I’m proud of what I did this past Christmas day. How many of you can say the same?

I know, I know, Christmas is all about getting abortions, euthanizing old pets, and re-fashioning chocolate wrappers to appear as though they are not empty and then delighting in your family’s disappointment as they discover them — but this year I decided to do something special. I drove to McDonald’s in a minivan with Brad and the kids in Louisiana and picked up some of those cool kid meals.

Photo by Breakmold via Flickr

What are those meals called again? Brad seemed to think that they were called ‘Tra-la-la and I don’t give a darns’, but that didn’t ring true. I tried to order four Gleeful Plebian Repasts — which fell on deaf ears. Brad then suggested that we act out the meal for the drive-through speakers to illustrate our point.

That’s the blob, or my bloodbaby Shiloh.

The strangest things have been inside of me (i.e. non-toxic sex toys made from naturally-felled wood, Billybob), but no one’s vulva ever shook hands with a power-wielding mass of sheer white privilege like mine has, and that’s a fact.

My flesh-and-blood-baby, Shiloh, is the world’s most influential infant. And a blob.

I hate Shiloh, and I told a bunch of reporters as much a couple days ago. I know I front like I’m all perfect-robot-lady, but who doesn’t tell multiple media outlets at one time or another that they despise one of their children? Oh, she’s cute all right—but she’s so fucking white about it. I gave birth to the most cracker-ass baby that ever dragged its privileged infant body against the face of the—-

Associated Press

When I adopted my daughter Zahara I made it damn clear to the agency that I wanted a baby with no strings attached. A couple weeks ago I heard that Zahara’s birth mother was alive and wanted her back!

If only my babies matched the specific qualifications that I gave to the agencies, messes like this wouldn’t occur. Here’s what I tell the agency when I want a new baby:

1) Baby must fall between Burnt Sienna—Adirondack Brown on the Benjamin Moore color scale, or it will not find succor at my breast.

2) Baby must come from a land where ice is not readily available for consumption with drinks.

Some editors at The Economist saw me in Beowulf and asked if I would write an article for their magazine. I accepted.

As in, “a shittily-done job.” I don’t like Italy, to be perfectly honest, so I’m not at all unruffled by the fact that its Prime Minister didn’t want to meet with me at the UN General Assembly. I disliked Italy way before this snub, folks.

Associated Press

Either my PR people take their jobs more seriously, or I’m going to scratch them from my Secret Santa adoption list with the blackest of sharpies. As a normal Mom who launders items of clothing and dishes and etc, I know that shit don’t come out!

The latest misrepresentation is that I’ve been reported as saying that I’ve only slept with four men in my life. Yeah, and I’m a 4,000-year-old vampire who enlarges her brood for the sake of infant bloodlust–ha! ha! What I actually said was that I have only slept four times in my life. I fell asleep once when I was baby, another time in my early twenties, and twice during Meet Joe Black.

Brad is so excited about my upcoming nude scene in Grendel, and it’s really cute because when he gets excited about something he gurgles in a private language that sounds like old English. (For example; when I called on him at dinner the other night before his turn to speak, he got so flustered that he actually spat out, “Hwæt! We Gardena in geardagum þeodcyninga þrym gefrunon– hu ða æþelingas ellen fremedon!”)

I haven’t begged a man to meet me in a hotel room with a needle since I was twelve, so this, my 14th tattoo, really brought me back. I had him put the tat smack-dab on the spot where I had Chilly Slob’s name lasered out, which I hope pleased Brad — Jah/Buddha/Allah/Western Binary God/Shiva/Tree Spirit knows I try.

Associated Press

I’m so excited to give him his next His and Hers gift, which I’ve scheduled for his 44rd birthday: His and Hers blood transfusions. I’m going to have all of his blood transfused into my body, and give him all of mine. After Falling Water, you’ve got to think big! My assistant joked that this might be a raw deal for Brad, considering that I weigh 95 pounds and have considerably less blood to nourish his robust 185 pound frame. I reminded her (as I often do, with no provocation) that thousands of orphans in Battambang would kill for even an 85-pound-person’s blood. That gave her something to think about.