Archive for January, 2009

OK so I wrote a story. You can say I was inspired by McNally’s story Black Coffee in terms of how I decided to release it.

Now, I’m not retarded, I know he didn’t invent audio books. But I decided that people are retards (not you, don’t be silly not you) and prefer to listen to things as opposed to reading them.

So, I am going to read you a story. You can read along as well. Click the link to play the file or right click and “save as” to download. The quality is better if you download it just saying.

The song at the end is “I’m Designer” by Queens of The Stone Age.

Morbidly Obese
I’m Designer – Queens of the Stone Age

Morbidly Obese

I’m fat. No, seriously, I’m fat. Not in that girly way, where every girl thinks she is fat. I am a very big girl and this isn’t a problem for me. No, seriously, it’s not. Every fat girl says that she is OK with her body, but they are all lying. They don’t want to be judged by “skinny bitches,” and boys.

There are some things that are good about being fat and there are some things bad about being fat.

Cons:
Finding proper seating: It is difficult to fit into those tiny desk-chair combos at school. You have to buy two tickets on airplanes. It’s impossible to fit into those chairs at the movie theater when they have cupholder arm rests.

Clothing: Most fatties have a problem with this, but I don’t really care about fashion. I like to get air “down there” so muumuus will suffice.

Health: You might die a little sooner. But with all the advances in science when push comes to shove surgery is always an option. And besides people live way too long now anyway. I don’t need to live to be 70 while shitting myself in a diaper. I’ll check out at 50 and be fine.

Other People: Other people like to tease you and make you feel bad. But all you have to do is say, “Whatever Bernard are you shitting me? I know I have like 20 jelly rolls, but you will never have sexual intercourse with a women.” Bam, you’ve zinged them back.

Showering is also quite difficult, but I don’t mind the hose outback.

The pros are a little more hard to explain. But I will just come right out and say that being fat isn’t for everyone.

I’ll share a little anecdote with you. When I was still a little child (I’m 16 ½ now) I must have been around 8 years old, I was super skinny. This is how most fatties’ stories start out.

I was so small that I would hide in the cupboards when my twin brother, Theo and I would play hide-and-seek. People used to pick on us all the time for being so tiny. You know how little kids can be, they pick on anyone who is different. They would call us the “Wonder Twin Midgets,” and “The Oompa Loompa Twins.”  It all seems dumb now, but it was really sad back then.

There was this one boy Brody that I really liked. On Valentine’s Day I gave him a card, mine said “You are sweet as sugar. Be my cupcake, this Valentine’s Day.” His said, “You are a dorf. Go and die.” He meant to say “dwarf” but it was third grade, so whatever. Well, I was really sad so I ran into the girl’s bathroom and cried. When my brother found out during recess he confronted Brody the Meanie, about the whole situation.

Theo said, “Stop calling Teresa and me midgets, you ugly red headed step-child.” Then Brody said that he would stop if he beat him at a race to the top of the monkey bars.

They were racing up, what seems really high when you’re like, 8, and when they were almost at the top, Theo slipped. His shoelaces were untied, and he tripped over himself and Brody grabbed his hand and we thought he was saved for half a second, but no one at 8 is strong, even when trying to hold someone as small as me and Theo used to be.

Theo’s shoes fell off and he hit the ground. Those darn rubber PlaySafe Mats didn’t break the fall.

He broke his back.

We cried for almost a year. The only happy moments in between were covered in chocolate syrup.
He couldn’t feel his legs but he could work his arms and fighting over the crust of the pie, fork in hand, was like fighting over the TV Remote or who got to use the computer or the cool robot dog toy that would bark in a robot voice and roll over it’s body while it’s head stayed in place like in the Exorcism movie sort of.

We could roll Theo into the kitchen and he could mix the batter and I could crush the almonds. And we could eat the brownies.

But I had legs and he didn’t, so when the doctors said he was overweight at 12, it was just another bad thing.

He said, “No one will know we are twins anymore, Teresa. That is like if Salt turned into Ketchup, then it wouldn’t be Salt and Pepper anymore, it would be, Ketchup and Pepper and that just doesn’t make any sense.”

Then he didn’t want to bake anymore, he didn’t want to eat anymore, just nasty carrots and things.  We weren’t twins anymore and we weren’t friends.

I felt like I was the Ketchup.

But then, it was like I was missing the most logical thing ever. I could just get big like him and then we could be Twins again. Mother would give us fruit salad and I would put whip cream and chocolate syrup and sprinkles on it, drool!

When my clothes stopped fitting I had to get new ones, so that was like a bonus!

One day Theo said, now I was only a chubby bunny at this point, he said: “What are you doing sister, just because I am a large boy doesn’t mean you have to be a large girl. Eat your vegetables, please.”
And to this I said, “We are twins, not regular siblings, bro. If you want us to continue to be twinsies then we must get bigger together, because we certainly will not get smaller in unison.”

We ate for a whole year, the only moments in between were burps and bodily functions that I care not to discuss, but we were Twins again.

Pro.

And whenever people would say, “Oh look at the lard twins!” I would say, “Whatever, the only thing better than food is sexual intercourse and you obviously will never have that, you, poophead!”

Then Theo would look up at me from his wheelchair and laugh then we would share a tub of rocky road ice cream, chilly fries, three bacon cheeseburgers and apple pie.

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The hippies have been vandalizing stars on the Hollywood walk of fame. Now, I am not a vegan or any kind of bullshit like that. I do think wearing fur is rude because it just isn’t necessary. If you want to wear fur for fashion, you can wear faux fur. Plain and simple.

It’s about as pointless as smoking cigarettes, you don’t actually get anything out of it, other than you look like a cool bad ass. Except wearing fur, fake or real just kind of makes you look silly. Unless it’s a coonskin cap.

It’s hard to believe that people still think vandalism is a way to be heard. Well, they’re right, it is a way to be heard, everyone will hear how fucking stupid you are. If anything this just makes me want to visit the Hollywood walk of fame.

Throwing paint on people and destroying their stars– that who gives a fuck about them– just makes you look crazy and makes everyone hate animal rights activists more.

I wonder who has to clean these things or if they even get cleaned. It’d be kind of funny if they just left them like this and 100 years from now when all is forgotten, one of the greatest singers of all time will be remembered as The Fur Hag.

The best part is Sharon Stone was singled out as the OLD Fur Hag. We all know that was just to hurt her feelings cause her vagina probably looks like Sarah Jessica Parker, obviously Aretha is the eldest.

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For the sake of my sanity and mentioning Patrice’s website jesus christ almighty this picture of Verne Troyer (Mini Me) has been haunting me for days.

Anyway, Shia Labeouf (pronounced LaH-dOOsh) has been walking around with a paper bag on his head. Why you ask? Cause motherfuck he’s just a regular fucking dude,” bro, just back the fuck off, I’m Shia I just wanna walk around and shit. I know I’ve starred in blockbuster smash hit feature films like Dumb and Dumberer: When Harry Met Loydd and Constantine, but I’m really just like you.”

I get that constant attention is hard. But walking around with a paper bag on your face is a retarded plan to stay under the radar. Also, the reason why he has a plastic bag tied on his fist is because Shia has a broken hand. “NO ONE WILL SUSPECT A THING.” Speaking of retards, in all fairness, he CAN act.

If you don’t wanna be followed and made a public douche, then don’t be famous. But someone of us just cannot help ourselves.

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I was going to write this yesterday but I was too exhausted. Then Lost was on for like 3 hours, and then I fell asleep. But I got an internship at an online teen magazine a couple of weeks ago, which means I have finally become a slave to the internet. I won’t name the site I work for, I don’t need to start burning bridges just yet, besides the people there are nice and I do enjoy working there.

But my christ, none of the other interns have to do all the shit that I do. And I am not complaining, I signed up for this, it wouldn’t even bother me, if I didn’t have to see the other intern on facebook all day.

Well anyway, yesterday, niggas was testin’ me.

First I had to google a bunch of shit, which is fine. But then I had to find funny videos and that took forever because nothing can have profanity, and wtf is it with people loving to keep everything clean for the first 5 1/2 minutes then bam! at the end cunt, fuck, shit. So, everything is already going slower, and I have a list of tasks to complete.

All of a sudden, I get an instant message, because everyone in the office communicates via aim, telling me that I have to go outside to Times Square (which is pretty close) and give out fliers in the cold. They give us a list of  locations, Toys R Us, the Hershey Store, etc. Of course I am dumb and for the first ten minutes go inside Toys R Us and start talking to all the lame asses playing Dance Dance Revolution.

Asians like it when you talk to them, white people just get scared.

So then I run into the other intern and realize I am supposed to be outside. Talking to people on the street is weird, especially when half of them are foreigners and the rest are “Entrepreneurs” trying to get to point B.

Again, white people just get scared, Asians half engage and black men think I am hitting on them. I am desperate to give this shit away, and of course in Times Square there are a bunch of howlers trying to give away fliers. So, I decide, hey, why not trade with them?

And that works, until I try to trade with this one dude.

Me: Let’s trade.
Him: OK, what is this?
Me: Free Xbox (that’s just what I say, it’s quick and to the point, the little fliers are for an xbox give away the company is having, whatevz)
Him: This is a card not an xbox. (He’s so sassy!) Are they paying you for this?
Me: No. >=/ (Thanks for reminding me douche!)

He hands me a card. I look at it. It says something like: The Beginning of Dianetics: A 15 minute Film.

Nigga is a Scientologist.

I explain that the card is for an Xbox contest and that it’s not a scam because I am the one who actually has to package all the prizes and shit.

The Son of Xenu: You should REALLY come see this movie.
Me: No, I have to give this shit out.
The Son of Xenu: But, YOU REALLY SHOULD. It’s WARM INSIDE. There are aliens inside you, dark one!
Me: I have to be back soon, but I promise I’ll come back. *WINK*

Then he started to drool and flashy thing’ed me like in Men In Black. What-the-fuck-ever, it’s not as if I can afford to be a Scientologist, I don’t even get paid Mexican-Wages.

My hands are numb, I head back to the office. They tell me I have to take a bunch of packages to the post office (after work). I have no sense of direction. After walking in a half-mile circle, I find it. I have large envelopes and letters. They already have the postage, so all I have to do is put them in the drop boxes.

I should preface this with saying, I am dumb. I am really tired at this point. There are two drop-offs. One that says letters and the other says large envelopes. I start putting all the large envelopes in the letter drop-off. It’s just one of those moments where you see the thing, you think you’re reaching for it, but you just step on your glasses instead of picking them up.

The thing is, there are five people hovering around me, just looking at me like I am a retard. None of you can say?! C’MON. I know they know which is the right thing, because every time I stop to get more packages, they put their large envelopes in the right slot and their letters in the other one. This is how I realize I am dumb.

So, who knows where those packages will go? Sorry to all you kids who won prizes. /shrug.

The day can’t get any better! I get on the express train, which bypasses my stop. The next stop is too close to wait for another train to go back on, but it’s far enough for it to be an inconvenience. As I am getting out of the subway, I trip up the stairs and crush the Styrofoam container that my dinner is in. Fun! Then I am so out of it, that for 3 blocks I walk in the opposite direction of my house!

Today, I have a soar throat and cold from standing out in the cold.

HURRAY FOR FREE LABOR!

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