I Should Be Crowned Queen Of The Dirty Santa Game

Dirty Santa=White Elephant

Got it? Good!
Anyway I wrapped up my awesome gift for the exchange in the most festive glittery silver Happy Chanukah paper before adding dangling blue balls ornaments to the ginormous bow.
Party patrons WANTED it. The gift got stolen and re-stolen and for a moment the gathering nearly turned into a Mormon Mosh Pit of Madness as frenzied fingers grappled for the present.
Not really, but it was highly sought after and now I'll show you photographic evidence of why:

This be the picture affixed to the top of the plain white box that obscured the hidden wonders tucked neatly within.
I'm sending this pic to my man Mitt so he can use it in his 2.0 Presidential Campaign Relaunch.
Big Pimpin' Mitt 2012.....ooohhhhh yeeeaaahhhh!

 

And here be the Big Pimpin' Booty!
The only parameters of the game stipulated that the gift must not exceed 10 bucks and it should be goofy but still practical.
Well, what MO wouldn't want to serve up their guests out of a set of authentic Tupac Shakur shooter glasses? The marijuana leaf motif is super classy!
Tupac was the victim of an unknown shooter and now he's immortalized on shooter glasses.
Dang, I love me some irony!

Are You In Search Of Some Scorching Hot Buns? It's Gonna Cost You!

Hot Cross Buns......Hot Cross Buns.....One-A-Penny.......Two-A-Penny.......One-Hundred-Twenty-Nine-Pennies. Hope you own a roomy and spacious coin purse built for Abraham Lincoln and 128 of his little coppery clones.


Although, the unexpected inflationary surge in the bun market is but a small price to pay for an avowed addict to revel in some sweet, sweet hot cross buntopia.

After all, this plastic package of pleasure boasts a whopping XXXXXX rating. Yeah, it scoffs at all those paltry triple-XXX hot buns. A threesome of hot buns? No way! This is a party just waiting to be opened by an adventurous sixsome!

Me and my six-pack. Hey, you see me sweet-rollin', you hatin'.

Dance And The World Dances With You......Sometimes

Kroger's grocery traditionally only plays the lamest of the lame on their in-store radio. They're single-handedly resurrecting the soothing soft rock favorites that time (mercifully) forgot.
After a particularly mind-numbing shopping experience where the overhead speakers blared both the Titanic theme song and "The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald" back-to-back, I came to the conclusion that their programmer harbors an unhealthy ship wreck fixation.
Keep that man away from a career in the cruise ship D.J. field!
Sometimes the music is so bleak that I automatically go into announcer mode with my snarky-malarkey radio voice. My announcements usually go something like this: "Sad Sack Radio: All the saddest songs, all the time! Kindly vacate the rat poison and kitchen knife aisles before the next suicidal tune in this very special Depress-A-Thon music mix!"
If you happen to survive the sentimental sounds wreaking havoc on your emotions then you'll be well prepared to take on over the narcolepsy-inducing aspect of so many sllllooooowwwwww songs played right in a row.
It's not just on major thoroughfares that you have to worry about people falling asleep at the wheel. It's a good thing Kroger's sells No Doz tablets, otherwise the shopping basket fatalities resulting from customers nodding off while pondering which Hamburger Helper to buy this week would be much greater.
How many eggs and pasta sauce jars must be sacrificed before Kroger's deigns to plays some peppier stuff?
I get the slow music strategy, though. It's all a sinister marketing ploy.
See, the more plodding the music, the greater the likelihood a customer will linger longer. The shoppers essentially become unwitting victims, aimlessly wandering down the aisles in a lite rock-infused daze. Muskrat Love always has that effect on me anyways. So, basically, all of this leads to impulse buying and increased spending.
It's freakin diabolical but incredibly genius at the same time.
So imagine my surprise while shopping last Friday night, with my entire entourage of mini-Infidels in tow, when the K-Roger Discotheque actually played a kickin' J. Lo song. Not just that, but it was a funky dance remix of J. Lo's club hit "Get Right."
I was powerless to resist the rump-shaking urges that "Get Right" always induces. I swear that the milk section had been completely vacant prior to my dancing jiggling exhibition with giant string cheese tumbleweeds rolling down the desolate aisle. But then, much to my horror, I turned around slowly just in time to witness at least 5 other Kroger shoppers frozen in shock, staring at me with wide eyes and mouths agape.
Apparently my milk shake doesn't bring all the boys to the yard.....but it does bring all the customers to the dairy aisle.
Embarrassed at my uncharacteristic display of craziness, I took my mini-Infidels and hid in the secluded safety of the clearance corner until I was sure that all the involuntary spectators had moved on.
Sunbum, the oldest, kept reassuring me that it was fine. She remarked that the people looked on disapproving because they wondered what the heck someone could be so happy about that they'd dance a jig right in the middle of the grocery store. Sunbum said they were probably jealous of my uninhibited spontaneity.
I'm sure that's it.
The moral of the story is that one should always avoid the advice set forth by hand-painted plaques and cheesy gift shop merchandise.
I did indeed dance like no one was watching. Regrettably though, people were watching. In fact, it felt as though ALL the eyes of Texas were upon me eyeballing my lack of rhythm, grace, and coordination.
I could almost hear that mysterious voice from Field Of Dreams echoing, "IF YOU SHAKE IT, THEY WILL COME!"
Well then, I guess in the future I'll be a little more discerning about where and when I choose to bust a move since it's like a beacon for all to gather round and stare in wide wonder.
Here's a few helpful lifestyle tips I've composed just for you:

• Sing Like Nobody Is Listening You Just Had Your Vocal Chords Removed.
• Work Like You Don't Need The Money Vindictive Vinnie And His Sidekick Liver Lips Louie Are Waiting At Your House, Crowbar In Hand, For This Month's Protection Payment.
• Dance Like Nobody Is Watching You're At A Southern Baptist Convention.
• Love Like You've Never Been Hurt Everyone Is Made Out Of Peanut Butter And You'll Go Into Anaphylactic Shock If You Get Too Close.
• Blog Like Nobody Is Reading You Ain't Making No Money Out Of It. (Oh wait, I think I already got this one down.)

P.S. This is my new theme song to life. The first few lines address the unfortunate occurrence of getting laughed at while dancing--to which Aussie Ben Lee chirpily croons "I Feel SAD For You, You Never Take A Chance!" Awesome.
BEN LEE--WHAT'S SO BAD ABOUT FEELING GOOD?

I Reached Into The Record Bin And Unexpectedly Got POOPELOO All Over My Hands!

You should always exercise extreme caution when rifling through a crate of old records......you just never know what sort of sensory horrors may be lurking within!

Sure, I completely anticipated running my grubby little Infidel fingers over a hairy Bee Gee chest or two or three, and maybe exposing one of Herman's Hermits to the light of day......."Something Tells Me I'm Into Something Good......." but, I most certainly was not expecting to have my hand land in a big pile of old POOPELOO. Fresh and new POOPELOO is fine. Crusty vintage POOPELOO reeks.
Notice the record cover? It's POOPELOO to the third power!!!!!
You can just imagine some of the very unfortunate conversations that took place upon POOPELOO's release:

• I put POOPELOO on the record player. It sounded like crap.
• Don't you know who I am? I made POOOPELOO! (Yeah, you and every other human, freak.)
• I found POOPELOO on vinyl at the record store today! Ewww, that's nasty. Did you complain?
• Hey, did you release a 7-inch POOPELOO? (Perhaps you should consult a doctor about that.)
• Have you listened to POOPELOO lately? (Oh, is that what you call it? I call it 'The Plop Plop')
• Hey, wanna do the POOPELOO with me? (Uh, no thanks. My anti-diarrheal medicine has just kicked in.)
• Every time I put POOPELOO on the record player it scratches and skids. I freakin hate POOPELOO skid marks.

Thank your lucky stars that records weren't produced in a scratch-n-sniff format. It might have worked out okay for "Strawberry Fields Forever" but POOPELOO, not so much.

Tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the more discriminate Antique Mall shoppers I found a box that held quite a remarkable assortment of International cheese.

Most notable is our fine feathered friend, Paul Severs. Flanking Paul on either side of his forehead are golden blond wings that could potentially start flapping in the wind at any given moment, thus elevating him above the Non-Oh La La Zo Sexy riff raff.

After all, you little people should know that you're not truly Oh La La Zo Sexy material like Paul if you're not wearing a powder blue mesh undershirt that doubles as a fish net/laundry bag/chest hair trap along with a twee Mickey Mouse pin on your lapel. You also have to make sure to narrow your eyes for the camera while positioning your mouth in an awkward and uncomfortable grimace like you just ate a bad crepe over at the Oh La La Zo Sexy Cafe. Sure, it may appear as though Paul is squinting at the sun but he's actually working his potently seductive allure.

Please, allow me to remind you just who is the master and commander of all things Oh La La Zo Sexy. It's most certainly not you and me, my friend.

Although, in Paul's defense, he does have some amazingly rock hard abs. I should know. Just look at the picture, I got my hands all over them!

I Need To Start Attending Soxaholics Anonymous Meetings

I'm a shameless sox addict. It's true. I just can't get enough sox to satisfy my needs.

So when the opportunity arose to participate in a Sock Market Exchange with some long time companions over at my second Internet home, Baby's Named A Bad, Bad Thing, I immediately signed up. Having sox is good but swapping hot sox with strangers is even better.

Joy F. in Boston brought me joy here right here to Houston when her super soxy package arrived on Saturday. I thought I was the ultimate Sox Goddess, but Joy could possibly edge me out and claim the title for herself. Lookie at the picture......it's a SOX THREESOME! Now I have a pair for every occasion....... Sox on the beach, elevator sox, church sox.

And while I cherish and adore all three of them and even placed them to my bosom and danced a jig around my living room with them, I must confess that I love the raw but flavorful beauty of the Sushi sock the most. They are HOT LIKE WASABI and they're a nice shade of spicy wasabi green to match the hotness.Don't hate me because I'm so soxy and you aren't.

Further Pictorial Proof Of My Sox Addiction Disorder Right HERE.

We Spend All Our Dollars At The Cents Store!

I don't usually quote the deep profundity of words set forth by the lyrical genius that is Akon and Wyclef Jean, but their collaborative song, Sweetest Girl got me thinking. When the two belt out the main chorus "Cause I'm a tell you like you told me, cash rules everything around me, singing dollar, dollar bill, y'all" all I can do is nod my head and mutter "True dat. True dat."

While I may indeed harbor some guilt of living for the bill and whining for the bill, never once have I actually killed for the bill or grinded for the bill.......although I do frequently ask my boss, "Where my money at?" And as soon as I get me those dollar bills in my eager little paws, I load up the mini-Infidels to take a foray down to the creme de la creme of dollar stores, 99 Cents Only.

Got a special someone in your life that's really into collectibles? Well then, this stunning mini-angel dancing around a gilded pole will make the most charmingly delightful gift! Be sure to collect the whole Stripper Angel series.

(You have to zoom in to see the details. Apparently the angel is on some sort of elevated stage with the pole connected to it. But, that's okay, because it's all made out of crystal so that makes it super classy!)

My mussels are more smokin than your mussels!

The mini-Infidels and I all enjoyed some dollar store Champagne in a box. I think that Champagne would make a perfect addition to any church potluck or Alcoholics Anonymous party. Although toasting each other while using Champagne will result in a big, crumbly mess.

Jean Knee, when will I see you again? When will we share Precious Moments? Will I have to wait forever? Will I have to suffer? Will I have to wait the whole night through?

I've already got the entire Precious Moments tableware collection washed and polished and ready for your visit. Come on, you know you've always wanted to eat off the face of a doe-eyed Precious Moments character.

Yeah, I feed my family lard right from the box, but dangit, it's Premium Lard, because nothing's too good for my family.

This little sub-compact car has big dreams. It fantasizes about growing a few more inches so that he can play road hog and dominate the streets while other cars flee in terror. Until the Fairy Carmother grants his wish, though he'll just content himself by occupying FOUR parking lot spaces.

These are beach balls. They all advertise the 99 Cent Only Store on them. Whenever Sunbum gets a new ball, she immediately takes out a Sharpie marker and writes 99 Cents Only all over it.

The 99 Cents Only people have brainwashed her. Maybe my savvy little Sunbum can sue and end up running her very own 99 Cents Only Store one day and extend an employee discount to her beloved mother.

A wise woman once said: "A flock of bees can kick the livin crap out of a Flock Of Seagulls."

I thought these were adorable even though we all know that neither Bee nor Jerry Seinfeld are chock full of honey-sweetness. :)

And finally, there was construction going on outside. Despite the package's DO NOT CRUSH warning, I found myself hopelessly crushing on it. I mean, isn't that the cutest rectangular box you've ever seen? It was so totally, crush at first sight!

After I done whined for the bill and worked for the bill, I spent all my bills at the 99 Cents Only Store. Now the cycle must begin anew!

The Smiling Infidel Plays Art Critic With Neither An Art Degree Or A Tweed Blazer With Elbow Patches!

I'm fairly certain there's some sort of deep and profound spiritual meaning to this fountain- it may even be rooted in mythology. I'm obviously way too low-brow and uneducated to get it because all I could think of was my own bitter disappointment that the artisans didn't go all the way and route the water to stream out the penis or at least the dolphin's blowhole.
This work of art sits smack in the middle of the entryway to Methodist Hospital in downtown Houston. We got to see it up close and personal when visiting my Grandma a few weeks ago. It's not everyday we're allowed the opportunity to absorb such artistic magnificence as a naked man riding a dolphin as though he's performing in an underwater rodeo at a nudist resort. I especially like how he's waving one arm in the air. It has a definite Yeeee-Haaawww, Ride Em' Dolphin feel to it! Of course I had to take a picture. Of course.

We looked around for some sort of donor plaque. We didn't see one but I'm guessing wherever it was the plaque read: This Fountain Lovingly Donated By A Joint Collaboration Of The Freudian Society Of Houston and N.A.M.P.L.A(North American Man-Porpoise Love Association)

A Very Special Infidel Easter Episode Without Any Special Guest Star Appearances

We're bonafide Infidels, so naturally we celebrated the resurrection of our Savior yesterday because that's just what bonafide Infidels do. However, if you assume that we traveled the traditional super-suburbanite route by getting the mini-Infidels all gussied up in matching pinafore dresses and pastel seersucker pants for a picture with the Easter Bunny followed by a gay afternoon coloring eggs, you'd be wrong. First of all, calling eggs "colored" seems racially insensitive and I certainly didn't want the E.E.O.C to show up and squash our Easter fun. Instead, we started a new tradition. I didn't have time to fill plastic eggs and hide them like I usually do so I instructed the mini-Infidels to gather around in the living room with their baskets and then we played a little game I like to call "Easter Parade." I pretended to be a giant parade float coincidentally constructed out of elastic waistband pants and an obnoxious 'Where My Peeps At?' T-shirt to look exactly like me. Wow. So there I was, gliding gracefully down the carpeted thoroughfare, tossing candy and treats out wildly to the enthusiastic parade crowd as I passed by. It was chaotic, sure, but nobody got maimed or flattened in a frenzied Skittles stampede, so it's all good.

The two eldest Infidel daughters put the squishy, glitter putty they caught during the grand Infidel Easter parade to good use. Infidel daughter the second lovingly crafted hers into a gelatinous thong bikini. It's not one of the Ten Commandments but I'm relatively sure it's written somewhere that Thou Shalt Not Construct Thongs Out Of Silly Putty On The Sabbath Day Nor Easter.

We shopped at Sam's Club on Saturday to prepare for our gala Easter dinner and Sunbum pointed out this box. Yeah, inexplicably, the words: DO NOT CRAB is printed on it. Who do those Chinese think they are telling us not to crab like that? Maybe it was a misprint and it should have read: DO NOT CRAP. The Chinese want us to stop crapping so that we all self-implode. Sneaky Chinese. They really are out to get us..

Melody desperately needs a new bed but we just don't have the space for one. Luckily for us, Sam's Club sells a practical bedding solution for the low, low price of $24.99. Melody gave her new sleeping arrangements the all-important butt-plopping test right there on the Sam's Club floor while striking a Cleopatra pose for the camera. It's a bed fit for a dog named Queen!

Cheese Balls!
Oh, those poor, pitiful little cheeses having to live life without their balls. :(

We chose the herb-marinated salmon for our main course and washed it down with a robust and fragrant grape juice vintage 2007 from the Kroger frozen aisle vineyards. Yeah, I know that you're not supposed to drink white grape juice or swill from wine glasses filled with Hi-C Punch when dining on fish. We're not completely unrefined heathens, even though we are eating off of melamine plates I scored for cheeep at Target and drinking from dollar store plastic cups.


Thank you for joining us on this very special Infidel Easter Episode. No chocolate bunnies were harmed in the making of this post........ mainly because we don't buy chocolate bunnies until they hit 75% off at the After-Easter Sales.

CLICKETY! Gracias.

When Good Country Stars Go Bad!

Beloved Country singer, Randy Travis has diversified his trademark sound-- taking it from the trailer park to the crack house.

Plans for a duet with Marie Osmond is currently in the works. The track is tentatively titled "I'm A Little Bit Country/I'm A Little Bit Gangsta Rap." Fo shizzle.

While sipping on gin and juice, laid back, with his mind on his money and his money on his mind, Randy released a statement confirming that he will no longer respond when referred to as "Mr. Randy Travis." He's already in the process of legally changing his name to "Big Daddy Randy" in preparation of his upcoming summer tour with the R.W.A (Rednecks With Attitude) Posse.

Anyway, I caught his new sound while listening to my XM Satellite Radio recently. That jam, "No Place Like Ho" is poppin!

The planned video is choreographed to showcase scantily clad exotic dancers shimmying around a pole while simultaneously clicking their clear plastic high heels together three times and seductively chanting, "Ain't No Place Like Ho. Ain't No Place Like Ho." Wow, I can hardly wait!

Look for Big Daddy Randy's upcoming CD, "Straight Outta Nashville, Shawty!" to drop soon!

*humor-blogs.com is sponsoring a new fusion sound CD featuring duets between Metallica and Air Supply*

And Now The Smiling Infidel Presents Another Exciting Edition Of 'Stevie Wonders!'

Today we join Stevie as he secretly wonders....

if he too can stuff his outfit with loaves of Challah bread to give off the appearance of gigundo mega-muscles like Superman does. Stevie also wonders if such a move would completely alienate his Jewish fan base.

Challah If You're Hot, Stevie!



Superman Stuffs And So Do The Bloggers At Humor-Blogs.Com!

XM Radio Gone Wild........The Completely Uncensored Pictures!

Lately I've been a bit concerned about my beloved XM Satellite Radio. It seems to have developed a very unhealthy fixation towards things of a posterior nature. Observe the conclusive findings of my intensive and psychologically deep butt probe.
Tori Amos- Sleeps With Butt
Really???!!? Maybe she should find someone else to sleep with if she can't say anything nice about her current sleeping companion.






The White Stripes-The Hardest Butt
Did Jack White write this after a particularly strenuous workout with his Buns Of Steel program? The hardest butt is the toughest to crack.....





Smashing Pumpkins-Bullet With Butt
(Kind of hard to see. Stupid cell phone camera)
Did Billy Corgan order specially made bullets with tiny engraved butts displayed on them? Maybe that was the ammo store special of the month......'Today Only: Git Your Bullet With A Side Of Butt For Half-Price!'

I'm just an amateur at analyzing the darkened annals of the booty-obsessed mind. Perhaps this is a case better reserved for a Freudian-trained specialist dealing in naughty XM Radio displays. I also have to report that my XM radio flashed a sign at me just last week saying, 'I Want Your Sex,' and it inappropriately propositioned a dear friend of mine with a sultry message of 'Let's Get It On.' If this continues I may have to give my satellite display a nice, old-fashioned cold shower to settle down some of this friskiness.

Wanted: Biker Gangs That Can Cut, Punch, Slice, And Coordinate Pretty Colors

There's something so dark and so sinister going down within the secretive inner sanctum of this country's toughest biker bars that not even the mainstream press has enough cojones to bring you the shocking story. Nay, only your hardcore Smiling Infidel reporter can rub whiskery-beard hair with the outlaw fringes of society to report on this hidden world. And no, I don't really have cojones.

Flush along the rear wall of the proto-typical biker hangout.....back behind the obligatory pool tables and pulsing, neon beer signs lies a room used for the most ritualistic of purposes. The biker gang gathers there every fortnight to carry forth with what has become a standing tradition that furthers their bond of brotherhood and unites them with its very secrecy........they scrapbook feverishly until they can scrapbook no more.
After a long day of looting, raping, pillaging, and plundering, its nice to have a shared hobby in common, don't you think? I mean, why else would the scrapbooking industry have tapped into this niche market by producing a Harley-Davidson scrapbook kit and line of bad ash, scrappy accoutrements? Blowing money on strong booze, vulgar tattoos, and skeezy women is so old school. These biker dudes choose to invest in something that can commemorate their good times on acid-free paper to last the eternities. Ooops, hope the District Attorney doesn't subpoena these scrappin labor-of-loves. Pages titled "My First Liquor Store Hold-Up!" or "Hangin With My Hells Angels Homies!" might be fairly incriminating in a court of law.

Don't dare mock these studded, leather-clad masters of the decorative pom-pom borders because they're armed and dangerous with a wide assortment of serrated-edge scrapbooking scissors and rotary cutters and they're not afraid to slice you up like the orange-flamed paper used for their super special 'Grease Pit Maul And Ball Dance 2006' page, beyotch.

What happens in the scrapbooking room, stays in the scrapbooking room.

Here's a close up of even more Harley scrapbooking gear:

Born To Be Mild

I Beat The Tar Out Of My Old Lady--Well In Scrapbooking Anyway

Your Halloween Candies Are Belonging To Us!

It was a Halloween night of terror.....a night when the donuts rose up and walked among us next to boogers the size of 10 year old boys and singing, dancing vampires........Sounds like some kind of misfit musical that not even Andrew Lloyd Webber would produce, doesn't it?

I totally ripped off borrowed Tori's snotty costume idea for my son. Buster both thrilled and grossed the crowds out with his 'Booger On A Kleenex' disguise. It ain't easy being green! A select few even got showered with his potent green Silly String mucous as he sneezed on them. I begged NCS to make me this awesome rubber chicken graphic to complete my costume as an official Rubber Chicken Factory Inspector. I had an apron stuffed full of rubber chickens, latex gloves, protective goggles, and a Du-Rag.
Here's a riddle for you: How Many Infidels Does It Take To Tie A Du-Rag?
Answer: Three. And we still didn't get that confounded piece of polyester on correctly.
Hey, those things don't come with instructions or anything. And now I know that sadly, I'll never lead the ghetto-fabulous lifestyle since I'm in desperate need of a special Du-Rag Tutorial Class....Du-Rags For Dummies.

My Caterpillar got the most comments for her sprinklelicious donut costume. Or DOUGHNUT, for you pastry purists out there. I don't have time to type out an extra 3 letters. I'm busy, okay? We've decided to make her our official Infidel family mascot! And the filling inside that donut is unarguably the sweetest part although there's something a little bit squicky about grown men telling your young daughter that she looks "yummy." We heard a lot of that. :0 Sunbum masqueraded as the World's First Vampire Elvis Impersonator. She's the pride of Transylvania and can be seen in a weekly revue onstage at the Transylvanian Holiday Inn. Bring a friend and get your Van Helsing Chicken Fried Steak Platter half-price!

Here's my little booty-grabbing crew after a long and productive night plundering the candy supplies of all the Infidel neighbors. Uh-huh. BOOTY-GRABBERS. Candy Booty, that is.

Next year I'm going to make blindingly-yellow smiley faces out of circular cardboards and we'll just go as The Smiling Infidel Family.

I Wonder If The Apache Tribe Made A Special Sugarhill Gang Totem Pole To Honor Them?

I didn't mean to pry. I really didn't. But it was recently revealed unto me that one of my dearest friends has led a deprived life stripped of the soaring joy one can only experience through the magic of The Fresh Prince Of Bel Air breaking it down Apache-style with his cousin Carlton. How can I possibly stand idly by while a friend is in need of an emergency pop culture injection? Millie Chicken, Elastic sends this long-distance dedication to you in the hopes that it will act as a little ray of sunshine piercing through the gray Washington skies. Jump on it, Kemosabe!

[1:17]

I Want All Of You To Become Rabid Fans Of The Smiling Infidel And I've Got A Cost Efficient Plan To Do It Too!

Are you tired of scouring high and low for some decent Rabies prices? Do all your friends have Rabies and you're tired of feeling like the odd one out? Well, today's your lucky day! Just fly down to Houston, Texas in the good old U S of A, because we've got your cheap Rabies hook-up right here. For less than the cost of Meatloaf's Bat Out Of Hell CD, you too can experience the exhilarating thrill that only the Rabies Virus can bring. Yay! No longer will you have to suffer through watching Old Yeller, wondering when you'll get your turn. No longer will you have to drink the super foamy whipped frappucino at Starbucks so you can feign frothing at the mouth. No longer will you have to blame bi-polar disorder for your random acts of Bat Sheet Craziness. No, my friends, your time for reduced rate glazey-eyed madness has finally arrived!

The Residual Effects Of Your Dog Reading The Children's Classic, Ferdinand The Bull

Here at the Smiling Infidel homestead, we're raising a kinder, gentler type of beast. Look at our usually ferocious Chocolate Labrador, Reagan, as he takes time out of his busy butt-licking schedule to stop and sniff the flowers. Oh, alright, he's really sniffing flowery weeds because we have a fat and lazy white gringa gardener named elasticwaistbandlady who sat around blogging this Spring instead of spreading the weed killer granules like she was supposed to. I wish I could fire her. It's so very nice to see Reagan expanding his smell palette outside of our crotches to include delicate floral scents too.