Ma dumped Amanda B. for Florence from Florence + the Machine however Florence doesn’t know ma nor Amanda B. or that she’s ma’s new girlfriend. I think ma is delusional and dreaming but I let her dream cause ma needs to dream to keep her balance from tilting her off the continental shelf. Florence would make a great step-ma. I kind of wish it were true. I kind of wish ma and Florence would make a new machine that included me. Maybe Florence can teach ma how to sing and dance and act like a real woman. Maybe ma can teach Florence how to be insane. Together maybe they’ll have the love that’s missing between ma and Amanda B., missing between ma and me, missing between ma and ma. Well, we’ll see.
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.
Unofficially, I have two moms. Although their same-sex marriage is not recognized in the State of Florida it is recognized in the State of Confusion. I have two moms now, which are better than one, so suck on that, Sarah Palin.
Today is the day. Mom and Amanda B. are getting hitched, that means married, or at least they’re both gonna wear dresses across the street from a Mosque and a Church. They invited Sarah Palin to host their wedding, but she said no, hell no. Since Amanda B. is a practicing Muslim and mom doesn’t practice anything, they’re gonna get married in three places for extra luck. I swear, a church, a mosque, and Arby’s. These establishments won’t let mom and Amanda B. do their thing inside, or officiate over their same-sex marriage, so mom and Amanda B. have decided to get married in their car in the parking lot of each place. For real. Bobo the Mutt, who is our favorite mutt, will be the decider and bless their unholy matrimony in his yellowing shag coat and stinky breath. See below.
Mom says they’re gonna do this cause they want to ‘refudiate’ (sic) lunatic claims that same-sex marriage is a sin because it isn’t, at least not in their Big Book. Mom and Amanda B. also want to show their support for the 1st Amendment, which Republicans, like that great dumb ass Sarah Palin , thumb their noses at if you’re not a Christian. Amanda B. is pissed cause Palin called on “Americans” to ‘pls refudiate’ the building of the Islamic Center near Ground Zero just like “Republican candidates have denounced plans for a large Muslim center proposed near” Murfreesboro, Tennessee just like the Tea Party “group took dogs and picket signs to Friday prayers at a mosque that is seeking to build a new worship center” in Temecula, California. (New York Times.)
Amanda B. says she wants to marry mom cause it’s her fundamental civil right as a human American, who happens to be a lesbian Muslim, just like it’s the fundamental right (1st Amendment) for worshipers of all faiths to worship wherever the hell they want to worship, Mufreesboro, Temecula, Ground Zero, Arbys, or KFC, without the express written consent of idiot politicians. If the Tea Party Republicans, like Sarah Palin, Newt Gingrich and the rest of the gang really, truly believe in America, then they should speak out in defense of all Americans who are being harassed by fascists who picket Mosques with dogs and signs that say their places of worship “are monuments to terrorism”.
Amanda Bernstein (remember the B is silent) and mom are getting hitched. They say they’re gonna be committed this time and I smiled big because I thought this meant they’d enrolled in an insane asylum for nuts. They just meant they’re gonna get married and exchange sandals. Bobo the Mutt wasn’t too excited about the news because Amanda B. has a cat named Cat (the c is silent) and Bobo the Mutt is allergic to cats named Cat with a silent c. They say I can be the best man and the best woman at their wedding. They say they promise not to fight like WWF wrestlers this time, which makes me sad because those are the moments when their at their best. I love them at their best. They say it won’t be like before and I secretly hope it won’t because I hope it’s worse. I do. Because if it’s better than before then your presently surprised. They say things have changed and America has changed and their love has changed and the whole world is more accepting of this change, except for Iran, of course, where they plan to stone a woman to death, or Long Island where a man killed a baby boy because he thought the child acted like a sissy. Things have changed–at least inside our nest of nuts. I did suggest that they add bullet proof vests to their bridal registry and give me the keys to their gun rack.
Mom kidnapped me from Amanda B.’s house and locked me in the trunk of her car, which is really just the backseat of the car, which is a 1980s yellow Volkswagen beetle bug. Actually, the Volkswagen sounds like a beagle and doesn’t really have a trunk. I wished mom wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t sure where mom was taking me, but I saw a Fodor’s guide to New Mexico, so I guessed New Mexico or Fodor, which isn’t really a place on a map. It’s just a book with maps and ‘Best of’ lists. In record time we made it to Albuquerque. Mom supercharged on caffeine and beer and other stuff. We only stopped for gas twice and shared a hot dog with sauerkraut. Shoplifted a bottle of Coors Lite. I’m watching my figure, mom said like she always says. I think we’re headed for a rebirth in our relationship because mom mumbled something while sleep-driving between New Orleans and Dallas. She babbled something about Los Alomos and the Virgen de Guadalupe, the value of a nuclear family and keeping your legs shut. She wants to reorganize or revirginize me. Scrape the boys out of me. I heard a dog bark when she dumped me in the backseat as she sped away from Amanda B.’s house while Amanda B. held on to mom’s hair for dear life. It’ll grow back mom said as Amanda B., the B is for Bernstein and the B is always silent, shrunk to nothing in the rearview mirror. We’re not a family without the B., I said, as we spend away from Amanda B.’s. Bobo the Mutt backseat barking like a good dog. I was blind-folded and I couldn’t see anything and thus, therefore, I was able to see right through mom. Right through her plot to save my soul from Amanda B., to split us up into separate camps, and to show us she loves us even though she shows us something else.
Amanda B. and I are watching the 2010 FIFA World Cup soccer match between Spain and the Netherlands and we saw this topless guy in the stadium and he had nipple missiles, which are long, pointy man nips that look like warheads or eraser tips. In any case, I’m not sure why ‘the’ has to go before the Netherlands or why the Netherlands is also called Holland and why isn’t never(the)less just neverless. What does FIFA stand for, anyway? First Idiot Farters Association? I mean, come on. The Netherlands, Holland, pick a name like Spain, which is only Spain, not ‘the’ Spain or Spalland. Amanda B. is rooting for Spain, she’s insane and incensed because I’m pulling for Turkmenistan because I was once in love with a Turk, or Turkamen? They make great flat bread with butter and stick to one name at a time. You can’t root for Turkmenistan, Amanda B. says. They’re not in the finals. Oh, I say. But, I can root for who I want. Deal with it.
Amanda B. and I both miss mom because we know it would be really fun if mom were here watching the finals with us. If you haven’t been following me lately, I busted out on mom and hid with Amanda B. Mom thinks we’re dead or long gone, but we’re just around the corner in Amanda’s sugar shack. Amanda B. likes treats. She dumped mom, which meant she also dumped me, because mom is the male version of Hunter S. Thompson. I hate rejection, so I left mom and chose to stay with Amanda B. because the B is silent when I need to think or just be Almost Dorothy. In any case, we’re thinking about calling mom over to welcome her back. Amanda B. shows me the unauthorized tattoo of a rat that mom (while drunk or stoned or sober) haphazardly drew on Amanda B.’s ass in the middle of the night while Amanda B. slept peacefully cause mom put sleeping pills in her milk. Amanda B. says we’ll call her after the game. I cross my fingers for good luck. Amanda B. crosses her fingers for good luck too as we sip from our 7-11 blue monster Slupees. Viva Turkmenistan, she says and winks I love you.
Programming Note: My Potty Mouth Interview series resumes tomorrow with an interview with the fabulous documentary filmmaker Sandrine Orabona who was one of the two cinematographers on Michael Jackson’s “This Is It.” Wonderful interview with an amazing, enlightened and inspirational figure. Fo’ sure, kids. Stay tuned.
I haven’t been able to post because of my _____ relations with my new boyfriend _______ who is from Nicaragua, which is close to Nevada, but not really close. I swear I’ll never tell mom cause she’s against sex before marriage even though she had me before she was married. Actually, she had me the first time she had sex. Bad luck, she said. I guess, I said. Anyway, I don’t speak to mom anymore cause she’s nuts. Certified USDA. When Amanda B. and I returned from Disney World, we discovered mom had broken into her house. Mom’s footprints were all over the walls. (Amanda B. is my mom’s ex-girlfriend who was once a boy many many years ago named Steve.) Anyway, after I ran away from mom, Amanda B. rescued me, but I’m safe now. I’m in my own skin now. I’m waiting for Amanda B. to bring me tea and chocolate chip cookies. Waiting for her to tell me the story about Big Foot. The story about his inability to gain national credibility.
Amanda B. and I went to Disney World to chill. We thought it would be good considering I just ran away from mom and she was trying to find me. When we left Amanda B.’s house, we closed all the windows and the blinds. We hid Amanda B.’s patio furniture in the garage so mom wouldn’t vandalize it. We put a for sale sign in the front yard so she’d think we skipped town or something like that. We even put fake blood on the front door so mom would freak and think something bad happened to us. Amanda B. said mom deserves it cause of how she acts when she’s in public or Publix. Said it will make mom calm down and be more respectful of other humans. Like hell, I said. Amanda B. laughed and we got our photograph taken with the crew–Mickey & Minnie Mouse, Snow White, the dwarves, and Donald Duck. All of them. The only character missing was Goofy, who was probably peeing on Amanda B.’s mailbox for good luck.
My first night with my new mom, Amanda B., didn’t go so well. She’s a vegetarian, so we didn’t eat any meat. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. We didn’t even have turkey bacon for breakfast this morning. At least I didn’t get burned by a cigarette, but I miss my real mom’s quirks. I’m not sure what I’m going to do because Amanda B.’s cat looks so delicious. I wonder if Amanda B. will notice her cat has a missing leg. The meaty one on the left side. I have to go. Obama is making a speech right now. God save the cat! Long live the cat!