Author Archives: iasshole

Today I Love Mika Brzezinski

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I found this clip of Mika Brzezinski, a journalist for MSNBC, who got so irate that Paris Hilton was her top news story, that she ended up tearing up the story and shredding it. She tried to burn it and her co-anchors took the lighter away.

She was doing really well with it, but her jackass co-anchors insisted on showing a clip of Paris leaving prison anyway. And somehow Mika managed not to knock their fucking heads together. Way to buck off the Newstainment. Well, played Mika.

I don’t have cable, so please don’t ruin this for me by telling me that Mika heats her house by shoveling puppies into a furnace or that she has a swastika shaved into the back of her perfect news-coif. You can tell me that tomorrow, but not today.

So That’s Where Baby Phones Come From

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I just found a Greek cel phone ad done by Peter Bagge. The television is pregnant and an ultrasound technician runs in to give it an ultrasound, and it is pregnant with a cel phone. I learn something new every day on the internets. It kind of makes me wish I’d given birth to a cel phone, which would have been easier than what actually happened.

Also, in between writing for (potential) dollars offline, I am working on the next PNW’ed. I can’t just leave unicorn and cat stranded, can I?

Confidential to CB: Tell me how you got the jelly jar stuck there in the first place, and then I will help you. Also, send pictures next time.

PS: While we’re on the subject of things stuck in people’s rectums, I am wondering if anyone can help me. I am looking for some old school doorknocker earrings a la:

bambooearrings.JPG

Got any sitting around from an old ex-boyfriend or something? Gold is ideal, and any random name will do. Nicknames are a plus. The bigger the better. Let’s talk…email me at DopemoneyGstringdogg@iasshole.org. Thanks kids.

SCREEM! There’s a Kwik-E-Mart in Seattle! I know what I’m doing tomorrow! Rad.

Boot the Grime of This World In the Crotch, Dear

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When I was ten, I decided that I had endured enough parental tyranny and it was time for me to split. I always felt like I was preparing myself to leave, or move at any moment, since I didn’t feel like I belonged where I was. I had vivid fantasies of the Harry Potter variety: “It’s all been a mistake. You don’t belong here at all. You’re actually a genius/circus freak/part wolf eel.” Maybe some small part of me was holding on to the idea that my grandma was going to come back and get me, and I would be where I belonged

We lived in the woods, so I developed an interest in survivalism and living off the land. I read as many books as I could about edible plants and how to make fires. I practiced making little fires and putting them out. I even forced myself to read “Mark Trail” every Sunday morning (covertly, to avoid arousing suspicion), although I strongly suspected that was a waste of time. I was ready for my moment when I would wake up and my childhood as I knew it would be over.

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Saturday Bulletin

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Two things–I am sad to see that today is Icon Coffee’s last day in business. It’s been nice to have them in my hood since we moved in. Vita’s buying them, so get your half-off mugs now–I did. They are huge, and I’m a tea pig, so this is a good thing.

Also, there is a brand new place where Fremont Auto Detail was called Urban Weeds. The owner, Steve, is really nice and friendly. He’s starting now, just as the weather is going to warm up, so I hope he does well, and he says he’ll have veggie starts next spring. Right now he’s got individual container plants ready to plant (some really nice looking smoke trees), some super-cute pots with succulents that would be perfect for patios, and some small things for condo gardeners. He’s also got some really sexy pots, like if you saw them at Fred Meyer you would assume that there had been a terrible mistake and that buyer had been sacked.

If you are noodling around in North Fremont go see him…his plastic containers are twenty percent off. Normally I wouldn’t randomly pimp for a place like this, but I love to garden. Plus it’s a slightly sketchy area, North Fremont, being a block off Aurora and all, and I want to see some nice businesses succeed there.

Inside the Oyster’s Rough Exterior You Will Find a Beautiful Pearl…

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…Flipping You Off.

“Today at art camp we drew a dream book,” Franny said when I picked her up.

“What’s that?” I said.

“It’s where you write your dreams. Like what you want to be when you grow up.”

“What did you write?”

“I wrote that I want to be a vet, or a doctor, or an astronaut, or a farmer, or a taxi driver.” Franny thought for a minute. “Umm…Mom? Did you grow up to be anything?”

No. I’m just the person who drives you to summer camp.

I think it’s significant that Strudel has broken me to the point where this didn’t even make me cry. Also, I guess I’ve been doing a pretty good job hiding my real life from Franny, considering that I am constantly writing and drawing in front of her and that she often accompanied me to graduate school and to my office hours, and she’s frequently around when I’m working for her school. Oh, yeah, and the tiny jerkranching I do directly TO HER.

Fuck this. Mexico? Who’s up for Mexico? Can I get a HELL YES?

Twelve Times, In Case You Were Wondering

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I came upstairs to wash my face and the girls were playing in Strudel’s room. Strudel was naked. Well, she was wearing fairy wings and a knit hat, but people were pretty sure that Olympia was naked when Manet painted her, so this counts, I think.

“MOM. Strudel is taking her wooden blocks and putting them into her GROSS vagina and they smell HORRIBLE.”

“Block!” Strudel said, waving a block around.

I pulled Franny into the bedroom.

“I don’t like to hear you describing your sister’s body as ‘gross’ and ‘horrible,’ especially her vagina,” I said. “We don’t want your sister to feel bad about herself or her body, do we?”

Franny shrugged. Translation: YES.

“Vaginas are cool,” I said. “Babies come out of them. And only women can make babies. That’s pretty special, I think. And you know, your butt used to smell when you wore plastic pants all day, too. She can’t help that she still needs diapers.”

We talked for a while about all the sparkle magic vagina powers, until we had exhausted the subject. I asked her where she got the idea from that vaginas were horrible, and she said she didn’t know.

“Do your friends say that?” I asked.

“NO. We aren’t allowed to have potty talk at school,” she said.

“Well, it’s not really potty talk…it’s more like something you would talk about more privately.”

There has been a lot of “ew, vaginas” business around for the past year or so. Recently, we were walking by a tree, and I said, “That tree looks like it has a vagina.” (Okay, so I admit it’s hard to have me as a parent in the first place.)

“EW! Tree vagina! Ew, Mom!” Franny said.

“What’s wrong with tree vaginas?” I said.

“Well, at least it’s not a MAN tree vagina,” Franny said.

I dunno, man.

I think I am going to write a song about Special Sparkle Vagina Magic, and I am going to sing it whenever this subject comes up, therefore conditioning her away from saying “ew,” at least. And condition her towards many years of therapy. I was going to write a song about all the things I’ve gotten stuck in my vagina, but this is better.

He’s the DJ, I’m the Rapper

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Remember the other day, when I was all “I’ll be back l8r, guyz?” Well, I guess I meant now. I have two things to tell you. One is that I moved Hester Prynne up to the kitchen, so she is out of the range of her internet cable tail. So my computer is now a word processor and a mahjong delivery device. The second thing is that for the past few days I’ve been busy working on a writing project of a different stripe, which is fun, but it was good that I was internetless for a bit, so I didn’t put the “ass” in “procrastinating.”

Yeah, you can have that.

This is the part where if I was a nice person, I would tell you what I’ve been up to, but I want to wait a little longer.It’s not a huuuuge deal, and it’s kind of weird, so hang in there, and keep clicking on my ads. Oh, wait, I don’t have those. Well, I promise this will get interesting soon. Maybe I’ll come down with something vague and tragic, that will make me pale and thin, like Ventricular Dermatitis. Maximus. I will instead distract you with a legitimate online literary publication that asked to republish something I wrote in the amazing year 2001. That hissing sound is all of their credibility leaking out. Just kidding, guys.

Except not.

But thanks for the reprint, srsly.

Currently, I’m squatting on Companion’s Tyrone, who I was apparently talking about just a year ago today. I need to get Hester a longer tail so I can get back to the hott mongoose action the interblort provides.

Speaking of getting thin, I have hit that “okay mah baben’s two, mah muffin top is dissolving a little bit.” WHEW. I was much dismayed that it really took that long to let it go with the first one, and now here it is again.

HOWEVER. Second child, and I am almost thirty, so I have discovered something disturbing. The muffin top is turning into silly putty. I bent over the sink last night and was palpitating my jelly, which I am not ready for, and it was all AAAAAGGGGHH! My twelve year old cat and I now look the same naked. Except she probably has a cuter butthole.

There is an upshot to this. I can form my stomach into little animals to entertain my children with. Just add googly eyes and we’re all set.

Speaking of the children, it is day three of summer vacation, and I am not going to lie to you. I am ready to KILL them. I always try to appreciate Franny, because she’s gone a lot, but they are being total assmittens. Like “stake them out in the yard” assmittens. I told Halo this true fact and she said, “I can just see you marking big red X’s off on the calendar.” Double true.

AND, about my interwebs trouble with the page looking all wonky, what a surprise, it was MY bads. I was doing something codewise I shouldn’t have been doing, so this is a true confession so my webmaster doesn’t look like a chump. Because he’s not. In fact, he is like non-chumpery squared, because I fuck things up and he susses out the dumbassery and fixes it. WOW, that’s some motherfucking service. I love that guy and his tolerance. Also, what is up with Movable Type not having a “center” button in the UI? I tells ya.

So after I am done mourning the death (to me) of html center tags, and my ass reads the Nice Literature Daniel sent me regarding this new invention called XHTML, titled “XHTML and You, Dumbass. Welcome to the Amazing Year, You Know, 2001,” maybe I will post some pictures. Or maybe there will just be some Hardcore XXX Left-Justification. OOOOH.

le sigh.