You Must Be Out Of Your Damn Mind!

If you are like anything like me, you love a good massage. If you aren't anything like me, then you're insane because massages rock. There are only two times I get annoyed while getting a massage. The first is when someone massages me too light. I need some crap worked out so don't be a wuss and gently stroke my body. Get in there and break some shit up. The second thing that annoys me is when I get a Chatty Cathy. How the hell am I supposed to relax and envision myself on a beach with Johnny Depp or Colin Farrell as my masseuse if you won't shut the hell up?

Other than that, I love getting a massage. The quiet, serene room with new wave music or nature sounds playing softly over the speaker; the warm massage oil against your skin; the firm yet soft hands rubbing away the tension; and of course the snakes slithering across your body.

Wait...what?!?

Yes, apparently some place in Israel offers snake massages. They take non-venomous snakes (Duh!- Do they really need to specify that?), put them on your back and let them slither all over you. And I guess to some degree, that would relax me. You know, if you consider death to be a form of relaxation.

Now after you have finished with your massage and have changed your underwear because you have undoubtedly pissed your pants, you can take a quick plane ride to Japan (or New York) and get yourself  a nice nightingale, bird poop facial. No no...wait, it's not crazy. They use ultra violet lights to sanitize it and make it odor neutralized. See it is called a Geisha facial because it is said that Geisha girls do it to keep their skin that beautiful, smooth milky white. Well, maybe it is milky white...it may just be residuals from the bird poop.


Once those scaly suckers have been removed from your back and your face is a nice, soft bird poop white, you can head on over to Turkey or Virginia for a nice fishy pedicure. That's right stick your feet in a bucket and let these little toothless fish gnaw your troubles and dead skin away.

OK, I am against this for several reasons. First, as a general rule, I don't want fish to eat me. It is why I am scared to swim in the ocean. Maybe I'm good for them. After all, fish is supposed to be good for humans. Maybe somewhere there is a fish reading (it would have to read because they don't have internet because computers are not waterproof). Anyway, maybe a fish is reading an article in the Daily Reef and thinking, "They eat us? Why would they want to eat us? See, this is why I don't like to go on the land."

 Second, (although admittedly this might be kind of cool), I think I would get a Paul Bunyan complex. I would think of myself as this giant with these Great White sharks nibbling at my feet unable to hurt me because I am 9 million feet tall and can hold them by their tails (fins) and eat them like sardines, you know, assuming sardines weren't gross and disgusting. Third, I kind of feel bad for the fish. What? They don't feed them all day so the little things are so hungry they will eat anything you put in front of them? I mean, seriously, have you seen some people's feet? But maybe dead foot skin is all they can eat.  Are these fish really just tiny piranha minus the chompers? I mean seriously, where are their teeth? Is there a little fishy dentist or tooth fairy going around removing them all? Finally, after my fish-acure was over and I left not only would I be afraid my feet would smell like fish (unless they were smart enough to use the same odor neutralizer they used for the bird poop), but I would also be afraid that maybe the fish would talk smack about my feet after I left.

"Did you see her feet?"

"Does she really think she can pull off that crazy yellow nail polish color?"

"Dude, she wasn't wearing nail polish!"

Of course I wouldn't understand any of this because I don't speak fish, much like I don't understand the women at the nail salon I go to now, whom I am certain are talking about me.

No, after careful consideration, I think I will stick with the old school treatments. So you can go ahead and be one of those cool trendsetters. Enjoy your snake massage, bird poop facial and fishy pedicure. Just don't ever expect me to rub your back, let you borrow my shoes, or kiss your face. After all, I know where they've been.

Seriously, WTH?

T is for Toddlers and Tiaras

I swear, there should be a test given before you are allowed to have children...and maybe even sex because sometimes, it seems that only stupid people are breeding, and we already have enough of those in the world. As proof of my theory I would like to direct you to Toddlers and  Tiaras.

Or as I like to call it: Pimp My Daughter.

I have never watched this show. I have only seen clips and have been so appalled by the general idiocy of the whole thing that I figured, what a perfect subject for a blog that calls out stupid people!

In order to get a grasp on it I forced my self to watch some clips. And I mean literally forced my self as in I held a gun to my own head. About half way through the clips I seriously thought about pulling the trigger to end my misery. Then I realized, hey I'm not the one that needs to be shot; the mothers and fathers of these children are.

Pageant Moms are crazy. The way you can tell they are crazy is because one of the things that every one of them seem to say at one point is, "I'm not crazy." Usually they are making this proclamation while they are convincing their daughters to permanently dye their blond eyelashes black, shellacking them with tanning spray, bleaching their teeth or having them dress up like hookers to perform on stage. And no, I am not talking about the usual Tammy Faye Baker inspired make-up and hair. No, I am referring to the mother that dressed her approximately 4 year old daughter like Julia Robert's character in pretty woman.

These parents will be the exact same parents that will be mystified when some pedophile targets their kid. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Pageant? This is Roman Polanski. I would like to cast your daughter in my next movie."

It is quite obvious that these mothers, none of which are exactly lookers, are trying to live vicariously through there daughters. Maybe the mother takes pride in being told her daughter is beautiful because she feels the little girl must have gotten some of  her looks from her. Or maybe her own mother refused to let her play with dolls as a kid so she went out and created her own living breathing one that she could dress up and play with every day. Or maybe she is just nuts! Many of the mothers are shown walking around "playing" with the daughters' crown on their heads.It is also quite possible that she has looked at her daughter and realizes she has peaked and wants to get the kid some momentum from when she was considered pretty before those days are long gone. (Sorry, I know that sounds mean but some of those kids, well, I've seen roadkill that is cuter and has more personality!)

Yes, the children on these shows are the kind of kids that you would want to smack if you saw them in a restaurant. If you are at McDonald's, OK, you expect children to be running around like they just ate a pillowcase full of Halloween candy. But when you are at a restaurant like Applebee's or Ruth's Cris and you see a kid throwing a tantrum and running up and down the aisle like a maniac, be honest, you have thought about tripping them as they run by. It's OK. Don't feel bad, we all have. Some of us may have even done it. Hey, don't look at me like that! I would never actually...alright I did, but just that once, well twice...alright I do it at every restaurant I go to.  Don't judge me!

Anyway, the kids are absolute terrors, throwing tantrums when they don't get their ways and totally running their parents, who just look at them and talk about how cute they are. But they are not cute...they should be the poster children for birth control. I watched a clip where one little girl just stared at herself in the mirror, sticking her butt out and her, well, where she will have boobs someday, and making sexy, pouty faces at herself, totally oblivious to the 3 people that were screaming her name right behind her. I also saw a boy...yes, apparently he competes and draws his inspiration from RuPaul, was home-schooled yet still couldn't read the word "cake". He was at least 7! Apparently, his teacher/mother was not the sharpest tool in the shed. Yet, the boy knew how to be fierce! Which is a good thing given that he was probably gay...or at least will be perceived that way when he prances around in his crown and sash should he ever actually win one of the pageants.

I am just glad to see that these parents are focusing on what is important...outer beauty. They are teaching their kids that hey, you don't have to be smart or kind. That's for ugly people. You just need to smile and shake it like a porn star. Now come here honey because you are way too homely to win. Let me spray paint your face really quick and put this 9-pound wig on you. Where's your g-string we got from Victoria's Secret, princess? 

Note I said Victoria's Secret and Not Fredrick's of Hollywood. I mean only trashy toddlers shop there.

Ahhh, that's a good lesson for us all.


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