Category Archives: Humor

The Surprising Things You Learn About Nursing

Hello WordPressarians,

I am back, resurrected from the ashes to fly like the glorious phoenix I am. I was gone for a while, I flew into the sun. So there that explains my prolonged absence right? No? Well, I actually had an issue with finding time to blog it’s called a nursing career. So this wasn’t going to be a post about breastfeeding. That’s a topic I shall never touch because women actually become crazy, mouth foaming monsters, the lunacy that only the moon controls when it comes to formula vs. breastfeeding. I get it, oh my glob, immunity, nature, and shit. Should anyone feel the need to post here about how formula is more evil than Chucky the doll, please, kindly protest elsewhere. Maybe throw flaming bags of poo at the local Enfamil plant, but don’t vomit your insanity here. There is one thing that ain’t nobody got time for…THAT.

You will breastfeed or I will cut off your boobs then I will still make you breastfeed. ITS NATURAL!


Lesson #1


I’ve worked in a couple different fields of nursing now; home health care, long-term care, skilled nursing, and a clinic setting. You are basically going to document everything you do. This is probably so patients can’t sue you or can, if you’re terrible at doing everything you do. Depending of the level of care if a patient eats, sleeps, stares at you too long, or does absolutely anything, there’s paperwork for that. Useful, but redundant. Thanks to insurance, you pretty much get to document every intimate detail of your day. Some places might have fancy pants electronic charting. I’ve yet to experience this mythical unicorn of documentation.  I’ve been delighted to use paper charts. Which are only more awesome when several other employees who also document everything about the patient needs to use this chart. So at any given time when you think you might squeeze a juicy tidbit about how Patient Jane Doe assaulted staff screaming that she’s being murdered when you’re trying to coax her into wearing pants that do not have poop in them. She elects to wear the poop pants but that’s probably neglect so don’t let her and be sure to chart that. You end up doing more paperwork than a CPA on April 14th. If you think not taking care of patients within a facility such as a clinic leaves you exempt. It doesn’t. Which leads to lesson 2.

Patient’s mama is so fat….

Lesson #2

You get to call insurance companies. A lot. The clinic I worked for required that I call insurance companies for prior authorizations on medication. Which means that insurance companies who are wretched, wretched bastards don’t want to cover medications. Not ever. So you get to make a phone call to initiate the authorization, then they usually say, “Well, okay, I’m sorry that I’m not sorry you just wasted your time, we will authorize this now.” Then they laugh, extended maniacal laughter as lightening strikes. Or, they want to up their jerk factor. They decide not to authorize this, transfer you to a nurse who you have to justify the medical necessity of the medication. Which means you have to know everything about the patient now. What medications they’ve tried for this condition and how it wasn’t therapeutic, the date they started and stopped it, the non medication therapy they’ve tried, and which Christmas movie do they think defines the spirit of Christmas. Christ. That doesn’t get you anywhere because then it’s submitted for review, which takes 15 to 1,000,000,000 days, whatever. If it’s really expensive and heaven forbid hormone replacement therapy for women over 65, there will most likely still need to be an appeal filed. Then insurance will put a mouse in a maze. If the mouse finds the cheese within five minutes, it’s covered. If not so sorry for your hot flashes and vaginal atrophy Sally Sue Ellen, but it’s high risk and though you’re aware of that you just can’t have the medical care you want. Your unpleasant symptoms and declined quality of life are of no concern. Mostly because you pay for your insurance through the job you work, sucker. Which brings me to the next point.

Your call is very important to us, a customer service representative will assist you in never minutes.

Lesson # 3

Calling insurance companies is the reason why there are mental disabilities. I think that a psychologist would recognize a phenomenon called Automated Calling Psychosis. It’s probably temporary but I would guarantee that my cortisol levels are immeasurable. I call, I either give the info verbally for by pressing the key pad. I listen to music, usually awful, the same musical group that provides the soundtrack to feminine hygiene products and elderly life insurance benefits. This musical group, we’ll call, Vaginagina and the Towelettes, suck times infinity. I’m stuck listening to their latest hit, “Masking Odor and my Mother’s Funeral.” I just gave a wealth of demographics on Sally Sue her name, birth date, ID number, phone number, and favorite fucking finger foods at diner parties. Then a representative answers only to ask this again. The joke is on me though, this is the provider’s service line and now I need to call the specific to that particular need line. No, I can’t be transferred, I called the only number I’m provided but it’s not the right number, I have to hang up, call this number and listen to “Flower Petals on my Muff Interlude.” Someone will be happy to assist me after I give this information so much I could assume Sally Sue’s identity. I start to feel my sanity slip, and I hear voices, they tell me to harm myself. I start to have dissociate thoughts, I’m dead, I’ve actually been a terrible person, and this is my eternal punishment. I must have died hitting a pedestrian nun while cyber bullying children on Facebook. Only this can explain the vertigo inducing, repetitive cycle of nonsense I’m being subjected to. Well, let’s move on to the next lesson.

I’m sorry okay? I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m sorry!!!!

Lesson # 4

Nurses week is only celebrated by the E Cards that you are tagged in on Facebook by other nurses. Seriously, that’s the only time I’ve known it was nurse’s week. I get an alert, see a funny post about dicks and go, “Oh nurses week, that means nothing to anybody ever.” I understand it’s not to be observed and celebrated on a grandiose national level, but maybe at the, call me delusional, the healthcare facility that I work for? Ha, simpleton. Nurses week means there’s going to a lunch in the break room but good luck attending, nurses don’t get lunch because it’s lunchtime. If you have too many things that need immediate attention going on at once, so sorry for your luck, your hunger means nothing to the taco inhaling ladies of dietary services. No lunch for you. This would be the break room that nurses never get to utilize or choose not to because 15 minutes of not having human interaction is a legit break. Said nurse’s lunch is then eaten by all non nurse staff, because it’s records clerk week stupid.

“Hey did anyone tell the nurses?” “That’s a funny joke Ted from payroll.”


Lesson # 5

You are a person who represents authority on medical knowledge unless the question is not rhetorical, then you are wrong. Meaning, you should know the exact cause of diseases that John Hopkins research has yet to identify. You are supposed to know every medication ever made, even the experimental ones, and know their actions, interactions, side effects, and probably chemical compound if you’re not an idiot. What you learned in nursing school is unequivocal to the massive, extensive knowledge of a Google user. People really like to research the most abstract website and test your knowledge on a symptom that can only happen to characters on Adventure Time. The hours you spent studying, testing, and passing the boards were in vain. There’s testing that asks if you know the difference between CPR and LOL cats. I don’t. Please don’t tell on me. A patient will ask you a question, okay, so you answer to the best of your ability. Then they ask if this would be affected differently on a train travelling 65 miles per hour southbound and another train travelling 55 miles northbound at which point will they get AIDS. Answer; who rides trains?!? What I mean is, I typically know a disease’s process, risk factors, symptoms, and maybe treatment in a more general sense. I’m not the doctor, those guys go to school longer and MUST know the difference between CPR and LOL cats. These are doctor questions, they know about the trains…and how they’ll give you AIDS. So what if I do know enough to be informative? I’ve dealt with so much COPD, heart failure and diabetes that I can answer quite a few questions. It doesn’t matter, because if it’s not what the patient wants to hear, it’s also wrong. Google can prove it. ” I consulted Dr. Boobs on Yahoo Answers, my diabetes is the kind where it’s okay to eat chocolate cake for lunch, is that nursing license from some kind of gypsy scam? Go get butter, I wash cake down with butter.” My ineptitude would call that non-compliance, but I’m probably going to try to get casserole from the break room during nurse’s week. Answer: Go ride a train and get AIDS, nurse.

Nurse! I can’t get my WebMD app to work, do you know how to fix that?

Lesson # 6

You know every doctor, clinic, and hospital everywhere and you have a mental database of directions, phone numbers and Yelp ratings of each. I’m sorry I don’t know where Dr. Proctor’s Proctology Clinic is located in Anal, Indiana. Because, use Google, that’s why. You proved yourself proficient in doing so when you dispelled all the doctor’s advise and mine about why you do in fact need to take blood pressure medication when your blood pressure is normal. Perhaps that means the medication is working? The device you utilized to feed every anxiety with exciting new symptoms your neurosis hadn’t yet fathomed is the same device that contains Mapquest. So step.

I wish my fancy smart phone could also give me directions, at least I can play Candy Crush, which reminds me I need to invite 1,000 people on Facebook to play, I forgot today


Lesson # 7

It is worth every headache, all the ridiculous overtime, and distended bladders in the world. While there are days you find feces on your uniform and have not a clue how it happened, there are also days you know how and where you got the feces on your uniform. There are opportunities to do wonderful things, that the patient or their family appreciates, maybe never forget. You never forget. Witnessing the rehabilitation of someone bed bound being able to walk themselves to the vehicle waiting to take them home is a victory. You know you held their hand and encouraged them when they felt hopeless. When they thank you with a hug, it’s personal. and they mean it. Then there’s the patients who don’t go home. Either you rendered emergency care until the ambulance arrived or you took the time you didn’t have to spare to let the family member come to terms with ending care that keeps their loved one alive. You offer a shoulder, words or just silence while they bleed emotions so strong you cry in the car driving home because they need you to be strong. You try to comfort one patient whose lifestyle as they know it is over forever and immediately start working like it didn’t happen only to get called some inappropriate names because someone doesn’t have enough ice in their pitcher. You get the ice and understand that from their room this is frustrating and they probably asked several times. It’s not their fault today is short staffed. Every thing you do is because you believe in proper healthcare and you believe in compassion, respect, and humility. You fall short, lack knowledge, and reach out to other nurses for help.  you learn though this cycle more or less goes on your whole career. You do it until you gain experience and help the new nurses when they break down because nursing has the ability to make you feel horribly inadequate at times when you know you’ve put everything inside you to providing the best care you can. Then you probably drink wine because that troll had the nerve to yell at you about her ice pitcher. She should Google manners.

It’s actually pretty easy to do.




Confessions About Poop, A Very Mature Post

Usually, pooping is untold relief. Sometimes pooping is absolutely dreadful. It may be that morning after a night of drinking. It may be coming home after eating Hooter’s hot wings. It may be the absolute worst one…post baby delivery first poop or as I like to call it third birth.


Actually, this guy has a scratch and sniff picture of Ke$ha

So I comprised a list of the most dreadful poops in life:

The New Relationship Poop at the House.

There's something I've got to tell you...maybe show you if it's impressive enough

There’s something I’ve got to tell you…maybe show you if it’s impressive enough

Despite the obvious truth, everybody poops, it’s really difficult to let a new partner know this. When you progressively spend more time together you inevitably spend enough time for the digestive system to need evacuation. That first time you are at their house and you go to the restroom, it’s terrifying. I personally get anxiety, and don’t want to admit to myself what is about to happen. It’s time to take things to the next level. I go ahead and embarrass myself by announcing, the impending deuce I’m about to drop. Because by not telling and letting said person go in the restroom directly after me only to smell what the Rock is cooking is horrible. Much more embarrassing.  So I usually say, “Um, don’t go in that bathroom, give it like five to ten…just sayin’…love that shirt…look a unicorn on TV!” However, once that initial earth shattering monumental step has been taken, it’s over forever and pretty soon your opening the door while your duking just to say what a stupid bitch Jill at work is and her new haircut looks like she was infested with lice while in an eighteenth century British prison…fuck her.

Public Poop

I think she has to poop too, so the problem cancels out autonomously

I think she has to poop too, so the problem cancels out autonomously

Pooping in public is intimidating and scary. The private bathrooms offer some solace. The chances of the person following behind you in a one person restroom being someone you know aren’t very likely, there being like billions of people on the planet. However even strangers are troublesome in a multiple stall restroom. They walk in, and they know that your pair of feet is the cause for the hearty aroma. They know you had to poop and couldn’t finish shopping at Micheal’s, you had to put aside the glitter, yarn and beads to go work on a new project. Now, if I’m finished, I’m too ashamed to come out if it was indeed me that was pooping. I’ll wait the other person out, thinking, come on, how long are you going to stand in here? However if I’m done and the restroom is empty, I have no problems with someone walking in. It’s a crime with no perpetrator then. See, anyone else could have left that phantom poop. It’s not always the person applying lip gloss at the mirror. I’m not caught at the scene of the crime, now I’m just and accessory after the fact. Or maybe I think this because I don’t readily accuse the person still in the restroom. That’s unfair. The suspect could have fled minutes ago. Either way, I try to make it home.

I am ashamed of nothing.

I am ashamed of nothing.

Well, those two scenarios are probably the worst I can think of. Sometimes I ask God if he’s real, then ask if he’s listening, then I just ask him why do we poop and why did I drink so much coffee? I don’t really get answer, and I don’t forget to courtesy flush.

Business Proposals and Nudity, Nudity…Nudity

Greetings readers, lovers, lovers of men, lovers of women, lovers of Chaz Bono. What shall my topic be today? Today I want to talk about failed romance, broken dreams and ca$h fuckin’ money.

I'm Chaz!

I’m Chaz!

I have recently started a new relationship and so far I’ve been really happy and very excited about it (I am doing a shrilly girl scream as I type thisssss!) This is good, good for me. Sorry Gavin Rossdale, our adulterous affair must end. It’s over. Stop calling me. Or, just send me nude text messages.



Well, I’ve ranted against exes in the past. I’m far enough removed from the hurt feelings (and there were a lot) to not really get nasty in this post. Who wants to hear goddamn Morrisey the entire forty minute car ride with the singing along. Hint: not me. Reality check; one time someone said you look like Bruce Willis not fucking true, stop thinking that. Today. Okay, that’s it, I’m done.

You see, I’m twenty-eight. That being said I’m at the age where you can either date a romantically dysfunctional person or you can hope with fingers, toes, and eyes crossed someone awesome will have been dating someone who sucks…and here they are post break up or divorce and ready to be good to you. I’m hoping that’s the case.

Walgreens ran out of cards...

Walgreens ran out of cards…

Now, about eight months ago, in the depths of post break up despair, I had the support of some wonderful friends. One in particular that listened to the tear-filled angst. She sat patiently as I did this, a lot, because who likes to feel played and foolish? Not me, probably not many people.

We talked of course about her exes and mine and how crazy they act sometimes. Then there was a light bulb.

We could actually start a dating service for people who are already couples but have troublesome exes. Maybe only one person does. Maybe they both do. Either way, we know the best way to get an ex of your nuts is to get them on someone else’s right?

So it’s only logical to set up the ex with someone who is single, looking and tragically co-dependent! You see, the screening process is simple, applicants will be asked general questions about relationships and the one’s most cuckoo for cocoa puffs will be set up with your totally unaware ex, with “clandestine” meetings.

This means that the crazy ex can then have a crazy fucking new boyfriend or girlfriend and probably won’t call or text because for the eleventh time their phone has been smashed to bits because a female cousin asked for grandma’s new number.

images (3)

On paper this seems pretty awesome. My friend is a genius. I think perhaps we’re really on to a possibly successful business venture. Either way it made for great laughs at times when, admittedly, I didn’t feel much like laughing. Now, well damn that’s old news. That dude can take so no less that one thousand dicks in his mouth.

Besides, losers and jerks make you appreciate the smallest of genuine sincerity as you embark on a journey with someone new. Those are not fun life lessons, but if they are learned, they become valuable tools in all relationships. Meaning friends and family, not just the person you have sexy time with…unless that’s your thing. Which, I suppose is cool.

How I Reached for the Stars

Today I want to discuss jobs. I have switched careers and now I work as a nurse.

“I think you’ve got a fever, I’ll need to check that…rectally”

It may surprise you, the faithful Facehookin’ reader, to know that I worked in both the state prison and county jail as none other than a correctional officer before going to nursing school.

“It’s time for your visit, and by that I mean conjugal, and by that I mean sex…I’m not so good at this.”

So you may ask how one would make such a leap from one career field to the other? Well, simply because I can’t be an LOL cat.

Because I’m a fucking human.

I’m grateful everyday I pay my student loan because I love being a nurse. I had my son and decided it was time for a career I wanted to be in for the duration of my working years.

Now you may ask if it was difficult to deal with inmates? No, actually they weren’t usually all that bad. I mean, you just expected some of them to be assholes and some were, no big deal.

Most accurate representation of a correctional facility

However even sporatically dealing with drunks, and crazed idiots on bath salts might have made the place less desirable to work than say, waking in a bathtub full of ice and a note saying one of your kidneys was stolen. So what was something I dreaded more than all of it?

Working  with “Old heads” and Delusions of Grandeur

Okay, so I think at a lot of jobs people that stay at the same place of employment like to brag that they spent overwhelming majority of their adult life there.

“Never free, Never me, So I dub thee unforgiven…”

Which is fine, but these people always wanted to say one name in particular to raise some consequentially impressed eyebrows. Fate Thomas. Fate….Goddamn…..Thomas. Get it? Got it? Good. You better or a fiery vengeance will be wrought upon you and your posterity.  This dude, besides admittedly having a pretty cool name, was the sheriff…um, like a long time ago. Thus being present for the Fate Thomas era made all hearing aware that said employee has been with the agency for decades. There have been other sheriffs, but none with names that command attention, respect, fire. So in service training was two grueling days of classes like;  sexual harassment, workplace safety, mental health, first aide, CPR and the list goes on.

It never failed that at some point during classes some decrepit old bastard would interject, “Back in the Fate Thomas days…” Then some elaborate story would ensue about how county jail thirty years ago was a post apocalyptic battlefield and the inmates were half breed human gorillas capable of murder, murder everywhere. The officers it seems were all….um…

This bad ass….

This bad ass….

Yes. I’m serious.

According to these guys, there were fights and riots. Riots and then fights, um death, fights, riots, riots and fights. And fire. And Fate “Son of a Bitch” Thomas. Every day. These war stories took up time that the instructor needed to tell us not to sexually harass each other anymore and how to perform CPR. Not the Fate Thomas way, which was immediate setting fire to said inmate for dying during a riot.

The man, the legend, Fate…

Actually working with these guys was pretty bad, for one, the had to remind you every day that they were there longer than you have been alive. They had to tell you resolutions to problems that might have been acceptable in the 70’s, you know, like let’s disco all night. Well, maybe not that but, they never really had a current or relevant solution. Only stories, epic stories, comparable to those told by Homer.

Perhaps other reasons I’d rather not use this venue to expound on why that particular place wasn’t my cup of tea. I will say some pretty incredible supervisory titles materialized over the years…

Vice President Chief…Seventh Level Dragon Master…

I always wished Fate would become wrathful with the lack of violence withing the facilities and bring about his powerful spiritual vengeance and then salt the earth…only to fly into the sun and burst, spreading his incredible ashes among us. Or maybe just give me a make-believe position of power.

Khaki Crazy Debauchery

I have mentioned before that my laptop had a rendezvous with death. I’m not much of a computer person but I think the fact that it won’t start-up is a good indication that it’s done for. Yes, it was plugged in…Yes, I turned on the “on” button. So instead of abandoning the blog I’ve come to love, I use my phone or I go to the library which makes me feel better about paying taxes. Not only am I using the internet but I’m surrounded by hotties. I’m not sure why, but the only other people who use the public library computers have a “skullet”. 


You and me should study some anatomy together.

Speaking of computers. I admire that people know like, a whole lot about them. In my mind the inside is a dated 3-D animation of grids and cubes. Not unlike a Trapper Keeper.


Pictured: the motherboard

I never really took a strong interest in computers and therefore am perpetually asking, “What the hell does that mean?” This put’s I.T. people in the “wizard” category, which includes; mechanics, mathematicians, and women who make kid clothes on Pintrest.


mechanic poop

This last weekend I’m pretty sure I saw the most wild I.T. department party since the beating of the fax machine on Office Space.


And so it begins

I witnessed this at bar with some karaoke. It’s been a while. So there was a group of guys, about five of them, in matching plaid shirts and khaki pants. I’m pretty sure they finished updating a huge company’s database and decided to loosen up a bit. You know just some good times with the bros.


It was a long day fixing adorable problems

So these guys start drinking and singing. I mean that’s typical of a karaoke bar right? Yes of course. Well, they drink a lot. They start laughing hysterically, they start yelling, they start…holding hands and dancing in a cirlce? Yes. One lays on the table and another one stands in the chair. There was a lot of stumbling and or dancing to Poison. There happened to be a literal game of grab ass too.

Their antics continue until the slapping starts. Yes, they are slapping each other in the face and then hugging, then kissing each others cheeks. The night just got very confusing. I’m not sure if these guys are going to fight or fuck or both. Either way there is going to be debate over whose chinos are whose in the morning.


Dude, dude the boss just asked for that file and I sent a pic of my junk!

They left the bar walking arm around shoulder in a line kind of deal. Everyone inside was like, “What the hell was wrong with those I.T. guys?”. I suppose it’s not right to assume they were, but come on they were.

Au Revoir Apartments…Smell Ya Later

My lease is up at my apartments, and I’m planning a more economic friendly move to another apartment with a roomate. It’s tough for single gals and I for one would sure like financial stability as well as the company. This move is bittersweet, while I often complain on Facebook about my apartments, I’m still going to miss what I’ve called home for a few years. I’m also going to miss my neighbors, no, not in the way you think. I don’t think I’ve talked extensively to any of them but I’ve observed them from afar on a level of certain creepiness. So, who will I miss?

The Denim Clad Bludgeoner

Perhaps I’m jumping to conclusions here, but the guy who lives across from me is in the business of death, sudden violent death to transients and hookers. He leaves early in the morning while the dew is still on the grass, because he travels to commit his heinous acts. Dressed in a demin shirt, demin shorts (jorts) and brown boots topped off with a khaki hat he leaves, taking a long wooden walking staff (ready for spontaneous murder). He gets into his inconspicuous white jeep and gives me a friendly nod as he drives away. He’s gone for several days. I know this because when our apartment management leaves memos stuffed in our doors his will remain in place for 3 to 4 days. Meaning, it would have to be removed if he came into his apartment. However he’s home when they do inspection and he leaves notes for them not to spray his apartment with insecticide. I don’t believe this is a worry about chemicals, no sir, it’s because he has clippings about the place celebrating his crimes. Duh. All killers do this. Which is really outdated and not very green. One could easily just save a zip file on their PC labeled “My Insatiable Lust for Blood”. I also believe this because he left his blinds open and I peeked through, there were newspapers everywhere (no I’m not weird!). He doesn’t want pest control to walk around spraying that watered down Mello Yello they call insecticide and discover the missing teens from Branson MS met their fate at the hands of a blue jean loving assassin. He’s nice enough but his eyes sing a song of murder to me, “I want to dismember you, fa la la la la la”.

Tankerbell’s Mommy

I don’t know this lady’s name either but I know her godforsaken dog’s name; Tinkerbell but pronounced “Tankerbell”. This lady is at the very least 400 hundred pounds and she  yells at her chihuahua while walking around barefoot all day. Seriously it’s like president Taft walking around in a house dress. She’s always saying, “Tankerbell, hush up quit barkin’ git in tha house!” These apartments are pretty small and she lives with her significant other, another woman, and some kids but there’s a like several and I can’t discern which one’s actually live there or just like show up. Nonetheless that’s a lot of people for one place and at night their shades are open…yes I look in and there are sheets the partition the living room. It’s like a Hooverville in there. There’s another dog too but it never gets yelled at because Tankerbell is the one that never shuts up. This dog has like a hernia or hemorrhoids because it’s butthole looks like it was pulled out, kind of like a Sonic straw. I can say right now I don’t envy that dog.


Tankerbell! where are you?

The Office Depot Adonis

This guy I often see getting into his yellow Mustang going to do whatever beautiful people go do all day. I’ll assume float on clouds. He works at Office Depot which I discovered by happenstance and not by being a stalker (this time). I went to make prints of my artwork and he was there, we talked about apartments and how much they suck, and well what do you know! He’s int he building next to me. I figured out that he was actually the well muscled hulk of lustful thoughts that jumps rope and jogs around the complex. He drips sweat that could bring flowers back to life.  He’s the guy I for serious, almost wrecked into a dumpster watching warm-up with some high knees. Did you know movies do not edit beautiful people in slow motion? Beautiful people effect the time space continuum and their movements actually slow down so the world has some semblance of order while they are around. I fumbled over words like an idiot, and forgot what I was talking about mid-sentence. Yeah, THAT beautiful. Now I can’t just walk into Office Depot without feeling like an awkward school girl or stalker-like. I would like to look into his window.

Gandalf the Grey

There’s an elderly lady who leaves her apartment several times a day to go to the mailbox or kind of stand on the sidewalk and stare contemplatively into the horizon. Firstly, I want to know what kind of US Postal Service does she think she has to go to the mailbox more than once? Secondly, I think she goes outside to steal the joyful noise of the nearby songbirds. She has her name because she wears a grey sweat suit ALWAYS and has matching grey hair. Thus, Gandalf the Grey, plus when you get that old you have magic powers. Maybe her mobility has far exceeded her cognitive ability and she is slipping slowly into the world of dementia. A small part of me fills with fantastical terror when I wave and say “Hi” but she only glares at me with contempt. I can’t say what her apartment looks like because it’s on the second floor and that presents a challenge of sorts. I’m going to say full of razors and Halloween candy. Her plan only foiled by the fact that old people hand out that caramel candy kids hate and never eat.


I'm going back upstairs to wait for the third mail delivery today.

Facking Cool Guy

The northern guy who has several bad tattoes including the black panther of shame and the tribal arm band. He “DJ’s” um, nowhere. He cuts the sleeves of his shirts because all fellas know this creates an optical illusion of muscle. He hits on EVERY woman at the pool maybe even some dudes with bitch tits. He wears sandals and has gross feet.

Hot For Teacher

This woman is the 80’s and honestly I love her. She has the leathery brown tan skin, bleach blonde hair, neon clothes made of mesh net, sunglasses ALWAYS, and a convertible. She can always be found at the pool when its open baking herself in the sun slathered in baby oil, seriously, listening to Poison on her boombox.

I however will not be missed by anyone because I’m that weird fucking girl who looks through windows, stares at everyone, and can’t drive very well in the parking lot. Changes…

Election Time

It’s that time again and it’s near, Halloween? Besides the most awesome holiday of the year, it’s time to choose our next leader. So, everyone is in a frenzy of opinions and reposting memes on Facebook about how candidates are idiots or the answer to everything wrong with our country  (like flesh pants). There’s not a lot of enthusiasm this year, I’ve heard a lot of talk about how doomed our country is. How our forefathers are going to rise from the grave with otherworldly outrage over our misappropriated Constitution adherence because not everyone wants to say Christmas anymore.


how dare you like the British version of The Office better!

While you choose our next president, keep in mind there have been some insanely incompetent leaders in the past. This might make you feel a little better like, “well, he’s better than THAT guy”…

Elagabalus – Roman emperor 218-222

Made emperer at the age of 14 years old, managed to generate far more sexual scandal than Bill Clinton and all the chubby chicks interning at the White House could have dreamed of. He was married and divorced five times in the four years he was emperer. He rather enjoyed wearing women’s clothing while making sexual advances to any passerby. He prostituted himself among the grounds of the imperial palace. He later offered a large amount of the Roman treasury to any physician who could give him sexual reassignment surgery.


I've got a picture of Lindsay Lohan getting out of a car, can you use that?

He deposed Jupiter at the head of the Parthenon and replaced it with Elagabal , forcing Rome’s government to practice religious rites in honor of this deity. He had a prototype of the whoopee cushion that he liked to use at dinner parties. His body guards, probably sick of “Who cut the cheese?” jokes every fucking time they sat down, assassinated him and dragged his naked body through the streets.  This was most likely a plot formed by his own grandma and the Praetorian Guard.

Nero -Roman emperor 54-68


why can't my crown be made of french fries instead of salad!

 Nero is most famed as the “Emperer who fiddled while Rome burned”. This was a nasty rumor accusing the emperer of actually starting the Great Fire of Rome in order to clear the land for Domus Aurea, or the Golden House, a quaint 300 room villa with artificial lake and bronze statue of himself.


this fire is outta control, I'm gonna burn this city, burn this city!

Nero is said to have captured Christians and burned them in his garden for a source of light. Christians are way better than tiki torches, btw. He was also described to be malodorous…so there’s that.
The Romans must have appreciated the severe taxes (surely this in no way funded the Golden House).


stinky's house

Vindex in Gaul started a rebellion which resulted in an assassination plot against Nero. However he committed suicide June 9, 68 and was the first emporer to do so.

Francisco Solano Lopez -President of Paraguay 1862


my business beard

This president declared war against Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay at the same fucking time. Now called The War of the Triple Alliance. From what I gathered this had a lot to do with disputes of land and diamond mines. Either way Lopez took on these countries and it ended disastrously. This decimated the male population of Paraguay, leaving most likely armchairs that didn’t smell like farts and a sexy Amazonian society

…Um, oh and not to mention Lopez was paranoid ordered the execution of prominent Paraguayan citizen; bishops, judges, lawyers, military officers, priests, and foreigners. His own mother was flogged and executed for revealing to Lopez he was born out-of-wedlock. Bastard. The war ended with Lopez being shot while trying to hide perhaps from all the native savage women, or most likely from the enemy.

Charles II of Spain 1661-1700

Last of the Hasburg family to reign due to their copious inbreeding. His genome was actually found to be more homozygous than a child with sibling parents. All of his grandparents were descendants of the same people. This was done to protect property, but resulted in progressively worse mandibular prognathism in each child. Which is a major underbite. That’s a lot of risky inbreeding just to protect some goblets and beaver fur hats. Anywho, Charles was most affected, being that he was unable to properly chew or speak clearly. He had pituitary gland deficiency and renal tubular acidosis. Basically his kidneys didn’t acidify urine, leaving him with osteoporosis, seizures, and mental disturbances (severe anxiety, irrational thoughts) . Well, before genetics were to blame, sorcery was the logical conclusion, Charles called himself “The Hexed”. Charles was increasingly more disturbed toward his death demanding the corpses of his family be exhumed so he could look at them. Spain as a country was a dismal place to live, the economy suffering and people starving. The general presiding over the infamous Spanish inquisition convinced Charles to destroy documents investigating the whole fiasco. The evidence of wrongdoing was overwhelming but not a trace could be found when Phillip V took the throne.

Charles died at 39, the coroner describing his innards as gangrenous and putrid.

Well friends, I hope that helped. Go vote! Unless you’re a convicted felon, then I suppose you should um, work on a hobby. If your still in prison, maybe draw a picture of the outside world on your cell wall and do a personal life inventory.