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Have a heart, foster a butt plug today!
Thursday I had a truly amazing idea. I am still downright giddy in the afterglow of its sheer brilliance. In fact, I have been prancing around the apartment mirthfully giggling to myself for hours. Not since starting New York Shitty have I been as psyched about something as I am about this.
Who or what do I have to thank for this yet-to-be-announced breakthrough, you ask?
This guy. It happened like this…
My morning started on a rather inauspicious note: immediately after waking up I got sick. My stomach made this weird gurgling sound, and lo, up came a tummy full of sinus drainage. The taste of this foul substance, in turn, made me convulse and dry heave for two solid minutes. Sexiful.
After cleaning myself up, I got on the computer to see what was shaking over at The Gowanus Lounge. And what did I find? A whacked-out rant about Feminist Art, that’s what. I cannot do this masterpiece of misogyny justice. Click on the above link and behold its paleolithic logic (and my rather angry rebuttal) yourself.
That said, if history takes any notice of Miss Heather at all, one of the facts about me that will be found in little Timmy’s and Meghan’s high school textbooks will be this: she was feminist. It should also be noted that I make art on occasion. So, if someone was to use a little deductive reasoning, the argument could be made that I am, indeed, a feminist artist. There, I said it.
And (as I indicated in the angry missive I left regarding the above-mentioned story on The Gowanus Lounge), Judy Chicago is not my cup of tea. That doesn’t mean I do not think her work is important, though. Art is a very subjective thing, Ms. Chicago may appeal to some people, but this (Warning: NSFW) is more my speed. You see, Miss Heather is not only a feminist, she is also a pervert with a wicked sense of humor.
Yes sir, I likes me some Lynda Benglis. Enough so to take my busted-up copy of Bad Girls to a lecture she was giving and ask her to autograph it. That was well over ten years ago. This memory got me to wondering what she is doing nowadays, so I did a little knocking around online. I found this and this. Not only is Ms. Benglis the same age as my mother, but she also lives right here in New York Shitty. I wonder if she’ll adopt me?
Shortly after learning the previous two facts, I had my revelation:
I wonder what ever became of that dildo?
I have not been able to get this question out of my mind. I imagine he probably resides in a nice assisted living center somewhere in New Jersey, being such a famous marital aid and all, right? But what if he’s sick or scratching out a hand(job)-to-mouth existence out on the street? If he is, I bet he’s not alone. There are probably legions of buttplugs, pocket pussies, doubledongs and cockrings out there struggling to keep warm at night.
When someone throws a cat or dog out on the street, the usual (and rightful) response is outrage. What about man’s other best friend? Don’t these devoted companions deserve protection too? I think so and that’s why I have started Miss Heather’s Home for Sick, Unwanted, and Crippled Dildonics (or “H-SUCD”).
Please find it in your heart to take a little time out of your busy day to learn about some personal care products who really need you. Who knows, you might might even find a new nocturnal companion to love and cherish for years to come.
Open your minds (and your legs) and give one of these fellas a chance. I know you have it in you.
Sincerely,
Miss Heather
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