Read Online God Save the Sweet Potato Queens by Jill Conner Browne - Free Book Online

would not offend any person on earth, with the notable exception of our intended pseudo-victim.
    We consulted on this matter with one of our Bobs. This particular Bob is actually quite well-known—many of the more literate of you out there would instantly recognize his name, and he is also real smart and speaks a whole bunch of languages. We implored him to talk to us of maiming. He responded quickly, as he always does to our slightest request, and this is why he will never appear on any of our lists, except for the Promise. “Ah, yes,
maim,
” Bob said, thoughtfully. “Wonderful word, that. In Spanish, of course, it is
mutilado,
but since that was used most extensively during the Inquisition, it has a sort of Old World feel to it—pincers, hot tongs, racks, et al. So you might want to use the more colloquial
mortuato en vive,
causing a deathlike feeling among the living, which was perfected by General Pinochet and now has a broader household use.” Were we delighted, or what? Meeting with such success with that offering prompted Bob to come back with even more (thereby moving himself even higher on the Promise list concurrently). “Among other alternatives are
cucarachas en casa privata,
putting cockroaches in your personal home, which generally means getting under the skin in a man’s very tender areas. Or perhaps even better,
blasta firmata, uno billiard, dos pelata,
one strike, hitting both the pool cue and two balls, which, for modesty’s sake, I cannot explain.” We figured it out our ownselves! Some might think Bob would be afraid to risk the ire of his fellow man-types by sharing such information with us, the woman-types, but when the dust settles, the truth is, Bob would a whole lot rather have us happy than a bunch of guys. Told you he was real smart.

    I had the most moving letter from a woman named Peggy, who wrote, “I am a forty-eight-year-old white woman who recently ran away from home for a weekend in an attempt to reach a meeting of the minds—via my unexpected absence and numerous credit card transactions on my husband’s American Express.” Right here Peggy has demonstrated a wonderful alternative to killing and even maiming: That would be the oft-overlooked method of “grudge shopping,” also known as revenge spending and fuck-you-buddy charging. A blow to the wallet can be every bit as effective an attention-grabber as a whop upside the head with a good-sized stick—plus, you get some new stuff out of the deal.
    But, you ask, what’s to be done when
they
have been spending
our
money—is there any way for us to avoid wanting to kill them? We shouldn’t have to address this, because it should never, ever happen; however, sadly, it does and with alarming frequency. Let us learn from this true-life story submitted by one of the Divas, and don’t be frightened; it has a happy ending. The Diva had devoted five years of her life to grooming a guy, teaching him how to be the greatest lover ever, persisting until he even found the G-spot, for crying out loud. Her ministrations to him continued and included regular visits to him in federal prison, where he spent a year for his botched attempt at bank fraud, losing fifty-thousand-some-odd dollars of hers in the process. There’s more: She furnished his house, bought his clothes, and took him on fabulous vacations—even paid for his kids’ birthday parties.
    I am reading her letter and trying to figure out what exactly she was getting out of this deal when I get down to the part where he started to “need space.” Now, in my experience, it is pretty hard to crowd somebody when you live a few hundred miles apart, which was the case with our Diva and her scumbag. Of course, “needing space” was just a euphemism for “wanting to have sex with someone else,” as is so often the case. Getting people to agree to give you your space is a good deal easier than firing them with enthusiasm for your branching out sexually. The Diva was plunged into