Rube Goldberg

The moon shines brightly in the crystal sky tonight...as my longgggg blondish weave (Tyra hand motion) cascades down and I cry eighteen teardrops, one for each year of my life...damn these tears, they're ruining my MUDD tank! Although....the tears soak it so you can see right through to my breasteses that were crafted by the gods. So perhaps its not such a bad thing, after all.

But the full moon reminds me of the songstress Brandy (sidenote: I always think the moon is like a necklace when I look at the cover from far-ish away, how gheytartar). And then I turn into her and start singing.

Why you don't re-turn my calls?
Why you trip bout where I be?

Oh BreeBroo. Of course, Brandy makes me think of the word brandywine because I'm a doofus who would think that. And I'm not talking about the kind of tomato, either (sidenote: someone's license plate yarsilay (sic) read "POTATOE", and I'm assuming that would be po-TAH-toe), I'm envisioning an orchid...as if I'm Bree Van de Kamp.

And then thanks to that damn English Comp II class with JJ, my FAVEEE, I'm looking at it in a Mapplethorpesque light and I end up seeing a vajayjay. But like...an infected one. That big white splotch can't be good. Unless it's a cumtwat, in which case that would be asseptibull.

The image of an infected lox box triggers a thought of everyone's favorite two-dollar crackwhore, and thats two dollar, not 10 dollar, not 20 dollar, not 69 dollar...et cetera. Bee tee dubz, my fave pic of the Wino is Exhibit C....which stands for Cockslut, naturally. And a lot of other things, too.

I still don't know what that orange thing in her moufth is. It's either a carrot stick (again...cockslut) or a piece of orange gum. Which, I must say that the Citrusmint flavor of Orbit gum is très delicieux (-euse? I don't know whether 'flavor' is butch or femme in French. Although I guess everything is femme since it's such a FUCKING FAIRY language).

Then I look at that picture of her and I immediately call her a scary clown person in my head. Or out loud, if I feel like it. I work it into some song lyrics and sing it out. Then I dance like nobody's watching and I live life with no regrets. But then I think of more scary clown people and then this bitch shows up on my retinii.

AIEEEE!!!!!!

Then to escape I jump up and try to run while airborne.

Yaop-BOHUMMMMMMM.

Suivant, I start to think about odd creatures of the night. And Music of the Night, too. I see Angels of Music off in the distance, lyricsmithing into the darkness...past the Point of No Return.

Then Wolverine doesn't show up (unfortunately...oh Hugh), but instead a werewolf pops up whence I picture the RodHam's mug.

NOTE: Stop checking him out, you furry-fucking fuckfuck (that was a good alliteration whether you agree or not, and I don't like to toot my own horn...though for five bucks I can).

And the werewolf brings us back to the fucking full moon again! Talk about your six degrees of separation. Although...not really, since the moon isn't separated from itself. But it's the idea. It was a good concept, the only problem...

....is in the EXECUTION.

That was too compliqué anyway. Convoluted, contorted, like a COUTURE avertissement. As I turn into Tyra and do the slouch with my arms on my hips all protruding out.

Now THAT'S coming full circle.

Love, Dérrier