Lets Gossip Barbie, 3

Caffeinated Barbie

 

 

 

Prozac Barbie

 

 

Let's Gossip Barbie, 3

A short story in four parts 

 

Now listen Partie Hartie, never mind, I can see that you are tweeting about your fabulous life. Whatever.

 

Pussy, when I saw Ken blowing bubbles in his barf, I was soooo grossed out.  He is soo disgusting, to think I used to think he was hotsy. 

 

Camera man #3 turned and focused on the city block sized bed with a canopy made from the foreskins of whales.  He captured Elvis and Marilyn banging like baboons, but the screen swiftly switched to the Kitchen Kam. 

 

Loopy and Desi were standing on a pile of rubble with their hands on each others throats.  Did you know that dolls turn blue when they are strangled?

 

On the Immaculate Konception Kam the anniversary guest were undulating in a daisy chain.  OMG it was the grossest thing that I have ever seen.  I hate orgies, bodily fluids are slimy.  

 

The screen was twitching from one cam to another,  there were so many exciting things going on, the editor didn't know where to focus.  No one could write this shit.  It has to be real!

 

But the most interesting sight, listen up Pissy Hellion, EavesDropKam focused on Barb and Joe looking at each other with sizzling eyes.  The camera actually caught beams of electricity shooting between the two.  Then, wait til' you hear this! 

 

Barbie mumbled, "It is time for my mani-pedi", and slipped out the back door.

  

GI Joe mumbled, "It is time for my shooting practice", and slipped out the back door.

 

WHAT do you think about that,  Paris the Heiress?  Princess Hasbeen? I saw it with my own eyes.  They are doing it like dingbats.  It was right there on the screen anyone could see them sneaking out, making a stealthy amorous exit, with poor Ken dead to the world upstairs, dreaming of the third level of hell/heaven, one, the other, or a mash up of both in raging psychedelic technicolor . 

 

Anyone could see it. Barbie and Ken!  All the mainstream newcasters have ignored this story.  Mattel has bribed every news person between here and Mars.  Only the Natural Inquirer has been righteous enough to cover this tale of two nine inch dolls.  The Inquirer even ran a picture of them sexting.  You should see this,  look at my phone, here he is, GI Joe in his turbid toreador outfit with a tassel dangling from his tallywacker.

 

to be continued.....To continue reading the story, click "Newer Post" at the bottom of this entry.

 

 

 

 





 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Guano Crazy

Skull Clown

Digital 2550X3330 pixils

 

 

 

 

 

GUANO CRAZY

 

 

 

You may or may not have noticed that I have that, rather epidemic, disease called Irony Disorder.  I do hope that you picked up on the irony, because other wise you might think that I am Guano Crazy.  I am rather off beat in the head, (a touch of ADD, Attention to a Different Drummer),  you know, just the normal confusion of living in an upside down culture.  Slightly demented but not Guano Crazy. You believe me, don't you?

 

There is normal crazy and Guano Crazy.  Guano is bat shit, it collects in the bottom of bat caves and makes excellent plant fertilizer.  I try to avoid the bat shit crazy people, because, crazy is contagious.  Having a few crazy as feces, work mates, neighbors, family members, and living in a social milieu of folks just hanging on by their fingernails,  means that I do have contact with rather high levels of psychosis.  When the stress level gets toxic, I get in my car, drive around and scream. I stay on roads that I know well, without too much traffic.  That is pretty effective, it lets off steam and in the car I will not disturb the neighbors.  I reserve the screaming for when I need to exhale some very unbalancing vibrations.  For just plain, I cant take it anymore crazy, I work in my garden.

Well, at some point I realized that I had to put up with some guano or I would be really lonely.  What is the point of being sane if you cant share it with anyone?  You believe me, don't you?  Mostly I am happy.  Positive thinking with a healthy sprinkle of denial helps.

The one thing that I really do believe in, the one principle that clarifies my mind, is the  practice of compassion.  I think too much and cant really pin down any other ideal.  Compassion says it all for me.  Simple but not easy.  If I find myself being judgmental, I think about all my stupid mistakes.  I have a more than few memories that put me right in my place.  That place not being very high on the well adjusted list. 

It is spring here in the Louisiana boonies, so far in the sticks that we pipe out sunshine.  I over ordered from the plant catalogue.  So, I must get dirty almost every day, to get seeds and baby plants  in the ground before it gets too warm. My garden is where I feel most peaceful. 

Oh, wait, I remembered another principle that I Believe In.  That makes two principles.  I try to practice gratitude.  I do have so many things and people who make me thankful.

 

 



Little Ole Man

 

Little Ole Man

 

 

 Sourpuss

 

 Here sits the pensive child.  Two years old, he has been on Earth for 730 days. He suckled mothers milk, then was prodded to graduate to  cows milk in a cup.  Perhaps suckling is the most comforting of human activities.  Could it be that in his short life he has already lost the most satisfying gem of experience?  Did he find nirvana at his mother's breast?  He will have no memories of very early age, but may spend the rest of his life with nameless longing.

 

And before that, before the breast, floating the womb, what were his feelings?  Is it true as Otto Rank theorized that uterine life is blissful, that the pain of squeezing through the narrow vaginal cave is the original fall from grace?

 

The ground of the px is a tangle of twigs.  A map of life full of dead ends, cul de sacs, and proceeding the wrong way on a one way street.

 

Over his right shoulder levitates the cherubic Balloon Girl.  Yes, there it is, love and joy, awaiting the right time, the right action, the right person, the right mental attitude, and a lot of luck.

 

Woman Poem

The mouth of her womb

her pleasure center

is a bleeding wound.

 

Each of us entered Earth

through this door.



 

 

 

 

 The little Ole Man, seven hundred thirty days his handlers have molded his behavior. 

 

 Looking like a wise and discouraged old man.  Looking thoughtful, pensive.  How many lives has he lived on this twisted planet?