My inflatable bed at my grandmothers house just deflated. It’s 2 in the morning, Christmas eve, and want blood. I see the red in my eyes. What do I do so I don’t kill a member of my family?

December 24, 2010 § Leave a comment

L: masturbate, figure out how to make your piener fall asleep, www.christianmingle.com, read the Old Testment backwards (it makes more sense this way), sext one of your younger siblings friend’s, tell Granny to move over, draw a picture of Elliot Stabler…wear a cowboy costume, shave your face or legs or no-zone, take all your clothes off, eat all of Santa’s cookies, open everyone’s presents, set the air mattress on fire, set yourself on fire, try putting your leg behind your head, go next door, punch yourself in the face 4 times, stick a dildo in your parents’ bed (make sure it’s vibrator/rotating), try breathing through your eyes (it is possible, I do it while in church) and, finally, pee in the Christmas tree and in all the electrical outlets.

Z: They call this time of year the season of giving. I don’t know who ‘they’ are, but I assume they’re those fat cats in Washington with jobs and Christmas bonuses. In this economy, it’s time to toss that lame idea out the window and install a season of taking.

If you have younger siblings, they’re clearly expendable. A few vague threats about Santa not loving them should get them out of the bed and onto the floor in no time. Or into the garage if you’re really feeling that Christmas spirit, and I have no doubt that you are. And I’m not going to tell you to throw your grandmother out of her bed because that would be terrible, but I’m not saying you couldn’t move her aside either. She’s frail, she won’t notice. Another possibility is her posse of cats. Grandmothers always have lots of cats, so you can try sleeping in their bed(s) as well. I have a cat, and if something happens to my sleeping situation, I’m going to at least attempt to curl up in her little bed and use her as a pillow. Sorry Lucy.

If all else fails, MacGyver a new bed. Coats, presents, family members, bed pans – whatever you can find in your grandmother’s house. All are potential makeshift sleeping bags. Best of luck.

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December 22, 2010 § Leave a comment

As is so often the case, I finished prematurely. I mistook Laura’s leave of absence for apathy and a lack of interest, when I should have remembered that she has the testicular fortitude of Peter North and the killer instinct of a starving jaguar. We’re back and better than ever. I have pop culture references for days, and Laura has enough attention deficit disorder to make the world go round. So gather around the campfire, and we’ll bitchslap you with knowledge in ways that would make Ike Turner jealous.

And ask us some new goddamn questions. I don’t feel like addressing the treasure trove of anal sex propositions/inquiries we’ve accumulated.

CLICK HERE AND ASK US NEW QUESTIONS. I’M FUCKING SERIOUS.

The End

December 14, 2010 § Leave a comment

All good things must come to an end eventually, and so too must some of the bad. Like this blog. My only hope from the beginning was to last through the end of the fall semester (I romantically envisioned us causing a mass GPA nosedive come finals), and we have made it, although Laura cut out a bit early (I kid, I kid).  This blog became far more popular than either of us expected, and we feel it is time to bow out gracefully.

To our loyal readers: From the bottom of my heart, I sincerely hope that you have learned nothing from this blog. Absolutely. Nothing. But thanks for reading.

And to you, bigdaddy698, I am sorry we never answered, “I have been having serious diharrea lately and I messed my pants and shoved them into my GF’s trashcan. Her dog pulled them out and dragged them all over the house. What should I do?” Nevermind, that’s a lie. I’m not sorry. That’s a stupid question.

Fin

so there’s been a lot of stuff in the news lately about how successful women threaten men and therefore we (yea, I’m a woman who considers herself successful) don’t get laid and/or married. do you think this is true? and if so, what can I do to get a guy?

December 14, 2010 § Leave a comment

Z: After carefully considering your dilemma and crunching the numbers (I made coffee), I have concluded that this is absolutely true. As a successful woman, the men you see yourself with probably are not into you. Success seeks success, and you want a successful man as well, right? Wrong.

I remember seeing this story in the news during a particularly slow week, and the beached whale/desperate attention whore that is the media claimed that all of you successful single women are part of some ‘epidemic’. What I don’t get, and what nobody else seems to want to bring up, is that we’re assuming that there are plenty of successful men out there as well. There aren’t.

I’m not trying get all GIRL POWER ROX! on you or anything, but the idealized image of the 50 year old executive chasing blonde cocktail waitresses named Krystal isn’t what I would classify as “successful”. He hates himself, and he’s only after this type because he doesn’t think she’ll see the soulless shell of a man staring back at him in the rear view mirror of his Porsche. That, and he hopes she won’t want to have a kid, which would require him to drop the fantasy and admit to himself that his chances of becoming the family man he dreamed of being as a kid are running out. Sorry guy, your dad still thinks you’re a disappointment.

So forget about the “successful” archetype. Find a nice, dependable dope with a porn-quality package and a heart of gold. Bonus points if he goes to work in coveralls and would be played by Matthew McConaughey if they made a movie out of his life. Rather than think of it as lowering your standards, just consider it an adjustment. You’re not changing the tires, you’re just rotating them.

If that doesn’t sound appealing, get a cat. A sexy cat. And sign up for an account on Ashley Madison.

My sister’s boyfriend is celebrating Christmas with our family. Am I supposed to get him a present? Any suggestions?

December 13, 2010 § Leave a comment

Z: Kelly, if you’re reading this, don’t get me anything. I can’t imagine that you are reading this though, since you have several crucial things that I don’t, namely taste, a career, and your priorities straight. Although I did accidentally throw my wallet away yesterday, so I wouldn’t say no to a replacement. Actually, forget the wallet. I’m most upset about the $10 Coldstone gift card that was in it (RIP). Not asking; just saying.

Anyways, you don’t need to get him anything. It just isn’t necessary. But I still thought long and hard about the perfect gift for your future brother-in-law while I sat at the MVA waiting to get a new license today. While doing so, I had the privilege of watching a man eat his boogers, and another woman braid her husband’s and son’s ponytails. And then it hit me: Plan B. It’s the best gift ever! If you like the guy and if he’s cool, he’ll appreciate the humor and the safety valve you’ve given him in case  they’re afraid that their champagne and tequila fueled post-New Year’s accident created another accident. And if you don’t like him (or, more likely, if you don’t like your sister), include a handwritten note that says, “Trust me – with her desperate desire to mother a child, undiagnosed schizophrenia, and out of control secret heroin addiction, you’re going to want this. Merry Christmas!”

No need to thank me. I’m in the giving spirit.

P.S. On an unrelated note, I heard what I think was pound for pound the worst Christmas song known to humanity while I was at the MVA. How bad? It rhymed “under the Christmas tree” with “we’ll all get matching capris”. I just needed to share this. If you can figure out who sang this, I would also include it in the pool of potential gifts for your sister’s boyfriend. For reference, it sounded like it could be Taylor Swift’s inbred aunt (so maybe Reba McEntire?).

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We realized that we didn’t have an archives function

December 10, 2010 § Leave a comment

so we added it below the Twitter feed on the right. Now you can more easily waste time reading back through our months of inane banter.

A really awkward boy in my class asked me to his birthday dinner via facebook message. He’s the type of boy you’re nice too but keep your distance because you’re not sure if he try to kill or convert you. How do I say no without him trying to do both?

December 10, 2010 § 1 Comment

Z: Note to guys out there: asking a girl out on a date via facebook message is equivalent to breaking into her home and using your own blood to write PLEASE LOVE ME on her bathroom mirror. Not kidding. It’s all kinds of wrong. 100% chance he’s a weirdo, and even better chance he’s going to try to kill you. I’m talking plastic bag over your head while he chants the prophesies of Nostradamus at you. Avoid.

You know what? I’ve changed my mind. I think you should go. He doesn’t sound awkward or murderous; he sounds desperate. Totally different things. Awkward means he’ll spend a few minutes explaining why he just ended his story about Power Rangers comic books with ‘and then I found five dollars’. Yikes. Desperate means he’ll pay for your dinner and offer to go down on you as his self-birthday present to you. Take the dinner. Decline the latter. Tell him it’s the thought that counts.

L: Tell him that you will only go if he knows how to play the Number Game. He will ask what the Number Game is.  You reply: 6969696969696969. If he says he does know how to play, then he is a creep. If he says he doesn’t know how to  play, he considers Jesus Christ his BFF. If he doesn’t reply…you can thank me via Liquor/Fruit basket.

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