Monthly Archives: October 2011

Stop with the macramé


I live in a GLBT nexus here in the Pioneer Valley and I love the diversity. 🏳️‍🌈

Public same sex kissing and afffection is an abundant eye candy, you don’t find most places.

If it wasn’t for my repressive Catholic upbringing I may have even been bisexual, by now.

I love freedom of expression and I embrace diversity.

That said, one thing I hate is when your freedom of expression interferes with my freedom to breathe.

You granola-earthy-crunchy-pot-smokin-bitches deciding to make an art project and braid your armpit hair into some sort of macramé thing, needs to stop.

Can you not smell yourself?

I mean when you have a colony of circus fleas taking up residence on you, there’s something very wrong.

Get acquainted with a razor and cut that bush back.

And while you’re at it, get a bar of soap and bathe, ’cause ya smell, and it’s not good.

I’m not sure if it’s your diet of tofu and garlic.  Are you trying to ward off vampires? ’cause girl your warding off everyone around you.  Hell it’s causing a gag reflex when I even sit near you.   Honestly, one would have to be in such a dope induced haze, not to be close to you and not notice the smell.

And it’s not just the garlic, that smell….its intermingled with sweat , sex , and a pot cloud that hasn’t been washed off in weeks.

The patchouli oil you wear does it no justice.  It only adds a dirt smell into the mix.  It can’t cover the buds you’ve been smokin’ and the smegma in yer panties.

Remember.  Soap.  It’s does the body good.

Rant over.

Time For a Good Ole Book Burning on the Village Green

Shel Silverstein is hands down one of the best children’s authors ever.  I own just about everything he’s done in print; hard copy.   And I’m fairly certain that when my Little Debbie goggles wear off, the book will remain one of my favorites.

In light of the recent events of my train wreck love-life, I recently re-read “The Giving Tree.”


Can I just say that I HATE that tree.

“Take my apples.”

oh just plunder all my assets and leave me naked in the forest, boy.

“…you may cut off  my branches….”

Take a chainsaw to my limbs and watch the sap run down as I bleed in agony….

“Cut down my trunk….”

Fuck me up the ass and leave me nothing but a stump for you to take a shit on…….

but I’ll still love you boy.


and then the tree waits and waits like a good empathic tree with no self-esteem does, and pretends to be happy being a used up stump.  and in the end ” the boy” comes back when he’s done using all the whores and he’s old and can’t fuck anymore and sits on the stump of a tree he’s used.   because she has no self-worth and wasted the best years of her life pining (no pun intended) for a boy who never loved her back.

The classic un-requited love story?

No, the classic romanticized portrayal of an EMPATH, DOORMAT FUCKED UP WOMAN, POSING AS A TREE

I dunno, this post could be coming from a distorted perceptual lens generated by marked glucose spikes from me consuming  a rather largish bag of M&M’s for lunch today and a couple of King-sized candy bars for dinner last night mixed with a Little Debbie cake.  It’s the Little Debbie goggles isn’t it.  Or is it just another angry rant about getting conned by a sexual sadist narcissist with sociopathic tendencies.  Or do I just have an axe to grind with trees.

Someone either pass me the kerosene and a match or give me another fucking Little Debbie cake already.

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