Misadventures in Mexico part 2: This time I’m not the drunken A-hole.

This story for one does not focus on my rampant drinking but instead on Matt and Brians. After my first escapade on the first night we were in Mexico I was taking it somewhat easy on the drinking. I also find it really hard to get drunk there because I just end up getting sleepy from all the sun and going to bed at like 9. On this particular night we decided to go to a local brew pub because there was a cover band playing and the boys really like beer. I don’t like beer but I do love chicken wings and cover bands so I also thought this was an excellent idea. Jess decided to sit this one out because she was tired and I was pretty bummed out because I feel Jess always is a good motivator to drink. I had a few before we headed into town and on the way to the restaurant the boys decided to stop into a store for some free Tequila shots.

dramatic re-enactment. Brian is on the left.

20 minutes later they emerged noticeably hammered after getting 4 shots for free. I looked at them and decided my night of drinking was over. I’m usually the person in a group of drunks who decides to rein it in if I can see that someone else is teetering on the edge of being really unsafely drunk, like they would very easily try to destroy a train crossing sign or go home with some random ugly dude. As soon as I can see this start to happen I decided to stop drinking and be the mom and/or Dad of the night. Since these idiots were so drunk and we were in Mexico I resigned myself to a night of not drinking and herding them around like small drunken children.

We got to the brewpub and they were both acting like total jackasses. Despite this they ordered a tower of power, which is like a keg for the table that holds 6 pints of beer. I ordered a sprite and two orders of chicken wings because if it’s one thing I love it’s running a train on some chicken wings. The band started playing and they were actually really, really good. I know this because I have ears and also because Matt kept saying “this band is really good” every few seconds into my ear.

pictured: a band that is not really good

After about a glass and a half Matt decided he was done and couldn’t drink anymore. Brian decided to pick up the slack. I am constantly in awe of Brian because he can literally party harder than anyone I know. I don’t know if it’s in his genes or because he’s in a band or what but this kid can stay up all night, get super drunk and feel fine the next day. He’s some sort of drunk long haired super booze soldier or something. Brian is in a band and because of this he started totally losing his mind over the band that was playing. Brians in a metal band which I’m sure he would get mad at me for saying because it’s actually some sort of sub genre like crust punk puke jazz metal, but anyways he has this super deep voice that he uses to yell in his band and also in various social situations. He also started reacting to this band playing a cover of Kings of Leons sex on fire in the same manner he would react to a metal show, which is to randomly kick in the air while slamming your hand down on the table and screaming over and over again. I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t want us to get thrown out so when I noticed the owner looking at us I alternated between pulling on Brians shirt trying to get him to sit back down and throwing my arms around the tower of power so it wouldn’t topple off the table. This went on for a few songs, with a short break after each where Brian would scream “PLAY PANAMA” several times in a row. In his defense, that song is flawless.

During the intermission our waiter came over and asked if everything was ok and Brian decided to ask him if he could go onstage and sing Panama with the band. My face was full of chicken wings so I just looked on in horror. the waiter laughed and said he would ask the band. He clearly didn’t ask the band.

the face of a reasonable man, or a sunburned, drunken Van Halen fan? you be the judge.

Finally around 1230 I decided that this parade needed to end and ushered the boys out the door. They stopped instantly to tell some kids longboarding that they “were awesome” and I couldn’t stop laughing. I then noticed that Brian had a cup in his hand which was apparently the rest of the beer to go. I love Mexico. It didn’t last long though because he tried to shimmy up a hill for no real reason that I could see, promptly fell on his face and spilled it all over the place. The rest of the walk home went ok with only a few stops to pet a stray dog and get a hotdog from a vendor. Brian had just finished his and we walked about 2 blocks when we saw another vendor and he went to get a hotdog. I asked him what he was doing and he said getting a hotdog. apparently forgetting he finished one seconds earlier. He is truly king among men.

"no bowl, STICK. STICK"

Matt had organized a surfing lesson for the next day and kept saying how he was going to be hungover and how Carlos (the guy who gave them the shots at the beginning of the night) ruined his life. This phrase caught on and the two of them enjoyed shouting it to no one in particular and in one case, a table of people eating at a classy outdoor patio restaurant. On the way back to the condo you have to walk a really long stretch of sidewalk with cactus, aloe vera and bushes on either side and a wall that blocks out the cemetery. Brian decided to start wrenching plants out of the ground and doing various, what I can only assume was Spiderman impressions by jumping onto the wall and springing off awkwardly. This went off without a hitch a few times until he slipped and fell on his back and rolled around on the cement for awhile saying “I hate Carlos” You also have to pass a Cactus store and garden you can pay to walk through it’s called Cacti Mundo. Brian, upon seeing the huge sign advertising it, decided to change his battle cry from “Carlos ruined my life” to “Cacti Mundo! Mucho fun tonight” which he said several times as he tried to jimmy open the gate into it.

CACTI MUNDO YOU ARE A TRICKY MISTRESS

I could not stop laughing at these two idiots but I was a little sad I didn’t get sauced to join in on the fun. We finally got back into the condo and I went to change into my sweatpants because I like to be super sexy when I sleep. As soon as I opened the bathroom door after changing I was greeted with the fridge door open and Brian laying on his back with water spilled all over him. Matt was standing over him laughing and eating a hunk of bread. I helped Brian up and sent him upstairs so he could wake up Jess and she could deal with his dumbass.

 

The next morning, and by morning I mean 11 o’clock, Jess, Brian and I went down to the pool to tan and presumably continue drinking. Matt showed up shortly after to tell us about his surfing adventure.

“I got up on the first try but after watching the waves for a bit I almost threw up in the ocean and stopped the lesson early”

I felt bad that he had to leave early but part of me wished that he barfed in the ocean if only to know what kind of reaction fish have to human puke. Unfortunately now we will never know. Until the next trip at least.

I googled "fish eating puke" and this came up. Apparently it's fish eating a girl named Becky's puke. They seem to like it. BECKY YOU ARE A SCIENTIFIC PIONEER

Misadventures in Mexico: Rigby gets awkward in another country

I went on a fantastical journey to Mexico last week to visit my parents who are retired and living out everyones dream of living in Mexico for half the year, I must say that despite doing this they have avoided looking like leather handbags like most people who do this. Kudos to them on proper skin care. Anyways, I have gone to visit them there before but this time I brought Matt, my friend Jess and her boyfriend Brian. It was bound to be a booze fueled adventure with the four of us but shockingly enough we didn’t really get into that much trouble, probably for the best since I can’t afford bail in a Mexican jail. The first 24 hours there were actually the most debaucherous for me and I’m placing the blame solely on the fact that it was our first night there and it was also my 25th birthday. I was pretty proud of myself because in my usual awkward fashion I managed to make a total ass out of myself in Mexico as well as the US where we were stopped over for only a few hours. Pat on the back for myself right there.

We arrived at the Vancouver airport pretty early in the morning and we had awhile to hang out and wait for our flight. I spent that time like I spend all my time in airports: feverishly looking around for any sign of a celebrity that I could manhandle. I never ever run into celebrities which pisses me off and doesn’t seem right for the amount of time I spend drunkenly stumbling around the streets of Vancouver with Jenna, or the amount of times I’ve languished around the Vancouver airport for hours waiting for a flight. This is also ridiculous because my favorite tv show films there and one of the actors is like 10 feet tall so you would think the odds would eventually fall into my favour and I could spot him. The only explanation is that celebrities don’t go to grimy hotel bars to watch burlesque shows, or Uncle Fatihs pizza at 3 in the morning which is usually where I am whenever I go to Van.

WHAT IS THAT DELICIOUS WHITE SAUCE AND WHY DOES THIS PIZZA DESTROY MY FRIEND JENNAS STOMACH

Anyways, I was looking around hoping to see some tall handsome men when Jess elbowed me and pointed out a woman sitting a few seats away from us “hey Rig, I think she’s an actor” I looked and decided that she must have been since she was wearing a jaunty beret. After spending some time awkwardly peering at her from behind my book I realized she did look familiar: she was the broad from that one Star Trek who was a robot or a borg or something. As I looked at her I was like “oh that’s Jeri Ryan” I then totally freaked myself out because I don’t watch whatever Star Trek she is in and I have never seen her in anything else, so why did I know what her name was? the depths of my totally useless pop culture knowledge was frightening. I was actually a little upset with myself that I knew what this totally random C list celebrities name was, but I had no idea where Turkey was on a map.

I almost didn't recognize her because she wasn't wearing that hunk of metal at the time

We got on the flight and my concerns about my pop culture addled brain were quelled and replaced with an irrational fear of flying. Everytime I get on a flight I’m always terrified of several things happening, like the wings falling off or a phantom traveler possessing someone and making them open the door, or worse of all: a gremlin on the wing. The thought of someone hijacking the plane has never really occurred to me, which is also something I should probably examine about myself because apparently a gremlin messing with the plane is more likely to happen than a terrorist in my opinion.

So we landed in LA and we were stuck there for an hour or so. I continued my random staring at people who I thought were celebrities and Brian and Jess we convinced the guy sitting infront of us was a celebrity, well not really a celebrity but a “that guy” one of those guys you see in tons of things but you have no idea who he is. I racked my brains and couldn’t figure out who he was, which pleased me because it meant my descent into useless knowledge hell wasn’t entirely complete.

There was very little food options in possibly the worst food court ever so we were stuck with Burger King. Matt and I got in line and I looked at the menu totally not sure what to get “I haven’t eaten at Burger King since I was like 11, I have no idea what to get” I said to Matt. Instantly a woman infront of us turned around and gaped at me like I was some sort of freak. I got up to the front and asked the woman if they took debit. Apparently it’s not a thing in a lot of countries but I thought it was, so I guess I’m an ignorant jerk. You can use debit in Mexico and all of Canada so I thought you could use it at frigging Burger King in an airport. Matt had to pony up for my value meal and that is why I love him. So we had to stand off to the side and wait for our food when I spotted a ziploc bag someone had dropped that was full of medicine. I did what I assumed anyone would do and bent down to grab it and started asking people in the line up if they dropped it.

Before I get into this, I want you all to understand something: some of you readers get pretty hard on me because I’m constantly ragging on the US and how much it sucks. I am sure there are very lovely people that live there and that not everyone sucks but every single time I have been there I have had some shitty experience that makes me question humanity. This is one of those times.

First of all, at least a dozen people had to have seen the bag at the same time I did and it was literally right next to a few people standing in the line up. When I picked it up and started randomly asking the crowd if it was anyones, not a single person looked my way or even acknowledged I was speaking to them. I was shocked. It wasn’t like I was holding a bag of skittles, this legit had medicine in it. I know that I come off as a mean spirited bitch but I do genuinely care about other people, just not total dumbasses. Like, if it was Heidi Montags medicine I would have thrown it down a storm drain, but it was probably some poor suckers medicine. I could just picture them searching for it and being so stressed out so I wanted to try and help. After being completely ignored like I was an offbrand dollar store Barbie Doll, I decided to go up to the front and ask the manager if he could go over the intercom and announce that someones bag was here. So I headed up to the counter and asked.

He literally stared at me blankly after I finished, took the bag from me, put it behind the counter and continued putting sandwiches in bags. I was devastated and also really, really pissed off so I told Matt I had to leave and let him wait for the food. I fumed outside the restaurant about how a group of people, almost all of them adults, could completely not care about someone else. I know that standing in line and waiting for a gross hamburger is pretty important but I hate this attitude of “someone else will deal with it” or “it’s not mine so I don’t care” I know it isn’t theirs but as if they have never lost anything and would have loved to have it returned. I’m not trying to claim I’m some sort of heroic person but I mean, come on people. Jess tried to console me by saying “it’s just the culture” which is a depressing statement because there is no way ignoring everyone elses needs but your own can be a culture.

I do, however, want to be a part of this culture

So the food arrived and I ate it while sitting on the floor of the airport totally bummed out that the world was full of dicks. Not even the good kind of sarcastic dicks like I enjoy, just total jerks. Matt then told me that after I left the restaurant a bunch of people were muttering about what I had done and one person said “what the fuck was she doing?” about me. I was seriously so crushed. How does me trying to help out a total stranger make me an asshole? I hope all of those people get dysentery and die from those burgers. And then I hope when they go to the medical room at the airport the nurse there says “oh God, I would love to help you but I dropped the bag of medicine somewhere and now you will all poop yourselves to death”

serves you right you goddamn dickheads!

We finally arrived in Mexico without any more incidents of jackassery and my parents were there to greet us with a cooler full of booze. I love my parents. We went straight to our favorite restaurant where I gorged myself on tacos and thankfully didn’t find any rogue bags on the ground. Afterwards it was pretty late so we decided to get some drinks and head down to the ocean to…well, drink and look at the ocean. I must have been having a great time because I had several drinks and had several long looks at the ocean. I’m sure I was contemplating lots of deep meaningful things while I looked at the vastness of the ocean and sipped thoughtfully from my plastic cup full of peach juice and vodka.

perfect for deep inner reflection and bitchin' keggers

Several cups later I decided to go run around in the ocean like an idiot and well, here is the photo that pretty much sums up the night. Please note the homemade jean shorts and cup of booze. Also, it is interesting to note that this was several weeks after my breast reduction surgery so I was fully enjoying the fact that I could go braless which I hadn’t been able to do since I was probably 13. I know I yelled “I’m out there and I’M LOVIN’ EVERY MINUTE OF IT” at least 3 times that night so I might actually be yelling that in this picture, more likely though I was screaming nonsense.

 

After a few jaunts around the ocean it was decided that since it was my birthday we needed to celebrate properly which, according to a severely intoxicated Rigby consisted of trying to sneak into all inclusives and try to scam booze. I have no idea why we did this because there was a 2L bottle of Vodka back at our condo that my dad had bought for me at Costco earlier that day as a birthday present. Like I said, I love my parents.

We went into one and it was the nicest hotel I have seen in my entire life. Just the grounds were gorgeous and it was quite clear we did not belong there. I decided to rectify this by shouting out of no one in particular that I was thoroughly enjoying my stay here which my career as a race-car scientist had paid for. I then did a comically huge wink at Matt and Brian and said “JUST LIKE STEVE MCQUEEN” We went inside and spotted the bar. We then huddled around a table trying to pick our best course of action. We rock paper scissored to see who would go up first and Matt had to go up. Matt is very charismatic and when he’s been drinking he becomes even more charming, it usually only works with women but in a pinch it would work with a Mexican bartender. He went up and returned with a Caesar. He said it was really shitty but it was free so that’s all that mattered. Brian and I decided to make our move and I grabbed a Styrofoam cup from a table and went up to the bar and asked for a screwdriver. The guy started making it and then stopped and asked to see my wristband. I panicked. Several scenarios went through my mind on how I could get out of this one. I could unzip my hoodie and give him a shot of the goods, I was braless after all. I could shove Brian over and run away in the confusion. I could start crying and hope he would take pity on me. In the end I decided to go with that old stand by: playing dumb.

"worked for me..and such like"

“…oh my bracelet? it’s….in my room…I’ll be right back!!” and then I proceeded to walk straight out the front door into the street. Apparently seconds after I grabbed my cup, Brian grabbed one and knocked over the entire stack so that might have been a signal that were were already wasted despite them not serving us anything all night. We wandered the streets for awhile drinking before we decided to call it quits and head home. I had a horrible sleep marred with several bouts of throwing up and spent the morning enjoying the breakfast of champs: Pepto Bismol. But as I laid all curled up in the fetal position in my bed I thought to myself

“at least I didn’t get a free drink, then I would probably be dead right now”

And now I present to you all, the greatest hangover photo ever taken. Please note that I can’t even extend my thumb fully on one hand.

Thumbs up!

The time I got black out drunk at a Backstreet Boys concert.

I’m not always the flawless goddess I make myself out to be on here. Sometimes I fall from grace like an angel. Very rarely, but occasionally it happens. It actually happens probably once a day but as time goes on I have grown to be less horribly embarrassed about my constant jackassery and social mishaps and have adopted the attitude of “if they can’t take a joke fuck ’em” It has gotten me this far so I don’t see a reason to give up the dream. I’m going to tell you guys about my most embarrassing moment today in the hope that you will take me down from that golden, jewel encrusted pedestal you have placed me on and think of me as an equal and less of a demigod.

pictured: yours truly helping some ugly orphans cross a bridge. Losers.

The title really says it all. I went to a Backstreet Boys concert and got totally smashed. I went with a girl I used to be friends with, whether or not the concert was the dissolution of our friendship is up for questioning, but it very well could have been since I acted like a total spaz. I was 20 so much like most 20 year olds I was an idiot and couldn’t hold my booze very well. This problem, coupled with my inability to act sane in social situations made for a very horrible night.

We showed up at the concert all excited to relive our childhood spent idolizing a group of men, despite the fact that at least 3 of them you wouldn’t give a second glance to if you saw them on the street. Anyways we had a few drinks beforehand but then something went horribly wrong. This something was in the form of a drunk mom in her 40s who was chaperoning her teenage daughters and who obviously was a social pariah. She saddled up next to us and asked if we wanted a drink. I, being poor as all hell, jumped at the chance to drink coolers with a strange woman for free. This is where I went wrong. I was used to drinking whiskey and coke so when I drank a fruit flavoured cooler I was like “THIS IS JUST LIKE JUICE!” I would go on to actually scream this out more than once during the night. So this drunk woman supplied us with about 4 of these puppies each and then wandered off to do god knows what.

At this point I’m standing there wobbling and holding three cups so I was obviously prime hit on material. Some guy walked by wearing an Evil Dead shirt so I yelled at him that he was awesome. This is constantly my downfall. I will see some guy wearing something I like or doing something funny and I’ll tell them that they’re awesome. They take this as I am flirting with them but I actually am just commenting. I blame the fact that I hang out with tons of guys who constantly forget I’m a a girl so in turn I forget I’m a girl and in my mind I’m just giving a fellow bro some props on his novelty Evil Dead shirt.

Anyways this clown and his friend come over and start aggressively hitting on us. In hindsight this was a perfect plan on their part: go to a Backstreet boys concert that is sure to contain at least 30% girls in their 20’s and of that 30% at least 10% are single and there with their friends, and at least 5% of those are insane superfans who will get themselves all worked up and go home with anyone who has a haircut similar to Nick Carter. It’s genius.

they totally got the idea from this guy! You're a perv, Stephen!

So they’re asking us if we want to go party with them after the show and I instantly panicked. I panicked because I had just started dating Matt, the boyfriend I mention occasionally usually in the context of him often rolling his eyes or telling me to stop being such an idiot. We were like a month or two into our relationship and he hadn’t yet been exposed to the maximum level of my nerdiness. He has now and I think he has somewhat accepted it because the other day he bought me a Sci Fi magazine from 1974 and I nearly wept with joy. It had an ad for a watch that you could play a little Wrath of Kahn game on you guys. We were still new in the relationship but I had already tested the waters with various Star Wars quotes and admitting my love for Fox Mulder, so things were going in my favour. I didn’t want to mess it up by having this goon date rape me or something. So I did something that in hindsight was the worst idea ever. I went to the bathroom and drunkenly called Matt. I cringe at the memory of it because I was at that moment the girl everyone hates that’s always in a bathroom stall at the bar crying on the phone.

"ahhh I'm so drunk......WHY WON'T JOSH SLEEP WITH ME??"

He regretfully answered the phone and he was hanging out with some friends of his which made it so so much worse. I have a super loud voice normally and on top of that I was yelling because the opening act had started playing by now in the background, so I know everyone heard. I said something about how I was really drunk and some guys were hitting on me and I wanted to come home. At the time I thought Matt would hear this and think “Wow, what a responsible, trustworthy girlfriend I have, she’s telling me that some people are hitting on her and she wants to come home and be with me because she loves me and not those guys” in reality I’m guessing his train of thought went something like this “oh my god why is she yelling? why is she drunk and hanging out with random guys? Oh my god I’m so mad/worried/annoyed” Matt has several good character traits but my favorite and the one that comes in handy the most is that he can hide his annoyance with me. I’m kind of making him out to be a dick but he’s really not, and I swear deep down inside he loves my geeky nature but sometimes, not so much. I assume he wanted to ream me out but instead he just sort of said that I should stop drinking, have some water and try to relax.

I wandered back to the concert after my friend came and got me from the bathroom. When we returned to our seats the goon and his friends were gone, I assume onto more desperate, greener pastures.  The backstreet boys finally took the stage and I was so excited I had to go vomit. I spent the first 3 songs of the set in the bathroom puking. I remember specifically leaning my head on the wall of the stall humming along to Quit playin’ games with my heart. It was seriously the worst night ever.

"...before you tear us apart.." HORF HORF

It got worse. I called Matt AGAIN to tell him that I was still really drunk and on top of that I had just barfed several times. Again he told me to calm down and also to stop calling him. After round 5 of puking I told my friend I had to leave and made her leave the concert. I also cringe at this because I still feel so guilty for ruining her night. I have been the sober, or sober-ish friend in a situation like that since then and I tried not to hold it against my friend because I know what they’re going through, it sucks but you need to look out for your friends and I wasn’t about to ride the skytrain back to my cousins house where we were staying on my own. So we left the concert and to be honest I don’t really remember much after that.

The morning after I talked to my friend Adam who were supposed to meet up with after the concert. He had a nice little voicemail on his phone from me that essentially went like this:

“Adam…It’s Rigs…I’m too drunk….I RUINED EVERYTHING”

Possibly the best voicemail in recent history

"...now I'm going to call my boss and tell him how sexy he is!"

Luckily the next day I woke up with not that bad of a hangover, I collected my belongings and what little dignity I had left, said goodbye to my cousin and prepared myself for an angry car ride back home. Luckily I slept through most of it but unfortunately I spent the other half of the ride either throwing up or talking myself out of throwing up. It was a real test of will.

Months later Matt and I were at a mountain bike movie premiere because those are the sort of glamorous events you take part in when you’re dating a professional mountain biker. So I’m doing my usual routine of drinking while everyone else discusses bike parts, riders and companies that I’m clueless about.Then this guy comes up to me. He introduces himself and I introduce myself. He was silent for a few seconds and then said “oh so you’re Matt’s girlfriend Rigby…the one that was drunk at the Backstreet Boys concert, right?” I froze like a deer in the headlights. How could I get out of this?? I thought for a second of saying that was his old girlfriend and I’m the new one, which would have been possible to pull off if my name was Sarah or something, but what are the odds of dating two girls back to back both named Rigby? next to impossible. I cursed my parents silently for giving me such a name. In the end I decided to just own it and work it like the fierce bitch I am(??) I smiled up at him and gave my best Julia Roberts laugh. “That’s me!” I said while laughing and sort of doing a weird shrug/eye roll as if to tell him “oh it was no big deal, I’m a cool girl who can laugh at herself!” but I think it came off as more of a neck twitch. He just sort of nodded and glanced down at the drink at my hand and said he would see me later.

So I was left standing next to the bar with a screwdriver in my hand wondering where my life went wrong. My life was in shambles and apparently I was going to be known as “Matt’s girlfriend who got drunk at the Backstreet Boys concert” for the rest of it. Right then and there I decided I was going to be more serious and mature, I would go buy a bunch of books on etiquette and put some money in stocks or something. I was going to be wonderful!

pictured: me at my 23th birthday party

Obviously somewhere along the line something went wrong because here I am 5 years later. I have since gotten drunk at the Vancouver Aquarium in the middle of the day, fallen up the stairs at a movie theater, dropped my purse down the stairs of a busy restaurant and in doing so exposing the 5 or 6 tampons I had in there, run over a printer from the 80’s, thrown up in my friends shower after a night of drinking, eaten a KFC Double Down, and of course my greatest debaucherous adventure: started this blog. So am I a better person now, more adult? I like to think I am because sometimes I say “how about this weather?” to my co workers and I wear skirts to work, but then sometimes I eat a bowl of alphagettis for dinner. I guess the real test would be to go back to the scene of the crime and get drunk at another Backstreet Boys concert. And as I strolled out at the end of that concert I could say to myself, “you did it Rigby, you are grown up” one day I hope to be that person. One day.

You chumps asked, this chump answered

Earlier I asked you guys to ask me some questions so I could make a Q&A page and shockingly enough only two of the many questions I received were requests for boob pictures. I misjudged you, Internet. So I answered the questions as best I could and I would like to thank those of you who sent in questions because you pretty much wrote this thing for me (suckers!!)

1.I watched the X-files a lot back in the day and there was always this debate of whether agents Mulder and Scully ever had sex.

Seems most die hard fans (mostly Male and in love with Dana Scully) Claim that they NEVER had sex, with some fans even making reference to an episode where they do have sex on a cruise ship, not counting because they where in an alternate dimension.

since you are one of the rare female fans of the show and therefore have no vested interest in the purity of Scully’s Character. (though you do have a lust for David Duchovny)

What is your opinion on the Mulder/Scully sex allegations?

I have waited years for someone to ask me this question and I can answer it in amazing depth. Not only did Mulder and Scully bone but they totally had a baby! By the time the baby rolled around it was in Season 8 and Mulder had been out of the show for an entire year so obviously my interest was waning. It was actually really weird because she was just sort of preggers all of a sudden and their boss was like “so…..is it Mulders?” That is literally how it was brought up. So she was like oooh I dunno heee hee but it totally was. They named the baby Williams after Mulders father who got shot to death in a bathroom while Mulder was napping on the couch (putting that FBI training to work)  and then later gave him up for adoption because super genetically modified soldiers were trying to murder him or something. They brought him up briefly in the second X Files movie but other than that he was never spoken of again because I think everyone involved realised he was a terrible plot device. Oh also in the very last episode of the series they started calling each other Dana and Fox which weirded me out way more than it probably should have. And as far as the episode where they kissed(but unfortunately didn’t bang) in the alternate reality, I totally count that because that episode was fantastic on the account of having both Nazis and an amazing chase scene set to big band music. In closing, they lived happily ever after in a house together and for a short time Mulder had a full beard.

2. Could you tell us more about your friend Jenna that you talk about sometimes? She seems like a pretty amazing and beautiful person. I would like to know more about her.

I’m putting the finishing touches on the blog about the time we drank on the bus with all those black dudes. And then I will never speak of you again.

3. What is your favorite part of the human face and why?

Probably the eyebrows because without them we wouldn’t know when someone was being sneaky and Kevin McAllister saying “I made my family disappear!” would be way less hilarious without that eyebrow wiggle.

4.Would you give a homeless person CPR if they were dying?

Only if the homeless person was attractive

5.Have you ever had an imaginary friend? If so, tell me about him. Her? It?

I never did but my brother had an imaginary friend that was a duck. I can’t remember its name. I spent a lot of time with my stuffed animals and had to tuck them in at night because I was convinced if I didn’t they would come alive and murder me.

6.If you could make anyone your slave for a day, who would it be and what would you make them do?

I would make George Lucas my slave for the day and spend it making him apologize from ruining the Star Wars franchise and I would also make him wear Leias gold bikini from Return of the Jedi and stand on a street corner holding a sign that said “I’m really sorry for those awful Star Wars prequels I made”

HOW IS NATALIE PORTMAN THE SAME AGE IN THIS AND THEN THE KID IS ALL GROWN UP IN THE SECOND ONE AND MARRIES HER? IT MAKES NO SENSE. I HATE YOU GEORGE!!!!

7.Who would you really just like to punch in the face (aside from Nicholas Cage)?

probably Kesha. I just cannot stand her. Oh, I’m sorry Ke$ha. Now I want to punch her even more because she made me use a dollar sign as a character.

8.If you had the opportunity to re-live any one hour of your life, what would it be?

The first hour we spent together after I said yes to your marriage proposal.

9.Will you marry me?

Yes! yes! A thousand times yes!

10.If you could magically have any career what would it be?

If I wasn’t so awkward infront of cameras I would love to have a talk show, or be a make up artist for Horror Movies. I have literally zero follow through so I don’t see that happening anytime soon.

11.If you could go anywhere where would you go?

I really would love to go to Japan but I would settle for Ireland since I’m a drunken Irish girl. Luckily for me my parents foolishly decided to take my brother and I there for a trip this year, Luckily for you guys as well I’m sure some hilarious writing material will come out of it since most of our family trips are a mix between The Griswolds and that family from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

12.Why did you start this blog anyway. I have a bunch of things to say but I am not motivated to blog…so…why do you?

I literally started writing this thing because my friend Brianne said I should because I’m funny and can write somewhat well. I had written some mini little blog entries in my notes on Facebook and people seemed to like them and Brianne is the blog reading queen so she showed me how to do it. So thank you Sheppy!

13.If you could fight anyone living or dead who would it be and why?

Dead. Because the fight would be easier. Unless they were undead then I might have my hands full.

I am going to kick your ass.

14.What’s it like living in Canadia?

Living in Canada is pretty great because I can be smug to people who don’t live here. Also where I live if you drive for 30 minutes in any direction you’re pretty much in the woods so this allows for many camping trips where I have Doritos for dinner and almost slip and fall in the fire at least 3 times a night.

15.Do people really drink alcohol to stay warm?

I drink alcohol to stay warm in the winter if we’re going sledding or tubing. Fireball will really warm your heart and also make it so you don’t feel very bad if you cut a child off in the lineup to go down the sled hill. It’s only cold here for like 3 months though so the other months of the year we just drink because it’s there.

16.Have you ever had or known anybody who has had Wendigo psychosis?

I have not and nor has anyone I know, but I am scared shitless of Wendigos.

shit like this is exactly why Wolverine should have stayed in Canada: the constant wendigo attacks

17.Why is everybody in Cananada so short?

Is that a thing? do people think Canadians are short? I’ve never heard that before! I don’t think so, because all my friends are pretty average height, I only know like one short guy and now that I think about he’s actually German so he’s not a true Canadian at all! I’m 5’7 so I think that might be sort of tall for a girl?

18.Can we see more pictures of you, including Bewbies?

I will probably put up more pictures of me but only if they’re hilarious. I said earlier I’m going to Ireland with my family later in the year and I’m actually going to Mexico in a few days, so I’m sure I’ll have some dumb stories to tell you guys complete with photos. Probably no Bewbies though, sorry champ.

19.How many hits do you get in an average month?

I think the average is like 8,000? It dipped down for awhile there because I wasn’t posting as much

20.How many entries do you have written but not published on average? Why?

Probably around 3 or 4. I started writing more often and just saving them so I can put them up when I know I’m going to be busy for awhile, and especially in the summer when I know I won’t want to be sitting inside writing when I could be outside drinking.

21.Where do babies come from?

I’ll tell you when you’re older.

22.What is your name?

It’s Rigby. Rigs for short. I used to hate it when I was younger but now I usually get one of three responses

-Just like the rifle!

-Just like the Beatles song!

-Is that your last name?

-did you say Britney?

23.What is your quest?

BRODYQUEST!

24.What is your favorite color?

I have no idea! I wear a lot of black because I have a lot of inner torment but I guess my favorite colour would be blue? That was a stupid question.

25. did you ever eat of cat food accidentally and if so did you kill yourself out of shame afterwards (with a knife or cyanide or w/e it doesnt matter)

Eaten cat food? yes. Accidently? no. You can draw your own conclusions with that answer. I didn’t kill myself from shame because I refuse to be shamed by something that 90% of people did as a child either on a dare from their brother or just out of curiosity.

So there you have it folks! an insight into the wonders of my soul. It’s like seeing a unicorn or a priest flip someone the bird: a magical sight.

My new years resolutions

Every year everyone goes through this: New years resolutions that are most likely broken before March. It seems like almost everyone vows to join a gym or lose weight and I think it’s because they feel guilty for eating chocolate and drinking in the middle of the day for the past month at various holiday functions. I will not make that promise this year. No, I will strive for things I will try to actually accomplish and that are possibly within my sweaty grasp. I say sweaty grasp because I suffer from a symptom called “childlike clammy hands” it makes holding hands with me almost impossible. You can ask any of my huge amount of ex boyfriends (2) Anyways I cannot change the size and texture of my hands…yet. I can, however, try to do the following in a years time:

1.Roll my eyes less at stupid people.

 

I give this two eye rolls and one "OH BROTHER!"

 

 

I have a really bad habit of rolling my eyes quite obviously at people who are saying dumb ass shit. Matt is constantly telling me to stop or if he knows that we’re going into some sort of situation that I will openly scoff at he prepares me beforehand. I don’t want you guys to think that I’m the hugest dick on the planet because I’m actually really nice, just not if you are a total idiot.

I think the people who bear the biggest brunt of my bitchiness are stupid girls. I cannot stand stupid girls because I know half of them aren’t actually stupid they just act that way because somewhere along the line they got the idea in their head that if they act stupider than the people they’re around that boys will like them. I decided to go the opposite route and be as loud and opinionated as possible. It has led to at least one man trying to punch me in the head so I don’t know if I can really defend my way of living all that well.

Anyways, I have had to go on dinner dates with my boyfriend and one of his friends and a dumb girl on more that one occasion but the worst has to be when I went out for dinner with this stupid girl who had a boyfriend yet was on a date with this other guy and then when we walked back to the car she asked me where my boyfriend was that night. I think my eyes nearly rolled up inside of my ocular cavity never to be seen again because she seemed genuinely shocked that the dude I just ate dinner with and kissed in the parking lot was my boyfriend.

 

but the real question is: where is her boyfriend???

 

 

Later that night Matts friend refused to cut her limes for her Coronas because “her legs aren’t fucking broken” and I had to fight the urge several times to take her aside and give her a heartfelt speech about how she didn’t need to put up with that because she’s a modern woman and blab la bla, but I wasn’t a sassy black woman and this girl was just flat out dumb so I just kept rolling my eyes.

 

OOOH CHILD, YOU DONT NEED A MAN. UNLESS THAT MAN IS DRESSED AS A WISE BLACK WOMAN.

 

 

So that was just an example of the sort things I roll my eyes at and now that I think about it, that dumb broad deserved house upon hours of eye rolling. So I decided I’m going to keep rolling my eyes but only exclusively at dumb girls. I think I can live with that compromise.

2. Learn to Hulahoop

 

bitch.

 

 

Hula hooping has been very elusive to me over the years and it sickens me to my very core that I cannot do it. I also can’t dance to save my life so maybe these two things are connected. Either way God has cursed me. Whenever I try to hula hoop I always think I’m doing it and just as I yell IM DOING IT! The hoop falls down around my feet and my hopes and dreams fall with it.

I know that as an adult with a full time job and clean criminal record I shouldn’t let this defeat me but it does. It truly, truly does. I feel the same way about my inability to fly a kite properly and I worry that if I ever have kids one day they will come up to me and ask me to teach them how to fly a kite or hula hoop and I’ll get the chokes under the pressure and have to abandon them and start a fresh life away from their judging eyes. I can’t decide if that would be worse or if having a child that could hula hoop and fly kites extremely well would be worse. It would be like a protégée surpassing the mentor situation, and I just can’t have that. I would have to murder my kid as soon as they showed any signs of hip shaking skills. It would be the only way.

 

it also kills know it all kids who think they're better than me!!

 

 

So I really have no choice but to learn how to hulahoop if only to prevent me from committing infanticide somewhere down the road. I owe it to society and the justice system to properly learn to gyrate my hips.

My friend Tracy used to have a hulahoop at her house and everytime I was over there drinking I would try to hulahoop and I could never do it. She has excellent hulahooping skills and it enrages me. In fact if any of you are ever around me and you start hulahooping, look at my face. That look you see is one of silent rage and bitter longing. It is the face of a broken woman.

3.Finally getting around to growing out my beard

 

I already have the chest hair, I just need that beard.

 

 

I love beards. I love them so hard. More men should have beards because they are super sexy and all the ladies (me) love them. But if you are going to grow a beard make sure that you can make it thick and full and also never grow one if you have really light blonde hair because it looks super creepy.

 

"HEY LADIES WHO WANTS TO HAVE THEIR NECK SLIT AFTER I FORCE YOU TO COMB MY BEARD FOR SEVERAL HOURS"

 

 

My boyfriend refuses to grow a beard because he thinks it will be “unprofessional” which is retarded because I know he spends half his work day fucking around on google street view and the other half emailing me about what’s for dinner. He is clearly the perfect candidate for a beard. So if he won’t grow a beard I guess I need to take things into my own hands and grow one myself. I have a lot of things planned for my beard:

-getting bits of food stuck in it

-standing in front of a mirror and stroking it

-twirling it evilly while I watch a girl tied to train tracks wriggle around

-scratching it really loudly in crowded elevators

-talking about how majestic it is

-shaving it at the end of the summer so I have a beard farmers tan

The list really goes on and on here. I can’t believe I waited this long to do this. I’m a fool. So I’m on day one of beard growing and things are going pretty slowly so far, I’m hoping that the fact that I am a woman will not come into play and that god will just smile down upon me and let me grow magical face follicles that I can comb out and spray paint white in the winter to pretend I’m Santa Claus. Please God, just this once do me a solid!

4. Challenge more people to duels.

 

HISTORY

 

 

Probably at least twice a day I encounter someone I want to duel so very badly. Unfortunately for me, this isn’t the 1800’s and dueling is probably frowned upon. You can thank the war on terror for making society frown upon two people whipping out pistols and shooting each other in the face.

pictured: the less popular "pistol and jazz hands" duel

My favorite part of dueling is the challenging, which is accomplished by slapping your future opponent in the face with a glove. my fingers are itching just thinking about slapping someone in the face with a glove. I have an excellent pair of leather gloves that would be perfect for challenging someone to a duel or choking Nicole Brown to death.  I should mention that I have absolutely no skill with a gun, I once shot a jug but I’m not confident that when it came to crunch time that I could successfully shoot a person. Maybe I should change this resolution to “learn to shoot a gun at a person” but that seems like a lot of time and money wasted when I could be just slapping people in the face with gloves.

"too soon on that Nicole joke"

I guess I could challenge someone to a duel with a sword but I’m also pretty bad with knives and I always seem to drop one on the floor when I’m cutting an apple. I need to work on my basic motor skills apparently.

I think I would be ok with not knowing any sort of murdering techniques because in this day and age no one is expecting to be challenged to a duel, they’re more used to passive aggressive jabs through facebook and not actual jabs from a goddamn sword. I could probably slap about 20 people in the face before I actually ran into someone who would accept my duel. I like those odds. I like them alot. You know what, I should combine this resolution and the beard resolution and up those odds because no one is going to accept a duel from a grown woman with a fucking beard.

Turns out I’m an asshole: Hate Mail Vol. 2

Have you ever heard the expression “there’s no such thing as bad publicity”? of course you have. I have no idea who said it but I’m sure they were probably a mess because who the fuck else would come up with something like that. Well it must be true because I have been raking in both website views, and hate mail. I already had enough hatemail fodder saved up for an article a while back and it was so much fun to write I was hoping that I would get even more hate mail sent my way. Well God must be smiling down upon me and heard my wish because he sprinkled some dickhead fairy dust over some  computers and I have received several more hilarious pieces of hate mail which I am going to share with all you beautiful people. (inside beauty counts too if you are a pizzaface or martha dumptruck)

 

This first one I’m going to share really caught me off guard because I can’t tell if it’s a joke, a mean comment or just someone geniunely concerned for my well being.

So, has it ever occurred to you that you have a drinking problem, and should probably seek help, i.e. A.A. ?

After I read it I just sat there for a few moments totally unsure what to make of it. Then I mixed myself a drink and then another, and then another, and then threw some glassware at my cat, had a nap, woke up and looked at it again. I really hope you guys don’t think I’m a raging drunk. Yes just recently I had a bad experience with Tacos and Fireball that ended with my passing out infront of my friends toilet only waking up when my elbow dipped into the toilet water. And yes after that night I had to go buy a plunger for Jenna because I ruined her toilet. And yes I threw up in the shower. And yes I got drunk at the Vancouver Aquarium. And yes I get drunk at the movie theater once every few months.  Does that make me a bad person? By my calculation it makes me a frigging radical person.

 

I've been there before! hahah..but seriously someone should put him on his side so he doesn't choke to death on his vomit.

 

 

Imagine how boring this blog would be without my constant rage and drinking? it would be horrible and I don’t want to live in a world where I can’t watch a bad horror movie while drinking Screwdrivers and then write about it on the Internet. It’s not like I have any kids I’m neglecting with my drinking, just my liver. And I make it work on time and don’t have a lengthy criminal record or jaundice so I’m doing pretty good for myself.  Plus this comment came from someone calling themselves “Flipper McFeelgood” so I assume they bang dolphins or think alot about banging dolphins so nuts to them. I didn’t really know how to approach this one so I tried to be a cheeky bastard and replied with this

I have BCAA, does that count?

Hopefully she gets back to me because my calls to BCAA about whether or not I’m covered if I get a flat while driving drunk have gone unanswered.

 

"uhh yea...the horse I just hit looked pretty drunk too so....is that his fault or...? Hello?"

 

 

People are funny because they can get really really pissed off about certain things that other people don’t give a fuck about. I cannot stand pro lifers and people that say Fiance. Other people are probably sitting around drawing anti abortion signs and saying “pass the red paint my darling fiance” so to each their own. What I cannot understand whatsoever is why anyone would ever come to the defense of Charlie Brown

 

The fact you’d write an article like this in the first place (wrought with errors I might add) only shows how truly shallow you are.

I do expect such garbage from anyone who has a blog titled “Vodka for Breakfast”. I’m completely certain if you ceased to exist, the world wouldn’t give a rats ass.

Do us all a favor and gargle on some broken glass, asshat

 

I can’t wrap my head around the fact that the same person who probably laughs everytime Lucy pulls that football away from Charlie Brown, wants me to eat pieces of glass. Good Grief! I also wish they specified if it was full of spelling errors or just errors about Charlie Brown, Spelling errors is probably more likely because I’m the only one writing this shit and sometimes my spell check fails me. DEAL WITH IT. Anywho I didn’t know how to approach this one so I just acted like a prick

I’m sorry but I can’t stop laughing my ass off at the fact that me making fun of Charlie Brown enraged you enough to wish pain on me. Do you really love that bald asshole that much? Sweet lord you must be the whitest person ever!

I actually went into a state of limbo for a few months back in 2008 and technically ceased to exist and when I came back a lot of my friends were all “oh man, where were you? we missed your grace and beauty while you were ceasing to exist!” So take that you jerk!

oh and I’ve found that gargling with scope does a lot better job than with broken glass. Scope leaves my mouth kissable and fresh where as broken glass just leaves my mouth full of blood and bits of glass.

xoxoxo

I really do stand by my theory that this is the whitest person ever. I bet you anything that they own a pair of Khaki shorts.

 

We sure are!

 

 

On my last hatemail review I, of course, had some from Juggalos. I mentioned then and I will mention now that I didn’t even know Juggalos could use computers let alone muster up the brains to angrily type out a response to my blog about them. I got lots of responses and I actually thought a lot of them were jokes because how do people like this even exist? But they must exist because they keep fucking pestering me with their misspelled rants and constant threats. If I get hatcheted to death in my driveway my corpse will probably have a smile because, let’s be honest, getting chopped up by a Juggalo is a pretty hilarious way to go.

 

or maybe getting eaten by one of these would be cooler? but that involves a Time Machine and mine isn't completed yet so I guess I'll go with the hatchet

 

 

So anyways you can try to read this comment if you want but I assume you’ll get as far as I did and then just give up. no one will blame you.

iF YOU DONT LIKE iT DONT FUHKN LISTEN TO IT PLAIN FUHKN SIMPLE. MOVE oN WITh ALL THA HATE JiBBer JABisH NOTHIN YOU SAY OR HOW HARD U FUHKN KRY ABOUT HOW BAD THE MUSIC IS OR SAYIN THEY SHUD DO THIS OR THAT IS GOIN TO CHANGE A THING! THE WICKED SHITS HERE TO STAY TALK ALL THE MESS U WANT BUT NOT A DAMN THING U OR ANYONE ELSE HAS TO SAY WILL EVER CHANGE A TRUE JUGGALO SO DO US ALL A FAVOR && SHOVE WHUT U SAYIN UP YO ASZ KUZ WE JUZ DONT GIVE A FUHK!!! WHOOOOP WHOOOP MMFWKCL <333 TO ALL THE JUGGALOz
LETTE4LYFE

This comment is pretty much the defination of “TOO LONG;DIDN’T READ”  I mean, my god. I can just picture her (and I know it’s a her because in my extensive Juggalo research I learned a Lette is a Juggalette.) Crouching over her computer angrily typing between taking bites of her Hot Pocket. Jesus Christ that’s bleak.

Anyways here’s what I wrote back to this, I assume, vision of beauty

If you were hoping to improve the case for Juggalos with this misspelled and quite frankly baffling response you have failed miserably. At no point in that rambling, incoherent mess did you ever form any sort of logical idea. I thought maybe I just needed to brush up on my english but for some reason the dictionary I own doesn’t contain the following words:

ASZ
FUHK
WHUT
FUHKN
KRY
SHUD

So maybe I’m using an outdated version? If you have an extra copy of your dictionary I would love to buy it off you. I assume you take foodstamps and marijuana as currency? Let me know and we can sort something out. Thanks for reading!

Unfortunately she hasn’t replied because she’s probably back in prison for rolling a girl in the parking lot of Super Save Gas because she looked at her weird.

So that’s that kids. You know what I have found the weirdest about this whole thing? People who actually like what I write just laugh at it and probably bookmark it (please?) or maybe join my facebook group:

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Vodka-for-Breakfast/330723961676

and that’s the end of it. But people who really hate me take the time to write me a comment telling me what a fucking prick I am. It’s really quite something.  But if you liked reading this I’m sure in probably 4 weeks there will be more because I guess I just infuriate people. OH MY GOD I’M THESE CRAZY PEOPLES NICOLAS CAGE. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

 

Maybe I should grow a horrible goatee too? ARGHH I HATE YOU SO MUCH CAGE!

 

 

Hopefully this isn’t hereditary: my parents are insane.

So it turns out that my Dad didn’t release his old man fury down upon me when he read my earlier blog about his questionable parenting so I am free to write another installment of the mayhem my Father subjected us to. It’s sort of like Shit my Dad says, only probably less funny than the Twitter and way more funny than the TV show (sorry Shatner, but it’s goddamn horrible)

I’m going to take you guys on a little trip down memory lane for a bit and tell you some stories about the stuff my parents (that’s right mom, you’re not getting out of this one)  did way before I was born and maybe this will further help you understand the people who raised me and why I am the fabulous person I am. I want you to realize I had a really great childhood and my parents are truly great and I love them to death. Now onto the horror.

I actually tell this story a lot because I think it’s one of the greatest things ever. When my Dad was a younger and more mustachioed man he was at a party once (just once, never again) sitting on a couch and a girl was standing infront of him. I do not know why he did what he did and I really doubt he knows either but for some ungodly reason he decided to lean forward and bite this chick on the ass. Yup. My Father: The ass man. As you can guess the girl was pretty shocked and did what any person would do when they suddenly got bit on the tush: She jumped away. In doing so  one of my fathers front teeth got stuck in her jean pocket and got completely ripped out. I’m not making this up. He has a fake tooth now and it’s because of his insane lust for booty.

Obviously I had no choice but to use this photo.

My Mom also did some dumbass shit when she was younger, just recently she told me a story about how she got shitfaced with some friends and swam in this stagnant river run off pond next to my old highschool. She’s a classy broad. After her refreshing dip they all went to a Chinese restaurant and started dancing on a table, dripping wet I might add, all while the horrified restuarant owner stared at her through the window in the kitchen doors. Needless to say she got thrown the fuck out. I’ve been in a Chinese restaurant before and they always seem to play really quiet instrumental music or really quiet Chinese music so I don’t know if they were having a Springsteen night or what but something got the boogie fever into my mother.

This story actually makes me very happy because now both mother and daughter have been thrown out of Chinese Restaurants while being drunk off their asses. Her for dancing and me for putting a crab in a lobster tank and trying to get them to fight. In my defense the tanks shouldn’t have been next to each other and there certainly shouldn’t have been a crab scooping ladle in the tank.

oh God I would have blown through my entire bank account if they had one of these things there

But that was back in the early days and before they were dating and decided to get married. I like to imagine that they exchanged these stories over dinner and realized they were each others soulmates. Sort of like I knew Matt was my one true love when I found out we both dressed up as Sub-Zero for Halloween when we were 12.

It’s funny because my dad likes to encourage crazy shit around him but my mom just attracts it. I have no idea what it is about her but for some reason crazy people just love her. They flock to her like seagulls to garbage. She is the crazy mans stinking pile of garbage. As an example, a few years ago I went shopping with her and left her alone for maybe 10 minutes while I tried something on and when I came out of the store there was a man doing card tricks for her. I wasn’t even shocked because shit like this has happened for as long as I can remember. People will come up to her and tell her they need to get to Manitoba or something and can she lend them some money? An old man once came up to her and started drawing her pictures. I have no idea why but I think it’s because she looks very friendly and she’s always smiling. She should probably invest in a jagged scar on her face somewhere and maybe a few missing teeth. I’m sure my Dad could give her some tips on how to lose them. So maybe my parents were destined to be together since one is crazy as hell and the other one attracts crazy as hell people. It was written in the stars they would meet, fall in love and produce two children who they would terrorize for their entire lives.

Or you could go this route.. I know how much you like to GIT R DUN

 

One of the things my dad truly loves doing is lying straight to your face about the most inconsequential things. Recently I asked him how my parents anniversary dinner was and he told me they both got food poisoning for no reason other than to hear me freak out on the other end of the phone. Probably once a month he tells me that a favorite celebrity crush of mine is either dead or gay. This is just the kind of man he is.

Aside from tormenting us, he also likes to cause trouble for “the man” totally unaware that as a middle aged affluent white man, he himself is “the man” It’s really quite something.

 

"Fuck the police and so forth"

 

If I had to describe the two things my father likes most I would have to say Neil Young and stirring up shit for strangers. As I explained in my earlier blog, my father really, really loves scaring the shit out of kids even if they aren’t his own. This also extends to yelling at kids who aren’t his own. If you are in the age bracket of 5-19 you are fair game to be the brunt of my dads neverending social rage. If he holds the door open for you, you better fucking say thank you or he will say YOU’RE WELCOME extremely loudly at you. Also if you are a screaming kid at a restaurant, he will just stare at you until you shut up because he’s just that imposing. I have actually witnessed this on several occasions. He will just position himself in a way that he can stare directly into the asshole kids eyes and he just stares. And stares. I’ve seen him shut up a crying kid in under 2 minutes. I don’t know if the parents notice or not, but I’m sure they just don’t give a shit either way because their kid finally shut up and they can get drunk at White Spot in peace.

 

This baby is allowed to cry though because, I mean my god wouldn't you?

 

Another good example of my fathers constant fuckery is this: When my brother and I were growing up we had a big backyard that we were forced to play in until the sun went down. Pretty much every summer vacation was us having to play outside until dark when my Mom would hit a can of tuna with a fork and we would come running from the bushes. We were like filthy feral children all summer and one year we even built a really sweet treehouse next to the river which in retrospect was probably extremely dangerous and stupid.

Anyways after a long hard day of running around screeching and making blood sacrifices we would come home all dirty and we had two options: 1. Get hosed off in the backyard or 2. wash your feet off before you got in the house and then go have a shower. I think my Dad made the decision for us on more than one occasion, and he clearly chose the former because who doesn’t love spraying kids with a hose. Oh and I think it goes without saying that he stuck his thumb in the end of the hose to fully utilize the force of the hose water.

 

MOTHER OF GOD I LOVE GOOGLE IMAGES

 

 

Anyways, when we actually did get go to in the house without a hosebath we had to wash our feet off before hand. My Dad told us the perfect way to wash our feet off. Stick them in the toilet and swish them around. Makes perfect sense right? well when you’re 8 years old and your father tells you to stick your feet in the goddamn toilet you stick your feet in the goddamn toilet because at that point you still truly believe your parents only want the best for you and wouldn’t ever take advantage of your naivety by making you wash your feet off in a fucking toilet. Goddamn it Bob. Oh I should probably mention the toilet was clean at the time. My Dad is a comedian but he’s not evil.

 

But I think it’s time to take the heat off my Dad for a bit and focus on my other, less insane parent. The story I’m about to tell you is actually still a bit of a sore spot for me. When I was probably 7 I was very artistic or so I thought. I drew and painted all the time and I still paint a bit, mainly portraits of Craig T Nelson which I then mail to him once or twice a month, but anyways I guess I watched some show or read some book about people painting on rocks. They had a sleeping cat painted on one and like “bless this home” on another, you guys know what I’m talking about. So I was all “oh wow! I have rocks AND paint so I could do this!!!” I was pretty frigging excited you guys.

 

THATS THE STUFF...except for those creepy gray faces and that questionable painting of the racoon that looks like it's holding a penis

 

So I set off  to make a deer rock but somewhere in the creative process I decided to take it a step further. Why just paint a deer on a rock when you could MAKE a deer out of rocks?? Fuck I was a dumb child. So I went and got a rock for the head and some little pebbles for the ears and then taped it all together to make a deer head. I also took some branches from a bush and made little antlers. This thing was fucking fabulous you guys. I drew a little nose on it and everything. I was about to become rich and famous with my beautiful rock deer. I ran up to my Mom and showed her and she was all “oh that is just gorgeous! Good job Rigs!” I was beaming. So I asked if I could take some glamor shots of my deerhead and my mom gave me her camera. I went out in the backyard and took probably 5 pictures of this thing sitting on the pool diving board.

 

It pretty much looked exactly like this, which really looks like a mouse more than anything. Goddamnit.

 

Fast forward to 13 years later. I was at my parents house going through a bunch of old pictures and I found the pictures of my deer! I was so stoked!

“oh my god mom! Look I found the pictures of that deer I made!!”

I showed her the pictures and she burst out laughing. I was shocked.

I have never wanted to slap my mom in the mouth before but when she told me what she was laughing about I nearly socked her in the chops.

Apparently my Mom thought that deer was the worst thing ever and was just humoring me. I was devastated. I had lived my life since that day with the thought in the back of my head that whatever happened, I could always fall back on a career of sculpting animals out of rocks. I would see people better looking than me or more successful and I would say to myself: “you know what? forget them. You know why? You’re better than that. You can make motherfucking deers out of rocks.”

God, I can picture it now. Me all happy and laughing, taking glamor shots of my new deer friend all the while my mom stands in the kitchen window pointing and laughing. Getting on the phone to describe my deer creation to her friends. What an asshole!

But because my Mom is such a good person, as soon as she was done laughing hysterically at me while I stood there shocked, gave me a hug and said she was sorry and that it wasn’t actually all that bad. I assume on her deathbed she will beckon me to her side, and with tears in my eyes I will clutch her hand as she leans forward and whispers in my ear the last words she will ever speak to me.

“I lied. That deer was fucking horrible.”

Goddamn are my parents assholes.

I fought my pride, and my pride lost: I ate a real KFC double down

Some of you may remember when I wrote an earlier article about this disgusting whore of a sandwich, but at that time the real one wasn’t yet available in Canada because we’re always the last one invited to the (heart attack) party, so I rigged together a shitty ghetto one. Luckily my asshole friends reminded me via several text messages that the real double down hit Canadian KFCs today.

My friend Darcy accompanied me to our local KFC and I shamefully ordered one. I was not as excited as I was the first time when I ordered my ghetto ass double down. This time I was sad because I knew what was coming.

“Can I have ..a double down please?” I asked the employee while avoiding eye contact. She laughed and said it seemed like I was ashamed or something and then told me it’s not that bad and she had one and liked it. If I had a time machine I would go back in time to that moment and punch her in the ear because I know she was lying straight to my face now that I have eaten one of these assholes.

“Do you want a combo?”

“No thanks, just give me the….the thing”

I felt like I was doing a shady back alley deal for a black market baby or some crack.

The first thing I noticed about this sandwich was that it had the overwhelming stench (not smell) of onions. There are no onions on this sandwich so as you can imagine it was a very somber drive to Darcys house because I knew I was soon going to be putting this thing in my body. Not even listening to Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves by Cher could cheer me up and I fucking love that song.

So here I am at his house staring at this abortion of food. The size of it is already telling me that I wont be able to eat this whole thing no matter how “delicious” it is. It’s seriously just two whole KFC chicken breasts with a fuckload of cheese and bacon crammed in between. Also some sauce that smells like Jalapeno. I’m so pissed at myself. But here goes the first bite.

Me in a simplier time, before I was dead inside.

pictured: messy hair, my soul leaving my body

Ok so first bite was worse than anything I could have ever imagined. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much salt in my mouth before and I once smoked myself in the gut with a boogie board and then fell on my face in the ocean.

I honestly don’t think that I can eat this. I know I don’t want to eat it, but I also don’t think my body will physically allow me to eat it. I really can’t describe to you how terrible this tastes. It upsets me that this even came to be and that there are probably people out there who eat it legitimately and not just on a drunken dare, or in my case for Internet humor (you’re welcome)

I got three bites in and then got immensely jealous because Darcy ate a good looking real sandwich next to me while laughing. I think it was rye bread you guys. I know I promised I would eat this fucking thing but I honestly can’t. I have let you down. I have let the whole (Internet) team down.

WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN

Even as I’m sitting here typing this the stench of this sandwich is permeating the whole house. This sandwich is the fucking devil. It’s only available in Canada until November and then they will decide to keep it or not depending on the sales. I really hope that this thing bombs so we can add “not being gluttonous assholes” to the long list of things that make Canada better than the United States.

Plus there's this. God I love Paul Gross.

I managed to pry this thing apart which was a feat because the cheese congealed and formed a thick seal between the two parts. I tried to liberate some bacon and as you can see it was a sad, sad situation.

Oh god I can't even...

my disgust knows no bounds.

Please forgive my disheveled appearance. I felt it wasn’t necessary to wash my hair today since the biggest thing I had on my agenda was to cram this gross thing down my gullet and not meet The Queen.

Exactly, your majesty, exactly. Also I cannot stop laughing at this picture

Well after eating three bites and staring at it for a half hour I decided to Uncle Phil this bitch and throw it out the door. As I write this I have a huge lump in my stomach which is probably a combo of the few bites I took and the fact that I didn’t eat anything else yet today because I am trying to not becoming a huge fat monster and knew I was eating this thing. I am really craving some lettuce right now I have got to tell you.

We have decided to just throw the whole thing out because it’s depressing us to look at it and also really stinking up the joint. I wasn’t even allowed to throw it in the kitchen garbage, I had to use an entirely separate garbage bag away from everything else in the house. If that sandwich was a person it would be Pig Pen from Peanuts: filthy, stinky, and unpopular.

KILL YOURSELF.

I feel pretty bad for letting you guys down but I don’t think you wanted me to die of a salt overdose did you? The paramedics would show up and I would have it clutched in my right and my left would be struggling to type out my last words in this stupid ass blog. And you know what it would say? It would say “Fuck The Internet, it made me do this.”

So I guess this is the end of my long journey into deepfried fueled mayhem. I really wish that scientists had invented smell-0-vision because you truly don’t know what I’ve gone through until you have smelled this thing. I assume that inventing smell-o-vision is extremely high on the “cool things to invent list”  for all scientists so maybe we won’t have to wait too long to enjoy the smell of salty barf fuel over our computer monitors.

Dr.Sexy, I know you have tenure but you really should get back to work!

EDIT:

After I wrote this I didn’t have the Internet for a while because we were moving and didn’t get a chance to upload this article. In those 5 days my friends Ryan and Nathan have eaten 2 of these sons of bitches and my brother was M.I.A. for a day and a half and I just got ahold of him last night when he sent me a text that reads as follows

“Don’t ever eat at the KFC on the North Shore, I had food poisoning from your boy the double down. The shits have just stopped”

my response:

“hahaha I’m laughing, but I know I shouldn’t”

“It’s not funny. It’s devastating”

I think that sentence describes this sandwich perfectly.

The cause for the teardrops on my pillow: a review of my hate mail

Shocking, I know, but some people are just not amused by me and my blog. Pick your jaws off the floor because it is true! I know what you’re thinking: “But Rigs, you’re the voice of a generation and arguably the best writer Shakespeare!”  and “you’re like a beardless, less drunk Hemingway” True as that may be, and thank you for that Hemingway shout out Bryant,  I can not please them all.

I also look great in a cable knit sweater by the way.

You know those people who call the cops on house parties directly at 10 pm, or yell at skateboarders doing kick flips in front of the mall? well those people now have internet connections and they use them to be horrified and personally offended by everything written on websites. When I started this blog I thought “Hey, I like reading funny lists and reviews online, so maybe I could start my own and other people would like it”  and I did and I am so, so happy that my writing makes people laugh and brightens their day. I do it all for you guys and I appreciate that you come back to laugh at my misfortunes or drunkenly crafted lists.

here is a picture of a cat hugging a puppy to repay you for your loyalty.

I also knew when I started this that people with no sense of humor whatsoever would somehow find their way here through all their security settings and no doubt take everything I say much too seriously and choose to tell me what a fucking asshole I am for running my own website with my own opinions on it. I’m clearly history’s greatest monster.  Obviously these comments are hilarious to me and I always yell out to whoever is in my house that I got another hatemail and they crowd around the computer while I read them out loud (sometimes in a British accent) I almost always respond to these comments but shockingly I very rarely get a response back. I assume because whoever wrote it is on a new mission to stop the kids outside their house from playing street hockey because the puck is 10 feet away from their 1993 Pontiac. So without further ado here is my hate mail:

The first one I’m going to show you is from my article about The 5 lamest sports ever created I got quite a few comments on this regarding my harsh calling down of Ultimate Frisbee, but most of them were written by sane people who like playing it but clearly understand that this is a comedy website and not the goddamn gospel. Unfortunately one jackass didn’t get that memo and went crazy all up on me.

The offending comment:

“I think you’re an idiot! Who are you to judge what sports are lame and what sports are fun. Everyone loves different things and people shouldn’t be insulted for doing so. I personaly play ultimate frisbee and love it, but I also play many other sports as well and none come close to how much fun and laid back ultimate frisbee is. Why don’t you actually try and play the sport before you all insult it!

Final note you’re all morons especially the author who blogs her opinions about stuff that no one wants to here!

My response:

I’m sorry that you must have apparently suffered a debilitating accident during a rousing game of Ultimate Frisbee that has, obviously, scrambled your fucking brains. Thus causing you to forever mistake comedy websites for serious, hard hitting journalism. Judging by the amount of spelling errors in your complaint and the fact that you used the word “laid back” to describe a sport leads me to believe that you smoke a lot of pot. You are the angriest pot smoker I have ever encountered and I once ran over Woody Harrelson’s dog in front of him. Shine on you crazy diamond!

Lovingly yours,
Rigs

I actually received a response to this one from a person with a different name but somehow the same email (that’s right, I have these people’s personal emails but I’m not that huge of a bitch to share them with you guys) And their lovingly crafted response is as follows:

Yeah I suffered injuries because I mispelled one word, not the chick that blogs her idiotic opinions to a bunch of jackasses who hang on her every word. I feel bad for anyone who comes in contact with you in having to deal with your prejudice opinions based on what your air head come sup with on the spot. And no I don’t smoke pot I just know who to relax and be chill.

One Love

The fact that they call me an  idiotic air head and all of you lovely people jackasses and then ends the comment with “one love” is completely blowing my mind right now. Jesus take the wheel. This is amazing. Also, I do not feel bad for anyone who comes in contact with me in person because I am just a delight and I often pick up my friends from the bar when they call me wasted at 2 in the morning. Would a horrible person do that? I think not. They also posted another response to really hammer the point home that I’m the worst person they have ever not met in real life who once casually insulted a sport they play.

Hey Rigs I’m gonna start my own list of 5 lamest authors of stupid comedy websites and you and you’re site will be a sure shot at number 1. You’re a bitch, peace!

The Juxtaposition of “you’re a bitch” and “peace” is making me piss myself laughing. I think this might be the greatest day ever. I’m concerned about him starting his own website though, I don’t need any more competition.

My Response:

Is there a cash prize attached to being number one on your list of 5 lamest authors of stupid comedy websites? If so I would honored to accept. I will accept the following currency:

-Canadian Dollars
-Doubloons
-Nazi Gold
-Rupees (The legend of Zelda ones, not the Pakistan ones)

Hope to hear from you soon!

All my best to you and yours.

Hopefully he gets back to me soon because I need to buy some more bottles to catch fairies in.

Those fairies won't stand a chance a chance

Another one of my articles, this one about Juggalos, has received more hate comments than anything else I’ve ever written. This blew my mind on two accounts because

1) Juggalos know how to use computers?

and

2) Juggalos have money to pay for Internet connections?

There was a full on comment war on this article and I’m much too important lazy to copy and paste that shit. What I will show you is a comment from one “twiztid juggla” who is not fond of people making fun of Juggalos. His comment actually stems from a comment my friend Jenna made on the same blog comparing Juggalos to that fetish that involves people dressing up like babies. She also mentioned that she once threw lunch meat at a Juggalo because “everyone loves a free feeding” Basically, I love Jenna. Twiztid Juggla does not:

why should we give a fuck what people think?

why should i care how the hell you look at meh?

just cuz i have a nut sac big enough to do my own shit and do what i do withought giving a damn what people think of me, makes me a freak?…

then fuck yes imaa freak mutha fucka, fuck yall haters, talk ur shit somwhere else…cuz we dont brown nose ur shit..

I was actually so overjoyed to receive hatemail from an honest to god juggalo that I put this comment on my facebook fan page(which you can join here) as a note. It was like my version of when parents put pictures of their kids straight out of the chocha on facebook. My inferior by Juggalo standards response is as follows:

I’m sorry that you got so angry about my article that you apparently broke the caps lock button right off your keyboard.

I had no idea that my writing would strike such a nerve with your kind, and I say “your kind” because I think you must be a completely different class from Homo Sapiens. Perhaps Juggalos are the missing link. I don’t know, I’m not a scientist. What I am is someone who is deathly afraid of being hatcheted to death by a man in a clown costume so I will end my rant here.

Best of luck with that enlarged “nut sac”

twiztid juggla?

I wrote another article and horrible TV shows and I should have known the same people who watch shows about midgets making chocolate are the same kind of people who take everything too seriously and freak the fuck out at the drop of a hat. Thus:

You are the most bigoted asswipe I have ever had the displeasure of encountering. who the hell are you? These people are sweet, decent, loving, talented people. I have watched it from the start and the things they whip up out of chocolate are nothing short of amazing. If you had half the talent this couple has you wouldn’t have to go online talking shit about people you know nothing about. You admit to never having watched this program. You could at least see the creations that are made my this wonderful couple. Or you could go crawl up someonEs ass and do what you do best: sniff shit. JERK.

I’m totally picturing a 40-year-old cubicle worker who looks forward to watching this show and curls up on the couch with her cat Mr. Ribbons and a bowl of ice cream (she deserves a treat!) to watch it and after it’s over, she goes online to find spoilers for the next episode and somehow stumbles on my blog. With an unbridled rage she hammers out this comment while Mr. Ribbons paces back and forth anxiously because instinctively he knows something is wrong with his owner. Ice cream all but forgotten while she pens her hateful masterpiece. Only after rubbing one out in the tub to the cute vending machine guy in her office does she finally calm down.

My response:

I’m glad you took the time to read my blog and comment, it really keeps me going as I, much like those tiny chocolate makers, have faced diversity. You see, I am a midget myself and it takes a lot out of me to type out these entries on this normal people sized keyboard. If I have to type the word “whip” I need to take a break in between since the W and the P are so far apart on the keyboard. I also suffer from, as you pointed out, a debilitating shit sniffing compulsion. So I understand. I understand all too well. I do agree that they are probably talented but you must agree that the only reason they have a television show is because they’re midgets. They are a sideshow act and probably realize that but decided the big cheques are worth being made fun of on national television. No pun intended about the big cheque comment.

Lovingly yours,
Rigs

Well that’s about the only ones worth sharing at this point. The rest of them I mostly respond to with “too long, didn’t read” or I just read them, laugh about them and then forget about them (it’s the booze induced memory loss) hopefully I will do this blog for a very long time and more hilarious comments will come my way. Maybe I should up the ante and rip up a picture of the pope on Saturday Night Live.

I assumed she did this because the song "Nothing Compares 2 U" was about unrequited pope love

My father: The man, the myth, the mustache

As I have mentioned briefly before, my father seemed to get pleasure solely from tormenting his two only children. It’s like when my mom told him he was going to have a kid he went out and bought a notebook and wrote “WAYS TO SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF MY FUTURE KIDS” on it in sharpie. I’m telling you this man was an insane genius at making children, often not even his own, cry.

No one would ever suspect what horrors this notebook contained

The stories I’m going to share with you are all from my youth when my Dad was a younger man and he had a very imposing mustache. I firmly believe that if he didn’t have that mustache I wouldn’t have been raised the same. My dad never yelled at us growing up except for the occasionally “JESUS CHRIST (insert offending childs name)” He didn’t have to yell. That mustache did the yelling for him. I’m sure children that grew up under the reign of a mustached father will agree with me: those things command respect. For an example, if I or my brother left a light on in a room my dad would call us back in, say nothing at all and just point at the lightswitch while staring at us. His mustache and him just stared. This was of course terrifying and I never leave lights on in rooms I’m not in to this day.  That mustache paired with his patented “Dad stare” have and always will instantly whip me into shape, even though now he is sans mustache the look he gives me still scares the shit out of me. I have always loved my Dad but I have got to tell you when that terror stache got shaved off I was very happy.

My Dad and I in happier times. The mustache was unfortunately there as well.

I love my Dad and Mom very much and I believe they helped shape me into the delightful young woman I am today. You can either take that as a good thing or not, I don’t give a fudge. Growing up with my father though, I quickly became afraid of almost everything but I loved it for some sick reason. Maybe because kids secretly love being scared? Maybe my dad knew that. Or maybe he just liked laughing his ass off. So here are some memories I have of him and his mustache tormenting my childhood.

We grew up in a small community where we could walk to school and our friends houses and not worry about molesters which was a plus, and we had a gorgeous house with a nice front yard which my parents decide to utilize fully on Halloween. Halloween to my father was like a golden ticket to scare the shit out of strangers children and have it be perfectly OK. Any other time of the year you grab a kids ankle and scream in his face, the police are probably going to be involved.  So my father did what any other rational human being would do on Halloween: Draw up elaborate plans and contraptions to sufficiently scare children. I don’t know if he roped my mom into it or if she also liked making kids piss their pants but for some reason she also got into the swing of things.

Pictured: My Mom getting into the swing of things

My brother and I would always get grilled at school about what our parents were planning that year and we never told them but we did tell our dad that people were asking and he thought this was fucking hilarious. I also enjoyed Halloween at our house because my Dad was able to focus on scaring several children and not just his own. One year he decided to capitalize on the fact that most of the kids had to walk past our house to get to school so he set up a dummy infront of the door and left it there for like 2 weeks. He is a patient man if he knows the reward will be crying children. Halloween night came and he of course removed the dummy, dressed up like it and sat in the chair next to a bowl of candy. What happened next was 2 hours of him yelling at and grabbing at the kids that helped themselves to the candy.

I should also mention that in previous years if kids were being dickheads to him at the door or he thought they were too old he would reach into their bag like he was giving them candy but instead secretly take candy out. Like I said, he is a diabolical genius.

"Even I think that's a dick move and I cut like 4 guys heads off today"

So during this Halloween massacre I myself am out trick or treating and the few times I walked past our house I specifically remember seeing children crying and being consoled by their parents, or parents trying to convince their kids to go up to the front door while they laughed. This is funny to me now because last year I spent like 3 minutes convincing my friend’s son to go up to a scary house while I stood in the driveway and laughed. I am my father’s daughter.

Another fond memory growing up was my fascination and fear of the movie IT. I walked past the case once at the video store when I was like 9 and instantly became obsessed. I wanted to know what it was about, how it ended, who the clown was and if it was scary but I didn’t want to see it because holy shit did you see the cover?I talked about it to my Dad which was a rookie mistake. I probably should have brought it up to Mom because she, unlike my father, didn’t solely get enjoyment out of scaring her children. She was less of a jump out of closet person and more of a sandwich maker and by god were those sandwiches delicious.

Anyways I don’t even know if my dad had seen the movie or if he was just making it up as he went along. Either way he didn’t really tell me much…until we went to Vancouver for a nice family trip. We went walking in a park that I loved and they had one of those big cages over a sewer grate so big sticks wouldn’t get caught in it and clog it up. I didn’t know that’s what it was for at the time so I asked my Dad what it was

“Oh that’s just where IT lives and that cage is supposed to keep him in” he replied casually and kept walking.

I of course suffered a near fatal heart attack at this answer. I was already on edge because I was staying at my Aunt’s house and she had this one room filled with dolls that I had to stay in. Dolls that my dad told me came alive at night and watched me sleep. So the thought of an IT cage mere minutes away from where I was staying in a room that was filled with potentially murderous dolls sent me right over the fucking edge.

Oh this looks like fun..NOT! (now back to 1992 in my time machine!)

My mom wasn’t with us but as soon as I saw her I ran up and told her what Dad had said. She said “Bob!” in that voice she has used several times in my lifetime and my Dad just laughed. Somehow I made it through that trip but even now if I see a random huge hole I always give it a wide berth because maybe IT decided to change addresses.

That better not be my grass you're creepily popping out of you jackass!!

My Dad just celebrated his 60th birthday and I was very excited to be there to drink and talk with him as an adult and not have to worry about him jumping out of a hall closet trying to scare me. But, to be honest sometimes I miss those days and by god sometimes I miss that mustache. So Dad, when you read this maybe one of these days you can try to squeeze behind a door and scare the ever-loving shit out of me when I come over. Or maybe you can grow your mustache back, that is if you have any hair follicles left. (Love you Dad) I still have tons more stories to tell you guys and I will once my brain decides not to repress those memories anymore.