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Rich White English King Seeks Mistress
2 Nov
May I call you my benevolent Queen?
I am new to this whole Internet thing.
Off with her head! I give you her jewels!
My first wife was my dead brother’s old wife—
she did not bequeath me with a new king.
May I call you my benevolent Queen?
My second, boy, she caused a lot of strife.
I regard her more as a royal fling—
off with her head! I give you her jewels!
I promise, with you I shant touch a knife.
If a virginal beauty, get more bling!
May I call you my benevolent Queen?
My Court entertains with playing of fife—
though you must will to be my calm spring.
Off with her head! I give you her jewels!
Answer my ad, I shall send you a ring.
Pleasure my royal rod, I shall make you wife.
May I call you my benevolent Queen?
Off with her head! I give you her jewels!
I hope I did not die a hoarder
2 NovI hope I did not die a hoarder
God help me if I died the cat woman— not the sexy leather wearing kind from Batman— the hoarding, oh-my-God-the-cats-ate- her-face, kind of pathetic folktale fate. Lord aid me if I died the leather face woman: too much sun soaked on the skin, a fake tan from indoor ultraviolet lit beds. I hope I die as pale, red as I hurtled into this world. Sigh… I hope I was finally skinny, like old ladies so often are in old age. Or did I die in a sea of stilettos too tight, faux furs, cocktails in hand, finally ready to meet the right guy?
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