Wednesday, February 27, 2013


(I didn’t write this.  It was sent to me by Melynda, who swears it’s true.)

I hate certain things. Pap smears, blood draws and mammograms, even though I haven’t had one yet but am told I have to get one, are just a few of these delightful women things that I despise. Oh, and let’s not forget the famous urine sample where I inevitably end up peeing on my hand more than in the infamous cup. I don’t have a hose to aim with, after all.

Anyway, I haven’t been in for the old crank and spank Pap smear in six years. After talking to my doctor and him informing me of all the fun I’m missing out on I decided to give it another go. I have not had much luck with these exams. The last one I had I bled like a stuck pig due to the brutality of the doctor that performed the atrocity, and the one before that, where they called me and asked me to come back in and have it done again as my sample had been lost.

On that particular occasion they made the mistake of having a young man call me. I was furious and as I am a bit of an ass I replied, “No thank you.” “You really should come back in just to make sure everything is ok,” the young imbecile replied, not knowing who he was dealing with.  “Tell you what, hero. I’ll come back in as soon as you let me take a pair of salad tongs and crank your penis open, shove a Q-tip up your pee hole and scrape it,” I replied, losing my temper just a wee bit.

“So we will see you next year?” He sounded a little scared and worried that I would follow through with my plan. “Sounds good,” I said and hung up smiling.

However, after six years I went back in on Friday.

They started out by asking me if the student that was with the doctor could perform the exam. I was a little worried but after the nurse said “It’s OK if you don’t want him to. He’s used to being told no...” I felt like a louse and agreed. After all, if he is going to be a doctor he needs practice.

After asking me all the usual questions about mom organs, lady bits and if I feel safe at home, the exam took place. I was actually surprised as the student was extremely gentle and the exam was virtually pain free except when the actual doctor, a woman, stepped in to check some stuff.

The woman doctor was a brute and basically tried to push my boobs through my back, and for some reason felt the need to try to insert her entire fist into my crotch.

So the great discovery is, when having to subject yourself to massive torture I highly recommend a male student. Women are vicious.

--Melynda Fleury

The cartoons are my offering:

Somehow this seems to fit in here:
because it goes with  ***THIS*** 

 PMS jokes aren't funny; period----fishducky


Monday, February 25, 2013


I’ve found a solution to my major problem, & to think it came from that smartass know-it-all genius Bart Simpson.  Even a used brain would be fine, but I don’t have access to pathology labs.  Can anyone help me?  Here’s all we would have to do:

Or maybe I don’t really need one.
He seems fine:

I was taking my shower this morning & I got to wondering (now you see why I want that brain) if everybody washes their body in the same order or is it just me?  I got in the shower, took my sponge in my left hand & washed the entire right side of my upper body.  (I’m left handed so I always wash my right side first.)  Then I switched the sponge to my right hand & washed my upper left side.  Back it went into my left hand & I washed my right leg, then back again for my left leg.  Am I the only one who does this—which wouldn’t surprise me—or do normal people have a set routine for bathing, too?

Speaking of wanting and/or needing a brain, my father’s lady friend, Dorothy, was not the brightest light in the chandelier.  She & my dad were with us when we took the entire family on an Alaskan cruise.  On the cruise with us, but NOT as our guests, were Lady Bird Johnson, (the widow of President Lyndon Johnson) & her contingent of Secret Service agents.  Prior to setting off, everyone had to attend the lifeboat drill.  We were standing next to Mrs. Johnson during the drill.  Her face was apparently familiar to Dorothy, who turned to her & said, “I KNOW you from somewhere!  Are you a customer at Steve’s Beauty Salon in Hollywood?”  Mrs. Johnson sweetly replied, “No, dear—I’m from Texas!”

This is the patch we had made
& put on jackets & caps:

Another example of someone who could use a brain insertion: My dad used to work in my uncle’s grocery store.  One day a man came in & asked for half & half.  Nothing odd about that, right?  WRONG!  He pronounced it “HAFF & HOFF”!  Maybe he had ONE British parent.
And someone I WISHED had a brain (& a heart): Bud & I ran the local Cub Scout pack.  At an assembly in the school auditorium we asked each boy’s parents to register & to tell us what they could do to help.  The attorney father of one boy wrote on his slip, “Can’t help.  Work full time.”  Our boys were then 8 years old—nobody we knew was yet retired!  He refused to even give us his phone number in case of an emergency.  His son was in my den.  We held our meetings in the evening.  One evening it was pouring rain—much too heavy for the boys to come over.  We called everyone but him to cancel.  His dad buzzed by & dropped him off before I could catch him.  His son had to call him for a ride home.  Later that evening I got a call from his father, who was irate.  He yelled at me for making him go out twice in the storm when there wasn’t even a meeting that night!  How inconsiderate of me!!

This is my great niece's cat, Butter, & her brother's post.
I think it's pretty funny--check it out:

"I know there is a dog on the logo but the beer is just so damn good!"

One thing I CAN do very well without a brain is procrastinate.  I’ve always been a procrastinator.  My mother claims I didn’t get a birthmark until I was 6 years old----fishducky


Friday, February 22, 2013


Dirve Dvire Drive carefully!! 
And pay attention to all warning signs!

This is neat--watch the lights change!!

If these made you nervous, it might be a good idea
to just leave your car here.

Maybe these signpainters should go back to school.
Or maybe not.

Some cities require that you learn English:

This is too much!!
I need to relax & go have some fun:

That didn't help.I think I'll get something to eat:

Now I have to go potty.

I wish someone had told me I didn't
have to go through labor:

It's a good thing doctors never make mistakes!

I've discovered the cause of typing errors:

AND what to do about them:

He should have had a parrot:

This is NOT a typo--just stupidity:

To get ahead in life, you have to be very careful not too to have any mispelled misspelled words in what you rite right write----fishducky 

Wednesday, February 20, 2013


By Harriet Beecher Stowe

(Ed. Note: Topsy’s claim that she was never born, but just “growed”, is still questioned by many obstetricians.)

Having run up large gambling debts at a local Indian casino, a Kentucky farmer named Arthur Shelby faces the prospect of losing everything he owns.  Though he and his wife, Emily, have a kindhearted and affectionate relationship with their slaves, Shelby decides to raise money by selling two of his slaves to Mr. Haley, a nasty used slave dealer who pays good prices.  The two are Uncle Tom (a middle-aged man) and Harry (the young son of Mrs. Shelby’s maid Eliza).  When Shelby tells his wife about his agreement with Haley, she is appalled because she has promised Eliza that her husband would not sell her maid’s son. He asks, "And your point would be?"

However, Eliza overhears the conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Shelby and, after warning Uncle Tom and his wife, Aunt Jemima, she takes her hairy son son Harry and flees to the North, hoping to find freedom with her husband George, a draft dodger who had fled to Canada. Haley pursues her, but two other slaves alert Eliza to the danger.  She miraculously evades capture by cleverly crossing on the frozen half of the half-frozen Ohio River, the boundary separating Kentucky from the North.  Haley hires a slave hunter and his gang to bring them back to Kentucky.  Eliza and Harry make their way to a Quaker settlement, where they are given all the oatmeal they can eat, and the Quakers agree to help transport them to safety.  They are joined at the settlement by George, who reunites joyously with his family for the trip to Canada.

Meanwhile, Uncle Tom sadly leaves his family as Haley takes him to a boat on the Mississippi to be transported to a slave market.  On the boat, Uncle Tom meets an angelic little white girl named Eva, who quickly befriends him and falls into the river.  Uncle Tom dives in to save her, and her father gratefully offers to buy Uncle Tom from Haley.   Uncle Tom travels with them to their home in New Orleans, where he grows increasingly invaluable to the household and increasingly close to Eva, to whom he gives swimming lessons.   She eats too much chocolate, but he still thinks she looks adorable in her little bikini.

Eva’s father discusses slavery with his cousin Ophelia, who opposes slavery as an institution but harbors deep prejudices against wearing too much bling.  To help Ophelia, who later becomes engaged to Hamlet, overcome her bigotry, he buys Topsy, a young girl who was abused by her past master and arranges for Ophelia to begin educating her in how to dress for society.

After Uncle Tom has lived with little Eva's family for two years, the kid gets sick and dies, with a vision of Willie Wonka’s Chocolate Factory before her.  Her father decides to set Uncle Tom free. However, before he can act on his decision, he is killed—an innocent victim of a drive-by lava flow.  His widow sells Uncle Tom to a vicious plantation owner named Simon Legree.  Uncle Tom is taken to rural Louisiana with a group of new slaves.  When Uncle Tom refuses to tell Legree where some of his slaves have gone, Legree orders his overseers to have him watch reruns of "Gilligan's Island" until he drops.  When Uncle Tom is near death, he forgives Legree and the overseers.  His old owner, Mr. Shelby, arrives with money in hand to buy Uncle Tom’s freedom, but he can only watch as Uncle Tom suffers.

They return to the farm, where Aunt Jemima nurses her husband back to health.  They offer pancake breakfasts with a choice of syrup to hungry passers-by, who love them.  With their profits, they buy the freedom of all the slaves on the farm. They sell their marketing rights to Quaker Oats, as a way of saying thank you for helping Eliza.  They rename their restaurant IHOP, sell franchises, and the rest is history.

I was unable to find any non-racist Uncle Tom's Cabin cartoons, so how about some on grammar (for Janie)?

A quote from Woody Allen:

"I do not believe in the afterlife, although I am bringing a change of underwear."