Posts Tagged ‘Amanda Carter’

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo: Get All Romantical In The Pigzilla Zone, Cuz There’s Love & Fried Meat In The Air.

Saturday, July 27th, 2013



I don’t need boys…or eating utensils…like all them other girls. Just gimme beef and a damn surge protector.






Hell yeah, they get it from their Mama, cuz Baby Got Back. And it’s all dipped in hot awesome sauce. Don’t be hatin’.






Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom. Nom.







Yeah. I pretty much turned out to be the normal one in this family. Guess you would have lost that Dolla Make Me Holla bet, hmmm?






Nom. Nom. Nom. Gag. Gag. Gag. Gag. Nom. Nom. Nom. Gag. Gag. Gag. Gag. Nom. Nom. Nom.






If you like it than you better put some Wings on it…and don’t forget the baked potato. I’ve got the foil and a little left over butter right here, boys.






If all this romantical crap sets my 478 rolls of toilet paper on fire I’m gonna kick your scrawny dip spittin’ a**, dude.




I just can’t.

Forget the subtitles and freebie Whiff & Sniff cards.

If somebody smarter than me can figure out how to cram them into a People Magazine, this show needs to start coming with Visine and Rolaids.

Or at the very least, some kind of advance warning system that could flash across the bottom of the screen to mentally and physically prepare us for what we’re about to witness and/or digest, because 30 seconds into this week’s brand new, calorie laden episode of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo my eyes were already burning as I nursed a belly cramp.

Visual and gastronomical overload, I tell you.

Now you know I love me some Boo.  And Mama Boo.  And Papa Boo.  And all the Boo sisters.  Even that new little Boo with all the thumbs.

Love.  Them.

But their dining etiquette…and lower intestines…are a hot a** mess.

It was the countdown to Lauryn‘s birthday as we returned to Georgia, and Mama June was in full party planning mode.

Pumpkin, as she prefers to be called at the Piggly Wiggly checkout and on Mensa applications, was turning either 13 or 39 this week.  I forget.  It was hard to tell sometimes, because she’s a pretty sturdy girl for a tweenie bopper.

But Pumpkin also likes to write on her tongue with permanent laundry markers and try to catch hair dryer air in her mouth before it gets cold, so it’s a pretty safe bet that she was only turning 13 years old.


Since Mama is always up for any non-challenge of a challenge, she was messing with Pumpkin’s head by telling her that the only thing they were planning this year was another meal served on those white styrofoam picnic plates that apparently double as fine china at Casa Boo.  No party.  No nada.

Shot the wad with Sugar Bear‘s Daisy Duke piñata.  Sorry.


The real dealio was that the whole Boo Brigade was headed to Papa Buck’s BBQ joint to try and tame the infamous (…read this in a scary voice with an echo…) Pigzilla!

Yeah.  Pigzilla.

Think Godzilla.  Except it’s a pig.

A really, really big pig.  Have some screaming Japanese farmer kill it before it destroys the streets of Tokyo.  Then ship the carcass to America.  Shred it.  Coat it in the nastiest goo you can kind find.  Cook it in more goo.  Stick it on a bun.  Squirt it with even more goo than the first two times.  Try to put the top back on without it sliding onto the floor.

And then make it give you a heart attack on the spot, so when they find your body it’s all bloated and your hands look like you just helped deliver a calf at Southfork Ranch.


Three pounds of meat.  One pound of bun.  Forty five minutes to eat the entire thing and then five more minutes to plug both ends and sit really still to make sure it stays inside you or you’ll forfeit the $200 prize.

Which you can then put towards gastrointestinal reconstructive surgery.  Or an iPod.

But, sssshhh.  Remember:  It’s a secret.

So don’t say anything, even though I’m pretty sure that you could probably write the whole thing down on a Post-It, let her read it and then stick it on her forehead and somehow Pumpkin would still be surprised enough to wet herself when you pull up in front of Papa Buck’s on Saturday.

I mean…is it me?  Or is there always something with Pumpkin?


As Alana and Pumpkin ran back and forth into each other’s bare stomachs to…ummm, I don’t know…see who could make the best bare stomach hitting another bare stomach sound, we finally got an explanation of sorts.

Turns out that 6 or 7 years ago, while plugged in to her Rosetta Stone advanced language DVD in preparation for a trip oversees with some Harvard exchange students, Pumpkin suffered a bit of a traumatic shock when a storm unexpectedly hit the town.

Zap.  She was freakin’ hit by lightening.  I swear.

Lightening that struck the house, ran through the power lines, lit up those 24/7 gutter holiday icicle lights and then zapped the smart right out Pumpkin’s brain.


Alana even drew us a Crayola triptych (…that looked uncomfortably like one of those “Where did he touch you?” pictures they show in court…) to explain how Mother Nature turned her sister from Happy Pumpkin into Stupid Pumpkin.

From the mouths of babes.

But they love that crazy girl.  Even when she shaves her eyebrows or cuts her bangs off at the roots.  She’s just Pumpkin.  Der.

And that calls for a dance.  A tap dance.

Because that’s Alana’s new thang.

Since she is on hiatus from the Pageant World until she either gets on a treadmill or gets up enough nerve to go back and see that scary skunk-haired Deeva Dancin’ Pageant Coach Amanda Carter (…wasn’t that name already used in Gunsmoke?  And what is really the deal with that hair?…) Alana needed another hobby.

So tap dancing is the new pretty feet.

Looking like a self-described “Minja,”…which is some kind of half Ninja and half something that starts with ‘M’…Alana stormed the Flag City School of Dance to get her chubby Boo Boo into a tiny Tutu, ya’ll.


Seriously.  How long does it take for Go-Go Juice to flush itself out of your system?  That was like three years ago, wasn’t it?

Buzzing around like Act 2 of Redneck Ballet’s I’ll Kick You In The Nutcracker, Alana somehow made a tutu look like a floppy midriff lampshade as she and another equally crazy girl twerked it out in their own little world, completely oblivious to anything, anyone and any directions being given around them.

By the time the instructors gave up and just let the kids all go “FREESTYLE!” it was like someone was pumping pure oxygenated sugar in through the air vents.

Gah.  I love that kid.

Back home, Pumpkin continued using her recently acquired electro-charged culinary skills to whip up a giant bowl of ravioli, pork chunks, chalk dust and cheese balls which she then used to soak her hands in like an old Palmolive television commercial.  Madge!

Google it, kids.  Or text an old person.

Finally, it was Pigzilla Day!  And it went exactly as you’d imagine it would go when someone attempts to eat a four pound burger after getting struck by lightening.

Not unlike the scene where Han Solo cut open that Tauntaun and shoved Luke Skywalker head first into the slimy guts to keep him warm and all that goo ended up on his face and in his hair.  It was like that.

But with a choice of sauces and a back office wastebasket nearby in case you got a gas bubble before the five minute launch sequence was completed.

Gross.  Table for one.

Needless to say, there is not an additional $200 in Pumpkin’s Glitzy the Piggy bank.

Luckily, Sugar Bear was feeling pretty romantical and that took the edge off all the gurgling noises that started percolating below the belt.

After nine years of shacking up with June, he wanted to make it official and ask her to get married.  As in…be his wife.

D’oh.  Couldn’t you just hug him?  From a distance?


Despite his dip teeth and chalk miner lungs, he loves that woman.  And her kids.  And he wanted to finally give them more stability and a legit date for the Father/Daughter Mud Bog Splash later in the school year.

Plus, she was ripe for the picking.  He said so.

After gathering all the girls together and getting their blessing, it was time to commence a’plannin’ as they say in the Li’l Abner musical.  But only after some quality family time at the Bowl-O-Rama, where we finally got to meet Jessica‘s new boyfriend Phillip.

A boy?  Dang.  You go, Chubbs.

He seemed like a nice enough kid, and I’m thinking that dazed look on his face was more from genetics and location than from actually being hit in the back of the head with a shovel like Foghorn Leghorn.  Because that’s totally what I’m going to look like the next day after Mama June has me over to the house for sketti.  Totally.

The end result of bowling was that somehow Pumpkin cheated and yet still managed to lose a bet with Mama.  So guess who spent the night rubbing lotion into someone’s Forklift Toe?

Yeah.  Lotion.  And big, beefy toes wiggling all around like sock puppets.

Thank goodness Mama actually kept those socks on or it could have easily crossed the line into one of those creepy porno fetish movies that always end up stuck together at the bottom of the discount bin.

Or so I heard, I mean.

On a lighter note, if you’re stuck with what to do with that extra turkey fryer you have laying around…here’s your answer.

Take it to the local pawn shop and trade it in for a wedding ring.  Because that totally happened next.

Sugar Bear and Alana went in search of the elusive Sausage Finger Ring, and he was so nervous it made me smile.  He even admitted that the whole idea of marriage had his mind racing like two squirrels in a wool sock, which was different than the two cat version I remember hearing on some other show earlier this year.


Squirrel or cat, I still believe that one of them trapped inside a sock would probably go just as spaz as two would, so I’m thinking that maybe I just don’t get the whole redneck repartee.  I think I’ll try it one day when the ASPCA people aren’t soliciting for money outside CVS and report my sock results back at a later date.

After I learn how to catch a squirrel, that is.

Finally, it was Proposal Day!

While June was off getting her hair did, Sugar Bear and the girls went completely iParty Valentine’s Day throughout the house.

Rose petals, plastic tablecloth and way too many flavors of scented candles placed way too close to all of June’s flammable coupon stockpile of deodorant and aerosol pageant hairspray.  Seriously.  He could have shot that house onto the Moon.

Even Nugget the Chicken, who had spent most of the day sitting inside a pot on the stove (…WTF?  Again with that rooster-looking chicken in the house?…) was finally put in a cage after pretending to lay a gold plastic Walmart egg.

Sugar Bear even put on his Funeral Shirt, which was somehow different from the Professional Shirt Pumpkin had worn during the Attack of the Pigzilla.  So you knew he meant business.

When Mama came back from the salon all naturally highlighted and sunkissed, she was all like “What The–?” and Sugar Bear was all like “Sit Down Sit Down” while the girls all pig piled on the kitchen floor trying to hear what was happening.  They even brought sleeping bags to absorb any residual butter from last week’s Redneck Slip ‘N Slide floor glaze.

Even through his flop sweat, Sugar Bear was like a little boy asking a girl out to the cafeteria dance.  He even got a little teary eyed (…either from emotions, candle smoke or a damn chicken in the house…) but finally got up enough steam to pop the question.

Will you marry me?

To Be Continued…


Here Comes Honey Boo Boo: Put On Your Blue Suede Shoes So You Don’t Stub Your Forklift Toe. It’s Time For Elvis And A Bunch Of Water Wedgies.

Thursday, August 30th, 2012



I feel like a chunky lemon. And Pamela Anderson, if she had no boobs and a poop in a can tan.






Not gonna lie. This wedgie probably ain’t coming out until the Holidays.






Smoochie is one hunka hunka burning redneck love, bitches. You might wanna step aside so you don’t catch on fi-yah.





Pardon me. Have you seen a forklift toe sock float by in the last couple of minutes? It has fancy polish on it.





If you squint, it kinda looks like a scene from Baywatch.





Pull up a chair, pull down your wedgie and let’s get this party started.

America’s most Redneckognizable Redneck family was back for another round of jaw dropping hilarity this week, and they certainly didn’t disappoint.

Love ’em or hate ’em,  Here Comes Honey Boo always delivers.  You can’t deny them that.  And this time around it was no different.

In fact, the only thing Alana and her backyard garage entourage didn’t deliver was a Teen Mom baby, though they tried their darndest to make that one happen as well.  But as the directions on a tube of Pillsbury Crescents clearly state…the biscuits are ready when the biscuits are ready.  And not a minute sooner, or you risk one collapsing after you remove the goods from the oven.

After last week’s soap opera cliffhanger, which left 17 year old Chickadee and Mom June squealing off in an ambulance following the world’s most dramatic false labor contractions television has ever seen (…sorry, Rachel Zoe.  You and your OMG I’m literally dying SuperBaby just lost that crown…) we met up with the gang at the hospital.

Chickadee, who apparently had skipped every filmstrip ever shown in every Health class during her entire school career, seemed to have almost no idea what to expect when it was time to pop out some baby.  And 34 weeks into the process was probably not the time to figure out that sooner or later that thing has to come out of somewhere.

I’d like to personally give a shout-out to Oprah Winfrey and that sling swing thing she was dangling from all those years ago that made her Va Jay Jay tingle, because ever since that fateful day you can’t discuss anything that goes on down there without hearing that catch phrase.  Or thinking of Gail King’s face.  Just saying.

As lethargic and drooly as Chickadee is on a normal day after waking up at noon, multiply that by about a bazillion and then medicate it.  Girlfriend was stoned.

When the doctor sent her home to relax her Oprah stuff under strict bed rest, I wondered how that would actually differ from the day before she had gone to the hospital.  Maybe bed rest is different than her couch rest?  I’m not really sure.  I should Google it, but that seems like a lot of effort right now.

Nice enough girl.  But we’ve never really seen her do anything except snarf down cheese balls now that you mention it.  And Chickadee is definitely not going to be remembered on her tombstone for being a spitfire, or any help around the house at all, for that matter.

Remember, she was the one who milked the pregnancy card during her family’s Christmas in July celebration and had to beach it on the Santa La-Z-Boy because untangling extension cords got her winded.

Originally I assumed that she may have had something to do with why those icicle lights are still hanging up there on the gutter, but I have a pretty good feeling they’ve been there longer than 34 weeks so I’m not going to blame that one on Chickadee.  Squeaked by on that one, honey.

After a grainy, wobbly hand-held home video ride back to Casa Boo, which totally reminded me of some crazy farmhand version of The Blair Witch Project by the way, they tucked stoner Chickadee into bed and covered her head to toe with a blanket.

For a second it reminded me of a pig in a blanket, which made me think of Glitzy and I got sad.  I miss that little thing and it’s only been a week.

Then it just reminded me of a pig in a blanket again.  I think Chickadee figured that if she cut off the entire air supply to the baby it would try to crawl out faster and then this whole thing would finally be over and she could get back to the couch.  The TV is way bigger out there.

Again…stay in school kids.  The More You Know.

While Chickadee was wrapped in her quilted shroud, it was time for the other Boo Boo Girls to have one last final weigh-in.  It was the end of their weight loss challenge and the law of averages had to allow for at least one person in the building to drop a pound, right?

First up was Pumpkin, who I believe actually invented the Five Second Rule.

Needless to say, she gained 6 pounds, which I also believe is the opposite of what you should do during a weight loss challenge.

I’ll say it since no one else will.  If that girl could only absorb water as fast as she absorbs calories, FEMA could airlift her down to New Orleans and drop her behind one of the levees.

Problem solved, Mr. President.

Chubbs lost a few pounds, but clearly not enough to warrant a call to the folks at Guinness.

Mom lost 1.6 pounds, which unfortunately was probably just the Timex she forgot to put on that day, but I’ll give her credit for trying.  At this rate we’ll inhabit Mars before she has to actually buy new pants, but I never give anyone grief if they are trying.  So you go, girl.

You go to the Water Park, is where you go.

As a treat for losing a combined something around 8 pounds,  June treated them all to Splash in the Boro, which I thought was a gay bar outside of New York City but turned out to only be a water slide joint. Which was good considering that everyone is under age.

Alana was quite excited to hit the park, even though it was going to be overflowing with the now infamous Vajiggle Jaggle and wedgies for miles.  I’m thinking Splash probably doesn’t mention either of those in their Summer Coupon Books press releases.

First stop was Lazy River, which was deemed to be the absolute favorite of lazy a** fat people everywhere.  That’s probably not in the Book, either.

You basically just stick your junk in a blue inner tube and and bumper car boink your way down a sloooowly moving stream like you’re on a wet Krispy Kreme conveyor belt.

(And seriously…how good are those donuts if you get there right when they come out of the oven?  Just shut up.)

Since nobody likes dragging the pool for a drowning pageant princess, Alana was strapped into a yellow life jacket just in case she took a dump off her tube.  On the other hand, I don’t believe that June’s inner tube was intentionally planned as an emergency floatation device, but since she got herself completely stuck inside it and could not pull it off without the help of at least three people, she should have felt pretty safe in the water.

I love that lady.  Big and loud and proud.  And you know she totally used some half-price coupon to get into the park that she peeled off one of her 186 cans of condensed milk.

Am I wrong?

Once the Jaws of Life were called in to pry the blue Krispy Kreme off June’s face, she headed up to the Water Slide.  Watching two scrawny lifeguard types try and lift with their knees and figure out how to get June onto the butt pillow was worth a full price admission to the park.  Screw the coupon.

She knew it wasn’t gonna be pretty and took it all in stride.  And in straddle, as she got a little personal with her inflated friend.

After tweaking a sciatic nerve, the boys finally shoved June down the shoot.  It’s too late to do the math, but I’m sure if some scientist out there with time to kill wants to figure out the velocity x volume ratio….well, let’s just say my girl was close to breaking the sound barrier as she hydroplaned down the yellow winding path.

That probably also explains why she sounded like a car alarm as she flew down the slide.  That was the oddest half laugh/half scream/half hiccup I’ve ever heard at any amusement park.  Ever.

And yes…I know that three halves are impossible.

Just because I can’t do velocity x volume doesn’t mean I don’t own a calculator.  There’s one on my phone.  Der.

After June splash landed at the bottom and park security located the two boys thrown from the pool during the storm surge, the Boo Boo Girls tried to bully Mom into doing the Monster Slide.  That’s the one that is half a mile up in the sky where you spend more time getting to the top than enjoying the water part of the process.

June wasn’t playing that game.  No thank you.

But the girls weren’t taking NO for an answer and unless Mom was going to climb 786 stairs for 5 seconds of slide time, they were going to require something else as collateral.

It was the toe.  Or nothing.

That’s right.  The infamous, never before seen Forklift Toe.

The one that was somehow mangled in a tragic forklift accident at some random warehouse many years ago.  It’s the thing of legends, I tell you.  Everyone in town knows about it, but no one has seen it.

Even her own children haven’t been able to penetrate the protective, nail polished athletic sock barrier to see if the toe is as gnarly as Mom claims.

Answer:  No, it’s not.  It’s worse.

After finally caving in to pressure, June slowly revealed the whacked out big toe as the park’s muzac system played some kind of dramatic theme from Jaws remix.

It was pretty gross.  And somehow, the split second she unleashed that raw meat, it was completely covered in gnats.


How is that even possible?  No gnat can get from point A to point B that quickly unless they were already in the sock, which….eewww.  Gross.

Since everything after a gnarly, gnat covered toe would seem anti-climactic, all the Boos headed home to focus on Alana’s upcoming practice pageant.

Fist up was the spray tan, courtesy of either Krylon or that company that makes Thanksgiving gravy.  It was runny and nasty as it drooled down her little pork belly.

Poop In Can, she called it.  Get Madison Avenue on the phone.

The Rock Star Pageant this week was a smaller, test run kind of deal for the Big Dawg Glitz event coming up next month.  Since Alana had been MIA from pageants for a little bit while she played in the mud and outgrew her cupcake dress, June felt it would be good to try out a smaller venue and get feedback for improvement before hitting the circuit hard.

As you’ll recall, Amanda Carter and her chunky skunk striped ‘do had been working with Alana down at the Deevas Dance Studio to create a new Elvis routine.  This would be the first time that Alana would be performing it live, without the assist of Amanda and that brown lipstick on her teeth.  (Honey, please.  Hit the Mall and get your colors done.  Not being mean…just trying to help.)

But first was the Beauty portion, and the unveiling of Alana’s new dress.  Which made me think of the matching tiny version that they had requested for that gay pig, and I got sad again.  Wonder what ever happened to that mini me dress?

Jennifer, who ever that was, was trussing up the back of Alana’s dress like that Giada chick does on the Food Network while June and Honey Boo Boo tried to get in the zone.  The skirt part fell off as soon as Alana started to walk, so they may want to find the directions before they actually throw out the box.

Since we all spent too much time having fun at the water park, we only got about 3 minutes of actual pageant love.

Alana nailed her Beauty walk, despite June bellowing out “Work it, Smoochie!” so loudly it could be heard outside in the parking lot.  If you’ll recall the first time we ever met June back in the Toddlers & Tiaras days (…“Show them yo’ belly, Smoochie!”…) the woman does love to keep it movin’ behind the judges’  table.  I’m all for supportive Pageant Moms, but it tends to distract the kids, and in June’s case probably raises the room temperature a notch or two.

The Elvis routine came complete with a mic stand, electric guitar and that white rhinestone studded outfit he always wore right when he was starting to get fat.  She rocked it.

At the end of the day, Alana took home Queen in her age division, but not the Megatron Ultra Transformer crown.  She was happy, but still a little bummed.  The poor kid still hasn’t taken home the mother load.

But again, she’s got her own show, bitches.

She didn’t lose any of her sass though, even when that big crazy lady in the lobby told them to work on eye contact.

So off they went with a new crown, a sash, some toys and homework for the next pageant.

And probably a lingering wedgie.

Sheeeooot.  Elvis has left the building.

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo: Umm. Duh. Even A Door Nut Knows That It’s Time For Redneck Christmas In July. Glitzy…It’s Like We Hardly Knew Ya.

Thursday, August 23rd, 2012



For the last time. It’s called Teacup piglet. Not Tranny piglet. I swear you people are just Pignorant.





Listen up, pig. The only squealing I wanna hear at 5:30 in the morning are my Baby Daddy’s Shugie Noogies.






OMG. It’s like totally Que Me Gusta Alana Shakira Telemundo Yo Quiero Taco Bell.






I mean, c’mon. What Santa isn’t gonna want some of this sliding down his chimney on a hot July afternoon?













Girrrl, pleez. Clutch the Pearls & Swine. The other boys are never gonna believe this Fierce s***.




All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.

My two front teeth…my two front teeth.

Or maybe even just one of them…I know times are tough.  And actually, one tooth would still leave a sweet little opening to poke in some chew when the mood strikes, and would be just enough space to eject it back out into my empty root beer bottle when I’m tooling down the highway.

Yeah.  Forget the song.  Make it one front tooth, Santa.

You can check one present off your 2012 Holiday list already, because TLC and the Boo Boo Clan just hand delivered us a gift that is gonna keep on giving for months to come.

Maybe even years, if you count therapy time into the equation.

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo celebrated a Redneck Christmas in July this week, and it was pretty much everything I could ever ask for all crumpled up into one big ball, tossed into a burlap bag and adorned with a John Deere green bow courtesy of the Kuntry Stoe.

I know, right?  That’s the name of a real general store.

Did you catch that in the first 2.5 seconds of the scene?  Right now there are so many inappropriate Backwood Hooker Skank jokes running through my head that I may just need to step away from the laptop for a second before I say something that will alert those office I.T. guys who keep track of dirty nasties on your ip address.

Kuntry Stoe.  Do the math.

As Momma Boo Boo June explained it, the annual Christmas in July Extravaganza was a family run event to raise money for a local charity.

Say what you will about the Boo Boos.  Love ’em or hate ’em (…and I looooove them…) but they really seem to have a lot of heart.  Granted, that heart is more than likely going to require the unclogging of at least two of the three coronary arteries if they continue down that dangerously narrowing cheese ball path they have chosen…but as of today, the heart still works and it wanted to help others in need.

Of course, the snarky side of me immediately asked why they don’t just give each of their neighbors 52 rolls of Brawny paper towels and a case of Mitchum roll-on and call it a day.  For a second I actually wondered if these less than fortunate people were only hurting because by the time they got out of work and made it down to the Piggly Wiggly, June had already cleared the shelves and there were no rations left for their own pantry.

Coupon Queen: 1  Less Fortunates: 0  Suck it.

But June makes me laugh, so I’ll let this one slide.

The event basically consisted of covering the Boo Boo front yard with every inflatable Christmas lawn decoration ever sold in that back garden part of Walmart after they run out of lawnmowers.  Now I finally know who buys all that shizzle.

There were Santas, snow globes, nutcrackers and enough 12 foot tall reindeers to make any kid pee his pants if he wasn’t emotionally prepared for the sight when glancing out that train window as it buzzed the Boo Boo garage.

Could that train come any closer to their property line?  I need to see the back of that garage, because I’ll bet you good money that it’s like an Acela train conductor tradition to hang your hand out the window as you blow by and stick a wad of gum on the roof shingles.  I just know it for some reason.

It came as no surprise that June and Sugar Bear were doing all the hard labor.  The three older girls are already national icons when it comes to shlubbing around the house.  If it don’t come in a snack bag, they ain’t picking it up.

Yeah.  Chickadee is preggo, though I’m guessing she wasn’t training for the McIntyre Half Marathon before she did the deed.  But she is knocked up, and it was 100 degrees out there, so Teen Mom scored a Get Out Of Mayberry Jail Card.  This time.

Chubbs and Pumpkin on the other hand, were just dead weight.  Pun intended.

As Alana ran around hugging each inflatable as though she were using her pageant powers to give them life, Chickadee somehow managed to make a Lay-Z-Boy Santa recliner look like something you would stick to at your OB/GYN’s office.

The other two girls sweat it out, cramped it out, complained it out and swatted at gnats almost as quickly as they swat those stray BBQ chips that always fly out of the bag when you first tear it open.

Seriously.  Those girls could snatch a flying bullet mid-air if it had mustard on it.

Then it was off to practice for the Rock Wear portion of Alana’s upcoming pageant.

As you’ll remember last time, June and Alana had hit up the Deevas Dance Studio to get some pointers on a new Elvis routine that they could unleash on the judges.

Beautimous Amanda Carter had taken time from her busy schedule of bleach striping her hair and testing out all the Avon Fall 2012 lip smear colors to design a few pelvic thrusts for Alana.  She apparently also hootched…I mean, hooked…up Alana with a Deevas branded version of those I ♥ PINK sweatpants with the logo on the butt.

How is it possible that not one person ever knows their own true size when they buy those stupid pants?  Because that’s how it all starts.

Then before you know it…UGG boots.

Thanks, Amanda.  I’d kiss you, but you know…the whole lip thing.

Unfortunately, Alana was having a hard time remembering it all during rehearsal.  Since I spent way more time being distracted by the studio and the new Fall colors than I did watching the original lesson last week, I’m not sure if the moves were too difficult or if it was just the hot Santa sun.

But either way, Alana had a little dramatic Deevas Moment and laid on the stage like tomorrow’s dinner on the highway.  Except roadkill doesn’t have Helvetic font on its a**.

Now I don’t know if it was due to the hot sun, or the excitement of Christmas in July, or head trauma from laying on the stage floor, or what…but for some reason Alana was suddenly gifted with the power to speak Spanglish.

de veras!

(Google it.  It’ll be fun, and will kill some time at work.)

It wasn’t quite Ricky Martin Spanglish.  Or even Charo on the Love Boat Cuchi-Cuchi Spanglish.

Think more of a Beverly Hills Housewife finding out that her Valley Girl daughter had slept with the gardener and the cowboy who was in town for a Rodeo Benefit while they were on a road trip to Georgia.

Then just slop that all up into a half-price burrito with a double coupon, and somehow when Alana said “OMG. Oh My Door Nuts” it all made sense.

At least in my world.

Plus the Door Nuts reminded me of a Redneck joke about Deer Nuts.  Wanna hear it?

Q. What’s the difference between Beer Nuts and Deer Nuts?

A. Beer Nuts cost $1.75…Deer Nuts are under a Buck.

Get it?  Under a Buck.  Like a boy deer.


Now if Glitzy the Pig wasn’t squealing all night you could go to bed and ponder that last paragraph while realizing that you’ll never get that time back.

Again, whether due to the heat, the excitement or general pageant pig gender confusion, Glitzy had been keeping the Boo Boo household up all night for snacks.  And then repeating the whole process again at ButtCrack A.M. for his sunrise feedings.

June don’t play dat.  Girlfriend needs her beauty sleep.

Alana loved that pig and considered it her lucky charm to win the upcoming pageant.  She loved it like a family member.  Maybe even more than some of her family.

But keeping a pig in a baby crib in a house with one bathroom and two converging Acela trains just wasn’t working out.  You know it’s bad when it turns out that the pig is louder than the rush hour commuter rail.

So as much as June hated to do it…Glitzy had to go.

Which meant a family meeting where she and Sugar Bear could break the news to Alana and the girls.

After Chubbs, Chickadee and Pumpkin high-fived each other with the realization that there would now be more food for them to snarf down, Alana cried and it got really sad.

And really slow motion.  Like a Lifetime movie almost.

With one of those songs that always plays on General Hospital when they’re just about to pull the plug on Jason Morgan and his brain tumor lilting through the Boo Boo house, Sugar Bear picked up Glitzy in slo-mo and handed him to Alana for one last raspberry kiss.

Then he scooped up the poor little gay pig and left through the front door, where I actually expected to find Jane Seymour standing with open, welcoming pig arms since the bitch is in every Lifetime movie ever made.

But no Jane.

And now, no more Glitzy.

After a quick Kleenex dab to my eyes, it was off to the Mud Bog!

Family friend Crazy Tony and his platoon of crazy 4 wheeling buddies all came to the aid of sad Alana.  And nothing cheers up a kid like getting dirty.

Mud Boggin’.  Tubin’.  Face plantin’ in the ditch.  It was a Redneckified day at the amusement park, complete with the opportunity for the boys to drag June on her muddy booty backwards down a hill towards the water like marine biologists do when a whale can’t breath.

And then it was finally time for Santa!

Sugar Bear, for whatever reason, had a stock pile of three Santa suits to choose from as he dressed in the Boo Boo Boudoir.  As June lay seductively on the bed, he exposed all his whiteness and almost burnt out the contrast options on my television.

How do I explain this one?  Let me think….

How many of you have ever tried to watch bootleg porn that wasn’t properly calibrated for the type of monitor screen you were using?  And the picture gets stretched out so much that all the porno actors look fat and appear to be rolling around the bed more so than getting busy?

Anyone?  Show of hands?  Come on.  You can tell me.

Well.  It was pretty much just like that as Sugar Bear stripped down and June hoisted her goods up on the bedspread and made some kind of tongue flap thing happen in her mouth.

If you think finding out the truth about Santa could scar you…try that one on for size.

Unfortunately, the mood was ruined by June’s realization that the bedspread was covered in toenail clippings.

I’ll wait while you process that one.

Not gonna lie.  As much as I should have been horrified, I was more mesmerized with the concept that one of the girls would actually take the time to stop gobbling cheese balls, get off the couch, go to the bathroom, find the nail clippers in what you know has to be a big hot mess of a vanity drawer and then go all the way into their parents’ bedroom just for a pedicure.

Maybe it’s just me, but that whole scenario just seems like a lot of work for three girls best known for striving to achieve the opposite of a lot of work.

Quick flip of the nails onto the rug and it was good as new.

Christmas in July was a success, for the 12 kids who showed.  From what I gathered, if you brought a can of StarKist you got to sit on Sugar Bear’s lap in 100 degree humidity.

In a Santa suit that smelled like the opposite of Beer Nuts.

But it was for a good cause.  A little creepy.  But a good cause.

Gah…I love these Boo Boos.

Right as we were about to bid a fond Y’all Come Back Now, Chickadee went and cramped up on us.  Big time.

Teen Mom is only 34 weeks out in her pregnancy, so the last thing anyone wanted was a preemie baby on a hot summer night.  I mean, they just got rid of the pig.  Is one night of sleep too much to ask?

One call to 911 and a couple of 14 year old EMTs were on the scene escorting Chickadee, and all her drama, out the door.  One kid looked pissed that he had to stop his video game in the middle to drive out to Casa Boo Boo, but duty called.

As the ambulance laid a patch of gravel, June and Chickadee were off to the hospital, leaving a smelly Santa and a pageant princess in the dust.

OMG.  It’s like totally to be el continuedo.  Mucho continuedo.

We miss you already, Glitzy.

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