ANGSTY POEMS THAT PAUL MIGHT HAVE WRITTEN IN HIGH SCHOOL (The Holiday Edition)

My Feelings About the Season Can be Best Summarized in this Rhyming Couplet

Jingle Bell Rock?

Jingle Bell suck my cock.

MORE D-NOSAUR COMICS

ANGSTY POEMS THAT PAUL MIGHT HAVE WRITTEN IN HIGH SCHOOL 2

New Feelings

I want to make a sandwich; a you/me sandwich.

And I can’t tell you, because, you know, it might get wierd.
Maybe I can try to forget your face, your pellucid, ubiquitous face.

Give yourself to me.
All of your sweet-ass self.
You be the linguica, me the mayo.

J DARES, I DO: THE RESPONSES

My Alpha Seeks Beta personal ad has caught the eye of a few potential suitors, so I've divided the responses into the following groups.

This Is a Joke
Some of my respondees are clearly underemployed wags who troll Craigslist daily, searching out opportunities to make fun of people and then brag to their friends about it. Which is not at all like what I'm doing. GPFJRI responded with a succinct "NOT !!!!" Note the number of exclamation points. This dude is for realzies. Prodious, on the other hand, took a slightly more subtle route with "great i can feel the life force draining out of me already....how exciting!!" Still a lot of exclamation points.

I Don't Get It
Others were confused by the entire nature of the alpha/beta relationship. Nycmoviefun wrote that he seeks "a woman that might be open to exploring her more aggressive side (but only in private). " WTeff? Public recognition of my superiority is the only reason I placed this ad (uh, excluding the dare.) Let me tell you something privately, Nycmoviefun: you're a misogynistic douche.

But even Nycmoviefun couldn't compare to kiwiguy1049 who sent me his own ad, "Dominant Guy Seeks Submissive Pet." I'm unclear if he was challenging my authority or giving me pointers. This leads nicely into the next group

You're Talking About Sex, Right?
All I'm going to say about this group is, No, I wasn't. And eeewwww.

And finally, there was this guy, from a group I call
I'm Actually Considering This One
"In the past, I have served many needs of the mistress including that of a chauffeur, Personal Groomer (massages, pedicures, manicures), Domestic Home Care Specialist (cleaning, vacuuming, scrubbing, the organization of closets and cooking), Errand Boy (picking up groceries, dry cleaning, laundry and most anything else) and Lawn Boy." Holla!

ANGSTY POEMS THAT PAUL MIGHT HAVE WRITTEN IN HIGH SCHOOL

I Would Shrink My Stature If I Could, But Never My Love For You

My eyes cry out for you
with tongues of love—
Flaming tongues of love.
Of loving love.

Loving love that could release this tortured soul from the twisting branches of black pain with flowering buds of slightly more black sorrow that have forced themselves down my throat, past my scream box and around my heart.

The sticky-out bits poke
at my heart.

It HURTS!

My heart.
My giant fucking heart.

But you can't see my eyes, soulful girl from second period European History.
No, you can't see my wild, tongue-filled, flaming eyes.
You only see the LIE-filled eyes of your boyfriend.
Your cruel-eyed boyfriend.
Your boyfriend who can never understand you like I could if you lost yourself in the solace of my
arms
and mouth
and
slippery crevasses.
If you whispered your
wideeyedinnocentdirtyscaredbravefatbutskinnydiddaddytouchme?
secrets into my ear.

Your rapist-boyfriend.

You cannot see my eyes.
You cannot see my eyes!
Look up over your head, goddamnit!
LOOK UP!

J DARES, I DO

I expect the responses to my new personal ad
on Craigslist to start pouring in at any moment.

I HAVE RETURNED!

When there is something queer
in your solarium,
for whom shall you send a runner?

Phantasm Expungers!

When there are eidolons
In your cuirasse bodice,
Grab and hansom cab to

Phantasm Expungers!

When your antimacassars
float o’er your fainting couch,
and you’ve drunk no laudanum,

Phantasm Expungers!

I am not made craven by any spectres.

CaMew (LOL)

L'Etranger

SartreCat (LOL)

God

SartreCat (LOL)

Failure


Do you concur, Paul?

BOOYA

Vivre la différance.

How do I type with such widdle arms?

With apologies to Dinosaur Comics I present: D-nosaur Comics.

THINGS TALLER THAN PAUL

T-Rex on stilts

Sequoia that has been launched into space

God, maybe

OH. DEAR. GOD.

Milwaukee, you are off my Christmas list. For realzies.

I FINALLY CARE ABOUT MILWAUKEE

I'm a little backward when it comes to national "news," so somehow I missed that the city of Milwaukee has entered the ranks of other largely forgetable burgs that erect statues of long-past-use-by-date movie and tv characters in an attempt to lure people with layovers out of the local airport.* But I'm happy to report that in this case, Milwaukee did it up right by erecting a bronze statue of popular Happy Days character Arthur Fonzarelli. Now I applaud all Fonzie related activities, so this statue definitely gets two thumbs up from me. But I can't find any pictures of the effing thing.

Why all the secrecy, Milwaukee? Did you manage to fuck this up? Because that would be almost as uncool as the time that Ralph Malph tried to put the moves on Pinky Tuscadero while Fonzie was in the bathroom at Arnold's helping Richie regain enough confidence to ask Wendy to the drive-in. That was like school on Saturday: no class.

Someone find me a picture!

*Biologists consider this phenomenom to be an example of adaptive mutation. Creationist consider Happy Days to be an example of Satan's excrement.

I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS SINCE 1992

No big whoop, they say,

which means the same as big whoop.

What the fuck is whoop?

G.I.L.F.

McCain finally announced his choice for running mate today, and it is, as I hoped, Sarah Palin,

The Prettiest Governor Ever!!!

Sigh. She's a sparkly princess. I want her to brush my hair.

Still, the Senator from Arizona's plan to secure my vote by choosing one of the ladies from Van Halen's "Hot For Teacher" video as his veep has failed.* I want to be perfectly clear about one thing. No party will ever get my support until they finally put forth a candidate from the demographic most dear to my heart: hot teenage boys.

*She's pretty, white and has a vagina. Hey, me too! It's a no-brainer!

HSHOWPWP

This week I logged in 10 Hours Spent Hanging Out With Paul WITH Phil.

You read that right.

Like Zephyrus, Phil breezed into NY for the weekend, gently mussed every one's hair and then blew away again.* There were stories. There were laughs. There were drinks. There were chunks of time that I cannot remember.** All in all, it was lovely. Or so I've been told.

Can anyone explain how I got these bruises?

*Alternate metaphor: "Like some arrow loosed by Hermes himself, Phil fleeted from Greece across the Atlantic and lodged himself smack dab in the throat of Manhattan, which subsequently drowned in its own blood."
**Show me photographic PROOF of this supposed "busboy incident."

J's EUROPEAN VACATION

J has been abroad, and I have been pretty inconsolable. As a way to combat the loneliness and boredom, I thought I would share these pictures of her travels in England and Ireland.

Upon arrival in "Jolly Olde* England," J's first stop was an authentic English "pub" where she could enjoy a "a missing link wif some chubb geezers" after which she and a few other lemons picked up some more Tom and Phils (being bloody Hank Marvin by this time of night) and went back to her flat for a little Rusel Harty where she got so Olivered she fell on her aris prompting the other birds to take the Mickey out of her which led to a bit of bover. Awright, mate?

This is J in front of Buckingham Palace, home of the dessicated corpse of the British Imperialism. J cried more than a few prickly tears.

Next J went to Ireland.** In this photo she is posing in front of an ancient Celtic ruin, no doubt originally built as an altar where human sacrifices were made to the pagan potato god in order to ensure the supplicants would be saddled with thousands more starving, unclothed brats.

Here is J posing with my ex-boyfriend, Donnchaidh Ó Baoighealláin, and his friend Maoldòmhnaich Flaithbheartach*** outside of the dole office. I don't miss him or his Irish curse at all.

Come home soon, J!

*The extra "e" is for effete.
**"Land" is derived from the Celtic word for "land" and "Ire" is from the Celtic word for "filthy, drunken, inveterate theives."

***Pronounced Porrig O'Shaughnessy and Sully Dougall.

McSWEENEY'S CAN SUCK IT, PART II

I'd been burned, and burned bad. McSweeney's rejection left me shattered. I had been so sure that we were perfect for each other, and then to see it spending all of its time with lists like "What Pathologists Might Name Their Daughters" or "Spinoffs of Dancing with the Stars for the Common Man"-- tawdry, insipid lists with large breasts--I could hardly stand it.

But I couldn't give up on McSweeney's after only one rejection. In my heart I was sure that it was secretly a good online humor site, even though my friends kind of thought it was an asshole, and that, with my constant, slavish love and devotion, McSweeney's would eventually realize that it was ready for a more mature and serious list. So I sent this.

Thoughts I Had While Watching the “The Young Riders”*

Season One DVD Collection**

1. Man, those riders are young.
2. And you don’t see riding like that every day.
3. The Young Riders are just like the Young Guns,

but with more riding.

4. Shit, they’re riding again.

You will not be surprised to learn it was rejected.

*Not being a 12 year old girl, you are probably unfamiliar with the train wreck of a series that was The Young Riders. Let me just say this: it has a Baldwin in it who is not Alec.
**I know, I know - it was a pathetic attempt. I am brought low by it. I deserve rejection. I am not worthy of McSweeney's affection. I am worthless.

McSWEENEY'S CAN SUCK IT

I feel it's time to get real. I mean really real.
For realzies.

Here goes: All I want in life is for some online entity that caters to sardonic, over educated, underemployed, check-out-my-obscure-t-shirt, of-course-I-love-Mars-Volta, too-cool-4-school urban hipsters to acknowledge me.

I'm here! I'm funny! Look at me, goddamnit! It's like high school all over again.*

But like an awkward, bookish, flat-chested, boyish-looking teen girl attempting to get the leader of the skateboarding stoners to invite her to eat her lunch outside while watching him ollie and smoke, I am rebuffed time and time again. Like a big loser.**

So, as a way of masochistically poking the point of rejection deep into the eye of failure, I am going to post the first of many rejected McSweeney's Lists submission.

FACIAL HAIR TRENDS

TO REPLACE THE IRONIC MUSTACHE***

1. Metonymic goatee

2. Anaphoric sideburns

3. Synechdochic eyebrows

Total content of rejection email: "Tempting, but still a pass."

*Without the hallucinogens and the cutting, natch.
**This is an entirely fictional situation. I've always been stacked and super-popular.
***I mean, COME ON. This list is perfect. You need a Master's degree in Comparative Lit just to get the punchline, and it's about a phenomena familiar only to coastal urbanites. Could it get anymore obscure and elitist?!?! Fuck you, McSweeney's.

LET'S GET SOMETHING STRAIGHT

Some people have suggested to me that it is weird and creepy to create a website devoted to a single friend. But I think some people are just jealous of all my HSHOWPWP. If these people really took the time to think about Paul, and how tall he is, and the crazy mixemups and hijinks that he gets up to and his total awesomeness, then they'd see how creating a blog like this is the only response any SANE human being could have. Christ, it's not like I'm STALKING the man.

That reminds me that I have some photos I've been meaning to share.

1:06:38

1:06:54

1:07:01

1:07.03

YOU MISSED ME

Damn, it's been a long time since I "blogged," and the reason for that, dear reader*, is that I've been sick sick sick. With the horking, I mean. In the end, it turned out my new roommate may not be so murderous after all.** Instead I may have an ulcer.

I know what you are thinking, but NO, it is not a syphilitic ulcer.*** It is of the good old tummy variety. So stop snickering.

In practical terms, what this means is: I cannot drink coffee. This is, without a doubt, the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Ever.

That still doesn't express the gravitas of this situation. I'll try again.

This is the worst thing that has ever happened on Earth since the beginning of time.

Worse than:

It's that effing bad. I hate you.

* Singular

*May not

**While I do in fact have syphilis, my perfect face has yet to be ravaged. Perfect, I say!

A MYSTERY

I felt existentially nauseous all day. At first I thought it was the ennui. But then I realized that I haven't seen Paul for six days.

Coincidence? I thought. Unlikely.

But then I threw up. So maybe it was not existential nausea after all. Maybe it was good, old-fashioned regular nausea, triggered by rancid food or a parasitic fetus. Or maybe ...my new ro0mmate is trying to poison me!
*cue sinister music*

(To be continued...)

P vs P

Paul gave me a DVD of the Futurama Movie as a housewarming present.

I do not want to discuss what Phil gave me.

Ever.

SOME OTHER PAULIES

Paulie Shore

Paulie the parrot

St. Pauli Girl

This Guy

ALSO

This is also a blog about J. (pictured below)

THIS IS A BLOG

This is a blog about me and a guy I know named Paul. And the time that I spend with him. Without Philip. Some other guy I know.

This is a blog about the Hours Spent Hanging Out With Paul Without Philip.

But that’s not all this blog is about. This blog is also about art, and music, and poetry, and beauty, and all the meaningful, meaty things in life that we chew on like the delicate flesh of a puppy’s inner thigh. You know, where the leg meets the body?

You know.

This is a blog about great ideas, ideas that change the world, and time and space and eternity!

This is a blog about vaginas.

This -THIS- is a blog.