An Award From The Minute Man's Wife and Unbridled Insanity

And by god damned it, I'm back and seething with such ungodly friggin' rage, I'm gonna park my small car after just having gone to the bar parking lot for some excitement, stick pickles up my ass, while using a sawzall on my penis head, all the while using a penis pump, beforehand, (to get my junk- Grade A- good n' hard, ya know) while having a crooked neck giraffe give me a deep anal lickin' and have it topped off with the spiritually uplifting rim job of a lifetime from an anteater at the zoo.

Woo Fucking Hoo! and pass the fucking Valium after I go really crazy and drink a cup of shitty, chemical-tasting decaffeinated coffee. What in the fuck is decaffeinated coffee for? Don't give me any of that bullshit like "It's for people who enjoy the taste of coffee but are afraid of the staying awake a couple hours past their wussy bedtime". Fuck that! Grow a set of balllllllssss or flabby pussy lips, depending on your gender! That shit ain't coffee!!! That shit defeats the goddamn purpose of drinking god damned coffee!!! Excuse me here for a split second while I chop some fucker's head off and wear it on my rigid, cheerfully erect pecker (reference to the book, American Psycho) while I pour myself a god damned fresh cup of REAL COFFEE.

So... how have you guys been? Good? Ah, that's nice.

So, yeah, I'm back one more time until something eventually falls from the sky and caves my head in. I wonder what it will be? A meteor. I can handle that. A hundred pounds of frozen waste from an airplane going overhead? That would be like a fly gently floating by my ear and cutting a fart. Hardly noticeable.

Fuck, I'm so fucking shell shocked by recent events, nothing could be a surprise. Actually, when nothing at all worrisome is happening to the wife and I and all is cool and all is right- that's when I begin to worry. If my life suddenly begins to transform into something resembling almost harmonious, take fucking cover, immediately! That will be the true sign of the Apocalypse! Fuck that old idiot, Camping and his Rapture. Buddy, I got your Rapture right here!

But things are starting to head in the right direction. If nothing else occurs, I will be 60% satisfied. That's equivalent, to some fuckers that have a hard on or wetty for that most dreaded of made up percentages, that some like to say out loud, in a sad attempt to impress- and that would be "110%". Take your 110% and shove it way up your ass with your decaffeinated coffee you superficial, motherfuckin', crooked neck, rim job lickin' stain from a rancid pussy fart!

No, not you, my friend. The guy or girl behind you.

Sorry. Where did I hide my mind again? Ohhh yeahhhh...

Did you know that Winnie The Pooh, Rabbit and Tigger violated Piglet in all of his orifices, so brutally, until his colon eventually fell out onto the ground where it was eaten by all of the rest of the crack-addicted Hundred Acre Wood critters? Well, it's true. It's says so in the bible. It's the start of the Rapture, in fact! You're welcome for the heads up.

While on a much needed sabbatical, three (and possibly a fourth one on the way) bloggers acted as guest posters.

Mrs. Pickle from the blog, Pickles In My Ass, The Wolf, from the blog, The S.N.A.F.U Report and Pickleope from the blog, Pickleope.com have all been generous enough to give of their unique talents and be my guest posters for the last couple of weeks. I thank all of you for your support, time and well-written and often, extremely hilarious, posts. In my tirade, at the beginning of this post, I think you might have noticed a little referencing to their posts in a somewhat genial way.

You guys really know how to make me laugh out loud while sticking my pecker in a pickle slicer.

I also want to thank genuine supporter and thoughtful blogger, The Minute Man's Wife, for the Good Bloggers Pay It Forward Award, while I was away. I've connected with her the last several months, at a sympathetic, supportive level in the blogging community in a way that I feel honestly appreciative for. She's one of the nicest of nicest people that you'll ever have the pleasure of interacting with. The Minute Man's Wife gave me, a crazy bastard, who has a heart of gold, filled with flesh-eating maggots, this award for being supportive. I am grateful and touched by this.

Amazed? Choking on a drink, suddenly? You shouldn't be. Not only am I swell but I'm modest as hell, too. Yep.

Take a gander at The Minute Man's Wife's blog, but please remember, no sex toys allowed while visiting.

Look to your extreme right. It's already there with the rest of my awards.

Oh dear lord almighty, have I just been blessed again? Easy rules for this award! Hooray!

The rules for this particular award are, thankfully, weep-worthingly easy.

1) Tell everyone who gave you the award. (I did)

2) Put up a link to their blog. (Done)

3) Pay it Forward to five more bloggers. (Going to)

In no particular order, here are the five bloggers, in my opinion, in the past, who have exemplified support, which the award is supposed to represent:

(1) Rebecca (The Snee) from the blog, The Sometimes, Never, Eventually Express

(2) Gary, from the blog, klahanie

(3) LilPixi, from the blog, It's a Lollipop world

(4) GEM, from the blog, the modern day spinster

(5) Last but not least, Mrs. Pickle, from the blog, Pickles In My Ass

Be sure to check them out or you'll get the lash!

Now this isn't to say the rest of you have not been supportive and secretly or not so secretly wish me a slow, torturous death involving me being naked, with my nuts, honey coated and ready to be torn away by the sharp teeth of rabid rodents. Besides, I don't wash my scrotum but once every leap year. Ah Ha!

I do this to keep the rodents away and because I like the sticky, pasty feeling so much. Plus, it's for the sake of any house guests who come over every so often for my famous homemade putrid cheese dip.

Where was I? Oh, yes.

I want to thank the rest of you for your support by way of commenting on my blog while I was gone, just visiting and for all the other interactions on the Internet. You know who you are. You guys have been great. Thank you!

Don't forget to take home some of my homemade cheese dip before you leave. It's deeeeelish! But whatever you do, don't drink decaffeinated coffee.

Take care, my friends!

Saw me silly

Hey Bitches! This is Mrs. Pickle. I am back down on my knees while typing another guest post for Kelly.

So last night my husband and I were bored and surfing the web. We typed in the words “Sex toys gone wrong” and we found some great things. My favorite one though was an article we found. Allow me to explain.

Apparently some dumb Bitch who is 27 in Maryland was feeling the need to be sexually stimulated. I get it, really I do! Here is where she is different from the rest of us though. Her idea of being sexually stimulated involves a Sawzall. I know right! I was excited also when I found out!

For those of you who do not know what a Sawzall is, I included a picture. Now keep in mind this blade once plugged in goes back and forth like a jackhammer. So she probably thought she was in for a real treat.

So apparently this woman thought it would be a good idea to slide a sex toy over the Sawzall and fuck it. Because really, who doesn’t want to fuck a saw? Naturally, her masturbation session did not go as she would have hoped. And yes I would have paid money to be there and be a witness.

I would have told the doctors, “Well, she was horny! Give the woman a break okay?” The doctor would have been like “How long was she masturbating with the saw before it lacerated her vagina region?” I would have said, “ Well she was doing just fine and getting all wet, but once it got to about 7 seconds into it she started to notice this sharp pain and that is when she started screaming “ UNPLUG IT! UN PLUG THE FUCKING SAW!” I am sorry doctor, I did not unplug it as fast as she would have liked, because I had to go and grab my camera.”

The article then goes on to say that she was rushed to the hospital. The sex toy was still attached. They say she was released and is at home now recovering from being fucked by a saw her injuries.

Personally, I would love to meet this woman. If I had the choice to either see Cher naked (Because I am still not convinced she has a vagina) or to interview Mrs. Sawzall, I would have to go with the 2^nd. Because I have so many questions and I want answers damnit!

Like I said, I am Mrs. Pickle. If you like what you see come check out my blog. Picklesinmyass.blogspot.com.

A Happy Tale

If you haven't been paying attention Kelly has decided to open up his blog for some guest posting, and so here I am to add a splash of color to this little shenanigan. But before I start an introduction is in order. In case you don't know who I am my name is The Wolf........well not literally of course but that's my blog nickname or whatever the fuck they call it. My blog is called The S.N.A.F.U Report short for Situation Normal All Fucked Up a military term that I think fits my life very nicley.

Now Kelly here has some standards when it comes to his posts, they can be......well right the fuck out there which is fucking fantastic and I wouldn't have it any other way . Fortunately for you but unfortunately for me I have lived a very messed up existence in my short time on this planet. If you can conjure up in your heads something so fucked up it's hard to believe it's probably happened to me........hey at least it's never dull. So I figured what better topic to guest post about then a story from my fucked up existence. So sit back grab a soda and I shall tell you the tale of how I was almost mugged and possibly ass raped by two gay men. And no this is not bullshit this actually happened.

It was back in 2001, I was a private in the army and I had dropped off this girl a friend had set me up on for a blind date. Personally I wish I fucking knew beforehand because she was a troll, not in appearance but her attitude was fucking disgusting.....the kind that makes you want to stick someones face in a blender type of attitude. Anyways I dropped her off and was on my way back to the barracks. That's when I saw two guys standing near what looked like a broken down car. It was near midnight and being the helpful person that I am pulled up to see if the needed some help. Edmonton where I was posted pretty much shut down at 9 even on weekends and getting a tow truck would take all night.

As soon as I pulled up I had this feeling that something wasn't right, so instead of parking and turning off the engine I let it run and kept it in neutral, not sure how to describe it but I knew something was fucking shaddy about these two guys. I roll down my passenger window and asked if they needed help. They smiled and waved and walked over to me, each going on one side of my car. The guy on the drivers side the the gayest of gay lisp accents starts trying to chat me up. You know shit like how am I, how long I lived in town small talk shit like. Meanwhile his buddy on the passenger side had his hands against my mirror. My piece of shit car didn't have power windows so in order to close the window I would have had to reach over and crank the handle, and I knew if shit was going to go down this would be a bad move.

I ask them again if there car is broken down and need help trying to get fucker one (the guy on the drivers side) back on topic. Again he smiles, then he asks if I want to go with him and his friend into the gay bar for a drink. I didn't realize when I pulled in that I was in the parking lot beside one of the only gay bars in Edmonton, not that it matters to me but in redneck Alberta (Canada) it's still a fairly big deal, which is odd considering they now allow gay marriages....but that's a whole other topic.

I tell fucker one I'm not interested and have to report back to the base.........this is when shit gets interesting. While trying to get my attention with more small talk fucker number two starts to slowly move his hand inside the car towards the door handle (the doors were locked so he had to reach inside. As soon as I look the fucker in the eye, fucker one lunges for the other door while the other ass bandit reaches down to the door handle and opens the door. I punch fucker 1 in the face, slam the gear in reverse and hit the gas. Fucker 1 lets go almost immediately but his buddy is halfway inside, I also notice at this point fucker 2 has a knife.

I back out onto the street and start speeding down the road while at the same time getting my right leg over to kick this piece of shit in the face. Now if you've ever owned a 2000 Chev Cavalier like what I had this is fucking hard to do, the way the console is almost cocoons the driver and passenger........fuck I hated that car but it was cheap. I'm also by no means flexible but somehow while driving using one hand (my other hand was trying to gouge this assholes eye out with my thumb), I got my leg out and started kicking him in the face. After two or three well placed kicks to his nose he crumpled and rolled out of the car. I was going about 70 km/h at this point so when he fell out he flew into a nearby garbage can face first. I'm not sure if he was badly hurt or not, I never bothered to stop I just hit the gas and went back to the base as fast as I could.

If there's a lesson Iearned for this it's this. One don't ever fucking let your buddy who's idea of a good time is to go to the scummiest bar in town and hit on drunk desperate fat chicks. Two don't ever buy a Chev Cavalier, they don't make them anymore since about 2004 and were replaced with the Cobalt which is pretty much the same fucking car. And if you do get one of these get POWER FUCKING WINDOWS.....don't be cheap like me. And three take yoga or stretch more or something, trying to get my leg out to kick that asshole I ended up pulling my groin and it hurt for three days.

Well there you have it, my little misadventure.......and now for a video about Unicorns

Heartwarming Memories of the Zoo

A quick introduction: Your guest poster today is Pickleope (proprietor of Pickleope.com). In honor of a culture predicated on combining two existing commodities (we’re looking at you, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies or Cowboys and Aliens or Paula Deen Riding Things) a Pickleope is the unholy combination of a pickle and an antelope. 

Shameless self-promotion section over.

As you know and as he has explained, Kelly is a bit preoccupied with the rigors of life (The speculation that he’s laying low after Bin Laden was taken out is probably not true. More likely he’s busy scouring the internet for all bloggers using “pickle” in the title. What’s up Mrs. Pickle! No relation.) And so he is unable to spin magical verbal yarns for our entertainment. Instead he has bestowed upon us the pleasure of weaving our words on his blog like something akin to the blankets Christopher Columbus handed out (enjoy your smallpox).

On to the nonsense!

We like to generally keep things clean over at the church-like hallowed grounds of our website. And we’d like to take this great opportunity to clean up this den of depravity with some touching, family stories from the zoo. What could be sweeter than frolicking animals in captivation...well maybe a baby with Clint Howard’s head riding Steve Buscemi bareback around a mud pit where Kathy Bates is giving Stephen Hawkins a lap dance while a Spin Doctors song plays. Yep, that would be sweeter, but this is close.

Get your “Awwwww” faces on, because we’re about to stuff some “cute” in your ass.

The following stories are all true.

In the Houston Zoo, they house the anteater and tapir together. 

The enclosure kind of looked like this...except without the mountains, the extract bottle...the  guy from a cult in the corner...well basically without anything except the two animals.

On this visit, the tapir was laying on its side when our curious anteater came strutting up to the tapir. The anteater without pretense or foreplay went straight to tossing the tapir’s salad. It was a thing of beauty, using its ant-digging nail and ant-slurping tongue to get all up in there. And the tapir loved it. But after a few minutes, the tapir grew tired of this lavish treatment some people pay a lot of money for...a LOT of money...like enough to make Greece solvent (not that we've looked into it or made phone calls or put an ad on CraigsList or anything). So after getting what we can only imagine was the best rimming of its life, the tapir gets up and starts trying to bite the anteater’s tail (probably out of shame). The anteater is just trying to strut away, but the tapir keeps coming at him. The anteater finally turns and gives the tapir a swift pimp-like backhand. Moral of the story: Enjoy any good consensual tonguing, butt or otherwise or you risk swift retribution for not appreciating such a delightful gift.

We’ll skip the story of the ape eating its own poop and maybe the one about the otter swimming on its back and peeing in its own mouth (both also true) in favor of a sweet underdog tale.

At the Santa Barbara zoo, they harbored a magical freak-of-a-beast known by its simple yet descriptive moniker: the Crooked Neck Giraffe.  

Must have been hell on the mother in delivery.

Our handi-giraffe was more than a misfit. It was an entertainer. On this day, an able-necked giraffe began sniffing at the crooked-neck giraffe’s urine stream and apparently this urine smelled and tasted like wine because that straight-necked giraffe could not get enough. When the stream stopped, the straight-necked calmly walked over to the feeding perch and slurped food off the hands of children who were all-too-happy to have the urine-soaked tongue slobber all over them (and their golden shower fetish was born).

Awwwwwwww. Isn’t it cute how the misfit got revenge by having sweet tasting wee-wee? That’s how that Cher movie, Mask, ended isn’t it? Eric Stoltz just peed in the bikers' mouths, right?

Aren’t animals the cutest? Hopefully we did a serviceable job in in his place and hopefully Kelly recovers from his pump incident (that is who yesterday’s post was about, right?).

~Pickleope

Pop goes the penis!

So I offered to be a guest on this blog. I was so excited when Kelly emailed me and told me I could be his Bitch for the day. So here I am on my knees typing to you.

Today you all are going to be in for a treat. Why you ask? Well because I am going to talk about my ex boyfriend’s Penis.

So “Sam” and I dated for about 6 months. I don’t know if I stayed with him so long because I was lonely, or because he took me out to dinner a lot. It is not like we even really had that great of a connection. He was a complete nerd and was into the whole “Dungeons and Dragons” kind of shit! My idea of a fun time is not role playing that I am some kind of fucking wizard or some weird shit like that. Now if you want me to role play that I am your nurse or your whore of a French maid than sign me up!

Sam was into his looks way more than I would have liked. He took more time to get ready than I did. He was so worried about his appearance, that it became so draining to constantly reassure him. Low self esteem in a man is such a turn off! One of the things that really turned me off is when he would dye his own hair because it was going gray and he would have stained black dye marks running down his neck.

Now to the Penis part. Sam had a nice sized penis when it was hard. When hard it was about 7 inches. But when he was soft he turned into a pencil dick. I have never seen a penis so small and skinny as his was when it was soft. It didn’t help his confidence either when I would giggle every time I saw it.

Well one night Sam had called me on the phone and told me he saw an infomercial on male enhancement products. I told him “Babe, don’t worry about it, you are fine.” Well he was an idiot, and did not listen to me. He ended up buying the pills they were selling, along with a penis pump.

I think products like this are just ridicules! I sold sex products for a while and we use to sell this one gel that would make the vagina hole tighter for a couple of hours. Don’t ask me how this stuff worked all I know is that it worked like a charm. You are only supposed to use a small dot sized of the gel. I explained this to one of the ladies I sold this too. What a stupid bitch she was. She squeezed the whole tube up inside her and then called me complaining that she could not even get a finger inside herself let alone a tampon.

Well I had gone over to Sam’s house one day and he was showing me his penis pump. I told him, “You know, I wish you would not use this thing. It is kind of a turn off.” He went on telling me how he would feel better to just use it a couple of more times and then he would get rid of it. So I just let it go and figured it was between him and the pump.

Well Sam was a liar. He did not get rid of it. He got so attached to that thing! It was like crack. He could not get enough! He started to take things to a whole new level and started pumping it more than is required. I told him that I did not think doing that would be a good idea because it was starting to turn his penis a purple color. He was an idiot though and kept on with it. He put his penis in the pump once again and started pumping away about as fast as a fat girl can eat a hamburger. His penis started turning purple. It was not looking right. His head and scrotum started to turn blue. I was all “Um… you might want to stop!” He kept pumping like the fucking idiot he was. I did not know if I should keep watching or turn away. I wanted to yell out, “Stop you moron! What kind of fucking wizard are you!!” All while picturing him wearing a wizard hat of course.

All I hear is, Pump, pump, pump” I am thinking “holy shit this is not going to be good!” His penis did not look right. This tube was only so big and there was no more room for his penis to expand, and right as I am standing there thinking about all that could go wrong I hear a SNAP! The penis pump tore the tip of his penis open! It is kind of like when you put a hot dog in a microwave and it tears open. Yep that is what Sam’s dick looked like!

Of course he starts crying like a son of a bitch. What a turn off! I took that fucking pump out of his hand and threw it away. I thought” This is fucking bullshit! I am dating a loser!” I ended up leaving and going home. I don’t have time for that kind of shit on my watch!

About a year ago Sam saw me on face book and wrote me a letter. He told me how he got married and he has 5 kids now and is miserable and how he wishes things would have worked out between us. I could not help but think in the back of my mind if his new wife knows about his escapades with his penis pump or not.

The point of this story is, keep your penis away from pumps. If not, at least stop pumping when you see the color purple or blue. Or even hear a SNAP for that matter.

I hope you all enjoyed my story. If you like what you see than check out my blog @

picklesinmyass.blogspot.com

- - Love Mrs. Pickle

If You're Interested In Guest Posting....

If any of my regular fellow blogging friends are interested... I would be grateful if you would do a guest post on Psycho Carnival as I try to catch up on blog commenting on your blogs and begin turning things around for the better in my life. Just let me know here if ya can do it in the comment box here or by email or Facebook or Twitter or even mental telepathy. I know ya got it in ya.

I've already sent an invitation to one blogger who offered- Pickleope -but I'd appreciate it if anyone else wanted to fill in for a post, as well, in the meantime. I will kindly return the favor if asked in the future. Besides, I'd love to see any of your "get down n' dirty, wacky or off-the-wall or completely uncensored rants and talents" displayed here on Psycho Carnival.

There's nothing like fresh blood to spice things up, after all.*

*drool

Take care, everyone. I'm not dead yet. Still hangin' in there.

Please give me your email if I don't already have it- if you're interested. I gotta have it in order to allow you to guest post. Thanks, freaks!

Blog Announcement

To all of my fellow bloggers, followers and readers and such- I've been swamped with real life chaotic episodes this week. For this reason, I haven't been doing any blogging and/or commenting on any blogs, even my own, lately. Hopefully, things will settle down for us soon, maybe next week, and I'll be able to return to the blogging biz. When I do, I'll catch up with comments here and on the posts on your own blogs. I won't forget you guys.

Until then, you may see a stray comment from me, here or there, on Twitter or Facebook- whenever I get the chance to go online. It's been a struggle getting anything significant accomplished, recently. Maybe I'll explain more about this later. Who knows?

Take care, folks. Try to carry on without me for awhile. lol. And don't do anything I wouldn't do. :)

Strange Dolls For Freaks

Different pokes for different folks, I suppose.

I didn't expect to find Obama here.

Alien vagina mouth triple boobies doll. Who can resist her many charms?

For the frustrated Republican.

Quick! Someone throw this man a blow up doll!

The King Wants You!

I wonder if he's getting any money off of this item.

Creepy

Galaxy Song

Every time I watch Monty Python's The Meaning of Life movie, I take away some funny and wise message from it. The best kind of comedy movies, I find, are the ones that expose the hard to take (for some people) truths about life that we frequently bump into, yet still can make us laugh.

I liked nearly all the skits and songs in the movie but this one, for me, anyway, was the most educational and deceptively simplest one. Plus, it's funny and illustrates a valid point about the significance of our existence while giving us a bouncy little tune.

Ah, fuck it! Enough with the boring descriptions. Ignore what I said and just watch the damn clip! You'll probably like it.

Mother's Day For Me

Mother's Day means something different to all of us. The factors being your mother and you weren't close, are very close, were very close, she passed away, she's many miles away, she's living with you and so on. There's just too many and I wouldn't be able to name them all, adequately.

For me, it was/it is- a few of these things.

I've never done a Mother's Day post before because it always too painful for me to even start. Believe me, I wanted to, if for anything else, just to air out some feelings. But, as I'd try, I would eventually fail. The pain- being too great.

My Mom died nearly six years ago and I'm now able to come to grips with a lot of things having to do with that fact. We were very close, you see. She was my best friend. Mom was my confidante and the person who knew me the best. If I ever felt down, I turned to her. If I ever had good news, she was the first to know of it.

It took me years before I could do this. This is something I've wanted to do for a long time. I wanted to write about her, what she was like- on this blog.

Yeah, it takes me forever to get through emotional steps of whatever I'm going through. Whether it be grieve or forgiveness or making a friend or loving. I tend to take my good sweet time with all of these and more. I'm very passionate with the sensations that are rolling around in my soul. I think, but I'm not sure, this is why I have a hard time letting go of things. Once it's in there, in deeply embedded. Of course, being more apathetic than passionate may seem better to a few but I've never been that way and wouldn't know how to be like that if I wanted to. Personally, I think some people make better androids than humans.

In any case, I'm just going to stick with how I'm feeling. No soapbox diatribes on human nature today.

It's strange for me, in a way, to have Mom as a topic along with some of these odd stories, essays and pictures I've got on the blog. I hope Mom doesn't mind being a subject on my blog. Yeah, I do happen to believe in an afterlife. Any objectors or arguers of this idea will have to debate me another day. This isn't one of those type of posts where I want to hear debate of any kind so if you feel the need, save it for a another day. But getting back to how she might feel, wherever she is, I hope she doesn't give me a swat with the that ol' flyswatter she would use on me when I was bad kid when we all meet again. Ha ha. That would suck. :)

Just kidding. By the way, I've written about her before and the tough time I had with the guilt over her death and more but this post is something different.

Back to where I was....

Today I want to talk about and remember the good things about mom.

Mom and I would spend long late nights, into the early morning hours, playing Scrabble and talking about "meaning of life" type of stuff when we were both adults. Or just silly stuff. Mom was my personal advisor, a lot of times, when I'd need her most, too. I remember, as a kid, taking long walks with Mom down the gravel lane from where we lived in our four room house, when the family was dirt poor. We would walk down the lane, when I was kid, talking, holding hands and I would be looking up at her, at her eyes, as she answered any question a kid would have at that age. You know the kind. Those were pure, unforgettable times that I wouldn't trade anything for.

Later in life, Mom would watch me become distant as a teenager and later yet, succeed, fail, go on my first date, first prom, get a job, have problems, have good news and all that stuff that goes on in life and do it all-without directly judging me and instead, talk to me on a equal level that I deeply appreciated. I think she did that because she knew what all those things in life were like because she experienced them herself, along with the positive and negative aspects that is embedded within those episodes and so she empathized and showed her love by just speaking honestly and fairly.

I want to cry now as I think back on those particular great times we all had as a family. The trips to The Great Smoky Mountains, to Arizona, to out west and Florida and so on. I'm thinking about the fantastic fun times we had in the pool, throwing kickballs at each other and playing volleyball or the long, heart-to-heart talks we would have, while lounging around in the pool, about how are lives were going and what we were doing. All of our laugh-out-loud good times during our camping adventures. All of those funny moments around the campfire. These memories- I think of now and more.

Mom was incredibly demonstrative, too- Always giving hugs out to Dad and us kids, telling us how much she loved us and reassuring us and just being there when we needed her. She would celebrate our birthdays like they were the most important events in the world. Cakes, gifts, banners and streamers out the wazoo and then some. And Mom would produce big extravagant meals, full of comfort food and she would show off her considerable cooking talents with wonderfully unique meals, as well. She made sure no one left hungry at her house.

We were a very, very close knit family. We could talk about anything. Hardly any subject was off limits. Ask and ye shall receive. lol.

Shit. I was taught about the "birds and the bees" so early, openly and naturally that it would freak most uptight people out. They wouldn't be able to deal with it. But sex was something that was talked about with us like it was a natural act and it is, despite what some folks think. We would laugh at some aspects of sex, too.

I don't want to get into a debate here, but I think some folks are just little too backward and not progressive enough with this topic and more. It makes me laugh a little. Especially, in comparison with what knowledge I was given and how I was brought up. Complete honesty. Ya gotta love it. Either that or stick to being squeamish, sensitive or close-minded or whatever you want to call it.

Passing gas was funny, too. Like I said, hardly anything was off limits.

There I go again... getting off topic. I can't help myself. I have that wheel in my head that won't stop turning. Perhaps a little crazy man is turning the wheel. Who knows?

Mom and I shared the same warped sense of humor, as well. To be perfectly honest, though, my brand of humor was a little more warped.

One time, we pissed off my sister by laughing at the "beeping noises" a mentally handicapped man was making at a picnic table with his family while we were in the state park having our own family picnic not too far from his small brood.

"Beep!" The retarded man would make this noise. Mom and I would laugh. We weren't really laughing at him. Just the odd, abrupt, loud noise he would suddenly make every few minutes during the mostly quite picnic in the park.

"Beep!," he would shout out again.

Mom and I would try to hold back our laughter. We knew it wasn't right but we couldn't help it. The more he beeped and made other strange noises, the funnier it got. It's like the situation where you have a funny idea or picture in your mind at a funeral. The harder you try to control it, the more you want to let out your chuckles and guffaws. And then your body and/or mind finally betrays you and you burst from the seams, making a scene.

Oh well. My motto is: Who gives a rat's ass what people think.

The ironic thing also about this episode is that my mother worked as a nurse on the mental ward at a hospital. She was kind of used to this sort of thing but it would still make her laugh- again, not at the retarded person(s) just at the noises or outlandish actions. At the hospital, she acted, according to her, professionally- which I don't doubt because she was more than exceptional at turning her own personal laugh button off and on at really public places.

Suddenly, the retarded guy, probably about 30 years old or better, raised up his hand during the normally peaceful family picnic and yelled, "HI-YO!"

That's when we lost it, laughs busting from our guts and us, holding our mouths closed as best we could. My sister chastised us, telling us how inappropriate it was, of course. She's warped in her own right. Just not as much as me. Heh heh. And don't ask me why this memory of Mom popped in my mind. I could have thought of much better ones, I suppose. The little crazy man at the wheel in my brain does unpredictable things I feel like I can't be held accountable for.

Anyway, we didn't just laugh at the mentally handicapped shenanigans of some different folks. We shared a sense of humor about most anything you could or couldn't think of at this moment. But I think we shared more than that. I think we shared a way of looking at things in life- for better or worse- that really made of us that much closer.

I have to add that Mom was the glue, along with my Grandpa, that held the family together during inner family squabbles. Despite her depression and diabetes she suffered through, in life, she was incredibly strong and strong-willed. Mom was able to bring people together, no matter how much they didn't want to be around each other. And Mom was able to help mend our differences and hurt feelings with ease. Grandpa had this gift, too. Unfortunately, both of these much loved and much needed people are gone from our lives, passed on and now our family is fragmented in ways you would find hard to understand and I couldn't begin to even explain.

But listen to this!

When Mom passed away, I immediately learned this particular lesson, shortly after. It's a way of looking at things in your life, honestly. And because I learned this, I became instantly honest with myself, everyone else and completely accepted my flaws, my talents, my failures and my accomplishments and really... everything.

Here is the most significant insight I have and likely ever will have:

The most important part of your life isn't money, material things, status, proving who's best or who's not or who's right or who's wrong, the media, politics or religion. The most important part of your life are your loved ones. Everything, in comparison, is trivial.

Sometimes people won't learn or understand what I just said until a very close loved one has passed on. Sometimes they will understand it before it does come down to something that crucial or extreme.

That's it. That's my own personal insight. It's a doozy if you put any thought to it or if you have put any thought into it.

Being honest with yourself and accepting yourself is almost right up there with all of that. And to be painfully honest, as my Mom would sometimes say I could be, at times... I think both of those insights could be said to be intertwined if you think about it as I have.

Below are pictures of my immediate family that I put in a frame shortly after Mom passed away. I chose these pictures because of their meaning and because I like these images of Mom the best so far. I have dozens of family albums I haven't gone through since Mom died but I think I will do that, here, pretty soon.

On the upper left is Mom and Dad, a year before I was born. In the middle top, is Mom (that's Dad's arm around her). I had to cut Dad off in order to get the picture in the frame right. I have another copy with him completely there. :) On the upper right, is Mom and Dad at a state park. Both of my parents loved the great outdoors. A love and respect my sister and I shared with them, too and still do. The rest of the pics, at the bottom, are of me and the rest of the family. My Grandpa, who was a farmer, is in the second last picture- towards the right.

Well, my fellow bloggers and readers, this is my Mother's Day post. I consider this, in itself, a minor accomplishment, considering how long I put it off. Thanks for reading it and I welcome your thoughts and/or stories. Take care of each significant other in your own life and please don't forget what I said earlier, regarding my insight. Be well. Kelly. Out.