Taking the world back one cunt at a time...

Crazy ideas float to the surface and burst open like bubbles of new universes during casual conversations sometimes. I was faced with one of those ideas, the kind that maybe was crazy when I was too young to think all clear like I do now. The kind that suddenly makes sense wow, that is so crazy feeling bursting the surface. Lesbian-Feminist evolution is not unknown to me, but even my heart pounded, fork poised like in naked lunch as my friend uttered "I want to stalk and fuck wives, turn them into cunt hunters, destroy their lives their homes their families... I don't care, just show them the way, it is in them already -- every woman is born with it.".
I was stunned, the eidetic memory banks firing and finding no previous reference for this. I was excited. Not since Monique Wittig with her dissection explorations had I felt a jolt like this. In a way it made more since than war. Just take the world back one cunt at a time? Hells yes. Destroy the Vatican by converting, or since this in innate, diverting every nun and female in the roman catholic church, yes the little school girls, too. Easier to start with the young when undermining entire religions I guess.
Confident in the success with the nun and school girl thing, I would branch out to islamic cunts next. I love the head covering deal, it evokes the entire sensory filled fantasy of removing it. Maybe satisfy the Benazir fantasy that plagues me like a millstone some days of the month. Just typing this out is feeling like a pre-heart attack giddy nervous warmth in the room suddenly.
I cannot say how the hell I would approach the baptist cunts. I hope some of the army of cunt hunters I recruit will take them on. I cannot get past the helmet head fright wig buffet crowding whore for jesus fashion deal. I should not even have to look at that. Eww.
Imagine my little army, such lovely girls and women, all crossing into new territory yes finally, jewish women buddhist women, hell by then the army will be so huge we can just say all other women. Oh maybe I should be working on a design for their outfits.

Speaking of non-lesbians

Since I had to mention them, a few thoughts and memories here. The most addictive and destructive form women can take are the non-lesbians, the straight bitches. There are a few that work out more gently, like any decent drug would. The remaining are so alluring to lesbian eyes. The way people say they can tell who is gay, Straight Bitches be aware, we can spot you, too! And the math is totally in our favour.
Straight bitches can be enjoyed a variety of mind blowing ego inflating heaven glimpsing ways. They can be snorted, just run your nose all over one. Smoking one is nice, but for that I recommend two. Of course the big danger is when you cook one and shoot her up. Count yourself done and through, in need of detox when you reach this point.
My story to offer is a predictable tragic series of relapses and homes destroyed. Yes I said homes destroyed. What do straight bitches call lesbians? Home Wreckers of course. My story will not save any one that reads this I know. You have to answer the door, see with your own eyes , that woman with the suitcase and a baby who has arrived to be your's oh hell what have you gotten yourself into?!? Everyone has sympathy for the poor poor straight bitch got her home all wrecked by a big scary home wrecker! Not many are sad for the little sexy girlfriend you lose when the straight bitch comes to the door. No you are the one that did the drug, no sympathy for junkies, darling.
As with any other junkie behavior, you get out of hand and friends notice long before you ever do. They see you making a mighty fool of yourself escorting your stash of dope all around town. Having one night of raucous sexy partying with that drug is one thing, but that constant companion thing is like flaunting the addiction.
Lesbians become adept by enjoying the straight bitches as often as possible, but never three days in a row, that is the best advice I can offer. If you stray from this advice, well, I guess I'll see you around town acting like an idiot. Try not to insult me .

Making out is the lesbian handshake

That kiss in front of the naughty little nightspot was not the end of my lesbian endeavours in this life, I promise. It would be kind of cool to list all of them but that would be bragging and you would be jealous. In the usa, we have a very non-touch society. This cold and sterile disposition is of course melted away even steamy in lesbian life, and I have exploited it whenever possible. Every observation collected and stored in this gift or curse of eidetic memory.
When I reached about 23 I had already picked up on the lovely hugging and smooching I was doing with all of my friends every time I saw them, and every time we parted. Since all of my friends had been involved with each other at some point, it was sloppy and loud at greeting time.
By age 26, I was in the city and learning quickly to put some cool and aloof on the demeanour. The lesbian hug make out grope greetings became more uninhibited. It began to feel like connecting to women... to lesbians... oh the subtle yet powerful shift of that idea.
Everything I do is a lesbian act, I decided. I am a lesbian and I am doing this, right? The public physical displaying with other lesbians is our duty. When we make out we just mean "Hey, friend!".
Before your mind jumps there, I will address this : Yes , if we use the lesbian handshake enough, even non-lesbian women will shake hands with us . It is inevitable a few of them be a little intrigued , not to mention the occasional stripper that will be jealous. They are all harmless for the most part and really sweet. Count on getting some lesbian-action-seeking-non-lesbian's attentions, maybe even a nice long 13 minutes while hiding in the bathroom every time there is an office party.
Over the past twenty years I have seen a steady increase in the public use of the lesbian handshake. More than a few times I saw fagjackets displaying it .

In France they kiss on main street

Gosh was it only 30 years ago I was standing in front of that naughty little night club on Walton Way, kissing a girl ? I remember the moment in that frozen forever in my senses way. She and I were waiting on the sidewalk for her brother to bring the car around. Great idea we thought, since we were such refined ladies in those days.... er... sorry veered right of track there. We waited right as the drunken crowd had been flushed from the bar for the night. We had leaned into one another and my quivering 19 year old lips pressed into her thick sexy ones. The rushing thrill in my chest had me in a vice-tight grip for all of 13 seconds. Thirteen seconds such a short time until the first clue that all was not well in my imaginary lesbian paradise. "Queers! Look ! " and of course that melted into a cacophony afghan throw blanket of slurs. I was so naive I had even planned to ignore it. Then it became rocks and some pieces of broken brickbats. The beer bottles were added I guess to make a pretty sound. Of course they did, across the windshield as her brother had arrived at a moment that made the plymouth satellite look like a rescue ship.
This story is not at all a sad tale or a bad memory, because years later I saw something that made the same rushing thrill in my chest. The thirteen second thrill, not the rest of it. Gosh was it only ten years ago? Walking up the sidewalk, it was about the same time of late night early morning. There were a few partying folks still around in front of a place I knew well. I saw two girls kissing . It was great. No one would have even thought of harassing them, much less throw things. It was longer than thirteen seconds. It was longer than the ten years it has been. It will be the thrill I was robbed of thirty years ago. I guess Joni Mitchell was telling me the truth when she said " In France they kiss on main street " and I am so happy I took a few rocks and bottles for those two beautiful girls.

Blogs are the new fagjackets

Everyone seems to be shoving their 'blog URL' at me lately. I don't mind, I smile and say, "oh cool" but I really think this blog business is a bit overblown. I notice the less talented the author, the more likely the blog to be filled with mostly other peoples blog addresses and articles they lift from elsewhere. Not for me , I tell you.
No, I want that embarrassing tummyachey feeling depth of horror like only an adolescent would really understand. I think of that exhilaration of having a 'best friend' in junior high. Finding some great beautiful jackets when we both go shopping together. Wearing those jackets and being giddy in the back seat of Mom's old beater of a faded turquoise station wagon. We had no idea what waited for us at school.
Perhaps it was fate, maybe just because we looked like idiots, but it happened before we could even finish tumbling out of the wagon. It was being hooted from 20 yards away. Oh it was too late already. "Fagjackets... Fagjackets... two fags in jackets "
Mom could not hear, because that piece of a muffler was not really doing much for the old wagon. If you leaned over and looked underneath you could see the muffler had been repaired by ever clever Dad. You could make out the beer can that had been split down the side to wrap around the busted tailpipe. See the wire wrapped around the beer can patch. Would my humiliation have been more complete if the boys at school could glance under the car? Probably so.
I like that churning in the gut feeling now. But I never ever forget when it did not feel so great. Maybe that is why I transformed the feeling into something I chase constantly.
Maybe I have become a Fagjacket? Gosh the lining is so pretty too. I miss my old Fagjacket, sigh.