Tag Archives: Morrissey

We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful

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Today in hydration: I drank a lot of water.

I am also procrastinating.

This intarweb jimcrack is probably old news that I somehow missed, but I’m really into Pandora right now. You choose a song or an artist, and the player cross-references the musical elements to other artists and serves up streaming content based on the findings of the Music Genome Project. You can rate things that are played for you, and it gets “smarter” with more ratings. So far I haven’t found anything brand new that I love, but it certainly churns up some good things I don’t regularly play. Not to mention things that languish in my unpacked boxes of non-ripped CDs. My Morrissey station is so mope-tastic!

This world is full of what?

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Crashing bores you say? I hear you, Morrissey!

Right now I am using the power of my mind to make my most troublesome client explode. If you hear a hideous screech and a wet pop from Westchester County, you’ll know I’ve done it for the team. Why is it that the smallest jobs are always the most painful and demanding? It’s like the difference in getting your leg shot off and a papercut, I guess. At least you go into shock with the gunshot.

This breed of client is composed of people who hem and haw, who don’t know a decent font from a hole in their butt, but magically they are qualified art directors. They may take it upon themselves to send you color swatches they made in MSPaint. (Although someone from a Fortune 500 company once did this to me as well.) They follow the legendary clueless Si Newhouse school of thought (oh no, this is going to prevent me from ever working for Conde Nast), glibly tossing off direction like “Can you make it more ‘fall?????'” Each extraneous piece of punctuation is like a knife in my gut. Whatever, this person is SO FIRED. As soon as the invoice comes back paid. It’s like I’m Razorfish, and it’s 1998. Wow, I’m wearing a long sweater coat, and everyone on the train stinks of Gucci Rush. Diddley doo, diddley doo, diddley doo.

World Is Full of Crashing Bores

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I figured out why that Kodiak bear keeps coming around. Duh. And I thought he just liked me. The bear and I watched the second Bridget Jones movie from OnDemand after it turned out that Beauty Shop was sold out. But then he kept hanging around, making excuses not to leave. It’s better not to dwell on disappointment.

Today is so Morrissey.

I have to buy earplugs. Don’t let me forget, internet.

You Can Pin and Mount Me, Like a Butterfly

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While Licketysplit is filling buckets, buckets full of love, I am covering the phones here. It reminds me of when we had a Sunday radio show. We were doing lesbian kisses before they invented them for TV. But that was only because we were hoping it might offend someone. Anyway, one time after the usual 4-hits-of-acid-saturday-wake-up-go-to-taco-bell-sunday, we arrived at the station and wolfed down some burritos. I played “the Choke” and “Lunchbox” while ol’ Skanky LaRue was off puking. Get well soon darling!

I am celebrating Valentines Day in a lofty fashion- by eating an enormous onion bagel with melted cheese and tomato. I assure you, it is a most romantic sandwich.

If I lack spirit today, it is because I threw a Valentine Ball at my house this weekend. We had a fog machine, a dazzling array of baked sweets, and a glass punch bowl filled with tequila. The walls were covered in construction paper hearts, heart tinsel, and red paper lantern lights. It was really beautifully done, thanks to the help of my roommates, and an opinionated six year old. Me and Echo hung hearts and decorated cupcakes in hot pink sugar and tiny red candy lips. The party itself was a whirl of dancing and cherry filled Kitty Dukkake. I am pretty sure I had a good time, for I recall delighted faces, dancing to “Xanadu”. I am also pretty sure I didn’t get into any fights, fall down the stairs, or start stroking my roommates’ chest hair and calling them “papi”.

Yesterday I was not awake for very long. Mainly long enough to watch Footloose, which I had never seen before. It has probably been a while for most of you, so let me remind you: Footloose is inexpressibly painful in its dorkiness. And while I love dancing movies, the one part of the body that I don’t want to see “loose” are the feet. Or that musical theater thing where people bow their legs, knees knocking back and forth. I must have a chat with you, 1980’s, and find out just what the hell we were all thinking. One interesting factoid about this film is that nearly all the cast went on to successful careers afterward. Mysterious. Since the film I am currently making is approximately 50 times as awful as Footloose, perhaps its release will catapult me into untold riches.

My future finances thus secured, I bought two import box sets of Morrissey singles, spanning decades of Morrissey. It is the age of Morrissey. All Morrissey, all day. Which is very fitting for Valentines Day. I think i will kick off the next hour with “Unloveable”. We’ll be right back after Licketysplit is done yodeling her groceries.

-xo

peoplewhoamitoargue.com

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Well, today marks some damn hell day in the countdown to Chrismakwanzukkah. We at Vomitola feel it is appropriate to present some holiday memories, and maybe some Top Ten lists as the filthy pagans do like to read those. My sister the moose already started unveiling dirty laundry, so why can’t I?

Let’s see, back when we were just tots, my parents would pile the presents (likely to include collections of Garfield comic strips) on the couch, with a note saying “From ‘Santa.'” That’s right, there was no Santa Claus. We didn’t go in for that. I really don’t remember much else, until a few years later. Then we had a house with a mirrored fireplace, and some poinsettias would go in there. We had this crap-ass navity scene where you mixed up the plaster yourself and molded it and then painted it. Parts of the figures broke off when we tried to punch them out of the mold, so that was one afflicted-looking heavenly host. I don’t know why we even had this since we didn’t go to church. Anyway, that would go on a TV tray in the fireplace with the poinsettias. I have some pictures of that after my sister and I knocked all the figurines over and drew a mushroom cloud on a piece of notebook paper and hung it behind the manger. My favorite figure was the camel.

Then I don’t remember a damn thing for another ten years. Wait, one year I think we had to go decorate a nursing home with tinsel. Lambchop came back to Virginia with me one year during college, and we amused ourselves by seeing the Beavis & Butthead movie. We got Chinese food on Christmas day with my family and some other stragglers, and later my cat had explosive diarrhea on poor Lambie. Oh, at the Chinese place, a giant roach crawled out of the center of the lazy susan that bore the pu-pu platter. We dispatched him with terriyaki skewers and roasted him in the little flame. My dad got a free Heineken from the unmoved owner. My mom also made a chocolate fondue, which consisted of melting a can of Betty Crocker frosting over some sterno. It was uncomfortable to say the least.

A few years ago, Mr. H and I went to Virginia, and my mom had made little construction paper stockings and scotch taped them above the mirrored fireplace. Inside there was cash!

Last year Lambchop came over, and we made a turkey at my house. Then we went to the movies and got nachos and beer.

This year, who the hell knows! Lambchop and I have the heebie jeebies. I am shaking like a leaf. I hope we get to watch some porn.

And I promised you maggots a Top Ten list, so here goes:

Vomitola’s Top Ten Numbers of 2004

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

Yeah, the order just worked out that way.

People…They’re the Worst!

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*Someone* said this world is full of crashing bores. You can’t swing a dead cat with hitting poseurs and phonies. People who talk about how much everything sucks, but are the first with their backs to the wall. People whose creativity is best expressed by trying on a new pair of shoes. I saw a German film once that described people as “koenners, nicht koenners, und flachschwimmers”. That is, there are those that Can, those that Can’t, and those that flail around, making a public business of their failure and insecurity. Those without dignity, these are the lowest. Everyone loves a winner, and even more so a Loser, the kind of person who can toast his own inadequacy, and then ask you for money. A “flachschwimmer” is a full grown adult who is still wearing water wings, and choking.

Just when you really start to repine your own humanity, you overhear the following (pronounced by a 15 year old boy):

“Everybody wants to be black until the cops show up!”

-xo

Stand and Deliver (in the rear)

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Vomitola staff would like to apologize for the little news blackout over the last few days. We found ourselves on a most compelling ether jag, but then we realized it was all apparently real. Unfortunately, this isn’t like the time we woke up covered in half-melted Gummi Worms with packing tape wrapped around all the light sources in the house.* It’s far, far worse.

To catch our readers up, the Adam and the Ants party, while not victorious on Tuesday, did stage a coup wherein the Morrisseys were banished to Canada. The final straw apparently came when the Morrisseys enlisted their would-be Secretary of State, Nick Cave, to change America’s national anthem to “The Weeping Song.” Adam himself issued a statement calling the Morrisseys “a bunch of bloody wankers.”

The Adam and the Ants faction has stolidly opted for fight rather than flight, and their members are increasing national visibility by wearing black stripes under one eye and rhinestone-encrusted black armbands.**

We at Vomitola would like to extend our solemn pledge to continue being absolutely ridiculous even in the face of these trying times. Sure, we’ve shined up our ACLU cards and resigned ourselves to another few years of MoveOn emails, but we remain committed to living out our elaborate fantasy lives starring musty pop stars, enjoying all the sodomy we can handle, and being astonished by obesity. What good is living in a blue state if we can’t do that?

Yours,

the queens of the wild frontier

*true story

**soon to be available for purchase right here at Vomitola.com

Ouija Board, Ouija Board

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Morrissey calls election for Jon Stewart.

The staff apologizes for the recent lack of updates, but we were crumpled in a drunken heap on the floor. Some call it a black out, we call it a power nap. Now we’re tanned, rested, and ready. Hello Cleveland!

The rest of the Morrisseys are temporarily at bay, stymied by a broomstick through the door handles. We are like to crawl under the bed, such are our nerves frayed by the existence of the entire middle and south of the country. Sure, they have a right to exist, but we have a right to be utterly boggled.

Afraid of Americans?

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Things are getting pretty crazy here at Morrissey headquarters. The Morrisseys are uniformly UNINTERESTED IN BUSH. Go figure. Adam and the Ants were eventually driven back by handfuls of confetti and a rousing rendition of “Reel Around the Fountain”. We were then favored by a visit from

PANTS!

Mr. Bowie feels that we need more feminine sophistication in this election, and offered to preside. It’s a walk-off, everybody!

Morrissey the Vote!

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Morrissey has spoken of his fear and loathing of Bush and the Regime of Darkness. So I decided to join the Morrissey Camp for Election Day. And that’s “camp” with a capital “C”! Their party banner “That Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore”, seems to refer to a desire to ban war, meat consumption, and tedious people at parties! The Morrisseys are casting their votes for Kerry en masse, and advocating the return of lillies and dramatic dancing.

We were just enjoying a round of Earl Grey, when news broke of a rival faction! Moz headquarters are currently being protested by The Adam and the Ants Party.

They are crying out for the nation to “Stand and Deliver!” And while they, too, support Kerry, unlike the Morrisseys they favor extravagant neckwear and sexuality. Vote your conscience!

Back to you in the trenches!