Author: Annie

Yes. I am THAT She Devil. The original, shedevil at vix.com. You know: I am: mom, attorney, fathers' rights advocate Actually, I'm a lawyer -and- I play one on tv. Yep..that's me.

Plumber’s Floss

Why do I seem to be destined to have my eyes singed by people who insist on wearing thongs – those things that are supposed to make it look as though you aren’t wearing any underwear – in ways that make it obvious that they are wearing a thong?

If the whole point of wearing the thong is to make people think that you have no underwear on (and, hey, you don’t, but at least you get to feel virtuous and pretend to yourself that you do) then WHY THE F*CK are you ensuring that the world sees your thong, along with the crack into which it is wedged?

It’s really too bad that this picture didn’t come out better, so that you could see this phenomenon, which I have christened “Plumber’s Floss”, in action, but take my word for it – the thin black line above the top of her pants is to scale – one thread = one thread – it’s the waistband (and I use the term loosely) of her thong, which you can easily see snaking its way down her gorge for about 2 inches until it hits bottom (really, you can’t see it in the picture, which I was trying to take on the sly (although it did occur to me to ask her “Excuse me, do you mind if I take a picture of your thong and the exposed top half of your plumber’s cleft?” – but then, what if she said “no”?) – but I promise you it’s all there – if you look from her arm on down, it’s obvious where her actual waist is – and where the top of her pants isn’t):

IMG00034.jpg

“Plumber’s Floss”. I like that. It has a certain ring to it, and even without a picture, you know exactly what I mean.

Plumber’s Floss. Look for it on a clueless ass near you.

Is It Child Abuse

Is it child abuse to have a child listen to the song “Muskrat Love”? Anne P. Mitchell, Esq. President & CEO Institute for Spam and Internet Public Policy http://www.isipp.com

Dichotomies of Time

“Dichotomies of Time”

Time –

So intangible;
yet so real –
Elusive, persuasive;
interminable, fleeting –
Stands between us;
lays before us –
Swift of wing while together;
an eternity while apart –
Transcends all pain;
offers promise of joy –
To plan ahead for;
to enjoy for the moment –
Beyond our grasp;
yet ours to mold –

Time –

That which defines
our very existence
That which I
would share with you –

Time.

Anne P. Mitchell
3/87

Untitled

Such emptiness wells up inside
Search in vain, someplace to hide.
Betrayal to the heart is plunder,
Soul and spirit rent assunder.

Looking for love’s shelter gone,
Chilling dusk of setting sun.
The barren sea laps at the shore,
Emploring, pleading – love me more.
The moon rains down its pale chill light,
The warmth of day dissolved by night.

And in the dark a lone wolf cries,
A haunted look within her eyes.
She lays down by the darkened sea,
Still rolling out its empty plea.
Then hypnotized by ocean’s reach,
She slinks across the stretch of beach.
And walks into the dark sea-foam,
Never more to be alone.

Anne P. Mitchell
7/28/88

Letting Go

“Letting Go”

My mind goes where my heart
dares not; feelings and logic;
tug-of-war.

My heart whispers
“hold on; forever is forever,
and your life and his are as one,
hearts entwined.
Forever shall your souls be
married in a bond that no man
nor decree can break.”

My mind – cold, calculating,
logical
“there exists no bond by one.
No-one is to another without
a mutual desiring. He belongs
not to you, nor to your dreams.
Sever the ties of fancy, and go
forth into a barren existence.”

But my love is mine,
and like a broken child I gather it,
tenderly to my breast,
promises in soothing tones
“no-one shall take you from me.
I shall nurture you and cherish you
and make you whole again.
And we shall live within,
together forever, til death do us part.”

And I smile,
content for my heart is whole,
and we shall be ever one.

Or shall we?

Sweet promises whispered
for nought?

From my very embrace have
you been stolen
And through fingers pried loose
by mind’s callous truths
have you flown.

Where are you now?

Anne P. Mitchell
December, 1986

New Category on Mange Merde: Poetry

As some of you may have noticed, I’ve added a new category to Mange Merde: Poetry. This isn’t to say that my poetry is necessarily worthy of critical acclaim (or even your attention), but I figured that it at least deserves to see the light of day.