Jack: You definitely have that.
Me: Wow. Harsh.
Jack: I was just agreeing.
Me: You're supposed to disagree.
Jack: I thought I was only supposed to disagree when girls call themselves fat.
Me: No, you're supposed to disagree with all the negative stuff, but agree with the negative stuff we say about other people. Also, agree with the positive stuff about others, but go out of your mind bonkers agreeing about the positive stuff we say about about ourselves.
Jack: Ok, you don't have Restless Leg Syndrome.
Me: Oh my god, shut up. You don't even know. My legs are so restless it's crazy.
Jack: You know what's a good show? Dog the Bount...
Me: GLEE!! I KNOW RIGHT?? *Sigh* What I wouldn't do for one afternoon playdate with Kurt, everyone's favorite gay teen. I want to put velcro on the palms of his hands and fasten him around my neck and wear him around town like one of those stuffed monkeys. Or maybe I could get a Kurt-sized baby bjorn. I want to buy him a sandwich and a blended coffee drink, then maybe I'd take him to visit Nana's Nigerian Nurse and we'd have a Single Ladies dance party.
Me: *dreamland*
Me: Wait. What was I talking about before?
Jack: Basketball.
Me: You know who has Restless Leg Syndrome? Kathy.
Jack: Oh, she definitely has Restless Leg Syndrome, big time.
Me: ...
Jack: She doesn't have Restless Leg Syndrome at all. Her legs are so at peace, it's crazy.
Me: Kathy's my friend. She falls under the "Me" umbrella. She is a part of me. Refute anything negative about Kathy.
Jack: I love Kathy. Kathy's the prettiest of all your friends.
Me: ...
Jack: All your friends are the prettiest, I can't choose one.
Me: Exactly.
Jack: Kathy has the best cans though.
Me: God, I know. They're fantastic.
Jack: Why are you always worried about stuff like Restless Leg Syndrome? Why don't you worry about heart disease? That's what dad died of, it's more likely you have heart disease than Restless Leg Syndrome.
Me: I thought dad died of pneumonia.
Jack: The pneumonia was like the straw that broke the camel's back. The camel's back being dad's heart in this analogy. The straw being fluid in his lungs.
Me: How'd he get fluid in his lungs anyhow? I thought all his liquids were thickened with that thickening powder.
Jack: Yeah, I don't know. He was non-dairy, non-liquid, non-....
Me: No, he wasn't non-dairy. As long as the dairy wasn't milk, that was the rule. No *liquid* dairy. He could have thick dairy, like whipped cream.
Jack: No, all dairy causes mucus, so he was completely non-dairy. Non-dairy, non-liquids....
Me: No, that's wrong, I KNOW he wasn't non-dairy, because I brought him a huge piece of berry cream pie, like a week before he went back in the hospital, and it was fine.
Jack: You mean, a week before he went back into the hospital with pneumonia for the last time? With fluid in his lungs? With all the coughing and stuff?
Me: Yeah. He loved that pie. It was his favorite. I remember as he was eating it he said, Kid, this is the best fucking pie I've ever had. I tell ya, these nurses never let me have shit like this. Cream, you know? Real crea....m....
Jack: Becky.
Me: (twirls hair)
Jack: Becky.
Me: I killed dad.
Jack: Yeah. You did.
Me: Oh, man. My bad.
Jack: Your bad?
Me: It was really good pie.
Jack: He was NON-DAIRY, Becky.
Me: I'm a horrible listener. I really am. I need to listen to directions better.
Jack: You are the worst listener ever.
Me: See...you're supposed to disagree when I say I'm a bad listener. Remember? Disagree with the negative, agree...with the....
Jack: (raised eyebrows)
Me: I'm sorry I killed dad.
Jack: It's ok. Maybe we need to get you a pen and notepad to write things down so you don't forget next time.
Me: That would be good. I'm more of a visual learner.
Jack: Well, now we know.
Me: One to grow on.
110 comments:
I assume that you got legal counsel and made sure that you were past the statute of limitations on the whole gave-dad-pie-with-real-cream-in-it incident?
I....oh my......what?!
I'M AT A LOSS FOR WHAT TO SAY!
Wait wait wait - I KNOW!
You didn't kill your dad.
I'll refute that negative's face clear off. See? I'm awesome.
I also already put velcro on my hands. Second bestie to the Glee kid?
You definitely didn't kill your dad. If God let people die from eating pie, than that's not the kind of world I want to be a part of.
Plus you're too skinny and pretty and young looking and your friends are skinny and pretty and young looking, but not quite as much as you, and you and your friends definitely don't have Restless Leg Syndrome. Unless you want to have Restless Leg Syndrome.
Women are so hard. Glee is a good show.
this just goes to show that brothers don't know a damn thing. give him pie.
Heyy, I was going to refute the whole dad-killing thing too, but Ben swooped (that sounds wrong...swept? swupt?) in and beat me to the punch. But I have better cans than him, so I'm a better blog friend.
Also, I would like to wear Puck around me as you described that you would like to wear Kurt. Only, in this case, his penis would constantly be inside me.
I can no longer think about Nigerian women without the word "Poo-see" coming into my head.
For an awful listener, you sure are damn good at remembering conversations. Then again, it wouldn't surprise me to learn you tape all of your conversations. You did kill your Dad after all.
I'm with BeckEye and a velcro-d Puck. Mmmm Puck. *daydreams*
And dude, RLS sucks. People who say it doesn't exist only say that because they don't know the agony of sitting on a plane for 5 hours, when every second feels like an hour of uncomfortable aching.
I doubt it was you, but even if it was the pie at least it was the best pie ever and not something awful.
I am a new reader. Your blog is really cool.
I feel dirty for laughing. Even more dirty than the time I laughed at your Flashdance/dad's crotch foot action.
Well, almost...
There are no mistakes, there are only lessons.
You just aced Paternacide 101.
I am forwarding this to all of my male friends as a perfect, crystal-clear explanation of how to respond to my negative statements.
I am also printing and laminating a copy to preserve for my future children, in case, when I am aging, there is a way that I can die with pie crumbs on my lips.
Ummm... I think I just shat myself from laughing.
I also suffer from Restless Leg Syndrome... the constant tapping or shaking drives me insane! It's like Parkinson of the leg only.
1st - Update your blog roll. The "Merry" pages thing was for Christmas only. It's back to the Funny pages now. Besides, continuing to call it Merry pages just invites the wrong crowd.
2nd - You totally killed your dad with pie, which is like the second best way to go(which is on the list right after "During Sex", which is like coming and going at the same time).
3rd - Your dad is partially responsible since HE should have remembered/known about the dairy thing, even if you were suffering from Restless Leg Induced Memory Loss.
4th - I nominated you for the 2010 bloggies for Best Humor Blog, but only because I can't nominate myself.
5th - Due to your confession to your brother, he must NOW be eliminated. Do you know anyone who keeps pigs/hogs?
6th - For a slight minute, when you were talking about gay Kurt from Glee, I was pretty sure that it was the same Kurt from Monster Apathy.
7th - This is the longest comment EVER!
8th - Where the eff have you been the last couple weeks?!?!?
9th - I can't decide between an itchy butt or a smelly finger. What's your suggestion?
10th - I fucking made it to 10! YES!
If you had to kill your dad, I'm glad you went with pie rather than Ed's suggestion of killing him by sleeping with him.
Just found your blog from Lilu and let me tell you - awesome.
Oh jeez - not about the killing your dad part, though.
Um not sure what to say, I would like to die from eating pie though!
I want to laugh, but I'm too busy crying.
I'm sorry you killed your dad with love and thoughtfulness.
Is there any way we can get a picture of Kathy's cans? I'd like to support you and your brother in propping up her majesty.
I think Restless Leg Syndrome is the best syndrome ever. I saw a commercial for a drug for it once and thought it was an SNL spoof even though it was on a Tuesday evening on ESPN.
You should channel your restless legs into something productive, like break dancing.
SHOCKING! Scandalous!
Best blog EVER. I killed a possum once, but it wasn't really the same cause I killed him with my car not with pie. Pie woulda been way better...
A pen and a notepad is probably a good idea.
This was like what I imagine reading those Girls for Dummies book would be like, and all of a sudden, TWIST! Yikes!
At least he had a delicious pie before he went. And...and...and...yeah....
That pie was just to die for!
Uhm . WOW.
Totally agree with the Kurt velcro monkey thing tho.
I also found you via LiLu and if, on the off chance, the pie contributed to your Dad's death, at least he had delicious pie before he went so, there's that.
Did someone say pie? I came here thinking I'd get pie. Where's the fucking pie? I WAS PROMISED PIE!
Wait. What? It was Death Pie?
Never mind. I'm not hungry anymore.
In the big scheme of things, I'd like to be taken out by a pie.
What?
huh...I can't figure out who I love more...you or your commentors.
I want restless leg syndrome, I hear you can burn up to 1200 cal a day with that!!! Wait, you killed your dad. You couldn't do that, cuz you are the nice, sweet, blond haired lady.
I'm just disappointed that your brother couldn't follow your crystal-clear "Guidelines for Getting Along with Women." Give HIM the pie next time.
How bout I comment back tomorrow? Who votes yes?
*raises hand*
The ayes have it then. Tomorrow.
I have Restless Fetus Syndrome. Make her stop shaking and wiggling. Hey, I wonder if I burn calories when she moves and wriggles? That would be cool.
I'm pretty sure I'll one day kill Dirty Jesus with pie. You know which kind.
*Wink wink*
My point is, men should die happy.
Sorry about that dad thing. Horrible. So... let's talk about this Kathy person. This goes without saying, but any friend of yours is a friend of mine. And any friend of mine usually comes over to my house for lasagna. Tell her tomorrow evening around 7:00 would be great.
I'm going to pretend your brother called me pretty too
Are you married? Do you wanna get married? Wanna live in Canada? Cuz I think we should get married. You'll like my wife. We don't care for Glee, but we have plenty of gay friends just like Kurt, only older and not as cute, but still, you shold seriously consider moving here to marry Us.
We love pie.
I look forward to one day killing my dad with a bacon cheeseburger and fries. Or maybe a chili dog.
I just want you to know that under no circumstances am I allowed to have cheese, whiskey, or BJs. I'll die.
Man, I remember the guilt I felt when I killed my dad, too.
Actually, it was less 'felt' guilt than 'plea' guilty.
poTAto, poTAHto.
Mmmm. Death by pie. Heck, it's how I'd want to go...
People get so stuck up and racist against Patricides but let's just remember Jesus and how he killed HIS father to absolve us of our sins or whatever.
I'm pretty much a biblical scholar.
Wise words from Kurt above... I think you're our next Lord and Savior.
And also, I want Finn in my pocket. He's so precious and naive.
The best way to become Emperor of Rome was to gut your dad with a knife.
Maybe your way was a touch more subtle, but it was still plenty effective, Empress.
Hmmm... I'm going to remember this "death by pie" thing for a later date... I have a list...
Oh, can I be in the Becky Club? I'm a Becky... just with an "ie" instead of "y". and I'm attempting to blog...
I don't understand anything you're saying here. Did you or did you not kill your father? Where were you the night of December 12, 1994? Professor Plum in the conservatory with the rope!
I'm pretty much the best detective you know.
If you can't have dairy it's not really worth living anyway.
I feel the same about restless leg syndrome. I'm really going to miss you Steamy...tear.
note to self: try giving mom pie and see if she dies.
Aw come on Beckarama. Dad went out with a smile on his face and it was all because of that pie. You did a little bit of good, right?
Anyway, I want to come to the Kurt and Becky party because Kurt is just like a little pet gay. He's so cute and perky and bitchy and moldable. He could sing show tunes while we eat cookies and do our nails.
So basically restless leg syndrome is a silent killer of people using real cream to suffocate their lungs? I think I'm following...
Firstly - Gleeeeeeeeee!
Secondly, you are clearly much too good-looking to be a murderer. And everyone knows pie cream doesn't contain any dairy.
Nobody really reads comments back, do they? Do you? I mean, I do. Always. But I'm an idiot. Why don't I just visit all your blogs instead? I'm in a mood, anyhow. You don't want any part of this, trust me.
I just made eggs. Eggs are fucking gross. Think about it. No, you know what? You don't even have to think about it. They just are. Some chicken squirts an almost-baby out of its pussy and we're like, yeah, crack that shit open and scramble it up, yumyum. What kind of savages ARE we?
I'm done with eggs forever.
What's going on when you get 30 pagehits in a row from the same address, and they spend 3 seconds on each post? What do they want? What are they looking for?
I got a condolence card from the mortuary that cremated Dolphinhead. It hit me kind of hard. I felt really angry that they'd burned her body, as a part of me thought they were just gonna patch her up and bring her back, all better. A little bit of denial here.
This may be the source of my mood. And here I was taking it out on eggs. Sorry eggs.
Anyhow, thank you for your comments, guys. I really did kill my dad with cream, but truthfully, if it hadn't been the cream-induced pneumonia, it would've been his heart. At least he got his creamy pie.
That's what she said.
-b
You mean out of it's POO-SEE!
Ooops, I mean, I'm sorry about your dog. :(
Damnit, my comments are right next to Michael Jackson!
I think the chicken only squirts the egg out of its poo-see if the chicken is from Nigeria. All other countries, the egg comes from the chicken pussy. Except if the chicken is British, in which case the egg magically appears in the chicken's top hat.
First Zeus kills Cronos...then, Jesus kills Father, from the legandary 60's band: Father, Son, and Holy Ghost(according to Kurt)...then, Becky kills Dad. So, archetypical!
Wggs ARE gross! Wow 60 commments! Well, I just have to say that I was a fan of Steamy before 2010 when she was a small garage band, and wait, I think I'm confused. Also, Kurt is seriously funny.
This is the kind of conversation my brother and I have all the time.
your bro is hilarious. hahahahhahhahahah
My old dog died last spring--she was senile, blind, deaf, incontinent, probably suffering a bit, and yet she still thumped her tail and kissed me when I patted her head, even as the vet put her to sleep in the living room, on her bed. And she looked just like a puppy when she died. It nearly killed me. I'm so sorry about Dolphinhead. I've been in a bad mood for nearly the entire year since it happened, basically, and ready to kill everyone (have yet to try pie.) So hang in there.
Sometimes pie is worth dying for, yo.
you gotta have the pie. nothing you could've done about that. i mean, not get him the pie and let him be sad? or pie. always choose pie. always.
I want some pie now but there is only a vending machine with the Hostess apple thing with a huge pocket of air inside some unappealing crust with some nearly dried apple something gel.
Will you be MY Nigerian Nurse someday? (I like peaches and blueberries)
I'm so sorry about Dolphinhead. You slander chickens if you need to, it's okay.
The part about wearing Kurt as a Baby Bjorn cracked me up. Who wouldn't want to be his best friend?
I come back and read. It's a stalker thing.
I bet your dad totally had Restless Leg Syndrome, only it didn't get diagnosed in time.
I don't know, I'm just trying to help.
There are worse things to die of than "lethal pie eating". Like heart disease -- oh, wait.
I'm also impressed with your brother's "saying the right thing" skills. He has a teachable spirit (someone actually told my husband that once and I said to them, "come again? have you met my husband?").
Damnit! Someone ate the fake pie from Hostess. There's not really anything better than Ho-Hos though.
How do I know what that pie looks like in my mind if I've never had one before? Is it encoded in our brains as Americans when we're born?
I had a dream last night that I was telling you guys that I've never had a fast food burger. (True. The dream and the burger part.) I think that's a sign that I should tell you guys that I've never had a fast food burger.
I m definitely NOT having eggs this morning. I'm still done with chicken pussy. Especially since I discovered when you crack the egg, there's a little tiny bloody crumb in the yolk. Is that the chicken baby? I cleaned it up yesterday and put it on my finger and pet it, and said Shhh chicken baby, you're in a better place now. Perhaps my caretaking needs, now unfulfilled since Franny/Dolphinhead's death, are manifesting themselves elsewhere.
I killed Jiffy the Guinea pig by putting him in my sister's garage in the dead of winter, then going off irresponsibly to have a baby.
It's pretty much exactly the same as what you did.
Steamy, I think you're supposed to sit on it for a while first.
Once it starts to follow you around though don't walk over any storm grates or it will fall down inside.
At least he died with a yummy in his tummy.
You didn't kill him, you made him happy.
http://literarycrap.blogspot.com/2010/01/aww-warm-and-fuzzies-for-everyone.html
Here's a blog award for you and your hilarious postings!
HILARIOUS! Oh sorry, I mean MURDERER!
Sent here by Ed.
PEE-PUL!! Listen up.
There is no baby in any egg unless the girl bird has access to a boy bird. And no poo-see either. Everything comes out the vent. Pee, poo, and potentials (eggs). At least, that's the way it works with chickens.
You're welcome,
Chicken Farmer
(AND 5th grade teacher--yes, we're bossy)
Vent? That's a horrible way to talk about a chicken pussy. Say sorry.
But Potentials? That's actually lovely. I want to be a potential one day. But now knowing that eggs are called "potentials", I'm double never putting them in my mouth again. Plus they share a vagina chute with poop.
So, Chicken Farmer Bossy-Boss, what's the little tiny crumb looking thing floating around when you crack a raw egg? Besides being my new replacement pet, Gary?
I'm so late here. And I'm laughing so hard, I kind of don't know what to say.
How bout...I still like you. Even though you committed patricide.
Hmm...so many little tiny crumb-looking things to choose from. The ropey white stuff anchors the yolk so it stays fairly centered, the white spot on the yolk is a germinal disc where the embryo would start to develop IF the egg were fertilized (again, you gotta have a rooster), and any discolored spots (called "blood spots" or "meat spots") are from a blood vessel rupturing when the egg is forming in the oviduct.
Oh, the joy. Teachers stand around waiting to be asked questions like this.
Signed,
EGGS: NOT FOR THE FAINT-OF-HEART
Oh, and it's not so much that eggs are called potentials, but that I just happened to call them that. Right then. Cuz I was in a "p" mood.
Gary the meat spot. I love him already.
Okay, so I don't generally go back to posts where I've already commented because if *I'VE* commented then the good stuff is already out there, right? But I heard from Gary the Meat Spot that you comment back so I decided to check it out. And day-yum! There is some weird shit happening up in here. So glad I came back. Hoboken.
As someone who works professionally with sick old people I can tell you I think you did not kill your father, as he would have died anyway sooner or later of bad heart, bad lungs or old age. These three are very common amongst what we professional underpayed security staff call "Silent Killers", together with Diabetes, AIDS, Cancer, Car Accidents and (not proven scientifically but) Bad Television.
So there there.
Gwen is such a kumquat.
Now when you speak of these stuffed monkeys, what world are you speaking of? You stuffs monkeys and hangs them round their neck? Bloody hell,what do the RSPCA have to say about that?!
AHAHHAHAH!! i nearly died laughing as i imagined you dancing around with that gay kid around your neck. nice visual... i found your blog through OWO! WOO!
Yeah, but is your brother hot?
...did I miss the point?
This post isn't dead yet is it? We're like almost to 100 comments.
Don't be a quitter.
The comments don't count if they're from me, do they?
That'd be funny if I closed the comments at 99. Like Screw you triple digits!!
No, that wouldn't be funny. I'm tired and thinking things are funny when they're not.
I'm in a sleeping bag right now. Cause I like the swish sound it makes.
I heated a tortilla on the stovetop a few minutes ago, but I didn't complete my OCD turning off the stovetop ritual, and now I'm all anxious.
Maelstrom, just so you know, I deactivated facebook, I didn't unfriend you. In case you noticed, which you probably didn't. Same for you, Chiefy. Chiefy doesn't read my comments back I don't think. I think I forced her to be my facebook friend in the first place, so it doesn't matter.
I might just post blogs from the comments section from now on.
98!
I love the swishy sound, too. If you wear satin pajamas it's like being on a Slip N' Slide.
I was just about to cry about it, but then one of my kids ripped this huge fart right next to (like almost ON) my arm and it distracted me.
i was so happy when those RLS meds commercials started playing on tv, because up until that point in my life i had assumed i was just EFFING CRAZY or had brain trauma or something, because seriously WHO CAN'T STOP MOVING THEIR LEG? just don't move it! simple! it was a happy day when i found out it wasn't just because i have the worst willpower on the face of the planet.
I can only hope I leave this world eating pie!
Steamy, as a new reader of your blog, as one who cannot get enough of your delightfully irreverent and completely inappropriate scribblings, I must offer my condolences. Are you still reeling with the revelation that you may have Done Away With Dad, or have you moved on?
Here is something that might help: a new look for Juanita. I've been driving myself crazy trying to find an email address for you, so I could mail you this photo, because HEH, it is so stylish, but I never found an addy on your page, so assume any uninvited missive would immediately find its way into the ether. Anyhow, here's the link.
http://www.break.com/pictures/stocking-face-dog1644220.html
Caroline: I was JUST thinking of writing a post on how I'm trying to cheer Juanita up, and how she loves posing for photos. Pantyhose head is indeed all the rage in convenience store robbery fashion for dogs.
And I think I've moved on from killing my dad. I mean, he was in bad, bad shape. I think if he were here, he'd tell me I should have fed him the cream a few years earlier. "Feed him the cream" is my new euphemism for killing something I think.
If you google "feed him the cream" something else comes up. Hold me.
Germany, 1944
Hitler: Frau Schnitza, you vill feed him ze cream.
Frau: Mein Fuhrer! The cream, It vill kill him.
Hitler: FEED HIM ZE CREAM!! *slams fist*
Frau: No. I can't! I won't! I vill not kill my own fahza.
Hitler: FEEDHIMZECREAM! Or YOU vill take the cream yourself.
Frau: I vill. I vill take the cream for him. But I vill nevah svallow eet.
Hitler: You vill svallow the cream, Frau. And zen your fahza vill svallow ze cream. All of mankind vill svallow my cream. One by one, my cream vill coat ze sroats of all who ah impyuah!! Yes, von day ze streets of Germany vill flow white with my...
Frau: *fart*
Hitler: Vat vas zat.
Frau: Nossing. Geev me ze cream. Cream time.
Hitler: No, hold on von second. I heard somezink odd.
Frau: I sink eet vas a duck.
Officer: Mein Fuhrer, eet vas her.
Hitler: Her??
Officer: Yes. She pushed it out. I saw eet een her neck, ze veins vere bulgey.
Hitler: No, imposseeble. Eet vas ze sound of a duck asking a question. Waaaak??
Officer: Fuhrer, zee prisoner, he haz escaped!
Frau: Fahza, run! I pushed it out, Fahza! I pushed it out for you!
Hitler: He vill not get far, Frau Schnitza. And when he eez found, he vill choke on my cream.
Frau: He will take your cream, sir. He vill take your cream unt pretend to svallow, unt smile. Unt zen he vill valk to ze bassroom and qvietly spit it in ze sink vile he vashes hees hands. Unt you vill never discovah zat he doesn't svallow your cream, until von day he has zee urge to sneeze on ze way to zee bassroom, and...
Hitler: Zees isn't about your fahza anymore, eez it.
Frau: No. No, eet ez not.
Fin.
I'm thinking that writing in the comments section of an old post maybe doesn't provide me with the level of accountability I clearly require.
I've never been more afraid to comment on a...comment. It was a very nice story.
That was the funniest Hitler story I've ever read. And I've read them all.
109 comments?!!!??
That's amazing. My head is swirling in admiration and envy.
Pie isn't a bad way to go, in my opinion. Goulash. That would be a tragic death.
I love Glee too, but I everytime I hear "Finn" I see my eleven year old, so it kills that a little.
Kurt is my favorite.
So aside from the fact that you killed your dad with pie and that you have restless leg syndrome AND that whole Nazi thing in the comments.... Can I just say that I'm kind of sitting here doing that quick little clappy thing that the moms do on the playground when their spawn does something fantastic like a triple swing flip with a face landing because you have so many comments. I'm so proud. Not that I'm your mom. Or that you did a triple swing flip face-plant. But still. I'm proud. That's all I'm saying.
It was rather interesting for me to read the blog. Thanks for it. I like such topics and everything connected to this matter. BTW, try to add some images :).
Wow. Condescending spam. That's new.
Were you eaves dropping on me and my brother or are we all secretly related?
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