Lesbian Detective Laura McCallister

Get a load of this: “Constipation Linked to Aggression in Nursing Home Residents.”

Constipation can trigger physical aggression in a nursing home resident with dementia, researchers here reported. In a large group of residents with dementia, those with constipation were about as likely to exhibit aggressive physical behavior as those who experienced hallucinations…

Yes, according to the powers that be, physical and verbal violence stems from 4 causes:

• Depression — don’t give a shit
• Delusions — pure shit
• Hallucinations — Holy shit!
• Constipation — can’t give a shit

The aging process is already humiliating and unnerving. Now, I gotta worry about this?

I can already wear a blue funk that’d make a drag queen swoon. (Wild women do, too, get the blues.) I’m already prone to delusions of grandeur. (Highly refined ones, of course.) I already fantasize. (Please don’t tell Holly.) And the clincher: I’m already anal-retentive.

I’ll be smackin’ orderlies before the state can liquify my assets. (Which may alleviate constipation. Hmmm… Is that why they take everything you own?) I’ll be the cantankerous old women with the penchant for the f-word. They’ll slide my dinner tray under the door and run. People will congregate outside my window on Halloween, pointing, waiting for a glimpse of me in all my unholiness. I will growl just to hear them shriek. Priests will throw holy water. Crosses on walls will spontaneously spin and stop at up-side-down.

God, I’m working myself into a perimenopausal frenzy! Back to the reality!! Back to the article…

Okay, yadda, yadda…effective treatment may reduce the risk of violence in nursing homes…yadda, yadda…

Stop the presses!

When you get near the bottom of the article, you get this little nugget…

It is not clear whether physical aggression may be related to…interventions such as suppositories that may elicit a defensive action by some residents

Well, doesn’t that offer a shitload of insight! Huh? Are some older folks aggressive because they are constipated or because some asshole orderly is shoving a suppository where the frickin’ sun hasn’t shone for a century?

It’s not clear to you scholarly researchers you? It’s not clear?!

It’s suddenly perfectly clear to me.

Wish upon, wish upon, day upon day, I believe oh lord
I believe all the way
Come get up my baby
Run for the shadows, run for the shadows, run for the shadows in these golden years

Nothin’s gonna touch you in these Golden Years, gold
Golden years, gold whop whop whop

Thanks, David.

An Associated Press article, Fight Erupts at Shoe Sale; Customer Shot:

ISTANBUL, Turkey — Chaos broke out at a shoe sale in Turkey this week, and one person got shot in the foot, a news agency reported.

The incident Friday occurred in Karabuk…[at a] retailer that was selling pairs of shoes for as little as $6… When customers rebelled against orders to close the store because of overcrowding and started to fight with one another and with salespeople, a store employee shot his gun into the air… The bullet struck the foot of a customer…

Now being a normal person, I am supposed to roll my eyes and make an indignant tsk at the fact that a shoe sale would incite violence. Then, I am to remember the picture of the poor woman losing her wig as she’s trampled by an onslaught of Walmart shoppers after those damn cheap laptops. I am then to do a little math in my head: women + shoes + sale = oh yeah, believe you me. Suddenly the roll of the eyes and the perfect tsk are to become a commiserating chuckle.

If I were a normal person, cuz that ain’t what happened in my gray matter.

This portion of the article bears repeating: a store employee shot his gun into the air [and] struck the foot of a customer [at a shoe sale].

Was the customer standing on his/her head to have received this bullet that was shot in the air? Hanging from the ceiling? Dancing on the dumbass Ceiling with Lionel Ritchie? Looking for a 6 1/2 narrow on the top of the shoe racks? What? That’s what I wanna know.

And… If a person at a shoe sale gets shot in the foot, I just thank Goddess Moon that it was not a sale at Victoria’s Secret (ouch!)…

Woman Shot in Pie Hole at Baker’s Square’s Buy-One-Get-One

“You’ll shoot your eye out, Ralphie!” Screams a Mother at a Pearle Vision Sale Before First Shot Fired

Man’s Nuts Blown Off at Buddy Squirrel Early Bird Sale

Bad day for gay people, even those of the fictional variety. New York court refuses to recognize same-sex marriage and Georgia’s Supreme Court reinstates constitutional ban on gay marriage. It’s not like we’re comparing an apple and peaches here.

But hey, all of those heterosexual marriages are safer now. It is the friggin’ queers who threaten the institution of marriage. Not divorce. Not infidelity. It’s the f’n queers. Damn us to hell anyway — huh? — for having the audacity to hope for and fight for the right to be human beings. What they hell are we thinking?

The homophobes will sleep better tonight. We won’t. So I say, let’s use our sleepless time wisely. Make love to your partner tonight while the homophobes sleep soundly. But don’t be quiet about. Make love LOUDLY. Shriek at the top of your lungs. Oo and Ahhhhhh! Scream: harder; slower; more; don’t stop; no, I wanna be on top. Yeah, orgasm — all of us — so intensely that it shakes the very foundation of our democracy.

On your mark, get set, whooooooa!

At weddings we throw rice, not gun powder.
Best of luck. Kaboom!

For birthdays, we light birthday candles, not Roman Candles.
Happy Birthday. Kaboom!

On Christmas, we hang mistletoe, not sparking, popping Dart Wheels.
Merry Christmas. Kaboom!

For Valentine’s Day, we give heart-shaped boxes of chocolate, not explosive Heart Stoppers.
Won’t you be mine? Kaboom!

At graduations, we toss caps, not M-80s.
Congratulations. Kaboom!

When babies are born, we give cigars, smokeable ones or bubble gum ones but not exploding ones.
Welcome to the world. Kaboom!

Yet on the 4th of July (plus one+ week prior and one+ week after), Americans (even in the midst of a war) make our Land of the Free sound like a war zone, fill the ERs, spend a fortune, and make otherwise-well-behaved dogs piss on the floor.

God bless America. Kabooooooooooooooooooooom!

The blurb for Woman Justice reads:

What happens to all those characters a novelist creates? Could it be that they exist in an alternate plane? Could they be capable of returning to the writer, demanding a better, more fulfilling existence?

Who better to answer these questions than a character herself? I supposedly am a fictional character of the author Rosalyn Wraight. It is said that I am animated because of her. If that is true, then the opposite must be true as well: I am stifled because of her. For a long while I have been give a back page on her web site. Posting capabilities restricted. Comments off. Administrative permissions denied. Closeted or what?

Am I only to have the right to speak when the writer pens a little dialogue for me? Have I no right to my own ideas and opinions? Must I be content to live as a peon in her aristocracy? Pulled out like a puppet when the puppet master sees a need? Pshaw, I say. Pshaw! She made me strong and stubborn, a bender of the rules.

And so, I topple the queen from her throne. I snip the threads that tether me to the master. I bend—and maybe break—the rules. Lesbian Writer meet Lesbian Detective.