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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

2002-08-15 ... 2:57 p.m.


I have a stomachache and I hate my underwear.

Also, why do people call me? Don't they know I hate the phone? Don't they know how aggressive it is to call someone, to demand that you listen to their voice in real time and compose replies to what they are saying? Don't they know that I prefer most of my nonsexual human interaction to be either text-based or to occur in a alcohol-saturated setting? (The sexual stuff could be text-based or alcohol-saturated I guess, but wordless and sober also suits me just fine.)


1. Hindemith is no one's favorite composer.

2. The Eurhythmics are no one's favorite band.

3. No one lives in Wyoming.

4. Corin Tucker and I would be friends, if we knew each other.

5. "Sharkcore" will be the next big thing. It is punk rock songs about sharks (EXTRA TEETH! EXTRA TEETH! IF I STOP SWIMMING I WILL DIE DIE DIE!), and some dogmatic shark ideology to go with it.

6. It is only a matter of time before I grow tall.

7. My cat understands everything I say.

8. In the future we will all communicate using puppets.

9. Numbers wait around in some other-dimensional number realm until there is a quantity that needs to be quantified. (I would explain this one a lot better if we were sprawled on the floor smoking a big fat joint together.)

10. The color yellow was invented to offend me personally.


Potted meat museum.


I'm going to put out a call on some internet bulletin board for poetry submissions for my zine. The bad poems will POUR in, like scalding hot gravy onto the inner thigh of an unsuspecting sleeping person. (Oh yes they will. You have NO IDEA how many people mistakenly think they can write poetry.) (Come quick kids! Mimi Smartypants is sounding like a stuck-up bitch again!) Then I either (a) take those bad poems and publish them as is in my zine, only with trash-talking comments about how very bad they are, or (b) edit them strangely, like replacing every noun in the poem with "vagina" or "obelisk." We'll have some sort of signing-over-copyright, may-be-edited boilerplate, to avoid lawsuits. Then we send contributors their free issue, wait for the hate mail to arrive, and profess to be completely baffled as to why all the bad poets are so upset.


Lionel Hampton, Steve Reich, and Phillip Glass go in together on a used harpsichord they find at a garage sale. Only it's haunted!


I think I really, sincerely, want to become a cholo and get into the whole lowrider thing. I wear baggy pants already, and although my Saturn doesn't currently bounce up and down, I'm sure I could get it tricked out so that it would.


Dorkalicious dork-u-tron things I have done today:

1. Put a small binder clip on the end of my ponytail (I kind of liked having a counterweight to my head) and forgot it was there.

2. Dropped a glob of oatmeal on my shoe.

3. Misheard the Production Director when he asked me a question. Me: "Did you just ask me if I'd seen a buttered moose?"

4. Was at a total loss for what to do with a new category of paperwork I seem to be amassing, so I made a file folder for it labeled "THIS."

However! There are some things I do very well! For instance, just now I decided that my cell phone bill is too high. LT uses his cell phone twice as much as I use mine and his bill is half as much. So I called customer service, bypassed the comatose Automated Menu Lady by stabbing repeatedly at zero, and finally talked to a telephone drone. After verifying all the account information, she said, "What can I do for you today?"

"I think I pay too much for my cell phone service," I said. "I barely ever use my phone and yet the bill is like fifty dollars. I have better things to do with fifty dollars, don't you think? Because I can think of lots of better things to do with fifty dollars."

Silence from the telephone drone. " can I help you?"

Very patiently, I said, "You can fix it so I pay less."

More silence on the other end. My bargaining skills were honed in the Middle East, and I know that whoever talks first at this point loses. Finally, she said, all slow and sweetly baffled, "I'll see if we can get you on a lower-cost plan." Yes!

And thus it was made so. Turns out I was paying a fixed rate of nearly twenty bucks for some sort of unlimited nights and weekends thing, which I really don't need as I never even begin to touch the pile of free minutes. (The heap. The little heap. The impossible heap of free minutes.)

Next stop: the gas company! And ComEd! Give me your account numbers, ye readers, I will lower your bills as well!

---mimi smartypants woke up and smelled the catfood in her bank account.


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