I'm headed to Little Rock, Arkansas this weekend for a wedding. I'm excited, as it's an excuse to buy a new suit. Every time I travel there, I'm reminded of an incident back at my first high school, an all-boys joint known as St. Louis Priory. The key piece of information for this story is that at that time, almost every kid took French for a few years.
I was running track as a Freshman, and an intense maniac, a Senior who was the de facto captain of the team, ran up alongside me. He asked me why I wasn't going to make the track meet that weekend, as his primary duty was to intimidate 14 year olds into running faster. I replied that I was headed to Little Rock.
For some reason, he replied that "You know, in French, they call that Petite Rock." I shot back, "No, they'd call it Petite Pierre"* He looked infuriated, and said something to the effect of "Hey Drew, how about you shut the f**k up!"
I think he may have had me run an extra lap or two. But I remember faking like it was really difficult, so, pleased that I'd been sufficiently tortured, he'd let me stop. It was easy to run the additional distance, because at the time I knew that while he was running around a rubber ring that weekend, I'd be wiping the condensation from the ring of a lemonade glass in warm ol' Arkansas. Sucker!!
*Pierre means "rock" in French
Too many times, we only hear bad news because bad news is what sells. I was talking to someone this past weekend, and she said that she had nothing left on the internet to view. She'd reached the edge. And I said, yeah you know that CNN will have a mother-kills-child story on the front page. Or father off the bridge, she added. Well, check out what I was greeted with yesterday.
Well I'm no sellout, so I'm going to report some good news. In YouTube form.
First up is a video of me shaking a leg at a recent party. Yes, you heard that right. I'm in a blue shirt in the video, humping a wall until shortly after 2:00 through. But the last :20 are killer. And not killer in the downer sense of the word (I'm looking at you, CNN with the hiker junk). I get one sweet move in, watch for it!
Next there's one of my friends' new baby boy, adopted from Ethiopia. Follow it all at their blog, or just kick back and watch the cute little guy here.
Hope these put a smile on your face!
If I had to come up with a porno, you know like if a guy came up to me and put a gun to my head in a dark alley, and said "Hey, kid, use that great head of yours to come up with a plot for a porno, or your brains and that wall are going to get mighty well acquainted," I'd call it MOTHBALLS.
It obviously would star a half woman/half moth - her genetic makeup would be covered in flashbacks, showing actual "genetic makeup." This 1/2 and 1/2 (I'd call her Susie Roth (part moth)) would be inexplicably drawn to bright lights, moving from rural Kansas to the bright lights of Wichita. The obvious dances of love would ensue, and since I'd model it after the great Grecian dramas, it would be complete with a chorus (played by the Flaming Lips, obviously) and a tragic end to our heroine.
The tagline would be "Imagine 'the Fly,' if Jeff Goldblum had jugs, and cross it with Antigone... and you have MOTHBALLS"
Some things about women are oddly hot. Like when a girl goes through her stealing phase, almost exclusively in high school, usually involving makeup. Or when a girl throws up the middle finger. Or is into gangster rap.
Probably the hottest of the hot is when women form a posse of vigilantes that beat up men who abuse their wives in misogynist societies. Case in point, VICE Magazine recently ran a piece on a group of women in India who wear all pink and basically go around beating abusive men to a pulp. They're called the Gulabi Gang, and the most fascinating thing about them is their precise skills with giant sticks. Reminds me of a southern vigilante from a favorite movie of my father's and mine.
Once I checked all the locks at my apartment and armed the burglar alarm, I tried to forget the image of a bunch of pink women beating me up for all the sexist jokes I'd told over the years. So I picked up my latest read, The Royal Family, by William T. Vollman. The story involves a gang of prostitutes led by a pimp-ess, and how together they are stronger than the individual parts. The leader is infinitely fearless, not to mention sexually surreal.
So of course I decided to venture outside, checking behind me every few minutes for giant sticks. I ended up at the gym. And what did I see? 10 women looking to fight me. I didn't stand a chance.
So, I've said some crazy stuff after my "spells." Usually, I have no recollection of these quips, unless someone clues me in. Apparently I said "Oh calm down you old battleaxe" to my mom once. Well, my friend told me that I was talking/typing a little odd mid-seizure. Like what, I asked. I then realized that I have my chats logged, so... behold the glory of a brain malfunctioning. [I think I'd taken my liquid medicine by this point.]
S****a: haha i bet youre feeling just great right about now
me: like jorge harrison playing sitar with jeus chirist hisssssself]
Come to think of it, George Harrison always seemed to have that nice and relaxed vibe, you know?
So I decided to resurrect this unpopular feature with a new twist. I'm going to put up a YouTube video, then have what an alien from outer space would say, if he/she/he-she (hey, aliens have weird nads probably) somehow had earthly Internet access. And really liked to frequent YouTube, but didn't quite understand humans through it. Ok, I hope that explains it... enjoy!
Thumbelina, the Martian midget hooker from Total Recall, would say...
"Wait... he's a midget? In reflective clothing? Is he single?"