day his dad said "we are going for a ride son". I was wondring where we were going! I asked my dad like a hundred times. He would always say you will find out when we get there. I knew he would say that because thats what every parent would say. 

Then after 10 minutes we were in a big store called Pinkys Pet Store. I didn't know were he was going. But he whent to the store keeper and asked were the dogs were. Then I reallized the dog was for me. My dad said "Son pick out a dog." I could not say anything for a few minutes because I was so shocked. Then I found a golden retrever. It was just a pup when I got it so I called it Spunky.

Since that day I'm still doing chores to keep him. My mom thought I wouldn't pay money for him to keep him alive. But she thought wrong, like wushal! I even still play with him and I am 15.  I got him when we were 2. He was two too. He has the same birthday as me too. 

50 years later they both died. They are barried in the same spot.

The End.

If that touching story of a boy and his 50 year old dog didn't bring a tear to your eye, you are a heartless bastard fuck and I want to be your friend. Stay tuned in the future for the next installment of Womb Mate: An Undiscovered Rhodes Scholar when I present to you "The Big Move.", which I am assuming is semi-autobiographical.

This Is About Where You Ask Me If I'm Doing Meth & I Tell You No

What Is In A Name?

Two months ago a new guy joined my department at work and I'm going to call him "Edwardo" and he's a nice enough guy who is really shy and non-confrontational and really minds his own business and doesn't usually flutter around and socialize with people while interrupting their work to show them a live penguin camera, or accuse them of eating baby kittens, or stealing the innocence from babies and unicorns a like. He doesn't do that but I do.

So you'd think with the amount of socializing I do, "Edwardo" and myself would have grown a giant rapport and are total work Best! Friends! Forever! and do practically everything together (Which we don't). I thought we got along good, you know?

Until yesterday when my whole department were in a meeting and suddenly our boss says, " So 'Edgar', do you have anything to share after your first two months?" and everyone looked really interested in what 'Edgar' had to say and waited with anticipation to hear all about it. Me, on the other hand? I was confused.

Who the fuck was Edgar? Is what I thought.

"Who the heck is Edgar?" is what I said out loud to my group only to have poor, poor 'Edwardo' raise his hand and give me a look as if I had given him a puppy and then took that puppy away only to kick it under the bridge.

Of course my natural reaction to finding out I've been calling this dude the wrong name for two months was to laugh it off and then ignore him for the rest of my career.

A Vacation That I Hope Doesn't End Up With Someone Crapping All Over A Hotel Bathroom

All this week I am going to be preparing myself to hop into a vehicle for a two-day adventure towards my parents cabin where I am sure amazingly stupid things are going to happen. The last time we made this two day trip the dog ended up Dorito dog farting all over the place and when we stopped at our hotel for the night he spastically crapped all over the bathroom and the smell was so foul and disgusting we nearly threw up as we used all the towels in the bathroom room to clean it up and then threw them into the bathtub in a crappy attempt to hide the evidence. Despite locking the door we had to smell that smell all night long and it nearly destroyed our relationship and killed all the babies in the world by giving them cancer and in the morning we checked out as fast as humanly possible and now I’m probably sure that we aren’t allowed in a Best Western ever again because the maid that found that murder scene in the bathroom? She will most likely stab us if she ever finds us.

So this blog week is going to be pretty slow because The Pilot is working until super late all week and that leaves me to pack up all our crap and try not to forget anything and attempt to conquer my secret drinking habit because when he comes home at night and finds out that I did nothing? I’m pretty sure that’s grounds for him to break up with me and if he broke up with me I’d have to throw the dog off the cliff to show him that he never should have dumped me and we both know the dog would have picked to go with him and my fragile ego just couldn’t handle that after being dumped for not packing for a road trip.

All next week I do have on guest blog lined up because 99.9% of my readers are giant douchebags and only one person got back to me with an actual post and that person is someone everyone should have sex with because it’s just that good. The guest post. Not the sex. I’ve never had sex with her so I wouldn’t know. But I’m sure it would be good. She just looks like she is good at it.

Perhaps during the whole next week I am gone, I might just update my blog with what is going on because that Womb Mate of mine? Yeah, she’s going to be there. That means I am going to have a massive amount of stuff to blog about once the trip is over. But the thing about updating a blog while on vacation, it only works if you have access to the Internet. And my parents? Yeah, ever since they retired to live in a cabin on the lake they’ve decided they are going to live like homeless people and have no real access to the rest of the world. I’m not sure how I’m going to manage to do that without stabbing someone in the eye for some type of updated current events or just for my own amusement because there is only so many times a girl can play monopoly without killing someone. Sorry Grandma, you’re the oldest so you are probably going to be the one stabbed.

I also plan on making a lot of videos so you can look forward to that as well. If you don’t want to look forward to it…well I don’t look forward to giving you that intervention you so desperately need for your coke habit you ungrateful turdmouth. Yeah, that’s right. No Intervention for you. Whore.

P.S:  I didn’t really mean to call you a whore but you sort of kinda are. And that intervention? Yeah, it’s just going to be a giant party you aren’t invited too. Whore.

P.P.S: And that intervention that is just a giant party that you aren't invited to? Yeah, it's going to have George Michael performing all of his music and eventually he will end up knee deep in a pile of coke while simultaneously floating in a river of beer while fighting of a giant owl dressed in a red sequin wrestling outfit while Careless Whisper blasted on the sound system and lightening gold struck all the party goers. The night will end in tears and the next day will begin with the intervention we throw George Michael and once again just ignore you and not invite you to the giant party it will turn into.

Dinner & A Pooping Theatre

In previous posts I’ve talked about how embarrassing it is for me a friend to poop at work. Even more so when someone’s tit is hanging out in the air and being milked like a cow in a milking factory.

But now what about pooping at home (My friends home, of course)? Surely that can’t be embarrassing at all because it’s in the privacy of your own home and your home is your castle and you are the master of your domain and in your domain your poop is sacred and possibly second in command and everybody poops in their home and it’s Grand! Awesome! Fantastical!

Am I right? Well, I was right until last night when my friend decided to crap in my their house and decided that because no one was home and The Pilot their boyfriend was at work so there was no need for secrecy and upholding the myth (but in my case it’s very true – sort of like Unicorns and Rainbows) that girls don’t poo.  And they start pooping and suddenly BAM! WHAM! BANG! A furry white devil dog bursts into the bathroom while the poop is still being pooped and the devil dog decides that “Hey, wow, this person is taking a crap! How fucking awesome is this? It’s like...THE BEST THING EVER! You know what would make this cooler? Food, Yeah, that’s right. Food!”

And then the demon devil dog runs out of the bathroom only to return with a mouthful of dog food only to drop it on the floor so he can go back for more and he starts eating the dog food while you are still pooping, grinning the whole time and making sure to have great eye contact because everyone needs that level of supportive eye contact while crapping.

But you know what? Eating while someone is taking a crap isn’t enough, now is it? You know what would be better? If the devil demon dog decided that he was going to line up his stuffed toys because this is totally a poop  that they can’t miss and hey! While I’m at it might as well as get more food before I run out!”

And the poop is all plopping and the dog is all crunching and this whole scenario gets more awkward then the breast milking lady because at least she was blocked by the stall door and you can’t really stop looking at your dog eating his food while you take a crap because it’s a small bathroom and when you look away he takes that as a Que to try and crawl into your lap.

But of course, this happened to my friend.

Because I don’t poop.

A Dramatic Reading Of A Sexy Pirate Story 2

It's Friday? Why, yes, I think it is. And that means another Dramatic Reading of Pirates of Desire! Heck yeah, and this part starts to get steamy what with boobs, and nightgowns, and lady parts springing out into the open. Just HOT.

Please excuse that mess of hair because I literally just rolled out of bed and then filmed this because I'm that industrious and decided that I should do a Vlog instead of paying my rent right away. No one can say that I've got my priorities in order.

There is also a small part where you can hear Bowie squeaking on his damn fox and it's all "Squeak, squeak, squeak" like a douchebag and I have a moment that reminds me of being a teenager when you are all like "Ahhhhh, oh my god!" and roll your eyes as if someone had just done the worst thing in the world and greatly offended you. Which that dog does all damn day.

Pooping At Work. I Don't Do It.

Taking a doody at work is awkward enough because you never know if someone is going to walk in and look under the bathroom stall and see your shoes and immediately identify you by either saying your name and starting up a conversation and you hope to Baby Jesus that the "plops" don't happen in a lull in conversation or they just simply snicker to themselves and suddenly you're considered the "Work Pooper" and everyone knows that you have no problem dropping that load in a public toilet when, in fact, you really hate going doody in public because it's most likely a sin against evolution and one should only poop in their own toilet because then you can't be judge by the various levels of sound emitting out of your anus.

The only thing that can take the whole "It's awkward to take a dump at work" scenario into the realm of unreal awkwardness is when you finally give in because you really really got to take a doody and you hurry to the bathroom and thankthelorditsemptyandIcantakethisdumpinpeace! And as soon as you drop your drawers and start someone walks into the bathroom and instead of identifying you by your shoes or starting the work nickname "Work Pooper" they do something completely unexpected and just throw their breasts out there and begin to pump milk with a motorized breast pump.

Once you have set your mind to work poop there's no turning back so the only thing you are left to do is either hold it in until you possibly die from the strain or try and time the "plops" to the "sqooosh" of the pump and it's totally awkward because you know the person is letting her tits hang out  and Breast Pumper knows that you are totally trying to take a poop and timing the sounds so her breastyness hides the fact. In which case it becomes awkward for everyone.

And the next thing you know you're sitting in the bathroom for half hour because you're trying to play the "Who will either magestically finish their poop first or who will run out of milk first" game and it's a game you really don't want to play but you also don't want to loose so you wait until the point your ass is kind of getting numb and she finally finishes and leaves and then when you do finish your poop it's not anywhere neaer magestic and bordering on rabbit poop and it's a disappointment you waited that long for such a small pay off.

Then you realize you totaly missed a meeting because you just won The Great Poop Wait Off 2011.

But not that this happened to me or anything. It happened to a friend

Spilling Paint Will Cause An Old Man To Touch Your Penis

And Then The Dog Threw Up On Him

Did you know that dogs are prone to instant vomiting if they suddenly decide to drink their water super fast and then rapidly inhale a whole bowl of Kibbles N' Bits in two point five seconds flat and will just upchuck where ever they happen to be at the time they feel like vomiting? If not, they totally do that.

Since my dog, Bowie, is an excitable douche-bag this happens a lot with him. He inhales anything in his water bowl as fast as he can as if he were in a race that no one else was competing in and sometimes he decides that he's going to eat his food just as fast despite the fact that most days it takes him two and a half days to eat a full bowl of food. And it always happens that when he does both at once he always makes a mess. Most of the times it was on the kitchen floor. Sometimes on the carpet.

This weekend? Naw, it wasn't in the kitchen or the carpet or anything. He decided that he was going to up the anty.

After inhaling both bowls of food he suddenly decided that The Pilot was sleeping and it was probably time to wake him up so he first spent his time running circuits around the kitchen to work up speed so we can burst through the bedroom door and land directly on The Pilots' chest waking him up.

His thought pattern must've been something like this: "Holyfuckingshit! That guy must stillbesleeping and I've totally got to wake him up so I'm going to run so fucking fast around the kitchen and wake up him SUPER GOOD! OH BOY THIS IS GOING TO BE SO AWESOME! HA HA, I just jumped on him and OMG NOW HE IS AWAKE AN----BLARRRFFFFGGGHHHH!"

And that's when he upchucked in The Pilot's face. Mouth, eyes, ears, nose, forehead, chest was completely covered in projectile vomit. Which, in turn, caused The Pilot to throw up himself. On the dog. Who then ran out of the room and left a trail of vomit in his terrorized wake.

I couldn't help The Pilot, who was making sounds a strangled baby would make, because I was laughing too hard and once I fully processed what I saw I ran out of the room and huddled behind the television and called my Womb Mate to breathlessly tell her what happened.

Because, that's just the type of girlfriend I am.

Unicorns, Beavers, Bill Cosby & Drunk Tristachio

I'm not a drinker. I don't really drink. I can't really stand the taste of drinking. When I was fifteen I ruined drinking for myself. It involved drinking cheap, disgusting booze in mass quantities only because we had it bootlegged and refused to waste it. We drank in the woods between 7-11 and the Police Station because we were rocket scientists. I got blitzed. I got paranoid that my dad was going to find me. I found my Womb Mate at the arena and she refused to acknowledge that we once lived in the same uterus. And probably knew each in passing as sperms -- we were born that close apart. A ten year old convinced me my name was Mary. I rolled around in the snow, convinced that undercover Lesbians were everywhere so I asked if everyone was a lesbian and when my friend got me to her place, I slept for an hour and woke up perfect.

That's how it goes when I drink the few, rare times. I get easily drunk and sleep it off in minutes. No hangovers.

I've only been drunk in front of The Pilot once. I like telling stories when drunk. So I told him a short five minutes story that he thought was funny and he wanted to record. When he recorded it...this is what he got.

It is a bit on the lengthy side and probably not something you want to listen too at work unless you have headphones on. Or your children. Or grandmother. Or anyone, really.



Watch Story Of The Beavercorn in Comedy  |  View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com