Blog Archives

This Is How People End Up On Nancy Grace

I was looking through some rough drafts I wrote last week and came across this gem that I wrote after my post on kitchen decor.  Clearly my medication had worn off at that point…

Crap. I just looked up The Four Manners of Death on the internet. Now I know someone near me is going to be murdered and I’m going to be implicated and my computer is going to be confiscated.

The detectives who hack my highly sophisticated security system (named Wonderbutt) to access my search history aren’t going to believe that I couldn’t remember that when you just die all on your own it’s called “Natural Causes” and I needed to know that so I could give the cause of death of my refrigerator.

Plus, I keep mentioning terrorists in my posts, which is sure to raise some red flags – even though I am warning you about them, not supporting them (at least not that I know of).

Oh. My. God.  I just did it again.  I was trying to find something to rhyme with “flag” because I wanted to put a little twist on that expression, and I found bag, and then I thought, “What are the bags they put dead bodies in called?”

And I SEARCHED for it.

Stupid because A. Duh, they’re called “body bags” and 2. NOW THERE IS MORE EVIDENCE AGAINST ME.

And III. I noticed some kind-of-interesting titles in the search results.  AND NOW I WANT TO GO BACK TO THAT PAGE.

So, basically, I’m going to end up on Death Row because I have a bad memory and an insatiable curiosity for weird things.

And I live in Texas, where everything is bigger – including the number of executions each year.

Would someone please take this keyboard away from me before I implicate myself into my own body bag?

texas-postcard-us-ecards-someecards

Murder by Mattress

Cap’n Firepants is trying to kill me.  And he is quite devious about it.  He acts like he loves me and wants the best for me.  But he is really plotting my demise.

After finally getting our mildew mattress exchanged for a mattress of better quality and NO MILDEW smell, my husband began to implement his Plot to Kill His Wife Slowly By Making Her Brain Implode.

“The new mattress doesn’t smell.”

“Yeah, isn’t it great?”

“But it feels like the old mattress.  Not the mildew one.  The other one.”

Oh God.  The mattress that had a cave-in.  The one that was destroying his back so badly that he started sleeping in the other room so he could walk each day without looking like the Hunchback of San Antonio.

“But how can this be?  You tested it in the store.  It’s supposed to be just like the first model – but better!  It even feels firmer to me than the last one.”

“Not to me.”

“Are you insane?  IT IS FINE!  IT’S BETTER!  IT DOESN’T SMELL!”

“It’s not better to me.”

I am reporting him for spousal abuse.

Once I get admitted to the Rubber Room, which is clearly lined with mattresses, I will slowly be asphyxiated by the smell of foam.  
photo credit: http://www.bigfootlunchclub.com

%d bloggers like this: