SMH

I was stumped by my teenage daughter's status on Facebook.

SMH. 

What could that mean?

Starting My Homework?    No Way.

Studying My History?  Even more ridiculous.

Sweeping My House?  Don't make me laugh.  Never.

I TITT (threw in the towel) and googled it. 

SMH means "Shaking my head".

Which is exactly what I am doing right now, thanks to the latest product on the Japan Trend Shop web site: The Oppai  IPhone Breast Cover Phone Case.  

Here is the product description:

Functioning as a novelty case and unique phone stand likely to win you male admiration but female disgust, the Oppai iPhone Breasts Cover is truly unique.

You think? 

The silicone case gives you a rather lovely pair of breasts (oppai) on the back that you can fondle while you text.

Fondle while you text?  WAL (what a loser).  INAS (I need a shower)

What more can a man ask for in a phone? 

Maybe a GIS.  Or a calculator?  Coverage in Pelion?

A great gift for the guy who seems to have it all and with this couple of, ahem, accessories, he truly will!  Watch them jiggle and shake as well!

EMWIB.  (Excuse me while I barf.)

It is not often that I am at a loss for words. 

I'll just SMH. 

And wait for the Japanese IPhone Penis Cover Phone Case to come on the market. 

The Angry Bird

The attack was entirely unprovoked.  I was an innocent victim.  Simply walking from my car to the theatre. 

I had heard talk of Malificent the Attack Mockingbird, but had never personally experienced her violence. 
 

Unlike Voldemort, that infamous pigeon who attacked me head-on in a restaurant in London ( Attack Pigeon ), Mallificent was stealthy.  She mugged me from behind, viciously bombarding my back with her wrathful wings.

OK, it didn’t hurt that bad, but it scared the stink out of me.  Visions of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds went through my head.  I assumed the Tippi Hendron pose and began screaming.

Like a girl.

And I heard Malificent laughing.  

Cackling.  

The bitch.

I'm not proud of my reaction.  But I don't like birds in my personal space.

The problem is that I have to walk down that sidewalk to get to rehearsal.  Right past Malificent.

Being bullied by a bird is humiliating.  And I’m not gonna take it anymore.  

I must channel my inner Godfather.  My own personal Don Corleone.

I will make Malificent "an offer she can't refuse."  

"Listen up you Bullying Bird.  You Fascicle of Feathers. Either you leave me the hell alone or you're going to end up on plate with celery and bleu cheese dressing!"  

"And when I'm finished with you, you're gonna look remarkably like my Buffalo Chicken Wing Hat."

And if Malificent has any brains in that evil head of hers, she will tuck her tail feathers between her scrawny legs start treating me a with a little respect.  

I really hope I don't have to resort to Plan B.  Plan B is messy.  But if I have to leave a horse head in her nest I will.  

 

And if that doesn't work?

Well, the theatre does have a back door.

Inspirational Reading

I have just discovered the most inspirational children's book ever. 

I  had been looking for a book for Linda.  Something motivating.  Like "Chicken Soup for the 18-year Who Can't Keep Her Room Clean Soul".   

To that end, I browsed Amazon for something she could relate to.  A book that would both inspire her, and reinforce her core values.

 

Then I found it.  The perfect book.  Both thought provoking and enriching, this book has an unbelievably inspiring message. 

It's called, "My Beautiful Mommy".

It's written by a renowned plastic surgeon to help patients explain their transformation to their children.  (It brings tears to my eyes.)

According to the review, "through vivid illustrations and straightforward dialogue, My Beautiful Mommy explains a parent's physical transformation in a breezy, child-friendly manner from a young child's perspective."

 
Here's a sample page from the book which shows the very intelligent (and handsome) doctor talking to poor homely Mommy pre-surgery.  "Blah blah blah tummy, blah blah blah nose," the hunky doctor explains.

Apparently, Mommy is getting a tummy tuck and a nose job.  As you can see, she is a quite the eyesore and desperately needs this surgery.

What a nice message for her daughter.  
(As a side note, I have never undergone plastic surgery.  This nose is really mine.  An original.  And my tummy is quite un-tucked.) 

I know that is very difficult for you to believe. 
 
Here is the last page Amazon allows us to peek at.   Beautiful Mommy says, "I brought you something from the doctor's office."  
 
OMG! Can you believe this cliff hanger?   What did Mommy bring from the doctor's office?

Probably some new make-up.  Or a new pair of shoes.
 




You know what?  This book would sell a whole lot better if it had a different title.  

I have a recommendation: Chicken Soup for the Kardashian's Soul.

It's Not My Fault!

Brenda Sager's decision to wear her favorite pair of flip flops to Walmart that day, came back to haunt her.

She wanted to show off her new French pedicure.  To that end, Brenda proudly paraded her phalanges down Walmart's wide aisles, feeling quite attractive, from the knees down.

Just 30 minutes later, poor Brenda was innocently unpacking her groceries when the  29-ounce can of Del Monte sliced peaches in syrup unexpectedly tumbled from the bag.  


The can landed on the counter, picking up momentum as it rolled toward the sink.  It would have dropped safely into the sink, if not for the 12-pack of Bud her husband had inadvertently placed on the counter.
 
Instead, the can of peaches rebounded off the beer and toppled to the floor.  Much to the chagrin of Brenda's unsuspecting French pedicure.

It happened so quickly.  Ronald tried to warn Brenda.  As he said "Look" the can landed on Brenda's left foot, cracking and damaging her previously perfect toes.

"Out," Ronald finished his futile warning.  But it was too late. 

"Son of a $#@^^*!!"  Brenda screamed.  "That @$@%# &%#$# filled the @#$%#+ bag too &#@*!  I'm gonna sue Walmart's ass for $30,000."

And she did.

Poor Brenda.  Her French pedicure was ruined and it was all Walmart's fault.

I completely empathize, for I too, have been victimized.  Not by Walmart.  I have been victimized by the Biltmore House. 

You see, my jaw hurts.  It hurts bad.  Really bad.  And it's all the Biltmore's fault.  

They sold me a stale box of Jelly Belly's.  Which I had to eat.  By the handful.  All at once.



Eating that box of Jelly Belly's was damn hard work, and my jaw has been aching ever since.  In fact, I was not able to eat another jelly bean for 6 entire days.

I know that the Biltmore House has deep pockets. The stinkin' house has 250 rooms.  And a winery.   

In fact, I think those Biltmore's have more money than the Kardashians.
 
I just I have to find myself a good ambulance-chasing attorney.  One who can humanize my pain and suffering when addressing a jury, and communicate the practical and emotional effects of not being able to eat jelly beans for nearly a week.

With that said, I think my pain and suffering could be mitigated by a couple cases of that Biltmore wine.