What’s That Sucking Sound?

by LOLA TUCKER
edited by ANDREW J HICKS

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According to Lola Tucker, a little plastic surgery isn't a bad thing. (NOT PICTURED: Lola Tucker, a little plastic surgery.)

Recently, while out and about, I heard a lady mention that she’d had liposuction on her waist and hips. I was surprised. She had always been a very attractive woman with a knockout figure.

Now, I should point out, I’m not anti-cosmetic surgery by nature. Of course, I don’t like people who take it so far that they begin to look like a Madam Tussauds Wax Museum figure, with skin so tight their eyebrows are hidden in their hairline. But a little plastic surgery here and there is cool.

I wouldn’t mind a little Restalyn or perhaps some Juvaderm. My upper lip is starting to resemble that of a woman who has been smoking for 30 years. I’ve never even picked up a cigarette.

I had breast reduction surgery. To this day, I can say without hesitation it was the best decision I ever made. And not just because I was worried about my back failing under the weight of my 38DDs. I reduced my boobs purely for vanity’s sake. Let’s face it, there is absolutely nothing attractive about a rack that enters a room several seconds before the rest of this 5’3″ frame strolls in. After my surgery, men started to look me in the eye.

Department Store Santa Confidential

by ERTEL GRAY
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Kris Kringle needs some straight Kahlua.

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I was a Department Store Santa during the hectic Christmas season of 1995. Value City was the store. For years, it’d held prime position as the face of the Lycoming Mall in Pennsylvania. Catering to the “low-income/useless crap on the cheap” demographic, Value City operated under the name “Gee Bee’s” before someone (presumably in a cheap suit), stood up in a board meeting, and said, “Look, we want to offer our customers value. Yet we want to imply that this is no mere store. So… Value Hut? Value Sovereign Nation? ValueTownXpress? Mmm…. how about Value City? Besides, what the fuck is a Gee Bee anyways? Do we really want our customers to associate our name with the song ‘Nights on Broadway’?”

The work wasn’t bad, really. I got stuck in the household accessories department, which — oddly — was filled with massive, massive amounts of African-themed knickknacks, vases, tribal masks, and so on. I was verbally reprimanded for being culturally insensitive for cracking a remark (to a black coworker, no less) along the lines of, “You got it lucky, dude. You work in the shoe department. Apparently, I wandered on to the set of Roots.” The black guy thought it was funny. My boss, Mr. Wunderlin (irony?), didn’t.

Wunderlin, around the time the entire store became a Winter Wunderlin (ha ha!), approached me to ask if I’d take on the assignment of Value City Santa Claus. My qualifications? I was slightly chubby at the time, white, and maybe just had a little “too much” dignity at the time. For six hours a night, I was forced to sit in a chair in a sweaty costume, getting groped by children with sweaty, sticky candy-cane hands. These little angels would yank at my fake beard, while I braved the time bomb that some kid would either, a) piss or shit him/herself on my lap, b) vomit profusely, or, c) all of the above simultaneously. It was as close to hell as I could be without actually going to hell.

Cardinals World Series Memories

by ANDREW HICKS

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David Freese ties the game for the eighth time in Game 6 of the 2011 World Series.

I was 4 when the Cardinals won the World Series in 1982. I have one vague memory of being babysat by my grandma while my mom and grandpa were at the game. We spent all nine innings trying to spot them in the audience shots.

When the Cardinals played seven games against the Royals in the ’85 World Series, I was 7. I have spotty, nonspecific memories of that matchup. I barely remember the infamous blown Don Denkinger call at first base in Game 6 and the drama that ensued when Denkinger was home plate umpire for Game 7. Checked out some Wikipedia just now. Turns out that, after Denkinger ejected pitcher Joaquin Andujar and manager Whitey Herzog were from Game 7, Andujar “smashed a toilet in the Cardinals’ clubhouse.” Herzog smashed a dozen White Castle sliders.

A Hairy Situation

by LOLA TUCKER
edited by TONY FYLER

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Note to self: only ever stick one battery-operated personal device up your nose.

So I woke up in a wonderful mood this morning. Bounced out of bed, despite a rather restless night. Cleaned up the house, fed all the critters and hopped in the shower. After washing my hair and exfoliating enough to take off several layers of skin, wrinkles and dry patches, I headed to the mirror for my daily survey of the personal “real estate.”

As I turned on my overhead light, which is brighter than a solar eclipse, I leaned over to see if any new lines had appeared while I was off in La La Land. Nope, not a one. We’re off to a good start. I leaned in closer…

What the hell is that???

Closer…Closer…

Oh my God, it’s a freaking NOSE HAIR!

I started to hyperventilate.

This Week in J.Miz, Volume 14

by J.MIZ
edited by ANDREW HICKS

Donkey Kong wizard Billy Mitchell can grab J.Miz's bananas anytime, or roll barrels at J.Miz, or climb ladders, or whatever the hell you did in Donkey Kong.

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• Integrity is SO important to me, I refuse to make exceptions. Well, I make an exception for one thing and one thing only: double standards.

• As I am reconnecting with my Catholic roots, I won’t be dressed as a typical slut for Halloween. Instead, I’m going as an altar boy.

• Creative people with high IQs are often told that they’re insane and need meds. I think we just need better doctors.

• Even as a young girl, I knew I could do WHATEVER I put my mouth to.

• I think the kids on the short bus had it all figured out. I bet THEY never had to write a term paper on The Taming of the Shrew.

• It’s totally bonkers when I’m out with my boyfriend, and I decide to duck into a bathroom and have spontaneous sex, and then he walks in on it.

• Jesus loves you more when you keep it real.

• I hate men who play games. Except for Billy Mitchell. I fucking LOVE him!

• The bathroom in this Argentinian grill is so dark, I’m not sure if I sat on a toilet or a glory hole.

• My dentist told me I wasn’t flossing enough, so I bought dubs. He thought I was retarded! But it turns out I’m racist. Because he’s black.

• J.Miz doesn’t care about bitch-ass people.

• Jesus made me miss the early train today so I could ride the one with the HOT-ASS conductor. #WearingSkirtOnTheVibratingMetraRailFTW #Ahhhhhhhhhhh

• Though life is full of scary people, I do not fear necrophiliacs.

• Dear Suburbs: Yeah. We’re done. kthxbai

• I was just given the day off at the last minute. My afternoon will now be filled with naps and grilled cheeses. Oh yes, my friends. o.h.y.e.s.

• My comforter brings all the kittehs to the bed. And they’re like, “It’s betta than yours!”

• Watched a YouTube video posted by user “golum0734.” I bet THAT guy gets SHIT-TONS of pussy.

• I prefer that my sleep be man-made.

• It seems like the day after I have sex, I’m COVERED in bruises. But I think my boyfriend said it best: “Well then stop fighting back, bitch!”

• In which religious text and on what day did God say, “Let there be religion”? And was that before or after the dinosaurs were on the ark?

• Here’s a bit of an unknown fact: cats.love.ham. And BOY do they HATE rape!

• I wish anxiety would manifest in ways other than panic attacks. For instance, an urge to start a freestyle rap battle. That way you’d stave off the attack AND get mad street cred.

• You’re NEVER too old for sprinkles.

• Dear Coworker With The Shit Attitude, Like You Hate Your Job: I know about a dozen-plus people who would love ANY JOB! Maybe our boss keeps me working a lot a shifts because I’m a pleasant person who contributes, smiles and acts as if I’m not a miserable fuck. He tells me when to come here, and I come. You’re the ONLY reason your shifts are cut or you get stuck on bitch duty. Buck up, man. You’re only fucking yourself. KTHXBAI

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EDITOR’S NOTE: J.Miz has been with WNF since Day One, and we think she’s damn hilarious. Do yourself a favor and follow @JMiz8 on Twitter. –AH

My 5 Most Abused Forms of Alcohol

by ANDREW HICKS

I used to drink so much the labels looked like they were on backward.

Next week, it’ll be a year since I quit drinking. Though I am extremely grateful and proud that I’ve been able to do it, I feel like it might not be commonly known to the people in my life that I used to drink a LOT. This is a list of the top five alcoholic substances I abused during my decade of hardcore drinking.

1. BEER
To give you just a tiny idea of how much beer I used to drink, this is what my Mondays were like 9 months out of the year: Wake up around 4 pm, hungover/still drunk from the night before. Eat about ten bucks worth of Panera. Go to my men’s bowling league, where the other members of Team Ramrod and I would take turns buying pitchers of Bud Light for the next three hours. Then, it was off to the shithole bar up the street for three more hours of cheap draft beer, jukebox songs, shuffleboard games and loud, obnoxious laughter. Then we’d go to the casino, where I’d drink more draft beer until the bar closed at 3. This was something like two gallons of beer every Monday. And I didn’t take the rest of the week off or anything.

2. CHEAP WHITE WINE
Wine didn’t really enter the picture until my wife got pregnant with my oldest child. I took that old doctor’s cliche about, “One glass of wine won’t hurt you,” and ran with it. I’d buy the magnum-size bottles of chardonnay or sauvignon blanc — cheap stuff like Liberty Creek, Crane Lake, Turning Leaf and other brands that sound like names of bad apartment complexes.

Throw Pillows A-Go-Go

by LOLA TUCKER
edited by TONY FYLER

Look - throw pillows. Purrrrrdy...

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It is an ongoing battle in the Tucker household.

I’d like a bedroom that speaks to my romantic side, with deep plush carpeting that doesn’t smell like dog, and just the right mood lighting to always make me look 15 years younger. I want a vanity where I can sit and blow dry my hair like some middle-aged Rapunzel, then put on my 10 pounds of makeup. And, as the centerpiece of my fabulous bedroom, I want a bed that looks like a big marshmallow, complete with about 20 throw pillows.

My husband Bill isn’t really on board with this idea. On more than one occasion, the conversation has gone like this…

BILL: Can you please explain to me why all of these little pillows are on the bed?
ME: They’re for decoration. They are shams and throw pillows.
BILL: So I can’t lay on them?
ME: No, they are not for your head.
BILL: Okay, I give up, then why in hell are they on my bed?
ME: So the bed looks pretty.
BILL: That is the dumbest thing I ever heard. Let’s get rid of them.
ME: We can’t. They cost a fortune, and I love them.
BILL: But you can’t do anything with them. They are completely useless.
ME: I don’t care, they make me happy. Now get your fucking hands off the throw pillows.

’80s Shoulder-Pad Dance Party!

by LOLA TUCKER
edited by ANDREW HICKS

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Are your shoulder pads a Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte or Miranda?

Laughing at yourself is fun. Laughing at others is even better.

Now, before you skewer me and throw me over an open flame, let me explain. I am not talking about the kind of laughter that comes from watching another suffer at the hands of cruelty or mean-spiritedness. I am talking about watching your dearest friend, clearly over-served by the bartender, bump and grind on the dance floor with an equally over-served stranger. Or watching someone you adore emerge from the ladies’ room with her skirt tucked neatly in the back of her tights.

I had one such embarrassing incident back in 1988 or so. I was about 24 years old, living in downtown D.C. and running around with the world in my back pocket. My best friends and I spent many a night hitting the club scene, drinking cheap champagne for hours before pouring ourselves into a cab to head home.

Our favorite hangout was an upscale spot along the Georgetown waterfront called the River Club. We owned that joint. We were dressed to impress.

Now, I know not all of you will remember the miracle of shoulder pads and remember them with quite the fondness that I do, but believe me, I thought they were THE BOMB. No fashion ensemble of mine was ever complete without big hair, a short skirt and the biggest shoulder pads I could find.