Tag Archives: underpants

Commuted Sentence

So normally my day goes about like this:

Or maybe like this:

Yeah, so what? I like to change my wigs and underpants frequently. I have what you could call a library. Best practices.

But somehow (giant novelty check) I became bamboozled into working (a job?? I think?) recently. It’s as easy as falling over and getting herpes from a toilet seat. One day you are sitting at home, then the phone rings, and you are all “Yes, that is me, I have a personal internet profile. Oh, what? Work? I guess I can do that thing you claim to need,” and then you have to go meet with a string of people and tailor your personal presentation carefully to each distinct personality vetting you. And you wore the blazer, and that always makes you look smart. Yeah? I know. Really cute. I would hire me.

And then, a few weeks later, I find myself doing this…thing…apparently some people do it every day. I don’t know what you call it, but it’s like a flash mob of otherwise well-intentioned people show up to drive 15 mph for 10 mile stretches at a time. WHAT IS THIS? Normally I am a maximizer and not a satisficer (think of how long it takes me to pick out panties), but when it comes to this vehicular theater, I am middle lane all the way. Screw those guys, with their left lane, and their lane changes, and their oh wait I have to move over again, now back again, oh, exit only lane? Oops! I will pass you anyway. I will bury you. I don’t know who thought up this little charade, but it is not appreciated.

Also, it turns out I am not working for the C.I.A. This is disappointing. Being recruited has really lost its charm now. What am I supposed to do with my wigs? IDK, I am still staring at goats. Here’s hoping. I will vaporize all those cars in front of me.

Lambchop for President

It is President’s Day, a holiday for which there is no festive activity. No one really knows what to do. I encourage everyone to fold their one dollar bills in such as way as to suggest that our first president was, in fact, a mushroom. I have been finding out all sorts of Fun President Facts, for example that William H. Taft was really, really fat. He got stuck in the White House tub and had to have one specially constructed. He was carried to his inauguration in it! And in 1976 Jimmy Carter ran under the platform “Not Just Peanuts”. Did you know that our current President has an apple for a brain? That’s right, an apple!

My favorite President is “Old Hickory” Andrew Jackson. Jackson was the first President to almost be murdered. He was shot at twice at a funeral and tackled his assailant to the ground, apparently pretty miffed. He was a brawler and a rodgerer, who threatened to hang his Vice President. When congress opposed his nomination for the Minister to England, he jumped to his feet and cried “By the Eternal! I’ll smash them!” He had a pet parrot named Poll. The parrot screamed curse words at his funeral.

President’s Day is a good day to observe the dignity and solemnity of this office. To give Democracy a great big hug. And so, high in our Vomitola treehouse, we have decided that we, too, need a President.

A vote for lambchop says yes to party favors and public drunkenness. A vote for lambchop says it is ok to drive while tripping on acid, and no, you don’t have to go to work if you don’t f@#$ing feel like it. Lambchop stands for promiscuity, painting, and pink tights. Vote for me and I will steer this ship right into a great pile of rocks, taking out a small village with me. Listen to your fat clotted hearts, citizens! They will tell you that you want me as your Vomitola leader. Sing the praises of underpants, while I hum a nihilistic tune:



Smashy Go Lucky

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I am fond of pointing out the beauties that I encounter in my daily bicycle ride to work. Birds nesting on tree-lined Comm. Ave., pretty girls in summery skirts, a tiny man pouring a bucket of greasy entrails into a gutter in chinatown, with a brown handrolled cigarette dangling wetly from his lips. It’s poetry! Today because of the warmth, all kinds of people are out and about town! i saw a prostitute staggering down the street wearing only a denim jacket and a large pair of underpants. She was lurching sideways, leaning heavily on some bloke, waving a smoke and grinning blearily as if life could furnish nothing greater.

It can’t!

Then I get to work and I am treated to overheard principals of office chippie dating. Hey fellas, if you are single, here is what women apparently want:

“…a man who can take me to a Mozart concert and still shake his butt around at 50 cent.”

There you have it!

PS I will be in the STUDIO tonight. Hurrah!