Rock, paper, vagina.
June 8th, 2009
For the record, I once sent this to my sister to educate her, when she kept calling and leaving messages, loud in the earpiece: “What is scissoring? No for real, call me back.” Would not engage, other than to send this to her. Clam jousting.
This is about:
She tweezed the stinger from between my toes.
June 5th, 2009
Got stung by a bee, looking for my cat, last night. I stepped on its stinger, didn’t see it laying down next to my welcome mat. Hopped into the house, yelping, dammit, haven’t had a bee sting since I was six. Playing hide and seek. Behind the neighbor’s bush, in between my thumb and pointer finger. Now, I’m icing in between my toes. How do they always get my nooks and crannies? Well, he got his one shot in. Now he’s dead, on my porch, a warning to watch before you walk.
Or I could just hire Quween:
“If there is a bee fight near you, I’ll put a foot in that bee’s ayaaasss.”
This is about:
Today.
June 3rd, 2009
Media is instant. So is coffee. The revolution is not. Bananas go from yellow to black. Bruises, from yellow to black. Then back to yellow. A toupee’d man with a convertible is a masochist. Barefeet and corporate. Try it. But wash your toes first.
Love, Your Mother