Category Archives: C’est Vrai You Suck

Twilight Zone

So, here’s the Mike Sorrentino, Hooligans:

SCENE:  INT.: HOODY’S ROOM, EVENING:

Dear Sweet Mama:  Hey, Hoody, could you get my clothes out of the dryer?

Hoody:  Sure, no problem.  Are they dry now?

DSM:  Yeah.

INT.:  LAUNDRY ROOM,  LATER:

Hoody is folding clothes.  DSM walks by.

DSM:  You don’t have to fold them!

HH:  Of course I do, that’s part of “getting them out of the dryer.”  It’s no biggie.

<MOMENTS LATER>

The Concubine walks past the door, sees Hoody folding clothes.

TC:  I had things in there!

HH:  Yeah, I know, I was just folding –

TC:  Are they dry?  Okay.

The Concubine then proceeds to gather up the clothes Hoody has not yet folded, and storm off into her bedroom.

WHA WHA WHAAAAAAAAT?

Seriously, bitch?  I’m not allowed to FOLD YOUR CLOTHES??? Get the fuck over yourself, hon.  It’s called doing you a favor.  And don’t look now, I also switched your wet clothes from the washer to the dryer.  Yeah, I’m such a cunt like that.

Okay, kids:  Discuss.

 

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, C'est Vrai You Suck, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, Reality Bites, WTF???

I Still Rule You

HAPPY NEW YEAR,  MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!

Another day, another argument with “George” —

Hoody Hoo:  I’m actually kinda pissed the ‘Pocolypse didn’t happen… now I can’t use all my skills.

“George”:  Oh, like what?  Like you’re gonna be Mad Max or something?  Like all those fuckin’ Goth kids who think the End of The World is gonna be your ticket to the big time.

HH:  Fuck you, do not!  I don’t wanna be Mad Max, anyway, I wanna be Norman Arminger.

G:  But what I’m saying is, you won’t.  All you people think you’re gonna be in charge, you’re gonna be dead in a ditch.

HH:  Will NOT!

G:  Will TOO.  Once the whole End of the World thing happens, there’s gonna be motherfuckers MUCH crazier than you —

HH:  Not THAT much crazier —

G:  Point being, there’s no way you’re gonna be the boss.  To be the boss, you’d have to be all like Humongous and like eat a baby or something, and you won’t do that.

HH:  Might.  Might eat a baby.

G:  Won’t.

HH:  Fine, then I’m not saving your ass.  You were on the ass-saving list, but you’re not anymore.

G:  I don’t want to be in a group anyway.  Not until it gets big.  Small groups get you killed.

HH:  But where’s the tipping point?  You have to be in a small group before it becomes a large group…

G:  I only wanna be in a small group if it’s way outta the way.  Or a large group that’s right on the main throughfare, but too big to fuck with.

HH:  But before that you’d be by yourself.  You haven’t got the skills to live in the woods all by yourself for like months.

G:  I have skills.

HH:  Not those skills.  Like, you need your small group to have a hunter, a nurse… you ain’t got all those skills.

G:  I have a lot of skills.

HH:  You’re gonna die in the woods.

G:  You’re gonna die in a ditch.

 

 

 

 

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Filed under "George", At the Movies, C'est Vrai You Suck, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, The Royal Court, Weep for Humanity

WTF??? Megan Fox???

So, where were we?  Ah, yes.  The jury has spoken, and the majority seems to believe it is okay to crush on characters in movies/shows/etc. because they do not, in fact, exist.  It is less than okay to crush on actors, because they are actual real people who do, in fact, exist.

Ahem.  Time for a countersuit.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury:  I present:  MEGAN FOX.

Just about every man I have ever met (including YOU, Chuckweasel!) seems to think this chickie is hot.  I say again:  She HERSELF is apparently hot, no matter what role she is destroying playing.  This is in direct violation of the No-Crushing-on-Real-People Statute of 2012!

Also, she is a mutant with a toe for a thumb and is no longer biodegradable in any way.

But I admit, I myself would totally nail Patrick Stewart, William Shatner, and/or Seth McFarlane.  The first 2 because it’s my civic duty to bang distinguished starship captains (I said DISTINGUISHED.  Back it up, Janeway!) and the last because I feel we all oughta throw the man a bone (see what I did there?) for being so damn funny.

And just FYI:  President Clinton’s obligatory-BJ from-every-American-citizen time is rapidly running out.  You can’t ride that shit forever, Billy.  Ask Jimmy Carter.

Happy Valentine’s Day, all my loves!  Stay out of garages and away from the Mafia!

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Filed under At the Movies, C'est Vrai You Suck, Chuckweasel, I'm Confused, Twu Wuuv, WTF???, Youse Guys

C’est Vrai, You STILL Suck

Sorry to have done the dip on y’all again, but apparently pancreatitis + agoraphobia + anxiety = FUCK! CAN’T LEAVE THE HOUSE!  But it actually works out well for you guys, because as the old salts sing:

“What do you do with a fucked-up Hoody?

What do you do with a fucked-up Hoody?

What do you do with a fucked-up Hoody?

Er-lye in the mornin’?

Put her on the couch and watch some TV

Put her on the couch and watch some TV

Put her on the couch and watch some TV

‘Til that bitch gets better.”

Which brings us to the latest installment of… C’est Vrai, You Suck.

THE QUESTION:  Should one’s significant other be jealous of one’s posts on the Facebook pages of actors who play characters one enjoys?

POSITION ONE:  Actors are real people and therefore it’s just like flirting with real people.  Not cool.

POSITION TWO:  Posting on an actor’s FB is basically expressing one’s appreciation for the work they do on a specific movie/show/etc.  Plus, who DOESN’T wanna start the day by reading that people think he’s “so damn fine?”

Defense Exhibit A:  Eric Northman AKA Alexander Skarsgard

“Eric” is hot.  The whole asshole, don’t give a shit vampire thing, mmm-hmm.  But as we all learned last season, Pussy-Amnesiac-No-Longer-a-Badass Eric is most assuredly NOT hot, so it’s definitely the CHARACTER, not the packaging alone.  Plus, have you seen his father?  Scary magic-mirror into the future for poor Alex!

Defense Exhibit B: Tyrion Lannister AKA Peter Dinklage

Number one, I had to look that actor’s name UP, so settle dawn naw.  Also… ummm… MIDGET!  Without the snarky CHARACTER, it’s like setting up Tippi Hedron on a blind date with Big Bird!

Defense Exhibit C:  Captain Jack Sparrow AKA Johnny Depp

Seriously, it’s all about the makeup.  Just like Chakote from “Voyager” and the tattooed-desert-nomad-dude from “The Mummy Returns” — The tattoos aren’t real and neither are those people!

Which brings us to…

Defense Exhibit D:  Detective Dyson AKA Kris Holden-Reid

Firstly, I don’t even know the CHARACTER”S first name, that’s how much I’m actually listening when he talks!  Also, he’s Canadian and (sorry to some of my friends from the frozen North) their bacon is HAM.  Cannot deal with that.  Plus he’s a fencer, which is hot in theory, but the last time I fenced with a guy in reality he got all makko and wanted to prove something so bad he took the safety tip off his foil and gave me a scar I still have to this day (it’s hidden by boobs, but still).

But MOST IMPORTANTLY?  I only really like him when he does the snarly-fae-thing… so unless his SFX crew follows him around, it’s not gonna work.

Place your verdicts in the comments — and don’t miss tomorrow’s episode, tentatively titled, “WTF??? Megan Fox???”

P.S.: I also have to give an extra-special shout-out of gratitude to Portlandia Jen, who really helped talk me off the goddamned ledge this weekend when things were at their most fucked up Love you, girl — you had me at hello.

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Filed under At the Movies, C'est Vrai You Suck, Chuckweasel, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You

Mystery Solved!

As we have previously discussed, Chuckweasel talks weird.  Of course, HE says I’M the one who talks weird, but I think we all know who’s right, don’t we?  And now I have PROOF — because I know WHY!

We DJ’d a Winter Formal for Chuckweasel’s old high school this weekend, and they did that hokey thing where they announce each couple as they come in.  You know, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Hoody Hoo and Mister Chuck Weasel.”  Which I hate, for one thing, ’cause I was always the nerdy girl without a date, and for two, because if you’re going to do the announcing yourself, WHY DID YOU HIRE DJ’S???  But I digress.

Anyhoo, the lady they had doing the announcing was Chuckweasel’s old English teacher.  And at first I thought our wireless mic was fucked up, because I couldn’t understand a damn thing she said.  Then Chuckweasel informed me:

SHE HAS

A

SPEECH

IMPEDIMENT.

Yes, Hooligans, one of the people responsible for the way Chuckweasel talks… can’t talk right.  Thank GAWD she was his HIGH SCHOOL English teacher, so at least he’d had some training before she got her lisping hands on him!  Only in Wes’BYGAWD Virginny does this shit happen — I wonder if his gym teacher was a paraplegic?

This weekend also taught us that high school children know very well that the words to the CeeLo Green song are not really “Forget You,” because even when you play the clean version they still sing the dirty version and give their mean-ass assistant principal a coronary. (We thought it was funny, and seriously, my own position is I’d rather they said it than did it!)  I was also witness to the largest single incidence of “Cotton Eye Joe” that I have ever seen in my life — which to me is proof the lil’ bassurds snuck in liquor!

And on a completely unrelated note, my latest inappropriate TV crush is the fae detective on “Lost Girl” (the white one, not the black one, ’cause I think the black one is a satyr and they’re hell on the carpets).  Here’s the inappropriate part:  I really only think he’s cute when he’s doing the “supernatural creature gonna eat your face off” snarl.  So, we’re up to a Viking vampire, a snarky midget, and now a faery cop.  Chuckweasel can rest easy!

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Filed under C'est Vrai You Suck, Chuckweasel, He's the DJ I'm the Rapper, My Secret Shame(s), Only in Wes' BYGAWD Virginny, Twu Wuuv, WTF???

Chuckweasel Does Not Know How to Boost

Chuckweasel and I went to the Ribfest this weekend (so-called because, well, they’re making ribs), and I learned a few things I thought I’d share with y’all.

First of all, you know you’re in Wes’BYGAWD Virginny when you walk into an outdoor fair-type event and the FIRST thing you see is a sign that says “Get Your Picture With a Critter” (which, in local parlance, is pronounced “Gitcher Pitcher Witta Critta.”  You know you’re with Chuckweasel when he takes a “pitcher” of the sign for future proof that it exists.  You know you’re with me when one of the “critters” is evidently a 100-lb. rat and I emphatically state that we will NOT be looking at that, not no way, not no how, but then spend the rest of the evening wondering about it — like what does it eat, how did that happen, what kind of rat is it, ARE THERE OTHERS?

Also, it may be rude to get the rib sampler from more than one place at once, since it means at some point, you will be in somebody’s line holding someone ELSE’S ribs, but Imma still freakin’ do it, ’cause those lines are LOOOONG, yo’.  And it may be even ruder to EAT said ribs in someone else’s line, but I needed sustenance, shut up!  And it wouldn’t be fair to that rib team if I let their ribs get cold before I judged them.  AND JUDGE I DID.  Not officially, just as a loud and intoxicated amateur.

I also learned that a child Elvis impersonator is sad and pathetic, but when you discover it is NOT a child-Elvis but in fact a MIDGET-Elvis, it goes from sad to terrifying.  On the plus side, I have now seen a black Elvis, a female Elvis, and a midget-Elvis, so I think I only need Asian-Elvis to complete the list.  Oh, crap — I also need Hispanic-Elvis and both kinds of Indian…

But the MOST important lesson is — Chuckweasel does not know how to boost.   Stay with me here:  Rather than step over and around people to get to the empty seats at the back of the little bleachers, I decided to clamber up from the back.  They were only about chest-high, and I had been listening to my good friend Mr. Coors for some time by that point, so I thought I could make it.  So I heaved one leg over and was valiantly trying to shove myself up with my arms when I felt Chuckweasel give me a boost from behind.  And I thought “aw, how sweet, he’s helping me up,” and leaned into the boost… THAT WAS NO LONGER THERE.  Yes, he quit boosting mid-boost.   

Now, HE claims he thought I made it and that’s why he quit, but the girl sitting ahead of me called bullshit — she said I totally had it UNTIL the boosting incident, when my misplaced trust led to my downfall.  Dammit, Chuckweasel!  Either boost or don’t boost, you can’t just take it away midway!

I am relatively uninjured, and I even managed to stay on my feet, but I do have some lovely bleacher-shaped bruises today… which Chuckweasel saw and could not remember how I got them.  Maybe Mr. Miller had led him a bit astray as well… or maybe he’s trying to murder me.  AGAIN.

Best line of the night:  I started sneezing uncontrollably when we walked in and Chuckweasel says, completely deadpan:  “You allergic to poor people?”

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Filed under C'est Vrai You Suck, I Rule You, Just Call Me Beavis, La Vida Loca, My Secret Shame(s), Only in Wes' BYGAWD Virginny, Twu Wuuv, Weep for Humanity, WTF???

Again With This?

Okay, so it turns out there are STILL MORE words that I do not pronounce to Chuckweasel’s satisfaction… so, another installment of C’est Vrai, You Suck.

 The word in question is “house.”  Specifically, the plural form.

POSITION ONE:   You pronounce the “s” in “house,” therefore you should also pronounce the “s” in “houses.”

POSITION TWO:  The “s” becomes a “z” sound when you add another ending.  It’s the “How-zing” Authority, not the “How-SING” Authority.  Unless you’re being German or just plain difficult.

This all started because we were driving to the World’s Most Awesome Pizza Lunch Buffet place which happens to be just down the street from where I grew up.  And Chuckweasel says to me “should I take this exit or get off at Montrose?” AND PRONOUNCES THE “S” LIKE AN “S” INSTEAD OF A “Z!”  So I said, “Get off here, but what did you just say?  It’s Mont-ROHZ, like a ‘z.'”  Did I mention that I grew up in this town?  But he still wants to argue with me about it.  I think I finally shut him down by pointing out that you do not buy a dozen “roh-ses,” you buy “roh-ZEZ,” but that’s when he started on the house thing, so it’s a Pyrrhic victory at best. 

Gotta go now, my radio station appears to be giving away a 50 dollar gift certificate for mayonaisse and you just can’t make that shit up!

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Filed under C'est Vrai You Suck, I'm Confused, WTF???