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And Happy New Year Super SALE!

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As many of you know, New Years Eve is my least favorite holiday. Maybe you hate it, maybe you’re just bored with the whole thing, or maybe you like to party like it’s 1999.

Whatever!

Call drunk, call sober. Call to shoot the breeze, call to get kinky. Call just to ask questions or hang out. New callers welcome and cherished regulars already know how good it is. *bats eyelashes*

If you haven’t called before and want to know more about me, check out my FREE erotic stories at Blistered Lips and every one of my live phone lines at NiteFlirt.

xo, Angela

Yes, darlings, I do have a Holiday Wish List!

So. You might be wondering why I haven’t mentioned my birthday since that hot phone sex sale I had mid-August. Some days, I’ve been wondering, myself. I’ve been multi-tasking, working the phones, partying on Monday nights, cocktail-ing with friends, Twittering, and binge-watching Game of Thrones from the very first season.  I’ve been busy.

But that’s not the only reason I haven’t brought my birthday bash up. Look at this:

How is a girl ever worthy of so much generosity? And this isn’t even everything. A second wave came in after I took this picture, which I’m not going to photograph because it’s just not easy to do. One big box is a chair, another is a lamp. I know this because I know who sent those and when they were to be delivered.

Anyway, I AM OPENING PRESENTS even as I type this. Already, there’s a few with no indication of where they came from and one that just has a first name (but I know a few with this first name). Still, I’m trying to keep track so I can personally thank everybody.

Sunday is the day I will try to show pics of the actual presents, out-of-the-box nekkid in all their glory, so to speak. I’d do it tomorrow, but my housekeeper will be here and I’m going to be monitoring and working her fingers to the bone.

You honor me, you please me, you make me so very happy.

xo, Angela

xxxxxxxx—-xxxxxxxx—-xxxxxxxx

Okay … I’m way behind on getting pics to you. It’s a don’t ask, don’t tell situation. But I will get them to you soon. Promise.

Let America Be America Again

Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed–
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There’s never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this “homeland of the free.”)

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek–
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one’s own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean–
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today–O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I’m the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That’s made America the land it has become.
O, I’m the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home–
For I’m the one who left dark Ireland’s shore,
And Poland’s plain, and England’s grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa’s strand I came
To build a “homeland of the free.”

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we’ve dreamed
And all the songs we’ve sung
And all the hopes we’ve held
And all the flags we’ve hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay–
Except the dream that’s almost dead today.

O, let America be America again–
The land that never has been yet–
And yet must be–the land where every man is free.
The land that’s mine–the poor man’s, Indian’s, Negro’s, ME–
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose–
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people’s lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath–
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain–
All, all the stretch of these great green states–
And make America again

………………………………………………………………………..

God Bless America.

She is ours and His. Never theirs and his.

xo, Angela

… so big it actually confused everybody on the set of Antichrist.

From a 2009 interview with director Lars von Trier:

Willem Dafoe — and I think you’ve mentioned this before — plays probably the worst therapist in the history of movies.

First of all, I have been undergoing this cognitive therapy for three years, and I tend to get sarcastic about it. One of the main ideas behind the treatment is that a fear is a thought, and a thought doesn’t change reality. But you can say in the film that it’s changed reality. As for Dafoe, I wouldn’t let him treat her in any other way than with his dick; he has an enormous dick. We had to take those scenes out of the film. We had a stand-in for him because we had to take the scenes out with his own dick.

You had a stand-in dick for Dafoe?

We had to, because Will’s was too big.

Too big to fit on the screen?
No, too big because everybody got very confused when they saw it.
………

So we already knew he’s a skinny guy. And the article makes it clear he’s a short guy.

All I’m saying is … can you imagine him standing before you — skinny & short — with that colossal schlong? Whoa mama!

xo Angela

[original article]