Pete Burns Files for Divorce after Simpson proves unfaithful, assaults Burns in his home

Pete Burns, who only ten months prior to their relationship ending, was publicly declaring his adoration and devotion to partner Michael Simpson on channel 4’s Richard & Judy, has recently been quoted as saying that gay marriages don’t work because men are too predatory. The Dead or Alive singer dressed as a japanese geisha for the civil ceremony, where the couple were photographed looking very much in love.

Pete Burns & Michael Simpson at their Civil Ceremony celebration, showing no indication that ten months later, Burns would be citing infidelity as grounds for filing for divorce.

Looking back on the time the couple spent in matrimonial bliss is hardly a pleasant event for Burns, who admits he loved Simpson very much, but simply hadn’t forseen that his husband’s vision of married life would differ so starkly from his own. Burns is quoted by The Mail as saying: “Surely marriage is throwing anchor and saying, ‘This is where I’m staying, I’ve made my choice and this is all I want because I’ve been on the up and down escalator, through the revolving door and I want to stand still.’ That’s what I expected.”  Clearly, Michael Simpson had an entirely different take on life as a married gay man.

Burns describes gay marriages as essentially dysfunctional, narcissistic and compiled of troubled individuals seeking a father figure or a source of validation. Summing up the difference between heterosexual marriage and homosexual marriage, Pete describes the former as “the whole movie” while deeming the latter a “commercial break.” It should be noted that Burn’s marriage to ex-wife Lynne Corlett lasted 28 full years, and that in their union, it was Pete who cheated on Lynne with none other than his current soon to be ex, Michael.

If nothing else, Burns union with Simpson was passionate, both in love and in war. In fact, last May, police responded to a call from Pete Burns’ residence, learning, upon arrival that the Dead or Alive singer was allegedly attacked by Simpson, who broke Burns’ collarbone directly after breaking into his estranged husband’s home.

With Pete Burns feeling the sting of both his soon to be ex-husband’s infidelity and his alleged physical assault, he did the one thing we’d all likely at least think of doing in his position; he sought revenge. Anyone who is fimiliar with the eccentric singer’s style and temper is unlikely to be completely shocked by his chosen methods, either. Pete Burns leaked a home done porno video of himself and Michael by posting it on XTube, coming to his senses and removing the video a few hours following the x-rated post. It is reported that the video showed Burn’s getting “rimmed”, and describe the scene as follows:

“Pete has a big hairy crack and gets rimmed, and a real ugly cock with overhanging forskin and huge dangling bollocks.”
How positively marvelous for him!! Now, if you’ll all be good enough to excuse me, I have to go and bleach my brain briefly…

Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson Break-up, Restraining Orders and Changing Locks Follow…

Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson have finally called their tumultuous relationship quits, according to the twenty-two year old actress, who claims the DJ cheated on her. Shortly after the break-up, Ronson held a family function at the Chateau Marmont, and spared no expense in ensuring her ex-girlfriend would arrive to a surprise. And, I imagine Lindsay was, at least in part, surprised when she showed up at the hotel to attend Sam’s function only to discover extra security had been hired for the express purpose of keeping her out. Lohan did not take the news in good spirits, rather, she rushed to her Blackberry and “twittered” at Sam, calling her a “cheater”.

Ronson responded the following day by changing the locks on the home the couple shared in Hollywood Hills, and was making noises about getting a restraining order put out against her former lover, Lohan. Shortly after the news of the DJ seeking a restraining order hit the media, however, Ronson rushed to explain that there would be no such order, and that this portion of the incident was misunderstood. (I think it’s more likely that Samantha Ronson sought the order, and found herself being laughed out of court by the judge. “Wait, you want me to issue a restraining order against Lohan because you fear she’s going to sneak in and what? Perform cunninglus upon you without your  knowledge? Well, I’m not issuing any such order, namely because I want to park outside your house now and watch, it’s ridiculous. Lindsay weighs what? T hree whole pounds now? You can take her!!!” )

Ronson and Lohan before Sam changed all the locks and had security wrestle Lindsay away from the family function. AKA: The time before Ronson figured she'd gotten enough publicity out of Lohan to start charging 30K a night to DJ.

Lohan, however, is failing to realize Ronson never loved her fire crotch, rather, only loved what the fire crotch could do for her career, take the break-up well, and reports feeling abandonned by all of her friends. She states:  “(I feel) so alone. Everyone’s turned on me. I’m a f**king 22-year-old girl who’s in love. I felt like I was in Mean Girls, but worse: Mean Girls was a movie. I’m just really hurt! The whole situation is sick.” 

It’s quite clear that Ronson used Lindsay for her name in an effort, (which was sadly successful) at boosting her own name and thus career. Frankly, I think it’s rather a poor reflection upon society that we lap this shit up, and, in doing so, allow people like Ronson to use someone who, for all intents and purposes, is really just a kid herself. Granted, this may have been puppy love for Lindsay, but one has to bear in mind that puppy love is still real to the puppy. Lohan even went as far as to deny rumours of the break-up were true, instead saying that Sam and her had opted to take a break to allow her (Lohan) a chance to work on herself.

In my humble opinion, when someone goes to the trouble of beefing up security to keep you out of a family function, and then following that, changes the locks on the home you both shared, it’s NOT, I repeat NOT a “break” they are looking for. Rather, they are looking for complete and utter freedom from ever having to look upon your crotch of fire visage again.

Now as the trouble bubble begins to form, Ronson starts to point her scary lesbian fist in Lindsay's direction...RUN LINDSAY!!! RU-UUUU-UUUUN!!

As far as her so-called “friends” go, let’s face it, no true friend would ever abandon you in a time of need like this. Lindsay, honey, it’s time for you to drop the hangers on and the wannabe’s and get yourself a real, true blue, group of friends who like you for you and wouldn’t let that change for anything. Friends that you will see through tough times, and, in turns, friends who will hold you when you’re crying, and feel your pain when  you’re hurting. Friends who will love you until you can truly get to know and love yourself.

Addicts who double as Circus Performers, or: As Monkey to the Organ Grinder, She danced the night Away

In recovery, particularly residential recovery facilities, there are certain “types” a person gets used to seeing again and again. There’s the agressive type, who will inevitably tell you, at one point or another that she used to do collections, has hidden bodies, and watched better than you die slow and painful deaths, so steer the fuck clear, thank you, kindly. (I’m proud to say this is usually my role…) Then there is the passive agressive type, this person will bottle up all kinds of emotions until they bubble up from her insides in a murderous rampage. Crazy Spice used to be my all time favorite for this role, but I’m afraid she has been de-throned by “Smile-to-your-face Hauls-ass-to-staff Immediately-when-you Turn-your-back” or SHIT Spice, for short. Later on, we shall get further into SHIT Spice, and how she has her own horrible little things about her, too, but for tonight, I’d like to focus on “Doing Undesirable-things-just-to Make-you-pay-attention-to-me Because-I’m-an-Idiot Spice” or D.U.M.B Spice for short.

DUMB Spice is one of these individuals who likes to pretend she knows all, has seen all, has done all, and therefore can tell you all, despite the fact she knows NOTHING about ANYTHING, and has a cerebral capacity unable to hold it’s own attention, let alone any vast amount of knowledge. DUMB Spice reminds me very much of an addict circus performer who has fallen from the high ropes a time or twenty too many. She is perpetually attempting to be the center of attention, and, when given the floor in group, thus gifting her with a captive audience, is clearly unable to stop talking under her own power. She rattled on for several minutes this morning about some stupidity or another LONG after she was finished speaking from the heart. Finally, in an effort to avoid leaping over the coffee table and wrestling her to the floor, I poked Mama Spice, (my BF in this place, and someone who reminds me so much of my Mama J it’s like having the world’s best blankie living with me) and we did our “bunny kissies” at each other.
Bunny Kissies are not anything drastic, rather they are when we kiss our pointer and middle fingers, and touch them to each other’s fingers, and then move our fingers like bunny ears.

DUMB Spice was horrified, however, as it was clear by our actions we weren’t hanging upon her every retarded word, and immediately said “That was rude.” Fortunately, as breaking her monologue to chastise us pushed the siloquay for idiots out of her mind, she had to relinquish the floor almost immediately thereafter, which made it all worth it. Once outside, however, DUMB had to explain herself to me in an effort, I assume, to invoke a heartfelt apology from me. (Clearly, no one has informed her that I am Agressive & Homicidal Spice, and would only apologize to the likes of her if I was allowed to wrap said lamentations in a quick shot to her head.) I listened to her attempts at sympathy for all of three seconds, (which I felt I deserved commendation for because it was three seconds longer than it would have normally taken me to give her a shot to her stupid blonde head…but, alas, not one soul came running out with a medal) and then cut her off by telling her I felt she was rude in what she’d said inside, and was not in the mood to listen to her  self-justification for such at the moment, thank you.

DUMB Spice was clearly shocked, evidenced by her wordlessness for a full four seconds, after which she did the only thing that could have possibly made my fists itch with desire for her head. She whined. “But I’m talking about my fee-eelings!!” DUMB Spice said, obviously expecting that I was going to slap my forehead in shame and yell “Your feelings?? Oh NO!! I’ve interupted you talking about your feelings??! Please, DUMB Spice, let me sit here at your feet so I can properly beg you for forgiveness for interupting your monologue about your feelings with a silly thing like telling you to shut the fuck up.”  Instead of saying any of those things, I simply regarded DUMB Spice coldly, now indulging in a full fledged fantasy about causing her serious bodily harm. I inhaled deeply upon my cigarette, “I don’t care.” I said, letting the smoke drift out of my words towards her. DUMB Spice got up and went inside, and inwardly, I couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of out and out glee.

Later this evening, DUMB Spice, clearly feeling that we hadn’t paid her attention in the last thirty seconds and needing that situation rectified, parked her baggy ass at the organ in the hallway and began to play loudly. Two individuals asked her nicely to stop, DUMB Spice ignored them both, in fact playing louder for each request to be quiet. “I think I’ll suddenly find myself with a burning urge to play the organ whilst DUMB Spice is watching one of her shows.” I said quietly to Mama Spice. Instantly, the organ grew silent. “Why would you say that??” Demanded DUMB, “Because I meant it?” I answered, wondering briefly if this was some manner of trick question. Why else would I have said it? Certainly not so I could bask in the glory of a conversation with this neanderthal. “That’s revenge!!!” DUMB Spice cried, as though I’d threatened to burn all the hair off of her head and rub her scalp with alcohol.

As an individual to whom revenge means cutting out a tongue, shaving off a finger, (or several), or shooting up a house, I couldn’t help but wonder what my friends in addiction would think of the collector bitch they knew suddenly standing up and playing the organ in a red faced revenge invoked fury. The image cheered me considerably. Rather than bothering with the formalities of listening to DUMB Spice’s certain hour long complaint about how I’d hurt her wittle feelings, I smiled gleefully at the mental image her whine had imprinted upon my mind, and walked away with her still balefully whinging at my backside as it waddled past.

Who the hell says you can’t have fun in recovery???  I’m having a fucking blast!

The Post Wherein I Rip The Recovery House Racket Apart: Today’s Scam—StepinStone in Abbotsford BC

It’s nearly a year ago now since I first began this strange and difficult journey of addiction recovery. A journey that started back in Alberta with a telephone call to my big sister, a call during which promises of a new life were both made and believed, back when trust was still more than a word spoken with no small amount of longing, and family love was something I still believed in, even if  the only biological family that loved me was my edler sister and my daughter. My daughter’s love alone would have been more than enough, my elder sister’s love was just a nice bonus. The plan was for me to move to BC with my then eleven year old daughter, Adorable Spice, and, once here, I would enter a recovery house entitled “The Glory House”, Sister Spice (AKA: Fooled-me. Instead-of-love-it-was-just. Betrayal-sister. Spice, or FIBS Spice for short) would care for Adorable Spice and Pets Spice whilst I completed their program and then I would get my little girl back and we’d find us a place close by to FIBS and FIBS In-law’s house, and we’d all live happily ever after. Amen.

Instead, although I was told by then director, Debbie Renyolds, that I could enter and stay at The Glory House with my pain medication due to the fact it was perscribed by a doctor for a very real physical malady, five short weeks after my arrival, new director Denise Kennedy was informing me that I had to leave the facility because the pain medication I legitimately needed was triggering the other girls. Scared, upset, feeling totally unwanted, and questioning now why on earth I came to BC to begin with if this is how it was all going to go, I called my sister. Surely, she’d help me, I thought. After all, I hadn’t done anything wrong, and wasn’t getting kicked out, it was just a matter of my medication being more of a problem than the new director was willing to handle.

FIBS did not react at all as I anticipated. In fact, now, some ten months later, I still remember her exact words to me: “Well, what are you going to do? If I were you I’d be calling the Salvation Army and other shelters around to get a bed.” And, I also remember my heartache and horror in that moment. My sister didn’t care about what happened to me at all. She had my daughter, the grand-daughter of my parents, and the only part of me that my family has ever seemed to feel is worthwhile. With Adorable Spice firmly in hand, what I did or didn’t do in respect to finding a safe recovery facility was entirely beside the point. That was the night I first realized what a fool I’d been to believe any member of my biological family truly loved me enough to want me living close and visiting often. What FIBS really wanted was Adorable Spice living in her house, hers, with Mama cut neatly out of the picture.

I finally found a place to go some five days later called StepinStone in Abbotsford, BC. You can see the link to the Abby411 listing for StepinStone here: http://abbychristian411.com/2007/01/24/stepinstone/  I was naive back then, and really believed that all recovery houses were created equal. StepinStone was my first course in an education I never wanted, and will never forget. The recovery houses consisted, on the women’s side, of three houses in a row on ClearBrook Drive. The house in the center belonged to Christian and Isha Roux, owners and operators of StepinStone. The two houses on either side belonged to the program, and housed between eight (8) and ten (10) women each. There was absolutely no staff in either of the houses, instead one of the addicts/alcoholics staying in the recovery house was appointed “house mother” and got the privilage of supervising the rest of the residents in that house as though she was staff, only unqualified and without any pay. The house I was in had a house mother who did have 18 months of sobriety under her belt, however also had a boatload of other issues preventing her from being truly effective. The second house had a house mother who was all of nineteen (19) years of age, and only in the house due to a CSO from the judge demanding she be there as an alternative to serving jail time. Rats and bed bugs infested both houses, though oddly did not infest the owners home despite it being situated directly in the middle of the two infestations. Christian had, apparently, brought a company in to spray for the bedbugs, however had neglected to let them come back into the house and respray two weeks later to ensure all eggs and any missed bed bugs were properly eradicated. The reasoning behind Christian Roux’s refusal of the second spray was that he hadn’t yet paid the exterminators, and thus, by refusing to allow them back into the houses for a second spraying, he also neatly avoided the bill; and in the process, completely avoided fixing the health hazard invading both homes, allowing them to multiply to a point of unbearability.

One client, we’ll call her Dawn, was allergic to the little critters, and thus had been developing enormous welts on her face and body that were then becoming infected. A trip to the physician left her with the advice of exiting the premises immediately and not returning until a proper and through extermination had been completed. Unfortunately for Dawn, she too was on a CSO, and thus had to stay at StepinStone despite the rats and bedbugs creating a cesspool breeding ground for all sorts of bacteria.

In addition to the bedbugs and rats, the two owners of StepinStone had their own glaring problems, problems which crippled them completely against being effective drug and alcohol counsellors or facilitators. Christian Roux was still frequenting hookers and using crack cocaine whenever and whereever he could get his hands on it. During my stay at the facility, Mr. Roux actually went missing for a period of about a week, due to being out on one of his frequent binges. Isha Roux, on the other hand, suffered from such severe bouts of depression she would flatly refuse to remove herself from her bed prior to eleven (11:00AM), on a good day. On a bad day, Isha wouldn’t remove herself from her room at all, refusing to deal with any problems which may come up during that day. Marg, the lady Christian and Isha Roux hired after Marg completed the program, but who had absolutely no formal training in addictions or addictions counselling, not to mention management, was left to fix whatever issues came up whilst Isha was hiding out in her cave of a room refusing to be a part of the world and/or deal with any one of it’s inhabitants.

In addition, though StepinStone is supposedly a facility which provides its clients with room and board, in all actuality, only six meals a week are provided to residents. Supper is provided Monday through Friday, and a brunch is provided on Sunday. Beyond that, residents are to fend for themselves. Not to worry, however, because few residents were going to stay all that long. The plan was as simple as it was fraudulent. Christian and Isha Roux would wait until roughly five days after everyones welfare check had made its way into their hot little hands, and then, they would look for reasons, any reason, to kick residents out.

Once a resident was kicked out, Christian and Isha Roux refused to return their welfare check, citing a contract you were made to sign in order to be granted entry into the recovery house in the first place as their iron-clad reason for doing so. Once they had the kicked out client convinced they were allowed to be doing what the Ministry strictly forbades them from doing, they refill the now empty bed with another client (who is also made to sign the “you can totally abuse your position and pretend it’s legal for you to keep my welfare check” contract) thus, essentially getting paid double for one single spot.

I wish the bad news about this place stopped there, but I’m afraid it doesn’t. Although they state they offer group counselling, and a rigorous work through of the twelve (12) steps of AA, along with a strong Christian background, the truth is far less uplifting. The group “counselling” is delivered by a lady by the name of “Sandra Mason” who, although two (2) plus years clean, does not possess any degree or certificate in drug and alcohol counselling. These groups consist of a chapter being read out of the 12X12 or AA Big Book, with each lady reading a paragraph of said chapter and then sharing on “how that paragraph makes (her) feel.” This group takes place ofr one hour four times a week, preceeded by one hour of silent “step work”, wherein the ladies sit quietly outside smoking their brains out and writing  down answers to the questions they are provided on each step. If one is at all literarily inclined, one can easily finish all twelve (12) steps two months into their  stay, at the most. These steps are flimsy excuses for the real thing, and deny the recovering addict/ alcoholic a real opportunity to work the program and get well. Furthermore,  the complete lack of qualified staff makes accurate referral and diagnosis impossible. When you add the fact the owners are still very much entrenched with their own personal demons and fighting their own personal trials with little time for anyone else, and the sad state of disrepair and substandard, condemnable nature of the housing offered the ladies, to say nothing of the lack of proper nutrition due to only receiving six (6) meals a week, you have a recovery house that, due to lack of municipal governance, is being allowed to essentially suck women who are battling a  disease that WILL take their very lives without PROPER HELP, into it’s clutches for the sole purpose of making as much money off of them as humanly possible.

How can we, as residents of British Columbia, allow this type of thing to go on? During the course of this series on recovery houses, I will tell you all the haunting tales and experiences I’ve had with these horrible places in my short time within this province. Like StepinStone, most of these stories are hard to read and hard for me to remember and write about. This said, the real purpose behind this is to open the eyes of the BC public so we can band together and demand our municipal government take responsibility for checking out and licensing these houses to avoid this manner of horror. Addicts searching for recovery have lived through more than enough horror, and one hopes the reason they seek recovery is to end that part of their torturous existence. To have one so beaten down by life enter a facility which cleans her out whilst operating under the guise of being there to help, really, what’s happening is the signing of that ladies death warrant. Why? Because the chances are incredibly high that, not getting the things she needs physically, mentally, emotionally and/or spiritually in the house, she will simply say “fuck it” and go back to the  streets where, at least, she knows what to expect. It’s time we, as a people, told our government we aren’t going to stand for this substandard treatment of our fellow humans and that it’s high time our municipal government stopped putting it’s head in the sand and started shutting these horror shows down and open some more like Ellendale, which is government licensed and a wonderful place to do your recovery.

God Bless and Stay Safe Ya’all!

Dee Dee

Vanessa Paradis in Depp’s Shadow…also still very ugly.

Here it is, folks…the post wherein I actually capture what may well be the proof we need of Horseface Pencil Bitch Vanessa Paradis actually being the missing link in the evolution chain. Sort of like God decided to create the skeleton first, with enormous chiclet teeth, as a prototype prior to actually adding muscle, curves, attractiveness, any hint of gender beyond sequins or long hair…that sort of thing. Here it is…please, remove the children from the room before viewing this image. It’s enough that it will give the likes of us adults nightmares for weeks…..I mean to say, can you imagine sleeping away in your bed on the second floor, only to hear a tap tapping at your window. You creep out of bed, and draw back the curtain, thinking logically that it must be a stray tree branch creating the noise. Instead, you find this floating outside…

And to make it all worse, she's actually fucking standing in Johnny Depp's shadow...talk about perfection meets putrification!! My eyes, my eyes!!

 

I’ve also just noticed how unusually long and ostrich like it’s neck is. Do you suppose God opted to fix that because this thing looks like a bobble head, or does its head actually droop onto its shoulder when its not in public? I’m really very concerned for Johnny’s health here, meeting this thing in a dark hall at night, its head slick against its bony shoulder like sharp angle. Do you suppose it hisses at him when its angry? Is he only staying with it out of fear it will eat the children if he attempts to leave? Its enormous teeth must wake him at night…poor thing!! Rolling over innocently only to find your head enveloped by your pet prototype’s (which, by the way, God promised he wouldn’t leave in your backyard and then did anyways because He’s got a sadistic sense of humor like that…) teeth? Then having to inch his gorgeous head out of its mouth bit by bit to avoiding waking it, and being hit by it’s enormous almond shaped lazer eyeballs.

I think someone really should alert the authorities about this. Or, at the very least, inform the National Geographic.

Johnny Depp to take on Another Hunter Thompson Character as “Paul Kemp” in “The Rum Diaries”

My lover who has yet to be informed of the fact he’s my lover,  Johnny Depp is currently working on an adaptation of yet another Hunter S Thompson work of wonder, The Rum Diaries. The autobiographical novel was penned in the late 1950’s, prior to Hunter coming into his own via his invention of “Gonzo Journalism;” and finds freelance journalist Paul Kemp in Puerto Rico virtually saturated by the plethora of lost souls surrounding him.

Not satisfied to simply star in another challenging and thought-provoking role, Depp is also co-producing the film with Graham King, who secured the rights to adapt the book to film for both his production company, GK Films, and Depp’s, Infinitum Nihil. This project sounds like a lot for the actor, who has been seemingly working non-stop these past few years, to take on. Personally, I believe the actor has matured and grown a great deal through both his cinematic successes and failures, and bringing that knowledge to this film, is likely to hit all the right notes with his target audience.

Now, if only  I could hit my target of sitting on Depp’s nekid lap with  my nekid self… interviewing this amazing star instead of just reporting as per press releases, which is annoying, because no press release is going to help me carry Johnny Depp’s love child… so I can expand my journalistic and literary grind and hip roll techniques.

Yumyum the mouth watering movie star of my dreams...

 

In other news, Crazy Spice continues her bid to outdo her insanity a little more each and every day, creating a certain sense of dread within my heart each time she prays on by. The other day, I also distinctly heard her use my name whilst chatting in punjabi with a relative, leading me to believe she may be attempting to blow dart me during the dinner hour and drag my remains into the woods out back. I’ve attempted to share my fears with staff, however they all seem to think I’m terribly amusing and just trying to be entertaining. Not one of them has bothered to check Crazy Spice’s room for a blow gun, poison darts, or lye, which I have to tell you, I find just downright neglectful.

No one who includes your name in all prayers beginning with “Lord, please strike down the following barriers to my righteous place as sultana in your oatmeal cookie of love” can be up to any manner of good, in my humble opinion. If I suddenly stop blogging, please, one of you, contact the police and tell them I’ve been blowdarted for standing in the way of Crazy Spice being celestially turned into a raisin and baked into Jesus’s oatmeal cookie of Luuurve. They’ll know what to do…I know they will.

 

When Good Sarcasm goes bad…

To all my readers:

I would like to apologize for my decided lack of posts for the past month and a bit. Unfortunately, something I am not permitted to speak about at this time occurred, necessitating that an individual higher up in the food chain moderate and implement fair ruling. That has now occurred, with the result being my return to the treatment center, and as such, all of my lovely readers. Again, my sincerest apologies for my lack of posts. We shall get back to discussing how horrid Vagina Lips  Erm…Vanessa Paradis is shortly.

In the meantime, a brief update on Crazy Spice is required. I have ascertained information from a reliable source (also known as “my eyeballs”) that Crazy Spice is now trolling the Christian Dating Sites looking for a man. *Shudders* I must tell you all now that although perhaps Crazy Spice is able to pass for Less Crazy Spice on the internet, I simply cannot conceive of her ability to be anyone but the fucking certifiable self-centered whimpering victim that she is, in person. As such, I am feeling a great deal of fright for all men currently looking for love via the Christian Internet Dating Sites, and feel the need to warn them to steer clear of any woman claiming to “be going through a lot”, “be fighting spiritual battles” or “be a wounded woman currently working on healing those wounds inflicted upon her by life.”  None of these statements are what they seem, and, in fact, all say precisely the same thing: “I am a victim. I will always be a victim. As a victim, everything that happens to me is the fault of someone else, which also means I’m helpless to stop or control my victimization. As such, I am looking for a man who will ride up on his gallant steed and save me once and for all. I promise to be extremely demanding and clingy, and will cry on a dime should you ever threaten to so much as urinate without taking me along. Also, I will fall in love with you after the first two minutes of meeting you, and will then hassle the living shit out of   you, and stalk you, proclaiming my love and not understanding why on earth you would want to call the police on me.”  Be afraid, fellas, be very afraid.

GRRRRRRRRR!! THE CRAZY SPICE EMPIRE MAY YET BE STRUCK BACK

Yesterday, I very nearly got nailed for homicide. CRAZY Spice was insistent upon signing her CRAZY ass self up for computer time so she could listen to Paster Pursesnatcher and the Pickpockets Choir. This, my friends, is important stuff. Without our daily sermon, the world may yet crumble at our feet as God Himself strikes us down. (I’m seriously fighting the urge to doodle another Devil upon the dry erase board…or, failing that, directly onto CRAZY Spice’s forehead.)

Anyhow, I was busily working upon writing an email to a family member we all know as CUNTS Spice, letting her know, in a very nice and delicate way, how fucking much she’s breaking my heart everytime she brainwashes my Adorable Spice, and feeds her lies about what’s really going on for Mama Spice, (ME). It was a very difficult email to write, and, naturally brought up a bunch of really difficult emotions. As I’m in the middle of this, I feel a presence at my elbow; there stands CRAZY Spice, her face so pinched up it looks as though it’s going to flip inside out at any moment.

“I signed up for this time on the computer…” says CRAZY, her lips bunching and looking, for all the world, as though her asshole has up and moved itself to a most inconvenient location. “I’ll be done in just a minute, CRAZY”, I said, quietly, tears rolling down my cheeks. CRAZY was not to be put off this way, not with Pastor Pursesnatcher’s sermon awaiting her enlightenment.

Off she stormed to COWA Spice, and tattled, as CRAZY so dearly loves to do. COWA Spice, who I’ve really come to both respect, and love, realized I was writing an email to CUNTS Spice, and quickly made me up and leave the computer. NOT, you understand, because of CRAZY…rather, because COWA knows what an email, which can be printed off and used as evidence, might do to me. I am now under email restrictions, NO EMAILS TO CUNTS Spice for two more days.

At 9pm, I had signed up for the computer, and thusly approached CRAZY Spice to advise her that her Sermon time with Pursesnatcher had come to it’s glorious end. “It’s just got about five or ten more minutes.” CRAZY says to me, following this statement with “I’m not going to argue about it.” This puzzled me, as, if CRAZY truly didn’t want to argue about it, why was she still with baggy ass stuck firmly in computer chair? Sighing heavily, I raised my cane to swing gently at CRAZY’s head, thought better of it, and turned to COWA Spice instead.

Now, COWA seems to be the only staff member unafraid of offending CRAZY, whilst the other staff seem terrified that, if CRAZY is made to actually follow house rules, she may well scream either religious discrimination or racism so loudly the world will hear. COWA, on the other hand, feels that the rules, which apply to the rest of us, also apply to CRAZY, whether she wants to accept them or not. As such, COWA Spice advised me to go and tell her to move her baggy ass off of the computer chair, and put her asshole back betwixt her buttocks. (Only when COWA said it, it sounded more like this: “No, tell CRAZY Spice her time is up, and it’s your turn.” But I’m sure, if she could’ve, she would’ve said it the way I just wrote it.

Now, whilst COWA Spice and I were outside, directly after baggy ass decided to steal the computer from me for her Pursesnatcher sermon, FRIEND Spice, who watched the whole thing go down, began to boil. As she boiled and boiled, CRAZY became in serious danger of becoming extinct. I adore FRIEND Spice, she’s a vicious piece of gorgeous woman unafraid of anything, or anyone, and she’ll just as soon tell you to fuck straight off as shake your hand. FRIEND Spice finally couldn’t contain the boiling any longer, and made her way over to the computer, where CRAZY was sitting listening to her “go to hell unless you send money” thingy.

“You’re outrageous.” FRIEND Spice informed her, I’m sure whilst giving her a glare that could melt titanium. “DeeDee is going through some major family shit, which she’s trying to deal with through the email, and you can’t give her fifteen minutes to finish?” CRAZY blinked at her, “It was my turn.” she whined. “And your fucking Sermon is more important than Deedee’s family?” FRIEND retorted, rage now bubbling into puddles at her feet. “Yes.” CRAZY answered, still blinking at her like a damned jersey cow gone terribly, horribly wrong.

“You’re fucking unreal, you know that? You are the most self absorbed person I’ve ever met. It’s all about you, all the time.” FRIEND said, disgusted, and then walked away, leaving CRAZY to finish her Pastor Pursesnatcher and the Pickpockets sermon.

I hate CRAZY Spice. I really and truly do. We have another new lady, who we shall call Alcoholic Beverage Spice, or AB Spice for short. AB and I tried to be nice to CRAZY, to make her feel a part of, however, both of us got bitten by the CRAZY bitch in one way or another, and as such, we’ve both had to stop trying with her. It’s actually kinda sad, when you think about it. CRAZY is, with the help of certain staff, who are allowing her privilages no one else is given, ostrasizing herself completely from the group, and driving each of us mad whilst doing so.

How do you tolerate a person so intolerable? How do you show compassion to the compassionless, and how do you explain that her victim mentality, and propensity towards bursting into sobs or defensiveness the minute anyone  says  anything, is likely to get her struck with a cane shaped object??

CALM Spice knows I’m ready to hide behind a door and leap out at her naked, save for the upside-down cross hung suggestively from my genitals. (As I’m female, I shall have to tape or glue the upside-down cross to me, however, if it gets CRAZY to either stop completely, or leave this place, the loss of skin that will inevitably result will have been well worth the rewards.)

Today, CRAZY has begun by making  a series of long, drawn out phonecalls to Abbotsford using the office phone. I really hope someone takes her out into the middle of the woods, opens the car door, and yell “You’re  free now girl. You’re  freeeeeeeeeee!” at which point the driver will simply lock all vehicle doors and drive casually away, as though he never in his life would even consider releasing CRAZY back into her natural habitat.  Moreover, the driver will have positively no idea why all the forest animals in that area are suddenly fleeing their homes, apparently agitated and annoyed  straight of out of them. 

God love a duck, I really, really hate this woman. I haven’t really hated    someone in years; though CUNTS Spice has definately come close to experiencing my true hatred and rage. I’m confused as to whether this is an honor to CRAZY or not.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

The Post Wherein I Cry Uncontrollably

My daughter, Adorable Spice, visited me today. She visits each weekend for a couple of hours, and is accompanied by Social Worker Spice, who was hired by CUNTS Spice (Sister) due to her decision that I might be “inappropriate” with Adorable Spice. Let us define what she meant by “inappropriate. My daughter is 12 years old. For 11 and 1/2 years, she resided with me and only me, never once being visited by child welfare, the ministry or any other form of government organization designated to the protection of children.

When I phoned CUNTS Spice and asked her for help, as I had been using crack cocaine since November 2007, and it was now April 2008, she agreed to provide Adorable Spice with care whilst I was in recovery, and swore upon her life she would return her immediately following my completion of a program. I have now been, to date, in four different recovery houses. When I was one month away from graduation from the last one prior to this, CUNTS Spice went off to the court, and claimed all sorts of bullshit about me shooting oxycontin (yet magically obtaining positively NO needle marks, as proven and documented by my doctor), not feeding Adorable Spice (although my daughter is still the precise same weight she was upon arriving in BC six months ago) and threatening to flee with her back to Alberta. (I was broke, had no vehicle, and no housing in Alberta to flee to…so unless we were levitating there on a magic carpet that would magically transform itself into suitable lodging upon our arrival, no…I was fleeing nowhere.) In so doing, she managed to obtain interium guardianship of Adorable Spice, and, after obtaining this, she went on to lie about me having “adult conversations about court with Adorable Spice when we had visits.” The truth behind this was that CUNTS Spice was telling Adorable things about court, which Adorable then had serious questions about and therefore asked me. Somehow, it was okay for CUNTS to create the worry in my daughter, but not okay for me to answer the questions and attempt to alleviate those concerns.

CUNTS also, without Adorable or I knowing or consenting, taped our private conversations with one another. She then went through those tapes and extracted excerpts which, on their own, sounded negative. Let me give you an example: During one conversation, Adorable told me CUNTS had decided she had to have a counsellor, and she was worried about this. She asked me if it was safe to talk to the counsellor, and I affirmed it was, and then queried what she was supposed to talk about. I answered that she should discuss anything that bothered her, and cited some examples she had given me about CUNTS limiting her toilet paper use to 6 squares for a pee and 12 for a poop, punishing her when she said she wanted to come home to Mama, and attempting to bribe her to stay with them. I also said that if she had any issues with me, or anyone else for that matter, the counsellor was the person to tell, closing with “Basically, a counsellor is a person who is there to help you sort out your problems, so any problems at all, or even good things, that’s what you talk to them about.” CUNTS Spice wrote only the part wherein I spoke about the issues Jaimie was having with her, leaving out the part where I mentioned me, or anyone or anything else. So, of course, it comes out looking as though I’m busily attempting to turn Adorable against CUNTS, which I was not.

Since my sister has gotten me supervised by Social Worker Spice, she has really gone to town in lying to Adorable about me, telling her that I had a relapse, which I did not, that I went to the hospital on an overdose of oxycontin, which I did not, and telling her “Mom’s pills are more important to her than  you, honey.” Which is UTTER SHIT because, guess what? I’ve been off that medication for MONTHS, shortly after arriving here. AND the meds were for pain, not for getting high. Twist and turn it anyway you want it, and make it come out sounding like Mama’s  a fucking monster.

So, when Adorable visited today, I jokingly asked her if she had told Marzeela Spice, our cat, that soon he would be free to wander about the counters and table again. Adorable regarded me as though I had just burst into flames, and said “No, I haven’t because he’s not coming to live with you, and neither am I. CUNTS Spice can buy me designer clothes and stuff, you can’t. I want to stay with CUNTS.”

I had to leave the room for awhile and cry…eleven and a half years, Adorable has been my world. How did this happen? How is it that I’m losing my baby as a result of coming into recovery?

I collected myself and returned, by which point Adorable was on the computer playing on her facebook, which I personally don’t think she ought to have, but I’m only her mother, so why the hell would I get a say? Anyhow, I asked her to bookmark it for me so I could send her notes and things through it. Adorable regarded me as one might regard a cat turd stuck firmly to the fuzzy buttocks of the family pet. “NO!” she said forcefully, as if I had just informed her I wished to eat her brains. “You have to send me email through CUNTS because CUNTS says she needs to check them to make sure you aren’t inappropriate with me.” I walked away a second time, and realized I couldn’t contain the sorrow and anger and helplessness building up inside of me. I called Social Worker Spice over and asked her to take Adorable back, which was the hardest thing for me to do, but I couldn’t allow her to see her Mama break down, no matter how disgusting and worthless she thinks her Mama is. It’s hard, you know, to go from being adored and loved and wanted by your 11 and 1/2 year old to being nothing she wants, loves, needs, or even values. To being unloved, unwanted, and worthless…when all I want in this world is to have her home with me again, and the only reason I asked for help was because I felt she deserved all of me, not just a part of me, the rest eroded by crack. And I used for only 7 months, and at that, not ever daily…

How did this go from a positive life change to the worst mistake I’ve ever made in my life? How does it happen that someone can just demand your child and get interium guardianship, based upon lies and bullshit? How is it that my baby doesn’t remember how much her Mama loves her, and how Mama always, always put her first, even in my addiction? How did I become worthless and unlovable to my sweet little baby blessing? What kind of God would let a person suffer like this for seeking a better life for their child?  How do I fight CUNTS Spice? I’m putting together a plan, I’m calling my lawyer in the morning, and I’m requisitioning my papers from Alberta that prove I was a good Mommy, and that my family, my biological family, weren’t good parents, and only wanted Jaimie, not their daughter…but God…please don’t let them win. I need my baby. I need my darling girl…without her, what is the point in all of this? Without her, what is the point in recovery at all?

If someone had told me that I’d have to chose between recovery and my child, I would have chosen my daughter, every time, even if it meant my life, by God, I would have chosen my baby. How does seeking a better life for your child equate to losing her? What do I do to get by while we gather our evidence and create our case, each day knowing CUNTS is poisoning my angel a little more against me?

Suggestions, guys…I need all I can get. That, and if you’re a praying sort, a couple of those couldn’t hurt right now either.

Lots of Love and Tears,

Dee Dee

Vanessa Paradis (Horseface) is TOO Good for Johnny Depp’s Engagement Ring

Vanessa Vagina with HUGE Crooked Teeth face Paradis has returned the engagement ring her long time boyfriend Johnny Depp bought for her. Apparently, Vanessa Vagina with TEETH Face Paradis didn’t believe Johnny Depp’s ring was good enough to distract people from looking at her horrid face to grace her skeletal finger.

“Johnny got Vanessa a drop-dead gorgeous engagement band but she returned it to the jeweller. She wants her ring to be absolutely perfect.” said a source close to the couple. Well…yes, that’s exactly the way you act when someone as gorgeous and seemingly sensitively sweet as Depp buys you an engagement ring. You certainly DO NOT jump into his arms, kiss him passionately, and thank the fucking GODS he actually seems to want your disgusting facially challenged bony ass…Nooooooooooo. That’s no way for a Vagina with Teeth Face girl to behave.

How the FUCK did FUZZY Haired UGLY Bitch Teeth Eat Face Girl get her hands on the most Beautiful man in the Universe?? And how can I make her disappear without being charged???

What you really do is look critically at the ring Johnny Depp Whose still mine, Skeletor!! spent hours picking out for you, and go “Eh…I’m not loving this Johnny. So, I’m going to return the ring you spent 50K on, and get myself one that costs 400K instead, okay?” Because THAT’S not going to hurt his feelings AT ALL!!

Regarding the above photographic evidence of Vagina with Teeth Face Paradis and Johnny Depp, one has to fight the urge to throw up and then break into tears at the injustice in the world a sense of rising bile confusion. How one earth did Johnny Depp see this feral faced Vagina with Ears across the room and go “Hey, you know what? I have always wanted to marry a woman with a face like a Vagina with crooked, horrid taking over her Crotch-face teeth. Yeah…that’s the vagina face for me, man. Let’s get it on!”

And clearly, he didn't fall in love with her "breasts" either, because apparently she's had them surgically removed....

 

Okay, so, regarding the photographic evidence that her teeth, at some point in her life, consumed both of her breasts, we now know Johnny Depp didn’t fall in love with her body, either. And, we’ve eliminated the possibility of Johnny falling in love with her face, unless he really does have some vagina face with HUGE teeth fetish we don’t know about. Now, we can also apparently firmly eliminate “falling in love with her gorgeous breasts” from the list of possibilities as well.

Given her insistence on returning the ring he lovingly picked out for her, we can also draw a line through “loving and caring personality” on our list of possible reasons for this insane union.  All of which is leading me to believe Vanessa Vagina with HUGE Crooked Teeth Face  Paradis excretes some manner of intoxicating “makes Johnny Depp take leave of his senses and actually see this thing as beautiful despite the obvious and STRONG evidence to the contrary” from her pores, which appear to be large enough for a small boat to dock in.

What the hell? I think we, as Johnny’s loving fans, need to form a plan of some kind here. I’ll charter a plane, and a group of you go to the house in France, wrap Vagina with HUGE-UGLY- TEETH-WHICH-ARE-EATING-HER-VAGINA,  FACE Vanessa in saran wrap to thwart her pore seeping “No, Johnny, Really, I’m beautiful” love potion Number EWWWWWWWWW, and yell “RUN JOHNNY, RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!!”

I’ll scoop him up in my massive butterfly net, and air lift him to safety…which, of course, means I’ll take him to the recovery/treatment centre I’m currently in, and hide him discreetly in my bed, and perhaps in one then very joyful part of my body.  Then I shall go about the long and arduous process of deprogramming him, holding him whilst he crys about seeing it naked, and being confused as to why it had three crotches.

Vanessa Vagina with Teeth and Elfin Pointed Ears which prove it’s not human Paradis, will, of course, be donated to science so they can study it’s Johnny Depp Love Potion Number EWWWWWWWWW capabilities, and, of course, the three crotch thing.