Wordsmoker Anthropology – Your “Oh, Man, That’s Embarrassing” File
Published: August 16, 2010
Do you guys have that binder or folder or stack of papers in an old trunk at home labeled the “Oh Man, That’s Embarrassing” file? Old writing, from back when you were young and infinitely more adept at seeing the beauty of a perfectly worn pair of Doc Martens or a perfectly placed “fuck” in a poem that defined all that is wrong with the world? Maybe it’s called your “Goddamned Phonies” File.
Remember when you were a kid and you thought $7 was expensive? And then we all had to grow up and realize that everything’s expensive? Well, fellow Wordsmokers: we’re about to hit the Jackpot. A lottery jackpot. What would you do with the winnings? Take a year off and travel the world? Pay off your student loans? Buy a giant tub of Jell-O and hold daily wrestling matches at your mansion on Alcatraz Island? For this post, I’m going to say the amount you won is infinite, so as not to limit anyone’s monetary dreams. Taxes are already paid.
Of course, most of the Prince catalogue falls into this category, but we need to go beyond the Tiny Purple One. Not just songs that get you in the mood, not the foreplay ones, the “I need to grind up against a complete stranger right now” songs. I made a mix of such mood music to help me write the sex montage in the script I am working on, but kept having to skip ahead when iTunes hit a “mood” song rather than a “fuck me now” one. So I’d love to solicit the Wordsmoker community for some new ones for when I need to rewrite.
Oh hello. I’m still working on the beige shitbox computer so I’ll be quick before the smoke starts billowing from the vents again. Have you heard of Justin Bieber? I have. Well, my Bieber knowledge extends to the fact that I once saw him walking into a glass door. That’s it. I am aware, though, that he gets young ladies moist and maybe makes them practice kissing on their pillows or arms.
Urgh. I’m ill today, and because I’m a male it’s even worse for me. Other males will agree. I’ve been lying in bed (surprise) with a hot water bottle at my tummy (sexy) listening to early Ricky Gervais radio shows on my headphones, ignoring the cats and moaning occasionally (again – sexy).
Oh did you hear the 
Summer is on our doorstep, and that means travel. Mr. Marshmueller and I are serving the airline industry an Official Notice to Go Fuck Themsleves, and are traveling only by car for our multitude of trips this year. Not only is packing everything we need on the list, but so is coming up with the perfect playlist for being on the road. We have our favorites, but we’re thirsty for some new tunes.
Do you read books? You know – the papery things that Steve Jobs is trying to kill off between waterboarding Gizmodo editors? I’ve read a few in my time. I actually worked in a library for an undisclosed number of years, and let me tell you – libraries are fucking full of them! Well – they were when I worked there, now it’s probably all Wii Cooking games and flat panel monitor boxes you can search Amazon with because your local library doesn’t have a copy of Emily Gould’s latest “And Alan Said Whatevs”. I digress – I was having a serious editorial meeting with Intern Strawbs, and for some reason “Chicken Soup For The Soul” cropped up – a book distinguished in my experience as being the only tome I’ve literally thrown across the room in anger.
Oh hai! In between swooping in like a pre-emptive angel of death and killing innocent multiple-child-bearing commenters with great vengeance and furious anger over future crimes, I also like to enjoy other things, like books, movies and getting stoned then masturbating like a monkey in a lab. Stroking it while high and rattling my virtual cage, well – we’ll come to that some other day, because it’s what Jesus would’ve wanted and Easter is not a time to be talking about getting your rocks off HAHAHA EASTER JOKE WIN.
In honor of my corporate Rock Band competition (yes, we are total nerds), I wanna know:
Hey, America – did you notice that thing that happened yesterday? That’s right –
Well – it’s raining here, the cats are sleeping off a ‘nip party last night (they pretend they’re Irish when it suits them) and for some reason all the damned sparrows are going nuts in the garden, like something out of Stephen King novel SHUT UP YOU LITTLE BASTARDS I CAN’T HEAR MYSELF TYPE. Because of this confluence of disconnected events, I decided to enter my kitchen solely for the purpose of constructing a banana sandwich.
