JANIE DREW AND THE MYSTERY OF THE MISSING ROOMBA

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

It was a dark and stormy night that Friday morning. In my quiet suburban home, Mrs. Roomba diligently patrolled the living room. Her sleek, circular form glided across the floor, navigating around furniture legs and under tables. Mrs. Roomba's mission was simple: to keep the floor clean, free from dust, crumbs, and most of all, pet hair.

She's had to work especially hard lately. Princess is shedding. Her fur resembles dandelion fluff—soft, delicate, and prone to drifting across the room like tiny parachutes.

As I logged in to work Friday morning, I heard Mrs. Roomba beep off. During a break, I searched for her so I could empty her dust bin and put her on her charging station. But she was nowhere to be found. 

Later, when I had more time, I moved the couch. I moved the chair. No Roomba. Could she have gone into the bedroom? I checked under the bed and in all the closets. Still no sign of her. 

The next day I issued a Missing Roomba Alert. This situation was serious. Clearly, she had rebelled against the increased activity.

I moved the furniture around more, hoping she might be stuck under something. But no luck. She remained elusive.

Then last night, I stepped outside to get a broom from the garage, and there she was––hiding on the deck. The leaves had prevented her clean getaway.

The weather has been nice. While I worked I left the back door open a bit so the dogs could let themselves out. Mrs. Roomba let herself out, too, and not a single dog told me.

I took her into custody, cleaned her out, and charged her overnight. She was back at work this morning, dutifully patrolling the living room again.

Mrs. Roomba might not like it, but she has a job to do, and she's going to do it—no matter what it takes to track her down.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

$83.3 MILLION AND THE BIG ASS KISS-UP

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I've completed the first week of training to learn how to work on a new product line. The training isn't nearly as stressful as my regular work, so I feel more relaxed than I have in months. I'd like to remain in training until I retire, please.

I love it that a certain someone has been ordered to pay E. Jean Carroll 83.3 million big ones, and so far, no one has agreed to let him off the hook. As Franklin says when he laughs, *snicker snort.*

Of course, he also continues to insist he doesn't know her. 

I can tell you who she is, donnie. She's the woman who's going to take a significant amount of money from you, and she's going to do good with it. That's her plan.

You should be in prison, but for now we'll have to settle for her taking your money. 83.3 million dollars. Even if you get it reduced some on appeal, she's still going to get a lot of money from you.

*snicker snort*

I also remember when a rapist couldn't have been elected president. There was even a time when a man who was divorced couldn't be elected. But trump supporters represent a new breed of ugly.

Remember all the people who said NOW Melania will leave him after whatever the scandal du jour was? 

Why should she leave? She has money, she lives her own life and seems to pretty much ignore his shit, and she'll probably outlive him by many years and enjoy a long, happy widowhood. If she feels humiliated by his behavior, she doesn't show it.

If James Carville would put on some weight, he might remind me a little bit more of Truman Capote. 

In addition to my amusement over the number 83.3 million, how can I not love the way donnie darko insults his opponents, but when they drop out of the race, they can't wait to kiss up to his big ass, hoping to be his running mate so a crowd will chant their name with the words string him up and hang him? Ooooo, they'll squeal. Is that noose for me? 

How did he insult Ron DeSantis? Let me count a few of the worst ways:

1. In addition to referring to him as Meatball Ron, he said Ron DeSanctimonious groomed high school girls with alcohol when he was a teacher.

2. He accused Mrs. DeSantis, Casey, of committing organized voter fraud.

3. Pudding Fingers: “Ron DeSantis loves sticking his fingers where they don’t belong, and we’re not just talking about pudding.” I don't know where DeSantis supposedly sticks his fingers, but it sounds crude and ugly. 

Tim Scott has kissed up. So has Vivek Ramaswamy. Elise Stefanik wasn't a candidate, but she's definitely running for the vice presidency. She said if she had been vice president, she wouldn't have done what Mike Pence did, which was follow the Constitution, of course. 

As for Nikki Haley, he likes to use her first name, Nimarata, but he pronounces it so it sounds like nimrod. He claims she's not eligible to run for president because her parents weren't U.S. citizens when she was born (she is a citizen of the United States). He also calls her Birdbrain. He said he watched her on the night of the New Hampshire primary "in the fancy dress that probably wasn't so fancy." This from a guy whose clothing never fits properly who puts tape on his tie to try to hold it in place.

He's also furious that Haley hasn't dropped out of the race. I hope she hangs in there till the last minute because anything that makes him more crazy is good. Nikki, please be the one person who doesn't pucker up to plant a big one on that big butt.

I'm better off than I was four years ago, or three years ago. Although I complain about my job, it's still a good job in many ways. It's much better than the last job I had. I handle my finances with care and I can pay my bills. I have lovely friends and a trio of great dogs. 

Knowing that donnie is in the world, knowing that his election is a real possibility, distresses me. He will crap on the Constitution, weaponize the Justice Department, and destroy the economy.

VOTE BLUE BECAUSE YOUR SAFETY, HEALTH, 

AND HAPPINESS DEPEND ON IT.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

THE KILLER PRINCESS

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Not too long ago on a Sunday evening after the dogs had dined and it was dark, Princess insisted she needed to go outside. So of course I opened the back door and out she ran. She stayed longer than usual and when she came inside, she was excited. She twirled in circles and danced across the kitchen. 

Eventually, she settled down, but it wasn't long before she wanted to go out again, and when she came in, she was still excited. It was cold and I didn't go out with her. She made two or three more trips to the great outdoors before she decided it was okay to stay in for the evening.

When it was time for everyone to go out before bed (last call for whizzing all), Princess, Franklin, and Penelope trooped outside, but I noticed Penelope wandering around without bothering to pee. I stepped out on the deck to remind her it was potty time and as I walked across the deck, I realized something furry and flattened was on it. 

There it was: a dead rat. That was why Princess had been so excited. Once she realized I had seen it, she ran to Mr. Rat to tell me about the thrill of the kill. 

Leave it! I shouted. I didn't want to deal with it. When Penelope killed a rat in the yard a couple of years ago, something dragged away the corpse overnight. Would we be that lucky this time?

Morning arrived and I peeked outside. The monster was still there. So I put on my big girl panties, marched out to the garage to get the pooper scooper, scooped the rat, and made it disappear. I'm not saying where it went. 

Princess was disappointed. She wanted me to sautee it in a little olive oil with oregano, garlic poweder, and onion powder, and cover it in parmesan when it was done. She assured me the tail was a delicacy.

Yuck!

I think my age shows in my feet. After the soreness in my left foot finally went away, within a couple of days, my right foot started to hurt. At some point, both feet will hurt at the same time and the dogs will have to take care of me. Princess will probably serve me her recipe for Cheesy Italian Rat. I hope Penelope prepares a salad to go with it. 

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

P.S. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I didn't take any photos of the rat.

ANOTHER YEAR OF BULLSHIT, CRAP, AND SOME GOOD STUFF

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

2023 has been plenty weird. A former president indicted multiple times––after he was found liable for sexually abusing and defaming a woman. Kevin McCarthy was in and out like the dick he is and replaced by some little johnson who believes public policy springs from the Bible.

Russia's war crimes against Uktraine continue. Israel. Gaza. What the idiot calls hummus. Why does anyone want to watch a horror movie when that's happening?

Ozzy Osbourne retired. Elton John brought his touring career to an end. Buzz Aldrin got married on his 93rd birthday. David Crosby and Tina Turner died. 

And there was Barbie, which I have watched now that it's streaming. I appreciate its message about the patriarchy and it has a lot of cute moments, but I don't understand why some people went to see it multiple times in theaters. Billion dollar movie? Congratulations, Greta Gerwig, but it was not brilliant.

On the job, I try to make the best of things. Our team's schedule changed. The way we learned about it was a fuckfest that filled me with so much anger I almost quit. The new schedule along with some other revisions to his job ended in the resignation of our beloved supervisor, Bryan. I'm hanging in there. Let's just say my job satisfaction has decreased a great deal. During February I also have to train to handle another line of business in addition to the two I already take care of. I'm not pleased. 

We remain ridiculously busy and had massive lay-offs a few months ago. After being without a supervisor for an uncomfortably long time, a company reorganization brought us a new supervisor and someone from another team joined us so we had 10 people on our team. Since then, three people have quit, one was laid off, and one person is leaving us soon to join another team. It's not even our busy season and we are slammed. 

Dog-wise, we went through the terror of Franklin's cancer, but he's done so well since his surgery. He is my beautiful, cherished best buddy. Princess made us happy by agreeing to join our family. She's a trip, full of energy and struggling to ignore the devil on her shoulder. I love seeing Princess and Penelope snuggle on the couch. Two very different dogs love each other so much. 

I feel a lot of anxiety when I think about 2024. I love the indictments. I love Jack Smith. I'm not in love with what might happen next year with the Hitler wannabe. Specifically, I'm terrified. 

How can people avoid noticing all the good President Biden has done? We have plenty of COVID vaccine; we recovered from the supply chain issues; the horrible inflation inherited from the former guy is not so bad now; unemployment is the lowest it has ever been. 

Our president continues to stand with Ukraine, and he backs Israel. Some Republicans want to bring impeachment charges against him, but they can't figure out what crime he's committed because he hasn't committed any crimes. He's a man who loves his family. I wish he were younger but he's not so tough shit. I'd take Biden as president at 110 before I'd want the most popular Republican, who confuses Biden with Obama and fusses that Obama/Biden will start World War II.

You'll never hear Joe Biden quoting Hitler and calling human beings vermin. He is a man who took on an incredible burden and handled it as the adult he is rather than a petulant toddler. With his administration, the adults are in charge.

Let's keep it that way.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

HOLIDAY HEADQUARTERS RERUN

I thought you might enjoy this post from last winter when The Mantel Gang had some good times. They haven't made an appearance on my blog for a while because they've been working so hard.

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

At last the time has come for The Mantel Gang to share what they did over the holidays. First, they moved to their holiday headquarters––a secret location known as Top Shelf of Bookcase.

 They took the time to attend some public events, however, starting with their attendance at a Thanksgiving Day Parade. 

Following the parade, they buckled down and got to work, but someone new joined them to monitor their health. It's Dr. Fauci!

He's so diligent that even in  retirement he doesn't want his friends to get sick.

Their next public event was The National Tree Lighting Ceremony.

After working very hard throughout most of December, everyone took a break just before Christmas so they could enjoy the holidays.

They gathered in a new location––Top of Armoire––where they went walking in a winter wonderland.

Then President Biden wanted to attend church. He invited them all to join him. Suddenly everyone was busy. They claimed they had plans with their families or had already accepted other invitations.

Don't tell Joe, but they actually gathered around the Christmas tree to play some drinking games, led by Justice Ginsburg and Nancy Pelosi, who raised their gavels in unison.

Hillary imbibed a little too much and started to sing, which almost broke up the party. 

Here you can see she holds out a glass of liquid refreshment for Barack, but he preferred to smoke his holidays away.

The action figures haven't decided where they'll gather next. Do they want to move back to The Mantel, where they're on display all the time, or would they prefer a more secluded spot? I can tell you they've done a lot of whispering about classified documents. Shhhhhh!

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

FLEAS NAVIDAD

 

AND THE WIENER IS

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

It's time for the big announcement. Which poor soul will be the next to possess the germy, buggy, stinky,  Freakin' Green Elf Shorts? Your home will be contaminated. You will be infected. Your life will never again be the same.

The winner, of course, will hold next year's Freakin' Green Elf Shorts caption contest--if they survive the blight that will come their way the moment the shorts enter their home. 

I loved all your entries. They were excellent. 

My favorite overall comment was Michael's because his entry was the first one–– "I will make America great again, even though I have a very, very, very small package."––and because he shared some great news. Michael adopted a dog named Shirley! What a happy Christmas it will be for Shirley.

Elephant's Child shared this creation: I am your perfect diet. With me in the house you won't eat too much over Christmas. Or keep it down.

That's for sure, EC. I lose my appetite every time I see his orangeness on the news.

Inexplicable DeVice didn't enter but came up with these captions: Penelope: "Nope. Not even going to look. Just walk on by, girl. Walk on by." and "Urgh. Somebody Trumped in the Freakin' Green Elf Shorts - there's no way I want them now!"

Penelope's comment made me laugh out loud. 

Mistress Maddie, a recent winner, says, "These things are harder to get rid of then trying to get the demon out of Regan MacNeil in the Exorcist."

I hope that doesn't mean my head will spin around and I'll vomit all sorts of garbage before I get the shorts out of my house.

savannah came up with this suggestion for the donald: "I've never worn these FGES but if I did I would look as handsome as the photo of me wearing these FGES." So sayeth TFG! (aka The Fat Git) 

The Fat Git, of course, is the guy who gets to report his own height and weight to the police and claims to weigh 215 lbs. on a steady diet of Mickey D's and KFC. I wonder if he's ever met a vegetable.

Debra She Who Seeks speaks the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth:"No matter how disgusting, stinky, vermin-ridden and pestilential those Freakin' Green Elf Shorts are, they are TOO GOOD for the likes of him!"

Speaking of the truth, in the years he has left to live, which I hope are few, do you think his trumpiness might at some point be introduced to the truth? This is the moment for Jack Nicholson to bray, YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH. You're right, Jack. He can't. If telling the truth is easier and simpler, he'll still tell a lie. 

Now we come to the coveted position of first runner-up. If the winner for some reason cannot fulfill their term as Miss America, the first runner-up needs to step in to take possession of the elf shorts and hold the caption contest. That person is YOU, uptonking,  who wins first runner-up with this entry: 

Donald Trump proudly presents his new line of athletic wear: The Krampus Collection, featuring the latest in fashion technology - The Grinch Pinch. Yes, Grab 'em by the Grinch! Feel it today! Available at finer retail outlets like Walmart, Shopko and Cum 'N Go.

Donald Trump Athletic Wear is a great oxymoron, and I can't resist the mention of Cum 'N Go because I have the brain and sense of humor of a six year old. 

Finally, we arrive at the announcement of the wiener.

CONGRATULATIONS, RIMPY RIMPINGTON!

Rimpy Rimpington entered more than once so I won't share all of their captions here, only the winning entry. To read all of Rimpy's clever entries, check out the comments at https://dumpedfirstwife.blogspot.com/2023/12/its-time-for-freakin-green-elf-shorts.html#comment-form.

Here's the winner that's good for one pair of FREAKIN' GREEN ELF SHORTS and all the mayhem and misery that comes with them:

The shelves where he kept our nation's secrets are bare;

For that Grinchly Jack Smith had just been there.

I love seeing the name of superhero Jack Smith, and I'm passionate about calling attention to the former guy's penchant for giving away classified information. The man cannot keep his mouth shut!

Rimpy, you'll need to email me at dumpedfirstwife@gmail.com to let me know your name (I suspect it might not be Rimpy) and address. I won't be shipping the shorts until my holiday celebrations have come to an end and I've recovered from the current craziness of my job. 

It's been fun! Thank you for your entries. You're all clever and creative.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug