L’invalide est un parasite sur la société. Dans un certain état il est indécent pour continuer à vivre.
(The invalid is a parasite on society. In a certain state it is indecent to go on living.)
All posts by Licketysplit
November spawned a monster
I had been saving that subject line in case Bush won next week, but after my little whoopsie-daisy in the time machine the other day, I am pretty convinced he will not. I was just telling my sister the Moose that I should have taken a picture of myself holding next week’s newspaper, but since I correctly reported the ever-baffling Red Sox winning the Superbowl or whatever that was before they actually did it, I should be all set in the proof department. Besides, taking pictures of oneself out at arm’s length is a little Sweet Valley High or something. High you say. The hell.
Someone reminded me that Halloween is coming up, and I don’t have a costume. I thought of the scariest thing I could, and it looked like Copperplate Gothic and Comic Sans in a grotesque threesome with Arial, spelling out “Support Our Troops” on one of those inscrutable magnetic ribbons. All the churches and high schools up this way changed their moveable letter boards to read “Go Sox” instead of “Support Our Troops,” so I guess we have a reprieve from supporting. Curt Schilling, poster boy for “resolve,” wants you to vote Bush. Go back to your red state, sirrah. Let the heavens continue to smile on Massachusetts, and stop trifling, people.
I suppose I should be Bitter for Halloween.
I wrote this yesterday morning and never got around to posting, and it scarcely feels relevant, but then again, what ever is.
Now my heart is full
Wow, that was a hell of a ride. Yesterday was certainly the most memorable November Tuesday of MY young, glamorous life. John Kerry’s stunning upset over George W. Bush had me up until the wee hours, biting my nails at first until Florida and Michigan and Pennsylvania came in blue.
My jaw hung open when they called Texas for Kerry, followed by North Carolina and Tennessee. After that, I wasted no time diving into the case of Chateau Lafitte I’d been saving for just such an occasion. Kerry looked so presidential when he gave his victory speech. That man can pick out a tie. As anyone could have predicted, Bush simpered and smirked and screwed up a Yogi Berra quote, something along the lines of “The over it ain’t.” At some point my head hit the coffee table.
I just don’t know what I would have done if John Kerry did not win this election. Probably I would have continued to think about my hair, or I might have ordered a bubble tea. Oh well, now I no longer have to retain any conscience or political awareness at all!
Yet I am puzzled that the morning papers have absolutely no coverage of this momentous event. And talk of the Red Sox and their thrilling series victory also seems to have faded. Stranger still, when I went to my shrink appointment, he seemed utterly unaware of Daylight Savings Time, and told me I was too late for my appointment. Oh well, the stupid little creatures of nature don’t bother me now that we are free from the perilous scourge of four more years of totalitarian rule. Did Daylight Savings Time get cancelled this year? I seem to have totally missed the Today show. I was really wondering what Al Roker thought about all of this.
(edit: This is what happens when someone staggers drunkenly into the time machine, their fingers still sticky from gummi bears! Licketysplit is now vomiting in the pines somwhere in the catskills, 1947. I have no idea where she plans to spend her hangover- Havana, perhaps? So you must all still VOTE, and save the planet and all that. A Rush and a Push and the Land we stand on is Ours. It has been before, so it shall be again!-lc)
Melvin -in- Voyage au bout de la nuit
En Afrique j’avais en effet trouvé un genre suffisamment épouvantable de solitude mais l’isolement de ce tas américain de fourmi était plus se brisant.
(In Africa I had indeed found a sufficiently frightful kind of loneliness but the isolation of this American ant heap was even more shattering.)
We let you live?
Autumn brings dismal things. Hence, buy a new layout. I call this one “Young Poisoner.” Lambchop calls it “Some like it hot.”
Can’t Stand Us Now
I have spent this morning frantically paging my ethicist, my analyst, and my ghostwriter, but they are all getting herbal wraps together. My personal chef is off today, and I had to make my own breakfast (I had a popsicle). What manner of torment does the Lord plan for me next?
You see, I am blocked. B-l-o-c-k-e-d. You’re a blockhead, Charlie Brown. No, it’s not something my colon therapist could fix — I am the picture of health in that department, thank you for asking. I just can’t finish a design to save my life. This has never happened before. My patented formula of waiting until the last minute and then being filled with divine inspiration has failed me miserably. I am used to being a person with Answers, but I seem to have killed my inner Lucy Van Pelt. Was it because I switched to Splenda? Upgraded to Creative Suite? Stopped drinking as much? I want you back, Know-It-All. Abuh buh buh buh. All I want! Abuh buh buh buh. All I need! You hot bitch.
In other news, Netflix is sidling up to me, swearing it will all be different this time. I wrote them a cordial reply, stating that I will happily sign up again if they invent 36-hour days and start stocking shitloads of porn. I hate you, Netflix. You mock me.
Speaking of mocking, I watched the TV show “Biggest Loser” the other night, wherein a group of tubby people are chained to treadmills and fed nothing but Vitamin Water. The person who loses the most weight gets some kind of prize. I think. I don’t know, because I glazed over during all those slow mo shots of roiling seas of fat running or doing pull-ups or whatnot. They also tempt the participants with trays of treats. I was thinking “It’s like Heather and I finally sold a TV show!” Sure, it’s deplorable exploitation, but it’s nice to know our demographic is finally “in.” I also get sick of those home makeover shows where they let unstylish people return to showplace manses, so I was thinking “they should really also fix these poor, ill-coiffed troglodytes before they are allowed to touch those Corian countertops.” And what do you know, FOX went and came up with “Make Over My Family.” They bulldoze the house, and everyone gets highlights and an under-the-sea themed bedroom. About ding-dang time. Stop reading my mind, television. Just stop.
My next decree: Extreme Makeover candidates should not have to go home to ugly loved ones, as keeping company with ugly people only drags one down. The surprise reveal will include everyone in the family getting teeth veneers and butt lifts, right down to the house pets. If this turns up on the air, I would like a whopping check.
Time after time
Today we reach a milestone in the Vomitorium: Our 500th post. Even Seinfeld didn’t make it to 500 episodes! It is only fitting, that as a blog about nothing, we go the distance. This one’s for you, Larry David.
Looking back on the past year and a half or so, we are humbled. All the hairstyles we’ve tried, all the candy necklaces eaten, all the gumjobs gummed. It’s staggering. To say nothing of the flailing. And as Connected Americans, we’ve done all of this while physically attached to each other. This is no small feat considering we live about twenty miles apart and enjoy traveling to other continents alone. Where is our genius grant?
As a convenience to our loyal readers, we’ve made a wee timeline detailing some of the hightlights of the past 499 posts.
Here’s hoping the next 500 violate you just as vilely. Remember, WE LET YOU LIVE.
Go straight to hell boys
My friends, I am a hateful American. I’ve got rage in my heart, even supplanting the usual lust. Last night I sat around with Lambchop and Midsentence and Mr. H, and we tried to sloganeer something in witty opposition to the slew of yellow ribbons floating around on cars around these parts. If by some miracle you haven’t seen one, they are all a variation on the wording “Support Our Troops,” and the most prevalent design features an elaborate script font that one must view from about two inches away to parse.
So what do these affronts to graphic design actually mean? We thought “I don’t want anyone else to suffer or die as part of the specious war on terror, and I hope the troops get home safely very soon, and I’d like everyone to take a moment and hope their tax dollars are being spent in the most judicious manner to ensure all this safety” would be too long for a bumper sticker. Of course what everyone really means is exactly what is depicted on the button above, from the delightfully wicked Whitehouse.org. My cause is holier than your cause.
It really is hard to know what to do with oneself when larger doings are afoot. There are no victory gardens or scrap drives, but you can send a random soldier a $79 gift basket of peppermint foot lotion via Treats for Troops. I can only imagine it would be well-appreciated, but somehow it borders on insulting. Here’s some Halloween candy, how is it in Hell? Have all the people with those magnets on their cars sent a soldier lip balm, sunscreen, or baby wipes? Phone cards or batteries? Are they contributing to funds to equip housing for newly disabled soldiers with wheelchair ramps? Perhaps babysitting so an overwhelmed military spouse dealing with a deployment of a partner can go grocery shopping? Did they do anything besides slap that sucker on the car and feel better for 5 whole minutes? Maybe they donated a Gmail address.
I wish I had the answers. I think I know one thing most of us can do on November 2, but that won’t suddenly introduce logical thinking to the country as a whole, no matter who wins.
This morning at the grocery store, I was behind a man with a Bush button on his collar. The bagger in this line clearly has Down Syndrome, and he is always very efficient and pleasant despite the wave of people who pretend he doesn’t exist every day. He noticed the man’s button, and said “Oh, so you’re for the president then.” The man smiled and said he was, and left, saying “Support those troops!” The bagger muttered under his breath “I’m for Kerry!” I said “Hey, me too,” and he beamed and asked if I planned to watch the debate tonight. I said I did even though I had made up my mind already, and he said “It’s good to know what’s going on in the world.”
No shit. Then he told me store brand ice cream is actually made by Breyers. Also good to know!
I could sense the hate/of the lonestar state/And a small voice said, “What can we do?”
Some blatant propaganda:
Are you registered to vote? It may not be too late.
TV Station Reports that Bush Has Been Elected President, via an unnamed friend who refuses to confront his obesity.
Talking heads, scary because it’s true. Via another unnamed friend who hates work more than I do. I particularly like the part in this where they say “turrurists” like they are auditioning to do backup in a Nelly song.
Congressman Marty Meehan (5th district, D, MA) is sponsoring a petition against consideration of a military draft.
Finally, after you watch tonight’s debate, why not stumble over to FactCheck.org to do more research?
Nothing appears to be between the ears of the lazy sunbathers
If it’s Wednesday, it must be Morrissey. Did you see those debates last night? Morrissey. Some people mistake Dick Cheney’s specious gyrations for actual intelligence. I suppose he is intelligent, in that evil-living-in-a-hollowed-out-volcano way. Until the past few weeks, I was under the impression that debates involved answering a question and proving why one’s answer is superior using cogent reasoning and sparkling wit. I am so pleased to be unburdened of this notion. No more making sense for me, Morrissey.
Lambchop is in Berlin today, and she has vowed to never Morrissey anything but British Airways or Air France again. I believe someone munged up her cocktail order. Then, when she accidentally dropped her Valium down the seat, it was snatched and eaten by a greedy infant stowed in the row behind her. She will be bringing you a full dispatch tomorrow, auf Deutsch!