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3:29 pm | 11 May 2004 | doublestuf

Hey! Hey! Check out Lil' Jon's shit at DearSomeone.net. This kid keeps me from impaling myself on the CanoScan. And now, je te presentera

Some Things I Am So Good At That It Makes Your Jealous, Hungry Eyeballs Bleed
or: Merit Badges They Sure As Hell Didn't Give Me Even Though I Sold the Shit Outta Those Samoans*

1. Freaking out, whether duly or unduly, on/for/because of my friends. Example: Friend who, in retrospect, I think just wanted some kind of, like, moneymaking scheme (coming to me for advice in that arena was his first, and most brutal, mistake). What did he get? Ohhhh lordy. A twenty-minute rant covering:

-Whether or not it's cool, kosher, reputable, or, like, valid to put advertising on your website;
-Economic changes in my hometown;
-Graphic arts and their saleability;
-Does he need work? Because I might know someone who has a job;
-Poetry tours, meaningless sex, and merch foibles;
-Moving to San Francisco;
-Selling software on eBay;
-Apologies for the above.
Oh, look, Slager, sorry about that. Even I don't know what that was about.

2. Making food into other foods. Example: Didja know you can not only eat CoCo Wheats, the Midwest's very best chocolate hot cereal, in its standard bowl configuration, but that you can also make it into muffins, cookies, cakes, and bread? That you can turn standard, unflavored Cream of Wheat into tortillas? That slopping packeted ginger, soy sauce, ketchup, marmalade, and peanut butter onto any kind of rice noodle yields something suspiciously pad thai-like? Save your money for good booze, kids. Food is mutable.

3. Tricking myself. When I need to save money, where do I put it? The bank? Ha, no. I either make my friends keep it (with strict instructions to berate/embarrass me if i ask for it back) or I hide it someplace weird. Like, sew it into the lining of a winter coat. Similarly, my clock is set 20 minutes ahead. Yeah, I know it's 20 minutes ahead, and every time i look at it i have to go "7:50? No, it's only 7:30" to myself, which i do, but I, like, need that 20 minutes of "free" time to manage my day. I know that I'm not actually getting any more time, but it sure feels that way. No, yes it does. It does. Shut up.

4. Lame "official" writing. Who's always up at bat for company newsletters and press releases? Why, me. Is it because my bosses are avid fans of my crackerjack prose? Ha, no way. No, it's the effortlessness with which i crap out stuff like "the responses evoked by the simple tableau of dresser, shoe and chair range from the sensual to the criminal" and "we are undergoing a reorganization to better liaise with you, and the new forms are part of the system we’re putting in place" and the fake-jolly twang of "It is my distinct pleasure to announce the recent promotion of Lil' Jonny to Imaging Director!" or whatever that makes me the candidate for this shudder-making task. Kill me. With a fork. I beg you.

5. Inadvertent emo. With sweeping, base-covering statements like "Everyone is stupid," "I hate everything," "This is the worst thing/time/person ever in the world/my life/God's green earth/hell's half-acre," I relentlessly, boringly express my total dissatisfaction with existence every chance I get. And it's all true! I do hate everything! Except you. clm.


*Cookies, not disenfranchised native peoples. Yeah, they used to be called Samoans (Samoas?). Oh, dark history of Scouting!


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