My Truth

You know what phrase I really supremely despise (today anyway)?

My truth as in what  Amber Heard, Johnny Depp’s ex-wife, posted after their defamation case settlement. She said:

“I defended my truth and in doing so my life as I knew it was destroyed,”

Now, having had much too much on my plate (and no interest in rich and famous strangers personal lives) I never read about their legal tussles. Didn’t even know who she is/was. Sure, I saw something about her shitting on his bed. It was a big internet ewwwwww gross joke for a few days. The memes alone kept me from reading more about this mishegos.

That nasty nonsense brought to mind tales of the Orange Hemorrhoid’s paid playtime with two Russian sex workers. He’d ponied up (or Putin did) for these women to urinate on him…in bed. Or urinate on the bed while he watched.

Whatever.

I did NOT need to know of either of these people’s foul fetishes. Rich people kinks will never fascinate me. OK, maybe from a psychological standpoint but that’s it. What childhood experiences put pee and poop in their brain’s sexy time quadrants?

Me? You can call me the queen of vanilla—just the very idea of fecal and whizz play skeeves me clean out. I'M VANILLA AND NOT ASHAMED OF IT...dammit.

Getting back to my truth, the fuck’s that dookie all about? Ms. Heard has her own extra special strain of veracity? Is this like having your own brand of perfume or soap? Is Amber Heard’s Truth® poop scented?

Of course now I’ve got that actress in my mind. You know, the one who sells candles that supposedly smell like her vay-jay-jay. Were the great unwashed masses crying out for this? “I can’t go on in my poor, sad life without a candelabra chockfull of Gwyneth’s twat tapers.” Guess what—the candles SOLD OUT. I can only imagine the customers were a motley crew of desperately earnest new agers, total pervs and charter members of Virgins for Life. To slightly paraphrase H.L. Mencken, nobody will ever go broke underestimating the intelligence of a sizable portion of the American public.

Question—is Ms. Heard's definition of my truth the same as Kellyanne Scarecrow’s alternative facts? Ya know, also known as lies, cons, bamboozlements and fantastical fabrications.

I don’t know. Maybe if I dug in, read the trial transcripts, really investigated both sides of the story, I’d get a better idea of what’s true. If I gave a fuck or even a rat’s ass, I’d do just that. I seem to be clean out of fucks and rat derrières though.

Ah well. Callooh, callay, o frabjous day and all that.

Just to be clear, I fully appreciate that there are at least two sides to every story. This little post ‘o’ mine isn’t about the Heard/Depp brouhaha, it’s about that disingenuous turn of phrase—my truth.