ANAGRAMS: BIG MOUTH BASS

Bag Moist Bush
Bus Smog Habit
Sis Gumbo Bath
Ass Bought IBM
USA Bomb Sight
Bambi -Toss UGH!
Ambush Its Gob

By the way, "Ass Bought IBM" is what Dale constantly thinks of me.

HEE HEE HEE HEE

Excerpted from reviews of Big Mouth Billy Bass at Amazon.com:

This toy is very educational, December 20, 2001
Reviewer: A toy enthusiast

I think that Big Mouth Billy Bass is a very educational toy. Others have given it two stars, but that is not enough credit to the educational value of the singing fish:

1) Fish can sing. Most children don't know this; many adults may not know this either.

2) Fish have a biting, saracastic sense of humor. Most people assume that fish have a dry wit, but that is in fact a myth.

3) Dead animals can talk. This is important for children to learn, as they may be getting enough sleep at night. We must prevent that by scaring the crap out of them.

In conclusion, I will say that Big Mouth Billy Bass is an excellent investment in your child's education, in addition to your own. Forget the college fund, buy TWO!"

(28 of 34 people found this review helpful)

LESSON FOR THE DAY - AIRPLANE ETIQUETTE 101

Everyone's been stuck in a middle seat on a crowded train, plane, movie theater, etc, before. Perhaps you've only dreaded it, knowing that it is one of life's inevitabilities, but have not yet experienced it firsthand. Well, I'm here to tell you that it's not pleasant. As a matter of fact, my latest middle seat experience had me wondering what goes through the minds of some people. As a female, I seem to get more than my fair share of middle seats. Either because I'm trying to be nice or because of airline employee bias. Look around and you'll see many more women in center seats than men. I'm not complaining--yet--just stating a fact.

So I'm flying home from LaGuardia yesterday on an over-booked flight in which every single seat is occupied by at least 1 person. (There were a couple of lap-children, too.) I'm in the exit row center seat. I am a short, round girl who takes up more than enough space but without requiring a seatbelt extender nor an extra seat on Southwest. (They have those, you know, if you're ever struggling to buckle up on board. Just ask. And Southwest will force you to buy an extra seat if your ass is too wide to fit in a seat with the armrests down. If the plane isn't completely full, they'll refund the additional cost at your destination. Otherwise, you're S.O.L. if you're F.A.T. Bastards.) But I digress.

First, a very tall, but average-built man shows up and takes the window seat. He promptly falls asleep, but not before using both armrests in his sprawled-out splendor. Then, before I can stake out the remaining armrest, a much larger-than-I-am-round man plopped himself down beside me and took over both armrests. I was left with no choice but to try and ease my arms onto part of the armrests. Easily done, I thought, when Sleeping Giant wakes to fasten his seatbelt and Roly-Poly unbuckles to retrieve his book from the seatback pouch, I'll quickly slide into place. However, in my still slightly drunk and very hungover state from my all-night carousing, I managed to miss the opportunity on both counts.

I resigned myself to embedding the design of my bracelet and wristwatch into the flesh of my arms from keeping them crossed and tucked into me for the duration of the flight, but then the unimaginable happened. Roly-Poly began to pick his nose. At first, I thought it was only a scratch or slight rubbing of an itchy nose tip. But no. It was a full-on digging for gold kind of effort. You know, the kind of thing you might see when you're stopped in traffic at a light and some guy in the privacy of their car decides the time is right to go for it. BUT NOT ON A FLIGHT WHEN EVERY SINGLE SEAT IS TAKEN! I thought it might stop there. That he'd fish a handkerchief or tissue from somewhere, but I was wrong again. He flicked. That's right. Flicked. Sort of down in front of him, but slightly towards my feet, too. I was incredulous. My jaw dropped open, but then I realized I'd better shut it fast before this fat man's stray booger grossly went awry and into my gaping mouth. I was speechless...a fact hard to believe. Ask anyone who knows me. I must have made a stricken and horrified sound when my mouth flew open, because he did stop...for a while. Mind you, it's almost a 2 hour flight.

I tried desperately not to think about the growing pit of nausea I was feeling in my guts and tuned into Elvis Costello's personal music choices on the provided in-flight entertainment. I was just losing myself in my favorite Aretha Franklin song "Do Right Woman, Do Right Man" when I detected movement with my peripheral vision. Yep. You guessed it. He was digging for gold again. But that's not all. Now he'd decided to pluck his nose hairs while he was at it and proceeded to flick them as well. This is not the first time I've seen men and nose hairs do battle while on a trip. Although the last time, the guy was just using his nosehair clippers in the airport gate area next to the garbage can. He wasn't actually seated next to anyone in a confined space or anything. It was kind of gross, but not entirely disgusting like Roly-Poly. Besides, R.P. was using his fingers to both pick and pluck. EEEEEEEWWWW!

He must have finally got what he was after because he stared at it for a while before finally flicking away and then stopping with the picking/plucking altogether. I was quite relieved to be spared that for the remainder of the flight. Until the SBDs began. Now I'm not saying for sure that it was R.P. It could very well have been Sleeping Giant to my right farting in his sleep. But since R.P. had already grossed me out, and since my nose is extremely sensitive and able to discern most smells immediately, I was pretty sure it was him. The last 1/2 hour of the flight was like being in a revolving lavatory. I'd catch my breath for a few minutes and then the stench would begin again. Even while we were waiting for the jetway to be brought to the airplane door, he let another one rip. And that's when I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was the guilty fart party. As soon as he reached for his bag in the overhead compartment, it hit me square in the face. He has no idea how close I came to puking all over him at that moment.

This was not a young child or a person with a disability. (Does complete lack of social graces and lack of respect for personal space count as a disability? I didn't think so.) He was a late middle-aged man reading a novel by Clive Cussler. I don't think I'm being too hard on the guy. He was utterly repulsive because of his behavior.

So where was I? Oh, yes. The lesson here is this: An airplane seat is not the same as the driver's seat of your car. Do NOT perform your disgusting, stinky habits at your seat on an airplane...unless you're the pilot. For the general flying public, use the freaking lavatory next time! Or I'll be forced to use my connections in the industry to post your actual name on-line for all the world to see.

THOUGHT OF THE DAY – 6.26.05

Did you know they sell items called “Bathtub Pillows?” Do you own one? Please tell me you don’t. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t “in the bathtub” right at the top of the all-time list of places you would not want to get comfortable enough to fall asleep? I mean, okay, a “Driver’s Seat Pillow” would be slightly more disturbing, or an “Airline Pilot’s Pillow,” but basically I think anyone stupid enough to buy a pillow for their bathtub is well-deserving of the potential resulting “wet nap.” ... So, on second thought, go ahead and get your “Bathtub Pillow,” Einstein. After you die, the “drowning fairy” can shove a shiny quarter right underneath it