No one wants to hang out anymore. They are all on chatroulette huntin bator.
I bought some whole milk from the new store. The guy told me excitedly “It’s $1.99 a gallon! But we don’t put that in the window cuz we don’t wanna piss off CVS!” CVS across the street has a big sign in their window proclaiming their milk to be $2.29. CVS is a chain. Why don’t they wanna piss them off? CVS goons? Is that longbeard from CVS who always wants to tell me he has a new cat going to go over there and say hey man not cool? I hope he buys a gallon of milk while he’s there because it’s a good price. Whole milk is fucking delicious. Jesus Christ. It reminds me of eating Rice Krispies at my grandma’s house where she’d give me the turquoise sugar bowl to spoon sugar from, and the sugar and whole milk together transformed Rice Krispies into something fucking rich and delish.
Who would you cast as Humpelstiltskin in a feature film?
First, I doubt that the story of Humpelstiltskin could be made into a film. It is so cerebral with so many of the details of the story told in subtle tightening and slacking of the stilt skin that film would not be an adequate medium. It should be a skin on skin live performance. But if I had to pick I see Jan Michael Vincent in the role.
Can you remember any Perfect Strangers plots?
The final episode when Cousin Larry couldn’t say goodbye to Balki, but when Balki was finally flying away in a helichopper he saw that Cousin Larry had spelled out “Goodbye Friend” in rocks on the ground. That brought all of America to tears. Or Wasn’t there one when Balki washed up in the toilet? Either of those.
Where can I find a nice winter mandal?
Oh, at Kohl’s in the “You’re A Fuck-Up Already Just Wear Whatever” section.
First: Imagine if Californication Raisins did a rap album called Raisin Heck. That should have happened. Secondarily: I just erased an entire paragraph of idiocy about Bruce Willis Return of Bruno and YOU ARE WELCOME.
You guys, Small Beer Press has their new catalog up on their site. They are bringing Ted Chiang’s Stories of Your Life and Others back into print, which looking back at my goodreads, I found to be “sciencey,” “moving,” and “kind of brill.” They’re also publishing Under the Poppy, a book by a Detroit native about “Rupert and Istvan, boyhood comrades, lovers for a lifetime, and their flights, fights, passions, and partings from a louche Victorian brothel to the dangerous salons of high society.” There is no part of that which doesn’t rule. A debut novel compared to Murakami and Atwood. A Caribbean fantasy novel! Thrillsville! All of it, I want to read all of it. Also in good news, Tish made a bunch of peanut butter brownies. So good! And she gave me so many of them. I was walking home from work and the bus was coming and I had to decide between did I want to get on the bus and be home with my cramps, or did I wanna go someplace and buy some chocolate so I wouldn’t be mad all night about not having any. I picked the bus cuz of how Now Me usually wins over Later Me’s needs and desires. THEN I GOT HOME AND HAD A WHOLE ROW OF PEANUT BUTTER BROWNIES IN MY REFRIGIDERRIERE. These brownies are so goddamned rich I don’t know if I should eat them or kidnap them.
I heard this might get you through the frygyd wynter months:
Renaissance Festival Tales Edited by Eric T. Reynolds and Gerri Leen. Hadley Rille (Ingram, dist.), $11.95 paper (184p) ISBN 9780982514023 Five fantasy stories of variable quality make up this thin homage to the Renaissance Faire. Two are delightful little romances: Kim Vandervort’s “Faire Aria” sweetly pairs a dubious visitor and one of the Faire’s denizens, while Julia Dvorin puts an incautious Faire staffer in charge of true love in “Cupid for a Day.” Paula H. Murray’s predictable “Playing with Fire” features poorly characterized role-players who inadvertently attract supernatural forces. M.C. Chambers goes for a period feel with “Silk and Velvet,” in which a king’s messenger swoons over a talented musician. Camille Alexa’s confusing, choppy “The Thief and the Thorn” describes a realm situated among the Ren Faires of five worlds. This volume will help nostalgic “rennies” make it through the cold winter months, but it holds little appeal for a broader audience. (Mar.)
@deadathome (a poem to jon from my tweets to him of 2009)
weekly you steal a robin’s egg from a nest to take to your barber & say “make my pubes this color” hahahaah long pig you are a chewbac door man.
it’s beautiful when you run how you alternate so naturally between hind legs and all fours andrew said your beard’s a “tear-collector,” tish said its then a saltlick where woodland creatures & their tongues gather. true? infuriating how you insist upon referring to the main character in True Blood as Wookie.
"DON’T SHUN THE WORLD, SHAG IT BABY YEAH" -you, 2009 i meant what i said to whom i said it. don’t butt in You have a massive crush on Sir Mr. Jesus Christ idiotic that you wrote in a vote for baracca chewbama.
you carry around like 2 lbs. in toe ring weight. your stummy tattoo says “who the hell do you think i am” walked in on you masturbaccing. lord. my eyes. a porno doy.
emails from me are not spam someone is lactating about you. images of you in the ole milk bank you let it load! you fly into a rage when encountering those who doubt the existence of Chewboch Ness Monster.
you get jealous b/c ladies love ewan macgregor so much, and you emulate him by toiletswimming. like in his movie toiletswimming you drank scotch and blarts you will convert from subgenius to flying spaghetti monster then back to subgenius, repeatedly noting “that was a close call” #in2010 if we hang out this weekend, probably bring your rape whistle.