I haven’t written anything humorous in some time now. I know, it’s shame because I’m hilarious even though I write like a drunken shrew who’s about half-way to death, way beyond crazy and spends most of her free time stalking boys from her car, while drinking a bottle of whiskey and eating entire bags of starburst jelly beans. Thank you Easter! Mmm…
Anyway.
It’s a character……Mom!
I swear I am not as odd & obsessive as I portray my literary alter ego. I am only slightly odd & obsessive.
And I like my character. She’s like me, but turned up to 11. You’re damn right, that’s a Spinal Tap reference and if you don’t know what I am talking about then you probably fit into the 80% of people who just don’t fucking get me.
I forgot my point. Ugh. Fuck it, I already wrote too much. I am going to post this anyway.
So in conclusion…
I am awesome.
Mom, your daughter is mentally stable.
No, that goth chick isn’t really me.
And yes, this is my worst post to date.
Good day.
Drinking and Diving 
You’re so right in so many ways – it’s a slippery slope. It starts inconspicuously enough with chicken wings; then before you know you’re staring with unhealthy interest at blackbirds. Take it from one who knows…
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I like to collect one single feather from each bird that I consume. Each one is labeled and kept in a fireproof lockbox. Today, #105 flies no more. Lately, I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of birds chirping, only to find that there are really no birds at all…just the ones that live in my head…I call them Chirpy One and Chirpy Two. They like ping-pong.
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Excellent! Nothing to worry about here everyone. Move along please. Thank you. Yes, keep moving please. She’s fine. Just hearing birds. Singing to each other. Of a night. All pretty standard. Move along now please….(you kill me!).
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