Evidently, everything is adorable here.
The houses, the markets, the eateries, the mechanics....even the kids are adorable and well behaved. Family next to me has 3 small boys with cute Berkeley parent type names Kaiden, Xander and haven't heard the third yet.
Something less than adorable, but splendidly cathartic. And full of my favorite word!
oday is the birthday of "The Josh Whedon" (little did I know how apt that nickname would be until I later found out Joss Whedon was a dishonest, cheating faux feminist) Yes, Josh H., that despicable, narcissistic, anally obsessed, serially cheating, compulsive liar I wasted my love on. (But thank god did not relinquish the virginity of my precious little asshole to! Ha!)
I don't wish him a happy birthday. I don't wish him well. I don't wish him ill. I do wish him gone.
This sums it up well. Thank you for writing this Amy!
Fuck You Poem #45
Fuck you in slang and conventional English.
Fuck you in lost and neglected lingoes.
Fuck you hungry and sated; faded, pock marked, and defaced.
Fuck you with orange rind, fennel and anchovy paste.
Fuck you with rosemary and thyme, and fried green olives on the side.
Fuck you humidly and icily.
Fuck you farsightedly and blindly.
Fuck you nude and draped in stolen finery.
Fuck you while cells divide wildly and birds trill.
Thank you for barring me from his bedside while he was ill.
Fuck you puce and chartreuse.
Fuck you postmodern and prehistoric.
Fuck you under the influence of opiun, codeine, laudanum, and paregoric.
Fuck every real and imagined country you fancied yourself princess of.
Fuck you on feast days and fast days, below and above.
Fuck you sleepless and shaking for nineteen nights running.
Fuck you ugly and fuck you stunning.
Fuck you shipwrecked on the barren island of your bed.
Fuck you marching in lockstep in the ranks of the dead.
Fuck you at low and high tide.
And fuck you astride
anyone who has the bad luck to fuck you, in dank hallways,
bathrooms, or kitchens.
Fuck you in gasps and whispered benedictions.
And fuck these curses, however heartfelt and true,
that bind me, till I forgive you, to you.
― Amy Gerstler, Ghost Girl
I don't wish him a happy birthday. I don't wish him well. I don't wish him ill. I do wish him gone.
This sums it up well. Thank you for writing this Amy!
Fuck You Poem #45
Fuck you in slang and conventional English.
Fuck you in lost and neglected lingoes.
Fuck you hungry and sated; faded, pock marked, and defaced.
Fuck you with orange rind, fennel and anchovy paste.
Fuck you with rosemary and thyme, and fried green olives on the side.
Fuck you humidly and icily.
Fuck you farsightedly and blindly.
Fuck you nude and draped in stolen finery.
Fuck you while cells divide wildly and birds trill.
Thank you for barring me from his bedside while he was ill.
Fuck you puce and chartreuse.
Fuck you postmodern and prehistoric.
Fuck you under the influence of opiun, codeine, laudanum, and paregoric.
Fuck every real and imagined country you fancied yourself princess of.
Fuck you on feast days and fast days, below and above.
Fuck you sleepless and shaking for nineteen nights running.
Fuck you ugly and fuck you stunning.
Fuck you shipwrecked on the barren island of your bed.
Fuck you marching in lockstep in the ranks of the dead.
Fuck you at low and high tide.
And fuck you astride
anyone who has the bad luck to fuck you, in dank hallways,
bathrooms, or kitchens.
Fuck you in gasps and whispered benedictions.
And fuck these curses, however heartfelt and true,
that bind me, till I forgive you, to you.
― Amy Gerstler, Ghost Girl
AH! That's Better!
Now, Just say YES to music and Princess Cake!
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