So. I like to dance. I like to go to a club and shake a leg on a crowded dance floor and get all sweaty jumping around to the fast numbers. And I love getting sweaty doing a sexy slow dance with a lover.
But I find nothing at all appealing to ballroom dancing. It bores me and so do the people I generally see doing it. I have never watched a continuous minute of the Dancing With The Stars TV show and all that I have seen has been as I flip between other channels. I didn’t even know what channel it’s on until this morning.
However, as of this morning, I am now a certified-bona fide-DWTS-watching-every-fucking-minute dedicatee. Dedicator? I’m now dedicated to watch.
When American Family and their splintered-off fellow hate group, Million Moms, started attacking Chaz Bono’s participation on the dancing show, something snapped in me. The levels of ignorant and blind hating by so-called Christian-based organizations is out of fucking control. This attitude that says, “Anything I don’t like is anti-American, anti-family and anti-moral,” is becoming terroristic. And tiring.
You shitballs want to boycott DWTS and their sponsors? I’m watching every fucking minute, buying each and every product the advertise and I’m voting for Chaz Bono. Early and often. I’m mobilizing the Johnson Family Interests telephone tree and we’re working to keep Chazzie on the show until the bitter fucking end.
I’m going to require extra Carta Blanca beer, additional “special” psycho therapy sessions and a potion to get me through this shit. When I asked Gram what she can do to help me get through the hour-plus each show seems to last, she said, “Lemme think on it.”
Just before I sat at my computer to bang this note out, she gave me her prescription.
“I’mma start with some creek water from up to where the cypress trees grow. Water’s got good color there. I’ll boil tha magic mushers in that, add some nanny goat piss, sum a that Rosebetty ya grow onna back patio, and put just a peench a hash oil in it.”
“Don’t you mean Rosemary, and why nanny goat piss, Gram?” I asked her. “You always use billy goat urine.”
“Nanny’s preggers, Mooner. A little prostesterone will do ya some good. You been leakin tears like a little girl.”
She’s right. I went over to Squatlo’s place yesterday afternoon and he posted a video of his wildlife photos. I cried a bucket of tears the first time I watched and a half-bucket the second time through. You need to click onto my blogie roller over there to the right and see what Squatlo’s pics look like. He’s a right talented little shit.
Anyway, fuck American Family and the Million Moms, and FUCK RICK PERRY! Drink Carta Blanca beer and come back manana, y’all.