Thursday, December 11, 2014

Depressing Shit, Part 10

I recommend you see part 1 of my Depressing Shit series and read my original disclaimer here; now here's installment 10.

"Live Free," Son Volt
pretty much everything by Son Volt, as far as I can tell 

TV shows:

...and if this article on child abuse doesn't obliterate your faith in the human race, I would like to congratulate you, and also stay as far away from you as I can.

Feeling down yet? Here's a song-- a little depressing, but funny:

More depressing stuff: Read Part 2 here.
And here's Part 3.
And Part 4! Are you depressed yet?!
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9 

And as always, I welcome your suggestions for More Depressing Shit. Do comment, and I'll include any good suggestions in a future update.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

The Coward's Hairstyle

    How can one guy look so much like a cockroach? He hides behind something, in the dark, with one feeler poking out ever so slightly every once in a while. I'm telling you, here I am, parked in an alley late at night, sitting in my car, watching this guy...
    And what does that make me?
    Don't look too closely at the shadows.

Monday, November 10, 2014

Shit that's (probably) depressing, Part 9

I recommend you see part 1 of my Depressing Shit series and read my original disclaimer here; now here's installment 9.

Everlasting Moments
How to Die in Oregon (I'm told)
12 Years A Slave (A friend told me this is GREAT and VERY DEPRESSING. I think I'll skip it because my psyche is fragile.)
Wendy and Lucy (haven't seen it, but LOOKS hecka depressing)
...and a guy @ Whole Foods said he thought Young Adult was a bummer, though I enjoyed it and it didn't affect me negatively. But I guess I can see how it might, for some.

The Beautiful and Damned
A CHILD OF A CRACKHEAD II (#1 was fine, I'm sure, but II...)

DEFINITELY Depressing song:
"Is That All There Is?"  I mean, GEEZ. Save a little depressing for something else, why don't you.

I have to go lie down now.

More depressing stuff: Read Part 2 here.
And here's Part 3.
And Part 4! Are you depressed yet?!
Part 5.
Part 6.
Part 7.
Part 8.

And as always, I welcome your suggestions for More Depressing Shit. Do comment, and I'll include any good suggestions in a future update.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Best New People For Sending Lists To

I must clear one's slate here. Not my slate, just "one's."

Got a free subscription to FORBES Magazine recently, and it's not just the ugly faces on the cover that have begun to annoy me. No, it's their nonstop whining about how bad business people have it and how government regulation of business is ruining everything, and why can't they have everything they want right now because Damn it, they want it? Mine, mine! Everything should be MINE! (All this in the same issue when they proudly trumpet that capital gains are at record highs and the rich are richer than ever.)

So... A short note here on business people and other conservatives who are always calling for less government regulation on their business:

Government regulation, as unfun as it sounds, is the only thing standing between us and just letting rich business people control everything. Of course you want less government regulation, richies. Because without government regulation, the richest people would have absolute power! Kind of like going back to the era of medieval warlords and kings, but with scarier weapons.

Now, I know there are a lot of unhappy snipers who will say, "The rich already control everything anyway," "They own Congress," and so on, to which I say: Not quite.

Unless you already find yourself in slavery-- and I know some people do-- there is still some freedom left and some battling left to do. And no, corporate freedom is not the same as individual freedom. Don't even.

I could go on, but I get less cute the more I argue late into the invisible night.

So, everyone, go have fun, and let everyone enjoy their freedom as individuals. And Git off my lawn!

Monday, October 13, 2014

Free Follows & Likes... (Repost)

I'm eating this for breakfast, peepers. A frivolous new way to get extra followers on Twitter, likes on your Facebook page, G+ followers, Youtube subscribers, Vine followers, Instagram followers, and possibly other desirable things, too, but not undesirable things like germs 'n' diseases, or at least not so far. So join me in following a fun Pied Piper to our glorious digital doom...

Click here to get free follows, etc.

I mean, it's not the end of the world just yet, is it?
(Don't answer that.)

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

The Unfinished Snack, Or Unlimited Shack, Or Alvin Or Bust (National Sketch Writing Month)

[This scene has untold numbers of blanks to fill in. Like a partial Mad Lib... Anyway, it could use a beginning & an end, & possibly some other things. Characters, so far: ALVIN & BUSTAMANTE or BUSTER.]

ALVIN: I will try. I will try! Now get away from me.

BUST: Try, Alvin, try!

A: OK, but say that over there instead.

[B goes over "there," which is not over "here."]

B: OK. Try!

A: No, never say that.

B: Are you sure?

A: No.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

America's Next Tough Dummy (National Sketch Writing Month)

[Mannequin or statue stands on stage. Might be in a store window or other display, though not necessarily. 2 "tough guys," FRED & UNFRED, enter.]

UNFRED: Hey, Fred-- look at that thing. (indicating the dummy to his friend)

FRED (smiles): Oh, yeah-- Heya, dope.

U: Hey, ya dummy.

[Slight pause; both stand there smiling as if they're waiting for dummy's hurt or angry reaction.]

F: Like, 'Oh, No, my feelings don't work!'

U: Hey, Fred-- 'my face doesn't work!'

F: 'Oh, no, my teeth don't work!'

U: My face is all worn out!

F: Yeah! From not saying nothin'!

U: Yeah!

[Both laugh. Then they both look disappointed, crestfallen.]

U: For real, though. What a dummy.

F: Yeah. Won't even talk or nothin.'

U: Yeah, like, what's the point?

F: Yeah, what's the point of anything?


U: Damn.


Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Dang All Butterflies (National Sketch Writing Month)

[Some kind of sweet, happy classical instrumental music plays. BUTTERFLIES 1 & 2 (any genders, & their first names can be changed) do a "graceful" synchronized dance routine, 30 seconds or so, long enough to set a mood of niceness (pretty, feminine, genteel). Then BUTTERFLY 1 picks up or "pulls out" a wide piece of ribbon, several feet long, & unfurls it. BUTTERFLY 2 picks up the other end of the ribbon & they continue to dance, each still holding his or her end of the ribbon, this time dancing apart then coming together, hastily & half-heartedly attempting to tie their ends together in a bow, which they fail to do. Then they dance apart again, then come back together, & try again to gracefully tie the bow again. At this point they might get the ribbon tangled, then dance apart again, then come back together, then try again to make the ribbon look nice-- always while trying to dance gracefully & always failing to tie the bow. Music & BUTTERFLIES stop.]

BUTTERFLY 1: What the hell, man?!

BUTTERFLY 2 (folds arms over chest): Screw this.

B1: How can you say that? Tying pretty bows is what animates us butterflies!

B2: Yeah, but... But... [Pause.] There's no princess.

B1 (more quietly, patiently): I know. [Pause.] It's not the same without Kevin. Those flowing golden curls... Tying ribbons on her was the most natural thing in the world. It was like--

B2 (sadly): --magic.

[Pause while they both look sad for a moment, then:]

B1 (suddenly cheerful): But we'll get a new Kevin soon.

B2: I don't want a new Kevin! I'm done with all princesses. I've given up!

B1 (shocked, angry): You--!! Well, FINE! If you wanna know the truth, I've been thinking of breaking up the band for a long time.

B2: Oh, yeah? That's fine with me, too! That's just fine!

B1: Well, fine!

B2: Fine.

[They turn their backs to each other & both fold their arms over their chests & pout. Pause.]

B2 (gently): Brad?

B1 (also softened a little): What is it, Linda?

B2 (not gently): I hate you.

[The End... or is it??]

"You Don't Matter, Butt..." (NaSkeWriMo)

(A lies on stage, apparently dead. Maybe a flower is placed in A's folded hands to make A look extra-dead. Enter B.)

B: Hey, dude. I heard you were having trouble with your whole life 'n' shit.

A: Sure. I've never won the lottery in any way, not even as a figure of speech. My life ain't shit.

B: What about... your HOME?

A: MY home? My home ain't shit. It's mine, so it doesn't matter.

B: You're wrong. Your home does matter. It matters to some awesome plants. Come on out here, you guys...

(Enter PLANTS, which can be either people in costume or plant puppets.)

A: Larry! Sarah! Dick!

(B & PLANTS hug.)

This is the best Christmas ever!

B: Good... because it's the last one ever! It's The End of Christmas! Goodbye forever!

(A & PLANTS all wave & smile to audience.)

A: Goodbye!


Sunday, September 14, 2014

Don't Be That Bacon (The Post that Posts Itself) (NaSkeWRiMo)

[These could be 2 co-workers at neighboring desks or cubicles, or customer & worker (like a librarian), or many other things, preferably not food-related. Also, they must be utterly serious & natural the whole time. Think of a parallel universe in which this scene wold be normal.]

A: How're you doing?

B: Oh, bacon.

A: Just bacon, huh?

B: Yeah. Last week I was toast.

A: Regular toast?

B: If you really wanna know, I was super toast.

A: Oh, yeah. I get like that sometimes, too.

[No end. This really should go on & on. Like a show. It must go on. Or maybe I'll think of an ending.]

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Too Many White People

[Note: This may also be funny with white actors.]

A: Don't you want to go to the beach?

B: No... I'm kind of "white peopled"-out for today.

A: What are you talking about? We haven't seen any white people today.

A: Yeah... but I know they're there.

Friday, September 5, 2014

Skit: "How long must I be?"

A: YOU'RE dirty.

B: Yes. Yeah. I'm dirty.

A: U B Dirt E.

B: License plate.

[Pause while A & B stand there & look at each other, neither budging.]

B: Hey, how long does this have to be?

C (from offstage): It's supposed to be long enough to reveal its own truth. The truth of its own reality.

B: Oh, OK. [Pause.] Let's go, then.

(A & B exit. A might suddenly show joy somehow, like by jumping in the air & clicking his/her heels, or trying & failing.)


Wednesday, August 27, 2014

An Example For My New Thoughts To Follow

There is a drinking fountain. It is not noticeable.
The only time anyone notices it is when they bump into it, but that happens. Now a person is curious.

Luxurious, furious Someone walks into this water fountain & is temporarily amazed. She looks around wearing pants to see if there is anyone around she can tell about this. She has a personality, but it can't all be known at once. These women exist somewhere. She has glasses or not. That's how complicated she is. She wears a tooth perhaps in her mouth. I look at her and she shifts.

Sometimes I have to go look at something else now. Goodbye. Here is my window. There are always things to discover. Make some up.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

The 1st of my critiques of Mommy Blog/Pinterest crapola

Found this wee gem of poo on Pinterest today:

Not 1 person? How about, oh, I don't know... Dick Cheney? How about Hitler? No? Stalin? Rapists? Child molesters? You could really love everyone, just 'cuz you read their sad-ol' story?

I'm sure whoever thought this up & posted it had the best intentions, but those kinds of intentions pave some of the DARNED-est roads, let me tell you. So... no. You can go ahead & try to be Jesus-y & love EVERYONE no matter what, but that doesn't mean some people aren't assholes at best, & real live devils otherwise.

I do GET IT. We should try to understand where everyone's coming from & act accordingly.

But we still should hold people responsible for their actions.

I'm not providing the link to where I found this, because my aim is not to shame the poster; indeed, this kind of poubelle gets posted & reposted all over the internet, especially in the female-dominated internet ghettos of Mommy blogs & Pinterest, so I wouldn't want to make anyone to feel singled out for my annoyance.

We should debate this shit, though. So many feel-goody quotes making the rounds. Discuss!

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Back, Backy McBackerson!

Thank you, Google gods & gods-esses, for restoring my blog to life! It's not my fault I was hacked! I am some kind of real person! Yes! It has been confirmed!

I will give someone an imaginary gift in thanks!

Perhaps tonight I will pour out some liquor-like substance into my throat & on my clothes to celebrate!


Friday, May 30, 2014


"Oh, I just love, love, love actual humans."
"Yes! I adore them."
"Aren't there some coming out next week?"
"Oooo, we'll have to get ready! Max has got a great hiding place."
"OK! I'll bring the booze."
"Oh, good! And we have all the guidebooks and equipment there already."

Monday, May 19, 2014

An Acute Tickle

   I think if I stick my hand in my ear, blood will come out. And if I stick my ear in my hand...

    I was a little in the boondocks and I wanted to get on a freeway so I could go home. I and my car were off road. Excuse me-- my car and I. I wanted to get on the freeway from the dirt. I was sure I could do it if no cars were coming...
    Yeah, I thought it was a freeway I was getting on, but it dead-ended in some more boondocks with shitty, dirty hills all around. (You know about shitty dirt-- makes a lot of dust, gets everywhere, not good for much that I've discovered yet, unless you think it makes your clothes look "cool." I wouldn't know about that.)
    I would take any freeway right now, I thought. Even if it was going the wrong way, I could make it go the right way. Just give me a chance...
    But there was no one to give me a chance, because there never is, and I was in a shitty, boondocky area and you know how it is when nothing goes anywhere. You must know, because I sure do.
    I was dressed kind of nicely, for me. To be in a shitty dirty hilly place with dead ends for roads, I was up to something kind of nice that day. I thought I might even be Spiffy. A long white skirt and some pointy white shoes, like you might wear to a wedding of crummy, low-standards people with no-account friends. I never wear white and I never wear long skirts, to my knowledge. No one wants to see me in white or in a skirt. So what was so funny about today that I had to go and wear a long, white skirt? I don't know what must have come over me. You know when people ask, "Did you get dressed in the dark?" I do everything in the dark.
    I parked in some more dirt by a gas station that looked closed, since that's what there was. I thought if I walked a little bit up the hill from the gas station, something freeway-like might appear to me. Some other wimmins were parking and getting out of their cars, too, but they talked together all chum-chummy like they already knew each other. Nothing has happened and I'm already feeling left out, as usual. But it's not like these other women knew where they were going, either. They just had friends to be lost with.
    I overheard one woman ask the other something about "get back to the road."
    I called out to them as I started walking, "I'm sure if we go up this way--" I wanted to say, "I'm sure we'll see something," but I could tell they weren't listening. It was like when you want to say something to someone in a dream and then you wake up talking to air. "Should I keep talking anyway?" I always think. This happens a lot, and I'm usually awake.
    The 2 women started following me, even if they didn't know it and probably would never admit that they thought I might know where I was going. That's just not how it works. If anyone asked, I'm sure they would pretend it was their idea to walk up that hill by that abandoned gas station, and if it worked out, they would get all the credit in the end.
    There was more road up above the gas station. It may have even been part of a freeway at one time. There were shards of big white numbers painted on chunks of lanes, that might have once showed you what lane to be in to get off onto another freeway.
    I turned around. The women were a little behind and below me, still pretending I wasn’t there. I have followers!, I thought. Just not the kind anybody wants.
    I kept climbing up the hill. I thought my little followers would appreciate that, me continuing to lead them somewhere.
    “I’m sure what we’re looking for will just be a little further,” I said loudly. I knew they still wouldn’t acknowledge me, but still, still...
    I heard two gigglers giggling behind and below me. And they still murmured to each other. I could only catch the bittiest snatches of what they were saying, and yet I knew they weren’t trying very hard for me not to hear. I could have sworn one of them said something about “a cuticle in the space station,” and this made them both laugh loud and hard.
    I felt like I’d been kicked in the guts. Even now, just thinking about it, I don’t want to breathe because it still hurts and I have no Mom to hug me. “A cuticle in the space station.” It had to be about me. I’m not sure exactly what it means, but I bet other people have said it about me, too. All my life, people have been saying terrible things about me, and now I know everything.
    “A cuticle in the space station.” It’s the worst thing in the world.
    And that’s why I should never leave the house.

Monday, May 5, 2014

Ocean Spittle

"This is a pair of shoes worn by someone who was on the Titanic!"
"Oh! Were they wearing these shoes when it sank?"
"OK. Well, Did they have these shoes on board the Titanic with them?"
"OK. Well, then, did this person own these shoes already when they went on the Titanic--"
"--& they just left them at home?"
"No. After they got home from sinking on the Titanic, then they bought these shoes."
"Oh. So they bought 'em right after they got home?"
"No. They went home, and then they bought these shoes some time later. But they never went home. Or maybe they did. Anyway, it didn't mean anything one way or the other, so don't worry."
"Stop talking to me. It's all for nothing. I don't look at shoes."

And there you have it. Just don't look at shoes.
Unless they were already owned by someone involved in a famous maritime disaster at the time the ship went down.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

"How do you get motivated to run?"

I recently watched a video in order to earn some pretend money from the internet, a video called something like "How do you find the motivation to run?" But I already had lots of answers, and maybe some of them can help you or others. (There are others, aren't there?)

 --Go run out in one or more busy streets, preferably where the moving vehicles are moving.
 --Commit a crime in front of a cop. Go, go! You're getting in shape now!
 --Speaking of violent people, find some violent people who are fast on their feet and work on making them suddenly unhappy.
 --Get some people really angry at you, maybe by taking something of theirs... while they're watching, of course.

This is too easy. Maybe people should pay me extra money to come up with these useful tips for life. I take cash, direct deposit, and even fakey internet "bucks."

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

"This Is The Story, and It's Never Right"

"I have ingested another woman's spirit, and now I am never alone."

"Ingested? Are you sure?"

"And now I'll never be alone again."

"OK, but... I don't know if that's the right word for it."

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Candy Death, Pastry Tombs

It's an Easter thing, see? You bake them with a marshmallow inside.


When they're done... the "tomb" is empty! Because "Jesus" was a marshmallow, and he miraculously melted in the oven. Yum yum GHOST.

These actually sound good to me, but of course I'll eat 'most anything.

Mis-appropriated from

Have I failed again? Or just most of my non-Maren co-Americans?

It's Washington's birthday and I have everything to wear!

But no present to give 'im. And I haven't even started getting the appliances needed to make him his lucky stew.

"But he's dead," you might say. And we could debate on that.

But whether you choose to start a rumour as to Washignton's still being alive or not, dead people need to be paid tribute, too. And very famous dead people need costly, sparkly gifts.

So this Washington's Birthday, I won't just be pouring out frothy alcohols for this non-living man. I will be making excuses for not having presents for him. Real, non-symbolic presents, like socks, and maybe some hammers.

...OR we could all pretend things are OK just the way we want to do them. And that none of us are wrong.

[Please don't try to read anything deep into this. It might give me a headache thinking about how you might be giving yourself a headache.]

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Sunday, January 5, 2014

What a mess! Commercial for a messy product

(Yes, I have ads in my dreams.)

"What A Mess"

GUY walks down public stairs. GIRL (young woman) is walking down just behind GUY, holding a container of (_) brand cheese/open box of (_) brand microwave pizza/whatever messy product this is an ad for. As GIRL steps down, food/liquid spills from the container onto GUY, who then stops & sits down (at a table that just happens to be there, like at an outdoor seating area for  food court), & starts wiping at his clothes with a paper napkin. [In my dream, the product happened to be a tub of feta in brine, and the brine splashes out onto GUY.]

Girl (concerned, puts down food container on table to attend to him): Oh, no! Did I get you?

Guy (still wiping at himself with the napkin): Yeah.

Girl: Do you want 15,000 dollars?

GUY stares at her pathetically. Pause.

Girl: I don't have it.

Guy: It's ok.

(Pause. They  look at each other, then start kissing passionately. SECOND GUY who happens to be sitting nearby (tries to) ultracasually pick up the food container to see what brand it is.

ECU on product.

VO: [Name of product.] What a nice mess.

[The genders could be changed in any configuration; I just happened to dream it this way.]