Gone With The Wind

Bird Is The Word Haven’t You Heard!
Bird isn’t the word in these troubled times. If you haven’t heard, castration is the word. Although Stephen Colbert hasn’t done a piece on castration, he should heed immediately. In Africa they cut the clits of gone astray women – yuk! Who pays for that! Wowie Wow Wow. If that’s surprising check this out: I’ve recently been castrated, viciously, may I add. This rotten, conniving whore she-devil did it. No it’s not ghonorrea, or some STD that lead me to cut off my balls. She’ll be paying for this severely. It’s her incessant nagging that I get a job that made me maim myself. See I’m a burly, Brawn sort of man, you could say Paul Bunyanesque. I did construction, but that was my only skill (fibbed, more so a day laborer. Damn Mexicans cornered the market). In fact, being a Manly Man was my only dignified expertise. But now that American Ideal has taken a hit by the Gaylord Focker’s of the world. “Be a nurse, they want men,” she would buzz in my ear earlier this summer. Huh! I’ll chuckle to food shelf. A nurse, yeah, put me in a pink tutu and spin me around. Hell call me a ferry. I can’t wear a baby blue smock. The guys at poker night take jabs at me when I’m without my red flannel and Carhart jacket. I don’t know what to do, so I cut off my family jewels. Me whole self is gone because of that mischieavious mistress bitch. I showed her. No more massages, no more deep throttles. But wait I’m taking care of baby Ava now, changing her diapers, cooking rice pilafs for her ass pirate interior design friends who come over for yoga parties. I can’t even get an erection anymore man! I read novels on Sundays after church and clean her kitchen daily! WHY, WHY Jesus, have you condemned me to eternal hell. I’m her househusband, that feminist.