Dick Heads … and not the kind that are fun to play with!

Dick head: (noun) a descriptive word used for someone who is considered to be dishonest, selfish and/or mean.

Whether you call them pricks, wankers, nob heads, a-holes, tossers or d-bags, they are all basically the same, meaning they are someone who has a ginormous penis sprouting from his or possibly her face.

And yes, I am talking about that rude mofo customer service agent. Or the punk ass kid who pulls his bicycle in front of your car at a major intersection only to carelessly and cavalierly roll said bicycle back into the front end of your car. Or the insecure jackass of a supervisor at your work who because of their incompetence makes your life a living hell.

But the individual who takes the prize for total dickwaddery or gluteolacunosity (assholeness) is the player dude who parades around disguised in nice guys’ clothing:



He comes across as kind, considerate, respectful, fun, affectionate and totally into the woman he is with at the time. However lurking just beneath the surface is a major player who can only be described as the one and only absolute King of the Dick Heads.

Ladies and/or gents you will know with certainty that you have engaged with one of these dick heads because he will be the guy that:

1. Is in full-on copulation mode 24/7 or whenever he can find a donut to stick his thingy in.

2. Constantly emphasizes just how busy he is with business and family but in reality you discover he is spending all his time trolling every dating site known to mankind.

3. Is highly adept at emotional manipulation and making his conquests think he is completely and utterly into them.

4. Simultaneously ‘dates’ several of his conquests, most of whom are unaware that they are but one of many.

5. Doesn’t understand the meaning of a relationship and is therefore incapable of actually having one.

6. Is a supreme arsehole so spare yourself and steer the heck clear!

And to the King of Dick Heads that this special post has been dedicated, all I can say is that the day will come when you realize that you totally effed things up with one awesome, amazing and sexy woman who would have rocked your world. So put that in your pipe and suck it dude!

A little bit of LOONER lovin

Because I play an armchair psychologist in the blogosphere and have a fascination with human behavior, from time to time I like to do a bit of research to find out more about the odd and even crazy freaky things people get up to.

Recently while trolling around The Learning Channel (TLC) I discovered a series called “Strange Sex”. Aside from the granola crunchers who gather in circles to moan and groan their way to alleged mental orgasms, most of the stuff was fairly generic.

I did however learn about a rather surprising fetish that apparently isn’t all that uncommon:



Who knew that a dime store bag full of colorful balloons could bring such joy? But hey, whatever rocks your socks. …I’m just saying…

Would you like crap service or really incredibly shite service?

Nothing chaps my arse quite like completely and utterly poor service. And yes, I am talking about cell phone stores that tell customers they are all out of telephone numbers, or maintenance technicians who take over three hours to replace appliances, or restaurants that all but forget about easy-to-please and well tipping customers.

To better illustrate what I am talking about check out this little video skit (and no offense to any of you Brits out there):



While the video is of course in jest, it’s still rather mindboggling knowing that situations like this occur around the world each and every day. To think that there are so many highly skilled people out there diligently looking for jobs and so many businesses struggling just to keep their doors open, and yet there are still heaps of incompetent, skiving and ungrateful workers collecting paychecks every week.

So to all of the frustrated unemployed or underemployed masses, I say this is pretty effed up if you ask me. …I’m just saying…

BLOG AWARDS - Part 2

Yesterday I handed out some lovely blog awards to some of my favorite bloggers. But being that I am known for being rather challenged on the technical front it took me what seemed like a half a bloody day just to post all those links to the recipients' blogs …only to later discover that many of those links didn’t even work. Well, today we are now back on track, the links are working and I can resume with handing out a few more awards.

So without further adieu I would like to bestow the “Bloody Brilliant Blog Award” to:



The Vegetable Assassin

Southern Blast

Plopculture - An Inside Look into the Inside

The Adventures of Cinderita

A Bitch Called Mom

There are no doubt plenty of other fantabulous blogs out there for me to become better acquainted with and/or discover, so I may occasionally bestow random blog awards to others. In the meantime here is to celebrating the love in the blogosphere!

xo The Empress

Celebrating and Sharing the Love – BLOG AWARDS

Happy Dance! Earlier this week I was thrilled to bits when I discovered that I had crossed the 100+ blog follower mark. To me life is all about celebrating your successes – and sharing the love. In light of this I’m pleased to hand out some blog awards to a few of my favorite bloggers:



The Bitchy Waiter

Donda at My Husband Misunderstood When I Said I Was Bi

Simple Dude in a Complex World

Annah at Red Means Go!

Jamie at Daydream Believer

linnykins at randomness

Sweet Charity at Misadventures of a Marvelous Miss

I am Fickle Cattle

Charles at In Review: Stuff and Things

Rabbit at The Long Journey to the Middle


Thanks to all of you readers for your support, inspiration and always interesting comments.

Have a fabulous weekend!
xo The Empress

Keeping up with Probation – Celebrity Edition

Well, I tried my very best to give poor little Lindsay Lohan the benefit of the doubt after her recent short stint in the pokey and disgustingly quick trip in and out of celebrity rehab. Both the media spin doctors and actual real life medical doctors did their best to imply that ole fire crotch didn’t really have an addiction problem but instead that she was misdiagnosed with ADD or some other sort of silly nonsense.

Yeah right. We are talking about the same girl that was charged twice with driving under the influence and in the second incident she was charged with cocaine possession. And let’s not forget that it was reported that Lindsay tried to run a woman down with a car and that she has been in and out of all sorts of scandalous trouble for several years now.

Then on Monday, hot off her appearance at the Video Music Awards and probably a crazy night of partying like it was 1999, Lindsay failed a mandatory drug test and had her probation revoked. Little Miss Train Wreck has been ordered to appear in court yet again so that a judge can determine whether to send her back to jail or into another spa treatment program…

And not to be outdone is the Princess of Fame Whoredom herself, Paris Hilton. This week P. Hilty copped a plea so that she could weasel her way out of a felony cocaine conviction that would have required her to spend one to four years in the big house. Paris fessed up to the judge that she did indeed have cocaine in her possession and that she had lied to a police officer when she said that the fancy Chanel purse she was carrying wasn’t hers.

In exchange for her plea Paris basically had her skanky socialite wrists slapped by the judge. She was sentenced to one year probation, 200 hours of community service and a US$2,000.00 fine. Oh, and she has to complete a drug abuse program.

Mind you, this is the same table dancing celebutard that has already served time in jail for drunk driving, been arrested for possessing drugs on two other occasions this summer alone, and was summarily kicked out of South Africa for liking weed a little too much.

And apparently the incredibly awesome country of Japan didn’t take P. Hilty’s love for drugs so lightly either. On Wednesday Japanese immigration officials detained Paris for six hours at the airport, forced her to stay overnight at a nearby budget hotel and then ultimately denied her entrance into their country due to her Las Vegas drug conviction earlier in the week. Go Japan!

But even if the tides do seem to be turning a bit in favor of us common folk, I’m still fairly fed up with repeatedly hearing about Paris and Lindsay’s ridiculous and troublesome escapades. And frankly I rather miffed that these two ass-hats keep getting coddled by the legal system, especially when anyone else would have received far more serious consequences for their actions. Surely there has to be some nasty Thai or Mexican prison that can be paid to take those d-bags out of the spotlight and off our streets once and for all. …I’m just saying…

Bristol Palin: Sweet little girl next door extraordinaire

Tonight I almost did not watch the highly touted premier of Dancing With the Stars (DWTS) purely on principle alone. Seriously, the title alone implies that there are indeed actual stars involved in this celebrity dancing competition. Professional athletes, okay. Carol Brady from the cult classic show The Brady Bunch, yeah I’m buying that. But Bristol frickin Palin?

WTF did Bristol ever do that warrants her being invited to star in a celebrity dancing completion? Aside from getting knocked up as a teenager whilst her moronic mother was campaigning as a vice presidential candidate, I can’t say the girl has done anything of significance.

But now she is swanning around like some kind of holier-than-thou virgin who birthed a child via immaculate conception and proudly proclaiming that when it comes to dancing costumes for the show she would “wear the most modest outfits because that it who she is”. Yeah, righty-ho Bristol, whatever you say:




The only thing missing from this rather telling photo is her giant bottle of Captain Morgan’s rum and a shot gun. Oh, and that skanky blonde chick she was caught making out with…

And if that weren’t rich enough, Bristol’s well spun bio lists her as public speaker who earns between US$15,000 and $30,000 per appearance for flapping her gums on women’s, youth and abstinence matters. Yes, you read that correctly. A 19 year old, uneducated teenage mother is allegedly an expert on life matters, so much so that people are willing to shell out big bucks to listen to her yammer.




Perhaps she should stop with all the fame whoring and instead focus on getting her stupid ass a proper education so that she can start setting a decent example for her child. …I’m just saying…

Now how do you explain this one?

You know you’ve been totally flat out busted when your three year old gives you a play-by-play of all your rumpty tumpty escapades from the night before …complete with sound effects, mocking and a major scolding:



Wise beyond her years now isn’t she? Perhaps the next time mummy and daddy want to get their freak on it’s time to send the little princess over to grandma’s house for the night. …I’m just saying…

Sock Monsters and Other Urban Legends

At some point or another we have all probably wondered what the hell happened to that sock that went into the washer but never managed to come back out of the dryer. The actual whereabouts of missing socks is a question that has perplexed the minds of human beings since the very beginning of time or whenever it is that we all started wearing clothing.

In an attempt to help appease those troubled and inquiring minds I thought I would undertake some highly analytical and comprehensive research (NOT!) to find some much needed answers. In doing so I discovered the following:

1. There is no such thing as a mysterious black hole in our dryers that sucks our socks somewhere into space. Apparently if you ask your favorite space geek or Star Trek fan they will exasperatingly explain some mumbo jumbo about collapsed stars and how black holes in the dryer are scientifically impossible.

2. The urban legend about the one-legged burglar who used to break into neighbors’ houses and steal left-footed socks might actually be true! However this petty criminal activity took place back in the 1960’s and the burglar actually died in 1995 so in all fairness we can’t blame this guy today for our recently missing socks.

3. Socks do not magically disappear behind the washing machine drum or into the washing drain. It doesn’t take a mechanical genius to realize that the washer would stop working due to being all clogged up with socks - and that if this did happen with any sort of frequency then the sock mystery would have been solved long ago!

4. Your socks may still be in your dryer but you just can’t see them. Dave Cole of Coleskingdom explains that due to worm holes created by your dryer, your missing socks have passed into another plane of existence that we are yet unable to perceive… Interesting and maybe after a couple of cocktails I just might be a tad more inclined to buy into that particular cockamamie theory.

5. There are researchers out there who believe dark magic is responsible for the disappearance of our socks. Seriously? Missing socks are a world-wide phenomena that afflicts us all. Merlin or even Harry Potter himself would have come up with a ‘missing socks’ counter spell by now if indeed dark magic were truly responsible.

6. There are reports of an alleged “Sock Fairy” that takes our missing socks and gives them to people who don’t have socks of their own. How very kind and oh-so Disney-like, but wouldn’t it be far more altruistic and make more sense to just take the entire pair of socks instead of pissing off the masses by having only one sock go missing? And surely sock stealing has to be a major no-no in the enchanted little fairy world, so I’m just not buying any of it…

And while I’m certain we could all debate this trivial little matter from now until the end of time, most of us would probably agree that none of the above theories seem very plausible when it comes to explaining where our missing socks really go.

However, after much in-depth analysis and serious consideration I have concluded that in truth the dryer is actually responsible. Yes, the dyer! The Evil Dryer gobbles up our beloved socks only to later shit them out into fuzzy little pieces inside the dryer’s lint trap.

Think about that the next time you are cleaning out that big blob of lint from your dryer. Not such a far-fetched theory now is it? …I’m just saying…

Oopsy, I think I lost my top!

From churchy little girl next door to fame whore extraordinaire, Heidi Montag (or whatever the hell she is calling herself these days) is certainly giving P. Hilty a run for the money when it comes to trying to stay in the highly sought after public spotlight.

With all the fake marriages and divorces, horrific attempts at singing and acting, wardrobe malfunctions, outrageous amounts of plastic surgery and alleged girl-on-girl sex tapes, it appears there is absolutely no line that Heidi wouldn’t cross just to stay front and center on the covers of all those trashy tabloid magazines.


Here is Heidi plotting her attempt to become the next human Barbie:




When “Operation Barbie” didn’t go over so well, Heidi then concocted a highly publicized divorce from her wackadoodle husband Spencer. Nobody cared. She then had to think a bit more creatively:




Most recently Heidi has been making uninvited (photo) appearances at breast cancer walks and tweeting that she is giving herself a soft tissue massage while reminding all the other fake-boobied ladies out there that they have to keep those implants soft.

When oh when will the madness stop?...

Booty calls and other nighttime debauchery

If truth be told, I am so not a fan of the whole bothersome dating process. Now don’t get me wrong. I love men. I love talking to men. I love spending time with men. And I especially love flirting with men. But given the choice I would much rather special order my future husband and have him delivered by courier to my front door step -- and be done with that messy dating business once and for all.

To me dating is the equivalent of going to the dentist office. It’s a horribly unpleasant yet necessary evil that one must endure lest one end up as a creepy old cat lady with a mouth full of rotten teeth. Not a prospect that I would welcome at all. But even so, some while back I decided to go on a major dating hiatus …until such point that I meet someone that I might actually want to keep around for awhile.

Sure I miss the thought of romance and all the deliciously wonderful things that go along with it, but after hearing all the dating war stories from my single friends, it makes me kind of glad that I decided to take a break.

So, as someone who is now out of the proverbial dating loop, I still can’t help but ask what the eff is up with all the texting? How in the world are two people supposed to form any sort of meaningful connection if their primary (or sometimes only) form of communication is done electronically in 160 characters or less? Seriously, whatever happened to picking up a telephone (that device that sends those text messages) and having a genuine spoken conversation?

And call me an old fashioned nana, but what in the world ever happened to actual dates? By dates I mean those things that involve a guy calling a woman ahead of time and asking her if she would like to go to a nice dinner, a fun movie or even just out for drinks.

Has dating become so transactional that the process has been reduced to nothing more than late night booty calls? Nowadays it seems that all a player has to do is text a ‘hookup’ request to his chick du jour and she’ll roll right up like the pizza delivery girl all piping hot and ready to go.

Now when exactly did guys like that decide it’s okay to treat women so disrespectfully? Because clearly it is not okay to treat women like that. And when exactly did women start letting men treat them as if they were a drive-thru? All those chicks that are out there playing hoochie on wheels are only helping to further perpetuate the problem. Because clearly those ‘booty callers’ are getting a whole lot of yeses or they wouldn’t keep asking.

And not to sound like I’m joining the scary cat lady 'player hater brigade’ but to me it seems like the sad little world of dating has become a rather shady and meaningless place to be. Which is rather unfortunate being as I’m currently on the hunt for a serious B.O.N.’ing …I’m just saying…

From snarky to sweet in 2.5 seconds

In honor of this day, today is the perfect day to focus on that magnificent and wonderful thing called LOVE. Give it. Share it. Receive it. Feel it. Embrace it. And most of all, believe in it. Life is short. Enough said.

Much love, The Empress

B.O.N.e ME …Just for One Night

If you read my snarky little blog with any sort of frequency then you know that I’m on a major mission to get B.O.N.’ed. And yes, it is true that I’m known for shamelessly posting half-naked self portraits of myself dancing around all in an attempt to get those special BLOGGER powers that be just to notice me …and give me the hot B.O.N.’ing that I’m so totally craving.

I also gratefully welcome any and all Blog Pimps or Pimpettes that can assist me in achieving that coveted blogging milestone that is otherwise known as BLOG of NOTE. But it isn’t always just about me. There are plenty of times that I too want to put on the ole pimp mama hat and give a shout out to something or someone that I feel deserves some recognition.

Today I want to shine the spotlight on this incredible band called Jeremy Buck & The Bang. They are handsome, talented and deliciously entertaining musicians that I am so proud to call my friends. If you haven’t yet heard of them then please allow me to introduce the amazing Jeremy, Joel, Chris and Mark along with their most recent music video “Just for One Night”:



If you liked what you heard then please let me know. Maybe there is a chance that I can work my magic and help send them to your part of the world -- so that you too can get ‘Bucked’.

And BLOGGER, if by some miraculous chance that you happen to be reading this, then would you please B.O.N. me …Just for One Night?

xo The Empress

I swear it wasn’t mine

When oh-so-skanky fame whore Paris Hilton was recently arrested in Las Vegas on drug charges it made for the third time in the past several months that she was caught by authorities with an illegal substance in her possession. This time the mind altering party in a bag was nothing other than good old Columbian Tang (a.k.a. cocaine).

While in police custody a bindle of blow (oops!) fell out of the purse Paris was carrying. The desperate-for-attention heiress played poor little victim yet again by exclaiming that she thought the powdery white substance was chewing gum and that the purse wasn’t hers.

Now that the majority of her beyond ridiculous product lines have failed (champagne-in-a-can, cheap hair extensions, P-Hilty blow-up dollies), perhaps Paris was simply out on the town test driving her new celebrity edition ‘Eight Ball’ jewelry line that features its very own special chewing gum compartment.

Yay Paris! Way to make mommy and daddy proud...

Everything can change in a minute

Yesterday I was fairly gutted to hear that my adopted country and hometown, Christchurch, New Zealand was rocked by a major earthquake. This sort of news is something no one wants to hear, especially about a place so near and dear to one’s heart.

Below is a video highlighting some of quake’s the aftermath:



For those of you who haven’t had the good fortune to visit the amazingly awesome country of New Zealand, I can tell you with great enthusiasm that there is a very good reason NZ is fondly referred to as ‘Godzone’. Not only is New Zealand stunningly beautiful but so too is the spirit of its people.

Kiwis are hardy souls and no doubt my fellow Cantabrians are already focused on productively moving forward …which is but another reason why I ♥ New Zealand.

Chirp-chirp, beep-beep

Recently while in the midst of a rather gnarly insomnia episode I had an unpleasant experience with my smoke alarm. Yes, I am talking about those evil but oh-so-necessary plastic contraptions that help to save us all from deadly smoke inhalation and impending doom.

Anyway, at around 3:00am I laid there tossing and turning and praying to God, baby Jesus, Buddha and anyone else who would listen that I might finally be able to get some much needed sleep, when from above my bed I heard a single, dreaded high-pitched CHIRP.

And then ANOTHER and ANOTHER …until I had no choice but to drag my half-blind and exhausted ass out of bed in search of chair …so that I could teeter half-blind and exhausted while trying to rip that mother f*cker out of the ceiling. Just so that it would shut the hell up.

The entire time I was cursing the smoke alarm as well as that lazy pack of jackasses that obviously did not bother to change the alarm battery prior to me moving into my new home.

Once I removed the battery, I drug the chair back to the dining room, made my way to my bedroom and finally crawled back into bed …with smoke coming out my ears and blood pressure raging.

Just as I was about to close my eyes, I heard another loud CHIRP. And all I could think was: seriously, you have got to be effing kidding me…how is this even possible?

So, off I went for the chair -- again. Up I climbed to play electrician -- again. Then I had to figure out how to disconnect the wiring -- to try and keep that evil antichrist of an alarm from being able to cruelly taunt me any further.

Late the next day I went out and bought several replacement batteries, just in case that demon alarm got all finicky about the type of battery I shoved up the ass of its battery compartment.

Once a new battery was installed I laid my weary arse down for a major snooze. And just as I was about to doze off, I heard a loud CHIRP …and all I could think was WTF?

So, up I climbed -- yet again. I fiddled with the new battery and the alarm wiring, got everything back into place and proceeded to stand on the chair for several minutes praying that thing would finally shut the hell up with all of its chirping.

And then at last -- the sound of sweet beautiful SILENCE. I crawled back into my lovely bed and was determined to get some desperately needed shut-eye.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before I heard a LOUD NOISE that jolted me from my sleep. When I looked up, Satan the Smoke Alarm had oh so conveniently fallen out of the ceiling…

************

And for your viewing pleasure here is a similar but oh-so-different reenactment of my torture by smoke alarm.

Yeah, funny now but so not funny then!

If you think this is funny then check out his other trick…

Ok people, I’m going to go there. By there I mean over to the demented pervy side of things. So just in case you happen to be one of those sensitive or easily offended types, please be forewarned that the following video contains what can only be described as funny doggy porn:



After seeing that spectacle I couldn’t help but wonder:

1. With no opposable thumbs, how the heck is that even possible?

2. Just who exactly is responsible for teaching him that trick?

3. Does he realize that his ‘sex face’ is completely and utterly scary?

4. How is it that something so obviously gross can also be so amusing?


Happy September ya’ll!
xo The Empress