LAND OF THE LOST

wouldn't it be nice to think that we all could still live a very perfectly 

pleasantly planetary existence...grow'n up with the perfectly manicured lawns with perfectly painted picket fences...exchange'n pleasantly pleasant pleasantries with the nosey nutcase neighbor who's only means of survival is a hefty help'n of neurosis salad and wash'n it down with a chilled glass of pleasant paranoia periodically

well i'm here to tell you kittens...those days have long disappeared faster than Andora from Derwood!

so like the most of you out there yearn'n to return'n to somewhat of a very

normal life after the last year of live'n inside a Laura Branigan video...starve'n fer any attention from anyone who would bother to pay you fer yer attention in anyway possible along the informational highways from pay-per-viewed performances from brain dead celebs and technologically retarded queens who spent 70% of every online production bitch'n cuz they weren't able to figer out if they were live or not then the next 25% say'n hi to everyone who logged in one by one to the last 5% on their actual performance before bidd'n ado...

all while shopp'n to reload yer goody drawer til yer dropp'n yer dignity fer some socially distanced satisfaction at some out of yer area code neighborhood gas station so you wouldn't have to explain to yer significant other in the off chance you lusted til yer busted by some pollyanna puritan

well...after bein kamikazed by one fake cool clothin' site after another

fer over a year...taunt'n this unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe daily that i desperately needed to update my out dated wardrobe to the point of bein to paranoid to eat potato salad fer fear of "them" listen'n in to my every desire...though i diligently researched every site before order'n anything online since i had spent 10 years of my bank'n life work'n in the fraud department which was pretty much comparable to my love life...and just like my love life...one site after another turned out to be as fake as most of my orgasms

well...this one ad in particular kept putt’n me in a daily trance tell’n me i needed this fab DIVINE tee of which i believed to be true...

so after i put on my Jessica Fletcher cap to do a lil investigate’n...turns out they wanted £165 so i left a simple comment about how i’ve seen better prints under $30 under some other comment as they said they bought theirs cheaper as well and the owner of said site chimes in with “those aren’t OFFICIAL DIVINE tees” and that it takes money away from DIVINE’s family 

ummm since my greatest muse that turned me onto the world of high heels and low expectations DIVINE was an only child that unfortunately passed away in 1988

with his parents follow’n in his footsteps in 1993 & 2009...its safe to say that neither will be benefitt’n from ANY sales in the near future of ANY products DIVINE is slapped onto

of course the site moderator chimed back in say’n his mother FRANCIS MILSTEAD gave him the rights before she died to all things DIVINE before call’n me a twat (HA...how profesh... apparently i even possess the power to piss off the site moderator) even though i could not independently verify that said moderator was thee actual owner of all things DIVINE...

i simply wasn’t gonna line his or her piggy bank fer the over priced hack job on a tee of the greatest queen who ever lived with that fuck’n potty talk of theirs!

BUTT then...

one early morn'n as i was rearrange'n my DNA i was pleasantly surprised 

to find that one such website was but a mere hop...skip and a massive jump away from my front door so i threw on my tacky khaki camouflaged culottes with match'n crocs...warmed up the engine and blasted off like a murderer on a mission!

thank CHER fer my australian co-pilot Scarlett recite'n me directions

via my cell cuz i was turn'n into an angry minnow outta water and outta patience try'na find said damn location...however...45 minutes later i had finally reached my desired destination on the outer reaches of Eagan MN...who would'a thunk i'd find myself in some tiny ass strip mall just to posses a lime green SLEESTAK hat that any self respect’n 70's saturday morn'n junkie lived for from the "LAND OF THE LOST" series  which had been taunt'n me fer weeks on end as well at this point...tell'n me i had to have it though each time i tried order'n it on line it always said it was sold out...however...now my mission has been completed!

ANGRY MINNOW VINTAGE was the name of the shop and though i had

only planned on purchase'n said SLEESTAK hat to appease my inner crave'ns...the lovely lady allowed me secret access to the warehouse to mill about and i swear i felt like VERUCA SALT walk'n into Willy Wonka's factory...the retail gods would end up suck'n me dry faster than any horny toad from the hood

with 2 more hats include'n one with SIGMUND THE SEA MONSTER 

and a sexy 70's DOLLY PARTON flannel blouse that will make you the envy of any conscious card carry'n homo depotter and rehab scab you run across plus it's perfect fer all those cold and lonely MN nites that are wait'n fer us right around the corner (which is not even available on their website...yet...how VIP is that?) 

well now that i've thankfully and temporarily cured my clothing addiction

by acclimate'n myself back into some much needed hands on retail therapy...it's time fer me to showcase my collection to the 4 legged fury castaways down the hallways outside my shit box...i mean my quaint lil shit box apt...so GET OFF MY DRESS!

CALLOUSED CALAMITIES

i was recently reminded…a while back…by this mo who don't know jack 

that "str8 act'n and appear'n" is not the new black!

by that...i don't mean that african american...african european...

african asian or african african (did i leave anybody out?) non heterosexual men are the latest in relationship accessories

hot mixed interracial relationships have been around...

since Tom and Helen Willis of the "THE JEFFERSONS"

i'm not a complete social retard...but nor will i march in the PC parade

i've seen PRINCE like 3 times live...

and own almost all of TINA TUNRER's musical history 

(stay with me kittens...i will make my point...eventually)

no...what i speakith of is far more taboo...a rare hybrid sub culture of

the non heterosexuals who try and pass themselves off as "STR8"
by act'n and appear'n in a manner publicly that is perceived by others that they have the ability to completely fool members of their own naturally born non heterosexual race as well as those of the naturally born non homosexual race just to prove to their narcissistic riddled ego their inability to deal with themselves as a a throat plunge'n butt pirate

and in their feebly delusional mind...they also believe they can...get this

sexually turn a non homosexual into a non heterosexual and that THAT would then be their greatest accomplishment to their entire existence

well i'm hear to tell ya...ya ain't fool'n no one mary mary on the contrary

let's keep the "act'n" for the professionally trained....oh kaaaay laydee!

there are many theories of how this sub culture of no-no homo's derived:

too much fake bake'n with a spray tan before goin' to the beach on some tropical island vacation in the Keys...

Miller beer...

the RAM truck...

(fer overcompensational purposes due to their "shortcumm'n" i'm sure) 

watch'n all 4 seasons of "PRISON BREAK" on a loop 

(one word...WENTWORTH MILLER...meeeouch!)

these are just a few suggestions...there are a merried of theories out there

hold up...now before you go grabb'n yer picket signs...coon dog and hop in yer monster truck (and by that i mean yer work-out purse...pekineses and pontiac grand prix) i am not suggest'n in the slightest that some of you 

non heterosexuals out there cruise'n around along the informational highway on yer daily 5 minute break on adam4adam...gaydar...grinder...mancunt...scruff...jak'd or whateva social site you choose to cruise for the latest has-been or been-had by half the population fer some dimestore dick...are not just being yerself as you would...regardless of who was/wasn't present

a quick hiccup for those right wing'n apocalyptic fear'n anti-bacterial soap'n leave-it-to-beaver thinkers who think i or anyone of my naturally born non heterosexual race would CHOOSE to live this way...ummm ya...

pick a finger!

think about it...if we didn't have hetero's...we wouldn’t have homo's...

if we didn't have homo's...we wouldn’t have poppers...

if we didn't have poppers...we wouldn't have brain damage...

and if we didn’t have brain damage...i'd be the only one read'n this right now!

now where was i?...oh yea...

no...i am merely speak'n to the trend of non heterosexuals known as...

the socially retarded...chemically dependent...emotionally unavailable...self-loath'n...narcissistically rare mo'...otherwise known as the "muscle mary"

in the simplest of terms…a "muscle mary" consists of the follow'n...

high maintenance groom'n for a minimum of an hour in front of their bathroom mirror and decide'n which undergarment looks best on them to take that "all natural" non posed posed selfie to update their profile on www.peniledenial.com...

before head'n to the gym fer another hour of check'n themselves out in the locker room mirror (and who's check'n them out) and squeeze in enough time to take that "all natural" non posed selfie to update their profile on www.poundmetilthesunormecumup.com…

then do the usual work-out routine til they break a minimal sweat from check'n themselves out on the gym floor mirror (and who was check'n them out) pop into the steam room to see what they're serve'n at the cock buffet...

then publicly pretend they have no inclination of someone's existence cuz of the other person's acceptance of who they are...what they do for a live'n or how they may choose to dress themselves and whether or not last season's Prada bag falls outta their mouth every time they open it and their comfortness level around others in public…or that there is any remote interest in said person…

BUTT of course...

secretly are the first ones to have their feet stapled to the bedroom ceil'n before you get the front door closed on any random friday nite!

we hate to be judged however let's face it...we all have played judge...jury and prostituted our dignity fer the slightest acknowledgment and/or acceptance to someone we found remotely interest'n at a glance at some point in our life

oops...may have to back-up on that one there if yer not me (and why would you be) i can sense yer confusional delay so grab a ticket and hop aboard the catch-up train and i'll take ya there in a minute or so

i am and have always been…mostly…comfortable in my natural born non heterosexual body and mind (though bein a guinea pig for those governmental drug studies back in '93 altered things...just a wee bit)

i used to be the skinny minny that would get shunned by the hideously delicious muscle mary flock corral'n around in circles at any downtown non heterosexual entertainment establishment in my temporary town i've called home fer the past 31 years

until one day i joined a gym for personal and mental growth and all of a sudden the gates flew open and i was accepted as one of the flock...at first i felt like i had made a bad judgment in judge'n the judgers then i realized when it was discovered time and time again thru word of mouth...

within the flock...that i was indeed the unintentionally internationally unknown perform’n illusionist of my own universe and durty gurl of the Minne-Apple...KRYSTAL KLEER…i would be shunned once again by the flock in public or on-line though privately via text or any on-line meat market more than a handful would prostitute themselves for my "ATTENTION"

and from time to time i would give in and disregard my dignity fer dick...however...i would just write it off as my charitable act on the month and to be fair...money was never exchanged...cocktails...cuisine and barely there conversations...yes...but never any benjamins...there by prove’n my point then block’n their A double snakes so i wouldn’t become a complete pity parade

why did i care what they thought? why does anyone care what they think? they don't! it hurts their brain too much to think…what…with their balls 

take'n up so much space...so in conclusion to erase any confusion...they are not trophies but a testament to the torment we all felt as an awkward teenager on any given playground try'n to just fit in

some were a friend...but that's come to an end

they're just an illusion...filled with chaos and confusion

i'm a buff with a puff...and a hella LOTTA stuff

they're just a mess...so just GET OFF MY DRESS!