GOAL ACHIEVED – FUNDRAISER CLOSED
This post will remain for historical purposes.
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HEY! I had a telework meeting earlier this week and since I wouldn’t get harassed on the bus by doing so, I dressed like a lady. Little did I know I was two days early for the Trans Day of Visibility. I’m visible, babes. Be the fat middle-aged white lady you want to see in the world. I’m lovin’ it. But still..
Like many trans folk today I come to you with cup in hand. I’ve had medical issues burning up my leave at work, and for some abdominal surgery in late April I’m going to use at least a week of leave without pay. To make my bills less ouch, I’d like to fundraise. Here is the incentive: Donate at all, and you can choose a word I will rhyme in a rap. If five people choose orange, I’ll try to come up with five shitty sorta-rhymes for orange.
This will be strictly words on digital paper, maybe starting below and then compiled in a blogpost, unless we reach goals. At $500, I will do an audio performance of the rap. At $600, I will do a video. These productions, if they happen, will be lo-fi as all hell, because I just don’t have the time for big effort.
I will run this through midnight April 21st, so I have time to make the audio or video if necessary. If you like my terrible styles and enjoy cringy embarrassment, please give me a ko-fi, as it were. And if you like donating to FtBloggers, throw our recently unemployed mans Brinkman a bone too.
Orange ya glad you kinda sorta invited us to give you hard words to rhyme?
I ange not, lol. And damn, already 18% of the way, I might be in trouble with this…
The ko-fi link isn’t working for me. I get a message saying the page is gone or moved. Is the link in your post correct?
Thanks, William! This got me to check all the rest of my posts and that’s the only spot where I broke the link myself.
My boy Lawrence was foreign, from Florence or Florin, I dunno but he looked like an orange in a tracksuit like Warren, G. Harding, not Tonya but with a four-inch stiletto, knife, coming out of storage, in the handle, you can’t handle, the porridge, it’s too hot like Papa Bear, I think his name was George, swing the door hinge but don’t close it on my orange, forage for borage, but don’t get lost in the forest or I’ll get this axe out and chop you up like a cord of, like firewood or some shit, split the lip and lose a quart of, blood, but don’t refinance with Orange, Bank and Trust, cause your mortgage will be as worthless as portage in Norwich, biting Eminem like a scourge… a… florid… inch, Pete Binchley in a something something osage orange.
up to yer buster ass tricks i see