All posts by Lambchop

Inner Chronicle of What We Are

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(Ed. note:  To truly understand the contents of this narrative, pharm please listen with your Werner Herzog voice generator.  Still on the fritz?  Then jumpstart your inner Herzog monolog (Herzolog?) with this classic wisdom on art v. bovine nature)

I feel that Lambchop must be pleased with the outcome of this situation as I have continued to exist in this place for a second day.  In the evening I noticed there was a line drawn across a bottle of Johnny Walker Black in my cabinet, recipe so I made a point of draining it into the plants.  In my experience, mind I have learned that you should never try to control people. 

It seems strange that garbage should be collected and kept in front of the houses here like some rotten form of sculpture, barely concealing a foul and monstrous nature, making a display of that.  There is a lot of savagery to be observed in New York.  On the subway platform, I have seen a rat on the track carrying a mouse for its dinner, holding its neck in its jaws.  The mouse struggled and squeaked, but there is no escape from the reality of our fates.  You either have dinner or become it yourself.  I think I would have a burger for lunch.

Burden of Lambchop’s Dreams

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(To obtain the maximum of meaning of this text, please filter through your Werner Herzog voice generator.  If you do not have one of these for some reason, please use the slightly inferior quality of your imagination.  Here, some classic Herzog to help you get started.)

What does a Lambchop think and feel, and most importantly, what does she eat?  Not much, apparently.  There is nothing in the cupboard but a jar of unopened mayonnaise.  I am not interested in the condiment, so I do not delay in the start of the quest, to spend some days as Lambchop. 

I travel to my studio at the ends of the earth in Brooklyn.  Am I in Williamsburg or in Bushwick?  It is  difficult to say, the auto parts shops are manned only by dogs.  I arrive at my studio at 8 o’clock and this is the time of my first disappointment.  The workspace is a square measuring 60 meters.  Am I a human being creating artworks, or a mouse getting measured for its first coffin?  Also, it is quite dusty.  This is no space for adventure. 

The Part of Lambchop Will Now Be Played By…

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I had Licketysplit’s latest digression read to me by my assistant, Devendra, who had thoughtfully plied me with mocha and placed a pillow just *so*, as he warned that the text contained allusions to tasks and work.  Fortified as I was with chocolate foam and an attitude of unmistakeable leisure, I settled in for a half-hearing on topics that quite naturally give me a bit of a horror, pausing every few moments to laugh sumptuously at Devendra’s pronunciation.  It was an altogether exhausting pursuit, particularly as finances were repeatedly mentioned.  I need pills for that! 

Suddenly, it dawned on me that I should hire someone to *be* me for a spell.  After all, I have been under the weather lately.  Clearly between voting, complaining and curling my lashes, I have overextended myself.  Perhaps lashes are not meant to be this long and thick.  Damn you, Claire Danes! 

I scanned my list of  understudies for candidates that might do me credit for a few days of well-deserved nothingness.  Unfortunately, Parker Posey is not speaking to me at the moment.  Hrmm.  Brittany Murphy, dead, should have crossed that one off.  And it appears that all the others have been whisked off to some unnamed destination in the Maldives for “empathy training” by Tom Cruise, in case any misfortune should befall his current incubator wife.  Well, that is unlucky.  So it is down to Craigslist.  I adopted my last child off of Craigslist and she showed up already knowing how to make a Gin Fizz!  Eastern Europeans really understand initiative.

 My first c-list audition was with Bradley, who I appreciated for the obvious reason that he bothered to appear as the co-ed serial killer, Edmund Kemper. 

Kemper used his mother’s head for a dartboard before putting her vocal chords down the disposal.  Good for you Bradley!

The second audition was a woman named Gary.  She was largely without distinguishing characteristics.  But she did bring me a carrot muffin.  It was a pretty good carrot muffin, but seems like an odd choice in a gifted baked good.  NEXT.

The day wore on with its share of sad sacks seeking employ, wannabe starlets, and outright loons.  This girl seemed promising, but my assistant told me it was Lady Gaga. 

This Lady Gaga person has been running around impersonating ME for the last few years, and I hear she has made quite a bit of scratch at it already.  I threw her out myself, which made my hands quite sticky.  NURSE!

Well, I was beginning to despair that I will not be able to hand over the reins of my existence anytime soon.  But then I remembered that Werner is in town, shilling his new movie.  The one about the little cave paintings.  Surely he has some free time!  Of course he was happy to be of use, as always.  And who wouldn’t thrill at the chance to be me for a few days?

CAAAAAAAKE

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It is that time of year again. I note you are tense with excitement, but National Underwear Day has already passed. Could it be Have Sex with an Ugly Person Day? Heavens, no. We have already made our charitable contributions this month. I gave a hotdog to a homeless that admittedly had way more mustard on it than I care for, and Licketysplit promptly loaned me three dollars so I could buy another one. Two birds, meet one stone.

It is not even Bastille Day but it is still pretty good because it is the season for my second annual birthday self portrait. The inaugural edition actually featured a birthday as the subject. There I am, beatific and slightly naughty on my anniversary, befouling a pretty nasty strawberry cake I bought at the mexican bakery, whose fruit was covered with a shiny, clear goo that pooled around the bases. That’s me to a T, shining, resplendent, and entirely suspect.

This year’s painting depicts me regarding the contents of a kooky room.  Patterns, naked paintings, disembodied limbs, dolls in dusty nooks.  I might as well be in the furniture of my own brain. And there is also cake! I baked cupcakes just for the purpose of popping a few into the composition. Of course you can’t just bake a single cupcake. (OMG single serve cupcake kit…we are going to be rich. Rich enough to pay someone to tell us to stop eating single serve cupcakes.) Even with a small batch you get around a dozen. By the time my spoon had scraped the bottom of the bowl, I had 23. But my they looked festive with whorls of vanilla butter cream and pastel sprinkles, a candle jutting pertly from each center. I ate three of them while decorating. An artist friend joined me for one at the studio and I implored her to take a couple. I brought a dozen to a birthday party at a bar. Happy Birthday everyone, everywhere, not just me. Oh yes, hurrah. Like a Basquiat tweaking in dessert form, and other inspired geniuses before me, I ate 10 cupcakes.  For art’s sake!

Everything is Fine, Really

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2013 is really turning out to be a fall down the rabbit hole. The democrats have changed their name to “Everything is Fine, viagra Really”.  There is a talking cartoon platypus in the white house. And the best the opposition party can come up with is to set Opus against him in a runoff.

This seems to have created much division within the party of Everything is Fine, find Really.  A rival faction is looking to nominate Bill the Cat, tadalafil an obvious pander to the red meat conservatives who support the platypus.  Bill apparently has some fine intentions that are meant to appeal to the base, of killing everything in sight. 

What the dems Everything is Fine, Really still fail to grasp is that the right wing will never approve them, even if they propose wiping Asia off the map with nukes and building a giant McDonaldland in its place. Which happens to be what the newest GOP candidate is proposing! Happy Meals for everyone!

I am really starting to feel like I ate too much at the fair. There is way too much hubris and smiling in 2013. But precious little fuel, so we have to hit the black market in order to fill up the tank on the time machine. I hope I brought my garters and a blackjack.

Greetings, Citizens of Americorp.!

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2013 is really starting to grow on me. President Palin had her hair blow dried on Live with Regis and whatever and we attended the special senate confirmation hearing for Piper Palin’s appointment to the federal bench. Li’l Piper was grilled on her construction of the constitution on issues such as abortion and gun control, predictably failing to illuminate a position on how she might rule on those cases. She *did* express an interest in blue-razz gum and an inclination to appear on the X Factor.

Literally tens of you have written in wondering about new iphone apps and stock performance. We are not here to cheat history, darlings. If you are sitting in your deplorable hovel on a mound of dirt, gettting chewed on by bedbugs, then that is exactly where you have to stay. We are also not going to reveal if Joaquin is really crazy, or only kidding. Life affords little enough mystery. We will, however share the following breakdown of some of the HOTTESTS TREEEENDZ:

    OUT

Vampires
lip collagen
horror clowns
nice Perez Hilton
Jamie Lee Curtis yogurt
Tiny Dogs
Free Will 

    IN


Lepers
Vag rejuvenation
(even scarier) Happy Clowns
evil TWIN Perez Hilton (OMG he has an evil twin!)
Donut hamburg sammich
Toy Moose
Pharma vouchers

The future is AWESOME.

It Was What it Was

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Get Out the Vomitola

We wrap our edition of “Why Everything Sucks” with the following: Harry Reid, craven, useless chief of the cloakroom hangs on but Russ Feingold, progressive hero, is defeated…

Did you also know you could fatally OD on caffeine?

We leave the present in the gloved hands of Unkle Karl to journey to the center of distant times. Here in 2013, things are a bit brighter, and also a whole lot dumber. I guess America is rather like a punch clown. You can take a swipe and knock it over, but it will just bob back up in your face with a maniacal grin. Hilarious. Note to Sarah Palin: choose an actual punch clown for your reelection bid in 2016. We DESERVE to be infotained!

We have cunningly disguised ourselves in the attire of the day. Though I am not sure if we are supposed to be in the navy, or some kind of minstrels. Maybe this is what happens when they abolish “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”?

There’s no debate, no debate, no debate

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Get Out the Vomitola

The more a republican landslide is predicted, rx the more it is repeated. It is not just a snowball, ed it is an abominable snowman. Nothing is certain at the moment, troche apart from the basic fact of our impatience and anxiety. We are dyiiiing to know if that limburger-head Sharron Angle is going to oust that wretched weasel, Harry Reid.

And what about PANTS? Make no mistake we are in favor of gladrags, a spiffy trouser, a pantaloon. We dance dance dance for pants, pants pants! But as the last years have shown us, the world is full of terrible, awful people. People who do not agree with us!

You Can’t Always Buy It

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Get Out the Vomitola

While Licketysplit is out voting her conscience on lunch and possibly other civic matters, we decided to torture ourselves by looking over the election maps. And we used to like the color pink!

We are hoping for the best, but it seems like everyone is expecting nightfall to bring us a new Speaker to represent the lollipop guild.

Now, I am not on the cheerleading squad for Obama or the dems. Guantanamo is still holding persons who have not been charged with anything, the wars roll on, and the executive branch continues to use the constitution for toilet paper whenever the coffee filters run out. That’s usually when the rest of us get off our cans and go to the store! For their part, the democrats are a spineless bunch of corporate bumkissers apart from Dennis Kucinich. But the GOP will certainly find ways to make everything worse, and so we find ourselves caring about it, anyway.

We did hear one piece of good news. Hemorrhage money though she would, it seems that Meg Whitman is toast for the governorship of California. One small step for sanity, one giant leap…also for sanity.