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Puttin' the FUN in dys-FUN-ctional!!

It's the holidays! Time for Ding Fries Are Done!

Saturday, Dec. 31, 2005
Like Poop Through a Goose....

You know you're getting old when you go back to find something in your archives, stumble on a completely unrelated entry, read it (having NO memory of ever writing it) and proceed to laugh your ASS off at your own hilarity and finish with a pronouncement in your own head that "Hey...I'm kinda funny!")

36. It's the new 90!


Speaking of searching through the archives, I got a nice email from someone today that helped my mood. I was starting to get all depressed that the only reason people come to my site is to see the Ding Fries Are Done page, and I didn't even CREATE that shit and does anyone even READ the rest of my stuff? The stuff I've lovingly (and anally-and-painstakingly-edited-re-edited-re-read-and-re-edited in my quest for utter perfection) posted in the arrogant (and somewhat Scared-of-Success) hope that it will, one day, be published and people won't think twice about paying to read my blatherings? Ahhh, yes...to be a drama queen. Thankfully (for my oversensitive self,) Meg J. from Fort Lauderdale's letter assured me that some people do, in fact, visit my slice of the 'net for more than a silly (though freakin funny) song. She referenced the article below and it made me realize that while I did, eventually, post the pictures of that day ('twas in the olden days before I had a digital camera to carry with me on my vast travels to and from work) I never went back and put them in the actual entry they related to, so I did that today and, if you haven't read it yet, go check it out; it's a good one:


And thanks again, Meg, for giving me a much-needed boost!




Due to the overwhelming increase in visitors lately (25,000 people on Christmas Eve alone) I have had an equal increase in reader mail. Most of them are very sweet and/or answer questions that I wailed about some time ago. Occasionally, they even send notes that educate me. My whole life I had NO idea that the most offensive song lyrics in the world (in my opinion) were incorrect. I always thought Bob Seger's song lyrics were "Tight Pants, Points, Hollerin' Out". I was wrong. It's actually "Tight Pants, Points, Hardly Renowned". Which, I gotta tell ya, only reduces the ick factor by about 1%, but still...glad to have learned something new and thanks to Larry Austin for cluing me in (a few other people wrote with the same news, but Larry beat y'all to it, so he gets the shout-out.)

Speaking of reader mail....


This note just warmed my heart:

    Dear Gracie,

    I am a sixteen year old male living in the suburbs of Houston, Texas. My mother and I absolutely cannot get enough of your daily rants about your misfortunes, mishaps, and situations.

    You Rock! Keep writing your stuff!


What a sweetie! Thanks much to JB AND his (obviously) intelligent mom for hanging out 'round these parts.


Okay, got this one a couple of days ago and it gave me much joy (and for those of you who sent email 2 months ago and are wounded right now, please don't take it personally. Not only did my main PC die (thank buh-jesus for laptops!) but there is apparently a problem with my email server and I am just now getting emails that people sent before Thanksgiving and they are still trickling in. I apologize and, I promise, I will get to you and yours. I will.)


    I couldn't help but notice the vibrations of pure "angst" in your latest novel, "Bling and Bullets". Therefore, I thought I would compose a note to soothe your superlative nerves and let you know, that as a proud gun owner (although, I have already called the F.B.I. to let them know you lied and the gun is really for George!), you are now equipped to do your part in saving the world from a looming over population of idiots. If you do not believe we are truly in peril, just take a look at the site www.darwinawards.com. Anyway, every true sportsman knows the following mantra:

    1. Deer, rabbits, prairie dogs, and humans, etc., will all over populate an area if left unchecked to breed at will - and who of us doesn't want to breed at will?

    2. Only hunters (read gun owners, sportsmen, gang members, yourself, etc.), will serve as the last line of defense against this inevitable surge in population.

    3. Thinning of the males of the species only serves to slow down the population growth, killing of the females is necessary to truly arrest the growth (ya gots to kill the bitches too!).

    Now when you are having a good hair day, the dogs are fed, the sun is shining, birds are singing and you are suddenly and alarmingly cut off in traffic by some low down, rotten, dirty, egg sucking, yellow toothed, Georgia, red-neck while you are on your way to buy a quart of Tom & Jerries ice cream, you can just blast away hither and yon, and the rest of us will thank you for it. Hope this helps.

    Your fan, Jim H.

    P.S. Superlative is my word of the week. I am trying to use it as often as possible in both written and verbal conversation. I'm not certain I've used it properly here though. Whatcha think, is this just a superlative e-mail or what?

Clearly Jim H. is an utter genius.


Kathi wrote in response to one of the 'someone arrived here searching for...' items yesterday:

"i was karaoke before" [Gracie's note: dude! I was a CAMERA!! We must be soul-mates!!]

GOOD one. My dad (He of the Almighty Pun) would heart you to PIECES!


So we bought yet another dog toy recently. We must have a hundred of them around here. In addition, we bought the puppies stockings this year. But we aren't QUITE so pathetic, because the stockings were pre-filled, so we're still cool, right? Sure we are! Anyway, Bailey could not have cared less about hers. Bella? LOVED them both. She took each toy (from both stockings), one by one, and carried them upstairs to the hallway, then spent the rest of the DAY up there playing with them all. She would toss them in the air and catch them, bat them from one end to the other, then fetch them...she just had a good ole time with her gifts from Santa, and it was precious.

So the new toy we bought is a stuffed goose and, when squeezed, makes vague quacking noises like a goose (more like a duck than a honking goose, but whatever.) This was an especially joyous toy for me because George had...An Experience with a goose many years ago, before he met me, and it's one of my favorite stories of all time and one that I simply cannot let go of. I have to give him crap about it as often as possible, especially whenever we see Canadian geese around, which is often considering we're in Georgia and we have a pond near our office and they have some unexplainable need to congregate there, despite the fact that there are a plethora of other areas around town that are WAY less populated, with less likelihood of them getting run over by cars and angry people, but...to each goose his own, eh? George, however, is convinced that they hang out there to torture him (and I am convinced that it's God's way of reminding me that I am Very, Very Special.)

George worked for our present employer a year or so before I came on board. I am incredibly disappointed that I was not around to witness this event, but I have a wonderfully vivid imagination...vivid enough, in fact, that I can see it all in my head as though I was right there with him. Let me share with you:

Upon leaving the office every day, George would see dozens upon dozens of Canadian geese loitering around the office, forcing him to play a game of hopscotch on the way to his car to avoid stepping in goose poop. This became a regular occurence, and both George and the geese respectfully ignored each other during this daily task.


Duh...do I ever tell you stories that don't include at least ONE until?

One day he was on his way to the parking lot and one of the geese decided that George was encroaching on his turf. He displayed his irritation over this personal slight by running at George, full-speed, wings spread, angrily honking and actually started pecking and biting at a mightily startled George. Obviously the natural reaction to such an attack is to suck in your breath, utter a stunned and confused sound from deep within your throat (hoping it sounded manly) and attempt to either back away from the offending beast or shoo it away. George exhausted all of these measures, to no avail. He was next inclined to smack the thing since the bites were starting to hurt, but he had to consider his audience. There weren't any people in his immediate line of sight, but there were several floors of windows in the offices above and any number of people, including animal-lovin' women, could be watching this drama unfold and he certainly didn't want to have THAT be the moment someone chose to look outside...just in time to see him popping a GOOSE on the head. So he did the only thing he COULD do...

He raised his own arms in the way the goose had displayed as the Right and Proper Stance, furrowed his brow, crouched a bit and, with marching feet, ran TOP-SPEED at Mr. Goose while waving his arms and growl-yelling "AaaaaaauuuuuuuggggghhhHHHHHHH!!!!"

Clearly the goose was not accustomed to this sort of behavior. His eyes widened (which most of us probably didn't realize was possible,) and he backed RIGHT up and away from our George. The look on the goose's face so perfectly described the thought in his head, as well: "the FUCK is your PROBLEM, dude???"

George, satisfied that he'd accomplished the goal of saving his ankles and calves, nodded once, with finality, and went on his merry way.

And the goose never bothered him again. Ever.

To this day we will never know if anyone else witnessed George's momentary lapse in sanity, but I picture it in my head frequently and it makes me very VERY happy. He told me this story soon after we met and picturing this calm, laid-back man freaking OUT like this...on a GOOSE...well, I just about wet my pants. And every time we see geese --anywhere-- George cannot resist the urge to swerve the car at them (mockingly...no angry mail!) and mutters phrases resembling "Friggin' demon foul" and I, on the other hand, am unable to stop myself from commenting on it...with much sass. My typical reaction is to grab his upper arm, gently, and ask (with MUCH sincerity and huge eyes) "...sweetie? How ya doin'? You okay? Don't worry, babe, I've got your back...Anyway, I'm pretty sure they didn't see you...hurry, though, HURRY! Go faster! OOOO! HERE THEY COME!!! RUUUUUN!!" and that's around the time that he narrows his eyes, yanks his arm away from mine, and mutters under his breath something that sounds a lot like "duckin' mitch" ...but I can't be sure.

So, of COURSE we had to buy the stuffed goose. We thought it was funny and were POSITIVE the dogs would love it. They go happily bat-shit over toys that make noise because it means they can talk to us. I am not kidding, they will mess with a toy until they find the noisemaker inside and then will position it in their mouths, trot over to wherever we are (usually on the couch and during the last five SUSPENSEFUL minutes in a movie) and they will proceed to spend the next [insert length of time before you go INSANE and yank the fucker out of their mouth] squeezing the noise-maker, LOUDLY and seemingly without end, essentially...talking to us. They do short squeezes, long squeezes, and rapid-succession squeezes. It truly sounds like a language and it's quite funny. Usually.

Whenever we see these toys, even though we know that, eventually, they will drive us nutty, we still have to get them. Ooooh, and when it's a noise-making GOOSE? OH yeah.

So we get it home and I'm all set to laugh my fanny off at the ensuing Toy Hijinks and am astounded to find that neither dog is the least bit interested in the toy. At all. Judging from the head-tilting and subsequent Running Away of Dogs, I brilliantly deduce that it's most likely due to the honking/quacking noise the toy makes, and I figure that, in time, they will get used to it and come to love it. (Much like George's reaction to ME!) So I keep trying to get the dogs to play with the toy and they both refuse, yet I am undeterred. I wait a while for the dogs to stop running from me in FEAR and let them get comfortable again. George and I watch a movie and, by the end, Bailey has decided I am no longer to be hated and graces me with her presence at my feet. When she isn't guarding her Soul-Mate and Master, George, her next favorite spot is laying on my feet (but she is unable to assume this position without first jabbing my feet with her doggy-elbow bone. Aahhhh, the love.) So she's standing near me, clearly ready to lay on my feet, but is annoyed (and displays said emotion by huffing a few times and smacking me with her paw) because there is a throw pillow on the floor where she has decided she wants to lay. I decide that *I* will be in charge (for the next moment or two, anyway) and will refuse to obey her command of moving the pillow until I have accomplished MY task. I slowly pull the goose toy from behind my back, put it a foot or so from her face and squeeze it, causing it to honk. My dog rewarded me for this action by....

Throwing up on my feet and on the throw pillow.

And then walked away.

I then spent the next SEVERAL minutes huffing (much like Bailey did earlier) and pretending that I didn't hear George giggling while I wiped off MY special Christmas present.



Once again I have rambled on and on and this entry is long enough as it is (I Heart BayKayShun!) so I will save the dissertation on my psychosis (that I promised, in yesterday's entry, to discuss today) until tomorrow or the next day.


Someone Arrived Here Searching For:

christmas fart girls

funny garbage men

woman pee place

american angst

sexy midget woman pitchers [one gallon or two?]

the little u

enemas ass whipping my ass

home maid porn

fat girls hate me

girl in shiny fucked

i'm ballooning up (fatter) [as opposed to TALLER]

mobster voice

screw that bitch

stupid nancy grace

psycho porn

porn horoscope

george needs to get a clue [eh, he's not so bad]

i want my wife to fuck other men [do her a favor then...divorce her.]

what is inside the american pussy [I swear I don't make this shit up]

grandpa fucker

funny oktoberfest pictures

white girls stink

us women shitting

speech on what bothers me is my husband's voice

how many sleeping pills does it take to kill a person

why does my dog eat toilet paper

cute nicknames for black men

girls poop on each other for free and naked

infected pussy pictures

girls hate farts

insects on girl porn

wow you got big tits


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Last 5 Entries:

How Much Are YOU Worth? - Sunday, Jan. 08, 2006

Perfume and Lazy Bastards.... - Wednesday, Jan. 04, 2006

Like Poop Through a Goose.... - Saturday, Dec. 31, 2005

Bling and Bullets.... - Thursday, Dec. 29, 2005

Get Into The Frickin Spirit.... - Friday, Dec. 23, 2005

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