LOOKIE HERE! It’s Randi’s mailart. Doesn’t it make you want to run and grab the bullhorn out of your car and start cussing a blue streak? That’s what I wanted to do, because, well…let’s be frank. Everything good and exciting makes me want to say bad words. I know a lot too. More than you I bet. More than the meanest kid you knew in grade school or those foul-mouthed hussies you used to run with in high school.
Sometimes I like to imagine I’m in a cussing championship in a dark theatre with a bright yellow spotlight shining down on me and Luther, the reigning champion. Luther gives me a dirty look and mutters something under his breath. He likes to rile up his opponents and make them forget stuff. That won’t work with me. DING! The bell rings and we begin. I’m calm and deliberate with my word choices, stringing them together in all of their horrible, wonderful, dark, deliciousness like a string of black pearls. Luther is sputtering and shouting and &%$% this and *&^%$ that. While he cusses me out he’s stamping his big old cowboy boot on the wooden floor. But that doesn’t unnerve me. Nope not one single bit. Because I know at least 10 or 12 suffixes and prefixes to add to any ordinary curse word and kick it up a notch. Plus I know how to enunciate. And pretty soon Luther is prespiring heavily and running out of steam and me? I’m just getting warmed up. As my flow of badness reaches a crescendo the applause begins. Quiet at first and hesitant, but then louder and louder. Then the Bic lighters come out like it’s a concert and a hush falls over the crowd and……..
If you knew how hot the LA air was right now you’d understand my heat-induced psychosis that produced that ridiculous fantasy. Bear with me the rest of the week while my brain struggles up out of this Hot Nervous Windy Heat.
This is my sister. You know… the wildly unpredictable one I went to Mexico with?
Her birthday is on Friday. Here’s the MAILART I made her. I’m going to be featuring a different photo of her each day until Friday. I’ll start out with the nice seemingly normal photo.
My other sister, She of the MIghty Pitchfork, has a birthday on May 14th, but she absolutely forbade me from posting the last photo she sent me of herself. I don’t argue with women who keep shotguns above their beds or carry pitchforks around in their pickup trucks. She is coming out for a visit next week.