Category Archives: The Legend of Petey

Drumroll, Please

Okay, here it is: what you’ve all been waiting for… the insanity that is the Oriental Trading Company’s “Fun and Faith” Catalog of Christian Halloween fun!

Jesus-themed treat bags:  “What would Jesus do?”  He wouldn’t beg for Snickers door-to-door, ya fat bastard.

Oh, Pumpkin flashlights that say “Shine with the Light of Jesus!”  The intent:  “I’m staying safe AND showing my faith!”  The result? “Doctor, can you remove this Good n’Plenty from my son’s left nostril?”

Oooooh, we skipped RAPIDLY to the “less pagan” (or so you think) Thanksgiving selections, dintcha?  Word of advice?  An ornament that says “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few;  Ask the Lord of the Harvest to send out his workers into the harvest field.”… um, yeah, it’s in the Bible, but it WASN’T ORIGINALLY YOUR IDEA…  Plus, it makes me think of Thomas Tryon, and that gives me nightmares.  Fuckers.

A squirrel that holds a sign that says “Thank you, God, for all that you give.”  Squirrels, I have found, are generally Buddhists.

And here’s where I DIDN’T go with the secular catalog:  the breast cancer awareness stuff.  FUCK. ALL. Y’ALL.  EVERYONE has the right NOT to die of breast cancer, not just the members of your little club!

Religious/Scripture bookmarks… will Jesus get mad if I use it in the latest Sookie Stackhouse?  And while we’re here in paper supplies… why do these calendars go past October?  Y’all DID say…

Fake tattoos with Christian themes:  “This fake tattoo proves I love the Lord!  A real one would brand me a sinner.”

Okay, now you’re going too far:  “Wanted by God” Old-West style posters?  No, stop that.  “D.O.G.” stands for “Depend on God”?  No, no it does not.  Nor does “F.R.O.G.” stand for “Fully Rely on God.”  You’re embarassing yourselves.

GRRRR!  Dear Sweet Mama looked HIGH and LOW for those cheap-ass folding fans and we didn’t find none ’til we went to the weird shit store at the beach!  But y’all Christians can get all the fans you want that say “Smile, Jesus loves you!”  What, so us heathens need to get USED to the heat?

And lastly… probably would have been a good idea to fill in the word “Faith” in the “It’s All About Faith” fill-in-the-blanks posters.  Leaving that sucker blank GUARANTEES a phone call along the lines of “Mrs. Hoo-Weasel?  We need to discuss the fact that Petey seems to think it’s all about gravy…”

Yours in Christ,

HH

 

 

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Chuckweasel, Jesus and Pals, Just Call Me Beavis, La Vida Loca, Random Thoughts, The Legend of Petey, WTF???

Oh F**k, Pilgrims

As promised, here is Part 2 of the latest issue of the Oriental Trading Company catalog (heathen version).  For Part One, click here.

Please, oh please, Oriental Trading Company, tell me:  In what ways will we be celebrating the rape and massacre of (some of) my ancestors by (the rest of) my ancestors THIS year?

Okay, Thanksgiving-themed rubber ducks… not TOO bad, but fuck you for making the “Indian Chief” duck look just like the turkey ducks!

Design your own Thanksgiving Sticker set… “Mama, mine’s broken.  They left out the guns and the smallpox.”  “It’s okay, Petey, we’ll draw them in with Sharpie.”

Indian corn pin kit — YOUR people can call it maize if you want… MY people call it crap.

Oh, only 2 pages and now we’re onto generic quote-unquote “prizes.”  Thanks for the discreet nod, you genocidal fuckers (and I’m not being racist, they’re based in NEBRASKA, FFS!).

“Break Your Own Geode!”  Hooligans, if I ever have a child and I give it a HAMMER… call the authorities.

Awww… little plastic coins that say “I was caught being good!”  The reverse side had better say “And now I’ve got this wicked wedgie!”

A globe full of tiny “around the world” people from different cultures.  I actually HAVE this — the goddamn ARMY gave these to all us “wives” and kids when my ex was in the Reserves… “Is THIS the bad man who killed Daddy?  No?  How about THIS one?”

There is, however, one thing we should get:  The “Dino-Mite!” 96 piece plastic dinosaur assortment that just MIGHT make Laura’s battles between her dinosaurs and her army men a leeetle more fair…

Tomorrow… the Christian Right’s take on the most Paganest of holidays!

PS — Big news, bitches!  Chuckweasel’s been BLOGGING!  Check him out!

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Filed under Chuckweasel, I'm Confused, Just Call Me Beavis, La Vida Loca, Random Thoughts, The Legend of Petey, Weep for Humanity, White Man's Medicine, WTF???

You’re So Jealous

I came home from work yesterday to find the most amazing thing…

CHUCKWEASEL

HAD DONE

THE DISHES.

And my dishes were BAAAAD, y’all.  I had let them get to the science project stage during the deep dark depression, and they had become my nemesis!  The whole rest of the house is clean (except Petey’s Room, gimme a break), but those dishes were the hill I could not climb (almost literally).  I couldn’t believe Chuckweasel would do such a nasty chore without ANY prompting — I was struck speechless for a minute!

I mean, Chuckweasel’s chores are usually outside-related chores — like, take out the trash, carry in the groceries, etc.  If we had a yard, he would have to mow it, if we had a dog, he would have to pick up its poops.  But dishes are INSIDE, and so under my domain… but he did it anyway, bless him!

And he did them WELL, too!  Number one, he didn’t even use the dishwasher (he claims he doesn’t know how, which proves I’m not getting rid of this chore for good!), and number two, THE DISHES WERE ACTUALLY CLEAN.  This is utterly shocking to me — I am EXTREMELY OCD about clean dishes, and if there’s so much as a SPECK of food or what-not left on a plate, that whole load’s getting washed again.  I once had a boyfriend who I SWEAR would deliberately fuck up chores so he wouldn’t have to do them anymore — needless to say, he did the dishes exactly once.

So, let’s line up, Sister Wives… it may be time to give Chuckweasel a however-many-of-us-there-are-some… a “menage’ a us”, if you will.  All you boy-types are excused… you can do more chores while we’re busy!

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Filed under Aw, Chuckweasel, La Vida Loca, My Secret Shame(s), SCIENCE!, The Legend of Petey, Twu Wuuv

The First Step…

Alright, kids… I feel we know each other well enough now that I just can’t keep this from you any longer… Here goes.

My name is HoodyHoo… and I watch “Jersey Shore.”

Actually, to be completely honest… I DVR it, because I can’t stand the thought of missing an episode.

I know, I know, you’re disappointed. but come on, I’m only human!  And it’s not like I watch a lot of reality TV — I only watched “Survivor” for a little bit of the first season (until it became clear no one was going to kill and eat anyone else), I don’t watch any of the “So You Think You Can Be the American Idol With the Stars” crap about people dancing or singing or what have you.  I’m not really into the “competition” aspect… I just wanna see people act like trash.  And “Jersey Shore” fills that void quite nicely.

Besides, the show is serving a valuable purpose.  Without “Jersey Shore,” how would we ever teach future generations the proper use of the phrase “Oh, no she di’unt!”  “See, Petey, how that short misshapen girl who looks like a Trollkin had sex with a Weeble Wobble is flailing her arms and telling the cop to fuck off?  Well, if you were standing nearby, you would say, ‘Oh, no she di’unt!”  This would both let the officer know you could serve as a potential witness AND let everyone around you know that you were not associated with that girl.”  That’s PARENTING, folks!

P.S.  My Dennis Quaid reference in the last post (which actually ended up turning into a “Man, I’m old” reference when nobody got it) was about the movie Dreamscape, in which Dennis Quaid is some kind of psychic who can get into people’s dreams and save them from the evil psychics who are trying to use the dreams to kill them.  So Dennis Quaid should have showed up in my dream dressed as a cop and pretended to take me off for “interrogation,” but really he would be rescuing me from the Home for Wayward Teens… now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m having a different kind of dream about Dennis Quaid in a cop uniform…

PPS: I got distracted… so anyway, I made a reference about the movie Dreamscape and then guess what was on the TV this weekend??? I AM THE MASTER OF THE TV!

PPPS:  I also dreamed recently that Dwayne Johnson moved in across the street from me and Chuckweasel and was very depressed, so we went over to his house and I cooked him some scrambled eggs.  So, basically, I can smell what the Rock is cookin’… and it’s scrambled eggs.  With American Cheese in them, ’cause that’s nature’s Prozac.

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Filed under La Vida Loca, My Secret Shame(s), Random Thoughts, Reality Bites, The Legend of Petey, Weep for Humanity

The Legend of Petey

So, I’m gonna let “C’est Vrai, You Suck” marinate for a little while longer (and it’s KILLING me to stay out of the comments so I don’t taint my results!).  But I DID promise y’all I’d share with you “The Legend of Petey”, so here’s some of it:

THE LEGEND OF PETEY: ORIGINS

Almost 4 years ago, I was looking for a new place to live (for I had fallen madly in love with Chuckweasel and could not therefore continue to live with the Evil Troll — so called because, like life, he was nasty, brutish and short).  So I was looking about at places to rent and I made Chuckweasel come with me, so I would not be killed.

Anyhoo, we went to see this one house, which I must admit was quite odd from the get-go.  You entered the front door from the driveway into what I guess was supposed to be a storage-type area (tiled floors and whatnot), then you went UP A WHOLE FLIGHT OF STAIRS to reach the kitchen/living room and the rest of the house.  There were no other doors but the weird basement one.

So, I’m standing there trying to get over the weird, when dear Chuckweasel says, “We can’t take this house.  Poor Petey will die in a fire.”

I of course said, “What?” And Chuckweasel proceeded to explain that if we had a baby, who for some reason would be named Petey, he would be sitting in his bedroom reading (just like his mama!) and would therefore never be able to get to the front of the house and the weird steps in time to escape the fire.  For some reason, this struck us both hilariously, pants-peeingly funny, and now every time we consider a place to live (or just about any purchase, really), we consider its merits relative to “Petey Safety.”  And if either of us suggest anything even remotely dangerous, that person is “trying to kill Petey.”

There’s a reason we’re perfect for each other.


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Filed under The Legend of Petey, Twu Wuuv

We’re All In This Together

So Holly came out to all of us this weekend by sharing pictures of “The Room” — i.e.; the room in her house where she’s been storing-and-ignoring all her crap.  Then Laura and I showed our solidarity in the comments by admitting that we, too, have Rooms of Which We Do Not Speak.  I also postulated that perhaps all “Rooms” are one on some sort of quantum level (because I read way too much science fiction), but then later I stuck my head in my Room and yelled, “Hey, y’all!  I got box wine and fish tacos!” and none o’ you bitches answered, so I guess not.

But even if they’re not connect-ed,  I still say the Rooms connect us.  Because everybody has one, and people who say they don’t are either liars or OCD psychos (and probably also liars, because my dear sweet mama is as OCD as they come and even she has a Room).  My own personal Room is alternately known as “Petey’s Room” in honor of the imaginary-baby-I-do-not-have (stay tuned for more of the Legend of Petey!) or as “The Study” or “The Office” because it’s full of books and the computer is in there.  There’s also what we’ll call… uh… storage… yeah, that’s the ticket.

If I am completely honest, the books are mostly to blame for the state of The Room.  I spent much of my formative years in libraries, all of which had signs that said “Please Do Not Reshelve Books.”  So I don’t.  But I have 38 moving-boxes’-worth of books at last count, of which Second-Tier Fiction, Mysteries, Nonfiction and Reference are all in The Room (First-Tier Fiction is in the living room and Classics are in the hallway, if you must know).  So, when I fail to reshelve, it quickly becomes what I call “an issue” and Chuckweasel calls “a fire hazard” (psh, semantics).  And so far, the Magical Library Fairies have not shown up.  I think it’s because I don’t have one of those carts.

Moving on to the computer area, our heroine is confronted by notes and papers and other shit that will someday add up to the Great American Novel and make me feelthy steenkin’ rich.  There’s also bills in a wide variety of payment stages along with CDs that are mysteriously out of their cases and cases that are mysteriously empty of CDs.

That leaves the “storage” area, which would actually be quite nice if I followed through.  See, after a water leak in the apartment above me made it clear that storing boxes in the laundry area wasn’t gonna work, I went and got a whole bunch of those matching plastic tubs and created a space for them in The Room behind a bookcase (of course!).  There’s one for Christmas decorations, one for hardware/electrical-type stuff (hey, I’m butch!), one for totebags and backpacks (shut up), one for purses and hats (I said SHUT UP), and the other 2 are for out-of-season clothes and all the pictures that have never made it into the photo albums (yeah, those are in there, too).  See, all very organized… until I go looking for something in one of the tubs and throw stuff EVERYWHERE like I was trying to dig a prairie dog hole in my accumulated possessions.

And to make matters worse, whenever I clean the rest of the apartment I end up hucking MORE miscellaneous shit into The Room.  I’m gonna have to suck it up and go in there soon… If I don’t come back, send wine.

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Filed under Reality Bites, SCIENCE!, The Legend of Petey