For nearly two decades, I grieved the loss of my original Roomba. The little robot vacuum that couldn’t.
If you don’t believe stereotypes exist for a reason, walk a 10-pound chihuahua in public.
About 30 Savages invaded the Bear’s home on Thursday — yes it was Thanksgiving. We had shish-kaboobs outside in 90-degree heat at 1 p.m
Remember when Obama said Hilary was “Likeable enough?” Well, she wasn’t, and neither am I.
I am a terrible disappointment to my father.
Don’t care what the Chinese say, I’m calling 2021 the Year of the Rat.
2020 was obviously the Year of the Dog. The pandemic put us all at home. Heaven for most dogs. Free treats and walks all day.
Opened the fridge door — damn that smelled like shit. I knew exactly what to blame. That 18-inch long bag of celery.
In the battle of the Bullshit blog nicknames, I was confident I had picked a winner. Surprise, I fucked that up.
My “friends” in Tucson are constantly shitting on Phoenix, because it’s so hot. (It’s about 2- 5 degrees warmer). But I can tell you one thing we don’t have — critters.
“You know for someone who moves like you, pickleball is a good option,” they say. Fuck them.
Gowing up as the boy named Kieran was one thing. But this whole Karen Meme is fucked up. Keep my name out of these mouths.
It started with Body Shaming by Kate, then her husband Andy and her friend What’s Her Name shamed my face. What could be fucking be left to make fun of?
The Bear and I went to get our passports renewed. His nametag said Bob. Bob was efficient, thorough and a mother fucking racist.
I love dirty words. Nothing can convey raw emotion and add meaning like throwing a few fucks or shits into the conversation.
My first tamale was “the Charles Barkley” of tamales, “terrible, just terrible.”