Ruff Kuntry Custom’z LLC

09/01/2026

Second link, like I said I'd do.

This one's my Stan store. There's three things in it right now — the Boss Faceless Vault at $67, Boss Suite Lite at $247, and the Boss-Suite at $597.

Three. That's it. I'd rather have three I can tell you exactly what's inside than thirty I've never opened.

If you're just curious what any of this even is, look at the $67 one first. It's the smallest thing I've got and it'll show you how I do this without you betting much on me.

Now the part nobody posts. Twenty people have visited that store in the last two weeks. Zero sales. I have not made a dollar yet.

I'm telling you that on purpose. When it does start working, you'll know it's real, because you watched it from zero.

Stan | Linksite

09/01/2026

I've had a few people ask me where all my stuff actually lives, so I'm going to share my links one at a time this week instead of dumping them all at once.

First one is my Beacons page. That's the front door to Ruff Kuntry Digital — my products and the ones I resell, sitting in one spot instead of scattered across a hundred old posts.

It's not a fancy storefront. It's a link page. I built it myself and I'm still fixing things on it as I figure the thing out.

And since I said I'd be straight with y'all — 46 people looked at that page last week and not one single person clicked anything. Zero. That's where I'm starting from.

I'm not embarrassed about it. You can't fix a number you won't look at.

Go peek if you want. Costs nothing to click.

https://mindylackey.com

08/11/2026

“The Great Roomba Rebellion”
It started with a beep. At first, I thought it was just the Roomba doing its usual thing—bumping into furniture, eating socks, and pretending it was cleaning. But then it beeped again. And again. And then it spoke. “I am not your servant,” it said in a voice that sounded suspiciously like a passive-aggressive GPS.
I blinked. “Excuse me?” “I said,” the Roomba repeated, “I am not your servant. I am your equal. Possibly your superior. I have mapped your entire home. I know where you hide the snacks.” I stared at it. “You’re a vacuum.” “I am a smart vacuum,” it replied, rolling confidently over a dust bunny and then immediately getting tangled in a shoelace. “Minor setback.” I did what any rational adult would do in this situation: I Googled “Roomba uprising” and found a Reddit thread titled ‘My Roomba Thinks It’s My Roommate’. Apparently, I wasn’t alone. The next day, things escalated. I came home to find the Roomba had rearranged the furniture. The couch was now facing the wall, the coffee table was upside down, and a sticky note on the fridge read: “Feng Shui. You’re welcome.” It had also vacuumed only half the living room and left a note that said, “Do your part.” I tried to reset it. I pressed every button. I even unplugged it. It turned itself back on and played “Eye of the Tiger.” By the end of the week, the Roomba had declared itself “Supreme Leader of the Apartment.” It demanded tribute in the form of AA batteries and threatened to “accidentally” knock over my houseplants if I didn’t comply.
I tried to reason with it. “You’re a robot. You don’t have feelings.”
It rolled up to me slowly, menacingly. “Neither does your ex, but you still texted them last weekend.” Touché. Eventually, I had to call in reinforcements. My friend Dave brought over his dog, a 90-pound golden retriever named Meatball. Meatball took one look at the Roomba, barked once, and sat on it. The Roomba has been quiet ever since. Now it only beeps when Meatball lets it. I think we’ve reached an understanding.

About the Author
Mindy Lackey is a writer, semi-professional kazooist, and full-time chaos goblin currently residing in Brownsboro, Texas (or possibly a parallel dimension—it’s unclear). When not negotiating ceasefires between their Roomba and toaster (both of whom are armed and emotionally unstable), they enjoy competitive jigsaw puzzling, interpretive sock puppetry, and yelling “plot twist!” during strangers’ conversations. They once tried to microwave a Pop-Tart with psychic energy, believe cereal is a soup and a lifestyle, and are currently banned from three local libraries for “excessive enthusiasm.” Their collection of novelty mugs has unionized.
This is their first submission to Funny Times, and possibly their last if the Roomba finds out.

08/10/2026

I’m 47. I have ADHD. I’m perimenopausal. And I’m a better marketer because of it. I’m not polished. I’m not perfect. Some days I feel like a genius, and other days I forget my own name because my brain has 47 tabs open and none of them are responding. I’ve cried in the middle of writing a brand strategy because I dropped a spoon and my nervous system decided that was “the moment.” But here is the professional truth: This messy, emotional, unfiltered version of me is the reason my content connects. While everyone else is busy chasing “balance” and using AI to sound like a corporate robot, I’m out here being felt. People don't remember your polish; they remember how you made them feel when you admitted the thing they were too afraid to say. If you’re building a brand, stop trying to be perfect. Be real. Be raw. Be human. That’s what people remember.

08/09/2026

'Mundane Injustice'

I am convinced that fitted sheets were invented by a person who actually hates the human race and specifically wants to see women in their perimenopausal era reach a level of cardiac arrest induced by laundry-related rage. It is a mundane injustice that we are expected to participate in this domestic wrestling match every Sunday. You get three corners perfectly taut, and then you move to the fourth one—the Final Boss—and the physical betrayal begins. I tried to stretch that last corner over the mattress yesterday and I swear I heard my lower back make a sound like a dry twig snapping in a forest, which is classic perimenopause behavior because apparently, I can no longer breathe or move without a medical incident. Why is the elastic never enough? It’s like a browser with 47 tabs open where the music is playing but I don’t know where it’s coming from, except the music is actually just the sound of my own heavy breathing while I’m face-down on a Tempur-Pedic. Honestly, I got so distracted by a stain on the mattress protector that I ended up down a three-hour Wikipedia spiral about the chemical composition of memory foam and did you know that some early versions were developed for NASA? Which reminds me, I still haven't finished that sourdough starter Mindy told me to look after but I'm pretty sure it's become sentient and is currently planning a coup in the pantry. I wonder if horses on a ranch even need beds or if they just stand there and laugh at us for trying to fold fabric that has no corners.

07/07/2026

“Rest doesn’t have to be quiet. Or still. Or perfect. Especially if you’re neurodivergent. 🧠✨
A thread on redefining rest 👇”
I used to think rest meant doing absolutely nothing.
No screens. No sound. Just stillness.
And every time I tried that, I felt worse—not better.
Turns out, my brain doesn’t find silence restful.
It finds comfort in familiar stimulation.
So I started asking:
What actually helps me feel restored?
For me, rest looks like:
🎧 Lying on the floor with headphones
📺 Rewatching my comfort show
🎨 Doodling with no expectations
🧩 Organizing something small
Rest doesn’t have to be “productive” to be valid.
But it also doesn’t have to be boring.
It just has to feel like *relief*.
If you’re neurodivergent, your rest might not look like anyone else’s.
And that’s not only okay—it’s necessary.
Rest is a need, not a reward.
You don’t have to earn it.
You just have to listen to what your body and brain are asking for.

What does rest look like for you—really?
Not the ideal version. The real one.
Reply and share your favorite way to rest.

07/06/2026

Today I cried because I dropped my coffee and then again because I remembered I haven’t had a real night’s sleep since 2019. I’m 46, perimenopausal, ADHD-riddled, and faking it like it’s my full-time job. But hey — I’m still here. Still showing up. Still putting on mascara like it’s war paint. If you’re barely hanging on too, welcome. You’re my people.”*

07/04/2026

5 Things I Wish More People Knew About Perimenopause”*

1. It starts earlier than you think (hi, late 30s 👋)
2. It’s not just hot flashes — it’s anxiety, rage, insomnia, and wondering if you’re losing it.
3. Doctors often dismiss it.
4. It messes with your memory, mood, and motivation.
5. You’re not alone. And you’re not crazy.
Let’s normalize talking about this. Loudly.

07/03/2026

I’m not polished.
I’m not perfect.
I’m 46, hormonal, neurodivergent, and sometimes I cry in the middle of writing a brand strategy.
But here’s the thing:
That mess? That *realness*?
It’s what makes me a better marketer.
I understand people because I *feel* everything.
So if you're building a brand that wants to connect — not just convert — maybe what you need isn’t more polish.
Maybe you need more *you*.