Tagged: funny

Unsolicited Professional Parenting Tip: Waking the kids for school.

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image credit: snorgtees.com

If you have a guitar, and can learn a few easy chords, teach yourself to play 5000 Candles in the Wind by Mouse Rat. This will take you approximately four seconds to learn. Then, on a random school day morning, wake your children by quietly wandering into their rooms and playing it with a gradual crescendo until your children are standing on their beds with lighters** in hand, swaying and singing along with the chorus. This will start their morning off right. Offer them sugary cereal immediately after.

You will be the best mom ever.

Also, if your kids walk to school as mine do, you can wait until they are about a block and a half away, stand in the middle of the street, and belt out a 5000CITW chorus-only reprise. They will pee their pants laughing (sneak extra pants into their backpacks ahead of time), and the entire neighborhood will undoubtedly love you for it.

(This also counts as an Unsolicited Professional Neighbor Tip.)

** If you don’t provide your kids with personalized lighters, kitchen matches will work fine. If your kids have smart phones and wish to use them as the source of audience participation illumination, you are an awful fucking parent. What are they, like seven? Seven years old and you gave the little jerks a smart phone? You don’t deserve to sing about Li’l Sebastian. You probably don’t even deserve to live.

Have a great day, errbody.

xoxo

Dear Captain Literal, You’re sucking the joy out of everything.

In a time that there are plenty of serious and even important conversations happening all over the Internet, and news stories of human beings doing despicable things are being hurled at us rapid fire style, can we please just let the funny be funny and not be so goddamn serious all the time?

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Dear People Who Are Wrecking the Funny on the Regular, including:

Professor Actually: Your need to correct the wrongs of anything and everything that people tweet is undoubtedly how you’ve amassed such a huge circle of friends, I’m sure of it. Your mission to educate and re-educate us all is really … something. You know a lot of stuff. Totally rad. Maybe take it down a notch? When you feel yourself thinking, “Actually … ” pump those brakes and move on. That would be super great for everyone, because we don’t care. It’s not because we don’t like you. It’s because we hate you. Please stop talking.

Captain Literal: You’re really harshing my mellow. Not everything is meant to be taken literally. I realize that there are plenty of instances where sarcasm doesn’t quite translate in writing, but you and I both know that’s not what I’m talking about. (Quick tip: If it begins with “Knock, knock” you should assume it’s meant to be humorous, and you don’t have to remind us that most people live in apartments or houses with buzzers or doorbells.) You’re killing all the joy, son. Please focus on editing Wikipedia pages when you’re bored. If you get stuck on the entry for humor, call Prof. Actually, he’ll be happy to educate your ass like a boss.

Miss JustSoYouKnow: I don’t want to know. You’re awful.

Ms. EverythingIsDEFCON1SeriousFeminist: No, I wasn’t intentionally meaner to Miss JustSoYouKnow because she’s a woman.

All Grammar Police Officers: R u fucking kidding, me. right now;

99% of the people who comment on local news stories:

You:

“I’m totally putting people in their place. I’m so fucking awesome right now!”

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The rest of the Internet:

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To be fair, some of you regular-local-news-story-commentators bring a whole lot of unintentional funny shit to the game, and I dig that about you. But most of you are just hateful, awful assholes and/or religious zealots.

WAIT.

If commenting on daily news stories keeps all of you busy at the same time, then keep doing what you’re doing. Chances are, your terrible grammar and spelling will attract The Grammar Police, you could keep Professor Actually busy for hours, and if the story has anything to do with pissed off women (or men pissed off at women, or women who aren’t pissed off about something but should be, or Hillary Clinton), you might be a helpful distraction for the EverythingIsDEFCON1SeriousFeminists, too. Captain Literal will be tied up in a chain of argumentative comments (to which no one is responding), over a single snarky remark, for days. Miss JustSoYouKnow will have already been in there all morning while at work during her lunch break, defending ideas that have nothing to do with the article, so we’ll just mark that one a win, too.

Well, this is unexpected.

In a time when being sarcastic, funny, politically incorrect (read: funny), snarky, and just plain not taking ourselves so seriously is met with resistance from the Debbie and Donnie Downers of the Internet, it’s the people that wage the oh-so-serious comment wars on news articles and YouTube videos that just might save the funny. So, to all you assholes fighting the good fight through post after post about something a Kardashian did or didn’t do, I salute you. Keep that shit up.

 

 

 

Hospital prison log in review: A week in the slammer.

I spent the past week trapped in a goddamned hospital room. Below you’ll find a collection of my daily updates and random musings from my incarceration. It was highly irritating. It’s ok if you think I’m a hero. I probably am.

My "inpatient irritated" face. Goddammit.

My “inpatient irritated” face. Goddammit.

Enjoy, fuckers.

St. Luke’s Hospital Prison Log
Day One:

March 5, 2014

My captors have succeeded in confining me to a bed in the middle of my cell. I’m under 24 hour surveillance. The food served to us is clearly meant to induce gen pop starvation, rendering inmates too weak to revolt.

I’m using IV needles to scratch out a prison tat. Gonna make some hooch by fermenting SunnyD and dinner rolls in a bed pan.

The smuggling in of any/all contraband is encouraged.

For now, I’ll be singing old spirituals and dragging my metal cup across the cell bars.

Goddammit.

March 5, 2014

Things that are NOT fucking funny. Apparently.

1.) Penciling in “Beer” on the drink list on the dinner menu in the hospital.

March 5, 2014

A nurse (not mine) just walked into the room to give me a cup of water and to turn out the light. I saw her face for half a second, then she turned and the lights went out.

For no fucking reason, and without even thinking, I blurted out, “Are you a twin?”

She spun around, looked at me quizzically and replied, “Yes.”

I don’t know what shocked me most, that I actually fucking asked that, or that she said yes.

We’ve never met, nor do either of us find the other familiar. We ran through lists of possible connections, all the way back to forever ago. She’s much (much) younger than me, we come from different cities, and she hasn’t worked here long.

What the fuck just happened?

And how did I become the fucking nut-job lady on the neuro floor who asks complete strangers if they are a twin, anyway?

I’ve got to get that beer back on the menu.

STAT.

St. Luke’s Hospital Prison Log
Day Two:

March 6, 2014

There is an alarm on my bed. It’s a “She’s trying to escape!” type of alarm.

I have voiced my indignation via written messages that I have held up to the video camera (aka The Eye in the Sky) that my captors use to watch my every move.

THERE IS A GOTDAMNED ALARM ON MY BED.

It’s starting to smell in here.

March 6, 2014

Mysterious package arrived at the prison today from an anonymous friendly on the outside.

In it were the closest things to my favorite kicks that I can get while incarcerated, along with enough Gummy Bears to pay off the guards for their continued cooperation in this smuggling operation.

Kicks

Sweet kicks.

Great job gang. Be safe out there.

March 6, 2014

Trying to remember if, last night, I was just imagining how funny it would be if I picked my nose on camera, or if I actually picked my nose on camera.

Both scenarios are equally plausible.

Shit.

Unrelated, after listening to his voice this afternoon, if the new patient in the room across the hall doesn’t end up looking exactly like Lou Ferrigno, the world as I know it is a lie

Update on Lou Ferrigno:

Lou missed the cut off for ordering a dinner meal. HULK SMASH.

His wife calls all the staff members “girl”. As in, “That was a good idea, girl.” or “Hey. Girl, can you get me a new chair?” (I should clarify that she doesn’t say it in a familiar, friendly way. At all.)

This just in!!!! “Wife” is actually Lou’s mom.

Further update on Lou Ferrigno:

Lou is talking to family member (maybe wifey?) on SPEAKER PHONE, and while talking about his tumor, his wife busted into Arnold Swarzenegger voice with, “It’s not a too-ma.” He replied in Arnold voice, in turn.

My mind just exploded.

St. Luke’s Hospital Prison Log
Day 3:

March 7, 2014

I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out which of the assistant guards flagged me as a flight risk. He’s a young man, and clearly dislikes me. Even so, I can tell he’s also a little bit afraid of me. What a brave boy. I’m sure I can bring him over to my side through the magic (and friendship) of My Little Ponies. I’m confident that this is the way to his little Brony heart, as he’s unwittingly indicated by his peculiar behavior, lack of eye contact, and choice of footwear.

No man can eat 50 eggs.

Befriending the narc on cell block N(euro).

Befriending the narc on cell block N(euro).

March 7, 2014

This little piece of awesome made it through the prison mail room, today!

Good to know that people on the outside still get you…

True story.

True story.

Godspeed, all my freedom fighters.

From the hubby via Facebook (March 7, 2014):

Two full days alone with the natives and still no sign of their leader. So far, they have not turned against me. Sometimes I think they think the disappearance of their leader is because of me. There have been a few moments when things got a bit dicey, but we were able to strike a deal and keep peace between us.
I remain positive that their leader will appear soon. Until then I keep my guard up in case of an uprising.

Aaaanooother Update on Inmate #26627 Lou Ferigno:

One hour post-extubation Lou Ferigno turned into a 3 hour post-extubation John Goodman, who turned into 12 hour post-extubation some dude who made 3 open-door-speaker-phone conference calls all before 9:00am today. Because, he may not be Lou Ferigno, or John Goodman, but goddammit, he must be more important than any of us assholes.

Also, one of the more confused (and very combatant) inmates just started barking. I think, perhaps the line between the Neuro cell block and the Psych cell block is a fine one.

A very, very fine one.

Ruff.

St. Luke’s Hospital Prison Log
Day Four:

March 8, 2014

Forgetting Mrs. Santiago’s medications is the new black.

orangeblack

St. Luke’s Hospital Prison Log
Day Five:

March 9, 2014

Things got a little dicey on N(euro) block this afternoon. One of the inmates was screaming that one of the guards was “running her mouth when she shouldn’t be”. That’s about all I know. I was trying to dip, but that shit happened while *my* cell was on lock down, because none of your goddamned business.

Otherwise quiet Sunday on the block. Made eyeliner out of deodorant and pencil lead. One more jelly packet from the mess hall, and I’ll have enough to make some hair gel.

Sonofa.

March 10, 2014

Thanks to all of my pals for making my time on the inside much easier. You turkeys crack me up. Best care packages, and best looking mules in five counties. Bet.

March 10, 2014

THIS. I’m calling this infusion “PAROLE”. I’m about to get sprung from this joint, y’all. *does the Cabbage Patch, Running Man, Coffee Grinder to end pose*

I'm out, bitches.

I’m out, bitches.

St. Luke’s Hospital Prison Log
Day six (and final) entry:

March 10, 2014

Like a fart in the wind.

Like a fart in the wind.

March 10, 2014

Okay, this is just the sweetest photo of my daughter. (Taken from my bed.)

Perched in my window.

Perched in my window.

March 11, 2014

I’m using the bathroom without being watched by a nurse, for fear that I might have a seizure and fall.

This is some exciting shit.

Meet your new Boyfriend. [UPDATED 2/26/14]

UPDATE: Over the last 24 hours or so, I have received several submissions regarding the explicit content of Boyfriend’s performances. Yes, it is X-rated. Yes, some of you might find it offensive. Yes, Boyfriend isn’t for everyone. But here’s the thing. I love that she unabashedly puts her art into the world, without censoring her creative vision. She isn’t afraid to put out honest work. It’s fucking genuine, and I respect that to the highest degree. Furthermore, I think it is hilarious and impressive, and I love my new Boyfriend.

So, thank god this is my blog, I can publish whatever I damn well please, and no one is forcing anyone to read it. Everybody wins! However, if you feel the need to express your disappointment in the things I choose to post, I welcome your opinions, and support your desire to express them. Feel free to complain as much or as little as you’d like by emailing me at hatemail@chronicallyirritated.com. And know you’re not alone. Plenty of people have the desire and ridiculous amount of free time to tell me what I’m doing wrong, and I salute you for showing me the error of my ways.

Love and Kisses,

Sara
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I have only recently experienced the wonderment that is Boyfriend.

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She’s a teacher by day, a rapper by night, calls herself “sex positive”, and yes, she’s got rhymes. She’s coming outta NOLA, funny as shit, and she’s gonna rap about her period, and all of her hipster-y sexpot gloriousness.

Read what HuffPo had to say about her.

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Satire? For sure. Parody? Yeeeeayup. Awesome? It doesn’t really matter. I’ve got a new Boyfriend and now you do, too.

Check out all of Boyfriends videos here.

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All photos © boyfriend69.com