Bubble Gait

Bubble's Binding Bitch

Bubble's Binding Bitch

Well, it’s another gift giving time of year and true to form, I got a wide array of presents from my family. I was shocked to see that I had been given an exact replica of Bubble’s Binding Bitch, the contraption that Bubbles the Clown had endured as a youngster on the fringes of the bigtop circuit. The process of foot spreading is very akin to that of Chinese food binding, except here the toes are not broken and bound — the arch is broken and the foot is crammed into the flattest, longest, skinniest shoe one can find. Just as the Chinese women had the so-called lotus gait, the modern day American clown has what has been nicknamed bubble gait.

The device is cleverly camouflaged in designer footwear so that the budding young clown can create the foot deformity before his unsuspecting parents realize what’s happening. Depressed, journeymen clowns also wear Bubble’s Binding Bitches when they need to get out in public in their civilian clothes and just don’t feel like being funny.

The Real Deal

The Real Deal

Published in: on December 29, 2008 at 8:34 pm  Comments (3)  
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To All The Pets I’ve Loved Before

Who traveled in and out my door

More or less in order . .

First up was Chi-chi, a tiny chihuahua who was constantly paralyzed with fear. Unbeknownst to my mom, I used to feed her the red plastic peelings off of bologna. Fate: run over by a big truck on a little highway.

Next was Sandy, an extremely athletic sheltie who could catch anything you threw to her. I used to loosen corny dogs from the sticks and then throw like hell, leaving the stick in my hand like a grenade pin and the corny dog remains way out in the yard for Sandy to fetch. She never brought them back to me. She died of a heart attack at age 19 while fetching her food.

Now I know you can’t ever replace a pet but Sandy was replaced by Toky, a sweet-natured border collie who lost a couple of teeth catching frisbies. I named her after Alice B. Toklas because both had small mustaches. Yeah, I know. What straight girl would name a pet after her? I just thought I was sophisticated. Anyway, Toky had a heart attack when I came out to my parents.

During that same time, we had an assortment of dogs that my brother and sister brought home. Fig was a lovable, black retriever of some sort but he was the dumb blonde of dogs. Badger was a bad-tempered Corgi (if they were good enough for the Queen, they were good enough for us!) who accidentally broke my nose during a stare-down. After he nipped the little girl next door, he had to be put to sleep. However, we found out a couple of years later that the girl’s own dog had mysteriously died with a tennis ball stuck in its throat. It appears Badge was a good judge of character. Sorry, Badge!

It was about this time that Mam-aw’s apartment dog, Dibs, was involved in an altercation with another apartment dog. When Mam-aw tried to kick them to break up the fight, she fell and broke her dadgum hip and we inherited her dog. Mam-aw always bragged that if a male dog approached Dibs for a little fun, Dibs “wouldn’t let ’em.” More likely it’s that they passed on her because of her hideous breath. Dibs lived for-EV-er.

Then there was the blind poodle named Gemini; Rosie, a ginger-colored dog who was chosen because she matched my sister’s living room carpet; and Lassie, a little sheltie with a severe underbite. Don’t look at me. I didn’t name her. Thrown into the mix were a couple of cockatiels named Prince and Fletcher, who my mom used to whistle Dixie to every morning. They weren’t ever able to whistle it themselves but they did learn to repeat, “Look away, look away.”

But the crowning jewel of the entire menagerie is a cat named Boots. Obviously, when this stray kitty was named, his little white feet were his most prominent features.

Time has a way of changing things.

Cat With Rodent Ulcer

Boots -- Cat With Rodent Ulcer

Published in: on December 27, 2008 at 11:05 pm  Comments (2)  
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Quiz Flashback — What Goddess Are You?


You Are Artemis

Brave, and a natural born leader, you want to believe that women are drawn to you for the right reasons. You hope that they are looking beyond your sixteen or seventeen breasts.

A tomboy from the get-go, you’re willing to fight for what you believe in, but you also believe in picking your battles. Besides, why risk collateral mammary damage when your brother will often smack down your enemies for you.

You’re willing to make tough decisions — that metal chastity belt thwarts the most ardent lovers, but it’s a bitch to go to the ladies room. Hunting trips are hell, too.

Don’t forget — the people around you have ideas too. When they come to you with those visions — and they will — don’t discount the one called the She-Wee.


Published in: on December 21, 2008 at 10:17 pm  Comments (1)  
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Black Market Jesus

There’s a new trend in life size nativity scene security this year — GPS tracking. Churches are attaching microchips to the little Jesuses’ ears like farmers do with cattle or prize hogs. This has paid off several times because the different nativity statues have been tracked down and restored to their rightful owners.

When the local sheriff was asked what the average value of a black market Jesus was he said, “It depends on a couple of things. Like whether there was realistic swaddling clothes or if his little tallywacker was shorn.” He then added, “We caught a couple of boys ’cause they tried to unload some Baby Jesuses to a downtown synagogue.”

As to the value of the other nativity scene pieces, the sheriff said that black market lambs and oxen fetch more than Jesuses in rural parts of the county. “I’ve never seen such violated animals in all my life,” he said. “We found a big plastic ox in one boy’s barn and just had to have it put down.”

Published in: on December 17, 2008 at 1:47 am  Comments (2)  
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It’s Showtime, Jesus!

Do you think that Jesus ever got around to his birthday every year and said to himself, “It’s showtime, Jesus!” Probably not, since he wasn’t swamped with a boatload of Christ child knick knacks every time he turned around.

I’ve been searching for the perfect nativity scene this year and I haven’t even been close to what I’m looking for. My grandmother had the perfect one — unbreakable statuettes (yet tastefully done), a big old manger, and a really good lookin’ baby. People like to pretend that a baby’s looks don’t matter but there was an expert on Antiques Road Show the other night who said, “If it ain’t pretty, it don’t sell.” And that goes double if you’re the Son of God. Nobody wants an ugly messiah.

In my search for this holy grail of nativity scenes, I’ve come across some very sophisticated seasonal stuff. One store had the Names of Jesus Bookends, with every conceivable Jesus nickname ever coined chiseled into the ends. There’s the Baby Jesus glitterdome, complete with plastica bébé in a little blue didie; this would probably only appeal to the most hardcore infantilists. But my personal favorite is the 3D Jesus postcard where Jesus is standing in front of a door. If you tip the card ever so slightly, Jesus comes a knockin’.


Published in: on December 10, 2008 at 7:20 pm  Comments (2)  
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Osteopenia. It sounds kind of nasty — or maybe even fun, as in, “I’ll have another Osteopenia, please!” And there’s also that difficult little suffix, penia, which conjures up all kinds of unpleasant images. My readers, both of them (Hi Bearkat, hi Mama), may remember that I prettied up a similar word with an accent mark in a previous post.

Back to the matter at hand. Osteopenia is the precursor to osteoporosis, which both of my grandmothers had. So I always knew there was the likelihood that I’d catch it, too. That’s a joke, Mama. I know I didn’t catch it — I was blessed with it.

My problem? My doctor sent a message to me after my latest bone scan. It said, “Borderline osteopenia. Take Actonel.” He nonchalantly sent a prescription along for my convenience.

My reaction. Well first, technically I don’t have osteopenia yet. Second, I would have liked to talk with him about alternatives to bisphosphonates. Not that taking a drug that’s known to cause jaw bone death scares me or anything. The half life of the drug is long — we’re talking years that it sits in the bones. All it takes to set off a horrible chain reaction is some dental work. Fosamax and Boniva are bisphosphonates, too. I don’t think Gidget done her research.

Maybe the chances of jaw bone necrosis are small, but no thanks. I think I’ll go back to that good ol’ clot-loving, cancer causing estrogen. At least it’s predictable.


Holy F**k, Batman!

Published in: on December 5, 2008 at 7:57 pm  Comments (1)  
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Office Creepers, Gypsies, and Sloppy Seconds in Big D

The Getaway Car

The Getaway Car

Dallas is the Andy Dick of big cities right now. It has a high crime rate already — murders, gang violence, rapes, etc. — but it appears the worst is yet to come.

Office creepers. Coming to an office building near you. The creepers are thieves that pretend to be delivery guys, repair men, custodial staff, and even co-workers. They mill around until an unsuspecting victim takes that overly long break and then, bam — somebody’s missing a laptop or iPod. It’s even happening in some locked office buildings where employees are kind enough to hold the door open for the perpetrators.

Today, local news stations were warning the general public that office creepers were at large. The victims’ emotions are apparently so raw that they cannot face reporters. One brave woman did manage to do a Tony the Tiger style interview with her back to the camera. “It was awful,” she cried. “Somebody’s got to stop ’em before they violate someone else.”

Speaking on condition of anonymity, a policeman said, “This is far more terrifying than the gypsy crime spree of 1987 where you’d have a roving band enter a convenience store, fondle a 30-year-old meth addict, thus causing a big ass commotion, whereupon someone would stuff an entire counter of health-and-beauty-aids down his parachute pants. Then, they ran like hell.”

The only thing worse for Dallas would be for one of their sports heroes to get suspended for making misogynist comments about his sloppy seconds. Oh wait — that happened to us yesterday.

Sean Avery & His Sloppy Second, Elisha Cuthbert

Sean Avery & His Sloppy Second, Elisha Cuthbert

Published in: on December 3, 2008 at 7:14 pm  Leave a Comment  
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