Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

Hellions On Earth

Becoming a parent is more than a function of biology.

It is a function of love.  It is a commitment to the well being of another person.  It is countless sleepless nights, frightened tears, moments so euphoric you believe nothing will ever top them.  It is a function of selflessness, of a willingness to step between the child and any bullet, train, car, plane that may threaten his/her safety. 

Parenting is a job.  It is a grind.  It is exhausting, exasperating, heartbreaking.

Most of all, it is a privilege.

Or it should be.

God knows there are too many children born into this world not out of love, but out of unprotected sex.  Born to people who have not clue one about being selfless.  Miscreants whose maturity level matches their shoe size.  Careless human beings who marginalize, neglect, take for granted, and fail to nurture the children in their lives.

I love my children.  Beyond reason, beyond measure, oftentimes beyond sanity.  There is nothing I would not do for them, no threat I would not face to keep them safe.  Their happiness, their security,  their dreams are paramount to me.  Their every breath is how I breathe.

I simply cannot imagine being any other way. 

That's why stories of child abuse not only break my heart, they make me see red.  Blood red.  As in the only thing I want to see are rivers of the abuser's blood draining the life from their worthless bodies.

Hell, I'm not that patient.  I would  gladly offer up my Dyson to more quickly suck the lifeflow from their worthless bodies.

This is Jessica Howell of Missouri.  I won't mince words.  She is a sack of shit.  But she is a princess compared to this "Prince," Jordan Prince.

"Sack of shit" does a disservice to sacks of shit.  No, this is the most putrid, fetid, squallid piece of flesh imagineable.

You see, he and Jessica were boyfriend/girlfriend.  She had a four month old daughter named Ashlynn.

Yes, HAD. 

Because she offered her tiny, trusting, helpless child up to Prince so that he could have sex with her.  Text messages sent from her to him are disturbing even to seasoned, jaded police officers.

FOUR. MONTHS. OLD.

Of course, already having earned his sex offender credentials back in 2007, he jumped at the chance. 

She died from her horrific injuries.  I could list them here, but I won't.  She was four months old, he is a fat pig of a man.  You do the math.

They both sit in jail cells.  Which is far more than they deserve.

They deserve pain.  They deserve the brutality they dished out.  They deserve the tortures of the Dark Ages.  They do not deserve consideration, support, or even one more intake of oxygen.

You cannot fix something so broken.  Something this wrong, this unfeeling, this callous, this indulgent, this reprehensible must simply be exterminated.

I am a parent.  A REAL parent.  And all I want is brutal, bloody, painful revenge.

Rest in peace, baby Ashlynn.  I am so sorry this world let you down.

It's Alexandra's Day!

The Lord Is My (German) Shepherd...

Forgive me father, for I am about to sin...

People claim to see Mary or Jesus just about everywhere.  Oil slicks, windows, toast, chicken nuggets, stains - you know, all the places the Almighty and his mom choose to manifest because, well, if you go by location, they are both bored and big practical jokers.

I roll my eyes every time someone opens a bag of crackers and weeps at the sight of Jesus on a Trisket.  I laugh as folks line up to pay to see the Holy See in a molded piece of chicken parts.  And I am stymied by the reverence shown each time a grilled cheese congeals forth the image of God in Gruyere.

I am not religious.  Because religion brings forth crap like this.  Do I have faith?  Yes.  I do.

I have complete faith that God, Jesus, Mary and the gang would not be flattered by this latest sighting.

Yes, that is the ass of a dog.  The Almighty's face actually being made from the orifice.

If I were the person/people who believe this, I would fall to my knees now, start begging forgiveness and praying.

Asses to asses, dust to dust...

 

Oh, Say Can You See ... Beyond The Color Of Someone's Skin?

 The year is 2013.  Since this country's inception we have made tremendous strides in our decency to others, our embracing of equality, our humanity. 

The year is 2013.  We have so very, very far to go.

It matters not that we elected the first President with dark skin.  (Sorry, those of you who are still peeing down your legs at losing - TWICE - he may look black, but he is half white.)  Bigotry, and its support system:  Ignorance and Hatred, are alive and unwell in these United States.

Fear of "the other,"  the embracing of nonexistent bogeymen (someone tell me, when IS Obama coming fer yer guns?), a complete lack of acknowledgment of FACTS, and a complete acceptance of willful stupidity still run rampant.

Exhibit A:  This amazing, beautiful, gifted child.

His name is Sebastian de la Cruz.  He is 11 years old, a mariachi singer, and yes, despite his tannish appearance, IS, and always has been, a citizen of this country.  His father served in the Navy for this country as well.

Question:  I guess if being a mariachi singer and wearing the outfit makes him an illegal alien from Mexico, does that make all the girls who strap on those fake curls, hefty shoes, and costumes leprechaun illegals from Ireland?  NO.  It makes them what they are, what he is, a citizen who pursues a hobby, a passion, probably in a strip mall in suburbia somewhere.

But back to Sebastian.  He sang the National Anthem at the NBA playoffs and did a masterful job.

What happened next is sickening, although not surprising.

The Twittersphere puked forth its assholes, racists, rednecks, KKK applicants, and glut of absofuckinglutely STUPID cretins.

These are the same folks who are having strokes over the latest study showing that there are now more brown people than white people under the age of 5 in this country.  (Fuck faster, white people, fuck faster!) They should be ashamed, but as they prove over and over, shame is not something with which they are familiar.  Neither is history, decency, or the level of their own inbecility.

And yes, Sebastian is aware of the ugliness directed at him.  But Sebastian has, in his 11 years, more maturity, grace, and intelligence than these walking sacks of anal leakage ever will.

His response?

“On the positive remarks, I just want to thank everybody for their support. With the racism remarks, to be honest, it’s just the people how they were raised. My father and my mother told me that you should never judge people by how they look. You should judge them on the inside. And the saying that I go by is never judge a book by its cover.”

 

This child, this AMERICAN, is one to be proud of.  Not just because he is talented, but because he is hope that the voices of a new generation will eventually drown out those losers who may have been born in this country, but truly have no right to sing its song.

Final thought:  I am so proud to have raised three daughters who do not live a life bathed in fear, homophobia, bigotry, or ignorance.  And yes, of course they see when someone has a different skin color than theirs.  But you know what?  IT DOESN'T MEAN A THING TO THEM.

The Eyes Have It (And Probably Need Some Ointment)

It takes all kinds.

But as I have said on countless occasions, "I don't know why."

On a planet as peopled as ours, it stands to reason that someone, somewhere will get into something, regardless of how alien, ridiculous, or gross it may seem to you or I.

Yes, yes, yes - that may be a food, a reality TV show, a sports team, or a reality TV show about a gourmet sports team, but that's normal.  Tame.  Expected.  I may not get the appeal of the Kardashians, but obviously many do, and it doesn't hurt anyone else that they love to tune into the escapades of stiletto shod garbage.

Not that I have an opinion.

No, what I am talking about right now takes us into the murky, TITillating, scintillating world of fetishes.

And lord, there is definitely a plethora of "pleasureable" pasttimes out there.

We have all heard and joked about whips and chains, leather and lace, an errant plug here and there (you know where there is).  And we roll our eyes and wrinkle our noses in disgust when we hear of those who find sexual stimulation via the Fritoed feet of another.  (Unless, of course, that's your thing, and I just lost you as you fantasize about someone's chipped up, scaley, calloused love hooves.)

I may not get the appeal of being painted with latex only to have it peeled off like a five day old sunburn.   And I personally don't correlate asphyxiation with anything that would pique the curiosity of my nippleage either.   But that's ok.

Just like the old trash-treasure axiom, it can be said that one person's nausea is another's ecstacy.

Dress like stuffed animals and rut like wild boars.  Shower in the liquid leftovers of your lover.  Wear a mask, make a fist, pull some hair, drip some wax, plug a hole, clamp a nip, or burn through some Duracells.

If it makes you and your partner happy, no one's getting hurt, and all are consenting - then draw the shades, close the doors, and ride that furry squirrel to Happy Town.

Now, I like to think I have an open mind, that I am not exactly a prude, that I have a fairly wide knowledge of what passes for kink in this world, but I must admit that tonight, I was once again reminded that there are still so many things for me to learn...

For there are, scattered across this big blue marble of ours, folks who want to eyeball you.

And I do not mean stare at your fineness.

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but in this case, mouthmeat is in the eye of the beholder.

Yes, there is a fetish call worming.  And it involves having your eyeball licked by another person for sexual gratification.

Let me repeat.

HAVING. YOUR. EYEBALL. LICKED.

I'll pause while you reach for the Visine.

One young lady interviewd for the story - Electrika Energias (pardon me whilst I roll my eyes and think that's not her real name) says, "My boyfriend started licking my eyeballs years ago and I just loved it. I'm not with him anymore, but I still like to ask guys to lick my eyeballs.  I just love it because it turns me on, like sucking on my toes. It makes me feel all tingly."

But lest you think she goes around making bedroom eyes at just anyone, think again.  She may not be monacled in her view of this fetish, but she only has eyes for a select bunch.  "I don't ask just anyone to do it. Guys I like a lot are more likely to not think it's so weird. I've never had anyone turn me down though."

Geez, my eye is watering again.  Hold on...

Look, anyone who wears contacts has been admonished to NEVER use saliva to moisten their own contacts.  There's a reason.  Our mouths are full of bacteria (and leftover lunch) that have no business anywhere near our retinas.

Oculolinctus (yeah, like the tongue gymnastics that Michael Douglas claims gave him throat cancer, only for the windows to the soul) can literally be a sight for sore eyes, not the least of which is conjunctivitis.

But just like the idiots who abound on Youtube attempting to down a huge spoonful of cinnamon - you are just a single search away from endless videos of peeper porn because folks like Electrika like to tempt fate and always keep an eye out for eye candy.

"I got some weird offshoot of TB in my eye once. I ended up with corneal ulcers and I spent like a month in the hospital," she said. "Nobody really knows why. Well, I got over it, and I'm fine now. That was like six years ago.  I'm just safer now, I guess ... Live and learn. I mean they don't really make tongue rubbers, but maybe they should."

Tongue rubbers.  What's next?  Lube by Bausch & Lomb?  Feast your eyes on THAT.

Electrika, honey, we will never see eye to eye about this one.