Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night
I wonder what her equivalent of Twitter harassment was; bricks through the window?*
I was just in Bologna, Italy, where, between eating platters of the best cured pork products Euros can buy and eating more gelato than is probably wise, I visited the Teatro Anatomico, where 17th century medical students and 17th century non-student creepers would gather to observe human dissections. While reading the informational literature, I learned about Laura Bassi. Have you heard of her? Neither had I.
Goodbye, Dumple
Felix: he never aged, until suddenly he did, and then he was gone. So now there are no more dogs in my house.
Please indulge me by taking a minute to look at the many faces* of Felix P. Hoenikker, AKA The Best Dog Ever:
Flames. Flames, on the side of my face.
I suppose we have to add Oklahoma to the list of states that need to be burned right down to the ground. Sorry, sane people of Oklahoma.
Here, Dear Abby, I fleshed out the unfinished paragraph in that column for you.
“It appears you and that boy had a severe breakdown in communication, which led to your being sexually assaulted.”
Jesus fucking Christ, Abby. Whoopsie! Looks like a line got left out, Abby. I’m sure what you meant to say was:
Of Books, and Lizards, and Housewives (Or, “Ain’t I A Writer?”)
Hello! My name is Michelle, and I cannot write a book.
Here is a list of other things I have written (non-exhaustive):
Did you have a day where it seemed as though everything you did was either wrong, or stupid, or shitty? Are you ending your night feeling like the world’s crappiest person?
If so, please come over and join my pity party. There is bourbon. I don’t like bourbon, so someone has to drink it. Thank you and good night.
I can’t wait to see what happens next! Oh, wait… yes I can.
Land of 10,000 Nicknames
I was recently looking at a map of northern Scotland, was endlessly amused to see that a goodly number of northern Scottish towns have names that could also be nicknames for 1930s gangsters on the lower rungs of the gangster hierarchy and/or young men at a very WASPy prep school in the mid 1980s. To wit:
Hey, so here’s a thing: I live in California now. San Francisco, to be exact. However, please note that New Jersey remains the King of States at this time, and at all future times. My presence or lack thereof does not diminish its fundamental majesty.
Do Not Panic; The Order of Succession Has Not Changed
Is he related to the Colonel? I love that guy’s chicken.
I am not myself a Bernie Sanders supporter, but I thought of these slogans for him while dozing in the backseat of a car the other day. I offer them without charge, and look forward to seeing the bumper stickers.
