Posts Tagged ‘Honey Boo Boo Uncle “Poodle” Lee’

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo: It’s The Countdown To Commitment. Big Girls Need Love…And Some Veggies…Too.

Sunday, August 18th, 2013




Dat’s rite, haters. Big Girls wear lace-ups, sleep face up & take all your space up. Word to yo Mama.







Eatin’ salads and veggies? Mr. Boo Boo Belly sez Ain’t Nobody Got Time For Dat. OhHellNo.







Bitches can’t be this yummy without the Gummy. Honk if you love Big Girls, ‘kay?







Whoa. Somebody better get on the horn and dial up the Commissioner, because something ain’t right down in that Batcave.







Cabbage, ya nasty.








Fried Food Force Field has been activated. Now none of that healthy stuff can ever harm us.






Cuz I got so sick of everybody asking me about that damn baby’s thumbs that I just carry this stick around. That’s why.





Before we get started, let’s pause once again and give thanks that this was not another Watch ‘N Sniff episode.  Trust me on this one.

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo was back this week with even more redneckulous sensory overload, but luckily this time around we didn’t have to scratch along with People Magazine.

As a matter of fact, some of it we didn’t even get to see first hand and yet I still feel a little traumatized just from hearing about it.

Now you know I love me some Boo.  And all the Boos down in BooVille.  And I need to hang with all of them asap once I learn how to Doorknob on command.


Love ’em.  I just don’t need to smell ’em every week, thank you very much.  I just don’t.

It was getting down to the wire for Mama June and Sugar Bear‘s non-wedding Commitment Ceremony, and the planning process was starting to stress out everyone involved.  Especially when it came to the guest list.

Always the extreme Coupon Queen, Mama was recycling old thank you notes and baby announcements into invitations for the upcoming ceremony.  It wasn’t really clear if that meant she was mailing unused Hallmarks from last Christmas or crossing out “thanks for the pawn shop blender” and regifting someone else’s actual handwritten note after scribbling over any personal stuff.  But either way it was going to be a long process.

Being legally blind certainly wasn’t speeding up the assembly line, either.  Nor were all of Mama’s wet Monster Sneeze seizures as she honked, wheezed and moistened every invite with enough microscopic tongue germs to get her put on that terrorist watch list for people who keep sending ricin envelopes to the White House.


Cover your mouth, please.  I had to wipe down my screen twice.

Another big concern for the ceremony was facility-related.  As in…the facilities.

As in…where are 500+ people supposed to go when all those spicy wings and BBQ ribs finally kick in?  Casa Boo may pride itself on panoramic views of two converging train tracks and a room stocked with 475 rolls of Brawny paper towels, but it only comes with one bathroom.  Uno cuarto de baño.

And that probably ain’t good planning when you have half the tummy gurgling population of McIntyre, GA impatiently waiting in line to poo the loo redneck style.  So Mama needed to track down some porta-potties.  Stat.

Luckily, June knows her port-potties as she grilled Mr. Porta-Potty on the other end of the phone like they were at some kind of outdoor toilet trade show or something.

How tall are they?  How wide are they?  How many can you deliver?  Are they righties or lefties?  Has anyone ever drowned in one?  Do you do custom colors?

She even asked if there was a weight limit to the hole since the majority of her guests were going to arrive bearing both gifts and girth.

Yeah.  Just let that pants-around-your-ankle visual sink into your brain for a moment and then try to push one over the next time you’re at the County Fair.

Mama explained to those of us who are porta-potty challenged that the structure itself is basically just a 5 gallon bucket with a lid.  Good to know the next time I’m clutching an empty jumbo popcorn at the Multiplex and don’t want to miss any of the action.

Gross.  But thankfully, no Watch ‘N Sniff.


Moving on to what I assumed would be lighter fare, Mama and the girls…and that little nugget of a baby…hit up the local bridal shop down at the Ingleside strip mall.  Even though it was not officially a wedding, the girls wanted June to have her once in a lifetime Say Yes To The Dress moment and try on a few gowns.  Just for laughs.

And scores.

Armed with what looked like a cross between Dancing With The Stars paddles and numerically ascending fly swatters, the four girls were set to judge each gown as Mama posed and scratched and broke into hives on the viewing platform.  Just like on the TLC show, but without the sassy ghetto bridesmaids going MmmHmmm and OhHellNo.

Little baby Kaitlyn did grab ahold of Chubb‘s hair so hard that I thought fo’ sho’ she was gonna yank out that bitch’s weave, so it was momentarily ghetto.  But not the real thing, unfortunately.

That extra thumb certainly gives you traction, though.  Damn, Girl.

Some other random woman was also there for all the hilarity, but I have no clue who she was or how she got to tag along, so I’m going to assume she won some contest and got to spend the whole day with the Boos just for “liking” them on Facebook or something.

I was totz jealz.

It should also be noted that Mama could save a lot of money on babysitting if she just sat Alana down in front of a mirror before she left for Bingo.  Seriously.  You put Honey Boo Boo Child in front of a mirror and you could leave the country for a week’s vacation and the girl would never know.  Werk that reflection, Girl.

The first dress scored a 2 on the paddle vote, mostly due to a lace-up back that made June look like a trussed up holiday ham served with a side of no underwear.

Yeah.  No undies.  None.  Which she inadvertently flashed to the viewing table as she lumbered off the platform.  After regaining her sight, Pumpkin pointed out to all of America that she had just seen her mother’s BatCave.


Hey.  If you can sub-title this shiz, you can certainly scroll some kind of warning across the bottom of the screen before exposing all of Gotham City’s secrets.  There’s a reason they never wanted The Joker to see it.  He’s already gone insane once.

Thanks to TLC, I can no longer stick my head inside a jumbo popcorn pail or watch Adam West slide down a pole and disappear into the darkness without trippin’.

That’s two things you’ve already ruined this week.

The second gown was supposed to make Mama look like Kate Middleton and scored a low ball 3, only because the numbers didn’t go any higher.  Not good.

Finally, the last gown came in with a top score, but it was still too fluffy and too prissy and too virginally white.  So no dress was chosen after all that, and the only things that really came out of the whole afternoon together was a lifetime of memories and at least one week before Kaitlyn and I would be able to blink again.

Back home,  it was becoming clear that nobody was going to fit into any dress if they all continued their current dietary habits.

As the girls traded greasy hot fries, chips and gummy worms back and forth with the kind of speed and expertise that up until now had only been seen on CNN’s early morning stock exchange reports, Mama realized that it might be time to sneak some vegetables into their eating routine.

She even went so far as to actually buy some vegetables.  And cut them up for soup.

I know, right?  Craziness.

And again, thank you for no Watch ‘N Sniff as Mama whipped up a crock of cabbage soup.  The girls were horrified that anything healthy had been allowed to cross the threshold of Casa Boo and refused to participate in something that might actually be good for them.


Especially if it smelled like butt.

Butt inside of wet gym shorts, that is.  That butt.

Needless to say, the laboratory experiment went completely awry and had to be cut short when Pumpkin spit the soup back out and Mama moved faster than I’d ever seen her move towards the indoor potty to recycle some cabbage.

We’re going to have to rethink this whole vegetable thing.

After dance class, of course.

That’s right.  Dance class.

A class that teaches you how to dance.

Mama and Shugie were going to learn how to dance.  Or at least Sugar Bear was going to learn, because June claimed to already know how to bust a move or two.

Newsflash:  Big girls got rhythm.  Just ask any gay guy.

Before hitting up the studio, Mama even demonstrated those mad dancing skills in the living room.  Or at least I think that’s what all that was about as she and Shugie spanked and motorboated in a circle while Alana threw up gangsta deuce fingers.

Dolla Still Make Me Holla At You.

At the studio it was clear that June’s trust issues were second only to Sugar Bear’s awesomely awful T-Rex shuffle.  Evidently, they don’t have a lot of the old Chalk Miner socials down at the Elks Lodge anymore.


If you’ve ever watched Young Frankenstein, let me just say “Putting on the Ritz.”

If you’ve never watched it, you need to.

Or at least Google it.

And then imagine the monster with a top hat, bum pancreas and juicy dip stuck in his teeth.  That’s our Shugie.

But don’t worry, dude.  People will remember your good heart, not the fact that you dance like you’re waiting for novocaine to wear off.

As the Commitment Ceremony crept closer, Sugar Bear still wasn’t feeling the rhythm or any sense of urgency.  None.

And it was starting to drive Mama completely NutWad.

The back yard was a mess.  The front yard was a mess and needed to be picked up and mowed before it got completely recovered in porta-potties.

Plus there was trash everywhere.  And broken down redneck stuff all over the place.

The Christmas icicle lights could probably stay on the gutters, but all the other crap had to go.  Now.

Or maybe later, after a quick nap.

Dang.  Who knew dancing was such hard work?

And the countdown continues…


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: Another Toddlers & Tiaras Flashback As Alana And Paisley Walk It And Werk It.

Saturday, May 25th, 2013

BOOIs your spray tan tingling?

Are your pretty feet dragging?

Is your energy level and pageant hair not quite as high as it should be?

You must still be looking to fill that void until Toddlers & Tiaras returns for Season Six.

Maybe some Boo Boo and Booger Realness will keep you off the streets until June 5, because Honey Boo Boo Child and Paisley Dickey are here to save the day.

Another Best Of Flashback, as it were.

Because that’s what I do.  I make everything all better.  And talk smack.

It’s like a gift or something.  I don’t question it, and neither should you.

Just strap yourself into the Tiara Time Machine and check out a few blasts from the past featuring two of America’s favorite pixie-stix princesses.

Who can forget the first time we all met Redneckulous Alana Thompson and her Redneckulous coupon clippin’, mud boggin’, cheese ballin’, butt tootin’ family?

Something about hollering for a dollar if memory serves me correctly.

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And how about that paper towel fight when Mama JuneSugar Bear and Boo Boo emptied out the Coupon Cavern and catapulted Brawny double-ply missiles all over the living room?

Or that dance.  That beautiful, captivating moment of musical spaz.

It’s true.  Alana’s Go-Go Juice inspired acid trip boogie still gives me life on rainy days.

It makes the best screen saver evah, and has probably set off way more strobe light seizures than TLC is willing to admit to in court.

Love.  Her.  And her backwoods, bat s*** crazy family, though I’m still waiting for my dinner invitation.  I can be there on the next train.  The one by your bathroom window.

I’ll cut them some slack and assume that they must be too busy cleaning the pig poo off the dining room table to hit me up on my Sidekick right now.  But call me, maybe?

Or we could just meet up in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot on Double Coupon Day.

And then there was tiny Paisley learning how to walk like a runway diva.

Seriously.  C’mon.  How cute is she?  Just.  Shut.  Up.


Paisley’s such a nugget that all Mom Wendy really needed to do was prop her up inside that Barbie corvette and let her sit there collecting trophies, but for some reason they felt she should walk around the stage a few times at the next pageant.

It probably had something to do with Dad having that bad habit of backing toy cars up over his daughter whenever the light turns green.

Or maybe it was just because the all other girls walked around.  I dunno.

I watch pageants.  I never claimed to understand them.

Regardless.  Remember when Mom, Dad and my sassy BFF agent Blake Woodruff all took Li’l PDickey (…yes, I just gave a preschooler a gangstah rap name…) to some random jewelry store to learn how to walk like they do on RuPaul’s Drag Race?

I know, right?  I always practice my best moves at Zales, don’t you?

Twerkin’ at the Ring Case.

One.  I’m pretty sure that the woman in all that zebra print who taught Paisley how to go heel/toe and pop a hip was the Missing Pointer Sister that TMZ keeps talking about.

Two.  My Boy Blake could have done a better job showing Paisley how to werk it to the end of the stage.  You know he could.  And you know he wanted to.

I’ll bet my salary that they edited out the part where he jumped over the wooden display case and shoved that Pointer Sister chick out of the camera shot.

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Shake It like a Polaroid picture.

Then Bobble It like you’re suction cupped to a dashboard, bitches.

And have fun with that, mmmkay?

Love.  Them.  Even More.

So there you go.

Enjoy a few flashbacks while we wait for the next round of sparkly awesomeness.  It’ll be like tripping with Alana all over again.

But just remember when it comes to drugs…and glitz…that coming down’s the hardest part.  Trust me.

Oh.  And I almost forgot…

Hey.  Isabella.

What do you think about all this hilarity?

Still a big fan of my site?


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