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ooooo ooooo .oooooo. oooooooooooo HOE E'ZINE RELEASE #801
`888' `888' d8P' `Y8b `888' `8
888 888 888 888 888 "Daddy's Grammar Princess
888ooooo888 888 888 888oooo8 Goes Down The Drain"
888 888 888 888 888 " by CannibalButterfly
888 888 `88b d88' 888 o 9/1/99
o888o o888o `Y8bood8P' o888ooooood8
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I woke up in a cold sweat. Chills running up my spine and thoughts
disintegrating. Y-o-u-r. Y-o-u-'-r-e.
Your losing who you really are? You're losing who you really are?
Your losing who you really are? You're losing who you really are?
True, false, multiple choice? Is this some kind of sick mind game?
When I was a tender child my father insisted on drilling my grammar
and spelling skills. It was exhausting, but I would like to say it payed
off. Daddy and I made a good team. He had this special little box he would
call the 'Education Castle'. He just loved to shove me in there and beat it
with a huge stick. I got scared a lot, but I never told daddy. Thank God
for those two very small air holes.
Sometimes he would give me sentences to repeat and I would have to
spell them out. I would even get bread and water if I got a perfect score
for the day. That was exciting!
"You're going to die." Now your turn, princess.
"You're going to die. Y-o-u-r g-o-i-n-g t-o d-i-e."
For some reason this upset my daddy and he began beating the box and
calling me a lot of foul words. Daddy was in a rage.
"You moronic brat! You're a god damn mistake!! Y-O-U-'-R-E YOU ARE
Y-O-U-'-R-E YOU ARE!!!! Until you learn the difference between you're and
your you'll never make anything of yourself in life!!"
Once upon a time I was considered to be an intelligent individual.
Boy oh boy, I sure was a character. I loved myself more than Dennis Wipe
your feet before tripping over his ego Rodman. I had charm, grace, and a
certain Rico Suuuuuuuaaave flavor to me. (By the way, he melts my "I can't
believe it's not butter!") Well, now I just burn holes through my hands
and drool over pictures in my Around the World in 101 recipes cook book.
Only God knows what turkish spam casserole tastes like, but my bottom lip
shivers at the mere thought.
I guess it's time for me to cut to the chase, huh?
It was a chilly November afternoon. My nipples were hard and I was
belching like an aging Irish man at a grubby pub on Mardi Gras. The wind
pounded away at my skull, but no ideas would even as much stutter their way
out. This paper is everything to me. These few paragraphs will define who
I am and predict my future. See, this report needed to be flawless...kind
of like myself. If I didn't ace this test then my scholarship would be
buried and given to some other spoiled bitch who'd deserve it even less than
myself.
I needed to make daddy proud. This seems simple enough. I've
written many excellent papers in my day, but this pressure was mounding up.
The tapping of my nails on the desk was annoying the hell out of me, but I
couldn't keep myself from doing it. I stared at my fingers as they moved
all about and couldn't help but cross my legs. This strangely turned me on.
I think we all know what happened after that, eh? Five minutes of
thigh quivering pleasure and my head was clearer than Leotardo Dicraprio's
skin.
Suddenly, like a large sweaty man breaking every bone of my body, a
topic for my paper rushed into me. Female masturbation. It was unique and
very risky. J Ya gotta love that!
Before beginning my paper I did a little more research. (If you
catch my drift, wink wink) I was really starting to love this homework
assignment!!
Typing and typing. Experimenting and experimenting. I thought my
fingers were just going to fall off. Luckily though, I wear a lot of rings
so they're pretty damn muscular and can handle a lot of strenuous work. Go
me!!
A few hours ticked away and my paper was just about done. I even
threw in a few 'helpful hints for the beginner'. I figured Mr. Smith would
find those to be most interesting. It took me what seemed to be years to
finish this paper, but it was perfection. A masterpiece at that! I could
just taste the big fat 12 oz A+ that would be slapped on that puppy with a
purdy red pen.
I woke up extra early and got to class before anyone else. I kissed
my title page and set it on the teacher's desk. I can feel it...Yale, Here
I come!! I've got the whole world at the tip of my fingers. (no pun
intended, hardy har har)
Maybe I should stop here and tell you about Mr. Smith. He's one of
the best teachers at my school and considers me to be his top student.
Hell, who could blame him? He has this beautiful long hair and his life
seems to revolve around it....cherishes it in fact. Kind of reminds me of a
generic Fabio, but dont tell him I said that. He wears these bright pink
hair barrettes and insists his little daughter gets pouty if he leaves the
house without them. Yeah, okay, I'm not buying that pitiful story, simply
because he has no children.
It was the last day of school and I was on cloud 9. Just waiting to
lay eyes on my A.
What a fucking traffic jam!! Pass the papers back!! I hate this
system of giving papers back. You know everyone in front of you takes a
sneak peak at your grade.
Alas!! Slightly wrinkled, but still heavenly!! I took a deep breath
and let out a bloody scream.
"A MOTHER FUCKING B!!!!! NO ONE GIVES ME, DADDY'S LITTLE PRINCESS, A
MOTHER FUCKING B!!!!!"
I could easily try to bicker and beg the teacher to change my grade,
but this absolutely disgusted me.
Maybe the kid who picks his nose and rotates the same 2 outfits.
Maybe the skank class wench who never closes her legs.
But me??
"DADDY'S MOTHER FUCKING LITTLE PRINCESS DOES NOT GET A B!!!!!"
I wanted to rip out Mr. Smith's golden locks. He was going to pay
for this one.
"Topic is original, but use in grammar is slightly poor. Make sure
not to confuse your and you're. B+"
Tears flew down my blushed cheeks and I blew my top. The memories of
the box suffocated me. I'm just daddy's mistake allover again. I ran out
of the room in a fury and my life was drained from me.
I arrived home and dreadfully broke the news to my parents. I
thought they would have handled it better, but daddy turned red and his
veins were popping out of his neck. He kept yelling how I should have never
been born and I needed to be swept under the carpet.
One minute and 28.326 seconds later...
I was tossed out the door and told to never return. I was a grammar
disgrace to the family. I thought this was just temporary so I went and got
my nails done while waiting for daddy to call me on my cell phone. I
expected him to apologize and order me to get home.
Hmm, maybe he lost the number??
Here I am, 41 and still waiting for that phone to ring. Swimming in
my own self pity. I'm topping the scales and packing the poundage. I fell
into a deep depression for 13 years until a friend of mine let me borrow a
few of her self help tapes. Sure, it's brain washing on a cassette, but a
lot cheaper than a psychologist. Anyhoot, I'm feeling better now.
I didn't quite get to college, but beauty school is the next best
thing. Well, atleast that's what my psychic friend said anyway. Thankyou
Dionne Warwick!!
I even got a hold of Mr. Smith, the dirty cum guzzling prick. He
apparently lost his job for seXXXually harASSing the lunch ladies and lives
in a grocery buggy on 5'th and Main. I guess he got what he deserved. Now
he's poor, homeless, and has no hair due to an 'over heating process' in the
salon. Ooops! Did I do that!? You can never trust beauty school students.
Teehee.
I work at the Juice Hut and do discount jheri curls for low income
households now. The money isnt great, but the folks sure do appreciate a
person. Even if they did make a B once in their life.
Just remember kiddies....Your going to pay for your mistakes.
You're going to pay for your mistakes. Errr. Your..no you're..
you.... no you're!
My life may suck, but I still have my beloved masturbation.
Amen.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #801 - BY: CANNIBALBUTTERFLY - 9/1/99 ]