This is me as Miss Ingrid Harshman in the upcoming Charles Band comedy/horror film, “Gingerdead Man 3: Saturday Night Cleaver”:
If Miss Anne Ramsey and Larry “Bud” Melman were to get married and have themselves a fat, sassy, bespectacled little baby…that’d definitely be me.
Yes, I’m wearing a hairnet and looking into a gloryhole — and yes, for a grande finale I rollerboogie with Hitler.
GOD HELP US ALL.
Sometimes when I am watching a movie — I not only hear the dialogue as it being spoken…but I also see the dialogue as it is written on the page, complete with direction. Occupational hazard, I suppose — but trust me, WELL WORTH THE GOTTDAMNED MERRIMENT AND ADVENTURE I AM FORTUNATE ENOUGH TO EXPERIENCE EVERY MOTHERLOVING DAY OF MY LIFE.
Muff Fact #72: I NEVER, EVER write better…than while I am knitting.
The Rules: Don’t take too long to think about it. Fifteen authors (poets included) who’ve influenced you and that will always stick with you. List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes. Tag at least fifteen friends, including me, because I’m interested in seeing what authors my friends choose. (To do this, go to your Notes tab on your profile page, paste rules in a new note, cast your fifteen picks, and tag people in the note.)
1. David Foster Wallace
2. Dorothy Parker
3. Anne Sexton
4. Fran Lebowitz
5. Ted Hughes
6. Hunter Thompson
7. Doug Kenney
8. Scott Fitzgerald
9. Alexander Woollcott
10. George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart
11. Truman Capote
12. W.S. Merwin
13. Mark Twain
14. Pablo Neruda
15. Judy Blume
I ain’t taggin’ a GOTTdamned thing. Do it if you want to — and if not…FUCK OFF, LADY.
Goddamn, I am saying fervent prayers of hope and gratitude for those 33 Chilean miners and their families — as well as thanks that it’s not ME down there as, a) I’m claustrophobic like a motherfucker, b) I would never last that long without a babywipe on my bunghole, and c) I’M FAR TOO FAT TO FIT IN THAT AWESOME, RETRO, MID-CENTURY MODERN, TOMORROWLAND RESCUE CAPSULE.
Viva Chile!
I LOVE IT when skinny little cookie-cutter hipster kids sneer “Breeder” at me under their breath when they find themselves in line behind me and my perilously overflowing cart at Trader Joe’s…with their lone tub of tahini and bottle of Two Buck Chuck. After I check out and load up all the yummy grub that will feed my fab, rambling brood, I like to turn, flash them a DEVASTATING smile, blow them a kiss, grab my vagina, and exclaim, “SUCK MY DICK, SKINNY LITTLE COOKIE-CUTTER HIPSTER KIDS!”
Think I don’t?
I feel like I’ve been eaten by a wolf and shit off a cliff.
Where is your god now, Moses?
I was recently asked, “What is the #1 reason you would defriend someone on Facebook?”
My answer:
Goddamnit, I verily LIVE to hear about all my friends’ latest interesting projects, shindigs, happenings, adventures, incarnations, love affairs, and skullduggery — it is what makes Facebook such a glorious, reciprocal, creative place to hang out and fuck around. It is the ULTIMATE worldwide water cooler!
HOWEVER…with that said, I suspect that most people will agree with me when I say that wearing out one’s welcome with constant, annoying, repetitive, relentless, thrice-hourly promotions of your band, your book, your zine, your show, your miracle multi-level-marketing Andalusian Goat Load elixir, your organic Asshole Bleaching bidness, your “1001 Placenta Polenta Recipes” cooking blog, your Squat-Hop-in-the-Asparagus-Patch Vaginal Jazzercise modern dance classes, or your feminist “Menstrual Blood Warpaint Workshop” — with SCARCELY ANYTHING ELSE of interest posted from you — will get your fatass “hidden” on my wall feed quicker than the shameless dropping of my granny panties in the presence of one starkers Clive Owen — and you’ll never even know that I feel nothing but contempt and disdain for you. It’ll just be my little secret.
However, if you truly wish to make the leap from merely annoying me to PISSING MY FATASS OFF, here’s how you do it: being consistently rude, discourteous, insulting, and aggressive towards my other Facebook friends in my comments — I am talking people that you don’t know, nor have any affection or loyalty towards — when they have done nothing to warrant such treatment from you. This unacceptable, inexcusable behavior will initially get you a couple of friendly warnings from me about the rules in my clubhouse. If you continue, you will be unfriended YESTERDAY. No discussion, no explanation, no nothing. After that, no matter how much you may beg, plead, or attempt to explain yourself and your bad form and poor manners, you will simply cease to exist for me. The way I look at it is, YOU GOT WHAT YOU APPARENTLY WANTED AND WORKED SO FUCKING HARD TO GET. You earned it. Congratulations…and goodbye.
Discourse, passion, joviality, debate? ALL GOOD, and I encourage it wholeheartedly — just don’t cross the fucking line. You wanna swagger, strut, spar, and show everyone how big your comedy dick is? YOU DO IT WITH ME, bitches, not my komrades.
In other words, I am the nicest, warmest, most welcoming person in the world…but do NOT fuck with my friends — friends who, for the most part, have the vicious, biting wit and devastating verbal acumen to destroy you in two sentences or less all on their own…but that’s beside the point. Just do me a fat fucking favor and don’t come over to my Tupperware party, squat, and take a big, steaming dump in the middle of my shag rug all because mommy didn’t hug you enough and daddy hugged you TOO MUCH. Do that at your own place, motherfucker…lest I be forced to UNLEASH THE KRAKEN.
Ultimately, if I learned one thing growing up in a family of scoundrels, criminals, shitkickers, and thieves, it is this: Discord is a bitch — and it isn’t even any fun…and let’s face it, that’s all I really care about on Facebook: Having fun. If you disagree, then I’m sorry…but, FUCK OFF, LADY.
So, you see, it really is SO simple, kids. JUST PLAY NICE over there and Mama will be happy — and when Mama’s happy, EVERYBODY’S happy…and we’ll all be the best of friends. Second star to the right and straight on ’til morning!
That is all.
This raging, relentless fever is making me feel wistful for places I’ve never been and people I’ve never met.
Tell me true: Is this longing? Or regret?
After George Harrison’s death on 29 November 2001, his son, Dhani Harrison, in collaboration with Jeff Lynne, completed George’s final album, Brainwashed, which was released in 2002. He participated in the Concert for George on the first anniversary of his father’s death. The concert was organized by Eric Clapton and featured some of George’s friends and collaborators, including Eric Clapton, Billy Preston, Ravi Shankar, Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, Ringo Starr, and Paul McCartney. Dhani Harrison played backup acoustic guitar for most of the concert.
So uncanny is his resemblance to his dead father, that, during the show, a stunned McCartney turned to Dhani and told him, “You look more like George Harrison than George Harrison looked like George Harrison.”
Then later, just before the finale, McCartney relayed to the audience, “Olivia [George’s widow] said that with Dhani up on stage, it looks like George stayed young…and we all got old.”
Dhani Harrison:
muffy bolding 