He Don’t Give a Watt

I’m back. I know it’s been literally a gazillion years and even a goddamn Star Wars movie has come and gone since I posted my last blog. I became overwhelmed with my side business, house projects, and just the overall “Strug” and vowed to actually work on this blog in 2016. Okay, so it’s been a month into the year and I’m marinading ideas like a big poop just stewing in your guts. One story I was told recently, I just had to share with you, ever so dedicated reader doesn’t even remember who the fuck I am anymore. Well dust your balls off and sit a spell stranger, I have a new tale of my diddy.

My mother told me this tale over the holidays and was shocked I don’t remember any of this.
In the 80s, my dad was not a fan of any thing that took money out of his beer, porn, and tobacco budget. This meant like, food for the children, school clothes, and whatever other unnecessary things came forth.

Apparently there were numerous times when he was frustrated with the power bill, he would take his tools and break into the power meter box on the side of the house. Once he dismantled the lock, he would then turn the meter back several kilowatt hours and re-secure the lock. He did this several times, according to my mother and the power company merely gave him a simple tap on the wrist each time and did not take his ass to jail. He fancied himself smarter than the power company

I should also note, this is the same man that evaded taxes for decades in his business and still carried out his glorious golden years in a roachy trailer, drawing social security and watching Wrestlemania.

Speaking of Wrestlemania, I have some commentary I am working on regarding “Making A Murderer” and how amazing it is that my people are in the limelight. More to come on that topic. Long live the trailer folk!

Diddys Parking Meter

And Then, She Resurfaced Like Herpes (But Less Itchy)

Some of you may have wondered what ever happened to Sheena in 2014, especially when she said she would be updating her blog more regularly and then virtually yelled “PSYCH!” all 1992-style. Well, shit happened. Life, bills, all kinds of crap related to being a grown ass adult that consistently fights back the white trash genetics happened. I did some pretty cool stuff to remove myself further away from the trailer bubble all this year and I’ll share with you what the hell happened while I was not updating my blog and you braided your pubes in anticipation:


January 2014 – Went to Rome, Italy and London, England
Yes, I left the United States and gathered myself some culture. I got to see Big Ben, Windsor Castle, and the Roman Colosseum. No one in my family or extended family has ever left the United States, and has barely left North Carolina, especially after dark. Hell, that’s when the devil shows up for buttsecks.
Anyways, during this trip, my brain exploded from the wonders of the world and how amazing it truly is. I toured the Vatican, rode on a double decker bus, and it was all I dreamed it would be. +10 […]

Merry White Trash Christmas to You and Yours, Now Let’s Head to K-Mart for Some Layaway

It’s that time of year again, where I coupon and buy one get one free on everything I can to placate my mother and make my aunt feel like someone gives a shit about her existence since her sons aren’t stellar at actually being sons. It’s also the time of year that my sister loosens her sphincter and decides to get wasted listening to Journey’s Greatest Hits and I film it on my phone for blackmail purposes. This October I got laid off from my job (story of my goddamned life) and so I’m literally pulling gifts out of my crimped mullet with the help of coupons and promo codes. The sad part of that is, my gifts will always kick the most ass, even though I am unemployed. And that’s the case this year. You see, I knew my job was going way too awesome, so I started buying shit online back in August. I mean, I was being paid an awesome wage, AND not biting the barrel of a cold pistol at the end of the work day, so in my experience, that always means it won’t last long. Don’t start being all “Oh Sheena, you’re such […]


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Who the Hell is Sheena?
Sheena is the name my mom gave me when she heard Sheena Easton's "Morning Train" in 1981. My dad could never say it or remember it, so my sister still calls me "Sheiler" because that's what he called me. I write, I sing, I paint, and more importantly, I'm good at making people laugh. This blog was started in hopes to find the twisted readers who would love what I do, and share with others.
Past Blog Posts