Born in 1980 Meg Mccarville is an American author, artist, performer, & member of esoteric religious group The Partridge Family Temple where she goes by the name of Azrial Partridge. Having spent her early years in Chicago, and now currently residing in New Orleans, Meg has spent her often chaotic life turning veritable shit to gold, finding fun & creative inspiration from the fringes of existence – First coming to international prominence via her 2002 appearance on infamous talk show Jerry Springer, were Meg played the role of clown obsessed sexpot, dealing with the fallout from her perversions.

Since making her lauded stage debut, Meg has continued to create works in a variety of mediums. Such as as series of photographs that saw the police being called, a comic with noted smut peddler Robin Bougie detailing Meg’s sex work, a film exploring her opioid addiction, a self-released a rap album under her LilPrincess persona; along with various written works – Including her novel Four Circles, released in 2019 by lauded purveyors of the underground, Amphetamine Sulphate.

Meg’s book Four Circles.
Published in 2019 by Amphetamine Sulphate.

To put use to the vast amount of wisdom gained in her 40+ years of existence, Meg has also recently taken up the formal position of agony aunt. Thanks to her new column in Baited Area magazine.
A perfect role for someone so wise, worldly, & wonderful!

Wanting to get to know her better, we sent Meg some questions to answer over email.
Take a jump into her wild life, below…

Getting Acquainted

Name + D.O.B?

Meg Mccarville AKA Azrial Partridge AKA LilPrincess.
I was hatched on September 19, 1980.

City, State and Country you currently call home?


City, State and Country you’re from?

I grew up in da Chicago Burbs.
Schaumburg, IL, USA!

Please describe some memories – such as art, music, friendships, writing, drugs, adventures, study, romance, politics, travel, work, religion, crime… anything really – from the stages of your life noted below:

* Your childhood:

OH LORD! Be prepared for an UPCOMING BOOK on my fucking childhood and Daddy.
I dunno where to start here. I mean I’m a stunted perma child with a Peter Pan complex (sorry if that’s redundant!).
Since I’m drowning in a book centred mostly around my childhood, I’ll include an excerpt…

My childhood was insane.
First off, I’m incest bred. Second generation.

I was told I was born with a penis and a vagina by Daddy. They decided to chop the penis off I guess. This little tale Daddy loved to tell gave me what I now know to be gender dysmorphia during most of my pre-pubescent years.
Daddy would electrocute me and make me huff ammonia.
The first book I ever read, which was given to me by Daddy, was THE FINAL EXIT. A comprehensive guide on how to kill yourself or your loved ones in the kindest way possible.
I remember I tried to poison a kid in pre school.

Meg as a kid with her dad.

I was a weird ass kid. A total outcast.
I was smart I guess and put in all the “gifted” classes, which branded me as a FREAK, and socialized me with other retarded smart freaks. I did get to watch THE PRICE IS RIGHT in the Library during lunch by myself, so that was rad. Especially because I’d never find a lunch table that did not contain children who would spit food at me. I ate Arby’s Jr. Roast beef sandwiches that I brought into School everyday for years.

Most of my girlfriends were molested and we’d play weird sex games. Except for my Korean best friend who, I was told by Daddy, shot his belly button clean off in the Korean war.

I loved clowns.
I loved sideshows.
I hated Christmas.
I believed in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the tooth fairy, and leprechauns until I was eleven.
I loved watching the scrambled Pay Per View porn channels, David Bowies’ penis bump Labryinth, Faces of Death, the Charlie Manson Parole hearings, every trash daytime talk show I could, and Dumbo. I also enjoyed making fun of Marlee Matlin and her deaf talk with Daddy.

Meg as a kid.

I was not allowed to date, kiss, cut my hair and was kept on a tight leash by Daddy. I was his little princess as he called me, after a little girl in the newspaper who was molested, tied to a tree, and beaten to death.

I looked weird and acted weird.
I was a socially stunted only child.
I was Bullied like crazy. Spit on. Depantsed. Called a FREAK! Constantly.

I had the upbringing of a budding serial killer, or school shooter.
This was before school shootings were all the RAGE.

I would come home many a day to a drunk daddy who howled at the moon and had a very sadistic twisted sense of humour which I will admire until the day I die. The “joke” was always on me. Where the jokes ended and reality began was always unclear.

I lived in a sheltered fantasy world. I find that to still be true even though the patriarch has changed from Daddy to GOD who designs the Sitcom in which I star.

Mommy would take me to motels when Daddy was drunk and out of his fucking mind. I loved motels. I loved that I got to eat McDonald’s for breakfast instead of cereal.

Meg as a kid with her mom.

My hilariously fucked up childhood would define who I would be for the rest of my life. And how I would view the world.
I think this excerpt from my upcoming book about sums up the twisted hijinks that defined my childhood…

I believe my lifetime fascination with clowns came to a Smashing start when Daddy took me to Sir Timothy’s. Sir Timothy’s was every bit as classy as it’s nomenclature dictated. It sold high priced “collectables”. Objects I’d imagine only adorn places like Neverland Ranch, Trump Towers, or my McMansion if I had a winning lotto ticket and a time machine that took me back to 1986.
The store was filled with everything classy, expensive, and fragile: ceramic plates adorned with the faces of Elvis Presley and Princess Diana, Fabergé eggs, full suits of knight armour, precious moments figurines, cases of rare pewter dungeons and dragons figurines, and most notably a glass case that went floor to ceiling containing what I imagine to be the Roll’s Royce of ceramic clown figurines. Not one of them priced under $500.
Leave it to Daddy to become a visual answer to the question “What would a bull in a china shop actually look like?” when he took me to a Sir Timothy’s shitcanned drunk, and was insistent on using his cute lil daughter fanagle free cigar boxes from the owner.
I remember being in awe at the clowns. I wanted every one.
Daddy was escorted to a room in the back of the store to get the cigar boxes. He asked me to come with but I could not stop staring at the case of clowns and dreaming of having them all to myself. I was in a sort of hypnotic trance when I saw Daddy stumble out of the back room screaming and waving his arm in anger.
He walked head on into that case of very expensive, very fragile, clowns like a bird flying into a closed window.
The following memory is cemented in my mind in slow motion in true technicolour cinematic virtuosity with Avah Mariah playing in the background:
One by one, the most opulent and grandiose clown figurines fell and came crashing into the ground, breaking into a million pieces. Sound stopped. Life stopped.
It was magnificent and terrifying at the same time. A once in a lifetime occurrence like seeing Hayley’s comet, or a guy being murdered by a broken bottle. I know that when I eventually kick off, and my whole life plays itself out in seconds before my eyes, THIS moment will be front and centre.
I pause now in remembrance of this universe defining blip in time.
After this memory, everything happens at breakneck speed…
Daddy grabbed my arm and tore me from the clowns and out the door. I remember people calling him “Sir, Get Back Here!”. “You just destroyed $40,000 worth of merchandise!” “This is a felony!”
Store owners, security guards, mall patrons all trying to stop Daddy who was recklessly running through the mall. Clocking anyone who came near him, with me in toe. After we lost the initial witnesses, Daddy slowed down with a purpose, and pushed me into a Men’s bathroom.
“Daddy! I cannot go into that bathroom! It’s for MEN!”.
He looked into my eyes. “Honey, you have to come into this bathroom with me. Just close your eyes until we get into a stall and then stand on the toilet seat”.
Of course, when any adult tells a child to close their eyes, the curious child needs to see what they are not supposed to see. Maybe I should have listened to Daddy, but my curiosity got the best of me. Men with their cocks in their hands were EVERYWHERE. And when you’re 40 inches tall, and seven yeas old a bunch of men with cocks in their hands can be very imposing.
I screamed. AAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!
“I TOLD YOU NOT TO LOOK! Just get in the stall and stand on the toilet.”
I was blowing Daddy’s cover.
While I have seen many a woman drag their sons into a women’s bathroom, I have yet to witness a man dragging his daughter into a men’s bathroom. There is a reason for this.
First I witnessed all the clowns dying, and now I am looking up to what looks to be a point of view shot from a girl in a bukkake video. What a day!
I got up on the toilet seat and stayed silent. I heard several security alerts about Daddy over a loud speaker while standing on the toilet.
Daddy seemed to be gathering himself, planning our getaway. The threat of having to pay $40 grand for a bunch of broken clowns was very sobering for Daddy and it was not long until I was told in a whisper,
“Ok. Now we have bad people looking for us. We have to get out of here. I am going to open this stall door, and we are going to walk out of this bathroom like nothing ever happened. Once we get out of the bathroom you will see an exit ahead which we are going to run. And no matter what you keep running. Run all the way to the car and get in and shut the door. I’ll be with you.”
I gave him a thumbs up.
More security alerts played over the loudspeaker.
I was all in this Bonnie and Clyde getaway mission. If we were going down, we were going down together! I followed his instructions. He held my hand as we innocently walked out of one of the bathroom stalls, this time with my eyes shut. Then to the bathroom door. Daddy opened the bathroom door and grabbed my arm and shouted RUN!
Daddy and I made a run for it.
I heard a man shout “THERE HE IS! I SEE HIM”.
Daddy picked me up and ran out to his black mustang with me in his arms. Opened the door and shoved me in the car.
But where was daddy?
He was fanagling with something in the trunk. What was he doing? I couldn’t see him behind the open trunk. Then the trunk slammed closed and he got in the car and floored it the fuck out of Stratford Square Mall.
I looked out the back window and there were a group of security guards getting into cars. I saw the man who owned Sir Timothy’s run out the glass doors and write something on a pad of paper. But Daddy was way ahead of them. He accelerated his mustang and got the fuck out of there.
He told me NEVER to go near Sir Timothy’s again. I swore not to.
We made it home.
When he got there he again opened the trunk and took off the licence plate he had on there and put his normal one back on.
Oh Yeah! I thought…. Daddy always thought ahead for moments like this. He had a trunk filled with cervical collars and licence plates for occasions such as these. He switched the licence plates at the mall, so what that owner of Sir Timothy’s wrote down was the wrong licence plate.
Daddy and I got away scott free and never looked back.
I still feel bad for the clowns.

* Your teenage years:

Well most notably Mommy divorced Daddy when I was 15 and it was one of the ugliest divorces of all time! Because of Daddy’s tricks and cons I gather.
Even though I was “safe” at Mommy’s house, the mind fucking never ended. I was Daddy’s personal suicide hotline. Daddy would call me daily with a gun in his mouth and tell me to convince him not to pull the trigger! What a HOOT that was!
I did become real good at attracting crazy men later in life and becoming adept at talking them OUT of suicide as a result. I kinda wish I didn’t know how to do that. A lot less assholes would exist!

So 15 also I went from Daddy’s inescapable steel trap house to having Total Fucking Freedom!
I had my first real life romantic relationship! With this cool ass Japanese punk rocker chick who moved to the Burbs from Chicago. It was everything they make pornos about! Interracial Underage Girl on Girl! Feeling each other up under a blanket at one of our gazillion “sleepovers” at her place with Okasan’s slanty eyes watching over us.
Neither of us knew what we were doing.
We didn’t know if this made us gay for life or what! We didn’t care. It felt good. And no boy in his right mind would come within 500 yards of me besides when they wanted to spit on me. And not in a sexual way.
We had never had any other sexual encounters. We just winged it.
Strangely, We never did figure out oral sex was a possibility. No mouths on pussies. But the rest, use your imagination (and please feel free to jack off while doing so!).

This is when I started to go to raves. In 95. RAVES were the coolest happenings in the solar system.
I remember the first one I went to was the day before Easter 1995 and I took my first hit of acid. I decided right then I was never going back. It was GLORIOUS!
We were at a rave at an abandoned Bowling alley that still had the bowling shoes in tact on the South Side of Chicago. I could see the music, all that cheesy ass shit.
That night I came home at 5:00 a.m. as dear ol mom was literally calling in an Amber Alert for me. I attended Easter Mass tripping my fucking ass off and was sure I was going to HELL as I watched the Preacher turn into Satan and tell me that personally.
Then melt.

Meg (middle) as a teen, with 2 of her friends.

A year to the day, I was going to raves every weekend. Staying out till all hours of the morning. Doing fucktons of drugs.
I think Daddy almost stopped calling me everyday with a gun in his mouth. That has to be fact checked. (By no one).
I was selling crushed up ephedrine tablets as meth and making a killing!
That night I made over $300 and came home with a bunch of coke and acid.
I was on my way to unload the coke on some military friends of mine in a motel. Everyone was smoking weed out of a three foot bong except me because I thought the bong was a little flashy and unnecessary for a car ride in the Suburbs of Chicago.
When I asked my friend who was driving to please try to hide the huge ass bong a little bit, he started to wave it in the air and say “OH YEAH BECAUSE SOMEONE IS REALLY GOING TO SEE”.
Then I saw red flashing lights behind us and heard a siren.
I got arrested and eventually they found the cocaine and acid.
I got in A LOT of trouble but also got a scholarship to college for being a juvenile delinquent with excellent grades! And my arrest was pretty much the end to my seemingly lifetime career of being bullied! I knew where to get all the good drugs so I was suddenly “cool” for the first time in my life.
Stop telling your kids drugs ain’t “cool”.
“Cool” is one thing Drugs most definitely are!

Meg in her teens.

* Your 20s:

I was attending College the early years. I also tried and quickly became addicted to heroin at age 20.
I lived with the same group of maybe 20 maniacs in 40 different dwellings. After we left these places, it probably would have been cheaper to burn them down then repair the damage we did.

I also started working for the Chicago Needle Exchange when I was 21. Peddling needles to youth! We really were doing amazing things! We were the first in the US to give Narcan out in 2003 I believe.
It was the perfect job! Being a junkee was not only a plus but a requirement. So I was perfect! My boyfriend and I worked there in youth outreach. Harm reduction is one of the only things I’m fanatical about.
Eventually my boyfriend and roommates started shooting crack, and when the landlords called the syringe exchange about the nearly 100,000 dirty needles left behind in our dwelling, well, we got laid off.

Oh yah! In my mid 20’s I started to understand the benefits of being a whore! I would go to bars and wait to take home the last slob barely standing. I soon realized I could get PAID for my services! That was a major point of enlightenment.
I worked briefly in a dungeon that was completely fucking insane and also the subject of a zine called My Secret Cocupation #2. A collaboration between Robin Bougie of Cinema Sewer and myself.

I got hired as the first SKINTERN for (the obsessively comprehensive celeb nudity website). This was the first time I was encouraged to write. I had the right (wrong) mentor. Mike McBeardo McPadden (RIP.)
I was given my own sex column.

I’ll wrap it up. My 20’s were eventful, defining years of my fucked up ass life.
I was an empowered junkee.
An empowered whore (before this was a…thing).

Meg in her 20s.

My writing career ended twice because of insecure fucking bitch boys.
The first, a techie at Mr. Skin who’s wife was threatened by me or some shit. Even tho we never met. I remember I was going to set their little bougie bakery on fire with McP.
After all the bickering, the techie and I were both let go.

I had a short stint writing for a website that Jim Goad was in charge of as the token nasty female. I guess I did my job well! So well in fact, that the all male dipshit reader base decided I I could not possibly be a girl, and I was secretly Jim Goad!
What the fuck do you do with something like that?!??!! Really? Except send Death Threats to these little bitches. Until the website tanked.
I wouldn’t write again until Four Circles, my first book, was released 15 years later.

Oh yah! Also at age 27, I went to Uzbekistan and got married to a guy for $10,000. That story is batshit.
It’s a book in itself.

When I was 27 Daddy died after being court mandated to a Nursing home after he pulled a gun on his hospice worker. It was terrible watching my once all powerful Daddy decay to a bruised shell of himself and die within three months of being there.

Various negatives of Meg in her 20s.

* Your 30s:

I plunged into my 30’s dating Jeremy Hammond the infamous “hactivist”. All we did was fight and fuck because he was a fucking moron with a big dick.

I was prescribed 1200 mg. of methadone a day. To put it in perspective 200 mg is considered a high dose, and 300 mg would kill a non opiate tolerant person (Thank you “The Final Exit” for that important info!) So I was on enough each day to kill a small army.
I finally decided I had to skip town cuz my texts were being monitored and scrambled by the Feds on account of Jeremy. And because he was arrested once before for hacking and I knew the feds took & confiscated every TV, COMPUTER, CELL PHONE, and every other electronic from his family plus his girlfriend. I was like Fuck That! I wanna keep my TV!
Plus I really wanted to wean the fuck off of the obscene amount of methadone I was on.
So I made the awful mistake of moving to the Bay Area of California in a bus, and it was the most horrible 3 months of my life. The people in the bay were more uptight than any I’d ever met. I couldn’t say anything without everyone in the room being like “What do you mean by that?” At every banal detail that came out of my mouth.
I lasted three months there. Got arrested for domestic violence I did not commit, spent time in 2 mental hospitals and a state prison. But the absurdity of the idiots who lived there were what was doing me in. White fucking hypocrites afraid of their own reflection bc they SUCK!
I did return home off the methadone, and they put Jeremy in SuperMaXX, and I got to keep my tv!

About 6 months after I got back, I started changing. I did not know what was going on or why but I fell into some sort of catatonic depression. Day in and day out I laid in my bed with the TV on and stared at the ceiling.
For two years.
I never knew if or when it would end. I tried to kill myself many times in many ways during this time. Drank household chemicals, took bottles of Xanax bars, aspirin, anything I could get my hands on. I wound up in a psych ward. I lost two years of my life. I now attribute it to tapering off of the insane amount of methadone I was on so rapidly coupled with the highly stressful environment in which I dwelled. I am still not sure, but it is the only thing I can pinpoint as to why that might have happened.
I was finally pulled out of this seemingly neverending debilitating depression when my one eyed schizoid boyfriend really flipped out and started to talk to leprechauns, God, Matt Damon, and Jenna Jameson. Helping him brought me out of myself and I started to come back. Oh yah! That and speed!
I was doing bath salts for two years straight but I finally got prescribed Adderall and that helped a TON!

Then I met the lunatic who would completely break me down and ruin my life! This story is fucking BATSHIT! So BATSHIT, everytime I tried to tell it, even my craziest friends would get away from me because they thought I had completely lost my marbles!

Federal interrogations, celebrities, a man so psycho, he lived his life in a wheelchair and is not disabled. A real hero for the entire millennial generation who seem to take some kind of vapid delight in poverty, disenfranchisement, and victimhood.
I decided to write a whole book on this alone. It’s called American Victim.

After hiding from Max Cady on Wheels, I ended up in Miami.
Soon I was homeless in Miami which was a real bad trip. It’s fucking crazy there! Florida makes you crazy! By the time I barely escaped Florida, I was turning into some kind of Aileen Wuornos, Riff Raff, Florida Man brew…
Check it! FLORIDA ME:

Florida Meg.

Some total piece of shit had locked all of my earthly belongings in his apartment. I couldn’t remember where he fucking lived, all the houses looked the same, so I couldn’t get it back if I tried. I lost everything.
I had people trying to extort money from me. People who said they were Illuminati trying to get me to go Full Florida Man and sell PCP dipped Lollipops on South Beach and live in a box truck. It was insane. A lot of this is in FOUR CIRCLES.

I finally escaped Florida to New Orleans, to a house with no electricity, running water, or roof. Even though I was rained on every night for two weeks, it had a locked door and that was all I needed.
In New Orleans I bounced around from a roofless house, to a torture den of a squat, to a trailer park. I dated a Golden Man who huffed spraypaint and fucked animals. I soon fell in love with New Orleans. For good. I cannot leave. I sometimes feel I am imprisoned here. But I don’t think I could exist anywhere else.
My terrible sense of humour, the fact that I have no filter and say whatever is on my mind, the urgency to be able to scream what I want when I want in public, along with the fact that I can openly drink Fireball no matter where I’m at, I am a prisoner to this Gommorah.

Then I ended up finally being secure, comfortable for the first time in my life. I got FAT! Really FUCKING FAT! For someone who has never been over 130 lbs, and mostly looked anorexic, getting fat was crazy!
I rode the fat fuck wave though. I was a cool fat ass. I made fat jokes. I got nods from other fat people. The only thing I really missed was being able to make fun of fat people while being really skinny. I could no longer call someone a FAT SHIT as I loved to do so much in the past. Oh wait! I could and did call people FAT SHITs, but it was more tongue in cheek, being a fat shit myself.

Meg in her late 30s.

* Your 40s so far:

I really started writing books in my late 30’s. I guess that’s what you’re supposed to do if you’ve lived a life like mine and somehow ain’t dead!

I live in a big ol crazy McMansion in the lower ninth ward of New Orleans.

Six months after I turned 40, ironically, I was riding a mobility scooter when I got mowed down by a pickup truck in a hit and run. I was a smear on the pavement. Left for dead. Luckily my power of screaming was still in tact. I woke up the whole neighbourhood and they were able to call the paramedics and get me to the hospital.
I broke 7 ribs, my sternum, my pelvis, my back, my neck, my femur, ankle, nose, and lost my fucking spleen! Somehow I survived!
Now I just walk with a cool ass cane, have a collapsed spine and no immune system!

A recent photo of Meg.

Lemme tell ya! Those bodily traumas really melt the pounds right off! I lost A LOT of weight. I call it my “Crash Diet!” Tee hee! If you ever want to lose a lot of weight fast, shoot yourself in the arm!
A year after I got in that accident, my old man had a stroke. While he was still in the hospital, very debilitated, and nearly dead, I convinced the poor sap to marry me! He said YES! Prolly cuz he thought he’d die soon or if he needed that feeding tube, he needed someone to inject the sludge into it.
We are complete opposites in most ways. He doesn’t fuck me, or even jack off, which is great because I find emotionally attached sex repulse! Him basically being a eunuch allows me to lend more of my time to perversion.
He is better now! Except his whole family and most friends abandoned him because he was an opiate addict before he nearly died. Don’t get me started….

We both finally got off opiates and called it quits for the foreseeable future.
Fentanyl has taken so many of my friends. There is no longer straight “heroin” in the US that I know of. Everything here is dusted with fentanyl, or is pure fentanyl. It doesn’t provide that dreamy bliss of not giving a fuck. You just pass out, and if you’re lucky enough to wake up, you do. Rinse, Repeat.
No thank you!

I think the fact that we both nearly died really jogged us into appreciating living. Don’t get me wrong, I still drink Fireball like crazy, and have a pharmaceutical hoard you wouldn’t believe! I just don’t fuck with most crap off the street.

My “maternal instincts” surprised the living shit out of me when they hit in my late 30’s. I refuse to bring a human who never asked to be here into this stupid world. To fill this void without having an ugly crying child, I started hoarding animals!
I started to feed stray cats and now have 12 of them. Two dogs (very sadly, we just lost one last week but she’s still in the freezer because I cannot bring myself to saying goodbye). And as of two weeks ago we took in a 150 lb Vietnamese Potbelly Pig who was dumped off on our street. Her name is Rosie O’Donnell.
This dilapidated McMansion is turning into the bizarre roadside attraction/zoo I always dreamt of having!

Meg’s pig Rose O’Donnell.
Meg’s recently deceased dog LiLo.

Personal motto(s):

“I have had men collect my tampons, cut their chests open for me, take me to Red Lobster, and punch me in the face. I have led a special life.
There should be no doubt that I am not only a princess, but the Princess.”
– Lil Princess.

“Now that I’ve known people, I’ve learned to appreciate animals.”
Peter Handke, “A Sorrow beyond dreams”

“You can take a woman outta the trash but you can’t take the trash out of a woman.”
Charles De Lint

“I hate Mondays.”
Brenda Spencer, Garfield

“I’ll see you in Disneyland.”
Richard Ramirez

“A Dog Returns to its Vomit.”

“Fun is the Law.”

“Take care of yourselves, and each other.”
Jerry Springer

“Life is like animal porn. It’s not for everyone.”
Doug Stanhope

“When I die, I want to be buried upside down so the world can kiss my ass.”
– Bumper Sticker

Some of Meg’s rap lyrics.
Written and performed under her LilPrincess persona.

What role did toys play in your childhood?

BOYOBOY! Did Toys play a HUGE role in my childhood. They still do!
I was an only child with a drunk daddy and a working mommy. Toys were my LIFE!

I tried to keep all of them but my mom slowly got rid of 99% of em behind my back. I cannot even think about it! I spend a lot of time trying to get them back. I’m constantly chasing my childhood. Or is it chasing me?
EITHER WAY…. I hoard stuffed animals and toys. “Collect” would be a false euphemism. It’s a sickness.
Actually I am writing a book on my Daddy right now, much of it focuses on childhood. Daddy was a real piece of work. He was a lesser known PROVACATEUR, but one of the BEST! It seemed the joke was always on ME! It still is.
I have a specific chapter about toys. I think it explains A LOT, here is an EXCERPT all about toys from my childhood:

At a very early age Daddy started to tell me that I was born with both a penis and a vagina. He said the doctors were frantic. They had never seen anything like it.
My Daddy made a very quick life-defining situation. He told those doctors he wanted a little girl and they cut my penis off. So there I was. Meghan instead of Mark.
I always hated the name Meghan. Mommy told me that they almost called me Monique instead of Meghan, but Daddy decided that Monique was too much of a whore’s name. Joke’s on Daddy there! Monique the whore would have been much more fitting. HA!

These stories being recanted over and over served to cause an abundance of what I now know is gender dysmorphia in Daddy’s little hermaphrodite. Witnessing Jamie Lee Curtis reveal that she was also born with both sexual organs cemented Daddy’s tale as a solid truth in my malleable little psyche.
Not that I ever questioned anything Daddy ever said.

I made a compromise with the world at a very young age concerning my gender identity. I was a pioneer in that. About 35 years ahead of my time.
I refused to let anyone call me a little girl. I knew I was not a boy because my penis had been lopped off at birth to respect my parent’s wishes. I made the best of a bizarre and precarious situation and told Mommy and Daddy I was to be referred to as a little guy.

I remember when I got my first doll as a gift from my uncle. I started crying and screaming “GET THIS THING AWAY FROM ME!” I then tore ass as fast as I could into the bathroom and slammed the door. Safe. Away. From that thing.
I was not being ungrateful. Dolls repulsed me. Anything girly repulsed me. I wanted nothing to do with anything pink. I’d rather be burned alive than wear a dress. And girls toy’s would send me into the bathroom screaming and crying.

A catastrophic event that I will never forget happened when a Doll named Megan was forced on me. I wanted the pony that came with her named Sundance. I was brutally unaware that Sundance had an owner. One named Megan.
My pony was accompanied by a disgusting female figure who shared the same name as me, the one I always hated. Except it was spelled correctly, just like the Megan’s on the keychains and novelty licence plates I could never own because my fucking parents spelled my name wrong.
When Megan unexpectedly showed up, flashbacks of years of spinning racks of novelty items, searching for one with my name, g’s, h’s, l’s, finally reaching the M’s; Maggie, Mary, Maria, Maureen, Martha, Melody, Michelle, MEGAN, Molly, then back to Michelle, MEGAN…. Pulling all the Megan’s off the rack, looking for a misspelled Meghan like me, and never finding one. Ever.
A lifetime of being a complete loser who’s name didn’t even exist.
It was a titanic clash of two evils that had plagued me for my seven years of existence. A DOLL NAMED MEGAN?!??!?! I instantly hated her with the fire of a thousand suns. What kind of cruel evil joke was this?
I savagely ripped open the packaging, saved Sundance from Megan’s evil grip. Then promptly tore every limb from Megan until she was just a torso. Then bit her head clean off. I was so angry my teeth went through that plastic neck like a hot knife through butter. This was not enough.
I had to get rid of the body.
There could be no evidence.
My tiny red eyes focused on a little cage that came with a stuffed animal. With a decisive force, I took Megan’s torso and shoved it in the cage. Forcing each of her limbs in, shoving her feet through bars, and then took her disgusting filthy little head and punched her as hard as I could before I closed the cage and locked it up.
Then I threw her out my window.
Dismembered, beaten, decapitated by my mouth, locked up, and far away.
I never wanted to see or think of this abomination again. A girl named Megan. I made sure she was gone forever.
Until Mommy came in with the cage in hand and asked me if I was responsible for that. I never lied. I just told Mommy that Megan was evil and she needed to be away in jail. The look on her face was a little perplexed, but I believe Megan was disposed of properly.

I did have one doll I loved.
I loved it because Daddy gave it to me. He knew of my rabid hatred for dolls, and he was not trying to provoke that. This doll was different. It was stuffed. It had one eye crudely sewn on and a few threads on it’s head that were it’s hair. If I were to count the half limbs on this baby it would have been three. The third limb being made up of half a limb and half an arm. Daddy even gave it a name. “Honey this is your tha-lid-o-mine baby”.
Tha-lid-o-mine? What a clever name Daddy had for this doll!
My tha-lid-o-mine / thalidomide baby went wherever I did. I would proudly tote it around by it’s one arm and Daddy made sure I told everyone that it was my thalidomide baby. He seemed to get a good laugh when I did it.
Daddy’s laugh always made me so happy. I loved to make him laugh.
I made sure to go up to random people and show them the doll and say with a childlike innocence “Hey! This is my Thalidomine baby!” Some people looked at me and smiled. I was a cute little guy. Other people seemed to do a double take and look at Daddy and I with a raised eyebrow. Daddy of course did not laugh at them. He played it cool.
Being five, I had no idea what the fuck Thalidomide actually was. I doubt many full grown adults nowadays know what the fuck Thalidomide is. I don’t think I would have known what it is either if I did not have a thalidomide baby of my very own at the age of five.
Footnote: (tha-lid-o-mide) was first marketed in Europe in the late 1950s. It was used as a sleeping pill and to treat morning sickness during pregnancy. At that time no one knew thalidomide caused birth defects. Then they started popping up.
These birth defects included loss of limbs, damaged skulls, and brain defects.

Creativity Questions

When and why did you first become interested in writing, art, performance and everything creative?
… and any pivotal creative moments / influences?

It’s strange. I was always a total fucking outcast in school. I looked weird as fuck. I hung out with a lot of art cats with big lockers in high school. They were so much better technically at everything artistic that I gave up on being creative early on.
It was a mistake that I even fell into it.
I proceeded to go to College for Pharmacy (for obvious reasons, Duh!) but the chemistry was crazy and I kept fucking up. So then I switched my major to communications and that was too dumb. I was fluent in French and thought that would be an easy (tho pretentious AF) major. I was the only person in a class of five who had not been to France. So I did not speak it as well. And I fucking cannot stand French People or French Canadians.
I wanted to take a photography course. But at the state university where I was enrolled, you could only do this if you were a part of the art college. I decided to apply, and since the requirements for getting into the art school had nothing to do with artistic merit and everything to do with good grades, I was accepted! And it was all downhill from there.
I did a lot of stuff focusing on child molestation in art school. It was also darkly humorous, so nobody knew what to make of it.
After the first semester photography final when I was asked “Why would you do something like that?” (Like as in what in the hell is wrong with you) by my photography teacher, I knew I had crash landed in the right place.
By the third year I still didn’t know how to use a darkroom and this was when digital photography was just starting. I was very interested in the subject matter and little interest in doing anything “technically” correct. I had ways of fanagling my way through art school while being knocked out half the time on heroin and still creating stuff that made everyone feel gross.
This has not changed at all.
My college thesis resulted in me nearly getting taken in by two federal agents. The story’s a REAL HOOT! You can read about it here.

Influences: Richard Pryor, Lenny Bruce, PFT!, Doug Stanhope, Aileen Waurnos, Valerie Solanis, Stage moms, Childhood, Pop Culture, Daddy, Walt Disney, Shirley Temple, Vincent Gallo, Harmony Korine, Cathy O’Brian, PT Barnum, Celeb Child star trainwrecks, The UNPOP ART movement, Juggalos, Shirley Q.Liquor, Adam Parfrey, Feral House, Charlie Manson, Gore Porn, Chaos, Toys, Margaret Keane, psychopaths, trauma, dolls, Outer Bohemia, Skid Row, Disco, conspiracy theories, the American South, The Bible, Mike Diana, Peter Sotos, Norm Macdonald, James Bannnerr, Gea Philes, Trevor Brown, McDonald’s🧘🏿‍♀️, Graffiti, Street Culture, Chuck Barris, The graphic and fashion stylings of the Nazis, 90’s rave culture, Theme parks, Whoredumb, Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle, Dr. Randall Philip, Lenny Bruce, Jack Kevorkian, provocateurs, Max hardcore, TMZ, Rap music, Paul Mooney, Celebrity, Ghetto Fabulous, Trainwrecks, Larry Flynt, Harmony Korine, Obscenity, Fashion, Stand Up Comedy, New Orleans, Fireball, Anna Nicole Smith, Tanya Harding, Child Beauty Pageants, , Televangelists, Kenneth Anger, Herisses, Chris Burden, Flea Markets, Trailer parks, pills, Hoarding, Whoring, perversion, filth, sleaze, Tabloids such as THE STAR or THE NATIONAL ENQUIRER, 90’s Trash television, Clowns and the Circus, Jonbenet Ramsey, Cults, Serial Killers, drugs, porn, insanity, Outsider Art/music, GG Allin, improvised munitions.

ANSWER ME is where I first read anything by Shaun Partridge. For so long, I did not know that there was an art movement called UNPOP, and the Partridge family temple (which I will speak more about below)! Both have been Titanic influences on me, my life, my belief system, and what I do and make!
I understand Unpop to be Anything pop culture turned on it’s head. Making it fucking hilarious. For so long, I did not know that there was an art movement called UNPOP that is based on this concept!
I had been obsessed with the darker funnier sides of pop culture for so long! When I discovered UNPOP and the Partridges, I felt like I had finally found a group of people who had the most impeccable taste in everything, and the exact same interests as myself. Fast food, TV, theme parks, Celebrities, Tabloids, Jonbenet Ramsey, Disney, Cults, serial killers etc. People just like me!
I realized that I DID live in my own sitcom, like I had always kind of thought! I was pointed in the direction of Albuquerque! I had entered the promise land! Where FUN IS THE LAW!

If you had to explain your creative endeavours to some recently crash-landed aliens…
What would you tell them?

If I met aliens I wouldn’t give a fuck about describing my creative endeavours to them! I’d be interested in what they had to say, or where they wanted to probe. I’d ask them to abduct me and take me the fuck away from this rat hell of a planet!

Maybe I’m taking the question too literally….. I’ll get back to this one.

Aliens? No. Sorry.
I just cannot imagine describing myself to an alien….

Please explain your amazing & infamous 2002 appearance on Jerry Springer – Also featuring your at-the-time boyfriend Andy and his at the time best friend, Matt.

Well first off, I was a huge fan of the show since I was 9 I think? It was so great back then! By 16, I was able to opt out of two high school classes to get home early TO watch Jerry! So it was always an impossible dream of mine to grace that set.
It was insanely easy to get on the greatest show that has ever graced the GOD TV! I had been in the audience twice. I finally figured FUCK IT! Why not try and call and get on the show? I called in. Told my “story” which was fake but based in reality. And could not believe they not only called me back, but sounded interested!
They phoned both Andy and Matt with whom I obsessively went over this very simple story. And we were Greenlighted! Two insane days later we were on the show! What a whirlwind! In the next three days We were treated like Royalty then dumped back into our respective crack dens in the ghetto. My life would never be the same.

Andy was my real life boyfriend at the time and early on to woo me he dressed up as a clown and met me at school. But we never fucked while he was wearing the clown suit. Or rather, like I would prefer, throw pies at each other sit on birthday cakes and balloons filled with peptol bismol. Do slapstick comedy. Fall down a lot. Like a circus act.
That is my idea of a clown fetish.

The clown porn I’ve watched is NOT FUNNY! Which is a fucking tragedy. And the clowns are gross. Clowns don’t have dicks, they have phallic balloons. And Scary clowns are foul disgusting creatures who should be shot.
Juggalos, I love! The Juggalo RULE is to give a girl a dollar everytime she shows her tits! My tits are attached to me! If Juggalos ruled the world everyone with tits would be a billionaire; but their clown makeup is shitty. Thems is the basics of my clown fetish.
Matt (the clown) is gay in real life.
We all lived in the Chicago hood and were picked up by stretch limos which was hilarious. They paid us each $100. We got to stay in a very nice hotel with the other trashy guests who anyone could pick out a mile away. None of us belonged there.

Then the following day they took us to the studio. Two of the stories were real and two were fake.
I was put in the greenroom with the “villains”. It got heated as fuck! The people who were there for real were INSANE! To air your “secrets” on daytime TV basically in a gladiator arena filled with spectators who are foaming at the mouth at the idea of humiliating the shit out of you with some dumb ass “street wisdom” is truly insane to me.
It’s also admirable as fuck! I WISH I could be that courageous!
Anyways there was a whole lotta “If I find out he’s sleeping with THIS BITCH, HES FUCKING DEAD.” It was exciting!
I was told they used to give speed to the guests by another fella with a fake story. He was trying to get me to suck his dick in the bathroom which I ONLY wanted to do for the sake of making good TV. He was more interested in getting his dick sucked than making the stories more complicated, so I refused.

Matt was apparently not being aggressive enough when he was practicing with the producer. Oh yah. It is all highly staged and rehearsed. You are coached, or rather abused, by a bona fide psychopath posing as a “producer.”
I was already aggressive so the producer liked me. Matt was kind of soft spoken so the female producer took him in a closet and tried to get him worked up by screaming in his face. When he still was not aggressive enough she clocked him in the fucking face in order to get a rise out of him. It worked!
They really had some tactics!
If the physical and mental abuse suffered at the hands of the psychotic producers of the show is not enough, you have an entire audience who want their day in the sun, trying to think of the worst way to humiliate the guests so their comment gets aired.
Then, before each show you get a SURPRISE visit from a lawyer who makes you sign an affidavit saying that if you fuck up the show, laugh inappropriately, or break character, you owe them a cool $80 grand.
Who the fuck on Jerry Springer has $80 grand lying around?
Anyway, the pressure is on.

We were all strung out when we were on the show.
There is a moment where they show Andy dry heaving as if he is disgusted by my clown fetish. He is dry heaving because he was dopesick. We all were. There was no time to cop dope. And we didn’t think we’d get so sick so fast.
It made us more insane.
Jerry and Steve Wilkos were cool as shit. I met them both before and after the show. I was told by the producer that if Jerry takes a jab at me to point out how much he likes to fuck hookers. Which is true!
This was my second encounter with Jerry. The first time I met him I was 16 working at a movie theatre when he came in with a girl about my age.

During the show, Jerry just hit on me. It was amazing. I wondered if he was serious or just doing it for the show because I would have given him a good ol whore fuck, 100% GRATIS! I would have paid him!

It was such a great experience. I had an audience of hundreds united in their disgust for me, screaming “CLOWN WHORE! CLOWN WHORE! CLOWN WHORE!”. It makes me cum just thinking about it.
One truly crazed freak in the audience hated me so much, he could barely even get his comment out. He was stuttering and twitching like he was glitching out or something. He started coming towards the stage. I screamed back at him, egging him on to “COME GET ME YOU FAT FUCKING RETARD!” I started to become terrified when I realized that not one of the security guards was stopping him! I kept going with the screaming, fully realizing and being fully content that this might be the end of me. They caught him right before he got on stage. It was really scary. They never aired that comment. It was very personal for him! I don’t know if he got Jilted for a clown or molested by a clown, or what his story was. I am, however sure that he has a pit full of dead clowns, sports their skin suits, and ribs his nipples while listening to “Send in the Clowns.”
I’m still waiting for that fat fucking clown hating retard to come find me.

After the fever dream was over, were dumped back into our respective rat hells by stretch limousines.

After we were on the show I was harassed weekly by telephone calls by the Jerry Springer Show asking me if I had any stories. Was I sleeping with a married man? Do I know a secret transsexual? Sadly no to both.
Andy, Matt, and I did figure out some half assed story to get us on again. It was way too complicated and involved Andy being an Adult Baby. When Andy revealed his secret plot to pull his chocolate pudding filled diaper off, covering rows of people in “shit”. I had to step in. I was like No way! We’ll get charged $80 grand! It was a great idea but not worth 80 grand!
They got us on the show and basically kept us in the green room all day in case the show ran short, or a guest cancelled. We didn’t even get a producer to abuse us! It was beyond disappointing. We were snubbed by the show.
They tried to not pay us our $100 a piece and I remember throwing a fit, threatening all kinds of bizarre shit if they didn’t pay us. I think they paid us half, and we split it and immediately blew it on heroin after we got out of our stretch limos.

Meg’s infamous 2002 appearance on Jerry Springer.

… and how did Jerry’s recent death affect you?

Even though in the past 10 years Jerry looked so bored he was about to pass out and would barely even ask questions, he represented something to America. Exploitation for exploitation sakes. A real life circus with real fucking clowns!
He really was the “Ringmaster” as they called him.

Just one week after Max Hardcore, who’s death represented an end of a similar era!

Oh Jerry!
I was crying, saying Hail Marys.
I knew TWO icons of depravity had fallen, and that nothing would ever be the same.

With Jerry, FUN as we knew it, took a massive blow. All of those daytime trash talk shows are phasing out or suck ass now.
With Social media, Tik Tok, YouTube, vine etc. These new generations don’t need daytime trash talk shows. They are all in their own personal trash talk shows! They don’t need a Jerry Springer.
It’s devastating!

The end of an era I grew up with and loved so much. It was well over for a long time, but Jerry was still doing God’s work.

Now that the Ringmaster has fallen, it’s like the circus is over as I knew it. A second time. The Ring Master has fallen and the trolls have taken over!

Jerry was a HERO for us little people! You should see how southern rednecks, trailer trash, and hood-rats react to seeing my show! They roll out the red carpet! Treat me like Royalty! Sometimes they even try and RAPE me!
No one in this town could give a flying fuck if people like Brangelina and their 17 adopted little shits were in their company. If you’re on Jerry, you better be prepared to be an A-lister!

I can always tell the day my episode airs when my friend calls me and says “MEG! YOU ON JERRY TODAY!”
Then I know I gotta go out on the town and strutt my stuff! People recognize me on the street and lose their fucking shit! I might as well be Christ himself!
“AW HELL NAW, THAT BE THAT CLOWN WHORE FROM JERRY TODAY!” They flail and faint when they see me it’s INSANE!

It’s truly awful.
The end of an era.
The fucking future has become the present and IT SUCKS!
No flying cars, a world full of “influencers”, and NO JERRY!!!!!

A screengrab of a social media post by the Jerry Springer Show – highlighting Meg’s 2002 appearance.

We found a film online starring you called ‘Tick’ from 2006, written by an Aaron Brown…
What’s the tale behind that?


There was no writing to it. TICK was completely improvised.
By a tricky moral dilemma I found myself facing time after time. I’ve been strung out a lot on and off during the years. In many methadone clinics they have a 6 MONTH waiting list! It’s difficult enough to get to the point of wanting to get off the scag, much less having to draw it out for half a year.
There is one caveat to this rule. If you are PREGNANT you can get on methadone right away!
Well thank GOD I was born a woman! Cuz this little hole in the system really opened up infinite possibilities and actual hope for me. But would I REALLY get pregnant just to be on methadone? The logistics and moral dilemma was a bit much.

I wondered a lot if anyone else had gotten knocked up to get bumped up the list to being on methadone.
I think my way of posing that question was to make a feature length film about it. It is of course darkly comic.
It stars me as myself and is a tale of one junkie’s blunders through trying to get pregnant by different men.

The cast consists of the 25 people with whom I cohabitated at the time.
I came up with a creative way to be lazy. I’m REALLY good at that!
I asked all my dude roommates to be in my movie. It was up to THEM to decide what would get in the way of them knocking me up. The situations go from “I’m gay”, to fucking a tweeker noise guy who cannot get hard, to an all out crazy serial killer scene complete with stuffed animals and gold lamme costuming, masks, and a fuckton of tools of torture. With a buncha shit in between.

SPOILER ALERT: I am finally SUCCESSFUL in getting pregnant when I am ruffied and raped.
The night before I’m supposed to get on methadone I OD and die.

This is of course presented in the most hilarious way possible.
Such as in life!

And LOL! The 50 some minutes on VIMEO is only 2/3 of the film. I’m technoretarded. Thought I uploaded the whole film, but the upload failed. 6 months after I uploaded it, a friend pointed out that it was not the complete movie.
Oh Well! I have DVD’s now!

The DVD of Meg’s 2006 film ‘Tick.’

What was your involvement with band Gays In The Military?

I was their Mascot. I played a character called SCUMBALINA the Porn Fairy! The genius mad mind of Mike McBeardo McPadden made that character up.

The band was made up of a few people who worked for Like I said I was the first SKINTERN, which launched my writing “career” if you can call it that.

Mr. Skin is the comprehensive, obsessive website that clocks any and all nudity in film.
We had trash heaps of porn lying around because every left ass cheek and nip slip in the history of cinema (including porn) was precisely and carefully recorded by the lucky motherfuckers who had that job. Can you imagine?

Anyhow I basically had some kind of crazy half nude “costume” of sorts slapped on me and while the band played, I ran around and chucked porn DVDs at the heads of people watching! It was a BLAST!

… and please share with us some memories from your time in the group.

I think I repressed them all.

Who are some of your favourite, writers, filmmakers and musicians?

Filmmakers: Vincent Gallo, Tom Six, Walt Disney, Kenneth Anger, Harmony Korine, Max Hardcore, Larry Clark, Forbidden Zone, Bobcat Golthwait, Todd Philips, Greg Araki, Larry Cohen, Richard Kern, Paul Morrisey, Stanley Kubrik, Trent Harris, David Cronenberg, Quentin Tarantino, Errol Morris, Matthew Barney, Mel Brooks, Todd Solondz, Lloyd Kaufman (TROMA!), John Waters, Jorodowski, William Friedken, Faces of Death series, Traces of Death series, Peter Lambert, Ghanian movies such as Terminator Vs. Alien are the coolest shits in the world of cinema!
Werner Herzog, Roger Cormam, anything ending in “sploitation”: I recently saw a documentary about Ozsploitation (Australian Exploitation Movies): HOT DAYMNNN do I need to see more of those masterpieces!

Movies: Forbidden Zone, The Holy Mountain, Manaic, Singapore Sling, The Beaver Trilogy, Rubin and Ed, Salo, Chickenhawk, Forbidden Zone, Pink Floyd’s The Wall, The Day the Clown Cried, Streetwise, GG ALLIN: Hated, Mark Henjar’s Affliction, Exorcist III, Dirty Work, High Rise, Ciao Manhattan, A Serbian Film, River’s Edge, Martin, Falling Down, Taxidermia, I Spit On Your Grave, Last House on The Left, Bone, Multiple Manaics, Shakes the Clown, Vampire Girl Vs. Frankenstein Girl, Human Centipede trilogy, Terrifyer 2, Trash, Flesh, Heat.

TV: Eastbound and Down, South Park, I think You Should Leave, Dance Moms, Eagleheart, Trash daytime talk shows from the 80’s and 90’s (Geraldo, Donahue, Richard Bey, Sally, Morton Downsey Jr., and of course Jerry Springer), anything made by Chuck Barris (Gong Show, Match Game, The Dating Game, The Newlywed Game etc.), America’s Got Talent, Baskets, Wonder Showzen, Game Shows: Press Your Luck, Queen for a Day, The Price is Right, Card Sharks, Love Connection, Just Men, The Batchelor/Bachelorette series, The Simple Life, Snapped!, America’s Most Wanted, Look Who’s Stalking, I Survived, Dog the Bounty Hunter, Solitary!, The Partridge Family, Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew, The Real World, Curb Your Enthusiasm, The Righteous Gemstones.

Writers: I have no attention span these days so mostly I gave up on reading. However, in the rare case I find a book I like, I devoir it start to finish.
I think I’ve read my own books only one time each. I’m really not a reader. I hope I write for people like me…
Lenny Bruce, Apocolapyse Culture 1-2, most things Feral House, Vincent Gallo, Crispin Glover, Screw Magazine, Finger Magazine, Robin Bougie, Valerie Solanis, Norm Macdonald, Paul Mooney, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, John Waters, Peter Sotos, Chuck Barris, Mike McPadden, Hunter S. Thomson, Iceberg Slim, William S.Burroughs, Dr. Randall Philip, Doug Stanhope, Ivanka Trump, Tabloids, Charles Bukowski, Simon Morris, I LOVE true crime. Here: I’ll just look at my bookshelf…
The “for dummies” series, The Good Ship Lollipop by Kris Nugent, Anything loompanics publishing, Anything Re/search publishing, Jack Skelley, Books they only sell at Gun Shows down here; Like military books about improvised munitions.
I have a bunch of interesting books on how to disappear, erase your digital footprint, Mind Control Techniques UNLEASHED, basically a bunch of stuff I ordered and devoured because I am a paranoid manaic.
The Bible.

Musicians: Michael Jackson, The Beach Boys, Roger Miller, Tiny Tim, The Partridge Family (of course!🙏🏿), 2pac, Biggie, Tonetta, NW3ry44444, A, Taco, Hazil Adkins, GG ALLIN, Al Green, Frankie Valli, Trick Daddy, Andre Williams, The Carpenters, David Allen Coe, Lipids p i opberace, Mystikal, Screaming Lord Sutch, Connie Converse, Dave Dee Dozy Beazy Mitch and Titch, Nobunny, Nervous Nourvous, Billy Joel, Brotha Lynch Hung, Spike Jonze, Charlie Feathers, Earth Wind and Fire, Earnest Tubbs, Dead Kennedys, Nikki Minaj, SPARKS!, ELO, Eminem, Bee Gees, Pink Floyd, The 5,6,7,8’s, Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs, Lil Jon, Bobby “Boris” Pickett and old Halloween Music, Anything produced by Phil Spector, Any genre ending in “billy”, I like noise music only if there’s a good stage show. Whitehouse, Cock ESP, and Eugenics council because they liked to tear gas the audience, oh and if you have not heard the Westboro Baptist Church’s catchy covers of pop songs I HIGHLY RECCOMEND THEM,

A mixed media sculpture by Meg.

If people wanted to check out your stuff, work with you or buy some of your wares – Where should they visit and how should they get in touch?

They can check out my Instagram: @Jonbenet_azrial_partridge

That link as well as links to ton of other shit I do (including my FREE ONLYFANS, and my PHONE SEX LINE 🙊🙊🙊) should click this convenient lil link:

Odds & Ends

We know you are a card-carrying member of esoteric religious group the Partridge Family Temple (PFT) and we wanted to ask…
What does being a Partridge mean to you?

Being a Partridge is the MOST FUN anyone can possibly have! And in a RELIGION no less! Christians have to suck cock starting as a child, also flog themselves. While these two rituals may be FUN to some people, they are not FUN to all!

I LOVE the Bible! It’s the most violent book I’ve ever read in my life! But all the shit that God puts his people through fucking sucks ass. Christian God let his only son get nailed to a fucking cross and fry in the sun for days until he died. What an asshole! And don’t even get me going on the book of JOB! What a fucking SAP that guy was!
Buddhists have to stand on one leg for a year and eat a grain of rice a day.
No thank you!
Hindus are cool but it’s too complicated a religion. And you have to bathe in the Ganges. The most polluted filthy fucking river in the world! BLEH!
Muslims gotta be all militant and serious all the time. And if you’re a girl you can’t show off your tits in public or hightail it out of the trailer park by DRIVING your RV! Ew!

I once dated a fat fucking jew who wanted to convert me to Judaism. I went along with it because I thought it was funny and I’d be able to call my haters antisemitic. It sucked because he was too fat to find his uncircumcised micropenis. I tried to use my whore powers on him. But they proved not powerful enough to get his penis near my vagina.
He was also a Macy’s Santa who wanted me to wear a fetish schoolgirl skirt that barely covered my labia to the circus! It was then I learned all Jewish men are paedophiles.
I love Jewish women. JAP types. Like Susie from Curb Your Enthusiasm. BUT if a woman is orthodox, she can’t even reveal her hair to anyone but her fat fucking ugly Jewish husband.

The Black Hebrew Israelites have funny signs with fab abortion photos, but ultimately they’re assholes and hypocrites. I saw some on the street preaching hate about anyone who committed “sins of the flesh”. Two hours later, they were done preaching on the street and off duty and a party bus with fat azz booty poppin black girls drive by and they were like wild dogs in heat. Cat callin and all dat.

Those are the major 4 right?

Joining a cult is for the truly elite. The wonderers of the world. People who cannot accept organized religion. Cults are groovy! People think that people who join cults are brainwashed drones. No! They’re seekers who think outside the box and want something more than paedophilia and torturing themselves.
Actually, I take that back. A LOT of cults fuck kids and kill themselves. But PFT! Does not!

I can easily say that Partridge Family Temple has saved my life! It’s the most fun, hip, groovy religion in the world! It’s a philosophy! It’s a way of life! And it is 24 hour a day FUN!

I was a Partridge long before I found PFT! I didn’t understand how all these brown goblins could say TV rots your brain and McDonald’s rots your insides. When I found PFT! I found people who ADORE McDonald’s! Who realize that the Golden Arches are the gates to Heaven. Heaven is enjoying a double quarter pounder with cheese and a large frys!
I found people who know GOD is in their Tv sets! PFT EMBRACES everything FUN and HIP in the universe!

Once I found PFT and the Partridges, I found people EXACTLY like me! It was truly strange. I remember when I was trolling Partridges on Facebook. I remember showing their photos of everything great and cool in the world to my friend who knew me well, but did not share my interests.
“LOOK! GG ALLIN, Jonbenet Ramsey, Charlie Manson, McDonald’s, Heavens Gate, People who worship TELEVISION!” My friend could not believe that Partridge after Partridge were JUST LIKE ME! I had found my people. I felt like I had reached the Promise Land! That I was ALLOWED to have FUN! To love FUN! To not be guilty about having FUN!

Partridges see and think in TECHNICOLOR!

I had never listened to or watched The Partridge Family before. I started obsessively listening to them. All songs. All hours. It filled me with love and happiness. The more I listened, the more I understood. The more fun I had. The more I felt the incestuous Partridge Love inside of me.
I heard things in the songs. I started to understand the messages that Keith, Laure, Danny, and Mother Shirley were sending me.

I found PFT! at a very difficult time in my life when my roommate’s abused, neglected, mistreated beast dogs ate my beloved cat, Drugs, in front of me.
It was the most awful thing I have ever witnessed! My roommate was a real brown goblin. A complete piece of shit. Then I started taking to GURU Shaun Partridge. Who personally got me through this time through slogans and wisdom and kindness and FUN! He pointed me in the direction of Albuquerque!
I realized I was a Partridge! It changed my life!

Something else strange happened. I always wanted to enact revenge on this piece of shit roommate of mine. I never really knew how to get to him. Then I started listening to The Partridge Family. Nonstop. He couldn’t stand it! It was like sonic torture to him! I watched Keith, Laurie, Danny, and Mother Shirley all DEFEAT this evil!
They lifted me up! Made me dance! Have fun in the face of abject misery! And they fucked this guy up! I knew at that time there was something REAL to PFT!
Not just groovy designs, funny slogans, and hilarious anecdotes. Being a Partridge is a way of life. And luckily, I was pointed in the Direction of Albuquerque, and found my Echo Valley 90210! learned that FUN IS THE LAW! I live by this! Nothing has ever been the same. I was SAVED by PFT!

I am devout and fanatical now. I was not seeking, but I found it! I found THEM! Or they found me.
Most importantly, I found out who I was. That I was a Partridge! And everything started to make sense.

Being a Partridge means that you are the star of your own personal sitcom. Something I always believed, but kinda hid because it sounded really narcissistic. It’s not narcissistic. It’s TRUE! And this explains why my life is the way it is. So very outlandish. My sitcom is written that way. Its written so dark so that I can turn this darkness into Comedy Gold!
I was HATCHED with the talent of falling and doing slapstick comedy! Mother Shorley gave this to me for a reason. The best way to live through your sitcom is to LAUGH! And keep people laughing! And spread the MAD Partridge LOVE! ! And 24 hour a day FUN!

Meg aka Azrial Partridge in Partridge Family Temple (PFT) worship mode.

Please outline the beliefs and rituals of the PFT.

Above I kinda answered this question. I think it is important to note that there is no formal PFT! Temple. I get asked that a lot. It is a very informal religion. We are all high priests and priestesses. You make your own temple. In your home. At your local fast food restaurant. Or theme park. Or wherever you want it to be.

I know Casa Bonita, Disneyland, Disneyworld, and McDonald’s to be holy places for the Partridges. Really, though, all you need is a TV set.
Just as a set is built for a sitcom, you build your own temple. Like I said Partridges see in TECHNICOLOR and believe in FUN!

Being a Partridge means that you will overcome the Brown Goblins. They are people who are NO FUN! Who don’t have the full technicolour spectrum. They are fun destroyers! They wanna rain on your parade. Make everything shitty.
By merely knowing that you are a Partridge, and that we exist out there, you will start to notice that the Brown Goblins will start to leave you alone. You will scare them.
Sometimes they are in the vast majority, and it seems overwhelming that things are so UN FUN!
To them I say RIGHT UN!
I will build my temple of fun! Live in it! Let my sitcom unfold, and laugh all the way! Brown Goblins will be destroyed when they come into my temple because they cannot handle having FUN! And PFT is NONSTOP 24 AN HOUR A DAY FUN!

There IS an induction ritual. Mother Shirley showed me a Partridge Family Thermos when I needed it most. The only induction ritual is drinking 7 up, Keith’s favorite drink, plus milk, which represents Keith’s hot fertile sperm, mixed with Honey, which represents Laurie’s nectar.
It is all very informal, and can be done in your temple.

One more thing. There are millions of Partridges in the world. Only a few of us are lucky enough to know it!

I know there are Partridges reading this right now. I can only hope what I have said will point YOU in the direction of Albuquerque and bring you 24 hour a day FUN!

Who are some key players in the PFT?

With any good Cult, their must be excellent music, laden with hidden messages. The Partridge Family Temple is lucky enough to not only have the best music in the world, but the best music of any cult that exists. That is saying A LOT because Cult music is the most groovy music in the world. We have the BESTEST CULT MUSIC! The BESTEST music you can dance to, meditate to, flip out to, worship to, sing along with, spin to, chant to, or whatever your gig is!

Keith Partridge represents a sort of flaming hot Jesus figure. Keith is the way. Kieth’s favorite drink is 7up!
7 up! Says “All is Flowing, All is Knowing.” This is a mantra for the Partridges and a sub sect that I fully ascribe to. It’s along the lines of what God is to me. God is Everywhere. God is McDonalds, Disneyland, my pig is God. It’s a hippie dippie way of thinking of things, but I dig it.
When I drink 7Up! I feel holy. I feel like Keith is skull fucking me with so much Partridge Love! I taste Divinity! Crisp and Clean and No Caffiene! Who does NOT jack off to Keith Partridge? C’mon!

Shirley Partridge is the Mother figure. She is our Mother. The Divine Creator. Mother Shirley is Mother Nature. We are all children of Mother Shirley. Every Partridge. Weather they know it or not.

Laurie is a Goddess of Fertility. She is young, and dripping hot.
Like Keith!

Danny Partridge is the mischievous child. An imp. Sometimes, a false prophet. He likes to PRANK us, he is not to be trusted necessarily, but he is to be worshipped and his pranks are hilarious! Danny is within us all.

Laurie, Shirley, Danny = LSD

JonBenet Ramsey is the Pineapple Princess. She represents the completely innocent child. She is Sleeping Beauty. A cherub. An angel. She is Kali, the Goddess of Death.

Michael Jackson, to me, represents childhood innocence and wonder. A cherub. He is Peter Pan. He is not a commonly Found Partridge Diety, but to me he is important.

Anne Frank is a great writer. She writes and The Partridges sing. She is also FANTASTIC at playing Hide Anne Seek! She’s the original Creepy Crawler!
Anne Will Set You Frank.

Larry David: represents COMEDY GOLD! The show Curb Your Enthusiasm is said to reference an ancient sect of Greeks who were called the Enthusiasts. The Enthusiasts would run around really fast and were really enthusiastic about God. Preaching that God is the way. We at PFT! Are all enthusiasts. The world tells us to “Curb our Enthusiasm” but why?
We understand that everything that happens in the world is comic material. To turn into Comic Gold.
All is Larry David. Larry David is All.

Jerry Seinfeld, Eileen, Kramer and George all eat at MONKS cafe.
They are monastic people.

CBS EYE LOGO: The CBS eye represents the TV GOD! The all knowing eye! The eye that watches you. You watch it back. We are living in the CBS eye! It also symbolizes that our EYES are open. And they’re watching TV!

NBC PEACOCK LOGO. The NBC Peacock is very close to the partridge. It is indicative of the Partridge Family being the greatest show to grace the GOD TV!

McDonalds: is where the FUN happens! Think of how happy you were when you were a kid and got a Happy Meal! I would literally SCREAM when we passed a McDonalds as a child, in fact I still do!
The Golden Arches are the Gates to Heaven. Heaven is eating a double quarter pounder with Fries, and a hot fudge Sundae. No one can argue with that! Dem’s da facts Jack!

The place I go for for enlightenment is the extremely comprehensive PFT! Website. It has all the images, mantras, stories, symbols, and religious connections you may need to be pointed in the Direction of Albuquerque.
Check it out at:
Also of course OBSESSIVELY listening to and watching The Partrudge Family temple will also point you in the Direction of Albequerque and get you to Echo Valley 90210, where The FUN NEVER STOPS!

Meg showing off her Partridge Family Temple (PFT) tattoos: The CBS eye & NBC Peacock logos.

If you could live in any place, during any historical era – Where and when would that be?

New York City at its seediest. 42nd street during the 60’s-70’s. I would LOVE to be there. I think I belong there… Porn stores. Grinder Theatres. Bath houses. Peep shows. Bro’s. Prostitutes. Pimps beating the shit out of them. Junkies shooting up in open air, filth, sleaze, just trash everywhere.
Also Studio 54 had some interesting characters. Andy Warhol’s Factory would’ve super keen to hang at. Tho I cannot stand Warhol, he’s a boring homo, but he knew fantastic people! Mainlining with Brigid Berlin, Edie Sedgewick, Holly Woodlum. Being Solanisis’s BITCH, THAT is the stuff dreams are made of!
Being a part of that crowd would be a dream.

It’s beautifully nasty. I curse that I was born too late.
I fantasize about this stuff all the time.

The present/future fucking SUCKS. Each year tops itself by miles in stupidity. I rarely leave the house. I no longer pay attention to shit that is going on in the world cuz it’s as stupid gay as Warhol! I could give a rat’s ass. Everything is stupid stupid stupid right now. C’MON KORESH! RISE AGAIN AND OPEN THAT GODDAMNED SEVENTH SEAL AND SEND US ALL TO HELL SO WE CAN ALL BE RAPED BY HITLER, IDI AMIN, AND GENERAL BUTTNAKED WHILE ENVGULFED IN FLAMES FOR ETERNITY!

Does sex change everything?

I guess it depends on who you ask.
If you’re a paedophile and you fuck a kid then, yes. Sex changes EVERYTHING for that child.
If you fuck a corpse, the corpse doesn’t know. It changes nothing for the corpse.
If you’re raped by a human, it changes your life. If you’re raped by a dolphin, apparently you fall in love with it.
If you fuck a sheep, I don’t think it minds.
If you’re straight, end up in prison, get adopted as a bitch for the Aryan Nation, get passed around, raped, branded with swastikas, the whole SHEBANG, I guess sex would change a lot.

The first time I sat bare assed on a birthday cake, it changed me for life.

My husband has not fucked me in years. He does not even jack off. For me, having an asexual husband changed our relationship a lot.
If he stuck his cock in me, it would change things. Then I would be having marital sex which is just gross.
My husband fucking me would change everything by making me feel gross.

If you grow up fucking your twin, then sex will change you both for the rest of your life.
If a woman gets knocked up, then sex has changed everything, it has created “life”.
If someone contracts HIV or AIDS through sex, I spose everything changes.

The time I fucked a guy whose wife wanted to kill me. If I wasn’t so good at hiding, and she succeeded, sex could have changed everything.
For years, I did phone sex with a chronic masturbator, peeping Tom. He got caught so many times he had to be chemically castrated (they shoot you up with Depo Provera, a woman’s birth control method). Out of prison, off parole, on probation, they eventually let him make the decision to get the injections. Many times he’d refuse the shot.
He had a female probation officer. Before she visited each he’d COVER his apartment in his cum just to see her touch the surfaces and he’d get aroused for weeks, until she visited him again, at which time he’d repeat the process.
He eventually decided he was better off chemically castrated because of the state of hyperarousal which imprisoned him constantly. For this fella, Perversion ruled his life, but intercourse did nothing.
I know it is that way for a lot of people, way more than you’d guess.
Being a phone sex operator has made me privy to some fringe lifestyles.
Perversion is sex to me.
Emotionally attached intercourse has done almost nothing for me since I lost my virginity at age 19.

Meg’s recent book American Victim.
Published 2023 by Model City Books, & featuring cover art by Mike Diana.

What are the top 3 items you own?
… and what is it about each of them that you so love?

My GACY clown paintings.
Even though I’m not a huge fan of Gacy as a serial killer, I love the clowns for obvious reasons. My mom was dating some crazy freak that had bought them from the guard at Menard Penitentiary, where Gacy rotted, for $40! He had them hid under his bed. I asked him if I could borrow them to put them up in my room. He let me.
Later on, my mom found out he was cheating on her with a 20 year old Costa Rican whore. She said “You keep those fucking Gacy paintings Megan.” I did not protest.

My broken down Toyota Dolphin RV.
It belonged to my friend Philip who’s sitcom was cancelled. I LOVE everything about this glorified rape van! I lived out my dream of residing in a trailer park in here.
Nowadays, It is my fuck truck. It is my personal karaoke bar… It is my second home.
When DOOMSDAY comes and all the computers cease to work, my Toyota Dolphin would be one of the only remaining running vehicles, since it does not use computer technology! If only it ran in the first place…
This RV was labeled “Satanic” by a bunch of idiots, and was almost rePOSESSED by the City. It was moved into this backyard before I lived here. I let a cornstarch laden murderer live in it. When he left, I had two shop vacs full of cornstarch and a dead best friend.
I “designed” the inside and outside myself. I tried to make it as uninviting as possible so people would leave me the fuck alone. It worked! The only people who enter blow their load in or on me, and then promptly leave! Otherwise, I’m alone in it, singing karaoke!
It’s great. My lil slice of hell!
THE INTERIOR: where NO magic happens! I just get skull fucked and sing karaoke… Not at the same time unfortunately! If I were that talented I’d be a gazillionaire!

My Human Nipples:
Always a conversation piece. I traded a signed Gacy Photo I got from a slave of mine for this man’s nipples. He got them cut off at a tattoo shop. I have the video of the nipple removal somewhere. Needless to say, it’s pretty repelling.
Unfortunately they are somewhere at my mom’s house. My mom refuses to bring the nipples to me, nor will she mail them. I’m a bit iffy about mailing human nipples myself. I refuse to transport them on a plane.
Some bright Sunshiney Day, we will be reunited, and the Universe will be in balance again!

A pair of male, human nipples that Meg traded for one of her John Wayne Gacy paintings.
Caption by one of Meg’s friends.

Please describe your last dream in detail…

I had this intense nightmare that started when I escaped this this hostel run by a hippie cult. When I got home, there was a really sweet pig just trotting down my street. I took it in as a pet. I named her Rosie O’Donnell.
I had a fat one eyed weinerdog who resembled a pig and she died. I tried to give her mouth to mouth resuscitation. It did not work.
Rosie O’Donnell caught a limp and there was no vet to take care of her. I kept tripping over my dead dog so I put her in my freezer. I could not bury her or mourn her death because I was trying to help Rosie O’Donnell.
My phone broke and I couldn’t get out of the house to fix it, or tell anyone what had happened. Images of all things horrible flashed in front of my eyes. I started to go insane. Screaming. crying hysterically. Flailing around. . Running around naked. I broke the dishes.
I hated everyone. The house was a complete disaster. I could not take it anymore.
I listened to PINK FLOYD’s The Wall on repeat and did a reinactment of the movie while I was going insane.
I told my psychiatriast what was going on and he told me to take a walk. I walked to a nearby bridge. I stared into the peaceful water fantasizing about being reunited with my fat one eyed weinerdog. Suddenly 5 air horn sounds went off and I jumped. Into the air but not off the bridge.
My little dog, Eddie, somehow ran up next to me and told me not to jump because he needed me.
I decided to stay alive for a bit.

NOTE: I’ve still not woken up from that one. It’s been two weeks!
“Reality” so to speak, is more of a phantasm than any dream I’ve had lately!

I did have this crazy dream once where Vanna White lived next door to me in the trailer park.
We went to a pizza place and the pizza guy dropped all these strombolis on the floor and told us we could have them for free. Vanna asked him what kind of stromboli’s they were and right before he told her… I woke up.

Of everything you have done so far, what would you most like to be remembered for?

Being the mentally retarded Carrie Bradshaw.

A recent photo of Meg.


All images supplied by Meg or sourced online.