Sam Cloud-Miller, on this, the weekend of our sixth wedding anniversary, I feel as though we’ve settled into our marital roles. Like, our permanent roles.
It’s been six years with minimal hiccups and zero genitalia sharing among the masses.
Right now, you’re the middle-aged professional chick who looks more at home on the streets of Seattle. Physically, you’re rocking that look the old people where I’m from called “dyke” in the 80’s and it’s sexy AF. No one ever wanted to have sex with Gozer when Ghostbusters came out, but I would’ve gave it a shot. Sexy. Powerful. In charge.

Me? Older military veteran hippie writer who would tear anyone to shreds with my own teeth if they ever did you harm.

Right now, you’re barreling down the highway in a rainstorm blasting synth on our way to brunch on Lowest Greenville. Then, Spirit Halloween, and the new Toxic Avenger. Tomorrow? Coasters.
I’m not sure how many years this body has left for such enjoyable shenanigans.
Goddamn, I’m gonna miss you when the time comes.
Happy anniversary, baby.

The world is going to shit. The government is shit. Society is shit. Everything we’ve ever known is about to change. In the end, all we have is who we are comfortable suffering with. I’m glad it’s you.

Who run Barter Town? Master-Blaster run Barter Town, bitch ❤️ we got this.