Throwback Thursday: With Plain-Talkin’ Aviatrix Traila Earheam

“ Hey, chaps. You will no doubt recall

ThrailaEarhamerthat I’m the very first semi-butch Lesbian to fly solo across the Atlantic “no-hands” (see photo) and without a helmet, with my hair in a Louise Brooks bob, wearing only a skimpy camisole for publicity purposes plus a pair of primitive non-polarized Ray-Bans and with only a plump, unidentified medium-sized mammal across my shoulders for warmth.

“That’s a helluva lot of firsts in one go.  Jeezus!  But when you’re a gal, you know—you gotta do at least a hundred impossible things before the sun reaches the meridian to get the same respect a man does for just remembering to zip up his fly-front trousers after he takes a whizz.

“Strap down my bosoms with a tensor bandage if it ain’t the truth!  I’m real sorry to cuss, ladies and gentleman.  Real sorry.

“Oh, and the aircraft you see was a 1928 early pedal-powered bi-plane with propellers.  Pedal-powered, did you get that?  Yes, siree.  That’s why all the girls call me “ThunderThighs Earheam”, and a lot more besides.

“How do I do it? Damned, excuse my French, if I can explain! But on that maiden voyage, if you’ll pardon the expression – hey – you – yeah you – could  you hand me my “Parfait d’Amour” on the rocks, chuck?  Ta ever so – yeah, as I was saying, I was so bushed, if you’ll pardon the expression – that I set down my aircraft right in The Green Park, London, near enough in front of Buckingham Palace, that is, and just friggin’ lay on the lawn until a Beefeater, if you’ll pardon the expression, came round and kicked me rather harshly in the head and said, “Move along, little Missy! There’s a chap!”

“But if I’m anything, I’m resilient.  Me and my unidentified mammal, Shmul, walked the streets of London until I came up with this poem.  Here goes, ’cause I ain’t a bit shy about it:

Thoughts on London after lying right smack on the lawn in Green Park, getting kicked in the head, then going for a walk ~

I wandered London’s chartered streets,
With Shmul, my medium-sized mammal,
And there I found that harlots young—
Each syphilitic in her marriage hearse

And sporting a sequined evening purse—
Went crazy for my Sopwith Camel
And yes, siree that night sure was fun.

—Traila “ThunderThighs” Earheam ©1928

“Not sure of the last line, I’ll be honest with ya. It’s kind of a slanty rhyme and not real poetic, like. Anyway, that’s as far as I got with the poem.

“I sent it to that Edna Millay who called me an “imagiste”, which I thought was praising with faint damns, frankly.  Then she asked me if I’d ever met Bonnie Parker, whoever that is, because my talent reminded her of this Bonnie person, not quite sure how to take that.  So much for Edna Millay, what a lipstick Lesbosnob! A semi-butch sister is obviously on her own, not counting her mammal, as far as poetry goes.

“At least I don’t prance around with some Pulitzer Prize shoved out in front of me like a g-d hostage!

“So, whatever. I’m here to offer inspirational throwback doo-dads, so here we go:

“Girls, girls girls!  You can do anything! Anything a man can do! Better! And with a whole lot less fuss and attention-seeking! Don’t let the guys get you down, just roll your eyes when they call you “little Missy”, and swat their hands away when they get ambitions on your person.

“Or do what I do: when they try and appropriate your front bumps, if you’ll pardon the expression, just reach over without a by-your-leave and squeeze their Damson plums, squeeze ’em real hard till the pips squeak and say, “How do you like them egg-rolls, Mr Goldstone!”  That’ll give ’em a run for their money.

“You girls can fly solo across the Atlantic, you can circumnavigate the globe, you can do anything you put your mind, your skimpy publicity camisole, your medium-sized mammal and your determination to do.

“And if you disappear trying – well, by all the garter belts and corsets on Susan B Anthony!  At least you’ll keep ’em guessing for the next hundred-odd years.

“So there’s yer inspiration!  I’m real tired now, my thighs are throbbin’ and if you don’t mind, there’s a spot on your front lawn with my name on it.  Ahhhh, that feels good…. come on over here, Shmul. Make with the mink pillow impersonation … if you’ll pardon the ex… pre… sss…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz… “



This plaque is on the front lawn
of my apartment building, at
392 Sherbourne Street,
Toronto, Ontario





Marketing MasterClass with Derek Bhohner: # 4205—Effective copywriting*.

*{demonstrated using my announcement: “Things you might not know about my February 1st e-book launch party that’s being live broadcast!”}

“It’s not in my nature to post anything about


my February 1st e-book live-broadcast launch party, or anything else for that matter, that amounts to less than a 1,000 word essay about my launch party, the one on February 1st and that’s being live-broadcast—an essay that’s been painstakingly edited down to about 800 words.

You know, about a party I might be having, say, on February 1st, and I should probably add, in the year 2018.

A year in which technology amazingly and jaw-droppingly permits us, we who host e-book launch parties, to live broadcast them.  Even in the dead of winter!  On February 1st!  I mean, you’d think the live broadcast would just, like.  Freeze!

And yes, you may have noticed, I edit that launch party announcement by at least 200 words! Roll over, Flaubert!  I mean, seriously!  Live broadcast!

But I just had to take this opportunity to whet your appetite about a couple of features of my February 1st e-book live-broadcast launch party that  you probably didn’t know about!!*

(*The secret to writing super-effective marketing copy is to use live-broadcast high-quality keywords over and over in your copy, but in an extremely subtle launch party way so that February 1st people e-book live-broadcast launch party don’t notice.


Derek Bhohner, Marketing Ghurhu.

It’s a skill, and frankly, February 1st e-book, you either have it or you live-broadcast launch party don’t.  February 1st e-book live-broadcast launch party.

And god help you if you try to, like, pad your copy in the launch party hope that, sometime on or around February 1st, 2018, a year in which technology drops its jaw and still is able to live broadcast, you know, your e-book launch party, that Google’s algorithm will favour YOUR launch party live broadcast over anyone else’s!  Don’t even go there!  February 1st!

—Derek Bhohner)

Two words:  Stripper pole.  ssy gangbang big boob MILF virgin teen live-broadcast launch

I settled on the words “stripper pole”, not because there’s absolutely without question going to be a stripper pole, a pole for strippers, or even just the type of stripper pole that strippers take off their clothes and show their big MILF boobs while spinning around AT my February 1st, 2018 big boob MILF e-book live broadcast gangbang launch party.

No, in fact it’s not at all certain about either the stripper pole that strippers use to flash their big MILF boobs in public displays of gangbang sex while spinning around, OR the stripper pole itself, completely devoid of any MILFs, big boobs or teen virgins.  No, I just discovered that the keywords stripper pole got better placement than, for example, “boobs, big boobs, great big MILF boobs or teen virgin pussy gangbang BBC sex” did.

And if that doesn’t get you watching my February 1st e-book live-broadcast launch party in 2018, then listen up:  This is going to be the ONLY launch party that’s being live-broadcast on February 1st that boasts a soon-to-be-member of the Royal gangbang e-book big boob Family whose name rhymes with “Vegan teen virgin Sparkle” pussy.

At least, in 2018!  Party!  E-book!  Launch!  Prince pussy gangbang Harry’s big boob MILF fiancée!

Stumped?  I bet you are!  Well, to help you out, there’s a Meghan MILF gangbang pussy Markle clue embedded somewhere in this MILF announcement!  And the Meghan will be Markle invited as a special gangbang guest of honor to my February 1st e-book live-broadcast MILF launch pussy party!  With the big boob Meghan Markle gangbang MILF whose name rhymes with Vegan pussy MILF Sparkle! ¹

Hope to see you there!

ussy gangbang big boob MILF virgin teen live-broadcast launch


¹  No purchase necessary, with the exception that people who do not pre-purchase the e-book will be on my personal launch party shitlist until they die. /  “Live-broadcast e-book party” does not imply party will be live, nor broadcast, nor e, nor a book, nor a party. / Organizer reserves the right to substitute any random book, e or not e, for the actual e-book, whether or not launch may or may not happen./ Party may or may not be associated with launch. /Launch may or may not include an actual e-book launch or the organizers may substitute just getting some random guy on the street to read a page/ Live party Inc reserves the right to substitute someone who looks vaguely like Meghan Markle / a transgender person who simply admires Meghan Markle / someone actually called Vegan Sparkle / or in a pinch George Clooney /  for the actual Meghan Markle herself. More rules, more rules, more clooney, more george, more meghan, more markle.  pussy gangbang big boob MILF virgin teen live-broadcast launch

A pressing problem that only YOU can solve…

Dear SlowPainful Reader / Supporter / Stumble-Upon-er:

There is a pressing problem occurring in the world today— a problem responsible for more misery that any South Pacific tsunami / raging forest fire in the Hollywood Hills / uninvited touching by a Weinstein / homophobic African dictator / or Russian oligarch … err….

…put together.  

It’s a big problem, is the point, OK? Namely:-

A proliferation of middle-aged, snarky,
resentful poor dudes.  

Listless and wan from existing on variations of Kraft Dinner for much of the year, these disgruntled wearers of grandad pants seem oblivious to the, like, total downerrrrr caused by their ADHD, complaining, and constant, excessive borrowing from family and friends.

But there’s good news!

The solution is in your credit-card or Paypal account-wielding hands, my friends!

 You see, if you can find it in your heart to
pre-purchase my forthcoming e-book for a mere $10 CAD …..


…{My e-book that’s also going to be a
wildly successful self-published trade paperback, cover pictured above, 
based on the hilarious, witty, uncalled-for, juvenile yet somehow still sophisticated blog called 

“A Slow, Painful Death Would Be Too Good For You (and other observations)” 

—that’s the site you’re on right now—by the persistently unknown yet soon to be worldwide New York Times best-selling phenomenon known as David Roddis.}…

…. Then that demographic of middle-aged, snarky, resentful poor dudes

will be decreasing by one member: 



DON’T you REALLY want that
MORE than two
Venti Caramel Lattes with
Lactose-Free Whipped Topping?

It’s a rhetorical question.

Friends, I invite you to pre-purchase* my e-book for a mere $10 CAD.
«awkward but sincere smile»

Here’s what you’ll get:

Right away:

  • A 30% discount code for, my online store selling fun slowpainful-themed merch such as clever, quality Tees, witty cards and posters

On February 1st:

  • Digital delivery of the e-book version of my new book, and a link to the live- broadcast launch party!  PLUS 
  • Your name included in the e-book under acknowledgements, if you think you can handle the fame.

In May:

  • a personalized copy of the paperback available at a substantially reduced price.

It’s like, win-win, with both wins for you!

So, do the right thing, Murgatroyd McGraw.  Rescue me from the grandad pants of oblivion, and give yourself the gift of sly, quirky, thought-provoking laughter!

As Dorothy Parker said to her pregnant friend: “We all knew you had it in you!”

Here’s the link.

 >>Click here to pre-buy the e-book! Look, just do it, OK?




* Please note that you are pre-purchasing the e-book, i.e. paying in advance.  You will receive the e-book on February 1st.  However, as my thank-you, you will immediately on payment receive your first reward, a 30% discount code for merch on

I frickin’ Hate Bernie Sanders, I don’t need logical reasons and I don’t give you any. {NSFW warning}

But first, a word from one of my cartoon personae, Her Royal Insufferability, The Princess of Happy.

Things I’m Princess-Happy About!


  • I ride the vanilla ice-cream sky in a cotton-candy fuelled rocket ship shaped like a cartoon turret window. Yeah bite me, commoner!
  • If I try hard enough I can move my face a few pixels to the left and up, so I have two faces. Unlike you, who just keep your pixels in one spot for the same effect!
  • When I vilify you, my words come out already colored with a rainbow gradient. Your words are just one color.  Hard to describe, but if BORING could barf, that would be it.  Giggle!
  • Despite the, you know, rainbow gradient, I’m not a homolesbo. Even if I were, there’s only room for one in the cartoon turret. Sigh! You, on the other hand, are a narcotic dog’s breakfast of flapping wrists, shrill second-hand opinions and entangled power tool cords.
  • I eat nothing but candy canes stolen from blameless, well-behaved orphans and the occasional piece of Laura Secord® Buttercream Fudge, and after I do, my breath smells like minty buttercream heaven. Big kiss, lots of tongue!  AHLLLLLLWLLALALALLL !  You could eat nothing but honey straight from the comb and still wilt a vase full of gerbera daisies at fifty paces with a single exhale!
  • In the land of Happy, there is no tooth decay.  There are no teeth, either, but whatever.  I’ll make do with sucking and gumming.

“sucking” giggle.

What’s even more galling, I laugh, or more accurately, giggle an insouciant giggle when I see a large ice floe looming up and realize I’m veering off course in the high wind and might very well end up splatted on the ice floe or impaled on a frozen tree branch on the way down.  Maybe you should try that!

Not the impaled bit, the insouciant giggle.  Are you always this high maintenance, my loyal subjects???

Time for luncheon!  Mmmmm, my favorite!  Buttercr —


I frickin’ hate Bernie Sanders.


And even though I don’t need any logical reasons, any more than you need reasons why Hillary makes your blood run purple and your eyes bulge, or reasons why you volunteered for the “Let’s Kiss Trump’s Great Butt Better Again” duty brigade, I’ve listed the main, perfectly-valid illogical ones here.


I frickin’ hate Bernie Sanders because:

Bernie Sanders has great big oversized Stanfield Y-fronts with skid marks on them.  In his underwear drawer.

Bernie Sanders emits moist little farts when he’s sleeping, which is all the time but especially when he’s dreaming of (a) eviscerating capitalists, or (b) licking his wife, Jane’s, gigantic, sagging tits.

The sound Bernie makes when emitting the moist little farts is that of his ass lips resisting, then parting suddenly to emit a steady vibrating column of intestinal gas. When he’s in practice, it’s usually around a B-flat below middle C.

Sometimes, right before Bernie shakes someone’s hand on the campaign trail, he reaches around, shoves his hand right down his pants, touches his asshole to see if it’s clean, then sniffs his fingers.

If Bernie ever talks at the UN, they’ll have to announce his name, “Bernie”.  BERRRRR-NIE. And everyone will shudder because it sounds so fucking unstatesmanly and retarded.  BERRRRRRRRRRRRR-NIE!  Bernie wouldn’t ratify my treaty!  Bernie didn’t wash his hands before eating his tuna salad! Bernie wears the same dirty socks every day with his Birkenstocks, Bernie picked his nose and ate it!  Ewwwwww!!  Bernie Bernie BERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-NIE!!!!!

Bernie Sanders has never molested a 13-year-old boy or girl, he just thinks about it every so often, then throws on his nasty, soiled raincoat and goes for a walk on a nature trail with no pants on to “rub it out of his system”.

Bernie’s most successfully energized before a big speech when he’s gotten his wife, Jane, to hate-fuck him with a big, black strapon dildo that he’s nicknamed “Michelle”. He likes Jane to wear a rubber Hillary mask when she does this.

When Bernie ejaculates all over his wife’s gigantic tits, he screams “Allahu Akbar!!” So. True.

Bernie stretches out his arms and makes big up and down patting movements during a speech when he wants to make it absolutely clear that he’s full of seven pounds of fresh horse shit he ate just that afternoon.

Bernie has a nasty, fake, mirthless smile that shows off to perfection his irregular, yellow, coffee-stained old-guy dentures. When he smiles, he looks like a goblin proof-of-concept that was dropped from Lord of the Rings because it was too scary for mature adults.

Bernie blows at least one new recruit to the National Rifle Association every Wednesday, at their club house. He takes out his unsoaked, reeking dentures first, so he can give a nice, wet, sloppy blowjob with saliva gobbing down his chin in long, stringy, mucous-y strands.

Right after he gives the sloppy blow job, Bernie gets his campaign manager to find a millennial he can surprise with a “sploodge kiss”.

When he’s relaxing from the duties of campaigning and spreading horseshit, Bernie likes to get nekkid and show off his masturbation technique on Chaturbate, under his top-secret special screen name

“Smelly Old Trotsky Fart Exhib Lenin Chihuahua-Penis Marxist Gooner Perv 4
Retarded Fucking Asswipe Millennials”.

Bernie has bequeathed his patented “masturbation tweezers” to the Copenhagen Sex Emporium and Museum of Deviance, along with his jizz-stained copies of “Das Kapital” and “Myra Breckinridge”.

Bernie has great swathes of long, funky, greasy, yellowing pubic hair enveloping his balls like sage grass.  It’s at least two inches long, even though his gigantically fat wife Jane has begged him to “manscape” from inside her gas mask.

Bernie gives off a strong old man in the retirement home whiff of stale urine while sitting in the Senate on hot summer days.  Also on cold winter days. Which is why nobody ever sits near him or pays any attention to him. When he wants to stand up and leave the Senate, he has to bribe an intern to pry his ass off the chair with a metal spoon.

Bernie is behind every incident of improper male touching that’s been outed in the past six months. In fact, his hideous, fraud-committing wife, Jane, has “Me” tattooed on her left ass cheek, and “Too” on the right, with plenty room left over for the the hash symbol and maybe the first two chapters of “The Female Eunuch” in a display font.

But the main reason I hate Bernie Sanders is that he’s lying, snivelling, arrogant, bad-smelling, ignorant, gammy-legged, limping, small-dicked old-guy snotty perv LOSER spawn of Trump who couldn’t get a dog to piss against a fire hydrant if he demonstrated.

Which, I’ll have you know, he’s been arrested two hundred and thirteen times for doing.




… because I posted a broken link for you to buy my e-book. I should be horsewhipped. Horsewhipped, I tell ya!

My sincere apologies to my friends and followers who, moving in a humming swarm of thousands but with one borg-like mind, attempted to bolster my self-worth by pre-purchasing from my online store.

The link is fixed. My need for validation is as bottomless as ever.

You know what this means.

{with special thanks to inadvertent QA tester Mark, without whom this mortifying public apology would not have been possible.}