part Mommy blog, part angry feminist rant. Part food blog, part personal atheist manifesto. My musings as I come to terms with a failed adoption attempt and living in one of the world's most misogynist societies.
Here's my **snerk** vision for you. You see, I live in Papua New
Guinea, where we worship Pikkiwoki. (Google him, he's real). Anyway, I
was preying to Him the other day, via an involved ritual that required
me to carry a pig and as many coconuts as I could (in preparation for
the ORSUM afterlife Imma going to have with Him [Mud Be Upon His
Name]) and I had a Vision for you. At first I thought it might be the
malaria kicking back in, but Pikkiwoki ASSURES me it's real.
Anyway, here's what Pikkiwoki says your future holds. You're all
actually queer (not that there's anything wrong with that) and Santa is
going to come to you in **insert gender of choice** and dress in his
most enticing best (Imma betting sequins and Birkenstock's) and you're
going to be overcome with teh mad gay passion and get all jiggy with Gay
Santa. And one of Gay Santa's minions (probs me, cos I am TOTES his
Handmaiden) is going to video it and put it up on The Tubes of You and
people ALLLL over the world are going to laugh their fucking arses
**pardon the pun** off, when Pikkiwokki reveals that your homophobic
rantings are really the pathetic cries of repressed, evil little
douche-canoes who use a Bronze Age book written by goat herders to
justify their hatred.
But wait, there's more!
squirm around the various forms of media, like so many of your
hate-filled ilk have done before you when their represses sexuality is
finally discovered and their previous hate-filled sermons turn out to be
a repressed loathing of themselves, as you snuffle and tap-dance across
Twitter or FB or Faux News, trying to justify your "outing", Pikkiwoki
and his totes BFF, Satan (oops, sorry, dyslexic slip), are going to be
sitting up there on Mount Wilhelm PISSING their pants with laughter. Cos
PRIOR to your furtive couplings, Santa has filled his various
gay-friendly orifices with the harshest of FUNDIE BULLSHIT ARTIST
HATING AMOEBAS, which will have found their way into your bloodstream
and have given you all the most AMAZING case of Galloping Knob/Pussy
rot. It's like a gift from Pikkiwoki, you know? FBAHA is Pikkiwokki's gift to True Scotsmen everywhere.
Your various organs will gradually and painfully begin to look like
you've contracted some nasty hemorrhagic virus, like Ebola. And you
will die in the most excruciating way imaginable and at the very last
second you will realize that YOUR god is long dead, and Pikkiwoki is DA
ONE, and his face will be turned from you (Cos he's eating pigs and
coconuts up there on Mount Wilhelm) and you will die screaming his name,
And when you get to whichever dark recess of hell
that is reserved especially for slime like you, you'll meet Mr Huckabee
and John McTernan and Pat Robinson and Ken Ham, and your special
Pikkiwoki punishment will be that your eyelids never close and you have
to spend eternity looking up at teh gays and teh feminists and teh
godless liberals, to whom Pikkiwoki will grant eternal life and you'll
see the transformation of our society without bottom-dwelling fucktards
like yourselves, and it will be good. And gay. And queer and straight
and asexual and transgender. And fair. And equal. And rational and informed. And what's between
your legs won't define whether you can legally bind to someone. It won't
be words like homo. Or hetero. There will just be love.
you'll hate it. And you'll decry our lovely new civilisation with your
puny hatred-filled voices, even from the pit of Hell.