NEW RELEASES
In Our Humble Opinion . . . we think Barack’s birth certificate is real.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . waiters should be seen and not heard, we just want the bread, no chitchat, just the bread.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . there’s nothing worse than finding out there’s no way possible you were adopted.
The anthem will be to the tune of Teddy Bears Picnic
Alright. Enough is enough. Today I am blogging in outrage.
One of the Canadian pandas
Just exactly what the hell do the Quill Sisters need to do to get a damn panda bear or two or three? I mean besides ask nicely which we haven’t actually done yet.
The Chinese government seems to be happy enough to just give them away to any old people. First the Canadians get two and now the French get their pair. How is this fair? Then when doing research for this post, I discovered the Scotts got some for the Endinburgh zoo back in December. What the hell?
Bambou avec du beurre, s'il vous plaît
There is no way the Canadians or the French are going to take better care of or love their pandas more than we will. Besides the French will just make it fat with all that butter and the Canadian ones will end up with that odd accent. Then when the bears go back to China they’ll get made fun of for
Alright, this is funny. We'll give 'em that.
saying all those weird “o” words like toaster. To make matters worse, the Scots met the poor bears at the airport with bagpipers. I’m certain that scared the hell out of them.
I think what the Sisters need to do at this point is declare ourselves a sovereign nation. We can make a pretty Tiffany blue flag and have an official state flower – the iris.
The more I think about this, the more I’m certain this is the way to go. Having our very own country would really solve a lot of our problems. Then all we do is apply to the US for foreign aid and we’re set for life.
I’m gonna get to work right now on the lyrics for our national anthem.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . sticking your hand and arm into a hole in the side of a river bank to pull out a catfish means you’re not just crazy – it means you’re CRAZY CRAZY.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . nothing should stop you from living your dream, except maybe money or all those people who live at your house or your inability to sing/write/draw or – what the hell – just forget we brought it up.
In Our Humble Opinion…naps are wasted on the young, it’s in your 40s that you need a cookie, a cup of milk and a nap mat in the middle of the day.
In Our Humble Opinion . . . Whitecastle “Sliders” might not go with wine but what the heck, we’ll give it a try and report back.
A new take on Macbeth’s Weird Sisters
I was driving to work today on my usual route which takes me through a residential area as a short cut. There is a house I particularly like so I always look at it as I pass. This morning I noticed a poinsettia in the kitchen window for the first time. Inexplicably, this irritated the hell out of me. I felt that hot rush of ire bloom in my belly before I took a mental step back and wondered why this bothered me so much. It’s a stupid plant. Who cares?
I think it had to do with the holiday season. Poinsettias are Christmas flowers. Much like lights on the front porch, poinsettias need to be out of sight well before March 1st.
I’m adding this infraction to the things that just drive me crazy.
- People with their Christmas lights out all year.
- People who try to keep the poinsettia all year.
- People who stop two car lengths behind the person in front of them at traffic lights. If your depth perception is this bad, for the love of Zeus, get you and your rolling death machine off the road.
- The idiots that own the weird antique mall by my house that have a collection of giant metal animals in the parking lot. They keep painting them weird colors. Some people think it’s whimsical. It annoys the crap out of me. When the life-sized giraffe showed up painted red and blue I almost burst a gasket. I have no idea why this bothers me as much as it does.
- Strangers who talk to you when you’re reading.
- Idiots who can’t figure out how to use the drop off lane at the elementary school.
- Morons who can’t count to 15 in the express lane at the grocery store. 21 Yoplait yogurts do not count as one item just because they’re the same thing.
- The newspaper delivery person who can’t even get the paper into my yard. I think he literally drops it out the car window because I usually find it on the curb.
Really, the problem is that I hate other people. Ava, Kelli and I often discuss dropping out of society all together. We are perfect candidates for hermithood. If we were hermits living alone in a nicely appointed cave (read: air-conditioned with wall to wall carpet and feather beds) we wouldn’t be forced to tolerate those jackasses who leave countless spam comments, in gibberish or Russian no less, on this blog.
Bubble, bubble toil and trouble, indeed.