Shopping Spree by Judith Sanders Cash burn in a hole in my pocket. Got to buy me a new pair of pants. Flame proof this time. And while I'm at it, I'm gonna buy me some spiffy new knee joints. Self-loober kitten, a pair of 2020 eyeballs, perm-a-plucked brows, pre-shaved legs, a belly-so-flat-tickle, double-lessen ironing board, a box-sensor orgasms, shaking like jagger and a California quake, a big ol' IQ over 150. Expensive, but worth every million, or billion, or gazillion, or my heart, or pay, a storage locker, froze cigarette jingles, and boyfriend's food preferences. I'm gonna buy me a whole new pass-all of friends, and a collector's edition of anecdotes to impress them with, certified fresh by famous comedians. I'm gonna get me a classy personality, type A out-of-the-doll 14-carat-time tested precision engineered. I'm gonna take it out for a spin and whoopie watch out! I'm laying out for a whole new presentation, six-foot tall with silver sideburns, plus a blonde ponytail that'll swing like a pendulum when I'm out winning marathons, and a head full of dreadlocks. That's me chilling in shades on the hit-album cover. I'll also be purchasing a whole new wardrobe from Perry, and I'll still owe it to go with it. Yep, springing for a classic tall thing. How about you? I'll be trading in my belly fat for a double-deast and up chest. I'm gonna be all mini skirts and leather boots, me with my new leg extenders. Seff dawn Tuesdays when I'll be pure natural fabric and sushi-onl-sinked tafftans and moumous, smelling up the party, with clouds of jasmine and other irresistible organic essences. I'm subscribing to a style consultant, charm school personal trainer, a bench press five times my body weight with my sad warfare and impeccable table manners, my smile and teeth white as a four-star washcloth. I'm going all out for an internal disc drive. I'm gonna livestream neither with a PDF, so I know everything about everything. Just ask me about the shades of rebellion, or how to make grablacks for 12, or when you got nothing in the fridge, but a half empty box of crusted bacon soda and some outdated mayonnaise, how to whip up a gourmet candlelit budget dinner for 16 restaurant critics. So tasty it'll get you on the cover of Vogue and a statue in the town square. I'm snapping up the most fantastic set of relatives, the kind that has fun reunions in the Adirondacks, regularly produces a crop of curly hair, kits who drop off while singing around the campfire, and grandparents who dig up to the circus, and leave on their priceless art collections with no strings attached, and magic trick uncles dispense in peppermint's nickels and advice only when asked, and have a charming old family homestead on the beach with titanium plumbing. I'm showing out for around the world cruise in the comfort of my very own rec room. Took boys leatherette recliner right out there on the poop deck, whatever that is. First, I need me a new house. Cute self-cleaning, need the oil change only every 100,000 years. I'm gonna have me a religion that commands a nightly sacrifice of roast land studded with rosemary and garlic, one that's got itself a god with no problem loaning out his lightning bolt when some of the bus is yapping on his boring beeswax into a cell phone or the boss is an idiot. I need me a brand-spank and new set of cherry-wint toenails and a tangle-free hair new color coordinated to my high-tech body shape and sweat proof polka dot underwear, and a computer that never needs iron and a hairy eyeball for when the kids get snotty. I'm loathing up on a fascinating, high-brown journal that's easy to read as a discount sportswear catalog. A theater subscription I never have to go to, a book of the month club, a books I already read, a set of dishpan hands for some house gifts just to forget to send a thank you note. I'm splurging on a high of the press's new country and a white dress, wildflowers clean up and down the highways full of bicycles and cookouts and free concerts in every town square every Sunday and no currency and a barbed-not-every rooftop and a flag flagged in from every lamppost and tie-dye pastels where the national anthem is al-green, crowned in love and happiness, where wild horses crop the medians and try to up to your car we know its stuff lights to crunch one of them natural sugar lumps you got stashed in the glove compartment and the televisions are all broke and the car alarms are thrown down the defunct coal mines. And did I mention the free milkshake dispensers and the national parks? I'm putting it down payment on the summer egg glue in the Arctic I went to beach shack at Honolulu with a grand piano and a candle-labor at a motor operate flip-proof surfboard a pen that does the Sunday crossword in 10 minutes and everwarming the Shmuffin with the world's tastiest jam an endless summer morning stretching to the grand finale of the universe I'll pay any price but also a ring-side seat at the next big bang complete with protective eye wear, earplugs and explanation in the program that a poet could understand a vacation on Mars all expenses paid and while I'm out there, I skate and tour around the rings of Saturn with photo ops, a jump rope contest on the moon, a sauna on Venus and I'll pick me up some Northern lights from my living room a caribou to keep down the weeds out back carb diced tumblers from my next dinner party of course a flying carpet to go visit grandma up down escalator from my very own home barbecued delivered by Ziplin on my birthday a ketzal nested in my front porch who greets me with a new Spanish love song every morning a lie detector for my charm bracelet to wave over the daily news a commandment to spend every Sunday in the hammock a reading PG would house with a glass of shard and a on pain of excommunication a president who does whatever the hell I tell him a dog walks me and feeds me treats whenever I shake somebody's paw error-free typing a cure for the common cold that'll make me the world's richest poet of course for all time sake a pony and a pirate lover and daily home delivery of the world's finest chocolate non-fattenin a glupy jar full of exuberance a trunk of perfect post-us gifts heart felt condolence cards that say just the right thing sensitivity I could turn off like a faucet a dozen healthy children always make their beds say yes mother gear and my rhythm and get straight a each plays a different musical instrument in the family band a paradigm shifter a bullshit zapper an anti-asteroid shield that'll cover everyone set them too cheap to shell out the greenbacks for our nation's protection books a brilliant homes offered by myself so long ago I don't remember I'm gonna buy me a brand new me monogram different satisfaction guaranteed or my money pack