Trump-apocalpyse Day 2

Ok, survived day 2 of the Trump-apocalypse. Only 1453 to go. Ordered 16 crates of Grey Goose Vodka, 12 crates of vermouth, 16,000 jars of olives and am figuring out how to make vodka-infused coffee breakfast drink along with having bacon at every meal. I need my strength.

Today I turned off the news and learned ballet dancing. I now plan to be the oldest comedian/ballet dancer to make it big in New Mexico while hammered on Grey Goose martinis.

It’s Day 2 people.

Pace yourselves.

Praying for a Trump Free world,

Laughing Coyote

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Day 1 of Trump-apocalpyse

Also known as Day 1 AT (After Trump). We now no longer use the Gregorian Calender. 2016 stopped November 8, 2016 AD.  So its DAY 1  Year 1 AT (After Trump). Everything prior to today will be referred to as BT (Before Trump) replacing the hackneyed and tired BC.

Sorry folks. Jesus no longer matters.

It’s a very weird day when I realize I’m a better Christian than the right-wingers because I didn’t vote for the sociopath. Alas now that I’ve achieved a personal milestone in my Christianity, I can no longer use the time tested B.C./A.D., because we’ve been taken over by an Idiot and a squad of right-wing and broken-winged morons. There goes the alphabet!

That’s okay. I was tired of using letters to communicate anyway. It’s much easier to grunt and point at the nearest civil right and then consume it like its some giant delusional cookie treat, never to be seen again, but boy wasn’t that a fabulous five seconds of Neanderthal goodness!

It’s the first time I have felt glad about my upcoming hysterectomy-there will be no possible way to get pregnant after that and be forced to have the baby because I will no longer have the right to get an abortion at age 50. And believe me the fucking baby would want it too if it got a look at me on any given Sunday.

That was the bright spot of Day 1  AT,  dear diary, so glad I won’t have a womb very soon.

Several unthinking people told me today, “Have a nice day.”

I wanted to punch them in the fucking face.

That’s how I survived Day 1, well that and still being drunk when I woke up this morning.

Only 1454 days to go.

Reporting from the Heart of the Trump-apocalypse

Laughing and Heart-Broken Coyote

Categories: political humor and satire, Trump Presidency, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Wandering Uterus Votes for Hillary; Trump Whines about Voter Fraud

(full transcript of blog posted under “Ovarian Emails” after this video)

Categories: political humor and satire, Sexual humor, Uncategorized, women's health | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

How to Get Assaulted and Thrown Out of a Lesbian Dance by a Man

How to Get Assaulted and Thrown Out of a Lesbian Dance by a Man

For this pride season I thought I would offer advice for those women who would like to experience getting thrown out of a lesbian Pride dance by a bunch of men because one of the men grabs you aggressively and inappropriately. I’m writing this this weekend, in case any women would like to experience this in 2016-like at the All Woman Pride Dance tonight in Santa Fe. Maybe you can write a poem or short-story afterwards, or invent an interpretive dance, after having that kind of “learning experience.”

Setting the Stage for Your Assault

  1. First, it’s all in the planning. Make sure the LGBT planning committee hires a man with a reputation for violence to run the women’s lesbian dance venue. First things first. (Bear in mind these members may or may not have known about him beforehand.). It works either way.
  1. Second, insure the All Women’s Pride Dance is run by a someone who appears to really dislike (possibly even hate) women, evident from past behaviors and who also has a reputation for hostility and being very hard to work with or get along with. Remember women, if you want to get violated, you need to plan ahead and pay attention to these details!
  1. Make sure you hire exactly the man that the organizers for other Women’s Dances refuse to work with on the grounds that said man is rude, intransigent and impossible to work with.
  1. Make sure that all but one of the security team are men, hired by the highly problematic manager. Make sure she is a late arrival when the crisis goes down.

3b. For an added ironic twist, hire a gay man who has these behavioral traits.

  1. Insure that everyone in authority at the venue has been thoroughly schooled in the Blame the Victim Manual 101.

          Yes women this looks like a lot of work and what I’d say to that is: you gotta’ put the effort in so that you can assaulted easily and fluidly, no matter what you say in your defense when it goes down.

And then I would say: actually, this shit pretty much arranges itself—it’s like our culture is set up for this or something. So although it looks like it might be a difficult thing to arrange for a manager of a women’s dance to act threateningly to more than one woman at the dance, if you have the right ingredients, it is actually phenomenally easy! Who knew?

  1. Insure that the venue runs out of freely available water about 5 hours into the evening, on a summer night, making it necessary for all the women to go to the bartenders to get water, bearing in mind that most of the women had been buying liquor all night and that most women stop when they have had enough, so we aren’t banging into each other on the highway on the way home—I believe it is called Responsible Lesbian Drinking Behavior or RLDB.

Note that you only need one bad apple. The rest of the bartending staff can be courteous and enjoyable making sure that the women are lulled into a sense of safety at an All Woman Lesbian/Bi/Curious/Just-like-Jamming-with-Women- Dance during Pride.

6.   If you can control the weather, make sure it is very hot—that will be easy during Pride in Santa Fe in June because it’s usually quite hot and you can count on the fact that most Pride venues provide free tap water all weekend to keep people from passing out. That is a welcome and thoughtful thing, and many venues in Santa Fe do this year round in places where dancing occurs. Thus you, while setting up your own victimization, should not have a problem getting “free water,” into place, bearing in mind that you paid for the water as your price of admission to the venue.

(By the way Patriarchy, if we had equal status in society and made decent money percentage wise, we might buy more drinks at bars and perhaps start assaulting each other because we’re so drunk. So bartenders and managers start voting to equalize things for women. You will benefit. Terrorizing a woman for needing some water instead of more liquor is so last Tuesday.)

7. Instruct the manager of the venue to make speeches to the women who are seeking water to make them feel bad for not buying more liquor instead and to shame them for being thirsty and/or on a budget.

8. Make sure you do drink over the course of the evening so you can be blamed for being drunk. This is essential. If you don’t drink, then say you did because everyone knows that if a woman has had some alcohol, then everything that ensues afterwards, can be blamed on her: everything from being grabbed very aggressively and threateningly, to being raped. Even murdered. Well she was drunk, says the man, obviously I couldn’t help murdering her. Plus her legs were showing.

Remember drunk women are never raped or assaulted.

9. Again make sure the venue runs out of water, necessitating a request to provide more water in the big jug next to the bar, creating the whole domino effect.

10. Make sure security is trained to not listen to you once the drama goes down, so when the bartender starts screaming “Get her out of here! Get her out of here!” security simply surrounds you, putting their hands on you, even though you are just standing there with your plastic, 6 ounce, empty water cup saying, “He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me up into the bar in a very very angry manner and I simply threw ½ cup of water in his face so he would let go of me because I felt threatened and bewildered by being suddenly and angrily grabbed and almost jerked off my feet.”

You will probably find that you have to repeat yourself three times, and have to raise your voice, because the manager-bartender keeps screaming louder and louder as if he is a hysterical girl who has been bitten by a wild animal suddenly and without warning, even though he grabbed the animals paw and nearly pulled it off.


I have found as a teacher, it is helpful to give scenarios, or examples to students, of various social dynamics and principles. Thus I am providing a step-by-step example of one possible scenario that demonstrates how you can get thrown out of lesbian dance while defending yourself from a hostile man who is grabbing you and being threatening.

Here it is important to get a little backstory about the main female protagonist, so when you go to set up your own victimization you will be fully in character and able to manipulate all the variables to your satisfaction. (Or his satisfaction really, because that’s all that is important.) You have to understand how your life has created the seed such that you are the kind of woman who just asks for men to hit you, for example.


If you don’t understand the woman’s character and possibly deeply troubled past of having a Ph.D. in psychology and teaching in many university and college settings, and being a published writer, as well as her vocational background as a crisis counselor and assistant director running a group home for troubled adolescent girls, and being a lesbian bisexual, with various successful relationships, having good friends all over the United States, and having traveled abroad extensively, and having had many wonderful and illuminating hours being alive, as well as having a well-developed shamanic spiritual practice, that includes helping other people, you will not fully understand how all these events conspired to turn her into the kind of person who gets thrown out of a Lesbian Dance by, not just one man, but four.

Apparently this sordid past, and her tight red dress and education and ability to detect nuance and sexism, all led her down this train wreck of a situation of making a man assault her.

Women are such bitches, aren’t we? We should never be allowed to abort embryos, use birth control, vote in elections, or get an education because then we run around making men grab them inappropriately and scare them when we defend ourselves with ½ a glass of water.

Let’s run through a scenario:

Two women approach the bar, “Could we have two waters please. There is no more water available out here. The big jugs are empty.”

The manager-bartender hands over two waters in 6 ounce plastic cups. He goes and refills the jug at the side of the bar.

The two women, stand at the empty bar, discussing music and literature.

The bartender comes back, frowning and angry, buts into the conversation and says to the women in a hostile tone, “You should know that next time there won’t be water for you. Not anymore. Tomorrow night at our bar you’ll have to buy water. So be grateful that you are getting something for free tonight.”

The manager then stares at the women and then throws things around underneath the bar in a clunky way that sounds like frustration or anger.

The two women stare at him and then at each other. He stalks off to tend to something down at the other end of the bar. Both of them have purchased tickets. Both have purchased other beverages, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic throughout the evening and are thirsty because of dancing. Both are paying customers. Both have regularly patronized the local LGBT establishment in the past and spent plenty of money. Both are women.

The woman in the red dress says to her friend, “What’s that about?”  The shorter woman in pants frowns and says, “Why did he need to say that to us?”

(The next step is crucial.)

When the bartender comes back, the woman in the red dress says to him, “Why did you feel the need to say all that to us about the water?” (Make sure to come from the point of view that being rude to a customer over water is unjustified and that if she were a man, she wouldn’t let that kind of thing go either. What man would really let another man say to him: okay, but that’s all the free water you are getting tonight and you should be grateful. Bad boy. Bad bad boy.)

“What?” says the manager.

“Why did you need to say all that to us about the water. I mean it was kind of rude to say to us in the way you did, like we don’t deserv- ”

The manager then grabs the woman’s left arm that is sitting on the bar and jerks it hard, pulling her off balance in order to shove his face aggressively close to hers and angrily hissing “We spend too much fucking money on water for you women.”

Startled and scared and immediately self-protective, the woman in the red dress throws her cup of water, about 3 ounces because she’d drunk the rest, in the proprietor’s face in order to make him let go of her arm. Immediately the manager starts yelling,

“Get her out of here! Get her out of here! Get her out of here! Get her out of here!”  (Sounds like Donald Trump huh?)

And then one, then two, male security guards come in and without asking her what happened, grabs her arm telling her she has to leave. She says “Let go of me. Don’t touch me. He just assaulted me and grabbed my arm and was totally rude. I threw water in his face to make him let go.”

In the background, the manager, let’s say his name is Doug Nava, for example, is screaming like a girl, “Get her out of here, get her out of here!”

Meanwhile the woman’s friend is saying, “She didn’t do anything. He grabbed her. He was rude to us.”

Two more guards show up and encircle the woman in the red dress who is fiercely arguing her point. “No, he grabbed me. He put his hands on me. I didn’t do anything wrong. I threw the water on him so he’d let go of me. Do not touch me,” she says to the security guard who is trying to grab her arm, of course to escort her out. To his credit the guard let’s go of her arm.

Meanwhile the manager is yelling “She hit me! She hit me,” like the woman is Calamity Jane or something. (If she had been, he would not have been standing up anymore.)

And now her friends are showing up and saying, “Listen to her. Listen to what she is saying.”

The guards are now telling the two original women, plus any of the other women who are coming to her defense, that they all have to leave.

The woman says, “He puts his hands on me at a lesbian dance and you are saying I have to leave.”

Another woman says, “He shoved me earlier tonight when I was-”

And then another woman says, “He was so rude to a friend of mine tonight while she was trying to figure out what line to stand in to buy a drink ticket that she went home.”

One of the guards is saying, “Ma’am if you don’t leave now we are going to have to take you out by force.”

At this point one female security guard shows up, and says, “Yes I hear you, but it’s his venue and he hired the guards so what he says goes.”

The woman in the red dress says, “Oh so even though he assaulted me by grabbing my arm and being threatening, he gets the final say because he hired you.”

She hesitates and nods.

The woman who has been assaulted says, “So the security is about protecting the man who grabbed me in a totally aggressive and intimidating way and not about protecting the women and the paying customers at all.”

She said nothing, but the woman could tell she had made her point.

So at this point six  women surround the woman in the red dress and they all get thrown out of the dance.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED! This is how this goal gets achieved! 

Outside the venue, the woman almost goes home and then decides she wants a record of the events, though it will not help her get un-thrown out of the dance, or un-manhandled by Nava, or the security guards, who at least, kept their paws off her when she demands they not touch her. Plus she figures she will need the police report to press charges if she decides to. (She decides not to because “being grabbed, yanked aggressively and angrily hissed at by the manager,” is may not go anywhere in court and she doubts she can corral the other women who have been the victims of his behavior and attitude to go along and it seems like a lot of work. Plus she knows she will likely be dragged through the mud. If he’d actually punched her, she would have gone through with it, but no one punched anyone. Had she actually punched the manager, as he claimed, she would have left marks for the police to take pictures and note. That did not happen. She was careful to not exaggerate about what he did either.)

Plus then she remembers I wanted this to happen. It’s my fault of course for not letting a man put his hands on me aggressively. This is what I set out to do tonight, get thrown out of a lesbian dance by an angry gay man. You’d think a gay man wouldn’t do that to a gay woman…but I’m obviously stupid.

Someone later will explain to the woman that his bar was imploding and he was mad because (theoretically anyway) he hadn’t made enough money that night to cover the costs. (The Blue Rooster will fold 4 months later, no doubt due to people avoiding the venue. Again it will be the woman’s fault.)

Now outside the venue, the woman calls the police and they show up and tell her that the manager has already called them and filed his report which says that she hit him. What a liar. The woman then files her own report, saying that that never happened and she has a witness, who corroborates the truth.

The police are courteous and professional and there is nothing outright to suggest they don’t believe her. They are men too, but many men are good upstanding people. This woman knows many such men, gay, straight and trans.

She files the report in case she needs the information later and to document what happened in case she wants to file charges of assault against him later. She wants her side of the story told. She’s not just going to sit there and take it, not from a man and not from anyone.


Soon the gay partner of the manager shows up and apologizes for what has happened and offers her and her friend free drinks at their bar down the road to which she says, “No thanks.”  He is not patronizing, but apologetic. She accepts his apology and suggests that the manager shouldn’t be managing people or running women’s dances.

The boyfriend (who will later break up with manager) refunds their money and asks her not to take it out on the bar. She agrees to nothing. He admits his partner has an anger problem.

So, Ladies, this is how to get assaulted by a man and thrown out of a Lesbian Dance during Pride celebrations. No doubt you will want to try this on your own! It’s easy to make this happen, apparently, no training is really necessary if you built the right ingredients.

Maybe in 2016 we can have several women being assaulted by straight men too. I am so looking forward to it.

At this junction the woman could congratulate herself on “getting a free dance.” Such manipulation, but all women are manipulative and need help from men to stay in control. Right?

Some of you may question how I know this scenario will work?

Because it’s all true and it happened to me. Minus the part of my setting it all up beforehand. That was irony and sarcasm to make a point: I, and everyone else, gay, lesbian, bi, straight, curious, and trans should be safe at a gay venue. Especially if we are all gay or friends of gays!

This is Laughing Coyote Reporting


Everyone have a safe and enjoyable Pride. Even you Nava. No doubt you have also been mistreated in your life.



Categories: Lesbian-Gay Humor, sexism, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

New Female Viagra Promises 1/2 More Orgasms Per Month to Women Who Are Still Conscious After Taking It

The new female Viagra, called flibanserin or Addyi, promises ½ more orgasms per month for women who are still conscious after taking the drug.

The up side of this is that while on flibanserin, you won’t need to drink because the medication provides for passing out already.

Apparently the drug comes with syncope, or random fainting spells, and a list of AA meetings, because you can’t drink at all when you are on the drug. (I suggested that the prescriptions be dispensed with a free portable fainting couch, but I was summarily dismissed by male doctors who know that women would just prefer to fall on the ground instead).

Presumably that extra ½ orgasm per month makes up for not being able to imbibe your favorite martini.

Researchers are not sure what happens with the ½ of the orgasm you are not having, which seems pretty uncomfortable to me.

Is your orgasm simply on pause, until the next calendar month? That will create some odd expressions while you are shopping, doing a Power Point presentation for shareholders, and caring for your kids. . . Don’t worry kids, mommy is just stuck in the middle of an orgasm she won’t have for another two weeks. Go do your homework.

“Woman paralyzed on bus from not being able to complete entire orgasm,” the Daily News reported last week.

Perhaps this is why women tend to pass out while taking Addyi? And you can’t even have a drink to relax while you are stuck in mid-getting off! I would think having to run around the planet trapped in mid-orgasm might be worse than not starting to have one to begin with.

It could also produce strange wrinkle lines for long time users.

This was denied by Sprout, yes the weirdest-name-ever-drug company that makes Addyi, a word that rhymes internally with Giddy-up, which I think would have been a far better name because isn’t that what they are doing to us? Giddy-up there women and hurry up and have some more orgasms that we can charge you for! Hurry Up might have been an even better name. (Why don’t drug manufacturers ever consult me about these things?)  Hurry Up and have that half an orgasm that you are still paying full price for.

          Hurry Up and come faster and more often so men don’t have to learn about relationships and pleasuring a woman, and learning the difference between a clitoral orgasm, a uterine orgasm and a full-on G-spot orgasm that comes from deep under the earth and ruins your carpeting, not to mention how to make a woman come so hard she spews liquid in all directions: Why should women be the only ones with faces full of cum? (Oh I’m sorry, ‘female ejaculate.’)

Look folks, my political correctness is slipping, I’ve been stuck with only half of my last orgasm for four weeks now, and the rest of the climax is overdue, and I’m overwrought with anxiety because I’m worried that the 2nd half of my medically induced orgasm is going to show up at the wrong time, like my next job interview (because dealing with a month long 1/2 of an orgasm got me fired), while I’m piloting a plane, at a political rally against Donald Trump….actually I want it to show up when Bernie Sanders finally admits that Hillary beat the crap out of him fair and square. Ahhhhhh that feels so good!

 Hurry Up! so women themselves don’t have to take responsibility for knowing how to create and direct their own pleasure. Why take personal responsibility for your libidinal expression when you can pay to take a pill that lowers blood pressure, is very hard on the liver, creates fainting spells and has its own black box warning right out of the gate? The logo should read: Take flibanserin, before it gets banned!

The pharmaceutical company, Sprout, refused to say if some women pass out while having that extra .5 to 1 whole orgasm per month. But fainting can be a plus if you really aren’t that into your partner, and a double-plus plus for men who would rather have sex with an unconscious woman.

This Half-an-Extra-Orgasm Pill can sort of treat your blues too because it was originally developed as an SSRI to treat depression. Personally, I know that ½ more orgasms per month, despite the facial tics I’m developing, has totally turned around my Major Depressive Disorder!

Addyi apparently can provide cures for psychological disorders, as well as make a woman more independent of her partner, an unintended consequence, but real nonetheless.  Below is a testimonial from Dora, who spend years in therapy and in an unhappy marriage. She reports,

“Praise Jesus, I know having one more orgasm, even an increase of half-an orgasm per month, made all the difference in my life. My life went from being fucking meaningless to be completely fulfilling all without having to change my relationship with my partner, myself, or making my man learn how to really make me come. It’s a Partner in a Pill I must say. Now that I have Addyi, I really don’t need a relationship.”

So even though Addyi, a name which sounds like a sexually repressed jihadist might make on the way to blowing up an air terminal-

Or is that the sound the woman makes while having that .5 to 1 more fulfilling sexual experiences?

Or is that the sound she makes when paying for the prescription?

Or the sound that a woman makes when fainting on the cement?

Or was it the sound the original researchers made when it failed to work as an anti-depressant, and failed the first two applications to the FDA as a libido pill, for not demonstrating enough positive effects, to make the side effects worth it?

Addyi! Addyi! Addyi!

(Why did it get passed? Politics and money. The product has not changed.)

Addyi! Addyi! Addyi!

Or was it the sound of the original developers killing themselves so as not to report another failed product to the shareholders? (Addyi does rhyme with Hari-Kari).

Or is it the sound a woman should make when reading the side-effects in THE LITTLE BLACK BOX that comes with the medication. Yes, Female Viagra comes with its own Black Box warning from the get go.  Unlike Prozac and Zoloft which took over 20 years, Addyi has a black box warning now, which is the most severe warning of possible life threatening side effects that can exist on consumer medication.

Maybe the fact that the word “flibanserin” has the word “ban” in it is a bit of oracular truth in all the propaganda. And that’s the prediction some experts are making (see below for a list of informative links below this blog post), namely that the drug will probably be pulled off the market in a couple of years, either due to side-effects or ineffectiveness, but that will be after the pharmaceutical company makes a bunch of money.

Or maybe Addyi! is the sound of a somatic and psychological jihad perpetrated upon women by profit and patriarchal driven big business and medicine, just because men have often suffered from the delusion that there is something wrong with feminine sexuality, when most of the time there isn’t. I think we should develop a pill for Male Sexist Delusion Disorder or MSDD. Women would buy this pill for the men in their lives (and for the insufferable women like Condoleezza Rice and Phyllis Schlafely who do their dirty work for them).

What should give us women, and anyone related to a woman, pause is that Addyi affects the nervous system of the woman, not blood flow to the organs, like in the case of Viagra. Something else: SSRI’s, of which Addyi is one, are known to cause lower libido in patients that are taking it. How in the world can a class of medications known to lower sexual libido be marketed as a libidinal enhancer?

WTF is right!

That’s like trying to sell Valium as all night study aid.

Furthermore, only 10 percent of the sample patients who participated in three studies showed any improvement in libido or orgasm at all. That means that for every 10 women who take it, only 1 will have that oh-so-sought-after ½ of an orgasm per month that will make all the difference. Third, “low libido,” only exists in a fraction of the women in the United States and then you have to measure whether or not “low libido” in those women is in fact a problem. Fourth, the drug can’t be used in menopausal women or post-menopausal women which is when most women might actually need or want it, and fifth, most libido problems are emotional, psychological or hormonal and Addyi does nothing to address the hormones and there’s no real proof it really does anything significant, that ½ orgasm notwithstanding.

I think just getting really drunk before having sex, if you feel inhibited, just might be the more prudent course of action.

It’s what I plan to go back to if I can ever stop fainting!

But Seriously Folks…

I would hesitate myself to take a drug that affects the entire nervous system, with serious possible side effects that compound if a person drinks alcohol, such that no alcohol use at all is recommended while taking the drug. It’s stupid to take medication when there’s no solid evidence to support its need or its efficacy.

Most sexual issues can be remedied by education about how to pleasure and self-pleasure and addressing issues with the partner, that includes knowledge about how women’s arousal patterns and sexual needs are different than those of men and probably will never be remedied by a pill, unless it is one that just makes people horny. Why haven’t we just prescribed rufies or rohypnal for all these women?

Oh yeah, the unconsciousness part!  Apparently this is only legal if a pharmaceutical company does it!

Addyi! Addyi! Addyi!

This harkens back to medicine’s habit and psychiatry’s habit of pathologizing an aspect of women’s sexuality and then medicating the woman for it and in this case, marketing it to make money until people realize that it is dangerous and doesn’t work.

More information is available in the links below and though I find the concept of ¼ an orgasm funny (I had to cut down my dosage), I think flibanserin is an attempt to exploit women and men’s desire for more complete and enjoyable sexuality. Addyi is no Viagra, that’s for sure.


Laughing Coyote

Web Links for your information below

Pertinent links so you can see some of the research and do your own.

Documentary on the attempt to develop a libido enhancer for women  “Orgasm, Inc.”



“On average, treatment with Addyi increased the number of satisfying sexual events by 0.5 to one additional event per month over placebo. Across the three trials, about 10 percent more Addyi-treated patients than placebo-treated patients reported meaningful improvements in satisfying sexual events, sexual desire or distress. Addyi has not been shown to enhance sexual performance.”


“Because of severe side effects Public Citizen, a consumer watchdog group says  Addyi will be pulled from the shelves in a few years time because of “serious dangers to women, with little benefit” to them.

“Unfortunately, we haven’t heard the last of this drug,” the group added.

“This is a product that is neither very effective nor particularly safe”” Dr. Susan Wood, a former FDA official told the NBC, adding that she was disappointed by the approval. “It won’t benefit many women and at the same time the approval comes with a lot of restrictions, setting a precedent that a drug for women’s sexual health has to be treated in a very special way.”




October 2010 The FDA rejects Boehringer Ingelheim’s flibanserin for female sexual disorder, saying there is little evidence it increases libido and citing unacceptable side-effects. The company sells it to Sprout.

October 2013 Second FDA rejection.

Categories: psychology humor, Sexual humor, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

How I Plan to Save the World through Greeting Cards

How the fuck does Facebook know where I’ve been even when I don’t have an iPhone? Or any smart phone. I lost mine and have an old dumb phone while I contemplate my next move.

Apparently I was at Pilar NM a year ago and Zozobra a year later, but I didn’t post that. I don’t want to know where I’ve been and I certainly don’t want anyone else to know. I find being tracked unnerving. What am I, the elusive and nearly extinct Jaguar? In fact I’ve been known to call people with iPhones and lie about where I am, just to create a false trail. “Yep, I’m at an Allsup’s in Gallup. Great price on cigarettes.”

How does FB know where I’ve been? I don’t post anything other than political commentary, satire, stupid comments about Windows 10, research about BSS (Bernie Supporter Syndrome) and bits of performance video in order to find out how many people I can piss off at the same time before someone tracks me down and beats me to death with their iPhone. It’s all about livin’ on the edge.

Yes, posting on FB is pretty much narcissism deluxe, but I figure with everyone else bombarding me with posts they should go to therapy for, and re-posting happy inspirational sayings that I find completely irrelevant, shallow and stupid, I am allowed to post my irreverent bullshit too. Until Trump gets elected and Stupid finally wins and we are reduced to grunting and rudimentary symbols.

images (8)

If wise inspirational sayings worked on anything, the world would have changed by now and so would I. I did the research online and in reality. I’ve stood in Hallmark day after day reading all those cards and WOW, both world and I HAVEN’T CHANGED A BIT.

In fact, I think there might be a little understood correlation between Greeting Card Inspirational Failure and Trump Insanity Disorder, also known as the GOP’s real agenda. Their greeting card should be: YES WE REALLY ARE THIS BAD.

But wait, maybe there is time to save the world from us. And I think it might have to do with marketing a whole new set of greeting cards. And I’m just the woman for the job.

How Greeting Cards Have Failed Us

The first thing I did is go to Shaman School, which is very easy to do since I live in Santa Fe, home of the International Stolen Shamanism for White People. In one weekend, I learned the time honored technique of Speaking with the Dead and boy are they a boring fucking bunch.

So I went back to the well I’ve been dipping in since I was 20: reading dead philosophers, psychologists and authors. I figured talking to them might be even better and it was. They agreed with me that greeting cards suffer from a sophomoric lack of depth. Then I called Hallmark and proposed a line of greeting cards derived from Frederick Nietzsche. Here are 2 samples.

Sample 1:

Hi! God is Dead.

(Open the card)

Thinking of you!


Sample 2


(Open the card)

Are you in?


Then we branched out to Martin Heidegger:

What do you get when you cross Being with Time?


You’re right! A chicken!


If you didn’t find that funny, don’t worry, there’s more. Something for everyone. And a little known fact that the chicken crossing the road joke originated in pre-world war II Germany. What people don’t know is that the chicken was crossing the road to get away from German philosophers and most likely made it into France where Jean Paul Sartre’s greeting cards were all the rage at that time.

No Exit?

(open card)

Me too!


When I contacted Camus with the Oujia board, he made this classic contribution:

          “What’s the point?”


(Blank inside: write your own message)


Not to leave out the deceased psychologists from the school of psychoanalytic object relations for Valentine’s, we came up with this soon-to-be classic:

You are so my part-object.




Let’s do the depressive position!


And then of course we can’t leave out Hemmingway. It’s a little known fact that Hallmark actually contracted with Hemmingway for a line of greeting cards way back when.  One of them read something like this

“I think I might love you,” she said.

(open card)

He took a drink and looked out the window. There was a mountain. Then the avalanche came. 


That card wasn’t very successful. We suspect it was before its time.

I tried modernizing it and throwing in some science. Hemmingway seems like he might have enjoyed the clarity and succinctness of science.

There was the Big Bang.




And then we drank.


We are still testing this one.

If Facebook got hold of all this it would say something asinine like:

Debbie was at the Big Bang 2015.

How to make a Rice Krispies Treat Party Hat


Well, I guess it’s still happening somewhere.


If you have a greeting card suggestion in similar vein we’d love to hear from you. Hit the Reply button at the bottom of the blog. If it makes me laugh, I’ll post it on Facebook! And I will love you forever.  (Imagine heart emojis here. I invested all my money in greeting cards with enough depth to save the world and now I can’t afford emojis!)


Laughing Coyote

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What I want on my tombstone


my_tombstone (3)


Or maybe


my_tombstone (1)


Or maybe

my_tombstone (4)


my_tombstone (6)

Or how about,

my_tombstone (2)


Better yet I could have one of those portable arrow marquees with the flashing lights

spring-bike-trip-21 (1)

The flashing arrow would be pointing at my grave.

This would heighten the amount of attention I will get when I’m dead. Even the dead need to be haunted by the living, yes? Or, it will let the living know which grave to avoid. If you disliked me when I was alive, try me when I’m hosting maggots on my face.

(It’s refreshing to know I can use the same sign to advertise my deadness as I use for comedy shows.)

To add the amount of visitors, we could add an Arrow marquee outside the cemetery gates,

s-l225 (1)

And ad the caption:  DEAD INSIDE.

Which pretty much captures how I feel on any given day.

However it could have wider implications. That’s the cool thing about language. If it’s any good, it says way more than you planned on. When it’s bad, it uses a lot of words to say anything other than what you meant. Which is which, at any given time, is truly up for grabs. To decipher what is meant you need a psychologist or a pundit. What is the difference between the two? The size of the audience.

I imagine though that the Arrow Marquee Gravestone sitting at a grave site could be confusing, because the arrow could be interpreted to mean a general kind of deceased-hood to the left or the right of the arrow, depending on which way it is situated. Generally the arrows don’t point at the ground. Might the arrow indicate  which direction my ghostly self went? Because I’m just not the type to say, “sure I’ll live in this hole for all eternity now because I’m just so fucking peaced-out.” I’m more likely to say, “Okay, okay I’ll stay    at least until the grave diggers arrive.”

Grave diggers. Now there’s a trade that’s gone out of style.

I love how literal many cultures of the world have been and still are, burying things that the deceased will need in the next life. In that case, I want to be buried in my pick-up, with a lot of money, Grey Goose martinis, cowboy boots, cigarettes,  The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a functioning right hand for orgasms, and some cats that have already died. I don’t want anyone killing cats so that I can have company in the afterlife. Or people. Actually in that case, I’m just hoping there aren’t any people in the afterlife. Just cats.

Fall and Winter 2015-1-2016 022

Fall and Winter 2015-1-2016 030

(No these cats aren’t dead.They are all alive. Meow. Button and Onyx.)

The people I do love (and you know who you are), I wouldn’t wish my afterlife on. Especially if they are allergic.  If I truly love them, I will not ask them to spend eternity with me of all people. And really I can’t imagine anyone-except one-that I wouldn’t get sick of around Year 3 of Forever.

So to create less doubt about where I am when I’m dead, I should probably get an arrow that points towards the ground instead of towards perpetual ambiguity. West? East? Southwest? Another grave? Oh down there.

Retro Arrow

Retro arrow with space for text, eps 10

my_tombstone (3)

And on the marquee we could write “Debbie lies here.” Like in the westerns. Or the even more instructive, “Here lies Deb’s body,” just in case people think the soul doesn’t have other things to do.

I think the lying part is probably the only thing that will be accurate.

The Grammar of the Dead

But hold on a minute: The Dead are things, so shouldn’t it be “lay?” I’m the object someone else’s action. So, shouldn’t the marquee read, “Debbie got laid here?”

Because if I’m a dead body, I’m not lying or laying myself down anymore.  (If I am, I shouldn’t be in the cemetery and someone-I’m hoping it wasn’t me-has made a fairly tactless, not to mention gruesome, error. Several of them in fact.)

Now, no doubt irate grammarians and people sensitive to dying, perhaps even those who have dyed…or is it day?- whoops I’ve been in lay, la, lie, land too long- Maybe even those who have died, will write in to correct me on various points.

For those of you for whom this has opened a Pandora’s Box, (I hope you are a pagan, or whatever box you just opened can’t exist), I offer the following thoughts:  No God would be lying.  We hope.  The “God lies” is also a problem, especially since he appears to be doing it not only right now but in the future indeterminate. And with God being Himself,  He is never the object of anyone’s action per se, and being a Thing went right out with the Protestants, so God never gets laid, anywhere, no matter how hard He tries…which explains a lot, pushy evangelism, the Old Testament, witch hunts and a little hobby called The Inquisition. . .which really should be called “An Inquisition” or maybe “A Really Big Fucking Set of Chronic Mistakes.”

For those of you who are feeling irate at me (and I can’t say I blame you because I have felt the same way), I have this to add,

“I think I’ll go with cremation.”

I couldn’t deal with the CC& R’s!

Anyway, who needs a location when you’re dead? I’ll omit the obnoxious tombstone too, especially the possible defaming, “I’m with stupid.” Although if I had the arrow on the marquee turned to the nearest gravestone, perhaps that would clear up some questions and maybe not get me tossed out of the cemetery for heresy.


Of course calling Satan stupid is probably not a bad idea. We should start calling Trump that so the brainless minions can understand what he really is and isn’t.

spring-bike-trip-21 (1)

There’s just less complication without a body (I’ve been saying that forever). The Arrow Marquee can just indicate which way the wind was blowing when my best friend (or if things really go badly…or is that bad?), or a complete stranger, throws my godforsaken ashes into the wind.

“She went West,” the Marquee will read, just in case the mourner has failed to bring a compass, moral or otherwise.

Best regards,

The Laughing  Coyote

Uunnamed (8)my_tombstone (9)






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Laughing Coyote Performs “How I Gave My Cat Bulimia and other Weird Tales,” Oct 25 Santa Fe

Open mic PERFORMERS ON BARCELONA, Sunday Oct 25, 6:30-8pm, Unitarian Church in Santa Fe, 107 W. Barcelona.

Come see music, humor, spoken word, etcPhoto0290.  I am one of many performers. See ya’ there. 2015-06-25 20.25.37


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Laughing Coyote is well on her way to becoming Poet Lariat de Empanda de Bano do New Mexico

Breaking News  (well not exactly ‘breaking,’ more like it’s been sitting here in my TO Do list for six months I know that Spring was, well, last Spring.)

Laughing Coyote is well on her way to becoming Poet Lariat de Empanda de Bano do New Mexico, a very prestigious position, similar to being Miss America in every respect except the aspects that are the same.

Laughing Coyote has been published in Spring 2015 edition of  The Malpais Review, a print publication out of Placitas, New Mexico.

Yes this is real. When not chasing her tail, or inventing new ways to experience old problems, Laughing Coyote writes poetry like any sensible quasi-human in animal form–or was that quasi-animal in human form?–or human animal in quasi form? Check out Laughing Coyote’s alter ego in a poem featuring her best friend, deserts, cottonwoods and just enough death and love to make things interesting.


Come to OUTSPOKEN PRESENTS LGBT Anthology in Albuquerque, THIS SUNDAY OCTOBER 25, at THE SOURCE, 1111 Carlisle, Albuquerque NM from 3 to 5pm.  Hear many poets!  You will be relieved to know LC’s poem is only 3 minutes long, freeing you up to hear the many “non-Empanada de Bano,” poets, of which there are many. 🙂  They are,  well many of them anyway, are certified poets, not “certifiable,” like Laughing Coyote. Don’t tell anyone but Laughing Coyote has been writing poetry illegally for years.  Shhhh!

For those of you who like to plan ahead and not just mindlessly go to a poetry reading completely unprepared, here are some teasers.

No the poem is not funny, or not intentionally so, kind of the opposite of this blog: where often enough, what is intended as funny is just heartbreakingly sad. . . so if you need laughter, you need to bring your own this time. 🙂   (If you really need a supply of unused laughter, contact LC here, at the bottom of this blog where the “contact/comment” tab is buried under the tags. LC keeps supplies of laughter with her at all times, in case an open-mic goes seriously wrong and people start killing themselves in the audience.)

Laughing Coyote’s poem “Nevada Blue,” is on page 178 of The Malpais Review and there is nothing quite like hearing LC read her own work.  Plus. the issue features many local popular poets, both well known, sort-of-known, known by a few, and completely unknown and at least one not yet born…these editors are GOOD, let me tell you.  (The next issue may feature a poem that HAS NOT BEEN WRITTEN YET, which is just UNHEARD OF in publishing circles.)  Anyway this issue includes a mini-LGBT Anthology as well, more proof that gay folks can write and spell and rhyme just like the rest of the planet. Since I am gay every other day,  (and asexual on Sundays like the good Lord wants) I can make these kinds of statements.

The Malpais Review (and Malpais means ‘badlands’ in the spirit of desert lands) is available for purchase in the following places and also online.

The Malpais Review is available at these bookstores: The Range Cafe Store in Bernalillo, NM; Arte de Placitas Gallery in Placitas, NM; Op Cit Bookstores in Santa Fe, NM; Moby Dickens in Taos, NM; and Beyond Baroque in Los Angeles, CA; Treasure House Books (2012 S. Plaza NW) in Old Town, Albuquerque, NM; Op Cit Bookstore in Santa Fe (500 Montezuma, Sambusco Center); Gulf of Maine Bookstore in Brunswick, ME (132 Maine St.) and Anthology Books in Portland, OR. Also, by clicking the issue links on this page, The Malpais Review may be purchased through Amazon.

Support your local publications!

order online http://www.malpaisreview.com

Stay tuned for announcements about publication releases in  Santa Fe where you can here the poets LIVE. No you don’t need the Internet to see us!!!

(This is if all goes well in Albuquerque. The last time Laughing Coyote read at a poetry reading a riot broke out and arrests were made).

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I Want to Get Paid for Being Afraid

I Want to Get Paid for Being Afraid


I want to have a job doing something I am good at. I am good at being afraid. I think I am good enough to get paid for it. I am expert enough at it to be paid for being professionally fearful, not this pissant amateur stuff, like being afraid of the dark and being afraid of ghosts or bumps in the night. Pfft! That shit is easy. Any dork with a nervous system can be afraid of those things, including possible monsters under the bed, or creepy things in the closet. Those take no imagination whatsoever. Everyone knows that monsters hide under the bed and those other things are in the closet because under-the-bed monsters tend to be very large and selfish and also drone on and on about their big monster problems, so you, as a smaller, and probably healthier creepy thing, wouldn’t want to be under the bed with them anyway because who wants to hear about their boring large monster problems?

I’m more creative than that. Way more creative. That’s what I would put on my Fear Resume:

  • Able to multitask and BE AFRAID OF SEVERAL THINGS AT THE SAME TIME. (My personal record, occurring this afternoon, 20 things, and if you give me a minute, I’ll make it 21.)
  • Able to drop everything and BE AFRAID AT A MOMENT’S NOTICE
  • Also ABLE TO BE AFRAID WHILE DOING OTHER THINGS, so the future employer will know that I’m just not sitting around on the couch eating bon-bons being fearful, but that I pretty much can do anything AND BE AFRAID TOO.

So it will be very much like hiring TWO PEOPLE instead of one. You can hire me to wash the dog and worry about having anaphylactic shock from the soap, fleas  from the dog, germs from the dog that carry a special brain disease that only people with blonde hair and blue eyes get, and so that research for the cure is underfunded and what cure their might be is almost totally inaccessible and really expensive; plus, given I don’t get paid enough to even buy 1/8 of the vaccine under development, and since it can only be grown in one strain of African-violets that don’t grow in New Mexico where I live, I can worry about the inaccessibility of obtaining a vaccine that doesn’t really exist yet and that I can’t afford because                      a) I’m a dog washer,  b) I live in New Mexico where wages SUCK, and I can also be afraid that if the pending vaccine  devastates the population of the African violets, it will cheat the world of said African violets, and also kill off a special population of mites that only grow in African violets, that, as it turns out, would be the answer to curing stupidity in humans, so then I might have to also be afraid of the fact that, if I save myself by taking the vaccine, I might have just killed off the human race.

Am I hired yet?

I can be afraid of anything. Give me a minute and I’ll find a reason to be terrified of the color shirt you are wearing. Yes, I am that good.


Why, you ask, should we pay people to be afraid? A very good question and right now I won’t be anxious about why you are asking me that, and I won’t worry about feeling invalidated or that I might have just proposed the stupidest thing ever. I figure that if we can pay the guys on Jackass who injure themselves on purpose on video, and hire that rich ignorant bitch Paris Hilton to do commercials, I can get paid for being afraid. Right now I also won’t be concerned about the fact that you are thinking I’m the biggest pussy ever. My usual response to that accusation is: Just because I have a pussy doesn’t mean I am one.

I can also turn the fear off, for a while anyway, which is handy while I’m receiving instructions from the aliens, no ha ha, just kidding, my boss (who I have been assured is not an alien although he kind of has that “look,”—those of you who are familiar with aliens know what I mean­­­) anyway, while receiving instructions from my boss, I can turn the fear off long enough to listen without worrying about if the boss is trying to kill me, or what he really means when he says, “Make sure you get the dogs wet when you are bathing them.” (Yes yes everyone makes foolish mistakes sometimes. You can’t dry clean a dog apparently. Apologies to Mrs. Dunham. Your new dog is being shipped to you on a drone by Amazon. Accessories will have to be dropped on your house separately).


Okay, so why should I get paid handsomely for becoming a professional Terrorist?

The word terrorist is misunderstood and misused. A terrorist should also include someone who can instill terror in him or herself, thereby obviating the need for extroverted terrorist types to spend time and money trying to make me afraid because I, being a total professional introverted terrorist, have been able to do that for myself. To show you how accomplished I really am and how much you need to hire me: I was afraid of Ebola, George W. Bush and the Tea Party before they even existed. There. That should convince you that out of all the scared people in the world, I am the one worth paying.

I am negotiating with the extroverted terrorists as we speak: they could pay me to automatically be afraid of them at a fraction of the cost it would take them to make me afraid of them. The government should pay me for my public service.

So should you.

I can also teach others to be introverted terrorists. See, mom, that Ph.D. wasn’t for nothing!


So why you should pay me to be afraid? Because I can be afraid of the things you would be afraid of if you could just expand beyond monsters under the bed, creepy things in the closet and death. That one, especially, is so yesterday. Any person with consciousness, skin and an email account can be afraid of death. What you need is someone to be afraid of things you never thought of so you don’t have to do it, and to also take over being afraid of what’s in the closet, under the bed, and in the afterlife (which is a really weird term if you think about it….if you are still alive how the hell is it the afterlife?).

Also the thing about being afraid all the time is that it has a threshold; if you are afraid of something long enough, and think about it all the time and imagine all the possible scenarios, eventually, you get bored and also your nervous system collapses and you couldn’t be afraid of it if you tried. But this is time consuming and dangerous. People can die from being afraid. If you hire me, I’ll save your life.



Basically I am so afraid I wear the fears out. They get up and go home and complain about me to the other monsters in the closet, “Oh my god, so needy. One or two ‘boos’ or ‘gotcha’s’ or ‘I’m here to kill you and take your soul to hell’ does the trick with most people, and then I go home and watch Ghoul-Flix. Not with her. We scare the crap out of her and she comes back for more. It’s like a nagging bratty spoiled child: what else can I be afraid of? What else can I be afraid of? Huh? Last night I ran out of shit to scare her with!

“She used up fearing having no transportation, being unemployed, having breast cancer with no insurance, having no friends who would help her during the breast cancer treatment, being diagnosed with M.S., (that’s Multiple Sclerosis, not a master’s of science) never having sex again, never having love again, not being able to write because she’s living in a box, with breast cancer, MS, rats, and other dirty people who can’t spell because of the outbreak of texting, and because her computer broke and she couldn’t replace it; going insane, having Ebola, having the Republicans take over the Senate, having the Republicans steal to 2016 election, making Fox News the only news channel in the U.S., having to relocate to Oklahoma; Roe v Wade being reversed, birth control being outlawed, and being made to adopt a baby at age 47 and care for her with no money and being made to shop at Wal-Mart on Black Friday every year until she dies; and after it was said and done, Debbie still said: Okay, what else you got?  I was tempted to say, ‘And you want to be a published successful writer!’ but even I thought that was over the top. I’m a humane monster. If she’s dead, she can’t be afraid anymore and what is the point of that?

“I had to make up some shit about how lint can get stuck in your belly button and cause almost instant ovarian disease in women over forty-five, who are blond, experiencing peri-menopause, who have a history of using nicotine gum to get over smoking, and who teach at UNM, read Nancy Drew as a child and have bad gums.”

“Wow, Gerald (the monster’s name is Gerald), that’s some amazing individualized targeting,” says Gerald’s buddy, whose name is, predictably, “Creepy.”

“I know! Can you believe it? I should get overtime for this shit. I had to get the Gene Identification Team on it,” says Gerald. “You should see her fucking genome.”

That must be really scary,” says Creepy shuddering.

HOW EMPLOYING ME WILL MAKE YOU RICH                       


So, you see basically someone who is willing to be afraid not only of what they are afraid of, but what you are afraid of, can eventually wear out the fear to the point that it doesn’t exist anymore, and yet you didn’t waste any time on it. I did. So basically you compensate me, because I’m way better and more efficient at being afraid than you are, for doing the dirty work and you can get back to being brave, and winning the Nobel Peace prize, or at least conquering level 23 of Candy Crush with a focus not yet seen among human beings.

And I will be able to buy myself dinner and stop eating Ramen noodles, because if there ever was a scary substance, that one is it, just behind pork rinds, and whatever the hell tofu really is. And that seitan shit? That stuff is pure gluten. Seriously. Look it up.



Seriously, I should also be paid to be afraid because our economy runs on fear. People are afraid they are fat, so they go on diets, buy diet books and diet products to make them thinner. People are afraid they are ugly and unloved, so they buy    make up and cars to compensate. People are afraid of jihadists flying airplanes into more buildings, so we support an economy based on the implements of war. Fear is very profitable to businesses and very expensive for people. So for a very reasonable fee, I can be afraid for you. You can spend the money you would have spent on Prozac and Xanex on me. All the money you would have spent on fear based products, you could have spent on me instead, and I could make all that foolish purchasing on your behalf, thereby saving you money and rescuing our economy at the same time.

If that economic plan doesn’t quite make sense to you, turn on Fox News, and listen to any Republican on T.V. (because they don’t let the smarter ones talk anymore for fear of an outbreak of reasonableness), especially a Tea Partier, or anyone in Congress. After a day of that, you’ll see my reasoning is absolutely spotless and that you should pay me to make all your Fear Purchasing for you, and I’ll throw in actually being afraid for you for a nominal fee and free you up for all that time consuming, heartless capitalism you’ll be employing instead because you’ll no longer be afraid of hell, or instant or time-delayed karma. You can invest freely and suck the world dry.


images (2)

Politicians instill fear so they can pretend to be the solution, which is the reason why the idiots running Maine, New Jersey, and New York State are quarantining people who have been in West Africa, despite well documented evidence that unless someone has a high fever and is vomiting and shitting uncontrollably all over the place, they are not contagious. The elected officials are doing this to get votes. Here’s how it works.  First, you create more fear by ignoring the facts provided by the CDC and then you take care of the unreasonable fear by implementing strategies to prevent infections that would never have happened to begin with so you can argue that you were “looking out for the people,” and garner votes from the part of the population that doesn’t bother to think past Fox News and CNN, which is mostly everyone. Obviously making the right people afraid is powerful, so let me help you get your favorite politicians elected by me developing all the needed fears and then voting in all the right places, since apparently voter fraud is endemic in this country and I can get out the FEAR VOTE as many times as I want.



Since fear is contagious (I have no idea why it’s never been quarantined. I should definitely be locked up) I can help make others afraid and get them to do what you want to do for your business or political aspirations, by simply being afraid in the most professional ways possible. Want some people to be afraid of the sun? Hand it over to me. Not only will I find ways to be afraid of sunlight that no one else ever thought of, I will induce that fear in someone else, so you can sell that new product for skin and also for FEAR that you have now developed because you were smart enough to pay me to be afraid for you and then I gave the fear to other people and now you can sell your new sugar pill to everyone I’ve come in contact with. (Note that I’m hypoglycemic and the placebo won’t work on me).

I blog therefore I can spread Fear like an air-born virus and all without throwing up on someone’s leg. Hire me. I’m better at being afraid than anyone else and I’m very sure that by employing me, you can profit from it.

And I will get to do what I do best: be afraid!  I fucking like it! Who wouldn’t? We all like what we’re good at. 🙂

Fear has turned me into a monster.

And look out: this year for Halloween I will have the scariest costume ever. I’m going as gluten.

images (1)


The Laughing Coyote


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