A few years ago I was on the phone with my mom and was telling her about my weekend plans and she responded with this direct (and haunting) quote:
You’ve got your cats and your knitting…sounds like you’re really clickin’ your heels over there in Philadelphia.
So…I tried to brush that off, but upon some re-inspection I might have to reevaluate all of my life choices, and drink a bottle [box] of wine, and cry while shout-singing “Part of Your World” to my feline companions.
Friday night. Just got paid. My cat found my knitting
…like, it’s not a GREAT feeling when even your cat kind of disrespects you
I’ve already discussed my absolute new obsession with this amazingly hilarious tumblr highlighting the “things boys do we love.” And because I think the universe knew that I couldn’t just stop with one pizza-photo-feeling, it delivered me the gift of an incredibly spiritual pizza. Because, on a visceral level, I think collectively everyone can agree that there are much more photo opportunities for “things pizzas do we love,” than boys. So I bring you MORE feelings made easy with photos & words, or “pizza feelings.” (or “things pizzas do we love”).
Jesus and I are on the same page when it comes to pizza
Do you remember the trends in the 90s when it came to advancing technology? It was, like, AIM and chat rooms for years. I never really had to keep up outside of discussing the various benefits of having Stone Cold Steve Austen on your side in a tag team match on the WWF chat room (fuck you, I was 13), or keeping my away messages current.
I miss you, too
Now there is too much for me to keep up with. Trends on the internet are insane. Recently I went on Tumblr and discovered something that, seemingly, has been going on forever without my notice. Something that I find heartening. Something extremely encouraging for someone as emotionally stunted as myself.
In my effort to expand this white text on photographic background expressing our emotions (sort of?) I wanted to ensure that there are people similar to myself who are represented by white text in front of random photo.
For all us bleeding with white-text based feelings, this is for you:
Here is the newest installment of Fan Fiction of Failure. This one is written by your very own You Life. The ridiculously talented This Guy, Jim C, once again lends his talents for the illustrations. And, again, the amazing Anthony donates his lovely vocal cords for the voice over.
Harry pushed up the sleeves of his tattered cloak. The previous several years having been a dream, Harry was back to the grind – trying to destroy Voldemort, but more importantly trying to hide the true emotions slowing building inside him like a camp fire.
“Harry?” Snape emerged like a wounded panther. Sleek and dangerous. Harry’s heart quickened at the approaching visage, wise and grave. His voice was barely a squeak when it came out, a warmth was spreading throughout his belly, “Yes, Professor Snape?”
The professor closed the space between them. With trembling fingers he reached out and brushed a lock of Harry’s dark hair out his eyes. Harry quaked with the tension, as Snape’s body, only a breath away grazed his own. “You fought magnificently today,” he whispered lustily.
Here’s the deal, at the beginning of the month You Life is going to post one (intentionally) horrible piece of fan fiction. We’ll take submissions, illustrate them, and get a voice over actor to voice them (more here). That way you can start off your month the right way – with your dreams of Pokémon copulation finally coming true (no innuendo intended in that sentence, but glad it happened!).
Our first piece is by my favorite comedian Dave Terruso titled Flash Fiction, pictures by Jim C, and voice acting by Anthony C
(You can listen to this voice over brilliance here:)
Barry Allen put on his red tights and laced up his golden boots. He spent three minutes making the little lightning bolts above his ears look carelessly tousled.
He had to look perfect today.
The Scarlet Speedster ran at a brisk pace around the park, slowly picking up speed. Eventually he ran at top speed, circling the Earth twice per second. Soon he reached a speed where he vibrated at a frequency that allowed him to travel to an alternate universe.
Once in the alternate universe, The Crimson Bolt slowed down and looked for his target, Mr. Jay Garrick. He quickly found Jay, easily recognizable in his outdated costume that used the same red and gold as Barry’s. Both men heaved, catching their respective breaths. “You came back,” Garrick said.
“Yes,” Barry breathlessly whispered, “And now I’m going to come on your back.”
After an intellectually stimulating conversation with my dear friend we decided that you can only be one of the following: nice, hot, or talented. You can’t be all three, it’s not fair. Good qualities are too rare, and it’s unjust to hog all of them. PICK ONE.
Which is why this guy gets greeted with daily abuse by the writers’ room. Here are a few of the things that he gets to see about himself recently:
to add insult to injury the hilarious illustration under the middle picture was drawn by “this guy.” Because he’s a talented writer and an incredible artist. Bastard.
For more ha’s go visit the author of those missives here
Since funemployment, I recently moved out of the delightful shitbox that I formerly called, “home.” It was a hard readjustment and a tearful farewell to all of the things I had gotten so used to: no heat, questionable fire safety, a garbage fridge. But, I have new things to look forward to now. One of these things I was affectionately referring to as “homeless’ing,” where I would delight in staying on friends’ couches.
Since I am the luckiest of ladies, two of my friends granted me a headquarters where I might unpack my cat knickknacks on a less transient basis.
But just like bad credit and scabies follows a person, I have a very special spectral visitor.
No. It can’t be. There is no possible way that this can what I think it is. Because what I think it is a misplaced crock pot filled with poisonous old food. I remember something like this; something dark, and evil, and filled with some sort of chili…
My trash-fridge is my own personal version of a Stephen King novel. Because upon closer inspection it seems like trash-fridge chili is following me. Haunting me…
Oh come on
I might have created a sentient being in trash-fridge. And I feel like I’m not paranoid in saying that the ghost of it is trying to murder me. IT’S THE CHILI OF THE UNDEAD!