Tag: excerpts

EMAIL MOMENT!

From: A friend at work.

Subject: Cultural observation.

Between you and me, there’s something about the British that gets under my skin. There’s an underlying “I’m more clever than you” in almost every dealing you have with them. The arrogance rivals that of the Germans, who are at least above board about it. –“Yes, ve are superior, why does zis surprise you?”

4:21 p.m.



When I got to work yesterday, my cube door was blocked off and the cube was brimming with balloons. Apparently, my coworkers have healthy lungs, and some time on their hands. Man, you’ve gotta try this. It’s just like one of those ball pits at McDonalds, except I don’t have to take my shoes off or shoulder check little kids to get some respect.

2:28 p.m.

Someone typed “find my dream girl” into Google and my page popped up. (I’m currently on the second page of links, at the top.) I haven’t decided if the search request was a technologically advanced form of stichomancy or just a slightly idealistic porn hunt. I would be flattered, but then I’d have to acknowledge the fact that I’m third on the list when you type in “girl on couch sofa.”

12:52 p.m.

OK, I’m back. I can’t eat anything that smells like food, but the trip was amazing overall. As soon as Bali Belly and jet lag subside (14-hour time change) I’ll post some travel blogs.

You. Can’t. Wait.

(OK, I can’t wait, but let me indulge in a little projection now and then. How is it hurting you?)

Meanwhile, I’d like to thank Dave for his generous help posting while I was gone. I brought him the meanest monkey mask ever. It’s shedding on his carpet at this very moment. So nice.

10:09 a.m.

[editor’s note] Thus ends my tenure as ad hoc Mighty Girl blogger. Mistress has returned, and I am all out of pre-recorded material. So, if there aren’t any new posts over the next few days, don’t blame me, blame jet-lag. In the immortal words of Bartles & Jaymes, “Thank you for your support…”

While I’m away, you should visit Metascene:

“From the Ford Focus press kit:

‘The Ford Focus and Detroit Techno music mirror each other in many ways. Techno kids are forward thinkers that scream and dance and so are Focus buyers.’

So you mean it’s like punk rock, only it’s a car?”

“Monkeys taking over government buildings in India

(Thanks Norton)

Angry monkeys stop traffic

Indian monkeys on a rampage against smokers

I am checking these events against those described in the Book of Revelation and will continue to monitor the Art Bell show regularly. Any pertinent information will be passed along as soon as possible.”

“Metascene Predicts: 2001 will be the year that bestiality makes it onto
the Springer show.”

“Hey! I just had an idea! I should write a story told from Bubbles’ point of view where the world’s most famous chimp is all jaded and cynical and can’t stand Michael anymore but where can he go? What can he do? Meanwhile, all the other animals shun him and plot against him for being Michael’s favorite and for having bedroom privledges and for those Jeff Koons sculptures, but mainly because of the whole thumb/big brain thing. And Bubbles is heavily self-medicated and even been to rehab. Twice. And was once badly betrayed by the llama. And drinks mainly to forget the pain of losing his family at a young age. And at night, he cries himself to sleep, no longer hiding his tears from MJ, the bitterest monkey tears to ever stain a satin pillowcase…”

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While I’m away, you should visit
Jeff Druzba.

“Microsoft Money would be useful software if it actually allowed me to access Microsoft’s money. What good is it for me to see my own accounts?”

“There are a lot of religious commercials on television recently including one for a Time Life music
compilation of Christian pop songs. Mixed with concert images of a throng of people waving their
hands in sweaty ecstasy to the heavens above, there are individual close-ups of cute girls sobbing and
holding hands.

People who are both good-looking and religiously devout scare me because if I think to myself, ‘Now
there’s a hot lil’ number,’ their god is likely to know that I thought about one of his lamb-children in an
unholy manner and will be tempted to strike me down or afflict me with some torturous condition. I
think it’s a good practice to stay on the good side of gods I don’t know. Especially Hindu gods with 6
arms who look like blue elephants.”

“Do you think that most every woman who has ever been with Meatloaf, the singer and, of late, bit part actor, has referred to her encounter, when chatting with her friends, as ‘having meatloaf?'”

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While I’m away, you should read McSweeny’s.


Strange and Obsessive Things I Did as a Kid in No Particular Order

Age 9:

Developed a fascination with TV Guide, specifically the
listings. Spent hours copying them onto loose-leaf
notebook paper – just the titles of shows, not
descriptions, and with the times bumped up several
hours to make it more interesting.

Age 8:

Learned how the Roman numeral system worked.
Subsequently filled a notebook by writing every Roman
numeral, in order, from I (one) to MMM (three
thousand).

Age 4:

Owned a magnetic board with a matching set of
multi-colored letters of the alphabet. Storage conditions
for the letters, dictated by me, required that they be
arranged – yes – in alphabetical order, in a perfect
5-by-5 grid, with Z being remaindered to the side
compartment. I would only retire to bed once these
storage conditions were met, for a period of some
months. During active play, I would make abstract
patterns on the board with the letters; never actual
words.

Ann Landers’ Parallel Universe

Dear Ann:

I hope you have room to print just one more of those
“how we met” stories. I was a young woman growing up
in Bombay, adventurous, strong-willed and determined
not to settle down until I had seen the world. One night
while attending a small gathering at a neighbor’s home, I
saw a stoop-shouldered, plain-looking man of about 25
standing at the side of the room holding a drink and not
talking to anyone. When I walked up and tried to start a
conversation with him, he handed me his empty drink
and motioned to the bottle of wine sitting in the corner.
As I was refilling his cup, I asked my father in a whisper
who this rude, arrogant person was. “That’s Rajiv
Sankar, the man you’re going to marry,” he replied. “It
was arranged between our families right after your birth.
You should get used to waiting on him.” Well, Ann, I’ve
been at his service for 40 years, and we’ve never been
apart-not even after I brought shame on him twice by
giving birth to baby girls.

Proposed Indian Names for Certain White People

Buys Plants For Companionship,

Comments On How Wonderful Bread Is,

Considers Soup Selects Salad,

Examines Skin For Moles,

Fixes Paper Jams,

Insists Pizza And Beer’s On Me,

Invents New Persona,

Proffers Swiss Army Knife When Inappropriate,

Prunes Roses,

Raises Voice In Anger Then Gets Sheepish,

Reconsiders Skydiving As Possible Hobby,

Recycles Same Joke With Different Friends,

Searches Flea Market For Treasure,

Thinks Of Self As Buddhist,

Wants To Hang Out,

Wears Matching Bra And Panties.

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While I’m away, you should visit Jason Kottke. His site isn’t exactly dedicated to raw personal emotion, and that’s a good thing because I think there�s some very dark, Mansonesque stuff just under the surface. (I have it on good authority that he Photoshops out the swastika carved into his forehead.) But every once in awhile he says things like “Ricky Martin. I don’t get it,” and you get a little piece of his personality tucked in among the mini movie reviews:

“You know, I’m all for personal expression, but having an air
freshener shaped like a pot leaf hanging from your rear view
mirror pretty much assures that your car is going to get tossed
by the police if you’re stopped for a moving violation.”

“Do you know why an em dash (-) is so named? The “em” is a
unit of length…in typographic lingo, an em is the width of a
capital M in a typeface.”

“So, when did the whole share-a-penny thing at the local gas
station become an industry? I would imagine that a long time
ago, somebody came up with an idea to put a little cup by the
register so that people could drop their pennies in there for other
customers to utilize when they were short a couple cents. Other
people adopted the idea and now there’s a share-a-penny cup at
pretty much every gas station one goes to. In fact, the
share-a-penny idea has advanced to the point where there are
specialized cups made especially for placement on station
counters.

Let’s stop to think about this for a minute. This means that
somewhere there’s a machine (or possibly a whole factory of
machines) punching out these custom penny cups. There are
engineers designing bigger and better share-a-penny cups.
Teams of marketing people are trying to build share-a-penny
mindshare in the heads of gas station owners. Share-a-penny
cup salespeople are out there going gas station door to gas
station door selling their product. An army of delivery trucks are
delivering these cups around the globe.

Does this seem odd to anyone else?”

“The crap week from hell continues. I fell asleep whilst reading my
book in a mall food court over my lunch hour and got rousted by
a police officer who told me to wake up and move along. I don’t
look that much like a vagrant, do I?

Fuck the Police.”

“The most perfect thing happened to me this morning. I’m walking
down the stairs towards my front door. I stop to look out the
little window in the door to see how bad it is raining out. Just
then, this girl comes into my frame of vision from the left.
Suddenly, she stops short and goes back to take another look at
the back of my car…specifically the “kids love satan” bumper
sticker. She looks and then continues on, laughing.”

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[editor’s note] Well, my (shameless plug) time here is rapidly drawing to a close, as Mighty Girl shall be returning from Bali on Sunday. I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve spent together, and will *sniff* always remember Paris…or something.

While I’m away, you should read Six Layer Kate. Itts a quirky collaborative blog. My favorite thread is the one where everyone tries to get Kates mom to post.Mother. If you don’t post something to this blog, I’m going to go straight after work and get multiple facial piercings.

For those not in the know, I
have, for five years now, been occasionally afflicted with an overpowering urge to get in a car and ling handfuls
of jelly at children playing in the street. The reasons are simple:

1. It’s jelly. It is very unlikely anyone would get hurt.

2. It’s jelly. Even if caught, I would probably get court-mandated counseling rather than jail time.

3. The children would be covered in jelly, sticky, and in stained clothes. They would have no recourse but to
run to their mothers, who would e obviously upset that their little angels had so wickedly and purposely
destroyed their outfits, and tell them that it wasn’t their fault, that some random person had flung jelly at them
from a passing car.

4. The mothers would never, ever believe it.

The children would learn that the world is an unfair, haphazard and cruel place with things going on it that
they can only dream of. It’s what I’ve always liked about it. The rest of their lives they would wonder about it.
The very young ones would forget, and it would become a story told at Xmas to future spouses about ‘the
most bizarre little lie Timmy came up with one year.’�

(posted by Holly McCoy)

�Interview Magazine (founded
by Andy Warhol) is the worst magazine ever produced. Their idea of a fashion spread is some
muscleman standing around in his skivvies with a plush dog sticking out the top of his
underpants’ waistband. I’m all for a broad definition of what “real” art, but come on.�
(posted by Kate)

�oh, i also bought a bottle of scotch that came with a little gadget. it’s a metal hoo-ha that affixes
to the top of the bottle and then makes the scotch pour out in a thin, tight stream, causing it to
even further resemble urine. the thingy is made of metal and has a counterweight on it. like
those things bartenders put in the tops of their bottles so it looks like theyre pouring a lot but
you really get half an ounce of liquor. so now i can trick myself into thinking im drinking a lot
more than i am, and then i can realize the trick and get beligerant with myself, and then say
something i’ll regret and be forced to throw myself out.

so it’s a full weekend after all.�

(posted by Paully Cockeram)

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While I’m away, you should read Changed Priorities Ahead:

“A friend sent me one of those funny emails
listing all the stupid warning labels on items.
Most I’d heard before, but this was a new
one:

On a Japanese food processor: “Not to be used
for the other use.”

The mind boggles.”

“ Hello Kitty waffle
maker.

There are some effed up products on this site (Dwinn is the proud
owner of Hello Kitty toilet paper), but this one just struck me a
supremely… stupid.”

“Warning: the following is intended for mature audiences only…

Ouchy the Clown

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hire a clown for my (eventual)
children’s parties after this.”

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While I’m away, you should read Right on America! It’s a collaborative blog by a few very funny people who love them the Jesus.

“fire gets the job done, whether the job needed to
be done or not. In fact, this is something that’s been drilled into our heads since we were old enough to touch our
tounges to the stove top. In the words of the late, headless comedian Phil Hartman, “Fire Bad”.

So we respect fire. We give it the right of way. We know that fire will fuck our shit up correctly if we try to front fire. We
know that we should not play with it. And we know, and I’m just pulling this example out of the clear blue, if we want to
appear in a televised stunt that involves fire, we’re going to wrap ourselves up in a suit made of SHIT THAT WILL NOT
BURN. And then we’re going to say over and over again, “I AM WEARING A SUIT OF SHIT THAT WILL NOT BURN. IF YOU DO
NOT HAVE THIS SUIT, AND YOU DON’T, BECAUSE I AM WEARING IT, YOU WILL BURN, BUT GOOD.”

In order, then, for the average person to destroy any chance of winning the coveted, “Mr. Guy Who Has Skin Covering
His Entire Body” Award, he would have to be ignorant to a few things. These being:

A. The English language, and such phrases as, “Don’t do this,” or,
“Man, fire am hot”.

B. The difference between being fire-retardant, or merely retarded.

C. Just…Just…It’s FIRE for god’s sake!

But, no. Instead, a 13-year-old boy covered himself with gasoline, and set himself on fire, just like Johnny Knoxville didn’t.
If we were being forgiving, we would say he was guilty of improvising on a theme. This is fine if you’re Miles Davis, and
the theme is Disney’s, “Someday My Prince Will Come”. This is not so good if you are a 13 year old moron, and the theme
is, “Fire”.(posted by josh cagan)”

“Possible Children’s Theater Ideas

1.) Good Touch – Bad Touch LIVE!

2.) My Mommy’s Girlfriend

3.) Never Too Early – Retirement Savings for Tots

4.) …Like Bunnies – A Dance.

5.) Things To Do Instead of Crying

6.) Line of Control – The India/Pakistan Conflict Made Easy

7.) Silly Walks of Drunks

8.) Be Good or It’s Cancer for You

9.) Candy is Dandy – Except fo Diabetics

10.) Cal – The Kitty That’s High as a Kite

(posted by Bryan Mason)”

“I AM NOT SATAN! I LOVE ME THE JESUS! I SING ME THE SONGS OF JESUS IN A JESUSY STYLE! WHERE DO I GET MY JESUSY
SONGS OF JESUS WITH THEIR JESUSALICIOUS JESUSNESS? FROM THE INTERMANET, OF COURSE!!!

JESUS JESUS JESUS !!!!!!

(posted by josh cagan)”

prerecorded

While I’m gone, you should read Bloody Hell. His posts are good, but it’s the little things that keep me coming back. Like the way he says “bangarang” when he thinks something is cool, or the time he said ” but soft!” instead of “there’s more.” I’m a sucker for cute verbal tics.

“Today marks the first day when my grandma
begins fertilizing greener pastures. People keep
saying, “my sympathy is with you”. I
understand the niceties are a subset of living in
some semblance of a civilized society, however,
it isn’t really warranted.

I’m not sorry she gupped the giffer. In fact, I’m
not really sorry many people do. I’ve expected
this. I expect I will die as well. It would definitely
be a surprise if I didn’t.”

“Expectations vs. reality.

Make it fast,

Make it good,

Make it cheap.

Pick two.

Yay.”

“Noody noody noo is all I have to say today.”

“Who is Dana Gould? Some guy who said this:

‘We all enter this world in the same
way: naked, screaming, soaked in
blood. But if you live your life right,
that kind of thing doesn’t have to
stop
there.'”

prerecorded

So I’m posting from the road, which is kind of sad when you think about it. I’m half a block from a monkey forest and instead of walking around outside, I’m locked in a little bamboo stall typing. Bali is wired, my friends. There’s an Internet cafe about every three feet. They know about the Backstreet Boys, Tommy Hilfiger, and those horrible bottled Starbucks drinks. Shoot me now.

Also, everything costs two bucks. Well, everything except for the four-foot-high wood carvings of masturbating monkeys, those are about $250. If only I had a bigger place.

[editor’s note] Fixed Mighty Girl’s link to Annie from yesterday if you’re interested.

While I’m away, you should read Little Yellow Different:

“On a tangeant, this whole Asian-chick-and-labor thing reminds me for that Tide commercial. You know which one I’m talking about, right?

(Japanese woman speaking to the camera, cut to shots of a white guy playing basketball and pagoda’s in the background. Cut to another shot of same white guy kicking back a beer while watching sumo wrestling.)
“You know, I love my husband. But when I moved to Japan for work it took a while for him to get used to his new surroundings. The clothes he bought in America are precious to him. That’s why I wash his clothes in Tide!”

Now, I’m not a militant Asian, by any means. But let me get this straight — Asian woman has a job overseas while her husband mills around the house drinking air-mailed Budweiser and watching sumo wrestling. And SHE STILL DOES HIS FUCKING LAUNDRY?! Oh, hell no. If I was her, I’d get his gaijin ass to the fucking laundromat and tell him to wash his own damn clothes. *breathes deep* Okay, I’m better now. Carry on…”

“So I’m talking with my girl, Belinda. My very attractive, very feminine female friend Belinda. And she’s yelling at me over Instant Messager.

“WHAT? What do you MEAN you’re borrowing a copy of Diablo II?! You have to get your own copy so you can register the key and play over battle.net.” I could almost see her roll her eyes and toss her hair as she types that. “And if you’re lucky, I’ll even let you on my team.”
This is fucking surreal. Just the other day she was talking about the outfit she bought at Banana Republic. “Really?” I stutter. “How strong is your character?”
“Level 65 Ice Sorceress. You?”
*cough* “Uhmm.. Level 18 Necromancer.”
“Ugh. I guess I could help you out. Did I mention I play Tekken Tag Tournament too? Get a Playstation 2 and I’ll kick your butt anytime. Anytime.“

You know, it’s a damn shame I’m homosexual. Because I think I just met the hottest girl. Ever.”

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