Giggle Translate #9: Tattoos and Nicky

Oh, I'm cracking myself up with these Giggle Translate posts!  Here are some more.  And sometimes they're just so wrong.  (Original paragraphs are taken from my "Random Facts about Me" post.)  


Original paragraph:
I always wanted a tattoo and a nose ring.  My husband vetoed the tattoo way back when we were dating (it would have just been a little butterfly on my lower back), but I almost got the nose ring one day.  It was sometime after I had two or three kids, and I had finally talked myself into doing it.  And so we walked down to the tattoo/piercing parlor one fine Monday morning, $40 in my pocket.  But when we got there, the door said, “Closed on Mondays.”  As soon as I saw the sign, I didn’t want the nose ring anymore.  It was like, Well, I was ready to get one and I would have gotten one if it was open, but simply having been ready to get one if it was open was enough to satisfy my desire for a nose ring.  And while I still love seeing them on other women, I haven’t really wanted one since.

After running it through a bunch of languages with Google Translate:
I have always liked earrings and nose rings.  My husband stopped today on his way home. (He has a butterfly on the back)  But on his nose is almost a cup. Once you have a child two or three times, I decided to do my own.  One Saturday morning, we went to the checkout for $40 in our pocket.  But when we got there, the door said, "Closed on Sunday," I do not want to blow my nose again.  It was like: OK, I'm ready to celebrate and I'll go if it opens, but I'm ready to give it up if the [slang word for a particular part of male anatomy] is open I want to get a nose ring.  And if I want to see her with other women, I don't want her.

[Umm ... I have no words.  And I have no idea how they got a slang word like that from what I wrote.  Google Translate, you have a twisted mind sometimes!]

Original paragraph  (And see, I warned you all about my improper sense of humor from the very beginning!):

            Not only do I have an improper, snarky side, but I also have a demented, improper sense of humor.  (I blame my mother!)  We once went bowling and saw this really old woman carrying a bowling ball up to the line.  And as she stood there, the weight of the bowling ball overcame her and she fell over, while still standing straight up-and-down.  Like a tree being chopped down.  She ended up face-down on the ground, still holding the bowling ball. 

            Everyone else around her was sympathetic and jumped up to help, “Oh my goodness!  Grandma, are you okay?”  I, however, began shaking like a leaf from trying to stifle the giggles that were erupting from deep within.  And when I looked over at my mom, she was shaking, too.  Tears of laughter streaming from her eyes.  We were shameless as we convulsed in a fit of giggles in our seats. 

            We also had a good laugh at a story she told me about driving behind a truck who took a left turn too fast.  And when it did, the passenger door whipped open and a large pre-teen boy came flying out and began rolling down the un-busy road. 

            “Nicky, Nicky, Oh Nicky ... Are you okay?” the parents called as they ran after the boy.  As my mom shared this story with me, we were laughing so hard that we were crying.  And we used the phrase “Nicky, Nicky, Oh Nicky” for years!  Just for fun!  (The boy was fine!  Just a little scratched up.  I wouldn’t be laughing if someone was really hurt.  At least I hope not.) 

            As I said, I blame my mom for my demented sense of humor!  It only happens when I am with her.  (Seriously, people who know me probably don’t want to know what goes on in my head half of the time.  And I also warned you that people who hold me in high regard – if there are any out there - should not be reading this!)

After several translations [This one just started out so wrong!  Google Translate is definitely NOT politically-correct!]:
            Not only did he have a bad place, he was black, but he also had a bad appearance.  (My mom did something wrong!)  We got down on our knees and saw this old woman carrying dust on a leash.  When she stayed there, she hesitated, holding the limb and fell, got up and got up.  Like a fallen tree.  Finally, she closed her throat and continued to be hungry.
            Everyone around her jumped up and screamed for help, "My God! Grandma, are you okay?"  But she started shaking like a leaf that stopped laughing.  And when she looked at my mother, there were also tears in her eyes.  We are afraid of him and we have to laugh and laugh in the house with fear. "
            She also told me a story about driving a car from the southwest. The car door opened suddenly and a boy from his youth appeared and began to steal badly.
            "Nicky, Nicky, yes Nicky ... are you okay?"  Parents cried as they shot the boy.  My mom shared this story with us, we all laugh and cry.  And we've been using the word "Nicky, Nicky, Oh Nicky" for years!  What fun!  (Wow, fine!  They cut me off.  I laugh when you find one.  I probably don't know.)
            As I said, I was arguing with my mother how uncomfortable it was to be depressed!  He only disappears when he's with me.  (Of course, those who know me don't want to know what's going through my head for six months.  They won't read this!)


[Umm, wow, what a depressing story!  The black guy with a bad appearance and bad place.  The old woman carrying dust on a leash, holding a limb (I hope that's a tree limb!), closing her throat and continuing to be hungry.  Us being afraid of him (whoever he is?) and having to laugh in the house with fear.  The parents crying as they shot the boy.  The parents crying as they shot the boy!?!  I mean, seriously, what the heck!  And then the bit about how uncomfortable it is to be depressed.  And about the guy who disappears only when he's with me.  I don't know if I should be honored or horrified by that!  Oh, the things that get lost in translation!]