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Monday, February 27, 2006
Got a Baboon?  The Skin Clown will fight it.. for a price. | Sunday, February 26, 2006 My cat brought home half a squirrel last night And sat outside licking it, pawing at it for a good long while. Got all full of it's guts and fluids. Is now cuddled up in my bed, getting my fuzzy blankets all full of said guts and fluids. blehh | Saturday, February 25, 2006 A Lovely Day and Night First, an important announcement: There will be no more horse cocks on this blog! They're just too long and pink and scary, even for me. You may now emit sighs of gratitude. Now for the entry: 7am: Woke. Asked self, "Why the hell I am up at 7am? Isn't this my bedtime?" Hit snooze button. 7:15am: Remembered job interview. Ah yes, important stuff. Got the hell out of bed, kicked the blankets back before they could grab my ankles. "Away, you fuzzy beasts!" 8am: Left house. Rode blue line to Loop, listening to Lovage and Portishead. Cloudy morning, good for acid jazz. Pretended I was on my way to school, like way back when.. a few months ago. I miss school. But only a little. 10am: Arrived at interview place on Michigan ave. An agency. Fuck. I fucking hate temp agencies. But the lady at the desk assured me it was a "permenant agency". Riiiight. Took tests, filled out forms. Had interview with job-placer-person. She was very kind, seemed to understand when I said, "I can't quite see myself in a corporate environment." Said she'd find me something more creative, or with a non-profit, didn't treat me like a frog in a fishbowl, like persons of authority tend to. She seemed to recognize my species: the scissor-tailed word catcher, lacking sufficient day job. She'll know where to place me. Though my long acrylic nails did knock at least 5wpm from my typing test score. 12pm: Financial office at school. I still have a tuition balance of $8,900-something. But that's okay because my dad, in a rare non-sociopathic gesture, said he'd co-sign a loan, so I can clear up the balance and get my slip of paper saying I'm a certified fiction writer. I've fucking earned it. 12:15pm: Visited nerd lab where I used to work. Admonished Jesus for sending me that horse-sex video link. Crawled down into "the fort" under the computer desk. All our pictures were still there: sailor sam, Johnny Cash, the smoking snail, the dog with testicles on its head. 3pm: After stopping home to change out of dorky interview clothes, arrived at the Skin Clown's house. We had pizza and chocolate cake and broke a frightening curse. Made offensive b-day card for Frank: picture of retarded kid with his arms out in a t-shape, glued to a picture of a cross. On the side I wrote OLDER THAN JESUS! (as in Christ, not the jesus who sent me the horse sex link). Frank was only turning 33, but SAME AGE AS JESUS! just didn't have the same ring to it. 10pm: Frank's party at Sheffield's. Drink specials. School friends. "Yes, yes, I'm still writing. Don't worry." Highlight of night: when Claire restrained Frank, using only a red shoelace. 12am: Clarke's with Claire, J9 and Soren. Ate veggie burger and fries. Caught up on stuff: stories, people, projects. Felt warm and glad. 1:30am: Tempted to stop by Neo. No. Bad plan. Too much drama there, these last few months. Instead, drove Soren home, then drove me home. 3am: My buzz from the beers has vanished. Will get enough sleep to wake up for work tomorrow. I am a good girl. Feels so good to stay out of trouble: No drinking till I barf. No having sex with people I don't like, or shouldn't like. No staying out until the sky is bright. Feels like good surgery: like something filthy and destructive inside me has been sliced out with a scalpel. And now I am free to live calm, placid and productive. But it's just not as juicy of a story. | Thursday, February 23, 2006 Amazing Horse! Watch this. | Wednesday, February 22, 2006 I went for a walk tonight.. and fell in love with a lonely sock on the side of the road. It was a black and white striped dress sock with a bit of toilet paper stuck to it's middle. Well worn, but not dirty. I begged it to come home with me, keep one of my feet, or perhaps an arm warm while I slept. But the sock just rolled itself in a lovely ball and told me, I'll stay here forever on the side of the road. I'll sleep on the curb and I'll eat worms until my mate returns. Another one of those. | Tuesday, February 21, 2006 Apathy The general manager at my work was fired. I just figured it out today. "Hey, where's Debby.." "She's been gone for 2 weeks!" Oops! I'm braindead. Goodnight. | Monday, February 20, 2006 For Today I am a Boy Today I had a mini-gender crisis. I woke from 5 days of drinking-smoking oblivion, (what every Columbia kid does for 6 months to 10 years after and/or before graduation), to find that while I was too smashed to speak (or type a proper blog post, for that matter), I gave myself a ridiculous haircut. It's not crooked or gross. My innate white trash cosmetology skills kicked in at some point. But it leads me to resemble this Japanese schoolboy. Same cut, almost same color. Though mine is more cherry red than fire engine. I'd post a picture, but we've all seen the grainy badness that comes from my digital camera. The offer still stands: buy me a new camera and receive 82 naked pictures of your's truly. Free! In fact, I'll add on 10 more as a bonus. That's 92 naked pictures of Allison Quick in a variety of erotic costumes and poses. What a deal! (I should write ad copy. Heh.. or not.) So the crisis came when I went to the bathroom. Stood there naked, saw the deposits of fluff on my chest and ass that designate me as female. Saw the deposits of fluff everywhere else that designate me as chubby. Then saw the boy hair. And with the glasses. No.. it was just.. wrong. And then I remembered I haven't had sex in like, a week or two. Even more frightening, it's been my choice to abstain. I just don't feel sexy anymore, or like I need sex to validate my existance as a human, specifically as a woman. Bla bla.. Also, I work with a bunch of middle-aged ladies, so I mostly wear jeans and too-big sweaters all week. I knew I was well on my way to becoming a frigid, overly-androgynous blob (androgyny is hot, but not when it happens on accident). I had to do something girly. Putting on a dress would not be enough. So I got my nails did. They're black and long and shiny and smell like embalming fluid. I can't wait to rake them down somebody's back. heh heh.. crisis resolved. | Sunday, February 19, 2006 The Fuzzy Blankets Tell me not to work on Sunday. "Stay home with us!" they say, "We're so fuzzy and warm, we'll carry you off to the twisted world of dreams." But I refuse them, because I need money. "What? How dare you refuse the fuzzy blankets! We will have you in our comfortable clutches, willing or not." Uh oh, they're coming this way, sliding across my carpet, up my legs, they're ahh kfaflkmfwl,; ADSFKFDOI sefmfesdf help! | Wednesday, February 15, 2006 Who the fuck sent me flowers? I like them. Thank you. I gave them away. |
Put Metal in your Microwave  It's fun! | Tuesday, February 14, 2006 "Ain't that what we all want? Someone to hurt you the way you wanna be hurt, then heal you the way you wanna be healed?" -Dorothy Allison Columbia College 2/14/06 | Monday, February 13, 2006 Jonah Falcon, Be My Valentine You're the man with the largest penis in the world. And I'm the strangest girl in the whole United States (if you don't count California). Even if you have a Valentine for tomorrow, you should ditch them and hang out with me, instead. We're perfect for each other. Let me explain. I watched a documentary about you, last night. And just so you know, I wanted you for my Valentine before I ever laid my pretty green eyes on your ginormous schlong. It was something about that adorable, smart-ass look on your face when you said, "A veterenarian said I was hung like a pony." I know people give you shit because you haven't sold your screenplay (Jonah: Confessions of a Horse-Hung Boy), because you still live with your mom, because you go out to clubs in a pair of silver lycra bike shorts even though you're getting old and fat. But those things don't faze me. I frequently end up the lover of frustrated screenwriters and aging club scum. I guess you could say you're my "type". One time you told a magazine, "I've spent my life doing whatever people wanted sexually to get them to notice me. I'm desired and I'm wanted, but I'm also invisible. Most people really don't see me at all." And I totally understand, since I'm the same way. So don't worry. You'll never have that problem with me. I'll always take you seriously as an actor and writer, not just as a man with a mammoth wang. I have to admit, your 13 and a half inch boner would probably hurt like hell. But I'm sure with enough lube, nothing will rip too bad. It's just is the chance I'm willing to take to have you as my Valentine, Jonah Falcon. You make blue dophins turn bright gray with envy. Horses whinny and hide in the stables when you pass. Be mine. Love, Allison Quick the Assassin |
The living room reeks of gas again. This can't be healthy. | Saturday, February 11, 2006 Happy Night | Thursday, February 09, 2006 In 17th century Spain, they called it "El garatillo" (the strangler) Yesterday on a comment, I said I'd write a post on Diptheria. Don't know why, I just liked the word "Diptheria" and the idea of making a blog post that's actually about something. So in my extensive research (read: google), I found that Diptheria does 1 or more of the following: 1. Makes your neck enormous 2. Makes the back of your throat all crusty 3. Makes toxic green ulcers grow on your penis (This can happen, whether or not you've received fellationem from an infected person) You also might fall into a coma. There's 10% chance that you'll die in a week. Diptheria is caused by a bacteria. You catch it by touching the discharge from an infected person's boogers or lesions. (Again, do NOT touch the lesions!) You probably had a shot to prevent Diptheria, when you were little. That's why only 1 or 2 people in the US catch it, each year. Though in some parts of the world, it's worse. There was an outbreak of Diptheria in Seattle, 1993. It primarily affected dirty, lesion-touching grunge kids who would have killed themselves anyway. So nobody cared. Diptheria does not make you foam at the mouth or crave blood, like awesome Rabies does. Diptheria, you bore me! |
Everything is perfect. | Wednesday, February 08, 2006 This Day Last Year Train cross-country. The chivalry of my journey was un-ladylike. Club car, Mardi Gras- a New Orleans suitcase full of beads, little bottles of Jack. Leg up on the bathroom sink where a boy would die next week, and I would explain it to an old Quaker couple over French toast. Wide-eyed Kansas melts on the body bag. | Tuesday, February 07, 2006 Free to a Good Home? Baby Talk This time tomorrow, we'll be in hell, dazzled by a black sword. Love will be stuffed and shined. Talk with my expectation, move my desire. -William Fuller Sugar Borders This time last year, I was evacuating my apartment on Granville and Winthrop. Shoving my pretty belongings into the boxes where they remain, to this day. One year without a proper home. They say that when you write a classified ad trying to give away a pet, you should never put "free to a good home." You should always set a price, to attract the best possible love and care, to weed out the animal sacrificers. Anyone can take home a stray for the night. But it takes more than a bowl of milk to make one stick around. Especially when there's milk at every doorstep. Freedom is the thickest chain of all. And I'm lactose intolerant, anyhow. | Monday, February 06, 2006 I've been hiding, ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, the blurring of now specks of now layered now on the present and future future memories [how breathing works: objects around you breathe with you energy catching a wavelength] nothing is solid! luckk was ssso bad.. brrr.. | Friday, February 03, 2006
 | Wednesday, February 01, 2006 Nobody Likes My Prose Poems So here's a pink, swollen horse cock.  Guess I'll give the people what they want, what they hope to see when they come to this blog: not writing, but animal genitals. *sigh* |
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