Yeah, Phil, you lazy bitch.

And while you're at it, stop slipping the hallucinogens into Marm's food. Or are those ghosts? I have no fucking clue.


With any luck ...

This will soon be behind me. And not like in an anal-rape sort of way like last time.

Not that the pay wasn't good, mind you.

I don't ... I, it's ... what the hell?

And that's not a waffle, it's an ice tray. That round thing? It's not a bucket, it's an upside-down fez with a chin strap. And Dottie has already assumed the morning anal-penetration pose. In other words, it's another happy fucking Monday in Bizarro World.


I had to add this just because it's awesome.

Cheeseburger, Phil. It's called a cheeseburger.

At least that's what the kids are calling it. But then, today's kids wear baggy dungarees and unlaced sneakers and listen to hippity-hop music on their Walkman radios.

That is, when they're not busy stealing hubcaps.


Greenpeace rejected her application.

They said she was too "idealistic".



Jealous much, Dottie?

C'mon, lighten up a bit. He's had a rough night and he needs a little rest. I can empathize with the poor guy.

Go have some fun with "Mister Buzzy" while Phil's gone, m'kay?


Once again, Marm saves Dottie from the daily spousal abuse!

Alas, Phil has been pwned (yes, I said that) by Marm, who as we all know has nothing but pure love and a few ... special feelings ... for Dottie.

Feel the warmth, Phil. The warmth from Marm's ass, I mean.


Never smelled burning fur there, Dot?

'Ol Marm's smarter than you give him credit for, Dot. He learned "Stop, Drop and Roll" from the kids' after-school specials, and when Phil decided to play "a game" with Marm, the poor guy had no choice. The game, you see, was called "Camp Buchenwald" and Marm was tasked with playing "der Juden".

God damn, Phil's a fucking racist asshole. Oh, and be sure to pick up more lighter fluid next time you go to the store. Seems you're all out.



Well, isn't this just fucking special ...

Not only is Marm stealing food from the 23% [citation needed] of homeless people who have suffered greatly under the current economic crisis, he's bringing this shit back to Dottie and her paperwasp neighbor.

I'm still not sure if Marm is truly a Republican, but this act lends credence to the hypothesis.

Phil may not be the asshole after all ...


Which word would that be, Dottie?

Vasectomy? Vivisection? Vajayjay?

Marm knows all those words, Dot. And he knows that this trip to the vet won't be his last, because Phil the Asshat won't euthanize the big fellow while you're there.

Today's V stands for Victory over Vindictive Verdict.


Thank God your teacher's an idiot.

Last time I tried to show a teacher my "Texas Longhorn", I got suspension and threatened with criminal charges.


Did her eyes get all glossy when she said that?

And did she start to get all flushed and have to excuse herself for a few minutes?

Pretty fucked-up family you got there, Barb.


It's called starvation, Ms. Struthers. Maybe you should look into it.

Somebody please call the SPCA. Or a veteranarian. Either Phil is still not feeding the pooch, or poor Marm has a tapeworm the length of Keith Richards' medical chart. Either way, you're abusing a dog and enabling your daughter to cheat her way through life. Solid family values.

Nice going, Phil. See you in Vegas with your kids' money!



Dear Skippy, we'll have those numbers up in a Jif ...

Because, you know kids eat a lot of peanut butter. A really lot. Like a Costco Lot.

For God's sake, Phil, be Indiana Jones just once and make her tunnel an adventure. Look at the sad bitch. Relive the glory of Gondor, you lanky porn-stached murderous bastard.

As any worldly wommyn should know ..

He's spent. You spoke him into a stupor that allowed a sense of obligation, a sense of honor, and a sense of release.

Guess which one you have to take the Swiffer to.

Unless Phil's already gone to bed and well, ... it's business time.


Yet another indicator that some offspring should be eaten immediately after birth.

Look kid, either you truly are Phil's progeny and as such have scarely two neurons to rub together, or you just have an amazing lack of talent when it comes to puns. Trust my knowledge on this, you little Fred Durst wannabe.


Aren't those Phil's shoes?

Seriously, Dottie, if you want to get that cheap-ass murderous husband of yours to buy you new shoes, you should probably have given Marm a pair of your old ones.

What? Those ARE your old ones? Jesus fawking Christ, woman! It's no wonder Phil won't do to you what Marm does. For a second there you even looked hot.

Then came those shoes.

And for God's sake, relax your kegels.