a POWER TRIP!

ever since the beginn'n of time...we...as a society...have been ostracized 

and frowned up by fellow fucktwats with snobbish attitudes who think their shit smells like a garden of earthly delights due to the fact of the monetary class system which they belong to...i mean a prefect example dates back to the stone ages when Betty and Wilma would taunt their fellow neighborhood cave dwellers...cook'n bronto burgers fer their signifigant others...in the latest frocks straight off the runways of the MuuKee MuuKee collection durin' Bedrock's fashion week

hundreds of years would pass and you would think that society would'a

changed their attitude...like they changed their bran intake...towards those less fortunate than themselves and help out their fellow man...but proof came durin' the sink'n of the titanic when those choke'n on their nausiate'n nepotism while bein' served champagne and saltines smothered in cavier...boarded the limited life rafts while their fellow food stampers floated like fish'n bobbers...hopelessy wait'n fer a rescue boat that would never come...much like the last emotionally crippled cock i met 

by the 1980's...the financial gap couldn't have been any further apart

thanx in part to the phony "trickle down effect" that was nothin short of a financial trick fer most that were affected by the posh "policies" put in place by Mr. AIDS Deny'n-Jelly Bean Junk'n-Dementia Dickwad 1981...til the end of the decade

now don't get me wrong...i was ALL about desperately yearn'n to live the opulent lifestyles of the rich and bloated ego riddled affluent folk that were

famously featured every week by that lecherously drunk manatee Mr. Leach...but i knew my paper route wasn't gonna cut it...even though i thought i had started a minature empire by hire'n 3 of my sibs to help deliver the 360 winona shopper papers once a week at $1 per every section that consisted roughly of 90 customers...then built a mini market in my closet and resold them stuff i would find around the house fer exactly a dollar (with a fully enforced no return policy)

fast forward to the year 2000...when i was out enjoy'n a bevy of adult 

beverages with a bunch of my not so close but pleasantly appall’n anally inclined stalkers at some local non heterosexual water'n hole...when they all collectively decided to upgrade our surround'ns and venture to a more prestigious atmosphere so we ended up at one of the oldest colostomitic locations in town

as we waited patiently outside...under the very hot steamy minnesota sun

this particular day...completely parched...anxiously crave'n a river of mind erase'n liquid replenishments...a friend happened to mention to me that i would most likely not be allowed into the premises without first remove'n my follically challenged scalp accessory and trust me...i was not about to have any part of this sharade

that would be like General Veers demand'n Vader to remove his helmet when speak'n to him...it just ain't happen'n!

now listen...i'm all fer follow'n rules and regulations to establishments of a 

 certain "grandeur" (if you will) when occupy'n their premises fer a period of time...BUTT (and you know there always is one) i will not be subjected to the "fashion police" at the front door...who might as well have been in berkinstocks...a barfy floral peek-a-boob blouse and a pair of hysterectomy tight jeans...

but sure as shit...a minute later Miss poly blend would return to inform me that baseball caps were unfortunately not part of their "dress code" with no other explanation

well...i was NOT about to remove my cap without some form of sun 

protection even if i would be seated inside the restaurant...i am thee unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe after all...and unfortunately my burka was at the cleaners...plus there would've been a ring of indentation around my noggin since i wrap it around my scalp so tight it cuts off any feel'ns of sympathetical emotions towards anyone...

so i simply asked the simple poly blender "i get it...but do you tell ALL yer cancer patients to remove their wigs?" with a perplexed look on her face...she replied..."i'm sorry...let me ask the manager and i'll be right back"

suddenly...my friend burst out in his best center square cackle...

completely blown away that i would have the audacity to say that i had cancer to the front door fraulein...to which i simply replied..."i merely suggested...i never implied that i personally had cancer!" it's not as if my baseball cap was the size of a water buffalo and was gonna obstruct anyone's view in this over priced snobbish eatery

minutes later...the fashion popo grabbed a couple menus and said that i

was give'n the all clear by management to dine in their establishment with my large party of AA drop-outs so she seated us in the back near the kitchen as to not cause any sorta tension with the rest of the patrons no doubt...FINE...no prob!

after take'n our order...i happened to notice that the colostomy bag that

was marinate'n in ben-gay and formaldehyde dressed in her fake pearls and false teeth sitt'n across from our booth that was within ear distance of myself...was act'n like some pissed off potty trainer and stopped our waitress as she was head'n to the kitchen...inform'n her that there was a young gentleman in a cap that shant belong here...to which the waitress simply replied "he has cancer!"

my money is just as green as the next...and i will not be judged by anyone

as long as i practice proper hygiene and regularly wash my dungarees...i know all to well how to play these lil reindeer games cuz trust me...this ain't my first time at the rodeo kittens...

now GET OFF MY DRESS!

BRING'N HOME THE BACON

this is a real addiction...confusion and cheap tattoos

a princess...a car thief and a lost shoe

loneliness...laughter...lust...the promise of pain

judas in blue jeans...tell me your name

~ Boy George

there has never been a person that has resonated with me more...thru melodramatic melodies...about the hopeless art of the instant oatmeal hook-up....betta than the BOY has himself 

we...and i'm speak'n only to the non heterosexual has-beens and has-been-nots out there...all desperately yearn'n to be temporarily tingled at some point thru-out their journey on this planet...just like all those other

"unnatural types" that choose to be non homosexual...not to be confused with the "wasbians" = used to be carpet cleaners but could never fully commit to shop classes

or the "unfageluffigus's" = used to have style and savoir flair but ended up with a prolapsed ass due to one too many "mission impossibles" in their unmentionables durin' the 80's

i can recall back in my days...before that dreaded trilogy of terror...simply known as my smart phone...that my dumb ass is STILL try'na figer out

after 4 1/2 years of marriage...that the only means of communicado with someone to help scratch that friday nite "itch" (that you hoped didn't need a spermicidal application and a razor)...was accomplished by 3 huge ways

1. BARE ASS BEACH....

located just a handful of very large red rover red rover steps away from the U of M...along the mighty Mississip...where my most preciously precocious Petrinella (and her minions) would indoctrinate me to the ways of the instantaneous gratifications under the pale moon light...(that is...if you fergot to bring yer chloroform spray with you to the bar)

this was accomplished by walk'n down a long stairway to a sandy hell in the middle of the nite...to the desolate open beach down below...like we were castaways that just got off the SS Minnow on a 30 minute tour to titillation town...

eventually we would be greeted by a plethora of unimpose'n figures emerge'n from the behind the bushes along the shore line in the still of some random hot summer nite...sadly though...it felt more like a scene that was straight outta the night of the living dead

and thanx to Peetrinella's infectious cackle echo'n amongst the seediness of the even'n...this avenue was unfortunately no longer a viable option for me to participate in future out'ins

2. BLOW JOB VALLEY...

you heard me right kittens....what is now a sprawl'n 4 story high subsidized house'n complex...that is home to many air bnb affiliates on the edge of the downtown Minne-Apple area in Loring park...was once a spacious and vacant park'n lot...

much like Miss Kellyanne Koo Koo fer "alternative facts" Kunt-away...

that housed many suburbian commuters by day...but turned into a circus arena of salacious sidewinders by sunset...where you would learn yer ABC's of the STD's that were readily available on any given nite...that me and many of my inept bar "friends" would participate in back in the early 90's...

corralled to the center of the park'n lot like a no-gag-reflexed cattle of cock...while the outside perimeter of perverseness would unilaterally and literally drive around us in a complete circle...single file...no more than 2-5 mph...as not to avoid any missed "purchases"...since they had no luck at the side walk sale outside the saloon...cuz this would be their last chance to get down anyone's pants...

 before they would have to head back home to their pabst blue ribbon past out on their unpaid ashley furniture...while we [the inept] waited anxiously fer the high beams to hit us from behind from some hot high roller that would flag us down and open us up like a lotus flower...though i would never be so lucky

after months of study'n the "art of the sale"...i would finally get a high beam i could call my very own...that would sadly only lead to the 1st...

10 minute feature film as a solo performer i would ever perform in...but incidentally...would be where i also successfully negotiated my 1st apartment deal on my very own in the uptown area 10 years later...

and sometimes...fer a lil extra street cred (*wink*wink*)...you (insert ME here) would be summoned by a "famous" heavy hitter on some seedy saturday nite in '94 that wanted you to "hit them" into next week...before they would have to take that long uncomfortable unconscious walk down that forced aisle of misery (VERY true story)

3. PHONE LINES...

i've always had an over active imagination when it came to plausible pleasures...but i always kept my expectations exceptionally low...so they'd be alot easier to attain that way...cuz i knew i would end up in pictures...

i just wasn't expect'n this was how it would all come to be...but i learned how to turn a tragic embarrassment into an animalistic ambush...the mo's went ape shit when i used my mug shot on gofuckyerself.com or somethin' like that...fer a short period of time

of course...i blame it on all those Jeff Stryker flicks that got plenty of miles from Rosy Palmer in the late 80's and early 90's and shows like OZ that made all those horny toads think'n they've hit the jack-off jackpot with a real life felon...and who was i to disappoint their twisted fantasy...but before the world of visual stimulation's were at my finger tips...

i would spend endless hours fall'n asleep on the free side of the phone lines with my over active imagination work'n into over drive...just to find that perfect mistake that i would eventually regret 10 minutes later (Peetrinella tried to curb my "addicktion" once...too many times...to no avail of course)

 cuz i was hooked on em like Steve Erwin to a stingray
(hey...hush the fuck up...more than enough time has passed!)

on any given day or nite...the typical gentleman caller genital wart...who was between the ages of 25 and dirt...6ft tall or above...with bushels of brunette follicles as thick as the amazon forest strategically placed thru-out their sculpted body...that consisted of 180 pds of pure 100% grade A chemically enhanced beef...encased in a 48 inch chest and a 32 inch waist...with enough italian sausage to wreck yer windpipe...

regrettably...reality would eventually set in when we met up...and just my luck...it rarely ever panned out the way i was expect'n it to...99 times outta 100 it was usually somethin' i personally would'a never ordered off the menu (if we had had today's technological advances back then)...only cuz they always ended up invert'n the numbers...and use'n the metric system where it mattered the most

so one particular restless early morn'n nite that i can recall...i met some casual caller (who i hoped was accurately describe'n themselves from the pre-approved menu fer a change) that was just a stones throw away from my back yard (that is....if i was a hungarian shot putter)...so i decided to meet him half way...why not!

and once again...my over active imagination waves were way outta sync...but instead of ridicule'n his very existence and turn'n back home alone...which was a perfectly shallow yet viable option i...like many others in my position...have used many a times before...

i just didn't wanna end up as some damn moo juice model in yer kids cafeteria

so i decided to look fer an easy exit stragedy...but most regrettably & very tragically (FER ME) when i invited him into my shitbox...ummm...i mean my quaint lil shitbox...i heard a sudden thud on my entrance floor as he...

turned to shut my front door...i couldn't believe it...his left sleeve went limp on me as he turned back around...well that's cuz HIS FUCK'N LEFT ARM FELL OFF...SERIOUSLY!...and this was not just any old hand...like i know yer think'n lincoln...NO...this was a hook hand!...A HOOK HAND!...i nervously waited fer his response before i would give my constrained retort..."oh...did i ferget to tell you that i had a prosthetic arm?"...hmmmm?...i hesitated fer just a mere moment before i could come up with the only non judgmental serial killer response..."yea...sorry sailor...but i've already done my charitable act fer the year...plus...i don't want you to be late to yer peter pan rehearsal" 

see you in salutations...now GET OFF MY DRESS!

STRANGER...DANGER? pt. 2

hey kittens...have you ever gotten that not so fresh feel'n...like you were

bein' WATCHED?...well get a ticket to the catch-up train by click'n here fer STRANGER...DANGER? pt1 (cuz i ain't relive'n all over again just fer you) before we leave the station to yer next destination...and now the excruciate'n conclusion to STRANGER...DANGER? pt. 2

i rummaged feverishly thru the tan Hermes briefcase look'n fer a contact

number to contact the hopeful owner of said bag with my one hand...while i waited fer the paint to dry on the other...but all i could find was the name "LARRY" printed in bold helvetica font on a blank antique egg shell colored business card along with a phone number

so i contacted Ernestine down at the local phone company and had her

patch me thru to this "LARRY" fella...but of course all she wanted to go on to me about was how she felted cheated by the 3 bean salad at last sundays church social that her dear friend Marcella brought cuz all she could honestly taste were 2 distinct flavored beans apparently...and after several more minutes discuss'n the mass differences between her rheumatism and my patience...she patched me thru...

unfortunately though...all i got was his voice mail so i left him a simple yet effective message with my number...along with my inseam size and coordinates to my multiple personalities...and to call me back at his earliest convenience (as long as i'm not bein inconvenienced)

curiosity was sett'n in as i was sett'n my hair...who could this LARRY be?

could this be someone like 60's sex symbol major Nelson Riley played by veteran character actor Larry Hagman? (who gave me major wood in reruns back in the 80's)

i didn't really care to be honest...as long as it wasn't...

some colostomitic call-in host that resembled that bag of bones Larry King

2 hours later as i was flipp'n thru my latest issue of INCHES magazine...

there would be a mysterious knock at my front door so i jumped gingerly off my crushed green velvet couch and opened the door to see who it was...and trust me when i say i was absolutely blown away...cuz the gentleman caller looked just like the spitt'n image stunt double to Mel Gibson...straight off the set of Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome

well...i don't have to tell you...i was a smitten kitten!

i immediately invited him inside from the rain fer a nite cap...but then i 

realized it was only 2 in the afternoon...so of  course i was ready fer some delightful "conversation" cuz my sky rocket was already in flight...thankfully i managed to compose myself and asked him if he was here fer the briefcase

shake'n his head...in his loosely fit beige slacks...he threw me a devilish 

lil grin and with the raise of his sweaty left brow...i knew right away this was not gonna end in a simple handshake (nor did i want it to)

BUTT of course...

he had a bit of an agenda of his own that i would soon come to find out

he told me that he enjoyed watch'n me perform on stage fer the past month at the 90's and then he would proceed to follow me a few times a nite as i waited patiently fer the metro transit #4 to take me home until i was dropped off 2 blocks from my shithole before he would devise his deviously devilish plan to get my attention...though i should'a been shocked as shit he told me all this...i have to admit...i was a bit turned on by my middle of the nite stalker

as he drew himself closer and closer into my own personal bubble...i felt

the restless natives down below dance'n in my danger zone...as his chest burst free from his blazer...i could smell the intoxicate'n call of his wild ways command'n me

i felt like a sacrificial kitten in my lamb skinned nighty (that was remarkably open) i was absolutely helpless to resist...and really...why would i?

the dam was ready to burst on his britches...my newly acquired stalker

 was ready to deflower me and he asked if i had ever had "daddy dick" as he slowly unzipped (since he was old enough to be my parental guardian after all) his mammoth mouth water'n manwich flopped out and i awkwardly explained to him...

that my dad had passed away from leukemia when i was 9 and pedophelia wasn't really his thing (ps...total boner killer when you start talk'n about yer dead dad when a throbb'n prick is present) so he hadda quickly explain in his best throaty porn voice to me that he was only talk'n specifically about role play banter...which i had never been privy to yet in my litany of liasons...so the next thing i know...

sorry kittens...but this is where yer unadultered altered universal imagination will be kick'n in (so cum to yer own dirty lil cockclusions)

so in the end...not ALL strangers are a bad danger...but that's fer you to

decide...i met him 3 more times...in 3 more ways...but never in a 3way...should i have?...well that's all u need to know i guess...
now GET OFF MY DRESS!