LHB Blog

A girl, a blog and a cactus named Pudding

Tag: humour (Page 1 of 3)

You Spin Me Right Round Baby

Alternative title: Which sadistic cretin created Spinning class?! My word that shit is pure EVIL!


“I’m dying…” I pant.

“No you’re not” T said “just increase the resistance for this bit”.

“I can’t feel my legs!” I whinge as I lean forwards.

“They will go a little bit like jelly with this hill climb” she reassured me.

“I’m pretty sure I just chundered in my mouth” I was pretty positive about this but couldn’t prove it.


“Told you I’m dying!” It seriously felt like it.


I spent the remainder of the evening considering going all Bear Grylls and surviving on my instincts (read as: peeing in the sink and sleeping on the kitchen floor to avoid having to walk upstairs…Oh yeah, born survivor me).

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Be like the Traeger

Alternative title: This is literally the best Tuesday ever, everything is literally fabulous, the aches I have from yoga class are literally the most amazing aches and – oh sod this. Tuesday’s are just filler days that make you feel like you’re in a perpetual loop of Monday turd-fests and as for the yoga aches, I can’t sit on the toilet without wondering if I’m going to be able to stand back up (or have to call for some lovely rescuer to hoist my bare butt off the porcelain throne)…


I am a grumpy soul by nature, not a ‘glass half full’ kind of person, nor a ‘glass half empty’ kind of person, but a ‘who stole my fricking glass the cheeky sod, there was still a dribble in that pint’ kind of person…I get anxiety about food, I worry (almost constantly) about everything (pretty much) and I have to check every door/window three times before I can drive off into the sunset (read as: head to work in the latest torrential downpour) without thinking my house will disappear into an abyss.

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Christmas countdown….Bah, humbug!

Alternative title: It’s nearly that time of year when I have to pretend that I’m not a miserable sod and spend ‘quality’ time with the family…I will probably spend the majority of it listening to my womb shrieking as relatives interrogate me over my lack of spawning (trust me the world is just not ready for that) and picking up my rather drunk gran when she falls in her own vomit in the garden. 


“What are you thinking of getting your brother for Christmas”? mum asked while skipping through the various hair removal treatments on Wowcher (not sure I’d trust someone to trim my lady-garden if I was paying them £3 or something equally as insulting).

“I don’t know…I thought about buying him some Shreddies” I sipped at my cuppa.

Cereal? For Christmas?! Really Ruebi?” she stopped on an advert for back waxing and scowled (I assumed at the dawning realisation that there must be some really hairy gits out there).

“No…Shreddies…Flatulence filtering grundies…The house smells like butt when he comes home and not in an ‘accidental poot’ sort of way, I’m talking farts bordering on sharts”.

“I have no words” she shook her head before retreating to the kitchen.

“Farticles mother! Farticles!” I yelled after her.

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Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch

Alternative title: Spectacles, breasticles, wallet and watch …. oh wait no, that doesn’t work…ah well. Fudge it.


“How are your new glasses?” Mum asked.

“Well….I can now see everything very clearly…It’s like watching the HD channel, but all the time” I closed my right eye.

“That’s good isn’t it?” She chirped.

“No…not really…the world is a grubby place as it is, at least with my old glasses I only saw a blurred version of it” I reopened the right and closed the left (as you do).

“Stop being so melodramatic Ruebi”.

“I’m not…I don’t want to see dog turd in HD! Who wants that invading their retinas?!” Both eyes were now open…wide.

“Maybe don’t look at it then” She reasoned.

“It’s smeared all over the path…ignoring that could result in a slippage…which would result in landing in it…landing in it would mean smell-o-vision and a whole range of other unpleasant notions as well as turd HD”.

She just rolled her eyes…I took this as a sign of agreement.

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