'Mannequin' Should Top Banned Movie Lists Everywhere

I haven't posted in a few days but I do have a rousing, bosom-swelling excuse. No, I don't have mastitis again- It's something even more bosom-swelling than that.

When we arrived at our local Kroger's grocery store just a few scant minutes after they opened their doors for business that day, a most shocking sight greeted my daughter, Monkey and I.

This poor, pitiful generic-brand doll lay on her back atop the filthy express lane conveyor belt; legs splayed open spread-eagle style revealing her dolly dainties for all the world to see. Yes, she's dressed in standard hoochie wear but that doesn't mean she deserved to be defiled in this manner. Just because she's a cheap knockoff doesn't mean she's "easy" and just because she was loitering close to the express lane doesn't make her "fast" either.
Now, I hate to cast dispersions of what may or may not have been going on in the moments prior to opening time, but I can tell you that the slacker sacker tribe of teenage boys were averting my eyes more than usual and the middle-aged manager was seen strolling around the debauched scene whistling a tune.

I watch crime mysteries. Whistling is always the tell-tale mark of a criminal with a guilty conscience.
Lucky for Kroger's that Monkey and I acted as Doll Advocates and swooped in to not only restore the dignity of this doll but also preserve Kroger's family-friendly grocery reputation. Even though I righted her to a standing position while smoothing her tousled hair and straightening out her mini-skirt, I wondered what would become of her after we left the store. After all she is wearing a flimsy white T-shirt and we did leave her right next to the bottled water case.........

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!

Feliz Navidad From Elastic Y Los Mini-Infideles!

My own personal S.Q.U.A.T Team getting in some valuable squatting practice time.

Bonga, Bonga, Bonga As We Do The Christmas Conga!

Traffic Jam Delays On The East Side Slide.

Here's A Picture From The Day The Mini-Infidels Set A World Record For Yule Log Eating.

I'm Ashamed To Admit It But Yes, It's True......My Kids Are Really Heavy Drinkers.

This Is A Little Pose I Like To Call "Keep Backing Up To Get The Perfect Shot Until You Step In A Pile Of Fresh Duck Doo-Doo." True Story. :(
So Then I Got A Call On Friday From The Bank Manager Saying That It Was Urgent And She Needed To Speak With Me Immediately.

I Freaked Out. Just A Little Bit.

And Then She Announced That My Sunbum Won Their Super Ginormous, Colossal, Gargantuan, Buttload-Of-Crap Stocking Giveaway! As You Can See Sunbum Was Very Excited. Upon Arriving Home She Promptly Separated And Wrapped Up Most Of The Toys Inside In Preparation Of A Re-Gifting Mission .

No Need For A DNA Test. This One's Definitely Mine.

And The Winning Streak Just Continues On At Our House. Yesterday I Found Out That I Had Won The Carrier Complaint Contest And That My Boss Would Be The Sucker Out Delivering My Route For Me This Morning In Freezing Temperatures! And No I Didn't Win The Complaint Contest Based On The Amount Of Complaining I Do. It Was A Reward For The Lowest Customer Complaint Ratio. We Won't Mention My Ninja-Like Skills In Cutting Phone Service So People Couldn't Call The Complaint Line.

From Each And Every SIngle One Of Us To Each And Every Single One Of You We Wish You A Very Merry Christmas!

The Smiling Infidel Shows Off Her Refurbishing Skills On Today's Edition Of 'Pimp My Gingerbread House.'

BEFORE:
This sadly deteriorating house once stood proud until it was targeted for vandalism by the infamous Hansel and Gretel Gang-- the Bonnie and Clyde of the Gingerbread House world. The dastardly duo even devoured the windows and septic tank in a frenzied state of madness that only a sugar-fueled rush can bring on.
AFTER:
My Infidel Pimpin Crew really had their work cut out for them on this one. We started with the roof and brought in Necco Wafers to use as tiles. We knew that the wafers taste like colored chalk licked right off a chalkboard eraser and would likely keep the roof safe from plundering hands.

Next we focused in on making general structural and foundation repairs. Due to the current supply shortage in the gingerbread construction business we cleverly hired gingerbread men as contractors and then sacrificed them for the benefit of building a harder, better, faster, stronger home. A lot of good gingerbread men had to die to complete this project. I sure hope the homeowner appreciates it. I tested out the sturdiness of the secret formula frosting we used as caulk myself and found that it completely sealed the lips of my naggy co-host's mouth shut. That should render the wall joints and seals deliciously lick-able but impenetrable at the same time.

We wanted to show that you could use recyclable objects to make your home earth-friendly as well as beautiful. That festive mint decoration above the door brings a lot of oomph to the overall feel of the home, don't you think? It was found on the floor of a local restaurant after a customer started choking on it. A waiter performed the Heimlich Maneuver on him thus sending the mint sailing across the room. The flavorless gumball and mint leaf landscaping came straight from the stale leftovers in your grandma's candy dish circa 1985.
We do hope you enjoyed this Christmas Eve edition of 'Pimp My Gingerbread House!' This is your stuffed-full-of-sweetness remodeler, The Smiling Infidel signing off until next time. Wishing you all spicy gumdrop wishes and wet milk dreams......

Finally A Gift That Says Everything You Wanted To Say And So Much More

Have you found yourself finally nearing the bottom of your holiday gift-giving list when you realize that you still have that dreaded frenemy, irritating boss, or pervy cousin to buy an obligatory present for?

The Sympathetic Smiling Infidel understands your needs completely and offers up this super festive gift basket that will bring merriment and joy to the very special people in your life. The sturdy crimson basket features gaily prancing reindeer and comes jam packed with oodles of yummy treats sure to delight any lucky recipient at your next holiday party or get-together.

Call today and be sure to ask for this item. Product number#420 "You Are What You Eat, Sucka!" basket.
Here's a close-up picture and product description of all the exciting items this basket has to offer:
1. Baked Cheese Balls- Because you're a half-baked cheese ball but this is close enough.
2. Vienna Sausages- For the little weenie inside you....and sometimes outside of you.
3. Slim Jim Beef Jerky- "Jerky" sums things up quite nicely.
4. Super Sour Nerds- When social ineptitude collides with rampant pissiness syndrome.
5. Air Heads Candy- I told you that hanging out at the nail salon all the time with those toxic fumes wasn't any good for you.
6. CHUNKY Candy Bar- Maybe the Slim Jim will offset it?
7. Goobers- A little bit of you in every single bite.
8. Pie Crust Mix- Flaky and crusty all at the same time!
9. Devil's Food Cookies- Because obviously I ate all the Angel's Food cookies. Duh.
10. Small Nuts- At least these are honey roasted.
11. Crackers- Everybody needs friends, even if they are in a box.
Call within the next 24 seconds and we'll even throw in a special gift card at no additional cost to you for the times you want to send your greetings and salutations----anonymously.

CHEERS!

*You'll find amazing basket-filled gift baskets with a basket theme over at humor-blogs.com*

Huey Haters Of The World Unite!

Ain't No Livin In A Perfect World........
but this in-your-face graphic declaring my blog a magically enchanted Huey Lewis-Free Xanadu is a pretty dang good start towards perfection!

There's a prophecy that tells of a devious and silver-fingered false prophet who will descend down upon an unsuspecting blogging people proclaiming himself as the "preeminent" authority of all things musically good and holy in an effort to lead them away from the truth. That false prophet is already here among us, and his name is Diesel. Don't be led astray by his charmingly deceptive ways because no matter what delusional things he asserts, Huey Lewis still doth bloweth.

Let not your hearts be troubled by this charlatan as he tries to woo you away to The Promised Land Of Huey Lewis. Sure, Diesel will cunningly lure in unwitting victims with whimsical tales of a golden, lite-rock Utopia when in actuality it's more akin to Pinochhio's Pleasure Island where the Huey Lewis-immersed inhabitants eventually find themselves transformed into blandly vanilla azzes donkeys plopped on stools in a seedy old sports bar, mindlessly braying along to the horrors that only Huey's doo-wop vocals, interchangeable melodies, and predictable lyrics can bring. Friends, I am the chosen one to lead you towards musical truth and light.

Me and my posse of Huey Haters have our own slogan and everything.
Huey Lewis And The Old School News: "We hear him singin-- we hatin, he's the original white and nerdy. Holy cow, he's so white and nerdy."

Diesel is a self-admitted radio corruptician who will stop at nothing to sabotage the airwaves with his inane Huey Lewis song requests. The most dreaded words in radio history? "And now we present an All Day Huey Lewis Music Marathon." JT may be bringing 'SexyBack' but Diesel is hellbent on bringing 'HueyBack'--to what end one can only guess. Don't you ever sigh when you hear people phone in to the DJ asking for the same song thats inundated the radio for the past 25 years? I do, and I think "Shazam! Please for the love of all that is good and musically copacetic pack up your Huey Lewis Greatest Hits CD collection and go rendezvous with your Cult of Huey Lewis brethren down at the old roller disco rink turned fall-out shelter . There you can worship freely at the altar of Huey Lewis hidden away behind beer tab curtains and some faded Bananarama posters and spare the rest of us the agony."

Theres a time and a season for everything.......and Huey had joy, he had fun, he had seasons in the sun, but he's an 80's relic better left behind with parachute pants.
Cool is a rule, but sometimes... OK, pretty much all the time... Huey's bad. Personally, I Want A New Drug every time I have to involuntarily allow him to penetrate my sacred earhole.
One that'll make me unconscious-- dreaming of Mountain Dew-- one that makes me deaf when the radio plays yoooooouuuu, when the radio plays you.....

It's no longer hip to be square, y'all. We must march forward and embrace progress because yes, The Heart Of Rock N Roll is still beating. Only now its in the chests of flop-haired EMO boys and rap fusion groups. You have a huge devoted fan base, Diesel but do you really expect the music aficionados among them to stop the world and melt with you? This Huey obsession could lead to the dreaded slippery slope. Today Diesel's using a monogrammed Huey Lewis bib to sop up all the drool that spills forth whenever someone utters the trigger word 'Huey.' Tomorrow we could very well see him banging a cowbell in tribute to Loverboy or talking about a PB&D(Pat Benatar and Diesel) sandwich or he suddenly decides that he 'Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore' and it becomes all REO Speedwagon all the time. Posts about Rick Springfield can't be far behind.

I'm an avowed anti-Huey as shown in this post. In response, Diesel challenged me with a snipey '1 2 3 4, I declare a Huey War.' What could I do? I heeded the call. He's made terroristic threats that if I lose the Huey battle I must display his pathetic Huey Lewis banner for all of 2008 on my blog. The vile thing shamelessly pleads with people to sign a petition to send Huey off to the waiting arms of The Rock N Roll Hall of Fame. I don't negotiate with terrorists and neither should you. We must all unite as one to protest this affront to our auditory sensibilties and make signs that scream out:

LISTENING TO HUEY MAKES MY BOWELS GO ALL KABLEWIE!

ENJOY CHOP SUEY, NOT HUEY!

HUEY LEWIS AND THE NEWS LED ME TO A LIFE OF BOOZE!

MENTIONS OF HUEY MAKES ONLY DIESEL FEEL WET AND DEWY!

(I flunked out of The Academy For Incendiary Protest Sign Makers)

The moment of reckoning has arrived. Choose ye this day. Will you succumb to the mediocrity that pocks each and every grossly overplayed Huey tune or will you rise up and support me in my quest to banish blah and uninteresting music from permeating the blogosphere? VOTE NO TO ALL THINGS HUEY! A vote for me keeps this blog definitely Huey-Free permanently for all eternity. Yippee!

Opinion Polls & Market Research

*Special thanks to Huey Haters President, NCS for her mad photoshop brilliance and to the always pithy, Millie*

It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year!

That's because all my hard work and effort in the usually thankless role of delivering newspapers 365 days a year will finally reap the rewards I so justly deserve. Yes, tis the season to be tipping. Fa La La La La La La La La! You can keep your gay apparel, just show me the money!

In Spanish speaking countries they celebrate something known as "The Thirteenth Month" where by law, yes, by law, those in servitude must be paid a month's wages as a Christmas bonus by their employers. Well, in the gloriously capitalistic society that is America we operate a bit differently. We extend our open hands while earnestly repeating, "GIMME GIMME GIMME!" The end result remains the same though, Christmas dinero for the lower caste, white trash, SPAM casserole-loving, peon peoples. That would be me.

I've thrown the same route for several years in a hoity-toity, la-di-frickin-da, country club kind of neighborhood. As an astute scholar of all things pertaining to free money, I've come to notice that a spirit of gratitude earns you a bigger payout.

My tip amounts have shown a steadily climbing increase from the same customers during my newspaper-throwing reign of terror. I can only attribute that to the fact that I hand-write thank you notes for each and every one, even if it's only 5 bucks. According to statistics set forth by the prestigious BrownNose Institute, a daily ritual of butt-kissing yields staggeringly high returns. Wow, they are so right!

I do feel impressed that someone would voluntarily take time out of their busy life and pay postage just to send me something. I don't play favorites, but let's just say that those who tip 50 dollars or more enjoy elite gold member benefits--benefits like having me come in to act as their personal page-turner so as not to sully their fingers with the horrors of newspaper ink. I adopted the slogan iterated in the Disney flick, "Lilo And Stitch" quite literally as my own when it comes to my tipping philosophy. "Nobody gets left behind or forgotten!" You've only been a customer for a week? No problem. That's plenty of good service given to reward your carrier for. You were gone on vacation when I distributed the card solicitation? No problem. I carry extras in my truck just especially for you upon your return. You only take the paper on Sunday? No problem. You should have lots of extra money laying around thanks to the money saving coupons in the Sunday paper. You got your paper service cut off for being a deadbeat? No problem. I still love you and won't harshly judge you like my boss does. Feel the love and send me a love offering!

This year I eschewed the standard Houston Chronicle printed cards and designed one on my own. So far, I'm on the path to a stellar, record setting tip season. I wonder if my super awesome card had something to do with it? Viva la 13th month!

Meet The Man Who Takes The Saying 'Idle Hands Are The Devil's Tools' Very Seriously

It's fairly obvious that together, me and my oldest Infidel daughter, Sunbum are destined to join the hallowed ranks of history's most amazing super sleuths.
Despite an upbringing by two evil conservative parents who believe in small government, capitalism, and making ceremonial loin cloths out of hippie hides to worship at the altar of Dick Cheney, Sunbum retains an astonishingly high E.Q. level for her empathy.

High E.Q. Level= A Future Life As A Burned-Out Social Worker

So while we cruised the grocery store produce section shamelessly groping the tart, young arugula bunches Sunbum and I spotted a middle-aged man clad in a faded, red plaid flannel shirt ambling kind of lopsided towards us.

Sunbum whispered urgently into my ear, "Aww, look at that poor guy. He only has one arm. Can I offer to help him with his basket?"

At that moment the one-armed man crossed in front of us and we discovered that he wasn't really a one-armed man after all. No, indeed he wasn't. Instead he had his right arm firmly positioned behind him thus giving the appearance of a missing limb. Unfortunately, we also bore solemn witness to his hand tucked inside the back of his jeans vigorously and furiously scratching his arse. Ewwww, the very definition of 'crusty poop fingers' springing to life!

Oh Alanis, I could practically write another verse of your song after seeing that guy....."Cause he had one hand in his pocket and the other one digging for butt nuggets." Maybe he was breaking in a new pair of linty boxer shorts and the accumulated buttpulp in his crack became too much to bear?

Whatever the reason, Sunbum and I quickly realized that we'd inadvertently stumbled upon a previously unexplored solution to the infamous 'Fugitive'
case immortalized on T.V and film.

Dr. Kimble shouldn't waste any more time futilely searching the world over for the sadistic one-armed man who brutally killed his wife. What he needs to do is re-direct his attention towards finding a suspicious man cursed with an inflammatory butt rash! Although, I wouldn't recommend trying to apprehend this suspect without the aid of latex gloves and an industrial sized bottle of anti-bacterial gel.

Behold--The Magical Cleansing Powers Of The Dollar General Store!

Me and my marshmallow moon pie-eating hordes of Infidel kinfolk are unabashed Dollar Store snobs. So, based on a selective match of 29 points of Dollar Store compatibility Dollar General sinks right to the lowest rank amongst our special little Dollar Store caste system. Why? Well mainly because Dollar General loosely translates into "In General, Nothing Is Priced At A Dollar."

Aside from their somewhat insidious misnomer of a store name they do possess a most amazing main attraction that I'm a trifle reticent to share with the world at large. See, one small step inside their linoleum-floored store and you'll immediately sense that it acts as some sort of cosmic Ex-Lax pulling and tugging at your innards and manipulating the forces of nature until you end up frantically doing the crab walk/butt clench combo down the seemingly endless ceramics kitsch aisle to find the bathroom and avoid the shame of having to purchase an emergency pack of Dollar General cotton panties stamped with a giant red 'IRREGULAR' mark.

I harbor an irrational phobia of public restrooms and yet even I'm powerless to resist the magnetic pull of the Dollar General toilets. Inexplicably, even when completely devoid of "poop feeling" I know that I'll soon be visiting their bathrooms before paying for my lava lamp keychain and Goo Goo Cluster candy. I should write a book about my Dollar General bathroom experiences. I'd call it 'An Inconvenient Poop.'

Anyway, I would so rock the casbah as their ad campaign manager by playing up this unique angle of their business. In such a crowded Dollar Store market its very important to focus attention on your niche.

Infertile women all over the world have scurried to Naples, Italy just to sit in a miracle chair that entices with a promise of delivering babies. People always flock to sites that they believe will miraculoulsy cure their medical ailments. So, Dollar General can advertise how they benevolently lend a hand to the constipated public with a slogan like, "Give us your plugged-up, your bloated, and your intestinally-challenged masses." I envision entire pilgrimage tours to the Dollar General store organized by the Irritable Bowel Syndrome Association of America.

Oh Dollar General, you may never have served in an official military capacity but I salute you and your position as a General of Poop Authority and I award you the special Infidel Brown Medal Of Honor.

Won't Santa Be Surprised To See 'Eunuch' On Wish Lists This Year??!!??

Yeah, true enough, having a personal eunuch really would be awesomeness personified. I mean you could utilize them in the way that sultans and emperors alike did for centuries and have them guard your personal harem or station them next to your glowing fireplace as an interestingly exotic conversation starter when entertaining your friends and family this holiday season. Won't your snobby neighbor, Bob just keel over with jealousy at the sight of your fancy new eunuch??!!?

Before you rush out and grab the first eunuch that comes your way just bear this fact in mind: There's a tag attached to the back of every eunuch stipulating that they're DRY CLEAN ONLY. Scrubbing them up with simple soap and water will only lead to additional shrinkage and don't nobody want to see that.

Luckily, theres a cleaning service that specializes in the particular grooming needs of the average eunuch-- A place where eunuchs don't mind getting hung out to dry. Why else would they name their establishment UNIK Cleaners? Obviously the owners were just too cheap to spring for the additional letters to make their neon sign read properly as 'Eunuch Cleaners' but I'm sure that doesn't detract in the slightest from their dedication to producing gleaming, bright eunuchs spit-polished until they sparkle.....thanks UNIK Cleaners!

*The stockings were hung by the chimney with care in hopes that Saint Nicholas would soon leave a shiny new eunuch there. But please be sensitive to the feelings of eunuchs this Christmas season and don't sing Jingle Bells or Silver Bells around them. They loathe songs that remind them of ding-a-lings.*

Very Short And Funny Eunuch Commercial Here

And Now For Another Exciting Edition Of Stevie Wonders

Today Stevie Wonders.......
Why the cost of maintaining a Part-Time Lover has skyrocketed so much over the years.

See, his Part-Time Lover joined a Part-Time Lovers Union and they demanded a set of Starbucks-like employee rights that guarantee all workers a comprehensive medical/dental plan, 401K, and bonuses.

Sadly, Stevie's Part-Time Lover isn't even all that reliable either. And I quote:

"Ive got something that I must tell
Last night someone rang our doorbell
And it was not you my part-time lover"

Poor Stevie is still preoccupied with 1985. Back then part-time lovers flowed free and plentiful.

What about all the illegal immigrants we keep hearing about in the media who are willing to do the jobs "that no American will do?" Perhaps thats the solution to the part-time lover inflationary problems. Surely Stevie can find one cheap to fulfill the position of Part-Time Lover, right?

*Knowing its so wrong for feeling so right over at humorblogs.com*

And Together Papi And I Are Makin' Bacon!

Papi and I have a shared employer in common named Mr. O.
Mr. O enjoys referring to Papi as "Boss" on a daily basis.
"Boss" as in Boss Hogg from The Dukes Of Hazzard.
"Boss" as in "Hey Boss! Will you go and collect subscription money from this deadbeat customer in the dark of night even though he has NRA stickers pasted all over his rusted-out El Camino?"

Mr. O constantly calls me "Babe."
"Babe" as in the wee little sheep-herding piggie in the movie of the same name. Apparently I'm just like a pig in the city.
"Babe" as in "What's going on Babe? How much longer will you allow me to work you and your man to death for an itty-bitty paycheck that wouldn't even buy a barrel of pickled pigs feet on the black market?"

From my own perspective, this just further solidifies that Papi and I were meant to be together. We're a matched set, we are. Pig and Pig oinking happily into the sunset with our hooves intertwined. This goes a long way towards explaining why our house is such a Pig Pen all the time. And really I can't yell at the mini-Infidels for acting like little piglets anymore, can I? After all, it's certainly not their fault that they're a pork by-product.

I guess Pork:The Other White Meat only applies to me since my Papi is a striking shade of yummy mocha. :(

For more oinkalicious blogs that are funner than a bag of Pig In A Poke pork rinds from the flea market go visit humor blogs.com

Your Mama Is A Llama!

With its delightful use of whimsical rhyming and lush illustrations Is Your Mama A Llama? has fast moved up on the mini-Infidel favorite reading list until its perilously close to threatening to oust our top contender, Walter The Farting Dog. We're all about the rhythm and the rhyme, yo.

This book dares to ask, "Who's Yo Mama?" as we meet a variety of offspring describing the physical attributes of their mothers. It got me to thinking- if someone were to ask my Melody, 'who's your mama?' how exactly would she respond? I mentally went through the checklist:
1. She's a mammal
2. She's excessively furry. (Photographic Evidence)
3. She lives in a zoo. (When Papi's around its more like a petting zoo. :)
4. She keeps her distance because she spits a lot every time she opens her mouth to talk.
5. She carries people on her back. (I've given more piggyback rides than you could shake a canned ham at)
6. Her teeth are weird and yellowish.
7. She knows The Llama Song by heart.

By all deductive reasoning I'm afraid that Melody would conclude that, yes indeed, her mama just might be a llama. Fine. And no, my name is not Tina.

Break-Dancin Around The Christmas Tree Have A Happy Holiday....

While everyone around us appears quite content to listen to round-the-clock Christmas music on our local radio stations, us Infidels decided that we had to make a wish, take a chance, make a change, and break away.

If you've been infected with the cornball schlock syndrome that can only come from repeated exposure to 'Christmas Shoes' I've got the anti-dote for you.

This video takes us way back to the early 90's via an old skool boombox and cassette tape where hula-hoop sized gold bamboo earrings was king and you weren't nothin without a weave or hair fade.

Armand Van Helden-I Want Your Soul [3:21]

Enjoy!

*Not responsible for any overwhelming urges you may experience to go and graffiti your hood while wearing some sort of shimmery hot pant/satin jacket combo*

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.

Seasons Don't Fear The Reaper......And Neither Do Pineapple!

Our cashier at the grocery store trembled in fear the exact moment we placed our two ripened pineapples up on the conveyor belt for purchase.

Yeah, pineapples. The petite young cashier began to shakily tell us in a quavering voice, "I've always been deathly afraid of pineapples. Please will you scan and bag them for me? I'm too scared to even touch them." The Infidel daughters complied and we even managed to refrain from mocking her.....until we got outside the store anyway.

How sheltered a life must you lead where your greatest fear lies in the form of a spiny fruit that can transform into a fun and exotic tropical drink container? I'm not completely devoid of compassion. I mentally calculated how many missed opportunities and travails this young lady will have to endure until she conquers her irrational Fruitaphobia.
1. She can never marry Spongebob because his lovely 'Pineapple-Under-The-Sea' abode would be akin to living in a House Of Horrors for her.
2. Rachael Ray won't hire her as a Cooking Assistant once she fails the "Works Well With Pineapples" portion of the requisite psychological exam. Rachael is not taking any chances on the possibility of a Pineapple Upside Down Cake demonstration freakout.
3. The Fruit Of The Loom guys make her public enemy number one in a show of unity and support for their pineapple brethren.
4. Carmen Miranda is called in as her therapist as she specializes in Pineapple Phobias.
5. She auditions for the Black Lace Agadoo World Reunion Tour and gets in a panic attack when she sees the dancing pineapple. (You HAVE to watch this video. Soooooo amusing.)
6. She will never capture the pineapple crown and title as the reigning Little Miss Pineapple Queen. Never! How very sad for her.

The incident happened a few months ago but when I saw pineapples on special at the store this week I couldn't help but think of her and the inevitable horror every enthusiastic pineapple-buying customer will bring. The cruelly uncharitable side of me would like to lock her and the peach-phobia man up together in the produce section for an hour just to see what happens.

Turning Mexican, I Think I'm Turning Mexican, I Rather Think So.......

Papi and I really love that new vampire detective show on CBS: Moonlight. It's scintillating, mindless diversion the way scintillating, mindless diversion was intended to be. There's only two TV programs I watch faithfully during the week and this follows immediately after my beloved Ghost Whisperer. I've since lovingly adopted Moonlight into my limited TV viewing schedule.

So basically Mick St. John is the Edward Cullen of the Vampire Detective World. He has morals! He has values! He has a great azz, feathered hair, and an undead heart of gold!

MOONLIGHT [1:58]

This particularly steamy episode featured the main chick who lusts after Mick as she takes a naughty drug made of vampire blood that sends her straight into batsheet crazy territory. At precisely 1:15 or so you see her pulling a Bella Swan by pantingly begging Mick to turn her into a vampire while offering up her succulent neck. Of course our hero doesn't take the bait and instead douses the mortal hottie in a cold shower.

As soon as the commercial break hit, my Mexican Papi startlingly lunged across the bed at me and bared his teeth inches from my neck as he seductively purred, "Girlie, do you want me to turn you?" I started laughing as I pushed him away and said, "Turn me into what? A Mezzican? I'd rather die than ride around in a low-rider Vatamobile blaring mariachi music while eating a chorizo breakfast taquito. Besides a diet rich in beans is no bueno for a farty chick like me."

My amazing, over-talkative Gringa Powers saved me once again from the clutches of a hot, Mexican predator!

Wait a minute. I want to be pursued by a hot, Mexican predator. I wonder if I can trade in my Gringa Powers for some Chicana Power? Maybe then I can finally satisfy my man........by making him the best Chicken Mole evah!

You're So Vain.......You Probably Think This Blog Post Is About You

A lovely English Sister in our ward at Church delights in fussing over Melody every chance she gets. She quite often tells me in her stately accent, "Your Melody is so gorgeous."

So on occasion I'll teasingly repeat that to Melody to which she matter-of-factly and proudly exclaims, "That's right! I AM so gorgeous!"
For sure, the gods of self-confidence were smiling upon this child the day she made her grand entrance into the mortal coil.

My BUNS OF STEEL Workout Regimen Using LEGO Blocks

"Elasticwaistbandlady, a blogging Infidel . A woman barely alive. Gentlemen, we can rebuild her. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic woman. Elasticwaistbandlady will be that woman. Better than she was before. Better, stronger, faster.......and a second third stomach to accommodate her voracious appetite."

Mothering two rampaging sons has rendered me nearly indestructible--especially in the tender foot and tushy areas. I've stepped on, sat on, fell on, and pranced on so many little plastic toy pieces scattered about my floor that I could bill myself as the world's first LEGO cyborg mom. I'm sure that a routine physical would uncover enough tiny blocks hidden amongst my squishy, heiny-folds to erect an entire LEGO city--a city that's never quite complete because there's always another "new-and-improved" set you have to purchase. Oh how I do so love toys thats designed specifically to make you keep buying and buying more to add on to it.

Anyway, I'm not really sure why Papi wants to waste his time watching recycled 70's cheeseball-o-rama shows like The New Adventures of the Old Bionic Woman, when he has me, his own personal Bionicle Woman by his side.

My weapon of choice as a mighty Bionicle Woman? The high-speed hurling of an itty-bitty ,connectible-piece arsenal that strikes certain fear and dread in the hearts of thine enemy....thus engaging them to stoop over and scoop them all up off the floor which leads to extremely debilitating backaches. I'm a calculating foe, indeed.

Fear me!

A Walrus And His Bucket Are Soon Parted......And Then Happily Reunited Again!

Looking for the perfect Christmas gift this year for that special, special walrus on your holiday list?

The Ongoing International Saga Of The Noble Walrus And His Missing Bucket [1:20]

Thanks to the Dollar Store I can easily afford to pick up an individualized Butt Bucket for each and every one of my walrus friends for them to cherish forever........well, so long as they don't actually try to fit their walrus butts into the bucket. I already tested this product out with my own saggy, flabby walrus butt and it did not withstand the extreme fatty force very well at all.

I can haz buckit???!!?? Of course you can! Thanks Butt Bucket!

You Might Be A Redneck If.......

You Produce Your Very Own Brand Of Jerky With Your Earnestly Smiling Face Plastered All Over The Front Of The Bag.

Yes, Jeff Foxworthy has Big Bold Flavor! And he's neatly packaged it all up to hawk to you processed meat consumers. Jerky Jeff is not only a premium quality cut of meat but he's also low in fat and iron-rich....well, according to the hype printed out on the bag anyway.

Times are tough for the jerky side of Jeff, though, because his product was going for less than Boss Hawg's used portable urinal down at Big Lots discount store. I'm willing to wager its due to the fact that a little bit of Jeff in every bite probably means it tastes 'funny.'

I don't really plan on eating it, mind you. No, instead I want to put the jerky strips across my upper lip to simulate a Jeff Foxworthy mustache. Mmmmmm, so Jeffy and so jerky all at once.

Infidel House Party!

*Using my most annoying Casey Kasem voice*
And the number one song in the Infidel household for two weeks in a row is..........
Orson- Ain't No Party
We seriously can't get enough of it and the video rocks too! Sadly, like most current Infidel favorites iTunes does not carry this track yet. Boo iTunes! At least we can still bounce to it courtesy of youtube.

And now you'll never look at a "House Party" the same way again.

I know the pictures from my camera-phone constitutes some pretty crappy photo quality but I really love this picture of my two youngest children while at the Library on Friday........especially the way Melody seems so focused and intent on checking out what her brothers doing.

Huked On Fonix Wirked Fo Mee

Okay. I jumped out of my truck this morning in the darkened twilight hours just to capture the magnetic signage marvel slapped onto the tailgate of a pickup in my neighborhood. They spelled computer as 'KOMPUTER?' Seriously? I'm not sure I want a technician poking around at something he can't even spell. If he was trying for alliterative cuteness, why didn't he name his business KNOX KOMPUTER KOMPANY rather than Service? They could have abbreviated it to K.K.K. Maybe I have it all wrong and KOMPUTER is something totally different from COMPUTER. In which case, I want one for Christmas. I don't want to be left out.
File this one in the E For Eelliterate category.

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.

From The 'Its A Dirty Job But Someones Gotta Do It' Files.....

One must always remember to wash ones hands rather vigorously with the strongest anti-bacterial soap available after meeting the acquaintance of a real, live Dick Carrier. That is all.