BACK BY UNPOPULAR DEMONS (in my head!) pt. 1

what is that tired old whiny phrase?...one should NEVER eva say NEVER!

weh-heh-heeellll...it's about fuck'n time...don'tcha think my pretty lil mink? when we last left off back in 2023 i had a lil over 618k voyeuristic views before pull'n a Houdini on you all...since then i've managed to wrangle in another 800k+ stalkers without say'n a simple syrupy word so i figered it was time fer round 2 and believe you me...this time around...there's gonna be none of that damn NO HOLDS BARRED bullshit...FUCK THAT!!! it's gonna be a NO HOLDS BARRED X 100!!! i'm pull'n out ALL the plausibly pungent punches and serve'n every one of you curious kittens a plateful of the liably laughable lunches imaginably imaginable that my feeble lil mind can conjure up! 

(but NOT in a TAWNY KITAEN kinda way...OH NOOOO!)

more like in a WAKE ME UP (before you go-go runn'n off to yer socially unsupportive overly charged therapist way)

don't get me wrong....i am very well aware of how the climate of caustic

casual conversations has now turned into that annoy'nly weary WENDY RICHTER vs FABULOUS MOOLAH smack-down of salacious sling'ns and cuntentious casualties of the who's what and the WTF's of the pronoun pyramid scheme

seriously...call yerself what ever the live'n fiddlers fuck you wanna believe 

you are...it's truly not gonna affect mine or anyone else's life in the slightest...though trust me...there still is gonna be life fortunately after the love you think that you so rightfully deserve and yet unceremoniously get completely denied...

time after time!

cuz u gotta know that i outta know...after all...i was practically "engaged" 

fer all unpractical purposes to a former craigslist recipient last year (fer roughly a year) that i had met in the middle of my earlier than unusual mid-life crisis a lil over 13 years ago...who i knew from day one was gonna be nothin' more to me but a mere dickstraction from a former feral fickle fagolicious pickle that had been occupy'n my mental space without pay'n me the standard monthly emotional support rent that i so righteously deserved after pick'n him up from one self induced chemical crisis after another

he was ALMOST everything that i was ALMOST look'n for at the moment...

i was served up thee almost most killa kosmic kocktails durin'  this time frame which was my go to poison at this juncture in the road...

catered to an abosfuckinlutely phenomenal almost 5 star Michelin meal whenever i spent the nite...

all while watch'n almost everyone's fav-o-rit homo depot card carry'n politically-on-point clam collector RACHEL MADDOW...

then ended in the midnite hour by swapp'n throat plunge'n sonnets into each others esophagus in his almost blissfully bland boudoir...

BUUUUUUUT all of a sudden... 

(yea...you thought i'd forgotten huh didn'tcha kitten?)

after roughly 6 months into our bi-weekly routine of the bi-cautious affair 

that i tried to ferget by the time dawn had broken with my bedroom romeo 

(oh did i fergot to mention he was previously married to a maxi padder?)

well...since i was all too familiar that this "bi-scenario" was not gonna lead to any sorta Breakfast At Tiffany's bagels to remember (nor thankfully to regret) it was all just a frivolous and fancy...unsalted adulted entertainment with a free bonus fer me...

and lemme tell ya...that bonus practically had it's own P.O. box!

his only purpose to me at this place in time was to fulfill all my purposes...

all of which he had dutifully done...cuz i was thrilled that i didn't have to cook another shitty box of stale stove top crunch on burnt toast dinners then wash it down with a lukewarm glass of indignation a couple of days outta the week...

i was beyond elated that i didn't have to pay fer top shelf tanqueray...since i was beyond embarrassed when i found out that my local liquor store would not accept my platinum EBT card one even'n...

and i was over the moon that i got to enjoy some top notch pundit crotch since i couldn't afford cable in my shitbox (sorry fer that...i'm try'na not be sooo negative this time around) i mean my quaint lil shitbox!

unfortunately the only mountain i wanted broken was his backhanded bs 

he...like so many many others from my past shenanigans had sent me via the tic tac text'n sharade parade...

instead of a grown ass face to face confrontation...oops i mean C-L-O-S-U-R-E...pathetically imply'n of course that i wanted him more than he wanted me...all while declare'n that tired "it's not you it's me" dribble to soften the blow...oh and then he decided to top it off bi-say'n he was hitch'n up his giddy up to maxi padder #2!

ummm yea...kum-bye-ya my not so lil prairie dog with more issues than a yearly Vanity Affair subscription!

well there ya have it kittens...ain'tcha glad i came back? oh puhleez...

it's been like 3 years of blue-ball build-up H-E-double hockey stix fer me...who can stand all that damn pressure i ask you? i'm ready to explode...so stay tuned fer pt. 2 of BACK BY UNPOPULAR DEMONS (in my head!)

now GET OFF MY DRESS! 

oh and ps...btw...i'm still thee unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe...howeva...my newly acquired covid crown'n hence forth...i will be known simply as THE MATTRESS HATTER! (Krystal Kleer is hang'n up her heels fer the time bein' since i have no insurance or a huv-a-round at my disposal in case i teeter when i should'a tottered) perhaps you may even find me at some local non-union stand-up club test'n out my many muse'n live sometime in the not so distant future...perhaps!

oh yea...pps...GET OFF MY DRESS is goin bi (weekly that is) i have too many bee's in my unmade bonnet to truly dedicate a weekly read'n at my tender twilight stage!

MISTAKE NUMBER 3

picture it kittens...it was 2013 the year of the snake if yer into that kinda 

voodoo ...hot as fuckitty fuck HENRY CAVILL was portray'n the new man who made my pants tight...i mean of steel and had everyone and their neurotic nana cream'n in their culottes at the theaters...

hot as political fuck...BARACK OBAMA becomes the 1st non white american to win rent free in the non black house fer the 2nd time in history...

corn whack'n homo hottie from iowa ELI LIEB released his acoustic rendition of MILEY CYRUS's "WRECKING BALL" and trust me...he could wreck my balls anytime (meeeouch)

and we hadda say good bye to that pierce'n blue eyed hotness PAUL WALKER who unfortunately sizzled like a pork chop slamm'n into a tree thanx to his friend who was drive'n like a bat outta hell

BUTT that ain't all that's hot...

so there i was one hot lazy summer afternoon after come'n home from a 

difficult day at the park try'na sell my personality to a reflection in the fountain before almost drown'n and suddenly i received a "viewer discretion advised" phone call outta the blue from someone i had chatted to on the phone lines earlier in the week (this was years before my smartphone purchase when i still relied on my imagination) who was want'n to do some sorta Jane Fonda work-out with me so i thought to myself hey...i hadn't met my charitable quota this particular year at that point yet so WHY NOT!

trust me...you'da said the same thing if you were me and thank CHER ya

ain't...anywho'zll'ding ding...my mysterious caller hadda remind me who he was since this was pre-smart phone days fer me so i opened up my roloxdicks of imagination when he described himself

once he had arrived to my shitbox (and ps...that is a pretext just FYI)

there was no time fer small talk...my biological clock was tick'n while he was lick'n his chops this particular afternoon and cuz...well...there was nothin' small about him

built like a shit brick house we started  huff'n and a puff'n like 2 pigs in a

pie bake-off at the county fair...not a care in the world and trust me...he was more than ready to blow my house down as was i (insert evil wink here)

as he assumed his fav-o-rit position...i put on my fav BURT BACHARACH 

record that had been collect'n dust since the last dance to get me in the mood then the sweat started pour'n like a monsoon in may in minutes

seriously kittens...you'da swore it was a full moon this particular day

cuz i could not shut this howl'n prowler up!

everything was goin exhaustingly well...that is...until a small but definitely a

distinct draft came outta the south at 2 miles per hour...i had just punched into Charlie’s Chocolate factory and believe when i say…i wasn't too damn happy to get this weather report…it was my damn day off!

hey accidents happen...so instead of make'n him feel like crap 

since i was now marinate'n in it...i sent him off to soak in some calgon's cool bouquet fer a minute or so while i took a mini birdy bath in the kitchen sink and then it was back to Maxine Nightingale'n it once again

round 2 was goin to purfucktion...UNTIL...that is...i was back at Charlie's

WTF? i mean as hot as this guy was...i shouldn't have to be punch'n into this kinda work on my days off...just 4 and 1/2 minutes later (hey i was watch'n the clock since my egg timer was broken)

cue another much need birdy bath

i was all set to pay my tab and get goin...but he begged and i figered

fine...yer my charitable act fer the damn decade then plus 3rd time is usually a charm ain't it? HA! does NO go with WAY?

seriously...all i could here buzz'n thru my brain at that particular moment 

was the eloquently soft and soulful sounds of the CULTURE CLUB hit "MISTAKE NUMBER 3" from december of 1984

though he had finally got his sky rockets in flight...there would be no fuzzy

spine tingle'n afternoon delight fer me on this particular shitty afternoon...however...fer once in my life i didn't give 2 shits since he had already bequeathed me 3 of his!

HEY...i'm a damn unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n

illusionist of my own universe...i shouldn't have to put up with any of this shit...L-I-T-T-E-R-A-L-L-Y…so i hope this finally clears up any questions about my fornicational pratices fer all you Gladys Kravitz's of the planet since yer always randomly ask'n me where i stand in the boudoir fer some ungodly reason cuz i ain't save'n myself fer no damn aisle...that ship has sailed and sunk since the 90's

now GET OFF MY DRESS!

RESOLUTION RESTITUTION

with every new years eve there comes a new list of everyone's annoyingly

 

unattainable ridiculous (or redickuless...depend'n on how you butter yer bread) resolutions that they don't ever have the slightest intention or interest of ever beginn'n let alone complete'n once dawn breaks and their champagne hangover ends up bein' more embarass'n at their age once they've realized the bedsheets are made outta newspaper print only to turn over fer a good look at the halitosed mud flaps with rheumatism they apparently met just hours earlier on their walk home thru some seedy downtown alley after their balls dropped

once you've crossed over into AARP country

those 20 pounds you planned on shedd'n once you've recouped from yer 

walk of shame to the uber after yer recognitive senses have regained their full functions...have multiplied and now become a maximum security prison of fat cells molest'n yer body ever since you made that resolution to shed them 3 new years prior and now realize that you need to borrow the jaws of life from yer local fire station just to get outta the 5 pairs of spanx that you've encased yerself into like a drunken egyptian pharaoh just to get that perfect selfie at the stroke of midnite to post all over yer social media...kittens...life is no easy bake oven!

"ANTICIPATION" lyrics from Miss CARLY SIMON mock'n you in yer head

as you desperately wait to read the comments from supposed fam and friends who have zero intention of ever contact'n you to catch up just cuz they posted "miss you let's get together soon" which was only posted as some simple misguided penance cuz they were suddenly stung by the holidazed hornet

there are no fancy creams to wash away yer misinterpreted existence

nor are there even enough benjamins in yer bank account to make a difference anyways since you maxed out yer EBT card and yer sciatica nerve has become yer own personal spring board of backaches

may i suggest you reach fer things much more attainable at this stage

of yer life like hope'n you don't mistake that over stuffed bean burrito from Chipotle you inhaled on the highway that's been sitt'n in yer fridge fer 5 weeks as just gas when yer goin grocery shopp'n

or remember'n to put yer bifocals on after dry'n yerself off from the shower so you can distinguish between yer tubes of tooth paste and yer preparation H

and remember'n to keep yer gorilla glue in yer junk drawer after fix'n the faucet in yer bathroom and not next to yer contact lense case on the medicine cabinet

quit with the damn daily affirmations and throw away yer hopeless candles

labeled hope of ever try'n to snag yerself a sympathetic soul mate after 35...cuz trust me at this point in the game of life consider yerself lucky if you have at least one friend who even bothers to listen to yer regrets any longer if you don't spring fer dinner and drinks on a notarized contract first

BUTT here me out...

fer generations society has been taught that the youthful are the only way

to live...to survive...to thrive and flourish without any regret or reason to bow down to those generational letters before them...however...what 20 somethin's don't realize is that since life expectancy is roughly 70+ years of age (assume'n yer not a total space cadet hopped up on goofballs or some Betty Ford beauty queen) which basically means they've peaked anyone’s interest by the time they've hit 35 at best...

and will begin their slow decent spiral'n down that middle age curly slide way before they've reached 50 so choke on that food fer thought!

just fuck all those in their 20's who think that the universe revolves around

them...seriously...just literally fuck 'em if that's yer cup of tea! well...without the use of chloroform and their consent of course (insert uncomfortable laugh here) in the 90's insecure people waited til they were established financially in their 40's to pathetically pass as 20 somethin' with injectables to get someone in their 40's to want them...20 somethin's today are look'n fer those financially stable 40+ crowds as an excuse to get outta their comfort zone and their parents basement fer the nite know'n that their gaggle of judgemental gestapo seethin' sidekicks can't afford to go out with them cuz they're save'n up fer their yearly botox retreat in Beijing to paralyze any part of their existence that might live beyond the age of 29 so it's a simple trade-off transaction really...they get out from under their parents wonder'n eye fer a lil rendezvous adventure that includes a two drink maximum 

and you get to recapture yer misspent youth to when you were too wasted to pull up yer culottes after slamm'n down a 6 pack of Zima's while try'n to grab onto yer ankles in some busted out brown bronco behind Little Caesar's after his shift...just make sure to get there 5 minutes before happy hour ends and slam'em then exit stage left pronto so you don't end up with overdrafts

as much as it's borderline pathetic to think that people of a certain age

like MARTIN LUTHER KING JR...RODNEY KING or even STEPHEN KING fer that matter can be remembered fer their profound and poetically prolific words to the wise...though you can no longer remember to put the damn seat down when you get up in the middle of the nite to make yer sacrificial meatloaf to the porcelain god!

when it's all said and done choose yer resolutions wisely and easily met

and GET OFF MY DRESS!