CELEBRITY SIGHTING IN MALIBU

CELEBRITY SIGHTING IN MALIBU:

MATTHEW NELSON of NELSON was spotted today in Malibu.

He drives a Porsche, btw.

If i grew up on a farm, and was retarded, this country might impress me...

but instead i'm stuck here in this shithole, sewing up a dream of George W.'s America...

And if Mittens wasn't sleeping on my soapbox (one of the few ammentieis i'm allowed here in this dungeon), I'd would climb right up on top of it to say a thing or two. About the fleeting wills and wants of a little old hand-maid with some knitting skillz.











i feel whittled to the fucking knuckles. (aint no thimble gonna cure me).

.

and more on Mittens later; all depends on how much a-stichin' i gets done this evening if i'm gonna scribe yous a little something-something before i crawl up on my straw bed and--

it's getting better all the time...

didn't lose a single sock out on the line today, or in the wash...

must be my lucky day!

there isn't much light in this dungeon

...but, as an old negro plantation worker said to me as i was ducking behind some scrub brush to squat and relieve my rusty old bladder, “What cannot be endured, must be altered.”

i bet a girl with severe brain damage didn't hit on YOU today!

(is that a Beatles song?)

i don't know what else to say; it was just too depressing to put into words (and on so many levels).

so, in lieu of that, George Washington and John Adams and John hancock, and all of that (Paul Fucking Revere, am i right?!)...

American flag, yada yada yada...

this darns flag...

anyhow.

oh, blah... 'D' (omg, iz pixtures heavy)

i'm fixing a hole... where there's a tear in one of the pouch's in my bra. don't know how it got torn. but, life goes on, as they say...

(bah!)


got a neat little stitching project to take me away from this darns flag, anyhow.

---

fixing it right there.





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but, today must be my lucky day!

my master, Mr. W., let me out of my cellar to enjoy enjoy some of this mysterious countryside weathers (still haven't got a fucking clue where i am). he even lent me his old fashioned bicycle-thing:



fucking thing didn't even work, tho (i mean, come on. look at those wheels). but i had fun... out there in the sun and clouds... fresh air all around...

only on the way home i gots me a flat tire in the littler rear wheel. had to fix the damn thing myself in the middle of a cornfield, where right after i started back up again i was met with a black crow launching off for flight right in front of my very eyes.

It looked just like this (only with one crow):



but, when i got home, there was a lovely little parking space for the bicycle next to the brown shed where Mrs. W does her business. hooray.

then i ate some lovely little porridge i made for mittens and me.
warms me up inside.

(and now it's back to work on the fucking flag.)



butt.



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...by the way, check this out:






















(imagine how much fun that bicycle seat must be having.)

"And don't grow tired of listening to me, because it's all for your own good."

... that's what that mean old man said to me. that mean old Mr. George W. he's got a mean old hand, he does.

here i am, stitching away ever so stitchily, got two and one-third stars done on moldy gray, like, totally off-white thread... and it's all cold and cruddy in here! i mean, seriously, with all this darkness all around me, how am i supposed to tell a decent yarn?

Mittens has nearly caught hisself a frightful, chilly cold; and i'm just barely making ado with myself here. the Finnish maid-servant brought me some icky curdled, but, you know...

ick.

that mean old Mr. George W. (and you wouldn't believe what he's charging me per yard for this yarn.)

here's a picture of an unhappy puppy (not my Mittens!)...

there isn't much light in this dungeon

and it isn't getting any brighter...