Category Archives: Uncategorized

Out there

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Yesterday I went to the airport. Mr. H and I watched planes take off, and we had chowder. There is a recording of the mayor’s voice playing over the moving walkways from central parking. You can hardly tell what he’s saying. Something about art and food. Maybe. Mummmm mmmm mumm mumm AHT mmmm mum.

After the airport, I went to meet Lambchop at Target. We took the underwear section for all it was worth. We are not allowed back in that particular Target.

Then I had work to do, so I went home and worked until it was rather late. I checked to see if Mr. H’s flight had arrived yet, and it had not. But the real time radar refreshed automatically, so a window would pop up and show me where he was. It was like I were flying too! He was there, and then there, and even there. And not here to make me coffee this morning. I make really shitty coffee.

-xxoo

Newsworthy

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Last night Mr. H and I went to the Lowell Folk Festival. Folk is the city’s code for “ethnic,” so there weren’t any jugbands playing or cut outs of farmers bending over for sale. We ate delicious meats on sticks and listened to a singer who sounded just like Tom Waits. We enjoyed ourselves unironically. Anything is possible with enough beer and fried dough. We even saw a dachshaund, swaying gently to a salsa beat.

What’s in our pants today:

Underwear, it’s everywhere. But mostly underneath.

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unspeakable

UnderFest 2004 continues!

Some underwear facts, via Freshpair.com:

It would take nearly 7.5 trillion pairs of men’s large briefs to cover Texas. To put that in perspective, that’s enough underwear to wrap around the earth 179,115 times.

During the 1700s women and men wore chemises, which were elongated shirts with short sleeves. Underpants were not common, even among the upper classes. (See, Lambchop and I are of the highest class!)

Men spend about $3.4 billion annually on underwear; women spend about $8.6 billion.

I am crafting a line of Vomitola logo thongs, so you should save your pennies until the blessed day people stop bothering me long enough so that I might finish the design. Lindsay Lohan’s people are not calling me back about the co-branding idea. How strange.

We Got What You Need…

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…and apparently you need Panties. So here we are, your favorite evil twins, in our skivvs. Lickety is as usual bumping me off to the side, (attention)whore that she is. Hrmm, actually I believe that’s me on the right, but who can tell with such things? Anyway, our dear readers want knickers, dainties, underwear, bloomers, britches, woolies, unmentionables. So today is an open call for pictures, poems, and actual pants.

P.S. do not send us actual pants.

-xo

Who wants to know?

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Everyone is a pervert. You should all stop using Google, although I am amazed at how many of these terms we legitimately discussed. If you can call discussion of gum jobs legitimate.

gumjobs, monkey horse, dance fever, jennifer anniston toes, horse love, russian go go bar new jersey, workhouse treadmill charleston (ed.- from our fitness for orphans series), envy kitty, snappy garage sale slogan.

discredited, swan love spoon, questionaire about snack, pictures of beverly d’angelo wearing panties, renting things for parties like moon bounces, lindsay lohan’s fingernails, find translation patch to english for pokemon fire red, hulk tylenol, kiss harz mallet, dance jazz thong tard, hamster exfoliate.

anal leakage hot peppers, calories in maker’s mark, vomitola.com, putains, paula abdul bulimia, plastic wrap asphyxiation, kitty dukakis furniture, getting rid of chipmunks in new hampshire, short stories swinging speedos, meredith baxter burney (sic) nude, word mail merge albatross, zookeeper ergonomics, cats love cilantro, slimming wedding poses, the meaning behind she’s a brick house.

pictures of lindsay lohan’s underpants (ed.- she does not have to be wearing them, apparently), tina louise without makeup, what happened to kitty winn, what would david bowie do, openly masturbating, thong underwear opinions, rent an elephant, cruising fens + boston, photos of lizzie mcguire hairstyles.

What *is it* that Makes Guns Seem So Appealing These Days?

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Ever feel like you got off on the wrong train, stuff like, pill on the wrong planet?  Maybe that is why I keep having to move around.  You spend too much time in one place, and barnacles begin to colonize.  That, and you find you have slept with everyone.  I love this pretty little town, and quite a few of the people in it, but this Lambchop was destined for bigger things.  So while Licketysplit is having her day ghostwritten (a concept yet more fresh and novel than my get rich quick idea of a service plan in which you pay someone to communicate thoughtfully to others for you!), while she plots world domination from the kiddie pool*, I will be locked in my studio, not just making work but hatching schemes.  Hopefully Five Years will see me having 5 ounces of salad opposite David Bowie.  

I am going to go ice skating and think about it. 

*I emailed her to ask if someone was ghost writing her replies to me.  the answer came back “maybe!”  Chilling! 

-xo

It takes a village

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By my estimate, I engage the services of a dentist, an orthodontist/cosmetic dentist, a doctor, a lady parts doctor, a hairstylist, a colorist, a lawyer, an accountant, a financial advisor, the occasional cleaning help, a tailor, a trainer, a mechanic, an insurance agent, and now a ghostwriter. How did this happen? I am an invalid, incapable of all but ordering plane tickets on line. And preparing recipes that do not require fine chopping.

The ghostwriter will be undertaking all of my personal correspondence, starting today. For a monthly retainer, she will be writing this journal, commenting on the journals of others, answering my emails, and generally insulating me from the public. I have ordered a rubber stamp of my signature. I feel like Kostabi!

If only I could have her go to the gym for me. And the bathroom. I’ll be in Phuket if anyone needs me.

Is she poor?

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As I was traipsing through the financial district the other day on my way to see my trusted financial advisor, I ran into a fan. No, no, not as shit runs into a fan. I am insulted you would even think that. An actual Vomitola aficionado. This fan recognized me, and then, as fans will often do, asked for an autograph before proceeding to tell me that lately this has been a forum for nothing but pictures of dogs and babies.

That’s true! Guilty as charged. Our public will not be satisfied until Lambchop manages to impregnate me atop a grand piano in the town square. Until such time as nature allows, I leave you with a filthy little story. It is a cautionary tale for any of you who are “pre rich.”

** As told by Mr. H **

So a buddy of mine in college was dating this new girl, and his friend Carl asked him how it was going. So J. says “It’s cool, we have fun. The only thing is she doesn’t have a good job, and her family can’t give her any money. So I pay for everything when we do stuff.”

And Carl says “So she’s poor, huh?

“Yeah, I guess, she’s kind of poor.”

Carl thinks for a minute. Then he says “You know what you should do?”

J asks “What?”

Carl says “You should fuck her in the ass.”

J. says “Because she’s poor?”

And Carl says “Yeah, man, hell yeah.”

So that’s what happens to poor chicks.