Lauren's Articles

4 total in June 2007
  • "Demon! By the Grape Juice of Christ, I compel you to leave!"



  • Give the popularity of a certain dramatic chipmunk, I thought I'd do a refresher course on how to survive a PBS Murder Mystery.
    _________________________________________________________________


    Surviving a Murder-Mystery

        So, Lord Drunky McGrabby-hands, you've been invited to a hunting weekend at Lord Farthingdale's estate in Bedfordshire? Great! Everyone loves dead pheasants, itchy tweed, and musty country manors. But here are a few things you should know:

    1. Scope out your fellow guests (Sexy Heiress, Dowager, Guy with Vague Connections to Royalty, American Guy, Young Entrepreneur and his Horsey Social-Climber Wife, Old-Money Couple, servants) and figure out who'd be least likely to kill you. Stick with them all weekend.

    ^These people all want to see you dead.

    2. Be on your best behavior. Don't stiff anyone's inheritance, don't pinch the shapely lady servants, don't fuck a married woman. You want to avoid giving them a motive.

    3. Like a cute girl at a keg party, you are particularly susceptible to tampered drinks. So whether it be sherry, port, brandy, or more sherry, never leave your rich-person drink unattended. Pour it directly down your fat gullet before someone has a chance to slip poison into your snifter.

    4. Count all of the shrimp forks and letter openers, to avoid having one wind up in your back.

    5. Never underestimate the help; they can, and will, stab you if they get the chance. So let them know that you're onto their scheme. Punch the butler in the face for emphasis.

    6. Most mysterious murders occur on Saturday  night, so arrange with Jeeves to be picked up on Saturday afternoon.

    7. But if you're going to die, remember that you are your host's guest/guest's corpse, so die conveniently. Nothing is more annoying than cleaning up bodily fluids from the parquet floor or trying to fit your death boner into a casket.

    Happy Hunting!


  • Precocious Little Kids.

    There's that ubiquitous MySpace bulletin floating around, screeching in all caps,
    "ARE YOU A 90'S KID?!?!!! LOLROFLCOPTERBTW".
    So I'm straining my eyes scrolling through 100 single-spaced entries written by a kid born in 1990: "Remember  Nickelodeon when it was GOOD?". Good taste is subjective, but yes. "Remember the Spice Girls?" Sure. "Remember Pokemon?". Um...

    But I get to a-scratchin' my noggin when I see this one:  "Do you remember exactly when River Phoenix, Kurt Cobain, and Selena died?". What? You remember exactly WHEN and HOW they died? You were 3, 4, and 5 years old at the time, respectively. As someone whose life was a blur until the age of 14, I call bullshit.

    Did Mr. Goofy's Learnatorium screen My Own Private Idaho for your preschool class as you sat scattered on the circle zoo rug, mouths agape at this portrayal of gay male prozzies? Were you the world's tiniest Tejano fan, freaking out your mom with your sparkly outfits and long black wig? Did you earn your first Cub Scout badge for your handwriting analysis of Kurt Cobain's suicide note and subsequent conspiracy theory?

    God, these kids are getting more precocious by the day. It must be something in the water.



  • Baby Einstein

    Maybe naming a series of baby learning tapes after a man who was initially pegged as a retard isn't the greatest idea.



Lauren
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Takin' retards to the zoo.

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