Posts Tagged ‘Honey Boo Boo Child Gay Uncle Poodle’

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo: It’s Time To Jiggle Those Redneck Rolls And Vacuum That Chin. Let’s Get S’mages!

Sunday, August 25th, 2013




It’s true. My Costco Milkshakes do bring all the boys to the yard. All of them except for that one guy who used to thin out my shrubs.







That’s just nasty.







Seriously. I have no idea what the hell they’re all talkin’ about, but I’ll bet it has something to do with biscuits again.






I love June and the girls, but I dunno know if I love ’em enough to fish my cufflinks out of a damn public toilet.







Oh. My. Gawd. This is my life? I’ve never actually watched this show before.







French tips ain’t just for glitz pageants anymore. Don’t be hatin’ on my Manly Mani, Bitches.







Phthhhhhhfffffft….. That’s what I think.





It is what it is.

And it’s always sumthin.

It looks like somebody is finally trying to put the ‘L’ back in TLC, because so far this season Here Comes Honey Boo Boo has definitely been a learning experience.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve already seen, touched, heard, tasted and smelled more new things than I did in all four years of college.

And trust me…that’ saying something.  (Sorry, Mom.  I told you not to Google my site.)

Seriously.  I freakin’ love every single Boo in BooVille, but they are costing me an arm and a leg in eye drops and hand sanitizer.  Some things just can’t be unseen or hygienically wiped down, no matter how hard you rub your TV screen.

The Countdown to Commitment continued this week as Mama June and Sugar Bear‘s non-wedding grew closer.  The shiz was starting to get real.

While Mama ran (…ok…probably shuffled…) around the house making lists and cooking something with butter, Sugar Bear was outside on the front steps bonding with the girls.

As nice as it was to see Shugie show the love for his family, it was even nicer to see that Nugget the Chicken had finally made it outside and wasn’t rubbing his egg chute all over the kitchen counter again this week.

Don’t get me wrong.  I appreciate a well prepared omelet as much as the next guy, but when your living room couch doubles as a chicken coop…not so much.   On the other hand, it probably is a real timesaver to have your chicken already sitting in a pot when it’s time to leggo my eggo.


The big question out on the porch was whether or not Sugar Bear would be wearing a fresh pair of tighty whities during the ceremony, or just stick with the undies he’s worn since Nixon resigned.

(Political history reference.  I told you this was a learning experience.)

I’m not sure I really want to know what’s going on down there inside his Carhartts, but whatever it is…he called it a Wedding Surprise.  Lightening Bolt Pumpkin even offered to go commando in a show of solidarity and then Baby Kaitlyn‘s little beanie popped right off her head.

It did.  Check it out.  She dropped her milk, too.

Since the stress of planning a non-wedding can really wear a girl out, everyone decided that they should all head to the park to burn off some steam and shovel down some freshly grilled hot dogs and sausages.

Nobody was allowed to mention the Commitment Ceremony or say the M Word for one afternoon.  This was their time to chillax, snarf down some snacks and watch Mama straddle a chain link fence.

Well…ok.  That last part probably wasn’t on the original itinerary, but when they got to the park and were faced with the barricade, June mounted it like a true Kardashian.

Wasn’t it Brooke Shields who once said that Nothing comes between Me and my discounted Oscar Mayer Wieners?

Bow Chicka Boo Boo.

As Mama set the picnic table with generic Chinet and watched Sugar Bear try to light 3 pounds of charcoal with a convenience store Bic, the older girls prepared for battle.

Because it was Ball Wars.  And it was on, bitches.


Basically, the game pits two people against each other, each holding a giant inflated bouncy ball.  The goal is to run towards each other like that last scene in Braveheart, screaming some kind of Redneck WarCry until you collide, knock each other down and the balls going flying out into traffic.

If someone blacks out or cracks their head open…bonus points.  And more wieners for the winner.

The showdown was Anna vs. Pumpkin, which Sugar Bear compared to an 18 wheeler running over a 4 wheeler on black ice during a white out blizzard on the highway.

It’s pretty technical, but it’s basically a mathematical equation involving mass, force, velocity, speed and square footage based on cheese ball absorption.

Technical, but not pretty.

After Pumpkin spread Anna out on the turf like Nutella on day old white bread, she explained that her momentus was responsible for the win.

You heard me.  Momentus.  It’s Science.

(TLC.  Never stop learning.)

The next day, Mama was back to stressing out as the girls all took Sugar Bear on the hunt for a tuxedo.  Just because he was going to be wearing dirty undies on the inside didn’t mean that he couldn’t be pretty on the outside, right?

So it was off to the House of Hines to Experience the Elegance of Macon’s premiere destination for wedding and formal wear.  Where their customers are treated like royalty, their employees cater to your every need and their selection is second to none.

And their motto is “You Flush It, You Bought It.”


What.  The…?

This place has been in business for over 47 years.  They are based out of a refurbished three story plantation house and have basically hogged all the tuxedo business in the middle of Georgia for the last four decades.

But they made Sugar Bear try on his tuxedo in the employee bathroom.  With the lid up.

What.  The…?

Forty seven years later and you haven’t figured out how to turn any of those Civil War Underground Railroad closets into a fitting room?  Really?

(History lesson.  You’re welcome.)

Let’s just say that if you have people trying on clothes in the bathroom, I don’t even want to know what the other guys are doing in the actual fitting rooms.

Somehow Sugar Bear managed to get his tuxedo on without clogging the neighbor’s septic tank and gave an impromptu fashion show for the girls, who all squealed in delight.

He thought he kind of looked like a secret agent guy, so we got to see him pose like he was squirrel huntin’ in a tux.  I’m pretty sure I even heard Adele singing that catchy new James Bond song from somewhere in the building.

She must have been in the other loo trying on Grammy gowns.  She’s British, you know.

Back home again, all the girls pig piled onto the bed and tried to brainstorm how to keep Mama from losing her nutty.  I love when they all plop down like a crime scene and put their feet in each other’s faces.  Because I’m klassy like dat.


Alana suggested that they all get s’mages, which I thought was a fancier redneck version of s’mores that I had yet to experience.  But it turned out that what she meant was just going for massages.

Spa Day!

Hopefully the Posh Spot strip mall day spa had some specials on chin vacuuming and neck crust removal this week, because the girls totally threw all that nastiness in my face right before I blacked out.

The last thing I remember was a closeup of Mama’s rogue neck hair beckoning me into the moist darkness like some curly finger.  Then everything went black.

When I finally came to, Anna was asking Mama something about ladyscaping her overgrown naughty bits for the Commitment Ceremony and I made myself pass out again by holding my breath under a pillow.

I swear, these Boos are literally gonna be the death of me one day.  Literally.

Spa Day went exactly as you would imagine a Spa Day would go with this crowd.

Alana got her nails did, Mama got her meat tenderized and some poor salon sistah drew the short straw and had to touch Jessica’s feet.

As Mama paid the bill and they all left the salon, I swear I saw at least half a dozen guys in white HazMat suits going in through the back door with hoses.

Not to be outdone, while all the womenfolk were off getting shucked and plucked, Sugar Bear hit the barbershop for his own mini makeover.  A little trim, a quick shave and some deep fingernail excavation and he was gussied up real good and ready to go home and sit by his Burn Barrel.


Because that’s where real men go to think and do stuff.

The Burn Barrel.

I don’t know what you actually burn in a Burn Barrel, but it was seriously torched up as Sugar Bear kicked back in his lawn chair and attempted to write down some vows for the upcoming ceremony.  He wanted to express his love for June and the girls and got that teary eyed look he always gets when he thinks about Family.

D’oh.  Love that scruffy guy.

Inside, real women don’t need a Burning Barrel.  They just need to be surrounded by the tranquility of 476 rolls of toilet paper and enough liquid detergent to flood the Astrodome to inspire their creative juices to start flowing.

As Sugar Bear scribbled down his thoughts in the backyard, Mama was in her Coupon Cave trying to do the same.

June was struggling a little bit, but Shugie had some help as Alana scooted up and gave him pointers on how an 8 year old puts their feelings into words.

From the mouths of babes, and all.

I mean, c’mon.  It shouldn’t be that difficult if you love someone, right?


The Wisdom of Honey Boo Boo Child.

Redneckognize it.

And then go shoot some squirrels like a Boss.

Pull my finger, Goldfinger.


Here Comes Honey Boo Boo: Grab A Doorknob & Plan A Redneck Wedding. Chubby Chasers Need Love Too, Y’all.

Saturday, August 3rd, 2013




OMG. Why didn’t we think of this before? The Honky Booty workout video with bonus Toot & Scoot dance moves DVD!







Do you mind if we discuss this later? I’ve got fat in my eye.








Proof that even Cupid buys in bulk. True Love now comes in industrial sized containers.







I don’t think it’s really necessary to drive-thru Burger King 14 times. I’m pretty sure you got that left turn down.






This rubber thing tones my arm flab and doubles as a pretty sweet cheese ball slingshot.








Boo Boo got back.








No lie. Then they ate the damn food right off the display. White People are cray, Yo.





Now where were we?

Oh, wait.  I remember.

Love…and that strange pollen-looking fuzz that’s always stuck on their clothing…was in the air over at Casa Boo Boo.

When we last saw the Dynamic Duo, Mama June and Sugar Bear were in the kitchen getting all kinds of Romantical on each other, surrounded by a veritable potpourri of waxy Dollar Store scents, a chicken that was finally in his damn cage and one of those shiny golden plastic eggs that the fancy pantihose comes in over at Walgreen’s.

Yup.  It was Proposal Day on Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.

After 9 years of playing house, Sugar Bear had washed his hair and put on his funeral shirt in order to properly pop the question in the hopes that June would finally overcome her fear of the “M” Word.

Marriage, that is.  Not Macaroni.  Girlfriend definitely ain’t scared of her sketti.

With all the Boos peeking around every corner, Mama squirmed and blushed and left the room and flushed and then came back with her final answer.  Sorta.

Since patience and table manners are slim to none in the Boo household, the girls couldn’t stand the suspense any longer and crashed the party right as Mama was about to break Sugie’s heart with a flat out ‘thanks, but no thanks’ and convinced her that a Commitment Ceremony was the next best thing to making it legal.

That didn’t sound so scary.  And that way, Sugar Bear could still be one step closer to the “M” Word without Mama having to lose her nutty in front of God and TLC.

Done.  Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner.  Fried, of course.

And shoveled down in front of that live chicken who just sat there in its cage watching in horror.  I don’t know if chickens actually blink or not, but if they do…that one didn’t.


There was also some better-than-sex back scratching to consummate the meal as Sugar worked his way up and down June’s beautimousity like a true playa.

Mama likes that shiz.  If you’re gonna Love, wear the Glove.  Or a Mitten, I guess.

All this non-wedding talk had made June and Sugar Bear a little sentimental about the good o’ days, so next we all gathered around the table for a trip down Memory Lane, courtesy of a few photo albums and a whole lot of TMI.

We saw Sugar Bear as a cub in a couple of his baby pictures and numerous vintage shots from the June B.C. era (…Before Calories…) back when she was a looker and cruised the dial-up internet for pieces of a**.

Yeah.  That’s how they met.  We’ll just save that one until the kids go to bed.

At 9 years and still going strong, Sugar Bear is Mama’s second longest relationship.  Or so she said.  Except that he’s actually the longest relationship.  But the second one if you count the first one that was with another dude that only lasted for 5 years.  The first longest with the second guy.  So the second longest even though most countries consider 9 to be a larger number than 5.  Or something.

Seriously.  If Mama couldn’t even figure it out, don’t look at me.

I tell you.  Math…and Exercise…are hard.

And speaking of…

Mama and Lauryn (…aka “Pumpkin“…) had decided that it might be in their best interest to shed a few pounds before the ceremony, so needless to say, it was right about now that the hilarity began to ensue.

Pumpkin had gained quite a bit of weight over the past 24 hours (…srsly…every time I see her, I swear…) and she was no longer fitting in with all the other bitches at McIntyre’s School For Skinny Girls.  So clearly it was time to do one sit-up and then buy some equipment at Sports Authority.

Mama was even willing to cut the household soda supply pipeline if it would help, but Pumpkin felt that might be a little extreme.  Let’s just start with that one sit-up.


As Pumpkin helped raise June up from the carpet using the same technique I saw somebody use to lift a horse from a sinkhole on the Discovery channel, it was clear they had a long way to go.  But we love this crazy family, so more power to ’em.

Feel the burn, girls.

While Mama and June were practicing their balancing act, Sugar Bear had been flipping channels and saw on Say Yes To The Dress how important a Wedding Planner was to the entire process.

So it was off to meet with Brandi Walker Maddox and her mute assistant Linh.

Forever Fabulous was their name.

Wedding Planning…and being sassy…was their game.

You know I loved Brandi.  With her Ann Taylor blazer and Dance Moms braces, I’m going to assume she’s the only wedding planner in McIntyre.  Which explains why she didn’t even feel the need to excuse herself whenever she thought she was going to laugh at June and all of June’s crazy budgetary and dietary restrictions.

She just laughed that kind of slurpy, wet laugh you laugh when you first get braces and flat out told June she was dreaming if she thought she could feed 60 people for $1500 and not come down the aisle naked.

Girrrl, pleez.  You so crazy.  OhHellNo.  Jelly Beans are naaasty.  But I do love me those Gummy Worms.  MmmMmm.

Linh just kind of sat there motionless.  I think she may have actually been a ventriloquist puppet for Brandi’s side job, because if they laugh every client out of the building I can’t believe they are pulling in much profit.

At least Mama and Sugie thought to completely obliterate the food sample table before they left and headed home to turn their ceremony into an extreme couponing DIY event.

$10,000?  I don’t think so.  I’ll take that cheese, though.  Peace out.


Back home, it was time to start working off some of those Wedding Planner snacks, so Mama set up five circuit stations like they show on them infomercials complete with weights, rubber tubes and giant bouncy balls.

Lots of balls, actually.  And nobody could stop saying it.  Balls.  Balls.  Balls.  Like they were all in 5th grade PE class getting hit in the junk on Dodge Ball Day.

Let’s just say it was a hot mess and move on.

Beyond the beautimous body, June explained that it was also important to work the facial muscles so they remained firm and toned for those days when you need to put some paint on that barn.

RuPaul would have been so proud, because she was totally giving Face.

Play-Doh Face.

Taking a break from the ceremonial planning, Jessica and Anna were making attempt #463 at completing their Learner’s Permit test.  Having failed 462 times, they were determined to get it done this time around.

Unfortunately, only Chubbs passed, leaving Chickadee in her dust as she jerked and squealed out of the driveway with Sugar Bear strapped and trapped inside her uncle’s car.

Uncle Poodle.  Dude.  That is such an un-gay car.  What are you thinking?

(Spoiler Alert:  Without actually having access to any medical records, I would hazard a guess that inching along the highway towards a potentially flammable factory smokestack with Jessica behind the wheel may have helped put unnecessary stress on Sugar Bear’s heart.  Just thinking out loud.)

Once everybody made it home with all their limbs intact, it was back to the planning process.

Or it would have been, if the new craze that’s sweeping the nation hadn’t reared its ugly…umm, rear…in the midst of the discussions.


Move over Monopoly…cuz you just got Doorknobbed, Bitch.

Doorknob!  The game that combines screaming, unintentional exercise and thunderous flatulence into one hilarious pig pile of players all suffering from a low tolerance to dairy.

It’s pretty technical, so try to keep up.

Someone lets one rip.  Then someone else screams “Doorknob!”  Then the person who passeth the gasseth has to dash across the room and touch a doorknob while the person who did NOT release a butt honk tries and stops them by any means short of actual bloodshed or mutilation.

Sitting on their face is ok.  Just don’t break their nose.

For the twist that you never saw coming, if the person who actually tooted can scream “Safety!” and put the international sign language symbol for Loser up on their forehead before the other non-tooting person can scream “Doorknob!” then the game is over as soon as it started and everyone goes back to updating Facebook.  The End.

Did I mention that Alana came up with the game?

And that I used to read books?


As if that wasn’t enough fun, we then moved on to creating the guest list…and I need to meet all of these people immediately.

Best.  Redneck.  Drag Queen.  Names.  Ever.

Snap John.  Little Willy.  Pork Chop.  Box Car.  Catfish.  Fat Daddy.

And please don’t forget to invite Corn and Niblet.

The best birth certificates in the world.  I just can’t.

No wonder Sugar Bear passed out.


And he kinda did, poor thing.  Sugie was in a bad way.  Really bad.

As he was rushed to the hospital after a particularly bad night, it was clear that something was really wrong with Sugar Bear.  And the whole thing got kind of real.

Call them what you will, but the Boos are Family.  And that’s all that matters when one of them goes down.

Mama’s Chubby Chaser had pancreatitis.

Nobody could say it.  Or spell it.  But he had it.

And it’s pretty serious, because you kind of need your pancreas to stay inside you so it can do whatever it is that your pancreas does on a daily basis.

(If this was actually still The Learning Channel they would probably have had some medical special on the subject, but those dancing kids from Atlanta probably hogged the time slot.  Or those Amish people who take off their funny hats and suddenly think they live on the Jersey Shore.  As if.)

So Sugar Bear was sick.  And everyone was getting sad and crying a little and realizing how much they loved him.  Watching him read the homemade cards that the girls all scribbled out for him was actually a little touching because he always has that emotional glaze over his eyes when he talks about The Family.

If you were taking shots every time Mama accidentally said “Wedding” instead of “Commitment Ceremony”  (…or every time Brandi and Mama tossed “Wing It” back and forth…) you were probably already passed out by now, but if you stuck around for the entire show than you know that they are one tight knit family.

Sloppy and pretty dirty and they touch waaaaaay too many doorknobs in one day.

But they’re Family.

And it is what it is.  So they all banded together, had a couple of hugs and one more really good fart before going to bed to pray for Sugar Bear’s quick recovery.



To Be Continued…

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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.


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