Subourbon Mom

Brubbers (Brain Condoms)


There is a product not currently available on the market today that I think needs to be developed and implemented:  Brain Condoms, or if you want to go all Seinfeld, “Brubbers.”

Brubbers, or brain condoms protect the general public from three things:

  1. Unwanted Brain Pregnancy. Unwanted brain pregnancy occurs when the person exposed to another person’s un-condomed brain gets impregnated with unwanted thoughts.  Biologically, this happens when unprotected brain receptors are inundated by negative phrases (“It’s so brave of you to wear that dress with your body type”), lies (“I did not inhale”) or generally ignorant statements (“Obama is the founder of ISIS”).
  1. Pre-mature Ejaculation. This occurs when someone speaks before they think things through – which often leads to #1.
  1. STDs (Stupid Thought Disorders): These are nasty thoughts spoken out loud that can cause pain, an irresistible urge to repeat the same thought over and over again (like scratching an itch), or even make you go crazy. In severe cases, frequent exposure to STDs can cause permanent damage, even sterility (the lack of any individual thought whatsoever).

god circle coinOf course, Brubbers can come in all colors and sizes, because yes, we all know your brain is a magnum, the gold circle coin of gray matter.

But using Brubbers isn’t foolproof, any more than using an actual Happy Hat is.  Brubbers can break, or if not used correctly, they can come off entirely, and no one wants to go fishing for a broken Brubber in that cesspool of thinking surrounding us these days. Just imagine the filth you’d be wading in: Alternative Facts, random and useless trivia, Honey Boo Boo, Kardashian Tweets, Ryan Lochte, AKA Twitter rants, etc.

And folks, the pull-out method doesn’t work here, either.  Simply trying to avoid these three issues by avoiding people or walking away from a stupid conversation is not enough.  You must protect yourself, your family, and your loved ones.  But there is hope! Used along with Brubbers, STDs and unwanted thoughts can be even more effectively avoided by using Brainicides.  Brainicides come in different forms and help destroy the negative thoughts, deflect lies and other ignorant statements. Some examples of useful Brainicides:

  1. Education
  2. Strong friendships grounded in love, positivity and loyalty
  3. Strong, positive family relationships
  4. Exercise
  5. Limited exposure to social media

So take precautions, people. Any day now you should be seeing Brubbers in school bathrooms (no matter what sex you are), during interviews after any natural disaster that happens in the South, and especially at political conventions and press conferences. Use one – protect yourself.


The Blob
August 13, 2015, 2:43 am
Filed under: Misc. Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

150803142446-mysterious-giant-ocean-blob-squid-mass-orig-00004001-full-169Divers recently discovered a translucent blob in the ocean and scientists think it may be a giant squid egg sac.  That’s scary all by itself.  I saw 2000 Leagues Under the Sea.  That one huge eyeball freaked me out for years. I don’t envy the divers down there shining their tiny little diver flashlights onto a giant bubble that no one thought would be there – kind of like the guy in the red shirt on Star Trek who always bit it whenever they went down to some weird planet.

(And about those flashlights: We can send spacecraft to take pictures of the Not-Planet Pluto – are we really unable to make flashlights stronger than the ones those divers were using? If I was down there next to the blob, I’d have a theater spotlight on that thing like it was Bono singing on a New York rooftop.)

I have a couple of different theories about what that blob is:

Some of you may know I can do a lot of gross things, but looking at snot on a little kid is not one of them.  One time I was a timer at my kids’ swim meet, and gagged as the child in my lane got out because of the horror running out of his nose. Even my fellow preschool teachers knew to give me a warning and let me turn around whenever a green goblin appeared.

I think the blob is actually a conglomeration of all the snot that gets expelled in the ocean every summer. Like the Terminator’s liquid-metal T-100 enemy (if he got chopped up, the metal bits would seek each other out and stick back together), I think that blob is all the snot that has found its kind, and will soon:

a) explode into a giant snot spill reminiscent of the Valdez oil spill in Alaska, coating everything in its path – surfers, beaches and avian wildlife will be coated, and no amount of aloe-soaked tissues will be able to wipe it away;

b) explode like a sticky supernova underwater, spreading all of the germs and viruses it contains worldwide; or

c) seek me out like the worst Hitchcock-esque movie plot ever (think The Blob).

Or, it could be a giant glob of sunscreen, washed off into the ocean after another hot summer. Mother nature is very efficient, and I wouldn’t be surprised at all if she managed to corral all that greasy nastiness into one giant sphere, and is using it as a make-shift uterus for some new kind of underwater creature – maybe one that will be able to survive in acidic, pollution-clogged waters.  Just think, there could be millions of eggs getting ready to hatch slithering creatures like the snake thing in the trash compactor Luke, Princess Leah and Hans Solo jumped into, in Star Wars.

Or it could be lots of squid eggs.

“This is Homeland Security”

Hi there, y’all—my apologies for the recent hiatus, but we had a death in the family, and it has been a grueling time for all of us. Now that things are settling down a bit, I can come up for air and share with y’all some of the other craziness that’s been going on outside of all of that.


The other day, my friend Gail received a phone call from a number she didn’t recognize. Against her better judgment, she answered it. A heavily-accented, female voice said, “Hello, my name is Julie Smith and I am from the Internal Revenue Service.”

Gail: “No you’re not. Take me off your call list and don’t call me again,” and hung up.

Ten minutes later the phone rang again. Annoyed, Gail answered, ready to put a stop to it.

Caller: “Hello, this is Julie Smith from the Internal Revenue Service.”

Gail: “No it’s not. Do you know that calling with a scam is illegal in the United States? Now take me off your call list. ” She hung up again.

Another ten minutes goes by and the same number calls her again. Gail picks up the phone.

Caller (male this time): “Hello, this is (something unintelligible) from the Internal Revenue Service.”

Gail: “No, you’re not! Do you know that making scam calls is a terrorist activity? And that terrorist activity in the United States is punishable by death?”

Caller: “No, this is not a scam. This is the Internal—“

Gail: “No, you’re not!” She hung up.

Gail waited about twenty minutes, then called the number back. A new voice answered. “You have reached the Internal Revenue Service—“

Gail (in a very stern voice): “This is Homeland Security. Identify yourself.”

Caller: “I-I-uh-…this is not a scam!”

Gail: “This is Homeland Security. Identify yourself.”

Caller: “This not a scam! It’s not a scam!”

Gail: “This is Homeland Security. We have identified your location. I suggest you identify yourself.”

Caller: “I’m so sorry! It is a scam! It is a scam!…I LOVE YOU!”

The caller hung up.


I wonder if that would work for the political calls we will be getting from now until November…

20 more ways to get rid of a telemarketer….



He Died of What??
August 12, 2014, 9:27 pm
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: , , , , , , ,

One of my favorite things to do is read the obituaries. Not because I morbidly enjoy hearing that people have died, but because trying to get a sense of who someone was in 100 words or less is a fascinating exercise.  Most of the time, obits are pretty boring, with endless lists of surviving relatives, no cause of death, and lists of clubs or activities trying to convey the dignity of the person who passed.


I want my obit to read like my life really is—a little weird, a lot of fun, and without a lot of dignity.  I think all obits should be required to have two things:

  1. Cause of death.  This might be painful in some circumstances, but the fact is, if you leave us to our imaginations, we are pretty much guaranteed to think of something far worse than what really happened. Even suicide can be addressed delicately, such as “took his own life.”  I‘ve been told the NY Post does this, and it makes people more sympathetic.

Why is knowing the cause of death important? Because if the person died young I want to know why, and if there is something I could be protecting my children from; or, if the deceased died from something like pancreatic cancer, is there an increase in pancreatic cancer deaths in my area?  Should I be concerned?  If the person died from old age, were they in an “old peoples’ sanctuary?” (description courtesy of Daughter #1) Which one?  I might want to go there–or not.

  1. At least two interesting facts about the person, and I don’t mean “Johnny served in the military for twenty years.” I mean something personal, like “Johnny could have drunk Gerald Ford under the table, if they’d ever met,” or “Sally was known for her bravery in wearing horizontal stripes.”

I’m so tired of reading a who’s who directory of Rotary Clubs and philanthropic giving. Tell me what would have made me want to get to know the person. Did he play practical jokes on people?  Did she like modern art? Did she like to ride ATVs with her hair on fire? People like me want to know.

And that’s probably why obits are what they are–because people like me want to know.



National High Five Day–Seriously?

Apparently, today is National High Five Day.

Seriously.  Somebody made that a day of national recognition.


We’ll, if we’re going to give a celebratory gesture it’s own special day, I think we should also have “slap your team mate on the butt” day; or “dance in the end zone day;” or, for those who like to celebrate the stupidity of others, how about we make note of some of our most-used hand gestures?

Naturally, I Googled it. One website claimed the high five originated in the University of Virginia. Somehow I doubt that—I can’t really picture a bunch of Hoos in their khaki pants and blue shirts spontaneously jumping up and slapping hands—those hands would have been busy holding a bourbon bottle and a cup.

As a preschool teacher, I’m all about the high five, even though when I do them, the kids’ hands are usually sticky and covered in snot. What a simple, concrete way to show a child they did a great job on something!

I don’t, however, have any use for the high fives that sports teams make the players do with the opposing team in a conga-line at the end of their games.  Several times, my kids have complained that the other teams have spit on their hands before doing the walk–classy.  If leagues are going to make the players have contact after the game to show good sportsmanship, I think the players should have to shake hands and say “Nice Game” with the opponent they were lined up against—one at a time, in front of everybody. A little eye contact never hurts anybody, and it might just make some of these kids with bad sportsmanship think twice, either before the game or after.

Of course, if I didn’t like that team, I would do the dead fish handshake—nothing grosser than holding a limp, sweaty hand.

I’m not good at high-fiving. I often miss, which is awkward; and, because I have funky shoulders that dislocate, I tend to pull back at the last second—also awkward.  The other person must either think they are freakishly strong, or that I suddenly didn’t like the way they smell.  It’s even worse when I have my suitcase, er…purse, on that arm.  Sometimes it cuts loose and swings forward, almost knocking the other person over. Then my high-five looks more like an assault.

But the worst part of doing a high five is when you’re left hanging.

According to that bastion of truth, Wikipedia, this could be interpreted as an insult, friendly joke, or form of enlightenment, depending on the context of its use.

Form of enlightenment? What on earth does that mean?

Here’s what I picture:

(Worker, waving one, ignored high five hand in the air): “Hey! Don’t leave me hanging!”

(Colleague): “High fives are for children and have no place in our exceptionally stuffy office.  You should be mature enough not to need physical acknowledgement of a job well-done. It would be better if you meditated on your achievement instead—if you found your center and breathed through your success.”

I high five (mostly little) people every day, and every day it makes us both smile, but I don’t think we need a national day to remind us to do it. Everyone needs encouragement and to celebrate a victory now and then. Patting one’s team mates/co-workers isn’t always PC, so why not high-five?  Just don’t leave someone hanging, especially if his name is Chad. (Ba-dum-bum—silence…crickets…)




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