Poker in the front, liquor in the rear, and keep your dirty dentures to yourself!

It is against the law to pawn your dentures in Las Vegas. I guess Sin City wants you to keep your chompers so you can nibble on their free kibble in the casinos? Or, maybe the lawmakers think used prosthetic body parts carry infection.

Whatever the case, God bless the poor guy who crapped out so hard he went to the pawn shop with nothing left to sell and popped out his teeth, slurping, “How muh or da deeth?” How bummed do you think he was upon hearing that his last earthly possession wouldn’t get him even one more round at the slots?

Then again, who knows? Maybe he was creative and kept the dentures out, working the strip all night. “A thuck or a buck.” Confused by his new speech impediment, passersby probably thought he was threatening them. “A thuck or a buck!” Rather than squabble over what a “thuck” might be, the tourists threw dollars at him, never realizing they were due a gummy blow job.

Still, I am pleased to know that the vacuous cesspool of wayward cads and partners-by-the-hour has its boundaries. It would be sad to see Vegas, once marketed as a family vacation destination, rot away for the sake of a few extra bucks.

Pray

Dear Bloggers,

It’s been a while.  I am popping in to ask you all a favor.  Please assume your most restful, quiet position and pray for my 8 yo daughter’s schoolmate, Piper Simon.  Yesterday she was diagnosed with stage 4 lymphoma of the bone.  She begins chemotherapy today.  I don’t know any other details, but if the family creates a site for updates, I will post a link.

Love,

Jessica

Random Story, The End.

Dear The Daily Wit,

FINALLY!!!!  Here is the conclusion to Random Story.  Thanks for the assignment.  I thoroughly enjoyed creating these characters.  :)

Kind regards,

jessica o

“What the fuck is the matter with you?!  Do you realize you and your boyfriend’s little prank practically caused chemical castration?”  Coach Dudson didn’t normally cuss, but he felt justified in this case – just as he had when he wrote a complaint letter to a chain pizza delivery company, demanding a refund for the “fucking tasteless cardboard, smothered in grease and ketchup, that [they] tried to pass off as Chicago style pizza.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”  Tommy Tarantula sang.

“I don’t give a shit who he is.  The bears, the bulls and the skunks are all off limits!  No more mascots stroking your ferret, or your ass will be able to tell the subtle difference between zucchini and cucumbers!  As for your punishment, you’re suspended from all games and extracurricular activity for the rest of the semester.  However, the time you would normally spend at these extracurricular activities will be spent volunteering for a charity of my choosing.  I pick shampooing dogs for the SPCA.”

“Who put the sand in your bathing suit?  Gah.”

Tommy Tarantula left Coach Dudson’s office in a huff.  “That man needs to discover the miracles of the credit card and buy himself a date.  And baby oil.  And pudding!  Oh SNAP!”

***

knock, knock

“Hey, Coach.  Why did the zombie cross the road?”

Coach Belcher shook his head, sad to be on the verge of devastating this brave bear’s deluded joy. “I give up.”

The ursus arctos strikes a jazz-hands pose, “Cause this is THRILLER, thriller night.”

“Very nice, son.  Those Michael Jackson jokes never get old.”

“You called me up here?”

“Yes.  You know that sweet prank someone pulled at the game?  You were ratted out.”

“What? Who?!”

“Your boyfriend, the tarantula.  He spilled his guts this morning to Coach Dudson.  I’m sorry Brandon.  I have no choice but to kick you off the team.  Please turn in your bear costume to the cheerleading coach by the end of the week.  Cleaned, of course.”

Brandon couldn’t believe his ears.

“Tommy?”

“Sorry, Brandon.  Did you two have a fight?”

“No.”  Brandon stared at Coach Belcher in total disbelief.  He left silently, tears streaming down his cheeks.  As he walked to his dorm, Brandon thought about the times he and Tommy had spent together.  One night they sealed all the toilet lids closed with packing tape in Brandon’s dorm.  Then there was the time they had put Visine in the tea urn in the dining hall in Brandon’s dorm.  Oh, and the time they put oil on the road with the speed bumps outside Brandon’s dorm…

“He set me up!  But why?”

That night there was a game.  Brandon suited up in full-bear regalia and headed to the stadium off University Blvd.  Parking was a nightmare.  He had to park in a vacant lot across the street, which smelled vaguely of vomit and urine.

Brandon was about to get out of his car and run across the street when he saw Tommy in the parking lot.  “What’s he doing here?  The Spiders aren’t playing us.”

Then, it happened.  A moment of clarity.  Approaching Tommy was a bear.  The bear took off his head, revealing the face of Sam Johnson, smiling and laughing as the two embraced.  “Are you fucking kidding me?  Johnson?  That’s why he was saying that.  I thought he was naming my johnson.  That fuck!”

Brandon got out of the car and slammed the door, causing an old, drunk lady to shriek.  “You set me up?  So Sam could be a mascot?  All those pranks, the toilets, the tea, the oil, all to get me kicked off the team?  You’re an asshole.  I can’t believe I didn’t catch on.  When you told me the oil was a harmless prank to cause a minor accident whenever a motorcycle jumps the speed bumps, I thought you were crazy.  I should have realized you were up to something more when you didn’t bother to stick around and laugh as all of your pranks went off without a hitch, one by one.”

Sam chimed in, “C’mon. C’mon.  There’s 1001 ways to buy shampoo.”

Brandon and Tommy both turned to look at Sam.  “Huh?”

“You like it?  I say it instead of ‘100 ways to skin a cat’ because it sounds so much cuter.”

With that, Brandon jumped on Sam and proceeded to try to kick his furry ass.  He didn’t land many punches, and those that did stick were softened by the padding of the bear costume.  Eventually Brandon got tired and stopped hitting Sam.

He turned to Tommy and asked him “Why?”

“Sam and I have been together for two years.  When he lost the mascot position to you, he was devastated.  He wouldn’t leave his dorm room unless I promised to help him become a bear.”

Sam started sniveling to Tommy about not defending his honor, which opened a can of worms, and Tommy and Sam began bickering about every little treasured resentment.  Brandon walked back to his car, feeling less defeated.

Someone once asked Brandon, “Should relationships have a black box of post-destruction feedback?”

As he pulled the digital recording device out of his costume, Brandon said, “Indeed.”

The Random Bits:

1. the miracles of the credit card
2. the bulls the bears and the skunks
3. why did the zombie cross the road
4. 1001 ways to buy shampoo
5. should relationships have a black box of post-destruction feedback?
6. chemical castration
7. baby oil
8. Chicago style pizza
9. pudding
10. motorcycle jumps
11. sand in your bathing suit
12. stroking your ferret
13. packing tape
14. the subtle difference between zucchini and cucumbers
15. charity

The Shakedown

I hope I have not unduly upset anyone with my recent “un-friending” event on Facebook.  It’s nothing personal.  I am just not comfortable mixing virtual acquaintances with friends and family.  You are VERY welcome to contact me via email.

All I want to do is write.

I am grateful for any and all readership I have, and I thrive on comments.  Really, I am a comment whore.  That’s why I can’t turn them off. Pun TOTALLY intended. However, I probably won’t be replying anymore.  Additionally, there are several blogs I enjoy reading and commenting on, but I won’t be posting a blogroll for now.

So, I hope you understand that this is me moving my blog in a good direction and not an attempt to be hurtful or snooty.  At all.

And, WELCOME!  Sorry for the lame post!

Random Story, Part 1

Dear The Daily Wit,

It took me forever to start and not finish this assignment.  My lovely friend, who I barely sometimes know, I am sorry to have made you arrive at my blog only to get an unfinished story.  I require 15 additional random bits to continue.  I shall pluck them from your site anon.

Sincerely and respectfully,

jessica o

A Random Story Incorporating 15 Terms (list follows)

Harriet was walking to one of her various 12 step programs Sunday evening, thinking about the effectiveness of micro-lending in a weakened economy, when she was side-tracked by bears making out in a vacant lot on University Blvd.

Well, they weren’t really bears.  They were people in bear costumes.  And they weren’t really making out.  They were fighting.  Harriet had just finished a fifth of Jack Daniels, and her eyes were playing tricks on her.  She vaguely recalled seeing a report on the news that there was a big game today.  Rival teams from some college sport, football maybe, were seeking revenge after one team (the Bears) put glue in all of the other team’s (the Spiders) athletic cups.

It was a harmless prank at first.  Apparently the main accomplice was the Bears’ mascot.  He was supposed to use school glue, which is water soluble and would easily wash off of the equipment and the players.

Unfortunately for him, while the kid was studying the various bottles of glue at Home Depot, a young girl scampered by with her mom.  She was smacking her gum and blowing bubbles the size of Neptune.  Then, Neptune popped all over her face.  The gum stuck to her hair, her eyelashes, her lips, everywhere.  She was a sticky, unhappy, pathetic mess.

This was when the young mascot, vying for the respect of the team, decided to take the prank a step further.  He found some 2-part epoxy that was heat activated and sought the help of his lover who was the rival team’s mascot, a tarantula.

Together they broke into the locker room and lined every jock strap with adhesive that could only be removed with Naptha or some other highly flammable solvent full of radioactive isotopes.  The stuck-cupped players were up all night, picking glue out of their pubes with toothpicks.

The Spiders coach heard rumors that the Bears mascot and their own Tommy Tarantula were seen leaving the locker room just before the Spiders suited up for the game.  Their relationship was old news, and he assumed they were just having a quickie before the game.  Coach Dudson didn’t give it another thought, until around 6:30 am (when he received a text message on his cell phone).

“Q: What do an arachnid and an ursus arctos have in common?  A: Sticky fingers.”

“Ursus arctos?”

After Coach Googled “ursus arctos”, he called Tommy Tarantula up to his office.  Coach had just finished his third cup of organic Ugandan coffee and was ready to go for the jugular.

When the spindly mascot walked in, wide-eyed and smiling too cheerfully, Coach Dudson grew even angrier.  Dudson didn’t like dealing with fairies.  He was more of a stromo.  He felt like such theatrical displays of effemanism created a bigger schism between heteros and gays.

Dudson began yelling at the little priss without warning, causing Tommy Tarantula to fall back into a chair.  Like Torquemada in the Spanish Inquisition, Dudson interrogated the accomplice prankster about everything he had done the day before.

To be continued…

1. Toothpicks
2. Revenge
3. Bears
4. Glue
5. A fifth of Jack Daniels
6. Neptune
7. A tarantula
8. Micro-lending
9. Ugandan coffee
10. Torquemada
11. Blowing bubbles
12. 12 step program(s)
13. Some college sport
14. A vacant lot
15. Radioactive isotopes

THIS BLOG IS NOT FOR CHILDREN

So my sweet, perfect girls voluntarily came indoors this afternoon.  Not a good sign.

The neighbor kids were searching for a certain incriminating video I posted of them on You Tube and Google searched “Jessica O”.  One said he found things no child should see.  Another one told Taylor that I was weird.  The girls were crushed.  Of course, my immediate response is “Oh my GOD!  They found my blog!”

Thus, the warning.

As it turns out, they didn’t find my blog.  They found porn.  Shocker.

I came home and explained to the girls that I revel in my weirdness and that we should journal about it.  Kidding!  I told them all parents are weird.  No biggie.

Anywaaaaaaaaay.  How are you?

IDGAF, an epiphany

My dad called to ask me to take him to pick up his car at work.

He is a nurse for the Emergency Psych Center at a hospital.  This is a transfer center for psychiatric patients on their way to long-term psychiatric hospitals.

Dad proceeds to tell me there was an incident this morning.  A six-foot-four man, who had served several terms in prison for violent crimes, was out of his ever-loving mind on PCP.  Dad was getting a “cocktail” to subdue him when the man landed a left hook squarely on his jaw, knocking him across the room and leaving him unconscious.  Tweety birds and tiny stars.

I’m Just Not That Cool

In case anyone thought I might be cool based on my nearly solidified relationship with the Coen brothers, here’s a reality check:

I was the awkward girl who slid across the cafeteria on a runaway chalupa, landed squarely on her back (beans on her butt) at the feet of four guys sitting at the varsity football table.  They all looked at me in terror and asked in their most righteous voices, “Ahr you ukay?”  At least they asked!

Jealous?

Below is my facebook encounter of the third kind…. The other kinds are here and here.

This Guy You Used to Know in High School commented on your wall post:

“Hi Jessica! Yes, so glad to have found you. I’m good. I’m in France at the moment at the Cannes film festival, but my wife, Breathtaking, and I live in Los Angeles. I’m doing some teaching, some psychotherapy and some writing. She’s acting and producing. We have a cat named Childless. How about you?
xox”

First of all, oh my god! I am thisclose to being best friends with the Coen brothers. Holy SHIT! 

Jelly Biting FAIL

Witness the atrocities on Mommy, Daddy, Four Girls and a Mean Cat. Keep the comments clean. It’s a family blog. That means you, Cary.

Puck You Friday! for Mike :)

Without the incessant whining persistent requesting of Mike Alantru, this story might never have been written.

I am so hardcore that I got kicked out of a sporting event known for its violence.  Don’t get your hopes up too high.  It’s not as bloody as one would hope.  I may have been on my period (which would explain a lot about my erratic behavior), but that’s all the blood this story has.  Sorry.  I got gross.

It was 1998.  The Dallas Stars were playing at Reunion Arena.  My future ex-husband was drinking with his buddies at the Old Crow, watching the game, while I was picking up a sweet catering gig for a fellow waiter.  Why was it sweet?  Because I was working the VIP section at the hockey game.*