Five Ways To Amuse Yourself On Facebook

Five Ways To Amuse Yourself On Facebook

Over the recent years, Facebook has given us a multitude of ways to entertain ourselves. With the touch of a button we can keep in touch with loved ones, stalk our exes, and find the answer to burning questions like, “What might my friends be cooking for dinner tonight?” Facebook isn’t without its drawbacks, however. It’s also the place people turn to when they need to air misplaced grievances about well, anything. Politics, religion, personal family matters, requests to diagnose my rash- it’s all on the table. I hear more people every day complaining about the social media site and making thinly veiled threats of shutting down their accounts for good. These are generally the same people who will post a photo of their ingrown toenail accompanied by a prayer request the following day.

So what keeps me coming back to Facebook time and time again? I’m glad you asked. Here are five ways I utilize Facebook for endless entertainment.

#1- Answer people’s questions.

Root Canal

#2- Tag your friends (without their permission) in discussions that have nothing to do with them in an effort to make them appear sketchy.

Prenatal Massage



Liver Parfait



ForSale3 ForSale2

#3- Jump into a discussion that has nothing to do with you by making a completely unrelated AND polarizing comment. If you’re lucky someone will “like” your comment and agree with you (which is completely stupid). Stumped for ideas? You can always go with Obamacare, global warming, or anything Jesus-related.

Common Core

Did I hear you say that you sailed through numbers one through three and that you’re ready to raise the stakes a little? I’ll take that as a silent yes.

#4- Search your local community page for a heated debate filled with self-righteous comments. (Tip: These are easy to spot because they have the most comments.) After reading through the original post and some, not all (We have other things to do. Am I right?) of the comments pick a side. It doesn’t matter which one. Once you’ve chosen a side, post a comment that vehemently expresses your agreement with some of the people, while at the same time makes you look like an unscrupulous asshole.

(Not recommended for anyone seeking employment in the near future.)

Facebook Drama



Double-whammy!! As you can see, I completed number four while also incorporating number two- tagging a friend. (Haha! Number two…)

#5- Post a vague ad on your community’s page attempting to sell items that were recently stolen from your neighborhood. This one is a real crowd pleaser!

Baby Jesus


And the fun just never stops!

I hope you’ve enjoyed this Loripalooza tutorial on Five Ways To Amuse Yourself On Facebook. I know I have! Now, get out there (while you stay on the couch) and have some fun.

For more DIY entertainment: How To Beat the Winter Weather Blues 

You Have No Kittens (Album Drop)

Ladies and gentlemen, it’s an honor and a privilege to sit down with hip-hop artist, Lucas Wescott on this momentous occasion. Today, he is unveiling his new single You Have No Kittens exclusively on Loripalooza.

Not only that, but he was even kind enough to carve some time out of his busy schedule to answer some questions for his fans.

Lori: How long have you been interested in rap and hip-hop music?

Lucas: Well, I’m a cool kind of guy so for a pretty long time.

Lori: Some rappers have a tendency to misbehave. Have you ever gotten in trouble?

Lucas: Well, I’ve never been to jail, but if I did then I would make sure my trial was on the news.

Lori: I understand that you like to dance. What is your favorite style of dancing?

Lucas: Tap dancing.

Lori: Tap dancing?

Lucas: Yes. I do it all the time in my hip-hop dance class.

Lori: Well, that’s wonderful.

Lucas: What inspired you to write this song?

Lucas: Because I would like to be a famous singer like, you know, Taylor Swift, or Bruno Mars.

Lori: Toward the end of the song it sounds as if someone in the audience is bothering you and you call them out by shouting, “Hey!”

Lucas: Yeah. I don’t allow that at my shows.

Lori: The name of your song is You Have No Kittens. Do you have any kittens and how do you really feel about kittens?

Lucas: No, I don’t have any kittens. When I think about kittens I feel inspired to have a new life, or to just act like a kitten. Stuff like that.

Lori: Do you have any dogs?

Lucas: Yes.

Lori: Is there anything you’d like to say about your dogs?

Lucas: Well, I like snuggling with them and sometimes they pee inside.

Lori: Do you know what your next song will be about?

Lucas: I’m not sure. Probably video games, or cooking food. I’m a pretty good chef.


Well there you have it, folks. The artist and rapper in his own words. What a humble guy.

Now, I know you’re all clamouring to get your hands on his new release. So without further ado, here is You Have No Kittens by Lucas Wescott.

Thanksgiving? Thanks For Nothing!


Big news, y’all. Big!

In the recent weeks I was informed that I am 1/16th Cherokee indian.

I’ll let that soak in for a minute.

You’re probably thinking the same thing I did initially. Duh! Look at you! Blonde hair. Fair skin. Ginger son. It all makes perfect sense. 

I have a lot of questions and a lot of lost time to make up for. For starters, where’s my land? Do I own a casino? Can I legally smoke peyote? And lastly, why am I just now finding out about this?

The answer to the last question falls squarely at the feet of my sweet mother. She apparently just never thought to mention it. I will refrain from pressing this any further considering I am still waiting on her to tell me how babies are made.

That issue pales in comparison (pun intended) to the Native American struggle that has been heaved upon my shoulders at the worst possible time of the year. I’m not going to lie. Columbus Day was hard for me this year. Why in the Hezekial do we dedicate the same number of days (okay, day) to Christopher Columbus that we also dedicate to real heroes like United States Veterans and Martin Luther King, Jr?


If anything, Christopher Columbus should be known for being the first man to get lost and refuse to ask for directions only to land in the wrong place and be like, “Nailed it! I made it here in record time, too because I wouldn’t stop and let anyone go to the bathroom. Now, stop staring at my panty hose and give me all your gold and spices.”

What a douche.

So keep me in your thoughts and prayers as I host Thanksgiving dinner this year because I’ll be wearing the Native American struggle. I’ll be wearing it hard.

Stiyu. (translation: Until we meet again)


Ayita Doya (translation: First Beaver to Dance)

**Please bear with me as I learn my native language, adjust to my new Cherokee Indian name and stay tuned for my first experience being racially profiled.

Alternate Route: My Long Journey Home


I share the following story not in the hopes that you will learn from my mistakes, but that you will read these words and realize what a true badass I am (in case you didn’t already know).

I ventured home from work around ten o’clock one dark night in September. Before getting on the interstate, I thought it would be wise to stop and grab something to eat. I felt a nervousness in the pit of my stomach as I pulled into the McDonald’s drive-through. I should’ve recognized this foreboding moment as more than a prequel to a bout of IBS, but I didn’t. I was starving and tired.

The gentleman at the loud speaker read my order back to me incorrectly. After correcting it, he asked if I would like tomato on my chicken sandwich. I told him I didn’t care.

“Ma’am, I can’t decide for you.”

“I probably shouldn’t say this, but I really don’t care what you put in that bag. I’m going to eat it regardless.”

“Please pull around,” he said calmly.

When I arrived at the window I apologized for being so blunt. I explained that I was just really hungry and tired.

“I didn’t get it at first,” he said, “but I believe you now with that look you got on your face.”

“Well,” I stammered. “My face doesn’t… move a whole lot.”

“My Grand Mama’s face don’t move a lot either ‘cause she had a stroke. You had a stroke?”

“No,” I answered grabbing my bag of mystery food. “Sometimes, when women get older…”

He interrupted. “Well, Imma pray for you anyway that your face move again.”

“Not necessary, but thanks. I guess. Ok, have a good,” he closed the window.

Friggin’ whippersnappers.

I was headed down the interstate when I reached into my bag and found my plain chicken sandwich made just the way I had requested. Cha-ching! However, as I approached the I-40/I-65 interchange there were lights flashing. My exit was completely closed. I panicked.

I don’t know any other way to get home. Should I call 9-1-1, or find a hotel? Maybe I can find a quiet place to bed down at an underpass until tomorrow. Wait a minute! I think I remember signs warning me about this last week, but I didn’t pay them any mind. I never thought that it would apply to me. I don’t use alternate routes! Alternate routes happen to other people.

Oh, Lori! Listen to yourself. This is exactly the kind of thinking that led you head-on into a Veteran’s Day parade in Fairhope, AL five years ago. Had it not been for a conveniently located alleyway and a horse that was light on his feet who knows what could have happened? Old people can be so mean when frightened.

It’s ok. I can do this! I will just use my navigation and this time I won’t argue with it.

I crammed that dry chicken sandwich into my face as Siri directed me in a forty-mile circle around Nashville only to dump me five feet past the initial roadblock. Thankfully, it was just far enough and I was able to follow my familiar route home. *

As I pulled into my garage that night I felt as triumphant as I always do after having worked a shift, but with a little extra chutzpah. Not only had I taken the path least traveled, albeit against my will, but I had also eaten fast-food for the first time in over a year and made it all the way home without crapping my pants.

*Strong work, TDOT on closing an entire section of interstate for a job that size.

Addyi or Addy-uh-uh?

Earlier this month the FDA approved the drug, Addyi (Filbanserin) making it the first ever prescription treatment for hypoactive sexual desire disorder in women. Studies showed that the (all too cliché) pink pill, manufactured by Sprout Pharmaceuticals, increased sexual desire in 37% of their test subjects. Let’s take a moment to talk a little more in depth about Addyi and hopefully separate some myth from fact.

First of all, Addyi is not female Viagra so STOP CALLING IT THAT. Viagra treats a physical problem in men who can’t get, or keep an erection. Addyi works with chemicals in your brain to treat women with horny deficiency. Just after the earth cooled, scientists discovered that the cure for horny deficiency in men was low testosterone. Perhaps the delay in treating the decreased female libido was due to the centuries of research that scientists put into searching for the G-spot.

“… After spending years toiling away in bed with countless women, Dr. Shlong was left to ponder why the G-spot was more difficult to find than an entire family of Sasquatches wearing matching T-shirts reading Vote For Pedro. However, his persistence never waned. Even on his deathbed and between shallow breaths he was said to have pleaded with his colleagues. “Seriously, guys. I was this close to finding it last time. Just send me one more focus group.”

Now, let’s talk about side effects. Sprout Pharmaceuticals indicate that women who take Addyi can expect nausea, fatigue, dry mouth, drowsiness and even loss of consciousness. No red flags there. We can only hope that Sprout’s next revolutionary medications will target the side effects of Addyi and also come in a fun color. (Please be periwinkle.)

Don’t be completely discouraged, ladies. Take solace in knowing that about a third of the test subjects studied reported an increase in sexual desire. That’s great news! Sure they were too nauseated and tired to act on said desire, but you know what they say- it’s the thought that counts thirty-seven percent of the time.

Lastly, the cause of your decrease in libido is worth looking into. We aren’t talking about a miracle drug here, but rather a prescription that was approved by the same governing agency that brought you Fen-Phen. Popping those pink pills until the cows come home is not going reignite the fire you once felt for your baby daddy when he had more hair on his head than he did growing out of his ears and on his back. To date, there isn’t a pill that can fix ugly. Until then, we will continue to rely on alcohol and plastic surgeons just like God intended.

Middle-Aged Affirmations

Self-esteem is important at any age. Everyone knows that, but did you know that a leading indicator in a person’s self-esteem is how many times per week they practice doing affirmations? It’s true. In fact, some argue that Middle-Aged Affirmations are more important than ever because they play a critical role in the health and wellbeing of entire families. In a recent scientific study, researchers were able to find a direct correlation between the number of children who point out their Mother’s varicose veins at the YMCA and the number of children who are left in hot cars while the same Mother goes into a liquor store a short time later.

So please, remember to do your Middle-Aged Affirmations because it’s good for the whole family, but take it from me and lock your bedroom door before you get started.

Take care!

Middle Aged Affirmations

Forgive and Forget with Brian Williams

Brian Williams

All aboard the I Hate Brian Williams Express to Judgement Village, population: shut your damn mouths.

That’s right. I said it.

Remember the saying “People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones?” Well, keep that in mind before you go picking apart every word Brian Williams has reported since the beginning of time, as well as his citizenship. Damn birthers. We ALL live in glass houses. Brian Williams is just the most recent celebrity to have his reduced to rubble. Do you know what it’s like to walk on broken glass? I don’t either, but I have been camping before and I can tell you that it was terrible. Absolutely terrible. The pain he is experiencing right now is unimaginable, unless you have a REALLY creative imagination like Brian Williams.

Journalism is a thankless job in a cut-throat industry with an audience that takes no prisoners. Trust me when I say that no one was there to wipe my brow and hand me a cookie when in November 2014 I singlehandedly blew apart the hiking industry for being the giant scam that it is. Do you think those graphics created themselves? Hell no they didn’t! I spent two hours photoshopping high heels on monkeys, dammit. That was admirable as hell, but I digress.

Did Brian Williams lie to the American people? Not really. He just sprinkled a little sugar on top of his story the same way his Mama used to on his cornflakes.

Instead of shaming Brian Williams for his faults perhaps we should show some concern for his memory loss. I personally experienced a bout of memory loss after a 2012 crafting incident involving a few cans of spray paint and some crazy glue. Sure, I looked fine on the outside- in fact I looked great, but I couldn’t remember my kid’s name for days. Has anyone stopped to think that his memory problems just might be due to head trauma he received in 2003 when the Chinook helicopter he was riding in… Oh, I see what you’re saying.

Well, damn.

Holiday Card 2014! The Big Reveal

After last year’s epic holiday card, I was under a lot of pressure to come up with something of equal, or better value. It was put up, or shut up time.

However, due to several first-world problems I was unable to get the Wescott family holiday card created and mailed in a timely manner. Instead, I’m sending it to everyone on the interwebs, not to mention saving eleventy-hundred dollars on postage.

From everyone here at Loripalooza (aka me and my dog, Baxter who is currently just lying on the sofa and licking the spot where his balls used to be) want to wish you and your loved ones a happy EVERYTHING this holiday season.


Holiday Card 2014


Holiday Card 2014


The Hiking Industry & the Dummies Who Fell For It

Hiking History

There are several things that really chap my ass, but being such a soft-spoken, girl-next-door type, I usually hold my tongue (see Stupid Suburban Problems and Moms Against Sexy Faces). However, most likely due to my menstrual cycle I have absolutely had it with hiking.

For centuries Homo sapiens have participated in this activity without need for fancy weatherproof boots, or collapsible, aluminum trekking poles. You know what they called it? They called it fucking walking! And they didn’t even brag about it.

So how did this multi-million dollar industry get started?

I’m glad you asked.

It began as a typical Tuesday in the early 1900’s when a third floor building that housed the headquarters for Millican’s Mustache Wax, Inc. encountered an elevator problem. Maintenance was called and it was estimated that the elevator could be out of operation for up to an hour.

Twelve men wearing suits and wingtip shoes took the stairs and ascended to the third floor on foot for the first time. As they rubbed their weary feet and scratched their heads being careful not to muss their heavily waxed coifs, one of them had a brilliant idea.

You know that thing we just did that poor people do all the time? Let’s make it into a sport. We could sell special shoes and make a fortune!

Mr. Merrell, the obese, mouth-breathing CFO having just walked in the door because he actually waited on the elevator to be fixed, chimed in. “Well, I could never do that. Not without a cane, or a backpack full of snacks.”

And that is how hiking came to be. As fortune would have it, Theodore Roosevelt would soon be gallivanting all over the country declaring National Parks everywhere he turned. This only served to reinforce the concept of walking with canes, special shoes and of course, snacks.

Call it a sport if you want to, but find me a pain-clinic patient with an appointment on the other side of town and a car that won’t start and I’ll show you the most extreme hiking you’ve ever seen. No shoes required.

All this typing has made me hungry. I think I’ll hike downstairs and make myself a snack.