The Bunnies and the Bees

I caught this back and forth between my mom and my sister when I was making myself food in the kitchen.

Amy: Echo (our dog) likes dicks, did you know that?

Mom: Why do you even say things? Like, do you even think before you open your mouth?

Amy: I'm just saying! She's a girl, so she likes dicks. That's how it works.

Then after thinking for a moment, Amy says this (and I'm using her EXACT words):

Amy: Does bunnies has penises?

Mom: Why?! Here, I'll just say this: all mammals have penises.

Amy: So bees have penises?!

Mom: I said mammals. Not animals.

Amy: Yeah, I know.

Mom: Oh, ok. I was hoping you had heard me wrong. That's too bad.

Sociology Terms

Amy's talking about how great she is at sociology: "Finally! A class I don't suck at!" To her credit, she is averaging around 70% in the class, which is the equivalent of an A+ for her. She came home from school and decided to quiz me on the sociology terms she learned today.

Amy: Do you know what high culture is?

Cory: I would say that would be above "regular" culture when it comes to classiness. Refined, sophisticated, some might even say pretentious.

Amy: Nope, wrong. It's like upper class. Rich people stuff.

Cory: That's what I said.

Amy: No! No you didn't! I caught you! You thought you knew it, and then you were wrong! You said a bunch of wrong stuff.

Cory: I'm just going to understand that you don't know most of the terms I used, then.

Amy: Yeah, but you still didn't say "upper class", so you're wrong!

Cory: Alright, sure. Whatever you say.

Amy: Don't try to act like you don't care! You're upset that you didn't know.

Cory (sarcastically): Devastated.

Amy: I know. I can tell. Do you know the difference between real culture and ideal culture?

Cory: If that's as straightforward as it sounds, then real culture is the actual culture, compared to ideal culture which would be...what real culture should aspire to. Ideal culture. Like perfection. It's hard to explain when the term itself is so fitting.

Amy: You don't know!

Cory: Ok, how about this: Real culture has flaws. Ideal culture doesn't. We should strive for an ideal culture.

Amy: I don't even know what you're saying. Just stop, it's too funny when you're wrong.

Cory: Ok, explain it to me then.

Amy: Real culture is what we do everyday all the time and ideal culture is what we should do.

Cory: Yeah.

Amy: Yeah, so you were wrong.

Cory: I have no idea how you come to that conclusion. I think you're not even listening to what I say.

Amy: Ok, do you know what cultural diversity is?

Cory: Yes, but why don't you just tell me to save time since you're going to say my answer is wrong somehow.

Amy: Cultural diversity is...wait, I forgot...no, hang on....just let me think...cultural diversity is...cultural diversity is skinheads.

Cory: Skinheads?

Amy: Yeah.

Cory: "Cultural diversity is skinheads"?

Amy: Something like that.

Cory: Do you know what a skinhead is?

Amy: Nope.

Cory: Ok, I have better things to do. I'm leaving.

The Ketchup

My mom made chicken burgers today. I was quite pleased to have supper made for me, so I came upstairs to eat. My brother and my mom were already eating. I sit down and start eating as well.

Amy walks into the kitchen, grabs some food and puts her plate in her spot next to my mom. Then she gets up, and retrieves the ketchup from the fridge. She places it at the end of the table, on the other side of my mom. She then sits down and asks, "Can you pass the ketchup?"

My mom passes it to her and says, "why did put the ketchup over there? Why didn't you just take it to your spot? You're just making more work for everyone. There's no reason for you to do that."

My sister takes the ketchup from my mom, looks her dead in the face and replies, "Do I LOOK like I'm smart?!"

My mom retorts, "Oh, right. What was I thinking?"

She can't even "interrupt" correctly.

I don't remember what I was doing, but my sister rudely started talking over me and distracting me. I immediately give her a look of "Can't you see I'm busy?!"

Amy: Oh, sorry, I just like to inter..view.

Cory: ...?

Amy: Inter....inter..venous....no....inter...vention? Intervention. Yeah, intervention! I like to just intervention! Or, I mean, 'excuse me while I intervent you.'

Cory: I didn't think you'd figure it, but you proved me wrong. You found the right word in the end. Now stop "interventioning" and leave me alone.

Diseases

Amy: Mom! I want candy. Buy me candy! Buy it while I'm tanning today.

Mom: No, I'm not buying you candy.

Amy: But you can buy it right next to the tanning place while you wait for me. Just buy me some tanning while I'm candying. Wait! Did you hear what I said? I said tanning while I'm candying. I mixed up my words....You know, sometimes I do that. It's because I have an STD.

Mom: An STD?

Amy: No, not an STD. An STI. Did you know that, Mom? There are no STD's. It's STI. Sexually Transmitted Infection. There's no more diseases. STD's don't exist anymore. Diseases are exincludable.

Mom: Exincludable?

Amy: Yeah, it means you can't catch them anymore.

From train sounds to dancers

I was walking around my house with a button-up shirt open. My sister saw me and tried to be clever.

Amy: What are you? A cho-cho?

Cory: What? Choo-choo?

Amy: No, like, a cho-cho. You know? A chipmunk!

Cory: Can you describe the relationship between "cho-cho" and "chipmunk"?

Amy: That's what you call it. You know: stripper guys.

Cory: Oh! Chippendale dancers?

Amy: Is that what they're called? I thought it was chipmunk or cho-cho-something.

Cory: I'll bet you did.

Life as a musical

My sister enjoys singing. She also enjoys herself singing. This involves recording herself and playing it back to listen to herself. Her narcissism (which includes ample vanity proven by her attraction to and distraction by reflective surfaces) is mere backstory for this post, and I'm certain you'll see more of it in future posts.

The trouble is that she sings at inappropriate times. Mostly at inappropriate times, it seems to me. If life were truly a musical, perhaps it wouldn't appear so random and socially awkward. Of course, she'd also have to sing songs relevant to the action or dialogue prior. Amy, instead, sings whatever comes to mind.

Her love of her voice also results in her singing unnaturally loud, to the point of it being little more than shouted rhymes.



This story begins at the supper table. My family doesn't often eat together, but this was one of those rare times (a lot of my stories involve my sister and another family member because I don't hang out with her any more than I have to). I was explaining something to my mom, and she was confused and asked what I meant. Then, whether or not she understood, Amy decided to mock my mother's confusion by saying:

Amy: "What are you, retarded? GOD BLESS THE USA!"

The amazing part was how quickly she lost track of what she was doing. The first 4 words came out with disgust and mockery, then without so much as a moment's pause she shouted (yes, shouted...it was barely sung) the last 4 words. I put a question mark to differentiate between the clauses and so that the inflection she put on the first portion sounded like a question, although there was no punctuation in reality. It came out as one sentence, just with a 180-degree turn in her tone (and content).

Even more hilarious is that she decided to question my mom's mental capacity, and ended up provinh how little her own was.

There was no comeback or anything in this case. Our silence and flabbergasted looks were enough for her to know she did something stupid. She reflected for a moment, then burst out laughing.

Insulting oneself? More difficult than it seems.

I was having a conversation with my mom the other day, when my sister thinks of something irrelevant and stupid, but which she deems valuable input to our conversation and interrupts. I was speaking about my courses at school, when she begins:

Amy: Hey! Guess what?

Mom: Amy, I'm talking to Cory right now. You just wait, ok?

Amy: No, but I have something you need to know.

Mom: Well, tell me later. I'm busy right now.

Amy: I have a stomach behaviour.

I'm interested enough at this alone that I feel it's worth letting her interrupt so I can hear more about whatever nonsense she's thought up.

Me: What?

Amy: No! I mean I DON'T have a stomach behaviour!

Mom: Ok, that's lovely. Is that all?

Cory: So you decided to interrupt me to say that your stomach feels fine? Was it upset earlier or something?

Amy: No, not my stomach. I have a--I DON'T have a stomach behaviour.

Mom: What are you talking about?

Amy: A stomach behaviour. I don't have one.

Cory: What is a stomach behaviour? I have honestly never heard that term before, and I believe that is because you just made it up.

Amy: No, I learned it in school.

Cory: In what class?

Amy: Sociology (pronounce by her as "SO-so-logy"

Cory: You learned about "stomach behaviours" in Sociology?

Amy: Yeah.

Mom: We have no idea what you're talking about. Describe it.

Amy: Ok....it's when...like, when you do stuff and don't want stuff in return.

Cory: You mean "being nice"?

Amy: Yeah, but it's called a stomach behaviour.

Cory: So where do the stomachs come in?

Amy: There's no stomachs. It has nothing to do with stomachs. That's just what it's called. You know!

Cory: No, I do not know.

My mom and I then spent a few minutes trying to think of terms that sounded like "stomach behaviour" that fit Amy's definition. The whole time, Amy continued to elaborate (very poorly) on her definition.

Cory: So, this "stomach behaviour" means you're nice and do things for others?

Amy: Yeah, like, you do stuff and don't expect anything back.

Cory (after a few prior guesses): I sure hope you're not trying to say "altruistic"...

Amy: Wait, what? That might be it!

Cory: Altruistic behaviour?

Amy: Yeah, altrustic.

Cory: Altruistic.

Amy: Alstrustic.

Cory: Stomach behvaiour.

Amy: Yeah, it sounds better, right?

Cory: No. Hang on, didn't you say you didn't have a stomach behvaiour?

Amy: Yeah.

Cory: So you're saying you're non-altruistic?

Amy: Yeah, why would I want to be nice and help people for no reason?

Cory: ...Let me get this straight...you butted into our conversation to announce that you're a dick?

Amy: Yeah, pretty much.

Then she burst out into raucous laughter and walked away.

Dementia

I told my sister a ridiculous story about a song she'd never heard before, telling her that it used to be her favourite song when she was younger and how she would always sing it as a child. Her response:

Amy: Oh, really? I don't remember. I guess I have all-timers.

Not-as-willing volunteer has eyes like a cow

I've taken to carrying a pen and paper with me whenever I'm in the vicinity of my sister to quickly jot down the things she says and does to post later on. When I started this blog, I asked for her permission, and she said, "Yeah, but if it gets super popular I want to be famouser than you." I told her she'd definitely get more attention than I provided she continues to say the things she says.

Amy has begun to notice not the stupid things she says, but that I think they're stupid because I pull out my pad of paper after certain back-and-forths. Understanding that she may have said something unwise, she tries to cover it up as I start making notes by saying things like "No, don't write that down. It wasn't funny" or "I was trying to be stupid there for your blog" which is obviously not the case. If she tried to sound stupider, the effort alone of attempting to think before she speaks would still make her sound smarter. But she still says I can post the things she says and does.

I was writing notes earlier, and she was trying to sneak a peek at the paper to see what part of her last statement was so "funny" and she commented on my handwriting:

Amy: Look at your writing! When you write notes fast, I can tell it's your writing.

Me: You can also see me physically writing it, so that's not too impressive.

Amy: But look at your writing! It's so noticeable. I can spot it like a cow.

Me: ...Spot it like a cow? As though you think of cows when you imagine keen vision? But then, again, cows have spots. So I don't know what you mean. It could be just really stupid, or really clever for you because it might have been a legitimate pun.

Amy: Really?

Me: I guess not.
*jots down "spot it like a cow"*

Our home and Native land

Amy had just heard about (and, of course, not fully understood) certain tax breaks for Aboriginals in Canada. Thinking this isn't fair, she tries to beat the system with her world-renowned sound logic.

Amy: So they don't pay tax because this is their home and native land?

Me: I suppose that's it in its simplest form.

Amy: That's not fair.

Cory: That's not our call.

Amy: Let's go to German.

Cory: ...German?

Amy: Yeah, we should all go to German.

Cory: ...

Amy: What?

Cory: You mean Germany?

Amy: I don't know. Is that where Germans come from? That makes sense, though. We should go to German...y.

Cory: Why?

Amy: So we don't have to pay taxes.

Cory: What are you talking about?!

Amy: Because that's our home and native land.


It took me a second to grasp what she was saying. Our ethnic background is half-German, so I believe she thought that if we lived in Germany, we could get the same tax breaks as Aboriginals in Canada. I debated a response to correct her, but I ended up just laughing at her instead.

Some are good, some are bad, some are hilarious

At the breakfast table, for no reason Amy strikes up this conversation:


Amy: Did people smoke lots of weed when you were in school?

Me: Some people did, yeah.

Amy: Oh....because people smoke weed at school still.

Me: I'd be surprised if they didn't.

Amy: It's just weird, you know?

Me: What is? Smoking weed?

Amy: No, that people smoked weed when you were in school, too. That means it was around when you were in school.


*NOTE* My sister and I are 4 years apart in age.


Me: ...you thought it just appeared in the last year or so?

Amy: Well, no, but I mean it wasn't around back when mom was alive.


Simultaneously, my mom (who is alive and was listening in from the other room) and I burst out laughing.


Amy: What? WHAT?! What's so funny? I don't get it! Why are you laughing?!

Me (through laughter): Why do you think we're laughing?

Amy: Because weed is older than mom or something? I don't know....OHH! Weed was around when mom was in school? Then if weed was around back then, that means mom was a hardcore druggie, right?

My sister: the best friend

I walk upstairs to see my sister sitting at the dining room table on the computer. I have a little chat with her (and by little, I mean the size of the words I can use so she'll understand me) when I suddenly hear someone laugh at a joke from the adjacent living room. I look around the corner to see her friend sitting on the couch by herself in the other room. She'd been silent for the last 5 minutes. Curious about what's going, I ask my sister what the two of them are doing in separate rooms being quiet until I show up.

Me: Amy, what are you doing on the computer?

Amy: Stuff.

Me: Right. So why is your friend sitting in the other room by herself?

Amy: Oh, she's taking pictures of me.

Me: No, she's not. She's just sitting there looking bored.

Amy: Well, she was. I'm making her take a lots of pictures of me, then I look at them on the computer. Then I make her take more pictures of me.

Me: That's horrible (then only half-sarcastically): And now, you're probably heavily photoshopping them, then you're going to upload the whole mass of them to Facebook, I'll bet.

Amy (not sarcastic at all): Yeah.

Me: ...

My Sarcasm: The Genius

My sister Amy has an incredible talent of saying and doing the stupidest things. Sometimes she just doesn't think before she speaks, sometimes she doesn't even bother thinking after she speaks, and in both cases, I feel it's my duty to try and teach her by pointing out her mistakes--in the most mockingly way possible. She's now 17 years old (not sarcasm or exaggeration, though you may feel like you'll have to think so to make these stories believable), and after years and years of amazingly confusing and dumb lines she has spewed, I decided I should start to catalog them, and so THIS BLOG IS BORN!

I intend to post every new ridiculous thing she says and does, as well as post nostalgic stories from the even-dumber-days of her chronological childhood (I specify because she remains a child intellectually, as you'll come to see). I will do my best to re-state her words as closely as possible with ideally no paraphrasing, exaggeration, or omissions.

This post being more of a welcome to test the blog-waters, the first story will be in my next post. It shouldn't be long, though; she's a stupid gold mine.