Upon entering into our bedroom, where my sweet husband, Gregory, is lying and reading The New Yorker:
Me: “Jesus Christ, Baby — what is that smell? It smells like shit in here.”
He: (without even looking up from his magazine) “It must be my soul.”
The show “Pawn Stars” is nothing but an “Antiques Roadshow” for the trashy, working class scalliwags of the world — which explains why I fucking love it so much.
The one thing we all have in common is that we are forced, by physiology, to everyday maneuver the material world, i.e., we have BODIES. So, when trying to bring people together, I think the very best PLACE to start is to have a person answer the following question: Have you ever shit your pants, and if so, what were the circumstances? In the name of world peace, international relations, and HUGE BELLY LAUGHS, I plan on compiling a book of these stories someday. FECES IS THE GREAT EQUALIZER.
“Living well and ripping your enemy’s still-beating heart out with your bare hands is the best revenge.” — Michael O’Donoghue
“There seemed to be some heavenly support beneath his shoulder blades that lifted his feet from the ground in ecstatic suspension, as if he secretly enjoyed the ability to fly but was walking as a compromise to convention.” — Zelda Fitzgerald
“I have come to the conclusion that pagans are evil — not because they get in touch with the devil or warp the minds of the young or are responsible for more bad heavy metal art than anyone else, but because they have such appalling taste. I mean, sure, get in touch with the Great Spirit, run through the woods and kill a goat. But do you have to do it while wearing crushed velvet harem pants, Robin Hood shoes, pentagram jewelery and a purple satin cape?” — Brendan Shanahan, in an editorial titled Bring Back the Witch Hunt, The Daily Telegraph.
Muff Pet Peeve #664: People who UNDER-ORDER in restaurants. Last year, we were visiting my sister, Mo, and her family up in Fresno, and one night we all went out for pizza at Me ‘N Eds, a local joint with REALLY YUMMY grub. Now, this has absolutely NOTHING to do with money nor the willingness to spend it — this is just some bizarre, fucked-up pathology which, once set in motion, found 7 adults and one child sitting around a table with one medium pizza to be split among them. I was STARVING and FURIOUS. Big Fattie don’t play that shit.
Odd Muffaletta Fact #1612: My husband Gregory’s first cousin, Robert Rhine, is the founder, publisher, and “Deaditor-In-Chief” of the taut skin/rotting flesh horror/comedy magazine, “Girls and Corpses.” Bob, who also portrays Rod Serling in the “The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror” ride at Disneyland, is the son of actress Hazel Shermet, who played Morticia’s sister, Melancholia, on The Addams Family television series, and writer Larry Rhine, who wrote the EPIC “Hey, you guys! [BONK!] Oh, my nose!” episode of The Brady Bunch.
When you have teenagers in the house, you can never, ever fuck. All we have to do is quietly shut our goddamn door and those kids — dickin’ around on Facebook and listening to Lady Shithead in their own rooms — will suddenly look up from what they are doing and scan the air…as if sensing a disturbance in The Force. Within 30 seconds, they are knocking on our door looking for Starbucks money and a ride. Here is my theory: You spend the first half of your life hiding your sexuality from your parents…and the second half hiding it from your children.
One word: INFANTICIDE.
muffy bolding 