Dirty Disney

While perusing the local One Dollar Emporium, something dirty caught my eye. The vulgar glimspe I caught in aisle three jarred me at first. I had to go back for a better look and make sure that what I saw was in fact what I saw.

A certain large G-rated business has gotten into trouble before. They are supposed to be a family-friendly, wholesome corporation. But a corporation made up of people. And humans, by nature, are flawed. People make mistakes. This was one of them.

What I saw at that moment kind of dismayed me - the word Disney. Here I was staring at a tiny penis while Hannah Montana, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, stared back at me. I honestly could not figure it out. I called Suz over, hoping she could shed some light on the Disney penis mystery. After she screamed in disbelief, we read the package together:

"Guitar & Microphone Shapes!"

Ah-ha! It was supposed to be a microphone. We flipped the package over and found what the gummy guitar and microphone were really supposed to look like.

So, what offended us the most about the whole package? Was it the penis shape? The penis colour? The Hannah Montana staring at us with mouth agape? Perhaps it was a combination of the above. If we knew it were directed towards a more mature crowd, maybe we would be giggling.

We asked ourselves what the biggest mistake was; the shape, the colour or both. Why this colour? Who approved it? Why this shape? Is that really what a mic looks like? I suppose the thought of an eight-year old girl putting a penis er... microphone into her mouth just didn't sit well with us. And we wondered if anyone else had this same complaint.

And now, with that out of the way, Suz and I are off to Florida for two whole entire weeks of sand, the gulf, swimming and... yep, you guessed it, 3 and a half fun-filled days at Disney World, the happiest place on earth!

Royal Golden Raspberries

Being outside is awesome! Don't get me wrong. Being inside is awesome too. Awesome with a capital W.... for wicked awesome! Seriously, who can complain about shelter? Not me. But there really are great things about the outside.

Like raspberries.

And not just any raspberries either. Golden Raspberries. And not just any Golden Raspberries either. Homemade ones! That's right. The last time I wrote about our raspberry bush, it was a youngun, a sapling, a juvenile little snot-nosed shit disturber.

Back then, I didn't really like the home-grown golden raspberries it produced. I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but there was something odd about them. Oh, how things have changed.

This year our golden raspberry crop was huge, mature and awesome! The sweetness of the berries oozed with deliciousness. They were amazing. I didn't really want to try them at first, and was happy enough eating the tasty red raspberries for a while. But I just couldn't let the golden ones go to waste, caved in and ate them.

Every day I ate a handful. A super tasty number one awesome handful. I was almost alarmed at how mouthwatering they were. I'm talking fit for a king. I was stunned. I had no idea I was a king. But the handfuls of gold mother nature handed me every day was a major clue.

The second and final clue came after I ate 50 of the royal raspberries, then sat on my throne for an hour. Long live the king!