That Skanky Ho Called Money
Money is a cold hard bitch. She is a dirty little temptress; a dominatrix in a tight PVC outfit with luscious white breasts pouring forth, just begging to be touched. But dare not! For if you do she will kick you in the spine with her sharp, sharp stilettos.
I hate her.
She is a fucking slave driver and I am tired of being on the end of her leash. This week she tightened my collar another notch to the point at which I was suffocating.
She gives the impression that she makes the world go round, that we need her and every inch of happiness depends on her and thus we run around desperately trying to get some more of her in our lives and living every second for her. Even though I don't believe her, for I know that her sweet, sweet counterpart Love makes the world go round, she twists my arm til I'm back on her miserable tread mil, running, running, out of breath, trying to catch her but ultimately running towards nothing. If she's not flashing her tits in my face, she's cracking her whip on my back.
Yeah, sure she makes a great hand bag at opening nights and excellent company on overseas trips. She'll tell you "you look great in that darling, you MUST have it" as she passes you good French champagne. "Quality! Quantity!" she demands, "more is more!" She makes you feel fabulous when she's around. Always winking at you in a crowd, disappearing behind reflections in shop windows, forever dining at the best restaurants and beckoning you to join her with a lick of her plump, wet lips. Sure she'll cuddle up to you on your Egyptian cotton sheets and nibble at your ear but good luck holding onto her. Before you know it she'll be running off again and you will be chasing her like a desperate child.
She's not yours! Everyone wants her! She is a foul slut.
So you try to play it cool for a while, pretend she's not the only one, make like you're not looking and you have friends in higher places. Eventually it starts to work, her charm starts to wear off and you start to relax a little, stretch your wings, regain your mojo. But just as it does, just when you least expect it she swishes past you in a new dress, looking a million dollars.
"I'm not looking" you say. But you can't help it. You try and try but she drops something which makes a lovely "ping" sound; something small and shiny. The light catches your eye and you can't help but look down as she bends slowly, gracefully to pick up the glittering object and as she does her perfect nipple just pops out of the dress. That nipple. The one that was whispering against your lips not long ago. Without even realising it you reach out to touch the creamy goodness as though your hand has a life of it's own. But she's off. And you're hooked again, following her, panting, wanting.
Bitch, slut, cunt!
She has totally ruined my week. She has broken my back, darkened my eyes, sullied my soul and distracted me, as she so often does, from what really matters. I have carried around such anger lately for not being able to find her as she refuses to answer my calls. But all I do is chase her. She's so good at making me think she is the most important one; the sexiest ever, even when she is not here.
SCREW HER!
I refuse to play her game any more! I WILL have fun without her tomorrow. I am going to call my friend Love, who is always good for a laugh and always there for me. She has never run away. She needs no pin code. She is reliable, honest and such a dag...and I adore dags. I never have to dress up to impress her and she gives the greatest hugs. She even makes Poverty a better person when she's around him. She's the best.
Fuck you Money. You may be manipulating the entire world into war but you will die with a guilty conscience.
I want to breathe again.
I hate her.
She is a fucking slave driver and I am tired of being on the end of her leash. This week she tightened my collar another notch to the point at which I was suffocating.
She gives the impression that she makes the world go round, that we need her and every inch of happiness depends on her and thus we run around desperately trying to get some more of her in our lives and living every second for her. Even though I don't believe her, for I know that her sweet, sweet counterpart Love makes the world go round, she twists my arm til I'm back on her miserable tread mil, running, running, out of breath, trying to catch her but ultimately running towards nothing. If she's not flashing her tits in my face, she's cracking her whip on my back.
Yeah, sure she makes a great hand bag at opening nights and excellent company on overseas trips. She'll tell you "you look great in that darling, you MUST have it" as she passes you good French champagne. "Quality! Quantity!" she demands, "more is more!" She makes you feel fabulous when she's around. Always winking at you in a crowd, disappearing behind reflections in shop windows, forever dining at the best restaurants and beckoning you to join her with a lick of her plump, wet lips. Sure she'll cuddle up to you on your Egyptian cotton sheets and nibble at your ear but good luck holding onto her. Before you know it she'll be running off again and you will be chasing her like a desperate child.
She's not yours! Everyone wants her! She is a foul slut.
So you try to play it cool for a while, pretend she's not the only one, make like you're not looking and you have friends in higher places. Eventually it starts to work, her charm starts to wear off and you start to relax a little, stretch your wings, regain your mojo. But just as it does, just when you least expect it she swishes past you in a new dress, looking a million dollars.
"I'm not looking" you say. But you can't help it. You try and try but she drops something which makes a lovely "ping" sound; something small and shiny. The light catches your eye and you can't help but look down as she bends slowly, gracefully to pick up the glittering object and as she does her perfect nipple just pops out of the dress. That nipple. The one that was whispering against your lips not long ago. Without even realising it you reach out to touch the creamy goodness as though your hand has a life of it's own. But she's off. And you're hooked again, following her, panting, wanting.
Bitch, slut, cunt!
She has totally ruined my week. She has broken my back, darkened my eyes, sullied my soul and distracted me, as she so often does, from what really matters. I have carried around such anger lately for not being able to find her as she refuses to answer my calls. But all I do is chase her. She's so good at making me think she is the most important one; the sexiest ever, even when she is not here.
SCREW HER!
I refuse to play her game any more! I WILL have fun without her tomorrow. I am going to call my friend Love, who is always good for a laugh and always there for me. She has never run away. She needs no pin code. She is reliable, honest and such a dag...and I adore dags. I never have to dress up to impress her and she gives the greatest hugs. She even makes Poverty a better person when she's around him. She's the best.
Fuck you Money. You may be manipulating the entire world into war but you will die with a guilty conscience.
I want to breathe again.
posted by Darcy at 8:31 PM
3 Comments:
i too hate her at the moment, elusive bitch
She's not that bad. She puts out quite often and thats all that matters.
how many times do i have to tell you that you don't need to worry about money as long as you're with me, baby?
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