Invent It!

by Lindsay Green

September 30, 2002

I will invent it!

A mendable, bendable tube
that will heal any wound
and smell like the moon
for only half a dubloon!

A meteor catching net
that plays DVDs
and warms up your knees
and always asks please
when you forget to
because you are an asshole.

A robot that picks the nuts out of trail mix
and the raisins and nasty bits of cereal
and those dusty little pretzels that taste funny.
Yeah. Fuck those, too!
A robot that makes it all M&Ms would be nice.

A lotion that puts out fires
inside electrical wires
and smells like a honeysuckle bath.
An alarm for when your milk expires
or when there's a nail in your tires
or when you're sleeping with liars.

A meter that tells you
how much time you have left
before the heart in your chest
shoots straight out of your breast.
Goddamned bacon cheeseburgers!
Why do they have to make them so good?

A magnifying machine
that makes little nickels work like quarters
and supersizes all your orders
for way less than 39 cents!

And finally, a man-sized pillow that pleases
says "Excuse!" when it sneezes
and never, not once ever (unlike another)
puts the moves on your mother
or your sexually confused younger brother
or your collie or any other
household pets after ten lousy drinks!

And it's not named Steve!

Quote of the Day

“The day destroys the night, the night divides the day, carry the four, times the weekend, round up from seven, and: Presto! 14. Not sure what that means, I'll get back to you next album.”

-Gin Orbison

Fortune 500 Cookie

Monkeys and live electrical wire are a bad combo for you this week. Try combing your hair with a rakeâ€”hey, maybe those jokers were right. You will quit smoking this week, and upgrade to the syringe. Don't take any shit from the crippled, elderly, or the extremely weak: pretty much anybody you can get your girlfriend to beat up. This week's lucky burritos: Refried Revenge, Chock-Full- O-Olives, The Grand Mal, Nuthin-But-Sour- Cream, El Sleeping Bag, Someone Beaned My Ass Tonight.

Try again later.

Top 5 Questions in the Wake of the Harry Whittington Shooting

1.	How come it took so long to find out there were no weapons of mass destruction?
2.	Why do they call it birdshot instead of leadshot? And, as a follow-up, what's buckshot?
3.	What did Whittington know, and when?
4.	When exactly did Brangelina hear about it?
5.	So, where do you wanna eat?

Mrs. The Pope
I'll elope with the Pope on a Sunday in Spain, and I hope that the dope won't pick a day when it rains. For though the walrus and crow might find it refreshing, the sugar-drop people would melt right through the chairs' meshing. And the... (9/16/02)

God Only Nose
A nose is a nose is a nose. Wouldn't one by any other name smell just as well? What the hell. Call it a hogglebottom and it still smells the sweets. Call it a snot locker, still a nose-shaped hunk o' meat stapled to your face right where... (9/2/02)

Marmalade and Lace
Marmalade and lace, I step on your face as you draw back your bow. Where's the arrow? I don't know. These lovers' games without namesâ€¦ or at least maybe they should be. "Drunken Pump" robs my dignity, couldn't we call it "Double... (8/19/02)