Whereas once Connie rose an impunate clamor carrying on in a flock, something about the way she shows up late in life and alone with the same old antics gets her sent more often than not to jail.
Whereas her age peers with higher-up roles in the global economy behave even more shamefully, no one sees how it's her prerogative to shower her wurl with boutique critical commentary, especially on a bender.
Whereas all the other seats at the bar are also occupied, those drunks have the presence of mind to shut up. "It's righteous what you say, girl-- but more so that they haul you away," says a skeleton.
"I'm just husband hunting, Jay," sasses Connie, heavy lidded, to a lady strip-search cop. "Thas whut you get for poking around wair you don't belong," retorted Chama, a goddess in policewoman's garb. "Youda nosiess dyke I ever saw."
No One is Innocent
by Connie
I'm impatient and
I jab at things and
I hurt myself.
I'm innocent and
think the hol wurl want
my prolongations.
Ery time I stick
my neck out, they hack
it. Phucking bastards.
Friday, June 5, 2009
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