Spelling, Schmelling

I was talking to a friend today and he was telling me about a sign he saw. A sign he should have taken a picture of, but didn't. It was a sign for a proofreading business. A simple sign. Very simple.

It read:

Provereading here.

Grease Is The Word

You know how a couple of weeks ago I wrote the enthralling epic about Michael Jackson showing up in a greasy pan? Well, I guess Jesus read my blog and got jealous about all the attention MJ was getting so he decided to make his own greasy appearance. Oliver Billerby of Yorkshire discovered the big J after cooking a hamburger. Excuse me, after burning a hamburger.

It's probably just me, but does it look like Jesus is eating the head off another person? Maybe it's some kind of freaky communion ritual, or maybe it's just that I'm heavily medicated.

Nah. Jesus definitely just ate someone's head. Nom. Nom. Nom.

Later,
Babsadoodle - who KNEW Jesus read her blog!

Church Sign O' The Week

The ever lovely Kathleen sent me a picture of this church sign. I'm not sure I have words to describe it.

Wow, Church Sign Guy! Who knew you were such a redneck? I think next week the sign should read, "Open a can of whoop ass for Jesus".

Yeefuckin'haw,
Babs

Memory Loss is Groovy

Yesterday I was going through some old documents on my almost broken and very decrepit PC. I came across this list and I have no idea why I have it. I seriously don't remember writing it or why I would need it. So, I'm going to share it with you just to give it some kind of purpose. Also, if you leave a comment you have to use one of these phrases in it.

Keep on truckin’
Right on
Bad
Boogie
10-4 good buddy, over and out.
Can ya dig it?
Dyn-o-mite
Far out, man.
Foxy mama
Funky
Gimme five
Slap me some skin
Groovy
Jive Turkey
Joshin’
Outta sight
Sit on it
Up your nose with a rubber hose.

I was obviously having some freaky 70s flashback.

It really is far out, man.
Babs

A Poem

I just wanted everyone to know that my silence over the past week or so is because I got nothin'. I don't know if it's a lack of material, writer's block or just having the blahs, but I don't have a single thing to write about other than writing about not having anything to write about.

So, I'll share one of my poems. At least it will fill up space.

Constant Company

The dead are here. They breathe
on white sheets that I clip
to a cotton line, and suck the water
from coarse towels. They sit quietly
between rows of beans and glazed tomatoes;
filter dark earth through fingers
that once picked green peas from the vine.

The dead are here. They wait
until I pass through the shaded doorway
so they can whisper on my neck.
The words are indistinct,
yet I know they carry with them
the wisdom I have yet to attain.
It is there on the edge of my mind
waiting to find its way to my lips
like a name that one forgets
only to have it drop
from those spaces in your memory
where thoughts go to hide.

The dead are here. They rest
on faded red cushions and watch
as I soap the baby in the cool white sink.
Taste as I stir the pot of soup;
tell me when I’ve added too much salt.
They bring me notes from an unseen place
as I sit at a piano whose keys
are smooth from years of play.
And when night falls, the dead
gather on the edge
of sheets that smell like the sun,
and listen
as I read aloud these words.

Love,
Rachel

Ingenuity

Love,

Babs

Under the Influence and In the News

Nevada native Sean Smith was feelin' a bit tense, and decided that a nice blend of LSD and weed would be just the thing to take away all his cares and woes. Sean then decided that to further decrease his stress level, he should take a leisurely stroll down the highway. Naked. While claiming he was the Terminator. Unfortunately, his little bubble of bliss was popped when the police caught up with him and tasered him in front of a group of children.

In other news, Clayton Ernest Adams, who hails from Crestview, Fl, is doomed to suffer from a horrible malady which makes him a complete moron when he drinks. Police were called to a domestic disturbance call at Clayton's blessed abode which he shares with his beloved wife, Clarice Janette. I actually have no idea what his wife's name is. I just think Clayton Ernest and Clarice Janette sound right together. Anyway, the police were needed because Clayton complained that Clarice had locked him inside his truck. Inside. As in, inside the fucking truck. Poor Clayton Ernest had to break a window to get out.

Big Kisses,
Babs

20 Ways to Be a Kid

Summer's here and it's the perfect time to be a kid. Go have fun. It's good for you.


Here's the list:

1. Catch lightning bugs
2. Play hopscotch
3. Chase down the ice cream truck
4. Blow soap bubbles
5. Hula hoop
6. Swing
7. Have friends over to play hide and go seek
8. Cloud watch
9. Camp out in the back yard
10. Jump off a rope swing over a river
11. Play in the sprinkler
12. Have a mud fight
13. Build an indoor fort with chairs and sheets
14. Eat watermelon on the back porch and spit the seeds
15. Have a water balloon or squirt gun war
16. Climb a tree
17. Skip stones
18. Go wading in a creek
19. Create a masterpiece with sidewalk chalk
20. Laugh until your sides hurt.


Feel free to add more in the comment section

Love,
Babs

Here Comes Peter Cottontail

Hi kids! Today's sermon involves a pastor, a bunny and a town named Moorhead. Even though it may sound like one of my freaky fantasies, it's not. It's another church scandal! Yay!

Pastor Mark Ostergarden has been having an affair with a stripper, I'm sorry, a dancer named Bunny Byington for the past 3 years. It started off with him paying for a dance and then progressed to him paying for sex. Then one very magical day, Mark and Bunny decided they'd come to the point in their relationship where money didn't need to be exchanged anymore. That was also the day Mark asked Bunny to go steady, and then gave her his class ring.

Recently, however, Mark and Bunny got into a bit of a spat when she allegedly demanded that Mark pay her thousands of dollars or she would expose their affair. Mark refused to pay the money, so she blabbed to the church, and even emailed one of the church dudes a pic of Mark sporting only a t-shirt and underwear. Now, Mark and the church dude are having an affair.

Oh how I kid.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, Bunny has since been arrested for extortion. Here's a pic of her mugshot.

Oh my.

Hold the phone. Is she missing her right ear? If she's a one-eared stripper, that's one of the coolest things I've ever seen.

But she still frightens me.

Somebody please hold me,
Babs

Thank you, Dan, for sending me this story. And, no, I'm still not paying you for it. The story, that is.

Just Call My Name and I'll Be There

It's bad enough that I have to keep up with Jesus and his mother popping up in various and assorted objects, but now guess who's starting to make appearances? Michael Jackson.

Felix Garcia of Stockton, California is claiming that he's seen the image of Michael in a tree stump.

I hate to tell you this, Felix, but that's not the King O' Pop. That's an angry Monchichi and you'd better hope it doesn't break free from it's stump. Seriously, dude, it will jack your shit up. Look how evil Monchichis are.

Scary little fuckers, aren't they?

Michael then hopped the Afterlife Express to Lajeado, Brazil so he could show up in a greasy pan. I dunno why he'd pick a greasy pan in Brazil. He was a very strange man and I cannot explain his reasoning.

Te Amo,
Babs

Hate It

You know what I hate?

The phrase "creative juices".

I absolutely detest that phrase. If it was a person I'd want to throat punch it and then set its pubic hair on fire.

I'm so glad I got that off my chest.

Love,
Babs

Just a Squirrel Lookin' For a Nut

I think we'd all agree that I've blogged about some weird shit here on Flumadiddle. This story has to be in the top three.

An unnamed woman - wait, you guys know how I hate 'unnamed' anything, so let's call this woman deranged and we'll name her Betty. Why the hell not? Betty was recently questioned by police in Warren, Ohio about a crime. I suppose there's nothing special in that, but the part that kinda buries the needle on the kooky meter is that Betty had a live squirrel tucked in her cleavage during the entire interrogation.

She also had a chipmunk shoved in her ass crack.

Okay, I made up the chipmunk part.

I hope.

Here's a shot of Betty performing her death-defying "Squirrel In My Cleavage" trick.


Can anyone explain why?

Warm Hugs and Sloppy Kisses,
Babs

Bananas and Bibles!

One News Now has done it again. Another gripping article is up, and this one is about Ray Comfort. Ray's the dude who hangs out with Kirk Cameron and has the anti-evolution video in which he uses a banana as a demonstration tool. He's the banana man, and you can catch some hot banana action here.

Anyway, Ray was sitting around one night stroking his banana (it helps him think), and he had a flash of brilliance in which he realized that atheists and evolutionists don't have a bible. Hold the phone. What? They don't have a what? Holy, holy books, Batman! No bible? How do they manage to accomplish life's simplest of tasks without a bible to guide them in their every step?

But Ray's epiphany didn't stop there. He further taxed his brain and decided that atheists and evolutionists need a bible. Why? Let's have Ray explain it, "You ask one atheist something and he'll say I believe this about God -- and someone else will say something else," he shares. "They don't have a 'bible'...there is no rock to stand on."

Sweet Jesus on a paper plate! First no bible and now no rock? Someone hold me because I am scared. So scared and ever so cold. Just end the world now. Side note to Ray: If an atheist states that he believes something about God, guess what? Not an atheist.

The good news is that Ray has come up with an amazing solution to the lack of an atheist/evolutionist bible. He has written the Charles Darwin Bible. Well, hot dog and hallelujah! That's brilliant! Brilliant, I say. I only have one question.

What the fuck is a Charles Darwin Bible?

Well, Ray the Stroking Banana Man says that the Charles Darwin Bible takes a lot of evolutionary beliefs and juxtaposes them with scripture to create a clear case for the creator. I have trouble believing he really said that. Mostly because I don't think Ray knows what the word 'juxtaposes' means. I also think it's highly possibly that Ray is one chicken choker short of a circle jerk.

Anywho, I'd love to get my hands on Ray's banana. NO. That's not right. I'd love to get my hands on Ray's Charles Darwin Bible. So if any of you have one, give it up. I need it.

By the way, Bananas and Bibles is my new curse phrase. Oh Bananas and Bibles!

Smacks on the Ass,
Babs

Desperately Seeking

And now it's time for another round of weird shit people have searched for that have led them to Flumadiddle Land, and my responses to their searches.

• Odd quirky one liners – Eating bacon makes me touch myself.
  
  
• Whatever you want whatever you need I just want you back from god – Sorry. I’m god’s bitch, now. It’s a lifelong thing. He even made me spit shake on it.
  
  
• Birthday spanking dress position – I’m going to guess, um , up. Up would be good.
  
  
• Wash their hair with pee – No! Don't wash their hair with pee. You can buy cheap shampoo for about a buck.
  
  
• Balls hanging from exhaust pipe – Quit Googling this shit and get to an emergency room, man . Your nuts are on an exhaust pipe for fuck’s sake.
  
  
• Seven pigs – 18 chickens, 2 cows, 4 horses, 1 Luther Vandross CD = unforgettable night.
  
  
• How Fred Astaire’s levitating cane works – That’s not a levitating cane. He’s just happy to see you. Very , very happy.
  
  
• Babs tits – I have two. They’re kind of a matching pair although the right one is a tad bigger than the left.
  
  
• Shameless, Babs – Yeah, probably so.
  
  
• What can pee do for the skin – The only thing I know of is that it can make your skin smell like pee. Which is awesome if you want to smell like a bad nursing home.
  
  
• Chopstick acupuncture – Holy fuckmonkeys! That’s not acupuncture. That’s impaling.
  
  
• Please, Mr. Postman penis – Is that what the song is really about? Ohhhh. I get it now. "Please, Mr. Postman. Wait and see. If there’s a letter in your bag for me.” And then Mr. Postman says, “I got your letter right here, dollface.”
  
  Forever Yours,
  Maiden Babsalot

4kd78fq2gi

What Stinks?

When you walk in the door of your home are you assaulted by foul odors? Worried that you're doomed to a life of a living somewhere that smells like old, crusty ass? Well, you can kick your worries right in the jimmy, because I have the solution to your odor problem.

His Essence Candles. See, they're candles that are made from the essence of Jesus. I know! Could anything be more awesome? I think not. Now, I'm not exactly sure just what part of Jesus his essence comes from. I'm not even sure how they extract it. But I have to admit that thinking about the possibilities does leave me a bit tingly. All I know is that once you start burning a candle that is filled with Jesus essence, your home will smell just like the son of the capital G god.

You might think that candles would be enough, but can you ever have too much Jesus essence? Um, that would be one big no motherflippin' way! So you really need to get one of these totally bitchin' His Essence mugs.

What better way to start your morning than having a big ol' cup of Essence o' Jesus? Deelicious!

Amen and Hallelujah!
Babs

VERY SPECIAL FLUMADIDDLE MESSAGE: Sometimes I'm a dumbass. I just realized that when I wrote the post about my crush, The Chemical Buddha, I didn't directly link to it. Um, fuckin' duh! So, here's the link: The Chemical Buddha. Also, TCB is dead and his 'monks' write the blog. Christ on a stick, I'm not a very good promoter...but I mean well, TCB. I really do!

Santa Baby

Recently the Magnificent Fwig requested a return of an old post, and I can deny him nothing. This one was originally posted in 2006. I can't believe I've been blogging that long. Even more amazingly is that some of you have been around for most of it Anyway, here it is. A little Christmas in June.

Dear Santa

In the local paper this week (yep - our town only has a weekly paper) there were letters to Santa from kids at the local schools. Here are a few of the better ones, with my comments. Did you really think I wouldn't comment?

Dear Santa, Is it cold up ther? I am shr it is. dont wre it will be wrm in my house. there will be hot chaliket. i been bad and good sometimes. I hop I get the theng's I want for cricmus. I hop you will give me wut I want for cricmus. Love, Will

Will- I hop you get what you want for cricmus, too - as well as a few vowels. You need them.

Dear Santa, How are you and Mrs. Claus? Thank you for the gifts that you gave me last year. I would like to have pjs also a barbie. I will leve you cookies and milk. Merry Christmas, Jennifer.

Jen - If Santa doesn't bring you pajamas and a Barbie, he's a big, fat mean bastard, and I will personally help you kick his ginormous, lard-filled ass.

Dear Santa, I hope you and Mrs. Claus are okay. Thank you for the prezes. I wuld like to have for Christmas this year I'd like to have urk eestrik log shot. Id like to havv ddgn. I will leave kookez and nelk. Zakkari

Um...Zak..are you an alien? 'Cause the last half of your letter sounds a lot like what I would imagine alien-speak to be.

Dear Santa, I wont to send you a meshig. What I rillie want is a new puppy. Next, I rillie wont is a horse. Last, I onte is a nother puppy for crismus. I rillie want theshe things. Love, Kensey.

Kensey - you're entirely too young to be drinking. Lay off the sauce until you're at least in the 5th grade, okay?

Dear Santa, My name is Autumn. I really want a baby bed for all of my dolls. I would like to say "I love you, and be safe, your going to splash your bottom going into my house."

Autumn, dear child, do you possibly live in a houseboat? Swamp? A raft in the middle of a pond? C'mon kid, I'm dyin' to know exactly how Santa's going to get a wet tush going to your house.

Dear Santa, I hope you and Mrs. Claus are don w wenl. Thank you fur the presents. I would like to have for Christmas this year is a makn chrowch chok. And I wont is a now viteo gom. And the last sta I kan am irtnel is I wont a I wont a naw bike. Gabe

Yo Gabe! Are you by any chance related to Zak the Alien?

Dear Santa, Emily is my name. I would love to have a yellow moon shape touch light from the dollar tree. I would like to say "Merry Christmas and tell the rain deer hi for me."

It just breaks my heart that Emily only asks for one thing from the Dollar Tree. The Dollar Tree, people, where everything's a fucking dollar. Emily, if I knew who you were, I'd go to the Dollar Tree and buy you every single yellow moon touch lamp they had.

Eggnog For Everyone,
Babs

Pimpin' my Crush

I have added a new blog to my blog roll. It is The Chemical Buddha and it's one of my daily reads. Mostly because I have a seriously major crush on The Chemical Buddha. He's an alcoholic. He's addicted to drugs, and he'll have sex with anything that will hold still. But somehow, underneath all of his vulgar behavior, there's something sweet and endearing and vulnerable about him. If he were here right now I'd give him a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and I'd probably grab his ass. With both hands.

Anyway, go check it out. It's worth the read. Unlike my blog, it actually makes you think.

Warm Fuzzies,
Babs

Space Oddity

Those fun-lovin', nutty right-wingers over at One News Now are in one helluva self-righteous flap. Why the tizzy? Because that godless assemblage of bastard-type, space-loving, hell-bound, rocket-riding degenerates collectively known as NASA is supporting Gay and Lesbian Pride Month. Holy slippery Christ on a greased up trampoline, people!

I'm not sure if I should start with the fact that ONN decided that this graphic of a fudge covered space shuttle would be the best clip art for the article, or that the dude who wrote it is named Charlie Butts.

Smell that? That, my friends, is the aroma of maturity and I reek of it.

I suppose I really can't blame ONN for having their nuts in a lather over this. We all know that this is just one more step in homosexuals taking over the world solar system universe (which has been their diabolical plan all along). They're already stepping things up. You know how there used to be a gay agenda? Well, that wasn't spreading the gay fast enough so it's actually mutated into a disease. That's right. We now have...


The Gay is an airborne disease and is spread by Air Supply songs and by making direct eye contact with anyone named Charlie Butts.

Your face masks are futile. Taste the rainbow, bitches!

Much Love,
Babs - who doesn't really think any of you are a bitch. Well, except for YOU. You know who you are.

Best. Conversation. Ever.

Here's a little background to the dialogue: Miller is 5 and is a friend's son. The unnamed girl is around 8 and is a neighbor of Miller's. She has a dog named Willie. Here's the conversation I overheard yesterday while the two of them were playing with the dog.

Miller: I have a cat named Buddy.
Girl: Really?
Miller: Not Willie. Buddy.
Girl: Really?
Miller: No. Buddy. Not Willie.
Girl: Really?
Miller: NO. His name isn't Willie. It's Buddy.
Girl: Really?
Miller: NO. IT'S NOT WILLIE. IT'S BUDDY!

I stepped in at that point and explained that she was saying 'really', not 'Willie'. I thought it was best before he beat up a girl.

Later,
Babs

Keepin' it Tight!

While browsing church websites, as I'm wont to do in my spare time, I came across South Mountain Village Assembly of God. The church seems to be your typical Christian church and I don't really have anything to say about it except to point out their poor choice of a web address.

And by 'poor', I mean 'fucking awesome'.

Big Hugs,
Babsadoodle

Extra Fruity!

Everyone, say hello to Janine Sugawara. I guess this would be a better introduction if I actually had a photo of Janine, but sadly I do not. Janine is some kind of special. The stupid kind. What did Janine do to win such high praise? I think it has something to do with her being in court recently trying her darnedest to win a lawsuit in which she claims she was duped because the crunch berries in Cap'n Crunch Crunch Berries cereal aren't real fruit.

What the fuckity fuck? There's not a delectable fruit known as a crunch berry? I feel as though my entire life has been a lie.

Astonishingly enough, Janine did not win her case.

Psst, Janine. You should totally sue those bastards again, because Cap'n Crunch? Not one single captain in the box.

Oh, the disappointments of life.

Smooches,
Babs

Shameless Plugs and Clowns

For Christ's Sake, Quit Clownin' Around

John Claussen is a pastor in the fine city of Des Moines, and he thinks that maybe people are getting bored with his sermons. I'm betting John's assumption is correct. But no worries, because this summer John is taking Sunday morning to a new level. A level of epic proportions. And how is he doing this? By dressing up as a clown. As in, he's going to be dressed as a clown while he preaches.

Holy flaming pulpits, Batman!

A preaching clown = scarier than anything I could have even imagined. Ever. Especially when you throw in that his 'clown name' is Leviticus W. Doorknocker, which to me sounds like some totally pervy Amish dude.

Anywho, John's not stopping with clowns. No way, Jose. John's going to have a different theme every Sunday. Like Cowboy Sunday and Uniform Sunday and Billy Bob's Barnyard Bible School.

Kinky, John. I love it! In fact, I love it so much that I have a few more theme ideas for you along with the corresponding sermon titles. It's just my little contribution to the Lord's work.

• Pirate Sunday - Ya Scurvy Dogs are Walkin' the Plank Straight to Hell
• Sci-Fi Sunday - God's Ray Gun is Bigger Than Yours
• Mardi Gras Sunday - For the Love of God, Show Me Your Tits
• Luau Sunday - Jesus Leied Down His Life For You
• Fiesta Sunday - Donde Estan Mis Pantalones? (I realize this doesn't have anything to do with Jesus, but it's the only Spanish I know.) WAIT. I've got it. Donde Estan Mis Pantalones, Jesus?
• Ships Ahoy Sunday - Jesus Loves You No Matter How Nautical You've Been

You're welcome, John. You are welcome.

Zazzle Me

The first round of t-shirts are up on Zazzle and they're ready to buy. You can get them here.

Facebook

Flumadiddle is now on Facebook and you can become a fan. Doing so will keep you updated on the Flumadiddle swag that's available and you'll also be in the know as to when I update the blog. Becoming a fan will also save your soul.

It's the least I could do.

Hugs and Kisses,

Babs

She's Back!

Oh The Bitch Is Back

Okay, kids. I've decided to bring back Flumadiddle! Woohoo!

The reason I abandoned my precious Flumadiddle to begin with was because of my job. Now that, that small detail has been so graciously taken care of by my former employer in the form of me getting fired, I can be out and proud. Um...as a godless heathen, that is. I was concerned that my blog would be seen by clients and they'd be offended and so on and so forth. Well, I can say 'fuck it' now and be the adorable little reprobate that you all know and love. Or possibly just tolerate.

I will be bringing back Church Sign O' the Week and That Jesus Sho' Gets Around. I might even make a video or two. In other exciting news, I am working on some Flumadiddle original t-shirt and bumper sticker designs! I am sure you're as thrilled as I am. If so, you're seriously about to piss yourself right now.

What the fuck. Let's start with a Jesus sighting right now.

That Jesus Sho' Gets Around

Who's the cheesiest? Or maybe it should be the Jeesiest? It's Jesus and he's been found in a bag of Cheetos. That Jesus sure does like his snacks, and you know why? 'Cause he's totally baked all the time. And, damn can Jesus get the good shit.

Anyway, Dan and Sarah Bell of Dallas, TX are the lucky duo who found the Jesus Cheeto. Not only are they a lucky duo, but they're also a very clever duo and they've named their Jesus Cheeto 'Cheesus'.

Oh.

Well, thanks for stealing my joke Dan and Sarah. Now what the hell am I supposed to do with the Jesus Cheeto?

I know! A picture. I don't know if it's just me, but when I look at that I don't see Jesus. You wanna know what I see?

Some people see Jesus, I see a vibrator. Who would have guessed that one?

Until next time...

Take Care,
Babs - Less filling. Tastes great!