I was watching a really good porn documentray last night and...no, wait...I think it was...yeah, no, it wasn't a documentary, it was just a porn, yeah, just a porn.

Anyway, it was really good. Definately one to own. I watched it a few times and I was up really late, so I got up late this morning so I don't have time to blog anything for today. So my daughter, Jaffe, said she'd do a posting for me.

Thanks Jaffe!

Gotta run! Bye Funny Or Die!

xo

t

My name is Jaffe.

I wanna talk about my dad.

I love my dad. He's the best dad on the planet.

But I'm worried about him. He farts so much.

The part that worries me though, is that he doesn't think he does. And he also doesn't think they smell.

My mom gags and plugs her nose and says, "Jesus, Drew!"  when he leans on one cheek and squeezes out a super loud fart after dinner. But dad always says, "Don't play games. Mine don't smell."

But I'm here to testify - they smell.

You're pushing air out your bum hole past a backlog* of poo, so yes, dad, it smells. Like a plate of deviled eggs that were left out in the sun at the Easter Bunny Hop BBQ.

He's delusional. He read in a book the other night that it's common and normal to fart 30 times a day and exclaimed, "Ah ha!" triumphantly, as if his behavior was reasonable and defensible.

But the sad part is daddy farts 30 times AN HOUR! He just doesn't know it. I really believe that. I truly think he has no idea how much he farts and what an awesome problem it is and if he doesn't get help now then maybe mom and I won't be around for his fortieth birthday.

Not because we've left him but because one of his toxic farts has finally killed us.

If you see my dad please tell him not to kill me and my mommy.

* Back•log n
1. a quantity of unfinished business that has built up over a period of time and must be dealt with before progress can be made

 

Everyone should have a dick to hold.

We all deserve the freedom to pee like a man. Because even I, Lady T, have dropped my bossy pants and squatted like an unsophisticated and primitive animal. Don't subject yourself (or anyone else) to this unrefined, crude behaviour. When nature calls have a Lady Dick on hand.

The Lady Dick. An environmentally friendly, funnel-type device made for a woman so that she may stand while peeing, therefore maintaining her dignity.

I live in Los Angeles. I spend a lot of time in my car.

I

Say you’re driving on the 105.
Now, think about this:  you have a baby just so you can drive in the car pool lane.
It may not be a good idea, right?  Think about the amount of time you’re driving and then weigh that with the amount of time you need to take care of the baby and then decide if it’s worth it.
However, you might be surprised with your answer when you’re on the 105 at 5pm on a Friday afternoon.
Plus babies are cute and they do sleep a lot.

II

You know who I hate? The asshole who doesn't use his turning signal.
What are you doing in the car that you don't have time to signal, asshole? What kind of self-absorbed dick doesn't have TIME to use his turning signal??
Right now- take two of your left fingers and flick them. You’ve just signaled.  The car manufacturer made it easy! ‘Cause I could understand, "I'd use my turning signal but it's in the trunk."  That I could understand. I wouldn't use mine either. But FLICKING YOUR FINGERS!  Come on, lazy. It's rude, just plain rude, you have no manners.
It's all about communication penis-face and you failed to communicate to me, once again, by not signaling, by not telling me where you were going.
I had no idea what you were doing, as usual!! You don’t talk to me, tell me where you’re going, who you’re with, when you’re going to be home!!
I hate you.

III

Why do you have a menagerie of plush collectables in your back window?  You know what grandpa? Take that collection out of there, (now you can see the cars behind you, what a novel idea!)  and put them back on your granddaughters bed where they belong. Freak.


Peace & love,
xo
t

I once played a parlor game called, 'If you could kill anyone in this room, who would it be?'  Shortly after that I got divorced.

Later that night as we were getting ready for bed my husband said he didn’t think I loved him anymore.                                                                                                                                                      'They said, if you could kill someone, not if you had to kill someone, you didn't even have to pick anyone,' he whined.
God! He’s hanging onto this stupid moment in this stupid game we played.
‘Babe! Look at what my choices were! My best girlfriend? No. My boss’s neighbor? Right, that’s, like, the quickest way to get fired. Then there was our host, that would just be rude…’
My husband cut me off –
‘What about Tim?! Your ex-boyfriend. He was there. He was a dick! He fucking beat you for Christ’s sake! He stole your credit cards, charged eighteen thousand dollars and then ran off with your best friend!’
(note: this is not my best friend now or I might have picked her )
‘Okay, you know what? You’re being really insecure right now. First off, Tim is no longer with Trish, he admits that was a mistake, and lastly, fraud can't be punished with a death sentence, babe, that would be ridiculous! That would be totally unreasonable!!  Am I right?’
He sulked. He admitted I was right.
But he still filed for divorce.
Men.
You can’t live with them, you can’t say you’d kill them.

Good Morning Funny Or Die!

Just a few things...

•I've been waiting in anticipation for this guy to call me. Every time the phone rings I think it might be him.  He went out of town and said he'd call me when he got back. That was Sunday and now it's Tuesday. I know what you're thinking - relax, it's only been two days, but you're wrong. 'Cause this was a Sunday last year near the end of June. It’s been over a year. He's not gonna call. Is he?

•I was at this garage sale awhile ago. There was an ex-boyfriend there for 75 cents. I bought him, brought him home, and quickly realized why he was an ex -boyfriend. Now he's in my garage.

•I used to wait on tables.  Word of advice- be nice to your waiter. 
Before you condescend to your waiter you have to ask yourself, am I willing to drink urine tonight?  When I was a waiter and someone was rude to me I thought, ‘Look, I'm not here to teach you manners, I'm just gonna piss in your drink and then I'll feel much better.’

•Hazing
v. a violent, intimate, emotional beating from a group of people of which you long to belong.
I long to experience a violent hazing from the Los Feliz MOMS club.

•“It’s the least I can do!” he said.
The laziest man on earth came up with that statement!
How can I trust you now? When I know you will only do the least you can do AND you're telling me that like it’s a good thing?
I hate you.

•So, I did a series a few years ago and I get fan mail, and that's great but you know what? I'm not answering any more fucking fan mail! You know why? They don't write back! One letter is all they got time for, apparently. They just want your autographed picture and that's it! They don't take your calls, they don't wanna go for coffee, they will even go so far as to pretend they don't know you, get a restraining order... well fuck you, Steven Pace!!

Okay, gotta go -

xo

t