Follow-ups in case you care

1.) I am almost not sick anymore! I bet if I sleep another sixteen hours tonight I will have this thing licked. I haven’t been outside for four days, save for three hours on Saturday when we went to see There Will Be Blood, an experience which did indeed drink my milkshake so much I had to go home and sleep for most of Sunday. And today, too, thanks to the dead Presidents.

2.) If you hadn’t gotten enough audio interview of me last week, you can also hear me on the KCRW show Good Food with Evan Kleiman this week. The original episode aired on Saturday but you can listen to it online or in podcast form. The interview is about Amazing Mackerel Pudding Plan and you can hear me do my very best NPR voice.

3.) The little bitty grocery store I lamented in this entry has returned! Reopened! Reportedly a little spookier than before, but whatever! The Bounty bars have yet to come back though, and while I am grateful to the several of you who offered to send some, I think we’re going to wait until we’re just a little more desperate.

4.) I forgot what 4 was going to be, so it must be bedtime.

Fever specials and daily dreams

Chills, aches and fever mean flu, right? Or malaria? I have one of those. Last night we alarmed the nice folks at the Ukranian Village bingo game by leaving right before the final big cover-all game for the grand prize. Two very concerned people stopped us to ask us if we were sure we wanted to leave, and only one of them wanted to know if she could have our cards. It was sweet! But I was getting really achy and woozy and beginning to feel like I was grimly daubing my very life force away, so we left. I was in bed by 9:30 having a feverish, uncomfortable dream which I feverishly reasoned was so uncomfortable because the only place in my head where this particular dream was playing was at this weird brokedown second-run dream theater and in my dream of having the dream I berated myself for not dreaming a 27 Dresses or Definitely Maybe kind of dream instead. Something like that.

Now I am at home napping and coughing and just now I somehow managed to get my feeble fever brain to figure out how to embed the code to play this phone interview I did with Kim on Elastic Waist’s Daily Special show. Check it out!

Anyway, it was fun. I like how they really dug the valentine from yesterday!

Um, and I might go back to bed now. Please think lucid thoughts for me this weekend, because right now I feel like the monkey is eggplantish, and that is never funkadelic.

Smooch and all that

I couldn't resist

Last night I was looking at vintage valentines online and I could not stop myself from grabbling this one and giving it creepy new captions. Sorry! If you’re looking for the single girl valentines I did a few years back, you can see them here, and I also just dug up and uploaded a couple more that I did way back in 2002. As you can see, my Photoshop skills have not improved one bit over the years.

In other news, I did a Q & A with Anne over at Elastic Waist the other day, because they’re doing I’m Not the New Me for their book club.  I’m so glad I got to do it, because back when the book came out I don’t think I quite knew how to talk about it yet, or say why I did certain things. Plus half the time I was being interviewed by people who’d barely had time to read the book, if they’d even gotten to read it at all. But Anne is super smart and she asked me supersmarty things that nobody ever thought to ask me before. Thank you, Elastic Waist ladies, for paying attention to a book that came out 27 years ago!  In publishing world years, that is.

Happy Valentine’s Day to all you freaky foxes out there, and have fun. If all goes well tonight, we will be playing bingo. Not the hipster bar bingo, but bingo the way Bingo God intended, with old people in a big ugly room smelling of ink daubers and superstition. We can’t wait.

And by "fat girls" he means "pretty much everyone"

I’m trying to feel just a little tiny speck of pity for this guy, who appears to have no friends, or at least no friends who support his efforts to run an anonymous and patently derivative humor website containing misspelled fake news stories, satire, and cooter jokes—or, at the very, very least, no friends with whom he feels comfortable enough to disclose that he’s the dude who posted the Lane Bryant Body Bag story just a few hours after five women were killed in an attempted robbery here in Chicago on Saturday.

Somehow the joke didn’t go over so well. I know, right!? Because the execution-style killing of five bystanders in an incident with no answers or closure whatsoever is so totally comedy gold, yet hardly anyone has shown up to give him the props that he deserves for going there, man, because everyone is so sick of these obese women who have the freaking nerve to go out and buy clothes while they’re still fat, and can you believe they actually have stores for them, encouraging them to stay all fatty jubbo and shit, and all with such complete disregard for his boner the obesity epidemic that of course he had to say what he said, lest the fat chicks of the world think they can get a death-holiday day off or something.

But no, nobody gives this guy credit! Instead of high-fives, practically all he’s getting are angry comments from fat chicks! Well, except for two guys who hate fat chicks, including some dude named Alex who keeps valiantly coming back to post like some self-appointed keeper of the flame, or refiller of the douchebag, or whatever. As for the fat chicks who are posting comments there, they don’t say they’re fat chicks, but they just don’t seem to appreciate the way the victims of a violent unsolved crime were immediately ridiculed in a feebly written Onion-copycat mock press release, and everyone knows that only fat chicks have a sense of human decency and also high standards for satire, right?

I know that all kinds of people read my site, but if any of you go over to this guy’s site to tell him how unfunny he is (and whether you do or not is up to you), it seems you automatically become a fat chick. Seriously, as soon as you click “Submit Comment,” a tub of ice cream will magically appear in your hand, and then you’ll be promptly told to put it down. This guy blames the nation’s health problems on us fat chicks for writing “obesity-coddling” blogs and eating all the pies, but clearly all our militant binging and coddling is no match for the way this guy’s site can make fresh new fatties in just minutes, just like donuts! It’s so amazing that if I, too, were into writing stale, imitative news parodies in lieu of having any kind of individual comic voice whatsoever, I would totally crap out one right now with the headline Area Man’s Website Increases Female Obesity Statistics to Include 98% of the General Population, and then I’d quote him saying some inane shit that I just made up, and hyuk hyuk hyuk har har! But I digress.

Anyway, as for all you newly-minted fat chicks, hello and welcome to the fold! (By which I mean, of course, the fatty, fleshy folds that guys like dude-with-the-website love to describe in fetishistic detail, for reasons we could have a field day with if we actually cared.) Please feel free to enjoy the privileges of honorary membership, which includes 1.) getting to eat all the pies and 2.) possessing the kind of adaptive skills that help you to be way the hell funnier than any braying jackhole whose jokes are all based on his own desperate need to keep things just the way he thinks they ought to be and, especially, keep everyone in their place. Which is spectacularly shitty just on principle, but even worse when it’s not funny.

And by “not funny” I don’t mean in bad taste. I mean actually not funny. I mean it completely failed. It’s one thing to read something smart and sharp and precise enough that in spite of all your defenses and preconceived ideas and notions of correctness it gets through; it slays you. It’s another thing entirely to come across some bullshit that is so stunningly mangled and skidmarked and sloppy that it’s like getting hacked in the neck with a spork, and then of course it’s a perfectly reasonable response to want to punch and kick and scratch and bite back. This is just to explain why I bothered to write this. Sometimes it’s just what people—excuse me, “fat chicks”—have to do.

Update 10:45 p.m: He took down his “Fat Girls Don’t Think I’m Funny” entry but you can read this screen shot of it here to see how dopey it was. The last comment I saw posted there read, “Honey, nobody thinks you’re funny.”

Update, Februrary 18th: He’s gone extra chickenshit now and doesn’t even approve comments anymore. I’ve decided to just link to screencaps of his site instead. I gaveth traffic, but sorry, you friendless angry little clown fart, now I taketh away.

Update, Feburary 25th: Today, like two and a half weeks later, he got all lonely and tried to bombard the comments of this entry with more of his shit-sputtering failure rage! I just checked my spam filter, where his last message says, “awww…you erased my comment. Bet you wish is (sic) was just as easy to remove all your fatz from your ass.” Oh, but “Alex,” blocking your tiny and inadequate insult cock is way, way more fun than removing the fatz from my ass! Check out how I totally just gained 50 pounds because I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE! I drink it up!