Tag Archives: humor

Why, Thank You for Your Permission!

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We buy toilet paper. TP. Loo roll. Bog roll. Bum wad. Or my new favourite: shit tickets.

Isn’t that great? Shit tickets. I’m so using that next time we run low. “Hey, honey? Buy some more shit tickets next time you are out!”

“Hey, honey? I used too many shit tickets and blocked up the jacks again!” [Jacks being the Irish term for the toilet – of which there are wayyyy too many slang terms for me to list.]

I bet you buy TP, too! Unless you steal it from work. I’m not judging.

What I bet you don’t have is specific instruction on what to do with your new purchase.

  
I’d never have figured it out on my own. Whew, I can poop now! Thanks!

Brown 25

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If you get the title reference, you are officially not a young’in. It’s okay, I’m not a young’in either. We can grow old(er) and more immature together!

This is something I could buy:

  
Now, it is a charity selling these, and I support that of course. But. But. Butt… “brown drops”? 

Sounds more like something that is coming out of, rather than going into, a digestive system.

I do buy their licourice allsorts, but this one scares me.

*Brown 25. Not safe for work, home, the bus, the train, while eating, on a bicycle, on a chair, in a car, or on a motorcycle. And whatever you do, don’t click on this link to Safety Sam

I’ve Been Tagged – Love and Hate

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Juls at The Indecisive Eejit tagged me in this. I thought it might be a bit of craic! I’m better with hates, being the bitter woman I am, so I’ll just do those. Maybe I’ll do loves later, but they aren’t as funny so probably I won’t. 

1. Onions. Hate hate hate them. Always have – my family will attest to this – and it is also genetic as my maternal grandfather hated them with a bigger and nastier hatred than I. They hate me right back – the last time I tried to “suck it up” and eat something cooked with onion I suffered for hours. I felt like I’d eaten everything on the restaurant’s menu despite not wanting any of it. Bloated? You don’t know the meaning of it. I couldn’t drink afterward, FFS. My only solace is that iDJ also hates them so we never have an argument over cooking with them. Source: pickleope.com

2. People who think it is funny to make jokes about hurting cats. If I say something about how annoying my cats are, the proper responses are: a) aww b) oh I know what that is like! c) silence if you don’t care. d) “I’ll kill it/kick it/drown it in a well for you” Is never fucking funny. Take your sick sense of ‘humour’ elsewhere – I’d never say that about your human child.  

3. People who pull out in front of me, make me slow down, and then turn off just when I’m almost nearly back to the speed limit – so I have to go back down to second gear. Seriously. If you are only going a few blocks, can’t you wait until the road is entirely clear before pulling into traffic? 

  
4. Styrofoam. Not the peanuts, but the big lumps of it some products are still packed in. I cannot abide the sound of styrofoam against styrofoam. That hideous squeak. Shudder. Even worse when the crap won’t pull apart and I have to use my fingernails to get a purchase… Oh man, my back hairs are standing up at the thought. 

Shut up, you have back-hair too.

 
  

Maybe not that much back hair. But still. 

5. Putting a garden hose back. Since childhood it has irritated the shit out of me to have to coil a hose up and put it wherever it is meant to live. My dad probably still remembers me whining about having to put away the hose and sprinkler so he could mow the grass.

I’m glad as hell that Himself bought me a spiffy Hozelock self-retracting reel (the one that the robins recently built a nest in, no harm done). It isn’t often we need a hose in Ireland – certainly I’ve not needed one this year at all so far – but coiling the previous fuckers up made me bitchy. Or lazy. Or both.

 
 

6. Self-retracting vacuum cleaner power cords. They don’t self-retract. Ever. They need to learn from Hozelock as those bastards figured that shit out. I’d rather wind it up myself, and I just said how much I dislike doing that sort of thing.

  
7. Modern ‘chart’ music. Just because something sticks in your head doesn’t mean it is good. Have you tried silence? It isn’t bad, you know. Much better than the whiny lot of men and women I am forced to listen to at work. The only good thing I have to say is that at least the obvious, irritating trend of auto-tuning vocals seems to have run its course.

  
Image via Shutterstock

8. My digestive system, and my weird-ass skin. Both of you can fuck off, I’m tired of you messing with me. Oh, and the woman-bits? Don’t let the door hit you in the arse in your way out. Buh-bye, as soon as possible. If I have to get old to get rid of you, so be it.

 
Source: magnificentfrigatebird.com 

9. Movies and TV shows that use music to telegraph what is coming next. Ooo, dark scary music, shit is about to happen! Oooh, light violins? They gonna kiss! I’d like to not be emotionally and obviously manipulated, thank you. Stop it, just stop it, its insulting. If your efforts on screen are so bad that you need music to let your audience know what is going on or about to happen, you need better writers. 

I’m a reader – books don’t come with shitty orchestras – and I and many others like it that way. Thinking for yourself and all. What a concept.

  
10. Can I say onions again? No? How about fresh coriander? I grew some from seed a few years back, as we use it in cooking. I was flat-out astounded to find that the smell of it on my fingers made me want to bathe my hands in liquid dog-shit to get the smell off. It was that foul and that pervasive (like dog shit, but worse!). I know that fresh coriander is a big divisive issue – love or hate – but I was truly surprised to find I hated it so much. Sadly I know ending on this means most comments will be about coriander! Dammit.

 Source: stinkbugcontrol.net

Yes, not unlike getting stinkbug juice on your hands!  

Laughing at Lokii

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Short post!
This scene unfolded an hour or so ago. It happens a lot, but this time I managed to get a photo:

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Having a bath on my legs, his legs akimbo, as cats are wont to do. So hey, why have cats if you can’t make fun of them now and again?

To give him some dignity – he was licking his leg, not his furballs!

Spot Has a New Dirty Trick

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If you have cats, you probably have experienced what we call ‘Now, where the hell am I supposed to sit?’ wherein said cat(s) immediately curl up in the space your warm butt has just vacated. Spot is a master at this, taking only seconds to claim as His the butt-heated chair/cushion/couch/bed.

So. A few months ago, I obtained a slightly ripped, slightly dirty but still brand-new duvet. As I had no real need for it myself, I folded it up and put it into Neko’s bed, because it is an old dog bed and rather thin on the padding.

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(round one of seasonal “blowing the coat”. No freakin clue why she does this in the middle of winter)

Considering how much fur she has, Neko still likes a nice warm and soft bed to sleep in. Until she gets too hot and lies on the wood floor, of course.

How do these two stories become one evil cat-habit?

Spot has learned that if he tries to sleep with (or on) Neko, she gets irritated and gets up out of her bed. I’m sure at first, Spottie just wanted doggie cuddles. Once she left the bed, he suddenly had kitty-acres of warmth all to himself. After a few days, Spot had realised he could make Neko leave her own bed, and he now does it every night. Several times a night. Neko got so disgusted she actually left our bedroom and slept downstairs, the poor thing!

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(before Spot copped on and they were “sharing” the bed)

I’m still trying to figure out a way of breaking this habit without having to wake up several times…

New Stop-Smoking Method for Certain Phobics?

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I had something unusual happen to me this afternoon. Something that’s never happened before, something I have never even heard of in my over-40 years on this planet…

When I went for my usual 12:30 smoke break, my lighter wouldn’t light. It’s a disposable one, and it was sparking just fine so the flint wasn’t gone. I could see their was still fluid in it, too. Sometimes a cheapo lighter won’t light when it is too cold, but it was 10 C out, so that wasn’t the problem either.

I kept trying, as you do, while looking around for a fellow smoker to bum a light from if my lighter was truly dead. One two three four five six… suddenly there was a glob of something sticky and wet on my sparking-thumb. It looked like a bloody blackened booger (bogey).

“What the fuck?” said I, as I wiped it off on the wall. On further inspection, there was something slimy and brown on the roller wheel of my lighter. I had a tissue in my pocket and wiped the goop off, and as I did so I saw something inside my lighter.

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In there. (Chapstick tube for scale)

Now, I’ve found pocket-lint in that little space, but I have never seen legs before.

Legs that once belonged to a spider that got sucked up into the wheel and smushed onto my thumb.

I have to wonder how it got in there, and when. Overnight seems most plausible, which means it may or may not have survived a lot of small fires before I sparked it to death. But I suppose it could have crawled inside in the hour since my last cig. Wee spidereen could have fallen into my hi-vis vest pocket, and decided to hide in the smallest place possible.

But in any case: I had a spider just inches from my eyes, nose and mouth that could have – should have! – jumped out to safety onto my face.

If that won’t make any arachnophobic smokers quit, I don’t know what will!

Sadly, I’m rather fond of spiders, and my smokey-treats.

Ruined Aromas

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I’m hoping this will be a comment-heavy post. I think we’ve all experienced what I want to talk about, but I can’t remember anyone discussing it before. So off we go!

‘Ruined aromas.’ By that, I mean when a favourite (or at least pleasant) scent has been destroyed in your heart/mind/nose forever by an association that you just can’t break.

My examples that made me write this:

Back in my mid-twenties, I used to really like a certain spray air freshener. Forget what it was, something totally artificial and weird. Cranberry-mulberry or some shit like that. Thankfully, nothing that is found in nature after what happened to ruin it forever for me. In any case, I liked it, and bought it for light use at home – to cover smoking stink, dirty cat litter wafts, and various and numerable dog-smells.

Until…. someone bought it for use in the bathrooms at work. Now, while our own poo doesn’t smell of roses (if it does, you should see your doctor or change your diet), the smell of a stranger’s shit is just plain disgusting. The smell of a stranger’s shit with half a can of air freshener sprayed on top is worse. Oh so very much worse when that spray is familiar and a scent you used to) like. I tried to enjoy it again at home, and the smell-memory just wouldn’t leave me. Tossed in the bin – and you all know I hate wasting anything.

More recently, we got some lemon-scented antibacterial cleaning spray. It smelled nice; a light lemon scent.

Then the dog shit all over the spare room for two days and our only cleaner had a nice, light lemon scent. Let me say that the two odours didn’t combine well, and now I can’t use the stuff at all anymore without imagining that I also smell dog diarrhoea. You can also thank me for not describing in detail the visuals I also recall on smelling this particular cleaning product.

My disgust seems to center around poo. Hmmm.

While I probably border on being a super-taster, and super-smeller, I am sure that this has happened to you, too. Let’s hear it, and remember you can tell me all the really gross stuff and it will be fabulous!

If You Give a Cat a Lollipop…

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I still have leftover Halloween sweets/candy. Last night I was sitting in front of the fireplace, my Siamese boy Lokii on my lap (as always when fire is nearby), and I had a rare hankering for sugar. I displaced Lokii long enough to grab a Chupa Chup lollipop (or sucker, whatever you call ’em) from the kitchen, and returned to warm our mutual arses in front of the lovely fire.

Lokii – being a feline stomach on legs – wanted to know what I kept sticking into my mouth. So I let him have a sniff.

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He was interested. The flavour was strawberries and cream, after all.

Most of us have heard that cats cannot taste sweet. So I wonder what, exactly, made him want my sucker so badly? What did he think it tasted like?

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Because he loved it.

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He looks like a demented Orc from the Lord of the Rings films.

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Nom nom nom!

The Man Who Talks to Cheese.

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Hubby has been cooking this evening. He’s now making dinner, but earlier it was a low-carb pumpkin bake thingie.

After his earlier effort, he is now well into his habit of talking to things that aren’t able to answer.

Shall I type up some of the nonsense he is saying? Yes, yes I will:

O M G, W T F, B B Q! (Yes he said each letter)

Well, I’m talking to chicken now, brilliant! (This is because I was teasing him about being the Man Who Talks to Cheese)

Nothing for cats! (He’s cutting up raw chicken; we give the good bits to the cats and whatever is left to the dog)

Spotty, watch your little paw, fucking hell cat! Spotty! Fucking hell dog-cat-whatever-your-name-is.

Not much for kitties but I’m working on it.

Shhh, I’m coming (whispered to Lokii who also never shuts up) shhh, bits for kitties… Shhh

Oh it’s gonna be less than…oh (garbled) seven minutes…it’s okay. Shhh, coming. (I think this means he heard me light a smoke, which takes me 7 minutes to finish. It was oddly silent so he could hear the lighter spark)

Just wait, alright? Coming. (To Lokii, again) shhh.

Spotty watch your little paw, I’m cutting stuff. Heeeeeeeeee. (Very unmanly giggle)

Fuk fuckit.

That’s my fucking hand, you idiot! Sure didn’t the baby Jesus tell you not to bite the hand that feeds you? Sure no he didn’t.

More for cats, nearly gone…

Alright Spotty that’s it, I’m not going through all this goop. A little more. Oh, Spotty! You want more? That’s it, that’s it. (Calling for the dog) Neko! Oh Spotty you want more? There is no more! Here take that, for fuck’s sake cat! Here.

I’m not spending the evening cutting up human food for cats! Okay Mrs (me), any time you are ready! (Because I’m in charge of the sauce part)

Hope you enjoyed a little glimpse into what it is like to live with a man who talks CONSTANTLY.

Love you anyway, iDJ!

Scaranoctupus

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My summer-fruiting raspberries are now enjoying their second year in my garden, and we are enjoying them, too.

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I’ve been picking at least this many every morning. They don’t last past noon, so no chance of me having enough to cook with. We don’t care – they are too tasty to resist!

The birds can’t resist them either. The wee finches and sparrows and tits leave them alone. As do the giant crows and rooks and ravens. It’s the middle sized birds that found my bounty – starlings.

Luckily for me, the day they started to ripen I was asleep on the couch downstairs, just a few meters from the back door (sliding glass type). Spottie cat the mighty hunter saw the robbers and set up the alarum. Okay, actually? He went ‘mehmehmehmeh! ikikikikik!’ at them, and that woke me up. He did sound a bit different though, so I got up to see.

Dammit! I never thought I’d have bird troubles, and had no netting or anything else handy at 4:30 am to keep them away.

But I’m a quick thinker, and came up with a solution instantly. All I had to do was get my bare feet wet in the dew, and the problem was solved!

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Neko will just have to live without her huge octopus until the growing season is over.