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Business Review: Automobile Club of Southern California

21 Oct

At the AAA office. The staff is helpful, courteous and efficient.  If you are not a member of AAA, go fucking join AAA right now.  Call their number and a helpful, courteous and efficient person will explain to you in plain language exactly what you need to do to join and the benefits you will attain. If your car breaks down, they will tow it somewhere for free. If your battery dies, they will come give you a jump for free.  If you have a flat tire, they’ll come change it for free.  Their staff that you talk to on the phone will be unrattled and actually know what the fuck they’re talking about.  The tow truck driver who shows up will be a nice dude from somewhere interesting who won’t try to jack you for extra money.  He will commiserate with you over your car trouble and put whatever music on the radio you want as he drives you to a mechanic of your choice for free.

You will receive a complimentary biweekly magazine with travel tips and day drive ideas tailored to your local area.  Like, this is what you should check out in San Juan Capistrano.  When the swallows are there and how you see them.  What local restaurants are suitable for the type of person who reads their local AAA newsletter, whom I infer to be between 60-75 and not wanting to do a great deal of strenuous exercise.  There will be an open letter in the front of the magazine from some higher up in AAA, who looks like the principal of Council Bluffs High School in 1955.  Or the Undersecretary of Agriculture from the Eisenhower administration. He will spout platitudes about AAA’s mission of quality service and the long sterling history of delivering such, from the early days of cars you had to crank to today with added support for hybrids and natural gas vehicles. Alternative fuels are an important part of our energy future and the Auto Club is committed to ushering in this new era of environmentally sound driving.  Letters to the Editor support these claims of excellence, and herald the newsletter’s usefulness.  Dear AAA Westways Magazine, thank you for your recent tips on San Juan Capistrano.  The swallows were beautiful and the AAA recommended motel was a real gem. Sincerely, Frank and Lois Gildersnatch, Whittier CA. Continue reading

Review: The First Fifteen Minutes of the Latest Saturday Night Live, Viewed Blind Drunk

17 Sep

I have a headache from drinking almost a whole fifth of Mexican brandy and smoking like eight cigarettes.  I went upstairs and drank with my neighbors and watched Saturday Night Live.  It is horrible and unfunny.  Their new Obama impersonator sounds exactly nothing like Barack Obama.  Seth McFarlane was the host and his monologue was him showing off Family Guy voices.  He has four hundred million dollars.  Saturday Night Live is so awful, and I was so blind drunk that I was almost hallucinating, like it was an acid trip, and watching the hackish and cheap and predictable television show made me think I had gone back to the 50’s.  Like there would be a news break and Edward R. Murrow would come on smoking a Pall Mall and talking about Dwight D. Eisenhower.  There are probably a hundred creative staff on that show and they have all week to come up with 55 minutes worth of stuff and you always hear about how the new players are crushed when their sketches get cut and tons of material is culled so it’s only the best of the best of the best and the show fucking sucks so hard.  It’s because it’s people who went to Harvard.  It’s upper middle class WASPs and Jews who grew up in Westchester County or the nice part of Jersey and their parents were prosperous oral surgeons or Attorney General of the State and were not alcoholics and did not beat or molest them.  The writers and actors on Saturday Night Live are establishment types. The cream of the crop of normal people. And their suffering is only suffering to try to get on Saturday Night Live– having to have bad auditions for six months and living in Manhattan with five roommates after college.  People like this are just walking job interviews.  They are incapable of ever being honest about anything.  But if you put Artie Lange, who is a fat ugly heroin addict who tried to kill himself, if you just put him on TV for 55 minutes plus incessant commercial breaks it would be funny as fuck.

Nikol, you should text that to Lorne Michaels next time you’re drunk.  That his show fucking sucks and I’d rather watch my family on fire than anything he’s put his name on in the last fifteen years.  Throw an anti-semitic slur in there too, why not.

Business Review: Royale Junior Liquor Market, Echo Park

28 Aug

Image stolen from Flickr user “OrangeCounty_Girl”

(Originally posted on Yelp.)

I must say I like the lack of personal interest the clerk at the Royale Junior Liquor Market has in my purchasing habits.  I mean, he may not even notice– he’s working at the type of place where he’s in front of a giant wall of Old Crow pint bottles and novelty skull and pistol shaped fifths of tequila, behind three quarters of an inch of GE® Lexan™ bulletproof plexiglass.  He faces a large shelf of pornographic DVD’s specifically tailored to the prurient interests of working-class Mexicans, whose bright eye-catching covers leave nothing to the imagination.  Shit is distracting. He has more things to worry about than my weird unnecessarily frequent and expensive daily purchases of small bottles of alcohol.  He has to stock nine different kinds of non FDA-approved herbal pill packets designed to enlarge your penis, give you bigger and more meaningful erections, enhance your sexual desire until is as that of el tigre.  He has to eyeball stumbling drunk day laborers as they come dangerously close to shoplifting a Payday; ward off these miscreants with merely the shaming power of his gaze.  He has to vigilantly head off customers steering toward the inoperable ATM machine in front– he clearly prides himself on sparing them a useless button push and confounded few seconds of bewilderment– “Hey! Is not working.”  The ATM is never working, but the giant glowing sign telling the public that the store has an ATM is always working. Continue reading

Book Review: Women by Charles Bukowski (1st 49 Pages)

11 Aug

I see why women like Charles Bukowski.

It’s all about relationships.  A soap opera about people in love, they break up, they get back together.  Nevermind that he’s a blackhead-laden drunk who takes down a quart of hobo vodka and then kicks the shit out of them; it’s about boys and girls breaking up and getting back together and are they gonna break up and are they gonna get together and who’s he gonna get together with next.  My mother gave me a book of Bukowski’s when I was 15.  Here, she said, this guy is a good writer. I think you’ll like him.  I didn’t.  What the fuck did I know when I was fifteen.  Hunter Thompson I could get at that age; boys’ stories about going on adventures.  But Bukowski is for girls who can intuitively grasp that relationships are what’s important in life. I had no fucking idea of what relationships were like.
Continue reading

Protected: Cocaine Journal 1/13/06: a Review of the Evening’s Product During Its Use

7 Aug

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Celebrity Interaction Review: Lauren Bacall

2 Aug

Lauren Bacall is a miserable human being. At least, that’s what I was able to gather from being on the phone with her for two minutes. At once terrifying, cruel, and a huge pain in the ass. She should be shot.

I mean, who knows, maybe she was just having a bad day. Still. Anybody who is mildly unpleasant to me for a hairsbreadth of time, for something that probably is my fault = a thousand deaths are not enough.

EDIT 8/12/14: Sorry she’s dead.

Product Review: I Rub My Duckie® Waterproof Vibrating Rubber Duck Adult Toy (Black)

18 Jul

Holy mother of fuck, how I have not been jacking off with a vibrator for my whole life? Nikol gave me this thing– as an “alternative sex educator,” she is constantly speaking at sex positive conferences and feminist porn seminars and other types of events where fat people talk about using dental dams, and she got this duck fuck product as swag.  I’ve tried girls’ vibes on my dick before, but only when they were in the room, and I was always on coke and couldn’t get a boner and etc.  This is the one time I’ve been able to try one in the privacy of my own home.

You know when you nut so fast that your dick doesn’t even have time to fully get hard?  And in its rush to become an erection it turns into this misshapen chub where the barrel is fairly thick except for some reason there’s a thin figure 8 waist in the middle, like your dick was wearing a Victorian corset, and the blood doesn’t quite reach your helmet so in general your dick looks like a floppy retarded pinhead, but the stimulation is so great that this retarded mutant half flaccid cock is spurting jizz all over the place with unprecedented speed and quantity, so that every drop is like that heavy, oozy first drop that you shoot so hard it hits the wall and makes a sound?  And you know how when this happens as you are holding this unwieldy flagging sausage on top of a vibrating plastic waterfowl that is not ergonomically designed to hold your penis in place and is in fact roughly jostling it around and it’s still pretty floppy so this firehose like bonanza of jizz sprays willy-nilly in hot thick spurts at crazy angles all over your room and possibly on your cat who is crouched mesmerized by the sound of the vibrating motor and a big hot oily drop manages to soak into every single dress shirt you had neatly pressed and hanging in your open closet, and what a god damn mess, but nutting that fast feels so weirdly great that you just don’t care?  No?  Then this product is for you.
Continue reading

Review: Sexual Congress with Yours Truly

1 Jul

Ex Girlfriend writes:

“…you know I don’t even always like sex with you so much.  You micro-manage, you have an adolescent urgency, your penis isn’t that big, and I don’t think my orgasm means a thing to you. But, all that said, kissing you makes my whole body burn.”

Fair enough.  Siskel gave it a thumbs up though.


Article Review: Cat Fancy: The Cat That Changed Debbie Gibson’s Life

10 Jun

From CAT FANCY, August 2010. Print Edition found in the waiting room of Angelus Pet Hospital of Glendale, CA., as your correspondent waited to get his male Domestic Medium Hair “Bud” his annual vaccinations.


“Deborah” Gibson, which she insists on being called, and is thusly referred to in the actual article even though the cover says “Debbie,”* found a newborn kitten outside of a Miami concert hall. The beast was ill and badly injured. Years later “Gleason” and “Deborah” are inseparable, thanks in part to the mothering done early on by Gibson’s cocker spaniel.

Now Gleason enjoys laying on the piano as Gibson plays whatever musical ideas she is pursuing in a misguided attempt to reattain cultural relevance. Aside from his tendency to lay directly in front of her sheet music, this habit is a pleasure to both Gibson and her furry friend.

Analysis: Continue reading

Review: Willem Dafoe’s Wikipedia Entry, and by Extension, His Life

15 Apr

Imagine you are Harry Potter.  At the beginning of the first book.  You are living under the stairs in a cramped mildewy closet at the Dursleys’ and your only companion is a fat kid who bullies you and your caretakers are horrible neglectful and cruel pricks and you have no hope of life ever being something else.

UNTIL a motorcycle riding giant shows up with a snowy owl on his hand and says “’Yer a wizard, Harry.”  Your mom and dad were secretly famous wizards and you are destined to be the most famous powerful wizard of them all and let’s go on a magical shopping spree and buy robes and magic wands and gaze upon fantastical beasts, and then on such and such a date make your way to the magical train platform that only special magical people can see and you are to be whisked away to a fairy tale castle full of sumptuous feasts and doe-eyed girls in awe of your power and magical knowledge that will turn you into an ass getting killing machine. Imagine!

Then imagine that you get on the magic train and show up at the magic school and instead of the promised castle the school is just another shithouse full of fat assholes, and your room is another mildewy closet under the stairs; there is no magic taught there. The whole thing was just a scam to extract your meager savings, and Hermione was ugly. Continue reading