Tag Archives: stupid

And and and and

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There is so much I want to say about our villainous administration, but instead I have temporarily quieted myself by filling out the matching donation form from Mr H’s work and working on my WWLIWD? product line (bitch I already copyrighted it, don’t even think about it). What, indeed, would Laura Ingalls Wilder do? Verily, when those around you are losing their scalps, you must keep yours. You have a blind sister to think about, and a couple of insane parents who keep moving you somewhere dangerous and trying to subvert nature. Laura would make poultices out of Hostess Cupcakes and cholera vaccines out of malt liquor (brace for the smooth taste).

Soon we will all be able to enjoy pioneer activities like defending one’s homestead, making hardtack, and driving a buggy. I am having a hard time deciding on the slogan for my merch line. I figure “Laura Ingalls Wilder has a posse” will sell, but then again I like “Lunatic Fringe.” Maybe a Laura vs. Nellie grudge match kind of motif would be nice. I am simple, stupid people. My post-apocalyptic skills are going to be sharpshooting and carnival game rigging. So much for knitting and making my own soap. Where we’re going, we don’t need soap. Our own goverment is consistently more frightening than any turrorist attack.

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Joleeeeeeeeene, don’t take my snack cakes either

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Yeah, bitches. Today I tied my pregnant lady friend to the car and drove real slow. Apparently jogging makes babies come out. Will this work? We aren’t sure yet. We also fed the baby Mexican food. I hear this gets babies really mad. They want to come out just to kick your ass because they are babies and you gave them Mexican food. What a thing to do. Now, this reminds me of a joke about luring a tapeworm out of a human host with a Nilla Wafer, but I will refrain from telling it. OK, I really just can’t remember it. I can’t remember anything these days. But the punchline is “I want my Nilla Wafer!”

A concerned reader wrote in to ask the internet something.

Dear Ask the Internet,

Why are people such cockfaces all the livelong day?

Signed, I’m Cranky

Dear Cranky

Because people is retarded. People is also wrong, and people is impossible. People is like herding cats.

Yours, the Internet

It was easy! Because In stinked.

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Gah, internet, gah. I woke up with my head wrapped up in the covers, like mummy. I think I was secretly trying to smother myself. I don’t know what’s up with the universe these days. I am constantly spotting 11:11 on the clocks, and last time that happened, we spent our life savings. Who needs Vegas when one comes factory-equipped with a lifetime supply of stupid ideas?

Some things are clearing up, however. The battle of the printer was won decisively, by getting a new one and kicking the old one. The mystery of “Who’s Been Pooping on the Stairs?” was solved. It was the woodchuck all along! And I thought it was the raccoon. A real novice move. And I wondered where the clean laundry was hiding, but Zellweger left it in the dryer.

Hey, let’s talk childhood. I was on the phone with my mom the other day, and we got to discussing my old drawings. I asked “Do you mean the Easter Island ones?” She read me and Loves-the-Bus the story of Thor Heyerdahl, and since I couldn’t sit still, I was allowed to draw. I drew the natives skulking through underground tunnels and rolling logs under those giant stone heads.

No, my mom was referring to the drawings she made me do for a contest. A children’s theater company in Richmond selected a drawing for the cover of the program for each season’s production. I recall determinedly scribbling about Cinderella and Pinocchio and Peter Pan and Charlie’s Angels. And then my mom said “And your drawings were so wonderful, so full of life.”

“Yeah? Well how come I never won?” That used to burn my ass every time I saw some other kid’s drawing on the next cover. Even at age six, I had a strong sense of injustice.

“I don’t know, I guess they never had the same feeling after I made you go back and correct them.”

“You what?”

“It was like your pencil never left the paper on your first pass. You just had all these details in your head, and you just let them flow. So I’d have you go back and straighten out lines and things like that. You always drew windows crooked.”

“….”

Ethicist: should I bill her for therapy, plus my usual hourly consulting rate for time spent in therapy?

Sunday, sunday, sunday

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At this point, the casual reader of Content Challenge is probably far more taxed than the writer. See, I can just say any old stupid thing, and it ostensibly counts. Maybe I am expressing myself. OK, I’m so not. Hazelnut beer is being consumed. I’m watching an old episode of America’s Next Top Model as I type. Whatever happened to Yoanna anyway? Haha, you totally just read all that. I offer no refunds, since this is free “content.”

OK, I’m sorry. I love you! I’ll Zellweger you all tomorrrow.

We went furniture shopping again, and it was an eye-popping experience. Willy Wonka was showing on the IMAX screen in the store (yes, really), and grubby children swarmed around with chocolate smeared all over their faces from the free Wonka bars. People appeared to be using the available wheelchairs and scooters to get around the store just because they don’t like to walk. Yeah, and I get sick of breathing. But somehow I soldier on. Oh my gawd, Yoanna can’t walk her way out of a paper bag. She would be so fierce on a Rascal scooter.

Extrem-Relax

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I am taking my cue from a skilled eurotrash impersonator of my acquaintance and prefacing everything with “Extrem.” I also like to say “Super-Cool” (pronounced SoooPAIR) and “Giga-Cool.”

The new Air cd, Talkie Walkie, is indeed Super-Cool. Extrem-Sexy. I can’t stop listening to it. It works for making out, for drinking wine, for driving, for staring out the window, for ironing, you name it. It makes me turn up the collar of my jean jacket and muss Mr. H’s hair.

I also bought Hai! by The Creatures, and ees giving me Super-Mega-Goth flashback. I am this close to cutting really short bangs and buying tons of used clothing again. I find myself missing the days of velvet blazers and poppy red hair streaks, of tattered prom dresses and stripper heels. That and hearing “I Dig You” in that Monster.com ad. I must admit that my knowledge of the Cure’s catalog and side projects is shockingly extensive. I’m also going through old CDs and sighing, “Alien Sex Fiend, AWWWWW!”

Aw, screw it, I don’t have a job! I can have interesting hair yet again! Where’s the Manic Panic?

-xxoo

President Doctor Evil

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Just what we need, a manned base on the moon. Someone alert Astronaut Jones at once!

“”You’ve got the Chinese saying they’re interested — we don’t want them to beat us to the moon. We want to be there to develop the sweet spots,” Republican Senator Sam Brownback says.” Got it. Gay marriage is the new Communism. Asians are the new Russians. The new season of Queer Eye is all about turning straight men into clones of celebrities. Week 1: David Bowie. Week 2: Moby. Week 3: Adam Curry?! I’m hip to the jive.

Personally, I’d get more use out of a clone than a space station on the moon. Clone, go to work for me. Clone, go to the bathroom for me. Clone, administer to my mate, he had a rough day. Oh Clo-one? I could use some more scalloped potatos. Out of the box, just like I like ’em.

Confidential to the two co-workers on vacation while I sit at work rather peaked and weary: First one — I already coughed on your keyboard, or possibly your door handle. You too have a 50-50 chance of dying of rabies now. As for the other, I spread a rumor that you are off attending a FurCon. I keeeeed. Just making sure you’re paying attention. I would never ever do anything like that. Or would I?

-xxoo

WTF?

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”Freedom’s taste is unquenchable,” said White House spokesman Ari Fleischer. Via CNN.

That really makes very little sense. And it sounds like a job for Gatorade. “Freedom’s taste is impossible to slake or satisfy.” Huh? “Freedom’s taste is impossible to suppress or destroy.” We’re getting closer, but still…whatta maroon. Yes, I know what he means. I think.

Aaron put me on to this, which is some truly hilarious Fleischer-baiting.

He goes on to say: “You’re seeing what you see in mankind everywhere, given a chance to be free.” Yes, looting! Huzzah! I could use some gaudy gilded urns, or perhaps a washing machine. Or a hydrofoil, if I really push my luck.

Some people just buy corvettes

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Licketysplit

George: thanks for involving us all in your mid-life crisis! Aging is tough on anyone, especially on those with a prodigal son complex. So I feel for you, I do. Dad’s going to be so proud at long last! Some people just bang a secretary, some people start riding a Harley. But you are doing such a great Yosemite Sam. Whatever works for you! Pow! Pow!

But sillyness aside, folks, I have gotten my war on, and I have taken Kitty Winn’s advice. I sallied forth and bought a fetching pink shirt. I got my hair did. I have informed friends and loved ones of favorable language to be used to describe my life to date.

After work today, I went over to the Gap on Newbury to get one of those fancy t-shirt bras. They are on sale, by the way! As I was walking home, I heard cow bells and hooting coming from Copley Square, so I meandered by. I passed a batallion of cops in riot wear, well stocked with those plastic handcuffs. I stood towards the back of the crowd looking on, and I kept getting accosted by grubby socialists. After the 5th or 6th be-dreadlocked urchin asked me if I had my copy of Worker’s Vanguard yet, I said “I am carrying a Gap bag. What do you THINK?” I got a hearty “fuck you!” and she scuttled off in a huff.

I perused the various signs and pondered the general lack of credibility of the assembled throng. My photo was snapped multiple times, and I hope to god it doesn’t appear anywhere newsworthy. I’m not worried about the Feds since I pretty much get cavity searched any time I fly already. I am against the war but against the anti-war movement, if that’s possible. These kids strike me as opportunistic protestors, forsaking their devil sticks for the latest trendy thing, be it IMF or WTO. It’s not the 60’s, and you can’t get stoned in public, as nice as that might be. Sure, the Unitarian lesbians were sincere and respectful, but the “face” of this movement that attracts the most media attention is largely young, grubby, and unruly. It’s a PR disaster! Middle America sees these candy-ass hijinks and recoils. They aren’t going to stick around to hear the message when the messenger frightens them.

What really sticks in my craw is that these well-intentioned people were nowhere to be found when the presidency was finagled two and a half years ago. Were there demonstrations? I don’t remember any in Boston. Why is it so surprising that our president does not heed popular opinion when he wasn’t installed by the popular vote? I hope this same kind of enthusiasm for activism is still in place when the next election comes around. The irony is that a lot of these kids probably voted for Nader anyway. I recall people saying things might get worse, but they’d get better. Well, they are worse. I can’t wait for the better.

Who knows, maybe in ten or twenty years people will vacation in a rebuilt Iraq. The entire peaceful Middle East will be a holiday paradise. Surf’s up in Tel Aviv, booty be shakin’ in Baghdad, duty free in Dubai! Hussein and his regime are evil and corrupt, no question about it. But there has to be a better way to do this. Even if there were no alternative, having the effort led up by an oaf who can’t even pronounce “nuclear” and his band of profiteering henchman does not exactly inspire confidence.

Enough prattling for one night.