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!

A PHISH FRY

i've never a big fan of shoot'n the shit on a lazy weekend sipp'n on a cold 

24pack of elephant piss with yer posse while ripp'n out the jaws of our featherless friends in any given body of water with a bucket of chum fer fun...i'd rather drink drano shots and stick tooth picks in my toe nails to be honest

fer most of us that grew up durin' the 1970's our best friend was a polished

pebble that you'd tell all yer deepest darkest desires to fer a full summer...name 'em either Paulie...Petunia or Mr. Puss depend'n of course on the amount of nifty narcotics the fallopian curly slide carry'n you had consumed durin' yer conception before toss'n 'em into a puddle of piss in yer back yard

by the time you'd hit high school in the 1980's yer friends were determined

by the clicks you'd attach yerself to whether it be a brain...an athlete...a basket case...a princess or a criminal who would become glued to yer hips til graduation 

in the 1990's yer new circle of friends would rearrange as would yer DNA

while you racked up an impressive STD count desperately try'n to focus on yer career and yer causes

once the new millennium rolled around you've decided you'd had yer fair 

share of runn'n around and tried to settle down cling'n onto the handful of friends that hadn't O.D.'d  yet or ended up in a beautifully designed Balenciaga blouse with the straps that fastened in the back live'n in a 10x12 padded room listen'n to THE SINGING NUN "DOMINIQUE" on heavy rotation that you could count on in a crisis while reconnect'n with a few sprinkle'ns from yer past

unfortunately once you've hit yer prime those that you've reluctantly left in yer rolodex consist'n mainly of drunk nite dicks and dried up diaphragms

from yer past that you'd loosely call yer "close friends" at one point that you yerself would call upon periodically to check in on them and catch up with over drinks and some dried out nibbley's from time to time cuz they were too inconsiderate to bake a lovely peach pie to share while shoot'n the shit sadly have now used every excuse in the book to not be bothered with yer incessant check-ups by return'n the favor with a meaningless text to rinse themselves of any guilt like "awwww i was just think'n of you"..."awww i was just gonna call you" to "awww most definitely let's get together soon" and everyone's  fav-o-rit "who is this again?" which leads you to end up have'n to find yerself a whole new batch of booze'em buddies to become yer plus one at yer next AA prom nite

so there i was one early morn'n durin' one of my many in the middle of the

nite piddle parades before covid reeked havoc on my schedule...jump'n back into my coffin to try and count a few more sheep before sunrise which rarely ever happens instantly fer me so i'd log online to see what wise crack heads or colostomy bags were awake fer a lil chitter chatter and on this particular early morn'n instantly i'd received a smile emoji from some age appropriate silver surfer after logg'n in and decided to bite by respond'n appropriately...3 hours later my response was just simple syrup as i made my sacrificial meatloaf 

(ps my responses are in a burnt apricot shade fyi)

though after wait'n 5 minutes or so fer a response when no interaction happened…

it just so happened that i had still felt like the lollipop guild was doin the neutron dance on top of my noggin so i lowered the covers on my coffin and started count'n down the 100 bottles of beer on the wall (that i should'a never consumed) til my eyeball awnings dropped

about an hour and half later i would once again rise from my sleepless

nite and logged back on to notice a response from my new narcoleptic napper so we exchanged the proverbial plausible pleasantries

BUTT of course...

mister man would skip the pleasantries and get right to the point of which

i can totally appreciate and was perfectly fine with me since i was only look'n fer a lil bit of back and forth banter that early morn'n anyways

til i hadda run and get my home lobotomy perm from the next door neighbor who'd already moved out 12 years earlier 

hmmm errands? that's sorta an odd request i had never been asked yet

before nonetheless inquire'n minds wanted to know...ya know...WHY NOT? so i chomped on the bucket of chum from my new buffed up bum plus it'd get my outta the house and i could finally cross off my one charitable act of the year

he had now caught my attention and i could only hope this would bring 

me some fuck'n good luck fer a change since i never got to cash in on my alter boy days like all those other lucky fuckers did!

dammit all to fuck'n H-E-double hockey stix...NOT AGAIN!

well...so much fer a glimmer of hope with my newly acquired middle of the nite casanova though i wasn't about to let him off the hook just yet cuz my barrel was 10 days loaded and was beyond ready to bust all over his mug

as much as i wanted to grasp on the tiny glimmer of hope he might'a been actually real...i knew i needed a story fer the follow'n week so i figered this was my opportunity to show off my creative write'n skills of course

though i was absofuckinlutely beside myself when he didn't get the references however it narrowed down where they were most likely contact'n me from 

don't they teach you when you should really pack up yer chrome book 

and abort yer phish'n expedition in the Czech Republic or Mozambique anymore? that's like phish'n 101 i'd think

though i really should consider myself lucky that i don't like zima on ice

 with a big mac and a side of hot~n~spicy curly fries

so since my savvy suitor couldn't quite understand my southern charm...i decided to spell it out fer him as i wept wish'n him all the best on his next 

victim filled adventure hope'n someone somewhere would bequeath him his request with a bounty of gift cards more than he could ever imagine...

then i promptly reported his profile to the proper penial denial authorities

now GET OFF MY DRESS!

NAUGHTY OR NICE?

ahhh...the merriest of reason to stock up on xanax this holiglazed season

is finally upon us once again...where liquor sales are goin thru the roof thanx to COVID while parents start loose'n it and begin booze'n it...just cuz all hell will break loose if that hystorectomy pad in heels can't get their glittered claws on the latest fad fer their special lil ones reason why they have a cottaged cheese ass...while dear ol' dad goes an extra 100 miles outta his way just to take the "babysitter" home every nite...

so they alternate that tired old excuse...either #1 ol' fat ass in the red jumper was systematically busted once again fer drive'n under the influence on Christmas eve nite....or #2 they ended up on Santa's shit list again this year...

as to why certain lil kittens...who caused beyond unbearable chaos durin' these lockdown months...wouldn't be gett'n that special lil gift that they've been bitch'n and begg'n fer all year long

in the 50's...every lil lassie went ape shit if dear old saint what's-wrong

with-his-fuck'n-memory...fergot to get them the much sought after hula hoop so they could pratice the proper way to twerk their tush to keep their future pathetic excuse fer a marriage from fall'n apart by play'n that dreaded "my rocket fell into her socket" game

by the 60's...every lil girl and girlie boy wanted that bearded booze hound

to leave them an easy bake oven so they could create their own personalized "baked" goods...just so they could drown out the screams of ma & pa after cocktail hour with the neighbors

once the 70's rocked on...everyone was pett'n somethin' on someone...but

fer those unfortunate souls that never got asked to the prom...or even to their high school gang-bang...they always had their pet rock to keep them miserably happy til it was time to see Krusty Kringle the follow'n year

in the 80's...parents were pick'n out their plots if they couldn't get their lil

grubby paws on that delightfully diabetic insanely bloated Barbie doll that that fruitcaked fellow was suppose to set beautifully wrapped under their coke flocked xmas tree

by the 90's...every child would shank a skank if they woke up xmas morn'n

without their very own personalized speak'n furby from Papa Noel...which was really just the bastard child as the result of a gremlin and a pickled owl’s nite of inbreed'n

and once the new millennium rolled around...it was all just a CROC of shit from old Saint Dick!

though now a days...unfortunately still...the only thing approxiamately 666

children of a certain demographic class want from Santo Clos this year is a proper bed with 3 proper meals a day along with proper medical attention outside of the kennel they’ve been forced to reside in thanx to the mentally deranged IMPEACHED FOR LIFE Grinch & his complicitly evil administrational elves...

and to get reunited with their parents fer xmas...

after travel'n endless miles fer a better future!

so remember...sometimes yer lil kittens should just be grateful that they 

live where they live & quit bitch’n about what they don’t have...now GET OFF MY DRESS!