Rock On, Extremely Drunk Dude!

This past weekend, the husband and I went to a local festival where they were having 3 tribute bands.


For those who don’t know, tribute bands are bands that dress and perform like a famous band. It’s basically for people who are too cheap to go see the real thing. [Pointing discreetly at husband.]


First was an Eagles band, and then an excellent AC/DC band. The final band, Guns 4 Roses started at 10:00 p.m.


Hey, bet you can't guess which band Guns 4 Roses pays homage to.  Hint: It‘s not Aerosmith.


Anyway, by this time, some of the people at the festival were pretty toasted.


And by toasted, I mean drunk as hell, shit-faced, sloshed, plastered, juiced, three sheets to the wind.


And no, this is not an autobiography. Assholes.


The dude who is the focus of this post was all of the above, and probably some I couldn’t think of. I think he may have also been a crackhead, except he wasn’t skinny. Maybe he’s new at being a crackhead, and just hasn’t lost the weight yet. Hmmmmm.


So, after watching the drunk for a while, I thought of you, my bloggy friends, and whipped out my camera. Here is a series of photos, along with a narrative by yours truly (that’s me!).




Let's show some skin and get it started up in this mo-fo!

He's gonna do a trick!  He's gonna do a trick!

Eh, never mind.  He's just gonna hold up that pole for now.

Whoa!  Somebody moved the damn sidewalk!

That's right, buddy.  Drink a little more.  #nothelpful



"Young man, there's no need to feel down
I said young man, pick yourself off the ground."
AC/DC sang that, right?



Drop it like it's HOT!



And for our final picture, I just couldn't resist popping my sweaty head up in there.

Before I go, I would like to say that my favorite vendor at the festival (besides the funnel cake stand, of course) was Black Top Revolution.  Go check them out here.

They had some awesome shirts, rockin' boots, and really cool jewelry.  I totally need some of this stuff to appropriately portray my rock 'n' roll lifestyle, so y'all go buy some gear and make sure to tell them I sent you; and PLEASE stress that they should send me some free shit.

Go, do it now!  Thanks!

I'm Gonna Hunt You Down, Hit-And-Run Driver!

I stopped at Family Dollar last night to get some thread because Miss Smarty Pants has a dance recital this week.


Any veteran dance parent knows that thread will be a necessity at some point in the recital. Other required items include: safety pins, scissors, Tylenol, Valium, Mountain Dew, vodka, and pepper spray for other people's unruly children.


[Note: A stun gun can be substituted for the pepper spray.]


Anywhoodles, I went to the dollar sto’ for some silver thread (which they didn’t have, but kiss my ass, because white is just going to have to work). MSP didn’t want to go inside because she was wearing makeup and had her tap outfit on.


So, being the nice (read: lazy) mom that I am, I let her stay in the car. After all, I’d be in and out in 2 minutes.


It actually turned into 3 minutes because I couldn’t find the thread because it was by the goddamned soup.


Way to make shopping convenient, Family Dollar!


So when I come back out, MSP hops out of the car and tells me that some lady hit my car and drove off.


Another lady who witnessed the cruel ramming of my sweet Honda came up and gave me her phone number and a partial license plate number and a description of the perpetrator.


The witness tried to stop the car-abusing bitch from leaving, but the wench just waved her hand vaguely, and said, “Tell her I live over there, and she can come to my house.”


Then she DROVE THE FUCK OFF!


I know you’re thinking, “No she didun’t!” Well, yes she DID!


Ok, now I’m pissed. There’s really not much damage to my car, just a few scratches, but she should have either waited on me or left me a note.


I probably would have told her not to worry about it. But not now.


Oh noooooo! She done pissed off the Opto-Mom now, so I called the police. They drove around “over there,” which was the general direction that the vehicle-bashing asshat indicated with that vague wave of her scummy hand.


They didn’t have any luck finding her, probably because she lives “over yonder,” which is the exact opposite of “over there,” just in case you’re not familiar with Texas vernacular.


It does give me a small amount of satisfaction that my Honda SUV only has a few scratches, but the witness lady said that Miss Shithead’s SUV looked like it had been smashed with a large hammer.

Muahahahahaha! MUAH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Oh, sorry.

Artist's representation - Not the actual vehicle of the asshat.

But I’m not giving up. Anyone here in East Texas, be on the lookout for a white Yukon with a smashed back end. The driver was a black female with a pink shirt.*

Make sure to leave me YOUR ideas of an appropriate punishment for Miss Scuzz-Nugget.


I’m coming for ya, Biotch! Be afraid…


*Please note that the perpetrator probably has more shirts, and has most likely changed out of the pink shirt in an effort to avoid my Sherlock-like detection.