I’m not above prostituting my blog. Hey, a blogger’s gotta eat, and we all know Honey Boo Boo is the best meal ticket going.
Henceforth my blog will be dedicated to all things Honey Boo Boo. Well, until I run out of Honey Boo Boo things, which will probably be by the end of this post.
Speaking of posts, I occasionally try to converse with The Man (and by The Man I mean my Man – not the establishment) about my day. It’s not often, but when it happens it entails a lot of content on blog hops and linkys and URLs and RSS feeds and pingbacks and retweets of tweets my friend – well, not my friend exactly but someone I follow on Twitter although I’d like to think we’re friends – tweeted and widgets and dodads, but since he lives in the real world he just stares at me blankly.
He can’t even pretend to follow along.
He means well. He wants to know what I am talking about. He just doesn’t. I can’t blame him. I hardly understand half the things I’m saying, but it does make sharing my life with him that much harder. He’s completely shut off from this whole other part of my life because he simply doesn’t understand it. But then I realize that’s not really any different from all the other aspects of my life.
Sometimes, though, I think he would benefit from getting a little more involved in the internet. You can make some really great connections and share with and receive important information from the world wide webosphere. I learned this valuable lesson recently when my tweet unexpectedly received an overwhelming response. That tweet was this:
Cheez-Its really resonate with people. Well, Cheez-Its and Honey Boo Boo. Which why I’ve decided this blog will now be devoted to Honey Boo Boo and Cheez-Its because I’m here to serve.
In that vain I bring you this public service announcement:
I literally did a double take because while I was pretty sure I’d read it right, I thought I must be mistaken. I couldn’t fathom who would say such a thing much less drive around with it affix it to his or her car? Or, to anything. Where would one even find such a statement when the relationship it so proudly declares does not and cannot exist? I hate to break it to you, Mr. or Ms. Crazy Person driving around with that demented bumpersticker on your car, but there is no such thing as a “granddog,” unless of course the bumpersticker is speaking from the dog’s point of view. That’s perfectly acceptable. Although I’m pretty sure a dog wouldn’t be driving a car. If I’m wrong I apologize, but if not please allow me to explain something to you. You are human and dogs are not, therefore it’s impossible for you to have a “granddog.”
Can people like that be shot on site? That’s a justifiable homicide, right?
Speaking of which, last week Bad Playdate brought up Martha. You know who I’m talking about.
I think calligraphy labels on little chalk board tags hung by leather straps really adds that elegant touch every mom desires for her “Shit Stains” and “Vomit” bins, don’t you?
I want to hear your thoughts on the pressing issues of the day. Are all your laundry room bins labeled with calligraphy tags as any worthwhile member of society would have? Does your husband ever understand what you are talking about? Should everyone with granddog bumperstickers be rounded up and sent to prison camps to be reeducated?
If you think people like that should be reeducated, have your voice heard by clicking on the banner. One click is all it takes. And if not, I can’t help you.
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