So, as you guys might remember, our antique 1990's Beanie Babies are very hot to trot / sexual. This was confirmed when we opened the swing tags (industry term) attached to their ears.
Most millennials will remember that each authentic Beanie Baby came with its own "get-to-know-me" poem. Well, we were just flabbergasted to read what Poopsie and Diana had to say for themselves. This is some real NSFW (not safe for work), NSFV (not safe for virgins), NSFPNLJS (not safe for pre-Nick-Lachey Jessica Simpson) and NSFY (not safe for you) stuff.
What are two girls to do when they're in the car for 8 hours and they've listened to all of Rob Thomas' "new stuff?"
Should they talk to each other? Keep their eyes on the road? Listen to Rob Thomas' "not-so-new stuff?" Hell no. It's time to stop bickering at each other and turn on the other drivers of the road. We present to you, with pride, our 1-90 burn book!
Red and white car, little Ms. Candy Cane? More like Red, White and Bitch. Get a real job.
Ooooo, cool apple sticker. What's your operating system, iSuck? Cuz you do. You suck. Go cry to the cloud about it. Get a real job, Steve Jobs.
Where you going'? Get some real sleeves.
Single white female. You look like my freshman year biology teacher Ms. Kendall. Are you my freshman year biology teacher Ms. Kendall? If not, take off those shades. You are no Ms. Kendall!
Who you texting, your parole officer, you fucking criminal? You're breaking the law! You're putting us, Ms. Kendall and Rob Thomas in danger!
Oooo, what do we have here? Look at you, Ms. Thing. Driving with both hands on the wheel. Ten and two, am I right? Shawty, you a TEN and we're the TWO single white females to your left. Va va voom.
... Not really a burn.
This guy hasn't seen any road head since that mustache was in style. Burn, baby, burn.
This guy's probably seen a little too much road head since that mustache was in style.
Hey Rob Thomas! Your not-so-new stuff isn't as good as your new stuff! BURN!
We finally made it to New Mexico! 3 States!
So we took Pug-A-Boo to the cutest dog park in Arizona. The locals call it the grand canyon (probably because it’s such a grand place to walk your balloon pug!).
It’s a weird feeling when you’re writing a blog but you still can hear no one laughing at your own jokes. Fine, douchebags, it’s the Grand Canyon and, while we’re on the subject, pets technically aren’t allowed. (But we brought Pug-A-Boo anyway).
This place is friction’ crazy. People should really talk about it.
Anyways, as you can imagine, the colors here are bonkers. Ceil would like to note that “they rock.” Get it, because of the rocks? Maggie would like to note that she’s going to effing kill herself. Get it, because of the rock joke Ceil made?
With so many different layers deep within the canyon, and so many different shadows depending on the time of day, there’s no real limit to the colors you’ll find here.
The most striking, and famous, is a level called the Redwall Limestone. It’s what gives the grand canyon its notorious orange-red color because of the iron-oxide in the sediment. Iron is behind a lot of things that are famous for being red.
We actually hiked pretty far down into the canyon. We wanted to see the color gradation for ourselves. We got pretty far and it was spectacular. BUT THEN an old, old man (think Jafar’s disguise in the beginning of Aladdin) who “volunteers” for the park told us we had “probably gone too far and it was too late in the day and we better turn around.” No joke, guys, it was like 2:30 in the afternoon. This guy was batshit. But he got into our heads and we turned around before we had planned to.
Later, when we returned to the top, we spoke to a ranger who told us there hadn’t been any volunteers in the canyon since 1948. My bones went as ice-cold as the Colorado River. Pretty eerie, right?!
Okay, another bad joke that no one’s laughing at. The volunteer did really exist. But, honestly, that’s how old he was.
Look at the other asshole we met on the trail:
And, for a bonus, here’s another pic of Pug-A-Boo.