Tag Archive: absurd

The Royal Treatment

Every little girl wants to be a princess at one time or another.




And don’t start with that “Not me, I was a tomboy” stuff.

I was a tomboy, I played with Tonka trucks in the back yard and dug holes big enough to use as foxholes. If it was socially acceptable, I still would.

Hell YES I would.

I still wanted to be a princess.

Not all the time, but I had my moments where I daydreamed about living in a castle and wearing long gowns studded with precious stones and flounced out the wazoo.

This is what I would wear to go grocery shopping.

I would stroll the battlements of our beautiful stone castle with my handsome husband and his washboard abs and we would pelt the occasional serf with rotten fruit and laugh.

Pictured : modern day England

I assume England still has serfs, right?

I’ve never been there but I have read quite a few romance novels.

There also seems to be a high ratio of handsome young noblemen looking for wives to ravish. All the women’s dresses appear to be made out of colored tissue paper and tear at the drop of a hat and are very badly fitted.

Their men's clothing seems ... adequate.

I am not alone in this particular dream; women, and a few very special men, dream about becoming princesses and enjoying everything that would come with that. An army of servants to cater to your every whim, the adoration of an entire country. Nothing but pretty dresses and all the imported chocolate you can eat.

This would be a good start.

Brides try to recreate this on their wedding day; they get the gown, the music, the setting, everything as close to that image of perfection they hold in their minds.It never quite does, but you get as close as you can.

And last Friday one former little girl got the real thing.

Not the best in-laws, but I'm sure she'll manage.


Get thee behind me!

(Note: this story originally appeared in the comment section of YSaC Vol. 977 in response to an ad asking for someone to come to the poster’s house dressed as Satan to scare their child into behaving.)




He was here, the guy from CraigsList! Now all of Merle’s parenting troubles would be over. With a glance down the hall towards his son’s room, where a thick fog of cigarette smoke lingered and the the muted click of glass against glass was nearly drowned out by the flood of curses, he headed towards the front door. It was Junior’s poker night; Merle had seen him only minutes before in the kitchen, dressed in his SpongeBob pajamas, getting more ice out of the freezer.
Merle hurried to the door, hoping the bell hadn’t disturbed Junior. He didn’t want to get the belt again. Flinging open the door, he noticed that Junior had been practicing carving his intials into the wood again. Better that than when he had used their living room furniture to perfect his tagging techniques.
On the steps was a large lumpy shape, vaguely man-shaped and man-sized, that smelled strongly of garlic and soy sauce. It resembled uncooked bread dough and had been splashed generously with a thick, dark red liquid. A drop fell on Merle’s wrist and he absently licked it off.

Barbecue sauce.

“Hey, you Merle?”

Merle nodded.

“Finally! Do you know how many Deffenberks there are in this town? I’ve been getting all kinds of strange looks. Where can I plug in the smoke machine?”

Merle’s mouth, which had been working as frantically as a hairdresser on meth, finally produced words.

“What…You…But…But you’re suppose to be Satan!” The lumpy thing seemed to roll its eyes, but it could have been a couple of sesame seeds shifting position.

“Of course I’m seitan! That’s what you asked for, right?”

“Not seitan,” Merle hissed “I wanted Satan! Satan!”

“Geez, you don’t have to get upset. Look, I printed out the ad. It says “satan” right here.” From somewhere within the creases in the brown mass a hand produced a crumpled piece of paper, speckled with sauce.

“Yes! Satan! The devil! Old Scratch, the Prince of Lies, Mr. Mephistopheles! Not seitan!” Merle was trying to keep his voice low but he could not help twitching his arms about like a gaffed trout. The stranger studied the sauce-dampened paper for a moment.

“Oh. I just thought you misspelled seitan. No one spells anything right on CraigsList.” He paused. “Listen, since I’m here already and I built this suit, do you want me to try scaring the kid?”

“No! He regularly terrorizes biker gangs! Nuns weep blood when he passes them on the street! Every pet within a ten mile radius has run away! An animate lump of boiled wheat gluten isn’t going to scare him! Why would you think that?!?”

The drippy lump looked down at its shapeless shoes.

“I thought he might have celiac disease or something like that.”

I can’t seem to think of anything interesting to write today.

I can think of plenty of things, but nothing I could coherently form into sentences and put into something resembling an interesting post. Here’s what I’m thinking of right now;

Skeletal trees, ghost trees, the white glowing bark.




That’s a weird word – Bark. 

Dogs bark.

Dogs like trees.

Trees have bark. 

Cats sharpen their claws on tree bark.

Cats don’t like dogs. Or is it that dogs don’t like cats?

We take tree bark and pile it around other plants, but it’s the skin of a larger plant. That’s strange. 

Our skin is like leather.

You can tan leather and dye it all different colors.

It would be awesome if you could dye your skin different colors. Like a tattoo but different.

You can’t tan your skin, it would probably kill you.

I bet Sharpie could make skin dye markers. That would be awesome.

I’d like to be purple. Or maybe turquoise.

Can trees be ghosts? Does Home Depot hold the fractured spirits of millions of vanished lives?

Do carrots feel pain? 

Can you coerce a vegetable?

What does strawberry brandy taste like?

White chocolate doesn’t have any chocolate in it, it’s just cocoa butter, sugar, and vanilla.

I like vanilla.

I wish there was a vanilla-flavored melon. I bet that would taste good.

Nails are weird. What purpose do your nails serve other than to have something to scratch with?

I bet strawberry brandy would be good on vanilla ice cream.




Pudding’s a weird food. It’s not a solid but it’s not a liquid.

I wonder if you could make pudding into a non-Newtonian solid. That would be interesting.

Non-Newtonian Pudding.

I wonder if you could make a non-Newtonian cheese.

More foods should be available in aerosol form. Like ham. Or salsa. Maybe peanut butter, but not the chunky kind.



Chunk a bunk.

Chunky bunky Bunk-Bunk-Bunk.


Bunny comb.

Bunny combovers.


My ears are ringing.

Raspberry brandy would probably be better on vanilla ice cream.

Or chocolate.

 But not white chocolate, that would be too sweet.

Hey look – I wrote a blog post!

I was perusing the Gun Permit Application for my county (’cause that’s how I roll) and it occurred to me that just checking “Yes” or “No” is kinda dull. Here’s how I would answer the questions (if I were truly crazy and wanted the sheriff to haul my freckled ass to the loony bin, that is)

As always, the original questions are in boldface type and I have preserved all grammar errors found in the original.

Have you ever been convicted of a felony in any state or federal court?

Let’s just say I’m no longer welcomed in Idaho.

Have you ever been adjudicated as incompetent or committed to any mental institution?

Why, what have you heard? I swear, the rabbit is lying! I wasn’t any where near Farmer Brown’s place at the time and besides, I’m allergic to chrysanthemums!

Are you currently under indictment for any felony?

Not on Earth.

Are you a user of, or addicted to marijuana, depressants, stimulants, narcotic drugs, or any other controlled substance?

I am currently high on life.

And Kool-Aid.

Made with moonshine and liquid cocaine.

 Are you an illegal alien?

Are my antennae showing again? Dammit, I thought this wig was supposed to be full coverage!

Have you been discharged from the military with other than honorable conditions?

If the military regime I created no longer exists, would I be considered discharged?

Are you a US citizen? (If not, name country of citizenship.)

I’m one of those, what do you call them? Canadarians? Crustashians? Canalians? Those guys. That’s me. I swear.

Have you renounced your US citizenship?

We only dated for a little while, so I’d like to think we’re still friends.

Are you subject to a court order that was issued after a hearing in which you have recieved notice and have had an opportunity to participate, not to possess a firearm?

My lawyer advised me not to speak of it.

Are you subject to a court order, by any court, from harassing, stalking, or threatening an intimate partner or child of an intimate partner, or engaged in other conduct that would place an intimate partner in reasonable fear of bodily injury to the child or the partner and which finds that you represent a credible threat to the physical safety of the intimate partner or child that would reasonably be expected to cause bodily injury?

I’m under sanctions by the Boy Scouts Honor Court, but I was framed. Those balloons filled with toothpaste and mace could have come from anywhere.

Have you been convicted of a domestic violence offense?

So far I have managed to keep my offensive violence strictly foreign.

As the Wheel turns…

Since I am decidedly uninspired today, I’m gonna let the Wheel O’ Topics tell me what to do. Spin, you crazy circle  you…

“Magazines that are hard to digest.”

Damn stupid Wheel.

Okay, then – Magazines that are hard to digest. Well, it’s been a while since my paper-eating days, but I would say that those glossy mags would probably go down the smoothest. The pulps, with their cheap and highly absorbent paper, are far more likely to end up jamming in your log flume which is a situation I never thought I would have to describe even in euphemistic terms.

Damn Wheel.

:deep sigh:

 The trick would be to drink plenty of water and make sure you chew throughly; pretend you’re making paper maiche. ( Which, in the most disgusting way possible, you are.) Be prepared for a night on the throne, that much roughage is sure to clean out the works. I suggest sticking with The Weekly World News and it’s tabloid brethren; while not technically magazines they will certainly do the job.

If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Crowbar and I need to have a chat with the Wheel O’ Topics.