Ohne titel

Cause nothing says 'pretentious' like untitled in German. Bwwwwwaaaahhh!

But seriously, folks. The sun is back (for now) and I am remarkably light-hearted. Mayhaps it is the extremely high amounts of caffeine surging through my veins, causing me to twitch and yelp like a banshee, maybe it's the gentle birdsong I hear through my window (propped open with a shoe- how effing MacGyver is THAT?), or maybe it is the sudden realization that tomorrow is Fry Day! Whoop!

Who knows. But gather ye rosebuds, friends. I am on a roll and must shine my little light while I can. Love is...

1) A human chess board. There aren't many things that make me as happy as a good old human chess board. Like the gods on high on Mt. Olympus, playing with the poor silly souls of humans, I imagine myself beared and toga-ed, perhaps feasting on some sweet ambrosia, a full wineskin (ew, dirty) at my hand, thoughtlessly tormenting some poor manimal... maybe making some dude think he is a spider, because I can DO that type of shiz.

2) Nostalgia. I am a sucker for that shit. Like a sepia photo of a hobo handing a little girl a rose... but the rose is bright RED... or a sleepy Bassett hound. My god, I'm PLOTZING just thinking about it. I can even get nostalgic about OHIO:

'Look! There's the corner where I saw that guy wearing a Burger King crown that time I was tripping and it totally made me lose my shit! And there's the pizza place whose name changed like 5 times in two months (you KNOW that shit is true)...'

3) Bugles. The instrument, the maize-based snack food and the incredible wealth of comedy bands using the word 'bugle' in their name:

Holy awkward childhood, Batman! This foursome is putting my gleaming bowl cut of youth to shame! Damn you, The Bugles! I bow to NOBODY!

And because wisdom comes with age, these Glory Bugles (please note that bugle is an anagram of bulge... just sayin. Glory Bulges would be a WHOLE other kettle of feesh, eh?) have seen things... things no person ever should.

...and that was just when they looked in a mirror! Bwaaaahahahahahah! I KILL me! Whoooooooo, take 'er easy there.

This one I love to hate:

4) The look on people's faces when they hear a song they like come on. Also know as the 'awww yeah, that's my JAM' look. It's even better/worse when they are dancing. Makes me want to ralph all over my shoes. I have been there myself, so am not throwing stones here, just nodding at fellow travellers on the path of life. It is akin to being in the line at the grocery store and seeing someone with the same thing in their basket as you. A wink and a nod, people. You might get lucky.

Please note: avoid those with the rubber gloves. No good can come of it.

Stirring the pot

Tempus fucking fugit people. What to do with these precious days? How to stop life from SLIPPING through my fingers...

OMG people, how PENSIVE am I these days? I'm like bitter and brooding Nicholas Cage as the one-handed, broken-hearted baker in Moonstruck... or it's like I'm effing KEATS or some shit, about to succumb to tuberculosis, writing an ode to doughnut madness. 

Sigh. I feel ya, buddy. Sometimes it seems like we're ALL trying to claw our way out of that doughnut, gasping for breath, covered in sweet creamy filling and feeling about as low as is humanly possible.

Buck up! I'm here to tell you there's better stuff out there.

And its about to get REAL up in here- TROUBADOR PANTS style. It's gonna roam the countryside, sleeping in barns and having its way with farm girls while eating mutton off the bone (dirty) and sitting by open fires, spinning a melodic yarn that is sure to figure heavily in folkloric oral tradition (omg *so* dirty).

Teeee heee heee. 'Troubador Pants'. I SO crack myself up. 

And in other good news, I finally got this whole 'pound of flesh' thing worked out!

Bwaaaahahahaha! Just kidding! It's not ALL mine!  I collected it from other people, silly! I got the idea from this totally dullsville Pacino film where he plays this guy named Skylark and wears cray- cray hats... weird, eh?

But fuck it, right? When all is said and done, it's all about the LEGACY we leave, and I want mine to be shit hot, 90s tapered chinos, oddly spiked punch and a fever for the flavour of ROCK. It's the music in my heart, people:

Full disclosure: I think I'm in fucking LOVE people. Fingers crossed I'm gonna be there Summer Tour 2008. Fuck the J-O-effing-B.

and I'm out.

The Street Where I Live

Kind of. So this weekend, after Daniel pulled himself out of The Pit of Despair that was the worst hangover ever, we managed to salvage some daylight and go for a walk.

I have never seen such a magical sight:

Yes folks, my heart has found a home. A street paved with sandwiches. It would surely be as messy and delicious as the lovelies named below:

1) Sloppy Joe. The clue's in the question, peeps. You go ELBOW deep in that shit. And sweet it is.

2) Muffaletta. Never had one. Never seen it done, but it sounds messy. Like a dragon with a head cold.

3) Pan Bagnat. If you like tuna, olives and onions, ripe tomatoes, it's the sandwich for you. Dave and I once got these at a deli in Brooklyn and I basically had to cover myself with a fucking PONCHO to keep from being soaked by this sandwich. Thumbs up! WAY UP!

4) THE Sandwiches (also known as 'pamwini' which is basically the equivalent of saying 'sammiches' which I am all for). Can I EVEN talk about sandwiches without mentioning the Best? The Rome Sandwiches. THE sandwiches that I still dream about? Seriously, I heave dreams I am being pursued BY WOLVES through the streets of Rome, looking for this sandwich. And still it eludes me. As does MY SANITY...

5) Anything involving meatballs. Cuz meatballz b dirty.

Ummm, anyway. In other news:

Call me!!

Bwahahahahahah. If emoticons didn't make me vomit in my mouth I would *wink* right now, sending a very clear message to those of you sleazy enough to give a rat's ass....

Aaaand SCENE.

FIN.

So bored...

I could vomit. What the fuck ELSE is there to do on a rainy bank holiday Monday than sit and gaze at pictures of rodeo clowns, wondering where it all went wrong.

Clearly it's all coming up roses for fucking Thumbs McGee here, but what about the rest of us?

Some of us have to get by on the chump change earned by keeping abnormally bedazzled ladies in Perspex cages. I'm not saying it's right, but it's a fucking living.

Whatever, it's how I was raised. It's in my blood. At least I'M not the one riding the disgustingly phallic balloon animal below:

Seriously, how nast-eeeeee is this?

Open wide

Taste the probing, cold mirror that is GLORY! That's right beeyatches. It's Eurovision Final time. I don't have what it takes to properly emphasize how fucking out of control this is, because it would require gold body stockings, flailing and general hijinks. Instead, why not let Latvia make my point for me.

God I fucking  love Europe. 

This Just In!

That's right chumps, turns out all this anger and hatred toward my Fellow Man has been getting me way the fuck down and is responsible for that throbbing vein in my neck and the constant twitching of my eye.

It's time yet again to turn to happier thoughts... things I like:

1) The STOP buttons on buses when they are all worn out and the T and the O meld together to make it read SOP. Love that shit. Don't ask me why. Gets me every time.

2) Besting a worthy opponent at chess. Here I am below castling like a motherfucker. Take THAT Dr. Zaius. 

3) Riding around in my ASSMOBILE. 

Nothing- and I mean nothing- gets mo' respect than being seen in this low-riding sweet stuff. Boom the bass and back that ass up. Once around the block, my good man!

4) Just thinking about the miracle of life and putting it all in perspective... 

HOLY EFFING SHIT, people. I am sorry, but I had to break my train of thought there to just CALL ATTENTION to the fact that there is such a thing as a 'giving birth to yourself' costume! Can you get one where instead of a woman at the top it's Arnold Schwarzenegger, grimacing and straining like a constipated rhino? You can? Well then that's THIS Halloween sorted!

For real though- the Arnold idea is HAPPENING. Yet another trip to the Dragons' Den is in the cards, methinks! 

If anyone wants in let me know. We can totally go half-sies.

PS

Could that llama's feet BE any smaller???? Hahahahahahaaaaaa- FREAK LLAMA! Go back to where you CAME from!

Fate

Yup. Knew it would happen. The sun is fucking gone. Summer has been and gone people. Why? The gods are punishing me. As if cursing me with stumpy legs and a pea-head wasn't punishment enough. 

And along with the good weather, my sunny mood has gone as well. It all started when I had what can only be described as a heart-stopping, hellish vision of the past:

Those who know me will remember the fear that Alf strikes into my heart, the venom he inspires in me and the god-awful nausea I feel when gazing upon his hideous fucking form. The FACT that some sickass mofos find him HI-fucking-larious always repulses me. He is basically number one on my hit list.

Trust me peeps, if ever faced with a showdown in a hall of mirrors, a la The Man with the Golden Gun, with ALF as my Scaramanga (third nipple and all, with Knick Knack crouching somewhere ready to slit my throat if I dare move)

(sidebar: AGGGGGHHHHH)

 I will empty my ammo and reload. Because I would happily face about a 100,000,000 

years worth of bad luck if there was even a SLIM chance that I could shoot Alf and stand laughing over his dying body.

However, I fear he cannot be killed. I fear that like so MANY of the items on my Shit List, Alf is here to stay. At least he shall always live in the hearts of his deluded minions:

Sigh. There is no escape.

My Favo(u)rite Things

Aloha bitches!

As this glorious weather is definitely going to end sometime soon, I thought I would gather these fucking rosebuds while I may and bust with the positivity. Yes, unlike me I know but what the HEY!

Here are some of my fave things:

1) Catching people checking out their reflection in car and shop windows. This cracks me up. And disgusts me. It's a fine line, people. A fine fucking line. My bro used to do this all the time and it angered me so much that I refused to look in a mirror from age 9-11. This resulted in some fucked up outfits. It was an awkward time:

That's me on the left. Bwahhhhhahahaha!  TOTALLY kidding. I was never that tan. And I don't look that good in red.

Hoooooooo! I'm on a roll. Like John  Travolta playing dolt George Malley in 'Phenomenon' when he finally figures out he might TOTALLY score with Kyra Sedgewick (despite her odd duck lips). HOO HAH!

But where was I?

Oh yes:

2) Captain Ahab. 

Forget effing James Dean and Deuce Bigalow. Hotness is a monomaniac with a peg-leg. Seriously though, he's a well-travelled, distinguished fellow WITH AN EDGE. And played by Gregory Peck? PUh-leeeze people, it's a fucking dream come true. I would get me a harpoon and stow away disguised as Queequeg just to hear him say 'hard a-starboard.' Goosebumps, people. Seriously.

Errrmmm, right. Not that I care about that kind of things at alllll. (Cue awkward innocent whistling).

3) Giant eggs.

Because if you don't like giant eggs there is something really wrong with you. And if I had known you didn't like giant eggs, we would never have become friends. 

4) The rise and fall of Christina Slater. 

Just the concept that Slater has made it this fucking far staggers me. HE HAS THE HEART OF A BABOON!!!!! (See Untamed Heart co-starring Marissa Tomei. Frealz).

Heart of a baboon. Huh. makes ya think. Anyhooooo, I'm purty tuckered out now, but um, I will leave you with this retina searing goodness:

I like to think the picture was meant to be of the ATM, but these fuckwads got in the way. Bottoms up!!

C'est Moi

People, I have realized that shit is slipping. I have lost focus somewhere along the way. Perhaps you have not noticed but I am probably the most self-absorbed person you know. Genius: even saying that is so self-absorbed I can't even get my tiny pea-head around it. But rilly, y'allz. It's my fault. I have let you all down. My fucked up world view has not been the focus lately and for that I am sorry.

SO in order to get the magic back, I am going to need some help from somewhere so that I can really get down to the bottom of what makes me tick... sounds fun, eh? Sounds like a job for the right person? Welp, sorry but I've filled that shit already. Please meet my new sidekick:

Polar Bear butler, natch. Need you even ask? And for you bawdy souls after my own heart, here's what goes on 'down below' as the old seadogs say:

Holy schnikeys! Thanks, The Internet, for showing off my Polar Bear butler's effing CAMEL TOE. What the fuck is up with that? And damn- GET THAT BEAR SOME PANTS!!!

But back to The Real Deal. Now that I've got my sidekick, I can finally do things I've been planning for ages.

1) Getting back to nature! Here I am relaxing in the jungle, all alone with my- HOLY SHIT!!!

Bwaaahhhhhhh! Just kidding. He's cool. Looking good, eh? I favor earth tones when out in the wild. They soothe me and the beast within (if you know whaddeyemean, eh? EH???)

2) Finally committing to serious facial hair.

I've been avoiding it for way too long people. That and finally learning to sail. They were both in the cards so I killed two birds with the proverbial one stone and became a child pirate. Avast.

Now that I'm back on track things are a lot clearer and I feel a giant weight has been lifted.

But that's probably just this massive fucking pumpkin I've been lugging around. I finally off-loaded that shit and now I feel like a new woman. These suckers bought it off me for a cool grand. AS IF: would never let this pumpkin go that cheap. Bitch was 5K- CASH. 

Fry-day

Yo. Been off my game lately peeps. Like an overly tanned, potbellied, former star tennis player gone to seed, staring out at the sea- that primordial soup to which someday we shall all return. Asshes to ashes. Hmmm, who could imagine such a thing???

Oh snap. It's as if just by saying it I summoned that shit from above... you know from my ATTIC FILLED WITH PICTURES OF FAT, TAN MEN. It exists.

Bwaaahhahahaha. Just kidding, y'all. I keep that shit in my cellar. Along with my FAMILY.

Whoa. Bad taste? Mais oui. Sorry folks. It's Friday, cannot help myself.

BUT I have to work tomorrow. I KNOW, suckass. I need something to buoy my spirits:

Showing people this photo of my teen years growth spurt always seems to cheer me up. I'm fucking MASSIVE!!!!


Laters.

Have I Mentioned...

That there are maybe one or two leeetle things that drive me COMPLETELY FUCKING APESHIT??? Yes friends, the calm before the storm is over and now, no matter what the effing weather, I cannot be tamed.

It all started when I stumbled upon www.agencyofmagic.com, the home of Arizona's hotspot for amateur magicians and balloon artists. BALLOON artists people. I kid you not. Waaahhhhhh! Why do these people persist in torturing me?




Oh who am I kidding, that's me in the center, shooting hella props to my sliz-neeces down at the Emmett 'Doc' Brown Lookalikes Club.  Great scott! 

Bwaaahhhhh. Just kidding. Even in my WILDEST cold-sweat inducing fever dreams would I ever stoop to donning an enormous balloon top hat. Nope, methinks I have bigger fish to fry:



Here I am in my early days as a magician, just starting out, getting my feet wet. Things went very wrong. Dead wrong in fact. Shit stank so bad I went BALD. It nearly put and end to my performing career.

Good thing my ass bounced BACK with a vengeance:



Mmmmm hmm, that's right Here I am levitating some fool back in the 90s. I was the opening act for Doctor Choctopuss and his hit single 'Huge Tub of Ice Cream (extended version)'. BOOMING bass, y'all.

Or that's what it LOOKS like, in fact the sight of the scary ass Aladdin's ghost Goofy dwarf in the background scared the shit out of me and I lost control of my POWERS and blasted this poor dude like cray cray.

And thus ended my career in magick. Now I just wander the streets, talking to people like you about the way things used to be. On the plus side the hair grew back.

Smoooches!

Untitled again

Hello my lovelies,

The sky is blue, the sun is shining and little birds are singing songs of spring. WHO could possibly be angry on such a glorious day? Ha! Do you KNOW my name, bitches? That’s right: Sophia Petrillo, ornery mother of Dorothy Zbornak. Played by –WHO ELSE- the female equivalent of Grumpy Old Man… ESTELLE GETTY.




Bwaaaahhhh! Old lady as a pirate! Doesn't get much better than that. But nawwww, I'm just playing with you. That's not me, noooo. Imagine a female Walter Matthau: same Bassett Hound face, same amazing dress sense, but long hair and red lipstick (as IF I ever wear effing lipstick peeps. Gloss is where it's at).

But all things considered I am in a pretty damn good mood. Can't account for it. BUT In the words of tragic boozehound Janis Joplin,

'get it while ya caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannn!' (imagine a hoarse whickey-laden voice, roughed up by years and years of Lucky Strikes, bad lovin' and bell-bottomed jeans).

Perhaps it's just the lovely weather, which reminds me of my school days, wandering around high as fuck CONVINCED that I could control the wind (I fucking COULD, as well, so there). I even made it rain once.

Miracles. Which brings me to this:



Miraculous that a short stack such as myself looks so durn TALL in denim-on-denim, n'est-ce pas?

I thought so too. Had to share it.

More to come, but let's hope next time I won't be so fucking chipper.

Sometimes

Life can be good. It's not all bad. The things I have SEEN the past two days have fucking taken my breath away.

It started when I decided to take the bus home from work yesterday instead of the tube. From my window seat I managed to peep the following:

1) a man jogging while wearing a Dunkin' Donuts VARSITY JACKET. How did the earth not fucking EXPLODE when faced with such amazing contradiction? Seriously. The fact that Dunkin Donuts even MADE varsity jackets is still blowing my mind, but the fact that this GENIUS decided it was appropriate attire for jogging is just the cherry on top of a magnificent day. Thanks.

2) a woman with a HUGE ass, saucily bending over as a man RAN from a distance of about 10 yards to smack her on the butt and then jump up and down HOOTING (I could hear the hooting through the bus window). Please note all of this was happening ON THE STREET. Just, ya know, out on the sidewalk, peeps passing by, children eating ice cream and then this guy wildly smacking some woman's massive ass.

BUT all of this absolutely pales in comparison to the skull-shattering awesomeness of the street art we saw this afternoon in central London:



YES PEOPLE, some kindred fucking spirit has taken it upon themselves to immortalize THE EDGE in smudged graphite. Halle-fucking-luiah. Some fellow traveler on the road of fucking balls-out, apeshit cray-cray has selected 'The Edge.' Seriously, I nearly wet myself when I caught my first glimpse of the steely beard of Hopkins and the hedonistic death stare of Baldwin. Elle McPherson didn't come out too well. But fuck it. God I love ART.

It imitates life. Life in which a rich old man with a young trophy wife gets trapped in the wilderness with Alec Baldwin, and all types of savage madness break out.



I feel so cheery, I might as well be Roberto fucking Benigni or something, romping about and dancing on tables. Ciao! Get it while it lasts people, soon it will be back to plain old fashioned hatred.