My Sister Messaged Me That She is Going to Jail For Running Over My Ex-Brother-In-Law With Her Car

10:24 P.M. TUESDAY My sister, Audrey, sends me the following private Facebook message: "Going to jail. Hit (my ex) with the car. Fight for (my son) with all you have." I reach across the mountain of soiled Kleenex to the bucket sitting beside my bed, and I vomit into it. As I do, my left ass cheek starts bleeding. That's just been the kind of day I've been having. 12 HOURS EARLIER So, it's morning, and I'm sick. Congested, snotty, sneezy, wheezy sick. My asshat husband, Chris, tells me I need to "buck up." After all, he's had

GramGram's Got a Cooter...

I desperately wish my headline had misplaced an "S" and that my grandmother had discovered a scooter rather than a working vagina. But I'm not that lucky. And neither, apparently, are a few men that I don't even want to pretend exist. The moral (or lack thereof) of this post is that Nana's naughty. It's a truth I don't want to acknowledge. Ever. At all. In any measure or degree. But I promised y'all the unadulterated truth (a pun you'll appreciate by this post's end), and I'm going to give it to you (which is ostensibly a phrase with which