(March 31, 2007)
M: So you met her?
J: Not yet
M: What are you going to do?
J: Repaint my walls. Buy new clothes, get a face lift, the usual.
M: But you don’t have to change, you’re good enough.
J: Oh but good enough isn’t good enough for me.
M: For me or for her?
J: For her for me.
M: What does she want?
J: I don’t know but I’m afraid.
M: That's not right.
J: Oh but it is.
...
M: Facebook makes all my friends look so small
J: We were special once.
M: I never understood, don’t fill in all those likes and dislikes.
...
J: Generalized anxiety or somesuch.
...
J: I’m spotting flaws in Bob Dylan’s vocal delivery.
M: You are intolerable.
J: What is the point? I get jarred every time I go up North.
M: Aren’t you tired of nothing making sense?
J: I still believe I can fight the world.
M: You’re a fook
J: God bless the fools. They refuse to accept reality.
M: I said fook, not fool.
J: Whatever.
M: I think so often a word spoken at the right time could change a person’s life.
J: At my 100th birthday, I’m going to get up and make a three hour speech. I will have every single guest stand up and I will say something nice about each of them,
M; Why don’t you just wash everyone’s feet?
J: That would take too long.
M: More than three hours?
J: Never mind. I’ve had it to here being where love’s a small word.
M: Neil Diamond?
J: Yep
Showing posts with label marilyn and john. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marilyn and john. Show all posts
4/30/2008
12/24/2006
Marilyn and John enjoy a massage
...a conversation between two people who won't admit they're
in love.
[? = my handwriting is illegible]
M: What do you mean?
J: Massages
M: Getting?
J: No, giving.
M: Aren’t you a
J: We don't allow touching here.
M: Huh? You're touching me pretty much everywhere.
J: No. I mean, have you seen people on the subway.
M: Yeah. They’re afraid.
J: Yeah. They have no libido. Calm as …
M: What about massages. You keep groping me.
J: There’s a knot there. And I need feedback. How else can I improve?
M: Yes, that’s good.
J: My hands are falling off.
M: That’s what happens
J: Do masseuses get carpal tunnal?
M: Why're we so afraid?
J: Who us?
M: No, people.
J: We’re two lovers on either side of a firewall.
M: Who - us?
J: No. People. You and I are more prosaic.
M: I don’t envy kids.
J: Huh?
M: There’s no mystery.
J: That’s been said.
M: Everything can be found. Makes you want to to go looking again.
J: When anything's possible, people tend to sleep in.
M: Very good. is that yours?
J: Yes - original.
M: Well done.
J: We need the chasm. The carrot.
M: Huh?
J: Stuff you have to jump after, pray for.
M: Nonlinear things.
J: Yeah. I dunno.
M: I don’t get it.
J: Keep it that way. Neither do I. And you’re so cute when you realize you don’t have a clue.
M: Is that so.
J: Charming you are.
M: What- a compliment?
J: It goes with the massage. I’ve got you here, chilled out, and I'm glad you've stopped biting.
M: Keep rubbing.
J: I want a fajita.
M: If people were listening to us now – what would they think?
J: I dunno.
M: Fajita?
J: they’d probly think we’re idiots. I’m constantly repeating everything you say, but as a question. And yeah I like fajitas.
M: Fill up space. No fajitas here. I can't eat Mexican on a full-body massage.
J: Fill up space?
M: We need filler time. Tempos con quesos. Cheese talk.
J: Bertrand Russell – The Conquest of Happiness
M: Conquest of who?
J: You
M: Shut up
J: Ok – of Happiness.
M: That’s better. How did he do it. Russell. The conquering.
J: Well he goes on about the value of boredom.
M: Boredom. Is my conversation getting too spicy? Mexicala m0uthiness
J: Well, overstimulated people tend not to accomplish very great things.
M: Really
J: Yep.
M: Well keep stimulating my shoulders like that and I won’t get outta bed for a week.
J: Me me me. That’s you.
M: I’m too much of a massage slut? What you gonna do about it.
J: About your slutty ways?
M: Yes.
J: I’ll keep rubbing until you reach liftoff.
M: I wish. But who will massage you when I’ve fallen asleep.
J: Probably nobody.
M: Is that why you give, so you can get?
J: We are what we lack.
M: Gord Downie.
J: I'm impressed.
M: And who am I?
J: Todd's girlfriend
M: Am I. So I am. A very dismal viewpoint. And what do you lack?
J: Todd's girlfriend.
M: But you aren't me.
J: I'm not so sure sometimes.
M: I lack massage.
J: The whole city does.
M: I’m selfish, I like your massages. I’m not a communist.[?]
J: Neither am I.
M: Then why do you want to massage everyone?
J: I don’t. Nice to ease the joints though.
M: You know what you really are, John?
J: I’m dying, please tell me.
M: You’re a combination of all the books you’ve ever read.
J: Tabula rasa eh. What made me pick up the first one then?
M: I don’t know.
J: And what do I want with you then
M: Well, I’m all the books you haven’t.
J: I reach for what I lack.
M: Yes. And keep reaching. And rubbing.
J: You slut.
M: Heehee
...
J: Something about being different on the internet [?]
M: Did what?
J: Made me feel small.
M: You are Hue of Borg.
J: Hue – who?
M: You don’t watch Star Trek. Never mind.
J: We don’t watch any of the same things any more. Don’t have to. The internet is an intensely personal thing.
M: Culture dies without consensus.
J: Yeah, and Star Wars replaced the Nativity story. I’m not sure what the internet gives us.
M: Lightning speed access to all the wrong answers.
J: Yeah. We can be dead wrong faster than ever before.
M: What would the Oracle of Delphi have thought?
J: I dunno. I’m so lambda?
M: That makes no sense.
J: Touche.
M: Yes, I'm being toushayed.
J: Massage. My hands are good for something.
M: Locked in a room with just me.
J: I was described as good at that.
M: What makes something good.
J: Harmony.
M: Like the Beatles?
J: It’s this tennis-match way we talk. Builds tension
M: Is that all it takes to keep interest?
J: Rhythm
M: What happened to harmony?
J: People should get married based only on longterm conversational potential. Find their life rhythm.
M: Yes
J: But I can play with any band.
M: Accompaniment. Stop showing off and keep massaging.
...
J: The big people in the world will always outshout the small.
M: Huh
J: It’s a fraud. Democracy. Far cry from Athens.
M: Huh?
J: The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversaton with the average voter.
M: Who said that?
J: I think it was Winston Churchill
M: You need more faith in people, John. They do what is expected of them.
J: The My Fair Lady effect. Julie Andrews. George Bernard Shaw, legend of Pygmalion.
M: Huh. How do I know anything? You read too much.
...
J: Oh I’m thinking of selling my spare iPod.
M: You with an iPod - you're such a sheep.
J: Go to hell
...
J: What if Todd was here, what would he say? How'd he defend his libido.
M: He’d be angry
J: Why're you attracted to him anyway?
M: Tall.
J: Huh?
M: Height. He’s tall.
J: That is so offensive you have no idea
M: Why? What's wrong with liking tall guys.
J: For the same reason me expressing my fondness for big-breasted women is offensive to you.
M: Am I offended by that?
J: At least a woman can get implants if she wants a bigger chest. A man is stuck with his height. There is no justification. It’s a Neanderthal prejudice.
M: Are you being a whiny suck?
J: Yes.
M: For a guy who makes fun of midgets as much as you do, I think you’re being a bit hypocritical with your outrage over my height preferences.
J: Consistency is a tall order.
M: Stop it. What will satisfy you?
J: You don’t want me to tell you.
M: I already know.
J: It’s not you.
M: …
J: Other people can’t make me happy.
M: You don’t give other people much credit do you.
J: I don’t know when I lost my faith in people. But no I didn't mean that as a pessimistic thing.
M: You disguise with niceness. But really it’s like all your expectations of people have evaporated.
J: So? My point is only I can make me happy.
M: Soon you will be a hermit.
J: Go to hell. It’s the green light I want.
M: What green light?
J: The green light at the end of the dock.
M: Easy, Gatsby. You read too much.
J: Not true – I’ve never read Shakespeare.
M: So what. Neither did Shakespeare.
J: Did what?
M: Read Shakespeare.
J: No but I’ve read Pope.
M: I don’t believe in the guy.
J: The pope is just a guy. Did you know Alexander Pope was practically a midget? Seriously - like 4'6". I guess you wouldn't have married him.
M: When I get the chance to marry the pope, I'll let you know ok. You’re doing great with the massage by the way.
J: Thanks for the feedback. I like to do a good job.
M: Who will notice if you don't?
J: I will.
M: You’re one of the greats, John.
J: Takes one to know one.
M: …
J: There is something about you that is carved in stone.
M: Funny, in the mirror nothing seems familiar.
J: Is this turning into an emo song?
M: No - I don't listen to cool music
J: Perfect foil. You’re the woman a man can…
M: Me? Not one of your downtown narcissists
J: I feel sorry for 'modern women'.
M: Why?
J: If feminism is genetic, then feminists are doomed to extinction.
M: Huh.
J: They aren't exactly out there getting pregnant.
M: Don’t be an idiot. It’s a cultural thing. It’s learned into society, you men are stuck with it, Deal with it.
J: Like a cultural meme.
M: Huh.
J: Exactly.
M: Stop it.
J: What – feminism?
M: No, get up.
J: ...
M: Thanks for the massage.
J: No problem. Where are you going.
M: Take a chair John. Now it’s your turn.
J: Rock on.
MERRY XMAS
in love.
[? = my handwriting is illegible]
M: What do you mean?
J: Massages
M: Getting?
J: No, giving.
M: Aren’t you a
J: We don't allow touching here.
M: Huh? You're touching me pretty much everywhere.
J: No. I mean, have you seen people on the subway.
M: Yeah. They’re afraid.
J: Yeah. They have no libido. Calm as …
M: What about massages. You keep groping me.
J: There’s a knot there. And I need feedback. How else can I improve?
M: Yes, that’s good.
J: My hands are falling off.
M: That’s what happens
J: Do masseuses get carpal tunnal?
M: Why're we so afraid?
J: Who us?
M: No, people.
J: We’re two lovers on either side of a firewall.
M: Who - us?
J: No. People. You and I are more prosaic.
M: I don’t envy kids.
J: Huh?
M: There’s no mystery.
J: That’s been said.
M: Everything can be found. Makes you want to to go looking again.
J: When anything's possible, people tend to sleep in.
M: Very good. is that yours?
J: Yes - original.
M: Well done.
J: We need the chasm. The carrot.
M: Huh?
J: Stuff you have to jump after, pray for.
M: Nonlinear things.
J: Yeah. I dunno.
M: I don’t get it.
J: Keep it that way. Neither do I. And you’re so cute when you realize you don’t have a clue.
M: Is that so.
J: Charming you are.
M: What- a compliment?
J: It goes with the massage. I’ve got you here, chilled out, and I'm glad you've stopped biting.
M: Keep rubbing.
J: I want a fajita.
M: If people were listening to us now – what would they think?
J: I dunno.
M: Fajita?
J: they’d probly think we’re idiots. I’m constantly repeating everything you say, but as a question. And yeah I like fajitas.
M: Fill up space. No fajitas here. I can't eat Mexican on a full-body massage.
J: Fill up space?
M: We need filler time. Tempos con quesos. Cheese talk.
J: Bertrand Russell – The Conquest of Happiness
M: Conquest of who?
J: You
M: Shut up
J: Ok – of Happiness.
M: That’s better. How did he do it. Russell. The conquering.
J: Well he goes on about the value of boredom.
M: Boredom. Is my conversation getting too spicy? Mexicala m0uthiness
J: Well, overstimulated people tend not to accomplish very great things.
M: Really
J: Yep.
M: Well keep stimulating my shoulders like that and I won’t get outta bed for a week.
J: Me me me. That’s you.
M: I’m too much of a massage slut? What you gonna do about it.
J: About your slutty ways?
M: Yes.
J: I’ll keep rubbing until you reach liftoff.
M: I wish. But who will massage you when I’ve fallen asleep.
J: Probably nobody.
M: Is that why you give, so you can get?
J: We are what we lack.
M: Gord Downie.
J: I'm impressed.
M: And who am I?
J: Todd's girlfriend
M: Am I. So I am. A very dismal viewpoint. And what do you lack?
J: Todd's girlfriend.
M: But you aren't me.
J: I'm not so sure sometimes.
M: I lack massage.
J: The whole city does.
M: I’m selfish, I like your massages. I’m not a communist.[?]
J: Neither am I.
M: Then why do you want to massage everyone?
J: I don’t. Nice to ease the joints though.
M: You know what you really are, John?
J: I’m dying, please tell me.
M: You’re a combination of all the books you’ve ever read.
J: Tabula rasa eh. What made me pick up the first one then?
M: I don’t know.
J: And what do I want with you then
M: Well, I’m all the books you haven’t.
J: I reach for what I lack.
M: Yes. And keep reaching. And rubbing.
J: You slut.
M: Heehee
...
J: Something about being different on the internet [?]
M: Did what?
J: Made me feel small.
M: You are Hue of Borg.
J: Hue – who?
M: You don’t watch Star Trek. Never mind.
J: We don’t watch any of the same things any more. Don’t have to. The internet is an intensely personal thing.
M: Culture dies without consensus.
J: Yeah, and Star Wars replaced the Nativity story. I’m not sure what the internet gives us.
M: Lightning speed access to all the wrong answers.
J: Yeah. We can be dead wrong faster than ever before.
M: What would the Oracle of Delphi have thought?
J: I dunno. I’m so lambda?
M: That makes no sense.
J: Touche.
M: Yes, I'm being toushayed.
J: Massage. My hands are good for something.
M: Locked in a room with just me.
J: I was described as good at that.
M: What makes something good.
J: Harmony.
M: Like the Beatles?
J: It’s this tennis-match way we talk. Builds tension
M: Is that all it takes to keep interest?
J: Rhythm
M: What happened to harmony?
J: People should get married based only on longterm conversational potential. Find their life rhythm.
M: Yes
J: But I can play with any band.
M: Accompaniment. Stop showing off and keep massaging.
...
J: The big people in the world will always outshout the small.
M: Huh
J: It’s a fraud. Democracy. Far cry from Athens.
M: Huh?
J: The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversaton with the average voter.
M: Who said that?
J: I think it was Winston Churchill
M: You need more faith in people, John. They do what is expected of them.
J: The My Fair Lady effect. Julie Andrews. George Bernard Shaw, legend of Pygmalion.
M: Huh. How do I know anything? You read too much.
...
J: Oh I’m thinking of selling my spare iPod.
M: You with an iPod - you're such a sheep.
J: Go to hell
...
J: What if Todd was here, what would he say? How'd he defend his libido.
M: He’d be angry
J: Why're you attracted to him anyway?
M: Tall.
J: Huh?
M: Height. He’s tall.
J: That is so offensive you have no idea
M: Why? What's wrong with liking tall guys.
J: For the same reason me expressing my fondness for big-breasted women is offensive to you.
M: Am I offended by that?
J: At least a woman can get implants if she wants a bigger chest. A man is stuck with his height. There is no justification. It’s a Neanderthal prejudice.
M: Are you being a whiny suck?
J: Yes.
M: For a guy who makes fun of midgets as much as you do, I think you’re being a bit hypocritical with your outrage over my height preferences.
J: Consistency is a tall order.
M: Stop it. What will satisfy you?
J: You don’t want me to tell you.
M: I already know.
J: It’s not you.
M: …
J: Other people can’t make me happy.
M: You don’t give other people much credit do you.
J: I don’t know when I lost my faith in people. But no I didn't mean that as a pessimistic thing.
M: You disguise with niceness. But really it’s like all your expectations of people have evaporated.
J: So? My point is only I can make me happy.
M: Soon you will be a hermit.
J: Go to hell. It’s the green light I want.
M: What green light?
J: The green light at the end of the dock.
M: Easy, Gatsby. You read too much.
J: Not true – I’ve never read Shakespeare.
M: So what. Neither did Shakespeare.
J: Did what?
M: Read Shakespeare.
J: No but I’ve read Pope.
M: I don’t believe in the guy.
J: The pope is just a guy. Did you know Alexander Pope was practically a midget? Seriously - like 4'6". I guess you wouldn't have married him.
M: When I get the chance to marry the pope, I'll let you know ok. You’re doing great with the massage by the way.
J: Thanks for the feedback. I like to do a good job.
M: Who will notice if you don't?
J: I will.
M: You’re one of the greats, John.
J: Takes one to know one.
M: …
J: There is something about you that is carved in stone.
M: Funny, in the mirror nothing seems familiar.
J: Is this turning into an emo song?
M: No - I don't listen to cool music
J: Perfect foil. You’re the woman a man can…
M: Me? Not one of your downtown narcissists
J: I feel sorry for 'modern women'.
M: Why?
J: If feminism is genetic, then feminists are doomed to extinction.
M: Huh.
J: They aren't exactly out there getting pregnant.
M: Don’t be an idiot. It’s a cultural thing. It’s learned into society, you men are stuck with it, Deal with it.
J: Like a cultural meme.
M: Huh.
J: Exactly.
M: Stop it.
J: What – feminism?
M: No, get up.
J: ...
M: Thanks for the massage.
J: No problem. Where are you going.
M: Take a chair John. Now it’s your turn.
J: Rock on.
MERRY XMAS
11/18/2006
Marilyn and John peeling carrots
...a conversation b/w two people who won't admit they're in love.
Marilyn: John, I’m not content.
John: Neither was Stalin.
M: Are you comparing me to Stalin?
J: Well your mustache is inferior.
M: You're obsessed with communist despots. And don't trash the 'stache.
J: 'Despot' implies a bad thing.
M: Why am I Stalin?
J: I reference him because of geopolitics, feminist theory, and these carrots we're peeling. It's hard to explain.
M: Huh?
J: I don't know.
M: You're nuts.
J: Ha, now I’m the one ‘stallin’...
M: My brain's wilting; stop. Can't we talk about life, love and inspiration?
J: These things matter to you?
M: Very much. My father’s uncle was a butcher. He taught me to get to the heart of the matter. That's what butchers do.
J: Nonsense.
M: No it isn't.
J: Well I agree, the quality of life depends on the liver.
M: Go to hell, John.
J: Zing.
Marilyn: John, I’m not content.
John: Neither was Stalin.
M: Are you comparing me to Stalin?
J: Well your mustache is inferior.
M: You're obsessed with communist despots. And don't trash the 'stache.
J: 'Despot' implies a bad thing.
M: Why am I Stalin?
J: I reference him because of geopolitics, feminist theory, and these carrots we're peeling. It's hard to explain.
M: Huh?
J: I don't know.
M: You're nuts.
J: Ha, now I’m the one ‘stallin’...
M: My brain's wilting; stop. Can't we talk about life, love and inspiration?
J: These things matter to you?
M: Very much. My father’s uncle was a butcher. He taught me to get to the heart of the matter. That's what butchers do.
J: Nonsense.
M: No it isn't.
J: Well I agree, the quality of life depends on the liver.
M: Go to hell, John.
J: Zing.
9/05/2006
Marilyn and John Drink Their Faces Off
...a conversation b/w two people who won't admit they're in love
(read this only if you are drunk)
Marilyn: Pass the bottle. I’m doing my best fish
J: What’s your deal, why the drinkies?
M: You won’t believe the shitty day I had
J: Did it involve spandex?
M: No – that would have been much worse.
J: What happened?
M: Nothing. Everything.
J: This is something to do with Todd. Cut him loose like a chicken that won’t let go.
M: Chickens are rarely tenacious; this is more about the world and the people in it. I can’t see myself ever being happy.
J: You should learn how to whistle.
M: Whistle?
J: Yeah, some big-band jazz. Make your hips move like they should.
M: Huh?
J: Girlfriend you gots to let loose. I know this woman, she can peel a grape with her tongue. Man, she fine. I can set up an appointment.
M: John, why do men lie? And stop talking like an Oprah flunky.
J: Men lie because women force them to. Why do women set standards for behaviour? Oprah reminds me of delicious chocolate pudding, 5 feet tall but squawks like a feminist.
M: Seriously why do they lie? Today Todd said I look fabulous, but I know I've gained 2 pounds in the last three months.
J: Whoa Betty, your boobs are busting out!
M: Who’s Betty. Stop with that country twang. You aren’t Merle Haggard and I’m getting fat. Pass me the bottle.
J: Here, North Korean snake liquor. My cousin bought a bottle when he went there to get brainwashed.
M: That’s disgusting. Where’s the shot glass. North Korea? Is he a communist?
J: It’s buried in the folds of your neck. Two whole pounds? Holy crap. No wait, it’s on the edge of the chair.
M: Thanks. Now pour.
J: No he’s more of an international observer. Like Marvin the Martian. He went to Pyongyang to be like Kim Jong Il; to take credit for everything. Did you hear Kim Jong keeps winning the North Korean lottery? So damn lucky.
M: So this is made from snake’s blood? I’ll vomit within the hour.
J: Not from snake actually, just regular awful liquor. The snake adds danger: the venom seeps into the liquid. Too much could paralyse the drinker I'm told.
M: Ugh, I don’t do paralysis. Steve Irwin - he just died from a stingray.
J: Stingray?
M: Sting from a stingray stinger. Stingrays - that shit'll kill you. But let’s talk about you, John. You haven’t got a girlfriend. What’s wrong? You need tips from the expert.
J: Is it because I don't shave my pits? Also I don’t have a real job. Nonetheless, I need tips from you like a werewolf needs hair plugs.
M: Shave your pits, TeenWolf, then get a job.
J: Yes.
M: Isn’t that the 6th commandment?
J: What - Thou Shalt Lay Barren The Underarm?
M: Ha.
J: Moses shaved his pits, I guarantee it.
M: I thought Moses was a picker. You remember – from Seinfeld. I love the one with the Pick
J: "If we pick, do we not bleed?"
M: This Korean shit tastes awful. Snakes don’t do drinky. Tell your cousin I just swallowed Kim Jong Il’s urine.
J: Ok, I have a bottle of vodka, vintage LCBO. Kim Jong’s Ontario counterparts.
M: Got OJ? The throbbing in my soul needs booze.
J: Booze equals depressant. You’re sad because you're drinking
M: I’m sad cuz I’m fat and no one loves me.
J: You're not fat you idiot, and everyone loves you. Todd does, in his weird perverted way. Even though I hate him. Where's that vodka? Ah.
M: You hate Todd? I thought you loathed him.
J: Actually loathe is stronger than hate. I measured it on the Hitler scale. Ok... got it opened!
M: You can’t say 'Hitler', asshole - you just offended half the world.
J: Why not? Do you love him? Who are you – Mrs. Hitler?
M: You’re not Hitler, you’re Shitler. I'm gonna belt you in the nuts. Now pour.
J: A slow comfortable screw. Like in the movies.
M: Which movie?
J: Porky’s 5
M: You idiot.
J: Or is it from Raiders of the Lost Ark. A movie about Nazis coincidentally.
M: Shut up. So, Todd is an ass, but it's ok because I got the new Johnny Cash album.
J: Cash has been dead for three years. Now who’s being cruel?
M: This is posthumous; it’s called A Hundred Highways. Cash laid down the vocals and Rick Rubin’s musicians did the rest, except years later.
J: Any good?
M: Can’t go wrong with Cash. He’s better than real cash, as in dollar bills.
J: The man had skills. Maybe he'll teach you about love.
M: Don’t worry, he teaches me about my soul.
J: You have a soul? I thought you were a Turing automaton.
M: I have a soul.
J: Yes, and a horrendous body mass problem, according to you. But you’re still goodlooking. I’m surprised Todd isn’t ecstatic - two pounds more to love.
M: Shut up. How fat is Kim Jong Il?
J: Huh?
M: Well I figure most dictators are fat and lazy.
J: Not at all. I’ll confirm with my cousin, but apparently Kim works out religiously.
M: They’re communist, John - they don’t have religion. Ideology has taken the place of God.
J: Ain't politics a nutty thing.
M: What do you mean. This screwdriver ain't strong enough. You know what to do:
J: What?
M: Pour.
J: Pour? I mean politics influences our every breath.
M: Pour
J: Only if you say por favor
M: "Pour like a whore with an open door."
J: What?
M: My old bartending roommate used to say that: "Pour like a whore with an open door." Many stupid catchphrases get thought up at the end of a 2am shift. Doesn't make sense.
J: Bartending verbiage, nice. So when are you dumping Todd? I’ll move in on his turf like the Portuguese in Little Italy. You fine, plumpy.
M: Huh? That accent again.
J: You’re too good for him
M: Get a job and I’ll date you.
J: Get some self-confidence and I’ll hug you. If I can get my arms around those two extra pounds that is.
M: Go to hell.
J: I do love you of course
M: Why do we insult each other?
J: We’re bitter about missing the offramp to love.
M: Really. So where are we now?
J: Stuck in the express lane to lifelong loneliness. And you got into an accident at Mile 115 – at the massive Fattass Spinster Monument.
M: And how.
J: You’re locked into that monument with a hypnotic gaze.
M: That is disturbing.
J: We have so much pent-up resentment, alienation, all that shit caused by technology and the postmodern psychosis.
M: Now you’re talkin like wacked out North Korean philosophe.
J: And you’re shakin' like a bowlful of jelly. But I like the way your eyes shine when you smile.
M: That’s the nicest thing you ever-
J: Dammit I say nice things all the time. Just wish you’d listen. Not obsess about your goddamn navel
M: I haven’t even mentioned my navel!
J: You were about to. I could tell, you were massively perspiring. It’s a cry for attention.
M: What, being sweaty?
J: No, writing your navel.
M: Of course. I have to express all that is. The world will admire me for my personality and intellect.
J: The world will admire you more if you could push yourself away from the dessert cart. If we lived in the Age of Miracle Prosthetics I could buy you some longer arms.
M: Longer arms?
J: First I’d have to amputate the existing ones. You averse to gangrenous agents? Chemical Ali used em on the Kurds.
M: The Kurds?
J: Yeah the Kurds. Now there’s a crew that gums up the works. Feisty, admirable bunch.
M: What the hell does that mean?
J: Nothing as usual, now pour.
(to be continued)
(read this only if you are drunk)
Marilyn: Pass the bottle. I’m doing my best fish
J: What’s your deal, why the drinkies?
M: You won’t believe the shitty day I had
J: Did it involve spandex?
M: No – that would have been much worse.
J: What happened?
M: Nothing. Everything.
J: This is something to do with Todd. Cut him loose like a chicken that won’t let go.
M: Chickens are rarely tenacious; this is more about the world and the people in it. I can’t see myself ever being happy.
J: You should learn how to whistle.
M: Whistle?
J: Yeah, some big-band jazz. Make your hips move like they should.
M: Huh?
J: Girlfriend you gots to let loose. I know this woman, she can peel a grape with her tongue. Man, she fine. I can set up an appointment.
M: John, why do men lie? And stop talking like an Oprah flunky.
J: Men lie because women force them to. Why do women set standards for behaviour? Oprah reminds me of delicious chocolate pudding, 5 feet tall but squawks like a feminist.
M: Seriously why do they lie? Today Todd said I look fabulous, but I know I've gained 2 pounds in the last three months.
J: Whoa Betty, your boobs are busting out!
M: Who’s Betty. Stop with that country twang. You aren’t Merle Haggard and I’m getting fat. Pass me the bottle.
J: Here, North Korean snake liquor. My cousin bought a bottle when he went there to get brainwashed.
M: That’s disgusting. Where’s the shot glass. North Korea? Is he a communist?
J: It’s buried in the folds of your neck. Two whole pounds? Holy crap. No wait, it’s on the edge of the chair.
M: Thanks. Now pour.
J: No he’s more of an international observer. Like Marvin the Martian. He went to Pyongyang to be like Kim Jong Il; to take credit for everything. Did you hear Kim Jong keeps winning the North Korean lottery? So damn lucky.
M: So this is made from snake’s blood? I’ll vomit within the hour.
J: Not from snake actually, just regular awful liquor. The snake adds danger: the venom seeps into the liquid. Too much could paralyse the drinker I'm told.
M: Ugh, I don’t do paralysis. Steve Irwin - he just died from a stingray.
J: Stingray?
M: Sting from a stingray stinger. Stingrays - that shit'll kill you. But let’s talk about you, John. You haven’t got a girlfriend. What’s wrong? You need tips from the expert.
J: Is it because I don't shave my pits? Also I don’t have a real job. Nonetheless, I need tips from you like a werewolf needs hair plugs.
M: Shave your pits, TeenWolf, then get a job.
J: Yes.
M: Isn’t that the 6th commandment?
J: What - Thou Shalt Lay Barren The Underarm?
M: Ha.
J: Moses shaved his pits, I guarantee it.
M: I thought Moses was a picker. You remember – from Seinfeld. I love the one with the Pick
J: "If we pick, do we not bleed?"
M: This Korean shit tastes awful. Snakes don’t do drinky. Tell your cousin I just swallowed Kim Jong Il’s urine.
J: Ok, I have a bottle of vodka, vintage LCBO. Kim Jong’s Ontario counterparts.
M: Got OJ? The throbbing in my soul needs booze.
J: Booze equals depressant. You’re sad because you're drinking
M: I’m sad cuz I’m fat and no one loves me.
J: You're not fat you idiot, and everyone loves you. Todd does, in his weird perverted way. Even though I hate him. Where's that vodka? Ah.
M: You hate Todd? I thought you loathed him.
J: Actually loathe is stronger than hate. I measured it on the Hitler scale. Ok... got it opened!
M: You can’t say 'Hitler', asshole - you just offended half the world.
J: Why not? Do you love him? Who are you – Mrs. Hitler?
M: You’re not Hitler, you’re Shitler. I'm gonna belt you in the nuts. Now pour.
J: A slow comfortable screw. Like in the movies.
M: Which movie?
J: Porky’s 5
M: You idiot.
J: Or is it from Raiders of the Lost Ark. A movie about Nazis coincidentally.
M: Shut up. So, Todd is an ass, but it's ok because I got the new Johnny Cash album.
J: Cash has been dead for three years. Now who’s being cruel?
M: This is posthumous; it’s called A Hundred Highways. Cash laid down the vocals and Rick Rubin’s musicians did the rest, except years later.
J: Any good?
M: Can’t go wrong with Cash. He’s better than real cash, as in dollar bills.
J: The man had skills. Maybe he'll teach you about love.
M: Don’t worry, he teaches me about my soul.
J: You have a soul? I thought you were a Turing automaton.
M: I have a soul.
J: Yes, and a horrendous body mass problem, according to you. But you’re still goodlooking. I’m surprised Todd isn’t ecstatic - two pounds more to love.
M: Shut up. How fat is Kim Jong Il?
J: Huh?
M: Well I figure most dictators are fat and lazy.
J: Not at all. I’ll confirm with my cousin, but apparently Kim works out religiously.
M: They’re communist, John - they don’t have religion. Ideology has taken the place of God.
J: Ain't politics a nutty thing.
M: What do you mean. This screwdriver ain't strong enough. You know what to do:
J: What?
M: Pour.
J: Pour? I mean politics influences our every breath.
M: Pour
J: Only if you say por favor
M: "Pour like a whore with an open door."
J: What?
M: My old bartending roommate used to say that: "Pour like a whore with an open door." Many stupid catchphrases get thought up at the end of a 2am shift. Doesn't make sense.
J: Bartending verbiage, nice. So when are you dumping Todd? I’ll move in on his turf like the Portuguese in Little Italy. You fine, plumpy.
M: Huh? That accent again.
J: You’re too good for him
M: Get a job and I’ll date you.
J: Get some self-confidence and I’ll hug you. If I can get my arms around those two extra pounds that is.
M: Go to hell.
J: I do love you of course
M: Why do we insult each other?
J: We’re bitter about missing the offramp to love.
M: Really. So where are we now?
J: Stuck in the express lane to lifelong loneliness. And you got into an accident at Mile 115 – at the massive Fattass Spinster Monument.
M: And how.
J: You’re locked into that monument with a hypnotic gaze.
M: That is disturbing.
J: We have so much pent-up resentment, alienation, all that shit caused by technology and the postmodern psychosis.
M: Now you’re talkin like wacked out North Korean philosophe.
J: And you’re shakin' like a bowlful of jelly. But I like the way your eyes shine when you smile.
M: That’s the nicest thing you ever-
J: Dammit I say nice things all the time. Just wish you’d listen. Not obsess about your goddamn navel
M: I haven’t even mentioned my navel!
J: You were about to. I could tell, you were massively perspiring. It’s a cry for attention.
M: What, being sweaty?
J: No, writing your navel.
M: Of course. I have to express all that is. The world will admire me for my personality and intellect.
J: The world will admire you more if you could push yourself away from the dessert cart. If we lived in the Age of Miracle Prosthetics I could buy you some longer arms.
M: Longer arms?
J: First I’d have to amputate the existing ones. You averse to gangrenous agents? Chemical Ali used em on the Kurds.
M: The Kurds?
J: Yeah the Kurds. Now there’s a crew that gums up the works. Feisty, admirable bunch.
M: What the hell does that mean?
J: Nothing as usual, now pour.
(to be continued)
7/05/2006
Marilyn and John Share a Bottle of Wine
...a conversation between two people who won't admit they're in love
(printed in Queen's Journal, October 2001)
John: So what are we drinking this time?
Marilyn: It’s a Merlot. I think that means it’s French or something
John: I think you’re wrong--aren’t there Chilean Merlots? The last time I went to
M: ‘To evil’… [clinks glass, sips, swallows, pauses] You liar. You’ve never been to
J: Enough to know half a bottle of this wine will make me horny.
M: Keep yourself zipped--mouth and fly, please.
J: [pauses, sips] Nothing like a little Merlot to cleanse the palette, clear the air, and wipe away the inhibitions. In vino veritas. Check that. I ought to say In vino, ‘chance-for-ass’.
M: You better stop right there, stallion.
J: [pauses, blinks, laughs] God forgive me. I’m already drunk, aren’t I?
M: Yes you are. Behave yourself. I’m a respectable dame, not one of your Mac-Corry floozies.
J: “Floozies”?… Why, how dare you impugn the reputation of those fine ladies of the Daddy-Mac! They study hard, and, dammit, they play hard.
M: [laughing] I’m serious. Behave. I’m whipping out the yellow card--I don’t care if you are an Italian superstar.
J: Oh, c’mon! It’s just a bottle of wine between friends. We’re friends, right? You’re overestimating my depravity, Marilyn. Don’t tell me Todd is gonna get jealous if I slip a little
M: [sips from glass] Shuh-riz?
J: No, Shir-az. It’s for ‘strong, direct, men’. That’s what the wine list says.
M: You, John, are neither strong nor direct. Why would you need an entire bottle of wine to seduce me, if you consider yourself such a man-beast?
J: [laughing] Ohhh, “man-beast”! I like that one. That’s what they used to call me in grade six: Johnny Man-Beast. [pauses, raises glass, sips] Does the wine get you going?
M: No comment. I’m not going to encourage you.
J: But we both enjoy wine! God, Marilyn, we have so much in common--you, me, and the human race. Let’s stop kidding ourselves, and start having babies! C’mon, put your glass down. [makes sweeping movement with his hand] Why wait? This table will do nicely.
M: [blushes, laughs] There it is—the depravity! …As reliable as death and taxis. [laughs] I mean death and taxes.
J:[under his breath] Now who’s getting drunk?
M: I think I am. A clear case of John-induced depravity.
J: Depravity? What depravity?
M: Your depravity.
J: I’m the good Catholic boy, remember? God, Marilyn, for someone of your heathenish background, you sure do blush easily. Don’t you ever have any fun, Ms. Trudy Prude-y?
M: Me, a ‘Trudy Prude-y’? As if. Todd snaps his fingers and I come a-runnin’. No need for vino, Gino. Just a big hunka burnin’ Latino. That’s what gets me going. [barks like a dog]
J: That, my dear, is gross. And you, my dear, are loaded. And now I’m blushing… you probably shouldn't be telling how easy you are.
M: I’m not easy. I’m just hot for my Latino boyfriend! [laughs, clearly drunk].
J: Todd? He’s Latino? You gotta be kidding.
M: [laughing] No, not kidding.
J: No way--I thought for sure that I had the market cornered on Marilyn’s hot-blooded dark-eyed Romance-language love interests. What’s his last name?
M: Get this—it’s Poncedeleone. It’s his great-great-grandfather’s name… Todd Poncedeleone. Can you beat it? He’s one-sixteenth Paraguayan—but I am sure I’ve told you that about Todd before.
J: It’s possible, I suppose. I must have got him confused with all your other fractionally-Paraguayan friends named Ponce de Leon. [grins]
M: Shut up, idiot. [throws crumpled napkin in his direction. It misses by a foot] At least I can remember things about your life that you tell me. [raising her voice] Like how you have to eat the outside crusts of all your sandwhiches before you move on to the middle part of the bread--What did you call it, John? A ‘nervous childhood habit’? Let’s hope that’s the only nervous childhood habit you have left…
J: Lay off my childhood. Are you implying I still wet the bed?
M: [pauses, leans forward] Do you?
J: You’ll find out tomorrow morning, won’t you? Wink wink, nudge nudge.
[they both laugh] Oh my, that’s just gross. [pauses, looks around] But that reminds me, where are the washrooms in this place?
M: In the back, by the round thingy in the corner.
J: [sees the ‘round thingy’ in the corner, gets up] Excuse me, dear. I have to pee. [leaves for washroom]
J: Broke the seal? Heck, I practically clubbed it to death and sold the fur to the Dutch Overseas Trading Company! [grins in self-satisfaction]
M: You’re a sick bastard, John.
J: Would you ever go out with me, Marilyn?
M: I could probably marry you, John. But I would never want to be your girlfriend.
J: What’s that supposed to mean? I thought I was the one who spoke in riddles.
M: Is it really a riddle?
J: Is that the question?
M: You just got your answer.
J: Marry me? You sound like you’re ninety-five percent serious about that.
M: Nope. Off by three.
J: Ninety-two?
M: Guess again. Ninety-eight.
[they both pause]
J: Off by two per cent. Dammit. I was almost perfect.
M: And why are you so worried about being perfect?
J: Why do I want to be perfect? Isn’t it obvious? Why would anyone like anyone, unless they were perfect?
M: Perfection is boring.
J: You are not boring, that’s for certain.
M: And you certainly are not perfect.
J: I know, I know. Say it again. [grins stupidly] It’s just so hard to believe
M: [serious] You’re not perfect, John.
J: Ok, don’t rub it in.
M: You aren’t perfect, and I think it bothers you.
J: Are you being serious?
M: One hundred per cent
J: I wish you wouldn’t be. I’m trying to get you drunk.
M: I wish you had more faith in yourself. I’m trying to help you.
J: Is this still about me forgetting Todd Poncedeleone’s last name? You have to forgive me, please. I have a horrible memory for the life details of individuals whom I utterly despise. So what if I forgot Todd’s genealogical heritage. It’s a mistake, I admit… but one I am completely content with.
M: [completely serious] Christ, John, will you please stop carrying on like a jackass? And why do you always have to bring up Todd every time you try to get me drunk? It’s a horrible way to ruin a girl’s evening.
J: But at least it's a surefire way to keep myself outta trouble.
M: What?
J: You know, by talking about your boyfriend all the time. It keeps everyone on the right side of the fence.
M: Why safe? What happened to depravity?
J: Christ, Marilyn, do you honestly think I would let you cheat on your boyfriend? I am just joking.
M: How serious are you about that?
J: You want a percentage?
M: Sure, why not. Give me a number.
J: Go to hell, Marilyn. I’m not reducing our relationship to arithmetic.
M: This mock seduction of yours could get out of hand, John. The wine doesn’t help.
J: That’s pretty ominous. But who’s mocking who? You’re constantly trying to make a fool out of me. I’m not as stupid as I look, Marilyn.
M: Exactly. I‘m always a little afraid of you, John. Despite your drunken ramblings, I’ve always felt that you know exactly what you’re doing.
J: [genuinely surprised] Hey, if I knew what I was doing, would I waste my time hanging out with a girl who’s already taken? [pauses] Huh?… [ exasperated] Listen. Do you think I could ever respect you again if I made you do something you would regret?
M: That’s a dangerous thing to say. I won’t even touch it.
J: You’ve been teasing me since day one.
M: You love it. And I would have no respect for you if you never did anything about it.
J: That’s a dangerous thing to say. It might make me want to touch you.
M: Hands off, John. We’re in public.
J: Relax, I’m no animal.
M: Just a man-beast, right? [smiles]
J: [ignoring her, takes another sip of wine] I would marry you too. But I could never date you. Why date any one person? It’s such an arbitrary thing to do.
M: I don’t know what that word means.
J: ‘Arbitrary’. It’s a good word. I like it.
M: If it’s such a good word, then why don’t you date it?
J: [firing back] If I can date a word, then why won’t you marry Todd?
M: That’s a stupid comeback, and a stupid question. The answer is that I always know what Todd’s thinking. I need somebody who keeps me on my toes.
J: Todd is kind of a lummox, isn’t he?
M: Leave him alone. I’m going to break up with him someday.
J: Stop teasing me, Marilyn.
M: Don’t kid yourself, John. It has nothing to do with you. [pause] Will you ever get married?
J: Married. Oh yeah. I’ll get married so often, I’ll die with rice marks on my face*. [they laugh]
[he pauses, sighs] Nothing ruins a romantic evening so easily as talk about love or marriage.
M: That’s a cheesy cliched thing to say—it’s gonna give me gas.
J: Cheese makes you gassy? Oh, that’s right. You’re lactose-intolerant... I had forgotten you were a lactard.
M: Yes indeed, I am a lactard. I’m impressed that you remembered.
J: [looks over to the round thingy in the corner, thinking it might be a clock] What’s the time? [looks at the bottle of Merlot, now empty] What happened to the wine?
M: Are you still talking about wine? “Errazuriz. Irresistible, it is.”
J: We’re not talking about wine. I thought you were whining about cheese. [grins]
M: Stop being clever, John.
J: You wanna get out of here?
M: Yes, let’s get out of here.
J: Waitress, cheque please! .
[waitress comes over with blil. John pays it.] Wine’s on me. No arguments.
M: No argument here.
J: Let’s take this outside.
M: Good suggestion.
[they stand up. Marilyn takes last look at the table ]
M: You’ve got good taste in wine, John, but I would never want to be your waitress.
J: Why’s that? Wouldn’t I keep you on your toes?
M: No no no. It’s nothing to do with that
J: What is it then?
M: [smiles, pauses, whispers in his ear] You’re a lousy goddamn tipper. Plus, you know... you kinda smell.
J: Go to hell, Marilyn.
M: Hee hee…there’s my boy. Let’s get a cab …
[exeunt restaurant]
(when I was 22 I knew everything.)
*line inspired by Tom Waits, Nighthawks at the Diner
1/14/2005
M & J in bad times
When you got off that plane, I knew I could never go through with it
With what?
With this. This thing.
So you never loved me
I didn’t say that. Don't be psycho.
John, I’m getting old. I can’t play games any more. Don’t you think about the future?
You know I’ve always been deadly serious.
Shrivelled up inside you mean.
You kicked me in the teeth. Have you ever been kicked in the teeth?
No. What's it like?
Please: go to hell.
12/01/2004
Marilyn and John talk rubbish-rot
John: I got a new woman now
Marilyn: Who?
J: A real fox, from the Argentine motherland
M: You mean fatherland?
J: What are you, the Fuhrer?
M: What's that mean?
J: It means you got the wrong parent silly
M: Listen Jelli-stone, you don’t know nothin bout families
J: Families often make each other cry
M: Quoting Lou Reed again?
J: Step off, bee-otch
M: Why are you talking like some gangsta?
J: I express myself in manifold modes; it’s the way to complete satisfaction. Like the great Diego Maradona said once to an Argentinian goalkeeper, "Your mom is a like a killer whale—a ten-ton murderous bitch."
M: That makes no sense
J: Neither does your mom’s harpoon-free existence
M: You have the manners of an oaf—you need to learn a thing or two about etiquette
J: I need etiquette lessons from you like a baboon needs fishing lessons from a mule
M: You need them slightly more than that. You're just silly; what's up with that?
J: Listen, maybe if you paid more attention to me when we were going out, it wouldn’t have been such a disaster. Like when I asked you to smuggle drugs from Panama into Singapore...
M: But that carries the threat of the death penalty--
J: You gotta pay the price for love
M: Speaking of, tell me bout this Argentine skank of yours?
J: She's lithe and furious
M: Like a killer whale?
J: Hey, I thought we were getting off mommas
M: We are
J: Good, cuz I just got off yours
M: Oh man
J: Yowzah
M: Well your mom's so old, she owes Jesus twenty bucks
J: Double yowzah!
Marilyn: Who?
J: A real fox, from the Argentine motherland
M: You mean fatherland?
J: What are you, the Fuhrer?
M: What's that mean?
J: It means you got the wrong parent silly
M: Listen Jelli-stone, you don’t know nothin bout families
J: Families often make each other cry
M: Quoting Lou Reed again?
J: Step off, bee-otch
M: Why are you talking like some gangsta?
J: I express myself in manifold modes; it’s the way to complete satisfaction. Like the great Diego Maradona said once to an Argentinian goalkeeper, "Your mom is a like a killer whale—a ten-ton murderous bitch."
M: That makes no sense
J: Neither does your mom’s harpoon-free existence
M: You have the manners of an oaf—you need to learn a thing or two about etiquette
J: I need etiquette lessons from you like a baboon needs fishing lessons from a mule
M: You need them slightly more than that. You're just silly; what's up with that?
J: Listen, maybe if you paid more attention to me when we were going out, it wouldn’t have been such a disaster. Like when I asked you to smuggle drugs from Panama into Singapore...
M: But that carries the threat of the death penalty--
J: You gotta pay the price for love
M: Speaking of, tell me bout this Argentine skank of yours?
J: She's lithe and furious
M: Like a killer whale?
J: Hey, I thought we were getting off mommas
M: We are
J: Good, cuz I just got off yours
M: Oh man
J: Yowzah
M: Well your mom's so old, she owes Jesus twenty bucks
J: Double yowzah!
3/05/2004
I wrote this in November
...but I don't think I showed it to anybody. If you care about municipal politics and senseless verbal abuse, this is for you.
Two friends are at a restaurant discussing the Toronto mayor race.
(one of the friends has borderline personality disorder.)
John: Can you pass me the pepper?
Marilyn: No. Get it yourself. I don’t give you no pepper.
John: Why not?
M: Because your breath stinks.
J: Well, your chest is too small.
M: Fuck you.
J: Well I just want some pepper for my sandwich
M: I don’t have to listen to this crap.
J: You can always cut your ears off
M: If you're going to be like this, I'm going away...
J: Then go, Van Gogh.
M: Hmph, trust me to sit at a table with a total smellenk.
J: What did you call me?
M: I wish I had called you an assless dickbutt, but I didn’t; I just called you a smellenk
J: And that is…?
M: A lake fish, one that swims with only the ventral fins
J: Ventral fins? Lake fish? Since when did you get into marine biology?
M: Since last weekend, and the TLC special on Great Lakes ecology, ass master! Duh!
J: Huh? Ass master?
M: That’s right, butt lord! Try learning a little science, Lonny Luddite!
J: Lonny… who? What the heck--why the belligerence?
M: Why the shmelligerence??
J: You are on medication, right, because right now you don’t make too much sense
M: At least I don’t make big black poos like you do!
J: What?
M: I snuck into the washroom last night, before you had a chance to flush. I took it in with my own eyes, and it was not a pretty sight, Señor Logjam! Maybe eat a few less corn chips, huh
J: You are a psychotic monster
M: At least I know how to accessorize my lipstick with my shoes, zitface! And at least I don’t leave no Chernobyl disasters in the goddamned toilet!
J: There’s no call for potty talk. And why are you talking about my shoes?
M: What else is there to talk about, huh? The provincial government?
J: No I’d much rather discuss municipal politics. But not with a jibbering loony…
M: Who’s a loony? You’re a big baboony
J: You're acting like an infant. Who are you voting for mayor?
M: Probably someone with integrity, and who isn’t a loser. So I guess that wouldn’t be you.
J: I for one am tiring of your attitude
M: I for one am tiring of your whining stuttering squawking.
J: Anyway--let’s see, mayor: Miller doesn’t want the island airport expansion, but that could just be a leftist pipe dream. I hear it’s a done deal, and—
M: Yeah, a done deal, just like your stupidity
J: And then there’s Tory, this dude’s a corporate baloney—
M: You know what’s baloney? Everything you say! Know what else? My shoulder is sore, would you mind rubbing it with some of your oily hair grease?
J: Huh?
M: You know, Johnny Gino, cuz you’re such a greasy Gino, your stupid hair must be oozing that oily stuff like pus from a gonorrhoea patient.
J: Hold up—while we’re bringing up stale hags festering with VD, let’s talk about you, Ms. genital warts queen of the world!
M: Yeah, nice comeback. And now I am going to take these toothpicks and rip your vocal chords into bacon strips—
J: Try it and you’ll be eating your meals through a straw
M: Silence your moronic brain, noodle-head; we were discussing the mayorship
J: Right. I am convinced Nunziata is the man for the job…
M: Yeah, maybe if the job was called 'Worst candidate ever!' Any other predictions, Johnny the Greek? Maybe the Zulus will win the Boer War?
J: What? That happened over 100 years ago!
M: Yeah, 100 years ago-- right around the last time you said something intelligent
J: Your psychosis really troubles me, you know. I recommend you shove your afflicted head into a blender and press 'on.'
M: I recommend you learn how to debate politics like a man, not cry like a pansy every time I point out your lameness, Lonny Lame-o
J: Who is this Lonny you’re always talking about?
M: Someone just like you: a pimple-necked, gruesome hunchback—only he’s much better looking than your lame-ass face of turd droppings.
J: What? First, you are the ugliest person in this city. At least I am not a toothless witch with split ends and a lazy eye. And 'turd droppings?' It’s enough to just say ‘turd’--that is a redundant insult
M: Maybe redundant like me talking to you, when I would be better off talking to my own mucus
J: That’s it, I am sick of this abuse. I’m gone. (leaves)
M: Wait! What about Tom Jakobek! I think he’s got a chance!
FIN
(epilogue: Hostilities aside, Marilyn was quite optimistic with her final comment—Tom Jakobek received just 1.2 per cent of voter support in Toronto's November 10, 2003 mayor election. The other candidates were David Miller, John Tory, John Nunziata, Barbara Hall, and Tom Jakobek. David Miller won with 44 per cent of the vote)
ps to anyone reading in Germany or Italy--I miss you!
Two friends are at a restaurant discussing the Toronto mayor race.
(one of the friends has borderline personality disorder.)
John: Can you pass me the pepper?
Marilyn: No. Get it yourself. I don’t give you no pepper.
John: Why not?
M: Because your breath stinks.
J: Well, your chest is too small.
M: Fuck you.
J: Well I just want some pepper for my sandwich
M: I don’t have to listen to this crap.
J: You can always cut your ears off
M: If you're going to be like this, I'm going away...
J: Then go, Van Gogh.
M: Hmph, trust me to sit at a table with a total smellenk.
J: What did you call me?
M: I wish I had called you an assless dickbutt, but I didn’t; I just called you a smellenk
J: And that is…?
M: A lake fish, one that swims with only the ventral fins
J: Ventral fins? Lake fish? Since when did you get into marine biology?
M: Since last weekend, and the TLC special on Great Lakes ecology, ass master! Duh!
J: Huh? Ass master?
M: That’s right, butt lord! Try learning a little science, Lonny Luddite!
J: Lonny… who? What the heck--why the belligerence?
M: Why the shmelligerence??
J: You are on medication, right, because right now you don’t make too much sense
M: At least I don’t make big black poos like you do!
J: What?
M: I snuck into the washroom last night, before you had a chance to flush. I took it in with my own eyes, and it was not a pretty sight, Señor Logjam! Maybe eat a few less corn chips, huh
J: You are a psychotic monster
M: At least I know how to accessorize my lipstick with my shoes, zitface! And at least I don’t leave no Chernobyl disasters in the goddamned toilet!
J: There’s no call for potty talk. And why are you talking about my shoes?
M: What else is there to talk about, huh? The provincial government?
J: No I’d much rather discuss municipal politics. But not with a jibbering loony…
M: Who’s a loony? You’re a big baboony
J: You're acting like an infant. Who are you voting for mayor?
M: Probably someone with integrity, and who isn’t a loser. So I guess that wouldn’t be you.
J: I for one am tiring of your attitude
M: I for one am tiring of your whining stuttering squawking.
J: Anyway--let’s see, mayor: Miller doesn’t want the island airport expansion, but that could just be a leftist pipe dream. I hear it’s a done deal, and—
M: Yeah, a done deal, just like your stupidity
J: And then there’s Tory, this dude’s a corporate baloney—
M: You know what’s baloney? Everything you say! Know what else? My shoulder is sore, would you mind rubbing it with some of your oily hair grease?
J: Huh?
M: You know, Johnny Gino, cuz you’re such a greasy Gino, your stupid hair must be oozing that oily stuff like pus from a gonorrhoea patient.
J: Hold up—while we’re bringing up stale hags festering with VD, let’s talk about you, Ms. genital warts queen of the world!
M: Yeah, nice comeback. And now I am going to take these toothpicks and rip your vocal chords into bacon strips—
J: Try it and you’ll be eating your meals through a straw
M: Silence your moronic brain, noodle-head; we were discussing the mayorship
J: Right. I am convinced Nunziata is the man for the job…
M: Yeah, maybe if the job was called 'Worst candidate ever!' Any other predictions, Johnny the Greek? Maybe the Zulus will win the Boer War?
J: What? That happened over 100 years ago!
M: Yeah, 100 years ago-- right around the last time you said something intelligent
J: Your psychosis really troubles me, you know. I recommend you shove your afflicted head into a blender and press 'on.'
M: I recommend you learn how to debate politics like a man, not cry like a pansy every time I point out your lameness, Lonny Lame-o
J: Who is this Lonny you’re always talking about?
M: Someone just like you: a pimple-necked, gruesome hunchback—only he’s much better looking than your lame-ass face of turd droppings.
J: What? First, you are the ugliest person in this city. At least I am not a toothless witch with split ends and a lazy eye. And 'turd droppings?' It’s enough to just say ‘turd’--that is a redundant insult
M: Maybe redundant like me talking to you, when I would be better off talking to my own mucus
J: That’s it, I am sick of this abuse. I’m gone. (leaves)
M: Wait! What about Tom Jakobek! I think he’s got a chance!
FIN
(epilogue: Hostilities aside, Marilyn was quite optimistic with her final comment—Tom Jakobek received just 1.2 per cent of voter support in Toronto's November 10, 2003 mayor election. The other candidates were David Miller, John Tory, John Nunziata, Barbara Hall, and Tom Jakobek. David Miller won with 44 per cent of the vote)
ps to anyone reading in Germany or Italy--I miss you!
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