If I was a movie character I would be Rambo, no doubt.
The only way I can feel relaxed around men is when they are threatening to kill me.
Just today someone who had previously said he would curb stomp me then put me out of my misery with a bullet to the brain stem invited me for tacos.
I don’t enjoy being treated poorly but it makes me feel safe. I know what is expected of me. Compliance. In other contexts I don’t know how to function and start to panic. Like really panic.
First my kidneys seize up, then my brain shuts down. This isn’t good in social contexts because healthy people expect you to have a brain. They want you to be Captain of your Ship.
And I’m trying to rewire my brain into Captain Consciousness. But right now it freezes, scans for threats, monitors emotions & tries to glean the wills of other people so they can be followed. Cause it’s seized up in terror, especially around men and the nicer they are the worse the terror gets.
Nice guys feel like a dark fun house where the room is empty and silent and you don’t know which wall the clown is going to come busting through. The longer you have to wait, the worse the terror grows. Pins and needles until finally the clown pops to attack you. Now you can release a blood curdling scream and feel the pain of getting bludgeoned in the head, but regardless being attacked by a clown beats waiting to get attacked by one.
If I’m around a nice guy for extended periods of time, I become unable to move afterwards due to prolonged anxiety. First the kidneys seize, then the brains freeze, then the limbs. This state can last for hours or a day.
And its impossible to relax in his presence. Much less do the things expected of a modern woman like having a will and voice of your own. But these expectations are ridiculous. Can a man know what flavor of ice cream he wants while staring into the eyes of a cobra and trying to sway in just the right way to appease him? He wants whatever flavor the cobra wants because he is the cobra’s little bitch. Every human is a little bitch when they’re waiting for clowns to pop.
Nice guys feel like a tightrope stretched over the Grand Canyon. You know you’re going to make a misstep. Why not plunge to your death now and get it over with?
Missteps are certain because you don’t know the rules. They aren’t the rules you are used to, where doing & saying as little as possible is gold star behavior. Nice guys are fucking demanding. They want you to know your mind, express your mind, run your own business, be a cowgirl. Don’t take shit from no one, have a personality and know how to make your jeep jump like a frog.
Assholes only need you to not contradict them. Let them yell at you without defending yourself. Go into deep freeze mode so you can absorb quantities of anger without getting angry back. Blur out your brain so words wash over you like water. This is my skill set. But nice guys don’t value these skills. Good luck pleasing them.
And when you add to this the fact that the whole nice guy thing is probably an act and a woman eating lizard is going to bust out of his skin at any moment, you can see why they jack up my anxiety.
However, I am actively training my brain to be more positive. To believe in good things & seek them out. Because we won’t know how magical life is unless we look for magic & that all starts with believing. Or at least being open.
Yes, yes, my kidneys say, but also listen to this rhyme I just wrote!
What is a man but a clown in the dark? Who clown clubs your head then jerks off in a park?
Sometimes it is hard to write songs or even blog posts because I lose myself so easily and then I’m not on the right wavelength to tap the muse I want to tap.
And I know why. Because I have certain traits that aren’t socially acceptable, but when I detach from these traits I lose myself and have nothing to say.
There is a pressure to be everything at once but you can’t be. You have to pick your poison and then align with those people who can accept you as you are.
I have certain traits that are socially unacceptable- such as talking about dicks too much- but these traits are actually to cover up a set of traits even more socially unacceptable.
I read in a book once that everyone has a fake personality designed to cover their true weaknesses and this is definitely true for me. The bold act meek & the meek act bold.
Supposedly though, if you drop your compensating mask & allow your true self to shine through you will get much luckier. That is what I read in the book. But in my case it is easier said than done since my true self is a clear blob. How can I express that?
Anyway, let’s talk about sausages. They are my safe place.
What is a sausage?
A dick?
A man?
To me, a sausage is a paradise. The feeling of a moment stretching out in all directions. That bubble of eternity is one link on the sausage chain.
Or sometimes a sausage is a world set apart from other worlds. You are in the ocean and everything is blue, the ocean and the sky, like a blue pearl. That pearl is one link on the sausage chain.
I used to think women contained worlds and men lived inside them. But now I’m wondering if it is the reverse and all realities are created inside men’s dicks plus the dicks of giant men who live in the sky.
Men seem like magical beings to me, for better or worse.
They can change your sense of yourself until you are certain you are a worm.
Or they can lift you out of this world altogether into a link of the sausage chain you have never seen before.
Either way, don’t panic. There is a new link behind every bend and the chain goes on forever.
A cloud? Or a man disguised as a cloud? Men will take the form of whatever you want to see until you chomp the bait.
Mushrooms continue to grow in front of the house where I used to live. James had the locks changed so I can’t see my dogs anymore. Thinking about this hurts too much so I think about sausages instead.
Before changing the locks he started putting weird signs on the door every day when it was my time to see them.He was allowed to choose anytime for me to see them. 1 hour 3x a week. But no matter what time, it would never be good.I hope they know I have not forgotten them.On a happy note- an EBT dinner. I can have all the food I want now, although fresh fruits & vegetables are hard to come by.A tip jar. I’ve started playing music by myself since I broke up with my bass player. He thought he should be able to dicktate which songs I was and wasn’t allowed to play even in his absence. This seemed to me like an overreach. I miss the deep watery sounds of the bass though. And having someone who could drive and set up equipment.Meat sent these to boost my confidence. Dust of Slut, Essence of Testicles, Lez Vibes & Self-Doubt Eliminator. But I find Essence of Testicles works for almost every situation. I’ve always been a huge believer in dick and ball magic.
I did a gofundme to raise 11 dollars so I could buy this poster. I don’t know why it speaks to me. And I don’t know if I should hang it in the kitchen as a welcome or the bedroom as a warning. To myself. To never trust in no one else. Except it takes trust to reach paradise.
Fur sausage. My doggies inhabit their own link of Sausage Time. We will find a way to see each other again.
A bouquet for the poor.
Clouds above the Lettuce Patch for the Poor, plus a ball. But the lettuces have grown tall and thin and don’t seem edible anymore.
When I was moving out on my own what I wanted most of all was for my new life to be airy.
When I was married life was not airy at all. My husband did not like to interact with me. But I wasn’t supposed to interact with anyone else either. He said if I left the house I would get murdered so I stayed at home. Receiving a message from someone or just a random email was the highlight of my week. There were pros and cons to this sort of life.
But now, my life is nothing but messages from strangers. Two hundred a day. What is it called when winds rip people apart until they die with bits of them flying everywhere? That is what’s happening to me.
There are ebay messages, herbal messages, music messages, lawyer messages, messages about wizzles and fizzles, messages from men, messages from women.
Two hundred messages a day and I’m making two hundred dollars a month. This seems off somehow.
My friend made a match.com account as me which I think is hilarious. She pretends to be me and then forwards people she likes to the real me. I like the part where she interacts with them better. I’m too mentally overwhelmed to respond to anyone. Even the people I meet I can hardly remember their names and faces. Hi it’s Chris! Oh yeah, Chris, of course. You build houses. No, I’m the Chris that flies planes. Busy girl.
But I’m not a busy girl. I’m a girl whose brain is being electrocuted with random inputs from all directions. Meanwhile there is nothing solid in my life. I want to visit my dogs again. But if I get arrested there will be no one to bail me out.
Ten thousand winds but nothing solid. No feeling either. The other day I walked by a man who was on the floor with a hurt foot. “Don’t worry, I’m a doctor.” I said “Oh are you really?” he asked in a relieved voice. “No, I’m joking.” I said with a laugh. Two minutes later reality hits and I realize I sounded like a total psychopath. This will be another black mark added to my reputation of cruelty and violence. But I’m not a psychopath. Everything is just so airy it starts to seem unreal. So many words. So many people. No way to assemble my bookcase because my wrist still doesn’t work from the last time James squirted me over with dishsoap and pushed me into a wall.
I hadn’t seen my dogs for almost 2 weeks because people were telling me it was too dangerous and I could get killed.
But one day I couldn’t take it any longer. As a single person I have friends, but its mental & airy. You miss the vegetable acceptance you can get through family. But Slippers & Patton are more than family. They are forever friends. Missing them was this pain in my heart that wouldn’t go away. I felt like they were calling me.
I’ll never forget the crazy smiles on their faces when I came through the door. We were all barking and crying and running around in circles trying to bite each other. Then James- who had not seemed to be there- called the cops but I didn’t even care. We were outside of time.
I went outside to talk to the police. They said I wasn’t in trouble. I wasn’t breaking the law since it is my house, my dogs and only James has a no contact order on him. But they said they didn’t want to leave me there just in case anything happened so they waited outside to give me 5 more minutes with my dogs & then told James to tell me a next time when I could visit them.
That was today and I just got back from 2 hours of seeing them. First we rejoiced, then we sang our favorite songs- Stand by Me, Fur Angel, Dog Went a Courtin’ & more. Then we had a snack. Then we lounged and stared into space. It was great to vegitate together. It is hard to be a vegetable in solitude. Plus they make me cry with their faithfulness.
Mushrooms were growing in the front yard of the house I used to share with Slippers and Patton. What does this mean?
I don’t place dogs above humans but I don’t place humans above dogs either. They seem very much alike except in how they dress. People keep telling me to get a new dog, but the thing is I have zero interest in dogs as a species. I have an interest in two specific people- Slippers and Patton.
Scorpio is a water sign, which means love and emotion. It is a black 8 turned on its side whose goal is to dig the deepest hole possible in one spot in order to create bonds of love so strong they survive the threshhold of death. Death is the test of love and everything really. Only that which is real survives.
So I’m not a let go and move on type of person. I don’t mind suffering for something which has value. But I would rather not invest in something which death will hack apart. Only those things you would suffer, bleed and die for really matter in the end because those are the only things that carry forward. That is my philosophy anyway. I believe there is an eternal world where treasure accrues. A relationship that withstands the tests of hell becomes immortal. Of course, this willingness to accept pain can sometimes backfire and make you hang on to the wrong things. But I do want my relationships with Slippers and Patton to make it to the Forever World. They are such special friends to me.
Lettuces forever.
Which brings me to another issue…. for a while there I felt I was finding a groove. Surviving as a poor person was seeming not only doable, but magical. Cleaning my clothes in a bucket, picking lettuces from the Lettuce Patch for the Poor, accepting charity where offered… it felt like I’d stepped into a fairy tale. But when I shared my enthusiasm for poverty on Facebook people started throwing all kinds of fear and anger at my head, calling me desperate for attention, playing at being poor, condescending to actual poor people while also abusing all humanity by being a lazy slob who needed a job. They also said they’d seen me make soldiers cry with their own eyes. On purpose.
Normally I don’t mind retard attacks, but now that I have no husband it feels more unnerving than it used to. There is no one to take my side against a mob* nor do I feel as willing to lose the support of random acquaintances.
The get a job thing bothers me especially, because I do have a job. In fact I care so much about this job that I’m willing to sacrifice wealth, respect and safety for it because it feels like a divine calling.
I don’t relate to the view where your success as an artist is based on the number of humans who know your creations. What if you only had an impact on one human? What if that human was your self? There is no way to measure how impacts play out over the course of time. What is more impactful- a song known only to Noah that he hummed on the ark for his animals- or the most popular song on earth right before everyone drowned in a flood? You can’t say really.
And beyond that, I feel art changes the world even if no one at all hears it, because it carves new spaces in the world of imagination. The realm that precedes that which is possible on earth. Success is the extent to which you can open the portals you are trying to open and build the magical kingdoms you are trying to build.
At first I just wanted to write songs, but now it is important to me to write the specific songs that bore the hole I am trying to bore. I have a feel of the sort of energy I want to usher into this plane. Muses come and go but there is a muse behind them who is constant.
And if my muse guides me to beg for quarters why not? People got so angry at me for bringing up begging on facebook but I think there is something beautiful about it. Someone holding up a cup, giving you the opportunity to place a coin inside? Who knows what good could come from that? And what is the danger in a coin moving from one place to another?
The problem is these other people’s views on life & their horrible judgments of my character really threw me off my own wavelength to where I couldn’t write songs or anything. As though I was a monster for not devoting my life to a 401k plan. But it’s hard for me to see how a life where you aren’t following your own spirit is even a life to begin with.
For me there is no choice. Even if I try to do what others want I won’t. I just have to do what I’m going to do anyway and hope for the best.
“Lettuces For The Poor” Lettuce Patch. If you take a solemn vow to be truly poor then you can take a lettuce of your choice.
Also, I have been on dates. Sweet men and delicious food.
Also, playing gigs for dollar bills and delicious food. I love it how people throw money into a hat or a guitar case. That is what started me thinking how beautiful it could be to beg with a metal cup. In between music, men, EBT & lettuce patches I am eating better now as a poor person than I ever did as a married lady of dignity and grace.
Also, someone I like asked me if I wanted to be friends with benefits. What does this mean? It sounds like such a cosmopolitan offer. My lesbians have assured me that pain this way lies. Then one lesbo called me on the sly to say she thinks its a great idea because relationships suck.
Also, I have a side hustle working as a secretary for one of my heroes, an herbalist. Years ago, I made a list of 10 people on earth I would like to meet. The other 9 were jackasses but this one has been a benefactor to me and changed my life. To receive help from someone you admire is a sweet feeling.
Also, it used to shock me how the black people on my street would walk down the sidewalk dancing and singing out loud. Now I do that too.
Also, I like the musicians I meet. I no longer hate people who play guitars. I guess I just hated the musician in myself because I grew up in a world where musicians had AIDS. But I’ve really come to cherish their freewheeling ways and the time we spend together. I love being able to ask people if they would prefer to eat a shit filled dick or have their own dick stapled to the wall & they will just consider the question and answer it rather than making me feel like I’m some kind of freak. I like being around people who are stoned. In their own way they are kindred spirits.
It’s almost like I’m becoming a free spirit.
Charleston West Virginia where I live.
Patton is glad I’m back. I wish you could have seen his smile a couple days ago when he saw me for the first time. He looked insane.Slippers my goldie angel.
* Btw…….. I said I feared no one would defend me from mobs now that I’m a single lady but that didn’t turn out to be true. My lesbians came to my defense just as they have before. Not just intercepting stones, but hurling them back. From a Scorpio perspective, nothing means more than a friend who will fight for you. This made me cry as well. I hope every female finds some serial killettes to have her back.
We normally start song time with Stand By Me, a song that was written by a dog for a dog.
One. Making his way cross the floor The second don’t come anymore Cause they only come when it’s easy easy.
Red lightning that flash in his eyes Holding my face in a vise This is the game that will please me please me.
Oh no lemme go I’ve been thinking about this so Something is not right although I love you so much beyond reason reason.
Haha funny bitch do you think that I need your lies? Lying bitch now what words will you say this time? After I put my dick on the line just to please you please you.
Cards cards on the table- no way That’s not the game that they play They only stay when it’s easy, easy.
Walk pacing around on the floor Did you dream anything more? More than the lessons they teach me teach me.
Oh no lemme go I’ve been thinking about this so Something is not right although I want you to love me and keep me keep me.
Ho ho gaming bitch do you think that I need you now? Do you think you can turn this around some how? I could jerk it right now to the thought of you bleeding bleeding.
Blood. One little drop just for you. That was the first time you knew This was a game that was easy easy.
Sigh. All of the things that you say Holding my mind in a sway All of the lessons you teach me teach me.
Oh no lemme go I’ve been thinking about this so Something is not right although When I close my eyes then it’s reeling reeling
And still I stay cause I want you to keep me from harm Wrapped up like a fly in your beautiful arms Drip drop from your mouth everything that you’re feeling feeling.
Swallow. Don’t snitch. Shut your cunt mouth you dumb fucking bitch. Are there voices do you hear their cries? Answer me but only when I tell you that it’s time.
What is a double saint? Is it someone who performs twice as many good deeds as a regular saint?
No. The problem with regular saints is they push themselves too hard. To serve. To be good. They strive. And so pressure builds up inside. One day they blow and to prison they go. This is what we call the saint paradox.
The double saint seeks to avoid this paradox by striving less, but also being less at the same time. When you are nothing, you don’t annoy people as much. Then it takes fewer good deeds to repay them for tolerating your existence.
In this post I will assume you want to become a double saint to get along better with a man. If not, adjust accordingly.
Here is the path of the double-saint.
In all things think vapor. You are no longer a person. You are a vapor. Always ask yourself “What would a vapor do in this situation?”
Speak less or not at all. A vapor listens and absorbs.
If you do speak, make it short, light and pleasing. Even praise should not be heavy handed. Coming on strong- even in a positive sense- requires the other person to be aware of your presence, which is taxing to their mind. Just one dandelion puff of uplifting words will do the trick.
Never question, criticize, disagree or weigh in on any subject unless asked. Why would a vapor do this? If you are in a car with a man who is driving off a cliff, you go off the cliff too. Wordlessly. You are a vapor. You will be fine.
Do nice things for the man. However do not strain yourself doing nice things or you will reach the saint’s paradox. Do nice things you enjoy doing, so that you don’t need him to notice or appreciate them. Needing to be appreciated would be a tax. The double saint strives to be completely untaxing and always relaxing.
Remove standards & expectations. A double saint must not only avoid putting pressure on the man, she must remain unpressurized herself. Do not hold him to any standards and if this makes it difficult to uphold standards yourself then let them blow away.
Do not become saintly by performing a mega house cleaning. Become double saintly by not caring. Once again this prevents the build up of emotional pressure that will eventually cause you to express yourself.
7. Be pleased by pleasing yourself. If men see you are pleased, they will take credit for it and be happy. If you tell them how to please you they will feel bossed. So learn how to please yourself in all ways while crediting your happiness to him.
8. Release objective reality. The double saint must never expect another person’s words to align with objective reality. Do not feel tangled up when words are false, nonsensical, self-contradictory etc. Just hear words as clouds of modern poetry beholden to neither rhyme nor reason. What is a word, but a tiny bird that a cloud once thought they might have heard? In this way you float gently through skies of lies without being tangled in a single knot.
Are you getting the idea? The saint strives, feels like the man isn’t holding up his side of the bargain & gets frustrated. She expresses this & ends up in the hospital. The double saint doesn’t care what the man does. She is able to not care by remaining in a non-pressurized state. She is able to be non-pressurized by removing expectations & activities that pressurize her.
Is a double-saint the same as a slacker? Not at all. To remain a vapor requires great discipline. She twas loose as a goose when they slipped on the noose. She received all abuse while remaining diffuse. Tho she lacks the vigor of the regular saint & is unlikely to slay dragons, her strength lies in equanimity. She knows her soul is immortal and therefore no problem will be the end of her.
And what does the double saint do when treated unjustly? What if she is yelled at, blamed or punished for a crime she didn’t commit? How can she avoid that natural emotion of anger or the desire to stand up for herself which she must avoid at all cost? What if she is stolen from, betrayed, raped and beaten, how does she retain her vaporous personality even then?
This is a tough one and I don’t know the answer. Just recognize that no one can be perfectly saintly, much less double-saintly. Try stress gummies, vallium and- in cases of verbal attack- attempt to discreetly cover your ears. If this is impossible, write down the words and turn them into a rhyme.
Why are you so dumb, you stupid cunt? When in yonder field the falcons doth hunt?
I’ve made great strides with red in recent years, being more willing to express myself, ruffle feathers etc.
Red lets you stick your neck out, take action, fight. Not care what anybody thinks.
Black also deals with conflict and enemies. But the sorts of enemies you can’t fight straight on. Maybe they hide & use deception so you don’t know where to swing. Maybe they dominate you to the point that fighting back would be suicidal. Maybe they have you leveraged, black mailed, so that you must follow their will to protect to ones you care about.
Red is a boxing match where both people get bloody. Black is getting raped when you’re drugged & tied down. There is nothing you can do. You can’t move.
People always say be assertive and stand up for yourself. People are so naive. In situations where standing up for oneself is an option, most people will take it. But people usually won’t victimize you until they have you in a situation where fighting back will be difficult or even impossible. They attack when they are fully leveraged.
War is red and black. Red is the brawn and black is the brains. Force + deception.
Men overpower women because they have more red. You can’t fight a man. But they have more black as well. Their brains instinctively think in a strategic fashion, calculating how their moves position them power-wise in relation to their opponents. Women tend to assume others are on the same page as them until shown otherwise.
Black knows we are not all one. We don’t share the same will. Others are not who they appear to be. They may be indifferent to harming us or they may get off on it. To be safe you must always keep a touch of black in your pocket- one independent wit that reminds you to never trust completely.
This is hard for me. Maybe for all women. I’ve always wanted to merge with someone to feel safe and loved. And when I feel threatened I focus on trusting more, following more closely the will of whomever I feel threatened by in the hopes of appeasing them. I try to be nicer in the hopes of winning their love. I appeal to their sympathy. It never works. When people are in black mode empathy has turned off. Being nice does not keep you safe. The most gentle animals get eaten first. Survival is selfish. It goes after the easiest target.
Black is boundaries. But what are boundaries? Too often we think of boundaries as ‘standing up for yourself.’ “Hey Lion! Don’t eat me! I’m NOT okay with that.” But unless we have a machine gun these ‘boundaries’ are pretty pointless. People are not going to obey our will just because we verbalize it. They obey their own.
Boundaries are really a state of awareness in which you can separate your own will from the wills of those around you. You know your own mind & do not project the contents of your mind onto others. You attempt to see them as they truly are.
When you project positive or negative glamours onto others you blur the distinction between you & them. Imagination & reality. This is a no boundary state. Boundaries mean seeing yourself & others as the two distinct- and possible opposed- entities that you truly are.
Without this clear psychic separation, you end up carrying out the wills of others without realizing it. You are unable to act in your own best interests. But when there is a willingness to see the truth of yourself and the truth of others, thinking automatically becomes more strategic because it starts to line up with reality. Not sentiments.
With black, you know your aim and you know your opponent. You know when telling the truth is useful and when deceit is the only option. Unlike red, you do not try to win every battle. You know some battles must be lost to win the war. You wait. You bend over. You take it up the ass. You say you like it. You wait some more. And when your moment of opportunity comes you are ready.
Patton wearing his favorite “Trust Me” tshirt. You can trust him. Would he lie to you?
This song was partially inspired by this shirt which made me feel so calm and controlled….. an evening librarian who quietly hums while filing books alone.
But as you can see from the background, the feeling of control was only a dream. And one washing shrank the sleeves to halfway up my arms, transferring me from library to insane asylum.
I wrote this a few weeks back but only now got the nerve to publish it. Cause it references neighbors & I’m not sure if it’s cool to blog about neighbors or not.
I’ve been feeling kind of bummed, like I reached the end of empowermint. There may be no way of getting more powerful than I already am. My last empowermint was smoking illegal drugs. It blew my mind I was able to achieve this and now it kind of feels like I’ve peaked. What more can I do? Rob a bank? Dallas? These things require cars and I still don’t have one.
I also sang a couple songs on stage without dying of a heart attack. It wasn’t as scary as I thought it’d be. Felt like floating, like I wasn’t there at all. Still counts as a mint though.
I’ve now been to bars three times. They are scary but exciting. People do drugs. I received a pot gummy bear. But this was after I’d completed my illegal drugs empowermint, so I didn’t eat him. Instead he was flayed and quartered. I fed the meat to a friend each time he got angry in the hopes it would calm him.
At the bar a guy told me he was hard and asked what color panties I was wearing. I asked if I could see his jockstrap. Then he starts shouting how much he loves sucking cock. Then he smashes a bottle over a man’s head. They start punching and blood is dripping down their faces. One of them has black X’s painted on his cheeks. It felt like being in a dark wonderland. Nothing like the world I am used to.
Everyone in the bar was larger than life. Some wore diamonds despite being men. One had just escaped max security for murder. One said he would fuck me over a fireplace. One had only three fingers on his hand. One wore an earring of a butt and said he likes doing everyone up the butt regardless of gender. One had just gotten stabbed. If I could be certain of not getting murdered it would be quite exciting.
But I’ve been so cloistered I don’t totally get where excitement ends and danger begins. A friend told me I was on my way to getting my organs removed. So I tried returning to pre-empowermint days. But that isn’t safe either. Once I believed that being a good housekeeper would ensure my safety in life. Now I know that sooner or later God throws everyone out on the streets. So you gotta be ready.
And then you get addicted to the thrill. I kind of want to see more of this crazy world. How many men are out there with X’s on their face? How many want to see my underwear?* What is PCP? What signals do drug addicts use to find dealers? What sweet words and caresses will organ dealers use to win the trust of healthy people? Can you be fucked over a working fireplace? If a man offers to let you watch him jerk off is it yes or no? I want to know everything.
But those lesbians. They keep reminding me I’m courting disaster and I know they’re right. What I really need is to join a ladies book club and I promise I will. Ladies help you become smarter and more organized. They encourage you to make crafts and sell them at a fair. Around men you grow clear and gelatinous. You wait to see what they’ll do next. You try not to set them off. Men are a feast for the imagination yet a practibrain disaster. And we all know exciting choices rarely pay off in the end.
So I’m trying to be good. Today I had the opportunity to do something fun but instead stayed home and ate 12 slices of cheesecake. Cause that is what Mr Rogers would do. Virtue today is happiness tomorrow. Thrills lead to chills. Aids. And death.
*FYI- I realize nobody wants to see my underwear. Men only feign sexual interest as a way of getting your money or something much worse.
