been a long time time

shouldn't'a left you
left you
without a dope beat to step to
step to, uh, step to
uh, step to.

yeah. that's right. it's been a long time since i wrote on this blog. so i thought i'd check in.

no real news. i burped a second ago.

still working, still fat, still single. k.i.t., world.

im using an old chechnyan "lap"top in my office (no, i have noooooooo idea who broke every single computer in reach of my desk. i suspect it was brooke burke, but i don't know. i was too busy working to notice), so please excuse the lack of links and pictures in this post. but know that i'm aware of their absence, too.

american idol girls night tonight. can i get a 'ah, fuck it'?

usa, usa, usa,
gabe

I'm a bull!

I'll do it! I swear! I'll kill ya! Try me! I'm a bull!

OUCH! Who put those fire ants in my eye sockets???

I forgot my glasses today, which means that every second I look at the computer screen, my brain throbs with agony. I hope that senseless gossip tracking and blogging will be worth it when I walk out of the office at 5:30 pm with my eyes trailing 12 feet behind on a cord of my unraveled brain.

Dear Emily Anderson,

Thank you for unlocking the treasure chest of genius with your golden locks and giving me these two precious presents:

a video of man breast feeding

and a dog skateboarding -- also there is an eskimo getting eaten by a whale on this site

Oh how I love thee. You are a beautiful swan of inebriation.

love,
lang

One Healthy Wiener!

I'm pleased to announce that I finally have obtained healthy insurance. My health is insured!

I can go to any doctor I want, for only a co-payment of 20 bucks! I love you, HMO!

Now I can get all of those bullets removed from my tits!

Love,
Jenny

A Train to the Top: I'm a travellin' man

Well everybody, I'm headed to ol' VT. Back to the back country, dirt roads and free speakin' americans! While I'm gone I convinced my friend Robert (you know, computer junkie with cheeze whiz) to water my plants! see you on Tuesday?
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The Effing Train

What is up with the F train? Since that big snowstorm a while ago, it can't seem to get its act together -- it's always late and smells of sweat and booze. Yesterday, Jenny could not meet me for lunch because it was wasting away in some pool hall with a bunch of nasty broads; and two days ago, I almost missed my Cardio Club dance class, because it had tripped on E the night before and was lost in Coney Island. What an inconsiderate assbrain!! And today, once again, I waited and waited, hoping for any hint of its orange face. I kept asking myself, "Why do you stay? You can take the R train. He doesn't deserve this kind of loyalty." All of a sudden, I knew that everything was different when a slew of armed police officers ran out onto the platform and over the loudspeaker came a voice that said, "Attention customers, there is a delay on the F train because a customer has activated the emergency break. Please be patient." And then a second later, "Attention, can the transit police on the platform please meet the train...there is an unruly customer." Anywho, it wasn't the F train's fault this time. It was the fault of the psychotic maniac who was pulled from the first car. So, for now, I'm sorry I doubted you, Trainy.


P.S. When we finally got on the train, another idiot shat his pants. But it wasn't this guy.

Like a Martini, but furrier

God forgot to make Labradoodles-- Labrador/Poodle mixes-- so an anonymous diabolical genius did.

so what?

so what if i woke up an hour and half late, smell like barf, and didnt beat my boss to work? at least i am starting to remember how to walk. and it's a real challenge.

Keepin' it classy, keepin' it freaky

I know that we're trying to keep this blog smart and sophisticated, so:

I have the most incredible, earthy, cheesy, moldy, voluminous, gritty gas.

It is coming out of my butt like hot invisible melons full of stink.

My shattered vagina bone

and the now-dented stairway railing on the C-train platform at 14th street would like to thank Tom Otterness for his extremely distracting public art.

someone made five glorious misjudgements

fans! families! friends! readers! babies!

the wiener philharmonic's WINE TEETH, our amazing one-hour sketch/video fete, has been extended for five more performances at the illustrious and industrious Juvie Hall. that's right! it was supposed to be over tonight, but instead, it's not!

so, even though you THOUGHT we were done, WE'RE NOT! you were wrong!!!

WINE TEETH
a sketch/video party about ... parties
every wednesday night in MARCH. at 9:30
juvie hall
24 bond street, between bowery and lafayette
$ 7, unless you give excellent head, in which case $ 6.50

boom boom boom, let all of us hear all of you say 'way-oh'

it's official

in a recent masturbatory cruise through this blog's comments, i came across ones from ... gulp ... STRANGERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! wtf? amaze! people whose last name is liedman aren't our only readers?! toot toot! hurray!!

on another, TOTALLY related note, please gaze upon eli liedman's comment on toby's post about eli not emailing him. ho. ly. shit.

Dear Coq au Vin

I am SO SORRY. I always imagined you as this acerbic, stringy, overbraised tanin fest, but I had NO idea how much butter and bacon you actually involve. I am covered in a palette of different fats and greases, and so is my trusty 1992 Micron Desktop Word Processor. Oh man. now I totally overate, you sexy buttery coq.

Dear Someone (Eli):

It has been 2 weeks now since you surreptitiously aquired my email address and still nothing. I am begining to wonder if what I feel when I see you with other people is love, envy, lust, jealousy or just a plain old hunger (for pizza). In any case I wrote this poem to myself from you just in case I never hear from you.

A Piper's Passion

Tootle toot toot
Two men and a boot
Piddle pee pee
and I make three
A gentle love
a sudden rub
a heavenly decree

When I see you Walk
I can barely talk
I need to embrace you
I need to disgrace you
Let me please spray paint your sock

-love "Eli"

congratz

i want to congratulate whichever genius out there left a VHS of anime porn and a sheet of whacky stickers on my desk when i was just wizzing in the boysroom. amaze!

my glove ain't your glove, your glove ain't my glove

it would take an eternity to break us up.
as a teen, i took every opportunity to ostracize myself from my classmates by trying to emulate my idol, frank sinatra. so when the winter winds tore through my humble, northern virginia enclave one year, i headed over to the mall to get some classy gloves. sinatra wears classy gloves, right? right.
and what did i find? god's gift to a pair of chapped, poorly circulating hands. rich, supple black leather on the outside. soft, welcoming white rabbit fur on the inside. and as durable my healthy, strong teeth.
everybody wants them. but ain't nobody gonna get them. because i love my gloves more than my own mother.

lang's mom cleaned my clock

i have to be at work around 9:30 every morning, which means that i wake up at 8:45, get on the train by 9, pick up some breakfast, and ease into my chair around 9:39. this morning was totals different though, thanks to the early arrival of lang's glorious mother who, in all of her west coast radiance, treated me to some scrambled eggs and turkey sausage at 7:45 am. what a difference it's already made a difference in my day. wonderful. i've dumped, prepared an expense report, checked my email nine times, smoked two cigarettes, and told my office manager to stock up on the soy milk, and it's not even 10 yet.
does this mean it's literally possible to wake up EARLIER than i have to, in order to accomplish something pleasant before my day is robbed by idiot know-nothing dummy cunts? yet another interesting hypothesis that i will never, i repeat NEVER, investigate. work it out.

I rain supreme

I stole this from the Irainian museum during a thunder storm. I thought it was a foot stool.

I rain supreme

I got this in my travels to I-rain. Everybody prays to babies!

I had a break through

Last night as I was popping tic-tacs trying to calculate weather I should forge the river or wait for it to lower, I painted this picture. I think you can tell that what I really wanted to do was kill more buffalo.

Just Send the Package to my House...In TRASHLAND!

It's bad enough, bad enough I say, that I suspect the old man next door to me of being dead, but the fact that somebody has literally thrown out EVERYTHING from his house is extremely distressing. If he is in there, how the fuck will he be able to get out? His doorway is a mountain of defunct recliners and dirty rubbish. If he's dead, what the fuck? I met his daughter, Jennifer, and she seemed like a healthy lady. She should clean that trash up. Every time I walk to my house I feel like a rat is about to jump up my ass.

Not only that, but roughly two weeks ago I was making some pancakes, when I saw a tiny puppy pee on everything in my neighbor's back yard. The puppy was extremely unkempt and had, need I say it, a beard of "dingleberries" that I could detect from two stories away. I called one of my fellow girl-wieners, Lang Fisher, to ask what I should do. But the next thing I saw was the crazy lady from next door open some sort of can and lure the dirty dog away. Strange, I thought, but I've literally failed THREE TIMES at owning and caring for a dog, so it's better that she snagged him. I ate my pancakes and thought nothing more of this incident.

THEN. Yesterday, as I was anxiously approaching the shitheap outside my (dead?) neighbor's house, I saw the crazy lady, and the dirty puppy. She had done the unthinkable: put the dog in a powder blue suit and named him JUSTIN. JUSTIN??? I'm about to have another dead neighbor because that is just infuriating. Justin? Calling a dog with a dirty rear end "JUSTIN", like "justin, come inside," or "justin, don't go out of the yard," is so so so stupid. I'm surrounded by trash and idiots. Justin is literally the most douchebag name for a dog.

Thank goodness I'm SO GOOD at making smoothies. Blended fruit will solve any problem. Unless you are a puppy named JUSTIN. Then you're dealing with some real shit. Literally.
Love,
Jenny

Just Wishin'

It is cold and snowy out today and Mike and I are the only ones at work. Sometimes when it is this cold, I wish that I had longer legs. Mine are short and cannot move me fast enough to save me from the frostbite that has started to deteriorate my face.


love,
lang

The Best Man in History

Dear Miranda:

I am hungry, please make me a roast beef sandwich before I eat your husband.


Love, Daniel

Smile! You're on a Made Up Camera In Your Head!

It's so obvious why rrrrrreallly stupid people get so emotional. It's because they don't know what they're looking at or doing or seeing. They're like dogs, who get angry and eat carpets when their best friend steps out for a few hours. Honestly, if I didn't know what a cardboard box was, why wouldn't it make me cry? I have no answer. So that's why when stupid people get emotional, you can pretty much consider it a random assignation of a meaningless emotion to an event that, essentially, happens in a made up land, a land of confusion.

Why are my lips always chapped?

I wish they were soft. Maybe I will run over to duane reade.

What? I can't hear you.

PS

My sister is just about to take her nursing boards. Seriously. This is the 69th time that I've pulled shit like this, the only thing that was ever OUTWARDLY WORSE than this last one...(and i repeat, I TOLD MY SISTERS COLLEAGUES AND FRIENDS THAT I HAD FARTED, TOLD THEM TO EAT MY DUST, AND THEN CALLED THEM LOSERS)... was the time that I ragged SO HARD on my friend cortney at "senior bring your dog to school day" because her dog was named creampuff, or cupcake, or tampoooon. I was like "your dog sucks." and she was like, "shut up! oh, dreamdoodle, (or whatever the dog's name was), you're not a bad dog," But I was relentless. i insisted that her dog did, indeed, blow the big one, and that my dog, (a Bichon-Frise who is supposed to weigh 9-11 lbs but seriously weighs 32), was better. Then the deans secretary came in and SHE was like, "someone's dog pooped all over the hallway, and right there in the doorway," so I was like, "EEEEWWWW!!!! it was probably sweetquiche or whatever the name is! it was probably that dog and I KNOW IT WAS, because that dog SUCKS!!!! HAHA GAGA!!!!"

but then...

This girl was like, "Oh my GOD!!!! JENNY!!! YOUR DOG IS POOPING ON YOU!" well. you can bet your asshole that Cortney was satified when the truth came out, unbeknownst to me, that not only had my dog left a trail of feces down the hallway, but that he had continued to poop IN THE SNACK BAR, and RIGHT ON MY SHOE.

I got this letter, and it's actually from "common sense".
It reads:

"Bitch! Stop Running your mouth! You KNOW you're an idiot!"

Love,
Jenny

Really, Gabe?

That's intense. AT WORK? Add Insult to Injury. Or rather, Potential Disease to Boredom.

I am a pro at mouse removal, probably from my year living on a farm in northwest France. I pick them up like poops, with my hand in a plastic bag. But once, when I was out of the house, what did my roommate
do? She trapped the mouse in a cup and THREW HIM OUT OUR THIRD STORY WINDOW.

Nice.

Another option that I would recommend avoiding is the glue trap. I set one of those right outside my door, and woke up to what sounded like a gorilla playing hopscotch in roller skates. The mouse-- who, by the way, was SOOOO cute--

had all four legs DEEPLY submerged in this intense glue, and was hopping, like a dog stapled to a boogie board, accross the room.

I'm not really into animal cruelty.

I guess that's what I'm getting at.

love
Jules

Toby's Gay and 17

My office is brimming with activity today. Toby has an audition to be a gay 17 yr-old son of a MOMA curator in a UPN pilot, where he uses words like "covet", "gather round", "star-crossed lovers", "brain hemorrhaging", and "Moroccan hash". The whole shebang will be produced by Joey Tribiani. Meanwhile, I am teaching Toby about right triangles and quadratic formulas. Good luck, Toby, and god-speed.

P.S. He's about to use my leg razor to shave his face.

september 2003

where was i in september of 2003, and how was i able to miss this? oh, now i remember: i was bent over a desk on 115th street, having a 69 page term paper on st. augustine's use of "an" in translation, and what implications said use had on ideas of 'the spectator' in 1840s london extracted from my cluttered anus by a team of pot dealers. but, the rest of the nation was probably laughing at this video. thank. you. america.
love,
gabe

CHECK YOUR TRASHCAN RIGHT NOW

what do you do when it becomes totally clear that there's a live mouse in the trashcan under your desk at work, trying to scratch and jump its way out? i can tell you what i did: i found a lawyer in a hockey jersey down to his knees and said "what would you do if there was a live mouse in your trashcan, trying to scratch and jump its way out?" his answer was simple: he walked over to the can, picked up and walked away. my company's publicist squealed "don't hurt him!" to which the lawyer responded, "I'M NOT GOING TO HURT HIM, JUST DON'T FOLLOW ME." i don't want my trashcan back, and i hope that mouse got really, really hurt.
squeak,
gabe

eat me out

why does my breakfast always involve grapefruit juice and hot sauce? nothing like an inner acid peel to keep the outside shiny and firm. to me, these foods are like a breastmilk white russian, easy on the ice. that's right, acid, eat me out.

toxic,
gabe

ps: early morning google image search of "acid burn" = bad call.

Jenny=IDIOT

This is typical, like the time when some guy named Gary Butthome or something called my house and asked for my dad, and I was like, "nice try dad." and he was like, "I'm not your father," and I was like, "oh, I know, you're Gary farthouse or whatever," but he was seriously the guy from Merrill Lynch. So, my older sister sent me yet another annoying chain letter/quiz on email, this time the quiz was, "which member of the Red Sox are you?", and I'm so sick of these letters, because they make me think that I have mail, when I just don't. So I wrote this email, thinking I was replying only to my sister, my other sister, and my dad. Unfortunately I replied to a list of colleagues and friends from the hospital where she works. Know where I work? Right here, in my apartment, with no colleagues or friends. And no pants.

Read on:

"abby,you're not a teacher so STOP GIVING ME QUIZZES!

And just so you know,I actually caved and took that doctor Phil quiz, and you know what it told me:"your older sister is always sending you these quizzes. Be honest with her and tell her that if she is going to send you something, it should be an item that you can later return to the pottery barn."
I love you abby, but listen to doctor Phil. He's a DOCTOR. No more quizzes, please.

wait. wait. I interrupt my email to say "look at what I say next to all of her friends who are strangers to me." read more.

and to all of the rest of you out there: "safety", if you get my drift. Eat my dust, LOSERS.

see you in Florida, Abs. I heard nana and papa got us some tickets To see the local production of "Broadway bound" or something, so if you could swipe us both some sort of valium or sedatives, that would be great. Otherwise we could just hope that I "fall" by "mistake" into the pool with the tickets in the butt of my bathing suit. No ticket, no play. Stace and I saw "Brigadoon" while we were there, two visits ago. It was breathtaking. No, literally, I was so bored I had a stroke and a heart attack. Breathtaking indeed. Love,jenny

Well, there you have it. If you think that I'm not extremely mortified, then you are an IDIOT. Just like me. See you tomorrow, when I'm going to be a guest on the Tony Danza show and call him a dyke.
Love,
Jenny

gabe just lost eight pounds in the boysroom

like a flashback to prom!

Wienerocracy

Jules to Wieners, 12:17 p.m.

hey guys. read my Bruni review!

www.brunidigest.blogspot.com


Mike to Wieners, 12:28 p.m.

i have created a word to describe your post, jules: literasurety.
you write with the skill and confidence of a young john quincy adams.
however, you LOOK like a young james madison.

Julia to Wieners, 12:40 p.m.

Hey Mike, maybe people who look like James Madison shouldnt call the kettle black:


Lang to Wieners, 12:44 p.m.

MIKE YOU DO LOOK LIKE JAMES MADISON.

If I were a president, I would be The littlest emperor.


Julia to Wieners, 12:52 p.m.

that is so cute
Lang! Quick! We need you to make a decision about the tax levy in the colonies!


Lang to Wieners, 12:58 p.m.

Don't worry Julia, I take my noble steed down Pennsylvania avenue

And discuss it with the Senate :


Julia to Wieners, 1:00 p.m.
I would come by and help you deliberate but I'm rrrrrreally busy.

Boo!

What on EARTH does it mean when you see a cat fall off a fence and land face down?
a)the cat is krrunk!
b)you are watching a cartoon
c) where are you jenny? why do you make smoothies every second? because they are delicious and thick drinks are so good.
d) it's a sign. you will never have a career because the models and reality TV sluts took all of the work for actresses.

I'd also like to say two other things.
1) last night i had a dream that i was a model...(sigh...weep...barf...toot-toot...sigh) and i was walking on the runway and as i walked through these curtains at the top oof the runway, and started my way down, people were like "YES!!!! YES!!!!" and then i got my heel caught on the curtain and literally dragged the whole stage down, but just really slowly, like i was pulling a truck. eventually i just sat down at the end of the runway and people were just saying, "NO!!!NO!!!! NO!!!!"

interpretation: "yes, yes," "no,no", looks like i've got some inner conflicts. about whether or not the world is ready for me to become a huge model who is FAMOUS FOR WEARING AWESOME CLOTHES AND BEING BEAUTIFUL EVEN WHEN SHE JUST WOKE UP.

2)the other dream i had was that i was back at this New Yorker party that i went to, except i was standing with these two dudes, and one of them punched a guy in the face and killed him by mistake, yet i was solely responsible for cutting the guy up and putting him in the washer/dryer. I just kin dof unscrewed him like a playmobile doll though. There was no blood.

Interpretation: I LOVE TO PARTY!!!!!!!
I LOVE YOU!
love,
jenny

GANAS: is simple. desire. you can do it.

you're right, jaime escalante. ps: your watch is muy caliente. woof.
love,
gabe

shave, gabe

why? because shit's getting trapped on my nasty prickle-face and then hanging from it without my noticing, while i go about my business in an idiot-fog? oh.

what would i do for a klondike bar?

very little, at the moment. that's because i've been fully sated by what could be
THE PERFECT SALAD
startling in its simplicity. its taste? unparalleled. and you can bet it soothes my stomach like mother's milk, mixed with antacid and TLC.
four days a week, i bound up to the salad counter at my local prepared food emporium and deliver my order:
spinach base
grilled chicken
cherry tomatoes
red onions
cukes
grated mozzarella
lemon herb dressing
look, it may not sound exotic or exciting to you, but my palate, until rather recently, was a bit unsophisticated.

Please Type in...

Did you know that when you google search the following, you get the following at the top of your search lists? Betcha didn't hosers!

"Miserable Failure" = the biography of George W. Bush.

"Horribly Obese" = Skinheads.net

"Gay Goat" = IGRA (International Gay Rodio Association)

Dear Eddie Furlong,

Eddie? EDDIE!

Please put down that Red, take off that Helmut Lang cashmere tunic, and pick up some goddam barbells. Yes, and wash the Ouidad shine serum out of your hair.

Linda Hamilton.

I see that you have made a new family for yourself. congratulations. your cottons look comfortable and your smiles easy. Hm, I wish you could see me, too, but you can't see through computers LIKE THESE GUYS CAN AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH



Finish breakfast, Linda. Eddie, stop looking for roaches in Seth Greene's ashtray. This crazy shit just hit the fan.

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/02/16/technology/16robots.html?hp

WINE TEETH: TONIGHT: FER REALS

Adoring fan: The Wiener Philharmonic will continue to present WINE TEETH, an hour-long sketch/video party, for your audience-ing pleasure, tonight at 9:30 PM at Juvie Hall (24 Bond St., between Lafayette and Bowery). It's sure to knock your socks back on, slob!

do YOU bang?


I could go on

There are actually 10 million shar pei sites. I think that people are obsessed with them. I think they are pervy actually. I mean, it's like, TOO CUTE. they're so fucking cute that it all goes full circle and theyre actually SINISTER.

Shar Peis are for perverts, that's the conclusion I've come to.



Sometimes perverts get all the luck, though, huh?

Speaking of adorable...

Gabe posted those neapolitan amazing wrinklebunny mastiffs earlier today, which were pretty cute. but what happens when you subtract the mandatory raw bone diet, 3/4 of the body fat, and the loopy pink-eye?

that's right, one of my favorite all time pups, the Shar Pei. Not to be confused with highly fragrant black permanent markers, or Shar Pees, Shar Peis are single dogs who carry around the skin of 6 or 7 dogs each.


oops. puppies and babies. OOPS.


Honestly. Tell me you don't want to smush your face into their faces. It's like, borderline inappropriate how wildly I want to do that.


Tiny bitch in the sun. That's who you are.


CHEERS! Raise your puppies and toast the best dogs in town, Shar Peis.

Basically, Julie Andrews, Gerhard Shroeder, and Julio Iglesias are Orangutangs

You know, the "Science" section is not under OPINIONS, no, it's not under FEATURES, with the food and the movies-- it's under NEWS. And today's BREAKING NEWS, in the SCIENCE TIMES IS:

Neanderthals, who are a distinct evolutionary species from humans (they're like log-headed apes), migrated into Europe about 100,000 years ago where they met modern homo sapiens, aka, early Europeans. And the NEWS this morning is that they might have mated with these Europeans, meaning that todays Euros have a strain of shit-hurling hulk in them.

thanks again

to mike weiss, for alerting me to the existence of this kind of dog.
i feel ... erect about this breed. and normal in general.

attention columbia students

very soon, bocaccio's 'the decameron' will be a movie starring mischa barton and hayden christensen. you may have to wait until 2006 for a version of 'the republic,' starring adam brody and suchin pak, though.

gabe's valentine #3

neil barrett men's, fall 2005
crop my blazer. harder!

gabe's valentine #2

the bahamas logo. 'nuff said, gorgeous. call me: (420) 187-6969 x nightmare

gabe's valentine #1

my first valentine is haruki murakami. not because i love him, but because he makes me fit in on the subway.

softly soflty i sing to thee

Ohhhh Theee,
theee are me shining star!
thee twinkle from very faaaarrr!
thee are quiet and pretty
thee are a horse dancing ditty!
pleeeasse, pleease, answer the phone!
i call i call, i'm all alone (except my sister is watching over my shoulder and judging me)

'hot & heavy,' by basquiat

'head over heels,' by miro

'star-crossed,' by manet

'true love,' by klimt

I'm So Uncomfortable!

Ahhh! I'm so uncomfortable! I want to eat chocolate so badly, but I have to wait until my big valentine's date. But I'll say one thing, if said date, (you know who you are DEBRA and KEVIN) doesn't show up with a HUGE CARDBOARD BOX FILLED WITH CHEAP CHOCOLATE...then I'll buy it from the Eckerd on Atlantic and Court at a discount tomorrow. Please, don't do that to me. It's bad enough that I've had about 6 glasses of chocolate "silk" soymilk and am breaking out in angry hives, (literally, 9 wasps just rented out my armpit and they built a hive there), but I've given my date, (don't pretend you're not hearing me DEBRA...and KEVIN), many many simple instructions on what I want my V-day to be like. This post would be so much better if I could understand how to link to pictures.

Today is the day that I almost ate the light blue crayon because it looked delicious. I know it's not. But it just seems...well, nevermind. it seems good though. it seems good. Mike Barry, of all people, called me a dweeb the other day, even though he's the douchebag with the frank sinatra action figure. I'm waiting for my mom to call me. Then I'll start my day. It's 2:51. Oh man, I hope Lang doesn't fire me.
Love,
Jenny

Wait. No. Seriously. Hode up.

why you always flyin somewhere, foo? HODE UP. lemme get a grasp on you.

saint valentine

is a sleet-lovin' winter warrior.

I've got a pension for violence

I deposited a thumb tack in it in '91, and now it's a cast-iron battle mace.



I plan on retiring in style.

Where's Cupid's Cupid?

Dear X-Cupid:

I have been trying to decide the best way to ask you this, and decided that if I were able to find you in person, telling you to your little baby face would be just too hard. Ever since I first saw your inception carved out on an antiquated italian wood piece, precariously dangling over the entrance of a gelateria, i knew you were for me. Its not just the look of innocence that your soft blue eyes exude, but rather your wings...and your bow and arrow. I have always wanted a man-baby with an addiction to diapers and a pension for violence. I know we have been almost friends since I was fifteen and called up my first valentine, but I have one of those large spining discs from the circus, and can't imagine anything else I would rather do than to chain myself to it and spin around in circles infront of an audience while you haphazardly drink your troubles away and try to pierce my heart with your arrow. I would even tie an apple on my head. I just want to meet you in person and to feel the love that you so self-lessly give to others, or at least arrange for others to find in others. What about you? I mean you haven't said anything, so I guess I'm just trying to look out....and to fulfillmy own fantasies.

Yours,

Macdougle

mellow submarine

if ever there was a reason to chuck your piggy bank at a brick wall and greedily collect its contents for a modestly priced half-length movie, it would be this:
the creative powerhouse of IMAX, the brilliant technicians at Acme 3-D, Inc., and the directorial juggernaut also known as james cameron bring you ALIENS OF THE DEEP.
think you know what the bottom of the ocean looks like? WRONG, bozo. you should've seen me, staring, mouth agape, my 3-D goggles wrapped snugly 'round my skull, in awe.
it should come as no surprise that immediately after the movie ended, my friend nellie planted the classic little mermaid song "under the sea" in my head.
[cut to me at work, covering the phones:]
"time warner telecom? no, unfortunately she's out of the office. she's where it's better. down where it's wetter? right, exactly. would you like her voicemail?"
mike

Will you be mine, (ours)?

Will you be our Valentine? It's so lonely with only six in the bed. We cry ourselves to snuggly sleep everynight because we love you.

You're the one that we want. We love your hair, and that voice! That voice! We love your beard and/or the way you wear your skirts, slung low on your hips. You are tantalizing us with your flirtatious mix tapes and friendster messages.

I mean, do you like us or not? Just tell us. Check "Yes" or "No". Just flick the screen, we're watching you anyway. Too bad the intense lover that is writing this doesn't know how to post pictures, otherwise there would be an icon or something for you to use.

But we (I) can post this:

The Wieners love you. We love you for reading the blog and for coming to our shows, and we love all of those crazy little things that you do. You're so quirky! We love that. We love you.

Be our Valentine! Be ours! If you want us, (me), you can find us (me) all day long, wishing for chocolate, at my apartment, (the wiener headquarters) on Henry St, in heaven, (Brooklyn).

We (I) promise you a love, one similiar to Whitney Houston's and Bobby Brown's. That would be "the geatest love of all," minus a crack addiction and randomly being SO SWEATY. ALWAYS.

We (I) love you,
The Wieners (jenny sarah slate)

i wish i was just being self-deprecating right now

i was just handed a valentine that says "it's what's on the inside that counts!"
wow.

love,
gabe



Dr. Anne says...

Friday, 3:47 pm
Telephone Conversation between Jules and her sister, Anne:

Julia: I have this weird cramping in my abdomen. It really hurts.

Anne: Oh my God, that's so funny, my sorority just donated all the money from our charity drive to the Ovarian Cancer research fund! Maybe indirectly it will benefit you!

Thanks, Anne, and the sisters of Theta.

Sushi Calzone

Last night, I went to the Laugh Lounge on the Lower East Side and met a lot of Italians. And not Tony Soprano Italians, but the kind that wear loafers without socks. At one point, a smallish Japanese man came over and introduced himself to me and my new Italian friends. He then began to do an impression of an Italian accent. He said things like, "I wanta notha bella meat-a-ball-a" and " Fuggettaboutit." An Italian accent layered over a Tokyo accent, is not unlike adding Nestle Quick to a Dr. Pepper -- weird but very, very sweet.