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!

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!

tale of 2 brides pt 1

picture it kittens...the year was 1982 and one William Michael Albert Broad

simply known to us Gen-X'ers as my punk passion fruit...BILLY IDOL...was burn'n up the charts with his unconventional punk promenade fer that long walk down the aisle with his smash hit "WHITE WEDDING" and i knew someday...i would be prance'n down to some promenade of my very own

i mean...if Mariel can do it...then why the H-E-double hockey stix can't i? after all...i was there the day it was officially signed into law 

with my friend Karen and the blood suck'n breath'n apparatus she expelled from between her thighs...in the great state of 9,999 bottoms on july 1, 2013 (hey...not ALL of us queens are flame'n bottomless pits of Zima and regret)

well...low and behold...i'm here to tell you...that day has finally come!

BUTT...not what i had envisioned...so lemme back it up a bit!

earlier this year i received a frantically nail bite'n axe wield'n call from one 

of my oldest and dearest...ummm friends fans wig stalkers...fer the past 10 or so years...(that reminds me...must remember to renew restrain'n order) who insisted that i meet her at this very moment in time...at some neighborhood eatery...to discuss some rivet'n news that she was sooo desperate to reveal to me...i thought what the H-E-double hockey stix is it now? she can't be preggers fer jimminey crickets...her eggs have been scrambled fer years...then i thought OH NO!

was this about another Britney breakdown and the cancel'n of her Vegas residency due to her father's ill health? (even though we Spearheads know damn well it was her dad Jamie...who supplied her with narcotics fer the past 11 years and committed her to a mental facility...just so he could siphon from her ginormous piggy bank)

dear god...JUST LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE!

turns out...i jumped the gun on the whole Britney breakdown thingy and all

as it had absolutely ZERO to do with her bein' the first one to gimme the scoop on all the latest break'n Brit Brit gossip...NO...my "friend" said that she was plann'n on marry'n her long time partner in crime (who had his own lil Britney breakdown 9 years ago when he involuntarily volunteered his truck and his time...to transport my new couches into my newly acquired quaint lil shitbox of my very own...though it was like a game of fuck'n tetris just try'na get'em thru the damn doors)

after we had choked down our proverbial ceremonious bloody mary's...

said stalker got right down to the nitty gritty details of her devious plans...explain'n how she wanted to acquire the services of thee unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of their own universe...hey when you wanna quench yer thirst with the best...you don't order swill from the bottom shelf do you?

 (much like you should never clip coupons when search'n out cosmetic surgery to retain a shimmer of yer youthfulness)

oh...HELLLL NO...you pick the premium on top! now where was i?...oh yea...she wanted me to basically walk down the aisle as a teaser tester before she would be make'n the final plunge as a single lady...fer the 2nd time...in a small but very unimportant majestic northern minnesota town...that apparently...they had frequented many times before

at first i thought...hey why not...i haven't give'n to any charitable charity at

 this particular moment in time...(who knows who could be lurk'n in those woods) then i remembered...OH WAIT...there was that ONE time...but hey to my undefensible defense...that penicillin shot was well worth it...rent got paid on time fer a change (insert laugh here...like i'm worried about rent)

months later i was summoned once again to meet on some covert mission

at some undisclosed location in the uptown area of the Minne-Apple and discuss the exact deets to said diabolical plans that she had concocted in her devious lil head fer her big day

wait...you mean you were S-E-R-I-O-U-S?

since i had already fully fulfilled my charitable acts fer the entire year

(thanx to that one steamy nite when i got caught between the moon and some new Jack in the city) i decided to negotiate my rider demands fer said event...and they...like me...weren't gonna be simple:

i of course would need a security team of crotch grabb'n triplets

a small intimate corner room in a cornered off floor of the west wing of the closest castle

a helluva pad fer my helluva chopper

James Dietz from "Who's that Girl" fame to be my personal "handler"

accord'n to my good friends at Google...mister titillations...James Dietz...sadly has passed away...in 19 FUCK'N 87!!

ok...well scratch the "handler" then...that outta save her a few benjamins

Jesus...Mary Kate and Ashley Simpson on a cross...why am i always the last to know?

ANYWHO'ZLL'DING...

a crystal bowl in the shape of a patagonian penguin filled with hollowed out aqua marine M&M shells

permeate the air in my boudoir with Madonna's "NAKED"

a 6 pack of jolly rancher Zima

oh...and a jolly rancher to serve it to me in a chilled champagne flute

hey...i'm worth it!

my stalker...bein' very impetuous as she slurped down her 3rd grape ape

 sangria...soaked up my obviously small suggestional demands...then suggested instead to negotiate my demands...by just gett'n me a free place to rest my plump lily white A-double snakes fer the weekend in the woods...with all the cocktails...cuisine and casual wearers one could ask for...plus a free ride up with her security detailers

see what i've had to put up with all these years kittens?
it's soo hard to be ME!

tune in next week fer the excruciate'n conclusion of "tale of 2 brides" pt2

have a spooktacular hweenie kittens and
GET OFF MY DRESS!