Top 10 Uplifting Willie Thoughts

Mom was so sick this week that she went to the Everything Smells Like Sterile Tubing place.

She’s back, but catching up on work-stuff, so I’m going to take over today.

Behold: my top 10 uplifting thoughts, with guest words from a few of my pals.


10. You worry too much about your appearance. I would love to lick your sweat and taste the inside of your mouth, no matter what the circumstances. If you are still worried, you can enhance your appearance by holding a tennis ball or plate of bacon.


9. Dream big. When people ask you what you want to be when you grow up, tell them, “a dragon or Beyoncé. Whichever is more complicated to attain.”


(Chubbs adds:) Fart proudly. Crop-dust the entire land and totally own up to it. It’s just butts. We all have ‘em. Continue reading


Fugly Clothing I Have Worn

My long history of sartorial choices has me shocked I’ve ever had sex.

In middle school, I wore floral overalls everywhere. While those tumbled in the wash, I swapped in a sunflower crop top.

Next up were sweet-ass plaid bell-bottoms. What does one pair with such a garment? Everything — obviously.

Graduating up to high school meant evolving my style. Why walk in one’s pants when one can swim?


The week of my 30th birthday, I dumped three huge garbage bags off at the Goodwill. Turns out I’m still unable to pick ‘em.

Continue reading


My Cheering Squad: The Week In Media

I don’t know what would happen if Eeyore were to detox from meth, but please try to imagine that vibe.

Hold it in your head.


That was me. Minus being a stuffed animal, on meth.

A foul, icky mood penetrated my pores today. It squiggled into my heart and rode the hemoglobin express to every capillary of my being.

I was angry about things that happened before. I dreaded things that were going to happen.

Then I thought:

I could keep this up, or I could put a lid on it. A figurative giant glass lid. Maybe even a bell jar.

I’m going to stopper everything that’s not today, because today is going fine.

I made today’s word “present.”


What’s going on right now that I really dig? My Cheering Squad week in media, of course! Today: Big Hero 6, Gotham, and new books by Amy Poehler and Jim Gaffigan!

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Twas Two Nights After The Night Before Halloween


Twas the night after All Hallow’s eve
And the doll heads were hung in my house with care
Not a creature was stirring
Except for my difficult beagle-border collie mix, shedding everywhere


All the spooks lined up outside
Skulls, spiders, skeletons! Oh my!


One fish, two fish, three fish, reverse mermaid
Robo cop, Paul McCartney, and Tin Foil Hat Lady they played


Other people were other stuff
Rhyming is hard


The structure of this post was something
I shouldn’t’ve even tried to undertake
Look how cute these children are
Will that distract you
So seriously guys, what should we be next year


Why I Love Birds


I love birds because the best way for humans to fly is to chuck metal into the air. Man achieves lift brutishly.

I love birds because were once dinosaurs. Their weighty talons squelched prints into mud. They roared. When a meteor slapped the planet across the face, the lizard monsters hollowed their bones out and took to the air.

I love birds because Darwin studied them aboard a ship called the Beagle.

I love bird words. The edgy “beak” contrasts with the breathlessness “plumage.” Consider “grackle,” “starling,” “parakeet,” and “flamingo.” Their group names are enchanting: a charm of finches, an exaltation of larks, a watch of nightingales.

I love birds because I love The Birds.

I love lovebirds, with their crayon colors and their curmudgeonly dispositions. I enjoy the irony of lovebirds’ viciousness when facing curious children.

I remember tendrils of my blood escaping from my finger into the bathtub after my lovebird bit me. Years later, I put on gloves and transferred her corpse to the trash. Her body felt hollow, but it sunk immediately beneath tissues and table scraps.

I fear the lung cancer that bird dander and dung allegedly cause. My lungs already limp, without hastily multiplying off-brand DNA inside them.

I abhor the notion that birds’ pee and poop squelches out of them together, like acid jambalaya.

I am familiar with bird droppings, because they are on my car.

I know birds are aiming for it.

I am on to the bird conspiracy.

I was never good at French. I am particularly bad at caw and chirp; but I know what their cackles are about.

I post this because if you are reading this, the birds have gotten to me.

I love birds, I yelled, but they knew I did not.