One of my associates, an agent who wishes to be identified in this blog only as It Won’t Suck Itself, so recently returned to the States from vacation. I will only say that one of the places he visited on his travels was an island city-state located at the southern tip of the Malay Peninsula, lying 85 miles north of the equator, south of the Malaysian state of Johor and north of Indonesia’s Riau Islands.
Whilst enjoying himself, sightseeing and whatnot, Agent IWSI noticed that the whorehouses of this fair and bustling city were separated by the nationalities of the girls for hire within, each nestled into a separate district of the city. A house in which one could find European girls, a house to visit if one were more interested in Asian varieties, so on, and so forth. Perhaps the most interesting house, and I’m not saying it because I’m biased (pussy’s pussy, I always say), is the European whorehouse, which is quite aptly named “Four Floors of Whores.”
Can you find the whore in the Waldo hat?
By the way, prostitution in these houses is legal, because it is regulated. However, in the land of segregated sexytime, the punishment for two men engaging in anal sex is fifteen lashes and ten years in prison.
Tonight I had a hot dog to celebrate this new information about whore houses on tropical islands. This blissful hot dog was preceded by an hour long, full-on nap in the windy afternoon. Then I had a dip cone from Dairy Queen. It was all quite nice, and if I could, I would repeat this formula every day: Nap, hot dog, dip cone. It sounds like the lyrics to one of those songs where they shout at you what to do while the song is playing.
Here is a cartoon my sister made:
And that’s all you get from me today. You’re stupid. And that’s the last I’ll say about it.
The Occasions When It May Be Inappropriate To Blast Lady Gaga’s Just Dance, OR When It Would Be Inappropriate For Lady Gaga To Bust Into The Room And Perform Just Dance
1. At a funeral.
2. At a small child’s funeral.
3. During a movie. I paid my money.
4. In the waiting room of an abortion clinic.
5. At the scene of a terrible traffic accident. Brains on the ground and stuff.
6. At the scene of a terrible traffic accident involving two vans full of teenage Vacation Bible School students. Brains on the ground and stuff.
7. Outside the Holocaust Museum.
8. Next to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.
9. In an AIDS clinic.
10. In the hospital, JUST after the doctor tells you you’ve got tit cancer.
Just dance! Dadadee doo doo!
Today I told a huge lie! But it was only because I wanted something, which makes it okay.
I went to see that shitwad movie The Hangover because Andy Bernard from The Office, or, well, the guy who plays him, was in it. Total waste of my time and money, of course, because, as it turns out, I’m a little over bachelor party hijinks stories. Stripper jokes, drug jokes, bare dude butts, drinking jokes, masturbation jokes. Then the whole dude-your-life-is-over joke. And all of the girlfriends in these movies are mean assholes anyway.
Wait, but, first…I was handing my ticket to the ticket-ripper girl when I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask what they’re going to do with their giant Harry Potter character posters hanging from the ceiling. I mean, if they’re just going to throw them out…
So I asked the ticket-ripper girl, who had to summon another girl, who waved over another guy, and pretty soon I was swarmed with Kerasotes employees, who each had a different story for what they do with the movie promo shit when they’re done with it. The running theme seemed to be that the staff got first dibs, and whatever was left was trashed. So I tried to appeal to them first. “Well, see, I work in this…children’s library, see? In um, Humboldt Park? And well, we’re a really poor library, and uh, we’re always looking for stuff to put on the walls, to sort of, you know, brighten the kids’ days.”
One girl nodded in sympathy, two girls shuffled away, disinterested once they had been unable to give me a stock answer and get me out of their faces, and one boy whose eyes were looking in two different directions stood next to me and explained that the first girl was going to get the manager, who would be able to tell me exactly what they would be doing with the posters. That’s when the manager, a tall black man in a green suit, giant black walkie in hand, strode across the spangled carpet to meet me. “How you doin, ma’am? My name’s Shelby. How can I help you?”
I told him about the poor children at the library (which I relocated to the South side), and talked about how it would really just make them so excited about life if they had those posters in their library. I don’t know if he bought it, but he told me that with any Harry Potter related promotional materials, the theaters were always bound by contract to pack them up and send them back to the movie studio when they were done with them. “Well, you know how it is with the big movies, Harry Potter and Transformers,” (which I don’t even consider being in the same league or on the same level, but okay) “and people be sellin’ that stuff on eBay and all.”
And here I put my hand on my chest, a bit melodromatically, maybe, but I wasn’t faking, “On eBay?? Really?”
“Oh yeah, oh yeah,” said Shelby. “People will do that.”
I felt like reassuring Shelby that if any one of these posters was in my possession, I would never, ever, EVER sell it on eBay, or in any other way. I want them because I want to HAVE them. So I just said, “Well, that’s too bad…”
That’s when Shelby seemed to soften a little. “Ay, ay, aaight. I’ma tell you what you need to do. Here’s wassup,” he said, coming closer, lowering his voice. “Everybody be leaving their name and number and stuff, that gets too crazy, you know, so girl, you just come on back and check in every once in a while. You know, just come on over here after the movie come out, and if they down, ask for me, I’ll see if we can’t do something for you, girl…aaight? Ay. My name Shelby. You ask for me.”
So I smiled an enormous smile, and thanked Shelby for offering to help, and shook his hand. Then I sat through that stupid 90 minute fart joke they called a movie, and all I could think about the whole time was that giant Snape poster, and how good it was going to look on my bedroom wall.
WANK FEST 2009.
And what I might have to do to get Shelby to give it to me.
Probably some of the stuff they did in that movie.
As a child, I was given a lecture about strangers. I was asked by my mother what I would do in the event that a stranger offered me candy if I would go into their house or get into their car.
My sister reports that I scratched my little head, looked off into the distance as if searching for the answer somewhere in the space beyond the couch, and responded: “Welp. Welp, ah guess ah would jes take the candy, then run away REAL fast.”
Or, “Exactly What Happened as I Enjoyed Some Beers on Sunday Night”:
Scene 1: Drunk, tattooed white trash meets at bar on Milwaukee after work
Jacob: Tattooed white trash in all black, neck adorned with several silver necklaces.
Katie: Jacob’s girlfriend, tattooed white trash in all black with a skull bandana.
Vince: Tattooed white trash in all black with dreads and an oversized black ball cap, AAAAAND a set of contact lenses that make his eyes look like white snake eyes, in that “No-I-didn’t-play-bass-for-Static-X-OR-DID-I” kind of way.
Boss: Tattoed white DRUNK trash, obviously a tad older than everyone else (his employees), and a shitload drunker than everyone else, in cargo jeans and a black hoodie. And feelin’ bad about himself. And possibly in love with Jacob.
Boss to Jacob:
“There’s somethin’ in you, Jacob, that reminds me of family…it uh, reminds me of honor…and tradition…and…intellectualism, and uh…sacrifice, and spirit.”
Boss to Katie:
“He is one of my most valuable…humans in my life.”
“There must be something good in you, because he’s a quality person. QUA. LI. TY.”
Boss to Jacob and Katie:
“I’m not lying to you guys…I’m not lyin. I’m not exaggerating, I’m not drunk. I sincerely love him. And I’m happy for you. You guys deserve each other. (Awkwardly places his hand on the side of her face.) I would love to be your friend.”
Boss to Katie:
“I fired four of my best friends, which is a very difficult thing to do, oh my God. Jake has Never. Given. Me. Shit. Never. He’s—he’s given me a good reason for any shit he’s given me, though. He’s more than a good person, he’s an exceptional hu-human that is not…normal. He is special. He’s got something in him. It’s a spirit. I do apologize. I get drunk. Do you want another Sprite? Or like a, a cola?”
“If you have a girl as a daughter, she’s gonna be a strong fucking woman, and no man is gonna fuck with her. She’s gonna be uh, tough, and I’m not talking just guns. She’s gonna be sixteen in a car with boys, because this is dating time, you know? And you’re gonna have to say look, you know what? Those boys? They will tell you anything you wanna know all right? Because you’re in a car. Like, with my nieces. You know? You’re gonna have to raise her right, man. Raise her right.”
“I will LOVE your daughter, if you have one, a daughter, you know, you guys. I will LOVE your fucking daughter…like my own.”
“Jacob, I don’t know Katie, but I know you, so there must be some…virtue that I gotta see in her, okay? Because you love her. Just like, you know what? I don’t know your sister, but I love your sister. Because that’s how good you are. We communicate.
Boss to a passing acquaintance:
“Hey, whoa, wait…do you know Jake?! Jake is a bad motherfucker. This motherfucker here? BAD. MOTHER. FUCKER. He is coming up with a graphic novel, a SICK graphic novel. Have you seen it? Sick.”
Scene 2: Drunk boss gets the shit beaten out of him in front of the bar.
In this scene, about two hours after the employee meeting, the drunk boss pushes one chick and supposedly slaps another, then gets his ass dragged out onto the sidewalk, mashed into a door, kicked in the head, and punched in the face until he is knocked unconscious for two and a half minutes.
He then stands and bleeds profusely from the mouth, all over his teeth, and therefore spits blood everywhere when he challenges his attacker, a big young buck in a Redwings t-shirt, to “TAKE ME ONE ON ONE!!!” Which big young buck had already done, unfortunately.
Bar owner shows up, escorts drunk tattooed white trash boss across the street to his tattoo shop, and locks him in there to calm him down. Meanwhile, the girl who had apparently been smacked around inside the bar, ex-girlfriend of the drunk tattooed white trash tattoo shop owner, thinks it’s a good idea to prance around in front of the tattoo shop, calling all of her friends and crying big crocodile tears about physical abuse.
Ex-Girlfriend, on cell phone:
“I’m just like, totally scared to go home because like, he’s gonna be WAITING for me!”
(Nevermind the fact that he was splattered all over the floor of his tattoo shop, which I now would not recommend to anyone who wants a safe and sterile tattoo experience, and nevermind the fact that the bartender was just then getting around to wiping up all of the blood and teeth on the sidewalk in front of the bar.)
Bartender:
“Soooo….sorry about that…you want one on the house?”
Me:
“Oh, well, okayyy…”
Scene 3: Katie and Jacob have a baby, tattoo it, and let drunk boss babysit it because he LOVES IT.
I will now christen this new blog with a survey from SuckMySurvey.com, which may or may not actually exist.
MY STORY
Never in my life have I:
been able to control myself in a craft store or an office supply store. I’ve always been incapable of keeping myself from buying anything and everything that you could possibly make something or anything out of. It’s a really really bad habit to have. When I was a kid I’d spend my entire allowance on those little styrofoam birds covered with feathers, with bead eyes and wire feet. I’d cover myself with them and pretend I was a princess in a Disney movie. Now I just go into those stores and spend like $40 on pens and card stock and wire and paper hole punches in celestial shapes. Then I drag the sack full of crafty junk home and leave it sitting on the couch next to me while I watch a prison doc instead of actually making anything.
The one person who can make any day better is:
I have to pick one?? All right, then I pick my sister, who has the talent of sending me a really funny text just when I’m about to guillotine myself to get out of boredom. Like this one, which I got while work hours were inching by last week: “I just had a great idea…when men stare at my tits, i’m gunna say ‘hey buddy, my cunt’s down here!'”
If you’d let me pick another one, I’d say my boss could make my day better by not showing up to work. Or by showing up with a black eye.
My high school was:
always on the verge of being sued shitless by the ACLU for holding mock slave auctions, running up the rebel flag, and telling the dumbtard goth kids they couldn’t draw on their faces or dye their hair blue.
When I’m nervous:
I have to pee constantly. There might not be any pee in there, but I still have that feeling like I have to go worse than ever, and the tank’s empty. So frustrating.
The last song I listened to was:
Starless by Shiner. My seventeen year old music tastes are slowly creeping back into my life. Probably because I just listened to a bunch of blank CDs I’ve dragged around with me for 10 years, trying to figure out what to keep and what to get rid of. They were all Keeps, I’m afraid.
If I were to get married right now it would be to:
I know everyone’s about sick of hearing me talk about it, but I’d marry the Corner Bakery dude in a second. And if I were to get married right now, that would be the best option, I think, because he finally talked to me, for the first time in four years, last week. I thought my pants were going to disintegrate, or get sucked into my vagina vacuum, or just burst into flames and look really cool on me. Unfortunately, he was only asking me questions about work, which I found I couldn’t answer without checking my hair and face and not making eye contact because it was 8am and I was still wearing last night’s makeup.
Oh well. I guess I could also marry Le Ex, who could not seem to understand why or how I could be in such total agreement that we should not hang out anymore, and therefore sends me a barrage of daily text messages and emails including attached photos of himself with his new girlfriend. If I married him, I could get a trip to France out of it.
Then again, I’m sure Corner Bakery boy would bring home leftover cookies every day…dang.
My hair is:
long and thick and crazy and somehow the source of constant criticism, like when you borrow someone else’s hat and since it’s not yours, everyone feels okay about telling you how ugly it is. Thanks but I grew this shit myself, and I plan on letting it take over. It came to get down.
When I was 4:
my grandmother told my mom I was “confused,” because I put some Koosh balls down my pants and told her I was a cowboy. So what? Don’t all kids do that? I swore I got the idea from an episode of PeeWee’s Playhouse, which made a lot more sense to everybody a few years later.
Last Christmas:
I wore the same pants for four days, because I’m sure that’s what they had to do in Bethlehem way back then, and I was just paying homage, yo. Nobody said a word, if you’re wondering.
When I look down I see:
a green chair, a credit card that needs to be destroyed, and those little black marks that always show up on the wrist rest of a white MacBook.
The happiest recent event was:
when I found out that The Room is coming to Chicago. A little jumpy-clappy dance was definitely performed in my kitchen.
If I were a character on ’Friends’:
I’d move them all out of that sweet ass apartment and change the locks and tell them that’s what “rent control” means. And those dumb fucks would believe me, and get new friends.
By this time next year:
I will be a certified librarian. Like Batgirl. Only real.
My current gripe is:
I don’t have any groceries, and desperately need to make a trip to Target today, which not only ruins my Sunday because I have to walk by that stinky skate park, but also because Target on a Sunday in this neighborhood is like going to a fucking Cinco de Mayo block party.
I have a hard time understanding:
why that bitch at Origins told me that the gold liquid eyeshadow wouldn’t look good on me at all. “Ohh noooo you don’t want that, of course!” I miss the days when salesgirls would just lie their whore faces off, and you could just ignore everything they said.
This gold liquid eyeshadow looks hot as shit, by the way.
There’s these girls:
who live in Seattle and L.A. and New York and they’re so fucking cool and so fucking far apart that I wish I could mash them all together and make myself a little girly bouquet out of ’em.
The first person I’d tell if I won an award would be:
I’d probably get really nervous and have to pee, so I’d probably tell whoever was in, around, or near the bathroom.
I want to buy:
The Squidbillies: Season 2 on DVD. I also want several books, a new dress, and a cheeseburger.
I plan to visit:
Southern Illinois in 13 days. My friends just won’t quit having babies and getting married and inviting me to the parties. It’s cool, but can we have these parties in Hawaii or something? Also, buy my ticket. You will if you love me.
If you spent the night at my house:
we’d stay up and drink beer and wear my giraffe mask and eventually I’d make you sing into my computer’s microphone and put your drunken song online somewhere for others to enjoy.
Most recent thing I’ve bought myself:
a Gryffindor keychain. That’s my team, and I don’t care who knows it. Unless you’re a hot boy who isn’t smart enough to like Harry Potter, then I’ll probably hide it from you.
Most recent thing someone else bought me:
a Build-Your-Own Sandwich playfood kit from my sister. The bread is wooden, the “meat” is rubber, the cheese is felt, and the lettuce is some kind of swishy fabric knit.
My middle name is:
Marie. Apparently I’m named after some female California real estate tycoon. Who happened to be my grandmother.
In the morning I:
get up just early enough to watch two episodes of Saved by the Bell, but just late enough to miss the awful Good Morning Miss Bliss episodes. Ugh…those are so positive and cheesy, they will outright ruin your day.
Last night I was:
drinking vodka out of a Big Gulp cup at Do Division, getting in trouble with an e-freaking-normous crowd of hipsters by making fun of their dancing and drunkenly replying to Flosstradongus’ cry of “AY CHICAGO MAKE SOME MOTHAFUCKIN NOOOOOOIIISE” by screaming “FUUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUUUUU!!!”
There’s this guy I know:
who looks EXACTLY like the cucumber from Veggie Tales. And he does this little happy dance that makes me want to shit in my pants so that I have a good reason to be excused from his presence. But he is my boss so I have to placate him and smile and pretend that a 6 foot, 26 year old male who looks like a cucumber doing a skippy dance in front of me is exactly what I want to see at 9 in the morning, every morning.
If I was an animal I’d be:
a cat, and my superpower would be starring in movies with Christina Ricci that nobody would ever, ever watch.
A better name for me would be:
Princess Supercake of Blade Island.
Tomorrow I am:
going to work and I WILL REMEMBER to return American Psycho on my way. I don’t know why I watched that. I mean, it’s a good movie, but it’s made all the more creepy when you’re sitting there watching it alone in the dark and realizing that you dated that guy.
Tonight I am:
writing about a million cover letters. I am starting to think I am not very good at it, which destroys the old adage that practice makes perfect. Practice don’t do shit.
My birthday is:
just the most awesome day of the year. Too bad it ain’t yours.
How long have you been breathing?
Since my daddy caught me on my way out, held me up by my ankles and inspected me like a fish, then scraped the primordial goo out of my mouth and pinched me ’til I cried. Well, that’s what I remember, anyway.
Have you cried today at all?
Um. Yes. From laughter.
Do you want to be in a relationship?
Sometimes, but then I realize it’s only for the naughty and fun bits, because I’m a growin’ girl and I need the sauseeeege. There are tons of crappy parts I can do without, such as “Let’s go out for a drink. Why not? Why not? What are you doing?? Well I’ll just come over. Why NOT? I just want to be with you! Let’s go out. Okay, then let’s go to sleep. Well, fine, I have to go to this party, and if you don’t come it means you don’t love me. Fine. Fine. I see. So are you coming?? WHY NOT???”
Do you actually believe in perfection?
Have you even seen me do The Clock? Put on some new wave and wind me up, motherfucker, and I’ll make you believe.
Would you rather it be sunny or rainy?
I prefer rain because that’s what Lil John’s always talking about anyway, and I try to be as much like Lil John as I possibly can.
Have you been to New York City?
I don’t need to buy a plane ticket to smell dirty air and step in puke outside of a movie theater.
Last time you did laundry?
Thursday night. There comes a point in your adult life when you have to stop going to the mall and buying 99 cent polyester thongs out of that giant bin at The Rave, and just bite the bullet and pay a whole dollar to wash the ones you already got.
Do you fight with your parents?
Yes. My mother and I constantly fight over my ability to change my mind. I’ll say, “I think I want a red skirt.” Then later, I might find a purple skirt that works just fine. And Mommy said, “Well I thought you wanted a red skirt!!!” And something about this change in skirt plans really gets under Mommy’s skin. I think it just bothers her to have to cross “red” off her list of stuff in her brain and write “purple” instead. I think it makes her feel like she doesn’t know me the way she did an hour ago, when the skirt color I wanted was red.
Have you ever just went out with a girl/guy because you were desperate and they asked?
I’ve done internet dating, and most people consider that to be pretty desperate. I met really hot, stupid guys who worked in finance and had money for brains, and really thoughtful, sweet guys who didn’t own TVs and therefore had no idea what I was talking about, ever.
Where did you sleep last night?
In my bed, cuddling my computer, which was playing The English Patient. I had no idea that bullshit was three hours long. I thought it would be a good fall-asleep movie, though, and it was, it was.
Do you want kids?
I want them in the way that I want them to hang out with me, teach me all the hand signs and tell me the good books to read, ask me to cut grilled cheeses in certain ways and pour apple juice into certain cups, and then I want them to go home as soon as they get complainy or want to watch Madagascar.
Do you have any expensive jewelry?
All of my jewelry is the kind that you have to stop wearing after a few weeks because it’s not the color it’s supposed to be anymore. But that means it’s expensive to Ethiopians, so you tell me.
How many close friends do you have?
Thirty-seven. No, four. I added wrong.
What is your brother’s name?
Noah Richard, whom we have always called Noah Balboa, but his friends call him Woah Nipple.
Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?
I would feel weird if I didn’t. It’s essential to get a male perspective on current films and books, how my lip gloss looks, and whether I will ever hook up with Ira Glass.
Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?
Well, yeah, but it’s usually a dumb shit reason. Like there’s got to be a reason that they gave a whole TV show to that big-titted idiot shitface pussywaste Daisy from Rock of Love, but I refuse to believe it’s a good reason.
What are you listening to?
The Presets, and my neighbor mowing his tiny rectangle of grass, when he could actually just cut it with scissors. It would be way quieter.
Would rain actually stop you from going somewhere or ruin your plans?
Yeah, but I’m kind of a homebody, so I would most likely welcome it stopping me from going out. Then I could be like, “Awww, it’s rainiiiing…now we can’t go watch hipsters rub their bare assholes together all night. Dang. Maybe next Tuesday? If it doesn’t rain.”
Last time you saw your parents?
I’m not sure they’ve even been in the same room since they artificially created me in that lab. See, they both had to be there because they had to turn their keys at the exact same time to get into the vault where my microchip was being stored. Then I think my dad got back on his futurebike and my mom put me in a little tube and shot me back to the past, which is now. Does your brain hurt? Sorry.
What woke you up this morning?
My stupid piece of crap Blackberry phone. There are a hundred ways to turn this thing off, but unless you take out the battery and hide it somewhere, the whole thing powers up by itself and gives you all the Facebook updates you’ve missed between midnight last night and 6am. I will be happy to bury this shit in the yard.
Is tomorrow going to be a good day?
Not if I gotta use my AK, I must say. I’ll tell you later.
Who was the last person you rode in a car with?
Patrese, who I think only picks me up so she can play a Ludacris song and watch me turn around and stick my butt out the car window and wiggle it around when he says “shake shake shake ya moneymake-UHH!” It makes her laugh. It also makes dudes in vans follow us for a long time.
Do long distance relationships work?
I guess if you’ve got a phone with a penis attached. Tell me if you do, because I’d like to borrow it. Did you get it at Urban Outfitters? That’s pretty cool.
Who is your number one on myspace:
I don’t even knowwww anymoooore. That whole site is like a ghost town, and anyone who hasn’t migrated their web presence over to Facebook is a waste of time. Or they’re just from Southern Illinois.
Do you listen to music everyday?
Yes! But it’s harder now that they’ve outlawed music, and the radio, at work. I wrote a haiku to the dead radio but that didn’t bring it back from the dumpster. Wahhh!
Are you in a bad mood?
I’m in a pretty great mood, and it ain’t goin nowhere. No, it ain’t. Get back here!
Are you a jealous person:
Yes, only in those circumstances where people have things they don’t deserve, which I want. Then I remember who I am and just feel really, really sorry for all the poor fucks who can’t be me.
Cupcake Heartbreak 