UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE

Universal Donor
We can ill afford
another Klendathu

feed it up! | UD email


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



Powered by Blogger

Oh fuck yeah.

This is my Google PageRankā„¢ - SmE Rank free service Powered by Scriptme


Hosted by:
HostRocket.Com

Comments by:
YACCS

  SITE STATS



PRAISE & REVIEWS

"[UD] is a genius."
--Christian Oates

"[Claudia] is fucking awesome, and [UD] is a genius. And vice versa. You should all buy Fear Not."
--Tricia Howey



MOTTO

egeo huic vigorum

MY WRESTLING NAME

Titan Gently

MY PUNK NAME

Razor Ection



Look the fuck out! It's claude le monde!



WHO LINKS TO UD?

from Technorati
from Google
from Yahoo



and here's something
weird: my place
in Humor 3-space

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




OTHER REVIEWS:
Scrabble NEW!

LATEST BOOK REVIEWS:
The Game
Moneyball
One-Upsmanship
Siddhartha




You need the
Fear Not Guide to Life.
Buy it already. ($4)


Now available!
The Broomfield Variations CD
($10)

or go to The UD Store








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