Monthly Archives: April 2012

If I Was God


The question has been posed numerous times throughout the history of the world concerning the “whys”  of God. Now let me ask you something- Does the being who created everything need a reason to fuck with people? I think not.

This got me to thinking. What would I do if was God?

First of all, I would never have given humans free choice. Now, I’m not saying God made a mistake with that one, but why mess with perfection? You see what happens when people are left to their own devices. People try destroying infidels by flying planes into buildings and women tempt men into eating fruit. Perhaps I would have given free choice to people and then just blown everybody up every hundred years or so when shit got really bad…

Since I’m kind of a bitch, I’d probably strike people dead with lightening at various intervals when I was bored. After an eternity of having absolute power, I’m quite certain just sitting around watching  the idiots of the world running around like, well, idiots would be quite dull unless you were screwing with people every now and again. I’m quite certain there would be many more “natural” disasters too.

One of the things that would be completely different is that the only people I would bless with children would be the ones that wanted them in the first place. None of this “accidental pregnancy” shit. Oh, yes, I realize that “oops” pregnancies may at times change people into better beings, however, I think it more often than not ends in instances of unacceptable parenting behavior. And I REALLY really tired of seeing people who shouldn’t have kids sporting an entire brood of younglings.

I also would deem it necessary to  bring back awesome creatures like unicorns and dinosaurs. Dinosaurs are frickin’ awesome, man! After I Jurassic Park-ed the entire world,  I’d just sit back and watch to see if any kid brought a stray baby T-rex home. THAT would be interesting.

While I’m on the subject of living things, I must mention that mosquitoes would NOT be among them. Woodticks, too. I don’t think any child needs to worry themselves to death over whether they will get Lyme’s disease or West Nile like I did when I was a kid. There was an entire summer when I refused to enter the outdoors after Lyme’s disease was discovered. What a waste…. And as much as I’d like to do away with arachnids, I realize some of them prove useful, so Charlotte and her other spider friends would be safe.

I would also make sure that there were many less ugly people around. I’d keep a few here and there so the beautiful people would still have something to make fun of, but for the most part, I just don’t feel that the world benefits more from having asthetically non-pleasing people, so I’d just make sure everyone turned out gorgeous.

Because I believe in corporal punishment, and everything would be all about me if I were God, (hmm, odd that me being a non-deity doesn’t affect that fact now) unbelief and defiance would be dealt with swiftly and harshly. As in- you’d better believe, bitches, or I’ll smite you down!

Maybe it’s a good thing that I’m not God…

P.S. The main thing I would do would be to make everyone love one another. Just think- if hate had never existed in the world, you wouldn’t even know what it was, so you wouldn’t even miss it.

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Filed under God, Humor, Life, Religion, Uncategorized

Mutant Beetles Attack Pizza Slut


Saturday night at precisely 11:59 P.M.,  an unsuspecting Pizza Slut was hauling out the kitchen trash after an extremely slow night when she was startled by a disgusting mammoth bug she almost squashed. An interviewed passerby going about his business at the time had the following to say about the reported incident:

I was standing across the street renting Breaking Dawn out of a Red Box when I heard a girl shrieking, “EEEEEEEEIIIIIIII!!!!!!” I turned around and saw a rather fortunate-looking young woman with large buzooms drop the bag of trash she was carrying and jump up and down in terror. She then ran inside and I heard her cry, “Come out! Come out and see the super creepy bug that’s out here!!!” I saw the cute chic return to the parking lot with a fellow employee who was much less attractive. The two women crouched down to click pictures of the said creeper with their cell phones before I heard the large-breasted woman squeal, “Squish it! Squish it with your foot! I wanna see what happens!” The other woman protested- “NO! I’m not going to step on that with my new shoe!”

After a few minutes of squealing and trying to decide whether to squash the beetle, the more attractive of the two decided to finish taking out the trash. I became frightened (and slightly turned on) when she jumped about 4 feet in the air and let out another squeal. “Another one!” she cried. “There’s another one over here! What the hell?!!??!” The other woman ran over to investigate, and then had the balls to kick the mutant 2nd beetle closer to the first, shrieking as she did so.

“I kicked it! I kicked it over to the other one, Sparklebumps!”

“EEEEEEIIIIIII!” The girl called Sparklebumps ran over and hunkered down by the two frightening bugs.

“Look!” I heard her cry. “The two creepies are racing! Go! Go! Go! Go!”

“Go! Go! Go! Go!” The brave woman who had footed the second beetle joined in egging the massive insects on.

“WOOOOOOO! My beetle won! My beetle won!” The red-haired chicky jumped up and down delightfully.

“NO!!!!!!! That was MY beetle!” I was about to go over and intervene on any arguement that was beginning, but then I heard the Sparklebumps girl speak again.

“OK, I’m creeped out now. I must go inside now, because these buggys are frickin’ creepy, dude.”

It has been confirmed that Sparklebumps and her coworker survived the mentioned attack with no serious injuries.

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Filed under Humor, Life, Uncategorized, Work

You Ain’t All That and a Basket of Crinkle Fries, Megan Fox


Dear Megan Fox,

I realize there are a good many Transformers fans who lust after you, therefore elevating  your ego to contemptable levels. No worries- I am here to point out all your noticeable flaws in hopes of deflating your narssicism back to a more acceptable altitude.

In order the further have my readers canonize me, (and to keep from looking like a completely heartless bitch) I shall first state that I truly admire the inking you’ve had administered to your skinnage. The placement and quotes you’ve chosen are surprisingly lovely. Now that that butt-suckage is out of the way, let the Fox Bashing begin. (Is that the celeb version of seal clubbing, I wonder?)

I have noticed in various interviews you’ve given that you seem to be striving for Angelinaesque shock value. Let me just point out, you are not as talented as she, nor is your kisser bee-stung enough to obtain such status. (No matter how ridiculously you pucker up.) I believe if you were offered a role as a committed sociopath, there would surely be no Oscar in it for you. Crazy people don’t go around posing under hoods of broken-down cars. You’re only strength would therefore prove utterly worthless.

I recognize that the brooching of the next subject may be considered a low blow, but I am not above that. (Notice the clever wordplay there.) It is understood that you had no control over the development of your thumbs, but it would be advisable to go ahead and request a clause in all your ensuing contracts concerning the filming (or the hoped NON-filming) of them. It is in your best interest not to further advertise that you sport the digits of a chimpanzee. As far as wearing your thumbs in public- it’s about time someone brought opera gloves back in style.

If I have not sufficiently offended you yet, let me continue…

I recall a PSA you took part in concerning children’s education not long ago. I find it quite humorous that a person who has made a career of supplying teen boys with spank bank material is also concerned with the mental welfare of said teens. I thought perhaps such interest was to impress your much-older now-husband Brian Austin Green after you realized he found your acting uninspirational. Do not be alarmed; I’m certain his feelings for your are sincere. After all, he is an aging former almost-teen star from BH 90210, and you are a much-googled money train. I wish you both every happiness.

My Rockstar and I agree on one thing concerning you- there’s something wrong with your face. He is convinced it’s because his cock isn’t in it, while I have concluded that you’ve just spent too much time in front of the mirror trying to impersonate Angelina’s nearly-perfect pout. Either way, it’s not very good for you.

I guess that’s all I have to say.

XOXO,

Sparklebumps

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To Days Gone By


I miss the days I spent surrounded by a plethora of beautiful used books waiting to be re-boughten.

I miss stashing yet another book I couldn’t afford underneath the counter, and re-adjusting the books that were already there when the entire pile threatened to tumble down around my feet. Instead, I now only stash endless amounts of pizza in my gut, which I’m sure will have a crippling effect on my digestive system at some point.

I miss the thrill of a customer bringing in the books their child is outgrown, and I miss the feeling of sheepishness that would come over me when I realized said books were titles I could never live without, despite the fact that I am a mature adult. (Most of the time.)

I miss the customers who would stop in just to visit with me- the older blonde woman who raved about my shoes to her sickly husband; Dino, who always called me Sweety; and even the son of the Alzheimer’s man, who had the gall to leave me to babysit his ailing father. Now, no one raves about my outfits, because who would have anything nice to say about a grease-stained manager shirt that refuses to stay buttoned at my breast, no matter how many times I safety pin it?

I miss being able to wear my collection of adorably awesome shoes every single day. Instead, I now must don my hideous black non-slip work shoes.

I miss going to work and being left to my own devices. Now, I have a health inspector looking over my shoulder at every turn.

I miss having a chance to read all the books I would never buy, (as if there really is such a thing). Instead, I get to read applications of people applying for delivery drivers and servers, and I remain unimpressed when they have no previous experience and use their parents as references.

I miss the occassional stop I would make to the Pretzel Maker, where I would purchase deliciously-fresh pretzel bites. Now, I generally get to eat the non-fresh pizza of customers who forgot to pick up their orders.

I miss smelling nice. Because no matter how much perfume I spray on myself, there is always the underlying smell of D’odour du Pepperoni.

I miss arranging books in such a way that will catch one’s eye. I now get to arrange the freezer in such a way that will keep the frozen pizza dough from tumbling out every time one opens the door.

Does anybody own a bookstore that they need a Sparklebumps in?

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Filed under Books, Humor, Life, Uncategorized, Work

In The Event of a Zombie Apocolypse


Since the chance of a Zombie Apocolypse ensuing in the near future is relatively high, (after all, there are all kinds of crazy scientific lab people messing with virus strains and shit) I have given great thought as to what I will do when the mostly dead start over-populating the earth.

First, I will need a reliable vehicle. In order to procure one, I may have to actually pose as one of the Walking Dead to scare of any of the remaining salesmen at the Ford dealer. I shall do this only long enough to grab the keys to the Boss 302 Mustang that’s sitting on the lot before I drop my charade and laugh maniacally while crying, “HAHA Suckers!!!!!!”  You may think a Mustang is a poor choice for such an event, but I assure you, it is not. I shall be able to outrun any highly-speedy super zombies that may be lurking about, and I will have a good excuse to NOT pick up stragglers who are unprepared for Apocolypse-like times- “I’m sorry, my backseat is small and full of ammunition; I haven’t room for dumbasses.”

Next, I would make a stop at a sporting goods store and stock up on guns (and let us not forget a 357, since one well-placed shot will explode an Almost-Dead person’s slow-moving brain.) Don’t forget the ammo- it’s been a few years since I shot at anything, so I will make sure to grab plenty in case of probable non-excellent aim. I’ll grab a bowie knife to further arm myself for close-contact attack.

Thirdly, a trek to the grocery store. Normally, I would detest such a journey, but since I would be shopping for sustenance that keeps for a long time, I think that I shall enjoy say trip, as candy has a very extended expiration date, and is necessary to keep one’s blood sugar at the level needed for Zombie Annihalation. Once I was fully equipped with a sufficient supply of Mars Bars and Smarties, I would slip down the chip aisle and grab necessary assorted flavored Doritos and be on my way.

I suppose now that I would be supplied with all that I’d need, it would be time to seek out those worthy of saving from the Mostly Dead. (Starting with Chris Meloni.) I would also seek out those who have pissed me off throughout the years and use them as Zombie bait. (Such as my former manager from the bookstore, who was not fittest, which we are talking survival of)

Then I would drive on down to North Carolia and hole up in the Biltmore Estate, which I’m quite certain is structured with many alarms good for warning me of Zombie approach. After that, I would forage daily for supplies, but I think if I rescued Chris Meloni I’d have everything I’d need.

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Kid At Heart


I will be the first to admit that I am not a completely mature adult. (Despite what my boobies may say.) It seems people that go around being adultish at all times are generally unhappy people. I find that life is best when one goes around with child-like enthusiasm. (at least sometimes.) Also, it is beneficial to the soul to always have time to play. Here is the list of child-like activities I have devised to help you along:

Playing games: While Chutes and Ladders and Candyland are fine choices to help maintain innocence, I prefer slightly… altered games, such as strip poker, naughty dice, and drunk Monopoly. I suppose beer pong could be included in this list, however, I find the concept of dirty ping pong balls in alcoholic beverages appalling.

Swinging: One of the best inventions that live on a playground is swings. There’s nothing better than leaning back, closing your eyes,and pumping your legs while feeling the wind in your hair. The only way to increase your pleasure would be to invest in a sex swing…

Bursting into song: I think Disney and Rogers and Hammerstein had the right idea. When you feel those strong emotions come over you, I urge you to sing a few bars of whatever song is in your head at the time. I guarantee you’ll feel great! If you are not partial to musicals, warble away at Balls to the Wall or Ten Seconds to Love.

Reading: I realize that many children find reading to be a huge bore. Those kids are just dumb. (Was that harsh?) Who cannot find joy in reading “Fox in sock and chicks with bricks and chicks on blocks, Sir”? And just because his books were written for children doesn’t mean Shel Silverstein won’t entertain the most mature of souls.

There are many other ways to entertain yourself, especially with kid’s toys. (Such as finding new sex positions by posing Barbie and Ken, and don’t even get me started on the Phonics Caterpillar that you can make swear.) Bouncing balls off of children’s heads is also highly amusing, but nevermind about that.

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Filed under Books, Children, Entertainment, Family, Humor, Life, Sex, Uncategorized

A Nightmarishly Late Birthday Present


In honor of HR Nightmare’s aging, I shall bestow upon him gifts worthy of his Vampire self. I realize I’m very late in the bestowage.

Firstly, Jack Daniels (and a girl’s crotch). To get the party started.

A mirror, because when you look into it you won’t be able to tell how old you are, because you are a partial vampire. So then you can laugh.

Cleavage, because what straight man doesn’t want to see that. (I’m sorry, it’s not mine.)

Beautiful stillettos, because H.E. says you look good in them, and hey, if you wanna dress like a chic, it’s your birthday. (I picked green because that’s kinda manly, right?)

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Memories of a Warrior Princess


So I woke up this morning, and the memories of one of my past lives came flooding back. Let me tell you who I used to be.

I do not recall my father’s name, nor my mother’s, but I remember the story of how they met. My father was riding his war horse through the forest on a mission from his king, when he stopped by a river to water his steed. As he approached the river, he saw a beautiful dark-eyed woman bathing in the water. He watched her with desire for a long while, until she turned and saw he was there. She was so angry at having been watched in such an intimate situation without having been asked that she picked up a stone from the river’s floor and flung it at the Knight’s head. She had very good aim, and the man immediately crumpled to the ground.

When he awoke, he was disappointed to find that the dark-eyed woman had had sufficient time to clothe her bosoms (and other bodily parts), but he was thrilled to find that she was caring for the head wound she had inflicted on him. He apologized for his indecency, and the woman replied, “It is not up to me what is done with you now. You have seen the nudity of a Gypsy princess. My father will decide your fate, and I must say he generally chooses death for those who offend his daughter’s honor.”

The knight rolled his eyes and said, “Well, perhaps his daughters should not skinny-dip in public rivers then.”

No man had ever before dared to sass the Gypsy princess, (her dad preferring death for offenders and all) and she decided right then that this sassy knight was worthy of saving, so she suggested that instead of going before her father, they should run away. The knight didn’t want to be beheaded, and the woman was gorgeous, so he was all for it. Soon after, I was conceived.

My parents had run all the way to the ocean’s edge, and one day, while my father was gathering supplies, my mother went out to the beach to look for seashells. Suddenly, a pirate shipped approached. As soon as she saw it, she tried to run to find my father, but being largely impregnated with me, she didn’t get far before the pirates overtook her. They boarded the pirate ship and presented my mother to the captain, who was reknown as a wretched and cruel man. He was impressed that my mother showed no fear, despite her precarious situation, and so he decided to keep her aboard and see what would happen.

After a few weeks, my mother gave birth to me, and named me Ula (which means jewel of the sea) because every time she looked out at the ocean, she was unimpressed by the endless miles of water that held no beauty for her. Only a week later, the pirate captain requested my mother’s presence in his cabin with the intent of having his way with her. My mother refused to have her honor taken away in such a manner, so she flung herself over the ship’s rail, and was eaten by a kraken.

The captain was heartbroken, because after only a few weeks, he had fallen in love with my mother’s beauty, and as he looked at baby me, now motherless, he decided he would raise me as his own, and teach me all the skills I would need to prevent myself from suffering my mother’s fate.

I spent the years of my childhood learning the ways of a sword, and the ways of a ship. I must tell you, I’m quite certain the bowels of that ship stunk like unwashed male bodies and much farting, but to me it just smelled like home. The captain loved me as his own, but when I was nearly ten, he told me the truth of my parentage. Because he was the cause of my mother’s suicide, I could not allow him to live, and so I slit his throat with the knife he was using to carve his swordfish. While his blood seeped out onto his dining table, I went on deck and demanded the crew to return me to the beach where my mother was captured. I informed them that I had murdered their captain, and if they did not obey me, their fate would be the same. Because each of them had had a hand in my combative training, they knew that I was not lying, for I knew every man’s strengths and weaknesses.

After a month, we arrived back to the beach where my life had been forever altered before my birth. As I waded to shore, the pirate crew stood aboard the ship with their arms raised in salute, because they all would miss me. I bore no ill will to them, because they had been my family, and because they had only been following the will of their captain when they had kidnapped my mother all those years ago.

I left the beach, and began the search for my father. Though I had never seen him, my mother had described him in great detail to the captain, and he had in turn described him to me before I had flayed him like a fish. As I wandered through the trees, I caught sight of a tiny cabin, and approached with the thought of asking the inhabitants within if they recognized my father’s description. There was a man chopping wood in the yard, and when he heard me approach, he turned, and I was face to face with my father. I knew it was him, because the captain had said my mother described his eyes as cerulean blue, such as she had never seen in her lifetime. I had no doubt that this was he.

When my father set eyes on me, all the color drained from his face. He told me later it was because he thought he was seeing the ghost of my mother as a child. (Apparently I looked alot like her) He said that after my mother had been stolen from him, he had considered returning to his king and begging forgiveness for his desertion, but something had told him to stay near the beach. He thought it was because he was to be reunited with my mother someday, and he could not hide the disappointment that it was me instead. Even so, we grew close, as a father and daughter should, and he was greatly impressed by my skills with a sword.

Several years later, we were hunting in the forest, when my father was attacked by a great bear. I happened to hit the bear straight in the eyeball with my arrow (lucky shot) and kill it. Sadly, my father had been mauled to fiercely that there was nothing I could do for him. He lingered between life and death for a whole week, until finally he asked me to grant him the reprieve of death. As the tears poured down my face, I placed the point of my sword over his heart and pushed. From then on, I was no longer known as Ula, jewel of the sea, but as Brona, which is sorrow.

But the story of my life as Brona is for another time.

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Filed under Books, fiction, Life, Love, short story, Uncategorized

I’m Glad You’re Not Dead Yet, Chris Meloni


Dear Hottest Chris,

I’ve been searching for the perfect way to wish you a happy Entrance Into the World Day.

Since you entered this world in only the skin of your beautiful self, it seems only right that you spend your Day of Birth in exactly the same state.

That being said, I would be more than willing to come to you if you are at all uncomfortable travelling in the nude. I need only be invited.

Firstly, I would like to present to you this bottle of Jack Daniels as a birthday gift. Of course I haven’t slipped in a whole supply of Mickeys so that you will be rendered unconscious and I can ravage your naked body with no resistance. How silly of you even to think that I would do such a thing. Too, I have included a very cliche’ red rose as a symbol of my passionate feelings for you.

Secondly, I would like to present the cake I shall be jumping out of. In honor of your special day, I have decided to arrive in said cake in the exact amount of clothes you shall be sporting. Plus heels.

I was thinking, after I have jumped out of your specially-designed giant cake, you would maybe like to receive a full body massage with edible massage oils. I would make certain to include the special Triple-D massage technique wherever it is requested. After all of your hard places have been rubbed soft, (heehee) I would be more than willing to lick your deliciously-muscled bod clean of any wayward flavored oils.

As I’m quite sure you will be sleepy by this time, (because of the massage, NOT because of any Mickeys I haven’t slipped into your drink) I feel it would only be fair for me to allow you time on your day to lay down and take a nap. Therefore, I would make sure that you are positioned nicely in your bed before you pass out fall asleep.

While you are passed out resting, I would only do things to you that you would allow me to do while you were awake, like: nibbling your nipples, rubbing your feet, stroking your manhood, giving you a head massage, and massaging your hands with my boobs.

After your birthday nap of ten or 12 hours, I would be more than willing to stay in your home as a French maid; I promise you shall be amazed at my dominatrix   cleaning skills.

That being said, I would like to point out that I am daily amazed that at your age of fifty-one, you still have the ability to make my panties wet just by scowling.

Love,

Sparklebumps

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Pornstar Status


You’ve missed me, haven’t you?

It’s ok. You don’t have to admit it. I know that truth.

Anyhoo, I apologize that your last week has been mostly completely devoid of Sparklebumps entertainment. You know what they say- Misery loves company. Yes, I do.  So my intent is to make you as miserable as I.

Just kidding! I loves you all and want you to be happy! It’s not YOUR fault I suck at making basic life decisions, and so I shall drag myself out of bed to write a post that will (it is hoped) brighten your day.

I’ve always dreamed of being a Porn Star. While this urge has mostly remained in my subconcious, it’s always been there a little bit. Ever since my used-to-be-friend and I found her dad’s stash of Playboys.

I believe my desire to be a world famous Porn Queen stems from my histrionic personality disorder and the fact that I want everyone to look at me! Look at me!!!!! If I think this through a little more, I would actually throw a robe on if everyone was looking at me naked and scream, “Don’t look at me! Don’t look at me!”

I must say though, I believe I would be a huge hit if I ever were to film my sexual deviances for public consumption. (Even bigger than that Kardashian chic.) There would be none of that fake orgasming shit while screaming, “Oh god, oh yeah, right there, baby, fuck me good.Aghhhhhhh!” No. That shit pisses me right off. My sex scenes would harbor only true and legitimate cummings, accompanied by my true and legitimate orgasm squeaking. (Shut up. I can’t help it. And anyway, people seem to like it, so there.)

I would also make sure to only star in porn that carries a well-written story line and stars people with stellar acting abilities. I realize this is generally not the prerequisite for skin flicks, but it should be, dammit. Wouldn’t a movie about a Princess who is forced to be a sex slave while trying to save her country from anarchy be much more interesting than a copier-machine repair man accidentally sticking his boner into the secretary’s ass when she drops that memo onto the floor?

You may be wondering what has inspired today’s post.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a little post entitled Anal Glands, Shrimp Scampi, and Gene Simmons. A few days later I was browsing through my spam and saw that this post had been linked to another website. Being the insanely curious woman that I am, I clicked on the link (though I’ve been told that clicking on spam is a bad thing) and my eyes were immediately met with the sight of a girl bent over get drilled by another girl with a dildo. How thrilled do you think I was when I saw that my post made it on to the Strippers for your Desktop website?  I didn’t even realize this was something I was aiming for.

Actually, I must admit, at first I was completely appalled that my superior writing skills were being linked to porn sites (what would my church family say?), but after the initial shock wore off, I just shrugged and thought, “What the hell? There really is no such thing as bad publicity…”

I have since decided that if the whole “real” writing thing doesn’t work out, I shall be able to become famous by writing daily about anal glands. Maybe someday there could even be a Sparklebumps Channel  that only airs well-written porn starring Yours Truly.

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