UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE
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Universal Donor
We can ill afford another Klendathu You are just a number to me! And that number is: PAGES UD MADE: My Books Page My Reviews Page My Reference Page My Music Page My Pictures My Store UD-RELATED PAGES: My LiveJournal My MySpace music page My Flickr page My del.icio.us page My Last.fm page My Amazon Wishlist HEAVY ROTATION Dan Deacon: Bromst Animal Collective: Merriweather Post Pavillion Bon Iver: For Emma, Forever Ago Vampire Weekend: Vampire Weekend Fleet Foxes: Fleet Foxes BLOGS ETC claude le monde nuncstans rock 'em stock 'em tomato nation postmodern drunkard tuckova 22 ghastly mess constintina total virility fuzzysquid drunken bee stacey nightmare elyse from ANTM stereolabrat dark side points jf_franklin 123 i love you READ NOW brotherhood 2.0 NOT BLOGS ETC qwantz (dinosaur comix) go fug yourself the burg cat and girl book of ratings married to the sea icanhascheezburger fire joe morgan fivethirtyeight.com READ NOW hospitality on parade WEIRD LOVE dead amusement pks craters! all content © 2002-2010 Jeremy Broomfield
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Tuesday, November 12, 2002
I am surrounded by drunken hookers. By "drunken" I mean "shit-faced" and by "hookers" I mean "girls I know." There's enough alcohol in my female friends' bloodstreams to disinfect Bombay. This is not a criticism, or a judgment. It's just an observation. All mah bitches be blotto.
The inimitable Guzzler got Drunk this weekend. She hopped from two nasty East Village dives to Enid's, in Greenpoint, where I sat watching some other drunken hookers get steeped. Fast forward to 3:45. She does that thing I hate where she's got half a beer at last call but orders another anyway because, hey, it's last call. Like she's some kind of helpless robot who can't help but execute her program -- BoozBot5000. Then, when the bartender is doing everything but swinging a stool over her head to make us leave, Guzzler can't stumble in the general direction of the door until she finishes that beer, because apparently the Alcoholism Enforcers will issue her a ticket for some made-up frat boy infraction called "sandbagging." Which as far as I can tell means "behaving with a barely protozoan level of basic self-preservation and restraint." So I'm like "you DON'T HAVE TO FINISH IT. LET'S GO," which really means "I don't want to have to CARRY YOUR DRUNKEN ASS TO THE CAR SERVICE." But she must, and she does. Fast forward to 4:30, where after a long zig-zaggy walk to N6th Guzzler feels the predictable effect of emptying a keg into a bladder the size of a tennis ball. "I'll be right back," she says, walking serpentine (to avoid snipers, I guess) around the corner. Then there are cops, and then they are asking for her ID, and then there is a protracted period of ticket-writing and whiny fake-crying, the end result of which is tickets for public exposure and public urination. Which all of us find amusing except, bizarrely, Guzzler herself. It's bizarre because this is just the kind of tale that litters her seemingly endless repertoire of "oh my god one time (I/we/you/they) (was/were) so (drunk/high/fucked up)..." stories that she finds VERY AMUSING. Not only was she not amused, she actually had the gall to complain. For hours. About getting a ticket. For PEEING ON THE STREET. I mean come on now. Suck it up, bwah! You got busted fair and square. Maybe if you had actually tried to CONCEAL YOURSELF a little bit instead of basically peeing on the cruiser's hood, you wouldn't have gotten pinched, but you had it coming. If you got a ticket everytime you watered the cobblestones, the city wouldn't have a budget crisis. SO SHUT THE HOLE ALREADY! 0 comments |
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MY IMAGINARY GIRLFRIENDS Chan Marshall Rotem of the IDF Eleanor Friedberger Amy Goodman Bernardine Dohrn ('69) Maya Rudolph Joanna Newsom Imogen Heap Caroline Dhavernas Shana Rae Ray DISALLOWED FOREVER "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!" - "from whence" - "...the exception that proves the rule" - any use of the question "spit or swallow?" - the phrase "drop trou" - fake-o reviewer verbs: "penned" for wrote "helmed" for directed "lensed" for whatever - "expat" - the euphemism "passed away" - pronouncing merci beaucoup as "mercy buckets!" (see also: "grassy-ass!") PET PEEVES "confinscated" - trying children "as adults" - "drownded" - misuse of reflexive pronouns, as when someone says "Please talk to Bob or myself." Come on people now. "Myself" is not just a fancy version of "me"! LEARN IT. - tattoos in the Courier font - any use of Comic Sans |