i think a dead baby just fell out of my goddamned ass. my insides work when they want to and QUIT WHEN THEY DON'T, and i've written before about how my uterus likes to play "hide the menses," sometimes for months at a time. i'm back on the birth control, not so much to regulate my period as it is to regulate the porcupine needles sprouting wantonly from my goddamned chin. so i haven't needed a tampon since may. and here's the hilarious thing about having as many maladies as i do: not a single one of my doctors gives a shit. NOT ONE. even the gyne. no period? NO PROBLEM. everybody's all "let's cross that bridge if you ever want to destroy your life by thinking about hatching an alien," then they write me scripts for all the shit i take that would immediately abort a fetus from my womb the minute it hit my bloodstream to try to get my immune system turned all the way up or shut all the way down. whatever the solution (pfffft) is this week. the tricky thing about the crohn's is that i am always in some discomfort, and that's not a problem until symptoms get all similar and shit. i always miss the warning signs of a flare because i can't tell menstrual back pain from HOLY SHIT I'M GOING TO DIE back pain until it's too late and i end up in the emergency room. it's probably terrible to witness, the "is this pms or is this imminent death?" internal debate. i typically stand around a lot trying to tune my brain to the source of the pain while also trying to work (it's always when i'm working, this fucking job, DAMN) and trying to stay calm.
anyway, yesterday my back was KILLING ME. i threw a bunch steroids at it and briefly considered calling my hot doctor. but he never really says anything, just asks me a bunch of questions that i'd need a fucking medical degree and a cat scan to adequately answer. and i was too tired for that shit. so i just went to karen's and laid around with dorothy and nan and tried not to think about it while they filled my old ass in on pretty little liars (who?) and what the kids are listening to these days (trey songz and nicki minaj, evidently). and i lived. so that worked.
same back pain today, less severe, and the seventh time i went to pee before noon (freals, these diuretics come from SATAN) i turned to look in the bowl after i wiped and what appeared to be a half-incubated fetus was settling at the bottom of the water. it looked like a little pink napkin someone had accidentally dropped in a bowl of soup, clumpy and feathery and beginning to fray at the edges. i started to reach in and get it out so i could bury it or something, or at the very least ask it to sign my power of attorney paperwork (ungrateful brat, I'M NOT GOING TO BE AROUND FOREVER), but i've already told you that i possess zero maternal instinct for any creature that isn't tiny and feline, so i just tossed some toilet paper on it and flushed it to heaven after staring at it for a small eternity. then i had to dig around inside my vagina for a few seconds to make sure it hadn't been twins.
HERE IS THE THING, THOUGH. everybody and their grandmother knows that if i had a child based on the last time i got laid that motherfucker would be old enough to drive by now, so if this indeed WAS a little babyfriend, I JUST FLUSHED THE NEXT MESSIAH DOWN THE GODDAMNED TOILET. holy fucking shitballs, congregation. can you even believe that shit?! what was i THINKING?! the most immaculate child ever conceptioned just slid out of the crack of my hairy ass, and i callously rolled the stone away from the tank-fill valve so he could rise again in the sewer. what kind of monster deprives the entire world of the second coming of its savior?! mexiricans are busy wearing their knees out praying to virgin mary images in grilled cheese sandwiches and the condensation sweating off an elote cart, and meanwhile the virgin samantha is over here poking at tiny black jesus with a number two pencil. (why do we have those in the goddamned bathroom? also, i smelled the pencil to make sure He wasn't doody. just to complete the visual. He wasn't.) what does the bible say about this?! nothing happened to the jews who killed JESUS I other than unfortunate noses and total control of hollywood and the mainstream news media, so what is the worst god is going to do to ME?! boundless intelligence and incredible wit?! BRING IT, heavenly host.
i don't know enough theologians that i take seriously enough to ask something like this, but if any of you do FEEL FREE. then call a bitch up and tell me what the odds that i've just induced the apocalypse are. it also might be worth noting when you consult the priest or whomever that more material is continuing to ooze out (fingers and toes and entrails, most likely) and i am now saving His Holiness on an always pantiliner that kind of won't stay firmly attached to my underwear. but i'll do what i can to keep Him safe. also, if you wouldn't mind asking, does this mean that i somehow had sex with god? and if i did, could the priest ask Him how i was? who cares about my performance with regular dudes, but i really want to know if He had a good time. okay okay okay, FINE. just find out if i was at AT LEAST better than MARY. i mean, that bitch was a virgin. and i slept with an exotic dancer once who taught me what CBT means. there should really be no comparison.
between the wretched heat and this dastardly crohn's i'm going to be dead by tuesday, so maybe JESUS II was trying to break free before ending up cremated alongside me and my collection of leather pigs. please come to my funeral and try not to talk too much shit in front of my family. god, NO ONE is cute in this weather. that's right, not even you. because most women need a little base or at least a dab or two of blot powder on their faces to look put together (EVEN ME, and my skin is PERFECT), and in this fucking balls hot worst summer ever that is totally impossible. i haven't used face cream, body lotion, or makeup since april. every shower i take is cold, and even then i am sweating at the hairline the minute i step outside. which isn't helped by this hair that is already SO LONG and curling all down the back of my sweaty neck. OMG. that is totally the reason why my hair is growing so fast! all of that blood of the lamb running through my heathen veins!
i wish i had known i was walking around with a little genie in my fucking lamp, because i would've rubbed my belly a long time ago to try to force him out and start having my goddamned wishes granted. this summertime bullshit would be OVER, and a lot of you bitches who've crossed me could consider yourselves SMITED. especially since this heat makes me too lazy to do any dirty work myself. helen is accustomed to this sweltering nightmare because of the time she spent gestating in hell, and even she is dragging ass lately. she only eats when the air conditioner is blowing directly on her (fucking diva) and the other night i retrieved her cat dancer and drinking straws from where i hide them so she won't wake me up in the middle of the night chasing that bullshit around my goddamned hardwood floors and she looked at me with the dirtiest "BITCH, PLEASE" face i have ever seen. i wither beneath her gaze.
could you imagine if i brought JESUS II home to helen? she'd have His little swaddling clothes ripped to shit in a matter of minutes. i keep telling her that she's adopted and not really my child, and i'm sure the presence of the fruit of my womb (and the son of Our Father, no less) would send her over the edge. i'm sure she'd make me get a bible (where do they sell those?) out and prove it to her. um. "...his arms and legs like the gleam of burnished bronze, and his voice like the sound of a multitude.” a creamy sunkissed complexion and big-ass mouth? DEFINITELY MY OFFSPRING. take that, helen. the bridegroom cometh and He shalt destroyeth your little evil behindeth if you don't get the hell away from His crib.
oh man. i've managed to raise the nastiest piece of shit cat on the face of the earth. think about what i'd do entrusted with the lamb of god. don't even think i wouldn't be harnessing that power to my advantage. there is nothing on the planet i'd be without. first order of business, disciples. and by "disciples" i mean MANSERVANTS. young, scantily-clad, mute, and dripping with manna from heaven. little j and i would just be kicking it HARD. no more job (sorry animals, but you can join us on the ark if you really miss me that much), no more bullshit, and no more bitches gotta eat. you hoes will just have to find another monkey to make you laugh, because i'll be too busy directing myself, denzel washington, and twelve other hot apostles in a production of the last sexer. does anyone have a sturdy dining room table i can borrow? PLEASE?! i'm just saying, i'll be too busy participating in celebrity gangbags to write this raggedy bitch. but you can come over and babysit jj while his stunt dads and i handle our business if you like. don't even worry, He changes his own diapers and heats His own bottles and stuff so you won't have to think about getting messy. He'll even put Himself to bed! (don't worry if He doesn't get up for a few days. just sit outside His room and when He does arise we'll throw a big party with dyed eggs and marshmallow peeps and baskets full of chocolate. you'll love it!) you can just watch cable and eat whatever's in the refrigerator as long as you don't keep up too much noise with all your speaking in tongues and singing songs of jubilation. that little dude is just like MAGIC.
i need to go get a plunger and try to ressurect that little cluster of eternal life, because my enemy list is growing by the minute and i am too sick and tired to go about getting blood in the center of my palms the conventional way. splinters are for suckers. and i need a cure for this damned crohn's. i wish i had known a month ago that the "deep abdominal cramps" i was feeling was really the horn of salvation trying to take root and feed off of my insides. instead of racking up a hundred thousand dollar medical bill i would have just checked into a convent. FOR FREE. what? why are you looking at me like that? bitch, i saw sister act! i could totally pull that shit off. besides, i look really good in all black. and i know SO MANY showtunes.
the real dilemma, obviously, is that i loathe almost the entirety of the human population, and news that a little baby jesus is riding around in a snugli strapped to my back is sure to spread. then all you lepers and whores will be dragging yourselves up to my doorstep trying to get Him to lay a tiny healing hand on your miserable asses and, as much as mommy would love to have her feet washed by some prostitute's matted hair, she does not have the patience for that shit. really, i'd be kicking worshippers in the face twenty minutes after their incessant knocking and pleading roused me from my slumber. i'd stomp down the staircase of our palatial floating mansion with the king of the jews slung on my hip with a baseball bat in my free hand playing home run derby with the heads of His followers. better still i'd probably just drop Him out of the window (He'll land on His feet, just like a kitten), so He can bless and cure them without getting on my damn nerves.
i should stop fantasizing. too little too effing late. the lion of the tribe of judah has already returned to elohim, and all i've got to show for it is a backache and a soggy always. not even one lousy child support payment. happy weekend, kittens. GO TO CHURCH. and tell my babydaddy i said "hey, boo!"