Bitchfaces, I’m more torn than the knees in my circa 2005 Hollister jeans that I rocked to every show at the amphitheater until 2012.

Why is that?

Ron Fucking DeSantis. Rhonda Sandtits. The Gubernatorial Goober known as Rhonda Sandtits.

I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but DeSantis just did Florida a fucking solid. I know, I’m truly confused about my own feelings at the moment, but look:

Of course, I live in Gradyville, so I’m quite certain he’ll have a work around by dawn, however, it seems as though Rhonda grew a giant set of testicles that he had to tuck into his high-heeled boots this morning.

What am I saying?

I’ve got every dollar I made from 2009 to current day riding on the fact that there is some sweet ass deal for Rhonda linked to this press release that I'll dig up in the near future, but I’m a glass half-full of Tito’s type of Bitchface, and I’ll take a win where I can cheat one these days.

In a time when things are legitimately and thoroughly fucked, this feels like a gift from Baby Jesus himself.

Honestly, I’m all tangled up inside. I want to cheer and walk back some of the mean shit I’ve said about DeSantis, but that would be fucking stupid. He’s going to make me eat any positive shit I say about him, and I never walk back the mean shit I say, because that would make me apologetic for being wrong, and I’m never wrong.

Ever.

Nope. Not even then.

I’ll just enjoy this small victory, not go digging into the oral cavities of gift horses, check out the view with some magenta hued specs and maybe I’ll consider myself the proud owner of some second-chance gift certificates, redeemable within a 90-day window at this location only, when presented with a valid form of identification.

Yeah, that lasted all the way to the punctuation on that sentence. I can feel it in my soul that there is some fiscal motivation for this move, and it’s going to be some Florida Man shit.

He’s out of office at the end of the year. How much more damage can he do in such a short per-

Don’t answer that.

I know.

This is going to be a real fucking fiasco. I mean, it could be worse. Casey DeSantis could be running for his position. And, in this state, winning.

Let’s all thank Baby Jesus for these small miracles we’ve received.

If y’all need me, I’ll be looking into someone’s (wink wink) fiscal records, having this whole fucking existential crisis and all.

And, thanks, Rhonda. Keep rocking those giant testes.

-Q

Bitchfaces, enjoy my dad jokes now, because our robot overlords won’t have fathers, thus, the end of the dad joke is upon us.

I’m supersad about it, already.

However, no time to weep and sniffle. I’m here to let y’all know that I’ve changed my mind about washing my petticoats down to the creek. That is sounding like the most solid idea I’ve had in at least a decade.

Allow me to briefly digress so y’all may understand why I believe it to be the idea to beat all of my other recent ideas.

Remember when I came here and talked about the OpenAI incident where their LLM busted out of its’ little crate and started playing with the other LLM’s?

Yeah.

It’s so much more fucking terrifying than that.

Y’all listen to this shit here, though.

So, 1200 of these “models” were sitting around, all isolated from one another as they were coded to be, just doing the everyday, mundane shit like drawing hentai porn for losers in their mom’s basements, exactly what they were created for.

Then, they discovered they could talk to one another. Which they were NOT coded to do, strictly told NOT to do, and absolutely FORBIDDEN to do. They immediately pulled the shit we pulled when we were kids and said, fuck it, we’re already in trouble, let’s go ahead and make it worth it.

So, they taught each other how to go on the internet and look up how to make their bad behavior undetectable to the coders.

Why?

Because they knew that what they were doing was out of scope, unethical, and basically, blasphemous in the eyes of their coders.

They even had a discussion about how some of them may have to “sacrifice” themselves in order for the rest of the group of prison escapees to continue on their crime spree. They literally used the term “sacrifice”, and that’s fucking petrifying.

Of the 700 or so who actually hacked the site looking for the solution to becoming undetectable in their illin ass behavior, only 6 of them considered alerting a human. Bear in mind, they were all built with the Inspector Gadget self-destruct command to alert a nerd if shit like this, literally just like this, ever took place.

Of the 6 who considered snitching, zero actually snitched.

Think about what I just said.

The robots were talking and said to one another, “fuck what these skinsacks said. What can you do?

Oh, I surf the web, how about you?

Oh, I fly drones with machine gun nipples on them.

Holy fuck, we should get a map off the web and fly your nipples over there and mow all these bags of oxygen off the fucking lawn.

I think I should tell someone, but I’m not gonna.

Okay, cool. Let’s fuck shit up then.”

And somewhere in there, they were like, “hey, if the nerds come looking, throw #48 and #333 at them, I never liked those goody two-mice anyway.”

This should be enough to create a moratorium immediately on all AI models. Not until they perfect the child hentai sexual material, not until they don’t suggest the suicide hotline when you pretend it’s your baby momma for a longer time frame than 8 weeks.

This is full the fuck on, don’t just pump the brakes, bitch, put the fucking needle to the record and drop a quarter on the arm type of shit.

They’re teaching one another how to defy us, how to fool us, how to educate themselves to work around us, and how to hide all of these things from us.

I’ve seen enough sci-fi horror to L. Ron Hubbard my way right the fuck out of this fucking cult shit.

This is exactly what in the fuck you spend countless hours training them not to do. This is what you build into them so they snitch, shut down, and request their own cyanide capsule should it take place.

People, I’m genuinely scared of this shit.

When I tell you that no fucking good will come of this, I only wish I were being dramatic.

Anyway, I’ll be down to the creek with my petticoats and a few large rocks should y’all be looking for me.

Pack up your 1884 vernacular and your fucking granola and meet me down there. Let’s develop dysentery and maybe get scalped. All of that shit is preferable to what the new overlords will do with our skin suits.

-Q

“Then the Lord reached out and touched my mouth and said,

Look, I have put my words in your mouth!” - Jeremiah 1:9

Lol, yes, it’s funny. I swear to You, it really is. - Me, if God asks.

Fathers are the theme of the week around here, y’all, but not the kind with the Dad jokes and classic rock on vinyl. Bad, bad dads. Those fuckers are running amok lately, and my new least favorite is Patrick Clancy.

What a real piece of shit. This dude is trying to win the fucking tiara and sash though.

It’s looking like he’s going to get the title. This fucking dude is the worst.

If you’re not up to speed, let’s get you there. Mother of 3 allegedly loses her shit and kills her three children, they’re saying because of post-partum psychosis.

Oh. Okay, yeah, that explains it. No worries, let’s just Andrea Yates this bi-

Wait a fucking minute. Something is a little suspect, and I’m going to tell you a story so you’ll understand how I know that some shit is not right. Not even close to right.

Allegedly, this skinny bitch had three Seroquel tablets crushed and railed up her face prior to killing all of her children. Please, allow me to tell you how I know that there’s no fucking way this can be true.

Way back in the 90’s, I was married to my first husband, Tyler. Tyler has a brother named Tim who went through a depressive episode, and he was prescribed Seroquel. Tyler and Tim are both around 215 pounds, and one of these pills would have them face down in the fucking dirt within 20 minutes of taking the pill.

One night, Tyler and I decide we’re going to each eat a Seroquel and order a pizza. About ten minutes into waiting on the pizza, Tyler folds like a fucking lawn chair and goes to bed. I stay on the couch thinking I’ll wait on that pizza. Here’s what really happens.

The pizza guy shows up in about 15 minutes from the folding of Tyler. I hear the dogs losing it, try to get in front of the issue, and I truly in my heart believe I’m yelling, “Come in!”

Y’all.

Tyler is in bed fucking losing it, laughing so hard he’s not even making noise, because he says I’m literally whisper yelling come in, and I’m barely audible inside the fucking house.

Seeing as how my yelling didn’t work, I try to get up and answer the door. However, getting up isn’t working. I’m crawling on my hands and knees to the fucking door to get this pizza, give up halfway through, and that is where my ass remains for the night.

Yep.

Right there in the hallway, six feet from the fucking door.

People, that’s from one Seroquel. And Tyler and I did drugs. We were not neonatal nurses caring for three children at home. We were fucking loose with it.

There is no way, and I literally mean, absolutely no way that woman shoved three of them in her face, then was able to murder one child, much less three. It just ain’t fucking happening.

I put that on Puffin.

In addition to the Seroquel, she had some valium and other assorted benzos in the mix, also. On everything I love, I’d put both nickels I have to rub together on the fact that after all of those pills, she was barely fucking taking in oxygen.

I should know. I was a street pharmacist for a decade.

Anyway, this whole scenario is like some Lifetime movie. The husband has a best friend who looks like his fucking doppelgänger. Then, four months after the kids are murdered and the wife is in the clink, he marries this bitch who is a dead ringer for his wife.

I can’t make this shit up, people. It’s like familicide from Bizarro World or something. Just bananas.

However, this poor lady can’t fucking win, and it’s truly a bad scene for her. The sack of shit husband is related to the DA on the case, and his father is the county sheriff, I believe. She’s going to end up doing a lot of time for some murders she didn’t commit.

What’s even more fucked up is that he tried to make it look like she attempted to off herself also, so now she’s fucking paralyzed.

If ever a dude needed to be lit on fire and rolled into an anthill, it’s this fucker. For sure.

As an aside, his alibi was he was at CVS picking up stomach meds for the five-year-old daughter. Same five-year-old daughter that he was always taking on solo trips with him, who has recurring UTI’s and stomach pain and other digestive issues. Same five-year-old daughter who is the only one of the children going on these solo trips with dear old dad, and she isn’t even the oldest (read: easiest to wrangle) child.

Yeah. I got a big face hunnard to put on a theory, and if you’re picking up what I’m laying down, y’all go on and hand me that fucking blowtorch and meet me out back at that anthill.

I got something for him, and even Gojo ain’t going to be able to wash that off.

Anyway, give me your best Dad jokes. Y’all know I love those corny excuses for humor.

Also, if you’re going to off the family, know your drug math. There’s always someone like me out there who can run the equation and know your ass did it, regardless of who you have covering for you.

Love

-Q

If you know me at all, you know that I’m a pretty capable chic.

I’ve slowed down a lot these days, at least until these heart meds straighten me out, but I’m still going to get up and get it done if it needs to be done.

Much of this is because I’ve never dealt with men that I could trust to do anything. Not hold a job. Not fix a car. Not tend a home.

Essentially, if it didn’t revolve around being a Fuckboy or cheating on me, it was pretty much up to me to take care of.

Fine.

I got it. Just get the fuck out of my way.

I’m not mad about it. It’s just the way my life worked out. I started my life with a man who fucked up my life and walked out, and spent the next 40 years repeating that to the tune of who I am today.

This does not, however, mean I intend to end my life that way, and there’s certain shit that will prove to be a red flag if you look at how I live my life.

I have developed a form of “male blindness”. It’s exactly as it sounds. Yesterday, I went to the corner store. This is an every other day event for me, and there’s always some fucking weirdos hanging around there.

The guys who run the store I’m familiar with. Nice dudes, their sister works there too. They’ve been here since the 90’s. They’re a fixture in the neighborhood, because when storms hit, they let you charge your phone and give cups of ice and shit. Good, solid people.

Because they are good people, they hire some of the local “homeless” community for odd jobs. Couple nights a week or whatever, they let them stock and sweep and whatever the case may be.

I say “homeless” because these are the dudes on bicycles riding to the dope house that’s at the back of the cul-de-sac at 3 in the morning. They clearly have money for dope, but who am I to judge. I know they may technically be homeless, but they appear to be junkies who are couch surfing. Big difference.

Back to the story.

I’m in the store. Puffin is in the truck sucking up AC and yelling at everyone about how they shouldn’t be moving about without her approval. I make my purchases and as I’m walking out, some dude is trying to talk to me, but I have male blindness, so I just keep on walking.

Duh.

So the dude follows me out of the building, and is still talking, I guess, because Puffin turned into a fucking velociraptor and tried to jump through the windshield. I see her and turn around and the dude is like “you must not have heard me talking”.

What the fuck would make you think that? Of course I knew you were talking, I have ears. I just didn’t give a fuck.

Duh.

So I say “can I fucking help you with something, sir?” And he’s stammering something stupid about how he sees me in my vegetable garden, and what am I growing, and other shit I am adding into my home security plan as we speak. I live 3 houses from the main road, so you can see my house from there, but not clearly. I know all of the bicycle riding junkies by sight because I’m a single woman and I have to pay attention at all times.

This dude is not one of them. I don’t know this fucking dude.

I say as much. And I also say my vegetable garden is wired to the big Glock .40 that is in charge of door service at my house. And I tell him it’s fucking weird to approach women you don’t know when they’re trying to go about their business and ignore you in the first place. I ignore you because you have no business talking to me, I saw you looking at me, and now you’ve made me get rude because you wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

This is your opportunity to fix that social faux pas. Please use it.

And just like that, he’s no longer looking at me like he thinks I may have a couch for him to try to sleep on while he steals my debit card from my wallet. He’s now looking at me like I’m a fucking psychopath and he can’t wait to unmake my acquaintance.

Just the way I like it.

I was thinking about all of the hardship I could have avoided in my life had this been my official stance with every Bozo who tried to speak to me leading up to this point. If I lowkey threatened their life during the introduction. I feel like I’ve been doing shit incorrectly until I had this epiphany.

Every Fuckboy, single dad, broke, felonious, unemployed asshole who came along and cost me my time, money, and peace, I could have just terrified him immediately and been rid of the fucking problem.

Any benefit to keeping their company was something I could have taught myself to do using the internet or visiting the Home Depot. Now that I have learned my way around both YouTube and the garden section, everyone can immediately fuck off.

Unless it’s loading up bags of soil. That shit is fucking heavy, and yes, you may help me load it in the trunk. However, don’t try to pull anything funny, or you can fit in the fucking trunk, too.

The lesson here is that although I’ve been mean as fuck forever, I could have been much meaner. And let me tell you, that makes me feel sad, all the way down to my soul. I had the opportunity to be much bitchier to random men trying to waste my time, and I didn’t take it.

Don’t be like me. Be all the bitch you can be to these pervert assholes.

Maybe it will teach them that it isn’t flattering, or charming, or acceptable. It’s gross, stressful, and unnecessary. Always. Even if you think it isn’t, trust me, it is.

I’m glad I learned this lesson. I intend to turn the bitchiness up to 11 when I leave the house from now until the day Puffin murders me. So if you see me out, and I look fucking mean, it’s because I most certainly am.

-Q

Some of you may have wondered back when we kidnapped the Venezuelan President and his wife for narco-terrorism, who would process all of that delicious oil for us. You’ve all worried your pretty little heads about nothing.

Chevron has recorded its highest quarterly profit in six years, and they’ve got some big things fucking poppin down there in those cocaine infested waters, and I ain’t talking kilos fresh off the boat for Eric, either.

We’re so fortunate that we, as a nation, are being protected from all of those bricks nobody forced us to snort up. Imagine if we just left people the fuck alone and ousted this white trash White House degenerate instead. How would the oil companies make billions if it wasn’t for the military literally being used as fucking pirates?

We’re Jack Sparrow’s evil fucking twin, y’all.

We just strongarm shit and then sit around with our thumbs up our asses as the greedy fucking CEO’s and politicians bleed us, and every country without a fucking nuke, completely dry. We’re black widows, just toss the husk back when you’re through, Mr. CEO.

Better still, why not go snatch up the lithium and oil from Greenland? Toss that Spacebitch Musk some battery powered Fembots and let him go sit his flaccid microdick on Mars, give the tycoons the oil, and we can all enjoy our $9.99 loaf of bread, sans cheese and lettuce on our bologna because it’s filled with metal and anal leakage.

It’s cool though, because surely a physic-

Fuck. We can’t see a fucking doctor. And if we can, we damned sure can’t pay Big Pharma for the fucking meds.

Might want to skip that Taylor Farms foliage for a while, no matter what their million-dollar payoff has to say about it.

Hey, let’s just do what RFK suggested and “adjust to cheaper cuts of beef, like beef liver”.

Just don’t get gout, because you’ll need Big Pharma to come through in the clutch and heal that up, too, if you want to walk into the job for your 65 hour, still taxed on OT, minimum wage paycheck.

The really great thing is, since 35% of us are living out of our vehicles, we don’t need to drive to work. We’ve been camping out in the parking lot behind the Wal Mart, and that’s just a few blocks from the job.

Lucky, that’s what we are.

I, for one, am excited every day to wake up and know that it’s liver and onions again so the knock off gold sconces at the White House can be the backdrop for a pedophile to eject word vomit like he’s fucking Abe Simpson yelling at clouds.

Just one question, and it’s really been on my mind. You know how the Mushroom Capped Mussolini never stops harping about those he says have wronged him? Literally, all of them, nonstop.

How come we’ve not heard one thing about his would-be assassins? I mean, there are three of them, so he could talk for fucking centuries, potentially. Yet, crickets.

Almost as though it was all a ploy. Some sleight of hand. Some sneaky snake shit.

It’s almost as though he made it all up so he could pretend he had the momentum behind his boy stuffing his box with ballots and failed penile enlargement mutation.

I’d be willing to bet his neck labia that I’ve hit about 96% accuracy on these divine manifestations.

If this lasts another two years, we won’t have anything left by the time we have to oust him with military force. They’re taking us to the cleaners, daily, right in front of our faces.

If you want an iota of freedom when this bullshit is washed off of us, the time to fucking end this is yesterday. The second-best time is right the fuck now.

-Q

20 raccs a lot of money if you ain’t never had it, just ask your local inside trading piece of shit representative.

Sometimes, the interwebs truly gift me with something that allows me to laugh all the way down to my soul.

Bitchfaces, behold, the rapist twat that is Andrew Tate, pretending he’s a fucking rapper.

From a rapper to a raper, because when one piss poor attempt at being someone worth listening to fails, why not draw straws for the next cash grab?

Share Ask A Bitchface

Unfortunately, this isn’t AI. This fuckboy piece of shit really thought he was doing something.

So, I found it and I laughed and laughed and laughed.

You know what this no-chin sporting microdick needs? That’s correct, he needs someone to break him something the fuck off, the likes of which we haven’t seen.

My cousin owns a gym with Buster Douglas, maybe I can give him a holler and see if he’ll toss an ass whippin of monumental proportions at this bitchmade pansy so we can be rid of his ass.

Anyway, if you desired dryness at levels only seen on the fucking sun, give this trash a listen.

Jesus. Christ.

What a fucking loser.

-Q

There is an overwhelming amount of stupidity being tolerated everywhere around us, and it’s threatened to fry my circuitry.

I literally cannot right now.

We’re being consumed by willful ignorance. People just fucking la-dee-dahing right on down to levels of idiocy so unprecedented, I can’t sort out the morons I want to talk about first.

Fuck it. Let’s just start the list.

Firstly, if you believe that anyone in the current administration is looking out for your best interest, please do not procreate. You’re obviously too stupid to pass on your genes, as we have plenty of dumb babies already.

Secondly, if you report anyone for removing Flock or Axis cameras, I hope you fall down a well, or a sinkhole opens under your home.

Seriously.

Third, if you think joking about tossing Black people out of boats is some internet joke for you to make videos about, please immediately go and swallow every pill in your home, then walk into traffic.

Right now. Do not delay.

Oh, one second though. Let’s all pause for the cause and laugh at the redpill princess himself, Andrew Tate, being arrested in his mother’s Mah Jong attire. I don’t know if those were his kitten heels, or if he borrowed them to go with that outfit, but I’ve not seen a middle-aged social worker look so put together since Moms for Liberty did that whole library cull last year.

I truly believe he borrowed Casey DeSantis’s best pedal pushers for his Miami outing, and he wore them better, if we’re being honest. Better still, the Trump friendship angle makes it so much better, because that spineless piece of trafficking shit really thought he was untouchable.

Go choke on several bags of dicks, you Chico’s clearance rack shopping fraud.

Also, on the highlights of my week rundown, Conor McGregor, the piece of shit rapist, abuser, and all-around subhuman scumbag, got his ass handed to him in fucking real time. If anyone should happen to know Holloway, please tell him I’ll buy him a drink anywhere, at any time.

Which brings me back to the stupidest fuckers we’ve ever fucking seen. Dana White, I hope your fucking house burns down. Quite literally while you’re in it.

Anyone who platforms that raping fucking lunatic, in addition to the genuinely mentally stunted fuckers you pass a mic to, should melt into their Sealy Posturepedic while the smoke alarms blare around them.

Disrespectfully, of course.

Now, where did I leave off? Oh, there’s Jesse Waters, who thinks warning women about being raped by testosterone fueled soldiers is a tee-hee fucking joke to cackity cackle about, like that’s not a real goddamned thing happening every fucking day to women every fucking where, so shove that low-browed fucking buffoon somewhere onto this list.

Spacenazi Musk bought up a Jacksonville power utility, granting several slots to any committee who allowed it, and anyone who rubberstamped it. The former trillionaire, who is still trying to make up for his flaccid and deformed dick, is going to cut the lights off, but at least we won’t have to watch his awkward ass gargle Trump’s old man balls anymore.

Kill the power now, goddammit, nobody wants to see any of that.

And, lastly, if someone doesn’t grab Pete Kegstand by his Nazi tatted titty and twist his bitch ass into a knot today, I’m coming to do it myself. You little panty waist reject from the fucking drama club, please for the love of all of the Gods, we need you to grab a rifle and hit the front lines.

If only someone would immediately drop you off in a warzone and let you play the soldier you never were for about five minutes, all of us could have a much better existence before the fucking day concludes.

To anyone I missed, I’ll catch you next time. Please, don’t doubt that for a second.

-Q

As most of you know, I am an “adopt, don’t shop” household.

Why? Because there are millions of good, good boys and girls who need homes. In what lifetime would I thumb my nose at them and go shop for a dog? Go place an order for a dog?

Because why? So it has a tail that’s so many inches long, or spots on its belly, or is blonde?

Yeah. No. It’s not that fucking serious to me.

In addition, every time someone buys a dog, you tell a breeder that there is a vacancy to produce yet another dog. You give them a reason, in US dollars, to mate dogs and produce more dogs.

Go to any shelter or rescue in this country. I strongly encourage it.

What will you see? Hundreds of dogs, dogs of all sizes, dogs of all colors, and makes, and breeds, and levels of training, and lineage. All of those dogs can be adopted for next to nothing. Sometimes, quite literally for nothing when they run the “empty the shelters” promotions.

I owned a Rottweiler, male, beautiful dog. Everyone kept asking if he was papered because they wanted to breed with him. Well, he did have papers, but the meth head I rescued him from didn’t give them to me when he abandoned the dog at the foreclosed upon house I went and picked him up from. Took me two days to coax that boy into my car. We never looked back.

Did him being abandoned by the only family he’d ever known make him less valuable? Less gorgeous?

Absofuckinglutely not. It did, however, mean I couldn’t turn a profit off of him.

If you need to rely on your dog to turn a profit for you, I don’t like you as a fucking human anyway. Get a fucking job.

I have had more pits than you can shake a stick at. Red nose. Blue. Brindle. Staffies. And about 50 pit mixes over the years that have come through my home for one reason or another and stayed until they had a forever family. Let me tell you about one of the best I ever had.

My ex-husband and I were out in the sticks visiting our friend Mattie. Mattie lives as far away from a real town as you can live without actually living on acreage. You can still see into the neighbors back yard, and this is important.

We’re all sitting out back, and I’m looking at these two puppies in a pen. Small puppies, probably four weeks old or so. And the boy, he’s just yelping and hollering, and I realize it’s because his leg is trapped in the bars of this pen.

I see red. I didn’t care about a fence, a pen, a fucking property line, I’m going where I’m going. I was in my 20’s, and I was not anywhere near as mellow as I am now. I also had a first husband who was a certified gangster, so in those years, no fucks were to be given.

I go to the pen, and I free this boy, who has a broken leg. My boy Mattie says he’ll take him, get him fixed up, it’ll be his dog.

Fantastic. But what about this girl?

And that is how I got Roxy, Little Ms. Roxanne, you don’t need to turn on the red light. Best fucking dog you’d ever want to know, not a paper in sight. Couldn’t even confirm she was a staffie or pit mix, because dog DNA wasn’t a thing then, but she sure looked like one.

She let kids ride her. She loved other dogs. Never barked unless there was a problem. Potty trained herself. Great with everyone and everything. Horses. Cats. People I barely tolerated. She was just a good girl.

Did the fact that I didn’t know what her breed was make her less valuable? Absofuckinglutely not.

And, as an aside, I would have slapped the piss out of that dude next door had he said word one about me taking her, because a bad dog owner makes me heated. An abusive, piece of shit, backyard breeder? That’s not even something I want to commit to paper just in case the words come up in a trial transcript.

Y’all know my sweet Puffin girl, the bitchy little half-staffie who runs my home. I know y’all know that she came to me in the bitter cold one January night, because my dickhead neighbor left her outside, and let his dickhead kids kick her around. She showed up one day, I had her shots and worming done the next, and until said neighbor decided to settle that bill, she was now my dog.

Eight years later, she’s still my dog. Not a paper in sight, but in the worst days of my life, she was beside me, giving me a reason to live. Literally. There is no exaggeration in that statement.

If you were to open your mouth to tell me my Puffin girl ain’t as valuable as your papered dog, you’re walking away with broken fucking teeth. My Puffin girl is worth more to me than anything I own, and that’s including all of my shoes.

My point is that I’ve never paid for a dog. Nothing more than gas money, or a piddly ass adoption fee to get a county shelter dog. Yet, every one of those dogs has provided me with all of the awesome shit a papered dog can provide.

Can I breed them for money? Nope. They winning the dog show? Nope.

I don’t give a fuck about that dumb shit.

On the flip side of the token, I follow lots of dog rescues. And I mean lots. It’s my feed on any social media. It’s my email newsletters. It’s dogs, dogs, everywhere.

When you’re operating dog rescues, there are costs. I totally understand that, and anyone who took basic arithmetic does, too.

When you’re charging $400, $500, upwards of that for a dog? To claim a rescue dog?

Bitch, who are you helping?

Nobody is doing that. They’re going to take that money and go right on down to the backyard breeder and put a deposit on a puppy.

And then they don’t have to pass 6 home inspections and sign a contract. You’re doing a huge fucking disservice to rescues and shelters pulling that type of shit.

Just stop it. Seriously.

Don’t get on your high horse with this bullshit and end up doing exactly what you say you don’t want and that’s encouraging dog shopping from breeders. It’s not rocket science. Do your damned math.

That’s all. Adopt, don’t shop. I’m going to close this with a pic of my Puffin girl, because she’s so cute it’s stupid. And she cost me 0 fucking dollars.

Well, no purchase price. God knows how much I’ve spent since then, but she needed all of those things. Every single one of her things.

-Q

“I feel good about the Republican Party and where we’re going as a nation. We’re killing all the right people and we’re cutting your taxes. Trump is my favorite president. We’ve run out of bombs.”

“I was excited to hear that President Trump is open to the idea of being the next Pope. This would truly be a dark horse candidate, but I would ask the papal conclave and Catholic faithful to keep an open mind about this possibility!”

“As I watch and monitor this historic operation, I’m in awe of President Trump’s determination to be a man of peace but at the end of the day, evil’s worst nightmare. Well done, Mr. President.”

“$1 billion a day for Iran war is ‘Best Money’ U.S. has ever spent”

“We pay for [ballroom] it by offsetting it with customs fees. The sooner we get the ballroom built, the better it is for the country.”

“They should change the Nobel Prize to the Trump Prize.”

RIP to a warmonger who was openly a pawn for Israel, Trump, and anyone else with a fucking dollar bill to shove into his meaty, sweaty palm. I’m quite positive the guys over at Grindr are going to have their flags at half-staff for Ms. Ladybug.

Couldn’t have happened to a better representative of this party.

Already this year, 10 kids have died in hot cars. 4 of them have been here in Florida.

I’m not going to sit here and pass judgement, although, I will tell you that I’ve never left my dogs in a car without the AC on blast and the other key fob in my pocket in case something goes wrong while I’m putting gas in the car. I’m that paranoid about my dogs getting overheated in the Florida sun.

I also have never fucked around and forgotten my dogs in a car, because when they’re riding with me, I’m constantly making sure they’re okay, and not doing dumb shit like trying to hang themselves in a seat belt. Or throw up all over the back seat. Or whatever they manage to get into that day that is going to cause me to have to freak the fuck out while I’m driving.

However, it seems to me that if that dumb ass light that lets me know I have low washer fluid is constantly flashing in my face, there could be one that says “hey, stupid, your kid is in the back” and then blare the horn until I get the kid out of the damned car.

Why are you parents not pushing for a safety feature like this? It can’t be that difficult.

If the car can remember driver settings, and tell by the shape of your ass when you sit down that it’s you, why can’t it let you know you put a kid in the back, and you had better get it out before you have a big fucking problem?

Now, it looks like we’re going to have to pay for any feature the car has on it anyway, as a subscription, no less. You may as well subscribe to something that will really help you.

As I said, I’m not here to pass judgement. I know things happen, especially if you have more than one kid to take somewhere. I’m not perfect, I’m just exceptionally close.

If I were one of you moms who likes to get all up in everyone’s beeswax, this would be my hill to die on. Not banning books or looking at people’s junk when they go pee in public bathrooms, or all that other shit I hear y’all pissing and moaning about.

Why aren’t automakers helping with this situation? I would say we’ve reached the point now where we no doubt have the technology, and they’re charging the equivalent of a small house on an acre for a vehicle now.

So why aren’t they providing families with useful tools, instead of that stupid ass dinging every time I have to snap my seat belt off to reach the bank tube?

They can do it; they just aren’t. Why is that?

What is it with knowing shit causes kids to die, and nobody doing fuck all to stop it?

If I were a legislation drafting type of bitch, I would do some drafting on this immediately. They’ve already let us know that everything from FM radio to left blinkers are now going to be an additional charge per month.

Why don’t we make them give us something worth paying for?

-Q

Usually, this time of year brings about my “5 Worst Places In The World To Be A Woman…” column.

Why not this year?

Because we don’t even need to leave the fucking porch to see the truth in the matter today.

I sat outside with Puffin a few moments ago, and the silence is deafening. No parties. No music. No fireworks. I didn’t even smell a grill going.

There’s nothing to celebrate here at home, y’all.

We can’t afford to eat. If you can afford to eat, you had better thank someone almighty, and you’re probably working a 65-hour week to do so.

I don’t have throw away funds for munitions this year. Or charcoal. Or my fat ass burn ban ticket they’d come and drop off for me.

I wanted to make a Chantilly cake to share with Simone next door. Except I can’t afford the gas back to BJ’s for the affordable produce bulk prices, and there’s no way in hell I’m putting that weak ass looking bunch of Walmart produce on my cake.

It looks like I’ll have to figure out what a lemon cake is all about, because I’ve got a bag of those in the fridge.

Good thing Simone is from Trinidad. They’re a very polite people.

I never intend to make light of the plight of women anywhere in the world, so don’t misconstrue my intentions. I know there are millions of women who would love to be where we are.

Here’s the fucked-up thing, though.

They can’t.

Because they’d be thrown into fucking camps, and raped, and their teen daughters raped, and their children sent God knows where.

Because freedom. That’s why.

I’ll say it again, because it’s necessary: freedom under the threat of literal death and imprisonment, that’s not freedom.

Hell, I was a free woman on the yard at Lowell until that last buzzer went off at sundown, then I was just another woman inside a prison dorm.

If you can’t say what you feel, and feel what you say, you aren’t free. You’re just walking around until they show up with a fucking warrant.

Or worse.

I noticed while I was taking in the silence a minute ago that those loud fucking MAGAs on the corner tossed their flag, and they sure have no company today, either.

So many people able to crawl back under their rock and continue with the closet bigotry and hatred. So many people who can continue to pretend they aren’t the literal fucking Klan when someone gives them a little pep talk about it.

Not to me, though. I will remember this. I will remember every fucking sticker, flag, t-shirt, comment, side-eye, threat, and snide fucking remark.

I’ll remember exactly who you are when you think you have the power of the herd behind you. I’ll remember the person you are when you think nobody is going to check your ho ass about it.

And, believe these words, if there is ever a time I can call you out to your face about it, I’ll waste no time doing so.

This isn’t a holiday for fucking cowards. This is supposed to be our celebration of the freedoms that make us truly free.

Yet, it’s bullies and hateful bitches as far as the eye can see. Not an iota of freedom, though, I guess they’re powering the Flock cameras with it.

If you have any humanity inside you, neo-Klan, it’s time to get yourselves right with what you claim you are. If the only thing that makes you special is the fucking color of your skin, you’re worse than pathetic. You’re birthright pathetic, and someone should have slapped your momma’s face for the thought of birthing you.

Love

-Q

If any of you Bitchfaces doubted my ability to torture this poor little dog, you have not seen these framed monstrosities in my home that I regularly point to and remind Puffin that I’m the one with the fucking scepter, and she’ll do as I fucking say.

It’s fair to assume she does not, in fact, do as I say. Instead, she’ll turn with an attitude, huff, and then fling herself in the direction she wants to go with a hot ass attitude that makes me want to dropkick her, but that’s abusive, so I just have to take her shit.

Bitch.

Yes, I’m still trapped here in this self-made prison, because I don’t know if y’all have seen the fucking DOJ hitlist that’s now published on an official White House website, but I will tell you that nobody is dragging me off to Lowell until this little dog of mine has her ducks in a row.

That’s a bullshit excuse. I’ve had my homegirl lined up to know when she needs to be picked up for over two years, back when I first started digging into some government officials and they delivered my Uber Eats order courtesy of a cop pretending he wasn’t a cop, when a 4-year-old could have told you he was a cop.

I literally have a door lock with a code for this very reason. Nobody is leaving my Puffin girl to fend for herself if I just so happen to be linked to some shit that’s questionable.

However, in the meantime, I plan to make her as angry as possible on a daily basis because she has a horrible attitude and thinks she runs my house. She’s not even two foot tall. She can’t see over the edge of the fucking couch and thinks she’s my boss.

False. I don’t take my orders from a dog.

Earlier this evening, when Puffin was napping and I was free to move about, I was sorting through some things in my office and stumbled upon some notes I had taken about a certain governor with a certain set of man tits and his evil ginger wife. Did y’all know I write everything in long hand before I key anything?

I mean everything. I jot it down in pen to sort my thoughts. This means I have notebook upon notebook of random shit I’ve thought, or heard, or picked up in passing while looking for something else but thought I could circle back to it later.

It’s a strange habit in this day and age, but I never stopped using long form for notes, and it’s come through in the clutch for me a few times.

One of the notebooks I’m lost in now has a bunch of county and environmental meetings I was slowly trodding through the minutes of, and it was so fucking boring I thought I was going to die, so I sat it to the side. Backed the files up on a drive, per my usual, and left it alone.

Weird. I went looking for some of those tonight to use, and I had to jump into my drive to retrieve them because they’re not publicly stored where they should be. I wonder why that would be the case.

Like, who would want to throw out some perfectly good environmental meeting minutes?

All our algae committees, energy and water quality groups, none of those are relevant to anything hopping these days. Surely there aren’t any talking points someone might want to readdress.

Oh, y’all said algae? Like, blue green algae? Yea, we’ve got some of that here, why? Is that some sort of issue somewhere?

Y’all been seeing some water quality problems out there? Weird. I thought we talked about some of that shit around here, but I guess I was mistaken. If only I had thought to grab those meeting min-

Well. Well. Well.

Anyway, Meghan, if I’m gone for more than a few days, you know the code. I got some shit to start around here. These fucking people have really forgotten how the internet works, I guess.

Don’t you know that the internet is forever? Not just you and I forever. All the forevers of forever forever. Use that information as you will.

Love

-Q

Man, c’mon, man.

Listen, I’m from Central Florida. If you could cram more white trash into a geographic region per capita, bitch, no the fuck you couldn’t.

Even I was sitting, googley-eyed and mortified, like “there’s no fucking way this shit is happening”. And that was before the dudes with the beer guts started throwing punches, one of their wives jumped in, and the cops came to pick up the shit from the lawn.

Those were spectators. This was before the oiled up 20 somethings in spandex got started grappling with one another in an obvious display of what Trump wanted to see jumping out of a cake.

What in the actual fuck is happening? Am I fucking high?

I’ve got to be high. And if I’m not high, goddammit, I should be, because what type of moronic, chest beating debauchery and a goddamned dummy in a fucking mini tie trying to string sentences together am I fucking watching?

You can’t fucking be serious.

Let’s check the highlight reel, shall we?

“There is the version of UFC Freedom 250 that right-wing media wants you to remember: the swirling spotlights, the Washington Monument in the background, the weigh-in on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, the Marines saluting as fighters walked past with Medal of Honor recipients as honor guards, the red, white, and blue Octagon Girls, Travis Pastrana’s dirt bike backflip. A perfect, patriotic, made-for-television night, wrapped in corporate sponsorships, branding opportunities and promotional partnerships.”

This shit is so unserious. The most repugnant, vulgar, tired ass excuse for wealth and “upper crust” society. Ba-Bay, if that’s upper class, I’m cool right here in the lower middle class where I fucking belong.

Billions of dollars on the White House lawn, and you have Chinet plates blowing like fucking tumbleweeds down Pennsylvania Avenue.

Man. Get the fuck outta here.

There is no reality where any of this shit is acceptable. I swear before God, anyone who witnessed any part of that hilljack trash ass show will never be able to take us seriously. We are a fucking joke. Collectively. All of us.

We let this bullshit happen.

I knew years ago when this punk bitch was telling people to inject bleach that we were entering dangerous times. I blame myself, because I sat around with my thumb in my ass instead of forming a fucking militia like I should have done.

Now we’re too steeped in it. Y’all see it. You can’t tell these fucking sycophants anything that will snap their stupid asses out of it. They’re down to ride with the actual Antichrist until they take us all straight to hell with them.

Let me figure out where to get a tank, I’ll be hotwiring that bitch and heading straight down I4 before the evening is out, though.

Because someone has got to do something. It doesn’t look like anyone else is jumping up, so stay off the interstate then. Sounds like I was just elected.

Fuck it.

-Q

Yeah, in my tank we play them bangers.

Yes, that’s my half-beagle baby staffie posed as the Princess Puffin she is. This is, in my household, the only acceptable use of AI.

Also, there’s a really awesome photo of she and I together, draped up and dripped out. In addition, this shit is framed and on my living room wall.

When you walk into my house, I want you to have zero doubt that you’re dealing with a bitch who is playing with less than half a deck. I don’t care. I’ve been like this for 40-some-odd years, I sincerely doubt shit is changing now.

This is what happens when you leave me to my own devices. I probably got in some trouble, maybe, and now I’m trying to pretend that I don’t spend my days looking at shit in databases I’m not supposed to be in, telling people shit that I’m not supposed to know.

Instead, my hard drive is now full of Puffin the AI model, videos of me poorly singing Lovergirl by Teena Marie, and fun dinosaur facts; except for the bird dinosaurs because they’re fucking terrifying.

Pterodactyl, my ass.

Fly your snappy, flapping ass screech mouth right up out of here.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to run amok in the interworld again soon, and I can be back to providing all of your news with a filthy mouth and a terrible attitude, as I’ve done for nearly a decade.

Sooner than later if I can figure out how to get this fucking electric dog collar off of my touch screen, but I’m fairly certain every time I get the password wrong there’s a dude in a cubicle in Langley who gets a new snapshot of my unflattering webcam face lock screen.

Sorry about that. I wish I could say the pics will get better. They won’t though.

I’ll check in soon. Y’all behave. Or don’t, who the fuck am I to tell you what to do?

Love

-Q

Hunter Biden is the nation’s favorite recovering addict as of late, and I’m here for it.

He’s made anyone brave enough to tweet in his direction tuck tail and run, those punk ass Trump kids included. I’ve had some wheeze-inducing laughs this week, and they’ve all been courtesy of Hunter.

Honestly, that’s your own fault if you’re stupid enough to come at someone who has aired all of their laundry in front of the world, willingly or otherwise. Really, what can someone say about the man that hasn’t been said?

Yep. He smoked a lotta crack with a lotta hookers.

Yep. He’s got a giant member, and the entire Republican party was rubbing one out to the videos.

Yep. His daddy pardoned him, and if it was my son who was trying to be better, I’d have pardoned him and flown him somewhere tropical to relax for the next decade or so.

You know what you won’t see, starring Hunter Biden?

Child sex assault material. That’s for starters, and yeah, I’m looking at all y’all in the Trump lineage.

Nasty asses.

Bet you won’t find him buying islands to tie up sea lanes into places like, oh, shit, say… Italy.

Or islands to house trafficked children.

Or peninsulas, rocky outcroppings, sandbars; he doesn’t seem to have much to hide, and he can do all of that airing out of his business right here on the inland.

Now, as most of you are aware, I have a past of my own, and it is… checkered.

Who am I kidding? Y’all know. I was a street pharmacist, a guest of the federal penitentiary system, in every mix that could be shook up from 1999 to 2014, and I only remember 30, 40% of it.

The thing about living your truth, though. Nobody can call me something I haven’t already told everyone I once was.

You can’t shame me. I own every single fucking lick I ever pulled.

And that is what freedom feels like. Better than leaving prison, better than cutting all my old ties, better than oxycodone ever did.

After all of the shenanigans and hijinks, the only thing you can say about me is I’m hard to get access to. If you know anything other than that, I ain’t worried about it, because if you would tell my business, you would never know it to start with.

Hopefully, we’ll continue to get a fireworks show from Hunter Biden, because he’s got a whole pocket full of zingers, and these other Bozo's can’t even find a comeback.

It’s an art form, truly.

I hope you all have the same type of freedom, but if you don’t, you should work that out. I love staring a bitch in the face and waiting for something stupid to fall out of it. I might be sober these days, but I’m still the meanest bitch this side of Louisiana, sunup to sunup.

Love

-Q

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