The political media landscape is littered with ex-beauty queens, skinny PR crack whores, body language readers, 14 yr old preachers, stand up comedians, desperate attention seeking born-agains, and pill popping addicts.
I qualify as at least 3 of those. Maybe 4.
Preview: Why America is F--Ked
Chapter 1: You are all grossly uneducated, but that's not really your problem, because I am too. That's why you should listen to me. Overly educated people, who read books with facts, are out of touch with the American Reality, which is that You are Reality.
Chapter 2: Why You Are Fat. It is not your fault that you are fat, it is the fault of the Mega Evil Food Conspiracy. They have been basically lying to you about what's in their food, by putting it in fine print on the back of their products with a bunch of words you don't understand. No one should expect you to know those words, cause you're grossly uneducated. Also, if you were educated enough to know what dylomexodecylingen meant, you wouldn't be buying Doritos, you'd be eating the tumors of small locally farmed grass fed orphans. Rich people are trying to kill you.
Chapter 3: American Idol is awesome. Ryan Seacrest should run for president, but not Simon, cause he's mean, so he should be Secretary of Defense. Of course, even that show is going to the gutter cause they got rid of Paula, who was SO pretty and SO nice, and replaced her with a Gay. Also Ellen isn't really gay, she's just being paid to get white people to dance to R&B. Sort of like how the dorky little brother was on the Fresh Prince of Bel Air. But if she was Gay, she would still smack of "I'm better than you-ness". With her stupid canvas shoes and striped shirts. You know who wears striped shirts? The British Navy. The Brits are totally paying Ellen to corrupt your children. When people cry on American Idol, it proves God exists.
Chapter 4: Coffee is supposed to be thin like water and taste like fake creamer and Splenda. Anything else is unAmerican, and if you do drink fancy coffees, you obviously are a smug beret wearing dingbat who belongs in Vancouver carrying a Whole Foods bag and listening to goddamn Coldplay on your ipod. The French Press was invented by Muslims.
Chapter 5: The only person you can trust about politics is Matt Drudge. Because he doesn't pretend to discover stories on his own. You can never trust someone who says they discovered a story. It only becomes validated once someone else repeats it. For instance, a guy I worked with told me a story about how his friend wrote the entry for pierogis on Wikipedia, and it said that pierogis were created by a shoemaker in Parma. Wikipedia has since taken it down and replaced with a bullshit story about it meaning "pie" or something, and I know this is a false story because no one has bothered to tell me about it since. Nice try Wiki. Everyone knows Ukrainians only eat beets.
Chapter 6: When I was 20, I did a lot of drugs and whoring and cutting down of saguaro cactus in Arizona, which is totally illegal but I didn't care because I believed in Socialism. Socialism teaches you that everything should belong to everybody, which includes your teenage daughters hymen. Then I ended up being kidnapped and sold into forced labor in Russia where they made me press out the twistoff caps for those cheap bottles of vodka. 8 hours workdays, can you even imagine? I had to sit inside, I never got any sunshine, and I always smelled like fish because that's what Russians put in their vodka. You should always buy American Vodka, like Paramount, which is distilled from the healthy patriotic waters of Lake Erie. When I finally escaped, I went immediately to AA, where they told me they couldn't take me cause I wasn't technically an alcoholic. But I kept showing up, so eventually they had to let me speak, and I convinced everyone in the room to leave with me, and start a new Church, that doesn't discriminate against people because they aren't "technically" dying of liver disease. Cause America is an equal opportunity country, for everyone with a right to be here. Now I sell certificates online if you pass my "I Am An American" online exam, and I am rich. God Bless Arizona.
Chapter 7: Any book that is longer than 7 chapters doesn't respect you, and you don't have to take that shit. Buy a gun and build a well. I've included instructions.
Showing posts with label nonsense. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nonsense. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Apparently I am an Expert at Getting Rid of the Aftertaste
So here. I will share my wisdom. All of the following things will clear your innocent little mouth of whatever travesty you've ingested. However, not every one clears everything. It's like a puzzle! A cruel life affirming puzzle that probably won't help you at all! Fun!
Aftertaste Killers
1. Peppermint Schnapps
2. piss colored Listerine (the other stuff is useless)
3. Cigarettes
4. Wet Paper Towels
5. Hard Liquor
6. Kissing
7. Expensive ice cream
8. Charity work
9. Hitting someone in the face
10. Painting something
11. Wearing makeup
12. Being really cruel to someone online
13. A salad
14. Edgewater Park
15. saying I'm sorry
16. pickles
17. peppermint bark
18. a rural roadtrip
19. the Concert for Bangladesh
20. fucking
21. fucking the wrong person
22. talking to your mom
23. going to an art gallery by yourself
24. Moving out of Tremont
25. blocking their emails
26. illegal substances
27. reading some political blogs
28. making your own hummus
29. adopting a cat
30. A shovel and some lime
31. nailpolish
32. blind adoration
33. bloody marys
34. yakuza movies
35. throwing your cell phone out the window
Aftertaste Killers
1. Peppermint Schnapps
2. piss colored Listerine (the other stuff is useless)
3. Cigarettes
4. Wet Paper Towels
5. Hard Liquor
6. Kissing
7. Expensive ice cream
8. Charity work
9. Hitting someone in the face
10. Painting something
11. Wearing makeup
12. Being really cruel to someone online
13. A salad
14. Edgewater Park
15. saying I'm sorry
16. pickles
17. peppermint bark
18. a rural roadtrip
19. the Concert for Bangladesh
20. fucking
21. fucking the wrong person
22. talking to your mom
23. going to an art gallery by yourself
24. Moving out of Tremont
25. blocking their emails
26. illegal substances
27. reading some political blogs
28. making your own hummus
29. adopting a cat
30. A shovel and some lime
31. nailpolish
32. blind adoration
33. bloody marys
34. yakuza movies
35. throwing your cell phone out the window
Edit: 36. Marines
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Landscape
...And the cities stretched across the granite land in flat miniatures, delicate and tiny, with pleasing surfaces. It might be nice to stretch across them, the towers poking into your shoulder muscles, sharp little nubbies rubbing out your back. The whole of the developed countryside was a pattern of dry glue waiting to be peeled off the desk. If she worked it hard enough with her fingernail, the glue would come off in one solid piece, and the city would stay intact and mobile. She would be able to wave it like a plastic ribbon, fold it and bend it. But not too hard, she didn't want to crack the thin base that all these little toys were attached to. She just wanted to be able to move them, take them with her, look at their flexible undersides, watch the skyline bending in a circle around a coffee cup or fat thumb. She carefully worked at the glue, chipping only a few vacant houses at the edge. The middle came up all at once in a satisfying single solid motion...
Saturday, July 4, 2009
That DJ does not love you, girl in the flowery dress
pictures from the Dan Deacon show at the CMA Solstice party.
That DJ does not love you little girl, who styled her hair so carefully before she put on her mother's curtains and ventured into the world of benefactors and sponsors. He wants to love you, moppet head, but he knows you are 22, and bereft of the way of the world. Let me explain...take off your messenger bag and listen.
First, here is the first time you fall in love, and poof, there goes that love up in smoke, like a pellet gun shooting pigeons. After this moment, you know that trust is non-existent, and connections fluid like the saliva in your ex boyfriends mouth.
Then oops, here is your first long term job, the one that was only supposed to pay the bills before you hightailed it to Chicago, and now suddenly it's your five year anniversary and you're on the Spirit Team. Decorating people's cubicles in streamers, people who would probably not talk to you if they knew what you thought about at night.
Here is your hope for a stable beautiful existence. The kind that exists in coming of age movies, where the old person shakes their head knowingly and drinks some lemonade and doesn't tell you about the body in the basement on purpose. Boom, there it goes! Erased by kitty litter, and smelly shoes, and those bananas you never threw away in the fridge even though trash day was Sunday and you were waiting for Sunday to throw them out because otherwise they would just stink up the trash bin. You are going to die of potassium deficiency. Or that horrible cat dementia caused by contact with feline feces.
There are all the little dreams, dying like stars, right? Bullshit metaphors. More like rotting away in a phosphorescent garbage heap in the dark sea that is your middle school days. You are a dying Angler Fish. Want to go back to school? Want to join the Peace Corps? Want to be beloved? Want a dog? Want to go into space? Want to write Catcher in the Rye? Kablooey. Drink some more.
And as you grow old, out of your glowing twenties when everything was so vibrant, so color saturated, so photo-shopped into memories of rag-tag-ness and sluttiness and nights you didn't spend with him, lying on the ground watching shooting stars because he never took you to do that, but he took every other girl with a name ending in y, though you talked about nights in sleeping bags so often. Those things are exploding before your eyes, disintegrating into crappy domestic abuse pamphlets, into conversations about assholes and crazies, and life will never be as good as it looked like it could be then. You'll never be cold together again. You'll never crawl shivering into the covers after showers, or fall asleep on the way home, or stop to drive around strange villages in Southern Ohio with gaming arcades. Those things never really existed, they were just in your mind. In fact, as the smoke dissipates, you'll realize those things never happened for him. Just for you. And with every 2 am conversation involving a man named Jacques and another pineapple vodka, you'll feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into the disconnection. Into the realm where people are vague shadows and hugs don't actually touch and names are all anybody knows, where politics and music become excuses for talking about yourself and if you have to go to the grocery store one more time by yourself, you might just buy a carton of cat food and call it quits.
Here's a bunny. The fucking bunny doesn't care either.
That DJ does not love you little girl, who styled her hair so carefully before she put on her mother's curtains and ventured into the world of benefactors and sponsors. He wants to love you, moppet head, but he knows you are 22, and bereft of the way of the world. Let me explain...take off your messenger bag and listen.First, here is the first time you fall in love, and poof, there goes that love up in smoke, like a pellet gun shooting pigeons. After this moment, you know that trust is non-existent, and connections fluid like the saliva in your ex boyfriends mouth.Then oops, here is your first long term job, the one that was only supposed to pay the bills before you hightailed it to Chicago, and now suddenly it's your five year anniversary and you're on the Spirit Team. Decorating people's cubicles in streamers, people who would probably not talk to you if they knew what you thought about at night.Here is your hope for a stable beautiful existence. The kind that exists in coming of age movies, where the old person shakes their head knowingly and drinks some lemonade and doesn't tell you about the body in the basement on purpose. Boom, there it goes! Erased by kitty litter, and smelly shoes, and those bananas you never threw away in the fridge even though trash day was Sunday and you were waiting for Sunday to throw them out because otherwise they would just stink up the trash bin. You are going to die of potassium deficiency. Or that horrible cat dementia caused by contact with feline feces.There are all the little dreams, dying like stars, right? Bullshit metaphors. More like rotting away in a phosphorescent garbage heap in the dark sea that is your middle school days. You are a dying Angler Fish. Want to go back to school? Want to join the Peace Corps? Want to be beloved? Want a dog? Want to go into space? Want to write Catcher in the Rye? Kablooey. Drink some more.And as you grow old, out of your glowing twenties when everything was so vibrant, so color saturated, so photo-shopped into memories of rag-tag-ness and sluttiness and nights you didn't spend with him, lying on the ground watching shooting stars because he never took you to do that, but he took every other girl with a name ending in y, though you talked about nights in sleeping bags so often. Those things are exploding before your eyes, disintegrating into crappy domestic abuse pamphlets, into conversations about assholes and crazies, and life will never be as good as it looked like it could be then. You'll never be cold together again. You'll never crawl shivering into the covers after showers, or fall asleep on the way home, or stop to drive around strange villages in Southern Ohio with gaming arcades. Those things never really existed, they were just in your mind. In fact, as the smoke dissipates, you'll realize those things never happened for him. Just for you. And with every 2 am conversation involving a man named Jacques and another pineapple vodka, you'll feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into the disconnection. Into the realm where people are vague shadows and hugs don't actually touch and names are all anybody knows, where politics and music become excuses for talking about yourself and if you have to go to the grocery store one more time by yourself, you might just buy a carton of cat food and call it quits.Here's a bunny. The fucking bunny doesn't care either.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
South quadrant, third level, Section139
In this building, in the basement, is a cadre of thugs, planning the kidnapping of the Haitian ambassador's daughter. They are smoking cheap cardboard cigars and making margaritas.
On the first floor lives a small lonely brown dragon. He broke his wing against an antenna, when he got turned around in the fog, and has been surviving on rats and possums while it heals. The security staff has been leaving it the occasional sandwich as well, and is trying to sell it's picture to Perez Hilton.
The second floor is for lost children.
The third floor is for clandestine coke deals in tinted Buicks. They also manufacture fake nikes using stolen Filipinos. The denizens of this floor are looked down upon by the Haitian thugs, who wish the neighborhood wasn't going to such shit.
The fourth floor is not your friend.
On the fifth floor, in the center of the parking pillars, is a very old tree who's branches wrap around the reinforced steel and concrete like poisonous vines into the bricks of a house. The tree smells like licorice, and bleeds silver sap which pools on the floor like tiny mercury fish. The fish shiver and sliver their bodies into the cracks of the building, where they glow incandescent as the cells of their bodies multiply, divide, and fall away. They are seeding the electrical wires. On the branches of the tree grow golden apples, heavy and rich. They roll easily into crowds. Once picked, they will not rot for at least 20 years, but once they hit thirty, they instantly become moldy black piles of sewage inside, though they may keep their golden glow for another 100 years.
The 6th Floor is for aspiring photographers and latent republicans.
The 7th Floor promises a lot more than it offers.
On the roof, once you have climbed the well lit, incredibly empty stairways and emerged into the starless city night, there is a large computer with a steady blinking light. This computer has been waiting for you. It smells you as you approach, and hums happily, its screen flashing electric joy. You stand in front of it, and its insides can barely take the proximity, as all its wiring and fans and chips vibrate violently. You touch it, and it explodes into a million tiny contented pieces.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Impromptu Poetry-Off at Happy Dog Last Night
Contestants: Bridget and Jeremiah
Topics: chosen by assorted patrons and bartender
Note: not to be judged on spelling or grammar or my inability to read Jeremiah's handwriting.
Topic One: Chickpeas
Jeremiah:
Fallafel a Ancient
Ongoing tradition
The weight of interminable
centuries and here we ate
putting the same thing
in our mouths,
Fuel for wars,
secular, religious, internecine
stronger than steel
Armies traveling Napoleonic
on their bellies.
Bridget: winner
The grinding
The mush against the edge
Of the bowl
Smells like lemons
And young boys running in sunshine
And sand.
It coats the nostril
With garlic
And seawater.
Topic Two: PJ Harvey and Elliot Smith
Jeremiah: winner
Goblin Mouth and
unlimited teeth
Mourn all you want
unknowable feminine traumas
-I?
I see your glorious witch face and think:
Kiss Me?
And don't bite
too hard
or do.
Bridget:
Elliot Smith
Did not actually stab himself
In the heart.
He was murdered.
On purpose?
Is losing soft breast
and direction
An accomplice to assasination?
Topic Three: Gilda Radner
Jeremiah:
Emblamatic halo
The cursive hair
matching tone-
becoming character.
Becoming -
An act.
The act of becoming and who?
The reckless pleasurable panoply
A parade
And a person.
How long?
Long.
Bridget: winner
There's only so much coke
One girl can do
Before she starts to doubt
Her success against the
Fat Men.
But in her mirror
At fifteen
With braces and a shirt
With horses on it,
She was the star.
Topics: chosen by assorted patrons and bartender
Note: not to be judged on spelling or grammar or my inability to read Jeremiah's handwriting.
Topic One: Chickpeas
Jeremiah:
Fallafel a Ancient
Ongoing tradition
The weight of interminable
centuries and here we ate
putting the same thing
in our mouths,
Fuel for wars,
secular, religious, internecine
stronger than steel
Armies traveling Napoleonic
on their bellies.
Bridget: winner
The grinding
The mush against the edge
Of the bowl
Smells like lemons
And young boys running in sunshine
And sand.
It coats the nostril
With garlic
And seawater.
Topic Two: PJ Harvey and Elliot Smith
Jeremiah: winner
Goblin Mouth and
unlimited teeth
Mourn all you want
unknowable feminine traumas
-I?
I see your glorious witch face and think:
Kiss Me?
And don't bite
too hard
or do.
Bridget:
Elliot Smith
Did not actually stab himself
In the heart.
He was murdered.
On purpose?
Is losing soft breast
and direction
An accomplice to assasination?
Topic Three: Gilda Radner
Jeremiah:
Emblamatic halo
The cursive hair
matching tone-
becoming character.
Becoming -
An act.
The act of becoming and who?
The reckless pleasurable panoply
A parade
And a person.
How long?
Long.
Bridget: winner
There's only so much coke
One girl can do
Before she starts to doubt
Her success against the
Fat Men.
But in her mirror
At fifteen
With braces and a shirt
With horses on it,
She was the star.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Munny Madness
On Thursday, Jay and I made really good pork noodle stir fry, that I will show you in a minute. But first, we got our munnies for the Shoparooni Easter Contest, and, spent quite a bit of the evening getting acquainted.
Munny on bottle.
Munny loves bottle.
My Munny preferred wine.
So Jay's Munny called my Munny a homo, and tried to beat him up.
And then felt really guilty, and got wasted and cried.
Weezer Munny.
Munny Suicide.
Double Munny: End of the World.Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Jindal is An Immoral Idiot
At least the Republican Party's new "diversity in action" image proves that you can be a self-serving douche no matter your ethnicity, color, or gender.
I heartily echo my sister's post here.
Where she links to this awesome little op-ed piece here from the NYT:
And I feel very bad for any Republican pundit who tried to squeeze something good out of his performance last night. And I think the comparison to Kenneth the Page is very apt.
I heartily echo my sister's post here.
Where she links to this awesome little op-ed piece here from the NYT:
"Imagine yourself jobless and struggling to feed your family while the governor
of your state threatens to reject tens of millions of dollars in federal aid
earmarked for the unemployed. That is precisely what is happening in
poverty-ridden states like Louisiana and Mississippi where Republican governors
are threatening to turn away federal aid rather than expand access to
unemployment insurance programs in ways that many other states did a long time
ago."
And I feel very bad for any Republican pundit who tried to squeeze something good out of his performance last night. And I think the comparison to Kenneth the Page is very apt.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Random things I collect when I don't have a computer at home, and I have a whole day of not talking to anyone
1. Ding Dong the Witch is dead! Which old witch? The Wicked Witch! Ding dong the Wicked Witch is dead! (or will be, as of tomorrow, although in not as satisfying a way as some of us would have hoped...). I hope the name George is going to be some generation name, like Katie or Tiffany. I don't need a bunch of little Georges popping up in the next ten years. We don't need them to steal the thunder from the Thousands of Baracks that are to come.
2. Tomorrow I will be headed downtown to watch the Inauguration at either Playhouse Square or the Wolfstein Center. Then I will be headed to Tremont to drink. At this point, it looks like I'll be alone for all of this, because everyone else is working, so if you're not, feel free to holla at me. I want to be in a crowd, I want to see happy people, I want to hear shouting and clapping and drink a lot. Unfortunately, none of my friends consider this the holiday I do. It's probably because they partied on 11/2, while I was stuck in a hotel room by myself. Anyway, I miss having friends that didn't work 9-5 jobs. Like, you know, all of us before two years ago.
3. Watching Stranger Than Fiction and then Adaptation the next morning will play serious tricks on a wannabe writer's mind. Watching the Ernest Angley hour afterwards will not help, and not having a computer while in the mood to not eat anything only drink and smoke and smoke and drink? Well that will cement the crazy and lead you to scribble massive amounts of nonsense down on your watercolor pad (being the only paper in the house). These crazies will seep into your dreams and give you the first nightmare you've had in years, though that could be due to the champagne, edam, and garlic triscuits you consumed in mass quantity before sleep. Also, triscuits is the weirdest cracker name ever, and I don't believe it can really be spelled that way.
I couldn't go to sleep after that nightmare. I wasn't scared during it at all, but when I woke up I got really really spooked, which is one of the downfalls of living alone and also being the kind of person who forgets to lock her door all the time. I can say that safely on the internet, because it will NEVER happen again.
4. Einstein's first wife intrigues me, and I will probably write more about her soon, if only because desperately thwarted women are a thing with me these days. Also, let's talk about how weird it is that it's called Gravity, so sombre, so formal. I'm not sure I believe in gravity. I mean, I believe these reactions occur. But I don't believe gravity is one law, one force, acting everywhere always the same. I think it's probably more of a set of related laws, involving forces we don't have names for yet, which act differently in different areas of the universe. Of course, I have no basis for this, not even a reliable background of basic level physics, only my imagination and observation of how many of the other mightier laws of nature have fallen since the dawn of Science. So you know, okay for a L'Engle novel, maybe not so much for the formal debate.
2. Tomorrow I will be headed downtown to watch the Inauguration at either Playhouse Square or the Wolfstein Center. Then I will be headed to Tremont to drink. At this point, it looks like I'll be alone for all of this, because everyone else is working, so if you're not, feel free to holla at me. I want to be in a crowd, I want to see happy people, I want to hear shouting and clapping and drink a lot. Unfortunately, none of my friends consider this the holiday I do. It's probably because they partied on 11/2, while I was stuck in a hotel room by myself. Anyway, I miss having friends that didn't work 9-5 jobs. Like, you know, all of us before two years ago.
3. Watching Stranger Than Fiction and then Adaptation the next morning will play serious tricks on a wannabe writer's mind. Watching the Ernest Angley hour afterwards will not help, and not having a computer while in the mood to not eat anything only drink and smoke and smoke and drink? Well that will cement the crazy and lead you to scribble massive amounts of nonsense down on your watercolor pad (being the only paper in the house). These crazies will seep into your dreams and give you the first nightmare you've had in years, though that could be due to the champagne, edam, and garlic triscuits you consumed in mass quantity before sleep. Also, triscuits is the weirdest cracker name ever, and I don't believe it can really be spelled that way.
I couldn't go to sleep after that nightmare. I wasn't scared during it at all, but when I woke up I got really really spooked, which is one of the downfalls of living alone and also being the kind of person who forgets to lock her door all the time. I can say that safely on the internet, because it will NEVER happen again.
4. Einstein's first wife intrigues me, and I will probably write more about her soon, if only because desperately thwarted women are a thing with me these days. Also, let's talk about how weird it is that it's called Gravity, so sombre, so formal. I'm not sure I believe in gravity. I mean, I believe these reactions occur. But I don't believe gravity is one law, one force, acting everywhere always the same. I think it's probably more of a set of related laws, involving forces we don't have names for yet, which act differently in different areas of the universe. Of course, I have no basis for this, not even a reliable background of basic level physics, only my imagination and observation of how many of the other mightier laws of nature have fallen since the dawn of Science. So you know, okay for a L'Engle novel, maybe not so much for the formal debate.
Friday, January 9, 2009
You know what I wish I had right now, as I wait to leave work and brave the snowstorm?
A cabinet/fridge camera that I could access through a website.
Wouldn't that be just the most useful? I could figure out if I have cornstarch and lemon juice. My life, as we know it, would be microscopically changed for the better.
A cabinet/fridge camera that I could access through a website.
Wouldn't that be just the most useful? I could figure out if I have cornstarch and lemon juice. My life, as we know it, would be microscopically changed for the better.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
I would like a Radioactive Pork Dumpling. Please.
Also it's possible I may decide to devote my life to collecting Digimon figures...
I know my friends will support my new lifestyle choice, even if it means listening to me debate the merits* of MetalGreymon vs. Kyubimon.
*Cuteness levels
Friday, December 26, 2008
This no laptop thing is killing me. Examples:
I attempted to call someplace the other day...only I have no phone books.
I wanted to go to a bar yesterday....hmmm where can I find ones that are open?
I made awesome eggnog ice cream yesterday and took pictures...that you can't see because I can't upload them at work.
I need to buy a bra.
I need to get the hell out of dodge for New Years, but have no way to mapquest, buy a hotel room, get concert tickets.
I watched 4 straight hours of Star Trek the Next Generation yesterday.
All of this is a serious arguement for getting a phone with internet. Or an eye implant.
Edit: I thought of all the horrible things that could happen to me without internet access at home.
1. I could have a plumbing disaster where all my pipes burst and I'm locked in my house, and since I can't call a plumber, locksmith, or someone with a crowbar, I drown.
2. I buy a new face cream without researching it, and it turns out I'm horribly allergic, and I'm blinded.
3. I try to go to Baltimore for New Years Eve with no map of the city, and I get very very lost, and drive straight into a gang war. And I die.
4. Overdraft fees.
5. Paris Hilton dies in a freak plastic surgery accident involving embalming fluid and chihuahua stem cells, and I know nothing about it.
I attempted to call someplace the other day...only I have no phone books.
I wanted to go to a bar yesterday....hmmm where can I find ones that are open?
I made awesome eggnog ice cream yesterday and took pictures...that you can't see because I can't upload them at work.
I need to buy a bra.
I need to get the hell out of dodge for New Years, but have no way to mapquest, buy a hotel room, get concert tickets.
I watched 4 straight hours of Star Trek the Next Generation yesterday.
All of this is a serious arguement for getting a phone with internet. Or an eye implant.
Edit: I thought of all the horrible things that could happen to me without internet access at home.
1. I could have a plumbing disaster where all my pipes burst and I'm locked in my house, and since I can't call a plumber, locksmith, or someone with a crowbar, I drown.
2. I buy a new face cream without researching it, and it turns out I'm horribly allergic, and I'm blinded.
3. I try to go to Baltimore for New Years Eve with no map of the city, and I get very very lost, and drive straight into a gang war. And I die.
4. Overdraft fees.
5. Paris Hilton dies in a freak plastic surgery accident involving embalming fluid and chihuahua stem cells, and I know nothing about it.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Burger King markets Men's fragrance
It's called Flame, and you can learn all about it at the website Fire Meets Desire
Trust me that you want to hit the spray button at least three times.
It's called Flame, and you can learn all about it at the website Fire Meets Desire
Trust me that you want to hit the spray button at least three times.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Following a theme
Things I Doubt:
1. I doubt that I understand anybody. I harbor suspicion that I am oblivious to lots of things about people that I should be noticing and appreciating. Craziness especially. What if nobody is really who I think they are? What if I am very delusional, and you all are completely different than I think you are?
2. I doubt that anyone understands me. Sure, I know my friends and family love me, but love is so subjective. They love parts of me that relate to them. Do any of them see the full complete picture of me? I feel extremely see-through, and I'm not exactly discreet. But maybe I feel that way cause I'm with myself all the time. What's it like to only experience me broken into small distinct pieces? What about me do they really dislike? Why do I only feel whole and secure when I'm by myself? But the reason this is a doubt and not a fact is because maybe, possibly, everyone understands me perfectly and I'm not that complicated.
3. I doubt that I've ever really loved anybody or anything the way other people love things. This doubt can be overshadowed by gas clouds of drunken happiness, but in reality, I could leave tomorrow and if there was someone else to fill their places, I would be okay. I would miss them. But as long as I stay distracted by new things, I'm fine. Do my friends who get this about me understand that it doesn't make them any less valuable to me now? Does everyone feel this way about people?
4. I doubt that I am pretty. Because I am fat. But I see myself as very pretty, so you know, this is more related to #2.
5. I doubt that I am smart. Because so much that goes through my head seems to be repetition, and also increasingly negative. And I doubt that a smart girl would give any of these useless nasty thoughts any room to grow, but I do, because they're more entertaining than television. Also, when I go to open mikes, I tell everyone how good they were. And I mean it. Which doesn't seem like the smartest thing. It seems like a dumb girl thing to do. Some guy on Tuesday told me I was a "good soul". Since I know that I am very much so NOT that, it makes me think that I must come off as dumb and nice to these people, cause isn't that what you say to dumb nice girls who smile too much when drunk guys are talking to them? Or it's what you say to ugly girls. Also I use the word "that" too much.
6. I doubt that I am ever going to live a life more interesting than this. Even though I know my life changes constantly, and I just need to say yes to some things I have previously said no to. But it seems like so much effort now. It seems like I could stay in this apartment forever, at this job forever, doing the same Cleveland things. Most of the time I have faith that I won't, that I will find something else to do, but....well its winter. Winter makes me see everything as permanent.
7. I doubt I will ever go back to school. I highly doubt it. I know I should, if only for my intellectual health. But it takes so much money and work. I consider paying off my car to be my biggest accomplishment lately. And the only effort that required was paying my bill on time for three years. If something like a car payment can be so hard and stressful on me, how could I ever do something bigger than that? I am a child.
8. I doubt my own sanity. Sometimes I feel like I must be mentally retarded in some subtle way. Other times I feel completely disconnected, floating in loose space around a Sims game, an abandoned character. In fact, most of the time I am vacillating between one of those two things. Every once in a while, I feel controlled and powerful and magnetic. Those are the only times I feel confident in my sanity, when I can talk to people and really be in the moment and not playing some weird part. But I haven't figured out how to leave that mode on full time. And I can feel my skill at faking that slipping away as I get older.
9. I doubt the level of trashiness in my life. I try hard to not be trashy. But maybe I have been all along? Or I'm descending into it? Trashy people don't know they're trashy, do they? I mean, they must have some clue, otherwise we wouldn't have country music stars. But what if I'm just poor dirty uneducated opinionated trashy? I really like Britney Spears.
10. All of the above combine to make me doubt my superiority over the rest of the human race. But then I remember that the guys who have loved me have been smart, interesting guys. And my friends continue to be my friends despite my perpetual boy drama, and inane ridiculous statements, and inability to call them. And in five years I will read this list and go "oh my god, HOW 29 is THAT". And if I work it correctly, I have at least 50 years left to prove to some segment of the population how much more talented than them I am. I'm just a slow learner when it comes to things that aren't on tests. I'm a baby, really. I'm an adolescent mind. The gestation period for my brilliance is just a little bit longer than the average human. I'm Apple, twenty years ago. Invest now.
1. I doubt that I understand anybody. I harbor suspicion that I am oblivious to lots of things about people that I should be noticing and appreciating. Craziness especially. What if nobody is really who I think they are? What if I am very delusional, and you all are completely different than I think you are?
2. I doubt that anyone understands me. Sure, I know my friends and family love me, but love is so subjective. They love parts of me that relate to them. Do any of them see the full complete picture of me? I feel extremely see-through, and I'm not exactly discreet. But maybe I feel that way cause I'm with myself all the time. What's it like to only experience me broken into small distinct pieces? What about me do they really dislike? Why do I only feel whole and secure when I'm by myself? But the reason this is a doubt and not a fact is because maybe, possibly, everyone understands me perfectly and I'm not that complicated.
3. I doubt that I've ever really loved anybody or anything the way other people love things. This doubt can be overshadowed by gas clouds of drunken happiness, but in reality, I could leave tomorrow and if there was someone else to fill their places, I would be okay. I would miss them. But as long as I stay distracted by new things, I'm fine. Do my friends who get this about me understand that it doesn't make them any less valuable to me now? Does everyone feel this way about people?
4. I doubt that I am pretty. Because I am fat. But I see myself as very pretty, so you know, this is more related to #2.
5. I doubt that I am smart. Because so much that goes through my head seems to be repetition, and also increasingly negative. And I doubt that a smart girl would give any of these useless nasty thoughts any room to grow, but I do, because they're more entertaining than television. Also, when I go to open mikes, I tell everyone how good they were. And I mean it. Which doesn't seem like the smartest thing. It seems like a dumb girl thing to do. Some guy on Tuesday told me I was a "good soul". Since I know that I am very much so NOT that, it makes me think that I must come off as dumb and nice to these people, cause isn't that what you say to dumb nice girls who smile too much when drunk guys are talking to them? Or it's what you say to ugly girls. Also I use the word "that" too much.
6. I doubt that I am ever going to live a life more interesting than this. Even though I know my life changes constantly, and I just need to say yes to some things I have previously said no to. But it seems like so much effort now. It seems like I could stay in this apartment forever, at this job forever, doing the same Cleveland things. Most of the time I have faith that I won't, that I will find something else to do, but....well its winter. Winter makes me see everything as permanent.
7. I doubt I will ever go back to school. I highly doubt it. I know I should, if only for my intellectual health. But it takes so much money and work. I consider paying off my car to be my biggest accomplishment lately. And the only effort that required was paying my bill on time for three years. If something like a car payment can be so hard and stressful on me, how could I ever do something bigger than that? I am a child.
8. I doubt my own sanity. Sometimes I feel like I must be mentally retarded in some subtle way. Other times I feel completely disconnected, floating in loose space around a Sims game, an abandoned character. In fact, most of the time I am vacillating between one of those two things. Every once in a while, I feel controlled and powerful and magnetic. Those are the only times I feel confident in my sanity, when I can talk to people and really be in the moment and not playing some weird part. But I haven't figured out how to leave that mode on full time. And I can feel my skill at faking that slipping away as I get older.
9. I doubt the level of trashiness in my life. I try hard to not be trashy. But maybe I have been all along? Or I'm descending into it? Trashy people don't know they're trashy, do they? I mean, they must have some clue, otherwise we wouldn't have country music stars. But what if I'm just poor dirty uneducated opinionated trashy? I really like Britney Spears.
10. All of the above combine to make me doubt my superiority over the rest of the human race. But then I remember that the guys who have loved me have been smart, interesting guys. And my friends continue to be my friends despite my perpetual boy drama, and inane ridiculous statements, and inability to call them. And in five years I will read this list and go "oh my god, HOW 29 is THAT". And if I work it correctly, I have at least 50 years left to prove to some segment of the population how much more talented than them I am. I'm just a slow learner when it comes to things that aren't on tests. I'm a baby, really. I'm an adolescent mind. The gestation period for my brilliance is just a little bit longer than the average human. I'm Apple, twenty years ago. Invest now.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
And it will be known as The End times, when the structure of morality shall drift apart in a thousand moonpie shards. The Princess shall join a soccer team in her youth, and stand in line for 5 hours to see the 3-D Hannah Montana movie. The Prince shall apply to the Ivy Leagues, but sadly his lack of extracurricular activities will land him in a reputable state school with a decent dragon fighting team, but a really crappy cafeteria and no parking. Jack, having slain the giant but still sold the cow, will become a small time village dealer who unsuccessfully tries to medicate his deep guilt on a nightly basis. The Witch will prosper with her new 1-900 numbers and 2am commercials, hawking youth, beauty and knowledge of future grief. The Giant, as we mentioned, will be dead, leaving the kingdom vulnerable to attacks from large prehistoric birds no one knew he was fighting in the first place. The Beast will remain a hideous terrifying mutant because he was so damn stubborn and unable to discuss his emotions with any sort of honesty. Puss in Boots will be drowned as a war criminal by an army of Lilliputians. Talking flounders will be declared illegal and non-existent, and their believers will go underground, known only by the sausage shaped prosthetics they will wear as a badge of honor. And Hamelin, Germany will need to hire a new Pied Piper., having conveniently forgotten the disastrous financial effects of the first attempt.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
If you did not see the new Indiana Jones yet? Well, maybe you should skip this. Or maybe not.
Alright, I'm over Jay's, we bought the fish sauce, we got the #1 Pho, I'm drinking Magic Hat #9, and okay then: let's watch Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull.
*start movie*
Germans? I bet the kids in the trucks are germans.
Yup.
They're sneak attacking the base! Will the Germans steal a nuclear bomb?
Oh wait, they're Russians. The commies are after the ark? Mummified remains? I think Cate Blanchett looks like that famous asian spy lady I can't think of right now, Mata Hari. Only her accent is horrible. Magnetic gunpowder cloud? Really? oh....Roswell. I thought the aliens came at the end.
Why can't Spielberg stay away from aliens? And why would you open the mummy in the warehouse? Jay likes the sound of guns going down. I fail to see how you could drive the car with some case in it that's so magnetized, gunpowder drifted to it from across the warehouse.
Alright, I think I've found the problem with this movie. Indy survives a nuclear blast in a fridge? And doesn't immediately get crushed in the impact. And climbs out among burning debris with no thought to his testicles, as he stands casually and surveys the mushroom cloud about a mile away. Did I mention he got thrown a mile in a fridge, with no broken bones? And the CGI prairie dogs survived and don't have tumours all over their furry little bellies?
Now we get nice little civic lesson in bad government. The FBI thinks he's rogue. Indy gets fired? Maybe he'll start a petition, maybe an internet petition. That would be swell.
Now liberal extremist McCarthy targeted fired intellectual teams up with funny looking Jewish boy to fight the Russians, appropriate.
Indy just said "typhus".
Also, how does Indy not believe in "stories" at this point? ALSO what the hell is with that library scene? They slide a bike on its side underneath multiple tables and no one breaks a leg? Then he tells the kids to stay out of the library? Try staying out of the FALLOUT CLOUD, asshole. I'm sure Indy learned an obscure Incan language by staying out of the library. And he phoned in his doctorate.
I bet five dollars the conquistadors are alive at the end of this movie. Kept alive by the aliens.
I guess smaller scorpions are more poisonous, we googled it, its true. Also we bought some tamarind at Asian Plaza and eating it from the pod is like sucking the flesh of a penis made of sweet potato.
Shia Le Bouf is doing a GOOD job of making old Indy still look tough. I wonder if that was in his contract. "Hey I'll do this movie, but my sidekick can't be cuter than me and also has to be an obvious weakling."
Wait there are the conquistadors, they've been mummified with alien magic! I don't think in general just opening up mummies randomly with no planning is a good idea...wasn't there another movie about that?
We also got these tamarind candies that are coated in sugar and chili, I can't stop eating them. I'm going to get an Asian tummy ache.
The crystal skull: doesn't speak to everyone huh? Only crazy archaelogists from England? "Stare into the the skull" she says. "We will turn you into us" she says. The Russian plot is to turn America into Russian, subliminally. With a bunch of crystallized alien heads. This is like a political club over the head. Psychic warfare, a misguided FBI, alien conspiracy. I think Spielberg is an Air America fan.
"Autowriting. I should have seen this"
Well, we all should have honey.
The dinosaurs are crawling through the forest! Wait no, the commies brought a tree chipper to the Amazon. Now we're going to the magic alien city, and annoying jewish boy is Indy's son. So of course we have to hear fugly Marian and old Indy argue. I always hated Marian. I guess it's good Indy has a kid now, because he will NEVER HAVE CHILDREN AGAIN NOW THAT HE IS THOROUGHLY IRRADIATED and also will die of leukemia in a month.
Apparently Shia is the Monkey King. And the skull keeps away acres of demon possessed ants away but in close proximity, so Indy can have a fight in the circle of ant death with a Russian who will lose his face. And Ox is Willie Nelson in a poncho. And indian ninjas are stalking them. And Spielberg believes he invents aliens with every single movie , so he has to beat us over the head with the info that "hey these are aliens" even though they are the most cliche aliens ever and we all know what alien skulls look like thank you.
This entire movie was designed to be turned into an amusement park ride. I'm all like, well, there's gonna be a waterfall coming up, because in the car chase, the good guys have the car/boat. And then there's three waterfalls.
The booby traps in the temple SUCK.
Now Mata Hari has returned the head to the crystal skeleton alien, and all the aliens are meshing together, and they're one alien! And the place disentagrates. I think it's safe to assume that every temple left intact is booby trap free, because obviously they all get destroyed anytime anything exciting happens in them. I will feel much safer in temples having realized this.
Mata Hari's head explodes, or maybe she just goes to another dimension. I thought the aliens were giving her the gift of knowledge, but then she explodes. So these are either evil aliens, which means the theory of the movie is that civilization was founded by a bunch of wankers. Or really she goes off with them, becomes enlightened, and spreads the good word of Communism to the universe. She did return the head after all. Which was what they wanted, right? So I think Mata Hari wins.
Meaning Spielberg is a Communist. The entire movie points to it. I mean, she didn't want to keep the skull, she was going to give it back, so Indy and friends were just these obnoxious capitalists who got in the way of her quest for enlightenment. And then when it happened, they got scared and ran. But the strong Ruskie stayed and was rewarded. Americans are weak. Communists are seeking real truth. And humanity is not ready for the return of the superior race.
Finally, Indy marries some ugly broad he dumped years ago cause now he has a kid with her. And everyone leaves happily ever after, except Shia, who has now tarnished his Holes image forever.
Or this whole movie was a dream Indy had as he was dying, locked in the fridge. He imagined all the things he wish he had, a family, a lost love, a meaning behind his work, actual touch with the universal. Maybe this movie was in fact Indy's metaphysical awakening to the gaps in his life, the "looking into the light" moment that sums up his entire career delves deep into the subconscious desires of Henry Jones Jr. But in the end it was too late, and he drifts off into death as he and Marian walk out the church door, the audience lamenting its lost hero and the director poignantly pointing out with some hat trick that there will never again be another Indiana Jones. That modern society, with its obsessions of CGI, Aliens, Over the Top stunts and lack of real mortal enemies, could never support the daring do of
a man with a whip.
And where exactly was his whip?
*start movie*
Germans? I bet the kids in the trucks are germans.
Yup.
They're sneak attacking the base! Will the Germans steal a nuclear bomb?
Oh wait, they're Russians. The commies are after the ark? Mummified remains? I think Cate Blanchett looks like that famous asian spy lady I can't think of right now, Mata Hari. Only her accent is horrible. Magnetic gunpowder cloud? Really? oh....Roswell. I thought the aliens came at the end.
Why can't Spielberg stay away from aliens? And why would you open the mummy in the warehouse? Jay likes the sound of guns going down. I fail to see how you could drive the car with some case in it that's so magnetized, gunpowder drifted to it from across the warehouse.
Alright, I think I've found the problem with this movie. Indy survives a nuclear blast in a fridge? And doesn't immediately get crushed in the impact. And climbs out among burning debris with no thought to his testicles, as he stands casually and surveys the mushroom cloud about a mile away. Did I mention he got thrown a mile in a fridge, with no broken bones? And the CGI prairie dogs survived and don't have tumours all over their furry little bellies?
Now we get nice little civic lesson in bad government. The FBI thinks he's rogue. Indy gets fired? Maybe he'll start a petition, maybe an internet petition. That would be swell.
Now liberal extremist McCarthy targeted fired intellectual teams up with funny looking Jewish boy to fight the Russians, appropriate.
Indy just said "typhus".
Also, how does Indy not believe in "stories" at this point? ALSO what the hell is with that library scene? They slide a bike on its side underneath multiple tables and no one breaks a leg? Then he tells the kids to stay out of the library? Try staying out of the FALLOUT CLOUD, asshole. I'm sure Indy learned an obscure Incan language by staying out of the library. And he phoned in his doctorate.
I bet five dollars the conquistadors are alive at the end of this movie. Kept alive by the aliens.
I guess smaller scorpions are more poisonous, we googled it, its true. Also we bought some tamarind at Asian Plaza and eating it from the pod is like sucking the flesh of a penis made of sweet potato.
Shia Le Bouf is doing a GOOD job of making old Indy still look tough. I wonder if that was in his contract. "Hey I'll do this movie, but my sidekick can't be cuter than me and also has to be an obvious weakling."
Wait there are the conquistadors, they've been mummified with alien magic! I don't think in general just opening up mummies randomly with no planning is a good idea...wasn't there another movie about that?
We also got these tamarind candies that are coated in sugar and chili, I can't stop eating them. I'm going to get an Asian tummy ache.
The crystal skull: doesn't speak to everyone huh? Only crazy archaelogists from England? "Stare into the the skull" she says. "We will turn you into us" she says. The Russian plot is to turn America into Russian, subliminally. With a bunch of crystallized alien heads. This is like a political club over the head. Psychic warfare, a misguided FBI, alien conspiracy. I think Spielberg is an Air America fan.
"Autowriting. I should have seen this"
Well, we all should have honey.
The dinosaurs are crawling through the forest! Wait no, the commies brought a tree chipper to the Amazon. Now we're going to the magic alien city, and annoying jewish boy is Indy's son. So of course we have to hear fugly Marian and old Indy argue. I always hated Marian. I guess it's good Indy has a kid now, because he will NEVER HAVE CHILDREN AGAIN NOW THAT HE IS THOROUGHLY IRRADIATED and also will die of leukemia in a month.
Apparently Shia is the Monkey King. And the skull keeps away acres of demon possessed ants away but in close proximity, so Indy can have a fight in the circle of ant death with a Russian who will lose his face. And Ox is Willie Nelson in a poncho. And indian ninjas are stalking them. And Spielberg believes he invents aliens with every single movie , so he has to beat us over the head with the info that "hey these are aliens" even though they are the most cliche aliens ever and we all know what alien skulls look like thank you.
This entire movie was designed to be turned into an amusement park ride. I'm all like, well, there's gonna be a waterfall coming up, because in the car chase, the good guys have the car/boat. And then there's three waterfalls.
The booby traps in the temple SUCK.
Now Mata Hari has returned the head to the crystal skeleton alien, and all the aliens are meshing together, and they're one alien! And the place disentagrates. I think it's safe to assume that every temple left intact is booby trap free, because obviously they all get destroyed anytime anything exciting happens in them. I will feel much safer in temples having realized this.
Mata Hari's head explodes, or maybe she just goes to another dimension. I thought the aliens were giving her the gift of knowledge, but then she explodes. So these are either evil aliens, which means the theory of the movie is that civilization was founded by a bunch of wankers. Or really she goes off with them, becomes enlightened, and spreads the good word of Communism to the universe. She did return the head after all. Which was what they wanted, right? So I think Mata Hari wins.
Meaning Spielberg is a Communist. The entire movie points to it. I mean, she didn't want to keep the skull, she was going to give it back, so Indy and friends were just these obnoxious capitalists who got in the way of her quest for enlightenment. And then when it happened, they got scared and ran. But the strong Ruskie stayed and was rewarded. Americans are weak. Communists are seeking real truth. And humanity is not ready for the return of the superior race.
Finally, Indy marries some ugly broad he dumped years ago cause now he has a kid with her. And everyone leaves happily ever after, except Shia, who has now tarnished his Holes image forever.
Or this whole movie was a dream Indy had as he was dying, locked in the fridge. He imagined all the things he wish he had, a family, a lost love, a meaning behind his work, actual touch with the universal. Maybe this movie was in fact Indy's metaphysical awakening to the gaps in his life, the "looking into the light" moment that sums up his entire career delves deep into the subconscious desires of Henry Jones Jr. But in the end it was too late, and he drifts off into death as he and Marian walk out the church door, the audience lamenting its lost hero and the director poignantly pointing out with some hat trick that there will never again be another Indiana Jones. That modern society, with its obsessions of CGI, Aliens, Over the Top stunts and lack of real mortal enemies, could never support the daring do of
a man with a whip.
And where exactly was his whip?
I'm ripping mercilessly from Gawker today. First, for Buddy, who thinks Rahm Emmanuel is the hottest thing since Sean William Scott, here's Obama roasting him and not sucking at it in 2005...while Rahm gazes up at him adoringly and thinks about leaving his wife.
And then Kanye's new video!
Heartless from kwest on Vimeo.
And then, oh my god, Ninja Kittens!
And then Kanye's new video!
Heartless from kwest on Vimeo.
And then, oh my god, Ninja Kittens!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Bitter gun toting apples
The headline at Foxnews.com is "Facing A Steep Climb".
"President-elect Barack Obama will inherit on Jan. 20 the worst financial crisis in 70 years and two wars."
In other words, Ha Ha SUCKA.
Also, you can find out who those commie celebs voted for
P.Diddy? Commie.
Pete Wentz? Commie.
Brandy? Commie.
Country music singer Ricky Scaggs? American
"I have really gone to the scriptures and that's the way I vote. I find a man or woman that to me, their principles, ... lines up with what I believe the word of God says," he said Tuesday afternoon. "That's how I vote, and that's the things that I stand on, I would have a hard time voting contrary to that....I'm not sure that Mr. Obama likes bluegrass or country music that well," he said with a chuckle."
Taylor Swift....well Taylor is declining to reveal her vote. Because she still likes her career.
Oh, and Tim Robbins is commie who WASN'T REGISTERED TO VOTE but because he's rich and also the judges are in the tank for Obama, they let him.
"President-elect Barack Obama will inherit on Jan. 20 the worst financial crisis in 70 years and two wars."
In other words, Ha Ha SUCKA.
Also, you can find out who those commie celebs voted for
P.Diddy? Commie.
Pete Wentz? Commie.
Brandy? Commie.
Country music singer Ricky Scaggs? American
"I have really gone to the scriptures and that's the way I vote. I find a man or woman that to me, their principles, ... lines up with what I believe the word of God says," he said Tuesday afternoon. "That's how I vote, and that's the things that I stand on, I would have a hard time voting contrary to that....I'm not sure that Mr. Obama likes bluegrass or country music that well," he said with a chuckle."
Taylor Swift....well Taylor is declining to reveal her vote. Because she still likes her career.
Oh, and Tim Robbins is commie who WASN'T REGISTERED TO VOTE but because he's rich and also the judges are in the tank for Obama, they let him.
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