I have a Guest Horse

american cliché

When I was little, my mom said she wanted to make me a parasite. I knew parasites were bad, but because I found the word and title a really eccentric word, I slipped into her liver and ate her internals. I'm not sure that's how parasites operate but honestly, I didn't study the damn topic.

"Hey, Marianne," I heard my troll-doll (which I called Homer), shout from afar.

"Oh shite Homer, what the hoddities is on your nose?" I asked him what I identified as polite, and well, because his big round fat Mario-ball of a nose looked like a dead firefly.

"Your mom attacked me with your harpoon."
"lol I don't have a harpoon, Homer."
I was very confused because in the last days Homer had been acting really weird like, when he stayed over at my place to help me with my maths and help me drink up Chardonnay (which I found terrible) he'd begin saying Shrek is the real godfather and that everything is trapped inside a cage kept inside Fox News Studio.

Of course, it wouldn't surprise me, because my last encounter with Fox News was me catching fire from Meryl Streep's skeleton throwing Quentin Tarantinos skin cells, yelling "Shirt attire".
It was like the world had turned into a freakshow.
It's alright now though, that edgy phase is over.

I'm still a parasite.

I smash Xanax pills with a hammer and boil them and mix them with ravioli and Anime magazine covers in a blender and serve them to Christians in Church.
They think it's "holy meal time" because I got them high on crystal.
(true story lol)

"Marianne, would you please just listen and be open to impossible possibilities, or atleast those you thought didn't exist?"
Homer squeezed out like he had a lemon in his gob.

"Fine."

"So, I was galloping with Braces right, and then this middle-aged dwarf called Christmas Juice pops out of thin air and heals my spirit, or atleast he says so (idk) I'm not christian lol. But anyways, Christmas Juice threw up what seemed to be a wet imitation of your mother with several cigarettes out of her nose—"
"Homer, I will check you into a mental facility right now."
He blew out the candle that were hiding in the clouds and gasped, and he said, "It's a true story. Not a deranged garage sale!"

Homer were going insane weren't he? After all those years of subtle symptoms and his Ed Gein obsessions, welp--I should've known better.
¡Me, the idiot!

"Listen-"
"No, Mari, I won't let you reject me this time. You've always been a selfish cunt but I never thought you'd by a Gwyneth or Kardashian, Mari, you have to listen to me. And stop judging! This is the truth!"

Ok.

He was really insane. But I had to listen, because if not he'd probably make knitted sweaters out of my veins.
"Listen to your heart,"
"Shut up-- thing!" Homer yelled at my Roxette tape, which I have no idea how the flippity floptarts turned on by itself. Maybe it was Ghost Ena OG, back to life? NoH, impossible.
"Marianne, your mom spat a harpoon out and cut my soul open. Then she consumed it and handed it over to
the Monarchy of Uranus, least that's what Master Sunderland said."
"Ok, chill. We'll get through this crap, Home."

and after so, a chair pulled my hair back, and a leather lamp called Jolan ate bread and packed Homier into it. I was later then well, as horrifically dreadful it seems, shipped to the North Pole and made a YouTube video of.

im Global Warming