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My father who raised me was spoiled. So was the mother who raised me. But because they grew-up on farms with real dirt in the Midwest and did actual, real work on those said farms and ruined their lives in the 1960’s (by the way, they worked for their family who owned the farms) they felt poor. Oh so poor. Awww! *eye-roll*

*scoffing*

People are so stupid by choice. They think in this sad country (America) that if you’re dressed correctly and buy the right house and do the right dances you’re elite. It’s all about which currency you use and not how much you actually have. Or how smart you actually are.

It’s about perceptions… Mirrors and illusions. *magical hand wave* “Woo!! Woo!”

*scoffing*

It’s not. That’s an inaccuracy.

If my father who raised me knows I’m illegitimate…he thought my father was inherently evil. More evil than him. Because my birth father who was possibly infinitely more sane and normal and loving and intelligent…and in touch with reality…was filthy rich. Grew-up rich. Never felt like a peasant. And never was. And “rich people” in my sad country are depicted as weak, sad, incompetent, evil-effeminate and evil. They aren’t. If I’m illegitimate there’s scientific evidence, dear ones. But that’s the self-righteous mantra of angry, evil-bitter “peasants” with embarrassingly narcissistic tendencies who, like an invasive species, have smothered truth as they desperately, shake their asses unaware (in the way a mentally challenged person is unaware) of what ugly, conniving, rapist whores they’ve become. It’s vile to watch.

And no, I’m not just saying this because I’m jealous, honey. Don’t do that to yourself and believe that about me. Seriously, don’t. You’re embarrassing yourself. Truly.

No, J.P. Kennedy you ruined your life and your family. It’s not “all about perception.” So: Drop it while it’s hot, byotch! Drop it while it’s hot! *laugh* Right? *smile* You bewitching little creature! “Drop it!”

And why you might ask is a sweet dear-hearted woman writing this? Any of this? *smile* Because I‘m a victim.

I had a heartbreaking dream last night. I think the man who died on 9/11…decided to join one of my dreams. If I can talk to ghosts, he was arguing with me a while ago about the validity of “dating around.”

I hooked-up with like…four guys. In a matter of a few days. In my 20’s. And the one man I wanted hated me in my mind and thought I was absolutely nothing. …Because I was raised by “Midwestern farm people” probably? Or what? What was/is it? …Maybe I’m too stupid? Ugly? A bit ugly? Except I’m not. Evil! Am I evil? No? …Maybe just…I’m me.

So in this dream I just kept screwing around. Having “good sex.” Well, what passes for good sex to most people. *eye-roll* And the young men who acted like vain, vapid buffoons fell for it. Because they weren’t protective. They were idiots who didn’t change their bedsheets and thought I was cool. And I totally despised their gross weakness as men. And the vain, whorish women who pretend to understand what I do and be me. The ones who are dumb enough for the men to be superior enough to protect? In this sad, depressing world?

No. I’m sorry. If you’re narcissistically wounded by reality at this point stop before you smack your face into a brick wall trying to hurt me to “feel better.” …My blog is an ironic joke. *wink*

What’s my aura?! Huh? What’s my aura?! Is it gray?! Or black?!! Ooo! Ooo! I bet it’s a bright red vampiric tornado!!!! *magical hand waves* Just like Mark Zuckerberg!! Or Clarence Thomas! Or! Or! Or…just like Amber Heard!!! …Or no…she was evil last week. Some people are classics and others are just a flash in the pan, I guess.

And so where’s my dream prince byotches? Too busy being a sexy-superior-“gay-man” with straight *cough* and impressively-sex-obsessed-Jack? Happy (true) Pride Month America!

Shake it, “authentic” assholes of the dumb as heck 21st Century? (Tucker Max or Tucker Carlson embrace you depending on which party you affiliate with, byotches. You get your own “personal Tucker” either way. “Tuck, tuck!”)

Happy Fourth of July!!!!!

And Lem wonders why Lacey likes Harold Loeb and Louis. *eye-roll*