Category Archives: Uncategorized

I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghosts

It’s starting to get downright creepy around here! I called Lambchop last night, but it seems she is on vacation, so I had to speak with Wern-chop instead. Wern-chop isn’t the greatest listener, I’ll admit. S/he kept saying things like “I see planets that don’t exist and landscapes that have only been dreamed.” I asked her what she thought of these shoes I was thinking of buying, and she said “We are surrounded by worn-out images, and we deserve new ones.” Well, OK, then. So you think I look worn-out!

Then I found out that Wern-chop gets a 401(k). I don’t even have one of those. I decided that this settles it. I am launching my own ghostwriting and living services. I will be you in the ether of the internet. I will update your Facebook status, your Twitter, you Tumblr, and your Friendster, your LinkedIn, your Myspace. Your Plaxo, whatever that is.

See, I am already me in both real life and on the internet, so I have the necessary experience.

I will also answer your emails and formulate responses to the thorniest problems, both existential and otherwise. Perhaps you need a boost at work, or you need to fire a tiresome friend. I will do this and more. If anything backfires, then I will blame your ghostwriter.

Here is a sample faux life experience (this one is free!): you are on vacation. It is very exotic, and everyone is jealous at first. You have just conquered the Khyber Pass. Oh no, now there is a river! It is too deep to ford. One of your oxen has escaped and eaten a village child, and your mother has succumbed to cholera. You don’t have long yourself. I have selected the appropriate victim tribute photo for your Facebook page, and I have applied to have it memorialized.

I am so hired!

The Part of Lambchop Will Now Be Played By…

I had Licketysplit’s latest digression read to me by my assistant, Devendra, who had thoughtfully plied me with mocha and placed a pillow just *so*, as he warned that the text contained allusions to tasks and work.  Fortified as I was with chocolate foam and an attitude of unmistakeable leisure, I settled in for a half-hearing on topics that quite naturally give me a bit of a horror, pausing every few moments to laugh sumptuously at Devendra’s pronunciation.  It was an altogether exhausting pursuit, particularly as finances were repeatedly mentioned.  I need pills for that! 

Suddenly, it dawned on me that I should hire someone to *be* me for a spell.  After all, I have been under the weather lately.  Clearly between voting, complaining and curling my lashes, I have overextended myself.  Perhaps lashes are not meant to be this long and thick.  Damn you, Claire Danes! 

I scanned my list of  understudies for candidates that might do me credit for a few days of well-deserved nothingness.  Unfortunately, Parker Posey is not speaking to me at the moment.  Hrmm.  Brittany Murphy, dead, should have crossed that one off.  And it appears that all the others have been whisked off to some unnamed destination in the Maldives for “empathy training” by Tom Cruise, in case any misfortune should befall his current incubator wife.  Well, that is unlucky.  So it is down to Craigslist.  I adopted my last child off of Craigslist and she showed up already knowing how to make a Gin Fizz!  Eastern Europeans really understand initiative.

 My first c-list audition was with Bradley, who I appreciated for the obvious reason that he bothered to appear as the co-ed serial killer, Edmund Kemper. 

Kemper used his mother’s head for a dartboard before putting her vocal chords down the disposal.  Good for you Bradley!

The second audition was a woman named Gary.  She was largely without distinguishing characteristics.  But she did bring me a carrot muffin.  It was a pretty good carrot muffin, but seems like an odd choice in a gifted baked good.  NEXT.

The day wore on with its share of sad sacks seeking employ, wannabe starlets, and outright loons.  This girl seemed promising, but my assistant told me it was Lady Gaga. 

This Lady Gaga person has been running around impersonating ME for the last few years, and I hear she has made quite a bit of scratch at it already.  I threw her out myself, which made my hands quite sticky.  NURSE!

Well, I was beginning to despair that I will not be able to hand over the reins of my existence anytime soon.  But then I remembered that Werner is in town, shilling his new movie.  The one about the little cave paintings.  Surely he has some free time!  Of course he was happy to be of use, as always.  And who wouldn’t thrill at the chance to be me for a few days?

What Would Vomitola Do?

Some of you may be wondering what it’s like to be Vomitola. It’s rigorous, for starters.

The other day I was at Target buying a huge monstrosity pack of toilet paper, and I was feeling rather grumpy about the whole endeavor, but then I realized I was the silly person who insists on dabbling in the work of the normal, and I could have sent my assistant.  Suddenly the whole errand became a lark! How exciting to get out and mingle with the common folk. They’ll go back to their barns and sheds and culverts and hunker down with microwaved meals, but I’ll get to go home and be me! It is not possible to have pleasure without a little suffering, even if the suffering is the exclusive domain of Target shoppers who are not I.

If I keep my sunglasses on, there is a good chance I won’t even get recognized. The perfect crime!

Every morning, I sleep in, and then Mr. H prepares me a cup of coffee. He was supposed to go to Finland this week, and I was already quailing at the prospect of making my own coffee. It is simply impossible. If I didn’t have people, I don’t know what. Well, I would use my natural pluck and intellect and charm to find more people, that’s what.

Still in my dressing gown, I drape myself languidly at my desk, congratulating myself on its understated style. I open iTunes and inevitably blast a little Visage. A rightfully adoring subject gave me one of these babies, so of course I have the highest quality musical experience one can have with a laptop. Top shelf, all the way. I summon my accountants and have them peer into the money bin, and then I reflect on what needs to be accomplished for the day. Then I assign those tasks to other people, although if they don’t want to be fired, they should have already known what they needed to do.

Mr. H is in awe of my wakeless path through the storms of fortune each day, and he consulted me about a work-related matter. Work is such a groggy and distant concept, but I thought I’d humor the little jackanapes. It was cute how he screwed up the courage to ask, and the diamond necklace didn’t hurt either. “Tell me about Steve Strange,” he said. I pointed out that Steve once spent more than £100,000 on drugs in under a year. “Well, that priest on the news the other night spent $4,000 per month on porn,” he offered. Oh, darling. No. That’s a mere $48,000 per annum, and think of the exchange rate! Accountant!

After much discussion and careful consideration, he selected the following for the opening screen of a PowerPoint presentation.

Now he will know what it’s like to triumph. He’ll either be fired or promoted to CEO, no doubt.

So next time you’re in a bind, feel free to ask us how to proceed. If there is anything in life we have in spades, it’s ideas! We are imagineers.

CAAAAAAAKE

It is that time of year again. I note you are tense with excitement, but National Underwear Day has already passed. Could it be Have Sex with an Ugly Person Day? Heavens, no. We have already made our charitable contributions this month. I gave a hotdog to a homeless that admittedly had way more mustard on it than I care for, and Licketysplit promptly loaned me three dollars so I could buy another one. Two birds, meet one stone.

It is not even Bastille Day but it is still pretty good because it is the season for my second annual birthday self portrait. The inaugural edition actually featured a birthday as the subject. There I am, beatific and slightly naughty on my anniversary, befouling a pretty nasty strawberry cake I bought at the mexican bakery, whose fruit was covered with a shiny, clear goo that pooled around the bases. That’s me to a T, shining, resplendent, and entirely suspect.

This year’s painting depicts me regarding the contents of a kooky room.  Patterns, naked paintings, disembodied limbs, dolls in dusty nooks.  I might as well be in the furniture of my own brain. And there is also cake! I baked cupcakes just for the purpose of popping a few into the composition. Of course you can’t just bake a single cupcake. (OMG single serve cupcake kit…we are going to be rich. Rich enough to pay someone to tell us to stop eating single serve cupcakes.) Even with a small batch you get around a dozen. By the time my spoon had scraped the bottom of the bowl, I had 23. But my they looked festive with whorls of vanilla butter cream and pastel sprinkles, a candle jutting pertly from each center. I ate three of them while decorating. An artist friend joined me for one at the studio and I implored her to take a couple. I brought a dozen to a birthday party at a bar. Happy Birthday everyone, everywhere, not just me. Oh yes, hurrah. Like a Basquiat tweaking in dessert form, and other inspired geniuses before me, I ate 10 cupcakes.  For art’s sake!

So let’s loosen up with a playful tease

We briefly interrupt the dispatches from 2013 to ask a burning question: if you’re reading this, do you have a blog or creative site to which we should be linking? We are always open to finding great new things at which to goggle. When I migrated the old site out of Blogger, it predictably ate the old blogroll, since that was hand coded. Back in the day and all. I had to whittle each update in wood.

But just today, for example, I remembered that we used to link to Awful Plastic Surgery, and when I checked, they happened to have a Pete Burns post at the top of the heap! I know a sign when I see one (I saw the sign–check).

So if I strip for you, will you strip for me? Lay your content at the altar of Vomitola, and we may get to hang some spiffy new links around our Makeshift Chamber of Horrors! Surely they will be an improvement over all that…offal we’ve got going.

Everything is Fine, Really

2013 is really turning out to be a fall down the rabbit hole. The democrats have changed their name to “Everything is Fine, viagra Really”.  There is a talking cartoon platypus in the white house. And the best the opposition party can come up with is to set Opus against him in a runoff.

This seems to have created much division within the party of Everything is Fine, find Really.  A rival faction is looking to nominate Bill the Cat, tadalafil an obvious pander to the red meat conservatives who support the platypus.  Bill apparently has some fine intentions that are meant to appeal to the base, of killing everything in sight. 

What the dems Everything is Fine, Really still fail to grasp is that the right wing will never approve them, even if they propose wiping Asia off the map with nukes and building a giant McDonaldland in its place. Which happens to be what the newest GOP candidate is proposing! Happy Meals for everyone!

I am really starting to feel like I ate too much at the fair. There is way too much hubris and smiling in 2013. But precious little fuel, so we have to hit the black market in order to fill up the tank on the time machine. I hope I brought my garters and a blackjack.

Policy of Truthiness


The weather in the future is here; wish you were fantastic! President Palin quit rather unexpectedly, but she was quickly purchased by FOX kNows (Formerly FOX News, but no one likes real news). So everyone else in the Palin family also quit, except Bristol, who soldiers on lumpenly through her tour on the federally funded show Skating With the Stars. This meant that there was no Veep, no Speaker of the House, or even whatever the #4 guy does, or Secretary of State. Whew.

So we had a quick run-off, and Perry the Platypus won. He’s the first animated-American president! And also the first non-human president, although that is debateable. Are we counting witches as humans or not? I am pro-witch, personally.

I tell you one thing I am missing in the future: my stock market performance from the La Bamba administration. He may have dropped the ball on that whole waterboarding and secret prisons thing, but man, did I love logging in at Fidelity back then.

As of election day, Nov. 2, 2010, your $100,000 was worth about $177,000 if invested strictly in the NASDAQ average for the entirety of the Obama administration, and $148,000 if bet on the Standard & Poors 500 major companies. This works out to returns of 77 percent and 48 percent.

Remember those days? Everyone used to sit around muttering and fist shaking about recession, but I made a killing!  2009 and 2010 were pretty sweet. Unfortunately most of the cash was locked inside retirement accounts, which is why you didn’t see me driving a solid ermine car and why I was still living in that crappy condo.

I know it is gauche to discuss anything good that happens in one’s life, especially financially, so I kept my trap shut. I would just nod during those fist shaking conversations and say “Yeah, can’t beat Wall Street. It’s all Monopoly money anyway.”

So what gives? Was I the only one in America making boring regular contributions (and dumping in everything I could spare after the crash and maybe shorting a few things)? Was I the last person in America married to someone with a job? Could be.

I admittedly have no job, except for making a bit of scratch from my stable of dubious websites, ahem. I make the investment picks and maintain the investment policy document, so I steer the ship toward the iceberg, but Mr. H is responsible for putting the coins in the coffee can.  You certainly can’t invest without some sort of income involved, it is true.

Maybe if someone had thought to give more people jobs, we wouldn’t have had so much fist shaking. Or perhaps someone could have just arranged marriages to people with jobs. Win-win! If not jobs or marriages, maybe at least makeovers or makeunders, as needed? Another strategy I employ to drum up extra cash is not paying utility bills. They take a long time to shut those off, comparatively.

After the great crash of 2013, I am not so pleased, but then President Palin did give each citizen a trailer in her last act before leaving office, so I am somewhat set. And I start at the shrimp farm next week, so I’ll finally have a job. The platypus just loves shrimp! He’s like a little Forest Gump, only with a venom spur.

Greetings, Citizens of Americorp.!

2013 is really starting to grow on me. President Palin had her hair blow dried on Live with Regis and whatever and we attended the special senate confirmation hearing for Piper Palin’s appointment to the federal bench. Li’l Piper was grilled on her construction of the constitution on issues such as abortion and gun control, predictably failing to illuminate a position on how she might rule on those cases. She *did* express an interest in blue-razz gum and an inclination to appear on the X Factor.

Literally tens of you have written in wondering about new iphone apps and stock performance. We are not here to cheat history, darlings. If you are sitting in your deplorable hovel on a mound of dirt, gettting chewed on by bedbugs, then that is exactly where you have to stay. We are also not going to reveal if Joaquin is really crazy, or only kidding. Life affords little enough mystery. We will, however share the following breakdown of some of the HOTTESTS TREEEENDZ:

    OUT

Vampires
lip collagen
horror clowns
nice Perez Hilton
Jamie Lee Curtis yogurt
Tiny Dogs
Free Will 

    IN


Lepers
Vag rejuvenation
(even scarier) Happy Clowns
evil TWIN Perez Hilton (OMG he has an evil twin!)
Donut hamburg sammich
Toy Moose
Pharma vouchers

The future is AWESOME.

It Was What it Was

Get Out the Vomitola

We wrap our edition of “Why Everything Sucks” with the following: Harry Reid, craven, useless chief of the cloakroom hangs on but Russ Feingold, progressive hero, is defeated…

Did you also know you could fatally OD on caffeine?

We leave the present in the gloved hands of Unkle Karl to journey to the center of distant times. Here in 2013, things are a bit brighter, and also a whole lot dumber. I guess America is rather like a punch clown. You can take a swipe and knock it over, but it will just bob back up in your face with a maniacal grin. Hilarious. Note to Sarah Palin: choose an actual punch clown for your reelection bid in 2016. We DESERVE to be infotained!

We have cunningly disguised ourselves in the attire of the day. Though I am not sure if we are supposed to be in the navy, or some kind of minstrels. Maybe this is what happens when they abolish “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”?

In the bag

Get Out the Vomitola

Hmm. Lambchop and I still live in blue states, it seems. Elsewhere, the craziest crazies were not elected. America, you shock me! In keeping with the tenet that conservatives think everyone is out to get them, and liberals think everyone is incredibly stupid, I am rightfully nonplussed.

No Sharron Angle, no Christine O’Donnell, no Linda McMahon. No Fiorina, no Whitman. Is that a crushing blow to women? Or only to women unfit to lead? When Anna Wintour runs, I am sure she will be installed as president posthaste, perhaps on a ruby-encrusted fainting couch. Karl Lagerfeld will be Secretary of State, so he’ll be able to fan her.

Uncle Karl

However, Californians are all for shapeshifting for corporations, if I’m reading that right (and I’m not)! But they are not for legalizing Marijuana. Yet in Massawhosits, we will no longer have to pay sales tax on liquor! Woooo! A jaunty pink flute of Kitty Dukakis (official Vomitola cocktail) all around! I raise my glass to you, irresponsible citizens of the world.

I guess I’ll just have to set the dial on the time machine to the day of Palin’s inauguration in 2013 to get satisfaction for my crazy yen. Oh my God, as her first act, there is a federal mandate to wear banana clips! And she signed it with one of those troll doll pens!