Colorful Personalities · Personal Anectdotes · Uncategorized

How to Fend off Feral Christian Children

fullarkOnce upon a time I had the great misfortune of having a roving eight year old Christian child show up uninvited into my living space and refuse to get the hint to leave. This would happen every weekend because apparently allowing an eight year old to wander like a stray dog and  bug random neighbors for food is A OK to certain families.

Sadly this isn’t the first time I have had the issue of waking up with children that weren’t mine. Being a great believer in science I was always of the opinion that, “kids just happen” was one of the stupidest statements on the planet. I mean I don’t know of any woman who just woke up one day with a baby budding out of her arm, screaming, “I have NO IDEA what happened! This clone of me just appeared out of nowhere!” I’m not saying it can’t happen because you never know, add the appropriate comic book styled nuclear meltdown and anything could happen, but I think for the most part children are the result of fucking. I’m not alone in this observation… and maybe it’s because of my insistence to believe in that I kept getting other people’s kids dumped on me, for years. It was like there was a big blinking sign over my head reading, “Knows how to use birth control, please punish me for my worldlyness.” I’ve already written about this already in this blog when recounting the ten year old that stole the car.  Believe it or not this was a different child from a different family and was so much worse.

Buddy_christThis child was born into an intensely Christian family by two suitably teenage parents. By the time she was bugging me her mother had ran the fuck away and her freakishly misogynistic grandmother was taking care of her on the weekends. She was a child starved for attention, something she best illustrated with her shreiking 500 decibel voice which she’d marinade me with non-stop whenever she could find me. She had no inside voice and as much as I felt bad for her there was only so much Christmas songs (in fucking July) and evangelical propaganda I can handle coming out of the mouths of babes. The way she spoke of Jesus made him sound like some flesh and blood creepy dude that escorted her wherever she went. It freaked me out.

And so I would try to gently discourage her from bothering me. I’d pretend I’d fallen into a coma every weekend, I’d make a note not to be home, I’d send her home with things no eight year should have – like thirty pounds of sticky candy and an orchestra of noise makers. Nothing seemed to work so eventually I decided to work on her grandmother’s deep seated belief in all that is holy… and chaste. This woman had a Madonna Whore complex that could have made the Madonna cry. She had spent years telling me how to slut it up (wear make-up, tight jeans, SMILE!) and when she realized I had a man she started to spew bile. She was the most anti-sex person I have ever met and took out all her hostility and rage on other women. She was also homeschooling this poor child… so I figured I’d just blare sexually explicit or otherwise wildly inappropriate music hoping she’d take a tune or so home and sing her new vocabulary cheerfully to her grandmother who might get the hint to keep her away.

I started simply with the old music I grew up with. Hair’s score Sodomy seemed a great place to start. With an upbeat musical styling that might appeal to a child it espoused a whole string of age inappropriate words. And the title was absolutely Biblical so I took this as a sign from God. Plus being so short the message was super simple..

“Sodomy

Fellatio
Cunnilingus
Pederasty
Father, why do these words sound so nasty?
Masturbation
Can be fun
Join the holy orgy
Kama Sutra
Everyone!”

 

This didn’t work. It just wasn’t catchy enough. I needed something with carnival flare. I found it in Formidable Marinade. This song was just a joy, insanely upbeat, deliriously sarcastic, and all about good old fashioned sister-fucking. I couldn’t ask for more! Plus this was one is great fun to sing along to – as enthusiastically as possible until the men in white coats drag you away. Just look at the chorus:

“Sodomy is not just for animals
Human flesh is not just for cannibals
I’ll feast on your body if you’ll feast on mine
Blood is thicker and redder than wine!!”

 

I don’t know if the lyrics ever caught on to who it was intended but by now the neighbors could hear me blaring this every weekend and I figured in for a penny, in for a pound! I moved on to another incestuous ditty… one that starts off with the line, “Little sister, I don’t know if you should look at me that way…” Seems like a good start to a story, no?

 

 

I got the occasional dirty look but this did not seem to be working. Maybe because the Bible says surprisingly little against sister-fucking… if anything it seemed to endorse it. Adam and Eve’s children populated the whole earth…. with who? *inaudible mumbling*

Maybe I could take a little break from the sexual taboos and just focus on how great drugs are. One Toke Over the Line seemed cheerful enough! And the version from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas had a delightful Hunter S Thomson quotation at the beginning… which is super child friendly.

 

I played a plentiful assortment of joyful drugged out tunes but to no avail, the kid kept coming over. Maybe I should go back to the sex thing… I found a song that was shinier than anything I had ever heard – She’s Got a Girlfriend Now. This song wasn’t just bubbly it was about a guy whose girlfriend leaves him… to be with another chick. Peeeerfect. If incest can’t rock the boat than maybe a bit of joyful lesbianism can.

 

Still…. nothing. So I  had to call in the big guns – Jesus himself. If sex and drugs couldn’t offend the old coot surely blasphemy was the answer. Imagine my unbridled joy when I found out the soundtrack to Hedwig and the Angry Inch had something I lovingly ended up nicknaming the Nail Me Jesus Song. This song had everything! Sexual tension, homo-eroticism, and Jesus!

 

Maybe the above Jesus ditty was a little too enthusiastic. Maybe this kid would do better with slow, quiet, and fucking creepy. So I found the perfect tune… recited in a sort of growling whisper by what sounds to be a total psychopath….

“I met someone like Jesus in the spring of ’98
He was so full of love and I was so full of hate
So I nailed him on a cross where he belonged
Told myself it’s what he would have wanted all along” (It actually gets worse as it goes…)

 

This seemed to work… not because she learned how to sing it but I think more because the general sound of it freaked her out at some primal level. She wouldn’t be the only one. This is a well known band but there’s only five comments on this particular song, probably because even die hard fans are backing away slowly. “He’s finally snapped. Move real slow!” Anyway my little annoyance disappeared… for a while… which is more than I could have hoped for… So I will end this article here with some bonus bubbly blasphemy to wash the creepiness out of your ears from the last one… Come on everyone! BOUNCE!

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An Invitation to my Readers

I’m hoping you all are enjoying my funny stories and various other adventures. If I made you laugh today then I have done my job and feel really good about spreading joy and positivity in this world. I would like to extend my Thank You to you, my readers, for following me. And I would like to invite you on a new adventure – I wish to start a homestead and educational farm here in New England (which I am sure will be an endless source of funny stories!) and I am asking for your help in doing so. If this sounds like something you feel like you may wish to support than by all means please visit my GoFundMe page: https://www.gofundme.com/help-fund-an-educational-farm

Thanks again!

Objects · Uncategorized

Shoes – Violently Named, Globally Adored

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAIt was three in the morning, or maybe four, or five. Point is I hadn’t slept and I was here, at a friend’s house, having a tremendous session with her and her cousin when I was asked, “What’s up with the shoes?” I looked down at my bright red Converse All Stars and for the life of me couldn’t answer. I had been wearing them since I was in third grade. They’d become almost a second skin. How was I supposed to know why I wore them now?? After much contemplation I decided it was because I have flat feet and am poor. I joke, but really, I love these iconic shoes and am rarely in something different.

 

The only other shoes which compete for my heart are my pair of muck boots – sturdy rubber monstrosities that look like hell but allow me to waddle through the most leech infested of swamps (should I choose to!) They’re not the ugliest shoes I have ever seen – that would have to go to a pair of neon green leopard spotted brothel creepers I think would have lightened up any Salvation Army. Those started a whole different conversation. Why are they called brothel creepers? Do brothels need to be creeped into? And by wcreeper-2hom? Apparently British sailors after World War II. Because if anything goes with bellbottoms and a superfluous amount of buttons it’s really weird thick rubber shoes… Brings a whole new meaning to, “You should wear your rubbers!” but I digress, no need for historical VD jokes this early in my blog.

 

Since this diversion into hshitkickersistory I have been thoroughly amused by all sorts of names for shoes, more so than the shoes themselves. Shit-kickers. Depending what you think a shit-kicker is probably says a lot about your class. If you think a shit-kicker is a high-healed ankle boot made for certain sexually voracious women you’re probably middle or upper class. If you think shit-kickers are steal toed boots… well you might be part of the mob, or lower class, or just someone who likes kicking the shit out of people. It’s a lot like a wife-beater. If you’re poor men wear wife beaters. If you’re middle class men and women can wear tank tops. If you’re upper class only women wear them and they’re called camisoles. But back to shoes…

shitkicker

 

Brothel creepers and shit kickers are wonderfully colorful names but they pale in comparison to knee-high fuck-me boots. Once, when I found myself searching for a pair, in another fucked up story I am sure I will illuminate you with later, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out whhhhy I was calling them this. Were they really called this or was I being unseemly again? Oh thank God, it’s not me. Now watch me toddle off with a pair, laughing too hard to stand. kneehigh

And since we’re talking about fuck-me boots I must also make a small detour for stilettos. It seems English speaking people have lost the meaning of stiletto, to them it’s just a high healed shoe, but actually the word stiletto refers to a very specific pick-ax like knife that was once used by medieval Italians to assassinate each other in the street without anyone noticing. Apparently one good stab under the ribs from behind would kill and provide an escape into a crowd before anyone realizes someone’s been stabbed! So now you know – shoes based on deadly weapons are sexy. Or something…

The only other pair of shoes I distinctly remember wearing were a pair of moccasins I got as pass downs all winter long. It should be noted right now that although I grew up poor I was neither of Native American ancestry or poor enough to have to wear something I plucked out of a donation box. I have no answer as to why I insisted on this for so long, slogging through the snow as they got dripping wet, their little frayed leather tassels drooping under the moisture, as I pitter pattered into the school making themoccassin soft slapping sound of a duck’s feet on tile. My teacher made note of this, though by this time I was already that kid and none of my peers said anything. Yup. So ends tonight’s musing on shoes.