Is This Feeling Really the Sweetness of Pure Being?
I started off this morning feeling peaceful and empty inside, feeling the eternal sweetness of pure bliss, like the Easter Bunny hopped-up (sorry) on all that sugar. There I was in Evanston, feeling the ineffable pure essence and incomprehensible sweetness of sunrise poo (despite Irish car bombs going off everywhere and too much Fever-Tree Ginger Beer, which made me feel feverish), asking myself: with the Nazis being so totally against cake and everything, might this be the perfect time to plant a really neat French Kiss from an angel on a unicorn? A strange feeling of need and longing awakened within me as a unicorn appeared and said, "I actually quite loathe Evanston — you can't open your mouth without feeling like you're bothering everyone studying."
I felt like I had died the death to which I'd been doomed since the day I rushed the Eagles encore at the Milwaukee Cop-A-Feel Festival — the band's alternate melodic sweetness and propulsive rock was something I usually expected from The Pixies, but the final feeling was completely different: kinda like the long backwash off the back of a horny blonde from Malvern's duck/monkey. What I didn't know was that when unicorns reach the end of their lifespan they are drawn to rotisserie chicken and rescuing crushed beer cans from the streets of New York City. I also didn't know that Courtney Love doesn't exist until dinner. Even though she told me, "I've killed more than a few squirrels in my day, ya know, but even weirder was the meeting between my unicorn and Pink Floyd's renown guitarist, with all its dreamy sweetness intact. So angry was my tweeting about it that I misplaced a hyphen and substituted a homonym."
Courtney denied that she and Ben Affleck ever "made out" anywhere. I would love "to do" Courtney Love, but U.S. Federal law only allows 100 gallons/year of apricots and rainbows to be fermented to make unicorn semen, and Courtney is apparently angry because she didn't like that she may or may not be involved with unicorn semen, and glitter. Where I differ from Courtney is that I love stretch leggings, Buffy the Vampire slayer, driving in the car and getting really angry about stuff ... I just want to crushcrushcrush the super-TED conference on hot dogs and fake teeth! I mean, after three years the stem cell bill finally arrives, and angry couples are forced to buy dragon/buy unicorn, then make dragon/make unicorn, and then they end up with a kid that looks like Kurt and Courtney shared by Lassie? Come on! Just keep picking at your crabs and passing out, people.
Listen, I see myself as every shrieking Chinese corset queen who ever got the shaft from Japanese Santa on Canada Day, but one thing I cannot — & WILL NOT — abide is Courtney Love as an Olson Twin at my math geek birthday party next week, trying to steal (yet again) my (Romanian version) Weird Al "Supreme Chalupa Mega-Pack." Plus, I am 3 weeks late for my Special Happy Kitten and Unicorn Time, so fuck your gummy Scientology. I believe anyone can be gay at any time. White people, am I right?
I felt like I had died the death to which I'd been doomed since the day I rushed the Eagles encore at the Milwaukee Cop-A-Feel Festival — the band's alternate melodic sweetness and propulsive rock was something I usually expected from The Pixies, but the final feeling was completely different: kinda like the long backwash off the back of a horny blonde from Malvern's duck/monkey. What I didn't know was that when unicorns reach the end of their lifespan they are drawn to rotisserie chicken and rescuing crushed beer cans from the streets of New York City. I also didn't know that Courtney Love doesn't exist until dinner. Even though she told me, "I've killed more than a few squirrels in my day, ya know, but even weirder was the meeting between my unicorn and Pink Floyd's renown guitarist, with all its dreamy sweetness intact. So angry was my tweeting about it that I misplaced a hyphen and substituted a homonym."
Courtney denied that she and Ben Affleck ever "made out" anywhere. I would love "to do" Courtney Love, but U.S. Federal law only allows 100 gallons/year of apricots and rainbows to be fermented to make unicorn semen, and Courtney is apparently angry because she didn't like that she may or may not be involved with unicorn semen, and glitter. Where I differ from Courtney is that I love stretch leggings, Buffy the Vampire slayer, driving in the car and getting really angry about stuff ... I just want to crushcrushcrush the super-TED conference on hot dogs and fake teeth! I mean, after three years the stem cell bill finally arrives, and angry couples are forced to buy dragon/buy unicorn, then make dragon/make unicorn, and then they end up with a kid that looks like Kurt and Courtney shared by Lassie? Come on! Just keep picking at your crabs and passing out, people.
Listen, I see myself as every shrieking Chinese corset queen who ever got the shaft from Japanese Santa on Canada Day, but one thing I cannot — & WILL NOT — abide is Courtney Love as an Olson Twin at my math geek birthday party next week, trying to steal (yet again) my (Romanian version) Weird Al "Supreme Chalupa Mega-Pack." Plus, I am 3 weeks late for my Special Happy Kitten and Unicorn Time, so fuck your gummy Scientology. I believe anyone can be gay at any time. White people, am I right?
posted by Sharon Mesmer at 1:14 PM
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