Fashionasties are always:
* livin’ like it’s shark
* livin’ la vida loca
* livin’ life to the maxi pad
* livin’ large and n’ charge
* livin’ on the edge of seventeen
* livin’ like its their last day on earth, etc.
Case in point: FASHIONASTIES JUST WANT TO HAVE FUN WHILE WE ARE ON THIS GLITTER NATION. NO RULES. NO EXCEPTIONS. NO LIMITS TO OUR PHUN. We aren’t like regular moms, we’re cool moms.
And especially when it cums down to going out, getting too dirty to clean our scat up, make-up to make-out & be on prowl patrol for potentials…
sometimes, in the words of Don Ho’s prodigal daughter Hoku: we don’t want to hook, line, and stink her.
IS SOMETHING STRANGE CUMMING OVER YOU?!
IS THERE A STRANGER IN UR HAUS?!
ARE YOU THE TALE TO UR CRYPT?!
When the moon is full & you’ve had your fill(et) of Vampire Bois (def. Men that drain you & stain you) for the night, have you ever (s)experienced something totally monstrostorious in your physical body?! An exorcism of sorts that controls your moodswings & foodswings?!
Have you recently lacked normal social skills, abandoned friendship engagements, or subjected yourself to severe measures of desperado as of late? Despa-desperado! Despa-desperado!
Have you found yourself watching Food Network like it’s your job, morphing into Ina Garden, pilfering through gourmet recipes, and consuming quart-size amounts of Soup?! Split pea, Lentil, & Butternut Squash are no exception!
Have you traded all your hip fashionasty threads, for Lesbo Lohan leggings, yoga pants, and stretch-pants-4-pants?!
And lastly, are you tivo-ing Lifetime Made 4 TV Movies starring Judith (Crystal) Light or having an emotional revolution while screening the clarvoiyant formerly known as The Linda Williams show?!
TAKE A DEEP BREATH. IT IS NOT UR FAULT. YOU ARE A VICTIM OF THE (NEW) MOON.
Like a strangler in the night – it’s more common than you think – but just like smuggling RX drugas across the border – fashionasties are burger-babe-hopeless- romantics at he(f)art, and by light of the waxing full moon, can get hit square in the jaw HARD (on) in the feelings department.
AKA. We transform into Lesbian Werewolves. AWHOO!
As the world turns, just when we begin to think outside the bento (lunch)box and claim that we are happy (meal) making out with MANhatten, we become harmless victims of the Moon, and transform into She-Wolfs that cry “Boi!”
It is our second cumming of puberty aka Werewolf Bar Mitzvahs. When the moon is full, and you are no longer in control of your emotional MANnerisms, you might as well eat enough Falafel Balls to Feel-Awful, and kiss your singledom adios!
How do these Vampire Bois carry this luminous power over all us Fashionasties?! They can’t just sink their teeth in, take a bite out of our crime, and expect us to fall stilletos over heels for them?! But more often than not, fashionasties wear their hearts on their designer ladden sleeves, and falling for them is an understatement. Like Lady Gagalupa, they use harsh, industrial, brainwashing techniques to confuse our minds and our aortas, and we not only fall, we fall SIX FEET UNDER. We become died. Zombie swans singing our songs.
Is there an elixir that can cure our Milkshaky Quaky Hearts?!
OUR REMEDY IS EACH OTHER, BURGER CONFIDANTS. WE ARE STAR DUST. WE ARE GOLDEN. AND WE GOT TO GET OURSELVES BACK TO THE (SAVAGE) GARDEN.
We need to play a game of radical reverse, burger babes. All along we
allow these Franken-Munsters to plug us into their labs and operate on our feelings. If we could pull a Burger King and have it our w(g)ay, we need to Rosemary their Baby and hex them with wooden crucifixes, sprinkle some garlic on them, and eat them like it’s nothing more than a Pizza Bagel.
Don’t play a backseat to all the Vamps & Tramps in Trannyslyvania fashionasty friends…
Don’t be a victim of the Moon. Put the Ass in Astronau(gh)t(y) and land your booty on the full moon and conquer it. You and the Soup Industry will both be on happy (meal) terms.
The Original Mean Girls aka Ut-Oh!
© JAKE THOMPSON