Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Abby Got It Wrong: Daughter Embarrassed By Mother Lying Around

This is a segment where we feel Abby got it wrong, so we offer up our own advice regarding readers' problems.

DEAR ABBY: When I went to visit my mother, I found her lying on the kitchen floor. I asked her what she was doing there, and she said the floor feels cold and hard and soothes her back.

Abby, my mother has two very expensive beds in her home, and there is no reason for her to lie on the floor. It could be embarrassing if a friend or neighbor should pop in and find her there. How do I get her off the floor? -- NOT BEDRIDDEN IN FLORIDA

DEAR NOT BEDRIDDEN: You should be more concerned with how things are than how they "might" be perceived by others. If your mother is having back trouble, encourage her to discuss it with her doctor or a chiropractor so she can be examined to make sure nothing is wrong. But if nothing is, then leave your poor mother alone. She's in the privacy of her own home, and she is hurting no one.

DEAR NOT BEDRIDDEN: What year are we living in?  Is it the 1950's, where people just pop in the unlocked doors of their neighbors completely unannounced?  "Lucy?  Are you home?  Oh my!  What are you doing lying on the floor?!?!  That is socially unacceptable!  You should be ashamed of yourself, Lucy."  Seriously.  People do not just walk in to other's homes.  Hell, we've gotten to the point in our civilized society that we phone ahead to announce we're on our way over.  And then once there we ring the doorbell or knock.
And really, what's the big deal with lying on the floor to work out the kinks?  At my work they do freaking Yoga and Pilates in the cafeteria while I'm sipping my soup.  And these are old withered, soon-to-be retirees doing freaky Kama Sutra poses while I'm trying to enjoy my soup!  Is it really taboo???
Maybe the real issue is not what other's will think of your mother, but what people will think of you.  "What a horrible daughter that Not Bedridden is for letting her mother lay on the floor like a crazy person."  Perhaps, you're thinking it's time to put dear old mom in a "home", but you just haven't been able to commit to that crossroad yet.  And the thought of someone catching mom acting all "crazy" by laying on the kitchen floor is pushing you more and more to filling out those forms for Sunnydale Resting Homes for the Elderly. So, you write a letter to Dear Abby for some validation.
Hey, look on the bright side, NB... at least your mom is not sparking up a joint for her glaucoma.
Idiot Ballroom

Monday, August 9, 2010

It won't be long before the weapons cache is more than rocks

Is it really a surprise that monkeys are clever? I mean every time I've gone to the zoo the chimps there have given me the finger and played with their private parts knowing they'd get some sort of reaction out of me. I usually respond with a "shame on you" leer, a thumbs down and then a very loud "BOOOOOOOOO" that usually terrifies the other zoo patrons around me.

My point is these dirty monkeys know what they're doing... and we humans shouldn't be surprised by their acts.  Is it really a surprise this monkey is stockpiling rocks to hurl at the Swedish?  Not really.  What should be the questioned is this little rascal's poor aim.  The monkey's I've seen hurl their poop with deadly accuracy.  So, why are scientists researching this behavior and not trying to prevent?  I mean really.  If a little kid all of sudden started hurling rocks at pedestrians, the reaction would be, "Hey, kid!  Stop throwing rocks or I'll kick you in the ass!"  But a monkey does it and freaking scientists have to research it.  Give it some time and this monkey will get that accuracy down.  Give it some more time and he'll figure the chemical makeup of gunpowder.  After that it'll be us humans in cages hurling poop, playing with our privates and giving the finger.  

Sunday, August 8, 2010

IB Comic 8/8/2010

So much for guaranteed delivery

I'm thinking your package is going to be a little late.
via imgur

Sir, the first thing you need is a shirt, and the absolute last thing that you need is a ride to the liquor store.

Okay, I’ve been drunk before. A lot. I’ve been really drunk before. A lot. I’ve even been really, really, really, super drunk. I've been so drunk that I have taken pictures of people that were this off center. I’ve been so drunk that I urinated on my parent’s bedroom door at two in the morning and didn’t realize I was doing it until I was suddenly brought back to my semi-senses by a swift right fist delivered to my jaw by my father. I’ve been so drunk that I fell asleep in a bus stop shelter in the middle of a German winter and woke up in an urgent care center the next morning, missing the entire ambulance ride to a blackout. I’ve been so drunk that I spent three hours throwing up into a Wal-Mart bag, nearly filling it before the seam gave way in the passenger seat of a friend’s car. I’ve been so drunk that I crawled into bed with my parents in the middle of the night at the age of twenty-three. I’ve been so drunk that I told my wife to leave me at a winery seventy miles from our home after screaming obscenities at a couple celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Why was I there? To celebrate my wife’s birthday and my brother and sister-in-laws baby shower. I’ve been so drunk that I urinated in the clothesbasket in the middle of the night, waking my wife who in turn woke me. But I have never been so drunk that I called 911 and attempted to get the police to take me to the liquor store.