Going Public

I officially tried to get my whore card stamped for social media. I’m trying how to amplify shit on wordpress. This is an experiment. It may be an epic fail. If I host or share other blogs my blog might get shared on other sites. So, this is test number one for social media whore blow jobs in internet land. Tomorrow, and the next few days weird shit will pop up from other people as I host their blog. I think some people will just delete me for being a nuisance. Which is cool. I write on facebook for like twenty close friends. Otherwise, I would abandon it and go totally into the land of blogging for strangers. But, I love my bitches on facebook. I will always keep it up to date before other sites.

One day I’m going to get a nasty email from Amanda Hall and I’m going to piss my pants in delight. Also, mark lewison will probably find out I ragged him for being the world’s worst possible lay. Playdoh. I know the linda marris blog started from his random mean diss on my post about being bi-polar. It’s only fair to know I understand why he would be a dick. If I was a dude, and I had his dick, I would be a random mean cocksucker too.

My mom knows I call all my cousins mongoloids. I just wish I could show pictures. Dude, you have to know that they really do look like they have an extra gene. I know that it’s a ballsy move to go public in a small town. I’m fucking bored. I will host strange new blogs and maybe some of them will be good. Or we can just laugh because I linked you to bad techno. I don’t know what will happen. I just know that the girls from our class have had some of the best fucking discussions because I had the balls to use names. I’m glad someone did it. I try things like misspelling. Sometimes, I just can’t spell.

I looked on my real face book page and saw that darryl cox went from the hottest piece of football flesh to some man that looks like he ate that fat cheerleader wife. Part of the fun of being a media slut is being mean enough to say what everyone is thinking. I did get the urge to message david jayson. Then I realized he would still be embarrassed that we had a relationship. I would taint his good name with my memories of him hiding playboys behind his bedpost. I did want him to have the chance to know the real me. Should I do it? Should I fuck with him and send him a friend’s request? After all these years could he still be interested in the girl he tried to explain how men whack off to? Fuck yeah, I’m gonna do it.

As of today, this whole blog is totally open to the public. No more friends only. If the nemesis I have achieved want to read my work it’s all there. each and every incriminating word. I think it’s time to go whore. To go whore all the way. There is a message to tell. If they take the time to read it, holy shit they have too much time. If they start at this point. It’s a whole new chapter. I warned my mom the mongoloids may try to burn the house down. We have insurance. As long as we can afford fire coverage then fuck yeah, let’s unleash some secrets and share stories.

I may even get hate mail. If I get hate mail from katie masterson I swear I will stand in the road and scream victory. I also bashed in tonya riddlesworth’s mailbox because her sister was such a bitch. Mission one, post this blog public. Mission two, send david jayson a friends request. Mission three, announce on my ‘real blog’ that all the good shit is up for reading just like the national enquirer. I know all three actions move me up a notch towards total cunt. At the same time, it’s my facebook kitchen. I can decorate it. I can make it hot like an open flame. I can burn bitches who wear hair ribbons. I can put a turd on a plate and people will eat it and ask for another helping. Here’s to my official first day breaking all the rules and going public

My dad’s soul is trapped in my tv

It’s a breaking point with the living room tv. We’ve decided it’s just haunted. I can accept my dad fucking up every tv I’m around for the rest of my life. I’m coming through the gates of heaven swinging because he playheed practical joke with the tv. Laura claims she lost television sets that just zapped out because of me one was a fury of an exit. An the tv never turned back on it. I don’t know. I’ve given up. This tv has three remotes they have three important functions. I’m clueless. I try to watch tv and I end up on this rebooting system called Dynex. Like a retard I’ve tried to follow dynex and find tv. It starts you back at the beginning. I made my mom call brighthouse and demand our right to be too damn dumb to work the tv. She does it. She has the guy mortify her and hit one button and where to go from there. She knows how to turn a switch and restart the whole damn thing. But it stayed broken so I made her keep calling brighthouse to teach her how to hit the button.

Last night, I reached boredom and I was ready for tv. I could press the button and nothing would happen. mom would fight it like it was possessed with a mean hateful dad ghost and tell him ‘to behave’ and ‘stop acting like a fool’ finally what should’ve appeared and I had my girl moment. It was me a depression on the couch. Part of some chocolate cake from publix called the ultimate or overload. I watched abbey moon yell at little girls. I girled out with my couch. I was going to stay up all night and indulge in breaking bad marathon. i took a smoke break and the screen is blank. I’ve never seen it this level of blank. I don’t know which remote dad malfunctioned.

I will make my mom break down and call brighthouse if she can’t fix it. It’s something I can only share with my mom. The brighthouse people think we truly are mentally incapacitated. I watch her hit the menu button yelling at my dad when nothing happens. If the brighthouse guy was here it would work perfectly. No he only reeks vengeance on the living room tv. Some dads get the your going to die check and think about time with family know my dad bought the biggest most expensive in tv available in 2000. He wanted surround sound and huge entertainment. Tv was his favorite drug. It’s my mom’s too. I’m being able to give me a blank screen I cant fix is just a part of life. And I was mad enough at laura that electricity would flow and tvs bust. She made me taking angry new places. We did it today. It was also day one of a xanax bottle two women share. She doesn’t get it. She eats one and falls asleep. There a low enough milligram I don’t count pills I just pour out a pile and pop in my mouth. I’m prescribed my four or eight pills and she sleeps on one.

Not me. It’s three in the morning and I don’t want to eat a tranquilizer and not wake up till the next morning around three in the morning I’m awake but I’m trying to get sleepy with xanax. Without sleepiness it’s hard to dissolve the tranquilizer under your tongue and go back under. That’s the battle right now. I’m not ready for another round of heavy sleep and deep dreaming

Getting a job with my ankles

I’m open to all plan of action. Number one action is begging for my old job back with the porn sex, the tits and my feet manicured. Nails too. This man wanted me to weigh on a scale for him. He told me what my ankles would feel like wrapped around his head. Plus, I’m the best. When you want your clothes perfectly examined going to the right store I make it happen. He called me eagle eye. I was good. As a perfectionistic you had an oil stain on your sleeve. Oil stains are hard to detect. Dry cleaned involved because the chemicals remove the oil residue that coats most clothes. In less you live hard or you eat a lot of barbecue you don’t get oil spots. As a woman that gets chicken salad dabbed on her shoulder she would have a little dark marking and only dry cleanings solvents remove oil it. Whatever men get on their ties I made poor gilbert my master magician work miracles. I knew if a presser was working at maximum limit and trying to stretch done at too done at six. Some job they move like speed racers while I demand perfect. When my Mexicans went on strike they started burning buttons. They thought it was cute that I purchased every button at joannes because they love burning plastic. My Mexican revolt was three mean Mexican pressers burning shit. It was an ‘accident day’ The best was they would coming around the corner holding up a perfect linen blouse with a huge iron scorch. There is a delicate procedure that eats time removing scorch marks. I can give him perfect quality for a little more than minimum wage. Plus, he adores me and the sexual harassment is a highlight to his day. I’ll get on the publix scale. He has to give my ankles one more shot. That is plan of action number one

Tips at a gas station

I worked there a week. I am a memory. Two men asked me to find a pack of cigarettes and I’m having a panic attack. It was the other side of the counter. I looked. I reached. I found them and the whole time I just went in protective mode of holding or touching my tits when i’m nervous. I put on a quite a show the guy tipped me five bucks and promised to come back till I stopped working there. i get tipped for accidentally being a slut. It happens. The cigarette breast play tip was the best example. I grabbed my purse and ran. I took lauras purse and she convinced me to work a week. Worst week ever. but we never ran out of VO5.
The mexican kid let poor families come in and grocery shop with book bags. The owner was an indian guy that smelled like sweet cigar that made me feel pukey. i broke when I some how let three people steal gas. I couldn’t change the credit card paper. The register wouldn’t open. The lotto was busted half of plant city called me dumb. It was murphy’s law. Laura worked the gas station like a queen of coffee, lotto and booze.

Why do gas stations only sell VO5?

laura and her little brother worked at a gas station. we were poor. All of our soap, hygeine products and drinks were stolen from the bp. Why gas stations only sell VO5 is fascinating. I knew johnnie just stole the vo5. I’m so naive. I was in a towel dripping wet, with her face poking through a closed door and she goes ‘yeah here you go. Your cousin used it as lube in my ass last night. It was a speechless moment in my life. The look on her face is a solid gold moment of victory for her and a horror scenario to me.


xaxnax hanover taunt:I can’t say I’m not glad i met you.   You used stolen VO5 as lube for my cousin to ass fuck you. That story will always be a good laugh.

love rectangle

I just got a text that said keep me out of your pathetic bullshit. No we were together a pair. To say it was just me is saying the alamo was half as special. I am a whore. I’m a whore for the truth. When there’s nothing to lose you are a memory. And telling the truth felt so good. The love rectangle is no longer a secret. I pulled down my part of the secret and I’m going to walk away and wonder how they fell. Anyone who knew me had to know that lie would come out. It was huge. It just means I walked away like a limp beaten post. I don’t fear wrath and some mean response. I just had to confess that shit. My be that makes me evil. I don’t even mind claiming evil. Evil happened when she didn’t get the police and freak out her boyfriend suddenly choke me and we fought. No she trapped me in a car with someone who attacked me and I fought back. Revenge for me was being a part of her next relationship. It was the right guy at the right time. Fuck I think we fell in strange love. He’s gone. Laura’s gone. And jen’s gone. She was such a bitch no one understood how we could be friends. Now, it’s team jen and laura. They can take jen’s sportscar if I’m not there. I’m glad it’s over. No one is making me spend an afternoon in target ‘for a few things.’ I’m so sedated. I’m eating more tranquilizer and waking up in two days broken up by four secret breaks

self inflicted wounds

I’ll always wonder if laura used my email address and our shared infamous password to plot my mass destruction and read about my life. I can’t get into my old facebook. It refuses not to link me to this one. I know if I change it she can check my email. if I start fucking with passwords I’ll never get on another site again. I cant remember. They all have slight variations. The girl I just dumped as best friend has my passwords. I know she couldn’t never resist the urge to log off my story. She’d be so scared I would tarnish her image that she would compulsively look for examples. I realize as two friends she took herself to be the holy crusader to reign down my passionate extremes. She stayed up all night while was taking adderall like candy to complete an assignment. We knew it was medicine. She didn’t take it and crushed around three when normal fall asleep. I learned to take a pill and go through the night and complete the next day. Now, I’m hooked to missing that whole next night of sleep writing through the day until I crash out at some point. It’s sheer mania. I deserve it. I think about this a lot. The points for and against two pills a day and not waking up versus two weeks of being awake. I’ve bought the pills. I used them right. I used them wrong. I give them away if I love you dearly. I’m always in a scheme for black market bulk. I have two weeks when I can get shit done. Then I have two weeks of solid sleep. I can have two days before I get the script refilled and I’m happy because I won’t want to weep when I pee. I understand how my aunt ended up in the institution. She was weeping while she peed and carving herself up I imagine. Maybe she was not allowed to cut because aunt jonell would have killed us all. All three of us crazy shit wanting to cut but afraid and jonell would see scars. My mom was normal compared to me and aunt diane. She probably went through life without self inflicted wounds. I have an alien face lighter burn mark on my right bicep. I was a thrill junkie. I got a brand as deep as a cattle brand. I’ll have that fucker for life. What the fuck did you do to your arm was the story of my life. Good friends knew I did it with a lighter and kenny before ninth grade and I lost my virginity that night It was my scarlet letter. Upside down it is still a bubble font A

This video makes me so fucking hot. When they look at each other I consider it good porn. And I like real porn. Their eye connection makes me go crazy. I love the kills. I love dead weather. Alison mosshart is the woman I find fascinating. I’m not a lesbian. I watch her sing and I know I could fuck a woman like her. I wouldn’t hesitate. Jamie Hince is so sexy. I understand why kate moss married him. I also knows she will always share him with Alison.

confessions and dream mountain

I wrote a long blog about wanting to do it. I just sent it. Bring down the wrath.Message to Jen fake titty whoreface

We aren’t friends anymore. We’ve both moved on remember when you were driving my car and you said you wouldn’t be seen with me (i meant to type in a wig) and laura your puppy agreed. I stopped loving you then. I don’t like secrets. I like final endings. I like goodbye. So did laura. Every time I thought about what you let adam do and not letting me get out of the the car. I fucked him till recently when I decided to be a dig (typo’s and autocorrect should have made that sentence when he decided to be a dick) Have a great fucking night and that bald girl who you humiliated in the back of my suv grew. laugh about how much fatter you thought I was. By the way I dropped forty pounds and my man is sexy. Let this message also be revenge for the vintage clothes you stole

girl honesty. I haven’t dropped a full forty. But I want her to have that total image. no response yet. I don’t know if she’ll respond. I’ve wanted to do it ever since I thought about the look on her face about me in a wig. That moment I wanted to tell her about all these years fucking buster. I had a beautiful dream about starting over. It was pure happiness. I never see him. For the rest of my life I will dream he didn’t die and he went on to live some life for the past ten years. I chase him in my dreams. Not every night. I don’t have many good memories of him. I respect him as an artist. So many dreams are variation of the rock festival livestock. There art tents and tits.

My best high girl memory of an actual livestock concert was walking barely clothed. I was holding or infamous green bong. So I stood by the cop and took the biggest bong hit I could take and just walked away laughing in a cloud of smoke. jen wouldn’t let us camp. She was the buzz kill. We spent a lot of time chilled at the taurus and then the ford escape. Untill the end of time, I’ll always be able to open both doors on my side of the car and piss leaning against the bottom of the car. In my dreams I wander through camp sites and booths in a very dirty renaissance fair. Fucked up shit happens in my dreams. I guess I saw my dad and decided to find him for a ride home rather than get on the school bus. Then my brain fixated on the snuggie. My version had protected feet and paws so you had no use of your hands. Then all of a sudden I’m surrounded by this mountain of people in snuggies writhing orgy style. He gives me a pink pill. I put the pill in my pocket and started climbing through a psychedelic orgy of snuggies.

Not pink and blue my snuggies were all tye-dyed. An ecstasy pill has no effect on me. In the house of syn if we all tried it wearing psychedlic snuggies maybe I’d have felt something. In the future if MDMA is as easy to get as alcohol there should be fields assigned for fully clothed teenagers to writhe. Even in my dream, the paws I couldn’t use for climbing were totally justified as an requirement for the furrie slutfest I climbed into. Climbing across the mountain, I stepped on faces and got pushed up by my ass. I accepted paws to help pull me up another level. The top of the mountain had balcony seats reserved for black kids. I had to explain that I was new and I didn’t know the rules. So, they let me crowd surf through them some what annoyed but not mean. The other side of the mountain is every artists dream. A whole commune working to make beautiful things. Most of all the meticulously carved solid rock and trees where sculpted into something from a fairyland picture book. It was beautiful.

The man in charged was a character from my real past. My favorite drug dealer was like 400 pounds of full mountain man. He had the bush black hair and the bushier beard. This guy was convinced deodorant was carcinogenic. Holy shit, we went on vacation. I knew and was warned that he didn’t wear deodorant. It went deeper than that. He had body odor that lingered when he left the room. He also had a brick size chunk of hash. That vacation we didn’t smoke pot. we had and endless supply of hash. Asking for more was like asking for a cigarette. I got over his smell. Jen kept spraying the room each time he walked away. He had a funk that over powered glade. It makes since I would put him in control of making fairy mountain. He told me my dad started the mountain and artists came to him. Finding him would be like finding a needle in a hay stack. Pride you feel in dreams is sometimes all life has to offer. He was a master sculpter. The rest of the dream I searched for him. Sometimes, i thought I glimpsed him far away.

i got put to work picking up trays from the most hardened woman any cafeteria or restaurant ever produced. I took each tray. Some had change. Some had five dollar bills. I couldn’t take that money and I through it in the garbage. I learned about myself. I won’t be able to take money from someone having a hard life. It was something about every woman having to tip to eat her lunch and hauled it away by a little white girl. Having to tip her to take your tray. And the looks of hate they gave you. The temptation to take a five dollar bill and throwing it way because it was given in hate. Not all of the mountain was beautiful. I have to laugh at these fucked up dream worlds I create and I swear to god I always dream about feral children. My mom had to research some topic when I was like ten.

So, she’s my mother. She decides to become an expert on feral children. Huge obsession. I helped with the research. As a mother daughter team we banged out some good research skills on feral children. It was the perfect topic. My mom was close to feral. She can’t ever imagine that aspect of herself. She was just never there. Now, I have a feral children fixation that has grown since I was ten. Most people would freak out if the describe drug mountains and add the aspect I always have feral children running around. Thanks mom we couldn’t have researched triplets or cancer we researched feral children. Mom was stuck on a path into rn school and she got to research a topic of interest like feral children. They always pop up in dreams. They speak and move like animals. You don’t pet them they bite. You can never feed them. There angry little creatures that mob together. dangerous in pacts. Thanks mom for a lifetime of dreams that feature half animal children that bite.