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, June 17, 2003
Foods groups should not be defined by nutritional content or molecular structure, because everybody knows what a vegetable is. It should be divided into contextual groups, abstract ideas that will confuse animals and Martians.
For example, Dirty Mike was always contorting his face in disgust at the idea of eating what he called "Home Food." Like, if you offered him a plate of pasta or some scrambled eggs or something, he'd be all: "ugh -- home food, no way." And then he'd roll on out to Subway or Ratz (Ratz? Is that right? What's the name of that gurgling low-rent-mid-west-high-lipid fast food hellpit with a red sign? Garr! Right across from Big 5? Help!) and pick up some dry floppy piece of gristle smeared with mayostard (or mustardayonnaise), which he would nibble until he lost interest, at which point he'd just drop the remains on the floor, which was covered with a peaty, nutrient-rich loam of all his other discarded meals. He didn't have a name for the opposite of Home Food, but I swear he could not eat anything unless he had just paid money for it, like his cells had a commerce deficiency. While on vacation I observed my copious ingestion of Vacation Food, or, more viscerally, Road Food, a category that contains foods that simply don't exist unless you're on vacation. The case in point is fudge. Fudge, ick. You never, never, never eat fudge during normal life. There's probably fudge to be had, but unless you've stepped from a car and your legs are sore, you can't see it. You may eat junk food all the time, but you won't eat a quarter pound of butter, confectioner's sugar, and marshmallows in one sitting unless you're in a foreign environment. In Maine, even the hardware stores seemed to depend on glistening oily slabs of the nut-encrusted nonsense for half their income. Or how about funnel cake? Because: wow. The road seems to justify the most arterially suicidal sustenance, comfort food taken to a hallucinogenic extreme. Ow, my back hurts, and I deserve to caulk up my ventricles -- I may die sooner, but at least I will leave a well-lubricated corpse. That way, when I rise from the grave to eat the flesh of the living, I will be able so sneak up on live brains without making telltale creaky dead guy noises. I will coast on a sled of fudge! WHERE O WHERE IS MY FUDGY SLED? [there is a thud as UD pitches forward onto the floor in a sugar seizure, his lips smeared with maple-y chocolate. Give him mouth-to-mouth -- he's delicious!] 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 |