*Why are the yellow clouds screaming allowed?*

American Apparel’s clothing is so expensive, that’s why I steal. Oh I forgot to mention that the Tech had accepted me. As a lone wolf amongst a sea of sultry cockerels, I had begun to consider the unthinkable. A fucking choker. What was I? A sodomized Olsen twin? Get bent.

“Get up cunt.” Peter spat in my wardrobe.

“Sorry.” I was genuine.

“Give my thy hand.” He stuttered on the ‘thy’. Don’t use words you don’t understand. Ask John Green. I dare you.

“Okay. You’re usually very disrespectful and threatening but I want your love.” I gave him everything. He broke my wrist.

“That hurts. Can you kiss it better?” I had a plan. Once his tender lips touched my wrist, I would latch onto his ear with my teeth and nibble on his soft lobe.

My plan failed miserably. Let’s just say… I failed. Peter also pressurised me into collecting debt from his friend, Carol. Carol didn’t like have the money. Carol was left for dead. Oh, how I joke! Carol just lost a tooth. With that tooth, I gave my mother an ultimatum. Stop treating her body like an ashtray with cerebral palsy or her precious cat would go splat. Splat like spaghetti. Splat like Laura Grindelbarrogschnider’s fallopian tube.

Needless to say, she grounded me. As part of my punishment, I had to chaperone my younger siblings to Cousin Meredith’s birthday party. God, I love my family so much. Meredith was a great friend, an even better lover. Imagine Hilda Swinton’s diabetic daughter who, for some disgusting reason, was a burn victim. I reckon most lawyers have had at least one heart attack. Bury me alive. Erin Brockovich really surprised me. I thought, who is she? Where did you find her? Is there a reason for the eponymous title? MacBeth? MACBITCH. Meredith could be a bitch. I once heard that after her mother’s hysterectomy, she replaced her toothbrush with a pregnancy test. The cheek.


“Hey Meredith. I love your home.”

“It’s not mine Sondra.”

“It’s all yours.”

“I owe nothing.”

“You owe the world nothing.” I just wanted her to have confidence.

“You know…/”

“I know.” She had stolen my purse. I had forgiven her.

“I had just started my point…”

“Point. Joint. What’s the difference?”

“Sondra. This is important.” Her hips quivered. Or they were very brittle.

“I’m listening.” I wasn’t.

“I have a girlfriend.”

“Lesbian.” I nodded knowlingly.


“It’s obvious.”

“How did you know?”

“Call it… woman’s intuition?”

“Ahh… ok…”

“Or your feelings for me.”


“Rubbing those thighs…”


“Like knee-highs.”


“Cousin, I won’t. Don’t waste my time.” My time had already been wasted.

“I’m leaving…” OH MY GOD. It’s ED. Not my boyfriend/brother. My friend who’s gay. I only had one. Two would make us a minority or community?







“FEED THE CHILDREN.” Meredith had lost interest and some weight. Good job cousin.

“Where have you been?” Ed seemed to care.

“At home.” Honesty.

“I knew it.” Honesty?

“Then why did you ask?” Meredith was too nosey.

“Why didn’t you call?”

“Child allowance.”

“I relate to you.”



“Guess who’s moving to the Tech?”

Ed shat. “Lady Gaga?”


“Raven Symone?”


“Jinxx Monsoon?”

“She graduated.”

“Hilary Clinton-Duff?”

“As if.”

“Christian Bale.”

“You fucked him.”

“I didn’t.” He blushed a similar shade to his prevalent asshole.

“You’re gay. Christian Bale is a man.”

“You’re too right.”

“More like… Too tight.”

“You shit-waggon!”

“You know it!”

“Boy George.”


“I thought we were still guessing?”

“No. It’s me!

“YASSSSSSSSS.” He was indifferent.

After the formalities, my stomach rumbled. I had never felt such hungry. The pit of my gut resembled an elegantly placed burger with terrible stamina . Meredith’s party was a bore but who was I? The barbeque had no vegan substitutes so I felt marginalised. To add insult to injury, Ava’s mother had died and she needed support. I is not elastic, spastic. You think I strap you in while you spread your wings. No Mandy Moore, the only thing I let spread is awareness.

“Fine, I’ll eat a hotdog.” If it long and sturdy, guess who’s entering my clergy. Clergy equates to pussy ya Jesuit bastard.

“Would you like all of the toppings?” My Uncle Francis was such a suburban dad.

“I suppose you’ll be the cherry on top?” My flirting skills left a lot to be desired. Why wasn’t I desirable?!?! The hotdog tasted of a council estate and my Uncle wasn’t much better. Hehe. Wendy Williams’ show has to be cancelled. My inheritance was cancelled after 9/11. Why? Political correctness.

“Aren’t you a vegan?” Non-gay Ed had showed his face. I pursed my moist lips. I drippled ketchup straight down my blouse. Yes, I was wearing a blouse. Easy access? No.

“Do you want a napkin?”


“I’ll get it for you?”

“No, wait…” He looked at me. I looked at the grass.

“Nice grass?”

“Nice ass.” I pinched his dimples.



“No, seriously.” He was uncomfortable. I was comfortable and that’s all that matters.

“Don’t make me apologize.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I won’t.”

“Fuck the police.”


“You calling them?”


“You trying with me?”

“Oh my god…”

“I’m a black belt in bitch and not afraid of intimacy…” My stomach rumbled. It was blood. An ocean of innocent men spread through my intestines. Shit.

“I’m not okay.” Said the most embarrassed girl since Kelly Rowland’s solo career.

“What’ wrong…”

“BLEHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGTFOANOMOSITYBSHJSGSBLEEHEEHHHHHH!” Projectile vomit was the paint, society was my canvas. Post-modernism. My wrist is still broken. I’m undiscovered.



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