Madness With Zelda

Zelda loves Scott. But she doesn’t always treat him well. And Scott loves Zelda but he wants to move on…to a point.

A point?


And therein lies the problem.

When Lacey first had a perfume blog…she had a follower we’ll name Stacey. Stacey thought she was better than Lacey or thought Lacey should think so. Stacey hated her Hispanic heritage and looked for ways to seem more white. Lacey despised this.

And what could could be more white and “high-brow” and “Lacey” than F. Scott Fitzgerald? Right?

*Frank McCourt cracks-up laughing*

The thing is…Scott had been flirting with Lacey. And Zelda didn’t like it. And so…she worked with other dead folks and pulled a few strings, so to speak. Because Zelda isn’t stupid, y’all.

And…Nancy hurt Lacey and mocked her soul while swinging her narcissistic behind in Lacey’s face demanding Lacey worship her. On Zelda’s behalf? As Zelda’s unwitting emissary in the world of the living?

Was it fair? Hardly. Was it cruel? Yes. Was it all evil? …No.

Zelda isn’t stupid y’all.

“Well, you’s a fool, D-R, ha-ha!”

So Lacey stands still. Watching. Waiting. Because she wasn’t trying to steal someone’s man. She was trying to take back was just for her all along. That’s all. That. Is. All.

Since Zelda actually loves Scott she went through all those machinations for a reason not just to meaninglessly shake her behind in white jeans and pointy-toe heels to look like a grown “cool-kid.” She wants Scott. She’s not a machine without a soul in some rich man’s factory. She’s not a wannabe with no connection to reality.

So Lacey hopes they can move on. And so does Zelda. And they do?

Can life make that much sense? Can people have a point? Can ideas be going somewhere? Or are we past existing? Was survival so old-school?

“Well?” asks Michael to Lem. “What do you think?”

Lem thinks.

“Do we owe Stacey a thank-you note? She got rid of Joe, Joe, and Jack.” Michael says.

“That was more Zelda than Stacey. And Lacey isn’t really fine. You know that right?”

“Well, I mean…she writing a novel. What could be better than that?”

“Being alive.”

“Like us?”

“Not yet.”

“So which one of us wins?”

“Are we really going to discuss that right now?”

“Well, I mean one of has to win.”

“I hate that.”

“I know. We actually could have been real friends.”

“Oh well. Hey, we still could be.”

“You’re right. …Why is Harold buying root beer?”

“Root beer?”

“He always does these little things to win her attentions. And they work!”

“Shh! Don’t let know that Heaven is far better than Earth. They “know” that but they don’t know that. And these fools just think He’ll is a joke. At heart they seem to think you can shoot kids in the head and simply literally shake your ass enough and God will look the other way.”

“Are we racist?” asks Michael.


“I just hate evil!” says Zelda.

“Excuse me.” Lem leaves.

“I best go too.” says Michael.

“Harold is that root beer for Lacey?”

Harold walks off without answering.

Be careful Peaches.

Asmat or…Nobody Knows You When You’re Down And Out?

“As if?!”

“But I like to think at least things can’t get any worse.” Florence + The Machine

People love to vilify certain types of people. And who’s “pure evil” depends on who you ask.

The Jews are a popular group to hate. So are Blacks. …Whites in general are starting to gain some traction now too. But…rich white people are already familiar with being hated. So are really poor white people. And that my dears is why I like to “dismantle” the bourgeois. That’s my group of choice to despise. That’s my brand. Although I don’t hate. Truly. I just despise. And there’s a difference.

Bourgeois boils down to meaning any person who chooses to try to place socio-economic status and “power” over good in importance. Good as defined by C. S. Lewis. Look it up. It’s not on Wikipedia. It’s in his actual books…

“Bill Gates is pure evil!” some say. But is he?! And was Jack Kennedy really objectively good at art?

…Really? I doubt it. Sir Winston Churchill was brilliant and painted too. And I wouldn’t call his work technically “good” so much as profoundly emotive. There’s a difference. I’m not a great painter either, truly incidentally? But I too love to paint. It’s nice to put things in order…in a harsh world.

…I mean, he could be. But from my perspective he seems…overwhelmed by his place in the world. Prone to missteps. Prone to errors from lack of experience being in the upper-class. Because I highly suspect as privileged as his childhood was that he was raised mainly in the upper-middle class. Because the social classes aren’t arranged just by money. …At least, that’s what I suspect. *smile* But what do I know? *Peaches rolls her eyes and scoffs like an enraged alt-mean girl and the cool-kids cheer* Right?

But to other people Bill Gates is…like the Devil! *pearl clutch*

I was on Tik Tok and ran into a photo of Michael. (Not JFK’s nephew) And because it’s all fiction I imagined a ghost asking me…”What do you think of him?”

“It doesn’t hurt me. Do you want to feel how it feels?” Is something I’d never say. Because I don’t like lying to lovers. It’s just negatively distancing…

Warring tribes were seemingly a popular theme in the 1960’s. And after Lacey wrote a recent blog post she went and found synchronization with Jack’s words. On Mad Men. And also irony in one of my favorite (classic) songs by Eminem.

“You like Eminem!?” a gay male “friend” of mine asked in an accusatory tone in college. He must have believed I was lying. He liked to label me “a total soccer mom.” But we were never lovers. He dropped hints that he wanted to experiment with me but…but…I wasn’t as perfect as the Penelope Cruz lookalike he used to belittle me or ugly enough to be that liked by our mutual female “friends” so nothing happened. And I suspected he was a kind of a jerk at heart anyway…and I was waiting for marriage. …And he’d deny all of it now either way. Because that’s likely not “his” narrative currently. He’s always been…just gay. Because bisexuality is just a stop on the way to gayville. Right? Gaytown? Which one is it, bourgeoisie? You would know. And people love to hate me for getting these things wrong.

Not all people. Not all people hate me because I’m not just this or just that. I’m a human created by God.

I wonder. Would Jack have sent me to Asmat hoping I’d be eaten alive or kept hostage? In 1961? For Bobby’s birthday? Because they all shared Lem but didn’t like to do it honestly like the aboriginals? They all got “a slice” once and a while? *wink* Yummy!!! Jesus respectfully decline’s Eunice’s offer to share a hot piece.

*”Shake it, byotches!”*

Be careful Peaches. When the Asmat die…they don’t cease to exist. And that was their ultimate truth. And they believed it was also fact. They believed they could see spirits and talk to them too… Sort of like in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, right?

And they would have loved your whitish skin Peaches…with…syrup? No? Toasted? Boiled. Why boiled? Why not baked, grilled or fried? …Actually, marinating it might have been “lovely” too? Right? Does Julia Child get a say? She does (you responded yes?). Oh goody. …I hope you listen to her suggestions when you contact her?

Read the Smithsonian article I found yesterday night, Peaches. Read. Right? Because the narrative assumption is that you don’t. You don’t read. You’re basically almost illiterate outside of most (middle-class) pop-culture references according to the narrative sweetie. Dumb as a doorknob in reality but lovable *Aww!* to the bourgeois among us who also need your assumed Liberal vote, byotch. They need it real bad, Peaches!

Don’t worry, Liberals! I’m sure gay-Jack-pack Lem (symbolically) will come through. “Sex!” Votes! You name it. He makes it work out. …And look at his face and his sexy arms too… His ability to pick the right matching swim shorts and the right curtains and the right wives (fit other men)! “Damn. He good! Mmm!” Now shake your asses for the great leader!!! “Now!”

Happy hunting patriots. *wink*