Not Exactly Jesus, But Just As Impressive

I've been away for a while and it seems I've lost touch with my dark side, my angry side, my snarky side, my downright hateful side.  That side is a huge part of me and frankly, I've missed it.  Enough of the Suzy Creamcheese I'm forced to show on my other blog ~ I'm tired of pretending to be always cheerful, creative, upbeat and perky.  I'm so much more myself when I let my mean out.

This post isn't exactly about mean, but is pretty disgusting and the subject matter made me think of another post I wrote, which made me think of Faux Ma, which in turn poked at that part of me which has been repressed for the sake of tolerant harmony and support.

The other day Boyfriend and I were having our little dinner together.  It had been a busy day for Boyfriend so instead of either of us cooking he brought home some Bruegger's bagle sandwiches.  To go along with them we had some potato chips.

I'm not one to get all hyped up over seeing the face of Jesus in an overdone tortilla or the image of the Virgin Mary peering through the crust of a freshly baked loaf of bread.  But people travel from far and wide to get a glimpse of these occurrences, claiming they're divine, a message from God.  Nor do I get too excited over vegetables that grow to look the face of Richard Nixon or Abraham Lincoln.  Like the holy images, these vegetables become famous enough to make the local news.

As Boyfriend and I were munching away on our sandwiches and chatting away about our day I picked up a potato chip.  My eyes widened a snicker came out of my nose as it would a nasty-minded 4th grader.  I showed the chip to Boyfriend and all he could say was, "Good God."  Neither of us could eat the potato chip and still, to this day, sits in a pretty green bowl on our kitchen countertop.  It seems wrong to throw away such a freakish creation, and yet neither of us could bring ourselves to eat it.

I'm not kidding you.  It's a cooter chip.  Feast your eyes on this crispy vision of loveliness.  I ask you, could you eat it?  Do you think I should contact the local news team to cover this story?  Would people come from other lands to get a glimpse of, or even worship, the cooter chip?  Could I make millions off of this?  Have I completely lost my mind in spending time photographing and writing about the cooter chip?  Am I a lesbian?  The questions just keep coming and I can't decide what to make of it all.

What would you do if you came across a cooter chip on your plate?  Would you blush?  Would you gobble it up before anyone could identify the fact that you were eating a cooter in plain view?  Would you pass it around to show all of your friends? 

Such is the life of someone who doesn't get out much, looking for fame and fortune in the discovery of a cooter chip.  I doubt anything will become of my find, but here it will stay for all of eternity, on Meredith's blog filled with all things childish and disgusting.

Fie Fo

Dear Charlotte,
Thank you.
Love,
Blackie



Do you mean it ?
Do you mean it ?
Do you mean it ?
Why don't you mean it ?
Why do I follow you and where do you go
Aah aah aah aah aah aah

You've never seen nothing like it no never in your life
Like going up to heaven and then coming back alive
Let me tell you all about it
And the world will so allow it
Ooh give me a little time to choose
Water babies singing in a lily-pool delight
Blue powder monkeys praying in the dead of night
Here comes the Black Queen, poking in the pile
Fie-fo the black Queen, marching single file
Take this, take that, bring them down to size
March to the Black Queen
Put them in the cellar with the naughty boys
A little nigger sugar then a rub-a-dub-a baby oil
(aah aah) black on (aah aah), black on every finger nail and toe
We've only begun - begun
Make this, make that, keep making all that noise
March to the Black Queen
Now I've got a belly-full
You can be my sugar-baby, you can be my honey-chile, yes
La laa la laa la laa la laa la la la la la laa
La laa la laa la laa la laa la laa la laa la laa la laa
A voice from behind me reminds me
(tra la laa tra la laa aaah)
Spread out your wings you are an angel
Remember to deliver with the speed of light
A little bit of love and joy
Everything you do (will bear a will) bears a will and a why and a wherefore
A little bit of love and joy
In each and every soul lies a man, very soon he'll deceive and discover
But even till the end of his life, he'll bring a little love
Aah ah aah
La la la la laa
Ah ah ah ah aah
Ah la la la laa
I reign with my left hand, I rule with my right
I'm lord of all darkness, I'm Queen of the night
I've got the power - now do the march of the Black Queen
My life is in your hands, I'll fo and I'll fie
I'll be what you make me, I'll do what you like
I'll be a bad boy - I'll be your bad boy - I'll do the march of the Black Queen
Ah aah ah aah
Ah aah ah aah
Walking true to style
She's vulgar 'buse and vile
Fie-fo the Black Queen, tattoos all her pies
She boils and she bakes, and she never dots her "I's"
She's our leader
La la la la laa la la laa
La la la la la laa
Forget your singalongs and your lullabies
Surrender to the city of the fireflies
Dance with the devil in beat with the band
To hell with all of you hand-in-hand
But now it's time to be gone - (la la la laaa) forever - forever
La la la laaa aaah aah aah aaah
Written by Freddie Mercury.
Sung by Freddie Mercury.

Pinky! Get Off The Rail!

OK, well, I keep bugging a blogger friend of mine (who shall remain nameless for fear she will get defensive and lash out in a most unbecoming way) to get busy and write on her blog for crying out loud.  What in the hell do you create a blog for if you aren't going to write on it?  Well, I realized it's been a while since I've written on my own blog so I guess I can't cast stones. 

But because I love to cast stones and need to feel superior to most people in general I decided to dash off a little post here.  I have no idea what it's going to say, which means it will be completely worthless, but at least I'll have a new post up, which is more than I can say for some people who haven't written anything in over a year. 

Psychology Lesson:  The defense mechanism labeled Projection in the immature stage (as opposed to the neurotic stage or the pathological stage) is defined as a reducing anxiety by attributing one's own unacknowledged unacceptable/unwanted thoughts and emotions [or blog-writing practices] to another. 

Long and short, I'm the mental one because not only am I not writing blog posts I also have an immature need to blame other people for not writing blog posts while ignoring the fact that I don't write blog posts.

See?  I told you this would amount to nothing.  Except dig this...

Get it?  Pink Freud.  Good thing I take my psychology degree so seriously.  On the other hand, Dr. Freud would probably applaud my healthy superego, which is nice enough to let my ego make jokes in order to soothe my otherwise troubled emotional state.