fancy gowns and award shows

and tonight, in the silky cheetah jammy pants and the black walgreens (TM) tank top, 

we have moi, sashaying down the red carpet, bloated and thirsty.

okay, i'm sitting on the floor. 

there is no red carpet. 

but everyone who's anyone was there!

all seriousness aside, it really is awards night, my little cheeze-its!

and who better to honor than myself?

i'm a winner alright! 

i love dapper squirrels, and wine, so win-win for me, right?

who cares that this pic makes absolutely no frieken sense?

would anyone on the interweb dispute the deliciousness of cupcakes?

just as i suspected, no-one.

accept.

this fucking mess is awesome

{my favorite award actually. hideous/awesome}

yes i am.

but i'm lime-esque, 

or so i have been told.

not really.

but i have been called sour.

just because whomever made the pie the right way, 

i will accept.

i really enjoy fruit pie.

yuuummmm.

pie.

because i use fancy phrases.

and swear-words often.

how sweet.

see, i told you!

comes with a pump.

and lube.

the roses on the shoe soften the blow- 

when this shoe makes toe-to-ass contact.

never seen anywhere near the proper grammar award

is he holding a sock puppet, and a goblet? 

i really do hope so.

accept.

i am so tickled pink!

all this fanfare makes me want to toss the pigskin around!

me too, spongebob, me too!

i'm huge in italy

all over the lonely world, actually

like here

and here, mon

and especially here

but i have one question:

where's the glitter i deserve?

that's a bit more interesting.

at least it's dong-ish.

speaking of dongs...

wait...

what?

what's going on here?

feel free to grab any award and give them to yourself. 

or grab one or five and share with anyone whose you blob you read, 

or even better-

a stranger.

i can totally believe it's not butter

my bra was trying now to impale me- much like vlad...

when removed, the mams' freedom released thoughts frometh my brain area.

now my frontal lobes are exploding vomiting into cyber space... 

may i offer a preemptive you're welcome:

fact:

it's thundering out.

isn't that one of the best sounds ever- 

a low rumbley thunder? 

next fact:

me and the boy both got wicked awesome news from our sexy-parts md.s this week:

i'm officially cancer-free!

and he's now shooting blanks!

jackpot indeed my lovelies.

 jackpot indeed.

why do i still get pimples 2x a month at my age?

it's proof that there is no god.

exhibit A

today was a studio day- and you know what that means... no?

let me ask you this then:

would it be wrong if i actually punch some bourgeois ignorant twat in the mug for saying some dumb shit to me about how she'd literally die if she didn't go to italy each year. 

really?

fucking cunt. 

and when i reply that's too expensive for me, she says 

if she were me, she'd find a way, 

and 

no violet, it's not that expensive at all.

fucking double-fisted-in-the-ass cunt.

reality check:

some of us can barely afford our cheap swill beer we need to drown out the fact that we're living in the shittiest of financial times. 

and we also need it  because most people we meet and encounter just plain ol' suck.

 why am i so fucking thick-headed to realize that i teach and monitor people who can easily afford $600+ art classes each semester... 

that's gravy to them.

marrow to me. 

that kind of extra spending cash is a thing of my past. 

hence having to move out of an amazing brownstone and in w/family because this fucking tightassed republicrat puritanical society we live in [those of us who are in the usa] does not fucking understand, not to mention- support artists 

or 

avant garde thinkers.

okay- i know- i can move to some other place, but before you say that dumb ignorant shit, 

reread my beer statement.

fuck you, it's italy [disguised] all over again.

if one has never lived under a rock, 

how can they dole out catchall advice on how to move the rock?

exactly.

not everyone has even been on a european [or any- for some] vacation people. 

open thy eyeballs.

some people can barely scrape by coins for caffeine- and that's important shit.

nomi knows

yeah, i can bitch and moan, and some more turds say how easy it is to bounce back, 

easy to find meaningful, satisfying, well paying work.

and to that i reply:

fuck you.

in the ear.

obviously those turds cannot hear... themselves [dick-in-ear?] bullshitting, 

or merely notice others' reality.

there are children starving in china.

isn't that what our parent's generation parents used to say to them at the diner table when they didn't eat.

well guess what?

china is here.

now.

under our noses.

 sniff sniff.

and speaking of smell-

i thought i split my pants today, and when i bent and looked down at my crotch to see if it was true, 

i farted.

i straightened up and turned around and one of the richie ladies was standing directly behind me,

 waiting to ask me a question.

we ignored the fact that i had cropdusted us both. 

i'm naasty.

i thought i was alone in the room. 

wrong again.

i will leave you dear lovelies with a postcard from my edge:

i'd just die if i didn't go to bridgeport each year on vacation.

although i'm a new havener as of the last 18 years- i hail from b'po.

let's just say it's an edited chapter of my severely disenfranchised youth.