Perhaps she has a great idea for a post, and 20 minutes later she finds herself kneeling in the bathtub, wearing a pimp wig and a Cruella DaVille coat, holding a banana in one hand and an icepick in the other, fake blood dripping out of one nostril, as she contorts her face and sneers into the camera she's set on autotimer and positioned carefully on the toilet, and she begins to wonder, Am I still being authentic on my blog?
Am I trying too hard? she asks herself, as she peruses her iphoto archives and tries to remember which of her unpublished posts would have required her to pull a pair of Spanx over her head and peer over the pillow holding a lady's disposable razor.
I hate when nobody tells you your tag is showing.
We've all been there.
As writers of weblogs, it's natural to wax introspective from time to time. For example, I often worry, Am I being relatable?
My little buttercup, has the sweetest smiiiillle
*shuffle step, shuffle step, windshield wiper hands*
Are the images I post reflective of the maturity and substance that I strive for in my blog?
Shut up. I found them this way. Shut up.
Maybe these photos are merely a projection of my...(sigh.) Really? This again? Yes, we SEE the razor, Spanxhead. Good job. Go to bed.
(beeeep!) Hey Becky, I came by today. Your car was there but
you didn't answer the doorbell. Are you ok? You're probably out somewhere
enjoying the beautiful Spring day. Call me! (beeeep!)
As bloggers, at one point or another we all get to that point where we ask ourselves, "How will I ever connect with my Internet brethren if I can't take off the protective "mask" of objectivity and open myself up to speak from a place of pain, struggle, and redemption, and GOOD GOD is that... some kind of... disembodied whale vagina?"
This is precisely why labia majora were invented.
How did I get to this point? I used to write homages to my dead dad, and now I'm running around with Spanx on my head, looking like some kind of flesh-toned, control-top Snork.
I have opinions, things to share, feelings even, and yet I'm trying to create a post based around a photo of what might be a whale's vagina I found on the beach, for God's sake! WHY??!
Whyyyy??? (bangs fists on desk)
WHYYYYYY?? (collapses into a heap)
Whale's Vagina: You mean, you don't know?
Me: Wha?? Whale's Vagina, it's you!
Whale's Vagina: I'm here to help, my child. You want to post about the whale's vagina you found on the beach, but its meaning eludes you, is that right?
Me: I don't know, Whale's Vagina! I mean, there you were on the sand that day, this lonely, mysterious thing, presenting yourself upon the shore with no context, no history...
Whale's Vagina: Yes, yes, go on...
Me: There you were, leaving me to wonder, "Where did this whale's vagina come from?" and "Why doesn't that whale's vagina keep it real on her blog anymore?" Wait. What? Oh!
Whale's Vagina: You see it now, don't you. You wanted to write about me because...
Me: Because you... you are me, Whale's Vagina, and I am you. The both of us pointless and bereft of context.
Whale's Vagina: Yes, but if you remember, you were not always a metaphorical whale's vagina, Becky. Come, I'll show you. Follow me back in time, for I am...
The Whale's Vagina of Blogging Past
WV: Look, Becky, here you are in your mother's arms, a newborn baby.
Me: A Christmas baby, actually. Just like Jesus was, only back when he was born it was just called "Mas."
(absolute silence, save for a lone wolf howling in the distance)
Me: Sorry.
WV: Anyhow, there is very little information to be gathered from your baby books, as it seems they were never filled out until you were old enough to do it yourself, which would have been fine except for a comprehension disorder that your teachers described as an "inability to understand basic implied directions."
Right foot, check. Left foot, check. That was easy. What's next?
A lock of hair?? Well okay, but this sure is a weird memory book.
(takes out scissors, goes looking for the cat)
WV: By this point, Becky, you were already deep into what would be a lifelong habit of taking control of things that weren't your responsibility and then expressing your resentment in dramatic and confusing ways.
Look, there you are, 8 years old. Shh, let's listen...
***
Becky: Hey mom, I finished my BABY BOOK! You're WELCOME! I'll just put it here IN THE TOILET WHERE YOU WANT IT PROBABLY!
Mom: Hon, I don't want the book in the toilet. Give me the book.
Becky: What? Oh, I'm sorry, I can see you're disappointed that I DON'T FIT IN THE TOILET TOO!
Mom: Becky, get out of the toilet. C'mon.
Becky: Okay, I'll c'mon, right after I BURN THIS BABY BOOK UP. I just hope to God I don't burn my hand while I'm burning the precious memories. (holds baby book over the stovetop, realizes it's an electric burner, waits awkwardly for it to heat up, gets impatient, sticks it in the toaster, stares at mom while poignantly turning dial to "dark.")
Mom: Are you enjoying yourself? I hope you are.
Becky: Yep just tidying up, a place for everything and everything in its place, right?! (throws book in the trash, takes it out, tries to cram it down the disposal, it won't fit, sticks it in the microwave, sets the timer for 20 years, gets impatient, throws the book out the window. Waits for the reassuring sitcom hug that would never come. Calms down. Writes 20 page apology letter to mom, culminating with the full song lyrics to "Against All Odds" by Phil Collins.)
***
Me: Ha! Look at that. What a firecracker!
WV: Firecracker indeed! Smart too. They skipped you out of Kindergarten because you were mature for your age, gifted even, but then you proceeded to piss your pants in class almost every grade until middle school.
Me: Heh. That's right. I sure showed them. You can keep your "labels," Sister Mary Edna! You'll never "define" me!!
WV: Like most families in the 80's, you played lots of homemade games growing up. Games like "Throwing Dirt at Nana."
Me: Well, come on. A dollar bill in a birthday card? Kinda bullshit, right?
WV: There was also the game called "Dr. Becky and Her Enchanted Anal Thermometer of Wishes."
Me: He HAD a wish and he was RUNNING a fever. Two birds, one stone, really. Not a big deal.
WV: And of course, "Steamer Basket Robot Feet." Do you remember the jingle?
Steamer basket robot feet,
steamer basket robot feet,
steamer basket robot feet,
my feet are made of steamer baskets!!
Me: The day my feet got too big for those steamer baskets, man, that was a sad day.
WV: On Saturday nights, you and your parents and your brother would play a board game, like Clue or Sorry or Balderdash. You were raised with a strong love of language, weren't you. Shhh, let's watch...
***
Mom: Okay. The thing is, and the point of the game Balderdash, is to come up with a definition that seems so plausible, that your opponents will be tricked into thinking it's the real definition. Do you kids get it?
Becky/Jack: Yeah.
Mom: I don't think that you get it.
Becky/Jack: We get it!
Mom: Do you? (holds out card)
Becky: Sounds good to me!
Jack: Yeah. I think my friend Josh has one of those birds.
Mom: I'm so tired, kids. So very tired.
Becky/Jack: We'll do better. No more penises. Promise. Read the next one!
Mom: (Sigh.) Fine. The word is...
***
Me: *snort* Queachy. *snort*
WV: Moving on, you were quickly on the path to becoming the mature woman you are today...
Me: Queachy. *closes eyes, holds bridge of nose trying not to laugh* Give me a sec.
WV: ...and you eventually discovered boys. Your first boyfriend was a sweet blonde boy who loved to open mouth French. Sometimes he would French on your mouth, sometimes on your neck, sometimes on your forehead...
Me: ...sometimes with my ponytail or my backpack strap. Sometimes with the air next to my face. Sometimes with the window of the back seat of his mom's car as they drove away. Sometimes with his best friend Bruce. God, he was passionate.
WV: By contrast, your next boyfriend would come over on weekends and hold your hands and feet together, then put a pillow on your head and sit on it while you screamed.
Me: I was a cheap date!
WV: You're deflecting again. Is this getting too difficult? Difficult memories?
Me: Pshh. No. Your mom is a difficult memory.
WV: ...?...
Me: (armpit fart)
WV: Alright. As we see here, you had your heart broken over and over again, but you kept your chin up and handled it with grace and maturity each and every time.
Me: *deep royal curtsy*
Dear sir,
Might I respond to your proposed annulment.
I find it regretful that you do no longer wish to participate in
a relationship, although I respect your request and...
...always have the memories. Henceforth...
...dignitas et integritas. Hitherto...
(pushes up bifocals, stokes logs in fireplace, sips Brandy, licks finger, turns page)
In summation...
Warmest Regards,
Becky
Me: *looks up, mid-curtsy* Oh, you were being sarcastic. I didn't know you had my diaries. This is getting kind of uncomfortable now. I feel vulnerable. Are we almost done yet?
WV: You were a pretty well-behaved teenager, mainly due to your self-appointed position of Caretaker of Business and Upholder of All Things Right and Just.
Me: Yeah I was good, relatively speaking. I never smoked cigarettes, only had sex with boys if they gave me some kind of token of commitment like a lanyard or a frozen yogurt, and even then I'd make them stop halfway through for a dramatic thinking-about-things-and-poignant-gazing-out-the-window-while-listening-to-Alphaville's-Forever-Young moment of quiet introspection.
WV: You only got drunk a few times, and only very briefly experimented with pot.
Me: Oh, um. I don't want to talk about the pot. Seriously. Shhh. Please? Let's not...
WV: You'd get high and then spend hours creating these continuous single-line drawings...
Yeah. That just happened.
*drops mic, walks offstage*
Me: (Sigh.) That's not... exactly... the way I remember it looking. Are you sure this is mine? There were a lot of fake repros floating around the dorm, you know.
WV: And then of course, when you had finished drawing, you'd spend a few more hours finding all the hidden ducks.
Dude. When I'm creating, I'm not even thinking about ducks.
But the ducks are everywhere, man,
if you just open your eyes.
Me: Alright, I'm done, Whale's Vagina. I think I've had about enough. This is too painful. Take me back. Oh God please, take me back home. I don't want to see any more.
WV: You can't run from your past, Becky, if you want to keep it real on your blog.
Me: I don't care about keepin it real. Take me back. Take me back, now.
WV: As you wish. But very soon, you will be visited by another vision.
Me: Another one? Who? The Whale's Vagina of Blogging Present? WHO?
WV: I can't tell you. But you know them. You know them well. And they've been waiting, waiting a very long time for their chance to help you become a better blogger. Practicing, hoping, dreaming. It's their time, Becky.
Me: Heh. Well it's funny, but from the way you're talking, it sounds kind of like you're referring to...
Me: Oh. It's Keith and Chantal. Awesome.
***********************************************
NOTE: Hey friendishes! In continuing the theme of "keepin it real," Lazarus at The LG Report has interviewed me over HERE. Do click, if you're so inclined. I kept it clean. Pretty proud.
103 comments:
Thank you!
"Are you sitting comfortably? Ok, lets start. Did you have a happy childhood? Oh, I see, good".
Gets up, walks out scratching head, bangs head against wall several times.
Steam me up, Kid AND Hyperbole and a Half both updating in one day. Have I died and gone to a place where having split sides is acceptable?
This is just...fantastic.
You got dollar bills in your b-day cards? Nice.
I had an aunt who taped nickels in my b-cards. I mean, a nickel? What was the point?
I had no idea frozen yogurt was a sign of commitment. I could have been having a lot more sex had I known this earlier.
Always learning new stuff when I visit you...
"flesh-toned, control-top Snork" -- best description EVER.
And in my baby book, under "Baby's Favorite Foods" Dear Sweet Mama wrote "cheese balls and pudding." I rest my case.
After all this, I just feel terrible about Oprah losing her vagina on the beach.
Just. Terrible.
I only *wish* a whale's vagina would appear and help me be a better blogger. JEALOUS.
Absolute perfection. Who knew that a whale's vagina could get you back on the path to righteous blogging?
That is a brutal looking knife!!
Becky,
Below is what I had written and planned to post on your blog this morning...
~~~~~~
I am writing to you today to ask you to help me avoid bludgeoning one of my favorite friends to death with a dull spoon.
You see, up until last year, I knew very little of the blog world. I would spend my free time reading novels, drinking myself into a stupor at my local bar or doing equally respectable activities.
However, my friend Caleb started writing a blog called “The Blog Experiment.” Being a good friend (and wanting to shut the whinny bastard up) I agreed to start reading his blog. After a short time, he revealed some of his favorite bloggers to me. So, I started reading Hyperbole and a Half, The Housewife Blogger and your blog. All are great and I quickly became hooked.
I started reading all your current blogs, then your archives. And when you hadn’t posted anything new, I read the archives again. I’m hooked. I’m truly addicted. This would probably seem like a good thing, but it’s really quite disturbing. You see, I have very little patience and what some would call “a short fuse.” The problem is, I am quickly becoming filled with a seething, burning rage because there are no new posts to read during my utterly boring day.
Because I am incapable of taking blame for my own shortcomings, I needed someone to blame for my current addiction and unabashed fury. I quite easily choose Caleb as my target/scapegoat. You see, I never would have had this addiction if he hadn’t started me down the path. Caleb was the gateway drug, and for that reason, he must be punished. As I write this, I am also plotting the physical harm I must inflict upon poor Caleb for his part in my misery. So far, there are some ideas for covering him in honey and leaving him to the bees and wasps (which is a double-edged sword for him) or death by paper cuts. I’m still working on it.
In the meantime, you and Allie (I’ve sent her a message as well) could easily help Mr. Shreves out by writing a post and stopping my insanity. Really, Caleb’s health and safety are in your hands. Do what you will with that knowledge.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You have NO idea how thankful I am that I came here and found such a funny, new post. You're awesome and Caleb will now be safe from harm (for now :-)
Sincerely,
KIM
I still have my very first lanyard. God that was a tender seven minutes in the back of a CR-V. Well, until his nose ring fell out. Then it got rather uncomfortable.
Never did find that thing.
I still have my very first lanyard. God that was a tender seven minutes in the back of a CR-V. Well, until his nose ring fell out. Then it got rather uncomfortable.
Never did find that thing.
I like to do everything twice. Ask lanyard boy. Sheesh.
Whale Vagina..Thanks! Now I know what keeps bumping up against me whenever I run quickly into waist deep water to pee at the beach. Oops, nobody was supposed to know that's what I'm doing..really, I just needed to get wet and cool off...
'Labia Majora' I spit coffee on my new macbook, I forgive you though. Love the new post
No wonder they named San Diego after that Whale Vagina. So wise.
Sometimes I am very afraid. I think I might cry. But somehow you still complete me.
I'm totally confused AND amused. WTG!! :p
Such utter insanity; and yet, it works!
do you ever wonder what people who had NORMAL childhoods do with their lives?
i do.
not for long, though. because, you know, dead bees and ducks and shit. things to do.
My life will not be complete until I play Balderdash with you.
If anyone finds the whale penis, can they send it to me.
For . . . er . . . research . . .
Thank you
The Jules
c/o Genitalia Transplantation Service
Wang Street
Hong Kong
I think the fact that I have about fourteen non-witty comments of "BAH!" I'd like to make (The baby book! BAh! The journal entry! Bahahah! The Balderdash submissions Bah! Frozen yogurt! Bah!.... etc. etc. ad nauseum) is a clear indication that you have taken The Whale Vagina of blogging past's counsel very seriously and have, indeed, kept it all kinds of real up in here.
I feel so much closer to you now.
Your family sure did have a lot of steamer baskets. 4 for one family? Come on! You were a family of steamy gluttons!
OH!! WAIT IT GET IT!!
Steam me up, KID?!
It all makes perfect sense now.
Time to change your blog title.
Becky, I'm pretty sure that's a human spleen, not a whale vagina. Did you happen to notice any other body parts laying around the beach? I hear there's a serial killer on the loose that's leaving bodies on the beach down there..Maybe go back and look again. But take the knife with you for protection.
I can only wonder what wisdom and guidance the Whale's Uterus might have had...
I'd always assumed that sex between me and a whale was, you know, just not gonna happen. But after looking at the size of that WV... I just don't know. I mean, maybe? It'd have to be the right whale, of course. And by that I mean a whale that still had it's vagina attached (wait- do they only have 1?).
I wanted to be angry at your "3 words per day" writing speed, but then you write this sort of awesome and introspective post and I hate you slightly less. Also, my friend- who I turned on to your blog- was about to take her "where are the new posts?" frustrations out on me in a dramatic and lethal fashion. So thanks for, uh, saving my life and all that.
I owe you some yogurt.
Caleb out.
Um. I think that's haggis. You would probably know that if you hadn't smoked all that pot.
Also, thanks for the tip on the baby book thing. I was feeling guilty about not filling them in for my kids. Now I know they can just do it themselves!
*heads off to draw hidden ducks*
Referencing Caleb's comment:
It's true, Becky. I planned to take Caleb out because he addicted me to your (and others') blog posts. I even had a note typed up to send to you and Allie @ Hyperbol (see below...)
~~~~~
I am writing to you today to ask you to help me avoid bludgeoning one of my favorite friends to death with a dull spoon.
You see, up until last year, I knew very little of the blog world. I would spend my free time reading novels, drinking myself into a stupor at my local bar or doing equally respectable activities.
However, my friend Caleb started writing a blog called “The Blog Experiment.” Being a good friend (and wanting to shut the whinny bastard up) I agreed to start reading his blog. After a short time, he revealed some of his favorite bloggers to me. So, I started reading Hyperbole and a Half, The Housewife Blogger and your blog. All are great and I quickly became hooked.
I started reading all your current blogs, then your archives. And when you hadn’t posted anything new, I read the archives again. I’m hooked. I’m truly addicted. This would probably seem like a good thing, but it’s really quite disturbing. You see, I have very little patience and what some would call “a short fuse.” The problem is, I am quickly becoming filled with a seething, burning rage because there are no new posts to read during my utterly boring day.
Because I am incapable of taking blame for my own shortcomings, I needed someone to blame for my current addiction and unabashed fury. I quite easily choose Caleb as my target/scapegoat. You see, I never would have had this addiction if he hadn’t started me down the path. Caleb was the gateway drug, and for that reason, he must be punished. As I write this, I am also plotting the physical harm I must inflict upon poor Caleb for his part in my misery. So far, there are some ideas for covering him in honey and leaving him to the bees and wasps (which is a double-edged sword for him) or death by paper cuts. I’m still working on it.
In the meantime, you and Allie (I’ve sent her a message as well) could easily help Mr. Shreves out by writing a post and stopping my insanity. Really, Caleb’s health and safety are in your hands. Do what you will with that knowledge.
~~~~~
Thank God! It's like you read my mind. Really, you saved Caleb's life by posting. Thank you! Seriously, thank you!!
Sincerely,
Kim (Google is screwing with me and making me post as "Anon")
I was always weirdly fascinated by those steamer baskets as a kid. Also, water dripping out of the faucet.
So I guess...I was Dustin Hoffman from "Rainman."
My favorite part is how you made the definition of 'queachy' so much better by changing 'name' to 'farm terminology' and correcting 'cow' to 'mule.'
I find it not only inspiring -- but a testament to just how real you've kept it -- that your requirements for sexual partners have become even less stringent throughout the years. What once took frozen yogurt now only takes a complimentary moist towelette, or the helpful brushing of an eyelash from your cheek.
Someday when the "In Memorium" portion of the Academy Awards rolls, I hope that the good folks who hand out Oscars will find it in themselves to show the picture of you and your gasmask/fucking scary knife thingy and the steamer basket photo.
And the presentation will halt for a few tender moments while the crowd all stands and holds up their Whale's vagina that was taped underneath their seat.
I'm gonna comment in the comments. I already commented in the CBOX, but this seems more official.
I'm in a nursing program, and while I'll admit it's not veterinary in nature I am still pretty sure that's not a whale's vagina. That's okay though, there was really no way for you to know. It's not like you *have* one or something.
At the hospital the other day an overweight elderly woman with hip surgery needed a catheter and there were multiple women crowded around her looking for her urethra. Females are complicated. She was a really good sport about it though. And we Totally found it in the end.
Yay! Whale's vagina. Good interview too. Did he mention-in print- your "razor wit" before or after he saw these photos of you dressed up as a Spanks Head Razor Snork? Because if before then- whoa, weird coincidence.
*stunned silence*
*what am I going to tell the IT guys if they pull a screen shot today?*
Nice post Becky!
All this metablognition and introspection? And a whale's vagina? You don't have to be that guy from that book about the creepy Catholic sect that encoded their secrets about Jesus in an anagram to figure out what the hidden message is in this post.
Wait, you don't know what the hidden message is, do you?
Seriously! You crack me the hell up! People in my office keep looking at me funny! Stop!
I can't stop thinking about the spanx creeper. And I giggle. Please stop the giggling...
Sooo funny! Thank you. I check (almost) every day for new installment - - my day has been made.
I hate it when the Spanks roll up and then your chin rolls are all squished out the bottom, so then everyone totally knows you're wearing control-top boxer-briefs.
Welcome back to the Internet. We thought you were dead, so we threw you a funeral. You looked so peaceful, but your makeup was terrible. Good deli tray, though.
1) I once dated a guy who would french kiss my nostrils. It was like having a human neti pot.
2)I can count on one hand how many times I smoked pot. Probably because my first experience was so horrific. I ended up lying face down on the asphalt in the middle of the bar parking lot. It was seven pm.
3)I would give up my unborn child to play Balderdash with you.
My whale vagina is so stupid. It doesn't speak. And it never even remembers how I cut off part of my Cher dolls hair and glued to her giant whale vagina and then blew it dry with a blow dryer to melt it in place.
And then I did her hair. I wish my parents noticed that they had a daughter like me and took pictures. Sadly I think I might have been the ignored second child of shame.
I feel like I know you intimately. Not that I'm moving into the crawlspace under your deck or anything, BECKY. Stop looking.
I think you're my husband. I mean...really....you're very obviously James. It's apparent in everything you do.
I can't believe you've been blogging behind my back.
HURRAYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! UPDATEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! HURRAY!
Oh, it feels like home! With bonus whale vagina.
My favorite was the "pretty in pink" bookmark - Dickens wishes he had such an eye for detail.
THIS. WAS. EPIC. As usual. (:
And it's nice to know that I'm not the only one who scrawls vulgarities all over her old diaries.
Pee Ess,
Thanks for pimping me out in your interview.
I actually have a whale's vagina. I mean that my human vagina was surgically substituted for a whale's vagina in a top secret government thing. Like, Million Dollar Man, but with mucus secretions. I don't mind telling you it's no easy thing crossing my legs. No ma'am.
Unlike yours, mine neither talks nor emulates Dickens.
Well, I for one am quite happy that you had your Spanx 'n' razor phase before showing the magical whale vagina.
Because if that thing had hair -- or barnacles, or whatever was there before you Lady Bic'ed it off -- would've just been distracting.
Also, the voice would have been all muffled. Don't ask. I just know.
My parents didn't keep a baby book for me. I'm left with so many questions. I mean, are these my real feet? Yes? No? Sure, they look OK. A little hairy, but whatever. But now I'll never know. Maybe ask the Whale Vagina? She seems to have all the answers.
I'd like to thank Becky, publicly this time, for her awesome interview at The LG Report. Thanks to Becky's considerable drawing power, The LG Report had it's all-time single-day number of visitors yesterday (746 if you really must know...) Thanks much Becky, love the blog and your zany sense of humor, you're awesome!
I don't think I've read a funnier blog in all my freakin' life.
Wow. I totally just got the "right foot, left foot" thing.
It's like when you fill out a form that has Sex:____ and you just put a check mark.
I had to fill out my baby book myself also, which sucked, because I don't remember a whole lot from that time. Now I worry I have suppressed memories involving whale vaginas or something. No one will answer my questions.
Holy shit - you've got me bustin up over here. I thoroughly enjoyed the post-apocalyptic picture of you. We should see more blogging from Steam Me Up, Kid of Thunderdome.
I can't tell you how comforting it is to know someone else sarcastically filled out their own baby book with the furor of a thousand suns, then dramatically destroyed it to pretty much no consternation from their parents. After that incident, I took to carving my initials all over the house so they'd never forget me and where I came from.
And I cannot stop laughing at queachy. Well done.
You use the same kind of razors I do. It makes you so much more REAAAAALLLL... *creepy heavy breath*
Whale vagina.
nom nom nom nom
Suuuper hesitant to leave a comment. My sole reason for this is that at this moment, the comments are at 69.
Such a holy number. Such a shame to ruin it.
But then again I'm allergic to fun.
Yeeeeeeeeey post! It's been FOREVER. Thanks for brightening my day. It's been a long one.
Hilarious. Please tell me you made whale vagina stew.
Will you adopt me?
First of all, you are one funny girl!
Secondly, where does your whale vagina go for hair removal? I think I need to fire my aesthetician.
R
So I sometimes have to read through yours 2 or 3 times to make sure I caught everything good. Sure enough, I saw that *this* gem almost got lost in the mix:
"...but if you remember, you were not always a metaphorical whale's vagina, Becky."
The fact that you created a need in the universe for that sentence to be typed...
You see why I love you, right?
Oh, and yeah- I can leave 3 comments if I want. What'r YOU gonna do about it?
No- wait. Don't delete them. Sorry I yelled.
Caleb
4!!
Look- if I post most recently, I get to the top of your honorary Becky list!
And... wait. Becky is a girl's name. I, uh, have... you know... junk.
And stuff.
Aw F*ck it. I'll take it!
Caleb
PS no, this is probably not my last comment. I just can't help expressing myself with unwarranted comments.
Ask my ex.
It's about damn time.
(See that? I'm totally playing it cool. I'm not going to fawn all over you like usual.)
(But Jesus - I laughed so hard I cried. I love it when you post.)
(The only thing is that you're so funny, that the rest of us trying to have a funny schtick look kinda lame by comparison.)
(In that regard, I should hate you, but you're just too damn hilarious.)
What I mean is... 'bout damn time.
Man, I *have* been struggling in my blogging lately. If only a whale vagina would appear to show me the way.
Or even like a mouse vagina.
Or an ant vagina.
I'm not picky, vagina-of-truth-coming-to-reveal-itself-to-me.
Literal lol's, Becky. And I just want you to know, I read your blog backwards and always found it consistently awesome.
Except for that anecdote about your classmate's garter snake. That still gives me the jibblies.
Nice article, thanks for the information.
I would really like to know where you got that awesome knife.
I just started reading through your blog posts (fine, OK - I might have read all of your blog posts), and I have decided that I will read your future posts whilst sitting on the toilet with a tissue in my hand. That way, when I snort snot or pee myself from the laughing, I'll be the only one to know.
I don't even know what to say anymore except that I'm insanely jealous and the "Left: yes Right: yes" reduced me to a pile of laughing, green envy.
The article that was being posted was an excellent and I have one fairly different question though: Did you produce the website design yourself or did you shop for it somewhere? I have been browsing for a decent website style for a little time now and I could use some advice... All is appreciated! Thanks a heap and keep up the work on your site.
It seems very wrong to have the song "Steamer Basket Robot Feet" stuck in my head, especially given that I had to make up the tune myself.
Also, on first glance, I thought the monkey in your closet was giving itself head. Just FYI.
Write more, that all I have to say. Literally, it seems as though you relied on the video to make your point. You clearly know what you’re talking about, why waste your intelligence on just posting videos to your blog when you could be giving us something enlightening to read?
so my daughter just asked me "mom, what are you laughing about?" i don't want to tell her (yet) about the balderdash cards.
ideas? anyone?
What a find! Thank you @jillsmo for showing me the way!!!
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