a MID CENTURY of MADNESS

picture it kittens...it's 1983...and you reluctantly get back together with 

yer high school possee after 15 years just to have 'em help you fumigate yer cabin...only cuz one of yer very dear charm'n fucktarded friends decided to haunt yer rental property fer the rest of eternity

art had irritated life with my group of stalkers friends roughly 8 years ago

under completely different circumstances thankfully (though outta their complete control unfortunately) however...it still carried the same plot lines...under a considerably much smaller budget of course...that i could completely turn into some sorta high profiled low budgeted indie flik under the same sorta concept someday i hope

i've lived a completely creative and colorfully cocktailed existence since 

the very beginn'n...from my incredibly natural arched eyebrowed sweetly saccharinated split pea souped up lapelled smiles of the 70's... 

to the Miss Clairol #33 elephant pissed hair hopp'n aqua netted follicles of the shoulder padded 80's...

followed by my 1st taste as everyones fav-o-rit unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe in the 90's (that incidentally began at the 90's)

that was indiscretely accompanied by the hedonistic "hey aren’t you" days of the 2000's... 

only to be frustrated by my independently broke days of the 2010's

that i U-L-T-I-M-A-T-E-L-Y made it to in one piece (at peace) in the 2020's at the tenderly unpasteurized and golden gurl age of the BIG FUCK'N 5-0 at last!

this is all such a bittersweet luxury that i never imagined i'd ever see...

seen as how i thought i'd never make it past 16 at 15 and unfortunately since my dad and 2 of my brothers were unable to relish in this experience on their very own themselves

there are those birthday moments in life that we celebrate as a conclusion

to a cornerstone of our existence...fer instance...yer last chance of gett'n away with murder while gett'n visually molested by the grandparents on yer sweet 16th

and yer last chance of gett'n a free "get outta jail card" from yer parents on yer 21st

with the current state of affairs we're currently live'n in...there will be no 

gigantor fanfare with me marinate'n in an ocean of cocktails among my friends and certain fam members...followed by a slice of chilled coconut cake served to me after my final performance by some beef caked up clown stripper from Schenectady that i had always envisioned i would get delivered to me to commemorate with...on such a momentous milestone in ones existence

i do not subscribe to that attention whore'n  "it’s my birthday week"

like many that march in their own prozac popp'n pity parade...so unless yer the spawn of satan (which i am absofuckinglutely convinced the current mentally deranged IMPEACHED FOR LIFE sociopathetik sack of pig shit disgrace’n the WH is #BIDENHARRIS2020)

 it DOES NOT take a week to be exhumed from yer landlord's womb nor are you rebirthed 6 consecutive days in a row...it just so happens that this self deprecate’n babble was posted exactly 6 days before i was to be expelled from my hosts gelatinous sack...

therefore you will just have to suffice with a lil ALTER IMAGES homage to myself fer the week

and if i’m lucky enough...i’ll be bath'n in a vat of tasty fava beans...hosed down with a nice chianti by my bff Peetrinella in her backyard come sunday...who knows?

 

now GET OFF MY DRESS!

the snatch game

there are many many many methods of madness...

thee elusively exclusive single non heterosexual...myself included... must endure to find that perfect void filler fer the nite...only cuz their too lazy to commit suicide...or at the very least...fer the next 5 minutes until yer ACTUAL friends decide to trot their A double snakes over and pick yer perky A double snakes up fer a nite of regret by morn'n!

though it may seem demean'n...it's the world we live in...

us single gentle"laydee's" and not so gentle"laydee's"...have been reduced to sell'n ourselves like a well worn out used car to the highest low life you can find on line...under subtle hastags that suit you best like... #polesmoker...#buttpirate...#salamismacker...#onemansodomandgomorrah #ignorantincubus...#acheapwhore or #THROATPLUNGER...
just to get noticed these days

their is no more inter"action" anymore for the most part...it's just cheap...

enter"pain"ment to pass the time on line...it's like a Baskin Robbins of sexual frustration...many savory flavors to pick from...that YOU or THEY will just...most likely...take a taste test from with colorful verbiage and pictures...but eventually end up pass'n them up just cuz ya don't feel like waste'n yer gas fer some supposed hot ass...plus...there's a better flavor within walk'n distance that'll never show up anyways

in prehistoric times...caveman would dress up in their sunday best on a friday nite and head out to the local diner to share a brontosaurus burger and head home and pound it out til the stegosaurus's came home

 by the 1800's...it was all about the size of yer hat that really impressed yer slutty suitor

in the 1900's...it was best to wear match'n outfits in case you were caught chipp'n yer date's teeth by some treacherous non homosexual...you could get away with say'n that you were just play'n doctor with yer twin brother...
(oh those tricky lil knob jockeys) 

once the 70's rolled around...the sun would set as you roller skated to the closet Donna Summer discotheque...while display'n the correct color coded hanky in yer back pocket in order to find that perfect fancy fruitcaker taker that you were in the mood for that even'n...or just fer a simply quick afternoon delight

in the decadent 80's...it was all about tight shorts and pricey escorts...

and though it was the rise of QUEEN M...

it was also unfortunately the rise of AIDS...which meant you had to rethink yer animalistic instincts and wrap yer willy in rubber...porn was yer safest go to...to go to...to bust yer nut...so you would be invited over to yer friends and have an old fashioned ball buster party in the storage space above their parents garage...spank'n it while flipp'n thru their dad's back issues of Beaver Hut magazine
 (but secretly...you were just there fer the salami sword fights)

though the 90's were dominated by ritual bathers grunge...

playtime consisted of  phone line fantasies...sidewalk sales and park'n lot predators...though i would turn down 99% of the participants (the margin of error of course is plus or minus 2-20)...only cuz i didn't need another reason to have the doctor prescribe me a cure that would take 3 to 4 weeks to cure...so instead...i opted fer someone close enough to the top of the food chain...by stroll'n fer a troll in the wee hours of the nite in the park...fer a ride home...cuz i was too tired to walk

and don't you whores start point'n fingers...i wasn't there alone

once the millennium came out...everyone was come'n out...

i fer one...was satisfied eat'n fer one on one fer a change...fer some change...not once...not twice...and by the third time...i knew i no longer wanted to be a laydee of the nite...cuz i figered i needed to evolve beyond the bar stools and the bad morn'n after breath mints i picked up from the nite before

now with everything bein' built on mistrust or absolute disgust...

from blurred and/or photochopped pix...most are just absolute on-line dicks with no pricks (hey everyone has their weakness) and it's become harder and harder...(and still without the use of a lil blue pill i might add)...to be bothered waste'n yer time or space to get yer "skyrocket in flight"

listen...i have no problems with relationships...i've had my share...BUT...

(and trust me...there always is one) 

even though i'm still "living for love"...i've done my charity work fer the time bein' with the last socially retarded...chemically dependent...emotionally unavailable but incredibly attractive and very loveable mo' i was with...and regardless of all the hoops and fruit loops i'll have to encounter along the way to find "the one" in the distant future...which in all seriousness...

is about as real as the unicorn...i'll do it all over again...someday!

but let's be real kittens...no self respect'n...self indulgent hussy...from twink to twi-lite years...wants to should have to be bobb'n fer blue balls in the steam room on a friday nite...while yer still hope'n to find that perfect #1...that isn't completely full of #2

who knows how the future of fantastic fornications will play out...

but i fer one...plan on participate'n!

now get off my dress!