“Nigel takes his liberties every other Friday when the annuity check clears.” I wrote this line in a play when I was 17. Before my time, like few others. The line was spoken by a girl I knew who wanted two things: to be an actress, and ME. Didn’t get me but at least she got to speak my lines in said play for 12th grade Drama Class. Cheeky, right? Nigel was British and could only get it up twice a month. Any of you girls who’ve dated an Englishman can relate.
Civil Liberties? What country do you think you’re in Heather? The country is an overcrowded Zombieland of digital hate and long-forgotten moral principles. Sure, I fit right in, on the periphery anyway. But I can still spew social commentary with a tiny bit of proper verbiage (how much do I hate that mutherfuckin’ word y’all). See what I mean? Easily swayed into the pop culture vernacular of memes and Twitter wars. Here’s a thought: Kim K and Taylor Swift in a bare-knuckle grudge match on PPV. I’d lay down $29.99 to see that. Only condition is the fight won’t end until one of them dies. Too dark? Maybe. Aside from the pure entertainment value nothing would come of it. There’d be another Kim K or Taylor Swift morphing from another celebrity PR mastermind @fucktardcuntwhore. Jeez, dude, thought you were above this bullshit. Anger management much? Get that checked.
What really frosts my bubble butt is the date of July 22, 2016. What’s that date. The U.S. release of the AbFab movie! I’ve anticipated this day for 25 years. So I went into the interweb to pre-purchase tickets and the ONLY theater in Manhattan that’s playing the AbFab movie is in Lincoln Center on, hold on… JULY 29th!!!!!!! AhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhFuuuuuuuuuuck! Feels like the first time I fell in love. The crippling disappointment leaves me with burning flames of rage and a calculated plot of revenge. BTW “Revenge” was the name of that play I wrote in high school. I smell a theme. Whatever. Another week to keep myself alive.
Acceptance is the answer. Sure it is. Yesterday I sat out in 90 degree sunshine at the Christopher Street Pier realizing my mortality. I barely remember sitting on the very same pier when I was 17 (likely smoking some Jamaican shrubbery🌿) but I can remember the snarky line I wrote for an uptight bitch who only fucks her husband when his trust fund check clears. Priorities. If I could remember everything I’ve forgotten I’d know nothing. The guys on the pier always remain the same though. Cunty queens and ridiculously hot shirtless sweaty str8 guys oblivious or not to the inspirations of lust their unavailable abs conjure up.
Civil liberties. Yeah.