Chicken (Bawk, Bawk, Bawk!)

Hey, you! You walk around all day like you are a normal, stable person and maybe even own a car and a blazer, but guess what? You are hiding some totally lame secret fear. And if you’re not careful, it might crawl out from underneath your bed and eat you. Think about that while you drive around in your blazer, Mr./Mrs. “Well-Adjusted”!

Hmm, I’m not really sure where I was going with that. My introduction kind of ran away with me. But this post is about Things That Scare You! Or, you know, Things That Scare Me, because you’re not writing this post (but you can totally write 18 comments about how you sleep with a nightlight and a teddy bear and a knife because you’re afraid of the Boogeyman, if you’re so inclined).

I am scared of barking, snarling dogs. I love dogs, but I have an atypically high number of friends with horrible facial scars from doggies biting them (okay, only 2 scarface friends, but still). You can’t come back from that shit.

I am also afraid of people who follow me, because as gorgeous as I am, I am afraid they’re going to pull something terrible out of their pants and try to put it inside me, such as a knife (see what I did there?).

I am afraid of clowns. When I was little, I was at a carnival thing inside a big circus tent, and we were sitting high up in the back. I was grooving on all the trapeze artists and the big fat elephants, and then I turned around the way you always do when you can feel someone looking at you, and who was there? A clown. A tall, scary, unsmiling clown, staring me dead in the eyes. You can’t come back from that shit either.

This post is pretty boring. I am boring myself just writing it. But I haven’t posted anything in a few days and I know my sexual little readers will just DIE without some new material. So, here you go. Hopefully something interesting will flit into my brain and then I can entertain you all instead of talking about my bad childhood clown experiences.

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Cat-Owning Apartment Pimp

I can’t wait ’till I have my own apartment. I don’t even really mean my own own, because living with housemates is fine by me. Rattling around in a flat, even a tiny one, with myself and my overactive imagination, is not a good idea. I’d prolly end up killing a Jehovah’s Witness or some Girl Scouts in a fear-induced rampage, and nobody wants that. (Although, hey, free Samoas!)

But seriously, people of the Internet, if you are reading this from the comfort of anywhere that isn’t your parents’ house or a dorm room, feel happy. Just think of all the advantages you have!

  1. You can be naked ALL THE TIME. I am partial to strolling around in my panties, personally. (And also alliteration. Ha, I did it again!)
  2. Speaking of being naked, sex! Whenever you want! On your kitchen table, perhaps. Or the couch. Or the floor.
  3. YOU WILL HAVE SO MUCH MORE ROOM FOR ACTIVITIES.
  4. You could have bear-wrestling contests in your house, if you were so inclined. Or if that’s not your thing, you could run a brothel. Apartment = instapimp, just add ladies.
  5. You can smoke! I don’t mean ciggies, although I suppose you could, except that’s a bad call (forecast: heavy coughing with a severe chance of lung cancer. Unless they’re Blacks, and then mmmm). I mean something a little greener.

When I have my own place, I am going to make it really cozy, with lots of rugs and squishy mismatched chairs and possibly a fluffy gray cat named Felix. And hopefully a balcony.

Oh, yeah, and maybe a special bear-fighting ring.