Homegirl! hits 50!

& no, not 50 years old, but if she did she'd be a red hot mama cruising around in a 1970s Dodge Challenger and she'd be wearing silver hot pants and a bikini top and a platinum wig and a fake beauty spot and big sunglasses, of course.

She wouldn't look anything like these lovely ladies, but bicepy guys would fight each other to get close enough that she could touch or even lick one of their big muscles...

I tried to find a picture of an old lady in hot pants. I googled "old ladies in hot pants." Nothing. I googled "old lady" in hot pants & I found this...

I'm not quite sure what it is, but maybe my balaclavaed anarchists can use it to keep their dicks/strap ons warm.




I'm celebrating by thinking of anarchist sex and balaclavaed rim jobs, of course, the nubby texture an added bonus, oh yeah; I gots 50 pages of Homegirl!


What 50+ years old Homegirl listens to as she slams Irish whiskey and reminisces...


Yours, but writing, always writing,
Ryder

Mama's a mean mama, but still

none of the shit I writes is about you; it's about expunging the darkness. Maybe it'll help you expunge your darkness; maybe it'll exacerbate your darknesses. If it does encourage the darkness, that's not what I meant, that's not what I meant at all.

I will have to wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled, then.

I will have to eats a peach or the peach'll eat me.

Everyone will come & go.

I'll let them cos I just don't give a fuck and there's no love song for me & there's no love song for Homegirl; but I'm not feeling sorry for myself.

Poor Homegirl, tho.

She's been too much around the darkness; she's been left in the darkness for a while and the only flash of light in the darkness's been an ex-Marine. The ex-Marine liked strippers and cunts and pinball and Oasis, and was a hipster before there were American hipsters and Homegirl ate that shit up.

Of course.

There are no mermaids where hipsters are involved.

There is Homegirl and darkness & neither's singing each to each.

& that's it; & that's all.

Yours temporarily,
Ry

Homegirl! is my girl

A piece of Homegirl!: Homegirl! just wants a piece; get it up for Homegirl!; another piece of Homegirl!'s up at Sleep. Snort. Fuck.

This ain't bragging...

I feel so bad for Homegirl!; I make not so nice things happen to her.

I want to protect her, but that nurturing thing musta skipped my DNA.

I want to protect her but then that protective feeling pisses me off and makes me want to do mean things to her, like sucker punching her or renting the apartment next to hers and blasting "The Trumpets Ole Play Instrumentals" at max volume or dressing up like a Mormon and bringing by pamphlets with transvestite porn mixed in and making her listen to a mash-up of Joseph Smith and lady-boys doing it (she'll be so confused and turned on), or stealing her boyfriend, or stealing her boyfriend and putting him in an anti-drug PSA, preferably one with a swimming pool or a drive thru and impending doom, and that PSA'll play every time she can't sleep cos of the Newlywed Game theme coming from next door where her ex and I are making whoopie all throughout the apt.

I think nice things are waiting for Homegirl, tho, in the end. Maybe.

Terminally ambivalently yours,
Ry

Broke my cardinal rule & entered your bender

with disastrous results, of course; I am all bruised, physically, etc etc. There is fodder fodder fodder here and Homegirl will be munching the fodder; the fodder'll be coming out her ass by this time tomorrow.

24 hours to digest, biotches.

I'm back in the Alabamas and glad to be back, for once. That's how disastrous that bender-jumping turned out to be. I'm gonna sit on my porch with my shotgun and a jug o whiskey and that won't be ironic and I'll wear big sunglasses and fuschia hot pants and I'll count your finger tipped & finger shaped bruises vs. the coffee table edged bruises on my legs and if anyone tries to talk to me it'll be their fucking lucky day cos I'll give them a warning shot first to get the fuck off my shit.

Nicey-nice news: Homegirl flashes

More nicey-nice: Homegirl'll flash again, I promise.

More nicey-nice: I like merry widows and garters.

Most nice: Home

I'd have more in me but just flew across the country in a compact car crammed full of my stuff + two dogs. 15+ hours to get over the Mason-Dixon; met some nice Floridians and sweated in my kneehigh motherfucking cool ass boots I wear to scare rednecks at rest stops.

Bruised all over, but still yours,
Ry

More Homegirl!, more juice, more meat, more voice, more tongue...

Another piece of Homegirl!'s been published at The Meth Lab:
Homegirl vs. The Shadow

Check this zine out cos it's naughty & needs a proper spanking or somethingsomething...

& when I finish Homegirl! and get her published I'm gonna send a copy to the editors of Sleep. Snort. Fuck. and The Meth Lab for giving Homegirl a place in their hearts &/or their minds &/or their dirty places & on their sites.

I'm also gonna send a copy to Sam Pink cos he will be my boyfriend, then.

Your cybergirl,
Ryder

Homegirl!: to the window, to the wall...ah skeetskeetskeetskeet skeet

Facebook - i hate you and your assface, too

So I was tot psyched cos I was going to create a FB profile for Homegirl! (her name was totally gonna be Homegirl! on FB to distinguish her from all the other FB Homegirls, but FB don't recognize that name as legit, can you believe it?) cos I thought it would be fun and I've been working all week and I'm bored bored bored. Homegirl could have her own friends and Homegirl could tot update her status with all the inappropriate things I want to but can't cos a bunch of my relatives, not to mention the rents, are friends with me on FB.

Things like:

Homegirl! is horny.

Homegirl! wants to see yr naughty bits.

Homegirl!'s hungover & puking up last night's 'ros cos she's classy like that.

Homegirl! does it doggy & does it better.

This was gonna be her profile pic:

Or maybe this:

But not this:

cos that's just too cute...

even if we all need a montage every now & then
(guess the movie & I'll be your FB bff).

What if my name were really Homegirl!, tho? Fuck you, FB and your normatizing normalizing sanitizing commodifying homogenizing bullshit of telling me my name ain't legit. & I give you bastards a plug in my new novel, Homegirl!, in the very first fucking chapter no less.

Yours against the MAN (who's everywheres),
Ry

P.S. Sam Pink, if you're bored and reading my blog, be my FB friend, please. I know you will do a tot awesome job at writing the intro-poemy thingy for my chapbook. I know cos my astrologer told me so, well, she wasn't really an astrologer she was just a lady on a bus who smelled kind of pukey and was twitching and talking bout 2012 and the Mayans and how only you, Sam Pink, can either prevent or bring the apocalypse by writing my intro-poem thingy, but she wasn't sure which...I will come find you to thank you in Chitown in November cos I'm going to see Nick Cave! and I will bring you a tshirt from the ironic hipster standing in front of me blocking my view & acting too cool. Maybe I'll bring you his/her overly large ironic glasses, too, if I can resist the urge to pulverize them with a tallboy of PBR cos in Milwaukee, according to Spin or some other guardian of cool, we Miltowners drink PBR unironically, & irony + anti-irony (me drinking the Pibber) + irony (using the hipster's ironic lager as a cudgel) = crying hipster crying crying crying all the way back to Lake Forest and mummy's pill cabinet.

All quickies are not equal

or bad...

My black-balaclavaed anarchist story's already up at > kill author.

Believe it.

Let me lie here for a sec and catch my breath.

Big props to the eds!

Yours, soon to be panties-scrounging around the floor,
Ry