People Who Make Ya Go "GACK!"

The title link is a moral/human GACK, but the people who make ME go "GACK!" are the pure-breeders. Saturdays & Sundays @ my house are primarily PBS days/nights, but it's not always great programming. This being Nouveau-Riche-White-Trash Central, they are thicker than maggots on roadkill, so the choice in programming isn't a shock, but it is an annoyance. I love cat people, I am cat people, but it's the eugenics-minded BREEEEDERS who make my flesh crawl. To only see value in the animals which you design, in the "pure blood," in the anal-retentive "criteria" for what is "acceptable" in an animal, who should be an independent creature unto itself... to watch these weirdos (generally too much money & free time) IDENTIFY THEMSELVES through their "breeding programs" and how many ribbons those animals "win" --- beyond disturbing. Every animal (except armadillos, poisonous snakes, and Irish Channel & French Quarter teamster rats) deserves to be loved and respected, dammit. Not just the ones who go for $400+.

Biddy & Boy usually enjoy the nature/animal programming, especially the big cats, and I'm sure that they'll enjoy this much more appropriate endeavor, about "The Wolf That Changed America," but I'm proud to report that they slept through that entire frou-frou cat-show shit.

CC's post about Rollins' new adventures led me to a link on HuffPo about Katrina Children, suffering the fallout of genocidal no-bid contracts on those piece-of-shit trailers (remember the formaldehyde?), which I read as the poufters and prancers went on and on, ad nauseum, about the precious priceless cats that "they" had "created." Talk about your nauseating juxtoposition. While the current series about the Britsh Monarchy has been exceedingly pedantic and voyeuristic, oohing and ahhing about the jewels, money & manpower wasted to prop-up the pomp & circumstance, at least QE2 has EARNED respect, that woman busted her ASS during WWII and after, holding that country together after the Blitz, giving terrified people hope and making sure that the bastards didn't win. I can think of a billion better ways to utilize the resources of PBS & BBC, not to mention the MILLIONS of gallons of jet fuel, pounds sterling, and labor wasted just for her Birthday Celebration, but at least the woman puts in an honest day of work.

But to read about my people, the people of New Orleans, the survivors of Katrina, having to watch their own children suffer & die as the aftermath of a federally-mandated genocide, whilst a bunch of very-sheltered/spoiled white people prance around with overpriced inbred "purebred" cats, as I know how many cats, dogs, birds, horses, you name it, were left behind during Katrina, and what the rescue margins were after the fact --- makes me borderline violent. Smug, Bush-loving, yuppie scum.
I saw what the women & men of the LSU Vet School & Ag Center did, I watched them busting their asses even as FEMA was appropriating THEIR money, to match these traumatized animals with their humans, to find shelter for the ones who couldn't be reunited, and to care for the sick, injured and dying. I took multiple truckloads of supplies to them, I slipped the director a wad of cash when the FEMA dorks weren't looking, because they'd even seized her PETTY CASH and day-to-day OPERATING FUNDS. There are too many animals in the Gulf South, in Louisiana, in New Orleans, and beyond, for me to give a flying rat-fuck about a bunch of pretentious idiots in Houston who'd rather spend thousands on show cats than to contribute a DIME to ferals or strays. Fuck your purebreds, devote some of that time, effort & money where it's NEEDED, you arrogant twats.

So LPB and PBS can kiss my ass on that note.

Just Another Day In Fucktardia

Two days, L'Hotel du Fucktards & teh surrounding environs of Fucktardia (West Redneckistan Parish) have been under semi-siege, as there's YET ANOTHER escaped inmate from a private subcontractor's enterprise RENTING OUT SLAVE LABOR TO COMMERCIAL ENTERPRISE. Gee, what could POSSIBLY go wrong with THAT?!?!?? Guy's got a 13-year rap sheet, but they're bullshitting us all into supposedly believing that he's a "non-violent offender." Yeah, and I'm a virginal anorexic supermodel.

Anybody who watches PBS knows that this entire area (both Feliciana Parishes + North EBR) is PRISON ENTERPRISES CENTRAL. Angola didn't get that rep by accident. Where once were flourishing slave-labor plantations, are now slave-labor prisons & "facilities" for the insane, criminally and otherwise. And the rednecks around here couldn't GET their little dicks any harder tonight, knowing that their FAVORITE KIND OF HUNTING SEASON is afoot. When they won't even release WHICH PRISON THE DUDE ESCAPED FROM, you KNOW somebody fucked-up BIG-TIME. Oh, and don't believe the NBC-affiliate link in the title. They confiscated his cellphone the day BEFORE yesterday, when he was finalizing his PLANS for the escape (it's never a one-man operation, kids, just ask Steve McQueen), they fucking KNEW that he was headed for the fence, and YET, the fucking morons LEFT HIM IN THAT LOW-SECURITY HOUSING FACILITY --- IN A RESIDENTIAL NEIGHBORHOOD (but of course a lower-income BLACK neighborhood, so who cares, right?) --- TO GO BACK OUT ON THE JOB THE NEXT FUCKING DAY AFTER THEY SEIZED THE CELLPHONE.

Can you say, "DUH?!?!?!?!" I knew that you could.

Yeah, the guy is a convict. Duh. He didn't get there by eating ice cream @ a baptist dinner-on-the-grounds. What is amusing is watching teh republicunt media of Baton Rouge helping COVER THE ASSES OF THE THIEVING, LYING, KLAN-MOTHERFUCKER ALCOHOLICS WHO THINK THEMSELVES THE PRIME "MASSAHS" OF THEIR ENTIRE GOOBER DOMAIN. Well, not so much "amusing" as it is INFURIATINGLY INCESSANT. They make a killing off of the backs of the inmates, and then they have to piss the STATE'S money away CATCHING THE INMATES THAT THEIR DUMBASSED RELATIVES COULDN'T KEEP IN CUSTODY. Ah, nepotism, where would Louisiana be without it... oh, right. Maybe the 21st Century.

One of the drama queens here @ L'Hotel du Fucktards called teh po-po's and told 'em that she'd seen "a man" run into & out of L'Hotel. Seven deputies in seven patrol units, four prison guards in blue fatigues, three town Barney Fifes, and a partridge in a pear tree, all piled-up into L'Hotel du Fucktards parking lot and driveway, whilst I'm trying to take 2 very unhappy tomcats back to their home out in the boonies.

The funniest part, to me, of the TOTAL BULLSHIT SMOKESCREEN, is that the dude is FROM NEW ORLEANS, and yet they're lying their fat asses off, swearing that HE'S HEADING NORTH.

Right.

That motherfucker was across the river before dark on Thursday and is probably deep in the Gretna projects by now, but these jerkoffs are standing around with their thumbs up their asses, like that's ACCOMPLISHING ANYTHING, and when the BR news vans show up, OH! Suddenly Angola guards blossom like mushrooms in bullshit, minus the bloodhounds and the tracking team. Yeah, THAT accomplishes a lot. Long as they get that Angola logo onto teh teevee, all teh white middle-class folk will feel safe & secure in their cul-de-sacs, and the bi-annual rodeo won't lose a dime. Riiiiiiiight.

Normally, I don't give a rat's ass about the inmate escapes (average 1 every 2 months, but this is two in TEN DAYS), but this circle-jerk of a clusterfuck (shaddup , I can mangle my metaphors if I wanna) is not only an egregious waste of YOUR tax dollars (Homeland Security paid for BOTH of the helicopters that Dep'ty Dawg, aka Teh Grand Dragon Sheriff DOESN'T ACTUALLY NEED, 'CAUSE THEY DON'T ACCOMPLISH A FUCKING THING) and of manpower, but THEY'RE NOT GETTING A FUCKING THING DONE. And yes, I'm talking about the same motherfucker who covered-up my nephew's murder. He has more money & power than every Southern stereotype you've ever seen in every crappy movie, ALL COMBINED, with Boss Hogg as the cherry on top. And the IQ of your average kumquat. But he knows how to milk the system, hence the repeated occasions that he's been BUSTED ON LIVE TELEVISION for using parolees and inmates as SLAVE LABOR AT HIS HOUSE, his mama's house, his brother-in-law's house, etc. So,y'know, he knows how to get the money, he just doesn't know how to keep from fucking it up. And he's too fucking tight to PAY somebody to cut his fucking yard.

I know a lot of people in law enforcement, in corrections, in parole/probation, and even jail and prison guards. Unfortunately, I am (at least technically) related to a couple of them. I don't begrudge them the jobs (if they're the ones who actually DO the jobs), but I do begrudge the FUCK out of a state where POOR PEOPLE ARE SUPPOSED TO STARVE AND DIE OF CANCER VIA EXXON-MOBIL, WITH NO PUBLIC HEALTH SYSTEM WHATSOFUCKINGEVER, whilst a bunch of SWAT-wannabe testosterone junkies who don't even have G.E.D.s, ride around in humvees, pretending to be paramilitary, and THEY AIN'T GETTING THE FUCKING JOB DONE, but they make a HELLUVA SHOW OF IT!!!!!!

When it comes to the multiple serial killers we've had SINCE THE DESTRUCTION OF FEMINISM IN THIS COUNTRY (yes, there IS a fucking corollary), including the serial killer(s) that are currently operating in SW LA (well, between Whisky Bay & Lake Charles, so kinda South-Central) they are NOT making the Capitol City news whatsofuckingever. Oh, wait, that's riiiiiight, they're not JUST RICH WHITE SUBURBANITE BREEDERS, therefore they don't count. This one's mixing it up. Gillis only did hookers, so nobody really gave a fuck about him, but Derrick Todd Lee, they pinned EVERY unsolved female murder of the past 20 fucking years on him, SO THAT THEY WOULDN'T HAVE TO DO THE FUCKING WORK, when, even though he's a wife-stomping, woman-hating, mutilating rapist ANIMAL, he ain't bright enough to have done them ALL. Zachary P.D. should've had his peeping-tom, attempted-rapist, wife-beating ass in jail TWENTY FUCKING YEARS AGO, but they couldn't be BOTHERED to DO THEIR FUCKING JOB, EITHER. That's why you had so many women hacked-up like roadkill by that sick, evil, piece-of-shit motherfucker. BECAUSE THE COPS DIDN'T DO THEIR FUCKING JOBS IN THE FIRST FUCKING PLACE. Period. Ask anybody from the Felicianas, Baton Rouge or the Florida Parishes. ALL of the cops knew about Derrick. But it was only hurting WOMEN, so who gives a fuck? OH, WAIT! Now he's doing RICH WHITE WOMEN!!! EEEEEKKK!!!!!! WE CAN MAKE A FUCKING ***FORTUNE*** IN ADDITIONAL STATE & FEDERAL FUNDING TO HUNT *THIS* MOTHERFUCKER DOWN, ***NOW*** IT MATTERS!!!!!!!

In other words, just like the Murdoch Media Model, crime only matters when the suspect/escaped convict is a "big scary black man" and the victims are RICH/UPPER-MIDDLE-CLASS CAUCASIAN SUBURBANITES. I bet that the redneck republicunts who fled up here before & after Katrina never even THOUGHT about the circumference of prisons that ring both of these parishes, when they saw how cheap the acreage was, did they... dumbasses.

They LET this shit happen. The money was appropriated, like five years ago, to build Dep'ty Dawg a new, bigger prison, since the parish is losing its ASS on housing pre-trial prisoners ALL OVER THE FUCKING STATE, but somehow, it never happened. Gee, wonder why... And I'll bet y'all a dollar to a doughnut that THIS shit is the frontal wave of the next PRO-GUN, PRO-KLAN, PRO-PRISON-INDUSTRY wave of tax votes, constitutional bullshit, etc. Just wait. Piyush will be on this shit like, well, like a republicunt on coffers full of other people's money.

Have I mentioned how much I fucking loathe this place? Did I already do that bit? These ignorant redneck republicunts are getting skeerier and skeerier, every fucking day. They're VERY fucking pissed about the next president ("how DARE that colored boy think that he can be PRESIDENT, I don't give a rat's ass WHO voted for him!!!"), they're stocking-up on guns & ammo again, and they're damned and determined to start a race war, even if they have to pay somebody else to do it, the pussies.

What really pisses me off is that this USED TO BE a really cool, funky, unique, quirky little Southern town, where everybody was just themselves, and nobody tried to shoehorn jeebus down your fucking throat, and everybody GOT ALONG. No racial tension, just PEOPLE. No sexism, no hairy-knuckled neanderthals, no THREATENING WOMEN, just PEOPLE. Now it's a fucking PLANTATION OF PRISONERS and teh LILY-WHITE WUSSIES WHO WANK TO THE IDEA OF LARGE, MUSCULAR BLACK MEN IN CHAINS.

Rene' may hate it when I'm right, but let's face it: As unattractive as it is, MY GUT IS NEVER WRONG. 'Member all of those Halliburton secret prisons, in backwater bumfucks across the country? They ain't gonna stay empty for long.

111208 Mourning Craig

11-12-08/1:11A

Mourning Craig

The morons keep bringing me rumors
Designed for naught but torture.
I hope the kumquats are getting
their teeny-tiny shriveled rocks off on my pain.

I'll never know
I'll never have proof of truth
I'll never see justice
or touch that beautiful boy cat again.

It's always the cats I've raised
The ones whom I've devoted/invested the most
love, time, care, effort, affection in...

Some sick fucker is doing the serial killings of my baby cats
just to kill me
more and more
every fucking time.

Smudge, my first semi-feral
tiny little handful of purr
snuggled into my clavicle
heartbeat warm & strong

Pure joy & love, every time he saw me,
vocalizing, rubbing, purring, arching
to get the most from my every touch.

Even as he grew & matured into a
semi-aloof teenager,
he still came to me every day,
and not just for food.

And they threw his little mangled
murdered body into a fucking DUMPSTER
like he was less than nothing
They laughed as I walked the acreage
crying Smudge's name
Their psychotic, moronic, sadistic little games,
lies all around;
I'll never know the full truth
I'll never be able to tell Smudge
Goodbye.

Then not 3 months later, his sister.
Tommie Two-Toes never liked me,
even as a tiny scared baby.
Papi trusted me not to harm his children,
but I couldn't save the badassed bitch queen
from another cold-hearted murder.

I tried to never attach again, but the little bastards
wormed their way into my soul, any damned way.

Beautiful baby Roberta,
leopard spots on her belly,
pure love in her eyes, purr and heart.
I wanted to keep her so badly, to make her my own
(since she'd already hired me as staff anyway)
but of course THAT could never happen.
Thanks a ton again, LandSkanky.

I found her a "home" with callous, bloodsport redneck republicunts
and within 2 months,
she was part of U.S. 61.

They didn't even notice
They never once did care
Just another vermin to them
Another lost child to me.

No serial killer there, far as I know
My guilt kicks-in every time
that I wonder whether she died
in trying to return to me
or trying to outrun another sick-fuck redneck's truck.

There are so many of them,
serial-killer wannabes
sociopaths who target cats
because, to them, it's "FUNNY"
and besides, it's not like "anybody"
will CARE, right.

I lost Marina, Cathy's heart & soul
in trying to save her neglected life
in trying to make that 18-year-old dowager
COMFORTABLE, healthy, ENJOY her last years,
free of the flea plague.

And I fucked it up.
And I saw the light leave her eyes
Only death I've ever witnessed,
let alone in, by my own hands.
I wanted to help her, save her ---
and the bath killed her
and the friendship I thought I had.

And now I'm paying for that (still).
Apparently, for every single fuckup of my life.

I've mourned animals, friends, beloved humans before.

But the kidnapping/murder of Craig
is damned near killing me, but is never merciful enough to ACTUALLY kill me.

Not to belittle my Nannie or Papa or Tater's deaths,
because I'd STILL have happily taken those bullets.

But Craig...
This makes me want to murder
(yes, I still want to murder Tater's crack-whore closet-case killers,
and the now-unlicensed HACK who turned my Nannie into goulash)

Losing Craig is damned close to how I felt when Tater
was taken from me.

I want to not wake up in a hellhole that murders much-beloved baby boys
FOR SHITS & GIGGLES.

Yes, the world has changed for the better in the past 8 days, in the big picture.

But here in Fucktard Central,
all of Obama's best efforts,
it'll never make a dent.
These ignorant cocksuckers still won't
ACKNOWLEDGE THE DEATH OF JIM CROW.

To them, a cat's death is a GOOD THING.
Same thing for a poor human boy.

Small wonder that woman-hating
white trash from DeRidder feel
"empowered" to inflict their vast ignorance &
willful, purposeful EVIL upon this place, those cats, ME.

I wish I'd been able to save Craig's two orange brothers
(dumped here when I was having spine surgeries #3&4 last year)
I wish I could find the scum who threw three tame babies out.

I lost Xena becasue she got here abused & brain-damaged,
and I will pay for that the rest of my days.

But dammit, no matter my billions of failures & fuckups,
on NO PLANET IN ANY FUCKING UNIVERSE IS IT
FAIR TO PUNISH CRAIG FOR MY STUPIDITY!!!!!!

I know that nothing in "life," as they call it, is "fair."

If "fair" or "justice" or "gawd" existed,
I would've taken that bullet for Tater,
that cancer for Nannie & Papa,
that "fan belt" for Smudge & Tommie,
that brain damage for Xena,
that sudden fragile death for Marina.

I've tried to do good, but have ALWAYS fucked it up.

BUT DAMMIT, why do my babies always have to pay?!?!?!?!?

It sure as hell ain't "survival of the fittest" when it's MURDER.

Not one species has been "improved"
by lowlife scum
stealing the lives of Tater or Craig.

THERE IS NO FUCKING POINT.

THERE IS NO TRUE REASON.

THERE IS NEVER ANY JUSTICE.

THERE NEVER WAS A "GAWD."


Tater should've been 21 today,
finally legal for his cigarettes & beer,
free of the junkie-dealer parasites
who sucked his life away
then prancing away scot-free.

He never yet has visited me.
No dreams, no practical jokes, no ghost, not one touch from the other side,
like all of THEM claim to have received.

Why won't he come? Not even in a Bunch-family-style precognitive dream?

I miss his voice, his laugh, his smile, his brain, his beauty;
that huge heart, though never quite pure...
big enough to hug & hold anyone.

He was no "angel," but he was SO GOOD.

He deserved to build a life for himself.

He deserved to be free.


The timing is sickening.
My heart is shattered into a million more
tiny shards over my baby-boy cat,
the same day that Tater should be
celebrating, laughing, succeeding,
growing up, even past his achingly old-soul eyes,
growing up enough to love himself
beyond all of the pain, abandonment & damage.

He deserved the chance to HEAL, dammit.
But the klan cocksucker "sheriff" keeps getting away with it,
while the main murderer is fucking Tater's big "sister."
Yeah, THAT'S fucking fair.
Like she didn't get enough attention when he killed her brother,
like purposefully giving her baby a heart defect didn't make her
enough of a martyr.

And somewhere, out there, some no-dick fucktard
sucker-of-satan's-cock MOTHERFUCKER
is probably still chortling or pulling his tiny pud,
as he gloats over murdering such a beautiful,
bright, loving, expressive, gentle, funny,
amazing baby boy cat.
He was almost like Tater in a cat suit.

And I wasn't there.

It always happens when I'm not there.
Pulling the plugs on Papa & Nannie,
throwing Smudge INTO THE TRASH,
killing Tommie,
turning Roberta into pavement,
putting that .22 bullet into Tater's
beautiful face & mind,
destroying Xena's mind and soul,
taking/hurting/killing baby Craig.

I WASN'T THERE.

I DIDN'T SAVE THEM.

Letter to my soon-to-be-EX-OB-GYN:

Dear Arrogant Racist Class-Warfare Anti-Birth-Control Midget Bitch:

For three fucking years, I have asked you, over and over again, have left phone messages that were never returned, every fucking opportunity, I have asked your narcissistic midget ass HOW TO GET MEDICARE TO PAY FOR AN EARLY MAMMOGRAM, because I've got a "family" history of breast cancer (Teh Dick's sister got it) and yes, BECAUSE I SMOKE. But every visit, every fucking pap smear, every breast exam, YOU IGNORE MY QUESTION, OVER AND FUCKING OVER AGAIN.

ALL THAT YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT IS NAGGING ME ABOUT FUCKING SMOKING, WHEN THAT'S NOT EVEN YOUR FUCKING ***DEPARTMENT***, instead of dealing with my concerns about BREAST CANCER and, oh, y'know, WANTING TO BE STERILIZED.

Instead, you tell me that I "can't" have a partial hysterectomy, BECAUSE YOU THINK THAT YOUR JOB IS TO MAKE EVERYBODY ON THE FUCKING PLANET BREED BREED BREEEEEDDD, and that MY DECISION ***NOT*** TO BREED MEANS ***NOTHING***, 'CAUSE YOUR ***JEEBUS*** WILL OVERRIDE MY OWN LOGIC AND MY OWN MIND and that eventually, I'll "want" to spawn.

Guess what, Gidget?

NOT. GONNA. FUCKING. HAPPEN.

And as soon as I can afford the gas money to go find one, I'm going to find a REAL doctor, who ANSWERS MY FUCKING QUESTIONS and who DOES HER FUCKING ***JOB***, instead of trying to shove her JEEBUS CULT BULLSHIT DOWN MY THROAT.

You have PURPOSEFULLY DEPRIVED ME OF MEDICAL CARE TO WHICH I HAVE BEEN LEGALLY ENTITLED FOR ***THREE MOTHERFUCKING YEARS***, and for that, not only should you LOSE YOUR FUCKING LICENSE TO PRACTICE, you should lose your tits, your cunt, and everything that you think entitles you to be called a "WOMAN." You are no friend to other women, you DENY US MEDICAL CARE, you deny us TRUTH, you deny us our FUNDAMENTAL RIGHTS. You don't deserve to BE a woman. And you sure as hell don't deserve to take money from Medicaid & Medicare for care that you DO NOT FUCKING PROVIDE.

If I hadn't spent a lovely 45 minutes on the phone with a very pleasant young man named Marlin this evening, I wouldn't even KNOW that you've been PURPOSEFULLY DEPRIVING ME OF MEDICAL CARE THAT MEDICARE ***WANTS*** ME TO HAVE. Preventative medicine is a helluva lot cheaper than SURGERY AND CHEMOTHERAPY.

Same goes for the midget idiot at the physical therapist's next door, who's been depriving me of physical therapy (traction for the 2 herniated discs in my neck, so that I don't HAVE to have massive surgery AGAIN) FOR THREE FUCKING WEEKS OF STRAIGHT PAIN --- for NO FUCKING REASON, because SHE DOESN'T KNOW HER ASS FROM A HOLE IN THE GROUND ABOUT HOW MEDICARE BILLING IS DONE.

If y'all see anything about a bloodbath up here (in Zachary or St. Francisville) on the news tomorrow, now y'all know why. Sure, that kinda makes it premeditated, but so was their PURPOSEFULLY DEPRIVING ME OF THE MEDICAL CARE TO WHICH I AM LEGALLY ENTITLED, so payback, as they say, is a MOTHERFUCKER.

Vanity, narcissism, melancholy, sentimental foolishness...

It's not often that casual/spontaneous photos are flattering for me, hell, even the posed ones are a crapshoot. So when I get lucky and actually look good, especially at my advanced age (I was fucking HOT when I was 23, dammit, but gravity & surgeries & steroids & sarcoid are a BITCH!!!), I can't help the urge to record those moments, so that somebody, somewhere might remember that I had my good moments, even if I didn't get to keep them. Kinda like the radio production career that I trained like a masochistic marathoner to earn, and didn't get to keep. Kinda like the spoken-word career that I almost had, but didn't get to keep that, either. Wahhh, waaahhhhh, waaaahhhh, whine-whine, bitch-bitch, blah blah blah. Check out this damned dress, though!
This is the best picture that I took in 1994, when Miriam & I got floor seats @ the Dome to see the Rolling Stones for my birthday. Our seats were very separate (and several rows back) from the rest of the station's staff, which may or may not have been on purpose, but we were not a part of that group. But despite that, with Jack Daniel's Old No. 7 at our aide (the REAL shit, not the wussy yuppie-scum 80-proof shit!), we were feeling no pain and only a few moments of rejection, dressed to the damned nines and making several guys get punched by their wives for rubbernecking as we sauntered to our seats.

These are some of my better Halloween pix, though not THE best, I still have to find those again and scan 'em in, somehow, someday...

"K-Mart Blue-Light-Special Dominatrix" 1993

"K-Mart Dominatrix & Peg Bundy," 1993

"Elvis As Played By A Drag Queen @ A Puerto-Rican Wedding On A Mardi Gras Float In Las Vegas," 1994 (with former dear friend Anwer)

my own (6" too tall) interpretation of "Mae West Lives," 2000.

And then, sometimes, I get damned lucky and wind-up looking remotely human without even TRYING, and I just wanna put it out there into the ethernet, even if nobody else ever sees them, 'cause it was a very small boost for my very dessicated/decimated ego, after a really, REALLY shitty year. When you lose 6 of your supposed best friends AND get fucked-over by almost every single fucked-up member of your so-called "family" in one year, you grasp at whatever fragile ego straws you can find. So sue me.

These are from a couple months ago, with my beloved great-nephew, as we try to "box" with only one pair of inflatable "boxing gloves." More goofiness than sport, but I don't totally suck in 'em. You can't really tell that the back brace is what's making me look like I have a "waistline," but that's okay. Be nice if we had technology that could make me look like I had ANKLES, wouldn't it?

Damn if I don't still miss my HAIR... *sigh* Gonna take another 2 years to get it back, too. Pantene had damned well better use my ponytail for those wigs, y'heard me?

Pantene Beautiful Lengths program of making real-hair wigs for ADULT WOMEN who are fighting cancer. Nothing against Locks of Love (though the scum @ Fucktastic Sam's makes them look really, really bad, at least to me & mine...), but every fucking thing in this country is "FOR THE CHILLLLLLDRENNNNNN," so it does my heart good to see something FOR WOMEN for a change, dammit, and not just in their capacity of Uterus-For-Rent, y'know?

2 more good reasons to retire...

...and I'll explain them later, but I've still got one trap out tonight (11:25P, CDT). Not to be a drama queen, but in case I show up missing or with a massive head-wound, please take note that there are a horde (5 males, 1 female) of crackers from DeRidder, LA, here working on either the new bridge or the expansion of U.S. 61, who are definitely fucked in the head.

Long story, but it's the first time that I've ever heard anybody (much less an ITINERANT RENTER) say the words, "Get the fuck away from here, we don't want no CAT LOVERS around here!"

I shit y'all not. This ain't no Halloween prank, my pranks are a helluva lot more creative than this, when I have the ways & means to pull them. Just ask the mormon missionaries.

Teh crackerz is breedin' worse than cockaroaches. And they haven't just invaded to colonize from B.R., they're coming in from all fucking directions. Who the fuck threatens a fucking ANIMAL-CONTROL VOLUNTEER?!?!?!?! AFTER making "jokes" about throwing kittens INTO THE FUCKING BONFIRE, like that's TOTALLY FUCKING "NORMAL." I was horrified when I saw a travelogue about the Australian Outback, where this one place way out in the SW boonies had a "cat tree," where the locals hung feral cats up to use as PINATAS (I shit y'all not, it was on PBS), but I'm damned sick and fucking tired of fucking ignorant-ass rednecks thinking that cruelty to animals is FUNNY!!!

Fucktarded redneck knuckle-dragging, cousin-fucking, mouth-breathing, beady-eyed, hairy-fisted, cheap-beer-swiggin' CRACKERS!!!!!!!

Anyway, back out to check that trap again. Way the fuck away from THEM. Well, most of 'em were human, but that one guy, he was a total fucking mental case. If I could run a criminal background check on him, he'd probably have a date-rape case in his past, he definitely had that "wimmenfolks ought not to speak up" face. And they were all driving leased GMC Sierras (white straight-beds, short wheel-base) with some swervy-road company logo on 'em. Sitting around a bonfire in the yard of the two rent-houses (well, one house & one shack) behind the Post Office.

Just sayin'. And yes, I still have my blade and my Mag-Lite. Fear not. I'm just saying, in case anything weird happens to me or the truck, y'all know where I went.

Drama-queen moment over, we now return you to your regularly-scheduled programming.

1:11A UPDATE: Welp, retrieved the trap, no bunny-cat, no high-powered rifles from the aforementioned crackers. Very, very weird night. SO fucking sick of this hick-ass town, wanna go back to the city, where the crackers are confined to the suburbs and rip-off bars on Bourbon.

Is it just me? Random thoughts & brain farts...

1. Is it just me, or did Asshole McSenile sound like THE WORLD'S CREEPIEST FUCKING CHILD-MOLESTER --- EVER?!?!?!?!? Seriously. If Hannibal Lector ate Mister Rogers and then shat-out a crazy homeless guy who thinks that he's a sex symbol, THAT'S WHAT IT WOULD SOUND LIKE, that patronizing, overly-"soft," creepier-than-fuck pseudo-stage-whisper, oughta-be-hanging-out-at-a-playground-in-a-trenchcoat, should-have-to-register-with-the-local-cops Megan's Law NASTY-OLD-MAN MOTHERFUCKER!!!!!! Absolutely fucking DISTURBING on about 17 different levels.
It's not just when he says, "MY FRIENDS" every other fucking breath, as he AVOIDS ANSWERING THE FUCKING DIRECT QUESTIONS, though the affected voice for tonight makes "My Friends" sound like an invitation to a cannibalistic orgy --- it was every fucking babbling, blathering word out of his dry, shriveled, lipless-crust of a mouth. Something NEW is very, very fucking wrong with that man. Somewhere along the lines of the domestic abuse on the trust-fund/trophy-wife, but far, far more insidious and disgusting. Pay attention, something big is about to surface on that nasty bastard, kids, and it's gonna make Shitty-Diaper Vitter look PALATABLE.
Yeah, I know, today's attack on Barry was that BARRY is "the angry one," to go along with all of their not-even-veiled racist hyperbole & fear-mongering, so McSenile might've been playing up the Mister-Rogers-On-Bad-X voice to that end, but somehow, I don't think that he's bright or concentrated enough to play a character to that depth. I think that it's far more than subconscious, it's conscious and it's gnawing its way to the surface. Just wait.

Annti's gut is never wrong.

2. I only managed to watch less than a third of tonight's debate, between trying to apprehend a crack-whore who was attempting a B&E on one of the old ladies' here apartment, and of course, by the time teh local piglets showed up, all they did was bitch about mud on their shoes and roll their eyes at me. Second time in three days that I've caught this crack whore in trying to pry-off the screen on that window, first time that I've called the cops, and didn't have my digital camera on me to get evidence. Yeah, I *could* have tried to run her down and beat the fuck out of her with the MagLite, but come on. This is ME we're talking about here. One of those rare moments when a cell phone would've been actually USEFUL, but such is life.

3. Y'know how bad things happen in threes, like deaths, clusterfuckatastrophes, etc.? Well, I figured that Biggus Dickus was #2 and what I'm about to describe would've been #3 (when it was SO a rank, steaming example of a NUMBER TWO), but nooooooo. Losing one of my nearest & dearest friends was #1, of course, 'cause I disappointed her by not turning into SOMEBODY FUCKING ELSE, then Biggus Dickus came to town, and after the OTHER number two was over, the recurring abscessed tooth kicked my ass all morning from 3A on, thereby becoming #3.
Well, it turns out that Unca Dick wasn't the #2 (which he so obviously is, that giant steaming pile of soulless, greed-whore SHIT), DULLARD MCDUMBASS WAS. No, I don't mean John Asshole McSenile, I mean DULLARD MCDUMBASS, my last and final ex. A closet-case cocksucker who caused me to RETIRE FROM SEX, because of the emotional scarring that he inflicted, and because of how I was such a BAD FEMINIST for taking his totally BULLSHIT excuses (the "voices" made him constantly lie his face off, destroy most of my belongings, and accuse me of FUCKING THE ENTIRE TRI-STATE AREA, right. Riiiiiight.) for all of the emotional/psychological abuse that he dumped on me for every fucking day FOR A YEAR.
The pathetic part is that THE SEX WASN'T EVEN EVER --- EVER --- FUCKING WORTH IT!!!!!! Not all of it was because of his inadequacies about his 1/4-Japanese penito, though that was a part of the problems. Most of it was BECAUSE HE'D HAVE PREFERRED TO HAVE A BIG DICK --- INSIDE OF HIM --- than to be the teeny dick inside of me. And when they never let you forget that YOU'RE NOT AS GOOD AS A GUY WOULD BE, that's kinda hell on the ego.
Unlike all of the other motherfuckers who've fucked me over, fucked me up, and just fucking fucked me and split, I didn't talk much about this one, while it was going on or when it was over. I have this 1970s social-worker-era guilt thing that you can't make fun of the "disabled," even when they use that "disability" (in his case, 300X diagnosed schizophrenia & borderline personality disorder, and he was about as reliable & trustworthy about taking his medicine as he was about EVERYFUCKINGTHING ELSE) --- not supposed to mock the "disabled" EVEN WHEN THEY USE THAT DISABILITY AS A FLAMINGLY FALSE EXCUSE TO ABUSE THE FUCK OUT OF YOU.

After that total steaming heap of horseshit that he fed through my phone last night, I'm over that now. I finally got the opportunity, without even raising my voice or my blood pressure, to tell him that I knew exactly what the fuck he was, why the fuck he did the things that he did, why he treated me like DOGSHIT and expected me to LIKE IT, why he hates women, and how much money he STILL FUCKING OWES ME, not to mention the many IRREPLACEABLE THINGS THAT HE COST ME, like 1950s black FiestaWare, things of my Nannie's, my unbelievably small/fragile ego, my femininity (yes, it's true, it did exist at one point, it's not just a myth or fairy tale), and my VERY hard-won sexual security. Oh, yeah, and the fact that he made me HATE MYSELF FOR TAKING HIS SHIT, WHEN I FUCKING ***KNEW BETTER*** and that I was ONE REALLY LOUSY FEMINIST whilst I was shacked-up with Dullard McDumbass. I even STOPPED READING (other than blogs) while I was with that moron, because 1. I never had the time or privacy, 2. He kept me too pissed-off to concentrate on a narrative, and 3. He never "read" anything aside from GAMBLING WEBSITES and MALE "FITNESS" MAGAZINES, so he had to CONSTANTLY INTERRUPT AND HARANGUE ME, EVERY FUCKING TIME THAT I TRIED TO READ.

Reading has always been my very best friend, my entire life. My escape, from whatever shitty circumstances, my defense, when I'm alone and want to be left the fuck alone, in a bar or restaurant, my way to travel the world that I still haven't seen, to meet people I'd never meet here in the 13th Century known as Louisiana, etc. And I gave that up so that HE wouldn't feel STUPID, being a functionally-illiterate high-school dropout, mental-hospital TRANNY HOOKER. Seriously. He wore makeup and grew his thick, silky Japanese hair long so that he'd look even MORE girly than he normally does, so that when the bigger boys plugged him in the barracks, at least he'd get to "consent," though he usually MADE A PROFIT off of it.

If it weren't for Terrible, Le Petite Fromage, Dan, Tammy & Andy (as much as he pisses me off, I still appreciate his snotty ass), I would never have regained my one true love, my love of books and losing myself in them. Joy, suspense, snark, brilliant imagery --- I gave all of that up, to make a fucking WASTE OF OXYGEN "feel better about himself."

Yes, I know, I was a fucking moron. Many of y'all know the PTSD that I went through, living with THEM for 18 months, way back when, and how fucked-up I was when they cattle-chuted me into L'Hotel du Fucktards, so of COURSE I was the IDEAL TARGET for a parasitic sociopath like him. I was hurt, wounded, and lonesome. I was an official welfare queen and would never see a "career" again. My life had no purpose and I hadn't even been able to escape the reach of my two biggest tormentors, BECAUSE THEY APPROPRIATED OVER HALF OF MY SOCIAL SECURITY SETTLEMENT, which was only ONE-TWELFTH OF WHAT IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN. And along comes a young, dumb, full-of-cum little pretty boy, perfectly willing to be my housepet. Stupid, stupid me.

I do feel better, finally getting some of the nightmares off of my chest. I've been holding this shit in for three and a half years, which is a land-speed record for me. And yet, somehow, I have not yet been netted & strapped-down, carted-off to the looney bin. Fucking imagine that. I'm just damned grateful to have the kind of blog when I can occasionally get this shit off of my chest, and to have the friends and readers who won't hold that against me. Yeah, I still miss my "spoken-word" days, but there were sexist pigs trying to pass for "artists" and "hippies" EVEN THERE, who LOATHED me for being so brutally fucking honest, especially when the ones who were supposed to be my "friends" treated me like shit, so nothing is perfect. Even my first radio station was rife with testosterone-poisoning, outright sexual discrimination, overt sexual harrassment (oft times, in front of THE ENTIRE FUCKING SALES STAFF, and my "BOSS" on the programming side told ME to "DEAL WITH IT LIKE A BIG GIRL"!!!!!! Y'know, rather than handling it like the FUCKING ***LAW*** SAYS THAT HE, AS MY FUCKING *BOSS* SHOULD'VE DONE.), very loud & violent threats against my personal safety, blackmail, guilt trips, fuckovers, liars, thieves, and whores. But even for all of that, what I wouldn't give to relive it, knowing what I know now.

I am the queen of 20/20 hindsight. But maybe it's a "good" thing, maybe Biggus Dickus really was #2, because it gave me not one, but TWO opportunities to get shit off of my chest, that has NEEDED SAYING (like some people who, as our beloved Molly said, NEED KILLING!!!) for far, far too long. So thank y'all for hanging in for the whole ride.

#4: If you haven't bought or rented "Bill Hicks: Satirist, Social Critic, Stand-Up Comedian," DO IT NOW. I don't mean, "someday" or "add it to your Netflix queue," I mean fucking TODAY. Even 14 years after the fact, the man is STILL a fucking genius and a vision of the future that we are fucked-with today. And yes, if I'd had the chance to hit on him, I'd have borne his little Randy-Pan The Goat-Boy spawn. He's the only one. That's why it never works out with lesser beings, my "perfect man" died in 1994, and "Prince Charming" was shot-down over DaNang in '69.

Re-creating what someone else had no right to delete

For those who've followed the overnight drama at M.O.B., I did (as always) save a copy of my edit of Jaye's idiotic post. I never mentioned her name in my birfday whine-a-thon, but her paranoia saw it another way. And if I'm going to post her idiocy here for all to see how she REALLY viewed me (however errant that perspective may be), y'all are going to get to see MY RESPONSE, despite her chickenshit overnight DELETION of same. In perpetuity, unable to be deleted by anyone BUT ME.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sunday, October 05, 2008

bite me or here is where I use your blog to tell you off and apologize at the same time? conflicted, moi?

This "post" has been relocted to the Storage Unit, though it should never have been posted at all.

Mark of the Beast is supposed to be the ANTITHESIS of all back-stabbing, insecure-middle-aged batshit-crazies, amateur-shrinks-without-the-accreditation, hormonal-flux issues locations.

I.E. I don't fucking do "cat fights," those are for cheap '50s soft-core porn, Springer, and other assorted white trash. You got something to say to me, say it to me in private. I used no names in my birfday post, you took it upon yourself to embarrass us both by posting this horseshit HERE. If you can't handle the fucking truth, that you are just as, if not moreso, mentally/emotionally/psychologically fucked-up as me, then who in the fuck are you to get on MY fucking blog and WASTE THE WHOLE FUCKING FRONT PAGE preaching to the fucking cheap seats? I don't come to your fucking blog and piss in all four corners of the room, and you're not going to climb up on your fucking cross and play the martyr who "only CARES about you" bullshit HERE.

You threw me away. Your immediate reply, when I spoke to you of depression that I've been battling for a YEAR, and handling pretty damned well, if people are to believe YOUR condescending portrait of me, and it was TOO FUCKING MUCH TO ASK OF YOU, TO SIMPLY FUCKING LISTEN. All of my other friends can manage that, and most of them do a helluva lot more, like not HOLDING IT AGAINST ME WHEN I ASK THEM TO LISTEN. You treated me the way your snotty old rich-bitch friend (who obviously has more in common with you than I ever will) TREATS HER ILLEGAL-ALIEN HOUSEKEEPER --- how fucking DARE I waste YOUR precious billable hours (oops, wait, can't bill legal rates yet, huh, but you know how to give ME a career back, you betcha!), how fucking DARE I EXPECT YOU TO DO FOR ME WHAT I'VE DONE FOR YOU, AND IN HUGE FUCKING SPADES.

I never asked you to come here to "take care" of me or "watch over" me, BECAUSE I'M NOT A FUCKING CHILD. I offered you my minuscule hovel of an apartment during Ike, so spare me the martyrdom of landscaping. I was trying to save your life, not REMODEL IT TO RESEMBLE MY OWN, which, apparently, is the only "acceptable" way to act around my "betters" like you, right?

Tell that to the community college kids, they might buy it.

See, that's not a "cat fight," that's a fuck-off and keep going. You want to pretend that your dying brain makes no difference in your life, you lock everybody who cares for you OUT OF YOUR ENTIRE SPHERE, because you wanna pretend like you're NOT GONNA DIE, like it's not even a POSSIBILITY, so instead, you take it upon yourself to tell ME that I deserve nothing more than TO BE INCARCERATED IN A STATE MENTAL HOSPITAL. You need to study your Louisiana history for a change, pumpkin, 'cause no, Uncle Earl DIDN'T fucking "enjoy" imprisonment, he loathed it every bit as much as every other unjustly-imprisoned person does. Look it the fuck up.

I hate putting shit like this on my blog. That's why I invented the storage facility. But you had to drag this shit out here, to waste page space that could be SO much better used (see how I did my post at the storage unit? Yeah, that's 'cause there are OTHER PEOPLE WHO MIGHT HAVE SOMETHING IMPORTANT TO SAY), when there's more important shit going on than your hissy-fits. I realize that MY hissy-fits aren't universally understood, or even universally entertaining. That's why I built the Storage Unit. This shit you puked-up here tonight, I don't think will even be THAT. You used to be so good, but now, I wonder what I ever saw. Maybe it's just the brain damage, maybe it's menopause, maybe it's your whole bipolar PTSD world, who knows.

But you picked a fight with the wrong fucking bitch. I didn't pick a fight with you, I was explaining how fucked-up my year has been and why I haven't devoted my entire energies to the blog or to politics or to much other than recovering from spine surgeries and trying to avoid a neck surgery. If you don't get that, if you truly think that it IS all about "you," then there's really nothing else to talk about. Not everybody in this world wants a "mommy" or "daddy" to "take care of them" because they don't want to take care of THEMSELVES. Maybe that works for you, but most of us out here, down on the ground, not up on the suburbanite hills, need our FREEDOM and ADULTHOOD, not to be told that our issues or our sadness deserves no compassion, only incarceration. You made it pretty fucking plain that I don't mean a fucking thing to you, so why can't you just let it go?

bite me or here is where I use your blog to tell you off and apologize at the same time? conflicted, moi?

Sunday, October 05, 2008

The friend that alienated you so, whose hand you held through at least two nervous breakdowns a week, probably didn't realize that you are afraid of confinement and meant nothing suggesting that "confinement is for you." She probably meant that she was concerned that sometimes, we are all a danger to ourselves. She didn't mean that being a ward of the state is the best thing we can do, but if it keeps us from hurting ourselves or others or getting a med check and getting straight on the drugs that may counteract each other or create a whole new drug when used together--it isn't bad to check in and have someone check on you while you sleep, feed you three times a day, let you walk around the grounds and generally keep you off the roof.

The friend probably loves you, is probably terrified at how close she can get to your nerves, probably seriously wishes she had driven to your home but could not because she is busy cutting down trees and trying to make an insurance adjuster come over to her house.

But the wear and tear of not knowing how to help someone who is suffering did indeed wear her ass out. Did indeed make her wonder what the fuck was she complaining about when her friend sounded seriously in trouble and keep insisting that her mind was made up, her best option was to embrace her problems because they certainly keep her shielded from the world--not that it is a bad thing, but this is the only rock we live on--and we are either going to adjust or find ourselves and reject conformity. Unfortunately, she also knows that you are wicked smart, could really take better care of yourself and if you aren't locked into thinking you're are shit then you are kidding yourself about confinement. You are confined.

There isn't anything you can't do if you want to--current medical situation or not. But please don't use your current medical situation as your excuse. Be damn clear that it isn't why you don't change your life. You don't have to be happy, you don't have to like people, or even get along with those who are not worth getting along with, but this feeling sorry for yourself because you think you are worthless, useless, damaged goods--and the rant about your shitty family is what that is all about. It isn't about crippling car wrecks and horrific abuse. It is about some sort of "See, I will show you. I will hurt myself by not living the way I want to live so I can prove that you are right, you do think that I am worthless and I can believe your evil reality." You could separate yourself from them rather than complain about how they hurt you. Only people that matter to you can hurt you. Get over that you don't matter or accept that you need them and are stuck with them because they provide you with a way of defining yourself.

You do good things for people and animals. I think you can make it pay. I think you can write and I think you can start a non-profit. And if that makes me a lost friend then so be it. (All right you smart asses, you knew it was me that pissed her off all along. But I don't have privileges to blog at the storage building of MOB.) But I am not going to be your partner in making you miserable because you don't want to be conventional. Don't be conventional, but do not let medical conditions and anything else limit you because you can do it medically disabled or not.

So you might lose the state's support. Isn't it helpful. You don't want to be a ward of the state but you are as long as you hurt yourself in the various ways you do. What might help you improve your health? What do your friends have to be for you? Supportive to the point of watching you waste your gift? All right I support you. But that also means telling you some things you don't want to hear. Like you may have some physical challenges but you can make amazing organizational, focused plans and frankly, I think you are afraid that you might not need to be where you are. You might need to be what you can be.

I was worried. You needed some help and I couldn't get in the car and get there and watch you. I wanted a pro to watch you. If you think that it is the Snake Pit then that is exactly what it is but there is no conspiracy to make you suffer. You are complicit in your suffering and I asked you to stop it or give into it. You don't want to go to a hospital because you don't need to be in one, not because you fear confinement. You like being stuck between where you are and what you could do because, "freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose." You won't give in but you won't give birth to what you are. So you are in labor, in pain, and are stillborn. So your family thinks you are shit. Why do they have to be right. We know they are wrong. So get free of them. You can get better insurance through your talent to run a non-profit. You can write grants. Get to writing. You can move people. Get moving. You can get grants through women's' organizations, you can get student loans, you can get a damn grant through Paul Newman's dog food products to open a shelter.

I was at a shelter today and I can assure you it was a cluster fuck.

I love you and I am going to keep loving you even if you delete the post, take me off your mailing list, and stop trying to communicate your anger to me. I can take your anger, I cannot take you crippling yourself.

Now, shut the hell up about me, and make up your mind that you are done living in mental pain, live with the physical pain which is probably the mental pain trying to get out. Decide to take care of yourself, get on with being a god blessed witch and force of nature and fix the things that make you ache so you can quit aching and look yourself in the eye. The animals need you. The world needs your writing. Or you can sit there and decide that the people who make you mad and make you disappointed deserve to watch you choke on your anger. You aren't making any of us as miserable as you make yourself.

I love you. I don't like what you do to yourself. I don't like how you treat yourself. I don't like it when you close you mind to your power, your abilities, and your gift for embracing things like health, education, physical strength to help you rebuild your mind and body. When was the last time you went someplace safe to walk and walked long enough to feel better. I am not going to be a negative mirror for you. You hurt my feelings, too.

Labels: gee watching is fun, isn't it?, public cat fight

Posted at 2:34A by Jaye Ramsey Sutter on THE WRONG MOTHERFUCKING BLOG TO START SHIT WITH THE ANNTICHRIST.

Doomed suck-ass birfdays and other narcissist whining

I want a new Ramones shirt, the original seal logo (size 3X) (Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, Tommy, not Marky), because I never got my first one back after my nephew was murdered in it, 3.5 years ago.

I also want to start a fund to save-up for my Tater tattoo (memorial), that I've fucked-around and never managed to get in 3.5 years, because I owe it to him and I will never get over it.

My birthdays are, 89% of the time, DOOMED. Either nobody shows up at the parties that I've thrown FOR MYSELF, (ages 8, 13, 19, 28 & 30) when I thought that I had enough friends to actually HAVE a party, but as usual, overestimated my worth. I've had two and a half GOOD birfdays, when I was 22, and my roommate Miriam & suitemates & friend Julie surprised me with a cake in the bathroom, and when I was 24 (floor seats in the Dome for the Rolling Stones with Miriam, both of us drunk off of our asses and me in the hottest dress that I've ever been able to actually look good in); the half-a-decent-birfday involves a 21-year-old guy who could breathe through his ears, who my doomed 30th party not quite horrible. But he, like so many others, woke up, sobered up, and ran, screaming into the night, away from me. Well, actually, it was broad fucking daylight, which is SO much more fun.

In the past year, I've been fucked-over by a scumbag closet-case lawyer; treated like royal SHIT by the hypocritical catholics at the most feudal excuse for a "hospital" on the fucking planet; had the Fallen Uterus bring her CHILD-MOLESTING ALCOHOLIC COKEHEAD PIECE-OF-SHIT PRECIOUS SON-KING INTO MY MOTHERFUCKING HOSPITAL ROOM WHILST I WAS UNCONSCIOUS FOR A FIVE-HOUR SURGERY WITH MY GUTS SPLAYED OUT ON THE FUCKING TABLE, SO THAT HE COULD STEAL FLEXERILS OUT OF MY MOTHERFUCKING PURSE!!!!!!!!; had HIS eldest child, my FORMER niece, lie about me and fuck up not only MY entire life but also those of my cats; and I've lost six close friends in the past year, not one, not two, but SIX.

Al Hill, I (and the world at large) lost in June of last year, and if that shit wasn't fucked-up on every motherfucking level, I don't know what was.

But THEN there was the condescending closet-case who talked to me like I was a retarded dog, probably because I didn't have a penis. Then someone whom I still miss, who still sends goody boxes but no correspondence, pretty much just dropped-out of my life. One of the people whom I've most respected, as long as I've known her, but I'm not even worth an explanation or a severance letter. Then there was the guy who saved my computer (and probably saved copies of incriminating photos that are no longer on my hard drive), the guy whom I considered one of my best friends ever, who then instantaneously decided that I was less than human, because I believe that child rapists do not deserve to waste my oxygen. Wished that he'd never met me. That quick. In a fucking heartbeat. As usual, I obviously overestimated my worth to other people, I thought that I was his FRIEND, not his fucking ENEMY. Still fucking hurts, aside from being utterly ludicrous and otherwise against all tenets of reason and logic.

Then a former in-person friend, phone and e-mail after she went "home," DROPS OFF OF THE FUCKING PLANET FOR THREE FUCKING MONTHS, leading me to believe that she's either O.D.'ed in a gutter somewhere, robbed & gang-raped by her so-called "friends" up there who KNEW that she was being raped as a child and yet DID NOTHING TO FUCKING ***STOP IT***!!!!!!! Felt like somebody cut off a fucking limb. And then, magically, she POOF! reappears a couple of weeks ago, spouting shit that makes Scientologists look "logical"/"realistic", like she's been doing ALL OF THE *WRONG* DRUGS, and pretending that her DISAPPEARING OFF OF THE FUCKING FACE OF THE FUCKING EARTH was nothing more than a "minor inconvenience." Nope, sorry kid, don't fucking work like that. You give me a fucking stroke from worry, without so much as a note in a bottle or a fucking postcard to let me know you're fucking ALIVE, even if you don't wanna speak to me ('cause, y'know, I might FUCK UP THE MYTHOLOGY THAT THOSE BULLSHITTERS ARE IMPLANTING IN YOUR HEAD --- open your mind TOO MUCH, and YER BRAINS FALL OUT!!!) --- and no, I don't just "get over it." Fuck you. You fucked me, now fuck you. Loved you like a fucking sister, and no, not like the hate-mongering whores who allegedly "are" my biological siblings, like a REAL sister, and you just pissed that away like it was broken Mardi Gras beads.

Then my one and only in-person best friend IN THIS ENTIRE FUCKING STATE, someone who'd babysat my cats after the February fuck-over, who'd made my cat-wrangling possible, who'd made my LIFE possible by making me feel like I actually "belonged" here, unlike every other single motherfucker in this toxic-soup of a state. It was half my fault, half hers, but the fact that she wouldn't even talk to me about it, that she threw my things in the garbage (including the best nightgown I've ever owned, 100% cotton and softer than a baby's butt), that she wouldn't even let me properly apologize for my part in the tragedy... that damned near killed me, but of course, the fates are NEVER fucking merciful in my case, they never WILL let me fucking die and get out of this punitive "life." I still think about her all the time, still miss her, and as far as she's concerned, I'm dead to her. I should be so lucky.

Then there's the last person to haul-ass away from me, the one who rejected me in a way that makes my so-called "parents" rejection from CONCEPTION seem like a WALK IN THE FUCKING PARK, the one whom I thought was the most LIKE me, which is beyond unusual, because I'm a hyperlexic freak alien who's never fit-in anywhere in my life, though New Orleans came close. I've never met ANYONE who's actually LIKE me, but we shared PTSD, we shared horror stories and head trips put on us by others, we shared a lot of the same scar tissue. I was there for her, for everything. Two nervous breakdowns a week, on average, on the weeks that she actually spoke to me. I was always there, and I was ALWAYS on her side, willing to break legs and gnaw jugulars to protect her. So when I reach out to her about the hellacious depression that I've been battling for a fucking YEAR, without talking about it to ANYBODY, because really, who wants to hear that shit??!?! --- she tells me that Earl K. Long "enjoyed" being INCARCERATED IN STATE MENTAL HOSPITALS by his whore/social-climber "wife" and her relatives, and that I SHOULD DO THE SAME THING TO MYSELF.

KNOWING what I'd been through, those lovely 6 days in East, the most draconian "mental health" facility on the continent, at my last suicide attempt in 1997, she still tells me that shit. Knowing my claustrophobia and control issues and fears, she tells me that my feelings don't matter for shit and that I am inconveniencing her by asking her to be my FRIEND and just fucking LISTEN, and that I should become a WARD OF THE STATE OF LOUISIANA.

'Cause, y'know, THEY DO SUCH A BANG-UP FUCKING JOB WITH EVERYFUCKINGTHING ELSE!!!

So that's my pity-party for the year. There won't be a birfday party, there won't be any surprises, and with the Fallen Uterus in MONTANA (off on a little lark of a road trip with her massah Dick...), there ain't gonna be a cake or cupcakes. I want cash. I want my Ramones shirt, I want a carton of cigarettes, and I WANNA FINALLY GET MY TATTOO FOR MY DEAD NEPHEW. It won't fix anything, it won't make me a better person, it won't do a damned thing to support any REAL charities, but it'll make me feel a helluva lot better.

I've been addicted to tattoos for 17 years now, and I haven't gotten a new one in FIVE years, and need cover-ups on THREE different abortions that were TOTAL FUCKING RIP-OFFS, but most of all, I need my Tater tattoo. It's catharsis, it's an endorphin rush, and it's an homage. And if I weren't such a fucktard, I'd have found a way to do this on my own by now. His birthday is on November 12th, and I'd like to get it before then, if possible.

And thus concludes my narcissistic hissy-fit/whiny-baby bullshit for this doomed damned birfday. Contribute at the MOB PayPal button if you can, send me dirty postcards if you can't. Just remind me that I'm not a total waste of fucking oxygen, as the rest of the world seems to think. Yes, I'm pathetic, but we already knew that.

Gustav Pix, 090108

This is what I got before the camera died, anyway.

Anniversary? What anniversary?

Just like last year, what's left of my brain has gone into lock-down, juggling all of the other problems so that I don't have to think about Katrina.

And there's plenty to be worried about, scared of, or just plain fucked-up about: Gustav's projected to fly right up my ass (no, I do not expect damage, unless a tree flies into the GMC, but others around here have reason to worry, especially those in outlying areas), though I think that he will, like others this year, track slightly west of the predictions. The worst thing this far inland is a hurricane that spawns-off tornadoes, and in a state that still largely wrapped in aluminum and formaldehyde, that ain't no joke.

Teh republicunt MSM of this state make SUCH a fucking point of coming all over themselves as they point out the "brilliant preparations" of their fellow powers-that-be are making, like Vanna White on testosterone and strap-ons. They spent FOUR MINUTES OF BILLABLE AIR-TIME talking about ELLLLESSSSYEEEEWWWW (LSU) TAILGATERS, who are "BRAVING" the storm (which won't hit Baton Rouge before tomorrow night) to GET DRUNK IN PUBLIC AND HOOT AT ONCOMING TRAFFIC. As much as I miss drinking, I don't think that I'll ever miss it THAT fucking much. "Oh, look, we're just LIVING OUR LIVES, 'cause WE KNOW HOW TO PREPARE FOR THIS STUFF, AND OUR INCONVENIENCE, IF ANY, WILL BE MINIMAL, BECAUSE WE'RE GOOD REPUBLICUNT CONSUMERS!!!"

Piyush rents "hundreds" of tour buses "in case," FEMA and its Skeletor motherfucker Chertoff is in Orleans vibrating like a coke whore, and (Formerly)Blonde Niece has probably already been deployed to street duty in the Lower 9. Oh, yeahhh, they've got this shit WRAPPED UP, they're never gonna let 'a few dead people' embarrass THEM again. If only it didn't have the stench of mercenary self-interest about it, if only it didn't reek of "IT WAS ALL KATHLEEN'S FAULT!!!", if our magnanimous gubner (keep yer eyes on '08, you WILL be meeting this motherfucker, because the GOP has an ASSLOAD of money invested in him. Like McSenile's new running mate, he'll be the perfect "answer" to the white, bigoted, capitalist-swine history of the post-Civil-War republicunts) was doing this shit because he actually GAVE A FUCK ABOUT POOR PEOPLE WHO STILL HAVE NO TRANSPORTATION, I might be tempted to think that this was about more than the fucking campaign.

You know how they'll portray "Bobby" in 4 years: The great penile rescuer, who "saved" Louisiana from "gawd's" wrath/storm destruction AND brought "economic stimuli" to the state. The antidote to "MeeMaw" Blanco. He'll be their pocket-sized (unauthorized) replica of Barry.

YES, EVERYTHING IS ABOUT FUCKING POLITICS, BECAUSE OF THE CORRUPT MOTHERFUCKERS TO WHOM WE'VE ENTRUSTED THE MOST IMPORTANT JOBS.

We share a country with people who think that A FOUR-CELLED WAD OF PROTOPLASM IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE LIVES OF ACTUAL HUMAN BEINGS. We rub elbows every fucking day with people who would just as soon run over us in their fucking humvees, if they knew how we voted from looking at us (and don't think that they don't stereotype and wish they could plow us under like a Long Island housewife!). One of the "real people" (a condescending fucking term if I've ever fucking heard it) who spoke up for Barry last night MADE A POINT OF EXPLAINING how she ONLY turned away from teh republicunts BECAUSE OF THE MONEY SHE, HERSELF, LOST. Not because of any of the horrors that they've perpetrated upon the world, not because she values her almost-gone civil rights, and fuckin'-A RIGHT she didn't leave "Nixon, Reagan, Bush and Bush" BECAUSE SHE WAS TIRED OF THE BACK-HANDED CLASS WARFARE, THE OUTRIGHT SEXISM, AND HOW SHE, AS A WORKING-CLASS WOMAN, WAS *DEVALUED* BY THE MOTHERFUCKERS SHE FORMERLY PRAISED. She left because of the dough.

No, we don't live in an idealogical bubble where our best intentions, hope, and good deeds will cover the mortgage or the rent when the shit hits the fan. No, having money or not having money does not determine our actual value, either. But the coldly-calculating methods I saw at that convention (not to mention the HORRIBLE excuse for sound editing) made me sick in a whole other way than republicunts make me puke up my toenails.

When in the FUCK are we going to STOP TRYING TO BE LIKE THEM?!?!?!?!?

When are we going to stop letting obscene greed be our measuring staff, so that we'll be "accepted" by the rich, popular kids? When are we going to re-grow our spine, kick the corporate whores AND the lobbyists out of the democratic party, and WORK FOR WHAT WE REALLY FUCKING BELIEVE IN AGAIN?!!??!

I have no fucking idea. Oh, sure, they hit all the right talking points (gag), they praised all of the right groups and their needs (*sigh*), and they stood up tall and proud in Wall Street suits, to show that WE'RE ABOUT THE MONEY, TOO, BUT ONLY 'CAUSE WE'RE THE GOOD GUYS.

That's the problem. Money IS how you get shit done, all of the petitions and posters and marches in the world can't do what the properly-funded charity or activism group can do. We have learned this much the hard way. But why in the FUCK can't we go back to doing it OUR way, instead of their Gordon Gekko way? Efficiency, my ass. We're still the self-conscious, sensitive kids who need to be "liked." Nothing that we say matters unless it is approved by a huge population of followers. We have to be "popular" (Nancy Pelosi) instead of EFFECTIVE (Hillary Clinton). We have to APPEASE the bibul-bangers who HATE OUR FUCKING GUTS, because that somehow makes us "better" than their bigotry. Yeah, sure, there's OODLES of "progressive" xians, right. Ask 'em how they feel about a woman's right to privacy and primacy over her own body.

Oh, we can't alienate "The Heartland." Y'know what? I bet if we could RE-EDUCATE the heartland, if we could SHOW THEM THE TRUTH, if we stop placating them and TEACH THEM. You know why so many people cleave unto the bosom of giant cults? BECAUSE THEY NEED CONSOLING, they need somebody to tell them that they're "good enough." They're every fucking bit as insecure and fucked-up as we are. We just tend not to spit upon the families of dead soldiers. They think that they're so fucking "pure" and "right," because to think for themselves would be to put themselves out there, on the line, in the line of any sniper rifle. It's safer to pair-off like Noah's Ark. Even if the person you're with is batshit fucking crazy, you're still a "better" person if you got yerself a MAYUNN. For the guys, though, it has to be ARM CANDY, the chick that their buddies wanna fuck. And even that isn't enough protection from scrutiny. They still must belong to a bigger group, a group that says, "You're BETTER than THEM!" The ones who call themselves "libertarians" are really just the same people, they just want to LOOK like they think for themselves.

I'm not a people person. Duh. I can't build coalitions. I'll never be Edwin Edwards.* I'll never be Jimmy Carter or Huey Long. I can sometimes get other people behind the same causes that I care about, but I have no fucking idea of how in the hell that I pull that off. I'm not a uniter, I'm just one cranky bitch.

And in our current culture, that's the last thing that you're supposed to want to be. Don't believe me? Watch the reruns of "Sex & The City."

But others of us CAN do this shit. They can teach the people who hate us why we are more alike than we are different. No, it won't work everywhere, it sure as hell won't work in Louisiana (outside of a metropolis, anyway), because they are too fond of their hatred to release the death-grip on it. They still want to wear their "adopted" (like a Chinese baby) fleur-de-lis pins and pretend like they know anything about New Orleans, when they've done nothing but HATE ON New Orleans since Reconstruction. They'll deny it to their last fucking breath, but go home with them, talk to them in private, away from critical eyes. On their home turf, that's all that they've fucking got.

I really don't like the timing of the democratic convention, because they only wanted to remember the 45th anniversary of The March On Washington, only the victories, never the defeats, right? No, I wouldn't be sitting here, able to say this shit, if it hadn't been for MLK, Malcolm X, Angela Davis, don't think that I'm downplaying The March. But no truth comes from only remembering the conquests. Yes, I am still shocked and horrified when I see footage of what white people perpetrated upon black people, when I see it happening right the fuck in front of my face. I tend to forget, in day-to-day life, that I'm "supposed" to be a cracker. That's what my "family" wanted, that's what I was raised to believe, that's what the public school system in Klan Central inculcated. It just never fucking worked for me, because I just didn't function like that. Maybe it's the hyperlexia, maybe it's Mrs. Pearline, maybe it's Tawannye and Mrs. Grant, I don't fucking know. Maybe it was watching "too much" television back in the social-worker-euphoria '70s, when we still believed that, despite the rot at the top, government programs really could still make the difference. You get that populist shit in your head, it's hard to get out. But the world today tells us that that's not "good for the profit margin," that "big government" is the "enabler" that "allows" people to live in poverty. Yeah, that's it. Poverty happens to people BECAUSE THEY FUCKING DESERVE IT, for not being capitalist greed-whores, for not being willing to fuck-over everybody they know to "get ahead." Pull the other one.

Personally, I'm not ashamed of what Huey & Uncle Earl Long accomplished. They were no fucking saints, any more than Hillary or Barack are pure as the driven fucking snow. But they knew that POOR PEOPLE WERE FUCKING PEOPLE. They weren't "the service industry" or the kids who only "deserve" TRADE SCHOOLS. They were the people who truly held the power, maybe because there are just SO FUCKING MANY OF THEM. Us. We keep buying the FUX "news" bullshit that THEY, teh republicunts, teh bibul-bangers, are the "majority," and we damned well know better. WE are the motherfucking majority in this country, and it's about fucking time that we started fucking acting like it.

Sure, my nipples would get hard over the idea of trampling the sheepul into the fucking dirt, but then, I don't wanna be the Stalin who fucks up the whole concept. We need them. We should try to teach them, to bring them out of their self-appointed "right side" and back over to "the dark side." And not just because it'll allow us to gloat about being "better people" for it.

BUT THEY DON'T FUCKING OWN US, and we have GOT to stop acting, thinking, feeling LIKE THEY ARE. J.Edgar would have a tent under his dress big enough to hold Barnum & Bailey's, if he could see the fear-mongering BULLSHIT that they've shoved down our throats, to keep the middle and working classes OBEDIENT and BUSY WORKING.

Fuck yeah, I'm still pissed about the way that Hillary, and most women, were treated over the past 2 years. I'm still pissed as a MOTHERFUCKER to be called, even in the slyest, most "subtle" fashions, a motherfucking BIGOT for not jumping onto the Barry bandwagon at day one. And there are men who call themselves "liberals" whom I will probably never forgive for letting their dicks run their brains. Especially when their brains are capable of so much better.

But that ain't the only fucking thing. Even the genocide after Katrina ain't the only fucking thing. It still hurts, it's still a fucking rusty pike through my chest, and that probably won't ever change. It is, at this point, a perfect example of "compassionate conservatism," it ISN'T a fucking TALKING POINT to be used to milk that genocide for polling points. Even the sexism and the audacious OBNOXIOUSNESS of McSenile picking a "BROAD" as a running mate aren't the point. (Teh local republicunt teevee stations praise her "refusal to bash Hillary!" like that's A FUCKING MIRACLE PERFORMED BY A MOTHERFUCKING SAINT.) While I hope to hell that the "older white women," whom McSenile is trying to "steal" from the democratic party, don't fall for that BLATANT LAWNMOWER-SALESMAN TACTIC, 'cause it'll fuck us all if they do --- that's still not the whole or only fucking thing.

There's too much fucking work to be done, to let the bastards, even those who claim our own party, keep us down. I refuse to be ashamed of having chosen Hillary over Barack, I will never forgive the powers-that-be for locking Bill Richardson out ENTIRELY. But even I, the woman who can nurse a grudge to the DEATH, have to move the fuck on. I know that some men will never come back to us, they're fucking CONVINCED that we "bitter old feminists" are the "death" of the democratic party, and they'll pat us on the head while they're doing it, but no matter how they do it, they're still gonna try to fuck us. BUT THEY'RE NOT ALL OF THE MEN. They're not all of the democrats, they're not even all of the Americans. They aren't the majority any more than the fucking bibul-bangers are the "majority." I may not be able to kill them with my bare hands, but I don't have to let them hold ME back, either.

And believe me, that first option is tempting as hell. "You can't divide the party!" You can't get your head out of your nutsack.

Such is life.

And death.

How in the HELL that that motherfucker wasn't impeached on September 2, 2005, I will never fucking understand. Why "our" people in Congress didn't rip him a new asshole and throw the original up on the ceiling, no idea. Don't get that "go along to get along" mentality what-the-fuck-so-ever. Especially when the people who voted for their fucking asses are now DEAD AND FLOATING IN THE FUCKING STREETS.

There is much work to be done, and many towtrucks will be needed to do the overhauls. And if one more motherfucker tells me that I'm just "perceiving" any of this shit "that way," I'll be stealing a towtruck TONIGHT.