It has recently come to my attention that after having had a baby, I became what specialists refer to as a ‘hot mess’.

The problem was that this mothering thing that the women in my life seemed to do naturally was, and still is, inexplicably difficult for me and I was convinced everyone was judging me for it.

I felt like a failure on all fronts - from the tit-juicing to the whole ‘loving your baby’ thing. I was failing at something that was meant to be natural and basically, I turned into what happens when you actually go fuck yourself. And instead of talking about it like a normal person, I let it eat me alive which led to horrible, soul-decaying exhaustion. Thankfully, the nugget didn’t care that I didn’t care because he is a god damn hero and he never judged me. He did shit on me a few times though.

And you’ll note that I say that it has only recently come to my attention because I only just figured it out. And what really pisses me off is that apparently, while everyone was talking about how weird I’d gotten, nobody fucking bothered to tell me about it. They say ignorance is bliss, but in this case, I would have wanted someone to let me know that the sad, boring and detached little version life I was moving through was in fact, not real and certainly not forever.

Someone should have walked up to me, slapped an “out of order” sticker on my forehead and called it a day. It’s like I was trying to peel a potato with another potato and it was so hard and I just wanted to sleep-cry all the time and people were like “bitch needs to just use a peeler” but then they handed me another FUCKING POTATO – so thanks for nothing, assholes.

Anyway, after my brain performed a few permutations of emotions that I don’t understand, I got better (so I think, I mean no one told me for sure, but I guess I’m not sitting around peeling fucking potatoes anymore which is nice). Now the Nuggs is two and I’ve been in Canada a year. I met a friend here. She is smart and pretty and funny and I want to be around her all day. I wish she would let me live in between her labia – I would seal it shut behind me and be her little labia polly pocket.

But I digress.

I’ve now come to accept the way I do mothering. I do it strategically, not consistently.

Do I pick up the single shrivelled up Cheerio that has been just under the car seat since August 2014 that looks like a dead witch’s rectum? No. I leave it there because we are friends. That’s what happens when you invest time into a relationship.

Do I take the time to hide peas in each tiny shell-shaped pasta to make sure the Nuggs eats at least a tiny spec of vegetables? Fuck no, ain’t nobody got time for that. The Nuggs will eat what he is given end of story.

Do I read toddler books? Nope. That shit is inconsistent dickfuckery that isn’t worth my time. When I have five minutes to myself, you better believe that I is be sleeping.
But I do, on a daily basis, make him laugh so hard that no noise comes out of him and he is convulsing like an earthworm on meth dancing to dubstep.

Ooofff, this post is a lot more personal than I had anticipated. But in the words of the great Amy Schumer “Don’t feel sorry for me; I think I’m like, so pretty.”

And don’t get the wrong fucking idea here, just because I am okay with being a mother to the Nuggs does NOT mean I would be okay with another person living in my uterus. Don’t be fucking retarded. Just the thought of it makes my vagina slam shut like one of those steel trap doors in that show Lost

…thank God for that other hole ammaright?

tamp things

Any zoo is a petting zoo, unless you're a little BITCH. 

It's a rapunzel thing.

One time, this dude I was boning and I reached an impasse - I refused to shave my legs until he shaved his face fuck hair. I didn't shave my legs for three months and it was amazing. I felt like a gorilla you'd wanna throw it into. 

Robin Williams

What a sad, sad day. 

The media is reporting a lot around how Robin Williams "has lost his battle with depression". There are many words which describe him, but loser is not one. As we say goodbye to this brilliant man, it is we who are the losers. 

rash, she calls it anal

I have this friend. Her name is Rash, and holy crap is she awesome. I call her Rash because she is a demon masturbator (her cooter probably gets all chafed and overused, hence ‘Rash’).

One of my favorite things about her is that we don’t even have to talk about how, pretty much, I am her favorite person. To be honest, I think she likes me so much; it essentially blurs the line between our friendship and lesbianism. Anyhow…

Rash is intelligent and wildly brave. She dresses fashionably and consistently. She is beautiful, loyal and outrageously funny. Rash is successful and determined. She does what she wants and she doesn’t fucking care if you like it.  

Rash is also a complete freak.

She has an artist’s eye for bumping uglies with gentlemen. Her vagina is not unlike Las Vegas - high traffic and full of glitter. She has no problem asking a guy from across the room to come over and sit on her face until her itch is scratched.  I’m telling you, this woman is one bold, boss, ball breaking mother fucker. She will not have your shit. She will not have it.

 "emotional compatibility and penis size are not mutually exclusive." - Rash 

where your poop is

I thought about this while hovering over a seedy toilet at a bar. 

The floor was gross, and there was a quarter sitting in the gross. I was so conflicted as to whether I should risk getting hepatitis and pick it up, or walk away from the game. 



I've gotten a new twitter account, as the old one was hijacked and destroyed.  You guys should all follow me on twitter, cuz I spread them smiles like they're herpes - BITCHES!


shame on me

Not long ago, I made my big move from Europe to North America.  And I’ve started to do this thing that I hate that I do. It’s a really big nope.  It’s so wrong and confusing and I try so hard not to do it while I’m actively doing it. Moving here, I’ve noticed people here have this nasty habit:

Dudes fucking spit.

I do not like this. I don’t know why they do this, is it a penis thing? I don’t know. And I guess I don’t really need to know. All I know is that when they spit...my brain and I have a conflict of will power.  I can be walking around all ‘raindrops on rosé and whisky in mittens’ and then I hear that “AAAaaaaargggttttttth SPLAT!” and ...oh God, I’m so gross.

This is the thing I do - disgustingly, unbearably, without fail, I do it – I look at their god damn spittle. That’s right. I shamefully look at the ugly mouth deuce that was spat out on the ground. And it’s bad enough that I look at it, but if I hear the splat and don’t see where it lands...I LOOK FOR IT!

And it’s never ok, I never look down and think “oh what a delightful slop that man just made with this mucus membranes!”,  It always looks like day old vanilla custard and I always want to stop living afterwards. The shame and absolute revulsion that enters my body from this just sits and festers in the very core of my existence and will probably end up destroying me and likely planet earth.

So if you’re reading this and you’re a spitter, please stop. You’re going to kill us all.

eke's here to party

I’ve been gone for while. I was trying to be sneaky about it, but I guess you guys noticed.  I even received hate mail from anonymous dumdums asking “what is your fucking deal? You can’t just disappear” and “where do you come off? If you want to be successful you have to keep posting!” and “Whatever, I didn’t really like your undeveloped cunt jokes anyway. Be gone”. According to these guys, I am the worst.

On the flipside, I also got some lovely emails from nerds saying they genuinely missed eke and hoped that I had not dropped dead. I liked these emails better.

Well, I’m not deaded. I did however bump uglies with a boy and made a tiny human with my genitals. And as such, my life now runs on a combustion engine of coffee and diapers. My productive-tasks-to-nugget-shit ratio is about 0.5 to 48. Which means that for every 48 hours, I get about 30 minutes of normal stuff accomplished (like, for instance, coming up with “undeveloped cunt jokes”) thereby the reason as to why it has taken me approximately 1 year to complete this entry.

The intention is there, I sit down to write, but then the nugget walks into a wall and I end up googling “baby runs into walls” which leads to a series of butt sweats and me making demonic hyena noises whilst emailing Papa nugget saying “DID YOU KNOW ABOUT MONKEY RABIES INTERGALACTIC EYE AIDS?! NUGGS HAS RUN INTO THE WALL TWICE TODAY I THINK HE HAS IT CALL THE 911!”. And by the time I’ve manually released my butt cheeks and relaxed enough to write, three weeks have passed and I’m exhausted.

This new expert aptitude to turn anything the nugget does into butt sweat is only rivaled by my ability to turn butt sweat into fear, shame and chin acne.

But I digress. (Am I? Because, I have a slight suspicion that this entry is going absolutely fucking nowhere). The more pressing problem is really that, in the little time I do have to blarg, after not having posted an eke in over a year I feel like whatever I put up now has to be spectacular to make up for it. However, all I can come up with is this and I am so sorry:

Everybody be cool!!

1) While this does sound implausible, it is in fact true. Jellyfish poop from their mouths. Their MOTHER FUCKING MOUTHS! So, huzzah to those freaks!

2) No mention of vaginas. You see, I’m turning over a new leaf, it’s…ugh, fine ya big whiners:

Having a fankengina situation in between my legs is now the backbone of my self-confidence. It is the source of my inspiration, my insurance against becoming entirely and unacceptably unfunny. And I realize that not everybody finds a frankengina very funny…but then again there are also significant numbers of people who enjoy being peed on or watching Carrot Top perform….


can not brain

Ever have one of those days that never seems to end? I am having one of those days.

Nothing in particular happened today that would make it so intolerable, perhaps a minor but slightly jarring incident, initiated by some force of nature that cannot be blamed or scolded like gravity or sleeplessness or wind, but nothing I can really put my finger on.

Please! I would just like to go home, have a bath, eat some pizza and ice cream, play with my dumb dumb dog and call it a day.

So dearest today - that's enough. I kind of hate you for no reason at all, so please just get out of my face.

new nugget posts!

Bonjour les nerds,

Please check out my other site to read all about the wonder that is my pregnancy:


Halloweeners. Ha. Weeners.

the presidential erection

American presidential elections are so dramatically exciting.

I mean, binders full of women? Legitimate rape? Bayonets? A guy named Newt?!! I can't get enough!

Compared to France - where our presidential elections are usually a matter of voting between tweedle dumb and tweedle dumber to help our country decide whether it wants to guillotine its own face off or shoot itself in the weener - the American presidential elections are like Vegas, high traffic, a lot of glitter and full of possibilities.

Where is Allie Brosh?


Waking up is hard to do