Log in

Honest Androgynous Abe's Journal
[Most Recent Entries] [Calendar View] [Friends]

Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Honest Androgynous Abe's LiveJournal:

[ << Previous 20 ]
Sunday, September 11th, 2005
12:00 pm
Monday, July 4th, 2005
7:36 pm
Please Wait For Me to Die
I'm not dead yet, although I've been flirting with it off and on for the last three weeks. You see, up until recently, I wrote a lot on here. I wrote so much, in fact, that I developed a rather nasty case of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Sure, at first, the doctor's prognosis was promising: "stay off your wrist for a week, and you should be just fine."

And then a week passed. One week became two. I stopped masturbating. I blew up to 330 pounds. Now at three weeks, I've just learned that my Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (or CTS) has spread from my left wrist and into my pancreas, liver, and adenoids.

In other words, I have wrist cancer. Although the news alarmed me, I'm actually a little relieved; up until recently, I was more concerned about the toll HIDS (or Hastened Infant Death Syndrome) would have on me. For years, I existed knowing good and well that I would eventually die by the time I turned 75. But now that the effects of wrist cancer have manifested themselves, I'm living each day as if it were my last...which means I'm crying obsessively and awaiting the fiery brimstone of hell.

But please do not give up on me. The chemotherapy has drained me of my energy, but I'll return as soon as the hair on my palms grows back. Until then, here's my eHarmony.com "Personality Profile."

1) Others may see you as disciplined and self-controlled. You have seen the problems of being overly optimistic when planning to depend on others following through.

No, I just hate people.

2) During times of stress or tension, you may withdraw inside yourself and appear as somewhat cool and aloof. You need to be alone when thinking through projects, problems or solutions.

I sit alone at my desk, stare at the wall, repeat "No one understands me" in my head, and fantasize about Wang Chung and schlock horror movies.

3) Because of your thoughtful nature, you need others to express sincere interest in you or the relationship. This offers the secure feeling that you seek.

I need a woman to express sincere interest in Mr. Mister.

4) You usually assume a cautious and reserved demeanor when meeting new people. Your relationships must grow naturally and in sincere ways. You will not confide in others readily because of your need for security.

...and because most people don't respond well to my "Tales From The Handicapped Stall" stories. By the way, I don't masturbate there because of the added room. I do it just because I get off on the idea of a cripple sitting there later on.

5) You may be a matter-of-fact person who may be critical of the shortcomings of others who display a more emotional or outgoing side.

I'm critical of musicians that smile on stage. If you're performing and smiling at the same time, someone should take your instruments, break them, and then hand them back to you.

6) Some people may inaccurately perceive you as not liking people. You may be misread by others, because you approach social situations with logic and objectivity, judging others by their competence--you may sometimes be misread by others.

No, their assessments are fairly accurate.

7) You may want to base relationships on a nonemotional respect for each other's abilities, and base your level of trust on directness and straightforwardness.

I want to marry George F. Will.

8) You are usually astute in social situations because you take little at face value, will listen carefully and accurately, and will watch others carefully.

And I keep reminding myself of the difference between engaging eye contact and the piercing gaze of Ted Bundy.

9) You tend to listen rather than talk. You may place a premium on display of emotions. As a result, "reading" you at times may be difficult.

People have difficulty absorbing my Jorge Luis Borges tattoos.

10) Because of your need to be quiet rather than rambling, you are somewhat introspective about events and activities. You may not communicate readily and rapidly with others, but this does not mean you don't support others.

I support "others," but not Caucasians, Asians, or any over-represented ethnic group.

11) You tend to be the "Anchor of Reality" in highly emotional situations.

I prefer to call myself the "Anchor of Virtual Reality."

12) You are good at making certain that even small details are taken care of.

...because I have obsessive-compulsive tendencies. I'm good at swallowing Skittles one at a time with a glass of water.

13) You generally take pride in being a strong community member.

I give money to hobos if they juggle rotten oranges and sing "She'll Be Comin' 'Round The Mountain When She Comes."

14) You tend to have very high values.

I pay $40 for remastered Mr. Mister import CDs.

15) You are skilled at finding practical solutions to complicated situations.

"Ignore it and it'll go away."

16) You tend to set and maintain very high standards for yourself.

Months of body soil reside on $400 satin bedsheets.

17) You don't tend to get distracted by superficial issues.

My left testicle pain distracted me, but the tumor on top of my left testicle does not phase me.

18) You are good at "troubleshooting" potential problems in a relationship.

I "troubleshoot" my old lady.

My eHarmony matches:

Unfortunately, we are not able to make our profiles work for you. Our matching model could not accurately predict with whom you would be best matched. This occurs for about 20% of potential users, so 1 in 5 people simply will not benefit from our service. We hope that you understand, and we regret our inability to provide service for you at this time.

I should note, however, that 20% of users are a_lad_inane personae.
Sunday, June 12th, 2005
7:45 pm
Thy Shepherd

[The owner of a farm in Jerusalem sits at his desk going over various papers. The farmhouse is small, crude, and made from what appears to be hay and straw. The only light source is an oil lamp seated on the farmer's table. Judging by the appearance of the farmhouse and the raggedy clothing the bearded farmer wears, we can tell we're approximately 2,000 years in the past.]

[Outside the farmhouse, we hear a knock that precedes the humble entrance of none other than Jesus Christ. Replete with beard, magnificent blue eyes, long, flowing robe, and a staff, he enters the hut with his arms open wide in a caring, comforting pose. Light radiates from his body. None of this, however, appears to impress the farmer, who remains seated with a frustrated, pained expression.]

JESUS CHRIST: [speaking in the comforting, calming tone we associate with him] You wished to speak with me, my son?

FARMER: [speaking in a gruff, no-nonsense American accent] Yeah, Jesus...go ahead and have a seat.

[Jesus nods quietly as a bushel of hay magically moves from the back of the small farmhouse to directly behind him. He then takes a seat while keeping his staff in hand.]

FARMER: [nodding with a frustrated expression] You enjoy what you do, Jesus?

JESUS CHRIST: [bows slightly] Ye, my son, I suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in My steps. Ye.

FARMER: [looks down, shakes his head, and sighs] Well, yeah, but I'm not talking about any of that, Jesus. [pauses] Look, I'm gonna be honest with you; you're not a very good sheep shepherd, are you?

[Jesus remains silent but with his typical comforting, peaceful expression. The farmer stands up, sighs, looks around to collect his thoughts, and continues.]

FARMER: [standing with his hands in his robe pockets] It's just that, in the month you've been working for me, I've lost more sheep to coyotes than I have in the last two years combined. We even lost the bell wether, and you know how hard it is to herd sheep without a bell wether. The last shepherd I hired lost only two sheep in one year. [pauses] Under your supervision, I've lost seventeen in a month. Now, I don't mean to be dishonor thou name, but, well...that kinda tells me something.

JESUS CHRIST: [appearing slightly concerned] My son, you question my actions, my divine judgment?

FARMER: [sitting back down, agitated] No, I'm not questioning your "divine judgment." Just your sheep herding skills. It's just that...look, we all have our strengths and weaknesses. Take Isaiah down the street. A master lumberman, but have you ever tried to hold a conversation with him? Or Jeremiah...the best butcher in all of Jerusalem, but I pity the man who eats his cooking. And as for you...[pauses]...well, leader of man, a saint, the son of the Almighty God, yes, but a sheep shepherd...? Sorry, Jesus, but I think you're overreaching yourself.

JESUS CHRIST: But thy staff, it comforts you, my son.

FARMER: [sighs and remains seated] Yes, but then, I'm a man, a disciple of God, not a sheep. [looks down as if what he's about to say isn't easy] Look, this isn't an easy decision for me to make, but when I gave you this job, it was mainly as a favor to your father for helping me out during the great drought of A.D. 2, but...Jesus, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to let you go.

[Jesus stands up, bows, stretches his arms out slightly, and appears humble and kind.]

JESUS CHRIST: Be diligent to present yourself approved to God as a workman who does not need to be ashamed, handling accurately the word of truth. Ye.

FARMER: [as Jesus exits the farmhouse] Hey, if you ever need any recommendations or sacrifices, you know whose dreams to visit!

[The farmer sighs, indicating he feels bad for having fired Jesus. He walks over to a small shelf on the right on which sits three bottles of red wine.]

FARMER: [to himself as he holds a bottle in one hand and a cup in the other] That Jesus is a hardworking boy. I just know he's gonna make something of himself one day.

[When he opens the bottle of wine, a torrent of locusts comes flying out, overwhelming the small shack. Within seconds, the locusts are so thick that they literally drown the farmer.]
Thursday, June 9th, 2005
6:34 pm
AIDS Prevention Tips '05
1) Sex workers traditionally have a higher rate of infection, so approach them with caution. Wear rubber gloves when cutting the flesh, and keep your mouth closed to avoid swallowing gushes of arterial blood.

2) Although HIV cannot thrive in bodily fluids for long when exposed to air, use caution anyway. Have your partner checked before you lick his or her toilet seat.

3) Use latex protection when shaking the hand of a homosexual.

4) Before engaging in sexual intercourse, remember that "Magic Johnson" is an ironic name.

5) Cats are susceptible to a feline form of HIV called FIV, or feline immunodeficiency virus, which humans cannot catch. However, for complete safety, always use a condom or dental dam.

6) When traveling abroad in a country with a high rate of HIV infection, quarantine the nation and/or turn it into a prison colony.

7) Always wear a condom when inserting your penis into a jagged-edged tin cup of AIDS-infected semen.

8) Women have a significantly higher risk of contracting HIV, so only have sexual intercourse with men.

9) Avoid open-mouth kissing; while your eyes are closed, your partner could inject a syringe of AIDS-infected blood into your back.

10) If you think you've been infected, get tested immediately and spray your genitals with Raid, which is clinically proven to rid the body of AIDS.
Tuesday, June 7th, 2005
6:25 pm

[Major General Clayton B. Vogel, the commanding general of Amphibious Corps, sips a cup of coffee and paces anxiously inside a small meeting room located in Camp Pendleton, California. He is an older, well built man with an immaculately pressed uniform. The drab military office has but one table and a counter with a coffee pot. The year is 1942. Private first class John G. Mitchell stands at Vogel's side.]

VOGEL: [agitated and pacing; looks at his watch and sighs] Mitchell, it's now 0900 hours. That Indian of ours was supposed to be here at 0830. I don't know what time that is in Navajo, but someone needs to show them some goddamn discipline! [sighs] Who are we kidding? Without this supposed "code" of theirs, we don't stand a chance against the Japanese. They know that as much as we do.

[In walks another private, who salutes Major General Vogel.]

PRIVATE: [rigid and military-like] Sir, Mr. Harrison Lapahie to see you, sir!

VOGEL: [puts down coffee] Well, it's about goddamn time. Show him in, private.

[The private salutes Vogel, exits, and then returns with what is obviously a white man decked out in a stereotypical Native American wardrobe: headdress, brown paint on his face, suit with dozens of arbitrarily placed feathers, etc... He wears an emotionless expression probably to appear wise and old. However, he ends up looking awkward and stupid. Vogel looks at him with a mixture of shock and disappointment.]

VOGEL: Good morning, Mr. Lapahie. [Lapahie raises his right arm to greet him, which confuses Vogel] My name is Major General Clayton Vogel. A fellow Navajo, Mr. Phillip Johnston, informs us that your people have developed a code for the United States military to use that is impossible for the Japanese to decipher. Is that right, sir?

[Lapahie bows and pauses before he speaks. He stares straight ahead with an emotionless expression and does not make eye contact with either Vogel or Private Mitchell standing beside him.]

LAPAHIE: [folds his arms ala Tonto] Yes, kemosabe. Navajo people talk to bear, ant, buffalo. Tell us white man need syntactically, dialectically complex code to use in fight against they who are with slanted eyes. [Raises his head to the heavens and cries something incompressible]

VOGEL: [after a long, awkward pause] Great. [to private] Private Mitchell, show Mr. Lapahie a seat.

[The private leads Lapahie to a seat at the table. Vogel takes a seat directly in front of him, leans down to retrieve a briefcase, places the briefcase on the table, and removes a piece of paper with military jargon. He places the sheet directly in front of Lapahie, who sits upright with his arms folded.]

VOGEL: Now, before we begin utilizing your code, we want to see it in action first. What I'd like for you to do for me now, Mr. Lapahie, is translate what you see in front of you out loud into Navajo.

LAPAHIE: [nods but avoids eye contact] As you wish, kemosabe.

[He calmly glances at the paper and then suddenly and out of nowhere raises his head to the heavens and cries something incomprehensible. This startles Vogel. He then glances back down at the paper, places his right hand before his mouth, pats at it back and forth, and yells the following as he reads:]

LAPAHIE: Woo-woo! Woo-woo-woo! Woo! Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo! Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo!

[Lapahie then calmly bows in his chair. Vogel is left speechless.]

VOGEL: [confused, agitated, and frustrated] What the hell was that supposed to be?

LAPAHIE: [nods] The words of my people, kemosabe.

VOGEL: [agitated] The unwritten language of Navajo...you're telling me it's "woo-woo-woo!"...

LAPAHIE: [bows] White man have difficult time understand subtle nuances of native language. Tree slice in front of me says "Brigadier General," I translate to "woo-woo." Tree slice says "advance," I translate to "woo-woo-woo." Tree slice says "and," I translate to "woo." Tree slice says "arrive," I translate to "Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo." Tree slice says "Japan," I translate "Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo...!"

VOGEL: [interrupting him as he rattles on and on; raises his voice] That's enough! [sighs and tries to collect himself; reaches back into his briefcase to retrieve a second document, which he then shoves over to Lapahie] Here! This is a command we used just yesterday. Encrypt it!

[Lapahie calmly glances at the paper and then suddenly and out of nowhere raises his head to the heavens and cries something incomprehensible. This startles Vogel. He then glances back down at the paper, places his right hand before his mouth, and yells the following as he reads:]


[Lapahie then calmly bows and resumes sitting with his arms crossed. Vogel is left speechless.]

VOGEL: [beside himself with confusion, agitation, and anger] That's it?! [grabs paper and reads] "Lt. Colonel Harrison is advancing into Hiroshima. Notify all allies," and that's what I get..."woo"?!

LAPAHIE: [bows with arms folded] Navajo speak in simple terms, not like white man use ten words to describe tree that grows from dirt.

[CUT TO Private Mitchell standing beside what appears to be a real Native American.]


[CUT BACK TO Vogel and Lapahie. Vogel squints at "Lapahie," who starts to fidget and appear uncomfortable.]

VOGEL: [frowning and yelling when he comes to the realization] Hey! [rips off "Lapahie's" headdress] Clarkson! What the hell do you think you're doing?!

[Clarkson stands up in his mock Native American attire and begins pleading in his normal voice.]

CLARKSON: [nervous and frantic] Look, Major...you gotta understand. I joined the military as a cryptology specialist! It's all I've got to put food in my boy's mouth! If you bring in...in...[points at the real Indian]...Standing Bull over there, Major...why, you'll ruin me!

VOGEL: [retrieving a gun from his belt and pointing it angrily at Clarkson] Get outta here!!!

[Clarkson runs out the door, brushing past the private and the real Mr. Lapahie.]

VOGEL: [putting his gun away and shaking his head] Mr. Lapahie, I presume? [sighs and shakes his hand] On behalf of the United States military, allow me to apologize for this...incident. Trust me when I say we're grateful for your services.

[The shaken Indian nods in acknowledgment.]

VOGEL: [leading Lapahie to the table] Here, please...have a seat. [Lapahie, slightly uncomfortable in his surroundings, takes a seat] Now, Mr. Lapahie, we're running a little late, so if you would, please give us an example of the code your people have come up with to aid us in this war.

[He places a sheet of paper before Lapahie, who studies it closely and nods that he's understood it. He takes his old, trembling index finger and points it at the first word. Then, placing his right hand up to his mouth, he yells "Woo-woo!" He then pauses to glance at the second word and then yells, "Woo-woo-woo!" As the elderly Indian continues, Vogel stands up, tosses the other papers in the air, rubs his forehead, shakes his head, and turns his back to Lapahie.]
Monday, June 6th, 2005
5:52 pm
Failed Celebrity Tie-ins

Sunday, June 5th, 2005
6:49 pm
Returns and Exchanges

[A well-groomed middle-aged white woman stands behind the "Returns and Exchanges" counter at an unnamed department store. The counter has a small line of customers, each holding at least one item to either return or exchange for something else. The current customer, an elderly Hispanic woman, hands the Returns and Exchange lady a skirt and a receipt.]

RETURNS AND EXCHANGES LADY: [running the receipt through the register] Ok...ma'am. [hands her money] Your change is $40 [hands her change] and twenty-seven cents. [she smiles at the Hispanic lady]

HISPANIC LADY CUSTOMER: [putting her money away and smiling in kind] Thank you.

RETURNS AND EXCHANGES LADY: [friendly] You're very welcome. Ok, next?

[Up walks a relatively handsome white man in his early 30s. He wears nicely tailored khaki pants and a large, ill-fitting brown jacket with black leather elbow guards. Unlike the other customers, he carries nothing to be returned or exchanged. He appears both angry and uncomfortable, traits the Returns and Exchanges lady immediately picks up on.]

RETURNS AND EXCHANGES LADY: [trying not to frown/snicker at the anachronistic jacket] Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?

IRATE CUSTOMER: [curt, blank-faced, and sarcastic] I want to return something, and I want to return it now.

RETURNS AND EXCHANGES LADY: [looking for whatever it is he wants to return] Okay...sir. And what would you like to return?

[The customer, holding back his ire, slowly and painfully removes his jacket to reveal the following:]

[The display shocks both the Returns and Exchanges lady and the other customers waiting in line.]

IRATE CUSTOMER: [sarcastic in tone] In case you couldn't tell, I seem to have had an allergic reaction to a shirt I purchased from this very store not three hours ago. Now, when I chose Mervyn's as my shopping destination, I expected nothing but the very best! [as he rants and raves, the Returns and Exchanges lady bites her lips and appears to want to break in and tell him something. However, he won't let her] Now, I don't know what kind of detergents or fabrics you people use, but I've never had this problem before anywhere else!

RETURNS AND EXCHANGES LADY: [attempting to reach her hand out and break into the rant] Sir, if I could just...

IRATE CUSTOMER: [becoming even louder and more irate; interrupting] Now if it was just me having this allergic skin reaction, I might say, "Well, gosh, maybe it's just my skin that's overly sensitive to some type of dye or something," but...well, look at this [turns his head to his right and calls after someone off screen] Davy, get over here and show the lady!

[Up walks the following little boy:]

[Like before, everyone, including the Returns and Exchanges lady, gasps.]

IRATE CUSTOMER: [holding his boy dearly and closely to him] So not only do I want to return these low-quality, cheaply made shirts, I'm going to sue you and your goddamn company for every penny you're worth!! [bangs his fist down on the counter]

RETURNS AND EXCHANGES LADY: [sighs both out of frustration and out of fear] Sir, have you ever bought a dress shirt from a department store before?

IRATE CUSTOMER: What?! What kind of asinine question is that?! Of course I have! [pauses for a split second] Well, my wife has, but it's my hard-earned money!

RETURNS AND EXCHANGES LADY: [nodding; reaches up her hand and, with trepidation, extends it toward the customer] It's just that...[reaches her hand up to the customer's chest] You've got to...[grimaces as she quickly yanks back her hand, which causes the customer to flinch]...remove the pins before you put them on, sir.

[The customer immediately turns red and appears self-conscious]

IRATE CUSTOMER: [after a long pause; now fidgety] Oh...I see. [pauses to think] Well, is it all right if I exchange these for two new ones? I mean, we've barely even worn them, right, Davy??

[LONG CLOSE UP of the father and son's blood-drenched shirts.]

RETURNS AND EXCHANGES LADY: [Her eyes wide; reaches down to grab a piece of paper from her counter, but never stops looking at the customer with a look of shock] Here's a 10% off coupon on your next purchase.

[The customer, still embarrassed, takes the coupon and begins to walk away. However, he stops when he remembers something.]

IRATE CUSTOMER: [still embarrassed] Oh, yeah, just one more thing. Do you think I could get an exchange on these?

[He reaches into his brown, anachronistic jacket and retrieves the following:]

[The Returns and Exchanges lady is left dumbfounded and with her mouth agape.]
Wednesday, June 1st, 2005
7:29 pm
Mandela Day

[James, a clean-cut, conservatively dressed, middle-aged black man in glasses, enters data into a computer on his desk. His coworkers, Janice (white, mid-30s, and attractive) and Paul (thin, geeky, and EMO-like), presumably do the same at their desks. Janice and Paul's desks face each other, while James' desk faces away from them in the corner. A fourth, presently unoccupied, desk faces Janice and Paul off to the side. Seconds later, Dennis, a fourth coworker, enters the office looking exhausted. He approaches James.]

DENNIS: [apologetic in tone.] Aw, James, man...sorry I'm late again. I know I promised I'd...

JAMES: [interrupting; understanding in tone; speaks with what sounds like a British accent] Don't worry about it. I'm handling everything just fine after all.

DENNIS: [disappointed in himself] No...it's not all right. I promised I'd be here to help with the Coleman account, and I wasn't. [pauses to self-reflect] It's just...my grandma's getting pretty bad. I mean, they found the tumors; that's the good news. It's just...the treatment, you know?

JAMES: [with a look and tone of genuine concern] I'm sorry to hear this. Your grandmother sounds like a fine woman.

DENNIS: [nodding] She is. And she's strong. She's gonna get through this...[closes his eyes, scrunches his face tightly, extends his right arm slightly, and makes a fist]...just like Nelson Mandela.

[Dennis collects himself and takes a seat at his desk. James, looking a little confused and put off, just nods and continues working. Several seconds pass in silence.]

JANICE: [attempting to make conversation with the group] Was it just me, guys, or was the traffic on I-10 just awful this morning?!

[They all sigh and moan in agreement.]

JANICE: It's a miracle I even made it in, to be honest with you. I barely got Brian to the babysitter on time, and if I don't get Brian there at 7:15 sharp, she won't even take him. [perks up her voice] But I got through it...[closes her eyes, scrunches her face tightly, extends her right arm slightly, and makes a fist]...just like Nelson Mandela.

[After "...just like Nelson Mandela," she immediately goes back to acting normal. Paul and Dennis don't react, indicating they consider her melodramatic outburst normal behavior. James, on the other hand, frowns as if to say, "Did she really just say that?" A short pause ensues before Paul addresses Dennis.]

PAUL: Hey, Dennis, looks like your Celtics are goin' dooown tonight.

[Janice and James laugh, but Dennis, humorously annoyed, merely smirks.]

DENNIS: Hey, now...they could still pull this out. If Jefferson learns how to make free throws, it's gravy from there, baby.

[They all laugh.]

PAUL: I dunno, man. Just callin' 'em as I see 'em. But I think the Celtics will do better next season...[closes his eyes, scrunches his face tightly, extends his right arm slightly, and makes a fist]...just like Nelson Mandela.

[Paul immediately goes back to acting normal as if completely unaware of what he just said. Dennis and Janice do not react, but this time, James sighs and shakes his head. He's clearly frustrated.]

PAUL: [standing up] All right, guys. I'm in dire need of some java. You guys want anything while I'm up?

[Dennis declines.]

JANICE: Uh...yeah, sure. My usual...oh, but with Splenda.

[James remains silent. He just sits at his desk looking frustrated.]

PAUL: James, how about you? Can I get you anything?

JAMES: [curt; doesn't turn around to make eye contact] No.

[Paul, Dennis, and Janice look at each other to nonverbally communicate, "What the hell is his problem?"]

PAUL: [walking away] Okaaaay then...

[Moments pass before an Asian bicycle courier, replete with yellow helmet and Body Glove suit, enters the office carrying a satchel of packages. A jovial, friendly sort, the short courier immediately strikes up a conversation with Dennis and Janice, both of whom face him. James resumes working silently at his station.]

COURIER: [broken English and thick accent] Phew! Today is rike...whoa! Too much packages for me!

[He laughs, and Dennis and Janice laugh in kind.]

DENNIS: [smiling in a laddish manner] So Yosuke...any progress with that receptionist on the fourth floor? Huhhhh...?

COURIER: [smiling and nodding his head] Oh, man, I terr you something. I ask her out Tuesday, she say, "I have boyfriend." I can just forget her, but you know I trying...[closes his eyes, scrunches his face tightly, extends his right arm slightly, and makes a fist]...just rike Nerson Mandera.

[With this, James curses something loud and incomprehensible before rising out of his chair. He looks the courier and coworkers dead in the face.]

JAMES: [agitated] Will you please stop doing that?!

[They're all speechless.]

DENNIS: [nodding his head in confusion] Doing what...? Oh, are you friends with her, James? Because if you are, we were just joki...

JAMES: [interrupted; still agitated] I mean the Nelson Mandela references!

[The three look at each other and shake their heads, indicating they have no idea what he's referring to.]

JAMES: [forthright] Listen. What Nelson Mandela stood for deserves more than "I got stuck in traffic and got out just like Nelson Mandela," or "I stubbed my toe in the shower, but went to work just like Nelson Mandela," or "the Coke machine took my quarter, but I got it back just like Nelson Mandela"! If I say, "I escaped the oppressive regimes of my country despite threats of violence," then I can compare that to Nelson Mandela, and that's all I can compare it to!

DENNIS: [defensive] Oh, yeah? Well, let me ask you something. What the hell do you know about the willpower to make it through? You're the one getting the promotion. I'd say you've pretty much forfeited your rights to the Nelson Mandela simile.

JAMES: [staring Dennis dead on for several seconds] I'm from South Africa. My family were victims of Apartheid.

DENNIS: [smirking and walking back toward an equally incredulous Janice and Asian bike courier] Oh, well la-de-da-de-daaa...

[Just then, Paul returns holding two cups of coffee. He seems oblivious to the conflict.]

PAUL: [pushing past them and putting the coffee down on the filing cabinet] Heads up, guys. Coffee break. [snaps his fingers as if he just remembered something] Oh, Janice...they were out of Splenda, so I got you Sweet 'N' Low. [pats her on the shoulder jovially] But you'll survive...[closes his eyes, scrunches his face tightly, extends his right arm slightly, and makes a fist]...just like Rosa Parks.

[James throws his hands up in the air and turns his back to them all.]
Monday, May 30th, 2005
6:40 pm
Goofy Movies: Jurassic Park (1993)
It's nearly impossible to write, direct, and produce a film without at least a handful of mistakes. Some films, however, contain way too many of these "goofs." From time to time, I'll spotlight such a film. Today's "Goofy Movie": winner of the "Golden Raspberry" award for most mistakes in a motion picture, Steven Spielberg's sci-fi/action thriller Jurassic Park (1993).

Geographical Error: Nedry is shown seated at a beachfront cafe behind the caption "San Jose, Costa Rica". San Jose, however, is landlocked.

Continuity Error: Throughout the film, Hammond often limps with the wrong foot and/or has the cane in the wrong hand.

Continuity Error: During the scene in which the T-Rex's stomping causes the water to tremble, the children appear frightened. However, dinosaurs have been extinct for 65,000,000 years.

Factual Error: Hammond devises a way to extract DNA from the nucleus of a dinosaur egg, thus creating an unlimited supply of dinosaurs. However, time began when God created Adam and Eve, neither of whom bore dinosaur-like features.

Continuity Error: During the scene in which Nedry is attacked by the venom-spitting dilophosaur, the camera cuts to a close up of Nedry, who is clearly Newman from the hit TV sitcom Seinfeld.

Audio/Video Synchronization Error: Whenever the characters fend off the giant dinosaurs, their lips are in synch with the words they are speaking, and none of them are Asian.

Logical Error: At no point in the film do the characters call on Gamera for assistance.

Continuity Error: The film is 126 minutes long, which is 36 minutes longer than a movie should be.

Logical Error: Jurassic Park stars Sam Neill, yet at no point in the picture does he stumble upon Isabel Adjani having sex with a dinosaur she gave birth to in a derelict West Berlin apartment.

Continuity Error: Towards the end of the film, Ellie suddenly looks up to see a velociraptor behind the sheet of plastic hanging from the ceiling. However, dinosaurs have been extinct for 65,000,000 years.
Sunday, May 29th, 2005
6:47 pm
Pet Motel

[A young, attractive white mother and her two elementary-age children, one boy and one girl, stand outside beside their SUV. The mother holds a sickly, thin, elderly Labrador retriever as the children open the door to the driver's side backseat. Judging by the mother's pained expression, the dog is heavy. The kids do nothing to alleviate the tension as they stomp their feet and whine about missing their favorite cartoon.]

MALE ANNOUNCER: [O.S.] Is a terminally ill pet giving you a migraine?!

[The woman sighs with frustration and drops the sickly dog on the ground, causing it to whimper. The children dance and yell around her as she rubs the temples on her forehead and looks into the camera with a frustrated, pleading expression.]

MOTHER: I wouldn't mind putting Sparky down if it just wasn't such a hassle!

MALE ANNOUNCER: [laughs] Looks like you need Pet Motel!

[A large doghouse labeled "Pet Motel" materializes in front of them like magic. When the mother and her children see it, they smile as if it's the best thing that's ever happened to them.]



[The Pet Motel rotates clockwise against a plain white backdrop as the announcer describes it in a cheerful, upbeat manner.]

MALE ANNOUNCER: Introducing Pet Motel! With Pet Motel, time-consuming, emotionally draining visits to the vet are a thing of the past! Here's how it works!



[The mother is shown walking alone into her living room holding the Pet Motel. Smiling, she places it down on the floor.]

MALE ANNOUNCER: First, simply place your Pet Motel wherever you choose. Its stylish design will fit perfectly in any house!

[The mother crosses her arms, smiles, and glances around her immaculate, earth-toned living room, which, despite the announcer's claims to the contrary, clashes with the large doghouse. The mother, however, appears happy with what she sees.]



[The sick, elderly Labrador from earlier slinks up the Pet Motel as the mother, her husband, and their two children huddle on a couch and cheerfully watch cartoons together. The Pet Motel is situated just left to the couch.]

MALE ANNOUNCER: Next, simply wait as your terminally ill house pet is entranced by Pet Motel's cozy, down-lined interior!

[The Labrador slowly makes its way into the Pet Motel's door. The second he enters, the door slams shut, trapping him inside. The family does not appear to notice; they continue watching cartoons and laughing.]

MALE ANNOUNCER: Upon entering, your pet will meet its end with one gallon of aqua regia! It's humane, and best of all, it's fast!

[As the family continues watching television, we hear a splashing sound coming from within the Pet Motel. The Labrador inside begins whimpering and beating the walls to escape.]


[The mother approaches the Pet Motel, waits to hear any sign of the dog inside, folds her arms, smiles, and nods in satisfaction.]

MALE ANNOUNCER: Yes, in just three short hours, Pet Motel will put your once-loved pet out of its and your misery!



[The mother walks into the bathroom holding the Pet Motel.]

MALE ANNOUNCER: And with Pet Motel, cleanup is a snap!

[The mother unlocks the door to the Pet Motel, lifts up the toilet, and plunks the putrid, yellow, liquefied remains of the Labrador into the toilet. She then closes the Pet Motel back up, flushes the toilet, pats her hands clean, and cheerfully exits the bathroom.]



[The Pet Motel sits on the floor in a baby's room. To the left of the Pet Motel, a sickly-looking cat lays on the floor. To the right of the Pet Motel, a cute female infant plays alone with a doll. Cackling, she approaches the entrance of the Pet Motel and inquisitively looks inside.]

MALE ANNOUNCER: And Pet Motel will fit unobtrusively into any room in your house, guaranteed!



[The woman sits beside her sickly Labrador in a veterinarian's office. The vet pleads with her to do something, but she turns her nose up at him, waves her hands, and walks out, leaving the vet shaking his head in disappointment.]

MALE ANNOUNCER: Don't let overpriced vet bills dissuade you from putting your pet out of its misery!



[The Pet Motel sits before the entire family, who watch with bated breath as their Labrador slinks itself into the entrance.]

MALE ANNOUNCER: Get Pet Motel today!



[The Pet Motel is displayed against a white backdrop.]

NEW MALE ANNOUNCER: Pet Motel: available at Target, Wal-Mart, and other fine stores. And coming soon, Grandparent Motel.



[A frail, crippled elderly man approaches a bed (which looks suspiciously similar to a Craftmatic Adjustable Bed) labeled "Grandparent Motel" at the top. He does not appear to notice the label as he lies down. The moment his body touches the bed, the sheets give in, causing him to land in a sea of acid. The old man screams and wails as the gases cloud the lens of the camera.]
Thursday, May 26th, 2005
7:27 pm
Lad's Conspiracies

...a white man in blackface masquerading as a black Jazz singer.


...a black man in whiteface masquerading as a white Satanic rock star.
Wednesday, May 25th, 2005
6:55 pm
Wicks 'N' Sticks

[A customer, white, male, and in his early 30s, walks into a Wicks 'N' Sticks shop located in a relatively busy shopping mall. Unlike the other shops in the mall, all of which appear modern, flashy, and eye-catching, the Wicks 'N' Sticks storefront looks rundown and antiquated with a large, oversized sign straight out of a shop from the Dawn of the Dead (1978) mall.]



[As we hear the customer entering the shop, we focus on its employee: a scraggly 50-something-year-old male hippy replete with long, stringy grayish brown hair, glasses, and 1960s bellbottom pants. The employee stands intensely before a tray of white, dusty candles of various shapes and sizes seated atop the checkout counter. He carefully organizes each candle one by one, allowing an equal amount of space between them. When he sees the customer, he appears shocked, insecure, and unsure of himself.]

[The customer stands at the entranceway and has an idle look around the shop, which, like the storefront, appears dusty, dark, and antiquated like a shop frozen in the late 1970s or early 1980s. The merchandise is picked over, and cobwebs literally dangle from several of the candles. After having a quick look about, the customer approaches the awkward employee, who takes one step back for every one step the customer makes forward.]

CUSTOMER: [finding the employee odd, but remaining polite] Hi, do you have any cinnamon-scented candles? [laughs to himself slightly and to try to break the tension, which doesn't work] My wife keeps bugging me to find her some.

EMPLOYEE: [backing into the corner behind and avoiding eye contact; curt, barely audible reply] Yes.

[An awkward pause as the customer nods and expects the employee to elaborate.]

CUSTOMER: [nodding with a look of "...are you going to continue?"] Okay...and could you tell me where they are?

EMPLOYEE: [answering in the same manner as before] Yes.

CUSTOMER: [still nodding with a tinge of incredulousness] That's good. So...where are they?

[The employee, now visibly shaken, merely extends his right hand (the fingers of which have absurdly long nails, indicating he hasn't clipped them in years) and points to the far left-hand corner of the store. He continues to look down, avoiding eye contact with the customer.]

CUSTOMER: [following the direction; obviously confused and slightly amused at the employee] Thanks. Thank you.

[The customer walks past the dusty, cobweb-enshrouded candles, candleholders, oil lamps, and other candle knickknacks until he approaches a small bin at the back. The label on the bin is obscured by dust, so the customer blows on it to reveal the words "Cinnamon." Before the customer can touch one of the candles, the employee frantically runs up to the bin and stands in front of it, blocking the customer. The employee does not speak or make eye contact; he just stands there as the customer appears slightly disturbed and confused by the spectacle.]

CUSTOMER: [just inches away from the hippy's face] Okaaay then. Mind if I pick up a couple...?

[The employee, obviously having an internal monolog, finally shoves himself out of the way and turns his back to the customer, who smiles and nods once more. He then picks up a cinnamon candle, which immediately crumbles into approximately ten different pieces.]

CUSTOMER: [confused and brushing the candle flakes off his hands; addressing employee, who still has his back turned to him.] Do you have any more in the back for me to buy? [looking back at the box before him and smirking] I think these are a...a little old.

EMPLOYEE: [appearing perplexed; doesn't face customer; speaks in a low, barely audible voice] Buy...?

CUSTOMER: [nodding] Yeeaah, you know, like to exchange money for so that I can take the candles out of the store and back to my house??

EMPLOYEE: [appearing frantic and nervous; grabs the entire bin of candles and clings to them for dear life] No!

[Just then, the door to the shop opens, revealing a heavyset middle-aged man in an Orange Julius apron.]

ORANGE JULIUS MAN: [in a questioning voice] What's going on here? [addressing employee] Ted, this guy givin' you any trouble?

EMPLOYEE: [shaking and clinging to his box of candles; speaking more to himself than to the Orange Julius man] Wanted to take...can't take...belong here...where they belong...all along...

CUSTOMER: [laughing in frustration] What the hell is going on here?! All I want is to buy some candles!

ORANGE JULIUS MAN: [slightly agitated] Maybe you didn't notice, sir, but the store's closed.

CUSTOMER: [shaking his head in confusion] Uh...it wasn't when I walked in not five minutes ago.

ORANGE JULIUS MAN: [grimaces; addresses employee in a forced upbeat manner] Say, Ted, that's one mighty fine new display you're workin' on over there! [referring to the display of white candles the employee was working on at the counter] Say, why don't ya go back on over there and work on it some more?

[The employee puts the bin of cinnamon candles down, picks himself up, and scurries back over to the white candle display. He resumes putting it together as if in a trance.]

ORANGE JULIUS MAN: [still agitated; keeping his voice down so that the employee doesn't hear] No, I mean the store is closed. Out of business. Has been since 1982. Don't you have eyes? I mean, come on, when was the last time you saw someone come in a Wicks 'N' Sticks?

CUSTOMER: [incredulous; laughing despite himself] But...that's absurd! The sign's still up, the door's open, [points to employee] he's here!

ORANGE JULIUS MAN: [addressing the customer; keeping his voice low] Now, look, Ted's a good man. He's been here since the mall opened in 1966, and there's no way in hell me, the mall, or most certainly you are gonna break his illusion. It's...it's this shop. The candles... [pauses and looks around for dramatic emphasis] they do funny things to a man. [snaps out of his dramatic aside] To him, Wicks 'N' Sticks is in business. [becomes angry in tone] Now, if you know what's good for ya, you'll get the hell outta here and never come back.

CUSTOMER: [blank expression; looks at the man's apron] I thought Orange Julius closed seven years ago when the mall expanded.

ORANGE JULIUS MAN: [enraged; grabs customer by the collar and gets in his face] Don't you mess with my dreams either! Now get the hell out!

[The customer, now intimidated, quickly exits the shop.]

[The Orange Julius man and the employee remain where they are for several seconds. Finally, the former walks up to the latter and slaps him friendlily across the back.]

ORANGE JULIUS MAN: Come on, we got work to do.

[The employee immediately ducks behind the counter. He emerges seconds later wearing a black leather bondage uniform. His body is covered in an array of zippers, buckles, and studs. On his head are a black leather mask with two eyeholes and a closed zipper for a mouth. The employee, like before, just stands there awkwardly. The Orange Julius man begins breathing heavily and rubbing his genitals through his apron.]
Monday, May 23rd, 2005
7:55 pm
LadArt XII
A World Without Firemen

Sunday, May 22nd, 2005
7:06 pm
Revamped White Diamonds
In 1991, Elizabeth Taylor introduced White Diamonds, her signature line of perfume. Aimed at a demographic of upper-middle class women (ages 40-55), White Diamonds was an immediate success, earning Taylor millions in revenue.

Several years ago, though, sales of White Diamonds plummeted, leading marketing analysts to conclude that the audience's demographic had changed since the early 1990s. Because of this, the makers of White Diamonds decided to change the formula and market it to a slightly older demographic.

Below is a transcript of a recent commercial for Elizabeth Taylor's revamped line of perfume.


[Three older, suavely dressed, heavyset European men stand truculently behind the counter of a garden variety Laundromat. Despite the mundane locale, the tint of the film stock is shrouded in mist and overexposed to look timeless and intriguing. The blades of a white fan circle from the ceiling, adding yet another element of danger and intrigue to the proceedings. Standing before the three suavely dressed European man is a younger, handsome European, Von Ryan, with the looks of a male model. Also standing truculently, he holds a business suit peppered with mysterious holes.]

VON RYAN: [vague European accent; intense expression; addresses Laundromat workers] So, you are saying there is nothing you can do about these insects that bite holes into my jacket.

EUROPEAN LAUNDROMAT WORKER 1: [vague European accent; intense expression; deep, gruff voice] We can do nothing for you.

EUROPEAN LAUNDROMAT WORKER 3: [vague European accent; intense expression; deep, gruff voice; chuckles slightly] Then I guess you are done for, Von Ryan.

VON RYAN: [begins folding the ruined jacket; slightly agitated, but remaining civil] Then I fold.

[Just then, we hear mystical, exotic music. We focus on Von Ryan and the Laundromat workers as a beam of bright white light shines upon them. CUT TO a MEDIUM CLOSE UP of Elizabeth Taylor standing at the entranceway. Her body is aged, pudgy, and wrinkly in her Golden Girls-esque pants suit, yet her face is shrouded in overexposed white, hiding not only her wrinkles, but also her entire visage. She approaches Von Ryan at the counter.]

TAYLOR: [raspy smoker's voice] Not so fast, Von Ryan. [she reaches into her pants suit and retrieves three small white balls and the upper bridge of a pair of false teeth] These have always brought me luck.

[She puts the dental bridge back into her pocket, but hands the three moth balls to Von Ryan, who places them up to his nose. The smell overwhelms him. He smiles triumphantly at the European Laundromat workers, places three one-dollar bills on the counter and walks out arm in arm with Liz Taylor. We focus on their backs as they exit the store; Taylor's adult diapers protrude from the top of her pants suit.]

INTENSE MALE ANNOUNCER: [speaking as we focus on Taylor and Von Ryan leaving the Laundromat] White Moth Balls: An intriguing new fragrance for women over 65.

[The following appears on the screen]

INTENSE MALE ANNOUNCER: Also available from Elizabeth Taylor: White Stale Peppermints and White Aspercremes and Cat Urine. Available exclusively at Dollar Tree.
Thursday, May 19th, 2005
6:11 pm
The Kids

[An unnamed young woman, pale, thin, clammy, and bearing all the signs of a depressed, suicidal addict, sits alone huddled away in a 90-degree corner of her small, dank, dirty, disheveled, sepia-tinted Berlin apartment. Judging by her hairstyle and dress sense, we can tell this is the early 1970s. Beer bottles line the stained carpet as the woman, wild-eyed and trembling, stares off into space alone in her corner. As she does this, Lou Reed's "The Kids" starts playing. We hear the following lyrics:]

They're taking her children away
Because they said she was not a good mother
They're taking her children away
Because she was making it with sisters and brothers
And everyone else, all of the others
Like cheap officers who would stand there and
Flirt in front of me...

[The song pauses for several seconds. The woman sighs, picks herself up (not with ease), stumbles several feet to the couch (lined with various drug paraphernalia and mysterious stains), plops herself down, and buries her head in her hands. She seems to want to sob, but, probably due to severe addict-induced dehydration, cannot muster the tears necessary to do so. The song continues where it left off:]

They're taking her children away
Because they said she was not a good mother
They're taking her children away
Because of the things that they heard she had done
The black Air Force sergeant was not the first one
And all of the drugs she took, every one, every one...

[When the "And all of the drugs she took..." line begins, she locates a hypodermic needle buried in the cushions of the couch, taps it with her right index finger, extends her track-marked left arm, finds a vein, and injects the fluid. The song then comes to a pause.]

[The injection appears to relax her, so she stands up once again and lumbers on into the kitchen located just several feet away. She pours herself a bowl of Rice Krispies using milk that's been sitting out on the counter for an indeterminate amount of time. As she spoons the cereal into her dry, crusty mouth, the song continues...]

And I am the Water Boy, the real game's
Not over here
But my heart is overflowin' anyway
I'm just a tired man, no words to say
But since she lost her daughter
It's her eyes that fill with water
And I am much happier this way...

[She finally sheds tears on the line "It's her eyes that fill with water." With the line "And I am much happier this way," the song comes to another pause. Still crying, she places the bowl down and begins pacing back and forth in the tiny, dirty kitchenette. Between the kitchenette and the living room stands an antique table, the top of which displays several dozen framed photographs of unnamed people, both male and female. She continues pacing about in the kitchen as the song continues.]

They're taking her children away
Because they said she was not a good mother
They're taking her children away
Because number one was the girlfriend from Paris...

[The song pauses again. She walks over to the antique table and picks up a photograph of a French woman, supposedly the "girlfriend from Paris" mentioned in the lyrics. The song continues.]

...The things that they did, oh, they didn't have to ask us
And then the Welshman from India
Who came here to stay...

[Once again, the song comes to a temporary halt. This time, the woman picks up a framed photograph of an unnamed Welshman. This appears to sadden her even further, as indicated by her sudden breakdown. She falls to the floor, sits Indian style, and sobs violently. The song resumes:]

They're taking her children away
Because they said she was not a good mother
They're taking her children away
Because of the things she did in the streets
In the alleys and bars, no she couldn't be beat
That miserable rotten slut couldn't turn anyone away

[As the woman sobs and rocks herself back and forth on the floor, she clutches the picture of the Welshman to her bosom. Although the lyrics to the song come to a halt, the acoustic guitar melody continues. Also, by this point, we hear the frantic cries of the woman's children. They yell out a heart-wrenching array of cries ("Mommy!" "Mom-yeeeeeee!!!" etc...) as their mother becomes even more distraught.]

[Finally, after approximately thirty long, excruciating seconds, the woman collects herself, wipes her tears away, puts down the photograph, stands up, and walks angrily toward her bedroom, a small room to the immediate right of the kitchen. The frantic cries of "Mommy!" continue, as does the acoustic guitar melody. The woman then enters the bedroom, looks straight ahead, shakes angrily, grits her teeth, and yells as we focus on her, not her addressee.]

YOUNG MOTHER: [addressing someone off screen; agitated] SHUT. THE. HELL. UP! My kids are trying to sleep!

[We CUT TO what she sees: her two children, one boy and one girl, both in a large playpen, crying and wailing frantically. To their right sits Lou Reed, who suddenly stops strumming his guitar. Reed, embarrassed and self-conscious, places the guitar down, shrugs his shoulders, and smirks as if to say "sorry."]
Tuesday, May 17th, 2005
7:28 pm
A Lad Inane: Porn Editor (Part 5)
You might have noticed that the grammar on pornography sites has improved in recent months. You have me to thank for this. I'm a_lad_inane. I edit porn as a community service.

Hi [1] everybody [2] Madison here [3]. Im [4] kinda [5] tired, worked my ass [6] last night, got [7] to bring my son to school this morning, and my cellphone was ringing [8]. It [9] was this [10] guy I met last night, [11] dying to come over here. I say [12] ok fine, [13] were [14] going to play [15]. You know, sucking off [16] their balls and all that kind of stuff [17]. The bets [18] thing about it, [19] he showed up with his twin brother. So [20] Ithought [21] to get [22] his twin too [23] and then I'll do em [24] both [25] and I make sure you guys all see it [26].Its [27] been a while since the last one [28] I had a double treat [29] so [30] better enjoy this set coz' [31] I did. [32] See you guys again next time [33] ok [34].

[1]: Add a comma after "Hi."
[2]: Comma splice; add a semicolon between "everybody" and "Madison."
[3]: Sentence fragment; add a subject and a verb.
[4]: Add an apostrophe between the "I" and "m" to form the contraction "I'm."
[5]: "Kinda" is too informal. Spell out "kind of."
[6]: Vague wording. Do you mean to imply you "worked your ass off," as in you worked quite hard, or do you wish to imply you actually "worked your ass," meaning you prostituted yourself? In the case of the latter, expound upon this angle; your audience will find it titillating.
[7]: Try to avoid weak verbs such as "got." They're vague, and they weaken the power of your narrative.
[8]: Sentence lacks parallel structure. Rewrite so that each item in the string begins with a past-tense verb.
[9]: A pronoun sans an antecedent; confusing.
[10]: Since we've yet to be introduced to the man with whom you copulated on a whim, avoid referring to him as "this guy."
[11]: Unnecessary comma.
[12]: Change in diction; add a comma after "say" and begin "ok" with a quote.
[13]: Comma splice; replace comma with a semicolon.
[14]: Were/we're homonym error.
[15]: End quote.
[16]: "Sucking off" doesn't quite work in the context of this sentence; your audience might read that literally as you sucking off one of the twin's testicles.
[17]: "Stuff," like "things," is vague. Change to something more descriptive.
[18]: Unintentional spoonerism; change "bets" to "best."
[19]: Incorrect comma usage. Replace with a verb such as "was."
[20]: Never begin a sentence with a coordinating conjunction such as "so" or "but." Replace "so" with the more formal "therefore," and then add a comma.
[21]: Make "Ithought" two separate words.
[22]: See [7] above; weak verb.
[23]: Place commas on both sides of the word "too."
[24]: "Em" is far too informal; change to "them."
[25]: New clause beginning with "and." Add a comma.
[26]: Awkward sentence. Consider breaking it up into two.
[27]: Pronoun sans an antecedent; passive voice. If you wish to keep the passive construction (thus taking the emphasis off you and placing it on the black penis on which you performed fellatio), add an apostrophe between the "t" and "s" to form the contraction "it's."
[28]: "One" is confusing in this context. Do you wish to imply one penis or one set of twin penises?
[29]: Awkward construction.
[30]: Sudden, jarring change in tone; indicate you're referring to your audience here.
[31]: "Coz'" is far too informal. Change to "because" unless you intend to compare the twin black penises to that of Bill Cosby (aka "The Coz").
[32]: Sentence lacks a subject.
[33]: Add a comma.
[34]: To be grammatically correct, the sentence requires a question mark. However, consider being more authoritative by making an assertion; your audience knows you as the "MILF Whore," a title that implies a strong, resolute middle-aged woman.

Madison, please don't give up. You've made immense progress since your "MILF WHORE FUCKS ROBBER COCK" episode last week, so keep at it. In person, you speak eloquently, an indication that you're better at verbalizing your thoughts than at writing them down. Therefore, you may want to consider narrating into a tape recorder (I find Starbucks' atmosphere conducive to this) or dictating to someone.

You need to watch out for comma splices, non-parallel sentence structures, apostrophes, and, most importantly, inappropriate shifts in tone; your audience would benefit from a lack of colloquial slang. Still, good job!
Monday, May 16th, 2005
6:42 pm

[A white, middle-aged business executive in glasses, professionally dressed in a clean, expensive business suit but non-descript and average in overall appearance, hurriedly enters the men's restroom of a large corporation. Judging by his tense expression, fast, awkward gait, and locked knees, we can tell he needs to urinate and evacuate his bowels. He zooms right past the urinals, enters the first of two stalls, and quickly slams the door behind him and locks it.]



[The executive, breathing heavily and nearly panicking, undoes his pants, pulls them down, and has a seat on the toilet. He relaxes for a split second. His facial expression turns to frustration and horror, however, when he hears the bathroom door. This is followed by a series of shuffling, hurried footsteps leading directly to the second stall to his immediate left.]

EXECUTIVE #1: [voiceover; speaking in his head; appears horrified; whiny, nasal voice] Oh, no...not again. Why can't they just leave me alone? I can't go to the bathroom with someone else in here. What if they hear me? [buries his head in his hands and rocks back and forth] Oh...God I've gotta go...



[Inside stall #2, a second business executive, this one almost identical in appearance to the first, remains seated on his toilet. He, too, appears both frustrated and horrified to realize he's not alone in the restroom. He sits still in dead silence and leans right slightly to listen through the wall. He silently mouths "damn it!", grits his teeth, and shakes his head in frustration.]

EXECUTIVE #2: [voiceover; speaking in his head] Damn it. This is the second time this week I've had this happen to me. It's like they wait for you to have to go, and then they pounce! [looks down at the floor; we see what he sees: the dress shoes of the executive in stall #1; begins nodding] Ah...Jenkins. I knew it! Of all people...I lost the Roth account to Jenkins on Tuesday; if he hears me go now, I'll lose face twice in one week...[shakes his head] not good...not good...[voice and manner become competitive; smirks, squints, and nods his head in the direction of stall #1] Well then...we'll just see who breaks first.



[Executive #1 is now sweating and red in the face. His lips quiver, and he begins to sob. Rocking back and forth on the toilet, he quickly clasps his right hand over his mouth so as to not make an audible whimper.]

EXECUTIVE #1: [voiceover; speaking to himself in a whimpering, crying voice] Please, God...please make him go away! I can't take this much longer. I gotta pee, too! Oh...GOD...! [tries to collect himself] Ok, take deep breaths [he takes several deep breaths, but appears sickened by what he smells] Now think; which one makes less noise? [shakes his head in frustration] Idiot...both make noise. Think, goddamn it! Think! [bites his left knuckles] Ok...go for the tried and true; go with Plan 1, and we'll worry about the rest later.

[He reaches down between his legs, repositions his penis, bites his lips in trepidation, and then slowly begins to close his eyes and relax. We hear a faint ringing echo coming out of the toilet.]



[Executive #2, becoming more and more uncomfortable in appearance, leans over and places his ear to the wall of the stall. He's suspicious of what he hears.]

EXECUTIVE #2: [voiceover; speaking to himself] God, what I wouldn't give to know what's going on in there. Yeah...something's not right about this. [shakes his head and frowns] Something's not right about this at all. [appears to suddenly realize what's going on] Ah...I know what you're doing. Jenkins, you slimy bastard! The old "aim directly for the porcelain" ploy. [nods and begins rubbing his chin with his right hand] Very clever, Jenkins. Very clever indeed. I guess that's why you made top management last quarter. [sits upright and straightens his tie; still looks like he has to use the bathroom, though] Well, then, two can play that game.

[He, like executive #1 before him, reaches down between his legs, repositions his penis, bites his lips in trepidation, and then slowly begins to close his eyes and relax. We hear the faint stereophonic sound of liquid ringing off the porcelain bowls in both stalls.]



[Executive #1, still in ecstasy, slowly stops urinating off the porcelain. He sighs with relief for a second and then resumes feeling tense, frustrated, and anxious.]

EXECUTIVE #1: [voiceover; speaking to himself] Ok. You did it. Plan 1 complete...but now what? [grits his teeth as a lone tear streaks down his face] God...is there no way to do this quietly?! [clasps his hands up to his chin, looks up at the ceiling, and shuts his eyes] Oh, Lord, please see fit to grant me this one request. Please forget about what I said about my ulcers and the Yamamoto account; if I don't make it out of this, I won't make it, period. Please, if you do only one more thing for me ever, please make it this...

[Just then, we hear the bathroom door swing open. When executive #1 hears this, he peaks through the cracks and appears excited and relieved by what he sees. He even puts both fists up in the air and shakes them like an excited child. For a moment, we see what he sees: a short Hispanic janitor approaching one of the urinals. The janitor unzips his pants and begins urinating.]



[Executive #2 is now rocking back and forth and sobbing quietly. When he hears the janitor urinating, he face lights up; he looks through the cracks and sheds tears of relief.]

EXECUTIVE #2: [voiceover; speaking to himself] Ok. Prepare yourself. When he flushes, let it all go. You have approximately five seconds before the roar of the flush dies down, so remember what Willis emphasized at the last team-building workshop: use your time wisely.

[Through the cracks of stall #2, we see the janitor zip up his blue uniform, reach up, and place his hand on the lever to flush. CLOSE UP of him doing this in SLOW MOTION. We CUT back and forth between EXTREME CLOSE UPS of the two anxious executives. Finally, after much suspense, the janitor presses the lever, causing a torrent of water to stream down the sides of the urinal and carry away his urine.]

[As the urinal flushes, we CUT back and forth between EXTREME CLOSE UPS of the executives sitting in pure endorphin-fueled ecstasy as they evacuate their bowels. The roar of the janitor's flush masks the sound of the feces plunking in the water.]



[Both executives smile and sit straight and proud. They peak out of the corners of their respective stalls and watch the janitor as he approaches the sink and basin area.]

EXECUTIVE #1 [left side of the split screen; voiceover; speaking to himself] All right. You've made it this far. Now, when he turns on the water, act fast.

EXECUTIVE #2 [right side of the split screen; voiceover; speaking to himself] Come on...Do it...



[In slow motion, the Hispanic janitor squirts several dollops of liquid soap into his right palm, turns on the lever, and proceeds to lather his hands.]



[Both executives hurriedly and frantically spool toilet paper, reach behind them, wipe their buttocks, drop the paper, and flush the toilet. As they do this, they pay close attention to the janitor, making sure he's still busy washing his hands. As the water hits the sink, it covers up the sounds of the executives wiping their buttocks and flushing their toilets.]



[The janitor dries off his hands using a paper towel and then exits the restroom, seemingly oblivious to the executives watching his every move through the cracks in their respective stalls.]

[Several moments of silence pass as we focus on a MEDIUM SHOT of both closed restroom stalls. Suddenly, both doors open, and out walk both executives. When they exit, they look at each other and smile out of fake surprise.]

EXECUTIVE #1: [extending his unwashed hand and addressing executive #2, who gladly shakes it; feigning a cordial, detached businessman vibe] Brownings, you ol' gum on the bedpost! How the hell are ya, my good man!?

EXECUTIVE #2: [bellowing laughter; feigning a cordial, detached businessman vibe] Jenkins, you ol' homosexual pedophile! Dodging business, I see!

[The two share forced laughter as they walk confidently up to the sinks and basin to wash their hands.]

EXECUTIVE #1: [lathering up his hands and addressing executive #2, who does the same beside him] So, how 'bout that Cowboys game last night?!

[The two share more forced, cordial, incomprehensible "manly" bicker and hearty laughter as they wash their hands for an absurdly long time.]
Wednesday, May 11th, 2005
7:24 pm
Lad's Going Away Message
This afternoon, partly because I deserve it and partly because I'm filthy rich at 25, I decided to take a five-day Colorado vacation. I plan to drive aimlessly in the middle of nowhere, breathe in the fresh mountain air, appreciate the tranquility, learn some Native American words and phrases (e.g. "$10 minimum bet"), and safely dispose of the remains of people I murdered in Texas.

Now, I realize this leaves you, my devoted reader, in a precarious state. Because of this, I've created the following impromptu LadArt. I hope it helps.

Tuesday, May 10th, 2005
6:11 pm

[Billy, a short, geeky, self-conscious, middle-aged bug exterminator, stands beside an antiquated bug powder machine similar to that from Cronenberg's Naked Lunch. He fumbles nervously with the machine, but finally manages to attach the hose back to the side, an indication that he's just wrapped up his work.]

[A middle-aged homeowner, pudgy but dignified in appearance, slowly enters the kitchen from the door leading outside. He approaches the exterminator from behind and sniffs several times to test the quality of the air. The exterminator doesn't notice the homeowner's presence...until he speaks.]

HOMEOWNER: [addressing the exterminator from behind; exterminator jumps in surprise] So, I trust everything went well?

EXTERMINATOR: [collects himself from the surprise, but fumbles about self-consciously] Oh...great, sir. I don't think you'll have a problem with them again.

HOMEOWNER: [retrieves his wallet and begins flipping through his money] Well, then, I think some financial compensation is in or...

[Just then, a cockroach scurries across the floor between them. The homeowner is taken aback. The exterminator, however, pretends not to notice by gleefully whistling, sticking his hands in his pockets, and admiring the kitchen.]

HOMEOWNER: [after an awkward pause] So...what's going on?

EXTERMINATOR: [falsely chipper; pretends not to understand] What's that, sir?

[This time, four cockroaches scurry across the floor between them. The homeowner appears agitated and puts his wallet away. The exterminator, as before, pretends not to notice the cockroaches.]

HOMEOWNER: [folding his arms; standing his ground] Now see here. When I pay to have my kitchen fumigated, I expect to have it fumigated.

EXTERMINATOR: [self conscious; fidgets] Oh...that, sir. You see...well, I think what must've happened, sir, is that while I was wrapping up just now, some new roaches moved in.

HOMEOWNER: [arms still folded; nods sarcastically] Moved in, eh? [nods along with the exterminator for several seconds and then continues] You didn't do a damn thing, did you?

EXTERMINATOR: [fidgety; looks around nervously as if trying to come up with something fast] Tell you what, sir...How about I carry them out for you? How would that sound?

HOMEOWNER: [frowns in confusion; arms still folded] What...you mean after killing them?

EXTERMINATOR: [nervous; fidgets with the bug powder machine and inadvertently causes the nozzle to fall off] Well...I mean, we could just skip the middleman, sir, what with you being in such a hurry.

[Five more cockroaches scurry across the floor, further agitating the homeowner.]

HOMEOWNER: [sighs] You honestly mean to imply catching all of them alive and then escorting them off my property?

EXTERMINATOR: [fake chuckles] Oh, don't worry about that, sir. I ran track in high school; I'd like to see those little buggers get past me. [nudges homeowner on the shoulder; homeowner does not respond, causing the exterminator to recoil.]

HOMEOWNER: [sighs; authoritative] Look, do what you like, but I want them dead and out of my kitchen. Do you understand me?

EXTERMINATOR: [fidgets and tries to think of something fast] Right...sir.

[The exterminator turns his back to the homeowner, seemingly on purpose, reaches into his left pants pocket, and retrieves a small plastic bottle. As he does this, the homeowner stands by with a look of suspicion. The exterminator dumps the contents of the bottle on the kitchen table, sending roughly two dozen little blue pills shooting across the surface. He then retrieves a hammer from nearby and begins breaking the pills up into tiny, powdery bits. Finally, the homeowner speaks up in frustration.]

HOMEOWNER: Just what the hell do you think you're doing now?!

EXTERMINATOR: [acting suspiciously; continues pounding the pills into powder] Oh, right, sir. I'm just making some new bug powder...brand new...straight from the manufacturer, in fact. Hasn't even been granulated yet, sir.

HOMEOWNER: [walks up to the table and grabs the bottle; when he does this, the exterminator appears nervous, but continues pounding] Here, let me see that...[squints at the label] Valium. [to exterminator] Valium? You intend to sedate my cockroaches now, is that it?

EXTERMINATOR: [nervous and fidgety; stops hammering] Well...sir, they won't be a bother to you anymore. They'll just...sleep a lot.

HOMEOWNER: [frustrated] I don't want tranquil cockroaches. I want dead ones. And if you can't give me that, then I guess I can't pay you, right?!

EXTERMINATOR: [now borderline frantic] Sir...look, please...just bear with me for a minute. [pauses] You see, sir, it's just that...well, I'm a Buddhist, sir.

[Short pause.]

HOMEOWNER: [folding his arms and nodding sarcastically] Ah, I see. Right then.

EXTERMINATOR: [self-conscious] And as such, I'm not really supposed to...you know [makes throat-slitting gesture on himself] the animals...lest I come back as one. [shudders at the thought]

HOMEOWNER: [arms folded] Right. So you're a Buddhist exterminator, is that it? Tell me, before taking this job, did a career counselor ever sit down with you and...

[Just then, another exterminator, this one an older, obese man from Italian descent, enters the kitchen carrying a modern handheld exterminating machine. At first, he doesn't notice the first exterminator.]

EXTERMINATOR 2: [lumbering; deep, booming voice; grunts as he enters the kitchen] Sorry I'm late, but I had a...[notices the first exterminator, who appears incredibly nervous] Billy, what the hell are you doin' here? Get the hell outta here!

[The first exterminator frantically darts out of the kitchen, leaving his antiquated bug powder machine behind. The homeowner shakes his head and laughs incredulously.]

EXTERMINATOR 2: [sighs] I'm sorry about all that. And I apologize for being late, too.

HOMEOWNER: [incredulous] Would you mind telling me just what the hell is going on?!

EXTERMINATOR 2: [waving his hands in the direction of the first exterminator's exit] Oh, that's just Billy. We let him go months ago, but he still intercepts our calls...[laughs and lightly smacks the back of his hand against the homeowner's chest] Oh, and get this, he likes to try and convert our customers...to Buddhism. [laughs] Can you believe that?!

HOMEOWNER: [shakes his head in frustration as the exterminator continues laughing] Well, you sure took your sweet time getting here. [loses interest in arguing] Look...anyway, I'm not sure if they told you on the phone, but all I want is to have the roaches in this kitchen exterminated...

EXTERMINATOR 2: [interrupts; appears shocked] Exterminated?! [pauses] Oh...I'm afraid that's out of the question, sir.

[He reaches into his dirty blue exterminator's uniform, retrieves two tiny cymbals connected by a string, clings them together, dances gaily about the kitchen, and begins chanting "Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Hare, Hare, Hare, Rama, Hare, Rama, Rama, Rama, Hare..." ad infinitum.]
Sunday, May 8th, 2005
7:33 pm
A Cowboy's Life

[An old, thin, dusty, haggard-looking cowboy tosses a bale of hay into the back of his old, beaten up red 1955 Chevrolet truck. Cattle munch on hay to his left. In the distance is what appears to be an old, rickety, wooden shack, presumably his residence. After he tosses the hay into the truck, he takes a breath, slaps his hands free of dust, and addresses us.]

OLD COWBOY: [vague Southern drawl; introspective tone] What elements shape a real cowboy's life?

[He tosses another bale of hay into the back of his truck.]



[The cowboy now rides a horse alongside a cattle-herding dog and several dozen cows. He continues addressing us.]

OLD COWBOY: [cont.] The fences they mend, the cattle they run...

[He takes out a whip and snaps it at a cow, presumably to get it moving.]

OLD COWBOY: [addressing the cow] Yee-haa!



[The cowboy stands before a lone makeshift white cross with the words "Mable Creed: Beloved Wife." With a solemn expression, he removes his hat, glances up, and continues addressing us.]

OLD COWBOY: [cont.] Handwritten tales of the hardship. [nods] That's what they've borne.

[He glances back down to pay his respects.]



[EXTREME CLOSE UP on the cowboy's face. We see only his face, not his surroundings. He reaches to his left, picks up an acoustic guitar, strums it several times, tunes it, and begins singing the following with a slow, introspective drawl:]

Rusty ol' spurs
'n worn out boots,
a shackled ol' gun
that he never shoots.

A saddle under his head
a hat down over his eyes,
he lays and sleeps
under a clear western sky...

[As he sings, the camera slowly pans back to reveal his surroundings; corpse after rotting corpse line the floor and walls of his shack. Some corpses are in progressed states of decomposition, while others appear freshly deceased. One corpse, that of a young white woman, has an axe stuck right down the middle of her face, an indication that she's been murdered. Surrounding the corpses are hundreds of lit, flickering candles. The buzzing of flies is audible over the cowboy's guitar.]

[The cowboy continues strumming his old, beaten up guitar, but then pauses. He reaches down below his wooden chair, picks up a can of air freshener, and sprays it about the room. He clears his throat and nods at us as if to say, "Pardon me." He then picks up his guitar and resumes singing.]

No one to talk to
no kids, no wife,
the nights get long
in a cowboy's life...
[ << Previous 20 ]
About LiveJournal.com