Posted in Almost Dorothy, Politics, Themes

Glenn Beck Is A Duck Killer

Dear Glenn Beck, a duck just committed suicide in the reflecting pool after listening to you and Sarah Palin. I think your fake tears released some kind of duck suicide poison. What will those baby ducks do without their ma? What will dumb people do when you go back to your hotel and order duck pate? Please, give wildlife a break and shut the fuck up.

Yours Truly,

Mr. Duck

P.S. Why are there only white people at your rally?

Posted in Almost Dorothy, Amanda Bernstein, Characters, Culture Clash, Family, Politics, The Mother, Themes

Same Sex Marriage (at Arby’s) is a Civil Right

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”.

Bobo the Mutt by Neil de la Flor
Posted in Almost Dorothy, Random Shit


Here’s #4 on Almost Dorothy’s list of the “Top 10 Endangered Species of the Gulf Coast Who Can’t Read or Write”

4. Mr. Testis: The last known testis, simply known as Mr. Testis, may be dead. Separated from his mother at birth, Mr. Testis lived a solitary life as an artist and fisherman along the Gulf Coast region. When Mr. Testis was nineteen, a New York City gallery, something called the MOMA, featured his artwork in a one man show. At the time, the New York Times declared that “Mr. Testis Is An Artist with Balls!”

Legend says that Mr. Testis was once the smartest ball in the hood. He wasn’t afraid of anything, not even zippers or dentures. One day Mr. Testis decided to run for President of the United States or POTUS. However, he lost to the famous talk show host, Mr. Clam Beck, who successfully labeled Mr. Testis’s liberal agenda as a communist-socialist-nazi-cannibal plot to takeover clams and oysters everywhere. Mr. Beck’s Utopian platform was based on the idea that the free-wheeling-brainless-capitalist-market-system-ism is the answer to everything. Even anal warts. Thus, he hired Mrs. Sarah Whalin’ to be his right hand clam & official warthog. Unfortunately for America, also know as the United States of Terror &  Turds, the damage had been done. Mr. Beck’s ascension to the White House sealed Mr. Testis fate as another casualty of capitalism in the Gulf Coast. Mr. Clam Beck fought to loosen the government’s grip on oil drilling in the Gulf Coast and won. As a result, BP Oil continued to spill oil into the Gulf in perpetuum. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

Interesting Note: What no one knew then, which means everyone knew then, is that Mr. Clam Beck’s Utopian delusion of the power of free markets was, in fact, an illusion. Since it was revealed that the oil industry was the most subsidized & lazily regulated industry in the USA, the GOBP party has tried to right the ship with their slapstick on Fox News. Just the other day, the New York Times headline read: “As Oil Industry Fights Tax, It Reaps Subsidies.” The next day, the New York Times was forced to move to New Jersey. To Mr. Clam Beck’s surprise, which really was a surprise since he never reads, he found his name on the list of endangered species. After leaving the Ass Wipe House, Mr. Beck realized he was one of a kind, a kind of quandumb singularity of sorts that actually inhabits the dystopia of his own creation. His call for government intervention fell on deaf ears since all ears are deaf in the age corporate socialism. As the Supreme Gourd reaffirmed, the United States of Corporations hold these truths to be self-evident, that all corporations are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Mr. Testis.

Mr. Clam
Posted in Almost Dorothy, Characters, The Mother, Themes

The Exorcist

I’ve been so busy shaving my armpits I haven’t been able to keep up with my blogging. Fortunately for me I’m done shaving my pits but now mom is on the rag and she’s totally nuts, bonkers to be more exact. Last night she chased the raccoon out of the attic, again. This time they met face to face as the raccoon poked his head out of the wire mesh be busted in through. She roared like a Wild Thing and I’m pretty damn sure that critter ain’t coming back.I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night.

This morning mom made huevos rancheros without the huevos, so basically we’re going to have rancheros, which are like farm hands but tastier. Mom is on the war path today because she’s pissed it took George W. Cheney 8+ years to not win the wars in Iraq & Afghanistan. I mean, come on, she says, Lady Gaga could probably have really kicked some ass.

Mom says right wing wingnuts are God’s gift to dipping sauce. By this she means insane people’s balls should be deep fried and served with BBQ or Sweet & Sour sauce. Even though, she says, wignuts are pretty bitter, so I’m not sure if we need to go there.

And, finally, Mom’s gonna wait for the Sarah Palin bus tour to land in Miami, so she can see the second coming for herself. Sarah, she says, reminds me of Linda Blair in the Exorcist. Except, she says, Linda was only acting.

Ta ta and toot toot. Love you always.

Almost Dorothy

Posted in Almost Dorothy, Culture Clash, The Mother

Almost Dorothy Does Not Win The Nobel Peace Prize

I’m going to start two wars, kill hundreds of thousands of Iraqis & Afghans (directly & indirectly), waste a trillion bucks in the process that could have been used to reform healthcare in America, let thousands of American troops die or get dismembered in the name of faulty intelligence, allow tens of thousands of Americans in America die due to lack of adequate access to health services, and then I’m going to complain when someone else wins the Nobel Peace Prize (President Obama) while trying to end those two quagmire wars, to improve health coverage and health outcomes for all sick, dying and downtrodden Americans, republican or democrat and everyone transgendered crack smocking whack job nutcase in between.
“You go girl,” mom says with no heart or soul, as if I’m not really a girl, which I’m not, or have a soul. “I thought Sarah Palin would have won for sure.”
Posted in Almost Dorothy, Characters, Family, The Mother, Themes

Dear Sarah Palin, Again

For Trig

In Response To Your Facebook Note on 08/07/2009

For the survivor who chooses to testify, it is clear: his duty is to bear witness for the dead and for the living. He has no right to deprive future generations of a past that belongs to our collective memory. To forget would be not only dangerous but offensive; to forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time.

-Elie Wiesel, Night

sarah palin

“He needed to face the facts of life,” aunt Shelly said about the real Hitler. “That fucking son of a bitch.”

Like I said before, my mother is a fan, but she’s in the woods, crack pipe in hand and desperately seeking aunt Shelly, or someone who will love her back without phobias. That’s why mom loves you and your dangerous offensive because you remind her of Shelly but I told her you’re just a drag queen looking to be loved. I love the fact mom’s insurance only covers 15 psychotherapy sessions a year. It has done wonders for her health and my perspective on socialized medicine. I give her shots of tequila just to keep her calm at night.

Sarah, I’m tired of mom, of your faux feminism, military bravado at the expense of soup, and organized exorcisms. I’m tired of your gotcha dialectics, too.

Did you know my neighbor’s son, Continue reading “Dear Sarah Palin, Again”

Posted in Almost Dorothy, Characters, Politics, Themes

Dear Sarah Palin

Dear Sarah Palin,

There is no shortage of threats to stupidity in politics. Every morning I walk to school I step on gum, black gunk on the bottom of my favorite sneakers, a scar, a black hole. I love your glasses, Sarah, and goats too, and when I say I think you’re a toad I don’t mean it literally, Kermit the Frog. I am not mean nor do I espouse amphibian politics, or amphibianism. Sarah was once my favorite name but now I prefer Athena. I’d samba with you in a second even if you were inspired by Tao. I’m into exorcism and erotica and imaginary Volkswagens just like you.

Sarah, Mom says you’re awesome but don’t forget she is on drugs. Poor woman has a penchant for dope. I read recently what you wrote in the Washington Post: “Obama’s cap-and-trade energy plan…will undermine our recovery over the short term and would inflict permanent damage.”

I often go with the flow of dead fish but sometimes I wonder why dead fish float for no reason at all except that they’re dead, or pretending to be covered in crude oil. I often make out with dogs and cats, cabbage patch dolls and transformers too, but that’s just pretend. We’ll leave it at that. I also know there are Bigger Things in life like Megan Fox and human innovation. The long term has a habit of pain and gain, S & M, Alexandria and Gomorrah. The myth of Sisyhpus is just a myth unless you make it so.

Dear Sarah, by inflict permanent damage do you mean like the time father and I played soccer in the house and my chin split on the coffee table? I have a scar but now I avoid coffee. Or do you mean like wounded veterans from Iraq or Afghanistan with missing limbs and traumatic brain injuries? Or do you mean the kind of damage you inflict on yourself in 9th grade with a razorblade and a death wish because you just couldn’t understand why?

I don’t want people to think I’m too serious or sexist so I’ll just say one more thing: can coal blast us off to the moon? Can natural gas catapult us beyond Mars? Is Alpha Centauri reachable by car?

Permanent damage is always looking into the rearview mirror of your childhood when you were in the backseat and I was just a dream. It’s the time your father drove and drove and drove until you magically arrived home in a groggy haze as he carried you to bed through a cloud of carbon monoxide, tailpipe dreams, garage door opener.

Sarah, what if your father was George Jetson and he could’ve gotten you home in the blink of an eye, like on Star Trek? Beam me up Scotty. What if he carried you across the galaxy in his arms to the Promised Land?

Sarah, do you remember Pegaus? Do you remember how you learned to drive?

I promise not to complain anymore about you in private but I read something else you wrote in the Post about tapping “the resources that God created right underfoot on American soil.” I thought about God and His dream for America and I realized He had not dreamed of us at all.

Sarah, why do humans look down when things get tough? Is it cold feet or a fetish for six-feet under? Why do we never look to the stars when there’s almost nothing left to live for? Are we not rearview mirror images of each other, always looking for the next Big Thing, a newborn nebula?

Dear Sarah, I love you and your right to speak. I love Borat and post-racial politics. I love ponies too. You are right, we must move in a new direction, but we must lift our feet to the stars. If you want to hitch a ride on a bus, be my guest.

Yours Truly,

Almost Dorothy