Space Junk 2014…my old laptop.

Space Junk 2015…my new laptop.

I love commercialism because it sells junk to everyone indiscriminately, the ultimate show of equality. And I sure bought into it; all that junk made its way to my woman cave closet. I am definitely feeling capitalist love at the moment, especially after Jesus’ birthday. Its been said (by me?) that rich people are the most interesting to watch when they act poor. But I may have to revise my own fast-food-philosophy. It’s poor folk like myself who may be the most entertaining when I appear rich. I’ve accumulated enough useless stuff to pollute two moons!  Time for an updated installment of exposing what’s in my closet.

I have this dress (accented with road kill) preserved for Jackie “O” in case she raises from the dead and makes her way to Bombay. Since I’ve heard that Miley Cyrus was possibly copulating her way into the Kennedy clan, anything is possible right?

If we ever have a zombie apocalypse, I will sure as hell be ready to look as youthful as possible with all these moisturizing creams. Hades is unkind to your skin.

 This is what happens when you watch too much of Judge Judy: I wanted to rescue this gavel when I saw it for 50 cents at a junk store. But my hopes for overturning unruly decisions at home were quickly squashed when my spouse informed me that this was, instead, a “red-neck nutcracker”. When in doubt, do what Judge Judy would do…put testosterone under your thumb.

“Journals are bumper stickers to the literati.” And I have a million of them…journals that is. The literati, I am still working on.

Back in the day where you could actually get a living telephone operator to take all your collect phone calls (wasn’t it fun rejecting them), they had magazine covers the size of your bedspread. Rats who sleep under these old Rolling Stone magazines would agree.

You know you need some mental evaluating when you start to collect dirt. But this clump of dried-up mire is straight from America’s belly button: The Grand Canyon (no, not the one between J-Lo’s legs). The only magical powers it has bestowed upon me is the power to wonder what the crap to do with it.  EBay anyone?

Great talisman and excellent fetish for all those ex-lovers that need curses put on them. Proof that I have a heart!

I stole this from a Pilipino transvestite who swore she was going to be the next Ellen DeGeneres. Joke is not on her now, but me!

Just when you want to say “Enough junk already!” I have to pull out this salvaged relic. I attempted to join a ban of Navajo’s in Arizona,but of course they banned me instead.

And just when you thought you’d seen it all in my closet, you find this thing: Medicinal Pretzels. I bet Einstein ( eh Chef Boyardee?) never envisioned this gastronomic concoction. Thanks to a well meaning friend (one of the perks of going to art school) who wanted to curb the ills of my chemotherapy, I have this hidden next to my fancy bras (which I hope to one day wear after a boob lift at my embalming). I have yet to savor these loony snacks  (Really think I need these?) . Good thing they are vegan. I wouldn’t want to pollute this brain with any tainted mad cow. Bad thing they probably got handled by hundreds of germy stoner hands. Like my fancy bras, I’ll save these pretzels for my death. Embalmers get hungry too you know.