-Overheard backstage at Shooters III. That was your mom talking. Your mom. The stripper.
* * * * * *
Oh my god! America is 243 years old today. You think your grandpa has trouble understanding how to order dementia meds on a smart phone, imagine a 243 year old understanding voter suppression. Forget it!
Today, I declare my independence from not having a blog. Am I 30 years too late? Possibly. Should I care? Maybe. Will I eventually invite you to go fu*k yourself if you have an issue with it? Allow me to extend that invitation riiiiiiight now. (RUDE! How dare me! Who do I think I am? Also: Where do I get off / What makes me so smart / That attitude of mine is really gonna get me in trouble blah blah blah, etc.)
Now, I’m not 243 years old, nor was I established with the institution of slavery at the core of my very soul, so I don’t have much to complain about. I'll have to think of some stuff. You know, things that affect me.
Is the bar that low? Apparently. And to put a point on it, I live in a small town in the South East so my bar is so low I can’t even hum it! And while that joke may not exactly make “sense,” it does stand as a nice example of what I’m shooting for here: 100 word minimums, a fuck ton of sass, and proof that I am, in fact, far too big for my britches. I mean, seriously, who do I think I am? And where do I get off?
For starters, I’m gonna get off right here.
(Exits bus right in front of Shooters III, pulls out a stack of single dollar bills.)
I guess I'm about to finance your allowance, son. 'Cause your mom's a stripper!
#SickBurn
#ShootersIII
#ThirdInASeries
(This entry is over!)
BLACKOUT!
*u