My uterus has asked me to thank those who’ve expressed guy-no-cological concern about my lady Cheeto, and he’s thrilled about the idea of a Cheeto-themed post-operative party. (About the he, I think my uterus is a man. He queefs in baritone.)
This is not my baritone baby oven. This is my left hand wearing a Canadian bacon hairpiece.
My hand ate that breakfast at my parents’.
My parents’ Princess Jasmine music box sits in solidarity with Oscar Pistorius. Yes, that’s a Trojan Horse behind it, and yes, behind the Trojan Horse that’s an Arab trader riding a camel with a snowman suspended from its neck. My parents are extreme postmodernists.
I drove to Mom and Dad’s Saturday and had planned on staying till Presidents’ Day, but then I realized Zine Fest LA was on Sunday, not Saturday, like I’d thought it was, which made me decide to drive back Sunday morning since I really wanted to go to ZFLA, and to be all confessional and Catholic, I FOUND OUT ZFLA WAS ON SUNDAY BECAUSE I SHOWED UP TO THE UKRAINIAN HALL IT WAS GOING TO BE HELD IN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS EARLY, ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, AND FOUND NO ZINESTERS, JUST BITCHY SLAVS READY TO STUFF MY MOSTLY MEXICAN CABBAGE.
God(des), I am a hyperpunctual lesbian.
So, anyways, after I fed my hand, and before I changed out of my California Yorkie sweatshirt and sped into the coastal fog, I made my l’il bro take pictures of me tickling Mom’s Valentine’s Day decor.
She inadvertently, and lovingly, hung two smiling monkeys from her porch, and being a native Guadalajaran, didn’t know this might evoke a racial slur. That’s okay, though. Mom’s not KKK. She’s qué…qué…qué?
I did finally make it to ZFLA on time, and it was the shit and crowded. This is what I saw, heard, sniffed, and vicariously tweaked at Ukrainian Hall:
This taciturn fella greeted me.
Proof that the internet has not killed the art of the zine because the internet is not real.
Cassie’s Abuelito Munster tattoo reminded me that as a child I used to think Lily Munster was one of the most beautiful women on TV because she reminded me of my mother. The Munsters were the closest thing to Mexicans on the boob tube back in ’87.
Insert your own caption.
The dude manning the Cheese Eggs & Potatoes booth was quick to explain that his zine, Kitties and Titties, features two things everybody loves.
WWASLD? (What Would a Scent-sitive Lesbian Do?)
I didn’t get it…
till I got it.
Sylvia Plath will always be the shit.
These broads complimented my MARY t-shirt.
These babies must be related to the seven babies I bought last week. I put these brats in my bedroom corner and every time I reach my daily goals, one goes in a jar on my nightstand. My jar is empty.
Government Issue Coloring Book for the Deranged Mind: CBFT-DM.
I got one and it’s going up over my desk at work.
You can get that necklace at Ralph’s.
I’d like to see a torn hymen fixed with this tape.
All my loot. Bad Roommate Zine got nipples.