Mer and Alice are Assholes

assholes


Mer: Hey Alice, guess what?

Alice: What Merry, aka Merbear?

Mer: I’m an asshole!

Alice: Omg, you won’t believe it but – they diagnosed me with that too! It explains so much!

Mer: Wait, you’re also an asshole? Where’s your documentation?

Alice: Well I don’t have it YET, but I looked on Web MD and I have all the symptoms.

Mer: I always trust Web MD as a diagnostic tool. I ate the last two cookies so I wouldn’t have to share with my kid. Selfishness is a major symptom of being an asshole.

Alice: I hide my treats on the very top shelf where they can’t see it. Also I get up really early to beat them to the last donut.

Mer: Well shit, you really are a fellow asshole. Should we celebrate this by tripping someone?

Alice: Yes, let’s head to the retirement home.

Mer: I also defy my doctor’s advice. I eat bacon, vast fucking amounts of cheese and occasionally, lard.

Alice: Straight from the can?

Mer: Yes, it’s the fastest way to raise my cholesterol. I just shrug, like, I have no idea doc! I just tell him that my body is an asshole.

Alice: Mine too. Like when I covered those chocolate chip pancakes with syrup and whipped cream, and more chocolate chips, my body wanted to eject it all onto the table. That’s what waiters are for, after all.

Mer: Yes and to bring us Moons Over My Hammy. If you wink and show some cleavage to a male waiter, sometimes you’ll get an extra slice of ham.

Alice: I did that over and over and all I got was a restraining order!

Mer: Hey, have you ever done a drive-by screaming at someone on a street corner? Such an adrenaline rush. “Get a car, loser!!!” And then, they jump 5 feet into the air and start to cry.

Extra points if it’s raining and you hit a puddle. (Based on a true story, you guys.)

Alice: Such entertainment! Much better than simply faking them out with the car – will I run you over or won’t I? Over too fast. Speaking of cars, you really must drive a Porsche with personalized license plates saying “The King” or something classy.

Mer: I totally agree. I’m better than everyone. My shit doesn’t even stink, man. Is that blueberry muffins I smell? No, that’s just Mer’s natural essence.

I’m the me in monogamy.

Alice: Well, I don’t even have to shit, cause I’m a model, you know what I mean?

Mer: How do you purge yourself of waste, Christie Brinkley?

Alice: It just turns into tiny butterflies and flies out my vajayjay.

Mer: My hair is always perfect. I never have a bad hair day and my breath smells like sunshine.

I always knew you were an uptown girl.

Alice: I am. But I’m getting so tired of my high-class toys.

Mer: They do get boring after a while, like I don’t ever use my bluetooth anymore. I just talk loudly into my phone, in public.

Alice: That’s so five seconds ago! Now everyone uses tiny electrodes surgically implanted in their ears that broadcast every thought directly onto Twitter.

Mer: Twitter is the biggest asshole of all times favorite social media outlet. I prefer Pinterest, I found the greatest recipe for a cheesecake that I’m planning to eat all by myself, in the bathtub.

Alice: It so is! But I still like to broadcast to my adoring fans in public too. Like all about my last plastic surgery!

Mer: Tsk. Didn’t I tell you that your breasts are perfect? Seriously, get a nose job instead.

You wanna go skip some stones and accidentally miss on purpose, oops!

Alice: We can’t help it, we’re assholes.

Oh, I’m sorry, someone more important called, so gotta hang up on you!

Mer: And I’m going to post 20 photos of my dog on Facebook.


If you haven’t already, please check out Alice’s blog. Thank you!

Alice at Wonderland

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Retro Ads #5: Tipalet Cigarettes

(I wrote this close to a year ago.)

The History

The Muriel Cigar company began in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century when the brand was manufactured by P. Lorillard and Company, located in Jersey City, New Jersey

The brand Muriel cigars was acquired by a company called Consolidated Cigars in 1959, who were the ones responsible for launching an aggressive marketing campaign that popularized the brand beyond everyone’s imagination.

This included producing flavored “cigarettes.” 

I know I personally crave fruit when I have a smoke.

 The Ad

From 1970

Meet Roger and Ellen

Ellen loves a fruity tip. 

Ever since Rog starting smoking Blueberry Tipalet’s, his sex life has been crazy wild.

Ellen wets her panties every time he blows a smoke ring in her direction, causing her to ignore the fact that he is a rude douchebag. 

I mean, he must really like her if he blows tangy cherry scented carcinogens in her general direction.

That shit is sexy. 

Oh, Roger knows what she likes. A puff here, and a blow there. Here a puff, there a blow, everywhere a blow puff. 

Roger: I love you so much, I don’t even inhale anymore! I save it all for you, baby girl!

Ellen: Oh Roger, burgundy grape makes my eyes burn for you!

Roger: I love when I make you cry.

Ellen: There isn’t an ocean too deep, a mountain so high it can keep me away! Away from your loins!

Why it’s funny

Being a smoker myself, the idea of blowing smoke into another persons face, even Vitamin C fortified, is just wrong.

As much as I love the smell of fruit, the chances of letting a guy do that to me is fucking zero. This ad shows yet again how woman have been portrayed, as being stupid little tramps who got hot by having a man treat them like shit. I can tell you for certain that my mother, for example, would have taken a frying pan to any man who had the nerve to try and sex her up by exhaling his used smokey vapor upon her upturned face.

Thoughts from the bong: Adulthood

This adult thing leaves little to be desired.

According to my calculations, I have been an adult for about 19 years or so. I did this by taking my age now and subtracting it by 21. I am rounding it off as well, jumping ahead a bit to 40.

I know, so confusing.

From the age of 18-21, I was still a woman child.

Here is my list of things that stink about being an adult.

Maturity

Believe it or not, I have excellent table manners and can be a lady when I have to be. Many years back, I went on a Royal Caribbean cruise with my immediate family. We had to dress up for a fancy dinner with the captain. I wore a skirt, and heels. Sadly, when we had been lunching on St. Thomas, I ate some curried beef stew. This did not set well with me, and while they were serving appetizers at dinner, my stomach started doing the La Cucaracha. I hurried away, my heels click clacking on the marble floor. I made it just in time, thankfully, but tweaked my ankle in the process. This is why I hate heels.

I’m tall enough, anyways. Yes, my family did make fun of me. They continue to do so. We still think poop is funny. Not mature in the least.

Getting a job

Because I was never a great student, my guidance counselor recommended that I take a vocational program, and since Cosmetology wasn’t an interest of mine, I took Child/Elder care. I liked both kids and older people, and I excelled. It got me through high school. I snagged a part-time job at a local daycare the last few months of my senior year.

I was excited and made a whopping $4.25. I was serving snack when this delightful little imp told me to fuck off when I asked her to sit down in her chair. I was taken aback, and told the head teacher what had happened. She said, and I quote, “What until you see her mother.”

I wish I was joking.

I wish I was joking.

My second job was at Burger King, which I hated, because I lacked coordination and speed. (And give a shit.) I got a call from a nursery school offering me a job as a teacher’s aide after my first shift at BK, and it didn’t hurt me one bit to tell them to take their Whopper’s and shove it.

Makes you miss Kindergarten, doesn’t it?

Paying bills

Dear Electric company,

I am poor, and have little finances to work with. I hope you don’t mind that I pay this months bill with pocket lint. Otherwise, it’s gonna be awfully dark in my house in three days.

Thank you in advance,

Merbear

P.S. If the pocket lint doesn’t work, I have an old Magic Bullet.

Finding a place to live

I have yet to ever receive my security deposit back.

Every single damn one of my landlords has been a jackass. The winner goes to my last one, though, who wouldn’t fix our furnace. We had a guy come out to check it out finally, because I had an inkling that it was not indeed “fine” like he said it was. The furnace guy flagged it because it was throwing out dangerous levels of carbon monoxide. He still denied that there was anything wrong with it, and I went off on him. He was putting my family at risk, and we had to use portable heaters to warm our tiny rented house. We started taking pictures of all of the things he wouldn’t fix, like the live wire that was hanging in the garage. My sister-in-law reported him to the city.

We shopped for our own home in a frenzy that was stressful, because we had to get out of there. It was literally a matter of life or death. Our landlord actually had the nerve to demand his last 2 months of rent. We threatened to get a lawyer, and he shut the hell up. adult I have to ask, has anyone actually gotten their security deposit back?