Now, don't laugh.

You know how some people's laugh sounds like a gasp for air? Like their throat is being constricted while they're trying to inhale? And you know how some people do that laugh really slowly when they're fake laughing? And you know how obnoxious it sounds? And you know how if they're sitting in the same office with you and they're having a long, drawn out, condescending, judgmental conversation with someone else you don't like about yet another person you don't like and they do that gasp laugh thing over and over and over and over and over and over?

Yeah. If I ever do that, please feel free to hit me with a large, heavy object. Repeatedly.

Muffin top

Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't have a muffin top for a million dollars. Heaven knows I already have the equipment with which to create one. What I'm saying is that I wouldn't willingly inflict such a thing on the world. I don't know why stores refuse to sell pants with waistlines that actually sit at the waist. Hip huggers make sense for those who are a size 4 or below, but they shouldn't be sold in my size...which is a bit more than 4.

Geritol and Flintstones

Mr. and Mrs. Larry King just make me feel all icky. They came to town last night to present the Singin' and Story-Tellin' King Family Revue. I didn't attend.

Seriously, seriously. Not for a million dollars.

Few game shows exist that would entice me out of my nice, comfy, introverted shell. "Who Wants to Be A Millionaire" is one.

"Wipeout" is not.

How does one network go to such extremes?

Ooo, how embarrassing.

Oh, yuck. There's something on his teeth. Ew. Now, what does he do when he eats a spinach and strawberry salad? Are his friends going to be kind enough to tell him what's stuck in his grill?

I think there's something going wrong all up in his mizzle. I'm just sayin'. Is all.

I disagree with the show's title

No, you're not.
And I'd much rather leave you there.

Ice isn't for driving on

It's bad enough to skate on ice. I know firsthand how easy it is for one's feet to fly out from beneath one's butt, thus allowing one's butt to make violent contact with the ice, which, by the way, is harder than rock. But to drive an 18-wheeler across a few scant inches of ice just so we can have oil and diamonds? No. Just no. Maybe, like Mama putting the good cookies on top of the refrigerator, God put that stuff up there so we couldn't get to it.

Self assessment

I could not be the idiotic, ugly, brainless, stinking, imbecilic, foul, heartless, obtuse, short-sighted, moronic bastard who decides to fire a smart, loyal, hard-working company employee of 27 years. I don't have it in me. I'm not a scum-sucking moron.

UPDATE: I'm not the only one

I'm happy to see there are many others who do not want to be eaten by sharks. They have created a fan group for Not Being Eaten By Sharks on Facebook. Nice.

Instant coffee

[Note: I tried to find a photo of instant coffee online, but it's so wretched and unloved that even Getty doesn't keep pictures of it around. I could buy some Nescafé and take a picture of it, but then I would have spent money on something that I'm about to say I wouldn't use for a million dollars, and that would be kinda, y'know, counterproductive. So I apologize for the lack of graphic, but I think you know what I mean even without a picture.]

I wouldn't drink instant coffee for a million dollars.

I order my beans custom roasted from CoffeeAM.com -- I get five pounds of Kenya AA and one pound of Sumatra Mandheling once every six weeks.

I grind up the beans just before I brew the coffee. (My husband's coffee is sometimes ground up five hours before it's brewed, but that can't be helped. The man works swing shift. I do the best I can, y'know?)

I'll buy coffee beverages from Starbucks, but I won't buy my beans from them. That's how picky I am.

So instant coffee? No. Never. It's barbaric. You can use it in recipes for mocha frosting for cakes, but don't expect it to be suitable for drinking.

Some indignities just cannot be borne.

V is not for Victory

At least not in this case.

Ow, I say, ow, again!

Boxing. I don't get it. I don't get it as an activity or a spectacle. It's just barbaric, right?

Ow!

That just looks uncomfortable to me. I'll keep hitting the elliptical, but I don't think there's any danger that I'll ever get carried away.

Weird

I have pierced ears. In fact, I have double-pierced ears. But this ear stretching thing is just weird and icky. Ew. And it seems like a great way to rip your ear off if something should get caught in it. Again, ew.

Not if I had a million dollars

Aw, hell no! Not if I had the million. Not if he had the million. The idea of going to a matchmaker...on TV, no less! I think not. No.

Unless I was really, really desperate. And maybe if I were really, really starved for attention.

Jane Seymour -- with a vengeance

Someone I know accused me of being flippant on this blog. He said that if someone offered me One Million Dollars (US) to wear some Jane Seymour jewelry, I would do it.

I have therefore put some time and thought into this proposition.

And I reiterate my original stance. I would not wear Jane Seymour jewelry for a million dollars. I would not do it in a box. I would not do it with a fox. I do not like ugly jewelry, Sam I Am. I do not like it; I said it again.

I know I'm wrong. I know.

When you grow up in the South and you tell people "I don't like biscuits," they'll invariably come back with "Well, that's because you've never had [insert favorite biscuit producer here]'s biscuits!" I've had people's mothers' biscuits. I've had Hardee's biscuits. I've had fancy cheese biscuits from fancy, cheesy restaurants. I've kept trying biscuits, really I have.

I just don't like biscuits.

I await your judgment.

Out where the buses don't run

Oh, Shirley, Shirley, Shirley. When I went to find a picture of you for this post I happened to stop by your web site. If I hadn't already known you were a nut job, the Swirl to God earrings and Spirit Steering pendant would have convinced me.

This lady crazy.

John Mayer

Not for a million. Not for many millions. Not in this lifetime. No. Just -- no.

This is not literature

C'mon. I don't really have to say anything about this, do I?

I do?

OK, then. Lowest common denominator. There. I said it.

Too sweet!

While we're talking about beverages, how about those sweet, sweet sodas? I've been drinking Diet Coke as long as I can remember. Can't take the regular stuff because it's just so syrupy sweet.

Love the song; hate the beverage

If you have to ingest massive amounts of salt and citric acid to counterbalance the flavor of the liquor, maybe you should try a liquor that already tastes good.

Tequila. I'm not going to give it another chance. It's just nasty.

What IS that?

A cat? Really? Y'think? Nah.

No, no, and no

Not for many multi-millions.

Panic

I read The Stand. I know what the flu can do. I'm just not prepared to freak out and get all face masky over it.

I don't even like the plane

But I'm not going to jump out of it unless something is on fire. And probably not then, either.

Really, I'm too busy

I don't think I could fit a Portuguese water dog into my lifestyle. I'm really busy doing stuff and they need a LOT of attention and activity, so they really should be in a home where they can have a family that's really dedicated to taking care of a dog and doesn't have a lot of other distractions and stuff.

Yeah, I think it's a shame about Bo. I'm afraid he's been set up to fail.

Where's the stuff?

I could not live in a house with minimalist design. Where do they keep their stuff?

I prefer "bumbershoot"

This is not the rant you think it is. There's nothing new to say about how reprehensible Chris Brown is, or how misguided his victim Rihanna may or may not be.

No, I'm just sayin' that you can't pay me enough to listen to Rihanna's nasal warbling, nor Chris Brown's pop-tart "hip hop" dance crap. Er, I mean, music. It's all terribly bad. Yuck.

While I'm at it

This egotistical scumbag is no better than the she-beast.

Tell me what I'm thinking

I seriously debated wasting pixels on this slimy piece of garbage. She isn't psychic. She isn't kind-hearted. She isn't well-meaning. She takes advantage of vulnerable people by taking their money and telling them lies. I would not want to be in the same room as this repulsive swindler.

Yahoo Toolbar

Y'know, I wouldn't have been able to work up some snark about this, but every time I update Firefox, the topic comes up again. "Install Yahoo Toolbar?" No. No, no, no, and NO. I do not want a Yahoo toolbar on my desktop. Stop asking!

Vilify smokers

It's been a year and eight months since I quit smoking. I still miss the smoking pit camaraderie, even though I don't miss the cough, the upper respiratory infections, the high blood pressure, the stench of the smoke permeating my life, and the expense of the cigarettes themselves. I smell divine, but just because I quit doesn't mean I don't remember. I still consider myself a smoker -- just a non-practicing one. So I can't cast aspersions on smokers who stand around the grocery store door and furtively suck down one more drag before entering the clean air zone. There, but for the grace of Chantix, go I.

Playing with Death

Oh! The spider stories I could tell. Most of them are not mine. Why? Because I do not play with spiders! I do not toy with death! Spiders are tasteless slobs! I will not hang out with them, nor will I join any club in which spiders are members or even members-at-large.

Nope.

Not me.

Because I am not stuppid.

Well, OK, I will tolerate the spiders that make pretty webs in the autumn. But those are the only ones! The rest of 'em shouldn't be allowed to live in nice neighborhoods. Put that in your HOA rule book and smoke it.

[Also, the biggest screams I ever heard in my entire life were when Amy -- yes, our Amy of this blog -- was about 13 years old. A spider found Amy at the breakfast table and was taking a stroll up Amy's arm to say hello more closely. Amy did not appreciate this overture. Amy can really, really scream.]

Same old same old

If it looks exactly like everyone else's, I don't want to drive it.

This is not art

Well, I was just looking at this...wait. Ahem. Can I have some water?

Oh, no, don't worry. I'm sure I'll feel better in just a...hrrmph.

Wait. Oh, dear. I'm going to...

BLOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRFFFFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!
pant pant pant
BLEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
pant pant pant
deep breaths
get it together, Amy


OK, I can finish the post n...GAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Oh, my ears! Oh, my eyes! Ow, ow, ow!

Miley Cyrus. Victim of pimp daddy Billy Ray. Only he really is a pimp, and the girl he's got on the street is his own daughter. Makes you wonder why people are still allowed to procreate without a license.

Anyway, I swear I will not contribute to this poor girl's giddy trek toward a Britney Spears-like breakdown. I will not watch the show, I will not listen to the caterwauling they call music, and I will not, not, not see the movie[s]. Enough is enough.

Rub-on eyeshadow

No, no, no, no, no.

OK, maybe the purple for a special occasion.

(Nah, just kiddin'. No.)

Reading lists

Honest to goodness. She picked our President. Does she really have to give us instructions on what to read?

Actually, I first became irritated with Oprah's Book Club when she put Toni Morrison's fabulous The Bluest Eye on the list. Years before, when I told the local librarian that she needed to get a copy of that book for the library, she declined. But when Oprah picked it? Oh, that librarian couldn't run to the card catalog fast enough, now, could she?

Stupid book club!

Smug twit bar

I loathe with a passion Apple's stuck up, holier than thou "Genius Bar" concept. The very name is condescending and vainglorious. If I had a Mac (which I did once but don't anymore, thank heaven), I would never in a million years go to any counter with that sign behind it. Genius, my ass. I'd like to take that iPod on a string (is that the modern day mittens pinned to the coat sleeves?) and wrap it around his...oh, never mind. If I want to talk to someone who's a genius, I will not look for one with a sign proclaiming her as such.

No camera zone

OK, my house is nowhere near as dirty as those houses they show on Clean House. Still, I would never in a million years let cameras into my house to show the world the little bit of clutter I have lying around. What possesses people to let that crew in to photograph their dirty, dirty houses? I'm not judging those who let the clutter get away from them. Been there, done that. I'm judging those who let in TV crews to share it with the world...and comedians to point out the most embarrassing parts of it!

Bad walking shoes

Whether you're in a theme park or strolling the floor of the Las Vegas Convention Center, you should eschew cruel shoes. Here's a hint: If it hurts, the attractiveness quotient is moot.

By the by, BadShoe.com used to be a place where all sorts of painful or painfully funny theme park shoes were cataloged. It's worth a look if you would like to laugh at yesteryear's footwear.

[Insert tiny penis joke here]

Because, frankly, it isn't enough to say that I care about the environment, safety, and decreasing our dependency on fossil fuels. Hummers are just ... so obvious.

HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

Dr. Seuss made this, right? Oh. Marc Jacobs, huh? For Louis Vuitton? Honey, I wouldn't buy them from Payless for 20 bucks.

Testosterone Poisoning

Sender-inner Woodrow says, "I'm not homophobic. I just look terrible in pink." Riiiiiight. We belieeeeve you.

Swim with sharks

Please note that sharks have big, pointy teeth and are much better equipped for moving around in the water than I am. I'll let them have that patch of water all to themselves.

Jane Seymour jewelry

No. Just -- no.

Nothing to rave about

Just looking at the picture makes me uncomfortable. This is not my definition of fun.

Follow Ashton

Hi, kids! Today's lesson is about lemmings....

Buy a used car

I know sometimes used cars work out for some people. It just has never worked out for me. I think I must have "gullible" stamped on my forehead.

Tom Cruise

How did he go from heartthrob to nut job so fast? Pity.