Tall Curly Biscuit

The other day I got all up in some controversy.  I usually try to avoid fights and negativity, except for when it comes to Kenny Chesney.  I absolutely refuse to cut that guy a break.  His last album was entitled Hemingway’s Whiskey, for goodness’ sake.

You see, I applied for and was accepted to the Community Voices program for the local big city newspaper.  I made it clear that I was a humor blogger—even submitting a blog post as one of my essays—but I guess the editor believes that serious news sells better than humor news.  The dude published my silly rant about a private school sending teachers to Bali as a sincere letter to the editor.

While composing an email bragging about my publishing feat to the President of the Tall Curly Biscuit Fan Club (my aunt), I looked up the online version of the newspaper opinion section.  What a surprise to see that my goofy little piece had 28 negative comments, including some calling me names such as bellyacher and others accusing me of having too much time on my hands.  If I wanted to be a lazy bellyacher, I’d try out for a spot on The View.

Y’all, in the last post I told you about a drug addict who uses his bladder as a Human Decanter (guess which body part is the spigot!), and that article didn’t even get 10 comments.  Apparently negativity and controversy work better than true and shocking entertainment.

So, I’m gonna dive headlong into some controversial statements so Tall Curly Biscuit can get more buzz.

Controversy 1: Archaeologists in France recently discovered that early humans brewed beer sooner than anyone originally thought.  At about the same time, Bulgarian archaeologists found skeletons with iron stakes through their chests.  Researchers believe the stakes were used in attempt to prevent the dead from being reborn as vampires.  Cool!  The French archaeologists need to step it up big-time; they have a long way to go compared to the exciting Bulgarians.  Until those Frenchies can come back with news that will inspire spine-tingling novels or movie scripts, they need to put up the shovels and bake us some croissants.

Time to hang it up, French archaeologists, and start baking us some flaky pastries instead.

Controversy 2:  A writer for a local fashion magazine recently praised benefits of raw denim jeans, which are jeans made from virgin, unwashed denim.  Apparently they don’t really fit better, but it’s super cool if all the wear on your raw denim jeans comes from you and you alone, like a historical record.  The author’s American-made jeans were not acid washed in a Chinese factory—no.  They were faded, worn, and tattered by his daily activities, such as biking, working, and browsing his local Nordstrom.  Sounds patriotic, right?  The embarrassing part for the writer is that he admits—even advises—that raw denim should not be washed for at least a year.  And he wears his jeans a lot.  His longest relationship is with a seven-year-old pair of jeans that are worn five days a week and washed once per year.  To subdue the stench, he occasionally pops them in the freezer overnight to kill the offending bacteria.  Might I suggest that’s why his longest relationship is with jeans?

I, too, have some dark jeans that are fading naturally with my everyday activities.  They recently acquired a really cool dot pattern at the hems of both legs where roughly a gallon of my child’s vomit forcefully splattered against tile walls and splashed back onto my dark denim, causing an abstract fade design.  AND THEN I WASHED THOSE JEANS BECAUSE I’D LIKE TO KEEP MY HUSBAND AROUND.

Limiting your body odor is one key to lasting love. Wash your jeans, y'all.

Controversy 3: Shooting yourself to promote your work is generally a bad idea.  An author writing a memoir, Kindness in America, reported to authorities last week that he’d been injured in a drive-by shooting while traveling down a rural Montana highway.  After talking to the cops, he begrudgingly confessed that he shot himself.  Police think it was a “desperate act of self-promotion.”  I occasionally have to indulge in desperate self-promotion, but I think asking you to like Tall Curly Biscuit on Facebook and Twitter is a better idea than shooting myself.

BUT WAIT—Maybe that author got tired of spinning his wheels on Facebook and decided that a shooting would work better.  Just like I ditched my usual humor and brought up some serious controversy today.  I mean, his shooting and my editorial bellyaching got us both in the paper.  I’m going to search my weapons arsenal now.*

*Help prevent a needless Nerf weapon incident: please like Tall Curly Biscuit on Facebook and Twitter, and share this humor blog with your friends!  Also, I love your comments—I don’t even care if you call me names as long as one of them isn’t Kenny Chesney.

**Hey, Kenny–I have a really good promotional idea for you.  Do you have a gun?

Hello, Dear Readers!

Yesterday my daughter had to get stitches in her leg because some kid at Chinese camp had broken glass in her backpack.  It wasn’t a malicious incident, but this just goes to remind everyone that even though children can do amazing feats like speak Chinese, solve tough math problems, and wow us with their expert navigation of television remote controls, sometimes they still think like little kids.

One good thing is that the doctor and nurses never even questioned that it might have been a safety issue on my part—you know, how they make sure they don’t need to call child protective services.  When a Caucasian kid’s story starts out with, “Well, I was at Chinese camp…”, it’s so random that it’s totally believable.

After our tough day—she had stitches and I missed my afternoon mug of tea—we decided to indulge in cookies and watch the new Dolly Parton & Queen Latifah movie in bed last night.  The flick is called Joyful Noise, and it’s a love story, choir competition, feud between Dolly and Latifah, and a touching tale of redemption all wrapped up in one.  Like one of those gross appetizers of tortillas rolled up with cream cheese and lunch meat.

As a TexMex and lunch meat purist, don't even get me started on this abomination of ingredients. Remembering the way these cold bites of gooey disgrace stuck to the roof of my mouth makes me shudder, as did Joyful Noise.

Joyful Noise is the kind of movie where Dolly’s choir robe was really fitted up around her boobs to make her look like a Barbie doll, but everybody else had on normal, baggy robes.  I feel like the director probably wanted Dolly to wear a standard robe, but Dolly had it in her contract that she could wear an hourglass robe and be the only blonde in the entire movie.

The plot is exactly what you’d expect: Latifah is an unsung hero, young lovebirds get together, a teen’s Asperger’s syndrome is pretty much cured, and Dolly breaks out a shotgun.  The writers added surprise by having unlikely characters do the splits when you least anticipate it.  Confession of love…splits!…face that says character hasn’t spread her legs that far in years.

That’s the kind of movie you’re missing out on.  I might have even oversold it a bit.

Now that you’re caught up on the latest in romantic comedy horrors, let’s explore a product that you should be aware of, just in case.

If you like to partake in alcoholic beverages AND you like to go places where that’s frowned upon (funerals) or where alcohol is expensive (anywhere that requires admission fees), my friend V has found a solution for you.  It’s called the Wine Rack.  You just fill up the plastic lining of this handy sports bra with alcohol!  If you’re a woman you’ll look like Dolly, and if you’re a man you’ll look like John Travolta with his fleshy man-boobs.  Either way, you’ll never be questioned by authorities.

You can find this on Amazon.com and at every Kenny Chesney concert.

However, I have to warn you of the dangers of sneaking alcohol into places.  My friends and I once filled water bottles with vodka and smuggled them into an outdoor concert.  It seemed like a good idea, but it lead us down the path of bad decisions.

My tipsy friend danced with an old dude who had moobs. She would have never done that without vodka, mainly because we never would have been at a Steve Miller Band concert without vodka.

If you’re afraid that you’ll get caught wearing the Wine Rack or you need extra storage space for your alcohol, I have another convenient solution for you of Ikea-level genius.  You can turn yourself into a Human Decanter, like the drug addict I heard about from a doctor friend.  The Human Decanter hires himself out for entertainment.  What’s his party trick, you ask?  He uses a catheter—usually used in hospitals to drain urine out of people—except in reverse.  He fills his bladder up with wine.  Sounds incredibly painful, right?  He’s on lots of drugs.

Once his bladder is full of wine, HE WILL PEE IT INTO A GLASS FOR YOU.

You should ponder that for a moment.

.

The spigot turns itself on automatically at the release of a sphincter!

Whichever method you use to sneak in wine, it’s sure to taste extra classy.

You know, that sounded snotty, but I don’t want to pretend I’m above drinking body-temperature wine.  If someone ever forces me to see Joyful Noise again and contraband wine is my only option, I’ll drink it no matter what private parts it drains out of.

When you were little—or maybe yesterday—did you dream of what your stage name would be if you were a Hollywood actor or actress?  I remember being surprised when I found out that actors sometimes went by fake names and that it was totally accepted.  When I was 10, I fantasized about my Hollywood persona.  Stretch pants, cool hats, braces, bigger hair, and the name Tina was what I desired.  It was so teenager-y!  And it makes for really horrible imagery now.

If I broke a limb, that would be even better for my career because there was nothing cooler than signed casts and, if you were lucky enough, crutches.  My BFF and I used to jump out of my grandma’s trees hoping to land wrong and shatter bones, but we were never able to join the ranks of those with plastered arms and legs.  It’s so sad when dreams die.  If fate had been on my side, I could have been the famous, slightly immobile, Tina McTeenager, living in LA down the street from Molly Ringwald.

This is Tina McTeenager in Los Angeles. See how happy I could have been? For the fake braces, I used wire from the garage. Now I have mouth lesions, but that's how dedicated I am to y'all. Also, I forced my son take this picture, and it finally dawned on me why he doesn't want me to chaperone his activities.

Anyway, no sense dwelling on what could have been.  Now in real life I’m involved in a women’s club that puts on fundraisers for charity.  I’m even the Communications Chair for the group, which makes me a real fancy-pants.  Through the women’s club email address, our group was contacted a couple of weeks ago by a Hollywood TV producer who is casting for a reality show!

Here’s part of the email: (We’re)…developing a new docu-series for a Major Cable Network that will explore the dynamic lifestyles of strong-willed and well-to-do women of the church. These women are known in their community for the work that they do, and most of all for their BIG PERSONALITIES. They throw parties and charity functions, love to socialize and be in the public eye, but no matter what, God, family and their church always comes first! These women are also physically beautiful, and are most likely in their late 20’s to early 40’s.

My first thought: There is no way anybody I know would do this.  It sounds so Housewives, and the show will make everyone look like hypocrites.  Who wants to be embarrassed on tv?  NOBODY.  I laughed about it with everyone I saw over the next couple of weeks.  And we dared each other to call.

I thought that there was no way I’m trashy enough to do anything like reality tv, and then I was like, “Yes, I am!”  And somehow I got talked into calling the producer and telling her I was interested.  The conversation was much less salacious than I’d hoped.  I wanted her to divulge juicy show details on the phone so I could blog about it, but she was disappointingly normal.  I told her up-front that I’m a “silly humor blogger” and “not glamorous,” which were the wrong things to admit if I wanted my chance in Hollywood.  She did say that if I could round up several friends in my local area who are interested, that would improve our chances.

By a stroke of fate, my cousin’s phone got messed up yesterday and assigned my picture to another name.  On FACEBOOK!  That’s so cable-series appropriate!  It’s like Hollywood finally spoke to me and revealed the name that will bring me fame:

Stephen Wigley III.

Does this say "serious actress" to you?

So now I have three questions for you:

1. What’s your stage name?
2. Do you want to be on reality tv?
3. What will your trashy reality show catch phrase be?

If there’s one thing we can do together, it might not be solving world hunger or bringing back Full House.  But I think we can land this reality tv show, y’all.

With love,

Steven Wigley III
blogger, Facebooker, actress

*Disclaimer: Please don’t Facebook request Steven Wigley III ’cause it’s not me. I have no idea who this guy is. I hope he has a sense of humor, though.

**Update to this post: Just to clarify, I’m not really going to try out for this reality tv show.  I thought that proclaiming my stage name as Steven Wigley III would have made that obvious, but certain people (including my husband) were concerned that I was serious.  However, I really do have the contact info so if you would like to try out, message me and I’ll pass your info along.

On behalf of fools everywhere, I owe an apology, especially to the parents at my daughter’s school.  Just when I thought I could work with kids—teaching Sunday school was starting to sound really fun—I go and prove that I should not be responsible for any children but my own and those whose parents are already aware of my idiocy.

For the end-of-year party for 4^th grade, I was partly in charge of a karaoke-type Singing Bee station where the kids would sing along with music and song lyrics for a bit.  Then we’d turn off the music, take away the lyrics, and see if they could get the next line.  Sounds simple enough, right?

I spent a lot of time on the playlist, probably about three hours.  I had to be particular with song choices so that we’d exemplify solid moral values and not offend parents.  Kidz Bop and was not an option because apparently that’s the least-cool thing ever, so I started with a group of about 25 Top Forty songs, most of which are even played in P.E. at school, and I narrowed it down from there.  If it had questionable themes: CUT.  If I heard the word sexy: CUT.  If most kids wouldn’t recognize the chorus: CUT.  I thought about including Weird Al Yankovic songs, but Fat would surely send all the 4^th grade girls over the edge into the pit of eating disorders, and White and Nerdy is inappropriate because nerds come in all colors.  I was left with 13 songs for kids to choose from.  One song on my iTunes list denoted that I had the “clean” version, so I made a special note to check those lyrics once I printed them out.  Done!  Song choices and lyrics printed, “clean” song checked for dirty lyrics, offending lyrics marked out.  Ready to go!

Day of the party: Kids love this!  They’re rockin’ out to pop music and singing in groups.  I’m dancing and singing along with them on the choruses because I know these songs, too.  Heard ‘em all a million times!  It’s so much fun hanging with 4^th graders!  Yes, I should definitely work with children more often.  Imagine all the wonderful things they could learn from me…the creative methods I’ll use to teach them about everything super-important in life.  Kids are awesome, and they totally love me and the other moms running this station!  We’re affecting the lives of these little sponges, and I may have just changed a girl’s life by complementing her hair.  She had low self-esteem until that very moment.  Think of how influential I could be as a teacher!

And then a kid picked Party Rock Anthem.  You’ve probably heard this song before.  It’s catchy.  Party rock is in the house tonight, Everybody just have a good time!  It’s also important to know that I held the pages of lyrics directly in front of the kids during this entire process.  We were outside in 30 mile-per-hour wind, so I did not let anyone else control my clipboard of loose paper.  I put the pages right in front of their faces, as in “Read this.”  Yeah, well here’s the first verse, which a group of boys read/sung at the top of their lungs, just like the clipboard commanded:

In the club party rock, lookin’ for your girl,
She on my jock (huh) non stop when we in the spot
Booty move weight like she owns the block
Where I drank I gots to know
Tight jeans, tattoos cause I’m rock and roll
Half black half white, domino
Gain the money Oprah Doe!
Yo!
I’m running through these hoes like Drano
I got that devilish flow rock and roll no halo
We party rock yea! that’s the crew that I’m repping
On a rise to the top no Led in our Zeppelin
Hey!

Hmm.  I never noticed the hoes or anybody on a jock before.  In addition to the hoes, I was worried that some kid would ask parents what a domino is, and everyone would collectively wonder if that’s an offensive term or not.  Anyway, from then on we stopped the song before it ever got to the verse, which meant the kids could only hear and guess words in the first 20 seconds of the catchy intro.  I don’t think the kids understood most of the inappropriate lyrics before we stopped playing that part, so crisis mostly averted.  *If they ask, the verse is about the rousing domino game of chickenfoot and gardening implements.

Play on!  Until we got to Stereo Hearts by Gym Class Heroes and Adam Levine, which you have also probably heard.  I thought that song was totally clean.  I’ve heard it a million times.  Well, let me be the first to inform you that there’s a big ol’ f-bomb right in the middle of the first verse.  I finally noticed the word when my very own daughter was singing the song and I read over her shoulder.  However, several other kids had already sung that song before her.  I guess they were smart enough to skip over or mumble through the word so that I never heard it.  Can you imagine what it would be like to have a parent holding that in front of you at an elementary school party like you were supposed to read it?  Most of the kids would get their mouths washed out with soap if they said it at home.  None of the 4^th graders pointed it out, and I have no idea how many of them I exposed to a parent-sanctioned f-bomb.  Hey, kids, this frat party was brought to you by the Parent Teacher Organization!  The PTO is edgier than ever!

I’m sorry, kids; I’m sorry, parents.  And, God, you have shown me through your mysterious ways that I am probably not cut out for teaching Sunday school.  I currently serve in the church choir, where someone else is smart enough to check the hymn lyrics for f-bombs before we sing.

Amen.  And if your kid was exposed to this verbal sexual reference and you are forced to have the talk, I advise you to read my article The Birds and the Bees: How NOT to Talk to Your Kid About Sex.  You know, if you still want to listen to me and such.  Think of all that I can teach you!

Hello, Dear Readers!

As I sit here with a monkey mug full of my 4^th serving of hot tea for the day, I’m questioning everything that’s transpired over the past two weeks.  Should I have insisted that my daughter perform her comedy routine in the school talent show even though she didn’t feel good?  No.  I thought she was just nervous or had constipation, but she ended up in urgent care that night.  However, she gave a slammin’ performance despite suffering what turned out to be a severe infection.  High five, stage-moms everywhere!  Should I be more prepared for power outages?  Yes.  Should I have attempted to kill a snake with a hand-held jigsaw?  No.  Do my dreams about blood-sucking vampires mean anything?  I hope not.

I’ve also come across some debatable products and marketing services recently, and I’m asking your opinion.  We can question everything together.  First, take a look at this condom box.  This brand has been around long enough for almost everyone to recognize it.

Condoms from the Shades of Grey cart staging adventure

Now check out this ad:

I hope they don’t pass out ice cream bars in my son’s high school level health class next year.

I wonder if anyone in the ice cream bar marketing department realized that their new campaign was eerily similar to the condom branding.  If so, I would’ve loved to have been in those meetings.  If they did it on purpose, and I think so, I have a request to make other mundane products sexier.  Think of what turning Magnum could do for oatmeal!  Heart disease prevention has never been more exciting!  Thoughts?

Next, let’s explore the possibility of applying mathematical formulas to shorts in order to prevent sagging butt cheek exposure.  I think that shorts should not be sold if the diameter of the waistband measures two times or more than the length of the shorts.  How do you feel about this?

Please make wise decisions.

Finally, I urge the people of Gap to stop smoking crack.  They’re trying to get women to show our cracks with hideous one-piece, semi-backless jumpsuits.  This product should never be sold at Gap, never in denim, and never in any size above small.  How unflattering can you get, Gap?  However, I do owe Gap thanks for providing me and my mom a good laugh.

For only $89.95 (sale price!) you can have this jumpsuit. Thanks to my mom for taking these pics. She was very worried that other customers would think I was buying this.

*Bonus question: What is Target trying to sell with “durable lace?”

My friend V says it's so that "if the friction gets high, your panties won't fly."

What have you come across that should not be sold or has a questionable marketing campaign?  Besides Oklahoma tourism, of course.  Just kidding, I’m going there in July.

**Bonus statement: While I’m questioning judgement, I’d like to brag that Robyn at Hollow Tree Ventures, who is one cool chick I totally plan on meeting in real life at a blog conference some day and wreaking havoc with, has nominated me for TWO blog awards, the Lovely Blogger Award AND the Liebster Award!  Wohoo!  I only questioned her judgement for a second before deciding to pretend that I totally deserve these awards.  Thanks, Robyn, for being the first to award my greatness!  I feel honored to be nominated by you and your funny blog!

***Bonus warning: (We had a lot to catch up on.) I’m a wanted cart staging criminal according to this picture, so now I can mark that off the bucket list without having to go through with any future evil plans!

This comes from the president of my fan club who also happens to be my aunt. Thank you, J! By the way, she's the only one who can call me "doughy." You've been warned.

All signs of good judgement are gone; I’m creating an new award called the Magnum Award.  More details to come!