It’s exciting, sending in my application for “The Swan.” This could be my year. Last time the show’s producers said that I didn’t qualify because I’m, you know, a guy, so this year I subverted their sexist agenda by stating in my application that I am “a handsome woman beset by a lack of breasts and a penis-like appendage that my husband just hates.” And I’ve been brushing up on my “surprised weeping.”
“I just… sob… I just never believed… sob… that I could be chosen. I’m gonna be a swan… sob… a beautiful swan. Now chop this thing off of me.”
Before you know it I’ll be wrapped up like a mummy with half my ass injected into my lips. The glory, the sweet, stapled glory of it all.
Actually, I was stoked to see “The Swan” and “I Want a Celebrity Face” airing this month. Gives me a bit of the old Nostradamus complex, since my story of televised surgical freaks, “The League of Zeroes,” hits bookstores by the end of this week. It’s in the new Verbicide #11, which also features interviews with The Shins, The Descendents, and Tiger Army.
Not much news to report, now that I’ve begun work on my first solo novel. I’d tell you more but, really, I should just be working on it right now, instead of writing this entry.
I recently caught The Mars Volta in concert and I’m still trying to reconstruct my brain. People used to associate Zeppelin’s live shows with the word blitzkrieg. I’ve created a new word, far more devastating than blitzkrieg, solely to be used in describing a live Volta performance: Kramstacktanfronshein! Note on pronunciation- should be yelled as loud as possible in a voice so guttural it sounds like you’ve been drinking hot asphalt.
Are you registered to vote yet? November isn’t that far away. Especially if you live near wormholes. Not earthen wormholes of course, but those tear-in-the-fabric-of-time-types. They speed things up like Newtonian Mini-Thins. Don’t let a lack of registration or a time-warp stop you from helping in the upcoming (intensely necessary) regime change.
Also, I’ve added some cool new links on the Elsewhere page.
I’d say more, but I’ve got to get off the net. Somewhere out there, producers are trying to call me, wanting to turn me into a swan.I’m ready for the knife guys. Let’s get to it. Chop-chop.
Your Surgically Jonesing Bro,