Suburbia’s Tasteless PTA Potluck
Let’s workshop this poem about how the self-absorption of yet another "I want it now" trans bully mirrors the opportunistic theatrics of its mother, proving the apple does not fall far from the tree
scent of the day: Pipe, by TSVGA.—A Christmas tobacco fragrance that blends smoky and animalic (tobacco, leather, patchouli, agarwood, ambergris, civet, castoreum, muskrat, hyrax, deer musk) with floral and gourmand (osmanthus, immortelle, jasmine, marigold, rose, cocao, vanilla, benzoin, coffee, almonds, whiskey, propolis), Pipe—a follow up to TSVGA’s more rugged “A Man and His Pipe” and preamble to King of Pipe—highlights a bitter pipe tobacco that (however moist it comes off in the beginning, where at times it almost seems fresh from harvest) grows in muskiness until we find ourselves (as if homunculi) inside a cigar box (stale and dusty as a cedarwood-cobweb attic straight out of a Neverending Story)—a cigar box we might imagine inside a breakfast eatery during the Christmas holidays filled not only with warm culinary aspects (vanilla-glazed cinnamon buns, rustic cinnamon brooms along the wall, whiskey-shot coffee, pancakes covered in apricot-compote syrup from the osmanthus-immortelle-propolis trifecta) but also with gentle-giant Brawny Paper Towel men who in this case (unlike their anchor-tattooed hipster playactors out of Portland) actually walk the walk when it comes to gutting deer.
Suburbia’s Tasteless PTA Potluck Is it any riddle where the brat’s Veruca Salt egomania (“I’m not a boy!”) has come from when its mom cites, as the best gift of having a trans kid, how it has added “seasonin’” to her “bleachy-white life” and given her “street cred in unprivileged communities”?
