Month: November 2012

Ask Hunky Hugo

I completely stole this from the Byronic Man, but I’ve been blogging for 20 straight days, I’m suppose to pack up and move out my house 20 days from now, and this sentence will peter out without a third 20 thing.

Byronic Man does this awesome Ask Sexy Stalin feature that makes you laugh and feel uncomfortable at the same time when you realize you’re seeking advice from a mass murderer who is quite hot frankly. Byronic Man featured one of my questions the last post and I am set to win an amazing What Would Sexy Stalin Do bracelet.

I probably should have waited until I received it before I stole his idea. Well reindeer sweater, I guess I’ll have to find another bracelet that will perfectly accessorize with you.

Anyway, I have my own homicidal maniac who also happens to give killer advice with the emphasis on killer.

Hugo, the man of 1,000 faces.

So now begins a new segment on Speaker7: Ask Hunky Hugo™.

You can ask Hugo anything, and I mean ANYTHING. The weirder the better. As Hugo likes to say, the more he knows about you, the easier for him to control you.

So let’s meet Hugo, shall we?

Hugo, what are you doing?!?

Well, it looks weird. Can you please stop? I’m trying to pass you off as an expert in the same manner Oprah convinced the world that Dr. Phil should be allowed to speak.

Very true. Hey…why are you doing that?

Well, you look like a Mario brother. Do you have anything you want to say to your advice-seekers?

Total nonsense.

All right then, if you feel a creepy half-man puppet can help, please leave your questions in the comments. I take no responsibility if Hugo shows up at your house.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). Why is November so long? Why? Hugo loves you.

Give Thanks…for Sauna Pants

Thanksgiving is that annoying little holiday that gets in the way of me pitching a tent outside Target in hopes of buying this:

Yes, there are only four shopping days left until the consumer frenzy that is Black Friday. What better way to cap off a day expressing your thanks for family, friends and health then by elbowing someone’s else grandma in the face to get this great deal at Walmart:

I don’t know about you, but I am extra excited this year. This year the stores are opening at 8 p.m. on Thanksgiving Day!!!

That means I can have this in my mouth four hours earlier than I thought:

Thankful.

That means I can spend the remainder of Black Friday on actual Friday wearing these:

And using this:

You know with Black Friday intruding earlier and earlier into the Thanksgiving holiday, it’s only a matter of time before we forget Thanksgiving existed all together, and instead transform it into Black Friday Eve.

FYI – this is what I want for next Black Friday Eve…pssttt! It’s at K-Mart!

And then we don’t have to even worry about cooking a turkey for future Black Friday Eves.

Give thanks.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). She would feel more inspired if she was wearing sauna pants while she did this…hint…hint…

Speaker7 Reviews Breakin’ Dawn 2: Electric Boogaloo

I saw Breaking Dawn 2 last night and it was soooooooooo good.

Full disclosure: I have not seen this movie.

I wore my Team Sparkleballs T-shirt and purchased a giant box of Good & Plenty, which I instantly Twilightized.

I made a few predictions before the movie started:

  • actors will look seriously at one another while breathing heavily out of their mouths
  • Taylor Lautner will appear shirtless
  • Kristen Stewart will eat her hair at some point
  • Robert Pattinson will look constipated

And it begins….Bella Swan Cullen, fresh off her breakin’ pop ‘n lock victory where she popped out a kid by breaking every bone in her body, has brown hair.

Edward Cullen also has brown hair. It sticks straight up.

Bella has changed. Her friend Ozone notices when he stops by to give her the heartbreaking news that Miracles, the community center, is going to be bull-dozed by the city and redeveloped.

Bella says she’s still the same down girl who rocked the street crowds back in the day.

Bella wants to save the community center. So does her friend Jacob because he is destined to be with Bella’s young daughter. This is the thing where adult werewolf men “imprint” on baby girls in the manner of a dog “imprinting” on its territory and they’re going to eventual copulate, and that is in no way gross, right?

See Turbo gets it.

Then the movie gets really interesting. The developer is also a vampire and he dresses like Meryl Streep’s character in The French Lieutenant’s Woman. 

So Bella, Edward, Ozone and Turbo get together all their friends to put on a show to raise money to stop the developer.

Now I don’t want to give the ending away, but let’s just say Edward does a mean dolphin, which is surprising since he’s made out of marble.  

All in all, an epic romp filled with inexplicable dance montages and weird running. I give it 3 vampire baseballs*

*this rating system does not exist

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). If you have any suggestions that don’t involve actually watching anything Twilight-related, please leave them in the comments.

To Doc with Love

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you are aware of my tonsil issue, which the media has dubbed Tonsilgate.

If you are not a regular reader, you can catch up by clicking here and here. The short and simple version is this: my tonsils were going to be removed by a tap-dancing koala bear on a Venezuelan children’s show.

Actually that would have been preferable.

The real thing is worse. My pre-operative surgery consultation was this: “Drink vanilla milkshakes. Here’s some drugs. Bye!” When I attempted to get an appointment with the surgeon, I was treated as if I asked to father Mitt Romney’s baby. “How dare you, sir! The utter gall to ask about your surgery with the surgeon! Pish-posh, you, crawl back to your hovel and leave our majesty be!”

I was finally able to turn my post-operative appointment into a pre-operative consultation with the doctor, but then I thought Do I really want to see a doctor who saw no trouble leaving my pre-surgery consultation in the hands of the first person he saw walking down the street?

The answer was: Fuck no.

So I’m now with a new ENT. My first appointment was with the nurse practitioner. She actually described the surgery to me.

In case you did not know, they do not use this:

The nurse knew how long it would take. She told me what to do to help recover. She didn’t try to sugarcoat anything. “It’s going to be miserable. It’s going to feel like the worst sore throat you ever had.”

She did not mention vanilla milkshakes.

She actually looked inside my mouth. The other nurse didn’t bother with that part although she did listen to my heart and lungs. In all fairness to her, she likely thought my tonsils were located in my chest cavity.

It turned out, I was sick again. She said I would not be able to have the surgery if I was sick because it increases the chances of bleeding during and post operation. She gave me super amoxicillin. She said my next appointment would be with the doctor because he did not like to feel like a ghost surgeon and actually wanted to meet the people he operated on.

I refrained from enveloping her in a giant bear hug and left.

But I feel like I owe something to that former ENT’s office to say “Hey, thanks for all the weirdness and incompetence because now I’m at a real doctor’s office and it’s really awesome.”

Maybe something like this:

This will be the note attached: “This is the only guy you should operate on.”

Or how about a giant vase of notes, one for each day of the year?

The notes will all say the same thing.

Or maybe since the nurse has such a hard time talking to such a difficult patient, this will make things easier next time:

Or maybe just this will suffice:

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the seventeenth post. She appreciates any and all suggestions unless you recommend she recrap Fifty Shades of Grey. She did that already. And she is stupider for it. 

STDs and the Olds

This post was a suggestion by the remarkable Jen from Sips of Jen and Tonic. And Jen never steers me wrong…except when I jumped on that post-a-day bandwagon because now I’m writing about the elderly and genital warts. And I never wanted that to happen.

And yet here we are.

So STD rates are thrusting and thrusting hard in an upward direction among the elderly.

And scientists are like “Ew…old genitals.”

They asked some questions in their labs with the beakers and bunsen burners flaring:

Can one get chlamydia from bingo? 

Does watching Matlock lead to herpes?

Do early bird specials at Denny’s lead to syphillis?

So they studied and studied and rented Cocoon and hit upon a reason:

The elderly still have sex! Because they’re still human beings! And human beings like to grind against one another especially when the specter of death looms!

But the elderly think they’re past all that protection crap because of menopause and shit, and so there you have it.

The scientists proposed a solution:

Abstinence-only education and less Matlock.

I kid. That’s about as effectual as dentures made of paper.

So instead when Grandpa picks up his viagra prescription, Grandpa will also get a little chat about safe-sex.

It will likely go a little something like this:

Pharmacist: Here’s your viagra. It might be a good idea to also buy some condoms.

Grandpa: What?

Pharmacist: Condoms. You need them

Grandpa: Car plugs? What did you say? Speak up!

Pharmacist: CONDOMS!

Grandpa: Groundhogs?!? Are you crazy?

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the sixteenth post. She will never look at senior centers the same way again. 

My Birthday Gift From WordPress

Forty years ago today, I made my arrival into the world.

Little did the world know that nearly 40 years later, that little darling baby girl would write about post about gonorrhea tonsils and see it get Freshly Pressed.

Did the delivery doctor have an inkling? Say when he cut the umbilical cord, that one day that red, slimy, mutant-looking screaming thing would craft a post that not only combined a fear of potatoes with STD-infected tonsils, but would also be able to insert the words “27 vaginas?”

Probably not. That’s kind of a weird thing to think about a baby.

Still this was a nice early present from the WordPress staff.

I promise my new readers that I write about other things besides venereal diseases although tomorrow’s post will make it seem like I just lied.

In fact, I just checked my search engine terms and am intrigued by this idea: chuck e cheese birther.

That seems about right.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the fifteenth post. Halfway there. Lord help us all.  

Move-abilia

I am moving soon.

Yesterday, I spent a good eight hours climbing up and down an attic ladder, hauling boxes delightfully decorated in mouse feces.

It made me realize two things:

1) I should work out more.

2) I have too much shit.

There were things I placed in that attic eight years ago that should have had a home in a beautiful ocean garbage patch.

Things like:

Why was I saving this? Was I planning to bring it as a date to my son’s future wedding?

Maybe.

But he had to go. He was a beautiful gift bestowed by two very good friends at my bachelorette party. They gave this to me after my adamant declaration that if a stripper appeared within a 100 feet of me, I would immediately set myself on fire.

They got me a historical reenactor instead. That is actually worse, but that is a story for another post.

There was a box of wigs (?), a relic from my Dolly Parton phase? Underneath the wigs was a dead mouse. I washed my hands for 15 minutes while I yelped and hopped up and down and did a few break dance moves.

There was this:

An heirloom for my future grandchildren per chance?

I had trouble figuring out what this was exactly. Hugo tried to help:

I wished it was a turd. It was actually a partially melted cat candle.

But it was actually topped by this:

I don’t know. I don’t know. It seems like something I would never buy or make, but did I buy or make it? That is a mystery.

The cellar is next. I hope my thighmaster® turns up.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the fourteenth post. Tomorrow she turns forty. Cheesus cripes on a turd-like cat candle. 

Do Not Fear Potatoes

Seven people found my blog yesterday using those search terms: do not fear potatoes.

Do people really fear potatoes? According to some random seach engine question and answer thingy, there’s not even a word for potato phobia.

The second most asked question about potato fear was this:

I didn’t realize I wrote much about potatoes, and I have no idea how entering those terms would lead a person to my blog. But since you’re here, I want you to know this–

Potatoes make good detectives . . . because they always have their eyes peeled.

*swish*

Oh–and you shouldn’t fear them. Feel better?

Well you may want to fear that one. That one is definitely not sweet.

I’m hoping now that I’ve mentioned “do not fear potatoes” a number of times, this blog will appear higher in the results for that extremely popular search.

This is why I’m now also mentioning my second most popular search terms from yesterday: gonorrhea tonsils.

This is actually a thing, I am horrified to have found out. It is contracted by putting your mouth on something that has gonorrhea.

Like a potato? you wonder, your fear of them beginning to resurface.

No, probably not. Really, you do not need to fear potatoes.

Only in this instance:

While I may not be an expert in this particular area, my advice to you is to refrain from putting your mouth on something soaked with gonorrhea.

Most of my other search terms had to do with Fifty Shades of Grey. There was one that stuck out from the pack.

I believe this is the title of a new rom-com starring Katherine Heigl. I cannot wait to see it. I think Gerard Butler plays one of the vaginas.

If you search for 27 types of vagina, my blog comes up pretty high in the results as does an article about 8 types of vagina from a man’s perspective, which I would only recommend reading if you contracted tonsil gonorrhea from potato salad. You’re already feeling pretty bad at that point.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the thirteenth post. She does not fear potatoes, but does fear gonorrhea tonsils. 

Obligatory Facebook Post

It’s not even halfway through NaBloBlowsBigAss, and I’m not going to lie to you, gentle reader, I am struggling to fill in my little wordpress writery box with a daily post.

So this is why this post is about Facebook.

Facebook is awesome. It allows you to reconnect with people you barely tolerated in high school. It is a perfect platform to share your ability to quote Bon Jovi songs or share insights into the days of the week and how they affect you. Monday is Glumday, amirite?

And you can become friends with Doritoes®.

But sometimes Facebook is not awesome. It is not awesome when people engage in facebookery that is less to be desired.

This is why we need Facebook Etiquette or Facetiquette™ or Fetiquette™ or…look just don’t engage in the following:

Facebook fights

Yes occasionally someone is going to post something that you disagree with vehemently. Maybe Monday isn’t Glumday for you. But is it really so important to get into an argument with someone you went to art camp with 25 years ago?

Do you really think you will change this person’s mind by starting off your reply “Look, you fucking idiot. . .” No, you won’t. It’s best just to move on. Like someone’s post about  puppies instead. No one comes off looking good in a Facebook Fight or Ffight™.

Facebook Guilt Trips

I know you want people to pay attention to you. That’s why you posted that Instagram of your half-eaten breakfast burrito and wrote “Breakfast burrito! Yum!” But do you have to next post this?

This is a huge guilt trip. Not only do I have to prove my worth by clicking the like button, but then I actually have to copy and paste this tripe into my status update so you will know we’re actual friends? Here’s a clue: we’re not. That’s why I ignore this, and will continue to ignore you until you stop posting this shit.

Facebook banalities

Yes you do breathe. Your heart does beat. And you eliminate waste on a regular basis. But do I need to know about this?

No. No one does. This also goes for updates like “I have nothing to say.” That’s almost as bad as admitting you don’t know what to write for a blog post so you write about Facebook.

Facebook Mysteries

Oh you engimatic poster, you! You just love the cryptic status update that keeps us on our toes. Shit like this:

The best part is you will never say what exactly was fucked up, leaving us hanging on the minutae that envelopes your daily existence. And it works…for a second, until I hear Kim Kardashian has tweeted her ass has fallen off. That is some important stuff. That’s why it’s now my status update. And don’t say you don’t know why.

Facebook hate-a-thons

Okay, okay…I get it. The guy you wanted to win the presidency didn’t and now you are filled with rage. I feel you. I lived through the 2000 election. Remember that shit? The guy who actually won didn’t become president? Remember? That was a bitter pill to swallow. Still, I don’t want to read your rage-filled rants of nonsense:

I am pissed too. I am pissed that I actually exerted energy in my eyeballs to read this.

Facebook Non-Controversies

No one is taking your Christmas away. No one is pissing on the American Flag. Yet you post this:

None of this shit is real. You know what’s real? My apathy.

You know what is acceptable? This:

I am joking. This is also awful.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the twelfth post. Don’t believe the haters. She will beat Satan. 

Le Cult of Le Clown

I am a full-fledged carnie, I’ll admit it.

I pretty much do the bidding of a French-Canadian clown who can flex a singular ab muscle like nobody’s business.

Why do I do this?

I think it’s safe to say that I’m in a cult…or rather le cult. Le cult of le clown. I think that’s how French works; you put a “le” in front of everything and ruin freedom fries.

Le Clown first appeared on the presses of word back in February and the wordpresses have not been the same since. I believe his first post was:

“WordPress no longer sucks.”

I might have made that up, but who has time to research when you’re writing a post every day?

Le Clown professes that every day is fucking magical, and I believe it. Even when my slice of pizza fell on the dirty floor a couple days ago and I had nothing else to eat but a jar of pureed turkey and sweet potato, I felt pissed off the magic.

Le Clown can write anything, literally anything, and 200 people will show up to comment about his magnificence™. (He’s also trademarked the word magnificent™)

He could write:

“Poop is magical.”

And it will be pressed fresher than a steaming pile of cow manure–that’s just how powerful his reach is. And you know what? Poop is magical.

What is Le Clown’s greatest gift?

Well apart from his incredible charisma, he gives the gift of viewership. He features you on his site, and suddenly you have 30 new followers. It’s almost as if you, yourself, have become a cult leader.

You feel that way until a half-man puppet named Hugo reminds you of your place on the food chain. Never join le cult of le Hugo, by the way.

Le Clown recently launched a new venture, a press releases page that highlights blog posts featuring his le clowness. I am not on there, and I made it my Life Goal 2: Electric Boogaloo to rectify that grevious injustice.

Which leads me now to present the greatest interview in the history of interviews. I should know, I used to work as a reporter and got to interview the local dairy princess.

Without further ado, Speaker7 presents™ Five Questions with His Magnificence™  Le Clown™:

Q: Which cult figure are you more like and why?

  • a. Jim Jones
  • b. Hugo
  • c. Papa Smurf
  • d. Fred Phelps
  • e. Ronald McDonald

A: f. Tom Cruise

Q: Why is your following predominately made up of dames and/or broads?

A: Le Clown likes to think women dig him because of his Charles Bukowski charms. And that giganormous red apparatus of his.

Q: How do you lure us under your spell? Is it hypnotism? Or that dorky thing Eddie Cullen does? Or something clownesque?

A: Le Clown is more like herpes, the gift that keeps on giving. And because every day is fucking magical on A Clown on Fire, and Le Clown is something of a handsomer Santa (or any other non-denominational fictitious character like White Baby Jesus) there’s a bad case of clap for just about anyone on his blog. It’s the latest craze, and all the cool kids want it. As for Edward Cullen, fuck him, not just literally, unless you’re into glass shards.  

Q: What is the difference between magnificence and magnificence™?

A: The trademark™. Obviously.

Q: Usually cult leaders have some fantastical idea of how they’re going to kick the bucket. L. Ron Hubbard apparently discarded his body and went to some planet. What will happen to Le Clown?

A: What’s this crazy talk about kicking the bucket? Neil Gaiman will soon write Le Clown into a new installment of his EternalsAt least, that is what Scientology told him. Dying is for the weak anyway… everyone knows that, right Hugo?

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the eleventh post. She hates enjoys doing this because every day is fucking magical.