Sunday, July 31, 2011

Couch Time: Beverly Hills, What a Thrill


Soooooooo, I'm gonna start doing a weekly feature called 'Couch Time with Ashlee', where I will have various guests either air their grievances or discuss topics of interest on my couch. Fun!  I'll level with you, and admit that the video above sucks.  Bad sound, bad editing, and for whatever goddamn reason, it sounds like I have a serious lisp.  But!  I'm learning new video tricks, and this can be a process we can all go through together. 

Thursday, July 28, 2011

I Need You to Put That Fork Down

Last weekend, I went on the world’s worst date.  Everything was horrible, and in retrospect, I place the blame squarely on the guy I went out with.  Seriously, I don’t need a dude to get all cute and clever on me, and sit there and explain how many atheistic images he sees in his grilled-cheese sandwich.  That type of malarkey basically ruins the whole grilled-cheese sandwich experience for me, and anyone who has ever interfered with my enjoyment of that sacred snack has been bumped up to the top of my permanent Shit List.  So, I’m stuck with a serious problem:  I don’t just need a date in a bad way; I need a date with someone that can understand me.   And rather than pointlessly paying money to post my social profile on a dating site, I’m gonna do myself a free favor and turn this blog into a temporary advertisement for yours truly, based solely off of my relationship with food:

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

The Softer Side of Tammi?

I inspected my chimichanga to make sure the expressionless waiter got my order right. I knew it’d be at least another twenty minutes before I’d see him again, the little jerk. I looked over at Tammi Gymnastics, who was staring at her mushroom appetizer warily. “If you clearly can’t stand people,” I began, “then why be a waiter? By the way, those shrooms are really good if you like garlic.” “Oh thanks,” Tammi snarled. “In the twenty-five or so years that we’ve known each othah, I’m glad you just guessed whether or not I like garlic.” She pulled down her miniskirt a little since the preteens sitting next to us at the bar were gawking. I didn’t bother fidgeting with mine – the kids were obviously annoyed with their parents, so I figured they needed some sort of entertainment while they dined. “Lick my legs, boys,” I growled with my best duck-face. Tammi howled with laughter, and resolutely hiked her skirt back up. Our food had just arrived, and we were already into our third margaritas. “At least the bartender knows what’s up,” I bitchily remarked before licking salt off the side of my glass. Tammi shot back, “Will you quit complaining about the fucking waitah? He may hate people, but he’s gotta pay bills juz’ like you do.”

Monday, July 18, 2011

An Open Plea

I want a girl's size Night Sweats t-shirt like right now. If anyone can make this happen, I shall give you a signed photo of me from my kiddie-modeling days at ZCMI. Trust me, it's worth it for blackmail use in the future. Now, Gimme!

Humiliate Me, Baby

One day in the summer between my sophomore and junior year in high school, I went to a park with my friends Kelly and Kelli, and we played Frisbee with a hippie dude wearing a rayon skirt. I sucked so hard at Frisbee (and still do) that K, K & Smelly did their best to ‘forget’ to throw the disc to me when it was my turn to catch it. I was too preoccupied with my new love of smoking cigarettes to care at all, and eventually excused myself from the game altogether.

The only thing that matters about this story is that the hippie dude wasn’t wearing underwear; and at one point, Kelly hocked the Frisbee far enough for him to dive for it. As he did that, a summer breeze blew his flammable skirt up over his head exposing his unkempt little weiner. To quote Voltaire, “the number of wise will always be small…it is nothing in comparison with the number of fools, and unfortunately they say that God always favors the heaviest battalions.” If that’s true, then all you men out there with small dicks who think it’s a great idea to play fetch in skirts without panties, rejoice!!

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Rap Bear


For those of you that would have guessed that this is my favorite writer on alcoholism:

You are wrong. In my eyes that coveted title belongs to none other than Richard C. Langsen, the guy that penned this:

Monday, July 11, 2011

Our Millionth Fight

Late afternoon last Friday, Tammi Gymnastics called me from the gym screaming “I hate these fucking kids! One of them broke TWO of my nails this time!” I was in the middle of getting it on aboard the couch with a constable who had just served me with a summons and complaint, but I knew from Tammi’s tone in her voice that a) she was hungry, and b) she needed a girlfriend. So I invited her over for dinner. After hurrying up with the hand job, I quietly dismissed the gentleman by giving him a wad of toilet paper and my phone number.

Once Tammi arrived, she shoved her hand up so close to my face, I whimpered a little bit. “LOOK, BITCH!” she wailed. And then I saw it: one of the low-level-parents-must-be-smoking-good-shit-if-they-think-their-kid-is-going-to-the-Olympics brats broke Tammi’s pinky coke nail she had been growing for months. Her ring finger had some damage too, but that was paltry in comparison to what Tammi considered her greatest work of art. We embraced, and I fixed her wig a tad. She was still unnerved, so I mixed her favorite drink, a Michelob Ultra with two fingers of Tab. She greedily clawed at the cocktail, and poured it down her gullet. “Feel any better?” I asked while popping open another beer. “Toots, I don’t know how much longer I can take it,” she bemoaned. “Alls they seem to care about anymore is tormenting me...” I let her get it all out.