Well I still haven’t heard anything about the child support.  Which means I had to bake until 11:30 last night to quell the crazies.  I made turtle cake which is basically a diabetic coma in a pan – German chocolate cake layered with caramel, condensed milk and pecans and then layered with melted chocolate chips and crushed Zoloft tablets on top.  It looks just like powdered sugar.  And I thought that The Best Zombie Ever could take it to work today because I like to be generous and make other people fat.  Also there was something he feels bad about at work, something that he built or programmed or whatever that failed or is failing or wants to fail.  He explained all this too me and I nodded like I understood but all I heard was blah blah blah fail, blah blah blah fail.  I know the word fail.  Probably too well.  All this was engineer speak or manager of operations speak, which is what he is – yes zombies can be managers too, don’t be so racist.  So he was feeling bad about that and I thought, well bring in the turtle cake and all will be right with the world.  People will be catatonic with turtle cake and people will say: What fail? This fail cake is success! And then they’ll fall over into diabetic comas.

BUT I realized that Wednesday is his work from home day.  The kids are with their dad this week, which means we are alone with the cake all day, unsupervised by anyone – except for the dog and guinea pig and fish and cats, who aren’t going to say a damn thing because they’re afraid that if I’ve got it in me to make a cake made of turtles, they can’t be far behind.  I’m going to lunch with a friend and I’m afraid that while she’s talking I’ll be thinking about the cake and that’s just not fair to her, so I should probably set a goal to finish it before lunch.

1:18 pm and already a fourth of the way done! Take that, failure.

I’ll call this next section, Bullshit News By Mrs. Zombie:

My friend sent me a link today:  Burger King Tests Mimosas and Brunch with the comment, “I’m all over this.  Fast food and alcohol, I’ve died and gone to heaven.”  I almost started crying with joy.  And then I clicked on the link to find out when I could expect to get drunk at BK and what the whopper!?  The mimosas are made of orange juice and Sprite.  Did you lose your hard on?  Because I sure did.

Stop pointing at me like you got me covered. OJ and Sprite is NOT having it my way. Like, at all.

I know what people want on a brunch menu.  For starters ALCOHOL.  For seconds, ALCOHOL.  Jesus people, you think you can get market share with orange juice and Sprite.  My kids make that accidentally and I throw it away.  I’m not going to pay money for that.  You want market share, you need to have alcohol and french toast and bacon fried donuts for the hungover people.  You need backrubs and turtle cake and absinthe.  You need happy meals with pills for the adults.   You don’t need orange juice and Sprite.  Come on, BK.  Next time you want to get market share, I suggest you call me, because this is bullshit.

My fan base: Pregnant ladies and people about to go to jail, which is basically the same thing. Also, people who like sexy times with anorexics.

I took a look at my Google Analytics today and discovered the “keyword” feature, evidently a tracking of what people type into a search in order to  arrive at my site.  First it’s clear I should be writing about actual bed bugs.  Number one sounds like an S&M site, and I’m afraid to google it.  Number five is anyone’s guess.  Number seven is just sad. Number nine sounds kinky.  But I think number ten is my favorite, as it appears to have been typed by a child concerned about a stuffed animal.  Maybe a lot of people are searching for bed bug related advice, in which case I can’t help them, though there are entire, terrifying forums devoted to them.  I guess that was a bad idea, adding that link.  Though you may note the header of the first post says:  “Oh Please God, No,” which actually sounds a lot like a post I could have written.  So maybe people are coming to the right place after all.

I get a significant amount of spam comments to my blog.  They far outweigh the real comments, which hover somewhere around zero.  They are often poetic in a sort of lunatic fringe kind of way.  It’s like Engrish.  Or like poetry from space put through a translator.  So this is what I got today, as a response to my most recent post:

“Yes if the truth be known, in some moments I can bruit about that I jibe consent to with you, but you may be in the light of other options.  To the article there is still a suspect as you did in the go over like a lead balloon a fall in love with issue of this solicitation.  I noticed the axiom you have not used. Or you profit by the dreary methods of development of the resource.”  -  PrepeNapPetre

I’ve basically been sobbing ever since.  Here’s why:

1. My articles go over like a lead balloon.  Thanks for the punch in the feelings.
2. He noticed the axiom I have not used.  An axiom is a self evident truth, a truth that requires no proof.  So an axiom would be me not wanting shit for Valentine’s day.  So what’s the axiom I haven’t used? It hardly matters, the point is, my posts are lacking.  Insult number 2.
3. I profit by dreary methods.  I don’t profit in case you were wondering.  But thanks for the reminder, asshole.  If I did profit, it would be by dreary methods.  Again with the insults.
4. Bruit.  I had to look it up.  Its origins trace from the 1400s and it means something like reporting a rumor.   So yeah, you’re smarter than me PrepeNapPetry.

So I went to the Shakespearean Insulter, since regular insults aren’t going to cut it with this guy.  And I got:

“A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen as you are toss’d with.” Which is evidently from Henry the IV, part I.

So there, Prepe.

I'm in love, I'm in love and I don't care who knows it!

Does this ever happen to you?  You’re looking for say, a heart shaped fried egg mold, and you fall down a rabbit hole and end up nowhere you want to be?  This happened to me yesterday, in the Interwebs.  One second I was looking at guinea pig huts for our guinea pig, and the next I was face to face with a rabbit from the apocalypse.  It’s hard not to linger over a page like this, a page that at first glance seems vaguely legitimate.  It has words like nature and conservancy.  And global warming.  Most people know that’s legit.

So as I’m staring at this page, at this rabbit in size XXXL, I realize that this isn’t a site about the goodness of preserving nature.  No, this a cleverly disguised site for ladies who like rabbits.  As in, like like rabbits.  In a romantical way.  For your consideration…

Exhibit A: The crazed look in Mrs. Edwards’ eye.  The look that says, AT LAST, I have found the ONE!  Look at the way she’s holding him, the tendons are sticking out from her hand she’s got such a death grip on him.  You’re never getting away bunny.  So don’t even try. And yes I’ve noticed the rabbit is called Amy, but that’s simply to throw us off.

Exhibit B: “Mrs. Edwards insists he is healthy and not overweight.”  For reals?  Are we looking at the same bunny?  He’s a moose.  This is called denial Mrs. Edwards and it’s what happens when you fall in love.

Exhibit C: The Zales sponsored link with what is very clearly an engagement ring.  Target market for readers of this site? Ladies who love bunnies and want to drop a hint to their bunnies about a *cough*ring*cough*.

Exhibit D: Ads by Google.  At first I thought this was just another case of a Google ad gone hopelessly awry.  Look at that ad, no not the VW Tdi ad, the OTHER ad.  Yeah, don’t click on it.  You can’t actually, it’s a picture.  But trust me it’s not a site where you can go buy a rabbit.  At least not that kind of rabbit.  Clearly a targeted ad for the ladies who don’t need Mr. Rabbit they just need Mr. Rabbit Right Now.

Exhibit E: The offer of advice to President Obama at the top of the page.  Advice about what exactly?  Policies on rabbits large enough to drive my car without moving the seat forward?  This is what crazy ladies in love do, they act all serious like – oh, I’ve got goals and political opinions!  But really all they want to do is settle down and breed like, well, rabbits.