UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE
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Universal Donor
We can ill afford another Klendathu  feed it up!
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You are just a number to me! And that number is: PAGES UD MADE: My Books Page My Reviews Page My Reference Page My Music Page My Pictures My Store UD-RELATED PAGES: My LiveJournal My MySpace music page My Flickr page My del.icio.us page My Last.fm page My Amazon Wishlist HEAVY ROTATION TV on the Radio: Dear Science Walkmen: You & Me Fleet Foxes: Fleet Foxes Ratatat: LP3 Beach House: Devotion BLOGS ETC claude le monde nuncstans rock 'em stock 'em tomato nation postmodern drunkard tuckova 22 ghastly mess constintina total virility fuzzysquid drunken bee stacey nightmare elyse from ANTM stereolabrat dark side points jf_franklin 123 i love you READ NOW brotherhood 2.0 NOT BLOGS ETC qwantz (dinosaur comix) go fug yourself the burg cat and girl book of ratings married to the sea icanhascheezburger fire joe morgan fivethirtyeight.com READ NOW hospitality on parade WEIRD LOVE dead amusement pks craters! all content © 2002-2008 Jeremy Broomfield 
Hosted by: HostRocket.Com Comments by: YACCS PRAISE & REVIEWS "[UD] is a genius." --Christian Oates "[Claudia] is fucking awesome, and [UD] is a genius. And vice versa. You should all buy Fear Not." --Tricia Howey MOTTO egeo huic vigorum MY WRESTLING NAME Titan Gently MY PUNK NAME Razor Ection 
WHO LINKS TO UD? • from Technorati • from Google • from Yahoo and here's something weird: my place in Humor 3-space |
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Yesterday my boss asked me if I was gonna come in today and stay awake. Apparently, it's "inappropriate" to take a nap or two in the spare office -- news to me! Been doin' it for ages, dude! Still it seemed prudent, for today at least, to try to stay conscious for eight consecutive hours. To that end, I got an extra big coffee, but the fucktards downstairs changed brands or something, and now the hazelnut tastes like actual nuts -- and not the kind that grow on trees. Hack.
Plan A therefore aborted, I took some Ritalin, which is nothing special, but if I'm hoping to take an afternoon nap, I tend to skip the morning dose, so this was a sign of good faith on my part. Ha! How many of you plan a midday nap into your day? I'm special! Except not anymore, goddamnit. Plan C involved the creation of the ultimate WAKE UP iTunes playlist, filled with songs that would make it impossible to get sleepy, or at least annoy my coworkers so much that their negative vibes would keep me on edge. I trolled my library for the most random, loud, obnoxious, or upbeat, toe-tapping, along-singing songs. I ended up with a playlist of Jon Spencer Blue Explosion, Ministry, Pantera, Hot Snakes, White Stripes, The Causey Way, Lightning Bolt, The Specials, Cheap Trick, The Fucking Champs, Beck, Ramones, Dead Kennedys, etc. (Hey look, she said I couldn't sleep -- she didn't say anything about doing actual work. I hardly think it was implied, either. One step at a time!!) I still got sleepy, a little bit, so I just took some Adderall, which is just a scary-ass cocktail of aphetamines. It'll keep you awake, okay, yeah, but I can feel the muscles in my lower back ratcheting up like a turnbuckle. And my butt, for some reason. Now I won't be hungry for lunch, which will just make me feel weaker later. I could barely finish my breakfast! OH MA GAH this is so fascinating, Universal Donor! Why don't you tell us of your experiences trying to buy tickets to Star Wars: Episode III -- Screaming Wookiee Planet online! That would be really captivating too! What was the consistency of your last bowel movement? SHUT UP!!!! Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Today, some snips and snails, because I've neglected you again.
-------------------------------- Emblematic of why I hated summer camp and why I grew up to kinda hate other boys is a concept called Two for Flinching. Male readers who grew up in the savage wilds of America (i.e. outside New York City) will instantly shiver at the recollection, while hopefully my female readers will just quizzically wiggle their eyebrows and read on for edification. Basically, girls, Two for Flinching is a structured form of physical abuse disguised as "training" for some ambiguous future skill wherein one boy moves his fist as if to punch another boy in the face, but just stops short of making contact. If the dude with the face flinches (which action is defined variously along the continuum from a mere blink to a full-body cringe and yelp), then the guy who fake punched him get to FOR REAL punch him in the arm, twice. These punches are delivered with the spoken name of the custom for reinforcement: "Two for Flinching!" often followed by a Nelson-style "HENH-henh!" for good measure. Implied in TFF is the idea that in the future it will be useful to have suppressed your flinch reflex. This concept makes a world of sense to a certain kind of boy -- usually the kind of boy who by virtue of his height or strength is on the giving end of wedgies instead of the receiving end. Someone should do a study of the ways in which little boys hurt each other, the justifications, the explanations, the forms, the sublimated meanings -- I bet it would make a frothy cauldron of Freudian Stew (see the chapters on the Titty Twister and the Wet Willy, oh man!). But so anyway, the secret to Two for Flinching is that you cannot turn off a reflex, so if you're the kind of boy who has decided to go around your summer camp administering the Two for Flinching, you're gonna be punching a lot of arms. The only ways you won't get a 100% return rate on your test is if 1) your attack is too peripheral to actually engage the reflex -- at which point you just look like a dick sneaking up on somebody and missing with a suckerpunch, or 2) if you pretend that somebody didn't flinch because they're cooler than you and you want them to like you, so you act like you put your fist in their eyes and they didn't even blink, they look good in front of any others present, and maybe they'll repay you for the boost. What an amazing amount of stupidity. Maybe I'll do a Book of Ratings-style list of boyish playground abuses. Aargh. I just mentioned Two for Flinching to my coworker, and she'd never heard of it. After explaining it to her, I allowed that girls probably wouldn't play it because they are too busy being AWFUL: telling each other that they're fat; telling the homely girl that the cute boy has a crush on her and she should tell him she likes him too; telling their best friends that their ugliest dress looks great on them; planning parties by coming with lists of who they won't invite; calling a girl while secretly on three-way and getting her to trash the third one and then busting her for behind-back trash-talk; eating the hearts of kittens. While pondering this difference (which I acknowledge is not a news flash, even on this site) I came up with this pithy epigram: Little boys hurt each other, but little girls damage each other. -------------------------------- Post-Modern Drunkard: "My actual birthday is May 20th, making me a Taurus on the cusp of coming over there to kick you in the shins if you mention astrology." -------------------------------- A Play in Five Lines (Lights up in an office in midtown Manhattan. The RECEPTIONIST is telling her coworker, UNIVERSAL DONOR, a story.)RECEPTIONIST: ...And then he didn't show up until eleven, and when he did he was drunk and he didn't even say he was sorry, and when we asked him why he was late, he was like "there was something with the subway" and this that and the other, and then he turns it around, like why we gotta hassle him, and runna nunna naa, and this, and the other, and it's like: c'mon already! It's my birthday. For once, could you, like, be a responsible adult mature man about it, for once. You know? (Long pause. She sighs heavily.) UNIVERSAL DONOR: (very tentatively) Yeah... he sounds like an asshole. I'm not sure why he's still a part of your life after everything he's done to you. RECEP: Hey! No, listen. He may be an asshole, but that's just who he is, okay? I'm not trying to change that. (Pause. UD sighs.) And he didn't like "do" shit to me, okay? I mean it takes two to tango, you know? UD: He's AN ASSHOLE. RECEP: Yeah. But that's just who he is. I can't get mad at him for being himself. fin -------------------------------- Finally, a made-up definition for a made-up thing: Frosting Closet. A cool, dry, enclosure, often below ground, commonly built in Southern colonial houses to store frosting during the warm summer months. |
OTHER REVIEWS: John from Cincinnati Menomena LATEST BOOK REVIEWS: The Game Moneyball One-Upsmanship Siddhartha You need the Fear Not Guide to Life. Buy it already. ($4) Now available! The Broomfield Variations CD ($10) or go to The UD Store 
MY IMAGINARY GIRLFRIENDS Chan Marshall Rotem of the IDF Eleanor Friedberger Amy Goodman Bernardine Dohrn ('69) Maya Rudolph Joanna Newsom Imogen Heap Caroline Dhavernas Shana Rae Ray DISALLOWED FOREVER "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!" - "from whence" - "...the exception that proves the rule" - any use of the question "spit or swallow?" - the phrase "drop trou" - fake-o reviewer verbs: "penned" for wrote "helmed" for directed "lensed" for whatever - "expat" - the euphemism "passed away" - pronouncing merci beaucoup as "mercy buckets!" (see also: "grassy-ass!") PET PEEVES "confinscated" - trying children "as adults" - "drownded" |