Monday, April 30, 2012

Fan Boys of the Week

This week's Fan Boys of the Week are two who are close to my heart.

This first fan boy has been with me since the beginning. He only goes by the name Marzipan, but nonetheless, from the time he saw me on TLC's My Strange Addiction, he has been by my side and has defended me at every turn. That is why Marzipan is the first fan boy of the week.
Call me Marzipan

The second, but not second in my heart, is Dan Tee. Dan reached out to me not just after seeing me on TV, but seeing my youtube videos where I spoke out on behalf of women's rights. Dan assured me that not all men were evil, not that I believed that, and soon became a devoted follower and fan. Not just in the quest for my puppet children and I to reach the stars but also to make the world a better place. To display his love he sent me a beautiful pair of jammies. Photos soon to follow xoxo

Dan Tee and his bros

Panic Girl

Ladies and gentlemen, I am the model for Panic Girl Press. See my logo on the spine of the book. Every week, from now on, I will have a new Panic Girl spotlighted in my blog. A Panic Girl is someone who is a role model. She is someone who does not pander to men and appease but rather fights against the patriarchy. A Panic Girl is someone who doesn't just fight the man, but fights him and fights alongside him.

Buy the book. Authored by Todd and Tonya, it is a story empowering women. All proceeds go to the Battered Women's Shelter of Austin.

This is something that hits close to home for me, not just as a woman but as someone who survived both an abusive relationship as well as a stalker. Bottom line, no one: man, woman, gay, straight, trans, deserves to be hit or abused in any way. This mistreatment not only violates a person's health and safety but damages them for years to come.

As a woman and as an activist, I support this book and this cause. See my little picture on the spine. xo

Know a woman who is making a difference? Nominate her to be a Panic Girl at

This Week's News

You need to go to the dentist? I have a piece of advice. Don't make an appointment with the woman you just broke up with. A Polish woman and dentist Anna Mackowiak is facing three years in prison after pulling out all the teeth of her ex-boyfriend Marek Olszewski. Apparently, she said, "I was trying to detach myself from the situation. Trying to be a professional. But when I saw him laying there I thought, 'what a bastard.'" A woman scorned is not one you want with a drill. Anna then went to yank all of her boyfriend's teeth out. He woke up with his mouth in bandages and she said that he would probably have to go to a specialist.

Apparently, his new girlfriend has already left him over his toothless appearance.

I knew Polish men were stupid, but rule of thumb, never go to someone you just broke up with for anything, especially a medical procedure. You are lucky it was just your teeth you lying worthless scum.

Before he was a stud muffin

Now this cheating fool eats his muffins through a straw

Welinda Irwin and the Worms

It was April/May like it is now. I remember I was thirteen, the shy, awkward years I want to forget. Of course it was art class. Our teacher was a woman, Welinda Irwin. A graduate of Hood College, a prestigious school for women in Maryland, she viewed herself as sort of smarter than many of the art teachers who had gone to IUP and Cal, both teacher’s college’s in Pennsylvania. Welinda was sort of a scary character in the eyes of children. She wasn’t Miss Nelson but more or less Miss Viola Swamp.
Mrs. Irwin had dishwater blonde hair with a sort of green tint. It was not the typical beauty shop dye job or number seven in some hair product, but more or less that she had crawled out of the creek behind the high school where students went for cray fish. Her skin was leathery and wrinkled, and her glasses, crooked, were always pushed to the edge of her nose. The clothes she wore were frumpy, looking like they had been stolen from a corpse she had probably killed for dinner, shaken out, and stuck on her person. Her eye makeup, a nightmare, was drawn on as if Stevie Wonder had done the honors. As for the lipstick, I have seen drag queens on crystal meth make a straighter line.
One thing about Mrs. Irwin was that she was passionate about her pottery and her kiln. My brother used to tell me she cooked students in there, or he swore she did. The two were seemingly mortal enemies. When drawing his cartoons, a form of therapy, my brother drew her twice and cast her in the role of witch. Upon getting my brother’s report card and seeing a C my brother explained his case. My mother sighed. It was seventh grade. There was no class rank…..yet.
My first encounter with the witch of Independence Middle School was when I was walking to Home Ec late. I had heard stories about her, and some of the kids even swore she turned students into toads. “Get to class!” She yelled.
I sauntered there, the latest note my best friend Erica had written in my hand. It was scoop about Justine, our friend who was quite the slut. Yes, Justine who messed around with upperclassman boys. Why would we say any of this to Justine’s face? The gossip behind her back was so much more fulfilling.
So I went to the bathroom, figuring I was late. Why not?
When I got out of the bathroom I remember being two steps away from the Home Ec room when Welinda Irwin popped out. “I told you to get to class.” She snapped.
“I am two steps away.” I informed her pointing to the door.
Welinda was not accepting that. On the war path she countered, “When a teacher gives you an order you take it.”
I nodded. “What’s your name?” She asked.
“April Brucker.” I said honestly.
Welinda nodded. “I had your brother for class. We didn’t get along. Hopefully you will be better when I get you next semester.” She hissed.
When I got home I told my brother about the encounter and he told me to laugh it off. My brother assured me to laugh Middle School in general off. I hated the whole place, the social ladder. I dreamed of leaving the whole mess and doing big things with myself. Gone would be the scorn of the all too popular girls. Gone would be the scorn of the all too popular guys. Little did I know I was about to make a friend though.
The next semester I got Welinda Irwin for class. The first week she proved to be a hot mess. She made one of the popular girls cry, which I sort of liked because this girl was mean to me. Then she failed some guys that asked me out as a joke because they were goofing off. In between there she went on tangents in between the lesson, muttering, about her husband who was out of work and her children whom were “ungrateful wastes.”
Our second week of class we began a pottery project. Mrs. Irwin was telling us how to make a coil. “As a visual, just picture the worms you see this time of year. They come out in the rain. Unfortunately when the rain dries and the sun comes up, it bakes the worms and they die.” She explained coldly. “So think of those dead worms when you need a visual.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. “That’s disgusting.” I whispered to my friend Erica. “And disturbing.”
“Yeah.” Erica said. We were both standing in the back of the room. As two misfits, we were experts in not participating and making sure our voices never carried.
“But they do April!” Welinda Irwin shouted. The class turned and looked at me. I turned white with terror. How had she heard me?
I asked Erica this question as we left class. Dressed in black with too much makeup, much like me, she said, “April, she’s a witch. How else?”
“Yeah, a total witch.” Diana Hermann said. She was a popular girl but I liked her. The three of us nodded.
“I think she levitates.” I said.
“I think her head spins around.” Trevor Green informed us running up to us. While Trevor was usually mean to me, most everyone had taken sympathy on me during worm gate.
I was pretty much quiet for the rest of the semester seeing that Welinda Irwin had supersonic hearing. The class itself was interesting, especially since she knew so much about Frick and Carnegie and the architecture surrounding their homes. However, the instructor scared the living crap out of me. I remember doing my pottery project with little to no drama. Some of my classmates had meltdowns when she yelled. Others had their parents complain to the principal. I knew it was useless, she had voodoo dolls of all of us. The best thing to do was to stay on her good side.
One girl, Jennika Gray, the pretty kid in all the commercials, complained about how the dust was staining her clothes. I really didn’t like Jennika. To me, she was just a stick in the mud who thought she was Marilyn Monroe when really she was closer to trashy ten cent hooker by the bus station. “I don’t understand why I have to do this. I am going to be a famous film star.” She exerted.
“It’s class. Everyone has to do it.” I informed Miss Attitude.
“Well rejects like you do. Face it April, you are ugly, guys ask you out as a joke. You can afford to get dirty.” She sneered.
As I was about to cap the skank Welinda appeared. “You have the depth of a baby pool. I wouldn’t want to see what you do on any stage or screen.” She said flatly. “Art is art, and those who can’t appreciate it have no place in any of it’s facets.”
My jaw hung open. Welinda gave me a knowing smile. Jennika, crushed, ran into the bathroom with her blonde curls bouncing behind her. She cried her eyes out, and I didn’t feel bad. Actually, I felt good.
“Your house looks good. Get back to work.” Welinda said and then left.
Towards the end of the semester, there was a chance to do an extra credit project. It was on our favorite piece of Pittsburgh art. Being a teacher’s kid, I have always jumped on an extra credit project. So I did it. I remember dropping it off, gingerly going into Welinda’s room. She wasn’t there. Thank God. “You need help April?” She said.
I turned around spooked. How had she appeared out of no where? It was like Lo Pan in Big Trouble In Little China.
I nodded. “My report.” I said.
Welinda looked at it. She said nothing for a minute. It was an odd minute. Then she informed me, “Well good for you. You were the only one to do it.”
I stared blankly. “You have a great mind on you. You need to focus it more and need to hang out less with those idiots Erica and Justine, but you have a good mind and you can do a lot with it. Just continue to be yourself and don’t let those morons tell you otherwise.”
A smile came over my face. This lady had been the witch of the Middle School. Children ran in fear of her. We all believed she perhaps flew on a broomstick. Now here she was this villainous, the one the children feared, being a friend to me. I thanked her and left her room, happy that I had an ally. Perhaps she had been a misfit and still was. That is why we spoke the same language.
Years later, when I was the Wicked Witch in the production of the Wizard of Oz, she made my costume. Welinda had told one of the high school sponsors what a good kid I was when she had me for class, and how she was glad I was finally finding my way, my niche if you will.
These days when spring comes, I think of my seventh grade self,gawky in her stride. I laugh when I think of all the boys that asked me out as a joke either working at the mall kiosk or pumping my gas, and now writing to me trying to make overtures for real now that my face has been on television. I think of the popular girls determined to make my life hell, but now determined to tell everyone they know me. Jennika Gray, I believe, even went so far as to go on to an online message board to bad mouth me. Of course, she was shot down making herself look like the obvious hometown harpie.
I also think of dead worms, my coil visual if I ever want to do a pottery project.
More so, I think of Welinda Irwin. Yes, she probably flew on a broomstick and was a witch. But she was my witch, and if you make fun of her broomstick I will turn you into a toad myself.

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Lunch Date With Memory Lane

This past weekend had been a rough one. Between the headaches, sore throat, and injured knee and ankle I have found myself bed bound. Today I found myself better able to walk. After church, which turned out to be quite the wise investment of my time as far as picking up my spirit, I decided to get out of my neighborhood to one of my happy places. I knew Coney Island wasn’t open for the season yet, plus I didn’t want to blow so much dough on rides so close to rent. I didn’t feel like dealing with the crowds at the Seaport. I had been close to Lincoln Center for church and had my fill of that part of the hood. So I decided to go somewhere I hadn’t gone in sometime.
Sheepshead Bay.
Yes, I had spent a lot of my twenty year old summer there at Pips. My first time out there I almost got car sick from the long train ride. I remembered how there were so many Russians there. Then there were the old school Brooklynites, totally brutally honest and totally scary to a kid from Pittsburgh. Yet somehow, they were like fungus. They grew on me until eventually I discovered we were totally cut from the same cloth, true blue.
As the Q train rambled across the Manhattan Bridge the memories of that summer came flooding back to me. Yes, the Manhattan Bridge, part of my old jogging route since I had lived down near that area when I was twenty. I saw myself going across the bridge, sure and unsure in my stride. I was twenty, the world was mine, and blasting on my earphones was the Throw Back at Noon on Hot 97. As the train rumbled across I remembered all those times I ran across the bridge going, “Wheee!!!!!”
Old School Photo taken of me

Getting off the train there I was in Sheepshead Bay. I felt like I did the first time I made the trip, a little train sick, but not as train sick as I was then because it was so hot. I saw Jerome Avenue and Sheepshead Bay Avenue. Both looked different in the daylight and much different now that I was sober walking them. I had spent a lot of nights down that way, and somehow spent a lot of nights in a drunken stupor walking back to the train. It was an anti-talent of mine that somehow paid off.
I saw a ghost of my twenty year old self. Yes, there I was, a few pounds heavier. My sundress stuck to my body because there was no air conditioning in the place I was staying and I insisted on wearing a sweater as not to expose my shoulders. In those days I was nice, almost too nice. I of course carried May with me. Dragging her in my suitcase, my back hurt but I didn’t care. Of course there was too much liner on my eyes, running and smeared from the travel. Sometimes I even stuck on fake eyelashes. My lipstick, fire engine red, was probably smeared too. Yes, I looked like I was working the graveyard shift at Lucky Cheng’s. They were probably hiding me, so after the actually good drag queens left they could throw me on.
I remember how I was determined that summer not to be an ugly duckling. For so many of my teenage years I had felt unpretty. Guys asked me out as a joke. Then when I was seventeen I had lost a bunch of weight and remembered all of that changing. My first year in New York had been a disaster and now I was budding into my own. A boy I had been desperately in love with had broken my heart. I was determined to show him how strong I was by being successful, more successful than he could ever be. At the same time I so desperately wanted him, or any boyfriend for that matter because I had never had one. Oh, and I was brave as hell too. My mom used to make me check in with her every night, and still does, and would say, “April, one thing about you is that you are not afraid. I think that is great but you take too many chances. That is why you are always to let me know where you are going and to check in every night when you get home.”
And I always did.
Here is my lovely mother, always insisting on knowing where I am at every second. No you can't come to the club tonight, you'll get drunk and embarrass me with stories about your stories as Miss Piggly Wiggly like you did the last time I let you come to one of my shows. 

I remember my first time walking down Jerome Avenue and a Russian guy tried to get me to come into his car for a ride. He was good looking with dark hair and dark eyes, much better looking than the boy who broke my heart. However, I also knew it would end in disaster. So I rebuffed him and he told me to fuck off. However, he made me feel beautiful and that was all I needed.
"I am ze friendly stranger in ze black  sedan."

Of course around that time I was also introduced to the fiendish creature called male comedian. Often coupled or married to a woman bankrolling them, this never stopped many from fooling around. I was like Little Red Riding Hood walking through a forest with nothing but Big Bad Wolves around every corner. Armed and dangerous with their pickup lines and promises of free alcohol, they were ready to pounce. I remember one time I was at Pips and I had a good night. As usual, it was Long Island Ice Tea time, or Jack Daniels. That evening I believe it was both. Anyway, somehow this older dude got me to go out to his car with him after promises of a free hot dog. Needless to say he had other ideas.
Pips Comedy Club, where many of my great times and misadventures occurred in the summer of 2005

I don’t remember what happened exactly, but the party was broken up and I was forced to sit in the corner. Several people lectured me about my underaged alcohol intake and my behavior. When he said hot dog I thought he meant the thing from the stand, apparently he had other ideas. The good thing about those around me was that they always made sure I safely stumbled back to the train station. I was a chowder head. How they didn’t kill me I will never know. Nonetheless, like many a female comedian I know that male comedians are like dogs you see on the street. It is okay to pet them, it is okay to wave, and maybe you can even give them a treat. But never ever bring them home, or else they will never leave!!!
This is the male comedian who took me outside while drunk and stupid for free hot dogs. Okay, this isn't the guy but he probably did things like this and is doing something like this as we speak. 
Walking along the water on Emmons Avenue I remembered the night I got to open for Otto. Of course, it was one of those nights where not a soul in the place was not drunken off their ass. Anyway, it was an awesome experience and Tony the Bartender lit me at seven minutes. Otto asked me if May had a last name. I said no. He said that it was important that one’s figure (puppet for the nonventriloquists reading) have a last name. I thought about calling my little sidekick May Flowers after our Pilgrims, and because my siblings as well as myself attended college with people whose bloodlines traced back. Then I settled on May Wilson, after Dennis the Menace’s Mr. Wilson. My family didn’t have cable growing up so it was one of the few cartoons I was allowed to watch. Plus unlike Brucker, no one ever screws up Wilson.
I also remembered that was the first night I had ever gone to El Greco’s. People had asked me if I had ever been and the answer was no, I had never. They told me I was not a true Brooklynite until I had been. So there we went, holding each other as we staggered there. Sobering up, we ate the greasiest food ever and sort of bonded as a group. For as much of a basketcase as I was in those days it was one of those moments where I remembered being at ease.
George Dudley, Otto Peterson, May Wilson and myself years after that  fateful night at Pips where May got a last name. Now lets get the bitch to start paying taxes. 

The crazy part is, there are so many things I would go back and tell my young self if I could take a time machine. Not that I was a terrible person, but I was a big old basketcase. I would probably tell myself to cool it with the alcohol, drinking doesn’t make you sexy or sophisticated. Then I would tell myself that eating greasy food doesn’t sober you up faster, and it will only make you crazier with that nutty diet you are already on. I would also tell myself not to do the nutty diet and just to eat a balanced diet in general and to exercise. Of course I would recommend I get some new clothes, get rid of that lipstick, and definitely clean up that eye makeup. I would myself to enjoy being single. That shortly after that summer I would meet a man who I would become engaged to on third date, and it would become a proverbial shit show. Would I listen? No, I was never notorious for doing that at any point.
Coming back into the present, I looked out onto the water. There were a few little ugly ducklings and then a large school of swans. It was the most glorious thing ever, especially since the water was sparkling in the background in a heavenly way. Then maybe they weren’t swans, perhaps geese. Just then a little kid called, “Mom, are we allowed to feed the swans?” And without a second thought took some bread and threw it in the water. I looked where the bread landed, there was paper and a beer can where these beautiful creatures were. Almost a crime.
Then it occurred to me that the universe was sending me a message, I had come a long way since that time in my life. That despite the fact I still feel like an ugly duckling I am not. What happened yesterday does not define who I am today. That’s when I heard the voice of my friend Marcus in my mind say, “Get over it. No more about your ex boyfriend. Suck it up and swan up.” That’s when a ray of sun shot in my general direction and all of a sudden I began to feel a little better, a little more hopeful.
"Suck it up and Swan up." Chairman Marcus

Just then a Russian man, unprovoked walked back and said to me, “It’s going to be alright.” I looked over surprised at this old former Soviet and smiled.
“There you go. You have a beautiful smile. You will be more than alright.” And off he went.
Happy Russian that told me I had a beautiful smile. Okay, maybe not but close enough. 

That’s when it occurred to me that sure, I was a badly dressed basketcase but I wasn’t all bad. I was a hardworker, I was determined, and I was unafraid to be myself. Undaunted, nothing was stopping me. I remember having so many notebooks full of bits, many that were crap, but I still had them. Much like Bette Davis I knew I was not as glamorous as some but damnit I was determined.
At that moment, I told myself that if I were face to face with my twenty year old self, maybe I would warn, yes. But I would also tell that twenty year old kid about all the good things that were coming her way. That two summers from then she would be on Last Comic Standing and some of her old compatriots from Pips would see her. Of course there would be the misadventure on Rachael Ray which would lead to another misadventure on The Soup, but both would later be an advantage. Then I would also tell her that her fearlessness to sing despite not sounding like Bette Midler would pay off, because not only would there later be a singing telegram job, but there would be an appearance on Good Day NY, and she would look damn hot in Time Out NY. I would bite my tongue but mention TLC, The Today Show, and maybe Entertainment Tonight. I would also mention that young people would be writing, mentioning that April Brucker was the reason they were either now a fan of ventriloquism or the reason they become a ventriloquist. Then I would reassure my twenty year old self that not having a TV could be a good thing, because other people will post on your facebook wall that you are on Layover with Anthony Bourdain and Chef Roble.
Yes May Wilson and I were on the Today Show. Some called us sick, others called us passionate. 

Oh and I would mention that I would get to work with Otto again, and people would love the clip. And to blog about something other than my drinking adventures and terrible love life. But I would leave that out, my twenty year old self would have to hear that from my mother and my deceased friend Joe Cannava.
I would probably then finish off with telling her to stop dressing and acting like an ugly duckling, but I would leave that up to my deceased friend Roger who scolded me four years later and my friends Marcus and Justin who I met six years later. Actually, I would just tell my twenty year old self I was good enough, something it seemed no one ever told me then. Or if they did I didn’t believe it.
I smiled again. For as lousy as I feel about being injured and sick all weekend, I know it will get better. I am interviewing editors for my book, and have a project being submitted to festivals. Not to mention I am starting a rad new job.
April: May, the fans tell us that we aren't crazy
May: April, you are absolutely crazy. I am not.
April: But there are people saying that I am either the reason they
fans of ventriloquism or have picked up a puppet. Take that.
May: Just as I always said. You are a horrible example for the children. 
Just then my phone rang. My boss had a job for me. I told him I would be there Tuesday morning.
Up ahead I saw the sign for El Greco’s. I wasn’t drunk, thank God. However, I was famished from the train ride and the walk along the water. I thought about inviting my invisible twenty year old self to join me. But then I thought, “Nah, you came here alone, you leave here alone. Your twenty year old self would have said the same thing.”

Not only did I swan up but damnit I cheered varsity for once. 
That’s when we parted ways and I dug into what I correctly remember as the best food in Brooklyn. Hey, swanning up is always worth it, as is a great lunch date with memory lane.

El Greco's, best eatery in Brooklyn
An arty reverb of a pic that UK Fanboy Jon Fisher did for me. Much love to my UK husband.

Pic taken of me by a stranger who recognized me from TV and thought I was quite beautiful

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Dropping the Rock

As you all know I put up a video talking about how I hated Jenna Marbles. It got some views, and many hate comments from people who couldn’t spell. I was told my makeup needed an ambulance. I was told I was “jealueous.” I was told I was a “wore.” Then the list goes on with the idiots who couldn’t spell.
The truth is, while I believed I was making a bigger point I really wasn’t. While I believed I was helping young people I really wasn’t making the world a safer place. If anything, I was putting more hate and negativity into the air and that wasn’t my goal. My point was, I want to show young women that it’s okay to be who they are. They don’t have to look like they swing off a freaking Go Go pole or dance on the bar for cheap quarters. But if anything I just felt like, after seeing that video a few times I was doing the opposite.
There are all kinds of people in this world. There are the smart girls, the dumb girls, the weird girls. While I view Jenna Marbles as pedestrian and don’t seek her videos out, she isn’t bothering anyone. While I don’t think Snooki has a brain in her head she isn’t bothering anyone. There are other issues in the world that need to be addressed such as the exploitation of women, homophobia, dating violence and the assault the Republicans are taking on my gender.
Those things are what is wrong with the world.
Jenna Marbles and her offenses are nothing compared to those wrongs.
I have taken the video down because I have been seeing how young people are reacting. While the hate was fun for a while, I see how it is making people angry. I stood by my words, but they were doing more harm than good. I might nor might not make a video to this affect. I have not decided yet.

Panic Girl

I am the model for a new campaign called Panic Girl. I will soon be animated and be the twenty first century love child of Esther Greenwood and Holden Caulfield. I know, I could picture them together. They probably met when Holden was resting in California and Esther was flitting around. Holden went to Brown, Esther went to Smith. They both were unstable and I was the product. Bottom line, my image will be on it so buy the book

By Todd and Tonya Hollers, buy the damn book. 

Sheriff Don't Shoot My Man

Country song I wrote. Would someone help me come up with a melody? I wrote it about loving and losing the outlaw who broke my heart.

I am in love with the man who hates the law indeed
Running from the cops he drives at full speed
He’s hitting the gas on the overpass
Not apologizing for testing the judicial system
He’s got three warrants out for his impending arrest
He’s not guilty cause he will never confess
Three warrants is worse than one but better than five
My man screams, “You aint taking me alive.”

Sheriff he is driving from the law as fast as he can
I am begging as a woman don’t shoot my man
Don’t shoot my man
Let him go
I beg you as a woman I love him so
Don’t shoot my man

Sheriff my man’s troubles with the system are tearing me apart
I know he stolen many things including my heart
I know I am a crazy lass but my man has some serious class
When he stole that scarf it was for my birthday
Nobody likes him including my Pa
Cause he’s no good and on the run from the law
The nice guys say he’s my jailbird boyfriend
But he’s technically a fugitive on the mend

Sheriff he is driving from the law as fast as he can
I am begging as a woman don’t shoot my man
Don’t shoot my man
Let him go
I beg you as a woman I love him so
Don’t shoot my man

I know this has turned into more than a race
It’s the Indie 500 of the High Speed Chase
On TV there he is at 6 o’clock, law can’t get him, tick tock
America’s Most Wanted is Showing his best photo too
I know that this got off to a bad start
So what he robbed a bank? He’s got a good heart
There are annoying people in this world get a clue
So write them a parking ticket like you usually do

Sheriff he is driving from the law as fast as he can
I am begging as a woman don’t shoot my man
Don’t shoot my man
Let him go
I beg you as a woman I love him so
Don’t shoot my man

Baby, you are on America’s Most Wanted
You are taunting the authorities on facebook
And then oh no, as you are driving you are screaming my name?
Not Brandine who claims you fathered her child.
The one from the salon claiming to be abducted by aliens
You are screaming, “April! I love you!”

Sheriff he is driving from the law as fast as he can
I am begging as a woman don’t shoot my man
Don’t shoot my man
Let him go
I beg you as a woman I love him so
Don’t shoot my man

copyright 2012 Lyrics April E. Brucker

Loser of the Week: Man Fakes Parkinson's To Get Medical Marijuana

My mom has a friend Sally who marries the worst guys. Her last husband basically faked a disability to get government money, glued on his chest chair, told everyone he was once a porn star, and even went so far as to be engaged and living with another woman while he was married to my mom’s friend. Well she dumped Bob.
When she met Larry we all figured  Sally had finally cleaned up her act. Larry worked for UPS and even though it took him seven years to finish college he was employed. The first red light was when Larry, too cheap to spring for an engagement ring, basically talked Sally’s mother into using her dead grandmother’s ring. But nonetheless, Sally is a giving woman involved in her church so we were hoping for the best. When she is not volunteering for the Special Olympics (where she clearly finds husbands) she is a successful pediatrician much loved by her patients. A woman with such a good heart only deserves the best.
Well the week they get married Larry quits his job. Then he goes on a salsa making misadventure. Making an original recipe, he takes them to the church for the social and they explode. After that Larry was a private chef for a week before quitting that. Then he purchased a motorcycle, got in an accident three minutes out of the parking lot, and crashed claiming he could never work again. That would have been Larry’s dream except the insurance company didn’t rule in his favor. So instead he lied to Sally, said he was forever scarred from the accident, and said he couldn’t work. So Larry lays around, smokes weed and drinks, and is so lazy he has the neighborhood kid do the yard work while he sits on his ass playing Nintendo.
Well Sally decided to start cracking the whip on Larry. She makes him start working. So he takes a part time job in a liquor store. Then he started drinking the booze without paying for it so they had to fire him.
Now he is unemployed and after twelve years of marriage Sally is at the end of her rope. So she told Larry, no more weed money. Desperate, Larry is now faking Parkinson’s Disease in order to get medical marijuana. Apparently, the doctors were sold by the feigned twitching.
Faking Parkinson’s in order to get weed money is a whole new low. That is why Larry is the Loser of the Week.

Not actually Larry but close enough

Have a Loser of the Week? Send in nominations to with name, what makes them a loser, and photo if you choose to publish it. 

Friday, April 27, 2012

News Stories of the Weak

These are some news stories I find appealing/appalling. To give you some idea, these are some news stories that demonstrate the stupidity of people around the world

In Egypt they introduced the "Fair well Intercourse Law." Translated, you can get it on with your dead husband or wife up to six hours after their death. There is a claim that this is being pushed by the Arab extremists. While most Americans are disgusted, two people spoke up in support. Theodore Robert Bundy of Washington said that he supported the law because it's "better when the bitch is dead." However, while Jeffrey Lionel Dahmer of   Milwaukee said, "Hey, I support the bill only if they come with a side of fries."
Necrophiliac negligee

A California woman won a lawsuit against Nutella because she was mislead in believing it was a healthy breakfast for her children. HOW IS NUTELLA A HEALTH BREAKFAST YOU DUMBASS! IT IS GOOEY CHOCOLATE. WHEN I AM BROKEN HEARTED AS I AM EVERY THURSDAY AT 5 I DIP MY CHEETOS IN THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Nutella, the food of the broken hearted, is a healthy breakfast for children. If you believe that you need  to either have your head examined or your uterus stapled closed because someone as dumb as you should not be reproducing


A Happy picture of me and my Bo. Yesterday when he was late I thought he stood me up. Then I said, "oops, only  a straight boy would do that."

My sad and depressed pic. 

Lately I have been feeling depressed. Actually it started Wednesday when a callback I had for a job that is sort of in the bag but not really got moved. Part of me fears they are looking for someone better and giving me the runaround. The other part of me knows I am a good ventriloquist, but it’s like that little devil is on my shoulder. It’s weird because up to this point it had been a good week. I am part of a project where we are currently in touch with a hip hop legend. Then of course there were my not one but two press interviews I just did. Oh and then the pilot I was up for, they went in a different direction and won’t be using me.
Sure, when I signed on for  a career in show biz I accepted disappointments. Sometimes I am used to them. It’s a part of the game. Yet sometimes I just feel like a mess.
I know I am not one of the darlings. You know, the ones who live on easy street. Either way I am in a ton of physical pain. My life feels that it is falling apart. I am fucking dejected as all hell. I tried calling my mom yesterday and she told me she felt the pilot would be a reach because I dealt with the network before and they are flaky. But I was looking forward. My parade has been rained on. Why don’t we just add a hailstorm?
Then as if my life isn’t already falling apart Holden and I are over for good I think. It’s for the best but I still loved him. It sucks to lose the one you love. None of the other guys are like him. They are either too freaking pathetic, or they are just plain liars. I don’t care that he’s a fugitive from justice but perhaps he will have to face the law alone. But this fugitive stole my heart. I penned a country song. Lyrics to come later. The thing is though, I loved him and always will in a way. I know, I am a mess because he told me I was beautiful and smart. No guy has ever done that before :(
What’s next? Broken heart, no pilot, potentially no new show, potentially no celebrity interview, and broken heart already? Maybe I will get fired from the jobs I already have and be unemployed and then worse yet, get shot. Get shot? Could I really be that lucky? No, if I got shot I wouldn’t die. I would just be an annoying cripple and would have something else to bitch about.
Me and my gay husband Hassan. He doesn't get in trouble with the law, lie to me, or let me down. 

Maybe I should take my hits lying down like a woman. It works for the rest of the girls. When I say girls I use the term to apply to both genders because many resign themselves and accept being in the middle. They try to drag me to loser land with them, partially because they are so miserable that they want my esteemed company and partially because they are pissed I have had as much TV time as I have. Either way, I swing like a freaking man and am unafraid to fight one.
I think I have to stop blogging about my ex-fiance. He’s not a happy topic for me. My mother doesn’t bring him up because she knows it upsets me. I have been thinking about my time with him lately, partially because of my writing and video activism, and it doesn’t make me feel good. Actually, it has made me feel raw. I think it’s better that I ended it with Kindred Spirit because in a way he reminded me of the ex-fiance. Aside from being a judgmental mongoloid who couldn’t spell, like my ex he wouldn’t think before he spoke and was rather hurtfully blunt and played moral high ground when he had no place doing so. And the rules were different for him because he was a man. Unlike my ex, I don’t think his intent was to be hurtful for abusive.
But, like my ex, Kindred likes his bitches tattooed and trashy. What am I even doing calling these women bitches? I know many tattooed women that are so called trashy that are quite nice. And I don’t think again, that Kindred meant to be hurtful and abusive when he shot from the hip. Actually he wasn’t at all. It’s probably the South Brooklyn coming out of the boy. Either way, it was becoming all too familiar and I found myself lashing out at him for all the ex’s wrongs. So perhaps it was better that we parted ways before he became my whipping boy. Still I won’t be blogging about my ex anymore. It just makes me sick.
On top of that, with the weird weather my old injuries have been acting badly like Eric Roberts. Between my flagging career, my broken heart over Holden and my physical injuries I feel like getting a bottle of Jack Daniels and handful of perks and just calling it a day as I slip under my blanket.
Actually, that would all be a sucky idea because that would make me fat. Plus if I overdosed my beautiful puppet children would be without a mother. Still, think of what an OD could do for my career. Or maybe not. Scratch that. I wouldn’t leave a very pretty corpse if I were fat and bloated. My gay friends wouldn’t show up to the funeral on principal alone.
I have to focus on positive goals like finding an editor for my book and being grateful. Plus my mom invited me to the beach with she and my dad in two weeks. I think I am going to go, sun myself, get out of the smog.
Alas, time to start my day. Time to sing upbeat showtunes. Time to change my outlook. Time to get those brain chemicals in a happy place.
PS. I saw a picture of a girl I hate and she got fat. Already smiling. 

May Wilson and I being happy. Thinking of this picture and smiling. 

Nice looking chocolate love bucket Trends Locario likes me but will be dating other women. I can live with that. He always counters my feminist rhetoric by saying something completely offensive. 

Performing at the benefit for Tom Finland. I picked that outfit out. It  makes me happy. 

One of my favorite photos of myself. That makes me happy.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Tattooed and Trashy

              Tattooed and trashy,
                You aren’t what you seem.
                Whips and chains
                Every man’s dream.
                Then you claim to have a heart
                Worthless bitch.

                What’s your name?
                Angel, maybe Rachel?
                Close enough, monikers of slutty girls.
                Better than Brittany but worse than Jenna.
                As the boys do their gang bang
                And you smile demeaning my gender!

                Didn’t your mother ever tell you?
                Keep your legs closed.
                Then again, everyone knows-
                When it comes to certain rules-
                They need not apply to the easy woman.
                Easy on the eye and the one the guy picks in the end.

                You come with a Lucite pair of shoes and a stripper pole,
                A terrible assault to those like me who spent their time learning.
                Bettering ourselves, looking for knowledge, yearning-
                Answers in the dark, wanting to treat a man with dignity-
                Wanting to treat him with respect-
                Then we’re the ones he trashes-

                Oh hell oh heck I am the fair haired girl!
                Protesting against all the wrongs in the patriarchal world.
                They call me an angry girl because I speak fact
                Not a Tia Tequila, stupid and stacked.
                (Or willing to please)
                Instead I smash the standards with a hammer.

                I am not tattooed and trashy.
                My makeup not so heavy that it smears in heat.
                Despite all I have to offer I still must compete-
                With beings so worthless they make me rue the life I live.
                Perhaps I will inhale my hairspray hoping to kill a few braincells,
                That way I can be happy.

                That way I will not question.
                Instead I will smile stupidly, society’s suggestion.
                Parting my hair like a vamp, dawn a tramp stamp,
                Stumble in Lucite shoes that I can’t walk in.
                Be commanded around by some man who throws me money
                Like a cheap stripper at a ten cent bar.

                Alas, I am not tattooed and trashy,
                But Angel, you are.

Nice tattoo, how many times did your man slap you around tonight  as you set back the women's movement 30 years. 

CLASSY. Maybe I should take you to meet my friends at the Harvard, Yale, Princeton Club. But first you must pass the counting test. Ooops, to drunk to see. 

It's enough you make me apologize for not being a complete slut you worthless craps, but don't add insult to injury by getting cum on my couch. 

A young artist, trying to keep up with the white, male standard of beauty. So much so that I said fuck it.  You can have your trashy ho. Pleasing you is like sitting through Water World with Kevin Costner. No one deserves that much of your time and energy for something so stupid. 

Loser of the Week: Octomom

I hate this woman. I think Nadya Suleman is a breeding lump and a waste of flesh. In a skype broadcast she called her children "eight pieces of poop," when talking about how much work it was to raise them. She is addicted to popping out babies which is not only unhealthy for her body but unhealthy for the children she is raising. This bizarre freak believes she is entitled to food stamps and other government benefits when meanwhile not only did she choose to be a single mother, but she chooses to keep having children.

I want to deck this woman in her plastic surgeried face and then kick her right in her uterus because she is so freaking disgusting. My parents are both from large families. My dad is the second of seven and my mom is the first of six. While they love their parents and siblings, it wasn't easy coming from a big family. When my mom married my dad, she was overjoyed to get her own closet and drawer. When my brother moved out of the house for college, she got her own room, something she has never had ever. As kids, when we took family vacations this was a new adventure for my dad because his family was always too poor to take vacations. Not to mention he is fifteen years older than my youngest aunt, who was four when our grandpa died. Therefore, my dad did a lot of the dad stuff with her. Again, while I love my large extended family there were times where growing up with a lot of people in the house wasn't easy. This was because there parents were very Catholic and at the time the Catholic church, disregarding people as usual, disallowed birth control. Thus producing these huge families.

My grandparents had a lot of kids because people did it at the time. This bitch is doing it on purpose.

When my grandfather died my grandmother was barely entitled to his benefits. My dad was college aged and on his own and both of my aunts were married. She still had four kids in the house. The government gave her a hard time, and it was especially hard since my aunt and uncle were quite small. My grandmother didn't choose to become a single mother. This reject who doesn't care about her children and cares more about getting cut to look like Angelina Jolie did.

What's worse is that it's reported these children are living in squalor. They are using pots in the backyard to pee. They are eating off the floor. It is because not only is their mother a sick medical experiment gone wrong, but she is a fucking cunt with no regard for other human beings other than reproducing them for her own self-aggrandizement.

To make matters worse, these children were running around unsupervised while this fat fucking breeding lump was getting her hair done.

I think we need to take those kids away to families who will care for them properly and parents who know their priorities. Being a parent is not about getting your hair done. It is about making sure your children are well cared for. It is about putting your children before yourself. I know my mother missed plenty of things she could have been doing for herself because we needed things/got sick. It goes with the territory. Then again, my mother is one thing Octoslut isn't, a good parent and an upstanding human being.

I think we also need Octomom to step into the middle of the road and have a mac truck hit her. Seriously, the world would be better off without that waste of flesh.

But instead I think we should boycott her, sending a larger message that one shouldn't get publicity for being mentally ill as well as a bad parent.

You would never see my puppet children being so maligned and poorly cared for.
Octomom and her "eight pieces of poop." Endearing. They look tired and malnourished your worthless bitch.  Stop with the tired look too. You are a leech, a parasite, and maybe you will do us all a favor and die ridding the world of your smelly fucking breeding body you waste of fucking flesh. If you ever want to kill yourself I will give you some suggestions. 

These puppet children are happy, well cared for, and  know that they are loved. Not the house of Octomom

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Duh, Duh, Duh

A few years ago, as you all know, I almost married a man who wanted me to be dumb as shit because he was dumb as shit. My ex fiancĂ©, who had barely graduated from high school, would lord it over me that he knew things I didn’t. Then in his own sadistic way he would say, “Just kidding,” after he was blatantly insulting and verbally abusive. It irked my ex to no end that I was smarter, more talented, and not to mention more fun to be around then he was.
My ex fiance, okay, not really but still he looked almost like that but less happy and more like a serial killer

One time we were on a road trip and someone asked me to go to a party and leave him out of it because he was such a downer. After the party I was told that I was “impossible to be around” and that his friends hated me because “I talked too much.” Meanwhile, this was because I outshined him with my vast knowledge of history. If it is one thing I am, it’s a dork. I know history, I read, and I know my presidents in order along with their first ladies. Does this do any use in the world? No. But it’s part of my fabric.
Dolley Payne Madison, remembered for being the wife of James Madison, namesake of Madison Avenue, but also a heroine in the war of 1812 when she saved George Washington's painting. A true American treasure she was. 
When my ex broke up with me, because he was so faithful by sleeping with other women when we were together, he took it upon himself to start harassing me when I began seeing other men. Full of hate, not only did he start harassing the guys I was seeing scaring them away at one point, but he took his campaign to the internet. In one blog he called me “bulemic.” Then he also called me “self centred”. After that there was the famous “alcohaulic.” Then, being the mongoloid he was my ex penned some more hateful slander about me under an assumed name, but I knew who it was because not only did his Mentally Unstable have the motive, but the author behind the nom de plume had many of the same spelling errors. Hmmm…..

For a time after that breakup, I will admit I dumbed myself down for men. But to my surprise, say what you will about the “jail birds” I dated, they actually thought it was cool I knew useless information. Actually, they were far from being dumb. Larry had tested the system so many times he could act as his own lawyer if he pleased. I could carry on a very insightful conversation with him about the law in New York versus the law in Pennsylvania because my dad is a prosecutor. Some of these guys, in between reps in jail, read. So we had some in depth discussions on George Orwell and other authors of that nature. Maybe they had been arrested a few times, but sometimes a person and the law just don’t get along all that well.
This is the face of a scholar. You just don't know it, but he can quote Shakespeare as well as the penal code because the penal code has allowed him to read Shakespeare. 
The next boyfriend boyfriend after my bad boy streak was very bright. He too was passionate about history and other things. Unlike my ex-fiance, he wanted to me show off my knowledge. He didn’t feel threatened that at some points I was more knowledgeable than he was. As a matter of fact, he was proud of me for it. Unfortunately, the relationship had other problems such as his lack of ability to tell the truth. However, sometimes I feel like I would want him back in my life, just for a minute, to have an insightful convo. Then of course I would send him on his way.
After him there was a fling with a quasi-celebrity who didn’t mind the fact I was a dork. He was sort of dorky too. But it was too much too quick, and frankly I was enjoying my freedom too much. But it seemed I was paving the way for a new era, guys who didn’t mind the fact I was a reader and liked watching documentaries. Actually, I believe we even watched two together.
Lest we not forget Dimsdale, the legend I dated. Dimsdale, who was much older, eighty I believe, liked the fact that I was up on politics and was a reader. While Dimsdale leaned to the right, the far right, and abhorred Barack Obama, we could have in depth arguments where we would counter each other and it would be in a peaceful, playful fashion. His friends remarked that they had never known a woman to do this with Dimsdale. Dimsdale told me that I was “bright and sexy as hell” once. Besides, Dimsdale had a memory that was as sharp as a tack. While he didn’t own a cellphone, Dimsdale memorized the numbers of those he liked and cared about. No wonder he was able to memorize three Broadway shows and counting. Dimsdale was amazing. But for as amazing as he was, I didn’t know how long he would be able to tolerate a woman who would someday keep up with him. Most right wingers can’t.
I didn't date Dimsdale from the Scarlet Letter  although that would have been hot. But I dated a comedy legend, once a member of clergy, who fathered a child out of wedlock and denied her only to have it explode into a messy paternity suit. But I can't blame him, this baby mama was a gold digger. More on that later. 

But then there was Holden Caulfield, my fugitive love interest, the one who was there for me in my time of need. Holden, unlike my ex-fiance, was proud of me for all the things I did. I just remember everytime I made a career advancement Holden was always brimming with pride telling people how he knew me. Everytime someone mentioned seeing me on TV Holden would mention again that he knew me and would tell them how wonderful I was. I knew he was proud of me, he never had to say. It somehow made up for my ex-fiance, always wanting to shove me in the corner, and when things were good, always wanting to take the credit. Holden had never graduated from high school, but had an attention to detail that was razor sharp. He noticed everything, and remembered everything. Maybe that’s why I loved him as much as he did. Because yes, for as pathetic as it sounds, if he applied himself he could most definitely be somewhere instead of in trouble with the law.
Yes, I loved him. Handsome as ever with his cigarette. I told my Holden to read Catcher in the Rye. I said you would like the protagonist. He told me he would, dear heart. 

I went to the facebook page of a recent somewhat beau of mine named Kindred Spirit because I missed him. Okay, I was lonely and Holden had texted me and I didn’t know what to do because I missed Holden, so I went to Kindred’s facebook page. Sure he had previously compared Biggie to Sinatra, turnoff number one. Then in a move to assert his masculine authority when I quoted Married With Children he told me he would rather me quote Neitzsche. Then I went on to quote Camus and he didn’t know who that was, only existentialism, the grandson of nihilism. What a mongoloid. To top it off he sent me a text telling me he had been thinking of me all week when it had been two weeks since he last called me…..hmmm. Then I go to his facebook page and on the weekend he claimed he wanted to hang out with me he had gone to some chicks party and she was all over his wall. BUSTED!!!!! And he had the nerve to call me crazy.
I didn’t care about that. It’s the fact he think’s he’s God’s gift to women that’s the turnoff. Especially since he is so freaking dumb and loud.
How Kindred Spirit views himself, sort of a Pauly D, Brooklyn boy and stud muffin to all the trashy ladies. 

I caved because I suppose I missed Holden and when Holden texted me I told him that I loved him and still havent heard back, so I went to the page of the dumber rebound. Then I saw he wrote a post about politics where he was trying to be deep and thoughtful. Well then I saw he spelled believe wrong. Yes, he spelled it beleive. I before e except after c but not in words like neighbor and weigh. That freaking word is a gimme. I thought about being cunty and correcting his spelling, deflating his large ego, putting this arrogant prick in his place. Instead I figured I would let his large legion of hos run after him with their smeared war paint that could melt under the right temperature. He’s rather underemployed. Therefore, he will have plenty of time to chase after them.
This is how Kindred Spirit actually appears to anyone with semi-correct vision, LOSER!!!!!!!!  I guess the best revenge is that's Monopoly money cause the bitch is broke!!!!!
Still, this made me laugh out loud. I had just dodged a large bullet. I almost had another man like my ex-fiance, unappreciative of my knowledge and wanting to silence me so I would be a servile woman. Meanwhile, I graduated from NYU and was an AP Scholar, things he could never be on his best day.
God is good. Dodged a bullet there.
PS. I am not worried about Kindred Spirit reading my blog. I think he only learned to walk upright last week, and he is still learning the alphabet. 

May: Um April, you look like a zombie
April: Well May, it's because stupid men make me want to eat brains
May: Don't eat their brains, dump them for someone richer and more successful. That way you can drive around in a nice car while they get old with the fat women they date.