Jingle Balls

It's the Friday before Christmas and it's fucking fabulous!  After doing a little more shopping, I am feeling quite festive and jolly. As such, I believe that today is the perfect day to share with you the song that started it all. The song I first parodied about 4-5 years ago, in partial collaboration with a good friend of mine who shares my mental sickness. So lovely, tuneful, and melodic, this song actually got some public airtime at a Christmas party that very year. Today, I give to you, from the bottom of my heart, all up and through you...

"Jingle Balls"

Sitting on my couch,
I unzipped my fly,
And soon my little ho'
Was seated by my side.

She took one look at them,
Her mouth fell open wide,
I told her keep it just like that
While I put them inside.


Jingle Balls,
Jingle Balls,
My penis is so big.
Take it all in your mouth,
You filthy little pig!!!



Lick those balls,
Suck those balls,
Blow me everyday.
If you keep me satisfied,
I won't run away.

I like tongue action,
I won't tell a lie.
If you are a willing slut,
I'll unzip my fly.

My balls are my best friends,
They make me feel so good.
If you treat them oh so right,
I promise to get wood.


Lick those balls,
Suck those balls,
Blow me everyday.
If you keep me satisfied,
I won't run away.

Jingle Balls,
Jingle Balls,
My penis is so big.
Take it all in your mouth,
You filthy little pig!!!

Frosty the Crack Ho'

Five more days till Christmas which means there are four more shopping days to buy your ho' a little something special. Show her some appreciation during this festive time of year. Personally, I don't know any trick turning streetwalkers, but I am quite certain some of you do. For those of you with close, intimate relationships with a ho' or two, this one's for you.

"Frosty the Crack Ho'"

Frosty the Crack Ho' was a ratched, smelly slut,
With greasy skin and some nappy dreads,
And a giant ghetto butt.

Frosty the Crack Ho' had chlamydia they say,
She sniffs blow but the fellas know
She's one hell of a lay.

There must have been some poison in that
Last batch of cocaine.
For when she snorted those two lines,
She screamed out in pain.

Oh, Frosty the Crack Ho'
Tried to dial 9-1-1,
But her pimp just said, as he smacked her head,
"Fucking bitch, you sho' is dumb!"

Bitchedy slap, slap,
Bitchedy slap, slap,
Get back on the street.
Bitchedy slap, slap,
Bitchedy slap, slap,
While you still has feet.

Frosty the Crack Ho' knew her looks would go to hell.
So she said, "Let's fuck,
And we'll try our luck
At making your dick swell."

Down on her knock-knees,
With his shriveled cock in hand,
Stroking up and down,
Trying not to frown,
Saying, "You is one fine man."

He gave her crabs and HPV,
And then it came in spades,
He only laughed as she did cry,
And told her he had AIDS.

Now Frosty the Crack Ho'
Was pissed off I won't lie.
No more turning tricks or sucking dicks,
'Cause she was gonna die.

Bitchedy slap, slap,
Bitchedy slap, slap,
This crack ho' must quit.
Bitchedy slap, slap,
Bitchedy slap, slap,
Bitch, you ain't worth shit.

All I Want for Christmas...

Happy Hump Day, ass monkeys! I hope you are all enjoying the new and improved Christmas carols I am sharing with you. Hopefully, some of you are spreading the cheer as you sing to the elderly at their rest homes.  Maybe you've visited a children's hospital or two and entertained them with a lovely carol. Perhaps you've sat by the fire with your family and had a rousing sing-along.  In any event, in order to help you continue sharing holiday cheer with everyone you meet, I've prepared another carol for you. Guys, maybe you can sing this during your next trip to the strip club.

"All I Want for Christmas is Bigger Tits"

All I want for Christmas is bigger tits,
Some bigger tits,
Just some bigger tits.
Gee if I could only have some bigger tits,
Then I would be a better stripper.

It feels so wrong to ask some guy
To open up the buttons of his overcoat.
Gosh oh gee, how happy I'd be,
If I had something he could motorboat!

All I want for Christmas
Is giant cans,
Some giant cans,
Just some giant cans.
Gee if I could only have some giant cans,
Then I would be a better stripper.

All the boys in my old high school
Would love to get to second base with me.
But now when I offer them a special lap dance,
They ask where the hell are your titties???

All I want for Christmas
Is big huge tits,
Some big huge tits,
Just some big huge tits.
Gee if I could only have some big huge tits,
Then I would be the BESTEST stripper!!!

Dominatrix Wonderland

Happy Tuesday before Christmas to all. Continuing along the path I've chosen for you, I'd like to present you with another one of my versions of holiday cheer. Out with the old and in with the new. Let's toss tradition aside and embrace a season of eclectic debauchery, shall we?

"Dominatrix Wonderland"

You're tied up, as you should be,
It's your pain, that excites me.
A beautiful sight,
I'm happy tonight,
In Dominatrix Wonderland.

No more is your skin so fine,
Here to stay are the whip lines.
You cry out once more,
Then I lock the door,
To my Dominatrix Wonderland.

For your nipples, here's a bag of clothespins,
I will clip from North to way down South.
You'll wince and a tear will drip,
Down your face.
Then I'll have to smack you in your mouth.

Later on, I'll use fire,
While you're strung up, by a wire.
I'll drip candle wax,
Straight down your crack.
In my Dominatrix Wonderland.

Once you're broken, I can have you serve me.
And pretend that you're my own footstool.
You'll stay on your knees,
Since you belong there.
You're my slave, you filthy, dirty, fool.

When you grovel, I get happy.
When you fuck up,
I feel slappy.
My paddle's the plan, when you say, "Yes, ma'am"
It's my Dominatrix Wonderland.

I Saw Mommy Licking Santa's Balls

This week, my friends, you are in for a little holiday treat. As much as I love sharing my opinions with you and providing much needed PSAs to the inhabitants of planet Earth, I also love Christmas Carols.  But I love them in my very own way...the way of the parody. Songs sung the way I would have written them had someone commissioned me to provide the world with its now famous list of seasonal carols.
Today, I've decided to start with the old standard, "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus"...MY WAY.
To help you sing along, I am including a link to the instrumental version of the original song, I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.

"I Saw Mommy Licking Santa’s Balls"

I saw Mommy licking Santa’s balls

Underneath his crotch fro, snowy white.

I tried hard to tiptoe,

Then he asked for a blow.

I had no idea of what the fuck,

As I heard him saying, “Suck, bitch, suck!”

Then I saw Mommy swallow Santa’s load,

As he shot it at her stupid face.

Oh what a hoot it would have been,

If Daddy had only seen,

Mommy licking Santa’s balls last niiiiiight!

Judgmental Jesus, or who the fuck do you think you are?

Coming from me, this must sound awfully hypocritical. But just take the ride with me for a little while, and let's see where it takes us. Some folks fancy themselves a few steps closer to perfection than most, and so have the tendency to look down their noses at the rest of us. Obviously, these people don't own mirrors and can't hear themselves when they speak. At least it would seem improbable based on the way they speak about others. Having a good sense of self-esteem is not something to shake a stick at, so that isn't what bugs me. What bugs the shit out of me, what really rubs me the wrong way, is people who think they know everything, think they are better than everyone, and don't hesitate to "share" this bit of wisdom and and gifts of knowledge with anyone who will listen. I have little to no patience with these people. We all have our own degree of awesome, but running around town announcing it shows you have no fucking class.
My Christmas tree expresses my eclectic style. It may not have parallel rows of perfect garland, a complimentary color scheme, velvet bows, or hand-blown glass ornaments, but it's mine and I love it. I know there are many critics out there that would tear my big, fat Noble Fir apart, branch by branch. I'd hear how ghetto it looks, how mismatched and poor white trash the ornaments are, that it is out of balance and has no flow. They'd be right, but that is definitely not the point. The fact is, I like it that way.  It's my house, my tree, my mishmosh of ornaments from Christmases past, and it suits ME. But the "experts" would tell me that I need a theme, a color scheme, less is more. No, more is more, and I LOVE more. Growing up, we'd call it a Puerto Rican tree, and don't get all fucking offended by that comment. All it meant was that it was sufficiently ornate to suit the holiday. If you grew up in Queens, you'd know exactly what I mean. Those people knew how to throw down when it came to decorating! If I called my tree by that particular nationality, I was bestowing upon it the greatest possible compliment.
Splenda is God's greatest creation next to the coffee bean. Don't tell me about the cancer it causes in lab rats, or how it isn't organic, causes migraines and weight gain. Even if I tell you I love the thrill of taking risks with my health, you'll still shake your head and admonish my choice to pour not one but two packets into my multiple cups of joe per day. Here are the facts as I see them. I am a human, not a rat. The amount they inject into rats at one time is more than I could ingest in a month, and they are tiny little fuckers. I have other cancers in my gene pool that scare me a helluva lot more than my artificial sweetener ever could. Migraines scare me even less.  I've been getting them since I turned 23 and frankly, it sure as hell isn't because I used Splenda, it wasn't invented back then! Weight gain is caused by the inability to put the fork down, plain and simple.  Any pounds I pack on are done solely by me and my yo-yo weight issues and intense love affair with food. But thanks for the unwanted advice about what goes into my body.

There are those who find my musical tastes to be less than appealing. My own husband will get into the car with me and immediately change the station because my groove is not his style. He uses other words to describe it, but I won't share those with you. I don't care if you think I'm not PC, but just because I allow you to judge my expressiveness doesn't mean I won't cut a bitch if you criticize him. Maybe I am stuck in the past musically, maybe it's because today's music sucks giant hairy balls. I really enjoy SiriusXM satellite because I can stay in the decades I enjoy and not have to scan the whole fucking dial to find a suitable song for driving. The 40s-80s are where I tend to hover, mixing in old alternative/punk, classic rock, reggae and ska, show tunes, Sinatra and Martin, and a few of today's country artists, specifically Toby Keith. And yeah, I do love me some Josh Groban.
Eclectic doesn't begin to describe what I listen to on any given day, but I love it all and couldn't delete one of them from my repertoire. People will say that you have to listen to the music from the era you are living in, although I cannot imagine why! If you actually enjoy the sound of voices that have been auto-tuned, then you are tone deaf and couldn't possibly appreciate the melodic sounds coming out of the mouths of Billy Eckstine or Etta James. At this point, you are wondering if I am really 41 and not actually 81. Go fuck yourself sideways. Some of you swear by one and only one genre of music. That doesn't mean that all the others suck. What it does mean is that you are narrow-minded, not the musical genius you believe yourself to be. Playing air guitar along with Led Zeppelin doesn't qualify you to start a band, nor does it make you an expert on all things rock. I say rock out to whatever you like, and I'll do the same. If you don't like it, plug your fucking ears.
Oh my God, how can you possibly drive that foreign gas guzzler?!  It's so bad for the environment and you are feeding overseas oil companies and it's just..just..bad. Are you serious? If you want to drive a Prius, which my daughter has told me, for her would be social suicide, go right ahead, nerdsack. People choose the cars they drive for all different reasons, none being more valid than the other. But don't presume to tell me that my choice is wrong. Wrong for who? For you? I don't care if you disagree with what I've chosen to drive, I happen to love both our vehicles. Yes, our cars are Japanese, and yes, it costs an arm and a leg to gas those bitches up every week. SO? And while you are plodding along in your little Hyundai shitmobile, I am cruising in luxury, listening to my awesome tunes. You can do your part for the environment and I will turn on my seat warmer and pump up my lumbar support in my Earth-unfriendly crossover SUVs. I don't tell you to buy a real car and stop being such a fucking douchebag, don't tell me to trade in the Lexus for a Leaf.
Everyone is entitled to an opinion. You are even welcome to share it once in a while. But don't expect that I'll listen to you. Opinions aren't facts, they are just something you happen to believe today. Tomorrow is a different story.  We all do things for different reasons, whether it's because we've always done it that way, our moms did it that way and it's what we are comfortable with, it's easier, we've extensively researched it, or because we just feel like it. The point is, it's our way, not yours, and you have no right to try to change it because you don't agree or think you are better than us. You are definitely not better than me. I told you earlier, we all have our own degrees of awesome, and I happen to have a surplus. Perfection is not an accident, nor is attainable so don't think you are fooling anyone. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

It's my road rage, and I'll scream if I want to...

Screaming behind the wheel, flipping random drivers the bird, leaning on my horn, it's all part of my charm. I see someone make a douchecanoe move while driving, I have an overwhelming urge to call them out on it. Whether my window is open or not, is not the point. The point is, you drive like a fucking lunatic, and I have to tell you. Riding me for two exits when I am trying to get over is not my idea of considerate driving. Nor is jumping in front of me to go slower than snail shit. I'm not always in a rush, so that isn't what pisses me off. The lack of awareness that there are other people on the road, and the inability to make rational judgements...those two things really frost my cookies. If I lived in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, where you only see two cars on the road every few hours or so, I'd have a different perspective on the topic. I'd also face less assholes while driving, so that would solve my problem but give me a whole other set of things to bitch about, like a lack of human contact. But when there is nary a soul on the freeway, drive as you'd like. Go fast, go slow.  Hell, change lanes every 45 seconds if it gets you hot. However, if you are in an area with many other drivers accompanying you on your journey, open your fucking eyes, and treat the rest of us the way you'd like to be treated.
When stopped at a red light, do not use this opportunity to fall asleep, apply makeup, or read a book you have stashed on the passenger seat. As the light changes, I am chomping at the bit to make my move, whether it be to go straight or turn. Left turns seem to have the worst offenders. I think people take mental vacations at left turn red lights. That's the only explanation that makes sense when I see the light turn green and watch as the lead car just sits there, waiting. Waiting for what? A better color option? Or have they completely shut down, no longer paying attention to the traffic lights. Yes, I am the first one to lean on my horn, especially if I am watching not just the lead car fuck me over, but the next few leaving 4 car lengths in between as they turn while riding their brakes. Seriously? What are you afraid of exactly? The actual direction called left? Other cars? The center divider? Maybe you should turn in your license, because I will have to slam my horn so hard that you may shit your pants. Unless you like that sort of thing...

Since I possess no filter, particularly as I get older, even the most minor offense doesn't escape my eye or my mouth. Should you be the one jackknifed across the aisle in the supermarket, carrying on a major conversation with someone jackknifed in the other direction, and I need to pass, and you SEE me and make no attempt to move, even after I've said excuse me, we've got a problem. Actually, you have the problem. I have the solution. Pull you head out of your ass, make plans to see this person in a venue where conversation is welcomed, and get the fuck out of my way. Not in that order.  Getting out of my way should be the first order of business on your social calendar. I have no issue telling you to move your fucking chat elsewhere if you choose to ignore me. You may have nothing to do and nowhere to go but I have a life to lead. God help you if you are not speaking English, as well. That is the equivalent of whispering, and I am going to assume you are talking shit about me. This doesn't bode well for you. I may have to remind you of the fact that you are in MY country, and to speak the goddamn language, then I'll tell you to get the fuck out of my airspace.
Should you be the parent of the child running butt wild through the restaurant I am trying to enjoy a meal in, I will comment loudly enough for you to hear. This won't be praise for your stellar parenting skills, this will be an observation of how you probably shouldn't have bred in the first place. I may even have to tell your little shit to go sit down with Mommy and Daddy.  Do you really want ME disciplining your child? Doesn't phase me in the least bit, I actually know how to do it. And since your bratty fucker is running around my table, I know for a fact that you do not. Allow me to assist you in your quest to raise your child. One day, I will start charging a fee for doing what you should have done from the moment you walked into the joint. Maybe then you'll figure out that the rest of the world may not find your child quite as charming as you do.  As a matter of fact, we probably dislike them with great gusto.
Calling my house and trying to sell me something I don't want is considered a crime by me. Usually, it's some bogus bullshit scam anyway, but even if it isn't, I am not interested. Doesn't matter what it is, I promise you, I don't want it. Lower rates, better phone service, a great new credit card, home owner's insurance, magazines, or an opportunity to enjoy a time-share if I'd only sit through a 3 hour presentation. None of these things appeal to me on any level. If I want a magazine subscription, I'll seek it out on my own. Donations are made by me when I deem the cause worthy, not because you called me during what you know to be the dinner hour in most households. Telling me you are calling from a different time zone does not excuse the poor timing. Making calls is your job, you should know where you are calling and what fucking time it is. Many telemarketers ears have been blasted by my booming bitch voice, letting them no in no uncertain terms that their call is not only unwelcome, but offensive, annoying, and that they should not ever call my house again. Hmm, I guess I don't put it quite as nicely as all that, but I'll bet you can fill in those blanks.
So many offenses, so little time. My feeling is this, if you have bugged me enough that I can't hold it in, you have earned the right to hear what I have to say. This may make me sound like a cranky, old bitch. I really don't care. Life is too short to put up with other people's lack of consideration for their fellow man. Our time on this planet is brief and fleeting. I don't intend to spend those moments being treated like dirty dog shit. We all deserve to enjoy our limited time here, and that includes being able to go about your day without suffering through the rudeness and lack of common courtesy that we are all entitled to as human beings. Maybe if more of you were like me, more people would get the hint, straighten up, and fly the fuck right. Do I think you will join me in my quest for a more considerate universe? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

I want, I want...yeah, me, too...I want less sparkly green cat puke this Christmas!

'Tis the season...to be greedy. Working with children, I am exposed to this generation's inflated sense of entitlement on a daily basis. Kids are generally sweet and giving, of their love, hugs, and oddball art projects. I appreciate each and every one. What I do NOT appreciate is listening to the tales of how they are asking Santa for "twenty hundred fifty million sixty" toys. Of course, we all sent our letters to the North Pole as children. Some lists were longer than others, admittedly. But I don't remember expecting to receive each and every item on that list. I knew to expect MAYBE one. These little brats know beyond the shadow of a doubt, if they've asked, they will receive. Because this won't create a world filled with adults expecting others to bend over backwards to ensure they get everything they want? They will think that employers should really just call them and offer jobs, why should they have to apply? Interview? I'm fucking awesome, ask my parents.  Just hire me and pay me what I want. Right. Life is a bed of roses.
They've been gearing up for this season of overindulgence since right before Halloween and it's only increased exponentially. From getting gifts on Thanksgiving because it has suddenly become a gift-giving holiday, to baking cookies and eating candy for breakfast, the winter holidays have become a blended blur of spoiling kids rotten. Is it guilt from not being present in the life of a child that is supposed to be important to you? Do you stop once a year and consider your emotional and possibly physical absence during the other 11 months? Is that what throws you into a tailspin of decorating, baking, shopping, indulging...being an ass? Many of you don't realize that when you are home all friggin day long and you leave your kid at school till 4 or 5pm, you are prioritizing yourself over your child.  Then you attempt to make up for it with things and privileges like letting them stay up late to watch even more TV than they already do so that they come to school out of sorts. Genius parenting.

As an adult, I can tell you with confidence, I do not remember most of the presents I got for Christmas. I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday, I can't be expected to recall the name of the doll I wanted. But, most of us are in the same boat. The things of our past are long forgotten. What remains are the memories of family and friends. The laughter, the food, the hugs, the time spent with those we loved and maybe didn't see very often throughout the year. I can still remember traditions like how I got to decorate the tree, wearing the Santa hat I still own, while my mom decorated the house as Christmas music played in the background. Baking trays of cookies with my mom and needing to hide out in my room while she wrapped gifts so I wouldn't see. And I did because I love surprises! Then again, I did because my mom told me to, and I knew not to question her or disobey her wishes. A whole other topic, I know, but I feel as though it's slightly connected to this train of thought.
I can be horrified for hours just thinking about the children of excess, but it's a waste of my time. Bitch-slapping their parents might be temporarily satisfying, yet could land me in jail. So, I'd like to take the time to tell you what tickles me during the Christmas season. Picking out the right tree.  It not only has to have the right height, but it must possess the proper girth, and shape. No long, skinny trees for this broad, nosiree Bob. Give me a fattie or don't bother. Next, it must have good smell. When I come home, I want to be whacked in the nose with scent of Christmas. Having grown up with fake trees, a real one is such a treat for me. But the very real blanket of needles that covers 1/2 of my living room when the tree is brought in, again when we set it up on the stand, and one more time when we wrap the lights and garland send me into angry fits. Vacuuming sucks balls anyway, but having to do it over and over because I don't want to jam up the Dyson and have to empty in between, is fucking torture.
Once the lights and garland are done, it's our daughter's turn to work on the tree.  She picks out the decorations and hangs them where she deems appropriate, leaving out the bottom two rows of branches because, well, we have a cat. That should clearly explain why the bottom of our tree is bare every year. Shiny, dangling temptations are just an exercise in futility and I don't need to give the cat another reason to be bad. The pointy needles are all the reasons she needs. A kitty who loves things like butter, cream cheese, BBQ pork, spaghetti, cake, and whipped cream, is suddenly transformed into a feral dumb shit in the presence of a tree in her house. She is hungry all the time due to her over-active thyroid, and now we present her with a giant snack on a stick. And snack away she does. Which would be fine except for the part where she vomits up green and sparkly crap all over the house each time she snacks. Garland tastes pretty good with a few fir needles, or so she'd have you believe by the sheer volume of what she winds up binging and purging every December.
Egg nog, a roaring fire, and Christmas music...not much to ask. Preferring to watch others open carefully purchased gifts instead of demanding more, more, more for myself, I am the total opposite of the little shits that chafe my fucking hide. We can only hope that as they mature, they will figure out what's really important and it most certainly is not the volume of gifts with your name on them under the goddamn tree.  Parents, pay attention to what I am about to say. Cease the excessive gift giving, cookie binging, candy stuffing, and late night wildness you are allowing to become holiday tradition for your family. You are the reason my world is going down the toilet and I have absolutely nothing good to look forward to in my old age. Your spawn is going to ruin life as we know it if you keep this up. Cut the little bastards off at the knees, no more stuff! Bake with them, sing Christmas carols with them, build gingerbread houses with them, visit older family members together, and for fuck's sake, teach them how to GIVE instead of demanding more and more shit. This is not what I've taught my child. And it's is definitely not the world in which I want to grow old. Fix it, douchebuckets!  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Your mood swings are making me seasick...and other friendship blunders

Before you jump ugly with me, I know we are ALL guilty of these things. I'd just like to point them out as a kind of PSA to help others enhance rather than destroy beautiful friendships.  As we know, you must be a friend in order to have friends. Some call it the Golden Rule, while others call it mindfulness. Whatever title you'd like to assign it, the sentiment is the same. You can't act like an ass and expect people to fall all over themselves to like you. Seems simple, by all appearances it's easy to do. Yet there are more ass clowns than good friends in the world, and I am sick and tired of being sick and tired of it.  It's no wonder most of us can count our true friends on one hand and have fingers left over. Truly fucking sad.
Nobody has a charmed life, I am fully aware of that fact. Good days and bad days are all part of the process. Explain to me when it became socially acceptable to abuse someone else in the name of releasing tension. That is what you are doing, right? You had a fight with your sister, so you yell at me because I walked on the right side of you instead of the left. The dog shit on the carpet.  Good reason to give me the silent treatment. You raised a rude teenager, it's my fault? That's what you are telling me when you snap at me two hours after your kid tells you to fuck off. Unload all over me if you want, as a good friend I am here to listen, commiserate, and plot the other person's unfortunate demise with you. What I am NOT here for is to be your punching bag. Verbal abuse hurts, too. It leaves invisible scars that never heal. Friends don't scar each other.
Worse than just taking your shit out on a friend is the emotional seesaw you put us on when your moods change like the wind several times throughout the day. Let me be clear, I am not inside your head.  I have no idea what is rolling around in there and why you are mad one minute and laughing the next. Aside from assuming you are bipolar, which is treatable with medication, I'm going to keep my distance until you decide what kind of day WE are having.  Most of us go through mood shifts throughout the course of any given day. No one is happy all the time. Well, I suppose those of you fortunate to be prescribed mood-altering drugs are, but the rest of us aren't. Vacillating between road rage and laughing yourself to tears with your best friend, feelings and emotions ebb and flow like ocean tides. Ride your personal rollercoaster alone, I won't be joining you.
The conversation hog kills me. Good friends want to share the minutae of their lives with you. Like the act of telling the story somehow validates the occurrence. We all do it. But most of us know how to listen to the stories of others with as much enthusiasm.  Being able to listen at least as much as you talk is crucial to any friendship. Toby Keith's song, I Wanna Talk About Me, sums it up pretty nicely in the line, "I like talking about you you you you, usually, but occasionally I wanna talk about meeeeee." We all have friends like that. The ones who are constantly bubbling over with more news and things that they just HAVE to tell you. Yet, when you actually have something to say, they listen with half an ear, respond briefly, and steer the subject back to them. Ask them tomorrow about the topic you brought up. They will have no idea what you are talking about...they weren't really interested yesterday, and so didn't really listen. Inconsiderate buffoons.

Do me a favor. No, really, do me a favor. Friends are there to lend a hand when needed. That is supposed to be a universal truth. But, what is closer to factual is most people are quick to ask for help, money, strong arms to lift something, a truck to haul something, a folding table, whatthefuckever. Ask them for something, even if it's just a small amount of time. They are almost always too busy, overbooked, unavailable, completely out of the item you've requested, currently in massive amounts of pain rendering them unable to lift, carry, or lug...basically, you are shit out of luck. Why? Because they just don't give a fly-swarmed shit, it's not about them. Your needs are not important, and why should they be? What does that friend stand to gain by lending you their truck to haul your Christmas tree from the lot? Not a goddamn thing.
Friendship is not a competition. Well, it's not supposed to be, yet I see it more often now than ever. If you buy a new jacket, your friend compliments you on it and goes out and buys one slightly nicer. When you tell her that your husband took you out to dinner, you find out that hers is now taking her on a weekend trip. Don't tell her your child has good grades because hers has PERFECT grades and is currently on the honor roll, plays 4 sports, and is assisting the principal in matters of student affairs. There's nothing you can say that she won't try to one-up you about, so don't bother coming to her with any celebratory news. She's someone who actually embodies the song Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better. Don't even bother singing back, she does that better, too. Take heart, she does this because her self-esteem is in the gutter. And you like yourself, right? You should, Tard!
Don't be a doormat. You are a good friend, you deserve to be treated as such. Stop allowing yourself to be used as a punching bag or a gross inconvenience. People who behave that way shouldn't be permitted to have access to your friendship. Yet, we'll do it over and over again. Why? Because good people always look for the good in others. We make excuses for their inappropriate actions and pave the way for them to be repeat offenders. It's a vicious cycle, and if you really care about that person, it's really hard to break. For one reason, you've allowed it to go on for so long, they think it's acceptable. Another reason is that usually, people who act any of the ways I've described can't handle hearing anything negative about themselves and do not respond well to any form of criticism, constructive or otherwise. It takes a seriously strong person to stand up to an asshole, especially an abusive one. I'm pretty fucking strong, but truthfully, it's easier to be passive-aggressive than face the fuckers head-on.  Are you friggin kidding me right now???