Lately, my boyfriend’s performance art has been especially strange. Now that I think of it, so has our sex. I’m not saying that I don’t embrace the strange, I’m just saying I’m scared.
Last week we were stoned by my pool and I was off on this diatribe about how milk should really be illegal at this point, and I guess I inspired this piece. He told me I’m his muse.
We’re gonna need to break up soon.
Chic, no?
Tonight, I pray that no one thanks their fucking husbands or wives when they accept their academy award. It’s annoying. We get it. You’re married. You’re in love. You’re happy. Everyone’s looking at you. Everyone’s loving you. Even people who don’t give a shit about you are loving you right now. People who have been to zero of your movies are looking at you tonight like you’re a fucking goddess. This is your moment. Les Mis was a critical success and your vagina was an even bigger success. Your mom’s crying. All of your friends are really proud of you. You’re in love. You’re so thankful for your husband. Your hair is still so short. You’re kind of annoying. We get it.
