Money

Yes, it’s true what they say. Money cannot buy you happiness. But it sure can buy you 5 star vacations and that’s about as happy as a grown-up can get. Sure, there’s the unhinged, unwavering, unwarranted happiness that is in a child. But that child grows up, in a society fret with problems. Problems created by grown-ups who build schools and colleges to help solve those problems. Talk about going in circles.

I have been on the planet over three decades and I can narrow down to two moments of sheer joy: one, when I married my now adulterous husband, and two, when I saw the man holding my baby in his arms. If that isn’t true love, I fail to see what is. And that same man denied me a hug a minute ago because “he needed some time apart”. I don’t even have any Valiums on me to counter that shrug. All I can do is whine to the world, where I know I am not even going to be heard. This man, he cheated, lied, and beat me up and blamed me for everything. I have started thinking that maybe I am the monster who torments someone so much they want to beat the shit out of them.

I have sobbed, slept on hotel floors, waited for a taxi at 2 in the morning because I was thrown out of the house, made to leave my child behind, been called a whore who can’t even sell her body for sex, and beaten up black and blue; why? Because I asked this person why he needed another woman in his life.

Five tequila shots down, I finally have the courage to share my story. I know there would be several women out there going through this and worse shit possible. If you are one of them, leave a message and the least we can do is give a metaphorical shoulder to cry upon. YES, face it, world! Women cry. They’re not being melodramatic, they’re just being real.

And if you are one of those wife-beaters, please, for the love of whatever you love, stop doing that, no matter how much she provokes you. You were born out of a woman. And just because someone annoys you or you are filled with rage, does not give you the right to hit a woman. Women are not the weaker sex. Women are the smarter sex. That’s why “housewives” is more common than “househusbands”. That’s right, we put our pedicured feet up and send the man to make money to buy us shoes.

In spite of everything, a woman would do anything in her power and beyond to protect her family. She is not just a mama bear to her sons and daughters. She’s mothering you as well, the “breadwinner”. She’s the glue that keeps it together; without her, everything would fall all over. RESPECT, mofos, RESPECT!

Wise Bud

Continuing with the photography, this was pre-meditated. Four Budweisers down, I wa able to carefully peel off the stickers off the bottle and label them on the tabby.

He has been my billboard for most anything.

🍻 Do not drink and drive. Put the bottle aside, pull over, take a swig, and then drive.

Nooo… seriously, it is not a question of capability, it is a question of safety. Drink at home or Uber. 😬

Netflix- Wine Country

Is it just me, or did anyone else make the connection of “Wine Country” on Netflix with “The Hangover”?

Of course, all these stellar lady comic geniuses coming together is no match to the hunky “The Hangover” bunch, but heck! I connected with them.

It was perfectly timed, bad news with a sprinkle of fairy dust, lady laughs, cussing and swearing and Amy Poehler and Maya Rudolph and Tina Fey and Katherine Hahn (I may have misspelt, what with 6 Buds down) can do no wrong. Go girl power!

While I fight my own battles with this bitch of a life, these fun, successful women have helped a lot dealing with this pain and anger.

Move over, Phil Todd’s hunky Hangover, it’s time to break the glass ceiling with women being funny and silly. Tears of joy, laughter of sadness- this movie was like an ice cream before hitting the hay.

Much love, from one broken woman to all those broken ones out there. 🤗

Turban troubles: A not so metaphorical true story.

PG18

*All the characters are real, the names haven’t been changed*

Once upon a time, a young whore was born out of, probably a wedlock. The young whore was braindead at birth. Her eyes looked North and she saw South. Her teeth grew like a heavily fertilised cornfield, too many to line up in the jaw. She went to school and did not pay attention to the teachers, but instead kept admiring her fingernails.

As the young whore grew, her grassy hair grew and she learnt a thing or two about tying them into a whorilicious way. She learned about co-ordinating skirts with blouses and hot pants with tank tops. She attended a “fashion school” to learn this. As she reached her 20s, her hemline went higher and higher and the neckline went deeper and deeper. Despite this, the little whore was not able to walk, talk and act like a whore because she was trapped in a family who lived by the book.

One day, as the whore was juggling jobs as a showgirl juggling her boobs, a young, lost soul caught her eyes. She spread her legs wide open and immediately the lost soul decided to marry her to be the sole owner of those legs and that body. The lost soul started out humble but worked hard and reached places in life which the whore had never heard of.

Being free from the shackles of her family, she started her Babylonian epic whore journey, spreading her unfertilised eggs, from one man to another. In the meantime, the lost soul was clueless about his little whore’s business and loved her dearly and showered her with the latest gadgets. iPhone, myphone, a lot of phones were given to her to communicate with her.

But alas! the lost soul failed to see that the little whore was guzzling wine and beer like a parched whale and making other lost souls fall from heaven like Lucifer. The elixir of alcohol went to her braindead head and she looked in the mirror and saw a demigoddess. She levitated with a delusional delight and her feet never touched the ground. Of course, her knees did a lot of groundwork, performing fellatio on any male genitals that came her way. At one point there was also an equally braindead whore who decided to facilitate each other’s deviant desires while the lost soul looked on.

A decade passed by and the whore decided that she needed to mess around with more genitals. She moved to another country seeking cheaper wine and cigarettes and gullible middle-aged men. Her eyes had gone puffy, her voice had grown hoarser, and she was still grotesquely attractive to men. Another dumbass lost soul came her way and they fornicated each other’s brains out, not that there was much to lose to begin with. The dumbass had a star by his side who guided him back to his heaven. The whore kept on luring him back in, and the guardian angels stopped him many a times.

The star that stood by the lost soul’s side while he vomited the germs passed on by the whore, was mangled up, smashed and left at the curb side, begging for help from a child. At last the lost soul opened his eyes and saw the light. He gave his star his American Express Platinum card and the star transformed into Superwoman overnight. Superwoman shouted a lot, because she was dealing with dumbasses and the dumbasses paid no heed to the words and registered the noise as abuse. (*eye roll)

After much deliberation and debates between his brain and phallus, the lost soul decided that the star was indeed right and decided to follow her path. There were slip-ups, mind you, but the star stood her ground. One day, the whore lured the lost soul into a seedy watering hole and filled him to the brim with alcohol. Then, the little whore produced a pack of cigarettes that were hidden in her ass crack and they both smoked like an industrial chimney. They rolled home in their carriage, drunk as skunk and slapped the star across her face.

Now the star got very very angry and decided to bulldoze the whore once and for all. Collected but uncalm within, the star hatched a plan to demolish the harlot. After multiple attempts, she succeeded; first crushing her sunglasses, next crushing her head which was quite easy as there was nothing within and finally, crushing the whore entirely with a speeding truck. The star smiled with a deep sigh of relief and told the lost souls, both of them, “And that’s how you kill a whore.”

The End

Caffeine, too much caffeine

Porsche Cayenne,

GMC truck,

Hit the brake pedals,

To let my legs stroll through.

Yeah, it was a red light,

But I can have them stop,

Even at a green light.

Everyone gets old,

Everyone gets mangled;

Corroded hearts and

Corrupted minds.

Like Pearl Jam says,

I am MINE.

I know this sucks, it’s neither poetry or prose. But this is a venting platform for me and when absolute strangers say, good going, it pulls me away from the dark abyss. Thanks for reading!

Bugs and Fishes

Broken, bleeding, slumbering.

It sat at the end of the pew.

In an empty church, the altar awaited.

A hapless soul with arms crossed,

Dressed in best, in case there was a ball.

Tears and prayers, down on the knees;

Begging for alms that were never received.

It was shrouded in pink, wanting to blink;

Dead within, dead without, breathing was a sin.

Stained glass windows, and an invisible choir,

Take me, it said, I have no fear.

🧠

Fell in a puddle,

A wriggly noodle.

Slush and gravy,

Slimy and wavy.

Jump out,

Stay put?

The noodle didn’t know,

The puddle didn’t slow.

A fork came down,

Wielding its tines.

The bowl was rocked,

Cradle and all.

Share Your Short Story – Winner for March

How fun are these reads?! Thank You, Stevie for holding this fun sporting event every month. 😀

Stevie Turner

Wow, I’m getting quite a lot of interest in my monthly competition now, with the result that I’ve had a few more entries – 16 this month!  Do take some time to read all the wonderful stories I’ve been sent.  As usual it’s been hard to pick out a winner and runner up.

This month I’m picking out Phil Huston’s story ‘La Soiree Dansante’ as the winner:

Phil Huston:  https://philh52.wordpress.com/2018/02/15/la-soiree-dansante/

It reminds me of a scene in one of my favourite films, ‘The Full Monty’.  Here’s your laurel to add to your story, Phil.  Let me know if you’d like it added to the free anthology I’ll publish later this year:

SHORT STORY LAUREL MARCH

And the runner-up is Tallis Steelyard’s ‘Snail Wrestling‘ – a most original story!

Tallis Steelyard:  https://tallissteelyard.wordpress.com/2018/02/26/snail-wrestling/

Here’s your laurel, Jim:

Short Story runner up March

Here are links to all the other lovely stories that were submitted.  I’ve had to print Colin Guest’s…

View original post 293 more words

Cats – Who do they think they are!?

IMG_20180319_083740598

You see what I mean? Everyday, every single day, I work like this. Most of the clicking on the mouse-pad is done by this guy. When my fingers are typing, he thinks it’s a game of “pin the finger”, and he keeps on jabbing at my fast-moving hands. I push him off and seat him to the big empty couch, but before I plop back down on mine, he’s there again!

I have had pets since before I was born. Rescues, adopted, you name it. I have seen birthing, like this guy’s, and it hasn’t horrified or grossed me out in the least. I have had pets pass on sadly, but that has never stopped me from bringing home another one. I have never bought one, they have all been rescued or adopted. And cats, they just show up. This guy is the third generation and I have the fourth generation –  a litter of three brownies fast asleep in their little nest in the spare bedroom. When their mom is not around, they cuddle up with my son, who has declared himself as their foster-mom. My husband loves babies, and he is a big man. He misses having a tiny baby boy who’d giggle in his lap, so now he treats those three kittens like human babies, rocking them, swaddling them, and washing their bum-bums. He lays down on the floor with them, making arm-mazes for them to jump through, which is hilarious to watch. The kittens really have taken a shining to my son as their foster-mom; they keep climbing on his head and look for something to suckle on. (LMAO!)

And as far as I am concerned, all the cats and dogs think of me as their buddy who likes to play in the mud and chase cars and mice. They shamelessly wake me up in the middle of the night if one of them has the munchies, they fart in my direction to let me know that they need to go out, they keep licking me, even the cats, like I have nothing better to do than rub their bellies and they knock on the door, any godforsaken time of the day. They are like those beepers at the exit of a super-market; any bag of grocery, any boxes from Amazon and any packages in the post, has to go past them. They smell out their foods and demand a tasting right then and there. So to sum it up, they treat me like a door-mat.

Having said that, I agree with the gazillion pet-owners: pets are real good stress-busters. Ever wondered why that cat on YouTube is famous? Stress-buster! Why, just over the weekend, I was really down in the dumps, and I got this guy seen in the picture to brush his teeth. What fun that was! Their teeth are razor-sharp, not to mention the wolverine-like claws. And we jostled for a good half an hour but managed to brush his teeth. (Don’t freak out, I used a super-soft baby toothbrush and no toothpaste; we were just monkeying around!) At the end of it, he was super-annoyed with me and I had forgotten the blues. He did avenge this episode by farting in my face just now though.

I just wanted to drop by and say to all the pet-owners, you people are doing a tremendous job. If not for you, these loving furry friends would be fighting for survival. Keep loving, keep cherishing!

Romance- What’s that?

I been searching for you
I heard a cry within my soul
I never had a yearning quite like this before
Now that you are walking right through my door
All of my life
Where have you been
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
And if that day comes
I know we could win
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
A sacred gift of heaven
For better worse, wherever
And I would never let somebody break you down
Until you cried, never
All of my life
Where have you been
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
And if that day comes
I know we could win
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
At every time I’ve always known
That you where there, upon your throne
A lonely queen without her king
I longed for you, my love forever
All of my life
Where have you been
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
And if that day comes
I know we could win
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
All of my life
Where have you been
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
And if that day comes
I know we could win
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again
 
Songwriters: Lenny Kravitz
 
I just have one question, Lenny, and everyone. You were just messing around, writing this, right? 🤣
 
 
 

Remy

Just remembered,

The confused glare.

The righteousness,

Pouring out of,

Your tobacco stained lips,

Your alcohol tongue.

Breathless in the heat,

Ridiculous in the sun,

Swearing at every turn!

What is your goddamn problem?

That stupid green thing,

Guiding you to madness?

Or the voices in your head,

Saying, “turn back”?

You can’t decide,

I can’t let go.

What a conundrum!

Let’s just kick the dust,

Wait for it to settle.

A hundred years gone by,

Still can’t make decisions.

It’s not very hard,

It’s not very easy.

Sometimes, you and I,

We will make sense.

Other times, we will not.

Who cares? You did.

A little too much.

Practicality, screw that.

You spat and regretted,

I sucked up and moved on.

Images, they linger.

Dreams, they conquer.

Ludicrous power on,

My imagination you had.

What a way to say goodbye,

If it wasn’t for you,

I’d probably die.

Don’t make any sense,

Try and understand.

Sometimes the rain,

It brings a lot of pain.

Some of this may rhyme,

Some of this may not.

It stays between us,

Just us and thus.

 

 

Rancour

After a good night’s sleep,

Jarred with a sweet banter

Awakened with caffeine,

The shingle from the roof

Came down tumbling.

Red fruit and green,

Adorned in a yellow bowl,

Uneaten, in spite of the hunger;

The wayward scion dawdled.

Slumbering in a sheathed shroud,

The big man lay insentient,

To the troubles of the throngs,

Because his spine was in pain,

He said, he did not care.

Meanwhile the greedy feline,

With a gluttonous greedy linger,

Dotted the silence in the abode,

With his menagerie of toys.

The day, yet to unravel.

All the séance and flotsam.

Was already ostracized,

By the clashing of the oblivious.

 

Combustion

My minacious being,

It set fire to the living.

The piercing blue eyes,

Set on the picturesque ice.

Black abyss on no man’s land,

Swallowed the fair maiden’s hand.

Dampness in the wizened heat,

 More delicious than burning meat.

Righteous and twisted convoluted,

To make a loud sound very muted.

**Apologies to the fallen.

Grue

A vampire,

A werewolf,

An undead,
Entered in a tavern.
Blood and brains,
In goblets and plate.
Not a penny between them,
Sharp claws and teeth instead.
Fear thine life,
Growled they aloud.
And roared in anger,
At the shivering inebriates.
Helterskelter they ran,
To save their blood and bone.
The tavern now empty,
The three rejoiced. 
One poured a pitcher,
Another pulled a chair.
Together they sat down,
And sorrowfully drank their share.

Poles

The blue pill

Or the green

Did nothing.
The poles struck,
The tears rolled,
The wrists slit.
Broken smiles
Plasticised on face
Chugging wine
From an endless barrel.
What is this need?
What is this madness?
Hither and thither,
The ferris wheel turns. 

Hommel

Reminiscing the neon hues,

The nettled melodies,

Enamoured with moonshine,

Zion was veridical.

With a twine tied underneath,

Robbed from the gazes,

The fever piqued.

Sweltering palms shivered,

Sighs whispered agonizingly,

On broken pinions,

The escape stifled with a simper.

Daily Prompt: Simplify

Years and years, 

Of dreams and longing.

Weaving a web of lies,

And a sense of belonging.

Fascinating lands,

And within them, the sands.

Complicated by times,

Simplified by lines. 

The bell tolled for the dead,

And for the newlywed.

The child woke in the night,

And cried out of fright. 

The blood and the sweat,

Of the promises never kept. 

Simplify, the world says

How, the horse neighs!

 

viaDaily Prompt: Simplify

For M

Through your Ray-Bans,

I wish I could see,

The spikes that connects,

The ground and the galaxy.

 

Where the Young King lays,

In all his profuseness,

Silence emboweled by gulosity.

 

The holy sun shining on the feline

By the monstrous depth of denial,

Rudiments of eminence

Forever emblazoned on the orbit.