Friday, August 26, 2011

Romancing the SHIT Outta Yous. (Now with Housewife Porn! WAIT, IS THAT THE DOORBELL?)

Hello there, you’re CLEARLY in the wrong place! 

So in the past couple of weeks, I have suddenly gotten on Twitter, started a blog and started reading other peoples’ blogs. Superfun, right?  The blog especially, because the world obviously needs even MORE blogs about poop and dicks. Anyway, the thing is, the time this requires… this time was once taken up by other activities in my life. What activities, you may wonder? Some possibilities...

Charity work: Dirty, sweaty garbage

Charity work: dirty POOR PEOPLES!
Yes, poor person, you are allowed to kiss me now. You're welcome.
(seriously now, LOOK at her body language!! Whatta bitch!)
Charity case: Dirty in a different way. 
Dirty, dirty, dirty. Hello, soldier.

If you guessed “charity work”, well, just HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!  Now, doing lots of really difficult, sweaty work for no money DOES sound like a rush. And SOMEBODY needs to get LiLo to the methadone clinic and to her naked banjo lessons. But my free time was actually being used… to read romance novels.

No, really. I KNOW.  So sue me.  But the good news is, I didn’t read the squirrelly-ass dipshit ones with the heaving bosoms and such… I read HOUSEWIFE PORN. This is stuff so dirty, they have to make the book covers RED because the content is EN FUEGO. Observe:

Goes down easy, indeed!

Now, sometimes the dialogue is sexy and titillating and most EXCELLENT. Like:

Suddenly, she was back against the concrete wall, his hands pushing up the skirt of her dress to her waist then hitching one of her knees over his hip. Both of his hands dropped to her backside, lifting her higher, until the broad tip of his rigid shaft found her entrance, teasing her with the promise of filling her completely."
(excerpt from "Not Another Blind Date..." by Janelle Denison, Jo Leigh and Leslie Kelly. YER WELCOME)

But sometimes it is groaningly (not in a good way) bad, like:

Like a match rasping across the phosphorus strip, he felt an explosive heat, sharp, bright and hot. Hell, he felt like a star shooting across the sky above them."
(you don't really need to know who wrote this corny shit, amiright?)

Do I need that kinda embellishment in my housewife porn? No, no I do not. 

I like to read the REALLY bad dialogue out loud to my husband. Sometimes I’m all, *SIGH* “She just said  'I'd like one, as well’ in the dialog. Like ANYBODY talks like that. Especially when they are tied to a tree.” Or like this one, which was written from a man’s perspective: 

“…and I busted another nut.” . 

I AM NOT KIDDING. That is actual dialog. Not only did he “bust a nut” ya know, the first one… sooooo sexy, right?  But immediately busting ANOTHER one… wow. Just wow.  To that one, my husband replied, “That would never happen. I just want you to know, that could never happen.” He doesn’t really ever get judgy about how bad this crap is though, because he knows that the GOOD trashy romance novels help to preheat the oven he’s hoping to get flambĂ©ed in later.

There was another one where a woman is being stalked and she’s going to her car in the parking garage. She gets SHOT in the upper arm.  A handsome cop is trying to help her, he throws himself on top of her to protect her while he’s waving his gun around. No, his actual gun. As he’s lying on top of her, he shifts a couple of times and SHE HAS AN ORGASM.  On the greasy parking garage floor, just after having been shot.  Did I mention, she was JUST SHOT. Yeah, I know I repeated that but it bears repeating because COME ON, NOW, PEOPLE.

Listen here, you. I could have champagne, roses, chocolate covered strawberries, soft music, a bubble bath, sensual fragrant body oils rubbed into me, masterful foreplay and creative intercourse and right in the middle, if I accidentally get a picture in my mind at random for a NANOSECOND and thereby think, “Why in the hell are rhinos that awful rhino-color?”, then I’ve just undone 20+ minutes of very careful orgasm-set-up by my very patient husband. Then I have to yell “DO OVER” or “SHIT! The fucking rhinos AGAIN!” and start from scratch. So adding a GUNSHOT WOUND into the mix?? Nuh-uh. Sorry, not buying it.

Now, I realize they are not writing true-life stuff, it's SUPPOSED to be fantasy, I get that. That's why the characters are always young and juicy, not dried up ole husks like the readers. Cuz nobody wants to read:

"She was slumped in her recliner, writing her blog, burping and picking her nose occasionally and digging at a prickly chin hair. She tried grasping it between her thumbnail and middle fingernail, but couldn't get a good grip. Unfortunately, she was far too lazy to get up and go get tweezers. He saw her from across the room. He was overcome with lust for obvious reasons. He came up behind her and started caressing her neck. She said, 'What the hell are you doing, are you HIGH? Get OFF me!' and swatted his jackass hand away. He said, 'My darling, I MUST have you.' She said, 'I have dishes to do, a crappy dinner to make and more dishes to do.' He said, 'But... I've been manscaping...', to which she responded, 'Fuck off. I have shit to do -- your stupid socks aren't going to wash themselves.' So he slunk off to the basement to look at porn."

Quick aside: I have only just noticed that Microsoft Word does not flag swear words, as long as you spell them correctly. Even “motherfucker” and “cocksucker”! WTG, Microsoft!  May want to add the following though, as you have clearly left some out: “turd” (self-explanatory); “twatty”( as in, “Priscilla was acting rather twatty today.”) and assjacking cockslapper (self-explanatory).

Now then. I have read about 1,000 of these shitty awesome books at this point, I am what you might call a connoisseur of smut. In fact, I used to have a mutherf’ing SUBSCRIPTION to the Harlequin Blaze line of books. Ya know why I canceled it? BECAUSE WALMART WOULD HAVE THE BOOKS ON THE SHELF SEVERAL DAYS EARLIER THAN I WOULD RECEIVE THE BOOKS IN THE MAIL. That’s right, I could. Not. Wait. It would PISS MY SHIT RIGHT OFF to have to walk past the row of shiny new smut, knowing my books had not arrived yet. "Maybe tomorrow..." I'd say to myself, encouragingly. 

BUT… now I’m totally not really reading that shit anymore. Except when I’m stuck on the toilet with a log jam (also known as “battleshits”, which is a word that is ALSO not recognized by Microsoft Word *sigh*) or taking some quality time in there with a real bowl-winder, cuz that’s the perfect time to read some SHIT.  


According to, some fun activities to pass the time while you are pooping in a public bathroom:

>Listen to other people poop and laugh quietly
>Laugh at the sounds your own ass is making
>Pay bills

Now, that’s some advice I can get behind! Oh! Hahahaha, see what I did there?!?

...................BACK TO REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING.....................

So anyhoo, all the Tweeting, writing and blog-reading could potentially cut into the time spent twatting, wanking and banging. On the plus side, most of the people I follow on Twitter have dirty minds, but on the minus side, they are usually not being sexy about it. Plus how much arousal can be generated by a 140 character one-liner??

I know that for men, it’s easy. If you’re a guy, somebody says “bewbs” in a tweet and before you know it, you’re paddling the trout with abandon. But it’s generally not that easy for most women. I can only speak from my own experience but for me, masturbation often goes like this: “Oh, yeah, mmm, self, you are smokin’ hot. Yeah, just like that. IS THAT THE DOORBELL? Ok, no, yeah, ooooh… GOD THOSE BIRDS ARE ANNOYING! Wait, GOD! DON’T THINK ABOUT GOD!  Ok,OOHHH, yeah, mmmm, like that… HOW MUCH TIME UNTIL THE SCHOOL BUS GETS HERE AND DROPS OFF THE CHILD?? CHILD! DON’T THINK ABOUT THE CHILD! YUCK!! AHHHH!! Ok… here we go, back on track…oooh, mmmm, BETTER HURRY UP…” get the picture. *sigh*

For your reading pleasure, fun names for masturbation:

>Squeeze the cheese
>Shake hands with the unemployed
>Stroke the one-eyed burping gecko

Now, get to work slapping the ham, girls! But first, you might want to get some earplugs! And a lobotomy. 

Monday, August 15, 2011

So, Yeah, Hello Kitty is a SLUT...

You will appreciate this post more when I tell you that I have removed all most references to some recent gynecological mishaps. I know, BUMMER. But I decided my relationship with you was too young, too fragile, to blow your mind test it like that. It was rather funny, my friend... but it was also pretty gross. Maybe after we spend more time together... perhaps then, I will tell you the story of my procedure in which they crammed a scimitar through my cervix to take samples of my ladybits kitty trouble. What you are missing:

>References to potential sodomy including "plowing the back forty", "baloney colonic" and "christen the yak"

>References to birth control including "double-bag the piss weasel"

>Many disgusting metaphors for menstruation (men-stroo-ey-shuhn) including "red tide in clam harbor"

>An unmentionable incident where I reference this scene from "The Shining":

Um, yeah, so you may have to get me drunk first. You will want massive drugs a cocktail, as well.


Speaking of kitties, my daughter read me a book last night: ”Hello Kitty Through the Seasons:  Photographs and Haiku”

If you notice, this is a book entirely composed of HAIKU ABOUT HELLO KITTY. Not kidding:

Clearly, my mother-in-law purchased this book, because I would NEVER have spent my hard-earned cash on such utter dogshit . Catshit. Whatever. Each page has Hello Kitty in a different slutty costume with a clumsy haiku relating to the scene.  Endure:

Here she is, whoring around at the beach!

Here she is with some random guy, thinking about
getting his dick into her mouth

… waiting to take it up the ass…

Can the cumtart EVER keep her legs together???

Not the first log she’s straddled, amiright? 
Bet she STICKS.

This is an actual haiku from this assload disappointment of a book (I SWEAR! You can't even make UP shit like this):

In the dappled grove,
A capricious tree sparrow,
I fly back and forth.

Try reading THAT to your small child with A STRAIGHT FACE.  Apparently, between turning tricks, Hello Kitty spent some pretty major time with a thesaurus.

At this point, I told my daughter, “This is the lamest book, like, EVER,” and that we should make up our own haikus for each page only make them funny. She didn’t want to do this: “Mom, let’s just get through it once, okay?”, so I made one up for YOU fine people to enjoy:

Hey, Hello Kitty?
Your Haikus are fucking lame…
Thank you, that is all.

So, wasn't that better? 

Monday, August 8, 2011

Well, HELLO, Old Friend. (No poop. Just old people. So...YUCK!)

Do you have dewy fresh, youthful skin?  Do you have no personal knowledge of the amount of persistence needed to pull wiry chin hairs out while driving (and without the use of tweezers)?  Well, just f*ck off then.  Cuz I’m in my mid early 40s and mother nature is breathing her middle-aged breath down my increasingly crepe-y neck.
The people I have known for decades… shit, they are getting old.  Last weekend, my husband and I went to a wedding and saw all of our old college friends.  Old.  College friends.  We have not seen any of these people since the last college-friend wedding ten years ago.  The years have not been kind. To them.  Hahahahaha!!!

Here’s how this works, in case you haven’t had the pleasure yet.  You say, “Gee, husband, we’re going to see Buffy and Fozzie and Floofy at this wedding -- we haven’t seen them since before your balls started to droop and bleed!***  Wonder how they’ll look!”  And you immediately picture what Buffy and Fozzie and Floofy looked like ten years ago.  Or maybe you picture them from your college days, when Fozzie was an inept pot-dealer and Floofy was a cum-belching roadwhore.  You THEN instantly picture YOURSELF from your college days.  You are magically transformed back into your youthful self!!!  Only without all the insecurities and psychedelic mushroom sandwiches!  

So you show up at the event, feelin’ fine… and there are all these FUCKING OLD PEOPLE.  Are these your friends’ PARENTS?? Cuz they look just like your friends, only after 50 years of sun-baking and decades guzzling firewater and gobbling lard.  Duke, previously your circle of friends’ resident manslut (okay, he was a douchebag), now looks JUST LIKE YOUR UNCLE  AL.  Not buff and tan like in college, but like a bundle of old sinew and age spots.  Like dried up pork.  Now, I’m not saying Uncle Al isn’t a handsome feller.  He is.  But he’s RUDDY. And WRINKLY.  And BALDISH.  And his teeth GOT WEIRD (Duke’s teeth. Not Uncle Al’s. Which are old. But not THAT weird. Just yellowish.). 

Slutty Floofy now looks like Aunt Betty. The one who knits.  I dunno, maybe Floofy knits sphincter mufflers or possibly cock-cozies, since she was always so fond of the gristle missile. meat wrench. one-hole friction whistle.  opposite gender.  But knit, she must, because SHE LOOKS LIKE A FUCKING MIDDLE AGED KNITTER-LADY.  Jesus, how did this happen to these people?

And I am there looking out of my own eyeballs so I can’t see myself, but I think, “SHIT, I’m so glad that I still look young and foxy!”  SHUT UP, you.  I know what you are thinking, what you are assuming.  JUST SHUT IT.

And you know, it happens to everybody.  EVERYBODY.   Even famous people!!  Only they have to read about it on the front page of some rag.

The Governator, then and now.
Or Kathleen Turner. Oh, dear, saucy Christ.  

HAHAHAHAHA!!!! Okay, I just put this in here because it’s FUCKING HILARIOUS!
Oh look at the before picture! Yum -- Wine! What a good idea! BRB! 

Listen, we you can’t all age gracefully.  The chances of THIS happening are nearly impossible:

Some people do age well, like a fine wine.  A fine, fine, fuckable wine.  

And… uh… what… what was I saying?  Oh, HI, George.  George, you can appreciate a mature woman, amiright?  Cuz you know, I’m like a 22 year old… with 22 years of EXPERIENCE.  Wait, that doesn’t even sound good.  It’s TOO MUCH experience, isn’t it.  Shit.  Lemme back up.  George… grownup women, we, KNOW things.  Dirty, dirty things. 

Ahem!  Where was I?  But the people we know, they are not like the Dempsey or the Clooney.  They just are not.  What is it about some celebrities?  Is it the readily available cosmetic procedures?  Are they snacking on the vital organs of virginal unicorns?  Is it genetics?  HAHAHAHA, I know.  It’s obviously the unicorns.

Check out frickin Sharon Stone. 

Girlfriend is 53.  FIFTY MUTHERF’ING THREE.  And clearly smuggling tic-tacs in her dress.  Now, granted, those are probably synthetic sweater yams she’s got there, but DANG, do we care?

On a related note, if you look up alternate words for breasts on the internet, “pointer sisters” is a good one.  Also, you may run into some freak named Garry who calls breasts “shit catchers”.  I’m hoping our man Garry is on some government watch list (“It puts the lotion on the shit-catchers or else it gets the hose again.”).

Oh, I know that many celebrities don’t age gracefully either.  They also seem to screw up or get screwed up even more easily than the rest of us.  I just read an article where a GRAMMY-F’ING WINNING musician got arrested in Miami on drug possession.  Among other things, he had ecstasy and Viagra on him. 

This is a perfect example why it’s better NOT to be rich and famous. For regular schmoes like you and me, who can’t afford Lamborghinis or Lear jets or fresh avocados ($2.50 for one avocado, are you shitting me, HyVee? I don’t CARE if it’s organic!)  EVERYTHING is a thrill. A trip to Dairy Queen is a big fucking adventure!  “Shall I get hot fudge or candy crunch coating? I cleaned out a bunch of change from under the couch cushions, so I’m gonna go WILD and get both!!”   

The rich and famous, who can buy anything and go everywhere, they aren’t happy with the little things. They are like, “DQ? Pffffftttt!  I’m gonna do Ecstasy AND Viagra! At the same time! I’ll be in Viagstasy!”  See, they just need to have LOWER STANDARDS.  Like you people obviously do if you’re reading this the rest of us. 

***The husband's balls don't actually droop and bleed. Yet. Well, I suppose it's possible that they droop but I haven't actually measured distance from the floor, and those results could be skewed by the fact we get shorter as we age, right? When we go on a bike ride and he needs a sidecar for his balls, I'll let you know. I will! I DO know someone whose husband's balls bleed. In the shower. I don't know why this happens because when I was being told the story, I walked away.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Accept De Feet! (No poop! No dicks! No cow sex! We're making progress! Oh, wait, there are gross feet.)

Feet.  I know, some people think they are gross.  But come on, not ALL feet are gross.  Surely we can all agree that these are some pretty feet:

And I don’t think there is any doubt that these are NOT pretty feet:

So, there are definitely varying degrees of attractiveness when it comes to feet.  Which doesn’t help YOU much because I’m still going to tell you about my sexy, sexy bunions.  Hey, wait, you, GET BACK HERE!!!!!!

Sexy bunions may be hereditary.  Or not.  It’s when the bone at the base of your big toe sticks out.  My grandma had them.  Her mom had them worse… Granny Franny ripped out the side of every pair of her  shoes, even in winter, to give her bunions room inside her shoes.  So hers were ULTRA sexy. 

I’ve had them since I was a kid, but they have gradually gotten a little larger over the years.  I have slender feet, and I always thought they were quite pretty, as feet go.  Two years ago, I discovered I was wrong about that.  I was at the pool with my sister...  
Lalalalalala, here I am, relaxing with my pretty, pretty feet.

My sister, Mother F’ing Theresa, looked over and said (direct quote), “OH MY GOD! WHAT IN THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOUR FEEEEET???!!!!”

Foot-Modeling dreams... SHATTERED.

So... I no longer thought my feet were pretty. :(

As a side note, while looking for pictures of feet for this post, I stumbled on this gem of a sentence:

"Sexy Mistress Lesbian foot worship"

Questions do come to mind: 1) Why are "sexy", "mistress" and "lesbian" all capitalized? Is that someone's name? 2) How long until my mother-in-law stumbles upon my google-search-history? Because you KNOW that's going to happen now. 3) Are people fucking nuts? 4) Are foot-loving lesbians generally lipstick lesbians or more the flannel shirt kind? It doesn't really seem like a "girly" hobby. Not trying to be judgy here, just curious.

So anyway, hideously freakish, malformed feet can be A-OK… but then I started having more and more trouble finding comfortable shoes.  It got to the point where the only shoes I could wear were flip flops (HELLO cloven hooves! Nice to see YOU today!!) or athletic shoes.  So I saw a podiatrist.

You know how you give your peeflaps an extra scouring before you see the gynecologist? No? Well, GROSS, you should.  By that same token, I wanted my terrifyingly deformed feet to be the NICEST terrifyingly deformed feet the doctor got his peter-pullers on that day.  I soaked and buffed, shellacked the talons, took a belt sander to the calluses, scrubbed and lotioned.  I bought new socks so they would sparkle with purity and whiteness.  I left work early and went home before my appointment to re-wash my feet and put on my shiny new socks.  It occurs to me after re-reading this that I might consider looking into therapy.

Anyhoodle, it turns out I am a good candidate for bunion surgery.  This is rather depressing, as I am only 44 years old.  I may as well just go ahead and sign up for early menopause, grow some hi-huns and break the occasional hip. The surgery isn’t urgent, but will probably be necessary, some time soonish to laterish.  Here’s what they do:
Surgery prep

Using a medieval axe, the surgeon lops off your big toe. Or something like that.  He sews it back on straight, securing the shattered bones with 2” arsenic-treated lag bolts.
He then takes an iron felling axe, or “splitting maul” and HACKS OFF the bony protuberance on the side of the foot.  The giant, dismembered bone chunk can then be fashioned into earrings, or possibly a brooch. 

The victim patient is in a cast for a month, plus another 2+ weeks of a walking cast after that.  The main drawbacks of this surgery for me are 1) It’s not free and I have shitty health insurance and no money, and 2) I have impressionable children so I can’t draw dicks all over my cast.

It occurs to me I could RAISE money for the surgery.  Hows about for every reader who sends me $ 5.00, I will send you an autographed picture of my left bunion (cuz that’s the best one).  For $ 10.00 I will send photos of both bunions.  For $ 20.00, I will send both pictures, plus I will run up and down the stairs in my house for 20 minutes, then mail you the socks I wore.  Jesus, why didn’t I think of this before – EVERYBODY WINS!!!

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Forgotten Comedy (Certified poop-free! Now available with cow sex!)

So you fine people person probably are hoping for a laugh today. Well, then I suggest you look up one of those laughing babies on You Tube that are so popular.  Or possibly the Surprised Kitteh.  There’s also a GREAT video of a horny cow mounting another cow but he slips on the ice and falls on his ass.  The video is ruined though because some dick overdubbed it with a fake fart.  As if a blunderous cow caught in flagrante delicto wasn’t funny enough already (FYI, in flagrante delicto is a Latin phrase that means “falling out of a cow’s vagina”).  I suppose you could still watch it and just leave the sound off, but you’ll KNOW that fake fart is there, won’t you, and that will wreck it for you.  I know.  It’s not like it’s a REAL fart.

Anyhoo, my point is, there’s nothing funny to see here, move along.  See, I thought up some funny sh*t that I was going to share with you, I did. I don’t even *think* it was about poop.

I was home last night, hitting the sauce relaxing with my thoughts, and I cracked myself up. You know, in that supercool way, though, not in a lame way or anything.  I said, “Self, that’s some funny sh*t right there. You should share that with your minions followers follower.”  I considered writing it down but that seemed even LAMER.

So this morning I woke up and said, “Hey, let’s throw some notes down for Shirley. The world person can’t always depend on laughing babies and clumsy fornicating bovines.” Then I said, “Annnnd, so the ‘comedy gold’ was…”

So, yeah.  You're familiar with, right?  Okay. 

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Enough about the poop, let's talk about dicks!

Enough about the poop, let’s talk about dicks!
Just kidding. That’s what we call a “hook” to lure you into reading an article. Hope you liked it because actually I will be discussing meat shrink wrapping equipment. Not kidding. You got hosed, bro.

I started this blog because I enjoy reading other people’s blogs and I also remembered that there are silly thoughts in my head that want to get out. Don’t worry, they aren’t like those thoughts you have when a maniacal inner voice is gleefully suggesting you do horrible, horrible things.  Cuz I’ve uh, heard about stuff like that.   

No, no worries, there will be no violence and no blood on my blog. There will be poop, however, oh yes there will be poop.  And sometimes there will be dicks.  But not poop AND dicks at the same time because, HEY, it’s not your birthday.  There will also be much copyright infringement, apparently.  But, if it’s on google, it’s free, right?  And God wouldn’t have invented the program “Snag-It” if I wasn’t supposed to steal use any picture I want from anywhere I want, right?  THANK YOU.  Duh. 

If I could actually get some minions followers, I would consider it the greatest writing success I’ve ever had.  Lemme 'splain. I was once an advertising copywriter, first for radio (FUN! But absolutely CRAP money! But random strangers/fans would send the on-air staff anonymous baked goods and other food! And since they weren’t stupid enough to eat it, the office staff would! Hardly anybody ever died from that!)… then I was a copywriter for an industrial advertising firm. I had to write stimulating copy for bullshit products like this:

And this:

My boss would tell me to “punch up the copy”. I’d say, “Could you be more specific?” (meekly though,  because she was a real bitch). She’d explain, “Make it more punchy.”  Oh, yes, thank you, very helpful.  So I spent my days in fear of her whilst trying to make meat packaging equipment copy more punchy.

The day my disillusionment with writing-for-a-living became complete was this:  We had a client in the business of meat shrink-wrapping.  As a joke, I suggested a drawing of the earth as seen from space, only the earth is shrink-wrapped in clear plastic, over which in arched type was the slogan, “Shrink Wrapping a World of Products”.  Get it? Woooorrrrldddd???  Groan-worthy, right?  The client went apeshit over it and paid the agency big bucks for this “image” ad. It was the greatest success of my copywriting career. I got nothing for it but the pride of knowing the greatest thing I ever did there was the corniest piece of shit in the history of the wooooorrrld.  

Oh, now we're back to poop. How DOES that happen??

Monday, August 1, 2011

The Story of Lake Storey

So we drove to Galesburg, IL yesterday to visit beautiful Lake Storey. They have a campground, athletic fields, fishing and boat rentals. They also have a sandy swimming beach with many lovely features. The best feature is that entrance to the beach is free.

The beach is indeed made of sand and includes, at no extra charge, a series of moguls to navigate on your way to the water. The moguls, in a feat of creative recycling, are made entirely out of goose poop. Mounds of sun-roasted goose turds. What I’m telling you is, this beach is a giant comfort station for geese.

A fun part of our day was watching the patrons weaving their way to the water on tiptoe to avoid the goose doodles. Goose skittles? You know, the goose version of volcanic whoopsies. Granted, you do expect a little lawn sausage near a lake, but you’d think they would rake the BEACH, wouldn’t you?

The grizzled patrons were another exciting feature of this beach. Every swimmer I had the pleasure to overhear dropped the letter “g” from every gerund, as in, “we wuz drinkin’ some beers”; “I’z jes fixin’ to git by all the sh*t on the beach”, etc. Statistically, there were more tattoos than teeth in that there lake.

I am totally not making this up when I tell you there was a very pregnant lady, in a bikini, who had tattoo writing on the back of her upper thighs. The writing was upside down. So you can only read the tattoos when she is on her back and her legs are… oh never mind. This bovine enchantress… it was poetry when she complained (in front of her preschooler) that she had forgotten her “f*cking sandals”, the water was “too g*dd*amn dirty” and, shocker, “there’s too much sh*t in the sand”. This is not a place the beautiful people hang out, if you get what I’m saying.

As an aside, did you know that if you google “pregnant hillbilly”, you will find a picture of Jamie Lynn Spears on the very first page. You will also find a photo of these fellas…

… who don’t seem pregnant at all. Come on, google, get it together.

Though we will not be returning, I would generously like to offer some alternate names for this attraction, as “Lake Storey” doesn’t really tell the story. Several ideas include, “Poop Storey”, “Lake Poop”, “Hillbilly Soup”; “Waterfowl Tirlet”, or possibly “Lake Lavatory: Don’t Worry, That’s Just Latin for ‘Tirlet’”.