All posts by Licketysplit

You say Tomato, I say Tomato

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Good morning, jerks. Lookit, I’m not happy to be up this early either. Why don’t you suck down some more of that flavored coffee that you like so much? What is it today, Cinn-a-Bon Surprise? You make me sick.

This really is a great week for assfucking, and I don’t just mean around my house in gay, gay Massachusetts. So as not to be too topical, I waited a few days before rapping at ya about this one, but hold on to your tinfoil hats! Our Monkey-in-Chief signed a bill that basically establishes a national ID card, but it was pretty well-buried in a military spending bill. Check out H.R.1268 for a minute (PDF). Do you see it? Scrolllll down. Yes, past the olde-tyme-y font. Past supporting the troops. Past helping the tsunami victims. Past Payment to Widows and Heirs of Deceased Members of Congress. Past REMOVAL OF TERRORISTS. Oh, oh, there it is: Real ID blah blah blah (hint: page 72).

CNet says Senate approves electronic ID card bill. CNN says Bush signs $82 billion war funds bill. See the difference? The bit about ID cards is touched on as “It also prevents states from issuing driver’s licenses to illegal immigrants.” They even quote Ted Kennedy (oh Ted) blah blahing about how the bill strengthens something or the other in Iraq.

Now I am not about to do any original thinking, and neither are you, so check out this article on How Real ID will affect you. Read all threeeee pages. Then you can get back to your coffee. Hazelnut Hoopla?

Is time long or is it wide

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THIS WEEK IN ANAL SEX: Ann Coulter Heckled Over Anal Sex

OK, so this was last week. Didn’t I just finish saying I don’t traffic in the topical? You will take this old news and like it.

Here’s a response from the UT student who asked her “You say that you believe in the sanctity of marriage. How do you feel about marriages where the man does nothing but fuck his wife up the ass?” Yeah, hell yeah. Can you believe people do such unsavory things? Moderation in all things, people. I am pretty sure the pope is against this.

Ann Coulter seems to automatically make people think of anal sex. Witness I Fucked Ann Coulter in the Ass, Hard. Or not, it’s kind of gross. Obvs NSFW. Not like this site is.

But let’s talk about ME. I am still in my jammies, and there are empty wine bottles on the coffee table. Not from today. I had an antioxidant craving and a desire to protect myself from heart disease, and that’s how they ended up there over the course of several days.

I am getting beyond tired of this “blogging.” I am hell of busy with various schemes that are not to be talked about. I’ve got one good story left in me, and it stars a crackhead, a toothless alcoholic, and a vulgar phrase. So sit tight for that in the next few days, and then from there on I am planning to make this into a photo blog of pictures of myself taken in the mirror, or maybe I will post some movies of me yelling like a monster. Or I can just insult people. What would you like me to criticize about you today? I think you should moisturize your damn elbows. They are disgusting. Also: floss much?????

Holy god above mother of a monkey heaven swallow me up

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One of these just ran by on the wall. And I was all oh you again, I thought I put you outside. It can stay until the cat notices it, but the cat is totally busy staring at that raccoon that’s eating a chicken bone up in the tree outside the window. The cat likes the raccoon, and she likes the skunk, but she does not like other cats. I live on Mount Trashmore*.

So uh what else. I am fresh out of ideas here. And the topical is sooooooo irrelevant. You all know that we are going to die, and that we live in a ridiculous socio-political construct, so why do you need me to rub it in? I can’t sustain a thought for that long anyway. Sometimes when I am driving around, I think “A.D.D. means America Deserves Doomsday.” I also think about how much art exists only as pixels and electrons, and I wonder if that’s a problem. I don’t use paper for anything but wiping. What was me saying?

I could talk about anal sex, or I could talk about going to the grocery store and how that is a bad, irritating place. Or I could talk like Hulk, because I am in such a cranky mood. See, Hulk off happy pills because Doctor say “Hulk, you want to make green strong baby, not SPINDLY WHITE BABY, right?” And Hulk say, “Oh, Hulk guess so.” Hulk not want to make baby anymore, this too much trouble. Hulk plan to adopt monkey cub and go back on sauce.

So what do you clams want me to talk about? Let me know, or suffer. Cuz I can vamp indefinitely. My current favorite wine costs $8. It is the 2001 Campo Viejo Rioja. We buy it by the bucket, and there is no accounting for taste. I could talk about apostrophes, because they get me so mad. Condo’s and Apartment’s. Sandwich’s. OK, anal sex it is; the people have spoken. I hereby declare this Anal Sex Week. I think that would be super, as do American teenage virgins and most people I know, except for my mother. How original. Call Katie Couric.

But seriously, Hulk hate the damn grocery store and the bad people one finds there. Hulk get flustered and purchase macaroni salad for some reason. Who wants to eat macaroni salad?

*Not true, but I have visited.

You load sixteen tons and what do you get

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OMG. I was looking over the Vomitola archives recently, and I ran across a To Do list I wrote last year around this time. Have I accomplished anything in a year? NO!

Well, that’s not true. I finished the wedding thank you notes*. I also have several great jobs, like a Jamaican, but mainly I describe myself as a “consultant” or a “woman of leisure.”

We ended up with not so much a house as a hole in the ground that we can’t live in yet, and I’ve conquered existentialism with the help of naps, pills, and new shoes. So what’s left? The book is almost done, and I have that sitcom about the out-of-work trans-Pacific** pilot written. And for dinner, we are having leftover Chinese food, so that’s covered.

I still need to do something about that fucking old 401(k), and I never filed anything. It’s all in a pile under the guest bed. I still have to do laundry and reproduce, but various factions decided I’m infertile and told folks this is why we don’t have kids yet, so maybe I am off the hook for that! Not the laundry, the reproduction. The laundry festers on, much like my barren womb.

And I realize I have a lot going for me. I have the long, graceful toes of a concert pianist, and my cat can talk. I may not have a special purpose, and one ear may be slightly higher than the other, rendering some styles of sunglasses unflattering, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a good person. I wonder what I’ll accomplish by next year? Flight? Breathing underwater? I know one thing is for sure, I’m going to work more on killing people through the Power of My Mind.

*Not quite true. I just realized we received a box of dishes a month or so ago. The note will read something like “And for an entire week, we just pulled dishes out of the box rather than run the dishwasher. Thank you!!!!”

**Transexual, too! It’s Lost meets Wings meets Amanda Lepore.

Glamour kitty

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Oh, internet. It’s a big day. I have so much fucking laundry to do, and so much work to do, and I have to ingest some calories, and probably make a few trips to eliminate waste, and the house is dirty, but that has nothing to do with the waste. And it’s almost Mother’s Day, and that means I have to go get a wall vase from Pottery Barn that someone has been coveting.

Yesterday I had road rage supremo, and I soon tired of shouting insults related to the term “colostomy bag.” So Hulk growl and roar. This actually seemed to frighten people, and it made me feel a lot better. It was a tough day. I had to go to a funeral, and Google Maps steered me to Main Street in Springfield instead of West Springfield, even though I clearly entered “W” in my directions. I have the print out. Behold it. I finally found the place I needed to be through sheer Spidey sense, and all was well, or at least as well as it can be at a funeral.

But get this, the cat has finally learned to talk. If I say “Who’s the Kitty!!!!!” she says “Mee!” We could do this for hours. If I say “Who loves Mommy?” she says “Mee!” If I say “Do you want cheap Canadian Lasik?” she says “Mee!” I am going to be so fucking rich. With all the money I save on Canadian Lasik, I mean.

Two, two, two days later

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Than the last time I posted. Isn’t that amazing? Soon it will be the future. And…um. I am listening to Devo. The internet is in such a good mood lately, probably because it’s spring and the internet is getting mad laid. Just speculating. And maybe the internet got its hands on some painkillers as well.

Have you noticed how diligent I’ve been with taking my B-complex vitamins? Yeah, I am impressed too. My hooves and coat have never been shinier. I am not even going to taunt you by telling you that my gums don’t bleed when I floss. Booyeah.

Yesterday I was talking to Northern Virginia, and I put NoVa on mute because it was the part of the meeting that didn’t concern me, which is to say most of the meeting. Luckily I am a meeting cobra, and when something does concern me, I will strike. Wa-pow. And I had Oprah on, and Oprah was talking about pooping. This is one of my favorite topics evah. She had a doctor on the royal dais next to her, and he lifted up a medical-looking towel from a table and unveiled a normal colon and a bloated colon. That’s right, if you persist in eating a terrible diet, your colon will distend and never bounce back. A colon can handle a lot, but we all have our limits. There were other good tips about pooping too. You would think this comes naturally, but not to some people. I was really pleased to have my own output validated by a professional opinion.

It’s almost time to shriek Chinese at the people upstairs. I can’t wait. You see a woman on the street, and you wish to approach her.

Some Argentines without means do it

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Hi Internet, hi. It’s May. Just saying. Still singing loudly around the house and considering the purchase of a double-tall Airbus. You?

My horoscope says “You must make your own luck today by careful consideration of the alternatives.” Hmm. Such as: the alternative to making money is being poor, so I will do all my work. The alternative to starving to death is eating, so I will have some orange juice even though I don’t feel like it. Eating: Love it when other people make the food for me. Otherwise: 2 lazy 2 live!!!! If the alternative to not going to the bathroom weren’t exploding, I would never get up. OK, I force myself to trot around outside in a stupid outfit, but that doesn’t mean i enjoy it. That’s only prompted by vanity.

I nearly got pitched out of a child’s dance recital. She was on near the end, I was nursing a slight hangover and pill withdrawal brain shocks, and the kids were all tappa-tappa-tappa, twinkle twinkle. The theme was “Hollywood,” and each number was from a song associated with a movie. The emcee described “Pretty Woman” as a film about “opposites attracting.” I thought it was about whores! Then seven-year-olds in red lipstick came out to shake it.

A class of large teenage girls in voluminous tutus came out, and Mr. H had to restrain me as I jabbed him in the ribs. Turned out they all had Down Syndrome. My far vision has deteriorated to the point that all I saw was clumsy non-rhythmic lurching. I felt bad for snickering, but only a little. It was still a trial. Then the teachers all performed to “Batdance,” and there was no stopping me. It must be quite the burden to be a bringer of culture to Chelmsford, Massachusetts. Mr. H made me go wait in the hall before I started laughing too hysterically, bribing me with the promise of a Frosty. I never got that, come to think of it. He wouldn’t tell me about the rest of the show, only that it’s good that I left when I did. Hulk can’t help self.

With a doodle and cock

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Hey internet, hey baby. Who’s a good girl!

It’s still 11:11 twice a day, and we all know that is lucky. It’s true, it is. Why do I notice 11:11 all of a sudden? Is it the Lord? Is it Fibonacci? Is my clock broken? Who is trying to tell me something? Oh, it’s iCal. It says I have a lot of work to do. Drat. Hi, iCal, hi. I like your pretty colors. This has all happened before. I am special, and there is money stuffed in my socks*.

But seriously, this 11:11 thing is a big old deal. A lot happens on November 11th. Did you know that in 1634, the Irish House of Commons passed “An Act for the Punishment for the Vice of Buggery?”

The nosy church billboard down the street says “ATM Inside: Atonement Truth & Mercy.” I guess they do not manufacture vinyl commas for those boards.

I went with a friend this morning to pick out a board to display photos of her father at his funeral next week. What is someone going to pick for me some day? It’s too much. I am going to have everyone I love slaughtered as if I were a pharaoh, so you may not want me to get too attached to you. My father plans to die at a specific time. I do not doubt that he will achieve this, because he’s just that stubborn.

*Not really, but it would be nice, provided the money were in the form of large bills, and the socks were loose enough so as not to constrict when this extra volume is considered.

Internet refrigerator

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My, my. This week is just flying by. My lawyer is out at a seminar all this week and can’t handly my lawyerly needs, so I’ve been calling other lawyers he is lawyer friends with. They are equally lawyer nice, so I settled on the one with the best name. Then after my scalp massage and disco yoga class, I had to practice my Chinese. I did this very, very loudly so as to bother my upstairs neighbor. This is payback for hearing one of his students mangling “The Yellow Rose of Texas” earlier. Wednesdays are apparently adult ed days.

It’s hard to tell good ideas from bad ideas, isn’t it. Should I be learning Cantonese instead? Should I have made that spreadsheet of all the food items in the house? Is a $28 haircut ever going to be as good as an $85 haircut? Why does anyone care about finding the largest prime number*? All of this confusion is why I like to look to the Lord. But the nosy church billboard down the street says “We love Him because He loved us first.” This is probably the most co-dependent sentiment ever expressed. Lots of awful people have liked me in the past, and I believe I’ve done the right thing in sending them packing. Now, I’m not calling the Lord awful, per se, but what has he done for me lately? You have to work for this, people. You wanna a piece of me, you hafta make it worth-a my while. Press the button, get a piece of cheese. So when the Lord weighs in to tell me if I should get a stackable washer/dryer or a side by side unit, I’ll love him. Or not, because he may not agree with me, and then I’ll have to ignore him.

*225964951-1, so far

Vomitous

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Well, bokka bokka bokka. I am waiting to hear back from the mortgage people to see if Mr. H and I are worthy of helping to tip the American housing market completely into the toilet. This is rather nervewracking, as if I were waiting for free clinic test results after sleeping with all of BU. Or perhaps Bennington. I am in full “what have we done?” mode. I want to throw up. But I won’t, because I didn’t eat breakfast yet. Maybe after. Guess I won’t have oatmeal, that would just be gross.

The Vomitola domain expires in a few months. Should I keep it, or should I pick something new? www.OMG.com is taken. This is a hard choice, people. I want my “personal weblog home page on the information super highway” to reflect my unique personality. I think my blinkie gallery goes a long way towards that goal, but I don’t know if my love for dogs is showcased enough. Oh, and my jokes page could use a Swiffering. When it rains, it pours. There has got to be a New York Times article about just this modern situation.