I GOT ALL MY SISTERS, WITH ME

Im not really the world's biggest fan of children. In small doses, and individually....sure. I can hang out......... maybe get my coloring on, watch some Sponge Bob. No problem. But mostly, I have zero patience for the screaming, the snot, and the whining. I dont have time for their attention hog ways, and big doe eyes.

And if the kids are white.....

GROAN. Double whammy.

Black kids are cuter than white kids, and dont act like you dont agree. Whenever someone shows me their new born white baby, Im always like....." Ya. Wow. Nice pink blotches and featureless dough face. So, listen......is the dad hot, and is he bi-curious?" When I see a little black baby, my obsession is scorching hot, and complete....and if Im not able to taste little black baby toes, then you'll KNOW what screaming, snot, and whining is all about. It'll all be coming from my face, out of the pure frustration of not being able to have little chocolate bite-ables in my salivating mouth.

Now and again, people ask Russ and I if we would ever adopt.

" oh...we plan on it," I say. " but only black babies. I point my finger hard into their chest, emphasizing each syllable. I look stearnly into their eyes, so they know I mean business.

"o-nly black ba-bies."

We will adopt 5, total....and we have them all planned out.

#1. Chardonnay:

Chardonnay is the hottest little bitch you're ever going to meet, and that's all there is. Next time you open a Cosmo magazine to get an eye full of perfection, immediately realize that your search is fruitless, call Naomi Campbell's management team to book her a first class airline ticket to where you are, allow her punch you in the collarbone with blood diamonds until you RECOGNIZE, then show her a picture of little Chardonnay...so she can reel, squeal, and politely step off of the cat walk, to allow TRUE brown succulence to set it on fire.

TROOF!

Chardonnay is the beauty pageant baby. We arent going to bother with putting her into school, because she is pretty. Plus, that cuts into rehearsal time. I dont care if she is only four. She BETTER work that shit, and work it CORRECT. If not, then itll be another sleepless night of watching the Beyonce Live In London DVD, over...and over....and over...and over...and over.....and over....

again.

" Oh, youre tired, and you want some water? HHhhhmmm....then maybe you SHOULD'VE done

prance, prance, head flip, wink, shoulder shimmy, pussy pop....

instead of....

prance, prance, head flip, wink, GLAMOR HANDS, pussy pop.

WHO'S A LITTLE IDIOT?!?!??!? YOU, ......IDIOT!!! Now hit "play", again...and watch how Beyonce doesnt screw shit up. And would it kill you to wet your lips?

Parenting is so difficult. Dont act like you know.

Vagenta:

Little Vagenta is the real sister to Chardonnay. She is very plain looking, but bordering on hideous. She is too thin, and gangley. Her nose is kind of like a Jew nose, but on a little black girl. She is most definitely wearing coke bottle glasses, and her hair is a shit mess. You cant do a single thing with it. She is a smarty pants like no other, and is always in the library. In reality, she longs to be Chardonnay. She wants glitz, glamor, and craves to be in spotlight. We keep her locked up in the attic when Chardonnay is in rehearsal, because Vagenta's pleading stare just makes her face look even more like rotting puke mixed with shit. Add a pleading stare onto an already hideous monstrosity...and its "lunch coming up", time. She can hear Chardonnay practicing, so she opens the attic window, and sings into the cool night air. Her voice is like melted honey. She is pitch perfect. Tiny blue birds perch on a branch near by, to hear the melodious tune. Vagenta looks up at the black sky, and a tiny tear trickles down her cheek. Thats when I march upstairs and chuck an encyclopedia at her esophagus. "NO SINGING!!!! YOURE TOO UGLY TO SING!"

See? Encouraging children to pursue their strengths, also falls under...' good parenting". Youre learning so much!

You're welcome.

Soiree:

Little Soiree is borderline retarded, but in a crazy/life of the party/fun way!!! We dont bother sending her to school either, because she makes us laugh..and thats what keeps Russ from slipping into a gruesome depression over the fact that we now have children together, and there is now no chance of him being free of my maniacal grip.......

"You hear that, Russ?......NO CHANCE!!!

MMMMMUUUAAAHHHAAAHHAAA!!!"

We are sure to teach Soiree every swear word by the age of 3, and what is so great about Soiree.... is her ability to repeat, like a cockatoo. We'll go to the grocery store, place her in the front of the carriage, pause while we are in the seafood department, and force her to call out...

" cunt explosion......aisle 5. "

Oh Soiree. Hurry up and turn 21, so we can dump Ecstasy down your throat, and take you to every gay rave in the US and Canada.

Pork Fried Rice:

Little Pork Fried Rice is our Asian baby. She is a silky haired lotus, and doesn't speak. Thats fine, because she is a violin prodigy, and she dont need to talk, thank you!!!! She is terrified of Soiree, which is why we lock both of them in a closet sometimes, and just guffaw about it. Children truly DO provide so much joy!!!!

Harvey Milk:

I was with Russ recently, and saw an African American albino boy, in downtown Boston. He was very Justin Timberlake-ish but not as wigga. I was immediately obsessed and wanted to touch his blondish/reddish afro, while I placed my face inches from his, and just stared into his pinkish eyes. I withheld, because I didnt feel like going to prison that day. But I want one. Ill hold up my tanned arm next to his milky white arm and then say...." Janet, Michael......Janet, Michael." Then Ill say....

"I am white, but my skin is brown. You are black, but your skin is white. "

Ill pause for a moment to really let that set in, but then Soiree will bust through the door, push him to the ground, call him a cum stain, then start biting his legs.

Russ and I will sit back, warmly smile, put our arms around each other, stare at our family, and then remember that Vagenta has been locked in the attic for 8 days with no food or water. Then we'll relax, because its not like it was Chardonnay or Soiree.

"MOAN"-A LISA!!!!!!!

WARNING!!!! EVERYTHING in all of my blogs, is 100% factual. Absolutely NOTHING is fabricated.

My best friend's name is Lisa, and I abuse the mother fucking shit out of her. We have been friends for over 20 years, so who is the actual person with severe mental deficiency? The abuser, or the one who keeps coming back for more....2 decades in a row? I think its kind of like the battered wife, who just cant seem to leave.... although she knows she should. Ill give Lisa a good verbal backhand like....." Really Lisa? Youre gonna eat......ice cream? I mean, okay. But dont expect ME to do your errands, when you lose your foot to Diabetes. She ALWAYS comes back for more. I mean the abuse...AND the ice cream.

I met Lisa when I was 16, and she was 49. Lol. Did you read that Lisa?!?!? Or do you even get the joke?

Sigh...See, cause that would make you almost 70 years old now, Lisa.

Forget it people. She doesn't get the joke. Arent old, heavy people just sad?

Lisa tells the story about how when she was a young teenager, she was watching Eddie Murphy on Saturday Night Live. He was doing a skit where he was a queeny hairdresser, and according to her....thats when she thought...

" Ive gotta get me one of those".

And boy did she ever. She found the best one!

My abuse to Lisa, and varied and brutal. I really like to come at her from every angle, and here are just a few of the ways I make sure she doesn't get too full of herself.

VERBAL ASSAULTS:

#1. Lisa...do you ever just sit..... and try to picture what your sister's vagina looks like?

#2. Lisa, when its time to be intimate with John, do you ever.....lay there, and as he is crawling on top of you.....do you ever place your lips right next to his ear, and say something like...

- " Make love to me, for I am your wife ....and the mother of your children. Enter me, where those very children came out. "

* Im also going to throw into this section, the fact that Im CONSTANTLY trying to talk Lisa into introducing another person into her marriage. "Lisa, wouldn't it be sexy if...I dont know..maybe some night John came home with some woman he met out at a bar named Brenda. She has black hair, but its the kind of black thats too black....and has been dyed too much with a sweet box of CVS brand hair color. She likes a good ciggy, first thing in the morning, and her vagina smells like abortions. She loves a nice acid washed jean short, and wears a bandanna tied around her wrist. She loves Joan Jett, and WWF. Maybe in the morning, you get out of bed, and youre making breakfast. Your kids are at the table waiting, and they notice the strap of your too thin nighty, keeps falling over your shoulder. But you dont care..because you know PASSION! Youre cooking up some eggs, and the scents from the night before, waft from your fingers up to your alert nostrils. MMMmm....abortions, and eggs!

Isnt it ironic? Dont you think?

John saunters out, with a devil may care grin. ' Oh...hello Mrs. Johnson,"...he says. He pats you on the fanny as he takes a seat. " Oh...good morning Mr Johnson. Would you like eggs?.......

or legs?"

This is when Lisa lets out a throaty chortle... from her lips...and...."her lips".

Thats when Brenda comes out from the bedroom and the children look up.

" Girls....this is Brenda. She'll be sharing our life......"

Lisa walks to Brenda, and presses a lingering kiss on her dry, barren lips.

"She is earth, air, fire, and water. Especially water....

in my panty no no."

Eh, she still isnt going for it. ill keep working on it.

#3. (on the phone). Sigh....Lisa....you haven't gotten any fatter have you? You were PRETTY big the last time I saw you.

#4. My introduction to someone she doesn't know...." This is my friend Lisa. She has long black hairs growing out of her nipples.

#5. (While in the produce aisle of a grocery store.) " Lisa......this apple looks good!" ( I proceed to drag my nostrils over the entire body of the apple while sniffing..and then return it to the pile.) " NOPE!!! That one wasnt good. Lisa? ...LISA?!?!?!? Where are you going?

#6. Lisa....would you rather give me oral sex or eat out a REALLY dirty stranger's pussy? And I mean...REALLY blow me. Just sucking, all night long. Going for broke. Lisa? Are you picturing it?

#7. Lisa, I love your hair color. Its like God puked, spun it into gold, and then stuck it on your head.

#8. Lisa.....when you're putting in a tampon....do you ever just throw your head back, lick your fire engine red lips, and savor the sensation?

#9. (When somebody mistakes us for being married). " ME?!?!? MARRIED TO HER?!?!? Um.....no thank you. Im all set with AIDS.

#10. Lisa....has anyone ever told you that you have cow tits?

#11. (Again...upon introducing her to someone she doesnt know). This is my friend Lisa. What would you say you like least about her? Her muffin top or camel toe?" Lisa....turn around good...so they can really see your muffin top.

#12. ( When we are in a public, confined area). Urgh! Lisa! Im buying some handy wipes...I can smell your quim!!! What? Lisa...no one knows what a "quim", is.

PHYSICAL ASSAULTS:

#1. I REALLY like it when we are in an Applebee's parking lot, or any very public place, and grab her from behind and just ram her ass as hard as I can. She screams, but then I remind her that I need to let people see that she is getting what she deserves. Its most effective when screaming out, " Take it, bitch!" or, " Youve been waiting for this all night, whore!

2. When we find ourselves on a dance floor, and Lisa's had herself a Long Island Iced Tea.....she has a patented dance move. That move is.....I come up behind her, grab her by the hands...and make her jerk off for everyone. I forcefully guide her hand down to her crotch, and she GOES TO TOWN. I berate for being so horny and for being DISGUSTING because I know she gets off on people watching. She just keeps on dancin' and jerkin'. Its who she is.

#3. Im forever hand raping her jugs. Im always trying to undo her bra, put my finger in her butt, or caress her loins. I try to soothe her by saying, ' c'mom baby, its gonna feel good. Isnt it hot knowing that I have been with thousands of men, but Im attracted to YOU, Lisa? Can you smell them on me? Ya? But I want YOU, Lisa? isnt that hot? "

LISA'S NICKNAMES

-White Shart Johnson

-Low Tide Johnson

-Juicy Rewards Johnson

-Juicy Details Johnson

-Juicy Contradictions Johnson

-Neptune's Garden Johnson

-Soft & Crafty Johnson

-Thick & Thirsty Johnson

-Burly Angel

-Loads of Hope Johnson

-Thunder Fuck Johnson

-Pillow Fuck Johnson

In closing, I love Lisa like Ive loved no other. She is my earth, air, fire, and water. Especially water. Because she loves it when I piss on her face.

THERE'S A MILLION LIKE EM'........

You know what? Since you asked..... Its no secret that I hold a HUGE amount of contempt for a certain group, out there. If you fall into the list of being born....

1. Male

2. White

3. Straight

4. Upper middle class to wealthy

5. Republican.

Then YOU sir...are a massive douche, and should immediately crash your slate grey BMW with a Bush/Cheney bumper sticker..... RIGHT into the nearest tree. ( That no doubt..... your grandfather and his buddies hung blacks from, back in the day). My friends and I will stand around and laugh...sip on our Bailey's on ice.......and remark on how quickly white Republicans go up in a blaze. We will ALSO comment on how delicious Bailey's on ice is. Then we'll watch the devil materialize from the ground, snatch you up.......turn to us and wink as if to say......" I know JUST what to do with this douche-tastic fuck stick", and disappear into the dark earth, below. Then we're OUTTA THERE, because Im all set with the scent of burning flesh. Believe me......I know that smell, well. I myself, may have burned up a body or two on the dance floor.

FEEL THE FIRE, TRANNYS!

These "holier than thou", "Im better than you", "never been knocked down a peg" mother fuckers make me want to puke out of my nose. Im a big believer that its the act of life nailing you in the balls ( or vaginal bone), with a steel tipped boot....that makes you a kinder, gentler person. These guys were born with EVERY advantage, got EVERYTHING they ever wanted in life with little to no work, were praised from the word go, and had ZERO obstacles.

Those....dear readers.....are all of the ingredients to make a person who is vile, obnoxious....and most of all....CANT TAKE A FUCKING JOKE. Which personally.....I find to be the most deplorable of all human qualities.

That, and being a country music fan.

Sorry. Unless youre The Dixie Chicks and youre slamming George Bush at some concert.....I just cant. I cant do twangy hick tunes.

( and by the way...how did you like that sweet reference from an event in 2007? ) Ryan!!! Youre so current!!!!

PPPffftt. Then YOU start a blog that has readers in the tens, and let me see how fresh you keep the shit, Judgey!

Anyhoo. What also kills me about this select group of people, is the way they can get super bloated, and rock a sweet muffin top with fatty sausage fingers like Linda Ronstadt, and STILL strut down the hallway like they are top stud.

Your name is definitely Tanner or Corey. ( Urgh.....I just puked a little.) You grew up in some asshole suburb in Connecticut .....about 45 minutes outside of Manhattan. Your dad is a plastic surgeon and your mom " volunteers." She is also rocking a massive Valium addiction. ( Which is the ONLY thing that is semi-cool about your family.) Your dad was a high school football star, much like you were. And you both ABSOLUTELY date raped some poor girl who was enthralled with your douchey high school power. I see you!!!!! Your mom grew up the daughter of a Pastor, but she had a sweet rack and fucked everyone in sight, which is how your mom and dad met and eventually married. You grew up in a 1.5 million dollar house, and you had a German Shepard named Tucker. ( God...fucking white people). You teased the gay kid at your school mercilessly, but once a month or so, picked him at 10 at night, parked down the street, and had him blow you. You never had a summer job, but instead spent weekends in Maine with your other douchey fuck wad friends...smoking pot and listening to Led Zeppelin. SO EDGEY!!!! Nobody else did that before or after you! Way to be on the tip! You went to Middlebury or Bowdoin, and your father paid cash for all four years. He also gave you a credit card, but you were only allowed to spend $10,000.00 a month. ( Well, he'd allow a little more if you REALLY needed it.) Now youre an upper level douche manager at some cooperation, where....yes...people are still bowing down to you. You pull in a couple hundred thousand a year and drink dirty martinis with GREY GOOSE ONLY! And pity the poor waiter who gets it wrong. You also smoke cigars. You hate it, but your buddies do it. How do you spell poser? T-A-N-N-E-R. Youre about to marry some sweet girl who is WAY hotter than you, but you still love to hire hookers from Craigslist when you're traveling for work. ( Both male, female, and " in the middle"). You treat them like shit, and always short them $40.00...just because you feel like it. You golf every weekend, and just bought front row tickets to the Nickleback show!

Good for you!

Know whats sad? NOBODY PUTS THEM IN CHECK!!!!

Why? Ill tell you why. Even if somebody were to give it to them and give it to them good...they wouldnt hear shit. Its their world. Its a white, straight, money loving world....and you and I dear reader...are on the outs. Know that I say to that?

Thank

Fucking

God

BLACK POWER!

HERE SHE COMES....MISS HUGELY INAPPROPRIATE...

Sometimes, I like to just have nice little sit.....pour myself a delicious mid morning Jagermeister shot or six, tear myself off of the "transsexuals seeking men" section of Craigslist, and just let my mind wander.

When I do this, the very first thing that pops into my head, is .....

" How do I get that hot Guinea, slut cop who is always over seeing street construction in my area... to come to my house while Russ is at work, and pretend that Im a Hispanic felon with a rap sheet a mile long.... and a real chip on my shoulder. I HAVE to be Hispanic in this scenario, because they break laws.

He's taking me through the booking process ,and Im just being a real dick, and SUPER hispanc-y about the whole thing. Im all.....' cholo, puta, ese...", and that sexy cop is just not having it. He's gotta pull me into a separate holding room, because Im causing too much of a scene....and thats when that muscle bitch cop notices that my mouth looks an awful lot like the vagina of the underage prostitute he arrested last week....and then its fucking ON!!!!!

The other thing that I dream about, is being a contestant in a beauty pageant. This is the more likely of the two fantasies... because I'm AMAZING looking.

And heres the thing that Im not sure you people are really getting. When I say " amazing", what I mean is.... REALLY REALLY good looking.

Stunning.

You'll immediately punch your spouse in the neck, for not being me. The first time you see this vision in a "too tight for his age" t-shirt, coming in your direction, its over. We WILL end up inside each other. I hope you've had your HPV vaccination.

I would love to be a contestant in a beauty pageant, not only for the opportunity to have sex with the z- list celebrity judges... ( Im looking RIGHT at you, Nick Lachey), but so that I could really give the audience some answers to remember, when the Q&A section rolls around.

(Question:)

What is one negative thing that you would change about the current world today...and why?

(Me:)

"PPppffftt. Ill tell you what I would change. All the FUCKING white people. Id kill off all the crackers....and in the most brutal fashion possible. They can all take their " paying taxes"....and " mojitos"...and their " Journey's Greatest Hits" CD's, and go screw. Id gather all the beautiful, sassy sista' s and the chocolate Neanderthals with their penis's of might.....and pop pussy all night long on top of the rotting carcases of Caucasian McWhitey. Then we'd eat Chicken and Waffles."

Black people love chicken waffles. Oh, forget it. Its not funny if I have to explain it.

(Question:)

If you could have a conversation with one historical figure living or dead, who would it be, and why?

(Me:)

"I would choose Michael Jackson. My first question to Michael would be, " What did it feel like to constantly be out done by Latoya? In EVERY way. My second question would be....." to get a five year old's blood and tears mixture out of sequins...did you use bleach and water.....or just straight laundry detergent? "

( then I would chuckle, because I had just used the words ' Michael Jackson", and " straight", in the same sentence. The host of the show would laugh too.....and then thrust his pelvis into the front row)

( Question:)

Working with a charity, is always a requirement of the current title holder. if you win, what charitable organization would you work with, and why?

(Me:)

"Well, first off..I get your implication of " charity work", and I WILL NOT be sitting on your face later, back in your hotel suite. "

( for under $500.00 cash or money order for that same amount)

"I plan on working with retards. You know....retards....hold such a special place, for me. Sure some people laugh at their forever drool string... coming out of their mouths, or the googley eyes.... or mis-shapen claw hands. But NOT ME!

( This is where I put my hand to my heart, and look off into the distance. Im dewy and glamorous).

"I mean...sure..... I laugh for a second. But then I feel sad....but then feel happy that Im not like that!!!! And isn't being happy, whats it all about?"

The crowd erupts into thunderous roars, and Im crowned the winner!

Thats when Im yanked from this dream world, by the sound of someone crawling through my living room...trying to steal my big screen TV. Thank God he is Hispanic, and thank god I know of a certain cop down the street who wont put up with his ethnic felonies.

And Russ wont be home from work HOURS!

SHE CAN TURN THE WORLD ON, WITH HER SMILE.....

A few nights ago, Russ and I went to dinner with a group of friends. Our very good friends Dave and Mary sat across from us, and Mary was directly across from me. Mary is a sinewy gazelle. She is a lot like Mary Tyler Moore, but different..... in that Im pretty sure Mary Tyler Moore wouldnt call someone a cunt, if they cut her off while driving.

To me, just one more reason to shun THAT poser Mary, and to worship OUR Mary. She's classy, and artsy, and edgy....and if she happens to run into you in a Target unexpectedly.....she'll pretty much throws her bags in the air, punch the person next to her, and yell out a rape scream that will shatter glass, out of the pure, unadulterated joy that comes from the surprise encounter.

Here is her blog. Its much classier than mine, in the way that she really refrains from talking about assholes. How she does it, Ill never know. Ive worked the word "asshole", into a eulogy.

http://dressforsports.blogspot.com/

As the meal progressed, Mary and I got to talking about my recent high school reunion. Just a few days ago, I went back to central Maine for it. I grew up in a very small town, smack in the middle of the state. My town was essentially a paper milling town, with some smaller surrounding farming communities. There was also a J.C. Penney. Calm down lesbians, I can hear you salivating. Yes, please pack up your frowns, agendas, and budgeting paperwork, load it all into your Forester Outbacks, and gun it to central Maine. Youll fist yourself from the joy of living with tractors and endless pine trees.

And the constant fragrance of seafood.

While the area may be a diesel dyke utopia, the trueness of it, is that it is a seriously impoverished area. Pretty much nothing has changed in the past 60 years. There is little to no opportunity, and the way of thinking is very much...' it was good enough before, and its good enough now.". Its that very way of thinking that keeps Maine as beautiful, pure, and untouched as it is...... but it is the very thing that holds it back, and keeps people from getting in, or leaving. Most people live 5 miles from the house they grew up in, and very rarely travel much beyond that.

I.....on the other hand........felt the paper of my high school diploma hit my palm, I packed up my Rhythm Nation 1814 CD, and RAAAAAAAN the shit outta that place.

As I talked to Mary about my experience with the reunion, I found myself recounting to her the memories of my senior year. I was walking down the hallway one day, and I was attacked by 5 guys. They shoved my face into a wall, kicked me in the head and gut, and took off laughing. My braces had just come off a few days before..so of course being the huge homo that I am...my very first thought was...." Aw, fuck!!! There goes my new set of gorgeous, perfectly straight pearly whites!!!!" I collected myself as best as I could, and got up.

The thing that stings...even to this day...is that the friend that I was walking with, turned and walked away in the other direction...... as if nothing ever happened. He would never speak to me again. And the sad thing is, at the time......I didnt blame him.

By the end of the day, the entire school had heard about what happened, and no matter where I went, people pointed and laughed. I walked out in the middle of 5th period, and didnt come back.

The guys who did it, basically got a slap on the wrist. I had to quit school 4 months before graduating. At that point, some of the local papers had picked up on the story, and then some of the state papers. Every day it grew, and before long, some of my friends began protesting outside the school. I was like Norma Rae, but with New Kids On The Block haircut! I had decided to get my GED taking night classes, but quickly nixed that, as I found out that people were planning on waiting for me in the dark, if I did that.

Fucked up, right?

Eventually, I was talked into returning. Im happy that I did, and walking into that school on my first day back, was one of the hardest things Ive ever done.

The remaining months until graduation went by without any incident, until marching ceremonies, approached. I found out that a group of kids were planning on pelting me with eggs when I got up to get my diploma. I didnt want to go down like that...after everything that I had been through....especially in front of my family. I wanted to just go to the school office that morning to get my diploma, and skip the whole thing. My friends encouraged me to march with my head up high. Im the biggest pussy in the entire world, and Im also a complete doormat, and will do pretty much anything Im told to...so I caved.

I waited in line to walk up on the stage, and Ill never forget this. My hands shook so badly, that I had to keep them fisted into a ball. Sweat POURED out from underneath my cap. I moved closer and closer to the stage, and finally they announced my name. I walked up, already wincing, as I could feel the phantom eggs smashing into my face and chest. My plan was to walk/run....grab the paper....just get it over as quickly as I could, with as little egg on me as possible.

Its really pretty much a blur up to the point that the superintendent shook my hand. It was a firm handshake, that was forceful enough to let me know that he wanted me to slow my pace, and stop. I remember looking at his face, and he looked at me with such warmth and respect...that it jarred me out of the panicky fog that I had been in, for the past 15 minutes. I looked out to the crowd, and I didnt see eggs flying into my direction.

What I was saw was, a standing ovation. I heard people cheering. There were no eggs. Just support. Just love. I barely made it to the other side of the stage before I completely broke down.

Even now, as I type these words...my heart is racing ,and my eyes are misty. This story doesnt make me look sexy. It isnt funny. I very much feel exposed. I guess that I WANT to share this. If Im going to be dedicated to this project...its important to be real, and honest.

Sigh, deep breath.

I looked at Mary, and she grabbed my hand, and she had tears in her eyes. Just another reason why we love Mary, so much.

I want to end this by saying that, the first part of my life...my childhood..my teen years..my early adult years.... I endured abuse from every angle. I wont share it all now, though.

I would carry the thought through out my life, that if you take a tea cup and hurl it against the wall as hard as possible....you can try to glue it back together....

But it will never be as good as it was before.

I always saw myself as that tea cup, glued and taped back together as best as I could. But never as good as another cup who hadn't suffered such trauma.

It wasnt until recently, I realized that often, its the process of glueing yourself back together, that makes you better than you ever could've been before. Maybe even stronger and wiser, BECAUSE of being shattered apart.

Im still trying to get it right,and fit those broken pieces back together, just so. Ill keep you posted............

asshole! ( I couldnt resist)

ITS BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE CHAIN LINK....

I work in holistic health and skin care.....and really do prefer to work exclusively from my office, as it is not only a beautiful setting, but its almost essential to perform most services from a stationary place. There is no way that I can bring everything that I feel is important to a separate location, to really make it the same experience as it is, if you come to me.

I got a phone call one day, and the request was for me to come to the home of some very casual acquaintances of my boyfriend, at the time. I 99.9% of the time, dont go to peoples houses, but since my boyfriend sort of knew them, and business at the time was anything but stellar, I agreed to go. I didnt know these two guys at all, but I had heard their names through out the course of my relationship, here and there. I knew that the older of the two, was a very respected mental health professional, and the Grand Poobah of the leather scene, in the city that I lived in. I was very green back then, and didnt really know all that much about leather, S&M, or fetish. The most hardcore I got, was getting my feet rubbed, and....oooooohhh!!!!!......did you say you did the dishes, too? FUCK YA, DADDY! Thats about how intense I got.

They booked me for 90 minute massage therapy sessions, back to back. I packed up my table, linens, & oils, and headed out. I drove through a very beautiful, exclusive neighborhood, found the address, and parked. I unloaded all of my belongs, and made the trek down the long, dark driveway that lead to a large, 2 million dollar home. It was Christmas time, and as I got closer to the front door...I noticed a life sized stuffed Santa Claus, just to the left of the doorbell. Santa was about 6ft, and was shackled with his hands behind his back. His feet were bound, and .....Santa had been a misbehaved little bitch, because...um...he was also gagged.

What? Whats wrong with that?

Ill tell you whats wrong with that.

EVERYONE and their aunt Colleen, knows that Santa is a sadistic, cigar smoking top daddy, NOT a sniveling subservient.

Jesus......way to ruin Christmas, Mr psychologist!

My alarm only increased, as I looked around to see that all the potted plants that lined the outdoors deck, were all in pig themed planters. There was a pig welcome mat, a pig shaped doorbell, and pig figurines all over the place.

Clearly this night was going to end with me, replacing the stuffed Santa. I want you to know that I rang the doorbell, ONLY because my partner sort of knew these guys. If that weren't the case, I would've high tailed it to the nearest church so I could beg Jesus to release Santa from his Saw part IV, prison.

I mean...bitch has a job to do, and I was expecting to receive a new pair of Puma sneakers that year. That aint happening if he's getting his bondage sex on, with two yahoos in a million dollar house.

When the door opened, I saw a guy in his mid 50's, staring at me. He was waaaay too intense the second he started talking. Every sentence was perfectly measured, and his tone was so sedate and calm...I immediately knew that he was trying to decide what size catheter he would be placing in me. John Travolta hit the nail on the god damned head when he sang about having the chills, and feeling them multiply...because I was a nervous wreck. I was also grossed out, and really feeling like...."oh for Christ's sake, nigga. Take it down a peg"

He gave me a small tour of the living room, dining-room, and kitchen. It TRULY was a beautiful home. Well, it WOULD BE beautiful... if normal people lived there. In the living room, over the $10,000 sofa, hung a massive oil painting of one guy, ramming his fist into another guy's ass.

I dont know about you, but nothing says " Christmas" to me, like a fisty salute, done in oil paint. A similar painting of said fist....but pulling out a dollar bill, says " Hanukkah"....

We sat down in the kitchen, and Papa mental patient let me know that his partner was in the shower, and would be out in just a minute. He was full on looming over, and his gaze was so set into mine, that I found it difficult to keep looking him in the eye. So I focused on a sculpture of a massive blue cock that was on the kitchen table. You're not a hearding dog, and Im not a sheep, so bring that intense glare, down to a holler. ( although I have been mistaken for a little baby lamb, Im so god damned adorable.

He let me know that he would just write me a check right then, to make sure that all the finances were taken care, and out of the way. I said that was no problem at all. He wrote me a check and I looked at it. It was for $20.00 less than the amount that I had quoted him. I pointed that out, and his barrel chest puffed out. " Uh, you quoted me a completely different price on the phone, and NOW YOURE TELLING ME SOMETHING DIFFERENT!?!?!?!?"

First off, I never quoted you a different price. My rates had been the same forever. Second....I get this whole, " intimidation", thing you have going on right now.....but Im not bound and gagged Santa, youre NOT my leather daddy, and Im staring at a cock sculpture that costs hundreds of dollars. Just hand over the god damned $20.00, and shove a ball gag in your mouth.

RIDICULOUS!

The boyfriend appeared in the kitchen a few minutes later, dressed in a bathrobe. He was diminutive in stature and size, maybe in his mid 30's. He was actually very sweet.

"Sir, Im all done with my shower."

" Okay, slave. Head downstairs, and we'll be right there."

Um. Hang on, one second. Youre fucking kidding, right? Did you guys just call each other "Sir", and ' slave"? I think that the look on my face said it all, because he looked at me as Slave went downstairs, and explained that this was all a part of their lifestyle. Sir tells slave when he can piss, eat, and sleep. Slave doesnt work, and either stays in a large cage, or locked up in a room until Sir gets home. He speaks when spoken to, and basically is.....a .....slave.

Get it?

Again. I just want to say here, that all I want is for someone to rub my feet. And Ill go piss when I feel like it, thank you..... or if a hot blond surfer just got stung by a jellyfish. The fact that Im aiming for his face, and not the sting....doesnt concern you...NOSEY!

We walked downstairs, and we passed their Christmas tree. The tree was hung upside down by a huge chain, so the pointy part was going towards the floor. At the point of the tree, was a Satan mask. I dont believe in Jesus Christ one little bit, but then and there....I was just waiting for Linda Blair to jump out of the tree and ram a crucifix in her tuna sanctuary, right before my very eyes. Every second that went by got more and more insane, and as I descended the staircase to the lower levels of the house, I seriously contemplated if id ever see the light of day, again.

They led me to a room that was covered in black tarp, floor to ceiling, had a leather sling, a huge dildo collection, and the largest can of Crisco Id ever seen. There was a large sign on the wall that said...' What daddy wants, daddy gets." Im just stabbing in the dark here, but is there any chance daddy wants some Xanax, to CHILL THE FUCK OUT WITH ALL THIS BULLSHIT?!?!?? Fucking seriously? EVERY room? Every room has to have some sadistic shit? I love Swedish fish candies like a bitch.....but Im not decorating my entire bedroom in them.

Daddy left the room, and it was time to work on slave. I set up the sheets, went to the bathroom, and came back. He was laying face down, but with a thick silver dog collar still around his neck. I asked him if he could remove it, so I could start, but he informed that he....in fact could NOT, as it was a symbol of Sir's ownership, over him.

Mmmhhhmm.

Listen, I just play up my to boyfriend's insecurities every chance I get. Its like an invisible collar, and it allows him to get a massage with no hassle. I said Id work around it, but then noticed dozens of purple welts, criss crossing his back. " Are you okay?", I asked, as I placed my hand on his back. " Oh yes," said slave. Im proud of those."

You know what Im proud of? I still know all the words to the rap section in "Cold Hearted Snake", by Paula Abdul.

I noticed that he had on his underwear as I adjusted the sheet. This struck me as odd, because they didnt strike me as the shy, type. I told him that its easier for him to be nude under the sheet, so I could work on the hips and the glutes. His response?

" I cant, because Im fighting an infection on my asshole, right now".

That was it. I took the check, handed it to him, packed up my stuff ,and walked out. I got home and told my boyfriend about everything that happened. To his defense, he really DID feel terrible about letting me go, and saying that he knew them, and that it would be okay. I just latched the cage door, and told him no more talking.

And if he thought he was going to be able to go pee before bedtime, he had another thing coming.

They're called, " Rules". Santa will tell you about them.

HONEY, GET THE RAID. ITS STILL MOVING....

My mom and I have been getting into the same argument for almost 20 years. She will claim up and down, that I was an adorable little boy. " Ryan...you were! You were such a cute little boy, I just wanted to kiss your cheeks like crazy".

Mmmhhhmmm.

Right, bitch. How were your Quaaludes and Riuniti on ice?

Then why do you have the same look on your face when you say this........ that I make, when Im doing walking lunges with 70 pound dumbbells in each hand? Ill tell you why. Because much like the strain of trying to support that amount of heavy weight with just MY butt cheek muscles, YOU'RE straining not to bust out into hysterical laughter, from the stream of evil lies coming from your lie-ing mom hole.

Thats why.

Of course my older sister was beautiful the minute she plopped out of aforementioned liar. She was a hot little coconut baby with flawless skin and the vagina of a one year old. The shit was TIGHT! She was gorgeous at one, ten, 20, 30, and 40. She was icy, distant, and always on point with her sexy. She was the Joan Collins of Central Maine. Im still not 100% clear as to why my mother didnt just chuck my ass into the garbage, and try again. I may have cleaned up nice in my later years, but lets just get this straight, right now. I was born with a nose that would make any Jew immediately punch me in the face with a sack of gold, just so that Id be forced to go back into the hospital and repair that shit.

Its called, " sympathy." Dont ask me how those Godless heathens know about it...but they just do. Okay?

To add to the sex appeal that I was rocking at two years old, I had a sweet pair of crossed eyes. Every single picture of me from my youth, looks like someone just shook the be-Jesus out of me, forced fed me a gallon of Crown Royal, and then sat my homely ass on the Tilt-a -Whirl for the second half of the 70's. I was Siamese cat-ish, in my cross eyed quality. I looked like a retarded Siamese cat with a bowl cut. You know what I say, then? WHY NOT toss on a pair of coke bottle glasses? Yes, dear readers. My aunt used to call me " the little scientist", but really I think she meant......." oh, enjoy never having any kind of sexual relations in your adult life, my little walking abortion nephew who makes me feel both sad and angry. at the very same time. Now go in the other room so I can finish my meal without looking at you." I was like Cousin Oliver, but with a propensity for Lynda Carter

My hideousness, really had multiple layers. It was a tapestry of carnage, that was delicate in its wrongness, but robust in its in-bred like qualities. Added to the list, were a set of teeth that looked like they were embroiled in some serious battle with each other. Im talking..like.....some " Kill Bill", shit...but more violent and without Uma Thurman's skinny neck and bug eyes. My front teeth stuck straight out, as if they were both trying to desperately escape.

Do you think Im done?

WRONG, nigga! There's more.......how terrible/fantastic is that?

Huge nose, crossed eyes, buck teeth, and......to really dot the " i",

as in....."it"

as in..." kill IT before IT moves again"......

I was born pigeon toed. Now stop reading and sit back for a minute,..... ( or stop jerking off, if youre some German priest who's really into underage, in breds who could open a can of peas at a moments notice)...and REALLY let all this swim around in your brain for a hot second. I had it ALL! From top to bottom, I was state fair material, and when you add on the fact that it took me until I pretty much graduated from high school to figure out how to work a zipper on a coat.....

MMMmmm.

FIRE!

My feet pointed inward, and I was forced to wear braces to correct them.

Oh

And take ballet classes.

Ya......try not to lose your shit. Compose, yourself. COMPOSE YOURSELF, FOR CHRIST"S SAKE!!!! Im an in bred, blind, fucked up grill, gimpy ballerina..and I make zero apologies. You know why? I grew up, and things sort of righted themselves, out. I discovered the gym, spray tanning, chemical peels, and the date rape drug, so....... my aunts opinion of my future sex life, never really came to pass. I get plenty of tail. Its just that, its always a felony.

YOU GOT SERVED, BITCH! Hows it feel to be so wrong?!?!?!?

I just think we should've moved to Mississippi. I would've been king Glamor, down in that puke pile of a state. No offense to Mississippi-ians. Its just that you're all swamp creatures. I mean that, in the most beautiful way.

GIRLY MEN VS. BOYISH GALS.

WHAT GAY MEN LOVE:

- A nice Terra cotta wall color.

- Under eye concealer.

-Eggs Benedict.

-A Kelly Clarkson remix.

-Mexican housekeepers.

-Fabric softener enhanced with essential oils.

-Writing pissy complaints to the "Letters To The Editor" section of newspapers.

-"Lana", from Three's Company

- Putting pink bows on male dogs.

-Eye rolls.

-Ice cubes in red wine.

-Julia Robert's hooker boots, in Pretty Woman.

-Vanilla scented anything.

-Televised college wrestling.

-Bridal showers.

-Sconces.

WHAT LESBIANS LOVE:

-A wall color called, " Pragmatic".

- Chap stick

-Baked potatoes. No salt, no butter.

-Shawn Colvin singing standards.

-Old fashioned elbow grease, early in the morning.

-Borax soap.

-Writing physically threatening complaints to the "Letters To The Editor" section of newspapers.

-"Joe", from "Facts of Life."

-Obedience school for dogs

-High fives

-Warm, flat, Miller Lite.

-Any Sigourney Weaver flick ,that has some side boob.

-Pine scented anything.

-Women's decathlons.

-"Womyn's" meetings.

-Support Beams and Steel Girders.

HAVE YOU HEARD THE ONE ABOUT THE WORST WAITER EVER?

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ONLY YOUR HAIRDRESSER KNOWS FOR SURE....

Next time I get my hair cut, I am going to drive 100 miles into the smallest town I can find. Ill march right up to " Miss Lorraine's Beauty Spot", grab a seat in the waiting area, open up the latest issue of Christianity Today......and wait for that sexy bitch Lorraine to finish up her wash n set, so she can get to work on my luxurious tresses.

Maybe Ill comment on how I LOVE that Christianity Today only features wholesome, god fearing WHITES, and she'll let out a hearty chuckle. Because you KNOW she agrees. Ill grab a hard candy out of the dish at her station, and MMMmmm!!!! Its lemon!

She'll ask me if I have a wife, because her granddaughter is ON THE HUNT! Ill let her know that I just got through a very messy divorce, ( she was cheating on me with a...... Cuban. Ill whisper the word " Cuban", because frankly, NOBODY wants to hear that word. Well, unless " was just arrested", is following it.) Now Im just trying to pick up the pieces of my life, with the help of Jesus. ( which ironically was the name of the Cuban slut my ex wife was cheating on me with.) Lorraine will pat me on the shoulder, give me a look of compassion, and let me know that Id be in her prayers.

" Thank you Lorraine. And pray that she gets Cuban AIDS, if you have an extra second or two."

Lorraine will pull out her clippers, and start my haircut. I picture it will go a little something like this. Enjoy the clip, below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eNaYSoeKqd4

"DIZ" TO THE "ORA"

My grandmother's name is Dora May, and she is hot. Chances are, hotter than you. But definitely not hotter than me.

She is hot, because she is 89 and god damned hysterical. She doesnt mean to be, which makes it THE SHIT! Where as I am hacky, pedestrian, and offensive.....she is to the point, spot on, and doesn't miss a trick.

Some quotes:

#1. In response to my nephew...who was talking to a group of us in the kitchen about his roommate, who was dating 2 black bisexual strippers.

" they really know how to move".

#2. In response to me, telling my mother how I had stopped at an adult bookstore to buy a plastic vagina as a joke gift, but the cheapest one that they had was $50.00

" thats too much!"

#3. When asked if she would be open to posting an online add for people over 80, she waved her hand and scoffed. I told her we could take a picture of her on the sofa...maybe her dressing gown would be falling over her shoulder while she held her cup of coffee. The caption would be " DORA THE EXPLOR-A". She indicated she wasnt interested. I told her we could find an African American fella to...." turn her out"...I said this while holding each index finger up on both of my hands, about 15 inches apart." No dice. Then I said that if she found a man...maybe he would take her up to the casino, and pay for her gambling for the night.

Her lack of response said without saying..." this idea, intrigues me...."

#4. She loves to claim how she has " no problem with anybody". Oh really, gram?", I say. I crinkle my nose and move in closer. " What about Puerto Ricans?"

"I dont have a problem with them", she says ostentatiously. She wont even look at me, and dignify this whole game, by meeting my stare.

Okay, I say. I narrow my eyes, and inch ever closer. What about blacks? I really hiss out the "ssss", on the word blacks.

"Colored people dont bother me a bit. "

Im in heaven. The phrase " colored people", is like a summer breeze on my ears when its coming from a hot nana with nothing to apologize for. At this point, Im giddy.

My brow is sinister. Im 5 inches from her face now. My focus is unforgiving. " What about......homo's?"

"Theyre great tippers, Ill tell you that much."

Dora was a waitress back in the day, and like every server after her....recognizes that fags tip huge. ( and in my case... if youre a stripper with a C section scar, Ill just give you my credit card.)

This was it. I wrung my hands in evil anticipation. Our faces were almost touching. My snarling lips, just mere centimeters from her ear. " How about.................. Jews?"

She ever so slightly turned her head towards me, and through the tops of her glasses said,

" well......."

Who's head is down, hands slapping the table? I think you know.

To all my Jew readers.....you KNOW I love you. I love a hot, Jesus hating Jew. But you're not the greatest tippers, and you know it.

Oh Dora, you're the less Jew-y Sarah Silverman of Central Maine.

ONE NIGHT IN SAN FRANCISCO

Ive always adhered to the belief, that if a little bit of something is good....than a lot of it, is even better. While this may be the case with some things......more often than not, Im just acting like a junkie mess.....and sorrowful times, ensue.

A LIST OF TIMES TO REALLY STICK TO THE "LESS IS MORE MOTTO".

#1. When you find yourself in bed with a black guy named Kenya.

#2. When applying chemical peel solution to someone's face. One layer is wonderful. Seven layers, and the face looks like an abortion that complains about a stinging sensation.

#3. When flirting with a guy, and youre not sure of his sexual preference. " Wow! Your guns are huge. How often do you hit the gym"....is ok, and you may even be able to cop a casual squeeze. Asking him if he thinks that your face is innocently sensual or more sensually innocent", means you may very well end up in ICU. When he is through with you, I doubt you will look neither innocent OR sensual.

#4. When injecting liquid into the base of your penis, so you can walk around with an erection at some leather party in San Francisco.

Right? Its happened to you a million times! I can feel you all relating.

I was attending The Folsom Street Fair, in San Francisco. For those of you who are not familiar.....Folsom St.... is an annual festival, which is a celebration of leather, fetish, kink, eroticism, bondage, s&m, and any dirty birdy-ness.

http://www.folsomstreetfair.com/

Ive seen one guy pee into another guy's butt, and then the afore mentioned pee receiver, pushed it back out, into the crowd. Im pretty sure he was a republican. It was like a Gallagher concert, but with AIDS. Ive seen fists go into every body part, public whipping, masturbation on the street, and men dressed from head to toe in black rubber, with only a pipe running through the mouth piece, so he could breath.

Do you like how I act like its other people who did all this stuff ,and not me?

Its called "discretion." Maybe YOU should try it, someday.

My ex partner and I decided to attend one of the parties, in these black, kind of see through underwear. I had the GENIUS idea, of procuring a little something called, Trimix. Trimix is a prescribed injectable, that was given to men with erectile dysfunction before things like Viagra, came out. You literally inject it into the base of your penis, and within a few minutes, you get rock solid. It basically pulls blood into your dick, and then closes off any exit valve. Unlike Viagra, where you need some sort of stimulation to get it up, Trimix is automatic. It goes up, and stays up, for anywhere from 2-6 hours. Listen, Ive got a sweet two inches, and I was ready to give the entire thing to those lucky citizens of the city by the bay!

Oh, and by the way, YOURE WELCOME, San Francisco. You couldve at least sent a thank you note.

We were in our hotel room getting ready, and did the shots. I was told that within 2 to 5 minutes, the drug takes effect, and youre left with a full salute. We shot. We waited. 2 minutes went by. Then 5. Then 8.

Nothing.

Zero movement.

Well....thats when I decided to really use some intellect and real brain power.

I KNOW. WE SHOULD DO MORE!!!!!!

Genius, right? Frustrated that you dont have me making all of your important life decisions for you? Well, you should be, jealous face. I not only have a sweet 2 inches, I also have Einstein smarts! No wonder Im not single.

We did another dose of the Trimix, and waited. Guess what happened? Nothing. It was like rigamortis had set into my no no pole. At this point, I was wondering if we had gotten a bad batch, so.....once again...who flexed his brain muscles? The retard in black underwear. That's who. We did......a THIRD DOSE. It finally worked. I was so.....um.......awoken.....that I may have even gotten a good three inches out of it.

We got to that party, and you KNOW we worked it for all it was worth. "Oh, yes...hi..my name is Ryan. Oh that? Its nothing. Just my ROCK HARD PENIS....READY TO DO SOME DESTRUCTION!!! Oh, you just wanted to get by me?....um...sure..no problem." Of course, we were the bells of the Hepatitis ball. We laughed,we schmoozed, we let any woman know that If she needed a baby at a moments notice, we were ready and able. Willing? Not so much.

The night wore on, and we got back to the hotel. At this point, it was about 3 am, and the pain had become so unbearable, that I was sweating. By 6am, we were both shaking in agony.... we knew that we had to go to the ER. There was NO WAY IN HELL that we could put on a pair of pants. We had to slip on jeans, with our junk poking through the zipper hole,and carry the hotel's towels, bunched up near our crotch, to get out through the lobby, and into our car.

Or in my case, a face cloth.

We got to the ER, and I was near blackout from the excruciating pain. You know how everyone uses the pain of a spinal tap, as a litmus for describing other painful traumas? " PPppffftt. Screw that noise. From here on in, I want it to be..." God, my broken nose was almost as bad as the time Ryan overloaded on Trimix in his wiener."

Ya, that sounds about right.

The doctor laid me down, and took a look. " HHHmmm...we are going to have to do some blood letting". Im gonna just say here, that blood letting sounds super 17th century and witch hunt-y, but I DID NOT GIVE A FUCK!! " Chop the shit off and sew it back on if you have to. Just make sure if you do, let me check with a friend named Kenya, to see if he'd be willing to trade." They stuck 2 large needles into the base of my penis, and then just let pitch black blood drain from me, for about 2 hours. The pain subsided, and eventuality I went back down to normal. I was black and blue for 3 weeks, and the doctor said that if we had waited much longer, there couldve been so much trauma, that full erection wouldve been impossible for the rest of our lives.

Theres a moral to this story. The moral is......now that I look back on it, sheer black underwear is tacky. Always go with a jockstrap or chaps.

A HARD LETTER TO WRITE...

Dear Dad.

When I was 4 years old, you looked at me one day, and said..." Youll never grow up to be anything. Youll always be scared of everything". You sneered, and looked at me with complete disgust.

That was an emotional baseball bat to the head. Ive never recovered. I will remember that one sentence, for all of my life. I bet you wouldn't even remember saying it to me. Im sure I was crying about something, and you were most likely annoyed. You were probably drunk. Four year olds cry, and four year olds do get scared. Sadly, four year olds also carry a very primitive need to be loved, especially by parents. Four year olds believe it when they hear a parent say...' I see you for what you are, and its nothing..."

I was four, and if thats what you say...it is what I am.

My road ahead was destined to be hard. You made sure you lopped off my legs and arms, and then sent me into battle. Deep down, I think that you may have chuckled a little.

I saw you hurt animals. I saw you hit a mentally disabled man in the head with a shovel. I saw you tell my your mother, my grandmother, that she was an idiot, and was a waste of life. I was four, and I loved her. I felt like I loved her, because both her and I were the same. Stupid, and bad, and would never be anything in life.

As i get older....I see you in my face. I hear you when I laugh. It scares me to death, because I dont want you in my mirror. I dont want you in my voice. I dont want to be you.

But guess what dad? Ive done things. Amazing things. Ive been to the top of the Eiffel tower. Ive swam with dolphins. Ive walked red carpets, eaten dinner in Rome, partied in New Orleans, and stood on stage at the Greek Theater in LA in front of 5000 people . I love animals. I sing songs and make up dances when Im around kids. Ive had a best friend for over twenty years. Im kind to my mother. Ive made a million mistakes, and Im not afraid to talk about them. Ive done a million things right. I didnt even recognize those things, because of what you had said to me, so long ago.

IVE DONE A MILLION WONDERFUL THINGS.

You'll never know, because you are no longer alive. I didnt know what do feel when you passed away. I wanted to see you before you left, but you became even more cruel, in your final days. I mourned for the father that I wanted. I was sad that you didnt love me, because you didnt even know how to.

A month after you died, I felt you in my living room. It was 10 at night, and I was on my couch eating popcorn, and watching tv. You were there, and then gone...in ten seconds. In those ten seconds I felt your peace, and I felt you mourning the loss of a lifetime wasted in pain and anger and sadness. Yours, and mine. You wordlessly said what you needed to say, and then you were gone. It was the first and only time I had felt like I had a father.

I will always remember what you said to me, when I was young. But, I will also remember your visit, that April night. I will see you in my reflection, and I will hear you in my laugh.

I will also do all the things that you said Id never do.

Its who I am.

And what you never were.

JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL

Im not a religious fella, by ANY stretch of the imagination. I do believe in alcohol. Specifically, chardonnay or a cucumber martini. And in conjunction.... if a vicodin happens to make its way into my bloodstream.... well then maybe there truly is a Jesus. Those pharmacists and doctors who say DONT take pain killers with alcohol, are really just selfish drug hoarders....trying to amass all those beautiful beautiful pills to party with, themselves. IM ONTO YOU, CRACK WHORES!!! Greedy, much?

While I love to ruin any possibility of having a functional liver, I would never press that view onto a perfect stranger. Unless he was 18, fresh off the farm somewhere in Montana, and had perfectly formed upper pectorals from hay tossing. Then Id have no problem taking him to a strip club, and preaching the word of 20 vodka cranberries. We'd finish off the night by me coming out of the bathroom of our hotel room ( that we are sharing to...um....." cut costs"....( said the guy with $1000.00 in cash in his wallet)..... dressed in Kmart lingerie, cheap whore lipstick, and a friends Halloween wig from when he was Britney Spears.

Fine.

When I was Britney Spears.

You may be a little uncomfortable farm boy, but its almost as good as the real thing so stop squirming. Itll just be easier on everybody. Oh, you need another drink, and half a pill? See? I made you a believer, didnt I?

Huh, I incorporated Jesus, drug abuse, and date rape. Its like every headline from the past 3 years.

TESTIFY!

Anyhoo, I was on a flight on Southwest airlines. I got on the airplane, and it was pretty full. Im an aisle seat kind of guy, and after a quick survey of the scene, I decided to sit next to a woman of about 40, and her teenage daughter. It looked safe. Guess who was wrong? The person typing this blog, who is jaundiced from liver shut down. Thats who.

I asked if the seat was available, and she has said that it was, as her husband and younger son were sitting in the row in front of us. I immediately checked out her hot husband. We took off, and for about the first 45 minutes, there was no communication. I read my book, and the mom and daughter did the same. After a while, the mom who was in the middle seat, struck up a conversation. She asked where I was from ,where I was going, etc. She was very sweet.....but then......it all took a turn.

I was lulled into a false sense of security...when.....she asked it. The sentence I DREAD to hear.

"So....have you accepted Jesus Christ, as your personal lord and savior?"

Im sorry. Jesus, who's it? Is he a trainer at Boston Sport's Club? I dont use a trainer, I work out alone.

I went into full on panic mode. Those are the eleven most terrifying words in the English language. I would put, " Im sorry Mr Scott, but its malignant", or " We will no longer be filming any more episodes from the Real Housewives, series", right behind " have you accepted Jesus into your life", as most terrifying.

NO!!! No I havent! Accepting Jesus means that I can no longer throw things at homeless people or attend tranny orgies.

Sorry. Its called "priorities". Type it into your search box, and get back to me.

I respect any and all beliefs. Listen...its all you, sister Christian. Whatever gets you through the day....believe it all you want. I personally believe that Jesus is up there with mermaids and Santa, so what am I going to do now? I went with the truth.

I told her that I was a big 'mo, and the whole organized religion thing, just wasn't my bag. No offense intended. Well, let me tell you.....that fueled her fire. What time is it? Its saving time.

The bible came out, and a FUCKING NOTEPAD!!!! She pointed out scripture, wrote things down, and so sincerely explained that I seemed like a nice guy, and needed to understand that I was Hell bound.

Um. No shit. What are you going to tell me now? Grass is green? Water is wet?

She asked me what I Knew about the bible, so I said...." oh you know. Doesnt someone find a magic bean, and then wake up a sleeping princess by putting his fist in her vagina, so she can leave the ball by midnight?"

My point is this. Im not going to sit down next to a stranger, on an airplane, and then out of the blue say something like...." oh, so just out of curiosity. Do you like a reverse cowgirl, or are you a missionary position kind of gal?" Well, I mean....Id love to, and if someone did that to ME? Id immediately stick my tongue down there throat and buy them ANYTHING they wanted. I wouldnt do it, because it IS NOT appropriate. Dont ask me about Jesus, and I wont ask you about the possibility of your hot DILF husband letting me pee on his nipples in the airplane's bathroom.

We understand eachother?

Now please excuse me while I use the facilities. The fact that your husband is getting up too....is purely coincidence.

I swear to God.

BROWN TOWN

So, I feel like Im at the point in my relationship with all of you, where I can really share.

Or ....where I can really ...Cher. Either, or.

What Im saying, is that I feel like I can unleash my darkest inner workings. I feel like I can also rent a horse, put on a long black wig, get buck naked, drape myself in some feathers, and try to tongue my own nostril for the 14 minute duration of the dance remix to " Half Breed",

.... and you wont judge me.

Are we there?

Good. Lets proceed.

Here is a list of some of my amazing qualities, that .....sigh,...... how do I word this? Make me better than you? No......needs to be less harsh. Lessens you, to me. Ah.....perfect!

THE LIST

#1. My comedic genius. And you know THATS true. When I open my mouth to deliver some savory comedy, you starving sons of bitches are battling each other like seagulls after a french fry, DESPERATE for a morsel. That, or you have seriously NOTHING better to do at 3 pm on a Wednesday, and my half ass blog provides about 2 seconds of minor stimulation.

Like having sex with a Brit.

#2. My physical perfection. Um, youve seen it. And even if youre straight....youre probably a little Ry-curious. How could you not be, when you see a 36 year old wrinkly fore-head, pitch black eyebrows the size of Nebraska if they're not weed whacked daily, and wrists that make Ethiopians wince.

lol...that was a good one.

#3. My sexual prowess. Oh.....thats right ladies and gentlemen. Dont you worry about it. Mr Ryan KNOWS whats up in the bedroom. And after 3 viagras, 45 minutes of viewing porn, 2 tabs of Ecstasy, and some good old fashioned auto erotic asphyxiation.....youll SEE what my 8 inches can do.

Well, its actually 2.5 inches. The rest is pubic hair, and a taint like a portobello mushroom.

I mean, the list goes on, and on. Unfortunately, one thing that CANT be on the list is, " ability to hold bowels."

I was walking down to the subway, in downtown Boston. I had just gone shopping, and was holding 4 or 5 big bags. As I was almost to the platform for my train, underground....I kinda felt....a little.....toot...coming on. Just a baby one. Tiny. Practically nothing. Im standing in the middle of a stinky, downtown Boston, subway track...who's gonna notice a little tooty?

hhhmmm.

So, I go to do it.

"toot".

Guess who made a bad judgment call? Um, I dont know? The faggot standing on the subway platform, with steaming hot shit, running down the back of his legs!!!!!! THATS WHO!!!!! When I say...' I shit my pants"...you dont get it. Im talking about....Im standing in the middle of 500 people, underground, holding 30 pounds of shopping bags, and a gym bag, and there is dark brown shit filling up my underwear.....

and the amount was such, that it then cascaded out of the containing brims of my underwear...to flow down my hamstrings, onto my calves, and into my socks.

Lets play a game, here. So, you tell me, smarty pants. What would YOU do?

Oh, not shit yourself in the first place? Good call.

I froze. I panicked. I was knee deep in a code brown emergency, and my options were few. I bounded back up the stairs, and luckily...there was a Macy's near by. I got in there......all the while, I felt icy cold boom boom, now in my socks, and on the soles of my feet. I asked the information desk where the nearest bathroom was. OF COURSE it was on the other side of the store.

Poop walk, poop walk, poop walk. All through Macys, I left my scent. I was in a walk/run.....and everywhere I went, I assaulted unsuspecting strangers with the smell of last nights grilled chicken pizza.

I dove into the bathroom. And..because Jesus hates me....all the stalls were full. One cleared out, and I practically pushed over the poor Asian guy coming out. Mostly, because I love to push over Asians.

Especially in bathrooms.

Now, heres the thing. How am I going to sufficiently clean myself, in a stall? I was boxed in by all the bags. I took off my dripping pants, and did the best that I could with toilet paper. I walked out, washed my hands...and made my way back to the subway. Here was where a whole new panic, set in.

The smell.

Do I take a cab back home.....clearly throwing myself under the bus to some cabbie...revealing to him that Im a 36 year old man who just poops himself?

Or do I take the subway, with the hopes of blending in?

I took the subway.

I got on, and I WISH I had video of me, because Im positive my face looked as guilty as a homo who shits his panties outside of Macy's Boston. I immediately searched for the most homeless-y looking booze bag, and I luckily...I found him! I plopped right down next to him, just in time to see a wake of subway patrons, crinkling their noses. You KNOW I did it too. I was the most obvious one...waving my fingers in front of my face, plugging my nose....I mean....REALLY? SOME PEOPLE!!!

Its called a ' toilet".

Ever hear of one?

Now I can add killing a hooker who got too lippy, and pooping my pants...on my list of " things homeless people can take a rap, for".