Posts Tagged ‘Deevas Dance Studio’

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.

 

 

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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’.

 

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

 

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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?

 

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

 

 

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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.

 

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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.

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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.

Psych.

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.

Pigzilla.

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?

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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.

Forever.

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.

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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?

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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.

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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…

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Here Comes Honey Boo Boo: Y’All Better Blow Your Nose And Dab Your Cards, Because Bingo Ain’t Nuthin To Sneeze About. Ah-Choo Boo Boo!

Thursday, September 20th, 2012

 

 

I either need me some new glasses from the Piggly Wiggly, or that’s Mario Lopez playing Bingo behind me. Stay cool, June Bug.

 

 

 

 

Seriously. I don’t know what’s in these markers, but it is some goooood s***. I could sniff this bad boy all day.

 

 

 

 

I got me my lucky watermelon and some Orange Fanta. Daddy’s bringing home some cash tonight, bitches.

 

 

 

 

No, really. It even tastes like Glitter and Cherry Jell-O. This shizzle is off the hook. Gimme some more cards and keep ’em comin’, boys. Boo Boo likes.

 

 

 

 

This is my ‘Bingo Face.’ It’s also my ‘What’s That Smell Face’ and my ‘I Don’t Even Remember Eating That Face.’

 

 

 

 

Forget the RNC. Looks like even Wednesday Bingo Night takes a hit when Honey Boo Boo Child is on TV.

 

 

 

There is definitely something in the air in Georgia.

I don’t know if it’s pollen, Amtrak exhaust or smoke from that BBQ Shack with all the pig memorabilia.

But whatever it is, it’s making everyone sneeze.  And eat.

A lot.

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo was back for another Redneckulous episode and as a TLC public service announcement, it would have been nice if the whole thing had come with some sort of Kleenex disclaimer during the opening credits.

By now, we already know that sitting through an entire episode pretty much requires a pack of Wet-Naps and a fresh flip top of floss at the finish line.  That’s no news flash.

Even the sneezes aren’t really anything new.

But this week we were treated to the kind of industrial-sized honks and woogies that would make any Coupon Queen proud, as whatever it is that’s floating in that thick Georgia air claimed a few more victims.

With only a week or so left before Alana‘s big pageant, it was time to get serious.  In preparation for the competition, Mama June had already bought a new BeDazzled cupcake dress and hooked Honey Boo Boo Child up with that crazy lady with the matching crazy a** striped hair from Deevas Dance Studio.  So now it was on to a makeup tutorial.

Always the budgeting penny pincher, June knew that between the new dress, that crazy a** hair lady and pageant entry fees that this was going to cost a good chunk of change to get Alana on the stage.  So saving some dinero wherever she could was key.

And since most pageant organizations now frown on bartering for their services with a Ford truck cab full of Brawny paper towels, it was clear that June was going to have to learn how to do Alana’s makeup on her own.  Cutting out a hired hair and makeup person could not only save upwards of $400, but it would also free up some elbow room in those congested hotel suites as everyone goes into panic mode four minutes before their age group is called.

Did I just say upwards of $400?  To do a 7 year old’s makeup?

Shut.  Up.  Seriously.  If I wasn’t worried about getting pegged as a perv or having to explain where I go every weekend and why I have so many little Ramada soaps, I would totally be downtown right now banging on the front door of CVS until the overnight cleaning crew let me inside to bag some Revlon and Aqua Net.  $400?  Sign me up.

Sparkle, baby.  And get that lipstick off your flipper.  My bad.

So it was off to the Style Salon for the Boo Boo girls and Mama, where Jennifer Garner was going to show them how to get Alana all Beautimous.

I know, right?  Jennifer Garner!  Do you think Ben Affleck‘s baby might be there in the chair next to Boo Boo?  I’m so excited.

Psych.  Wrong Jennifer Garner.

I guess the first clue should have been the outside of the building, that looked like either a holding cell where they stick you when the cops are stuck in traffic, or one of those after-hour clubs with no door knobs.

Second clue should have probably been the printed label wrapped around whatever meds you’re on that would ever make you think Jennifer Garner was going to be the one doing Honey Boo Boo Child’s makeup.

Like that’s ever gonna happen.

The Fake JG got right down to business on Alana’s face as June watched with that same kind of intensity you would have when your first pick up truck is getting detailed.  JG split Boo Boo’s face down the center and made her Super Modelicious on the left side and then handed the reigns to June.

Remember the episode of H. R. Puffnstuff when they kept screaming “MakeUP!!!” and then slamming a pillow case full of powder into Witchypoo‘s face over and over?

Yeah.  It was like that.  But worse.

(And hey…I heard that.  Maybe I’m not old enough to remember the show.  Maybe I just watched it on youtube for the first time this week, mmmkay?  Don’t be hatin’, bitches.)

By the time June finished tagging Alana’s right side with what appeared to be either gangstah symbols or an homage to that guy in KISS who has the star on one eyeball, it was a hot mess.  Guess she better start bankrolling another $400 and hit me up on my Sidekick.

Since it was clear that a hair and makeup person was now in their future, June and Sugar Bear took all the Boo Boos down to the VFW Hall for Wednesday Bingo Night, in an attempt at scoring the $1000 prize.

If we learned anything from the entire Republican National Convention caving in under the sheer weight of Redneck Power this month, it’s that nobody wants to do anything on a Wednesday night except watch Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.  Not even hardcore BingoHeads.

The place was empty, which should have given them pretty good odds at bringing home some bacon considering that all the Boo Boos combined made up roughly half of the building’s audience that night.

Alana didn’t really understand the whole concept and was initially happy to just disrupt everyone else’s focus and stamp out smiley faces on her napkin.  The rest of the Boo Boo girls basically ate snacks and dabbed the markers on their own noses while they chewed.  Shugie either slept or was really focused on his cards.  I’m not sure what was going on there.

Turns out that all the coupon fine printing has finally taken its toll on June’s eyes, which explained why she went full scale Mole Man every time a Bingo ball popped up out of that Bingo ball shoot thing.  Squinting like you do when your car first turns a corner during the evening rush and you get that full on setting sun burning into your corneas so badly that you’re afraid you’ll end up in one of those tragic Reader’s Digest stories about survival, June  could barely see the cards in front of her.

Guess that explains the whole makeup fiasco, too.

June called it her Bingo Face.  Whatchoo talkin’ about, Willis?

Controversy erupted at the close of the evening as Alana accused some lonely woman in the back of the hall of cheating.  Not that Alana really knew the rules.  But she lost.  And in the mind of a 7 year old child…and maybe mine as well…it always means someone else cheated.  Because losing sucks big ones.

As June explained to us how upset and disappointed Alana was at going home with nothing but Magic Marker finger, Mama was overcome with yet another one of her monster sneezing attacks, which I’m still contemplating using as my new ring tone.  I’ve never been too fascinated by the whole sneezing process until the Reality TV Gods gave me Honey Boo Boo, but now it’s like I’m nasally born again or something.

I’m pretty sure my television actually wobbled a little as June honked one out, it was so good.  Trust me…it was strong enough to send Dorothy to Oz and back before dinner.

Ah-Choo!

After a quick nose wipe it was off to The Chic Boutique to meet up with Miss Georgia 2011, who was going to make a valiant attempt at teaching Alana some Klass.

Strutting up the sidewalk in total Baywatch slow motion, complete with a sassy Pam Anderson hair toss, Michaela Lackey had no clue what she was walking into once she finally made it up to Alana and Mama.

Obviously Michaela had not been able to contact Barbara Hickey, the Etiquette Coach who had previously tried to teach some table manners to the Boo Boos and see what she was up against with this family, or she would have been on the other side of the Georgia state line by now.  That lack of communication was most likely due to the fact that they probably have fairly limited visiting hours at whatever Insane Asylum Miss Manners was admitted to after Pumpkin tooted out a few good ones at the dining room table.

Hulu that episode.  Classic Gassic.

But Michaela gets an “A” for effort.

Hoping to give Alana tips on reaching her goals and maybe not talking with her mouth full, it was an exercise in futility.  The three of them poked around the boutique just long enough for Alana to run through a few wind chimes and try to knock a chandelier down with her face, and for Miss Georgia to perfect her fake smile.  She was dying on the inside, I tell you.  Dying.

Then it was off for some dessert, where Alana demonstrated how the Boo Boos like to take one gigantic piece of whatever happens to land on their plate and then slowly shove it down their throats like a wood chipper.  If it dangles out a few inches, so be it.

Alana then finished off the meal, and more than likely Miss Georgia’s television career, with a little gas and a face covered in at least three of the six major Food Groups.

Gah.  How much do I love this family?

With that job interview smile still pasted on her face, Michaela suggested that Alana may have some refining to do before she puts on a Miss America crown, and then slowly walked back off into the sunset with vaseline on her teeth and desperation in her eyes.

Thanks for playing.  We have some lovely parting gifts.

And speaking of gifts….it was time for Alana’s Birthday Party!

Honey Boo Boo Child was officially turning 7 and it was time to celebrate.  And nothing says Happy Birthday like raiding a Coupon Queen’s plastic shelving unit and regifting some hot sauce and liquid soap.

Yup.  Them other Boo Boo girls are some cheap a** bitches.

Pumpkin, Chubbs and Chickadee swiped some goods from Mama June’s Costco room and quickly wrapped them up with one sheet of gift wrap and four rolls of scotch tape.  Maybe five.

Having a Mother who hoards office supplies as well as toothpaste certainly has its benefits when it comes to last minute gifts.  And you don’t have to fight all that Black Friday traffic down at the Galleria when you can just go from the bathroom to the dining room and get all your shopping done while you’re still in your underwear.

Mama and Shugie had set up a Slip n’ Slide and a Sno-Cone booth in the front yard to create the ultimate birthday park, and Alana took a total spaz.  She loved every minute of it and spent the entire day buzzing between the slide and the pool and the pool and the slide.

Even June tried to climb the inflated steps on the slide, but that didn’t exactly go as planned.  Something about the rope being on the wrong side.  And maybe the fact that she’s substantially big and proud with a Forklift toe.  And water slides are basically gigantic balloons filled with non-supportive oxygen.  You can do the physics math on that one.

But it’s the thought that counts.  And Alana loved her hot sauce and her family…and that’s all that mattered.

It was the best birthday party ever.

Capped off with the best sneeze ever.  If you’re into gross, slimy sneezes that is.

Chilling out in her lawn chair, Alana finished off the show with a sneeze that pretty much blew out the portion of her brain responsible for long division.  Girl…it was nasty.

Who knew?  She must have picked up some manners from Miss Georgia after all, because Alana clamped her hands over her face to hide the evidence and then just sat there in horror wondering why nobody behind the camera could hand her a Kleenex.

That made two of us.  Nobody could help?  There’s an entire room in that freakin’ house with nothing but paper goods and nobody could run inside?

Not one person came to her rescue.

Ten minutes later, she was still sitting there.

I didn’t check, but it could have been another twenty before she finally…slooooowly…stood up and slipped past the cameras like cartoon characters do when they turn to rubber and just slide off the chair in search of the elusive tissue.

Next time is…Ah-Choo!…Pageant Time.

Big honk if you love Boo Boo.

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.

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.


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