milf – aMediocreMan

Dear soccer mom,

Dear Soccer Mom,

Hi there, you don’t know me, but you cut me off today while speeding through a 20 MPH school zone in your extended Chevy Suburban with the stickers on the back window that shows how many children you have.

I’m sure there was a good reason for you endangering the lives of young, innocent school children by blatantly ignoring the speed limit.

Maybe you broke a nail and had a “salon-emergency.”

Maybe one of your fake, silicon tits popped and you had to race to your plastic surgeon’s office before the other 20 soulless, insecure women beat you there.

Maybe you just found out that your husband was banging his much younger than you, much hotter than you, much tighter than you secretary and you were speeding to your lawyer’s office to draw up the divorce papers. Continue reading “Dear soccer mom,”

plastic parade

A-typical Rolex submariner sits on the dad’s wrist like a beacon of arrival.
His too-tight Ed Hardy tee sticks to his cross fit chest like an extra layer of skin.
Those hours in the gym, the broccoli, the grilled chicken, the spinach salads……
Eyes scanning the crowd looking for that 25 year-old who hasn’t yet sunk the Botox into her forehead…….

Wifey to his left, flipping her platinum dyed hair again and again and again.
She, looking for someone to make fun of, looking for someone to help her feel better about her collagen duck-faced lips.

Her third tit job, her fourth anal bleaching, her fifth affair with a new trainer, tattoo reads “MILF” along the panty line that only a select 50 or so willing erections get to see.

She, peering at the younger women while licking her lips with the misguided confidence of an American Idol contestant.

Continue reading “plastic parade”

the lost milf- dancing Al Roker

Dancing Al Roker (the lost milf)

her main job for the day is to take the kids to and from school. They are older now so the task has become considerably easier. Their Iphones have the alarm clocks now and they no longer care for breakfast.

“The bus leaves in 10 minutes,” she warns them each morning.

her bus is an extended Chevy Suburban with those cute stickers on the back window that helps everyone understand exactly how many kids and pets she has now. The windows are tinted as dark black as legally possible so no one can see her face absent of make up that earlier in the morning. The crows feet are deeper now and the dark circles widen with each year.

after dropping them off, kisses blown and back to the house. Once inside, time for the magical breakfast 5-4-3 cocktail……..5 grapes followed by 4 crushed and snorted Oxy’s followed by a glass of water with 3 lemon slices………….ah, let the numb morning begin. Continue reading “the lost milf- dancing Al Roker”

deconstructed milf

Marriage: Years 1-5

Each day, cotton candy fluffy marshmallow clouds

floating between comments of “I love you” and “You’re beautiful honey”

hubby home from work, healthy dinner served,

glass of $50 wine that is difficult to pronounce so it must be fucking great

Tongue down throat, barely make it to the bed, face in the pillow

deep, penetrating cock inside you like he fucking means it, visceral fucking with love on the side, so in love his sweat tastes like cupids own saliva

true, fucking, love.

Next day, smile like a clown as you walk outside to get the mail,

waving stupidly at the neighbors with your “the world is mine” look

because your life is better, your BMW is newer, your skin is tighter

you still stay up past 11 each night

and don’t yet know about Lifetime movies. Continue reading “deconstructed milf”

that bitch on the bread aisle

pants1 It was staring at the whole wheat, organic, high fiber, no trans fat, sodium free, steroid free loaves

It was wearing bright pink sweat pants with the word “JUICY” spread across both ass cheeks, the “UI” sucked into the designer thong cavity, screaming for release.

I couldn’t find the 99cent generic Publix brand hot dog buns,
My eyes strained for the all white bread goodness, its eyes reading labels to disguise an attempt at being healthy.

I wanted to stop staring at it, but I couldn’t, I needed to see the blood from the train wreck, the pieces of bone from the auto crash, the land mine aftermath.

“Excuse me, do you know where the hot dog buns are?” I asked it.

“I don’t eat hot dogs, I wouldn’t know,” it replied without even looking in my direction.

Well shit, my fucking bad, I guess I should’ve known.
It was just a bitch on the bread aisle who wants to be 20 again.

Thanks for the collagen, thanks for the Ughs, thanks for your husband fucking his secretary instead of you. Thanks for the suburban, thanks for the diamond studded Iphone.

I found the buns and walked out with my soul.