The Dowager Special

This is a really nice evening suit, that is, if you were born on the Pangaea land mass during the Paleozoic era.

This nightmare was a gift for me from Mr. Bunker. Maybe he got it for me to ensure that I wouldn't attract any attention outside of the shuffleboard & prune juice set. This garment is so fugly that if I die when I'm 100 and somebody buries me in it that I promise I will be so pissed that I will come back to haunt whomever made the decision.
It is the color of a vomit covered bruise, it sparkles, and it is 2 sizes too big. BUT after posting a picture of the frog lamp, that particular atrocity has moved out of my possession, sooo....any takers?
It's made by St. John, and they are known for making suits that are very comfortable, and are especially favored by rich old ladies with elaborately styled hair and wearing so much Chanel number 5 that it's flavor may be experienced.

If I could only unearth the receipt, the refund would probably cover 2 pairs of nice hooker heels.

A Very Nice Day

Today was the Chicago Marathon and sadly I did not participate. Conditions turned out to be nearly perfect with cool temps and no wind. Instead of running with the pack of 45,000 sweaty fools, I took a leisurely run along the nearly deserted lakefront path with a good friend and her camera.

First stop (above), I went and gave Mr. Bunker a good kick in the kidneys and told him to get his ass out of that sleeping bag and to go take out the trash, and that if he cleans out the G.D. garage that maybe I'll let him sleep in there. If you look hard you can see that that is a very nice down filled sleeping bag which I think reflects my general kind heartedness; I can't help it, I'm just that way!
Next, I admired the lovely fall foliage while flipping off the cab drivers and yelling "get off that cell phone and go back to Abu Dhabi you terrorist!" They love that, and I'm sure they know it's all in good fun.
My face, my face!! where did it go??? This is what can happen with too much botox, no expression at all!
And then I said "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SMILING ABOUT?" Fools. I tried to explain to them that marriage was not that great of an idea, but apparently they'd already paid for everything, so what can you do?

And the very best part of the day: packing up abomadable frog lamp to go to sunny Florida. Life is good.

Claim your Frog Lamp

Good news for someone, your elegant frog lamp has been found!
Now come get it the hell out of my garage before it's used as a murder weapon. Someone surely is suffering great remorse for letting go of this object de'Art, the value of which was immediately appreciated by Mr. Bunker on his evening dumpster dive.

Anyway, rightful frog lamp owner, your fingerprints are probably ALL OVER THIS BITCH, so come get it or face up to the CSI, they will find you. That or you will be smote down by The Lord. This is in my prayers.

Autum Shopping

The costume shop has opened! I just need to force a sharp right upon entry and confine our visit to one small corner of the shop. This corner being the one where they keep the scary masks and all of the 3 children's costumes; the vast majority of the "adult" costumes involve themes that I don't really want to discuss: "mommy why's she got those cones and that whip? " Awkward.
That's my handsome boy above, looking just like his old man on a Saturday morning, all fresh & perky.
Don't be fooled by the pink wig and that innocent smile, if you trifle with her she will shank your ass on the playground.
Mr. Bunker bought her a cheerleader outfit from the clearance table at the CVS (where else?), as if!
"Cheerleader??" groans Miss H., completely appalled. After being Hermione Granger last year, she has no use for the usual vapid cheerleader (her words). She has decided to make some minor alterations in order to be a Zombie Cheerleader, which I guess is better than a regular cheerleader; my girl is slightly odd.

But never mind the scary costumes, the real horror was these ass-eater jeans, I mean this makes any of the previous camel toe tarts look like pikers, someone needs to call the authorities.

Richard M. Daley is Pissed!!

Time to TAKE COVER here in the Second City because Mayor Richie is sure to be as pissed-off as a priest with priapism. Ticked-off as an untucked trannie in a tutu.
OK sorry. Enough of the annoying amateur alliteration.
SORRY!
Well then, he's going to be as enraged as Kanye West, well, on a perfect Summer's Eve.

Anyone who works at City Hall should probably just call in sick on Monday, it's sure to be ugly. Mayor Daley is probably ready to lob a nuke at the South Side because if those little assholes weren't so busy having drug wars, then he'd probably have been more successful in Denmark. Oh wait... Rio has more drugs and crime than we do, anyway you slice it.
Maybe it's the "culture of corruption" we're all moaning about...but wait! Beijing makes Chicago look like a Brownie troop in terms of corruption.

So why? even with Poperah Winfrey and the Obamas?? How can this be?

This is one Chicagoan who does not care about this monumental slight. I'm just pleased that I don't have to pitch in for King Richie's hubris. Next we get to discover who will ultimately be blamed (credited) for this failure (achievement). This hot-potato toss should be every bit as riveting as any event traditionally included in the Olympic games.

KITTENS Open the Door, Save them!

I'd say that this could be a nice way to deal with some of the excess lawyers, but hell, they wouldn't have an urge to save a kitten, so what am I even thinking?

Whale Tale

Hell yes, that is a mantard showin' off his junk.
I wonder, did he lose a bet? Is he a bitch-boy to some dominatrix that makes him wear womens undergarments to keep him in line? Maybe he was getting dressed in the dark and accidentally grabbed undies out of the wrong drawer, I mean this can happen... Sometimes I'm at work and discover that I'm wearing Mr. Bunker's nasty skidmark skivvies under my nice Talbot's skirt. KIDDING! ha ha ha...ridiculous! Talbots!! puleeze!

Anyway, this is probably how the men dress in Copenhagen, which is where all the important O-people are currently convened; you know, Oprah & The Obamas, for Olympics. Also representative of the shape Richie Daley's mouth is stuck in from, well, maybe saying all those "O" words. Just wait, if the Chicago bid is successful Richie will flip out and either flash his own girly thong or start humping the first lady's leg. Can't wait!