GAY AS FUCK

"Gay as fuck," David muttered a few minutes ago. He didn't get much sleep last night and he wasn't feeling the whole leg day thing. But finally he said, "Fuck it." He decided to forge ahead with his leg day regimen.

Tuesday, Martes, is ruled (or sponsored, as I like to say) by Mars. There isn't anything gay about Mars. David is an Aries (MARS) with Capricorn (Saturn) rising and a Gemini (Mercury) moon. Mercury is definitely gay. Jupiter? Gay as fucking HELL. Mars is not gay and neither is Saturn. Venus? Yeah, gay. Neptune? GAY. Uranus? Of course it's gay! Pluto is in the closet. If Pluto is gay it's none of your goddamn business.

Back to the salt mines. And by salt mines I mean shuffling tarot cards for clients, making noiSe for my vaRiouS YouTube channels, creating designs for my swooncaKe storefront and writing at least a hundred words for Retarded Beyond Redemption.

Be gay. Don't be gay. Jesus thinks you're okay either way.

xxx MISTI xxx
 

RETARDED

I woke up this morning eager to share my dream with David. I dreamed I was flying private from L.A. to Las Vegas. I was awestruck by the experience. Leather seats! Rich people! No problems! As soon as the private jet landed in Las Vegas, Nevada I hauled ass to the library. I was taking pictures with my iPhone and sending the pictures of the interior of the Las Vegas library to various people. "Look where I am, bitches! I'm inside the LAS VEGAS LIBRARY! Rocks being ME! Sucks being YOU!" I had no memory of how I actually got to the library and this bothered me. Was it UBER? Was it a basic bitch taxi? I could not recall. 

David's response was not the response I was hoping for. I hoped he would say something like, "I love how your mind works, baby. You're unlike any woman I have ever known. What do you do when you arrive in Vegas in your dreams? Do you go to the casinos? Do you go to the pool? Do you go to Carrot Top's show at the Luxor? No, baby. You go to the library! God, I love you!"

What did the poet formerly known as David C. McLean actually say? He said, "America's dead."

America is not dead. As I write this people in the United States of America are swimming in pools, eating ice cream and pizza and Fritos and hot dogs and sushi and bacon cheeseburgers and kale salad, going to concerts, buying comic books and batteries and vibrators and curtains and rugs and candles and spatulas and Dolly Parton t-shirts, riding the subway, plunging toilets, taking phone calls from irate Verizon customers, killing cockroaches, walking poodles and shooting cops. People are still paying slot machines in Las Vegas, Laughlin, Reno and even Atlantic City to give them terrible news. "Nope. You're still broke, bitch."

The United States of America definitely still has a pulse and so do I. I'm eager to collaborate with David on our next two books, Retarded Beyond Redemption and Participation Prize. It was David's idea, I cannot take the credit for this one, to create a retard trilogy. The retard trilogy began with RETARD PENIS. How old are we? David is sixteen. I am twelve. We are genius retards. This is the noise I will listen to while writing the next two books with my big cock Aries man. Bye.

 

SLOBBER on the RETARD PENIS

David and I were thrilled to receive our copies of SLOBBER and RETARD PENIS in today's post. The revised copies are in transit and will be promoted once received. Here are reviews from Stella and Mankato (the best gift David has ever given me, an iguana plushie...I named him Mankato after the town visited often in "Little House on The Prairie"):

"Slobber makes Stella HAPPY because Slobber is full of LOVE. Retard Penis makes Stella LAUGH because it is so stupid! Ha! Ha! Ha ha HA!"

"I could not be bothered to read either book but I dig the covers. My name is Mankato. I see. I watch. I observe. Fuck off."

Here is a poem from SLOBBER:

power outage

we lie here sweat ecstatic because mourning is inadvertent ghosts &
she swings her legs above her like memory & writes rants in the air 
like an ambitious dictator

it is hotter & i swallow pasta & cheese because muscle does not grow
nowhere & this is home now, every future ghost

DAVID RAINWATER

And some kind of retarded prose from RETARD PENIS:

THROWING SPAGHETTI

Hi, Steven. I’m glad your mother had the presence of mind to name you STEVEN rather than STEPHEN. So yeah, I just wanted to state for the record that I’ve been throwing spaghetti against the wall since approximately 1979 when I carried a portable tape recorder around the house and made up skits and songs and interviewed babysitters. There was purity to my intent. I was five. I was six. I wanted to communicate with the world. I thought I had something to share, something valuable. It’s 2026 now and I’m still communicating. I’m still spitting into any available microphone. I’m spitting for the girl who was five the girl who was six. I’m spitting for my son. I’m spitting for Mia Zapata. I’m spitting for the America I never had the America I deeply loved and lost the America I repeat the America the goddamn beautiful majestic America I never had. I’m spitting for the Grand Canyon which I have only seen in photographs, movies, vaguely remembered dreams. I never had America. I never had the Grand Canyon. I never had the redwoods of the Pacific Northwest. I never had Big Sur. I never had San Francisco. I never had Hollywood. I never had Malibu. I never had Brooklyn. I never had Chicago. I never had Boston. I never had Key West. I’ve spit into various microphones to sporadic applause. I’ve been seen I’ve been heard I’ve been witnessed. But see, Steven, the thing is, Leo is my twelfth house and I’ve got an anaretic Aquarius sun that doesn’t make any significant aspects. I wasn’t born to shine. They taught me that song when I was a kid and I sang it and carried it all the way to my fifth decade. This little light of mine. I’m gonna let it shine. But my shine is small and that’s how God wants it to be and so it is. David just sent me a meme he sends memes often. What is Searched MORE? Hentai. The Quran or the BIBLE. Another song they taught me. The B-I-B-L-E. Yes that’s the book for ME. I stand upon The Word of GOD the B-I-B-L-E. The Bible didn’t have much value when I was carrying a fetus in my womb in 1996 crying until I had no tears left knowing I was alone alone alone and that was very much my problem to solve. I suck at algebra, Steven. I suck at solving problems. In a world where the most popular Google searches are HENTAI, Quran and BIBLE my worth is zero. Yet I continue to splatter my spaghetti against the walls of the indifferent world. Hi. My name is Kilgore Trout. There’s purity to obscurity. Big Business Monkey. Everything’s money. RIP, Daniel Johnston. He wasn’t obscure at all thanks to MTV and Kurt Cobain yet he remained pure. “Walking The Cow” remains deeply embedded in my broken choir girl heart. I sang in a few different choirs, not terribly well. They never asked me to sing solo in Kelview Heights Baptist Church. Tim Hale, Libra, sang solo. I had a mild crush on Tim. I had a much bigger crush on Matt Hale (Leo), his little brother who was a year older than me. Their father, Russ Hale (Scorpio) (the youth pastor), visited me in the hospital when I was in labor with my firstborn, the daughter I could not keep. Whenever Russ Hale sang “How Great Thou Art” I got chills all over. He was better than Elvis. How great is my art? Who decides? Who judges? Who makes the call? Who assigns the gold stars across my chart? I have this insane compulsion to continue to share. Great, not great, terrible, god awful, shit, gold. Whatever, man. Mercury is my chart ruler (Virgo rising) and it’s smack dab in the middle of my seventh house and it makes several aspects. So I continue to spit. I’m Cougar Ketchup. I’m Sally Mayonnaise. I’m Roxi Xmas. I’m Ginger Todger. I’m Chupacabra Disco. I’m Zero Bueno. I’m Lescarius. I’m Marshmallow Witch. I’m Cult Yoga. I’m Swooncake Press. I’m Swooncake Records. I’m Noise Spit. Someday I’ll be dead. Doesn’t matter. The spitting will continue.

MISTI RAINWATER

 

SLUT MOON

Is it Libra season yet? Not quite, cupcake.

Gracias to David for putting "SLUT MOON" together for me and releasing it on Bandcamp. 

Yes, AI definitely needs a rebranding. I concur. Let's go with RI. Rhode Island might get mad about it but Rhode Island can get over it, already.

RI. Regurgitated Intelligence. Retarded Intelligence. Ratchet Intelligence. Get on it. Chop. Chop.

xxx Misti xxx

 

NEW WOMAN

/

Who's the NEW WOMAN? You's the new woman. You's the NEW WOMAN, baby! You is saturated satiated complicated celebrated dedicated decorated congratulated NEVER constipated never frustrated never denigrated. Pass the pink glitter and splash it on Twitter. Don't be bitter. A new day dawns with you on top where you belong like a Shania Twain/Dolly Parton/Dottie West SONG.

 

cherry coke + magic 8 ball + trash lit

Hi. My name is Misti Velvet Rainwater and I am a product of my environment. My mother had a copy of this novel when I was in my formative years. Damn right I devoured it. I also devoured her copies of a sleazy women's magazine (cannot recall the title) that included women's true stories of sex in various places. I was most excited by the story about having sex underneath a raincoat on a bus. I could not wait to grow up so I could have such an experience. I never had sex underneath a raincoat on a bus. But...read Fuckerbutt Happy Time. I wrote about all the horrible sex I had in San Antonio, Texas. It isn't as profound or as deep as anything Henry Miller or Erica Jong wrote but a bitch tries. I come here to provide links. I am always working.

I make noiSe.

I SAID I MAKE NOISE.

I am deeply in love with David. We are getting married in Capricorn season 2027.

I'm going to pee now.

p.S. I recall the name of the magazine. It was NEW WOMAN. You can find back issues at eBay.

PERFECTED VERSIONS

Tonight David and I created perfected versions of our first three books (STUNT COCK, SLURP and SLOBBER) instead of watching "Cheaters." New covers pictured above. The changes made to the SLURP cover were minimal. I shouldn't have to say it but these books make excellent stocking stuffers, better than anything you'll find at Five Below or Family Dollar. I'm going to eat a bowl of grapes and watch "Cheaters" now.

p.s. you can hang this on a wall

p.p.s. it's a chaotic skull collage tote bag