UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE

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We can ill afford
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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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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



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

Thursday, June 19, 2003
 
I am not sick, despite last weekend's four-day campaign of bicoastal germ warfare, which took the soggy form of my mom and sister coughing up a cubic yard of pathogen-packed saliva in the confines of our mobile research facility (a late '90s Mercury Sable). Everyone at the wedding was sick, including the bride, whose feverish cast just made her look proverbially flushed, and I bet the NyQuil helped to dampen the pre-vow jitters. God, when I get really nervous, like backstage nervous or skydiving nervous, I always need to take a shit. What do nervous brides do in a situation like that? Because I know they're not hiking up that dress and straddling some filthy poo-hole.
     So I'm not sick, but I am tired. Monday's 14-hour tour of Fox's The Northeast's Most Nerve-Janglingly Truck-Filled Interstate Highways flipped my neurons to some kind of amphetaminic alertness setting that took two days to wear off, so I didn't sleep much on Monday or Tuesday night (choosing instead to alphabetize my underpants again). I was also totally jazzed about buying sandwiches for my surrogate cousins, Isaac and Hannah, in Kennebunk. Have you ever met teenagers that were so cool that they seem like futuristic robot narcs sent back in time to infiltrate the in-crowd and go all Jump Street on their asses, but with lasers? No, I guess not. And Ike isn't a very good robonarc if he hands me three Vicodin and a featureless plastic bottle filled with smuggled Chinese moonshine within five minutes of greeting me under a deserted bridge at 3am.
     The fatigue of the road is amplified by an utterly paranoid sensation of unfulfilled responsibility, like a shit-hammer of duty smashing my skull. I constantly feel like I was supposed to mail something to somebody yesterday. I have started putting band-aids and inch-long strips of micropore tape on my body just for the hell of it. I fantasize about being dropped off in the middle of nowhere with only a carton of Camels and a ridiculous utility belt filled with my prescription drugs, to see if I could find my way home in one piece using only my ample charms. In this fantasy I introduce myself to toothless hicks as "the Professor," and they stare at me with muted reverence as I hunch over plates of scrambled eggs and guzzle funnels of coffee. I dream of living in a place with lots of plants, lots of space, and lots of cushions. But dreams of ideal living spaces always leave out the most crucial detail: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU DO ALL DAY TO KEEP FROM GOING COMPLETELY INSANE?

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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