Posted in Almost Dorothy, Aunt Jill, Characters, Family, Politics, The Mother, Themes

In Defense of Healthcare: An Open Letter to Barney Frank

Ma’am, trying to have a conversation with you would be like trying to argue with a dining room table. I have no interest in doing it. —Representative Barney Frank from Massachusetts.

Dear Barney Frank,

My neighbor told me I obviously need a civics lesson when I told him Nazis are un-American and full of shit. “The only normal Americans are US citizens,” he said. “Guys who are here legally. Don’t abuse alcohol, drugs or people. Are Christian. Are heterosexual. No fags. Male or female (nothing else).”

“What about shemales,” I asked. “A combo of sorts.” He was totally perplexed and gave me the finger. “Fat ass.”

“Your indiscriminate tolerance demonstrates your deep ignorance of real life,” he said. “Fucking fag.”

No one swooped down to haul him away, not even aliens, or men in black masks or mascara, not even Obama in his pin stripe suit and fancy brown loafers. No one skinned the swastika tattooed on his right arm or the heart tattooed on his chest, or confiscated his balls or ak 47. God didn’t even strike him down for using the F word in front of children, not the word fucking of course, but fag.

Mr. Frank, I think your last name defines your character and I’m not referring to hot dogs. For example, I heard what you said yesterday to that wailing woman, that sheepish banshee who spoke to dining room tables like mom does after too many men or cocktails. Mom is kind of pissed you didn’t take further action against that cute bat, like sucker punching or karate chopping down that picture of Obama defaced as Hitler she held like a white flag in her hand.
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Posted in Aunt Jill, Characters, Family, The Mother, Themes

Mama Cass Didn’t Die of Ham

For John Waters

I woke up this morning and found Glen Beck in mom’s bed, his voodoo doll of course. Mom woke up in a bad mood and went berserk because she couldn’t find her Glen Beck because it had fallen off the bed. Mind you she woke me up screaming and she wasn’t even drunk.

The rest of the day was turrets and high fives, scrambled eggs and imaginary migraines. I told mom she’s a train wreck but mom said she isn’t because she can still chug a beer and then some. Animal logic is her friend. In any case, Aunt Shelly made a surprise visit today from the other side (unrelated to Beck of course) because I saw her in the bathtub but she’s dead so I figured she must have been a ghost or an imposter Shelly.

“Nope,” mom said. “She’s the real deal. The dead are not dead until we’re dead,” she said.

Aunt Shelly must not have been aware of this fact and kept right on talking to me as I took my bath. I didn’t take my bath anywhere but I did wash my hair with Johnson’s Baby Shampoo no tears bullshit. Anyway, the funniest thing is that no one found her body after she jumped or fell off the cliff in Spain. Maybe this is really her, I thought, flesh and blood, pre-suicidal blond.

I knew it made no sense like Holy War.
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Posted in Almost Dorothy, Aunt Jill, Characters, Family, The Mother, Themes

Tranny Jesus Sings Happy Birthday

Warning: Utterly Offensive.

Mom pissed her pants, caused a stir. Spilled a glass of Chardonnay on her lap to cover it up, which was fine, but it cost her another 10 bucks. “I feel like I’m from outer space,” she said. And I left it at that.

The car in front of us read, “Lea, la biblia.” Mom said it refers to an ancient story about Queen Lea, who was the mother of Thor, not Darth Vader. She caused a biblical scene when she sexually exploited her neighbor’s husband without a plan to marry him. “She was a real badass mistress,” mom said. “Full of gusto.”

But I knew better, I’m not a dumb ass, or from Mars. Mom’s always full of shit and it’s not hard to tell when she’s lying, or making things up, foolish cow she is.

“I took first year Spanish, you know. Yo hablo espanol. Mom,” I said. “Read the bible.”

“Go to hell,” she shot back.

“That’s what it means,” I said back.

“I said what I mean,” she said back, rolled up the windows, and lit a fucking cigarette.

I’m the Siouxsie Sioux to mom’s Banshee. I’m lucky I still have breath. Last night was a blast, a wicked little birthday celebration for mom’s 37th or 8th. It was supposed to be a simple celebration but it turned into a bloody mess. I’m only a child and an only child however I’m looking for a way out of this, but I’m not legal yet.
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Posted in Almost Dorothy, Aunt Jill, Characters, Family, Themes

Dear Mr. Jeff Walt

After “Joyride”

jeff walt

You want to be like me, don’t you, horns and all, flashback. I must warn you I have real wings and real red sneakers too, stinky feet. Are you a thief of hearts like me? Are you afraid of ghosts?

FYI: I maintain a bomb shelter for special occasions, like when mom comes home with a hairy man or members of the ZZ Top tribute band. Last week I discovered the need for weed and hairspray, just kidding. I don’t understand the cape however I get the sense you want to fly with the Queen of the Damned, or Queen. I love your horns and sunglasses too. You must be in love with Dracula.

I read about your Uncle Jack, about that damn Cadillac and flask, heart beating, vroom vroom. I have an Uncle Jack too. Her name was Jill. She was as tall as me so she wasn’t very tall at all but at the time she was bigger than anything I’d ever seen before. Once I found her worshipping at the ledge of disaster with a Schlitz Malt Liquor in her hand. She had cold feet and visions of bulls. She hated meat and Pablo Picasso too.

Once, when I was a small boy (or girl), she dressed me up as a goat. It was Halloween and she called me Billy. No lie. Mom was very stern with her and told her, “never again.” I think that’s when my fascination with gender began—Halloween. Or maybe it was the Day of the Dead.

In Pamplona Aunt Jill fell to her death trying to avoid the fall of Icarus, her lover at the time. That’s what mom says. I think Jill jumped this time for real and became a kind of Jack, falling like a rock through a thousand graves. Or, at the very least, she finally made it to the other side.

Sincerely Yours,

Almost Dorothy