Jan 31, 2008
Jan 30, 2008
Jan 28, 2008
MY PET PEEVES.
BY DAN LIEBERT
- - - -
Women who breastfeed in public but then make a big show of hiding it as if I care.
Total strangers telling me what to do, especially square-dance callers.
Those pretentious phonies who say "pasta" instead of paste or "Boca Raton" instead of rat's mouth.
Itchy labels on bungee ankle straps so I itch the whole way down.
When my opera cape gets caught on homeless people's junk.
Waiters who recite the specials in a bored singsong voice as if they don't really care what I eat.
Bad art in motel rooms, especially bad performance art.
When a woman stands near me and people think her ugly baby is mine and it is.
Dentists who cram my mouth full and don't even ask me one question, though I've been practicing all year.
Big, conceited bodies of water, especially Lake Superior.
The depressing attractions at the Svenskfilmindustrie theme park, near Stockholm. (Actually, I may have dreamt this.)
When a can of cheap peas says "Pea Color and Size May Vary" and inside there's just one giant blue pea.
Halloween decorations in a hospice.
Distant calliope music at night tempting me to forget my duties and run off with the circus and to hell with her orgasm!
A "nature burger" with fake grill marks painted on it.
People who know way too much about the Merovingians or cheese.
Prank phone calls like the guy who called me selling light bulbs for the blind. Ha-ha. Very funny. You are sick, mister.
Barbecue restaurants with happy pigs on the sign.
Those foreign guys on the subway who pretend to read newspapers written in gibberish.
People on fire—they're always asking for favors, even if they hardly know you.
The way road signs talk to you in that stern, fatherly voice.
I never seem to meet those cheerful, uncomplicated women you see on tractor-trailer mud flaps.
When a lecturer takes a drink of water and doesn't offer us any.
I've been all over the world and have lived among every kind of culture and I can say, without any hesitation, that the most ignorant, rude, selfish, and self-centered people on earth are babies.
BY DAN LIEBERT
- - - -
Women who breastfeed in public but then make a big show of hiding it as if I care.
Total strangers telling me what to do, especially square-dance callers.
Those pretentious phonies who say "pasta" instead of paste or "Boca Raton" instead of rat's mouth.
Itchy labels on bungee ankle straps so I itch the whole way down.
When my opera cape gets caught on homeless people's junk.
Waiters who recite the specials in a bored singsong voice as if they don't really care what I eat.
Bad art in motel rooms, especially bad performance art.
When a woman stands near me and people think her ugly baby is mine and it is.
Dentists who cram my mouth full and don't even ask me one question, though I've been practicing all year.
Big, conceited bodies of water, especially Lake Superior.
The depressing attractions at the Svenskfilmindustrie theme park, near Stockholm. (Actually, I may have dreamt this.)
When a can of cheap peas says "Pea Color and Size May Vary" and inside there's just one giant blue pea.
Halloween decorations in a hospice.
Distant calliope music at night tempting me to forget my duties and run off with the circus and to hell with her orgasm!
A "nature burger" with fake grill marks painted on it.
People who know way too much about the Merovingians or cheese.
Prank phone calls like the guy who called me selling light bulbs for the blind. Ha-ha. Very funny. You are sick, mister.
Barbecue restaurants with happy pigs on the sign.
Those foreign guys on the subway who pretend to read newspapers written in gibberish.
People on fire—they're always asking for favors, even if they hardly know you.
The way road signs talk to you in that stern, fatherly voice.
I never seem to meet those cheerful, uncomplicated women you see on tractor-trailer mud flaps.
When a lecturer takes a drink of water and doesn't offer us any.
I've been all over the world and have lived among every kind of culture and I can say, without any hesitation, that the most ignorant, rude, selfish, and self-centered people on earth are babies.
Jan 24, 2008
Jan 20, 2008
Jan 17, 2008
Jan 16, 2008
Jan 13, 2008
Dec 27, 2007
Dec 19, 2007
Dec 14, 2007
Dec 12, 2007
Dec 11, 2007
S H O R T I M A G I N E D
M O N O L O G U E S .
- - - -
Blake,
Alec Baldwin's
Character From
the Movie Version of
Glengarry Glen Ross, Motivates Some
Fourth-Graders.
BY Sonny Harding
- - - -
Are they all here? What? Grant's at speech therapy? Well, I'm going anyway.
Let's talk about something important: the annual magazine-sale fundraiser.
I'm here from downtown—from the school board on a mission of mercy. Your name's Chip? You call yourself a salesman, you son of a bitch? Your school's going to run out of cash before you start the fifth grade unless you start selling some magazines, starting tonight, Chip.
As you all know, first prize is two minutes in the money machine. Anyone want to see second prize? Second prize is a Koosh Ball. Third prize is you're fired. What's that? Sorry, apparently third prize is a big Tootsie Roll.
You got leads, ladies: grandparents, your dad's co-workers, aunts and uncles in Maryland. You can't close these leads, you can't close shit, you are shit—what? She's right, kids, don't sell door-to-door to strangers. There's a lotta sick perverts out there.
What's my name? You see this watch? That watch cost more than your Xbox. That's my name! Really? $300? Christ.
You're nothing. Honor roll? I don't give a shit. Take care of the class hamster? Fuck you. You wanna go to school here? Get out there and sell some Newsweeks.
I can go out there tonight and get 20 subscriptions to Entertainment Weekly! In two hours! And my aunts and uncles are long dead, you sons of bitches.
A-B-C. A—always, B—be, C—careful. Remember those perverts, kids. Let's get some sort of buddy system going, huh?
And, um, the class with the most sales gets a pizza party with Shrek.
M O N O L O G U E S .
- - - -
Blake,
Alec Baldwin's
Character From
the Movie Version of
Glengarry Glen Ross, Motivates Some
Fourth-Graders.
BY Sonny Harding
- - - -
Are they all here? What? Grant's at speech therapy? Well, I'm going anyway.
Let's talk about something important: the annual magazine-sale fundraiser.
I'm here from downtown—from the school board on a mission of mercy. Your name's Chip? You call yourself a salesman, you son of a bitch? Your school's going to run out of cash before you start the fifth grade unless you start selling some magazines, starting tonight, Chip.
As you all know, first prize is two minutes in the money machine. Anyone want to see second prize? Second prize is a Koosh Ball. Third prize is you're fired. What's that? Sorry, apparently third prize is a big Tootsie Roll.
You got leads, ladies: grandparents, your dad's co-workers, aunts and uncles in Maryland. You can't close these leads, you can't close shit, you are shit—what? She's right, kids, don't sell door-to-door to strangers. There's a lotta sick perverts out there.
What's my name? You see this watch? That watch cost more than your Xbox. That's my name! Really? $300? Christ.
You're nothing. Honor roll? I don't give a shit. Take care of the class hamster? Fuck you. You wanna go to school here? Get out there and sell some Newsweeks.
I can go out there tonight and get 20 subscriptions to Entertainment Weekly! In two hours! And my aunts and uncles are long dead, you sons of bitches.
A-B-C. A—always, B—be, C—careful. Remember those perverts, kids. Let's get some sort of buddy system going, huh?
And, um, the class with the most sales gets a pizza party with Shrek.
Dec 7, 2007
Dec 6, 2007
Dec 4, 2007
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