Monday, December 12, 2011

Dear Grandma

Dear Grandma,
     Yes, I can use google, and facebook. I can also tell you that the reason your internet is slower than the speed of smell is because you have now downloaded over one-hundred and twelve versions of the same game from a site called Your computer has at least as many web STDs as five dollor Brooklyn hooker.
Me when your computer doesn't work
Dear Grandma,
     I realize that saving 80c is awesome. If I could save 80c on anything, I would. But there is a line. Quite literally, there is a 17 cart line behind you. I will give you 80c if you will please just leave the poor cashier alone. Your coupon is expired, I'm sorry for that, but I do have a schedule to stick to and waiting 45 minutes for you to get  a can of soup, PineSol, and dog biscuits doesn't fit into that schedule. 
The lady behind you at the super market
p.s.  Please stop using checks. It just adds insult to injury.

Dearest Grandma,
     I'm sorry you were offended by my baggy pants. But my testicles are even more sorry. Next time I go get a burger, I will wear a belt. My bad.
Kid you wedgied at the restaurant for wearing baggy pants

Dear Grandma,
     When I ask 'How are you doing today ma'am?' I'm just being polite. I don't literally want to know your life story. I am not trying to be rude when I try to make you buy shit you don't need, but I have to say the script to get paid. I did not grow up in a barn, and I'm sorry my boss didn't put you on the 'no-call list'. Really, I just want to say the script and get a pay check.
Every telemarketer to ever call
Dear Grandma,
     There are very few times in my day where I get to be 100% alone. I enjoy those moments. One of those golden moments is when I'm on the porcelain throne. I love talking with you, but not when I'm peeing. The wall is only so thick, and it would be magical if I could take this minute and a half to be by myself. Thanks Grams.
Me on the Toilet
Dear Grandma,
     I have things in here from 1967. Please clean me. It smells like a dead body. There might actually be a dead body in here. Please, I will do anything. Trust me, if I die, you will never get this stank out of the house.
Your freezer
 Dear Grandma, 
      Stan Lee once said, "With great power comes great responsibility." Words cary great power. Also, not to sound like a skank, but use me when ever you want. Oh, and please stop making sound effects instead of actually just saying what your thinking. 
The proper use of the English Language

I'm officially moving out of Grandma's crib on January 15th! So what happens to the blog? I will try to keep it updated as much as possible, but to help y'all with the transition, I'm going to start a brand spankin new blog. After the 20th of January, this blog will be updated once a week. Sorry:(

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Reality Television: Teen Mom, Toddlers and Tiaras, and Wife Swap

I have slowly been introducing Grandma to the trashy, risque, and dramatic world of reality television. Specifically Teen Mom, Toddlers and Tiaras, and Wife Swap; I'm waiting on Jersey Shore because frankly, I don't want to watch it either. Although, I do speak more than just english, I don't speak dumbshit so the show just confuses me. Is the premise of the show a competition of who can get the most STDs?

Always classy.

It's pretty much common knowledge that anything on MTV or TLC is going to be showing shows that people only watch to get their daily dose of drama. All the shows tend to follow the same basic set of rules as well.

1) Introduce the happy family family, barely pregnant teen mom, or smiley little tot. Every one is shiney clean, smiley, and perky. It is heaven on earth in that house.

2) Skip to montage of everything that will possibly go wrong in the next hour of this show (Screaming children, screaming parents, sex, drugs, screaming children, rock&roll, and more screaming children)

3) Show horrified parents saying how horrified they are.

4) Commercial break. But wait! preview to what's after the break: almost bitch fight, bitch fight, and any other stressful situations they can create hype about.

5) Pointless building up to the bitch fight and/or temper tantrum.

6) More commercials! Fuck yeah, Sham-WOW!


7) Bitch fight

8) Reconciliation

9) End, and preview of next weeks same exact show.

TLC and MTV have got this shit on lock. They know how to get you to tune in, and I fall for it every time. Grandma, on the other hand was completely oblivious to all this! So I decided to conduct a little experiment, and Grams was my lab rat.

Sunday was Teen Mom night. Oh, you crazy teens. My favorite is Jenelle. Oh, I correct that; my favorite is Jenelle's mom. Oh boy is she a fire cracker! How many drugs has she done again? At least enough to hold her own next to Courtney Love. That lady can fly off the handle at anything! It's awesome!

Me: Ceramics...
Me: Christmas carols...

You get the point. Janelle's mom hates everything. And always hopes people are 'happy with themselves'.

Does she look happy in any of these!?

But enough about that, What about Grams?! What did grams have to say about the whole thing!?

Not anything particularly funny, just repeating under her breath, "Bad moms, such bad moms." Like a priest preforming an exorcist. "The power of Christ compels you, bitch! Be a good mama!" Then she would occasionally jump out of her seat to yell, "Look at 'em!" as if I was looking at something besides the TV. Yup, sorry Grams, wasn't paying attention, just sitting here staring at a blank wall directly next to the television, my bad.

Oh, that's where they learned how to do it...

So maybe Teen Mom isn't Grandma's show, I turned it off after the first episode because I didn't want Grams to pull a Hulk Hogan and try and teach those girls a lesson. Now remember, this is Grandma and she would try to lecture these girls through the TV.

So we move on to more bad moms on Toddlers and Tiaras. If your not familiar with the pageant world, it's the ritual of moms dressing up toddlers to look like tiny little rape nuggets. Yup, the tan 'em up, through them in a provocative dress, and make them parade around so every pervert in the audience can take enough pictures to get their fill. It's kind of like they are asking for they're children to be stolen. "Look how perfect my kid is! Don't you just want to eat them up!?" Yeah, actually, I'm sure there is at least one creep out there that would just love to.

 The moms even tell them to shake their butts for the audience. Nothing like getting a head start on your career; if your carrier is a midget-stripper.

She sucks a bottle like a pro.

Grandma was disgusted to say the least. In fact, so disgusted that my ring tone is now her screaming, "She looks like a hooker! A trampy little four year old! A prostitute! Oh my God... " I might, "accidentally", leave my phone on full blast the next couple days. Mostly because hearing a 76 year old lady scream "PROSTITUTE!" fills me with joy.

Yeah, she's 3. Bring it bitch. 

But, alas, Toddlers and Tiaras struck a cord with Grammy, and so we switched shows. Onto Wife Swap.  DING DING SING!

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Christmas Hoarder

Grandma is a hoarder.  But not your run of the mill hoarder; she hoards Christmas. WHAH!? Christmas?! How in the world do you hoard Christmas?! In a large, cinnamon-must scented, basement. I swear, if we had a garage sale, I should just write an ad that said, "Want to be a merry mother fucker all year round!? Come invade our basement and fill carts full of holiday joy!" Lets take a tally of all the Christmas that is in Grandma's basement. And, if you would love a good laugh, think of this list as the 12 days of Christmas.

The hoarder in me is named Chris fuckin' Kringle.

12 moving tubs of Christmas lights, most of them broken and missing bulbs.

 And of the ones that are working, most of them were purchased before 1970 and used to be colored, but now are faded into an aged, pastel, varient of the colors they once were. Sad, sad, story. Some one should write a poem about it.

This is what she plans on happening...

...this is what usually happens.

11 bags of candy canes.

  All of which are broken in half and taste like wal-mart shelving units. Grandma loads up on candy canes three days after Christmas because wal-mart is practically paying you to take they damn things off their hands. When Wal-mart doesn't even want them, that should be a sign that they probably taste like the inside of a shoe.

"...its broken and tastes like disappointment. "

10 Light-up/ inflatable lawn ornaments.

She never puts them up. In a way, I'm not sure if I should be great ful for this, or not. On one hand this means I never have to go out into the bitter cold and set up the stupid things, nor do I have to go back out to take them down. Although, with out me, they would more than likely stay out in the yard until mid-june. But shopping for more lawn ornaments that don't fit in your car, use money that could go for something else, and dicking around Home Depot for five or six hours while Grams decides between yet another christmas light deer, or a dancing inflatable snow man, is not how I want to spend one of my days off.

No one sleeps in this neighbor hood.

9 Christmas trees.

Nine. We don't even have nine rooms in the house. Nine is an absurd amount of fucking christmas trees. Oh, and she also wants a real one this year. Do you know what it's like to decorate, then dismantle nine Christmas trees?!

Grandma thinks if you don't give a shit about christmas,
 you can't take one either. 

8 Wreaths.

Again, we do not  have eight doors to even put these on!? So what do we do? Put them randomly around the house. Need a dog bed? Here's a wreath! No coasters? Wreath time mo-fo! How about a wreath with your breakfast!? Wreaths for every one!

They even take away your cats dignity! 

7 thousand bank Christmas cards.

Boxes, and boxes, and boxes, and boxes, of blank Christmas cards. They are not collectable; they are not being sent out, and they are not serving any purpose, they take up space. And money! Christmas cards cost a lot of money for something t hat you really can't , and will be thrown out around the 30th of December.

This is the only card I will keep. 

6 more moving boxes of Christmas bulbs.

I will be the first to say that unless these bulbs are worth over 100$ in monetary of sentimental value, they are the most worthless piece of crap on this earth. Even ceramic kittens are less worthless than Christmas bulbs because at least the kittens are here year-round. Christmas bulbs are pointless, dust collecting, circles. They are circles. fucking circles (sorry all you geometry nerds that will correct me by saying that technically they are spheres, my bad.).

What happens when you knock over the tree?
You drown in a sea of bulbs.

5 Doggy-santa outfits

She dresses up the dog like santa. A female, wiry haired, muttly, overgrown, wiener dog dressed like santa. Your welcome for that image.

Jolly-hate beams are aimed at your face.

4 Shelves of Christmas movies.

These are all tape recorded on a VHS off of the Lifetime Channel eighteen years ago. No one has watched them since.

For the last time, NO ONE CARES.

3 dressers full of Christmas sweaters

Every year she is astounded with how many Christmas sweaters are on sale at the Goodwill. "Oh my stars! They are only $2.50! Oh, and this one has a raccoon in a hat on it! How cute! Oh look how many there are! I WILL BUY THEM ALL!" Every year. Every damn year.

Like a breath of fresh, winter air.
Except the winter air is some one's three year old stench of vodka, fruit cake, and dissatisfaction. 

2 Days to dig out all the Christmas shit that got shoved behind other Christmas shit from Christmas six years ago.

The things I find down there with Christmas themes on it is unbearable. Christmas noodles, Christmas palm-trees, paper snowflakes from when I was 3, Christmas magazine issues, Christmas joke books, special edition Christmas bibles, hundreds of shoe boxes of nativity scenes, and even Christmas wigs.

Because nothing sais 'Merry Christmas' like a giant green shit on your head.

... and only one more year until I have to go through all this again.




Sorry about the lack of posts recently! I WILL be back to updating daily, if not multiple times a day. Working on some AWG swag like stickers, laptop covers, and even a ringtone! Check in EVERYDAY and tell EVERYONE. Hypno-toad commands you...

Friday, December 2, 2011

According to Grandma: Tattoos and Peircings

We all know the older we get, the less and less sense we make. Most old uns' forget who's president (not Nixon),  where the left their glasses (on top of their head), or where the cat went (you accidentally shut it in the pantry with the cereal). The elderly get modern things easily confused ("Whats an ePod?" Butt-dialing me on their cell phone. Thinking that there is an internet postmaster that sends all the e-mails.). But occasionally, I just have to let out a hearty laugh at some of the things I hear Grandma say.

Oh, Grandma. You should be a comedian.
You're way funnier than Adam Sandler!
But so is a brick wall. 
 According to Grandma: If you have any piercing beside your earlobe, you're a whore. Male or female, face or body, visible or not, you are an STD breeding ground; you are Ke$ha. Okay, so maybe Grandma isn't alone in thinking this. But most people don't take it to these lengths. Grandma HATES piercings and tattoos. HATE. She hate piercings more than people who don't use recipes, animals that eat anything in her lawn, or loud teenagers. Same goes for those tats.

Don't walk too close, she probably breathes ghonna-herpa-syphall-aids. 

Now, if you have read this blog before, you are quite aware that our Thanksgivings, or any holiday for that matter, never go according to plan. Imagine this, if you will: Everyone in our having a jolly old time around the holidays, a time when generosity and caring is the reason for the season. And then you hear a knock upon the door. When you open the door you see a member of your family, whom you haven't seen in years.

Let me clarify, it's around Christmas time, and my brother had recently been "on tour with his band". AKA, dicking around the west coast. And one more thing to explain, my brother had almost any piercing you can think of. Oh, and his arms and back were completely covered in tattoos.

"No, mom! Trust me, this is how they do work out here!"

But back to the family's happy celebration of being re-united with Dusty. You would expect grandma to through her arms around his scrawny body in excitement! Her grandbaby is home! Then rush him into the kitchen to fatten him up.

Dusty is much older than this,
but this shows the warmth that most would show towards one another.
To be sandwiched between them would be like being swallowed by the lovey-cuddle whale.

Nope. Not at all.

She gasped and got a look of horror on her face. She looked like she just witnessed someone gnaw off their own arm. "What did you do to yourself!?!?" She was furious. And Dusty was scared. He knew the punishment that could await him. Target practice (Dusty's face=target, Bible=arrow)? Exorcist? Using sand paper to remove all his skin that had a tattoo? Much, much worse.

Poor Dusty was rushed into a bedroom to hide the  satan drawings on him. Then she barely wedged the door open and catapulted a turtle-neck sweater in the room while shielding her eyes and face. Then she called through the door, "And take those damn things you have out of your face!" Then she scurried away like in a few seconds a bomb would go off.

This is what Grammy thinks of your 'self expression'

He re-emerged in a itchy, green, wool sweater that was clearly 7 sizes too big for him, and 12 years older than him. Okay, sweater, not so bad. Yeah, sweaters aren't so bad, until you realize that with the furnace blowing at full blast, the oven had been slaving away for hours, and you have five other people in the room. You could say that Dusty, was a tad bit warm. But did grandma let him go put on a different, lighter, long-sleeved shirt? Oh, God no. Because only the 4 inch thick fibers of the wool yarn would protect Grandma. If she saw a tattoo, a demon-lazer would shoot out of it and aim right for her.

If my brother was Bill Cosby, this is what he looked like.
But enough about that, lets just skip all the hate beams Grandma shot at his chest, and go right to dinner. We all sat down to enjoy some delicious, home-cooked, butter filled, food. Well, almost all of us. Dusty had to wait. Yup, Dusty had to wait until we were all done to come eat. And to make things worse, when you have multiple holes in you mouth, eating things like mashed potatoes, or anything remotely squishy, is quite a task. And it isn't all that appetizing to watch, for those around you. But Grams grew a pair, and stared him down while he threw the food back, anxious to get the whole fiasco over with. Has anyone ever watched you eat? It is nerve racking. Almost worse than having to land a rocket on the moon.

Having Grandma watch you eat is almost this awkward, and painful.

Just to repeat for emphasis, Grandma will not be happy with you if you choose to put holes in your body. Grandma HATES all body-mod. HATE. 

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Todays Post

Sorry, no post for today; too busy celebrating AIDS/HIV awareness day. Spread the know. For today, I'm using my blog-abilities to spread the know! Wear your red and tell a friend!

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Grandma Has Saved Your Life

If you have a garden, a bird feeder, grass, or shrubs in your yard this story applies to you. If you live anywhere except Antarctica, you can directly relate to this. If you are familiar with such a creatures as the white-tailed deer, the grey squirrel, or the chipmunk, you will understand these frustrations that Grandma faces. Grandma has a burning, passionate, hate, in her soul for animals that eat her garden, grass, or bird feed. So how do we solve this issue? Shoot 'em up.

The key is to be patient and stalk your prey.
Don't worry! Grandma isn't a heartless murderer! Don't get your panties in a bundle just yet, PETA. She isn't using an AK-47 to lay out some basterd squirrels; she uses my brother's old paintball guns. You can sigh a sigh of relief now. She is still the sweet old grandma as before, except now she could own you in a paintball tournament.

I understand that these women are not Grandma,
 but when your ass is being owned by an old lady,
I bet you'll tell your friends it was a smokin' hot chick
and you let her win. 

I think the fact that grandma is a paintball sniper brings a whole ne meaning to, "You hooligans! Get off my lawn!" Now, I've spent a few hours behind a paintball gun, but if I'm in someones yard, and I see them lining up their sights, my first thought will not be, "Hmm...I may possibly be in a shallow grave on the side of the road in a few seconds. Maybe I should take this moment to squint and closely inspect this crazy old lady's weapon of choice. Oh, lucky day! It may be just a paintball gun!" Yeah, anything that looks remotely similar to a gun should be your first sign to move your ass. Besides, paintballs hurt! It's like being bit by a tiny gnome that hates your guts and wants you to suffer the ongoing pain and bruising of his gnome incisors for an eternity. 

"None shall pass on the masters lawn..."

But I'm a human (duh.) and being hit by a paintball isn't the worst thing that could happen. After all it's just a bruise; it's just some paint; I'll live. But, a squirrel?! I can imagine that being hit by a paintball gun, as a squirrel, would feel like being hit with a flaming lead cannon ball out of a cannon 4 feet away. How do the squirrels not die!? 

Grandma has showen me the light in my errors. I should not feel bad for squirrels, because they are invincible. So obviously this means that squirrels never die. 

That's why they're all so happy!

"Oh, well what about the ones on the side of the road!?" Let me ask you something, is it only me that when I drive down a road, it's randomly like attack of the suicidal squirrels!? They wait until the last moment to try and cross the road. Why? It's not because they're stupid, actually, quite the contrary. They want to be zombie squirrels. We all know the zombie apocalypse is what will actually happen in 2012, but did you realize that it would be zombie squirrels.  You can thank Grandma for warning your ass about the zombie squirrel invasion. 
Are you ready?

The bet still stands that if I get 150 subscribers I will get a tattoo of grandma whoopin' Optimus Prime's buns. 

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Grandma and Google are Worse Than a Soap Opera

Grandma and Google are currently in a 'love/hate' relationship. Google can't figure out what Grandma wants, and Grandma gives, and gives, and gives, but Google rarely gives back. Grandma begs and pleas with Google for answers, and Google tries to give her what she wants, but often fails. Grandma breaks up with Google, but Google always wins, and calls her back to it. Grandma calls Google a 'know-it-all' and Google mocks Grandma: "Did you mean?" in an annoying manner. Grandma and Google are the exact definition of 'love/hate' relationship. Any plot (excluding surprise babies) of a soap opera can be applied to Grandma and Google. I consider myself an expert on this too. Because I often use Google, spend many o' hours with Grandma, and Grandma spends many o' hours watching soaps; Grandma also spends many o' hours in an argument with Google.

Dont be fooled, he's just a drunken asshole. 

Let me show you how Grandma and Google get along, through pictures...

Grandma: I want a new pair of knitting needles.

Google: ***Bunch of random crap comes up*** because you typed in more than 'knitting needles' So now I'm going to bring up every single thing that involves the words I, want, a, new, pair, of, knitting, and needles. Good luck. Hope you can find an actual pair of knitting needles instead of an eBay scam or knitting needle porn. Maybe you should refine your search? I mean, I'm pretty simple. Just click on the word 'shop' in the left hand column. It's not that hard.

Grandma: Google! Why in Davy Jones Locker would you bring me such disgusting sites!? Knitting needle porn!? What is wrong with you!?

Google: I warned you. I'm not the one who put in the search. I'm just doing what you asked me to.

Grandma: Hmm...maybe if I click on images....

Google: No! I told you to click on 'shop'! SHOP! Not 'Images'! For the love of God, not images!!

Grandma: ***furiously clicking repeatedly*** IMAGES! IMAGES! IMAGES! Now Google, don't make me ask you again...

Google:...if you say so....



Grandma: I give up. 

Google: Oh baby, don't be like that...

Remember! I would love to have more friends! So be a good person and help me make friends! Tell your friends about AWG and together we will make world peace.