Yeah. I'm BITCHING. What?!

What the fuck? Can someone please tell me how to share the Blu hoo? There are plenty of lame excuses for writing out there on the WWW over which folks are just laughing their asses off. And freaking BOOKS too. But the only thing remotely funny about much of the shit is that dumbass people paid for it. Like, real money. Case in point: Aisha Tyler's Swerve: Reckless Observations of a Postmodern Girl. Who the hell gave that woman a book contract? You know what her painfully unfunny writing reminds me of besides the fact that I am a dumbass for buying it? This can of soft drink sitting right here, spent, on the table next to me. ZERO. That's right Coke Zero ®. There is zero anything funny in the whole goddamned 247 pages. I want my money back. For the book. Not the Coke®. Damn. Focus here.

You know, fucktard book publishers, not everyflippingbody who has a career in front of the cameras is an AUTHOR. Oh, my God, a penny can be made! Hurry, write a book! Oh. Oh. Here's another GREAT example, which I know is going to piss off lots of folks, but only the lemming-kind who believe that just because someone else says so-and-so is hilarious that it must be so: Chelsea Handler's Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang. Plug me in both eyes point blank right now with a combination of hollow-point bullets and buck shot. I felt my brain atrophy when I read that stupid shit. I had a "I smell som'um" look on my face for the entire experience, and it took days before people stopped sniffing their armpits and cupping their breath around me. Look. Chelsea may be funny on television, but being able to nimbly riff off some hapless dork of a Mexican dude-- whose real name, by the way, is Jesus for Christ's sake, NOT Chuy--does not a brilliantly funny author make. Just because Ellen and Tina can do it--and GOD knows they CAN DO IT-- does not mean everyone can do it. Stop it, stupid Mindy Kaling from The Office. Not only is it impossible to read your crap, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (Yes. Yes they are.), without hearing your whiny, vocal-fry voice, but the prose is like something out of a junior high bathroom stall. In fact, the pages of the book should be in a junior high bathroom stall for wiping purposes. 

WHY are these women making good, solid spending money for churning out banal pukisms and Blu hoo has 22 followers? (And NOT that I don't LOVE and ADORE and appreciate my 22 followers, whose devotion I will mention in print if I ever get there.) Where is the outrage? Where is the justice? Bloggurl would like to share her sludge-of-the-sewer-laced-rantings with the universe. Any suggestions?

Some MORE People Who Need to STFU.

Sooooooo. People just love to talk. Especially  me. That’s a given. But in the last week or so there has been entirely too much discussion about the bullshit between J.C.Penney and Ellen DeGeneres and One Million Moms. (So of course, I've got to add my two cents.) The latter, a group of, like, a gazillion moms, came out and said that J.C.Penney spokesperson, Ellen, should be fired because she’s gay. And I say, “You go, girls! That’s the way to call the shit.” Who wants some fucking lesbian spokespersoning anyway? I mean, we need to keep as many of those immoral bitches in the closet where they belong, am I right?

Nah. I’m just fucking with y’all. 

One Million Moms should eat steaming shit and live to regret it. I probably shouldn’t have said that the One Million Moms “came out,” huh? Heh.

So. Dear One Million Moms: Are you completely and totally shitting me, you fucking stupid bunch of crack-whore-minivan-chauffeurs? What? Do you think being gay is somehow contagious? Do you think those ugly-assed children you all vomited out of your vaginas will “turn” gay because they wear clothes promoted by a woman who probably has better sex than you do? Are you afraid that if you shop at J.C.Penney now that people might think…gasp. The unthinkable? That they might think you have had oral sex before? Ohhh. Wait. Clearly, oral sex is not just for lesbians, now is it? And WHAT makes you so different, huh, you far-right-wing flaky tarts? Are you BETTER because you allow male sex organs all up in your woman parts? Should we assume you are all gonorrhea-infested sluts because you show unmistakable evidence that you’ve had sex with male sex organs? Damn. I’m not sure I want to wear heterosexual-marketed clothes now. Bleck. But that gonorrhea-infested-sluts assumption is about as stupid as ANY assumption that homophobes ever make about homosexual folks. Plus I just like saying “gonorrhea-infested sluts.”

To be absolutely fair to J.C. Penney, the management stood by our fair Ellen. And I could live in that store. The A.N.A. t-shirts come in the best colors and have actual sleeves for maximum underarm-fat coverage, unlike most t-shirts these days with their unflattering cap sleeves. And Decree jeans rock so badly that I’ve had on the same pair for approximately six months now, and they hardly smell.

If you haven’t been to JCP lately, you need to get your butt over there because their sales are insane. I went there recently, and the clerk handed me the bill. And it said $0. I was all like, “STFU!” And she was all, “Nuh uh.” And I was all, “STFU!” And she was all, “For real!” And I was all, “STFU!” Then she finally had to threaten to get security to usher me out. But, I shit you not about the $0. I had earned $10 in JCP rewards cash, and I found an amazing pair of pants that was originally priced at $55. There was a natty 70% off sale, plus an additional something-percent off all sale merchandise, so the final price came to $10, and you can figure out the fucking math because I’m too damned tired right now. But, yeah. I just handed the clerk the $10 JCP rewards coupon, and she handed me a free pair of pants. Best. Shopping. Day. Ever.

Not only do I love JCP, but I LURV Ellen DeGeneres. I cannot read a single one of her books in bed because I snort laughter so loudly that I wake up my husband. Or I try to contain my reactions but end up shaking the bed so hard that he wakes up anyway. I can’t help it my massive belly laughs register on the Richter scale. Shut the fuck up. I’m working on it. I just limited myself to three handfuls of Peanut M & M’s ®.

Ellen is hilar and beautiful and brilliant. She once did an entire stand-up routine that consisted of her eating a hamburger meal while she repeatedly—with a mouthful of cow and bun— asked the audience to hold on one more minute. I’ve loved her ever since her phone-call-to-God gag in which she said, “Hello, Mr. Dammit.” She handled with élan the initial brouhaha over her coming out years ago, and, again, she’s proven herself a classy dame in this horseshit with One Million Moms. Hell. She even got Bill O’Reilly’s support, and that is the shit. So, to all you One-Million-Mom-gay-haters, I’ll say what I’m sure Ellen would LOVE to but won’t: Suck my dick. (Said Ellen. Not Bloggurl. Yep. Just filling in for Ellen.)