Tuesday Night News

Who wouldn’t?

Fun Ads

A couple of days ago someone shared a link with me to a series of ads that included a version of the above. I altered the male shape to cater to my thoughts and had a lovely moment to myself as I thought how wonderful it would be to live in a world where adoption of tiny people is possible. There would be a procedure to make sure there’s a good fit, and part of that procedure includes filling out a thorough questionnaire. Imagining some of the questions felt like taking a drug.

And then this one…

The above was another ad at the same address, and it’s a concept I like for stories so much, I’ve created comics and stories about it. I’m sure I’ll do it again, for the same reasons I like the notion of a woman adopting a shrunken man. What if there existed a world where men are made tiny intentionally, and then marketed as toys? I’d like to think there’s a version of me in that world, and she finds a perfect toy, one that’s a fit for all my needs.


This is not sizey, but I’m gonna throw it in here because who’s gonna stop me? I was walking home, and my route included a college dorm building. I could hear young women moving about and talking as I walked down a hallway towards an exit when I spotted a gorgeous white cat on the floor. I picked her up and she had glitter all over her hair.

At first, I was horrified for obvious reasons. What kind of monster puts glitter all over their pet? I was about to take her with me when I looked at my sparkly fingers and realized the glitter was natural, and produced by the cat herself. I still wanted to steal her but her human was working on a paper a couple of doors away, and she saw me holding her sparkly cat.

I left the building and arrived at home, where I went to the living room to pick up a basketful of laundry when something underneath the pile of clothes started working its way out. At first, I thought (in my dream), Yes! A little guy! But it was another cat, a deep orange one with a patch of dark hair on his back in the shape of a giraffe.

His hair was gloriously long and soft, and I didn’t care how he broke into my home, because I was keeping him forever. And that’s true. All of my cats have just shown up in my life, and I’ve never made the least effort to find out if they are “lost”. They are mine. The same way that man I might shrink one day is mine.


I’m working on eighteen different things: stories, incomplete series, collaborations, commissions, my idea for a size podcast, drawing, painting, gifts, size crafts, and all of that after recovering from my second worst writer’s block ever. It’s still pouring out of me slowly and painfully, so send me your good thoughts.

I’m going to keep writing even if you send me your bad thoughts, and despite my own. I was told recently my writing sucks… No, that’s not true. I was told my writing is not as good as it used to be; it’s angry now. Maybe. I just shrugged, because I’m going to keep writing no matter what anyone thinks. It’s what I do, like breathing. And pooping.


Craigslist: Shrinking Potions

Admit it. You want one.

It’s the weekend, I’m doing laundry and contemplating writing, and I hadn’t done one of these in a while. For many years I’ve thought of every possible ingredient I could use to develop a working shrinking formula. It’s all nonsense, of course… but I enjoy letting my mind sink its teeth into the notion. How would I do it? I’d wait for a full moon, of course. I’d light the right candles in my living room (back yard would be better, but not if I plan to be naked during the “ritual”) after taking a bath with a sliced potato I then bury. Or eat. Though I definitely will eat the potato before taking a bath with it.

As to the ingredients? All equal parts:

  • Sugar
  • The best tequila I can afford
  • My sweat (or better)
  • My breath
  • Vitamin C
  • Distilled water
  • Chocolate
  • Rain from a great day

It’s all for fun, obviously. But what if it worked? The tricky part is the delivery, of course. Will it work topically, or do I have to figure out a way for my target to ingest it? What fabulous problems I invent for myself.

My Millions ad

I was sitting here, pissed off because I couldn’t find those old Lay’s Singles potato chip commercials. Remember them? I saw them nine years ago, and I posted a blog entry about them, and now the YouTube links for them are dead, once again proving that when I publish a video, I have to actually have the thing in my mac in case the link disappears. That’s what I’m doing now, but after finding super low-res versions of the ads I wanted, I also stumbled upon this…

Clearly, something very dirty is happening there, and I invented my own dialogue for it… Hm. I should use my iMovie to edit it. Yes… it will only intensify the uncomfortable way I feel, but hell, it’s a day of the week. When do I not feel the way I feel about my own sex toy Hopier in my own suitcase as I travel? He packs lightly when I don’t (yes, I know that makes no sense–never mind, I know what I mean).

What did you say?

What did you say?

“Hey, giantess!”

Hey is for horses.”

“Uh, OK. So…”


“I’m here!”

“So I see.”

“So… what are you going to do to me?”

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“Dunno. Are you going to pick me up between your fingers? Put me in your mouth? I’d like that very much. And if you’re feeling frisky, you can put me down your pan-”

“Oh, fuck. Not another freak.”

“W- what?”

“Are you insane? Why would I put you in my mouth? Or anywhere else?”

“Because you are a giantess. That’s what you do.”

“You have your head stuck on Incident 109. I suggest you snap out of it. Most of us don’t do that shit.”

“Speaking of shit, I wouldn’t mind it if you take a dump on me.”


“Yeah. Just take me with you to the Great Brown, and-”

“The “great” what? Jesus, is that what you little people are calling it now?”

“Yeah. The pictures of it from space, and just the color, you know?”

“Yeah. I guess. Look, I’m not taking you with me anywhere. I don’t know you, and I don’t want to know you. You are one of those little weirdos that get off on weird shit.”

“Oh, please. Are you going to tell me you never put any of us… you know… in there?”

“What is wrong with you? You’ve never met me in your entire life, and you just start talking to me in such a manner? How can you be so disrespectful?”


“Good. You appear to be thinking. Have a nice day.”



“My name is… er, G- Gonzo.”

“Really? ‘Gonzo’?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

“I can’t tell you my real name. I’m sure you understand.”

“Why is that?”

“I have… I need to be careful about who sees me with you.”

“You do realize there are cameras on me all the time.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t done anything bad yet.”

“Nor will you.”

“Oh, c’mon! Please do something to me. I don’t care what! Just touch me. Put me in your hand. Let me hump your thumb!”

“Listen, you seem like a really stupid guy, so I’m going to tell you how it is: I’m not at all interested in touching you. Ever.”

“But it’s no trouble to you! All I want is-”

“Shut up. I don’t give a fuck what you want. Now, you know we’re not supposed to kill you little worms, but I’ll make an exception for you if you don’t stop talking right now. I want you to listen to me, and then I want you to go away. If I ever see you again, I will hunt down your family, and kill them all, one by one, and I’ll make sure you get to watch me do it. Then I’ll find your friends. I can, you know? I can smell each of them on you. I’ll hunt down every scent on your body, and I’ll kill every person you’ve ever met, and talked to. I’ll crush your pets, your home, your city. I’ll destroy the things you like, the actors you prefer, the books you’ve read. If you’ve ever read a single book. I doubt it. Good. Now I have your attention. Stop crying and listen up.

I’ve lost everything. Do you understand what that feels like? You don’t. Not yet. When I grew, it happened suddenly, the same way it happened to the rest of us. I killed my children and my husband with my giant body. I didn’t mean to, but they were eating next to me at the table. They never saw me coming. I never saw me coming. Then, naked, I crouched in rubble and decay for an entire week, alone and desperate, because I couldn’t move from the pain. Neighbors ran from me, or took shots at me with their guns. I wished that had worked, but as I’m sure even someone like you knows, I can’t ever die. I was so thirsty I thought I’d surely die, but for a week I was there, alone, hearing their screams, and feeling their hate. Then I sat in a giant cage for a year, until everyone figured out we could not be stopped, and I had to help with Incident 109. Yeah, that was me.

I have no friends except those of my kind. I have to shit in a field, and every time I do, pictures of my expanding and contracting asshole hit the Internet. I can’t read my books anymore. I don’t have the job for which I studied for years. I can’t watch TV, because I’m on it all the time. No one your kind talks to me except to say stupid shit as you did, or ask me the dumbest questions. I battle the impulse to destroy you every day. I get up in the morning and I want to create something, but all I see is an occupied canvas I want to wipe clean. You are that canvas. Do you feel me now? I’m not here to entertain or get you off. When I get off, it will be with someone I pick, someone with half a brain. He will get to go in my pocket. He will be picked up and caressed and considered and loved. I will listen to his words, and pay attention to his wishes.

You? You can die now.”

* * *

Collaging Notes

Season 4/5 of Rescue Me came out many years ago, back when I was starting to blog, or already blogging. I can’t remember. I do recall seeing the ad campaign for it, and thought it looked great. I think I also wanted to do something to “fix” one of the images, and that’s what I finally got around to doing. There wasn’t much to do, since the giantess part was already done. I only added a man who had the right pose, and changed her eyes, which should always be looking at the guy, even if he’s a little jerk. Then I altered shadows and highlights so it looks like the light on him is coming from a different direction, and I added his shadow. That was the hardest part, as I had to study other shadows in the image, and make his look halfway real. I could spend more time on it, but I’m not going to. This is not exactly a collage that makes me happy. It came from a different place… not sure which one yet. It’ll come to me, as I work on the blog entry.

Craigslist: Have you hurt him?


Because it does happen. It might have happened to me, if I’d awakened to life in a world where shrunken men existed, and the one I kept angered me one day. Maybe I’d shake him once too hard, or kick him in the gut with my big toe, and off he’d go, flying across the room, and landing in a frightening heap. In such a situation, am I the type of person that wants to lose him in the system to the type of foster care that will be more likely to kill him that his own careless owner?

What if I promise I’ll never ever do it again? It’s just that… he made me so angry….

Original post, until it gets deleted, or I, blacklisted:


Everyone needs help. Even a giantess.


I’m exhausted. Off to bed I go.


It’s six thirty-seven in the morning, and I’m exhausted, and I can’t sleep. I’m also a little drunk, trying to see if that will help me sleep, but all I keep seeing is images in my head. I might as well do something about that. Wouldn’t you, in my shoes? Oh, and if I catch anyone in my shoes, the trouble you’ll meet.

(I really need to mix that Everclear with something. One little shot and I’m gone.)

(But not gone enough, as you can see.)

This idea… or conversation, stems from the fact that Craigslist flagged and deleted my post only minutes after I added it, but not before I received a response from a dude.


I’m never going to answer Luis’s question,  but since he was nice enough to send me his picture and will never hear from me, I might as well do something… is it nice? Is it nice to mention someone in a smutty blog about a fetish almost no one else (comparatively anyway) on Earth has? Yeah, it’s nice. I’ve decided it’s nice. So, my dear reader, imagine Luis measures a few inches in height, and decided to answer my CL ad. I accepted his offer (or he, mine), and he now lives in the abandoned dollhouse.

 * * * 

They sat on her couch as she played another failed round of Farm Heroes Saga.

“You need to stop drinking.”

“Mind your own business. I only had one shot.”

“Yes, but look at you. You are totally wasted. This is not safe.”

“What do you mean? ‘Not safe’? Not safe for you? You think I’m going to try something in my condition? That’s what you mean, don’ you?”

“You’re starting to slur your words.”

“I’m not going to ‘get fresh’ with you, alright? No way.”

“Good. Now, you arranged for my services, and those include telling you things you need to hear.”

“Luis, not tonight.”

“Shut up and listen to me. I may be tiny now, but once I ran my own business, and fifty people depended on me for their livelihood.”

“Ooh, big guy… I know the story-“

“Shut. Up. Don’t make me tell you again.”


“I’m not tiny inside. I never will be. I’m not like your guy, and I can tell you what I observe from a very clear perspective. You need to move on.”

“I have moved on.”

“Let me use language a little woman like you can understand.”


“Remember that movie, ‘Arrival’? I know you do, because you practically know it by heart now, and make me watch it with you all the time. What I mean is, I want you to think of that line Louise tells Ian. If you knew every future event in your life, would you change anything?”

“I don’t know.”

Think. Now. Put down the phone. You’re never going to beat that level in your condition. Besides, I need to look at your schedule.”

Patricia tossed the phone Luis’s way, and it landed with a loud-to-him thud next to him, on the rough fabric of the couch that was a tall mesa to his now tiny body. He started punching buttons and clicking and sliding his tiny hand on the screen all at once, and calling up her organizing app. His, really. He was now the only one that used it. He looked at it briefly, and thought for a moment before he spoke again.

“OK. You may sleep four hours now. That’s all you get before you have to start your day again. But you’re not going to bed before you answer my question.”

“Love is worth everything.”

“Even one sided? Look at what your future would have been, wasting your time with someone who was only using you.”

“I knew what I was doing.”

“Then you are more of an idiot than I thought.”

“Fuck you. You don’t know anything. You don’t know what you’re talking about. What the fuck do you know about sacrifice? About giving someone everything without any thought for yourself? Nothing!”

“Stop that. You are the one that doesn’t know anything. You don’t know what I’ve lost.”

“What have you lost?”

“Mind your own business. I’m not going to tell you. At least not now.”

“Man. That’s what he always said. Men. You are all ali-“

“Don’t compare me to him. I’m here. I’m… I don’t know what I am. You don’t pay me, and you couldn’t pay me enough to do some of the high maintenance I do for you; but I’m here, and I help you out. I’m the closest you have to a friend right now, and I’m telling you right now: Get your shit together. Stop drinking. Look at your life, and decide where you want to be in the future. Do you want a real man to own, or do you want someone who wants to pretend to be owned, who really belongs to a different life?”

“I can’t talk to you about that. You don’t understand…”

“All I know is that you have a fucked-up fetish, and I’m so glad-“

“Don’t you fucking cross the line. Don’t you TALK to me that way, unless you want to find yourself out on the street.”

He shut up. She was right. He had crossed the line, but he was not the apologizing kind. Instead, he offered up a sigh, and a few words of comfort.

“Look, you are a nice lady. You deserve to be happy. Did he make you happy?”

“Giving him that dollhouse made me happy.”

“Did he go out of his way to make you happy?”

“I wrote songs about him.”

“Did he write songs about you?”

“I wrote about him all the time.”

“Did he do anything to show you he cared to the same degree? Did he always ask you how you were? Did he want to know about you? Did he know your birthday? Did he ever ask anything about your life?”

She said nothing. What could she say? That he’d always been silent and non responsive when she started talking about herself? That when she did, sometimes he’d start watching TV, or checking out the Internet?

“You gave him a home, and he left it every day. You gave him your heart, and he was too busy to give you his. He may have thought he gave you enough, but here you are, crying, and alone.”

“I’m not- crying-!”

“Sure. Look, I’m going to bed. You can stay up, drinking and whining, or you can go to bed and start a new day tomorrow. Either way, I’m waking your ass up in four hours.”

The little man walked over to the edge of the couch, and disappeared down the front, his body dropping quickly, and landing softly on the cushion that was always there. She watched him walk away, across the living room, and enter the magnificent dollhouse he now occupied. She then turned her gaze to the bottle of Everclear. Another single shot and she’d be obfuscated enough to drunk dial his number.

She went to bed instead.

* * *

Craigslist: Closure


Well, what the hell was I supposed to do? Sometimes my friend Aborigen writes blog entries that tear at my tender feelings because something nefarious happens to a little person. The latest such event compelled me to imagine this solution to the Aaron problem. It doesn’t mean he survives what’s coming to him now that he’s out there in the world, and without protection. It only means that the perpetrator of this event did everything she could to help him, even if he didn’t deserve that help.

It also means I found reasons to dislike Aaron. I invented them, rather… since Aborigen’s piece gave me no real reason to find him lacking. All that means is that he gets a second chance with someone that might actually enjoy how he is, and Tracy finally gets the peace of mind she so badly needs, and deserves. She may have cared for Aaron very much, but there is no happiness to be found in such a little man.

Ah, here’s the actual CL “ad”.

Craigslist: The Wrong Man


I hope this one doesn’t warrant being flagged for removal. I like it. Here’s the actual link for it.

Craigslist: Are you tiny? Are you naked?


Here’s the original post. Or was, before I received an email about it being flagged for removal. I thought the title would give me that kind of trouble, but that’s how I saw it in my head. I rarely do this Craigslist thing with an idea in mind before I ever get to the website, and pick a location. It’s a… jumping into the bubbling stream of consciousness where I live when I’m in that world of tiny men and the women that shrink and love them.

When I was a little girl, I used to make clothes for my barbies. I also had a Ken, but didn’t find it that interesting to make clothes for him. I think it had to do with the very deep disappointment I felt when I received it for Christmas one morning, and the first thing I did was close my bedroom door, lock it, and rip off its pants. When I saw it, or rather the lack of it, I made this face:Girl-Crying

From then on, my dolls only had one-night stands with my Luke Skywalker (I asked for a Darth Vader to pair up with my Leia – but my dad said it was “evil”… I had no idea back then what he was talking about. I just liked the idea of Leia doing the nasty with more metal than a man). Anyway, so I go to Craigslist, and I sit here for a few seconds, and I choose the location, and see it happening in my head. A woman that knows a little guy, sees him often, and his appearance is quite lackluster. She doesn’t care. She only wants to lure him into her lair- home, so she can manhandle him into a bath, and then cover him.

Not with clothes, silly.

Craigslist: A giantess walks into a city…


In a world where giantesses exist, a man watched her walk by every night. Why does she take long nightly walks by his house? Or at all? Maybe she’s like me. Maybe she can’t sleep.