Showing posts with label Whores. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Whores. Show all posts
Monday, June 16, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Hookers & High-Fructose!
Dear Blob!
It was an exciting weekend in The Ukulady’s UkulUniverse! Not only was it a Magical Slumber Party weekend at Chez Ukulady, with 3 delightful ally/pals, pallies, filling the house with Unicorn Hearts, but I was also mistaken for a Woman of The Night!
Clad in a vintage cotton-candy pink sateen gown, knee-high pink Fluevogs and blue tights, I, my Gexan (Gay Texan) and my Pirate Cheerleader High Priestess, (PCHP ((Not a drug or highway)) sheathed in orange muppet-fur, an orange baby-doll shift and knee-high army boots, were strolling down Western Ave, a seedy fast-food-shack strewn Los Angeles boulevard. It was midnight and we were headed from a Drunken Spelling Bee/Beer Chug to the car, when a man and his son, who appeared to be between 5 – 7 yrs old, approached. As they passed my trio, the boy accusingly squealed, “Hookers!”
Then, seat-buckled in the car, we drove past a taco truck and saw the man and boy, sodas in hand, strolling back from whence they came. While it was exciting to be mistaken for a street whore, I felt concern and sadness for the young city child, who, at midnight, was not tucked into bed, but walked the street-whore streets, drinking a high-fructose addiction-forming beverage, and at such a tender age, possessed hooker-awareness.
My Gexan has a diet Coke habit and needed a midnight thirst-quencher, so we stopped at the Echo Park 711, where we saw a teen mother feeding her baby Slurpee. Again, regret for a soda-drinking youngster surfaced, and I remembered why I think ET’s are totally uninterested in planet Earth. How pathetically unevolved we are.
In other news, if I owned a bakery it would be called Puffy Puffy Yum Yum and I would rename every baked good the Butter Cream Fat Pouch.
Love The UkuLady
It was an exciting weekend in The Ukulady’s UkulUniverse! Not only was it a Magical Slumber Party weekend at Chez Ukulady, with 3 delightful ally/pals, pallies, filling the house with Unicorn Hearts, but I was also mistaken for a Woman of The Night!
Clad in a vintage cotton-candy pink sateen gown, knee-high pink Fluevogs and blue tights, I, my Gexan (Gay Texan) and my Pirate Cheerleader High Priestess, (PCHP ((Not a drug or highway)) sheathed in orange muppet-fur, an orange baby-doll shift and knee-high army boots, were strolling down Western Ave, a seedy fast-food-shack strewn Los Angeles boulevard. It was midnight and we were headed from a Drunken Spelling Bee/Beer Chug to the car, when a man and his son, who appeared to be between 5 – 7 yrs old, approached. As they passed my trio, the boy accusingly squealed, “Hookers!”
Then, seat-buckled in the car, we drove past a taco truck and saw the man and boy, sodas in hand, strolling back from whence they came. While it was exciting to be mistaken for a street whore, I felt concern and sadness for the young city child, who, at midnight, was not tucked into bed, but walked the street-whore streets, drinking a high-fructose addiction-forming beverage, and at such a tender age, possessed hooker-awareness.
My Gexan has a diet Coke habit and needed a midnight thirst-quencher, so we stopped at the Echo Park 711, where we saw a teen mother feeding her baby Slurpee. Again, regret for a soda-drinking youngster surfaced, and I remembered why I think ET’s are totally uninterested in planet Earth. How pathetically unevolved we are.
In other news, if I owned a bakery it would be called Puffy Puffy Yum Yum and I would rename every baked good the Butter Cream Fat Pouch.
Love The UkuLady
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Brittney's New Website
Dear Blog,
I rarely have time to "surf" the internet, however yesterday, I found myself in the recording studio watching my producer mix and edit a UkuLady album track. It was kind of ackward sitting there, in the funsies rolling chair, watching him work, so I decided to do a little detective work online and see what Brittney has been up to lately. I've visited her official website before, which is where I learned of the launch of her perfume line, distressingly named, "In Control" (see www.TheUkuLady.com song page song called "Brittney's New Fragrance").
Her pre-rehab website featured pastel colors and a magical animated fairy blowing bubbles. Well Blog, there has been a major shift in Brittney's online marketing campaign. Her post-rehab website home page features a scantily-clad Spears, splayed out in a Come-Fuck-Me-But-First-You-Have-To-Unpeel-The-Tiny-Extremely-Low-Cut-Shorts-I'm-Barely-Wearing. Beside her whore-photo, are animated rotating "Dear Brittney" letters from fans. These rotating letters say things like, "Heal Brittney!" Tammi, Nebraska and "You are an extremely talented young woman and don't let anyone tell you otherwise!" Shep, Manitoba, Canada.
She's really good at doing a pouty child-like-pucker-fuck-me facial expression.
I'm glad I'm not her nanny, child or lover. She seems really high maintenence.
Love The UkuLady
PS: I also went to Lindsey Lohan's website, which also blends the popular Child-Whore image, featuring baby-pink heartsies and fucking hot pictures of Lindsey. She is totally sexy and hot. Brittney, not so much.
PPS: Hypocrisy Thrives! I'm referring to the worldwide epidemic of pedophilia, child-porn and the repulsive sexualization of children. Hellosies? How about not whoring out children? (see www.TheUkuLady.com songpage song "Poor Brittney") That will probably aid in the decline of the rampant epidemic which troubles me to repeat-the-nouns in writing.
If you're going to be a whore, admit it! Own it! Commit to it! Don't pretend you are a non-whore! Be a whore! But be a grown-up whore and lose the child-like fuck-me-pout.
PPPS: As my Best-Gay-Friend-In-Chicago says, regarding tummies, "Own The Roll!"
I rarely have time to "surf" the internet, however yesterday, I found myself in the recording studio watching my producer mix and edit a UkuLady album track. It was kind of ackward sitting there, in the funsies rolling chair, watching him work, so I decided to do a little detective work online and see what Brittney has been up to lately. I've visited her official website before, which is where I learned of the launch of her perfume line, distressingly named, "In Control" (see www.TheUkuLady.com song page song called "Brittney's New Fragrance").
Her pre-rehab website featured pastel colors and a magical animated fairy blowing bubbles. Well Blog, there has been a major shift in Brittney's online marketing campaign. Her post-rehab website home page features a scantily-clad Spears, splayed out in a Come-Fuck-Me-But-First-You-Have-To-Unpeel-The-Tiny-Extremely-Low-Cut-Shorts-I'm-Barely-Wearing. Beside her whore-photo, are animated rotating "Dear Brittney" letters from fans. These rotating letters say things like, "Heal Brittney!" Tammi, Nebraska and "You are an extremely talented young woman and don't let anyone tell you otherwise!" Shep, Manitoba, Canada.
She's really good at doing a pouty child-like-pucker-fuck-me facial expression.
I'm glad I'm not her nanny, child or lover. She seems really high maintenence.
Love The UkuLady
PS: I also went to Lindsey Lohan's website, which also blends the popular Child-Whore image, featuring baby-pink heartsies and fucking hot pictures of Lindsey. She is totally sexy and hot. Brittney, not so much.
PPS: Hypocrisy Thrives! I'm referring to the worldwide epidemic of pedophilia, child-porn and the repulsive sexualization of children. Hellosies? How about not whoring out children? (see www.TheUkuLady.com songpage song "Poor Brittney") That will probably aid in the decline of the rampant epidemic which troubles me to repeat-the-nouns in writing.
If you're going to be a whore, admit it! Own it! Commit to it! Don't pretend you are a non-whore! Be a whore! But be a grown-up whore and lose the child-like fuck-me-pout.
PPPS: As my Best-Gay-Friend-In-Chicago says, regarding tummies, "Own The Roll!"
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Whore Potatoes & Man-Breasts
Dear Blog!
Tonight I met the ultimate temptress; I call them Whore Potatoes, made with a secret midwestern recipe. I don't know what I mean when I say Whore Potatoes. Are the potatoes the whore or am I? I think it's me who is the whore for the potatoes. Or the potatoes are a fleet of whores, tempting me with their delicious fat-tastic flavor. The Whore Potatoes were also refered to, at the LA Orphan Easter/Pagan Dinner, as Crack Potatoes. Whore Potatoes is a friendlier term, I think. Whores are more socially-acceptabe than crack. Crack is just straightup totally unredeeming, while Whores are kind of sexy, like the Nevada Mustang Ranch whores or the unionized San Francisco whores.
There used to be a streetfood Chicken stand a couple blocks from my house, on historic Route 66. The Chicken Stand was a magnet for whores, who would linger, waiting for potential clients, the drunken chicken-eaters who would (pardon the pun) flock to the Chicken Stand because it was so delicous and open latenight. We always called it Whore Chicken. It was delicious chicken. These potatoes were outrageously delicious. They had cornflakes on top. Whore Potatoes are a once-a-year treat, unless one is interested in a sheath of winter-lard.
Love The UkuLady
PS: My Best Gay Friend is feeling fat these days (he's not) and tonight insisted he was plump and hence, forced to wear a blouse. He emphatically said to me, "I'm so fat, I'm wearing a blouse!". It was kind of true, the blouse, not the fat part. It was a loose-fitting shirt, which I've rarely seen him in. Loose-fitting garments and gay men don't really go hand in hand, unless they are in a show and need to wear something gauzy, billowy or flowy. BGF also insisted that the other day that he felt oddly uncomfortable and realized the uncomfortablity was caused by his breasts making a crease. He is concerned he has an A-cup and needs to wear a sports-bra. This is not the case. He's adorable and not even pleasantly plump or chubby. Man-Blouse and Man-Breast-Crease. Nothing for my BGF to worry about, but he won't listen to me. I'm just the UkuLady, not a hot gay man ready to get down. The word blouse is hilarious when used in the context of a gay man. Same with Breast Crease. Crease is a great word.
Tonight I met the ultimate temptress; I call them Whore Potatoes, made with a secret midwestern recipe. I don't know what I mean when I say Whore Potatoes. Are the potatoes the whore or am I? I think it's me who is the whore for the potatoes. Or the potatoes are a fleet of whores, tempting me with their delicious fat-tastic flavor. The Whore Potatoes were also refered to, at the LA Orphan Easter/Pagan Dinner, as Crack Potatoes. Whore Potatoes is a friendlier term, I think. Whores are more socially-acceptabe than crack. Crack is just straightup totally unredeeming, while Whores are kind of sexy, like the Nevada Mustang Ranch whores or the unionized San Francisco whores.
There used to be a streetfood Chicken stand a couple blocks from my house, on historic Route 66. The Chicken Stand was a magnet for whores, who would linger, waiting for potential clients, the drunken chicken-eaters who would (pardon the pun) flock to the Chicken Stand because it was so delicous and open latenight. We always called it Whore Chicken. It was delicious chicken. These potatoes were outrageously delicious. They had cornflakes on top. Whore Potatoes are a once-a-year treat, unless one is interested in a sheath of winter-lard.
Love The UkuLady
PS: My Best Gay Friend is feeling fat these days (he's not) and tonight insisted he was plump and hence, forced to wear a blouse. He emphatically said to me, "I'm so fat, I'm wearing a blouse!". It was kind of true, the blouse, not the fat part. It was a loose-fitting shirt, which I've rarely seen him in. Loose-fitting garments and gay men don't really go hand in hand, unless they are in a show and need to wear something gauzy, billowy or flowy. BGF also insisted that the other day that he felt oddly uncomfortable and realized the uncomfortablity was caused by his breasts making a crease. He is concerned he has an A-cup and needs to wear a sports-bra. This is not the case. He's adorable and not even pleasantly plump or chubby. Man-Blouse and Man-Breast-Crease. Nothing for my BGF to worry about, but he won't listen to me. I'm just the UkuLady, not a hot gay man ready to get down. The word blouse is hilarious when used in the context of a gay man. Same with Breast Crease. Crease is a great word.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Overdue Observations
Dear Blog,
FROM THE AUTUMN SIM & SOM SESSIONS...
1. What's the deal with celebrities flaunting 'n' flashing their shaved vaginas? If the pioneers or pilgrims knew their country had come to Paris, Brittney and Jenna Bush peekabooing their plucked cooters, they would probably become short of breath and choke on their salt pork snack.
2. Driving I5 between SF and LA there is a restaurant called The Apricot Tree, which is a pleasant stop as it houses a huge collection on vintage metal lunchboxes and thermi (plural thermos?). They have a giftshop which sells toy sleeping cats nestled in a basket and they breathe mechanically. They are fucked up. They also sell a book called How To Teach Your Child About God. I say, when they are about 18, give them some really good acid.
3. British-accented people talking about autistic artists.
A: He's Artistic!
B: Autistic?
A: Yes! Extremely Artistic!
B: Autistic?
A: Yes, Artistic!
4. Wussies from Worcester (using the appropriate New England accent)
5. Riding the Porkpole.
6. Living in the Pork Flats.
7. I'm a boarder in the whore quarter. That's what the filmmaker was who made that great documentary about the kids in the whore district in India. Good movie.
8. Like a Dove on Fire. FireDove - good album name.
9. Spungry - Spunky & Hungry
10. SimFluenza! That's what I have right now.
Love The UkuLady
FROM THE AUTUMN SIM & SOM SESSIONS...
1. What's the deal with celebrities flaunting 'n' flashing their shaved vaginas? If the pioneers or pilgrims knew their country had come to Paris, Brittney and Jenna Bush peekabooing their plucked cooters, they would probably become short of breath and choke on their salt pork snack.
2. Driving I5 between SF and LA there is a restaurant called The Apricot Tree, which is a pleasant stop as it houses a huge collection on vintage metal lunchboxes and thermi (plural thermos?). They have a giftshop which sells toy sleeping cats nestled in a basket and they breathe mechanically. They are fucked up. They also sell a book called How To Teach Your Child About God. I say, when they are about 18, give them some really good acid.
3. British-accented people talking about autistic artists.
A: He's Artistic!
B: Autistic?
A: Yes! Extremely Artistic!
B: Autistic?
A: Yes, Artistic!
4. Wussies from Worcester (using the appropriate New England accent)
5. Riding the Porkpole.
6. Living in the Pork Flats.
7. I'm a boarder in the whore quarter. That's what the filmmaker was who made that great documentary about the kids in the whore district in India. Good movie.
8. Like a Dove on Fire. FireDove - good album name.
9. Spungry - Spunky & Hungry
10. SimFluenza! That's what I have right now.
Love The UkuLady
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