Barf 2

I decided to check in on the world's greatest mother and OH GEE I SHOULD HAVE SAVED MY BARF TITLE FOR TODAY.
Skipping past yesterday's entry because frankly who gives a shit and I spy this:

I just got word that I am a finalist for Parent & Child Magazine's 2009 Mommy Blogger Awards!

WHAT!? Best blogger of 2009 from Parent & Child Magazine? I have more maternal instinct than this stupid whore and I'm a 21 year old guy, for Christ's sake.

when I ask you to vote for me, but WILL YOU?

Easy on the bold font, please. Also no, I'd vote Andrea Yates over you (burn).

Because I am a nice mom and lack common sense and good judgment, I let my five-year-old son carry the plastic shopping bag containing the clothes that I had just bought him out of the store.

>I
>nice mom
gigglingelfchild.png

It wasn't until after I pulled into the preschool parking lot that Cortlen remembered that he wasn't wearing any shoes.

Okay funny story: I forgot to wear shoes to college today.
Next post is pretty fucking amazing if I do say so. If you'll forgive the turn of phrase, this post is malignant.

There is one less person reading this blog today.

Well praise be to Allah for that.

On Friday, my friend Becky passed away from complications related to leukemia. She was 29.

This is sad. I think everyone reading this can agree.
Long post short: this woman lost her baby and then she expired shortly thereafter, but that's okay according to the world's cuntiest cunt:

I can't help but see this outcome in some way as an answer to two heartfelt prayers. Although not answered in the way either of us expected, in the end both Becky and I got what we wanted: she is with her baby, and I am with mine.

Well you somehow managed to make a eulogy about you. You are perhaps the most narcissistic person I've had the pleasure of reading.
Now she handily compiles a list of why she's a neglectful/abusive mother:

1. One of my daughter's friends gave her a Target gift card for her birthday. I used it to buy diapers.

That's not necessarily neglect because I've seen their living conditions and I'm guessing they aren't exactly well-off.

2. The number of times that I make my kids sleep in the clothes that they are going to wear to school the next day is steadily increasing.

Okay that is probably neglect.

3. On pupil-free days, I eat ice cream for breakfast in front of my kids. They don't understand why it's necessary for everyone's well-being.

Ever heard of the myth of Tantalus? No? Well I'll forgive you, world's cuntiest cunt, since you are a doctor (not a real doctor, a word doctor) of medieval literature and not Greek mythology.
I won't retell the whole story here but I will tell you a modern word in English with its root in this myth: tantalize.

4. I make the child who I like the least at the end of each day scoop out the cat litter.

So you punish your children based off your whims? I'm going to have to check my big book o' child psychology but I think that might be bad.

6. Clothing items with which my children develop unhealthy obsessions always mysteriously disappear.

So having them sleep in clothing they'll be wearing the next day is okay but if they have a particular shirt they like you take it from them? Fantastic.
This goes on but I stopped giving a shit so moving on:

The cashier handed the coupon back to me. "We don't have Whoppers here," she said.

It wasn't until after I asked the poor girl what kind of Burger King doesn't sell Whoppers that I realized that I was at McDonald's.

Ha, ha OH WOW.

It's a competitors' coupon," I explained, as I scanned the overhead menu.

That's Pizza Hut that takes competitor coupons, boss.

The manager was called over to explain to me the difference between the 40% off coupons handed out by national chain craft stores and the item-specific coupons mailed out by individual restaurant franchises.

"Burger King and McDonald's are not the same restaurant," he told me. "Completely different."

You know the really sad part in all of this? I bet that wasn't the dumbest question he heard that day.

I chose to take the high road and not pick a fight over hamburgers (feel free to applaud my maturity in the comments).

Actually you didn't take the high road. Someone called you on your (admittedly completely idiotic) mistake and you backed down. There is no high road to be had here. You did what you're supposed to do.

"What does this say?" I asked, pointing to the letters. They spelled S-I-G-L-R.

"My new name," replied Cortlen. "I changed it yesterday."

"To what?" I wanted to know.

"Kyle Singler," he replied, naming one of the starters of Duke University's men's basketball team.

See? Even a five year old can tell when his name is fucking stupid.

We followed the scent of rotting flesh to the front parking lot, where we found 30 small children staring wide-eyed at the exposed entrails of a dead deer, which had been hit by a passing car over the weekend and dragged to the side of the road.

Best thing to ever happen in church.

Usually the reviews of church are not so good. Yesterday they were significantly better.

"Church was AWESOME!"

"Do you think the deer will still be there next week?"

"If so, can I poke it with a stick?"

Hell yeah you can poke it with a stick.
Of course that'd be me, your CUNT MOTHER probably said no.
Well that's it. That's your fucking Friday update.

Barf

I forgot to update this fucking thing Monday. When I went to bed Monday, I was thinking to myself: "man today sure was headache free, I wonder why?" Then I remembered. Hopefully I can remedy this by having a double headache on Wednesday (it works like that I think) so here we are for today.
As I've often stated, everyone fancies themselves a writer, actor, movie star, producer, etc because everyone would be these things if they could be. These are the only occupations that people consider themselves apart of even if they are, in reality, not.
So today's latest twat fancies herself a writer, obviously.

Hmm. Life has been pretty good to me so far. Some downs, some ups.

"Umm I don't really have much to say so I'm just going to tell you the story of everygirlXI!"

But overall I can't really complain. I just thought I'd write a few sentences, since I haven't been updating much this past week.

"So, like, I haven't really been updating so I just thought I'd waste someone's time by posting the most redundant, asinine, trite piece of shit I could think of!!"

Haha, it's so mind-blowingly inane, it's a good break from all my school work and job stuff.

>mind-blowingly inane
>nice break from school work
Implying, of course, that her entire existence isn't inane. I bet you just got finished slaughtering an entire legion of Chaos Space Marines before taking your jumbo jet to play a rock guitar solo before the Queen of England, huh?
Now there's a really long post about something I don't understand (bands or something who knows). Now there's a really, really long post about various topics-- who gives a shit?

People will probably skip all this. I mean, I would. Maybe.

Thanks for the warning.
So that's three posts in a row I'm skipping. That's some kind of record.

Weekends are SRS BSNS.

lol xD srs bsns the game dasu dasu barrel roll the game longcats randum xD die in a fire you stupid whore.

I should be doing math homework. But it seems really inane. I haven't done math in 3 YEARS. I'm really rusty, and I definitely need the practice before the first exam coming up next Monday.

>inane
>I definitely need practice before the first exam
I'm guessing you don't actually know the definition of "inane", do you?
Also that's how I'd define this blog: "it seems really inane."

I'm still really bitter at the fact that I have to take MATH100 at all.

It's hard to be worse at math than me, and even I placed out of math 100.
I'd be a lot more bitter about the ENG100 I have to take this semester as well...
Ha, ha, ha, Eng 100 AND math 100? Kill yourself.

Even IF my 400-level English credits transferred fine from CSU...and somehow I don't have an ENG 100. Hmm.

400 level credits-- taking English 100-- WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE?

It has been a very quiet day. I spent the morning doing errands, the afternoon reading a HP fic that only kind of (kind of) made me cry, and the evening slaving over Japanese homework.

Huh, imagine that. Someone who reads fanfics takes Japanese.

I've had this fear of all this writing...everything about my life recorded with such careful detail for the past four and a half years...vanishing before I even realize it.

Jesus Christ who gives a shit that a shopping trip almost five years ago didn't turn out how you had hoped? It'd be one thing if you had a journal filled with awesome thoughts but it's just the same fucking wheel turning over and over and over.
Your blog is like an MMORPG brought into reality.
I HAD TO GRIND CRABS
I KILLED A CRAB, 200 EXP
I KILLED A CRAB 180 EXP DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED THERE
I USED MY EMPRESS RING
I KILLED A CRAB 250 EXP
I KILLED A CRAB 310 EXP AND CHAIN 2 YAY

Sorry, for those who have been hanging on to my every word

Which is n--

(which includes a population of zero).

Yeah. That.

I'm sure it'd be incredibly frustrating, as a reader of my journal.

Very true. Maybe I was wrong about you. I've never had someone apologize like this.

I certainly would have complaints about the lack of regularity, if it were me.

LACK OF REGULARITY? THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE SORRY ABOUT? NOT THAT YOUR BLOG IS A BORING GRIND LIKE THE WORST MMORPG EVER?
NO. FACE THE WALL. YOU'RE IN TIME OUT.
Jesus Christ I can't believe this shit.

My linguistics and "Language in Japanese Society" finals are OVER. Thank the lord.

Praise be.
What am I supposed to say to this shit? What is there to even say that hasn't already been said dozens up dozens of times by myself and others?
The sad fact is, she doles out all this work with a cheery smile, completely oblivious to the fact that we simply can't work that much.
Can't, or won't? Would that you finished your work with the same skill with which you produce excuses I doubt you'd be bitching.

As much as all of us want to study and get better at Japanese...it's entirely un-productive if we're more worried about simply finishing all the work, than doing well.

What's that? Is that the sound of flimsy excuse #2? "Excuses are the refuge of the weak." You would do well to remember this.
So I think that's it. Oh don't worry, this goes on in excess of 4 years of entries, but quite frankly I'm bored, so--

Kill Yourself

It's Friday, that means an increased volume of posts on Livejournal.
Also it means increased levels of assholery and douchebaggery. So batten down the hatches and we'll weather this storm yet.

Is it weird that I'm writing a series of essays on my characters and their relationships in my original fiction? Maybe it is, but I'm finding sorting through their motivations and different actions and traits really enjoyable.

Whoa I think I just fell asleep with me eyes open.

But unfortunately I can't do any of that (with the exception of the essays) until the cold I have clears up, because I have this strange inability to write dialogue when I can't talk properly. Strange but true.

Wow that's really-- really-- Zzz.

What else...? Um, well, my mission to fully sort out my book collection is progressing nicely. I've decided that as I have so many books (about 800 actual books and a good few thousand on my computers) it'd be a good idea if I compiled a list of them so I didn't end up getting the same one twice or whatever.

Huh. You know reading that many books might be impressive, but they're probably all dreck like Twilight (my best seller) so who gives a shit? You might as well be watching TV.

It's going well, but considering I downloaded the entire Project Gutenburg collection which is over 13,000 free books it's taking a little while! Lol.

Ha, ha-- wait I don't get it.

I love Project Gutenberg :) It made me realise just how much of a nerd I am though when I noticed it had these books by this sixteenth century theologian/philosopher and I got all happy XD

lol XD die.

All I'm going to say is I love the fic I'm writing. LOVE IT.

And that's all I'm saying for now. Lolz.

OHHHHHHHH CAN'T WAIT FOR THAT BRILLIANT PIECE OF FANFIC. WHICH TWILIGHT CHARACTERS/HARRY POTTER CHARACTERS/FINAL FANTASY CHARACTERS ARE YOU HOOKING UP NOW? I HOPE IT'S SEPHIROTH AND CLOUD. ^-^

Anyway, I was really, really good and I only bought four books which are:

History of Britain Pocket Companion
The Interesting Bits - History You Might Have Missed
The Age of the Dictators
The Nature of Despotism

You went to the largest bookstore in Europe and that's what you came out with? Holy shit I could go to my local fucking Border's and get 1000 incarnations of those things.

I'm really interested in seeing what the last one is like.

The Nature of Despotism... I'm guessing it might have something to do with despots and their psychology, huh?

I'm around, sort of, but damn as near zombiefied for the moment due to work. Fics will be forthcoming (eventually) but not for a couple of weeks.

Jeez, leave me waiting, you cocktease.
Now there's a post and I don't understand half the words in it. I guess this has something to do with her writing, which was as I suspected (shit). Fortunately nothing escapes my eagle eyes, and I found a link to her shitty writing. It is here.
I'll pick what sounds like the most interesting thing-- ehh- The Assassin sounds promising, if anything here can be called promising.

Tales of the young Havelock Vetinari, detailing his father's death and his first day at school.

Whoever that is.
Oh, apparently (after some googling) this character is from Discworld, which I never read, so fuck it.
Oh my God this reads like the world's biggest bore is talking to an assembly of the world's biggest bores. Here's a hint if anyone reading this is thinking about writing: write about interesting things.

Let the bad reviews commence!

You get bad reviews on fanfiction.net? You have fucked up on a website where any mention of Naruto is A+ would read again.
I lost the story I was working on. My computer crashed and it's gone...all of it. I was really happy with it too. It's one of those situations where swear words aren't really enough so you just give the computer a disappointed look, sigh heavily and put it in the corner for a while so it can think about what it did wrong.
Maybe I don't know how to write fiction, but it seems to me stories should take (if they're going to be of any substance) a while to write. It shouldn't be "WELL I LOST WHAT I WAS WORKING ON I'M DISAPPOINTED IN MY COMPUTER NO BIG DEAL." Unless you just started.

I have been coming up with so many ideas recently. It's totally cool, but I don't have enough time to write it all down. Damn you, brain of mine!

It's great though. I've just started this new original fic and it's going really well.

I wish I could have this much confidence in all of my ideas.

The only problem is that I'm thinking up dialogue quicker then I can write it down, which is a problem I have a lot.

Which would be a huge problem for you from my limited experience with your writing, because, like Twilight (my best seller) it seems 95% dialog driven. Not good dialog, either, so you're even bad at your supposed strong point.
How does it feel to be a complete and utter hack?

Thats what my writing needs: the click where it all goes into place and you just know it's good.

Wouldn't everyone who writes need that? Most people struggle with it and shit but no, you just sit there and wait for the failed fanfiction express to come pick your lazy ass up and take you to uninspiredville.

And I know this is going to work: I know the characters, I know the world, I know the plotline. I'm taking my time with this one, writing as and when necessary and I'm going to polish it until it's exactly the way it plays out in my head

Congratulations you just described how to write fiction. Glad you learned this critical first step in the world of fiction writing after you've already been writing for years.

I just wrote two and half thousand words in an hour and a half. For me that is nothing short of fucking phenomenal.

Jesus Christ all mighty. I doubt the prolific Stephen King averages that. I know that's quality.
Two and a half thousand words For those of you unfamiliar with how many typed words are on an average sheet of paper (understandable, most people don't count words) that's about 6-7 pages. That's about 41 words a minute, a little under one word a second. Know what definitely didn't happen in that hour? Thought.
It's at this juncture I'd like to point out to my fanfiction-writing friends that writing isn't like grinding in an RPG-- you can't get better at it just by doing it. It's an active process of learning and discovery.

Okay, I've just completed Fallout 3 and...

Did I call this RPG grinding thing or what?

The game presents itself as pretty free-roaming, like GTA or something: You have a main story, you have side-quests, you intermingle them, etc,

>Fallout 3
>like GTA
I know people who would be raging right now.
Also I like how she talks about how bad the ending was (and it was) then goes on to complain basically about how there's no new game+ (the game ended without a chance to continue or restart with her character intact, she has to start completely over) but fails to mention that the ending made no fucking sense in the first place.
This is something I'd think a writer would pick up on: the super mutant in your party (immune to radiation) won't go pull a switch that'll fill the room with lethal radiation, instead leaving you (not immune to radiation) to do it instead. Similarly, the Ghoul could have done this.
Also I know this will come as a shock to this casualfriend blogger, but before-- ehh-- 1999, most games didn't have a new game + option. Beating the final boss resulted in a game over screen. The end. You win.
Now there's a post entitled "Dear American Voters..." followed by "thank you". You Brits are real pretentious with that shit, let me tell you. Although I guess no one really gives a shit who you vote for in your quaint little elections so whatever.
Actually, come to think of it I'm not sure why anyone gives a shit about our elections since you're invariably going to elect a fuck up no matter who you choose, but the party is fun and the colors are bright so that placates the masses.

I eventually managed to write my daily quota of word vomit last night

Great. Speaking of, I'm out of things to say.
Piss off.

What is this I don't even

Get your codebreaker hats on, people. We need to save America and democracy from those Nazi fuckers again.

HAHAHA
HAHAHAHHAAH
HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA

Always a good sign when your blog opens with maniacal (at least that's how I hear it in my mind) laughter.

BIG JOKE!

I'll explain how you make people laugh, okay, you have to tell a joke instead of just saying "BIG JOKE".

i slept from 11 to 8.
HHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA

This was posted at 8:42 AM so presumably she slept from 11 PM to 8 AM, which... I'm not following this joke.

but i feeel
SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD! AHAH

Yeah I usually feel good after sleeping a reasonable amount of time, too.

BUT CRAP NEVER DO WORK.

dunno if i should go sch.

Never do work, people. Ever.
Also I think she's missing a critical "to" there, asking if she should go to school. How I read it, though, is "should I go scholar" which is a fine class in Final Fantasy XI and you should level it.

i never even hear my alarm lah!
i sleep with light on summore!

Summore, quick, what does that mean? The safety of American soldiers depends on this, goddamn!
Wait a minute, it's coming to me! Lah, LA, L.A.! Those dirty Kraut bastards are going to attack Los Angeles!

HOW COME NOBODY CAN UNDERSTAND MY SIMPLE EEENGLISH MSN NICK.

Could it be because your sentences seem to contain random, irrelevant words in them?

I SLEEP UNTIL LKE CONCUSSION LAH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

... What?

Just now...i dreamt about were wolves and fauns
and feet massages! HAHHAHAHA
and idk why but ruben was having the dipurfeetinlittlefishandtheyeatyoudeadsk

in treatment! HAHAHHA

... What?

the amount of hoemwork i am lagging in is OBSCENE I SWEAR!!!!

!

today joan and von said...my denise character became more prominent or something like that
and i asked huhh...? what's that.
they said.
1. laugh alot
2. super blur dunno what's going on.

"super blur dunno what's going on" is an oddly appropriate description for this blog, actually.

had brownie red bull and tehpeng.

Just what you needed. Red Bull.
I think you need to start doing heroin just to slow down to normal speeds.

don't worry. no drugs. HAHAHA
trust meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee HAHAHHA

I don't know why but I'm suddenly reminded of this movie I saw once called Audition. She's going to be like a really manic version of that woman in a couple years.

btw my phone is dying.
the vol cannot make louder..the button spoil =(
COS I DROPPED IT.

She's actually not talking about a phone. She's talking about the guy she kidnapped and keeps chained up in her basement.

im gg to use my spoil guitar cable for my 3d homework.
i will cut it
then try and melt it.
so fun.

Yeah, yeah, in that movie Audition she cut off a guy's leg with a piano wire and then cauterized the wound with a blow torch! This is exactly like that movie, holy shit!

i woke at 10 plus! RAWR
suppsoed to wake at 7
actually i woke at 7!
I DID I DID
BUT I DECIDED TO SLEEP AGAIN COS I'M A PIG
AND I KINDA LOST MY LIKE...HOPE... haha so i slept.

SLEEPING IN IS PIG DISGUSTING.

and ya i was wearing a dress and collecting trash! ahahhaha it rhymes!

I-- I don't really know what to say, honestly.
This was a bad idea, people. I expected her blog to even out at some point or another but it just goes on like this forever and it never really makes sense for an extended period of time, which kind of makes it hard to comment on.
Shit you don't even really have to read it. It's 65% hahas and 35% disjointed, broken sentences. If you wanted to recreate her blog without reading it for some reason you could just set up a wall of Post It notes with one word written on each and throw darts until you fill three paragraphs then throw "HAHAHAHAHA" at the end. There you go, her blog.

Your a Fagort

Okay does everyone have their codebreaker hats on? I have my Film Noir trench coat on, my fedora and the Enigma Machine is up and tapping away at this recent Nazi code.

Matt, all kids I think are cute are named Matt.

The meaning of this sentence is clear, but note the complexity of its structure. There's no call for this. It slowly becomes confusing and her meaning lost in words.

2. He walks in with a black pea coat on, i walk in wit a black pea coat.

Know how I'd write this sentence? "We wore the same coat" which tells me either this is fine unisex fashion or he's wearing a girl's coat (based on how I've seen people dress I'd guess the latter). Also I'm not sure "wit" is a typo.

3. I walk in with my ipod in my ears, he does the same, I always wonder what he's listening to.

Shit, most likely.

4. He is bald, like shaved his head bald, ok I didn't do this one, but i feel i may have if I was a guy, plus it looks super good on him.

Okay, let's take this one slow. So he is bald, and she didn't do this one (presumably she did the previous two but not this one, but if taken literally it could also mean she didn't make him bald) but she feels she may have (uhh, how can you tell?) and it looks good on him.
That is a lot of information packed into a single sentence.

Stupid general things, I'm pretty sure like 9,999 other people on campus have a black pea coat and ipod, plus I have my suspicions he's not straight, completely anyway.

Oh so just because he doesn't jump your bones he's a fag? That's real presumptuous.

I know absolutely nothing about him beyond that, which means I'm in love with the idea of him, which I like so far right?

Keep this in mind.

The rest of my class is spent looking at him when he's looking in the front of the room. Me and him both like schnauzers,

>I know absolutely nothing about him beyond that
>he likes Schauzers
Apparently her definition of "knowing" and mine are two different things.
True, she never saw him interact with a Schnauzer, but even if she had he could have been faking it, so really she can never know that he likes Schnauzers.
Also while I might put a period on that thought right there, she continues:

I learned it in a class exercise the first day of class, I wanted to be in his group, but it didn't work out cause we were on opposite sides of the room.

Let's analyze the information presented in this one sentence.
1. They both like Schnauzers
2. She learned this information in a class activity
3. She wanted to be in his group
4. they couldn't because they were on the opposite sides of the room
In my realm of litfaggotry that's 3-4 sentences.
It's like she has trouble editing her thoughts for content, so instead of even trying, her mind is like an anus, her entries shit, and her blog a toilet.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh I have am having such a hard time staying focused on any one thing.

No! You're kidding!

I don't want to do this. but i can't stop. i can't even spend 30 minutes reading a small excerpt from my research book. What do people do to keep drive? I can't find mine anywhere.

I find myself looking out the window instead of reading your stupid blog. Maybe it's you?

I'm kinda crazy in some weird normal way no one would care about. my brain hurts. the tips of my fingers hurt. the air around me is screaming at me even in silence.

Oh, I get it, you're crazy.

maybe someone will start a third world war and then i can enlist as an army nurse. I could do that right? no fighting, just wearing that funny little cute nurse hat.

Yeah that's definitely all nurses do. Especially army nurses. You can't even focus long enough to read a passage in a book, there's no way you could focus for hours upon hours of surgery.

no i want to be in a tanning bed, a nice warm tanning bed.

Army nurse OR tanning bed. Whichever happens first, I guess.

how on earth do future doctors, dentists, lawyers, professors ever do this? i like what im studying, except accounting, i just don't like studying.

Don't worry about it. You're not doctor, dentist, lawyer or professor material.
Also:
>I like what im (sic) studying
>I don't like studying
hm.

I'm at the library and can't see if i have chocolate on my face because i ate a chocolate in the car.

Quick, let's guess the weight!

Then I join a dating website with a 200lb picture of me up there, and wait for my bait and anyone willing to see me is either in it for my personality, has a glass eye and his last name is Boobfeeler so he thinks i'm an acceptable mate, is trying to marry me for money, or has some massive brain tumor.

When I read the Great Gatsby in 9th grade the first couple of pages were confusing (according to the teacher) and his advice was to "take it slow", so that's exactly what I'm going to do here.
1. She joined a dating site and posted a 200 pound picture of her (presumably she means she weighed 200 pounds when the picture was taken, not that the picture weighs 200 pounds)
2. She "waits for her bait" (?)
3. anyone willing to see her is either in it for her personality (which is worth it, I might add) has a glass eye (you can still see with one glass eye)
I guess what has me confused is the "wait for my bait" clause. What does that mean? Does she mean she's baiting someone? She's waiting for her catch (which would require bait)? What's going on here?

THIS is how i will meet my future husband. :)

Which is funny because not... Three paragraphs ago you just called blind dating through a radio show "pathetic" but apparently internet dating is not pathetic. Huh.

So do I really have to write 25 random things about me and post it on facebook.

Have to? What, is this a homework assignment? You don't have to do anything.

1. I've facebook stocked people, oh yes I have.

Stocked them on the fine shelving at Facebook, that is.

3. Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza is the best food in the world.

>Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza
>200 pounds
I think I found a connection.

I mean i could think of a million other good things to do besides play video/online games. It's not like you're gaining knowledge of the outside world, or practicing math, or improving your reading, or learning a new language, it's just a new form of being a vegetable.

Oh yeah, like you're such a scary brilliant scholar.

This could possibly be the worst, most boring entry i have ever written.

So why are you posting it, then?
It's like these people know somewhere in the back of their minds that what they're doing is wrong but don't know what to do about it. "Well I wrote a really long, boring entry. Wonder what I should do about it? Definitely post." Listen people, I have 215 entries written to "Edie Finds a Corpse." How many can you actually find? A little over 100. Over 50% don't make it.
You can edit for thought and content, and if entire entries don't make it WHO CARES? I tell you what will make people never want to read your blog: posting a ton of bullshit no one gives a fuck about.
I guess anyone could readily argue that "maybe they don't want people to read it" in which case they're clearing lying because no one posts shit to the internet expecting it to go unread.

Bat Pullan Gaems

No one knows how to pull bats in FFXI. It's not a hard concept. Wait until they're apart and grab one, Jesus Christ people.

I have scheduled today a meeting between me and my son's teacher and the school counselor. We are going to get to the bottom of LightningBoy's behaviors as a group.

I'm going to assume (rather erroneously based on what I've heard parents name their children) that LightningBoy is a code name.

I DID talk to the counselor yesterday and she did have a couple of valid behavior examples of blaming others, but not of bullying.

Why is "did" in caps? Well, whatever.
Also I wasn't aware blaming others was a behavior problem. I'm pretty sure everyone except for me does it in a near constant basis to evade personal responsibility.

I mean, after 2-3 years of constant bullying problems, I wouldn't blame him AT ALL for being paranoid of his classmates.

Pussy kid being bullied? Send to him the Shaolin Temple in China for one year. He'll come back ready to kick the shit out of anyone.

I believe that all us sensitive, sensory processing, ADD people who grew up with no diagnoses or understanding only a few decades ago, just wondered what was wrong with us, bucked up and learned how to deal with the world on our own.

Wow that sounds awful! Having to toughen up sure is, well, tough!

THUS, I am HAPPY to be able to provide my kids with diagnoses, help them understand themselves and get them the help that I can't provide.

What is IT with RANDOM caps in your POSTS? I read this like you have trouble controlling the volume of your voice (which you probably do).
Also way to turn your kids into a bunch of helpless fagorts.

I keep thinking that our family's genetics is like a funnel, and as we get closer and closer to the small end we get a concentration of what was wrong with previous generations.
Hmmm, is that enough of an idea for a research study? lol

Well the only way that makes sense is if "our" family is reproducing with itself because the introduction of new genetic material would dilute the effects of any major genetic issues most likely, unless your family is extremely, extremely unlucky.
Which would be possible if you live in the Warhammer world. Both having a soul (and how strong your soul is) and luck are genetic factors.
Last week, ArtGrrl drew up her first contract.

She wrote:
Promis _____ (LightningBoy had to write "yes" on the line)
No ripy the cocnoc _______ (LightningBoy had to check this line)
(No ripping the contract)
Name ________________________ (which LightningBoy had to sign his name)

Aren't I proud? She wrote a contract to make her brother promise not to rip up the contract. Loophole proof and everything. She's 7 going on Lawyer.

Actually the contract (or "cocnoc" as your daughter calls it) doesn't stipulate to cutting or burning or shredding.
Perhaps a better turn of phrase would be "no willing or wanton destruction of this contract by all parties bound to it" but hey, she is seven.

She filled out the teacher's version of the evaluation sheet and she wrote that he OFTEN showed his temper? and that he OFTEN was a bully? and that he was OFTEN defiant? and that he is OFTEN spiteful or vindictive???

Defiant and vindictive. I sense great things for this waterhead.

I mean, I can see him trying to be a leader and being bossy about it... but, bullying????
I can see him NOT hearing her say something to him and not doing what she asks because he didn't hear her and MAYBE her taking that as defiance?

Or maybe he caught on at an early age that school is bullshit?
I mean you seem ready to dismiss this as a possibility. Maybe your kid is just a fuck up, lady.

The thing is that most of what I hear my son tell me about how his teacher does things... doesn't sound fair or consistent.

I see what's happening here.

She charged LightningBoy $10. school bucks because he needed to check his backpack for a missing paper! She charges $2. school bucks if they need to go to the bathroom. IF you owe her money, then you have to stay in at recess.
Because they whispered in line (outside) a handful of students lost recess for a month!

Yes, this is what the Spartans used to do to prepare their children for a life of badassery.
Your kid failed. He cried to his mother instead of finding ways around it. Although, admittedly, you should have been there to tell him to figure it out.

And the reason LightningBoy was involved with that is because the people behind him were talking and the person in front of him said, "Stop talking, pass it on." and my son thought it was a good idea to "pass it on" and got caught.

Was there a "no talking" rule? If so, your kid was talking and got caught. The semantic value of the message is irrelevant because there was no talking.

The person who started it didn't get caught.

The strong and the fortunate get to carry on, the weak and the less fortunate lose recess.

I told him for JUST this year.Only worry about yourself and don't help people. argh.

I wasn't kidding about this being Spartan practice.

She even wrote that he needs to "not cry every time I approach him".

Ha, ha, ha, ha. Still, I feel bad for the kid, but goddamn.

I will talk to a therapist about him on Thursday. I am getting him tested for CAPD.

Which is complex acronym for "ADHD".

Now, if only this year could hurry and end and we can get away from that teacher!
Someday we hope to get that magical combination of good teacher and good classmates for my poor son.

Not happening. Ever. He'll either become a total pussy, end up shooting the school up, or wind up like me.
Okay I've been thinking what your one dumbass should do to stop the bullies. Next time one starts picking on him, he should look him square in the face and punch him in the nose. Hard. Then when the kid drops, he should start kicking him until the teacher pulls him off.
The fallout will be immense and probably harsh, but his entire elementary school career will be smooth sailing as everyone is too afraid to approach.

It was a major thought.
Here's the final result/explanation of YEARS of thinking about this:
My past is what made me who I am. I like who I am.

I think you're missing a major precept of both Buddhism and Yoga but okay, whatever. It isn't a spiritual practice for you (as much as I'm sure you'd hate to admit it).
The point of all that "forgetting your past" is to live entirely in the moment. If you forget your past and yourself then you will be nothing, and therefore everything.
Then you'd know what to do about your dumbass kids and their bullying problems.

This year we get to go to church at 11am but we actually go at 10:15am for choir.

If the whole Buddhism thing is lost on you because you're too much of a Christfag just set your dumbass kids up with the code of conduct of the Knights Templar. Same basic result in the end.
Remember, when picking a code of conduct you have two basic choices: monastic and chivalric, and it's always best to err on the side of monastic if you want badassery.
In conclusion, fuck it.

Socially Well-Adapted Individuals

You won't see any here. I was doing the old bait-and-switch, see. Take one look at the avatar (a melting dog thing) and figure it out from there.
Everyone get your furry checklist out.

My parents are both good Catholics; therefore, when it comes to pleasures of the flesh, their attitude has always been simple: there are no pleasures of the flesh.

Oh this would have been simpler if you had just followed them without question.
Also before you explore deep sexual issues in exacting detail I'd like to point out no one really cares who you bone or how you do it.
Unless it's kids. Then the FBI might care.
Or if you kill them afterwards, then the police might care.
Okay so under some specific instances, some people might care. But other than that, no one gives a shit.

It is the duty of every man to abstain from such things until he finds the one right woman, then do it with her (and only with her) for the purpose of reproduction, and that's about it.

You Catholics are smart. You knew the second you gave these freaks an inch they'd take a meter.

Any other arrangement, including doing it just because you enjoy doing it? In good Catholic fashion, you should feel guilty about it.

Hey, if it prevents mutants wearing fur suits posting endlessly about it on the internet, then it can't be a bad idea.

One of the greatest sources of happiness in my life came when I realised that this model didn't work for me at all, in any respect. When I was growing up, I never really understood what I had a body for ...

I'm not particularly familiar with Catholic dogma but what I am very familiar with is Warhammer logic, and I can tell you the Iron Hands space marines believed you had a body so you could purge the weakness out of it.
Needless to say, insane levels of conditioning and training and replacing of limbs with robotics ensued.

The answer came to me when I finally acknowledged to myself that I was interested in males, and "gave one a try".

Checking off "gay" on the official furry checklist.

Oh, they do exist, and they are definitely not to be avoided. Sex is a source of joy, not a duty to be shunned except when forced to do it. Why do we have bodies? So that we can share those pleasures freely with others.

Continuing with my space marine analogy (I have yet to meet anything that cannot be compared to space marines), this is the rhetoric of the Emperor's Children. Heretic.
And heretics are only good for one thing: burning.

Enjoy what your body can do! Let it bring others the same pleasures that it brings you! Savour how it feels to take yourself and a friend or two on a joyride, throttle wide open, loving the pleasure because pleasure, shared responsibly, is good and true and wonderful.

That is an image I will take to my grave. You on all fours in a fur suit with a "friend" behind you.

We had a friend over to the house, and he was a friend with whom there had been flirtation ... so both body and brain were eager to share with him, to translate those flirts into the sticky, panting, wake-the-neighbours conclusion that a good flirt should lead to.

Eww.

Ever since I was a tyke, animated canine characters have just enthralled me.

Check.

It is generally rather difficult to drag me out to see a movie, but animated? Canine? Characters? May I see it again? Please?

101 Dalmatians was the greatest movie ever made according to this logic.

I was the kid with the Dynomutt lunchbox, and I wanted to be him when I grew up.

In a way, I suppose I have ... just look at my LJ icon or my fursuit.

Yeah you're just like Dynomutt, except somehow you're even lamer.

That's how I see myself and how I choose to present myself to the world.

See guys, it's a lifestyle, not a sexual fetish!
Fuck you, friend. Being a furfag is a goddamn fetish. Don't get all high and mighty on me about this bullshit.

Maybe that's why animated canine characters fascinate, because it's the only time I can see actors on the silver screen who are like me, who drag me in because I can really see myself in them.

>animated canine
>actors

They may be fictional, but they're real to me.

All right I guess that's fair.

I also do have to admit that I have a soft spot for musicals.

No, stop! A gay guy, liking musicals? THIS SHIT IS UNBELIEVABLE.

My mate and I don't agree on our musical tastes ... pretty much whatsoever. When he moved into my apartment in 1997 and we went to consolidate the CD collections, we had exactly one CD in common (the soundtrack to Balto).

I'd like to point out he's using "mate" in the animal sense. I thought he was Australian at first, but no, he calls his boyfriend his "mate".

But we do listen to music the same way: obsessive-compulsively. Pick a song, listen to it. Like the song? Listen to it again. And again. And again. And again.

Pfft, who doesn't do that? You're not special.

So there I was, minding my own business ... OK, I was sitting at a red light waiting to turn left, at one of those intersections where there are two left turn lanes that feed into both lanes of the street you're turning into. The light changed to green, and I turned.

Oh man maybe it's today but I keep yawning. This really is boring as fuck.
To make a 21 (!) paragraph story short: a cop pulled over the wrong person.

One of the things that my folks do to challenge themselves during their off hours is to work the crossword puzzles in the local newspaper. When I'm visiting, I get sucked in.

Dad, working this particular puzzle solo for the moment, hollers from the dining room: "Patron saint of chastity!"

Saint Agnes. Holy shit you are the worst Catholics ever. Patron saint of lost causes? Saint Julian. Patron saint of the blind? Saint Cecilia. SHIT ISN'T THAT HARD, FOLKS.

Dad: "Patron saint of chastity."

Mom, after a split second of thought: "Agnes."

Then she goes back into the bedroom and continues folding laundry.

This is why my mother and I don't discuss such things.

Hmph.

There may be a glass of wine, but there is no thou.

A glass of wine should be followed by a fireplace and a snuggle, not sitting in front of a computer writing about it.

You know "thou" carries a very formal, unfamiliar tone with it, and-- fuck it, goddamn. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY I BOTHER TRYING TO EXPLAIN THIS SHIT TO YOU FURRY FUCKS.

Like a lot of humanity, I own an iPod ... which means that I own a set of those trademark white ear buds. To protect their pristine whiteness from being sullied by contact with actual human skin, the ear buds come with a small collection of black foam thingies that go over them. Lacking something better to call them, I call them "ear condoms".

... They do? Also does everything have to go back to sex with you? I know I'd call them ear bud covers, or "that shit that came with my ear buds." Or something.

To make another long story short, he goes to the Apple store (trendyfag) and gets more of these covers. For free.

This guy's problem is that he doesn't have anything to say AND he takes forever to say it, so even the most basic of tales (I went to the store for X and got it) becomes a long involved narrative. Worse still, this boring tale has 42 comments. Goddamn.

So I could go on trying to squeeze blood out of a rock (or funny out of this blog, to make it more literal) but I won't.

My BFF Cunt Blogs

Continuing my incredibly stupid crusade, I see she has updated twice since I last updated. As I said in one previous entry, there is something to be said for sheer crushing volume of writing.

Some people commune with God; others converse with shampoo bottles.

I commune with my refrigerator. Specifically, the ice maker in the refrigerator.

I pulled back the shower curtain just as the last drops of a fifteen-ounce bottle of V05 made their way into the bathwater.

"Why would you do that?" I asked my son, pointing to the empty bottle.

"Because it told me to," replied the shampoo whisperer matter-of-factly.

Goddamn it's fucking scary being a kid. Everything is alive with spirits and a will of its own, or you do completely dickish things for seemingly no reason.
It's amazing as many people turn out as seemingly normal as they do.
Let's analyze the possibilities here. Either the kid thought the shampoo bottle was literally alive, which is possible since little kids believe weird shit, or he did this thing, had no motivation for doing so, and then invented an excuse.
EITHER WAY YOU'RE GOING TO LOOK BACK ON THIS LIKE YOU WERE NUTS.

A few minutes ago, Cameron woke up from his nap crying and very hungry.

Fair enough, babies are frequently hungry as I understand it.

By the time that I got to his room, Cortlen was already feeding him the crusty remnants of a bottle that he had found underneath the changing table. Yumsters!

A lot of people would dismiss this as a cute anecdote, but I, ever the over-thinker, see this as neglect.
Based off the included image, Chris is about ten.
So this kid was pitching a bitch long enough for the ten year old child to figure out he needs fed, search about (because invariably there's no food at hand because you are, after all, a neglectful parent) and locate a crusty bottle underneath the changing table. I know that's not the first place I would look for a bottle, so he had, at least possibly, been searching for a while.
Then he lifts the child out, sits down elsewhere, and feeds the child the bottle.
Ten year olds are not strong or particularly dexterous, so I imagine that it took longer for him to perform this feat than it would you, so I'm estimating at least a seven minute layover between this event and you finally doing something.

My new best friend is Lenore, the elementary school nurse. Lenore became my regular friend a few weeks ago when she sent home a note saying that she had trouble doing a lice check on my daughter, presumably because of the large rat's nest that has taken over the back of my five year-old's head.

As I understand it there's a spray product that aids in the removal of tangled hair.

My friendship with Lenore deepened over the weekend, when I received another letter in the mail, this one typed out on school district stationary and signed inexplicably in all capital letters by the nurse herself.

You should be familiar with Roman court proceedings, being a student of dark age literature.
All caps means she is speaking as an entity of the state and not as a private citizen.
I don't know how many nurses would be familiar with such matters but all right fine that is what it means.

Last month, all of the kindergartners were weighed and measured as part of the school's health and growth screening program. Lenore wanted to let me know that based on these numbers, my daughter's body mass index-for-age percentile was 88%.

Presumably that means she weighs less than 87% of people her age. Of course such information would be of relatively little use because women usually weigh less than men at nearly every age bracket save 10-14, so...

While I was grateful for this information, I wasn't exactly sure what it meant.

Gee, you're on the internet, I sure wish there was a way to locate such information!

Being either overweight or underweight can put a person at risk for certain health problems.

It is better to be underweight than overweight.

I liked the fact that Lenore had determined that my daughter was either overweight or underweight, but left it up me to guess which one.

At this point I assume she's being cute and I'm supposed to be laughing, but it is devoid of anything I would call a punchline.

Normally, I would think that having a BMI in the 88th percentile wouldn't be a particularly good thing, but then again, if my daughter was ground beef, being in the 88th percentile would be considered quite lean.

Holy shit it took you... One, two... Five paragraphs to get to that as your punchline? These aren't like sentence paragraphs like on my blog, either. These are fairly large blocks of text.
Jesus Christ how does that even happen? What has to be wrong with you where that passes as funny?

Yesterday, in the mall parking lot, I hit the bridge of my nose on my car's trunk door (don't ask).

I'm not going to ask because that implies I care, but you are a dumb klutz.

The cut took over an hour to clot,

Oh hi I didn't know my mom was posting this. (SHE READS THIS SO SHE'LL GET IT. HI.)

Helping out people who don't help themselves is a special hobby of mine, along with investing in pyramid schemes and collecting pen pals from Nigeria.

Most people would call "helping people who don't help themselves" charity but all right, fine.

A few weeks ago, I broke out of my warm and snugly hermit shell (where I was very happy I might add) and invited the woman's daughter to our house for a play date.

All right before you start with the WOE IS ME I AM A MARTYR FOR MINE LORD I would like to point out you invited her.

I hoped that the woman would stay in her car during the drop off, or better yet, just deposit her offspring on the curb, but no such luck:

Good parents often want to make sure they aren't handing their "offspring" as you call them (I prefer spawn or brood, but okay, not bad) to child pornographers.
At least I think. I don't have a lot to go off of here since I don't have children of my own, but I seem to recall my parents doing similar things and I imagine I'd do it for any child I'd have.

Even though the woman made me feel like a prisoner in my own home, I felt really bad for her and decided after she left that I would try to do something nice for her family.

"I felt really bad for her"
MISTAKE ONE.
"I would try and do something nice for her"
MISTAKE TWO.

Over the next few days, I mustered together a small army and together we secretly stocked the woman's fridge and bought her kids several Christmas presents.

"I involved others"
MISTAKE THREE.

We all felt good about our good deed.

"We all felt good"
MISTAKE FOUR.

I felt even better about our collective acts of service the day after Christmas when the mom called me with the good news that she had just bought a 60" big screen television set.

Tim thinks I should do the nice thing and volunteer to watch their tabby with IBS so they can enjoy their new home theater in peace. I'm seriously thinking about it.

Psych.

SHIT HIGH FIVE YOU SURE-- wait, no. You got taken.

"Every single thing in this room has to be clean before you can come out," I said while closing the door."
My kids took my instructions literally and dipped every single crayon we own into a bottle of Purell.

Well according to what you said that was what you were asking. Had you said "put away everything" or "pick up everything" that would have been closer to what you actually meant.
Think of it like a language class. If on a test you were asked to translate "put your shit away" into Spanish and you wrote "clean your toys" you'd be marked wrong.

Last week, my elderly friend gave each of my children two crisp one dollar bills for Christmas.

Why, you can buy-- buy-- Uhh. You can open a savings account and in five years buy a candy bar?
It's the thought that counts, though, okay.

Cortlen beamed..that is, until he saw Kellen's selection.

"I want that," said Cortlen, pointing at the remote controlled robot dog. "Let's trade."

Kellen, who hates confrontation and will do anything to please his siblings, would have handed the dog over to his brother if I hadn't intervened.

Which one had the fury of Ares in his chest or whatever?
Yeah it was Christopher. My statement stands.

"Oh no you don't," I said, pulling Cortlen away from the dog.

Cortlen screamed the entire way home.

This is where the Spartans would train their children to wait until an opportune moment and steal the dog, but I don't think children are trained like that anymore.
Probably best. Opportunistic people are usually called dicks, or CEO.

"I want that dog so baaaaad!" he cried.

Kellen had seen his brother suffer enough. He asked me if he could give Cortlen the dog.

Although Kevin is altruistic and sympathetic to the suffering of others. I guess that means he has... The... Heart of Apollo? I don't know this analogy is getting a bit tangential now.
God of healing and medicine, you know.

"Why don't we ask the dog who HE wants to live with?" I suggested.

Cortlen clapped his hands with excitement.

With the push of a button, the dog let out a loud bark.

"He picked Kellen," I translated.

Cortlen threw himself off the couch...but not before I snapped a picture.

I'm sure there are any number of things you could do or say to alleviate this or at least teach a beneficial lesson, but I guess taking pictures of your child suffering for the sake of your own amusement and the amusement of strangers on the internet is reason enough to do something.

200: number of my husband's former classmates who will hear through the alumni grapevine how well we are handling four children.

Huh, so that's what happens to some people in college. They make 200 friends.
I can count on one hand the number of friends I've made in college.
Oh well guess I'll have to settle for 120% on tests.

0: number of

PEOPLE WHO CARE ABOUT THIS.

3: number of children who asked me with a straight face if they could have ice cream when we got home.

Yes. Yes you can.

His most recent round of IVIG and RBC transfusions gave him a much needed boost. However, Cameron's most recent labs show that the virus is starting to attack his bone marrow again, albeit at a slower rate than before.

If I were Kevin's parent I would probably show him this shit and explain to him who doctors are and what they do, because I'm guessing someone who "would do anything to please his siblings" might be interested in things like that.
You know instead of guiding your children to being petty douche bags I'd take their natural gifts and guide them to being CEOs and doctors.
You know, successes.

The other night my phone rang at 8:30pm. Normally I wouldn't pick up at such an ungodly hour, but I didn't recognize the number, so of course I did.

>8:30 PM
>ungodly
wat.

"I have a rectal fissure!" whispered the raspy voice at the other end.

I'm still laughing. I wish I could receive a call like this.
DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY FISTING JOKES I'VE COME UP WITH IN THIS PAST 30 SECONDS?

The woman on the line identified herself as a friend of a friend of a friend from the community pool. I had never officially met her, but I remembered her gold lamé swimsuit. She had heard through the grapevine that I was an expert in bleeding butt ulcers and wanted to meet in person to discuss hers.

"Really? Call a doctor." That would be my serious advice, after "maybe stop starring in so many anal fisting pornos."

Last night, a sweet reader sent me an email asking for your thoughts and prayers.

I don't have either of those things.

In an attempt to mix things up a little bit, I suggested that the experienced crafters write messages to their parents on the pieces of paper.

"What nice things does your mom do for you?" I asked the guests.

Christ all mighty they're trying to hang out, can you please make this less like school?

In addition to taking piano, oil painting, horseback riding, ballroom dance, and Chinese language lessons, Camber also plays the violin on a third grade level.

Well la-de-fucking da, lady. Also aren't you the woman who said on TV that your children "aren't special, but profoundly normal"? That sounds rather gifted if you ask me.
I want you to look up the painting "Cornelia Pointing to Her Children as Her Treasures" by Angelica Kauffman and study it for a long while. I think it'll make you a better parent.
WHAT, YOU KNOW BETTER THAN THE WIFE OF EMPEROR TIBERIUS? I DON'T THINK SO, TREASONOUS HARLOT.

He also inherited the family genius genes.

Yeah right. You may be smart but I'll tell you one thing you don't have:
WISDOM. GODDAMN.
All right that's it. That's what I have for today.
I think Friday it'll be back to business as usual, but to quote the Ordinators from Morrowind, "Go about your business, but we'll be WATCHING you. Scum."
That's right, I'm officially opening THE MEANEST CUNT WATCH for business.
Expect periodic updates on this.

RAGING

Sometimes I have to hunt high and low for a blog to review, and other times they are thrust into my face by the course of time and fate. Rarely, very rarely, I get a special kind of blog. It is as if the blog is tasked to me by some far off nameless god of fire and fury.
This is one such blog.
THE MEANEST MOM IN THE WORLD IS THE BIGGEST CUNT IN THE WORLD HOLY SHIT.
One look at what she chose to name her misbegotten spawn should tell you eeeeeeexactly what her story is. Camber? You named your fucking daughter Camber? Camber, your new name is... Kimberly.
Kellen, congratulations, you are now Kevin.
Cortlen you-- actually I can't tell if you're a boy or a girl. You must be a boy, actually. Right. So your new name is... Christopher.
And last, but not least, baby Cameron. Let's see, your new name is Ken. Not Kenny, not Kenneth, Ken.
There now that I've settled that little hiccup, time to review the actual contents of this monstrosity.
Skipping the first entry because it's boring as fuck and not nearly douchey enough. She was having an off day.

My kids got a huge kick out of seeing themselves on t.v. Seeing myself on t.v., however, was just plain weird. Much more comfortable with my Chaucer books I am.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention she has her PhD in Medieval literature from fucking Duke.
Medieval literature? Could you possibly major in anything so useless? Hey, specialize until your major is rendered meaningless, why don't you?

When you publish something on an open domain such as the Internet, you have to accept that some people aren't going to like what you put out there.

While I certainly don't like what you publish, what I specifically don't like is you. That's right, I don't like you.

Where, for example, would I put a 500-word manifesto?

Up your ass, cunt.

Thanx for understanding! You're the bestest!

Holy shit I can feel the blood coursing in my eyes.

My kids LOVE to say "bad" words...without really saying them.

What would you define as a bad word, reader? Personally I would teach my kids that no word is bad as long as you know when and how to use it correctly. For instance, you have manners around mixed company, but around me you can say whatever you think, because after all, is that not how you raise a healthy, inquisitive mind?

"We don't say 'jerk' around here...right?" asked Kellen on the way to Wal-Mart.
I confirmed for the tenth time in two hours that 'jerk' was on our no-no list.

JERK? YOU DON'T LET YOUR FUCKING KIDS SAY "JERK"?
Listen, lady, how would you define, say, me to your kids? "That not very nice man"?

"'Stupid' is also not a nice thing to call someone," added Cortlen.

Some people deserve it, Christopher.

I reminded them that anyone who said any of these things "for real" would earn a free meal at Taco Tim's, an in-house chili pepper bar.

Just thinking about the jar of jalapeños in the refrigerator caused Cortlen to claw at his tongue.

You put pepper on your kids' tongues when they say finger quotes "bad words"?
As I understand it, in civilized, enlightened societies parents might calmly explain to their children why what they did is wrong, them emphatically tell them why it is important not to call someone a fucking retard, but I guess burning them with hot spices is also acceptable.
In a baroque kind of way, of course.

"I am definitely never going to call you a poop face," he said in my direction.

Ha, ha, ha that kid destroyed you in his own little way. High five to Christopher.

Yesterday, I shattered my childrens' lives when I explained why, in the behind-the-scenes video clips from High School Musical, the movie director kept calling Troy Bolton by the strange name of Zac.

Hopefully this conversation went something like "why the fuck are we watching High School Fagical, let us watch Transformers instead."

"His name is TROY BOLTON!" screamed Cortlen at the television set.

After cast members misidentified Troy a few more times, Cortlen unsheathed his plastic He-Man sword. Sensing that my television was about to be stabbed, I turned off the DVD.

Christopher feels the fury of Ares deep in his chest, sort of like I do. Of all her broods, Christopher shows the most promise.

"Transformers are just pretend," I said.

I hoped for a flash of understanding; what I got instead was a stunned look of collective disbelief.

"Transformers are too real!" three kids yelled.

That's right, you show that bint. Don't let her ruin what little fun you have remaining in your lives. Just because it is not literally real does not mean it is not metaphysically real.

We are against stealing at our house. Thanks to a cartoon 10 Commandments DVD, we know that God and the ancient Israelites are against it too.

Oh well if God and the ancient Israelites, those beacons of enlightened thought, were against it, then I better fucking be against it too.

While we all understand (at least we do now) that stuffing a die cast Lightening McQueen car up one's shirt and walking out of Toys 'R Us with it is wrong, we're still working on not filling our water cups with soda at Burger King.

Might ye mean "Lightning McQueen" car, Captain Phonics? That's okay, you are a doctor (as in sentence doctor, not a real medical doctor) in Medieval literature, which was before standardized spelling, so you might be forgiven.

"I couldn't find the water spout, so I filled up my cup with Coke instead," explained Kellen.

We gotta pay for that shit, bro.

When Camber returned to the table, her cup was covered with a lid.
"I got water," she said as she took a big sip. Orange liquid filled the straw.

Don't fucking lie to me, Kimberly.

At least Cortlen was honest.

"I didn't want water, so I got Sprite," he said.

I still chuckle whenever I see the name "Cortlen".

You would have thought I was a suspect on America's Most Wanted the way that my kids looked at me when I ordered them to pour their stolen beverages down the drain.

"We just stole a little bit," whined Camber as she slouched to the drink dispenser and poured out her cup, which was mostly ice.

When something as simple as a soda becomes a conflict with your kids, it says to me maybe you're not being a very empathetic parent. When I, person who makes sport out of being ruthelessly cruel to others on the internet, says you might have an empathy problem, you are, in a word, FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKED. Also what would disturb me more than the stealing, which really to be fair they might not fully appreciate as stealing ("couldn't find water so we grabbed soda" might make sense when you're six) it's the lying.

Lying, to me, says these children are not comfortable with telling you the truth, because you're such a standoffish cunt.

At Costco the other day, you would have thought I was Ma Duggar by the way that people looked at me and my brood.

Even she calls it a brood. Lady, you fucked up. Time to stop blogging about it and act.

"You sure have your hands full."
My cup indeed runneth over.

To go back to my reference to Ares, if the Bible had been written about Ares that line would have been something like "My cup runneth over... WITH THE BLOOD OF MINE ENEMIES." Ares kicks ass.

I flashed the man a sultry grin before chucking a jumbo-sized box of maxi pads onto the conveyor belt.

It's nice to know that I still have the touch.

Touch of buboes, perhaps, because I know you turn my stomach.

So then she shits on her daughter's birthday party ideas (yeah a Hannah Montana party would be totally bonkers for a six year old). Good going. Your kids definitely won't grow up to resent you or become bitter alcoholics or anything. Shit I don't even know you and even I'm thinking a drink would make reading your blog more tolerable.

How am I doing so far? I know you prided yourself on having thick skin. I know this is a little tl;dr but I have to copy your entries here and then comment on it, and quite frankly there is a lot to comment on.

Last January, I bought a closet full of dry clean only work clothes for the three college professor jobs that I had just been offered and desperately wanted... but would turn down a few weeks later (because I was pregnant).

This might be a first, but for once I actually recommend expressedly not raising your own kids. I think they'd be a lot better off with an absent mother than, say, you.

I have finally gotten to the point where I can look at the clothes without wanting to throw myself off the balcony. My husband says I'm being dramatic.

"Get over yourself," he told me the other day.

Brofist to your husband.
Holy shit, are you ready for this master plan?

In our constant battle to find creative ways to simultaneously entertain our older children and keep Cameron awake for more than 10 minute stretches, my husband and I built a makeshift racetrack around the perimeter of the first floor of our house.

Okay, right, get this:

Several times a day, we strap Cameron into his sister's doll stroller and let the older kids take turns doing laps around the kitchen and dining rooms.

All right, then:

To prevent catnaps (and unlawful speeding), we built in a few sharp turns and speed bumps.

Why what could possibly go wrong? Track, older children pushing a younger one in a doll stroller (that's too small for him incidentally) and sharp turns built into the track? How long until that kid falls right onto his soft spot and ends up with more troubles than anemia?

I know from experience that you aren't child neglecters, but like me, have simply lost the will to live.

One might wonder why a woman who thinks like this would have four children. I can understand not knowing what kids were about initially but once you had the first one you should pretty much know. If you're really slow by the second one it should have been very clear.
All right ladies and gentlemen that is all I have, but I must say I wanted to go on. I could read back and back until the first entry, so for the first time in the history of my blog,
A TWO PARTER.