pelvic organs? come on down! (part 2 of 4)

Welcome back to the est. 1975 “pelvic organs? come on down!” series, in which I discuss the ins and outs of female pelvic organ prolapse (also known as The Gynecological Great Escape or MY GIRL PARTS ARE FALLING OUT OF MY BODY.) If you’re just joining us, you can read the first installment here.

WARNING: This series of posts tackles some fairly gory details of some fairly gory girl business. I promise you’ll learn a lot if you read along, but if you’re squeamish, you may want to bail now before you end up doing one of these:


Basically what I’m saying is this: if reading about medical stuff and/or lady parts makes you gag like a drag queen, you might want to skip this one.



The loyal so-and-sos among you have been wondering what’s been going on with my girly bits since last we spoke.

Well. The main thing is that I’ve finally gone ahead, hitched up my big girl panties, and scheduled the date for my hysterectomy and pelvic reconstruction surgery. As of right now, everything’s going down on May 14th… or should I say everything’s getting jacked back up on May 14th?

*har har chuckle snort*


Regardless, May 14th is when it all gon happen.

Of particular interest to y’all has been whether or not our family’s health insurance is going to pay for this surgery. The answer is: I still don’t know, and I won’t know until one week before the procedure is scheduled to take place. Which is just AWESOME, because I for sure don’t want to plan my life and finances around possibly having to shell out eleventy billion dollars for this shit. No, I like to fly by the seat of my urine-soaked pants when it comes to that kind of stuff.


For those of you just joining in, the reason I’m not sure whether our health insurance will cover the procedure is because apparently this kind of surgery is considered “elective” by some insurance agencies. It’s their stance that this is a procedure I don’t absolutely need to have, and that I can easily live without it. I guess it’s a lot like the attitude they take with most cosmetic surgeries, or LASIK.

I mean, technically it’s true. I *can* live without this surgery. I can live until I’m 90 years old without it. It’s not like this procedure is going to correct some drastic problem with my breathing or my heart or my digestion or my neurological function. It’s merely a “quality of life” concern, in that I prefer not to spend the next fifty years of my life:

  • Being unable to completely empty my bladder, resulting in awkward “Excuse me but I’ve just peed my pants” moments whenever I cough, sneeze, fart, laugh, gag, barf, blow my nose, bend over, walk, run, exercise, have sex, do anything, or exist;
  • Straining like all hell whenever I pee, resulting in OH MY GOD I HAVE BUTTHOLE CANCER persistent and painful hemorrhoids;
  • Leaking urine constantly, leaving my “down there” parts feeling and smelling like a damp bog;
  • Living with what amounts to a perpetual urinary tract infection;
  • Having to take stool softeners all the time, which can lead to everything from I’MA KICK YOUR ASS! diarrhea to the dreaded OH SHIT! IT’S A SHART;
  • Settling for a sex life that I would now classify as “essentially frictionless” because my vagina is so saggy and blown out; and
  • Feeling like I have a super-absorbency tampon crammed in my hoo-ha AT ALL TIMES, even though I don’t. (Interesting side note: I haven’t actually been able to use tampons in years. My bulging bladder, uterus, and rectum just push them right back out. The more you know.)

“Elective” surgery indeed.



Anyway, I’ll keep you updated on the insurance situation as I learn more. For right now I thought I’d take some time to explain exactly what my surgery is going to entail, and in order to do that, I’m going walk you through a list of procedures that my urogynecologist will be performing on the big day. Don’t worry if the medical terminology makes no sense to you, because I’m here to translate it into plain English. You know me. I’m all helpful like that.

Here’s the list:


Looks completely uninterpretable, right? Don’t worry. You’ll be an expert on pelvic reconstruction surgery when I’m done with you. Now let’s do this!

(Warning: some of the following links have NSFW medical diagrams. Proceed with caution.)

  1. SCH.

Medical Terminology: Laparoscopic Supra-cervical Hysterectomy

Plain English: You know the phrase “she’s got a bun in the oven?” This is the part where the surgeon goes ahead and disconnects my oven. And cuts it up into very small pieces. And takes it out of my body through my abdomen. And burns it.

  1. ASC.

Medical Terminology: Abdominal Sacral Colpopexy

Plain English: This is where the surgeon shores up my lady bits by taking the very end of my vaginal canal and using surgical mesh to hitch it to the very end of my backbone. (This is not, I repeat NOT, the same thing as in those scary TRANS-VAGINAL MESH KILLED MY VAGINA commercials you see on daytime television. Not that I ever watch daytime television or anything. *cough*)

  1. Paravaginal Repair.

Medical Terminology: Laparoscopic Paravaginal Repair

Plain English: This is where the surgeon restores my bladder and urethra to their normal positions by attaching them to my pelvic side-walls. Basically the doc’s just putting my pee-making machinery back where it should be.

  1. TVT.

Medical Terminology: Tension-free Vaginal Tape Procedure

Plain English: This is where the surgeon places a mesh tape or sling (but again, NOT the dreaded TRANS-VAGINAL MESH OF DOOM) under my urethra to provide it some additional support. This step will help put the smack down on my perpetual incontinence.

  1. Rectocele Repair.

Medical Terminology: Rectocele Repair

Plain English: This is where the surgeon pulls together the stretched or torn tissue in The Land of Where My Rectum Insists on Bulging into My Vagina. This helps strengthen the vaginal walls to keep the prolapse from reoccurring.

  1. Perineoplasty.

Medical Terminology: Perineoplasty

Plain English: Plastic surgery for my veejay. That’s right. This is the part where they make my girl parts SEXY, SUPER TIGHT, AND SMOKIN’ HOT AGAIN.


  1. Cysto.

Medical Terminology: I’m not 100% positive, but I’m pretty sure my doc is just using shorthand for “cystoscopy” here.

Plain English: A cystoscopy can be done for any number of reasons, but I think in this instance it’s just referring to the fact that the surgeon is going to give me a catheter until I can pee again on my own.


So that’s that. Do any of you loyal so-and-sos have any questions? If you do, feel free to leave them in the comments and I’ll get to them as soon as I can. No guarantees on the accuracy of my answers, though. Do I look like I have a post-graduate degree in ‘giners? (Don’t answer that.)

Stay tuned for Part 3 of this series when I discuss my first pre-operative appointment which apparently can take up to two hours and is vaguely and somewhat ominously referred to as “bladder testing.”

Till then, head over to my sidebar and subscribe for email notifications SO THAT YOU NEVER MISS A SINGLE HILARIOUS WORD I EVER SAY. Also, take a stroll over to pixie c.d. and check out the clever, awesome, brilliant guest post I did about the first time I smoked weed. And while you’re there, take a look around. It is a vair vair funny blog. I promise.




Interested in reading more of this series? Follow the yellow brick links!

Post 1: Diagnosis: Prolapse

Post 2: How to Fix Dem Sagging Girl Parts

Post 3: The Wide Wide World of Pre-Op

Post 4: Pain and Catheters and Constipation, Oh My!

return of husbandisms

Me: “I feel like I didn’t get any sleep even though I did.”
Him: “Me too.”
Me: “Maybe it’s the weather.”
Him: “Yeah, maybe it’s the weather. Or your fault.”

Me: “It’s okay for you to have opinions but you can’t force them on other people.”
Him: “I know. But when I’m emperor I will.”

Husband walks by with a tennis racket. I notice he is wearing our son’s tennis headband, which is way too small for my husband’s head and is squeezed on so tight all of his hair is popping out the top.
Me: “Really?”
Him: “…what?”
Me: “…”
Him: “…”
Me: “…”
Him: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” *walks away*

Him: “The thing about tennis is that it makes my arm too muscly.”

I ask him to download Game of Thrones.
Him (later): “What show am I supposed to be downloading again? King of Dongs?”

Him: “The download will be done in thirteen minutes.”
Him: “Twelve minutes.”
Him: “I’ll give you an update every minute.”

Me: “Hey, look at that hot healthy chick running down the beach.”
Him: “I prefer my Sarah. My busted ass lady.”

6yo: “My friend has a phone. It’s an Apple one. I saw it.”
Me: “Good for him.”
6yo: “When will *I* get a phone?”
Me: “Not till you’re much older.”
6yo: “When? What age?”
Husband: “34.”


And here’s a bonus son-ism. Because I can.

During the middle of a restaurant meal, my son sticks his arms in the air for no reason.
Me: “Why are you doing that?”
6yo: “I just remembered I needed to air out my armpits.”

ass dot com

est. 1975: "ass dot com" in which est. 1975's son informs her that her husband uses his phone to look at "ass dot com." Hilarity ensues. @est1975blog #funny #humor #parenting #est1975 #est1975blog

My son: “Do you know that Dad uses his phone a lot while he’s driving?”

Me: “I know. That’s not very safe.”

My son: “And not just for talking. He’s always looking at ass dot com.”

Me: !!!!!!!! “Uh… what did you say?”

My son: “Ass dot com.”

Me: !!!!!!!! “And… what kind of site is that exactly?”

My son: “Sports.”

Me: !!!!!!!! “Are you sure about that?”

My son: “Yes.”

Me: !!!!!!!! “And how do you spell it?”

My son: “A S dot com.”

Me: “Hold on a sec.”

*discreetly checks on phone
*finds Spanish language sports site
*breaths sigh of relief

My son: “Did you find it?”

Me: “Yes, honey. But I don’t think it’s pronounced ass dot com.”

My son: “Yes it is. That’s how Dad pronounces it.”

Me: “Uh…”

*imagines son telling teacher that his dad reads “ass dot com”

My son: “Well?”

Me: “Okay, but that’s not how it’s pronounced in English.”

My son: “Well, how is it pronounced?”

Me: “Uh… azz dot com.”

My son: “I don’t think so.”


halfass smoky eye tutorial

If you’re a loyal so-and-so, you know that about six weeks ago I held a contest on the est. 1975 Facebook page for people to swing by and drop their best blog post ideas on me. Three winners were chosen, with the prize being:

  • An awesome blog post, written by my awesome self, about their awesome winning topic;
  • A bunch of est. 1975 vinyl stickers;
  • A free plug on my site; and
  • A surprise that may or may not have ended up being a pop-up card.

The second winning idea (read the first at “10 after 30”) comes from my girl B, and though she doesn’t want or need a plug, I still want to assure you guys that she’s a really cool lady. B enjoyed my post “halfass makeup tips” a while back and was wondering if I could help her achieve a quick and somewhat halfass smoky eye while not making her “look like a hooker.” To which I said that I would rise to the challenge and teach y’all


To kick this off, I asked my girl T (who just happens to be a Cosmetics Queen and Smoky Eye Extraordinaire) to select a YouTube tutorial for me to use as a baseline. She chose the one below, and it’s a terrific pick because:

  • It’s a very good tutorial, but at the same time it’s kind of long and overly complicated. Which is all the better for me to show you how to “half ass” it in comparison.
  • The makeup artist makes some weird elephant-being-fucked-in-the-butt noise at the beginning.

Makeup Tutorial by YouTube artist Megan McTaggart: “Naked 3 Tutorial”

I highly recommend watching this tutorial as you read along with this post. The makeup artist clearly knows what she’s doing, and if you follow her instructions you will learn how to do a lovely yet subtle smoky eye. No question about it. But if you’re like me — very lazy, a little bit cheap, and truly in the market for something quick and halfass — we’re going to have to cut her tutorial down to size.

Before we start, I would just like to mention that I do already own the eyeshadow palette used in the above YouTube video. I’m not going to front – it’s expensive as shit, and I had to ask for it for Christmas. DO NOT GO OUT AND BUY IT JUST TO DO A HALFASS SMOKY EYE. To help you keep this whole process on the cheap, I’ve included a picture of each eyeshadow, so that you can substitute something you already own, or search the Internet for a cheap dupe.

On that note, let’s start beating our face!


Behold my red, wrinkly, naked eyelid. This is our vaguely ball sac-looking blank canvas.

STEP ONE. Highlight the brow bone. Our makeup artist’s first step was to highlight her brow bone with a $20 Benefit Cosmetics’ High Brow pencil and then blend it with a $15 Sigma E15 makeup brush. I’m going to interrupt here and tell you that I don’t have any of this shit, so like my grandmother during the Depression, I made do with what I had.

Using an old crusty sample of YSL TOUCHE ÉCLAT Radiant Touch that I dug out of the bottom of my makeup case, I spent about .005 seconds smearing a vague highlight under my eyebrow and then blending it in with my dirty gross finger. NOTE: If I hadn’t stumbled across the Touche Éclat sample, I would have completely skipped this step because meh. 

Thank God I had this shit laying around.
You better believe I only used this because I had a free sample. This shit costs more than $40 a tube. NOPE!


STEP TWO. Prime the eyelid. Our makeup artist’s next step was to prime her eyelid with Urban Decay Eyeshadow Primer Potion. I took her advice here, because:

  • I actually do own some UD primer potion; and
  • I have incredibly greasy eyelids. If I don’t use primer, my eyeshadow slides off my face onto the floor.

NOTE: If you don’t already have this product, and if you don’t have Seriously Oily Problem Eyelids like I do, consider this step worth skipping.


STEP THREE. Apply a base eyeshadow. Next, our makeup artist applied the shade Limit as a base eyeshadow, mainly on and above her eyelid crease. Those of you paying attention will mark this as the first step I’m actually recommending that you *don’t* skip. Gurl, you always need a base.

Urban Decay describes Limit as a “light dusty rose matte.” I describe it as “like a taupe or something.”


STEP FOUR. Highlight the brow bone… again? Next our makeup artist applied the shade Strange directly to her already-existing brow highlight.

Urban Decay describes Strange as “pale neutral pink matte-satin.” I describe it as “dingy diaper.”

“But Sarah,” I hear you saying. “It seems like she’s just using a vaguely dirty-pink eyeshadow to trace over what she’s already done with a vaguely dirty-pink eyebrow pencil.” Yep. That’s exactly what’s she’s doing. And I’ve gotta say that I find highlighting your highlight to be a little redundant. NOTE: SKIP!

Here’s me after applying Limit and Strange, not with a clean $15 Sigma E40 Blending Brush as recommended, but with whatever moderately not-disgusting brush I had available:

Me after applying Limit on and above the eyelid crease, and Strange directly on top of the brow highlight. As I said before, I would skip the Strange next time. Nobody likes pointless Strange.


STEP FIVE. Start applying “the smoke.” Our makeup artist’s next step was to start applying what I’ll call the “smoke.” Taking a shade called Darkside, she used a $24 MAC 217 Blending Brush to swirl it around the outside corner of her eyelid.

Urban Decay calls Darkside a “deep taupe-mauve satin.” Or, you know. Gray.

Here’s me after mashing some Darkside around the outside corner of *my* eyelid with whatever piece-of-shit didn’t-cost-me-no-$24 makeup brush I could find. I’ll also mention that it took me WAY LESS than the 40 seconds it took our makeup artist. Like, 38 less seconds.

Me after applying Darkside to the outer corner of my eyelid. SMOKY!


STEP SIX. Continue applying lid color. Our trusty makeup artist then continued to flesh out the smoky eye by applying a shade called Burnout to the remaining 1/3 of the lid, followed by a shade called Liar over the center of the lid to create a gradient effect.

Urban Decay calls Burnout “a light pinky-peach satin.” I call it “these descriptions are starting to piss me off.”
Urban Decay: “Medium metallic mauve shimmer.” Me: “Brown.”

The makeup artist then beefed up the “smoke” with a highly pigmented shade called Blackheart.

Urban Decay calls this a “smoky black matte w/rosy red micro-sparklOH FOR CHRIST’S SAKE IT’S BLACK

To reinforce the “smoke,” she basically just darkened that same corner of the eyelid a little more and then blended it all out with the $65 million dollar blending brush she has on loan from the Queen of England.

Here’s me after applying Burnout, Liar, and Blackheart (and blending for about .002 seconds):

See the gradient? Isn’t it GREAT-ient? I’ll show myself out.


STEP SEVEN. Tightline and waterline. For those of you who don’t know what this means, I’ll sum it up for you: IT MEANS STICKING AN EYELINER PENCIL PRACTICALLY INTO YOUR DAMN EYEBALL. Needless to say, I say a hearty “FUCK THAT” to this step. NOTE: Just put some regular black eyeliner on the edges of both your upper and lower lids. No need to get fancy.

Here’s me after blending a little and throwing on some regular old Maybelline eyeliner:

You’ll notice that my top eyeliner doesn’t reach across as far as my bottom eyeliner. This is because I fucked up. THANKS FOR POINTING IT OUT MY GIRL T


STEP EIGHT. Conceal yo eye bags. This is where I completely departed from the YouTube tutorial. At this point, the makeup artist started to throw three or four additional shades of eyeshadow under and around her lower lash line… and girlfriend, I DO NOT NEED ANY MORE PINKS AND PURPLES AND GRAYS UNDER MY EYES THANK YOU VERY MUCH. I HAVE QUITE ENOUGH AND AS A MATTER OF FACT I WOULD LIKE LESS.

So instead of accentuating the negative, I chose to cover up my eye baggage. I personally like the Benefit Fake Up stick because it has a moisturizer built right into it, but it is very pricy and not really necessary. This is a halfass makeup tutorial, after all. Use what you already have/what works best for you.

Coverin’ up dem eye bags. This picture is before blending, obvi.


STEP NINE. Mascara. Continuing with the trend of “not doing what the YouTube tutorial said to do,” I completely eschewed liquid liner and false eyelashes because AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT SHIT. Instead, I used one single coat of Benefit’s They’re Real mascara (which some people hate) followed by *several* coats of the bestiest mascara in the whole damn world: Cover Girl Clump Crusher (which everyone loves.)

This was the result:

Sure, they’re no falsies. But who the fuck has time for falsies? Not me, RuPaul.


STEP TEN. Eyebrows… and Done! I’ve been accused of being overly self-deprecating on this site. But I’m going to step away from that for a second and admit to y’all that my eyebrows are pretty good. And by that I mean they aren’t a lot of trouble. They have a decent natural shape, they aren’t too thick, they aren’t overly sparse in places, I haven’t over-plucked them into oblivion, etc.

Still, whenever I do my eyes I like to at least touch up my brows, and I mainly use two products: the Clinique Brow Keeper Pencil and Brush (which I got ten years ago) and the Urban Decay Brow Box (a more recent acquisition.) With these tools I basically just fill my brows in, brush them out, apply a bit of wax, and voila! NOTE: You don’t have to do *any* of this shit if you’re perfectly happy with your eyebrows the way they are. They’re not going to affect your smoky eye in the least bit. Go ahead and skip this step if you’ve a mind to.

And here’s the finished product!

Halfass smoky eye IN YOUR FACE!


And that’s the end! My girl T accused this of being a “3/4 assed smoky eye” so if you’re still overwhelmed, here’s a *very* simple TL:DR.

These are your ESSENTIAL steps and there aren’t that many of them. Witness:

1. Apply a light taupe base shadow on and above the crease.

2. Apply a medium gray to the outside corner of the lid.

3. Achieve a gradient effect by using taupe on the inner lid and a brownish color in the center.

4. Reinforce the “smoke” with a dark gray or black eyeshadow.

5. Blend.

6. Eyeliner.

7. Mascara.

See? Easy as pollution. GET IT? POLLUTION? SMOKE? SMOKY EYE? GET IT?

I’m out.

i win at children

Check out the awesome letter my husband and I received from my son this week:



I think you are the Best Parents ever. I love you. You are not chubby. 38 is still young. See for yourself: 10 20 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38. That is young. You are nice.

By J.



Look, I’m sure your children are great and everything. But this letter is pretty effing amazing. I also appreciate the subtle allusion to the movie Frozen, because I had almost forgotten its existence for .00003 seconds.

faces of breath

Like everyone else in the whole damn world, my husband occasionally suffers from bad breath. It’s not chronic or anything, but it does happen every now and again. Just like it happens to me, and to you, and to friends, and to coworkers, and to that one guy who works at the bank and talks waaaay too much about his family to overcompensate for the fact that he literally can not stop looking at girls’ asses.

It’s no big deal, is what I’m saying. It happens to everyone, is what I’m saying.


When my husband’s breath is not so fresh, I personally do what I consider to be the polite thing and LET HIM KNOW. For his sake. For my sake. Mostly for my sake. But truly also for his sake, because no one likes to find out that they’ve been walking around with ass breath all day. It’s essentially the halitosis version of getting home at the end of the day and discovering a piece of spinach is still lodged in your teeth from the omelet you ate for breakfast 11 hours ago.

Now, I know that some of you might be asking: “But, Sarah. How I can possibly tell someone that their breath is bad without sounding like an inconsiderate jerk?” Well, believe it or not, it isn’t all that difficult. Here are just a few of the polite and courteous things I say to my husband when his fumes get a little bit stank:

  • “Jesus, what the actual HELL did you eat today?”
  • “Is there a rotting corpse in the room? I smell a rotting corpse.”
  • “So… I didn’t have to barf, but now I do.”
  • “HOO boy.”

Feel free to use those with your own loved ones, by the way.

But while *I* choose to adhere to a strict policy of refreshing honesty regarding my husband’s breath, he does not feel the need to return the favor. What I’m saying here is that he never tells me when I have bad breath. EVER. Even when I *know* I have it, he assures me that I don’t. Basically, when it comes to my breath, he is a Straight. Up. Liar.

In fact, my girl T and I were having a conversation about it just a few short days ago:


Me: My husband says he’s never smelled my bad breath. In twelve years.

T: BAHAHAHHAA seriously?

Me: Right? How much more of a lie can you get

T: My husband is like “What did you eat?”

Me: And when I’m sick? Come on.

Me: And yet… I want to believe

T: You should wake up and breathe right in his face and just stare at him

Me: BAHAHAHkajhaksjhdaks “WELL!?”

T: And when he starts to speak say “EW your breath stinks” and roll over


It was after this discussion, and a brief conversation with Megan at The Poll Vault in which she informed me that her husband lies about the very same shit, that I decided that it was time for me to embark upon A Quest.

Yes, that’s right. A Quest.

The Quest to Get My Husband to Admit I Have Bad Breath.

Unfortunately, over the first couple of days The Quest didn’t really go anywhere. My husband’s work schedule, which is unpredictable at best and downright bullshit at worst, kept us from having the the chance to spend much time together. And hardly any of the time we *did* spend together was spent in close quarters, which is where mouth funk most often reveals itself.

But then.


The moment came.

Yesterday, after eating a meatball sub with a side of HOLY MOLEY THAT’S A LOT OF GARLIC BREAD, I got a little sleepy. At which point I did, in fact, fall asleep. And did not wake up until my husband and son came home at 5:30 PM. Then it was dinner time, and homework time, and bed time, and before you know it — brushing my teeth had sort of been lost in the fray.

Along came 10 PM and my husband suggested we watch a movie together. I agreed, and we snuggled up in bed, our heads only about 3 inches apart.

And that’s when I noticed it.


Me: “Dear God, my breath is horrible!”

Him: “Hmm.”

Me: “It’s even grossing *me* out.”

Him: “Hmm.”

Me: “Wow. I’m sorry if I’ve been breathing that on you this whole time.”

Him: “You haven’t.”

Me (suddenly realizing that this might be the moment for me to fulfill The Quest): “You are such a liar. SUCH a liar. I can smell it my own self! It’s disgusting. It’s basically garlic bread meatball nap breath with a side of not brushing my teeth for 14 hours.”

Him: “Hmm.”

Me: “Admit I have bad breath.”

Him: “No!”

Me: “Admit it!”

Him: “What’s in it for me?”

Me: “Knowing that you told the truth to your loving wife.”

Him: “Not good enough.”

Me: “I’ll scratch your back.”

Him: “…”


Him: “…”


Him: “Fine. Your breath is not … as fresh as usual.”


Him: “All right, all right. Make with the back scratch.”


Okay, so it wasn’t much of an admission. It wasn’t like he flung out his arms and yelled “GIRL YOUR BREATH STANK!” But he *did* admit it. For the first time in twelve years, he (sort of) confirmed what I’ve known all along – that I am not an exception to the rule of bad breath. I am not exempt from the universal phenomenon I like to call “unfortunate oral hygiene.” I am not a delicate little flower who wakes up first thing in the morning with breath like essence of lavender and a melodious release of gas that smells like Chanel and sounds eerily like Simon and Garfunkel’s “For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her.”

These are the facts — I am Sarah, and I am gross.

Just ask my husband.


P.S. If you’re interested in reading some more new material, hop on over to Foxy Wine Pocket and read my guest post, “The Nagging Wife.” If your partner has ever complained about your nagging, while at the same time completely riding your ASS about sexytimes, this post is for you.

And when you’re done, stick around and browse the site a bit a lot! It’s super funny and I heart it. Also you should subscribe to it because I told you to.

aprl furls dur

Happy April Fools Day, loyal so-and-sos!

So. I’ve decided that instead of playing just one April Fools Day joke on you guys, I’ma give you an entire selection of jokes to choose from. Because I’m generous like that.



“Hey guys! You’ll never believe this but I went THE WHOLE DAY yesterday without tinkling in my panties!”

“I would never do something as lazy and gross as waking up and watching three hours of television before even taking a shower or brushing my teeth.”

“So here’s the thing, guys. I *really* miss working in finance.”

“I had a healthy breakfast this morning that involved all four food groups and not even one Cadbury mini egg!”

“Yeah. I don’t take naps.”

“If I really had to choose, I think I’d say that the band I miss most from the 80’s is Whitesnake.”

“Do you guys know who my best friend is? The president of the Parent Teacher Association.”



That’s all I got for today, folks. Enjoy your April Fools Day! And if you do get fooled, don’t be a little bitch. Just take it in stride. I recommend you take a lesson from David Mitchell here and react to any/all April Fools pranks thusly:


Can’t go wrong.