Sunday, November 29, 2009

i've lost the will to post

NOW YOU TRY!
What Would Scott Say?

Write a post for Scott's blog. Think about voice and content. If you were Scott, what would you blog about today? Try to be both profound and funny.

Here are some keywords to get you started:

  • Brunch
  • Boner
  • Creative Cop-out
  • NOW YOU TRY!
    What Comes Next?

    Complete this list with an apropos and witty keyword. Consider using a thesaurus or non-sequitur.

Parents: Write a comment for your student's post. Be sure to highlight and correct any spelling or grammatical errors.

Friday, November 27, 2009

prolapse

are you allowed to put anything in front of the words "industrial complex" and be automatically right? WAKE UP, AMERICA!

  • Circus Industrial Complex
  • Jumping-On-The-Bed Industrial Complex
  • Hemorrhoid Industrial Complex
if you're obsessively following everything i do and say on Internet (Creepers Industrial Complex), you will have noticed a recent up-tick in my mention of hemorrhoids (up from "never"). i've got 'em. mild. not painful. one is prolapsed.

why am i telling you this? because i am a genius brilliant medical detective like House! Ego Industrial Complex. when you're me and you get hemorrhoids, the first question is, "what the fuck is going on!" the second question is, "why the fuck is that going on!"

i'm going to try to not be too crude in this post because there could be children who have somehow learned to read and open doors that are looking at this. let it suffice to say that hemorrhoids cramp my style.

so i was worry worry worry worry. the usual causes include: too much sitting, dehydration, lack of fiber, pregnancy, being really old, and "intimate reception." i am virile and young and if any of the above were to blame, it would mean that i am naturally given to such things. my dickensian character flaw: mr. thomas and his 'rhoids.

and then i knowed! i knowed what caused 'em! my stalker readers will again perhaps remember a tweet from last month: "My asshole has had ABOUT ENOUGH of this office toilet paper." friends, you don't even know. i had three straight weeks with papyrus-rash inside my ass. i am very thorough when it comes to hygiene and i just couldn't leave things be, despite the VICIOUS FRICTION COEFFICIENT. blood and all. it hurt to walk, i kid you not.

moment of realization came when i was tenderly cleaning myself last night and noticed that the prolapsed bugger is RIGHT WHERE the wiper meets the wipee. evidence #2: they showed up the week after i got back from boston. Logic Industrial Complex!

i am absolved of worry. some prep h for a week and all should be well in the land of my ass. now whom do i see in human resources about this?

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Homo Gymnos

Loudest Guy At The Gym
Given to moans, sailor talk, barnyard sounds, and calling things "baby." May spontaneously clap.
Deals: 5 awkwardness
Fears: Techno

The Old Bird
Brings Depression-era gumption to a physiotherapy routine apropos of her last plastic joint. With sole avail of the half-pound weights, The Old Bird (and Checkers Meyerhold, the seeing-eye collie) are inspirational supernumeraries in anyone's workout.
Deals: 2 slowplay
Fears: Osteoporosis
Crit to summon Checkers Meyerhold

Sandals
Bucking gym dress code in Velcro-clad socks, this workout fashion maverick models selections from the Three Wolf Moon collection in timeless double-ex-el. Optionally sports a fanny pack + The Sony Walkman.
Deals: Unknown
Fears: Also unknown

Mr. Huge
The kind of huge that belongs on a rhinoceros, Mr. Huge is not anatomically able to perform the YMCA dance and has internal testes. Bystanders frequently steal lateral looks in hopes he will "pop any minute."
Deals: 290 lbs
Fears: Sudden drops in blood pressure

The Couple
The number-two cause of puking at the gym, after StairMaster but before bulimia.
Deals: 5 PDA
Fears: Wondering eyes

The Old Couple
In contrast to The Couple, The Old Couple is CUTER THAN FUCKING PUPPIES!
Deals: 3 PDAOPA (Public Displays of Adorable Old-People Affection)
Fears: Death

Powertool Kleptocunt
Dykebitch can, will, and should fuck u proper.
Deals: Larceny
Fears: Unicorn tears

Skinny Bitch
Wields Ponytail of Seriousness, because fun is too many calories.
Deals: Sudden drops in blood pressure
Fears: Bagel

Monday, November 23, 2009

recent events

there's context for this. if you don't know what it's about, search for jorge steven lopez mercado.

i've been struggling to understand this. "this" the crime, i mean. "this" the event of what happened and why it happened and "this" the world where such happenings do.

it makes me literally sick when i think about it. i get the urge to retch. and then i get scared because i'm not able to understand. it's, um, confusing. and unpleasant. blah blah blah.

i volunteered at the vigil last night. the vigil was beautiful and moving. and draining. and i still don't understand. but i am reminded of something forgotten at one's own peril: we are strong.

EXHIBIT A OF HUMAN STRENGTH:

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Muttering Retreats

I am dragging out these ratty old fantasies in a desperate attempt to get some sleep. I've tried writing, I've tried masturbating, I've tried deep breathing, and now I'm wrapping myself up in what are certainly unhealthy, old, familiar thoughts starring characters from my personal life in highly creative situations of impossible intimacy.

I used to craft quite elaborate fictions concerning my objects - don't let's be coy; object - of desire. I specialized in specificity, as I always have. Rehearsal was an integral part of this ritual. Once initially improvised, a scene underwent nightly private drafts, refinements and performances. "From the top!" again and again until I couldn't keep my fantasy eyes open anymore and I succumbed to better dreams.

There is a story (one which takes place in the real world) about how Scott lost all of his fantasies. It is for another time, though. Now, all that remains of these empassioned productions are the manuscripts. Dusty with niglect, they come to mind on a familiarly sleepless night. With a new cast, we could ride a revival all the way to Dreamland!

Or I could masturbate again.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

titles r trouble

i wish theez shitty little drizzle drops were snowflakes collecting on my coat shoulders and eyelashes, making me the image of something to kiss. instead, they remain rain. fuck you, meteorology. fuck you, causality. i am going to kiss anyway!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Things I Fucking Love, Vol. 12

Whole Foods' Moroccan Turkey Salad. I really hope the profanity effectively communicates just how much I fucking love that shit.

Monday, November 09, 2009

POWER TOOL KLEPTO CUNT



POWERTOOL KLEPTOCUNT
is coming
for all your
BATTERY POWERED HAMMERS
and
PORTABLE ROTARY SANDERS
and
HAND-HELD HOT CAULK GUNS

you can hide
or disguise
these and other
POWERTOOL ITEMS
but the
KLEPTOCUNT
will
Locate
And
Steal
your personal powertool property

MOUNTING
SCREWING
BRACING
NAILING
HOISTING
DRILLING

all must be done with
MAN-POWER
and the old-fashioned
ELBOW GREASE

part
CUNT

part
BITCH

part
GODDESS OF REDEMPTIVE HOME IMPROVEMENT

POWERTOOL KLEPTOCUNT
cares nothing for your
SPECIFIC ECONOMIC CIRCUMSTANCE
nor your
NANCYBOY EXCUSES

KLEPTOCUNT
will have only
your
ELECTRIC JIGSAW
your
PNEUMATIC NAIL GUN
your
LASER STUD FINDER
and
SIMILAR SUCH DEVICES

Saturday, November 07, 2009

a date to either side, OR, being clever with my words look how fucking clever i am

all of my dates seem to be of the up variety. if blog continues in this direction, we are very soon going to encounter my perennial Fear of Heights.

i have to poop so this is going to be a quickie. boston is over, my friend alex is in love, and i am looking for someone with whom to repopulate the world after our relationship causes the apocalypse.

call you mother.

Wednesday, November 04, 2009

own-age

I really want to look at you for a while. My day - side note: I always find the prevelance of possesives in English so interesting: "my day," as if the day belonged to me. "myself" is the funniest. Like "self" were this possesion; this thing that I owned. Kind of auto-objectifying if you ask me. Maybe it says something about our culture if we talk about everything in terms of ownership.

Center note: I just want to look at you. I've got a specific "you" in mind but you can pretend it's really you. Maybe it is. My day - side note again: what if each day really did belong to someone. Every day, one person would get to own that day. They (whoever they are) would show up at the one-bedroom shack of some family-man goat farmer in Abject Poverty and say, "the day is yours!" And that would be it. But it would be real. Official, I mean. Under property law. We can own land, so why not days? Space and time the same thing you know.

Regular note: My day was the kind of day I don't want to talk about. The kind of day that makes me want to swear off talking all together (which i guess would be kind of hipocritical). All I want to do is look at you. You don't have to do anything. You don't have to make your funny faces. You don't have to look back. The day-people haven't payed me any visits and the warranty on my self is up. Space-time is running out and all I want is to see you with my own eyes.