BAD TO THE BONE!

have'n grown up as the 2nd oldest gen X'er in a large all american irish catholic family as thee ahead of my time pre unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe durin' the 1970's...

 it was not all that uncommon fer families like ours and many others in small communities scattered like a lawn sprinkler across the country to gather together for sunday morn'n mass...secretly cheer'n in yer head as the local tulip sniff'n town drunk in the bejeweled dracula cape had finally finished sing'n "hallelujah" to his lobotomized congregation off key once again just so you could get a snack at half time... 

as you waited impatiently stand'n in a single file line with the rest of the zombie apocalyps to play the communal game of russian roulette with the metallic slurpee cup full of stale berry flavored kool-aid represent'n a middle eastern dead man's hemoglobin (allegedly) in hopes that the blue rinsed hemorrhoidal prune with the uncontrollable gingivitis issues who lived down the street from you had take'n her prescribed meds as prescribed that day

recite'n that tired hymn with him "how great thou art (as i cupeth thy fart)"

 hey kitten...ZIP IT! every kid with a canker sore back then wanted to be the next greatest Emily Dickinson or Suzanne Somers 

perform'n yer useless jedi mind tricks towards the head of the household

just so you could personally hand over a donation of 10% from their weekly earn'ns in the form of an understated pale blue check in order to take credit in hopes of earn'n a few more extra credit points as a future CASPER crusader and solidify'n a golden ticket inside the pearly gates when they passed the collection plate made outta a mini wicker basket gorilla glued to a toilet plunger rod they had purchased from Pamida's after christmas everything-must-go sale...

so proud to be a part of the pathetically phony though ritualistically cathartic catholic charity charade parade that would eventually help pay for the many sexually abused alter boys therapy and their shopp'n spree's at Hermes and Gucci later on in life

as bread winners spent endless dollars fer you to spend endless hours 

with a happy meal box riddled with pointless air holes (but a genius market'n scheme you have to admit) in hopes it would teach you how to care fer a lifeless solid mass of minerals pray'n they wouldn't pro create

though we all had gallantly geeked out fer the galaxy far far away...

secretly however...a large portion of the gen X population cheered gleefully fer Leatherface...

and who couldn't help but not fall in love with Michael Myers...the babysitter was our only kryptonite from ruin'n the nite while rule'n the nest from yer siblings beneath you

BUTT...that ain't all!

once the 1980's had rolled around...we were completely bored with our 

breathless pet and just wanted to see how fast and how far we could skip that worthless chunk of a shitty xmas prez across the lake to it's graveyard as we skipped school while chugg'n down on the 5th can of our fav-o-rit chemically enhanced communal wine 

by summer you were told in a stern voice to "get the fuck outta the house" 

when the Culligan man showed up mid morn'n on any random unannounced day of the week and under no circumstances explicitly told not to return til dinner was ready...after they gave one of you a 5 spot to run to the across the street to the Nasty Habit and buy them a box of Virginia Slims ultra lights 

even though secretly you knew better than to give a shit what they were up to by not return'n home until well after the overhead lamps were dance'n in the streets

oh and lest we ferget...if we ever got teased or the live'n shit kicked outta 

us or even shot in the leg by a bb gun from some EPT test bunny that lived down the street from yer bff grama's house at the time...we were told under no uncertain terms to “suck it up” or “kick the fucker where it counts” and my most memorable “don’t think i’m pay’n for this shit!”

and though we were still gallantly geek'n out over the galaxy far far away...

we desperately yearned fer Jason Voorhees as he callously though meticulously hacked his way thru titty city at the Crystal Lake camp grounds...

and screamed in sheer ecstacy as Freddy Krueger finger fucked his way thru our teenage dreams!

Even though we had to suffer through countless bags of bullshit that only trickled down to the majority of the minority from that senile geriatric jelly 

beaned junkie repuglicunt in the big house who completely ignored the world's biggest health crisis at the time which caused 89,343 deaths under his watch alone

yet we all collectively still managed to make it thru those tumultuous and terrify'n pimple parade years to get that all unimportant waste of parchment paper without turning into a slice of swiss cheese!

with the unfortunate but not all that surprise'n incident from the lone star

state in the city of Uvalde that happened last week...create'n 22 more caspers from Robb Elementary school to roam freely about the earth...

as terrified tikes tried desperately to contact their inept Roscoe P. Coltrane cavalry who waited roughly an hour outside the chaos before control'n the stand-off as they swiped left or right on their cell phone or checked to see approximately how close they were to their next STD (presumably) bring'n the grand total number of mass murders up to 214 in 2022 alone and it's not even the 4th of july yet!

of course leave it to just 50 rectally reprehensibly and religiously right

winged regurgitated repuglicunts in the senate to stand in some sadistic 3rd reich formation to care more about their power than they do about their people by completely stay'n silent on H.R.8 even though the democrats in the house had passed the the bill in 2021 after the tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary that created 28 caspers just 10 years earlier

they wanna pass bills that will arm teachers to be imperial stormtroopers 

yet they don't trust them to teach kids unredacted history facts...ignore all lgbt issues and ban books that don't have the playboy bunny on the cover

they wanna overturn bills turn'n vaginal curly slides into their live'n vessel

yet they don't wanna help raise the results or lift them from hardships and squalor that those results reluctantly most likely will become accustomed to...where a majority of them will just end up make'n bongs during bible study as the others graduate with honors from pole dance classes by the 6th grade...so one has to wonder...why would they NOT want to pass a simple slice of legislation that is for the good of their constituents keep'n the casper count down since roughly 80% of the country has been on board now for years... 

while the other 20% earned an online degree crush'n their fav-o-rit malt beverage can against their forehead

one has to wonder WHY? WHY is this still happen'n? WHY once again?

i don't know...do you care to take a shot in the dark and guess?

now GET OFF MY DRESS!

THE WEB WE WEAVE pt.1

most gen X-er's barely remember huddle'n around the family console on a

thursday nite after Baretta burn'n their fingertips peel'n back the toxic tin foil on their swanson tv dinner that consisted usually of a slab of turkey drown'n in a not-so gravy like sediment saturated in the beyond recommend daily balance of sodium chloride intake...tastelessly nutritious bean cutlets....half frozen mashed potatoes and a dollop of pipe'n hot cherry sludge 

then wash'n it down with their fav-or-o-rit chemically enhanced 10% fruit flavored carbonated swill

while totally turn'n into a complete puddle on the burnt orangey brown shag carpet after learn'n about some adorably soft spoken arachnoid's demise played by the late DEBBIE REYNOLDS at the end of "CHARLOTTE'S WEB"

now listen...i have always have been deathly petrified of anything that has 

more than 4 legs (well…unless they’re neg…dd free…vaxxed and not into S&M w/M&M’s…BB w/butter or any sorta combo of fruit flavored spermicidal jams and jellies…i ain’t made outta yeast after all however i know how to “rise” to the occasion properly and can make you pop when prompted)  hmmm…now where was i? oh yea…

thanx in part to bein psychologically scarred as the pre-unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe forced into a musty dungeony like cellar with the light bulb purposely removed as a form of "punishment" on more than enough occasions than i care to relive when i lived a home…i completely felt like Starling search'n fer the light as an army of arachnids practically the size of himalayan rhinoceroses' tried attack'n me from all sides (hey...i was a very imaginative teenrager after all)

BUTT...h-o-w-e-v-e-r 

flashforward to the summer of  '89 and i was now on my very own...in my 

very own shitbox (i mean my very own quaint lil shitbox) i could finally call my very own with no one around to tell me what to do on the 2nd floor of my bff at the time grama's house in Homer, MN where the only thing that adorned my walls was a simple yet stunn'n "A CERTAIN SACRIFICE" movie poster i found at the local FACE THE MUSIC record store that starred my fav-o-rit blonde ambition that she starred in back in '79 before she hit the big time (that i can freely admit...the poster was the only thing good about that movie)

i loathed any sorta facial or body hair except fer the ever color change'n 

mop that grew outta my noggin (i had reluctantly removed my eyebrow hair as well and repainted on new serial killer brows at a much high altitude that were so sharp they could practically take an eye out)

i had used any sorta depilatories and waxes up to and include'n duct tape

that was humanly possible just to rid my mug of any and all facial follicles so my war paint would be much more spreadable like parkay until i had moved into my new place turn'n my limited funds now limited to rent only so i needed to devise another plan of attack

merely a week had gone by and i practically looked like some sorta benign

non essential castaway from Gilligan's Island that no one would ever notice and therefore i could no longer bare to cope with my scruffiness plus it didn't help the fact that i was carless...bikeless...baseless...phoneless and penniless except the allocated rent and the $150 in food stamps that i recently acquired via the state of MN welfare system at the time and unless a friend gave me a lift to the grocery store (which i will be ever thankful that many did) 

the closest means of food was the kwik trip that was roughly 3 and 1/2 miles away that i would have to huff and puff it on occasion if i wanted a bean burrito with somethin' to wash it down with

and i was not about to show my face without my burka on...which...incidentally was bein held at the cleaners fer a small but important ransom 

one hot summer afternoon as i was look'n out the front window of my 

paltry palace try'na figer out what i was gonna do fer the day...i noticed a spider practically the size of a Willmar water buffalo...spinn'n her web in the lower corner of my window sill and instead of have'n an absolute mental breakdown as i normally would...i became totally transfixed on the intricacies of her artwork and her dedication that I had decided enough was enough so i flipped over a milk crate next to the window...

grabbed my half emptied maybelline new york shine free oil controlled pressed powder compact and tweezers from the bathroom to pluck each and every hair off my face and neck one by one cuz i figered if she (we'll just call her Charlotte fer obvious reasons) can map out a maze wait'n aimlessly fer her dinner...i had all the time in the world to remove my follicles...besides i had already plucked my own eyebrows fer the last 5 years...what's the diff? my face just looked like an elephants eyebrow had exploded all over it  and i was not too damn happy with the current situation happen'n all over my mug!

i had mapped out my plan of attack by splitt'n my face and neck into 3 

sections...the left hemisphere of my mug and the right hemisphere of my mug then the lower hemisphere (which was my neck) and began to pluck away...one by one...notice'n Charlotte sit patiently outta the corner of my eye i figered at the very least i could do was to help her out with her dinner plans since she was probably as hungry as i was 

so i set my hands to stun and after a few tries i had cupped...crippled and captured an annoy'n fat ass musca-domestica...toss'n it onto her web then started to pluck away

i had never actually seen the maliciousness and meticulous way Charlotte 

and her ancestors dealt with feast or famine before although after i had tossed the crippled bug onto her delicately ornate dinner table she had spun it made Charlotte react like Carrie deal'n with her neurotically religious mother by attack'n the defenseless fly like nobody's biz

pluck after pluck it felt like my face was on fire though i knew i had no

other options left so after remove'n roughly 20 or 30 follicles i had built up enough tolerance and became quite numb to the pain

periodically i would peer down to see how Charlotte was doin with her 

new found feast and to my amazement she had already had it wrapped up tight like a christmas gift after a few hours of pluckage...inbetweeen every other hour or so i would take breaks to stretch my back and watch my stories ("YOUNG AND THE RESTLESS" Mrs. Chancellor was like my heroin...tough as nails who didn't take shit from anyone)

roughly 5 1/2 hours later i had finally and completely removed the right 

hemisphere of foliage from my face and it felt as smooth as an alabastered ass from the ozarks though by now my back had felt like a worn out murphy's bed pulled up and down like a taffy pull so i figered it was time to hit the hay so i bid ado to Charlotte and began my weekly ritual by lay'n down a couple of cool cucumber slices on my eyes and slapp'n on the ol' trusted St. Ives mint julip mud mask to help cool down the irritation and tighten my poor plucked pores

in the middle of the nite i would be awoken by a knock on my bedroom

door by the nice neurotic neighbor downstairs who needed milk fer her puke bucket but she couldn't be bothered to drive herself to kwik trip so i told her to flip on the lite so i could collect my senses

"WHAT THE FUCK IS ON YER FACE?" she said stunned look'n down at

me lay'n on the floor like a dead hooker under my bed sheet that did not consist of an actual bed at this point....i explained to her that this was my weekly ritual and i don't remove it til morn'n when i would have to chisel it off in the shower with a putty knife practically plus it also made my face look more uniformed since 2 thirds of it was still covered in hair...i told her gimme 2 minutes to throw on my combat boots and get the soup cans outta my hair and i'd be good to go

"are you fuck'n kidd'n me? yer not goin to the store like that are you?" 

she said with a bewildered tone in her voice completely amused i hadn't removed my smurf pajama's before lace'n up my boots (kittens...don't judge me!) "gimme the damn keys i don't give a fuck what people say" i thought to myself i bet Mrs. Chancellor would've said and done the exact same thing if the writers were brilliant enough to write this scene into the script when she was still around

even though i was still a bit of a scaredy cat in the middle of the nite when it comes to lonely isolated dirt roads thanx in part to bein removed along 

with half of my sibs from our moderately priced green station wagon on the farm back in the late 70's when Joan would drive far ahead as we bickered and watched the red rear lights fade into the dark of the nite and imagine'n a Mr. Voorhees like figure would pop out from behind the bushes at any give'n moment...

i sucked it up...buckled my belt and scurried off into the dead of the nite drive’n illegally cautious since i won’t be with license fer another 10 years to get a gallon of moomoo juice fer the bawl'n puke bucket in full combat boots...smurf pj's and my St Ives mint julip mask temporarily plastered to my face

there ya have it...tune in next week fer pt.2 of "THE WEB WE WEAVE"

now GET OFF MY DRESS!