Jumping on the poetry bandwagon

This weekend for her interactive brunch, Hermione called upon all of us to write some spanking poetry/limericks. I would have loved to contribute to this, but my creativity was buried in nausea. But better late than never, no?

Some of you know I love to write spanko song parodies, but limericks are great fun. I wrote my very first one at nine years old. Why nine? It was a school assignment. And I still remember it. (Disclaimer: this is not PC, and I would never write it now. Forgive me — I was nine, and it was a different time.)

There was a young girl from upstate
Whose stomach would always inflate
She got stuck in the door
And fell through the floor
And decided she’d need to lose weight.

Okay, it’s not Shakespeare. I was nine, FFS. 😛

However, in the interest of staying on topic, and because I am feeling somewhat human once again, I came up with these three today.

There were two sweet brats from Algiers
Who practically begged for red rears
Two gents were on tap
To lend them a lap
And soon they were smiling through tears.

I often love going to town
With my sass, till I garner a frown
From a top whose strong will
I’m attempting to still
But the top will prevail, hands down.

For Valentine’s Day, some love flowers
Or chocolates to munch on for hours
But roses will croak
And toothache’s no joke
But spanking, well, that never sours!

Okay, that last one is lame. You try rhyming flowers and hours.

Thank you, thank you. It’s good to have creative juices running through me again instead of Pepto Bismol.

Festivus follies

You guys know I’m not into the holidays. When I first started seeing John, Christmas was a huge affair with multiple gatherings — his parents, his siblings, his nieces and nephews, etc. For years, I went to these things… and honestly, I hated them. Dreaded them every year. They felt forced, John’s family was never nice to him, there was too much rich food and way too much alcohol, and I always wanted to pass on it all but couldn’t. Cut to the present: his parents have passed, two of his siblings have moved away, the nieces and nephews have grown and moved on to their own lives, and the one remaining sibling in town is a hopeless drunk with a lecherous husband, and John has pretty much fallen out with them. Hallelujah — free at last.

So, these past few years, I’ve done exactly what I wanted to do for the holidays –absolutely nothing. I send cards, I get gifts for John and a few friends, but that’s about it. A few years ago, John, as a joke, made a Festivus pole from a steel pole he’d found, even attached two pieces of wood at the bottom so it would stand. And from then on, it took on a life of its own. Over the years, a tree skirt and pine cones were added, I wrapped the pole with holiday paper, and John added the topper, a knitted duck in a Santa hat (which he christened the Festiduck). I added the gold tinsel and the beads. So now, each holiday, we get into it, putting up the pole, putting cards and presents under it, and John tacks up other odds and ends of Christmas decor throughout his house.

Behold:

Festivus pole with Festiduck

Is this a reindeer, or a bear with antlers?

Mr. Snowman… bring me some snow…

That’s right — John put up mistletoe still in the box.

But wait, there’s more.

Anyone remember the video on Saturday Night Live, about 12 years ago, the Christmas satire called “D*** In A Box,” with Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg? If somehow you’ve managed not to see or hear that, Google it. It’s hilarious. Anyway… at one point on Christmas night, John left the room for a minute, then he came back in, holding his phone. Blaring from it, I could hear the opening lines of “D*** In A Box,” the guys crooning “Hey girl, I’ve got somethin’ real important to give you…” I looked over, and damn near died laughing. John had taken a rectangular gift box (with wrapping paper on it), cut holes and threaded a shoelace through it, and tied it around his hips, so the box was directly in front of his crotch. And he was dancing and bobbing around with this ridiculous thing along with the video. Oh. My. God.

And yes, I got a picture.

There is no being a Grinch with this goofball. ♥

So, it was a nice day. I got some fun surprises from friends, and got to be with the most important person in my life, and oh! It even rained. Really couldn’t ask for more.

I hope everyone had a good holiday, whatever you chose to do. As 2021 draws to a close, I have several thoughts about this past year, and what’s ahead, but you know… I just don’t feel like talking about them right now. Too depressing. So I’ll let my hero, the incomparable Ruth Bader Ginsburg, speak for me this fine December day.

Happy holidays, y’all.

OT: Happy Birthday, Dad

I don’t go off-topic very often. But since today would have been my dad’s birthday, and Father’s Day is on Sunday, he’s been on my mind and I felt like sharing a memory.

My dad and I had a lot of rough years. We got quite a bit closer near the end of his life, but there were still gaps in our communication. There was a lot I didn’t know about him. One thing I did know what that he didn’t really like buying greeting cards. He preferred to write something himself. I seem to recall that on my 30th birthday he wrote me a poem, rhyming “thirty” and “purty,” but I couldn’t find that one.

Last year during the pandemic, I was cleaning out some drawers and came across some correspondence with him that I’d forgotten about, odds and ends of letters. I posted this one on Facebook, but what the hell, it’s going here too. In 1993, this was my dad’s idea of a Christmas card. I liked this, typed on plain white paper and all, better than any of the seasonal treacle I usually received.

I guess you guys can tell where I got my humor. ♥ And damn proud of it.

Have a great weekend, y’all. And Happy Father’s Day to those who celebrate it.

Ah, memories…

Most of you guys know I edit kinky erotica. Today I was working on a book and one scene had the woman stripped naked and about to go over the man’s knee. He was still fully dressed in a good suit, and she expressed concern that she was going to make a mess of his pants. He smirked and said, “That’s what dry-cleaning is for.” He then went on to taunt her that he’d probably tell his dry-cleaner all about it and how it got there.

Art imitates life, or is it the other way around? Whatever. Reading this, I was reminded of the time a couple of years ago when I was playing with D. We only had three scenes, but holy damn, I was fiercely, unusually attracted to this man. And when we played, well, you know… bodies do what bodies do. I secrete when I’m beat. And D always came over from work, so he was in a suit.

Cut to a couple of days later — D emailed me and teasingly informed me that he’d had to take his suit pants to the cleaners because of a prominent stain. (“Did I do that?”) I got the giggles over that, but what made me guffaw was when he went on to tell me that the cleaner had asked what it was! D, not expecting the question and feeling flustered, muttered something along the lines of, “Uh… I dunno… something fell in my lap.”

He said the cleaner gave him a funny look.

Still laughing.

Have a great weekend, y’all. ♥

Vote for me?

So yesterday, as I was trundling along on the treadmill, my mind wandered as it is wont to do, and I had what I consider a brilliant brainchild.

Consider the following:

• I am one kinky, nasty woman;
• I speak my mind often and tell it like it is, even though some people would prefer that I STFU;
• I know zippity squat about how to run a country, but clearly, that doesn’t matter; and
• I tweet a whole lot (going on 20K now)

I should run for president in 2020!! Not just the first woman, but the first kinky president! Hey, if we can have a PeePee President, why not a Spanko President?

Imagine the possibilities for slogans!

• Embrace your inner safe, sane and consensual sadomasochist, America! Spanking pain is temporary; nuclear vaporization is forever!
• Healthcare that everyone can count on, permanently — no one will piss it away!
• Erica Scott’s promises are as solid as a frat paddle — with no (loop)holes!
• Erica Scott will stand with you — since she can’t sit!
• You can’t have America without Erica!
• Red is the New Orange!
• Erica Scott: Make America Black & Blue Again! #MABBA

Of course, John would be the First… what? We’re not married, so already, I’m breaking tradition. But so what? We’ve been together for over 20 years; that’s longer than a lot of marriages. (Just ask the upcoming Commander in Cheat.) So, I guess John could be First Switch, Top of your Bottom in Chief. And then there’s my cabinet — oh, so many boxer briefs and panties to fill. But I think I’d start with Paul Kennedy as Spanker of the House, and make Alex Reynolds Secretary of the Posterior. Perhaps Michael Masterson should head up the Lap of Justice Department.

My White House pet would be a giant white dog (she’d have to be white, so I could name her — what else? — Snowflake, and any breed would work except sheepdog). I would train my faithful companion to always hide (or bury) wooden implements. She’d never bite anyone, but she’d growl menacingly whenever she sees someone anything orange.

One of my first acts would be to declare the non-consensual grabbing of pussies to be a capital offense. (Just to be clear, I’m talking about real non-consent, not our type of “oh, please don’t… don’t… don’t stop” consensual non-consent.) And ladies? From now on, no one will be able to get up into your business — unless you want them to, of course!

Tolerant, respectful people — of all nationalities and colors, all religions (or none), all genders (whether born or chosen), all orientations, all sizes and shapes, all ages and income levels — will be treated in turn with tolerance and respect. Those of us who choose not to follow the tried and true societal dictates will not be shamed, but welcomed. None of this bullying/prejudice/discrimination shit on my watch! This is America, not AmeriKKKa. (And yes, your leader will be spanked often for her shameless word play.)

I would redesign the Oval Office, of course. My office would need corners. All staffers would be armed with guns — squirt guns. And corporal punishment would replace capital punishment (but only for vanilla offenders, since kinky offenders would like it way too damn much).

What do you think, readers? Can you add any ideas? Would you vote for me? Come on, I couldn’t possibly be any worse than what’s coming. You’ve got nothing to lose but your inhibitions — and possibly your underwear. 😀

Correspondence Hall of Shame, End of Year Edition, and more

Greetings, readers. As this will be my last post of 2016, I thought I’d present a hodgepodge of treats for you. So grab a beverage of your choice, whack off a chunk of that stale fruitcake with a hacksaw, and settle in.

First up, a few CHoS entries:

Mmmmmmm
I swear this sounds lile so fucking fun and a turn on
Lolol love it when a women love other thing beside sex 
You do have a sexy ass that should always be SMACK!! Good when that se,y booty is out

Uh… what? I’m sorry, I’m not bilingual; I don’t speak Moronese.

hi cutie, my name is Xxx and we have the same sexual interests.. I enjoy passionate kissing, foreplay, oral sex, anal sex, FWB, LTR, BDSM, role playing and doing anything to please you. I would love to explore every inch of your body with my hands and tongue. I like hard and fast sex, but prefer marathon all night sex.. I may be older than what you are looking for, but age is just a number and PLEASURE, weather it comes from yourself, someone younger, or older, is still PLEASURE. I am always horny and available. If this is what you are looking for, check my profile to see if we match and message me back

I don’t know whose profile you were reading, but it wasn’t mine, since mine said I wasn’t seeking sex. Yes, age is just a number, and so is IQ. Yours, apparently, is in the double digits.

You may have seen this comment before, since it was left right here on this blog. I thought it deserves its own special message. What a shame this person thinks they’re so clever.

I bet you only get spanked on the left side of your ass

Wrong again, Breitbart Breath, as is evidenced by this recent photo:

And finally, to my special hater out there: Really? You think my last blog was all about little ol’ you? Tsk… now who’s vain, hmmm? My upbringing in the “entertainment world” had nothing to do with my political views — I am a well-educated woman and I have a mind of my own — so you may can the condescending claptrap. But hey, thanks for saying I have a pretty face. I do believe that’s the first time in all these years that you’ve ever said anything nice about me. 🙂

Interesting side note: Someone very close to me — who is a conservative and voted for Trump — read my last blog. He could have been pissy about it, but all he had to say about it was that it’s a funny and satirical piece, and some of the best writing he’s seen from me. How about that. I thanked him for his civility, and he said, “I’m the norm. The people who act like a-holes are the exception.” I’m afraid I disagree with that; I think it’s the other way around. But we’ll see.

Moving on — did you guys miss my annual sniping about fruitcake? Then this is for you. Our ever-trendy coffeehouse, Starbucks, unveiled a Christmas treat this year, available for one week only: the Fruitcake Frappuccino. It was described as a blended iced coffee drink with hazelnut and cinnamon, topped by whipped cream, caramel and matcha (whatever the @#$% that is). What’s fruitcake-y about this, you might ask? Well, also blended into the beverage are bits of dried fruit. That’s right, so you can eat your Frappuccino as well as drink it. It’s creamy! It’s chunky! It’s chewy! It’s disgusting!

And if you’re not already sick, here is a real view of it:

I’m sorry, but this doesn’t resemble anything drinkable to me. It looks like the inside of a Times Square toilet on New Year’s Eve.

Did everyone have a nice holiday? Mine had some pleasant moments, although I was struggling a bit. Earlier this month, Alex and Paul had a lovely little party, and I did my best to get into the spirit, dressing myself up, complete with black stockings that had red bows at the top, red pumps, and a black shirt that had “Naughty” on the front and “Nice” on the back. Last week, Alex, SC and I had a long-overdue girls’ night out, where we chatted for hours and exchanged presents. I got some nice things, including a beautiful, soft and plush robe from Alex, and SC gave me a Lego set… to build the Yellow Submarine! I haven’t played with Legos since I was a kid; this should be fun. But I think my favorite gift was one that came as a surprise in the mail: it was from Lily Starr, and when I opened it, I smiled, then giggled, then guffawed. It was a crystal pendant… of a snowflake.

I think this might have been the beginning of a turnaround for me. I felt my humor, long dormant, kick back in a bit. And my feistiness. Damn right I’m a snowflake, and I’ll accept that term, meant to be insulting, with pride. In fact, Lily’s gift inspired me to shoot this little video. 🙂 Screw with me, and I’m screwing right back. I may go down in a nuclear holocaust in the coming year or so, but I’m going down laughing.

* * *

Now, if I can be serious for a moment. This has been a brutal year. No, not just because of the obvious, but for so many other miseries befalling people I care about. Job losses, illnesses, broken relationships, getting outed. Deaths… so many deaths. John lost his own closest friend last month, and we are still reeling from that. And this was a terrible year for our beloved icons, with an unbelievable count of losses. Actors. Musicians. Authors. Sports figures. Astronauts. Just this week, we lost Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds, one day apart. Reportedly, Ms. Reynolds’ last words were “I want to be with Carrie” before she had a massive stroke. I guess it is possible to die of a broken heart. My own heart breaks for Todd Fisher, who lost both his sister and mother within 24 hours, and for Billie Lourd, who lost her mother and grandmother. Sometimes life is very cruel.

If you have never seen Singin’ In The Rain, I am telling you to do so. Even if you say you don’t like musicals, see it anyway. It is so much more than song and dance, although those numbers are dazzling, and it’s impressive to watch a 19-year-old Debbie Reynolds, who’d never danced professionally before, holding her own with two of the best dancers of the 20th century. It’s funny, clever, energetic, romantic, and if it doesn’t put a smile on your face and lift your spirits, you might want to check for a pulse.

What’s my point? Life is short. Hold your loved ones close. Hang in there, and do the best you can. I say this as much to myself as I do to my friends. I’m going to put on my rain gear and boots, and plow bravely forward into the crapstorm that 2017 is looking to be, determined to have fun and experience love and joy where I can. May you all do the same.

Have a great weekend, y’all. ♥