True Romance....

Hi,

Here we are again, fellow reader, alone in this great big tundra...waiting for the big shiver to settle in.

Let's shut down and pretend. Let's pretend we love each other. Let's pretend we know each other. Think about us: in love, sitting close, sipping a margarita, outside, under an umbrella, watching the prettier people...I whisper in your perfect ear, 'I am so in love with you I know how much I annoy you and I can't stop.'

You whisper back in my half-deaf ear,'you annoy me so much I can't imagine anyone else annoying me as much as you do.'

And nothing else has ever sounded so romantic.

I say these words because I love you.

Sincerely,
Pistola + her dear reader(s) 4-ever

The difference between the Jamily and The Family

Hello,

How's your week been?

As most of my dear reader(s) don’t know because of its almost total irrelevance to modern society, Pearl Jam released a new album last week. I've listened to the album about 17 times in the past week; it's called Backspacer and is fairly solid and I’m only about half deaf.

The pure fact is I love Pearl Jam. Inarguably; my love is truly for Eddie Vedder. However a basic love for their music has become a side product. The truth is I’ve actually come to appreciate nearly a third of their musical catalogue.

I’m not going to bore you, dear reader(s), with the long and uninteresting story of how I became such an ardent fan of Pearl Jam because, like you, it involves a boy, angst and checkered blue and red flannel.

What sets me apart from the others is that I’ve stayed true. I've went on to unofficially join the Jamily: Pearl Jam's cult-like following that would follow their dear leader into the driest, sandiest stretches of the American desert after a purposeless, mass killing.

Yep, I stuck around after Ten and liked it. While the rest of you went on to more mature musical landscapes created by hip, artsy bands like Radiohead, Modest Mouse and MGMT…that kept their fans attractively at bay, I stayed put. This odd habit of loyalty has often fucked me in other areas of my life…namely with men, but still it persists.

Fortunately for me and Pistola's reader(s) it finally paid out and I was able to score an interview with Teddie Vedder! Of course we all know him as the lead singer of the cover band Can’t Find a Better Band.

Pistola Whipped Gets a Life: Hi Teddie!

Teddie Vedder: Die bitch.

PWGAL: Is that a swastika on your forehead?

T.V.: Suck it, cuntwhore.

PWGAL: Wow. You look a lot more like Charles Manson than Eddie Vedder.






T.V.: That fucking communist pig Vedder has a swastika on his forehead.

PWGAL: Ah, no he doesn't. Those lines are from furrowing his brows together because of his deep concern over the human condition.

Teddie Vedder just rocks silently in his chair.

PWGAL: No, really. I mean that swastika on your forehead looks like the one Charles Manson has. I think I would know how Eddie's forehead swastika looks.

TV: Once I carve your eyeballs out of your whore head you wouldn't know what a swastika looked like if it was carved on your vagina.

PWGAL: Wow. You're really being a big jerk. You know Eddie Vedder is responsible for such sensitive hits as, 'Wishlist', 'Daughter' and 'Can't Find a Better Man'? For someone impersonating him you'd think you'd be a bit more in tune to a lady interviewer.

Once again, Teddie Vedder just looks at Pistola while rocking in his chair.

PWGAL: Um, okay. Moving on…what inspired you to start a Pearl Jam cover band?

T.V.: Pearl Jam gets a lot of pussy. I don’t get much of that where I'm living. I NEED PUSSY!

PWGAL: Not an answer Eddie Vedder would give at all, but okay. What song of Pearl Jam’s do you perform that gets the most applause from the crowd?

T.V.: DIE PIGS! [raises hands in air. Pistola notices handcuffs wrapped around Teddie's wrists for the first time.]

PWGAL: I’m not familiar with that song. What album could I find that on?

T.V.: How about you get on your knees, suck my dick right now and you'll find it! Helter Skelter!!

PWGAL: Okay. I’m pretty much sure Eddie Vedder wouldn't ever say that. You're Charles Manson pretending to be Eddie Vedder, which is just gross. Does Eddie Vedder know you’re impersonating him?

Charles Manson: I am fucking Eddie Vedder. I am fucking Teddie Vedder. I am fucking the Anti-Christ. Little girl, you are going to get your asshole ripped out of your pig mouth and then I'm going to shove it in your bitch-ass Sharon Tate vagina.

PWGAL: Okay. That confirms it. You're pretty much Charles Manson. Anyway, do you know Eddie Vedder?

Prison guards dragging Charles Manson off the interview site.

So, that interview wasn't as successful as it could have been. I guess I should read between the lines when responding to ads in the back of the National Enquirer.

Until then I remain,
Prisonola Whipped

Interview with a Celebrity...

Hello,

How are you on this muggy, hot September night in Friday?

Something about that question doesn't roll right, but I'm going to leave it because I'm lazy.

I am well. Thanks for not asking.

Not to fear, dear reader...I take what you say and feel about this blog seriously. I take it down to the deepest, rotting, barely beating core of my heart. And that's why this blog is truly for you. Yeah, I may get some kicks out of gushing meaningless feelings and posting it on the Internet for all to read, but really it's about you.

So, when I review all of my comments from my blog posts (all one comment)-I know what is a hit here on Pistola Whipped gets a Life and what fails miserably and what seems to work is the candid, telling, rare interviews I am able to secure.

I know I've been away awhile...I'm sure you've been checking in hourly waiting for little Pisty here to post again, but I've been busy. I've been busy searching the smallest crevices of this big world for the perfect interview for PWGAL and I think I've found it.

With no further ado...

Pistola Whipped goes full frontal with David Duchovny




PWGAL: David, hello. Geez, you're tall...and handsome. My god. (Pistola wringing her hands, not sure if she is able to go on with this interview.)

DD: Hi. Hello. How are you? Who are you? I'm sorry. Have we met? I thought I was supposed to be interviewing with Barbara Walters.

PWGAL: Oh, about that. Yeah, Barbara wasn't able to make it. This is actually an interview for my blog...Pistola Whipped gets a Life? You may have heard of it. It's really well read in Las Vegas.

DD: Um, okay, (signaling to his bodyguard). I don't really read...

PWGAL: New Mexico. It's popular in Las Vegas, New Mexico.

DD: So, what exactly do you want? How can I help you?

PWGAL: Well, David, I guess me and my readers have some questions for you. And you know since this blog is totally underground and stuff you don't have to feel any pressure to give us the Hollywood answers.

DD: Hollywood answers? I'm not sure I understand.

PWGAL: Not to worry. Let's start with this question: In your new TV series, Californication, you play Hank Moody. A drunken writer who seems to bang anything that walks. Question: is there anybody you wouldn't bang?

DD: Well, hmmm...Hank is promiscuous. He doesn't see the point in trying to develop a relationship anymore since he's in love with his ex-girlfriend and she won't have him. Unrequited love...that whole bit, ya know?

PWGAL: Oh, wait. I see. I think you thought I was asking if Hank Moody would bang anybody. I was actually asking if you, David Duchovny, would bang anybody?

DD: That's kind of personal and I'm a married man, so no, I wouldn't bang anybody.

PWGAL: That leads us perfectly to my next question: how did your addiction to sex work with being married and all?

DD: Again that's kind of personal, but um, I guess it worked for awhile and then it didn't, hence the treatment.

PWGAL: Treatment...treatment? (tapping forehead) What exactly is treatment again?

DD: Treatment is where you go through intense counseling and self-reflection to beat your personal demons. Do you honestly not know what treatment is? Rehab?

PWGAL: Yeah, never heard of it. I just figured you took the role of Hank Moody so you could have sex with a ton of women without it being cheating.

DD: Are you serious? Are you being serious right now?

PWGAL: Moving on, you played Fox Mulder on the X-Files for an astounding nine seasons.

DD: That is correct.

PWGAL: You received a Master's Degree from Yale in UFO studies and out-of-body experiences. How did your education help you in the role of Mulder?

DD: Actually, I received a Master's from Yale in English literature. So, if it helped at all, it actually helped more in the role of Hank Moody since he's a writer.

PWGAL: Really? I'm not seeing the connection there.

DD: Well, Hank is a writer-I studied English lit...

PWGAL: So, you didn't receive a Master's in UFO studies? I have it on good authority that you did.

DD: I think I would know. Listen, could we wrap this up? I have a lot of things I have to do.

PWGAL: (snickers)...you have a lot of things you have to do, don't you mean a lot of people you have to do?

DD: All right. I think we're done here. It's been great. I wish you well, whatever your name is.

PWGAL: David, I love you. Please take me right here and right now (Pistola falls to her knees).

David Duchovny has already left the room.

Well, there it is folks. My connections finally scored me a Hollywood A-list interview and wasn't it good? I guess it proves that David isn't the big slut we've all thought because he wouldn't sleep with me.

Wait.

Shit.

I gotta go,
Pistola

North Country visit leads to an interview with Minnesota's leading lady...

Hello fellow citizens of the lonely space we call blogosphere,

How are you?

So, for the many (2) of you who were wondering what happened to your least favorite blogger over the past few days, I want you to know I was safe and having a really good time in this place referred to by professional geographers as Up North.

In fact, if you're really interested in how my vacation was you can visit any local Barnes and No-Balls, walk directly to the nearest postcard rack, look for various Minnesotan postcards featuring activities such as fishing and swimming and pretty much get the gist of it. If you're really interested, venture into the Minnesota aisle and pick up a Sounds of the Common Loon CD and you'll really get the whole, big drive-in picture.

However reader, one thing distinguishes my trip up to the North Country from the trip of the usual Minnesotan and that is I met Lucette, girlfriend of Paul Bunyan.



Naturally, I was astounded to meet Lucette, but like other large creatures of the freshwater lakes, she ended up being more frightened of me than I of her.

So, read carefully, as I explore the delightful, and at times, incredibly modern sides of our beloved Lucette: First Girlfriend of Minnesota

Pistola Whipped (PW): Lucette, how did you and Paul first meet?

Lucette (L): Well, kinda like the way you kids meet on the Internet these days. I carved my name and campsite on the side of a birch tree and Paul tore off the bark and slipped it into his gunnysack before chopping the tree down. Later he looked me up.



PW: So, he just stomped into your campsite unannounced or what?

L: Well, the thing about Paul is he is so big you could hear him coming from a mile away. And Babe, the damned Blue Ox, smells to high heaven, so between the two of them I always know when he was on his way.

PW: Was it scandalous back in the day to be Paul's girlfriend and not his wife?

L: Oh, my yes. People in those days so much as looked at each other and they were married. Needless to say, Paul and I were the talk of the North Country, especially with his uncanny way of knowing what village everyone was from upon meeting them. That really freaked the settlers out.



PW: Lucette, you're a big gal, and I mean that with no disrespect, but Paul, he created lakes back in his day...he's huge! How did the two of you, you know...make more lakes?


L: (Laughing) Your generation is so forthright. I don't know. We figured it out, probably much like you kids do. We would meet at various wood-chopping competitions around the state where Paul was competing and sneak away from the old folks and you know, figure our way around the ol' pine cone.

PW: Did you ever think about other men than Paul?

L: I suppose I did. I briefly dated Johnny Appleseed. He was a bit too much of a roamer for me and at the time I was a good, God-fearing Midwestern woman that I continue to be today. Before that I went with John Henry for a bit, but he was kind of a control freak and had a one-track kind of mind.

PW: How do you put up with Babe the Blue Ox?

L: It's been a bit of a touch-and-go situation for Paul and I these past 150+ years, as far as Babe goes. She comes in handy with some chores and such. I guess (Lucette mightily signs) as any jealous female can, she gets as temperamental as a Northwoods patch of mosquitoes and can hook me or Paul with her horns as fast as Paul can feld a white pine tree. After we've detached ourselves we usually have to ground her to the barn for a piece.



PW: Lucette, it's been a pleasure meeting a Minnesota icon and heroine. Is there any advice you have to modern couples seeking the longevity you and Paul have shared?

L: I don't know. Stick to the basics: campfires and starlight dances. Perhaps have a basic understanding of how to properly wash flannel clothing? I hope that helps you, the future men and women of the North Country.

No blog direction home....

Hello again,

Since I've joined the blogger world nearly seven months ago I've been exploring lots of other people's blogs. I've noticed something in almost every blog site I've visited and that's that these good people all have blog themes.

Blog themes.

I check in daily with a local comedian who talks about his comedy. I work with a comic book artist and his blog is all about comic books, specifically his own comics. I visit my geologist friend's blog who writes about science and geology and made it clear on her blog that she has no intention of linking to blogs that aren't about science. I see blogs about pop culture, dancing, current events, crime, politics, sex, Minneapolis, blah...

Blog themes.

I don't have one. Yeah sure, I call it Pistola Whipped gets a life, but really? I'm not going to get a life. I don't even know why I call myself Pistola Whipped.

Perhaps my blog could be about having no direction?

These are heady thoughts for a Sunday morn.




Do you ever find yourself talking to other people and you just keep talking and talking and you don't want to be talking but you can't find your way out of the conversation unless you keep talking to find your point and they're staring at you because they have absolutely no idea what you're talking about and they're wishing you would just shut up, but you keep yapping and yapping and you can hear yourself and you may be sprinkling the conversation with little white lies because you want to buy time to get to your point and you've ran out of factual information? Once you finally close your mouth your only hope is that they won't remember any of this the next day?

That never happens to me. I've only heard about it from other people.

Have a good day,
P.W.

National Night Out and I stayed in...

Good evening,

As many of you know tonight is the night where good, God-fearing citizens of this fine country get outside and meet their neighbors. It's that time of year again...National Night Out.

I've always been able to avoid this excruciating venture into friendliness because I've been a renter and never had any feeling of obligation to my neighborhood to get out there and attend. This year is different. As a homeowner, I feel like I should have headed up the organization, been the first to arrive, the last to leave...and believe me, if booze was acceptable at these events...that would be the case.

Unfortunately I did none of those things, and as I sit here on my bedroom floor trying to hide the light of my computer screen, my neighbors are out there chatting it up, enjoying the summer night, making contacts, establishing solidarity, feeling good about themselves.

And I keep asking myself, why the hell does it have to be set up directly in front of my house? This is a big, long city block...why couldn't it have been set up down the street? Up the street? Not at all? Why does adult life keep throwing these big ass curve balls at me and instead of taking it like a professional, I fold at the knees and fall to the ground crying? In fact, I'm the only damn person who was inconsiderate enough to park their car on the street and not park a half block away and walk it in.

Fuck.

Perhaps next year I'll join the committee, clean up my yard, get right with god, but this year I'm going to sit and cower like the feeble adult I am.

-Anne

FUCK

Hello,

A half-assed apology is needed.

Sorry.

My last blog post sucked worse than all the previous ones.

Sorry.

This post will be short.

Why do invididual Dove chocolates have those fucking stupid sayings on the inside?

I just opened one that said, 'carve out a moment for yourself today.'

Fuck off, Dove.

Anne