Hot off the press in fountain pen by Steve’s sugar baby…yes it’s true. Is it wrong you think? Really?
*sigh*
Very pampered sugar baby. Steve’s sugar baby. No, I’m not a sugar baby, I’m a Doberman Pinscher trained to kill or be nice, in protecting my dance partner, if they are still alive that is. If they’re dead I only cherish the memories of when they lived. I couldn’t care less about their corpses except to examine, out of a burning curiousity to understand what they went through. So I’m riding in style now, so I’m still the same person that put the sprinkler in the open window of a car just out of pity for the bored crowd of kids, to give them something interesting to laugh about, and that was all Mum needed to roll me over to Lenny the relaxed social worker who she had a hard on for, her erection depended on him punishing me harshly for being an abomination, but he asked her to leave us alone for five minutes, and when she returned and he had looked into my eyes beforehand after asking me what was going on, he told her “Well Mrs. Smith, I think Sharon is a good kid but if you want, I’ll give her a placement in a group home, and I saw steam coming out of her ears. She didn’t get the vaginal or clitoral orgasm she was after. No she had her passion frustrated. Her bloodlust. So she ended up sucking smoke from her Rothman’s cigarettes, and ate her dainty lady’s size small modest portions of the pork chops etcetera that she would reliably make so perfectly scrumptious, she was reliable all right for superficial, ultimately misleading support, to fatten up the cow for slaughter. The sacrificial lamb is to be kept well shampood, her clothes clean from the use of reliable Tide brand detergent, and she was to have not a mark on her so that she won’t be ready to fight when we take out the knives and our masks fall away from our faces and she sees the delight we take in her misery, disappointment,...
*intermission for a 'small' tantrum*
…grief and eternal damnation. It’s okay. I have good still warm unsweetened black coffee to match my emotions and fine fountain pens, stacks of loose leaf paper, and peace, a great laptop I’m hearing Chopin from as I dance leaving ink traces of my thoughts on the current page, which cost me so little at Dollarama, and so I hoarded it thinking it was becoming hard to find because I’m a dinosaur type of writer, using ink and paper like Julia Cameron suggested to do, to race ahead of my internal censor, and find out what haunts me, nags me, makes me uncomfortable, doesn’t sit well, what needs changing and if I can do anything to make myself more comfortable in my own skin. Albert and I finally had some quality time together in his apartment last evening and Steve it was fun. I can dance like a black girl should, and like a white girl should, and like Deb should too, so I hope I will get to see her dance like Steve. At least a little. S.
Most episodes of Columbo are wonderful, but here are 8 of the best episodes of the classic mystery series starring Peter Falk.
www.slashfilm.com
