I’m nervous.

So… Mr. Rothechilde was kind enough to let me post on his blog as a contributor. Oddly enough I didn’t have to submit any nudes or do anything otherwise unseemly! Why anyone would want me to post anything is beyond me. I don’t have a large amount of self esteem, but at the same time I’m totally vain. Vainglorious! I forgot I wanted to use that word from now on.

Anyway, I’m not doing any sort of “tell me about yourself” nonsense, because I find that annoying and stifling.  So here’s a poem. Don’t ask me what it’s about, because I’m sure as hell not explaining it. Poems are whatever you want them to be about. I posted this and a couple others on my Facebook as notes, but no one seemed to read them. If they DID read them, they didn’t comment. I didn’t expect much. Most everyone I know there is either related (and therefore lacking in good taste, breeding, intelligence, and caring about things like this), or completely self absorbed/only into funny things I post.  So, why the hell don’t I just shut up and post the fucking poem for god’s sake?

Consequences of Your Distraction

Our friendship is a one way street, and I’m putting up a roadblock.
Your attention is on the radio, and what you can glean from the lyrics
So you weren’t looking
At the signs.
You duck out of the weather reports and the self important traffic to give me a smile.
That’s all you have time for.
I do not have neon parts.
Nor am I willing to direct traffic naked.
Your loss is no one’s gain, because no one would understand anyway.
No one else speaks FRENCH
And neither do you, nor I, but we pretended.
In reality you stammer and stutter
Are very SHORT.
You sit on a pillow while driving, thinking your brain makes up for lack of height.
I wasn’t willing to be a backseat driver, more like a passenger.
You’re still listening to the radio.
I’ll wait for this song to end.



  1. I cannot begin to express my pleasure at seeing your lovely words once more. As for introductions, they can read about you on the “The Rothechilde Foundation” page (at least a part of you…) However, I do take umbrage in your calling me nice. You know as well as I that my purpose is completely self-serving: if I cannot get boob pics of my favorite nun, then I must have her words! Heh.

    Now look, I know that I am short, but I do not stutter all that much. I am on Internet radio and have about twelve listeners! Would they listen to a stammerer? Well, they probably would.

    1. I’m afraid they would never live up to the hype of whatever is in your head, and god knows what you have me doing up there! I can assure you the poem was not about you.

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