You Forker

Dieter's Awake!

For those of you who have tried dieting and have failed, I have found the reason why you haven't been able to shed those pounds. You've been using the wrong fork. I know. I mean, it seems so fucking obvious! But, have no fear because the "most revolutionary breakthrough in dieting" is here! I really thought there'd be more to it than just a plastic fork. But, the website claims that this amazing fork has the following qualities:

• Shorter and dulled teeth inhibiting user from grasping larger pieces of food at any one time
• Smaller triangular shaped surface area allowing dieter to hold less food than many other forks
• Uncomfortable grip compelling user to put fork down between bites, slowing the user's eating speed
• It can also reflect bullets from your fellow diners who are shooting at you because you actually bought this fork.

You can get 10 of these fantabulous, plastic wonderforks for a mere $8.95. Or you could just go buy a baby spoon and get the same results. Or try eating with a popsicle stick. Or a pair of tweezers. Or your toes. Or a plastic fork that's on fire.

Whatever you choose to use, good luck on the weight loss.

Take Care,

Babs

Hookers for Jesus

I know what you're thinking, but I promise you I did not come up with that title on my own. I only wish with all my hope and might that I could come up with something that clever. And Hookers for Jesus isn't a bunch of Christians getting together to fish. Which would actually make more sense on account of how Jesus was always fishing and stuff.

No, Hookers for Jesus is an organization ran by a former...wait for it...hooker who has found Jesus and given up her trampish ways. That's right, kids, Annie Lobert used to be a high class ho, but now she spends her time wading through the muck of sin and debauchery in Las Vegas trying to convince other hookers that they need to give up their life of whoredom and let Jesus be their pimp.

The good news is, while Annie's doing all that slumming with the hoochies, she fits right in.

What I simply adore about this shirt:

1. It's sparkly.
2. The hook on the end of the H - unbelievably clever.
3. It has a Jesus fish on it. A very sparkly Jesus fish.
4. There's a chance that the word HOOKERS could be misread as HOOTERS, and I think Hooters for Jesus is just a little bit funny.
5. It's kinda slutty looking.
6. You can't read the website address on the shirt, because it's tucked up underneath her very ample hookers hooters.

Take Care,
Babs

God Loves Him Some Eggplant

A Delaware couple think they've found the capital G-o-d in an eggplant. Well, not the big guy himself - just his name. Felicia Teske was getting ready to fry up some eggplant one night and upon slicing a piece discovered what she thinks is the word "God" spelled out in the seeds.

Well, I think Felicia is capital W-r-o-n-g. I think the seeds spell capital G-i-d. Now, Gid could be the capital G god's street name, but I'm thinkin' he probably goes by something more along the lines of Wiggy G or something. Anyway, back to my theory. I think the seeds spell "Gid".

See? Doesn't that look more like Gid? And since everyone knows that anytime you find a word in your eggplant, you're supposed to read it backwards, this really should be "dig".

So, Felicia, you need to count the seeds in your miraculous eggplant, stand directly under the full moon, face east and then walk off the same amount of steps that you have seeds, and then you dig.

GET IT? You DIG and then you'll find buried treasure. Or maybe a rock. Or an old spoon. A magical old spoon with amazing spoon powers. Or it might be a beer can tab from 1974, but I'm sure it will be something way cool. And worth much more than the money you'll get should you sell your eggplant on eBay.

I honestly don't think my theory is any wackier than Felicia thinking that because she had some deaths in the family recently, the capital G god decided to make himself known in an eggplant.

Take Care,
Babsadoodle

Eat it and Weep

Put a Fork in Her. She is Done

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of visiting my doctor due to the surprise visit of a UTI. UTI is fancy medical terminology for "my pee-pee place hurt." Anyhooha (get it...hooha), um...I was sitting in one of the examining rooms anxiously awaiting the results of my urinalysis (another fancy medical term that means I peed in a cup and they tested it), I noticed a poster on the wall. It was of the digestive system. I guess they had to put me in the digestion room because they are lacking a pee-pee place room. Upon closer examination of this poster I discovered something oddly horrifying, yet funny. This poster had a fork holding back the liver so everyone could take a gander at this person's gallbladder. A fork. As in, well, a fucking fork. I couldn't find the exact poster, so I took the liberty of creating my own so you can share in the pleasure of seeing a fork stuck in someones liver.
Lovely, isn't it?

That Jesus Sho' Gets Around

Today I went to lunch with a co-worker/friend. She needed to run by her church to get something and on the way there she asked if I believed in the images of Jesus that people see. After pulling my car out of the ditch, I informed her that I did not. She obviously does not read Flumadiddle, and I'm obviously not going to tell her she should. She then told me that there was an image of Jesus on the wall of their church.

Christ on a stick! Or on a wall, in this case. Here was my big chance for a Jesus sighting. I was even going to take pictures and everything. We arrived at the church. I entered it. Contrary to popular belief, I can enter a church without it spontaneously combusting. There was nary a flicker of a flame. When she pointed out the Wall O' Jesus, she had that oddly peaceful look on her face, and I couldn't take the picture. I tried gently telling her that all I saw was water stains and someone had better check the roof. But she was in awe of her Jesus on the wall, and really didn't care that I didn't see it.

I just didn't have the heart to take any pictures so we could laugh at them. Maybe that means I have double standards, 'cause I sure as hell don't mind making fun of anyone else. But she's my bud, and if she thinks she sees Jesus on the wall, I'm not going to try and change her mind.

Just like she didn't try and change mine.

Fuck. I'm getting soft.

It's a Secret

Don't tell anyone...well you can if you must, but I've started a new blog. I'm trying to keep it as anonymous as possible. It's called Northwest Arkansas Eats, and it's my reviews of local restaurants. Now, most of you probably don't care about the fare in Arkansas, but maybe the local readers will.

The only qualifications that I have for writing restaurants reviews are: 1. I have taste buds. 2. They work. 3. I was visited by the God of Gastronomy and she said it was my life's calling.

And you don't want to argue with her.

Take Care,

Babs

Tag and the Ice Cream Man

Tagged

The ever-charming and simply adorable, Claudia was kind enough to tag me. I have to answer these with one word. How the hell is a bablatrice supposed to answer with only ONE word? Oh well, here we go.

Yourself: Kooky
Your partner: missed
Your hair: reddish
Your mother: spineless
Your father: dickhole
Your favorite item: piano
Your dream last night: freaky
Your favorite drink: tea
Your dream car: chauffeured
Dream home: cottage
The room you are in: spare
Your fear: clowns
What you are great at: laughing
Where you want to be in 10 years: beach
Who you hung out with last night: myself
You're not: graceful
One of your wish list items: wisdom
The last thing you did: peed
You are wearing: contacts
Your favorite weather: fall
Your favorite book: well-written
Last thing you ate: potato
Your life: arriving
Your mood: relaxed
Your best friend: Stace
What are you thinking about right now: hair
Your car: demonic
What are you doing at the moment: typing
Relationship status: unfortunate
What is on your t.v: nada
When is the last time you laughed: tonight

So, I'm going to tag: The Pope - just 'cause I think his answers would totally rock, Church Sign Guy - so I can see if we really are as compatible as I think, and anyone wearing green pants with a purple shirt right now.

I'm Your Ice Cream Man

When I got home this afternoon, I could hear the ice cream truck in the distance, and the song it was playing was Turkey in the Straw. Only in Arkansas, people. Anyway, a few minutes later there was a frantic knock at my door and 3 sweaty, wild-eyed kids around 10-ish were standing there. Empty handed, antsy, and looking askance at one another. And to make the story more interesting, I'm pretty sure they were packing. At least one kept reach for a bulge in her sock. And she kept giving me the crazy eye. Here's how the conversation went.

Neighborhood Gang Leader: "Hello, we're accepting donations for the veteran...I mean the veterinary...um...veterinarian ....yeah...down the street. He's down the street. All we're asking for is a dollar."

Me: "I'm not interested."

Neighborhood Gang Leader: "Well, we'll take less than a dollar."

Me: "No thanks."

Very Tenacious Neighborhood Gang Leader: " Every little penny helps."

Me: "Does the veterinarian drive an ice cream truck?."

Wide-Eyed Totally Busted Neighborhood Gang Leader: "Um..no..okay...uh...thanks anyway."

Then they damn near tripped over one another trying to make it down the stairs. Now, I have to give the thievin' little bastards credit for creativity and for having the gonads to try this. But their story was pretty lame. A veterinarian? C'mon kids, you should've stuck with veteran. You know, the veteran who just gave his life-savings to his sister so she could have a liver transplant, and now he and his 5 kids are surviving on half-eaten reuben sandwiches they dig out of dumpsters. And his wife left him for the veterinarian because she got tired of eating corned-beef. That veteran may have snagged you some ice cream money.

Besides, there isn't a veterinarian down the street.

The thing is, if they'd told me that they just wanted money for ice cream, I would have gladly given them their dollar, or three. The thievin' little bastards.

Take Care,
Babs

Googl-oetry and the Pope

The Exterminator over at No More Hornets has come up with a new poetic form, and I have to say it is buhrilliant! I seriously think it should become the next blog trend. If there is such a thing. I'm so non-trendy, I wouldn't know.

I know you're all damn near peeing your pants in anticipation of what the hell Googl-oetry is, so I'll tell you because I'd hate to think of all my readers sitting around in urine soaked underthings, should you be wearing underthings.

Googl-oetry is where you take the goofy Google searches that have led people to your blog, and you turn them into poetry. Kinda like the episode of Dirty Jobs where the dude took cow poop and turned it into flower pots. Only a lot less useful, but much nicer smelling. Unless you really did pee your pants.

Anyway, my poems are more like very free-form, fucked up haiku. These are all the exact searches that people have used -even the titles. I've only inserted a conjunction or two, and these are italicized. Conjunction junction, what's your function? Hooking up words and phrases and clauses.

Sorry, had a little flashback there. By the way, I absolutely loved (and not-so-secretly, still do love) Schoolhouse Rock. The kooky thing is that I had to sneak watching it because it was considered by my mother to be devil music. It was called ROCK, for fuck's sake. I'm sure she thought that if I watched it, I'd shun my religion and become a heathen.

Whatta ya know? She was actually right about something.

What was I doing? Oh yeah, my Googl-oetry. I sure as hell went a long way around to get to it, huh?

Scrotum Poem

Padlock scrotum,
padlock scrotum.
Scrotum chapped.

Spanky McFeely

Vagina librarian?
Crotch doctor,
or San Antonio hooker?

Homosexual Reformation

Outta that hole.
You wascally
rabbit.

Randy Ross, Teens-4-Christ

Strange evil, unknown
addiction to carbonation,
porn and pancakes.

Bondage in Garage

Crucifixion with nails,
and a video
of a boar copulating.

Caption Me

You know that fun little thing we did about 3 months ago where I posted a picture and you guys came up with a caption for it? You also know how it was supposed to be more frequent than 3 month intervals. Well, I kinda forgot about it. But not anymore!

He kinda looks like the love-child of Glenda the Good Witch and Dorothy, doesn't he?

Take Care,

Babsaroni

It's All About the Jesus - Now with a map

That Jesus Sho' Gets Around

You wanna know why Jesus hasn't been around much lately? It's because Deb Serio of Forest, Virginia has been holding him hostage underneath a paint can. I'd have to do some research to be positive, but I'm betting that's not even legal. No matter, because Deb's conscience finally got the better of her, and she raised that heavy load of paint from the face of Jesus and now JC is free from the sin of smelling noxious paint fumes all day and he's ready to be shipped to the highest bidder on Ebay. That's right! You could be the proud owner of Garage Floor Jesus. And if this isn't a smart art investment, then I don't know what is.

The best part is, the last time I checked, no one has bid on Jesus, so you can probably snatch him up for a bargain. I'd buy him myself, but I already have a Garage Floor Satan and those two would probably bicker all the time.

Besides, to me this looks more like a Planet of the Apes era Charleton Heston. But, Chuck - Jesus. They're both gun-totin' bad asses.

What really worries me is that I keep noticing moles on Jesus' face. I really think you should get that checked, Son-of-You-Know-Who. Skin cancer proably isn't going to be any more fun than that crucifixion thing.

Magical Jesus Tour

Here is the map Fwig so kindly requested. I really have meant to keep this updated, but I'm a lazy little beehotch sometimes. Anyway, so far California and Texas are tied at 2 for the big J sightings. I really can't believe that Arkansas doesn't even have one stinkin' sighting.

Do you think it's because Jesus knows I live here and he's scared of me?

I'll bet that's it.

Church Sign O' the Week

"Lifeguard on duty. Ours walks on water."

It's mid-summer and Church Sign Guy is feelin' the local swimming pool groove. I feel it, too Church Sign Guy. I think it's because we're so close. You wanna know the really trippy part of this whole chlorine-induced groove? I found a picture of J-Dawg as a lifeguard. Jesus Hasellhoff Christ! He sure does have some nice man boobs, huh?


And how cool would it be if Jesus turned all that pool water into wine? Nevermind, I forgot that there would probably be a bunch of little kid pee in it. And no one really wants little kid pee in their wine.

Take Care,
Babs - High Priestess and General Dork of The Church of the Bablatrice