Know what Crissy hates you guys?

With the possible exception of vacation from hell stories which can be enormously entertaining, Crissy hates hearing about and being forced to look at pictures of Other People’s Vacations.

And people at work are particularly guilty of doing this.

As if Crissy wants to see and hear about how much fun you were having while she was stuck at work doing her job and yours for two weeks.

Crissy would rather stab her eyes out with a melon spoon from that cruise ship buffet than look at pictures of some people lined up likes pigs at the trough at a table full of bacon and pineapples and shit.

Crissy does not want to hear about the weather.

She does not want to hear about the beaches.

She does not want to see the cheap piece of jewelry you paid way too much for or the coconut you brought back with you or hear about the sketchy shellfish incident that kept you in your room praying for the sweet angel of death for a day and a half. Or maybe she does because an exploding colon is a hell of a lot more interesting than that story about how you forgot your sunglasses at home on the counter and so you had to buy new ones on the trip.

And what really confuses Crissy is how other people can seem so fascinated.

Really?

Who cares?

Crissy doesn’t get it.

And so the next time Crissy asks you how your vacation was, don’t really tell her. Just say it was nice and you relaxed or finally got laid by some dirty foreign hooker or whatever but don’t whip out the pictures because Crissy does not give a fuzzy rat’s ass about seeing you in a bikini that reveals your pubic stubble or one that makes your ass look even bigger than it is.

If that’s even possible.

Okay?

And come to think of it, with few exceptions, Crissy doesn’t want to see any of Other People’s Pictures and it is not lost on Crissy that Mister has a Photo Blog but his pictures are artsy and nice and not retarded and boring. It is also not lost on Crissy that she is always showing you Queefs pictures of her life and her kid and her stuff but the difference is that Crissy does not corner you at work and make you look.

You come on your own accord and Crissy thinks that’s just swell.

And don’t even get Crissy started on pictures of your grandkids because if they’re ugly, Crissy will totally tell you.

What you can show Crissy pictures of are your new house, because Crissy is nosy like that and she wants to see how nice or not nice your stuff is compared to hers, or you can show her pictures of your dog because Crissy loves dogs, and sometimes you can show her your cat because they can be nice and cute sometimes too.

Other than that, don’t show Crissy pictures of anything else unless you’re totally fucking hot and then you can show her pictures of you, but just you.

Not pictures of you and your drunken sunburned friends holding up umbrella drinks.

Are we clear?

Hey.

No Taco. No matter how hard Crissy squeezed Taco Doctor’s nuts, he still wouldn’t pull the kid out of Crissy. And Crissy tried Queefs, she really did, but apparently this is not the first time he’s encountered a desperate pregnant woman because no word of a lie people, the man was wearing a sports cup.

BUT!

He told Crissy she can drink wine to help her relax and that, friends, was worth the visit and getting the smell of old doctor balls on Crissy’s hands.

So Crissy is going to stop thinking about Taco and constantly scanning her body for any slight twinge of a pang of a labor pain and just pretend she’s not going to be pregnant forever because she’s sick to death of thinking about it and she knows you’re all sick to death of reading about it and so Crissy promises NO MORE TACO TALK UNTIL THE KID IS ACTUALLY HERE.

She’ll tweet, she’ll post it here, and she’ll facebook it when it happens.

Maybe she’ll even live blog the birth.

IF it happens.

Ever.

You know Doosh is too big of a pussy to do that, right?

Of course she is.

Anystubbornfetus, here’s the picture Crissy promised:

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The Crissy’s went over to their friends Rich and Michele’s house for dinner on Monday as they are in the habit of doing and Michele made the most wonderful Fish Tacos and one thing led to another and Girlfriend and her bff Alena wound up getting stinking drunk and Girlfriend came stumbling out of Alena’s room, mostly in her nakeds, with the entire contents of Alena’s underpanties drawer on her head.

We are fantastic parents.

Crissy is sorry Queefs.

She had a great picture to show you today but did Mister take it off his camera yet so she could use it?

Noooooooo.

And so she’s sort of screwed for a post which totally sucks because she’s not feeling very funny this morning and Girlfriend is talking to her incessantly and so she cannot process a single thought whether it be funny or not funny or coherent even.

She’s going to see the Taco Doctor again this morning and she already knows the office is double booked today and so she’s going to be there for a long, long time and she’ll have to miss a day of work so she can wait her turn because he’s GOING ON VACATION this week and if Crissy doesn’t have Taco tonight, she will have a stranger for a doctor to deliver him and this makes Crissy very upset and also Girlfriend’s birthday is less than a week away and Crissy doesn’t want to be in the hospital and she doesn’t want Taco and Girlfriend to have the same birthday and that Taco countdown thing is wrong and she has only 14 days left instead of 16 like it says and that pisses her off that it’s trying to cheat her and she’s just wandering around her house weeping and screaming on the inside and sometimes on the outside for Taco to come out rightfuckingnow.

So the plan is to grab the doctor by the nuts and tell him he’s delivering Taco today or he’s losing his testicles.

This seems like a solid plan to Crissy.

What could possibly go wrong?

 So the weirdest thing happened on Saturday night.

Mister was spending the night in Boston and so Crissy and Girlfriend had a little girl party consisting of watching Ella Enchanted and eating copious amounts of ice cream in mommy’s big bed and falling asleep around 8:30-ish.

And we didn’t bother brushing our teeth because we’re real bad ass like that.

It was rather glorious. Crissy knows you’re jealous and that’s okay.

And there Crissy was, fast asleep, when she heard music.

It was Civil War type marching music.

So she got out of her bed and looked and there was a group of about 10 children marching down the street playing Civil War era instruments at like 9:30 at night.

It was totally bizarre, and they marched all the way down the street and around the corner and you know what Queefs? They weren’t half bad but what the fucking fuck?

Were they practicing for Schmuckytown’s big Memorial Day Parade, perhaps?

And then Crissy could hear a man with a megaphone counting as the children got farther away.

Crissy would have thought it was a dream but the freaks in the idiot colony were all out in their driveways staring at the display as well and they were clearly as shocked as Crissy but the big difference is that Crissy wasn’t slack jawed and drooling on herself.

Okay, well maybe just a little bit, but she just woke up from a sugar coma.

Cut her a break.

It was weirder almost than the time Crissy saw a HOOKER walk right down her street! Crissy even took pictures because seriously?  Crissy’s street is HER territory and she doesn’t want any two dollar ho’s thinking they can just come up and start doing buisness where they don’t belong.

And how about looking outside and seeing two deer just toodling down the street like it ain’t no big thang?

See those two tiny brown things against the fence in between the two houses?  That’s them and they’re all  just like, “Sup? You got any grass, yo?” because of course they walked to Crissy’s house from the ghetto.

deer

How about the time when Crissy saw the owner of that tenement house dragging a dead Christmas tree down the street in the middle of a snowstorm?

And then there was the time when one of the dickmo tenants went out to shovel in his underpants and combat boots:

guy-shoveling-snow-in-shorts.jpg

Crissy swears that house is a haven for wayward retards and random varieties of asshole.

Remember how the Crissy’s almost didn’t buy their house because of that tenement?  Yeah.  Doubt means DON’T Queefs.

Doubt means don’t.

And what about when she saw the midget dressed as a biker, a kid in a motorized wheelchair, and a Rastafarian in tie dye playing a guitar and singing Dock of the Bay walk past her house together last summer, but that was when Crissy was drinking and taking The Pills and so she just thought it was the wine and Klonopins that made her see things but now she’s not so sure.

Crissy is beginning to think that her street is some sort of conduit to Crazytown, if not Crazytown itself, and Crissy is wicked sorry this post is a little uninspired this morning but she’s feeling really worn out today and so since she knows that crazy lives everywhere what she’s going to do is ask the Queefs

What was the most bizarre thing you’ve ever seen going down the street?

It will be interesting to see if the city Queefs or the not city Queefs come up with the most crazy.

Go!

And make it good, too.

The Queen wishes to be entertained today.


Crissy is not in labor so don’t anybody freak out because there’s nothing going on here today.

She’s just starting her weekend early.

Crissy is going to see the Taco Doctor this morning for her weekly violation.

Fingers crossed, Queefies.

dilate, dilate, dilate, dilate, dilate

If you didn’t watch yesterday’s video, you should go do that now.