Monday, August 25, 2014

Only horse people will REALLY understand this.

I find this enormously funny because every single one of these "sayings" is absolutely spot. on. If you ride, you've either heard them or said them and no one blinked...or giggled...or even reacted, except to nod in agreement.

But from now on I will never be able to shout at a student, "Don't let him get his head up! Keep it right there and be soft with your hands so his mouth doesn't get hard."

Good Lord.

Saturday, August 23, 2014

Apparently I am stark raving mad.

However, I'm incredibly lucky I wasn't born in the 1800's because I could have been committed under at least 30 of these categories...I know Bad Whiskey makes me NUTS!

I particularly like "Gathering in the Head".


THIS is why we have mass shootings now and we didn't then. All these crazies were safely locked away.

Anyone Else?

Does anyone else think the word "kumquat" sounds positively nasty? Like what you might call Nicki Minaj?

Or is it just me?

Ride'em, cowboy!!

This is quite literally -- and I mean LITERALLY -- painful it is so precious. My heart hurts, watching it.

It's me again.

Again I have gone missing for far too long and am now depressed to discover that apparently the internet needs me like teats on a boar hog. So rather than take the obvious as some kind of legitimate feedback, I'm popping in for a moment to cause all of you to remember why you should be missing me more.

Farm Boy is traveling yet again and I have been working diligently on advertising and graphic design, watching the farm and taking care of All The Living Things. Luckily this harsh duty includes copious amounts of wine each afternoon on the porch and the snuggling attention of a little Cavalier. What is not necessarily a part of the job description is bathing. I am sitting here realizing as I write that Cyber the precious Cav has abandoned me and the sofa for the floor as I haven't showered since hubby left two days ago. Dear me. Perhaps it was the bales of hay I moved into the barn yesterday, or the field I cleaned of several days' manure, or the 25 minute High Intensity Interval Training video I skipped and jumped around to today...but I have the faint odor of an infantry man after a 10 mile hike during an Iraq summer.

Heh! I'm conserving a valuable resource! You're welcome.


"Never lose your cool. Or your head." "HAHAHA! Good one!"
Is it just me, or does it seem completely insane that ISIS is swashbuckling its way across the Middle East, dissecting people like they were all 10th grade science projects and gleefully posting the gruesome acts on YouTube with threats that it's a show coming our way soon...and our Beloved Boy-King has his scintillating brilliance trained like a marksman on the danger posed by domestic terrorists? Doesn't that seem...well...a little off the mark?

Of course, whatever he's truly concerned about, it never interferes with his golf game. This apparent lack of even a smidgen of concern for beheadings, dismemberments, genocide, and dangerous American citizens does not in any way point to a callousness and narcissistic superficiality---YOU RAAAAAAACIST!--but instead, clearly shows that ice runs in the man's veins. Lincoln-esque ice. Determined. Resolute. Focused. Unflappable. Indefatigable ICE. The man is downright spooky how coolly unemotional he is about the horrors being wrought on innocents in the "new Iraq." You know, the Iraq that he got us out of with his keen political maneuvering and seriously adept diplomatic skills.

Except -- SUDDENLY -- it seems...he didn't.

 "Did I say I did that?"
Yes, Buckwheat, you did. Over and over and over and over.

So I stink, the president stinks, and the whole administration stinks to high heaven.

I, at least, only need a bath. These characters need orange suits and brand new itty bitty living spaces.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Hillary Clinton, our next Emperor.

Over at Weasel Zippers, they feature a story about how nasty and arrogant and vicious and demanding and just plain unlikeable our darling "Hard Choices" star, Hillary Clinton is to those who protect and serve her. 

It's actually a punishment to have to work on her detail. As in, "Benner, you really fucked up this time getting caught watching porn all day. You've been assigned to Ms. Clinton."

And that, my friends, would convince any man that porn just isn't worth it.

‘Agents say being on Hillary Clinton’s detail is the worst duty assignment in the Secret Service. Being assigned to her detail is a form of punishment.’

And her nasty attitude goes all the way back to early days at the White House when Hillary and President Bill Clinton stepped out of Marine One helicopter and crossed the lawn holding hands.

But that was all for show. Once they were out of the public eye, it was a scream fest between the couple.

In response to a cheerful ‘Good morning, ma’am’, by a former uniformed officer, Hillary’s response to him was ‘Fuck off’.

Here's the ever charming Hillary greeting her Secret Service detail.

So now you know who Hillary REALLY is. No wonder there has been such a push to normalize transgenders. Our next president could be a tranny. And not a smokin' hot, sane one, either!

Who said women can't drive?

I can't decide whether this video proves that women are awesome stunt drivers and make punks out of cops...or if it just proves that most women are crazy insane.

Probably both.

So, the lesson here is do not try to stop a woman driver who is crazy insane. Let the police do it. It'll take six or seven of them, at least.

I was actually rooting for the Brave Little Toaster. Who knows? Maybe it was trying to find the master?

I hate to sweat.

I really, really hate it.

Obviously, this revulsion can be a handicap in my desire to stay physically fit. So I ride horses.

I know...I know...many of you just nodded your head, believing that riding horses is a non-exercise, requiring no effort on the part of the rider. How COULD you sweat when the horse does it all...right? Wrong. Soooo wrong.

But what is fabulous about riding is that you do it outside, when it's lovely and cool, and you are moving -- often rapidly -- through air, so you don't sweat. Or your sweat is whisked away by the cool breeze before you even are aware of its discomfort.


So you can get quite incredibly fit without ever being reduced to an unattractive, panting blob of smelly, gelatinous goo.

So, knowing this about me, a dear friend (did I say DEAR?) asked BEGGED attend a Bikram Yoga class with her. Of course I said, "I'd love to" because I love yoga (being another activity that keeps you fit and doesn't make you sweat).

On the way to the class my "dear" friend had a sudden fit of honesty and admitted that this wasn't just a mere yoga class. "Oh really?" I replied. "I'm fairly limber. I'm sure I'll be fine. And I don't have to do ALL the movements. I'll just not do anything that's too hard."

"Oh...that's not it. I'm sure you can do the yoga part. It's the heat part."

"Heat? What...heat?"

"Bikram Yoga is done in really high temperatures."

I was losing my agreeable attitude. "How high?"

"Really high."

"Mojave desert high?"

"Yeaaahhh....more like Death Valley high." 

"Are you shitting me? Yoga? In the heat? That completely ruins the whole point. And you know I hate to sweat."

"Oh, but it's really good for you."

I glared at her. "Don't be concerned about whether it's good for me. It could prove deadly for you. I've killed over less."

When we arrived, I politely inquired at the front desk about the whole heat and sweating and dying thing, and she gayly informed me that "Yes! And it's wonderful for you. Gets out all the toxins!"

"I don't want them out. I had too much fun getting them in. I like my toxins." I turned to my now suspect "friend". "If I make it through this, you're buying me lunch. And I intend to replace my fluid loss with a double Cadillac Margarita. Maybe two."

I made it through. I hated every. single. minute. I hated it with an oozing, slippery, dripping, faint-headed, almost-passing-out fury. But I survived.

At least I didn't lose my soulmate, twin flame and love of my life over it like this poor guy.


Yoga mat for sale. Used once.

Yoga mat for sale. Used once at lunch hour class in December 2009. Usage timeline as follows:

Register for hot yoga class. Infinite wisdom tells me to commit to 5 class package and purchase a yoga mat. I pay $89.74. Money well spent, I smugly confirm to myself.

Open door to yoga room. A gush of hot dry air rushes through and past me. It smells of breath, sweat and hot. Take spot on floor in back of room next to cute blonde. We will date.

I feel the need to be as near to naked as possible. This is a problem because of the hot blonde to my left and our pending courtship. She will not be pleased to learn that I need to lose 30 pounds before I propose to her.

The shirt and sweats have to come off. I throw caution to the wind and decide to rely on my wit and conditioning to overcome any weight issues my fiance may take issue with. This will take a lot of wit and conditioning.

This is long and depressing as hell, but a "must listen".


Video courtesy of Little Bonanza Productions. For more information, 
please contact:

Damn. I knew I couldn't keep my good mood going for very long.

The Excuse-O-Meter!

I'm getting one of these, too.

This is already a good day. A VERY good day!


On T-shirts, no less!


And all this time I thought I was just wasting my time in the inter-verse, exploring strange new worlds...seeking out new life and new civilizations...boldly going nowhere.

But, it seems, I have ARRIVED!

Me want.

Actually, it's not a matter of merely wanting. I MUST have this. I think it's required or something. In fact, everyone on my Christmas list must have one. Hell, everyone in my address book must have one.

I'm simply giddy with delight. This calls for an award. And an acceptance speech.

"To everyone who's made this possible, I thank you and I applaud you for being so very, very discerning and incredibly smart to see right through all the bullshit and idiocy on this blog to the rare kernels of truth that sneaked in despite myself to speak to our very souls. It has been a privilege and an honor to be the sole person screwing around on this project for the last however many years, and I can't thank you all enough for occasionally stopping by to laugh, cry, or just shake your head at my plagiarisms, stolen pictures, and hot links to better writing.

"Even this award must be shared with a dear friend because I've never thought of a single original comment, and who shall remain nameless so that I can scoop up all the attention. She is the one who delivered this now famous line years ago. We still laugh over it. She has incredible comic timing...especially when she's deadly serious.

So thank you...THANK YOU! I love you! I love you all!"

And I know it says 2012, but I'm too lazy to fix it. Or to make another one.