Just say “No!” to hotlinking.  It’s a bad habit.

     This has been our hotlinking image for a long, long time:

     Nobody wants to see that, now do they? 

     Rob Ullman over at Atom Bomb Bikini, after being contracted to caricature the campaigning Clinton, quickly crafted this bit of cartoony goodness:

     [ Side Note: How’s that for aliteration, Sam?  I feel empowered! ]

     Why, seeing Photo vs. Caricature, it’s rather clear where the inspiration came from, isn’t it? 😉

Tip: Doug @ Reality Me!

My youngest clone is 16 years old.

She and her friends are so much more “grown up” than me and my friends were at her age.  All we really cared about was ditching school to go to the beach, sneaking a cigarette now and then, and other stupid crap.

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These guys talk about saving the world, like the little tree huggers they are.

They talk about saving the rain forest.  They talk openly about so many things.

I guess I’m the type of mom who, for better or worse, never kept any secrets from my kids.  I’ve never pretended that smoking, drugs, alcohol, or sex don’t exist in their worlds.  I took the preemptive approach of actually telling my kids the pros/cons – good/evil of these things…. and from a young age.

All of these things were unthinkable and taboo in our house when I was growing up.

Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t encourage my kids to smoke it up, drink it down and knock boots.  Quite the contrary.  I encourage them not to do any of it, at least the youngest one and her friends (who still listen).

I just think it to their advantage if they know they can talk to me about anything and that I will be there for them and they won’t be treated as if they have the plaque and be banned from my sight for being human.

With that in mind… the youngest and her lil friend designed and baked me a penis for my bachelorette party.  Dear Lord.

I am the type of person who requires some sort of white noise in the background at all times.  The news on while I’m cooking, the stereo on while I’m scrubbing the toilet, or even just the radio on while I’m driving. 

I was transporting my 16-year-old daughter to school today when Timberland’s, “The Way I Are” came piping through the speakers.  Have you ever listened to the words of this song? It’s a duet about a scrub and some skanky chick’s acceptance of his scrubiness.

I would like to take a moment to address Timberland and clear the air about what is acceptable, and what is not. 

It goes a little somethin’ like this:

*Verse 1* (Timberland)
I ain’t got no money
I ain’t got no car to take you on a date
I can’t even buy you flowers
But together we’ll be the perfect soulmates
Talk to me girl

Ok, first, if you have no money and no car, what are you gonna do?  Are you gonna walk to my house with the intentions of gettin’ a little lovin’?  And trust me, even if you were lucky enough to hitch a ride with a homey, even if you hit the bell with flowers in your hand, you still ain’t gettin none.  And to even consider that we might be soulmates is blasphemy.  Soulmates are connected.  I gots a job, I gots a ride.  Accept your destiny, pal,  walkin and beatin off.

*Bridge* (The chick)
Oh, baby, it’s alright now, you ain’t gotta flaunt for me
If we go there, you can still touch my love, it’s free
We can work without the perks just you and me
Thug it out ’til we get it right

Now, I’m no gold-digger by any means.  But, if the boy ain’t got a job, money, or car, what hell would he have to flaunt in the first place?  And to think she’s gonna consider “going there” with him… for free… without the perks?  What perks?  Massage oil?  Happy Jack Rabbit?  Sweet Jesus.  I am going out on a limb here… she’s got to be very horny and/or very desperate to reproduce.

Let’s skip her part from here on out.  It’s repetition of the previous desparation and her forgiveness of his slackeristic nature.  Let us explore the remaining 2 verses of this mockery of man-li-ness.

*Verse 2*
I ain’t got no Visa
I ain’t got no Red American Express
We can’t go nowhere exotic
It don’t matter ’cause I’m the one that love you best
Talk to me girl

I wouldn’t care much that there is no plastic, so long as he has a J-O-B that results in some sort of cash flow.  It’s nice if a man has the money to give birthday and Christmas presents that aren’t from a Cracker Jack box along with small tokens of his affection through-out the year.
No exotic trips?  It’s mandatory to go somewhere to have sex, other than ones own bedroom, at least occassionally.  A trip to the Keys.  A trip to Vegas. Sex is good in Vegas.  But, still he spouts that he’s the one she loves best.  Again, most likely her poor self image.  Get therapy.

*Verse 3*  (The finale)
Baby girl, I don’t got a huge ol’ house
I rent a room in a house
Listen baby girl, I ain’t got a motorboat
But I can float ya boat
So listen baby girl, once you get a dose of D.O.E.
You gon’ want some mo’
So listen baby girl, when I make it
I want you back, want you back, yeah

He rents a room.  Nice.  A room in a house where other people live.  Which means either the home owners are going to hear the headboard bangin’ and the naughty sounds coming from the room or we’ll only be gettin busy in my house.  Uh, No.

No boat floating from  you until you get a job, a car, flowers, some select pieces of jewelery.

Thanks, Mark!  Looks just like me!

** The name of the company in question has been changed.

Ok, kids.   I have been doing my bestest trying to be nicer to people.  This has been going on for some time now.  However, nothing gets the better of me than those annoying ass automated phone calls from Joe Solicitor.  Or the calls you get from Sally Salesperson where they ask for you by first name and try to act like an acquaintance…  Dayum.  I thought that shit was borderline illegal on a harassment level.

Anyway, today I turned the tables.  I got an automated call from “Kelly”.  She was offering us the moon and stars and possibly the sun too if we would “press one to stay on the line for a representitive”.

So, I press one.  I hold for a brief 20 seconds or so, expecting “Kelly” will pick up personally and explain to me this great pitch of hers.  A pitch I intended to let her waste her time giving before asking to have all of our business numbers removed from her bullshit auto-dial system.

All that went out the window, when rather than “Kelly”, some deep voiced, crankity, old british dude picked up. 

“You’re not Kelly.”  I say to him, agast that the wool was pulled over my eyes.

“No, that was a recording.  Are you interested in learning more.”  He blurts out in harsh monotone.

“Uh.  No.  Actually.  I’m really, really tired of you people calling us and would like you to remove our number from your database.”

“Done.”  He said as he disconnects my call.

OH NO HE DIDN’T.

God bless *69.  I annoy the shit out of many-a-telemarketer when I can actually get my hands on the number they called from.

So I dial *69 and get the number.  I press each digit and the little british weasel that hung up on me answered.

**”First Asshat”  He answers.

“Yah.  I was connected to you to be removed from your call list and you hung up on me.”  I lament.

“Well, I didn’t hang up, but you have been removed.”  He sneers.

“How the hell am I removed when you only called one of our numerous numbers, sir? Can you explain that?  Do you have a list with every company that notes every number within that company?” 

I’m ready to fight with him by this time. 

“We have them.”  He hangs up again.

So, me (being me), I dial them up again.

“First Asshat”  It was some uptight manly sounding british woman this time.

“I’m calling to be removed from your call list.”

“Yes, that’s why I answered, I heard the conversation with my employee.”  She says.

“It’s pretty simple.  Remove all of our numbers, now, or I will call you 500 times a day until Jesus comes back.”  I tell her.

“They will be removed.”  She retorts as SHE hangs up on me.

Needless to say, I have spent the last hour randomly picking up the phone, dialing the number and saying…

“Hi it’s me.  Only XXX number of the promised calls left today.”

I kind of wonder if I can get in trouble for it.  If anybody would like to have the same big ball of fun as I am, and help me annoy the shit out of these people, I’d be glad to share the phone number with ya.

Happy dialing!