Public Transportation

From 8 November 2007

(Reading this particular post just now made me laugh until I cried.)

I rode the bus home tonight due to a broken jetta and a hole in the wallet..

and i sat next to a man who smelled like he took a fart bath and dried off with turds.


The word, Turd

From 12 March 2008

(My sister’s comment was, “Do you ever say #4 to D?” ha! I’ll never tell!)

The word, Turd.

*disclaimer to my sister, the cringer..don’t read, your eyes might scream*So I had a bit of a conversation about this yesterday and today I thought I might go into it here.I cuss, alot.  Swear.  Curse. Foul mouth I am.I use two words more than any other, they are cunt and fuck.Fuck, allow me to go into..

Fuck, for me is jack of many trades as a word.

1  Adjective-What a fucking asshole.

2  Adverb- I fucking told you!

3  Noun- You stupid fuck.

4  Verb- Let’s fuck.

5  A one word sentence of awe (seeing a huge famous building in person for the first time)”Fuuuuck”

6  A  one word sentence of disappointment (having to pay $18 per person to ride the elevator to the top of said building to enjoy the view.) “FUCK.”

7  A one word sentence of quiet fright ( looking down from the top) whisper,”fuck.”


So thanks for fucking reading, you fucking fuckers.  Fuck you.

Thanks for ruining my jacket, Bitch.

Another Vintage Post — from 7 May 2008

down with OPP? yeah, no I guess not..

Here’s my lovely daily rant.

It is sometimes chilly in our office.  I have a cute, pink hoodie with AC/DC logo on it.  Found it quite some time ago, have never seen another.  I keep it draped over the back of my chair, for the days when the place is chilly.

Last Monday

I came in, and my supervisor asked if my coworker (let’s call her Faith) put my sweater back.  I had no idea what she meant, but then noticed my jacket was missing.  Oh well, I thought, I can get it tonight.  So Faith comes in at  5:30 and I ask her, “Where’s my jacket?”

“Oh!” Slapping her head and rolling her eyes, “I forgot it at home.  I’ll wash it tonight and bring it to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, yeah, do that.”


5:30 rolls around, Faith comes strolling in.

No jacket.

“Faith, where’s my jacket?”

Slaps the head, “Oh! I forgot it again!  I’ll bring it to you tomorrow.”

Exasperated I reply,”Well, I needed it today, because I am leaving tomorrow and wanted to take it with me, because it’s always cold on a plane.”

“OOOOh I’m sorry. You can come by tonight and get it after work?”

I don’t want to go by after work.  I want my fucking jacket to be where I left it.  On the back of my chair.  Not at your house.

“No, forget it.  Just bring it to me next week.  Don’t forget.”

Wednesday thru this past Monday

In Arkansas, not thinking about AC/DC jacket.

Tuesday (yesterday)

5:freakin’30 here comes Faith.
“Faith, where’s my jacket?”

Slaps the forehead, “Oh!  I didn’t realize you’d be here today.  I’ll bring it tomorrow, promise.”

*let me just stop here and say, why the fuck did she not bring my jacket in last week at all?  not because she was afraid to leave it there without me present, I’m sure, as I have left the damn thing on my chair since September..*


2:00 ish…I look up and see Faith in the back of the room, I motion at her and tell her “DON’T FORGET TO BRING MY SHIT TODAY.”


“Here you are, here’s your jacket, okay?” Drapes the jacket back over my chair.


I go on break.  Put on my jacket (which is shrunk and my boobs will not allow me to zip up, I might add).  I am reading a book when something catches my eye.  Blue. Ink. Stains.
On the sleeve.  Of my weird, unique, pink AC/DC hoodie sweater jacket thing, that was borrowed without permission.

What.  The. Fuckity. Humping. Fuck?

But, here’s my big dilemma.

I, Captain Crass, have not said anything about it yet.  For various reasons.

1. She’s been a very foul mood as  of late.  I’m not scared of her, but I am not really wanting to set her off, as she may flip out and cause a crying crazy weird sad scene.

2.  She is financially strapped.  She’s a newly single Mom, works part time, and again, she’s stressed out.

3. Well, I guess that’s all.

I don’t necessarily want to be compensated.  But the grown up thing to do would be to acknowledge that she ruined my damn clothes.  Oh, here’s your sweater.  Sorry, I must have mistaken a Sharpie for a Downy Sheet.  Your jacket’s ruined.

Is that too much to ask?

To behave in the way a 34 year old should?

Obviously.  So rude.  So without being confronational and mean, I am unsure how to approach her about this.  I want to at least be like, “Hey, Faith, you fucked my shit up.” without it being mean.

Apparently, it’s an issue with her, though, taking things without permission.  There is another lady in the office, the sweetest most thoughtful lady, and Faith takes her magazines out of her desk, helps herself to candy in the drawer (when this woman sets candy on her desk for everyone to eat) and uses her coffee cup without washing it properly.  I mean, was she never taught not to use things without express permission? Suggestions, anyone?

see pic for damage to right sleeve, although it’s on both…


Here is what I left on her desk:

And here is her response:


Now I have to post the awesome reply from Brooks.


That fuckin’ note takes the cake. How the FUCK is she going to fix the fact that it’s too fucking small? Is she a tailor, too? Seriously, Joy. Bitchslap her. As hard as you can. And then stomp on her foot and spit in her hair.

No…that wouldn’t do. Ummm…you should start not-so-furtively hiding your shit when she comes in the room. Give her a sideways glance and then start moving all of the shit on the left side of your desk to the right side. And then look at her again, look at your shit, and then move it all into your drawer. And maybe loudly ask Kelli if you there are any padlocks in the supply closet.

Repeat this everyday until you feel better.

Back by Popular Demand: Wash yer Cooter!

This is the first of maaaaaaaaany old blogs of mine to be brought back to life.

It was originally posted on myspace 30 August 2008. Wow. Three years! And I still mean every word…

Wash Yer Cooter!

Yes.  The title of this blog is “Wash Yer Cooter!” and it means what you think.

We will come to that later, though.  Please, for the love of all that’s … something… if you get offended easily, don’t read this. It’s gonna be graphic. But if you enjoy a good discussion about poo and smelly people, hairy toes and  smelly vaginas,  please, read on…

The bathroom at work will be my shining example.  I mean, most public women’s restrooms have a foul stench of..femininity..and it is gross.  But dayam..

Our bathroom at work has no ventilation.  2 floors of women use this bathroom because the 5th floor doesn’t have a toilet, so those bitches have to use ours.  There’s one chick in particular, I’ve nicknamed her Hairy aka Harriet Hammertoes.  She’s a massive Russian girl that drops a turd bomb each time she goes into the bathroom and between me and another girl, Aubry, one of us always happens to be in the other stall at the point in time that she decides to submerge her U-Boat.

That’s something I’ve not been able to do, ever, is go number 2 in a public restroom.  Can’t.  Physically and mentally can not. Ask any of my Bonnaroo 2003 trip mates.  We were there for an entire what, 4 days?  Not once did I poop. I ate lots of food and even some delicious mushrooms, but   I just get some form of stage fright, I guess?  I don’t want other people hearing plops, toots and wheezes from my stall.

On to the real reason for this blog.  Do these bitches not wash their hoo-has?  I mean, I walk in the bathroom and it’s like this humid cloud of bad ‘down there’ stench.  Come on, Ladies! Clean up!  Get a moist towlette if you must, I think Summer’s Eve advertises girly wipes..because when you leave the smell of your undercarriage behind after merely pulling down your panties to pee, there’s a problem.  And the problem is that you have that not so fresh feeling.  And my problem is I get a not feeling so good feeling, like I want to puke all over the place when I have to endure this cloud of dirty clam odor.

It makes me think, (now, my lesbians and straight guy friends, don’t take offense) but how can anyone find sticking their head between the thighs of a female and .. you know.. how can you like doing that?  Oh, lord it makes me gag to think about what you poor lovely people do in order to pleasure the bedmate.  Ew!! Do they all have an aroma? I say, I don’t think MINE does, but I dunno, it could be like bad breath or B.O. and you can’t smell your own.  Who the heck knows?? Maybe some just don’t stink..maybe if you keep it clean it’s not so bad.. so then if that is the case and then one day  you  DO encounter a dirty vag, do you actually come up real fast and make an excuse to stop?  Do you say, “Let’s take a shower!”

Or do you say, “Wash yer cooter!”

Because I would, if I were you.