NEW RELEASES
In Our Humble Opinion . . . ABBA spelled backwards is ABBA, we don’t think that’s a coincidence.
Also Slutty and Neurtsy which are both horrible and wrong
Did you all know that before finally choosing the dwarfs final names, Disney also considered Chesty, Tubby, Burpy,
Deafy, Hickey, Wheezy and Awful? Can you imagine?
All the dwarfs were male so I’m assuming that Chesty would not have had huge breasts. Maybe his prototype was of a sailor with a large tattoo. “I heart Snow White” maybe? And what about Tubby? As I recall, Doc was a bit portly. Maybe they just combined the two.
Burpy? Really? That’s just gross.
Deafy? Not very P.C. but perhaps they weren’t too worried about that in 1937. After all, Al Jolson was still making movies in black face for God’s sake.
Hickey? Holy crap. One can only assume the drawings of this guy was disgusting – a teenage covered in suck marks probably. Ick.
Wheezy – well, I guess Wheezy is no worse than Sneezy. I wonder if one of the animators suffered from allergies.
Awful, like Doc and Tubby, was probably morphed with Grumpy.
How about this little bit of insight from Disney on yet another ill-fated name.
JUMPY: He is in constant twitchy fear of being goosed, but is not goosed until the last scene. Whenever he hears a noise behind him, he starts, and his hand automatically protects his fanny. He is exceedingly ticklish.
Does anyone besides me find this disturbing? Was there a lot of this going around at the animation studio?
Give one a whole different perspective on Disney movies, huh?
January 27
It’s Girl Scout Cookie time. Ava wants to start a diet tomorrow. Shocking! we know. The rest of us don’t know how successful that will be with Amylynn running around with cute, tasty boxes of calories. We just shrug. Ok, Ava, go right ahead. Here can you hold this sleeve of Thin Mints. Hey! Where are my Thin Mints? So here’s our week in the gag reel.
- Barak. As a president, Barak’s reign has been frustrating and a letdown, but it can’t be said that the man himself is ever boring or less than charming. That fact was never more evident than this past week. Example number one occurred when he went to Disney World for a press conference and remarked how happy he was to meet Mickey Mouse. Said the president, “Nice to meet a world leader who has bigger ears than me!” The Sisters love a man who can poke fun at himself. We do it all the time – not make fun of Barak, but of ourselves. Example number two had Mr. President at the Apollo Theater for another speaking engagement where he wowed the crowd with a pretty decent, if shy and a bit timid, version of Al Green’s Let Stay Together. Charming we say. Charming.
- Obama. Our buffoon of a governor, Jan Brewer, made national news – again – by looking like a crazy idiot – again.
When looking at this picture, however, the Sisters can’t help but want to add dialogue. Jan – Blah blah blah blah I’m spouting delusional crazy person stuff blah blah blah. President – Uh huh. Could you step back, please? Personal space. I’m sure you understand. Jan – Blah blah blah I’m a lunatic with awful hair blah blah blah. President – Riiiiiiight. Jan (waggling finger) – Blah blah blah scorpion waffles illegal immigrants blah blah. President – OK. I’m done here. Good day, Madam. (turns to go) Jan – Blah Blah look at my press coverage blah blah. President – I SAID, ‘GOOD DAY’. - Gongs. Yeah, we said it. Gongs. We’ll bet that you, just like us, had no idea
If we get a gong we want a BIG one
that gongs were a big deal much less important enough to land front page acreage in the Wall Street Journal. We were all mistaken. Apparently, gongs are economic indicators. Also, specialty gongs called “Planet Gongs” they are single handedly going to stop the world from coming to an end December 21, 2012. Apparently the believers say the sound energy from all the gongs will halt the end of the world. There is another gong named after a planet past Neptune named Sedna which is turned to that planet’s cosmic energy. How the hell can they know that? We don’t know, but we guess we’ll just trust them. There is an entire yoga practice around gongs. We blink in amazement. In case you’re interested in purchasing your own gong, they’re all over the Internet but the rules state any gong over 38 inches is an “outside gong”. Who knew
- Turtle smugglers. The Sisters read this news bulletin with a great deal of interest since we’re planning our own bit of smuggling. In this incident, customs officials found 1,495 pig-nosed turtles being smuggled in two suitcases. That’s a lot of turtles people – even if they are wee little turtles. We can’t imagine stuffing 1,495 anythings into two suitcases, especially things that are alive. We thought of this as a cautionary tale while we plan our panda/llama/porcupine/red panda smuggling operation. On one hand, it seems like stuffing a live thing in a suitcase is a bad plan, but if you were a customs authority would you open a suitcase that was
Wishing it anywhere actually
growling? Us neither.
- Intellectual disability. The Federal government in its infinite wisdom has again added a new politically correct exchange to our vernacular. The Sisters think there is no reason in this world why you would ever need to be mean to disadvantaged people, but we are also concerned that we’re raising a nation of mamby pamby shrinking violets who can’t handle life. That being said, we’d like to know if one can collect disability from the federal government for this since we’re certain we could get enough signatures on a petition testifying that we’re idiots. We’re just asking.
Just so you know, I wish I could shut up too
I don’t think I have A.D.D but sometimes I do have trouble staying focused. I firmly believe in multitasking, and keeping me on topic can be really frustrating – even for me. If I’m especially manic or hyper then Zeus help you.
I also have a problem of talking A LOT when I’m nervous. Inside my head I’m screaming, “SHUT UP! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT’S HOLY, SHUT UP!” but I can’t heed myself. Inside my head it’s agony I assure you. Outside, the whole
world is cracking up and I’m whipping out jokes a mile a minute. I can’t help myself.
The reason I brought this up I just saw this bit of trivia:
Belmot Univeristy offered a course this year called, “Oh Look, A Chicken! Embracing Distraction as a Way of Knowing.”
I have no idea where Belmot University is located, but I need to audit that class. Who’s with me?
In Our Humble Opinion . . . it is okay to be a person who is easily entertained by nonsense.
I haven’t heard back about what the teacher thought
Last Friday Sassy had an incident on the playground that necessitated a call from the school nurse. Sassy is a “frequent flier” to the nurse’s office. I guess that’s what you can expect when you have a drama queen. Mostly the nurse wanted to give me a head’s up so when my child got home and related the tale I would have some sane background information.
It seems that Sassy was going down the slide and the next child followed too quickly and landed on her hand. There was no bruising or swelling so the nurse put the obligatory ice pack on it and wrapped it with an Ace bandage to pacify the girl. Sassy seemed fine unless she had an audience, then she fell apart. When asked to retell the facts of the incident, Politically Correct Sassy described the boy as large. Her brother, less inhibited by polite society, described him as “a fatty”.
Over the course of the weekend she carried that arm around like it would fall off at any minute. We bought additional bandages because the first one was quickly covered in spaghetti sauce and chocolate pudding. There was a great deal of whining, as I’m certain you can imagine, about cleaning her room and doing chores. I offered to cut it off with the hedge clippers so that it wouldn’t hurt anymore, but she wasn’t going for it.
Her father and I bandied about taking her to the ER for x-rays but I vetoed it because THERE WAS NO SWELLING OR BRUISING. At all. No matter how many times I tell her the story of The Boy Who Cried Wolf and explain the moral to her she simply doesn’t get it. I told her father that we’d give it another week and if she was still complaining we could take her to the doctor and, if it turned out that her arm was really broken, then we’d have to buy her a corvette. Until then, I wasn’t wasting fifty dollars on needless medical expenses. That’s money I could be using for Starbucks.
Then Sunday night came along. The wounded girl began to concern herself with school the next morning. How could she possibly be expected to participate in any scholastic activities when she was in this much pain. How? Her father told her to have me write a note to the teacher. I rolled my eyes but I did it.
Sassy wasn’t happy with the note. I don’t know why? See what you think – I’ve included the text here.
Dear Sassy’s Teacher,
Sassy Bright was injured on the playground Friday afternoon and her arm is still limp and barely functioning. Please excuse her from any strenuous third grade activities that might cause further injury (ie. shoveling gravel or breaking concrete).
Thank you very much for your patience and understanding in this matter.
Sincerely,
Amylynn Bright
Size 0 Is Just Stupid
I went shopping for some needed items for an upcoming business trip. Since these items included pants, I knew that things would not go well.
You’d think that purchasing common machine washable non-lined black pants, suitable for work, would be easy, however, depending on what size you fancy yourself – it’s not. Not at all.
You might find yourself in the unfortunate position of being in a dressing room next to a woman who shouts to a friend “I can’t believe the size 0 (christ on cracker, size zero is just stupid) is too small and the size 2 is too large. I’m not eating dinner tonight.” Tonight??? If you are a size 0, you don’t eat any night. I’ll bet you don’t eat – ever. Maybe you’ve never eaten, ever. I’ll bet you have one friend. A friend who is also a size zero because who else would be your friend? Certainly not the Quill Sisters. You couldn’t possible be that smart or funny or witty that we’d over look your size zeroness.
Scary, Scary Photos of Size 0
After trying on 32 pairs of pants, I finally found one pair that fit perfectly but weren’t in my size. They weren’t in my price range either. I bought them anyway because I was desperate. The salesgirl noticed the tears steaming down my face and told me not to worry – that those particular pants run small. OMG she was right! Wasn’t I just in the dressing room next to a woman who was normally a size 0 but they were too small!!! I feel so much better now.
So much better, in fact, that I had some gelato at the mall. Guess who was there too – that’s right – size 0 girl. So much for no dinner tonight. Clearly, she did not mean no dessert. Maybe we could be friends after all.
My boy might be the reincarnation of Jimmy Hoffa
Sassy joined the Girl Scouts this year. Do you know what this means?
Girl Scout Cookies!
We picked up a car load of cookies this weekend and Sassy was all gung-ho to sell them. Back in my day of being a Girl Scout I would merrily go house to house selling Thin Mints, but I can’t let Sassy do anything of the sort. I knew I had to accompany her.
Sassy doesn’t believe that her mother should have naps. The child nagged and nagged and nagged and nagged and nagged. I’ll bet you think I’m being repetitive, but I’m not. There is no fishwife in the history of humanity who can nag with more conviction and unrelenting zeal than Sassy.
So Sassy, The Bandit and I grabbed several boxes of cookies and headed down our street. I waited at the curb and my
little cherubs trotted up to the door to knock. Sassy tapped timidly on the door and when no one answered right away she turned as if she was ready to give up.
Bang. Bang. Bang. The Bandit took his knocking seriously. “Open up,” he yelled at the door. “We’ve got cookies.”
Holy Cow! Is my boy practicing to be a member of a SWAT team? I shook my head at them from the curb but they didn’t notice.
The door opened was opened by a very tall gentleman. “Can I help you?” he asked.
Sassy went in to her spiel. The Bandit stood back a step or two behind her. I think he might have been trying to look intimidating – all three and a half feet of him. I watched from the curb and noted that things didn’t appear to be progressing very well.
“What do you mean, ‘You don’t eat this kind of cookie’?” The Bandit yelled. “Dude, they’re Girl Scout Cookies. Everyone likes Girl Scout Cookies.”
The man took The Bandit’s measure. “You’re not even a Girl Scout, little boy.”
“Whatever. You want some cookies or what?”
Even standing at the curb I was startled. The very tall gentleman on the porch looked equally so. “OK,” he said and looked to the case Sassy had in her hands. She smiled at him angelically. “What kind do you have?”
“Thin Mints.” The Bandit took a box from Sassy’s case. “Everyone likes Thin Mints.”
The man handed over his four dollars and retreated to the safety of his house.
I watched with horror as Sassy and The Bandit came down his sidewalk in victory, The Bandit lecturing his sister. “That’s how you sell cookies, Sassy.”