UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE
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Universal Donor
We can ill afford another Klendathu 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
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Friday, October 08, 2004
On the way home yesterday I was overcome by the need to buy a lotto ticket. I mean totally overcome, in the "oh my god I just had a flash of my crushed-metal and fire-bally future and I'm not getting on that plane for nothing" kind of mode.
You probably know that I justifiably abhor the lottery for the predatory regressive tax that it is, and you probably would have guessed that I single out "educated" people who play the lotto for especially loud, vituperative, spittle-flecked public derision, because I believe that the only way to train people away from the lottery is to humiliate them in front of friends and strangers. To convince people not to play the lottery, my goal is to come up with the shouted equivalent of the following sequence of more traditional, jock-on-nerd physical humiliation: 1) walk up to victim, pull down his pants, exposing penis that has been shriveled by a recent swim in a cold pond; 2) when he covers his shame, bash his nose so that blood jets down the front of his face and shirt -- blood is humiliating, right?; 3) have someone ejaculate on his bloody face, making him look like a Serrano; 4)push him backwards so that he stumbles over the other dude who has assumed the strategic kneeling position immediately behind the victim; 5) take his wallet, pee on his shoes, and put a big knife in his ass, then webcast a video of the whole thing to his parents, his ex-girlfriends, his favorite rock stars, his boss, and everyone in Europe. See, if I could do that, no one would ever play the lottery again. But I'm still working on the wording. Quality, policy-altering invective takes time to craft. It's particularly hard to get through to lottery players because they've got years of built-up denial to penetrate, a crusty calculus of deliberate stupidity and unbridled cupidity. While it is true that it is impossible to win the lottery without buying a ticket, it is also [essentially] impossible to win with a ticket, too, but lottery players don't distinguish between 1 in 45 million and the flip of a coin. WHATEVER. So I'm feeling weird because even though I feel rather strongly about practicing what I preach -- especially in regards to the laws of probability -- I bought a fucking ticket. I didn't have a choice, either; as I sat on the train, I came to understand, like a divine revelation (in Greek, BTW, revelation = apokalypse), that I had to buy two dollars' worth of NY lottery tickets. I went into the first store I saw, stiff as a man with a mugger's gun jammed into his spine as he punches his PIN into the ATM, and did the quick-pick option so I didn't have to have SAT flashbacks. I've got four chances at $12 Million. All day, this flat paper turd has been sitting in my wallet, mocking me for weakness. But also, quietly, murkily, thanking me for averting some terrible fate. I sold half of it to my coworker. Drawing's tomorrow. 0 comments |
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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 |