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

Tuesday, July 22, 2003
 
Some girls seem willing to do anything for Mardi Gras beads. Somewhere in this transaction lies the secret to understanding an entire generation. First of all, these girls have not "gone wild." They are in fact very, very tame, like trick ponies or labratory dogs ("Show us your--" ding! "Woo!!"). Any stonewalling or stalling tactics ("Ahm not gon' shew y'all mah bewbs! Wah should ah? Oh wayt -- y'all got bayds?") are just stylistic embellishments to the inevitable flash ("Woo!!"). Everybody flashes. It's as sure as the tides.
     Second of all, this bargain may not be as lopsided as it initially appears, because although it feels like the girl is the clear loser in the tits/beads transaction, this is only true if you think that the girl has lost something of greater value. Has she? If the bead-dude has a video camera and makes a million by selling her image to drooling late-night mouth-breathers with poor impulse control and a phone within arm's reach, then: maybe. But if there's no camera, the girl has turned a profit. She may have sold herself short, since there are many men who would pay much more money (like, more than the three cents per string it costs to get a flatbed full of bead necklaces at the city limits of Panama City, FL) to see naked boobs in a different context, but unless you're a time-traveling dormitory matron from the 50's who thinks that a girl loses some of her... honor (I guess?) by "letting a lad survey the grounds without a legitimate interest in the property" (or whatever regional den-mother metaphor is in vogue in your college in the 50's), then you'll have to admit that she's in the black here.
     Shit, it occurs to me that my conclusion is going to be obvious. Anyfuck: the mam-flashing sororotart is actually the triumphant winner of each and every such transaction, regardless of video evidence. Because they're only tits, for fuck's sake, and nobody cares anymore. The girl gets to act like the stripper that every girl secretly wants to be -- without sliding down some greasy pole or receiving any sticky money for it. Every non-wild girl screams: I'm not a hooker! I'm not a stripper! I'm just proud of my body! And if you are so freaking thrilled at the sight of my boobs -- which I see so often they actually bore me into a coma -- well, great. I needed to fill out my costume jewelry collection anyway.
     Except they're not saying it. I'm saying they're saying it. They don't even know they're saying it; they can't even spell it. Hell, they can't even spell "it." They don't say it, though they should. All they say is: "Woo!!"
     "Show us your--"
          ding!
     "Woo!!"

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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!"
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"from whence"
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"...the exception that proves the rule"
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any use of the question "spit or swallow?"
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the phrase "drop trou"
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fake-o reviewer verbs:
"penned" for wrote
"helmed" for directed
"lensed" for whatever
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"expat"
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the euphemism
"passed away"
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pronouncing merci beaucoup as "mercy buckets!"
(see also: "grassy-ass!")



PET PEEVES

"confinscated"
-
trying children "as adults"
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"drownded"
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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.
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tattoos in the Courier font
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any use of Comic Sans