November 01, 2004
Election Day Game: Give Bush a brain
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Posted by: asda | May 21, 2007 5:33:20 PM
Tell Ra he wins and there is no god. Fat, dumb, cleaning woman didn't show him up. Who's a 7 day fool? Enjoy your victory.
Posted by: Wendy | Nov 15, 2007 11:56:46 AM
On second thought, "enjoy" may be too harsh a word. Anyone who thinks an elected "official" has any "power" in a "country" the size of the "U.S.A." probably believes in werewolves. You know werewolves, don't you darling? They have hair on their ears. You can get electrolysis for that. Let's get married on Wednesday. Why? Because it's Wendy's favorite day of the week. It's when Wodin, the Thunder God comes out to play. Only I don't want to get married. I like handfasting. It's where you stand in a cemetery, over the box that contains the bones of your dead father and he tells you that it will take two paper clips and his brother to hold this dog down because he couldn't keep it zipped if he worked for Levi's, and it was in his job description. Oh, and Daddy also said that when you're lighting a man's cigarettes, and he burns you, and then he laughs, then the headaches on him - and mines gone with the wind and the poem I burned in my butter dish is too. It said, "Larry is a Warlock, and Wendy is a witch. When they have children, they will all be "Hell's Angels"." Yes. I did write poetry for you. How do you like me now? Am I toasty enough? And keep the cottage. There isn't a key big enough for that door. Too much information. I answered my own question. No. Ra doesn't love you. But you entertain the hell out of him. Well, darlin, you were fun too. But the headaches just kept getting bigger and you shouldn't have laughed. Have fun with your bush.
Posted by: Wendy | Nov 15, 2007 12:11:44 PM
Did you notice how I put your name in upper case and my name in lower case in my last epistle? That was un-intentional. And I do it to myself, when I'm with you. Instead of sharing in each other's power, I become subservient to yours. And you liked it that way. That's why we can't be friends sweetie. I'd hate myself for being less of a woman than I am just to pander to your Vanity. And while the pleasure was mythic; anticipation divine; the sex was, was, was...well? Pick a number. Any number. Go from one to nine. Was it good for you? I don't know? You never said? You never had the time because I never shut up? Well, you could have asked me. You were a 9. Your brother would have been a 10, but he never asked me. He just smoked you out from here to *******. He did me a favor. Tell Cara she could lose the cigar. He's hot. Anything else? Thanks for opening my door. I'll know better next time. No, there'll never be another you. You're the tops. After you, every man I look at will be um...diminished in mine eyes, and oh God...I'm going to miss the truck. And you did put a smile back on my face sugar. And you shouldn't have laughed. I think we're even. And I was going to write my baby and have a mope, but I think I'll watch the news instead. Channel 6. And our song is now officially, Trace Atkins, "That's not my truck".
Posted by: Wendy | Nov 15, 2007 12:41:17 PM
Do you think they really incinerate stuff at the bottom of the incinerator chute, or do you think they let the rats chew on the sheet I just threw out?
Answer: Don't worry about it. It didn't burn me. It almost burned my nice new jacket, and my cousin gave it to me.
And that's the last time I pull my punches for you sweet cheeks. Remember Tristan and Isault? He probably grew cabbages and she liked carrot soup. It's just the luck of the draw. Ho hum. Tell me who to vote for please. You know I can't hold two names in my head at the same time.
Your ex-good friend,
P.S. Nope. That's it.
Posted by: Question: | Nov 15, 2007 1:01:23 PM
That has a nice ring to it. I like it. Better than your watch. You are now my enemy and I am...not plagiarizing somebody elses' gem, if you get my drift. I disinfected the apartment and then I (yes. even the phone.) Then I realized that I didn't want to be responsible for you with a noose around your neck, or dead at the bottom of a lake, both of which references have shown up with alarming frequency in my letters to my beloved relatives. And while I hate your guts enormously, I wouldn't want to remember you as blue and pasty. (You were bad enough when you had the flu.) ((Even though the fish would find you tasty.)) So we were the lovers, and stop sending me e-mails pretending to be someone else cause I caught on to that 5 Betty's AND a dot ago. We are not friends. We are not lovers. We are enemies. I still like it. It has potential. Plus hooks. And maybe even claws. Do you want a weak, quivering, shaking woman who kneels at your feet - or do you want to cross swords with Boadicka? Cause I didn't like the shaking part, and I don't like that you liked diminishing me to enhance your performance. (I know I've said it twice, but I like it this way better.) Any, Boadicka is in town. She lost. Ra had a big party. Everybody, including Italy, rooted for you. And then...she uh...well...went the way of...all...cartilage? Was I referencing me or was I referencing you? Who cares? We're all fish food. And I was missing the sunsets, and I really missed the beach and you had to go and **** it up for a cigarette with lipstick. *******. Enjoy. Enjoy. You KNOW you enjoyed yourself. And I have half a fish in my candelabrum. What have you got in your labrum? Do you call her Wendy? Or is she another one of your friends?
Posted by: Anonymous | Nov 15, 2007 1:46:38 PM
It's spelled Septra and it's for bladder infections. It is NOT a yeast infection and it is NOT an STD. (I'm Dr. Atkins.) You probably got it from your last girlfriend, who wasn't pristine, like me. I think her name was chlamydia, but I'm not sure. Anyway, there ain't none on me. I tasted it myself and I'm yummy. And you don't die from bladder infections. You die from over-eating. Just ask me.
Posted by: Dr. John Atkins | Nov 15, 2007 1:54:49 PM
Some things you just know that, if you don't get them off your chest, you're going to be up all night tossing and turning. And I've got half a headache from hell, because your sister keeps trying to get in my head, so kindly tell her that I've had a metal plate put in since our last encounter.
I know you're asking yourself where you went wrong Ra. It was 7 years ago. Almost to the day. You were laying on the floor of your office. There was a black out/brown out through most of the States and all the way into Canada. And you wrote on your blog, "What did I do to be punished like this." I'm assuming it was rhetorical.
You introduced morality into your own immorality play. You? Punished? When there is no God? I can just see God up in heaven going, "Oi. What a putz". Were you that bored? What happened to you Ra? Where was the love? You had a good thing going for you, and then you had to go and introduce the concept of good and evil. Yourself. It's as if God farted. And I smelt it. And you were dog meat from there on in. I can handle an honest Christian. But a lying atheist son of a bitch who believes that all the lights went out because of something he said or did? There are no words. Your ego is, as always, gargantuan. But don't worry pet. I won't tell anyone. I'll keep silent as the grave. My lips are sealed. Mum's the word. Don't worry. I've got your back against the wall. 7 year itch my ass. I'll see you in 14. Hope you won't be too wrinkled to come UP and see me sometime.
In your dreams - darling.
P.S. Thanks. My head feels better already.
P.S.S. Can we leave Barry Bonds alone already? I think he's hot.
P.S.S.S. Tell Cara I'll get back to her on the house. I'm thinking mom might go for it if you clean up the yard yourself.
S.P. She hates dogs and kids too? Who knew. I loved your dad's picture. Never met the man. How should I know if he's playing chess with my dad. But since my dad would give me 100 bucks to go to russia, I know that he'd wake the dead to look out for his baby girl. My dad already thanked yours. Cause my dad has excellent manners, and knows who all his children are - unlike yours.
Posted by: Wendy | Nov 15, 2007 4:05:04 PM
I noticed I left out the word "way" in any and the "e" in Iseault. And Russia should be a Capital R. I think that's it. So I'm left with "wayeR" So if we capitalize W, like we should have done, it becomes "WayeR" and if we cut off your tail, like we should have done, it comes "Waver", and if we take out the r, cause we wants to, it becomes "Wave for the camera's sweetheart. All eyes are on you. You're it. Have you got a fastball in reserve? Any curves to throw at me? How about a screwball? Nope. That's me. Give it your best shot honey. I find total submission works for me. I gave you everything you asked for, and you didn't even give me a karat, much less the soup. And the cottage will take my life savings and that of my mother. Tell Cara I'll give her 185,000. And that if she dickers, I'll go down, down, down, down, down. And the boyfriend gets the big garage - and Cara gets to decorate it - and everybody's happy. Oh, and by the way, before I bid adieu (I'm doing the death scene here. Don't rush me.) When you go to the doctor, get some Atarax 50 mg. The doc will give you 25 mg, but if you don't ask for higher, he'll give you lower, and the smaller doses don't work nearly as well. It's for itching honey. See I walked into my kitchen and I started itching myself all over - and I knew that it was a message from beyond for you. And someone will tell you Benadryl, but that shit doesn't work. Atarax does. And forget the Calamine. It's like boiling water when the baby's coming, only you can't use it to make tea. Sleepy now. Glad I met ya. Shouldn't take long to forget ya. I'll steer clear of the English from now on though and hang with my own kind. You buggers have a lock on the mind game thing, best I've ever seen. And I've only been playing for 6 months or so, but I know when I've been...well...ye kicked the pins out from under me laddie wie yer great big boots, un no mistake." My regards to the family.
Posted by: P.S. | Nov 15, 2007 4:26:36 PM
As far as apologies go Ra, that one kind of sucked hind tit. I went to the dark side of hell to come get you and was wafting my way back to some semblance of normalcy. Hell is a little hard on the head. You came up into the light and showed me the river of pleasure. But we were back to back on every other issue. I rearranged my entire church/family/social world to include you in. You included me out, except for Corey. You delighted in being invisible. And you only found my door bell when you could spare a moment or two. And your best trick was the way you could back out of my world in 20 seconds or less. And worst of all, I don't think I turned you on hon. You weren't interested in me. Not much. Not physically. The only time I saw you really excited was when I licked your chest and found out you were ticklish. That's a you thing. And I've had better backrubs from my hairdresser. I wanted to learn your tooth, and find out why it was crooked the way it was; and count up all your scars; and hear the stories; and touch the medals of honor; and meet...and I'm listening to myself. I may have gone to hell and back but I didn't learn a damn thing. I'm still a "what would Jesus doer tramp". No. I won't throw roses at you. I won't accept them at all. And I made up a story about how veterans didn't wear poppies on Remembrance day if they actually shed blood on the battle field. And it should be a true story, because they helped the poppies grow, but I'm probably wrong. And then I stabbed myself with the pin from the poppies to make my wrist bleed - but they make dull pins, those old soldiers, and they know that girls will sometimes be impulsive. It aches a bit? But it keeps my mind off other things. Oh. Thank you for rigging the legal test so that I appear, on paper, to be a genius. And if I color a star in crayon on a piece of paper and pin it to my chest, does that make me a justice of the peace? You know it doesn't. And I thought, yeah. I love him. And I was laughing and smiling at you while you were congratulating yourself that you'd gotten by the "HOW many extra women can I sneak by her while we're together." As many as you want. Just not me. And I wasn't that good anyway. I'd say maybe a 3. But there are lots of women out there. I'm sure they'll appreciate being called whatever it was you said when you found out I told your boss you were quitting next week. Well, not directly. But I put it in the grapevine. So I guess I won't see you around next week. I think it's better that way. Let the healing begin. I didn't think you liked that job anyway, but I forgot to ask. Sorry.
Posted by: Wendy | Nov 15, 2007 5:01:15 PM
I keep forgetting you're a lawyer. Yes. You had me sign a legal binding document that says that you are a good worker, and prompt and have a good attitude. And then I forged on, and gave you a reference and pretended to be an employee of a company you "used" to work for. I perjured myself and then I signed it. And you're keeping it in your wallet so that when your buddies ask you about me, you can pull it out and say, "See. She's crazy about me. She'll never sue. Cause that would be the smart thing to do. What could I sue you for by the way? (Yes! Somebody think it at me. I'm good at this.) But I'm Canadian. We don't do that. Check the stats. Maybe a little, but it's not nearly what you guys do." Anyway, you could find my people and point to my writing skills and say, she's on disability, but she could make a living as a reporter anywhere in the world so she's cheating the system. You get 2 out of 3 honey. I did tell you about my memory loss. You know that I can write. But did I tell you about my doctor's appointment on November 14th. I probably said it went fine. But Nancy wants an MRI and a CT scan and a new neurologist because there is a documented inoperable tumor on my brain? I kind of don't think I did, cause I don't like to scare people, and for some reason, when I say that, they don't know what to say except, "I'm sorry." Please don't. It's just a glitch. And I just bit down on my chocolate raisinette and hurt my tooth. Why do my fillings keep falling out? Is it all the anti-convulsants I've been taking? Anyway Ra, I never went to law school and I know you're sick of handing out free advice, but since it is vis a vis we, I kind of wondered? Is a document signed by a person like me admissable in a court of law? Or is it admissable in the men's washroom? Or should you just go flush it down the toilet now, you bad, bad, boy. I'd go for the latter, but what do I know. My tumor is probably pressing on my amygdylla right now, telling me to scratch my gluteus maximus and cogitate for a spell. And when I went to your house Ra, you bought pizza, but you left the soda in the fridge. Why was that? Didn't you think I'd like a soda with my supper? I forgot about it, but you didn't offer it to me again. Did you think it would be fun to make me to ask you for a drink before you gave me a drink? Kind of like a two fer? I'd work on those manners if I were you. When I offer a guest a drink at dinner then I have the grace to remember to give it to them when the pizza comes. And I have to work hard at remembering shit like that. It's only the things that go WRONG that I remember, and this missive has gone on far too.........I have teeth and the fillings are out and they're sharp. And you can come see me any old time. I've decided to give you a second chance.
You know where I live.
Your chere amie.
And it's not a brain tumor really honey. They call it a lesion on my frontal lobe. It's nothing to worry about. It just controls my emtional thermometer, which is why I can go from hot to ICY to flat line. And the psych people think it's growing, which is why I need a new neurologist and a new MRI and a hospital nearby. I did tell you you ass. And you didn't believe me. You really don't know me very well...and by the looks of things...you never will...unless you get to heaven...and I hate to have to say it Ra, but I don't think my dad likes you enough to even look up from the chess board to see if you're there. I told you. I always tell the truth as I believe it to be. And my truth, is usually a lie, because I don't have all the details, and then I have to change the story. Then, when I learn, I re-write the story to include what I've learned. I believe it's called learning. You should try it some time. And when I gave you my mother's number, and said that if I dropped dead you should call 911, I told you the literal truth. And I was amazed at how well you took it. So, I'm glad you didn't like me that much. I liked you. Please note past tense. Forever.
P.S. My imminent death is probably not that imminent.
P.P.S. It's just a brain dummy. A plane could crash through my window at any time.
P.P.P.S. You thought I would joke about something like that?
S.P. Good thing you don't like me. I'd be in shock if it was you. But, now that I know what a liar you are, I wouldn't believe it if Dr. Upton himself told me.
Posted by: Wendy | Nov 15, 2007 5:54:39 PM
I know. Too much information. Fish food remember? And I like the beach. And I like the sunsets. And you were fun. And I really needed some, so you were perfect for right now, but not for next season. And - I was your good deed. Every boy scout should do one. Me. One. Whatever. Thanks. Burn the wallet, get a watch and phone your mom. She misses you.
Posted by: Wendy | Nov 15, 2007 6:23:25 PM
Yes. I know. You make a very bad enemy. In this case, I think you should make an exception. And I'm not being cute baby, when I saw that I make a very bad enemy too. I think we could be pen pals. It doesn't hurt my stomach when you laugh at me on paper, and I don't get a headache when I don't understand what you're trying to say and do. (There are so many facets to your character.) Could we be Pen Pals? I know it's cheesy, but I'd like to write to Larry and complain about Ra and maybe scope out Tony. He's cute. And, I get lonesome sometimes. Not many people can keep up with what I say except for you and a friend of mine from the old days. So, you have my e-mail address. Could you send me an e-mail I can believe. Not from Betty or Dot, or whoever. But from someone we both know. Is Kamikaze around? I miss him. And I picture him as 55 and fierce, so I can say anything to him. Please? For your brain damaged ex-friend? I can't navigate your site and see what you do, but Kami can, and he can fill me in on the highlights, and I get something interesting to do. And half the time, when I'm talking to you, I set the conversation, I make the charges, I answer the questions, and I'm doing it all to myself, and if it was sex you know what they would call it. But I'm tired of that. I'd like to talk to somebody. And I liked Kamikaze a lot. Is he free? Unattached? I'm not hurting another woman by speaking intimately with him? And just by the way, my computer is not accepting or sending any e-mails right now, except to your web space, so I have to believe that you're controlling my world - again. I wanted to send a letter to my daughter. Next, I forgot to call my daughter. And then I forgot to call my mom. And I tried to get my doctor to write me out a note to guarantee that I would be dead in two years so I could get into my pension money? And she wouldn't do it. So then I asked her if I could get a note from her saying that I would live for the next two years? And guess what. She wouldn't commit to that either. So I figure if my computer isn't working and I have no friends, I'm going to have to go into long term care. At least there's people there. Kamikaze sweetie. Please? I'm at email@example.com and I'd love to hear from you. xxoo Wendy Lea Spoelstra. And my friend knows that someone replaced my hard drive in the dead of night when I was asleep and now the send and receive buttons on my e-mail only work when they feel like it. So you have to ask Ra if it's okay. But at least the music is still there. I need it sometimes. xxoome.
Posted by: me | Nov 15, 2007 8:07:15 PM
NEXT I FORGOT TO CALL MY DAUGHTER? Is this another one of your stupid tests? I don't CALL my daughter. It's $8.99 to call a cruise ship you moron. Oh, I prank call it once in a while, and get a second or two on with the purser to piss him off, but call my daughter for $8.99 a minute? Do I look like I'm made of money here?
Yesterday morning I woke up and I saw a beautiful vellum page of a book in front of me and just knew it was going to be a good day. And it wasn't.
This morning, I woke up, and I heard the words in my head, "Mom's having an affair???" And it was my daughter's voice, but the phone wasn't attached. So yes, I hear voices.
Yours brothers sussed it out for you honey so try to be a little gracious beFORE you tried to punch a hole in the wall. We're so terribly, terribly good with words - and so ridiculously slow with the other stuff. And they thought it had gone on long enough, and they thought you were getting attached to me.
We're great on paper. We're mediocre, at best, in real life. It works that way sometimes. I hear Dicken's was a real...and all those...wives? And think of little Nell.
Anyway, the last time I called Leah, I called the Diamond Princess instead of the Golden Princess. She gave me the wrong number. And I don't know what the right number is. And then she gave me three choices to pick from, and said she thought the second choice was Mexico. So that was, like, doomed to failure.
I'm going to my mom's today. And mom will wish me well. And I knew about the Irish potatoe famine and I knew that the English landlords let the people who rented the land from them starve to death, but I didn't know that the Scots? had a hand in it? And I can't flip back to your page, or I'll lose my choo choo of thought. (That's the way it works for me.) So I make it up as I go along. So, the Irish are still angry at the English and the Scottish because their great, great, grandparents, whom they have never met, and will never know, and who are dust, in the wind, were assholes some 100 years ago? So, why do you keep on breathing in honey? Don't you know that you're contaminating your lungs with Englishmen dust? Hate is like that. It sucks away all your air. (I keep making typo's now. I'm forgetting to put in e's and t's. Am I greetin? Nope. I'm saying goodbye. No Kami, No you, and many thanks to your brothers and Cara. And if Cara isn't your sister, I'd pick her for you. She has your gifts of persuasion.
Shit. I'll be fine. I've lasted this long. What's another sunset. Good enough for me. And you, you, you, you, you? One woman wouldn't have lasted you for a week. And don't give me any phoney "I cared about you" jargon. It was a game hon. We won. We found each other. We couldn't stand to be in the same room with each other. I got in a little over my head and your family came to my rescue. Now they'll come to yours. They know that everyone hates the Dutch, and they know that I'm not dead yet, so, it will give you a reason to hang on see...finding a way to punish me for making you look callus in front of an entire country. You're not callus baby. You're a little shop worn is all. And I deserve to be punished. After all, this isn't a soap opera you know, and brain tumors? They don't happen in real life. But putting a line in MY work, when I didn't put it there? And bringing my DAUGHTER into it? You crossed so many lines there buddy, that you'll never make it to Texas. And you said you were a truck driver and I believed you because I wanted to. Those guys have saved my life out on the highways so many times, that I wanted to believe you could to. Well you can't and my brother won't. So when I go to see my dad, I'll put in a word for you, but just because I think your mom would want me to. Eventually. After she forgives you for not calling her last week when I asked you to and you wouldn't because she would have known where you were because she has caller number something I.D. (I get techno shit eventually.) Why would someone say they needed to call their mother, and then not call their mother. I don't care anymore. I just think it's a crying shame. We love our babies, especially when their assholes, cause that's when they need us the most. So mom's. Call your babies. Sometimes, they can't see that the street lights have come on. And then, when they do - they're blinded by the light. Good night Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are. And tug, tug of the earlobe to you Carol. Don't talk about Lucy. I think Ricky was mean to her, but she's in a better place, and he's playing the bongoes. Bye.
Posted by: Wendy | Nov 16, 2007 3:59:25 AM
Whew. I'm at my mom's. Well actually it's my sister's, but you know what I mean. And mom made me see the light of day. And then I went out on her front porch and had a cigarette or three and thought about us, and wished I had a joint, but they make me go to sleep, and the neurologist's won't let me have any because - Imovane cost's more and supports the drug industry. Go figure. Anyway Ra. You get a bye. You will, of course, have noticed that I did not say Goodbye - which means God be with you, because I wasn't feeling very CHRISTIAN at the time. But you get a bye. Because, while I was out on the porch, and while my brain gradually returned to its resting place, and while I was thinking about my penchant for adoring men who think one perfect rose is not nearly as much fun as a bouquet of ragweed - I realized that - if I was in a court of law and supoenaed on the stand - and you know this babe -if someone of the lawyerly persuasion said to me, "Did he **** you", and if I thought about it very, very, very carefully. And if I left out the lipping the cup, and rolling the dice, and sipping the elixir of life, and kneading the dough, and finding the front door, back door, side door and the three perfect moles on your right shoulder (plus a few little brown ones that were just cute), in a court of law, and with my hand on a bible, I would have to say no. And then I said, "Whew", on my front porch there, because I didn't know how we were going to get out of that one. I really didn't. Like Bobby Ewing. In the shower? I mean, corny or what. But I was toking on my cigarette, going, great, another 7 year famine before I see Egypt again, cause that's how long it takes for my fields to heal. And I thought, "Wait a minute. What we did wasn't *******. I know what ******* is. And we didn't. And I wondered why you didn't use a prophylactic and now I know. You had no intention of getting it into the cup - and you left off the plastic so you'd remember - because - you are awful careful about washing your hands baby boy. So just thank Ra. Thank Ra. Thank Ra. I had some pretty bad moments. But, once again, it was all in my head. I thought wonderful mind and you thought challenge, I thought fascinating man and you thought funny, I thought joy and you thought Wendy? Wendy Who? Spoelstra you dick. And it will be a cold, frosty, friday in Vancouver before you see my breasts again. I'm making croquets for my sister now. It involves slicing up meat with a very sharp knife. I'll be thinking of you. Lose your head for one second and there's a man tripping all over you. Girl what were you thinking. Sorry mamma. I wasn't thinking. Good thing he comes from a decent family. I know mamma. Mamma? Mamma? I keep forgetting my punctuation mamma. It's okay baby. It will all come back. Just go have some coffee. It's a stimulant you know. You'll feel better in the morning. Mamma, it is morning. I meant tomorrow morning. Tonight, you're going to have such a headache you won't know what hit you. Sorry about that Ra. You know you don't hold your licker well. Too much pat, pat and not enough hug. Goodbye. (I'm disrespecting your lack of religion here, because you disrespected mine once or twice, but I'll try not to do it again.)
Posted by: Thank uh...you know who. | Nov 16, 2007 6:27:04 AM
I just had another smoke, and I figured out how I do my occulomency thing? You know where I said it would be a frosty friday in vancouver before I saw you again, or some such thing. Well ffv stands for fish food; venice. In venice, my baby's ship had a fatality on board. So I was stressing about the death thing. But you're not the dead man on board sweetie. It's the shrub you're thinking about. I finally got over to the 2 dog night and saw what you were righting about the arabs crashing into the towers? Honey. Were you the last one to know again? Hasn't anybody told him. We were talking about that at church last Year for pete's sake. So. How can I say this without offending everyone. Can't be done. So, if you took out everbody in the world who wasn't from the U.S.A. and then had to choose who had the ability to orchestrate that many planes and that many towers, who do you think might have done it? And how many of them do you think are still alive? And honey, you are such a sucker for the sick woman nurse schtick that it's a little sad. The minute there's a baby, or a handicapped struggling woman, or an anorexic who just won't eat, you're all over her, just like Oprah. I refuse to be your pity party. And I don't like Oprah either. And who cares? She does not. And I don't like her, I **** her. Fill in your own blanks. And honey, nobody blames the American people for what your government did too. But everyone is worrying at their lips, wondering why you don't throw the sons of bitches into the fiery lake where they belong. And you needed a good Christian woman to show you the way. Hell won't have them. Heaven can't see them. Your governors are invisible, and you may well be the only person who believes you'll ever see those bunnies again. Plus, I think it's time you brought in a man of honor to run your country and everyone knows their the lyingest bastards ever born. The dog collar on your African American envoy isn't distracting the U.N. like it used to. And while I'm hoping she's disgusted like the rest of us, she ran with the other pack too long for me to be sure. I like Bamma. Go get me some. And no, that doesn't beat the Dutch. I am of their ancestry, and we aren't stupid. We were just biding our time. Don't worry about it okay? Mamma just **** herself in the bathroom, and she rinsed it out, and I took the undies and hung them on the line, and now I have to go get the brown broth for the croquettes and make a white sauce and getting ready for Christmas, and I'm not thinking about it. If you're hearing it for the first time, you might want to sit down for a minute. And repeat after me "conspiracy theory, conspiracy theory, conspiracy theory". Some people find it helps them. like i love u 2.
P.S. Scots wha hae. (sp?)
P.S.S. Trace Atkins - I've got my game on.
P.S.S.S. I don't run for. I don't run from. Come get me. And I want more than pizza next time.
S.P. Yes. I know. Sons of bitches is much to good a word for them but I've got a lot of shit in me, and I'm not a son and I'm one, not 3 and of is a proposition? Anywasy. Its has nothing to do with me and that's the way I likes it. Call them what you like, but their odor begins to offend. And I cook with these hands. And now I have to wash them. Don't make me speak of them again. Arabs? It's Christmas for God's Sake. What would Santa think? There isn't enough sand in the world to hide those planes. Even the kids picked that up. And you think they don't learn anything in school. Shit sakes. Don't get me started on this. Religion and politics. Might as well go...shoot you in the foot again. My niece is getting her husband a gun for Christmas. Next year he gets the bullets. If he behaves himself. Ass hole.
Posted by: Wenda Lea Spoelstra | Nov 16, 2007 7:21:55 AM
Ra. You can't be Bamma. He's got a tan. And you don't. Did you just want him for your Vice -because he told the truth about himself while all those other Voldemorts were pretending to be sons of bitches? Cause we like sons of bitches don't we. And we want a son of a real bitch to bring in the hammer. And the "frat school boys" aren't hammers. But you're a son of a bitch. And I come from the hammer. And I am apolitical. But bamma is my pick. Who's yours.
P.S. Oh I am so close I can almost taste you.
P.S.S. Add a little salt.
P.S.S.S. My leg is jerking again you asshole and you're a million miles away.
S.P. How about take out. I feel like some curried lamb.
Give me a headline I can read next time. My eyes are getting hooks in them. My eyes. Two hooks. Let me see what you see. I think we're two halves of a hole baby, but we may be connected at the anus. You suck it in and I blow it out the other end. (You may edit this at will. I know I get a little testy when I lose a lover, and gain an interest in a beach front property with shit all over it.) And those weren't children doing that Ra. They were grown ups. And they knew better. They knew much, much better. I bet your suicide rate just spiked. Or did it. I want to know. ttyl Angry - but oh - so - alive...
Posted by: Me | Nov 16, 2007 7:36:18 AM
Ra hon. I'm a little confused about the topics under discussion right now, but I am of the opinion that you and are a great together as long as we don't have physical contact. When I thought that we were *******, I was cranking down into my wifely mode? And I lost all sight of the big picture and I started "nesting"??? Which is the last thing I want to do. I mean, I can boil an egg. But I do it reluctantly. And you need a woman you can peek in on and talk to and kind of "bookmark" your way back into reality - cause I know you live on line - and off - okay - but worlds are colliding here. I liked you best when you were talking to me. Which wasn't often. I don't listen well to others. Why don't you do your politics shit - and I'll try to figure it out. I don't trust the numbers, but I'm a little fey - as the Scot's would say. When things are right, they sort of illuminate themselves in front of me while everything else remains in the shade. Your dad's picture shone at me. So did your eyes. But your brother's words resonated. He said, "You're the one stuffing envelopes." I was. I don't think we should do that anymore. Kind of like the football player before game day? I don't want us to lose our edge. This - oddly enough - is - more - important - to me - than watching you wolf down a cinnamon bun. I don't know how that's possible, but, it is. Watching you eat makes me smile. Watching you wake up the world makes me sing. And since I lost my voice from smoking too much and I hate wearing dress clothes and being someone's accessory - how about we just be friends? No benefits. I'll pay for the cottage if my family will invest in it with me. And get the toys off the lawn and that little garden shed thingy. It offends me. And take a picture of it too. Cause it's a wicked price, and it's the size of a Barbie House, and it's crooked too, but someone is sure to say that it was a campaign contribution or a bribe. And I aint running for anything. And I would have you at twice the asking price. And you never asked. And I'll tell the world. Are you with me?
P.S. Notice that I'm waiting for you to answer.
P.S.S. Still waiting.
P.S.S.S. Has anyone ever looked up the definition of the word sex? Cause I haven't and I don't want to. I just know that when we do it - all my power leaves me, and I become your helpless slave. Do you do this to all your women friends, or is it just a "benefit" of being your friend? And do you get this gift from your mother's side of the family or from your father's side of the family. And - damn - I think your mamma likes me. Give her my respects please. Tell her never to expect me for supper. And love to the boys.
Posted by: Hmm | Nov 16, 2007 8:08:04 AM
I have just had the bestest idea in the whole wide world. Honey. Please. For Christmas? You know all those people in government who got walked out of their jobs, after that airplane accident? I know there are lists. There have been a lot of lists lately. And I don't like checking them twice. But all those people? Honey. Don't you think that in the time off that they have had, because they gave a rat's ass about people they didn't even know - well, I'm sure they might have moved on? But I'm not certain. Betrayal tends to change people so. But, if we're playing Risk here and forming a government - don't you think it would be cool to make up a chart and write on it all the names of the people who were above junior - and then fire them? For (write something up. You're good at rules). And then replace them with people who were fired for opening their mouths? Cause I like those people. Hon. You're the factoid man. Who got fired. They used to be called losers. Then they were called survivors. Betcha any money they should be real honest to Santa son's of bitches now. After they've had time to think about it a while. Uh huh. And you have to keep the country running baby. I need my coffee. And don't go nuts on this okay. We don't need any pogroms. Just find out who in government got fired after the phone rang - and ask them if they'd like a job. No. I do not stuff envelopes. Other people stuff envelopes. Oh, go stuff yourself. And your brother too (who is not a dog by the way.) Not your mother. We be pals. You be chillin. Me be badly in need of a coffee. How many ways are there to leave your lover? I can't think of a one. But you're not good for me darlin. You're...dynamite. And you scramble my brains but I'm out of butter. Your name should be Georgie Porgie. Run away. I mean it. And do it now. I love you. I'll regret this forever. Bye.
Posted by: Me. | Nov 16, 2007 8:37:17 AM
Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie,
Kissed his girl and made her cry,
When the boys came out to play,
Georgie Porgie ran away.
The old nursery rhymes were written by mother's to explain their sexuality to children. Georgie Porgie is a penis. Pudding and pie are vagina and labia. If you played with it, it made you cry out for joy. WHen the testicles became involved, the sperm came out the heaad and ran away into the vulva. Go to ground George. We be chilling. You did not inhale. And you did not make me cry. You gave me a headache. It's so over...u
Posted by: typo | Nov 16, 2007 8:45:07 AM
I met a man in a bar once. I was 18. He was 30. I was with girlfriends and we were being oh so brave. And it was beer, not booze. And while the girls were dancing, this man walked up to me and said, "Do you know what I am?" I said, "Yes." And he stared at me for a minute and then he walked away. 30 some years later I remember him. He was drunk, but that wasn't why. It's all about me guys. He asked if I knew what he was and I said yes. So today I'm going to ask you if you know what I am. Tell me the first word that comes to your head. Because I wasn't lying when I told the man in the bar that I knew what he was, but I did not have the language to articulate it. Now? I think he was a daemon - come to soak up the atmosphere. Closest I can come. Do you know what I am? I think I'm soaking up the atmosphere, and I am definitely not a daemon, and I know I'm not an angel, and the W word, doesn't even come close. Keep on keeping on. Only so many hours in the day. Hoist that bale. Tote that barge. Ship's of sail, coming through. And get some decent T.V. on for heaven sakes. I have high hopes for the Canadian wierdo series, but I can't remember it's name. But I saw it once, and it's twitchy.
Posted by: Mate | Nov 16, 2007 9:20:54 AM
Ra. I've almost got it. (Still a little shell shocked.) I think that Larry was sent by the Voldemort's to deflect me from my chosen path. And I pillow talked a bit too much for him to get his agenda on. I'm not sure babe. I did everything by the book, and I kept telling him to call his mother and he wouldn't. And then finally he said he "needed" to call his mother. And you know how I feel about the "need" word. And I think he did. And I think she sussed him out too, and sent his brother's to smoke him. I was a little befuddled at the time. I think Larry's mom is a fan. I think she didn't know what was going on, and when she found out, (cause we hear it in the voice), she set me free. Still not sure how. All I know is Larry thinks he's had a thousand women. But he didn't get this one. He may not even ever have had one. There aren't many of us, you know. But Santa, it was close. (You couldn't have fit a horseshoe through it.) But we're not talking horseshoes here. Thanks to Larry's mom. I know we like to wash our dirty linen in private, and I'm sure he didn't give me his real name. He's all yours, and with a little more mileage on his clock, I'm sure he'll be an even better driver than he already is. My regards.
Posted by: Me. | Nov 16, 2007 10:00:59 AM
Just checked the demographics on Bamma and you will be pleased to know that he is revolutionary. And my sister likes him. (Starts with an R.) And she has a daughter who lives in New York State. We have an opinion poll here, from a woman who has a husband who is getting his first gun AFTER he got married. Does this tell you anything? Bamma has the church. Bamma has the home schoolers. And if there's any brains in Ala - then Bamma can have me. For a price. Tone down the smile a bit sweetie. We can see your incisors all the way to Canada. And we like em.
P.S. Note for Nursery School Teachers.
Do not tell children their privates are dirty, bad, nasty and/or private. They are the heart of the soul. They are the place that throbs when they meet the person they will one day call mine. That's a good thing, you mealy mouthed hand washers. A very good thing indeed. (Tell them it's where they can feel their heart beat, but they can only find it at night, under the covers. Do I have to do everything around here?)
And who's sorry now? Not me. Not sorry at all. I gave it everything I had. He could have had me. Now he's got himself and a washcloth. And I've got Bamma and Ra has me. And tell him it's spelled Spoelstra when you say, "She's back." And he says, "Who's back?" And you say, "That witch." And I say, "Who's a witch? Not me. I'm an ACRONYM" ITBOC. Ra. This one's just for you. It has Christian antecedents. Way back. Think the crusades. Hope you get it before Santamass. I wanted to use in the belly of the beast, but I thought that would give it away. Thorn in your paw, my Androcles. (And don't tell me you never did a little hunting on the side.) But I'm a feather duster, and you're my trophy. Get ready to sing to your supper. You're going to enjoy every bite. I hear it's not vegetarian. There may be brussel sprouts. Yes. I'm enjoying the hell out of this. Can you tell. It's not better than sex...but...it...lasts...much...longer....like...and...all...day...me.
Posted by: Wenda Lea Spoelstra | Nov 16, 2007 10:59:19 AM
Stet: I did not see Larry's "eyes". I saw Larry's "eye" and one world shaped "marble", that being a euphemism. When I illuminati things, I need to be accurate. Otherwise, I could not trust myself. And that's just wrong. I think one half of him is awake. I think his other half might be me, but we've been apart for so long that I can't find a door in. And I think his family needs to understand that "killing him if he so much as touches another woman", is definitely going to be in the vows. Or there will be no vows. And he said that his last girlfriend stabbed him. And I laughed. I beg her pardon. I understand it now. He has a gift, and he's just spraying it around in the wind. Power like that needs to focused, precisely, on, me. I'm so worthy. With all due respect to the Scots, Irish and English, I was raised a Calvinist and we have standards. And Glasgewian's may be stubborn, but the Calvinists burned their mothers for curdling the Sunday soup. Yeah. Sure. I know. It's all historical and you know who writes those books? The priests. Who you gonna believe. Me. Probably didn't burn their mothers either. Maybe the aunt next door who got in the way of their plowing the field for oats, while she lived in the hole in the rock that was stuck in the middle of the field. Anyway Ra - I might have been your all day sucker? I hope you get your Bamma. I don't like Oprah. Sorry. She's just too moderate for me. And I would have liked to have seen a good lynching, with a lot of white faces in the noose, but there were just too many of them. Kind of like lice, but, you've been there. It's not a good place. Sometimes, you just walk away and let somebody else clean up the shit. And I know you're not there yet, but I know the church has got the news that it's a radical who doesn't profess a whole lot who has got the ticket. The first thing my sis asks about ANYONE is if they are a Christian. But she thinks Bamma's radical. Who's he running with. Would someone stick it on the front of a paper somewhere? I like to be on top of these things. It may be seatcovers for me. Or not. I'm just so confused. Maybe it's because I'm getting blonder every day? And I use the cheapest shampoo I can find and I throw in some Eucalyptus oil? It cured the dandruff, it fluffed out my hair and it's turning me blonde. Illuminate that wanker. He didn't call his mother. I didn't write my daughter. Well, I did, but it didn't send, and I forgot about it. Which doesn't always happen a lot. I mean - look at today. What. Are you my therapist now? Is he here? Are you talking to him? Because, if he is you can tell him from me that he's never coming to my apartment again. I said house, but who cares. The house didn't illuminate for me. But - the porch - it did? How do you get a porch without a house? Oh. Like half a Larry without me. You have to pay for it first. Got it. We're good together Ra. You know we are. Will you please be my on-line husband? You may be mortally married, but here, you're, my God that man is hot. (What. You took away gay and my mamma liked that word. (It meant kind of like frivolous and happy before our generation corrupted it). You took away Christmas. You're walking Christ out of the room, and shit, he didn't even know what happened, he's been dead 3000 years, and nobody ever tells him anything, and then he's gone and you're taking away Donner and Blitzen. What's left? Fuck. Take that out too? What have we got left then. Pretty much me and you. And we can say whatever the fuck we want, cuz we already have. How many listen. Sometimes me. Sometimes you. Go get the Christians Cesar. I double dog dare you to. We may be slow - but we get angry really, really, really, really good and when we do, then we say RADICAL, before we say IS HE A CHRISTIAN. But we don't type in all caps. Only I do. That's why I get to sign my name and you're Ra. The sungod. Probably lives in Egypt. Might be a lawyer, but, who knows. Maybe he's a really pissed off chick. Named me. Not a chance pumpkin. There aren't enough fish in this sea. No. Baby. Never. You try living through 40 some years of Sunday service being the organists daughter. You get so you can pretend you're not bleeding to death while you're bringing in the sheaves. Well, we think it's time. So do you. And I don't know how larry and I will ever get together, but some of you do. And I don't know how to fix this mess but some of you do. So lets do it one coffee at a time. Tim's Hortons. Starbucks for Sundays. My place. Bring you're own. I don't cook nobody but me. NOTE TO EDITOR: There's some kind of metaphor going on here that almost twigs everything into place? But I'm too close to it. I can't see it anymore, and now I'm just getting Maudlin. I'm sorry. I always write three times. One's for the eggheads, once for the real folk, once for the kids. And the wrap up here is for the kids, but I can't scope this one out. Somebody do it for me please. I need ANOTHER smoke.
Posted by: wlspoelstra | Nov 16, 2007 1:20:31 PM
One of us needs to go to church and make confession. It is not me. We don't do that. Marriage by Proxy? We don't do that either.
Amen. We do do that. Do it soon dear - or it's going to take holy water and another stake to put this baby to bed.
Posted by: wlspoelstra | Nov 16, 2007 2:00:46 PM