God Smacked

I’m sure I’ve talked about this particular topic before, or at least something in the ‘holy’ field. This blog is more a focus on why God ‘hym’self (terrible pun, I know) hates me. Now, I personally do not believe in the word hate. It is too strong a word. I prefer to use the term strongly dislike … However, God fucking hates me, and the Lord Almighty definitely has a vendetta on my ass.

Lets go back into my childhood. I’ve mentioned before in previous blogs how during the summers I was shipped away like an African child sold in the black market (pun intended) to my grandma. I went to her church every Sunday during those summers. Our pastor at the time loved puppets. I don’t know if he was an actual puppeteer or if it was a technique his psychologist taught him, but either way this pedo-pastor always talked to me and my other protestant acquaintances through the asses of a puppets. (Who thought finger-banging puppets was God’s way of communication?)

ANYWAYS…

Hearing the Bible read to you through a puppet does not make the stories more kid friendly. Our pastor’s favourite story was Cane and Able. For this story he would use two puppets and act it out, sometimes he would even go so far as to asking for volunteers to act out the horrific bumfuck mountain story. Sorry dude, sodomy is not in my books, and shouldn’t be in God’s book either, you sick fuck. Those poor puppets.

MOVING ON…

Now, I’m sure many of you have heard the saying “God loves all his children.” Um, lets get a few things straight.

  1. I was only a child for 19 years of my life, since then I’ve sprouted boobies and drink firewater like no tomorrow.
  2. I’m not God’s child. I was the offspring of one big ass Indian and a little white lady.
  3. If God loved all his children why is their so much tragedy in the world. If God supposedly really loves all his children why do we have things like; periods, sloths and Lance Bass.

Honestly, I’m starting to think the douche strongly dislikes me because I let the alter boy diddle me or maybe its because I didn’t let my pastor drop a digit on me with or without his puppet(s). I mean, come on folks, I was born native. Now, I love being Ojibway, I love that it is a part of my life, love the food, love the men, love the dances etc. But lets be honest here. God and his followers haven’t been so kind to my people. On top of that, the bastard further damns us by having every native person in some way related to one another. I will never be able to bump my naughty bits against a native man. Chances are he is my cousin. EVER SICK! (I’ve kissed a cousin once, but that is another story).

Continuing…

I love my firewater. Love it, love it, love it! However, every time I wake up with gut rot and my head pounding I want to go to church. God takes advantage of my vulnerable state! (Not cool God, so not cool).

On another note, fuck you God! I was baptized and yet you still persistently plop your Lordy folk at every skytrain station, bus stop, store front handing out pamplets of… well…

22 J Returns To God.

You are better off placing your religious Nazi’s on the corners with hookers and pimps, that way they could actually make an honest living. Plus I’m sure they could teach your people a thing or two about God.

Anyways,

Cait Out!

Amen.

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Car, please!

Okay people, I can’t take it anymore. I NEED A CAR! Now, hold the phone for a second…okay seconds up.

Most of you, shitheads are probably thinking; Buy a car women! Well, it ain’t that easy and I ain’t that cheap. I’ve got school debt to pay off, a man and pussy (meow) to support, and with work in the film industry coming and going out like a fart and quickly I might add, I ain’t getting a car anytime soon. Unless I enlist in the taxi service, start blowing directors for my big break, win the fucking lottery, or pimp out my man…Alas, a car will have to wait. In the meantime, while waiting for my future FIAT I will list reasons as to why I need a automobile.

  • The other day I was on the bus full of fucking weirdos. Some dude was laughing hysterically behind me at everything, and I mean fucking everything. It brought back horrible memories of the movie Killer Klowns from Outer Space (yes, this is an actual movie). With joker behind me, I had a native lady a few seats ahead talking to some bloke about masturbation (for once it wasn’t me). Nonetheless I did not enjoy hearing it.
  • Awkward moments in public suck, awkward moments on the bus are even worse. I strongly dislike the moments when I am about to get on the bus and I see someone in line for the same bus that I  know. Now, this I think many people can relate too. Whether you encounter the one night stand you would like to forget, someone you aren’t quite sure if you fucked or just some acquaintance from you past. Either way, simply not good. You then contemplate (as I often do), do I get on the bus? Wait for the next one? Take the long way home? Pretend you don’t even see them, or if you are lucky you get on the bus first and pretend to sleep, hoping they don’t attempt to chat your ass up. Sometimes I muster up my metaphorical balls and give them a one liner and hope they get off the bus soon and I pray they don’t sit beside me. Unfortunately, God hates me and he usually doesn’t answer my prayers.
  • People like this:Funny-people-on-the-bus-6-1299668679
  • People like that:weird-people-on-public-transport1
  • The weird aromas on the bus are completely uncalled for! IT’S CALLED DEODORANT PEOPLE! Fucking swipe your pits with this shit and you’ll smell real good. If you ain’t swiping your pits or using perfume/cologne/Febreeze, come summer shit starts to stink. I tell you, I have smelt terrible things: molding ass, rotting eggs, onions, curried B O…hell I can vomit  just thinking about all the sick odors my nose has encounter on the bus. Honestly, the only thing that can save me in these moments are the smell of my own farts, and they don’t smell like roses I tell you what.
  • Usually, when I am on the bus, I am plugged into my iPhone, listening to the Ace Man and reading a book with no pictures (yes, I’ve finally graduated from comics….not really). Anyways, I find it is always in these moments of my tuning out of the world, some nosy asswipe attempts to tune me back in. For years I would cave and let those mother fuckers chat me up. Nowadays when the bus folk try to commune with me I act like the hearing impaired and sign them the finger. Sometimes I go Helen Keller on their ass which 99.9% of the time leads to them moving a few seats away. {SIDE NOTE: Act completely retarded and those fuckers are off the bus lickity split).
  • Now those of you who seriously know me are aware I am somewhat claustrophobic. Not to the extent that you leave me in a small room and I freak out, but an elevator with a deadly fart is a near fatal experience, (air fecal matter is not a laughing matter). Being on a bus packed full of muggles (and wizards I am sure), is not something I look forward to. I literally have to stick my head out like a fucking mutt just to bare the ride home. If I had a car, I could laugh at the people crammed packed on the bus, but I am not so fortunate.
  • I tell you looking at all the privileged folk sitting their asses down in their car (yes these people are privileged) as I ride the bus is depressing. Even if they are driving a 1982 Volvo, they got the fucking life. I can not wait to be a privileged asshole driving my lazy cunt around like no tomorrow.
  • Finally and certainly not least, bus stops are sick. I’m sure I’ve caught some venereal diseases or STD’s just waiting at those shit holes. I would rather walk through the projects without my homies than wait at a fucking bus stop.

You see folks, I could really use a vehicle, even if I got to run my feet on the bottom like Fred fucking Flintstone. I say, lets buy me a car! Or shall I say, let me, let you, buy me a car!!! Please…

The Lone Vagina

For those of you who know me, are well aware of my strong…dislike for females. Perhaps, dislike is the wrong word, hmmmm…. Lets’ see here….how shall I say….I prefer sausage over taco any day. No, this isn’t me suggesting I swing both ways you sick fucks (although I had my fun in the past), this is me saying I would rather have friends who have the cock. This is not to say I don’t have any girlfriends, but the ones who made the cut either worked for it, or earned it by default. Let me explain a little:

I currently, have three chicka’s who I love the shit out of. Two of them I met in junior high, both gals were an easy shoe in. This was because they played video games, were athletes, farted in public, would laugh and could make me laugh so hard I had to think of babies being eaten by mutant ravenous squirrels just so I wouldn’t pee in my pants. Although we are all in different parts of the world right now, every time we see each other whether once a year or once every three years it’s just the same old fun farting shit, accept this time we are women. And now our farts are deadlier! (Watch out boys).

ImageAs for my other lady friend, she lives next door! Best place to keep a bestie I say! We kind of fell into our friendship, though I do feel I put her in the ringer a little bit. Here is the thing; my man lived in a house with other men! I’m telling you this was my Barbie Dream House! I loved it because I was the only vagina walking over to the man cave for quite some time. Then a new girl started showing up. I would like to say I was a bitch to her because I was trying to protect the boys, but really I was just a territorial cunt who didn’t want to share something that was never mine. Not only was she a babe, but she liked video games, hockey and in all sense of the word a guy’s girl. Just like me.

Eventually the men moved out on their own, my man became my flat mate and his friend and the new girl/guy’s girl moved into the place beside us. We’ve been friends every since!

Man, I’m a cunt. I swear if I was a dog I would be pissing on every man I came in contact with just to let the other roaring vaginas know, THESE SAUSAGES ARE MINE!  Rarr!

I have calmed down a bit, that is to say all my feelings are the same, I just may be a little, more reserved with how I act upon them. For example; whenever a friend starts dating a new lady, inside I’m pissed because I’m no longer the lone vagina, plus competing with cunt is exhausting. Regardless of my actual thoughts on the bitch, I tell my friend I’m happy for them anyway. That is just how good a friend I am. I may just give the girl a noogie or a slap in the face, but that goes without saying.

For the longest time I thought these feelings stemmed from long term daddy issues, but then I realized my dad is awesome and I have no issues with my daddy. I also thought it was because I was the middle sister out of four. I tell you, to most men a house full of women is a dream, but in reality it’s just terrible. There is a waitlist for the morning shower, which is usually behind schedule, our crimson river’s sync up, which results in a week of PMS, the trash can filled to the ‘max’  (pun intended) and the house just smells like fish! I would rather suck the teat of a beached whale corpse than live in a house filled with women; you will not be seeing me on The Bachelor anytime soon I tell you what.

I’m starting to think that girls naturally have this territorial instinct. I just think some girl’s territorial tendencies are stronger than others. Mine, are warriors!!!!Rarr!

There is just so much about women that annoys me:

  • Perkiness, not in the booby department either. I’m talking about the Little Miss Muffet flight attendant shit. Way too goody two shoes for me.
  • Dikes! I’m not homophobic, but I’ve been hit on by way to many dikes in the past and that shit just needs to stop. Dikes as in the man ladies, not Lipstick Lesbians (those chicks I may allow/enjoy having tImagehem hit on me).
  • Sorry ladies, feminism is an eternal stream of PERIOD! I ain’t riding that wave.
  • WE ARE THE WEAKER SEX! Bitch, please! Women with cock envy are just not right in the ovaries.
  • The passive aggressive way of life.There are way too many women who are like this. WHAT THE FUCK! Be like me, fucking throw shit to get your GOD DAMN point across, don’t sob in silence hoping the douche will apologize.
  • Self-confidence is way to extreme in the ladies, meaning: some heads are gigantic and some purge their confidence in the toilet.

FUCK! there is so much more shit to say about women that I strongly don’t approve of or like, but I need to stop before I throw my computer across the table in rage of the ovary invasion. Please, don’t get me wrong, I love being the beholder of a perky set of tits and a cunt, I really do.I just feel I have the tendency to want all other women to die, and leave all men to me.

ImageAnd so I, the Lone Vagina walks alone (or among sausage).

Hoo-ha.

Piss Flaps, Cookie,

Beef Bucket, Pookie

Pootie-tang, Cock Socket,

Poochie, Clown Pocket,

Box, Smush Mitten,

The Mouth, Wet Kitten,

Slip and Slide,

Park and Ride

Fur Burger, Lady Parts,

Naughty Bits, Fart Heart,

Erection Correction,

Yeast’er’ Infection,

Panty Hampster, Cock Sock,

Fun Bags,  Sperm Box,

Vagine, The Nether Lips,

Pickle Taster, Peach Tips,

Cum Crack, Pound Cake,

Front Bum, Tunnel for Snakes,

Beaver, Whispering Eye,

Cunt, Hair Pie,

Velvet Pouch,  Pink Taco,

Clam, Black Hole

I could talk about this all the time-a….

This special word is 

ImageI have one, chances are if you don’t have a penis you also have one. 

Choosing a New Career Path

Today I have been brainstorming other possible employment choices.

Perhaps I can sponge automobiles.

Make strategy guides for video games.

Pick up people’s pockets.

Perform Polenastics.

Be inseminated by spermies.

Sell my farts in a sealable cup.

Become a super hero.

Create socks that never get lost in the dryer.

Become a professional pie taster.

Clip my toe nails and sell them at a lemonade stand.

Aide the elderly in road crossing.

Be an alarm clock.

Fish for crabs and no not the fishing kind.

Become a Jew.

Charge people for eye fucking.

Watch the world through binoculars.

Blow bottles to create boom booms.

Crop dust naughty bits.

Take pictures of hobos defecating in front of graffiti.

Take pictures of nuns in front of graffiti.

Model radiation suits.

Be an alter boy.

Alter boys.

I can be a dog walker and walks cats.

Donate/be paid to give my boyfriends body to science.

Invest in nipple counting.

A Proctologist

Certify myself in quarter flipping.

Uncork blow holes for whales.

Learn to Bible bump.

Take professional selfies.

Become a Ryan Seacrest impersonator.

Be paid to sniff belly buttons.

(To Be Continued)…

Bad Girlfriend, BAD!

I have a confession to make. ..

I recently, have been self-diagnosed with BGS (Bad Girlfriend Syndrome), also known as WTF.G (what the fuck, girlfriend? ) You see, for years and years, I have always known something was wrong with me. For the longest time, I always thought it was because my left breast hangs slightly lower than my right or that when my man comes home I will wag my imaginary tail with excitement. It turns out, not the case.

After a weekend of drugs, alcohol and yoga I have been able to self-reflect on my relationship with my man. Come July 6th, it will be our 5 year anniversary and honestly, I love the man, but I don’t know why the fuck he is still with me.

(IN ORDER TO PROTECT THE IDENTITY OF MY MAN, I WILL CALL HIM PICKLE)

  • Pickle likes to talk, like a lot. He can hold a conversation between him and someone else without that other person saying a word. I feel terrible because I’ve learned to tune him out since the word Hi came out of his precious lil’ lips. The problem with this is now he knows when I’m tuning out. To top that off, he will quiz me later in the day to see if I was listening to a previous conversation we supposedly had. What the fuck is that? Who does that? I was told then that is the girlfriend’s role in the relationship. I should be the quiz master testing Pickle to see if he remembers my birthday, what I said earlier in the day and so on. The problem with that is, I’m too lazy and quite frankly don’t give a damn.
  • I prefer receiving more than giving, at least when it comes to massages. Pickle, is great with his hands, like wonderfully great. I can practically orgasm just after a foot rub. I would say 1-2 times a week he massages me and every time he asks for one in return and well… let’s just say he has a lot of IOU’s to cash in on. Now, out right, I’m a terribly massager, I don’t care for it, and I don’t need to learn how to do it. Yet, Pickle still insists on me learning the way of the masseuse. I say FUCK THAT, if I was meant to be a massager, I would already be stroking cocks (afterall, that is where the big bucks are made.)
  • Although I don’t like giving massages, I do enjoy the art of gift giving. I put a lot of thought and money into my gifts. This sometimes makes Pickle feel inadequate, and ‘not up to par’ when it is his turn to give me a gift. I feel bad because he feels this way, but I can’t help buying him things I know he will love and appreciate. It just so happens he has expensive taste and hey, what my baby wants, my baby gets. After countless times of telling him I don’t need expensive gifts and I’m just happy with MacDonald’s coupons and an oral surprise, he still persists for me not to buy him such lavish things. Instead of shopping for him at Value Village I’ve instead given up comforting him over the topic.
  • I haven’t been able to figure out if he has more ovaries than I do, or my penis is bigger than his. Either I have more testosterone than he does or he has more estrogen than I do. It seems the stereotypical role of boyfriend and girlfriend is reversed with us. I can see it bothers Pickle tremendously and instead of easing off the ‘roids I bust his balls about it. I think it’s hilarious, yet Pickle is deeply unimpressed with my enthusiasm of joking about the situation. I can’t help myself. If I was a good girlfriend I would act more lady like, the problem is I need Pickle to teach me how to be so.
  • Pickle dislocates his shoulder quite often. It’s something that happens spontaneously from him doing simple tasks; washing dishes, folding laundry, mopping the floors. When I am present and this happens I am well aware he is in a great deal of pain and it kills me to see him in such pain. However, in the exact moment this happens and his vocal chords hit falsetto and beyond I cannot hold back a short shot of laughter. I don’t mean too, it’s like a fart, sometimes I don’t even know it’s coming but it does and it stinks.
  • I naturally prefer men over women, any day. I was raised in a family filled with women and I think I served my time and deserve to be with sausage from now on. To add to my preference towards men, I’m more friendlier and flirtier with them blokes, harmless I assure you, but to Pickle or anybody else it may not look so.  You see, if I really was a good girlfriend I would cling to Pickle’s arm, smile and look pretty. But I want his friends to know I’m a real person, just so happens I’m a flirty person.
  • I’m also inconsiderate. Inconsiderate in that I would leave him a post it note if I went away for the weekend instead of telling him. Hell, if I got preggerz I probably wouldn’t tell him until 8 months in or I would tell him in a non-nonchalant way.Image
  • He’s way too good for me. He’s sweet and handsome. We ain’t no Brangelina, he’s more Obi-wan Kenobi and I’m more Ethel Merman. Our looks are on a different scale. I love it when girls are checking my man out, it makes me feel good, but it means I have to work harder at the gym just so I can measure up to this man.
  • He’s a bit of a drama queen, but I am the button pusher. I know what sets him off and instead of being wise and kind and avoiding those triggers I take a shot at him from time to time. I simply, should not do this.
  • I’m terrible at advice, well actually I think I am great at giving advice just everyone else thinks it’s terrible advice. So when Pickles asks for my advice it almost always ends in a fight. And the thing is I’m trying here, like really trying to help him out. I’m fed up because when I tell him I don’t have advice for him he gets upset and thinks I don’t care, and then when I give the man advice he says he never should have asked me. WTF!
  • I’m at a constant crossroads between my career and him. Ever since I have been pushing my acting and modeling career forward it seems as though he’s trying to hold me back. He doesn’t do this purposely, but it really makes me question whether I want a man for the rest of my life or the career I’ve been working hard for. Ideally, both, but for me to get the ball rolling I choose career. (This bothers me).
  • For all of Pickle’s life he has always been the butt of the joke. Some people just exude this aura and he’s one of them. Everybody cracks wise about him from; his family, my family, his friends, coworkers, his best friend and myself. Again, I say I can’t help myself, but I know that is no excuse. What’s worse is he has expressed how upsetting and hurtful it is for him to have to man up and take the shit that is flying at him and instead of me digging him out or sitting in the shit with him I fling my poop too.
  • I always make him my Robin to my Batman. That’s just bad juju right there.

Folks! What can I say, I am not girlfriend material.  I definitely have BGS/WTF.G syndrome. This man, is amazing and he tolerates so much shit from m. He deserves an honorary medal, preferably in the form of a blow job. Regardless of how bad of a girlfriend I feel to him sometime, I’m glad he hasn’t left me, I’m glad he’s mine and BITCHES HANDS OFF! If you are going to touch my Pickle, Ima gonna dumbfuck you up!