At the signpost up ahead, you’re entering The Twilight Zone.
What am I to you?
A Barbie doll?
Something you can just play with,
And throw on the ground when you’re done?
I am a human being,
I have feelings,
But obviously you don’t know that.
Well I’m sick of it,
Go find yourself another Barbie,
‘Cause this dolls had enough,
I would never make up something like this. This is from a series of poems from someone named Heather Johnston.
No, I won’t tell you where.
It’s not Heather the Hot. I’ve established that beyond any doubt.
But if she were to read my blog entries here, she might experience those sentiments.
Banish your doubt, Heather! Email me. Preferably while on the lam. While heading to New York City.
Prior coverage of that free-spirited bank-robbing heart-breaking hair-styling stalker-creating transvestite-making book-learning non-poetry-writing she-goddess, Heather The Hot, in this blog:
Heather The Hot: Hot YouTube Vids, A Parasitic Filmmaker, Two MySpace Pages, America’s Most Wanted, And A Muslim Connection!
Heather The Hot: Hot Crime And Cold Punishment
Heather The Hot: See? I’ve Found A Way For Our Love To Grow!
Heather The Hot: The Results Are In!
Heather The Hot: The Early Legal Years
Heather The Hot: Hot Action Photos!
Heather: She Has A Hot Brain Too!
Heather: Hotter Than Ever!
Heather: Unrepetant And Still Hot!
I Should Have Known The Hot One Is Named Heather
Hold Me Up, Then Tie Me Down!