Well, This is a Fucktussle of a Situation

Some humor for y'all. ❤️😻

H/T: Nicholas Kircher 😁

I'm really pissed off right now, my friends, because when I was using my tablet to write a piece earlier today, I discovered the distressing fact that somehow my entire Swype keyboard memory got erased. That means that now every fucking time I want to curse in an essay or a text, I have to take the time to long type out every goddamn curse word in my vocabulary and then I have to save them all individually. This means that I have to hand type in every single iteration and conjugation of every foul word as well. Can you imagine the cumbersome list for just the word “fuck” in and of itself? It is a colossal pain in the ass! Do you guys have any fucking idea how much I curse? Yeah you do. That's probably why you're here, reading this right now, isn't it? You dig this shit, don't you? You dirty little birdies. I see you…

But this problem is even worse than simply having to manually re-enter all your standard everyday, run-of-the-mill obscenities, you see. Because we're not just talking about your boring old standard issue curse-cabulary here. No, no, no, mon frère. Mine is, how do you say, highly personalized. Anyone who knows me can tell you that I take no small amount of pride in the fact that I skillfully command an expansive and diverse lexicon of delightfully obscene verbiage. I humbly submit that it will be my crowning achievement and will firmly secure my legacy (posthumously, probably) in the annals of history. Hehe…annals. This is what they pay me the big bucks for, folks.

I mean, this loss is heartbreaking. It's taken a lot of time, grit, acid reflux and seething, baleful rage to assemble my glorious repository of filth. Not to mention the nearly incomprehensible amount of THC that was involved in the process. Now, it's just…gone. Forever lost. Like a wispy poof of gutter and ganja scented smoke dispersing into the ether. Indeed, nary a single “twatwaffle” or “clusterfuck” remains in the vast empty digital space where so much greatness and innovation was once reposited. I cry out in vain, frantically searching for “bitch-tits” in the darkness, but alas, none appear to give me succor. Nor do I find even one solitary, trembling “bumblefuck” wandering, lost; glazed and bloodshot eyes desperately seeking it's fallen compatriots in the dark digital abyss. Similarly tragic, was the loss of the “cocksleeve”. Once mighty and proud, it has, likewise, gone on to roam that big graveyard in the cloud. Vaya con Dios, “cocksleeve”. We hardly knew ye. Truly, no greater tragedy hath befallen Womanity since the storied burning of the library of Alexandria. The loss to the historical record truly cannot be overstated, my friends.

Now, some amongst you may point out that I have already written an entire piece on the topic of my unbridled propensity for cursing like a syphilitic pirate hooker on a three day grog bender. A fair enough point, I must concede. This piece isn't about that though. This is a piece about what a vast, cosmic injustice it is that now, every time I want to write a story or a friendly little text message that uses the word, say, “fucktwaddle” or “dicksplat” or even the fairly colloquial “twattermelon” or “cumnubbler” I have to undertake this very exacting process of manually keying in every individual letter, one at a time instead of being able to type a complex word such as “cuntapotamus” or “fuck-knuckles” with one single unbroken and graceful swipe. It is thankless and exhausting work, I'll tell you that much.

My friends, I am not an oblivious woman. I do realize that there are so many terrible things in this world to worry about right now and, surely, it must seem -to some- to be a sin of a most grievous nature that I would dare lament about a petty triviality such as this whilst the whole world burns. But I guess that's ok. Think me petty if you must. I'm cool with that. My feelings aren't hurt. I have pressing archival recovery work to attend to anyhow, after all. You guys carry on with whatever lesser pursuits you deem appropriate to fill your days with. I'll just be over here, sitting by myself in the corner, typing away with my furiously swiping finger and entering important words like “vaginosaur” “thimbledick” “bug-fucker” and “tit-wanker” into the text dictionary- erm, I mean historical record, one digit at a time. 😎

Hope you guys enjoyed a little laughter to break up the daily salt in your wounds action that's going on pretty much 24/7 now. 😄 I had a lot of fun writing this one, as well as coordinating a collab with a fellow Substack author Nicholas Kircher, who provided the lovely artists rendition of the Vaginosaur (aka: labiasaurus clitoriensis if you wanna be all science-y) for this piece! He's also the chill mofo who drew my bPNWc avatar of my kitty, Onyx, and he loves to vibe on some really interesting stuff. Check him out!😊Thank you for bringing my creative vision to fruition so beautifully! As always, Thank You for reading! If you enjoy what I write, please consider taking out a paid sub. It's only $5 a month and $30 a year! All proceeds will go towards the upkeep of two amazing boys and three exceptionally spoiled felines. If not, no sweat, it'll always be free. Anyone who doesn't like subs and would like to help me out with a one time appreciation donation of any amount, you can do so at either:

💸PayPal: atxsupermom@gmail.com

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💸Cash App: $atxsupermom

And Remember:

Be good to each other and also to yourselves, you fine people of Substack. Don't forget that last part y'all! Give yourself the grace that you've always wished you could get from others, but didn't. Make some joy for someone else today ladies and gents. Remember, move those small pebbles, not the whole mountain all at once. We're all here together on this giant space marble. Let's kick ass and make some good trouble while we can. ✌🏼 Peace

😻 bPNWc

The creative process: a peek into the mind of madness 😜 😻