Do you understand!
I haven’t been faithful to you or constant in my criticism of your stupidity. It’s not because I don’t love you. It’s just that I’ve been taking care of mom, who has taken care of Amanda B., mom’s faithfully wedded lesbian wife, who has a cold, a serious cold, a cold that may take her life and her jeans (my favorite jeans) away for ever. Well, I’m being dramatic. That’s what I am, dramatic. I’m a kid, a pickle too. I love pickles. Rick Scott, you’re a pickle and I wish I could tickle you out of the State of Florida so that you don’t infect us with your brand of social justice. The kind of justice that takes all the social safety nets away from the most vulnerable citizens in Florida–the elderly, the young, the middle aged, the born and unborn, the smart, the gay, or bi-curious, or gender neutral or natural. Anyway, yes, Florida is vulnerable because we’re under attack–bullied–every day by your 50 million dollar political campaign to turn us back to the dark ages. The age of religious idiots and zealots. Pickle heads like you. In any case, I wish you luck in the upcoming election because it’s the only way I know how to subvert the outcome. I never get what I want. Not even a hickey. Mom’s got Amanda B. in her arms right now. She looks like a lowercase b, a baby, an infant Amanda B. But, she’ll be alright, Mr. Rick Scott. She will. I just know it. Cause Alex Sink ain’t gonna’ fucking take it, you stupid chicken head. (Ma said that.) Kisses. (I said that.)
Almost Dorothy, Mama D., and Amanda B.