This is my new favorite website — concise, wicked, to the bone. One of the very few I know of that truly speaks to the weary, annoyed, eye-rolling, nostril-flared, cultural loathing that dwells deep within my fat, black little heart:
Fuck your Eames coat rack.
Fuck your Barcelona chair.
Fuck your ornamental vintage typewriter.
Fuck your bookshelf with the books arranged by color.
And, lastly, to all precious, pretentious, predictable pricks everywhere?
FUCK YOU.
Recently, one of the broads on my Facebook friends list publicly derided granny panties, opining that they look like ugly, oversized toddler chonies and that wearing them pretty much means you’ve, “given up.”
Yes. Of course. Because I am just the sort of dame you’d describe as being dispassionate and dowdy.
You see, I ALWAYS wear white, 100% cotton granny panties and have done so for pretty much my entire adult life. Call me prudish and Victorian (I DOUBLE-DOG DARE YOU), but for me, underwear are strictly utilitarian garments, meant to provide proper hygiene and absolute comfort under my clothing — and that is precisely what mine do. I personally got WAY BETTER THINGS to think about/create/dream/fight for/support/be concerned with/be distracted by than whether or not my unmentionables are flossing my crack, paralyzing my thigh, humidifying my muff, or turning some poor bastard on or off. They provide me with consistent bodily comfort and a well-aerated undercarriage — because, as you all well know, if Mama’s Bagine ain’t happy, ain’t NOBODY happy. In other words, they work. Swimmingly.
Styles may come and go, gunts, titties, poundage, and fortunes may rise and fall, but through it all I shall continue to proudly strut about town wearing my grannies. I consider their effortlessness and carefree wearin’ as a boost to my ability to focus, write, and RULE. And though it might seem silly to some, I also consider my very fervent choice to be unfettered — as opposed to being FETTERED LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER — as not only a personal fashion choice, but perhaps even a feminist fashion choice, as well.
So, in the profound spirit of The Sisterhood, my message to she who thinks girls in grannies have given up:
FUCK OFF, LADY.
“Things are sweeter when they’re lost. I know — because once I wanted something and got it. It was the only thing I ever wanted badly…and when I got it, it turned to dust in my hand.” – Scott Fitzgerald
And with this one smooth, dulcet croon from Our Fearless Leader, one can just sense the sudden rush of dew on Herman Miller Aeron Chairs the nation over. Talk about your “TRUE BLACK”, BITCHES. Like I’ve told you before, my friends…OUR PRESIDENT CAN FLAT FUCK — and that virtue gets MY VOTE EVERY TIME.
Oh, my stars…what a whirlwind weekend of WONDER! Last night my fatass sashayed into an AWESOME club in Little Tokyo with My One True Love and our best girl, Miss Pammie, where we partooketh of a jaw-dropping performance of REAL-DEAL, NO HORSESHIT, OL’ SCHOOL JAZZ…and that was only after I had lunch yesterday at that infamous Eagle Rock HOUSE OF GUSTATORY DELIGHTS, Auntie Em’s Kitchen, with my VERY BEST BOYS: Gregory, Mario Diaz, and Jackie Beat…where our lunch date was (YOU GOTTA BE FUCKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS) Fred “My Band’s AMAZING Music and GROUNDBREAKING Aesthetic Changed The Life of a Trashy Fresno Trollop Named Muffy Bolding” Schneider.
Holy shit…SOMEBODY PINCH THIS PINCHE PUTA.
Herr Schneider, Old Hooker, Older Hooker, and a BEAUTIFUL LITTLE BABY NAMED ‘BABY”!
Have you ever dated a guy who made CRAZY EYES when he was fucking you? I’m not talking about “Crazy ‘O’ Face” here — everybody has that, for chrissake. I’m talking about actual CRAZY EYES while he’s nailing you. Talk about a buzzkill. Frankly, when a guy fucks me with CRAZY EYES, he cock-blocks himself. It makes the flesh crawl right off my body and out of my bed. Just hand me the remote and get the fuck out, dude. I’m so done.
And on that delightful note…this I guarantee you: RICK SANTORUM CANNOT FUCK.
And further, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and unequivocally state that if you are a Republican, YOU CAN’T FUCK*. It is a mathematical certainty. You just can’t. There is an ebb and flow to this life…a beat, a rhythm. We are born to it. Conservative Republicans can’t dance because they can’t feel that beat or that rhythm, and that’s because hate, intolerance, and certainly Fundamentalist Christianity cut you off from feeling it — and everybody knows that if you can’t dance, you can’t fuck. It’s as simple as that, Mein Poppets. Those beliefs neuter you. They castrate your connection to The Great Throbbing Pulsing Disco Beat that is this universe and is this life — the single, infinite beat that ties us all one to the other. When you live your life steeped in hatred, you are deaf to that beat and its enticing call. You don’t get to feel it move through you, bringing alive every cell in your being, calling you to join in The Dance. And it’s not just that you won’t dance — it’s that you can’t.
Now Obama? For however disappointed I am with his presidency thus far — oh, and trust me, I AM — there is one thing that cannot be denied:
That guy can FLAT FUCK.
*With the exception of my old friend, DeWayne Link. Now THAT OL’ BOY CAN FUCK.
“A genius is someone who shoots at something that no one else can see…and hits it.”
One of my writer friends recently put out a call on Facebook asking for the names of creative geniuses, historical and/or contemporary, I am guessing for a project she is working on. People chimed in with all manner of suggestions — some DEAD-ON and some positively inexplicable. It made me stop and consider what the oft-used (and misused) word, “genius” really means. What exactly is a “genius”?
For me, a genius is someone who takes my breath away with their natural talent — who takes the top of my fucking head off with their brilliance. Someone who comes into this world already brandishing that unknowable, unnameable IT. Someone whose lustre and illumination CANNOT BE DENIED.
True genius is a rare commodity, and to encounter it is an exhilarating experience. How does one recognize genius? As was once said by Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart (about pornography): …”It’s difficult to define…BUT I KNOW IT WHEN I SEE IT.”
And I do.
After pondering the concept for a bit, here is a list of some of those humans I believe to be, or have been, not only extraordinary…but actually FUCKING GENIUS:
As for me, though I have known countless brilliant creatives in my life — in fact, I am blissfully surrounded by them at all times — I have only personally known one whom I consider to be an actual creative genius…and of this, there is NO QUESTION:
