Stories about maman
My beautiful, darling, expensive hos! I am wishing each and every one of you a safe and decadent Halloween! Thank you so much for continuing to visit my blog, even if I can't exactly update it the way I used to. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your loyalty, kindness, understanding, and humor. You are all so amazing and I love you so much!
Since today is one of my favorite days of the year, I thought I would bring my laptop to work and write a random Halloween post on my break. After all, today is a very special day. The day Miss Margarine blinks open her eyes, smooths her hands over her dress, and giggles quietly into the darkness. Yes, later tonight, when the moon is full and the wind is howling through the trees, I will awaken from a sound sleep to find Miss Margarine lying on top of me with a machete pressed against my throat.
MISS MARGARINE: Happy Halloween, bitch! Now take off your panties and grab hold of your ankles!
ANGRY GREEK: No! No, Miss Margarine! Please!
MISS MARGARINE: Your cherry is mine!
ANGRY GREEK: No, Miss Margarine! Please! Only in the ass! Only in the ass!
MISS MARGARINE: That blubbery gateway to hell? Fuck no! Even I have my limits!
Yeah, and speaking of Miss Margarine, I can't help but relive the various childhood traumas that occurred to me on this day. I am pretty sure I have mentioned this before, but I used to be terrified of cats when I was a young child. The very sight of a cat used to send me scurrying up the nearest adult with urine dripping down my leg. Yeah, and because Maman is a kind and gentle person, she decided to buy me a furry cat costume when I was four years old. Imagine my surprise when I walked into my bedroom and saw a dismembered cat head lying at the foot of my bed. How was I supposed to know it was a fucking headdress? I am pretty sure I shit myself on the spot.
And how can I forget the time my little brother got sick on Halloween? The asshole turned green halfway through our trick-or-treating route and mumbled that he was going to be sick. So Maman (helpful as ever) told him to vomit into his candy bucket. Imagine my dismay when he leaned over and vomited into mine instead. Yeah, and let's just say that he didn't have perfect aim. That's right. There I was, standing in my Care Bear costume, with vomit running down my arm. I cried all the way home and threatened to flush his head down the toilet because he'd soiled my candy.
MAMAN: No! That is not nice! Stop threatening your brother!
ANGRY GREEK: I hate him! I hate him!
MAMAN: Goddammit, I should have aborted you.
ANGRY GREEK: What?
MAMAN: Happy Halloween, I said!
Sigh. And on that note, I am wishing each and every one of my hos a glorious and safe Halloween! I miss you all and I will try to post again very soon!
Lots of Love,
The Greek Girl
PS: Capsie, Pammykins would greatly appreciate a Halloween greeting this year. Goddammit, stop being so fucking rude!
Okay, before I say anything else, I just want to point out the fact that Paris is about two seconds away from getting slapped upside the head with a wayward Muppet slipper. Normally, I would make an effort to warn the bitch, but I am too busy being a massive cunt to be bothered right now. Yeah! Excuse me for being busy! God, Paris! Not everything is about you, okay? Some of us actually have jobs!
Anyway, back to my original point. I was over at Maman’s house this weekend and she was desperately searching for her summer tablecloth to drape over the picnic table outside. After all, when you invite Satan and the ghost of Hitler over for brunch, you have to have something pretty to place the food on.
Yes. Well, judging by the above photo, Paris Hilton stole the tablecloth and decided to wear it as a skirt at Coachella this weekend. And for those of you who give a shit, Coachella is a large music festival that takes place in Indio, California every year. Personally, Maman prefers the annual Virgin Blood Sacrifices/Bake Sale that takes place in Death Valley, but that is another story for another day.
Yeah, I have no fucking idea what to say anymore. I hope Maman follows Paris to an abandoned parking lot and proceeds to beat the shit out of her with an Elmo slipper. And knowing Maman, she’ll probably have a Muppet slipper in one hand and a pair of brass knuckles on the other.
MAMAN: Take THAT! And THAT!
PARIS: NO! PLEASE!
MAMAN: And THAT!
PARIS: Oh my God! It burns! It BURNS!
MAMAN: And THAT! Goddammit, this is turning me on! Stick out your leg so I can hump it while I beat you!
Why do I have the sinking feeling that late last night, Maman and Janice Dickinson had a secret rendezvous in the dark basement of a puppy crematorium? God, I should have seen this shit coming! After all, those two bitches move in the same satanic circles! They were bound to cross paths at one point or another! Yeah, and I think their conversation went a little something like this:
MAMAN: Did you do it?
JANICE: Yes. I made sure the paparazzi had ample time to photograph my rotting carcass.
MAMAN: Excellent! If that won’t turn the Angry Greek straight, then I don’t know what will!
JANICE: Have I pleased you, Unholy One?
MAMAN: Oh, yes. I am very pleased with you, peon. Now come here and sit on my face.
No, Maman! NO! How could you do this to me? How could you betray your own daughter like this? You know, I could accept a lot of things from you! I could even accept you joining forces with Miss Margarine! After all, Miss Margarine is a driven individual and she manages to keep her petticoats clean, even after stabbing numerous children in their sleep. That is a very impressive feat!
Oh, and I am sure Miss Margarine would make an excellent lover! Remember that dream I had where Miss Margarine assaulted me with a cucumber? Well, she was surprisingly gentle for a murderous doll! She really was! I was pleasantly surprised!
But no, Maman! This is where I draw the line! Not Janice Dickinson! I refuse to let you join forces with Janice Dickinson! If you are that desperate for sex, simply boil a chicken until all the meat falls off the bones. Then you can take it into your bedroom and make love to it for hours. That is a much better alternative to sleeping with Janice Dickinson!
Goddammit, I am too upset to write anymore! Curse you, Janice Dickinson! Curse you to HELL! Oh, and when you get there, would you be kind enough to tell Satan I say hello? Gosh, it has been ages since we’ve spoken on the phone! Oh, and please tell him that I have that cupcake recipe he asked for! Ugh! I just gained two inches around my waist just by thinking of how delicious they are!
The last time we spoke about Jessica Alba, we made fun of the fact that she punishes her eldest daughter by locking her in a dark bathroom for fifteen minutes at a time. And as most of you may have guessed, this method of parenting has earned Jessica the coveted Maman Seal of Approval. Yes, my Maman gave it two horns up and then she added: “All you have to do now is slap your daughter around with a degrading object. Personally, I prefer the Muppet slipper. There is something special about slapping your grown daughter around with Cookie Monster or Elmo. It’s called bonding, asshole. Look it up.”
Anyway, the Maman Seal of Approval has obviously gone straight to Jessica Alba’s head because she thought it would be a good idea to bring up parenting again: “I did have that dreaded moment when my daughter decided that every answer I gave her wasn’t a good one and she kept saying, ‘But why mommy? But why mommy?’ and I was like, ‘Because I said so.’ And I thought, ‘Oh God, I’m that mom, I’m my mom.’”
Jessica then added: “And that’s when I scrubbed her little mouth with a toilet brush and dunked her head in the toilet a few times. Yes, I consulted the Angry Mother and she said that this was the only way she was going to learn.”
Yeah, okay. Personally, I could give a rats ass about the whole situation. I am sure Jessica Alba is a much better parent than either one of mine. In fact, when I was about eight years old, my father was kind enough to bring me a warm mug of milk before bedtime. Normally, that would have been wonderful, but on that particular occasion, the milk was spoiled. Needless to say, I took one sip of milk and spit it directly back into my mug. The ensuing conversation went a little something like this:
MILDLY FRUSTRATED GREEK: Papa, I think my milk is spoiled!
DAD: Oh, okay. I be right back.
*Papa goes into the kitchen and comes back with a tin of cocoa powder. As I watch in silent horror, he dumps three spoonfuls of chocolate powder into my mug and stirs it all up*
DAD: There. Now you drink.
MILDLY FRUSTRATED GREEK: But...but Papa! The milk is spoiled!
DAD: So what? When I was little boy in Greece, we no have milk! We have armor! Did you know that Spartan fathers used to take retarded babies and leave them by the mountainside to die?
MILDLY FRUSTRATED GREEK: No.
DAD: Well, they did.
MILDLY FRUSTRATED GREEK: But what does that have to do with my milk?
DAD: Mount Diablo is only two hours away and I have a full tank of gas.
*tips my mug and drinks it all down without stopping*
You know, back when I was about four years old, I attended a birthday party at an autumn fair with my Maman as my chaperone. That was the first time I had ever tasted sparkling apple cider, and let me tell you - there must have been crack in that shit or something because after one sip, I was totally hooked. I kept drinking cup after cup after cup, and at one point, I became violent. If there were other kids standing in line at the cider table, I would shove them aside and smack anyone who dared to protest. And that included the elderly lady serving the cider. I swear to God, I was in a frenzy over that shit.
And as a side note - thank God my Maman never saw me hitting that poor lady! Otherwise, she would have grabbed me by the hair and shoved my face into the cider bowl. “You want to shove people around?” she would have screamed. “You want to hit nice old ladies? FINE! Then DROWN, BITCH! DROWN!”
Anyway, karma was alive and well that day because after drinking that much cider, I was dying to pee. Only nobody could tell me where the bathrooms were. Probably because I kept asking other kids like a stupid idiot. Anyway, I tried asking my Maman to take me to the bathroom, but she told me to hold it in because she was talking to some important bitch from a fancy private school.
So what did I end up doing? I gripped my vagina, ran over to the ball pool, and ended up relieving myself in a remote corner. And I would have gotten away with it, too, except my Maman had dressed me in a bright red dress and I had a huge wet stain on the back.
Well, when my Maman saw the back of my dress, she turned about five shades of pale and dragged my mortified ass to the car in front of everyone. Then she screamed at me the whole way home and scalded me with hot bath water for about an hour. Yes, my expensive hos. I may have been a crack whore, but at least I was a hygienic crack whore! That counts for something, right? Oh, who fucking cares. I was damaged goods at that point.
Anyway, the moral of the story is – DO NOT PEE IN PUBLIC PLACES OR MY MAMAN WILL GET YOU! Lady Gaga, I am looking at you! In a recent interview with Alan Carr, this is what the diseased donkey had to say: “I quite often pee in my dressing room in the trash can. The bathroom is down the hall and you must get redressed. So I said: ‘Fuck it!’ Otherwise, I’d be Latey Gaga.”
Lady Gaga, there is a huge difference between a cracked-out four-year-old making a tinkle in a ball pool and a grown-ass woman pissing in a trash can. If you don’t believe me, ask my Maman. When she is done conferencing with the devil, I will send her over to teach you a lesson you will never forget. Protect your mouth because she is not above knocking your teeth out with a Brazilian elbow jab. She makes necklaces out of the teeth, you know. So stylish! And a bargain at $19.99, plus shipping and handling!
You know, back when the Angry Greek was about five years old, I used to run around the house with a drink tray in one hand and a Barbie doll in the other. And before you judge me, I was pretending to be Prince Phillip from Sleeping Beauty! The drink tray was my shield and the Barbie doll was my sword! It was all I could come up with on such short notice!
And we can just skip over the part where I kissed my Cabbage Patch doll on the lips and waltzed around the living room with her. She had a thatch of hair missing and part of her face was smashed in, but she was the love interest in my fairy tale, okay? Do I come to your house and make fun of your ugly spouse? No? Then shut the fuck up!
Yeah, I have no idea who I am talking to anymore. All I know is that I was ready to fight Maleficent with nothing but a drink tray and a Barbie doll! And yet, I still looked more normal than Nicki Minaj did last night. This is the outfit she wore to the MTV Video Music Awards, and when my Maman saw that outfit, she grabbed the remote and abruptly changed the channel. “Are you retarded?” she asked me. “If you want to see somebody who can’t dress properly, then go and visit your father! Quit wasting my time!”
That being said, at least Nicki doesn’t babble on and on about how she is a “true artist” who “suffers for her art” and craps out pottery clay. Yeah, I am looking at you, Lady Gaga. At least Nicki doesn’t compare her ridiculous outfits to contemporary art exhibits. You pretentious cunt. Ugh! All I have to do is talk about Lady Gaga and my gag reflex kicks in. Yup. I just vomited all over myself. Hmm. When did I have rice pudding?
Water Buffalo, let me tell you a little secret. Instead of inviting Rudolph to your wedding, you could have just taken an old ashtray, dumped some booze all over it, and nobody would have known the difference. Kourtney could have carried that thing down the aisle and said, “Look, everyone! Rudolph made it to the wedding!” and everyone would have nodded and carried on with their conversations.
Just look at that goddamn picture up there! Did you seriously want to invite Rudolph to your wedding? Why not just dump an entire plate of orange chicken all over your dress? Because that is exactly what it will look like once Rudolph has finished hugging you! Jesus God. Kim probably took her dress off later that night and watched as a large pile of cigarette butts tumbled out of her bodice.
Anyway, I have no idea what the hell happened at this goddamn wedding, but it must have been a circus. The bride is a water buffalo, the maid of honor is a Yeti, and Rudolph showed up looking like a rawhide chew stick. Yeti Khloe was probably chasing her all throughout the ceremony! And at one point, you know Khloe picked Rudolph up with her teeth and ran off to bury her in the front lawn. Clever Yeti! Yet another accurate metaphor for Rudolph’s career!
Yeah, so this whole fucking wedding was probably a mess. Let me tell you, when I finally get married to a reclusive hunchback with a lazy eye, I am certain that Rudolph will not be on our guest list. No. The minute she walked through the door, my Maman would scream, “HOW DID THAT PIECE OF DOG SHIT GET ON THE FLOOR?” Then she would get up and shove Rudolph outside with a broom. Yeah. My Maman is tidy like that.
Rudolph, forgive me for telling you this, but the next time you go down on Mackerel Pussy while she is having her period, you might want to take a shower afterwards. There. That is all I have to say to you. You can tell me to fuck off, but that won’t change the fact that you smell like a gutted fish, you nasty son of a bitch! HOT WATER WILL NOT KILL YOU! Look, it’s not like I’m asking you to snort coke or shoot heroine into your vei – oh, uh, whoops! Hee, hee! I almost forgot who I was talking to here!
By the way, Rudolph, did you ask Baba Yaga if you could use her coffin for the shoot? That bitch gets so touchy about her private things! When Goat Bitch borrowed her silk panties last week, she grabbed him by the pubic hairs and tore his uterus right out. Yes. He sobbed for five whole days and all he got was a menstrual pad and a bowl of hose water. No trip to the hospital for you, Goat Bitch!
Anyway, I have no idea what the fuck is going on here, but it appears that Rudolph is really focusing on the important things in life. Fuck sobriety and psychological evaluations! Rudolph is going to pose as a used tampon and lie in a coffin, which is actually a metaphor for her life and her career.
Jesus God, where is my Maman when you really need her? This woman used to chase me around the house with a broom if I forgot to do the laundry. Imagine what she would do to Rudolph! “So...you want to do drugs, huh?” *jumps on Rudolph and jabs her in the neck with a tranquilizer* “There! When you open your eyes, you will be in a shark tank wearing scuba gear and a necklace made out of chum. Yes, you will be in a protective cage, but the cage will be flimsy. If you don’t want the sharks to eat through the cage and rip your head off, you have to promise me that you will go into rehab! And believe me, bitch, I can tell when people are lying! I WILL TRACK YOU DOWN AND KILL YOU MYSELF!” *gently strokes Rudolph’s hair* “No, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Since Evandro has beautiful eyes and an adequate amount of chest hair, I thought he was a prime candidate for Man Candy! And Slutty Gay Friend, you can quit giving me those cunty looks! I get enough of those from my Maman! Yesterday, I fell on my ass in the kitchen and she just stood there, looking like I had ruined her whole day. I swear to God, I felt like the vagina. Vagina, from now on, when your drunken ass tumbles down the stairs, I will no longer give you disdainful looks. No. I will simply ask if you need help, and then I will proceed to laugh my ass off. After all, that is the appropriate thing to do in these situations.
You know, back when the Angry Greek was just a Mildly Frustrated Greek, my Maman decided to dress me up as a Care Bear for Halloween. I have no idea why I agreed to this idea, but knowing my Maman, she probably threatened to drown me in the toilet if I said no. Yes. That sounds like something she would do. Let’s go with that!
Anyway, one morning, while I was at school, she and my little brother went to the Halloween store to pick up my costume. That part was okay. But what she neglected to tell me was that my brother had worn the costume all afternoon and thrown up inside the headpiece. So after dumping him into the bathtub, she threw the costume into the washing machine and thought I would never notice anything.
You know, I have no idea why she assumes I am dumber than a sack of shit, but she always does.
The minute I got home from school and tried on the headpiece, I started gagging and trying to yank it off my head. Meanwhile, she kept shoving it back onto my head and insisting that I was being silly. And the worst part of it was, she never told me that my brother had thrown up in it. My father told me ten years later. Yeah, and judging by the smell, he must have thrown up and pissed in it on the same day. I have NEVER smelled anything like that in my entire life!
Anyway, my point is, I am sure Snooki’s headpiece probably smells similar to my ill-fated one. Her breath probably corroded the inner lining of the mask, which is why the eyeholes are so much bigger than they ought to be. And before you assume I am making a joke, may I remind you that Snooki’s breath is like nerve gas? The minute she breathes on you, you fall to the ground and start having seizures.
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