Grumblestiltskin

by Miss Payne

Once upon a time, in a land called E-15, there lived a miller, named Steve. Steve "the miller" had a band and made people call him 'Murice' and 'the gangster of love'. He would also tell people he was a joker, a smoker, and at times, a midnight toker -even though "noon toker" was more accurate. Steve also had a 'daughter' that he liked to make up shit about. He would tell his neighbors and friends that his 'daughter', even though it was clear to everyone that she was not female as she had a bulge and a beard, could lift heavy things and eat a whole large supreme pizza all by herself. This did not impress anyone as they were all super certain this chick was a dude.

One day, Steve "the miller" was so stoned that he told everyone his 'daughter' could spin straw into gold. They all laughed at him except for this other really gullible guy who ordered the "chick" to spin him straw into gold or he'd count to 3. And you did NOT want him to ever get to 3. Unless he was counting backwards. Either way, chances are he was full of empty threats like my mom, but he'd probably bring it up again at dinner or during the best part of the movie if you didn't do it. Then you'll be pumped to go to art school in Boston just to get away from the constant nagging. I mean ya, the gullible guy will be really supportive of your art career, but at some point you just have to tell him to 'can it' and that you're a grown ass woman.

Anyway, let's see, so the "chick" is now locked up in the gullible guy's overpriced studio apartment forced to turn the room full of straw into gold. And so after hours of googleing 'straw into gold', 'alchemy', and 'free amateur home threesomes' she gave up and snapped into a slim jim. Seconds after the snap, an old man appeared, smelling like the MSPCA and a gym bag, and offering to help. The "chick" did not know it, but the old man was really interested in just complaining to someone and maybe some of that slim jim- as he liked crappy food after going to the bar. The old man then made it abundantly clear to the troubled girl- over and over again- that there wasn't enough late night food places like back in Los Angeleshire. Other people had told the old man, as this was not the first time he brought this up, "if Los Angeleshire is so great, why don't you just go back to Los Angeleshire and quite bitching about it."

The old man then took a break from bitching and started grumbling. He grumbled about the poor municipal services in the land of E-15. He grumbled about parking. He grumbled about the new star wars trilogy. He grumbled about sushi. He grumbled about Tuesday. He grumbled about gravity. He grumbled about the ICA. He grumbled about mumbling. He mumbled about grumbling. Then he grumbled about gum, Gumby, Bryant Gumble and bees that bumble, and grumble mumbled somemore!

Finally, the she-male, had had enough! "Are you going to help me, or just grumble?!" The old man then pulled out his phone and began to check his e-mail. After an awkwardly long pause he answered, "sure, but you have to first guess my name."

"Grumblestiltskin", she said.

"How did you know?", he exclaimed.

"It's embroidered on your Land's End canvas tote, duh"

The End

Conspicuously False Slammin' Party Recap

For those few of you who didn't get a chance to attend yet another
slammin' Pink House party, or who woke up with some questions
concerning the previous nights activities here's an incredibly
inaccurate account.

As I entered the Pink House, a quarter of eleven, stepping over sea
captains and smoldering remains, I was greeted by maidens and god
knows how many pirate sheep.Pretty standard really, but I knew this
party could use some spicing up. Luckily I brought Deborah's big book
of Swiss drinking games. We didn't have any clean alpine horns or
Roger Federer tennis trophies so we all headed to the living room for
a game of "what's in my neutral mouth". We used to play "who's in my
neutral mouth" but the game seemed a bit unfair after Tofu, Miso, and
a coffee maker showed up. After a couple of rounds of the game, it was
declared that everyone was a winner so we moved on to "beer-boarding".
That game was less fun, until Eliot reminded us of the importance of
relaxing one's throat. Things really began to get exciting after the
robots and the coffee maker got the dance party going. Miso threw on a
little 2 Live Crew, and started shouting, "Mi So Horny!" We all
totally LOL'ed at that joke. I personally LMAO'ed. Anyway, the night
rolled on and people began to disperse, 'oblige' each other, clean up
urine, or pass out. Not too much outta the ordinary.

Cheers,

Kathryn

The Legend of Really Drunk Girl: Origins

Across time and space and throughout the anals of history there has been but one reoccurring story, told in many ways, within every culture, handed down through the ages with pantomime and shadow puppetry, and that my friends is the story of Really Drunk Girl.

It was originally thought that Really Drunk Girl was born with a genetic abnormality that gave her an unusually high tolerance for alcohol, because her liver contained seven lobes to everyone elses five, given that her mother was a raging alchy herself and typically drank a fifth of vodka a day throughout her pregnancy. Her father was reported to have frequented nuclear reactors and toxic dump sites in an effort to develop cancer and get with this hot oncologist babe.

It is now believed that Really Drunk Girl was actually born intoxicated. Empirical evidence has shown that the infant hit on her doctor and tried to 'freak' (from the latin-freakus, to get up ons) with the nurses.

But scholars and historians have come to learn that it was most likely in her late teens that Really Drunk Girl went from Drunk Girl to Really Drunk Girl in an accident with The Ooze and a scorpion bowl. Hieroglyphs have been discovered depicting A drunk girl and teenage turtles in a sewer. Scholars maintain that these are the same turtles that later became 'mutant turtles' fond of Renaissance artists and west coast surfer idioms.

Though it wasn't until RDG's early twenties that her super powers began to be exhibited. The ability to 'believe she was whispering when she was clearly not' was the first change. Then came the floor slap and tireless booty shaking. Before long RDG became impervious to pain and embarrassment. It wasn't too long after that Really Drunk Girl put her unique talents toward the fighting of 'crime'.

Until next time... this has been 'A Deep Search Into The Anals of History'

With your host,

Kathryn

Black Noah’s Ark: The Dark Ark’s Displeasure Cruise

It was an even darker and stormier night, and Black Noah set about to build ‘a dark ark’ for his BFF Satan. Black Noah worked day and night on the ark, well except for Wednesdays where he enjoyed some much needed “me” time. And after a few days the massive ark, which Black Noah loving dubbed ‘old skull splitter’ for his Nana, was complete.

Satan Von Thunder, (yes, Satan has a last name, it’s Germanic) was getting all antsy and shit to check out the big evil boat. So he ascended once more out of the irritable bowels of the Netherlands and appeared before Black Noah. “So, Black Noah, how’s my ark coming, how do you plan to get 6 of all the evil creatures on earth to board the ark, why aren’t you answering my txts, and would you like a Michelobe?” asked Satan. Black Noah quite irritated at all the questions barked back, “Dammit Satan, I’m just one evil man trying his best to please his Dark Lord friend, so all these questions aren’t helping with the epically redicu-evil task of getting 6 of each evil creature on the ark, so get off my back! And yes, I would just love a Michelobe!”

“Well…. fair enough, looks like you got everything under control here, keep up the good work, let me know when to start getting my flood on, and I’ll just be back in the Netherlands with ‘the guys’. It’s evil game night you know,” said Satan, quite sheepishly.

“Sorry for being curt with you, Satan, I just got a lot on my evil plate, and tell ‘the guys’ hello, and also ‘sweet sarsaparilla’, inside joke, they’ll get it.”

Though the task before him was great, Black Noah had a grand plan. He would invite 6 of each evil creature on earth to a diabolically evil 80’s themed party aboard the ark and just to make sure his plan was ironclad, he would get a keg. For everyone knows, evil creatures love 80’s themed parties and kegs.

….to be more evillier continued.

Black Noah's Ark Phase I

Black Noah’s Ark

It was a dark and stormy night, and Satan was feeling a bit blue. “This is more than a case of the Monday’s,” the dark Lord muttered to himself. Even a ‘blood of the innocent and orphan tear’ smoothie couldn’t cheer up this old curmudgeon. So he tore himself away from the boob tube and descended upon his old friend Black Noah (black on the inside not the outside). “Hey Satan”, Black Noah sighed, “you’re looking especially evil tonight.”

“Thanks, Black Noah, but this is sadness not evil you’re seeing,” Satan giggled.

Black Noah was a simple man, in that he preferred goth coloring books and evil tickle fights to the rest of the world’s ‘charity’ and ‘good will’, which he thought cheapened mankind and brought down property values. He viewed 'virtue' as the cum stain on the sundae of disappoinment. A Satan fearing man, Black Noah was faithful and resisted smiling and puppies, which caught the eye of the ‘Dark Ruler’ and they were soon BFF.

“Why are you sad, Devil?” Black Noah wondered.

“Everyone on earth is being like all good and shit, why there is no lying or killing or hustling or doggie-style anywhere” cried the Devil.

“Oh, snap,” Black Noah thought.

“ Listen BN, I have a decree,” Satan bellowed while spewing forth droplets of evil from his dark and cavernous salivary glands.

“Say it, don’t spray it” Black Noah silently grumbled "So what's the deal Satan?", he asked.

"Deal !?...., Black Noah, I'm the Dark Lord of the Netherlands, Progenitor of Evil, Embodiment of all Suffering and Payne, not some douche car salemen. I trade in death and tyranny not low interest rates or factory prices. This is an evil decree, spawned from the loins of fornicators and gluttons."

"Sorry, I forgot," Black Noah said.

“Silence!”, Satan wailed, “look Black Noah, I need you to build me an ark..... ‘a dark ark’ and fill it with 6 of each kind of evil creature and after that I will flood the world with every known variety of booze, malt liquor, and of course scotch.”

……to be evilly continued.

The Pit of Neutrality, Phase II

After some time in The Pit of Neutrality, I noticed a small leather-clad boy jumping off a table and trying to apply body glitter to another equally leather-clad boy. Then something strange happened. I didn't care, nor was I concerned with who would win the 'body glitter blitzkrieg'. "Holy Glitter Balls," I whispered to myself (and 7 other old ladies). Was I becoming Neutral!? How was I going to tell my parents? Where was my typical blood lust? I immediately pulled out my trusty tabloid and checked the feuds. Angie vs. Brad, Jon and Kate vs. The Eight, Kevin vs. Bacon? I suddenly lacked an opinion or a side!

I began to search ardently for Deborah, but then I passed by the party snacks. I was effortlessly foiled again. If Deborah wasn't by the Bagel Bites, Cheeseburger Bagel Bites, or the keg, I was in real trouble. How did these sneaky Swiss know my predilection for Bagel Bites over Tostino's Pizza Rolls? (another Swiss favorite) Then down from the cliff, like my panties after a few too many cocktails, came Deborah. "Dat gurrrl always be rappellin' down su'in", I whispered to myself (and those same 7 old ladies).

I immediately began to explain these strange new 'neutral feelings' I was having to her. "Kat", she said, "it's ok to be neutral. Some people are 'neutral by nature' and other people are 'neutral by nurture'." I sighed a great neutral sigh of relief. "You're the bestest Deb," I laughed, as she jammed yet another sausage into my mouth.

Fin, again.

Kathryn

The Pit of Neutrality

The following happened on Sunday June 21st between 8:00pm- 9:00pm EST:

As Deborah and I awoke on a glorious American Father's Day, Deborah ask me if I would like to celebrate something a little more neutral, a little more Swiss. Intrigued I asked, "Deb, what is this new Swiss celebration I know not of?" After rappelling down from the ceiling and rolling three cigarettes with one hand, she replied "Kat, TODAY why it's Who's Your Daddy Day!" Throwing off my onesie, I vertically leaped 9 feet for JOY. "SWEET Eidgenossenschaft", I giggled.

After much fist bumping, Deborah began the festivities with the ceremonial application of body glitter and, of course, the making of Blingees. Once we had our cat suits on, we had a good laugh about me being in a 'Kat suit'. LOL indeed. "So first order of business is to find two octopuses ," Deborah said with a twinkle in her eye. (which later turned out to be body glitter that burned quite badly). "Why do we need octopuses?", I wondered. "You'll see," she exclaimed. I never did.

Finishing up a delicious meal at Friday's, a Swiss Favorite, and some riveting conversation on the Federal Charter of 1291, I began to think that all this rappelling gear was getting quite heavy. Having been voted "most likely to blindly follow a swiss person to her death" in high school, I shook it off and continued on with the celebrations.

I followed Deborah some 17 miles on foot to the great Cliffs of Cambridgeport and made my controlled descent into alcoholism, i mean the crowd. "What is this place?" I asked. "Silly American, it's the legendary and at times riotous 'Pit of Neutrality'", she giggled. "Oh Deborah, " I smiled, as she jammed a sausage into my mouth.

Fin.

Kathryn