Happy Birthday, Dirty Foreigner

The foreigner tries to blend in. This was long before his present, astonishingly old age.

Post Double P90X Workout

GJ: We need a masseuse to come to our house.

GJ hubby: I need a "cock-seuse" to come to our house.



Shoot me.

Merry Fa la laaaaa

Color Joo Badd

Bad Joo has done it again.


Much like the eighth grade when her genetic inability to style her own hair caused her to have not one, not two, but fourteen thousand retakes, the results of which were too horrible to publish in the yearbook, Bad Joo has gone wrong. In her hair. All up in her hair.

The Bad Joo has no ability to plan for future events and should, in fact, be placed in a home for special adults. Still, the Bad Joo somehow managed to marry, purchase a home, and live in the "normal" world. Bad Joo is therefore allowed to mingle with the normals. So we get things like Exhibit BADD:

On a sidenote, Bad Joo would like to know why her hair always looks burgundy on the internettes, when it is in fact naturally brown, brown as shit (and unsullied by chemicals as of this writing).

Exhibit Badd happened because Bad Joo could not plan ahead for the holiday season and therefore called her stylist to schedule an appointment on the day they were closing for a merry fuceing two weeks. So, BJ called a new salon and was treated to this hair. See below Exhibit BADD 2. Note the Pollyanna curl:

Were this Joo a normal, functioning adult, she would have asked the new stylist how long she had (a) worked as a stylist (b) let alone at that salon BEFORE THE SCISSORS OF DEATH TOUCHED THE BANGS, but this Joo is not a normal, functioning adult. She did not, therefore, find out until AFTER THE SCISSORS OF DEATH OPENED THEIR SLIMY MAW AND CLAMPED DOWN ON THE BANGS, which had heretofore been growing out in a quiet and stately manner.

This really would not be so bad (hair grows out, afterall) were it not for the following fun factoids:

(1) Bad Joo leaves for foreign lands on Tuesday for to visit the foreigner's family. Despite three happy years of marriage, BJ is convinced that one of these days the foreign fam' will become wise to her inferiority and talk the dirty foreigner out of their marriage. BADD hair does not help to appease this fear.

(2) Bad Joo is from time to time gently teased by Good Joo and called "Alternateen." In all fairness, this teasing is justified, since BJ used to listen to Pretty Hate Machine, romp in cemeteries, and dress the infant Joo brother up like Robert Smith (replete with lipstick) then photograph him. Still, this BADD hair insures that the Alternateen teasing will recommence with a vengeance.

While this Joo is preparing for all of the atrocities to come as a result of the Badd hair (including Badd Joo's boss, who is incapable of saying anything nice when one looks bad), this Joo hopes she will, by some Christmas miracle, learn her lesson this time, once and for all.

Color this one very Badd, very Sadd Joo.

Poor Lu

Someone just shoot the dog (Lu) and put her out of her misery (that's a joke.)


Someone just check the kid for worms (only sorta a joke). You'll have to watch carefully, but A (the little angel) digs at her crack in this little clip.

The Holiday Spirit

A has a friend over today. A's friend, who is a bit older, shared with A that her parents have put gifts in her stocking. A's reaction follows.

A: Mommy, did you and DeeDee put things in my stocking?

GJ: Yes we did.

A: Can I have them?

GJ: You have to wait until Christmas, Honey.

A: What the hell?

6 "random things"

GJ/BJ's friend, Steph (http://www.dailydoublesteins.blogspot.com/), recently tagged the Joos (Good Joo/Bad Joo) in a game of blog tag. Good Joo finds this to be challenging. Bad Joo finds this to be maddening. Their 6 "random things" are as follows:

1. Good Joo and Bad Joo love to swear. They love everything about it. The inhale. The exhale. The smooth finish.

2. If Good Joo and Bad Joo like you, then you will receive a nickname such as: leaf, connie tampon, bean, little jen, may may, ferret, hot dog, donnie, etc. If Good Joo and Bad Joo do not like you (or if GJ and BJ are not sufficiently inspired), then no nick-name-o for you.

3. Good Joo and Bad Joo love their animals. Good Joo and Bad Joo love ALL animals. If you do not like animals, then GJ and BJ do not like you. And neither do God and Santa.

4. GJ is yellow.

5. GJ and BJ dream of some day starting an animal rescue. They will buy an old farm and turn it into something great. They will name it after their favorite animals: Pouce et Poucie and Bill (http://billyjohngavin.blogspot.com/).

6. GJ and BJ are not good drinkers. They become wasted after one drink. This has always made them cheap ass dates.

GJ and BJ now tag a few people, probably not six, but GJ and BJ find this to be too lofty a goal for the holiday season. The following shall consider themselves tagged:

1. Shawty
2. AJF, reader and BFF
3. Vi's mom, Gina
4. the Krunk (even though he clearly has an editing problem)
5. the Guest Gay (when thumb is removed from arse)
6. Santa

Krunka' What and GG will be posting on this site. Stay tuned...

As We Continue Our Forced Gay-Free Interlude

Please ponder this little gem from the Twoo Jooo Archives.

As for comments, we'll get you started:

1. Is Baby Bad Joo having diarrhea over the crevasse?

2. Hair clip?

Note de Joo: The Joos can only assume that the Guest Gay has gone into hiding following the announcement that Warren will be praying and shit at the inauguration.

Bad Photo Interlude

Whilst the Joos (and the internet) wait for the Guest Gay to pull his thumb out of his you-know-what (read: shitter) and get to blogging, please enjoy the above bad photo.

Now, before anyone calls the ASPCA or CPA or CDC or VH1, please note that this photo was taken in 1976; and, while that doesn't excuse or even explain the lit cigarette in the baby Bad Joo's mouth, it does mean it's too late to do anything aboot it. This explains so very, very much.

Note de Joo: MDH insists that, although it very much appears to be lit, the cigarette in this photo is, in fact, not lit.

Introducing The Guest Gay

One of Bad Joo's many "quirks" is that she is surrounded by gay. Gay is everywhere. Watch where you sit. However, Bad Joo's BEST GAY, is this Blog's Guest Gay.

Guest Gay currently hails from sunny Cal-i-forn-I-A, where he is unemployed. He spends his days in a velvet smoking jacket, sipping port, and attempting to lure ethnic service persons into his lair to fulfill his fantasies. That is only sort of a joke.

Prior to living the dream in California, GG was one of Bad Joo's best boyfriends, probably because he didn't pressure her to have sex with him. And he had great shoes.

GG, you have the floor.

Guest Krunk

One thing the Joos had not counted on in starting up this blog is something of which the rest of youse are certainly aware: it takes a fuceload of time. The Joos have therefore decided to open up the floor from time to time to persons in their entourage. We give you today *drumroll* The Guest Krunk (not to be confused with the upcoming Guest Gay).

When I was asked to be a guest on this here blog by the Good Joo, I was immediately “in”, because I would finally have an audience for my flavor of humor (other then my wife and son, who have no choice but to be subjected to my daily shit show).

A little bit about me:

I’m tall, skinny, and devastatingly handsome.
I have been married for five years and last year my wife reproduced a mini-me.
I am awesome.
I work for the same large corporation that Good Joo’s husband works for.

I met GJ’s husband in the locker room after running. He too is a runner and we had an awkward first conversation.

Him: “Hey, you run?”
Me: “Um, yeah.” (Clearly changing out of running gear)
Him: “Cool.”
Both naked about to hit the showers – 5 seconds of silence pass
Him: “Can I come with you?”
Me: “To the shower?!”
Him: “No, on a run.”
Me: “No.”

He came anyway and that’s how I became friends with him and GJ.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, last night my wife and I met her coworkers at a downtown hipster/artsy-farsty type bar for her office Christmas party. Food, drinks, shots, and conversation with dudes I know, but not very well commenced. All of the guys present are retarded for football (I’m not into football. I’m not into any sports, as the only purpose they serve is to give me a reason to drink). The conversation started from general NFL blather and quickly turned to the Colts. I don’t really know anything about the Colts, other then they are a football team. Intermittently, I would interject something I heard someone else say about the Colts or football, but was pretty well out of my element regarding the conversation. I can name two Colts players: Payton Manning and Who Givesashit. So, you can imagine how thrilled I was that we weren’t talking about things that interested me: music, my son, or how awesome I am. So after hearing about how the Colts' defense has stepped it up and what not, and listening to the girls on the other side of the table chatter on about unicorns, or princess, or whatever it is girls talk about, I was thrilled to hear we made the decision to leave and go to another bar. You know, because we weren’t already at a bar, and we should all get in our cars and go to another one to sit around a table and drink.

We ended up at an Irish Pub that recently opened up in Fort Stainonmypants, where things went south quickly. Two of the girls ordered an Irish Car Bomb (ICB). This is a shotgun type shot. Google it if you want to know how it works. Clearly out to get us, the waiter immediately brought the group down by saying that they didn’t serve ICB’s because they're offensive and it would be like, “asking for a 9/11 shot”. Um…wow. He did, however, manage to alert us not once, not twice, but three times that they had an identical drink that was named after the bar. He further exhibited his fantastic salesmen skills by commenting that the drink was pretty expensive. Now, we are all dressed up and did not look like a bunch of poor’s. The shots were $7. Not really cheap, but not really worthy of mentioning the price. And…what kind of moronic server tries to steer his clientele AWAY from the pricier items?! The higher the bill, the more the tip, dumbass. At any rate, the girls got what they wanted.

Girl A slammed hers down like a champ. Girl B took her time and drank it slowly. We made fun of Girl B, but that’s what happens when you order a shot and then sip it.

*I’d like to stop and say here that I was not doing shots and was very responsible. I believe I speak for both Joo’s when I say we here at youllearntokeephouse.blogspot.com do not condone drinking and driving. Also, stay in school and don’t do drugs.

Girl A was riding high after her cheering section died down and took it upon herself to order another IRISH CAR BOMB (I hope our server is somehow reading this – if he his he would do himself a favor and throw away the hemp necklace; it ain’t 1996 dude). The IRISH CAR BOMB round came and girl A and girl B both slammed ‘em down. We cheered them both and congratulated girl B for “bringing it” this time.

The time in between the last IRISH CAR BOMBS and the moment we were asked to leave are fuzzy. Not fuzzy because I was hammered or anything, but just kind of a generic conversation fuzzy. I had stopped the conversation to point out that girl A had been in the bathroom for a while and suggested that someone check on her. My wife did and came back and said she thought girl A may have thrown up. Girl A then came back to the table and just kind of stood there while we all continued to converse. About three minutes later the manager came by our table and politely (very politely actually, she could have been a real B but was cool about it) told us that our young lady friend had gotten all kinds of sick in the bathroom and that we should perhaps wrap things up and get her home. We obliged. It was at this point in the evening when girl A was standing next to our table waiting for us to head for the door when she decided to turn her head and throw up…right there in the middle of the bar…with the lights coming on…and everyone staring.

My wife and I just walked away. What else do you do? I don’t know this girl and don’t really need to be associated with her. I’ve got a reputation, you know.


Moral of this story: Don’t talk down to your patrons if you’re a waiter at an Irish Pub. And don’t wear hemp necklaces, they look stupid unless you're at a Phish concert. And Phish broke up, so there you go.

On a side note, please send me a friend request on Facebook.
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#/profile.php?id=833498757&ref=profile.

My wife and I have a fierce competition going, and if I can get more friends, she has to dress up like a certain character for my birthday. If you want to find out what character, you have to befriend me on FB. I have accepted all friend requests except one, and that was for political reasons.

What's for dessert?

A recently decided it was time to poop in the potty. Thank you, Jesus. Since she's a newbie at the potty thing, she has a little trouble wiping (read: Hummer sized skid marks in the My Little Pony panties) if Good Joo is not on top of the wipe check.

This morning A went poop, and Good Joo went in to inspect. After the inspection, Good Joo told A to go ahead and flush.


A: Moooooooooom...they aren' t chocolate chips, they're poop.


Because Good Joo was just moments away from diving in the toilet to enjoy a fantastic dessert of poop chocolate chips? Thanks for the warning, A.

P90X-are you kidding me?

Recently Good Joo and her darling husband (not as hot as Pearson) watched too many late night infomercials and decided to order P90X. After birthing juicy B three months ago, Good Joo decided last week that she and non-Pearson spouse needed to get back on the horse. So last night after the girls were in bed Good Joo and NP had at it. It was grueling, abusive, horrible, awful, unacceptable...etc. Today Good Joo called non-Pearson to tell him how sore her butt, lats, abs, legs, arms were. NP concurred. On the way home from picking up NP (that's another story), Good Joo had the following convo with him:
Good Joo: I'm so f****** sore.
NP concurred
Good Joo: We should massage each other tonight.
NP: It's really weird, but only my penis is sore.

Shoot me.

Meet Good Joo's New Lover

His name is Pearson.

Pearson Chandelier. He hails from Restoration Hardware. He has fulfilled every fantasy Good Joo has ever had about lighting fixtures. He is simple, non fussy, and clean. He doesn't have red hair (like Good Joo's old lover). He has made Good Joo's life whole again after the tragic move to Ft. Pain-in-the-Ass. He is not a swinger, so get your minds out of the gutter.

Sad Songs and Waltzes Aren't Selling This Year

Some things never should have happened in the World's history. One of those is Gummi Bears, a 1980's cartoon and the bane of Bad Joo's existence. Why? Because twenty some fecking years later, this is stuck in Bad Joo's head:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=loUNoy0Qub0Click on it. Do it. If you don't, this Joo will hunt you down like a dog. If the joos have to live it, you do.

This song is not stuck in the Joo's head all all the time. Not even most of the time. Just at times she'd rather it not be. Like when she's having a pap smear, or trying to carry on a conver

GUMMI BEARS bouncing here and there and everywhere. High adventure that's beyond compare...

Suddenly, a failed pop singer is exercising his fairly wide range in a description of mythical bouncing bears, and this Joo honestly doesn't know if she's singing aloud. Curse you Disney!

And the cartoon sucked.

This

is a walkman. And given the delighted look on the baby Bad Joo's face, a fairly new one at that. The first reader to come closest to guessing the weight of said walkman (when fully batteried and Thriller'ed up, of course) will win a prize.

"Table for two?"

, says the maitre d' as he motions towards Good Joo's ass. That's right, readers. It's time the Joos give it to you straight. Good Joo's ass has become a table. A board. Pull-up-a-chair-and-have-a-cup-of-tea. It's not cute, and it's definitely not hot. Good Joo squats and lunges with 10,000 lb. weights. It does no good. It was hot in high school. It was maybe hot for the first year of college. Maybe. It is no more.

Good Joo's husband still likes the ass, but this doesn't matter. Even if Obama liked the ass, it would be no consolation. Good Joo's jeans are droopy in the butt and tight in the waist. Good Joo can't shake it on the dance floor. She can't dance like Beyonce anymore. It would be a disgrace.

This butt recession has been troubling Good Joo for some time. So, for some time, Good Joo has been polling her friends, family, and peers, hoping that one amongst them might have a solution to this freshly-pressed ass ("Oh, just increase the Vitamin Z in your diet. You're just deficient in Vitamin Z!") Not only has this not been the case, but the last time Good Joo bitched about it to MDH, she exclaimed, "Our butts are cute. You wouldn't want a fat butt!" This comment is wrong in two ways.

1. "Our butts" implies that Good Joo's ass is becoming an exact replica of MDH's, which is not only completely unacceptable, but unfaceable.

2. Good Joo would want a fat ass.

In fact, all this Joo wants for CHRISTmas (because in Ft. Gay you put the CHRIST back in Christmas) is a giant, juicy, shake it in your face, knock people out with it, J.Lo ass...like Bad Joo's.

Special Responsive Note de Bad Joo à Good Joo: one word: assne.

The Incision Gets Lipo

As our astute readers will recall, MDH's pet incision recently spent a little time in the hostible, where it was learned that the Incision was packing a few too many cc's of fluid. As incisions are wont to do, the Incision has been fretting ever since learning about its excess fluid. Such fretting takes the form of causing MDH pain by building up even more fluid (bingeing), taking a long time to pick out outfits (that don't accentuate its burgeoning fluid), and pretending it won't have another slice of pie. And yet, the fluid remains. The Joos wonder how much this weight gain isn't due to a few too many rawhides.

So yesterday, MDH took the Incision in for a little lipo. It was actually surprise lipo, since MDH did not know that the Incision had scheduled the lipo and was under the impression that she was visiting her surgeon for a simple follow-up. Imagine her surprise upon finding the surgeon holding a large bore needle, a vacuum, a splash guard, a hose, a priest, and a bucket. The surgeon removed 50 cc's of fluid. What the surgeon did not do is give MDH ANY ANESTHESIA OF ANY KIND. What the surgeon did instead is offer a dizzying array of surgical interventions in and around the Incision ALSO WITHOUT ANESTHESIA OF ANY KIND. He also scheduled another lipo session for next week.

MDH is sore, and the Incision is prancing about in its vain way, especially since the surgeon said the Incision "looked really great." *sigh* Incisions these days are so vain.

Ads

This Joo doesn't consider herself a newbie to the Internet. The Joos had the Internet when having the Internet meant a 1 gig hard drive, a dial-up modem, and $19.95 per month for limited access. This Joo had a Commodore Vic 20. This Joo played Q-Bert, Pitfall, and programmed something in a math class once using lots of "GOTO" commands.

But This Joo is having a little difficulty with Internet advertising and its uncanny ability to scan html for key words and mold itself in said key words' images. As much as This Joo knows that there are not tiny little men inside the Internet pouring over blogs and writing ads therefor, Joo cannot help sometimes jumping back in suprise when she sees things like this:


Can you read it? Do you see that the ad pretends that Yahoo sells green jello? Even though Joo knows that's not true, and knows that it came directly from the content of this here blog, Bad Joo still giggles nervously and looks at her butt whenever she sees a content-specific ad, as if her butt had betrayed her and shared her secret with the demons of advertising.

In-Buttrial Espionage. Bad Joo!

More Fun Facts About Horses

Palomino horses have a gold coat and a white mane and tail.

Palominos are very popular parade horses.

Palominos are showin' out.

The Joos Love To Ski

The Joos hate to ski. Seriously hate it. However, the Joos' father thinks skiing is next to Godliness, and so, throughout their childhood, the Joos were forced to ski. Since both Joos suffer from altitude sickness, Joo skiing was, as you might imagine, the source of much hilarity.

Every year (sometimes TWICE a fecking year), the Joos' would be hauled via bus to some torturous resort in Colorado. The zaniness would begin with the Joos puking in garbage bags in the bus from about 5,000 ft. After reaching the resort of hell, madcap fun would ensue. Such fun included but was not limited to: the Joos perfecting the "puking snowplow" from the top of Vail downward whilst Father Joo snowplowed backwards in front of them shouting, "Plant! Turn! Plant! Turn! Come on, girls, you can do it!"; vomiting with such force and magnitude that the Joos were forced to ride down the slopes (at least once a season) on snow machines with ski patrol officers; oft' vomiting upon arrival at the base of a mountain in the trashcans located handily next to persons eating their lunch; and many, many others.

While everyone knows that nostalgia can color one's memory, making events seem rosier than they actually were, the Joos can assure readers that throughout the Circus-Parade-Super-Fun-Time that was the Joos' skiing career, they managed to appear cool. The Joos offer their readers as proof, Exhibit 154:

Caption: Good run, Joo. Let's shake it off and head to the chalet for a toddy.

Alternate Caption: I had to use my glove as a puke receptacle. I hope they have some more of these fashion forward items in the ski shop.

Alternate Alternate Caption: I believe I puked the back of my head off, so hard did I puke.

Introducing the Twoo Joos

That's right, motherfuceurs. One of the perks of eating green jello at the house of Joo is that you get to come back with loads of phan-phecking-tastic photos. In this particular shot, the Joos are fond of so many aspects of the composition. Can you gentle readers help point them out? The Joos will get you started:

1. Bad Joo appears to be crushing a small bird in her hands (die, motherfuceur, die).

Note de Joos: Copyright in this photo is owned by Olan Mills. This photo has been posted without Olan Mills' permission. Dear Olan Mills, we will take this down if you like, but don't you think it's pretty good advertising?

Thanksgiving is about green jello.

What? You think this looks like a booger dressed as Saturn for Halloween? You're wrong. This, gentle readers, is green jello.

Every year for Thanksgiving MDH gets out the china that Grandmommy Dearest bought one piece at a time from Woolworth's for thirty thousand years before finally accumulating a full set. Every year, FDH prepares MASS QUANTITIES OF FOOD that no one can finish. And every year, MDH prepares green jello (which, incidentally, no one can finish either).

Green jello is to Thanksgiving what mystery meat is to hot lunch. Green jello also comes in orange, in which guise it is called "orange jello." No living Joo outside MDH's sibling group eats green jello. Its composition is uncertain. Sure, it has jello in it. But its other contents are as disputed as the Da Vinci Code. Still, much like a drunk uncle to whom no one speaks directly for fear he may begin discussing his left testicle (mutilated during the war), green jello is a Thanksgiving fixture.

And so, it is in the presence of green jello each year that the Joo family carries out another thanksgiving tradition. Each Joo at the Thanskgiving table expresses in turn that which he or she is thankful for. After packing children, dogs, clothing, medication, and adult homework into the cars, filling tanks of gas, traveling miles and miles to reach the House of Joo Childhood, and preparing graceful refusals of the green jello in advance, sometimes it's hard for each Joo to express thanks. But, on this holiday, when we have A and B and MDH sans cancer, this Joo thinks we should all express thanks for the green jello (or your family's equivalent) and the chance to teach A and B (substitute your children's initials here) to abhor it. That is, after all, what Thanksgiving is all about.

Things The Joos Learned From Their Mommy Dearest Honey

1. Always pull your chin back tightly when being photographed.

2. Never order tilapia from a hospital.

Pee Pee Horse?

For months and months and years and centuries A has been asking for the "PeePee Horse." Good Joo and hubby could not figure it out until one day at Target, A shrieked, "That's PeePee Horse." Is this horse a porn star? Could this horse possibly be a children's toy? Perhaps a porn star scared straight by being born again finding his way as a children's toy? A was so pleased, and the good world continued to turn as she shouted, "It's a boy."

No shit.

The Good Incision

The Incision is home.

After a team of surgeons and social workers shone very bright lights upon it, pointed sternly at it, and shouted into it with megaphones, "By the power of Grayskull, BEGONE, Incision!", it decided to close and stop spitting pus at everyone. Since the Incision is home, the Mommy Dearest Honey ("MDH") is home. To reward it for good behavior, MDH bought it a rawhide.

There is much rejoicing in the houses of Joo.

Saturday Morning Joo Comparison

When Bad Joo awoke this morning, as is her custom, she called Good Joo. Good Joo didn't answer. Good Joo called Bad Joo back:

BJ: Did I wake you?
GJ: No. I was vacuuming.

Fun Facts About Horses

Morgans can be black, brown, bay, or chesnut-colored.
Morgans like to pick their noses and eat it.

Seriously?

A sat down with Good Joo's charming hubby last night to write up her Christmas list. Below is a copy of said list.

Dear Mr. Santa-

My name is A. I am 3 years old. For Christmas, I would like-

Froggy (as seen in photo on right corner of trunk)

Brown Horse (as seen in photo)

White Horse (as seen in photo)

Pinto batteries horse (the $280 version that walks you around the house)

Thank You!

Merry Christmas.

Love,

A

Seriously? Doesn't A have enough horses already? Can she not find a brown one to suit her amongst all of her brown ones? Good Joo is sure that readers are able (as the Joos are able) to pick out all of the above listed items in the included photo. And if readers think A is getting a $280 horse, they are wrong.

And then the Joo sees this and thinks, "I'd buy that cute ass kid every last horse on this earth.", which Good Joo and her hubby clearly have.

The Incision

The Two Joos' mother recently kicked cancer's ass, and in doing so, acquired a new pet: The Incision.

The Incision is a bastard. It is not potty trained. It chews on people. It is aggressive with other incisions. It cannot go to the Incision park. It has been hanging around for three months and will not go away. In short, it is no fun at all. For some reason, though, The Two Joos' mother has decided to keep it around.

In its latest series of wacky adventures, The Incision opened itself up and spit a money shot of pus all over its mistress, a small Midwestern town, and many innocents. The Incision's mistress is therefore on her way to the hospital where a surgeon or two will try to reason with The Incision. Wish her luck.

Lawd help us all.

Quitting Smoking Realistically

As previously indicated, Bad Joo recently quit smoking. The quitting of the smoking led the Bad Joo to murder, eviscerate, burn, and scatter the ashes of numerous innocents, including several children under the age of 3. Still, Bad Joo did it. She hasn't had a cigarette in five months. Five long, long, interminably long months. Five lonely, lonely months. Five months without the support and security of Joe Camel.

Bad Joo digresses.

Bad Joo quit the smoking using the nicotine lozenge. Still, it was hard. It was awful. It fellated donkeys. It was no good. Therefore, during the quitting of the smoking, Bad Joo searched desperately for help on the internet. Bad Joo found a lot of great articles, blogs, memoirs, and books about how tough it is to quit smoking. None of these were realistic. Most of them said, "Take a deep breath when the urge to smoke hits you." A deep breath is inadequate. Deep breaths did not save the innocents Bad Joo murdered.

Bad Joo has therefore decided to post from time to time about the real experience of quitting smoking. This is one such post, taken from her non-smokier's diary.

Day 1.

I can do this! Yes we can! Woo hoo! I won't smell like a Goth Boy's Datsun anymore, and I'll save money too! Yeah! Whooopeee!

Day 1.1

Must smoke. Please. Anything. Room growing dim. Will smoke carpet. Yes. We likes the carpet, doesn't we.

Day 1.2

I killed a man this morning. In cold blood. He was smoking outside my building, and I knocked him down, pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, shoved it in my va-voom (that doesn't count as smoking, does it?), and then stomped on his face. I feel no remorse.

Day 1.7

Purchased pack of cigarettes. Put all twenty in my mouth. Lit with blow torch. Inhaled. Vomited.

GOOD JOO GONE BAD

Eight weeks ago, Good Joo miraculously brought baby B into this delightful world. Good Joo has since spent most days recovering from the obvious (the magic that is the birthing process) and the not-so-obvious (a kidney stone and surgery to remove said behemoth kidney stone ). Good Joo has learned that it is never a good thing when the ER doc giggles at the size of your stone (not to be confused with stones, as in "My hubby's got him some huge stones") and remarks, "you'll neeeevvvvvvvvveeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrr be able to pass that." In addition to the aforementioned, The Good Joo House has been afflicted by the flu, and a strept throat like virus. In short, Good Joo has been knocked on her ass.

For some reason, despite A developing symptoms of the above-mentioned illnesses, Good Joo recently decided she could not take her house of fetid skank for one more second. She therefore loaded a fairly ill A and a fat, happy B into the car to "go for a drive." Now, Good Joo hadn't been out of the house in eight weeks, and she just can't resist the fantastic shopping in Ft. Pain. This should not be surprising to any reader, since, according to the powers that be at Good Joo's husband's place of employment (who lured The Good Joo Family to Fort Gay), Ft. Wayne is known for its shopping and restaurants.

Still, after twenty-four hours with nary a fever in the house and eight long, long weeks living the life of a shut-in, Good Joo needed out. Bad shopping or not, The Good Joo was going in.

Upon arriving at the shopping mall, A immediatly made a bee line for the playground of filth. Good Joo determined this to be an okay move for two reasons: 1. A performed an unsolicited rendition of "Applebottom Jeans" in the parking lot, which surely gave her the right to do whatever she pleased for 24 hours; and 2. the germs A was sporting surely either originated from or were already sprinkled about said playground.

All was well and good until, in the distance, Good Joo heard a squawking. And it was not good. And it appeared to be coming from a mother gazing in A's direction. Said mother clearly had not received the memo that A could do whatever she wanted for the day by reasons of a successful hip hop parking lot rendition AND fatal illness. Good Joo moved closer to A's location, the top of the tree slide.

Squawker: You can't just sit there
A: (coughing up 1-2 lungs, staring at Squawker, is concerned).
Squawker: (increasingly annoyed) If you aren't going to go, then get down .
A: (still coughing, now with respiratory droplets shooting out randomly)
Squawker (clearly using her best pedagogy): Hello? Get out of the way.
J: (oh no you didn't).
A: (looking desperately at Good Joo)

By this time, Squawker's son had begun fitting around behind A and trying to push his way through. Have any of you ever seen True Blood on HBO? Or watched any vampire type shows? Then you know how fast a vampire mother moves. Squawker felt a cold, cold breath on her neck. She turned, and 1cm from her face was Good Joo Gone Bad. Think the gates of Hell. Think The Exorcist. Think Satan. Think your worst nightmare, and then think of it all up in your shit.

J: (Fetid, rotten, exorcist like breath enveloping the Squawker, Good Joo's head begins spinning counterclockwise, the voice of Ghostbuster's Zool comes forth) DO NOT SPEAK UNTO MY CHILD, VILE HUMAN.
Squawker: She is hogging the slide!
J: NO...SHE IS COUGHING HER DIVINE GERMS UPON YOUR FEEBLE SON'S FACE. SHE WILL GO DOWN THE SLIDE WHEN SHE IS READY.
Squawker: You shouldn't bring her here if she is sick.
J: (Slipping back into mortal, p'd off mode) You shouldn't bring your son here if he is gonna be such a pansy ass and can't wait two seconds to receive all of the germ infested spittle my daughter wishes to spew into his mucous membranes.
Squawker: (walks away).

Now, the Good Joo is sure that ten days of narcotics did not help this Joo's rational thinking, and, perhaps, the "drive" wasn't such a good idea afterall. But, really. Don't f*** with the Joo or her darling offspring.

Shelter Pet of the Day

Joo and Joo do not like people who abandon their animals at shelters. Do the gentle readers know why? If one relinquishes one's pet at a shelter, the shelter is not required to put said animal up for adoption. And when there is no space to house said animal, it will be euthanized.

This three year old border collie girl is in just such a predicament. She's at Harbor Humane Society in West Olive, MI. http://www.harborhumane.org/ . Bad Joo has the resources to get this girlie temperament tested and transported part way to you if you want her. Leave a comment if you do.

Exhibit A

Here we see the A in her natural element: a horse costume of her own device. Again, not a photo of sexual props. Please get your minds out of the gutter.

Stupid Joo Tricks

Contrary to appearances, this is not some sort of weird sexual suit that Phil constructed. The makers of complementary migraine therapy are just the tiniest bit deviant.

The Terrible Bad Awful Thing

Sous-Titré: A look at the Profundity of Bad Joo's Badness






As the snow prepares to bury us like so much cement, perhaps a tale from the summertime will cheer us.


One time, Bad Joo's neighbor mowed her lawn. Nice neighbor, right? Wrong. Unbeknownst to Bad Joo, said neighbor courteously raked the grass clippings after said mowing and placed them into a plastic wheelbarrow (the "Thing"). One week later, after heavy, torrential rains, Bad Joo discovered the Thing in a corner of the yard. By this time, the "Thing" was full, not only with the aforementioned grass clippings, but with water.

The Thing was heavy, but Bad Joo attempted to empty it, trooper that she is. However, the moment the contents of the Thing were jostled, an unholy stench, the likes of which few have ever encountered, arose from the Thing in an evil cloud. Awful. Now, were Bad Joo good, like her sister, she would have dealt with the matter right then there. Obviously, Bad Joo is not, so she ran away from the Awful Thing.

The next day, Bad Joo had another problem. She had invited friends to a garden party. Imagine the horror of the guests, were they to see, smell, or otherwise sense the Awful Thing! To circumvent this issue, Bad Joo attempted to move the Awful Thing to a more secluded part of the yard. I think you know what's coming next.

As soon as Bad Joo lifted the handle, the contents of the Awful Thing sloshed wickedly over its borders, spilling upon the ground. The ground parted, and Hell attempted to reclaim its evil stench, but the Horrible Awful Thing was too evil even for Lucifer, and so it remained on the ground. A cloud of black, noxious fumes rose heavily from the Horrible Awful Thing, lingering like a low-slung belt all around Bad Joo's yard. Bad Joo was mortified. She ran away (yet again - Bad Joo is not very brave, even under the best of circumstances) from the Horrible Awful Thing. Then, she called in reinforcements.

Bad Joo's dirty foreigner husband is a compulsive peddler, let's say (we'll save the true nature of his compulsion for a later date). During the happenings described above, he was not present, as he was standing on street corners, attempting to sell previously-owned copies of the Book of Mormon. Nonetheless, when Bad Joo ran to tell her husband (let's call him "Phil"), he left his entire knapsack of used Books of Mormon on the corner and ran to save her.

Phil is very intelligent, despite his addiction to good book hawking, and he recognized the Horrible Awful Thing at once for the crisis that it is. However, the Horrible Awful Thing had its own powers, which clouded Phil's judgment and made him act inappropriately. Phil pushed through the stench and wheeled the Horrible Awful Thing to a more remote part of the yard. Obviously, The Horrible Awful Thing spilled all over the yard, and Phil and Bad Joo were quickly overcome by its power. They vomited all over each other, the house, the lawn, the sidewalk, some innocent passers-by, a fruit bat, and some breakfast cereal; but that's a story for another day.

Obviously, moving the Horrible Awful Thing to a remote part of the yard did not open said yard to the possibility of entertaining that very same day, but it did have the effect of allowing Phil and Bad Joo to forget about their plight for a few days (once the Horrible Awful Thing had settled back into its stinky slumber).

A couple of days later, Bad Joo asked Phil how he intended to dispose of Hell's Minion (The Horrible Awful Thing). Clearly still possessed by the fires of Hell, Phil informed Bad Joo of his plan. Apparently, the synapses in Phil's brain no longer fired correctly, for he proceeded to explain to Bad Joo that if they waited until it rained, the Horrible Awful Thing could be safely dumped in the yard, and the rain would quell any stench. Ha.

Thankfully, Phil was not permitted to test his theory, for it did not rain over the next week. After which period of time, still impaired by his exposure to the Horrible Awful Toxic Thing, Phil attempted to move it from one remote part of the yard to another under cover of darkness. We know not why. In the process, Phil had to "jump" the Horrible Awful Thing over a step, and roll it across the grassy knoll (not to be confused with the Grassy Knoll® of the Kennedy Assassination), thereby sloshing its contents liberally across much of the driveway and yard. This event took place whilst Bad Joo was away at a meeting of People Who Spend Too Much Time With Their Pets.



Imagine Bad Joo's surprise when she returned home only to find her entire neighborhood, block, yard, and INTERIOR OF HER HOME reeking of the filth of thousands of dead animals and their excrement enclosed in a small, moist, dark box. She nearly fainted. Somehow, however, she was able to fall asleep (I suspect she medicated herself). When she awoke the following morning, she was thrilled to find the interior of the home smelling as it always had (that is to say of Hamburger Helper® and Applie Pie Candles). But, she did not get off that easily, oh, no no no.

When Bad Joo opened her back door to let her devoted canine companions into the yard to relieve themselves the next morning, a dark, brown (brown as poop) stain lay sunning itself on her driveway. Worse, said stain was littered with small tufts of decomposing grass. One of Bad Joo's devoted canine companions (we'll call her "Idiot Face") immediately lay down in said filth and began nibbling on tiny canapes of rotten sludge.

The Horrible Awful Thing? It lay where Phil set it for months, until a concerned neighbor finally called in a Haz-Mat team to dispose of it, after which, Bad Joo and Phil resumed regular use of their yard.





Suuummmmeeerrrrtiiiiiiiiiimmmmme and the living is eeeeeassssyyyyyyyy. Maybe we shouldn't mind the snow so much.

A Tale of Four Boobies

One of the many differences between the two Joos are their breasticles. Bad Joo has tiny little cupcakes. Good Joo has an ample bosom. In the below photo, Good Joo's boobs are at center, Bad Joo's (which, honestly, are more like side pork dragged into the bikini field) are at right, and fraternal boobs are at left.





We begin this discussion not because Good Joo wants to underscore her superiority in every way (although she may), but rather to discuss the reaction breasticles and the Joos' breasticular disparity evoke in the very young (very old, and those with compromised immune systems).

A bit of background: Good Joo has two daughters, A and B. A came first and is three. B came next and is only a few weeks of age. B's reaction to the breasticular disparity is not exciting, because she cannot speak and thinks only of Good Joo's boobs and the milk they bring forth. It is A's reaction we consider here.

Naturally, A is infatuated with her mom's breasticular appendages. So much so, that as the birth of B approached, and the breasticles got larger and larger, she schemed like a gangster to invent ways in which she could observe them unfettered. As below:

Scene I

A (all casual and shit): Mommy do you want to tubby (read: take a boiling hot bath) with me?

J: I don't think so, A.

A (crying a bit desperately and very dramatically): Mommy, I want to see the milk (from your pregger breasticles).

J: Honey, that's private (even though it shoots you in the eye when we are tubby-ing).

A cries. J sighs. The bathwater runs a background marathon, and the two characters prepare to jump in.
A (delighted): Mommy, your boobies are huge!

J: Yes, honey.

(Husband in background giggles like a woman)

A: Your circles are very, very big.

J: Yes, honey.

(More background girly giggling from husband, who, let it not be forgotten, has thus far been spared death and dismemberment at the hands of his pregnant wife, and should therefore shut his pie hole).

A: Mommy, they are for nursing baby horses.

J: Yup.

A: Mommy, that's beautiful.



This exchange does four things as an introduction to Joo and Joo.

1. It identifies the fact that A is adorable.
2. It illustrates that everything in the Good Joo house revolves around Joo's boobs, the tub, and horses.
3. It illustrates the enormity of Joo's boobs and their proposed use for nourishing orphaned foals.
4. It introduces the husband of the Joo, who laughs like a girl.

Now, in contrast, let us examine the Bad Joo's breasticles as seen through the innocent eyes of a child.

Scene II

The scene: a visit chez Good Joo by Bad Joo. The actors are changing into their pyjamas.

Note d'auteur: please read any sentence in the following scene that includes the word "tiny" or a synonym thereof in the highest pitch possible. Those desiring a truly authentic experience may wish to hold their hands out in front of them and make small movements therewith, much like a person feeling a sheet to ascertain the quality of the cotton or thread count. Like so:

A: Oooooh, Aunt Joo. You have such tiny, little, itty, bitty boobies!
J: Yes, A.
A: Ooooooh, Aunt Joo. They're sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo cute!
J: Thank you, A.
A (with mounting enthusiasm and pitch): They're just tiny, little baby boobies!
J: Yes, they are.
A: And, Aunt Joo, your circles are so little and cute!
J (putting on her nightgown): Thank you, A. Time for bed!

Bad Joo left the following day, and one might reasonably assume that the above exchange would be the end of that particular topic. One would assume incorrectly.

Scene III takes place over breakfast. Mother and daughter are bathed in morning light, enjoying toasty hot bowls of porridge.

A: Oh, Mommy. Aunt Joo has the cutest little boobies!
J: Is that so?
A: Oh, yes. They are so little!
J : Awwww.
A: Mommy, your boobies are huge! Mommy, your boobies are the mommy and daddy boobies, and Aunt Joo's boobies are the baby boobies!
J: (dabbing at porridge that has spilled from her left nostril) Right!

*Fin*

While this is not the end of the four boobies, it is the end for today. Any thoughts from other persons having breasticular experience are welcome, provided such thoughts do not start out with, "I never expected this to happen to me" and/or are not accompanied by pornographic imagery, anime or otherwise.

Coming Soon

Hi, I'm the Bad Joo (Joon). My sister is Good Joo or Belinda Joo (Joos). We are two very different sisters who aim to compare and contrast our lives and offer encouragement to similarly struggling ladies of the 21st century. Bad Joo lives in the jetto, works full time as a Girl Friday, and has cobwebs up in her womb from lack of use. Belinda Joo, the good sister, is living the Stay-At-Home dream with two darling children and a sparkling home in Suburbia. She has not yet been convicted of chopping up her husband and feeding him to the dog.

This blog hopes to answer the age-old questions, "How does she do it?", "Where the fuce did I put my access card/car keys/good earrings?", and "Why is poop delicious?" That and much, much more coming soon at You'll Learn To Keep House.