Yo yo! Zup zup? Stoogepie here.

When Crissy asked me to guest blog for her, I knew that the overdose of smack that had inspired the invitation would probably kill her within the hour. But I accepted anyway, because that’s how I play.

And when I accepted, I had no idea what I should write about. And I still don’t, even as I write this thirty seconds before I will post it. See, I realize that I have to tone things down a bit, because I say things in my own blog that would upset the tender sensibilities of Crissy’s broader and altogether more discriminating audience. So, for instance, I decided that I would not write this guest post on any of the following topics:

• Rimming: Why women’s excuses for not wanting to suck your ass really don’t hold water.
• The Sexy Side of Emphysema: That throat-hole is not just for breathing.
• Recipes: What to do with the food that sticks to your hand during anal fisting.
• Coma Victims: Does she want you or is she just incontinent?
• Buying your first home: a guide for registered sex offenders.

I’m not saying that Crissy avoids weighty issues such as these, but she is able to deal with them more tactfully than I, owing largely to the fact that she does not draw pictures of every fucking thing that pops into her head. And her writing is much more subtle. Almost all of my blog entries begin with a question. It’s always something like: “Is it just my imagination or are all the chicks in the burn ward easy?” And then I answer that question, complete with drawings and recipes for accelerants.

All that I’m saying is that Crissy is a hard act for me to follow.

But, follow her I must. So, I will follow in her footsteps completely and write about her life. Yes, I am going to tell you what Crissy’s day is like. Today. When she can’t.

Okay, so here goes. Crissy and Ken take Girlfriend to Story Land. Here is what will happen shortly after they arrive.

Later that day, they will go to eat lunch.

Finally, after a long day, even by Story Land standards, they will prepare to leave.

That’s all I have to say about Crissy’s day.

So that whole bird fiasco from last week happened like an hour before we had a couple of friends come over for a dinner party. I was all scared the smell would travel through the house and concentrate itself in the dining room.

Wouldn’t that be a nice way to impress some folks?

“My Crissy, the wine does go well with the chicken. Is that a hint of evil I smell?”

“Why yes it is! Satan wiped his ass on our house!”

But luckily it disappeared rather quickly with a can of Raid and a butt load of bleach. So our house smelled like an exterminator’s swimming pool instead.

Great.

But better than death and assholes, right?

So I thought about cancelling our dinner party for all of like 2.5 seconds, how much longer are we going to grieve for the little guys–we have to move on at some point, and decided to go ahead with the plan.

Everyone had lots of fun, and I’d show you pictures but really if you get all excited when I show up looking SEXY! one day then I know you cannot handle it.

It was that kind of a party.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

No it wasn’t.

You still can’t handle it though.

Anyway, I sort of love to have dinner parties. We do this really fun thing we call Pot of Crap™ with our neighbors. Michele makes some crap (only last night she weaseled out and ordered a pizza. Hi Michele!), I make some crap, and I bring it over to their house and we all eat some crap together.

It’s fun and we dirty her dishes and not mine.

I mean it’s win/win, really.

I use a lot of Weight Watchers recipes. They’re all very, very, good but for some reason they sometimes make Mister throw up in his mouth a little bit.

Last night I made this:

It’s Moo Shu Tofu.

But when I told Mister about it he was less than happy. I think he said something like “What the fuck is Moo Shu Tofu? Oh come on! Do I have to eat it too? What’s Michele making?”

It’s vegan, it’s Weight Watchers, it looks like a plate of vomit next to Michele’s pizza, but what’s not to love?

I don’t get it.

Boys are fussy.

It was just too orange-y before.

Right?

I’ve been ready for a change for a while now and I contacted Delicious Design Studio because everyone and their blogger seems to use her services. And she was lovely and her quote was reasonable, and she’s even following me on Twitter now (QOFECrissy, follow me!), but with all the stuff we need for the house I just couldn’t justify spending the money on redecorating because I prefer not freezing my tits off this winter to a pimpin’ blog.

I know. My priorities are fucked.

And so I asked my husband to help me come up with a new theme. I had one I loved and it was very chic and very Studio 54, that’s still chic right? Disco?

I have no idea.

But the fucker wouldn’t work in Explorer. So shit. I couldn’t use it and I went to bed. Mister, however, kept working and this is what happens when you leave a boy in charge of things. You get a theme called DARKSEX.

I think it’s too sexy for a humor blog.

You think I’m funny don’t you?

Don’ t You?

I mean I rarely talk about sex and if I do it’s because we’re not having any so my blog shouldn’t look like porn.

Right?

I don’t know.

I’m thinking a little less “come fuck me” and a little more “everyone can suck it.”

How about something more regal?

I should be wearing a tiara!

Maybe we’ll just change the background picture.

Or the entire thing.

Maybe just a picture of my ass.

I’m fairly certain I already know how the votes are going to line up. Boys vote for sexy, girls vote for tiara, but we need to find a way to amalgamate (whoa Nelly! That’s a mighty big word there little lady!) the two.

I feel like I’ve been in a real funk lately and I’m a little depressed and stressed and anxious and So. Not. Funny.

Maybe a new look will help me get my mojo back.

You could also send me cash…

I feel like ass today. Not AN ass, just ass. I’m sick. But unfortunately it’s not amoebic dysentery like I’ve been praying for all these years. It’s almost like mono with a little bit of nausea and headaches and sore throat to go with it.

So instead of a real post today, I’m going to share with you a story that I wrote for Surviving Myself’s short story contest. I could not for the life of me figure out an ending, so I didn’t use it. I hate having things hanging around unfinished so maybe you guys can help me out with it and we’ll call it a group project.

Oh, how FUN!!!

Anyway, here is the story.

He was confused. Kevin could have sworn that he grabbed a plastic baggie on his way out to take Snow White, his girlfriend Monica’s spoiled little Maltese for a walk. “Where the hell did it go?” he wondered as he fumbled helplessly for the baggie. After a full search of the pockets in his suit, all he turned up was his purple Brooks’ Brother’s tie that made him feel like a corporate big dick whenever he wore it.

“You better not have to take a shit you little shit bag!” grumbled Kevin.

But today was not Kevin’s lucky day.

Snow White started spinning in a circle, the telltale sign that she was going to “go apples” as Monica so delicately put it.

“Noooooooooo! No! No! Please Snow White, not! Now!”
But it was too late.
Snow White went apples.
On the sidewalk.
In front of a church.
With the doors open.
During a funeral.
“Fuck it!” he said to himself. And he was hoping for a fast get away before anyone noticed he did not dispose of Snow White’s apples, but the dog wasn’t moving. He tugged on the pink rhinestone encrusted leash, but the bitch just wouldn’t budge. “Let’s! fucking! Go!” he said through his teeth, a little bit of spittle landing on his lower lip. Snow White still refused to move and was still squatting, but nothing seemed to be coming out…there seemed to be something… stuck…
“Awwww…fuck me!” said Kevin as upon closer, hands and knees investigation, he realized that Snow White had what resembled the string of a tampon from Monica’s trash sticking out of her butt with a wad of shit dangling from the end of it.

He scanned the ground for something to pull the string with.

Nothing.

“Of all the god damned times NOT to find fucking litter on the ground…”

The people sitting toward the back of the church heard the commotion and turned to see Kevin on his hands and knees staring at the dog’s ass.

“Good morning” whispered Kevin, embarrassed as hell, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

AND THEN WHAT HAPPENS???

Hell if I know.

Help me Internets!

I’m not sure, but I think that the story I submitted is being posted today, so go see it.

It’s a real EYE opener.

Ha, ha, ha, ha!!!

I’m funny.

I found this purse the other day I was all “I love it!” and Girlfriend was like “don’t buy it mommy. It’s too stupid. I want to go home!”

This worried me a little as usually she is quite the little fashionista and has very good taste, except for all the stuff with Hello Kitty and Elmo on it, but whatever. Everyone has their weaknesses.

She loves these shoes, for example

and she will not take them off, not even to sleep. It’s kind of cute actually, but you see what I’m saying don’t you Internet? Her taste isn’t exactly without it’s hint of the flamboyant and the colorful.

So I bought the bag despite her protest and showed it to Mister when he got home. He looked at it and said “it’s blue.” That’s all he said. Not “that’s nice!” or “wow! Can I borrow that?” Nothing. So I’m guessing everyone hates my new bag, but I love it. It makes me feel Very Fancy and I can shoplift at the grocery store all the live long day fit all the essentials inside it because it is HUGE.

I used it all weekend.

You’re jealous as hell, aren’t you?

Right?

RIGHT???

Maybe I’ll let you borrow it sometime.

On Monday morning I opened my email to find this:

it continues:

It’s from stoogepie just in case you missed it, and it made me feel all special and stuff that he made this for me because most of the time I’m lucky if people shit in a bag and give it to me for a present but this is certainly not shit in a bag.

It’s genius.

I’ve never looked so good in yellow and it’s probably the only time my picture will ever appear on the side of a building since nobody in Schmuckytown will be putting one up.

Clearly.

I have only one complaint though. He got my boobies totally wrong. They’re much larger in real life, but whatever. We’ve never actually met in person and so I guess it’s pretty good for his first try.

He told me he didn’t want me to pimp his blog but I have poor listening skills or whatever and so I did it anyway.

Now go see him and give the boy some love.

DO IT!!!

DO IT NOW BITCHES!

Well, it’s been over a week since I became the greatest thing since sliced bread and saved a boy from drowning and still there’s nothing.

No parade,

No flowers,

No news story,

Not even a mention in the weekly Police Blotter. Whatever that is.

No Queen of Fucking Everything,

No paparazzi chasing me and asking me personal questions about myself,

so I must say I’m disappointed in this town.

Apparently Schmuckytown USA is really Town Who Doesn’t Give a Rat’s Ass When People Almost Die in a Pond and Hot Mommy Bloggers Rescue Them Town.

But that’s okay.

Don’t cry for me Internet.

Well, okay. If you insist but it’s not necessary. Much.

(Yes it is.

CRY BITCHES.

DO IT!!!)

I’m not hurt because I know what a good thing I did and that’s what really matters. Anything else is just gravy. I just wish I had known that they weren’t planning anything because I’ve been sitting in my window waiting for them for over a week now and my butt is stuck to the window sill just like that lady on the news who was stuck to her toilet for two years and I’m going to have to get it removed and I wonder if my call to 911 for that will get me a date with Officer Dreamy McHot the attention I so richly deserve.

So yeah.

Acts of extreme heroism and bravery?

Not so much around here.

Wankers.

So there’s this blogger, right?

And I really liked his blog.

I thought it was pretty funny and so I blogrolled him and he blogrolled me and I started reading and commenting and it was all kissy-kissy, nicey-nicey until I commented on a post he wrote about his birthday.

In it he wrote stuff about running around naked in his back yard and shooting porn films in his basement and some other stuff I can’t remember because it was a couple of months ago but anycrap ( I totally swiped that from Kiala. Thanks Kiala!), people wrote comments about crotchless panties and nakedness and whatnot so I wished him a happy birthday and said that since pubes turn gray when you get old I’m going to shave from now on so I never have to have that horrifying moment of finding my first gray pube.

That’s all I said, and then he emails me with this to say about my comment:

“It was the catalyst for me to make a few changes in the blog, my own habits, etc. I’m going to leave this comment out, just so I don’t rekindle the whole deal. It’ll save me some other headaches.”

That’s a direct quote from the email. I kept it because when the world starts making sense to me I read it and then the world stops making sense and everything is all screwed up again.

And then he put all comments into moderation, took down his blogroll, and put his blog on hiatus.

I’m not even kidding you.

I was all hurt and embarrassed and felt like a big loser but then I realized Hey! I’m not the asshole. He’s the asshole!

I mean he was all polite and stuff in the email, but puh. leeze. In light of what other people were saying my comment was not inappropriate and he didn’t delete anyone else’s. Just. mine. So the only way I can make sense of this is that the “whole deal” and the “headaches” he’s talking about are not all about him because he’s a guy and he’s down with pussy jokes and bad language. They all are.

I think it’s his wife.

The dude is

Pussy. Whipped.

And I think that’s gotta be the problem here because on other people’s blogs he makes comments about masturbation and he uses naughty words and he frequents blogs that are like mine. You know, vulgar and inappropriate. So my theory is that the Mrs. caught him spanking it to some porn

and decided to put the clamp down on all his Internet activities.

It’s probably that and he’s just a total asshole and a hypocrite.

I considered blogging about this when it happened but I decided to take the high road and just email gossip about it to all my blog friends because “be classy, not sassy” is my motto and also because it wasn’t worth starting a blog war even though I’d totally win because my blog is bigger than his.

But I’m blogging it today because I got an email from another blogger who is just the sweetest person in the world mostly because she called me her blog hero and she was a little hurt and embarrassed because he did it to her too. Make me feel weird, that’s fine, but he messed with one of my peeps and now I’m pissed. He said he deleted her comment due to “inappropriateness” because she made mention of her down belows.

What does this dude have against the girl parts?

And shouldn’t he warn people that he’s totally fucking lame? (actually, his blog title does sort of come right out and say that…)

I mean seriously. If you don’t want people to be inappropriate on your blog you shouldn’t write stuff that is going to inspire inappropriate comments.

Just sayin.

It makes me want to tell you all to go to his blog and holler PUSSYCUNTCOOTERTITS at him.

But I’m not going to tell you who it is but if you email me I totally will because I have class coming out of my ass.

I need help from the Internet.

I have a problem and it’s been bothering me for a long time now and I thought I could handle it on my own but it turns out I can’t.

I think the name Crissy’s Page is really, really, fucking stupid.

I’ve always thought so but I didn’t care too much because I never thought anyone would read the blog anyway so whatever. I put zero thought into the name so when I started this thing where it said blog name or whatever I just typed Crissy’s Page in just as you would type the word “test” or “suck my ass” to make sure something works.

But now that a lot more people besides Rachel and Lynne and my mom are reading I feel rather embarrassed about it.

I mean seriously.

Crissy’s Page?

Crissy’s?

Page?

Comethefuckonnow!

Makes me look like a jackass.

The whole blog name angst started one day when I was having a conversation with Surviving Myself about blogging and then I said I hated the name of my blog and he said something to the effect of “thank god you said that because when I first saw it I thought seriously, that’s all she could come up with?’ and so we set out to find a new name and I bounced a few off him but nothing stuck.

And then I asked Rachel for her help because her blog name, Get Your Freak On is fucking great and she’s great at naming things but all we came up with was the “I’m sort of a big deal” tag line and also Atomic Blonde which Lynne liked too and that’s the best we have so far.

But I think we can do better because all of you on my blogroll and some of you who aren’t on there but I love anyway have great blog names.

Great ones!

I wish I had a neat little list to give you and you can just choose one, but I can’t even get that far. I’m having such issues and so I need you to use your creativity for good instead of evil and help me you guys. And there’s something in it for you because I know how this world works don’t you worry. You have until next Tuesday to either email me: crissy@crissyspage.com or put your suggested name in the comments section of this post. I will set up a way for people to vote on the names that I like for the following week and then the winner will get a T-shirt with the name on it. Either that or some underpants or something. Or maybe I’ll pay to have it tattooed on your ass. I haven’t decided yet.

And I don’t just want the other bloggers to help out. Nay nay, I’m also talking to you non-bloggers who are so sweet to read and comment, and also to you lurkers who never comment but I know you’re there people so don’t think you’re getting away with something because

I SEE YOU.

And please put some fucking clothes on, okay?

Maybe if you win a T-shirt you can wear it instead of nothing like you usually do.

God, I hope people participate in this because if they don’t I’m going to feel like a giant

It’s Friday.

Here, have a video: