Bad Idea #125---Gettin' Your Coyote Ugly On...

This being the holiday season, I thought a cautionary tale about the effects of drinking too much demon eggnog might be in order.

Ever hear the term "Coyote Ugly"? Not the forgettable movie, but the term. It comes from the idea that a coyote stuck in a trap will chew it's own paw off to escape. In the same vein, it's a description of the "morning after" when you wake up next to the [koff] babe you picked up at the bar the night before.

You're so horrified that you'd rather chew your own arm off to get away than wake him/her up.

Bad, bad eggnog!

So this guy (who wasn't named in the article) in Winnepeg was so drunk that he broke into a couple of garages and rooted through some stuff. A concerned homeowner called the police, who eventually found the guy passed out in somebody's boat, with his Coyote Ugly by his side.

Except that his date wasn't alive.

It wasn't even human.

It was a stuffed dog.

"He was lying there with his genitalia exposed next to the stuffed dog," said Crown attorney John Peden. "While the police report doesn't describe it this way, the dog might be appropriately characterized as now being anatomically correct, as opposed to its condition before he removed it."

Gak!

Ok, I have to admit, I laughed hysterically when I read that.

The guy's defense attorney explained:

"All (his offences) involve being drunk, usually drunk as a skunk."

The authorities actually had to take a DNA sample in their investigation of the plush po-po perp.

Yes, I can't help myself. I'm still laughing hysterically.

Of course the article quoted a psychologist who talked about stuffed animal fetishes, which made this seem ever so creepy. I found it when I was looking for a picture of a stuffed dog.

So let that be a lesson to you!

If the Elmo you bought your kid for Christmas starts looking like a Tickle Me George Clooney...

Put the eggnog down!


Here's my latest on Disaboom, if you feel like dropping by!

I Love the Smell of Smackdown in the Morning...

Well, no, not really.

Little Guy has a few obsessive peeves that just drive him into the stratosphere. One of them is the term "stop". There is no rhyme or reason to it, it just is---like the fact that he is scared to death of bare feet, even his own. Yeah, I know that's weird, but I recently read an article that the actor Will Smith (Independence Day, Ali, etc) has a bit of a bare foot phobia too, so at least he's in good company.

You can say "quit it", "don't do that", or "please refrain from..." and he'll---uh---stop whatever it is he's doing without a qualm. For some reason, the word "stop" really freaks him out.

If he hears it in passing, or even on the TV, it will sometimes send him into a frenzy of indignant questions.

"Are moms allowed to say stop? What about strangers? Would you hate me if I said stop? Would my teachers get mad at me? Are teachers allowed to say stop? Can I tell them not to say it? Would they hate me? Would you still love me? Why are those people saying stop on TV? Are they bad people? Are they mean people? Are they like Miss Trunchbowl (in the movie Matilda)? Why are they saying stop?"

Although Big Kid is doing really well right now (no aliens laying eggs in his digestive tract, no butt tumors, no rage attacks in his underwear out on the front lawn), he is still Big Kid. As I've said before, there IS no pill to treat "asshole". He likes tweaking on his little brother, just for the joy of being a bonehead.

What Big Kid doesn't seem comprehend yet is that his "little" brother is now as tall as he is (and still growing), and is a pretty freaking fit muscular dude. The "picker on-er" is now finding out the hard way that his former "pickeree" is able to kick his butt from here to next Friday if he has a mind to.

You'd think that he'd get the idea that it's not too smart to mess with the Little Guy.

But no. If you've read my blog for the last year or so, you know the history. If not, just trust me. Big Kid is like the Energizer Bunny. He doesn't learn from his mistakes. But he keeps going, and going and going.

I can lay out this scenario with my eyes shut and both hands tied behind my back because it happens at least twice a week.

Little Guy is such a huge Golden Girls fan that he often relays stories to us from school in the way the character Sophia Petrillo did. So here goes:

Picture this:

5:45 a.m. on a school morning in the kitchen of our home in the mountains. I'm stumbling around, trying to make high octane coffee.

Little Guy gets up, makes his bed, goes to the bathroom to wash, brush his hair and teeth, gets dressed, puts his backpack by the front door, puts his shoes on (he has a routine), puts his lunch money in his pocket, makes his breakfast and sits down to eat it at the breakfast bar.

I'm still waiting for my coffee to come out of this really crappy coffee maker I bought last year when my trusty Mr. Coffee (18 years old) finally pooped out and died. So at this point, I'm either in the bathroom or outside sneaking a cigarette.

Big Kid senses movement on his planet and gets up. Due to some of his meds, and his refusal to even TRY to get on a regular sleep schedule (he takes 2 naps during the day, so he's up and down during the night---and although we're trying to fix this---we're just grateful that he isn't breaking things and spitting on us), he has to join in.

He sits down next to Little Guy and the games begin.

"Whatcha eating?" he asks in a friendly voice.

Toast and yogurt.
"Is it good?"

Uhhuh.

"Can I have some?"

Go make your own.
"Can't I have just a bite?" Big Kid wheedles.

No!
"How about if I just take some?" He reaches for Little Guy's plate.

Leave. Me. Alone!
"Mom, Little Guy is making faces at me!"

"Stop antagonizing him", I warn. "Let him eat his breakfast in peace."

"I'm not doing anything! I can sit here if I want! He's making faces!"

"So don't look at him. I mean it. This will not end well."

"I can't help looking at him. He's making faces at me. Tell him to (uh oh---here's the word) STOP!"

Little Guy grinds his teeth.

"Cut it out, Big Kid. That's enough!"

"I'm not doing anything! I just told him to (here it comes again) STOP!"

"If you don't like it, get up and leave. There's no reason for you to be there, and Little Guy has to finish his breakfast and catch the bus!"

I turn my back on them to refill my coffee, and I can hear Big Kid chanting to Little Guy under his breath. "Stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it."

I close my eyes because I know what's coming. Five...four...three...two....WHAM!!!!

"AIIIIGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! AAAIIIGHGHGHGHHGHGHH!!!!!!!!!"

I turn around.

Little Guy is placidly finishing his breakfast, not a hair out of place.

Big Kid has been knocked out of his chair and is laying on the floor holding his arm and screaming like a girl.

Smackdown!!

You'd think after getting his butt whooped twice a week he'd get the point sometime, wouldn't you?

:::sigh:::

P.S. I absolute don't advocate violence in any way, shape or form. Little Guy has never hit, pushed, pinched or kicked any other person except his brother and only in situations like these.

We talk about alternatives and how hitting is unacceptable, but Big Kid refuses to acknowledge that to a person who has autism words can have the physical effect of blows. Chanting "stop" over and over is akin to striking his little brother in his brother's mind.
To hear Big Kid tell it, he's an innocent victim who was minding his own business. At these times I seriously contemplate giving him a bunny-slipper enema myself. A hard one.

Bad Idea #389---Using Your Hoo-hoo to Smuggle Smack

There is just so much wrong with this story that I had to write something about it.

Over the weekend, Cassandra Jones, 42, of Connecticut was arrested trying to smuggle heroin, some unidentified pills and a scalpel to her husband, who is serving a 25-years-to-life sentence in prison.

Up her you-know-what.

Disguised by a tampon.

That must have been some freaking tampon!

Believe you me, there is absolutely no man on earth worth putting a scalpel up my privates for.

No how. No way.

Honey, I love you, but if you're going to be IN the poky instead of giving ME the poky for 25+ years, there's not a snowball's chance in Hades that I'm going to risk a do-it-yourself hysterectomy.

"Washington County District Attorney Kevin Kortright, who has prosecuted hundreds of prison contraband cases, said he's seen everything from snack cakes to typewriters used by visitors to try to secrete drugs, weapons and other contraband."

Ok, I can theoretically imagine someone sticking a Ho-ho up their hoo-hoo, but a typewriter? Great googly-moogly! How is that possible?

Wait a minute. I read that wrong.

Never mind.

The most disturbing thing about this scenario?

Jones is a 3rd grade teacher.

How scary is that?

Bad Idea Number #37--Hooking Up With the Psycho From Hell

Ok, I'm not going to be sexually biased here, because the Psycho From Hell stuff goes both ways (believe me, my younger brother, who is the nicest guy in the world, is really really hot, has a good job and owns his own home--ok I'll stop trying to get him a date---is a freaking psycho magnet) .

You'd think there would be a couple of warning flags thrown up at least in the first few dates.

Forget about trying to get laid. Think about the long-term and rational.

Do whatever you can to protect yourself from the bunny-boilers.

Does he/she let you go into the bathroom by your own bad self?

Does he/she talk about the ex and add "rest in peace"?

A 32-year-old woman in Corpus Christie apparently missed all the warning signs. I don't know if the police are not releasing names in fear that other psychos might see the report as a "vacancy" sign and decide to move in or what.

I sure wish they'd release HIS name to warn any future objects of his affection.

I'm not trying to blame the victim, but really---I don't subscribe to the notion that "he/she was the best partner in the world and suddenly one morning out of the blue he/she just snapped and became a raving lunatic!"

After a previous incident of domestic violence this month, the woman obtained a restraining order against her boyfriend.

Psycho Ex From Hell's response? He gave her the finger.

A reasonable person might say, "whoopdedo".

Small price to pay to get a jackass out of her life.

Except he literally gave her the finger.

He sent her a severed finger in the mail with a note that said, "This is my last chance to touch you."

Since police are unable to locate him, they can't determine whether the finger was actually his. It was a clean cut and it was washed, from the reports.

I think there should be a standard short-form questionnaire that every sane (operative word) person carry in their purse or pocket before hooking up with anyone from the bar/the gym/the church social.

With questions like:

Have you ever owned any pets? How old were they when they died? What was the cause of death?

Ever have a restraining order taken out against you? If so, what were the circumstances?

Were you adopted?

Sorry, I couldn't resist a little adoptee humor there.

Please feel free to add more questions to the list....

Bad Idea #17---Sh*tting Where You Eat

Interesting incident earlier this month in Chicago.

My husband calls it "The City Where Even The Dead Still Vote".

Jackie Fegan, a supervisor with the city's Traffic Management Authority was driving through the city during the course of her duty, and was flagged down by four police officers.

Apparently a personal minivan, belonging to Officer Richard Reid, had been ticketed for parking illegally, and he wanted her to tear the ticket up.

Although Officer Reid claimed he was at the location on police business, the minivan was unmarked, didn't carry official plates, and was in fact, illegally parked.

When Fegan explained that she didn't have the authority to void the ticket, Officer Reid allegedly grew irate. She tried to cross the street, and was arrested for jaywalking. A scuffle ensued, then the 5'2 meter maid was handcuffed and thrown in a paddy wagon.

On the way to the police station, she was able to call for assistance on an emergency radio, asking to be "met by a commander and an OPS". Fegan was held for about a half hour and released without charges.

She's planning on suing the city of Chicago.

"She was the victim of a kidnapping, an aggravated battery, a brutal and a false arrest, simply because she was doing her job and would not fix a ticket for a Chicago Police officer," said her lawyer, Craig Tobin.

Officer Reid is out on medical leave, and unavailable for comment. His knees were injured in the incident.

I hope it's because she got in a few good kicks.

Can't wait to see how it all shakes out.

Source 1, Source 2

Bad Idea #23--Drinking on the Job

Hungarian builders found a 300-liter barrel of rum in a house they were renovating, and decided to--ahem--"lighten the load" before moving it.

In fact, the aged rum had such a "special taste" that they bottled some up to take home with them.

After draining the barrel, it was still surprisingly heavy, so they opened it up.

And found a nekkid and pickled corpse.

Apparently the now-deceased homeowner had her husband's body shipped from Jamaica in the barrel 20 years earlier to avoid paperwork and the high cost of an "official" return.

Anyone up for a Pina Colada?