Now, THIS IS HOW YOU DO IT, Mein Poppets. Don’t worry about ANYBODY ELSE or what they are doing or what they are thinking or what they have that you don’t. FUCK ALL THAT. As ol’ Teddy Roosevelt once wisely said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.” — and you SERIOUSLY oughta listen to him because, despite the grinning, paunchy, myopic, rough-riding road toad he later became, trust me, when he was young, that boy was a COMPLETE piece of ass. No, seriously. Google that shit. I’m not kidding. I am talking TOP-SHELF PUSSY HERE. Can’t you just see him and those beautiful blue eyes and boot-cut sideburns and those perfectly salty Coach vintage leather riding boots sitting at a hipster coffeehouse in Echo Park or Silver Lake…sippin’ a soy latte and reading some Bukowski? GodDAMN, he was a BUTCH motherfucker — and aside from all the ruthless bastard big game hunting he did in his unbelievably accomplished lifetime, I promise that you will TOTALLY wanna bang him. I know I do. After he takes a shower and hoses all that fusty dust from San Juan Hill out from ‘neath his noble undercarriage, that is. Yes, yes, yes…enlightenment, adventurousness, and fearless, decisive political action surely count for something in this life…but then again, SO DOES GOOD TESTICULAR HYGIENE. I mean, c’mon, Teddy, me boy…do me a solid, fill the tub with some scalding hot water, and drag a bar of Coast soap on up through there — I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Yes, yes, I’ll even do that disgusting thing that you love so much that got me officially excommunicated from The Catholic Church last year — but, first, you gotta squat and wash it. I am talking BOIL THAT DUSTSPECK, SON. Nothing makes my UNHINGEABLE ANACONDA JAW and Judy Garland Polio Legs snap shut and lock tight faster than hot, dusty nuts that smell like WARM CORN TORTILLAS. Y’all know what I’m talkin’ about. Seriously, MAMA DON’T PLAY. So, yes. COAST SOAP and VIGOR. And, oh, yeah, Mein Poppets — umm…keep your eyes on your own gottdamned paper and all that inspirational rot and go forth into the world and KILL IT.

Because that’s what ol’ Teddy did.

Shantih. Shantih. Shantih.

And, Amen.




About muffybolding

Muffy Bolding is a mother/writer/actor/knitter/feminist/withered debutante who likes the smell of asparagus pee, and remains obsessed with the bathroom hygiene of her three children -- despite the fact that they are 23, 19, and 16. She is blissfully married to a cute Jewish boy who looks like Willie Wonka, but remains tragically in love with the dead poet, Ted Hughes. She has the mouth of a Teamster, and her patron saint is Rocco (pestilence relief.) Ms. Bolding lives in Southern California, where she enjoys typing words, making movies, and plucking the rings from the fingers of the dead. She was the co-creator and Editor-in-Chief of the award winning satire zine, Fresno Lampoon, and in between writing screenplays, carnival barking, and savagely threatening her trio of darling larvae with a wooden spoon, she currently publishes the zine, "Withered Debutante." More of her work can also be found in the anthology, "Mamaphonic: Balancing Motherhood and Other Creative Acts", the compilation zine, "Mamaphiles III: Coming Home", as well as in The Cortland Review and hipmama.com. She is currently writing and producing for film and television, and working on a book of essays entitled, "Inside A Chinese Dragon." She has slept around, but not nearly as much as she would have liked.
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