Savage Chickens

Funny.

But unhelpful.

The inspiration for this post?

Me and my Chick are getting married.

On Friday.

Soon

Christmas will start in June the shops will target us in March
Santa puffing his way round shopping centers as an annual fixture
of rolling laughter and x-mas lights we will never pull down lighting
the plastic to sky and the poets will hide
in the dark
wondering where the fuck Christ is.

Soon

the Easter Bunny can visit three times a year or we could kill two rituals
with the one advertisers wet dream:
we can breed him with Santa – a hybrid fat jolly
man rabbit with pointy ears
who can lay presents and shit chocolate, eat raw carrots and drink beer
if we could then just have our birthdays
(all 80 if you’re lucky)
before we’re born again but

the poets tears are not for sale
this year
this poet’s tears are no longer fears
I fear

Poetry by Ghostboy -

Thank you.
And Merry fucking Christmas.

Why is everyone so damn determined to disable people?
Seriously.
If you really, really have to make reference to a person in terms of an ability they may not have,
You say: person who has a disability.
Put the person, first.

It’s not that hard.

And it’s NOT about political correctness.

Let’s look at the language for a moment, shall we?

Starting with “disabled”:
The prefix “dis” means: “not” or “the opposite of”, right?
And “able” means: “having enough power and resources to accomplish something”, right?
So from the word “disable” we take the meaning to be:
“Not having enough power or resources to accomplish something”.

That’s not so bad, I guess.

Let’s move on to “person”, for which there are many definitions:
“A living human”
“The composite of characteristics that make up an individual personality; the self.”
“The living body of a human”
Just to name a few.

Now let’s look at what happens when you use the word “disable” to define a “person”:

“Not having enough power or resources to accomplish (ie. to be) a living human.”

Huh.

Shit hey.

I hope that when you said “disabled person” you were talking about a corpse,
Because is that not effectively what it means not to be a living human?
To be a dead one?

Following the same logic:
When using the word “disabled” to define the person,
Couldn’t you also use the word “dead”?

Google “disabled person” and replace every heading with “dead person”.
Go on, it’s fucking hilarious!

“Student’s asked to dress as dead person for fundraiser”
“Application for a dead person’s parking permit”
“How to interact with a dead person in the workplace”

Hilarious when it’s all just words on a page.
Not so hilarious when you’re talking about a living, breathing, feeling person as though they were a corpse.

Seriously.

Now you know what you’re actually saying,

Will you mind your fucking language next time?

Posted for iheartfaces

And of course, for M.

God give us strenght.
Strength to hold on,
And strength to let go.

-Leunig

For Al, from Rhubarb Whine

For Al, from Mountaingirl

I believe this is the lesbian version of a: Mummy? What are those kangaroos doing? moment.

OK:

Who moved my road?

I am standing up as a type this.
Why?
Because of Mary.
Yep.
She took advantage of me today and now I can’t sit down.
I guess you could call this a standing ovation, of sorts.
Just without the clapping.
Because that’s one thing I definitely am not doing right now.

Clapping.

OK:
Back to the bit where Mary took advantage of me:

My darling girlfriend is a ‘hardcore’ lesbian.
Meaning she has been with girls since forever.
I am also hardcore (sometimes mistaken as having a pole stuck up my arse by dickwipes who wouldn’t know hardcore if it crawled up their arse and died)
But when it comes to girls I have to admit to being all sickly and marshmallow soft like.
Because when it comes to girls:
Mary is my first.

Now, gay straight or eternally fucking twisted,
We can all relate to having moments of weakness.
Moments where partners play their dominant hand,
The: “I’m more experienced than you,”
Or the: “You’re very very very drunk, aren’t you?”
Or the: “I’m stronger than you,”
Or the: “I know something you don’t know,”
Or the: “I have something you don’t want the police to see,” (what, just me then?)
Or the: whatever.

In some way, shape, or form,
We have all been to the place where we get taken advantage of.

It’s a place that I visit quite frequently,
Because when it comes to lesbian stuff,
Mary knows way more than me.

So today:
She approaches me with a jar of something that smells half fruity and half medical “keep that shit away from me”
And I SO should have trusted the second half,
But then she smiles all “I’m going to make you cum so hard you forget your own fucking name for 45 minutes” like,
And says, “You know what would be really hot? If you got a brazillian…”

I am all:
No fucking way.
I’m an Aussie.
A BUSH LOVING Aussie.

And she is all:
*Smile*
And *sex*
And *45 minutes of OH MY GOD WHO THE FUCK CARES WHAT MY NAME IS I AM IN HEAVEN*

I know.
She totally took advantage of me.

So I am lying on the bathroom floor,
One pony tail and tulips (say it slowly) away from a true birthday suit,
And Mary enters with the keep that shit away from me medical fruit smelling pot of liquid evil, cotton strips and silk ties.
I have second and third and fourth and fifth and a fucking gazillion thoughts
And while I am thinking she ties my hands together and ankles to the plumbing pipes.
Which under normal circumstances would be super hot,
Except for liquid evil that she is spreading over my beloved Aussie bush AND
OH MY FUCKING GOD THAT IS HOT!!!
AS IN YOU’RE BURNING A FUCKING HOLE IN MY HOLE HOT!!!

Which is fucking hard to sign with both hands tied together, let me tell you.

But I must have managed to get it across,
Because right before she tore me a new one,
Mary said, “Oh cum on, don’t be such a pussy!”

Then just to prove her point she tore my pussy from my body.

One strip at a time.

There was blood.

And tears.

And if it were not for the promise of 45 minutes where in I cum so hard I forget my own name,
Mary would never be allowed near this bush loving Aussie chick,
Ever, EVER, again.

*sob*

So this standing ovation is not for Mary,
It’s for my tulips.

Cruelly ripped from my body by the hardcore bitch I call my girlfriend.
May they rest in peace forever more.

Amen.