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Thursday, May 31, 2007

Now There's a Joker

Anyone else make a little pee pee? Heath Ledger looks fucked up scary. Now I can't wait for The Dark Knight!

December Spawned a Monster

Congratulations to new iFriend, Stacia Kane aka December Quinn (the cops are gonna have a hard time tracking her down, because neither of those are her real name). She sold her first urban fantasy novel, Personal Demons. The premise rocks! Check it out over at her blog or at Fangs, Fur, and Fey where she's our newest member. As December, she's been writing naughtiness for the masses. We love that. Go make her feel loved, but no flashing you pervs.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

The Official Road Trip Rant, Part Four: The Exhaustion Pits of Jellystone

I don't have a whole lot to say about the Cody Comfort Inn. They had wi-fi and make-you-own waffles, but a horrible bed. The count at this point is 6 nights of tossing and turning. Tired? I guess you could say that. Nonetheless, we're out the door by 7 am, and off to...

Day 1: It's Jellystone, Boo Boo

After the previous day's WRONG TURN into JUDGMENT NIGHT, the last thing we wanted to see was miles and miles of dirt road. So what's the first thing we encounter at Yellowstone? But only nine miles of it and there was a pilot car.

We forgot about it soon after as we ran into our first animal sighting, a black bear. It was mingling with a herd of bison and swatting some pesky crows away from some food. The zoom on the camera was useless so I couldn't show you anything more than a field with some black dots on it.

Our first stop was these bubbling mud pits:

Do I have to tell you, the steam coming off there smelled like egg day at the potato salad factory? I think you get it. If not, like a match, blow it out and shove the burnt in up your nose. There was apparently another attraction on the hill above this spot, but this bison:

...kept making death threats as we approached. We'd been given a flyer with our Yellowstone literature to avoid the bison, as they'd been goring guests. Goring them. I'm reminded of some party guests I'd like to gore. I never knew it was an option. You learn something new everyday. Thanks bison.

Lots of pretty vistas at Yellowstone and not so much to make fun of, unless you have a tendency to provide voice-over for wildlife, which Caroline and I are known to do. So, along with...
...beautiful waterfall, and...

...bizarre Mammoth Hot Springs geo-thermals, you get...

...surly elk, who say things like: "Move along, bitches. This is my grass." And...

"This is the bison lane. Learn to drive, mother f**ker!"

So on to my favorite thing about Yellowstone, and it's not Old Faithful, which I'm confident I could recreate with a Fleet Enema, a cigarette, and a bag of sand (don't think about it too hard). No. My favorite thing was the prismatic springs in the geyser basins. Likey right here:

Sure, they smell like anus, but the colors were amazing. Here's a better shot of that:


We had reservations at the Old Faithful Snow Lodge, which is the newish hotel on the property, not to mention the most expensive night of our stay. That said, does it surprise you that I didn't sleep at all? No air conditioning in a two hundred dollar a night room? What's wrong with this picture? It was a f**king oven. I did get a chance to catch up on my reading and tore through a good size chunk of The Lust Lizard in the hotel lobby. No TV, either. I'm surprised they didn't offer morning hosedowns, in lieu of showers. Experience the luxury.

Day 8: Can We Just Find Civilization?

In the morning, we shambled off to Old Faithful and caught the morning show (it erupts every ninety minutes, much like Caroline's Black Hills regurgitation). Here's that one:

Of course, we had to wait a few minutes to snap this shot. Who can blame me for getting a little peckish.

As we got back to the room, and collapsed on the prehistoric bedding (stone-like), it was like we didn't have to have a discussion. We just both knew--thank god for this symbiotic relationship--it was time to go.

Next Stop Grand Tetons and Jackson Hole (civilization!)

It was a short drive, too. The Tetons are beautiful, although Caroline shortened them further to just Teets. Here they are in all there enormous cup-size majesty:
A half hour later, which felt like days in our blurred vision and brain cloud (yes, that is a Joe Versus the Volcano reference), we made the next hotel:


No. Hell no. Not that one (do you see the little x? That can't bode well), ours was the Teton Mountain Lodge. So nice, the people and the room. Because we couldn't check in we had to drag our tired asses into Jackson Hole to witness the spectacle that is Antlerfest. There was a big auction going on and some guy won an arch made of, what else, antlers for $51,000. Aren't they just collected after a molt? The streets were littered with horns, everywhere horns and then, the first sign of civilization. Haagen Dazs. Have you tried the Cinnamon Dulce de Leche? Oh my god, irresistible. We had some really excellent Thai for dinner (Bon Appe Thai). The town is crammed with Southern California transplants, and they brought their lifestyle with them, thank God. Exactly what we needed.

Next Stop: Disney's newest park, Boiseland, and the Last Push Home

Monday, May 28, 2007

The Official Road Trip Rant, Part Three: Caves and Other Alien Attractions

On with it...

Day 5: There are No Jewels in this Cave

The morning started off smooth. Caroline's vomiting transformed into a warm bubbling caldera of diarrhea (and Yellowstone was another two days away, even), but the Pepto made some impact, and she felt well enough to do the Jewel Caves. So we were off. Now when I mentioned spelunking, I think some of you thought we were attaching ropes to ourselves or donning those funny hard hats with flashlights taped to the top. Let's clear that up right now. Our spelunking is caves with stairs, artificial lighting and a park ranger guide. And that's what we got, albeit moderately strenuous (over 700 stairs) and very deep 300 some feet down.

There's some weird shit in those caves and not Caroline's no matter what the Rangers say. Here's some of the pictures that turned out:

What's that weird glow?

I know it looks like vomit, but that's actually stone. Gross, right?


The closest thing to jewels were the veins of crystals, like this one.
Don't touch, bitches!

The ranger kept threatening that if we touched it we'd be prosecuted. He did enjoy trying to scare everyone, which was cool. He turned off all the lights, which was so amazingly dark it made the hills outside Coeur D'Alene seem like a disco. He told a story about how cave explorers had to fit through passages 7 1/2 inches high, by turning their heads, exhaling until their lungs were empty, and pushing through with their toes. Claustrophobia, anyone?

My favorite picture didn't turn out, so let me describe: there was a formation down there called cave bacon. Actually the name is self-explanatory. Totally cool, like a 6 foot tall piece of bacon hanging on a wall. But is it art?

From the Jewel Caves, we embarked on the biggest waste of time ever, The Mammoth Graveyard. Sounds really cool, right? Not so much. It looks so fake and it's really just this dig where they've replaced all the bones they've found with plastic replicas. It made me want to vandalize, until I saw this...

I know it's blurry, but that Indian's holding his bone. I nearly peed.

Tourist shit done for the day, we took in 28 Weeks Later, which was pretty fucking great, as far as sequels go. Except for these Rapid City Girls sitting in front of us. It seems they'd bought out the candy section, and were hyper as hell, shouting the answers to the pre-movie trivia, over and over. Luckily for us, they lapsed into diabetic comas as the previews began. And just as I was about to stand and yell, "We're from Tacoma, bitch. Don't you know I got a gun?"

Day 6: The Devil's in the Tower, or Too Lazy to Hike to Medicine Wheel

Three day's of Lindsay Wagner's Torture Number Bed was enough for us. We were more than happy to vacate the Radisson. We hit the most incompetent Starbuck's ever and nearly hurled on the dry pastries that could only have been pony expressed to South Dakota from Seattle. Time to go. But wait, two quick South Dakota items…

When I was nine years old, we moved from Portugal to Washington, driving all the way from New York. One of my fondest memories ('cause I'm a sick fucker) took place in this parking lot. I had whined and badgered my parents to take me to the Reptile Gardens until they gave in, and it's okay as far as roadside attractions go (we didn't go this time), but when we got back to the car, my father saw that someone had slapped a bumper sticker on the car. He went ballistic. I glowed.

Next up, what is the last thing you'd expect to find in Rapid City, South Dakota? Come on, humor me. How about...
...the Berlin Wall? Didn't see that one comin' did ya? I remember the wall from a youthful visit to Germany and this must have been a chunk from way off in bumfuckgarten, because the wall I remember was covered in graffiti. Unless they cleaned it, and in that case isn't it ruined like those furniture pieces people painted and brought on Antiques Roadshow?

Back to the traveling

We made Devil's Tower in about an hour. You remember the place from Close Encounters, and if not, here's a reminder:


Sucks, right? No aliens or nothin' and those horses aren't even close to collapsing from anthrax. Quite a disappointment. If I had some capital, I'd open a UFO center up near the base of that rock, or at least a titty bar (shout out to EZ-OZ!).

On the way across Wyoming to Cody, you must cross the Bighorns, which are pretty tall mountains (10,000 feet). Getting there was a little bit of a hassle. Our outdated atlas led us on an hour and a half detour down dirt roads, such as this:

Nightmarish hell? You bet. Twelve miles in a Pigpen swirl of dust, the Civic Hybrid no likey.

The rest of the drive was amazing beautiful scenery (take my word for it Blogger is getting a little testy with the amount of pictures in this post), and a driveby of Medicine Wheel. Which we didn't even know was up there or what it was, really. I was kicking myself until I researched it at the hotel in Cody that night and went, eh, it's rocks in the ground.

Next time: The Exhaustion Pits of Jellystone

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Watch out for Mosquita!

In honor of my latest read (see below), let's go to prison with America's Sweetheart.



That's Alanna Ubach taking a beating, we love her!

Book Review: The Blade Itself by Marcus Sakey



Okay, so I finished Marcus Sakey's The Blade Itself in two sittings. You know what that means: read that shit peeps! Why so much love? Besides the fact that it's a kick ass suspense thriller, Sakey makes a great case for prison reform. If there's anyone out there who thinks America's prisons serve a purpose other than to escalate violent crime, please pick up a book. This system's been broken forever. There's no rehab going on in there, don't kid yourself.

Case in point, Danny and his partner, Evan, are small time thieves, until Evan takes things too far one night during a pawnshop heist. Things get bloody and Danny, who's the brains of the duo, takes off into the night. Evan is sent up to Statesville prison, where he learns to deal out violence to survive. After 7 years, he's ready for a big score and to teach Danny a lesson for running out.

I don't like to give anything away, you guys know that. But don't think for a second that you know where this one's going, you don't. Sakey's got a real knack for plotting, Lehane style. This Blade is as sharp as a razor. Read it.

Next Book:Tantalize by Cynthia Leitich Smith

Friday, May 25, 2007

The Official Road Trip Rant, Part Two: Dangerous Projectiles

I know, I know. Here we go again with even more self indulgent musings. I might as well set up a solo masturbation website. But wait. This is where it happens, or starts, or…something. Can't you just placate?

Day 3: The Last Toilet on Earth

We departed Billings bitter for spending too much time searching for espresso; it's a good thing City Brew had decent coffee or we'd have brought the place down-such is our standard morning mood. But never a couple to dwell, Caroline and I headed off to Crow Agency and a shortcut (cue threatening music).

The Crow reservation is about 45 minutes out of town and promises to shave an hour off the drive to South Dakota. It has a billboard that says so, and everything. So it had to be true.

First stop was right here:
Any guesses? Yep, that's the spot where Custer fell, and let me just tell you. Last stand, my ass. It was a massacre, those troops were surrounded and just sat in this little pockmark on the hill. Yay indians! They get the last laugh, too. Because their memorial is way cooler:
Oh, wait…Oops, I'm sorry. That's a dilapidated teepee thing we passed on the res highway. Seriously, even this is cooler than the Custer monument, which is just a stone pylon. I guess I'm forcing myself to move along. So, the road is two lane and empty. We get about fifteen minutes down and a road work flagger has us pull over and threatens that the speed limit is 25 for the next 9 miles. This is more difficult than it sounds, since I'm velocitized to 75, and have felt the need to relieve myself. But we make it through...

to the reservation IGA.

Now, I wish wish wish I had the nerve to bring a camera into this grocery *gag* store, but I couldn't bring myself to, for fear of embarassing anyone by taking a picture of the WALL OF SHAME!!! You know how some stores will tape up bad checks as a deterent? Well the IGA probably used to do that, before things went horribly wrong. Let's say you grabbed a couple of bottles of water and a bag of Funyons for the road--you have to buy something to use the john, right--and you're waiting quietly at the cash register for your total, when you start to see names (Shoulderblade, Little Deer, etc.) in huge block letters across the front wall of the store. Next to these names are their totals ($300, $500), big grocery money. Above them all, and there are tons, it says:

The Following Are NOT Allowed Back In The IGA Until They Pay!!!

We must have looked like epileptics in our silent laughter. I was almost ashamed. Almost.

Which is why, even though I used the IGA's padlocked unisex bathroom, I had to go again within a half hour. That's right: Karma. Why can't I be sensitive? Unfortunately, this is what I was looking at instead of another toilet:
For TWO FUCKING HOURS. And before you question why I couldn't just piss on the side of the road or in a bottle, know that it is super windy, and number two was knocking. When we finally came up on a gas station, I had that loosening feeling of proximity, it turned out to be closed due to a "County Wide Power Outage." Hell, people.

Hell.

The next restroom is in South Dakota. Long story short, I make it, but only because I do my kegels. And you do save an hour going through Crow. It's true.

We get to Rapid City, check in and play with the sleep number bed at the Radisson, which is not nearly as comfortable as this woman would lead you to believe. So that night we eat at Fuddruckers, which is not nearly as sexy as it sounds. I'm probably not telling you anything you don't already know, and I'm sure you all have a Fuddruckers, since we saw them huddled everywhere but Washington. Bear with, it was our first time, and those chili cheese fries were not gentle. Nor was the Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough Ice Cream that Caroline tore through, for on that very next morning…


Day 4: Rapid City Splats

Diarrhea is one thing--I've been cursed with a certain stress induced bowel liquification as many of you know. Vomiting is another, Caroline's morning of sour stomach, quickly turned into a pukefest. Twelve times, my poor baby hurled. Let's see.

It started here and here:












And wait, even at Crazy Horse:
What's George looking at in this next shot?
That's right, we pulled over for another bout with the vomit. So, I'm getting pretty stressed out. We're in the middle of nowhere. No Pepto anywhere, and this is beginning to seem like either motion sickness or food poisoning. She wants to continue. We get to Rushmore, and I take off to the bathroom, due to my stress-related bowels, and promptly drop my shorts into what?

Did you guess piss?

Wrong! 'Cause it's...

What else would you expect to be on the floor of a public men's room than a Hershey's kiss-sized dollop of the icky brown? My day's complete and we call it done. Here's the money shot on Rushmore:
My favorite, from inside a little cave. Do you need an ending? Alright. I talked to a pharmacist at Albertson's. We decided it was either bacteria or food poisoning. She Pepto Maxed it.

Next up: We Spelunk but Don't Ask us to Hike to Medicine Wheel.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Peaches Kicks it with Iggy

And there's zombies? Drool.

Pleasing the Masses, since 2006

I'm a frequent sitemeter checker, not quite an obsessive, but it's at minimum a daily occurrence. My favorite thing to look at is the googlers. I'm proud to provide the kind of quality programming that attracts the following searches.

• "daddy's special girl"
• "armpit licking stories"
• "jared padalecki paper doll"
• "dirty burlesque"
• "mark henrys damned"

It makes me feel all warm inside.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Book Review: The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove



In my ongoing quest to read everything Chris Moore commits to paper, I've hit upon his psychotpharmacology/sea monster saga The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove. What do the two have in common you ask? Apparently serotonin and, oh yeah, humping. Steve, the titular "Lust Lizard" is my new favorite horny sea monster. When the town shrink loses a client to suicide, she blames the Prozac and replaces all her client's medications with placebos. Lucky for Steve, who has a particular magnetism to the depressed, and special prehistoric needs.

Set in Moore's oft visited Pine Cove, Lust Lizard is populated by some of the same amazing characters as Practical Demonkeeping and Stupidest Angel. New to this one is Catfish Jefferson a blues man with inside info on the monster. Catfish may be my favorite of Moore's creations so far; he's foulmouthed and saucy and makes old people sex a bearable literary experience.

This author inspires me. The pieces of his stories are so seemingly unconnectable, he must have a magic wand to make them fit. Brilliant. Read it.

Next Book:The Blade Itself: A Novel by Marcus Sakey

Tuesday, May 22, 2007

The Official Road Trip Rant, Part One: Smelly Portents

On with the show, an event so pooptacular it has to be thinned out and spattered over five days, so all you greedy f**kers will have to make do with two days at a time.

Day 1: From the Ghettos of Lakewood to the Shores of Skinhead Lake

That's Lakewood, Washington, for those in the know, the other is Coeur D'Alene, Idaho––I never actually saw a skinhead there, but who am I to interfere with stereotyping. The drive was the same as it always is: boring. This is our second time across Eastern Washington, which despite our state's nickname is NOT evergreen, but desert-lite. An odd source of inspiration, it did spark some interesting ideas about dust devils and flood plain Krackens.

We made Coeur D'Alene in 6 hours and checked in to the Red Lion at Post Falls. We never actually saw a falls but the river was adequate. I have to say, if I were a judger…oh…wait…never mind. The front of the hotel looked like the projects. It just did. I was nervous about checking in, even, but it turned out to be fine. Coeur D'Alene is a big lake surrounded by a boozy college town. It was packed. We ended up in the outskirts for dinner, an Italian place called Tomato Street, which was actually pretty good. They offered my favorite eatery time waster the paper tablecloth and can of crayons. We didn't have the camera with so might I offer you this quick recreation of the aftermath:



What would have to happen? That's right the pseudo-post-adolescent waiter had to catch me. It went like this…

Waiter: "Did I catch you drawing something naughty?"
Me: "It's a turd."
Waiter: "Awesome. More water?"

The best bit is after he left, my wife unveiled her own drawing of a turd. She had it hidden under her sly little hand as if that deuce were an ace.

The town is also the home of our niece, so we made our appearance and sped off to the casino ($80 down). On the way back––windy tight road––we got a taste of night in the country. This kind of dark may be perfectly acceptable to y'all country folk, but we were a little freaked out. It was the definition of pitch black (cue Vin Diesel), just nothing, and no stars either, disturbing.

Dum-da-da-dum

Day 2: Over the Hills and Through the Woods to…to…Where the Hell are We?


Okay, so did you love that movie Dante's Peak? No? Well I did and it was filmed in a town in Idaho, right on I-90. The place is Wallace and it's famous for that, and whores. That's right, WHORES. There's even a Bordello museum, if that's what gets you going. And since that's really super interesting, why then am I offering a picture of these seemingly innocuous poles?

No reason, they just came up on the side of the road and caused us to narrow our eyes and pick through our brains for their purpose. They're fountains, of course, but their location is the oddity. Positioned right next to the freeway––I'm talking 5 feet away––they are proudly described as Elmer's Fountains (end of description). Do these poles have some connection to Wallace's whores? We may never know.

The day's real showstopper was our excursion to Butte, Montana, home of the Berkely Pit. A massive hole in the ground filled with TOXIC WASTE? You've got to love that. Entry was free, even. I'd have paid twice that. To get to the pit you had to go through this tunnel:


And no. The metaphoric value of passing through this pipe to get to a big shithole is not lost on me.

The pit itself is massive and the picture is going to do nothing to allay that but here it is anyway:



And one last thing:



That's Our Lady of the Rockies looking over the slurry of chemicals in this toxic town. Why? Why?

After our self-tour we stopped by the Butte KFC/A&W, because the only thing that could cleanse our minds of The Madonna of the Toxins was artificial chili flavoring from the filthiest fast food restaurant in the nation. Our root beer float specialist's name was Goodgun'z (I'm not making that up), a nice enough fellow but having a stressful day as evidenced by this statement:

"I'm going to have a nervous breakdown."

You can only ask a guy to make so many floats at one time. Let me tell you, three's the limit.

As a finale for day two, someone arranged for road work and a nasty storm to greet us in Billings. It looked a little like this:



Have I told you about my lightning phobia? Good thing the interstate had turned into a lake, I was too busy hydroplaning to notice the bolts of death all around me. Obviously we made it through to the Holiday Inn where we were promptly registered into their final room near the staff break room. It was lovely.


Next time: The Reservation IGA and Rapid City Splats. See you then.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

A Quick Ray of Sunlight into my Otherwise Dreary Blog

Boise, Idaho is surprisingly adrift in trendy restaurant choices. We found this out as we've run out of clean clothing (this will be discussed at length on my next post: The Official Road Trip Rant) and would sooner check into the nearest homeless shelter than waste time at a laudromat. So we drove around Caucasia and found a mall.

Ohmmmm!

Clothing acquired, we found ourselves surrounded by Cheesecake Factories, PF Changs and the occasional Fuddruckers (oddly coinciding with the appearance of DRFUDGE in his big blue truck, a proctologist we decided, after much debate on the brown).

Check back in on Wednesday, I have pictures (but sadly none of DRFUDGE)…

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Cody's Got the Wi-Fi

Eight hours of driving today from Rapid City, SD to Cody, Wy. Why so long? Two words: old map. Seems our road atlas wanted us to be killed ala Chainsaw Massacre.

They thought they were taking a shortcut, they should have known they were in danger when the highway turned to dirt road, and two lanes turned into one. But no…

Twelve miles on a dirt road, people! Nothing as far as the eye could see.

Nothing!

(pictures when we get back, if we get back)

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Postcard from the Road, without the Postcard

I'm writing you from Radisson's (Caroline and I have taken to adding possessives to everything, boredom takes its toll's) in South Dakota. I tapped into a weak wi-fi signal, otherwise this is a technological vacuum. Adding insult to injury (my favorite thing to do), I left the camera's USB cable at home, so you can't see nothin' and so I ain't sayin' nothin'.

Except.

My wife has motion sickness and/or food poisoning, which is slowly running its course, down the side of the car. So we're knee deep in vomit, dramamine and Pepto MAX. It's super fun.

Cross your fingers for a quick recovery, we're set for a spelunking tour tomorrow. I'm crossing everything. Everything.

Friday, May 11, 2007

A Peek at the New One…

Still getting ready for the road trip tomorrow. I'm on my 7th load of laundry; I started last night while cleaning up the first few chapters of the new YA series, lovingly titled The Velvet and Nyx Mysteries. This particular book is called Most Likely to Dismember. Snazzy, probably won't stick, who knows? Now I don't know a damn thing about the limits of YA, my agent says not to worry about that, so I didn't. Here are some slices from the first four chapters (cover your children's eyes):

• Zit lust
• Avante Goths
• Armpit licking
• Piercings below the belt
• Tripping a cheerleader
• Pottymouth burnout teachers
• The Fatties, led by a wheelchair bound thug, Horsey
• Fanatical Pro-life Single Mother Gang
• The accuracy of yearbook prophecies
• A severed arm

Am I on the right track? We'll see I'm sending it off to Jim for a look see. I'll let you all know.

Oh…and posting around here may dwindle over the next couple of weeks, due to lack of access in the great plains. We'll see.

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Two Days until the Road Trip of the Living Dead!

I'm in countdown mode for the fact gathering mission, also known as the Road Trip of the Living Dead. My goal is to create a traceable route for readers, and then pair up real circus side-show roadside attractions with my own special brand of fictional stomach churners.

So, yesterday I went shopping for the usual; camera batteries, bigger memory card, CDs (Feist, Silversun Pickups, both remarkable). But when I got to Target to pick up a Mother's Day card (a holiday I won't be around to celebrate, so it's been shoved back until the 27th: make sure to change it on your own calender), this woman was blocking the cards with her cart. I had to reach over her rude cart to grab my selections. The bitch saw me, too. Could she be bothered to move her cart. The word you're looking for is no. Deep breathing ensued.

Now, on to my argument with Target. What the hell is up with Mossimo? That's like a company in Jersey, with an italian name to make it sound cool. They've got to be cutting their denim in Micronesia 'cause the sizes are way off. Like by two sizes. Assholes. I had to go to Old Navy where a 38 is a 38. Thank you, but I prefer zaftig.

I think I'm breaking up with Target. That means you can't talk to them either. I know. I know. It's hard to be in the middle. You'll adjust.

'Til tomorrow.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Book Review: The Dead Father's Club by Matt Haig



I was hesitant to invest much time in what I initially thought was a Curious Incident clone, so you can imagine my surprise: I absolutely loved Matt Haig's The Dead Fathers Club. As an update of Hamlet from a child's perspective, the book is spot on. The prose is conversational and accurate to kidspeak. It's quite an accomplishment.

The story is familiar, son's uncle kills his father, then marries mother, accidental murder occurs––it's Hamlet. What is not familiar is the author's ability to make you forget you know what's coming. The ghosts of the murdered vs. psychiatric problems issue is played out for creepy effect.

If this were North Dakota I'd say it was super good. I'll say it anyway.

Next Book:The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove by Christopher Moore. The obsession continues, despite a refusal for an advance quote, I might add. That's commitment.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

Looking to Redecorate?



This is that other book Chuckles gave out as swag. It's called Obscene Interiors: Hardcore Amateur Decor by Justin Jorgensen, with a forward by style guru Todd Oldham. The premise is this: Justin scoured the online personal ads for the most perverse pictures and then blanked out just the person from the image. From there it's a free-for-all critique on the f**ked up decorating. Check out some samples at Justin's website. Fantastic. I'm buying a stack for impromptu birthday presents (you can never have enough).

The rest of the man's site will make a little pee dribble down your leg. My favorite was Joan's Monets. The more I looked the more I couldn't stop laughing. I think I threw a blood clot.

We are now loving Justinspace.com

Saturday, May 05, 2007

Top Seven: Secret Binge Foods

Because this is National Gross-out Week––coined in honor of Chuckles book tour (thanks Joe, my wife refuses to call him anything else)––I've decided to vary my lately rare top ten lists off the topic of literary and filmic entertainment to that more visceral pasttime: Late Night Binge Eating! I've only got three so Burlesque readers will have to complete the list.

**insert round of applause**

I'm not talking about a handful of Cheetos on your way to muck up the white sheets, I'm talking the gross shit you don't want anyone to know about. Just leave your grossest binge memory in my comments section, and I'll swoop in and rank it. I'll be surprised if you can top my number one. You can even remain anonymous if you fear recriminations (Readers submissions in joyful color). I'll go ahead and start…

10. Ready Made Icing: such as, Betty Crocker's miracle of sugar and fat, Cream Cheese flavor (seen here with French on the label) was suggested by new Burlesque reader, Donnetta Lee. It's important to note, it has not been verified that consuming the entire container will kickstart the rare, but undeniably troublesome dumping syndrome. I repeat: not verified.
9. Open
8. Peanut Butter, Banana & Mayonaise sandwiches. My parents got me into this little Elvis Fat Factory and I'm not sure anyone--including my wife (until now)--is aware that I've consumed these gut jammers.



7. Heather's a regular around here and brings this offering: "I like to eat melted, congealed cheese (and if it's a little overcooked or burnt, that's okay, too). You know, like the kind left behind on pizza boxes, or on the edge of a baking dish of macaroni and cheese. that's where all the flavor is. I could scrape that shit up all day long." Sounds yummy.
6. Open


5. Grapenuts Mush. I'm not talking about a bowl of cereal here. I'm talking about allowing ample time for the grapenuts to absorb all the milk and become a pregnant mass of unidentifiable grain material. A massive amount of sugar must also be consumed. This one's been a while.
4. Chicken skin sandwiches. Joe Schreiber clocks in at number four with this blood-coagulating delicacy. He says, "Everybody knows the most nutritious part of KFC is the crispy, chin-glistening, grease-drenched skin. Why deny yourself its pleasures, or, for that matter, allow something like actual white meat to intrude on the reveries that await when you pile a small mountain range of peeled off fried chicken skin between two slices of white bread? Heavenly."
3. While she refuses to admit that she's addicted to these bits of nature's goodness, Terri Clark, a peer over at Fangs, Fur, and Fey offers up barbecue flavored crickets and cheddar meal worms. Crunch! She says they have a tendency to scratch your throat going down if you don't chew them good enough. Hey Terri, be proud, shout it out to the world: "I love third world snacks." No one's going to judge you here.

2. Open


1. 7-11 Chili-Cheese Nachos & Pineapple Crush. I haven't consumed this pairing in fourteen years. One, because I haven't been able to find the soda, and two, the last time I ate it…prepare yourself…my body flushed out a twelve foot tape worm (not all at once, it tried to travel back in the first time and broke at seven feet), I must have picked up in Thailand the previous year. I know what you are thinking: aren't they supposed to confiscate those at customs? The answer's no, apparently not. My doctor thought it was hilarious, his response to my concern? Burn the Hut!

So that's my list…it's your turn to top it. Get busy.