MAJESTIC as FUCK

my favorite bird

must be the lunar eclipse in piSceS

MISTI LOVES DAVID

 

SIMPLE PLEASURES

"I'm not a complicated man. I like cinema. In particular, I like to see people fucking on film. I like simple pleasures, like butter in my ass and lollipops in my mouth."

("Boogie Nights"/Floyd Gondolli)

My heart has been heavier than usual lately, what with the death of Dolly Parton, power outages on the island and trouble receiving books from lulu.com. A bitch cannot catch a break. I'd been putting off watching "Little House on The Prairie" with David for quite some time as I knew it would make me emotional. But finally I said, "Fuck it. If I watch another episode of 'Cheaters' I'm going to stab my eyes out with a fork. Little House it is."

We watched a two part episode involving Adam and Mary, a happily married blind couple until Adam had the balls to regain his sight and fuck shit up. I was repulsed by Adam in the first part (season seven, cannot recall the number of the episodes). He was acting like an egomaniac simply because he could see again. I've been seeing for 53 years, big deal. So he gets the big idea he's going to become a lawyer. He stops paying attention to Mary, she gets hurt. Sad stuff but I could deal. Then in the second part Adam makes the trek to Minneapolis to take the bar exam. Returning to his hotel room one night after eating dinner with a rich friend he gets mugged and beaten unconscious. I said, "I can see where this is going. He's going to lose his sight again. God is punishing him for being a dick to Mary." Not exactly. Sure, Adam ends up in the hospital and has a hell of a headache but he can still see. However, he does miss the bar exam. When Mary comes to Minneapolis to visit Adam at his bedside and Adam starts expressing his vulnerability ("bitch is feeling sorry for himself," David muttered in disgust), I lost it. Tears streamed from my eyes. David asked if I was joking. I was not.

"He can't catch a break. I can relate," I said.

I was inspired enough to consult Wikipedia. No, Mary never actually got married. Adam was pure fiction. Still, I know there are people all over the world in similar situations and it breaks my goddamn heart.

So this morning during sex I decided to liven things up by pretending to be Mary. "Pa? Pa, is that you? I can't see. What are you doing to me, Pa? I wasnt expecting...this."

To my surprise, David lost his erection and the sex came to a screeching halt. I guess our days of roleplay are over. The bloom is OFF the rose, as they say.

 

FIND A BETTER COUNTRY

Back in the glorious MySpace days of 2008 I remember a cousin's husband at the time (she's on marriage #3...common in Texas) had this pithy quote on his page: 

"This is AMERICA. If you don't like it you can LEAVE."

I took umbrage. He lived in a brand-new brick house (thanks to his wealthy grandfather) and I was living on WIC and food stamps in a tiny trashy rent house I called The Crack Whore Shack in Nederland, Texas with my infant son and his father, my second husband. I remember thinking, "I would LEAVE if I COULD. Asshole."

I don't like The United States of America, the country of my birth. I don't like Texas, the state of my birth. I finally left at the age of 53. I live on this island in the Caribbean. I've been here with my fiance (David) since May. We still haven't been to Secret Beach but we aren't really beach people. We don't drink. We don't get stoned. We're boring as hell with our weights and resistance bands and yoga mat. We write books and fuck each other and take pictures of palm trees and iguanas and the moon.

There's no Walmart or McDonald's or Taco Bell or Ross Dress For Less on this island. How do I cope? Oh, the usual...eating JIF Extra Crunchy from the jar, watching "Cheaters" in bed with my man, reading the PDF of his novel until I sob.

I am not Taylor Swift. Jesus wept. Selah.

p.S. in a recent dream I purchased a FIFTH AVENUE candy bar, something I haven't done in many moons

 

BEST BOOK EVER PUBLISHED

It's subjective, of course, and I'm biased, but the best book ever published is not THE KING JAMES BIBLE or The Grapes of Wrath or The Great Gatsby or Sweet Valley High #1: DOUBLE LOVE. No ma'am. No sir. The best book ever published is RETARD PENIS. Here is an excerpt:

I was sitting in a booth at the McDonald’s on Fredericksburg Road slurping melted ice cream when Debbie began bombarding me with text messages. I didn’t have time for her bullshit so I turned off my piece of shit Samsung Galaxy and soaked in the bliss of the moment, slurping melted vanilla ice cream looking out the window at the Tower of The Americas hazy in the distance. Sometimes I love living in this city. I donated plasma three days ago so I can afford this treat.

Debbie writes poems about me, says she’s in love, but I just enjoy fucking her on occasion with my basic American five inch cock. I don’t delude myself. The best I can hope for is a mediocre sex life with a bat shit crazy poet covered in ugly tattoos and the occasional McDonald’s or Dairy Queen or Sonic treat. I work as a cashier at the Five Below on the upper level of Wonderland. I’ve never taken an IQ test but I’m probably a few points above retarded. Not severely retarded. Functioning retarded, like most Texan Americans.

(title of the piece is DUMPING DEBBIE)

 

EAT some caKe

David drives me crazy.
I love the maniac.
He's a brilliant motherfucker with a big cocK.

This is not a haiKu.

 

swooncaKe aesthetic

Not everyone is special. Not everyone is worthy of attention, publicity, wealth, health, divine revelations, favor. I did not make the rules, I only abide by them. If something isn't special I do not share it. That was not always the case. Lately I've been dedicated to the culling process. I've been deleting old photographs, blog posts, videos and playlists. God (according to David GOD does not exist but I remain a believer) has instructed me and I have obeyed. We don't all get a seat at the table. We can't all be Kim Kardashian. We can't all be Taylor Swift. We can't all be Sharon Osbourne. We can't all be Anais Nin. We can't all be Erica Jong. I could puke from now until the day I die looking around at those who are favored, celebrated, lauded, rewarded. Last night I watched a favorite film of mine, "Coal Miner's Daughter." David was amused and disgusted. He doesn't get it. Not everyone thinks Loretta Lynn was a great or even good singer. Not everyone is mesmerized by Sissy Spacek's portrayal of Loretta Lynn. Not everyone worships at the altar of Elvis. Not everyone thinks RETARD PENIS should be purchased, read, reviewed. 

It's lonely (quite) at my table. I am seated at the kiddie table. I'm too ridiculous and rude to be welcome at The Grown-Up Table where the gossip ranges from Billy Bob's latest Home Depot haul to Kelly Sue's latest pregnancy. I don't feel like I'm missing out on much at all. Loneliness is often delicious. No one I think is in my tree and that is perfectly acceptable. I was deluded for several years, jumping through hoops of fire for various motherfuckers. No mas, hoss.

I celebrate trash. I celebrate the absurd. I celebrate the ridiculous. End transmission.

 

RETARD PENIS is NOW aVaiLaBLe

 

David did the cover. I am responsible for the cover art. We worked long and hard on this one and decided to publish it today, Thursday, 20 August 2026. Leo season. Jesus will cry if you opt not to purchase this goddamn gorgeous collection of flash fiction and prose poetry.