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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Wednesday, December 29, 2004
I totally had a dream two nights ago in which my Stepfather asked me If I could get him one single joint. I told him I could do better than that, and he said, no, thank you, one joint will be fine. He said this with a sad finality, a regretful shake of the head. One joint. And I was thinking to myself "do I actually know where to get weed anymore? And am I going to have to roll the joint myself? What will I do with the rest of the bag of weed? Will he pay for the whole bag or only the joint?" And now as I sit here writing this, I'm becoming less sure that it was a dream. Then again, I tend to be pretty businesslike and pedestrian in my dreams, always asking for insurance or putting on seatbelts. I have never fucked a unicorn, or chopped the head off of a bully from grade school, or married a weightlifter, or dug my hands deep into a blue tiger's fur. I have probably retained counsel in case a sexual harassment suit was brought against me for telling a cowoker that I liked her pants. My dreams are stupid.
I became a big hulking fattypants over the vacation of fatty foods. I am, like, Farley-fat. Candy-fat. Gleason-ated. Orcacular. Least I feel this way because my belly looks like it does after a large meal -- when I wake up! Eww! I did some math while reading people magazine and figured something out. Okay, Kirstie Allie is really fat right now, right? Right. Like, unhealthy fat, swollen ankle fat. The kind of fat I was humorously pretending to be myself several sentences ago. So People magazine (which you will find at my mother's house in large architectural stockpiles) says she's 195 pounds right now. Big fat Kirstie is 195 pounds? Well so am I, and despite my roly-poly hokey-pokery of almost a paragraph ago, I am not a flabster. Therefore Kirstie Allie is a midget. Q.E.D. She must be 4'10" or something. Just yiny. I can't even remember her character's name on Cheers. That's how short and fat she is. She's off my pop culture trivia radar, close to the ground like a foothill. A belly full of Christmas food is what I blame for my grossest holiday misjudgment. Charlie Munger is this investment banker who gave an awesome speech that I love in which he identifies the 24 most common Causes of Human Misjudgment. Well he didn't mention Yorkshire Pudding and Ginger Cookies, but they stole enough blood from my head that I fell for the Ronco pitch and bought some TV knives. Sure, there are 25 of them, but I think we all know that my buyer's remorse for this will be a epic, tangible, Claudia's-head-on-Saturday-Morning-style whopper. I'll have to use them all the time for everything. Like if you come over to my house, instead of a hug and a hello at the door, I'll cut you. I'll use the paring knife to press buttons on the remote, and I'll use the cleaver to wash my face. I'll use the six steak knives in lieu of a belt to hold up my pants! 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 |