On The Migratatory Patterns of Mammaries
My breasts and I migrated south for last winter. Though I came back to the northern hemisphere, they have not. They remain situated around the bottom bones of my rib cage. I suppose once those ladies go south, there\’s no chance in ever getting them back up without a boost of silicone or saline. I have, however, discovered an alternative plan: handstands. From now on I will simply conduct all manner of flirtation, seduction, erotic stimulation, and sexual harassment, upside down.
\”I don\’t care about morals, \’cos the world\’s insane and we\’re all to blame anyway.\”
When I first met the fox, I told him of my nature. He didn\’t believe me. He still does not. Many a fox have often asked me, why do I not change my nature? Do I ask the fox to stop flaking his allergy-inducing dander upon me? No, because I know it would be futile. The nature of things cannot be changed. Tamed, perhaps, for a time, but only with precautions. One need only ask Roy Horn of Siegfried and Roy about the true nature of creatures and how that nature cannot be changed.
I have been biting back my venom for years, because yes, I have tried to change. But a delay in reaction only makes the final action more severe and all the more unexpected when it finally comes. After all this time, have you forgotten my warnings? Have you forgotten my true nature? I am a scorpion, and I will sting after I have received what I came for.
(As a teenager I would swoon when Axl Rose would sing \”\’Cos everybody\’s darlin\’ sometimes bites the hand that feeds.\” I guess that\’s the embryonic makings of an asshole right there.)
Shorties, Fatties, Softies
It\’s very true that we shrink by the end of the day. Last night I was 5\’4\” and this morning I am 5\’5\”. Rotten posture collapses the spine and makes us short. It also makes our stomachs stick out more, intensifying the visibility of our deep body fat in the stomach regions. On a bad day (such as right before my period), I can grab handfuls of stomach flab. On a good day, like today (such as the week after my period), I can only pinch a few fingers\’ full on either side.
A few weeks back I ran into the mother of a friend of mine. I hadn\’t seen her for about four years. The first thing she said was, \”Look at how much weight you have lost! You\’re skinny! How\’d you do that?\” Well, see, I decided to give up binge eating and explore anorexia. I gave up smoking pot and drinking bottles of Beam for breakfast in favor of large quantities of crank and coke. But more than that, I found a new doctor who said I didn\’t need to be on the medications that were making me obese, and instead put me on some medications to help me sleep, and now I feel a lot better. Sorry, I don\’t have some crazy new diet or exercise plan for you. It wasn\’t Fatkins that did the trick. It wasn\’t Pilates. It\’s just that I met a doctor who realized I wasn\’t psychotic. So I can\’t help you lose any weight, unless your doctor happens to think you are also psychotic, and has you on drugs for schizophrenia. No? How about some exercise, then?
In 2001, when the situation with the anti-psychotics was at its worst and I was recovering from knee surgery, I weighed 195 pounds. (But I still looked f-i-n-e, if you have a thing for pale fatties, which apparently, a lot of people do.) Now I\’m weighing in at 132 pounds.
I am determind, but not bound by any thing or any one.
