Wednesday, April 29, 2009

What Not To Name Your Baby: Hooker Edition

This Civil War hottie not only boasts a whopping big sword but he may also be the founding father of the popped collar phenomenon.
Do you know who he is? Why, it's none other than General Joseph Dalton Hooker, commander of the Army of the Potomac. Although I prefer to call him by his street name: JO-HO
Does his last name sound vaguely familiar to you? It should.
Apparently Hooker's military headquarters acquired the unsavory reputation of being more of a bar and brothel than a war strategy think tank.
General Hooker wanted to keep up troop morale......the operative words being 'keep up.' Hooker allegedly requisitioned a passel of prostitutes to entertain his men, hence, the modern day association with his surname.

My oldest mini-Infidels broke out laughing when I relayed this lively little historical tidbit to them.
And then, as I'm wont to do, I started brainstorming a list of baby names that would be forboten if your last name was Hooker.
If you're reading this blog right now, and you happen to be a Hooker, then this is a valuable service I'm providing FREE of charge just for you. No hourly rates or a clandestine rendezvous at the No Tell Motel necessary.

MINNIE HOOKER- Works the red light district in Munchkinland.
HARRY HOOKER- Clientele includes Big Foot fetishists.
PENNY HOOKER- Lives below poverty level with Lionel Richie's Penny Lover.
CANDY HOOKER- Will satisfy any sweet tooth.
CASH HOOKER- Doesn't accept credit cards.
MERRY HOOKER- Is never filled with sadness.
KAREN HOOKER- Has a heart of gold.
SUMMER HOOKER- Gets three seasons off a year.
CRYSTAL HOOKER- Has an attached 'Handle With Care' label.
JUANA HOOKER- Are you an undercover cop?
LONDON HOOKER- Carries a lot of pounds.
CHARITY HOOKER- Accepts food stamps as payment.
RICH HOOKER- Has a golden parachute along with a golden mattress.
MARINA HOOKER- Got tired of the Lot Lizard competition at truck stops.
CHEYENNE HOOKER- The pride of Wyoming!
AMAYA HOOKER- Well am I??!?
RANDY HOOKER- Enjoys the job immensely.
PATTY HOOKER- Has no limbs.
RUSTY HOOKER- Hope you got your tetanus shot first!
CHRISTIAN HOOKER- Must be okay because it's in the Scriptures.
IMA HOOKER- You're a Hooker, wouldn't you like to be a Hooker too?
JEAN HOOKER- Only works on Casual Fridays.
MIA HOOKER- Is a proud graduate of the Hooked On Phonics:Tarzan Edition Program.
SEYMOUR HOOKER- Take our scenic Hooker Tour today!
VIOLET HOOKER- Needs the Heimlich Maneuver, STAT!
BERTHA HOOKER- Well they gotta come from somewhere.
BUCK HOOKER- Can be found soliciting outside the Dollar Store.
(My standards prohibit me from listing GAYE HOOKER and BUTCH HOOKER without parentheses. Ta-Da! Parentheses makes judgment lapses more acceptable.)

Studying History has an infinite boring factor built into it. I prefer the National Enquirer version of historical events as opposed to painfully dry textbooks penned by the class of intellgentsia solely responsible for keeping the professorial elbow patch factories in business. See how a little spark of ingenuity combined with an angle that's been marinating in salacious sauce all day really brings a Civil War history lesson to life??!?
Dang, I should be a History teacher.

Sunday, April 26, 2009


The things that make me laugh:
This blog post featuring some of the most hideous prom dresses known to womankind.

The things that make me cry:
Spending days, nights, and untold hours agonizing over writing an 8 page research paper......and then realizing that discussing the finer scientific points involving theistic evolution is way, way, way beyond my intellectual depth. It's a good thing that I had my blah-blah-blah backup writing technique on stand-by. Did you know that you can stretch out sentences simply by learning how to wield a lofty arsenal of adverbs? It's always a seriously, perfectly, obnoxiously, enormous(ly) truth(fully).

The things that make me go hmmmmmmm:
Chickens aren't usually a part of your everyday balanced vegetarian, Alcoholics Anonymous, egg-free diet, but apparently their balls are. Wait a minute, a chicken with balls? Only if they're born and bred over at RuPaul Farms.

Friday, April 24, 2009

You Know That You're A Warped Mother When.....

You start screeching dialogue at your kids culled directly from the pinnacle of all horrendously tragic child abuse movies, "Sybil."

My own mom allowed me to watch it when I was but a young Smiling Infidel. Either she was confused and thought Sally Field was reprising her flying nun role or she just wanted me to see real suffering so that she'd look like an Angel Mom sent down from on high by comparison.
Come to think about it, my mom and I also watched "Mommie Dearest" together when it was on a non-stop HBO marathon run. Maybe that was her way of instilling a deep and abiding appreciation of padded hangers.
Anyway, the pivotal scene in "Sybil" shows the monstrous mother giving poor Sybil an enema on the kitchen table. The mom then strolls off to play a peppy little ditty on the piano while she cackles in a lunatic voice: "Hold your water, Sybil! You hold it until the very last note, you hear me?"
Horrible movie. And yet I can still quote it.
It's like pulling hen's teeth to get my oldest son to brush his teeth. Which, come to think about it, if he keeps up his unhygienic ways he just may need some hen's teeth transplants in the near future.
I decided to pin all my hopes for an eternity of cheap dental visits on the Toby Mac toothbrush I found on clearance at Wal-Mart.
My son LOVES Christian rock artist, Toby Mac. I love that the Toby Mac song plays for over 4 minutes and the toothbrush won't work until it senses brushing motion. I never thought I'd advocate kids putting Christian rock in their rocks? Maybe.
It just so happens that after years of diligent practice, I've perfected my own cackling in a lunatic voice skill. I often use it to yell at my son, "Keep on brushing, Buster! You keep on brushing until the very last note, you hear me?"
In my defense, my son never brushes his teeth while lying down on the kitchen table. I don't even know how to play piano. That makes it okay.
Don't feel powerless in your struggles with tooth decay. Invoke the name of Toby Mac to act as your personal dental hygiene savior!
I would encourage all of you to stuff some Christian rock in your mouth today. Here's some for your ears.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

My Man Papi Makes It So Easy To Be An Abiding Subservient Wife......

Oh, that man of mine. How I just want to hang on his every word and fulfill his every whim and desire.
Do you want to know why I've chosen to poo-poo feministic ideals in order to properly hearken unto the wise counsel of my husband? It's because Papi's a genius of evil mastermind proportions, that's why.
While discussing our future and the future's of our half-dozen offspring, Papi turned to me and delivered the most inspired sermon I've ever heard. With a serious face he preached The Word According to Papi as such: "Girlie, this is what we're going to do: As soon as we shove that last kid out the door and we're liberated from parental slave status, we're going to move out to the country and become nudists so that there's a ZERO percent chance any of them will ever want to move back home."
The powerful force of Papi's words brought a small tear of joy to my eyes.
First though, I'll need to invest in some decent aprons with a built-in underwire support bra.
While I may not fully understand the complexities of the lobster's nervous system and whether or not they experience pain while getting boiled alive, I can most certainly attest to how it feels to have my own pendulous boobs boiled and hurts like a MOFO and it did indeed transform Dangly Thing #1 and Dangly Thing #2 into a nice scarlet shade of lobster-red.
I won't bore you with the specifics except to say it involved me cooking without wearing my nursing bra and a giant pot of boiling potatoes on the front burner. Yeah.
Only an Englishman/Irishman would boil and ruin perfectly good boob meat like that.
My Mexican-born Papi also likes to frequently articulate his grandiose superiority complex by telling me that we Americans need the Mexicans here because they are akin to fulfilling a Conquistador of Love role in modern American society.
Well, when you look at it like that, I guess by Papi agreeing to be my husband these past 15 years, he's doing one of those crappy jobs that no other American wants to do.
Ever the dutiful wife, I'm going to spend the rest of the day crocheting a special bullwhip cozy for my sweet little taskmaster out of the clothes we won't be needing in about another 12 years or so....

Monday, April 13, 2009

Add Another Food Commandment To The Bible Diet


We'd fallen into a blandly stagnant Easter dinner tradition of green beans and honey ham, so I decided to mix it up a little this year.
I was standing in the middle of the grocery store entertaining alternative dining possibilities when I spotted the magical orange clearance sticker slapped onto the side of a frozen Turducken concoction.
I was greatly relieved as the runner-up option was rabbit which seemed inherently wrong to serve up on the hallowed day of the Great Easter Bunny.
A Turducken is a Cajun specialty most fowl. It features a partially de-boned turkey stuffed with a duck stuffed with a chicken stuffed with oyster stuffing and covered in a spicy, orangey blend of spices.
If you serve a side of bacon you can almost have an entire petting zoo of animals fighting their way through your intestinal tract.
Turduckens allow you to eliminate three species of beast in every single bite. And that is precisely why the world will never fear being conquered by a fleet of small poultry.
Maybe us Infidels have a hillbilly palate that can only appreciate the finer things in life like Funyuns and pickled pigs feet because the Turducken Taste Trial was a resounding flop.
So, lesson learned: We shall henceforth stay far, far away from any food item with 'TURD' featured prominently in the name.
If you call it a Turd, and it answers to the name, Turd, then it must taste like a Turd.
I've never actually tasted turd before but based on yesterday it could be that the "TURD" part in TURDUCKEN might indeed be a secret stuffing ingredient that those sneaky Cajun's don't want the general public to find out about.
Remember they are the ones that eat the deadly Poke Salad as discussed in my favorite grunting song, "Poke Salad Annie....The Gator's Got Yer Granny."
I wouldn't put anything past them.
I may be a unrefined Yankee living in the South but I can come up with fanciful recipes, too.
I want to start a TURDUNKIN'll feature a powdered sugar glazed turkey stuffed with real Dunkin Donuts stuffed with various fillings like Bavarian Cream and gooey raspberry jelly.
I'm taking orders now for your next holiday gathering.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

I Wrestled With Your Angels--On Easter Day, No Less!

Have you ever found yourself wondering what West Side Story would be like if the Sharks and the Jets were replaced by Maori Indians in pink shirts rivaling for the coveted "King of the Big Balls" title against another gang of native New Zealanders?
Have you ever pondered the state of bowling alley facilities on an international scale?
Have you ever decided to start crooning lovely yet heartbreaking songs while spraying foot funk disinfectant and wearing your monogrammed bowling shirt?
Have you ever wanted to enjoy an all-access backstage pass to a bowling alley but you thought you'd have to be a roadie and do naughty things with the alley manager for the privilege?
Really? Well, that makes you slightly odd like me.........but, on a brighter note, I did find the perfect video for us to enjoy!

I'm so glad to discover that bowling alleys in New Zealand look exactly like those in America. Whew! I don't think I could have gone on living another day without getting verifiable video proof.

(This should definitely qualify under the category of: "Learn Something New Every Day.")