Sunday, December 30, 2007

You Put the Ho' Back in Ho-Ho-Ho!

I would like to thank everyone who gave me the Christmas gifts that I so richly deserved and so ardently desired. All the other misguided gift-givers who failed to read my mind will be punished in a future lifetime. Here are some of my personal favorites!

Yummy Soft Slippers: These were homemade by my auntie, and with a Christmas theme. It just proves what you can do with a little resourcefulness and a giant box of Stayfree. If you're in a pinch and your "friend" arrives without warning, just slip the heels off and make do.

The She-Pee: I found this incredibly useful on the car ride back home from New Hampshire. Plus, fire your urine at a tree or at a grass blade just like a man would!

Turtle-shell Massager: I put this on and felt instant relaxation steal over me. I basically wear it everywhere now. Sometimes I hide inside it when the jeers and stares become overwhelming.

Love-Me Monkey: I fell in love with it when I saw it peeping out the top of my Christmas stocking. Thanks, Santy!

Box o' Diamonds: The wrapping on this was clumsily done and rather deceptive, and the big, brown bow was so unusual. But inside I found fistfuls of diamonds! My husband is nice.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

We Need You Now, Loud Drunk Guy

I'm so very weary of all the many, many, many holiday parties I've attended this season. While they have been delightful as always, I fear that the gatherings have all disappointed in some vital manner...have lacked a certain je ne sais quoi. After much painstaking research, I have identified this missing element--nay, this void in my very heart--as Loud Drunk Guy. Where hast ye been, Loud Drunk Guy? I feel like in my old partying days in NYC, He was always there, ready to vomit a fountain of red wine over a balcony (narrowly missing someone's pet Shih t'zu), photograph His buttocks with a borrowed disposable camera, or snarl "Hey howza, hot pants!" to a dowdy and unattractive fellow partygoer.

Loud Drunk Guy was my special friend. If I was at a dullard's carnival talking to some boring old lump, I could count on Him in the background, doing a backwards jig into the roaring fireplace or staring without shame down some poor girl's blouse. He would have come in handy at a recent party, when I bit into a coconut shrimp that tasted like a sterno-doused, candied scrotum and quickly retched it into a napkin. Loud Drunk Guy would have applauded! Not like those other boring old party guests who merely looked away, embarrased. In fact, when I tossed the Tasteless Chicken Pot Pie, the Nasty Imitation of a White Castle Slider, and the Rubbah Calamari, Loud Drunk Guy would have called attention to it: "This food SUCKS donkey balls!" He would have bawled to the crowd at large, probably unconsciously rearranging His "package" while He did so. He would have been right on the money!

Loud Drunk Guy wouldn't have glossed over the fact that a certain party guest was wearing a certain outfit designed for a 21-year-old that made her look even older than her 8,000 shopworn years. No, sirree. He would have made not-so-discreet "nasty monkey faces," leading the old tart to stub out her 87th cigarette and go clothe herself in a suitable muumu or woolen blanket. Thank God for the honesty of Loud Drunk Guy.

And what about the dancing and karaoke? There really is nothing sadder than watching a merely tipsy partygoer attempt this without much gusto or verve, yet failing on all counts. If you are going to be awful, go down hard. Do it Loud Drunk Guy's way. He would have shamed Himself and everyone within a 10-foot radius, and ended the number by piddling in His pants and passing out cold. Now that's a party, sister!

Usually, Loud Drunk Guy ended the night covered in mud, detritus, and far from home. Perhaps He's still out there somewhere, looking for the way back in through the tattered screen door. Waiting for the last canape to come under the grasp of His greasy, fumbling fingers. Gearing up for the final holiday shindiggeridoo. Pray He arrives with alacrity and a tummy full of 100 proof.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

I Meet Thee, Anonymous #453!

One of my many anonymous "fans" has requested that I provide answers to these additional 10 questions, and I accept the challenge! (Why are all my "fans" anonymous, I wonder? I suspect that my "fans" are actually all the same person, cleverly disguised as a horde of obsequious followers. But I'm onto you, you sick stalker! Or is it you, mom? Either way, gonna git cha.)

11. What do you knowingly do that is really bad?
I put poo-poo inside your socks--the ones you don't wear very often and are at the back of the sock drawer.

12. Bottled water—hogwash or mother's milk from Mother Nature?
Only worthwhile if the water is removed from the bottle and replaced with hooch.

13. Is gray hair the equivalent of crab grass or are they tiny badges of honor that slowly cover your brain's lawn?
I do not have gray hair, you slanderer, but you can bet I'd dye it if I did. I actually wish my hair would turn pure white. If I were properly scared I bet it would happen.

14. Do you cry more easily today than you did 10 years ago?
Absolutely the opposite. I haven't shed a tear in the last few years except when I accidentally stepped inside that bear trap that was intended for you.

15. What is your next pet and why?
A narwhal. It has a curly horn, like a unicorn! I can use it to spear canapes after it has passed away and has been taxidermized.

16. Please tell us your favorite and least favorite smell. (No names, please.)
Favorite: Hot buttered anything. Least: A roadkill turtle in Arizona heat, with an old dessicated piece of SPAM in its jaws, and wrapped up in your soiled boxer shorts.

17. We've all had time to think about this one—Alf Landon or FDR? Be honest, please.
I choose ALF, the alien life form, please.

18. Do you prefer your ketchup ON your fries or on the side?
I ought to slap you for asking this. On the side, you knucklehead! How many times do I have to explain this to you? Were you born dumb or did you get whacked with the stoopid stick today?

19. What annoying habit of yours would you like to break?
I tend to lash out.

20. What quality do you like most in people?
We all, each of us, have the capacity to reach out and just fulfill our destiny by biting someone in close proximity. Can you say the same for the common whelk?

Sunday, December 9, 2007

The Same 10 Questions I Always Ask Myself, Part the Fourth

I'm back.

1. What are you wearing?
Fat pants.

2. What's the nature of today's hypochondria?
I think I may be getting a fresh and unforeseen bout of "bad hair."

3. What was today's workout?
A little tightening of the glutes at opportune moments.

4. How do you do what you do and stay so sweet?
I get all hate-y after hours and vent my rage by throwing cheesecakes at the neighbors.

5. What's that burning smell?
The milk-soaked, mung-covered carseat cover scorching in the dryer.

6. If you were an animal, what kind would you be?
Behemoth, the legendary biblical hippo.

7. What are you drinking, and why?
Water. Fresh, clear, delicious water. My whiskey rations were stolen by hoodlums.

8. In what ways hast thou offended?
I felt a frisson of rage when I just heard my two-year-old moving furniture upstairs, 1 hour and 40 minutes after he was placed in his bed. Now I see the lights in our foyer blinking on and off. Just...might...snap! He is at the head of the stairs calling out: "I need some pennies, mommy!" Pennies??!

9. What's the next big thing?
A dark horse independent political candidate named Entwhistle P. Bobolink will arise from a swampy little town in the South and YOU WILL VOTE FOR HIM.

10. Music selection?
I've been working on the railroad, all the livelong day.

The Same 10 Questions Today's Guest Blogger Has Never Really Asked Himself Before

Party Pony out getting provisons...snow growing thick...whiskey very heavy. Carry on, Biggles!
Q: What are you wearing?
A: It's cold, fer Chrissakes! Pants, shirt, fleece, socks, boots. Parka, gloves and hat nearby. Colors? Black, dark green, dark blue, tan mebbe. I have a Stormy Kroeger hat if the wind picks up and the slush starts dumpin' out of the sky.
Q: What is the nature of today's intelligence/security flap?
A: Toss-up between last week's revisionist NIE and the destruction of tapes from interrogation sessions. Also, I'm interested in that Iranian general who vanished last year visiting Turkey. Also, the new Chinese subs are pretty startling, not to mention their twin-rotor attack helicopter. Pakistan is always an issue. And what is the formidable Mr. Putin doing right now, this very minute? Nothing real wonderful, I shouldn't think. Chap like that bears watching, mark my words.
Q: Any tracks in the snow?
A: Yes, by jimminy! Looks like a rabbit...a big, loping bunny of some kind. If it gets to Harvey-size I'll let you know.
Q: Economic forecast?
A: Well, de money she come, and de money she go, eh? But if ya pinned me down: Recession in three months, general uneasiness in the bond market, growing discontent and open class warfare next year, rioting and looting for a month, the Second Coming, and of course the end of the world in December of 2012, as per the finish of the Mayan calendar.
Q: How do you do what you do?
A: Just read everything, know everything, connect the dots, and keep it under my hat. Also, I drive defensively.
Q: How do you deal with the lack of sunlight?
A: Read a lot, and write new songs. Imagine a sun.
Q: What do you think of New Ro?
A: Some of the people are great! And access to marine hardware is unparalleled. I like it when the fog rolls in off Long Island Sound, and of course when it's clear and the wind is right, the chance to study final approach to LaGuardia is one-of-a-kind! Wheels down! Full flaps! Add some power!
Q: Has your heart softened towards the lovable creatures that inhabit the Rankin/Bass universe?
A: Hardly. But at least Clarice isn't a bitch to Rudolph. And of Rankin/Bass, one can pay them the ultimate insult: they meant well.
Q: Are you really a suitable replacement for the Party Pony?
A: Nope! Nobody thinks or write like that! Plus, birthday parties give me the pip. There'd be some nipping and kicking. Don't like my hair braided. Rrrfgh!
Q: Is it true that you can do magic?
A: Every day is magic...just taking the ride is an act of faith.

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Claymation Madness!

OK, peeps, the Party Pony has not gone to the glue factory nor have I been accosted with an oft-traded fruitcake. Instead, I have been working on my novel. (Yes, I have other interests besides you. But they are paltry.) In my stead, I welcome guest blogger "Biggles," who spent the majority of the day watching the Rankin-Bass Marathon on the ABC Family channel. [Don't know what Rankin-Bass is? Oh yes, you do. You were warped by it. Heat Miser...Island of Misfit Toys...Rudolph's Shiny New Year ring a bell?] I have a strange fondness in my heart for this material, but it inspires nothing but ire in some of our friends in the far northern reaches. Witness the apoplexy of "Biggles":

OK--so I didn't watch the Rankin-Bass Christmas Special ALL day long...had quite a few other things to attend to--but I saw that dreadful Rudolph and Frosty's Christmas in July, and that is just miserable and spanked...Circus by the Sea, my ass!--and then just now I saw the tear-jerking Blue Christmas throw-down with the little girl maudlin! What pathos! Rankin-Bass were clearly very, very high on acid much of the year, desperately trying to straighten up long enough to somehow bring themselves to molest some more clay figures in an annual effort at a new, goofy, poorly-written and plotted abomination. Oh, how their chosen craft must have gnawed at the very marrow of their souls! When Rankin-Bass closed their eyes, what stop-action mayhem did they see? Bumbles with outsized phalli? Pokey and Davey and even--yes--Goliath engaged in perversion with Frosty and Rudolph on the Island of Misfit Dildos? How much brandy would Santa have had to drink to get such a red nose? And is Mrs. Claus a shanty-dwelling bog-trotter trumped up as Lace-Curtain Irish? Faith and Begorra! And Rudolph's "friend," Fireball--what kind of dick is he?? If I wasn't such a jolly old soul myself, I'd join those British punks who run an entire "Fuck Christmas!" media campaign! But then I hear your voice drifting o'er the snow: "If ya don't believe, ya won't receive!"

Sunday, December 2, 2007

A World Without Children

The other night I rented and watched the 2006 film Children of Men, which is about a futuristic dystopian world in which humans are no longer able to procreate--until one woman mysteriously shows up pregnant. Clive Owen and his ex-wife Julianne Moore (who happens to be a wanted terrorist) team up to help spirit her to safety.

Even though I had started the DVD much too late in the evening, I found myself unable to stop watching, even as the clock ticked closer to midnight. (I can't stay up past midnight! I have two small imps. Notably absent in this film, as the youngest person on the planet is all of 18.) The film was deeply compelling and very difficult to watch, especially if one has ever had a newborn child and has witnessed their fragility firsthand. (For those who may be scared off, the baby sustains no injury.) At one point the tension was so great I started crying. DON'T HURT THE PREGNANT WOMAN! FOR GOD'S SAKE DON'T TOUCH THAT BABY!

As powerful as this film was, it did leave some questions unanswered for me. It was very concerned with the political climate that results in this post-children world, and of course less so with some of the more crucial issues at stake. I found myself wondering what the world would really be like with no children:

• Would people insist in dressing their cats and dogs in cloying little outfits sold by specialty boutiques?
• Would tiny baby springbok and leopards sold in China become the new status symbol?
• Would fart and poo jokes become the provenance of the old?
• What happens to Mattel, Inc.?
• How long would the fires from all the unwanted Disney, Elmo, Thomas, etc. DVDs and cassettes burn, and would the smoke contribute to global warming?
• Would Depends co-opt the marketing ploys of Huggies and Pampers by putting characters of interest to adults on their products, such as Paris Hilton and Britney Spears?
• Would they finally leave the gay people alone and let 'em get married if they want to?
• Would clowns who make "animal balloons" start to use all the leftover condoms to save some money, only to then realize they were out of a job anyway?