Thursday, 31 March 2016


yellow roses, editorspick, whorrified,

Aw, look. Someone gave me flowers! And he wasn’t even trying to make up for something he’d done wrong (which is good because flowers wouldn’t have helped). It was a lovely gesture that I promptly rewarded with my own special brand of bitching positive reinforcement, the end result of which was an argument. It was an unfortunate turn of events no one could have foreseen except everyone who knows me.

So what happened was, this poor sap surprised me with a bouquet of fresh roses on his way to work and you could tell by the look on his face he was pretty pleased with himself.
“Flowers? How sweet!” I said. “What’s this all about?”
“No reason,” he said, beaming.
“No reason?”
His smile began to twitch under the strain. “No, no reason. Is that a problem?”
“It’s not a problem, it’s just not like you. Let me get a vase.”
He watched as I arranged them, and then we both stood back and admired them.

“So you like them?” he asked. (Jesus, I thought, he’s really making me work for these things.)
“They’re gorgeous,” I said.
“I’m not a huge fan of roses myself,” he said.
“Yeah, they’re not my favourite,” I agreed.
“They’re too perfumey. And the thorns!”’
“I know!” I held out my finger. “They drew blood!”
“I wasn’t sure what colour to get …”
“Red is nice. Or pink.”
“But not yellow?”
“Well it’s very bright and cheery. It’s just …
“You hate the colour. Just say it.”
“No I don’t hate it, I just don’t generally like yellow flowers. Or orange ones, either, for future reference.”

He had the decency not to shriek “THERE’S NOT GOING TO BE A FUTURE YOU UNGRATEFUL WITCH!” but he did pout, which is never a good look nor is it conducive to healthy discussions.
“Maybe you should tell me the colours you DO like,” he said, in what was coming perilously close to cheekiness, in my opinion. But he did spontaneously bring me flowers, so I let it go. This time.
“Um, well to be honest, I’m not crazy about flowers in general. They don’t last long and they drop petals all over the place and the water gets funky … chocolate is probably a better way to go.”
“Yes, but only dark chocolate. Milk chocolate is gross. And of course, wine is always appropriate.”
“Should I be writing this down?” he asked, and there was no mistaking the cheekiness now.
“No, you should bend over so I can tattoo it on your arse,” I said. But not out loud. C'mon. I'm not that much of a bitch.

“You don’t have to get huffy," is what I really said. "I was just trying to be helpful."
“Well I was just trying to be sweet and look where that got me.”
"Oh for God's sake," I huffed. "I told you I liked the damn things, can't we just drop it?"
"Fine! We're dropping it. I gotta go, I'm going to be late for work."
"Fine, go," I said to his retreating back. "Have a nice day AND THANK YOU FOR THE PRICKLY STINKY YELLOW FLOWERS!"
I know. Sometimes I actually think I need professional help.

EDITOR'S NOTE: I'm pretty sure you're never getting flowers from anyone ever again until you die. And then you're getting yellow roses. A whole roomfull of them.
MY NOTE: Fortunately I plan to make sure you die before I do, so that little plan of yours won't work. But go ahead and cling to it if it cheers you.

Monday, 28 March 2016


to this Easter Sunday message from the Kardashians. 

There are many people I think of when I think of church and Easter Sunday, and none of them are Kardashians. And yet apparently the entire Kardashian coven observes "an annual Easter tradition" that entails dressing in slut garb, finding the most outlandish partner imaginable and heading to church. And then daring the pews not to burst into flames. 

This year, because Bruce became Caitlyn, Scott Disick bailed out of wedlock and Kanye refuses to attend any church that doesn't have his face frescoed onto the ceiling, the menfolk were in scant supply. Which is the only explanation I can come up with for why Khloe chose to drag Lamar away from his drool bib and therapeutic hooker mags and forced him to come and pray with her. Which is nothing short of a miracle because, as E Online fake-innocently notes: "Odom has never been photographed attending church services over the holidays" before. Or at all. 

Look, I'm all in favour of prayer and forgiveness and what-not, but jeez louise, could this family be any more goddam sacriligiously ridiculous? Oh, wait, is that 60-year-old Kris Jenner's barely legal bouncer-slash-boyfriend Corey Gamble escorting her into the sacred place of worship? Yup. Just answered my own question.


because my prayers went unanswered.  

Despite my constant campaign of lobbying, pleading and flat-out bribery, the Grim Reaper appears to be ignoring me and has somehow allowed Lady Gaga to live to see another birthday. Which would be today, in case you're looking for more reasons not to get out of bed on a rainy March Monday. The Gag turns 30 today (Editor's note: In lizard years? My note: Ooooh, good one! Maybe I won't have you castrated after all!) which surprises me because I have kids that age so this creature could theoretically have been my child. This is how I'd like to imagine that scenario playing out:
Me: Aaaagh! Something prickly and demonic just fell out of me!
Doctor: Awww, it's a wee baby! It's a ... girl? I think?
Me: *flushes toilet swiftly* Sorry, I had to. That thing was gonna be weird.

Haha, just kidding. Of course I wouldn't have treated Lady Gaga to such an undignified disposal; it would frighten the goldfish. I'd simply have wrapped her in algae and abandoned her to the wolves and she'd have turned out exactly as she actually did. (Oh, you doubt me? Please click here.) Which leads me back to the point I think I was trying to make, which is happy birthday, Lady Gaga! I'm a huge fan! *resumes kneeling position, clasps hands, hisses 'OK, so maybe NEXT year, then?'*