Saturday, June 29, 2013

What I Was Doing Four Years Ago and How Andrew Jackson Being Dead Made It Better

Say what you will about A-Jack, the man grew hair like
a boss. A really racist boss with a gun.




















Four years ago, this week, I had just broken up with someone. I was drinking heavily and crying almost constantly and sitting on my couch thinking that I was the worst person of all time. (Clearly I am into being super dramatic on a level of Nicolas Cage in Face/Off.) And then Michael Jackson died. And the news coverage was over-the-top and ridiculous.

Two things got me through that hard time. The first of these was the BBC Pride and Prejudice, which is just five hours of Colin Firth and some other people. The second was making light of death by writing parody news pieces reporting on the death of still-dead former president Andrew Jackson.

This morning I was thinking back on what I was doing four years ago, and it made me smile. So, I decided to put all of the Andrew Jackson breaking news links into one blog post. That way if, like me, you want to go back and relive a super dark period of my life that was cheered somewhat by the death of an old racist, then you can.

Click here to read about Andrew Jackson being discovered still dead.
But then you should click here to read about how some fans paid tribute to the still dead seventh president.
When you're done with that, maybe you would like to click here to read about the time Andrew Jackson went to summer camp. Just kidding! It's about him killing more people.
Read this to find out about how Andrew Jackson went from a young man to a lifeless corpse in just 78 years!
After that, peruse this to read a post, with appearances by not just one U.S. president, but FIVE! (Spoiler: one of them is Andrew Jackson.)
Then, finally, read this one to drink the salty tears of one of Andrew Jackson's children.

May A-Jack rest in peace. America! *fires dueling pistols up into the air*

Friday, June 28, 2013

Updates on My OKCupid Profile

This is the face I make when I get a message that's like, "you so 
hot and sexxxxy." I have a mind too, dickfaces, and you should 
seriously consider not copying and pasting the same message 
to all women.














What do you want? Don't look at me.

I'm hideous.

So, I'm still pretty burned out on this whole OKCupid thing. I've gotten one message in the past [almost] three weeks, and it was from a guy who was like, "Hey, I don't know any of the things you mentioned in your profile, but do you want to go out?" And I was like, "No." But I said in the most subtle way possible, which is by not responding at all and then eating all the things in my freezer.

What do you do when you're burned out on OKCupid? Why, you put up a profile that says just that. This is my current profile. I'm leaving it up just a bit longer and putting a new one up on Monday. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy how burned out I am.

Here is the profile. Be sure to either click on it to enlarge it or invent some glasses-type of contraption that will enlarge things for you. (Just don't invent glasses because that's already been done and you might get sued.)



This is the face I make when people use "lol" to end their sentences.

This is the face I make when I leave OKCupid and look at cat videos 
for half an hour.

This is the face I make when a guy is all, "I don't believe in 
monogamy because no one woman can satisfy me." 

This is the face I make when your profile pic looks like it was taken 
on surveillance cameras in 1980s Beirut.

This is the face I make when I watch Steel Magnolias. DEAL WITH IT.

This is the face I make when dudes don't respond to my messages.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

A Post About a Word That I Hate That Starts with N

Don't say horrible words, ya'll.



















Once upon a time, there was a word. It wasn't a swear. It was worse than a swear. It was a horrible, horrible word that should be thrown into the bottom of a well, covered with wet cement, and then blown up with dynamite.

But people said the word anyway. And other people said, "Hey, don't judge those people who said that word. Free speech and blarglety-blarg! First Amendment!"

Even more people than that said, "My daddy said that word! He's from the South, and in the South that's okay because he's old. And also I'm too scared to tell him he's being a bigot and jerkhead because he might get mad at me and take away my allowance."

Some people beyond that said, "Hey, those hip-hop people say that word! If they say it, I can say it. I don't know what a hip-hop is, but I intend to find out, once I get home from work tonight."

And so the word lived on. Some people said it in public. Some people said it in private. Other people didn't say it at all and congratulated themselves on that fact every single day over a beer and a joke involving Chinese people being good at math.

There were people who seemed outwardly lovely and nice--an old lady at church, the mail carrier, a man at the mall dressed as Santa Claus. You might be talking to them about something pleasant, like snow cones or newborn kittens, and assuming that the person was as equally pleasant as the topic at hand. But then suddenly that person would utter the dreaded word, and you would be all, "What happened to the nice person who was just here? I can't see her or him over the cross that's burning on my front lawn."

Luckily, help was on the way in the form of the Racism Fighting Super Best Friends Brad Paisley and His Separate But Equal Sidekick LL Cool J.

"Oh em gee," said super best friend Brad Paisley, as he stood in the kitchen of the Racism Fighting Lair one morning watching the news. "Word has it that Paula Deen said the word. You know what word I'm talking about, don't you, LL Cool J?"

"What word?" queried LL Cool J.

"Well, don't make me say it," said Brad Paisley, awkwardly.

Several minutes later, after the two friends played a very non-racist game of charades, LL Cool J got the gist, and the Racism Fighting Super Best Friends hopped into their ride that was a pickup truck with spinning rims to get to the scene of the racism and put an instant stop to it.

"Thank goodness you're here, Racism Fighting Super Best Friends," said Matt Lauer, host of The Today Show. "Someone has to put a stop to Paula Deen's word saying once and for all. I tried, and I definitely can't fix it. I'm too weak, and people kind of think I'm a dick right now."

"Point us to where she is!" said LL Cool J, "and I will show her the error of her ways with this song Brad and I wrote this one time."

"Good plan, super chum!" said Brad Paisley.

The two got Karaoke machine out of the cab of their super racism fighting vehicle and rushed over to Paula Deen, who was sitting in the green room at the Today Show, drying her eyes with a large mascara-smeared piece of bread and butter.

"Brad Paisley and LL Cool J! What are you doing here?" Paula Deen asked.

"We're here to teach you the error of your ways through song," said Brad Paisley.

And, together, the two racism-fighting recording artists and best friends sang a song. And the song was so beautiful and so pure, that Brad Paisley and LL Cool J were just sure it had cured Paula Deen's racist word saying forever.

But Paula Deen could only look at them when the song was over and publicly apologize harder and with more theatrics than ever before.

"Damn! It didn't work!" said Brad Paisley. "She's as racist as ever."

"Well, maybe," said LL Cool J, emulating all the wise black men he had seen in TV shows and in the movies, "we aren't doing things the right way."

The two pondered the situation for at least ten minutes, and at the end of ten minutes, they had solved racism and racist word-saying forever.

Here's how it worked:

1. People started saying to older relatives, "Hey, don't say that word or similarly offensive words. I don't care if you are old and from the South. You're being a racist piece of shit right now." And when the old people argued, they were put in retirement communities where they could never offend anyone, except people who worked in the medical community, again.

2. LL Cool J and Brad Paisley did a Schoolhouse Rock type of music video that explained that the First Amendment not only allows you to say what you want, but also allows people to disagree with you, even if that hurts your feelings or makes you feel stupid. Suddenly, people understood how stupid and misinformed they were being.

3. LL Cool J went on TV and explained hip-hop to all the dumb people. Toby Keith made a special appearance and repeated everything he said so that it really sank in for the people who were extra confused.

4. Everybody learned about kindness and understanding and hugged it out, including Matt Lauer and Ann Curry (Willard Scott and Bryant Gumbel too).

5. People who refused to listen and educate themselves or stop being racist were shot into space and went into orbit around Jupiter. They took all the Confederate flags with them and probably shoved them up their asses for all I know.

THE END

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

I Lost 25 Pounds of Belly Fat in a Month Using One Simple Trick. Ask Me How.

Step 1: Measure the FUCK out of your waist.













Hey, everybody! I'm doing this new thing where I send my short pieces off to other publications, wait patiently for them to be rejected, and then post them on Welcome to Bethville afterward. As I did with this one! If you perhaps wanted to help me stick it to the rejection man, maybe share this piece or retweet it or tie it to the leg of a migrating bird? If you do, I'll tell everyone how handsome and/or otherwise sexually desirable I find you. And I'll also definitely share something of yours you'd like to see go out to a wider audience.

Much love,
Bethany, the Mayor of Bethville

And now here's the actual piece I wrote:


I Lost 25 Pounds of Belly Fat in a Month Using One Simple Trick. Ask Me How.

“I lost 25 pounds of belly fat in a month using one simple trick,” said the pop-up ad. And I was compelled to click it.

The ad really couldn’t have come at a better time. For I had belly fat. Gobs of it. And until that moment, I had no idea that there was a cure for the horrible disfigurement that had made me a shut-in for the past 20 years.

I read the ad again, hardly able to believe that I was reading such miraculousness. Before my very eyes, the plump animated woman in the ad shrank from a size 16 to a size 6. Suddenly, she was no longer an angry algebra teacher with cankles. She was a warrior princess. She was a supermodel. She was a junior level executive at a very lucrative advertising agency. The possibilities were endless, now that she was rid of her unsightly belly fat. The world was her oyster. Her low-calorie, low-fat, high protein oyster.

“This changes everything,” I muttered, putting down my deep fried frosting on a stick. “Tell me your dieting secrets, internet.”

I clicked the ad.

And with that simple click, my life was changed forever.

But before I tell you the secret of how I lost 25 pounds of belly fat using one simple trick, let’s back up a bit.

I first encountered belly fat during the Belly Fat Outbreak of 1989. It was a year filled with George H.W. Bush, “Like a Prayer,” and the Exxon Valdez. Everyone was like, “Drink Coke and eat Pop Tarts!” and I did. Before I knew it, I was one chunky thigh-deep in belly fat. I could tell my parents were ashamed of me because they began telling relatives that I had died.

“What is this world coming to?” my dad would ask, catching a glimpse of me as I walked by in my bathing suit and quickly shielding his eyes.

I was eventually sent away to a special school for girls, so that my family wouldn’t have to be exposed to my shame and horrible, horrible belly fat. There, I met other girls with similar afflictions. We all became reluctant friends and even gave each other nicknames. There was Fat Chin, No Neck, Floppy Tits, and Cheese Thighs. During swim time each morning, we would don our oversized T-shirts and waterproof balaclavas and hop into the pool for our daily water torture. A night, we would sit in a circle around the communal toaster and tell stories of our past lives. The lives we had before. Before the fat came.

In college, I double majored in Working from Home and Single-Serve Cheesecake Eating. After graduation, my studies put me in a top position for working at home at a job doing single-serve cheesecake eating. I found an apartment that, like me, was pretty in the face but virtually unlovable because of the size of its sunken living room. I moved in, set up a desk in the corner, and stayed there. Before I knew it, twenty years had gone by.

You might think that sounds like a very lonely life, but it was not without love. One time, I tore the newspaper off my windows to let in some sun and definitely had a moment with the window washer outside. We made awkward eye contact while he squeegeed.

But just like that, he was gone.

He caught sight of my belly fat and jumped fifteen stories to his death. I quelled the pain of my broken heart with cubes of butter poked on toothpicks like party appetizers. As for friends, they came and went like so many Meals on Wheels delivery volunteers and cable television installers. But no one was able to see past my affliction to the heart that beat beneath all that belly fat.

And then that fateful day arrived and that fateful pop-up ad. It had never before occurred to me to just put down the pork fritters and check the internet for ways to get rid of my belly fat. I never suspected that one day I would just be watching cat videos and crying, and the answer would just pop up and suddenly be staring me right in the face. I could lose that belly fat, and in only a month’s time, to boot!

With trembling fingers, I clicked the ad.

So, do you want to know what it is? The secret to losing 25 pounds of belly fat using one simple trick?

Click on the flashing psychedelic avocado below to find out!

Monday, June 17, 2013

A 100 Percent True Thing I Wrote About My Dad

This is my dad, made out of Legos in a very cryptic manner.


















Well, it's Father's Day, and like most people who have a biological father who is willing to acknowledge my existence, I'm remembering the things I have not yet done this week, like calling my dad to be like, "You're super cool and number one, Dad. America!"

BUT! I cannot go on without exposing my dad for who he really is, like I did one month ago with my mom for Mother's Day. My parents are sincerely the most treacherous people alive, and if I don't tell you about the things they've done, they'll definitely get away with it. So, here goes.


A 100 Percent True Thing I Wrote About My Dad

If you remember one thing about my dad after you've read this, let it be that he likes to swish the brandy in his snifter around and around and sniff it dramatically while saying extremely cryptic things. He does this in his study overlooking the lake, never in the library that overlooks the waterfalls or in the deluxe walk-in closet that overlooks the miniature golf course or in the music room that overlooks the horse dungeons. Only in his private study.

And he was swishing that snifter of brandy like mad one particular night twenty years ago, when I was just a wee girl of 13.

"Bethany, come into my private study!" my dad called. "I need to tell you something very important."

"Coming, father," I said obediently. And it was in that study that my dad sat me down and told me a story. A story of vengeance and Father's Day celebrations.

"If you remember one thing about my dad after I tell you this," he said, "let it be that my father liked to swish the orange soda in his collectible McDonald's Garfield tumbler around and around and sniff it dramatically while saying extremely cryptic things. He did this on the screened-in porch overlooking the swamp. We were poor, so that was the only room in the house, so I won't go on, extraneously describing some other features of the estate. You get the idea."

"No, I really don't," I replied. But that was typical "my dad." Not only was he cryptic, he hated going into detail about things. He was known for saying things like, "I'm going to see that guy about a thing. Pick me up at a time." And then vanish for several days. So, I was not surprised that his story started in such a way.

My father went on. "He was swishing that Garfield tumbler of orange soda like mad the night he told me a story. A story of vengeance and Father's Day celebrations."

"You've definitely told me this story, Dad," I said. "Is this the one where a guy did an activity on a day several months before whenever?"

"YOU'VE HEARD THIS ONE???" my Dad shouted. He hated it when people called him out on repeating himself. "Fine, then I'll tell you a different one." When my father was on a roll about telling a story, he had to tell you one no matter the cost.

"Is the new story also about vengeance and Father's Day celebrations?" I queried.

 "Why do you ask?" said my father.

"I just wanted to know how I should prepare to hear the story," I replied. "If it's going to be about vengeance and Father's Day celebrations, then I would like to roll up in a blanket on the floor to listen. If it's about something else, like a constant feeling of danger and a teen beauty pageant gone awry, I'd like to sit in the armchair by the fire."

"Okay, okay," Dad replied. "It's about vengeance and Father's Day celebrations, just like the other one."

I got a blanket and rolled myself up in it on the floor like a giant burrito that you shouldn't eat (because it's on the floor and made of people).

My dad took several deep breaths and finally continued speaking. "Once upon a time," he began, "there was a man or possibly a young woman who did a thing. And the thing caused emotions. Something about Father's Day. I don't know what it was. I'll have to look it up on the internet. But I'm waiting for your mom to fix the password on the computer because she set some thing on it and I don't know what it is." He could only shake his head in irritation with the thing that my mom did.

The silence that fell afterward for several minutes was very cryptic.

"I think I missed the part with the vengeance, Dad," I said.

He gave me a very cryptic look.

"Maybe you'd better ask your mom," he said and went back to swishing his brandy, as the automatic timer on the satellite TV in his study suddenly kicked in and changed the channel to a Western starring Randolph Scott.

I finally unrolled myself from my floor burrito and headed downstairs to the room where we kept all our staircases to ask my mom the thing.

It was the most heartfelt conversation I've ever had with my dad.

THE END

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

A Post About Lurlene McDaniel Who Is So Awesome

Lurlene McDaniel, probably











Back, almost ten years ago, when I was still writing The Newsletter for the CEO of Cubicle 3-10, I was obsessed with Lurlene McDaniel. "Who is Lurlene McDaniel?" you might be asking. I'm so glad you asked in my imagination. Lurlene McDaniel is a writer of books for teens. You might know her by her books Six Months to Live; Mother, Please Don't Die; Too Young to Die; and Sixteen and Dying. In other words, ALL DEATH, ALL THE TIME.

"Wow, that sounds pretty morbid," you're definitely saying right now. "I only like to read books where baskets of kittens find homes or happy schoolchildren learn how to share." Well, then I don't know what you're doing at my blog. But I was going through my old newsletter files last night and found all of my Lurlene McDaniel fangirl posts and thought it was time I got them out again. Because if you're not part of the Lurlene McDaniel Appreciation Society, then it's time to remedy that real quick. Also, she has written so many additional jolly books and I wanted to add some of them to my list, along with a few title suggestions I came up with myself. My suggestions are marked with an asterisk. An asterisk OF DEATH.

LONG LIVE LURLENE MCDANIEL. 

Someone Dies, Someone Lives
Mother, Help Me Live
Sixteen and Dying
Baby Alicia is Dying
So Is Pre-Teen Tabitha*
Why Did She Have to Die?
Don’t Die, My Love
She Died Too Young
She Died in a Comedic Pratfall Gone Awry*
A Rose for Melinda (Who I'm assuming eventually died)
Till Death Do Us Part
The Girl Death Left Behind
The Girl Death Saw Naked by Accident*
Cut Down in Her Youth By Death’s Cruel Sickle*
Lifted Up by Angels
Angel of Mercy
Angel of Hope
Angel of Ill-Timed Morbidity*
Telling Christina Goodbye
Saying Hello to My Little Friend*
Until Angels Close My Eyes
Until Angels Steal My Wallet*
For Better, for Worse, Forever
Time to Let Go 
No, Seriously, Let Go: This "You Dying" Thing is Getting Old*


Bonus. Here is an excerpt of some fan fiction I wrote.

She Was Just Too Fat to Live
by someone who is not Lurlene McDaniel

The doctor looked deep into Becky’s eyes. “You’re dying, Becky. You have...” He paused, his eyes moistening with emotion. “You have three days to live.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” Becky cried. “I have so much to live for. I’m so young. Why me? Why meeeeeee?”

“I also think it is probably a good time to tell you that you are allergic to seafood and peanuts,” the doctor said, his eyes dripping with emotion.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” Becky cried. “I will never eat lobster rolls or brittle!”

“Becky, I didn’t want to have to tell you this,” the doctor said, his eyes gushing with emotion. “You also have a mild case of eczema.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” Becky cried. “I will have annoyingly itchy skin.”

“Finally, Becky,” the doctor sobbed, his eyes flooding with emotion, “This paper cut may be infected.”

Becky hurled herself off the examining table and pounded her fists on the floor. 
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Monday, June 10, 2013

Updates on My OKCupid Profile

Dear Lord. Deliver us from Bieber Fever. Amen.

















Well, shit. It's been two weeks since I last changed my OKCupid profile, and can I reveal my soul to you right now?

I AM SO BURNED OUT ON OKCUPID. I sometimes think I would rather die alone at 80 and have the stench of my dead body drift out into the hallway of my building so that the fire department has to come and break down my door with axes only to find that my cats have eaten my corpse than ever go back over to that cesspool that is also a shit hole.

Ahem.

I feel better, having said that.

Let's take a look at the latest profile! After this, it's possible I'm going to take a few weeks off (or forever). I'll keep you posted. Click on the profile screenshots below to enlarge (or hire someone to read them to you).





Some light reading before bed.
Filled with potassium.


UGH. Noobs.
This is the face I make when I open the door and it's Jehovah's Witnesses.



Me? Oh, just pirating Game of Thrones.





Sunday, June 9, 2013

Come Visit Me Over at TrueBob BloodPants

What did I do this weekend? So glad you asked. I had a huge brainstorm on Friday night while peeing in the dark at 3 AM. (TMI, Bethany. What? Oh.) 

And that is how I came up with a new Tumblr for people who believe that SpongeBob and True Blood should be united forever in harmony. In the words of Patrick that one time, "LOOK AT IT. I WANT ALL OF YOU LOOK AT IT."

So, if you want to look at it, go ahead. Don't say I didn't warn you though. It's pretty stupid. How stupid? Stupid as dumb old Texas.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Hey, I Made a Baking Video Filled with Drama, Sweatiness, and a Surplus of Bananas



You may recall, if you've been reading Welcome to Bethville! since 2007, that it started out as a baking blog. You might even recall this recipe for banana bread, which is the best recipe for anything ever and works well for getting rid of those pesky brown bananas that are on your kitchen counter gathering fruit flies. What you won't recall is Episode 1 of "Baking with Bethany" because I just made it last night. The apartment got very hot and sweaty and banana-scented merely for your entertainment. Are you not entertained? Well, then maybe you should click play already.

Monday, June 3, 2013

This Post Is an Obvious Grab for More Likes, Shares, and Favorites

This is just a placeholder until I find a better image.


















Hey, girl. It has recently come to my attention that the reason Welcome to Bethville! doesn't have a ton of likes, favorites, retweets, fans, and fun things like that is that I am "not terribly relatable." And maybe I often "write about things that are not interesting." Also, I am sometimes "very long-winded."

Well, too bad!

I'm not going to make an obvious grab for your attention. I'm not going to post a bunch of cat videos. Not like these people and their almost 11 million likes on YouTube.



I don't talk about the antics of celebrities or post shirtless photos of people. Like this one.

DEFINITELY DOING ANTICS.








And I certainly don't post things that might offend people in some attempt to generate a debate, like this valentine I made for abortion.

I haven't heard back.

Most importantly, I don't threaten people by saying things like, "If you don't like Welcome to Bethville! on Facebook, or follow me on Twitter, or just come back regularly, I'll find you. I'll find you and I'll do things to you. I'll wait in the bushes outside of your home. I'll leave muffins on your porch. Delicious muffins. And you'll eat them because I make really good muffins. I hope you are prepared for the thunder thighs my delicious muffins will definitely give you.

I guess what I'm saying is that if you can see past all of my unrelatableness, inability to say interesting things, and case of the jabber jaws and find it in your heart to like, favorite, share, etc. Welcome to Bethville! and I can get enough readers, it will 1) boost my self-esteem and 2) maybe generate enough interest to convince someone important to buy my Frightening Fridays manuscript. Then, I'll finally be able to afford that surgery for my sick pet and/or child.

Lots of love,
Bethany, The Mayor of Bethville

P.S. I don't know what else to do with this video of Benedict Cumberbatch in the shower, so I'm just leaving it here.



Also, try not to objectify this picture of Christina Hendricks, straight male readers and ladies who love ladies.

I said to stop objectifying her.