| Jihad had a party and nobody came... |
[Jul. 11th, 2006|09:53 am] |
Dear Jihad (AKA "Holy War" AKA "Fundamentalist Cause"),
What's wrong? Why are you so cranky? What meanie bullied you around on the playground when you were just a baby jihad-- waging "war" on the handball courts, clamoring to get picked first to play dodgeball-- what did they do to you?
You're an asshole. You are fat and ugly and your cause is unpopular. And if it weren't for the fact that you slaughter innocent people on a daily basis, the rest of the world wouldn't give two shits about you. And you could go and do your jihad thing in peace. What do you care that we have free trade, free speech, and breasts on television? Turn a blind eye, Jihad, if it makes you so mad. Sequester yourself to your little corner of the world and do your thing. Bundle your women in oppressive, black garments. Don't be ashamed. (We all understand having a penchant for fetishes now and again.) Hoard your oil. It'll be good for us in the end-- when Al Gore, in his messianic feat of miraculous media messaging, destroys the infidel fossil fuel. Play your little game of “fundamentalist dictatorship.” This time you get to pick first who’s on your team.
Is it because it’s hot? The heat can get to you, I know. But here’s a tip—air conditioning. You, too can have it! In-wall air conditioning units from Target can be purchased for a mere $49.99. And now, with Sirius satellite radio, all those hours sitting in your cave can be that much more enjoyable. You can make all your wildest voyeuristic dreams come true when you listen to Howard Stern and Carmen Electra gets on the Sibian and goes a little crazy. It’ll be like a gigantic Jihadist frat party! And isn’t that what you always wanted? Just you and the boys—around a keg of beer, dehumanizing women for a good laugh?
If you want, Jihad—all this can be yours. But obviously, the rest of the world does not want to play with you. Nothing personal—but you’re a little weird. Ok, a lot weird. And you smell funny. And you kind of can’t take a joke. But whatever. Go do your thing, but do it on your own. Because nobody likes you. And they won’t. So just accept who you are and stop trying to get everyone to like you/hate you/fear you/be like you, etc. Go up into the mountains-- tucked away safe in your own delusional universe. At least there, no one will bother you. You crazy.
Xoxo (if you can handle it),
Me |
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| because rory kelly asked and i think he's nice and deserves presents but since im broke this is it |
[Dec. 2nd, 2005|09:10 pm] |
and it's as close to a present as anyone's going to get for a hellishly asshishly spicy long time. because the world as it is today makes me broke. also im a jew (or 1/2 of one). ergo... no christmas presents because the christ child was jewish and technically he doesn't believe in his own birthday. much like a jehovas witness. (p.s. does anyone know what they're actually witnesses of? themselves being a little anal, maybe? i don't know.) and why insult christ? he's a great guy in my book. i don't see anyone giving him presents for his G-d damn birthday. and ergo no chanukkah and no kwanza because george w. bush isn't jewish and it's his secret plan to wipe out all the jews (and blacks, probably) and thereby spoil all holiday spirit (and all the asians... who's going to go to their restaurants on christmas if not the jews?)
ANYWAY.
im simply killing time before returning to my behemoth of a thesis which is based roughly on this novel (that ive yet to complete, and sort of begun.) how totally self-aggrandizing is it for me to base my thesis on a book i want to write. im essentially adapting my own work that hasn't even been written yet. is that then actually adapting or just creating. im feeling a little too schroedinger's cat with this line of questionining so im going to stop. anyway. here: http://attemptedsagafied.blogspot.com
that's that.
i'm going to write a little bit about alcohol now. and how mike's hard lemonade is for pussies. and that is why, i presume, they have to have the word "hard" in the name. makes softies feel tough. also, maybe it's because there's not alcohol really in it and still enables guys to get hard, even after having a few. 5% alcohol by volume. i think pediatric dimetapp has more alcohol in it than that.
rory kelly... this one's for you. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 4th, 2005|01:47 am] |
mortar board application essay... "write a question of your own choosing and answer it." FREE CHOICE! those scholars should know better than to give me free range.
7. Who are you, REALLY?
Glad you asked. I am 5401280496, but most folks call me by my given name (which I can’t disclose but…) which means “strength.” I am a delectable mix of (just a few descriptive words) reader, writer, lover, travel-phile, music enthusiast extraordinaire, movie buff, secret admirer of Ari Fleischer (and other balding men in politics), dead author groupie, tree-hugger, ballot-lover, occasional couch potato, baker, hoper, dreamer, and person of small stature. I collect post-cards everywhere I go for the purpose of planning for nostalgia. I take at least three photographs everyday. I keep a journal in which I collect favorite nouns, verbs, and phrases. I want to see everything and I never want to stop learning. I want to be knighted by the English monarchy. I never shop at Wal-Mart. I am a hugger. I enjoy lists and random sentences and find beauty in the randomness of life. And yes. I do like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.
in case you were wondering... the verb i collected most recently that i love is "invite." as in... " i invite you to do your homework," or "i invite you to take that huge crap," or "i invite you to take a nap."
also-- i collected a phrase when i was in england that i recently stumbled across-- i believe the actual phrase is " a bull in a china shop," but i heard it as " a ball in a china shop," which i personally think is far more capricious and unpredictable. cause balls can bounce anywhere and something very small with a lot of momentum can break a lotta shit. nawmean?
anyway.
ciao roma! |
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| getting so boring in my old age |
[Feb. 4th, 2005|12:01 am] |
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having to watch the OC is making me emo. but mom/riverscuomo, i don't want to be an emo kid. it was so last spring. this season i think what's in is lesbian goth anime revival. but i don't think i want to be that either. my cousin is into that shit. gross. thirty-year-old men looking at cartoons of skanky women clad in S&M finery. supa cool. |
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| dont wanna be just another notch on your whittled bed post, mr. trebek. |
[Feb. 3rd, 2005|11:46 pm] |
am so procrastinating. lame.
update of the ... week? day? inconsistent time period within which i remember to update?
mishappenings o' the week hall o' fame:
1. accidentally wore dirty underwear THINKING it was clean
2. spilled a very embarrassing food combination on my white shirt. looks like i like something dirty.
3. forgot to do laundry
4. threw up
5. accidentally led a cheerleader to a young republicans meeting. personally. with a smile.
6. called a "she" a "he."
7. pretended to understand a nietzsche reference
8. lied about my age on accident
9. left bowl of cereal out in well-hidden but not well ventilated place. it's breathing now.
10. slept in my contact lenses and am now forced to wear dorky glasses because have pissed off eyes and incited riot of germs visible in giant sty on eyelid.
well done. |
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| where the dead come to die |
[Feb. 2nd, 2005|12:08 pm] |
Monsters. Aliens. Boogey-Man. Spinach. The dark. While this list of seemingly benign words appears mundane and even banal to the average adult, to the average child, all of the aforementioned words possesses the potential to send shivers down her spine and give her nightmares for years, even into adolescence. Such childhood fears play an important role in the development of the young as they often dictate habits and related anxieties into adulthood. As a child, my greatest fear manifested itself in the unforgettably grotesque image of “The Ice Man,” photographed in his eternal state of frozen morbidity on a particularly groundbreaking issue of National Geographic Magazine. The preserved specimen of a late homo Neanderthalensis called “Ice Man,” a breakthrough paleoanthropological discovery, helped scientists further fill in the gaps on the human evolution family tree. While considered by many scientists and scholars (and even the regular Joe Schmoe National Geographic subscriber) a priceless educational discovery and the very essence of historical serendipity, my eight-year-old self considered the Ice Man to be the most frightening image to ever burn itself into the back of my impressionable young mind. For years after seeing the frozen dead man on the cover of a magazine I had once cherished and loved (then post-Ice Man, plagued by nightmares and irrational fears that the “Ice Man,” would “come to get me”) I avoided National Geographic Magazine and, truth be told, I haven’t read it since. National Geographic and the Ice Man, paired together in some sick sort of death brigade, decided to steal my innocence in a traumatic experience that gave me my very first close look at death.
Which is why I was intrigued and even a bit shocked to discover that nowadays, as far as kids are concerned, death is cool. Not gross. Not scary. But “cool.” While visiting the world renown Body Worlds Exhibit at the California Science Center, my attention was not drawn to the glass cases containing complete skeletal cross sections of actual human beings, nor to the unique displays of semi-deconstructed human specimens spanning 4,000 square feet of the museum (what I had paid $9.50 to see), but rather, my attention was held captive by the reactions of the exhibit’s youngest patrons. I watched in wonder as young children frolicked around the exhibit, which is in essence, a near-surreal smorgasbord of hundreds of mutilated and pickled corpses. Not only were the children completely unphased by the dead bodies at ever turn, some were excited by the bodies to the point where mothers were forced to restrain their children from disturbing the displays with a reprimanding, yet with an oddly proud tone, “Don’t touch the dead man, sweetie.” And while some children were shockingly bold in their dealings with the corpses of strangers, other children were actually bored. I thought to myself as I strolled through the exhibit and remembered my first reaction to death with my friend the Ice Man; my reactions differed so completely from those of these children not more than a few short generations younger than I. Maybe, I’m alone, I thought. Maybe it’s not normal to be so put off by a dead body. Maybe I’m the one with the problem. Maybe. Feeling somewhat ashamed that I could not appreciate the exhibit praised by millions, I asked around among my peers and colleagues to investigate their reactions to the exhibit and discovered that among my age group and older, many people, too felt the inherent aura of weirdness while viewing display after display of plastinated human being. At the exhibit on my particular day of attendance, some elderly patrons, closer themselves to death than the younger patrons, disturbed by the light-hearted ambiance of the exhibit, whispered in hushed, almost concerned tones, “They’re really dead?” while nine year old children shrieked and scampered around the standing exhibits, giggling at the flaccid genitalia of the preserved body. So what’s happening? Are we as a society just growing soft in our old age? Or is society creating a new breed of child completely lacking the gene that provides for fear of mortality?
To the newest generations of American citizens, death is a thing of the past. Death died along with the threat of fatal childhood illnesses, the nuclear/extended family, and My Little Pony. And it is precisely this flippant choice to ignore Death, brush it under the table, or hide its skeleton in the closet that results in a blatant disregard for the sanctity of life. When the shootings at Columbine occurred, America wracked her brain, tore her hair, wailed, and cried out the seemingly unanswerable question, “But why? Why would they DO a thing like that?” And while many factors should be taken into account for a mass murder of any kind, this kinder-murder of an abhorrent nature differed. In adults, one can blame madness, hatred, or a veritable grab bag of psychological disorders for this sort of crime. But in children, healthy children, of good families, proper education, and opportunity, where can we point the finger?
For the last seventy years, every child born into the United States was born a “war time” baby and in the last seventy years, the United States has consistently chosen war over peace in all conflict scenarios consequently forcing new generations of Americans to live their entire lifetimes in a world where mass murder, mass genocide, and the atomic bomb are household words. Sensationalized media grubbers report death by the thousands on every channel on every station in every television in the country every day. And maybe the meaning of the word “death,” so far removed by foreign wars in countries with leaders whose names we can’t even pronounce, so far removed by gang wars in the ghetto in which we never set foot, so far removed by simple vaccines for potentially fatal yet preventable diseases (to those who can afford it), has ceased to carry the weight or meaning it possessed in other times (e.g. the Renaissance, the Colonial period, and any time pre-Penicillin). And perhaps along with the loss of the meaning of the word, “death,” the concept of mortality no longer exists in our mental lexicon. With one of the highest life expectancy rates (77.2 years of age for the average male), morality in the United States remains at a distance, far ahead in the future in the mindset of the average American. In Africa, however, where the average life expectancy for the average male drops below 33 years of age in some regions and where one in three people has HIV, mortality exists in a far more real, more tangible way. For Americans, the concept of mortality exists only in the back cabinet of our minds that we save for the mourning of the deaths of fictitious characters, ex-presidents, and relatives who we never really knew. Death is something that happens to someone else. Someone weaker. Someone poorer. Someone older. Someone sicker. Not us.
The American approach to death is one of caution and denial, especially when discussing death with our children. In the New American society, life is no longer witnessed in all its phases. The creation of new life (sex) is tabooed from family conversation and is relegated to sterilized sex education programs in high schools taught by gym teachers (who have probably never even had sex themselves). When pets fall ill or die, parents attempt to protect the psyche of their developing child by telling a “white lie,” covering up the realities of life with a Disney-ized version of the fate of the pet, like a permanent vacation to Pug Ranch or a trip to the ever glamorous Club Med for Goldfish. In more serious cases, illness and death of family members is hidden away in hospitals and nursing homes, out of the sight and out of mind from the family and the rest of society so that we can continue to live like we’ll never die. Fast. Frenetic. And very much unaware that the meaning of life is to live and part of living, in the end, is dying.
So when I saw a severed limb in a glass case labeled only “Right Limb Appendage,” and little children giggling and snickering at it, I couldn’t help but feel a sinking sadness in my heart. Had there instead been a sign that said, “ Here is the right arm of Germaine Williams, father of three and bus driver, who lived a full life of service to his community and died of Alzheimer’s Disease at the age of sixty-five in a geriatric hospital. Germaine donated his body to science in the hopes it might inspire some young person to become a scientist or doctor to help cure the disease he suffered and died from. He used this arm to drive bus, cook pancakes for his family, and hug his wife and his sons,” I would have felt a lot better about paying $9.50 to see these people, revered, respected, and honored. Not gawked at as if they were mannequins or freaks. Because in reality, they aren’t. They’re people.
The reactions of patrons at the Body Worlds exhibit seemed to me a direct manifestation of society’s perception of life, death, and its respect for both (or lack thereof). In its nonchalant displays of corpses, in its failure to recognize the reality of each of the human lives on display, the Body Worlds exhibit perpetuates an unacceptable and un-humanistic attitude towards life and death as the humans on display are robbed of their identities, whose lives become overshadowed by the cheap $9.50 traveling spectacle they have become. All because society chooses to forget that the dead were once living and that they are human beings. And someday, every one of us will end up like the Ice Man or one of the bodies on display at Body Worlds. And the harsh truth remains: you can’t be dead unless you have lived. So we must now ask ourselves, how would we, after our life on earth, like to be remembered? As “Right Limb Appendage” or as who we really are? If in the end, we as a people cannot respect death, how can we respect the life that precedes it? |
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| nana says |
[Jan. 20th, 2005|01:28 am] |
my new roommate nana on the 40 million dollar inauguration:
"40 million dollars? why don't they just go on over to Big Lots and get some paper plates?"
brill. nana for treasurer. |
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| frankly my dear, you're a bitch. |
[Jan. 19th, 2005|12:00 pm] |
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you know you're feeling combatitive when the license agreement on software installation appears and you immediately click "disagree!!!" |
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| i do like pina coladas. make me one? |
[Jan. 17th, 2005|01:07 am] |
it's times like this... late at night...when you're all alone and lonely and contemplating plastic surgery and second helping of unhealthy midnight snack... when you're able to step back and take stock. an objective observation if you will, of who you are and what you're becoming. with any luck, by age twenty-three, i will have become a mother of four, divorcee of two, pulitzer prize winner, contestant on jeopardy, and an increasingly crotchety, avaricious old bitch. but as of right now, these are my current assets. im going to send you my resume. but not actually send it. ill post it here. you understand that. right? ok. so here it is. my updated resume as of right now, 2005.
brigitte lauren munoz-liebowitz
junior at usc majoring in writing for screen and television
gpa- depressing.
personal statement:
while i have an extraordinarily long name, im actually a very short person. but don't let that fool you. i have many talents, hidden and unhidden. one of those talents is not pairing up antithetical words. i can however, make very good pancakes and raise one eyebrow at a time at rapid speeds giving the impression of extreme seductivity or stroke.
i have big dreams for the future. i believe that my cynicism and disillusionment with life has made me like the generation of ex-patriot authors like hemingway and... hemingway. and my general disregard for grammar and punctuation lends me an air of free spiritivity, a la william carlos williams and the beat authors.
(i kid myself, though. i use http://www.m-w.com on a more than daily basis. half-daily. quarter-daily. ok im an addict. in a sordid love affair with the men who artifically enhance my diction. they are like the plastic surgeons of prose.)
i bathe almost regularly and do not tolerate lint. i always separate my clothes in the laundry into whites and colors and use the appropriate washer/dryer functions for each load. i use fabric softener. liquid, not sheet.
i have good people skills. i always alert individuals to the leftovers in their teeth. i rarely tell someone the truth when they ask if i like a new haircut or if i think that they are fat. i use words purring, gentle words when delivering bad news, like "inadequate," and "there are three holes, not four, darling."
i have excellent taste in everything. i am modest. and while i may be ultra-sensitive (like your favorite condom), i am also strong and will take any fucker down who comes in between me and a girl scout with the last box of thin mint cookies.
ALTERNATE ENDING FOR SINGLES LISTING:
i enjoy humor and random, often odd and/or slightly disturbing romantic gestures. i enjoy traveling and seeing which state/country has the cleanest public defecation facilities. i like pina coladas. and getting caught in the rain. i also enjoy rupert holmes.
thank you for your time and consideration and i hope to be working with you and all of your dwarves very soon. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 7th, 2005|10:23 am] |
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usc won the orange bowl. surprise? no. probably they made a blood forged deal with satan. however, i saw toby maguire at the movies last night. i think that was god's way of making it up to me. |
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| premonition, prediction, possible litigation, and... alliteration |
[Dec. 23rd, 2004|09:07 am] |
usc is going to lose the orange bowl. why?
karma.
usc is the physical manifestation of evil in academic form. usc is worse than trickle down economics, worse than walmart, worse than... well... it's bad. and what goes around comes around.
after receiving my grades for the fall semester, the all to familiar feeling of rage/sadness/disappointment/and helplessness more commonly known as the feeling of "getting screwed in the ass and paying for it," returned ever so on-timely into my should-be holidayfully joyous bosom.
rather than beat around the bush, (i finally finally get that expression... it might not be the correct interpretation... but think about it... bush... BEAT... around... instead of getting right TO IT... do you get it now? what ELSE could it mean???) i will just say that THIS MAN http://www.theworkshops.com/catalog/faculty/index.asp?FacultyID=650&SchoolID=21
in sadistic coalition with the university of southern california, effectively ruined all my chances at ever attending graduate school, ever feeling like a worthwhile human being, and enjoying my holiday and eggnog and uncomfortable looking relatives DAMMIT.
i got a C in this man's " Directing for Writers" class which 1. had no syllabus 2. had no exams except for a pop quiz on which one of the questions was ' what was the score of the football game last night?' 3. had one major directing project 4. was a waste of fucking time.
now i like to believe im a pretty patient person... i put up with a lot of crap. academic crap. and this class... was crap. ask anyone in that class. they will agree. that class=steaming piles of bullshit at 1800 bucks a pop. fuck that.
instead of boring you with the details of why that class sucked and how much NOTHING we actually managed to accomplish in that class, i'll assume you're taking my word for it anad begin with the real meat of the post which is HOW BRIGITTE CAN SUE USC.
my most recent ass raping by tommy trojan has given me time to reminisce and recall the other times that ive gotten mercilessly and flippantly academically screwed by this conservative sports crazy monolith of a poor excuse for an academic institution. yes. i said it. usc sucks. don't let the bling bling fool you, babies. usc is evil. and here is why:
1. obvious reason. tution at 42,000 dollars are year and they aren't even in the top ten? who do they think they are? AND they're in the armpit of los angeles...
2. ratio of white people to non-white people. although the numbers say we've got color, the cultural and academic visibility of ethnic groups is extremely underplayed. rarely do you see an indian or asian student working an office or PR job for the school. they are, rather, given kitchen jobs. they have engineers working in the kitchen. instead of studying. cool, usc. cool.
3. the greek system. no offense to my darlings who are part of the greek system. im not saying it's bad. im saying it's racially biased. not your fault. just the way things are. just part of usc's man plan to keep the brown down.
4. starbucks and cocacola and nike. they own our asses. just try to find a pepsi or a reebok on campus. you won't. you can't.
5. TAs. TA=Dumbass. I've never had a good TA in my life at USC. Why? I've yet to discover the reason why but generally, I've discovered that TAs at USC are arrogant snots who don't really care or ever read your papers. they just assume that you'll be too scared to challenge your happenstance of a grade they accidentally marked on your paper while playing connect the dots with a sharpie.
6. administration/bureaucracy. i've worked for the ticket office for a month now. no check yet. i don't think i'll ever see one. they claim they're having problems with 'paperwork.' bullshit. the cinema office-- i've worked for them for a whole semester... no check yet. additionally, i'm supposed to report to the dean of the school when things are good/bad/whatever... he only pretends to listen. still actually...i don't think he knows my name. and i get 'paid' to do this.
7. inadequate libraries. never enough of the source material to go around. and while we're at it, let's talk about the ludicrously priced bookstore and how it costs 1.39 for a bic pen.
now you may be thinking to yourself, or to me, brigitte... yes, these are terrible and shitty things, but methinks they do not warrant a lawsuit. and to that i say ::RASPBERRY:: and "OH yes they do, muthafucka."
i am emotionally scarred. i can never love again nor trust an academic institution nor take another general education course in my life without the feeling of extreme paranoia. im incapacitated. if only i could prove that my high cholesterol and bed wetting is due to their inadequacies as a school... hmmm...
but honestly... all the aforementioned complaints have caused me a great deal of stress and heartache and nights of sobbing to my smarter counterparts who chose a UC school. for every grade i get, i have to fight. for every good class i take, there's one shitty one. ive wasted time, money, and sleep over USC. and now... it is time for USC to... um... lose to oklahoma. yeah. maybe. that might teach them. or an enormous class action lawsuit! who's with me?? i need to find a lawyer who can help me make a case. (right now i think theyd call this cass crazy vs. university of So. Cal) but i say it is they who made me like this.
so if usc does lose the orange bowl... i know it's wrong, but id secretly smile inside. serves the bastards right for spending more time and money on football instead of academia.
im a complete dork.
fuck usc.
UCLA RULES.
oh, i mean it, bitch.
anyone else wanna start a club? Screwed By USC Anonymous? or... how about, Minorities Who Got Shit On By USC. Or... how about... Death To Troy?
Also one weird thing... why did they pick the trojans as a mascot? didn't troy like... get their asses kicked in the trojan war?
morons. |
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| don't worry, my little pony... the welfare line really isn't all that bad |
[Dec. 4th, 2004|01:06 am] |
if i were a career planner and you came up to me and said, 'hey sexy career planner... i want to like... get a job you know?"
i would say... COME OOOON IN! cause i have some great ideas. recently i compiled a list for people to use as a resource when they 1. have their quarter life crisis and discover that they do not in fact want to be a systems engineer with a minor in sociecology or 2. they discover that they DO want to be a systems engineer with a minor in socioecology but discover that they are in fact shit at math and science leaving them with essentially no life skills. unless you count making a mean bowl of e-z mac a life skill. i do. in which case. that's a fantastic start. but just in case you're looking for other options... here's what ive got:
1. professional indigenous person. all over the world there exists a dire shortage of minorities. by becoming a professional minority, not only do you build strength in numbers for underrepresented people but you get the satisfaction of knowing that although you may live in destitution or extremely cold weather, you are helping the indigenous community thrive and remain indigenous. also, with the occupation come excellent accomodations. choose from igloo, hogan, or street corner (if you're a minority in any american metropolis). and what greater feeling is there when you pop out two little plump, caribou loving(eating), pudgy little eskimo babies?
2. professional revolutionary. many people are whores for cause. you can be, too! it doesn't matter what! if you can protest it, there will be someone out there with good mercenary sense to hire your ass to take on their cause. people who have become very successful in this career include maria shriver, joseph stalin, paris hilton, and elton john.
3. professional parking enforcement agent. like a secret agent, only better! keep the world safe and right by stopping evil doers in the midst of their evil doing. enforce parking laws by writing out tickets for the assholes who park two inches too close to the fire hydrant next to the water park. somebody's gotta be that guy. it might as well be you.
4. professional religious fanatic. everybody needs a religious fanatic in their lives. whether it be a neighbor, a coworker, an ex-lover, or a friend, professional religious fanatics are needed daily to represent the "woooo!" side of the sanity spectrum. provide useful information regarding hell and eternal damnation. make your opinions and convictions known about everything. extra brownie points in the afterlife retirement fund if it turns out you were right. commission on the number of souls saved per month.
5. professional inconsiderate bathroom user. what would a sporting event or trip to the local library be without a filthy bathroom? less enjoyable. that's what. and we can't have that. people needed on a daily basis to urinate on seats, forget to flush the toilet, shed mind-boggling amounts of pubic hair onto floor, and fart silently but violently in public places. temp positions available.
6. professional email forwarder. perky, cutesy people desired to forward email chain letters on to mass numbers of people who were dumb enough to give out their email addresses while drunk at the office chanukah party. even learn to create your own mass email forwards! some of our recent employees have created such mass emailings as the "I love you because you're my friend" chain letter and the "SATAN WILL EAT YOU ALIVE IF YOU DON'T PASS THIS ON" chain letter. work from home.
7. professional origami instructor. people with good teaching skills and love for colored paper needed to teach classes on creasing, folding, and the manipulation of paper into adorable and confusingly complicated animals, flowers, etc. health insurance benefites.
8. professional sexual harrasser. can be added a supplement to any job! simply allow your hands to wander over the breasts and genitals of co-workers of the opposite sex. claim they did it first. job-share available.
9. professional ebonics/slang inventors. new rap and ghetto slang needed daily to replace older and increasingly less cool terms such as "aight" and "homey." seeking new talent to tackle ebonics suitable for other ethnic groups including polish-americans, ashkenazi jews, and thai-americans.
10. professional emo kid. needed: people to constantly bitch and moan about the problems with everything. manic personality a plus. ability to go from sad and disgruntled to euphoric in a matter of one dashboard confessional song. side-swept bangs and a blazer a must. posers ok, but must come with references from other emo kids who you've at least been to one indie show with where you've pretended to be a big fan but only really known one song.
for more information please contact me, your helpful, friendly, and sexually appetizing career and guidance counselor. also available for coaching on relationships and for honest evaluations on just what really is the matter with you. |
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| has he lost his mind can he see or is he blind... |
[Nov. 8th, 2004|12:53 pm] |
so as per usual im a little behind on the updation. because of the overwhelming requests to "fucking update already, liebowitz!" this goes out to all of you fine ass bitches who love to waste time on the good ol information superhighway by reading my inconsequential blog.
although everyone has already made their posts in lieu of their peace with the outcome of this last election, i too shall make my two cents readily available to those who care to take the time to bend over and pick up the two pennies on the ground. (cheapskates!)
BUT. to switch it up a bit, i will instead express my sentiment and feelings about our current political snafu... in iambic pentameter.
so sad this poll of citizens results
the monkey who was let to play with guns
hath somehow hypnotized the land between
los angeles and secaucus NJ
why feels the population thus, that they
should choose the dolt who wields the penis sword
and not a man who ports the branch of peace
should choose the man who masturbated while
inside a box so he could please the boys
who too paid sums so they could cum at yale
and YOU MOTHERFUCKERS SHOULD HAVE VOTED FOR KERRY INSTEAD OF THIS WORTHLESS PIECE OF NATIONALISTICETHNOCENTRICELECTRICCHAIRLOVINGHOMOPHOBICSHEMANWOMANHATINGHALFWITTEDIMBICILE.
i got a little tired of the constraints of the poetic form.
and while i want to grab the entire midwest by the ping pongs, tweak them, get in real close to their faces, right up near their beady little republican eyes, breathe on them with my warm, heathen breath, and ask them... WHAT WOULD JESUS DO?
because it's the so called christian morality of this country that is forcing us to kill, kill, and kill.
"this is what happens when you give an eastern, peaceloving religion to barbarians."
to me the contradictions are clear: thou shalt not kill. what is that, like, number three?four? on the judeo-chrisitan top ten list? and what did most of the "christian" right vote for? i'll give you one guess (three if you're a republican)-- it starts with a 'w' and ends with thousands of innocent people being murdered for absolutely no cause at all.
but of course there is a cause!, you republicans might say as well you might. (ARE there any republicans reading my blog? i think i only associate with three... including my mother... so im probably preaching to the choir...)
but i have news for you. no. there is no cause. what is the thesis of the war in iraq? what are they trying to prove? that we have big airplanes and bombs that go "boom?" that we can pick on a country that could not so much as blow a metaphorical raspberry at us?
are we as a country trying to spread democracy as we would 'christianity?" do you honestly think, religious right, that jesus would be happy that although one is making the conscious effort to 'convert' these people(won't do you any good, btw),that you're doing it through acts of violence? making these middle eastern countries democratic won't help anything but your ego and delude you into believing that you're doing an awesome job carrying your burden, white man. and you, young christian republican. the man you voted for... if he asked you to go to war and break your precious commandments... thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's possessions, thou shalt not kill... thou shalt not put any gods before me... would you do it? who, then, is your god?
chew on that piece of pig lard the next time you want to use "christian" and "republican" in the same sentence.
because those very words offend me about as much as if you were to use the words "saint" and "hitler" in the same sentence.
pass the bucket of clorox and the king james bible. we're going to make these people into white christians if it's the last thing we do. and i do mean the last thing we do.
...danger will robinson... danger! |
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| bad voter. bad. |
[Oct. 13th, 2004|02:05 am] |
today i was sitting in anthro, quivering in anticipation for the stimulating and enlightening learning experience that was to come... today's lecture: australopithecus afarensis or "why berkeley is better than usc," when it happened...
a pert and petite usc copine walked by flaunting a maroon terry cloth mini skirt and a matching 'juicy' shirt... accessorized to the hilt and topped off with the most abominable cherry of all time: a bush cheney 2004 sticker.
never in my life have i felt what i felt... i felt actually...violent. i leaned over to my friend whitney who performed a duetto gasp with me. i shoulda tripped her when i had the chance... i thought. maybe if i had i could have broken her leg and she would have been immobilized and wouldn't be able to make it to the polls. .
after class i saw the girl again and was filled once more with the urge to rip the sticker off her bandaid of a skirt, push her into a bush, and run away laughing maniacally. democracy rules! but i didn't. instead, i tried to remember that im a christian. and good christians don't commit homocide for the sake of the government, patriphilia, or 'democracy.' or do they? (cough cough present administration cough cough.) but that's a whooole nother blog.
my current fascination with this election is the very simple question: are you kidding? i don't know what it is but there's something inside me that refuses to believe that anyone actually supports bush. the man can't speak (nu-Q-ler?... way to go W... let's see if i ever let you read a book to my kid...), can't debate (kerry is far more articulate and uses words actually appearing on SATs while bush regulates his word choice to those words appearing on the spelling list in the last issue of Highlights magazine), i personally do not find him attractive... so then... since elections are essentially based on personality, speech making abilities, and good looks, what is the attraction? and then i realized...
http://www.bocm.us/images/football.jpg
or rather, andy let me see the light. (although he probably will vehemently disagree with all of this blog except the articles and helping verbs...even these ellipses...)
america doesn't want a president. it wants a quarter back. why on earth would anyone with any shred of intelligence or priority give a good goddamn whether or not kerry can catch a football? (we all know that squash is the REAL man's sport.)
but to some people, ok, most people, experience with the 20 yard line is more important than experience with the bottom line.
something deep inside the heart of american wants george bush to be ASB president. the men want to be him and the girls want to kiss him in the locker room. america is so insecure-- i get the feeling that bush supporters feel that if they endorse the popular candidate, maybe someday, they'll be popular,too and partake in the victory spoils (beers and coke in a silver spoon bought at artificially low prices from wal-mart) and isn't that the middle class dream?
so to make a long story short... i tackled the stupid sticker wearing sorority girl. i grabbed her by her extensions, shook her head (listened for the rattling sound), ripped the sticker from her skirt...
(this might make a great pro-kerry skinemax special...)
slapped her face and said, " vote for kerry, you worthless piece of out of state voter!"
she only looked at me... i could see the emptiness behind her eyes, and said " ok." |
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| updation station |
[Oct. 12th, 2004|08:21 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  nostalgic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | la la la... i wrote that myself | ] |
per request from the cait, i am updating. why has brigitte not updated lately? you may ask yourself as well you may... and so i say to you... that brigitte has been robbed of time-- brutally pillaged for every last minute, second, fraction of time that might be used for extra curricular activities (i.e. eating, sleeping, showering, collecting sanity). but hey. what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, eh? right. i love that kind of military mentality. maybe i should become a general. can i have four stars? yes please. thank you.
in other news, i wish i was in europe. england, to be exact. and i think now is about time when i can be nostalgic and say, GODDAM england was fantastic... why did i come back? i should have hid in the tower of london and only come out to shout at the top of my lugs, " LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!!!!" and people would come from miles and miles to see the crazy american living in the tower of london. possibly i would develop rickets or scurvy, an overbite, or a case of biting sarcasm. you know... just to fit in with the rest of the british.
but for serious... the UK is amazing and if you haven't been yet, i suggest you go and never come back. not because i don't like you, but because i will meet you there and we will have so much fun you will say, 'brig... whoa. britain is awesome." and i will say,"i know. now... let's go eat some beans and toast and ride a double decker bus with some swedes in spandex."
i wanna go baaaaack. who wants to take me?
we'll have fun i promise.
come on. TEA?
parliament?
how can the word 'parliament' not turn you on.
im getting hot just thinking about it...
man. it's gotta be wrong to have these thoughts about an entire country....
im sure it's some kind of diagnosable disease. |
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| no dancery in this hateration |
[Sep. 21st, 2004|04:43 am] |
hey kids! did you know...
http://www.masters.edu
while in attendance at the master's college you sign an affadavit guaranteeing that you will not partake in dancing. dancing... oh yes. i forgot. that's the commandment right next to 'thou shalt not eat jell-o.'
yes. dancing. and its many evils. dancing has caused many a catastrophe in this century and the centuries of yore. why i myself have been persuaded to do sinful things such as the funky monkey, the watoosie, and the texas two-step. i have to admit, ive even... merengued. please forgive me...
...BUT I JUST CAN'T STOP THE BEAT! |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 15th, 2004|04:39 pm] |
you got a problem with this? blame paul. it was his genius idea.
...lunch lady my ass. you're a gang member. |
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| oh what have i done...? |
[Sep. 15th, 2004|10:57 am] |
just received the UTA joblist-- one of the most exclusive and comprehensive listing of jobs available to film/tv career seeking individuals (aka morons).
take a look at these lovely want ads:
Need someone to drive busy Writer/Producer’s two children to their school and pick them up. Also to accompany he and/or his wife on errands related to moving/shopping/etc. Potential to turn into a personal assistant job to this busy Writer/Producer who's working on several projects. Ideal candidate is very organized, reliable and fun to work with. Must have your own car
and a clean driving record. Email Stacey cover letter/resume s_bunch@hotmail.com. 9/1
Pacific Palisades Entertainer seeking personal assistant/bookkeeper to handle bookkeeping, bill paying, bank reconciliation's, family travel plans, schedule appointments and screenings, organize Holiday Gifts for business associates, help coordinate events. Must have great follow-through, excellent computer skills, positive attitude, good phone manners. please fax resume to Shannon 818-592-6363. 9/1
Executive/Personal Assistant needed for a network Senior VP of Production. Candidate should have aspirations to work in production, be a go-getter, detail oriented, punctual, phone savvy, good grammar, knowledgeable about restaurants, stylish, willing to work production hours and be present and fully committed to the position. Please e-mail resume and cover letter to svpasst2004@yahoo.com. Attn: Spencer. 8/20
wait, this one is my favorite:
Executive Assistant to Chairman/CEO of Santa Monica-based entertainment company. We produce movies, animation and TV in a fun environment. Must have industry experience (2+ years at a busy desk), thick skin, inexhaustible amounts of energy and a sense of humor. Looking for someone super-efficient to thrive in an entrepreneurial environment who loves dogs. Bi-lingual (English 1st / fluent Mandarin 2nd) candidates preferred. Send cover letter & resume to Kiley via fax (310) 452-0736. 8/18
mommy... |
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