Eugenix

Genealogy rocks. Ok, well maybe it's totally lame, but I'm on this inexplicable kick to find all of my ancestors as humanly possible.

It's funny though because the process you have to use to find your gene pool bitches is to look by the daddy's last name. This seems pretty retarded to me because like, we all KNOW who the mama is…but daddy can be, how shall I put this delicately? Uh, the damn medicine man! So here I am pouring over this huge volume of information when maybe my bloodline doesn't really go all the way back to King James of Scotland (which clearly, it totally does) and maybe instead goes to Vlad the Impaler. Which would pwn, actually.

Which leads me to my most grotesque line of thinking; holy shit! What if I find out like, Dan and I are somehow related? I mean I'm just sayin, one time I accidentally went on a blind date with a dude who turned out to be my second cousin, which was largely hot, but, you know. Incestuous.

So on that disturbing note, I leave you with photos of the superior genes that produced such a magnificent specimen of humanity such as myself.

(And possibly my boyfriend. Mmmm oooooh yeaaaaah! )


Maternal great-great grandparents (and random mooch) chugging moonshine:
Note the fancy necklace with the easy-access hole in her dress combo. Now you see where I get my fashion sense and alcoholism. Tee hee!




Paternal great-uncle, Great-Grandpa and Grandpa being all great and pimp-like on 18th and Brookelyn in KC, MO. You know, before it was the ghetto:



Maternal great-grandparents working the super cereal serious faces:



Grandma Toni bringin' sexy back to tha chicken coop:


Ma with her adorable giant hair and Pa bustin' out the 5-0:


It's a wonder I haven't set my own face on fire with all this hawtness flowing through my veins.

Blechhh!!

GROSS! Sick sick sick!



This makes me want to barf up a teaspoon of burning bile into my own mouth to scald out the shame. Seriously, y’all; why is it that only hideous celebrities make sex tapes?! Why can’t it ever be Scarlett Johansson or like, Johnny Depp? (Uh, both featuring ME, while we’re wishing in one hand and shitting in the other…)


Oh, and nice flip flops, skank. But I guess I, too, would have to leave on all possible rubber protection. Hell, I would require a HazMat® suit and a preemptive tracheal intubation to even think about French kissing Gene Simmons, cuz I’m pretty sure he’s the spawn of an unholy three-way with a proboscis, a wild boar, and a fringy leather jacket.

I think Jake expertly summed it up when she said:

"When I see him in interviews today, he repulses me like a blow pop found under the benches at a roller skating rink, covered in hair and lint from 1983."

I couldn’t agree more. :D

P.P.S.

So I was on a conference call, right? And the call leader decided to give us five minutes to read over something lame, and so we were sitting in silence with our phones on speaker. We were all working from home because of the sucky roads, so I was on the couch festering in my blankies, when Dan chose this totally opportune time to bust downstairs from his office/lair. He snaked over to me and greeted me with one of my many bizarre nicknames, "Poo Poo Symptom!" Loudly. Oh my GOD it was louder than whale exploding.

I slapped at the phone, hit mute and shrieked, DUDE! I’m on mothereffing speaker! And we totally laughed like 3rd graders. I only wish the bitches on the phone would have shared in the giggle, but they just sat in uncomfortable silence. Hee hee!

Ahh, professionalism rocks socks.

Wheelchair Rebecca

An oldie, but a goodie. I can’t ever decide which is my favorite, but I think today, I’m leaning towards the "horse" explanation. I can’t wait to do this shit to my kids!!

Wheelchair Rebecca

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