HOUSTON...we have A PROBLEM!

we've all had those days when nothin' and every thing and everyone 

include'n those cock suck'n mutha fuck'n pig slutt'n demon whores are totally test'n every last nerve course'n thru yer milky white flesh...well in moments like these...i'll try and press the pause button...take in a couple deep breaths and rearrange my chakra (once i figered out where the fuck i put it) and image i'm the Nutbush City goddess Miss Turner recite'n in my brains over and over "big wheels keep on turn'n...proud mary keeps on burn'n"

after of course i throw on my gold lame fringe nitey (cuz i'd look pretty fuck'n stupid without it on now wouldn't i kittens?) spinn'n around like Wonder Woman circa the 1970's just like i used to on the playgrounds in 2nd grade at Jefferson Elementary in my babyshit brown hopalong cassidy shit kickers hope'n that i can resolve any and all issues eat'n away at my supplely plump A double snakes at the time…however...suffice it to say...this proud Mary's wheels' were no longer turn'n and i was just burn'n up...lemme explain!

well sure as shit as MEATLOAF was overcooked recently so was my last 

nerve when i hopped into my car on a cold and blistery nite with winds outta the west from 5 to 10 miles per hour... 

after leave'n the BETTY WHITE tribute movie about her tremendous career to the entertainment world at my local AMC theater (which to go off on a mini rant fer a moment) watch the tribute on Netflix...it's the same damn thing outside of the 11 second kudo's BETTY sends to her fans that she prerecorded 10 days before her pass'n that i basically paid a $1 a second to hear on a big screen (which even on another side note) her make-up artist should'a been shot!

what in the fiddler's fuck was up with those "MOMMIE DEAREST"  via FAYE DUN-IT-HER-WAY eyebrows? 

why oh why did her make-up artist/photographer draw em on with a damn crayola marker she found under the couch cuz she ran outta pencil and make it look like BETTY was make'n a hostage video? any'who'z'll'ding...

as a special added bonus the fuck'n pampered shitter (who i'm sure wasn't masked) whine'n 3 rows behind fer roughly 30 minutes cuz their hormonally selfish Karen/Ken owner didn't wanna pay the damn babysitter

so where was i? oh yea...so i slip my key into the ignition and give it a turn

when all of a sudden my shit mobile decided to cop an attitude with me and started give'n some shade...well i'm an internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe kittens...i don't speak automotive and frankly at 10 o'clock at nite i really shouldn't have to take smart attic back talk 

when it already felt like the planet HOTH outside…

turn'n my jingle bells into klick klackers though luckily i managed to make it home without any highway incidents 

and crawled under my Tracy Turnblad prom dress comforter to search the informational highway in order to find out the cure fer my car’s current sickness before drift'n off

by morn'n i had resumed my research and matched my current situation

with a small $14 part plus tax that i hadda purchase and contacted a friend on the outer reaches of my universe in a foreign country called Hudson WI and he booked himself on the earliest flight and flew to my  place to replace the part that i knew if i took it into a shop...some mechanic would'a bent me over the hood of my car and have to loose my dignity before i'd ever get my keys back and if it were a perfect world...so would be my mechanic and i would have zero issues lick'n bird shit off my hood...as he went under mine

BUTT...and you knew it was come'n eventually didn't you?

though my foreign friend from across the galaxy eventually replaced

the much needed part in the bitter cold that i had so rigorously researched and was assured by youtubers that this in fact was the only issue to cure the canker sore in my car...however...by morn'n as i jumped into my winter gear and spritzed myself down with some essence from 2007 created by our dearly departed purple paisley MN native bucket of pubic hair...

my shitmobile started give'n me more smart attic backtalk and decided to toss a fit by refuse'n to budge from my park'n lot so i could refuel my body and unfortunately hadda call fer back up which in turn turned out that my mechanical fantasy would have to be put on hold as some ritually bathed Cooter came to my rescue

it would take a whole 6 days later before i would finally become 

reunited with my vehicle and trust me when i say...this was no PEACHES AND HERB production cuz IT DID NOT FEEL SO GOOD!

not only did i not have a chance in H-E-double hockey stix of try'na 

work out some sorta "deal" in the break room with my diesel engine doctor...i would be forced to either take out a small bank loan after only bein months away from the one i was forced to take out 3 years prior or work a double downtown on those cold and lonely after bar sidewalk sale nites...unfortunately at my advanced age (though my "stock's" are still up without any help from ANY fornicational pharmaceutical companies) 

i'm lucky if i can get any canned goods fer my "goods" so i opted fer door #1 which was another damn 3 year loan and of course wouldn't you know they stopped give'n out complimentary boxes of CALGON to take me awaaaaay!

though i completely understand all to well the painful world of own'n yer

very own shitmobile to tool around town at yer own leisure ever since i was 26...here's my question? if we can put a man on the moon...circle the stars and beyond to other galaxies far far away...

be subjected to countless...beyond expensive international war games of who's dick is bigger...

then why the fuck can't we go back to friendlier greener ways of transportation...whether it be via broom stick...

toe tapp'n glittery blood clot slippers together...

or beam'n us up? past generations wrote out the damn road maps...HELLOOOOOOO E-L-O-N it's time to fill in the fuck'n dots mister

and GET OFF MY DRESS!

KEEP YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL

i believe the great and powerful voice of ANNIE LENNOX sung it best

"what's cute about a little cutie? it's her beauty...not brains

old father time will never harm you...if your charm still remains

after you grow old baby...you don't have to be a cold baby"

society as a whole has done their damndest to damn you straight to the

bottomless pits of the self loath'n purgatory flames in Lucifer's relm if you dare escaped yer teenrager years into adulthood ever since the victorian age with every reason imaginable to rid yer complexion of each and every crow scratches that’s marched across yer mug...the music industry is no stranger to bein an unfortunate catalyst to this self imposed catastrophe

with the recent departure of founder and lead singer from the 60's super 

group the RONETTES...RONNIE SPECTOR was the epitome of  the girl group sensation sweep'n the world with hits like "BE MY BABY" among many many others

though i can freely admit i was only introduced to RONNIE when she mashed up her smash hit with the rigid and rough edge vocals of EDDIE MONEY's "TAKE ME HOME TONITE/BE MY BABY" in the 80's...milk'n her youthful fame fer as long as she possibly can

BUTT...that's not all

ever since the early morn'n hrs of august 1st 1981 every hyper gen X'n 

preteen and post teenrager was prepare'n themselves fer a merried of eye issues from cataracts to glaucoma's later on in life thanx to the new way they would and could experience their music when that all important flag was planted on the moon and they knew exactly where they would be at the top of every hour thereafter until the end of the decade...at least

from "THE BUGGLES"

to "THE BANGLES"

from "PAT"

to "RATT"

we just couldn't get enough of those mini musical movies...it was like 

the new legalized heroine fer a whole new generation and eventually everyone and their neurotic neighbor who was hooked on marinate'n in mayonnaise wanted to make a total A double snakes outta themselves just fer a mere moment of fame so they could tell anyone who would listen to their babble 

as they placed their order with the lonely TCB-Y-R-U HERE counter help...to be apart of the hysteria in the make'n (much like those desperado tiktok'n spatchatters of today) though don'tcha ever wonder whatever happened to those support’n mini muffins after the camera's stopped roll'n and their musical celebrity moved on?

picture it kittens....it's 1986 and everyone was jell-o as H-E-double hockey 

stix (and by everyone i mean MEEEEEEE) when 13 year old UK born cool blue dowey eyed FELIX HOWARD tried gett'n a sneeky peek of one MISS CICCONE 

twirl'n her pendulous taataa's as an exotic dancer in the erotical peep show fantasy "OPEN YOUR HEART" 

don't fret my lil pet...at 49 FELIX still enjoys gloat'n about his brief brush

 with the QUEEN OF THE DANCE FLOOR while roast'n smores on a hot summer nite however this hot follicley challenged daddy didn't move too far from the music biz…FELIX became a successful head in the industry as a VP at A&R and EMI while also penn'n hits fer dearly departed AA reject 

AMY WHINEHOUSE (hey the truth hurts sometimes kittens so learn to redirect yer anger at the issue and not at the fact checker)

SIA...

and the SUGARBABES among many other countless musicians

next up is the lil leprechaun model PETER ROWEN from across the 

pond who grew up on the other side of the street from irish singer BONO of  U2 fame who was friends with PETER's older brother and at 5 was plucked from obscurity to be plastered on the bands album cover "BOY" in 1980 then again at 8 in 1983 fer their "WAR" album then rumors started float'n around in my head that i suspected the EDGE probably got piss drunk one nite in 98 and won a game of canasta with PETER and so the EDGE got to take any old pic he wanted to of PETER to use fer their "GREATEST HITS" album...allegedly!

today PETER is a successful photographer in Ireland and still plays canasta with BONO and the EDGE when the band is back in town...ain't that just swell!

once the 80's decadence of make-up and aqua-net wore out it's welcome

the 90's rolled in with homeless sheik consist'n of worn out jeans...wife beaters...tattered flannel shirts and monthly ritiual bath'n routines to mask the scent of the many new drugs on the market (presumably) and no one pulled it of better than the members that sounded like they gargled lighter fluid of the groggily grunge band NIRVANA with their 2nd album "NEVERMIND" that featured a 4 month old SPENCER ELDEN and his willy wonka swimm'n after some benjamin bait that sold 30 million albums worldwide make'n him a household pedophiliac's dream

though SPENCER has enjoyed years of bragg'n about his notoriety whenever he got the chance to whatever Slovakian street vendor would bother to listen...even recreate'n an updated more PG version fer postcards and non pedophile fans fer many years since there's a rumor goin around in my head that he'd probably plug up the drain at this point were he not wear'n those cut off jeans (hey...an unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of their own universe can dream)

well now thanx to the repressed memories of the new woke generation

SPENCER has desperately tried to cash in from his dwindle'n art sales by sue'n the remain'n members of NIRVANA fer undisclosed millions fer the mental anguish and blatant pedophilic dreams that he was unable to consent to at the time unfortunately the courts weren't so kind in SPENCER's favor since he'd marketed and milked himself as the NIRVANA baby fer the past 30 years...

though he still hasn't give'n up on a payout...

so rumor has it DAVE GROHL still wanted to amend the sticky situation and gave SPENCER the entire NIRVANA collection...some of KURT COBAIN's worn out smoke laced tee's that COURTNEY LOVE gave him after KURT's unfortunate death... 

and some vintage bottles of car wax he stole from KURT's basement...so at least there was somewhat of a happy end'n i heard (SHHH!)

now GET OFF MY DRESS!