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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

2002-11-07 ... 11:14 a.m.

I give up. I am all jittery and nervous, because if I make one wrong step the world will implode. Oh, you didn't know that? Are you jittery and nervous now too? Quiz: on the left we have Mimi Smartypants, all keyed up about nothing much, and on the right we have a kangaroo rat after five double espressos and a pack of cigarettes, and we just showed it a photo of a great horned owl. Can you tell the difference?

Thus we will have yet another day with no narrative cohesion. If you don't like it send me a self-addressed stamped envelope so I can send you back a knuckle sandwich, and I will throw in some Lack Of Concern For Your Readerly Plight at no extra charge. Or, in the grand zine tradition, if you want to trade some of your Contempt For My Pretentious Web Burblings for my Refusal To Take Internet Writer/Reader Implied Contracts Seriously, that would be cool too.

Hey, maybe I'll use bullet points instead of English transitions. Bullet points are cool, right? We are all a bit touchy since the DC sniping, though, so I am going to call them something nicer, like "cookie points."

 My poem is called "The Thong Is Like A Little Subway Car."

 Funniest instant message ever: Kat pops up in my window (my virtual, computer-based window: we are not regulars on Hollywood Squares or anything), asking, "How do you make a salmon loaf?" Now, thinking fast is my specialty. I assume this must be one of those riddles, like How Much Does A Grecian Urn. "Overpay it and give it high-speed internet access at work?" I reply, which totally baffles Kat, who simply wanted to know if I had any insights into how to use up some canned salmon, because she runs her business from home and when she is not working she is drinking or watching Buffy The Vampire Slayer (do you see why we are friends?), and thus she can't be bothered to do proper grocery shopping and has a tendency to eat like a refugee. (Cue the Tom Petty: Don't! Have! To Eat Like A Refugee!) How do you make a salmon loaf? [Insert your own punchline here.]

 More fun misunderstood headlines: I was reading over some guy's shoulder on the train and I could only see part of a headline but it said something about SINGAPORE DUCK REFORMS and I thought Yeah! Reform school ducks!

 Do you remember when there was a one-to-one correlation with an event and feeling sad? When you fall off your bike, you get sad. When you find out that most of your class thinks you are a huge dork and that they somehow hate you for getting good grades, you get sad. But now it's like one big amorphous blob of sad. Only occasionally is there the direct correlation. Like the time, embarrassingly recently, when LT found me in front of the television weeping at some Animal Planet special about the hippopotamus. This hippopotamus and her baby had to walk and walk forever to find some water, and hippos don't walk very well for long distances so that was a struggle, and then when they finally got to the watering hole it was full of elephants who tried to beat her up and chase her away, but she got all hippo-rageful and stood her hippo ground while her baby drank water, and for some reason the whole thing just made me very sad. Hippo sad.

 What should I have for lunch? I'm thinking maybe a big bowl of grab-ass.

 I think I forgot to mention the sushi waitress who talked to me as if I were a wild animal. This sushi waitress leaned way over my table and asked very softly and gently and compassionately if she could bring me anything to drink, and then when she set down my green tea very gently she gave me a sad smile like "you poor thing," and her manner was so careful and delicate that I thought she might follow up her recitation of the specials with the news that I had terminal cancer. I hope she is like this to everybody and it's not that I looked particularly dangerous or unhinged that day.

 Here's a Gravity's Rainbow paper that I haven't had time to read, so I have no idea if it's complete bullshit or not, but I need to link it for posterity and so I can find it again, so once again you poor people, as "audience," are shoved to the side so that I can use public web space as my personal scratchpaper. Life is not fair.

 Have you seen Nude for Satan? It is terrible. Not terrible in a "good" way, just plain old regular terrible. But it has lots and lots of nudity. And topless lesbian vampires. Who doesn't like topless lesbian vampires? Come on, even your grandma likes topless lesbian vampires. Yes she does. Have you ever asked her? Well, see, then you don't really know. Shut up.


The perfect bar has no particular street address. We find it by memory, and sometimes memory fails and we wander around the neighborhood where it seemed to be last time for several Friday nights in a row, and then just when we give up and donate the perfect bar to the mental scrap heap, there it is. Most people, if they have ever heard of it, wouldn't dare go in and if they did go in, they wouldn't like it and they wouldn't stay. That way the perfect bar is reserved for you and your riffraff friends. Here's the most important features of the perfect bar:

a. The perfect bar is dark, dark, dark. The floor is a little bit sticky but nothing alarming. Nobody knows your name and nobody is particularly glad you came.

b. It has every Pixies album on the jukebox. And some Journey. And the funeral music from Gotterdammerung.

c. The tables are covered in butcher paper and there are markers for drawing.

d. No pool table, dartboards, or video games. Just drinking. And drawing, and writing fake poetry-slam poetry, and talking. And drinking. I already said drinking. Drinking.

e. The perfect bar has me in it. And I am in a good mood (I might call my laughter and near-constant humor-making "infectious," you might call it "annoying"). I am not overtired. When I am overtired even the slightest bit of alcohol sometimes turns me into a Lurching Hobo Of Despair.

f. The perfect bar has you in it. You won $1000 at the Amateur Thong Contest downtown last night, you entered as a joke but it turns out your ass is very popular with the Rush Street crowd, and you are spending all your winnings on drinks for us. You are in a good mood too.


Is patronized solely by shrieking/bellowing (depending on gender) 21-year-olds who have taken way too much asthma medicine because they heard it contains "trace amounts of speed." The bar serves food; however, it's a limited menu of ostrich jerky and cheese fries. Oh, cheese fries aren't so bad, you say? Well, they use provolone and it forms a sort of Magic Shell effect over the heap of fries. Jukebox? Glad you asked. It is really loud and has a lot of Vietnamese pop music, awful techno, and the greatest hits of Ratt. Sure, it's funny at first. And there is a weird smell in the bathroom and some girl is always crying in there. Let's leave.


I hate Irish bars. Well, if they are just normal Chicago old-man shot-and-a-beer bars that happen to be owned by an Irish-named guy, that's fine, but I hate bars that try to make a point of their Irishness, because I just don't care. LT and I were in the car and thinking of some over-the-top names for fake Irish bars:

Paddy Mac's Shamrock Station

Finnegan's Lake...O’Whiskey

O'Paddy McFlanagin’s

Darby Upchuck

The Potato Pub

Yer Brother's A Faggot And Yer Sister's A Whore Bar And Grill

The Naked Leprechaun


Selenium! I am taking selenium occasionally now. Until they start making vitamin-enriched gummi worms or beer supplemented with minerals, I figure it's my best shot. I like taking vitamins. I'm so good at swallowing pills, I should have been Judy Garland. I also like taking vitamins because I like having Neon Vitamin Pee. It gives me a sense of accomplishment: "Okay, I stayed in bed all day but dude! My urine is fluorescent!" However, I think I will not take too much more of this. Sounds like liver damage is improbable but better safe than sorry. Besides, liver damage should be fun.


I got a fortune cookie recently and the fortune was worthy of taping up on my computer: YOU WILL PARTICIPATE IN A GALA AFFAIR. So excited I can hardly sit still. My tiara is polished and ready to go. And elbow-length gloves, back from the cleaners? Check.

---mimi smartypants was treated for rugburn and released.


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