A SERIOUS GOP ASS-HANDING by Senator Wendy Davis last night in Austin, Texas — and today? TRUE LOVE CONQUERS ALL in Washington, DC. EQUALITY ABOUNDS! And, the delicious maraschino cherry on top of THAT FABULOUS SUNDAE? An AWESOME Dodger win last night against The Giants at Chavez Ravine (GO DOYERS!) — all proof that Birthday Wishes ABSOLUTELY come true!
Happy, Happy Birthday, our BEAUTIFUL, BRILLIANT, BOSS Baby Goat! You are THE SUN. We LOVE YOU!
And while I am typing meaningful missives:
A Heartfelt Letter To An Old Friend From My Youth Who Stops By My Facebook Page Occasionally To Leave What I Absolutely Know To Be Loving And Well-Intentioned Comments Such As: “Why would Jesus tell people to repent, if repenting wasn’t important?”:
My DEAREST, DARLING Old Friend Whom I GENUINELY Love And Admire So Very Much And On Whom I Had A HUGE Scorching Crush In High School —
Though it’s certainly possible that I was too drunk on a 40 of Olde English 800 pimped at Roberto’s liquor store at lunch, or too distracted giving handjobs in the junior parking lot at break to have heard him, but as far as I know, Jesus never, ever told MY FATASS to repent. In fact, Jesus has never actually told me ANYTHING. You know, now that I really think about it, aside from being a WAY HOT, GORGEOUS character in a Franco Zeffirelli mini-series on whom I also had a VERY SERIOUS crush when we were teenagers, Jesus hasn’t really had much affect on my life at all.
Me? I just wake up every single morning and try to be the best, most loving, most decent, most kind, most generous, most grateful, most compassionate, most PRESENT person I can be — and I cannot tell you how very happy and satisfied and content I am with my life and my family and my friends and my work. I know that MY way is certainly not the only way, nor is it perhaps the BEST way for anybody else — but for me? It works. Swimmingly.
So, if being a Godless Whore means being a woman WHO KNOWS WHAT SHE WANTS, IS NOT AFRAID TO GO AFTER IT, IS IN CONTROL OF HER OWN BODY AND HER OWN DESTINY, AND LIVES LIFE ON HER OWN MOTHERLOVING TERMS, then may I say that I am MOST ASSUREDLY A GODLESS WHORE, sir…and PROUD TO CALL MYSELF ONE.
Much peace and love to you, Old Friend — may you find all that you seek in THIS life…and EVERY OTHER.
With much love and respect,
Muffy
xoxo
PS) Speaking about our next lives…when we at long last find ourselves there, might we FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY get the chance to make out? Sweet Jesus, YOU’RE GORGEOUS. Almost as gorgeous as THIS GUY.
“Jesus getting his nails painted.”
An affectionate, open letter to the boy on my Facebook friends list who commented on my original post of this photo a couple of days ago, “Sorry, Muffy…You’re better than that.”:
Actually, Sugar…I gotta tell you — I’M NOT. I honestly think this is one of the funniest things I have ever seen, and trust me, I have SEEN A LOT. When I first saw it on the wall of one of my best friends, it made me BELLY LAUGH OUT LOUD. HOWL, in fact. It’s fucking CLEVER AS HELL. I would get this TATTOOED ON MY BODY…and I don’t even HAVE any tattoos.
If you’ve been reading me for awhile, and I do believe you have, you will know that I don’t ever make jokes about raped, garotted, murdered, little girls or boys (i.e., JonBenet Ramsey), or raped, garotted, murdered, grown men or women, for that matter, or even tortured, suffering, murdered animals, but I will most certainly make a joke or an observation about THIS awesome fellow (i.e., such as my recent revelation that I have wanted to make out with him since I watched the BRILLIANT Franco Zeffirelli mini-series, “Jesus of Nazareth” when I was a teenager)…as well as making jokes or observations about other awesome fellows like Buddha, Mohammed, Jehovah, Xenu, Zeus, Pazuzu, etc…because (for me) they are abstract concepts, literary fodder, fictional characters in a GREAT COSMIC PLAY.
Let me ask you a question: Have you ever called someone out for making a XENU/Scientology joke, like you just called ME out for making a Jesus joke? I don’t suspect so. And further…have YOU YOURSELF ever actually MADE a joke at ol’ Xenu’s expense? I SURELY FUCKING HAVE…and so have a LOT of people, INCLUDING THOSE who hold this bearded guy right here in THE ULTIMATE, SACRED REVERENCE. What this means is that they, and maybe even YOU, have laughed at SOMEONE ELSE’S GOD. Allow me to rephrase that: What this means is that they, and maybe even YOU, have laughed at someone else’s JESUS.
And let me go one step further and hazard another guess. I would guess that even those fervent followers of the man pictured above, when they first saw this image, when they FIRST cocked their head to one side, gazed at this photo and then suddenly GOT IT — my guess is that in that split second, right before they were shocked, horrified, and offended, THEY SMILED and maybe even CHUCKLED…and thought it was FUCKING HILARIOUS. Maybe even yourself, Sugar. You know why? BECAUSE IT IS. And you wanna know what? That moment…THAT SPLIT SECOND BEFORE THEY WERE HORRIFIED, in THAT INSTANT WHEN THEIR BRAIN SAID, “HOLY SHIT…THAT’S FUCKING FUNNY.”…contained within that moment, Darling, is MY RELIGION. And I gotta say that I believe, with ALL MY HEART, that ol’ Jesus himself would have BELLY LAUGHED at this image. From all that I know of him, Jesus, the man, was AWESOME.
Thank you for thinking that I am a better person — I know with all my heart that there was kindness in your comment — but, the truth is…judging by the gauge with which you were measuring me…I am not. I don’t believe in this god or any other — well, aside from the fact that I believe we are ALL GODS…and I CERTAINLY don’t believe in that gauge. I am just me. Flaws and folly and chin whiskers and all — but I do like to think that I am a good person, anyway, good just for good’s sake.
Good WITHOUT A GOD.
Thanks for commenting, my brutha.
xoxo
My private yoga lesson this morning with my HUSBAND, Gregory, and my GUSBAND, Jackie, went SWIMMINGLY. I am officially FUCKING OBSESSED. The really good news is…at this morning’s lesson, during some of the twistier poses, I couldn’t smell my own vagina. The really bad news?
I COULD SMELL JACKIE’S.
#coastsoapisyourfriendbitch #boilthatdustspeck
“You have to understand, I’m not a middle-class person. I’m like a lower-class person with upper-class aesthetics.” — Patti Smith
Little-known American History Fun Fact #623:
Abraham Lincoln not only had chin whiskers that he had to pluck every morning…he also had nuclear hot flashes, parched vaginal tissues, an estrogen patch on his ass, the gunt of a TRUE patriot, and an EPIC Florida Evans Neck to last the ages.
You see, Mein Poppets? You learn something new every day!
Young Hooker.
Fresno, California.
1998.
Boss Hooters.
Questionable Moral Fiber.
Ina Garten Doppleganger.
Hopelessly in love with Jesus.
No, silly.
Not in love with Jesus’ doctrine and divinity.
Actually PHYSICALLY IN LOVE WITH JESUS.
As in…I watched Franco Zeffirelli’s masterpiece mini-series, “Jesus of Nazareth”, and, everafter…I’VE WANTED TO MAKE OUT WITH JESUS.
You’ll see me in hell, Mr. Thorn. It is there we will share out our sentence.
Despite all the amazing photos being posted by my friends on the East Coast — I have to say that we here in California are feeling a little entomologically left out and would like to extend an offer to all Those 17 Year Cicadas who have not yet seen Disneyland, Universal Studios, The Hollywood Walk of Fame, and Paris Hilton’s Vagina. Dudes. You can totally stay on our couch — but we got WICKED SHITTY public transportation, so you gotta rent a goddamned car.
Okay, so, here’s how the fuck you get here. You take the 101 to the 134 to the 2 to the 210 — but ONLY between the hours of 3 am and 5 am…otherwise, YOU’RE CLICKY NARROW ASSES ARE TOTALLY FUCKED. Oh, and at the interchange between the 134 and the 2 there is an In N’ Out Burger — get in the drive-thru and order a Double-Double “Animal Style” packed to eat in your car. You just gotta trust me on this one, bitches. Man, you guys are gonna sound AWESOME in The Hollywood Bowl.
Let’s do this thing.
A coupla years ago, My One True Love and I were out and about, and at some point during our travels, stopped in at the INFAMOUS Starbucks on Ventura Blvd. to canoodle, read the LA Times, and split a nice, soy latte.
We got our delicious beverage and found a couple of cozy seats and commenced reading, sipping, and canoodling when, from a table across the room, we heard a very shrill, very persistent, very annoying sales pitch… loudly crapping out the orchid-lipsticked mouth of some broad who looked about 22. She was sitting at a table with a couple of older people (in their 50′s) who looked smart enough and hip enough to know better than to be sitting there wasting their time listening to her pointless drivel, much less to actually bite and sign up with her satanic “multi-tier investment program.”
Yet, there she was, loudly and aggressively yammering on about what was very clearly — to myself, Gregory, and every other motherfucker in the entire packed place — a pyramid scheme. I thought my head would explode from the relentless shriek of her voice. At one point, I leaned across the aisle to one particularly annoyed-looking fellow and said, “Umm…first of all, AS IF I would take critical financial advice from some moronic biatch who is younger, BY FAR, than the bra I am currently wearing.” Allow me to say — judging by the chai latte that shot out his nose midsnort — that he appreciated the sentiment.
After about ten minutes — and about 10,000 evil daggers hurled at her from nearly every person in the room — I HAD FUCKING HAD IT WITH THIS ASSHOLE’S AURAL AMWAY ASSAULT. So, I smoothed my skirt and sauntered over to where ‘Little Miss Tell A Friend And Then That Friend Will Tell A Friend’ was holding court and spewing her meaningless marketing horseshit. I flashed a dazzling smile, leaned down, and said in a tone that the entire establishment could clearly hear, “Excuse me, sweetheart, but I have message for you from the entire room. You see, we held a little meeting of our own and decided that we’d all like to chip in and buy you a nice, big, frothy, vente-sized cup o’ SHUT THE FUCK UP. Would you like cream and sugar with that?”
Horrified, she glanced around the room and saw that at least 20 patrons were waving dollar bills in the air clearly intended for my proposed collection plate of hate. She huffily gathered her things and hauled ass out the door.
Not surprisingly, the longsuffering middle-aged couple whom she had been holding hostage thanked me profusely for their release…and the floor gave me a standing ovation — to which I responded with a dainty curtsy and a satisfied smirk.
muffy bolding 
