Gabby (Podcast Host) (22:44)
Positive personality. No, I'm a cynic and I hate everything. And I hate everyone. You want me to show up and grin through a clenched jaw? I will. For the right people. I will. For the right people. Okay, let's be honest. Let's be honest. Let's be honest. You get to pick and choose. And that's my prerogative. And non polarizing. The most offensive of them all. Of course I want to be polarizing. Are you crazy? I don't want to appeal to the masses. That's too much pressure. They're not going to like it here because the. Because the Megyn Kelly dissenters are on the other side of this, waiting, waiting to turn on me. And that's not what I want. That's not what you want. You want someone who's gonna fit in with everybody. Oh, not around here you don't. Not around here you don't. Because if too many people come around here, if too many people start listening, by the way, this is me. This is me with 10,000 views on YouTube. This is me. This is the most relevancy and I can't take it. And it's too much. It's about 2,000 too much. Because then I'm going to get an influx of hey girl, Love the POD messages. Love the POD butt. Because I'm going to get an influx of Love the POD but messages. Love the pod, but Phoebe Bridgers is a lesbian. She's just been secretly, not so secretly dating a man for five years. But she's a lesbian. Love the pod but Sabrina was in love with Barry Keegan and Ratman is body shaming men. Love the POD but insert weird language about bisexuals that nobody cares about. Love the POD but. And then I'm gonna have to show up at an award show, which I'll inevitably be at. And then I'm gonna have to look face to face to one of these people that I've freely talked shit on in the past because I'm safe here with my 8,000 views on YouTube. And then, and then everyone's gonna come running and then I'm gonna have to look them straight in the face and say, don't worry, this is satir nothing but a joke. And I'll lie and I'll lie because I have no other choice. When I get caught, I'm not afraid to be caught in a lie. Because then I'll lie about the lie. Hello. And that's what's gonna happen. And so everyone's coming and knocking, non polarizing. And you want to know. You want to know who came running? Meta. Meta. Gabby Wendy by Meta Spawn Con Are you okay? Do you know anything about what's going on here? I've been been sounding the alarm on the AI abortion rumba robot, which I'm sure Meta will invent and punch your uterus into Timbuktu. This is how abortions will be done in the future. I've been screaming about it and now they want me to do spong con about AI AI who's now having meetings with 11 year olds on Sunday nights via Zoom. What is this? M from James Bond? What is this hologram? What are you teaching these 11 year olds? You're. I don't think so. I don't think so. Because you know what? You're just stealing all their young cookies. And I don't mean that in a sexual way, you dirty perverts. What do you have to learn from an 11 year old little boy? Nothing. Nothing. This is not going to serve you if AI was smart, which you claim to be, because you know what? Maybe I would do an ad for Meta. They got their together and put a pause button on the reels. Why is there no pause button on the reels? Like make a good product and then come and knock it. So. So what are you supposed to do? Who's this Diva cup? And now with my Rise to fame listenership around 12 000, which thank you everyone actually has been really nice. My dms, they're like we've been known even. No matter. And I will repost every headline no matter how dumb it is, because I do need the attention because I didn't get any as a child. You guys know this. Hello, I'm on a loop. I'm chasing the dragon. But everyone's like, we've been known. I'm like, I know you're the real ones out there, and thank you. And thank you for that. But now I can't go anywhere without security detail. This is what my life has become. My security guards are from Craigslist, Facebook Marketplace, the neighborhood app. And they just got done mounting the TV in my bedroom. I send them to the pack. I send them to the back to get a couple of Robbie's Uniqlo suits. Put them on. I don't care if they're small. Oh. Oh. They're a little tight up your crotch. Well, I see your bulge, and it's. And it's smaller than Robbie's Packer. Don't complain. There's nothing to complain about. Put it on and get out here. We got to go to Larchmont, to the newsstand. Tell your mom you're gonna be late. You gotta move out anyway. What are you doing there in your 30s? And I know you're living there. Under one condition and one condition only. That you remain sober and looking you in the face right now. I know those are DT sweats. Go crack a cold one. Come on, we gotta go. Yes. I'll put my pinky finger up your ass, and I will not tell anyone. Let's go. I need to be in the back. You're in the front. I don't care if it's a 2004 Ford Expedition. I gotta go to the newsstand. And I cannot be caught. I cannot be caught buying every copy of the Sunday New York Times my article, because it needs to, because they can't see me doing that, because they have to fly off the shelves themselves. But instead, I have to fake my own fame. Okay, this is still where I'm at. Bella Hadid, what have you done for me recently? Nothing. Come on, let's go. Security. Nobody can catch me like this. And then we're going to CVS, and I need you at 12, 3, 6, and 9 so I can peruse what's new in the allergy aisle freely. I need the freedom of my privacy to see what's locked in the cage and what's not. Allegra, D, you say? What kind of pack do I want, the 12 blister or the 24? Am I looking to save some money, or am I looking to get fucked up on antihistamines? Because, you know, retail therapy. Oh, it's a platitude. Oh, it's a trite old saying. Oh, it's for women. Well, you've never waited for A plan B? After your poor excuse for a boyfriend came inside you but didn't want to tell you because he was afraid to admit that your pussy was good. Like you don't have tabs on how many ccs your vaginal holds up secretions at any point in time, in any circumstance. Like you don't know his Vans deferens can only spit out a mere 5mls of semen because he's jacking off in the bathroom to anime porn because he has an addiction, so that's all he can afford is the measly 5mls of semen that's gonna get. And it's gonna get no one anywhere. But in case there's one viable sperm that embeds itself in your uter, you have to wait in line for the plan B. Well, please, I need something to abate me from this burden of life. And that will be the salon grade hair care aisle, maybe a scrunchie the said allergy section. And then I'll end with my favorite multi gummy. This is retail therapy. And then I need the Uniqlo security detail for the bar, naturally. For Jimmy at the bar, drunk on his eighth skinny margarita in the last two hours. Someone get this man a light beer. What's he doing on a skinny margarita? What are you, a homosexual? And he just found out who I was from a gay man's Instagram story. And now he's wondering. Now. Now he's dying to know. Why do people love me? Well, Jimmy, your ears and your eyes are not lending you any information into your brain. I cannot engage with stupid. I cannot engage with your failed senses that have no connection to your neurons because you're not gathering any information. All of a sudden, they think I'm a Mikey Madison in a small indie film Anora. Oh, she came out of nowhere. She has a resume of an acting history. She just stays off social media to stay away from people like you. And you need to stay away from me. We don't give a fuck about you. Go back to Michaela. Bother her. The. The one you met in the bathroom lobby. Why don't you Kiki away from me? Security detail. Excuse me. Escort Jimmy to table 12 full of the Australians. A table that deserves to be harassed because. Because the people around here know. They know, and they. They just get it. I don't have to explain myself to them. They're not asking me any questions. They're not asking me to deliver a monologue on cue. Why do people love you? No, they just know. And it's okay. To be me. But here they come running around, and that's me and my security. And they're like, who's this Diva Cup? Which I am something of a sort. Plastic on the outside, a filler substance in my lips, and metallic on the inside. Inside filled with steroids, bleach, anti. Antifreeze. Because my veins are ice cold from living in the presence of a person like Jimmy. And. And I do want to be a Diva cup advocate, abider wearer, user. Because I like to be in on it. Because. Because I like to be a part of an exclusive group. I like to speak from a place of knowledge. And I'm better than you. And you have to get on this train if you want your life to improve in any way. So I tried it. And it was not my experience, much to my chagrin. Dismay. No, no. But I wanted to try. I wanted to do my due diligence. I wanted to be a part of the community. Because I wanted to make it easier on myself. I was born with this cavernous organ that sheds its lighting every month. And I'm trying to keep the blood from getting on my thong underwear, from getting on my new Aritzia pants, from getting on the seat of my staff meeting at 10am when I have to listen to Daryl put together his useless PowerPoint about things that are not going to change at all. Because he took those ideas from you and now he's claiming they're his own. When one time you did snoop through his staff locker and found a pair of dirty underwear. So I'm. So I'm trying to keep this blood inside despite all of my efforts. It leaks out because I'm trying. Because you gotta fold it like a hot dog, then you gotta fold it like a hamburger. Actually, no, let me fold it like a quesadilla, because somehow it's gotta be in a quarter. Then you gotta take your left hands. You got to take your left two digits, your first two digits, and pry open your lips while your right index finger penetrates the. The rest of the four. Fold over the Diva cup like a rose and you have to assault your mucous membranes, labia, all in vain. Double entendre. A vein holds the blood. There's blood everywhere. And you're under duress and 10 minutes late for work because you've been fingering yourself with all ten fingers in a suction vacuum cup that's holding your uterine lining. It said to vacuum in just the right way, to hug every single ridge of your uniquely shaped vagina. Don't worry, it'll never spill. It spills. It gets everywhere. All what it said it wasn't supposed to do. In the name of what? In the name of what? Sustainability? I don't think so. Take a look at our landfills. Take a look at AI. Take a look at the Roomba abortion back. Take a look at the rumba robot. Take a look at the abortion rumba robot. Jesus Christ. I got it out. Just take a look. And then a dear friend, a part of the Diva cup community, a proud member because they're always going to tell you, I will not say her name. In case she doesn't want the masses to know what she's doing with their sanitary products, she says to me, oh, and you can cut the end off. Oh, you can cut the stem so you don't have a constant reminder of the silicone funnel you have shoved up your pussy to catch some blood on a good day. So you can cut it off so it's not poking you in the vulva. So I did. So I did. And then you go to take it out. Now what? Now what? No amount of force of pull from any part of your body or hand can dislodge the negative pressure this vacuum funnel has created in your vagina. Nothing can pull it out. No, it has this centrifugal force. It is pulling GS akin to this spaceship carnival ride that you cannot get enough of. And you can't lift your head from the back. And you won't get off. You won't get off because you need to feel something because your parents never loved you. This is what's going inside of the ridges of my vagina. It's not coming out. It's not coming out. The negative pressure is too strong. Come on. I have. I have no other choice but to call the ambulance. So once I figure out the number to 91 1, I get on the phone. I get on the phone with the paramedic. Ugh. A man. A man. No, no, it's. It's. It's called a Diva Cup. No, I'm not talking about a Bratz doll. No, I didn't shove a Barbie up my. I don't even know where to find one. I sound deranged, but I'm not. No, it's not that hole. No, it's not my butthole. There's three holes. It's in the middle, and I can't get it out. And I need a ride to the hospital because it's clouding the minds like you would never believe. I can't think I can't think. Who knows? Have you ever had TSS of the silicone? It could be worse than a mere tampon made of cotton. So when I get there, when I get to the hospital, I'm gonna need your most delicate forceps. I'm a lesbian. I'm going to need them warmed. And I'd like my doctor to be Jewish because they invented medicine. This is what Robbie says. This is what I need. But luckily, by the grace of God, before the ambulance comes, I'm able to get the cup out. I'm able to get my fingers second knuckle deep in order to squeeze it around and pull it out. And it's sucking, sucking, sucking, preventing the exit on its way out. This isn't going to be easy, but they say you just do it over a toilet. So I'm squatted. I'm in the squatting position over the toilet. Everything's gonna be fine. I'm going to be free. Goes the diva cup. Splashes everywhere. It splashes everywhere. You're not getting it in the toilet. You're getting it on the toilet bowl, a little in the toilet, some on your white bathroom floor, a little bit in the caulk from the bathtub to your bathroom floor. And it doesn't come out easy. It doesn't come out easy. The pure amount of iron in the blood is enough to stain for weeks. Now you need a barkeep, bar keeper's friend, to scrub and scrub and scrub because you were born this way. Because you have to bleed once a month, and then it's not okay. So then the cup is in my hand. Then what do I do? What do I do with this diva? Now you got to find out some way to clean it, okay? But there's blood everywhere.