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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

2001-10-29 ... 2:19 p.m.

Here's a link shamelessly swiped via Textism, a smashingly good website written by another virtual human on whom I have a strange little intellectual crush. Where was I? Ah yes: an interview with the overhyped and ultimately rather boring Damien Hirst. Click, read, and wonder why a demented crack-monkey with nothing to say is so famous in the world of "serious art." At least that's what I did.

Here's how I normally behave at a party. I drink cocktails. I try to talk to everyone who seems interesting. I tell funny stories. (At least I think they're funny.) I eat chips. I may even dance a little, in a muted and subdued way, if it is that sort of party. What I do not do is pick a fight with total strangers. That's why my Friday night experience was so very odd, as some young man insisted on engaging me in conversation and then being very odd and contrarian and illogical and more or less trying to provoke me. He attempted to argue with me about film and theater and meaningful work for a while, which I mostly just shrugged off, but his mission in life to disagree with me about absolutely everything quickly became absurd: at one point I made some lighthearted joke about fucking a goat (because nothing gets laughs like bestiality, folks), and this person immediately got on my case about how dare I insinuate that sex with a goat is not real sex, and let's define our terms, and I'm obviously a prude for not being cool and hip and open enough to admit that fucking a goat can ever be construed as a Good Thing. At that point I just had to walk away laughing. Tonight on Face the Nation, a roundtable discussion about the merits of goat buggery.

Saturday night was much better and less combative, tapas and lots of sangria, and snuggling with my very gay and very snuggly friend Dan. He's just so damn snuggly. I think he may be partially composed of fabric softener.

I could go on and on. I could. But I have to leave for the library (I'm down to my last unread book, which means I will soon have nothing new to read, and the very thought makes me shiver in horror), so I'll just post a link of a bear that shits prime numbers and be done with it. Don't let anyone ever tell you the web isn't useful.

---mimi smartypants, who leaves the goats alone.


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