Posts Tagged ‘Nugget the Chicken’

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo: Will The Runaway Bride Please Report To The Party Before Alana Eats All The Pizza?

Sunday, August 11th, 2013

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Lawd. Dippin’ and Doorknobbin’ can really take it out of you. I’m almost too pooped to toot… Almost. Pthhhpptt.

 

 

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I should probably carbo load before the Big Day. And pepperoni loading couldn’t hurt, either.

 

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What a rip. I only agreed to this cuz I thought the padded bra cutlets were gonna be made of real chicken meat.

 

 

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I would totally be a Runaway Bride if it didn’t have the word ‘Running’ in it. Dang.

 

 

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Oh, yeah. Smoochie still got it goin’ on.

 

 

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The Kuntry Stoe Kardashians call it a Redneck Facial. Don’t be hatin’…

 

 

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Basically, I’m just trying to fit in with all the hungry white women and not lose a finger at the buffet table. Oh Mi Dios.

 

 

 

 

Just say Yes to the dress.

And No to that third helping of Buffalo Wings, if you know what I mean.

The countdown to the highly anticipated Royal Redneck Almost-Wedding has begun, and this week on Here Comes Honey Boo Boo everyone was either sweating it out or shoveling it down in preparation for the Big Day.

With Sugar Bear still recuperating from his pancreatitis scare, Mama June had spent the last few weeks shuttling back and forth between Casa Boo and the hospital, which was causing her to fall behind in both household chores and Commitment Ceremony planning.  Which in layman’s terms meant that she barely had enough time to pick out food from a menu, much less up off the living floor.

And that needed to change asap.

Luckily, Jessica had stepped up to the (…paper…) plate and offered to help keep the household running like a well oiled linoleum Slip ‘N Slide.

Taking on the role of Mini-Mama, Chubbs made certain the the house stayed in as close to one piece as possible, even if that meant hosing off Alana‘s shampoo-covered head in the same kitchen sink where they peeled potatoes and rinsed out Nugget the Chicken‘s sketti pot after her nap.

(Seriously.  A damn chicken.  In the house.  On the oven.  In a pot.  I just can’t.)

And we all know that when you gotta get stuff done quickly and get back to the couch for more cheesy snacks, it’s all about the multi-tasking.  So if someone lays an egg on the counter in the middle of Shampoo Night, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.  Just keep on keepin’ on, Girlfriend.

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Heck…some of them fancy pants strip mall salons across town probably charge extra for that treatment and your house pet just pooped it out for free on the same cutting board you use for sausage links.

From what I recall the few times I’ve glanced at Toddlers & Tiaras, I believe you score extra points from the pageant judge when your hair is super big and shiny, anyway.  So no matter what chaos takes place in that kitchen,  I’d say it’s a win-win all around.

After rinsing all the blue ‘poo bubbles and chicken fuzz from her hair, Alana got right to mopping down the kitchen with one of those twisty fabric strip mops that the crazy State Fair guy with the headset mic is always selling in the ShamWow! booth.

But wait.  There’s more!

Say what you will about Honey Boo Boo Child.  You can’t say she ain’t thorough when it comes to her domestic responsibilities.

Boo mopped the floor.  The stove.  The kitchen counters.  The outside of the refrigerator.  The inside of the refrigerator.  The food in the refrigerator.

You heard me.  Even the food.

Who knew?  I don’t recall the ShamWow! Guy ever showing me how easy it was to slop a dirty floor mop all over my cold cuts and milk cartons, thus speeding up not only the cleaning process but also the amount of time it takes for botulism to fully incubate on my Kraft cheese slices.

I’ve wasted so much time and money waiting for food to go bad all these years.

While Alana was busy infecting the household food supply, Mama was still back at the hospital with Sugar Bear, kanoodling and doorknobbing as they plotted his release.

The poor little guy looked so tired and just wanted to go home.

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Sugar Bear missed his family.  A lot.  And no doubt also his mouthful of tobacco drool, because I’m pretty sure that hospital jello can’t compare to a wad of dip in your cheek.

But mostly he missed the girls and his big June Bug, and just wanted to be back home declaring his love for them all out of every open window.  Extra loud, of course, so everyone could hear it over the sound of that train skimming the side of the garage every fifteen minutes.  Can you even imagine?

With the doctor’s blessing, Mama packed up all his Firehouse Sub t-shirts and it was finally time to go home and begin the healing process.

And to pick out dresses for the Commitment Ceremony!

I know, right?  Pumpkin in a dress.  Shut.  Up.

Now I don’t know what kind of fashion store GG Formals was supposed to be, but it looked like that first scene after Dorothy crash landed in Oz and she walked out of her house and almost went blind.

No.  We’re not talking stuffy formal wear and prissy gowns.

We’re talking My Great Gypsy Redneck Hello Kitty Circus Pageant Rainbow Wedding.

On acid.

And can we talk dress code, while we’re at it?  What kind of formal shop has their employees wear aprons?  Like the kind they wear on that Cupcake show.

And who knew that Pumpkin was actually a girl?  Did you?  I totally would have lost that bet when she came out of the dressing room all awkward girly boob and smelly feet.

And how much do you think they had to pay that employee to stand inside the fitting room spraying it down with a can of Bowling Shoe Squirt?

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Yup.  Pumpkin proudly comparing her warm mismatched StinkFeet to soft brie followed by a moment of reflective self-doorknobbing pretty much did me in for this week.

I’m done.  Can we go now?

I love this show.

While that cute little baby with the three thumbs rolled all around the floor like she was watching CrazyTown cartoons (…I mean…c’mon.  How cute is that baby?…) the three big girls all paraded in and out of the fitting rooms in a veritable PopArt splash of I don’t know what.

There was seriously so much glitter and feathers and rhinestones and sequins ricocheting around the room that it appeared to send Alana into some kind of Go-Go Juice flashback that required her to physically support herself on the mirror with two hands until she stopped pageant trippin’.

Work it out, Smoochie.  Work it out.

After finally agreeing on dresses that didn’t make the fat girls look so fat (…their words, not mine…) everyone headed home to show some more love and jump on Sugar Bear’s tender pancreas.

But it wouldn’t be an episode of Boo Boo if there wasn’t some eating involved.  So bring on the pizza.  And the wings.  And more pizza.  And more wings.

And then maybe even tiramisu, which made no sense whatsoever.

That’s right.  June’s Almost-Wedding Bridal Shower was in full gear!

But we got the presents as an endless parade of friends and relatives streamed into Amici’s Restaurant.  Let’s just say that if there really is a God of Reality TV, at least ten of them will have their own TLC show by the time the 2014 season lineup is revealed.

Starting with June’s sister Doe Doe.

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Like the bird, I guess.  Or two baby deer, maybe.  I dunno.

Nice and smiley and super friendly.

And dating José, who pretty much gave me a reason to live again.  Love.  Him.

This guy was so politically incorrect that in his two fleeting minutes on camera he probably single handedly set the Justice for Janitors campaign back about 20 years.

He giggled about how the day he met Doe Doe (…in a Home Depot parking lot?…) she called him a Border Jumper and then asked him to go dancing at the Ramada.

Or something.

Full disclosure:  I was so mesmerized by señor José that I may be making some of this up.  Can I even say Border Jumper without getting my site shut down?

Then he showed June his dancing skills right there at the pizza table, which kind of looked like he was using two mops at one time but I couldn’t be certain.  It was sort of like the Windshield Wiper move they used to do on MTV mixed with someone getting ready to tag a dumpster with two Krylon spray cans.  I need to party with this guy asap.

Then he explained that he was the only male in the entire joint and that he was working hard at fitting in with all the White Women.

And then my head exploded and I woke up during a Geico commercial.

(Anybody know what day it is?  Mike Mike Mike Mike…)

Shut the front door.  And the border, por favor.

Seriously.  Paula Deen can’t sell ham on QVC anymore but this dude just called out an entire room full of rednecks.  Only in America.

Vote for José

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Aside from the hilarity surrounding José and his mad dancing skills, there was also the usual sloppy eating and food fights as Pumpkin shoved tiramisu into Mama’s face and Alana inhaled everything she could fit on her plate.

Another friend Vicki skipped her appointment at the salon for a root touch-up and came straight to the party to show support for June.  Not sure what was going on with her hair, but she was a good friend to make an appearance even though she predicted that June would bolt and not go through with the ceremony.

In a touching final moment, we got to see a side of Mama June that she works hard to hide.  The softer side.

While trying to thank everyone for showing up, June got all choked up and then lost her nutty in a sobbing meltdown.  After only seeing her pass gas and Monster Sneeze and do her jiggly Pageant Mom dance behind the judges all these years, it was nice to see Mama just be Mama.

Because it is what it is.

Mama loves her Man.  And her Family.  And her Friends.  And her Food.

Pretty much in that order.

And when you can have them all together?  All at once?

Even better.

So once José cleaned the place up, one more thing could be checked off The List.

All that was left this week was to go home, tuck in the kids, find a good doorknob and burn off some of that pizza.

Safety.

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

Saturday, August 3rd, 2013

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

 

 

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

 

 

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

 

 

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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.

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

 

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Boo Boo got back.

 

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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?

Yeah.

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.

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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.

Doorknob!

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To Be Continued…

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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.

n1

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…

j7


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