Slip It In

"You wanna slip it in my WHAT?!?!"

You say you don't want it
You don't want it
Say you don't want it
Then you slip it on in


~ Black Flag



I haven’t been seeing much of my Teenage Fan Club lately. I can attribute this only to the fact that the reception they get when I am not in the shop is not exactly warm. As in, it’s cold. Frosty. FREEZING.

Apparently, I’m the only one who thinks watching prepubescent teenage boys wrestle is funny. To each his own, I guess.

I was so pleased when they finally deigned to grace us with a visit, one busy Saturday morning. The shop was pretty packed, but I hadn’t seen the Teenage Fan Club in ages, and so studiously ignored all the paying customers who wished to make actual appointments with their real money, and greeted my boys instead.

“Hi guys,” I grinned and waved from behind the reception desk.

They didn’t answer, just stood stoically still, looking anywhere but directly at me.

Hmmmmm. Something was up.

“What’s going on, guys?” I prompted, as a rough-and-tough biker guy cleared his throat impatiently and waved a stack of twenties in my face. I smiled brightly at him, then turned back to the Teenage Fan Club.

They were still standing in the doorway of the shop, pressed tightly together and clearing their throats in a loud and obnoxious fashion, then nodding their heads in what I finally figured out to be the direction of the Muslim kid’s crotch.

When I finally looked down, a cheer erupted from the entire store, as if my IQ had finally caught up a whole two minutes after everyone else’s. The Teenage Fan Club burst into giggles and started high fiving each other, yelling “We got her! We got her!”

And this is why I love my Teenage Fan Club.

Apparently they found the panties on the
ground in the parking lot.
I really need to talk to these guys,
establish some ground rules.

.

Bulldog Front - The Case of The Abused Dogs

"Dude, help me find my contact.
My mum's gonna kill me."

Ahistorical - you think this shit just 
Dropped right out of the sky
My analysis: it's time to harvest 
The crust from your eyes
To surge and refine, to rage and define ourselves 
Against your line
So sorry friend but you must resign


You want to figure it out we'll throw down 
We'll throw down, we'll throw down
You want to figure it out 
We'll throw down your bulldog front


~ Fugazi


I received a terrible shock one night last week, upon returning home from work. I heaved open the front door late one night, pleasantly exhausted from an eight-hour workday and an hour-long meeting. I was humming along with Mr. Reznor (my iPod) and had just dumped my bags on the floor - I would need both my hands to survive the onslaught of love my three little gits were about to bestow on me when I opened my bedroom door and set them free.

“Yoo Hoo!” I sang. “Mummy’s home!”

I opened my bedroom door and flicked on the overhead light, then screamed in terror and took a giant step back.

“My babies!” I cried, then ran to my dogs, each of whom sat in different areas of my room, their heads hanging low and their tails tucked between their legs. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

I picked Misha up off the floor and cuddled her to my chest. She tried to pull away, refusing to even look at me; the other two tried to slink off and hide. The mistreatment they had suffered was written all over their fuzzy little faces.

The groomers, I realized suddenly. They did this.

“Bastards!” I fumed as I put Misha back onto the bed and stood up to collect my purse and keys. They wouldn’t get away with this. NOBODY abuses my dogs! I’d sue! I’d fucking sue them so hard they’d -

“Don’t they look adorable?” My mum cooed from the open doorway. “So cute!”

I spun around and gaped at her. “You...you let this happen to them?” I demanded.

“What?” Mum frowned as I pushed past her. “What are you talking about?”

“What am I talking about? Look at them!” I yelled. “I won’t let them get away with this!”

“Kage!” Mum cried, tripping over the dogs as she tried in vain to follow me down the hall.

I stopped and turned around. “Are you blind, woman?” I said incredulously. “Can you not see the blatant abuse?”

“No,” Mum shook her head, bewildered.

“The. Bandanas,” I hissed, and slammed the front door behind me.

 Someone was going to pay.

Christ, just look at 'em.
I hope I don't have to euthanize them.

.

Bitches Be Craaaaazy

Do NOT touch the last piece of pie.

So, continuing from yesterday's post, here's the story of my run in with the crazy girl.

It actually started on Tuesday, when my ex boyfriend, L, sent me a happy face by SMS. 

There was no text, no message. Just a happy face, just saying hi.

Shortly thereafter, I got this text from his girlfriend:

Fuck off u waste of skin!

Oh, here we go, I thought, rolling my eyes. The last time L had texted to say hi, which was about a month ago, Michele had texted me within the hour to tell me that my cat was dead, that she had shot it in the face because I wouldn't stop talking to L.

See what I mean about chicks being nuts?

"Stay away from my man, you whore!"

I had looked at my phone on Tuesday, with this ugly message printed on it's screen, and decided to leave it alone and not reply. I just couldn't be arsed.

Amazingly, I didn’t hear from her for the rest of the day. Hooray!

Yesterday, though, I woke up to find she had texted me yet again. And then again. And again. And again.

Eventually I decided to just reply, as it was becoming clear that she wasn't going to stop until I did. And that day, I discovered that wow - Michele is a real classy lady! Full of warmth, amiability and compassion, I can see now why she's so popular and sought after, and such a pleasure to be around.

What follows is our conversation from Tuesday afternoon, written out verbatim. It’s a little hard to read, as, despite her sweet, well-spoken and clearly educated nature, Michele's spelling and grammar skills could be run into the ground by a retarded four-year-old. But I've kept true to the original script, not changing a single word of it, so that you may enjoy our exchange in all it's authentic glory.

(I have to admit that I wasn't terribly kind or mature either in this interaction, and I am not proud of the fact that I sank to her level of sophomoric asininity. However, in my defense...um...SHE STARTED IT. lol. But seriously, I've tried to get along with her and she still just fucking hates me, I've tried ignoring her and she still just fucking hates me, and that day she just would not stop texting. So I decided that hey, just this once, I'm gonna act like an ignorant little shit, too.)

* (sp) means spelling mistake.

Michele: Hopeo (sp)  ur ready for u GOT coming u waste of skin food and everything..everyone says the samething(sp) ur a waste and ur poor mother has to live with it..I have told u more then (sp) once to Fuck off (have you? you should be more dramatic, i hadn't noticed)..even L says ur a fuckin mess who sure do ourselfs (sorry, who?) (sp) and parents a favor and take a whole bottle of pills (of oxies? no problem!). Ur mom will probably by(sp) them for u if u promise to take them all at one time (yeah, my mum's awesome like that, she always "bys" me stuff)...Bottom line Fuck off don’t contact L again or you will have big problems! Or(sp) and fyi...he told me to let u have it. tell u what We think of u. U have done nothing but use L (hey Michele, how's that free rent going for you and your kids? i hope it doesn't interfere with your smoking pot all day and not getting a job) and give him a bad rep (yes, he's a poor shrinking violet)...Lmao not one person says anything good about u besides or(sp) not here anymore (hey, that's what I say too! haha!)...so Fuck off and go...od(sp) ur self.

Kage: Ooooh, BURN. I see someone’s been thoroughly enjoying my blog! Don’t blame yourself, it’s a great read. Though it must have taken you a while to get through, with all those big words! Anyway, thanks for the laugh. Like I give a shit what you think? Hahahahahahahaha!

Michele: Blog don’t know what ur talking about L tells what a fuckin waste u r. Beth (L’s mum), Lee (L’s dad), roxy Eric all of Vulcan thinks ur a waste (oh no!)  this Beth calls u a slut

Kage: Hahaha! So?

Michele: Even big guy (big guy?!) says u should do the world a favor and kill urs (sp)...Aww cry him a river you little cunt u don’t get it you will very soon oh Dancer knows you have been sending Her Boyfriend pictures of ur self too(that's news to me. did i look good?)...Fuck ur stupid...Watch yourself...You have more trouble then u can handle coming ur way Lmao...Can’t wait to see what u look like after...hahahaha but you would not stop! (stop what?)...Call going to ur mom today too (oh, good. ask her to bring home some ice cream, would you? we're all out)...Calling him and cry makes it worse everytime for u!

Kage: Do I really need to point out that he’s the one who keeps calling me, sweetheart? (apparently I do.) Instead of trying to control L to make him love you, why don’t you just stop being such a cunt to him?

Michele: He has told me u tried today (sure did) already he feels the same way as me (no one feels the shit you do, hun)...Oh he loves me. does lots to show it i got no worries there (really? then what's this all about, then?)...u reck(sp) his life (yeah, he had nothing to do with it, he's certainly not a grown man who can make his own decisions) everyone is trying to help him fix the mess u made...but thanks. (you're welcome) No worries he is reading these texts right now. (yes, i'm sure he would totally condone this behavior. if he were five years old again.)

Kage: Really. Well, tell him I say hi. And again I will just point out that I didn’t contact him, he contacted me. So grow up and fuck off, and stop texting me. I don’t have time for your high school bull shit. Oh, and be sure to keep enjoying my blog ;)

Michele: No u call im (sp) him called missed calls and he calls u back...so u just Fuck off and everything will be all good. (mmmm...nah)

Kage: Is that what he tells you? lol

Michele: And ur a fine one to talk bout a way to treat him...coming home knocked up with someone eles kids (didn't happen, but whatever)...i would have made u kill it too (is that supposed to upset me? cuz i "love" kids so much? hahaha!)...No he shows me on his phone stupid

Kage: Hey, how are your dead babies, by the way? Anyway, again, I’m busy, so please fuck off.

(after 20 minutes with no contact)

Michele: Lol my babies r great dead babies no clue what ur talking bout...lol...so anyway again u Fuck off and everyone will be happy...enjoy ur day of barfing and standing in the bathroom crying bout what a waste u r. (hmmm. that does sound pretty fun)

Kage: Hahaha! Actually, I think I’ll spend the day being grateful I’m not a fucked up cunt like you ;)

Michele: That right im proud to ne(sp) a cunt and im the biggest Bitch one would ever meet after on my bad side...but i love myself and everything about me! (hahahahahaha! ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. oh wait, you're serious?) To (sp) bad u can’t truly say the same about ut (sp) self  (well,  maybe one day, I can be as good a person as you...)...your number is blocked from our phones now text and calls.

Kage: So does that mean you’ll stop texting me? Hooray!

Ugh. I know. It's like an episode of Jersey Shore, isn't it? (One assumes). 

Like I said, I am not proud of my behavior, but she just wouldn't give up. Besides, Tuesday was kind of boring, I needed something to do anyway.

And with that, I would like to invite you one last time, Michele, to please fuck off and leave me alone. I'm not after your boyfriend, I don't give a shit about you, and this drama is better suited to an elementary school playground than real life.

I'm Not A Lesbian, But...

"Shhhh. It's alright, baby, I'm here. The big scary
boogeyman can't hurt you, silly! Not now, there's TWO of us!"

"Not every person with a mustache is a pedophile. But every pedophile has a mustache."


~ Daniel Tosh

I’m not a lesbian, but I do have three gorgeous girlfriends.

Ha ha! Fuck yeah! And I wasn't even trying to get a girlfriend! Imagine how many I could get if I DID!

Ah, keep your pants on.  I'm just kidding.

These new girlfriends of mine, they  just kind of snuck up on me, really. Normally as a rule, I stay well away from girls. Cuz they're...you know. Nuts. But this whole thing started off so innocently, so innocuously, that I just didn't see it coming.

A few months ago, I emailed another blogger to ask her a question about something she had written on her blog. It didn’t really occur to me until after I had sent the email that hey, shit - I had just broken my own cardinal "stay-away-from-other-girls" rule. Shit fuck shit! I thought in a panic, gnawing anxiously on my fingernails as I waited for the world to explode. What did I just do? 

I blew out my breath and waited for one minute, then a second minute, then a third. By some strange miracle, the world didn't blow up. Instead, this girl just replied to my email. Just a nice, normal, friendly reply. 

A little stunned, I replied to her email. She replied again, I replied to that, and soon our ongoing long distance conversation was well under way.

Shortly thereafter, it happened again with another blogger. And then again with another.

Before I knew it, I had three girlfriends that I could chat with whenever I wanted. Just like normal girls do! HahahahahaH! I thought. How did that even HAPPEN?!

My "girlfriends" and I do stuff just like normal girlfriends, too. We email each other frequently, remember each other’s birthdays, and even talk on the phone occasionally. It’s like an episode of fucking Sex And The City! Except, of course, that it isn’t boring, repetitive and conspicuously disparaging to women.

If I had had the foresight at the beginning to see where this was going, that it was leading to potential friendships, I would have bailed immediately, to save myself the trouble. Past experience has taught me that the only possible outcome to befriending another girl is disaster. And that’s not being sad or pessimistic, it's just a fact of life.

For once, though, I’m glad I didn’t have any foresight and didn't set out to cock this one up. Cuz these girls are awesome.

You might also know them from around Bloggerland.

First is my beautiful boo-bear Hed, from Hed Above Water. She is my California Partner-In-Crime.

Hed and I are so similar, I swear we must have been separated at birth. She is my American doppelganger. Which I’m sure will come in very handy one day when I am evading a court of law.

Next is Heather in Seattle, from the blog Sugar Free Thoughts, who was actually the first blogger I ever talked to outside of Bloggerland. Oooh. Scary! lol

Heather’s an Irish American gal who will always make you laugh, with both her writing and with her bizarro Irish fetishes.

Seriously. What the fuck could THIS possibly be?!

And the last girl that makes up our Powder Puff Dance Troupe is that troublemaker, Crkets Galore, from Kick Her Right In The Habit.

At the beginning of the year, I saw Ckrets' badge on another site, and my curiosity was piqued by her strange title. Does she beat the shit out of nuns, or what? I wondered. I ended up trolling through her site, and thought, This chick’s funny. And then I saw she was in the same city as me and I thought, Fuckin' eh!

So those are my new girlfriends. Why the fuck should I care? I hear you ask. Well, I guess I just wanted to acknowledge these girls and let them know how much I appreciate their friendships, because of something else that happened today. Something really shitty.

Today, I got yet another prime example of how fucking nuts girls are, and that it is better to just stay away from them.

I'll tell it to you tomorrow, though. Right now, I just can't keep my eyerd op===. Sorry, that should say eyes open anymdmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Fight Song

"And I want a fire truck...and a new BMX bike...and mass genocide for
all the kids in my school who made fun of my eyes..."

I'm not a slave to a god
That doesn't exist
I'm not a slave to a world
That doesn't give a shit


~ Marilyn Manson


A mother's pride knows no bounds.

And since I have thoughtfully never damned the world by regurgitating a carbon copy of myself, I have somehow made my dogs and my blog (and to a lesser extent, my iPod) into my surrogate children, my only sources of matriarchal pride. Even if some of those things still occasionally poop on the bathroom carpet while I'm in the shower.

I'm not saying who.

Anyway, sometimes a mum wants to show off her offspring. Not so much because she is proud of each of her offspring as individual entities, but more as creations that she can take credit for.

That said, here is the Top Ten List of search terms that have brought people to my blog in the past few weeks, from a few different search engines. The pink writing is my initial reaction to each one.

#1. Sex Anywhere & Everywhere (yes, please) (google.com)
#2. Hyena Fucking (ummm...wha?) (hot google)
#3. Do Sociopaths Read Erotica? (no, we write stupid blogs about it) (google.com)
#4. Anorexia Sex (only when we're super skinny) (bing.com)
#5. Shut The Fuck Up And Gimme Gimme Gimme (as the bishop said to the actress) (google.de)
#6. Teacher Student Affair Royal Winnipeg Ballet (he was 18, fuck off) (google.ca)
#7. I Walked On Him In Stilettos (and he paid me for it!) (google.com)
#8. Neck Tattoos Sociopath (mmmmm) (google.com)
#9. Women Carry Fucks (only if it's Stephen Colbert dressed as Richard Branson) (google.sa)
#10. Lip Sequins Stage Jew (da fuck???) (google.uk)

There are some sick people out there. Thank god my blog is here to straighten them out.

Oh, wait.

.

Drunken White Trash

Jusht a minit....jushta min..it...
(Me, at my junior high school prom) 

"I just wanna save you, while there's something left to save."
~ Rise Against

On Saturday night, M had a show downtown, at a club called The HiFi. He had to be down there early with the rest of the band, so I agreed to meet him there around 9:30 for the show.

I had to stand by myself while M and the boys rocked out with their cocks out (or whatever). When they were done what I thought was one of their best shows, I had to stand around the bar and look like I knew what I was doing and why I was there (otherwise, someone might try to talk to me). Which meant only one thing...let’s look at some white trash (other than myself) and laugh at them!

(In a brief aside, may I just point out that I am not, in fact, white trash. I am eloquence and intelligence masquerading as white trash. It's just more interesting this way, n’est pas?)

It was still pretty early in the night, so my pickings were kinda slim. Not too many drunks out yet, I mused.

And then I saw her.

Ding Dong! Britney’s here, thought I, and I leaned against the DJ booth to watch the show.

 Gothic Britney Spears looked a lot like me (pierced, black hair, tattooed, big boobs) and, ironically, I initially thought she was beautiful. You know, on the outside. Full sleeves on both arms (though nothing artistic, just random crap), she had all the piercings I have, plus the two I couldn’t keep - the elusive dimples.

(Why must my favorite piercings turn septic, God? WHY????????)

She also had a Monroe, a labret, and several piercings in her tongue, and when she smiled I thought, Wikked! Then she bent over and pretended to suck the cock of one of the guys she was with, and I thought, Ohhhh......

Somebody drunk.

Must you give all us pierced chicks a bad name, Britney? I thought scornfully as I watched her head bobbing violently in the general vicinity of the guy’s crotch. (Conveniently forgetting, of course, that I myself had but 88 days sober - though I'm pretty sure the rule is, once you have 3 days sober, you're officially allowed to judge others. heh heh.)

I didn’t look away, though - who would? I just watched as she tried to straighten herself up again, and almost toppled into the men’s room.

M came up and grabbed me around the waist just then. “Let’s go out for a smoke!”

“Kay.” I followed him out of the club, leaving Gothic Britney to her drunken antics.

Oh ho ho ho! You do NOT IGNORE WHITE TRASH, mother fucker!

The next band was good, I can’t remember their name (I am an asshole, I know) but M and I joined the throng of people at the front of the stage to cheer them on. Same kind of music as M’s band, which is rockabilly, and the lead guitarist looked like Conan O’Brien. The bass player had full sleeves and a sticker of M’s old band, Blind Assassins, on the side of his bass. (If this sounds familiar to you, please send me the name of the band. But I won't tell you which city we're in. Good luck!)

The headlining band was next. I’ve never heard of them, but apparently EVERYONE ELSE IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE HAS - The Matadors. (I shall assume you have heard of them, too). They were awesome, and the house was packed, with people lined up out the door and down the block to see these guys play. The lead singer was an awesome frontman, he was funny and knew how to get a rise out of the crowd.

Especially out of one very special girl. Can you guess who?

No, not me! I’m trashing someone else right now. KEEP UP.

Gothic Britney elbowed her way up to the very front of the stage, and after each song, she would try to talk to Frontman.

At first, he played along. “You want me to dedicate a song to who?” he said into the mic. “I can’t hear you.”

Eventually, it got old, and he stopped trying to decipher her slurs and just ignored her. So in the middle of the next song, Britney got UP ON THE STAGE.

Frontman looked bewildered, but kept playing, as she scooted directly behind him and grabbed him by the waist. Then she leaned over his side and started shouting at someone in the audience.

“Oh my God,” Frontman said to the crowd, as the song came to an abrupt end. “She’s looking for her husband. Where’s her husband?!”

As he tried to turn around and face her, Britney dodged out of the way, and ran to hide behind the bassist. He, too, looked stunned, and totally unsure of what to do.

“Security, pick up the white phone, please,” Frontman said into his mic, and a moment later a bouncer appeared onstage, by the bass player.

Britney ran back to hide behind Frontman. “He said I could come up here!” she yelled at Bouncer.

Bouncer stopped and looked confused, and looked to Frontman for confirmation.

“I’m trying to work, here,” he said, exasperated. “Get her off the stage!”

Bouncer moved forward, and grabbed Britney by the arm, who tried to hold on to Frontman. Bouncer pulled her away, and got her to the edge of the stage.

That’s when she turned around and lunged towards Frontman, and punched him in the arm. “Fuck you!” she screamed.

“Holy shit!” I yelled excitedly to M, as he and I both stared up at the stage. This was awesome! Cuz it wasn’t me!

Bouncer managed to get Britney under control again, and fed her offstage into the waiting arms of her girlfriend. Frontman got on the mic, and got the crowd back under his thumb.

“I’m just trying to celebrate my birthday with y’all,” he said, and the audience roared. “D’you mind if we keep playing?”

Duh.

The next song started up, but something beside me caught my eye. A guy and his girlfriend were jumping around, hyper and excited. I don’t know why I watched, but I did.

The guy was closest to me. His girlfriend was back a bit, towards a table full of people. As the boyfriend jumped up and down and turned to face the stage again, Britney came out of nowhere and smoked him right in the face.

Everyone around them took a step back, and all I could see was Gothic Britney, her fists clenched by her side, panting and glaring drunkenly at this kid beside me. And I thought, Hello, I know you.

It was Baby Momma. (for all intents and purposes).

Bitter, drunk, and looking for a fight. She didn’t even know this kid. She just punched him in the face anyway.

Hello, my white trash Baby Momma. How I've missed you, you wretched whoor.

I watched as her girlfriend apologized profusely to the kid, then dragged a screaming Britney out of the club. M and I turned to look at each other for a moment, speechless, before we turned back to watch the rest of the show. Which was amazing, though every time a song ended, I looked around to see if Britney had somehow snuck back in the club. Fight! Fight! Fight!

The Matadors left the stage at the end of their show, then came back out for an encore, which is when Frontman must have put the giant rubber penis down the front of his slacks. He whipped it out for their last song, then at the very end of it, he whacked off his...ahem, pretend rubber penis, and shot some kind of white liquid all over the crowd.

And I thought, Aw, poor Gothic Brintey! She just missed her chance to shine.