Since I am FAR too lazy to think up and post some story today, I am going to be a bastard and just link to my four little posts on Austinist. That's right, I'm all kinds of uninteresting like that.
Side note: there is NOTHING "sophisticated" about a wine hang over. Just in case you thought there was. It's a sham, lie, and wild fabrication that needs to die. Okay, so I was the only one under that impression. Whatever.
My first little story is an ode to the Migas served at Curra's here in Austin (all articles are Austin-in-relation, so that we stick to the point of the site, dig?). If you don't love to eat chorizo when hung over, then go to the next article. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The second story is an open letter to my home-away-from-home, Club Deville. I got some shit for this, as many are under the (hideously) false impression that Deville is little more than a watering hole. To them, I say "up your ass, commies", because they are wrong. That, and I have no tact or sense of responsibility to the feelings of my fellow man. So sweet. POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!
Numero three-o crashed and BURNED as an article, since no one fucking read the entire thing. They read the first paragraph and bailed on it. It starts out sounding like I am honestly going to make some pork taquitos, which is utterly ridiculous because I would probably burn my right arm off AND taquitos are like, ten fucking cents at the super market (big ol' bags of 'em are sold at Fiesta! So Delicioso!). Why would I bother to make my own? That's just... whatever. The beginning makes it sound like I am, but then the script flips and the predictable happens. All in the name of pointless silliness. I really liked this one when I typed it. BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!!!
Installment number four… I don’t think anyone even read it, which is fine, I suppose, since that would bring the paycheck-to-readership into parity. This is a description of a true Austin happening. In some ways, it is a pretty standard and mundane happening, which I was trying to shine up with some tricky word-play and extraneous description. But, as the old philosophic and clichéd question goes: if a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to pee on it, will the bears do it? I, for one, certainly hope they would pick up man’s slack. So philosophical, so deep. My brain hurts now. BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRNNNNN!!!!
Don’t fuck up your weekend by watching reality TV all day. I’ll be in Houston to pick up a pick up. Getting it back here might be a ill-fated journey of broken timing belts and tire-changings. Hopefully I will have no interesting stories, but will still be alive, come Monday.
Word to that.
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4 comments:
I read that story, you barbarian you. hate that verbal abuse by strangers thing, it does happen sometimes, can't take it personally, like handgestures from random drivers. never been called a barbarian, but often find myself without proper snap or reaction time while out in public, have learned to live with it and the fact that the snappy comebacks I come up with hours later are relatively useless forever. alas...
mamalara
I'm crap on the snappy comebacks too. Thems the brakes I guess. Brakes? Is it "breaks" instead?
Whatever. I hope your little barbarian, Fletchster, is doing well!
HA! You are 100% correct my friend there is nothing sophisticated about a wine hangover. however, a martini hangover. Well, that gives you liscense to use your rapier wit to destroy everyone n your path. You can say Dorothy Parker made me do it, and then people decide that you are not an ass hole, you are actually brilliant.
I love it when you make me feel so uneducated with the Parker references! LOVE. IT.
I put all my bets on the ghost of hemingway. He's more my style. And gender.
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