Posts Tagged ‘Go-Go Juice’

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: You’d Better Redneckognize That Smell. Pull My Finger And Take A Georgia Sniff.

Saturday, July 20th, 2013




Oh, hey Girlfriend. Yeah. We’re all like totally eating at the RoadSide Cafe and then coming home for some Paula Deen hot butter facials.






My Daddy always said that if you’re gonna let your pork hang out in broad daylight, at least make sure it’s clean.






Say the word, and it’s done. Just tell me where and when. Cup-a-Fart or the Scoop-o-Poop. What’s it gonna be?







Smellin’ good like I’m from da hood. Can you handle it? I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly. Or cheese ball belly.






One time I inhaled so much of this s*** that I swear I saw a live rooster dancing in my own damn living room. True story.






Relax, ladies. At only 80 calories and Og trans fat per serving, we shouldn’t feel guilty about getting it on our biscuits…or the cabinets.






Seriously. Could they make these damn numbers any smaller? And what’s that on front of the glass? I don’t even remember eating that. For realz.



What the…l?

Do you smell that?  What is that?

Somebody check the ‘fridge.  I think something might have gone bad.

It almost smells like Number Two.

Definitely not Number One.  Maybe Five, though.  Or a bad case of Number Three.

Or maybe it’s just the return of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo: Watch ‘N Sniff Edition.

That’s right.  Alana, Coupon Queen Mama June and the rest of Georgia’s Finest are all back for another season of hoots and toots, and it all kicked off this week with a potpourri of poo and stew that you could literally smell from across the room.

Thanks to somebody out there in TLC Land who wanted to finally stick something inside a People Magazine that didn’t smell like Kim Kardashian in the hot sun, Honey Boo Boo’s Season Two premiere was a Watch ‘N Sniff event.

Which meant that you had to either fork over $3.99 for the fold-out card, or wait for someone to block a Walgreen’s security camera with their umbrella and then rip it out with your bare hands on a rainy day.

Just kidding.  Don’t steal, kids.  And stay in school.  Because stealing is bad.

That, and the fact that the freakin’ thing was sealed up so tight inside the magazine that there was no way to get it out without going to jail.  I guess we can all rest assured knowing that both cockroaches and Honey Boo Boo cards will survive the Apocalypse.

So, yeah.  I got my card, but now I also know way more than I wanted to about Matthew Perry’s Life As An Addict.

Stay in school.  Don’t steal.  And don’t star in an NBC sitcom if you can’t even take an ibuprofen without trippin’.  You heard it here first.

But anyway.  Boo is back.  And I love me some Boo.

So life is good.  And loud.  And still pretty dirty.

We started right out of the gate with the loud part, as Mama June layed a smack down on her girls.


Nobody had done any of their assigned chores since we saw them last season, mostly due to the distractions of their blinged-out cell phones and the fact that they are basically straight up lazy a** girls, and Mama wasn’t havin’ it no more.

Pumpkin still couldn’t figure out how to use a vacuum, Alana still didn’t feel like cleaning her room, Jessica (…who apparently doesn’t respond to her old nickname “Chubbs” anymore…) still thought that taking a shower counted as a chore and Anna still had a cute but clearly dazed baby with eleven fingers.

(Scratch:  New Baby Smell.)

So not much had changed since we all hung out last year.

Except for maybe that live rooster chillin’ out on the top of a full basket of laundry.  He was new.  And probably rabid.  WTF, people?  There’s a rooster in yo’ damn house.

Fed up with the whole thing (…and instead of…I don’t know…maybe putting the rooster back in the coop?…) Mama snatched all their cell phones in a fat-slapping, pig pile of an attack and tossed everyone’s electronics into a gigantic empty cheese ball bucket which, conveniently enough, just happened to be laying around between the couch cushions.

They certainly do like their cheese balls in Georgia.

(Scratch:  Train Diesel.)

Mama pretended to Lead By Example and let the girls counterattack with a fat-slapping pig pile of their own, digging under all her ample Beautamous-ness (…did I just make up a word?…) until they found another sweaty Sidekick and added it to the bucket.

Or so they thought.

Psych.  Mama apparently stashes cell phones like she stashes tasty snacks, because the next thing you knew she was huddled in the bathroom with the door shut like Matthew Perry on a bad day.

Ouch.  Too soon?

Before we even had time to fully marvel at everyone’s crash pad skills, Alana explained that wrestling was kind of their thang.  They loooooove wrestling at Casa Boo.

Especially Rampage Pro Wrestling…ie…RPW.


Which I guess is something like WWE, except that RPW meets up before each match in the same kind of little room that all the Dance Moms meet up in to do their kids’ makeup.  And we know that because the whole family got backstage access, thanks in part to Sugar Bear having done security detail for them all these years.

I know, right?  Who knew?  June’s Baby Daddy is a Chalk Miner and part time Mall Cop.

But cooler, because it’s wrestling…not Brookstone.

Hanging backstage with the Dudes and Dudettes of RPW we learned the best ways to take down an opponent, which included the Cactus Clothesline, some questionable elbow to the throat moves and Alana’s favorite:  Cup-a-Fart.

Yeah.   Cup-a-Fart.

If you really need an explanation then you’ve probably been watching the wrong channel all this time.  Thanks for playing, but you can flip back to PBS now.

It’s a pretty basic wrestling maneuver that anyone could use in the Ring, the Piggly Wiggly or at the DMV with not much practice at all.  Just make a fist like you’re about to make a snowball and then…well…Cup-a-Fart.  In yo’ face, bitches.

As everyone inhaled a solid 8 ounces, Anna got a little worked up over a wrestler named Chip, which unfortunately caused her to break into one of those spontaneous “Let’s Go!  Let’s Go!  Ah Uh.  Let’s Go!” horny girl dances that you always see being done at the prom by that one girl who brought her cousin as her date.

And don’t you know all that exercise can make a girl hungry.

Lucky for the Boos, a Costco semi-trailer had just hit a gigantic hog out on the interstate and the Roadkill BatPhone went off to alert everyone that dinner was laying on the side of the road waiting to be picked up, cleaned up and served up.

Chanting the ‘Hog Jowl’ mantra, they squealed off to snag dinner before a pack of wild wolves dragged it into the woods.  Mama crossed her fingers in the hope that there was enough dead pork to fill the freezer, because she was going to whip up a big ol’ tub of seductively hand massaged pork and beans and wanted enough leftovers to hold them over until Labor Day.


(Scratch:  BBQ Sauce.)

Sidenote:  That scratch was directly followed by a Vagisil commercial.

Let’s just say that the irony of that transitional moment didn’t escape me.  I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to scratch something again or wait for the show to come back on.

Back home, after digesting enough pork cubes to build a duplex igloo, Mama went shopping and the girls got bored without their cell phones.  And that’s when the party started.

Since they couldn’t find their library cards, the only other activity the girls could come up with on such short notice was a Redneck Slip ‘N Slide, which was basically just fancy talk for sliding around the floor coated in butter and your own flop sweat.

Yeah.  That totally happened.

Think Project Runway meets whatever HGTV show it was that had people trying to rope squealing pigs covered in Wesson Oil during a kitchen remodel.

After making a couple of knockoff Vera Wang dresses out of garbage bags and clear packing tape (…it must have been the Unconventional Materials episode…) the girls slopped themselves up with so much Country Crock and cooking lube that I already knew what the next scratch was gonna smell like before the little orange dot even boinked on the screen.

(Scratch:  Buttah.  Lots of greasy Buttah.)

There was butter everywhere.  Every.  Where.

People laying in it.  Sliding on it.  Sculpting with it.  Conditioning their hair with it.  Eating it off the floor like they had just gotten out of prison.

Honestly, if a shirtless Billy Dee Williams had walked into that kitchen holding a moist sausage link, I would have sworn I was watching a Paula Deen porno.


(If you’re keeping track, that’s two tasteless Paula Deen jokes in one recap.  Tell me where else you can go to get yesterday’s news and still enjoy it so much?)

After calling in the Monsters Inc. HazMat guys to de-butterize the place, the rest of the hour was all about planning Sugar Bear’s birthday party.

It was going to be a Dukes of Hazard theme, because Sugar Bear loved Bo and Duke and the General Lee.   But not as much as he loved Daisy Duke.

And her fine Daisy Dukes.

He even had a framed photo of the day he met Catherine Bach in real life, standing all dip-encrusted smiley face next to his celebrity crush.  Granted, Daisy looked a little more like you do when you meet a real bear and they tell you not to blink or move and maybe it will just go away, but it was a happy day for Sugar Bear and Mama wanted to recreate the moment.

With a Daisy Duke shorty short piñata, of course.

But not before some Afternoon Delight.  Or not.

Now you know I love me some Sugar Bear.  I love his innocence and his own sincere love for his family and his chubby woman.  He was actually sporting a chubby for his chubby that he proudly proclaimed on national television in case you keep track of that kind of thing, too.

I can live without the teeth and the empty Gatorade bottle full of dip spit, but we love that guy.  So you had to feel for the poor guy when he couldn’t even get to First Base.

One…because he forgot to buy June a new crock pot, and that is key to any booty call.

And Two…their bedroom is the crossroads to the bathroom in that house, which means that every clown in the Boo Circus usually walks through to use the powder room right when Sugar Bear is about to get his Luther Vandross on.  There was even an issue with at least one of the girls this week not being able to locate an industrial sized vat of Vaseline for her raw dingleberry while Sugar Bear tried to cuddle with Big Boo.

(How is it even possible that any of the dingleberries in that room could be anything but baby soft after being dragged across a floor covered in butter last night?  Really?)


Finally, it was Party Time!

The Daisy Duke piñata was a big hit, even though it looked more like the shorts that all the thick girls wear at Burger King whenever they advertise that 50 cent soft serve cone special, but Sugar said that he was still able to imagine Catherine Bach’s butt before he started whacking it.


Presents.  Cake.  Piñata.  And it all finished off with a backyard free for all where poor little Baby Kaitlyn took half a can of Silly String directly in the face just like they tell you never to do in all those baby books.

Three thumbs and she still couldn’t cover her eyes quick enough.  If you’re gonna survive with this family you better step up your reflex game, peanut.

And as you know, in Georgia the good times never end, so the next stop for the Sugar Bear Party Bus was the local Go-Kart track for one last birthday surprise.

(Scratch:  Rubber Tires And Go-Kart Fumes.)

Since Mama June is legally blind (…one of the best qualities for any Nanny to have, correct?…) she wanted to skip the karts and just babysit Baby Kaitlyn, but the girls bullied her into squeezing her junk behind the wheel and going for a Sunday afternoon Old Lady Drive through the neighborhood.

Two hours later she finally made a full loop around the track and everyone headed home for one last attempt at romance.

(Scratch:  The Crazy Lady at my Dunkin Donuts.  Or maybe it was just Chocolate.)

With kids out of the house, love in his heart and yard work under his nails, Sugar Bear fed June a cupcake and nibbled on some neck crust as the sun set over Georgia.

Trust me.  Nothing smells like Redneck Romance after a long day at the track.

Honey Boo Boo and the gang are back.

So either love ’em…or go scratch.

Because it is what it is.


Here Comes Honey Boo Boo: Vajiggle Bells, Jaggle Bells. Jiggle All The Way! Redneckognize Them? Santa Brung The Honey Boo Boo Holiday Portrait!

Tuesday, December 18th, 2012

I miss Honey Boo Boo Child.

That’s right.  I said it.  I own it.

I miss everyone’s favorite Redneck Pageant Princess.

Especially during the Holidays, when we should all be together.

Or the HOLLAdays, as they like to call it down at the Bingo lodge.

Yes.  I know all the Boo Boos are coming back soon.  TLC is getting ready to roll out four special Dolla Make Me HOLLAday episodes beginning in January.  And yes, I’m already stocking up on cheese balls and ribs.  I’m anticipating an apocalyptic run on Redneck snacks the first night, so I’m doing some June-worthy hoarding before the Big Event, just in case.

But when you’re suffering from Redneck ‘drawals, January is still a long way away, ya’ll.

I need me some Boo.  Now.

Luckily, Smiley’s Flea Market and Yard Sale in Macon, Georgia came to my rescue with the Official Honey Boo Boo Family Portrait this past weekend.

After spending some quality time snooping around for pageant props and other randomness, Momma June, Sugar Bear, Chickadee, Pumpkin, Chubbs and little Baby Kaitlyn Elizabeth all plopped down in front of one of those Kmart-like pull down screens, smiled for the camera and showed The Kardashians how it’s supposed to be done.  Take that, Khloé.

No photoshopping in MIA family members for the Boo Boo Clan, thank you very much.

The family is also giving back in a big way again, just as they did last summer.

In lieu of train track warning lights to prevent an Acela business coach from plowing into the side of their house, the gang has once again blindingly decorated their home for the holidays and is running toy drives each night for donations in support of Wilco For Kids.

Sugar Bear happily gets himself all decked out in that now infamous smelly Santa Suit and poses for photos with children and/or Go-Go Juice Groupies each night, and the amount of toys and supplies they have already recieved is impressive.

Alana’s Facebook page even keeps you updated on weather reports and lighting schedules, just like Rockefeller Center.

Baby Kaitlyn totally gives all this Holiday Spirit three thumbs up.

And for those of you who want to get a jump on clearing DVR space, here you go…

Halloween Special…Sunday, January 6 @ 9pm

Thanksgiving Special…Sunday, January 13 @ 9pm

Best Of Clip Show…Sunday, February 10 @ 8pm

Christmas Special…Sunday, February 17 @ 8pm

Everything is EST and, of course, subject to last minute changes.

Because I’m not the TV Guide Channel…and Honey Boo Boo Badger don’t give a s***.

Happy Holladays.

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