I too cool, pool rules, fool, no tool, goul.

I asked Angelina What should I write in my blog?

And then she said, Do you think something something something (things I can't repeat here) and I said, Um, yeah probably. Better not.

And then Angelina said, "There should be a sign in where you have to sign in to read people's blogs and stuff" and I told her that you can already do that if you want.

And then we talked about my stocking last year that was so pretty and made out of office supplies.

I want to make another one out of office supplies this year. If only I didn't hate everything.

And then I asked Angelina, "Did you sign up for Secret Santa" and Angelina said NO! And she asked if I remember what happened last year. Yeah, I remember. And the year before. Yeah, I remember.

I never sign up for Secret Santa and I always have to explain why. One of the reasons I give besides "Bah Humbug" is that I always forget to get a present and so I have to go like the day that it is due and half-ass it and then it feels like homework and not like Christmas spirit.

My mom doesn't like that I made some of my fonts bigger like the part that says "fucking you painfully in the facehole," etc. She liked it better when it was smaller and more elegant. Hey mom, I'm in jail. I like it here. It is elegant.

At jail we eat on fine linens.

I told my boss today that I am looking for a new job so, heads up, I said. I applied for a job today. It is as a charge capture specialist. I can do this job. I hope they don't google me. Or specifically I hope they don't google Amandapants. Actually if they do google me it is doubtful that they'll find me because the 'rents gave me a very common name. Thanks parents.

Writing class is done. I'll never write anything good again, likely as not. I want to marry Jeremy Scahill with his darting eyes and his swaying and his writing books about blackwater.

I've gotten lots of great responses to my craigslist ad. Here is one from the other day.

hi baby
call me at 227-3929
i will bring all the information you asked for when we meet
i would love to meet you and please you very soon
jon
yes my cock works great and i have a high sperm count

You guys should call him. I mean, his cock works great. What are you waiting for?

My Thanksgiving Holiday By Amanda Murphy

This was a very fun Thanksgiving Holiday. I had a great time this Thanksgiving Holiday. I hope that all the Thanksgiving Holidays will be more like this one and also like the ones of the past. Thanksgiving Holiday is so so much fun. Thanks for Thanksgiving Holiday. I really liked it. It was really fun. Thanks for it. I hope it was fun. It was fun. I liked it. I liked it lots. I hope you liked it. My family had Thanksgiving Dinner. It was really really fun. It was so so good. I liked it a lot. We played lots of games too. That was really fun. I had fun. It was really really fun. We had fun. I hope you had fun too!

First, on Thanksgiving morning I made crescent rolls. I made three rolls of Pillsbury crescent rolls. It was fun. I had four rolls. I only made three rolls. I ran out of room in my crescent roll container. It was orange. It contained three rolls of crescent rolls. That was about 24 crescent rolls. That was a lot of crescent rolls. I got myself ready to leave to stay the night on Thanksgiving night. I prepared clothing and other necessities. I thought about which underwear I wanted to bring. I thought about which socks I wanted to bring. I brought my thickest socks. I had to wear my loose shoes with them. I wore my loose shoes. I brought my hairbrush. It was fun to get ready to leave. I brought my strawberries. I was worried they would go bad. I drove in my car to my parent's house for Thanksgiving Dinner Day. I got to my parent's house. I ate all my strawberries. I had some coffee. I needed coffee to wake up. I had risen early that morning to prepare myself and to make the crescent rolls.

My cousin was walking down stairs from having just woken up when I walked into my parent's house. I was listening to my iPod. My aunt was there and also there were my parents, both my mother and my father. We all sat down and talked. My mother and my father and my aunt and my cousin and myself all have laptops. We all sat on our laptops. My mother finished making and preparing things to eat. We ate some snacks like oysters and artichoke hearts and olives and carrots and broccoli and cauliflower and a special kind of dip made from canned milk, cream cheese and horseradish. We talked and chit chatted. Soon my brother arrived. My brother arrived with his dog, Chachi. Also, I forgot to mention that my aunt and my cousin brought their dogs Gina and Koda to visit on Thanksgiving Dinner Day too. Gina is Koda's mom. Chachi is my brother's dog. Chachi is Gina's baby boy dog. Chachi is Koda's brother. Chachi and Koda are brothers. My brother has a dog that is my aunt's dog's brother. My aunt has a dog that is my brother's dog's mother. The dogs played and fought and snarled and crashed into one another. Gina is a girl and Koda and Chachi are both males. We were concerned and spoke briefly about which might be the dominant male. Gina is the dominant one I think. Gina is sort of gimpy because she had an accident and was paralyzed. My aunt has to stick her finger in Gina's butt every time Gina needs to go poop. Gina has an acupuncturist and a dog neurologist. Gina walks pretty well for having been paralyzed from the dog waist down.

My brother and my father and my mother and my cousin and my aunt and I all talked and chatted and ate snacks. We made jokes and sang songs and played the piano and the guitar and the banjo and looked at stuff on our computers. My brother doesn't have a laptop but he has a fancy new computer at his home. My brother talks all the time about downloading stuff illegally off of the Internet. Every other sentence he said on Thanksgiving Dinner Day began or ended with, "I download this and that illegally off the Internet." He is really proud of all the stuff he's downloaded illegally off the Internet. He is going to give us all illegally downloaded DVDs and CDs for Christmas. My aunt wants him to make copies of Kolchack: The Night Stalker. My brother named his son Kolchack after Carl Kolchack: The Night Stalker. We all call him Jack. He was with his mom this Thanksgiving Dinner. My brother made a list of things my family wants him to illegally download for Christmas presents. I told him I wanted all of the Sopranos. He said this was no problem at all because he already had the first six seasons. I told him that I could just start with that and then watch the rest through legal means and then I wouldn't feel bad.

My aunt and I argued about how Baby Boomers are ruining the world. She thinks they aren't but I think they are. My brother egged us on and said bad things and made jokes in poor taste. We talked a lot about stuff on the Internet and movies and t.v. shows. My aunt admitted that for a long time she thought my brother had named his son after the character that David Hasselhoff played in Knightrider. We all laughed at her but now that I've thought about it this might not have even been as ridiculous as naming your child after Kolchak: The Night Stalker.

Soon my grandmother and uncle came. My aunt and uncle are my mom's brother and my mom's sister. My grandmother is my mother's mother. My cousin is my mother's sister's daughter. I also have a sister. She has a family. They weren't there. My uncle and my grandmother brought pies. We now had a turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries, dressing with onions, dressing with no onions, gravy, broccoli, 24 crescent rolls, pumpkin pie, cherry pie, apple pie, pecan pie, and other types of snacks like the ones I mentioned before. I said, "How come I like oysters out of a can but I don't like oysters in a restaurant?" and my aunt said it was because I am snooty white trash. My family often refers to themselves as Snooty White Trash. The wi-fi connection that my parents now have in their home is named "SNOOTY." My sister called it this when she set up their wi-fi for their matching laptops that have their names on them that my sister created with a label maker that I think she has at her office. One says, "Gerald" and one says "Nicole." Those are my parent's names. That way, they won't get mixed up because their laptops are identical. My laptop is the same but older. My aunt has a macbook. Her screen is really big.

We talked some more and yelled and argued and sang songs and ate and made jokes for a while after my grandmother and uncle arrived. We had to make sure the dogs were all outside when my grandmother arrived because she is 89 and can be knocked over when one of them so much as sniffs her, let alone three of them jumping all over her and trying to lick her all over as they do. They are three Labrador retrievers. I don't think I mentioned that before. Gina and Chachi are chocolate labs and Koda is black. Chachi and Koda's father is a yellow lab. Labs are competitively obedient. These labs are mostly just wild wild dogs.

I shot some video with my camera and so did my aunt. Then we all sat down to eat. Everyone started eating even before my mom had sat down. I thought this was rude but then she said to go ahead. My aunt recorded all of us saying what we were thankful for. I can't remember what I said. Something flippant, most likely. My family never takes things seriously. My dad pretended to do some Latin catholic prayer and made fart noises with his mouth. We talked at length about a podcast that both my aunt and I had listened to from Slate.com about whether or not Thanksgiving is a religious holiday. Most of us thought that it wasn't because we thought the thanks we were giving was a general thanks to people and stuff and we also thought that the original Thanks were given to the Native Americans who helped the pilgrims not to starve to death but my dad, who was raised catholic, said that was all a bunch of crap and that the pilgrims were thanking God and that Thanksgiving is a day when you thank God for all of your blessings and that the pilgrims wanted the Native Americans to convert and thank their Christian God and that we are all crazy for thinking Thanksgiving is a secular holiday like the Fourth of July. We agreed to disagree. I can't remember now if my dad is an atheist or not. It is easy to forget.

I tried to record the whole Thanksgiving Dinner conversation on my laptop but I forgot my microphone and had to borrow my dad's and it didn't work right but I didn't know until I checked later and saw that it didn't record anything really. Only about 30seconds was all. It was for the best though because I think my mom would have been mad that I recorded everything without telling anyone.

After Thanksgiving Dinner was done my cousin Maggie and I drove to the store to get mostly white things and one sparkly thing. We had to memorize what we were to get because we were too full from eating to find a piece of paper and a pen. It was a fun game to remember the list. I still remember it. We remembered by remembering that they were almost all white things except for one thing that was sparkly. It was paper towels, one half gallon of non-fat milk, one half gallon of whole milk, vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, and two bottles of sparkling cider. The paper towels we got were called "Sparkle" paper towels and we thought that was funny. No one else thought it was particularly funny. We also got gum at the check out. My mother had given me twenty dollars and Maggie's mother had given her twenty dollars. They told us to keep the change. We got 16 dollars and some change back. We were going to split the change evenly between us because this is also kind of funny but we got a ten and then a five and a one back so I just took six dollars and let Maggie have the ten because she is only 20 and she needs the extra cash for her drugs or whatever 20 year olds do these days.

When we got home everyone ate pie. Maggie got out the chocolates that she had brought from her job. She works at a chocolate factory. It is actually just a chocolate shop but they make chocolate there so it is sort of like a factory. They make delicious chocolates. One was spicy, she told me, but I didn't want that one.

I can't remember what happened then. I think my aunt and my uncle and I argued over who gets more hits on our respective blogs and websites and my uncle won. Also, we argued about who had the weirdest search phrases that will link to our sites. My uncle won that argument too. My uncle and my aunt played cribbage. She won but she almost didn't because my uncle tried to cheat her by implying that he won at the very end without actually counting the points of his last hand. She didn't bother counting either. I think he felt bad though because he gave her the dollar they were playing for. My aunt and I played cribbage the next day, on a side note, and we also bet a dollar, as is the usual bet in my family when we play cribbage, except when we play cribbage and bet a dollar we call it a skoot. I won and she never paid me my god damned dollar. She is a dirty welcher.

Everyone kind of just lounged around uncomfortably and moaned for a while then. My mom and dad took naps. I talked to my grandmother. I took a lot of pictures. The dogs played and ran around. Hours passed. We all lost track of time. My sister called and we talked to her on the phone about her Thanksgiving Day with her family.

My uncle and grandmother drove home. The rest of us tried to decide what game we were all going to play together. Usually we play Scattergories or Taboo or a card game like Hearts or Thirteen. My brother tried to get us to play the Lord of the Rings Risk game that he had gotten at the Good Will. He set up the board and the pieces and we looked at the map and talked about the differences between the regular Risk game and the Lord of the Rings Risk game and then I put it away while we were removing the leaf from the table. I've never liked Risk much. Takes too long.

I tried to get everyone to play Headbanz because it is a really fun game but some people didn't want to. I promised that it was the most fun game and so we started to play it and then we had the most fun. First, it is fun because you get to wear a red headband. Second, it is fun because everyone gets to see the card stuck in your headband except you. And then you have to ask questions to guess where or what or who is represented on your card. One of the cards that I got was a Mermaid and it took me forever. Another one that my brother got was Atlantic City and it took him forever. My dad got Pizza and quit because he couldn't get it. He started playing again when we were all having fun and he got bored. My mom gave obvious hints instead of just answering yes or no questions and I got mad at her. No one would answer the questions in a straightforward manner. We became frustrated and then we would laugh and laugh. It was the best game ever.

My brother and his dog Chachi left after that. My mother and father and aunt and cousin and myself all started to play the initial game. My dad went to bed because he was too tired to play. The four of us played the initial game for a long time after that. The initial game is another game my family plays all the time. It is fun because you can play it anywhere just to pass time. It is easy to play. You just think of a famous person and say his or her initials and then they have to ask you questions about your person to determine who you are. One that I had that took people a long time to guess was M.S. After this is over you can ask me questions and I'll answer them and you can try to guess who M.S. is.

We were all very very tired then and we all went to sleep. Thanksgiving was over. Thanks.

Guess what my new porn name is?

Rudy Fuckstable. Dudes would totally pay to see Rudy Fuckstable get boned. We had such a great time on Thanksgiving Day yesterday. First, we ate pumpking pie and turkey. Then we ate some other things. I can't remember all of it.

Then we played Headbanz for like 27 hours. I love headbanz! Back in my old college days I played it a few times with my pals. Proof of that came when this card was came up:



That is my friend Steve's name and his phone number when he lived in Arcata. Those were the good old days.

We also played the initial game for a long time and that is a lot like headbanz only backwards.

I wanted my aunt to play cribbage with me but she won't so far. My brother wanted us all to play his Lord of the Rings Risk game but we wouldn't. I also wanted to play scattergories or Taboo or Goddamn you to a bloody hell for all eternity but noone will play with me. Maybe later.

Happy Thanksgiving, T. Hank Sciving.

Dear T. Hank Sciving,

Happy Thanksgiving.

I was going to put up the story I wrote in class yesterday about eating a baby but I will spare you this on this most eatingest of Holidays because I wouldn't want to spoil your taste for flesh.

I will instead transcribe for you here the lyrics of my now famous Thanskgiving Song.

On Thanksgiving day there are thrilling pilgrim stories,
How the Indians helped that first Thanksgiving day.
How I love it so eating pumpkin pie and turkey.
Let us all give thanks on this bright Thanksgiving day.

Bright Thanksgiving, Bright Thanksgiving, Bright Thanksgiving day.
Bright THanksgiving, Bright Thanksgiving, Bright Thanksgiving daaaaaaaaaaaay.
Ah Cha Cha

Don't scroll down.

Glasses and Bustards

I really like my new glasses I really do don't get me wrong. But sometimes I freak out and think, Ahh! I'm going Blind! The diabetes finally got me! Ahh! But then I realize, oh, my glasses are just smudged. For some reason, even though they are great for protecting against glare (not glares of people though), my new glasses really smudge easily. People glaring at me doesn't make it harder to drive at night though. Or does it? I'm not so sure now.

Here is a one sentence poem thing or whatever that my writing teacher made me write through assigning an assignment. It was really fun. The teacher man said it was "brilliant" but I'm not trying to toot my own horn here or anything. I think he probably writes that on a lot of crap. He is one of those people who uses really big words to describe things but then reverts back to the same old words over and over again when he obviously just likes something because he likes it and not because he has ascertained through close critical analysis that it is any good. Words like, "brilliant," for instance.

Anyway here is my thing. I call it, Blood Letting and Bustards and Beaks.

This train will not stop and I am trying to sleep, giving me nervous turning and erectile dysfunction and a train is so giving, a train is, because it just keeps going from town to town giving whatever it is that trains carry these days (grain? toys?), but right now this train is taking from me an important thing which is my sense of calm and nighttime and crickets and blood and my own, this damn train, damn train, and so I get up and have a snack which is a small meal that people often have between meals and sometimes too late to be considered between meals or even a small meal and so is mostly referred to as a "midnight snack" but it is three a.m. damn train, damn it, so the turkey that I decide to snack on is so thinly sliced that I think why don't turkeys, pheasants, and their allies fly, since their meat is so light and airy and since their average life span is just 10 years, but then I remember then that not all 10-year-olds fly, just the ones that I think of from books and movies with kids in them and most of those kids are actually Australian Bustards and not turkeys at all, and I am made unsurprisingly less hungry for turkey by this discussion of turkey meat being like child meat and child meat being like bustard meat and bustard meat is only found on trains in Australia, I suppose, although I've never been and I only know that when you gut and bleed out a bustard, even in America, its blood runs down the drain counterclockwise even though the Coriolis effect doesn't actually affect the way that juices flow down drains, but the blood of a bustard isn't like water down the drain, like money, it's more like a hurricane, more cyclonic in nature, and so bustard blood flow is changed by the position of the moon and by its proximity to Australia and also by its female friends, these three things together being determining factors in which direction bustard blood will flow down the butcher's drain during the blood letting to keep the Aussies waist deep in thinly sliced bustard meat and their trains filled with grain to take to the bustard farms and toys to take to the emu farms and sand to take to the ostriches so that the burgeoning tourist commerce is kept flowing and growing in the "funny picture taken of an ostrich with his head buried in the sand" picture taking business, bad business, all this business, it's no good, I say, very bad business indeed, for the ostriches should have their long legs leashed, their necks wrung, their bodies splayed, hung, good business, since they have the best feed to weight gain ratio of any land animal in the world and the strongest commercially available leather so you've got to skin its skin, save its skin when you let it, the blood, but just above your garden so that the excess blood might fertilize your garden grows, with silver bells and cockleshells, and sexy French maids all in a row, but the MOST viable business plan would read "For Sale: Pets or Meat" not "Take Pictures of Pets or Meat, Tourists," because that would be very bad business, berry bad business indeed, because you can sell a bird as a whole for one price, say, one hundred dollars, or you could sell the feathers (the farming of Ostriches for their feathers does not harm the bird) for a fancy ostrich feather duster for your sexy French maid outfit (Good Business!) and then you could sell the hide for your leather bars, and other useful byproducts are eggs and offal, both of which can be used for hilarious pranks, hi jinks, terrorist hijacks, and ostrich-chip throwing contests, leaving the meat to eat and eat and sell and all of that could double your money or more which is much better business and also we can say that we are more environmentally sound because we used all the parts of the birds like the Indians and the buffalo but we'd have to find something to do with the beak and I think maybe jewelry would work, trinkets we could sell to the aborigines for their desolate land to build train tracks on so that each car on the train could be filled to the brim with one car having the ostrich legs, stacked on top of stacks and another car having hundreds of feather dusters, and then beaks, and eyeballs, and toes, and necks and so on and so on forever on this damn train, damn train.

By the way, you might feel bad that you don't read my things and stuff but my mom and dad do, so you can just go F-off! And when my mom and dad die I'll honor their wishes but probably not yours. I won't even be at your funeral!

Just kidding, America.

I want a Kindle.

I want a Kindle Baaaad. When is it out? I want one. When will it be cheaper? I want one. I want one bad bad. I never want stupid gadgetry things until years after everyone has one. I want a Kindle. I want to stand in line at stupid stores like a nerd and get a Kindle. I want a Kindle. Bezos, you have kindled in me a fever. A fever for Kindle. Damn you Bezos!

Kindle story

Bezos was talking about it on Charlie Rose tonight. There are pros on cons in the article I linked to. I might wait it out and see if someone does it better. But golly gee, I think I want one.

Podcast #8, Don't Preach Hate.

Gabcast! Eighth Diapantscast Pure and Simple From the Eighth Dimension

GanksThiving Podcast, AKA Delicatesticles, AKA Good Good Podcast.

Email every day for 30 days.

I decided to pick people to email every day for thirty days. I first picked my friend Andy Rydzewski because I'm not too good at keeping in touch with him. Next I'll probably pick Becky for the same reason and maybe then Will. I have some rules I didn't tell them. My only real rule now is A#1. No emails about stupid life stuff. Like what I did today or what movie I saw or whatever. So far this has meant a bunch of sort of stupid things with no reference point or meaning really. But it has been fun. Except for the days that I forgot to write anything. Actually, first it was an email every day for a month but I fucked up so now it is an email every day for 30 days and if I skip a day or two then I just continue from the last number. So I guess that is Rule A#2. Let me know if you want me to do this too you. Most likely you don't. I don't care. I will still just pick someone. Actually, email me if this is something you DO NOT want me to do to you. I think mostly you'd like it since I am kind of funny a lot of the time.

It should go without saying that if you want to do this to me, go ahead. My email is mandymurphy@gmail.com.

This poppyseed muffin tastes like cotton candy! These pretzels are making me thirsty!

Oh Gee! Justin just sent me this link NYtimes article re:Saturday Night Live, no cameras, at UCB theater, because of writer's strike.

Justin and I both wish we could have been there.

The Hung and the Restless

I am so bored and restless lately. I need a few different hobbies. I need to get a can't put it down book or find a can't stop playing it game or start an all consuming project. All I've been doing lately is looking at people's blogs, commenting on people's blogs, reading on-line newspapers, commenting on on-line newspapers, watching videos on-line, and occasionally getting up to walk around and around while my mind races. Maybe I am finally becoming bi-polar like I always thought I would. That should make me a little bit more of an interesting person. At least for a few months out of the year. Right? Anyway, I know, this is my third post of the day but I'm at work and I'm going crazy out of my gourd with ennui and there is nothing to do so here is my Keats poem that my teacher said was "Inspired" whatever the fuck that means. Inspired by your assignment, teacher man. We had to rewrite Keats' poem "Ode on Melancholy" Here is the original.

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.

But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.

She dwells with Beauty - Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

And here is mine. It is a lot better than stupid Keats'.

Nay, Nay! Do not travel to one of the several rivers of Hades that may lead to complete forgetfulness, don't squeeze
Arnica Montana, taught-stemmed, for its sickening juice;
And additionally, do not drudgingly allow the whitey-white top of your face to be pecked
By Solanum, which possesses a diverse range of alkaloids that can be toxic and is also known as the red water-berry of The Roman goddess of springtime and wayside flowers;
Construct not your neck-wreath of Taxus Baccata, having bright red berry-like structures called arils, which are they themselves not toxic even while the rest the plant surely is,
And do not let the sheathed wing insects, nor the Death's-head Hawkmoth be
Your baleful mind-mistress, nor the fluffy flying cryptid aid and abet your boo-hoo strangities;
For slight darkness to dim daylight will arrive exceedingly sluggishly,
And asphyxiate the alive, awake, alert, and enthusiastic pangs of painful angst of the self-aware essence of your being.

But at such a time as might come to pass as the seizure of sadness may plummet
All at once from the cloudy god-land kingdom as if it were a crybaby thunderhead,
That waters the mopey-crowned blossoms, each one,
And conceals the lime colored land form with a summit in a wetting more characteristic of the fourth month on the Gregorian calendar;
At this time, jam-pack your blues by pigging out on the early daytime blossom of the flowering shrub of the genus Rosa,
Or on the many colored illusion of the tides,
Or on the riches of orb shaped herbaceous perennials;
Or if your lady friend lover and dominatrix is pissed, jail her velvety mitt and permit her to rant,
And suck hard, hard on her organs of vision that detect light and have no equal.

She keeps a domicile with Prettiness -- Prettiness that must expire;
And Mirth, whose claw is always stuck up against his mouth rims
Saying So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodnight; and hurty jollies near in time,
Resorting to toxins while, simultaneously, the Western-Honey's pie hole slurps;
Yes, in that exact shrine of weeeee!
Thinly covered Cry-baby-lady holds her own temple,
But nobody else has seen this except this one dude whose muscle bound lingua
Can bust Mirth's water-berry right against the ridge of his awesome velum;
This dude's self-aware essence will suckle the mirthlessness of Cry-baby-lady's stronghold,
And hang on her wall in the heavens, favorite among her winnings.

I totally kicked Keats all over the map, right?

Strongbad

So Salon has a list of Sexiest Man Living 2oo7. That is a funny name for a list, I think. Especially when they include "Men" like Strongbad. I'd never heard of this before today. So great. Click on this link:

Strongbad - Dragon

Don't J your J.

I need a new job. I've J'd my J, as my dad would say. I thought this was a real expression. Turns out, my dad says he made it up. My sister sent me an email recently where she said she likes to end with "Turns Out" whenever she can but that someday she might graduate to "Come to find" or "Long story short." I like "Come to Find." So come to find, my dad made up "J your J" which stands for Jeopardize your Job. Don't J your J. Never J your J. I J'd my J. So now I need a new Job. Get me one! ASAP, punk punk.

Remember the time in Arcata when that old man called that young man a punk for jaywalking across the street and the young man said "Punk? Punk? That's the sound of my dick coming out of your ass! Punk Punk Punk!" Priceless.

I still have my job now. I didn't jeopardize it so much. But I did tell my boss that I'd need to work full time hours now or I'd need to look for another job. Yesterday she gave me my new schedule and, come to find, I now have fewer hours than I did before. So I must be true to my word. I must be true to it, punk punk punk.

Pop Quiz for Cribbage Players, hot shot.

So my mom is so naive and innocent. I want to know from my family members and anyone else who might have heard this expression, although I think it is mostly a family thing, if you think the phrase, "Old dirt road" means anything more than the last stretch on the cribbage board. Keep in mind that at one end of "old dirt road" is the "stink hole" or the "skunk hole." And keep in mind that when my grandfather or father or various other cribbage playing family members ever said "I'm headed down old dirt road" they would often giggle knowingly.

I can't believe she never figured this out. Is she the only one? She doesn't think Tuney knows.

I also explained to my mother about rusty trombones and dirty Sanchez's and Cleveland steamers today. This is how "old dirt road" came up into conversation, in case you were wondering.

Yreeeeeeeeeka.

Visiting Yreka makes me feel good about myself. I am smarter, stronger, better looking, more charming, better educated, funnier. I talked to several toothless idiots today. My dad and I had lunch at a local pizzeria quaintly known as "Round Table Pizza" There are pictures of knights and medieval things all around. I think "Round Table" is a reference to the fabled knights of the round table. There was a man there who looked like a manager. He was older, probably in his forties. He told the girl taking our order at the counter to be nice to my dad because "If it wasn't for him I wouldn't know how to read." I told my dad that if he had been a better teacher then maybe all of his ex-students would not have ended up working at shitty places like Round Table well into their 40's. My dad said, "Shut up you dirty Jew bitch." My dad often calls me "Jew girl" or "Jew Bitch" or "Little Anne Frank" because he thinks I look Jewish and he thinks it is funny to use ironic anti-Semitic slurs in public. He also talked for some time today about how Jewish people and Asians are smarter than white people. Sometimes he isn't a racist, sexist, homophobic asshole but most of the time he is. That's when I like him best. He is at the Elk's Club now with his friend Tommy boy getting drunk. He has two friend, Dick and Tom. His name is Jerry. You do the math.

My dad and I recorded my Thanksgiving song for my special Thanksgiving podcast. It is going to be really good. I guarantee it. Also, on the actual Thanksgiving day I'm hoping to interview some of my family members for another podcast. My aunt has been wanting me to interview her for weeks. I think it will be better once we are all drunk.

I talked to Marigold on the Google talk machine today for a little bit of time. It was pleasant. She is coming over to my house to watch all of the episodes of Six Feet Under because she's never seen it and I own all the seasons (except for the last one but I'd buy it if Marigold and Steve came over to watch all the episodes with me.) Marigold lives in L.A. with her husband and baby so I doubt that she is seriously going to come to my house to watch Six Feet Under. I wish she wasn't such a lying Philippina. It is unbecoming. Huckleberry laughed and screamed. Oh that reminds me, my dad told me to tell Marigold that when I told him about Huck he said, "Fuck?" and I said, "No, Huck, like as in Huckleberry." and then he said, "Fuckleberry?" And then he laughed and told me to tell Marigold that he called her baby, "Fuckleberry." There you go, Marigold.

I love visiting Yreka.

*UPDATE*

Later I said, "Tomorrow Mom and I are going to Walmart!" and my dad said, "Oooooh, what are you going to get there? Deodorant and Lipstick?" And I said, "I'm going to get a whole bunch of tampons and shove them up your ass!" And he said, "That doesn't make any sense." And I said, "It'll make more sense once you find out why your butt is bleeding."

I love visiting Yreka.

I wish we could have killed them all.

I don't know what any of this means but I thought it belonged taken out of context and posted on my blog for no good reason.

Gerard Jones Says:

November 11th, 2007 at 5:04 pm
Why is it that nobody talks about the half million dead A-rabs, just the three thousand Amurikans? Or the two million dead Gooks, just the 50k Amurikans, not to mention the 27 million dead Ruskies?

marbledog Says:

November 11th, 2007 at 5:56 pm
Cuz I cudn’t find a website that sayd how many Gooks was kilt.

Gerard Jones Says:

November 11th, 2007 at 6:00 pm
And all them dead Ruskies is just WWII. A hundred times more people than just “our” boys get killed and this Burns kid slops together some stock footage of Mobile, Alabama in the forties and thinks he told the story of WWII? The Civil War, fine, whatever…but “The War?” I don’t think so.

Gerard Jones Says:

November 11th, 2007 at 6:05 pm
If you think my dead dad liked High Noon better than Sgt. York you’re crazy as a loon.

marbledog Says:

November 11th, 2007 at 6:10 pm
Well they don’t do movies about them dead Ruskies and Gooks and A-rabs. Would would watch?

And who on earth says my dead dad liked High Noon better than Sgt. York? Although, to be honest, I never knew that.

LR Says:

November 12th, 2007 at 3:04 am
I am a VETERAN, and damned proud of it. Didn’t want to interfere with a family discussion earlier, but I must be allowed to retort now.

Gerard, I don’t know you, and please take my comments in the spirit in which they are intended. You seem obsessed about these other people getting killed.

First of all, you must know that it is my very strong opinion that WAR SUCKS !!! Sometimes they are necessary to protect our Country, most times they come as a result of thoughtless politicians pursuing their own personal agendas.

As far as the gooks, I wish we could have killed them all. The Germans killed millions of Russians, although not as many as Stalin did. They went on to martirize millions of Eastern Europeans. The “A-rabs” that you refer to were nothing but a bunch of thugs that had illegally invaded Kuwait, and were raping and pillaging it’s citizens. My only regret is that I didn’t kill more of them while I was there.

I hope that I didn’t overstepped my boundaries. If so, please let me know, Marble, and I’ll cease and desist.


You know, I've got lots of regrets. Lots. I guess I'm glad that one of them isn't that I didn't kill enough people when I had the chance. Also, I'm very glad that that isn't my ONLY regret.

I've killed just the right amount.

Jimmy Jams, Slam Camera Dancing.

I took all those pictures of the birthday party:

Party Cakes Party Cakes

This one is my favorite I think:



Boys like Bionicles. Yes they do.
And Bi-focals.

And Bi-curios for their curio cabinets. But that is later when they've become men.

I just watched the whole first season of Mad Men on iTunes. I payed for it. I usually feel like a good person when I pay for things. Not so much lately. Now that I know that all the money that I righteously pay for in a good and correct consumerist manner goes to the fat cats instead of the writers. A lot of it, anyway. Like when I watch things in iTunes or when I watch things on-line. Which is a ton of stuff because I work nights and don't have cable. So what are you going to do? Pay those fucking writers, bitches. There are some good little videos up on youtube explaining the whole writers strike in an amusing and infotaining way. You check them out. I'll see if I can get some links here.

The badly titled: Voices of Uncertainty

and

Why We Fight

The point of the points is that I really liked Mad Men. I think my mother and father would like it because it is all in 1960 and that was their time. They were 15. So maybe it wasn't their time. But it feels like it was their time to me more than the late 60's do. My grandmother might also like it. My auntie and sister and brother would for sure like it lots. Hitler would like it. Darn Hitler!

This morning I went to breakfast at that bear restaurant with Angelina. I told her the sack story. She asked right on queue, "What was in the sack????" Very concerned-like. I told her and we both laughed and laughed.

I changed all the 7-11 signs in three towns today to say 11-11 using duct tape and spray paint and cop's blood.

Cop's blood is the hardest to get out of suede. I think because it is pig's blood on cow skin and that is like oil and water. I try not to ever buy clothes made out of animals but my sister gave me a cast off brown suede jacket with a warm unzippable removable vest liner thingy and it is very warm in the winter time. All the rest of my clothes are made from the tears of children in India or China so I guess a little cow skin isn't going to hurt me.

Politics, I swear.

Today I went to my nephew Kolchak's fifth birthday party and boy was it great. I'll put up some pictures later tonight. I got him a Lego pirate treasure chest thing with Legos and pirates. A match made in heaven. The opposite of pig's blood and cow skin.

Happy Levin Levin! Happy B-Day Kolchak Jack Russell Terrior Heironymous Smith-Jones.

Mama's little baby, Went to the Doctor, Shortening Bread, Doctor Said, "No More Shortening Jumping on the Bread!"

A couple of people think I am a pussy for not reading my stories out loud in story class. Sometimes it is because I'm chicken. Other times it is because I am embarrassed to read what I've written out loud. I'm embarrassed to even post this one here but I figure if I can't put it here and I can't read it out loud then what was the point of even writing it in the first place, right? I know, right? So this content is probably not appropriate for 89 year old grandmothers although I don't know why everyone always feels like they have shelter 89 year old grandmothers who went through world wars and depressions and had a bunch of kids and stuff. Whatever.

Deloris She Comes Standard.

I say, "Baby! Baby Please."
She says, "I'll give you a head start."
"Baby, come on, baby please!"
"30 seconds"
"Baby, baby please, I'll try harder, baby."
"29"
"Oh baby, shit, you don't even know how to use that thing."
“You not knowing how to use your dick doesn’t stop you from sticking it in any passing pussy, fucker. 28.”
“You’re gonna hurt yourself, baby.”

She flings the shotgun forward from where it had been settled on her shoulder and fires a shot half a foot from my toe. "27, shithole." She turns her back to me, shotgun back on her shoulder standing like some kinda gay soldier, one hip jutted out, left hand on the other, and she keeps on counting down.

Damn. I turn on my heel as I hear her cold, dead, far away voice start on 26. Fuck! Take a breath. Run. The short dirt road ahead seems the longest ever. This gravel like ice under my boots, sliding around like a hot car peeling out. But then I see it, I see her, at the end of the road, there she is, my beautiful baby, my sweet, sweet Camaro, my 1982 silver Berlinetta, my salvation. Jesus lord let me feel your black custom cloth interior so soft on my skin just one more time. Jesus Lord. I can't hear her counting anymore. Don't turn around. Keep your eye on your baby. My baby, Deloris. Rhymes with clitoris. She, that bitch, she once said, "Does her last name rhyme with Can't Ever Find It?" But I found it alright. She came. Goddamn Mother Fuck! Keep your eye on your baby. Oh, I'm coming Deloris, just hold on baby. Please start, please start, when at long last I get to you my sweet, sweet baby, please start.

My baby, Deloris, she came, she came, she came standard with the 2.8 LC1 V-6. A little bit closer now. Deloris she came standard with her own unique 14x7 finned aluminum wheel with gold accenting and `Berlinetta' center cap, her own lower body pinstriping, and her fucking solid ass gold "Berlinetta" badging. A little bit closer now. There is the scratch I gave her, my poor baby, doing donuts, throwing up gravel, there it is, I can see it. I'm so close, she is coming into focus, there she is, my silver sweetheart. Her big beautiful headlamp pockets are painted in an accent color, gold, and her tail lights have a gold and black horizontal divider bar. Her interior came, it came standard with custom cloth interior, black, rear storage well cover and additional carpeting on rear wheelhouses. I want to feel myself inside you baby, so bad, just one last time. Jesus Lord, help me. She came standard with additional body insulation, full instrumentation and her own unique steering wheel with `Berlinetta' badge.

Hold on Deloris baby, I'm on my way. Please Please Please. I'm coming, baby. Please. I reach out, my hand so close, so close, I'm so close baby, to the door, my left hand creeping back to my pocket for my keys, my keys, my keys. Fuck. My keys. I stop short. I hear a jingle jangle coming from behind me. I turn and see that big fat smug grin and my key chain dangling from her small dirty fingers.

Jingle Jangle, "3"

Jingle Jangle, "2"

Goodbye my dear Deloris. I will always love you. My baby.

I forgot to get you in on Part 2

Part 2 of the Question Girl Podcast can be listened to By clicking on or around this area here.

The 2nd part is where I really take off. I use the F words, the A word, the B word, and the C word (cunt).

I also drop the phone in anger. And I look back in anger. I miss when I used to live in an apartment that had oasis stickers everywhere, one that collected a lot of crap on it's exposed sticky corner that was affixed to the toilet bowl. Good times.

Across the Unitardimous Jones.

I liked Across the Universe because of the music. A lot of the music was by this one band called "The Beetles." They are from, like, the sixties. The turbulent sixties. On the one hand, yeah, it was good because of these great songs by this band I mentioned before, these "Beetles" but the plot was the lamest thing I have ever heard of. I cried like four or five times though, mostly because of the very nice and emotionful music by this band from the sixties. Also, I laughed many times and I liked the strawberries. I could look at strawberries all day long!

On the other hand, it made me sick to see these young and beautiful and talented people (evan rachael wood has an EXTREMELY lovely voice) acting out this FUCKING BABY BOOMER MASTURBATION MOVIE! Just stop it right now! The Beatles music ALREADY WAS THE SOUNDTRACK OF A GENERATION AND OF AN ERA!!!!! Why not try out telling a new story with it? Maybe try not talking about FUCKING VIETNAM ALL THE FUCKING TIME. Maybe try not asking OLIVER FUCKING STONE TO WRITE YOUR FUCKING MOVIE WHEN YOU ARE JULIE FUCKING TAYMOR AND HAVE MORE INGENUITY IN YOUR RIGHT NUT THAN OLIVER STONE HAS IN BOTH HIS TESTICLES COMBINED!!! (Oliver Stone didn't really write it, it just seems like it)

Selma Hayeck was great. The two main guys were great. Evan Rachel Wood was blank faced but good. Everybody was great. Even Bono was great and I hate Bono. Fuck Bono up the ass. Joe Cocker was Extra Great. I loved Joe Cocker. And Prudence! The actress's name is T.V. and she was kind of a sucky actress but she had a very interesting voice. And anyone named T.V. is okay in my book. And I want to see Eddie Izzard in Julie Taymor's "The Music Man." Now THAT would be a crazy show to totally revise and make interesting to revitalize the movie musical. (Nothing will ever revitalize the move musical, woe is me)

You know what this movie was? This movie was like if Disneyland had a "SixtiesLand" or "HappyHippyLand" or "LSDLand" and used every single stupid cliche and stereotype about the sixties and hippies and The Beatles and the Baby Boomers and Vietnam and painted it all in loud colors and made it all into overblown shapes and sizes like Toon Town. That's what this movie was like.

But like I said, I really liked it.

BUT THE BEATLES TRANSCEND THESE CRAPPY FEW YEARS OF BULLSHIT!!!!!!!!!!

Jesus Christ Almighty.

New Podcast for You from Me.

Gabcast! Podcast Lucky Number Seven

Question Girl Update, Podcast Ideas, Emails from Uncle Daddy, a Song from Uncle Daddy, and, as always, a special surprise ending.



By the way, you might have noticed a new link on the right called "Diapantscast" this is a page I set up just to put my podcasts on. So if you listen to this one and you want to go back and listen to all of them again or for the first time you can click on that link and it will take you to my Diapantscast page. Try it and see!