Time Capsule

If I put a time capsule into the ground today, it would contain the following:

-Barack Obama's Speech on Race (we're not hopeless)
-A Poster of WALL-E (animated movies take over)
-A house (they're so cheap now)
-A drop of oil (gas is expensive)
-My Prius (screw cars, I bought a bike)
-My Bike (on second thought, biking in LA is dangerous.)
-My Bus Pass (I'll just walk)
-Amazon.com's Kindle (they might use such things in the future)
-A can of Budweiser (the KING of beers)
-A can of Pabst Blue Ribbon (winner of a Blue Ribbon)
-The best computer we have on the market (so they can laugh at how primitive we were back in 2008)

and...more? This probably deserves more thought. However, if you are a high school senior, feel free to steal these and claim them as your own. What, you're already on summer break? Just dig up the old one and put this stuff in there. Believe me, no one will notice and in twenty years when you and your bored, nostalgic, middle-class classmates dig it up, you'll be praised as a hilarious prophet of the 21st century instead of a juvenile high schooler who thought "photo of a bald Brittney" was funny.

-KV

Boobie Games vs Boobbie Games

Searches for both "boobie games" and "boobbie games" have hit our site multiple times, though I do not recall myself or any other harlot on The Brothel mentioning either activity.

And for the record, I have no idea what "boobie games" are, and I certainly cannot fathom what "boobbie games" might be. If you've landed here searching one of these two keywords, please drop a comment and let us know: what did you hope to find? (And my apologies that this is but a creative writing website.)

Places to See in Montana

What does it take to get a visitor from Montana? Smack talk about Idaho?

The potatoes in Idaho are nothing compared to those in Montana...!!?!!??

This is frustration.

The Short-a-Week Project Does Klaus Varley

The guys over at The Short-a-Week Project did a reenactment of one of the pieces on The Brothel. Turns out they chose one of mine. Guess Teddy's were too hard to film. (Going to Dallas and pretending to buy weed in a dramatic drive around the city a la Training Day apparently is out of the budget range.)

So check out The Short-a-Week Project at the link above. The title is Week 12 - Flip a Towel.

Very original.

In case you're wondering, I received no compensation for my work, but they promised punch and pie if I came to the set. I came to the set, and there was no punch and pie. In fact, there was no set. But there was beer.

Thanks for the beer, guys.

The Original Brothel Members

If you knew The Brothel from 2001 - 2005, then you know that it was a collaborative effort. Klaus led the charge, but there were others - many others. Some of the biggies were Mary Allen, Teddy Nutmeg, Parker Briggsmore, Aine Brigit, Kat Bannister and Boris Salvador. And me, Charlie Luzon.

But you wouldn't know it by the "new" Literary Brothel.

Klaus put up one of my pieces (please link that, Klaus -ed. note: Done. If only there were an easy "link" button next to the paragraph formatting line on the toolbar, contributors could do it themselves...) but it wasn't my introduction, nor my best work.

After much pleading, Klaus caved and started handing out access to the site. I got an invite. Parker did too. Klaus even sent a nice note along with the access codes. It read, "Now you can put up your own crap," or something to that effect.

And it was effective. Here I am, putting up my own "crap." With more to come.

Much more.

You have been warned.

And have just read my (new) introduction.

-CL

Words in a Semi-Specific Order by Boris Salvador

When I first read this poem, I thought Boris was making fun of the way I write poetry. I still think so. -KV

Words in a Semi-Specific Order


Like paper rain drops falling on the road,
Running gold tears of something that is defiantly not gold.
I fly amongst a purple mountain's majestic view of golden plains of something that is certainly not gold.
So suck in air to breathe Mr. Tangerine man.
Because we are all just taking up space.
Space like a ring around a ball whose gases lie outside
Like a forgotten blade of grass in a lawn of pink flamingoes and ceramic munchkin idols.
Praying to a golden sun that is most assuredly not golden.
And taking up space,
Space like a line preceding
"The End"
And anteceding a psuedo poem that while being incredibly nonsensical and truly meaning nothing
Manages to sound like coffee house fodder
Pleasing the Sophistos.

The Space

"The End"

By Boris Cougar Salvador

Real Brothels are No Joke

Recently saw Born into Brothels. For all those out there searching for "brothels" and landing here at The Literary Brothel, I'm not going to condone your lifestyle or curiosities, but I'll just say that prostitution traps a lot of women and men in tough, tough lives. Check out Born Into Brothels (or any documentary made on prostitution for that matter).

A better bet is to find a girl who you is just as sexually curious as you. It's really not that hard. You're already on the Internet, Googling "brothel" for god sakes. How about hitting up MySpace? Or eHarmony? Or JDate?

Kinky girls on JDate? You never know.

How Klaus, how can I meet a girl on the Internet?

Oh, that's what you wanted to know? Why didn't you just say so.

Coming Soon: A Step By Step Guide on How to Meet Girls Online by Klaus Varley

In the meantime, read The Game by Neil Strauss. It will be discussed.

-KV

Best Steak House in Montana

We've had over ten visits from Kansas in the past month, but none from Montana? How is that possible?

In the rare chance you landed on the site looking for facts about Montana, I heard Derby Steak House serves the best steaks in Montana. But it could just be a rumor.

If you're from Montana, feel free to correct me.

But first, you Montanans must discover the Internet. Seriously.

Who's the Freak?

I can't say where I got this photo (friend of a friend), but that's great stuff.

Reminds me of the first line Chris Cooper's character says in American Beauty: "This country's going straight to hell." I'd add: "Led by people holding signs that say 'Fag Marriage.'

Who's emailing my girlfriend

Who's Emailing My Girlfriend
by Klaus Varley

Of all the Google searches that landed on The Literary Brothel this past week, "Who's emailing my girlfriend" has to be one of the strangest.

Did the desperate guy (or desperate lesbian) who wrote it really think Google had the answer? "I hope there is a website that keeps track of all the people who email my girlfriend..."

Even if a website like that existed, wouldn't you have to at least include your girlfriend's name in the search? Or does the searcher believe Google has ALL the answers, including who YOU are, who your girlfriend is, and who is emailing her?

First off, if Google DID have that information, they would never, ever tell you. They would always play dumb. In fact, your searches would look much the same as they do today.

Second, if Google decided to use its limitless power (side note: we love you, Google), it would still refuse to give you that information. Google, in its infinite wisdom, would know that you are not only undeserving to find out who is emailing your girlfriend, but are undeserving of your girlfriend. Period. After all, it's not a great sign when you go behind your girlfriend's back to find out what's in her Inbox.

Google would know all this, and thus would not give you the answer. Google cares. And so, Google ignores.

I can't speak for Google, but here's some advice from your friends at The Literary Brothel: if you want to know who's emailing your girlfriend, ask her. If she won't tell you, don't ask Google, just get out of the relationship.

On the other hand, do you REALLY want to know who's emailing your girlfriend? Isn't it more important whom she's emailing? Then you can memorize anything that she writes to a guy that sounds remotely flirtatious, and throw it back in her face during your next argument. What if there isn't a next argument? In your relationship? C'mon...

The lesson is: next time, ask Google the right question, and Google might give you the right answer.

But it's really up to Google.

-KV

Glasgow, Sydney and Other Foreign Cities in Montana

I'm actually at a wedding right now at the Four Seasons Hotel in San Francisco with my girlfriend, but through magic (adjusting the "posting time and date") I'm able to write this rant about Montana, in order to attract visitors from the state to The Literary Brothel. I just did this for Nevada. I'm going to be doing this for every state until we get visitors from all 50 states. Maybe I need to post about it. (or maybe I just did?) -KV


GLASGOW, SYDNEY AND OTHER FOREIGN CITIES IN MONTANA (WITHOUT NOTABLE RESIDENTS)
by Klaus Varley

At least when they founded "York" in the Americas, they had the common sense to put a "New" before it.

Not so in Montana (and other states of course, most famously Athens, Georgia).

Sydney, Montana has about five thousand people, and was founded back in the 19th century, according to Wikipedia. I'm not going to link the article because it's not worth the read. (ie: there is no mention of why the town was named "Sydney.") Let's just say, it's a small-ass town in NE Montana that doesn't have the pride to update it's Wikipedia entry.

Which leads me to check out my hometown of Atwater's Wikipedia entry, and ho! A picture of the water tower! Very nice. Let's see what else...hospitals, schools...and a list of "notable residents." Ha ha, eat THAT Sydney, Montana, we got the girl who played Newt in Alien AND a silver medalist.

Ok, so it turns out I grew up with two of the five "notable residents." Newt was friends with my sister in junior high, and I knew Jamill - who won the silver medal in 2004 - back in high school. We share exactly the same birthday. You don't forget people like that. Especially if they then go on to win a silver medal.

Man, I'm so far off topic now, there's no getting back. We'll have settle this another time. Glasgow, you got off easy.

-KV

The iAss Mano

The New iAss Mano

The World's First Multi-Functional Wireless Gastrointestinal Accessory.

Full of Love

The iAss Mano is the result of rethinking conventions. It's ultrathin, ultraportable, and ultra unlike anything you've attached to your ass.

Full of Magic

In a world in which public toilets are increasingly unsanitary or unusable, iAss is so fast and so available, people are truly living untethered — surfing the web, making calls, listening to MP3s...vaporizing anything that comes out.

Full of Future Upgrades

Coming soon: the iAss Mano 2.0 - firming the tush as it works its magic and love.

The new standard of mobile efficiency is here. The iAss Mano.

Everyone will beg to kiss your iAss Mano.

[This advertisement has been brought to you by Laura Daye of Brain Transplant Journal. Check out BTJ today!]

We are now TheLiteraryBrothel.com

or www.theliterarybrothel.com

but you can still get to it via www.theliterarybrothel.blogspot.com

but why would you want to type in the "blogspot"?

I paid 5

and Parker Briggsmore

(absentee co-owner of The Literary Brothel)

paid 5

and we bought a domain.

What is it?

theliterarybrothel.com

where have you been?

don't forget the "the"

it's very important

to be

repetitive

so people remember

what you tell them

even in

poems

like this one

about our new domain

TheLiteraryBrothel.com

-KV

High Society - by Kevin Eno

Here's another poem from Kevin Eno written who knows when that he sent us a really long time ago. (The Literary Brothel seeks eager undergraduates for bookkeeper internship). When we published Horror Movies he complained we got his format wrong, so this time we actually opened the attached file. Thanks for the tip. -KV

High Society

Is this High Society?

Or is society high?

High on prozac, or marplan, or elavil, or
lithium carbonate, or phenothyazines
or any other drugs that would make
Philippe Pinel want to overdose on Haldol.

High on exhaust fumes spewing from the
tail pipes of inefficient automobiles
like cheap beer from the mouths
of the drunkards behind the wheel.

High on life; a life enslaving billions
so we can have our Nikes, our cell
phones, our radios, our video games,
our bananas, and our MTV.

High on weed that puts money into
the hands of con-artists and killers
and robs the young of their livelihood;
replacing their dreams with nothing
more than an over-priced emotion.

High on war; wars that are taking
place on the other side of the world
when we can't even feed our hungry
and care for our sick.

High on anything that keeps us from
realizing just how low we
really are.

IKENOI

Urban Outfitters Steals From Klaus Varley

We here at The Literary Brothel aren't saying that Urban Outfitters stole this idea from us (-ed note: post written before title assigned). All we are saying is that it reminds us a little bit of a little piece called Flip a Towel written by Klaus Varley back in 2001.

Coincidence?

Perhaps. If you believe in such things.

Regardless, it appears Urban Outfitters has solved the face-butt dilemma. Well done, people. Well done.

Bukowski Quotes - Because we need more hits

"he rushes toward me and somehow it's a part of the part of the part."

-Charles Bukowski, "days like razors, nights full of rats," from The Last Night of the Earth Poems


ONE MORE WHILE I FINISH THIS BOTTLE OF WINE (not a Bukowski quote, but could be.)


almost every writer thinks
they are doing
exceptional work.

that's normal.

being a fool is
normal.

and then I'd
get out of bed
find a piece of paper
and start
writing
again.

-Charles Bukowski, "the writer," from The Last Night of the Earth Poems

Obscure Montana Laws

Not sure if these are "true" or not...our "fact" checker has taken a "sabbatical," whatever that is. So, we here at The Brothel feel the best way to find out if the law is real is to break it! Don't forget a video camera and/or to inform your local police officer. And let us know the results! -KV

A FEW OF THE STRANGE LAWS STILL ON THE BOOKS IN MONTANA (and by "on the books" we mean carved into the mountainside...Montana style)
by Klaus Varley

Indians traveling in groups of seven or more are considered a war party. Indians traveling to Utah are considered a "lost party" while Indians traveling to Vegas are considered "ready to party."

Illegal to sacrifice an animal in the presence of a minor. Unless moon is full and wind portents good fortune.

Throwing any hard objects by hand is prohibited. Especially the Bible.

If a wife opens her husband's mail, it is a felony. If she opens the packages wrapped in black plastic, it counts as two felonies. Those are daddy's.

It is illegal to show a movie that depicts a felony. Unless that felony is "throwing hard objects by hand" when the hard objects are baseballs and the movie being shown is Field of Dreams. See Costner clause, section 198.9.

-KV

Jacaranda (the band) by Mary Allen

ed. note: We used to do music reviews here at The Literary Brothel, remember? This was an early piece from Mary Allen about a band named Jacaranda. They're still around; I linked their MySpace (which did not exist at the time of this article) at the end of the piece. To think, there was life before MySpace... -KV

ed. note 2: Yes, the piece is now called "Jacaranda" even though it was originally titled "Shawn and Jac A. Randa," whatever that means. -KV

Shawn and Jac A. Randa
by Mary Allen

My two favorite memories of Shawn from those 'good ole days' are something that I still tease him about.

The first was Shawn's description of how he "blazed some girl's trail." I laugh about it now, but back then, I nearly had a heart attack from his comment.

A year later, he told us his step-mother was a Playboy Playmate in the early 80's. He took great pride in relaying that to us and gleefully showed us the spread (literally). Apparently, she's had a couple of plastic operations and such done, so she no longer looks as good now as she did then.

Early this year he started sending me emails about this band he was in, Jacaranda. He said he did some vocals and played the banjo. At that point, I decided there was no way in hell I was going to catch the act. How many of us have friends who are in "bands" and have gone and supported them in an incredible display of camaraderie, only to discover too late that their friend's band is horrific and there isn't one positive thing you can say about the whole experience? That's what I dreaded. And the question kept popping up--how could a banjo improve a rock band?

But I decided to go. Thursday, 10 PM at a place called "The Garage" in the Valley. Excellent. So at 9:20 I leave my apartment, stop at the ATM, and take my sweet time. Thankfully, I hit every red light on the way. I almost turned back when the helicopters circled in the vicinity of where I was headed. "Why oh why did I come? Why didn't I bring any one with me?!"

After finding a parking spot and running to The Garage, I sized up the joint. Painted comic book orange red flames licking up the outer walls, people smoking out front and a jumbo billboard advertising Tecate beer to the right of the establishment were not welcoming signs. Shawn sees me upon entering… and I'm stuck there - with the news that they go on around 11:30, not 10.

I chat with Shawn for a bit, let him buy me a drink. He circulates with his other friends and I ask the others who they are there to see. "Jacaranda," "the last band, Jacaranda," "my friends' band, Jacaranda - they're great!"

That's a good sign. I ask them what makes them so great? (They have a banjo after all, ya know.)

"Oh, the energy, the good times, the 70's funk feel they transmit, and of course - they're my friends!" Alright. I can take that. However, this was countering all of the cool phrases that I was coming up with for a nascent article ripping them apart.

After waiting through a decent punk band, and a horrendously bad trio, Jacaranda finally takes the stage.

Tonight's theme was Pimp night - a previous theme that was fondly remembered was the Muppets - and the group fit the part well. Ostentatious gold chains, tight wildly decorated shirts, floppy felt hats, and sexy attitudes were seen in all 6 members. After previously hearing the terms "banjo," "70s funk," and "friends," associated with Jacaranda, then checking out the attire, I was even more nervous about what to expect.

After the first song, "Chewbaca," it was over for me. I knew I had to readjust my thinking. I'm a fan. I can admit it quite openly, actually. I'm a diehard punk fan, listen to opera, dig jazz, and was bowled over by a band that cannot adequately be labeled by one genre named Jacaranda.

The six members gelled in a way that surprised me considering they've only been around for a year and a half. They displayed an amazing melodic complexity that was a joy to hear.

I don't have much experience with 70s funkadelic grooves, aside from the occasional Blackspoitation movie, and now I want to go out and buy all kinds of Isaac Hayes CDs. And they not only did funk well, but early 50s rock/blues rhythms, a Southern religious revival style, and back again.

The guitar players were incredible, not in trying to outdo each other, but in complimenting each other's abilities. The vocal textures- from multi part harmonies to each singer's unique talents- employed on most songs were something that you don't hear every day and were impressive.

In addition to the rotating six players they have on the stage (Jason and Bob switch between lead/rhythm guitar, keyboards, drums, and vocals, Luis does lead vocals, tenor sax, and rhythm guitar, Shawn plays the banjo, dances and occasionally sings, Tom plays an awesome funk guitar, and Tony plays the bass), they brought up the occasional guest singers.

Nathan did a great job assisting on a number I believe is called "Sex in the Cineplex." Amy, a previous Jacaranda member, now residing in New Zealand, was on hand and led the group in "I Love Trees." The antics that Luis, Jason, and Shawn performed during their self described "boy band homage" - "Well Hung Boys" - kept the audience alternately singing along in mock celebration of teen pop and laughing out loud with the dance routines.

If you have a spare evening, I highly encourage you to see Jacaranda. Even if it is midnight. Even though they have a banjo and they have Theme nights. Very rarely do you get the opportunity to not only watch a great band perform, but get to carry on in the antics along with them.

Yes, the majority of their followers are friends who ALWAYS show up to EVERY show. But that says something about the band itself. They are truly a fantastic band to experience. Especially if you have the cool lighting effects guy that was at the bar tonight.

After leaving punk concerts, I feel the need to get the rage out and drive fast. Driving home from the Jacaranda show, I had an insouciant and delightful feeling of having spent a couple of hours by being entertained by a great group of new found friends. I have a spot of two vacant in my car if you want to join me next time. Check them out at myspace.com/jacaranda

-MA

Warm Toilet Seats by Teddy Nutmeg

Teddy wrote this long-ass article back in 2002 (2003?) but since Bathroom Bonanza Part II was recently shelved - to the dismay of at least two readers - we're unearthing this gem and now calling it "The Lost Part II of Bathroom Bonanza." It was also featured on a site called PoopReport.com. I kid you not. (How could I make that up?) -KV


WARM TOILET SEATS (The Lost Part II of Bathroom Bonanza)
by Teddy Nutmeg

Teddy Nutmeg here, with another serious topic for discussion; the warm toilet seat. I hate warm toilet seats. In fact, there is perhaps no more repulsive a feeling in the world to me than a warm toilet seat. Now this may seem strong, but let's take a minute to explore the phenomena of a warm toilet seat, and you will soon understand.

To get behind the root of my hatred of warm toilet seats, we must first examine the reason behind the warmth; how did that particular toilet seat get warm? To be blunt, another man’s ass-warmth warmed up that toilet seat.

Yes, it’s the only explanation. Another man came into the toilet stall, pulled down his pants and undies, and sat his bare ass on the toilet seat while he did the deed. While he sat, his warm ass heated up the plastic of the toilet seat.

Now, this happens in every public bathroom in the world, and this is not what I hate. What I hate is when I lay my bare buttocks on a toilet seat, I can feel the heat from another man’s ass on my ass.

But a warm toilet seat means more than just another man sat there and shat. It means that another man sat on that toilet seat and shat RECENTLY, not long enough in the past for the warmth to dissipate, and this is straight-up nasty. I mean, the toilet stall is perhaps the most private space one can imagine; you don’t even share it with a lover like a bedroom or the backseat of a 77 Chevy. It's all you and just you in there. A warm toilet seat reminds me that there was another man (not just another person, another MAN) with his pants down, in that same spot as I currently am with my pants down, and that I can feel his physical warmth, those excited little electrons, being transferred from his ass to the seat to my bare bottom. Its like psychological rape; I don’t want those excited electrons on my ass, but I can’t stop them either. When I sit on a toilet seat and it is warm, I immediately conjure up a picture of a bare assed man and myself standing back to back, touching asses. Ewww.

Now, I realize how this sounds, and I must say that I am not homophobic in the least. Trust me. I lived in Hillcrest for two years. If you know San Diego, you know what I mean. If you don’t know San Diego, Hillcrest is like West Hollywood. If you don’t know LA enough to know what West Hollywood means, well, you’re just hopeless.

I have the same aversion to my own toilet seat after women have used it; I’ll unwittingly sit down on my own toilet seat, realize its warm, and realize that the only other person who could’ve used it is my female roommate. I don’t want to touch bare asses with her. Ewwww.

I must admit that there is one instance when I don’t mind a warm toilet seat; when I visit my parents’ house and use their toilets. My ass doesn’t seem to mind the warmth if it knows the warmth is from a family member or close family friend. I don’t even have to know who specifically used the toilet seat (although by the smell I can usually tell if it was brother, sister, mother or father) to feel comfortable. Ironically, its kind of nice having a warm and friendly toilet seat, as opposed to a shockingly cold one, when I’m at my parents’ house.

It's not that I want to touch bare asses with any of my family members, but the idea isn’t as repulsive as touching BA’s with anyone else. Maybe since we share genes I am somehow not repulsed by their bodies. We have all gone naked in the hot tub before, just the fam. But that’s another article.

And my aversion to warm toilet seats does not stem from worries over cleanliness, either. I do not use the “disposable cowboy hats” as I heard them referred to in Dallas. I simply find them too much a hassle. I do, however, take a square of TP and wipe the seat off every time before I sit on it. But its not ass-germs that make the warm toilet seat so disgusting; if it were, I’d probably hate all public bathrooms. As I’ve said before, it’s the idea of butt-kissing another man that the warm toilet seat represents.

Now, I do check toilet seats with the back of my hand before sitting on them, to avoid an uncomfortably warm surprise, and there are several levels of warmth. There’s the slightly warm, “maybe I’m just imagining this” seat which on which I don’t hesitate to plop my bottom. No problem there. There’s the “kind of warm, probably a solid 15 minutes ago” seat that I sit on but mentally note my opposition. Also not too bad. There’s the “definitely warm and less than 10 minutes ago there was a bum on this seat – how bad do I have to go?” seat which I make an effort to avoid, using other stalls or just holding it if possible.

Then there’s the hotseat, the “holy shit this seat is burning my hand, I can practically smell the fumes still dispersing and I don’t think I’m just imagining that that little droplet is ass sweat still on the seat.” This level of warmth is utterly unbearable and thankfully quite rare, and when I encounter this I invariably scan my memory for men coming out of the restroom as I was entering, or even men walking down the hall. Was it the guy with the black pinstriped suit and red silk tie who works in suite 304? Or was it Bob, the fat guy who handles claims?

Once or twice I’ve been in a rush and forgotten to check the seat and I have sat down on what felt like a moist hotplate and I almost threw up. Seriously. As I sat there my own body temperature started to rise as a result of the extreme heat radiating upward through my buttocks, and I began to sweat and if something wasn’t coming out of my posterior it would’ve been coming out my anterior. Maybe it was just the stress and utter repulsion at squishing my buttocks onto a warm seat. The only thing I can compare it to is when I was sitting in the grass at a park one day and I reached out my hand to support myself and it smooshed right into a soft pile of dog poo.

And so I urge you, gentle reader, (if anyone is reading this, please comment with your own dealings with warm toilet seats) check the seat with the back of your hand BEFORE you sit on it. And if its warm, think about a stranger’s bare booty, contemplate the warmth of the toilet seat and the warmth of that bare booty, examine your gut reaction to it, and by all means, wash your dirty ass when you get home.

-TN

Quote from Jack Handey

"If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason."

-From Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey

We Have Conquered Nevada

That's right, Nevadans have arrived at The Literary Brothel. At least two of them, according to Google Analytics.

How did they get here? Through searches.

"Best Restaurants in Reno" and "vegas brothel"

Well, welcome to you both. We don't discriminate.

Next up: Montana. Yes, I'm talking to you, state of Steven Spielberg's summer home, lots of mountain people, and...a few internet surfers? C'mon.

-KV

Mike Figgis Quote

"Anybody can buy a pencil and paper, but not everybody can draw."

-Mike Figgis, the director of Leaving Las Vegas from his book Digital Filmmaking


Digital Filmmaking is the perfect book for anyone with a project where they make a short film a week.

The Perfect Email For My Girlfriend by Klaus Varley

Looking over the keywords and key-phrases that landed people on The Brothel, "The Perfect Email For My Girlfriend" struck me as odd on a number of levels.

One: Nothing close to relevant comes up when you search this. The first few say things like: "this is my girlfriend's perfect ass" and when you click it, they steal all your secret codes, including your PayPal account (!)...or something...(?)...who knows, I didn't click it, I swear, I'm in the freakin' library.

Two: If your girlfriend says to you, "find me the perfect email address," there is some imbalance in that relationship. Shouldn't she be finding her own email address? And even if she asks you to help her find one, does she really need "the PERFECT" address? That's a lot of pressure. Don't do it. Get out.

Three: So you've finally landed here after losing your PayPal account (!) and read this far thinking "dude, are you going to help me out with that email address, my girl NEEDS an email address, why don't you just be cool and suggest..." ALRIGHT, I get the picture; here's some fuel so you can stay in your unhealthy situation a little longer:

Perfect Email Addresses For Your Girlfriend (but not for you)

theperfectemail@easyjoke.com

myboyfriendgotmethisemailaddress@icontrolhim.com

icouldhavegotanemailaddressmyselfbutiwantedtoseeifhe-
woulddoit@hesatool.com

ibetHeGooglesThisinsteadofthinkingofithimself@reading-
hismind.com

ifhedoesiwillputupafakesiteandstealhisPayPalAccount@thats-
calledacallback.com

---

Your Welcome!

-KV

Bathroom Bonanza Part II - Cancelled

The re-publication of the second part of the acclaimed two-part Bathroom Bonanza (Uric Chronicles) series has been postponed indefinitely.

Reasons sited: poor writing, crude jokes, and an underestimation of one's audience.

Disappointed readers (2) are directed to re-read the original Bathroom Bonanza: Flushee's Revenge, with one eye closed this time.

Which eye? Your left eye, of course.

I thought that was obvious.

Maybe you do deserve a poopy article.

Or maybe you just got one?

-KV

Ten Fun Facts About Nevada

This is a follow up to the last piece I wrote on Nevada which is not only an excellent read, but explains why we keep writing about Nevada. -KV


Ten Fun Facts About Nevada

10. Republicans granted Nevada statehood so that Abraham Lincoln would be elected President. Thus establishing a long lineage of upfront, honest dealings by both Republicans and Nevadans.

9. 'Nevada' means 'snowcapped' in Spanish. And is the reason we no longer use Spanish words to name our states.

8. Nevada (like Georgia, Louisiana, Virginia, Missouri, Montana and Pennsylvania) has no open-container law. There's no party like a Butte, Montana party.

7. Prostitution is legal in Nevada counties with populations under 400,000. Because it's important to keep brothels where they belong - in the countryside.

6. Prostitution is also legal in Rhode Island. Who knew?

5. Gambling became legal in Nevada in 1931. Thus ending the monopolies of greedy Indian Casinos and allowing decent Americans to make an honest buck.

4. Speaking of gambling, Texas Hold'em is hella fun. But don't play against anyone named Slim, The Master, or Parker Briggsmore.

3. Nevada is the seventh largest state. More "fact" than "fun."

2. The state bird is the Mountain Bluebird. Sounds peaceful, however, vulture was runner-up. Mosquito was third.

1. The state motto of Nevada is 'Home Means Nevada.' Thus, "snowcapped" must mean "home," such as "Mi apartamento es mi Nevada."

-KV

Petco Controversy Part III - Klaus Varley Answers Some Questions

I don't really think this is going to be a nine-hundred part series, but now it might go at least to nine, which is way more than we ever expected to get out of an observation on a pet store logo. -KV


PETCO CONTROVERSY - Part III

Questions from Carrie (with numbers)
Answers from Klaus Varley (with dashes)


1) I agree that they are side by side in a colorful, two-dimensional world. And that if the dog and cat's colors were reversed, the dog would look like the one from Blue's Clues.

-This is not really a question, but a statement. Having been subjected to Blue's Clues while an after-school instructor, however, I must respectfully disagree. Nothing looks like the dog on that show...nothing, save Satan himself, reincarnated in dog-form.


2) How does this fit under the umbrella of "literary" exactly? Or "brothel"? Yet perhaps the original LB would not have perished if we'd posted more mind-bending problems like this instead of our original writing.

-The Petco logo is both literary and brothel...ary. How? You know how.
-No, the original Literary Brothel (OLB) still would have perished had we spoken of the Petco logo. The only thing that could have saved the OLB was twenty more articles with "boobies" in the title.


3) Speaking of which [original writing...I'm guessing], I can't believe how long the name "Klaus Varley" has been in use and how it's just now receiving notoriety. If you hang on long enough...and start a blog...people will notice you. Or something.

-The name "Klaus Varley" has always been notorious, but just now being recognized in states like Oregon, which are five years ahead of all other states on things like environmental issues, yet five years behind on all other matters, including "Klaus Varley notoriety."

---
Hope that helps! Keep those questions coming!

-KV

Brief Thoughts on Home Security: An Affordable Alternative for Apartment Dwellers

So you want to protect your home, but don't have the expendable income to afford Brink, ADP, or SafeMart? Perhaps you're only renting an apartment, and could care less if the building facade is vandalized as long as your stuff inside remains safe?

Well look no further than your home computer. Though most of you out there do not have the thirty dollars a month to spare on home security, you don't bat an eye at purchasing the newest MacBook. Believe me, I understand - I'm typing this entry on my new Macintosh OS X. If nothing, I am of the people.

Fortunately, this same technological device that is shunned by Red Staters, and gets you labeled a pretentious screenwriting prick by "haters," doubles as a home security system. How, you ask? Simple. iTunes.

iTunes? Yes, this simple yet effective program will prevent burglary just as sure as the "i" in its name is lowercase.

...But you haven't explained "how?"

I'm getting to it. Listen.

...What?...

That's right, listen. To music. On your iTunes. The harder, the dirtier, the nastier the better. Rough, rugged hip-hop from Hot-lanta, East Bay punk before Green Day ruined it, Speed Metal, 2 Live Crew, early Rancid, Megadeth. Get it?

...No...

Create a playlist of the best of the worst - the stuff that would scare your parents - and just blast it. You don't need a good stereo system; in fact, the worst speakers you blast it out of, the better.

...What will that do beyond annoying my neighbors?

This is your home security system. A burglar walks up to the door and begins picking your lock. Then they here the music inside, and the following thoughts go through their mind:

Is that track six off of Minor Threat's eponymous debut?
I didn't think anyone was home, but who would leave that blaring all day?
Could a disgruntled cousin, recently released from the penitentiary
is staying with them for a time? This is getting risky.

The burglar would have no choice but to then break into your neighbor's apartment instead. Your neighbor's quiet, peaceful, and now empty apartment.

And your stuff will live another day. All because you stumbled upon this article on The Literary Brothel by your friend and ally, Klaus Varley.

In other words, this is your reward for searching "brothel boobie games" at two in the morning.

-KV

Searching for The Brain Transplant Journal? Welcome to The Literary Brothel!

The Literary Brothel has been getting some love from the Blog-o-sphere, which is great, but since we've been reposted in the Brain Transplant Journal, if one Googles Klaus Varley, one lands on that posting over this website! (Yet one lands on my amazon profile above everything...want to buy some books?)

And so, instead of promoting Klaus Varley more on this site...okay, along with promoting Klaus Varley more on this site, this posting is an attempt to snag some BRAIN TRANSPLANT JOURNAL searches, or people searching for LAURA of the BRAIN TRANSPLANT JOURNAL, or anything else related to BRAIN TRANSPLANTS or JOURNALS or Oregon.

I have no idea if capitalizing words makes them more searchable, but hey, it's worth a shot.

And a shot is all we have when we're up against a powerhouse like the BRAIN TRANSPLANT JOURNAL.

Thus concludes Klaus Varley's commentary about THE BRAIN TRANSPLANT JOURNAL.

-KV (KLAUS VARLEY)

The Best Restaurants in Reno, Las Vegas, and Carson (Not really)

So, this isn't a restaurant review. We do have some restaurant reviews here at The Literary Brothel, but they are mainly for restaurants in the LA area, because, well, that's where we live. Sorry (for tricking you AND for living in LA). -KV

The "real" title for this entry is "Filling the Map - Trying to Get Hits on our Website from all 50 States and We Don't Have Any Hits From Nevada Yet." At current tally, people from 25 states and the District of Columbia have taken a turn on The Literary Brothel. We're half way there (if you count Alaska and Hawaii).

Today I'm talking to you, Nevada. Nevada: so close to California, but will never be California. Unless you consider it the part of California that is high desert and very rural and a lot like Nevada. Okay, Nevada, you can be that part of California, but you'll never be the part of California with Indian casinos and strip clubs. That part is uniquely our own.

Here's some neat Nevada facts:

Weather in Nevada: Hot. Unless you're in the mountains. Then substitute "Hot" with "Cold."

Percentage of Nevada residents who like tourists: 0%

Percentage of Nevada residents who make a living from tourism: 100%

My favorite buffet in Las Vegas: Texas Station. Yes, off the strip in North Vegas. The locals know what I'm talking about. Worth. The. Drive.

Vegas, Baby.

Vegas.

That's from Swingers.

The movie.

Hello, Nevada.

-KV