Happy Fun Bags

Reposted from 5 September 2011

Okay, new post.

Why not, you know?

Besides this post is a happy post. Proof: it has the word 'Happy' in the title, therefore it's happy.

So there.

So.

I was at a parade, getting burnt to a crisp (yes: I have discovered I am not a panther. No, I'm a snake. The scales come right off to reveal mottled skin. MOTTLED SKIN! God! I'm a frikken cheetah ... or a what has spots? leopard?), so it was Memorial Day or the Battle of Bull Run, and I saw this father in a straw hat talking with his son looking up to his father adorningly, you know? Worshipful.

And boy, did that maternal instinct kick in. I wondered, if I had a son, or a daughter, would he look up to me like that boy looking up to his father? Or are fathers the only ones looked up to and we mothers just shepherd the kids to soccer practice and stay up all night with the sick kid when you're sicker than them while the husband snores away on the big bed while you're sleeping ... wait: sleeping? haha, good luck with that! ... on the floor in the nursery.

Or whatevs.

And then the next day comes and where's breakfast? and the dishes and laundry need to be done and the husband goes galavanting off to be the hero in the children's eyes and you're left with everything in the house to be done all the time and people actually sign up for that? ... actually want that? ... like are biologically craving that so badly they'd just fuck anything that moves to put a baby inside them and then get it out and then they're off to college after the 18 year grind and back home every quarter with the laundry?

ARRRRRRRGGGGGG!!!!!

Wait. Happy posting. Happy posting.

So, I was looking at this tableau, this father explaining something to his adoring son, and you know what (thunder-)struck me?
It was this:

Why do people have tits?

I mean: really! Half the world doesn't need them (half minus one according to Notting Hill) and then ... AND THEN! The other half only needs them right after childbirth for a year or few, but no! Everybody has them and WHY?

Yes, I'm still certifiable.

But hear me out first (before you lock me away).

I mean, take me for example. I don't exactly have 'happy fun bags' ... a term I learned reading a webcomic (yes I read comics: sue me, you won't get a dime anyway after the lawyers suck me dry (it'll be a very small suck, too: those bloodsuckers wouldn't even bother with skinny little me ... I don't even get bug-bites, as mosquitos know there's more elsewhere. Anywhere else where.)

(Unless you look at my titties and say: "two bug bites there, `phfina?" Yeah, thanks.)

And IN. THE. WEBCOMIC! (GOD! Can I EVER get off track) this Asian ninja chick was like Hiya! and the artist was like "That looks okay, but show us your happy fun bags so we can sell more strips" and she was like ... steaming and then: "This is the part where you die! HI-YA!"

And I was like: "Happy" "fun" "bags"?

And so, you know, I did a little self-examination.

I don't really have "Happy fun 'bags'"

You know the original meaning of purse is "to smoosh," like: "She pursed her lips."

So I have more like "Happy fun pursed" or "purses"

Or whatevs.

And the exam wasn't all that "happy."

But I have a confession to make.

(Oh, really, `phfina?)

Yes.

You know how superheroes have this one weakness, right? Like superman in red tights has kryptonite and the Green Lantern in green tights has a yellow weakness and ... hm, who else? Oh, yeah, Spiderman in his black tights has a "big fucking obvious plot" weakness.

But I digress, again. (but why do manly men have to wear tights? To show they've got six pack abs and a long john silver? So they defeat the enemy or alien or demon, and then whip out johnson and the twins and fuck the damsel's-in-distress brains out, and that's consensual intercourse, because obviously the superhero fucking her is better than the villain somehow? And this makes sense in what universe and to whom?) (and what if the damsel were a lesbian, and she was all like, 'thanks, but no thanks'? He's going be all gallant about it? Obviously, because he's the superhero, right? RIGHT!)

Anybody see that new Conan movie, btw? Anyone at all?

(Thor would be gallant, I bet! But he's got his hammer and likes fighting frost giants for fun. Well, that's Thor for you).

*AHEM!*

Well, my self exam was clinical, but, besides my whole body being an erogenous zone?

A guaranteed way to ... get my attention?

Well, I mean, the wind blows after a good rain, and the boys perk right up and and say, "Hey, what's going on out there?"

And they announce it loud, and clearly, to all who care to notice.

And notice they do.

And besides me dying of shame on the bus with the too damn good air conditioning, I ...

I just can't help but be so. fucking. turned. on that all you would have to do is not even touch.

Just blow, or hint, or look at the twins.

... And I'm cumming. I'm cumming like a fucking freight train.

I mean, God is obviously not a girl, because HE would never have said, 'Oh, yeah, let's every month turn my gender into complete bitches with cramps and an attitude that could melt lead at thirty paces, just because.'

No, a guy would do that. "Oh, yeah, they're fertile every month, so yeah, they can just slough it out, no problems!'

"'No' 'Problems'"?

But period or no. You give attention to me right there, and right there, (`phfina nods downward first left, then right) and ...

And ... oh, my God, I'm getting ... um, distracted, just thinking about somebody giving me attention there, and me getting that attention there.

With soft breaths, and caresses from fingers, and ... and lips ... and ...

And, I'm like: why? Why do I have to be this bundle of impulses that a girl can just turn on like a light switch, once she finds my superheroine weakness? I mean, they are such tiny little things, like my feet or my kitty, but they become the universe as soon as somebody looks across the room at them, or I get angry, or a cold breeze cuts right through my cotton tee, and the boys perk right up and are like ...

"The boys"? GOD! I can even say 'nipples' without dying from shame.

(`phfina turns pinker than her fucking mottled (mostly descaled under) flesh)

Um, ... Christ.

No, I haven't been taking drugs, not even non prescription medication.

I. Fuck. I'll just end this post now. I'll just post this post now and bury my head under my pillow.

Anything's better than my last post. Even this one.

Good night.

Saga's not talking to me. I wonder why she ever even...

fuck.

fuck.

No. Fuck. No. I'm not done yet. Not yet. One more nail. Always one more nail.

And here's why I'd make a terrible mother. Right here.

Besides the fact that my child would starve to death in her first week, 'cause no matter how much I'd fill out, she'd suck the blood right out of me and still be thirsty, and 'oh, yeah, I'm just using formula to supplement her diet, because I don't have it to be her full nursing mother.'

Yeah, everywhere I look I'm a failure. But it gets (much) worse.

You know how some women orgasm while breast feeding? Very embarrassing, I'm told.

Not for me.

I'd be like, 'c'mer, kiddo, mommy needs to cum right fucking now!'

Yes, I just wrote that. Lovely image, right? me, my baby to my breast, and my other hand between my legs and I moan out my whatever.

Talk about a fucked-up mother fucking up a childhood. Could you see me at Mass throwing my head back and cumming like a freight train, right during the fucking Consecration?

They'd

Oh, God!

They'd take my baby away from me.

And.

o god

And with good reason. And they'd tell her. Her growing up in foster care. "Your mother was sick. very sick. and she killed herself, and that's why we had to

I can't keep writing that. This.

Even after I'm dead, I'm still poisoning myself and all who touch me.

And ...

And if that's not bad enough ...

And ... I ... I haven't been in an ANR, but I ... I ...

I think about it sometimes.

And i ...

Um.

How to salvage this post? i keep thinking 'how to salvage this post?' and i keep writing, and keep digging myself deeper.

ill stop now. ill do the world a favor and stop now.

i

no. ill stop now.

Pandora opened the box, and there's no way to un-open it.

Pandora was the sister to Pan, wasn't she? At least etymologically speaking. Pan:

Chaos.

im tired. im so, so tired.

gud natt.