Tag Archives: underwear

Are the voices in your head calling, Gloria?

Most of you are probably already aware of the tragic news that Laura Branigan has Left the Building. When I was in the third grade at P.S. 23 in the spring of 1981, no fewer than 3 separate acts of girls in the talent show lip-synched in choreographed dance routines to “Gloria”. It was so 80’s!

Please share your Gloria memories with us here at Vomitola. We are here for you.

And if you are too overcome with Gloria-related emotion to find the words right now, here are some pictures of Lambchop in her underwear, to shill goods for our favorite comic, Achewood.


It’s in the Can

Shooting is underway for My Little Porny or Pony Girls, or whatever this movie ends up being called. I play Eve, a psychotic and pouty goth-ish girl who, spoiled by easy circumstances and bored out of existence, heads a thrill cult obsessed with My Little Pony. And things just go awry from there. It has been a lot of fun so far, and there is a lot of talent on this low-fi set. The scenes we have shot so far involve a lot of twitching, screaming, and looking creepy. My acting experience is not much but heaven knows, I excel at those things! And Jude, love, if you are reading, you may be my date for the premier, no? What’s that, “still married?” Well, I’ll call next week. I wonder what James Spader is doing?

Oh where was I? Reality calls! I am thinking of taking a sabbatical from gainful employ, in order to work on painting, to apply for genius grants, and to answer all those desperate pleas for my work, my attention, my opinions! Once I have had some time to finish this dazzling new body of work, and ruin someone’s life, I will be ready enough to consider working again. This time around I want to work in television! We need more incest and underwear on the airwaves! And startling deeds done in impossible footwear. I would share some of my tele-vision with you, but you horrible people will steal all of my ideas. Screw you! Fiends! Churls!

(The part of Lambchop will now be played by Andrea Evans.- ed)


The Way We Were…

Look at us as tender tots. An innocent parade of undies? No! The impertinent slatterns already show their true colors! Speaking of sluttish behavior, many of you have asked if we are concerned about breaking the law by disseminating pornographic materials. We had a little meeting. We decided that just as a tree falling in the woods makes no sound if no one is there to hear it, a picture is only obscene when you start putting your hands in your pockets. So keep ’em where we can see ’em!

Last night I was falling asleep in front of Dirty Pretty Things (drum fill, please) and swearing to everyone who called me that I was not going out. But upon the insistence of Mr. Drinks (his actual name), I was slipping into spiked heels and a stripey top and off we were. When I am dancing at two in the morning to “Sheila Take a Bow” and tipsy on Long Island Iced Tease, I feel the happiness of defying my age, my job, and all sense of responsibility. Maybe that”s complete crap, but haven’t you ever thrown your homework onto the fire?


P.S. guess which one of us is which and win a Hyundai Etcetera!

Out there

Yesterday I went to the airport. Mr. H and I watched planes take off, and we had chowder. There is a recording of the mayor’s voice playing over the moving walkways from central parking. You can hardly tell what he’s saying. Something about art and food. Maybe. Mummmm mmmm mumm mumm AHT mmmm mum.

After the airport, I went to meet Lambchop at Target. We took the underwear section for all it was worth. We are not allowed back in that particular Target.

Then I had work to do, so I went home and worked until it was rather late. I checked to see if Mr. H’s flight had arrived yet, and it had not. But the real time radar refreshed automatically, so a window would pop up and show me where he was. It was like I were flying too! He was there, and then there, and even there. And not here to make me coffee this morning. I make really shitty coffee.


Underwear, it’s everywhere. But mostly underneath.


UnderFest 2004 continues!

Some underwear facts, via Freshpair.com:

It would take nearly 7.5 trillion pairs of men’s large briefs to cover Texas. To put that in perspective, that’s enough underwear to wrap around the earth 179,115 times.

During the 1700s women and men wore chemises, which were elongated shirts with short sleeves. Underpants were not common, even among the upper classes. (See, Lambchop and I are of the highest class!)

Men spend about $3.4 billion annually on underwear; women spend about $8.6 billion.

I am crafting a line of Vomitola logo thongs, so you should save your pennies until the blessed day people stop bothering me long enough so that I might finish the design. Lindsay Lohan’s people are not calling me back about the co-branding idea. How strange.

We Got What You Need…

…and apparently you need Panties. So here we are, your favorite evil twins, in our skivvs. Lickety is as usual bumping me off to the side, (attention)whore that she is. Hrmm, actually I believe that’s me on the right, but who can tell with such things? Anyway, our dear readers want knickers, dainties, underwear, bloomers, britches, woolies, unmentionables. So today is an open call for pictures, poems, and actual pants.

P.S. do not send us actual pants.


Only 365 Days until Xmas

I hope you have all been enjoying stuffing your faces and gazing wall-eyed at your new pile of gimcracks, thinking of jesus and abusing the scarf your grandma knitted you.

I had a some lovely Turkey at Licketysplit’s house, which she served in an apron bedecked in stars. Christmas night is spent as usual searching for a bar thats open. Don’t You need drinks after spending the day listening to “Good King Wenceslas” and slurping egg nog while your mom asks if you have gained weight? So why did You not open My bar?? Its totally irresponsible, people need drinks!

Speaking of which, you are all invited to Lambchop’s New Years Eve Party. There will be tons of attractive and intoxicated people. We will likely have karaoke and greet the dawn standing on the porch in our underwear, sucking the last of the Freixenet from the bottle. My New Year’s Resolution will as usual be to never do this again.

Don’t you just love new beginnings?