Tag Archives: legal

Will you plural marry me?

It has come to my attention that Mr. H needs a second wife. He doesn’t know it yet, but I think that’s just the ticket. Other wife could watch a baby and do all the shopping and the cleaning. Other wife would pay the bills online and remember to buy and send cards for all festive days. Other wife would keep extra birthday presents for a variety of child age ranges in the closet for the occasions when Mr. H accepts an invitation to a friend’s child’s party and doesn’t tell any wives until it’s too late to shop. Because I would totally bring the kid a box of thumbtacks or whatever else I found lying around in the office. Other wife would preserve the balance of graciousness in our lives.

Other wife would use a toothbrush to scrub around the faucet in the kitchen. She’d fold underwear so crisply. God, other wife is a saint. She’s as beautiful as she is generous. She can speak three languages, and she taught a baby sign language. She’d fill out the customs forms at the post office since I hate doing that. She knows so many ways to prepare quinoa! Her handwriting is also impeccable.

Me, I’ll be on the lanai with a delicious smoothie! Other wife remembered the damn bananas at the store!

Membership has its privileges

Yesterday I got out of a ticket for speeding through Cow Town*, NH, with the “I have to pee!” excuse. Do give that a whirl! If you aren’t suffering from quick-onset obesity like I am, just slouch and tenderly pat your abdomen. Fucking breeders.

After escaping the law, I was glued to a story on NPR about organ brokers and illegal tissue harvesting. Finally, the profession for me! I’ve always wanted to be a surgeon, but this would allow me to skirt the pesky medical degree. I could do it from a home office. I’ve toyed with the idea of hanging out my illegal cosmetic surgery shingle, but who likes seeing how sausage is made?

Although I’m glad I haven’t had any recent illegal and unscreened tissue implants. I do feel bad for poor Alistair Cooke‘s family though. I used to love me some Masterpiece Theatre when I was a kid. And, oh hell, the families of other less-famous people too. And the unsuspecting people who received potentially contaminated tissue.

Annie Cheney was on the program discussing her book Body Brokers: Inside America’s Underground Trade in Human Remains (excerpt). Among other interesting facts, the hotel ballroom where you are having your wedding reception may have recently hosted a hands-on seminar for doctors, meaning a bunch of torsos or ankles might have been laid out around the room for surgical training or product demos.

Over dinner, I told Mr. H that he is 100% allowed to donate any of my organs, and that he may sell the rest or donate it to science as he pleases. Or have me stuffed and mounted over the fireplace or posed in lingerie. I honestly don’t care. I’ll be dead. I think part of the problem is that people aren’t allowed to just sell their own loved ones. Eliminate the middle man of the shady funeral home, and let people seize commerce as they see fit. No touchy the folks who don’t want to be recycled. Then regulate the shit out of the whole deal to avoid implanting diseased tissue. Someone’s already making money on this, so why not just make it legal and cap the profit margin? Wow, that was a hard-hitting FOX-news-y opinion.

Then Mr. H told me he had lunch with a friend who’s graduating from medical school in a few months. The friend was agonizing over going to his next class, saying it would be boring because all they’d be doing is dissecting a brain. Mr. H said “Are you kidding? My wife would love to dissect a brain!” He knows me well. I need to have our friend over for a home-cooked dinner so I can butter him up for an invite to brain lab. What food is most reminiscent of brains?

*The mayor is actually a goat. Whoa, recycled joke!

I’ll stop the world and melt with you

My horoscope today says: “Avoid all over-indulgences and questionable areas of town.” That can only mean that I’ll be seeing Lambchop!

And now, YOU, dear reader, can say the same.

PRESENTING…. The First Annual Vomitola.com “Win a Date With Lambchop” Giveaway!

That’s right, gentle swain, you could be a mere email away from a some-expense paid trip to see David Bowie, accompanied by Lambchop, me, and Mr. H.

How, you ask? It’s easy — just send an email to WIN@Vomitola.com with the following information:

• A 3/4 view photo (hint: you should be somewhat attractive)

• A gramatically flawless paragraph listing your favorite things about Lambchop

• A thoughtful run-down of your top five best qualities

• Pick one of the following: Andy Gibb or Jim Rockford

• Since I am doing the judging, preference will be given to supplementary material lauding Bea Arthur

No purchase necessary to enter. All entries must be received by May 1, 2004. All entries become the property of Vomitola.com and may be reproduced as we see fit, including forwarding around in email with the designation “Ha! HAHAHAHAHA!” Winner will be notified by email on or before May 15, 2004.

Actual cash value: One David Bowie ticket for the floor, section D, at the Verizon Wireless Arena in Manchester, NH on June 1, 2004. You must provide your own transportation, but if you are especially comely, we might give you a ride from, say, the Lowell Commuter Rail Station.

Of course one can not possibly put a cash value on the company of Lambchop for an evening, but it is safe to say that it is in excess of $19.95.

Please note also that in the event that you are selected but are not able to attend, you will not receive any actual cash. The ticket itself is not-transferable and becomes property of Vomitola.com if the winner is unable to use it, lest the winner gives it to an ugly person, and we actually have to sit next to him or her in public.


I don’t mean to imply in any way that Steven Spielberg, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Tom Hanks are all gay men. Gay men with Beards. Beardie Weirdies.

So please do not sue me.

If Nick or David should ever care to sue me, then by all means. But I hope it will be catered and that you’ll stick around for cocktails.