Archive | October, 2010

The League of Funny Bitches

25 Oct

Look up above. Do you see that new page that’s called League of Funny Bitches?

It’s time, all you bitches.

There’s hundreds of thousands of groups for Moms, women in their twenties, moms who’ve lost loved ones, single moms, women who are getting married, women who are getting divorced, women of God, women of Anything but God, working moms, single women, women who blog, women who hate blogging, famous women, women who want to be famous, women who are happy, women who are angry, women in their 30s, 40s, 50s and beyond, women who are scared of _____, women who don’t know what the fuck they want to do with anything.

These Bitches–from all walks of life and all points of view–are FUNNY! Through pain, happiness, learning, tears, love, rejection, suffering, and joy, one thing remains constant–humor pulls people through the darkest of places.

I’m funny because I’ve been in pain for so long in my life, that the only way Grace, my Ma, and I learned to break through was humor. We learned to laugh for survival. We learned to cling to what is good to battle what is bad.

I’ve seen terrible things, and lived through each of them with my pride and heart intact, and am all the funnier for it. People made me laugh, and that laughter healed me.

So now it’s my turn to share.

Who is the funniest bitch you know? TELL ME ABOUT HER! This is about sharing–about showing others where you’ve come from and who you are, and how fucking hilarious life can be.

You’ve read my stories (or if you haven’t, you should be), but I want to know yours, too.

It’s very easy to recommend a Funny Bitch. Just email me, facebook me, tweet me, leave me a comment–whatever you do, tell me who your funny bitches are.

I’ll share your stories and your humor here. I’ll cry with tears of laughter with you, and so will everyone else.

ohnoagavin(at)gmail(dot)com

@OhNoaG

Facebook: Noa Gavin

Comment Of The Day:

By Coconuts from Gloopy Doodles: 

So, I’ve been contemplating whether or not you’re funnier than my grandma. You see, Granny’s a pill popping drunk (no joke) & cracks me up to no end. Especially when she’s talking about the star crossed lovers that meet on her roof nightly because their parents don’t approve (also no joke). However funny Granny may be though, I’ve decided that you are are indeed funnier than she is. Granny doesn’t have to try because the pills & the booze done wiped out her brain cells long ago where as I’m pretty sure that hasn’t happened to you since you can put together a sentence coherently (did I spell that right?).

Regardless of Granny’s lack of brain cells, I do enjoy your blog & would feel privileged to join your “League” should you deem me humorous.

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Cosmo’s At It Again, People.

25 Oct

“30 Things To Do With A Naked Man.”

Okay ladies, now Cosmo is just fucking with you. You just bought a magazine with SEX TIPS mentioned no fewer than 17 times on the cover. Are you really unfamiliar with the jobs of a nude man?
“OHMYGOD what do I do now? His, his…wang…is just–OUT THERE. What the hell is that? Is that a storage pouch? What does he keep in there?”

Cosmo says:
  • Get Naked, Too: Fucking thanks, Cosmo.
  • Taunt Him: HAHA, look at that dick! Are you fucking kidding me with that thing?
  • Enlighten Him: According to theoretical physicist Michio Kaku, the universe may actually be held within a black hole. This denotes that at any given moment, one could pass through a black hole (if we were able to combat spaghettification, of course) you would end up perhaps not in another dimension, but in a parallel universe. Tittytitty.
  • Make Him Hot, Then Cold: You want me? You like how this feels? Yeah, you want more? SPLASH. Yeah, did that bucket of ice water on your crotch make you HOT?
  • Seduce Him: No, absolutely not. Let him stand awkwardly looking for somewhere to put his hands while waiting for you to act.

But Naked. Drawing from Hyperbole And A Half. (click to visit)

Fuck you, Cosmo. You’re terrible.

NOA GAVIN PRESENTS:

15 AWESOME THINGS TO DO WITH A NAKED MAN

1. Enter a Paintball Tournament: Nothing says I want you like a point-blank shot to the dick.

2. Street Luge: The thrill of maybe ending up with road-rash in unimaginably painful places is titillating. Titties.

3. Yoga: No better time to evaluate sexual performance than sitting behind a man doing downward dog. Uph–just gagged.

4. Interpretive Dance: Show me your best interpretation of Lionel Richie, and I’ll show you a man worth doing.

5. Glamour Shots: Side shot, coy smile, hand on collar, dick in sequins.

Get It? A Sequined _ _ _ _. HAH!

6. Snow Shoeing: It’s exhilirating to traverse the frozen landscape first thing in the morning. Especially with the impending threat of dicksicling.

7. Riverdance: I’ll leave you to your thoughts on this one. You’re welcome.

8. Visit a State Fair: You know that ride where you climb into a cage and spin really really fast and the floor drops out and your cheeks warp and boobs invert with G-Force? Go on that one with a naked man.

9. Fencing: Trying a new sport together will really strengthen your bond. Additional points for a crotch-whip.

10. Bee Keeping: You can use the honey later in sexy-time.

NOT THE BEES.

11. Feral Cat Wrangling: Cats are attracted to dangling things. He’d be a natural. We hope.

12. Bungee Jumping: Moving back to the subject of Physics, one could only imagine that at the point of full extension, one’s wang would be slightly delayed in the rebound, therefore elongating for a small period of time.

13. Japanese Log-Riding Competitions: Double entendre for the win.

14. Fire Hula: If you really loved me, you’d prove the theory of the burning bush.

15. Hurdles: Step-step-slap-FUCK!-step-step-slap-FUCK!-step-step-slap-FUCK!

Sunday Timewasters

24 Oct

There is only one today, because this one will keep you entertained for more hours than you can possibly imagine.

VICTORY

24 Oct

 

I DEFEATED CHALUPA, BITCHES.

 

I almost died.

21 Oct

Adrian’s birthday was Friday. As with everything else I do, I go WAY over the top on his birthday presents.

Last year, he raced Corvettes at a racetrack.

This year, I got him a flying lesson, because I’m a fucking masochist.

I trust Adrian a lot. He’s an excellent driver, and has always wanted to learn to fly and to be a pilot. But when my ass is soaring 2,000 feet in the air, I trust no one.

This is what came up from a Google Images search of, "No Trust."

Here’s how the booking went down.

“So I’ve got you down for Friday. Now, the plane is a four-seater. That means a couple more people could come with Adrian on the flight. Anyone you’d like to bring?” says the Flight Instructor who sounds a little too much like Pauly Shore.

“Sure. I know his Dad would like to go, and, I’ll go, too.”

“Fantastic! I know you’ll love it.”

Not likely, Pauly. I fucking hate flying.

Not Ok.

Well, that’s not totally true. The part where we’re just in the air at cruising altitude and there is no turbulence is not that bad. But I white-knuckle take-off and landing. Can’t stand that shit. People have tried to tell me, “The pilot wants to be in the air as much as you. It’s his job.”

Let me ask you this in response to that–you know that person at your job who you know is going to snap at any moment and jab a letter opener into your boss’ lung before he takes out the rest of you?

What if he were flying your plane? Yeah. Think of that. Then cry. I am.

Air BP. We're all gonna die.

So anyway.

Adrian and his Dad are equally excited to get in this tiny ass plane and jet away into the Dallas skyline. I have my, “No, really, I’m totally fine, ” face on.

They promised a ‘ground school’ on the website, which consisted of us sitting in the plane while Pauly Shore removed the NASCAR sun visor from the windshield, and told Adrian how to Fly in about 5 minutes.

Not kidding. See the Visors?

These are the first few impressions I have of this ordeal, and we’re still on the ground. Pauly looks over to Adrian and says, “okay, man, I want you to Taxi this plane to the end of the runway.”

The second Adrian started to taxi, I KNEW we were all gonna die.

This is how Adrian Taxied the plane.

We get to the end of the runway, ready to take off, and a very, very loud alarm goes off.

Jesus, I’mma commin’ home.

Pauly: “Don’t be worried about that alarm there. We always run the engines out of gas after we park the planes.”

Dad: “As long as it’s not the stall alarm.” (even as I type this, I can still hear his heavy accent)

Pauly: “My headset’s pretty noise cancelling. I couldn’t hear it even if it did go off.”

You know what, Pauly? We haven’t even left the ground, you son of a bitch.

So Pauly takes off, and then, no foolin’, tells Adrian, “Alright Man, the rest is you. Let’s turn right here.”

The right wing dips into what can only be described as a WWII barrel roll scenario, and MOTHER OF MARY AND JOSEPH I AM GOING TO DIE IN THE BACK OF THIS DAMN PLANE. Not fucking okay. I’m laughing, but only from sheer terror and lack of other options from what I could be doing, seeing as how no one gave me a parachute and the NASCAR sun visor ain’t gonna cut it.

To give Adrian and Pauly some credit, Adrian is actually really good at flying a plane, apparently. After the first 3 agonizingly terrifying minutes of my certain death in the Trinity River, Adrian smoothed it out and was pretty damn good.

Pauly: “So, Noa, what kind of music do you listen to?”

Me: I’m wondering if this dude is hitting on me. “Almost anything.” *terrified FUCK YOU I’M OKAY smile*

Pauly: “We’ll listen to some music.”

Y’all, the radio IMMEDIATELY begins playing The Final Countdown. I couldn’t stop laughing. What a fantastically ironic song to come over the Sirius radio on a plane.

And then I chilled out.

And then I realized why Adrian wanted to fly a small plane for so long.

Sir, your pool is a wang.

And then, the tower almost ran us into a jet on landing.

Tower: “Um, I don’t know, just circle around again. Whatever. I don’t even know. Just get out of the way.” (again, NOT SHITTING YOU)

Pauly: “That guy gets flustered a lot. He needs to chill out.”

Yeah, Noa to Tower–chill the fuck out, homes. Landing jets full of people should require some attention.

How are you finding me?

19 Oct

People are finding me through some extraordinarily fucked up search terms.

1. Velociraptor Costume:

BAM! Found it.

2. Velociraptor Face:

See Above.

3. Velociraptor Sitting:

4. Several Variation of Oh Noa and Mom’s Messages:

HOORAY! Someone found me through my name and even a regular post of mine! I feel so special.

This is the last search term that makes any sense whatsoever.

5. Cheddar Cheese Taco Vag:

Okay, the Raptor stuff I get. I’ve done only one post about Raptors, but it’s apparently pretty searchable.

But the fact that you found me through a search for Cheddar Cheese Taco Vag says more about your psyche and your daily disposition than I think you realize.

Were you looking for a Vagina filled with Cheddar Cheese?

Were you looking for a horrible recipe?

Are you a dairy fetishist? I mean, I’ve never even heard of that, but hey, people are turned on by worse than this.

6. Latex Predator Costume Fetish

I have this whole demographic of bizarre fetishists that I’ve apparently servicing rather well.

Did I say servicing? Fuck.

I suppose a latex and a dairy fetish combination would at least be easy to clean.

7. Elevation Bed, LLC.

Elevation Bed, LLC is the parent company of the Craftmatic Adjustable Bed. Someone found and read my blog searching for a bed meant solely for older folks, invalids, and those laid up for a considerable amount of time so as to prevent bed sores.

I hope I brightened your day.

8. Wearing a C-String on the Beach

I think we all know how well this would actually turn out.

9. Razzle Dazzle Noa

This sounds as though Mattel thought it appropriate to make a Barbie of a woman who was awkward in public so that when you pulled a string on her back when others were around she would say shit like:

  • “Do you wonder if Noah left the unicorn off the boat on purpose?”
  • “I bet your Grandma looks good in that bandage dress.”
  • “Ma’am, your Vagina. Address it.”

But in private would say things reflecting of a crippling social anxiety disorder:

  • “No one thinks I’m funny but me.”
  • “Your friends only want you there.”
  • “I shouldn’t have picked a fight with that Drag Queen.”

Then, the Barbie would throw confetti in your face. Give it a Whiskey and Coke and some limp-ass red hair.

That would be a Razzle Dazzle Noa Doll.

(I have said all of those things.)

And my favorite:

10. Cat your gonna get raped

HOW THE FUCK DOES MY BLOG EVEN COME CLOSE TO A HIGH-RANKING PAGE WITH THIS SEARCH TERM?

Not only is this a fucked up statement in and of itself, but it’s not even grammatically correct. This sentence is stating something about a Cat’s ‘gonna get raped’ as though it was a thing a cat could possess.

This is not ok. Cats cannot possess Gonna Get Raped. No one should possess Gonna Get Raped.

I felt dirty even making this one, y’all.

Cat’s don’t even have opposable thumbs, so why would they even need a can of Gonna Get Raped?

Baffled. Fucking Baffled.

Sunday Timewasters: For Lord Vader

17 Oct

I’m on a Star Wars kick today. Enjoy.

1. I always wondered what the hell was in his mouth. 

2. Yes. (ignore the stupid comment in the upper left, please) 

3. Can’t Touch The Force 

4. A classic meme with an even more classic Villain. 

5. There were a lot of superfluous design issues with the Death Star. 

6. Such a calming sport. 

7. I don’t know what the hell Target Wakeup is. 

8. It still can’t help you find the droids you’re looking for. 

9. He only really wanted to study music. Fucking daddy issues. 

10. And he was really really good at music. 

11. And a special bonus, right from my heart (and balls): 

I Injure People With Excitement. EL DOS.

14 Oct

Situation 2: Alien Experience at Walt Disney World

I LOVE scary movies, and sci-fi movies, and haunted houses and all kinds of those awesome things that are suspenseful and delightful and make your hair stand up on end.

What I don’t like is to be strapped down and force-fed terror from the mind of Old Man Disney.

I was only in the 8th grade or something like that when my Step-Dad, who’s known for great vacations, takes us to DISNEY WORLD.

This was the best trip we were ever going to take with him, ever. DISNEY WORLD, y’all! There’s MICKEY. And ROLLER COASTERS. And even…AEROSMITH.

 

I Rode 8 Times.

 

I’ll give them this, Disney does things RIGHT. The whole park, just as everyone who’s ever been has ever told you, is an experience. They’re all actors, so you truly feel like you’re riding in Aerosmith’s limo and dropping from the Tower of Terror and dancing with Cinderella.

This rule also applies to horrifying situations.

Like the Alien Encounter: Extra TERRORestrial

The premise is that they’re trying to transport something to Earth, but fuck it all up when they accidentally unleashed a WINGED HELL-BEAST INTO THE AUDITORIUM.

They bring you into a room and strap you to your chair roller-coaster style.

 

Exhibit One

 

So you think you’re going to be thrown around or something equally exhilirating.

Nope.

You’re strapped in so you can’t escape, motherfucker.

Here’s the part where it all gets a little too real for me. I believe what Disney is pitching. We really are going to watch a cool presentation. And then there is an alien.

And then he escapes.

AND HE IS RIGHT BEHIND ME BREATHING IN MY HEAR AND OHMYGOD HIS TAIL BRUSHED MY ARM DEAR GOD GRACE SAVE ME FROM THIS HELLSPAWN! JESUS, I’MMA COMMIN HOME!

I freaked balls, y’all. Lost my shit.

When my flight or fight response kicks in, the answer is ALWAYS fight. I clawed. I scratched. I was going to kill that motherfucker and get out with my family alive, so help me God.

I heard a lot of people screaming for their lives, and it took Grace slapping me to realize that I was the only one–Disney pipes in scream tracks to enhance the terror. I was screaming so terribly that it sounded like someone had lit an bunny orphanage aflame.

 

Miffy watched in horror upon the realization he was too late.

 

I was halfway out of my harness before Grace, laughing so hard she couldn’t speak, shoved me back in so I wouldn’t dislocate my hips.

Go ahead. Watch a video.

DO YOU ALSO HEAR PEOPLE LAUGHING? That’s because it was NOT REAL.

My brain never bothered to register that with me.

Grace and my Ma couldn’t stop laughing long enough to even unbuckle their harnesses at the end. People from across the room came over to make sure that I was okay, and not going to go ape-shit on some animatronic demon.

You should ask my sister one day. This is her favorite story to tell.

I Injure People with Excitement.

12 Oct

I have a big tendency to over-exaggerate everything, including the situation that I’m in. I want to be in the moment. I want to live PASSIONATELY. I want you to LIVE THAT TOO.

Sadly, that often results in people being injured.

Situation 1: Laser Tag

I was seventeen, and the baddest-ass nanny on the block. I had taken my two nanners (who the fuck calls them charges? That’s the dumbest thing ever) to Laser Tag one day. A superhottie was working, and he let the boys and I play two free games, on the condition that I would come back that evening, maybe with a friend, and we’d all go see a movie.

Here’s the part in the story where you’re wondering if I became a prostitute for Laser Tag.

So my friend and I go back that evening, and sure enough, he’s there.

“Why don’t we play a quick game before we go?” he asks, helping me strap into my GhostBusters-esque Proton Pack.

“Sure!” I was always witty.

So I really want to make a big impression, right? And what do guys like? Girls who game, right?

Then I was going to BE a badass that day. I was ducking around corners like Jason Fucking Bourne, diving behind boulders, shooting bitches–gangsta. And then I heard it…the footsteps…he was close by.

So I flat-back against a wall, pull my Duck Hunt pistol to my chest, and slide around the corner, guns blazing!

BAM.

I pistol whipped that kid to fucking Mars.

 

Image Exaggerated for Badassery.

 

It played out in slow motion in my head. I saw my gun as I whirled around the corner, far too lost in my badassery to notice him shooting RIGHT AT MY FACE FROM 6 INCHES AWAY. I saw his cheek bounce and wave as I rocked his world with lasers, baby.

There’s no dignified way to leave a situation in which you’ve accidentally pistol-whipped someone. We stood there awkwardly for about 3o seconds before the lights came on and I could truly see just how hard I had hit him.

Ever done a walk of shame from a Laser Tag Dome?

Sunday Timewasters: Japan Edition

11 Oct

1. Shoot the gap or be puked on. 

2. When a Japanese man in drag tells you to rope swing off a platform into a tree trunk, you do it. 

3. It’s like a latex fetish convention is trying to rescue Kim Jong Il’s Mother. 

4. I anticipate that all schools in Japan operate in this format. 

5. BANANAS! FUCK YES BANANAS. 

6. Suddenly, Balls. Wow.  

7. And when they itch… 

8. Then there’s this. 

9. Boobyboobyboobyboobybooby 

10. LET’S PRETZ!! IT QUITE POSSIBLY COULD BE THE MOST FUN THING EVER. 

AND BONUS!

11. The longer you watch, the better it gets.