Tag Archives: Feelthy Steenkin’ Rich

Money for Nothin’

And if you’re not singing the Dire Straits song right now, I don’t know if we can still be friends… although that song uses the word “faggot” and I try not to use hurtful words like “faggot”… you motherfuckers…

So if you’ve been keeping up with the rest of the class, you’ll remember that Hoody is currently a wicked drain on your tax dollars unemployed.  But I can’t find me no job, and here’s why — everything I wanna be just won’t work.  Let’s examine our choices, shall we?

1.  Pirate

DUH, of course I wanna be a pirate, of the Captain Jack Sparrow variety, not the Somali kind (which is good, ’cause I’m not Somalian).  On the plus side — I have my own swords and I have no problem with holding knives in my teeth.  Also, I like rum and hush puppies, which according to this placemat I got from a seafood restaurant is all pirates eat.  I even know all the words to the Jimmy Buffett song about being a pirate.  But you know there’s gotta be some…


A.  As previously mentioned, not Somalian, which is really the only type of pirate you hear about nowadays.

B.  Startup costs appear to be pretty fucking high.  Apparently I would need a pirate ship, some poofy pants, and at least 2 or 3 “scurvy dogs” to act as crew, and that’s the bare minimum.  And I can’t get an estimate on a ship because the Chris-Craft guy had my number blocked, the scurvy dog.  I know where you live, Eugene.

2.  Dian Fossey for Squirrels

Dear Sweet Mama;s neighborhood has A LOT of squirrels, so I figured this one would be a cinch.  I started out by naming all the squirrels:  Too Fat, Gretzky (who knocks the other squirrels over), Tebow (who is most often the victim of the knocking over), Lucky (who has a bald patch on his tail where he got away from some other critter), and Other One.  Then I realized it was not to be, all because of one insurmountable


A.  I have no tail.  And it seems that more than half of squirrel communication (Squirrelese) involves twitching or shaking the tail.  So I could not communicate with my subjects, making the experiment invalid (and earning me the name “Enormous Retarded Hairless Squirrel Who Gives Us Nuts”).

3.  Stephen King

Yeah, that job’s already taken.  Scurvy dog.

So I’m open to y’all’s suggestions as to how I should get off my lazy ass become a productive member of society.  But remember my handicaps:  Not Somalian, got no money, got no tail, and am not Stephen King.  Go from there.





Filed under Random Thoughts, Wild Kingdom, WTF???, Youse Guys

Two Kinds of Hell

Well, as we all know by now, if the Christian version of Hell actually exists, I?  Is going to it.  But now, I may be adding the Jewish version (Sheol?  I think that’s it, but Catholic education can be rather sketchy in that area).  I present my latest money-making scheme humanitarian enterprise:

Hoody Hoo’s Help for Hebrews.

Shut up!  Having moved to an area with a lot (and I do mean a LOOOOOOOOOT — as in, everyone at the DMV and the library and whatnot except me and Dear Sweet Mama) of really really Orthodox Jews (the ones who wear all black and have the curly sideburns — also known as “Hairdo Jews”) I think there’s a market being overlooked.  Y’see, your really really Orthodox Jews aren’t supposed to do any kind of work on the Sabbath – i.e, sundown on Friday until sundown on Saturday.  And “work” means ANY work — from balancing the checkbook to mowing the lawn to (for the really really REALLY Orthodox) opening and closing doors.

I, being a gawddamned heathen, can open my doors WHENEVER.  THE FUCK.  I WANT.  Not that I’m sitting home nights doing that, but if I wanted to, I could, and Jesus wouldn’t get mad.  So, I will hire myself out to go around to Jewish households on Friday and Saturday, doing crap they forgot to do until it was too late.  Although our new oven came with a feature called “Sabbath Timer” so it would turn on the oven FOR you Saturday evening, but then who’s gonna get that roast OUT for you, Moishe?  Better call Hoody Hoo’s Help for Hebrews.

And I’ve already begun my international incident good works.  Just yesterday, I was in the convenience store and one of the middlin’-Orthodox Jews came up (he was wearing all black including a black yarmulke but he had no sideburns).  And he wanted the Pakistani clerk to give him a quarter for his 2 dimes and a nickel when he opened the cash register to take my money.  But I was using a debit card (cash money is SO 90’s), so he would have been out of luck, but I remembered I DID have some loose change in my pocket.

Unfortunately, I had already begun the quarter-giving process when I remembered:  He can’t touch me, I’m unclean.  But I (sort of) saved the day by giving the quarter to the Pakistani clerk, who then gave it to the quarter-needing Jew, who then passed the 2 dimes and a nickel back to me, again via the clerk.

Although, I am a little pissed off now.  I mean, apparently that whole interchange means a possible Muslim is less unclean than I am, simply because he’s male.  I get it:  goyim, shiksa even, soooo unclean.  And I was on my period, so triple-threat.

But how could he have known that?


Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, GENIUS!, I'm Confused, Jesus and Pals, La Vida Loca, WTF???

Do I LOOK Like a Terrorist?

So, Dear Sweet Mama and Chuckweasel both have a somewhat “creative” approach to bills… in that they pay the bills when the bills are due, whether they have money in their account or not.  I prefer to wait to pay the bills until I actually HAVE money, even though that means some bills will be paid “never.”

But I digress.  The Weasel had gotten himself in a pickle by paying his electric bill with the money that needed to stay in his account to cover his rent check… so being the Most Amazing Woman in the World, I offered to put my check into his account just in case it hit before he gets paid on Friday.  At that point he would give me back MY money, so Bob’s your uncle.

So I thought.

Then this happened.  Things said only in my head are in italics.

Bank Teller:  Are you on this account?

Hoody Hoo:  No, it’s his account (and I had HIS drivers’ license and account number, as well as my own drivers’ license and a legitimate PAYROLL check made out to me).

BT:  You can’t put your check in his account.

HH:  Uh, okay, just send it back then (what the hell?).

BT:  You could take it to the bank it came from and cash it and put the cash in his account…

HH:  Oooookaaaay… (so… confused…)

BT:  Or I could cash it and put the cash in his account, but there’s a fee.

HH:  (do what now?) Yeah, just do that then.

There followed an interminable (we’re talking upwards of 10 minutes in the motherfucking DRIVE THRU) wait while the teller conducted some arcane banking ceremony to mysteriously transform my evil check into acceptable money.  Then when I got home, I texted the Weasel to let him know how it all went down… and to tell him I must look like a terrorist or a drug dealer ’cause his bank thinks I’m trying to launder money.

Once he gets off work, he calls me back with a very salient point:  If that whole rigamarole about not letting me put a CHECK in his account is really supposed to stop nefarious banking by unsavory folk, why would they then accept CASH?  It’s still not my account, and I’m fairly sure terrorists and/or drug dealers don’t generally have printed payroll checks… I’m given to understand it’s a fairly cash-based economy.  So I can basically show up with a bucket of cash money to put in someone else’s account… untraceable, likely cocaine-infused cash… but NOT an easily-traced business CHECK?  I’m fairly sure that defeats the purpose of all this trying-to-prevent-crime-stuff.

So, I want to let all banks everywhere know:  If I ever have an account with you, and someone else wants to put their money in it, THAT’S FINE.  I don’t care where it came from, just take it.  This also goes for bills — a similar thing happened to me with the electric company once before, and I’m telling you, Hitler can pay my phone bill if he wants — I TRULY DO NOT CARE WHERE THE MONEY COMES FROM.  I just wantses it.


Filed under Chuckweasel, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, Reality Bites, Things I Don't Know, WTF???

The Good News!

No, it’s not about Jesus, it’s the good news about Chuckweasel!

As of yesterday,





He’ll be doing something to do with billing for a doctor’s office, which is what he did before he worked for the radio station, but it sounds like numbers and math so I don’t really understand much more than that!  He starts Friday (yikes!  TOMORROW!) and here’s the very best part:  In addition to paying a fairly decent wage, these people actually pay for MOST of your insurance (unlike the radio station, where my insurance costs the earth and covers nothing!).

They also have a breakroom in their office that’s allegedly stocked with sammich-makings and other groceries, so you never have to pack a lunch… which probably means I never have to pack Chuckweasel’s lunch (he’s kitchen-challenged).  Hopefully, one of the office girls will take pity and teach him to make PB&J!

Anyhoo, it’s just SUCH a load off my mind and my nerves to have him employed again!  Plus, we’ll still be able to do DJ gigs on the weekends, so we may actually… at some point… have some money?

PS:  Also, the Weasel is allegedly going to start blogging again — his link is updated on my sidebar, so let’s make him keep his promise!


Filed under Chuckweasel, He's the DJ I'm the Rapper, La Vida Loca

At Least I Tried

I have discovered something that may come as a shock to y’all… I… am a terrible, terrible person.

I know, I know, you’re all aflutter : “Oh, no, not Hoody!  How can this be?  She is sweetness and light and graciousness incarnate!”  Yeah, not so much.

See, The Weasel and I were watching some show about this girl who was hanging out in the Hamptons for the summer with her rich friend (who of course could get them invited to all the good parties), and the not-rich girl got all up in the rich girl’s face for saying mean shit behind people’s back.  I ask you, Hoody’s Hooligans:  WHY THE HELL ELSE WOULD YOU GO TO A PARTY???

Here are some of the rich girl’s gems:

“Too short, too tight, too fat.”

“I’m actually embarrassed.” (for a sad so-called “rapper” trying to break it down)

“So… much… PAISLEY.”

I LOVE THIS GIRL!  Ask Chuckweasel or Dear Sweet Mama — this is what I do.  If there is a thing to be mocked, rest assured, I will mock it.  I see it as my sacred duty:  If you don’t have something nice to say about somebody, come sit by me. 

Plus, the rich girl routinely got bartenders to give her the ENTIRE BOTTLE instead of just a glass of the free champagne… and she summed up her philosophy with my three favorite words: “I don’t care.”

Which is rich Yankee girl speak for “Fuck all y’all, where’s my purse?”


Filed under I Rule You, La Vida Loca

Carlos Me Pone Triste

Muy, muy triste.

Okay, I’ve been staying out of this because really?  It’s like kicking a puppy.  But that’s exactly why I now feel I must come out.

Deep breath… Here goes.

Despite all that’s happened, I still love Charlie Sheen.

Oye, Carlos, Carlos, Carlos.  Whatever happened to that sweet young man we all fell in love with, playing the thuggy “bad boy” in “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?”  I cried REAL TEARS when you got shot in “Young Guns,” you know — cried in a MOVIE THEATRE no less!  Those ugly bitches living in your house simply CAN’T love you like I do… they weren’t even BORN then!

So here’s the plan:  You come and live with me and I will get you off the bad drugs and onto the ones that will make you not be crazy.  You can sleep on the couch and watch all the cable you want, as long as you don’t order any porn on the pay-per-view (I know how you are).

Seriously though, I will hear no shit about my man.  He just needs help, possibly of the mental variety, and we’re none of us in a position to throw stones there!  I am ready and willing to kick that Brooke Mueller’s ass, and I’ve wanted to punch Denise Richards in the neck since “Wild Things,” so she can shut her horse-toothed mouth, too.  And don’t get me started on the ugly-ass leech whores he’s got now… fuckin’ bring it, you skank bitches.  I’ll beat ya like your mama shoulda.  The HoodyHoo Celebrity Rehab program will become world famous, and CBS will have to cut me a check for fixing Charlie Sheen. 

Just one worry, though — if he tries any of that domestic violence shit with ME, I’mown knock his ass out.  All them movie dudes are midgets, anyway, so I can take him.


Filed under GENIUS!, La Vida Loca, SCIENCE!

Let’s Do the Time Warp

I’m still on my Granny Weatherwax high horse about this stupid weather (flurries?  Did the guy just say FLURRIES?) and it reminded me about what I guess we’ll have to call the Weaselian Calendar (like the Julian calendar, but this one’s from Chuckweasel).

Now, as geeks like myself know, when Julius Caesar (great general, bad haircut) switched the Roman Empire from the lunar calendar to the solar one, he had to add a lot of time to catch up so the seasons would be in the right place.  So you wouldn’t be having a Harvest Festival in 2 feet of snow, or what have you.  Chuckweasel (who is a closet geek but pretends to be a jock) has a theory that we’ve gotten the seasons out of alignment again and we need another adjustment.

What Caesar and Company did was, they had November 3 times in a row.  Which was cool, because it gave the Romans yet another opportunity to act completely bugshit crazy (some of them repeated every “day” by doing EXACTLY the same thing on every “November 4th” or whatever; others decided that 2 of the months didn’t “count” and they took a do-over).  I think we could totally use this idea, and maybe it would help the economy, too!

Bear with me here.  If we do November 3 times, you would make your November car payment, rent payment, etc. during the “first” November.  Then you should not have to pay your November bills again in the next 2 months, because they’re still, technically, “November.”  If we can get everybody to agree to this, we would not only fix our calendar so the weather’s in the right places, we’d also give everybody a chance to save up a little money and get caught up!  GENIUS!!!!!

If anyone needs me, I’ll be at home, waiting for President Obama to call.  Or the Nobel Committee.  Or probably just Dear Sweet Mama, but a girl can dream!


Filed under GENIUS!, SCIENCE!