Blogs: The Best Way to Embarrass Friends

MmmmmmcGoff’s. I love that Scruffy starts filling a glass with tonic the moment I walk in the door. I am down here because the internet that I steal at home is out of service. What the crap? That’s no way to keep customers happy. But before I plan my class, a diversion:

So the other day, Spaz-Tastic and I were in the middle of a lovely lunch at the St. Peter Co-Op when we heard a Voice. This Voice was deep, rich, tremble-inspiring. This Voice was coming from a boy who, while probably around twenty-one, looked like he had just hit the home stretch of puberty: awkward, acne-ed, semi-greasy (though not smelly, like most of those damn hippies). Spaz and I started creating a movie trailer for a romantic comedy/action flick based on this boy’s catchphrase (“Are you a member of the co-op?). We had everything down: the way the camera panned over dead winter streets, cut to a woman bleakly shopping, followed her to the check-out, where the Voice startled her into a reply: “Why, no – should I be?” In that moment of connection, her life becomes intertwined with the boy’s. You can catch up on the plot if you read Spaz-Tastic’s post, because the best part was on a meta-level:

Spaz: Yeah, but we have to figure out the, you know, what’s it called, the high point -
Me: The climax of the movie? The crisis?
Spaz: Yeah, but isn’t there a French word for it?
Me: The only French I know for lit is denouement.
Spaz: No, that’s the falling action. What’s French for the climax? Isn’t it petit mort or something?

[incredulous pause]

Me: Spaz, that’s sexual climax!
Spaz: What?! Why doesn’t someone tell me these things?

The man at the next table frowned and told his small daughters to put their coats on. Spaz and I decided that the next time either of us has a chance to teach literature, it’ll be engorgement, petite mort, denouement. What’s that, students – sex offends you? You’re in college, bitches. Deal with it.


Yesterday, the temperature was a mighty six (Quoth Ivan: Six? That’s not a degree. That’s sarcasm.). As we were leaving Highland, Ganglebot received a distress call from his German-teaching friend, I’ll call him Kashrut, to save him from himself and from the weather (a lethal combination). We zipped over to the Free Lot in Stabby II (does it have a name yet, Gangles?) to find Kashrut standing outside his locked van, shivering. On the way to North Kato for the spare key, Kashrut explained that when he called Security to come help him, he was told that they don’t go out if it’s below ten.

WHAT?

Officer, I’m freezing! Please let me into my car. Sorry, we don’t go out if it’s under ten degrees. I’ve broken my ankle, and my nose is getting frostbite! Nope – four degrees. Indoor emergencies only. Help, I’m being raped! Sorry, ma’am, it’s too cold to save you.

Jerks.

More dialogues to come! My eye has landed on . . . Ganglebot. Heh heh heh.

oh, entendre

Quest and I met at the Hub today. I hadn’t had breakfast, so I got me some eggs. The boy behind the counter gave me a number: 62.

Boy: This is your number.
Me: Hooray! I like that number.

Later, the boy brought my food over.

Boy: Here you go.
Me: Thanks! Here’s my number.

[boy leaves]

Quest: Lizard, you realize you just said to him, “Here’s my number”?
Me: Oops! I didn’t think about the double meaning.

Then I started laughing and couldn’t stop for about four minutes. Even as I type, I giggle.

I miss my tree.

Last night, I thought I have a peach tree and started to cry. Or almost started to cry: tears in my eyes but not on my cheeks. I feel like I’m nearing the end of a long journey by train - there are miles yet to go, but at every stop, I see it closing in: the time when we have to leave each others’ company for the bright and noisy station, to step out alone and be lost again in that crowd.

Blue's new chew toy

is a little girl's bathing suit. I found it in our scary basement. I didn't expect this thing to last more than a couple of hours, but it's held out for nearly a week now! Ivanovich likes to taunt Blue. What's that, Blue? he'll ask. Is that your tutu? Are you going to put it on and dance for us? Blue hates it. Shut up, man! he yells. Then he tears at the bathing suit with increased ferocity.

Raar! says Blue. I'll break the bathing suit's spine!

He loves his bathing suit. What a little girl.

There are all these remnants now of bathing suit lying around the house:

It's kind of sad that the rose is still attached. I really thought that would go quickly.

But what I want to do now is take all these remnants, put them in a manila envelope, and mail them to some random person. Surprise! Your niece is missing, and the cops are looking at you!

In Celebration

of my first day without painkillers in about two weeks, I offer this tidbit:

Just before we left McGoff's tonight, the Bottler's friends (slash employees?) from Maverick 4 started to scream, "Take your pants off!"

A look at how traditions are started - the bridge from Writers' Bloc to Limerick Night. Awesome.


Guten Nacht!

Beware those crafty Canucks!

Most recent news on the Canadian quest for world domination: Spy coins.

Yes, as in pocket change. The US Defense Department has issued a warning about Canadian coins with transmitters and secret compartments.

1. HOW CAN I NOT BE MAKING THIS UP?
2. Where can I get some of these coins?


Don't believe me? Here.

The B-Sides

Another fabulous couple of days. First, I got my ass handed to me by a kitten:

It’s small but sharp. Very sharp.

Yesterday, Farm Boy hit a switch with his gigantic legs while getting out of his car and accidentally turned on his lights, so his battery died. Spaz-Tastic and I had to go rescue him:


Well, shit, says Spaz-Tastic. Howdy, stranger, how 'bout some help? Farm Boy and I pushed the car while Spaz-Tastic steered backwards into oncoming cars, which was a little frightening, since his car is an automatic, and power steering doesn't work when there is no power (curse you, automatic transmissions!). He attached the cables the uncouth way - all four clamps attached to the batteries, no grounds - which led to our finding out that he doesn’t like it when we make fun of his masculinity. He threw snow at us and even got out of his car at a light to threaten us (“You’re lucky that’s about to turn green! I’d come back there!”) and otherwise sulked until we got him some ice cream. We picked up Tight End, who decided to wear Farm Boy's gross hat (here, she is saying, "Eeeeew!):

Atalanta and Ganglebot met us at Coldstone, where everyone tried on Spaz-Tastic’s Stetson. Viddy the Gangles:

Farm Boy is a serial killer. You just keep quiet back there, he says, and I promise I'll let you live. Note: He's lying.

I like these two (of Atalanta and Spaz) best:

Mmm, ice cream.

Today, we went to the gym again (ow!) and took photos (as previously detailed here and later detailed here). I offer some of the B-sides from the photo shoot, if you will allow me to mix metaphors (I have an MA, damn it!). Guess which ones are from Atalanta's digital camera and which ones are from my chewed-upon phone:

“There’s snow in my taint!” says Ganglebot:

Gangles, the well is not a toilet:



Where did you sleep last night?

I think this is a beautiful photo of Atalanta; plus, the needles are really defined:

I snapped this a little late (curse you, digital!) as Atalanta and Ganglebot dove into the trees, but I liked the definition here, too:

Once enmired, Atalanta helps Ganglebot navigate the treacherous branches. Don't worry! she says. I've got you, and I'm never letting go!

Stay tuned for more pictures here and elsewhere. Who knows? We may even recruit you for our next photo shoot. YES, YOU!

Their passion exploded like a plastic Christmas tree dipped in Pine-Sol.

Atalanta, Ganglebot, and I just had a photo shoot at the Christmas Tree Graveyard and at an old well we found! Fun! I shall post some pictures shortly. But first, this gem that Ivanovich showed me:




He'll save children, but not the British children.

Ask me about my killer pecs.

Ow. I think we overdid it.

Atalanta and I have had a fruitful couple of days (me especially). Because she is pretty much the all-time best person to dress other people, I let her convince me that I needed a couple of power suits for interviews. I was so excited about how good these look that it’s taken me a full day and a half to start thinking about taking them back. They are fantastico, especially the flip on the brown skirt. Atalanta will probably have a more in-depth post later today. Now I just need to get me some interviews.

Yesterday, we went to the gym (!), where we tried out most of the machines in the weight room (this may have been a mistake) and ran for a while – well, Atalanta ran, and I went back to the other room to see what machines we’d missed. We both left kind of shakily, knowing that we’d be hurting in a day or so, but feeling good about it. Then we shoveled out half the driveway at Highland and had lunch with Ganglebot, Ivanovich, and Art Teacher to celebrate and to plan for limericks, which AT had never written before. It was a spectacularly filthy night! Everyone at the table – me, Atalanta, AT (whose limerick chain detailed Ganglebot’s unfortunate Mall of America bathroom toilet paper/crayon box mishap - look for it on Atalanta's blog), Gangles, D33p, and D33p’s friend New York Times (who both rhymed herpetic with pathetic and used the word nary!) – had moments of true disgustingness, but Ganglebot swept the votes with one of the funniest limericks I’ve ever heard:

Shit monkey cock ballsack dong
Vagina fart penis so long!
Anus poop pussy lick
Sperm big baboon dick
Scrotum balls hairy taint donkey schlong.

The exclamation point truly makes it. I could hardly breathe for laughing. And then there was the Hangman (WHY DOES MY PUSSY ITCH SO MUCH; BECAUSE OF THE SYPHILIS; I CAN'T STOP SHITTING BLOOD; "the culprit revealed": ACCORDING TO THE SEMEN SAMPLES, KUYPER RAPED THE DEER; "why I can’t come to workshop": AN ATTACK OF THE SHARTS; "geek love": MY HEART BELONGS TO ZAXXON; "why I missed you opening your Christmas presents": I'M SORRY, I WAS BUSY RAPING YOUR SISTER).

Other notables (I know I'm missing some, but :

Mad Dog’s voicemail:

There once was a young Greek who flew
With wax wings and a wax cock, too.
Near the sun soared Icarus,
But it melted his dickarus –
What good are wings if you can’t screw?

Ganglebot, again with the exclamation points:

One day Chris realized his dreams
And got a Prince Albert – it gleams!
But with a cock pierced in twain,
It caused a great deal of pain,
And now his pee comes out in two streams.

D33p’s wildlife duo and a trio of others:

Deep into the whisky I get in fear
Of sodomy at the hands of a deer
They screech and they buck
And with antlers they fuck
My cornhole like garden shears.

My taint was all that was left
When the deer found my anal cleft
Yes, I was ripped asunder
By that cock of thunder
And felt his ballsack’s mighty heft.

Chad’s goatee can’t be parted
Why don’t you finish what you started
And grow that shit out
Then there’ll be no doubt
That you are fucking retarded.

Whenever Chad Ku**er calls
I’m driven to eat reuben balls
Liz’s toilet I will clog
With my massive log
If I don’t explode in the hall.

Deep in the caverns of Jean
I washed my cock clean
She named it Grover
Then she rolled over
and I made her anus gleam.

I had a nifty quartet myself, along with a poop chain:

Every time that our friend Chris
Realizes that he needs a piss
He has to take out
The plug from his spout
That was messed up during his briss.

For his going- away present, Jeff
Begged Darren to imitate Sheff.
Jeff found Sheff quite exciting
And rather inviting
Balled him till there was nothing left.

To bring up multiple orgasms
In a lim'rick is to open up chasms
Fights twixt women and men
But the girls falter when
They're distracted by ongoing spasms.

She told him that she could wear white.
He found the truth out on their wedding night.
He cried, "You're a hoor!"
She replied, "No, I'm pure!
Your brothers and dad don't count, right?"


I felt I was out of the loop
With the combo of sexy and poop.
Still, I felt I should try it
But wanted no disease by it,
So I boiled it and smeared him with goop.

I looked at him, lying there with my feces
All stuck in his chest hair and creases.
When he started to drool,
I just lost my cool.
I ran - left him naked and greasy.

I felt kind of bad after that.
I returned to him on whom I'd shat -
or is it shitten?
Anyway, I was smitten
To see him wearing my poo as a hat.

Got a vote from Gangles with the "shitten" line. Ah, conjugation.

Atalanta’s limericks also featured disturbing linguistic shenanigans:

I’ve got it real good for a man who speaks Spanish,
but I hear the guy’s hung like a radish.
Still, with pene pequeño,
sexto esta muy, muy bueno;
we fuck and then smoke a big bowl of hashish.

Even though I’m a girl, my limericks are startling.
Fuck you! I’ll write about pussies and pussy farting,
I’ll write ‘bout your Johnson, your schlong,
What I did to your dad, to your mom,
To your dog, too, while he was bleeding and barking.

I’ve asked him, but Chris won’t show me his wiener,
Perhaps because it’s attached with a carabineer.
Look, the guy’s dick is real thin,
But I dream of pulling the pin,
Then he’d just have some balls, and I could use it in my vageener.

Honestly, Atalanta, vageener? Where do you get such words?

And tonight, we bought rugs at Pier One, went grocery shopping, and made some mushroom risotto at Highland (molto delizioso!). I feel like I’ve been on a three-day date – not sure what I’m expected to do at this point. I can’t just shake Atalanta’s hand and go home.

Don’t worry, (Don’t Call Me) Tina; whatever happens, we’ll clean up after. Probably lots of Family Guy and card-making. But thanks to our weight-room spree, whatever we do, it'll hurt (so good) - it even hurts to blog. The end.

I should have gone to Perkins. Yes, for grad school.

GOD FUCKING DAMN MOTHERFUCKING BASTARDS.

They towed the van.

FUCK SHIT PISS CHRIST.

“They” = Mankato, which is in a state of snow emergency (apparently, though things seem fine to me). I knew about the snow emergency yesterday, when a little bar ran across the bottom of the TV screen while Ivanovich was watching football. Mankato in Snow Emergency, it cried tinnily. No Parking on City Streets. I went outside and moved the car into the bottom of the driveway, effectively blocking the sidewalk, which I felt pretty bad about. I then shoveled our sidewalk, stoop, driveway, and so on. While shoveling, I watched a few people navigate the front of our van, and I continued to feel bad about blocking the sidewalk. Bad enough that, when I went up to Target and back later in the day (I felt I needed a snow shovel that wasn’t a flimsy plastic shell made to go in the back of Ganglebot’s car for emergency use), I decided to put the car back in the street, since the snowplows hadn’t come near us since ten that morning. I figured that maybe we didn’t count as a city street, since where we used to live on Broad had signs that said No Parking During Snow Emergency and since all the downtown streets had been clear for six hours. Plus, even though I’d shoveled out the driveway for Ganglebot to pull his car up, he could not, since his car is ALSO DEAD (two dead cars in one driveway? It’s beginning to look a lot like Flint) and shall stay where it is till he gets a new heater core or something.

So, long story short, the van was in the street when the wreckers came at 4 AM to tow the cars. Ganglebot and his houseguest ran outside to tell them to stop, but to no avail. You know, if I were a tow truck operator, I’d probably pound on some doors before towing every car on the street. It just seems like a lot of time to be out in the cold (not counting all the money coming in from taking people’s cars). So Gangles left a note for Ivanovich, who is now walking the hill to school to make sure there’s enough money in the account to get the van out of hock.

The real pisser? At 3 AM, I had been in bed, unable to sleep, for about five hours (as per fucking usual), except for an hour in there when I came downstairs to watch the end of Little Miss Sunshine. I thought hard about going to the Perkins in North Mankato, which is perhaps our only 24-hour restaurant these days (seriously, Mankato, what the hell?) to work on some plans. Instead, I decided to just draw blueprints in my mind for another fifteen minutes or so in a last-ditch attempt to sleep. Apparently, it worked; I was dead asleep when the racket started outside my window. So now Ivan’s hair is freezing solid and we have to figure out some way to get to the towing compound, which may be downtown or may be up on Madison, which is much farther a walk when it’s cold out.

Fuck you, Snow Emergency, fuck you.



So Ganglebot’s guest, Art Teacher, is an Ohioan who loves chalk pastels and long walks to the bar. He showed us this very cool art project, and soon we will have decorations on our walls!

Unfortunately, right now I am SO PISSED AT EVERYTHING. AT is an incredibly responsible houseguest who insists on washing the dishes. But, as I found from stepping in a puddle of ice-cold water this morning, though we know the safe side of our sink is no longer safe, people keep using it. We realized that the sink is out of commission last night, when AT (who devised a pretty cool system for using the dead side of the sink) poured a tub of water into the good side and most of it ended up saturating our socks. Someone, though, is still putting water in the drain. So even though the kitchen looks great, I have to get everyone to STOP USING THE SINK! JUST STOP! NOTE THE WATER POURING OUT FROM THE CUPBOARD!


Nine o’clock update: our street looks pretty much the same, except that now there are a bunch of people opening their doors and crying My car!




Plus, I yelled at the dog. He just wanted to play. Fuck.