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Excerpt from "Diary of a Crippled Gurl"

If you've seen a miserable, hobbling lump of a gurl dragging herself along the city streets, no, that's not a gimpy goon from the loony bin. That's me. *sniff sob splutter* I've been slowly nursing my mangled foot back to health. I wish I had a crazy story about how I survived an alligator attack or wrestled a baby from a rabid squirrels (those creatures are vicious tyrants!!!), but I'm actually just a poor innocent victim of hot water to the foot (mmm...sizzling flesh stew!). WARNING: if you are offended by the term "crippled" do NOT keep reading. make use of your perfectly functioning, beautifully skinned limbs and find a library with more quality reading material. if you have a life-altering disability and are actually crippled, don't worry, i'm already going burn in hell from all the f-bombs i've been dropping and pet abuse i've been fantasizing about lately.

As far as city gurlz go, I'm a brave warrior. But no amount of coconut conditioner, make-up primer, vitamin B and Omega 3s or baby aspirin (as prescribed by Dr. Oz) could have prepared me for the disaster that my once "organized-messy" world has crumpled into! ugh. *whines wails weasel-growls*


Here is a page out of the novel that will be self-tiled "BB, Crippled":

8am: Justin Beiber alarm goes off. Sit up realize foot is still destroyed. Cry. Hit snooze and lie in disgruntled pile.

9:24am: "Baby baby baby Oohhhh" is blaring. Fuck the Beibs and his spectacular limb-usage. Fuck! I need to let the dog out.

9:26am: Step in dog pee.

9:30am: Let dog out. Watch dog stand in front on door. Stare a dog. Make angry face at dog. Dog wags tail. Point at my burn victim bandages. Dog wags tail.

9:32: Dog almost bowls me over on way inside. I trip up stairs to kitchen. Feed dog. Dog not hungry. Fantasize about kicking dog.

9:41am: Locate cat. Remember I have to feed her too. Fantasize about pets that live off feelings of disgruntlement and hate vibes from their caregivers.

Hobble hobble hobble

9:45am: Out of cat food. Fuck fuck fuck. Open cupboards: tuna cans on top shelf. I'm short. Fuck my elfin genetics.

9:51: Cannot collapse step ladder.

9:54: Lift up step ladder, and use it to poke the tuna can on the shelf. Four fall. *thud thud thud thud* Lands 1mm from delicate foot.

9:55: Fantasize about suing step ladder company for their confusing design (their products are un-operable by cripples and i'm offended), building company (for installing high-up shelves catering to tall people and i'm offended) and the tuna can company (tuna should come in soft, fuzzy, pink pouches. none of these heavy, gagged metal cans; they make me feel like a dangerous fish thief! i'm offended!)

9:56: cat is fed. cat hates tuna. fantasize about feeding cat to dog. dog wags tail.

10am: Sit in recliner with feet up. Reach for university course readings. Readings too far away.

10:05: Trying to summon reader with thought vibes. I only feel the vibe of something pointy under my butt.

10:06: It's the remote!!! What a blessed object. Watch "Coronation Street".

10:08: Hungry. Can't move.

11:09: Locate box of Panda black-licorice on couch.

11:11: Box: nice and empty. BB: full and sick.

11:14am: Too much anxiety about unfaithfulness, embezzlement, tram crashes and looking ugly when i'm old to keep watching British soap opera. Decide to take shower.

Hobble Hobble Hobble 

11:17: Slip in dog pee.

Gimp Gimp Gimp

11:21: Plastic bag secured over foot. Stumble and fall into tepid shower (fear of potential hot water and being covered on ugly orange blisters for eternity). lie on back to prevent water from slipping into wound. dump shampoo and soap on to body. *shiver shiver shiver* Fantasize about washing myself with a rag on a stick. Or never showering again and joining a colony of burnt hoboes.

11:49: Suds feel gone. Roll out of shower.

Hobble hobble hobble

11:52: Somewhat dry. Conditioner chunk in hair. Begin glamification process.

12:09pm: Pretty and sparkly. Mysterious liquid oozing out bandage.

Hobble hobble hobble

12:11: Trip on dog.

Gimp gimp gimp

12:20: Rummage through pile of clothes on floor. Locate underwear and sheet. Possibly wear toga today?! Find phone: many texts, 2 missed calls. 

Text text text

12:55: Dressed in same clothes as day before. Too angry and sleepy to rummage. Decide to take power nap. Zzzzz.

3:04: FUCK!

Hobble hobble hobble

3:06: trip on cat. fantasize about suing pets. though...that's unrealistic.

 Stay tuned for Chapter 2: BB attempts to go to school but can't walk up the stairs. cabs home and goes to sleep. Chapter 3: BB eats another box of Panda licorice and purchases a giant wine glass that claims it can fit a whole bottle (trying to be efficient: will cut down trips to and from fridge). Confirmed: it definitely fits a whole bottle. Chapter 4: BB whines that she is lonely and needs help restraining herself from assaulting pets and invites friends over. 17 people fit in the hot tub with BB balancing delicately on top. Chapter 5: BB attempts to use crutches...falls on face. Chapter 6: BB is crippled broke!

image   image Glass as big as my face             Crippled take-out (floor style) Day #13