Tag Archives: imaginary friends

We’re still here

Whoa. *Blinks* After we retired from professional blogging in 2005, we decided to find our true calling. We’d grown tired of the endless public scrutiny. How many E! specials does one need, anyway?

People have opinions

So we worked up a good head of steam and stumbled into the time machine, and after things stopped spinning and blinking, we chanted 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 Schlemiel! Schlimazel! Hasenpfeffer Incorporated! And off to work we went. Might as well see what it’s like to earn an honest living.

It turns out we are not cut out for honest living. So we set the time machine for Atlantic City in the early aughts.

This turned out to be a bad, bad idea. We got into a makeup application fight, which led to a slap fight, and Lambchop pointed out just how deformed my face is in photos. So we split up, which involved a team of doctors from the Mayo Clinic, and we tried alternate pursuits.

Lambchop sought employ as a lingerie Scrabble model.

I set out on a tramp steamer, as I have always been fond of sailors.

Lambchop’s modeling career was thwarted by the Communists at Hasbro. She retreated to her thinking grotto and fasted for minutes before seizing upon the perfect answer: service to the Lord!


Needless to say, this didn’t last. Then someone foolishly entrusted me with an au pair position. Turns out those little human critters bite! They can’t even talk!

But we couldn’t stay away from each other, considering that legally we are conjoined twins.

We agreed to meet for book club in our favorite makeshift chamber of horrors.

The dumpster has a false bottom, very sly. Lollies were shared, confetti and cookies were tossed.

So we’re tanned, rested, and ready, swanning around the makeshift chamber of horrors, and we await a redemptive David Letterman appearance. Call us, bb. I can’t believe you fell for our carefully choreographed absence! You didn’t believe we’d really WORK, did you?

We’re also blogging about the sordid lives of BEDBUGS over at www.nixbedbugs.com! And shockingly, that bit is true. It was either that or play Farmville professionally.

JetBlue is DEAD TO ME

Internet, give me the strength not to scream at the Mormon CSR trying to charge me $15 to do the thing I am supposed to do on the website, yet the feature on the website DOES NOT WORK. Happy Jetting, you perky fucks. Thanks for not flying with us today. Thanks for JETTING. Yeah, we will indeed not be flying with you today, because you cancelled our flight. I assume this is because our particular plane is routed efficiently from the seventh layer of Hell, as the skies above Boston are rather lovely this morning. Give me back my money! The Utah accent is not helping me process my loss. Don’t make me send my Zellweger down there.

923: Oh, hell, I should post to my personal internet homepage

Someone suggested I have Zellweger write a post, but I can’t find her. Other wife keeps piping up while I’m trying to hear Oprah, and she leaves crumbs all over the kitchen floor. I also misplaced our chupacabra, so my ybab is wandering around unfettered, demanding entertainment and sustenance. Scheduling conflict, and all, as the chupacabra opted to get an entirely new job and disappear without mentioning it. Oh well. If you love it, set it free. And when you see it is online on Myspace while it won’t return your calls, it was not meant to be. You may also wonder if you should mention to your friend who also uses the same chupacabra that pictures of her child are on Myspace. Sigh.

At any rate, I feel 187% less like jumping off a bridge this July than last July. I attribute this to a number of factors: El Niño, interest rates fluctuating, and not having a newborn. Ybab is a delight, trotting around jibbering and meowing at everything. She likes long walks on the beach, crackers, and looking at dogs. What a difference a few zillion neural connections make. She can unscrew caps now. If only I could claim the same skills. At least I am not Mr. H, who cannot remember the words to “Head, shoulders, knees, and toes.” I said “You just failed your kindergarten exit exam, I think,” and he replied that he did in fact repeat kindergarten. Oops.

Sexy back

Well, I am totes in rehab now. You want to know another reason I should be in rehab? The last two times we’ve had sushi, we accidentally dressed the wee uni in a kimono top that day. So insensitive! Actually, Mr. H did that. He ought to be in rehab, not me. But tell that to Oprah. She made me cry, and I promised to go, so here we are.

They issued me a do-rag and these:

And put me to work cleaning the bathroom:

I am all blurry because I am in rehab. Rehab goggles make substance abusers look like even better life partners.

It was a bad day to get bathroom duty. Lindsay Lohan is doing a cleanse. And so we found this in the loo:

I have to go lie down.

May I interest you in the devil’s liquid?

I tried some kombucha the other day (this link might prove illuminating), and it was as disgusting as I had hoped. And by disgusting, I mean I totally hate it, yet I can’t stop drinking it. It is like a vile tincture of feline urine infused with vinegar and carbonated. But I want to marry it and have its little spores. That’s no fungus, he’s my lichen!

I’m going to make my own because my sister is going to give me some of her culture. Or if her poor alien is not up to it, I found a place where internet wackaloons will send me one for only the cost of shipping. I’ll have Zellweger tend a 5-gallon tub of it ’round the clock! Then I can stop giving these people all my lunch money. You know something’s good when the FAQ includes the question “So what are those little floaties, anyway?”

Also, I see that neither Biscuit is online right now, which means hell is freezing over, or their ybab has finally decided to outsource itself. To make sure, I am going to call their house and ask annoying questions.


A ybab recently decided to install teeth in her mouth. This feat of dental rennovation is apparently painful and time-consuming, the kind of thing you should really consider offshoring. One tooth is now “in,” which means she looks like a hillbilly who broke one off in a bar fight. She is flailing on the floor now, thanks to the sweet, sweet relief of Tylenol. I’m sure the hippies will come revoke my hippie license, but we already tried homeopathic tablets and “gum-o-mile” oil, which only seems to enrage her. I’ll leave the lights off all to day, recycle something, and apply for a liver damage offset credit.

And see here, the problem is that I was supposed to go to the mall and get some clothes for Mr. “I have nothing to wear” H, as he was too overcome by the vapors to do this while he was AT THE MALL YESTERDAY. His real excuse must have been that he ran short of time BUYING ME A FABULOUS PRESENT I JUST DON’T KNOW ABOUT YET. Taking a screaming ybab is clearly easier than standing in line! Actually, I bet if I did take a screaming ybab, I’d be quickly helped. But the thing is that I don’t want to go at all. Zellweger is in a pout because I asked her to fold laundry, and she’s locked herself in the bathroom. So I’m going to apply for a helper monkey.

What? You say having a ybab is my own damn fault? Perhaps, but I bet people who drunkenly dive into shallow water and break their necks are not denied helper monkeys. Why, now is the time to apprise you that I once knew a person who knocked out all his teeth after performing a dive. He had a new set put in. Maybe a ybab should just look into that.

Restrain me

Tonight I took a ybab to the condo association meeting because I had to vote for people to be head busybody and Lord High Protector of the Visitor Parking Spot. A ybab behaved most delightfully, better than many of the adults present. Seen but not heard is a welcome prescription for most of society. OK, without the “seen” part too. I totally forgot about Wal-Mart for a minute there.

In other news: someone has recently acquired an enormous SUV. The license plate reads “YOGAETC.” Yoga and global warming, oil wars, etc.. Goes together like peanut butter and rocks.

Oh, and Zellweger has been leaking radiation all over the house. She’s hiding something, I just know it.

Love is….

Hep me, Uncle Wiggily! A ybab has been replaced with a Tasmanian Devil. Only between the hours of 11pm and 5am. Ryan wants to give her Benadryl, but I am not totally up for drugging children recreationally. She’ll pick up that slack when she’s a teenager. Why, a somewhat feathered duck did tell me a salty tale once, and I am loathe to recall the ending, but I daresay the complication was all the fault of the rag man.

Oh, and you’ll never guess what the cat dragged in!

My Zellweger has returned from parts unknown, pregnant and clutching a fistfull of parking tickets. I don’t know what to make of this. You will notice, oh best beloved, that it has been 314 days since she last made an appearance. She muttered something about witness protection, and I smiled and nodded and handed her a mop. These floors don’t clean themselves! And, as a bachelor, I don’t iron. If you want to stay around here, you have to earn your keep.

Will you plural marry me?

It has come to my attention that Mr. H needs a second wife. He doesn’t know it yet, but I think that’s just the ticket. Other wife could watch a baby and do all the shopping and the cleaning. Other wife would pay the bills online and remember to buy and send cards for all festive days. Other wife would keep extra birthday presents for a variety of child age ranges in the closet for the occasions when Mr. H accepts an invitation to a friend’s child’s party and doesn’t tell any wives until it’s too late to shop. Because I would totally bring the kid a box of thumbtacks or whatever else I found lying around in the office. Other wife would preserve the balance of graciousness in our lives.

Other wife would use a toothbrush to scrub around the faucet in the kitchen. She’d fold underwear so crisply. God, other wife is a saint. She’s as beautiful as she is generous. She can speak three languages, and she taught a baby sign language. She’d fill out the customs forms at the post office since I hate doing that. She knows so many ways to prepare quinoa! Her handwriting is also impeccable.

Me, I’ll be on the lanai with a delicious smoothie! Other wife remembered the damn bananas at the store!