Archive for January, 2012


polar fear club

Yes, I’m Rodney. Oh, is today the day the camera crew was supposed to follow me around?, I’ll say casually when they arrive, acting like I just walk around the house wearing a shirt with a collar all the time like some kind of big shot. I was just settling down to read a few chapters of Ulysses. Would you care for a gingerbread cookie once they cool off? Gone will be the following items: the Iron Maiden posters in my living room, the stack of Club Internationals and Schlitz empties in my bedroom, and the pizza-stained mountain of paper plates on the card table in my dining area. As Fonzie proved, garage apartments need not be the seedy havens of nefarious activity which are so frequently documented by the very same local news channel whose van will soon be at my door. I’ll need to make a good impression, and shoring up my admittedly lax personal hygiene and housekeeping habits is just as important as making sure I’ve given myself time plenty of time to finish masturbating before they arrive.
They said they’d be here at 7 a.m. sharp Wednesday morning, so I’ve got 36 hours to get this place tidied up. It’s not going to be easy, but investigative reporter Cynthia Sujira Senghor and her crew deserve nothing but the best. After all, they’re the ones who are gonna blow the lid off this international matchmaking scam that’s been taking advantage of successful bachelors who are too busy with their professional lives to seek out a mate through conventional means. Although it’s been a while since I entertained company, I do remember that a good host shouldn’t have a kitchen counter full of newspapers open to the bra ads, or an unflushed toilet whose contents look like egg drop soup. And my mother taught me that closed-toed shoes are a must, as a true gentleman never reveals how many toenails he’s lost to fungus. While I’m thinking about it, I must call the city to come pick up this raccoon trap, though the next season of Boardwalk Empire won’t be the same without my little watching buddy.
The only thing I’m worried about is that they said they wanted to get a few shots of me at work, and there’s a lot that could go wrong there. I’m probably just gonna have to send a hooker to Myron’s house Wednesday morning to keep him away from the office. Seems easier than trying to convince him to take down that “Fuck Rodney” banner above his cubicle that I had to pay to have professionally done at FedEx Kinko’s after losing a bet that our boss was gay. Plus, since word of our wager got out, my desk is really maybe even uncomfortably close to a forklift loading zone, which may pose a challenge to Channel 11’s sound engineers. The stakes are high, but if this all goes well, it could be a big turning point for me; maybe even increase my chances with that cute new temp in payroll. Just let her try and come up with a reason not to go to the movies with me after finally seeing me as the center of attention for a positive reason. I’m not usually romantically compatible with American girls, but it would be a real waste of all this housework not to try and get some dirty leg while the place is clean.


yours truly is in no mood to refer to himself in the third person

All right, gentlemen, it looks like everyone is here. I’d like to begin by mentioning how appreciative we are that everyone was able to make it on such short notice. I trust you all understand that we would not have called you away from your obligations elsewhere had not the subject of this meeting been as urgent as it is time-sensitive. For your troubles we have provided some delicious finger sandwiches, which will be made available when your cell phones are returned to you at the conclusion of this briefing. Now to the business at hand: I am pleased to announce that several decades of tireless work by our research and development team has at last yielded the achievement that should put us comfortably ahead of our competitors in the firearms manufacturing business for a generation. That’s right, boys. We’re talking about a gun that shoots knives.
To be sure, such a paradigm-shifting breakthrough is bound to raise quite a few questions, but please keep your hands down until the end. Hopefully this orientation will provide answers to most of them. To wit: is the gun that shoots knives extremely dangerous to use? Is it prohibitively expensive to maintain and keep loaded? Moreover, is it messy? The answer to all of these questions is most definitely in the affirmative, particularly the last one, as these slides of the gun that shoots knives being tested on live javelina hogs will attest. But despite its horrible impracticality, we believe this remarkable creation will have appeal due to the considerable status and respect commanded only by owners of a weapon that virtually guarantees a closed-casket funeral for its targets. In fact, you might say the gun that shoots knives is perfect for when you’ve worked really hard on an important presentation, only to have some cutup in the back possibly ruin it all by making snide comments under his breath. Am I making myself perfectly clear, Johnson?
I’m sure I don’t need to tell anyone that we’re gonna need to keep a lid on this thing for as long as we can, so no talking to the media, even the friendly outlets, as the gun that shoots knives is still not completely ready and we don’t want a repeat of ’88. The final stage of field testing dovetails with the first stage of our marketing strategy, which as per usual, is to leak a few of these to some gang members. After a few reports on the evening news about Bloods and Crips killing each other with guns that shoot knives, we fully expect to corner such coveted demographics as males between the ages of 33-39 who have a samurai sword prominently displayed in their dens, sexy female assassins between the ages of 16-48, and divorced cigarette boat-owning males between the ages of 48-55 whose online dating profiles say they’re seeking females between the ages of 22-26.


hey, let’s write a song where we just name a bunch of cities

Welcome to, your online source for plush, luxurious chaise longues at distributor prices. You already know that at, we pride ourselves on our exquisitely crafted chaise longues, offering selections of every color, shape and size found on the surprisingly diverse spectrum of chaise longue options. But what you might not know is how seriously we take our responsibility to uphold the venerable traditions from which the chaise longue originally sprang. We handle every step from the factory until your chaise longue arrives at your door, and our attention to quality is evident in every step, whether it be our business partnerships with only the finest old-world artisans like Marc Cavalcanti and Giuseppe der Wielen, our fabric buyers’ meticulous demand for nothing less than the highest quality materials and upholstery, or our insistence on using the same stupid original French spelling of “chaise longue” as last week’s Los Angeles Times Sunday crossword.

Our customers have depended on for generations, because we haven’t strayed from the principles our business was founded upon. We cater to a discriminating clientele with an eye for quality, and our many repeat customers appreciate that our high standards and commitment to service have remained the same since 1996. And unlike our competitors at, we offer our grand, opulent chaise longues at the prices the dealers get before they mark them up. Also unlike our competitors, we won’t insult our customers by using the dumbed-down American malapropism “chaise lounge.” Clearly, if you are in the market for an elegant chaise longue, you’re looking to class up the joint, so maybe you should fucking act like it already. What, you think the late Susan Sontag spelled it “chaise lounge” like some kind of fucking sixteen year-old barely literate frontier wife nursing two toddlers in a goddam covered wagon? Nah, man. Fuck outta here with that boolshit.

We’ve made a few changes to our website, so feel free to browse around. One of our new features is our store finder, for those discerning customers who prefer to come out to one of our 13 showrooms nationwide and inspect our fine chaise longues in person. A click of the mouse will help you find all one of our customer service centers in your region. You’ll know you’re in capable hands when you hear our representatives use the sophisticated, proper pronunciation of “shay-lohnj“- the only vocalization worthy of our incomparable chaise longues- that you’d expect from the late George Plimpton. Whether you’re looking for an offering from the Leland Nguyen spring collection, or simply want to take advantage of  special prices on our featured Chaise Longue of the Month (January’s is the sleek, modern Royal Executive, available in olive drab or currant), you’ll soon see why is the number one choice for millionaire philanders looking to furnish a swanky apartment to conduct extramarital affairs in.

(thanks to actual genius Kerry for her great work on the images)


french prince of bel air

Instructions: Put the headphones on. No, they’re not plugged into anything but this old dark corner of a barn. Let a spider crawl through the wire and into your ear. The music is the sound of her eggs hatching in your auditory canal, and you’ll need to listen carefully to it, so you can mimic it perfectly on the piano at the bookcase in the mansion that will open to reveal a secret passageway to a subterranean second mansion. That’s your home now. Sure, it’s got enough rooms for you to host a party and keep your work friends and school friends from ever meeting each other and inevitably exchanging stories about your substandard table manners, but every bathroom has the toilet paper unrolling from the back and a lock on there that prevents you from ever fixing it and every toaster in its many kitchens has a fucked up light/dark setting on the toaster that keeps you from making decent toast, even when you’re certain that you marked the perfect spot on the dial with a Sharpie. Use your wits to master the art of making toast in a frying pan, because you’ll need your strength for your day’s work of transcribing in longhand your interview with a septuagenarian parrot that has outlived multiple owners. Spend the next month holed up with the Remington Standard typewriter in your chamber and emerge with your masterpiece, then mail the manuscript to all five sets of brothers you know named Kevin and Kyle. Endure their withering criticism over your failure to adequately explain the parrot’s controversial failure to testify at the murder trial of Colombian drug kingpin Juancito “Pan Dulce” Montoya, who acquired the blue Hyacinth macaw in 1987 in a card game and owned him until 1990, when he was shot at his Miami villa by DEA agents after a lengthy standoff. Run, the wind chafing your hot tear-stained cheeks, around the perimeter of the property, clutching your unfavorable reviews and seeking a spot to bury them where no one can see them. Settle on an area behind the hedge surrounding the western servant’s quarters and burrow with your hands under its sun-dappled leaves, until the black earth under your fingernails makes them ache. Collapse from exhaustion and listen to the sound of your breathing slowly diminish from frantic gasps to a sound too quiet for human ears, until you’re lying perfectly still. Feel the cool moist soil against your face and think to yourself what a perfect spot this would be to just silently decompose. Got it? Congratulations, you’ve just completed step one.

January 2012