Hey Joey, it’s me down here. Your fucking stomach. Remember me? Seeing as you’ve already started preparing, I wanna get in fast. I got some serious issues going on, and we need to talk. Capisce? Why do I sound like Joe Pesci in Goodfellas? Because that’s how angry stomachs sound when you don’t feed us right. We whine. We growl. We threaten. Yeah, sure, you were always a big eater. You always loved to eat big. You’re a big guy, Joey—6 feet, 230 lbs. A real fucking powerhouse. There’s money to be made in eating big. I understand that. And guys…
Author: Ronia Smits
Ronia Smits
Ragna (Ronia) Smits is an Anglo-American humor writer, cartoonist, and cat guardian who grew up in England, the Middle East, and Africa. Her work has appeared in Defenestration, Robot Butt, Points in Case, Little Old Lady Comedy, The Daily Drunk Mag, and various online and print anthologies. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband (and other wildlife). You can find her on Twitter at @Zootgal68.
Excessive tweeting. Excessive retweeting. Excessive tweeting and retweeting about the coronavirus. Even without any symptoms, worrying that you might have the coronavirus. Obsessive back and forth tweets with those who think they also might have the coronavirus. Compare symptoms. Why, yes, you do feel a little flushed! Wonder if cats can get the coronavirus. Worry that your cat, who just sneezed, while licking your face, has the coronavirus! Become obsessed that he will die. Worry if having a coronavirus-infested dead cat in your house could result in your death. Plan what to do with his body. If you leave…
Dear Scary Monster, My husband and I have an agreement. Any beefy (hairy) spiders under half an inch in diameter (including legs), I can take care of. Those larger, him being both taller and heavier, are his preserve. We call it “The Height/Weight Ratio.” So why did you show up Monday morning, right after he left for work? Still in pajamas, PRE-COFFEE DAMMIT, I saw you standing there, up on all eights, like a disembodied, emaciated, clawed Halloween hand, in the dim light of the carpeted hallway, waiting… Waiting for what – a breakfast invite, a battle to the death?…
I begin by applying fake tan to my body about a week before the shoot. My favorite tanning lotion is St. Tropez, but after Ivanka showed up at my yoga class last month and doled out samples of her father’s preferred brand (which is “allegedly” tailored to one’s skin tone), I was hooked! I ended up purchasing a five-gallon can, and a set of her stepmother’s fabulously popular Slovenian paint rollers. Generally, I’d never promote the opposing party, but this stuff rolls on great! It smells like bacon and turns you bright orange. Which is a bitch at first, as you can’t…
Due to ongoing concerns about offending our customers through the “holiday season” by saying “Merry Christmas,” we at Starbucks decided to ask our baristas for greeting suggestions, which could then go on our holiday mugs. As “merry” symbolizes enjoyment and being of good cheer, we asked that they include it. Homophones and malapropisms were acceptable – within reason. To get their creative juices flowing, we even prepared a “specially formulated” eggnog! Here are the results: Merry Crickets Merry Chickpeas Merry Chickenpox Merry Hay While the Sun Shines Hairy Chihuahuas Bark at Santa If He Forgets Their Treats! Merry Fruitcakes Merry Skullduggery…