Powered by FeedBlitz Ensure that your spam filter doesn't block your subscription. Add feedblitz@mail.feedblitz.com to your filter's exception list if necessary.
The tax forms are in the mail. That and other tall tales can be told on this, the holiest of government days, tax day. Mine were pretty simple this year, just one W-2 and some miscellaneous income to report. My poor daughter, on the other hand, had to deal with things that I, bad parent that I am, never prepared her for. We got through it together.
So where’s the omen part, you ask? This wouldn’t be odd if I lived in some rural county, but I live in a city, the third largest city in Alabama, in fact. I work on a nice campus with lots of buildings and several industrial sites. We’re near the airport for cheese sake, but that makes it all the more strange to see a coyote running beside the highway.
My brain couldn’t accept it when I saw those ears and long tail streaking down the shoulder. At first, I thought it was a fox, but my brain said, “Too big for a fox.” Then I thought it had to be a stray dog, but my brain fought back with, “Look, dummy. It’s a coyote.” It dashed across the highway in front of my and up the other shoulder. The guy in front of me couldn’t believe it either. I almost ran him over as he slowed to gawk.
I wondered if the coyote and I would meet in the parking lot when I got to work, since we were both headed in that direction, but it swerved off towards the Kohler plant. I guess it needed to place an order for some coyote-sized bathroom fixtures.
Scavenging coyotes and taxes. A fitting tribute to our tax code. On April 15th, don’t you feel just a little picked over by Washington D.C.? I don’t mind paying my fair share. It’s the ridiculous tome the tax code has evolved into that bugs me. All those freakin’ forms! I spent 15 minutes filling out one worksheet, only to have TurboTax come back and say, “We’ll use the standard deduction.” Argh!
Write you member of Congress and tell them you want the tax code scrapped and feed to coyotes. Tell them you want the Fair Tax.
All the answers to your burning questions about the woman from Ness City, Kansas who sat on a toilet seat so long, her butt became one with the porcelain.
Yes. There was a second bathroom in the house.
No. She didn’t sit constantly, but long enough.
Yes. She was abused as a child, but not by her boyfriend.
No. No charges are pending at this time.
Yes. She may spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair due to the damage to her leg nerves.
And finally, yes. This couple does not appear to be the sharpest tools in the shed. According to the sheriff, “The unfortunate thing is this truly is a case of two people, in my opinion, with diminished mental capacity.”
“The house was cluttered but not in shambles,” he [Sheriff Wipple] said. “The smell was overpowering - a terrible smell about the house, obviously coming from where she was at.”
McFarren, 36, told police his girlfriend, Pam Babcock, 35, had a phobia about leaving the bathroom and may not have left the bathroom in two years, although he’s unsure how long she was in there because “time just went by so quick I can’t pinpoint how long.” He said beatings she received in her childhood caused her phobia. >> Read the Full Story >>
Next time someone tells you to “Shit or get of the pot,” take that sage advice to heart. I’m glad that’s settled and now we can focus on the real news again. I hear there may be a puppy with his head stuck in a bucket in Peoria, Illinois. Stay tuned.
NESS CITY, Kan. - Deputies said a woman in western Kansas sat on her boyfriend’s toilet for two years, and they’re investigating whether she was mistreated.
Ness County Sheriff Bryan Whipple said a man called his office last month to report that something was wrong with his girlfriend. >> full story…
It appears their was no abuse or restraints involved. Her boyfriend brought her food and water and everyday asked her when she was coming out. After two years, he finally called police. She wasn’t cooperative with the cops, who had to use a pry bar to remove her and the seat together. She wasn’t cooperative with the hospital staff, who had to surgically separate her skin from the porcelain.
She sat for two years on a toilet until her butt was welded in place. No one is sure what mental illness she suffers from, yet. The real question is why it took two years before the boyfriend had enough of his girlfriend squatting at his pad.
I’m not usually an obituary collector, but this deserves special attention. I’m conflicted. On the one hand, I mourn the loss of an innocent, infant life. On the other hand, I can only think that rabid football and NASCAR fans should not procreate at all.
First, you must understand that Choctaw County, Alabama isn’t known as the center of the intellectual universe. Second, college football is the only reason some people carry on from day to day. This is true in many place, not at all limited to Southern States. If you are, are becoming, or know anyone who would do this to their poor child, seek rehab or plan an intervention immediately.
This is the obituary from AL.COM, the Mobile addition. (Note: that is the city of Mobile, pronounced “Mo-bee-l”. Not to be confused with a mobile, pronounce “Mo-bile”, version of the internet on your sorry-ass iPhone.) . It reads as follows:
CHOCTAW COUNTY
Conagher Crimson Tideus Maximus Sellers, a native and resident of Gilbertown, died Sunday at a family home. He was an infant.
This is the point where a true Southerner would add the phrase, “Bless his heart.” This poor departed soul’s parents are such entrenched U. of AL fans, they named their child after the Crimson Tide, nickname for the school’s football team. As if Conagher wasn’t bad enough, they tacked on “Crimson Tideus Maximus.” It sounds vaguely august, in a redneck sort of way, too.
I don’t know these folks, but something tells me the kid had a the number 3 shaved into his head in memory of Dale Earnhardt Jr. Dad either has a matching tattoo or a #3 shaved into his back hair.
Rest in peace Conagher. You are safer in the bosom of the Lord than you would have been getting your ass repeatedly kicked from age 6 to 17.
I laughed myself silly at this. Not far to go, I know.
Ventriloquist aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but this twist had me crying with laughter. Paul Zerdin brings a volunteer on stage, outfits him with a remote-controlled mouth and has his way with the subject. The outstanding part is how well this guy plays along. He does a great job anticipating Zerdin’s quips. The “dummy” in this routine deserves a contract of his own. Notice the “sexy” wave. Then notice the dance moves that don’t happen.
Sorry about the sound quality. You have to turn up the volume and the laughter gets loud, but you’ll be laughing along with it, so enjoy.
