Is This Lint Roller On?

Who needs a microphone when you have a lint roller? And who needs an audience when you have some crickets from the live bait shop chirping on your bathroom counter just like they would at an actual comedy club if you just so happened to perform for a janitor and his mop before your afternoon carpool run? This column is written by Whitney Collins. She lives in the Bourbon Belt with her husband and two sons. She writes humor. She sometimes does art. She is a binge laundress. Her favorite movie is The Wrestler. Her favorite foods are cruciferous. Her favorite pastimes are cleaning grout and Angry Birds Seasons. She believes most things are better left unsaid, which is why she types them and puts them on the Internet so billions of people can read them, but only about two dozen, easily-offended people do. Her email: whitneycollins@mac.com. Her website: www.whitneycollins.com.

Would You Like Your Receipt in the Bag?

BY WHITNEY COLLINS

Would I like my receipt in the bag? Is that what you asked? WOULD I LIKE MY RECEIPT IN THE BAG? Wow. What a charitable and utterly observant question you've asked. You obviously have the ocular finesse of a Peregrine falcon and the mental capacity of a dolphin. (I'm sorry. Did I say dolphin? I meant manatee. A manatee with a propeller sticking out of its forehead.)

But back to the question: Would I like my receipt in the bag? Well, seeing that the left side of my body, from armpit to thumb, is balancing a 30-pound baby, a diaper bag, a bottle of Purell, 11 pretzel rods, and a blanket that the general public frequently mistakes for a tuna net. And seeing that the right side of my body is commandeering a wallet, a phone, a keychain, six (somebody help this woman) panty liners, and a pair of (where the nutsack did THESE come from?) pruning shears, I don't think the bag is the right place for the receipt at all.

No, sir.

Instead, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like for you to roll the receipt (tightly, please) into a small scroll and then place that scroll into my right ear. Sort of like a Q-tip. I think it's quite practical if you ask me, but I'm sure we can think of other completely logical places the receipt might like to go. Other than inside my EAR CANAL.

Hmmm. I have an idea. How about we fold the receipt into a tiny airplane? Then, while I'm staggering toward the door with all this shit I came in with, plus all the shit I just bought, you can fly that little airplane to me. But be sure to aim it a little ahead of me. That way it'll be easier for me to catch between my front teeth.

Or how about this? This'll be really fun! Why don't I grab one of these pull-back-and-release, $7.50 toy cars that you savants sell by the register? The impulse ones that are covered in Chinese lead and cause Parkinson's? Why don't we put the receipt in the way-back of one of these little Lexus SUVs and then put it on the floor and then I can pull it back and release it -- OH, SAY, 85 TIMES -- out the door and down the sidewalk and through the parking lot and then to my car. I'm pretty sure I can handle that. Can you also add a couple of lawn chairs to my tab and strap them to my back? No, no need to get the door for me. My hands may be full, but I can always carry something on my tailbone. In fact, grab me that baby pool. No. The big one.

Or maybe this: how 'bout we take that receipt and burn it! And then we take the ashes of the receipt and put them in a little urn! Do you sell tiny urns here? No? No urns?! WHAT KIND OF A SHITFORBRAINS DRUGSTORE DOES NOT SELL MINIATURE CREMATORY VESSELS? Well, then, I guess I'm going to have to buy this tin of Altoids and then pour them all into my mouth until my pancreas screams its way out of my rectum. Then, when I've finally regained consciousness, we can put the ashes of the receipt into this now-empty, handy-dandy Altoids tin and you and I can get a couple of tickets to Hawaii where we'll go to sprinkle the ashes. I'm pretty sure that's what the receipt would want. To be sprinkled in the Hanauma Bay. Do you have time next week to fly to Hawaii? No?

YOU DICK.

Okay, then. Plan E. Let's crinkle the receipt into a ball and then you give me a straw and I'll blow through the straw and keep the wadded-up receipt-ball afloat until I get to my accountant's office. Do you also have a potato sack and a spoon with an egg and a Slip 'n Slide? Because we could just go on and turn this whole thing into a field day.

Or, on second thought, why not call a taxi to come pick up the receipt and then send the taxi to my house. Here's my address. Just tell the cab driver to wait for me. I'm sure it will be expensive cab fare, but I'll do anything for that receipt. He's done so much for me. That receipt is like family. That is, if family is a crappy piece of paper that you'd be happy seeing a hobo use for a testicle-bandage.

Or here's one: put the receipt in an envelope and mail it to your boss as proof you should die a very slow and very painful death while I look on eating popcorn and CRYING.

(Crying because I'm laughing so hard.)

Or maybe we should just cover the receipt in peanut butter and bird seed and let a small woodland animal eat it. We could feed it to the next black-footed ferret that comes into this Rite Aid, and then we can put the ferret into a cage and take him to my home office where we can wait for him to shit the receipt out into my 2012 tax file. Because, in addition to the bag being a super-stupid place to put the receipt, I also really need to KEEP the receipt. I'll certainly need it for tax time later this year. Because I'll need to write these diapers and cheap wine off as work expenses. That's what I do. I change diapers and drink. These are OFFICE SUPPLIES I've bought today at your fine neighborhood drugstore that employs assbags like yourself who are too smart for Mensa. IMPORTANT OFFICE SUPPLIES.

Anyway. I can see the line is getting long. There are lots of sad-looking people here waiting to buy OK! Magazine and vodka and Kit Kats.

So, to finally answer your question: YES. YES, I'D LIKE MY RECEIPT IN THE BAG.

Because I'm assuming by "in the bag" you mean "up your ass."

This is Not About Breasts or Breastfeeding

BY WHITNEY COLLINS

That's weird. Has anyone seen my vagina? It was just here. I just had it a minute ago. I mean literally like five seconds ago. Or at least I thought I did. It's like totally disappeared. Didn't you just see me holding it? Or am I imagining things? I could've sworn I was just holding it? Odd.

Do you think I left it at the restaurant? Oh, crap. Do you think the waitress picked it up with our tab and forgot to bring it back? Do you think my vagina ended up on someone else's table? I hope not. They probably won't realize it's not theirs until they try to pay for something somewhere else and then someone points out that it doesn't belong to them.

I have to calm down. Think. It's got to be around here somewhere. Maybe it's in the car. Maybe I left it in the console. Or the glove compartment. Maybe I left it on the dashboard. Do you think maybe my vagina got somehow wedged between the driver's seat and the door? God. I hope not. For all I know, it could have fallen out in the middle of the Interstate and been run over.

Sometimes I put it in my back pocket. I know that's a stupid thing to do, but I do it all the time when I'm in a rush. And then more often than not, it ends up in the dryer. It probably went through the wash with my jeans. Which means it won't work right if it did. It will be totally deactivated if that's the case. Shit. Then I have to wait for a replacement. That can take up to a week.

What does it look like? Is that what you're asking? To be honest, I don't really know what it looks like. I mean. Don't they all kind of look alike? Can I say that about vaginas? Don't you think they all kind of look identical? What? You don't? Really?! I'm just saying if Madison Square Garden was full of vaginas, from a distance, like on TV, they'd all pretty much look the same. Or similar. Especially if you weren't a vagina yourself. Is that racist? Really? Okay. You're telling me to shut up now.

What? Was my name on it? No. No, it wasn't. I feel like such an idiot. I can't tell you how many times I've said: You better put your name on that. Why haven't you gotten out a Sharpie and at least put your initials on that? You'll be sorry if you lose that someday and you haven't put your name on it. Dammit. I'm always doing crap like that.

Okay. I'm just going to retrace my steps. I went to the gas station. I went to the grocery. I went to the drugstore. Then I went to Starbucks and while they were making my latte, I went to the bathroom and...OH...HERE IT IS. Good grief. Here it is. Right where you'd expect it to be. In the most obvious place all along. Right here in my pants. Sheesh. That's a relief.

To read more of Whitney's humor, click here.

Waaaaay-Too-Personal Ads

BY WHITNEY COLLINS

Poorly paid middle manager, 40, still scared of father, seeks wet nurse.

Heavily medicated SWF, who can no longer achieve orgasm unless whipped with a garden hose by a man wearing a Regis Philbin mask, seeks investment banker-type to tell me my feet aren't ugly. My favorite tampon is Kotex.

Divorced male, 34, seeks companion, 25-40. Likes: racial jokes, Topsiders, turning over the dining room table when your run-of-the-mill pot pie is placed before me. Dislikes: Grandmothers, bathing.

DBF seeks athletic male, 30-65. I like triathlons, antiques, and discussing bowel movements. Very adventurous. Why, just last week, I ate my niece's placenta.

Widowed male, 84. Extremely depressed. I have white pubic hair and very little money.

Trust fund prick, 32, seeks SWF with my stepsister's ass.

Bipolar receptionist with 60K credit card debt, 80K student loan debt, 4 beagles, and anemia seeks wealthy man with pancreatic cancer who doesn't mind sleeping on the couch while I sleep upstairs wrapped in my Sebastian Bach poster.

SJF, 29, seeks educated SJM. I suck my thumb but nothing else. In certain lighting, I also have a beard.

Fundamentalist Christian male seeks Paul Ruebens lookalike who also likes to sometimes eat scabs.

Former stripper seeks creative type to feed me baby food.

Psoriasis-riddled SWM seeks fun! I have a thing for amputees and suffer from IBS. In high school, I intentionally killed a parrot with household explosives. I deal pot. I cry in my sleep. I never leave home without my Preparation H in a front-facing fanny pack. I'm looking for a lady under 90 pounds to check my back for suspicious moles. Love swing dancing followed by three-minute sex? Let's make magic.

To read more of Whitney's humor, click here.

Spam Seven Ways

BY WHITNEY COLLINS 

Seven common spam emails and suggested responses.

Subject: PLEASE ENDEAVOUR TO USE IT FOR GOD.

Hello My Dearest, I know how surprise this email might appear but i want you to consider it as a request from a dying woman. My Name is Mrs. Elizabeth Wilson. from Israel but now undergoing medical treatment in Abidjan the capital city of Ivory Coast. Recently, My Doctor told me that I may die due to cancer problem, though what disturbs me most is my stroke and deaf problem.

Haven known my condition i decided to Serve God with my wealth. Seven million six hundred thousand united states dollars. I want an individual that will use this fund to provide succour to the poor and indigent orphanages, widows. As soon as I receive your response I shall give you the contact of the Bank where the said fund is deposited.

-- Mrs.Elizabeth Wilson. 

Response: Wow, Liz! You've been through the wringer! Tell me more about your "stroke and deaf problem." I'm always interested in how horrible people suffer. Also. What kind of cancer do you have? Asshole cancer? Because you're an asshole.

Subject: Details Regarding Staying Healthy

A courtesy one-time public service message about Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) and no further emails will be sent.

ADHD sometimes called ADD, is linked with hyperactivity, impulsiveness, and attention problems in both children and adults. It's estimated that up to 12% of children and 6% of adults have ADHD, making it harder for them to focus, manage their time, control their behavior, or even sit still. Treatment is often a combination of medication and behavioral therapy. Take care.

Response: Why would you think I'd be interested in an email about ADD or ADHD or hey does anyone have a recipe for pigeon stew here's a nickel maybe Tallahassee?

Subject: Hello

Hello, I am lovely Juliana,i drop at your profile,And  I love what i saw there, i believe we can get acquainted if it interest you get back to me and more,i am cute,Accommodate,caring, and very lively,I need a man who posses all this Attributes.I have all the Qualities that a man desires and Craves in a woman.You can contact me direct to my email address here for me to send you my pictures ok

Response: Hi Juliana. I'm glad you drop at my profile. Mind if I ask which one? Because you obviously think I am a man, and I'm curious which shit picture of mine I need to soak with acid, set on fire, and drop into a septic tank. If it's my Facebook profile, I'll just have to go on and drink a handle of vodka and pass out on some railroad tracks, because that's my best photo ever.

Subject: Key Info In Regards to Staying Fit

A quick one-time public service announcement about Influenza (no further emails will be sent).

In any given year, it's estimated that 5 to 20% of Americans get influenza. In the United States, the flu kills about 36,000 people annually. Flu symptoms include: High fever, vomiting, diarrhea, chills, fatigue, body aches, dry cough and runny nose. Be well.

Response: Um. I think you sent me one of these before about ADD/ADHD. So, you lie. Also, what you describe is not the flu. It's testicular torsion.

Subject: RE:Receipt

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DEAR SIR/MADAM

I wish to relate an important message concerning a huge business plan. Right now, I have a plan that could net over some huge amounts which i wish you to be part of it. If you are interested you can send me your details...Regards, Derr

Response: Awesome! Thanks, Derr! Here are my details: 5'4" (in clogs), lactose intolerant, Capricorn rising.

I know you won't do me wrong, Derr, because any guy with a name that's synonymous with "duh," "no shit, Sherlock," and "doi," is obviously a financial wizard.

(Note the definition of "Derr" in the Urban Dictionary: [spinning a cat around in one hand] "DERR! Hi! I'm Rob. I'm the biggest idiot in the whole wide world!")

Also. Thanks for including all the dots and dashes at the top of your email. I thought my grandmother was sending me one of those "Prayer to St. Therese" emails that's been orbiting the earth since the commercialization of the Internet in 1995.

Subject: Important

I want you to claim some funds for me.Reply for details

Response: Thanks for the brevity. And what a coincidence! I want you to claim something for me, too! If you pick up that Vera Bradley rolling duffel with the severed head in it at JFK, we'll call it even.

Subject: Information Concerning Staying Fit

A one-time awareness public service communication about Psoriasis (no further emails will be sent).

Psoriasis is a chronic, noncontagious immune condition that affects 5% of the US population. The most common form of Psoriasis is plaque psoriasis. Typical symptoms are red, itchy patches or spots, raised bumps, or silvery scales and can often be misdiagnoses as eczema. Take care.

Response: Hi there, Derr. I'd like you to meet someone. Her name is Juliana and her mother, Mrs. Elizabeth Wilson, is LOADED. Just send me your details. Oh. And good luck with your testicles.

To read more of Whitney's humor click here.