The half-moon is the apostrophe between the Z and the S. The heavy breathing of the monster and skeleton sent the bed-skirt flying upwards, covering my exposed legs. The howling wind came through the opening of the glass like a straw and ripped the sheepskin right off my hide. Sleep is the cousin of death because I woke up sweating bullets hearing “ant ant ant” from my alarm clock. The time was handcuffs, handcuffs, handcuffs. 3:33. The colon between the numbers were batting it’s eye lashes like it wanted a conjugal visit. I had 13 inches free; my other foot and both my hands were tied up. An imperfect 10 was getting even with me. It’s like the lump transferred from the oddball to the throat how I was engaging in emotional eating. I couldn’t swallow because I knew this She-Devil stuck her forked-tongue in my breakfast in bed. The blood is the only part of the steak the vampire likes. Why does Cupid shoot arrows without good directions attached to it? Because everywhere I go makes me weak in the knees and I keep falling for a head over heels, whose favorite piece of the shoe is the shank. Maybe I wouldn’t be in these situations if my favorite part changed from breast to sole? Skeleton hands wrapped around her ankles and pulled the little closet freak under. The time I copped I spent wisely freeing myself with the 3rd little piggy. Got out the big house and the first thing on my to-do list wasn’t a brick house with wolf pussy.
I want a check sign next to a signed check. Number 2. I wanna walk in the bank like my shit don’t stank. 3:33. I want fuzzy handcuffs slapped on my wrist by Fine M. Banker for not taking off my hat and shades. You see, the hat for the one-eyed-monster I call Mike Wazowski. The shades to block sonny boy and little miss sunshine. But I’ll gladly take off my pants to show you I don’t have a gun in my pocket. But I do keep a pair of red striped white socks stuffed in my pants; Get your mind out the gutter. I know what you’re thinking. “Them there socks make up 9 inches of the 13 inches from earlier.” Yeah, you’re right …. because I was referring to my shoe size, not my penis, genius. And I know what you’re not thinking judging a book by its cover, “He gotta put ‘em somewhere since it’s a fashion faux pas to wear ‘em with Sperrys.” This reminds me of how much you and your girl got in common. My ensemble was the topic of our conversation last night on the phone. She asked, “What you got on?”
With Roman Originals reporting a 347% sales increase and 70% of people seeing white and gold online, I can only assume this is how they’ll react when they see The Dress in person. Welcome to the 30%. Which I was ALWAYS a part of by the way 🙂
Content Warning: The following post contains a sensitive sexual topic that will seem like the author is being insensitive about if not read carefully.
“If she can’t breakdance in them, they are too tight,” said Sydney Australia judge Frank Tsoukatos to Michael Oinegue Gonzalez after 9 more women came forward with rape accusations.
In April 2008, the friend of Mr. Gonzalez’s ex-girlfriend was comforting him about his breakup. The two met for drinks before going to his Surry Hills house to listen to music. She told Sydney District Court they went upstairs to his room because he wanted to show off his drum set. Instead of playing, that’s when Mr. Gonzalez allegedly pushed her on his bed, pinning her down. “I struggled to get up for a while and … then he undid my jeans and … he pulled them off,” the woman said.
During the May 2010 trial, the jury of six men and six women sent a note to the judge asking, “How exactly Mick took off her jeans? We doubt those kind of jeans can be removed without any sort of collaboration,” the letter read. Consequently, the jury voted the sex was consensual.
Now 4 years later, nine more women have come forward accusing Gonzalez of rape. The women reported to police the assaults took place between November 2010 and March 2012. All after the original woman. 3 of the 9 claim Gonzalez repeatedly sexually assaulted them and despite taunts they were afraid to go to the police. “He was bragging about how he got away with it the first time and about how he could do it again. And I believed him. Based on my fashion preferences I knew I would have been scorned and ridiculed. That’s why I never told anybody about what happen,” said one of the women. The other 8 told similar stories about their taciturn.
So what gave them hope? A chatroom dedicated to sexual assault victims. “The more and more we talked and got into detail about what happened to us, our stories started to sound strangely familiar. Mick had the same MO. The drums,” said another woman. Realizing their strength in numbers, they walked into the police station holding hands with a new sense of hope.
Until the investigation into these nine women stories are conclusive and trial’s end-all of which could take up to 2 years like last time-Judge Tsoukatos ordered Gonzalez only to be seen in public with women wearing parachute pants. Judge Tsoukatos even went as far as bringing a television in the courtroom, showing Ciara’s music video for Promise, where she and other women dance around in baggy jogging suits as an example of what he meant. Judge Tsoukatos requested the public to call 911 immediately if they spot Gonzalez in public with a woman wearing skinny jeans and offered a $200 reward for doing so.
When court reporters asked Gonzalez what he thought of the judge’s ruling, he said, “CAN HE DO THIS?! Where the hell am I suppose to find a girl like that??? Even big girls wear tight clothes. Ugh! I might as well turn gay and date Mason Betha.”