You know, I’m proud of the junkies from the dirt path up to the junkie with a pretty habit cause I know they voted. No one ever asks about more services (social) for the knocked up crack heads or the pill poppers. Who fights for them? Grossly underpaid and very stressed out social workers who need new office chairs because while the addicts lost their weight and a real live dead skeleton would weigh more, social workers (my mom for one) worked hours and years and decades and now have the asses of, ummm,oh yeah inner tubes I use to swim on as a kid. They deserve compensation and a damn good reason why…yo no se. I voted around 8 pm. Father had brain surgery on Sept. 13, 2012 and he arrived to his house last week, well, he fell and broke his femur My awesome husband drove me to the hospital in York PA (an hour and one half drive)–my dad is a fukin bionic man. 7o years old, three brain surgery’s, prostate cancer (in remission) and I think it all started with a hole in his lung (I never said he was the Marlboro Man). He retired from his job of 20 years just this past August. Hope everyone is well. Thank you for reading my blog. If any of you know why a vagina’s and ass hole resemble one another–kind of in holes and out holes, really make my day and put your spin on things. Go Prez!!!
I’m a Bubble Ninja-I Pop in Your bad Eye ANd The Other I BLind October 17, 2012
One day I fell in deep like with “to blow” some bubbles on the thick green patch of lawn at my disposal at school
Unfortunately, for the bubbles and I when I blow them they burst in my eyes.
The next day I blew bubbles in spite of the whites of my red and irritated eyes.
The following day it rained and a depression shot downwards into my spinal cord as cold and as quick as life matters.
I picked up my bubble paraphernalia; I blow bubbles because I’m on this earth to do exactly that.
Not to blow bubbles asshole, but to repeat the same mistake–with every implication of insanity
Again and over again–if only I shit rainbows or ate razor blades–I blow bubbles with each one to burst in my eye.
Like I said, repeat the same mistake and fuck myself parallel. Got it?
Picture: Gabrielle Rossetti “FlamingJune” So sumptuous.
One Flew Over, I Fell Off and Broke my Brain… April 19, 2012
You know to hear a lovely “cuckoo, cuckoo,” during
each free blessed hour out of a beautiful authentic bird
outing–though very brief, but every hour, a time-keeper;
I can neither assert or deny that what effect on
other “clients” in the State Facility– the nervous
sordid wreck of the masturbating, hiding underneath
their beds, running in their skin suits into the day
room and/or lining up in the day room for a fire (setting)
drill )– the sound “cuckoo, cuckoo” I prayed to my dog
would cause bi-sanity. I only hope the sound drives the “techs”
cagey and batty as the eight hours or at least sixteen (double shifts)
cuckoo’s every day for yearsuponyears, til twenty–when they serve the
State’s twenty year employment package deal, and moon the client’s
upon the last footstep to freedom, instead of tinnitus because of an
awesome music career touring all over the world; the techs hear
“Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo,cuckoo, fuck you, cuckoo, cuckoo.
One last lovely thing, ah yes, they remember my shit eating grin from 2002-2004.