Stephen King Probably Invented Cancer, Too

I was procrastinating on writing a blog post, so I took an ADHD test online.

I answered all the questions honestly and I thought the results were going to be like "yeah, you have ADHD, it's really no big deal, lots of people have it, go to the doctor and get some Ritalin and you'll be fine."

But no.  That's not what they said.

They said "Serious ADHD Likely!"

And they gave me an HTML code so that I can put a button on my website announcing to the world that my test results came back and guess what?  "Serious ADHD Likely!"

Okay, first of all, did they have to throw the word "serious" in there?  Like "No, you don't just have ADHD.  You have SERIOUS ADHD.  That's the terminal kind.  We're sorry.  But doesn't this fun font kind of make you feel at least a little better?"

And what's with the exclamation point?  Are they excited or yelling at me?  Are they accusing me of having ADHD or congratulating me?  "Serious ADHD Likely!" can really be interpreted in any number of ways:

1.)  Celebratory:  "Congratulations!  Serious ADHD Likely!"

2.)  Damning:  "Serious ADHD Likely!  Welcome to Hell, Motherfucker!"

3.)  Alarmist:  "Serious ADHD Likely!  Run away!!!"

4.)  Joking:  "Serious ADHD Likely!  April fools! Just kidding!"

5.)  Sneaky: "Surprise!  Serious ADHD Likely!"

6.)  Jeering:  "OMG!  LOL!  Serious ADHD Likely!"

7.)  Mocking:  "Neener, neener, neener!  Serious ADHD Likely!" 

8.)  Incredulous:  "Serious ADHD Likely!  I can't believe it!" 

9.)  Insane: "Serious ADHD Likely! I think corn tastes like banjo pie!  Planes!!!!!!!!!"

10.)  Rueful:  "Serious ADHD Likely!  Oh no!"  

11.)  Accusatory:  "Serious ADHD Likely!  Get her!!"

12.)  Angry:  "Serious ADHD Likely! How dare you have Serious ADHD!  Young lady, what would your mother think?"   

13.)  Relieved:  "Serious ADHD Likely! Oh man, I thought I was going to have to tell you that you had AIDS!"

14.)  Bereft:  "Serious ADHD Likely!  OH GOD NO!  NO, NO, NO!!! GOD!!!!!!!!!! WHAT HAVE I DONE??????"

15.)  Amused:  "Serious ADHD Likely!  Huh." 

16.)   Cautionary:  "Warning!  Serious ADHD Likely!  Also possibly flammable!"

17.)   Santa:  "Serious ADHD Likely!  And to all a good night!"

18.)   Sarcastic:  "Serious ADHD Likely!  Cancel all your life plans, this is one serious disorder that you have.  I mean it.  You are pretty much doomed to a life of secrecy and lies, destined to be forever chained in your basement like the freak that you are."  

As you can see, the statement "Serious ADHD Likely!" is quite open for interpretation, and I am confused.  To make it worse, there is a picture of an orange blob that kind of looks like a paint-by-numbers picture of a baby head that is on fire.  Or maybe the baby's head is made out of fire.  I don't know what to make of it, but it can't be a good sign.  It makes me think that they probably meant the phrase to sound damning, like "Serious ADHD Likely!  Welcome to Hell, Motherfucker!  Have you ever painted a picture of a baby that is one fire? If you haven't don't worry.  There are little numbers here to tell you where to put which color of paint.  You'll catch on soon enough and you'll have plenty of time to practice because it is what you are going to be doing for all of eternity.  That's right.  Hell is an infinite series of somewhat disturbing paint-by-number projects.  I bet you wish that you had lied a little on that ADHD test, huh?"

Anyway, I just re-read my post from yesterday and I realized that it kind of sounded like I was trying to justify removing my blog's feeding tube, or something.  Like it wouldn't be able to survive on its own without medical intervention.

And that is not the case.  It was not at all a goodbye.  It was more of a "I hope you still like me when or if I start writing posts about ten different topics that have no real connection even though you feel like they should, but no - they definitely don't and don't even try to connect them because there is no possible way to connect Jesus, Swiss cheese, miniature golf courses, unicorns, black holes, cats and mutton."

The good news is that I am funnier when I'm unmedicated.  At least I think so.  But that might be because I am unmedicated and thus very easily entertained by myself.  I'm not kidding.  When I am trying to tackle life without Adderall, give me a paper clip and a ball of yarn and I will either Macguyver you a better mousetrap or ignore the paper clip entirely and just bat the ball of string around like a cat.   Either way, I will be able to entertain myself for at least 45 minutes or until something more entertaining comes along, whichever one comes first but I'm willing to bet it will be the second one because come on, who pays attention to anything for 45 minutes straight when the world is full of objects, some of which are moving and others of which are sparkly?  Maybe Bear Grylls, but I'm sure even he has been distracted by a SuperBall from time to time.  Or maybe not.  I don't know. I'm not God.

In fact, things probably won't even change that much around here.  Maybe they'll even get better.  Maybe I'll... hold on for just a second...

Can I show you something?

I found it on the internet and thought "you know where that belongs?  At a miniature golf course.  Every single miniature golf course ever has some sort of creepy clown somewhere.  And if you don't see a creepy clown at a miniature golf course?  You are probably the creepy clown.  Go to the doctor.  Get that shit checked out.

I think clowns should sue Stephen King for ruining their credibility.  If Stephen King never wrote "It" clowns would still be the harbingers of fun and laughter.  But not anymore.  Since Stephen King wrote "It" clowns have become as scary as children.  And children are only scary because Stephen King wrote "The Shining."  You know what?  Fuck Stephen King.  Because of Stephen King, every time I see a set of twin girls, I get all panicky and I start to taste bile in the back of my throat, but no matter how scared I am I can't help feeling bad for their mother because she has to live in a constant state of fear and apprehension because not only are they twins but chances are that someday they are going to want a clown to come to their birthday party and then the universe will implode because that is way too many creepy things all in one place at one time and that is how black holes are created.  They didn't teach you that in science class, but it's true.  And you know what else they didn't teach you in science class?  When your dog dies of rabies, that's Stephen King's fault because I'm pretty sure he created rabies too. And Syphilis.  We should probably assassinate Stephen King preemptively before he makes better AIDS.  Clown AIDS.  Shit.

We need a counter-strike.  I'm pretty sure the only thing that can counter clown AIDS is unicorns, so we'll need about 8,000 of those and then maybe some cheese because it is a known fact that rabid, AIDS-ridden clowns cannot resist cheese and we'll need something to distract them while the unicorns are getting into formation.  It's got to be Swiss cheese though, because I'll be damned if I ever feed a clown cheddar.  That would be like shoving a dollar bill into a gum-ball machine.  It wouldn't work and you'd never get it back.  Just trust me on that one.

I bet you didn't think I was serious when I said that I'd write about all of those things that I listed earlier.  Well, you have underestimated me.  You may be thinking "but Allie, you haven't written about mutton or Jesus yet..."  But don't worry... I'll get to it.

Do you know what I bet Jesus liked to eat?

Ham.

It would have been too easy to just say "mutton."  


P.S.  I promise that not every post will be this random.  But some will be.  I like to inject a little WTF from time to time.  It's good for you guys.  Like mutton.  And Jesus.

Nevermind... I Found It

But I'm still drunk.

Drunk. Need Chap STick

I am drunk.

I need some fucking chapstick.  That is all.

Drunken Email/Drunken Video

Tonight, I received the following email:


"I'm drunk and I think it would be a wonderfull idea to see how many words I can construe using only the letters of your name. A L L I E. Go. 

A. ALL. LIE. LEI. SHIT. THAT'S NOT VERY MANY. MAYBE I SHOULD MAKE A POEM OUT OF THOSE WORDS? WHY IS CAPS LOCK STILL ON?

It was ALL A LIE if you can't get LEI'D. SHIT, THAT'S NOT REALLY A POEM IS IT?

Oh well, that's what you get. You're welcome.

Love,

Nikole

Ps. I am not a parapalegic."


This is why I love you guys.  I have such a random-email-filled, wonderful life.  


Nikole's drunken email also reminded me that I promised to post a video from that one time  when I got impulse-drunk off of a bottle of cheap wine from Safeway and then went on an adventure on the bike path and wrote an angry letter to the Crap Blog Detective in which I called him a "douche bad."  If you want, I can post more footage of that night, but I think this short clip sums it up pretty well. 


P.S.  I'm totally going to get drunk with Nikole someday.  

Lieutenant Horatio Cane from CSI: Miami Hates My Boobies

I stayed up until 4:00 AM last night for no reason.  I was doing so well with going to bedearly, but then I just couldn’t control myself last night.  It’s like I binged on being awake andnow I’m all hung-over and I just realized that my left breast is bigger than myright breast, so that’s weird. 

I came to that realization because I had to take off myclothes to take a shower this morning and I needed something to do while thehot water got going, so I looked at my boobies in the mirror. 

Remember when I said that I don’t like showering?  That’s because showering forces me toacknowledge my body and all of its flaws and also because my shower is in theupstairs bathroom which is one of the “non-heated rooms” in my house becauseremember how Boyfriend and I have blankets over all of our doorways because wecan’t afford real heat?  This meansthat our living room is almost always nice and toasty but our bedroom andbathroom are cut off from the heat by the blankets so they just kind of settleto a temperature that is only marginally warmer than the temperature outsidewhich might not be a bad thing if I lived in Hawaii, but I don’t live in Hawaii. I live in Montana.

So basically, this is me taking a shower: 

I wait until my disgustingness outweighs my aversion toshowering, then I walk upstairs and turn on the hot water.  Then I go do something else while thehot water gets going – like read or take a walk or look at my boobies in themirror. 

If I make the unfortunate mistake of taking my clothes offbefore I turn on the water, I will have to wrap a towel around myself and siton the toilet lid shivering violently because I don’t want to go retrieve myclothes from the hallway where I left them because that would mean that I’dhave to move the box I put in front of the door to act as a barricade in theevent of an attack by the killer from the movie Psycho and also I don't want to let the killer from Psycho in if he's already out there.

I continue to sit on the toilet and shiver and hate the hotwater for taking so damn long and hate Boyfriend for never getting around toputting locks on the bathroom door because he doesn’t take my shower paranoiaseriously and he thinks I can just get over it but he hasn’t seen Psycho andhe doesn’t understand.

You knowwhat?  I haven’t even seen Psycho either.  I just saw the previews on some ad for a late-night horror movie marathon and then made up the rest. 

Anyway, once the hot water gets going, I always feel like Iam very near to actually being able to get in the shower, but I’m wrong.  I have to fiddle with the shower knobsuntil I get water that is not scalding but not prohibitively freezing to comeout of the shower head.  This isnearly impossible. 

What usually ends up happening is that I spend five minuteshovering over the tub darting my hand through the stream of lava water to tapthe cold water knob ever so gently and at first I think I’ve hit the sweet spotbecause the water-temperature becomes bearable for approximately three secondsbefore plunging into what can only be described as liquid ice.  Which should technically be just“water” but I assure you it is not. My shower reinvented chemistry. And when the water gets cold, I realize that I have tapped the cold waterknob too far – which is depressing because I don’t think I am capable of themotor control necessary to tap it any more gently. 

So most of the time I just end up settling on whatever temperaturewould kill me the slowest.   Istep into the ancient claw-foot tub, which is way too tall for someone of mystature and then I try to close the shower curtain because no matter how coldthe water is, the ambient air temperature is always colder.   The only problem is that theshower curtain does not close very easily.  It wraps almost all the way around the tub, but comes upabout three inches short.  The onlyway I can get it to close is to pull it inward and overlap it on itself whichleaves me about four-square feet of space to move around in and if I go outsideof my boundaries, I will be enveloped by the clammy, germ-infested showercurtain.  It kind of reminds me ofthe game “Operation.”  Do youremember that game?  It was the onethat made you think you’d die if a surgeon ever touched the edge of yourincision?  The one that made youthink your organs were just random pink blobs floating around in your body,waiting to be removed through any one of several gaping holes that magicallyappeared on your body for no reason? And somehow, you were lead to believe that if you successfully removedthe heart, the spleen, the large intestine and the knee-cap, you win and thepatient gets better even though in real life you’d probably be sued formalpractice and go to jail for manslaughter?  That game.  Butinstead of getting buzzed at when I fail to stay within the boundaries I amprovided, I get slimed by the nasty shower curtain. 

Then I actually have to wash my hair.  Remember when I told you guys that thepesticides I accidentally drank that one time tasted like Sauve “Ocean Breeze”shampoo?  I know what Suave “OceanBreeze” shampoo tastes like because I almost always get some of it in my mouthand/or eyes.  I try to close mymouth and eyes very tightly throughout the entire shampooing process, butinvariably I am startled by something which I automatically assume is thekiller from Psycho but which is probably just the shower curtain and I gaspand open my eyes and the shampoo goes in my eyes and mouth, blinding me againstmy potential attacker. 

So there I am, crouched in my battle stance, completelyentangled in my nasty shower curtain, pawing at my eyes and drooling out soapsuds, terrified that some fictional movie character from a movie that I haven’teven seen is going to stab me and I realize that I am just going to have to gothrough all of this again in a few days and suddenly life seems pointless and Idon’t even know who I am anymore. 

And that’s not even counting the part where I have to getout of the shower. 

Getting out of the shower is also terrifying because one of thesedays I am going to slip when I’m stepping out of my awkwardly tall bathtub andhit my head on the towel rod and then I’ll be found naked in a pool of my ownblood and Lieutenant Horatio Cane from CSI: Miami will be like “her left breastis larger than her right breast… what a freak!”  and then he’ll realize that he’s in Montana and technicallythat’s out of his jurisdiction so he’ll go back to Florida but not before hejudges me for being misshapen.

If I manage to exit the shower without accidentally endingmy life in a pool of blood and embarrassment, I have to put on lotion.  That might not sound so bad until youconsider that my economy-sized bottle of Suave Cocoa Butter lotion has beensitting in a room where the air temperature is only marginally warmer than theair temperature outdoors, which, at this time of year, is usually about ninedegrees Fahrenheit.  But I’m vain,so I’d rather coat my entire body in a layer of semi-solid lotion ice than risklooking scaly.

I don’t knowwhat this particular lotion is made out of, but whatever it is, it is insolubleon skin.  Try as I might, I cannotrub it in.   Also, I thinkit’s magical and infinite.  I’ve been trying to use up this lotion for two and a half yearsnow.  I made the mistake of buyingit in the summer of 2007 and it has outlasted my best attempts at getting ridof it so that I can justify spending money on new lotion.  I use the lotion at every chance Iget.  Door squeaking?  Coat the hinge with lotion.  Out of dish soap?  Maybe the lotion will work.   Probably not, but maybe.  I even set it out next to the bowlHalloween candy this year, hoping that some teenage hooligans would take it anduse it to vandalize something. Sadly, that never happened. 

Once I have covered myself with way too much lotion becausemaybe that will use it up faster but probably it won’t, I have to wash thelotion off my hands so that I don’t get it in my hair.

My sink has two faucets:  one of them makes lava water and theother one makes ice water.  Theyare not willing to compromise.  IfI want to wash my hands, I have to turn both the faucets on and move my handsback and forth between them really fast before my nerves can pick up thesensation of burning or freezing. To make it worse, the lotion is even less soluble in water than it is onskin.  I usually just end upgetting the lotion all wet and then using huge amounts of toilet paper to wipeit off.

Then I can finally put my clothes on, but remember how Ileft them out in the hall?  I haveto push the heavy box out from in front of the door and then run really fastpast the window in the hallway to avoid exposing myself to my neighbor’s twoyoung children.

Running really fast on a wood floor past a flight of stairswhen your body is coated in super-lotion is probably not the smartestlife-decision, but then again, neither is leaving your clothes out in thehallway when you go into the bathroom to take a shower.  But that’s what happens when you areimpulsive and incapable of thinking things through before acting. 

How I am not dead yet is beyond me.  I guess it’s probably because thekiller from Psycho can’t get past the moderately heavy box that I use tobarricade my bathroom door.

Billy Joel Almost Killed Me

I just realized that I should probably post something today... then I was like, “well,what should I post?”

 I thought about posting Part 2 of my roommate saga, but I need to ration my high-quality posts because I like to save them for when you guys are starting to doubt my abilities –  then I'm like “oh, you think I am selling-out and writing only about boring, inane things now?  Well, suck on this post!”

Basically I don’t feel like my blog has sucked enough lately to justify using up one of my “lifeline posts.”  So instead, you guys get to read about this.  Which is basically nothing.  I’m sorry.  I'll probably be forced to use one of my lifelines soon enough.

I think my original point in writing this was that I was going to talk about scars, but I don't remember how I was planning on arriving on that subject… oh yeah! I was going to tell you that I was looking around for things to write about and I got distracted by reminiscing about my badass life-wounds.  I say “life-wounds” because I wanted tosay “war-wounds” but I haven’t been in any wars.  I still wanted to make myself sound awesome, though - and "life-wounds" sounds pretty awesome – like I was attacked by life.   Do you want to see my life-wounds and hear the stories behind them?  I sure hope so because that is what's going to happen...

1.) Scar on Face:  

Mom thinks I'm ready to walk.  Takes out of walker and places on ground.  Not ready to walk.  Sense freedom, run away.  Take three glorious, freedom-filled steps - fall face-down in gravel.

I don’t know why my mother chose to teach me how to walk on a gravel driveway, but she did.  And now I have a sweet scar on my face.

2.) Scar on Head (Approximate Location):

I am 4.  Dad makes a big mistake - he plays “Running on Ice” by Billy Joel.  I really like that song.  Logically, I start sprinting around the house, flailing my arms.  When sprinting and flailing both fail to give proper expression to how much I truly love “Running on Ice” by Billy Joel, I start spinning in circles as fast as I can.  I get dizzy.  I run into the wall with my head.  I am bleeding. A lot.  Mom calls 911.  I go to the hospital.  The doctor (Doctor Crane – Iwill never forget that) says “she needs stitches.”  Dr. fucking Crane is holding a needle.  I see the needle.  Dr. Crane approaches me.  I begin flailing and kicking ferociously.  I am restrained in a rolled-up blanket.  Like a cat.  I am yelling “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” and bleeding all over the place.  I manage to wriggle free of the blanket.  I kick Dr. Crane in the chest.  He must have been feeling diplomatic because he offers me a lollipop. My insatiable appetite for sugar distracts me long enough so that I can be restrained in the blanket again.  Damn that Dr. Crane and his trickery!

3.) Scar on Knee:

 Playing tag.  Tried to jump barbed-wire fence gracefully- like a deer.  Failed.  Tetanus shots soon followed.  Probably also rabies.  Idaho fences are known for their rabidity.  Holy shit... "rabidity" is a word!  I don't think it means what I think it means though... whatever.

Okay, I just Google it and apparently, "rabidity" means "excessive enthusiasm."

Basically, I just told you that the fences in Idaho are known for their excessive enthusiasm.

4.) Chipped Tooth

A couple years ago, I impulse-bought a Happy Meal toy from a thrift store.  It was a tiny, stuffed armadillo.  It had a tag on it.  I didn't want the tag to be there.  I tried to rip it off with my hands, but I was not strong enough.  I used my teeth. To my horror, a chunk of my left front tooth was torn asunder from my face.  The tag was still firmly attached to the armadillo's ass.  And there it remains.

If that is not the weirdest way anyone has ever chipped a tooth, I don't know what is.  

Sometimes I am Overwhelmed by How Awesome You Guys Are...

Sometimes I read through my comments and I almost feel guilty because some of them are so unbelievably funny that I feel bad for having them buried within my comments section.  I mean, many of you have your own blogs that you could be writing that awesomely funny stuff for... but instead you choose to leave me a paragraph or six that straight knocks me on my ass with laughter.  

I appreciate this more than you will ever know.  Sometimes my comments are funnier than I am.  Actually quite often.  Here is just a sample of what I mean (most names are links even though they may not look like it):

Noelle (who doesn't have a blog but probably should): "...Christmas tree shopping is an emotionally devastating experience for me."

-"On the other hand, scissors with a corkscrew in the handle sound really fucking dangerous. And you don't drink. I however, enjoy drinking while I cut things. You should bring them to my house."

-"Me and Ben got drunk at James Bar the other night, and I spent an inappropriate amount of time telling him how badly Brett Farve makes me want to buy levis. You and Duncan need to come back and make games/wine nights less awkward."

-"...So, for breakfast, naturally I would eat a plate of butter. My mom told me this was gross and so I comprimised by hollowing out the insides of bread and filling it with butter. I called it "eskimo bread". I would love to eat this now, but I am a grown-up."

-"...too bad you have to wait until christmas for your giftbasket of fancy tampons and cosmopolitan."

Sarah P: "I was reading a true crime forum today, and everyone was getting all confused between two Kyles because they are both registered sex offenders.  Now, this.  *Shakes head at state of the world*"

-"I always worry one item on a shelf is lonely or that, in an odd number of items, a bunch of them will pair off and shun the singleton. Even numbers are best for dinner parties and knickknacks."

-"...one day, he unrolled the fresh toilet paper roll about halfway, and wrote on one square, "God hates you.""

-"I will never understand why they make a person with ADD call the doctor every month for a refill prescription, go pick up the written prescription and hand-deliver it to the pharmacy. It's like they're just fucking with ADDers."

Becky: "I'm so sleepy right now that when you wrote about your statcounter, it reminded me about my statcounter account, and I wanted to check it out but I never go straight from anyone's blog to statcounter because I'm afraid one day someone will see in their statcounter account that that's where I went after reading their blog, and then they'll think I'm vain and county of readers. I usually go to google for no reason, then to statcounter."

Dan: Please be aware that sand is a stone killer, and I don't even mean that in the erosion-turns-rocks-into-sand way, though that's also kind of worth keeping in mind. But SAND! KILLS!!!! I think that more people are killed by cave-ins of sand-holes each year than by lightning, bad taste, and chewbacca together. ("Sand-hole" sounds like something people would call me in jr high. You know the type.) Not to mention the chafing. Please, do not mention the chafing. Just don't mess around with sand. Somebody will get hurt. Possibly Spiderman, if I recall the movie properly. 

Also, that deer told me he thinks you're cute, but not when you're "sexy lion," which translates in deer to "rutting carnivore." You know how sensitive those sandholes can be.

Tony: "Cancer research < having fun with drunk Allie in my book. I'll tell you why. Cancer's still going to be there tomorrow, but drunk Allie? Well, that wears off after a couple of hours."

-"I'm sorry about the paper cut. It's amazing how something so frail can cause so much pain."

mysterg: "...I don't plan on having any babies so you would just end up having to eat my sperm with someone else's unfertilised eggs. Which could mix inside of you and make you pregnant and then you would sue me for child maintenance. Thank heavens I recognised your dastardly plan before it was too late!"

-"Maybe Kyle just saw your bald picture and thought that bald = cancer = ugly? Although I might screw a bald chick if she was dying from cancer and it was her last request from the make a wish foundation. Because I'm a charitable guy."

Organic Meatbag: I'm not drunk! I'm just belligerent!! Tonight I shall soak in a hot tub filled with grief and Kahlua, and maybe some of you will be invited, and maybe some of you will be INVITED!!!

Nope...not drunk...

Nooter:  "That was nuts!  You're like a cinnamon jelly bean thats been soaking in lemon juice and dipped into a bag of crack then used as a suppository."

Amber: "I googled Crap Blog Detective to get a picture for the pic I am making for you, and YOU ARE TOTALLY NUMBER ONE ON GOOGLE BEFORE HIM!! ALLIE, YOU WIN!!!!!!!"

Lacey: "as a child, i tried to swallow a large percentage of my food whole, so that it would not experience the trauma of being chewed."

Amy: "...it's like he thought "I have these tags, what do I do with them? I can't hold them while I run on the treadmill. I need to put the sneakers on. I can't do that while I hold them. I'll put them here. Hands empty, mission complete. On with the shoes, off to the treadmill."

Woman in the Midst: Raw:  YOU are a winner with a capital "w" - capitilization of the "w" purposely omitted so that you would notice and again declare yourself a WINNER! - =)

ASSHOLE BOYFRIEND: "I hate hearing someone behind me say; "Are you going to pay for that dildo under your shirt? or do you want us to call the Police?" Bothers me every time."

timoteo: "...I left one such note on my fellow interns sandwich, with a caption reading "Please don't eat me, my family will miss me""

-"I'm not sure what the appropriate response is to this situation. I'm gonna cop out by slow clapping."

writteninthemargins: "P.S. I like your blog.  P.P.S. I'm not really that crazy. Well, my boyfriend says I am, but you can't trust him. He's British."

Cinema Obsessed: "...It's like "Well don't dress up like you work at Wal-Mart before you leave the house. It almost obligates you to show me where things are.""

miss. chief: "Dear Allie, 

Hi. How are you? I am fine. Do you like cats? What about porcupines?

The end."

My Mom (yes, my real, live mother who felt the need to make an empty profile so she could comment): "Hello darling, this is your mother. If I have stumbled on to how to actually comment on this new-fangled blog-thing, it will be a miracle. I mean, I’m still figuring out my cell phone. After reading your little site (every word) I am caught between thinking, “That’s my baby girl right there!” and “My God, does she have a life outside of blogging?!” 

Seriously though, it’s not too late to become a comedy writer, after all, look what it did for Dave Barry! You can just leave the microscopes and molecules to someone else to mess with. At least I can understand this stuff—I hate to admit it but your college papers left me behind in the first sentence. (For those of you just tuning in, my daughter is brilliant and talented and I’m sure she will find a cure for something if she doesn’t become a famous comedienne).

Carry on, love. Duncan.....you’re a good man!

P.S. How is your toe and have you made an appointment with the dentist?"

Sarah: "Can I just say how amused I am that after all that your mom completely breezed past the part of the story where you poisoned yourself to compliment you on the fact that you are a gifted humorist and writer?"

Shaky Jake: "I'm high on nougat right now, and that doesn't even require a prescription."

Anonymous: "I'd like to tell you a short story. Almost two years ago, I (a girl who grew up with 15 pet dogs and was certainly not a cat person) took in a cat that had grown up in the wild from a kitten. He was at least 3 years old at the time, and I had slowly gotten him used to me (and only me) and fed him and cared for him outside and all. Then one morning I woke up to find him on the front doorstep, hardly able to breathe. I (miracle of miracles) somehow managed to get him to the vet, and he was made all better. Now at that point, it was the middle of winter. He couldn't stay outside with breathing problems. So he became an inside cat. (Side note: he can't meow. The most he can muster is a whispery "meh". It's precious.) So he's been an inside cat for two years now, and you can't even tell he was ever outside, he's so spoiled. He weighs like 15 pounds, I swear. Anyway, I was never able to think of a good name for him. Nothing I tried fit him at ALL. So for two years, he's answered to Kitty. This is embarrassing when relating funny stories, to admit that my cat is called Kitty. I tried to pretend that I named him after Sully in Monsters, Inc. because Boo called him Kitty, but I think we can all agree that was a pretty thin cover, and everyone thinks I'm just a retard who can't think of what to name her cat.

My point here, Allie, is that after two long years, YOUR AD BLOG NAMED MY CAT! Seriously. I clicked on an ad to help you out, and found a "good cat names" quiz and I answered all the questions truthfully and it told me to name him Charlemagne, which is a horrible name, so I took it again with less truthful & honest answers, and it said Sebastian! Which normally is not a great name. But it TOTALLY fits him. So thank you, Allie, for making an ad blog and naming my cat!

The end."

angryredhead: "I think we should ban the French language entirely, as it obviously makes no sense at all."

Jamie: "I am less offended by your post than I am by the fact I have to tell people my daughter has assburgers. That dude should have changed his name to something french."

-"How very selfish of you to go have experiences and leave us here without new posts..."

Caitlin: "glad you didn't die."

-"...then someone says "WHY ARE YOU YELLING" and then the other person say "I DON'T KNOW" -or- "I'M NOT YELLING" and then person one says "YES YOU ARE!" and then person two says "WELL I'M SORRY, I CAN'T HELP IT" ......and then that continues on for like another five minutes..."

Canoncowgirl: "The whole time I've been reading your blog (all a couple weeks or so) i've been confusing "hyperbole" and "perabola" which is dumb because if anything I should be confusing hyperbole and hyperbola but I was totally imagining a single arch (and a half) none of that top and bottom mirror arch crap. so apparently I'm not only confused regaurding the english language but also on geometry terms."

Tia: "Repulser.

Rhymes with "ulcer."

You know, like as in "his job was to be the repulser so no one would bother the lions."

Ok maybe it's not a word.

Kaitlyn:  "Way to wreck a productive afternoon and give me arachnoiditis."

Rikki:  "Fuck jeans.  Sorry I said fuck. I am totally following your bad example, but, to *everyone's* relief, I don't hate you."

OhSweetSara: "So I'm going to go ahead and freak out the 4 people who follow me on twitter to help you with your cause. 

If this makes them stop following me it will be totally worth it because I only started following them because they were following me and I felt obligated, but I'm too nice to un-follow them because twitter is a dick-head and tells people when someone stops following them, and I don’t want to be that person. But their tweets are really annoying and about cat food coupons and I don't even have a cat so I don't care, but if they stop following me because I tweeted '#mandatorysexparty' then that would be awesome, and I would totally want to give you a prize."

Ellie: "You ate ALL the cookies? Now I want cookies. I have cookie dough in the freezer, but that would mean defrosting is necessary. The complexity of life is overwhelming".

Lizard. dot lizard.: "OK this is off-topic in that it doesn't relate to your eventual point, but, the bird thing? Is there something weird going on with the birds? Last week about four different sparrows committed Kamikaze on the windows at work - and they're not even clear! And today there was a dead finch by the window, and then later THWACK! a QUAIL. We don't even have quail around where I work. Some quail flew however many miles, just to fling himself against the window and die!  I have pictures to prove it. 

So what's up with the birds? Is this an attack, or a desperate sort of warning in which they're sacrificing their little birdie lives to tell us HEY! HEY! YOU IN THERE! WATCH OUT!  Watch out for what?" 

Stephanie: "If it were me? I would have let people think I had cancer and then milked the "sympathy boyfriend" situation for all it was worth. Apparently my adolescent self was not too proud for pity dating".

Sherri: "...AND you got to visit a meth lab. NO FAIR."

Nicole: "Thank you for your letter to Cosmo. If one more issue tells me to use ice cubs on my partner, I am going to...eh I have no real repercussions."

That Chick: "...my best friend would come up to me and say, "dear, you're awful angry. Is your uterus leaking?"" 

Josh Gard: "As a regular guy who can appreciate a cute though slightly odd girl, I can say that Allie pulls off the sexy lion much better than a lot of girls could!" 

Alice: "...I was asleep on an apple green vintage couch on a busy street, inexplicably wearing fairy wings. True story. Moving sucks.

Kaloo: "But this makes no sense. Everyone knows that Scissors stab Eyes. And without Eyes Rock is going to miss horribly..."

Duncan (AKA Boyfriend): "At least we can all agree paper sucks in any situation."

Nikole: "Are you people kidding? Have you never been cut by paper? It is the most excruciating ordeals one could possibly experience. I assume even moreso than natural childbirth..."

-"My brother's girlfriend once told me that my mom was sandy. Confused, I yelled, "No, her name is Jeanne!" in the middle of Baskin Robbins. Apparently she meant that my mom had a sandy vagina (figuratively speaking) because who wouldn't be irritable with sand in the vag? Seriously, think about the mechanics of chaffing. Basically, she was calling my mom a bitch but how was I to know sandy could be used as that kind of a descriptor?"

-"My cousin/roommate loves milk an unnatural amount."

Erin: "Can we be best friends?  If not, I'd settle for some coupons..." 

Don-Guitar: "...I'm very plebeian when it comes to coffee. I like Folgers artificially flavored hazelnut, brewed (not too strong) in my dollar store drip coffee maker. I don't adulterate it with plant extracts (like cane sugar), artificial sweeteners, dairy products or synthetic dairy products and I dislike all other brands and varieties of coffee."

Matthew: "Will you marry me?"  (I drew up a marriage license for matthew and I and emailed it to him, but he hasn't sent it back yet.  I'm giving him three more days and then I'm going to post it on my blog for everyone else to fill out too...) 

Hope: "...I don't think my boyfriend is an alien, but he is waterproof. Seriously."

Schmorley: "I find it disturbing that Gerber makes baby food and really badass knives and hatchets. I mean really, baby food and knives? I was wondering if you also found this to be disturbing." 

Laurel Kornfield (I cannot tell if she is being serious or if she's just the funniest person ever): "Pluto is still a planet. Only four percent of the IAU voted on the controversial demotion, and most are not planetary scientists. Their decision was immediately opposed in a formal petition by hundreds of professional astronomers led by Dr. Alan Stern, Principal Investigator of NASA’s New Horizons mission to Pluto. One reason the IAU definition makes no sense is it says dwarf planets are not planets at all! That is like saying a grizzly bear is not a bear, and it is inconsistent with the use of the term “dwarf” in astronomy, where dwarf stars are still stars, and dwarf galaxies are still galaxies. Also, the IAU definition classifies objects solely by where they are while ignoring what they are. If Earth were in Pluto’s orbit, according to the IAU definition, it would not be a planet either. A definition that takes the same object and makes it a planet in one location and not a planet in another is essentially useless. Pluto is a planet because it is spherical, meaning it is large enough to be pulled into a round shape by its own gravity--a state known as hydrostatic equilibrium and characteristic of planets, not of shapeless asteroids held together by chemical bonds. These reasons are why many astronomers, lay people, and educators are either ignoring the demotion entirely or working to get it overturned."

Sy: "...It's like a cat. Yeah you can dress it up and parade it down the street, but if you...the power giver... doesn't feed it, it is just a worthless lump. Fine, you have to bury the cat, or at least make a nice stew out of it, but regardless...the effort to feed it once in a while makes you awesome and the appliance weak."

Thank you for making me laugh so hard every day.  

P.S.  My "no-internet debacle" is no excuse for the fact that I have been terribly tardy with the "prizes" that I owe some of you... if I owe you, please email me with the password, and your request (contact button at top of sidebar.  Alternatively, ickybana5@hotmail.com).  I may even surprise you with something extra. Don't count on it, but maybe.