How my face ended up looking like I'd face planted in a pile of smack

I can't do drugs. I'm scared of what they make me do. One time, I ACCIDENTALLY (please note that I was 16 & didn't know what I was doing) smoked some opium laced marijuana. I ended up running for about 5 hours without stopping & I threw my shoes in the ocean because I thought they were on fire.

Another time, in my early twenties, when I was dating a habitual pot smoker, I ACCIDENTALLY smoked some more pot & whilst sitting in his lounge listening to my heart thump it's way out of my chest, had a mini freak out because when I looked at my legs they seemed to be melting into his carpet. So I got up, opened a cupboard in his hallway, found an old bright yellow rain coat, put it on, then went & got in his bed where I huddled in the fetal position under the blankets with my fingers in my ears. He found me there 4 hours later asleep in the yellow rain coat. The thunderous beating of my own marijuana juiced up heart drove me loco.

Right on skanky ganja hoe. You suck.

In summary, I don't do drugs because I'm already freaky as fuck enough without it. Plus I have a terrible history of getting addicted to stuff. Drugs is one thing I don't want to be addicted to.

So we've been doing renovations at my work. Jibbing (hehe), painting, sanding & shit. Well I haven't actually been doing it. The men folk have.

Anyway yesterday morning, after channeling my inner house bitch, I decided to have a bit of a vacuum. Upon locating the vacuum cleaner, I found it covered in white jib dust. I dragged it into my office, gave it a wipe down & turned it on.

It was at this time that the vacuum cleaner decided to explode a bevy of white powder in to my face. While I lurched about my office like a feral tom cat stuck inside an old potato sack, choked & blinded by the fine white dust, a customer came in to my office to order a cab. He laughed at me then he started to cough & lurch because he too had ingested some of the dust. It was a bad time. The entire taxi office was filled with a white dust cloud. No amount of arm trashing could get rid of it, but jesus did I try. I thrashed like a coked up raver at a drum & bass party. The shit was EVERYWHERE.

Not me. But I was just as angry.

After I'd got myself together & cleaned up what I could while my nose was leaking white snot & my eyeballs felt like someone had replaced the thin layer of membrane with lava hot sandpaper, I discovered that whoever had last used the vacuum cleaner had filled it to the point that the bag split. Nice work motherfucker.

For the rest of the day every time I blew my nose, white powder came out. I basically rubbed my eyes right out of my skull & my lungs felt like they were filled with stodgy baked goods. My once black non Nana cardigan was grey, my black chucks were grey, my blond hair was grey, every thing was grey. I looked like an extra in a black & white cocaine movie.

The masses laughed & kept asking me what the fuck happened to my face. So I emptied the remaining contents of the vacuum cleaner bag into a container & every time someone laughed at the state of me, I *slung a spoonful of jib dust in their face & laughed like the those smirky asshole pigs from the Angry Bird game (I hate them so hard). I wanted them to know how I felt on the outside & the inside.
*I never actually did that. But I wish I had of thought of it. I was too slow.

Tuesday has gone remarkably well. No white powder explosions & I had the opportunity to yell at the douche hat that over filled the poor vacuum cleaner. The angry power I got from growling at a grown man much older than I almost made me piss my pants with excitement.


Peace & white dusty love,

P.S Drugs are shit. Paris (my 12 year old niece) if you read this, don't ever do drugs. Throwing your expensive shoes in the ocean because you think your feet are on fire is NOT good time. It's really really shit time. And your mum would be piss mad.

Am I going to be famous for having a poo blog?

This morning when I woke up, I logged onto Blogger & hello, I have 2 more followers. The work poo post proved popular & the general consensus was a big hands up for the turd photo. If you want to see it, (see how nice I am giving you a choice & shit), scroll to the very bottom of this post & feast your eyes. FYI, it's not that gross. I've basically used my elite photo editing skills & made it a fun time. I know you want to look now.

Like any over confident person, I sometimes have moments of self doubt. It's a common & rampant bitch problem. Specifically around the time of the month when the hormonies mess with my ability to reason & make sense of anything that's happening in my life. Then other stuff happens that has nothing to do with the hormonies, like people generally acting like an asshole & trying to destroy my good name & others passing comment about how I should stop swearing so much & talking about shit.

WELL, this morning I received a comment from Heather in New York.

 "You don't know me, I found your blog about 6 weeks ago and you have kept me snorting with laughter through my fiance's chemo treatments. Literally. Snorting. Loudly. I take my iPad with me and read up on your older posts and weep with laughter. The nurses here give me strange looks. I poke fiancé awake and read him the extra funny shit. We love you. We hate cancer. I am so sorry your stepmom is facing this now, and that your Dad is going through it. Sending hugs from New York. Land of earthquakes ( go figure) and hurricanes. Eep. Hugging you hard in my head".
Heather.

Fuck. It floored me. The heavens opened & my soul wept, with sadness & with gratitude towards this kind stranger from New York.

The reason I write is because I need to. If I don't write, I will explode. Like for real smash some shit up rage explosion. This is my therapy.

I write because somewhere in the world, someone's soul mate is being kicked in the ass by the ugly fat bitch cancer & my little poo blog is making them laugh.

The reason I write is because I've made it one of my goals in life make you beautiful whores smile.

To Heather in New York - I don't know you either. But I love the fuck out of you & your husband. I've requested on many occasions for a meeting with god himself so I can stab him in the sack for making good people sick. I'm sorry your husband is suffering. And that you have to be in the midst of the cancer shitstorm. No one gave us an instruction manual on how to deal with that. I don't pray often, but tonight I will be saying a prayer for you & your man. I hope with all the hope I possess in my body that he kicks cancers ass. I promise you I will keep being funny.The biggest hugs ever coming out to you & your beloved from across the Pacific. Arohanui, Becky xx
P.S My hugs are pretty awesome. I am like a human beanbag.

Part 2 of my post today is a bit of a mixed bag. 2 things combined in to one short story.

First of all, I think my mum tried to kill me last night. Blake & I went round to her house for dinner. She made curry. And I love me some curry! Specially when I don't have to cook it. However, lately I've been having some gut problems again. Mass fart onslaughts & my bowels are so unpredictable it's frightening.

Anyway I yommed down her curry & it was so hot yo! So dam hot that my nose was dribbling all over my top lip, my face got fricking hot & all I could taste was the intense burn of whatever she laced the curry with. More commonly known as curry. A shitload of curry. I've never been one to step down from a hot curry challenge. Afterwards I swelled up like a full term pregnant woman. I literally could not walk. Blake had to roll me back to the car with a stick like the poor kids do when they play with a car tyre. Fast forward an hour later.......I'm sitting in the lounge playing Angry Birds & booya..... I got a feeling, OOOOOOOO HOOOOOO, that I'm about to shit myself.

I run to the toilet with similar speed to that of The Flash. And I made it just in time before my bowel unleashes it's fury in the most unlady like way ever. The gut cramps had me reeled over in agony while I'm going like the clappers from the other end & I'm thinking Jesus Christ what the hell is going on here. The burny hot mum curry is trying kill me.

THIS IS HOW FAST I RAN.

Meanwhile, back in the lounge, Blake is watching a rugby game & completely oblivious to his dear wife's anal malfunction & possible death by shit emergency in the bathroom.

I was in there for 40 minutes. A whole roll of toilet paper later, I emerged looking like a new woman. Slightly pale, but definitely skinnier. When I told Blake he was disgusted & kept to his side of the bed last night just in case Mount Becksuvius had a manic uncontrollable eruption during the night. It didn't......

Mainly because I was too busy dreaming about how I lost my legs & had prosthetics from the knees down with freaky motherfucking dolls feet. And I'm so distraught because my mum took me to Movie World & was standing across the other side of the street eating a soft serve ice cream (which I LOVE) while I'm stranded on a park bench in the scalding hot sun trying to figure out how to use my stupid dolls legs. And I'm crying because I'm sad I don't have my own feet anymore. I woke up crying,with a one blocked nostril, two blocked ears, my own legs & no poos in my pants. All in all it was a successful nights sleep.

One of the best feelings in the world is waking up from a shithouse dream & realising that every things still good.

Have a safe weekend bitches!
Love ya'll HARD.

P.S POO PICTURE DOWN BOTTOM OF THE PAGE x

P.P.S To my mum. If you read this, thanks for dinner last night. And I don't think you really tried to kill me. Love you x

These Things I know

VANDALS AREN'T AS SMART AS THEY THINK THEY ARE
I know that when vandalising someone else's property it is not a good idea to gouge your full name into said vandalised property. You can't hide from Google search motherfucker.

NOT HANDBAG BACKPACKS
I know that backpack style hand bags are not handbags. They are backpacks. And are hideously shit. If you walk past me with one on, don't act all surprised if I rip that non handbag backpack right off your back & stomp on it death.

SOMEONE SHIT OUTSIDE MY WORK FOR REAL.
I now know, that I don't really know what to do if someone actually does leave a giant *turd outside my place of work. I knew the day would come when this would finally happen. And that day is today. While I was taking out the trash, I happened to look down & was greeted by possibly the biggest shit I have ever seen. I looked at it, it looked at me, I looked at it again, scratched my head & thought to myself, 'no way, it just can't be'. Well yes Becky, it can.

I ran back inside & sat at my desk trying to comprehend if what I just saw was real. So I went & looked again, yep it's a poo. So I went back to my desk. The whole time I am still holding the full black trash bag in my hand like it's my trusty steed & we just witnessed a terrible crime together. I sit there for a whole hour telling everyone that comes in to my office about the poo outside. They laugh, but they do nothing. It's my problem to fix apparently.

So I decide yes I can do this. A  few plastic bags is all I need. I mask up by tying my scarf over my face & nose, like a bad ass western bank robber. If I smell it, I will vomit. I venture outside with 3 plastic bags layered inside each other, stealthing outside my office like the hobo that picks up all the cigarette butts every morning & tries to hide from me.

People drive past & rubber neck, trying to figure out what the chubby girl with a scarf on her face is doing outside the taxi office dancing in the tornado like wind with all the plastic bags. I look at the poo, it looks at me, I run back inside & sit at my desk. I turn the radio up to try & drown out my thoughts.

This Mexican stand off carrys on for another 2 hours. Every time I go back outside to face the shit monster of death I dry retch myself a new pair of abs. I've been defeated by a shit.

Finally one of our pretty lady taxi drivers romps into the office for a drink. She asks me why I look so sad so I proceed to tell her about the poo. No worries she says. NO WORRIES?! And off she goes outside with plastic bags, picks up the poo WITHOUT ANY SMELL PROTECTION MASK & dumps the dump in the outside rubbish bin. No worries. Fuck.

I watch all this from behind the safety of the glass doors of my office with my scarf still over my face just incase I smell it through the glass. I am not a soldier of the shit war like I thought. She comes inside & tells me that there's still some stuck to the bush & on the ground but she has to go back to work now. So I fill a bucket with nuclear strength chemically infused hot water & douse the poo remnants. Not once, but 7 times. With my scarf over my face. Done. I felt better & tough, & like I had purpose, even if it wasn't much. I still helped.

*Possibly/probably an animal turd but I couldn't get close enough to decipher this. My rampant gut retching would not let me.

NOT EVERYONE LOVES ME ALL OF THE TIME.
I lost a follower today & you know what, I'm not even a little bit sad. After yet another post involving shit talk I will more thank likely lose another. I will unintentionally offend everyone at least twice in my life time. I can't help it. Cry me a river, shit happens. I think we've discovered today that shit really does happen. Seriously though, if I do offend you, I am sorry. Don't be a hater though. Cos haters end up having people (or a large animal) leave shits outside their office. Learn from me, the Fail Soldier.


Peace!

P.S I took a picture of the bush turd on my phone but decided against putting it on here. It wouldn't be manners plus I don't want to lose any more followers today. But because I'm curious, put your hands up if you want to see it?

What would Becky do? Part 3: I will never get tired of writing bullshit. Ever

What happens if I get out of a taxi extremely shitfaced & drop my cellphone, which I was just holding in my hand, down the grate of the sewer drain?
This happens more often than you think. And the only thing you can do is say a little prayer to baby Jesus because you will never see that phone again. Not only will it be drowned in the neighbourhood underground wee/poo river, but the scary IT clown from that Stephen King movie will probably claim it for his own & stalk call your friends. He lives down there. I saw it on TV when I was 11. And to my sister Hayley, I'm sorry for putting this picture on here, but people needed to know who the bad drain clown is.

What if I slip out a sneaky baff & it accidentally comes out solid?
You've just shat your pants. And the worst thing is, you did it on purpose. The sheer force alone of squeezing out the 'little' fart, back fired on your ass. Literally. If you are in the work toilet, you need to set up a makeshift cleaning room in the toilet. Make sure that door is locked. If you need to, put up some crime scene tape. It's better to make people think someone actually died in there than you accidentally sharting in your pants & committing an ultimate pants crime. This is serious business. Wash your underwear in the basin with some hot water & hand soap (this is going to suck, but hey at least it's your shit & not someone else's), then dry your panties under the hand dryer. Boom, freshly washed & dried underwear, minus stinky farty mess.

What happens if I'm at someones house I don't know that well & their dog starts humping my leg?
For whatever reason, the realms of dog fuckery have made your leg look like a top notch root bag. Don't feel special. Dogs will root anything. The only thing you can do in this situation is give it a short sharp boot to the scrotum. If it's a lady canine, kick it in the slats. I don't advise any sort of animal abuse but if you want to stop a dog trying to make babies with your leg, it's your only option. If the owner didn't witness it, & questions you why their dog just screamed like a man that's been set on fire, you know nothing. However, if the dog goes feral & attempts to rip your leg off, then you must scream like a man that's been set on fire. Dogs need to know their place in the big circle of like. Having relations with a human leg is not productive to their species. It's annoying & kinda gross. Especially if the pink lipstick is out.

What do I do if I turn up to work & someone has left a steaming pile of shit on the doorstep?
This has never happened to me, but with the humongous amount of comedic hatred I spurn from my little blog here, it's inevitable that it will happen at some point. Nothing says 'I hate you' more than a random pile of shit on your doorstep. There's only one thing you can do, pretend you never saw it, & leave it for the next person to deal with when they come to work. Excuses such as 'I came in the back way this morning' or 'I woke up this morning & up until I turned sat down & turned my computer on I was suffering from temporary blindness'. OR if you have the time, go & buy a pirate patch & tell them in the weekend an angry seagull tried to eat your good seeing eye right out of your skull. If you live where I live that is a completely plausible lie. The seagulls in my town are like small angry dinosaurs.

What if there's a big earthquake while I'm sitting on the toilet making poos?
With a history of devastating earthquakes in my small country, this piece of useless information could potentially keep you alive in a time in such an emergency. There's nothing you can do if your house decides it wants to fall down. Being prepared is your only hope. Buy yourself a good wet suit. Sew in some mega padding, a handy dandy pocket for your cellphone/snacks, & a zip hole around the ass region. Also buy yourself a durable helmet.You will look like Scuba Steve & look like a complete dick, but you will thank me for saving your life when your lavatory ceiling caves in on your head.

I was a Girl Guide when I was younger. I mostly got in trouble during my guiding years for such things as playing with matches, cussing & never wearing my proper uniform. But one thing I did learn was to 'Always Be Prepared. The guide leaders made us chant it like a pack of tambourine clanging Harekrishna's. This is my gift of knowledge to you.

What do I do if my boyfriend proposes to me & I don't want to marry him because I'm actually sleeping with his best friend behind his back?
If I don't find you first, tie you to a large totem pole & set your whory ass on fire, you need to run & hide. There is only one place for cheaters, & that's in the firey pits of hell. Do the sucker fool currently down on his knees professing his love for you in the form of a marriage proposal a favour by saying no & getting on the first plane out of your country of residence. Preferably to Mexico. Find a cheap plastic surgery clinic & request to have your dirty vagina sewn permanently shut. Then go join a convent. Your boyfriend will get over you. Better than resigning him to a lifetime of deceit & lies. The asshole best friend will get a bad case of the herps & no one will ever have sex with him again except his own hand. Karma is a nasty bitch & her & I are on very good terms.

If my son accidentally kicks me in the balls am I allowed to punch him in the face?
I'm a big believer in the saying 'an eye for an eye' & all that. But there's some situations where that saying does not count. This is one of them. Now because I don't own a pair of testes (or do I?! Hairy chin issues make me question this), I can't profess to ever feeling the agonising pain of have them booted so hard they retract back inside the body cavity. However, I have been privy to kicking a few worthy ball bags in my time. My hubs told me that it feels like someone has stabbed you with a hot poker in the manovaries. If it's accidental then no you can't punch your kid in the face. In my country, it's illegal to smack your kid anyway. Me personally, I would take a scrot kick any day if it meant avoiding a good bum raping in prison.

However, if your cherub kicked you there on purpose because he's made the connection that that is your tender spot, fair play, punch him. Just not hard enough to leave marks. And do it inside, away from the eyes/ears of nosey motherfucking neighbours.

And just so we're clear, I never told you to do any of this ok? So don't go writing me no hater mail from jail. Or leaving piles of steaming shit on my porch.

Peace!

P.S No children, animals, scrotum & cellphones were harmed in the making of this blog. My advice is purely fictitious horseshit lies & if you actually attempt to do any of the things I've just written about, I will more than likely laugh first, then beat you to death with your own arm.

Epic tantrums, new shoes & a shitload of Moro Bars.

This hooker is not the real
rainbow fairy.

Today I witnessed a 4 year old girl, dressed in a rainbow coloured fairy costume, chuck the biggest motherfucking tantrum I have ever seen in my life. At the checkout. (I don't have kids but evidence shows that this is a commonplace for many a tantrum if you have younger children). Rainbow Fairy was accompanied by her Mum, & her younger sister who had lovely french braids.

For the purpose of this story the tantrum thrower will be 'Rainbow Fairy', little sister will be 'Frenchie' & Mum will be 'Bad Ass Mum'.

The Warehouse Nelson (for those non New Zealanders, The Warehouse is a department store where you can buy basically everything) was particularly busy today due to the fact the weather is fricking primo right now. Spring is on it's way. Which only means one thing to me, SUMMER IS COMING!!!!!!

Blake & I went to buy a book shelf. While standing in the que at the counter, I heard what can only be described as a high pitch gurgling sound. The sort of sound a zombie would make if you slit it's throat with a ninja sword. Followed by the loudest growlhowl I have ever heard in my life. The wolves in the rocky mountains of America would have heard that painful cry from across the oceans, I'm that frigging seriously right now.

I stood & watched on in amazement at the scenario unfolding in front of me. I fucking love watching other people's drama. It makes me giddy with Glee.

Anyway it seems Rainbow Fairy wanted a chocolate bar. Bad Ass Mum had got her a Pony toy instead. Which she holds up & shows her & everyone watching. Clearly the better choice of treat.

Not my Warehouse either but the sky was that blue & cloudless

Up until going to the checkout I am 100% that Rainbow Fairy was stoked with her my Little Pony toy. However, she got blinded by halo like glow surrounding the checkout junkfood section. Those fuckers put it the candy there on purpose I am sure of it. To publicly shame parents when their kids go apeshit.

They have my full attention at this stage when Rainbow Fairy throws herself on to the cold concrete floor & begins shrieking like a hyena on a coke binge, this happens just as they reach the checkout & the cashier starts scanning Bad Ass Mum's basket of loot.

Bad Ass Mum: "If you are going to be a silly, you won't be having this pony" *hold up My Little Pony again & waves it back & forth as if to tantalize the girl. I have witnessed this first hand with both of my nieces. When they want chocolate, there ain't no toy in the world you can bribe their asses with.

Rainbow Fairy: "hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa ug ug ug" *sniff

Bad Ass Mum: "Come on, stop being stupid" *with the ultimate poker face. I don't know how she did it.

Frenchie: *Little sis pokes her head from behind mum's legs, waves her diva hand from side to side & says "Yeah stop being stupid!"

Rainbow Fairy: "reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa weird gurgle noise ooooooooooooooooooooo" *sniff sniff

Bad Ass Mum: "We talked about this before we came in to the shop. Didn't I tell you that if you played up you wouldn't be getting a special treat?!" "Dad will be angry with you when we get home".

Boom, bring out the big guns. Nothing gets the sirens wailing like the threat of angry dad.

Frenchie: "Yeah no special treat for you. You naughty" *pointing finger at tantrum throwing Rainbow Fairy sister

Rainbow Fairy: *slapping the concrete floor with her little angry hands "ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooeeeeeeeeee gurgle gurgle sniff eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"

Her cry reminded me of Ludo off The Labyrinth when he starts his call to the rocks once Sarah & co reach the Goblin City. (haven't seen it? I suggest you watch it. Bowie in Lycra with a major mullet. Oooh. Actually Bowie looks minga in this movie but I was young & had no experience in manly hotness). This is Ludo. He's my friend.

By this stage I am pissing myself. It's the funniest shit I have seen all week. Rainbow fairy has no idea that she currently has a captive audience of about 30 people & is bringing the fucking house down. Blake & I look at each other & absolutely hose ourselves. She's cracking major shits for the chocolate yo. Never have a I witnessed a more convincing & emotive performance.

I don't remember doing so but I manage to pay for my goods & exit the store while not taking my eyes off Rainbow Fairy.

They left the store the same time as Blake & I. Bad Ass Mum & Frenchie are walking 7 superior steps ahead of Rainbow Fairy. She is dragging her feet behind them crying her fucking guts out, while the A Team stalk off in front of her. Hoping maybe Bad Ass Mum might just change her mind last minute, go back in to the store & buy the chocolate bar. I love how kids will always keep hopefull.

Bad Ass Mum: "I told you what would happen if you carried on like this. You will not be getting your toy when you get home"

Frenchie: "Yeah no toy for you naughty!"

Rainbow Fairy: "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA sniff gurgle WAAAAAAAAA
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!" *nearly gets hit by oncoming carpark traffic.

She's been defeated by the A Team & given up the fight.

I laughed all the way to the car. Amongst our mirth, Blake & I both turned to each other at the same time & said 'FUCK that'.

I bought some new trainers today. I love them. And possibly don't really need them but they were half price & my other ones aren't so flash anymore. Women don't need an excuse to buy shoes. I know all my bitches out there in blog land are going to back me the hell up on that one.

Blake & I then went out for lunch to the cafe he used to work as a chef. It was a really nice day, hanging out with my man, doing husband/wifey shit.

I'm already in my pyjama's & it's only 5pm. I'm going to have a quiet night in, make some lemonade scones & watch some TV. Then tomorrow I'm going to Ecofest.

A couple of things before I go..........

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me best girl Kylie. I love you heaps & wish I could be there to help celebrate your birthday with you xx

Thank you to everyone for your kind messages of love & support following my sad post the other day regarding my Dad's wife. Cancer affects families all around the world. I'm cyber hugging the shit out of each & everyone of you.

Lastly, I saw an elderly man in the supermarket on Thursday night. He was an overweight old guy. I quietly cheered him on inside when I saw him off load a large bottle of calorie free soda onto the conveyor belt. I didn't cheer him on so quietly inside when he then loaded about 200 Moro Bars behind the calorie free soda.

I turned to Blake & said what the fuck is he going to do with all those Moro Bars? We came up with a few ideas.

• Maybe he has 200 grandchildren & there's a family reunion coming up.
• Maybe there's a competition going on where you can win awesome shit from buying Moro Bars. He was just trying to up his chances.
• Maybe they were for him & his friends to share on Thursday night Coronation Street party?
• Maybe he has 200 cats with chocolate addictions.
• Maybe they are xmas presents for all his facebook friends.
• Maybe he was opening his own candy shop & was purchasing stock.
• Maybe he was sending some to his grandson overseas? Those funny kiwis love there Moro's bro & you can't buy them anywhere else in the world.
• Maybe he moonlights as chocolate Santa?
• Maybe he is a hardcore stoner & is topping up his munchy stash?
• Or maybe, he's going to eat them all himself because he doesn't have a bitch ass wife to grind his chops about the diabetes?

Old people do weird shit. They know what they like & he obviously likes Moro Bars. While I was kind of judgey about it initially, I actually thought well he's probably had a really good life, if he wants to eat 200 Moro's, then he's can have 200 hundred Moro's.

I am putting together an awesome prize pack for this months winner Wednesday competition.
It will be drawn on the 1st Of September.
Prizes include:

Ninjabread Men Cookie Cutters - so dam rad I have nothing to say about them at all.

RoboCup Measuring Cup Set - Breaks up into measuring cups. 

Aracade Salt & Pepper Shakers - So geeky cool

Shitlist Note Pad - Make your very own shitlist.

Knuckle Duster Stress Beater - Squeeze the shit out if it when your boss gets up in your business or your kids kick you in the balls by accident

To enter, you must be a follower of my blog on blogspot. Other than that, read T&C's here.

Have a bitchin weekend!

F*ck you life. A brief message from me, Becky Delport.

I had planned an epic blog post for today, it's 3/4 written but I can't finish it right now. My funny has been replaced with a deep & overwhelming sadness.

Someone that features regularly in my life is dying of cancer. She's just finished her first chemo treatment & got her head shaved on Monday because her hair has already started to fall out. She has terminal cancer & her doctor has told her to 'get her affairs in order' & the other old favourite 'do the things you want to do, NOW'. She doesn't have long & the chemo is possibly buying her a little bit more time but mostly making her sicker than hell.

My Dad is married to this woman. No she's not my mum, but she has been married to my Dad for the majority of my life.

My Dad rang me tonight for our monthly gossip (he lives in another town 1.5 hours away from me). He sounded positive, almost upbeat, telling about how his soul mate had had her head shaved earlier in the week & is wearing a wig. And how they went up town today & she wore a beanie like some hip street kid. We laughed about it because it's all so fucking ridiculous & we talked about how some of their friends have stopped calling around. I told him people sometimes do this when there's cancer around because they don't know what to do or how to deal with it. They still love her, but cancer is scary. Even to those that don't have it.

We talked some more about how me, my sister, the husbands & kids are all going to go over in 2 weeks for a visit & to see their new house.Yes he sounded positive. However, underneath that facade, he is absolutely inconsolably devastated. I know my Dad. I can hear it in his voice. At least this time he could actually talk to me without crying. But I could tell he was trying hard not to cry because she was there listening.

I got off the phone & cried so fiercely, I nearly fell over like people do in the movies. I always thought that sort of crying was bullshit, but it's not. That's called grief. I'm grieving for my Dad's wife & the battle she's losing with her own life. And I'm grieving for my Dad, my pretend strong Dad, who's currently watching the woman he loves die a little bit more each day. So unfair. And so dam sad.

I've cried this hard before. When my mum's husband died of cancer 6 years ago. I watched him waste away to nothing & I was there when he passed away. That time will forever be ingrained in my head. Watching my mum deal with that was heartbreaking. She is one of the strongest women I know.

So from me, my sister, my dad, my mum, all our close family & friends & anyone else who's lost someone close to cancer.......

FUCK YOU LIFE AND YOUR FAT UGLY BITCH CANCER!

That is all.  And thanks for listening.

Love from Becky x

Q & A with Dr B: I have a new office chair called Rachel. She caresses my aching work ravaged body like a new born lion cub.

Dear Dr B.
I have been a long time follower of your not really real but super awesome column of nothing. First of all I would just like to say you are quite possibly the most fucked up & smartest human being ever to walk this planet. And secondly, I have an issue & need your advice. My girlfriend likes me to get her off using tiny Lego men instead of my man beef. We've been together for some time now, she's always been a bit kinky but this Lego obsession is crossing a line. Apart from obviously feeling dissatisfied myself, it's turning me off big time. I'm thinking of breaking it off with her? Should I? Or should I get a Lego man tattooed on my dick & try my luck? I await with baited breath for your wise council.
Lego Man

Dear Lego Man,
First of all, thank you for your gallant praise. I know I'm awesome, & I never get sick of people telling me. Even by people that will willingly stuff their ladies box with children's toys. This is not good for you. And me, being the caring lady I am, am concerned about your needs. My advice, kick that bitch to the curb. Go find someone new that likes the dick. I can't appreciate a woman that likes to bone anything other than what god intended. God intended penis. Or if a lez, the oral stimulation of another woman (some may so god did not intend that, but they can fuck off). Not children's toys. I don't actually know this for sure because I don't follow the religion, but if I was god, this would be my rule. Dump her, this isn't your problem. Plenty more vagina in the sea.
Dr  B

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Dear Dr Becky,
I am somewhat of a cynic when it comes to any sort of extraordinary advice giving. I tend to 'play it safe' & keep life's little curve balls to myself. However, my niece got me on to you after some issues she was having with a boyfriend involving shark/masturbation tendencies. Your advice proved successful for her so I thought I might 'give you a crack'.

 I am a 63 year old women. I have been married to my dear husband for 45 years. While I love him dearly, & still have a fulfilling sexual life, I have a problem with the relationship he has with our cat Monty. If I were to be uncouth & 'put it all out there', I would find myself saying that Monty is a prize prick motherfucking asshole cat.

The problem with Monty the prick cat is that he seems to take up a lot of my husbands attention & time. Monty is as old as the hills, frequently urinates in my slippers & sleeps in my side of the bed. Many nights when I adjourn to the bedroom for some much needed rest, I find myself having to kip down in the spare bedroom as to not disturb this sleeping mongrel feline cuddled up beside my husband.

He's taking my place. This saddens me so. And I'm sure as the sun rises every day that when Monty departs this earth (I feel the time is coming soon) my husband will die of a broken heart. How do you detach a man from his pussy? I am willing to try anything.
Kindest regards,
Mrs Harry Harrington IV

Dear Mrs Harry Harrington IV (seriously?)
There is only one thing you can do in the crisis like this, kill the fucker. And bury it somewhere far away. Then tell your hubs, Monty 'went missing'. Now I do not condone animal murder in any shape or form, but when another pussy starts messing with my man, it's on & there ain't nothing I won't resort to. Mr Harry Harrington IV will be bummed, no doubt, but if he straight up croaks it due to heartbreak over Monty's sudden mysterious disappearance, get back on the bike lady & make like a cougar. There are many young men out there champing at the nads to have a crack at an old sheila like yourself. Blush you may, but Mrs HH I have never spoken truer words. Good luck, And for the love of Mahatma Gandhi, don't get caught burying the cat. You get arrested & jailed for that shit these days.
Yours faithfully, Dr B

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Dear Dr Bex,
I don't actually want any advice. I just wanted to say thanks for saving me from $300 fine. Last weekend my sister Maureen had her 40th birthday party. Anyway we got shitfaced on Jim Beam & on our way in to the nightclubs, while singing my face off to an Evanescence song, I yakked in a taxi. I yakked harder than I've ever yakked in my life....... into a PLASTIC BAG! I read your frickin awesballs blog post where you said to always carry a plastic bag for such moments. Well I took that information on board & I just want to say a big bitchin thanks. I will not mention the fact that I put the yak filled plastic bag into my handbag, & forgot about it. This didn't go so well when my girls & I formed the dance circle of trust around our handbags then proceeded to stomp the fuck out of them like we were in the bridal party at a Greek Wedding. Put it this way, I yakked again when I got home & tried to find my front door keys.
Thanks, Maureen's Sister.

Dear Maureen's sister,
I just died laughing. Next time, bin the yak bag before the stomp of death dance. Or just blow chunks in the taxi. Having to replace the whole contents of your handbag will cost a shitload more than paying the vom fine to the cabbie.
Dr B.

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Dear Doc,
I hate you, you filthy whore. I'm going to burn your house down then take a shit on your open mouthed face while you sleep.
Fuck your face, anonymous.

Dear anonymous,
Sleep with the lights on motherfucker. I will find you.
Dr B.

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Dr B,
How do you hold a fart in? You seem to wise in the ways of the bum. I have a new boyfriend. He's really hot. We have been partying a lot lately & in the mornings, post coital, I get a sudden urges to pass wind. Stinky dead animal/sulphur power baffs. The kind that could possibly blind you. I don't want to gross him out by farting in front of him so I lay beside him while he sleeps like I have rigor mortis because if I even breath I will blow one out. What say you?
Cheers, Gav's Girl

Dear Gav's Girl,
Back in the day when I was a bit of a bogan slapper, I often found myself in this very same situation. But lucky for me I was smart enough to never stay until the sun came up. I used to do what is these days called the hump & run. My nickname was Breakfast. Because I never stayed for it. There are many advantages to this:

• You can sleep in your own bed & don't have to find your way home with the worst hangover you've ever had in your entire life. Or get up & spend an hour in his bathroom making sure you still look 'presentable'.
• Sometimes waking up the next morning beside a drunken night out pull is like a buying a $1 lucky dip. The toy may look shiny & fun on first glance, but after playing with it for a few hours, it ain't nothing but a piece of cheap shit. Save yourself the disappointment. Don't lucky dip or just go home.
• If this person is someone you actually like, you can not, under any circumstance, fart or shit in his vicinity for the first 3 months of your dating life. If you do, it will end badly. For you. Boys don't like bitches who shit or fart. It takes away all the glitter & pretty. 
• In saying this, if you have already chundered in front of him due to too much alcohol consumption, & he's still getting it in, it's likely he won't care if you fart or do poos in his house. He likes you for more than just your hole. Well done!
• If you do insist on staying over at his place, the only thing you can really do is hold the fart in like your life depended on it. I ain't gonna lie to you, your guts is going to hurt bad. If you've been doing this for a while now you will already know the deep ache of the trapped gut fart. Grin & bear it but know that this is bad for you. I hope he's worth it.
• If your urge becomes so bad that you may shit your pants, please fart. He's not going to forgive you ever if your shit yourself in his bed. A small nose burning fart while he sleeps is not a crime. If he chucks a hiss, he's a dick. The end.

Yours faithfully, Dr Bex.

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Dear Dr B,
In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight. In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight.
In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight. In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight.
I love you, Cat Man

Dear Cat Man,
A weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee e e e a wee om om oooway.
A weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee e e e a wee om om oooway.
I love you too, Dr B

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Dear Dr B,
Sometimes when I'm at home alone (btw this is most nights), I like to cover my face in clothesline pegs. I like the pain. Is there something wrong with me?
Thanks, Peggy Sue

Dear Peggy Sue,
Yes, you are mental, but that's ok. I am not agin to experimentation but I do feel necessary to tell you that you will be fucking up your face tissue severely if you continue with this behaviour. Once a week, go hard, peg your face off. But every day pegging is not going to be good for your future old person face. In fact you will end up looking like a bag of assholes. If you are already ugly though, this won't matter.
Your faithfully, Dr Bex

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Dear Doc,
Sometimes when my husband touches my nipples, dark thunder clouds roll in & I'm all of a sudden overcome with such intense anger that I punch him in the face. I know I could be arrested for domestic violence but my husband won't dob me in because I told him I will punch him again. What's wrong with me?
Cheers, Tits Magee

Dear Tits Magee,
Woah there lady! Man bashing is not the way! I too suffer from what is more commonly known as Angry Tit Syndrome. I have been living with this since I grew boobs at the age of 12. Every time my booby nubs are fiddled with, I want to smash holes in the wall with my fists of rage. Or my forehead.

While I've found this affliction tough to live with, I've developed some helpful tools to get me through the dark times. If your man touches your nips knowing full well the fury it unleashes, he rightly deserves a smacking. Cover your nipples with bandaids & wear this t-shirt with pride.

If anyone trys to touch them while wearing this t-shirt, smack them too. You are essentially warning them so again, they deserve it. From one fellow Angry Tits sufferer to another, don't suffer in silence. P.S. Whatever you do, DO NOT have a baby.
Yours faithfully, Dr Rebecca K Delport.

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Seriously though, my advice is free. Why waste your money on seeing your local GP when you can get it all here for nothing! I wanna reach out & heal the world, make it a better place, for you & for me & the entire human race. Tell your friends.

Peace!

Sweet Home Nelsonbama. I feel like a newly wed. With a really clean ass.

I came home on Thursday. I was so excited to see my hubs. I spent the entire ride home staring at him. It was like sitting beside a sexy not so strange stranger. We could not stop smiling at each other, like a pair of goofy retards.

You see we have never really been apart since we've been together. And truth be told I hate being away from him even just for one night. I don't feel like myself when I'm not around him. I am temperamental, aggressive, confident & loud. He is quiet, passive aggressive, really really intelligent, laid back & completely relaxed. All. The. Time. We are opposites, but we fit perfectly. He is the only person on the planet that has the power to calm my inner, & sometimes not so inner, angry beast. When he ain't around, the beast rages, full tit, all the time.

I thought I would miss him a whole fuckload while I was in Wellington. Seems I did, but instead of sitting around pining for him like a sad ass puss face, I was too busy working like a biatch to think about how much I missed him. There were a few phone calls & texts. We all remember the infamous LOL reply text after putting my feelings out there & saying I missed him loads. I ain't letting that one go. For a long long time.

Blake did a pre wife arrival house clean before I arrived home. He did a pretty good job although I wasn't overly impressed with the 2 week old brownie that was still sitting in the fridge from my birthday 2 weeks ago. He says to me, 'It's still good'. Bitch please, that brownie will give anyone runny bum brownies if they eat it. Possibly even death. Which is apparently not true because he's been feeding it to his mates. Wops & Cliff if you die it wasn't me, it was Blake.

A big difference between Blake & I is that I will throw shit out on or before it's used by date. He will throw stuff out, well, never. It seems that's my job. I have this weird compulsion that if something is past it's used by date, even if it hasn't been opened, it will somehow osmosis through it's packaging & taint the good food with it's ugly used by-ness. Fuck that. In the bin it goes. I've had food poisoning twice in my life. Both times I am pretty sure I died from the over shitting ring of fire, but because of the sheer magnitude of my awesome came back to life again. I will avoid going through that hell again at all costs. Even if it means being slightly anal about used by dates.

Another thing I noticed (woman see everything. It's a fact), was what can only be described as kitchen art work. My kitchen cupboards, fridge & oven all looked as though he had stood in the kitchen with a large spoon & flung vegetable soup at them. Dude I know you were bored some nights but come on!!

I was happy to be home finally. All I wanted to do was unpack my bags & relax for the night. Well my hubs had other ideas. He want to touch my boobs & bang fannys. It seemed having sex with his wife was the only thing on his mind. Not even motherfucker. I made it very clear that no relations would be happening in the Delport household that evening.

Now I have a weekend off. Like an actual weekend with NO work. I don't know what to do with myself. This is the beginning of my new position within our company which means weekends off (thank you Jebus), more money & less stress. And I tell you something, I'm fucking mclovin it. I can already feel the old non stressed version of Bex starting to bust it's way through. I've missed that bitch hard.

Anyway, it seems I'm back & ready to blog again. I missed you bitches hard too & I'm sorry for my neglect but ya know I had business to attend to.

The comments on my baby wipe poo bum post was awesome. It seems that this isn't a new magical secret. And I never once thought of the affect on plumbing. To be honest, my toilet paper consumption is a true testament to the fact I possibly don't care much for plumbing anyway. Sorry Nigel (family member that is plumber).

I placed my packet of Sesame Street bum wipes beside the toilet in our bathroom. I asked Blake this morning if he'd tried it out yet, to which he replied, 'no, it's too weird'. Now I know when my man beast lies, & he was lying. After a quick round of who can kick who's arse better marital wrestlemania, he told me yes in fact he had tried the baby wipes after his morning dump & he felt better about life knowing his backside was clean. I in turn felt better that I would not have to look at skiddy man skins the next time I do washing. Which is currently piled up like Mount Kilimanjaro by our front door. Guess what I'm doing this weekend........

Peace!

P.S Blake would get mad at me if I didn't tell you all that he doesn't really skid in his undies ever. But he is a man. All men skid. You can't mess with physics. Plus I can't lie.

P.P.S In sadder news, Jonty the Goon Bird died. You don't know about Jonty but he is one of my sisters cockatiels. He was missing a chromosome & was the bird version of a Downy. I loved him because he was born with no tail feathers therefore couldn't fly. That little bastard could scale the avairy walls like spiderman on speed. I have spent many hours watching that funny little Downy bird. It seems Jonty had a fall & broke his ass. He died on Wednesday. Jonty the Goon Bird wasn't meant for this world for a long time. But I'm glad I got to meet him. He made me happy because he was special. And I hate birds. He's currently in the freezer awaiting his burial/funeral tomorrow afternoon. I won't be able to make it because I will be sleeping. So here is a tribute in song, with lyrics if you feel the need to sing along, for my special Jonty the Goon Bird.

If I see you wearing Crocks, & you aren't a chef or small child, run in the other direction. I may hurt you.

My best friend is a freakin genius. Every once & a while she invents something that blows my motherfucking mind.

A few days ago a package arrived at her house. This is a common occurrence at Mr & Mrs Rush's house, much to Mr Rush's disgust, because my best hoe likes to shop yo.

Anyway, I sat in my newly claimed Becky not really mine lounge chair, in the Rush's lounge, trying to contain my excitement at her excitement at the mysterious treasures inside the present box. I bloody love prizes. Even prizes that aren't mine. If there's a wrapped present in the vicinity of any place I may be, I can't stop thinking about it until that fucker is opened & contents within revealed.

This particular present was some baby wipes. 6 packets of Sesame Street themed baby wipes. What the fuck. ANTI CLIMAX. My inner dick just went flaccid.

After the initial disappointment wore off, I got hella confused. Mr & Mrs Rush don't have no babies in their house? I checked the kitchen cupboards, hot water cupboard, clothes dryer, under spare bed, & all the other cool hiding places for neglected babies, guess what...... NO BABIES?

Why oh why do we need 6 packets of baby wipes when there is no babies?

Well, let me tell you something for nothing, my girl here has some tricks up her sleeve. Possibly one of the best things I have heard in a thousand years. I know I'm only 32, but if I was a thousand, this would still be the best thing I've ever heard.

My best mate uses the baby wipes after poos. To clean her bum.

How the hell did I not know about this? Like seriously, I am the shit queen. I know everything there is to know about toilets, farts & poos. It was like a religious revelation. It was like the missing cherry on my poo cake. I swear I willed a mud on just so I could try it out. And boy did my crack feel so fresh & so clean. Elmo cleaned my ass. No shit.

No skid marks for this kid. No sir. Not that I skid anyway. My toilet paper usage will pay tribute to this. I would rather block a toilet than skid. True story. Toilet blocking, regardless of the fact I am actually proud of my mad toilet blocking skills, will now be a thing of the past in Becky's world.

3 days later, I could not be more excited about going home & sharing this new found glory with my beloved. He is also a very clean & particular bum wiper. I am going to buy some baby wipes for home & I am even going to buy a handbag sized 'on the run' packet for those messy soft serve dumps.  Don't say yuck, you know you've done more than one of these in your life time.

I've been doing a lot of thinking & all this baby wipe ass wiping business makes so much sense to me. Baby wipes are used to clean the poo off baby's bums. Why have we not carried on this practice through our lives? Do we all of a sudden become not good enough to have our asses actually cleaned after toilet time & are subjected to a life of 2 ply? Bitches pleas, I love my ass. I want to take care of it.

My only complaint, after baby wipe wipe-age, it can be a tad on the moist side. Only then do you need to resort to a quick toilet paper wipe because me personally, I don't like a moisty crack. TIP: If there's no toilet paper, the closest hand towel will be suffice. Your ass is theoretically clean, no one will ever know.

Also don't get scented wipes. Anus's are sensitive wee things. You might give yourself an itchy rash. You have been warned.

I hope you, my dear friends, can go forth & use this brilliant life tool. If you do this already, quite frankly I'm disappointed you didn't tell me.

P.S Whatever you do NEVER EVER NEVER look up Milky Cocopuff on Urban Dictionary. I so just reverse psyched you right now. But mum seriously, don't look it up. It wasn't me, it was Kylie.

P. P. S I am going home on Thursday. Mixed emotions. Sad to leave Wellington because I love the shit out of this city& spending time with Kylie & Dave, but I love my husband more. I can't wait to pash his face off.

P. P. P. S I meant what I said about those dam Crock shoes.

Peace!

*No babies were harmed in the making of this post. Nor would I ever neglect or hide a baby in a cupboard. If I did I would at least give them some biscuits & a toy. And I wouldn't lock the door. Because that would be mean.

Show & Tell with Mrs Delport

I have so much to show/tell you. I know I said I'd be making sweet sweet blog love to ya'll this weekend but I was too busy being outside, exploring Wellington & raping my bank account with my mad shopping skills. Please note, I love you guys hard but I love shopping slightly more. But only a little bit.

First of all, I was meant to go home on Thursday, but I'm still needed here so I've changed my ticket & won't be going home until next Thursday. I was sad because I miss Blake but after the LOL (Translated: I don't miss you at all) text, he can survive without me for another 4 days. He has actually told me he misses me but I'm milking the LOL text all I can.

Do you know what Matryoshka Dolls are? Well I have always wanted some. In Russia they cost LOADS but here in New Zealand, they don't cost loads & you can get different flavours. Like Ninja flavour. Behold my very own ninja Matryoshka dolls.

Yes, I know. This is the raddest shit you have ever seen. But wait, there's more.

Seeing as when I get back to my office I will have a new desk to personalize, & taking into account my weird obsession with anything toilet/poo related, I saw this & just couldn't resist. It screamed Motherfucker Delport. (FYI - That is my new name. Saw Horrible Bosses, loved it, stole & claimed Jamie Fox's character name as my own but with a twist. Please go see that movie.) Behold, the VOMIT STATION. It has to be in capitals because of how awesome it is.

I also bought clothes. And shoes. And perfume. And these......LEGO EARRINGS! I couldn't stop myself.

On Friday night after work, I got stupid drunk. On 2 bourbons & 2 wines. I was that tired that I literally got hammered off nothing. Plus, & this may surprise you, I'm not really a drinker. People who don't know me well find this strange. I drunk my lifes worth of alcohol in my teens & 20's. I guess you could say I'm a lightweight. This is the only thing in life I claim lightweight status & I'm holding that title close to my heart.

I was all amped to have some drinks & hit the bars when I got back to Kye & Daves place after work. But after about half an hour & two bourbons, I knew I wasn't going anywhere. I was stuck in her lounge chair & I couldn't move. I sat there & laughed loudly at nothing for longer than normal periods of time. Then the North Carolina America neighbour came over & I yelled at her lots of question about America, like do they have bears there, but mostly food related questions about Twizzlers & gravy. In Carolina they have gravy for breakfast. Fuck yeah!

I woke up yesterday morning feeling like balls. Scrotum balls. Hairy scrotum balls that had been infested with killer king crabs & don't have very good circulation so they are really really cold & that some angry person has just running fuck kicked hard. I didn't feel good.

Today the Rush's took me sightseeing. I rode a giant cannon.

Stick em' up bitches!

I hugged a big wind turbine thingy.

I heart you big wind turbine thingy & your magical electricity making ways.

I showed my mate's husband Dave how awesome I am at doing press ups on a slopey hill.

Yeah it seems I really can't do press ups on slopey hills. I ate grass.

We also found some poo. Hurrah! Foreign visitors to my land could be mislead to believe this is some currants scattered haphazardly in the grass, but no, it's definitely poo.

I had a bloody awesome day with my best whore. I love Wellington. But I miss my Blake LOL motherfucker.

This months Winner Wednesday monthly prize will be announced at some stage this week. Please note that every comment you make on any of my blog posts from the 1st of this month enters you in the draw to win. It will be cool shit. I promise.

Before I go I just wanted to tell you all that I watched the All Blacks whoop the Wallabies last night. While I napped on the couch in the boring parts of the game, the tries scored gave me big fanny spasms. The Rugby World Cup is just around the corner & my boys are looking HOT. Please dear baby Jesus don't let them get injured.

Mad loves!

P.S I'd really like to know if Kentucky Fried Chicken is really from Kentucky? Because North Carolina Geo Scientist lady I drunken yelled at on Friday night couldn't tell me. DIS A POINTED.