Bonkey Says, “Huh?”

Okay, okay, another ex but not the Ex-Hole and not Bonkey called me today to say my anger was showing in my last two posts and that I have a grudge-holding problem.

Just cuz I didn’t talk to him for a year after we broke up.

Pussy.

And, oh, by the way, “Thank You, Captain Obvious.”

Just kidding Ex. I’ll have sex with you whenever you want. See how much I’ve grown up?

Damn, why do these ex-es keep talking to me? They’re probably still not over my laundry skills. Fer Chrissakes, I have 6 separate loads and an underwear corollary. You’re not gonna find that in just any girl. Well, probably most Asian girls, which is a lot, but not as many as you might think with them aborting all those girl babies over there for so long.

Anyhow, he’s right. I am angry. And I have a right to be angry. But maybe y’all (SC influence still upon me) don’t want to read Fuck You letters to Buddhist monks? Maybe that makes you uncomfortable? Maybe I’m too harsh?

Pussies.

Well, lucky for you I’m sensitive to your needs. I realized that I can stop this negative non-funny babble about my ex-husband and entertain you by making fun of my ex-meat-stick, Bonkey, instead.

Gawd, my karma is fucked for at least 5 lives.

Anyway, Hearts in San Francisco wanted to know about Bonkey’s thoughts on Global Warming. And SQT was curious to know where Bonkey stood on the Presidential Candidates. Maggie wanted to know Bonkey’s feelings on Feminism.

And from Del-V: Do you think a second Masters Degree will allow me to climb the corporate ladder or will it just result in more student loan bills?

ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME? Did you not grasp the 2nd grade conversation level?!

Still…for you…I tried. I timidly approached the Bonkey Oracle with these Really Big Questions, and you know what he did?

He threw down his 95 pound dumbbells, adjusted his banana hammock and yelled, “YOU ARE USING THOSE BIG WORDS JUST TO SHOW OFF. I THINK YOU MIGHT BE A BAD PERSON.”

So thanks, folks. Just what I needed right now…Bonkey Yelling.

I mean, my ex is draining me dry, pushing to my very limits, I’m worried to death about my kids and broke as a…(something really broke, like FuriousB’s back) and here you folks got Bonkey all agitated and yelling at me…in some kinda psycho-bitch-tit-roid-rage.

Yeah, I grew up Catholic and an Asian female. I can fucking do Guilt.

Lucky for you, Bonkey always looked good a little moist.

I forgive you.

Anyway, I’m going to share with you one of the last conversations I had with Bonkey that I hope will definitively make you understand why Bonkey cannot answer The Big Questions. Word for word….even though it was like 6 years ago.

Steel trap over here. Yeah.

The scene: Bonkey has convinced me to go to dinner with him, despite our breakup. He takes me to a sports bar. Ever the romantic, we sit at a table instead of the bar. This is serious, people. There is a wall of TVs to our right featuring various men doing sweaty things.

Franki is starving. The service is horrible. I mean, really horrible. We wait at least a half hour before we are approached for a drink order. The place is dead. I consider passing out.

Franki: Where the fuck is the server? (cuz I’m classy like that) I’m not fucking Gandhi over here, I want food!

Bonkey: (with a look of pure disdain and that Billy Idol lip curl) You Mean Gumby.

.

.

.

Gawd, I wish I made that up.

Not only had Bonkey never heard of Gandhi, but he thought I was such a dumbass that I couldn’t pronounce GUM-BY.

For fuck’s sake.

On a side note, I just added a Gandhi category tag because I think it would be so very wrongly hilarious if someone was researching Gandhi and accidentally got to this post.

Hanging head in shame.

To the rest of you, I’ll get to yer questions. Quit hassling me will ya? Sheesh.

You know how in Buddhism, they say attachment only leads to suffering. Well, I totally agree.

Dear Buddhist Monks,

Fuck you, you celibate mother-fuckers. * I’m sure it’s easy to sit there in your lotus position peacefully wishing that we lesser mortals could just let go of all our attachments and be free of all the pain and anguish that they cause.

But you try to have children and not fucking be attached to them.  Just fucking try not to vibrate with anxiety because you know your children are at their father’s house being yelled at and pressured and being asked to lie in court and scaring them by threatening to separate them and their phone was probably taken away because their father doesn’t want them communicating with their mother and you are fucking helpless.

Not so fucking easy is it now, jerkfaces?**

Psycho-ly, ***

P.S.  I don’t want a buncha you Buddhists sending peace mail about how I just don’t quite get it - blah-de-blah - everything must change - blah-de-blah - let go of your preconceived notions - blah-de-blah…I will come find you and kick you. ****

* I wonder if this is the first ever fuck you letter to Buddhist monks.

** This is really gonna fuck up my karma quotient isn’t it?

*** I’m getting really good at hiding my bitterness, no?

**** I mean it.

Dear Y’all,

This is our last day of vacation. I’ve been in South Carolina, at the beach, getting burnt and body surfing (read drowning). I now pronounce “bacon” “baaaaiiiiicun” and I say “y’all” a lot, which is pretty goddamned funny comin from a tattooed Asian ninja-wannabe. My older son tried his hand at surfing and my dog went swimming in the ocean. We’ve all had a blast.

When I get back, I have to face the fact that my ex-hole is taking me to court (AGAIN) on July 28 to try to take full-custody of my kids. He has no chance, but he will stop at nothing to try to get his way, including bankrupting both of us and confusing the fuck out of the kids. He is like a pitbull, who is bleeding to death, but still cannot let go. It’s obvious to everyone that it’s not about my mothering, but about him not wanting to drive the kids back and forth to school.

Shouldn’t have moved, eh?

Dick.

Anyway, the kids and I have had a glorious time here. For a couple of moments, I was even able to forget about the tar pit that awaits in the real world. I’ve got an 8 hour drive ahead. I should get a move on y’all.

I’ll be around, but probably not very funny.

Unless one can count bitter as funny.

Cuz I got lots of that.

Luv,

I Don’t Like Country Music, but Perhaps I Should

I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure that a country music band on The Morning show just performed a song called “Bob that Head.”

Ballsy.

Is anyone else annoyed by the people who stand at the windows behind Matt Lauer, while he’s interviewing someone about Alzheimers and wave their arms and stupid signs around, desperate to see themselves on television?

Did I say “annoyed”?

I actually meant “feel an unreasoning rage”.

Will channel Bonkey this weekend.

The Oracle Speaks

(backstory at this post)

Okay, so I know it’s probably not very nice to take correspondence from an old illiterate lover and use it to give relationship advice just because it’s highly amusing to me, but look at it this way; think of it as me showing my vulnerable side. Now you know about the chink in my armor, my weakness, my Achilles Heel. I’m not impervious to stupidity…or that certain shoulder to hip ratio.

Anyway, y’all should know by now that I would sell my black little soul for a good laugh any day.

FuriousB submitted a couple of questions. Bonkey’s got the answers, but Franki is really a little concerned about FuriousB. Why, oh why, are so many people asking him for butt sex?

fB: Is it a bad sign if a woman asks for unprotected anal on the first date?

Bonkey say: Bonkey don’t think so, and if you do, say, “I’m so very sorry for the hurt I put in you and want you to forgive me.”

bwahHAHAHAHAHA! Pant! Pant! Pant!

Get it? Put IN you?

Anal?

IN?

Oh nevermind.

And then,

fB: How about if the third baseman on your softball team asks for the same?

Bonkey say: “I’ve asked several of my friends on their feeling about this and well ITS VERY STRANGE them.”

I swear those are actual real unedited sentences from the Meatstick Letters. Can you imagine how good this sex was?

CAN you?

Jaysus.

And then Say It asked a question, which I’m sure all y’all married gals could sometimes use the answer to:

SI: Please tell me how to politely say no to sex. I’m in demand all the time and its so frustrating!!

Unpassionately,
Say It

Bonkey say, “P.S. May a date in the future would is possible!”

See, not only is this polite, but it may confuse your mate long enough for the Ambien you slipped him to kick in. Thanks for playing!

Gawd, this is fun. Please send more questions for the Bonkey Oracle. I’m convinced he’ll have a GREAT, almost undecipherable, answer to any of your issues. And if you’re thinking that making fun of the reading/writing challenged is heartless and cruel, consider that maybe this is cathartic for me. Maybe this is my way of working out my deep-seated issues, my pain, my baggage…and my anger. Yeah, yeah, especially, my anger.

Okay, okay.

It’s just funny.

It’s not like he’s ever gonna see this. If it’s not in Men’s Health, he ain’t reading it. And frankly, he thought he was the smartest, hottest guy in a 483948 mile radius.

So I don’t need no bleeding heart PETA folk comin after me.

PETA.

I kill me. C’mon, that’s funny. I never said I wasn’t an asshole.

Ask Bonkey?

Another ex-boyfriend recently tracked me down, this time from Facebook.

Yeah I said Facebook…cuz I’m some kinda Super Hep Old Person (SHOP)…and don’t you forget it. Actually, I use Facebook mostly to get my ass kicked in Scrabulous, which is kinda cool when I’m getting my ass kicked internationally by * and Red in da UK and Say It in Connecticut, but not really that cool when I’m getting my ass kicked by Jane who lives just down the street and we could play Kick-My-Ass in person.

Tangeeeent.

Anyway, he said the usual, “I’ve thought about you all these years wondered what you were up to can we meet for drinks?” I’ve tried to respond to him a couple of times, but my replies always end up sounding kind of snarky, and I don’t really want to do that. Truth is I’d like to see him, but only from afar just to see if he’s lost his hair and if he’s gotten fat.

Damn, no wonder I sound snarky. Snarky is my middle-fuckin-name.

Some of you may remember Meatstick, as I affectionately call him now. He was a regular where I bartended, and so hot, he made the girl’s panties melt when he walked in. When he wasn’t throwing luggage at United Airlines, he was working out at the gym. When he wasn’t doing either of those things, he was shining his BMW. Also, he spent a lot of time shaving off all his body hair. He wasn’t gonna discuss Lacan witchu, but he sure were purty.

Now, some of you may be thinking, “Franki, your intelligence and wit are obvious. Surely you weren’t bamboozled by the large chest and biceps and pretty face?”

I know, I know. Those of you who know me are just rolling your eyes.

I’m a melted-pantie sucka, a horn-dog, a pheromone junkie. I admit it. And I had just separated from my husband, whose submissive, meek touch made me wanna commit suicide.

Blurgh.

I was primed.

So we started dating. First mistake. We shoulda just started having sex and left it at that, but the good lil Catholic whore in me wouldn’t allow for that. One couldn’t just have illicit romps in the hay; one had to have a miserable, wretched relationship too. So we did. He was, by far, the most difficult human I’ve ever tried to communicate with.

Brooding? No.

Shy? No.

Insecure? NO!

Box of rocks? YES!

Well, he was smart in his own way. I gotta admit, he used his limited gray matter to the best of his abilities. His job at the time, while certainly not brain surgery, paid him a good salary. He had a nice home and his dream car. He’d started a business with a buddy selling supplements and personal training. And he was Great in Bed.

But he was excruciating to talk to. Dinner was torture. Car rides were torture. Pillow talk…I cringe. He was also a bit of a sleazebag. He cheated on his work timecard and taxes. He cheated his tenants and his homeowners insurance. This is how a dumb guy stays above water. I was appalled, but kept my mouth shut.

Still, I stuck with him, for over 2 years. And I let him make me insane. Despite his borderline retardedness, I was deeply insecure. I thought he was way too beautiful for me. I was a single mother with two very young children, working two jobs, and wondering what this Adonis was doing with me. He rolled with that and made me feel inadequate in every way possible.

Man, that was some good sex.

I finally called it quits when I found out that he’d had sex with another Asian chick to see if we were all as addictive. I swear to God I am not making that up. I was the only Asian gal he’d ever slept with and he wanted to see if it was just me or the entire Asian Nation. He wasn’t trying to hurt me exactly; he was just appeasing his natural curiosity. I understand lots of guys want to sleep with lots of Asian chicks, so maybe this is normal.

I had a really hard time getting over him. Even though we weren’t seeing each other any more, I’d find myself calling him after drinks, moth to the flame. It was an owie time for Franki. I hated him. I hated myself. I was nuts. I finally had this very enlightening dream where Meatstick was trying to teach me how to surf and when he stood up on the surf board, I saw that he was wearing a gold-sequined thong and somehow, that flipped the switch for me. That shiny-mermaid-looking-banana-hammock made my heart see what my mind had known for years.

He may be shiny, but goddamn, he’s is One Embarrassing Penis!

I woke up smiling because I was finally released from my self-imposed prison.

I’ve got some old correspondence from him, asking for forgiveness, or at least I think that’s what he’s asking for. His writing is so criminal, his grammar so atrocious, that it’s often somewhat difficult to ascertain his meaning. It’s not like ESL. It’s more like if a second grader was trying to write a grown up letter about relationships. I desperately wanted to share some with you, but it feels so Wrong, Wrong, Wrong. I even typed out a quote or two, but then deleted it all.

Holly thinks I should write a book called Ask Bonkey, in which readers ask for relationship advice and I answer with a direct quote from The Meatstick Letters. Whaddya think? Got a question for Bonkey?

You know, in my last post’s comments, Herr Krokodile, suggested that I deserved all this pain from my ex-hole cuz I messed around on him.

Then I started writing this long post about it, talking about how I was too young to marry, and karma and shit.  Herr Krok almost got me bitching about him again.

Bad Krok2.9. You are a boring-enabler.

Gawd, I’m boring lately.

Places Franki Doesn’t Want to Visit

Residents of Bethesda, Maryland’s Hillmead neighborhood won their battle today to keep a homeless family on the streets.  The Montgomery council voted today to demolish an empty house, located on future county parkland, rather than let a needy family live in it.

One resident, asked about his victory, triumphantly yelled, “I’d rather eat human babies than let poor people live in my neighborhood!”

Our President, the Rocketscientist