Her Turntables Might Wobble But They Don't Fall Down

My sister, Miss Led, lives in a place where she's not allowed to have a cell phone. There's also no television and forget about a newspaper so don't bother asking her where Tiger is 'cause she'll just tell you that he's hiding in the doghouse with Kitty Carryall.

But my sister is resourceful and not one to follow all the rules. Her contraband is her cell phone and yes, it's fancy so it has Internet access which means she's finally able to join the army (where army means handful) of people following the word of Miss Spoken.

She immediately observes two things:

1. I use a lot of profanity, maybe too much for her. That's odd because I seem to recall her owning a stack of fluorescent orange stickers that read, "Fuck You, You Fucking Fuck!"
2. There is a noticeable lack of postings that are centered around, involve, showcase or otherwise mention her.

There's not much I can do about number one, but I'm all over number two. Ladies, gentlemen and children too young to comprehend the filth that rolls off my tongue ... now appearing in the center ring, ..... It's .... Miss .... Led!

[Insert random clapping, muffled coughing and shifting uncomfortably in one's seat]

I'm sure it wasn't easy growing up with me as a big sister and not just because of my incredible intelligence (please don't make me explain quantum mechanics again). I'm guessing it was difficult because I'd play games like Let's Make Little Sister Close Her Eyes & Walk Her Into Stop Signs, and the ever-popular Let's Put Little Sister On The Handle Bars & Hit A Curb. And who could forget Let's Grab A Knife & Chase Little Sister Into The Closet singing the "We Don't Like Snitches" song.

And when my mother decided to give her a pixie cut, she looked less like Mia Farrow and more like she fell head first into a wood chipper. And God help her, her favorite outfit at the time was this rose colored jumpsuit that made a shwoosh shwoosh noise every time she fucking moved. To this day, I have no idea what kind of fabric that was but luckily she took her school picture in it so future generations can continue this perplexing research.

There are way too many stories to tell about Miss Led.

Like the time she came home high on Ecstasy and thought my Aunt was giving a blow job to a guy in a wheelchair (She wasn't. At least we're pretty sure she wasn't). Or the time she accidentally glued one of those squiggly eyes to the center of her forehead using industrial strength adhesive. And how together, we both like to torment our Grandma by constantly saying words that offend her: creamy, faggot, orgasm. Grandma might deserve this because these are her favorite words: Go to hell and piss on you all.

Miss Led ......

She's a little bit of this:

And a little bit of that:

She may or may not have had sex in a cemetery. She certainly had sex in Candlestick Park.

She can recite nearly every line from The Devil's Advocate ("It wasn't the wine, Kevin...")

She was once overcome with emotion while listening to a song and started to cry. The song was Tupac's "California Love."

I should probably stop here before this turns into an unauthorized biography and she sues me for defamation of character.