Rip Van Winkle In Reverse Barbie
has been awake for fifty-
three years (and counting).
No, shes fucking exhausted!
created a Dream
Bed for her, all four-postered plushy pink
to create Dream eyelids for her
to attach. All she can do
among the pillows and stare at the ceiling fan
that does not
move (without 2 AA batteries).
She caught a random commercial at 4
and played sick the whole next day so
her owners would cough up a bottle of
They ad promised a capful of coma. Her mistake,
it in the Dream Kitchen and ended up
face-first in the cat food. Luckily,
her plastic metabolism processed
it at hyper-speed and she was back
on her toes again in minutes. Damn!
She finally settled for
buying a book (yes, Barbie
can read) called Shades of Gray. Her
promised her it would bore her to death
if not slumber.
(Shes already found three typos).
Guess that will just have to do
creates a line of Dream Sheep for her
to count . . .
Best Little Bitch in Daytona
Do you know where the nearest whorehouse is?
strange male voice inquired. I could not resist
the urge to look
what kind of freak [show] one would feel comfortable
a question of. Imagine
my shock and dumb-struck awe, when I saw mine
was the only occupied table nearby. I immediately ran
a mental check:
jeans: standard not low rise; definitely
tee: no v-neck cleavage; make-up:
who the hell wears make-up
Renewed in my now confirmed outrage, I ranted,
look like a whore?
Nope. Quick retort.
Unapologetic. I rise for the occasion, then
take a poll . . .
I clear my throat for effect, let loose
best semi-respectable newscaster impersonation. Does
anyone here know
where this sad, pathetically . . . I pause to look
down . . .
endowed gentleman can find the nearest whore-
An attractive middle-aged woman in ridiculously insensible
approached our train-wreck theatrical. I hear
right next to the dog house. She grabbed
the purse and keys I never
next to the moron in question. Her stilettos stuttering her
as she stormed out
of the restaurant. Her husband(?),
finally embarrassed, scuttled after her tail firmly tucked
contrition, cursing something about a couch under
his breath. I returned
to my seat, basking in righteous justification, and proceeded
Fishnet Bootie Shorts
should have an age limit. Period. And it doesnt
matter if its that nightmare time when Spring
Break and Bike Week
intersect under Daytona Beach sun
and its 97º in March and you
are on vacation from Alaska
and its your 51st birthday and you got
faced drunk in attempt to divert some mid-life depression.
wants to see your over-the-hill-un-aerobicized-vampire-
sporting a tattered white thong thats two sizes
too small, covered
only by thin black open-weave mesh
fabric strips strained to within an inch
of their life. News
flash: the cameras are not flashing because you have
mistaken for JLo. You are seconds away from being this
Facebook freakout post. Digital downloads
of your ass will be shared and
tweeted in nauseous, gag-
inducing disbelief. Do you know where your
typed neatly in Times New Roman beneath the wide
lens capture of your crack.