Scooter Van Neuter

A House Divided

They say that the biggest sources of friction in a relationship are sex, money, politics, and religion. My girlfriend Sissy and I are fortunate that three of the four don't effect ours:

Sex: Outside of the shop-vac thing, we really don't have any, mainly due to Sissy's fungus situation and my fear of germs.

Money: We don't have any.

Religion: Sissy's a lapsed Methodist and I'm a Shriner - no conflict.

That leaves politics. Up until yesterday, I thought we were in agreement that we both want Donald Trump to be elected president especially since he gave Sissy that new car for the numerous logical reasons I've presented earlier. Then, last night while watching a news story about Hillary Clinton, I made an innocent comment about Hillary that may or may not have involved donkeys and the next thing I know, Sissy's all upset and defending her. Incredibly, Sissy now says she wants Hillary to be president:

Sissy: Hillary's as qualified as any man to be president. Even more.

Me: Outside of the fact she probably resembles Dwight Eisenhower about now, what's her qualifications?

Sissy: She brought peace to the Middle East.

Me: No she didn't.

Sissy: She promoted healthy eating and exercise.

Me: That's Mooch.

Sissy: She gave women the right to vote.

Me: You're thinking of Ladybird Johnson.

Sissy: Well, how about because she's a woman like me? That's why, dickhead - she's like me.

Me: Okay, I'm pretty sure she's more intelligent than a Collie and if I were a betting man, I'd wager she weighs less than a garden tractor and doesn't have fungus.

Sissy: Oh God, I hate you! I hate you and your whole family! (tears)

So there you have it. That was the first fight we've ever had that was so bad we're not even sharing the same bed now. I may not understand Sissy's deluded kinship with Cankles, but I do know she better not sleep in the same spot every night or she's going to kill the grass.

Deliverance

As I mentioned yesterday, my girlfriend Sissy has been communicating with some filthy carpet-kisser named Faruhk who's talked her into becoming a "valiant warrior princess for the cause of righteousness" with The Islamic State (ISIS). He's promising her a handsome warrior husband, furnished apartment, pet goats, and a low-mileage Toyota pickup with a mounted machine gun - all absolutely free - if she converts to Islam and gets herself to Syria. I laid awake all night putting together a plan to save my girlfriend from ISIS.

This morning while Sissy prayed to the toilet, I found and took the money she'd been saving (it was in an envelope on the dresser marked "Money to go to Syria"). Next, I ran to Costco for some canned goods, then stopped by my policeman friend's house. I came home and did some stuff in the garage, then called Sissy into the kitchen for breakfast.

Sissy came in wearing a brown sack dress and black scarf that for a split second had me thinking we were under attack by giant ticks. I quickly recovered and we sat down and started eating our massive bowls of chili. I casually mentioned that I picked up a nice used bass boat this morning with some money I'd found on the dresser.

Right on cue, Jihad Sissy jumped up, pulled a knife from under her sack, and attempted to cut my head off. I let her saw on me for a bit until she figured out that under my turtleneck I was wearing a collar of steel (actually tin I had fashioned from a #10 can of Hormel Chili). I brought up the taser I was holding under the table and shot Sissy in the neck. As I squeezed the trigger, she danced around the kitchen making a sound like "BBLLEEGEGEGEGEG!."

When she finally fell down, I tried a little experiment and tossed Mr. Jangles onto her face and hit the trigger again. Sissy again started shaking and yelling "BLEGGGEGGEGGEGG" while Mr. Jangles vibrated like a tuning fork, going "EEEEEEEEEAHHHHH!" in that funny, high-pitched cat voice. It was absolutely hilarious, but I had to stop when smoke started coming from Mr. Jangle's little butthole. It was time for the final phase of my plan - turning Sissy back into a lapsed Methodist.

I grabbed a few pieces of bacon from the fridge and laid them on Sissy's forehead in the sign of the cross. She screamed like a banshee as if in excrushiating a lot of pain. Every time she tried to grab the bacon, I hit her in the face with a Bible until finally she was still. After a few minutes, she got up and changed into a crop top and capri pants, then fried and ate the rest of the bacon. My Sissy was back.

Suburban Jihad

Okay, I've known for awhile something was up.

It started with my girlfriend Sissy being constantly on her computer, although that wasn't really that big a deal since she's pretty much always on the computer (Sissy has something like 700 friends on Facebook). Then, I started noticing she was selling even more crap on Ebay than normal - but not the usual stuff like her old underwear, but good stuff, like her Beanie Baby collection and her grandma's silverware. What she was doing with the money, I had no idea. I just assumed maybe she'd developed a crack habit or was saving up to get that fungus thing removed.

Then came more weirdness.

The thing that first attracted me to Sissy was naturally her curves. The old saying "if you've got it, flaunt it" was written for Sissy as she enjoys dressing sexy, but lately she's doing these ugly, dark, sack dresses. Yesterday, she took it up a notch by also wearing one of my good car wash towels on her head (she looked like a nun who ate a Buick).

Me: Is that my good microfiber towel I dry my car with?

Sissy: So what?

Me: Why is it on your head?

Sissy: I'm being modest.

Me: I don't want your stupid hair scratching the paint on my car. Go buy a scarf or something.

Sissy: You suck.

I'm also pretty sure she's stopped shaving, as my razor is still sharp, the bathtub drains, and the last time I got a glimpse under the sack it looked like she had two chinchillas in a double headlock.

But wait, it gets worse.

The other day I found her again on the bathroom rug, apparently praying to the toilet. As a religious person, this sent up all kinds of red flags, as the last thing I need is my girlfriend worshiping idols, especially in the bathroom. When I asked her why she was praying to the toilet, she said she wasn't, that the toilet just happened to be in the way of Mecca. I told her to either find another little rug or prepare to pray toward me pooping, so she left.

As I sat there, it all started coming together. After dropping the kids off at the pool, I went to her computer and pulled up her emails. What I found made my blood run cold - Sissy had been sucked into ISIS and was making arrangements to go to Syria.

Holy Pope-on-a-rope, jihad has come to my house.

Sissy praying to the turd god

Fan Mail

I received an angry email over the piece I posted Friday about my girlfriend's sister, Spud (I don't know her real name). Apparently, a reader felt I was making fun of Spud and other transgender individuals - something I would never intentionally do. Here's the email:

Dear Scooter or whatever your stupid name is,

People like you make me sick. I suppose making fun of transgender individuals makes you feel somehow superior. I guess you don't care what transgender kids or adults think when they see your cruel words, but I sure as hell do. My nephew Ronnie is trannied to the max, but let me tell you something - he may have killer tits and throw like a spaz, but he's ten times a better person than you'll ever hope to be. I hope you rot in hell for the hate you're inflicting on people like Ronnie.

Please go f*ck yourself.

Ronnie's Uncle

Have you written to me before? It seems like it. Anyway, relating my family member's struggle with "identity" is hardly making fun. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I believe in loving all people*, at least to a certain point.

The only issue I do have with this whole transgender thing is where does it end? I had a friend in college who took too much acid and for six hours "identified" as a Kirby vacuum cleaner. Seriously, a couple of us grabbed his feet and pushed him around the dorm until he passed out from choking on a candy bar wrapper and some hair. Because Jamie thought he was a Kirby, should we have cut off all his appendages that didn't look like a vacuum cleaner? Of course not, because anyone with the intelligence of a barbecue grill knows he wasn't a Kirby, despite the fact he had excellent suction and a large bag (that's a joke - we weren't homos).

When it's all said and done, God made my retarded roommate a guy, Spud a girl, and your nephew Ronnie whatever the hell he/she started out as. My suggestion to you is stop writing these stupid emails and get Ronnie to a center for some serious electroshock therapy before he really gets weird.

PS: For medical reasons I'd appreciate a photo of Ronnie's uncovered chest area.

*Excluding homos, Puerto Ricans, and clowns

 Jamie Hoffmeyer: Not a Kirby

Transgendermania

I read with interest today's World News Bureau story on transgender Girl Scouts, shortly after writing it. This subject really hits home with me - not just because the whole country has seemingly gone gaga over sexually confused mental cases, but because this weirdness has infected our own family more than once.

Most of you remember that as a kid I had an uncle who unexpectedly switched teams, and more recently my girlfriend Sissy went trannie after a brief relationship with her cellmate, Mungo. Now, Sissy's little sister, Spud (I don't think that's her real name), using picture cards and sign language suddenly made the epic announcement last night that she's "identifying" as an elderly Korean man named "Chin Lee." Oh, good God.

As I've mentioned before, Spud is a little mentally challenged, so this normally wouldn't have been that big of a thing - at least if she were a guy from this country. You see, Spud can't speak English now, and none of the rest of us speak Korean. Also, she's taken to peeing standing up, so the bathroom's an absolute mess. As if that weren't bad enough, this morning we caught Spud trying to put Mr. Jangles on a pointed stick, presumably to cook him on the hibachi she had going in the family room (What is the deal with Asians eating cats, anyway?). That's it.

I'm going to get ahold of the Girl Scouts and see if they can take custody of Spud Chin Lee for the summer, as we have enough to deal with without this crap.

I sure long for the good old days when boys were boys and girls were girls and people like Spud were electroshocked until their pubic hair caught fire...

"Chin Lee"

It's Our House - Don't Mess It Up

As I've been pondering the field of presidential hopefuls, I can't help but wonder what they'd do to the White House.

I think I speak for us all when I say that after the painful spectacle of Barack and Mooch filling this cherished landmark with a bunch of gaudy, carved African shit, we've had our fill with unimaginative, style-challenged pinheads. The White House is our house - for God's sake let's not put somebody in there who's going to mess it up (again)!

So what kind of decorating could we expect from these candidates?

It goes without saying that Hillary would drag in a bunch of mismatched Herculon upholstered mid 70s furniture, ceramic clowns, and maybe even a few pieces of good stuff she stole from the White House when she and the First Horndog left the last time. We could only hope this time they put down carpet runners in the back hallways to protect the rugs from Bill's bodily fluids (fun fact: Under black light the entire hallway off of the Oval Office still glows, including the ceiling.(?) While technically a biohazard site, staffers refer to the area as "Fukushima" and avoid it as much as possible).

You know Marco Rubio would fill the White House with a bunch of cheap crap representing his Hispanic heritage, like wall-mounted hubcaps and colorful blankets that would look more at home covering the exposed springs on the front seat of a '72 Impala. No doubt, he'll replace the carpets with saltillo tile and fill the place with a buttload of dirty little clay pots and ceramic lizards.

Jeb Bush, being fairly unimaginative, would probably leave the White House as it is and just add a bunch of kegerators, a few golf posters, and maybe a tasteful portrait of his topless wife over the main fireplace. 

Rand Paul would undoubtedly fill the place with Nazi memorabilia and probably some hidden trapdoors. Also, maybe some peepholes where he could be naked and watch visitors and the staff.

Good grief, what happened to class?

I'll tell you - his name is Donald Trump and I'd pay money to have this guy renovate 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.

Look, the Donald's taste is well known - only the best. Isn't that what a place like the White House deserves? Who wouldn't want to get rid of all those crappy antiques and creaky, mismatched and uncomfortable furniture in favor of luxurious, classically-styled, over-stuffed designer pieces, snow-white, fluffy wool carpets, gilded gold fixtures, acres of glistening marble - all accented by a buttload of priceless brass and gold objects d' art? I sure as hell would.

I trust Donald Trump to make the White House better than ever. Who do you want decorating your house?

The Donald touch

Sissy's Birthday Surprise!

As many of you know, today is my girlfriend Sissy's birthday. This is one I guarantee she will never forget, as this morning two guys from a local Scottsdale auto dealership showed up to gave her a present from a mystery benefactor - a new car! Yes, a new freaking car! Wow!

It's no secret Sissy has always wanted something sportier than her old Kia and has loved Minis from the first time she saw one. This model has all the options including the optional paint sealant and seat Scotchguard (that stuff costs a fortune!).

Unfortunately, my gift of a three-week Mediterranean cruise pales in comparison, but I'm not complaining because Sissy said I can drive the car anytime I want as long as I don't eat or fart in it (I won't).

Happy birthday, Sissy, and thank you mystery benefactor!

Sissy polishes her sharp new ride

Foreign Policy Matters

As I listened to Hillary Clinton talking this morning about her foreign policy experience and "building bridges for peace," I was struck by the realization that this shrill heffalump couldn't build a simple birdhouse if her life depended on it, let alone a bridge. In fact, with one notable exception, none of these presidential candidates look like they'd know which end of a hammer to hold.

Politics are complicated at the highest levels. When you're the leader of a country, you've got to know how to negotiate or you're going to end up looking like a retard in front of the whole world. Barack Obama is a perfect example of this. Until he became president, the most complicated negotiation Barry ever had was over an eight-ball of coke and some gay sex - a fact that's painfully apparent now as he and Lurch spastically attempt to bargain with Iran.

Besides the documented unmitigated foreign policy failures of Cankles, what has most of these other guys running for president done? None of them has ever negotiated for anything more valuable than a big house, for God's sake. These are the lightweights we want bargaining with our enemies? Not me, sister.

But there is one candidate who's an exception. A decisive man who builds hotel/casinos in the time it takes Hillary to trim her crusty toenails and clean the lint out of her cavernous navel. A man who buys and sells entire neighborhoods like a bionic used car salesman from Hell. Of course, I'm talking about Mr. Donald Trump.

Here's a president who won't be building bridges for peace, but gigantic, gleaming, brass and glass elevated moving walkways for peace. If Donald Trump had been negotiating with Iran, we'd already have the title to Tehran, and Khomeini would be personally disassembling those centrifuges while The Donald schlongs his wife on the royal prayer carpet. Trump gets things done, period.

If you want to build a civilization. elect someone who can actually build one - Donald Trump.

Donald Trump building things  

 

Marco Roba You

I see where Marco Rubio is entering the presidential race. Is it just me, or does seeing this guy and hearing his name conjure up images of an illegal Hispanic gang-banger robbing you in a dimly-lit parking lot? To me it does.

I don't know about you, but I want my president to have a strong, AMERICAN-sounding name - preferably single syllable so our enemies won't make fun of it. 

"Trump" sounds about perfect.

New Stuff

My girlfriend Sissy and I went shopping this morning and I picked up a couple baubles (below). Sissy got some stuff also that's being sized.

Life is good!