weiners and wallabies

At the Humpty show on Sunday night, there was a horse. It was an outdoor show, in a courtyard slash beer garden-y area. The horse spent the show behind me, doing tricks. And by tricks, I mean getting his wiener going. ON.CUE.

Yep, every time his owner gave the signal, his baby maker came out to play. Some people were like, wow, that horse is amazing

I was all, dude, I can make my husband do that by just showing him my boobs. In fact, I bet most of us sheilas have that superpower. Am I right? Although the power probably lessens with age and gravity

I totally wanted saddle up (when he wasn’t ‘excited’) and bust out a Glen Campbell tune – ’til I remembered I’m allergic to the fuckers

So I had to settle for this little bubba. Altogether now….awwwwww!


I was signing a lady’s DVD after the show and she asked me to sign her Wallaby. She reached into her bag, and I was expecting her to pull out a stuffed animal. Wrong

How adorable is he?

I would so loved to have brought him home for the girls – that would have been an Easter present to beat – but the whole quarantine-thing is a bit of a kill-joy when it comes to smuggling exporting native Australian animals

Plus, as anyone with more than one child knows – if there’s not one for each kid, don’t even bother. That poor  little bugger will be fought over and ripped in half faster than you can say, “Yay, Mummy’s home!”

So basically, I saved his life

 

storm in a (double) D cup

Driving to the show the other night, we go to watch a storm roll in
It was an outdoor gig, so I was wondering how it would turn out

Turns out I needn’t have worried

Up here in the Territory, they don’t give a shit about the rain. They love it

Even with the option of sitting undercover to watch the show, people chose to sit out in the rain.
So we ALL just stood out in it and got saturated

I was all excited with my bad-self about taking out the title in the wet-shirt competition. Uh yeah, there wasn’t ACTUALLY a competition going on.

I was just kind of comparing my rack myself to the other girls there and having an imaginary comp in my head. Which is really the best kind to have. You don’t have to stand on stage and get hosed down and judged like you do when you’re 19 and in Bali and you have the biggest boobs out of all your girlfriends and they sign you up so they can all get free drinks for the week if you win Plus, in my mind, I’m always the winner

But then I met the waitresses at the show. Who were only there moonlighting as waitresses. Because in their DAY JOBS, they’re strippers

So no medal for me this time. I had to settle for 4th place

My imagination’s not THAT good.