I have a fuck-ton of swag from BlogHer that I just don’t need. Sure, I could give it to charity and be a Good Person, but I’m ALWAYS giving stuff to charity. So, I figured I’d run a contest.

I sent out my business cards to my friends who asked to play along–because of their infinite awesomeness–and they are planning to take pictures of my cards doing various things. No, not like THAT, you Uncle Pervy.

The links you see here are what, where, and who Aunt Becky has been doing (ooo! Scandalous).

The deadline for entries is September 8th at 11:59 PM and voting will open at 12:00 AM on September 9th. Voting will last for one week, and on September 15, at 11:59 PM, will dramatically cease. If all goes well (read: I can figure out the results without a Gideon’s Bible, a stack of tequila and a bottle of uppers), and it should, the winner, along with several runners-up shall be announced on September 16.

It’s like Where’s Waldo, but WAY cooler. Because it involves drugs, booze and The Internet.


First, I tackled Florida, because I was in dire need of some R and R. Too many Sausages, not enough sleep.

Then, because I am a highly skilled nurse, I examined and cared for a wee puppy. I might have gotten a little misty at the cute overload.

Then I went to Canada, where a small girl named Munchkin played a game with me. And Aunt Becky smiled when she realized the small girl could not read. Aunt Becky is not, of course, intended for small children.

As further evidence of my R-rating, I offer you proof of my debauchery with my girl Beautiful Mess.

Aunt Becky returned to her PG roots with a couple of dinosaurs and some Storm Troopers. And of course, some cuddly kittahs.

After that, Aunt Becky traveled to a land of bobble-headed kids–not unlike her own–and rednecks.

Having been a Damn Yankee (a word, I should tell you, that online Scrabble does NOT recognize because it is an assbag), for most of her life, Aunt Becky had never been to The Dirty South to meet Cardboard Brad. Until, of course, NOW.

And then, Aunt Becky needed to work through the injuries sustained on Amy’s watch, so she went up North and went Skidoo-ing. Which, of course, we all know is good for healing.

Then off to Canada for some soccer balls, condoms and tampons, Aunt Becky traveled.

Knowing that Her Aunt Becky adores Dolly Parton, Aunt Becky was taken to Dollywood. Squee!!

Then, it was time for some vodka. And it was goood.

In a stunning fit of Awesomeness, I took my favorite food group, besides butter, and turned myself into it: Stuff on Sticks.

And nothing screams “Aunt Becky” like tripping it to Iowa. I turned into The Other White Meat.


After all that fried food, I figured a good fight might help me digest the food. My ass, it was kicked.

In a stunning fit of the utmost drunkenness, I was seduced and had a foursome with an old friend. And maybe some ice cream and romance novels. And fish food.

Also: why do waste management centers always smell like poo and farts?

Then she learned to play the ukulele (also: need to learn to spell that properly), cuddled a fussy baby, and then was placed in mortal peril. OH NOES!

Aunt Becky was cornholed before hitching a ride on a monkey’s ass, and eventually hoofed it back to safety on a moose’s toe. It. Was. Rad.

Aunt Becky decided that the best course of action was to go back and get re-socialized at preschool.

It worked, for awhile. Then, she was part of an encased meats sculpture. And. it. was. divine. We all know how much Aunt Becky loves her encased meats.

Other things that Aunt Becky both loves and requires include toilets and boobie beer steins. Welcome to Germany! Aww, YEAH!

Then, in a supreme effort of defiance, screamed “NOBODY PUTS AUNT BECKY IN A CORNER!” But after that, she held a friend’s hand as she went into her PET scan. HELLS FUCKING YEAH TO REMISSION BABY!

After that, I went to hang with my East Coast bitches, where I flung poo at small children (wouldn’t you?) and drank copious amounts of tequila. I’m starting to think I’m going to have a hell of a time detoxing after this is all over.

Where else would a wanna-be microbiologist go but to a lab to grow some bacteria. Oh, and play with some wicked cool weapons. Rock. Music. Fucking scientists are awesome.

Down to the land of Florida, my business card traveled to go to work with my friend RJ Flamingo. Watch as I get rowdy, Xerox my own ass, drink some mighty fine coffee and wish like hell I lived down there.

Swallowing my hatred for DMB groupies, I went with Mrs. and Mr. Soup to a Dave Matthews Band concert. While I groaned and complained about it, we had a freaking BLAST. Cool Ranch Doritos and hot groupies are Where It’s At.

After a quick bath in bleach to rid myself of the Pachulli from those damn hippies, I drown my sorrows in tequila. LOTS of tequila. Which we all know gets us all fucked up. I’d tell you more, but then I’d have to kill you.

Then, I pimped a friend’s Escalade by being in the car with her after we baked *wink, wink* cupcakes. It was hot. She tried to make me go to rehab and I said, no, no, no.



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