Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

#611

January 13 2012

A. Everything you say is boring to me now.
B.
A. I hadn’t anticipated this.
B.
A. I liked those boring things before
B.
A. Not just specific but in general.
B.
A. No. Wait. … reverse it.
B.
A. And I don’t mean that as a pejorative.
B.
A. Boring– it’s not. I don’t see it. As a judgment term or… a, reproach?
B.
A. It’s a flavor.
B.
A. Like bitter or like sweet or sour.
B.
A. Except not sweet, because, I mean.
B.
A. I’d be lying if I said that as a taste it wasn’t acquired.
B.
A. Boring isn’t, wasn’t something compulsively eatable.
B.
A. I could help myself. Actually though,
B.
A. well, no. Yes– it was.
B.
A. Eventually.
B.
A. In context.
B.
A. In context
B.
A. In context I used to love your boring.
B.
A. Or at least like it. A lot. Genuinely.
B.
A. Just to be present for it.
B.
A. Just to be in it. All of it. All of the time.
B.
A. And there was, I mean.
B.
A.
B.
A. What do I mean?
B.
A. It’s. Boring– boring is the best part. You know?
B.
A. Was the best part.
B.
A. I’m going on — I suppose I have more than I thought (but not really) for you.
B.
A. Not really.
B.
A. Because this boring is different.
B.
A. I don’t want to say it’s flavorless because that’s insulting.
B.
A. But that’s the only reason why.
B.
A. It’s not nothing, it’s no anything.
B.
A. No thing — can you dig?
B.
A. Ugh. I had to say it, had to say it that way because, I mean.
B.
A. Jesus.
B.
A. This is for me.
B.
A. You might be present but this : is all mine.
B.
A. All me.
B.
A.
B.
A. I really hadn’t anticipated the extent to which I’d have nothing for you.
B.
A.

12 Days of Christmas – Day One

December 14 2011

In lieu of writing things, which I’ve been too busy/at a complete loss for words to do, here are some of my very favorite Christmas things for the next 12 days. Doesn’t sound tempting? Keep in mind that I have impeccable taste and everything I like is excellent. OBSERVE:

DAY ONEPaul F. Tompkins & Aimee Mann singing “Baby It’s Cold Outside”

 

Sang a similar version to this with a friend of mine two New Year’ses ago. It was inspired, at least on my part, by Paul F. Tompkins and Aimee Mann’s version. I took the man part and he took the Mann part. It was pretty good. A picture of that exists somewhere. Oh, it’s right…. HERE:

Lookin' at it / look-look-look lookin' at it

The lyrics are on the phone

and, riiiight….. HERE:

That last one should be to the tune of the paranoias in "Why I Love You"

We are looking at it (for that reason)

aaand, not here, but …. wait for it…. H- shoot. Frick. I thought it was juOHN

Bed Party

Our audience is... .

OSHoot. Missed it. But this las

Long as that fella's no creeper

CAPTURED EXACTLY THE SPIRIT OF IT

t one I’m ready f– oh.

 

The pictures don’t show it, but I was half-a-cripple at the time. I think that desperation really helped me get into character. That, and being a huge creeper.

BONUS VIDEO

One More Drifter In The Snow, you guys

 

 

 

Classic Tricks

November 6 2011

C*L*A*S*S*I*C  T*R*I*C*K*S

We’re all familiar with the classic treats associated with Hallowe’en. Here, I’ll list them in the order of universally accepted preference:

1. Anything Full Size
2. Anything Fun Size
3. Those plastic sleeves with those small, candy-colored chocolate balls in them
4. Sugar Children
5. Popcorn Ball
6. Smarties
7. Whoppers
8. Sugar Fathers
9. Pennies Baggie
10. Apple / Wax Teeth / Dots [threewaytie]
No. Bit o’ Honey

Pictured: a fundamental misunderstanding of the nature of candy

Like a handkerchief in the back pocket was gay code for being down to get-get-get down, the continued existence of the Bit o’ Honey is the signal from candy-makers to dentists that their pact to racket teeth is ongoing, inviolate.
Where was I?

We’re all familiar with the classic treats associated with Hallowe’en, but whither the classic tricks? Here’s some of the classickest:

((|)) Toilet Paper Their House — the closest thing to actually stealing thirty-five minutes of their life from them; bonus: no Grand Larceny / Petty Murder charges (In this scenario the person who owns the house makes $685.72/hour)

((|)) Smash Their Pumpkin — really, you’re doing them a favor by not letting it turn into a rotten mess all over their doorstep. Sad and gross! The Hallowe’en equivalent of if by President’s Day edible underpants started to mold.

((|)) Smashing Pumpkins — “Panama” them with the entire Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness album until they give you candy. Sure, there’s a lot of good tracks on there, and so many tracks between the two discs that it would take a pretty long time to get mind-breakingly tedious, but, no, wait– “Panama” them with “The End is the Beginning is the End” and “The Beginning is the End is the Beginning.” Soon they’ll be so >dizzy< from trying to figure out whether it’s the beginning or the end or the end or the beginning they’ll start giving you personal checks with multiple zeroes just to leave. Don’t cave yet, personal checks are easily cancelled and nothing holds it value quite like personal information. But Be Forewarned: the songs suck and each gets pretty tedious after hearing them 2/3 times and I guess you are sort of “Panama”ing yourself with them too. (Seriously– over five minutes?)

(I hate WordPress).

Oh, also dress up as albino cat suit Billy Coorgan, and project Batman & Robin against yourself and their house.

(How come?)

Poor James Iha. Slash Fox = Coorgan, Rabbit = Chamberlain, Falco = Iha, Slippy = D’arcy? Sorry, D’arcy. Sorry, Everyone. NO WAIT = D’arcy can be that lady fox and then the rabbit actually even looks like Rick Nielsen. BONUS

 

I think Rick Nielsen’s people hunted down and destroyed every picture of when Rick had a goatee that they could find. Or, for some reason, not a lot of pictures of Rick Nielsen were being taken in the mid 90s.

((|)) Egg Their House — so humiliating for them, to be the butt of your yokes. Add puns to make their humiliation even worse. Like some kind of ahumorous omelette. (Did you know that your standard Denver Omelette is the single most hilarious thing you can do with a frying pan? Sure you read this and say, ‘well what about tying them to your ceiling, releasing them and letting them smack Daniel Stern in the face?’ Good point, I respond. I withdraw my previous wild unfounded claim).

Funnier than a Denver Omelette / actually, it was paint cans / gif not made by me

((|)) House Their Eggs — surprise surrogacy! They wake up, all adaze, you standing there, so pregnant. How did it happen so fast? You’ve kept them under heavy sedation for months now, feeding them, massaging their muscles, tucking in between them, pretending you are one then pretending you are the other, kissing him to her shoulder and placing his hand on her hip, whipping it out getting it hard and making them make love to each other, grabbing that zygote and putting it in you, all the way in; watching Nick At Nite, eating Maple Walnut ice cream, taking that test, success; the tapes come from your secret stash and have the original line-up  [Donna Reed, Dennis the Menace, My Three Sons, Route 66, etc.]; 8 and 1/2 months of this and now it’s almost Flag Day. Time to get up.

Nick at Nite plus this = New Hampshire

When they wake up, and you are standing there, waiting. They’ll be so surprised that they get one free baby and you did all the work for them. The look on their faces. They’ll probably name it after you and I hope you’re ready to be a godperson.

((|)) Paper Their Toilets. House. — replace their toilet paper with glue traps, fly paper.
Or just leave their regular t.p. but spray it with RAID.

((|)) I Pooped So Much I Threw Up — Huh?

((|)) Tranny Surprise — replace their transmission with a copy of Joy Division’s “Transmission” 7″. Later: the car still runs but chugging along on a bassline-driven hypnotic baritone drone, as Ian Curtis soundtracks the driver’s descent into suicidal depression.

Double Later: when their family comes home “Surprise!” as opening the door mousetraps the chair from underneath three shakes and a li’l spasm.

((|)) Thanksgiving Dinner — ‘WHuh? I thought it was Halloween??’ they’ll say, so confused. So Confused! Hahahaha. Ahahahaha. Ha ha ha ha ha. A hee, a hee. Ha. *bite turkey leg, swig gravy* Stupid idiots.

((|)) Take The Apostrophe Out —  how will all their friends know that they are keeping this ‘en hallowe’? There is no way that apostrophe is supplanting just one (or two) letters…
Halloweven?
Halloweden?
Pumpkins instead of apples, spider instead of snake (why?); Adam is a Dracula and Eve a princess– basicness is their anti-nudity.
>>>What is your anti-nudity?<<<
Shame?
Rolls?
Top two answers on the board and they are mutually inclusive

((|)) Kill Their Pets — every single one. Dead now because they didn’t give you Zotz. Forever.

Blazing new trails in the world of food issues

((|)) Replace Their Aluminum Siding With Aluminum Foil Siding — an exercise in Cristo-like tedium, but shinier and therefore better / let’s bake this place like a potato. If they won’t come out and treat you, fill them (through the windows, thick hose) with sour cream and fixin’s until they are hacking up chives. Fill them with cheese and bacon crumbles until their acne has acne, their heart knows its Miranda rights by heart and never talks just asks for a lawyer. STRRRRREETTCH

((|)) Take The High Road — create an impromptu secret pot garden in their backyard/beneath their shrubbery. Then call the cops! With any luck you will get a sweet F-spot for your trouble (Franklin). Does that make the 50 a G-Spot or do you change it up for each? An L-train is a good one, ditto a J-bone (thanks Pat Francis). But W, H, G…

Did you know that there have been $500/$1,000/$5,000/$10,000 and (kind of) $100,000 bills as well?
On the $500 was our pal Bill McKinley. Sort of a dull choice, but notable for its reverse side– one of those magic motion dealies depicting “Czolgosz v. McKinley.” It goes poorly for our Bill.   (There have also been $500 bills feat. Paul Giamatti’s somehow uglier son John Quincy Adams and the ultimate grab-bag Chief Justice John Marshall/Conquistador Hernando de Soto split 6.14″)
The $1,000 bill struggles to contain Grover Cleveland. It was originally supposed to be a $100 bill but they had to take it out an order of magnitude for him to fit / when Grover Cleveland shows up on a bill he really shows up on a bill / I want to make a movie called President Fatso but I’m pretty sure it would be legally obligated to star Martin Lawrence. (There was also a $1,000 bill feat. noted creep Alexander Hamilton).
James Madison is the $5,000 bill. I have nothing to add. No, wait: Good choice?
The man on the 10,000 dollar bill was Salmon Chase, the altar ego of Spawn had it started in the late 60s.

Spawning is when the salmon chase each other (to fuck). Sort of?

Back from hell to... do whatever Spawn did

W = W-L-O-V-E
H = H-one-oh
G = G-mail
?

((|)) Remind Them That They’ll Be Dead Someday — I mean, technically is that not what this whole night should be about? Candy is just one of the 4 Horsemen of Diabetes (Reality TV, Xbox, and Fries); masks just proto-rictus and costumes practice for funeral clothes. a) You… >>aren’t<< going to be buried as a sexy cat? b) Jesus Christ can we just, as a culture, embrace the funeral mask? If I have to see another creepy, waxen joker smile on the impossibly taut approximation of a person I used to love. (Note: once you die you are dead to me). Who wouldn’t prefer a papier maiche situation with painted quadrants that, 3rd grade art class style, represent different aspects of your personality/things you like? Everybody? Everybody wouldn’t? Well FINE. We’ll see who’s laughing when you’re a tuxedo-bound Smilex victim for all eternity and I’m a kitty cat in a cock sock with Ninja Turtles, a stick figure with a New York City T-Shirt and Harry Potter glasses, the words “Price is Right”, and Tecmo Super Bowl literally plastered on my face.

QB Eagles meant a lot to me / all the way back in '93

It will probably be you, because you got Joker Gassed and all, But Still!
/ Anyways, some methods:

BOO: If you know their phone number, by all means — just call them and tell them
BOO: maybe if you, as a crew, carry around a phone book… I mean, they don’t list by address I don’t think, but if these people’s’s name is unique enough– is there an internet phone book yet?
BOO: OR carry around a ton of burners and throw one of them through their window ringing. They pick it up and: ‘you do, of course, remember that one day you will die’
BOO: although at that point it would be a real trick to interpret that as not a threat on their lives
BOO: I guess just hang up a bunch of paper skeletons then?

((|)) Find Out Who Their Kids Are And CyberBully™ Them — or, if they’re Of Mackability, just cyber them. The internet used to inspire fear due to its special brand of love, not hate. A/S/L you guys *sniff* A/S/L

((|)) Do Real Boring David Blaine Shit — like we will now bury ourselves to the neck in your front yard. {NOTE: make sure you are exploiting the human decency of an actually decent human; you are leaving yourself REAL OPEN}
The trick here is a combo of realistic puppet heads you can switch places with and a neat pre-dug underground fort. You’ll hang them up on ‘Well how did they know they’d get to trick me plus they only dug for like an hour they couldn’t have actually created anything to hide in’. And while they spend their effort trying to discredit your ability to dig BAM you actually researched the SHIT out of this neighborhood and found that each house used to have extra large front yard septic tanks before they switched to sewer. Stupid Idiots– you’re all down there eating your candy, drinking your nickel nips, and playing some crazy rounds of Never Will I Ever Until Now: Challenge Edition while they’re all like ‘duh how do they stay buried so long without needing to eat or go to the bathroom, duh’. WE”RE LIVING IN A GIANT BATHROOM, DUMMIES.

Or, you know, they’ll just kick in your or your puppet’s teeth and game over.

((|)) Do You Ever Just Look At The Credits For A Movie And Think About If All That Labor And Resources Went Towards Anything Else How Much Better We’d Be As A Culture — education, medical research, policework if policework could be unentangled from assaulting those ‘most of us’ power-lite enough so that there will never be repercussions, providing every single person (or every group of, like, 12 people) their own personal trainer/chef, infrastructure repair/redevelopment, making porn instead

((|)) Dress Up As Their Future Selves — and really show ’em what jerks their nigh-corpses will be

((|)) Gift Them Political Literature — so much of it. Slide it under their doors, paper over their windows, dump it down the chimney, no wrong holiday, uh- stuff it in a pumpkin and light it on fire. Thin line, you guys.

((|)) Be Extra Nice About It — really guilt them up, but genuine.
$$$ Make them their first wet burrito
$$$ Hem their pants to a kinder more flattering fit
$$$ Paint their house glow-in-the-dark
$$$ No, wait– that shit is crazy expensive– let’s just paint their House glow-in-the-dark instead
$$$ Most families keep a Hugh Laurie statue, right?

Treat or Trick?

$$$ Write them fanfic about how good-a friends you could be
$$$ Do a sing-a-long
$$$ Learn what songs they like, what keys suit them best, which color sequins jumpsuit them best, build a bonfire, grab some marshmallows, I could go for a S’more right now, all Southern and over-toasted on one side, actually set it on fire and had to blow it out, there’s gotta be a graham cracker substitute that we could use instead, something a li’l less dry/crumbly, and then start singing
$$$ Take out their trash (if they keep it outside, but don’t consider it already taken out, for some reason)
$$$ Wash their car by hand
$$$$ Like, no sponges
$$$$$ Or towels
$$$$$$ Or water
$$$$$$$ Wash it through sheer rubbing
$$$$$$$$ Or inhalation (of filth)
$$$ Remember them fondly
$$$ Write them a letter with your feelings in it, informing them so. BFF half a heart.
$$$ Wish them Well– like, A Well– — no (non-survival, non-emergency) water tastes better than well water — — — so crisp, so cool — — — — — — if they had a well they’d never be unpleasant again. Then they’d love you, forgive you, appreciate you. Dream of you (and only you).
$$$ At a certain point unsolicited kindness is indistinguishable from a trick/terrorism

((|)) Bigfoot ’em — either by ghost, or UFO, or mummy, or actual bigfoot, or circle cropped. Costume slash accessory up and really hoax the shit out of them.

((|)) Fill Their Sprinklers With Blood Somehow

But instead this is blood

((|)) Ornament/Destroy Their Lawn — beautifully, strategically, send a benign message using lime, fire , and others:
informative? burn in the periodic table (of elements, not a depiction of your kitchen that one time after a moon-day post-breakfast, uncontrollable, insatiable I (Still) Lust You love fuck)
deeply personal? now use the other periodic table
epiphanic? the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles as represented by the Magi in the medium of gold frankincense and myrrh OR that time you realized that Russel Crowe’s John Nash in A Beautiful Mind was just Foghorn Leghorn but exactly Foghorn Leghorn

This, but a baby in a bathtub (not a dog in a... paddle house?)

epistolic? write them a nice letter– a nice lawn letter
mosaic? in tiles, probably of Justinian I? But I guess you could do Justinian Bieber– that famous mosaic but with his face, iconic haircut– that’s fun, right? Sigh/saturday night…
mnemonic? just looking at it helps you remember the order of the planets, months with 30 days, heartparts, original lady cast of 90210 in order of fuckability (“I Do Not Actually Want To Have Sex With Any Of These Women” — huh, not so much a mnemonic as a sentence)
pneumatic? filled with news tubes! practical! attractive! practtractical!
pragmatic? a lawn tapestry depicting a mowed lawn (made out of cut grass)
paralytic? nothing but hidden obstacles, bucking horses, and invisible neese (the group-plural of nooses (i.e. gaggle equiv.))
paisley? depict Prince but through use of various size paisleys. High difficulty, high likelihood of getting arrested before you can complete it, high sense of crushing underwhelm should you actually complete it
parmesanic? depicts the Sports Night “all covered in cheese” gaffe scene (in powder cheese)

Google Image Search Result #13 for "sports night all covered in cheese"

parchesic? like one of those life-size chessboards, but for dumbs
analgesic? replace this lawn with a special blend– part bluegrass, part St. Augustine, part morphine
therapeutic? with each step upon this lawn, years and miles melt off. All your damage, both mental and physical, is repaired. You breathe easier; you feel at home in your body for the first time. You no longer care about when your life will track right. You no longer care that you no longer care. You lay down on the lawn. You
bathic? soak it up, I mean in, I mean soak in this, I mean drown. I don’t know what bathos is.
bronze partly hate to see the lawn grow, so just like your baby shoes…

Ok, I’m done.

New Dumb Divisions

August 20 2011

If we want to stay in power, if we want to keep 24-38% of the nation’s wealth amongst us 1%, we’ve gotta start creating NEW dumb divisions…


Spits v. Swallows
           If we’re going to stay in with the youth crowd, but also far enough back so as to seem hopelessly out of date and therefore ineffectual, we’re going to have to finally start getting more hands-on sexually. Or should I say mouths-on?1
           The latest research from our youth culture division shows that Average Teen ’98 is highly invested in sucking dicks. They just can’t get enough. Not only receiving, but giving. Giving!
           Now, riding the success of the circumcised vs. hooded split, I can’t overstate how sensitive and responsive an area the dick is. If we can work this tip we’ll be able to lick , wait a second. Who wrote this copy?? Allen? ALLEN!2


Asleep v. Awake
           You know what’s really dragging this economy down, it’s all those do-nothing asleeps. “I cyan’t wyrork. I nyeed to tyemporyarily syusspyend cyonciousnyess and nyon-yautonyomic byodyily fyunction yn yorder tyo myaintyain pryoper yopyreration yof myy myental fyacultyies.” Lazy zzzgers.
           Advantages: they should be easy to demonize as they literally do nothing. Productivity drops between 100-100.002% (undoing the labor of a well-made bed, eating 3-6 of our most industrious spiders a year, re-urinating our carfeully de-urinated sheets)3 when you sleep. Play in to race/class sensitivities here by using a real Rosario type in our squandered tucks graphics;4 I could have sworn there was some kind of rags-to-riches spider rapper my kid likes– get him too.
           We’re farming similar territory as to our perennial race-baught harvest here, but with the added benefit of no victim/power gap to exploit. In this scenario, we are the ones taking on Big Shuteye. No Goliath need be manufactured, or David bullshat.5
           If the fact that every single person on earth is guilty of being a filthy dozebeast gives you pause as to what leverage we’ll be able to generate with this tact, please recall our past, current and future successes re: abstinence, pornography, gayness, really all human sexuality. As always, people will be lining up to cast stones at the mirror and have them hit somebody else.6
           Furthermore, the latest from our anecdotal department has found that at least 1 in 7 of them are just doing that to get out of sex you’re pretty sure well I’ll show them I’ll come on too strong to the new temp and get fired and then whose bed will you be ‘asleep’ in? A. Not Mine!7


Ultrapoor vs. Megarich
           I know, I know. Poor vs. Rich is exactly what we’re trying to avoid, and we’re even less partial to the numbers on Increasingly Poor vs. Increasingly Rich. But we can’t just sleight of hand all conflict to manufactured wedge issues and powerless scapegoats.9 By moving the battlefield to the furthest extremes of wealth inequality we not only proactively redefine terms/set an agenda least likely to succeed in affecting disruptive change, we can actually even the numbers slightly– and tip the power balance nigh-infinitely– in our favor. It’s not the top 1% vs. the bottom 80%, but the top %1 of %1 versus nobody cares to count.
           Advantages: The ultrapoor are not sexy. Your daughter does not want to ride away on the motorcycle with some ultrapoor Romeo/James Dean-type. A) they don’t have motorcycles, that is just the sound of their untreated TB; b) even if they did they have motorcycles they would be too loaded down with bagsful of bags and etable trash that she couldn’t fit (nor would she want to); and, c) they don’t ‘type’ by star but by smell.11
           We are talking about a segment of the population most of whom are too (actually) crazy to have been able to hang by a thread with the regular poor– and the regular poor are crazy enough to support and defend us in everything we ever say or do. Against whom we will offer our most impervious, our most insulated, our most detached from society and our most impossible to understand. Hedge-fund managers, quasi-anonymous capital I ‘Investors’, heirs and heiresses, proximity to computers, (what is a) leveraged buyout… how can you fight something that isn’t anything?
           Bonus: a good and easy dive to take. Ultimately we ‘lose’ and we have to allot some tax-write offs towards (society-wise) palliative medical treatment, shelters, a (genuinely) too sad ad campaign13 and are forced to reap good press and credibility. In the mean time, the ostensible arc of some dumb comedies make this generation’s Christopher McDonald look a cartoon while we build on previous race/class divisions, feat. a multiplying effect so special k that Keynes will be pissing corn flakes in his grave on our crowning achievement: the city/suburb/country triumverate.


Ultrapoor vs. Megashark
           On the other hand… no. NO. Don’t give into temptation. The Coming Full-On Dystopia will be here soon enough and you will be its Leonardo. Its Newton. Its Brian Eno. All of your craziest, most hilarious, ahead of its time work will come true. Patience.




1. No. We shouldn’t. I can’t imagine what that would even mean as a figure of speech. I guess, perhaps, a more talk, less action version of hands-on? Or, to fit our context, the mouth synecdochic for ideas, and the broad manipulation of soft cultural forces in order to affect change (or squash it), as opposed to the more (figuratively) ‘hands-on’ efforts such as legislation, rights-curbs, or fomenting violence or revolution. In retrospect, Yes. We absolutely should start saying mouths-on. Keep it internal while we closed-beta/bug hunt (obviously very VERY vulnerable to cheap innuendo and mockery– but that can be a strength (see: tea-bagging) especially when abstracted enough from our cause/person so as to not be inescapable i.e. Santorum), but Yes.
YES: we are MOUTHS_ON

2. Allen has made some very hard men very — ALLEN!!!!!

3. Technically this produces approximately %0.6 of our annual shame reserves, but it still can’t recoup our loss in arachnophobia-driven house-flight-based commerce. Semper fi, you fearless mouth pioneers.

4. Also: see if we can get that Karen to have sex with me

5. Bullshot? Bullshod. You don’t need to shoe a cow. THE COW SHOES YOU

6. Previous pro-moral campaigns (Snow White, Dorian Gray) by our antagonists over at CIS have gladly failed at shattering the appeal of the magic mirror.

7. Whether this is because of you’ve been left, or can no longer afford to stealth finance your secret in-city cheatin’ condo, hey, that’s one less mouth to seed. Ew.8

8. Between-the-lines super-burn: even your ‘goomar’ has gone sweatpants and facial-(-the-bad-kind-) on your dumb dick.

9. Actually, if past experience is a reliable precursor for future results, we absolutely can. It just gets So Boring. Sometimes I wonder if it is even worth it to hoard all this wealth and power and status to the maximized exclusion of our fellow man. I mean, you’ve popped one cherry of a future A-list Hollywood starlet10 while jet-skiing in the world’s only man-made/underground sea, you’ve popped them all.
Even Megan Mullally (some day).

10. Darryl Hannah

11.Namely: body-dominant, piss-driven, poop, and $&%^^@12

12. pronounced as uncontrollable weeping

13. Bonuser: try to get nets to play disproportionately during ad breaks on any journotainment that tries to actually try — they will change that channel so fast.

Happy Teak-colored Jeans Day

August 12 2011
HTcJD(O)

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!HAPPY TEAK_cOLORED JEANS DAY (OBSERVED) EVRYONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Uh. YeAh.

(In case wordpress doesn’t like gifs: http://twitpic.com/64wgof + http://twitpic.com/64wor5)

Vanessa! #1

August 11 2011

With new technological advances turning all of our gadgets against us.

With active participation in life at an all-time low, and vicariousness and voyeurism the new standard of practice.

With the creeping surveillance state allowed to operate wholly unaccountable– even when exposed– by a feckless and saginated rump republic.

Who, pray reader, will Watch the Watchers?

It’s me!

Vanessa: Watcher of Watchers

VANESSA

3:28 PM                  Hart Markford Elementary (adjacent)

Steven is waiting for the kids again. Always there. Sitting on the rainbow-slatted lawn chair in his front yard, a smile and a wave for each one as they walk up the hill from Hart Markford, home. He set up late this time and, in the rush, spilled his apple iced tea1 from over-stirring. It’s still half-full but his hands have turned sticky from drinking without wiping the drips. In just two minutes the bell will ring.

Imagine if 180 days a year you died and went to heaven, just to be pulled back ten minutes later to play out the rest of your vegetative state. If Michael Jackson got a funeral parade and commutation of sentence,2 then doesn’t Steven deserve his spot of tea?


4:16 PM      Bedroom, night

Alex isn’t a good person. He shouldn’t be doing this. He knows that he shouldn’t be doing this, and yet. Alex has a pocket full of staples. He pushes his hands into them during. He keeps plenty3 of lotion in his other pocket because he never learned that that’s not what you use to clean wounds. It’s in the medicine cabinet, isn’t it? Alex continues to push.


7:31 PM       112 N Bishop Ave, Chula Vista, CA

WHEEL! Of! FORTUNE! Mark picked moo shu pork this time and a small order of string beans. Two down, four to go. Michelob. His fork is congealing in the bean box as he waits for Vanna to turn the first letter. Well, touch. Ish. It gets harder and harder to get hard for this. If only DVRs had existed back when she actually had to work for it. Actually had to spin them with her actual hand. His other hand strays towards the Toss Across board strapped to the side of his recliner and touches what she touches. He turns his letters.


8:17 PM       Factory

Good. Good. Good. Good. Fine. Good. Ok. Good. Good. Good. Stop. “Pull the Chain!”


9:49 PM      Outside of 1941 E 20th St, Wilmington, DE

He doesn’t like that he’s with her. Not him, him. Up there. He thinks ‘s pretty sure he’s up there with her. The tv flickers over the couch but he doesn’t buy it. Not for a second. There’s no way they’re watching something so …flashing. But why leave the tv on? Obviously, it could be that, but…

They always talked about the environment and had agreed that humanity do everything possible to save it, given it’s absolute importance vis a vis their future. They’d both committed to brushing with the tap off, using every dish (at least) twice, only showering together, and putting a bunch of rocks in the toilet tank.45 He’d even convinced her to switch from round bulbs to that curly pigtail kind. She wouldn’t just leave the tv on like that, not after they spent so much coming to their compact about turning the lights off when leaving the apartment even if its just to go do a smoke. But now the tv is on and no one is on the couch watching it. Nothing about this feels right at all. He sheaths his bushnells and slips the case back under the overgrowth. He draws the strings of his hooded.


1:33 AM       9th & Henry

These two cops are loving the SHIT out of this stake-out. Good coffee, low stakes (always a plus), donuts (natch), plus McNichols’ daughter got married over the weekend so they have all this extra cocktail shrimp– like three Igloos full. All signs are pointing to the deal going down tomorrow night. Pretty much all the perps left for the clubs at 1, and two of the three guys who stuck around are on payroll. They’re laughing, they’re talking shit about the Giants/Eagles, they’re prank calling patrol cars, they’re singing along to Cheap Trick,6 they’re singing along to Journey,7 Supertramp.8 They are having shrimp contests9 and telling ghost stories – both of which are way scarier with that super-strong police flashlight.

Goodbye, Stranger Shrimps

TWIST ENDINGS: trying to cheat death in the first place was what ultimately resulted in your death; the thing you said three times in the mirror that was supposed to summon a really bad demon to kill you didn’t but then when you said it the fourth time (dismissively) it did!; the call wasn’t just coming from inside your house – it was coming from you!/?; you chose not to untie the yellow ribbon and all you got to show for it was a maggoty penis; your two fellow officers got killed because they got caught looking out at you telling ghost stories which are about dead people!


[REDACTED]       [REDACTED]

Somebody called his ex-boyfriend ‘a terrorist’ 12 times on a drunk dial.10 Somebody left a really enthusiastic voicemail about how good Among the Living is.11 Somebody twut the president (death words)!12 A small child, skyping her grandma to show off what she’d just learned, forgot 10.13 Somebody opted-out. Somebody opted-in.14 Somebody used Facebook. Somebody kept calling their chapstick lip balm (even though it is (clearly, explicitly) ChapStick® brand chapstick). Somebody’s iPhone ringtone is “You Dropped A Bomb On Me” by the Gap Band but they also wanted to plane.15

A tree fell in the woods. When it struck the ground it sounded suspiciously like, well. Here. Have a listen– “…crrrkkkkshhkkrCKKROOOSHkkAMMABrlNLaaRRRDNMmrkkrrsshhhhhh…”. Weird, huh?



Wait. Shut up a second. Shit.

Somebody played jihad in words for friends. It was rejected, of course (foreign language, proper noun?), but that could be the cover. Quick, direct, no way to trace it. Unless, of course, you’re being kibbutzed by the all-kibbutzing [REDACTED].


8:23 AM       Factory

Good. Good. Good. Ok. Good.





1Horizontal slices of apple (8, brown-sugar cured) flavor a slightly weak plain iced tea.

2for Nostalgic Songcraft

3Two tubes, hotel size

4Though even that commitment was tested by several overheard instances of multi-flush visits.5

5“Waste is already waste, why double/triple/quadruple down?” and “Shame is as futile as it is fuedal– don’t let the fief ‘manors’ lord over you. Do Not Vassalate.” [?]

6at Budokan

7Escape

8See pix!

9McNichols fit 13 in his mouth at once (tails out); Garrity popped 47-in-a-row clean out of the tail using just two fingers

10The post-adjustment sobriety-neutral magic number!

11Look it up!/jk, the only person who could have possibly left that voicemail has already committed suicide and was convicted deemed guilty in abstentia. Of hearing that album. CASE CLOSED.

12“@BarackObama yr brain-dead debt ceiling negotiation ‘tactics’ will only serve to hasten the slow death of the social safety net/middle class” 140 exactly! (Efficient!)

13…7, 8, 9…

14Real enthusiastic about it. Like, really.

15The opposite of deplane