I Knew It
They’re not really fixing the streets. They’re just moving the holes so that motorists can’t memorize them.
Just Shoot Me
Right about the time I figure I can’t possibly feel worse, I do. This time it’s gastroenteritis–feels like someone’s fed me arsenic-powdered cookies every day. As I’ve been a slave to boudoir and bathroom, I think it’s best that I take a holiday break from blogging. If I find something funny once I stop feeling like the kids from Flowers In The Attic, I’ll post; otherwise don’t expect anything until the New Year.
Ask Your Psychic Fiend: The Unnatural Act Version
Hey there, sports fans! Your Psychic Fiend here, and I did indeed have a Cool Yule! Serra’s brother is the shit–he sent her a french press for her morning addiction, and is that puppy ever SA-WEET! She now has only herself to blame if the coffay sucks, and you wouldn’t believe the way Da Grounds dance when they’re not all tied up in a stoopid filter! It’s great to have killer brew on tap whenever you want it, and thanks tons to Beo for the nifty giftie!
Now–on with the show, folks. Here’s the asswaiver:
As you begin your journey with Your Psychic Fiend, please keep in mind:
1. It’s Psychic FIEND, not Psychic FRIEND. With friends like YPF, who needs enemas?
2. All answers are for entertainment only. If you don’t want to be entertained by smartass answers, don’t ask serious questions. Hell, don’t ask questions at all—anyone expecting serious answers on Ask Your Psychic Fiend Day will just piss themselves off.
3. The ONLY offense intended is to those inbred spawn of Larry The Cable Guy who pretend to have psychic gifts in order to make a buck and run up your phone bill. I have the utmost respect for those truly gifted with the sixth sense. I can completely respect folks who accept money for readings of Tarot and other divination arts, as honest, respectful and caring clairvoyants who serve a purpose in the Universe. However, lying-bitch penisbiters like Miss Cleo and her ilk should have been smashed against a rock at birth.
Our first brave soul this week is LisaB:
Question for PF, Is my work schedule going to be very busy in January 2006?
Answer: Da Grounds on the wall are writing a VERY long list, a very long list indeed! Along with the things you’re expecting and the tedium of maintaining your beautiful self, there’s a couple items Da Grounds put a star next to, things you aren’t expecting. They’re mostly good though, but do make sure your main mode of transport is well-maintained and that’ll help with the unexpected a great deal.
They also tell a bitch to tell you that you should make time for yourself—take your own ass on a “date” once a month! Even if it’s just a trip to some store you love but that isn’t necessarily what people think of as “you,” don’t neglect it. Just admit your love for the place and be done with it.
Our next question comes from Clora Clairvoyant, who happens to be Serra’s one and only Netflix friend. Isn’t that sad? Just one lonely soul on the Interwebnets will admit that they know the little schitzo.
BTW, if you’ll be willing to admit you know her too, her email’s serrathescented at gmail dot com. Serra really needs ideas for things to watch, folks—her queue’s only 702 movies long!
Will I get Jan. 1st off for my Hanukkah Bash, or will I have to work because I waited to long to ask for it off?
Answer: Da Grounds predict a little mini-doom on this count—you’re likely too late to ask off, but there’s a good chance you can sell your soul to the Cat and switch with a co-worker. It will definitely cost you, though—getting that day off is a plum that most don’t want to give up. Don’t promise sexual favors in return tho—that always ends badly. After all, if someone can only get laid by holding up pretty coworkers over days off, chances are they suck in the sack.
NEXT!
Hiya Brigadiere! Long time no hassle you! Is that Smiggins with you?
*ahuuurm*
*tap tap* Is this thingie working?? Ah good good. Right then! Ms. Psychic Fiendishness I do apologize for my recent absences to this prophetic plank of inquirity. Bewitching board of inquiry, that is.
As I’ve been away on extended holiday and have been unable to ask any questions I shall be asking two this time. One for myself and one for my man-child servant Smiggins.
Getting on with it all then:
1.) Recently I have become aware that I am being watched. Even during my most personal of moments! As a mostly law abiding denizen of this greatish nation, I ask you.. Why would anyone want to watch me make poo-poos?
2.) Smiggins would like to know why the various herbal poisons he’s been using to try to off me haven’t been particularly effective in getting the job done.
Yours paranoidedly on the pot,
Sir Brigadiere General Grend31, Mrs.
Answers: Brigadiere, Darling, no one WANTS to watch you make dooky. However, it’s all part and parcel of spying on your every move…FYI man, alright. You could sit at home, and do like absolutely nothing, and your name goes through like 17 computers a day. 1984? Yeah right, man. That’s a typo. Orwell is here now. He’s livin’ large. We have no names, man. No names. We are nameless!
Shaking my head…That new voice in my head’s right though. Since you wouldn’t agree to be RFID chipped, you made the dudes in black suspicious. They’ve set up mondo surveillance on your butt; hence the feeling that you’re being watched. Soon as it’s possible to get a fake chip, do so and that raising of the hackles will go away.
Smiggins, you really should pay attention to YPF when she talks. Just remember what happened the last time. No matter what they tell you, Cannabis Sativa is not the Latin name for arsenic, you subservient dumbass! They only thing that’ll do is make it impossible for Master to pay your salary and he’ll have to rent out your orifices again. You won’t like it any better this time, I assure you.
Just knock off the dumb shit—you’ll only get caught and it’ll go harder on your orifices when you do.
Next up is Sloth. Hiya and welcome!
My cat is 17 yrs old and deaf. Is he going to die next year or what? 17 years! Enough already!!
Answer: You’ll miss the kittykitty when he goes, Sloth. Da Grounds are vague on when that’ll be, but it’s possible the little stubborn bugger will last another whole year. Cats are surprising that way.
Our next query is posed by MoeThatsMe. Hope you had a Cool Yule Moe and got lots of…cookies, yes, that’s it, that’s the ticket, COOKIES.
Oh Hurty Fiend, oh Hurty Fiend
How … wait.. that’s not what we’re here for…
Plz help!
What is the proper punishment for the co-worker that leaves a large box of chocolates in the lunch room, by the water cooler? And … what is the proper punishment for the individual (most likely a co-slacker) that removes the last bit of said chocolate and can’t be bothered to toss the empty box in the garbage?
Thanks Fiendy – Good thoughts and Wellness headed your direction.
Happy Holidays!
Answer: The giver of such heinous hunks of human heaven should have their salad tossed thoroughly. No, that’s not a punishment—it’s knowing that during the horribleday season the body becomes accustomed to random sugar infusions and when they’re not available people get edgy and annoying. The thoughtful camper who left a little box of pickmeups by the water cooler did a pubic service, and in return should receive one.
The assbag who failed to remove said box post-excavation, however, should be taken out and shot.
Now.
Seriously, go do it.
I’ll wait.
I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ve got…BANG…Thanks.
Next up we have a question from Cass.
Will I ever figure out how to get the flickr button thingy on my blog? Or will I be tormented with it? Oh, and will Serra relly share her booze if I come over and wrap her presents?
Answer: Screw it Cass, and go get a Photobucket account. They’re free, and once you upload your pics you get three different codes for use in posting to your blog. Even a brain-dead fogy like Serra can manage to post her own pics that way. Seriously, if this stoopid bitch would ever join the 21st Century I’d drop my teeth! She’s still pissed that Nintendo doesn’t support her Super Nintendo! How old is THAT bucket of transistors anyhow?
Here, now…where’d I put the cinnamon EO? –Serra
Hastily adding…Isn’t Serra just adorable people? SOOO retro!
That’s better. Stupid ho.
Oh, and not only will Serra share, she’ll tend bar in the raw to get someone to wrap presents for her. Hates it, she does.
Next question’s being asked by…NOBODY! That’s the last one!
Whew! One more need to suck up to Serra and I’d just lose my mind…Anyhoo, folks, thanks for being so patient. The back is still raising Cain but Serra will hopefully start getting caught up slowly but surely.
Comment Me Now and Update
It's Ask Your Psychic Fiend time again, ladies, germs, and others. Martha emailed again, this time asking when "that nice psychic girl" was going to make good on her promise to service her old buds over there in Alderson. Guess it made the Field sort of paranoid, because she's really been a good Fiend.
For those new to the blog, you post your questions in the comments section of this post, then the little sociopath answers them. Heaven help her if she mouths off this week. Martha emailed me again this past week–seems some of her buddies from Alderson are looking for fresh fish, so YPF knows the penalty for pissing me off.
Here's the asswaiver:
Note that the "Ask Your Psychic Fiend" feature is for entertainment purposes only. "Ask Your Psychic Fiend" is water-soluble, non-non-toxic, and Haz Mat Category IV. If "Ask Your Psychic Fiend" catches fire, do not attempt to fight it–call 911, scream your death scream, put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye. Do not ask questions which might expose any confidential issues, identities, relationships or other sensitive topics. If you're easily offended, don't post a question, because you're likely to really fucking hate the answer. Do not microwave Your Psychic Fiend. Do not water Your Psychic Fiend after midnight PST. Psychic Fiend is a trademark-pending product of Knightdreams, Inc. All rights and copyrights are reserved to D. J. Lovely. All answers are meant in good fun–in other words, if you can't take a joke then don't Ask Your Psychic Fiend anything because you won't like the answers.
Oh, and fuck you if you can't take a joke.
Since the incident Saturday, I've been feeling like hammered shit–easily chilled, running low fevers, headaches, and more body aches than I thought I had body parts. So the blogging is slow, as are other things going on (VERY sorry Val–soon as I feel better).
UPDATE: I've moved this post to stick to the top of the blog until Monday. No, I don't have enough wrong with me (fever, heavy cough, sneezing, headache, body aches) but the coughing and sneezing have thrown my back out. Yes, on Christmas Eve. Nice, yes?
Anyhoo, I'll take questions until Monday morning due to the horribledays and my back. I should be able to post answers then.
Six More Pseudo-Shopping Days
Well, I can't say I was bored Saturday. I can say I was annoyed, angry, frozen, pissed-off, put-upon, had my time totally wasted, hungry, chilled to the bone, and ready to kill.
Honey and I had planned to go Xmas shopping Saturday. We'd planned it for a week, ever since we found out he had a reprieve from Hell (YOU work at a Meijer's during the Silly Season and tell me it's not Hell) scheduled for that day. Finally, I'd be able to get out of MY personal Hell and get the bits and pieces of shopping done that I hadn't been able to do with no car. Sure, I could have made someone ship me the stoopid stuff, like the chocolate-covered cherries I love this time of year and the cans of cashews, but it's ridiculous to pay shipping when there's places close by that have them cheap.
Saturday dawns, clear and cold, two days after piles of snow shit down from the sky. Honey decides he's not going anywhere, because he had trouble getting in the driveway due to his tires needing replacement. Beautiful–does that mean Honey's never going anywhere ever again (shudder)? Why, no of course not–he has to work Sunday. "And your tires are going to fucking GROW tread overnight? Just get the new tires you need and we'll go shopping afterward."
I'm a fucking moron. I really should know better than to think anything will be that easy these days.
Of course the tire shop is PACKED, which made for excellent people watching but really sucked the southbound end of a northbound, syphilitic donkey when it came to getting tires put on. (Remind me sometime to tell you how I know that men look absolutely ridiculous in green rubber clogs.) Anyhow, Honey gets the guy to admit there are tires for Baby, the store has them in stock, and that the people in their employ can be empowered to put them on the car. This takes approximately half an hour longer than it should, due to the jerk not believing that an automotive engineer actually knows what kind of tires his car TAKES, plus the obligatory ooh-ing and aah-ing over one of Detroit's finest hunks of sheet metal.
The male admiration dance done, we sit down to wait. Did I mention that the heat in Honey's car is out? Neither did he–I got a wee little bit cold during the 20 minute drive over in the teens-temperature weather. By a "wee little bit" I mean I froze my fat ass off! Good DOG it was cold out there! By the time we arrived at the tire shop I'd talked myself out of the Caribou run I was going to ask for and decided hot coffee at the tire shop would only suck taste-wise, but it was hot and we wouldn't have to wait for it.
Wrong again, Serra. They had run OUT of coffee in the cute little stainless steel air pot they usually serve it in. Not only that, but it seemed to take three of the little dillholes to help the bleached blonde with the fake tits pick out tires, leaving zero to go make any more. They weren't dissuaded by her husband being on the cell phone talking to her at the time either. It took one of them half an hour to tear his eyes away from her false mammary glands to make coffee, and that was because SHE wanted some! Aw, fuck you running, bitch. I bet the heat in YOUR kinderschnoozenvagen works!
TWO hours later, these morons finally admit they're too dumb to pour piss from a boot with the directions written on the heel. They come out and tell Honey that they just can't get one of the lug nuts to budge and they have no equipment to make it budge. You heard me right–a place that does nothing but tires has no equipment that will let them remove a stubborn lug nut. Nice. They suggest we take it down the road to Tuffy's, where they're competent and have more than a tire mounter and an air wrench for tools.
We arrive at Tuffy's less than an hour before both Dipshit Tire and Tuffy's close. The nice man inside (no sarcasm here, folks–this guy was truly nice, if acting a little like an artist in the process of painting the next Mona Lisa) has Honey cough up Baby's keys and sets to work. Just before closing, we get the bad news.
The guys at Dipshit Tire weren't quite as incompetent, stupid and weak as we'd thought, because OTHER incompetent, stupid weaklings had managed to cross-thread that lug nut. Yep–picture someone screwing the lid onto your favorite pickles crooked, only they used an impact wrench so it was tighter than a virgin's ass. Turns out that Spunkass Tire, the folks who put the last tire on, fucked it over so that no one else could possibly work on it. What they failed to realize is that they won't be able to work on it easily either.
We're told that tire is not coming off today, and it's not coming off at all short of a torch job to sever the bolt the nut screws onto, which will need to be followed by putting a new bolt on. This job will be lengthy and expensive. Honey thanks the man, who very nicely cut the usual fee in half as he'd only put labor into the car at that point, gave us his card, and we trundled off into the night.
At 5 pm on Saturday, here's what I'd accomplished:
SEVERAL rounds of muttering about asswipes who were programmed to say "We only do tires"
FOUR hours of sitting in colder than necessary places
TOO many choruses of "You will NOT point and giggle" to myself
Two visits to places where not a single thing was sold for holiday gifting or frolicing but were packed with folk whose destiny was to piss me off
THREE searches of my purse for quarters to purchase junk food to tide me over until the nightmare ended.
ONE blurt of "You're fucking kidding me!" in an appropriate but not necessarily welcome point in the conversation at Tuffy's.
While we were waiting at Tuffy's, I resigned myself to no shopping being done. I was tired. I hurt like I'd been beat with a tire iron. I was shivering even in a heavy leather coat. Dog-damnit, I hadn't had a decent cup of coffee all day! Stick a fork in the bitch, I was DONE. In between apologies for the total lack of shopping glee, I talked Honey into a stop at Big Boy (best Country Fried Steak I can get here) once we left Tuffy's, then MAYBE, IF I fucking felt like it, we'd hit Hel*Mouth.
Turns out that's what we did–I resisted the urge to drink my dinner (Livingston County has a new smoking law, but it doesn't apply to places with bars, so Big Boy has a bar), pigged out on deep fried meat, potatoes and some of the best coleslaw I don't make myself, and went to Hel*Mouth before going home. On reaching home I decided that throwing my still-frozen ass in bed, covering it with every blanket we could find, supplying me liberally with hot chocolate and good movies was the best plan I could come up with.
Next year, screw it–if I can't buy it online, I'm not giving it.
Ask Your Psychic Fiend: The B1tchsicle Version
Hidey Ho Bloggers! It’s time once again for Ask Your Psychic Fiend, the popular game show where YPF sees how many of you she can piss off! First, the obligatory asswaiver, which you really should read, then onto the victims.
I meant contestants, really I did…oh, screw it—here’s the waiver:
As you begin your journey with Your Psychic Fiend, please keep in mind:
1. It’s Psychic FIEND, not Psychic FRIEND. With friends like YPF, who needs enemas?
2. All answers are for entertainment only. If you don't want to be entertained by smartass answers, don't ask serious questions. Hell, don’t ask questions at all—anyone expecting serious answers on Ask Your Psychic Fiend Day will just piss themselves off.
3. The ONLY offense intended is to those inbred spawn of Larry The Cable Guy who pretend to have psychic gifts in order to make a buck and run up your phone bill. I have the utmost respect for those truly gifted with the sixth sense. I can completely respect folks who accept money for readings of Tarot and other divination arts, as honest, respectful and caring clairvoyants who serve a purpose in the Universe. However, lying-bitch penisbiters like Miss Cleo and her ilk should have been smashed against a rock at birth.
And, first up is Amber!
Alright – I'm still annoyed with YPF for putting me in my place last week, but I'm going to try again.
Will Brad be getting a job anytime soon? He's driving me NUTS!! I can't surf, I can't blog, I can't read others blogs, because he thinks I'm addicted to the computer.
Up! Better go he just got back.
Peace,
A
Amber, you really should read the asswaivers posted with the comment and answers posts. This is playtime for Your Psychic Fiend, and if you’re going to take the answers you get to heart, maybe you should reconsider asking me anything.
Answer: I know how you feel, and I hope both you and Serra get this for Christmas. Men—they’re always underfoot when they’re not employed full-time, aren’t they?
Next up is Anonymous Coworker:
Christmas presents for cats is just crazy, right? They have no concept of ownership, much less surprise, or generosity.
Answer: On the contrary, ACW, cats own everything they see! Everything—including the people who are demented enough to think they actually own the cats. You belong to Sherlock, bud, not the other way around, so you best have an offering for the furry Godthing in your life. I don’t advise wrapping it (that’ll just piss the Godthing off) or putting it under the tree (then he’ll think the whole tree is a shiny, lit-up new playground made just for him). And too ostentatious an offering will make him think he’s being too nice to you and letting you make too much money. Just find a nice catnip mousie and be done with it.
Two warnings for cats and Christmas:
1. Don’t put the tinsel on the tree!!!! I don’t care how traditional it is, your cat could die from trying to eat it because it will either choke them by getting stuck under their tongues or from knotting their intestines.
2. Don’t give any of those nifty new toys treated with Catnip essential oil—cats can’t metabolize EO’s and it could raise Hell with their livers.
/end pubic service announcement.
Our next question comes to us from LisaB:
I love the PF and Serra – this rocks!
OK, am I going to have a fun Christmas Week and NYE?
Answer: Da Grounds show a major surprise, and even YPF won’t give away a surprise at Christmastime, but yeah, something will happen that’ll balance out all the bullshit that surrounds the season. Just watch out for the sushi.
Next up we have MoeThatsMe!
Hiya Moe!
Serra, quit throwing in shoutouts—you get the blog ALLLL the time, I just get one post a week. Bitch.
Oh, quitcher whining, YPF. If you had the manners Dog gave a puppy you’d get more time. And didn’t I give you a posting under your very own username? Aren’t I nice?
Yeah, yeah, but what have you done for me lately? Let me work in peace.
Fiend, oh Fiend.. my favorite Fiend
(can you tell I'm stalling cause I don't have a question that is not LAME!)What do I want for Christmas? Folks keep askign me, and the only answer I seem to have is "World Pees" ~ to which they walk off shaking their heads… Help!
Answer: Da Grounds say they’re not visualizing what you’re asking for correctly. “Whirled Peas” they’d get. I’m sure you don’t want the whole world to piss at once…
Or do you?
Anyhoo, if they understand that you need fresh, sweet baby peas pureed to a pretty green sauce-like consistency, they’d totally understand you need a good blender to do that. Besides, candles are also a marvelous giftie for you, yes?
NEXT!
Hiya Clora!
Will I crack from being subjected to Winter Wonderland sung by 75 different singers at the mall?
Answer: Da Grounds show this going one of two ways, as it is a cusp event in your life. You will either sneaky-sneak into the room where those singers keep their stuff and hose the place down with Silly String, or you’ll quietly go find a latte and pour peppermint schnapps into it every time you take a sip. Either way, you’ll wind up feeling just a little bit better about everything.
Da Grounds also say combining the two will not help you when you go to court, but you’ll laugh harder about it all afterwards.
Our next victim is Brighton.
Let's see….will my Dad get rid of the restaurant soon?
Answer: Da Grounds are really fuzzy on this one, as your Dad changes his mind as often as he changes his socks. However, if he starts making noises about a deal where he lets LIG and her hosebeast pay as they go to buy the joint, commit him immediately! Da Grounds say there’s a chance that LIG has already proposed this shit to him and he’s thinking about it. He’s got better buyers awaiting his nice restaurant, so don’t let him piss it away on an ultimately doomed scheme.
Besides, that fucking LIG should be smacked with a Budweiser stein until she falls down.
YPF knows this is a hard question, Brighton, so she’s trying not to be a biatch about the answer. Seriously, don’t let him do something stoopid with the place.
Ian’s up next:
Am I crazy already or I should keep on waiting to hear voices in my head?
Answer: You’re not fooling anyone, honey. We already know those voices are your best friends and that you’re so used to them by now that you’ve sent them an invitation to the wedding. Just don’t listen to them when it comes to picking your ensemble for the ceremony. They’re just plain wrong about that. You totally should wear white, but the leather’s overkill.
Our next query comes from Se7en:
OMG, I'm late to the party! eeep!
here's my question:
Will you forgive me for being late?
signed,
better late than never
Answer: You know I’ll forgive you anything, Gorgeous Man! I’m late too so don’t sweat it.
And that’s the end of another fabulous bitch session! Have a good day, and I’m going to go watch Enter the Dragon and finish the Bebop DVD since Serra fell asleep on us last night.
B1tchsicle
Well, I went pseudo-shopping. I say pseudo- because no shopping actually got fucking done. I’m cold, wet, tired and mad as hell, so I’m going to go curl up with DVD copies of some Cowboy Bebop episodes and the Serenity DVD and do Ask YPF tomorrow.
Comment Me Now!
It’s Ask Your Psychic Fiend time again, ladies, germs, and others. I’ve finally convinced YPF that I am going to give her a cinnamon essential oil douche if she doesn’t behave this week, so I’m going to let her answer your questions once again.
For those new to the blog, you post your questions in the comments section of this post, then the little sociopath answers them. Heaven help her if she mouths off this week. Here’s hoping that the little wench behaves decently. She’s been a good little psycho the last two weeks, so I might be pushing it.
Here’s the asswaiver:
Note that the “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” feature is for entertainment purposes only. “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” is water-soluble, non-non-toxic, and Haz Mat Category IV. If “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” catches fire, do not attempt to fight it–call 911, scream your death scream, put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye. Do not ask questions which might expose any confidential issues, identities, relationships or other sensitive topics. If you’re easily offended, don’t post a question, because you’re likely to really fucking hate the answer. Do not taunt Your Psychic Fiend. Psychic Fiend is a trademark-pending product of Knightdreams, Inc. All rights and copyrights are reserved to D. J. Lovely. All answers are meant in good fun–in other words, if you can’t take a joke then don’t Ask Your Psychic Fiend anything because you won’t like the answers.
Oh, and fuck you if you can’t take a joke.
I’ll stick this post to the top of the blog, with more recent posts under it. I still have a little ways to go on the project I’m working on, but if I get time I’ll blog a little before I let YPF have the floor.
***Tired of the million tedious checks you do each week, trying to find out if it’s time yet? I set up an announcement-only list for folks who just need to know. Two posts a week, always from me, no spammage allowed.
Find Your Hearts
Now, you all know what a nasty little bitch I am. I do have a heart, but it's hard to find (a machete is the best weapon to use).
Even so, this story from Brighton's blog found it in spades. One of the chefs at the restaurant her father owns lost his daughter to a drunk driver. The family's not well off, so Brighton's taking donations.
Do please help this family–every little bit does help. Brighton's PayPal email is tandtgoins@msn.com .
Raised by Wolves Poster Child of the Week
This week’s RbW Poster Child is a special shame for a police department on the verge of being phased out and replaced with Oakland County, Michigan’s Finest.
Just go read the article–it really does say it all.
Ask Your Psychic Fiend: The “Hide and Go Suck” version
With all the knitting I’ve been doing, I’m going thru a lot of DVDs. I’m running out of things in our collection here (and have no interest in enlisting Garand as my video bitch because I know he’ll complain after about the fourth movie I ask him to chase down), so I took Netflix up on a free trial and I’m wondering if I should have sprung for the 3-video deal. I opted for two-out-at-a-time, and I’m still finding myself watching shit like this. Oh, well, I use the same email there as I do everywhere else, so if you want to be on my friends list there, just send me an invite.
Garbage movies with Neve Cambell and Denise Richards aside, it’s time to let the bitch out of the can and let Your Psychic Fiend answer your questions once again. First, here’s the asswaiver:
As you begin your journey with Your Psychic Fiend, please keep in mind:
1. It’s Psychic FIEND, not Psychic FRIEND. With friends like YPF, who needs enemas?
2. All answers are for entertainment only. If you don’t want to be entertained by smartass answers, don’t ask serious questions. Hell, don’t ask questions at all—anyone expecting serious answers on Ask Your Psychic Fiend Day will just piss themselves off.
3. The ONLY offense intended is to those inbred spawn of Larry The Cable Guy who pretend to have psychic gifts in order to make a buck and run up your phone bill. I have the utmost respect for those truly gifted with the sixth sense. I can completely respect folks who accept money for readings of Tarot and other divination arts, as honest, respectful and caring clairvoyants who serve a purpose in the Universe. However, lying-bitch penisbiters like Miss Cleo and her ilk should have been smashed against a rock at birth.
Hiya everyone–YPF here–time to get started. First up today is Clora Clairvoyant, that star of stage, screen and blogland.
Will I ever feel normal?
Answer: Define normal.
Seriously, this is your answer. What’s normal for you might look fuckin’ strange to Da Grounds, so it’s hard to know if they’re just off on an LSD flashback or if there’s really something actually weird going on. For instance, Serra doesn’t have an issue when Honey buys her sharp pointy things, so she LOVED the Swiss Champ he got her for her first birthday while they were dating. Other women would have been pissed to get one, no matter what the little bastards cost.
The point is, it’s easy to see what Da Grounds show, but hard to judge normality, and it’s not my place here to judge anything.
In other news, you’re going to love the Christmas present that….but that’s not for me to tell either. Far be it from me to ruin the surprise.
Next up we have Seamus, who I think has broken out the Christmas stash, if you know what I’m saying…
Plane travelling East at 540MPH – will it always land in the east and why are there “not nutz” in bags that don’t open?
Answer: Yes. No matter where the plane lands, it’s always East of something, isn’t it? The real question is, “Where do they bury the survivors?”
There’s “not nutz” in those bags because airlines have used the Peanut Allergy Fandance to obscure the fact that they’re spending less on letting the mechanics fix the planes when necessary, thereby making air travel more dangerous for us and more profitable for them. Once things get really bad for them, they’ll pack “nutz” in those “not nutz” bags and let the ensuing hooraw over that major mistake cover something else up.
Our next question comes in from Lisa B:
Is the man I am seeing Mr. Right?
Answer: Da Grounds are furry on that right now, Lisa. However, there will be three pivotal happenings that will tell you whether or not he really is Mr. Right or if he’s simply Mr. Righthereinfrontofyou. As you pass each of the three, you’ll realize that each one is a key to unlock the mystery. I can’t tell you which events they are because they’re cusp events and revealing them specifically could influence the Universe and ultimately mess up your destiny, and we just can’t have that.
Laurie over at Stranded in Suburbia asks:
Am I going to get a full time job soon?
Answer: Da Grounds say you could get a full-time job anytime in the next two months, but the true question is, “Do you really want to do the job?” While you’re really overqualified for frog-tending, it IS full-time given enough frogs to care for, and so it will be when someone makes you the job offer…
All right! BACK the amphibian UP, bitch! –Serra
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?
What’s with the philosophical and existential bullshit today? Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast? You KNOW you’re just spouting shit here.
Like that’s something new, stoopid?
Yeah, but NOW you DO sound like Miss Cunt-oh! Making folks believe you actually have a fucking clue when you and I both know you’d have to go buy one to really own it.
Fine, bitch. Now, can I get on with this?
Sighs…Yeah, fine. Just knock off the fancy-assed metaphysical baloney. We have an agreement and Martha’s old cellmate’s awfully lonely.
Whateva.
Next question’s from Amber. I like this woman’s blog—she’s not afraid to wonder the same things I do sometimes.
Will I ever fulfill my dreams to become the perfect wife and mother? Or is Donna Reed just an erie fantasy?
Answer: Da Grounds show the old adage is true. Nobody’s perfect, Amber. Not even YPF. Our personal salvations lie in the fact that we try our hardest, striving for that perfection, and the fact that we do our best is why we still receive our rewards. It’s when we quit trying that we truly fail.
I thought I told you—
Suck it, Serra! You know what I said is absolutely true, so bite my ass!
Ahhh, ok, you get away with it this time.
Onward and upward, we have Ian. Congrats, Ian, and I know you’re going to have a great wedding.
I´m trying to find a song for my wedding
any suggestion dear YPF?
Answer: Boy, I’m glad you didn’t ask Serra for this one—SHE wants THIS for her wedding music. Personally I think you might want to check out “Amazed” by Lonestar. Serra hates it but mostly because it’s overdone, but it’s a great one and more offbeat than “Here Comes the Bride.” Another good suggestion is some Bach instrumentals.
Our next question comes to us from Mona Buonanotte:
Dear YPF,
What am I getting for Christmas?
Mona
Answer: Oh, dearest Mona, I so severely DON’T think I’m answering that one! Santa would leave a lump of coal in my stocking and Sergei would sue me so bad I wouldn’t have a pit to hiss in! You’ll love it though, you know you will, all of it, and there will be sex either before or after.
Besides, Sergei already bribed us not to tell.
NEXT!
Hiya Moe!
Help Fiend, Help!
Will the P Group eva understand that the D vendor has other things to do for the B forms that prevent the P Project from being the top on the list every G.D. Month?
Or – when will they get a F’n clue?
A: G, MTM, u’ll have to spell it out. You know the P group thinks they’re King S on Turd Mtn. They only think that tho cuz the M Boss gave them a BJ and now they think their S smells like R’s and should be a new fud grp. So, F’em.
Our next query was posted by Se7en:
Dear YPF,
I was thinking about getting my hair cut short again, will I lose my herculean strength and sex appeal?
signed,
long haired freak
Answer: You know Serra’s partial to long-haired freaks, Se7en. She LUVS that running her fingers thru thing. YPF’s seen those pictures of you both ways, though, and you look excellent either way. If a bitch had to choose, though, I like you in the shorter hair—it really makes your eyes stand out, and you have excellent eyes.
Well, that’s it for another edition of Ask Your Psychic Fiend. YPF manages one more week not to be fed to sex-starved women. Now, go away–Serra just got “Mr. and Mrs. Smith” in the mail and we’re gonna watch it like three times, because Angelina Jolie is one of the few actresses in Hollywood that doesn’t leave us doubled-over and retching.
Comment Me Now!
It’s Ask Your Psychic Fiend time again, ladies, germs, and others. I’ve finally convinced YPF that I am going to give her a cinnamon essential oil douche if she doesn’t behave this week, so I’m going to let her answer your questions once again.
For those new to the blog, you post your questions in the comments section of this post, then the little sociopath answers them. Heaven help her if she mouths off this week. Martha emailed me again this past week–seems some of her buddies from Alderson are looking for fresh fish, so YPF knows the penalty for pissing me off.
Here’s the asswaiver:
Note that the “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” feature is for entertainment purposes only. “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” is water-soluble, non-non-toxic, and Haz Mat Category IV. If “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” catches fire, do not attempt to fight it–call 911, scream your death scream, put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye. Do not ask questions which might expose any confidential issues, identities, relationships or other sensitive topics. If you’re easily offended, don’t post a question, because you’re likely to really fucking hate the answer. Do not taunt Your Psychic Fiend. Psychic Fiend is a trademark-pending product of Knightdreams, Inc. All rights and copyrights are reserved to D. J. Lovely. All answers are meant in good fun–in other words, if you can’t take a joke then don’t Ask Your Psychic Fiend anything because you won’t like the answers.
Oh, and fuck you if you can’t take a joke.
I’ll stick this post to the top of the blog, with more recent posts under it. I still have a little ways to go on the project I’m working on, but if I get time I’ll blog a little before I let YPF have the floor.
***Tired of the million tedious checks you do each week, trying to find out if it’s time yet? I set up an announcement-only list for folks who just need to know. Two posts a week, always from me, no spammage allowed.
Quiz Minute
Lightning
?? Which Natural Wonder Or Disaster Are You ??
brought to you by Quizilla
Updates
I'm up to my bodacious hooters right now finishing a knitting order, so the blogging will be less until Friday, my target ship date for this order. Meanwhile, there's a raft of folk blogging their brains out over there on the sidebar, and I'll post the Ask YPF posts as usual this week.
We haven't done the Mentos Fountain yet but Honey's plotting it as we speak. There will be pictures if the camera and download software cooperates.
Love y'all and I'll be back very soon. Sooner than you want, probably.
Sunday’s Silly Thing
from Fark
I'm afraid, very afraid to show this one to Honey. You see, he's the kind of guy who would want to take an old toaster and do this, or make ice cream using liquid nitrogen, or do this, or this. On the other hand, it'd be a blast to watch, wouldn't it? It'd only take a bottle of pop and roll of Mentos, a few minutes' time outside, and a little bit of convincing me to let him do it. The latter's half in the bag already. I'm tempted to call him just before he finishes work tonight.
We'd certainly have to do it outside. That means the neighbors would see. One set's a pretty nice bunch, so it'd be somewhat embarrassing to have them wonder what the hell we were doing. The neighbors on the other side, though, can just suck my ass–they want to be the Griswolds when they grow up, judging by the garish light display next door. It's just not good enough for them to have a security light that is so bright the LOL can suntan in her own bed, no! They must, simply MUST get every single strand of lights Hel*Mouth sells and string them all. THEN they had to get a blow-up snow globe large enough for a family of four to go live in…but I digress. Long story short, they've got no call to think anyone else on the planet is strange when they put their complete lack of taste on display for the world.
That article I linked to above says to use diet soda because there's less sticky stuff to clean afterward.
Pussies.
Dialing the phone…Honey? Grab me a 2-liter bottle of something really sugary and fizzy and a roll of mint Mentos, would you please? Yes, I'll pay you back, if you think what I'm going to do with them was not as fun as I think it'll be…
Ask YPF: The Butthole Bear Version
Goooooooood Morning Blogland!!!
It doesn’t quite have the same ring to it but “Gooooooood morning Vietnam!” was already taken. It’s a snowy Friday morning, two of the three banes of our existence are out the door and down the road and the third splits in less than an hour. With our luck, that’s right about the time the LOL will get back from the doctor, which means we’ll have had ZERO fucking time alone once again. Shit. The incredible peace that comes with no one around to nag and bitch eludes us once again.
Oh well. I have you, and Serra, and Serra made coffee this morning, which means the coffee’s pretty damned good and there’s loads of grounds to…
~THWACK~
…throw at the wall, just on general principles, and of course to facilitate reading of The Incredible Edible Grounds of Augury. Ah, Da Grounds are in fine form this morning, so let’s get to the questions. It’s great to see so many questions today—thanks loads for giving me so much to do! The more I have to do, the longer I can spend figuring out how to get this incredible FUNK out of my mental hair! GAH! I hates the ashcan, HATES it!
Let’s toss out the asswaiver and get to work, shall we?
As you begin your journey with Your Psychic Fiend, please keep in mind:
1. It’s Psychic FIEND, not Psychic FRIEND. With friends like YPF, who needs enemas?
2. All answers are for entertainment only. If you don’t want to be entertained by smartass answers, don’t ask serious questions. Hell, don’t ask questions at all—anyone expecting serious answers on Ask Your Psychic Fiend Day will just piss themselves off.
3. The ONLY offense intended is to those inbred spawn of Larry The Cable Guy who pretend to have psychic gifts in order to make a buck and run up your phone bill. I have the utmost respect for those truly gifted with the sixth sense. I can completely respect folks who accept money for readings of Tarot and other divination arts, as honest, respectful and caring clairvoyants who serve a purpose in the Universe. However, lying-bitch penisbiters like Miss Cleo and her ilk should have been smashed against a rock at birth.
Question Number One comes to us from SJ:
Dear PF, how long before I make the Beer Cheese Soup? It sounds way too good not to make.
Answer: It is too good not to make, SJ. You just can’t turn down the rich goodness of liquefied cheese mixed with bacon, other meats, and potatoes…
And BEER! Don’t forget the BEER! –Serra
Yep, and beer. Anyhoo, Da Grounds say it’ll only take you until you remember to pick up the Velveeta and chicken stock from Da Store. You’ll be putting it together on a weekend, likely this weekend, so you can bask in the glow from your own rising cholesterol in no time.
Question Number Two came in from Mr. K, who seems to be seriously agitated. Can’t say that I blame him—you be the judge:
Why do people using the copy machine always say “It’s all yours” to me when they’re done? And why do I then want to beat them with my Swingline?
Oh God, it happened again today–but this time at the Scantron test correcting machine. This Spanish teacher in front of me said “It’s all yours,” and I almost bit off his face. Help!
Answer: Yeah, Mr. K, what is UP with that? It’s not their fucking copier, now is it? No—it belongs to whatever facility it’s living in. So, if it’s not even their copier, where do they get off telling YOU that it’s now YOURS? It’s not theirs to give, you wouldn’t have a place to put it or a way to move it there even if this generous asshat WAS in a position to give you the fucking copier, now isn’t that all true? With that all being most true, where in blue Hell does that person get off saying, “It’s all yours,” when you and I know that is one of the biggest lies we’ve heard all day?
Now that you’re hemorrhaging from the eyeballs at those awfully constructed sentences, here’s what you do. You tell them, “Nah, it’s not all mine, but if it were I’d be printing flyers to advertise my new brand of methamphetamine and I could quit this living Hell of a job. Yes, QUIT, I say, and sell meth to anyone who comes to my new all-steel, bulletproof door, which of course has a small sliding door at the top for collecting the money and passing out the marching powder, and in between I could play Guitar Hero until my fingers bleed. My bitches might do the actual collecting and passing, though, so as not to interrupt my riffs, yo.”
That ought to shut them up. Completely. They won’t say “It’s all yours” again. They won’t say anything at all to you directly. However, it would pose the new problem of all those unsavory rumors flying behind your back.
I would not be the slightest bit surprised if I got this answer back, edits marked in red, so if you must, you must.
Up in the Number Three spot we have Clora Clairvoyant.
Do I need a different name for my blog? ’cause I’m snarky in real life, but not so much on my blog…..what should I do?
Answer: Da Grounds agree with LisaB—House of Snark is a nifty name and if I were you I’d keep it. You do snark occasionally, so those folks unaware of you who find you for the first time might be surprised at snark if your blog were entitled, say, “Clora’s Fluffy Bunny Thoughts” or “Deep Thoughts by Clora Clairvoyant.” They could get so pissed off at finding snark within that they’d sue. You wouldn’t want that, would you? Of course not, and YPF wouldn’t want that for you either. So leave the name as is—besides, it’s got a beat and you can dance to it.
Our next question comes in from Lisa B.
Can I answer Clora’s question? I LOVE the name of your blog!!!
Sorry Serra
Here’s my question… am I going to make lots of money in the next year? OK, so I’m shallow, deal hehe.
No need to apologize to me, Lisa. It’s that hobag YPF who’s likely to cut you for something like that. –Serra
Sighs…Serra, suck it. I’m not in the mood to argue with you—I’m still coughing up Newport butts from the last time.
Fine. Just don’t cut Lisa B. She’s good folk.
OK, ok, I won’t cut her. Besides, she made sense so I’ll permit it.
Answer: You’ll make some money in the next year, but not in the way you might think. Substituting Kevin Federline for Heath’s awesome ass in those chaps ‘n’ spanks videos you’re going to shoot just won’t cut it. Hell, Britney doesn’t even want a copy of that one. She’s going to tell you that her Baby Daddy will have to raise his child support another way because you really should have insisted he take off the flipflops and white socks before you rolled tape.
NEXT!
Ah, a question from Laurie! Watch your ass on the roads today—the Eagle shit today and those roads are full of little old people driving in the snow. Yay—I have to go out later too.
I’m with LB – am I going to get a better job soon before I’m outta money?
Answer: That answer’s less certain, according to Da Grounds. While you’re due for a good raise (which you will get), it won’t be nearly as large as it should be because some shithead in Administration “feels the need” for a post-raise survey to gauge employee satisfaction with the raises handed out this year. Don’t get an Uzi and make Admin “say Hallo to your little friend” because when you do that and everyone needs treatment for the GSW’s, your department will have to work overtime for no pay at all to treat the bastards.
Our next query floats over from Anonymous Coworker:
Speaking of eggnog, I’ve always wanted to consume a gallon of the same. Would you recommend this?
Answer: Da Grounds show that this is a much more brilliant move than consuming a gallon of milk would be, due to the fun factor of adding the booze to it before slogging. Da Grounds say you should make a real event of it at the Holiday Party at work. Make up a flyer on company time and company equipment and post them all over work. Be sure to post some outside the building too—you wouldn’t want anyone to miss the spectacle that will ensue, would you? The more people you have witnessing the event and its sequelae, the better the news footage will look.
Next, we have The Buffledog, the prettiest quadruped in the blogosphere. Welcome, Bufflepuppy…scritch scritch…awww, lookit da FACE! Such a wunnerful FACE!
I’m asking this for the biped – does he know how friggin lucky he is?
Now where my cookie? How about twenty cookies?
Woof!
Answers: Aw, lookit da FACE!
Uh, where was I? You know what a sucker we are for a furry face around here…
Ah, yes. Answers.
Answer 1: Yes, he knows. He knows how friggin’ lucky he is every time you stick your cold, wet nose into his armpit. He knows every time you drag your hairy butt across the living room floor…every time he vacuums the bed after you’ve been on it. He loves your fuzzy ass unconditionally, just as you love his.
Answer 2: Cookie? Go see The Big Guy—just go over and cold-nose his bare ass and he’ll give you something. He loves it when you do that. Then go groom that little bitty dog, the funny-smelling one…yeah, the one The Big Guy calls “Cat.” Cat will love it and thank you for your thoughtfulness.
Time to tackle this question from Vince. Hiya Vince and welcome to Whiplash Smile. If you have any concerns about the answer you get here, refer to the asswaivers in the comment post and above in this post.
How do I get a Brian May guitar without having my wife kill me for spending that much money?
Also, when will the Wife be able to quit her job?
YPF is all about the two-parters, Vince, so thanks and read on.
Answer 1: You get one when you can spend enough to also get her that tennis bracelet full of big white shiny rocks. You show her the guitar first, then watch for the bulging vein at her temple (you know the one, you’ve been married awhile). When you see that, you whip that little box out from behind your back and put it at eye level. Softly croon, “look, Honey, I got you something too.”
Trust a bitch, Vince, this maneuver will save your life and get you your guitar at the same time.
Answer 2: If you’re ever able to do #1, chances are good you’re at or near the time she can quit her job. Call the tennis bracelet a celebration, and call your guitar “excellent shit” because I’m sure it is.
Our next question (oh shut up—I’ve lost count) is from Inanna:
What do you see in my crappy job future? And why does eggnog suddenly make me extremely sick?
Answer: Da Grounds foresee that you’re feeling the need for a change…feeling the need for more challenge and adventure in your career. You’re seeking at this point in your life. See how fuckin’ smart Da Grounds are?
Da Grounds see you on teh Intrawebs…they’re watching you on one of them BigAssed job-application websites. Yeah, it’s called MyBigAssedJobApplier.com Trouble is, you’re doing this at work, so Da Grounds see your IT department reporting this to your boss, who notifies your supervisor, who’s soon standing over your shoulder, watching you.
Da Grounds suggest confining your job searches to non-company equipment or you’ll be needing MBAJA.com sooner than you’re prepared to mess with it.
As for the eggnog, maybe you should get a home preggers test, just in case.
Next up is Ian. By the way Ian, we hate you—your Southern Hemisphere living ass doesn’t have to deal with this snow bullshit like YPF does.
dear YPF:
why Anonymouscoworker is so hot to me?
c´mon! this guy is “anonymous”!
Answer: Men love mystery, Ian. For you, he’s foreign, mysterious, smart, funny and mysterious. Your mind can imagine him being gorgeous and doing funny, smart and snarky things, so that makes him sexy to you.
To us American straight women, he’s just another good catch who’s been taken off the market, as all the good men in the US are.
Joke:
Q: Why is it so hard to find a good, sensitive, smart, funny man?
A: Because they already have boyfriends.
Before anyone whines about the bad gay joke and how it denigrates gays, keep in mind that a gay man TOLD Serra that fucking joke while she was tending bar. If gays don’t want straights telling all the good gay jokes, they shouldn’t tell them in the hearing range of straights who are certain to repeat them because they can’t tell their own jokes to save their souls.
Next up we have Moe! Hiya Moe—did you like your nekk1d men note? Oh, quitcher bitchin’ woman–it worked, didn’t it?
It’s snowing in Seattle. Will it stick? Should I even bother trying to come to work tomorrow?
Danke FIEND!
Answer: Bitte, baby.
Hell, NO you shouldn’t go to work! Telecommute today—if Serra didn’t have to run errands she’d pop some popcorn and curl up with her knitting. It’s snowing just enough to be a pain in the ass here and it’s Friday and it’s Senior Citizen Day on the roads to boot. Bleh. Have a good day at home and enjoy it.
Our next question comes from Se7en. That reminds a bitch, Serra’s got to email him…anyhoo, here’s the question:
Dear YPF,
Will January ever get here?
signed,
tired of waiting!By the way, that farting butthole bear was disgustingly funny and SICK! That’s just wrong!!! WRONG I say!
Answer: This is kind of like asking, “Are we there yet? I have to pee. This car smells funny. Mom! She’s TOUCHING me!” January will get here when it gets here, not a minute before. Waiting sucks, but it’s a part of life. Now don’t make me pull this blog over and beat you, because I’LL DO IT.
Yeah, the farting butthole bear is sick and wrong. That’s why Serra posted the link. You love that sort of thing, just like everyone else who comes here.
And so, we come to the end of another exciting version of Ask Your Psychic Fiend. Just a programming note: Whiplash Smile has joined a new blog rating system. Please show your support by clicking the icon over there under Serra’s pussy.
Thanks and we’re outta here! Time to go move things around on the LOL’s work table, just for fun.
Comment Me Now!
It’s Ask Your Psychic Fiend time again, ladies, germs, and others. I’ve finally convinced YPF that I am going to pour eggnog over her head and set her on fire if she doesn’t behave this week, so I’m going to let her out of her Pringle’s can and let her answer your questions.
For those new to the blog, you post your questions in the comments section of this post, then the little sociopath answers them. Heaven help her if she mouths off this week. Martha emailed me after last week’s fiasco, and she’s willing to take YPF on as a slave if she displeases me again.
Here’s the asswaiver:
Note that the “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” feature is for entertainment purposes only. “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” is water-soluble, non-non-toxic, and Haz Mat Category IV. If “Ask Your Psychic Fiend” catches fire, do not attempt to fight it–call 911, scream your death scream, put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye. Do not ask questions which might expose any confidential issues, identities, relationships or other sensitive topics. If you’re easily offended, don’t post a question, because you’re likely to really fucking hate the answer. Do not taunt Your Psychic Fiend. Psychic Fiend is a trademark-pending product of Knightdreams, Inc. All rights and copyrights are reserved to D. J. Lovely. All answers are meant in good fun–in other words, if you can’t take a joke then don’t Ask Your Psychic Fiend anything because you won’t like the answers.
Oh, and fuck you if you can’t take a joke.
I’ll stick this post to the top of the blog, with more recent posts under it. Go ahead, look–if it’s Thursday when you read this you might find a surprise!
Tired of the million tedious checks you do each week, trying to find out if it’s time yet? I set up an announcement-only list for folks who just need to know. Two posts a week, always from me, no spammage allowed.
Christmas Shopping Online Part 2
This is not the teddy for your adorable niece, or anyone else who isn’t truly sick and twisted. I’m not posting a picture because you really, really need to see the whole ad.
Thanks to Samantha Burns for the heads-up.
Christmas Shopping Online Part 1
My favorite way to dodge the crowds and the dipshits during the holidays is to make retailers send things directly to me. I've gotten incredibly fond of not running around iffy, icy, snowy roads, not slogging my fat ass thru malls, not having to supress the urge to beat someone senseless (no matter how richly deserved), and best of all not spending more than I have to in order to get what my loved ones want.
I was surprised, however, to find this while browsing a sporting goods website:
TOO snuggly for words! It sucks that they don't make my size, but considering the other things I've found today, I can deal.
