Enjoy the subtitle best. Nothing like Germ Free Adolescents for this piece. And yes I WAS a punk before you were a punk.
Okay what provoked the last 80’s classic punk tune references?
The joys of my being a (actually 18 year old) teenager combined with my mom and abject horror. No not the cool and dulcet Dexter kind where you see mom hacked to death. We should all be so lucky. So, clearly the point of this post is my discovery cure for cancer. Not really. Need to call Hawking, go through his bullshit excuses (but I can’t waaaaalk Rachee!).
All he needs to do is present my paper to a peer reviewd group. Status but really? The gut wrenching laughter he inspires in my cold black heart. Knee-Slapper.
It’s the generational freakishness that so many are bereft of experiencing in their lives.
ADDED BONUS FEATURE:
utter creepiness, probable onset of a manic state and -are you ready?- SEX SEX SEX and FREE BEER!!! * (valid only in mainly Muslim populated countries and most of Utah)
I haven’t slept in 48 hours, haven’t had so much as a beer in the last week or so, and have not experienced a true manic episode for close to 15 years. The times it has occurred during those last 15 years have always been due to a badly conceived and mixed cocktail. Of medication. Prescribed by physician.
The meds not prescribed by doctor (at least to me) are donated to favorite charities: Save the Whiners: Rush Limbaugh CEO , Ahmnodt Heare for President Campaign (he uses ALL donations to help the less fortunate. Obtain sexual favors and/or votes from strippers, whores and/or mostly the same; lobbyists. The crap dealers in Fabulous Las Vegas! Pets! And my all time American charitable foundation : Votes From the Texas Deceased and Legalized Euthanasia for all politicians who have been CEO’s of conglomerates, any attorney running for office, Real Estate Developers and anyone else who -by consensus of Ahmnodt’s Board of Directors and noted Psychiatrists– Religious Nuts and people who should be considered sub-moron but now proclaim their ‘gentlemanly C grade average’ at Yale.
Do you even comprehend the fiscal conservatism of this candidate? From ALL parties.
A Typical YoYo-Dyne manic episode (no employee names can be used due to pending litigation) usually manifests symptoms in the following manner: Sleep deficit, grinding each particle of debris and enamel from teeth, a thorough cleaning under the bottom of tables with toothbrushes and Murphy’s ois soap, overeating to the point of re-joining the Scarf and Barf Club, re-arrange the ant hills in the front yard, rearrange the utensil drawer..34 times, and oh shit look at the time. Still have to comb the carpets and vacuum the cat.
Creepiness and SEX SEX SEX!
Remember that cursed time when you had 5 or 6 friends over to visit and party between school breaks? You lived in a dorm on campus, so stayed with mom and her husband during vacation. The night EVERY ONE of your friends heard the moaning of sexual pleasure emanating from my mother. Outside with hubby. In the hot tub. I was 18 remember? Completely scared for life.
Until that fab memory came back to haunt me like a Donner Party member with bad table manners. And usurped mom’s status.
Just as I was positive I could sleep (after 3 sleeping pills) it dawned on me that I could hear my daughter, my beloved Demon Seed, and her (strictly uncommitted on her part, and he has accepted it) Reno beau -playing the music REALLY loudly for 3:00 am in her bedroom.
Too loud. Got up to brush my teeth (count for today: 6 brushings) and immediately understood why the music was so loud. Yes. SEX. Loud, headboard pounding sex.. and worse the sounds my naive and wallflower daughter was, well, moaning.
Not sure what’s more fucked up and deserved of 72 hours with no sleep. But the synchronicity factor between hearing mom doing the nasty and my daughter doing the ‘wonder where she got it’ freak on nasty haunted me. Poste Haste.
Hear I sit… loony from lack of sleep, possible onset of mania (whoa dude have you ever SEEN my Marie Antoinette outfit? The Napoleon version I’d had made up upon my diagnosis is just, too, well dykish for me. I’d be a lipstick lesbian if I switched teams permanently. And oh fruit of my loins you are already happily bi-sexual. At 11 she looks up at me and says ‘Mommy I think I’m bi’. Please realize that she was a late bloomer and couldn’t even look at her OWN naked body until 9 months ago). I said ‘that’s great honey. I want you to be happy! She skipped off quite pleased.
She already knew many of my friends were/are queer. Hell, I’m a musician. Who got her professional (or in my case unprofessional -rim shot-) start playing piano and singing at gay and lesbian bars in the Los Angeles area.
Get To the Fucking Point Already!
Tried to pass along the import ideals to my daughter. She hates no one. Unless a particular jackwagon pisses her off.
But but but THE MOANING and Headboard banging.. and being humiliated in front of friends who had known my mom for years. It Burns. IT BURNS.
Well, will never get any sleep now, almost time to make the coffee. OH GOD MAKE IT STOP. My MIND WOULD BE A GREAT PLACE TO WASTE right now. Oh god orgasms coming (don;t even think it) from two people I NEVER wanted to hear them from… Age 18…in college. Hand me that Xanax!
Oh dear god they’re at it again. Bed Bounce, How nice. Oh, please shoot me I’m only the piano player
~Just Another Run of the Mill Mom and Daughter in Reno…. but you may continue to address me as
addendum: IT BURNS OH DEAR GOD