Experts: Palin Chosen for Women's Votes

This article in the USA Today, uh, today, states that the consensus among so-called "experts" is that Alaska Governor Sarah Palin was chosen as the vice presidential running-mate of John McCain in order to court the votes of women disillusioned with the promise of the first female Presidential candidate.

Now you don't have to read the article, but read this: if pointing this out makes you an expert, than I, Klaus Varley, declare myself an expert in politics, for that's EXACTLY what I said when I first heard the news.

What else am I am expert in? Procrastinating, blogging, and Super Mario Kart (SNES).

But now, add politics to that list.

Booya.

Seriously, if McCain cared about strengthening the executive branch - or his proposed version of said branch - would he not have chosen someone who is an expert in the economy, something that which McCain has said - on at least three occasions - that he knows nothing about?

Listen to me; I am an expert.

Or listen to the Obama camp: "Bill Burton offered a harsh critique of Palin's credentials, saying McCain 'put the former mayor of a town of 9,000 with zero foreign policy experience a heartbeat away from the presidency.'"

Gotta love that "heartbeat" imagery.

Enjoy your "labor day," whatever that is.

-KV

Another Quote from Bukowski

"shit, it would be sweet to get paid to write! to just sit here and bang bang bang, and get paid to do what I have to do anyhow - like getting paid to shit or fuck, what? too much but worth a try. and prob. will not happen."

-Charles Bukowski, June, 1967. From Charles Bukowski, Selected Letters, Volume 2: 1965-1970.

Jonathan Gold - One of our Favorites...

ONE OF OUR FAVORITES - JONATHAN GOLD

Jonathan Gold, Pulitzer Prize winning food critic for the LA Weekly, Gourmet Magazine, and more, is one of our favorite writers.

If you just moved to LA (welcome my acting/screenwriting friend!) add these two books to the bookshelf your over-priced Los Feliz apartment. Lord knows you didn't come to LA to read, but trust me, you NEED these books, like, now.

The Thomas Guide 2008 - Los Angeles County Street Guide

and

Counter Intelligence - Jonathan Gold

Sure you can read his articles every Thursday in the LA Weekly, but he only has one restaurant review, and guess what - everybody reads that. Try getting a reservation at El Sazon Oaxaqueno after a Gold write up? (Ha! Trick question! They don't take reservations!)

Instead, pick up Counter Intelligence. With hundreds of restaurant recommendations - most of them extremely affordable to downright "cheap" - you'll be instantly converted to Gold and believe in his subtitle: "Where to eat in the real Los Angeles."

Oh yeah, and he's also one of the best writers out there. Of any genre. Here are some quotes from Counter Intelligence:

"Lavishly buttered bowls of grits appear at breakfast, served with hot cornbread, eggs any way you like them, and pungent, profoundly salty slabs of real country ham-the kind of breakfast that any sensible person would trade for the ability to squeeze into a pair of size-6 jeans."

-Gold on Johnny Reb's

"Hot Dog on a Stick is yet another gift Southern California has bestowed upon the world...A summer behind the fryers at Hot Dog on a Stick is almost the archetypal first teenage job, and the garishly costumed employees figure in local teenage iconagraphy as surely as lifeguards or cheerleaders."

-Gold on Hot Dog on a Stick

"The cooks are Asian; the waitresses Peruvian. The walls are decorated with pictures of campesinos and llamas and gory bleeding Jesuses; above the serving counter sit plaster Japanese good-luck cats, paws raised in greeting...Across the street is a well-stocked liquor store where you can pick up a six-pack of Sapporo to drink with your dinner.

-Gold on Mario's Peruvian Seafood

"Like all good hamburgers, a Pie 'N Burger burger is about texture: the crunch of lettuce, the charred, slightly friable surface of the meat, the outer rim of the bun crisped to almost the consistency of toast...The slice of American cheese, if you have ordered a cheeseburger, does not melt into the patty, but stands glossily aloof form it, as if it were mocking the richness of the sandwich rather than adding to the general effect."

-Gold on Pie 'N Burger
(The best damn hamburger joint in the world, I dare you to find a better place. Dare!)

Hungry? Me too.

-KV

I Shadow Box Naked But My Shadow Has Shorts On

I thought of the name of this post while in the shower, NOT while shadow boxing naked.

Or did I?

(Not sure, actually. That's a real question. If you know the answer, well, I have two questions for you. 1. How the hell do you that? 2. You seem to know a lot. Can you help me find my keys? In the drawer, why would they be...oh, you're right. Never mind.)

This post is a return to the form of a true rant. What is a true rant? Specifically, it's when you riff on one topic, land on something that reminds you of something else you hate, at which point you switch to that topic, and go off on that. Generally, it's a bunch of complaining. When that complaining is combined with a lot of grammatical mistakes it is referred to as a blog.

But this is not a blog.

[Transition to rant about blogs]

How is this different from a blog?

Well, a blog can be, "look at my pictures from my weekend!" followed by twenty pictures you did not ask to see (but still enjoy looking at! Seriously, friends, seriously.)

A blog also might also read like a laundry-list of activities, juxtaposed with thoughts from those activities.

"Today I took the dog for a walk, and was thinking that man, I should do this more often! When the dog poops outdoors, it is SO much easier to clean up!"

Yes, cheap joke, but stay with me - we're ranting about blogs.

The complex blogger might go even further, and get a bit post-modern in his or her entry, acknowledging the role of the reader, such as:

"You might be thinking, hey stupid, you should have known about the pooping patterns of dogs BEFORE you purchased that animal. What can I say? I'm from the City."

I have no idea if the "the" in "the City" is supposed to be capitalized, and I refuse to look it up in this context - a reference to San Francisco.

[Transition...]

To this day, I honestly get confused when someone calls Frisco "the city." Since my mid-twenties, I have been a stickler for people using the appropriate or nearly appropriate, or a closely accurate words to describe specific things. I don't know if it's just getting old, or I don't want to assume I know what people mean when they say something vague, like "the city."

You're going where? Oh, SF. Why didn't you just say so? You know, there are lots of cities. In fact, San Jose AND San Diego have more people than San Fran. Look it up. It's true.

The OTHER thing I deplore about San Francisco is the disdain for Los Angeles. I suppose it isn't representative of the entire city, and so I shouldn't characterize it as such. But man, when you're in the city by the bay, and you mention you're from LA, watch out. Here are some things people - who I don't know very well, but have reason to be polite to - ie: they're friends with my friend who lives up in Nor Cal - have said when they find I'm from LA.

"Is it hard to breathe down there?"

"Do you like, drive a lot?"

"How are the movie stars?"

"Do you ever get sick of the superficiality?"

"What's your screenplay about?"

The answers:

No.
No.
Cool.
No.
A romantic comedy between a strict parking enforcement agent and a girl who breaks all the rules.

At least, that's what one of them is about.

-KV

Klaus Varley Brings Semi-Literary Back - A Book List (Sort-of)

Since Bringing Literary Back was so darn popular, and like an ambition teenager, one of our goals here at The Brothel is to become more and more popular, below are a number of lists* serving various purposes, including, but not limited to, your amusement, your procrastination, your something, and for you to scoff at.

List 1: Books On My Shelf I Have Not Read but Would Honestly Like to Read (as opposed to those books on my shelf that I have not read and would not like to read and am not sure why I bought them or maybe they were a present. A bad present)

War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Cock and Bull - Will Self
Trouble is my Business - Raymond Chandler
The Big Sleep - Raymond Chandler
You Just Don't Understand - Deborah Tannen, Ph.D.
Black Dahlia - James Ellroy
Burr - Gore Vidal
Operating Instructions - Anne Lamott
Dune - Frank Herbert
Red Harvest - Dashiell Hammett
The Story of Philosophy - Will Durant
South by No North - Charles Bukowski
Godel, Escher, Bach - Douglas Hofstadter

List 2: Books that I don't "pretend" to have read...let's just say "Books, that when brought up in a social setting elicit a, 'who wants another drink?' from yours truly." In fact, they're so famous I don't even feel the need to include the author's name. Just imagine each title followed by "you know who."

The Fountainhead
The Sound and the Fury
One Hundred Years of Solitude
Moby Dick (I may have read this as a kid, I can't remember. A good discussion this does not make. Who needs a drink?)
Crime and Punishment
A Confederacy of Dunces
The Road
The People's History of America
Any Book by Cormac McCarthy
Why do people keep bringing up Cormac McCarthy?! He's not that good...is he? Who needs a drink?

List 3: Books that after reading will make my life glorious. Or at least that's what I imagine they will do. At the VERY least after reading the books below, I could say at a party, "If you like Cormac McCarthy, you'll LOVE ____."

The Bible - God and his/her translators
Infinite Jest - David Foster Wallace
Gravity's Rainbow - Thomas Pynchon
The Complete Works of Lao Tzu - Lao Tzu
The Wind-up Bird Chronicle - Haruki Murakami
In Search of Lost Time - Marcel Proust

And...more? I'm never going to get to any of these by blogging about them.

"Who needs a drink?"

Much easier.

-KV


---
*I will not know this number until I write the lists, at which time I might go back and change this introduction. However, if you are reading this, it must mean I have not deleted this section. Why not? So you know that every time someone starts a paragraph knowing too much about what will follow, they have actually already written what will follow and are pretending not to know. In other words, you will be reading the work of liars. But not here; not at The Brothel. Well, not here, on this piece. This piece just has long footnotes. Well, one long footnote. My bad.

North Dakota Gold Snow Women Sasquatches Paris Hilton

The Literary Brothel has had visitors from 49 states.

There is only one state that stays away.

(In case you couldn't do the math)

Can you guess which one?

That's right. North Dakota.

Or "South Canada," as it is sometimes called.

By people who are not from there,

but run a website

that tries to get visitors

from North Dakota.

What will it take to get visitors from North Dakota?

Will it help to mention North Dakota and Paris Hilton in the same sentence?

Probably not.

It might be better to talk about Fargo, Bismarck, or Grand Forks.

And even better to say,

"We know where the treasure is buried."

Or

"When this snow melts, boy are we going to be rich."

C'mon ND.

Lower the Drinking Age to 18 - and other things in the news

Dwindling coverage of Michael Phelps means a drop in hits for The Literary Brothel.

So, as another strategy to keep our 100 visitors a day (yep, you read right - one hundred) we're gonna try to keep up on other current events - or at least we are going to try that today, for this afternoon edition of The Literary Brothel.

Google News, don't steer me wrong. Let's see what we've got:

"Should 18 be the legal drinking age?" - Answer: yes. Moving on.

"Seinfeld to become new face of Microsoft" - Ah, so that's how one follows The Bee Movie

"Obama points to McCain as wealthy and clueless" - In other words, "In debate with McCain, Obama holds up a mirror to his opponent."

"Margaret Cho has some serious tattoos." Okay, not the "official" story from the New York Times (she's got a new show or something...who has time to read these NYT articles all the way through?) but check out this pic:





That's news. I guess.

-KV

CBEST, CWORST, CAVERAGE by Klaus Varley

Wrote this back in 2002 after taking the CBEST - the test you must take in California to become a teacher. And I became one, for a very brief time. No, I did not get fired (but perhaps I should have been, for referring to myself as White Destiny in pieces like this one. Good god.) -KV

CBEST, CWORST, CAVERAGE (Caverage! Yum!)
by Klaus Varley

The CBEST - the test to become a licensed school-teacher in California - stands for the California Basic Educational Skills Test. "Skills?" The SAT, taken to get into college has a fancy smancy name (Scholastic Aptitude Test). But the test to become the adult handing out that test on a Saturday morning? The teacher test is the "skills" test.

And so I didn't study, nor fret, and slept well the night before. So well in fact that I woke up ten minutes after I was supposed to leave.

"Shit," I said, with disdain for my unconscious behavior.

But because of my phenomenal driving skills I negotiated the freeway and made it to the valley, right on time, taking a seat next to those whose punctuality skills were obviously a grade above mine, but how will they fare when 2x + 5 = 7? Will they have the skills to solve for little "x"? I looked at their faces and new the answer was questionable, at best.

I sat behind a fair-haired maiden; her paper said her name was Rebecca Smith and her sweatshirt said she went to Pepperdine.

"You got skills, Becca?" I whispered in her ear with a sneer (and got ready for the rhyming section).

"Did you say something?" she asked, polite as a deer, turning to face my body, or like some refer to it as, The Temple of the White Destiny.

"Um, good luck?" I suddenly became nervous, transfixed in her steady gaze and large, green, and unblinking eyes. The temple was crumbling.

"Thanks, you too," said Rebecca, turning around and being bored once more. "Why can't guys ever say anything interesting?" she thought, twiddling her hair and popping her early morning Bubble Yum. Okay, no Bubble Yum, but she did twirl her hair--and think those thoughts.

It's nine AM. Let's begin.

The answer booklet is slapped on my desk by a disgruntled Calculus teacher working overtime on Saturday to facilitate a test for prospective members of her profession. She's pissed; I can tell. But is she frustrated with the long hours, little pay, and lack of respect she gets from her Brown colleagues at the reunion: the cost of being a dedicated educator of America's youth? (Typical reunion conversation: "Goddamnit I'm SAVING these kids, these, these lost little fuckers. They'd be on drugs without me, DON'T LAUGH THOMAS, I'M SERIOUS! Oh okay, laugh it up TOM…(She takes a long swig of the martini in her hand, finishing it off and setting her glass unsteadily down on a table nearby) but that's why your daughter is on coke and your wife gets more pleasure from the lawnmower than she does from you and your limp noodle. And when I say noodle, I mean you have a tiny dick, motherfucka!!")

Or does Disgruntled Debby (Mrs. Durbey) see us as the competition-the eager recruits waiting in the wings, watching for any error, any sign of weakness? (Look at these eager faces. They're waiting, oh yes, you'd better believe it: that clear complexion hides a wicked, warted, double crossing demon waiting to pounce. Waiting to pounce on me! POUNCE ON DEBBY? When the chips are down don't look to the young owl to help you out; he'll just eat you! It's no accident that teachers are depicted as owls in Tootsie Roll commercials-scavengers, I tell you, every last on of 'em!)

I sign the honesty agreement, or insurance plan, or contract with the devil, or whatever the hell it is, and me and my first #2 pencil (I christened him "One of Two" just before the start of the test) go to work.

The first paragraph looks something like this (the real test may not be replicated in any way, thus the excerpt below is some fake-ass shite).

1. Jim Johnson cured cancer. Throughout his life he had many _____ going for him. Never before had such a world seen such a man such as Jim Johnson. Jim had a wife and three kids, but they were killed by a hungry, hungry tractor while he was in Munich receiving one of his three Nobel Prizes for literature.

Question 1: The excerpt above most likely came from a work entitled:

A) Big Jim and the Twins
B) Jim Johnson: The Man, the Myth, the Smarty Pants
C) Blank Things
D) Hungry Hungry Tractors
E) The American Revolution

"Hmmm, this test might be trickier than I thought," I thought, correctly, and moved on to the next question, which, to my dismay, covered the same badly written paragraph.

Question 2: In the excerpt above, which word would best fit in the _____?

A) whores
B) therefore; however
C) Rocketman
D) good-things

I didn't ask why this question only had four answers and the other five--nor did I care. What did bother me was the fact that some answers had two words, most were sexual in nature, and I'd never seen the words "good" and "things" put together in hyphenated form. That's when I knew it was going to be a long morning.

I moved on to the writing section, because the CBEST also tests your "skills" in managing your time (on the test at least, not in your personal life), thus allowing you to go from section to section at your leisure. I wrote the two required essays and moved on. Don't want to say too much about them, but I'll say this: tears will shower my test, pouring from the eyes of all those blessed enough to have been chosen (by the lord almighty!) to grade my pieces. The dramatic account of the troubled early years of Timmy O'Toole is told with such pinpoint accuracy through the eyes of one Klaus Varley, that only one conclusion can be drawn: he uses a pseudonym. This "friend called Timmy," must be none other than Klaus Varley! in the flesh! Dry your tears readers, for it was a fictitious account, but don't forget the passing grade, eh? No, "A."

I went back and finished the Reading portion, leaving only the Math.

Average Math Question: If three less than one hundred is divided by seven, and the remainder is multiplied by 97 (you may laugh at this), how many Nobel Prizes did Jim Johnson win?

A) 97 X 97
B) µ
C) 7 of 9
D) µ2: The Sequel
E) Three People Who Have Never Been in My House.

The parentheses are my own, but I could just hear the composers of the test chuckling at their own cleverness: everything seemed like one big inside joke and a reference to Cheers. Though the math was easy, I felt like I was missing out on something-maybe a laugh?

But at 10:30 AM on a Saturday, I felt none two amused, yet oddly thankful that the correct answer was always one of the choices. I felt a security in that, and like all things secure, I felt safe--safe enough to hand my test to Mrs. Angry-Eyes when I smoked through the math section and leave in peace.

In the above paragraph, the word "two" is used in which sense:
A) The misspelled sense.
B) The sorry-attempt-at-a-joke-relating-to-numbers sense.
C) The sense like in the sentence: "Two gerbils for the price of one"
D) Sense-less.
E) All of the above, along with the sense of using it as an excuse to create a supposedly 'clever' question and answer session that has little or no relevance to the rest of the piece, and is the author's lazy way of avoiding any sort of moral or literary conclusion.

Well then, time's up. Put your pencils down and get out of my classroom you freaking brats. Mama needs a smoke.

-KV

Addendum: You'll be happy/frightened to know that Klaus passed the CBEST with flying colors and will soon be an official edumacater of America's youth.

Ralphs Coffee - Ground Breakfast Blend

"Ralphs selects the finest coffee beans from around the world, then carefully roasts them to their perfection, providing a full-bodied up of coffee with an enticing aroma."

Maybe, but the coffee tastes like...

Diet Pepsi

meets

water

meets

thriftiness.

More specifically, MY thriftiness.

-KV

PS. Why doesn't Ralphs have an apostrophe in its name? I smell a future post. And bad coffee...

Interest in Phelps/Olympics Wanes

Now that Phelps is out of the pool, are the Olympics over?

Answer: Yes.

Well, not exactly, but it sure seems like it. It's as if the dramatic climax of the movie came half-way though, and now we have to watch a mediocre subplot carry the rest of the film.

But unlike a movie, in the Olympics you have your choice of subplots! Here are the four big ones, as far as I can tell:

Subplot 1 - That Jamaican guy runs fast

Subplot 2 - Racist pictures at the Olympics

Subplot 3 - Tibet, or protests, or something...

Subplot 4 - US Basketball Team set to kick some serious Bryant

I'm gonna follow subplot 4. You?

-KV

Swimming in the Zeitgeist

Swimming in the Zeitgeist
by Klaus Varley

I don't know why I went to the pool, but I did.

Michael Phelps made me do it. I don't know how, but he did.

The pool seemed extraordinarily crowded for a Thursday afternoon. I shared a lane with three other people.

Half-way through my first lap, I realized I hadn't swam in a long, long time. But I was still faster than other people in nearby lanes.

Why were they swimming so slowly?

On my second lap, I realized why - swimming is tiring.

By the third lap, I had another theory - Michael Phelps made them do it. They had seen nothing but swimming for the past week - swimming was in the collective zeitgeist. Their brains said "swim," and swim they did, even if they couldn't swim very well.

Lap four - Was I a victim of this as well? Could it be possible that Phelps and Co. had co-opted my freedom of choice? Was swimming was my only option for physical fitness? If I swam on a regular basis, could I too eat whatever I wanted?

Perhaps.

Or perhaps I was thinking too much about this. And I was getting tired.

I got out, rinsed off, saw a bunch of naked men in the locker room, and noticed that though I felt like Phelps when I put on a Speedo, my reflection did not echo this inner image. Maybe if I shaved my legs...

Or maybe not.

And that's okay. Next week everyone will out of the pool and down on the track doing the 100 meter dash and I...will probably be there too.

-KV

Michael Phelps Eats Gold Medal By Accident

BEIJING (TLB) - Olympic gold medal swimmer Michael Phelps has taken on more than he can chew. On Saturday, August 16th, Phelps accidentally took a bite out of one of the seven gold medals he has recently acquired at these 2008 Olympic games.

According to witnesses, Phelps was in the midst of his (coincidentally) seventh bowl of ramen when the accident took place.

"I thought it looked kinda strange, but I bit into it anyway," stated an embarrassed Phelps, who later confessed to eating the entire medal, not just taking a bite as earlier reported (in this article).

"Hey, I need my calories," Phelps said, looking strangely at our microphone. "What's that made of?"

"Poop," I responded. It was our only microphone. "Did you really eat the gold medal?"

"No, I'm just kidding," Phelps said. But then he paused and leaned in close as if to tell us a secret. "But even if I did, I got six more right here."

Phelps then laughed, turned into a dolphin and swam away.

In other words, it was just another day in China.


-Klaus Varley reporting live from (an imaginary) Beijing

Ten Reasons Why Michael Phelps is an Asshole

Regular pieces have been put on hold during the Olympics, as The Literary Brothel has received more hits for "michael phelps asshole" than anything else in the history of the site. Yeah, even more than "naked boobies," although that's still very popular, along with "my girlfriend on a toilet seat."

So here's another piece with "Michael Phelps" and "asshole" in the title. Enjoy! -KV

Ten Reasons Why Michael Phelps is an Asshole
by Klaus Varley

10. He eats 12,000 calories a day and does not get fat. (Thanks LD for this link)

9. He never grows old.

8. He competed in his first Olympics at the age of 15. (Take that, Chinese Women's Gymnastics Team)

7. He breaks his own world records easier than I break my own CDs. (And I break my CDs really easily)

6. He can fly.

5. He is from Baltimore. (Like Omar)

4. He is a spokesman for MADD

3. He has "mad" skills in the pool.

2. His ability to receive text messages is unparalleled.

1. My girlfriend thinks he's cute.

...

Okay, so he might grow old "someday," and he can't technically "fly." But the rest of that stuff is true. Which means he's...kinda a decent guy?!? Wait, but my girlfriend thinks he's cute! Ef-Michael Phelps!

-KV

Back to Love Field - Teddy Nutmeg

Note: This is the sequel to Teddy Does Dallas. We highly suggest you read it first and/or anything else on The Literary Brothel.

BACK TO LOVE FIELD
Teddy Nutmeg

Bringing you back to Dallas. Back to Love Field. Back to the place where Crackhead Wayne and I had our little adventure three months ago which ended with me and Wayne's homeless crack ho spending the night together. This is about that part.

She looked fifty, but was probably somewhere around 35, dirty, hungry and grateful to have a bathroom to clean up in and a warm bed to sleep in on that cold night. Before you hypocritical brothelians criticize, let me say in the same honest tone with which I am telling you this that I took her in that night as a father takes in a wayward son. Well, maybe, just maybe there was a jadedly, desperately hopeful instant. The floodlights of the hotel parking lot quickly revealed her crackified features, however, destroying the fleeting fantasy and instilling a feeling of profound self-loathing in me.

Back in the hotel room, her unearned decrepitude was all too apparent; wrinkles on a face too young to wield them, lips too chapped in a country where water is free and abundant, and hair matted enough to qualify as dreds. She was a looker, all right.

She spent a good hour in the bathroom, bathing, showering, enjoying the comforts that a one hundred and thirty-dollar hotel room can provide. And I pretended to watch TV while mused at my own wretchedness, hiding all my cash in the toe of one of my Nikes. We ordered room service when she emerged, a clean, homeless crackhead, in room-service heaven. She slept soundly across the king-sized be from me.

The next morning, after she asked me if I wanted her to blow me and I quietly replied "no darling, I don't want that," but before she left, I ashamedly checked to see if my cash was still there in the toe of my sneaker and asked her to sign my journal. She wrote the following in handwriting neater than my own:

"I was so happy to meet a very nice person like you. I hope to see you again soon!
Love, Gayle From: Dallas"

And this inscription mere pages away from young Angel's own signature and drawings of her cheerleader friends; young Angel who I met on a flight eight months ago to DFW, Love Field's upscale counterpart. Young Angel who left me her email address, who ran track for her high school, who was dressed in chic capris and a DKNY tee, whose flawless skin and eyes so full of innocence had me wishing I was sixteen again and feeling like a dirty old 23 year old businessman.

But that's not what I'm writing about tonight. I'm writing about my return to the ghettos of Dallas, my return to depravity's parlor. Last time I was here I paid five bucks for fried chicken, mustard greens and a biscuit at a chicken shack and the adventure with Crackhead Wayne began.

Tonight was different, I wasn't in the mood for chicken and I'd been recommended a restaurant. So tonight I dined at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse, one of the best in Dallas and tonight I tasted a different, startlingly sweet flavor of sadness. The Cabernet I drank was from Napa and a mere nine dollars a glass, the aged, rock-salted, medium-rare Filet Mignon just $28, and the fresh asparagus salad only seven bones. As I ate the free meal (expense account be praised), I once again felt the isolation only a man dining alone can feel. Waves of strangely sublime wretchedness washed warmly over my soul as the strangely warm (in January?) Atlantic Ocean had washed over my bare feet three months ago in Miami Beach.

This wretchedness was different, somehow satiating like the USDA Prime steak. It felt good to feel bad for treating myself. After all, Crackheads Wayne and Gayle were out there somewhere, walking and sleeping in the mean streets, hoping to score some dough for a 60 second crack rush and perhaps meeting another sensitive, rakish young business traveler such as myself.

-TN

Hot Cool Asshole: More Michael Phelps Keywords

Boy that Phelps kid is popular. Here are some searches that have hit our site in the past few days. -KV

"michael phelps asshole"

"michael phelps jenna bush"

"michael phelps text message"

"phelps asshole"

"how to text michael phelps" (I have to say, this is expecting a lot out of Google)

"is phelps an asshole"

"michael phelps cool or asshole"

"michael phelps totally hot"

Does Phelps really come across like an asshole, or does he just look like an asshole? I'm betting on the latter, since he doesn't say much except, "dude, I got a lot of text messages today."

But we gotta say, "Thanks, Michael." Anyone who brings as many hits as you have to our site can't be an asshole.

Or can he?

The debate continues!

-KV

The Offshore Drilling Sham As Told By Fourth Graders

Below is a conversation between two fourth-graders trying to understand the gas crisis and what all this talk about offshore drilling has to do with it. It is fictional. -KV

Johnny: Democrats are stupid.

Barry: Why?

Johnny: Because they're against off-shore drilling.

Barry: They are?

Johnny: That's what my Dad says.

Barry: Where'd he learn that?

Johnny: The TV.

Barry: But I heard Obama say he was okay with it.

Johnny: Really?

Barry: Yeah, but like, as a part of a big plan.

Johnny: See, that's what I'm talking about. Against it.

Barry: Obama also said - I sound like a commercial! - that the oil companies already have 68 million acres of land that they can drill on, but are not using.

Johnny: Maybe there's no oil under that land?

Barry: Then why would they pay for it?

Johnny: They like land?

Barry: I also read that the US government already passed some bill back in 2006 allowing for offshore drilling, and nothing happened. Gas went up.

Johnny: Bullshit.

Barry: Check it out
Johnny: Oh. Well, what should we do then to lower gas prices, Mr. Smarty?

Barry: I know a plan that costs billions of dollars and might reduce the price of gas by a few cents max...but not for at least seven years, according to the government.

Johnny: That plan sucks.

Barry: That's offshore drilling.

Johnny: .... No way.

Barry: Yeah way. See?

Johnny: Hey, what's this crap about oil companies getting tax breaks...while making huge profits?

Barry: Yeah. Messed up, huh?

Johnny: How'd they manage that?

Barry: They're good.

Johnny: At screwing us...

As Barry and Johnny laugh the bell rings and recess is over. It's time to return to class. They turn off their laptops and leave the computer lab.

They grow up so fast these days.

-KV

Michael Phelps + asshole

"Michael Phelps + asshole" - The funniest keyword search that has hit The Brothel in a while.

For the record, nowhere on this site do we say "Michael Phelps is an asshole." In fact, as a whole we are undecided as to what we think of Mr. Phelps, only that he swims really, really fast.

I mean like, really fast.

-KV

Six Olympic Sports With No Need For Instant Replay

Six Olympic Sports With No Need For Instant Replay

6. Sailing - Watch as the wind kicks up a gale - and moves the boat a bit faster.
5. Archery - There's the shot! Oh, it hit/missed.
4. Shooting - See Archery.
3. Cycling - Let's look at that again as the cyclist pedals faster.
2. Triathlon - She swims. She still swims. Oh, now she's biking (see cycling).
1. Rowing - Stroke. Stroke. Stoke. Win! Or lose. But no replay.

Not on the list: most track and field events. A given.

Enjoy the games!

-KV

Michael Phelps's Text Messages

Michael Phelps said today that he received "like a hundred text messages" after winning the gold in the 400-meter freestyle relay.

Using advanced technology* we here at The Literary Brothel intercepted the first of those text messages, and traced the numbers back to the senders. Yeah, I know, that's some "advanced" technology.

Here they are, in the order received:

"Big ups, Mike. I will buy your suit for one million dollars, as agreed." -Bill 'bad boy' Gates

"My dad wants to send you a text message congratulating you, but he can't figure out how. I'm gonna try to teach him. If not, well, good job, I guess." -Jenna Bush

"Dude, chicks dig gold medals. Let me wear one. Just for a night. I'll let you play my bongos." -Matthew McConaughey

"I JUST LEARNED HOW TO TEXT! WOO WOO!" -yer prez

"Congrats, man, but many medals do you need?" -Greg Louganis

"Did Greg just send you a text about winning too many medals and outshining former Olympians? Just remember, there are many of us, and one of you. And you can't hide in the water forever." -Mary Lou Retton on behalf of herself, Mark Spitz, Carl Lewis, Kerri Strug, and many, many others. We are everywhere.

"Nice strokes kid, but are you ready for the big time? See you in San Diego." -Shamu

"Congrats. Whatever Bill offered you for your suit, I'll double it." -Rupert Murdoch

"What I mean is, congratulations Michael. Your country is proud of you. When you get back to the states, your Uncle George will send over a congratulatory gallon of gas. Lol. Btw, did you know 'congratulatory' was a word? Connie taught me that one today. Anyways, gotta go." -GWB

"Your totally hot. Loves it." -Paris Hilton

Just after the text from Paris our advanced technology ran out of ideas. Oh well. As if Phelps needs more press...

-KV

---
*known in some circles as the "imagination" machine

Ten Movies Better Than The Dark Knight (a.k.a. Batman 6)

Ten Movies Better Than The Dark Knight

Pulp Fiction
The Shawshank Redemption
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
The Matrix
North by Northwest
Memento
A Clockwork Orange
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
The Graduate
Requiem for a Dream

I'm just sayin...

Who the hell is Tucker Bounds?

All I know is that he is running for "biggest asshole on the planet." Yes, that's an award. We give it out here at The Brothel. Whenever we want.

Really, I can't find anything else about the guy. Can you?

Meanwhile, here are some Tucker Bounds to give you a taste of his "character."

“Barack Obama’s latest negative attack ad shows his celebrity is matched only by his hypocrisy."

And the more recent...

"Paris Hilton might not be as big a celebrity as Barack Obama, but she obviously has a better energy plan."

Winners of the First Annual Literary Brothel Poetry Contest!

Thanks to everyone who sent us a poem (or 5). Some great stuff. It was a tough choice, blah blah blah, here are the winners! (It seriously was a tough choice.)

WINNER - Time Capsule by Michael Shorb

TIME
CAPSULE

It had something to do
with global warming
anyway sand-
storms covered
badlands of northern
California somehow leaving
one of my poems as
a marker in time
excavated years later
it provided a contrast
to the official national
capsule back east.

Fortunately the buried poem
was quite an epic
anthropologists hefted out
so many crates of evidence
they resembled a line of
army ants.

We fared much better
than empires represented
by shards of pottery alone.

The crates ran from A
for Apple iPod to
Z for Zoroastrian creation myths.

It was all there:

why we lived

what we meant

that sort of thing.

---


RUNNER UP - Mommy Syphilis by Sarah Haas

Mommy Syphilis

A morning wet

Still dreaming

Salty and green

A sailor’s promise

Years gone by

Still linger

In the sea foam

Of her eyes

Tides come in

And wait

To wash me out again

In the holding time

Between twenty-five years

Gone by

And another morning rise

The spirit

She once took seriously

Winks at me

Before she dissolves

Into the walls

Leaving the pitiful woman

Who once

Knew how to love

Magnificently

Cursing her name

Mommy hangs

between

The false veins and arteries

Of I.V.s

Like a piece of moon bone

Fallen from the sky

Grated to dust

By the window screen

Laid wide

Across the musty arms

Of a wooden chair

Rocking back and forth

Singing

I got a rose bud

Stuck in the back of my throat

Come round

Close ya hear

And pull it out

My fingers stumble

Through the room

Catch cobwebs

And broken tresses

Of her hair

Collide

With jaundice

Dyed

Skin

Draped across

The iron cage

Where a heart still

Flutters

With feathered rage

Hoping

The seaman

Will come back

To sing

The song

She drown in

The inside corridors of my ear

Fall close enough

To feel

Her November air

She smiles

Thinking I am death

No, not today my dear

She coughs and hacks

And tries to laugh

As nails drive

Into my wrists

Pinned

I cannot catch

The scarlet phlegm

That blossoms

A bouquet

In the nape of her neck

You always were

A worthless girl

She says

I adjust the quilted flee-mat

Across her lap

“Glad to hear

You still have breath”

I make sure there is water near

And wipe down her chest

See you tomorrow

I’ll come back

And braid your hair

She tells me

The sailor will return

And take her forever

Away from here

The door

Closes her inside

Her haunted shrine

And all the neighbors can hear

Her shout about

The careless woman ‘

I turned out

I close my eyes

And take a breath

Was it the spirit that lied?

Did mom hear somewhere

That she was born

For him

I thought she was mine

I guess

We both lost out

But I will never leave

I will never set her free

Let her go

So I come back

And watch her decompose

Years ago

I cried

But now I just wait

Until darkness bends

Around

Each corner

Of her tomb

And listen to her shout

As if she were underground

Waiting outside her bedroom

I huddle by the door

For her to shrink away

Maybe she will disappear

But I wait

To hear

The tiny word –

Stay

Because I know

Secretly

She says it to me

When she thinks

I have finally

Left her there

---



HONORABLE MENTION - Freckles by Yuko Sawatani


FRECKLES

My new bikini will take me to a beach.

The beach, brings me instant satisfaction

and permanent torture.

Here, I am home and you follow me in disguise.

Slowly and silently, you start to sizzle my skin.

Like a hot stone when you put water on it.

My back, my legs, my face…..

I know it's not enough. I know you won't let me go.

Now you show yourself.

You are an enemy of my life

of all girls.

I have spilled inks on my face and they are spread out.

Wipe, erase, and bleach - nothing works.

There is no way
but to live with you forever.

---

Thanks again for all the submissions, and to guest judges Brian Lee and L____L___. Please check back next month for more contests! Poetry, prose, and more...

SF Signal Linked Us

Not sure how we got linked by them, but the science fiction site (whose name looks like it would be for a San Francisco lighthouse) SF Signal www.sfsignal.com posed a link to The Literary Brothel's piece Bringing Literary Back.

Theories?

Ketchup, Catsup, Catchup, Catch Up

No big posting today, but when I was looking up how to spell "ketchup" (apparently not "ketsup") I came across this awesome article on Ketchup (did you know it came from a Chinese pickled fish sauce? Neither did I!)

Hopefully this will give you time to catch up on all the great posts you might have missed in the past few days, weeks, or...hopefully just weeks.

-KV

Grammar vs Grammer - Confusing Words Part I

GRAMMAR VS GRAMMER
by Klaus Varley

There are a number of common words in the English language that I am not one hundred percent certain how to spell, and continue to find the need to look up. Some of these words I've looked up before. I've highlighted others, put a check by a few, starred a couple, and even tattooed one on my arm.

If you ever need to know how to spell tattooed, just ask.

But I'm not writing this to talk about fake tattoos. This is about grammar. Not my grammar, but the word "grammar." Perhaps I should have put that first "grammar" in quotes.

Again, this is not about "my grammar," but about the word. And how it is misspelled.

I misspell it all the time. However, a program called "spell-checker" conveniently underlines all errant words I type into any program, including this one. (In this paragraph alone, I've misspelled "misspell" and "spell-checker.") Without the aid of spell-checker, my writings would be dismissed as the ramblings of a sixth-grader. Or praised as the advanced writings of a fifth-grader. It really depends on the teacher.

Let's get back to "grammar" for a moment. The reason for the comparison between "misspell" and "grammar" is because when you misspell either word, it is so ironic, it is humorous. You're talking about grammar but misspelling it? Ha! You're correcting someone's misspelled word, but you misspelled "misspelled?" Oh, that's a belly laugh!

Get it?

Good.

I'm off to do something productive and/or write an addendum or two. Be careful with "grammar" and try not to misspell "misspell." Seriously.

-KV

First Addendum: Next up on Confusing Words "Misspell vs Mispell" and how it compares to "Grammar vs Grammer."

Second Addendum: "Spell-checker vs Spellchecker" will follow, taking these pieces in an entirely new direction. Seriously.

Bukowski Quotes vs. Charles Bukowski Quotes

Klaus Varley

While searches for both "bukowski quotes" and "charles bukowski quotes" land a number of visitors on The Literary Brothel, the visitors for each search are quite different.

According to Google Analytics, those who simply input "bukowski quotes" spend an average of nineteen seconds on the site while searchers for "charles bukowski quotes" average but five seconds. That's less than one third of the time. There might even be an exact measurement of the relationship, but no one can figure it out. (You say you can, and that relationship is 5:18? Thank you very much, Ms. Smarty-Pants Fourth Grader)

So why the disparity in average site visit time for people who seem to be searching for the same thing? There can only be one logical explanation:

1. After writing the laborious keywords "charles bukowski quotes," one is so tuckered out by the strain of typing that when they land on a smattering of quotes on a site called The Literary Brothel they are none too impressed. "I wanted ALL Bukowski quotes, dammit, that's why I typed his FULL name," they think, as they quickly navigate away to a more informative site."

Of course, there might be other reasons.

But probably not.

Mystery solved.

I'm off to surf the web...I mean, er, do "research."

-KV

the second hellboy on the third budweiser

Here's a quick review of Hellboy II while I finish this can (yes, can) of Budweiser and go for another in the midst of writing, indicating that point within the text. -KV

Just got back from Pan's Labyrinth - Leftover Edition. I mean, Hellboy II.

I know what you're thinking: didn't that come out like a month ago?

Yes, it did. But I promised to see Batman with my girlfriend, and my friend L____ (we've ceased using anything resembling real names on this site) had seen Hancock. So it was either the Mummy III or HBII. And I hate the Mummy. Don't ask why.

So here we go (finally, the review): Don't see Hellboy II. In fact, if you are one of the many who inexplicably liked Pan's Labyrinth, rent the DVD from your local video store (They need your support. Plus, you can say things such as: "I support A Video Store Named Desire." Which, I do. Seriously.). Did you rent it? Good. Now close your eyes, and remove anything serious about the movie, supplant the little girl with a big red monster, move the locations from Spain to Hungary posing as New York City (Confused yet? Welcome to Guillermo Del Toro movie!), throw in some cheesy lines and unmotivated character choices and vuala! Welcome to Hellboy II!

Think I'm exaggerating? See for yourself.

Oh damn, I promised to finish my Budweiser in the middle of this.

[Finishing...Done!]

[Supplanting the Budweiser...Supplanted!]

Enjoy your weekend. I'm going to stay up a little later and write a few more blogs, but they will be timestamped and released later in the week so you don't get overwhelmed on the weekend from The Brothel.

Always looking out for ya,

-KV

PS. I am aware this didn't start out as a letter, but that doesn't mean it can't end like one!

PPS. Does it?

PPPS. Apparently, it does. Most of the time.

PPPPS. But not this time!

Okay, this time.

Barack Obama "The One" in McCain Ad

Though I hate to give it more hits, check this out
http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/washington/2008/08/john-mccain-com.html

That would be John McCain (clever YouTubers call him "John McSame") referring to Barack Obama as "The One."

First thoughts: This ad is confusing. The final words are, "He may be the one, but is he ready to lead?" Hell yes, I thought. Isn't that what "The One" does?

Second thoughts: This ad is freaking racist. From :16 to :21 the ad is black people getting excited. (oh no! watch out!) The narrator follows this with "to quote Barack..." To quote Barack? Is the narrator a friend of his? I don't recall other political ads, "To quote John (McCain)" or even "To quote Bill (Clinton)." If that's not racist, it is at least very disrespectful.

Third thoughts: This ad is not funny in the way it's intended to be funny. I can see Republicans saying, "lighten up, it's funny!" In fact, I just read that in a comment. Now I know that I can predict the future.

See what I did there? Said something remotely funny due to its absurdity. That's the type of humor this ad is going for: "People who like Obama think he will save the world. How absurd, right?"

Well, if it were true, then yes, it might be absurd. However, I know zero Obama supporters who believe this. The ad is only funny in this way to Republicans who believe Obama supporters are mindless zealots.

Last thoughts: The ad IS funny because it's so over-the-top, confusing, borderline-racist, and bitter. It shows that Republicans are getting desperate, and really hate Obama...because he inspires people.

On second thought, there's nothing funny about that.

Please watch Obama's response to these ads (including McCain's "Celeb" ad):

Poetry Contest Ends Today!

Get your poems in by 11:59 PM tonight!

Read the contest rules HERE

Winners will be published August 8th on the site, so check back then!

Yep, that's 8/8

Poetic, isn't it?

A little bit?

C'mon...

-KV