Velociraptors. Flatulence. 69. Basically the Best Post Ever.

So in an act of desperation and laziness, I reached out to my Facebook friends for blogging inspiration. I told them to give me a topic and I’d blog about it. Dear Everyone: please do my work as a blogger for me. Thanks. Love, Me.

I got a couple of topics that I were so random or raunchy or funny I decided to include them all together in one post. I got a few that  will make good stand-alone posts. One thing I learned from this exercise is that my readers are helpful, funny, and fucking weird. I say that with nothing but love. Thanks guys!

Confessions
Suggested by Rachel
Confessions. Okay. One time when I was a kid, I got arrested for writing in wet cement. Dumbest thing to ever be arrested for, right? But I did. Cop showed up at my house and everything. My best friend at the time and I were riding our bikes around her neighborhood when we saw some wet cement. We were all, “Hey dudes pouring cement! Can we write our names really small in there?” and they were all “NO! GET AWAY! WE HATE CHILDREN! WE ARE MISERABLE AND DON’T LIKE JOY OR HAPPINESS.”

And we were like “LOL OK” and waited until they left. And then we started to scribble things in the cement. Things like, “I love velociraptors” and “Jurassic Park Rules” (I’M NOT KIDDING. Not even a little bit). And then my friend had the bright idea to include our names – OUR FULL NAMES. So the next morning I woke up to my brother standing in my doorway with a maniacal grin on his face telling me I had a visitor. He failed to mention that visitor was a FUCKING POLICE OFFICER. Turns out after we’d left, some other kids had come by and written really obscene things in the cement.
It definitely wasn’t us because believe it or not, I didn’t always have a filthy mouth and I didn’t even understand the things they accused us of writing (I was 9 when this happened). I just wanted the world to know I loved velociraptors.  My dad ended up getting them to drop whatever stupid B.S. charges they were going to pin on him and it was my shameful story the rest of my childhood.

Butts, Farts, and Burps
From @momma23monkeys
Well, basically, I’m an expert in this topic because I have a butt and I fart and burp a lot. Actually my child farts a lot, too. And she’s gotten to the point where she understands the delight and humor in it, and also in blaming others for her flatulence. She also likes to announce when she farts. One time, I picked her up from daycare and was holding her on my hip while talking to her teacher. She broke ass right on my arm and gasped and yelled, “I FARTED!”
We like to keep it classy in my family. She doesn’t burp much. But she’s got the farting thing down. I think farts are funny and probably always will. Butts are pretty weird, if you think about it. I’m not going to expand on that. Just think about butts and how weird they are.

69
From @BashIsHot
THAT IS FILTHY AND I REFUSE TO BLOG ABOUT IT.
I’m totally fucking with you. I say “fuck” and talk about vibrators on this blog. So, 69. Fun fact about that little number. I had to find out what it meant  from my younger cousin when I was about 13. Someone had made some joke about it and I was all, “I DON’T GET IT” and my younger cousin and his friend had to explain. I was a late bloomer, okay? I played with Littlest Pet Shop toys until I was like 14. NOT KIDDING. I didn’t kiss a dude until I was 16.

Holiday Cards and How There’s This Weird Obligation to Send Them
From @baldeesh
OH MY GOD I KNOW. Every damn year I’m all, “I’M SENDING OUT HOLIDAY CARDS! GIVE ME YOUR ADDRESS! I PROMISE IT WON’T BE USED FOR STALKING!….. Okay I can’t promise that but GIVE ME YOUR ADDRESS ANYWAY!” and I have grand plans to take adorable matchy-match photos with my cute family and then I get lazy and sit on my ass and eat peanut butter fudge instead. And then I send out e-cards. Or am just like “Hey Merry Christmas, Facebook!”
I don’t know what it is that compels us to bombard our loved ones’ mailboxes with cards or those family newsletter things. No one reads those. You know who wants to know how my year went? My dad. You know who else?
NO ONE.
Besides. Anyone who reads my blog already knows how my year went. I can’t tell real-life stories to most of my friends anymore because they’re like, “We know. We read your blog”. At least most of my friends are reading. And if they’re not, THEN EFF YOU TOO BUDDY.

This post turned out quite nicely. Thanks for the help, guys! We all have weird brains.