Flo said it first. And, not the Flo that hangs out pimping car insurance – the original Flo – the Badass redheaded hash-slinger from Mel’s Diner:
KISS MY GRITS.
When I’m in a certain mood – like the one I’m gearing up for this Saturday evening right here in the River City of Richmond, Virginia, I have one (comparable) thing to say:
LICK MY ASS.
I’m expecting a superb rim job from those little boys from Butler.
I’m not from here nor did I attend VCU (Virginia Commonwealth University).
And – even though I’ve now officially maintained a P.O. box and, gulp, an actual residence, here in Richmond for more than half a decade now, I still find myself feeling somewhat ambivalent. Nice. Ambivalent about my own (somewhat) ambivalence.
I mention in the first book that Richmond, Virginia suits me at this point. “And, Richmond itself remains the ever undying capital of The Confederate States of America, (you know the guys who lost in the American version of civil war).”
Obsessed with the undead? (I also confess my “secret” history buff nature in the first book.) Looking for undying history (and/or other special freakishness)? Come visit Richmond.
Call me sentimental in the course of My Dominatrix profession – but nothing thrills me more than losers who exhibit undying (historical) potential. I love the challenge of the losers who challenge Me by refusing to roll over and play dead. I love losers who become Winners.
So here we are. And, here I am. It’s Saturday evening in this freakish little town of Richmond, Virginia that calls itself a city about to witness a history-making job at the rim. The VCU Rams, those sexy (almost statutory) ballers are rolling into the Final Four.
Be afraid, Butler, be very afraid.
KISS OUR GRITS and LICK OUR ASSES!