An Ode To Yo Momma

Since I started hanging out with a new group of friends earlier in the year, it has opened up many more creative outlets for Yo Momma jokes (which as we all know, I adore beyond rhyme or reason). The below started as a perfectly normal conversation between me and a friend and then, as most of our conversations tend to do, escalated quickly into a spiral of increasingly inventive insults.

The results are as follows, and do get progressively not safe for work. You have been warned...


Cricket: I've been watching Lord of the Rings. I tried your mum's ring of power but it was more like a bangle.

Me: Yeah? Well I heard your mum's ring was forged by eleven kings, not elven. And when I say 'forged'...

Cricket: Your mum blows the horn of Gondor, if you know what I'm saying. Dirty stewards.

Me: Your mum's vagina is so deep, they call her the Mine of Moria.

Cricket: Your mum's so loose not even an Ent has enough wood for her.

Me: Your mum's so ugly, Gandalf let her pass! Bazinga. Also, your mum's such a whore, they call her the Gap of Rohan. The internet is responsible for that last joke, I admit, but it was too good to resist.

Cricket: Okay. Your mum's such a slut not even ten thousand orcs could fill her Helms Deep.

Me: Oh it's like that, is it? Well they don't call them the 'Riders' of Rohan for nothing. We should totally play my drinking Harry Potter Cluedo game sometime.

Cricket: Awesome! Count me in. By the way, I heard there was a big dead snake in your mum's chamber of secrets.

Me: Your mum may not be called Luna but she certainly knows how to Lovegood.

Cricket: Your mum lets schoolchildren enter her Goblet of Fire.

Me: HA! Okay, but the Triwizard Tournament happens every weekend... in your mum's bedroom.

Cricket: Your mum's so dirty, anyone who puts his wand in her catches the Dark Mark.

Me: Your mum's so ugly, they call her She Who Must Not Be Naked.

This Is Something FutureOtter Can Deal With

Good morrow, fair otterlings! I do apologise for my lack of recent bloggage. I have in fact been rather busy doing various productive activities (including Yo Momma, who works like a beast of burden and is a credit to Yo Family, furreals). I have started writing again, much to the delight of some and the horror of many, including, I am sure, my immediate family and friends who will be forced to read and give their opinions on my literary endeavours whether they like it or not. I don't know why they are so afraid to do so - it is not like I summon them to my lair and then swivel around in my chair to face them while stroking a menacing looking cat.

Back to the point. I have been writing short stories. I intended to submit some of these to magazines in the hope that someone somewhere would recognise my eccentric brilliance and give me lots of money (my own personal fishmongerer would also be nice, although if they could also monger cheese that would be even better. Note to readers: if you can monger more than one thing, please apply for this position. Sexually graphic applications will be put into a separate pile and considered later) so that I could take a couple of weeks off work to write, or attend a writer's residency somewhere nearby, or even just to go towards the eventual collection which I imagine I would self publish on Kindle for ease of distribution. It is, of course, entirely a coincidence that the residencies I have discovered on the internet all seem to be beside local vineyards.

In any case, I am considering creating a project on Indigogo and asking for donations. However, before I launch myself into what is potentially a stupid idea - and I am patting myself on the back for actually thinking something through for a change instead of charging in like a drunken badger in mating season - I wondered what my readers thought. Perhaps you have been with me since the very first post, or perhaps this is your first time at Wit and Pendulum (and if the latter, please indulge me and go look at some of the previous posts, especially http://witandpendulum.blogspot.com/2011/04/dressed-in-little-honey-jackets.html and http://witandpendulum.blogspot.com/2011/02/spiders-versus-murderers.html and especially http://witandpendulum.blogspot.com/2011/02/parents-parties-and-predicaments.html which will give you more of an idea of what the hell is happening here). The stories I write tend to run along the same lines - slightly dramatic, with a dash of comedy and a soupçon of morality. Essentially if you've enjoyed the blog, you will probably enjoy these too. So please, leave your comments and feedback below. Much like a date, I don't like to ask anything of you (at least not before I've had a chance to ply you with wine and tell you repeatedly that you don't look a day over fabulous) and frankly I find it embarrassing, but here goes.

I shall leave you with a reference to an old blog post regarding misquoted song titles, because apparently among the things you should not do at a somewhat sombre family gathering is point out how you always thought the line from Abba's song Super Trouper was "when I called you last night from Tesco", because it makes everyone in your immediate vicinity laugh so hard that their beverage of choice comes out of their nose. You have been warned.

A True Wizard On The Inside

Since the Fleetch's departure is drawing near, I found myself reminiscing about all the good times we have shared together. I wanted to compile a post which summarised all the strange things we yell at each other on a daily basis (and things that have happened but aren't enough to make an entire blog post themselves, and things that are just so damn weird I almost worry about writing them down in case they develop legs and crawl back into Reality as fully-fledged creatures) so here they are:

- "Heads up!" (as I threw half a loaf at the back of the Fleetch's head)

- If we are online talking over MSN, we say "On-Lion! We are On-Lions!" as a reference to the Thundercats fan video (mentioned a few posts ago)

- our running joke about putting a sock on the door handle if one of us is ever entertaining a lady in our bedroom ("Hey Fleetch, you left your sock on the door handle! Fleetch! Did you know? FLEETCH! I'll bring it in. Let me just switch on the light and loudly crash in, yelling your name. Oh, you're in here with someone? Sorry. Let me just put this sock on my own foot, slowly, and I'll leave.")


- Because we spend so long yelling 'fleetch' at each other, it developed into a game of words that sounds like 'fleetch', such as 'steve', 'peach', 'cheese' and so forth. We assume the neighbours hate us and our games. ("They're doing it again!"  "Carol, really, you have to let this go."  "No! It's 8 in the morning and they are yelling one syllable words at each other. WHY?"  "...I'm beginning to wonder if we got married too fast.")


Although these are all completely genius, I think the best example that sums up our time together happened last week. I went to the bathroom, not expecting anything out of the ordinary. As I walked in, I caught sight of my facewash, and then I began to laugh hysterically, because this is what I saw.

Me: Fleetch?

Fleetch: FLEETCH!

Me: I... love what you've done with my products.

Fleetch: I'm expressing my artistic side.

Me: Uh huh.

Fleetch: And spreading the message of Yo Momma. And by message, I mean her legs.

Me: Dude. You're the best. Around. Nothing's gonna ever keep you down.

Fleetch: I know.

Me: If I'd been asked, I would have assumed you'd have gone for the 'Blueberry Cream Pie' first. It's the most obvious joke.

Fleetch: I'll get to that in time. This is just the beginning. Say, you haven't been in your sock drawer yet, have you?

Me: ....No?

Fleetch: Oh, good.

To cap this off, I want to show you an amazing video which one of my Twitter friends recommended earlier this week. Since the Fleetch's favourite Harry Potter character is Snape, I feel it is an apt way to end this post.

So, otterminions, please raise your glasses to my Fleetch, who is indeed a true wizard on the inside (even if she is a Slytherin), and the best friend a girl could ever have.
I'll miss you so much, dude.

The Electric Kool-Aid Blanket Test

I recently bought an electric blanket for myself, because the windows in my flat appear to be made of rice paper and let in a draft that could power a windmill. It's nice to crank the blanket up before bed and then slide into a mass of hot, steamy blanket soup. I find it soothing, like a mug of warm milk, or the sight of Laura Dern's beautiful face. The Fleetch, however, reacted quite differently on her first meeting with the blanket. In hindsight, given all that I know of her, I really should have seen this coming.


Me: Go on, try it.

Fleetch: I'm a little afraid.

Me: Don't be. It's a beautiful thing. Modern technology is awesome.

Fleetch: (putting her hand under the duvet) Oh. Oh my GOD.

Me: I know.

Fleetch: Sweet lord of all that is warm and comforting!

Me: I know.

Fleetch: (in wonder) It's like slipping your hand into an angel's vagina!

Me: (staring in appalled fascination)....Um.

Fleetch: (getting into my bed) It's like being inside a Tauntaun! Sexually! With your momma!

Me: ....Are you aware that the things you say often turn aggressively sexual, quite quickly?


Fleetch: Shut your beautiful mouth. This is between me and the blanket.

Me: Please step away from the bed.

Fleetch: (crooning and turtling inside the duvet) I love you, blanket. I'll never leave you.

Me: I'm going out for a while. Don't do anything to, with, on or around the blanket while I'm gone.

Fleetch: (turtling further) I can't make any promises.

Me: .....Dammit, fleetch.

All I Want For Christmas Is Yo Momma

I mentioned Fake Christmas a couple of weeks ago and yesterday we held this amazing annual event in my flat. In honour of this occasion, my friend Wetsoks wrote a festive poem that will in all likelihood make no sense unless you've been following this blog religiously (memo to self: found Church of Otter and write the Holy Book of Fish Tales shortly after):

'Twas 2 weeks before Fake Christmas and all through Fairytale Land,
Nothing was stirring (except yo mamma's hand),
Fleetches were planning with not even a care,
Soon all the lesbian friends would be there!
An Otter was nestled all snug in her bed,
While Fleetch was there watching, playfully stroking her head.
As Wetsoks and Tanya kit took care of the 'kittens',
Sarahnator was putting on some cosy new mittens.
When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter,
Otter sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
She flew to the kitchen quick as a flash,
Where D$ha was drinking just a dash.
"Hey gurl! you ready for turducken?"
Otter looked for some buckets to do some fuckin...
With a buzz at the door and a suggestion of strippers,
The lesbians appear in star pants and slippers.
Food cooking in the kitchen, the smell is amazing
Food all through the day, get ready for grazing
"Fake Christmas is here!" Wetsoks cried out with joy
"Peaches and BOOBS and all sorts of new toys!"

I shed a tear of happiness when I read this for the first time. It so delightfully encapsulates everything about this particular group of friends that I love. (Also, it mentions boobs)

Anyway, back to the story. Yesterday afternoon we exchanged gifts. I bought Wetsoks the Harry Potter Cluedo game but of course the Fleetch and I spent hours bastardizing it appropriately and turning it into the mother of all drinking (board) games, complete with an extra card set that we titled The Questions of Doom (which featured both regular questions and special cards we subtitled 'Veritaserum or False' - clearly the Fleetch and I are the coolest people you know) and extra rules for the DA (Dumbledore's Alcoholics) which were specially constructed to get every player drunk in a short amount of time. My favourite rule was "every time any player makes a Yo Momma joke, all players must sip their drink".

Good lord, the carnage.


Fleetch: Okay. Was it...Bellatrix Lestrange... in the Shrieking Shack... with the Jinxed Broomstick?

Wetsoks: Yo momma jinxed my broomstick last night.

Me: DRINK!

Sarahnator: I feel sick.

Tanyakit: That's what yo momma said.

Me: DRINK!

Sarahnator: Oh god.

Fleetch: Can you prove or disprove my theory?

Tanyakit: My cards are all useless.

Me: Just like yo momma!

Wetsoks: DRINK!

Me: (sniggering) I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. Your mother tries really hard. In bed.

Sarahnator: I need to stop.

Fleetch: Buckle up, it's not over yet.

There was a heartbreakingly lovely moment when the Fleetch turned to me and I could see the sweet yearning in her eyes, the beautiful desperation that signals that you have only moments before the Yo Momma joke erupts out of you. It is a tide of hilarity that cannot be contained by a single human form. We shared a silent, gleeful look, before turning back to the group. Everyone else exchanged a glance and raised their glasses wearily without a word.

God bless us. Every one. But especially yo momma.

Do It Like An Otterdude

Before I begin my madcap ramblings for the day, I want to say thanks to all my awesome friends on Twitter, who really took the Yo Momma thing yesterday and ran with it over the Inappropriate Horizon. I especially enjoyed the science-related Yo Momma jokes, because I am a massive nerd, and find particle physics hilarious. Humour is an individual thing, so I'm told. Anyway, let us saunter boldly into the sunset of Fleetchdom, while I relay the most recent conversation between me and my flatmate.

Me: Hey, Fleetch, check out  my horoscope for today. It's so amazing, I might actually pay attention to it for once.

Fleetch: Why, what does it say?

Me: "Rather than setting yourself up for disappointment, consider declaring the day a personal holiday instead. Anything you can do to stir up excitement is a good idea. Remember, you can always fulfill your responsibilities tomorrow." 

Fleetch: Did you write that yourself?

Me: Huzzah! The universe has spoken! Let the otter chaos commence!

Fleetch: That is pretty awesome.

Me: That's what yo momma said. Last night.

Fleetch: Uh huh.

Me:  In bed.

Fleetch: ...Uh huh.

Me: While I was touching her.

Fleetch: ... Yep.

Me: In a sexual manner.

Fleetch: .....Um.

Me: Do you see where I'm going with this?

Fleetch: I do, yes.

Me: Good.

There was a brief silence.

Me: (exiting the room) By the way, she says hello.

Fleetch: Mmm. Wait... what?!

The Empire Needs You

My lovely friend Wetsoks has a birthday coming up on Saturday, so I decided to write this post in her honour. Our group of friends have planned an entire day of fun, which naturally caters to her tastes - these tend to towards Mexican food and dangerous activities, so I'm looking forward to this with quite a lot of excitement. We had an email conversation during the week which was as follows:

Sarahnator: So we're meeting for breakfast, then going for the archery/axe-throwing lesson, then to the hospital to bandage up the wounds one or more of us will have managed to obtain, then dinner, then drinks at Tanyakit and Otternator's flat. Is everyone OK with this?

Me: Dontcha mean Fleetch and Otternator's flat? Unless they switched without me knowing. Also, don't you wish your otter was hot like me? Don't you wish your otter was a freak like me? DONTCHA?

Wetsoks: And at some point, one of you will take your shirt off for my entertainment, right? It is my birthday after all.

There was a long, pressing silence, devoid of emails.

Me: Everyone quit looking at me. Teamwork, people. Teamwork.

Tanyakit: I'm fairly certain that Wetsoks lost her take-your-shirt-off privileges when she suggested some Yo Momma comment you made was too far.

Me: That is an excellent point. And one I fear you may pay for dearly at home, when your bedroom is suddenly and inexplicably infested with "kittens".

Tanyakit: Speaking of those buggers, there's a little "kitten" on my ceiling. I noticed it before I left on Friday, but I couldn't reach it.

Fleetch: You need the hoover, dude. Just suck those "kittens" up next time they wander into your house. No need to gather them up in a cup and toss them out of the window, or flush their remains after you mash them against the wall.

Me: I really hope no one from IT is reading these emails. Out of context we sound terrifying.

Fleetch: Yo momma sounds terrifying.

Wetsoks: Sociopathic, indeed.

Fleetch: Or just bizarrely angry at "kittens".

Me: This needs to go into our script, Fleetch. I can see it now - we'll need one conversation to explain it, and then later while someone is on the phone, in say a restaurant, or waiting in line for a sandwich, they'll have a whispered conversation; "Margaret, I don't... No, I can't come over. I told you why...Listen, I don't care if the "kitten" is looking at you! Just kill it with your shoe or something."

Fleetch: Totally. "Just try not to get its guts all over the wall like last time".

Me: And then the camera zooms out and the entire line of people are staring in horror at the person on the phone.

Wetsoks: Disturbing.

Me: Yo momma is disturbing. In bed.


And on that note - Happy Birthday, dude. We love you.