Monday, March 14, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Now it's 1:00am
It's cold but the window must be open. Bubble wrap forever. This pillow is far superior to that one. What if mom died? Metric has some really good songs. Why the chai tea so late? I think he thought I was being sarcastic. Breakfast will be nice. Woah, she really gained weight. I could just be a construction worker. I really want to watch Titanic. This land is your land, this land is my land! Wet lumps of glue covered in glitter. Clarissa didn't explain shit. Scuffle in the alley. Veterinary anything is so expensive. I bet he's not half as smart as he seems. I could pee, or just fall asleep. That chap stick really did the trick. Hey, that rhymes. What if there was a snake in my bed? Jesus. I wonder if the butler has his own life. God I want to go to Coachella. Candy necklaces are disgusting in every way. 'Dollup' is a stupid word but I like it. What if college is pointless? His nipples certainly don't seem as sensitive as mine. I should be reading right now. I'm happy Jennifer Love-Hewitt isn't around anymore. I secretly want an iPad. Maybe no one actually likes me. No, they do. Savory is superior to sweet. Cat-Dog sucked. What if it fades away? I could easily go the rest of my life without seeing Mary Poppins again. Christmas was fun. Bologna. Having testicles seems so bizarre. My life would drastically improve if I were a genius. My life would drastically improve if I were a genius with testicles. Video games seem like such a waste of time. Goodbye Libra, hello Scorpio! Why punch somebody in the nose for no reason? Snow White, what a whore.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
facebookery
As you sit atop your grimy bed sheets wasting time in Facebook limbo, eating pizza bagels and occasionally rearranging the pillows behind your back, do you ever stop and ask yourself what the fuck you're doing? I hope so. I hope you exclaim it-- I know I do. However, my recent Facebook-creeping adventures have inspired slightly more insightful but equally time-consuming and fluffy thoughts.
Thoughts that will not only make you ashamed when you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the glistening grease of your pizza bagel, but they could also make you a slightly less judgmental voyeur.
If you're anything like me or many other creeps I know out there (let's not get into names, but you're probably one of them), you enjoy looking at the profiles of people you do not especially like. People from your high school class, for example. You know these people--maybe since the third grade, you know how they conduct themselves in classrooms and hallways, you know what kind of pants they wear and you can easily picture their worst haircut and their car full of other people you don't really care for. You can hear this person's shrill voice as your eyes scan their exclamation point-ridden status at the top of your news feed, and without thinking you give in to temptation and journey into the life they have so kindly put on display for you. You almost choke on your pizza bagel laughing at the photos they post: one after another after another of their weird party-like environments, usually somebody's kitchen with about four people in total attendance, arranging themselves and the fifths of blueberry Smirnoff about the frame to make the scene look as raging as possible. You scoff, you laugh, you call your buddies over to laugh with you at the photos, stati, and comments made by these people; these people whom you'll probably never talk to again, and you wouldn't want to. But still--the yearning! The yearning to look at them and laugh is undeniable, and plus what you do on your facebook is only between you and your pizza bagels--no shame in that. Or is there?
Maybe it's maturity slowly working itself into my life, or maybe I just feel like a bad person--either way, this ability to so easily access photo documentation of the private lives of those whom I love to hate is no longer as entertaining as it once was.
Honestly (cue Full House sentimental moment music), the smiling faces of these people are beginning to weaken my laughter and send my entire method of mockery into question. Whether it is all part of the "we're having fun and we want to convince you all of that through an entire facebook album"-scheme or not, they look happy. Who am I to laugh at the happiness of others? Or for that matter, the unhappiness of others-- the always entertaining series of break-up stati come to mind.
I suppose what I'm getting at here is that as facebook begins to take over the world, is it insecurity, or just the opposite driving driving duck-lipped girls to post numerous photos of themselves grabbing their own tits from slightly different angles? True, they very well may feel that it is necessary for them to draw attention to their bodies by way of trashy photos to boost their self-esteem, but is it possible they are simply having fun and don't care what people think of how they portray themselves in the world of social networking? If so, I'm rather jealous.
Thoughts that will not only make you ashamed when you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the glistening grease of your pizza bagel, but they could also make you a slightly less judgmental voyeur.
If you're anything like me or many other creeps I know out there (let's not get into names, but you're probably one of them), you enjoy looking at the profiles of people you do not especially like. People from your high school class, for example. You know these people--maybe since the third grade, you know how they conduct themselves in classrooms and hallways, you know what kind of pants they wear and you can easily picture their worst haircut and their car full of other people you don't really care for. You can hear this person's shrill voice as your eyes scan their exclamation point-ridden status at the top of your news feed, and without thinking you give in to temptation and journey into the life they have so kindly put on display for you. You almost choke on your pizza bagel laughing at the photos they post: one after another after another of their weird party-like environments, usually somebody's kitchen with about four people in total attendance, arranging themselves and the fifths of blueberry Smirnoff about the frame to make the scene look as raging as possible. You scoff, you laugh, you call your buddies over to laugh with you at the photos, stati, and comments made by these people; these people whom you'll probably never talk to again, and you wouldn't want to. But still--the yearning! The yearning to look at them and laugh is undeniable, and plus what you do on your facebook is only between you and your pizza bagels--no shame in that. Or is there?
Maybe it's maturity slowly working itself into my life, or maybe I just feel like a bad person--either way, this ability to so easily access photo documentation of the private lives of those whom I love to hate is no longer as entertaining as it once was.
Honestly (cue Full House sentimental moment music), the smiling faces of these people are beginning to weaken my laughter and send my entire method of mockery into question. Whether it is all part of the "we're having fun and we want to convince you all of that through an entire facebook album"-scheme or not, they look happy. Who am I to laugh at the happiness of others? Or for that matter, the unhappiness of others-- the always entertaining series of break-up stati come to mind.
I suppose what I'm getting at here is that as facebook begins to take over the world, is it insecurity, or just the opposite driving driving duck-lipped girls to post numerous photos of themselves grabbing their own tits from slightly different angles? True, they very well may feel that it is necessary for them to draw attention to their bodies by way of trashy photos to boost their self-esteem, but is it possible they are simply having fun and don't care what people think of how they portray themselves in the world of social networking? If so, I'm rather jealous.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
welcome back
(explosion of dust and glitter) I'M BACK! Hello again, loyal followers of the poop--I've missed you. My summer spent in the Hamptons was exquisite as always--unfortunately, somewhere between being fanned by my loyal servants and lazily fed grapes by my minions, I just couldn't find the time to blog. In truth, I spent the bulk of these last three months in the scenic Eugene, OR, and the only fanning to be had was that of my own farts in the sweet summer humidity. Grapes were probably eaten at some point, however. ENOUGH of this dilly-dallying, lets get to the real reason why I felt so compelled to return...
As I laid staring into space one evening, meaningless drivel splish-splashing about my brain, a great realization--an epiphany, if you will, came over me. A fleeting little thought that, now, has developed into an intriguing obsession. A much overdue comparison that can only be described as pure destiny...
SPORKS vs. SKORTS: a disturbing and endless list of similarities.
The first and most obvious quality these pointless and embarrassing products share is their name. At a glance the two words look identical, and when uttered with any kind of speech impediment they would probably sound identical as well. I suspect that none of us could say the the two words together ten times fast--I cannot say this for sure, however, as the "red leather/yellow leather" controversy has led to my ultimate refusal to participate in such games.
I will excuse the similarities found in their name-combinations, however, seeing as "shirt" is a pre-existing article of clothing, and "foon" sounds really stupid. More-so than spork or skort, that is.
Next, I would like to touch on the design similarities of the spork/skort.
Figure 8.5
Figure 8.6
In figure 8.5 you will notice the flat, smooth, "skirt"-like front piece-- one that secretly hides a pair of pronged shorts beneath its wall of shame. The "shorts" portion is only to be discovered when viewed from behind, or by flashing up the frontal skirt portion of the outfit (as seen in the figure), like some kind of prankster-hussy. One will notice the lack of pockets, a common theme among skirts--however, these pockets that have been so carelessly tossed aside in this relationship are traditionally expected of shorts. As a result, the breezy, carefree qualities of the skirt are downplayed by a dysfunctional pair of shorts.
A similar relationship can be found in figure 8.6, the plastic spork. This utensil combines the commonly used spoon with fork--but I think we're all aware of its flaws. The spoon, much like the skirt, is traditionally found freely swimming and stirring about--be it a bowl of soup or a vat of lard. The fork, with its prongs of fury, has proved itself useful in the art of jousting the non-scoopables we so often encounter. However, when combined, both elements of the spoon and fork are weakened. It can be used as a spoon, however an actual spoon will always be superior, as it won't poke you or give you trouble with hard-packed ice cream. As a fork it is just useless, disappointing, and embarrassing.
Socially the spork and skort lead very similar lifestyles. They are generally found in elementary and middle schools; the skort being a parental selection in an annual "Back-2-School" shopping trip, and the spork being an administrative selection in an annual budget cut. The frustrations of both are experienced throughout the tender ages of 6-14, and now only our scars--physically, mentally, and emotionally--are here to remind us of the fusions we once accepted as part of our lives.
Where is this manufacturing company, I ask? This factory that pairs skirts with shorts, forks with spoons, pants with shorts (Shants!), and probably the same place where peanut butter and jelly are casually thrown together in the same jar, like animals.
The day I see a skort-sporting spork-user jabbing away at a pint of Haagen-Dazs is the day I've seen it all.
As I laid staring into space one evening, meaningless drivel splish-splashing about my brain, a great realization--an epiphany, if you will, came over me. A fleeting little thought that, now, has developed into an intriguing obsession. A much overdue comparison that can only be described as pure destiny...
SPORKS vs. SKORTS: a disturbing and endless list of similarities.
The first and most obvious quality these pointless and embarrassing products share is their name. At a glance the two words look identical, and when uttered with any kind of speech impediment they would probably sound identical as well. I suspect that none of us could say the the two words together ten times fast--I cannot say this for sure, however, as the "red leather/yellow leather" controversy has led to my ultimate refusal to participate in such games.
I will excuse the similarities found in their name-combinations, however, seeing as "shirt" is a pre-existing article of clothing, and "foon" sounds really stupid. More-so than spork or skort, that is.
Next, I would like to touch on the design similarities of the spork/skort.
Figure 8.5
Figure 8.6
In figure 8.5 you will notice the flat, smooth, "skirt"-like front piece-- one that secretly hides a pair of pronged shorts beneath its wall of shame. The "shorts" portion is only to be discovered when viewed from behind, or by flashing up the frontal skirt portion of the outfit (as seen in the figure), like some kind of prankster-hussy. One will notice the lack of pockets, a common theme among skirts--however, these pockets that have been so carelessly tossed aside in this relationship are traditionally expected of shorts. As a result, the breezy, carefree qualities of the skirt are downplayed by a dysfunctional pair of shorts.
A similar relationship can be found in figure 8.6, the plastic spork. This utensil combines the commonly used spoon with fork--but I think we're all aware of its flaws. The spoon, much like the skirt, is traditionally found freely swimming and stirring about--be it a bowl of soup or a vat of lard. The fork, with its prongs of fury, has proved itself useful in the art of jousting the non-scoopables we so often encounter. However, when combined, both elements of the spoon and fork are weakened. It can be used as a spoon, however an actual spoon will always be superior, as it won't poke you or give you trouble with hard-packed ice cream. As a fork it is just useless, disappointing, and embarrassing.
Socially the spork and skort lead very similar lifestyles. They are generally found in elementary and middle schools; the skort being a parental selection in an annual "Back-2-School" shopping trip, and the spork being an administrative selection in an annual budget cut. The frustrations of both are experienced throughout the tender ages of 6-14, and now only our scars--physically, mentally, and emotionally--are here to remind us of the fusions we once accepted as part of our lives.
Where is this manufacturing company, I ask? This factory that pairs skirts with shorts, forks with spoons, pants with shorts (Shants!), and probably the same place where peanut butter and jelly are casually thrown together in the same jar, like animals.
The day I see a skort-sporting spork-user jabbing away at a pint of Haagen-Dazs is the day I've seen it all.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
rom-com afternoon
I’ve been thinking about romantic comedies a lot lately. Haven’t you? I hope not. Also, I was lying—most days I pretend they don’t exist, and you should too. However, today I really did manage to think about rom-coms for a solid 20 minutes or so. It was exhausting, pointless, and embarrassing; kind of like watching a romantic comedy. Anyway, I challenged myself to think of a shitty title and equally shitty storyline for 3 romantic comedies in 3 minutes. Soon I realized more time would be necessary and I requested an extension, which I then approved.
Here’s what I came up with:
Let Your Love Grow
A tree-hugging hippie environmentalist chick (i.e., a tiny recycling tank top and wavy yet flawless hair) straps herself to a tree to protest some kind of logging operation we’re all supposed to care about. Despite her green beliefs, she seems to be falling for the rugged, handsome, charming lumberjack who makes continuous attempts to coax her down. Can the two of them settle their differences for love?
Call Me
Two strangers connect on a plane ride, though both are involved in relationships . When the plane lands they go their separate ways, each without realizing they grabbed the other’s identical iPhone! Madness ensues as they spend a week in NYC with each other’s phones.
Shout Out Love
I suppose that's it until next time.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
secret crush: papa pleasure
Pa Ingalls, we swooned over you via TBS in summers passed, when they used to play back to back episodes of Little House in the mornings. Needless to say, it wasn't the summer heat that had me sweating. But to our great disappointment, we learned from the wannabe-seductive-bitch-of-a-town-widow that Charles Ingalls is as faithful to his wife as he is to sporting that patch of golden-brown chest perfection; and therein lies the problem.
Don't you worry Pa, that one neglected button says enough.
Don't you worry Pa, that one neglected button says enough.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
pseudo happy
There’s this group of people out there who’s bodies seem to serve as a vessel for absolute happiness. They’re everywhere—that group of attractive religious girls from your high school, or people who are so busy with extracurricular activities and family vacations to have time for unhappiness. Really, just people who seem to be so content with their lives that there are no times of true darkness for them. Usually their sense of humor is pretty bad, and they tell a lot of stories that go no where and leave you bewildered as to why they’re laughing so hard. Of course there are things that bring them down occasionally, they’re still humans, but it’s in more of more of a “shit happens” kind of way, rather than an “I’m shit” way. But to those of us who think we’re shit sometimes, it really can seem like these happy types are living on another planet that we may convince ourselves we want to live on too someday.
Like they’re all on the same Royal Caribbean cruise ship together, gliding along the surface of what is underneath them—an ocean full of asshole dolphins fooling people into thinking they’re great, manatees who probably hate their bodies, entire societies of krill being destroyed left and right by giants. A little far-fetched, maybe. But for those of us who have come to terms with the things we don’t enjoy about ourselves; anxieties, insecurities, whatever--sometimes it feels like we’re trailing behind that cruise ship in some shitty aluminum boat we bought off of craigslist, unsure of whether or not we got swindled by that creep who sold it to us, worrying if the thing is going to fall apart, uncomfortable about all the wet sand in the bottom. Though this boat is obviously far less jubilant, I personally know I would be vomiting off the side of that cruise ship, and I don’t get seasick. While we all seem to be striving for happiness and success (isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing?), that cruise ship is not it, but sometimes if you’re not careful the patrons of the Royal Caribbean can make you feel like it is. You think “I want that”—that carefree bliss they have—but it’s the shitty reality of the aluminum boat that makes for true times of happiness when they come. And when they go, and they will most of the time, you know the ins and outs of that aluminum piece of shit and you can reluctantly get it started. Cruise ship happiness isn’t real, and it’s not something you want. You’d be better off spending that money on countless 5ths of rum and bags of Pirate’s Booty.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
the list
Many of us go over this list in casual conversation at various times throughout our lives, often revising it upon new shoulder-to-ear worthy discoveries. Some are nouns, some adjectives, verbs--just words, really, that may or may not be repulsive in meaning, but they all share one common feature; they sound gross. Not everyone will agree with what they're about to see--please, feel free to make the necessary adjustments to your list at home.
(in no particular order, except for the first one...)
moist
ointment
wad
tender
crusty
supple
wipe
lard
runny
damp
creamy
panties
fester
plump
smear
warm
juices (juice, juicy not included. only juices.)
churn
gullet
flap
sift
veal
yeast
thigh
(in no particular order, except for the first one...)
moist
ointment
wad
tender
crusty
supple
wipe
lard
runny
damp
creamy
panties
fester
plump
smear
warm
juices (juice, juicy not included. only juices.)
churn
gullet
flap
sift
veal
yeast
thigh
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