The Next Generation Will Have No Idea What A “Cashier” Is (Was)

23 01 2012

Today the self-checkout was working perfectly, but all she was buying were two boxes of Special K bars, which no one would consider an embarrassing purchase in the least.  Last time, when she had the jumbo box of heavy-flow tampons and a Durex Pleasure Pack (six kids was enough!) in the basket along with some shampoo, a carton of milk and some other odds and ends, the bar code scanner went on the fritz and a store employee had to come and reset the machine.  Of course, being not the sharpest tool in the shed, it took him some time to figure out how to get the damn thing up and running again, while the line of customers grew ever longer.  Mrs. Poopmonster could only wait there, mortified, imagining that all of the other shoppers must be silently judging her for liking to get freaky with the strawberry-flavored prophylactics.  How ironic that in trying to avoid embarrassment and avoid any human contact while purchasing such goods, she had ended up attracting the attention of most likely everyone in the store.  Murphy’s Law was quite the little bitch, she had thought.


What They Hear When You Tell Them Something Constructive

4 06 2011

All Mrs. Poopmonster wanted was for Mr. Squishy to hang up his towel so that it would not sit in a ball on the floor, where it would stay damp and get smelly.  Yes, sometimes she also wanted him to take his empty beer bottles and put them in the recycling bin, and yes, she would prefer it if he would unplug the phone charger when he wasn’t actually charging the phone.  Mr. Squishy knew she was trying to tell him something, but all he really heard when she rattled on like this was, “blah blah blah, NO, blah blah blah, NAG NAG NAG, blah blah blah, NO, blah blah, NAG, NO, NAG NAG NAG…”

And The Lord Commandeth, “Go Forth And Shop”

29 12 2010

Mrs. Poopmonster had always been an atheist.  She had never expected that Jesus would appear to her on the discount holiday shelf while she was perusing the after-Christmas sales.  Or that he would be so sparkly.

The Little Things That Test A Marriage

28 07 2010

Sometimes Mrs. Poopmonster swore she could just smother him in his sleep and no one would ever have to know.  These nights when he snored to beat the band, it was all she could do from holding a pillow over his head.  She could blame his mysterious demise on an unfortunate combination of alcohol and aspirin, or she could say that she had always known he had a terminal case of sleep apnea.  Anything to stop the damn snoring.  Kicking him didn’t work.  Trying to roll him over didn’t work.  Slapping him on the back didn’t work.  Mrs. Poopmonster was beginning to understand where homicidal rage came from.

This Is Going To Cost A Small Fortune

15 06 2010

“Love me, love my family,” she had said to Mr. Squishy at the beginning of their relationship.  He knew when he married Mrs. Poopmonster that her six kids would become a huge part of his life.  But did they really have to come out with them tonight?  To a nice dinner?  On their anniversary?Happy Anniversary, husband.

Thirty-One Flavors, But Only One Favorite

2 05 2010

Many things had changed over the course of Mrs. Poopmonster’s life.  She used to like guys with tattoos, but settled down with one who had no ink.  She once thought she never wanted kids, but now had six of them.  Her favorite color used to be red, and now it was blue.  But despite the fact that the only constant in her life was change, there was one thing that forever remained the same:  From the first time she tasted ice cream as a young hippo, Cherry Jubilee from Baskin-Robbins had been her favorite flavor.  Every time she stood in front of that ice cream counter, there was only one question in her mind:  One scoop or two?


28 04 2010

That’s how many H-less Wonder characters it takes to change a lightbulb.