Sarcomical

Vintage Sarcomical, four years ago today: Conversation

(This was a post from the original Sarcomical blog, from November 26, 2006. Kind of funny to look back, isn't it?)

My tea is talking to me.

I think my tea knows about my tendency toward being anxious.

My tea must be reading my mind.

I don't know if I can drink something that is reading my mind.

That creeps me out.

Vintage Sarcomical: I Have No Control

*Enjoy this Vintage Sarcomical post from the original blog. I'll occasionally put up some of my old favorites here for your SUPER COLOSSAL ENJOYMENT (usually on the weekends). This one even still makes ME laugh, and was originally published October 20, 2004.
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Did I ever tell you I was briefly addicted to The Sims? Briefly as in about 2 weeks. Then I just couldn't take it anymore.

I'm sure most of you know what that game is all about. You get to control what these little computer people do, like when they shower, eat, watch t.v., socialize, sleep, etc. Then they're supposed to automatically start to maintain themselves as you go along. You get a certain amount of money, then have to get your people to find jobs so they can make money to buy more amenities. Otherwise, they start out in a hut with nothing in it.

These little people are bitchy. I don't know if I just wasn't doing it right, but here are some problems I kept running into:

1. My people never wanted to look for jobs. If I could get them to find one at first, it was a crappy one where they carpooled in a shitty car every morning. Every time I commanded them to go look in the paper for a new job they would go to the paper and a.) look at it b.) look at me c.) scowl d.) shake their heads no way. Then a little message box appeared that said "I am too depressed to look for a job now." What the hell???
   
2. Because they never had any money, they didn't have the nicest furniture. And when I told them to sleep, they'd look at me like "you've gotta be kidding me, lady", then cross their arms and say "uh-uh, UH-UH!". I guess the little pricks were too good for their bed. So they'd throw themselves on the floor, or collapse outside on the lawn. Whatever.
   
3. They NEVER cleaned up after themselves. No matter how many times I told them to do the dishes, the little jerks let the dishes pile on the floor, or wherever they happened to be, and flies gathered. I mean, it doesn't take a genius, right? Why couldn't they pick up their shit?
   
4. Their showers and toilets always leaked onto the floor. I even tried to splurge on nice facilities. I don't know what they were doing in there, but there was ranky water everywhere. And then they'd stop showering altogether, which led to...
   
5. ...They smelled. At least I think that's why the husband and wife never wanted to sit together. One would try to get all cozy on the couch, and the other would look at them in disgust and start saying something that I can only imagine was cussing and general verbal abuse. Because the other one would cry.
   
6. None of the neighbors wanted to socialize with my people after the first day or two. Probably because of the smelling and the swearing. The only thing they could do after a while was go into town and play slots at the casino. Because GOD FORBID that one of the lazy asses would get up and get a JOB for money.
   
7. And inevitably, no matter how many different things I tried, they always did what ended up pissing me off the most. They started peeing themselves. On the floor, in the yard, anywhere they felt like it. I don't know if this is because their toilets were never working or if they had become mentally unstable, but I was powerless against their urge to take a piss everywhere BUT the bathroom.
   
8. A few times one of the spouses died. I think once it was because she got so unhappy she stopped eating. And if you've ever played, you've seen what happens. A dark figure in a cloak with a scythe comes to take them away. Hello? EWW.

*At least I didn't do what my husband did. One of his ladies burned to death while she was cooking dinner.

Vintage Sarcomical: Barbie & Ken Reception AND the Inebriated Throwdown Afterward

*This is the first of the Vintage Sarcomical posts from the original blog. I'll occasionally be posting some of my old favorites here for your SUPER COLOSSAL ENJOYMENT. This post was originally published November 7, 2007.

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Sooo.......

We went to my niece's birthday party this past weekend. This was definitely a Barbie year. She turned 5, so she is all of the sudden in desperate need of many, many dolls. And apparently, my sister and I (31 and 26 years old, respectively) and my husband (only a slightly resisting participant) needed to express ourselves through the art of Doll Manipulation. It was graceful. It was beautiful. It was moving.

It was...disgustingly hilarious.

It all started out nicely enough. Very "Just the Way You Look Tonight"-ish. Aw.

They seemed to be enjoying the festivities.

Then Barbie got a little, um, over-the-top...

...so Ken decided he needed to take it up a notch.

This is when Barbie started letting her competitive obsession take over.

After that, it was just a sad display of showboating. It was not attractive, and truthfully was a little embarrassing to watch.

Oh, the Ugliness that ensued:

She got all up in his face talking about how he never could cut his mother's apron strings and didn't know how to please a woman because he was so selfish.

...Then she passed out.

Ken then got up, feathered his hair, went home and watched Baywatch while cutting up Barbie's favorite shirts into tiny, tiny pieces.