Chewing on Window Sills

So, I figured that once I get a following, my adoring readers will surely want to know exactly what I am thinking at any given point. As I didn't want to jam up my other, crowded blogs (I am so adored, I have 2 followers already and only one of them is my best friend.  The other girl I only like a little.)  Sarcasm.  I'm not sorry.   Oh yeah, as I was saying, this is my new spot to just...let my psychosis show.
Other titles that didn't make the cut include:
Betcher Wundrin (for all my fans in Wisconsin.  Yah Der Hey!)  Trust me, that last part is a sentence in WI.
Chromosomal Damage
Things I pretend to know about
Quitcher Bitchin, which could be battling a phrase I once overheard one coworker tell another (again, in WI), "Putcher backfat away."  Close call.
I think I chose the best one, but I'm sure I will think of a better one somewhere down the line and be itching to start another blog just to use my clever title. 
I passed up a photo of Freud spanking a lady with a sex toy.  I was tempted to use it, but didn't want folks to get the wrong idea.  I am, in fact, a prude and would never allow such smut on my page.  More sarca...forget it.  If I have to point out the sarcasm, you should not be reading my page.  Not kidding about the Freud photo though, Google Images.
My knees ache today.  What kind of chromosomal damage do you have to have to agree to live in a place where it is so cold that the precipitation freezes on its way down to kick your ass?  Whenever I see one of those cheery people hopping around in the snow with a smile plastered on their face, I want to punch them in the liver.  Calm down, I'm not talking about the kids.  Kids don't smile in the snow because they're too busy trying to manage the ever-present excess of snot, before it takes over the entire bottom half of their face.  It is also impossible to suck that stuff back in once it starts to freeze.  Pity. 
Betcher wundrin how I feel about the Packers, being that I live in Green Bay, eh?  More than the tragedy of an entire state being emotionally obsessed with a football team, is the greater tragedy of all the cheese-eating(read, out of shape), eighties-hair-wearing, most ungodlfullyawful (that's my word, no stealing it) team-gear-wearing yodles toting around the most ridiculus accent known to man.  I have a theory about the accent, and about those who have it vs. those who dont.  I will save that topic for another post, it'll be my little cliffhanger, so my readers return.
Did you ever chew on a window sill when you were young?  Just wondering.  You are, in fact, still reading my blog. 
I encourage readers to share their touching stories of window sills and frozen snot.  As for me, I am off to find more inappropriate photos of the father of psychology.
Happy Crunching!