will it blend? (for onnesha)

(note: most of the youtube quotes in this piece are real)


there once was a doctor — a real doctor, certified — who invented the best blender in the whole world. it was a really good blender. it could pretty much blend anything you could think of: papayas, mittens, pork bones, whatever.
the doctor went about selling his blender. he went to a local department store, and they were like, "sure. you can set up over there." it was a weekend. there were a shit ton of people in the store.
"step right up!" the doctor said, that sort of practiced, circusy salesman kinda voice. "get a look at the best blender in the world!"
the people were skeptical, but also curious. "what makes it so good?" they asked, a mix of skeptical and curious in their voice. they'd seen their fair share of blenders before — this morning in the kitchen, in fact. but still — no point in passing up the world's best blender, if indeed that's what it was.
"what makes it so good?" they said, because they'd already forgotten they just asked that.
"why, it can blend anything!" the doctor spread his arms wide to indicate this! that! anything in the world! it was the jesus of blenders! he was the jesus of doctors (certified)!
"can it blend... this?" a lady whipped a granola bar out of her bag.
the granola bar? reduced to granola flavored powder!
"how about this?" a man said, and held up his watch. the watch gleamed in the store lights, and then was chopped into fine once-watch parts.
"ooh!" the people oohed.
"aah!" the people aahed.
they were deeply, profoundly impressed.
it really was the best blender in the whole wide world.

a home channely kind of network got wind of the news. the doctor had been moving blenders like metal hot cakes, which the blender could also blend.
"come be on our network!" the network people said. they did that excited coaxy network thing with their voice.
but the doctor did not need coaxing. this was, after all, his big blending chance.
he went to the station and they said "we've got you all set up right over there" (the camera, the lights) "but listen," they said in that off-air conspiratorial between-you-and-me network kinda way, "you might find our viewers very discerning. you might find our viewers just a *little* hard to please." they did that thumb and forefinger thing to show just how little, by which they really meant just how much.
indeed, their customers were discerning. they'd buy a sleeved blanket, but only if you threw in one for the dog too. that kind of discerning.
the doctor, though? he couldn't afford to be nervous. nerves could devour him, could ruin his whole career. so he just took that bundle of tummy-tumble troubles and blended 'em right up! (metaphorically speaking, that is.)
"yes, hello." the first caller was all business. (it was three a.m.) "you say your blender can blend anything. i'd like to see it blend a shoe."
"sure!" the doctor said. this was cake. someone handed him a woman's shoe from offstage. it was the best blender in the world, so duh — it blended the shoe right up.
"very good," the caller said, as if handing out awards.
"can it blend rocks?" the next caller asked.
"rocks? no problem!" the doctor said, blending some rocks. he'd blended, like, a billion rocks before.
that day's newspaper, a ceramic mug, a deck of cards, a couple of light-bulbs, a bouquet of glow-in-the-dark sticks — you name it, he blended it.
the network was wildly impressed. it was the most watched pre-dawn show in the history of home-shopping television.
"bravo!" they said, like best friend network chums. cigars were lit and champagne uncorked. someone blended the empty bottles, just for shits and gigs. what a night! good work, everyone!
"but listen," they said, low-voiced, gravel-voiced, this-is-the-real-deal network kind of voice. "we gotta get this thing on the 'net. the 'net's the only way to go."
they meant the internet.
what could the doctor do? of course he had to agree.

so then he was on the net. they set him up with a little recording station, got him his own youtube channel (blendr775). "now listen," they said, and they went like this and leaned in close to his face. "the internet is a very exciting place. the internet is the new frontier. you can strike it rich..." (pause)... "but you can also contract a nasty virus from unclean gold rush whores." they stopped to let the metaphor sink in. "the people on the internet can be hard to please — very hard to please." they had all that chopped rock 3 a.m. doom in their voice.
the doctor wasn't scared. he started with the standards — dollar bills, a baseball, a bunch of pebbles and twigs. and the viewers, at first, were content:
so aewsome
HAHAHA wow that was kinda cool
dude, is there anything that DOESNT blend in this godamn blender?

within the week, though, they became harder to please:
THUMBS DOWN
fake and gay
riiiiight. what is the point of blending an ipad or anything else blended on this channel? just blend some fruit and make a smoothie you dick

they were cruel, they made impossible demands:
this guy has a blender problem when he has sex he thinks about blenders
blend iraq, and while ure at it blend a gold bar
blend a gun

"how about we step it up a notch!" the network said. "we're going the iphone way." they showed him a post from that morning: blend an iphone, douchebag.
an iphone? the doctor thought. douchbag? things seemed to be getting out of hand. if he'd had a wife, she would have agreed.
"stop this madness, steven! it's going too far! those kids are just using you..."
but he didn't have a wife, just a garage full of tools and old blenders and all kinds of blended doo-dads and pieces and parts. the quiet in his house was as thick and unappetizing as blended-up stew.
the iphone went up with a pop and smack. it was smoky, volcanic ash.
blend the bible
blend mein kampf
blend all of justin bieber's cds because nobody likes him
blend a bowling ball, dick
blend a blender blending another blender with all the stuff you blended in the inside blender

"the blender itself?" he cried. "the blender itself won't fit!"
but the people were like *fart noise* like come on, doc! you're not even trying anymore.
what was he going to do? he couldn't refuse them. his reputation was on the line. his reputation stood wide-eyed and gape-mouthed, trembling on the line.
so he did it — he broke the blender up into blend-able parts, put it in another blender, and then hit 'blend.'
there was a long internet pause. no one wrote anything at all. it lasted for a good three minutes, which in internet land is a vast, untarnished eternity, where every gesture drops droopy like this to the horizon, and every word goes shhh and just with its face, with its face alone, makes a sweet, quiet little song.
PLLLPH! **fart noise**
come on, fag boy! blend something real! blend us something we can write home about! blend us your finger, doc. blend us your hand, your foot, your face. blend me a facebook post, you fucking pussy. blend your own heart, "doc." blend your stupid, pussy, bitch-ass, gay, retarded heart.
fuck you. blend your heart.

alternatives to boycotting arizona that are likely to be just as effective*

(*and by "effective," of course i mean "ineffectual" and "stupid")

1.) rework all metaphors in current use that refer, in any way, shape or form, to arizona. ie, "a big rift has come between us, as big as the chulyshman canyon." or "she was a woman transformed, emerging anew into the world like a bennu rising."
2.) make out with arizona's boyfriend.
3.) don't send her an invite to your big birthday bash (everyone is going to be there, except arizona. the bitch.)
4.) to arizona's face, be all "oh my god, your hair is so cute!" and then behind her back be like "she is such a fat cow."
5.) put itching powder in arizona's underwear, or better, during math class slide a whoopie cushion under her big, fat cow ass.
6.) wear the same dress as arizona to prom, but make a big show of looking way better in it.
7.) or the worst? unfriend that ho on facebook.

you could also boycott arizona iced tea. or racism in general. me, i'm boycotting stupid boycotts that hurt the very people you are setting out to "save." if the san francisco city council wants to head a boycott against destructive trade agreements that are the reason why millions of people are pouring into this country (from all cardinal directions) then count me in. until then, here's a little note to this fair city:
"dear san francisco: you're embarrassing all of us. please stop."

this just in: your newspaper is retarded

i went to a restaurant down the street the other night to grab some food for my husband and me, and happened across an article in a local paper while i was waiting for my food. the article was on page A15 in the World section-- you know, the part of the paper where they put all the most important news from around the world? that is, the space allotted in each edition to the news that the editors find most newsworthy from around the entire globe? you'll understand my stressing of this point when i tell you the title of the article: "Guantanamo prisoners captivated by Harry Potter." i swear on all that is holy this is true. the subtitle reads: "Detainees avid readers of the series, eagerly awaiting the next book."
WHAT THE FUCK?! seriously, what the fuck? this is so WTF what the fuck that there are, in fact, two levels of WTF-ness about it. probably more, if i probed a little deeper.
WTF level #1: there's a library at the guantanamo prison?! who woulda thunk it? i'd have figured these guys were too busy having their basic human rights violated to spend anytime reading for leisure. huh!
WTF level #2: okay, let's role play for a minute here. you're a large newspaper in a major metropolis, with readers numbering into the thousands, reporters stationed all over the world, and enough ad space to buy a small planet. like most major newspapers of your variety, you dedicate the front page to breaking news, and the remaining fourteen or so interior pages to major news from your country and others around the world. however, while you are a large paper-- the largest and most popular in your city-- you cannot afford to give limitless space to the day's news. it's simply not financially feasible. therefore, you must be very selective about the news you choose to cover. from the hundreds of nations on the planet, you must sift through stories of war, famine, genocide, political scandal, global economics, social unrest, disease, corruption at all levels of government, etc etc etc, and from these innumerable stories, it is up to you to pick the 15 or so most important ones to print in your paper. you are, after all, in a unique position to bring news to the people of your city. so why the fuck-- and i'm willing to wager i'm not the only one asking this-- WHY THE FUCK are you wasting your print space on Harry Potter's popularity amongst guantanamo prisoners?! seriously, if you have an answer for me, i'd love to hear it, because i honestly cannot wrap my brain around such a complete and utter waste of my time, and the time of every single other reader of your paper. if you're going to write anything on guantanamo, how about dedicating a few lines to the overwhelming and abhorrent human rights violations taking place there?
oh, wait a minute~ it looks like you did. it's tucked in there somewhere, one just has to look for it. the article has a total of eleven paragraphs, in which we are told, among other things, that religion tops the reading favorites, but the Potter series is a close second; that the prison librarian's name is Maggie; that the prison has already pre-ordered the next book in the series; that surfing and fishing were the main reading interests of David Hicks, an Australian who pleaded guilty earlier this week to a charge of supporting terrorism; and that Hicks is, indeed, an 'avid reader', according to Maggie (who declined to give her last name). "He almost has his own library. He has quite a few items that people from Australia send him..." and so on-- and then, there it is! so small i almost overlooked it. "Former detainees have alleged they suffered abuse and torture [at guantanamo], charges the US denies."
oh really? the prisoners at guantanamo are being tortured? and the US is denying it? i had no idea. gee, thanks Vancouver Sun. your paper's been really fucking illuminating.

... sigh. all right. i'm sorry. i've been ranting. but it wasn't my intent. it really wasn't. you don't need that, i know. you just wanted to relax, do a little bit of blog reading before bed. you were thinking to yourself how much you just wanted to read something pleasant, something light-hearted. you were thinking, 'man! the world is a real shithole right now. what i wouldn't give to get my mind off things, to forget about the war in iraq, bush robbing me blind of my civil liberties, the fucked-up GOP screwing my kids' education in the ass.' but then you came here and had to read this? it's terrible, i know. it's like torture, is what it is. it's like somebody pulling all your fingernails out one by one, or having dogs bark in your face so you can't sleep, or having buckets of ice cold water thrown at you, just for the heck of it. and you didn't want to read that kind of thing. you wanted to read something easy, something fun, something with no strings attached.
i hear Harry Potter's pretty good.

because you begged me to put this on my blog

family and friends! hello! i know you're just dying to know what life in
canada is like, so i've graciously taken the time from my busy schedule to
put down a few things that might be of interest to you. in case you weren't
aware, i'm super popular here in canada-- the phone's always ringing off the
hook-- so my taking this time is just a small gesture of how much you really
mean to me, each and every last one of you (whoever you are, or think you
are). like i said, this is a huge sacrifice for me, so any praise is
appreciated. also, cold hard cash. cold hard cash is always appreciated.
gotta feed the monkey, if you know what i mean.
some notes on canada:
1.) i joined a choir! that's right, i joined a freaking choir. i know you're
like 'dude, it's about time. you have the voice of an angel, and i've been
saying all these years that your singing is an untapped goldmine.' well, i'm
finally listening to you, so shut up and listen to me. listen to me sing!
the choir is called 'solidarity notes' and is comprised of union members and
people in solidarity with workers and unions. no, that's not a joke. i'm
obviously not in a union (yet), but my husband is, and i try to support the
working folks when i can. i also love to sing, and believe (warning: crazy
hippie talk about to appear) that singing is a way to put more creative,
positive energy into the world. in fact, just two days before i discovered
this choir, i was talking to tavia (what's up, tavia?!) and i was like 'man,
when i move back to sf, i want to start a choir. a kind of urban singing
league. sing for social change, that kind of thing.' the next night~ i swear
this is true~ i was online looking for community choirs, and found this one.
i emailed the lady and she was like 'come on down!' so i did. since i
believe in synchronisity (if you will it, it is no dream) i was like 'oh my
god, this is a sign!' and since 'sign' is just a jumble of the word 'sing',
i had no choice but to join the choir.
yesterday was my first practise. i'm the youngest person in the group (one
old lady said to me as i was leaving 'we need some young blood around
here!'), and since invariably they all think i'm more like 20 than 27, it's
bound to be a hoot. they're all really nice, and made me feel super welcome.
i'm an alto. the director was going to make me a bass, but then i was like
'are you sure?...' so he made me an alto. anywho, we sing mostly protest and
worker songs. yesterday, we worked on 'more than a paycheck'~ which is a
pretty dumb song, if you ask me: there's a line sung by the altos (me) that
goes 'asbestosis, silicosis, brown lung black lung disease!' (i swear that's
true too) we also sang a song called 'burn baby burn'. this is real. i
wasn't singing at first, cause the only burn baby burn that i know is disco
inferno (not, for the record, a protest song~ at least so far as i know).
the director saw me not singing and was like 'if you're joining us for the
first time, just listen to the other members in your section and sing
along.' and since i was the only new one there, i knew he was talking to me.
so i slashed his tires later and wrote 'red commie bastard' on his
windshield in lipstick. okay, that's a lie. i don't wear lipstick. i wrote
it in the blood of union members.
we're also singing a song about che guevara. i like that
one best. it's kind of sad and mournful, but also a beautiful hommage to
some guy i've never heard of (che guevara who?). lastly, we practised
gnarles barkley's 'crazy'~ not because it's a protest song, but because the
director's name is gnarles.
they haven't asked me to do my first solo yet, but i'm just waiting. i'm
gonna take over that whole choir! it's gonna be mine! mine!!!!
(added choir perk: there's a super dope thrift store a block away from where
we rehearse, so that means that once a week i can check out the digs that
canadians don't want and for cheapo make them my own. canada is surprisingly
lacking in dope thrift stores, so this is a goldmine. like my voice~ a
goldmine.)
2.) we have a pet raccoon. well, 'pet' might be a little generous. mostly,
we have a raccoon that came the other night and went through the bag of
trash that we forgot on the porch. i didn't see him, but i know he was there
because he left a raccoon-sized and shaped paw-print out there, and the bag
of trash was all ripped up. (ripped like my biceps) we've named the raccoon
after our landlord, steve. we named him that because, just like the
landlord, steve the raccoon refuses to fix our oven.
(the oven joke? that's all tucker, baby!)
3.) i'm volunteering this weekend at the vancouver storytelling festival. i
found the gig online, and signed up for two shifts. but then the lady that
runs it was like 'hey, can you work till midnight on friday then at 8 in the
morning on saturday? i signed you up for eight-hour shifts.' and i had to
write back and be like 'listen lady~ i don't get up at 8 in the morning for
anybody, i don't care how good your storytelling might be.' then she called
me today and was like 'hey (no real greeting) i need people who have
drivers' licenses and cars.' and when i told her i don't have a car here,
she was like 'well, it looks like you're off the hook.' and she didn't mean
off the hook like awesome. she's freaking nuts, i'm convinced. i've got a
story for your festival, lady: you're freaking nuts. put that in your pipe
and smoke it.
4.) i might (might might, fingers super crossed) have the chance to teach a
writing workshop at a women's prison here in vancouver. tucker's friend
works there, and they need volunteers to come and teach the arts ('the
arts'), and i was like 'hell yes!' i'm going next week to meet the people i
need to meet (the prime minister, the queen of england, gnarles barkley) and
hopefully they'll be like 'oh my god, you're a genius! how did we ever live
without you?!' i'll let you know how it turns out. in the meantime, this is
something that i would love love love to do, so if you could give a
shout-out to whatever god you believe in, on my behalf, that would be rad.
i'll buy you a donut in return.

anywho, as you can see, life here is so exciting that all i can do is sing
and eat donuts. which is pretty much what was promised to me when i got a
degree in creative writing, so i can't complain. i hope you are all doing
swimmingly~ write soon and let me know if your life is even as mildly
interesting as mine is.
i love you!!!!
yours,
zipper

i ain't juicy fruit's bitch*

all right. i don't "blog" very often, as anyone can see if they peruse my blog. generally, i have much more important, rock star/rocket scientist things to do-- i.e. snorting coke off Mick Jagger's ass and testing the quinine levels of moon rocks and shit. however, tonight i was feeling curious (cut to me examining my boogers), and i decided to check in the ol' everybodyintheirunderwear, see if anybody had logged in. (it's part of this whole new vanity the-world-revolves-around-me bit i'm working on. i'll let you know how it goes.) anywho, some "dude" had responded to my last posting, saying that he found my blog to be "inquisitive." what the fuck. offensive? yes. full of bravado? maybe. inquisitive? my ass.
anywho, so i decided to go ahead and check out this guy's blog. supposedly, he's a park ranger who loves juicy fruit. i say supposedly because he writes, briefly and rather mildly, about his job, his passion for taking care of "his little corner of the earth." he also sends out a rather bland, politically correct merry christmas, "to those of you who celebrate." and then he goes on to say something about his girlfriend, soon to be his fiancee-- and then he actually writes "shhh!! it's a secret!" who the fuck are you kidding, bub? way to keep it on the d.l. that you are about to propose... 'hmm. i'll just subtly post it on my blog. she'll never find out."
anyways, alongside these personality-less postings, you can follow a link to the juicy fruit web site or read this guy's profile, where he pretty much doesn't say anything about himself other than the fact that he's a park ranger and that he LOVES JUICY FRUIT!! gimme a break. am i supposed to believe, even for one little second, that this is an actual person? seriously-- we all know that advertisers are prowling the blog sites, playing it all cool like "hey man! interesting blog! come check out my blog on fucking pet fashions and shit" (no joke: this is a real advertisement that i have seen on blogs). if juicy fruit thinks for one goddamn minute that i actually believe this guy exists, they've got another thing coming to them. here's an inquisitive thought: fuck off, juicy fruit. and keep your goddamn corporate advertising off MY fucking blog space. ya hear?!
*brought to you by Red Stripe Jamaican Lager: Keepin' Zulema Randy Since 1983.

secret confession

okay. i feel like i should tell everybody this-- just get it out there, get it over with. i'm tired of the lies, and the american people deserve to know the truth. this has gone on for far too long.

i'm the one who revealed valerie plame's identity. it was me.

i know it was wrong of me. i can never take back what i did, but i can come out now and just tell everyone what they need to hear, save the nation of all this trouble and heartache.
in my defense, though, that bitch deserved it. we were in the same sorority at cal state san bernardino, and she was always, always eating the last of my fucking nacho cheese dip. seriously-- every fucking time i'd buy a new jar, i'd turn away for one god damn second and there she'd be, orange goo all over her lips and fingers, tortilla chip crumbs spilling down the front of her shirt. that bitch was greedy as hell.
frankly, if you ask me, she had it coming to her. hands down.

the cold, hard facts

well, friends, the truth is finally out. i'm warning you now, if you are sensitive at all-- if you cry at movies or get weepy and shit when puppies chase chickens-- i suggest you stop right here. this is not for the weak of heart. or the weak of mind, so if you're stupid, just move right along. stupid.
as some of you may know, i have recently had a change in roommates. (that's not altogether accurate, but a blog about why i have not been blogging could be pretty boring... or would it?) anywho, my new roomie, who will go un-named, does extensive work in the pr industry. now, for those of you not familiar with this elite and elusive world, 'pr' stands for 'public relations'. that means my roommate goes out and relates to the public. i'm not 100% sure of what that entails exactly, but i have a feeling it involves a lot of nodding in other people's direction and saying things like "hey, how ya doin'?" and "nice weather we got today, huh?" anyway, this kind of work is by no means easy, but the perks are many: lots of free shit, including (no joke) beer, trash bags, do-it-yourself sex manuals, coffee mugs... the list goes on and on. along with a bunch of useless crap you could buy on your own, if you are on the inside track of this 'pr' world, you also get to rub elbows with some pretty fancy, famous people. and when i say fancy and famous, i mean high-maintenance and creepy. and, as any idiot knows (hey idiots! i told you to get outta here!), when you are in with the rich and famous, you are in with their secrets. i know this may sound titillating, but my world was recently shattered. yes, shattered, my friends. and i neither exaggerate or lie. (just ask my husband, the incredible hulk.) so here it is, friends. i bring to you the life-altering truth. the truth that will snap you out of your ignorant bliss and make you think twice about your naive world view. the truth that has you going "whoa, wa, whoooaaa", and then slipping on invisible pudding and falling on your bottom.
be ye warned. there's no turning back...

benlo... was totally fake. totally, totally fake. just a cheap trick by the industry to boost ben and jen's popularity and put publicity out for their upcoming film, gigli. a cheap, heartbreaking, fucked up trick... but true.
i'm so sorry to have to be the one to break this to you, like this, in this manner. i couldn't hold it in any longer, and i thought you should know. cause that's my job-- it's my job to be real with you. that's what friends do. friends are real and they tell the truth, no matter what. you hear that? friends are real! they don't smash their names together and fake an entire romance, complete with fake wedding plans and all! friends don't lie!

(oh benlo, you broke my heart.)