Here's an early one. Off to do a special performance of the Off-Broadway kid's musical I do.
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It's gotten to a point that when guys say "I'm gonna cum" I've developed a habit of responding "dooo itttt" in a deep voice. #isthatweird
Look at me, Carole.
I’m basically beef jerky with tits.
No – No, I don’t need –
I don’t need you to trundle out
Your creaky old “inner beauty” speech.
Drink your scotch, frown if you want to,
But let me finish.
I’m scrappy. I’m pretty awesome. There’s a flint and a
chisel
To my walk. And
dudes, sometimes -
Sometimes, they don’t deal.
Want that cream-colored prize they’ve been promised
Time and again.
But a woman. A woman isn’t a prize, you know?
You’re not supposed to hunt them, or strike them down
With absurdly powered weapons,
And just prop them up at family gatherings…
The point?
Yes, yes, Carole. I’m getting –
I’m fucking getting -
The point. Power. Don’t
we deserve power?
There’s a moment, when you’re with some guy,
And all those layers of the carefully stitched persona are
plucked,
And he’s afraid. He has every reason to be afraid.
He doesn’t know you yet. You don’t know him,
How he works, feels in his body. This, this is the test.
You are sending a message to each other,
As you breathe.
And that, that is when, when he’s tender, you can squeeze.
You can take some of that power back
And watch.
Then you know what he’s really like.
If he laughs, shakes until the two of you oscillate,
He’s a rare one. Keep him close.
If he freaks, take him out. Get him out of your pussy.
Use your power.
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