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Sunday, November 27, 2005
Collected Metaphors and Whores *A narrative is an air raft. *Coffee = Liquid black essence of night *Never argue (agree?) with a dream. *Don't pet burning dogs. I lied. There's no whores in this post. | Saturday, November 26, 2005 So Much for Staying Indoors A challenge for anyone: Spread some love and some germs. Go out, to wherever you go when you go out and kiss as many people as you can. Then post your number here as a comment. | Friday, November 25, 2005 This is Educational.. Bitches! Today I am staying indoors and reading books all fucking day. I'm not going out and causing mischief and spreading my rash. As we know, I am a highly trained writing tutor and will soon receive my ultra-useful degree in fiction writing from Columbia College of Cool Hair and Sleaze. So when I post nerdy shit like this, you better listen. Here's what I'm reading today: In Cold Blood Truman Capote Meet Dick Hickock and Perry Smith, a pair of ex-con drifters who meander about the country, living off forged checks and other forms of theft. Why are they on the run? Well they just tied up and shot to death a family of 4. This book is completely true. Truman Capote went to Kansas, to the town the murders took place in and pieced together this true-crime narrative from the accounts given to him by local citizens and law enforcement. But it's written like a novel, with scene and dialouge and great insight into characters' pasts. It's a whydunnit mystery, rather than a whodunnit. With this book, Capote showed that journalism can be more than just the facts. Diary Chuck Palahniuk Diary is Chuck Palahniuk's worst book. Everyone says so, at least. My mission in reading it is to find out why. I've only read the first few chapters and I guess I like it so far. And not only because it involves a white trash art school girl. So what happens is Misty Kleinman, a girl who paints pictures of big houses to escape the run-down trailer she actually lives in, meets this rich guy at art school, Peter Wilmot. She marries Pater and they move out to Waytansea Island, off the coast of California. Then something goes wrong, they lose their money and Peter takes a job remodeling houses. Only, he does crazy things with the houses, like leaving threatening messages in the walls, "...the people of Waytansea Island will kill you the way they've killed everyone before..." and sealing off certain rooms with a layer of drywall. Then, he kills himself and leaves Misty alone to care for his daughter and bitch-ass mother. This book is written as a 2nd person letter (saying "you" as opposed to "I" or "he/she") to Peter, after he's killed himself. Maybe the "you" point-of-view is what bugs people so much about this book. But the structure is cool. Each short chapter is headed with a date, like a diary (hence, the title). Wake up and Smell the Beer Jon Longhi I've only read the first few chapters of this one, too. It's about a bunch of fucked up people in San Francisco, but it makes the very California mistake of thinking that talking about the people is enough. Yes, they're cool and do funny things. Mr. Narrator, you are very hip for knowing them. But where's the story? So far, this book reads like a series of character sketches. Though good character sketches, mind you. Still, "the reader" anticipates more.. Wake up and Smell the Beer is a published by an independent press called Manic D Press (clever, huh?). They also publish the autobiography of bigfoot. So check them out. | Wednesday, November 23, 2005 Disgisting! The back of my neck looks like this kid's face.  Itchy itchy itchy itchy itchy! That's what I get for not bathing. I must be the only person over age 5 to ever catch impetigo. And if you've come near me since last Sunday, you'll soon have impetigo too. You're welcome. | Monday, November 21, 2005
I made out with your friend on Saturday. He'll probably tell you this and then you'll laugh and say what a slut I am, a crazy crackpot loser. But that's okay. I still think you're a loser, too. | Sunday, November 20, 2005 Mime Time Everything you NEVER EVER wanted to know about mimes.  Time it takes to put on silly black and white make-up: 36 minutes Time it takes to remove silly black and white make-up: 5 minutes Worst part of miming: Trying not to scream when you look in the mirror. Best part of miming: Getting lots of attention without saying anything. Hottest thing about mimes: The red lipstick Worst mime ever: One with Tourette's Best mime ever: ME! Allison Quick the Assassin Chick Yes it's true, dear readers. I am a mime! A mime with nunchucks!! Ahaha! Be afraid! I hosted a solo preformance show (as a mime) last night at Kate the Great's bookstore (on Bryn Mawr and Broadway, for those of you in Chicago). I'll post pictures of my miminess here on the blog as soon as I can. | Friday, November 18, 2005 I'm the one singing into the plastic hippo.. | Wednesday, November 16, 2005 Quote: "Women are evil, men are furnature and cats are fuzzy. That's all you need to know." Links: 1. DOPESCREW EPISODE 5! Listen, bitches! This is the episode where Frank puts me in the sleeper hold and I pass out. Then, the pumpkin bong. And the zombies attack. 2. Wait a sec there, King Kong. Some of us get turned on by tofu and foreign films. 3. I always knew skinny bitches were feeble-minded. | Monday, November 14, 2005 We cast a spell for love and money, but all we got was piss and parking tickets. | Thursday, November 10, 2005 URGENT!!  How do manatees mate? I'd been told that what happens is the male manatee squirts his cum on the female manatee, then they roll around in the cum until she's inseminated. But today, I was told the complete oppsite, that manatees mate with rough penetration. What I do know is that manatees have mating herds, in other words manatee orgies. So what happens? Do a team of male manatess squirt their cum on the girl manatee, then all roll around in it? Or does one manatee from the team eventually penetrate the female? I can't find any websites that give a straight answer. Does anyone know? | Tuesday, November 08, 2005 I received a curious package, yesterday. It was addressed to "Allison S", so it's either from someone who knows me well or doesn't know me at all. It was postmarked in California, but by a company not a human hand. It contained a ring, a blue stone with tiny white ones set on a silver backing. I don't know if I have a secret admirer, or if the sender of this ring suspects I wouldn't be too happy to hear from them. I guess I'd kind of like to know who sent it. Sender, please reveal your identity. Unless you think I'd be disappointed. Then please stay hidden. And anyway, thank you. | Monday, November 07, 2005 OMG Real Pirates!! "They had machine-guns, rocket-propelled grenades, the works." | Sunday, November 06, 2005 People I Should've Killed Last Night 1. The bitch at the club who nearly burnt me with her cigarette, not out of malice but merely because she's a dizzy yuppie broad who shouldn't have been at the god damn goth club anyway. For some fucking reason, there was a bachelorette party full of Lincoln Park bitches swarming the club, blocking the sink in the bathroom, falling around because they were drunk and wearing heels and their boyfriends weren't there to hold them up as they stumbled and shrieked the yuppie mating call, "Woaahhh I'm like, soooo drunk!" They all had matching, lime green boas and were wearing their usual yuppie clothes, but in black as to blend in with the spooky folk around them. Like we were fooled. Anyway, as I was walking by this one bitch, I felt a hotness, just a swipe of hotness on my arm. Then I look and said yuppie broad was swaying in her chair, barely able to hold up the hand with the cigarette. I should've slapped her or pulled her hair or dragged her out in the rain and stomped her head against the curb, but I wasn't wearing my curb stomping boots and my arm wasn't that burnt so I just said, "Watch it, cunt!" and she looked a little scared. After all, I was wearing devil horns. And in this bitch's state of innebriation, she probably thought I was the dark lord, herself. 2. The princess in the vinyl dress who thought she owned every dick in the club. If you ditch the tall, quiet guy in the trench coat, the one with the black and white hair to go make out with the guy in the Hitler suit and his Asian friend, then guy #1 is fair game. I can saunter up beside him and slather ice up and down my arm and when he gives me a charming look of concern and asks me what's wrong and I tell him, "Some bitch burnt me with her cigarette" and he tells me to, "Mix up basil and oregano and put it on the burn" and I say, "Will that heal it faster, or just make me taste better?" and he gives me a coy little smile and says, "I'd have to try it", you have no fucking right to push your way in between us. This boring brown haired thing in a vinyl dress, that was sagging at the tits because she couldn't fill it, seemed to think she had exclusive flirting rights to every guy in the club. Now, in this case I walked away because basil-boy didn't seem like the type who'd be impressed by bloodshed. And besides, my friend Jeanine was approaching, pointing to the door. It was time to leave. But princess, I'll be back and you best not run into me on the dance floor. 3. The cowboys at the diner. This pair of tools in matching cowboy hats walked into the diner, saw me and my tattooed companions and said to the waitress, "Can we sit in the normal people section?" I don't think they realized they were the freaks. This is motherfucking Chicago. I don't see any herds of cattle that need to be steered to greener pastures. I don't see any bucking broncos that need to be tamed. So get the hell out of our city, or learn to deal with the pierced and funny-hair-colored late night populace. Cowboys fucking suck. Yee-haw! 4. Whoever was driving the ugly-ass blue van that hit my car while backing out of the parking space. Now, I wasn't there to see it. I just remember the van was parked next to me in the diner garage and when I returned to my car, a giant dent was above the wheel. A van-shaped dent. But after thinking about it, that dent was probably old, from when I got in a really bad accident with a van (icy highway, a 5-year-old nearly died), a few years back. It's hard to keep track of the dents in my car, like it's hard to keep track of the scars on my body. | Saturday, November 05, 2005 Penguins and Polar Bears Should not and would never meet, under normal circumstances. Penguins are from the south pole. Polar bears are from the north. They live oceans away. And with good reason. For if a penguin, waddling through the ice should come across a polar bear, the bear would surely devour the penguin, leaving her as nothing more than a pile of oily black feathers.  But if there was nearby water, she would flap her underwater wings and swim away. No polar bear could blame her for that. My birthday is over and now it is yours. So I'll swallow my white-bellied ego and tell you I'm very sorry. | Friday, November 04, 2005 Good birthday. That's all for now. | Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Today I had a nervous breakdown.. Then I went to the woods and ate tacos.   My birthday is Thursday. I turn 22. Listen to the audio post and learn about kitties and boobies. Then give me $22 dollars. Presents for sad sad Allison: |
Ha-lo-wee-e-en Halloween   I be the pirate wench! Yarrr! |
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