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?