In Case I’m Funny

I have always wanted to do this but I probably never will because it is the last thing that I am chicken of.  I have been a writer since I was 15 years old but I was always so terrified of becoming an author because I thought that the worst thing in the world was writing shit and people not loving it. Because if they don’t love your shit they don’t love you. So I figured if I could be an amazing writer, in my own fucking head, and no one really knew, then no one could steal it from me or tell me, frankly darling you are terrible. After I grew up, and technically, I’m still not grown, but after I got past the first part of my thirties and I was like, you know what, fuck it. Fuck what anyone has to say about me, this is my journey. My road. And I will be so disappointed if I cannot die saying on that creaky ass bed, bitch, you did it. You did it and you didn’t give a fuck. And maybe, someday, smart people, wise people, artistic people will love it. You’ll be fucking dead but so what you died knowing that might happen because you actually gave it a shot and so therefore, you win. So far I have written two poetry books, one short story and one philosophical drunk book for the benefit of my common law husband. I am proud. But I also had two other dreams. I still want to write more books, 19 in total before I die, sell or not, just to do it, I have to get it out there, but the other two are to be a lounge singer, for one night, to lay on a fucking super strong ass piano, in a Jessica Rabbit outfit and sing songs for a smoky bar. The other is to be a comic. I think I’m funny. Other people think I’m funny. I look fucking funny, I’m no model, I literally should be funny. So If I were going to do a stand up, what the hell would I say? I dunno. I’d definitely stroll out on stage completely trashed. That is the only way, the first time, that I would be brave enough. And then I’d say, How are you tonight Kansas? But it doesn’t matter really if this isn’t fucking Kansas, its all goddamn Kansas, so how the fuck are you? Wonderful. I’m wonderful too. I’m fucked up. Not like, high on crack or anything, I’m so skinny, so I know you thought that initially, no, I’m drunk as a bitch and I have a catheter on because whenever I drink I have to piss like every ten seconds, and when you are doing stand up you cant do it from a stall with a microphone because no one wants to fucking here you wee while they drink cause it makes them thinking about weeing and then you come back to an empty room with tumbleweed fucking rolling through because everyone went to go let that shit out. So maybe, you should do like me and get depends so you can laugh and let that shit out where you sit without any stress. Cause stress is a fucking killer. It is. Stress, will kill you. It will kill you before that night stalker in your neighborhood that is killing attractive nurses in your neighborhood and wearing their hair to local bars because you’re not a fucking nurse and you aren’t attractive so why would that scare you? The stress of it does. Stress will fuck you completely up. If you believe something or someone is better than you, then you beat yourself the fuck up. No one has to do it for you. They just have to plant a seed something is more wrong with you than someone else and then you implode from the inside. Oh hey, girl how are you? You’re looking full, these days. Eating good huh? Oh, married life has made you round and happy, like Santa. Like Santa? Oh so I’m fat? Oh so now you aint inviting me on our annual Bahamas trip because I don’t look good no more in the photograph for fucking Facebook? God, I hate Facebook. I do. I avoided it for a long time but then I thought hey im gonna go on and talk to my friends I miss and share pics blah blah blah but once you get on there its really just the same fucking high school competition you were always stuck in, to try to seem better than you are in real life, more interesting more fun, and now, with pictures, bitch!! But I might not say that. Even if I did say that, I would be like, okay okay but seriously. Who cares? Lets be honest, the more shit you do online everyday the less fucking real life you’re living. if you are doing shit just so it can be a picture on a website, technically, you are a douche.  A low douche, as if there were a high douche. And can we talk about all of the anti feminine things we say every day? Even I do. Douche. Oh, something that cleans the extraneous bacteria out of a wonderfully delicious vagina is a horribly funny and absurd and awful thing to be. Makes me sick and I do it because everyone does it but we shouldn’t. Why do we hate women so god damned much? Because you want to be women? Are you scared of women? Are we fucking Godzilla sized loch ness monsters walking around amongst the men and so in order to keep us from taking over the blue ball you have to make us feel that anything associated with us is fucking terrible? How many times have you told someone that they were a cunt or a bitch or a pussy?  A Pussy? You are supposed to be suicidal, if you are a giant pussy? WHY?

I’m too drunk to think of what else I would say, but I will and I will share and why not. I cant wait.