Let's Learn About!

Let's Learn About Recycling or C.Y.O.C.Y.O.A!by substitute teacher PLDM

2007-04-28T00:35:00.000-04:00

Do you miss the fun, care-free days of Creat(ing) Your Own Adventure(s)? Well, with this easy to follow (and mostly voluntary) lesson, you too can once again enjoy the twists, turns, and quick shifting storylines from the days when you would read a C.Y.O.A. from cover to cover, in exactly 6 easy steps!

1) First off, you need to get your hands on exactly three paperback books. This exercise works best if they are on different themes, and a mix of fiction and antifiction. A few good sources of paperbacks:
-Bookshops
-Thrift Stores
-Charity Shops
-Bookcases
(Please note, any books used will most likely be unusable afterwards, unless you have a lot of patience, so put down that rare 16th century Phylis Diller ‘kiss and tell’, and slowly back away. Good. Moving on.)

2) Next, using your cutting device (scissors, penknife, strimmer), remove the front covers of the books, and commence removing the first 174 pages.

Q: What if my book only has 173 pages? Should I just use those?
A: No. Create more pages (see “LLA! pulp”).

3) Next, using some kind of drilling device, or small cylindrical mole, create a hole in the top left hand side of each page. This might take some time, so you may use the following as an anti-boredom device:

“Oh you crazy squirrel, you shouldn’t be wearing that! But that isn’t stopping you!”

Once this is completed, you will have to do the same with again at the bottom of each page. You may use a second humorous squirrel picture of your choosing.

4) You will now have three stacks of paper with holes, so now what you have to do is create the random sequence of pages. This is achieved using the following formula: ((Bx3)+2H)+TUITA= M+SUS

This can be illustrated as such:

(Bx3)+2H Three books with two holes each

+TUITA Thrown up in the air

=M+SUS Mess and Scientific Unordered Sequence

5) Now, you have to collate the pages in a book-sized stack in their new, unordered order. Once this is done, that pages can be strung together using string and the holes that you created earlier.

6) Using the book covers that you cut off earlier (you kept those, right?), synergize the names of the old novels to create one that better represents the content of the new one.

Q) Do I have to use all of the words/letters in the new title?
A) Yes.
Q) Why?
A) I’m the professional here, ok?
Q) Professional doodiehead…
A) What was that?
Q) Nothing…
A) It had better have been…

Anyway… In my example I have combined “Human Traces”, “The Island Walkers” and “Cobwebs and Cream Teas” to create:

“The Human Cobweb Traces Island And Wreaks Clam Teasers”

Q) That’s it?

Yes… What’s wrong with it?

A) Nothing, it’s just that you haven’t really changed the words much…

Your point being?

Q) You didn’t want to, say, try a little harder?

I’d like to see you do better!

A) Oooh, no need to get shirty…

Getting back on point, you can also combine the cover art to make a collage that will better show what you can expect the book to be about, and also make it far more professional looking. Once the whole has been put together with a front cover, you’ll be left with a finished article that is professional enough to fool even the most astute book looker-at-er that it is a professionally published novel:

Q) Is that it?

Yes… What’ya think?

A) It looks kinda crappy…

Ok, that’s it I’ve had enough of you two!

Q) What are you doing?

Q) Ahh! What have you done?!

Am I going to have any more problems?

Q) No, none…

Ahem?

Q) I meant… err… “No, none?”?

That’s better. So now it’s time to appreciate your handy work! You’ll notice that your book isn’t like any boring old ‘regular’ books; yours has characters that come and go, stirring up trouble where you thought it was un-stiruppable, then leaving again! Settings change in the blink of an eye, and plot twists you’ll never see coming completely change all of your numerous character’s lives! For example, here is the page change from “The Human Cobweb…”:

“At 2.30 p.m., the furniture restorer arrived, half an hour later than he had advised, to pick up some chairs which needed treatment. Chris had been hanging around in the cold, not wanting “Alf, as I’ve said-“
“When I’m the foreman, then I’m on your side. But I can’t do it this way.”
“So you’re putting the gears to me.”
“This has nothing to do with you. It’s them.”
Prince fixed him with a disbelieving smile. Oh, come on, it said, you and I both know what’s going on here. I can’t believe you’d be such a fool.
Out side, the pool lights had been turned off. Above, along the rails of the balconies, a heaven of small white lights had come on, twinkling around the courtyard.”

See, I bet you didn’t think that a furniture restorer being late would spark of a heated discussion, a lit pool appearing and suddenly turning off, a disbelieving smile, and a man called “Richard” to change his name to “Prince” half way through a conversation! That’s the beauty that happens when you C.Y.O.C.Y.O.A.!

Q) Hey, did you realise that by writing this, you’ve C.Y.O.C.Y.O.C.Y.O.A?

Yes I did, and did YOU know, that by reading this you’ve wasted, about, fifteen-to-twenty minutes!

Q) Wow! No I hadn’t! Thanks?

No problem!

Goodbye!

Q) Goodbye?

About today's substitute teacher:

PLDM also goes by the name Liam, HEY YOU, and Grand Master of the Universe/Giant Soda Bottles. He resides in a country that isn't Brooklyn which goes by the name THAT COUNTRY THAT'S SO MUCH COOLER THAN MY COUNTRY. He recently started a photocomic AND rumor has it that there's a podcast along the way! You can check out his comics at Toaster Zone and can find out more obout this four lettered fella at Peace. Love. Deathmetal. DOT COM.

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Let's Learn About Preservation!PART II, The Business Squirrel Machine

2006-05-05T10:04:00.000-04:00

In my last LLA! I made a promise to save the world. It took well over a month, four pairs of chopsticks, industrial strength packing tape, a camera, three rubber bands, a mysterious man in a beret repeating "Peanuts, peanuts!" over and over again, a necktie, and the most important thing of all...

lots and lots of SQUIRRELS.

As you know from before, after discovering that the internet did not have a single picture of a squirrel wearing a necktie, I set out to fix that horrendous fact. I couldn't bear to think of how many people had died in exhaustion searching google over and over again, not sleeping, eating, feeding their creepy mini-dogs in the hopes of finding at least one picture of a squirrel with a photoshopped necktie, pictures that didn't seem to exist yet.

With the help of my good friends on the Playground Ghosts Forum and Livejournal I sent out a plea and collected a mass of "squirrels in photoshopped neckties" pictures. I knew in my heart that we had done it, no longer could someone google "businessman squirrel" and not have SOMETHING of use pop up. But, I wondered if simply having photoshopped squirrels was really truly enough.

With the help of Fluff Cast Member Marianne, I set out to capture a REAL business squirrel, one that would be willing to wear a necktie for a photograph, knowing they would 1. become extremely internet-famous and 2. would have a better chance of nailing that interview at Target (I'm convinced no squirrels work there because they never look professional enough in the interview.)

How to make a squirrel wear a necktie:

So it seems you can't just walk up to a squirrel and ask it to wear a necktie, or at least it didn't' seem to work for me when I first tried it. A few days later, I realized I would need to invent a Business Squirrel Machine, one capable of turning any normal squirrel into a business professional.

Now, everyone knows that squirrels love sushi rolls and Japanese cuisine in general, so the first step of making a Business Squirrel Machine is getting yourself some pre-used chopsticks, at least four sets. Suck any rice reside off, since the flash might reflect off of it and your squirrel captures be ruined. You will want to make sure that they are still a little soy-y.

Tape the chopsticks together:

Tape one single chopstick, which you have broken with your sheer manly-lady strength, and tape it perpendicular to the others. This will allow you to hold open your necktie Business Squirrel Machine and also will fend off vampire squirrels.

We walked around the city for a good hour, trying to figure out the best place to capture a professional squirrel and finally settled on Washington Square Park, where the squirrels are abundant and the crazy people in big enough numbers to shield us from standing out.

The Business Squirrel Machine was ready for the attack...

At first they were too quick for us and our machine and me yelling "YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO GET A JOB IF YOU DON'T WEAR THE TIE!"

One of the above mentioned crazies, followed us demanding we buy 99 cent peanuts because "You'll never get a squirrel to wear a necktie unless you buy 99 cent peanuts." He followed us around merely saying "Peanuts" under his breath (a story retold in Show #30 of Fluff Radio)

After photo after photo of blurry small dots that resembled squirrels Marianne and I gave in and finally bought the peanuts...

It didn't take long before we met some squirrels who were more interested in working in an office and wanted to know of the benefits of a 401k. Here is the squirrel that finally saved the internet. I like to call him Moses. The final capture (click for large version):

Other squirrels were terrified upset their friend sold out to the corporate world:

Because of peer pressure, Moses' new Professional-Look didn't last long and he soon scurried back towards his Dead Kennedy-loving punk-roots.

A surprising thing about the Business Squirrel Machine was that it seemed to work on other things as well. For instance, who wouldn't hire this classy liqueur bottle to rehang up the clothes at in their T.J. Maxx:

Or this pair of pants to answer the phones at their non-profit:

I even have the urge to start a business just so I can hire, Marianne, my squirrel hunting assistant, who looks very professional in this shot. (It only took me four peanuts to get her to pose.)

Anya (a non-squirrel) was kind enough to take the picture of me with the Business Squirrel Machine since it was rather hard to get a picture of the machine with the machine. Anya is also a very snappy dresser:

Now onward to fix this google thing. First I will write the words "squirrel wearing a necktie" in all sorts of variations, then I will post all of the photos that were created of squirrels wearing neckties, therefore bringing google searches to this page whenever anyone is in dire need of a professional classy-dressed fluffy squirrel.

*clears throat*
Squirrels wearing neckties, squirrel in a necktie, squirel in a necktie, squirrel in a bowtie, squirrel in a tie, squirel in a tie, professional squirrel, businessman squirrel, badly spelled scwerl, scwerl in a necktie, scwerl in a bowtie, scwerl in a bollo, necktie squirrel, bowtie squirrel, squirrel you should hire for a job squirrel, badly tied necktie, how to capture a squirrel in a necktie, how to capture a necktie on a pair of pants, how to hire a classy bottle of liquer to work at a T.J. Maxx, squirrels with good career goals, squirrels with a good upbringing, squirrels with children to support, this squirrel went to college, this squirrel got a G.E.D. but works really hard and only dropped out due to circumstances beyond their control, neckties look nice with thier fuzzy tails, i would marry a squirrel wearing a necktie, but only if he had similar taste in cartoon shows, cartoon squirrels wearing neckties, cartoon squirel wearing a necktie, cartoon squirrel wearing a necktie, cartoon squirrel in a necktie, tied up squirrels, tie-wearing squirrels, squirrels, squirels, skweerls, scuerrales, neckties, neekties, neck ties, bowties, bow tie, bow ties, business attaire squirrel, bussinness attaire squirrel with hopes of moving up in the company, squirrel wearing a neck tie, neck tie squirrel, did I already write that one?, I can't remember, I am tired and hope google has found us already because I wants to stop typing things about squirrels in neckties

And I bring you our beautiful Collection of Squirrels in Neckties:

by Lauren from Depth of Field

by Scotsman

by Peter from Bardsworth

words added by Yanichka

anoter very very classy squirrel also by Yanichka

A jerboa with a tie...which is close enough to a squirrel, by puppymeat

A sexy businessman squirrel by Tone from Bandar Animation

by Clarles from Sordid City Blues

by Carla from The Land of Perpetual Wednesday

Also by Carla, since it's a proven fact squirrels (like the rest of us) hate scientology.

by Motodraconis from Space Girl

sugar glider by neelyum

And just to be safe that people find it...
Squirrels wearing neckties, squirrel in a necktie, squirel in a necktie, squirrel in a bowtie, squirrel in a tie, squirel in a tie, professional squirrel, businessman squirrel, badly spelled scwerl, scwerl in a necktie, scwerl in a bowtie, scwerl in a bollo, necktie squirrel, bowtie squirrel, squirrel you should hire for a job squirrel, badly tied necktie, how to capture a squirrel in a necktie, how to capture a necktie on a pair of pants, how to hire a classy bottle of liquer to work at a T.J. Maxx, squirrels with good career goals, squirrels with a good upbringing, squirrels with children to support, this squirrel went to college, this squirrel got a G.E.D. but works really hard and only dropped out due to circumstances beyond their control, neckties look nice with thier fuzzy tails, i would marry a squirrel wearing a necktie, but only if he had similar taste in cartoon shows, cartoon squirrels wearing neckties, cartoon squirel wearing a necktie, cartoon squirrel wearing a necktie, cartoon squirrel in a necktie, tied up squirrels, tie-wearing squirrels, squirrels, squirels, skweerls, scuerrales, neckties, neekties, neck ties, bowties, bow tie, bow ties, business attaire squirrel, bussinness attaire squirrel with hopes of moving up in the company, squirrel wearing a neck tie, neck tie squirrel, one day I will find a squirrel wearing a necktie and fall in love with that squirrel wearing a necktie and we will have extremeley well-dressed children

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Let's Learn About Preservation!Fixing the Giant Hole In the Internet

2006-03-24T10:37:00.000-05:00

Now don't be embarrassed if you use this "internet" thing fairly often. It's actually getting quite popular I hear. There are even some people, a growing number of people, that claim anything in the world could be found on the internet, from pictures of llamas in rollerskates to pictures of your grandmother in nothing but her good-luck bridge hat.

Unfortunately, I'm here to shatter that belief...

A conversation in this thread made me come to a startling realization that the internet, while rather comprehensive and large and sexy, is completely lacking in one extremely vital area.

There is a giant hole in the internet and that hole can only be filled with pictures of squirrels wearing neckties.

It's true. If you google image search for this, you'll most likely wind up squirrel-less-ness and will quickly spiral down into a pit of depression you may never be able to shake. I don't want this to happen to any more people.

The problem must be fixed and I believe we can do it if we work together! If you post photoshopped pictures you create of squirrel's wearing neckties I WILL make it my job to ensure that these pictures make it onto the magical google grid of images (through the use of another LLA! with the images carefully labeled), filling up the hole on the internet and the squirrels-wearing-neckties sized hole in my heart.

The internet is depending on us. WE MUST SAVE THE INTERNET!

(Please spread the word of this as you see fit, the more people who can help with this cause, the better. I'd hate to think my offspring could grow up in a world where it is difficult to google pictures of squirrels wearing neckties. Please, think of the children. The ones that will pop out of me. *POP*)

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Let's Learn About Time Travel! - The Teen Guide to 1997

2006-03-09T12:22:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the first ever video LLA! where we teach all you Teens out there everything you really need to know about Time Travel and what to do to fit in should you accidentally wind up in the year 1997.

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Let's Learn About Small Bladders! or "Lauren Presents a Rambling Discourse Useful for Working Out Childhood Issues"

2006-02-27T11:06:00.000-05:00

by substitute teacher Lauren Tozer-Kilts

At work, I am want to stride briskly from place to place. When engaged in conversation, I am usually all smiles and pleasantry. There are times when cornered in conversation that I take on a dour demeanor. It's because I'm focusing on not peeing my pants. There is a reason why I'm called "Lauren 'Bladder the Size of a Chick Pea' Tozer-Kilts. Looking like a sour-puss is better than holding ones crotch and doing the potty dance in a professional environment.

I must absolve the Kilts portion of the family from this whole LLA. I inherit my bladder from the Tozer branch. In fact, "The Tozer Bladder" is the source of many amusing anecdotes that are often told at family gatherings. The only stories that are more popular are the "Great Uncle Dave Stories".

To digress for a moment, Great Uncle Dave lived to an advanced age, despite the fact that he had nearly been a Darwin Award winner on multiple occasions. The top three "Great Uncle Dave" stories are: Great Uncle Dave gets mad at the prize bull and punches it, Great Uncle Dave whacks an explosive with a ball-peen hammer, and the classic Great Uncle Dave cuts into a gasoline tank with an acetylene torch. While Great Uncle Dave stories are the most popular family story, they lack the sheer VOLUME of "Tozer Bladder Stories".

My Mother's favorite Tozer Bladder story involves my Father. It took place before Mom and Dad where married, and also happened to be a double date with Dad's twin bother and his fiancé (my future Aunt). What they did on that date neither my Mom or Aunt remember, but they do remember the trip home. My Dad was driving and without warning, he swerved off the road, and slammed on the brakes. The instant the car came to the end of its screeching halt,--without saying a word--both Dad and Uncle jump out of the car, and run straight for the bushes. The car is running, the lights are on, the doors are open, and two woman are alone in a car on a back road. 40 to 45 years ago, every road in Seattle -- including Interstate 5 -- was a back road. Now the traffic here is so bad that is no such thing as a "back road that avoids freeway traffic," but--again--I digress. At first my Mom and Aunt thought that this was simply another pre-arranged joke being played on them by the twins. ("Twin Antics" stories are yet a whole other category of family tales.) Time passed, and the twins did not return. One version of this story has the women stranded in the car for 3 days without food and water, but I tend to lead little credence to it. However, Mom and Aunt do start to get worried as the men stayed in the bush longer and longer. Eventually the two emerged into the glare of the headlights tugging at their zippers.

What makes that story funny is the fact that Dad will not stop the vehicle if anyone else's bladder it full.

Both my Sister and I are afflicted with the Tozer Bladder. Very late one Fourth of July night, we were on our way home from a fire works display that was good hour drive away. The station wagon was very crowded with a mixture of Aunts, Uncles, and Cousins. Due to the lack of available seating, a couple of us kids were riding in the cargo area. I had to pee. Of coarse, Dad would not stop. I had to pee. Dad would not stop. I HAD TO PEE. After a few "just hold it" comments from Dad, Mom suggested that I use his fishing waders that I was so conveniently sitting on. Dad suggested that I should wait. I couldn't, so I shimmied out of my pants and figured out how to pee into the waders in a moving car. The smell for the rest of the ride wasn't that pleasant, but I was no longer in pain.

Dad was . . . upset.

That does not compare to the extreme discomfort of my Sister. One summer, we went to Yellowstone. It was a great trip. The "going to" and "returning from" was fraught with much bladder discomfort. That is to say except for my Dad. My sister and I had to endure the agony, but we began to notice a pattern of Dad saying something like, "the alternating flange hub is rubbing", we'd pull over at the very next possible stop, Dad would pop open the hood, tinker for a few seconds, close the hood, and then dash for the bathroom. While we where in the park itself, we went on a boat trip on Lake Yellowstone. (At least I vaguely remember that it might have been Lake Yellowstone, but, yet again, I digress.) It was a grey day, and a little cold. Yet Dad launched the boat. The boat was a 10" long, white fiberglass affair that Dad had patched many, many times. The boat's useful career ended when a final layer of fiberglass increased the weight of the boat past the point of buoyancy. At the time, Lake Yellowstone forbade the use of gasoline motors in it's waters, so Dad attached his electric motor and we buzzed out onto the Lake. We made it to the other end of the lake, had lunch, and then started back.

The weather started turning rough, and the tiny boat was tossed. Well, not really. It did start to rain though. I mean really rain. You'd think that a family from Seattle (famous for rain) would be prepared from such an event. "Rain" in Seattle is often a just a permeating vapor that simply makes everything damp. When actual drops fall from the sky, they are large and widely space, so the average outer garment is quite capable of repelling the assault. Back to the lake.

Our Seattle adequate outer garments were not up to this level of rainfall. We were all soaked to the skin and quite cold. To make matters worse, visibility became very bad. Soon we had to start bailing water out of the boat. Because of many factors--the occupants of the boat had become water-logged (and therefore heavier), the water accumulating in the boat (and making it heavier), the dying battery for the electric motor, and a head wind appearing--we stopped making progress back to the boat launch.

It's about this time my sister had to pee. Strictly speaking, it's not Dad's fault for the fact that we were stuck out in the middle of the lake without a place to pee. However, we all blame him anyway. Dad was in the habit of "hanging it over the side" and he suggested that my sister do the same. Anyone who has paid attention to the differences between male and female anatomy will realize that this is easier said than done. My sister could not hold it any longer. Since there were no handy fishing waders, my sister was took the only course of action available. She dropped trow, Mom and I grabbed her arms, she leaned out the boat one way, we leaned the other way, and she mooned the water. And the National Park Ranger. The poor visibility, the noise of the rain, and the noise of a bickering family, prevented us from noticing that a Ranger's boat had pulled along side.

It was quite a little tableau. Despite the fact the National Park Ranger was privy to the urination of my sister, he was nice enough to tow us back to the boat launch.

My sister considers the "Pickle Sandwich Affair" more embarrassing. Which is another well loved family story.

About today's substitute teacher:

Lauren Tozer-Kilts is the creator of the very wonderful Depth of Field, an online Fumetti comic (aka it's made with artsy photos, just like Fluff!). If you aren't already reading it, you really should be. Now...if you'll excuse her this whole thing has made Colleen to pee.

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Let's Learn About Education! You Can't Kill Me, Mr. Monster! I'm Only Wearing ONE Underwire!

2005-12-07T11:54:00.000-05:00

This past month my faith in the world as I know it was shattered. I was convinced I was educated, truly an intellectual, carefully following the belief system I was raised with. But then it happened and now I don't know what to believe...

I got my legs waxed.

Now I know what you are thinking. "Man, that musta hurt!" But here's where the glass house comes crumbling down...It didn't hurt at all...it was almost rather...

...Nice?

But this can't be true! Every single movie, television show, and stand-up comedian has been telling me for YEARS that it should have hurt. It should have felt like giving birth to millions of tiny babies, a few at a time. But it didn't. Now I'm left questioning every other thing I learned from my professor, my educator, my television. What if all I know isn't true? I thought I would make a list of the top 15 things television and movies have taught me, and see if they, too, are shatterable...

TOP 13 THINGS MOVIES and TELEVISION TAUGHT ME:

1. Monsters/Murderers only kill people in sexy underwear

2. Everyone in my high school will not only know the dance number but will be able to perfect the high-toe-kick-close-locker-with-foot-on-way-back-down move

3. My dog can talk. I just haven't been paying attention.

4. Rolling around in a bed of paper money is sexy and NEVER results in papercuts in weird places.

5. If you start to write on paper a voice will appear to read your words (only works when you are alone and if James Earl Jones isn't busy)

6. All first kisses will be amazing, not awkward, slobbery, teeth-clanking, or tongue-choking

7. If you own a piano it's only a matter of time before someone falls and breaks through it.

8. My last place team of 10-year-olds WILL get better as long as we work on our snappy comebacks:
"You guys suck!"
"Well YOU guys are like the 31st President of the United States! And I mean that in the completely non-sexual, vacuum cleaner way. BOOO-YAH!"

9. If you kick someone they will NEVER be able to use their legs again and will lay there forever.

10. Dinosaurs, Zombies, Psycho Killers and Vampires spend hours upon hours strategically placing easily-breakable twigs on the ground to help catch their prey.

11. If I write my name in a big enough font I will be immortal. All the bullets in the world couldn't hit me.

12.

COLLEEN AF VENABLE

(just making sure)

13. If you put Tim Curry in a movie it will ALWAYS become a cult classic.

Now I'm not sure which of these thirteen I should attempt to disprove first. I'm well past my first kiss and high school and don't own a dog so #2, #3, and #6 are un-disprovable. No matter how hard I try I can't get a group of unathletic 10-year-olds to join my sports team without getting arrested (jail isn't as bad as they make it out to be on HBO) and even if I found a group of willing kiddies I've yet to find a sport that I'm truly and utterly horrible at. In order for us to get first place, movies taught me that we must start out COMPLETELY untalented. Maybe I should just find a sport I've never tried...

"Your Korfball team sucks!"
"Oh, yeah well YOUR Korfball team doesn't even seem to know that Korfball is played on a field 60 metres long and 30 metres wide. Or that the field is divided into two separate sections. OR EVEN that each section has a pole, 3.5 metres high, with a bucket attached to it which is called the 'korf'! BOOOO-YAH!"

I don't have enough money for #4 or #7 and due to the lack of zombies, vampires, and psycho-killers (or at least willing to ADMIT that as a hobby) most of the others are ruled out for some good old fashioned disprovin'.

In a weird way I've actually accidentally PROVEN #1. You see, I'm still alive and my skivies just might be the ugliest in the world. Today is about 7 days after I started to have to handwash. Many people like to joke about how dryers eat socks and many other people like to groan when someone makes a joke about how dryers eat socks but NOT SO MANY people have realized the new fad in dryer diets. The dryers in my little Brooklyn hood no longer eat socks. They are now on a diet all solids. I'm currently wearing a Monster-Preventing underthing that is missing an underwire. My left boob is defying gravity. My right...not so much. Monsters won't be bugging me or my astronaut mammary anytime soon.

Perhaps TV and movies are warping my brain. Perhaps I need to find a new teacher, someone that won't feed me with misconceptions. Hmmm I wonder if the internet is accepting student applications...

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Let's Learn About Collaborative Discoveries! The Winds of The Swayze

2005-11-13T14:03:00.000-05:00

On the night of November 11, 2005, a group of geniuses convened in Brooklyn. Representing experts from every field of study, much brain power was juiced and wonderful discoveries made. The cure for cancer was revealed, as well as a solution to the world hunger problem, but those were but small dark-meat mcnuggests compared to the highlight of this evening, their realization of the cultural phenomena that is Patrick Swayze's ass and it's many appearances in cinematic works of art. Luckily for the world's population there was a recording of part of the night. You may listen and learn and be wowed by their brilliant analyzations. Due to a glitch in the recording process the cure for cancer and starvation were unfortunately lost, but thanks to the easy cheese, massive amounts of alcoholic beverages, and freestyle dance competitions, no one seemed to notice.

THE WINDS OF SWAYZE (mp3)

(This is an improvised song by the Fluff Radio Review House Band who are best known for their smash hit "The Fluff Radio Review Theme Song with Llamas and Amoebas." Find out more about the Fluff Radio Review House Band on the About Us page.)

Lyrics

So close to me-eeee!

Her body close to mine.
You can't look in her eyes.
She's out of my league.
Just a fool to believe I have anything she needs.
UH!
She's like the wind.

Woooo!
[Spoken] I don't know where to go now.
A friend of mine asked me if this was a song about farting...
And it's not.
[Spoken] No.
But I like to pretend, that's it's a song about farting...
Though it's not.
[spoken] Well, She's like the wind through my trees is like his trees could be his ass cheeks and that goes back to Red Dawn and Patrick Fayze's fine ass. Sweet ass.
This whole night is about Patrick Swayze's fine ass.
She's like the wind, through my trees.
My trees are like the wind, through Patrick Swayze,
And you can only hear me!

She's leads me through moonlight, only to burn me with the sun.
She's taken my heart, and she doesn't know what she's done!
[Spoken] I think she knows and I think she's a BITCH!
Feel her breath on my face.
(She's breathing on me.)
Her body close to me.
(She smells really sweet.)
Can't look in her eyes.
(Because they are closed.)
She's out of my league!
(SHE PLAYS IN THE MAJORS!)

Just a fool to believe I have anything she needs
[Spoken] OH, PATRICK SWAYZE!
She's like the wind.

She leads me through moonlight and all I see.
[Spoken] God, it's so windy in here!
Is a young old man
[Spoken] Young old man?
With only a dream
[Spoken] I believe we call that an oxymoron.
Am I just fooling myself that she'll stop the pain
(With novacaaaaaine.)
Living without her I go insane.

Feel her breath on my face.
Her body close to me.
Can't look in her eyes.
She's out of my league.
[Spoken] OH, YEAH SHE IS, YOU BASTARD!
Just a fool to believe I have anything she needs.

Break-Down (that's why they call it a break-it-down, because it kinda breaks)

Just a foooooool to believe.
She's like the wind. (keeps repeating)

[Spoken] We gonna never stop. We're never gonna stop. We don't slow down. We don't ever stop. Diet Pepsi.

Break it down break it down, Patrick Swayze style. (That's all I had.)

I know you can't hear my dancing but...

Don't be a fool!

It's overload.
I'm knocking down windows with the thing
that I'm breaking into cars cause I lost my keys.
I'm a fool!
I'm Patrick Swayze!
You're a fool! We're fools!
I'm Patrick Swayze!
Like the wind!
COULD'A FOOLED YA!
I've been in lots of movies that show my ass.
Cause I'm Patrick Swayze.
Red Dawn.
Point Break.
And Roadhouse.
Dirty Dancing
And Ghost.
And a few more I'm sure.
I had an appearance on SNL where I rode a horse with one of those guys with the moving pecs!

She's like the wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiind.

[Spoken] Oh my god, I can't sing. Aeiiiiiii.

Patrick Swayze if you're listening there's a warm spot on my bed for you.

Aaah! (laughter)

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Let's Learn About Pet Care! How to Irritate Your Cat, by substitute teacher Karen Pelto

2005-11-02T23:47:00.000-05:00

Cats have many moods, and each one has a matching method to irritate it. Do not do too many of these in one day, particularly if the cat still has claws. There is a fine, yet very important, line between "irritating" the cat and "abusing" the cat. Think of yourself as the cat's little sibling, and treat it as such. Remember that, like an older sibling, the cat can and will beat you up.

1. Sleeping curled up on the couch
This is the perfect time to play "How many ___s can I stack on the cat before it wakes up?" which is a game wherein you see how many items of a specific type you can stack on the cat before it wakes up, moves, and knocks the stack over. Use whatever you have that is light, flat, and unbreakable, such as:
-leather coasters
-pennies or other coins
-socks
-frozen waffles
-couch pillows
-other cats
When the cat goes back to sleep, see if you can break your previous record.

2. Really focused on something out the window, crouching, tail twitching
Quietly walk up to the cat, and then suddenly put your hands on its back and say, well, it doesn't really matter what you say, as the cat will jump. There's something really gratifying about sneaking up on an animal with excellent hearing.

3. Sitting on your lap, just after it has gotten to sleep
Say, "Ring ring ring," pick up the cat, hold it to your ear, and say, "Hello?" into its stomach. (I have not personally tried this one but it's certain to be hilarious.)

4. Sleeping on the back of the couch on which you are sitting
Poke the cat and say "Hey, Cat". After you've done this enough times, the cat will wake up just enough to say "Mrow*" and then go back to sleep.
(*Mrow, in this case, means "Quit it".)

5. Sleeping all stretched out on the floor
This is, of course, time to throw cereal at the cat.

6. Awake
This one I call "Kitty Nose Violin".
Get a clean drinking straw. Show it to the cat, just above its head. When the cat lifts its head to sniff the straw, slide the straw across the cat's nose, singing the note "nee." When you get to the end of the straw, switch directions and sing "nerr." Repeat until something musical is played.

Some methods of irritating the cat can be done at any time. They include:
-bad Jerry Lewis impressions
-telling really long jokes and then forgetting the punchline
-drinking milk from the carton
-putting metal in the microwave
-calling it "Steve"
-unless its name is Steve, then calling it "Jim"

About today's substitute teacher:
Karen Pelto is AWESOME and a fan from Minnesota. You can visit her HERE.

Pssst...this is "How Colleen AF Venable Annoys a Cat"--
Now my method is not for the faint of heart, nor for the overly busy individual, or those who fear rejection. It generally take two to four years for completion and many have lost the ability to use their right hand due to this method. In my belief the final result is TOTALLY worth the loss of a hand.

Step 1:

Step 2:

Step 3:

Step 4:

Step 5:

Step 5 often takes a while, but it's important not to abort the mission. Simply follow the cat around with your palm in it's face. If you feel the urge you may occasionally yell "Woooo!" though it is not necessary to the completion of this annoying technique. Rumor has it that there's a man in Detroit that's been attempting to get a high five from his tabby for 17 years.

Luckily my old roomie's spaz kitty liked to give high fives, sometimes with claws. "Up high! Down low! Too Slow! HA! Aaaah! My eyes! Stop Scratching my eyes! AAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

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Let's Learn About Proper Etiquette! How to Act While Trapped in an Elevator

2005-09-30T11:04:00.000-04:00

September 29, 2005:

Emerged

When I was younger the only way I could ever fall asleep was if I created elaborate fantasies. Generally they were always roughly the same: wind up in place with (insert name of boy currently obsessed with), get trapped in disaster with (insert name of boy currently obsessed with), fall in love with (insert name of boy currently obsessed with), makeout with and/or repopulate the entire world with (insert name of boy currently obsessed with).

I can remember doing this as far back as 2nd grade with a boy named Mark Palmer (or "question mark" as I always wrote on my notebooks because I thought that was the wittiest thing in the world at age 8...by the way I don't think this counts as breaking my rules since it was almost two decades ago!) I can't pinpoint the moment I stopped needing to create these stories to fall asleep, perhaps it was the same time I decided I didn't WANT to sleep anymore and now I only sleep if I happen to fall face down due to the weight of my eyelids. Sleep? Pah! I've things to do.

The most common scenario was being locked inside of the mall, followed closely the deserted island variety, then the "crap we've been kidnapped together" one (which always seemed to involve a "crap we've ALSO been handcuffed together and though we could probably just pick the lock we are going to be handcuffed FOREVER" theme), and then there was the elevator fantasy.

I've always wanted to be trapped in an elevator, to makeout to Aerosmith (not to be confused with making out WITH Aerosmith--ew.) playing loudly over the speakers...Yesterday I FINALLY got my chance and was quite disappointed. It didn't freefall. We didn't have to climb out of top. Nothing exploded. There were no axes employed. And most importantly, and I didn't have anyone to repopulate with!

Granted we were only in the elevator for 45 minutes, and repopulation inside of an elevator was always a weird inconceivable (ha!) part of the fantasy, and while my company while quite nice, she (yes she *sigh) didn't live up to my expectations.

She (who had a name I can't seem to remember now) was a very nice girl, maybe 19 years old, who was on her way to a job interview and super stressed about being late. She kept her screaming to a minimum when the elevator decided to shake violently at one point and laughed at my "jokes to tell while stuck in a trapped elevator." She didn't seem to like my analytical approach to "what to do if we should free fall" (you know, like is it better to stand, sit, or lie down if you freefall and is it REALLY possible to jump right before you land to avoid breaking anything) but the small talk she preferred didn't completely make me want to vomit as small talk oft does.

Things I was thankful were not in the elevator:

Proper "Trapped in an Elevator for One Hour" Etiquette:

1 minute mark:
It is now appropriate to press the HELP button.

5 minute mark:
It is now appropriate to introduce yourself and explain what floor you were trying to get to and why.

10 minute mark:
It is now appropriate to talk a little bit about your life outside of the elevator and the office building.

15 minute mark:
It is now appropriate to analyze what might be wrong with the elevator and give suggestions for how you can fix it yourselves while inside the elevator.

20 minute mark:
It is now appropriate to actually act on the suggestions using your bare hands.

25 minute mark:
It is now appropriate to casually scan your fellow trappees for hidden Macguiver tools (my fellow trappee was wearing the thinnest spike heels and I kept wondering if I could use them to realign the wheel at the top of the door)

30 minute mark:
It is now appropriate to casually scan your fellow trappee for food.

35 minute mark:
It is now appropriate to pee your pants. (Hell you held it for a WHILE)

40 minute mark: It is now appropriate to attempt to distill your pee for drinking purposes.

45 minute mark:
It is now appropriate to start to view your fellow trappee as the enemy and start to plot how to protect yourself from them.

50 minute mark:
It is now appropriate to start throwing anything that is not nailed down at your fellow trappee, bags, shoes, button panels, railings...YOU GOTTA PROTECT YOURSELF, RIGHT? THEY'RE GONNA TRY TO STEAL YOUR PEE!

55 minute mark:
It is now appropriate to feel a bit guilty for what you just did.

60 minute mark:
It is now appropriate to start to enjoy the Kenny G that has been playing the whole time. Damn that man can play!

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Let's Learn About New Holidays! September 26, Official Talk Like A LumberJack Day

2005-09-22T12:32:00.000-04:00

September 19th, International Talk Like a Pirate Day, a day widely celebrated by many and feared with big sharp pointy teeth by many others. Me, I tread the line between amusement and non-celebration, being all eye-patch and no tongue when it comes to the ways of our fine feather-shouldered laddies.

My dear friend Marianne recently made a joke that she felt it was time to move on, to venture towards other cliche icons. Sure she could have gone the route of ninjas (always a crowd pleaser) or zombies (who seem to be more and more in fashion nowadays that I'm almost worried the day of the REAL zombie apocalypse most people will just be plain bored with them:

(Year 2057)

Zombie:

Trendy Gal:

Oh how pleased I was when Ms Marianne instead opted for TALK LIKE A LUMBERJACK DAY, a much under appreciated, though still quite iconic stereotyped profession! It took me no time to declare a date so now I will officially say it here first:

September 26th (aka Monday) is now OFFICIAL TALK LIKE A LUMBERJACK DAY!

Now, I hear the murmuring out there, and I can't say I blame you. In my excitement to declare the day a holiday I sorta forgot one important detail...er how the hell do lumberjacks talk?

Lumberjacks do not have a specific vernacular. There's no generic "ARG" to put whenever your heart pleases there's no real shortening of words with accompanied scurvy-induced face grimace. No lumberjack jokes end with a "Booty" equivalent. In fact...I'm not even sure if there ARE lumberjack jokes. Sure there's TIIIIIIIMMBBBER and maybe perhaps adding some Canadian accented "eh" here and there but really that's about it.

Luckily that's not going to stop me from declaring TALK LIKE A LUMBERJACK DAY a holiday because I know a LOT about lumberjacks.

In FACT I used to be one. And no. I'm not kidding.

Colleen's a lumberjack and she's okay...

I used to spend my summers as a swim coach for a quite respected camp program, where they would bus all of us over the country, stopping at colleges along the route for week stints where 100's of aspiring aquatic-kiddies would come to learn from some of the best swimmers in the world. Our staff was speckled with olympic hopefuls, world record holders, and me...the girl that never even made it close to a state rank, but was deliriously good at jump-roping (*cough world record holder 1998-2000 cough*) and often the only one on staff that could understand what the 7 year olds were saying.

One summer in desperate need of some extra funds our head coach, who just went by the name "Coach" (though it was always said as affectionately as "dad") offered for me to come and live with his family in Virginia helping get some paperwork together for the trip.

Now Coach and I got along splendedly, so splendidly that after a few days in Virginia, Coach decided he should make me a Lumberjack.

His winter job was running a company called (no joke) Lumberjacks, Inc. chopping down log stuff with big fancy machines and driving up and down the countryside delivering tons of lumber to campsites and convinience stores. His son was a champion ax thrower. I spent a good number of afternoons throwing axes at logs with targets painted on them...though an on looker would have probably assumed I was trying to hit the swingset 20 feet over to the left instead since I never even was able to smack the blunt edge of the ax to the log. (Just a word of warning...my dart throwing is quite similar to my ax throwing. Just ask that guy at that party from 11th grade...you know HIM, the guy with the dart I just threw stuck in the side of his head...the one who's too drunk to notice.)

That summer we ate massive amounts of pancakes (seriously we did!) We we must have been taking the long route to pass every single Waffle house in the northern hemisphere. My role as a lumberjack, other than strapping the wood down on the trailer and saying stupid things to make Coach laugh and tell me I was weird, was to wear a size XL shirt that simply said "Lumberjack" draped down to my knees and walk up to the campsites--"Hey, I'm the lumberjack here to deliver your wood. You wanted two tons right? Where should I put it?" Upon hearing this usually 5 men would be sent out to help me carry it, men who wouldn't have lifted a finger if Coach had been the one at the door.

Sure I should be mad that such a sexist attitude still existed, but in all honesty I thought it was pretty hysterical, and also in all honesty I'm pretty sure I could have destroyed all of those men in armwrestling matches (we won't even get into the jump-roping)

Now back from my long rambling Lumberjack tale to teach all of you how to talk like one. Forget about that fake Canadian accent and remember we are only trying to talk like them not LOOK like them (though fake beards and serving pancakes all day long would be a lovely way of celebrating as well) All and all all you really need to do to talk like a Lumberjack is just talk really REALLY LOUD! That log splitter friggin' ROARS. Any true lumberjack can't hear for shit after a long day on the job.

The End! Now Go Talk Loud!

....you think that's too simple? Well how about checking out this dictionary of Lumberjack jargon or even BETTER how about this:

Just talk like the lumberjack you know best. ME!

How to Talk Like Colleen:

1. Get rid of any accent you may have, make your voice a muddled conglomeration of dialects resulting in a quite boring non-identifiable sound

2. To make up for the non-accent mispronounce words, like "breakfast" and "Mario" why? because it's sexy and um...I really can't say those words

3. Swear all the time, but only with made up swear words such as "Crappers" "Crapparo" "Crappity-Crap-Crap"

4. When you talk during the day, make sure to talk to yourself more than anyone else, also talk in your sleep

5. Laugh a lot. Especially when nothing funny has been said.

5. Make sure when you start a story (or in the middle of a story) you use a lot of (quite unnecessary) parenthesizing and meander as far away from your original (no matter how funny it may be) tale by adding thoughts (I still really want to try pop rocks and soda someday) of aging female comedians and obscure desert rodents

Hope you all have a Happy Talk Like Colleen Who Was Once A Lumberjack For One Summer In 1999 Day!

Now...who wants pancakes?

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Let's Learn About Internet Dating!by substitute teacher Franklin Corregidor

2005-09-08T12:59:00.000-04:00

Dear readers, have you ever been on the internet and come across something that looks like this?

Male 35, seeks Female, any age, for long walks in the park, marathon hand-holding sessions, and catfish noodling.

PS: No fat chicks, unless you can hang onto a giant slimy catfish if you get my drift.

PPS: No, I really AM talking about catfish.

Or maybe:

Female 27, seeks older, established, successful, independently wealthy, not living in a Williamsburg art loft with nine other people eating Top Ramen for every meal Male for companionship, true love, and new shoes.

PS: Please have hair on your head, and not on your back.

PPS: Please don't be gay unless you're really, REALLY rich.

If that's the case, then chances are you're one of the thirty or so people across the country that has gotten into the exciting world of INTERNET DATING!

Internet dating is a relatively new phenomenon going all the way back to June. Basically, it's for people who are sick and tired of the bar scene, and feel that this so called "internet" is a modern utopia where people can contact each other in an environment free of cigarette smoke, alcohol, and Jimmy Buffett music blaring on the jukebox.

There are others who contend that internet dating is just a fad, just like Dodo omelets or cellular phones, and nothing can beat the sincerity of hearing "What's your name, and did we have sex?" the next morning, and answering back, "Franklin, and sort of."

They see it as a place where onanistic loners can send flowery emails to other people, describing their hot good looks and worldly accomplishments, when in reality if they can make it to the bathroom without collapsing under their own weight it's a feat for the ages.

"But Franklin, have you gotten into the world of internet dating?"

Funny you should ask.

I put my own internet ad up last night, and since we're being open here, I'll share it with you fine, fine, Fluff folk.

Male, age unknown as my parents didn't own a calendar, seeks Female for legally binding partnership. Female must have an interest in all of the following activities. This is non-negotiable. She must like:

Long hot nights comparing the anatomy of Arthropods and Fatty Arbuckle,
Helping me organize my collection of commemorative Boer War pen clips,
Urban spelunking,
Telling me what "spelunking" means,
Telling me what "urban" means,
Giving pop quizzes to people on the street about infomercials ("I'm sorry, the correct answer was pasta EXTRUDER."),
Someone who will tell me that everything I do is right,

PS: Catfish noodlers a plus.

As you may have guessed, my social calendar is completely filled for the next six months. Who could turn down an ad like that? I mean, the ladies have been coming out of the woodwork for a piece of ol' "Frankie C."

Well, I'd write more but I have to be off now. I happen to have a hot HOT date with a girl from the internet. Not only is she an international supermodel, but she's also a brain surgeon, Pulitzer Prize winning Limerick poet, and architect of the Chrysler Building.

I can't wait!

About today's substitute teacher:

In all seriousness, Franklin Corregidor (FranklinCorregidor@hotmail.com) is on the hunt for a special lady of his own, and is willing to resort to the internet to find her. He's a catch for any female Fluff fan: straight, gay, single or otherwise. As long as you can put up with his devastating good looks, undeniable charm, quick wit, heart-melting smile, and catfish noodling fetish, you just may have a chance of making a lonely writer very very happy.

PS: No fat chicks, unless you're really into "fruit salads" if you get my drift.

PPS: I really AM talking about fruit salad. Man, I live for that stuff. Do you know where you can get tangelos in this city?

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Let's Learn About Ingesting Poison! Killer Giraffe Smoothie, Part 2

2005-08-31T12:35:00.000-04:00

Last week's LLA! I explained my poisonous giraffe-infested blender dilema. 33 of you responded to my distressed yelps for advice. 25 of you felt that even though I had a weird growing giraffe in my blender for the last four months if I cleaned out the blender and drank from it once again I WOULDN'T DIE. Well, let's put that theory to the test...

...(oh, yeah and if you need my will it's in the file cabinet by my craft closet under "A" for "Aw, SHIT I really died! That kinda sucks.")...

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Death= CHEATED!

-FIN!-
or is it...

-FINAGAIN!-
well not quite...

See you in four months, little Tito...

Things you really didn't NEED to know about Colleen:
For the record, if you had ACTUALLY voted for me to consume part of the smoothied giraffe I would have. Why you may ask? You know in middle school when everyone would finish their food and put it into a big cup in the middle of the table, drenching the concoction of grilled cheese, fries, lasagna, and peas with chocolate milk, and dared someone to drink it...I would always be the girl to take up the challenge. I can never resist a goofy bet. Sure a giraffe made of the same polymer that baby diapers are made of was a bit different than mushy cheese fries but my logic is sometimes a bit skewed. A good example would be this conversation I had with Klio during one of our extremely productive mid-workday talks.

Colleen: So I think I'm actually going to consume some of the giraffe juice, well, I mean only if people vote that way.
Klio (along with a somewhat terrified stare): I really can't encourage you to do that. I get its for art's sake, but please don't drink that giraffe water.
Colleen: Drink the water? EW! I'm dumping the water. It's been stagnant for like four months! I was just talking about blending the giraffe and eating part of it.

special thanks to Annie S. for helping me with the pictures and, you know, making sure I didn't die and stuff

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Let's Learn About the Properties of Water! Killer Giraffe Smoothie, Part I

2005-08-24T15:10:00.000-04:00

Now this is an extremely important LLA! post, as it comes in two parts and quite possibly involves my death.

In May 2005, I put a giraffe in a water bottle. It was one of those giraffes that claims to grow 600 times its original size in 72 hours. 72 hours later they were absolutely correct! The giraffe had grown so much it took the shape of the water bottle it had been encased in. Supposedly the giraffe should have shrunk back to its original size if left out of the water...but I wasn't ready for that just yet. Instead I woke up in the middle of the night, having just dreamt about the giraffe yelling at me that it "had a crink in its neck" (inanimate object are often very animate in my dreams...ho-hum, can't imagine why!) I got out of bed and at 2am cut the water bottle in half to revive the squished giraffe and looked for the next largest water container I had in the house. It just so happened that the next largest water container was my fancy blender. Here's what it looked like at that point:

I intended to keep it there for a few days, but since I barely ever go into the kitchen other than to get my cereal I forgot it was there. It wasn't until I brought a boy I had been dating to my apartment that I remembered it was there. The boy was visibly disturbed by something in the kitchen while I gave the tour. I realized later he was staring at the giraffe, which had become quite a monster pressed hard against the sides of my blender.

That was almost three months (and a few boys) ago and the giraffe is STILL living in my blender, which, if you do the math, is sorta-kinda over the 72 hour suggested time period. It's continued to grow. Its legs are falling off. It doesn't look too pretty. It doesn't even look like a giraffe anymore. I think it's time to take it out...but that leaves a few very important questions...

Celebrate Democracy
by Clicking Here to Play
the "Is Colleen Going to Die" Game

Your answers will influence Part II of this LLA! Which will be up next week. Now go VOTE!

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Let's Learn About Communication! How to Leave Coherent Non-Un-Understood Phone Messages

2005-08-10T14:01:00.000-04:00

Welcome to the first EVER Audio LLA!

LISTEN TO ME!
Colleen Leaves a Phone Message MP3

READ TO ME!...or read this to understand what I was mumbling in that phone message above:
"How to leave a coherent, non-un-understood phone message, similar to the one I am leaving now.

First things first. Acquire a phone or any kind of talking device. Make sure that you find it, um, at a store, orrrr you could find it in a walmart, which is a store, contrary to popular belief, or you could find it in the cushions of my couch along with probably about $15 in pennies.

Second things first after the first things first:
You should, you know, make sure that you were actually talking to a machine, and, well, that a person hadn't picked up, cause that's always really awkward when you're like it's Colleen, and you just talk for like 3 minutes long and the person on the other end is like "first of all, your name's not Colleen, and second of all, I'm, you know, I'm your Gramma."

Uh... THEN, you should avoid the use of homonyms, um, a sentence example would be "This is the best book I read." Like first of all, people would be like "WOW she knows how to read that's aMAzing," um, orr it could go the other way and people could be like "Oh my god, she's a commie bastard. Colleen is a RED!" And then they'll be like "or maybe she isn't a communist, but maybe she has really bad sunburn, and, because she likes to use that oil stuff instead of sunblock. And she um, and she um, and she um, ... likes cancer.

You should always avoid the use of the word homonym. Um, first of all it sounds funny, and people tend to do Austin Powers, when they do it, when the SAY it. And also, its a taaaad, :whispers: it's a tad gay.

Um. And I mean happy. It's a happy HOMOnym. It's a HAPPY word.

ALSO, you should avoid the use of the word avoid, 'cause it sounds like avoid.

A sentence example would be "she looks like her brain has fallen out of her head. Maybe for being in Dallas for too long, leaving a void big enough to string a clothesline with 27 pairs of underwear, and I'm not talking about normal underwear, I'm talking about big-old grandy-panties."

Um.. Also, when you're leaving a phone message, you should not say "umm, also" a lot, you should also keep it as short, um also, as you.. possible. Um, you should, uh, you know, for instance, this message could have just said "Colleen. Chex mix. Texas. Monday." and then I could hang up. Buuut, In reality, this is exactly (laughs) the way I leave phone messages in real life. It's really sad. Um, I'm in Texas, and my hotel smells like cleaning products, and I'm laying on the floor of my hotel with a fake bandage over my head 'cause i got bored, and there a giant billboard outside my window that's for a gunshow, and it's covered in, uh, yellow paint, and, I believe it's blood. Um, could be red paint. I like to think it's blood. I'lllll be back on Monday.....
...
I think I'm done.
...
I leave the best messages."

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Let's Learn About Revenge! An Important Lesson About Friendship & Skivvies

2005-07-27T09:46:00.000-04:00

There are five things you need to know about me in order for you to stay in the running for a BFF charm necklace:

Point #5 brings me to a story: Now me and this girl...well, um...I don't know her name...were well on our way to Best Friendship. She works at the laundromat down the street from my apartment. We always greet eachother with smiles, whether it's at 7am when she is pulling up the graffiti covered barrier or 8pm when she is locking it to the ground. I'm almost always the last washer of the day rushing home from work just in time. She knows to turn on Jeopardy whenever I get there and laughs at me as I shout out the answers. I stand on the benches when she sweeps the floor. I stick up for her when irate customers come in attempting to start a load 30 minutes after the final load time. She gives me quarters in exchange for dollars. Yup. Best Friendship was sure to happen.

It's a good thing I took my time deciding between a fake silver charm necklace or a bronze colored bracelet. Why you may ask?

Last week, I walked back to the laundromat after hanging up my un-dryer-ables on various items around my living room. (Pantyhose hanging from the ceiling looks so pretty, some days I think about doing it just for decorative purposes.) I didn't dilly, nor did I dally back to the laundromat, knowing it was nearing the time my dryer would be done crisping my soggy jeans...and then I saw it...

...my best friend, pulling MY clothes out of the dryer when there was a blue 1 minute shining brightly right next to her grabby arm!

I was SHOCKED. I couldn't believe that after all we went through she would stoop to this, THIS! Now I've already got problems with people touching my skivvies in general, but touching skivvies that had ONE MORE MINUTE left of drying. I can't forgive her. I just can't.

For the first time in my life. I. MUST. PLOT. REVENGE.

I have devised a plan. Oh, it's a good one. I plan to drive her mad. So mad she'll never want to touch my skivvies again!

Here's how it will go:

1. I will fill an entire laundry bag only with "unmentionables" I have recently discovered, upon a moment of enlightment, that I own an obscene number of underwear. I've always been one of those people that always goes towards the "well I can buy more underware at Duane Reade during lunch" option rather than actually doing the laundry. I have the world's largest collection of utterly ugly under-things. Due to this amazing feat of mine, I only do the laundry once every month and a half, and even then it's only because I've run out of socks. I'm sure I can fill a bag of underwear high enough to fill a triple loader. This I am sure of.

2. I will take that bag and bring it to the counter. While, I have never had the money for laundry service (well that and, as mentioned above...I kinda don't like strangers touching my undergarments), I am willing to spend the money FOR REVENGE. I will give her my bag of underwear and insist it be done by the next afternoon.

3. I will show up the next afternoon and pick up my bag of underwear. I will go home and watch Jeopardy by myself. 28 minutes later, I will then go back to the laundry mat with the same exact bag of folded underwear and bring it to the counter. I will insist they are not the laundry I just picked up (though I will be sure to leave the tag on) and I will insist they be washed by the next afternoon.

4. I will repeat this for five days straight, each time insisting they aren't the underwear from the day before.

5. On the sixth day I will cut all of my underware in half, then cut all of my pants in half, followed by my winter coats. Once I have a pile of fabric large enough to sew them into one giant pair of undies. I will then sew on buttons, zippers, small advertisements from The Onion, half an uneaten twinkie, naked pictures of smurfs, and sound chips that play quotes from Elizabeth Taylor perfume commercials over and over and over again...I will make The MOTHER of all skivvies. The UNDERWEAR FROM HELL.

I will bring the UNDERWEAR FROM HELL to the counter. Insist "the bag of laundry" be done by the next afternoon.

6. I will stop going to this laundromat, move out of brooklyn, move out of NY state, perhaps get plastic surgery, alter the way I walk, learn to speak without blinking, donate my ovaries to charity.

I will become completely hidden from the world.

I will be untraceable.

I will give up my life and everything I know.

But at least deep within my ovary-less heart, I will know that on the corner of east 2nd and Fort Hamilton Parkway, Brooklyn, there was a girl working at a laundromat that was SOOOOO weirded out.

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COMMENT ON THIS LLA!

Let's Learn About the Library!by substitute teacher Franklin Corregidor

2005-07-07T23:45:00.000-04:00

Have you ever been walking down the street, and noticed that building that nobody ever goes into? Of course you haven't, because you don't go in there either. Well folks, that building is the library.

Now my grandfather used to call it the li-BERRY. I thought this was rather odd, considering that my grandfather had a Harvard Law degree. Then again, my grandfather was born and raised in Brooklyn. From what I have been told, Harvard is quite an institution. I've learned that they even have their own library! This Harvard must be some fancy place, but then again I wouldn't be too sure because I've never seen their ads on the TV. On the other hand, the Apex Technical School doesn't fool around. When you graduate from there not only have you learned a valuable skill, but you get to keep the tools for FREE! Now that's my idea of a school. I bet this Harvard place doesn't allow any shenanigans of that sort, and I'm sure their graduates couldn't fix a refrigerator to save their one day past the expiration date milk even if it was the last milk on Earth.

But Franklin, there must be some people that go to libraries, what do they do there?

Most people (few as they are) spend their time in the library looking up dirty words in the giant unabridged dictionary that has to be moved around by a team of Egyptians on loan from the Pharaoh. Erich Von Daniken has gone on record to say that beings from another world moved the unabriged dictionary long before the advent of modern civilization, and for reasons only known to him, they haven't bothered to drop by since. Other people know not to ponder how the big dictionary got there but are just as happy to have their photos taken next to it and thumb through copies of Maurice Sendak's In the Night Kitchen, skipping to the pages where some right minded person drew shorts on that naked kid. I don't remember that naked kid doing any refrigerator repair in that kitchen. He obviously wasn't a graduate of the Apex Technical School, since they get to keep their clothes as well as their tools.

Sometimes, people pass the time by taking a trip down memory lane via the magic of microfilm, or it's evil cousin, microfiche. Actually, microfiche isn't really evil, it's just misunderstood. You'd be pretty steamed too if you had to play second fiddle to your first cousin microfilm who has been made internationally famous in spy movies, spirited around in hollow nickels, and stored in only the finest of well maintained refrigerators. The most exciting thing microfiche can look forward to is if some lost soul happens to stumble in and maybe spends up to twenty minutes reading a Newsweek from 1967 about hippies, LSD, and what life will be like living on Mars in 1980.

So in conclusion, Librarians work at the liberry. Librarians are not to be referred to as li-berrians, nor should they be called Liberians or Libertarians. A librarian may be a Libra, but not all Libras are Liberators. Libations are very rarely had at the lubary, unless it's the cup of ice limeade kept at the labrador's desk. Collecting library cards is no longer lucrative, unless you have that very rare Melvil Dewey Rookie in NM-MT condition that he requested be pulled from the market after he found out the company producing them was serving warm limeade at their bi-weekly singles mixers that was obviously not kept in a fully functioning fridge.

About today's substitute teacher:

Unlike his grampa, Franklin Corregidor was born and raised in New Jersey, which is known for its abundance of highbrow culture, and its citizens are praised on their mastery of the English language and refrigerator upkeep on a regular basis. He has spent countless hours in various libraries across Northern New Jersey and never spent any time milling about in a field at three in the morning in the middle of winter when it was almost zero degrees out wearing nothing but torn jeans, a t-shirt and a motorcycle jacket while drinking beers around a dwindling fire with a bunch of other underaged males as a boombox sitting on a pile of empty aluminum cans from years gone bye was playing heavy metal music. He wouldn't know anything about those activities, as he was in a library at the time, planning his big Martian land grab.

FranklinCorregidor@hotmail.com

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Let's Learn About Home Remedies! aka why Colleen Has Permanent Hulk Hogans All Over Her Legs

2005-06-30T01:19:00.000-04:00

Now I'm not usually one to go celebrity crazy, partially because my version of make-my-innards-quiver-famous is never the same as everyone else's "famous," but also because I've never seen a point to the whole worshiping people that exist solely on TV or big screens, ones you can't physically lick across the nose, and boy do we all know how much I like to french nostrils.

On my recent trip to Chicago, I saw a celebrity, fell in love, and caught a disease, a horrible, horrible disease, one even worse than your worst nightmare, one even more disturbing than singing "Bananafone" over and over and over again in your head...(damn you badgers!)

After spotting a true American hero on the plane, one with a moustache that has become legend, my heart lept out of my chest and left a big goey hole...for the past three days I have been suffering through an awful case of

HULKAMANIA!

He was on my plane, wearing a black wrestling tee with the sleeves cut off and his signature bandanna, shades just light enough so you would know he was famous and just barely see his eyes for sure fire recognition. He was quietly screaming to be noticed. Hulk was in first class at 6am, waiting in line before me. Another 20-something, a good 15 feet from me, seemed to be the only one other than myself covered in Hulk-drool. Other 20 looked at me and mouthed "Oh My God." I then immitated HH ripping off his shirt. The people in the 14 feet between us, who had been paying me no mind two seconds prior, all seemed to pick that opportunity to turn my way, resulting in a lovely 6am flush of magenta across my cheeks.

I couldn't stop talking about it the rest of my trip. I thought it was simply a case of being star-struck, bumping into someone you had idolized as a child, but no...it was more than that. I had caught the Hulkamania, and I had caught it bad.

It started as a simple HH which appeared overnight on my right leg, about six inches up from my knee.

The next morning I saw the start of a trash talk forming on my left thigh.

It wasn't long before it spread into a series of motivational sayings.

My arms, which had been Hulk free my entire life, suddenly were overflowing with Hoganosity.

This afternoon in the middle of an excel spreadsheet I felt a Hulk growing on my leg.

The faces spread and got more detailed and more evil.

It wasn't long before a Hollywood Hogan appeared. Hulkamania has taken over my body (and I can't draw "g" upside down).

I've been checking out some sites online to find a cure before my entire body becomes disastrously covered in gobs of Hulk.

I've heard echinachea is good for Hulkamania, as well vicks vapor rub, steam baths, drinking Green Tea upside down while humming the national anthem, taking a shower and scrubbing at the skin vigorously, or just using a sharpie to cover the Hogans with black thick-lettered words to bible hymns.

Right now I'm just thankful the Hogans all stop exactly one inch above the length of the skirt I have to wear to work tomorrow. What luck! I'm not sure if I'm contagious, but just to be on the safe side I'm not letting any of you lick my nose for at least a good week.

Hulk-I love you. My only regret is that I never owned one of your fun-for-only-one-use patented tearaway tees.

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Let's Learn About Nutrition!Part of A Balanced (on my Chest) Breakfast

2005-06-16T23:39:00.000-04:00

Post® Premium Raisin

Post® Premium Raisin
Bran is made from oven
toasted, whole grain
spoon mouth chew check watch
wheat and wheat
bran - making it just play
in delicious.

And, Post® Premium Raisin
Bran is the only raisin
spoon mouth cradle bowl
on chest shoving on shoe
bran to exclusively use natural
Lee sweet Sun-Maid® raisins.
Lee had a brother
that could burp the alphabet.

Did you know results from an inn
home taste test with raisin
bran users - like you, like me? - show
Ed, my first French kiss, that our flakes
are crispier and stay Chris
pier longer in milk
and looked better in the skirt
than the pleated pants
than your leading brand.

With 8 grams of diet
airy fiber, no other leading raisin,
not even the one of your dreams,
bran gives you more diet
airy fiber per

serving.

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2005-06-09T23:06:00.000-04:00

Let's Learn About How to Join a Circus!

by Colleen AF Venable, Giraffe/Giraffe Wrangler

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to join the circus. As a wee-little wee-thing I used to fantasize about what secret circus abilities I had hiding deep within me. Was I meant to juggle flame-engulfed bowling pins? Was I destined to run on the outside of a giant flame-engulfed human sized hamster wheel? Was I born to invent a new circus sport that combined stupid-human abilities with the engulfing of flames?

Curtain rises:
Why, hello children! I'm the bearded-lady. As you can see I'm a woman with a beard…now, who's got a lighter?

I really tried to learn to juggle. I mastered the art of looking like I was juggling without actually juggling at all, quite similar to the baton-twirling I had mastered just a few years prior, twirling that just consisted of me shaking my wrist left and right until my hand would nearly fall off in a six-year-old' arthritic fit. I never figured out how to use three balls, let alone flaming bowling pins, and I seemed to have an awful habit of closing my eyes during that "DEAR GOD, GRAVITY HAS TAKEN OVER" part…probably not my destiny…but there was always the hamster wheel.

Now human-sized hamster wheels are not the easiest to come by. At age 9 I tried all of my local shops. "Hello, Sir. Do you have any human-sized wheels of death in stock?" One shop owner finally pointed me in the direction of Cosco where a blue aproned man handed me a wheel of goat cheese with a 3 foot radius. Right there, in the middle of Isle 3, I mounted my cheese, only to discover the wheel was hardly made of death, or even a semi-soft blend. I was wearing cheese pants and a broken heart…one a bit more metaphorically than the other.

Left with no other options, I set my sights on commanding my facial hair to grow at abnormal female lengths. Every day I woke up hoping my dreams of sideburns, handlebar staches, and ZZ chin toppers would have some impact on my actual physical being, but despite my 50% Italian blood, no bearded-lady did I become.

I guess I wasn't meant to be in a circus after all.

The End.

What's that?

I can’t end the story like this? It's too depressing? Well, that's life for you. You better get used to it. Not all will wind up happy. Not all will figure out a way to survive doing a job that we actually adore. Not all will be remembered two minutes after we die. Not all will fall in love or even like. Not all of us get to join the circus...

...of course, that doesn't apply to me. I've got a giraffe body and a human head! Fuck-yeah, they accepted me in the circus! Now I just have to start working on the engulfing flame part of the act…

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2005-05-30T01:50:00.000-04:00

Let's Learn about Yoga!

by Christine Hamm, the Escape Artist
Yoga has an excellent reputation, despite the fact of its long relationship with Madonna and many other Skeevy celebrities such as Val Kilmer and Storm Fields. Yoga, it is said, is relaxing and healthy, with a good dose of generic Zen-ish spirituality thrown in. Plus, Yoga is supposed to give you a good ass.

Today, I decided to test the popular beliefs about yoga and try it for myself.

And good thing I did! First thing I learned, boys and girls, is don't try yoga at home, or by yourself. If you do, you risk missing the experience of falling down and being humiliated because you can't touch your toes (or even your knees) in front of a room full of hyper limber, flexible and peaceful people. Plus, you would miss what it feels like when you realize that everyone knows you really can't tell your right from your left because you are constantly raising the wrong foot and turning the wrong way.

Finally, if you don't attend yoga class, you miss the priceless experience of having the lovely, insanely muscular teacher come and so tenderly (with only a smidgen of condescension) try to "adjust" your position until you have to squeak, No, really, my body doesn't do that. NO IT DOESN'T. I CAN'T. REALLY.

This yoga experience also underlined the importance of honesty, boys and girls. If the assistant asks you if you have any yoga experience, do not lie and say "shure!" because you think she will laugh at you. That's how you avoid being "accidentally" put in the advanced class. Or the advanced "beginner" class -- do yogis even know
what beginner means?

-------------------------------------------------------------
Today's LLA circus performer, Christine Hamm, is really tired. And her back hurts. She's so old she smells of lavender-scented talcum powder and keeps tissues balled up the sleeves of her flowered dresses in case somebody needs to blow his nose. Christine wants you to go HERE now! and buy a book or she'll cry and take out her bad mood on some random stranger on the N train.

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2005-05-28T23:15:00.000-04:00

Let's Learn About the Internet!

by Franklin Corregidor, the Tightrope Walker
If you can read this, chances are you're on the internet. Chances are also that you did not attend public school. In a recent poll of prepubescent waterfowl, 96 per cent of mallards overwhelmingly agree that they cannot go a single day without checking the internet to see what the delivery status of their yellow goulashes are.

But what is this internet? Why do ducks think so fondly of it and leave the rest of us in the dark? Do we not need goulashes as well? And what about ghoulashes? Ghouls get wet feet too you know. Did you ever try haunting a house in Seattle before? Not only do they get wet feet, but they also have to worry about rusty chains and their sheets getting stained, especially when they sit down after a hard day of scaring Generation Y and Z slackers wishing they could have been alive fifteen years ago when nobody in the outside world knew about Grunge Music. Do they use the internet or "World Wide Web" as it has become to be known for all of their dryness needs?

Let me tell you something about this here internet from a personal perspective. I've found that since signing on to the internet, my feet have been much drier than before. When I put my yellow goulashes over my wingtip shoes, I think to myself "Gosh, my feet are as dry as a duck's!" Thank you, the internet!

So in conclusion, ducks are also known as waterfowl, and mallards are a type of duck. Chinese people like to serve them as food with "Duck Sauce," but only if you call a day in advance. If you don't call a day in advance, you probably aren't up on your internet skills either and have very wet feet.

-------------------------------------------------------------
Franklin Corregidor is an aspiring New York based writer whose feet are always dry and toasty. He does not have a website, nor does he have an online "blog." He does not recall how he found out about submitting to this website, especially because it does not have any links to buy yellow goulashes. You can contact Franklin at FranklinCorregidor[a]hotmail.com.

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2005-05-27T23:12:00.000-04:00

Let's Learn About Unfinished Six-Year-Old Plays, Administrative Offices of Cemeteries, and a Dead 128-Year-Old New York State Governor!

by Eric Cohen, the Clown on Stilts
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Gov. Herbert H. Lehman (1878-1963): governor of New York State (1933-1942)
John Cutsogeorge, 61: manager of St. Morrison's Cemetery
Brian Rombola, 18: college student; temping at St. Morrison's (enters names into database)
Christina Ambrosino, 19: college student; works as a part-time secretary for Mr. Cutsogeorge
Barbara Karpf: irate client whose husband’s name was misspelled on an epitaph

It is a hot July morning at the dilapidated administrative office of St. Morrison's, a small cemetery in Staten Island, New York. An old, ratty light fixture holding a single incandescent light bulb hangs from the ceiling. At the back of the stage is an open window; next to it, an electric clock reading just past 9:30 am, and a giant electric fan. There are three desks, each with a computer. JOHN CUTSOGEORGE, the crusty, aging manager of the cemetery, sits at a desk by the window; BRIAN and CHRISTINA sit across from each other toward the front of the stage. BRIAN has spiked and dyed hair, various piercings, and is wearing a T-shirt of a hard rock band and huge-fitting jeans. He is wearing a headset and reading the latest copy of Spin magazine. CHRISTINA is dressed neatly but casually, all in black.

Play opens with TELEPHONE RINGING. CHRISTINA answers the phone after several rings.

CHRISTINA
Good morning, St. Morrison's.
…Yes, Barbara, Mr. Cutsogeorge is in.
(To Cutsogeorge) John, it's Barbara Karpf on line one.

CUTSOGEORGE
Tell her I'm not here.

CHRISTINA
John, she says it's urgent.

CUTSOGEORGE
I'm not talking to that woman. Trust me, she can wait.

CHRISTINA
Um, all right.
(Taking phone off hold) Barbara, I'm afraid he's on the other line at the moment. Can I take a message for you?
…Yes, Barbara, I know he's been on the other line all fifty-seven times you've called this past week. It's really busy here. People are dying left and right.
…I'm sorry, that's just the way it is.
…Goodbye. (Hangs up phone.)Oh my God.

CUTSOGEORGE
I don't know what the hell is wrong with her. Everything is urgent, urgent.
What could be so urgent? This is a fucking cemetery.
She should be in no hurry to do business with us.

CHRISTINA
Why is she always calling, anyway?

CUTSOGEORGE
I don't know. Something about a misspelled name on her husband's epitaph.

CHRISTINA
How do you spell "Karpf," anyway?

CUTSOGEORGE
We spelled it K-R-A-P. What the hell is the big deal?
It's not like spending a thousand bucks to get the fucking monument sandblasted is going to bring him back to life. I don't know what's wrong with these people. My God.
I'm going to get some coffee. Brian, I'll have a name for you to enter in the database when I get back. If anybody calls, Christine, tell them I died.

Christina and Brian exchange bewildered looks. Distant sound of Cutsogeorge's car engine revving, and racing away.

BRIAN
Why the hell did my temp agency send me here? They said they had a huge data-entry assignment at St. Morrison's.

CHRISTINA
Oh, John wanted to do some updating. Only six of the nine people buried here are entered into our database, and I'm scared of computers.

BRIAN
I fucking hate the summer. I fucking hate life altogether. Everybody sucks. I thought I'd be working in a church, not a goddamn cemetery.

CHRISTINA
Most people who are sent here seem to say that. What's your name again?

BRIAN
Brian Rombola. Yours?

CHRISTINA
Christina, but you can call me Chris. Don't worry, babe, this is gonna be a lot more fun than church. Want to walk around the graves later?

BRIAN
This is the fucking worst, man. My agency has sent me to every fucking piss-ass joint under the sun. Last week they called me with this job as a "petroleum assistant" for some company on Hylan Boulevard. I ended up pumping gas every night at an Amoco station. The week before that, they called frantic at eight o'clock on Friday night because they needed a "transportation specialist." Next thing I know I'm driving a fucking cheese bus for Pioneer. Now I'm here at a cemetery, a fucking cemetery. I can't take this shit anymore. When will this fucking summer end?

CHRISTINA (lustily)
I'll make it worth your while, Brian.

BRIAN
(very shaky)…Oh.

CHRISTINA
You're cute. Say, do you like Type O Negative?

BRIAN
Nah. Too gothic for me. I like the Offspring.

CHRISTINA
Oh, man, they're great, too. Dexter Holland has an ass that won't quit. God, I'd do him.

BRIAN
I just like the music.

CHRISTINA (romantically rolling her chair over toward Brian’s)
You're really cute, Brian Rombola.
(Phone rings) Fuck, fuck, fuck! (Rolls her chair back, and picks up the phone)Good morning, St. Morrison's.
…No, this isn't St. Patrick's Cathedral. You have the wrong number.
…I'm sorry, but I don't know.
…Try calling 411, maybe. Or call the pope. I really don't know those numbers offhand.
Goodbye.
(Slams down the phone) JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!

BRIAN
I'm not so sure I'd yell that name so loud in a place like this, Christina.

CHRISTINA
Oh, don't worry about it. The devil has a nice room prepared for me.
Come over to my house later.

BRIAN
Gee, I was never so good at making friends before.

CHRISTINA (quickly putting her arms around Brian’s chest)
Let's ditch this place and go for a walk in back…

BRIAN (visibly uncomfortable)
This place is freaking me out. I can't believe I'm really working here.

CHRISTINA
This is only the beginning, sugar. Only the beginning.

A quick but distinctly noticeable rumbling noise is heard.

BRIAN
What the hell was that?

CHRISTINA
You're so nervous, Brian. Why?

BRIAN
I heard something from the graveyard. I swear, I fucking heard something.

CHRISTINA (laughing)
You're so funny!
Brian, those people are dead out there!

BRIAN
You can never be too certain.
I've heard plenty of songs about freaks who were buried alive. Scary shit.

CHRISTINA
You've been playing your Metallica way too loud, babe.

The same rumbling noise is heard, but this one is sustained, continuing for at least 6-7 seconds.

BRIAN
You can't tell me you didn't hear that.

CHRISTINA
John must be coming back. His car is fucking old.
He drives like a '76 Dodge, and I think it's still got the original muffler.

BRIAN
Does he ordinarily drive his car through the graveyard?

CHRISTINA
Uhh, no.

BRIAN
I think I need to call my temp agency and get the fuck out of here. I'm seriously getting creeped out. How do you work this phone? (As he says that, the rustling resumes, twice as loud as before).

WITHERED OLD VOICE FROM OUTSIDE
I would prefer to be called a 'non-living citizen'!

CHRISTINA
I wonder who that is.

BRIAN
Uhhhh…

WITHERED OLD VOICE
Where is the way in?
The sun is fierce, and there are bugs!

CHRISTINA
It's just around the corner!

A knock at the door.
WITHERED OLD VOICE
My right hand is arthritic!
I can't turn this blasted thing!

BRIAN
What the fuck is happening?

CHRISTINA
Oh, someone's rising from the dead.

Christina opens the door. Enter GOVERNOR HERBERT H. LEHMAN, an incredibly blanched and wrinkled 121-year-old wearing a raggedy suit, who can barely walk under his own power.

BRIAN
Holy mother of Godsmack.

CHRISTINA
Can I help you, sir?

GOV. LEHMAN
I am here to live the rest of my life!
Where are the frankfurters and sauerkraut?

CHRISTINA
I should call Mark and ask him to get us some.

BRIAN
I don't fucking believe this. A fucking dead guy is asking us for hot dogs.

GOV. LEHMAN
How dare you use profanity to an elder!
Do you swear at your mother and father?

BRIAN
All the time.

GOV. LEHMAN
For shame.
My old man would have given me thirty lashes for using such vulgar language!

BRIAN (pinches himself)
Ow.
Shit, this really is happening.

CHRISTINA
I don't know when you're from, sir, but we curse all the time now, and hitting kids is against the law.

GOV. LEHMAN
What kind of disrespectful chaps are you, anyway?
And where are the frankfurters?

CHRISTINA
Who are you, anyway?

BRIAN
Yeah, who the hell are you.

GOV. LEHMAN (livid, at Brian)
The better question is, who the hell do you think you are?
I am Governor Herbert H. Lehman!
Haven't you ever picked up a history book in your life, beatnik?

BRIAN
What the fuck did you just call me, you old piece of shit.

CHRISTINA
No, wait a second, Bri, this man is real important.
They named a Staten Island Ferry after him.
My ex-boyfriend was obsessed with the ferry. That's the boat we rode on together.

BRIAN
Holy shit.

GOV. LEHMAN
I have a good mind to report you to the Board of Regents if you continue to use that language, young man.

BRIAN
Geez, sorry.
You were really a governor?

GOV. LEHMAN
I was the governor of New York State from 1933 to 1942, Democratic Party.
I served as lieutenant governor under Franklin Delano Roosevelt.
I bet you don't even know who Franklin Delano Roosevelt is, you little whipper-snapper.

BRIAN
Fuck, man, you’re old. No wonder why you're so bent out of shape.

CHRISTINA
I could go for a Whipper Snapple now. I'll tell Mark to bring one of those, too.

GOV. LEHMAN
What the devil is going on here?
Where am I, anyway?
What year is this?

BRIAN
I don't know where you're living, but we're living in the year 1999.

GOV. LEHMAN (feels faint)
Lord, have mercy.

Herb!
an unfinished play
Copyright 1999 by Eric Cohen

-------------------------------------------------------------
Today's LLA Circus Performer, Eric Cohen, is a writer/non-profit something-or-other from Staten Island, New York. His hobbies include writing poetry about attractive women he sees in the subway, driving aimlessly in an old car, and listening to ‘80s music. Eric is the author of the short stories "Enjoy the Silence," "Second Grade for Lawyers" and "A Ferry Tale," none of which are available in a store near you. He knows more about the New York City subway system and the Staten Island Ferry than you’d ever care to know, unless you are as dorky as he is, which would be really awesome. Eric is proud to live under a rock, and just might be the only 25-year-old New Yorker to not own an iPod OR a video game set, but he does have a Live Journal page where his off-the-wall writing is featured: www.livejournal.com/herb_lehman.

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2005-05-26T00:21:00.000-04:00

Let's Learn About The Top Ten Fictional Television Characters Kate Wishes Were Her Boyfriend!

by Kate Comer, the 1800's Jumper
These are people who I've spent more time imagining I would date then any boys I know in person. I've had pretty intense feelings for them, so intense that I can't stand when these guys have girlfriends on their show because when they're single it means it's still possible for me to date them. God forbid one of them were to get married.

1. Scott Barringer
Scott is a student at Horizon, a school for troubled kids that serves as an alternative for Juvie or a mental hospital. Scott was a quarterback on his high school football team who got into drugs as a way to escape the emotional turmoil caused by his sexually abusive Stepmother. He is moody, snobby, and initially thinks he’s better than the other kids at Horizon. At first, he's into the rich anorexic/cutter girl, until he breaks up with her for the more understanding runaway/prostitute. I originally fantasized about being an ecstasy addicted raver girl who somehow ends up being Scott's girlf, I can't remember how it would happen, though. I think now I would be the overweight girl…who maybe like, tried to kill herself or something, who he never would have spoken to outside of this situation, but really connects/falls in love with. There's no dating allowed at Horizon, so we would have to sneak away to make out. Which is really hott.

2. Seth Cohen
You only have to watch this guy in action once to understand his universal appeal. Sometimes he is a little too self-involved for me, but he seems to come through when it really counts. Mostly, I think I would enjoy engaging in witty banter with him. But, I would also like to run my hands through his jewfro while we kiss and watch X2: X-Men United. I would move from NYC to Newport beach, and this new hot, funny girl who meets Seth in comic book club, and is chosen over Summer by Seth. But, I would have a secret past that included being way overweight, and now I take diet pills and exercise too much. Summer figures it out, and tells Seth, and he doesn't believe her until he sees the pills in my bag. So, he confronts me saying I'm beautiful no matter what, and I would react by telling him he never even would have even looked at me the way I was before, and I can never go back to it. You know, mild O.C. stuff.

3. Bill Haverchuck
In 11th grade I wanted to be his girlfriend SO BAD. He likes so many things that I like too! Such as, Welcome Back Kotter. That is my only example. He did things every episode that made me fall in love with him a little more, including dancing to disco and dressing as The Bionic Woman for Halloween. I would be this new girl at school, kind of attractive, and possibly a mathlete. I would get asked out by the mega-sexy Daniel but refuse him, and shock all by aggressively pursuing Bill and eventually becoming his girlfriend. Thus, making out with him, because he deserves it more than most anyone.

4. Dan Rydell
Dan is the co-anchor of Sports Night, the third most watched sports program on TV. He hates soccer, cannot figure out what the Sport of Kings is, and completely owns my heart. He is charming without being an asshole, the type of guy who knows everyone’s name on your floor. He is a genuinely nice, funny, bad boyish guy, but tends to get overshadowed by uber cracker, Casey McCall. Dan is probably my most quotable tv boyfriend, I tend to use, "I am undergoing some sort of nervous collapse" and "Nutty nut-girl who’s nuts." quite a bit. Also, if you are temporarily blinded, and wearing ridiculous sunglasses, he will make the most of it by making you think the building is on fire. I would be this new intern at CSC, who isn't even into sports, but needed a production internship. We would flirt a lot. Dan's good at flirting. We would have a long term relationship, and I would not be dumb enough to choose my ex husband over him.

5. Shawn Hunter
Shawn has great hair, grew up in a trailer park, wears a leather jacket and writes brilliant poetry. He has a seriously shakey family situation, basically both parents tend to constantly run out on him. I've had the hots for him for upwards of 8 years. Every time I see him I fall in love all over again. I didn't have to fantasize too much about this one, cause he had a black girlfriend on the show. I could have played her much better, and if I had a time machine, I would make sure that happened.

6. Steven Hyde
Hyde is from the 70s. He's kind of a jerk. I don't even like him much anymore now that he's in love with Jackie. But, I had a serious thing for him freshman year of college. He also has parents who ditch him constantly. But, he's funny, and very sexy, and totally free.

I guess these guys have a running theme which makes me relate to them. They all tend to have pretty intense parent issues (with the exception of Cohen), which I can relate to. Also, they're all people who can't quite seem to find where they fit. So, I guess I feel like if they were real we could fit together.

Runner Up boyfriends include: Brandon Walsh, Clark Kent, and Jake from Animorphs (which is also a series of books.)

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Today's LLA Circus Performer, Kate Comer, was born in a crossfire hurricane. Kate is a recent graduate of The American Academy of Dramatic Arts, and is excited to be pursuing a career as an actor. She is half Jamaican, and from Florida, making her extremely tropical. When not figuring out how to ask out fictional characters, she is probably on the internet, or reading a book, or being insecure. One time, on the L Train this guy showed her his pee-pee.

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2005-05-25T23:02:00.000-04:00

Let's Learn About the Proper Way to Rob a Bank!

by Amy Frushour Kelly, the Acrobat
The plan was simple. And brilliant.

Leave work at 10:30 coffee break. Exit through front reception. Cross street to bank. Outside bank, out of range of security cameras, slip on ski masks and draw guns. Enter bank at 10:36, just as the armored car agent walks in pushing the dolly full of currency. Rich holds gun to agent’s head. Frank pushes dolly through bank to rear parking lot, where Rich parked stolen van evening before. Rich follows Frank, covering the crowd with his weapon, opening the van’s back door for Frank and the money. Rich closes the van door, still holding people at bay, and drives around block, across street to access office parking garage from behind, and parks at 10:41. Retrieve soda and pretzels from cooler in van, remove masks and weapons, locking them in van with money. Walk into office at 10:43, with two minutes to spare before break ends.

Leave at end of day with fifty thousand dollars in cash. Each.

10:30: Exit through front reception. Flo from Marketing tries to talk Rich and Frank into buying Girl Scout cookies for her daughter’s troop. Frank orders “Thin Mints.” Exit office at 10:35.

10:37: masks, guns, enter bank. Armored car is late. Fat woman with small child begins screaming. Security guard approaches. Rich spins around, accidentally knocks him in the face with his gun. "Sorry!" Rich says, before he remembers he’s not supposed to speak. Frank sees armored car agent walk in with dolly, sprints to intercept. Slips on newly-waxed floor. Falls, fractures tailbone. Gun skitters away. Small child with screaming fat mother points at Frank and laughs.

10:38: Rich points gun to agent’s head. Agent is a fast draw; he already has his own pistol aimed right back at Rich. From the floor, Frank rolls to grab for his gun. Screaming fat woman gets to it first and points it at Frank. Small child giggles.

10:39: Frank rolls away from screaming fat woman and gasps in pain from pressure on his tailbone. Screaming fat woman shoots. Bullet grazes Frank’s big toe. Frank screams again. Rich and agent are in a standoff. Rich reaches slowly down to grab Frank by the collar, pull him up from the floor and edge toward the door.

10:40: Rich and Frank get to bank door, turn, and run. Followed by the security guard, armored car agent, bank employees and screaming fat gun-wielding woman with giggling child. Rich and Frank dodge a car to get across the street.

10:42: Rich and Frank stumble into front reception. Flo and Melinda, the receptionist, stare. "Break’s not over yet," Rich explains, panting. Frank faints from loss of blood. Flo and Melinda are still staring.
10:43: Rich realizes he is still wearing a ski mask and clutching a gun. "Oh, this. Uh…"

10:44: Security guard, armored car agent, bank employees and screaming fat gun-wielding woman with giggling child arrive in front reception.
Break’s over.

Break
© 2004 Amy Frushour Kelly
For Frank Eberling and Rich Herring

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Today's Circus Performer, Amy Frushour Kelly, has never robbed a bank, but she thinks about it every time she steps into one. Like Gloria Steinem, Katie Holmes, Daws Butler and P.J. O'Rourke, she was born in Toledo, Ohio. And like Steinem, et al, she moved elsewhere. She recently completed a project in which she wrote a short story under 500 words every day for one year, and has yet to come up with a rational explanation for embarking on the project in the first place. Ms. Kelly lives with her family in Long Island, a good seven minutes away from the nearest bank.

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2005-05-24T23:53:00.000-04:00

Let's Learn About Freelancer Lonliness Syndrome!

by Chris Moreno, the Cat Whisperer

Working as a freelancer can be the greatest job in the world. You don't have to punch a clock every day, you can work in your underwear, and you're pretty much your own boss. On the other hand, that means you're responsible for juggling deadlines, the lack of set hours can keep you working all day long, and you're completely alone. You won't see your friends for days, weeks, even months at a time. Dating presents another challenge. Even people you share your house with are nothing more than ghosts when you're buried in your work. Is it any wonder, then, that the other freelancers you meet are such total assholes?

Today, we're gonna learn about Freelancer Lonliness Syndrome (FLS for those in the know!), and its devastating effects. I'd then tell you what you can do to combat it, but believe me, people, if I knew I'd be much better right now!

PART 1: Do I have FLS?

If you're asking that question, most likely yes. Sorry, you might not-- one of the symptoms of FLS is acute paranoia. You spend so much time in your own head that you begin imagining scenarios involving family, friends, and even romantic entanglements. Are they true? Who knows? You're inside your own head now, baby! Is your girlfriend cheating on you? Probably! Are your friends having drug-fueled orgies than you while you toil away at the drawing table? Actually, they're probably just sitting on the couch eating potato chips, but in your head, they're rockin' out with Metallica back stage-- and that's mid-80's-drugged-out Metallica, not present-day-chicken-shit-sober Metallica!

But I digress, which is yet another symptom of FLS-- a severe shortening of attention span. This is due to working on projects that require so much of your attention, that your brain is practically screaming for a distraction. The other day I hit my own hand with a paperweight just to have a diversion from my work. Who does that? Well, I did. This knee-jerk reaction by your brain can wreak havoc on your deadlines, especially if the diversions take up more time than the time you're spending on your work. But if I knew how to combat these distractions, I wouldn't be writing this right now, so what are YOU complaining about, hmm? you fuckin' ingrate.

In addition to seeking out distractions like some kind of distraction crackhead, the FLS sufferer will develop a similar addiction to social interaction. You'll find yourself jumping at the chance to run the most mundane errands just to be around people. God forbid someone invites you to a party-- you'll be the first one to arrive, and, to your hosts' dismay, the last to leave. I once stayed at a party days after it ended. My hosts finally had to kick me out after I complained they were out of milk. How was I supposed to eat my cereal without milk? The bastards. Anyway, water under the bridge.

Now where was I? Oh yeah, social interactions! No matter how long the social situations are, they'll never be enough. You'll come home from partying all night, and five minutes later you'll be overcome with the most powerful feeling of total solitude you've ever experienced! You'll be awash in lonliness. It's the emptiest feeling one can ever experience. And it lingers! It stains you, so that whenever you're out with friends, or on a date, all you keep thinking about is the fact that your time with them will end. You become desperate! Like, junkie desperate! I grabbed a complete stranger the other day and told him I'd suck his dick if he'd just go bowling with me! I bowled a 102 that night, by the way.

PART 2: What do I do?!

Buddy, if I knew, I'd tell you! Doing conventions helps, but when they're over you're back on a one-way ticket to LonelyVille. I joined an improv troupe, which is a great way to stem the tide of the depression because not only do you have the companionship of your stage partners, you also get the admiration of complete strangers! Bonus! But again, once you get home, nosedive!

So there you go, it's a downward spiral. Yep, nothing you can do. But hey, look on the bright side, you're still your own boss! And you're getting published! And, eh forget it. So, this is the end of the essay, huh? Listen, if you wanna hang out a little, talk more about this-- or not. I mean, we can talk about other things... Oh, ok. No, no, it's cool. I... I understand. Catch you later...

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Today's featured LLA! Circus of the STARS peformer, THE Chris Moreno, is an illustrator and improv performer, whose artwork can currently be seen in this May's Dracula Vs. King Arthur from Silent Devil Prod., this July's Monkey in a Wagon Vs. Lemur on a Big Wheel from Alias Enterprises, and on his website. He performs all over Philadelphia with his improv comedy troupe The Ninjas. He's an avid fan of bad movies, funny hats, and, from eyewitness reports, doesn't take any guff. So please, save yourself some postage and don't send him any guff. It'll just get marked "return to sender".

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