SONDRA – ENTRY 1 (BREASTFED OR LEFT FOR DEAD?)”

*Hello girls. Join me on my journey through each hole in my body. The drama is REAL, the people are REAL, but am I?*

“Choke on the words that leave your mouth, not those stolen in doubt” – SONDRA

So, I’m not pregnant but I am most definitely a whore. Delicious. Modelling has not prepared me for such responsibility nor had it financially sustained for situations involving maternity wear. BY CHRIST, I was one lucky dick grafter. Oh no, have I awoken my immobile mother? I can’t remember. I’ll check the cupboard to see if she’s stolen some of my Xanax, which stimulates weight loss. Someone’s insecure. Insecurities are juicy yet sweaty. Sweat leads to chronic heart issues. Ouch.

“Mummy, get up!” She was a heavy sleeper. Years of child abuse had educated a cut-throat heroine. Unbeknownst to everyone but myself, she was a sensitive soul under a primitive layer of cunt.

“What!” Is it a gerbil? No, my stale mother regained consciousness and waddled downstairs to meet my seductive self.

“I’m not pregnant…”

“Where’s my packet of rennies?” Her dressing gown was see through, hence why inverted nibbles had never looked so… situational. Christina Applegate. Samantha Who? I’m undiscovered.

“You don’t have heartburn, you’re just an addict.” She had relied too much on cheesecake during the 90’s, resulting in her irrational fear of strawberries. Upon finding her DRUGS, I threw them at her average complexion. She gulped them down like some Krabby Patty bullshit. Oh no, her varicose veins had exploded. Contrary to popular belief, mothers are not kind. You sit on one measly dick and you’re pronounced a mother. I dry hump Alec Baldwin’s daughter and I’m pronounced a whore. Also, a lesbian but people respect that now.

30th August 2001, the first day mother lay her acrylic nails on me. 14 years later, I’m on my way out of High School. How time flies. Men who fly away from their alcoholic wife astonish me. Since it was my last year of High School before University, I was determined to improve my reputation. I’m famous. Notre Dame : Conservative Academy had one policy, be on top or be bilingual. Those who were neither were ostracized and the latter were commiserated? But popularity only meant fingering your girls in the changing rooms until someone bled.. so.. I wasn’t exactly missing out. Reese Witherspoon circa Cruel Intentions, y’know? By distancing myself from the school’s small-minded sphere, I gained little friendship but gained something worth savoring. Notoriety.

“Your knickers smell of cabbage, I guess Daddy is vegan now.” Erin Schechnor had diabetes. Offense could only be taken to a certain degree. My dad is dead. All that is left of him is Shania Twain and her multiple offspring.  So real insensitive, Erin.

“I’ll rip your taint open with my fucking jaw-bone, you cock dependent fucklord.” I spat. I actually spat on her. I physically discharged saliva onto her unfortunately textured face. I got suspended. That’s why I’m writing in this diary. I’m Meg Gabot.. or should I say Amelia Mignonette Grimaldi Thermopolis Renaldo, Princess of Genovia. I’m undiscovered.

Bai.

*FOR MORE – WAIT UNTIL MY NEXT ENTRY! SATURDAY 25TH*

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