shhh... it's a secret
Showing posts with label see you in hell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label see you in hell. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Gushing and Blushing

  
Okay, I know it's Tuesday and Random Shit Tuesday is supposed to occur today, but my week is all screwy, so I'm making today Monday, or maybe Sunday. Therefore, I've got something else in mind for today.

So, can I just say that you all are freakin' awesome? I'm gonna say it...

YOU ALL ARE FREAKIN' AWESOME.

This morning I got up, jumped on my laptop and discovered eight, yes, eight comments on yesterday's post. After the two days of hellish-ness I had just gone through (and, for the record, only one day was hangover related, the other was drug side-effects related, but you don't need to hear about that), nothing could have been more welcoming to see than that.

My favorite was from frequent commenter, the Didactic Pirate (go check him out), who wrote,
"Sometimes I think your life is like a really awesome movie -- one I'd pay full price to see." 
Me too, man, me too.

Lest you aim to look like Keith Richards, and let's be honest, nobody wants that.

I have a confession to make, I'm a tad bit narcissistic (but aren't we all?), and I occasionally go through my days wondering what people would think if they were reading my life story in a book or watching it as a movie. Yeah, okay, maybe a little bit more than a tad bit, but whatever, this is why I have a blog, right?

Anyego, I envision that my life's movie would be something of a cross between a quirky rom-com (think 500 Days of Summer, not a Reese or SJP rom-com) and a Judd Apatow movie. And before I ventured into what big stars would play all the various characters in my movie, I took a moment to reflect upon the aspects of my life that would be entertaining enough to actually make it into the movie. And then I was reminded of a snippet of jules' comment,
"(Though I've pretty much give up alcohol in the past few months after some SCARY drunk episodes.)" 
Holy shit, I can totally relate to that. Especially lately.

Back in the day (I'm talking college here, folks), I was quite capable of holding my own when it came to drinking. In fact, it was often said that I could drink any man under the table. I was a kick-ass Beirut partner, and puking usually only occurred the next day, and in a toilet. Post-college, I was still in my prime drinking time (and yes, it does pain me a little to think that I can use those words to describe any part of my life). I was a go-to partner in beer pong (Beirut, apparently, being a regional thing) and would often be one of the last people standing at the end of the night. Unfortunately, those days are long behind me, and as it was so delicately pointed out to me on Sunday, I'm getting older and can no longer hold my liquor (this being just a saying as I did not consume any liquor the previous evening).

Yes, I'm getting older, but there's also another major difference between me now and me then that I neglect to take into account. I was 20, 30, sometimes 40 lbs. heavier back in the day. And of course, weight plays a major role in how much you can drink before becoming intoxicated. This is something that I never think about. I have my own personal issues with weight that I won't bore you with, and the only time the reality of my size ever occurs to me is when I'm clothes shopping and I automatically reach for the size 8s and mediums and later discover that I'm really a size 4 and an extra-small (please don't hate me for this. I'm not bragging. There were times when I would grab size 8s and discover that I was actually a size 14. I have some demons at work inside of me, so please, move on).

Or not. I vote for not. At least until the next time.

So, long story short (Too late! Sorry, that never gets old, or does it? Whatever, I love that movie.), I forget, quite often, that I'm not the same rock star I was in college, or even post-college. I've got to start remembering that my limit now is 6 beers or 1 1/2 bottles of wine or 4 whiskey drinks or 0 shots, and I think I'm okay with that. I also have to remember that I'm no longer drinking cheap, light beers from my college days, and I'm drinking higher quality, higher alcohol content beverages as my tastes for quality beer have evolved over the years (and whiskey. Damn if it doesn't pull me in every time.).

I'm not saying the best of my drinking days are behind me, but hopefully, through acknowledgment and acceptance, I can finally begin admitting to myself that even thought I still look 23, I can't still drink like 23. So, in conclusion, thanks for all the support, thanks for relating to my woes, and thanks for sharing in my misery. You guys are freakin' rock stars.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

One Blonde Girl 101

When I started this blog, it began as a place for me to reflect on "my journey through life". At the time, I was at a much different place in life (read: happier). My blog was not meant to be humorous nor was it meant to be bitter nor was it meant to be what it has become. It has since evolved into what you see before you. A place for me to rant and rave, bitch and moan, tell funny (hopefully) stories and bond with other bloggers about the woes of life. 

One such blogger is The Naked Writer over at The Writing Womb. I find her ability to be open and honest with the world about the trials and tribulations of her life admirable. She recently wrote a post, The Naked Writer 101, which was both informative and inspiring. Influenced by her frankness, and her "utter disregard for couthness" (yeah, I quoted myself. What of it?) I present to you...

One Blonde Girl 101
       

Because what's a post without a pic? And yes, that is me. (Source)

1. I love pickles. The tangier the better. I love pickles so much that if you leave a pickle on your plate unaccompanied, I will totally eat it on you and then pretend I have no idea what happened to it. True story. Your pickles are not safe with me.

2. I buy clothes with pockets because I never know what to do with my arms in social situations. Pockets are safe and comforting. In a perfect world, every article of clothing would have pockets.

3. When I was in high school I hated being blonde and wanted to dye my hair black but then a friend of mine told me that if I did, my hair would be black permanently, and that scared me, so I didn't.

4. I once hit a flock of birds with my mom's car and killed at least three of them. I've also caused the deaths of a bat and a cat via vehicular manslaughter.

5. I'm a night owl. I'm most productive and energetic after 7 pm. Some nights it will last until 4 am. This makes it very hard for me to be productive in the real world.

6. I function the best on 6 hours of sleep. Any more or less and I'm useless.

7. I dream of being a tattoo artist. Unfortunately, I have a thing against needles.

8. I can't stand to watch any scene in a movie that involves cutting a person. Any other kind of violence is fine, but not cutting.

9. I love horror movies. Especially haunted house and zombie movies. I hate Sci-Fi though. Hate it.

10. I'm constantly changing my mind. Which probably explains why my blog goes through so many transformations. And why I can't decide what to call myself. "April"? "One Pea"? "One Blonde Girl"?

11. I'm not a cat person. There. I said it. I don't like cats. I'll take a dog over a cat any day. The bigger, the better. (I once had a cat that I loved with all my heart. He had six toes on each foot and the funniest looking face. But then he up and died. One minute he was frolicking outside, and the next, he was dead. I don't think I ever got over that.)

12. I've never (knowingly) been involved with or pursued a guy who was already in a relationship. That's the biggest no-no ever. In my opinion. In fact, discovering that a guy was already involved was an instant turn-off for me. He could have been my soul mate and looked like Clive Owen, but as soon as I found out he was married or had a girlfriend, he turned into Steve Buscemi.

13. I've never had stitches. Thank god, because I don't know how I could handle that (see #7).

14. The first time (and unfortunately, not the last) I ever felt violated by a boy was in the first grade when a classmate who liked to look up the girls' skirts hugged me during nap time. It took me many years to get over that.

15. I've never finished a piece of art work. Never. Ever. It's a mental thing. I just can't do it.

16. I'm envious of people who have close relationships with their parents. I don't.

17. I don't do makeup. Possibly because no one ever showed me how. Or possibly because I can think of better, more important things to spend money on.

18. My knees are always hairy. Always. I can't seem to figure out how to work a razor around the knobbiness of my knees.

19. The most traumatic years of my life seem to end with 5s.
1985- I started Kindergarten and hated it and my teacher so much. I cried and cried and cried. The only way they could get me to go peacefully was bribing me with reading time with the other Kindergarten teacher.
1995- Well, in a nutshell, it began with the development of an eating disorder and accumulated with my dad booting me from his house. And a little bit of everything else thrown in for good measure.
2005- Well, I'm not quite ready to talk about this time of my life yet.
Needless to say, I dread 2015.

20. I have a twin sister.

21. I hate Lima beans. Hate 'em.

22. I hate housework. If I ever have a house (and a job), I'm totally hiring a housekeeper. I don't care. I'm doing it.

23. I don't watch ANTM on a regular basis, but anytime there's a marathon on, I'm glued to the TV.

24. I can't really pin down what makes me happy. Not specifically, but when I am happy, you'll know instantly because I make up little songs and dances and I spin.

25. I can't remember the last time in my life I was really, truly happy with my life.

26. I'm a really good multitasker, except when it comes to the big things, like education and relationships and career, then I have to choose one to focus on.

27. Most of the decisions I've made in my life were based on what other people wanted, not what I wanted myself. It's made for a very miserable life, but I'm working on living life for me now.

28. I live in constant fear of settling.

29. I don't trust words. I trust actions.

30. My favorite life advice comes from Magic Hat beer caps.

31.  I can't figure out if I'm more afraid of succeeding or of failing. I pick the middle road by not even trying.

32. My dad used to be the captain of a cargo ship. I was a world traveler until about age 8.

33. My dad's family owns a button factory in Iowa and were innovators in the pearl button industry. I think that's awesome.

34. I hate shopping. Any kind of shopping. Hate it.

35. I love helping people and making their lives easier. It makes me feel good, productive and accomplished.

36. My first real boyfriend was abusive and cheated on me frequently. That was the first and the last time I ever allowed a guy to treat me that way.

37. I love my feet, my knees, my hips, and my collar bones. Basically all the bony parts of my body.

38. Mind-altering substances scare me a little. Not that I'm afraid of their effects, but that I would enjoy them too much and would end up on an episode of Intervention.

39. I hate stuff. I don't understand why people insist on having so much stuff. Every time I move I purge more and more useless stuff and it makes me feel so good.

40. I feel guilty over my grandfather's death. It's totally irrational and illogical, but I often wonder if he would have still fallen down the stairs if I had chosen not to move away.

41. I don't know how to want things. In my mind, wanting something is wrong and a sign of weakness. I can't explain this. Well, I can, but we don't have the time to get into it.

42. I have to have a million and one things going on at once in order to not be bored.

43. I love strawberries.

44. I love music.

45. I love driving a stick shift. It makes me feel strong and powerful.

46. I'm terrified of having kids.

47. I hate spending other peoples money.

48. I often wish I could see myself through other people's eyes. I'm sure they don't see me the way I think they do.

49. I don't regret breaking up with any of my exes.

50. When it comes to intimate relationships, I think bodily functions should always remain private. Always. There are some things I just don't ever want to hear, see or smell. Ever.

51. I have scars on my body that make me severely insecure, force me to be extremely conscious of the way I do things at all times and make me fear the moment someone notices them and asks me about them.

52. I love getting dirty (you can interpret that any way you want).

53. I hate making small chitchat and will avoid encounters with people just to avoid meaningless chitchat.

54. I don't like day-hikes. If I'm going to put in the effort required to go hiking there better be a tent and a cozy sleeping bag at the end of the trail. And a campfire with S'mores.

55. I don't see the point in watching sports on TV. Unless it's the Super Bowl and I'm at a party with lots of alcohol and pizza. Otherwise, what's the point? I do enjoy the excitement of watching them in person. Except for baseball. And golf. And probably curling too.

56. I hate red roses. Hate them. I once got red roses for my birthday from a boyfriend. In November. My birthday is in January. Epic failure. I once received a bouquet of daisies from a guy I was dating. For no reason other than he thought I would like them. Epic success.

57. I'm severely indecisive and can never make up my mind about what I want or like. My brain literally becomes paralyzed whenever anyone asks me what I want or like. I'm trying to work on this. It's not going so well.

58. I have a hard time not judging people for their choice in music, reading material and other entertainment choices (like TV). Sorry.

59. I have sacrificed more of my life for relationships than I would like to admit. I'm trying to work on this.

60. I miss the friendships I had in high school.

61. I have an irrational fear of getting my haircut. Which is why I only get it cut once or twice a year. I've had so many bad experiences. Some day I would like to leave the hair salon with the hair cut I went in there expecting to get. Some day.

62. I have an irrational fear of birds.

63. It's easier for me to be friends with men than with women. I don't get the drama that comes along with having female friends. And I have a hard time relating to women. I'm not sure why.

64. I'm a chronic procrastinator.

65. I love sushi. I never thought I would, but I do.

66. I often wish I could get rid of all my stuff, jump in my car and drive away. Far, far away and start a brand new life where no one knows me. Kind of like Delia Grinstead in Ladder of Years by Ann Tyler. Tyler's books always give me perspective on my life.

67. I love the cartoon, Chowder.

68. I once dated a musician. He wrote a song about me. His band broke up not long after, before they even had a chance to perform the song in public. I was more bothered by that fact than the fact that we broke up as well not long after.

69. I've never had a successful one-night stand. And by successful, I mean, one in which the guy didn't want more. Some of my longest relationships were the result of failed one-night stands.

70. I love gumballs. I've never met a gumball I didn't love. Even the stale ones that have been sitting in the machine for 6 years.

71. I've become more spontaneous and less controlled as the years go by. And here I was afraid it would go the opposite way.

72. In college, I once allowed others to believe that I had slept with someone because I would have felt bad for the guy if his friends had found out the truth. (The truth was, I refused to sleep with him after discovering how small his penis was. I lied and told him I was having my period. And then I slept in my roommate's bed. He had a rep to maintain, and I didn't want to become the source of any suffering for him.)

73. I rarely ever give a shit about what others think about me in any given situation (see #72 above) because I know the truth, and in my mind, that's all that matters.

74. I hate it when I'm forced to justify my actions to someone else. I would love it if I could just act of my own accord and only have to answer to myself.

75. After years and years and years of being in relationships, I feel like I'm all used up.

76. It's easier for me to tell this stuff to strangers than it is for me to tell this stuff to the people who love and care about me. I can't say I'm really trying to work on this.

77. I rarely wash my hands. Not properly at least.

78. I can't stand Molly Ringwald.

79. I can't stand anything really sugary sweet. Like girly drinks. And fancy pastries (egg issue aside). And frosting. And sweet tea. And sweet coffee. (Chocolate is the exception. As long as it isn't gag-me sweet)

80. I have four sisters and a brother. My stepfather always complained about being outnumbered when we were growing up. Now he has four grandsons (officially. Six unofficially, as in, not belonging to my siblings but to their significant others) and a granddaughter. Coincidence? I think not.

81. Only one of my siblings is married. But he's currently going through a divorce, so I guess it no longer counts.

82. Life just won't let me forget the person I'm trying to forget. Stupid life.

83. My mom bought me and my twin the Betty Crocker Cookbook: Bridal Edition years ago, claiming that we'd never get married, so she might as well just buy it for us while it was still available. (Thanks Mom. Your faith in us is so uplifting and inspiring. And don't think I don't know what you're getting at when you hint that you'll never have anymore grandchildren. I get it. I'm an epic failure. I've accepted it. You should too.)

84. I often feel like the black sheep of the family.

85. I once had a student removed from an elective art class I was teaching because he was sexually harassing me. True story.

86. I hate it when people ask me for advice or expect me to comment on a predicament they've gotten themselves into. People rarely want the truth in these situations, and that's usually all I'm willing to dish out because I hate blowing smoke up people's asses.

87. My sexuality often scares me and sometimes feels like more than I can handle (see #88 below).

88. I have a hard time remaining faithful in relationships. I'm trying to work on this.

89. I have a hard time letting people down/disappointing them/breaking their hearts/and so on and so on. It's a guilt thing. I blame my childhood. More specifically, my parents. I'm trying to work on this. (It's not going so well)

90. I believe that dying is like sleeping, but without the dreams.

91. I have a hard time believing in anything that isn't tangible.

92. I love to bake. And plan parties (but not necessarily attend them. I prefer to be behind the scenes. Unless it's of the beer-drinking variety. And especially if there's a bonfire.).

93. I once played a nerd in my class' senior play. I loved it. It fed the acting bug I had been harboring since the eighth grade, but I was realistic, and I knew that where I grew up, the opportunity would never present itself.

94.  I love to cook but I only think it's worth the effort when I cook for someone(s) other than myself.

95. I have a bladder the size of a walnut. This isn't backed by any medical evidence, just by the fact that I have to pee ALL THE FREAKIN' TIME.

96. I have a heart-shaped uterus. This is backed by medical evidence. You would think this would make for a more loving uterine environment. This is not the case. Apparently it makes for a more inhospitable one. Whatever. We'll cross that bridge if we ever get there.

97. I once had dreams of becoming a soccer superstar. But then I hurt my knee and lost all confidence in myself (FYI, this was just one of the many downfalls that occurred in 1995).

98. I love my sisters. We're not all that close, so I often fear that they don't know this, but I do.

99. I prefer to make my own wrapping paper.

100. I don't eat fast food nor do I drink soda. I have no regrets about this.

101. I used to hate my first name, but now I kind of like it. I just wish it were easier for people to remember it (Seriously, it's a month. What's so hard about remembering a month?).


This post has been very therapeutic for me. It won't even bother me if you didn't read through all 101 items because it meant more for me to write it than it did to have anyone read it (quite possibly related to #73?).

And that is that.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

WARNING: This post may offend you (if you're a bum. Otherwise, probably not.)

       
Ah, yes. Well, here we are, aren't we? I promised you a funny post, didn't I? Well, guess what? I'm in a bit of a funk today, so don't expect too much from me. I'm not really sure why. I guess I have the post-thesis blues. And now I have the "I have the post-thesis blues" blues because I never thought I would be sad that my thesis was over with. (Well, for the most part. I still have that last round of revisions, but that's out of my hands for the moment.) I'm sad. I'm lonely. I think I need some whiskey. Blah, blah, blah. I won't bore you with a tale of the deep, empty, hollow, never-ending sorrow that I'm experiencing right now. (You're welcome)

Instead, let's converse about... homeless people. And hookers. Both of which I saw this evening on my way home from having a margarita with Boss Lady in honor of Cinco de Mayo. Or something like that.


I live in a fairly small college town with a surprising number of bums and prostitutes. There's this one dude who likes to camp out at the entrance to a pretty busy plaza in town. Of course, this plaza happens to contain the grocery store I frequent. (And the liquor store. And the bank that will actually give me a roll of quarters even though I don't have an account there.) Now, I don't know about you, but for some reason, homeless people make me feel guilty. Not guilty enough to give them money, mind you, but guilty nonetheless. Guilty for going to the grocery store. Guilty for driving a car. Guilty for wearing clean clothes. You get the picture, right?

Mr. Bum has himself set up so when you exit the plaza via the left hand lane, he's literally standing two feet away from your driver's side window. I have to turn left in order to go home. I'm not going to lie, I have, on occasion, decided to take the long way home (exit right) in order to avoid being the first car in line at the light so as not to have to see Mr. Bum looming outside my car. It's not that he disgusts me or anything (seeing as I, myself, might be homeless soon). I just happen to experience a lot of anxiety having him next to my car. I mean, WHAT DOES HE EXPECT FROM ME!?! His sign says he wants a job, but his eyes say he'll take anything I offer. This is just too much pressure for me to handle. Let me explain.

First of all, aside from the fact that I barely have enough money to feed myself, I don't carry cash on me. And the only change in my car is the coffee-crusted pennies in the bottom of my cup holders. I suspect handing over a handful of sticky coins would be more offending than if I were to spit on him. I could be wrong.

Second of all, I don't know what his food preferences are. Is he a vegetarian? Does he have any food allergies? If I give him my Nutrageous, will it be appreciated? And furthermore, if I give him my Nutrageous, what will I eat for dinner? Does he have access to a microwave? I would be more than happy to share my microwave popcorn with him if I knew he had the means to pop it. Does he like apples? If I give him my apples will he appreciate how perfect and non-bruised and non-blemished they are? Will he thank me for spending fifteen minutes picking over every apple in the produce section to find the non-mealy ones?

I suspect he likes coffee because he's always drinking from a travel mug, however I'm pretty sure he doesn't have access to a coffee maker let alone a coffee grinder. (I think the Dunkin' Donuts across the street gives him free coffee. Or maybe he's drinking whiskey in that mug. If that's the case, I'll have to befriend him once I'm jobless and homeless too. At least then we'll both have a buddy to drink with.) In other words, I doubt my groceries are of any use to him.

Thirdly, and this one has nothing to do with the anxiety Mr. Bum causes me but is actually a critique of his strategy, why is he only present on warm, sunny days? Who's going to feel bad for a man standing outside on a warm, sunshiny day? If anything, people are going to be envious, and then they're going to be spiteful, and then poor Mr. Bum will go away empty handed because the people driving by are too bitter about the fact that he gets to be outside while they have to go to work and sit in some cramped, hole-in-the-wall, closet trying to pass itself off as an office.

Wouldn't it make more sense to be out there during the wet and cold weather? People always have sympathy for others who are colder and wetter than they are. Think of all the food and money and warm clothes he could get then. I tell you what, once we're seated down on that median with our drinks in hand, that's the first suggestion I'm gonna make.

Oh, and about that hooker I saw? (And if you're wondering how I knew she was a hooker, trust me, I've lived in this town long enough to be able to tell the difference between a hooker and a girl in middle school. The differences in the trashiness are subtle, but once you learn them, you can tell). Explain this to me. It was 90 degrees out today and this chick was walking down the street wearing her ankle boots with white athletic socks, booty shorts, a ruffled shirt with the print of some extinct animal that was killed off by Mother Nature for having a pelt that caused seizures, and a puffer vest. A PUFFER VEST! Did I mention it was 90 DEGREES OUT?

You know what? I bet Mr. Bum would have some interesting insight on this. That will probably be the second topic I bring up during our whiskey fueled conversation. Maybe Miss Hooker will lend us her puffer vest. After all, when she begs for money, she'll get to ride inside the cars while we'd be stuck on the outside in the cold precipitation

UPDATE: I just spotted a chickie in the Arts building I work in wearing the same get-up as Miss Hooker, sans the white socks and the animal print top. Hard to tell if this is the same girl, but I'm quite perplexed. Has hooker garb become some new trend in fashion that I'm unaware of?

Friday, April 9, 2010

Why I ♥ Christopher Moore

If you're not familiar with the author, Christopher Moore, I highly recommend you take a moment to check out his website (I feel like a total ass right now. I'm directing you towards his site, and it's not working. At least it isn't for me. I'm hoping by the time you check it out, it will be up and running fine. I apologize. In the meantime, Wiki his ass*). If that's not enough to convince you to start reading his shit, maybe I can help the cause.

First, let me say that I've read quite a few of his books. I would never recommend anything I myself haven't already read, so here's a list of what I've read, in order of most fav to least fav:

  • A Dirty Job
  • Fool
  • Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal
  • The Stupidest Angel: A Heartwarming Tale of Christmas Terror
  • The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove
I'm currently reading Lamb. If you're like me, not religiously inclined, and you're hesitant to be seen with anything resembling the bible, even in parody, rest assured, you will not regret reading Lamb. Here's an excerpt (really, this shit cracks me up!):
Joshua's [aka Jesus] ministry was three years of preaching, sometimes three times a day, and although there were some high and low points, I could never remember the sermons word for word, but here's the gist of almost every sermon I heard Joshua give.
You should be nice to people, even creeps.
And if you:

a) believed that Joshua was the Son of God (and)
b) he had come to save you from sin (and)
c) acknowledged the Holy Spirit within you (became as a little child, he would say) (and)
d) didn't blaspheme the Holy Ghost (see c).
then you would:
e) live forever
f) someplace nice
g) probably heaven.
However, if you:
h) sinned (and/or)
i) were a hypocrite (and/or)
j) valued things over people (and)
k) didn't do a, b, c, and d,
then you were:
l) fucked
Which is the message that Joshua's father had given him so many years ago, and which seemed, at the time, succinct to the point of rudeness, but made more sense after you listened to a few hundred sermons. (Moore, 2007, p. 334)**
Funny, right? Huh. Not convinced yet? Alright, here's another...
"You like Joshua, don't you? Yes you do. Yes you do. He wuvs his widdle Joshua. Yes he does." Baby talk is the universal language. The words are different, but the meaning and sound is the same.
The creature nuzzled Joshua up under its chin, then licked his head again, this time leaving a steaming trail of green-tee-stained saliva behind on my friend's scalp. "Yuck," said Joshua. "What is this thing?"
"It's a yeti," said Gaspar from behind me, obviously having been roused from his trance. "An abominable snowman."
"This is what happens when you fuck a sheep?" I exclaimed.
"Not an abomination," Joshua said, "abominable." (Moore, 2007, p.221)**
Ah. Good stuff. If you're still not convinced that you should be reading Christopher Moore's work, I give up. Alright, well maybe not. Here's one last attempt, and an excerpt from my favorite CM book, Dirty Job:
"They towed my car," said Minty Fresh. "There's coffee."
"Thanks." Charlie skipped across the dining room to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down with Minty. "How's your head?"
The big man touched the purple bruise on his forehead. "Better. How're you doing?"
"I accidently shagged a monk last night."
"Sometimes, in times of crisis, that shit cannot be avoided." (Moore, 2006, p. 346)
He's named Minty Fresh for God's sake!! How can you not love that? And because things have taken a decidedly frightening turn towards the religious, let's end on something we can all relate to; child abuse:
"Don't be ridiculous, Charlie, people love the parents who beat their kids in department stores. It's the ones who just let their kids wreak havoc that everybody hates." (Source) (I didn't feel like searching through my copy to get a good one. Sorry)
There you have it. Check it out. Let me know what you think!


Christopher Moore. Not to be confused with this other Moore-on (get it? Ha! I crack me up)


* I really hope you weren't expecting to see Christopher Moore's ass with this link, you pervert.
** These citations are approved by my APA Manual, 5th Edition. For my reference page, click here.
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