Much thanks to my beloved Chelsea Handler — host of E!’s CHELSEA LATELY (11pm eastern/10pm central) and author of My Horizontal Life and Are You There, God? It’s Me, Chelsea — for bringing this delightful Halloween oddity to my attention:

Maybe I’m just a twisted fuck, but I don’t get what everybody is getting so bent out of shape about. What? a paraplegic can’t be a STAR WARS fan?

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*For a close-up view of the screen-cap click here.

Former ONE DAY AT A TIME star (and I am using that word VERY liberally here) Mackenzie Phillips reveals in her new book that she was introduced to drugs by her father John Phillips of the Mamas and the Papas as well as raped by him on the night before her wedding…then went on to have a long term sexual relationship with him.

Ew.

Phillips went on to say that at one point her father suggested they go to another country such as Fiji where their incestuous relationship would be accepted.

That dude was seriously fucked up on the smack. 

And desperately in need of a visit to Lenscrafters.

It was a Tuesday evening like any other — The Fella was out for his weekly dinner and drinks with his hag and Josie and I were curled up on the bed with a book — when the phone rang.

“I called the cops and told them they damn well better catch that crazy ass mother fucker before I do or they’ll need a fucking bodybag to cart his dirty ass off!”

It was Lola. On the warpath. Again.

“What’s going on now, mom?”

“That crazy son-of-a-bitch!”

Sigh. “Does this crazy son-of-a-bitch have a name, mom?”

“Laramie…Larraby…I don’t know! It’s that skinny fucker Drunk Eve was screwing!”

LaTrey. Wonderful. Lola’s booster rockets were in full lift-off mode and Johnny crack-whore was the flame igniting the fuse.

“What did he do?”

“What did he do? The crazy bastard came right up in my yard, dropped his pants and took a shit  right in front of God and the neighbors!”

I burst out laughing.

“You think that’s funny, dumbass? He shit in my front yard! Brad called me and said to look out my front door and there was that fucker shitting right by my burning bush!”

THAT definitely conjured up an image.

“Did you call the cops?”

“Brad did. I got my broom and went out the front door and beat that fucker out of my yard! I gotta go — the cops are on their way.”

*click*

Of course, there was only one thing I could do: get over there and get the full scoop for my beloved readers. When I arrived, Lola was screaming her story to what appeared to be an eleven year-old police officer while a few neighbors looked on, obviously amused.

“There’s not much I can do at this point, ma’am,” Lil Pig drawled, “The gentleman in question isn’t in the vicinity and I didn’t witness –”

“Gentleman? If that fucker had took a shit on your mother’s porch would you be calling him a gentleman? No! You’d call that shithead a pig fucker and you’d be hitting the nail on the head! And what’s this bullshit about you having to SEE him taking a dump to arrest his druggie ass? If he’d killed me would you let him go because you didn’t personally witness it? Huh?”

Lil Pig took a deep breath and tried to appeal to Lola’s sense of reason. He’d have been better off trying to sprout wings and fly. “Ma’am, I understand that you’re upset, but without the man in question there’s really not much I can do…”

“You are fucking useless, do you know that? What are you — nine?”

A crowd was beginning to form.

“Okay, smart guy — if you aren’t going to look for this son-of-a-bitch what are you going to do about them turds over by my bush?”

“I…I don’t understand…”

“Let me draw you a picture, baby boy: I ain’t cleaning up that shit! God only knows what that fucker’s got wrong with him! Jesus Christ — can’t you smell that funk?”

I had to give her that one — there was one hell of a hellacious aroma drifting our way from the fecal matter in question and flies were already beginning to swarm around it in the muggy evening air.

“Ma’am…”

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me, you little squirt!” Lola was at a fever pitch now. “You get on that stupid radio of yours and call the EPA or somebody to clean that shit up because I’m not!”

The junior officer stifled a giggle. “Ma’am, I don’t think the EPA is going to come out here…”

“Do you think this is funny, you little jug eared dumbass?” This engendered some laughter from the crowd. “If it’s so funny how about I just piss all over your car seats and we can sit and giggle our asses over that too, huh? I don’t care if you have to get a goddamn bread wrapper and stick a clothespin on your nose, you’re gonna clean that shit up or go get that bastard that made that mess and make him do it!”

The officer slowly began making his way to his car. Lola was right on his heels.

“I hope to hell you’re getting some gloves and a bag for shit!”

Reaching his car, the officer turned to Lola and shook his head. “I’m real sorry but there’s really nothing I can do here. I’ll file a report –”

“Fuck that report unless you intend to bring the paper it’s printed on over here to pick up that fucker’s turds! Get the hell out of here and go catch a cripple jaywalking! You’re as useless as tits on a boar!”

He certainly didn’t have to be told twice. Lil Pig got in his car and drove off as Brad came over with a bucket of sand to sprinkle on the turds.

“God. Damn. What kind of a fucking country do we live in where you can just shit on a woman’s bush and get away scott free?” Lola asked the crowd as I fought back the urge to tell her there was actually a segment of the population who actively enjoyed that.

As Brad began sprinkling sand on the offending turdage, it suddenly occurred to me that in all the ruckus, I had failed to obtain photographic evidence for you, dear readers.

“Stop!” I cried, whipping my cell phone out of my pocket and rushing over to nature’s porta-potty. “I need to get a picture of that…for evidentiary purposes.”

Brad gave me one in a long line of  “what-the-fuck-is-with-this-guy” disparaging looks as I snapped away merrily.

“As you were,” I smiled, closing my phone and wandering back over to guide Lola (who was telling the crowd her epic tale of betrayal for the 55th time) into the house for a refreshing glass of lemonade and a Xanax.

Lola and Tucker have this nightly ritual where they enjoy a bowl of seedless green grapes and a glass of skim milk — she peels a grape and feeds it to the little fucker, then tips her glass at an angle so he can wash it down with a few laps of  moo juice – while they watch Nancy Grace and Larry King.

So last night I stop by for a few minutes and they’ve just finished enjoying their snacks. Tucker is all siting up in the crook of her arm like he always does and after a minute or so, he starts hiccuping.

“Has mommy’s baby got the ol’ hiccups?” Lola coos in an annoying baby talk voice that instantly sets my nerves on edge.

Tucker looks up at her with his adorable lil face for a few seconds before his lower jaw suddenly unhinges and what appears to be a gigantic turd oozes from his throat like some crazy ass canine parody of the Play-Doh Fuzzy Pumper Barber Shop and lands squarely on the front of Lola’s freshly laundered jammies.

Now being a sympathy vomiter, I did the only thing I could do: I pulled my shirt over my head and prayed for it to go away.

“Oh fuck!” she exclaimed. “Get that goddamn shirt off your head and go grab me some paper towel!”

Which I did.

But not before documenting the moment for my faithful readers. (Never doubt how much I love my public.) Enjoy!

(Bonus points if you can spot what appears to be a noodle!)

Once again, I must ask WHO takes a shit like this and not only doesn’t flush, but uses not a shred of toilet paper?

It looks like a scene from THE GODFATHER. I feel like I need to call in a goddamn CSI expert to study the spatter pattern and help determine who’s rectum sandblasted that mess all over the commode. I mean just look at it: 

If I didn’t know better, I’d think I’d wandered into a high school lavatory where the homecoming queen just miscarried between Maroon 5 and the Rihanna mega-mix. What does this guy’s body do to his food intake to expel that soft glob of meatloaf-y looking nastiness? And the aroma! Oy. Something tells me it’s the same individual responsible for this disaster a few weeks earlier:

Is this guy’s sphincter at a weird angle? Was he born with a birth defect? Is this the result of too much butt-lovin’? How does he keep from blowing a shit streak up the back of his shirt? And is he related to this guy? Inquiring minds want to know.

Something tells me when I track this sick fucker down, he’ll also be the one responsible for throwing his goddamn Almond Snickers wrappers in the urinals.

Bastard.

Tristan asked me to go out to the all night diner for coffee and apple pie last night after CHELSEA LATELY.

After taking our seats at the counter, my appetite suddenly evaporated when I looked over at the woman seated to my left and saw this beside her plate:

I’m being sent back to the other branch for another day of training those in-breds so you’re getting a quick helping of random thoughts…

~ Am I the only one completely let down by that shitty finale to BATTLESTAR GALACTICA? What. The. Fuck. All that stupid goddamn opera house shit when we could have been having us some boozy, fucked up Saul and Ellen dynamics. Starbuck is a goddamn angel? That was some seriously stupid, lazy ass deus ex machina bullshit there. If she’s a fucking angel then that undercuts her heroic actions since she’s an agent of God and he’s got her back.Why bother will all the soul searching she went through for the last several weeks if she’s just gonna go *POOF*? Hera is Mitochondrial Eve? I thought she was the future of the human race? If they land on Earth and scatter their asses all over the planet and mate (with themselves as well as the fucking primitive people all ready there) why do they need that brat? And what was with that LITTLE HOUSE ON THE VELDT ending? I liked this show because it was so unrelentingly dark and depressing. If I wanted to watch happy shit, I’d flip over to TOTAL HOME MAKEOVER.

~ I took a GOSSIP GIRL quiz on Facebook and the results were simply delightful…

~ Okay, I’m all about hugging a tree and saving the environment and what-not, but this truly disturbs me. The thought of spilling that shit when you’re doing the dismount is enough to send me to therapy for years. Ack ack ack.

~ DOLLHOUSE. Dushku. Fridays at 8. Watch it.

~ I have had 3 monumentally unbelievable converstions with complete strangers at the grocery store this week. Look for transcripts in the near future.

~ Chelsea Handler — I love you.

~ Is it just me or is rimming really creepy and waaaaaaaaaaaaay nasty? Of course I am sure there are folks who find snowballing repulsive…

~Why was 2 AND 1/2 MEN renewed? And for 3 years? That show is as funny as cancer.

Gotta dash — have a great one everybody!

I do not “heart” the stomach flu.

Second in a continuing series…

Lola: I want to go to the riverboat and gamble. 
Dirk: Go for it.
Lola: I could take Virginia with me.
Dirk: Sounds good.
Lola: She probably wouldn’t go…
Dirk: Take your insurance man boyfriend.
Lola: He’s not my boyfriend.
Dirk: Whatever, mom.
Lola: Maybe I’ll take Tristan. I’ll get him over there and make him straight. I could probably turn him around.
Dirk: I doubt that.
Lola: I bet I could make him straight.
Dirk: Whatever.
Lola: You don’t want him straight?
Dirk: I like Tristan just the way he is.
Lola: You don’t think I could do that? Why don’t you think I could do that? If I put my mind to it, I bet I could work his pecker down to a nubbins and when I was done he’d like snatch.
Dirk: Jesus…
Lola: I’m going to ask you something and I want a straight answer — no beating around the bush and trying to change the subject: do you like him the way he is because you’re putting his pecker in your mouth?
Dirk: …
Lola: That better be a “no.”

I loves me some Jennifer Coolidge.

(And for those of you wondering who Mary Cherry is…)

Leslie Grossman is a fucking genius. Her delivery of “Shut your dirty whore mouth, playuh playuh!”, “Let’s go, retards!”, and “Let me just say on the record, that I love the gays” (the 1 minute mark) have me rolling every time.