My fellow Americans, I am ill! I went out among you, and what did I find? You still have no idea of the benefits of properly heat styling your hair, you cannot fathom the number of calories in an Outback menu item, and your feet are featureless blocks of concrete that even Michaelangelo couldn’t chisel and rasp back into shape. You can’t open your garage door because the garage is too full of Costco leavings. Your S.U.V. is cold out there in the driveway!
Making New Year’s resolutions that you won’t keep is only a month away, so why not start now, so you can feel bad about yourself for longer? Do you want me to carve some suggestions onto stone tablets? That worked out well a few thousand years ago, but even those have finally worn off. I’ll see what I can do. Does setting your Christmas tree on fire count as a burning bush?
Ho ho, as you can see, I am in what can clinically be described as a bad mood. I have post-holiday letdown. Thanksgiving is really the only good holiday. Christmas is the more stressful also-ran.
Look at it from my perspective: the kid gets 8 days off from school in December! On yet another day, I have to show up and act like people while the kids do some tappa tappa singa sing or something, and my own child will refuse to give me the present she made in front of the whole class. Â Also, I have been commanded to transport a flan on a 3-hour drive! Do people not realize how sensitive and temperamental pumpkin flan can be? Lives may be lost.
Some of you may have been wondering where Lambchop is. I wondered too, but then I got a report that she’s taking a brief vacation. In 1982.
I hear it’s nice!
Actually, she DID get a Genius Grant, for excellence in the field of sustainable hairstyle development. She’s been holding out on me since she got the phone call and whopping novelty check. I guess we’ll have a party? Anyway, she’s waiting for her spiffy new Mac, the computing choice of reasonable humans everywhere, to arrive. And once it’s here, she plans to publish a position paper entitled “Consider Bulimia” as part of our new humanitarian campaign against obesity.
NEWS FLASH! Attractive people are leaving Boston in droves, and you can see it in the nightlife. Yesternight at Love Night we keenly felt the absence of our fashionable friends while watching the Other Species jiggle its junk around. It was like having a sofa come on to you.
Your correspondent lambchop is heading for greener pastures. It’s Fashion week in New York, and I am going to take in a show or two with Anne. I will not return until I have gotten a photo of a gangly girl-creature yodeling her breakfast in the trash! Ok, I’ll be back on Monday.
Vomitola is celebrating its Very First Birthday! As we look back upon a whole year of gay porn star country singers, spectacular outfits, visits to the pope, and anal leakage, one has to marvel at the variety and depth of our experiences. Or one could content themselves with marveling at our sleek hairdos.
But it hasn’t all been one grand binge ‘n’ purge! Vomitola has had its troubles, too. The deadlines, the screaming fights over which Queer Eye is our favorite, the endless offers of sex. Why, Kitty Winn is still in Rehab!
Running the show here is an intense drama. We wish to thank all of you who like to read about our triumphant shopping trips and our tumbles down flights of stairs. We do it all for you.
The new year is off to a grand ol’ start. I am working on a laxative addiction! (note to the uninitiated, don’t believe a word of this-ed) Which reminds me of my favorite Disease-movie-of-the-week, “Kate’s Secret”. It was a riveting drama about bulimia starring Meredith Baxter Burney. She wolfs down a pound of cookies and a quart of milk in aisle six, and then yodels them behind the dumpster. She also consumes several pizzas and whoppers in a drive-by at several drive-thrus. Monday night CBS watching told me everything I need to know. About Everything.
Let it be straight that Lambchop=HEATHER. I could go by my given name, I suppose, but I have become so fond of the L’s that are stitched to my underwear, and the darling sequined bag that Licketysplit gave me for my birthday.
So, just to review, I, Lambchop, am the one who paints and huffs scotch guard and lives in Allston (formerly Berlin) and plans to revive the ascot. And some other stuff. Licketysplit is the married one in the Lowell Loft who is obsessed with shoes and lost causes and intends to make her living hawking tampons shaped like mice. Or something. We BOTH like shiny things.