Oh Dear

Death is rough

Roseanne to Olsen Twins: “Stop stealing my look!”

And come clean my bathroom!

Wheat

So the place I got dumped in is called Wheat, which - I guess if you have to name a town after something off an ingredients label - could be worse. Thankfully, I don’t have to type: “So here my ass is, in Partially Hydrogenated Vegetable Oilville.”

The randy librarian I told you about is my new best friend. Turns out she’s been keeping her tawdry secret affair all pent up inside for years and hasn’t told a soul, and it’s manifested itself into binge eating, so now the poor thing weighs in at about 250 and, from what I gather, seems to be quite attached to Pringles (the kind with the fake cheese sprayed all over them like asbestos).

Since this is a small town (and I’ve already named it), and since she’s the library’s only paid employee, I don’t want to say her real name, so I’ll call her Haiku Sue. “Haiku” because she rambles on like this:

Ohmygodmygod
Ican’tevenbelieveit
Dukeissodamngood

Duke is her 23 year old lover, and he’s solid muscle, so I can see why she gets so excited that she jiggles when she talks about him. Anyhow, Sue was so nice (and so grateful to finally have a new best friend to confess all of her real bad sins to) that she is letting me stay in her laundry room. I know, didn’t I do this before? Yeah. But the last time I at least got to sleep on a cot that was almost as comfortable as a jail bed. This time around I have to sleep on the floor, and since Sue has no dirty clothes hamper, she just tosses everything in a heap next to the washing machine, which - incidentally - leaks. I hope I don’t wake up in a puddle every morning. My electric purple wig might start smelling like a dirty gym towel.

Anyhow, Sue lives with her dad, who’s incapable now. I guess he used to run some factory, but a freak accident with one of those Styrofoam packing peanut machines left him unable to care for himself, so Sue gets him all propped up on the couch in the morning and then goes off to work at the Wheat Public Library (and to screw Duke, that randy little muscle machine who always needs it, but isn’t getting it from his wife).

Still no word from the carnival people. I would at least like to phone some of them up and give them a piece of my mind. I suppose they’ve already replaced me in the corn dog cart. Hell, I could whip out corn dogs faster than fast. And last night, as I lay on the laundry room floor, I woke up out of a nightmare where I was flailing around, going through the stick-and-dip motions with both hands. Even in my sleep, I’m better at that job than most of those mother-effers, so I don’t know why they had to dump me off like Orphan Annie. That really hurt my feelings.

But I’ll try to make the best of Wheat. I hear tell that it’s less than an hour to Minneapolis and that Wheat has a little mini-van that shuttles old folk to and fro, for outings and such as. If things don’t work out for me here, I just might take that van up to the city and see what’s what. Hey… it all worked out for Mary Tyler Moore!

” Who can turn the world on with her smile? “

Margerie’s Dirty Laundry

Credits:

• Margerie Brubaker’s original laundry video

• Hunk stripping in laundromat

• Music: “Dirty Laundry” - Bitter Sweet

Special thanks to Miss Margerie Brubaker for providing special exclusive footage used at the tail end of this video clip.  Thank you Margerie!

Soap Opera - episode 6

The plot thickens….

Miss an episode? Parts: One | Two | Three | Four | Five

Miss Minerva

Well, I’m still stuck here… wherever HERE is.  I have no idea.  I need to get over the denial of my situation and work towards the next step: ACCEPTANCE.  Acceptance that those dirty mofo rats left me here in the middle of no where like a big Hefty bag full of trash.

Thankfully, the librarian here is having a fling with some married guy and since they use the library for their little trysts, I was able to blackmail her into letting me come inside and using the computer while they dally in the back room.  Lord, who knew librarians were so kinky?  If I close my eyes, it suddenly feels like I’m back at the Red Rooster in Vegas.  But those are fairy tales I’ll have to share another day.  Instead, I’d like to share this lovely video by Miss Minerva… she’s got it all, plus she tells Bible stories:

To Hell with Them!

Oh my God, I can’t even believe it. The carnival stopped in some new town today and I guess the guy running the whole operation encountered some dude he’d tussled with way back when after an appearance in the 90’s on “The Jerry Springer Show.” People don’t forgive and forget once they air their dirty laundry on Jerry, so this freak was hopping mad. Turns out he’s some councilperson now, so he is the law of the land. The carnival was on the road and fleeing the scene before we even had a chance to unpack the trailers and stuff.

Stupid me, stupid stupid me, decided to amble into town in search of a dollar store. How the hell was I to know that the whole outfit was going to be fleeing the scene that fast? By the time I got back to the carnival lot, there was nothing there but a big three acre patch of dirt.

Nice of all my new carnival friends to wait two minutes for me to get back with my dollar store loot. Well, screw them. I bought a big tub of animal crackers that I was planning to share with all, so I guess they lose out. Now I’m stuck wandering around with just my big jug of cookies and a pair of damn flip-flops on my feet. My hair is all long, blond and slutty (that look really works for the carnival), and I feel like sheer trash.

Thankfully, the local library has free Internet, so I could post a message in hopes that someone from the troupe will circle back and get me, but now that it’s dark out, I think I’m left behind like an old empty beer can. One of the bitches (I bet it was that freak Marla Penny) immediately declared a coup on the Carnival Folk blog (I can’t log in now), but as soon as I get back on there, I’m gonna delete it. Hear me now and believe me later, people!

My feet look like this,
only I lost one of my flowers…

The Talking Birds

I am liking this traveling carnival job. Trysts with Bermuda have been few and far between, so I’ve been finding other ways to keep myself entertained. I got shifted into another camper and this time I get to drive. It’s a beat up old Winnebago, and I have to share it with some old prune lady named Minnie who spends all of her time parked in the back bedroom. Fine by me. The only time she ever talks to me is in the middle of the night when she calls out and babbles stuff I can’t make heads nor tails of.

Last evening, after a long sweaty shift in the corn dog concession (yeah, I can whip those damn things out faster than you can say “Gimme double dogs, hot, with a large -ade [lemonade, see?] pronto!”), I came back to Minnie’s Winne and watch this comical black bird whooping and whistling and cackling at me. What a riot. And then this morning I woke up to a pair of them talking to each other outside the camper window. They were like a couple of parrots.

I mentioned the talking birds at a breakfast meeting before we opened the gate for Ride-a-Rama (Pay One Price, Ride All Day!) and everybody looked at me like I was nuts. I found out later that the birds are called Grackles, kind of like Cackle, but not quite. I hope they come back tomorrow morning before we pull out.

“I’m a Grackle, and I talk, dammit!”

Cleveland’s Next Top Model - The Outtakes

Oh wow. Here are some of the scenes you didn’t see in “Cleveland’s Next Top Model.”

Sex, Drugs and Bedpans - Episode 2

Did you miss Episode 1?