Discourage Mints!

Life has gotten a little crazy at La Casa De Infidel. My two youngest mini-Infidels have struggled through phlegmy coughs, fever, and bouts of crying during the night for a whole week which in turn kept me awake too.

I don't have to consult etiquette guru, Emily Post to know that it's rude not to reciprocate the lovely comments left by all you bloggers whom I dearly love, but right now I just can't. I'm so tired and irritable, (but no cramping or bloating!) lately....... and I feel as though I'm subsisting on a diet of little EMO-faced "testy-mints." I'll see you all when I'm back in my sunshine-lollipops-and-rainbows-everything happy zone.

Love Is In The Air......And Not Even Lysol Spray Can Stop It!

Listen up men: The Valentine's Day Countdown has begun ticking away. You only have 3 weeks left to procure the perfect gift for your very special lady.

Heart-shaped boxes of gooey chocolate, floral bouquets, novelty jewelry, edible underwear; those Valentine present ideas are played out and blandly predictable. Luckily for you though, I'm more than willing to assume the role of The Smiling Infidel Cupid to assist you in making a unique and creative gift choice this Valentine's--one that your sweetheart will swoon with unfettered delight over and rejoice that she's gotten herself such a considerate man that anticipates her every need and desire.

Yes, my inventive yet practical female urinal pulls double duty for your on-the-go gal. It's a portable toilet slash beautifully hand-painted vase all in one!

Guys, tell her you love every single last part of her right down to her urethra. This gift assures your special love that you regard her luscious derriere as simply too good to plop down on a filthy public restroom commode seat and that you're making a pre-emptive move to prevent her from being bitten by venomous South American spiders lurking underneath or contracting an irritating urinary tract infection.

The durable beauty of this urinal will undoubtedly ensure that only her heart is full of love for you.........and not her bladder.

*humor-blogs.com only gave their sweetheart a mayonnaise jar for Valentine's Day last year*

The Price Of Beauty Just Got A Little Cheaper At La Salon De Smiling Infidel

The popularity of No Cool Story and her much beloved blog, Mas Cowbell has surged through teh internets- gaining instant fame and fans among all who read and savor her patent brand of silly style.

In order to cash in on her unmitigated successes I'm willing to risk possible trademark infringement liability to offer you, the adoring Mas Cowbell public, the rare opportunity to undergo my all new Super Happy Girl extreme makeover so that you too can look just like the official Mas Cowbell mascot !

Through diligence and hard work I perfected the secrets to the ultimate Super Happy Girl makeover with my own 8 year old daughter, Caterpillar. See how super and happy she is with the results?

Glassy-Eyed Stare: Check
Super Happy Girl Cheese Smile:Check
Puffy Gums: Check
Toothless Wonder Dental Treatment: Check

Looking to transform your mundane life into one that will keep you permanently smiling for the rest of your life whether you want to or not? Then stop on by La Salon De Smiling Infidel to make all your super happy dreams a reality!

*All makeover package prices include an unlimited supply of goofy hats to make your look complete*


UPDATE!!! No Cool Story herself just sent me the most fantastical finishing touch to make my own real live Super Happy Girl swoon with excitement.

Super Happy Update Number Two!!!
Super Happy aficionado, Wynne, has ensured that the Super Happy Sistuhs will be Super Happy BFF's in their pimpin hats 4EVAH!!!

A Smiling Infidel Restaurant Review: Biting Into Stuff That Bites So You Don't Have To!

When you dine at an eatery bearing a name such as Border's Mexican Grill And Cantina your taste buds automatically salivate with the expectation of immediate rejuvenation via zesty salsas and vibrant chili-stuffed foods. Your bowels may anticipate a little of the danger and excitement that comes from taking a gastrointestinal gamble at a borderline Mexican restaurant as your mind reasons that this is America and we have rules about health codes and stuff. No, my friends, you should always obey the promptings of your bowels first. My daughter, Sunbum and I learned our lesson when we visited Border's eateria (rhymes with diarrhea) a few weeks ago.Troubadour Christopher Cross offered wise counsel as he fervently sang out, "Oh they got such a long way to go.....to make it to the border of Mexico." We should have followed his advice and "rode like the wind" out of there. Yeah, what we ate could have qualified as a border specialty, alright-- If we're talking about the border between white-bread Minnesota and Canada, that is.

The burritos we ordered arrived on a lukewarm platter and they were the size of pillows. Unfortunately, they reminded me of pillows found at a cheapie roadside inn-the kind where you toss and turn all night in fitful sleep as memories of that last 20/20 program special revealing the germs, bacteria, and bodily fluids splashed over hotel walls play in your mind. And then somewhere in the middle of the night you suddenly feel itchy all over your face and you shake the limp, nasty pillow and curse at it as you wonder what the freak its stuffed with. Yeah, our burritos were exactly like that. They also lacked any discernible flavor. Just to make the burritos somewhat edible we continuously dumped more and more salsa on them. It did occur to me that this place is called Border's because their food is akin to eating paperback novels over at Border's bookstore. At least books satisfy a hunger for knowledge.

Sunbum and I sipped daintily on our first round of water but when we asked for a refill I swear the non-English speaking busboy must have thought we really wanted him to take our water glasses and fill them up with the nearest water source available whether that be the rancid dishwater in the sink with borracho beans still floating lifeless on the surface or maybe to just top it off from the septic tank line. Whatever option he chose, the water smelled bad and tasted worse.

If you need more testimonial regarding the crappiness of Border's Cantina, look no further than the distinguished groups known as Doctors Without Borders and Engineers Without Borders. They obviously dined here too and named their organizations accordingly. I'm officially founding a Bloggers Without Borders movement starting right now!

*humor-blogs.com always follows the admonitions set forth by Christopher Cross......that's why they still think of Laura and laugh, not cry because she'd want it that way.*

Stupid Is As Stupid Does

To anyone who just received an invitation from me to join STUMBLE, please ignore it. I am a gigantic, colossal, monumental, gargantuan dork who didn't understand that pressing that alluring bright orange button on the STUMBLE site would send out intrusive e-mails to all the people in my address book. I laughed heartily at the fools who wrote about making this exact mistake over at Facebook and thought to myself, "Those poor, pathetic souls making an azz out of themselves to friends and family and business associates alike."

Carry on now with watching your Saturday morning cartoons, interpretive dancing, wild wildebeest hunting, colonic irrigation, armpit farting or whatever else you were doing and just graciously ignore the crazy over here.

Another Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week!

Sometimes we get a little restless here at La Casa De Infidel and we look for ways to improve our quality of life. Recently, we devised an amusing remedy to cure perpetual radio boredom by translating the lyrics of popular music into a customized "lolinfidel" speak accompanied by an occasional dramatic interpretation of said lyrics.

This week we've focused in on mocking discussing the possible hidden meaning behind everyone's favorite lite rock classic, 'Broken Wings' as performed by the original lite rock maestros, Mr. Mister. Frankly, there's precious few things in this life more tragic than Broken Wings. Although, some periods of time makes broken wings a lot more tragic than others.
Baby, I think tonight we can TAPE what was wrong and make it right.....
So TAPE these broken wings.....
And learn to fly again, learn to live so freeeeee.....
Oh, TAAAPPPPE these broken wings.........
(Notice I left out the stomach-churning line about the "flesh and blood that makes us whole" because I do have some sort of decency standards)

Disclaimer:
*This was an Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week dramatization done by professional winged maxi-pad handlers. Do not attempt this at home. Usage of actual broken/taped winged products may result in pain and discomfort much like listening to Winger's Greatest Hits. Wearing of the product shown above also causes unexpected pulling and tugging symptoms linked to involuntary bikini line baldness.*

The napkins are always sanitary at humor-blogs.com

The Smiling Infidel:Spicier Than The Spice Channel

Okay, I've adopted a set of useful rules to keep me safe while working during the graveyard shift.
Rule Number One:Do not make eye contact with strangers or engage them in conversation.

So one morning, a few months ago, I stopped at the friendly neighborhood Valero gas station for some very important Nacho Time. As I walked in, I noticed this gigantic mass of a man wearing a mesh trucker cap and stuffed into a nastily stained gray T-shirt underneath a red-checkered flannel shirt. He was leaning his massive body over the rectangular cooler filled with iced-down beer and looked like the long-lost identical twin of Billy Pratt who plays Kurt Russell's best friend in the classic 80's cheeseball film, Overboard. Oh, don't even come around here and pretend that you haven't seen that movie, because I know better. I bet you sit around and watch it every time its the Saturday Matinee Movie on TV and mouth the dialogue right along with the characters. (I do!)

Anyway, so I stroll off to the back of the store to get some bottled water and then make my way over to the oozing font of processed nacho cheese goodness when I hear Mr. Hee-Haw bellow out to me in a maddeningly slow Southern drawl, "How you doin, young lady?"

I fervently continued on with my nacho mission and completely avoided his red-eyed gaze as I politely answered, "Fine."

The man still continued to try to chat me up even though my back was to him and I'm obviously blowing him off. Now admittedly, I was dressed in my super sultry 'Where My Peeps At?' T-shirt that I bought for $1.99 at Walgreens Drug Store paired with my seductive Hanes Her Way gray cotton capri pants and crusty Birkenstock sandals. I mean, who can really blame the guy for ogling my divine beauty? Can't nobody work the Manual Laborer Hottie look like I can.

The Valero attendant knows me by name and understands my nacho addiction. He scurried to the back to bring out a dish of fresh jalapenos for me as I stood there waiting, paper nacho tray in hand..

Mr. Hee-Haw actually stood up straight, detaching himself from his beer cooler perch, and excitedly waved his arms around while hollering at me in his mouth-full-of-moon-pie way, "Jalapenos? Now I know it's true. You is the woman of my dreams!!!!"

Crap.

It became obvious that he wanted to cart me off and make me the Queen of his double-wide trailer. The sound of 'Dueling Banjos' started ringing in my ears. Apparently, Mr. Hee-Haw has very rigid criteria in selecting a woman. I can only imagine his online dating application on the line where it asks to specify his perfect match: "Must Love Jalapenos." It's a bit disconcerting that he identified me as the woman of his redneck dreams. I wonder what the woman of his nightmares must be like? It's probably the saucy server over at Pancho's Mexican Buffet who sternly told him, "I'm sorry sir, but you've eaten every last chili relleno in this place. I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."

As I stood at the register paying, Mr. Hee-Haw attempted one final maneuver......he complimented my awesome red truck and asked if he could go along with me to help throw my paper route.

I'm a heartbreaker. When I screeched an emphatic "NOOOOOO!" at him I could actually hear his ego whooshing out like when you sit down on one of those squishy, padded toilet seats. Ssssssssssssss.

I find it incredibly sad that a guy so old has to resort to trawling for fat, married chicks at a convenience store. His pick-up lines were also incredibly sad. Isn't there a 'Picking Up Women At The Gas Station For Dummies' book that he can consult and take notes?

My Papi thought the whole incident was funny, especially since I had to fend off the amorous advances of the decrepit and ancient Matzo Man just last year. I guess consuming so many spicy jalapenos has made me a red-hot mama; irresistible to all who encounter me. :)

The Smiling Infidel Word Of The Day......Learning Words The Infidel Way!

Today's Word Is: CAMOTOE
I took my mini-Infidels to the park today to soak up some of the gorgeous spring-like weather we're enjoying smack in the middle of winter. As we strolled along I sourly noted that the "Hoochie Poochie Mama" patrol was out in full force and taking advantage of the warm temperatures by showing off their enormous belly pooches spilling out of cropped shirts and obscenely plunging low-rise jeans.

And then we saw her. A lady wearing overly-tight stretchy pants with a camouflage print. She was walking right towards us and while I don't ordinarily take in small details the glaring full-frontal wedgie digging deeper into her womanly crevices with her every step was just too much not to notice.

A camouflage pants induced cameltoe=Camotoe

And so a new Infidel Word Of The Day was born unto us. Surely it won't be too long before it finds inclusion into the newest revised edition of Merriam and Webster's Dictionary.

*Researchers at humor-blogs.com are working on inventing special cameltoe-camouflaging pants for ladies*

Where Do Old Chefs Go To Die?

Do they go to 'An Old Chefs' retirement home where they compete in cooking contests using only bran and prunes as ingredients? Maybe they get sent out to pasture where they can run and frolic freely alongside packs of wild chefs? The answer is:none of the above.
No, apparently they all get shipped out to the special Santa Paula spice factory crematorium where their culinary essence is transformed into a rusty orange powder and packaged right up for retail sale at fine generic stores everywhere.
Always one to set himself apart from the crowd, Super Chef Emeril Lagasse has bottled his own name-brand essence to reduce the chances of having to co-mingle his superior essence with the essence of a more common chef who probably only ever wore a foufy little white hat while serving up runny omelets stuffed with imitation bacon bits to bloated tourists down at the La Quinta Inn breakfast buffet.

Now, I know all you gourmands are saying, "But hey, that Emeril guy is still alive!" Exactly right. Much like the mystifying question, 'Who's buried in Grant's Tomb?' we have to wonder who's really inside Emeril's Essence.

He's obviously perpetrating a fraud when he claims you can have a little Emeril in every bite. BAM!

*I sprinkled some Essence of humor-blogs.com on my meal but it made it taste funny.*

It's Time To Admit It: Huey Lewis Rocks My World!

Well he doesn't exactly rock me in the musical sense, mind you, but by all accounts Huey Lewis is a genuinely nice guy. In this selfish mortal realm punctuated with cut-throat attitudes, that really means something.

Last week, the Huey-Haters team sadly lost their bid to spread their venomous Huey-loathing message across the web. The resulting poll numbers are pretty clear......... I got owned by exuberant fans who voted the Huey-Haters down on practically a 2 to 1 margin. Now, I'm not insinuating that the poll was in any way skewed but I think the Huey-Haters would have fared much better during International Huey Hatred Week instead of the Christmas holidays. I speculate that by the time the survey made its debut people were already sitting around feeling guilty as they had to listen to John Lennon continuously implore "So this is Christmas, and what have you done??!!???" In response the public voted overwhelmingly for Huey just because Christmas is a time of peace and love and they could assuage their own nagging conscience by saying, "You know what, John? You know what I did this Christmas? I voted for Huey." Per written agreement with the humor-blogs creator and self-professed Huey Lover, Diesel, I, as the loser of this bet, must sing the glorious praises of Huey Lewis from the mountain top on high now.

So, I'm sitting in my truck listening to yet another overplayed Justin Timberlake song and I start thinking "Crap. Again? I should organize a fundraiser to buy the station some new music because obviously they can't afford to expand their collection beyond Nickelback, matchbox 20, and Daughtry." As the station polluted the airwaves with the sounds of the seemingly inescapable Colbie Caillat tune, 'Bubbly' for the third time that hour, I realized that the tiresome music rotation of the radio was crushing my very heart and soul. Irritated, I quickly switched the channel to surprisingly find the equivalent of a 'Heart and Soul' transplant courtesy of Huey Lewis and The News. I have to grudgingly confess that his music is significantly less annoying than the majority of the Grammy Award-celebrated artists of today.

And then I found this article detailing how Huey Lewis has a huge following among the mentally retarded.

No, I'm not taking that statement any further.

As the sister of an 18 year-old brother who's afflicted with a chromosomal abnormality akin to Down's Syndrome I'm really impressed with the good works that Huey Lewis has done in the mentally handicapped community and the way he makes them feel special and important. I never knew this charitable side of Huey because he's not a shameless publicity whore about it at all.

While I'm not rushing out to get a flamboyant 'Huey Forever!' tramp stamp inked across the small of my back, I would readily buy his music to support his philanthropic side. Of course, I'd then give all the music away, but still.......

Gardening Techniques For Beauty School Dropouts

Every single day of my young life I spend my pre-dawn hours driving around a very chic neighborhood steeped in stately opulence. Some of these people have so many driveways circling their home I don't even know which one to throw the newspaper at when they request "Driveway Service." I always take mental note of emerging fads along with who got their Mercedes hitched up and towed away in the dark of night by the repo man. So anyway, know what the hottest trend in Houston home and garden decor is right now- well aside from hiring illegal landscapers and pretending you didn't know they were illegal when you run for re-election.........

Garden Club Snobs have officially endorsed the Chia Pet mailbox treatment as the 'must have accessory' this season. Chia Pet mailbox owners lovingly sculpt and manicure the continuously sprouting mass into a brilliantly green and unmistakable FRO style that accentuates their arched brick boxes. Personally I'd be worried about small critters taking up residence in the bush around my box. Maybe that's just me, though.

The house pictured above is situated on a small cul-de-sac featuring handsome homes all newly outfitted with a grouping of their very own FRO-styled mailboxes. It looks suspiciously like they're paying homage to the Jackson Five.

I constantly have to fight the urge to bring my own hedge clippers with me to start modifying the mailbox shrubbery. I'd love to slice one up and give it a Mr. T mohawk. Or trim a few sprigs up front and leave the back alone for a good old-fashioned bushy mullet. Maybe even butcher the whole dang thing in an effort to re-create Britney Spears mid-2007 clean-shaven look.

It's times like these that I have to ask myself WWESD? What Would Edward Scissorhands Do?

*humor-blogs.com would love the opportunity to come and tame your unruly bush*

Why You Should Never, Ever Order A Pizza With "Everything" On It

I admire small business owners immensely and I understand that it takes a great deal of strategic marketing to set yourself apart from the pack. I would venture to say that pizza places are as plentiful as the stubbly hairs on my chin and that an owner's biggest obstacle lay in establishing a niche and appealing to a wider variety of consumers than the next pizzeria down the street.

That being said, I think Paul's Pizza Shop may be going about the "setting ourselves apart" ideal in entirely the wrong way.

I can only speculate that they're trying to rival the popular Meat Lover's and Cheese Lover's pizzas sold at the Pizza Hut franchise restaurants by marketing their own brand of Poop Lover's Pizza. Obviously they're pretty proud of their abominable new pizza creation the way their sign trumpets that it'll bring "Poop Love And Joy To All." I wonder if the Poop Lover's Pizza qualifies for inclusion on their Vegetarian menu? Will they host exclusive Poop Pizza tasting events for the most discriminate pizza gourmet snobs? Are they setting a new trend and in the future we can expect to see U.S.D.A Grade A Poop listed as toppings at other pizzerias? Has it happened already? I say, "Beware the crumbled 'sausage'!"

I'm no business analyst but I'm fairly certain that the poop fetishist market is pretty minuscule and ultimately not a very palatable group to direct attention towards in hopes of future business growth.

If You Should Ever Happen To Dine At An Establishment Owned By Humor-Blogs.Com, Ask For A Complete List Of Ingredients First.

Guns Don't Kill People......But They Do Make Them Fat!

I'm a terrible mother. I left my precious children unsupervised on Christmas Day while I went to take a nap; forgetting all about the gun I left out unlocked and unsecured on the kitchen counter.

I awoke to piercing screams and went rushing into the kitchen to find this most disturbing sight.....








my kids had gone all Cookie Thug on me and baked up a batch of buttery Christmas tree-shaped Spritz delights completely on their own and were jumping around whooping it up with excitement as the first tray came out of the oven.

Now they think they iz some kind of bad ash bakers breakin it down all independent Infidel style without their momma around. My son said biker gangs are for wusses and he wants to join a hard-core Baker Gang instead. I'm thinking we could film a modern update to the classic film, 'Easy Rider' and call it Easy Baker. My son volunteered to do all his own Easy Bake Oven stunts too without even the safety of an oven mitt. His street name is Pillsbury, for obvious reasons.

When I trotted out my rolling pin and dough for traditional cookie-cutter treats, my newly cookie gun-licensed mini-Infidels were all like, "We see you rollin, we hatin." I bet cookie dough conflict was the true inspiration behind Chamillionaire's big hit song.

So now my kids can wipe their own behinds and make the cookies for our Christmas family get-together. My work as a mother is pretty much done here. Yeah, having kids shooting up the place might bother some people, but I don't really mind at all.

You won't usually find cutesy advice on decorating or fashion or mommying-to-the-multitudes tips here but I do have to share this Spritz cookie recipe with you. It made the best cookie gun cookies I've ever tasted. Ever. Butter Snow Flakes.

Click here for more exciting gun refreshment recipes to take to your next local NRA meeting: humor-blogs.com.

The Smiling Infidel Takes A Number Two!

The Smiling Infidel turns TWO YEARS OLD today. Some would say that this blog does indeed show the mental maturity and behavior of a bratty 2 year old too!

So I launched The Smiling Infidel on New Year's Day 2006 with this riveting post about a lurvely pink and politically-correct T-shirt I made for a co-worker friend of mine. What happened next? Well, just like U2's famous song, 'New Year's Day', all was quiet on New Year's Day. Really, really quiet. :)

Many times I've thought about giving up blogging altogether but the strange ideas and voices in my head keep compelling me to come back so I can write out my weird thoughts and vanquish them from taking up valuable cerebral space. Those voices are also prophetic, you know. Look at the picture below from my first post. I made those awesome little buttons including the Hillary Clinton one. At the time it was a cheeky little joke to even ponder the thought of any more scandal-ridden Clinton's running for the Presidency. I'm afraid that by creating the very first Hillary campaign button I may have set horribly cosmic things into motion.

Two years ago I would have never considered the possibility of making online bloggy friends and then meeting them and becoming real life friends. But it happened. Two years ago I didn't really think that anybody would be interested in reading my random collection of oddities. But that happened too. So much has happened over the past two years and I'm glad to have shared teh internets with all of you fine people!

Treat yourself to a piece or two of this festively decorated cake masterpiece, you deserve it!