The Reach

Remember when I told you that I ordered one of those spit-in-the-tube DNA tests — and, at that time, predicted that I would, WITH ABSOLUTE MATHEMATICAL CERTAINTY, break their goddamned DNA machine because my pipples like to fuck…ALOT…of different pipples…ALOT?
Seeing these mongreloid results, that shit is SURELY BROKE AS A JOKE.
Here, at long last, is what makes up a Muff:
Italian/Greek (Sicilian)
Iberian/Basque (Spanish)
East Asian (Chinese)
Polynesian (Filipino)
Middle Eastern (Most likely Syrian, Lebanese, Turkish, or Iraqi)
Native American (Metseecan)
Ashkenazi Jew
Standard American Whore
So, what this means is that all that Family Mythology I have heard both whispered and boasted all these many years about a witchy, fair-skinned, blue-eyed, titian-haired Great-Great-Grandmother from Ireland, and a Great-Great-Grandfather who was a proper, respectable shipping merchant from England, was exactly this:
But, here’s the thing…if you ask any of your friends of color, they will absolutely have their own family stories of legend and lore that can be attributed to what I refer to as “THE GREAT WHITE REACH” — be it a rumored fair-skinned, red-haired Great-Great Aunt from Ireland over the sea, or the shock waves of both envy and admiration when a new baby is born anywhere into the family with blue, green, or grey eyes…or light hair or “good” hair. You have to remember, this ain’t just frivolous shit. In a profoundly racist and xenophobic culture like our own, assimilating, fitting in, or even outright passing may have meant the difference between success or failure, safety or peril, and sometimes even life or death, itself.
Trust me, “The Great White Reach” is VERY REAL.
However, as much as my poor, dark, squat, stocky, scandalous, prolific, peasant-stock pipples wish it were so…Honey, we ain’t white FOR SHIT.
However, instead of feeling personally disappointed at this revelation, I FUCKIN’ LOVE IT.
The truth is, I have always known that I come from MUD PEOPLE, Man — carnies, hookers, pirates, scoundrels, skalliwags, and gangster’s molls. In fact, I can guarantee you that that surprise Middle Eastern component comes by way of my Sicilian blood, being that Sicily has been conquered, occupied, pillaged, and plundered countless times by various empires over the millennia, which is why I always smirk and refer to this particular ancient island seat of my lusty kin thusly:
Sicily: The Whorehouse of Europe.
But, with all these relatively relative revelations revealed, the one true Great-Great family tale I CAN definitively tell you is this:
Late one balmy island night in the Philippine Islands, in a fit of jealous rage, my Filipino Great-Great-Grandfather…hacked my Filipino Great-Great-Grandmother to death with a machete before turning it on himself.
You wanna know where I come from?
That, Mein Poppets, is where I come from.
Oh, and this dapper, young fellow barely out of his teens is my Maternal Grandfather, Gaudencio Gascon Viloria — who spent his entire professional life either sitting at the high roller tables in downtown Las Vegas…or busing tables at The (now long-closed) Eagle Cafe in downtown Fresno. There is no in-between for my family. Ever.
We may be completely out of our minds, goddamnit, but we know how to FUCKING LIVE.
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“A woman who writes has power and a woman with power is feared.” — Gloria Anzaldua, Chicana writer, scholar, and feminist, 1942 – 2004


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Inane Muff Fact #722: I’ve always found the most effective way to deal with adversaries is to make them my friends. As a ruthless, lifelong forger of alliances, there is something endlessly satisfying about it to me. The drawing close of those who would subdue you: The ULTIMATE Seduction. In fact, some of my best friends today first started out as my sworn enemies — and, ironically, some of my most malevolent enemies…began as my treasured friends.


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i love her

“I’m not funny. What I am is brave.” – Lucille Ball


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Well, here we are. Just like last year on the first day of motherfucking Summer. Just like EVERY YEAR on the first day of motherfucking Summer. That’s right, Mein Poppets. It’s time once again for Muffy’s Annual Hot Weather Whine!


Honestly? Just looking at this screen grab of the current temp and weather forecast in Palm Springs makes me want to kill myself.

No. Really. Kill myself. Dead. As in Death. Valley. Palm. Springs. Los. Angeles. At this point, it’s ALL just down the buckling, melting, sizzling street from me and it’s ALL the fucking same.

For those who don’t know, I grew up in Fresno and have an infamous, lifelong case of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) and, in contrast to what usually triggers others who are afflicted by this ruthless mental health condition, it is Summer that destroys my soul. I find the heat torturous and the scorching, sunny, desolate months between June and September as something merely to be endured. FML.

Consequently, I currently have the A/C crankin’ WHITE HOT and the goddamned Jean Nate on ice…and with today’s high temp of motherloving 107 here in fabulous Altadena, California, I am now settling into my usual Summertime routine:

1) Get on phone and obsessively check the 7 and 10 day forecast, desperately scanning the numbers for any semblance of hope. Read it and weep.

2) Plot own death by nasty means.

3) Raise fist to the heavens and curse god, even though I am an atheist.

4) Strip off all clothing except white, 100% cotton Target Granny Panties.

5) Drag my fatass to refrigerator.

6) Angrily snatch INDUSTRIAL-SIZED bottle of Jean Nate out of freezer.

7) Savagely remove Grannies. Unleash GUNT. Liberally spritz undercarriage with great abandon.

9) Execute motherfucking Bolshoi-worthy Grand Plié over industrial fan.


10) Weep with relief.

11) Repeat until either the smack or the rat poison kicks in — and trust me, at that point it don’t matter which one. It’s all about the sweet oblivion.


13) Now, bring me that GOTTDAMNED OCTOBER, BITCHES.

That is all.


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“Margaret Atwood, the Canadian novelist, once asked a group of women at a university why they felt threatened by men. The women said they were afraid of being beaten, raped, or killed by men. She then asked a group of men why they felt threatened by women. They said they were afraid women would laugh at them.”
― The FIERCE, INIMITABLE Miss Molly Ivins



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“Life is too short to spend hoping that the perfectly arched eyebrow or hottest new lip shade will mask an ugly heart.” — Kevyn Aucoin


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“The telling of jokes is an art of its own, and it always rises from some emotional threat. The best jokes are dangerous, and dangerous because they are in some way truthful.” — Kurt Vonnegut


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miss carrie




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Yeah, Baby. It’s ALL about velocity, ferocity, and reciprocity. LET’S DO THIS THING.



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