All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.

I was reflecting upon my childhood diet the other day. This is all I ate from ages 6 until 11:

• Cherry Pop-Tarts
• Fruit by the Foot
• Fruit Roll-Ups
• Spaghettios
• Cinnamon Toast Crunch
• Count Chocula
• Miracle Whip on white bread (it’s true)
• Kraft macaroni and cheese
  . 

 .

No wonder kids lose all their teeth. It’s not to make room for new permanent teeth, it’s because our diet is made completely up of sugar, salt, and nitrates. My mouth rebelled against me (along with the rest of my body). Good thing I ran around like an ape with ADHD 23 hours a day as a youngin’. Without my incessant need to constantly be running around catching snakes and toads, I would have weighed somewhere north of 200 pounds by the fourth grade.

I’m watching an exclusive interview with Piers Morgan and Motley Crue, and I’ve made a startling discovery:

.

.

Mick Mars is:  Emperor Palpatine.

.

.

Am I right? Let’s take another look.

Mick Mars….?
.
.
…..or Emperor Palpatine?
.
 .
I smell an identity theft case.

People need to stop shortening words. It’s not cute. It’s nauseating and stupid. SO STUPID! This includes, but is not limited to, “Presh, gorge, fab, adorbs, totes, fave, probs,” and “ridic.”  Yesterday I was reading reviews on a pair of boots, and this is the atrocity I came across:
.

.

I had a half a mind to report it as inappropriate. Are you kidding me? Even the busiest person in the world has enough time to avoid looking like a stupid ass. This needs to stop.

Nicole Scherzinger needs to bury herself alive. At first I thought her mouthwatering good looks were enough to float her along, but this has just gone too far. Everything that comes out of her mouth on The X Factor is pointless, annoying, and retarded. Also, her dramatic faux emotions? Ugh. Stop pretending to be moved, stop crying, stop being a douche, Nicole. As a side note, as much as I love Marcus Canty, Rachel Crow earned her place in this competition with her save-me song. You suck, Scherzinger.
.

 .

Well, I’m going to go digest my tacos. Remember that we are now in a new prize period! The next winner will be drawn on Sunday, December 18th. To become eligible for the drawings, all you have to do is 1) be subscribed to Sheppard’s Pie, and 2) leave a comment or forty!  (Find out more here: PRIZES!) Every comment you leave puts your name in the drawing for the next prize, which is a totally bitchin’ convenient and brilliant invention: the union of the cozy mitten plus an ice scraper to help make your morning car-scraping ritual a little less painful this winter.

That’s right, folks. Be in it to win it.

Thanks for stopping by.

__________________________________________________________________

“Nick’s roommate pulled the ol ‘slam your beer bottle on top of someone else’s beer to make it fizz up’ (mine) and like a jack ass, I stuck my thumb in it to make it spray everywhere in a retaliation attempt, which was great. Then I looked down and noticed glass sticking out of my thumb and blood was everywhere. The joke, once again, was on me.”

-Cole

illin’.

I just scraped a bunch of skin off my knuckles while carrying my laundry basket down the narrow cinder-block walled staircase that leads into the basement. It’s impossible to put bandaids all over these wounds. I feel like I might have to take a rubber glove, fill it with Neosporin, and then just wear it for a few days. I don’t know, I’m not a doctor.
.

. 

Just this morning I said, “It’s about that time of year again….that time of year where I get sick.”  Not three hours later, I find myself sniffling, sneezing, and moaning with the oncoming symptoms of an annoying cold. I am rather stuffed up over here. Also, my noggin is a poundin’, and my energy is at a bare minimum. On top of that, I can’t seem to heat up my body no matter what I do. I just put a sheet of chocolate chip cookies in the oven, and I had to stop myself from crawling right on in there to get toasty. I feel like doing nothing but merely existing on my couch in my sweat pants with tissues dangling from my nostrils, watching What Not To Wear.

That show has got me by the balls. I forgot how great it was. Are these people serious? Some of these individuals need electroshock therapy because of the things they’ve been wearing. I just watched an episode where this woman wore nothing but turtle items. Turtle everything. Shirts with turtles on them, giant gaudy turtle necklaces, turtle pants, turtle bracelets—and on top of all this turtle paraphernalia, she wore Crocs and mens cargo shorts. Bad.
.

. 

I’m glad I avoided living in a generation where people still used folding paper road maps to navigate their way through the world. I have been lucky enough to be blessed in the era of Map Quest, quickly evolving into Google Maps directions, then the invention of the GPS, followed by turn-by-turn navigation on my smart phone. Thank God. Can you imagine having to try to use a map the size of a table cloth whilst driving throughout a busy city trying to locate a Bank of America? Big creases through entire cities, ketchup stains on toll road signs, rips through the legend. What a nightmare. Mapping and driving is more dangerous than texting and driving. I am so happy to be able to just fire up the ol’ cell phone and say, “Send me to Omaha, Phone,” and it does. It just does.

….Droid. Droid does. You get it.
.

. 

I wish for someone to purchase me Hungry, Hungry Hippos for Christmas. I truly love that game. I also loved that game where the little fish went around the circular “pond” chomping their teeth together, and you had this tiny little fishing rod of sorts to catch them with. Memories. It’d be funny if they replaced the hippos in the game with really hungry people like Nicole Richie and Kate Moss and Mary-Kate Olsen. Except then the balls that the hippos chomp after wouldn’t be balls, they’d be diet pills.

Never mind.

SO, this week I will finally be returning to the glorious Midwest for the holidays. I can’t wait to see my fellow Council Bluffians and be a little irresponsible while donning Christmas sweaters on the reg. WHEW! I trust you all have delightful holiday plans this year. If not, maybe this will brighten your day:

I will be holding the next drawing on Sunday, December 18!

The next prize iiiiiis:
.

.

This fantastic invention in which the classic puffy warm mitten meets the windshield ice scraper in a glorious marriage, keeping your extremities toasty while you scrape snow off your car in the frosty mornings this winter. The actual scraper-glove I’m giving away is even cooler than the one pictured above. This is a fantastic invention. To become eligible for prize drawings, all you have to do is 1) be subscribed to Sheppard’s Pie by email, and 2) leave comments! Every comment you leave puts your name into the drawing. Good luck!

Time to go. Bye now.

__________________________________________________________________

B:   When do you think we’ll be hungry enough to eat our dessert?

A:   I hope soon.

Second Chance Sunday Winners!

And the two winners of the Christmas jams CDs for second chance Sunday aaaaarrreeee……
. 

.

………

CHRIS DIEZ

&

CLAY CUNNINGHAM

!!!!!!!!
.

 .

Congratulations, you wascally wabbits. Email your mailing address to beccaxsheppard@gmail.com and I will have these in the mail tomorrow. ENJOY!

To the rest of you losers, I will have the next drawing within two weeks. The new prize period starts immediately after this post. To become eligible for the next drawing, leave a comment or forty! Let the games begin.

__________________________________________________________________

“I love how cute these is!”

(Puzzled look).

“Oh my god.”

LLLLET’S GET READY TO JINGLLLLE!!!!

Listen, girls and boys. I just compiled the Christmas albums for one lucky winner out there. It’s so FANTASTIC! I’ve got tinsel growing out of my scalp, mistletoe hanging from my ears, hot chocolate flowing through my veins, and ribbon flying out from my fingers just from putting it together. Oooooo WEEE! It’s such a great mix. I can’t wait for you to pop it into your stereo and rock around the Christmas tree to it with a santa hat on.

SO, I’m too anxious to hold on to this prize any longer, so I’m going to hold the drawing tomorrow (Thursday) night at 8:00 PM central daylight time.  WHO’S IT GONNA BE!?!?

If you aren’t in the drawing yet, it’s not too late! Become eligible for prizes by:

1)   Subscribing to Sheppard’s Pie

&

2)   Leaving comments! Every comment you leave puts your name in the drawing each time.

If you’re already eligible, up your chances by leaving a few more comments. Everyone wins. Me, you, Santa—everyone.

It’s the most wonderful time of the year,

Switzer Claus

__________________________________________________________________

B:   …I’m driving behind an SUV that has a sticker on the rear windshield that says “GUILTY OF BEING WHITE.”

Z:   Haha. What is that supposed to mean?

B:   Haha. I don’t know?

Z:   I guess you and I are guilty also.

Thankfull.

WHY HELLOOOOO!!!!!

I mean, oh, hey you guys. Sap?

Anyway, I trust you all had a filling Thanksgiving. I sure did. If you’re like most gluttonous Americans, you’re probably still digesting pecan pie and green bean casserole, and will be until Boxing Day. Trent and I whipped up a pretty braggable feast, and for all of you who were wondering if I could pull it off, I did successfully make a DELIGHTFUL sweet potato pie. In fact, it was such a hit that I am making two more this week. I should probably start jogging.

It’s really weird to me that female dogs have periods. Like….that’s not very fair. It’s not like they can just stick a tampon up there and take care of business. I’ve only ever owned male dogs, and I intend to keep it that way. I’m not interested in having an emotional, PMSing canine bleeding all over my living room, watching Lady & The Tramp, leaving empty ice cream pints on the coffee table five days a month. Slap a Kotex on that bitch.

I’m really pissed about people who are famous for having things like the “longest hair in the world” or the “longest nails in the world.” It’s so stupid. Having the longest (also see: most disgusting) fingernails in the world does not make you rich. It doesn’t make you more attractive, more desirable, envied, or of a higher social status. It just makes you gross. Cut your nails. They’re not making you any money.  “But I’m famous!!!”  You also can’t eat with a fork or wipe your ass. Cut your nails.
. 

.
CUT THEM!!!!

WELL, that’s about it for today. If you haven’t already, make sure you subscribe to Sheppard’s Pie (see right margin of the site to subscribe) and then start leaving comments in order to put yourself into the drawing for this month’s prize drawing!

(See more here: https://beccasheppard.wordpress.com/prizes/ )

This month I’m going to be sending one lucky reader a nice compilation of the rockin’est Christmas jingles you’ve ever heard, plus a few other Christmas surprises. Woo! None of those surprises is poop, I promise. Each comment you leave puts your name into the drawing. See the previous post for details! GOOD LUCK, LADS!

By the way, everyone. I know thankful is spelled “thankful.” It was a play on words. I am very “full” after Thanksgiving. Sigh. Don’t ever second guess my grammar like that again, or you’re OUT.

Toodles.

__________________________________________________________________

B:   “An apple a day keeps the STDs away!”

S:   “I wish I woulda known that in college. I would’ve eaten ’em by the bushel!” 

Be a winner, not a wiener.

I’m big on sending things via snail mail. There’s just something flamboyantly exciting about receiving an envelope with two dozen stickers on it, isn’t there? Letters, packages, cards. Anyway, inspired by another lass’s blog, I have decided to start doing random drawings of sorts for all of you readers out there. Basically I will be choosing a name at random every couple of weeks, and the lucky winner will receive some cool and personalized prize from me in the mail. Sometimes the prizes will be badass, and sometimes you’ll be pissed. That’s the glory of a surprise.

.

THE QUALIFICATIONS!!!

In order for your name to be drawn, there are two requirements:

1) First, you must be subscribed to Sheppard’s Pie.
“Will SuBsCriBiNg mAke m3 gEt a BuncH of sPaM???  i h8 gEttiNg jUnK mAiL!!!111”   F-ck no. Being subscribed simply means you receive the post directly into your email when a new one is published.

2) Since there is no physical hat filled with shreds of paper with peoples’ names on it for me to pull a winner out of, I will be drawing names off of comments on posts.  In order for your name to be drawn, you must have commented on a post during that period of time in between drawings. Each time you comment, your name is put in the metaphorical “hat!” Pretty easy. 

.

.

Bribes. Who doesn’t love them?

The prize for the first drawing will be a personalized CD or CDs of my favorite Christmas jingles. You’ll be rockin’ around the Christmas tree and craving figgy pudding like you wouldn’t believe once you fire these tunes up in the car. Watch out: lots of Christmas cheer inside. If you don’t like Christmas carols or you’re black and celebrate Kwanzaa, you’ll have to re-gift. Sorry. There may also be baked goods involved. WE’LL SEE!!! The drawing period starts now! If you haven’t subscribed, you can click “Subscribe” in the column on the right hand side of the home page. Then leave as many comments as you want to become eligible! Good luck, lads.

Other prizes to look forward to will include things like gift cards, DVDs, posters, trinkets, t-shirts, one hundred dollar bills (yeah right), all sorts of booty. They’ll be fun. FUN times.

WELL, enjoy your Thanksgiving feasts, kids. I’ll be doubling my body weight if you need me.

__________________________________________________________________

“Thanks for all the birthday wishes, pretty damn good birthday, ran a 5k this morning too! Just kidding, I threw up in a sink.”
– Chris Diez 

The Golden Age.

.

don’t let anger ruin your life

^ Another search term that someone used that landed them on my blog. Clearly they came to the wrong place. If anger didn’t consume my life, I would have very little to talk about. You’re welcome.

Drove by (okay, through) McDonald’s today. Looks like the McRib is back. When are they going to stop crying wolf about the McRib? Every time it comes out, it’s “out for a limited time ONLY!”  McDonald’s is to the McRib as Brett Favre is to football. Either retire it or don’t, McFavre.

We only have 3 more days to play McDonald’s Monopoly, boys and girls. This means that I have a legitimate excuse to go overboard with large fries and medium Dr. Peppers this weekend other than “I’m fat” or “I deserve it.” My amigo Alison, myself, and my cross-country friend Mr. Kocourek decided to join forces to increase our odds of winning.

.

I would like to win a million dollars. If that’s not possible, I’d like to win fifty-thousand dollars. If that’s not possible, I’d like to win a car so I can sell it for twenty-thousand dollars. If that’s not possible, I’d like to win free McDonald’s french fries for the rest of my life. If that’s not possible, then this isn’t America.

.

.

I am ghost-like. My tan is fading rapidly. I am beginning to resemble a person in hospice. All the colorful life draining out of my flesh, death slowly taking over. I need to start tanning. I am leery of sunless tanning lotion. A girl I know has been using it just on her face and neck, and she looks like a bronze goddess. The only problem is, I imagine that when she is not clothed, her tan head looks like a brown paper sack on a white ghost body. Then again, it’s not like I’m parading around in the nude for everyone to see my color progression. At least not on weekdays.

I recently dug through about a thousand old photo albums from my late high school/early college years. Boy are they something. I was fatter, drunker, and whiter, if you can believe it. I don’t understand how we all partied like we did back in those days. We were unstoppable binge drinking machines. Nothing could get us down. Not even a .34 blood alcohol content or the police.

.

In those days we would start drinking at 2 pm, doing beer bongs in the shower while we got ready, and taking shots well into the night. Somewhere in the midst of blacking out and doing keg stands, we would rally a gang to go tearing through Taco Bell in a loud, drunken stupor, barfing all over their single stall bathroom and stealing an unnecessary amount of mild sauce packets. We would scream with disbelief when bar-close came around, complaining with excessive foul language that the night was still young, returning to our respective dorms/apartments and continue to throw booze down our pie holes, blaring DMX at an ungodly decibel until 3 or 4 in the morning when we finally decided to go to bed.

Now I have two drinks, I’m hammered, and I sneak away and go to bed. I even get hung over. How did this happen? Next thing you know, we’ll be applying for social security. Olds.

WELL, time to go. Goodbye everyone.

_________________________________________________________________

“That’s the hot water, turn it off! TURN IT OFF!”

“I’m SORRY, I’m not used to using my foot as a HAND!”

Lashing out.

“Up with the volume, down with the weight.”

This was the tag line for Almay’s latest mascara endorsed by Taylor Swift. “Down with the weight.”  As if the mascara I’ve been wearing all these years has been weighing down my eyelids and making it difficult to keep my eyes open because of its heaviness. As if my mascara is the reason that people sometimes mistake me for being partially Asian. Is that the best you can do, Almay?

I smell outrageously fantastic right now. I just purchased Boots brand “Coconut & Hibiscus” body butter and body wash, and I smell like a sexy, beachy babe. It’s taking just about every ounce of self control I have to not reach down and lick my forearm. I still might do it. I love things that smell good. If I were an out of control hoarder, I would spend every penny I earned on body washes, soaps, and lotions. It would be a financial disaster. At least it would be a good smelling, clean financial disaster.

.

I wish my body permanently smelled like something awesome. Wouldn’t that be great? Instead of naturally smelling like raw onions and salt, we smelled like milk chocolate or Subway. That would be excellent. If I could permanently and naturally smell like something, my top choices would have to be the following:

1. Vanilla.  I love vanilla. Vanilla everything. Icing, cupcakes, cake batter, warm vanilla sugar—it gets me. It’s so warm and inviting and yummy. I would go all out. I would smear vanilla icing all over the top of my head and stick a birthday candle on the top of my scalp. People would want to put their tongues on me, not that they don’t already.

2.  Coconut.  Coconut is delicious. If there is a Whitman’s Sampler anywhere near by, you can count on finding the entire box having been rummaged through with bites taken out of every single chocolate with the rest left behind, and the two coconut filled ones vanished without a trace. I turn into a feral raccoon on boxes of chocolates to find myself those sweet, coveted coconut ones. I go “coconuts.” (Lolz)

3.  Brown sugar.  I could eat an entire bag of brown sugar with a spoon if it were allowed. It smells heavenly. It’s such a sweet, warm, delicious aroma. Who doesn’t love inhaling the sweet smell of baked goods? Again with the licking. I truly want to taste myself when I’m covered in brown sugar scented toiletries.

.
4.  Ryan Gosling.  No one looks this good without smelling equally as sexy. I’m sure of it.

In other news, I discovered I can type 109 words per minute today with 95% accuracy which is pretty braggable. Since we’re visiting Bragville, I also scored 116 points today on Words With Friends on the words “tonga” and “jager.” I have no idea what “tonga” is, but I got a triple letter score on the J for both words, plus a triple word score on “jager.”  Who will pay me for these skills? Probably no one. Another talent gone to waste.

Well, time to go sniff myself.

….with my tongue.

________________________________________________________________

“I wish she was annoying so I could have gotten laid, then ignored her, and not have felt guilty about it.”