Philitically Incorrect

I haven’t bought a pair of underwear in six years and honestly, I’m a little peeved that I have to do it again so soon. My husband says that’s an unrealistic expectation.  Since 2016, we’ve had a lot of those. In honor of the Mueller report, this blog is being redacted. I don't know what that means exactly, but from watching the news, I'm guessing lubricant and latex don't apply. Take that anyway you want. I guess I could Google it but I'm not that type of intellectual. I get my energy from the air.  My point is, I have no idea what I'm doing. My husband wants to know how that's different than any other day. Here's what women say about their partners in therapy . At this particular moment, I'm sure one of these applies. This morning I dusted my bedroom, filed my tax stuff and put my winter clothes away. All of this started simply by trying to find my cell phone. The Phillies are cleaning house too. You either perform or you're ...

At the tender age of two, my son pushed a Hot Wheels car into the VCR slot. And it fit. Little did I know, this is the same type of infantile curiosity that would birth an app called Tinder. On that note, I saw a report about the spread of super gonorrhea. This was enlightening to me because I figured out that all this time I've been spelling my password wrong. Judging from the slow spread of disease, things are not going well. In the four years since my last post, the Phillies have failed to break 500 and following suit, things have gone from bad to worse: Kim Kardashian's behind got even bigger. Her derrière will go down in history as the Crown Jewel of Butts. And our country has the dubious honor of putting her there. Well done 'Merica. The Voice  started season 16 after only 8 years on TV. Instead of measuring accelerated time in dog years, we'll start calling them Voice years. Oddly, Blake Shelton has been so pickled through it all, he hasn't aged a ...

by Cindy Falteich For the first time in a long time, the Phillies are bottom-feeders. They’re scrounging for a W in a division defined not by wins, but by those who float to the top with the fewest losses. Where unfamiliar names like Pierre, Nix, Orr, and Wigginton patch holes in an offense wounded by the premature expectations of something greater. Sounds like my honeymoon. The Phillies can’t win, my husband is out of town, and I’m about to get my period. It’s time to get down and dirty. Did you know there’s not a synonym for “dildo” on Thesaurus.com ? You probably didn’t. How embarrassing. You also can’t find the cure for an impotent lineup. I keep thinking Charlie has a secret weapon up his sleeve—a chant, a strip-o-gram, a superstition—something he does before reporters are allowed to enter the locker room.  Wait, we might not want to see that. Maybe there’s something he says that players are threatened not to repeat—like the things I say around my so...

By Flattish Poe I’m excited that the baseball season is in full swing. My husband was so bored in the offseason, I had to fake a bladder infection just to get some sleep. At first, things for the 2010 division champs looked promising: The February 15th Philadelphia  Inquirer   headlined the sports page with a picture of the five aces—an upgrade from the “Bought and Paid Four”. There they sat with name plates in front (like those were necessary) and the words “Spring Training” and the familiar “P” logo splattered across the back like Christmas wrap. Smiling in   Phillies   red and displaying a surprisingly low level of male pattern baldness , it was a picture I pondered cropping to make a border for my bedroom. Then again, I ponder a lot of things. Like if I change my profile picture on Facebook to a shot of my backside, does that make it Buttbook? I also wonder why I continue to buy bras—I question the necessity to house something I don’t hav...