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the latest waddle:

good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03

elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01

building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19

ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09

my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04

2003-03-05 ... 10:04 p.m.


1. Skank by Christina Aguilera (why has no one done a Christina Aguilera-focused photoblog yet? She's got that whole Twisted Sister/Ru Paul thing going on, and it is fascinating that anyone would voluntarily look like that.)

2. Bourbon!

3. Penetration (again, I'm surprised this hasnít happened yet. All those other abstract-nouns-that-imply-power-relations [Intrusion, Obsession] have been used for perfume.)

4. Under God

5. Homeland Security For Men

6. Orange Alert

7. Smell. The German Expressionist Perfume.

8. CockTease

9. Eau d'Sloppy Joe (smells like cafeteria)

10. Discipline and Punish by Michel Foucault (oh, think of the advertisements! leather! naked butts! Hooray!)

I am having a lot of trouble staying on task today. At work this morning I did a Big Difficult Thing, and then I decided to reward myself for accomplishing the BDT with a little bit of slacktime, and the next thing you know an hour and a half has gone by. My slacktime was nothing special, either, nothing stylish like sneaking out to a bar or committing white-collar crimes. A little bit of e-mail, a little bit of watching the snow, a little bit of making a puppet out of a styrofoam coffee cup, paper clips, and a straw, and then decorating the puppet with markers, and then having the puppet perform Bikini Kill's "New Radio," and it seems I am suddenly the queen of wasting time. Boy howdy did that puppet ever rock out too, you should have seen her. I named her Styrrrofoamalina.


1. I propose we have a moratorium on the titles of any more online journals or weblogs using the words "Random Thoughts." (The phrase "random thoughts" yields nearly 200,000 Google hits, and most are personal sites.) Is this some sneaky workaround to deny agency or responsibility? "Don't blame me, my mind is on shuffle, and everything I think gets spat out directly onto this web page?" I know that I am a pedantic no-fun Stickler For Accuracy, but when a phrase is inaccurate AND overused, it may be time to give it a rest.

2. Today there was a helicopter flying around outside my office window from noon to 4 pm. If this is Illegal Teakettle Surveillance, my company has more resources than I previously thought. Trust no one!

3. I noticed that a Red Lobster, of all things, has opened downtown at Dearborn and Ontario. (For those of you who are not familiar, Red Lobster is a dreadful chain of dreadful seafood restaurants, pretty much synonymous with suburban corporate office parks and nationwide television commercials.) I did a literal double-take on the street since I could not believe my eyes.* Who in their right minds is going to eat at a Red Lobster in downtown Chicago? (And don't say "tourists," because I am pretty sure even they are not that dumb or provincial.) There is exponentially better food mere steps away, everywhere you turn. Food that was not freeze-dried and reconstituted in boiling water, even. I guess some people are like zoo-fattened animals who need the familiar comfort of the same bland food wherever they go, but I personally, even when traveling, would rather take a chance on a BAD or even SLIGHTLY ILL-MAKING meal than choke down some chain restaurant's focus-grouped grub. At least a bad meal is memorable, and then you have a story to tell later.

*Okay, I have had one beer and my associations are all loose and muffled, but you don't even really want to know how long I kicked around some weirdo Macbeth allusion ("Is this a Red Lobster I see before me, the door handle toward my hand?") before realizing that it was totally retarded and I should just quit while I was even slightly ahead. I just had to come clean and confess that particular Sign Of My Impending Breakdown here in my journal.

4. Get high on a bamboo worm.

5. Extremely disturbing plot summaries of Japanese animated porn. Possibly not safe for work. The one about the turtle is possibly not safe for your brain, period.


1. Black sheets. Black sheets seem really cool, when you are young and standing in Target or Wal-Mart, buying your own linens for the first time. But sheets get stains. Especially black sheets. You see, things happen in the bed. Things. Things that stain. If you don't know what I am talking about, meet me at the jungle gym after class.

2. P.J. Squares. I would link to their official site,, but it is way too fucking annoying. You can check it out yourself if you are feeling uncomfortably headache-free and would like to get a real good temple-pounder going. P.J. Squares are like individually wrapped slices of American cheese, only they are peanut butter and jelly. Why? You can't afford a butter knife? The terms of your parole won't allow you to use even a butter knife? YOU ARE TOO GODDAMN LAZY TO WASH A BUTTER KNIFE? I don't get this product. I can't even get behind "it's for kids," because if your kid is really that young and helpless you should be making him or her a sandwich instead of hitting that crack pipe with Jerry Springer blaring, and if your kid is of a reasonable age HE OR SHE MIGHT JUST BENEFIT FROM LEARNING HOW TO MAKE A DAMN SANDWICH. Otherwise the little loser will have to learn it in some community-college "Life Skills" class and THAT'S JUST SAD.

2a. (I had no idea I could get all worked up about convenience-product peanut butter and jelly things. Sorry. Moving on.)

3. On an El platform the other day I saw an anti-choice ad for something called The Rachel Project and it had this tagline: Something Inside Dies After An Abortion. No matter what side of this issue you sit on, is that phrase not in incredibly poor taste?

3. I already told you about how Vanity Fair arrives at my house for free every month, owing to some strange arrangement LT gets as a "small business." He owns a small business all right, but it's not a business called Looking At Young Starlets' Breasts Ltd, so I don't know why Vanity Fair qualifies as a small-business magazine. Anyway, I made the mistake of looking at it yesterday, and besides learning that all models are greasy now (seriously, there were at least five fashion ads with super-shiny greasy models), I learned that Ben Affleck, who has the biggest dumbest face and makes possibly the biggest dumbest movies of anyone alive (I mean, both Armageddon AND Pearl Harbor? Could you at least try to limit yourself to one big-budget craplicious crapfest every five years or so?), is considering running for Congress. Vanity Fair, being its usual ass-kissy celebrity-profile self, doesn't even blink at this but instead makes some joke about the "best abs on the Hill." At which point I threw the magazine across the room, scattering 2,622 blow-in subscription cards everywhere, and then LT had to pull my head out of the oven.


Aliens! Let Us Know What You're Reading At The Very Least!

Pillwear. Classic, timeless jewelry that pays homage to your favorite drugs.

---mimi smartypants expects nothing and is rarely disappointed.


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