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

Wednesday, August 13, 2003
 
So I hate SUVs, no big surprise there. But recently the ethereal hatred has morphed into a very specific, vivid kind, the kind that makes me want to act on it. It's not unlike the hatred Red Sox fans have for themselves which forces them to beat each other into pulpy Irish street meat after every game. Or the hatred vegans have for feeling good. You know: intense and all-consuming!
     By nature I am not a seether; my A.D.D. allows me to let go of all bad memories, affronts, or guilt complexes simply by looking at something shiny. But look at me: seething with an unvented ire at the sight of an Escalade or Explorer, digging in my pockets for my keys as I veer close to the door panels, looking over my shoulder for eyewitnesses.
     (I shouldn't have to explain why SUVs are bad, because anyone with a half-eaten brain can feel with amphetamine clarity that there is nothing good at all about any SUV, period. Pa pa PERIOD. So let's move straight to the defacement of the behemoths, which may not solve the problem but will at least keep me from venting my wrath on stray kittens or something.)
     It is agreed that I (we, you) must do something to these vehicles, but my criminal urges will not overwhelm my artistic sensibility. It's just too crude to key a car these days. Been done. It's so tired it makes me sleepy. And most of us don't carry hammers, so forget about breaking the deep-sea submersible glass. Anyway, you don't want to get arrested for something lame like that -- SUV bashers are just above niece-fondlers in the Sing-Sing pecking order.
     What's a satisfying, easy, non-prosecutable, and humiliating way to strike back at SUVs? At first I thought: hocking phlegm on every parked SUV windshield! Looks like bird shit, and you can't file a police report for that. But I have a lot more phlegm than most people, and your foamy spittle doesn't cause the same limbic revulsion as my mottled, chunky lungpies.
     So then I came up with an even more poetic (read: gayer) plan: I (we, you) must throw a handful of birdseed onto the hood of every parked SUV in the world. (Please pause and picture this act. It is very pretty.) The pigeons, the larks, the sparrows, they will land and peck and shit and do other nasty bird things. The drivers will return to shamefully defaced plateaux of automotive armor, and lo, they will fall frothing to the ground, because look: birds hate them. God hates them! Then, while they're down, you can step on their necks, take their wallets, and give their gas money to ANYBODY BUT OIL COMPANIES.

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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"
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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