I am absolutely shaken.

I heard this story about dolphin slaughter in Japan yesterday on NPR, and I am sick about it.

Click here for the story, here for a review of the documentary film, and go here for the trailer for said documentary called The Cove that is coming out about this.

Please go here to help.

Okay, really, I just have to say something. I don't know if any of you keep up with my little section over there called "Search Engine Terms That Bring People Here", and I don't know if you understand what that means or how it works. Here's a short explanation from a person who is pretty much a tech-dumby (me): let's say you go to Google and search for Etsy, and the first link that comes up is Etsy and you click on it and it takes you to Etsy. Okay, let's say you type in something less specific, like "boot cut jeans". After a few sponsored links, there's a link to an article on Wikipedia called "jeans" and then a link to the Levi's website, etc. etc. etc.

Well, apparently if you search "sexy old ladies" or "porn appendectomy" or "flu sex", one of the links in the list that comes up is to this blog, this one right here, and someone somewhere has actually searched these terms and ended up at my blog.

So I'm looking through this morning for anything new or interesting that all you FUCKED UP weirdos have been looking for on the World Wide Web, and someone is looking for "sexy douche pictures". And, you know, I figured I'd help a brotha out (It has to be a dude, right?).

Looking for a sexy douche can be a tricky, tricky thing.

Perhaps you're looking for the douche who might need help turning door-knobs:



Or maybe a gap-toothed douche:



Black douche:



A couple of white douchi:



Many, many douchi:



A very rich douche:



An inexperienced, future-rich douche:



Two of the stupidest douchi you've ever seen:



A couple of ironic douchi:



No really:



And then of course there is the reigning Doucho Supremo:



Sexy douche pictures: you're welcome. I like to be helpful.

"I am a pig-eyed horse-frightener with an electronic part. Hear me sit down."

This had me laughing out loud at work.

Keep on.

Let's keep thinking good thoughts and sending good vibes and bakin' brownies and shit for Leonard and Kristi and Chris.

Also...

Today is my mom's birthday.

Tomorrow is Leonard Peltier's parole hearing.

And today through Wednesday Kristi and Chris are taking the bar exam.



Let's think some good thoughts, people!

Irritated.

So a fellow I went to high school with put the following up as a status update on Facebook:

Please disagree with Obama's health care plan. Unless you agree with free abortions and euthanasia. Are we in the twilight zone?

So I have to admit that I don't know as much about Obama's plans for health care reform as I should, but somebody please elaborate on this: what's the deal? I am going to just go ahead and assume that this is a blatant exaggeration in order to stir up anti-Obama sentiment, but somebody help me understand where this is coming from.

On an early grave.

Last night Reed and I were riding along in the car and I said, "Hey, guess who's coming tomorrow? Kane and Jude!"

He said, "Ahhhhhhh, yay! That makes my life feel happy."

I honestly had to turn away and shed a little tear because it was just so sweet.

In other news, THAT CHILD MAKES ME WANT TO THROW MYSELF INTO A MEAT GRINDER SOME TIMES. For pete's sakes, I can't even relate to you how awful it can be trying to deal with a screaming, writhing, obstinate, raging MESS like he can be sometimes. I might as well be pinching him and stomping his toes, he has the same horrified reaction to my saying "Let's go to Whole Foods for dinner", and the best part is he loves Whole Foods, loves going there and eating there and hanging out there, but he wanted to hang out at Ma's for another FOR-FUCKING-EVER and then go to Whole Foods, while I wanted to go BEFORE THE END OF TIME AND EXISTENCE. So we proceeded to fight and slam and stomp and scream and cry, both of us, don't you for a second think I'm above acting like my almost-four-year-old son, because NO I am not.

I go through these (very short) periods in which I think THAT'S IT, I'm cured, the Prozac fixed everything, God bless it! But, people, there is not enough Prozac in the WORLD to make me capable of dealing with Reed "Bull In A Goddamned China Shop" Agan when he goes on a tear, starts throwing things and stomping and screaming and calling me a butthead.

Last night my mom tried to calm me by saying "Sometimes people just get too tired, and it makes them act like this." It occurs to me today that she might have been referring to me just as much as to Reed.

But at the time I just thought, "Yes, sometimes people get too tired, and sometimes people get locked in the trunk while people's moms try some of that new high-alcohol beer."

Hey, I said sometimes.

I have found myself without much to say these past few days, I've been just kind of hanging about, waiting for something to bubble up.

So far I got nothin'.

So, I'm planning this bachelorette party for Kristi. Yeah, I mentioned it recently. And I'm sitting around, going, you know one day I'm going to have to get started on, I don't know, sending out invites and actual planning and shit, but the party is so far away I can just sit on my ass for a while longer.



Then suddenly I thought, July 31st. Um, July 31st? JULY MOTHERFUCKING 31ST. That's, hm, A WEEK AND A HALF AWAY OH SHIT I'M NOT READY NOBODY HAS BEEN INVITED WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO WHATAREWEGONNADO????



Now I've calmed down a bit, sent out some invites (let's be honest: I've also gotten Ashley, my fellow bridesmaid, to send some out as well), planned some food and drinks, and I'm feeling really excited about the whole thing.



I used to be really good at this kind of stuff, planning and inviting and staying on top of things. HOOBOY, not any more. I just sort of drift about, going "tralala!", and then panic and feel like shit about messing stuff up by waiting until the last minute.



But, hey, I got the invites out. So now I don't have to think about it again for a while, right?



Ooo, shiny!

Man, this life sure does get weird. I realize that I just said that, but I am forced to say it again as life continues to chug happily down the road toward OFF THE DEEP END.

I've been feeling kind of melancholy lately; nothing serious, just a constant, nagging, sort of wah-wah that hangs around in the back of my mind. I am hoping that it is a side-affect of going off birth control pills. That and the red sea that I have going on down there in my pants these past few days.

OOO, BURN. Slipped one in there on you guys. Let's just say Tampax ought to be paying ME at this point, as I am single-handedly keeping them in business, I'm pretty sure.

Next week will be a nutty one at work. Both my bosses are going to San Antonio, so I'll be handling all this stuff by myself, and by "this stuff" I mean not only will I have to do my blogging and online shopping, but I'll also have to handle the watching of the drum videos and making of crude jokes. WOOPS! I kid. Wow. I am headed straight for getting fired again, aren't I? We really do a lot of work, and it is twice as busy when I'm alone in taking care of everything.

I am really starting to have some very serious I-wish-it-would-just-go-away-already feelings about a few of the things I've been through. Clearly one cannot just choose these things; I've tried attacking these feelings with the whole spectrum of emotions from anger, to indifference, to hopefulness, to sadness, guilt, regret, contentment, indignance, relief, to pretending that the feelings don't exist at all.

Next weekend we're going to see the Pine Hill Haints at Bottletree, and then it's WEDDING TIME until August 8th. Not mine, of course; Kristi and Chris are getting married on August 8th. Jason is making the groom's cake and is the photographer and is making the wedding cake topper, and I'm the matron of honor and Reed is the ring bearer. It's a family event, folks! We gon' be wo' out by the end of it, I'm pretty sure, but I sure am excited, too.

I've got to get on planning the bachelorette party, including finding a good stripper; does anybody know if David Bowie can dress up as Jareth and take care of that for us?

Okay, really? A slutty, ten-year-old witch?

The last several Halloweens have found my girlfriends and myself complaining that all of the prepackaged Halloween costumes for women are always slutty- slutty cheerleader, slutty nurse, slutty Snow White, slutty post woman, slutty police woman, slutty Goldilocks (FOR GOD'S SAKES, GOLDILOCKS WAS A CHILD). News flash: not all of us want to be slutty on Halloween. Some of us don't want to wear a tiny swath of spandex with our Cinderella-cleavage bursting out for all to see. But, you know, that's how it goes sometimes.

Then I happened across this on a website called Back To Basics Toys. I like the website, I like a lot of the stuff they sell, I've never ordered anything from them but I was considering a few things for Reed's next birthday. But THIS! No no no no NO, I tell you!



I seriously cannot deal with this shit, this idea that our daughters (okay, YOUR daughters) are supposed to be wearing fifteen pounds of make-up and a skirt with a sexy slit and a low-cut neck by the age of twelve (the largest size is for a 12-year-old girl), much less by the age of EIGHT (the smallest size listed), you sick, twisted motherfuckers! Lord help us all, I think we are veering madly into some sick, crazy, regrettable territory.

In a world where all our television programming is infested with "Let's Catch a Scary Pedophile!" shows, where lists of people who are convicted sex offenders are available on the internet, are we really also saying "Let's dress our young girls, very young girls, girls that are certainly too young to be viewed sexually, in some sexy, sexy stuff! It's just so darned cute!" And then that poor girl who modeled the outfit. Good Lord! What was her mother thinking? And the website or manufacturer or whomever is responsible for this? "Let's put this picture on the internet, where it's safe and sound and certainly no sexual deviants abound!" Listen, I get that anyone who puts pictures of their kid on the internet risks someone looking at them in different ways and for different purposes than they intend. I get that I put tons of pictures on my kids on the internet. But for fuck's sakes, it's a little different when you're TARTING UP YOUR KIDS AND STICKING THEM ON HERE FOR ALL TO SEE. There's something intentional about it, see? There is a huge difference between me saying, "Look, here's my kid cutting his birthday cake in his bike helmet and Batman shirt!" and someone else saying, "Look, here's my kid, my young daughter, wearing enough make-up to play understudy to Tammy Faye Bakker and a low-cut dress with a high slit! Maybe one day she'll have some boobs to fill it out!" I don't know if you see a difference, but I see a difference.

Point is, it's grotesque, and I think we're asking too much from these young girls when we allow them to dress like grown-ups, like slutty grown-ups, and then telling them to be chaste and save it for marriage, expressing concern about std's and teen pregnancy, espousing these ideals about kids should be kids and they are all growing up too fast. It seems to me that we should be teaching these girls that they have power and ownership over their own bodies and the way that they present those bodies has a lot to do with the way that they are perceived by others. I think that when we take these girls and say, "Aw, look, it's so cute when they dress like grown-ups!" that some part of their childhood is lost, something slips away when they start to think "Hey, I get a lot of attention when I dress this way". And plenty of girls realize that at some point, but I think that they're realizing it a lot earlier these days, using it a lot earlier these days, and I think stuff like this has a lot to do with it.

Also..

Hello there to anyone coming here from Suburban Bliss!

And thanks so much, Melissa, for the Sandisk slotRadio! I can't wait to try it out. I won I won I won!

Uh-oh. We're old.

Wow. Just... wow.

I just have to tell you, in case you didn't know, that this world is just a weird, weird place and just when you think "THAT'S IT, that's as weird as it's going to get!", it will proceed to get weirder.

First, I have discovered that my karaoke masterpiece is Hey Ya by Outkast. Also, if you shove enough liquor down Lindsey's throat, The Boys Are Back In Town by Thin Lizzy becomes OH MY GOD HER FAVORITE SONG EVER WE HAVE TO SIT IN THE CAR AND LISTEN TO IT EXCLAMATION EXCLAMATION !!!

Thirdly, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Or something. I hung out with one of the fellows on Saturday who I mentioned here not too long ago. It's funny, because I've recently run into another one of those fellows several times and it's been nice, friendly, refreshingly bygones-are-bygones, and I've been able to put to rest some residual guilt and anger that had been hanging around for a while. So Saturday we went out for Lindsey's birthday and this other one came, and I literally haven't seen him in many years, at least 8 or 9 years, and it was sort of nice and weird and uncomfortable and normal all at once. He seemed uncomfortable at first, but as the drinks continued to flow he loosened up considerably and by the end of the night we were having conversations and giving each other high-fives and everything was fine.

The most interesting part of all of that was that at some point he leaned over to me and said, "Hey, I'm really sorry." I asked what he was sorry about, and he replied, "How I was back then." I smiled and said thank you, and then asked if we could not talk about that stuff. He said sure, and dropped it. I just figured that what Lindsey wanted for her thirtieth birthday was NOT for me to sit at the table and have some kind of come-to-Jesus with some guy I broke up with ten years ago. Besides that, I'm not really sure what could be said.

Now I'm hoping that he meant it, and wishing I had said a quick "I'm sorry too" before I put the matter to rest. I'm pretty sure that it was wrong of me not to have accepted some responsibility too, even if it was a ten-second conversation.

I can't even express how surprising it was for him to acknowledge that he had ever done anything wrong at all, ever, as it was always just generally accepted as fact that I had totally screwed the poor little guy over, that he was wonderful and sweet and I was the most horrible person in the world for having done him so wrong. The reality was that the majority of our relationship was spent fighting, having these terrible, volatile screaming matches during which we called each other the most horrible names we could think of. If I ever wanted to leave his side for any reason whatsoever, he was sure that I was cheating, that there was someone else, that I was out to make him look like a chump and he wasn't having any of it. Actually, I just had a couple of girlfriends who sometimes wanted to do something besides sitting around in the dirtiest bachelor pad ever drinking beer and sniffing dog shit. Occasionally they'd invite me to go places with them, and I wanted to go. Clearly I am just EVIL, right?

Anyways, point is, I'm sorry too, and if I thought hey, if I see him again, I'll tell him. BUT, but, at the end of the night I leaned over to him and said, "Hey, thank you for saying that." He said, "Saying what?" "Apologizing. That was nice." "Apologizing for what?" "Uh, for how you were back then?" He replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

So, yeah. NICE. I have absolutely no idea if he's just that forgetful, or if he was just that drunk, or if I embarrassed him somehow and he wanted to pretend that he hadn't said it. All I know is that, surprise!, it somehow negates it that he suddenly was like "wah?" about the whole thing. So, you know, anger and resentment back on!

Selections from an email exchange between friends:

I called him at NINE to see if he wanted to hang out. Fast fwd to 11:15 PM & he finally comes to pick me up. I was so sleepy (see my previous "Help, I have your sleep disorder!!" email), I figured a Red Bull would be a mere drop in the bucket -- WRONG. SO wrong. Luckily, he & his out of town guests were in it to win it, too, and so everybody is just now headed to bed after killing a 12 pack of Bud Light -- WITH LIME (ew), 1 entire bottle of Berringer white zin (oh God, college), and 3/4ths of another bottle of white zin (oh God, more college). Now I'm sitting outside basically sober, smoking a cigarette & trying to entice the neighbor's dog to come over so I can pat him on the head. (He's not buying it, though, & continues to eat grass in the front yard.) A neighbor just came outside, calling for Nick. I think that's the dog. A dog named Nick. I'm oddly amused. Yeah, the dog is DEFINITELY Nick. "Nick, come here RIGHT NOW!" etc. Hahaha. Also, I hope the neighbor doesn't decide to come over & get chatty w/ the stranger sitting on Jonathan's patio at 6:45 am, b/c I'm in no mood to be neighborly with strangers.

...

Holy fuck (by the way, I just typed "Wholy fuck!", and was like,
wait...)! I haven't gotten an email this long from you since I DON'T
KNOW WHEN.

...

I'm sure you know this, but I love when people give animals human names. And, like, names you regularly run across in casual conversation: Nick, Eric, KEITH. (One day, one of us WILL have a pet named Keith, I declare it. And by one of us, I mean me. That'll be the cat I get AFTER my Scottish Fold named Push Pin, which will be after I move out, which will be never, so you know. Yay! "And this? This is my imaginary bunny. Named Keith. Would you like to pet him? He's really imaginarily soft!")
In my drunken stupor last night, I left Dan a message on his wall, telling him "I totes understand about not being able to drive. I'm sure we can make some arrangements -- if you're not gonna bail, that is," with "totes" being my weirdo web speak for the word totally & something I try really hard to keep on the d/l in polite company, because not everybody gets it, and now that's all I'm hearing from him is "I'm not bailing....totes!" and, when I called him a smart ass, "What? I'm serious....totes serious!" Lordy. Do boys EVER grow up?? In other news, I think she is HIS AMPUTEE ROOMMATE. You totally wanna go to the party now, don't you?? (BTW, I just had to Google the word amputee to make sure I spelled it right, and you just don't wanna KNOW the shit it pulled up.) Also I just have to tell you that someone has flipped my poop switch and I CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO SHUT IT OFF. I'm SERIOUS. PS: This email thread alone makes me hope and pray and hope and pray that somebody somewhere at your company is screening your emails, b/c this is what all snoopers hope for when they get into the business. Emails about amputees and pooping.

...

OH MY GOD AMPUTEES! CANCER!!!11 AAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!117 You need sleep. I mean, if we were together right now, I would totally be on your level on account of I had some sleep and then I just had a cinnamon crunch bagel and a huge cup of coffee, but then around 11 you’d pass out and I’d be like, “Okay, now it’s time for Mexican.” “Totes?” “Totes?” “Totes?” Word's lost all meaning for me. He will probably never grow up; that is just him. I bet when he typed it he did his little squinty eyed laugh. I think it’s funny that he could even figure it out. If you want to pull out some 13-year-old, inside humor you could reply that he needs to drink his boooooooooost. You have to say it like that, Drink yer boooooooooooooost!

...

I bet he had to Google the phrase "internet slang" and "totes" to figure it out. Was it a cinnamon crunch bagel from Panera? Because I love that shit, except for when they sit in the break room for 8 straight hours and you go to the bathroom and the office smells like cinnamon crunch bagel and you come back from the bathroom and the office smells like cinnamon crunch bagel and you go to lunch and the office smells like cinnamon crunch bagel and you come back from lunch and the office smells like cinnamon crunch bagel until you want to Lysol every inch of your body because EVERYTHING SMELLS LIKE CINNAMON CRUNCH BAGELS. But. They are delicious. "A lighter: you have one?" Dude, I will never NOT love this. ALSO. WHAT THE FUCK WAS UP WITH THAT DRESS, MAN?? WAS SHE SAVING IT FOR LUKE PERRY, ER, I MEAN, ESPECIALLY, VERY SPECIFIC VAMPIRE SEX WITH BILL COMPTON???? That's got to be, hands down, the single ODDEST choice of wardrobe I've probably ever seen in a TV show. & I mean, it's not like she just APPEARED with it on! We had to SEE her picking that shit out! Intentionally! Some costume designer somewhere put SHITTONS OF THOUGHT! into Sookie's psychology behind that choice! In other news, I bet Bill was like "Awww, yeah! I get to fuck Maid Marian! Holla!"

...

First, yes, Panera cinnamon crunch. So, so good. I just went to the bathroom and found some of the crunch IN MY UNDERWEAR. That is not a joke- it is TOTES for realz. And yeah, after Jason and I watched the possum episode we sat at the table making funny dialogue and it was hilarious. And the dress! I was immediately like, “Where did she get that? A Rembrandt Fair?” And Jason was like, “Yes, that is exactly what they’re called, Buffy: a Rembrandt Fair.” And I was like, “Oh, what’s it called? What are those called?” He had to tell me IT'S A RENAISSANCE FAIR, BUFFY ‘cause I couldn’t remember. And that dress is fucking stupid as hell. Also, due to my facebook status and the ensuing comments yesterday, I will forever use the phrase “hanging up one’s meat coat” to refer to people who have become vegetarian. As in, Jason hung up his meat coat.

...

Well thank God you're going with the G-rated version. I was afraid it was gonna be the new "beef peach" -- gack.

True Schmutz.

An approximation of a tense scene in True Blood:

"I am not human. I am vampire. A lighter: you have one?"

"Non. But I do have this fireplace bread toaster. Let me show you it."

"Also, a Fresca. FUCK YOU! Holy shit. Are you high?"

"No. Well, yes."

*kiss kiss slurp slurp hump hump SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM*

"Are yawl tawkin' about SLAYVES? I KNOW YAWL AREN'T TAWKIN' 'BOUT NO SLAYVES!"

"What a whore what a whore what a whore scary vampires..."

"I can hear yawl! I can hear those thawts yawl hayuv! Yawl are awl hillbillehs! Gawd! Awl sex up a vampuhr any time Ah feel lahk eet!" *stomp stomp stomp* "Let me put awn my Renaissance Faire dress and run through a feeyeld."

*zip sweat sweat slurp slurp hump zip*

"Aw, Chrahst, yawl, Ah'm in luv with a vampuhr! Whut? That's MAH shit! You git outta mah house!"

"Whut thuh fuck ever- I do what Ah wawnt! Watch whawl Ah geek out and fuck sum bitches!"

Aaaaaaaand scene. Thank you.

Sadly, I still like this show.

On Crocs. Of shits.

Okay, so, wait just a minute: has anybody else out there seen this website? It's hilarious! Here are a few of my favorite excerpts:

This is more than a fad and if you would be smart enough to try a pair on you would also understand why smart people were Crocs. Were do people like you have time for creating such stupid websites.

fuck u u fuckin blowjob. i from Korea and i wear crocs. crocs cool!

Nice blog you FUCKIN STUPID ASS DIPSHIT!!!
GET A FUCKIN LIFE!!!
My entire family wheres Crocs. They fuckin rock!
YOU FUCKIN SUCK SHIT!!! WHO GIVES A SHIT ASS FUCK ABOUT FASHION YOU FUCK!!!
FUCK YOUR FUCKIN BLOG!!! FUCK FUCKIN YOU!!!

And let me be clear: I like Crocs. I own two pairs of them. When I worked at the flower shop and had to be on my feet all day long and had to run back and forth and carry 35 pound buckets of water and foliage and the floors were slippery and it was hot in the summer and I didn't want to wear tennis shoes, these were GREAT. I wore them with socks in the winter. I loved them. My feet almost never hurt, and when they did it was only mildly.

But they are some of the GOOFIEST shoes I have ever seen, hands-down, just ridiculous. JUST RIDICULOUS.

So now we've stumbled into True Blood (no spoilers in this post, but there ARE spoilers in the Wikipedia article that is linked there, so if you aren't up to date on the series you could ruin some stuff if you read it JUST LIKE I DID MOTHERFUCKER). I kept hearing about it from various sources, so we Netflixed it and now we're hooked.

I suppose the best characterization of the show would be Southern gothic, vampire, sexy-sexy. Those are technical terms; for those of you who are laymen, I'm saying it's a lot of bad Southern accents and spooky music, sun and sweat, and pretty graphic sex scenes involving humans with humans, and humans with not-humans- namely, vampires. I'm sure there will eventually be vampires balling vampires, but I haven't gotten there yet so PLEASE DON'T SPOIL IT, FUCKERS.

I actually like it pretty well, because I am notoriously (notorious in my own head, at least) able to overlook melodrama, stereotyping, and REALLY FUCKING AWFUL dialogue spoken with about the WORST SOUTHERN ACCENTS I'VE EVER HEARD.

Seriously, Anna Paquin: not good at the Southern-speak. NOT. Stephen Moyer: one of the cutest boys I've ever seen (gah!), given some of the worst lines I've ever heard, not good at the Southern-speak. NOT NOT. Seriously, Sookie's holier-than-thou attitude along with Bill's I'm-a-Gentleman-of-the-Old-South phrasing get old pretty quickly. But I am able to overlook them in favor of the quirky, over-the-top plotlines- the love and lust, the mystery and murder, the feeling that there are massive things happening just under the surface, just where you can't quite see them.

The show does employ quite a few stereotypes which I can't decide if they're charmingly accurate, or frighteningly false and overused. There is the cute, ditzy Southern belle who is intelligent underneath it all; the Southern jock who gets all the girls; the bitter, angry black girl who wants to make sure everyone knows just how wronged she is; the kooky, gossipy grandma who always makes sweet tea or lemonade and cooks up three huge meals a day and always expects your best behavior; the gorgeous whore who is witty, self-important, and, above all, horny; and of course the scary, scary, sexy, sexy vampires. I just don't know; should we want more than the tired characters we've seen in a million other places, just rearranged in different orders with a little extra spice thrown in (i.e., a lot more boobs and asses and sweaty, naked bodies)?

Some things Reed says.

The kid is hilarious, by the way.

For one thing, he randomly adds the letter d to ends of words. "I'm Batmand!" or "What about Kaned?"... come to think of it, perhaps it's only words that end with n? Because he'll also say "oned" and "wond" and "rund". What's really odd about it is that it's not all the time; in other words, sometimes he'll say simply "Batman", but other times it's "Batmand". WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY KID IS IT AUTISM DOES HE NEED RITALIN WHAT THE FUCK?

I should add that perhaps it's me with the problem; I had to type "KID" about fifteen times because every time I did it, it came out "DIS". Hm.

We're also smack-dab in the middle of a begging phase, a phase that, if I take into account my own mannerisms throughout childhood, should last approximately 26 years, I think. The other night he was begging for us to let him have another popsicle, and he actually implored to Jason, "Please, man. Man, please." Jason and I both cracked up and gave him the damn popsicle, for the love.

Also lovable and odd is "yaw". Reed says "y'all" frequently, but it comes out "yaw". "I want to come widj yaw!" "Do yaw want a popsicle?" "Can I ride widj yaw?"

OH MY GOD IS HE A HICK WHAT THE FUCK?

Hilariosity.

From this article on this website:

Cats are dangerous in numerous ways: they have sharp claws and teeth; they can navigate in the dark using a complex navigation system embedded in their heads called “whiskers,” thus giving them an advantage during blackouts; and the only flesh they enjoy more than pig is newborn babies. So you make your choice. Will it be Mr. Jangles, or your precious, precious baby?