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 
Hosted by: HostRocket.Com Comments by: YACCS 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 
WHO LINKS TO UD? • from Technorati • from Google • from Yahoo and here's something weird: my place in Humor 3-space |
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
As most long-term readers know, I have two official roommates. If I'm RM1, RM2 is Pussy Willow, who used to write on this very blog before she decided to devote her full attention to the oral satisfaction of freight-hopping vagabonds. RM3 has only been referred to here as Heroic Third Roommate for last summer's triumph over vermin, realized with only a rolled up issue of Wired and balls of brass. Then there's RM4, the one who's made of AOL promo CDs. I guess you could count the upstairs neighbors ("the Pirates") as spiritual RMs; we certainly live with them every day. (Ask me sometime about The Pirates. It's sad when an entire family is cursed to wear peglegs, dance jigs, and move trunks full of treasure around their apartment 24 HOURS A DAY.)
Well, I have a new roommate. It pays no rent, because it is a monster. Not like your down-on-his-luck cousin who's been aromafying your couch for a week, no. Like a terrible, flapping, fluttering, scuttling thing. I don't know what it is, but I hate it. I first saw it Saturday night, hurtling out of my room along the floor and under one of the living room couches. Acting on pure instinct -- Wham! -- I flung my shoe under the couch like Byung-hyun Kim. I then stood on one shoe, stupidly, horrified. Whatever that thing was, I had just given it my shoe. Fuck. Pure instinct can suck a fat cock. Monster: 1, UD: 0. The rest of the night I danced around that couch like it was leaking radioactive poo, and found a stick (yes, a stick!) with which I could retrieve my sneaker. The monster was hibernating, I suppose, or resting after a hearty meal of children's eyeballs. At first I thought it was a giant cockroach, the stars of my personal nightmare theater. But it moved too fast. A mouse? Maybe. A man can dream, can't he? I can handle the vermin that share my phylum. I was sleepy before I saw that sumbitch, but he woke me like a stack of white crosses chased with Mountain Dew. As I awoke the next morning from uneasy dreams I found myself transformed in my bed into a giant backache. The stress of living with an unidentified, unslaughtered monster ratchets my spinal muscles into elevator cables. Mostly Sunday was uneventful. Maybe the monster left us for the pungent week-old trashpile just out the window, in the "courtyard"? Ha! Ha to the word "courtyard" and ha to the idea of monster exodus. At 2am, weak, half-nakies, and woefully unshod, I peripherally spied the transit of a brown something in the kitchen. A flutter from the dishrack to the teapot on the stove. Oh god. A flutter. I mean come on. Too fast for a crawler, but too weird for a flying cockroach. Too... cartwheely for a stupid mouse. I swear, it tumbled like a piece of windblown debris, like a crumpled negative caught in a gust. Rattle tumble. And in an instant: poof. As gone as Keyser Soze. Somebody help me. I think they are breeding in the stove. Oh sweet holy mother of fuck, I can hear them breeding! 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 |
