just belong...feelin' like some pathetic outsider...desperately want'n to be some plausible insider...to be initiated into some top secret exclusive club that makes you feel that yer just a wee bit more superior...
than the rest of the losers that just couldn't make the final cut...only to realize later on in life...that it was all just a completely wasted sham
like the first time when you came across that infamous offer'n in the back
of yer uncle's beaver hunt magazine...hidden in a locked tackle box...behind an enormous stack of hotel bibles that he had collected from his many "business trips" around the country...in the corner of the attic...that you jimmied open with that bobby pin that you just happened to have in the pocket of yer purple corduroy granimals culottes fer circumstances like this (why not!)
where you could purchase 13 tapes of yer fav-o-rit musical artists that you went ape shit over...that you would play fer endless hours into the nite...set to the highest distorted volume possible...on yer newly acquired mono casio cassette player you got from yer rich bitch of a friend that you used to live down the road from on the farm one xmas...to the complete disdain and utter annoyance and quite frankly...absolute pure jealousy from yer other sibs...then use'n yer sisters strawberry shortcake hairbrush as yer stand in microphone...
in front of yer full length jack off mirror i mean...ummm...stage mirror that you used to look out at the sea of attendees in yer delusional audience...that you used to perfect yer war paint presence along with endless hours perfect'n yer fiercest choreographed routines
in hopes that soon someday...you would be chosen to aimlessly shake yer A double snakes as a solo dancer in the next Culture Club video cuz you were picked as a top fan from a small article that you wrote and got published in an issue of Star Hits magazine at the age of 14
or as one of Madonna's back up dancers...in case one of them happened to mangle their legs beyond recognition after drive'n home late one rainy nite from rehearsals and their brakes gave out and knew you could take over after spend'n endless hours memorize'n every calculated step to her mind boggle'n "Blonde Ambition Tour"
but knew eventually you'd have to settle as the next small but important future unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of yer own universe
only to realize that if you didn't purchase 10 more cassettes as stated in the very very fine minuscule unreadable pixelated print at the bottom of the ad...at the recommended price which was comparable to a side of beef in 1985...within the next 3 years...that they would end up send'n out financial thugs to come break yer spirit...break yer bank account...and practically break yer bones!
school of course is where everyone desperately wanted to be in one of the
many numerous clubs...from the anal retentive bitchfest known as the debate club...to the jack-off jamboree of sexually depraved suppressors known as ANY testosterone enraged sports club...but of course the one and only club everyone was completely envious of...was to be part of the HEATHERS of the high school...
only to find out years later...that they all would end up stuck in a burnt out sexless marriage...with equally burnt out over processed hair...in debt up to their cankles and a waistline that only belongs on a water buffalo...that they attributed to "glandular problems" at the 20 year class reunion
the performing illusionist world will never ever be the same again...
thanx to shows like RU's popular "reality" show...in it's 11th season...that stars a bevy of unclever regurgitated bitchy and whiny RUtards...pitted against one another...each week after the weak...
to the truely excrutiate'n talentless performers from all walks of life...like it's the world wrestle'n federation of feathers and fiercelessness...that just end up lay'n down vommitous generic "dance" tracks to their auto-toned spoken words...or some tired old stomach churn'n "read" of others on yet another "RUview" episode...or a plethora of youtube tutorials...show'n off their stale mug in yet another paint by numbers make-up snoreisode...once they're eliminated from the series and exhausted all their tour money after shove'n it up their nose
even at an early age...we are put under pressure to become indoctrinated
into some sadistic syphilitic religion...completely make'n you feel like you are worthless and weak without it...fer instance like my great niece's recent baptism...where she had to submit to some apocalyptic preacher in a neatly pressed Calvin Klein knock off from the Saks 5th Avenue outlet...who stated that yer body is a temple and you are what you eat...basically shunn'n and fat shame'n a large portion of the noticeably much larger blasphemous congregation on the trials and tribulations of become'n part of the gluttonous diabetic parade...
all of a sudden it felt as if as i was attend'n some damn Jenny Craig jamboree!
don't even get me started on how he tried to equate his sermon to the
CASPER crusaders hang'n onto his every word...on how CASPER and Mary's kid Jesus...who hung out with all the other apparent salacious sinners...were much like the audience in attendance this particular day (well accept i'm pretty sure "glandular" issues weren't an issue back then)...cuz even if you...as the baptismal inductee...could personally give 2 shits and comprehend what the true supposed mean'n is all about anyways at the age of 5...
these days (and let's be real here kittens) it's just a reason to hopefully siphon a handful of cash and other fabulous prizes from relatives and friends
then proceed to get plastered celebrate the lord at the local VFW afterwards
and of course the ceremony wouldn't be complete without the shake down
from the alter boys pass'n of the gold leaf plated collection plate from some half-off TJ Maxx end-cap...to pretty much guilt the CASPER crusader's into pay'n the church's mount'n bills...though the alter boys of today are no longer the fresh faces of nubile innocence like they once were when i was a servant of CASPER's...cuz trust me...if i knew now...what i didn't know then...i'da worn that communal robe with the butt cut out...WHAT THE H-E-double hockey stix? i guess the priest decided by the time i had arrived fer duty...he could be picky!
I WAS ROBBED OF A LIFE ON EASY STREET I TELL YA!
no...the church wised up since my last tour of duty and now basically the "alter boys" were grown up glorified saintly strippers stare'n you down fer anything thing from pocket change to recipes that bake beautifully at 375 degrees
as a lil side note...the whole "break'n of the bread" charade parade...where those who have already been baptized bastardized into this cult...line up
fer an offer'n of the "body and blood" of CASPER's kid (hey...i thought cannibalism was frowned upon within the walls of worship?) how about instead of just give'n the congregation the option of dipp'n their vanilla wafer into the communal wine...ever since the share'n of the chalice caused that embarrass'n outbreak of herpes back in the late 80's
and ps...ummm...i'm still wait'n fer a callback from hollyweird power house attorney Gloria Allred to return my damn calls
may i suggest offer'n up a few more options...like perhaps dipp'n the body
of Christ in some tasty olive tapenade from Trader Joe's fer christ sakes...
and maybe wash'n it down with a nice shot of chiante...it's merely a simple pimple suggestion i put in the offer'n plate as my contribution to this dogma and phony show!
and ya don't have'ta worry about me cuz i already got my front row seats
but i won't be sitt'n there alone i'm sure...NOW GET OFF MY DRESS!
No comments:
Post a Comment