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Showing posts from October, 2015

Naked and Unshamed

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Playboy is getting rid of their nude photos.  I guess I'm going to have to find another way to support free speech without my clothes on.   My First Nudie Pic That's me and Linda Sir at Seven Sacred Pools in Maui. She accused me of desecrating it when she saw little poops float by.  

Happy Columbus Day!

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My dad was Cherokee.  His father was allegedly full Cherokee, and his mother probably half.  Her mother, Great-grandma Teeters claimed to not be Native American, but she has been described to me by different people as, "The most Indian looking woman you had ever seen."   The story I've heard about dad's family history is this: Grandpa Adams was a bootlegger.  He and granny ran off from Oklahoma to Los Angeles in order to evade law enforcement.  The feds found them and, because it was wartime, offered Grandpa this deal:  prison or the navy.  Grandpa chose the navy.  Then he worked at the General Motors plant. My dad had blue eyes.  I asked my aunt about this after he died, and she explained that we come from a slutty, slutty people.  Other tribes in Oklahoma make fun of the Cherokee  because so many of them are blond and blue eyed.  ...and that, children, is the story of how Christopher Columbus brought syphilis back from the New World.   Dr. Sam Adams (19

Linda Sir's Monkey Butler

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I'm mom's chemotherapy date today.   As I was bringing back lunch from the cafeteria, I chatted with a woman in the elevator who said, "I would hate to have my kids take care of me."  I snorted and said, "She loves it!  She gets to have me as her servant all day."   I told my mom who decided that she must be a horrible woman to not want to make monkey butlers out of her kids.  At least, that's how I interpreted, "Can you get me some tea, honey?" My mom, whom I also call "Linda Sir", has ovarian cancer and is currently in a clinical trial that helps prevent the tumor from growing.  So far, her labs have been stable, but today we found out that the tumor grew a little.   Her chemo treatments take all day, so I found her some reading material in case she gets bored.   "Oh my, well, now what do we have here?" "Heaven's to Betsy!"

Natural Woman

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June 2015 Me without makeup and my natural hair color. October 2015 ...and back to being a painted strawhead. This was my look from 1995-2015

My Top Banana

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Does this banana look weird to you?  Is it supposed to be this straight?   Maybe I've just forgotten what bananas are supposed to look like.   Yes, that is a wiener joke making fun of my nonexistent love life.  Sometimes a cigar is just a penis. Get some ID- that banana is barely ripe! Ingenue:   "My name is Banana.  I took a bus out here from Nebraska in hopes of becoming famous!" Pencil Mustache:   "Would you like to be in the pictures, kid?  I can make you a star!" Ingenue:   "Yes!  I would do anything to make it!" Pencil Mustache:   "Anything?  Slowly unpeel yourself for me..."   Shhh...no words. 

Official Code of Conduct for Aunt Kathleen's' Story Time.

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My brother's kids like my stories.  They all take place in the Hawaiian Islands and are about spies, a naked robber, a sassy sea turtle who says, "Aloha baby", a mongoose with a fetish for cross-dressers, suicidal boars, hula dancers, weapons, an evil monkey, and cameo appearances by their baby sister.   Our snuggle position is I am on the couch, and they climb on top of me.  Then as I tell stories, they interrupt and scream at each other, and at some point, I get kicked in the boob.  Then I order the older one to get me a cup of coffee, because the kid makes really good coffee.   Last story time, we decided we should have rules before proceeding.  I'm considering adopting these rules in all areas of my life.   Rule #2 applies to ALL of you! Rules of Story Time 1.)  No innteruptshins unless Kathleen says you can.   (And your innteruptshin must be asome.) 2.)  Most important:  No farting on Kathleen's lap.  Or else! 3.)  No papa. 4.)  

Monkeying Around

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I'm on a deadline to complete a writing project.  In order to focus, I've imprisoned myself in my apartment for the next thirty-six hours with the sole purpose of working. I've done what I can to limit distractions, including cleaning the kitchen and stocking up on caffeine.   Soooo....  Here's me not writing.   Instead, I'm taking photos of myself as I try to find a way to eat a banana that doesn't look "sexual". Hey there, big boy. Airplane hanger is all cleared for landing!   Know what we should collaborate on?  "Fast Times at Ridgemont High:  The Musical!" Dunno what made me just think of that. When I was done aping a chimpanzee (feel free to boo that pun), I put on the cat ears.  That means it's time to buckle down and get to work because I invented a rule: while I'm wearing them, I'm required to write the entire time.  Cat ears mean Katt gets down to business.   ...and not monkey business!    

A Public Service Announcement

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It has come to my attention that I am the blogger with the highest percentage of good-looking readers.  It's just a fact based on objective observation.    So if any of you are struggling with addiction, I ask you to please consider getting sober.  For vanity's sake.   2000 Going to school in Germany 2006 Ch-ch-ch-chiva! ("Chiva" is Mexican slang for heroin.) A couple days ago.  

I Prefer Black Schtick

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CAUTION:  THIS IS ABOUT MY DAD'S DEATH, SO IT IS ALSO SAD.  My dad died eight years ago today.  He had a heart attack, hung out in his brain dead body for a week, then was transferred back to his place so that he could die at home.   At 6:55pm, my brother said, "That's weird, there's a hawk just walking around on the ground outside.  I've never seen them do that before."  I looked over, and it was a few feet away, pacing outside the patio doors.  Then it stopped and looked at us.   Behind me, I heard my dad's partner Dawn yell "No! No! NO!"  I turned my head, and saw brown stuff coming out of his mouth.  That was the first time I saw that amazing phenomenon of death, where my own father transformed into a stranger before my eyes. Later, I asked a Native American about the hawk, and she said, "Yep, messenger of the soul."  My dad was Cherokee. Despite my dad having an IQ of 148 and piles of certifications and degrees, he still