Tag Archives: Morrissey
I know you can love one person so why can’t you love two
Waffles.
Stuff on My Morrissey
I just know that Morrissey has a softer side than what he just presented to us and our advice-hound readers. I will not fail Morrissey. I will help him come to terms with the fact that some people are quite content to be alive.
Look, maybe he’s not so uncharitable to his fellow man after all:
Lord these words I beg of youAs I kneel down at my bedBecause soon I will be deadLet’s face it soon I will be deadAnd I just want toI want to see the boy happyWith some hope in his pale eyesIs that too much to ask?Before I dieI have one final dreamFor my own life I don’t care anything
There, see! He wants someone happy. He IS capable of it!
Oh. Wait. What’s that, speak up?
He was talking about a cat.
And I suppose that cat will rightfully eat him once he is dead. Carry on, Morrissey. Sorry to bother.
Life is Nothing Much to Lose
The more I ignore you, the more laborious you get. In come the botherers, the interrupters and the hecklers to scold us into abundance and industry.
A fanciful head needs neither hat nor occupation. I require only my wits to accompany me through this doleful semblance of existence. That leaves the majority of you in the cold. Well, allow me to suggest an anorak of some type.
And wherefore all this joie de vivre? Â Have you all won some kind of lottery in which good looks are dispensed? Â Alas, no. Â Some English fool wrote “Give the People What They Want”, but I haven’t a bullet or a pill to spare, I have only as many as all of my cares.
So you persist in living, in dragging your pulchritude around like a sack of suet on its way to the butcher. You may be a freckle on god’s massive scrotum….oh where was I? You are still here. You have thoughts and opinions after all. I have spent my entire career giving you advice, and it has gotten us exactly nowhere. Well, it has gotten *you* exactly nowhere. I actually have a rather nice house and some truly exceptional bedding.Â
Let my words take over, and remind you of all you should be thinking, and all you should be singing:Â Life is a Pigsty!
I Want the One I Can’t Have
I was practicing folksy cussing in case I need it (Shitwickets! Twattarnit! Bullfumbles! There is an elbow gesture that goes with these.). But I am cautiously optimistic that I won’t really need to deploy this.
Fox News is going out on a limb and calling Ohio for McCain, despite everyone else, um, not. ABC just called it for Obama. I am holding out for open, unguarded weeping once we work through merely crotchety. Oh, the Fox News website just recanted. It is hard to be you, Fox News! There is a word for what is happening to you. Wait, it will come to me.
Should I photoshop little Obama heads on all the blue states and Morrissey heads on the red ones? Y/N before I drink more.
Well I wonder
I know you all tuned in to see just what Morrissey thinks of these elections. Well, our crack team has uncovered rare footage.
In the next frame (not pictured), he walked offstage with Bill Ayers, Tony Rezko, and Dick Cheney and hatched a plot to dispatch Joe Biden swiftly. Good luck with that. Our Joe takes the train. He is wise to shenanigans. I bet he sits in the same seat every time, and heaven help you if you try to plant your ass on his workingman’s fief.
Now, be ye mindful: Morrissey also endorsed John Kerry in 2004, and look how that turned out. However, Lambchop writes in from her position at the desk to mention that the Pittsburgh Steelers demonstrated great oracular power in trouncing the Redskins on Monday night. 23-6! Ooooooh. That’s bad like losing your home state bad (AL GORE). Clearly this means curtains for the incumbent party.
Or is it: Vincent Rossmeier of Salon reminds us “After the Green Bay Packers beat the Redskins in 2004, thus supposedly ensuring an election victory for John Kerry, Packers safety Darren Sharper, a Kerry supporter, said of his candidate, “Oh, yeah, he’s going to win. It’s guaranteed. I don’t have to vote now. Don’t even have to go to the polls. Saved me a trip on Tuesday.””
I think this might have been our problem in 2004. We forgot to vote! Lambchop and I got in a makeup application contest, and those never end well. But today I voted, you betcha. I have been having paranoid fantasies that I filled in the wrong oval, but I was very good at the SATs, so this is somewhat unlikely.
We will return after covering a tense stand-off on the home front. 50% of this household refuses to put on pants. It’s getting cold. Jesus, just put them on.
Damn it feels good to be a gangster
Oh, uh uh, oh no we di’n’t. It’s time for Vomitola election coverage! You may recall that election day 2004 started off seemingly humdrum and ended with a vicious clash between the Morrisseys and Adam and the Ants (start reading from the bottom up. we can’t have nice things). We hit some dead air later that night around Ohio, and man, were we hung over the next day. We may be hungover tomorrow, but I pray it is a hangover of joy.
We’re reusing the graphic, but that’s only because we are poor. It has nothing to do with environmentalism. That’s for sissies like Al Gore.
I managed to vote bright and early, and the good ol’ Masonic Temple was packed. Everyone casually dropped mention of how ready they were for CHANGE, and how we NEED it without directly saying OBAMA RULES. Why are people so afraid to say “Suck it, you culture warring freaks, not this time?” You still get free Starbucks and Krispy Kreme and Ben & Jerry’s even if you let your true Socialist-mandating nature fly free. Although Mr. H reports from the field that riots may occur at Starbucks because people cannot understand why they only get free drip coffee and not grande lattes. What was I saying yesterday about running into doors?
If the plant you wish to flee, go to sector 7G
As if Casa Vomitola has not already been in enough of a state of anomie lately, I got an email from Martha Stewart that was all “HEY LET’S PUT SOME GLITTER ON SOME PUMPKINS AND CALL IT A DAY.” This cannot be up with put, so I decided to resign from this uncomfortable communication once and for all. I am not sure how I got on this list in the first place. It probably had something to do with our wedding years ago, or perhaps it’s someone’s idea of a joke. Periodically, I open the Martha emails to find I can do something new with pork, or hot glue gun silver almond dragées to my baby or a turkey or something, but mostly I’ve been blithely deleting them.
When I clicked “unsubscribe,” I was taken to the following screen dominated with a Mao-like Martha, her smile cleverly applied in post-production. This screen told me to LOG IN TO MY ACCOUNT instead of just having one of the monkeys burn my email address in the database like every other unsubscribe function.
Oh hey, seems I don’t have an account, or at least they can’t seem to send me a password at the email address they regularly spam. Yes, I checked my junk box. So I must CREATE A LOGIN , giving them more information in order to get them to stop talking to me. The more I ignore you, the closer you get, Martha Stewart!
I dutifully filled out an account using plenty of raving in the form fields, and I finally was allowed to tick off “Do not send me anything ever.” But today I see that I am not actually free! Martha wants me to do something else with pumpkins. WHAT? Didn’t we already have this conversation? I am not going to go out with you just because you liked me first! We have standards here. I clicked “unsubscribe” again, only to be taken to this lovely unstyled Vignette error page:
(Note my username)
Apparently my rejection has caused the website to be so depressed that it simply can’t get out of bed. I decided that in the name of usability (theoretically how I earn a living) and all that is holy, I’d send the previously featured screen shots to MSLO customer service to help, but when I clicked on “Contact Us” I found that while I could get plenty of info on paint samples, anyone having an actual issue with the website gets a five or six question FAQ on downloading clip art instead of the means to actually submit a trouble ticket of any sort. That’s not the Martha I know! The Martha I know cares about every little sparrow and pixel. The Martha I know would print off my desperate email with ink she made herself, trim a lovely Scherenschnitte pattern into the margin, and dispatch a hand-raised snow white dove to my house to tell me it is sorry in original song!
But I did find the answer to one of my questions in the FAQ: It takes up to three weeks to be unsubscribed from the mailing list. Because I guess the SQL statement has to go out to the calligrapher.
***
In short, I feel overreaction is a mainstay of comedy! Don’t make me explain a joke, people. But srsly, this is wretched usability and a total disconnect from the public face of the brand. Or perhaps I am just taking it out on poor Martha because I have already spent this week dealing with the RMV, investment companies, actual criminals, a rogue play group, a no-sleep recidivist, insurance companies, and more. At least I did not walk five miles past lions or snipers to carry my groceries home, right? And nothing’s on fire. Yet.
Good Times For a Change…
Where are they now, you wonder? Tina Yothers, the kid from the Life cereal ads, and Lambchop? Well, Lambchop is right here, filling you in on recent developments, at least the ones the court allows her to discuss. You may remember Lambchop from such blogs as this one, or you may know her work. So get acquainted or fall in love all over again, then toast her as she helps me yank the rudder on our course to blogly oblivion! This thing goes to Morrissey!
Oh your lambchop has been busy! Busy traversing town squares, soiling linens, busy living in sin. But doing a lot less shopping than you might think.
I haven’t been quite as busy as Lickety, your mad scientist. She went and created a whole new person. I may have merely added a couple more years to my age, made new paintings, but I have also contributed to the cycle of life. There was a time when I had no good wineglasses, and then I got some, and now I have broken them all and have none again! Well, I have the one. So having just the one, just for me, it is a good time to move on and seek my fortune, anchors aweigh and off we go. To New York, to my little corner of it.
On 7/7/07 a crushing horde of people were getting married, record numbers supposedly. How unique…for all of them! I was at that very moment seeing Morrissey, who took the stage to “Please please please let me get what I want”. And I have to say, I had a Moment, my life flashing before my eyes from 13 until 33. Let me give you the timeline of my life, in Morrissey:
High school, Jersey City, teenage angst
1987-reel around jersey city, nothing else to do that lousy summer but obssess over music, girlfriend in a coma single
1988- viva hate…rough childhood, viva hate indeed
1990- november spawned a ME
1991-kill uncle, kill the whole family
school days in Boston (booze, bad boyfriends, and bicycles)
1992-seasick yet still docked
1994-the sanest days are mad, why don’t you find out for yourself
grad school CT, sell it all and move to Berlin
1997-“And I don’t get along with myself/And I’m not too keen on anyone else/Turn on, plug in, then just walk away/Unlock, process, and then just go/And I’ve never felt quite so alone/As I do right now/I’m lying here wide to receive…”
We were not so close while I was in Berlin. Blame Neutral Milk Hotel. But then in 2004, I came back to “…America…and I love you, I just wish you’d stay where you is!”
Now I am rolling the dice, swishing the 8 ball, and Morrissey says “please please please let me get what I want”. Yes, please.
To train up a child
Earlier a baby stopped draining my life force and whipped her head around to face the speakers when “Every Day is Like Sunday” came on the shuffle. Then she demanded to sit up and bounce. How many zillion hours of Morrissey did I expose her to in utero? That was probably more dangerous than all the wine*.
Now we have to go outside before we accidentally weep to death!
*It’s a joke. Joke. Close the email window. Step away from the computer. I mean “all the wine” is a joke. Well, an exaggeration. I certainly did drink a spot of wine here and there. Like they do in freaking Europe, after all the important organs are baked. But certainly more Morrissey was absorbed than alcohol. Certainly.