Notes From Your Drunk Grandma: Regarding Rush Limbaugh

If you learn nothing else from me and my box wine, learn this.

Nobody gets to call you a whore.

Apparently, these days using birth control for medicinal purposes makes you a whore. Apparently wanting no double standard about rights makes you a whore. Apparently, being in possession of a vagina makes you a whore.

In my day, we called you a whore when a man paid you for sex, because that is what you were. The title comes with the territory.

If you used a hose on flames, we called you a firefighter.
If you drug a squeegee down a window, you called you a window washer.
If you got nasty with a pervert for monetary exchange, we called you a whore.

We didn’t call you a prostitute because you took aspirin or got treatment for cancer. That’s just mean as hell; women are catty about fashion, not medical treatments. [Read more...]

Notes From Your Drunk Grandma: Childhood Enrichment

 kids today

Sit down, dear—we need to have a talk.

My grandchildren are insufferably boring, and Nana can’t take it anymore.

It’s not for lack of trying on your part, Lord knows. They’re in baseball, watercolors, boy scouts, wreck diving, creative weavery, and yet they’re still so pale and whiny and afraid of being awesome like Grandma.

For Christmas this year, Nana wants her sweet muffin-faced angels to be the most inglorious badasses that ever walked the Earth.

 

Reintegration Camp Adventure

Replaces: All learning activities.

Class: They sit in rickety wooden chairs in the haunted part of my basement while I shout facts through a bullhorn 2 feet from him. Each time they forget a fact, another stuffed animal disappears. [Read more...]