LADY GODIVA: The Naked Truth

Sooo…recently I read this crazy article About How CBS Will Publish Fun 'Facts' About Sperm  But  Not About Vaginas and I couldn’t believe it, so, I read all three articles.  The one aforementioned, this one about VAGINAS , and this one about SPERM .      Ladies and gentlemen-who-started-in-the-womb-as-ladies, please allow me to tear the article on sperm apart like a demented premenstrual lioness. Ahem, the article opens up indicating that knowing things about sperm means you won’t know interesting things about sperm, you’ll know ‘crazy’ things about sperm.  Okay.  We’re also told that they are “amazing little wrigglers” and that without sperm “the world would be a very lonely place”.  Okay.  I erroneously thought that a world without mothers would be a very lonely place but, go on, you crazy sperm article you.  Then in the introduction of what is essentially an extremely unnecessary slide-show, it suddenly gets clarified that these are not crazy facts but “fascinati

I feel like screaming. My two guilty pleasures are Britney Spears and Steve Wilkos.  (I know). Anyways, today was not really a good day.  On the flip side, had it actually been a good day, I would not currently be feeling as disgruntled and dismayed and disillusioned and frustrated and perplexed as I feel and would not be blindly pounding the keys of my keyboard; my fingertips like tiny fists. Somewhat aware that the only two numb feelings I have left are fear and exhaustion. I think I might've lost my job today over telling someone who doesn't know where they live is called Cancer Alley in college textbooks that knowing what a power supply cord is has absolutely nothing to do with computers and everything to do with common sense.  That we plug things in every day - don't we?--toasters, hairdryers, etc.  No ma'am, it's impossible for a battery to last on its own for slightly over a year within that piece of machinery... ...but I'm about to eat a bunch

Dr. Who-me?, eww. You can't see or understand that I'm the Invisible Man with jewelry? You lookin' pretty paltry & pouty I'm feelin' kinda rowdy like a cowboy that don't say, "Howdy." Pennywise, I am the ultimate Ghostwriter: John Ritter, only bigger & more bitter and, yea, you could figure... on a star. All those Once Upon A Time wishes, tend to go a bit too far. Tracy Chapman said you got a fast car. But all men be playars. All womb-men be bitches, and give birth in a rut 'cause of a sting in the gut so what you breed gets called mutt and never gets what they need to sleep and feel alright. So they grow-up like me and ghostwrite. Say they, "Al'right," when they're not all right. Every step a jihad, Every breath a fight. They might let you pray if you're lucky. Even if he does love you, he'll still fuck me. With pay. Tell you it's addiction, tell me it's fiction, but

I write to know you’re wrong.  I write like John Wayne Gacy was a marauding clown.  I write like how John Curtis Holmes masturbates.     I write like how Billie Eleanora Harris Holiday sings “Strange Fruit”.  I write exactly how Henry Charles Bukowski got whiskey dick.  I write like how Lizzie Andrew Borden swung her axe.  I write like the one whispering voice in the back pew of the Sanctuary not having to compete with the loudspeaker voice from the pulpit.   I am the one true Poet laureate.  Richard Wagner foretold my arrival in 1849.   I am the avatar a Sundancer attempted to awaken.  My words will haunt you in your slumber and be engraved on plagues, buildings, statues, and headstones.  My quotes will be tattoos.  I will be immortal.  My love poems will be read at weddings and funerals.  Mathematicians suffering from ennui will find my codes.  Muriel Rukeyser assures that I shall split the world wide open.  My time is nigh-hand.       Be prepared.