Tuesday, December 24, 2013

2013 Most Inappropriate Gift List

I can't believe it is already Christmas Eve. We Americans have been preparing for Christmas since early July, and suddenly it is here--like an unexpected distant relative who shows up at your door for an impromptu visit (I was actually thinking of my own life there, but it does describe the movie Christmas Vacation and really the two aren't that different).

This year, Andy and I found ourselves in much need of a break from traditional Christmas activities and the routines of our daily lives, and decided to be radical and take our own Christmas vacation. We shopped early for gifts for the family, delivered them, and then hit the road for a two-week (at least) trip. As a result, I almost forgot to post my most inappropriate gifts of the year list. In my defense, with a view like this, it is hard to think about anything else.

Balcony View - NOT dreaming of a white Christmas.

But, no worries, as I received a phone call last night by an angry elf who had helped scour the internet for these atrocities wondering when in the H-E-double L the list she had worked so hard finding items for would be posted. I am not giving away this elf's name, but her voice is awfully similar to someone whose name rhymes with "Bonnie or Lonnie" and may or may not be my mother, whose name is Ronnie.

So, without further adieu, if you are looking for that last minute gift to make your holiday extra special  horrific, then I present to you:


1. You Can Shave Baby Doll

That is right. You are reading the box correctly. It is the You Can Shave The Baby! Just what every young child wants and needs. This hairy ginger comes with an abundance of hairy spots that are just begging your child to take a sharp razor and scrape off. She comes with an inordinate amount of underarm pit air, lots of ankle & calf sprouts, a full bush, and strangely enough, back and ass hair.

This may also lead into a conversation with your toddler about what will eventually happen to her body if, by chance, one of her parent's is a neanderthal. I would recommend a bottle of Nair as a stocking stuffer if you purchase this.

Baby got Back.

2. Doggie Thong

This item is for the dog lover on your list. Last year's Inappropriate List (click to see it)
included a similar item for humans, but in just a few short months, technology advanced, a belt was added, a hole for the tail was cut, and BAM, a doggie fart-filter was born.

This strip, called the "Dogone," is an activated charcoal cloth that filters out foul-smelling dog farts, because nothing is more annoying than a smelly dog fart. The advertisement even touts that the thong is easily removed when it comes time for Rover to do more than just break wind.

The problem I see here is if Rover is like either of my dogs, he doesn't stand up, excuse himself from the conversation, and quietly go relieve himself. My two can be jumping, running and playing one second and the very next be humped over expelling whatever they have eaten in the past day or so: dog food, sticks, socks. There is no time to use the "fast release" thong remover. Thankfully, the Dogone is completely washable and reusable.

3. Penis Stretcher
Nothing says, "I love you, but," more than a device that claims to extend the length of your man-junk by 40%. According to the advertisement for this medieval torture contraption, a man only has to wear it 6 hours a day for 6 months in order to see results. I am not sure how that is possible if you have to leave your house for any reason, but I suppose it would make a great conversation starter. "I apologize for the huge bulge in my pants, you see I am currently in the midst of a penile stretching program."

4.Remote Control Head Wrangler

Is there someone on your list who is always losing the remote control? Does that person yell for you to come from another room just to turn the channel on the television because he is too lazy to get up from the couch? Well, this is the gift for him! Imagine just strapping on full head gear that allows remotes to hang via velco from his face. Oh, the joy!

Apparently, it also comes in 1970's basketball player style.

5. A Diet Book of Any Sort

No. No, no, no, no, no. The last thing a person wants to unwrap after just inhaling 1,453 bourbon balls, 2 pecan pies, 1 pumpkin roll, and 4 gazillion cookies is a book reminding him or her of the need to drop some poundage. It's enough to make you want to pass on the third cup of eggnog. Almost.

6.  Bikini Line Genie - Shave Your Vagina in Sixty Seconds

Sometimes, the advertisement for a product is all you need to prove its inappropriateness. On that note, I will just give you a direct quote from this product's manufacturer:

"Ladies, is your muff hairier than a sheepskin shagpile? Do you want to get rid of all that hairy nonsense in 60 seconds? Then say hello to the Bikini Line Genie. These disposable pads will allow you to wax or shave your Southern regions, quickly, without risk of causing those irritating cuts and scrapes."

Yes, vagina Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

7.  Baby Arm Soap
Nothing says creepy like offering up your guests a stick of soap that looks just like a baby's arm. Everyone loves the way a baby smells, so why not have your hands (or whatever you wash with it) smell that way all the time? This gift could also double as a gentle reminder to small nieces and nephews or cousins who are visiting your usually kid-free home at the holidays of happens to boys and girls who break things in your home.

8. Penis Shaped Toothbrush

I am still puzzled at the purpose of this item which adds to its inappropriateness. When I first saw the words "penis shaped toothbrush" I assumed the novelty part would be the person placing a fake penis in his mouth every morning and evening when he brushed his teeth. However, when I received the toothbrush in the mail looked online at the picture, it is obvious that isn't the case. The penis is facing the wrong way. If the user wants, he can even totally avoid touching the penis part of the brush. What a crock, which is the only reason it is inappropriate.

9. Bacon Flavored Lube

I think this is definitive proof that bacon does NOT make every thing better.

10. Deer Scrotum Purses

This final gift is one I actually heard about from a friend. She recently hit a deer with her car--accidentally she said--and wanted to know if there was a way she could salvage the scrotum to make a purse. I made a few inquiries to friends of mine who were deer hunters or had husbands who were, and was met with terse, quick responses of "I don't know," or just, "No."

Because I'm already known as the weirdest man in my hometown, I decided to stop asking people how I could find or salvage a deer scrotum, and took my quest to the internet where I found there is quite a niche market for these sacks. However, be warned. A scrotum purse is not for every one. It may be one-of-a-kind and designer, but it's no Aigner.

So, that wraps up this year's list of High Inappropriateness. We are left with just one question:

Leave a comment if you have any more ideas or if you actually receive something that was even more inappropriate than these!

2011 List
2012 List

Merry Christmas!

Sunday, December 1, 2013

2013 Most Inappropriate Halloween Costumes

Always a day late and a dollar short, I am a bit embarrassed at the topic of today's post. But since we don't celebrate holidays in chronological order anymore, I decided what the hell, I'm doing it. We have all been looking at Christmas trees and eating Valentine's candy since late July, so I figure it won't kill you to read about Halloween in December.

On that note, I give you 2013 Most Inappropriate Halloween Costumes. Let the awkwardness begin:

Cute Baby as Ruthless Sociopath

OK, let's face it, some kids are going to be cute no matter what you put on them. But Hitler? What does little Tommy say when he gets to his daycare and his friend Sally, dressed as a butterfly,  asks who he is supposed to be? "Oh, some man who killed millions of people because they were different and then lead the world to near destruction? My dad thought I looked good with this mustache. Do you have any Reece Cups?"

No. Just, no. At this point in his life, Tommy is a blank slate. That isn't real facial hair. You can paint him up to look like any person you want, which I understand is one of the main reasons to have children in the first place. However, ruthless dictators are never a good idea.

The 'Ol Droopy Boob Gag 

Where to start with this? For one, my apologies to the poor airbrush artist who was asked to paint those hounds. I am sure he was sitting at his booth enjoying a nice fall festival and spreading happiness by painting "RIP Dale Earnhardt" or "Billy Jack loves LaWanda Dean" on the front of t-shirts made of something other than 100% cotton. Suddenly, Granny comes up and asks if she can have something special painted. Thinking she means a beer coozie or the back of her shorts, he eagerly agrees. The next thing he knows, Granny has pulled off her shirt, hauled up her ample bosom on to the table, and says she wants two dachshund-faced dogs in place of her appropriately looking wiener boobs.

Yes, she let the dogs out. Let's all be thankful she left cat inside.

 Just A Reason to Show Your Penis Costume

 I am not sure the point of this costume. Perhaps dude wants to show off his body in which case there are a ton of better options. Maybe it is a spin on the great SNL skit/video "Dick in a Box," but Justin Timberlake would never offer his dick to someone in a takeout pizza box. Pepperoni pizza, you say? All this does is sets up for people to raise that box and with a disappointed face say, "Oh. I asked for extra pepperoni."

Can you explain it?

  The Let's Make Fun of Less Fortunate People

Odds are we all know someone or one of our friends knows someone who has lost or nearly lost a home to foreclosure. Times are tough, man. The last thing you want at a Halloween party is someone thinking that losing your home is so funny and cute, it would make a great costume.

Furthermore, this costume implies that the wearer's bits are foreclosed. The breast windows are broken and boarded, and the VaJayJay door is bolted shut. What does this say about her? I am broke down and nasty? I am primarily used by squatters who are addicted meth and runaways? I'm cheap and a fixer-upper? No. No. No.

Suicide Bomber
I don't even...I can't...I just don't know what...

Overly Sexed-Up Baby Girls

In the words of P!nk, "Whatever happened to the dreams of a girl president? She's dancing in the video next to 50-cent." No wonder, people. No wonder.

Thanks for indulging me in this belated Halloween post. I had already found the pictures and saved them in their own folder. I am just to unorganized to waste all that effort. If it isn't too late for you, post a picture of your own favorite inappropriate costume in the comments!

Sunday, August 25, 2013

A Family Conversation

If you have ever wondered how I ended up being the slightly insane, excessively weird person I am, well speculate no more. As a treat, today the velvet rope is down. I am letting you see behind the heavy drapes concealing the inner-workings of my DNA.

The following are screen shots of a group text conversation my mother sent to me and sister this morning. In the text--and in real life for that matter--Ronnie Stewart is my mom. My sister's comments are labeled, well, "sis," and my remarks are the blue ones.

I think after reading this you will have a better understanding of the madness that courses through my veins.

  Explains a lot, doesn't it? 

Sunday, August 11, 2013

I'm Positive, This Is Hard Work

Being positive sucks. It is so much easier to spend your days complaining or wallowing around
in your own crabbiness or causing others misery. I get it. I am the first to admit I have a natural tendency to head to my bed, turn off all the lights, and eat my way through a pizza while thinking of worse case scenarios of any troublesome situation I face in life. I have to make a daily conscious effort to remain positive and optimistic in my thoughts. 

Not to get all new-agey on your ass, but I believe the thoughts and actions you send out into the world are mirrored and sent back to you as circumstances in your life. If you send out thoughts of being happy, you will begin to be happy. If you send out thoughts of having enough money, you will begin to have enough money. Be careful, though, because you have to be very specific, and you have to be willing to do the work in your actions and your daily life. 

Yes, I am a positive-thinking reader and fan of books like The Secret. I believe in cosmic relationships, relationships with the Cosmic, and even that certain sound waves can affect your mood and thinking. I try to meditate. Most importantly, I try to do good things—help people who need it, be a friend, volunteer for a cause, and other pleasant things. But the core of my living a positive life is found deep down inside me in a place only I can access. It is a place I have to nurture and tend to regularly.

If I don’t, just like the potted plants sitting on my porch in the August heat and humidity, it will begin to droop
and wilt away, slowly dying and leave me feeling uneasy and full of gloom and doom. When this does happen, when I fall off the Positive Wagon, I can immediately tell a difference in not only my thinking but also the way I feel physically. My snarkiness fades, my energy level drops, and anxiety rises. I feel like a cartoon character who has a little black rain cloud following him wherever he goes. 

A good example of this occurred just a couple of weeks ago. At the end of July, I attended the Appalachian Writers Workshop, a week-long writing event held at the Settlement School in Hindman, Kentucky. This workshop is one of the South’s most prominent gatherings of writers, drawing participants from all over the country. The setting is very similar to summer camp with the exception being the average age of the campers is probably somewhere in the mid-40s. 

Some aspects of human nature never really change, though, regardless of the age of the group. When you have a hundred people gathered together in communal living, you are going to have groups that naturally form among certain attendees. Also, this workshop is in its 36th year, so you have people who are regular attendees who look forward to spending the week with old friends each year. All completely understandable. 

Then there is me. 

This was only my second year attending, and in my crazy obsession to fit in and be friends with every one, I wanted to be a part of every group. I wanted immediate, deep friendships, complete with inside jokes, nicknames, and “remember when” stories. Of course, I already knew many of the attendees who were there and was busy creating those exact types of friendships. But instead of focusing on that, I chose to worry
about whether or not this person or that person liked me, about whether or not I would be invited to a party or a get-together, about whether or not I had made a good impression on some random stranger I had just met. Suddenly, I let my 42-year old self become an insecure high-school freshman all over again.
Thankfully, I realized this before the week at Hindman was over. I gave myself a swift kick to the rear, knocking my head loose from its stuck position there, and started counting my blessings for the week: I was getting to know my current friends there on a deeper level, I had made several new friends with whom I really connected and hoped would continue getting to know better, and had received many compliments and encouragement on my writing from both faculty and attendees. 

As soon as I realized this and began to view the positive, my entire outlook changed. I was energized and inspired. I was happy meeting and talking to whoever I could that week, and I came home with a bag full of ideas for new writing and several new friends.

For me, being positive is work. It is a conscious decision that I have to commit to daily. The alternative is unacceptable to me. The results are so worth whatever self-butt-kicking is needed in order to be happy.

I guess what I am saying is that it takes a lot of work to be as fabulous as me. 

Saturday, July 13, 2013

When inappropriate is appropriate

I was browsing through a software application that shows me where readers of my blog are finding me, where they are located, which posts they are reading, etc., when I came across this little piece of awesomeness.

Last November, someone from the U.S. House of Representatives server googled the phrase, "gifts for the inappropriate man." Naturally, I popped up on the results. If I am anything, it is inappropriate.

Sorry about the massiveness of this picture, but I wanted you to be able to read it! You can scroll to the right by using the arrows at the bottom of screen.
The genius of this is I am guessing it was probably some poor staffer working for some jerk-head Congressman--I'm looking at you, Mr. Boehner & Mr. Rangel--who treats him or her like crap. The staffer knew he would have to buy a Christmas gift soon for the old codger, so he googled "gifts for the inappropriate man." The obvious choice would have been Rep. Weiner, you know the guy who tweeted a picture of his actual wiener on the inter-web, but he had already resigned at that point.

All I can say, is kudos to you, whoever you are. If ever anyone deserved something from that gift list, it would be a U.S. Congressperson.

If you want to look at the list Google returned to the google-er, click below:

Inappropriate Last Minute Gifts

Sunday, July 7, 2013

An-Cay Ou-Yay Ear-Hay Ee-May Ow-Nay?

As a Verizon customer, I recently learned I am in the pool of Americans targeted by our federal government to collect and listen to bulk cell phone call and text data. The National Security Administration has been gathering this information without the knowledge or permission of Verizon customers. Read All About It

(You know how hot & humid that would be?)
My first reaction to this awareness was not outrage or dismay at the government. It was, instead, horror at what I may have said that could be misconstrued by an NSA gumshoe as potentially harmful to the safety of our country and result in my arrest and incarceration. 

Prison Orange does not look good on me, and I am the first to admit I am weak. The thought of being sent to Guantanamo Bay sends shivers to places on my body that should never shiver—mainly because Guantanamo is in tropical Cuba, and I bet the prisoner’s cells are not air-conditioned.  After sitting in my stifling hot cement cube for about fifteen minutes, I would start making up stories of Jihad starring my friends and family in order to get back to the American mainland.

(People on my call list.)
I decided to look over the contacts on my “favorites” list saved on my Verizon phone. I analyzed each one as to the potential threat they posed for my freedom. For the most part, I felt better after thinking through my recent conversations with each, although I once had talked in detail about how I could get away with murder to one of my cousins on the list. 

The one thing that did worry me was the eccentric conversations my friend David and I tend to have with each other on a regular basis. While not literally terroristic, if we were criminal masterminds it possibly could sound to the NSA as coded language for a plot to wreak havoc on the innocent. For instance:

(Not sure who this is, but when I googled David Spiggle, this image appeared.)
David:  “I think now that I have moved to San Francisco, my odds of becoming bffs with Ashley  
Judd are slightly lower.”
Keith: “Don’t say that. Ashley is a world traveler and I’m sure a Nashville-SanFran flight would mean nothing to her.”
David: “Judds are flying fools.”

This conversation could fall perfectly into some secret government agency’s metric and statistical flowchart to spell out an attack on Denver. You just never know.
(Dora ain't got anything on the NSA.)

Because of this thought, I began to scan my texts to see if any of them looked suspicious. What I
discovered was alarming. If the NSA decides that I am smart enough to develop a code in order to speak with my conspirators, I am screwed.

The following ten items are texts I have sent to Andy this past week alone. If you are looking at them from the viewpoint of some sleep deprived agent sitting in a dark, windowless CIA basement, drinking coffee, waiting for his big break, you would definitely think you finally had your man. These are dripping with hidden meaning:

1. The Scoomba isn’t working.

2. The mail keys are hung by the door.

3. Ruby needs measuring tape ASAP.

4. Dumpling dinner from Hal’s Fork will be delivered around noon.

5. Do your parents eat pesto?

6. The computer monitor is showing everything upside down.

7. Amy is having her baby tonight.

8. Let me in so I can get to your sack.

9. Crunchy tacos kick soft tacos ass.

10. You need to burn DVD.

Take my advice: review your texts and cell phone calls. Don’t end up like me—on the NSA’s short list of illegally-obtained-questionably-sane-but-potentially-harmful citizens.

P.S. If you do review your texts and have any good ones that could be used against you, share them with me.  It’s the least you can do, you heathen.

Saturday, April 6, 2013

A Facebookaholic's Grievance

(Redundant Title.)
So here's the thing. I love Facebook. I think it is a wonderful way to keep in touch with my friends who live far away as well as those who live in the same city. Sure, the political seasons can get rough and ugly. Yes, some controversial social issues are never going to go away. True, there are the
incessant requests from people encouraging you to play stupid games (By the way, my definition of a stupid game is any one that I do not currently play. If I play the game, then it is a highly intellectual game and worthy of seeing an invite to play on my feed.).

But by and large, Facebook allows me to see pictures of my friends and their children,  nice vacations people have taken, good food that's been eaten, and other things I would never get to share with the people I love. It also keeps me up to date on most current news items, television shows, movies, music, and pop culture.

All that being said, here is the thing I hate about Facebook: posters that tell you to share said poster if you (a) want to live, (b) don't want to kill your mother, or (c) hate North Korea. I have saved some of my the most ridiculous ones I have seen this past week, and I want to share my top five with you now.

What, was Bill Gates up late one night having a few glasses of wine and decide it would be great to see how many boobs he could get to fall for his trick?  "Hey honey, take my picture, take my picture, take my picture! I am going to post this on Facebook. Let's see who actually shares it! Is there more wine?"

Also note the large, white area of "paper" he is holding. It is conveniently large enough for say, ANYONE, to write, oh I don't know, ANYTHING on it via ANY computer picture editing program. I have seen this shared on my feed for months now, and I always question the mental stability of the person who shared it. The sharer always writes something like "Just in case!" or "Can't hurt to try!" when posting it. Yes, it can hurt to try. It makes you stupid. Stop it.

As a child, when I wanted a puppy, kitten, duck or hamster, I knew the two people who held my fate were my mom and dad. There were no others involved in the decision. Had I gathered a petition of names who agreed with me that I should be allowed to have a pet and presented it to my parents, they would have thrown it in the garbage can while telling me this is what they thought of those signatures. Then my father would have pulled the papers back out of the garbage can, wiped off the coffee grounds and banana peels, and had me go back to each person who signed them and ask them for money for pet food and a block of three hours per week they were willing to watch the new bundle of fur.

These Facebook picture requests range from getting a pet, to convincing a partner to have sexual relations, to getting married. I hate them all and if you post one on my wall, I will wish that you never get a puppy, always remain a virgin, and never find love. That's just how I roll, man.

Okay. Wow. Seriously? I mean this is some serious business right here. I am on Facebook via my iPhone while sitting in the doctor's office waiting for my name to be called. I just want to see what's up and BAM! Someone hits you with this demand. Really? As if God and the Devil have a running Facebook contest going to see who will win the battle of good vs. evil. What will happen to me now because the nurse comes out as soon as I read this and calls me back to the office? I don't have time to like or share. It appears that I have scrolled on by, thus declaring my love for the Devil himself.

Oh that's right, IT ISN'T REAL.

Along the same vein, there are tons of signs that give the actual percentage of people who "care at all" or "have one shred of decency" or "don't live like wild animals" and will like and repost a sign. I like this one because the person also throws in that God has already seen you read this. You are trapped now. There is no backing out. You have been seen by the Big Guy. Boom.

I always want to ask where this percentage came from. Who exactly did the study and where can the specifics of the survey be found, but I know that would be too much. By asking, you automatically make yourself part of the 97% of heathens who barbarically keep on scrolling. Idiot.

This last one is my least favorite. It is the picture of a wildly deformed newborn baby. The picture looks like a real picture that someone has just snapped in the hospital nursery, until you read the caption: IF WE CAN GET 5 GAZILLION LIKES, THE MT. SINAI HOSPITAL WILL PERFORM SURGERY TO GIVE THIS BABY ANOTHER EYE. IF WE CAN'T, THEN THE PARENTS WILL HAVE TO CHOP OFF THE ONE EXISTING EYE AND TRY TO MAKE IT WITH A BLIND, GREEN CHILD. THE CHOICE IS YOURS.

You don't even have to ask me what my choice is in this situation.

So there you have my 5 Facebook hates. Do you have any that I forgot to mention or didn't make my list? Tell me about them.

By the way, I know only 3% of you will tell me.