|Nothing Says “Mom’s a Slut” Like a High Heel Wine Holder for Mothers Day|
I am a guy. I am a lousy gift buyer. This is especially true when it comes to picking out a gift for a woman, say, like Mom.
When you are a kid getting Mom a Mothers Day present is easy. Any gift will do. Perfume? Sure. House shoes. You bet. Embalmed gila monster incense burner? Not a problem. But as you get older, you are expected to be a bit more practical about such things. I don’t understand why that is though. I am still a guy who has no frakkin’ clue what to get Mom for her special day. Besides, an embalmed gila monster incense burner still sounds like a pretty good deal to me.
It is at this point that I remind myself that I am a Dumbass.
These days it’s much easier to do the actual shopping for a Mothers Day gift, thanks in large part to the internet. If you have an internet connection and a debit card you can buy practically anything from anywhere in the world. A few mouse clicks and the next thing you know Mom has been booked for an all expense paid trip to Puerta NoOneKnows or she’s the proud owner of that authentic fake Shroud of Turin Replica, autographed by Jesus. Yes, Jesus himself (pronounced Hay-soos), a Colombian burro rancher and part-time cocaine distributor for the Cali drug cartel, will personally sign and authenticate each Shroud sold. I must point out that although the Shroud may be a reproduction, the burro hair it is made from is quite real. It’s a real steal at 4 bazillion pesos. That’s about 38 cents American. A free line of blow is included with bulk orders of 25 or more.
Any Mom would be glad to own one and proud to wear it to her next Little Old Ladies’ Every Other Wednesday Canasta Tournament and Tequila Drinking Extravaganza.
Or maybe not.
Making the RIGHT Choice
This is where things get hairy when guys buy stuff for women, whether it’s for Mothers Day, an anniversary or because he was out waaaayyy too late with the boys last night. No matter the circumstance, we men make lousy gift choices.
As a Public Service to My Fellow Male Dumbasses Who Are Pitiful Gift Buyers for Females, I have heeded the advice of my wife, who is also a Mother, and done an extraordinary amount of research into gifts to not buy Mom this Sunday. And by “extraordinary research” I mean Mrs. Fearless Leader of the Dumbass Horde sent me an email with a link to some really fucking stoopid crap being sold as gifts. And by “fucking stoopid crap” I mean shit that would clutter up a landfill.
Let us explore.
I am gonna put up a few photos of actual items for sale that some poor Dumbass will buy for his wife or Mother. The wife or Mother, upon receipt of this steaming pile of merchandise, will then Google up “gazebo removers”, if ou know what I mean and I think you do.
While this contraption may look like Good Old Dad has an ulterior motive in making this purchase, the fact of the matter is that while this may look like something Mom practices a hummer on, it’s actually a (I ain’t making this up) a “Suction-Powered Lip Plumper”. It must be a tremendous item, just take notice of the “far away” look in Mom’s eyes. I think Dad may be on to something here. I’m just sayin’.
If you think the blow job insinuator up there ^^^ is a poor choice of Mothers Day gift ideas, then this one probably comes with a loaded .45 and a hollowpoint bullet in the chamber. This contraption is a “Waist Stretcher”. I can think of no better way to get Mom to Google-ing “gazebo removers” or “insanity pleas for husband murder” than to make her a present of this thing. You see, Mothers Day is the perfect time to let Mom know she’s put on an extra inch or two in the abdominal area. Trust me on this one, Guys. You’d rather fight Satan at the End of Times using only a Slinky as a weapon than to buy this as a Mothers Day gift. The Blow Job Thing is a far better choice. And that ain’t necessarily a positive thing.
Mom the Sprots Fan
I am from Texas and almost all Texas Women are sports fans to varying degrees. My sister Teri can talk shit about sports with the best of ’em, male or female. For women like her, this “Personalized Bobblehead Doll” would be an outstanding gfit idea. Keep in mind,Guys, that the woman you buy one of these for must be a HUGE sports fan! If she’s not big on football and stuff and you give her this lovely trinket for Mothers Day, on Monday she will be a big Female Divorce Lawyer on PMS Fan. Enough said.
Mrs. Fearless Leader of the Dumbass Horde came across these sensational items on the Huffandpuffandgiveyouablowjobpost, where you can view a nifty slide show of wonderful Mothers Day gift ideas similar to those above. She then proceeded to lecture about the virute of receiving diamonds as a deterant to”gazebo remover” or “pissed of female divorce attorney” Google-ing. I am sure she was being very sincere with me.
For more exciting and “unique” ways to tell Mom you lover this Mothers Day, it is imperative that you visit the site where all these valuable and collectable treasures can be found.
Fellow Dumbasses, let valor be the better part of judgement when considering what to give Mom this Sunday. Also, in your mid’s ear, let the words “gazebo remover” echo loudly and often. I’m just sayin’.
|Still My Team After All These Years|
Gawd, I hate fucking Oklahoma. Dumbasses.
So now I’ll do what I always do when life deals me lemons. I read about dumbasses! Join me as we tour the World of Dumbassery as it reveals itself to be the Land of Future Jerry Springer Guests!
- Pot From Stolen Truck…– A little trip to California (where else?) gives us this story of how a stolen truck loaded with marijuana wrecks and passersby, ever so civic-minded, help the Police out by stealing the pot thrown from the truck when it overturned. Ya gotta love the Land of Fruits and Nuts.
- How to Lose $425,000 Worth of Pot! – One of our All-Time most read pot stories, this is a lesson in how to lose almost a half million dollars worth of weed and sign your own death Warrant at the same time!
- A Guy Named Gus and His Ducks and Pot – What’s not to like about a guy named Gus? And ducks. And pot. I’m just sayin’.
That’s your lineup for this fine NFL and Longhorns Heartbreak Sunday. With these stories, perhaps there is some joy in Dumbassville after all.
I live in New England. The six states that comprise New England are Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Connecticut, Rhode Island and Massachusetts. It’s a great place to live if you throw out places like Connecticut. Why Connecticut and not, say, Maine? There is one major difference between the two states – Maine sells liquor on Sundays and in Connecticut, you can’t even stop by a 7-11 and buy a six pack on Sunday! That’s Communism pure and simple. “But, Toby!”, you protest. “You don’t even drink, so what’s the big deal?” Well, here’s your answer, smartypants. It’s un-American! It’s every American drunk’s right to be able to spend part of the Sabbath drinking the adult beverage of his choice! It says so right in the Constitution of the United States! Or somewhere. No alcohol sales on Sunday lowers the Former Professional Drinker Rating of any state – like New Mexico, no alcohol sales on Sunday. At least when I lived in New Mexico, it was a short trip to Texas get get some beer. Or Colorado – they sell on 3.2 beer on Sundays in Colorado. Have you ever tasted 3.2 beer? I highly advise against it. Be prepared and buy your Sunday NFL Game beer on Saturday if you live in Colorado. Unless you live in extreme southeastern Colorado, it’s too far too go to Texas to get a case of barley pop on Sunday. No package sales of booze on Sunday qualifies Connecticut as a Dumbass State. Why, such no alcohol sales on Sunday encourage criminal behavior! I can prove it.
|“A 6 pack of Budweiser to 111 Main Street? Help is on the way.”|
There’s a nice Senior Citizen Drunk, in other words, an Old Lush, living in Bridgeport, Connecticut who has been driven – driven, I say! – to a life of petty crime so he can get hammered on the Lord’s Day. This dumbass Senior Citizen Drunk did what any self-respecting alcoholic would do when he ran out of beer on a recent Sunday. What did the drunk dumbass do? He called 911! Not once, but three times! This old dumbass was doing some serious Jonesin’ for a Pabst Blue Ribbon. To his credit, however, he did offer to pay the Police to do a quick beer run for him, even though beer is not sold on Sunday in Communist Connecticut. That was the fatal flaw in his plan. That and calling 911 to deliver the suds to his house. See? I told you that no alcohol sales on Sunday would create criminal behavior in drunks all across the state. And since the cops wouldn’t deliver it if they could, they (the cops) are relegated to answering calls about stoopid stuff like shootings and robberies. What a crock of shit that is. To protect and serve indeed!
I have a solution to this most urgent of problems that satisfies thirsty drunks and liquor store owners alike. Connecticut is a very small state, so delivery of booze to the needy drunk should be considered by capitalist pigs in border cities in neighboring states, as distance isn’t really an issue. Maybe some enterprising booze vendor in a surrounding state could set up a Drunks R Us delivery kind of deal. He’d make a ton of money, create new jobs and thus would increase tax revenue for his home state! As an added bonus, the booze delivery guys would spend more money on gasoline, thereby helping out another business person at the same time! That would then piss off the Climate Change Dickweeds who would belch and spew snot everywhere because of the added CO2 released into the environment. And what would Pissed Off Climate Change Dickweeds need in order to throw a first rate protest? Signs! Enter the local sign making guy who can also profit from this ingenious idea. Trickle down economics, baby! This deal is so simple even a first grader could have figgered it out. But, then again, I know very few first graders that like beer. Sure, there are some kinks to be worked out, but this idea is absolutely brilliant! Oh, yeah…and such nuisance 911 calls from drunk dumbasses would be all but eliminated. Except for the lushes from Bridgeport. But that’s another story for another day.