02/9/26
Eczema in journalism
|  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“Christ on a bike! Did anybody else see that guy that looked just like Jesus Christ riding by on a bicycle a minute ago?”-LeVonn Marthers Fortune 500 CookieLast week was your best week; sorry we're late getting to you about that. From here on out, your life's gonna be shit on chips. Your dreams of becoming a major baseball star will be derailed this week by the fact that you couldn't hit a cow in the ass with a shovel. Stop using the term "Gay Bash," at once: it does not mean a fun party for homosexuals. This week's lucky Bings: Crosby, Chandler, Bada, cherries, the sound of a superball being shot out of an air cannon into an old woman's neck flap.Try again later. Women Other Than Christina Ricci We Want Chained to Our Radiator
 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 names… or at least maybe they should be. "Drunken Pump" robs my dignity, couldn't we call it "Double... (8/19/02)            |
Reproduction in hole or in parts without permission is likely to piss off her dad big time.