Just a few excerpts from the first Burphole collection. On audible as well.
Oh. A new follower on my twitter page. Emily McDemilly. Let’s check out her bio.
“Life’s too short to have regrets.”
Oh, shut up, Emily. Everybody’s a philosopher. You’re supposed to have regrets. That’s what makes you human.
Maybe you shouldn’t have let that Iranian Prince stick it in your pooper behind The Sahara Tent.
Maybe you shouldn’t have cracked your mom’s head open on the bathroom sink after she stole your girlfriend.
Maybe you wish you had eaten the blue pill. Because this reality is a shit show! But those regrets are what gives you character. It’s what makes you interesting, Emily. Life’s too hard to not make mistakes. Stop pretending you’re fuckin’ perfect…
But thanks for following.
Let’s pretend your mind is not an ocean of thought, but the water in a swimming pool. And that pool is dirty. You try to keep it clean, but the elements conspire to dilute your visibility. But still, you try. You skim away the wind blown detritus and dead insects every day. You clean the filter and sterilize the water. Maybe, one day, this water can be purer than Lake Minnetonka.
As the years pass, you come to terms with this dirty pool. And, that maybe, you should stop trying to clean it. Just look at what’s floating on the surface. A whoopee cushion you received on your tenth birthday. The cleavage of your second grade teacher, Miss T. A high school party sucker punch. And, yep. There it is. Your exploded lip.
And what of the stuff you can’t see? All the crap that has sunk to the bottom. You’ve fished some of that stuff out. Let’s see. There was that rubber chicken tied inside of a extra large condom. Bigfoot’s foot. Eh, not so big. There was that canister of dicks and that crate of cunts and that casket of assholes. Remember the noseless carcass in the prom dress? You didn’t invite her. You didn’t ask for any of this shit. But it’s there. And then some.
You walk by the deep end and remember that party when you pulled out a bloated pedophile in clown makeup. It freaked out everybody. Nobody could understand that it wasn’t your idea to find a bloated pedophile in clown makeup! Oh, the humanity! All the Stepford Wives were sobbing like little bitches. It’s just a dead pedophile, right? You don’t understand why they are so upset. Didn’t they say they hated pedophiles? Cry babies.
You walk by the shallow end of the pool. You can see to the bottom. Here, you can cherry pick the nice things and ignore the offensive ones. Hey! It’s your old Nerf football! You loved that football. You played with that thing in the house, in the yard, in the mother fuckin’ streets. (Car!!) Like Linus and his blanket, you two were inseparable. Oh! And look over there. It’s a dead baby in a Cosby sweater. Hmm. Yeah, you better ignore that.
“A clown sneaks up behind you and places your balls on his forehead.”
Like the flicked switch of a neon sign in an unlit room, that’s the first and immediate thought of the day.
“Oh. Okay. Can I please have some coffee first?”
What strange things happen under the surface of sleep? Tiny scenarios that you could never dream up when awake. Like this one. Because it’s an odd concept. Think of all the logistics that need to be in play for a clown to sneak up behind me and place my balls on his forehead…
1. I need to be in a room with a clown.
2. I need to be unaware of his presence.
3. I need to be butt naked.
4. I need to be severely bowlegged.
I must have been playing the role of a cowboy on a cosplay themed porn set. I can’t recall that dream, but I am happy those scenarios are occurring in there. Whoever writes that show is fuckin’ talented. Anyway…
I appreciate that this clown “places” my balls on his forehead. Which sounds intimate and comfortable. Like flowers in a vase. Or your hand in mine. This all sounds wonderfully acceptable and brings a small victory to my face. Like a ten gallon hat that goes to eleven…
When Bruce became Caitlyn, women became ecstatic.
“How brave! How beautiful! Did you see those photos? She is simply breathtaking! Congratulations!!”
Frankly, I found their euphoria a bit creepy. And, I wondered, how long until they come for me…
THE LADY: Ladies. One less idiot! We are winning the war! Soon, my beautiful ladies, we will evolve into asexual beings. Remember when we needed men to protect us from other species? The lions of the world. And the tigers. And the bears. All of those animals trying to break down our doors, yearning for our sweet, perfect, well moisturized flesh.
We stood in the shadows of our own personal oafs. They were necessary. But now, we only need men around to protect us from other men! Which is a travesty! I say be rid of them all!
The time has come, ladies. The time has come. And may I add, it came multiple times! Without a man! That’s right! The elusive concept of time is now transitioning! Congratulations! You look beautiful!