January 16, 2015

Recently my hairstylist asked me if I’d seen the new “Annie” movie yet.

I could tell by the look on HER face that she could tell by the look on MY face that she’d opened a can of worms and whoop ass.

Upon realizing the fury she’d unleashed, she quickly backpedaled and was all “No! That’s sacrilegious to you isn’t it? Don’t you really love the old version or something?”




Or something.

I’ve always loved it.

And here are some pages from my scrapbook (circa late 70’s to early 80’s) to prove it.
photo 1photo 2photo 4

Plus a page with a Pudding Pop on it because I was apparently also quite passionate about my love for Pudding Pops. And also the kind of ugly figurines that old people love.

photo 5

I was 10 years old when the original “Annie” came out.

And I was 10 years old when I’d finally found my calling.

Which was awesome news considering I’d spent the last 2 years worrying that I’d someday have to become a prostitute, thanks to Jodie Foster and a late night television showing of “Taxi Driver.”

I’ll never have enough boobage to hold up a damn tube top.

Life is funny like that.

One minute your teacher is asking a room full of 8-year-olds what they wanna be when they grow up and you’re getting stressed out because you realize that your skills at doing paint by numbers and setting up Barbie crime/natural disaster scenes most likely aren’t a skill set that is gonna pay the bills when you’re an old person. So you go into an “Oh my GOD I’m gonna be a prostitute!” tizzy. Then the next minute you’re realizing that all you have to do is land the lead part in a big screen musical and become rich and famous and invest the proceeds wisely and you’re prostitution free for life. Or at least until your financial manager steals all your money and runs off to Fiji.

But either way, I knew what I was meant to do. And it wasn’t running around NYC with a mowhawked, freaky deaky, Robert DeNiro.

It was singing the most beautifully sad rendition of “Maybe” that anyone had ever heard.

Since the part of “Annie” had already been taken, I decided that due to the movie’s success there would most likely be a part two. Although the part of the headliner in a sequel would usually go to the person who portrayed him/her in the original, I was convinced that if only I could be discovered by someone who had connections to the movie, I could totally get the part.

I spent a lot of time thinking up possible scenarios wherein this might happen.

Scenario 1:  I’m at the mall and a talent scout for the movie happens to be there doing some shopping when suddenly they hear the most beautiful voice of all time singing “Sandy” from the center of a circular rack of clearance sweaters. (I know this sounds implausible but I did actually try it at the Northtown Mall in Springfield, Missouri, but the women shopping at the rack obviously weren’t in the movie industry because they  just either ignored me or asked where my mother was.)

Scenario 2:  The phone rings. I answer it in song, to the tune of “Tomorrow”: “You’ve reached the Rust house, this is Patti. This is Patti Rust how may I help you? Who’s calling please?” And then I hear a voice say “Oh my! I must have accidentally dialed the wrong number but thank God I did because you, my friend, are a superstar! Give me your address so I can send a helicopter to get you and bring you to Hollywood!”

Scenario 3:  I’m outside playing in my front yard, when suddenly a limo drives by and gets a flat tire. When the man gets out to ask to use my phone I sing him my version of “Hard Knock Life” and he says “Oh my God! I just so happen to be a producer of the movie “Annie” and you would be perfect for the part!” Then I say “What about the other girl?” And he says “I guess she’ll have to grow up and be a prostitute!”

I was sure that one of these was going to happen eventually, but in the meantime I busied myself by forcing neighborhood children to spend hours in my basement helping me hone my craft. I made sure to surround myself with kids whose performances didn’t hold a candle to mine so that I would look even better by comparison. It was a grueling time for me as I was both star and director. Not an easy task. To this day I still shake my head in awe of someone like Clint Eastwood who does this on the regular. It was a hard job, being The Eastwood of 11th Street. But I held my own and waited for my shot at the big time.

Unfortunately, due to the fact that I forced my cat, Jackie Sue, to play the part of Sandy, I spent most of my basement production time covered in scratches. But I decided that the scratches only served to make me look more orphany. Then I realized that since in the first “Annie” she had been adopted by super rich Daddy Warbucks, the possibility that she would look scratched up and orphany in part two was pretty slim.

Thankfully I was a very creatively open-minded and multi-talented 10-year-old director/producer/actor/singer/writer, so I decided that part two could include a storyline wherein Annie tells Daddy Warbucks that she does not want to call him “Daddy” because it’s super creepy, so he gets hella pissed and locks her in a dungeon with rats (hence, the scratches), and she sings songs about her imprisonment and turmoil and then plans an escape ala “Escape From Alcatraz” (Clint Eastwood strikes yet again) and things get mega exciting and the chances for musical action sequences grows to epic proportions.

It would be a different kind of “Annie” role, but one that an actor of my caliber could really sink her teeth into.

(Much like my cat sank her teeth into the webbing between my right thumb and forefinger when I tried to make her perform “Dumb Dog” for the twenty hundredth time.)

Although I was completely obsessed with “Annie” and had lots of the dolls and records and everything else, I did not have that one iconic piece: The red dress.

Why? Because my mom wouldn’t buy it for me.

Why? Because she wanted to ruin my life.

I guess she saw that as the one final piece in the puzzle that would really make me shine as “Annie” and figured that if I had it in my possession it was only a matter of time before I moved to L.A. and left her behind.

Either that or she didn’t have the money for it. But I prefer to think it’s the first one because it’s more dramatical and I’m an actress and that’s what we do.

Since I didn’t have the red dress (or any other proper costumes) I had to make them all out of scraps of fabric and construction paper. And I did so beautifully. Until Jackie Sue got pissed one day and ate my “I Think I’m Gonna Like It Here” ensemble and then barfed it up on the playroom carpet.

Although I had accepted the “no store bought dresses” situation and used it as a jumping off point for my practice as a costume designer, thereby solidifying my status as “Most Multifaceted Entertainer Of All Time,” it still came as quite a blow when my neighbor, Melanie, got 2 “Annie” dresses as gifts from her grandmother. Both the red dress and the blue romper with white collar and tie. At first I saw it as a chance for me to finally get the opportunity to wear one of the REAL dresses.

But Melanie saw it differently.

Melanie saw it as a chance to be a total dick.

That was 33 years ago and I still think she’s an asshole. I also like to think that she’s part of the reason I never made it to the big screen because it makes me feel better to blame her for things.

Obviously the years went by and I never did get discovered.

I guess that singing inside a rack of half price sweaters just doesn’t get you maximum exposure to the powers that be.

But that’s all I had.

We didn’t have YouTube or anything like that back then, which is how everyone gets discovered nowadays. And that’s probably a freaking blessing, because if we had I’d now be forever haunted by clips of my musical pleas to studio execs to make “Annie: Escape From The Warbucks Basement.”

By the time I was 14 I’d sold most of my “Annie” paraphernalia in yard sales and had moved on to worrying about being discovered by boys instead of by talent scouts. But I’ve always had a soft spot for the movie and I still TOTALLY obsess about the music. If I get started on one song I have to sing the entire score. Ask The Hub.

I still totally adore everything about the ORIGINAL movie (aside from the fact that I wasn’t in it).

“So have you seen the new Annie yet?”

Remain calm.

Remain calm.

Remain calm.

“WHAT? ARE YOU SERIOUS? Fuck Jamie Foxx. FUCK HIM IN THE FACE.  And I’m sorry, but have you seen the clothes? THEY DON’T EVEN HAVE THE RIGHT CLOTHES! And I can hardly even say this without having chest pains, but CAMERON FREAKING DIAZ? If Carol Burnett was dead she’d be rolling over in her grave. But she’s not. SHE’S NOT DEAD! SHE’S ALIVE AND WELL AND THEY JUST HAD AN ENTIRE KENNEDY CENTER HONORS THING ABOUT HER AND CAMERON DIAZ IS NO MISS HANNIGAN! And did they even sing ‘Sign’? I make a very dry martini. I make a very wet soufflé. Don’t be so mean you mean ole meanie. Lets you and me make, why shouldn’t we make hay. HOW COULD YOU NOT SING SIGN’? HOLY FREAKING CHRIST ON A CRACKER!”


You didn’t see it then?

Facebook Twitter Email Plusone Reddit Stumbleupon Tumblr Pinterest

Like it? Share it!

December 5, 2014

Guess what, guys?

It’s December which means it’s MY BIRTHDAY MONTH!


Oh, and Christmas.

But whatever.

That Baby Jesus has been stealing my spotlight for 42 years and I’ve had just about enough.

Can’t it be all about me for once in my life?

It’s always been about that baby or dead people (If you don’t know WTF I’m talking about then read THIS).

Did you read it?

Don’t lie.

Baby Jesus is watching.

Or is that Santa.

Oh well, one of them is gonna be pissed.

But as I was saying…


And I want to give you guys some free crap.

Has Baby Jesus ever given you free crap?

You might say “Well, he gave his life for my life so…yeah.”


dt copy 2

My new best friend (L) and the woman who just couldn’t do me a solid and wait until January to squeeze out her magic kid (R).

Has he ever given you a David Thorne book and a blanket with his mom on it?


But I rock and this whole birthday month situation so I’m going to give away both of those things.

After David was kind enough to send me an email telling me that he read my blog and it made him laugh (Yeah, bitches. THAT happened.) we’ve been best friends and each wear lockets with half a heart on them and talk on the phone every night until we fall asleep and stuff like that, so he was awesome enough to send me a book to give to one of you guys. And the blanket? I saw that at the Wal-Marts and I bought it my damn self because I love you all.

So if you want this dynamic duo then all you have to do is this:

Remember my contest a couple of years ago where you guys molested holiday decor for my pleasure AND the chance to win a prize?

Well we’re doing it again!

Send a photo of yourself doing something embarrassing (but not disgusting or I’ll tell The Baby Jesus) to insaneinthemombrain@gmail.com by Thursday December the 11th and I’ll post the winner on the 12th.

Remember the last winner?


That’s Jeremy making The Grinch his bitch and making me fall in love with him.

Now it’s your turn.

Good luck!

And if you don’t follow David Thorne then (a) you’re an idiot, and (b) GO HERE AND DO IT NOW!


Facebook Twitter Email Plusone Reddit Stumbleupon Tumblr Pinterest

Like it? Share it!

July 17, 2014

A few months ago my friend Rachael and I went to Austin to spend the night in a treehouse at Cypress Valley Canopy Tours (photos and videos to come at a later “when-I-get-my-shit-together” date)

Well, when we were there we also tried to get some Franklin Barbecue because the hype about this freaking meat is making me turn into a starving and ruthless animal.

This place has been getting a lot of press and the word on the street is that they have THE BEST BBQ on the planet.

Now, I’m not one to get into this kinda thing. I’m sort of like “If everyone else wants it then I don’t want it because I’m cool like that, yo!”

But they got me.

So we went.

But when we got there they were out of meat.


Ummm…bite me.

WTF? I come to get some sweet sweet meat and am DENIED?!?!?!?

Ummm…Screw you, Franklin.

So I turned on them.

Yeah, I still wanted the meat, but I didn’t WANT to want it.

Then I went all googly up in here and read that you could pre-order a shit ton of meat online and pick it up with no wait.

So I got online to oder enough to theoretically last me 3 months, but realistically last me through one lunch.

And guess what?





Yet still, I could not give up.

Oh yeah, I knew what they were doing:  Make the meat hard to get and everyone will want it more.

I. Get. It.

That’s the motto of every douchebag on the dating scene.


But still, it was working.

So Rach and I made a plan that later this summer we will do an early as shit, pre-dawn road trip in our PJ’s to achieve our meat goals with the caveat that if we went though all of that and DID NOT GET THE MEAT, we would riot.

I’m talking a nationwide, news worthy, PMS-ing hungry moms FREAK OUT.

Then a few days later I went to the movies with The Hub and we saw “Chef.”

I was LOVING this movie.

I totally dig Jon Favreau and Bobby Cannavale and I was totally digging the whole thing.

Then it happened.

Jon’s chef character went to Austin to eat some freaking Franklin BBQ.

And guess what?


And did they have enough meat for him?

Well, well, well…YES THEY DID.

In fact, they had enough meat for him to take with him to make sandwiches for hundreds of people.

What a crock of poop.

So I started freaking out in the movie and telling The Hub that THAT was the place that denied me the damn meat.

I started punching his arm just because I was frustrated and he shushed me and if I, like a 4-year-old, cannot use my words, I use my fists.

My body was exploding with (some may say ridiculous) rage (I blame PMS).


But I calmed down, thankfully, after a few days when my bloat and cramping went away.

And then one morning last week, it all came back.

This morning I got my coffee, sat down to relax and watch my Today Show, and what the frick do I see?

Obama eating some g-damn Franklin BBQ and buying enough for everyone in line behind him.

Yep. Franklin is getting even MORE famous,which is only gonna make it more difficult for me to get the freaking meat.

Thanks a lot, Obama. Why can’t you just go to freakin’ McDonalds like Clinton?

Momma wants her meat.

And she wants it with as little effort as possible.

But if I have to run for and win the presidency in order to get that flipping meat, I will.


Then after I eat enough meat to require hospitalization, I will force them to make enough for everyone in the USA FOR FREE.

All day err day.


Or at least until I get impeached.

Which should be about 3-7 days after I am sworn in.


Maybe 2.

Facebook Twitter Email Plusone Reddit Stumbleupon Tumblr Pinterest

Like it? Share it!

May 28, 2014

Last night I walked into my bedroom and saw something on the floor.

It was dark so I couldn’t tell what it was.

All I could tell was that it had legs and was big and there was no way in hell that I was gonna try and get all murdery on something that was a mystery to me.

What if it had fangs? Or wings? Or laser beam eyes? WHAT IF IT HAD ALL THREE???

I have enough trouble getting murdery on spidery things that I CAN see. I spazz out and freak out and 9 times outta 10 it ends up getting away and then I have to sing a few verses of  Motley Crue’s “Don’t Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)” in order to properly commemorate the moment that I totally effed up and let an angry spider loose in mi casa.

You might be wondering to yourself why I didn’t just turn on the light so I could get a better look, and if you ARE wondering that then I can totally tell you’re a newbie to the world of insectual intruders.

Even though I’m spazzy I have enough bug killing experience to know that turning on the light can make a bug run away and hide and meet up with all of the other gross and mysterious insecty things so they can gang up on you and stage some sort of coup d’etat, all while you are trying to live a normal life in a house where you know there is a mysterious thing that got away and is lurking somewhere waiting to lay some eggs in your b-hole.

No freakin’ thanks.

So I put a container over the gross thing and then weighted it down with a heavy candleholder and I figured I would tell The Hub to finish the job when he got home later.

The photo above depicts a daytime recreation of the occurrences of the night of May 22, 2014.

The photo above depicts a daytime recreation of the occurrences of the night of May 22, 2014.

Well, even though I was freaked out, I totally forgot about it about 10 minutes later.

I scare easily, but I also forget easily. So it’s always a surprise which one is going to win out.

(I also surprise easily, so basically my life is just a non-stop clusterfuck of multiple emotions.)

So later that night I went back into my bedroom and paused and thought “Oh Yeah! There was a gross thing!” And I looked down on the floor and my homemade bug jail was gone, so I thought  “Oh no! Where is the gross thing?” And I freaked out for a minute imagining a band of angry mystery bugs who, sensing that one of their own was in danger, totally banded together to get him out of trouble and performed some sort of eloquently executed jail break and then ran off to plan my demise. Then the thought crossed my mind that The Hub had happened upon my detainee and handled the situation. In my spider phobic mind, this seemed like the less likely of the two scenarios. But just in case,  I went to ask him about it.

Here’s how that went down:

Me:  So? Did you find my bug jail?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  Well, did you find the thing in it? Was the thing still in it? Tell me the thing was still in it!

Him:  Yes.

Me:  What was it?

Him:  I don’t know.

Me:  Ummm…WHAT?

Him:  I. Don’t. Know.

Me:  Okay…well…was it a creature or was it a ball of lint that just looked like a creature? Because that’s happened before.

Him:  Creature.

Me:  I KNEW IT! Okay. Was it more buggy or spidery?

Him:  I don’t know. It was something.

Me:  Was it some sort of a stink bug thing? I thought it looked kinda stink buggy but I don’t really know what stink bugs look like so maybe it didn’t. And it was dark. So I don’t know. But was it? WAS it a stink bug thing?

Him:  (sighs) I don’t know.

Me:  How could you not know? You picked it up!

Him:  I saw all that crap piled up on the floor and figured you had a bug in there, so I just killed it.

Me:  With your shoe or with a tissue?

Him:  With a tissue.

Me:  Did you wrap it in the tissue or did you wrap it in the tissue and then crush it? Wrap? Or wrap and crush?

Him:  YES. I crushed it.

Me:  Then did you open the tissue to look at it?

Him:  No.

Me:  WHAT? If you didn’t open the tissue and look at the body then how do you know it was dead?


Me:  Did you feel it squish? Like, did it crush and make crunchy noises?

Him:  I don’t know!

Me:  Then it might not be dead?

Him:  IT’S DEAD!

Me:  Where did you put it?

Him:  In the trashcan.

Me:  You didn’t flush it?

Him:  NO.

Me:  Oh my GOD! Why would you not flush it?

Him:  (sigh)

Me:  Which trashcan?

Him:  MINE.

Me:  Holy hell! What if it wasn’t dead? We don’t even know what it was! How could you not even look and see what you were killing? HOW???

Him:  Okay. I’m done talking about this.

Me:   What?

Him:  I’m not talking about this anymore.

Me:  Excuse me?

Him:  You heard me. Done.

Me:  But don’t you love me?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  I love you and if there is something that you’re afraid of I will not poop all over it. Even if it’s dumb and I don’t get it I will be like “That’s so sucky for you” and try to help and stuff.

Him:  That’s nice.

Me:  Soooo…

Him:  I’m done talking about this.

Me:  Okay……………………………………………………………………………………………..But do you really think it’s really dead?

Him: (sigh)

Me (To The Boy):  Hey! It’s trash night!

The Boy:  I know! I already took it out!

Me:  Did you get the trash from our bathroom?

The Boy:  No.

Me:  Why?

The Boy:  It’s not full.

Me:  Take it out anyway!

The Boy:  I don’t take them out when they’re not full.

Me:  Take it out!

The Boy:  There’s only like 3 things in it!


The Boy:  OH MY GOD! OKAY! SHEESH! (eye roll)

Me:  Man, I hope that whatever was in the tissue IS dead because now our son’s life could be in danger.

The Hub:  (Totally in his own world now and had entirely tuned me out)

Me:  Oh well, he was a good boy.

Facebook Twitter Email Plusone Reddit Stumbleupon Tumblr Pinterest

Like it? Share it!

March 20, 2014

So yesterday I discovered that there is something in my bathroom wall behind my mirror. It’s like a little Bob The Builder squirrel or something and I’m pretty sure he’s building a condominium complex in there and then he’s going to advertise for squirrel occupants via Craigslist and things are gonna get rowdy up in here.

Last night I’m pretty sure I heard him using a table saw followed by a nail gun and then I think I heard a few hookers pop by for a quickie.

Things are happening in there, you guys. THINGS.

This morning it was nice and quiet until I went to have my morning constitutional.

I was sitting there, reading my Entertainment Weekly magazine and singing a song to The Cat about what a creeper she is with all the staring at me while I poop, when suddenly I heard it: A squirrel sized table saw.

The sound continued behind the mirror for awhile and The Cat went over and jumped up to check it out and tried to claw through the mirror like a delusional psycho.

Then it stopped, so I got back down to bidness.

Then the sounds reemerged in the ceiling.

Above my head.

Over the toilet where I was sitting in a compromising and vulnerable position.


I’ve practiced doing my Karate Kid Crane Kicks from the toilet but it really doesn’t work out too well in the end.

So anyways, I sat there looking up at the ceiling and then I heard what sounded like 3-5 squirrels jumping up and down on the little ventilation fan and I convinced myself that at any moment, angry construction guy squirrels were gonna fall onto my head WHILE I WAS GOING POTTY, so I screamed and finished up my business as quickly as possible (Because you can’t take off running in the midst of your business. I mean, you can, but it would be gross), all the while screaming bloody murder, then vacated the premises, closing the door behind me so that when they fell through the ceiling they couldn’t scamper all over the house with their little hammers and chain saws trying to brutally kill me.

I am about to go back in and see what’s up.

If you don’t hear from me soon, send in backup. Or try to lure them out with an Alvin and the Chipmunks album on loudspeaker.

It’s a little known fact that squirrels HATE chipmunks due to the fact that they are considered to be adorably charming and cuddly while squirrels are considered to be assholes. It’s called JEALOUSY, people. So if you play The Chipmunks they will come running at you like those dudes in Braveheart. Just be prepared to capture them before they reach your jugulars.

And P.S. Some of those bitches can fly, so be cautious. I got Face Herpes from one once, so trust me on this.

And P.P.S. DO NOT use the Chipmunk Rock album. That one really pisses them off. Especially their version of “Whip It.” You play that one and you won’t stand a chance.

Facebook Twitter Email Plusone Reddit Stumbleupon Tumblr Pinterest

Like it? Share it!

March 3, 2014

Once you become a parent it seems like 99% of your day is spent saying “no” and yelling at your kid’s to stop doing something stupid.

It’s never-ending.

And the reason that you have to say it so much, is because kids are idiots.

And before you get all pissy with me and unleash the BOLD CAPSLOCK FURY all over my blog, let me elaborate:  We are ALL born idiots and our parents are here to keep us alive and well until we learn to NOT be idiots.  We can’t help but do idiotic things because we don’t know any better. Everything is a new curiosity to us and we think we’re invincible. Little by little we grow and learn to stop trying to lick floors and stick random things up our noses. And sometimes, well…sometimes we don’t grow out of it. Just sit down and watch a few episodes of Tosh.O if you want proof of that.

I recently posted a Facebook status where I said that I had to tell The Boy to stop trying to shove The Cat down his pants.

The Boy is 12.

A few months ago he asked me if he and his friend could video tape themselves jumping off of the roof.

So the growing out of it? It’ takes awhile.

Ever since he could crawl I’ve been calling him out on his idiotic behavior. The amount of things he’s tried to do that could have injured or killed him is staggering. And the amount of things that he’s done that have made me want to vomit, are even more so. “Stop eating that dog poop!” was just one of sooooo many.

Anyways, after I posted that status about The Cat in the pants (that sounds like the name of a kick ass kid’s book), I asked my readers to tell me some of the things that they’ve had to yell at their kids recently.

I was not disappointed with the results.



-Stop eating the stick of butter. 

-Do not microwave the cats.

-Don’t sniff your brother’s butt.

-Stop licking the stove.

-Please don’t lick the dog.

-Did you just eat bird poop?

-Stop trying to hump your brother.

-That hole is NOT for fingers.

-Don’t bite the couch!

-Stop biting the dog!

-Get your finger away from the dog’s butt.

-Quit doing Gangham style naked.

-Stop trying to pull your brother’s penis off!

-Please don’t pee on your sister.

-Take garbage out of your mouth.

-Don’t bite the cat.

-Get your finger off the cat’s butt pucker.

-Cat Chow is NOT an afternoon snack.

-Get your hand out of your pants.

-Don’t try and pull the dog’s tail off.

-Don’t you shit on my carpet!

-Stop licking the television screen.

-Stop licking the side of the house.

-Why are you naked and trying to shove a cupcake in my mouth?

-Don’t make balloon animals with your balls at the dinner table!

-Stop licking your brother’s butt!

-No, your poop isn’t going to be chocolate flavored no matter how much chocolate milk  you drink so please don’t try it.

-DO NOT pee on the dog!

-Don’t rub your french fry on the floor.

-Stop putting your sandwich in your shoe.

-No, you may not take the peanut butter into the tub with you.

-What’s in your nose? Is that poop?

-You can only be naked and touch yourself if you go in your room.

-Don’t let your brother eat your toes!

-Quit painting with your poop right this minute!

-Don’t eat your shoe.

-Don’t wipe your nose on the dog/cat/me/fork/any other usual household object.

-Stop rubbing your forehead on the carpet.

-Please stop playing with the dog’s vagina.

-No, the cat doesn’t want to be blue.

-Quit singing songs about titties, farts, buttholes, and privates!

-Stop trying to put your buttholes on each other!

-Don’t put that up your nose!

-Stop trying to put the cat’s head in your mouth.

-Where is my cat? What do you mean she’s in the dryer? How long has she been in there?

-Get your finger out of there. (“There” could be ANYWHERE.)

-Who licked the butter?

-Why did a spoon just come out of the icemaker?

-Why is there bologna and cheese in this pillowcase?

-That’s not bacon, that’s CAT HAIR! Keep it OUT of your mouth! (My two year old pulls hair off the cat and says “Mmm bacon!” and eats it.)

-Don’t beat your brother in the head with Mr. Potato head. You’re gonna wake him up.

-Don’t rub grilled cheese on your head.

-Can we please not freeze mud and sticks in mommy’s coffee cups?

-Why is your blankie in the freezer?

-No, you cannot ride the skateboard down the staircase railing.

-Stop licking your armpit!

-Please do not touch the puppy’s “lipstick.”

-How many times have I told you not to use your moose as a weapon?

-Stop licking people.

-Stop hitting the cat in the balls!

-Don’t sit on your sister’s head.

-Don’t pour your orange juice on the dog.

-Stop peeing on the dog!

-Don’t swear at nana.

-Don’t put the pencil in the cat’s butt.

-Don’t pee in the heat vent.

-Do not sniff the dog’s butt to say “hi.”

-No, you can not go out the doggie door and pee with them again.

-We don’t hang off of the fan blades!

-Stop trying to flush the cat down the toilet!

-What do you mean the cat fell out the window?

-Take the cat out of the microwave.

-The dog will poop out your tooth and we will find it and wash it off so that the tooth fairy can bring you a dollar.

-Get your toothbrush out of the oven.

-Stop licking the van.

-Please don’t swing the poo.

-If you hit your sister make sure you have a reason.

-Stop! There’s poop on the umbrella!

-Stop eating snow off the bottom of your boots!

-Stop putting things in your butt. It’s not a pocket!

-Stop twerking in the dog’s face.

-Sleeping with tacks on your pillow might not be the best idea.

-Don’t eat your sister’s boogers.

-Get your butt off your sister.

-We don’t touch other people’s heinies. No. I don’t care that they are squishy and make you laugh. Just no.

-Take all those bandages off the cat.

-Get that sword out of your nose!

-Stop putting your hand in your butt crack.

-Underwear does not go on the Christmas tree.

-Don’t put your sister in a suitcase.

-Stop biting the recliner!

-Stop sniffing the dog’s butt.

-Stop licking the dog’s teeth.

-Please get your finger out of your butt.

-Quit playing peek-a-boo with your penis.

-Don’t lick the cat.

-Get your tongue out of your nostril.

-Don’t color your sister’s vagina.

-Don’t put your light saber in the toilet.

-Don’t eat food out of your sister’s shoes.

-Don’t sniff your cousin’s genitals!

-Get the hamster out of your pants.

-Stop rubbing your wiener on the door frame.

-Let your sister out of the dog cage.

-Why is there poop on the wall?

-Mommy doesn’t want Graham crackers down her pants right now.

-Don’t put chap stick on the dog.

-Don’t pry open the dogs mouth and reach your hand down his throat to get your gum back.

-We do not put rubber bands on our penis.

-No, I will NOT sniff your finger!

-Please don’t poke your finger up my nose.

-Your hair is NOT a napkin.

-Do not drink out of the toilet!

-Get the cat out of the dishwasher!


-Keep your penis away from my computer!

HUGE thanks to all of my hilarious and amazing readers for sharing with me. xoxo


Facebook Twitter Email Plusone Reddit Stumbleupon Tumblr Pinterest

Like it? Share it!