All posts by Licketysplit

Mega-low mania

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That’s a baby, gumming a laser dot off the carpet. Babies are so stupid! You can’t eat a laser.

I miss eating, period. It was rad while it lasted. The tubs of tapioca pudding, the beef wellington, and above all, the ham. Lambchop and I have declared a fatwa on food. We are a sorry pair, stabbing half-heartedly at broth when we lunch together. But we look great! We are so lucky to be afflicted with wasting diseases. Some people pay for tapeworms, but not us. It merely took some vagaries of the digestive tract and a whopping dose of serotonin, between the two of us. America, wait for our book.

It’s strange that we do everything together. People look at us funny when we use the same machine at the gym at the same time. And sometimes I do get tired of her sitting on top of me at the dentist, and I wish she didn’t need a night light. It’s all worth it, though. My bodddyyy and me! Maybe someday we will be surgically separated, but so far, so good. Don’t tell Lambchop, but for Christmas I am knitting us a muff.

The Lay of the Land Today at 10,000 Feet: A High Level Overview

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I’ve got that ‘last day of school’ feeling so bad. I launched a site I’ve been slaving over for a while, because either the day before a holiday or a Friday at 5 p.m. is totally the best time to do complicated things like that. I did not break the database, and I am thankful.

Ever keep predicting things that are likely to happen anyway? I’ll think “That guy is going to call me,” and that guy does. Or “Heather just posted to Vomitola,” and she did. Or “My sister’s flight is cancelled.” If I weren’t psychic, I wouldn’t have known about that, because Orbitz just called to assure me that while there may be weather delays, the flight is on time. Then they called ten minutes later to say the flight will depart on time. However, I’d already checked the website thanks to my spidey sense, called the airline, and rebooked for tomorrow before I received either of those calls. I hope they call every ten minutes. It makes me feel important.

I am super excited that there will be pie tomorrow! I hope everyone has pie! Personally, I don’t eat, but I encourage you to try the Other Apple Pie: equal parts hard cider and Harpoon Winter Warmer. When my sister finally arrives after being squished in a tin can with ugly people, I will pour one down her gullet.

I wish you all a velocitous re-valuetization this holiday season. Link courtesy of Max, who hates both Freedom and America, almost as much as Orbitz does.

A sweet romantic place

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Hey America! How’s it going? I have so much to tell you. Well, not really anything interesting. Have you ever wondered what it’s like in my head, America? My inner monologue goes something like “Oh hey, that is one fat squirrel, look that guy is feeding him, do I smell bagels, oh no he did not button the “never” button, oh he did, my feet are cold, isn’t it weird that advocados are in season now, that person would not be so fat if they did not get the chips with their sandwich.” My inner monologue cares not for punctuation.

And somehow I still walk around and deposit checks in the bank and drive a car and have a husband and friends and pay bills and pick out thoughtful Christmas presents. I would love to know how this all works. Does everyone walk around with a head full of TV static, or is it just me? I’m not saying I mind, it’s just a marvel.

Oh, and I had a bout of existentialism while shopping for shoes. It was brutal, and for a few tenuous moments, it did not matter which pair of black boots I purchased. Luckily, it turned out to be low blood sugar, and I went with the black ones. I should start carrying an emergency pie.

Last night, Mr. Helen and I ordered pizza from the internet, pretty much just because we could. The only wrinkle in this plan is that the end product is delivered by a human and not ASIMO. Still, the pizza tasted of progress, and we even had a coupon for progress. Good deal, America.

You know I don’t believe you when you say that you don’t need me

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This week I was so busy that time actually slowed down, and I felt like I was trying to do lunges across the bottom of a pool. Now, overall, it’s good to be busy because it distracts me from feeling guilty about converting my disposable income into frivolous things like teeth whitening strips and manchego cheese. But yesterday was especially terrible and unholy, and I shall exhaustively detail it to impart just an iota of the suffering to you, gentle reader.

First, I discovered that the Mac OS 10.3.6 update is a lulu, in that I got the kernel panic curtain of doom when it was 80% installed, and my powerbook refused to start up past the chime. I had a presentation that afternoon and needed to burn a CD of stuff I had not backed up yet. I called to berate Apple, and an unflappable woman named Shalonda mandated that I use the system restore disc. So there I sat, shrieking “Twenty-nine minutes!” at the progress bar. Luckily, it turned out to go much faster. I cursed the Fins and the Danes and all the Asians as their language packs were installed, holding up American ME, ME, goddammit, ME. In the end, I did not lose any data, and I know this is because God approves of the high moral standards of this great nation.

Then I almost got killed by some BeUro trash driving a black Kompressor, but luckily MY German car, assembled in Mexico, is sufficiently maneuverable to compensate for total idiots being allowed to do things like drive. I still could not reach my intended destination because a marching band was, well, marching down the street. They were followed by a band of Morrissey impersonators, waving handmade banners decrying our reliance on foreign oil. I made that last one up, but it would have been great.

Then I had to sit in a small office and teach someone how to use Dreamweaver, something I had stupidly promised about nine months ago.

Sample dialogue:

oaf: “So these pages are Word documents?”

me: “No.”

oaf, later: “So we measure things with pixels because everyone has different fonts on their computers?”

me: “No.”

It is hard to be the caretaker of the little creatures of nature. I realized that I am almost a year into my retirement, and I should really stop being eccentric and “working.” So from here on out, I only do work that I like, which means no more front-end coding whatsoever, even if you lit a match under my left foot. And Mai Tais, we’ll have lots of those. It’s about setting limits, America.

Stand and Deliver (in the rear)

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Vomitola staff would like to apologize for the little news blackout over the last few days. We found ourselves on a most compelling ether jag, but then we realized it was all apparently real. Unfortunately, this isn’t like the time we woke up covered in half-melted Gummi Worms with packing tape wrapped around all the light sources in the house.* It’s far, far worse.

To catch our readers up, the Adam and the Ants party, while not victorious on Tuesday, did stage a coup wherein the Morrisseys were banished to Canada. The final straw apparently came when the Morrisseys enlisted their would-be Secretary of State, Nick Cave, to change America’s national anthem to “The Weeping Song.” Adam himself issued a statement calling the Morrisseys “a bunch of bloody wankers.”

The Adam and the Ants faction has stolidly opted for fight rather than flight, and their members are increasing national visibility by wearing black stripes under one eye and rhinestone-encrusted black armbands.**

We at Vomitola would like to extend our solemn pledge to continue being absolutely ridiculous even in the face of these trying times. Sure, we’ve shined up our ACLU cards and resigned ourselves to another few years of MoveOn emails, but we remain committed to living out our elaborate fantasy lives starring musty pop stars, enjoying all the sodomy we can handle, and being astonished by obesity. What good is living in a blue state if we can’t do that?

Yours,

the queens of the wild frontier

*true story

**soon to be available for purchase right here at Vomitola.com

Ouija Board, Ouija Board

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Morrissey calls election for Jon Stewart.

The staff apologizes for the recent lack of updates, but we were crumpled in a drunken heap on the floor. Some call it a black out, we call it a power nap. Now we’re tanned, rested, and ready. Hello Cleveland!

The rest of the Morrisseys are temporarily at bay, stymied by a broomstick through the door handles. We are like to crawl under the bed, such are our nerves frayed by the existence of the entire middle and south of the country. Sure, they have a right to exist, but we have a right to be utterly boggled.

The Things That Dreams Are Made Of

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Licketysplit here, reporting that The Adam and the Ants Party was not pacified by Dick Cheney wrapping a neck tie around his forehead on CNN, although it was a valiant effort. After they all got through waiting in line to vote, they opted to sit and have lunch.

I conducted an exit poll with the Human League, and, unsurprisingly, they are staunchly backing asymmetrical haircuts.

The Kerry camp responded in kind:

I did not get a sticker when I voted, so I am relying on going topless to get my point across.

Get Out the Vomitola: 2004

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Well, I voted at 7 a.m. with all the old people. A nice little old lady checked my name off the list, but not without a fight. “Oh, are you Cheryl?” Cheryl is my upstairs neighbor. I peeked at the sheet, and Cheryl was registered as a Republican. “No, Cheryl will still be in bed. She drinks, you know. I wonder if she’ll try to vote drunk. You should really stop her.”

Lambchop winged her way to New York City to court the Morrissey vote and the multiple personality vote with Violet Shuraka and our own Manuel on the Street. I went to New Hampshire to heckle people holding Bush signs. Later I may Photoshop myself holding a newspaper that announces that John Kerry has won the election.

Watch this space all day today, as we’ll be bringing you live coverage as our drinking schedule permits. I’m on my way up to Cheryl’s now.

In the meantime, check out Project Vote Smart to find out about other candidates and ballot measures in your area. If you’re in Massachusetts, find your voting location.