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

Reminiscing about blog reveals unfortunate truths...

Hello,

I kinda forgot about the original plan and direction for this blog. When I started it many, many years ago I was trying to find a life. Since then I bought a house and thought I may have found the life I had been looking for. I think the only thing I've found is surprise that I still have not burned the house to the ground.

Amazing, I know.

It's a big, hard slap in the face when the realization dawns upon you that a mortgage, a water heater and property taxes doesn't get you a life. In fact, it gets you broke, distrustful of your shower's ability to stay warm whilst shaving your legs and resentful of the city of Mpls. when you drive over a pothole.

Enough about homeowner me, let's talk about me back when I started this blog...

Remember when I used to do bits? And post pictures? Oh, the good ol' days.

Well, let's bring the blog back!
Pistola whipped will get a goddamn life someday!
Let's kickstart it back up with a fan favorite.

Pistola Whipped gets a life by wanting to be this person:



Tony Mullins, Detective from Memphis

Never heard of him? That's probably okay. I only have because of my morbid fascination with crime shows. I think he has a cool job. He's a homicide detective on A&E's '48 Hours.' I've never seen Old Man Mullins in any other shows, movies, etc., so I'm starting to believe this show is legit.

So, Tone Toni Tony Mullins is one tough, cool individual and I've seen him do some crazy shit on this show without puking everywhere. A&E will play '48 Hours' continuously until they finally break into some bullshit show like 'The Cleaner.'

When the last '48 Hours' is aired I experience something I'd liken to withdrawals from nicotine, heroin and/or Scope mouthwash. The thought, 'Pistola, how many people have to die before I'm satisfied?' loops endlessly through my head. It's gotten so prevalent I think I may end up appearing on A&E's other gem of a show: 'Intervention.'

Peace Out,
P.W. Mullins

Dear Wisconsin...

Get your weekend on...

How am I going to do that, you may ask?

Well, by crossing the Mighty Mississippi and showing those 'Scony folks how to do it, I reply!




I love people from Wisconsin. My friend slash co-worker Jen showed me exactly where she and her Nuevo Man vacationed last weekend in Wisconsin by holding out her hand and pointing to the webbed place between her thumb and pointer finger.

Charming.

Anyway, have a great weekend. It's a good day to be alive.

Peace,
Pistolwisc

Sshhhh...don't tell and sell the stock...

Hello,

This summer stuff is sure catchy.

Don't you hate secrets? Doyncha?

I have a secret. And it's the kind of secret that I absolutely cannot tell anyone cuz it would let down this group of people I refer to as my friends, who are relying on me to keep my freakin' trap shut!

So, let us discuss other things
...............................like...........................um.....................................................................yep...............................................
My cat almost got stuck in a tree tonight, I like the new Sunvolt song better than the new Wilco song, Al Franken....OH! WHO AM I FOOLING?

It's killing me.

Eventually I will be able to reveal the secret...with photos.

You know the times your relationship with someone is going so well it gets a little scary? The relationship is so great you would actually sell all of your Rax fast-food restaurant stock at bargain prices just to buy them a bomb pop from the ice cream truck tooling down your street. And wouldn't it be even greater if you could hang from that precipitous slope with no fear? Just let yourself casually slip off and fall with no expectations or reservations, not caring that the safety net may or may not be there when you land?

Maybe it's time to sell the stock and admit that Rax will probably never make the comeback it's rightfully entitled to.



Until then, I remain,
Whipped by the Pistol

Freedom, Twitter and Madonna...

Hello,

How did y'all enjoy your day of freedom?

Mine was enjoyed properly with copious amounts of gin and
t-t-t-onics...

So, I finally ventured into the world of Twitter.

I signed up for an account last night because my father asked me to join via a standard, Twitter-generated request. Perhaps dad really wants me to join Twitter, I thought, as I signed up. Oddly enough, his account wasn't even on there when I did join. I think my dad faked me out. I'm pretty sure my dad did that on purpose. Wow. This will take me a few minutes to get over...

Moving on, I am no longer on Twitter. It took me two goddamn hours to figure out how to disengage my account-but by golly! I did it!

In other uninteresting news, Adult Jen and I drove down to Austin the other night to see Kimi's brand-spanking new, cute as a kitty, shiny, tiny, sleepy, beautiful little boy and we had ourselves a MIGHTY DISCUSSION:

What Mpls/St. Paul venue would you like to see Artist X perform?

For example...
Prince at First Avenue (duh!)
Beastie Boys at TRSC
Dolly Parton at Seville

And then we went dancing after fireworks on the 4th at the Front and the discussion continued...
Love the dj in the Dr. Seuss hat who's been doing up that gig for years, but wouldn't it be great if just one night Madonna dialed it in at the Front?



Let's get to it,
Pisty Whipped

How wonderful fall is...

Hello Strangers,

How is everybody? Well, all two of you who check into this blog from time to time?

If you didn't know already, it is fall in Minnesota. Overnight rains whisk in cool mornings, which make it hard to get out of bed. The sky stays gray; no real distinct sunrise or sunset. The leaves are changing to oranges, reds or just dying. The birds are flying south. The smell of apple cider is the in air...

Fall is certainly nice.

The house is going well. I did things like buy a couch, decorate, laundry and sand and re-finish a table.

These are things homeowners do.

The boyfriend did a complete redo on our locks. He is a good and thorough man.

He also ordered cable. I pined away for Bravo like an overly-orchestrated, overly-warbled, overly-sentimental 80s country tune. It was so twangy that fast cable activation was the only acceptable course of action.

Despite my withdrawals, I still missed The Real Whores of New Jersey last night. My friends Jen, Kiwi and I met at an art gallery in Souf Mpls. There wasn't any art hanging from the walls, but there were some artsy-looking folks slouched up against the walls. Perhaps that's what makes an art gallery an art gallery-not the actual art, but the types of people it attracts.

These types of thoughts are truly out of my philosophical realm.

Until next time, I remain,
P. Whipped

New Home

Hello,

I forgot how moving into a new place is kinda scary, disorienting and strange.

We moved. We’re in the new home and it is spectacular, but now I live amongst boxes and disarray and it still feels like someone else’s place. Once there is cable, then there is a home.

I’m sure I’ll get over it, but until then do the recurring dreams of someone breaking into the home continue?

I miss you cable and the Real Whores of New Jersey…

Yours,
Pisthomela Whipped

Sleeping Pills and Broken Glass

Hello,

Did anyone else get the best half-hour of sleep from 9 to 9:30 pm last night?

If you are nodding your head in agreement, then I know you were also attempting to watch The Hills, or The Sleeping Pills, as I shall now refer to it.

On the bright side, I discovered last night that The Sleeping Pills could be construed as educational programming.

For example, I learned that Heidi screaming 'Spency! Spency!' after he deposited a 400-pound rock on her ring finger can break a drinking glass just as if one threw it on the ground in frustration over The Sleeping Pills sucking badly.

Wait. Now I'm not sure how the glass broke.



Breaking glass aside, I really have nothing left to say, except to recommend you check out this guy's recap of The Hills here:

Have a wonderful day,
PW'd

Tackling loss...

Good Morning!

How are you folks? I really miss each and every one of you.

Speaking of missing, something has been missing from my life recently. I feel it keenly. The feeling lurks deep; twisting, turning and undulating in my gut. My heart also feels it, beating wildly one second then suddenly dropping to the pulse of a hibernating bear the next. Genuine loss is as significant a feeling as blood being drawn from the crook of the arm. It pricks, stings, drains and ultimately leaves you less of a person then before.

After weeks of soul-searching, I finally figured out the source of these feelings. It may come as a surprise to some (or none) of you. More accurately, it may come as a surprise to you how much you don't care.

But I do care, goddammit!

Here is where I reveal the very shallow depths of my being: I miss having competition in the Most Popular Blog contest. I miss the blog Where are My Balls?

Click here to check it out:

Isn't its neglected, outdated and dusty appearance sad? Don't you feel like you just entered an antique store in some despondent, small town? The proprietor is sitting motionless behind the till, looking out the cracked front window from time to time, commenting on the weather?

Perhaps that's just me.

Nevertheless, Where are My Balls needs to be resurrected, if only for my own preservation as a bloggist. Everybody needs competition to succeed. It's natural. Let's review some of the healthier competitions of our time: cops vs. robbers, vase vs. vaas pronounciation, Coleman vs. Franken. All healthy, wholesome competitions, in no way a waste of anybody's time nor money.

Blogging truly is a competition for Our Generation, not to be confused with the Next Generation.

Prepare to drill, Bucky.

Good Day,
Captain Pistola W. Whipped

Pistola gets shameless...

Hello,

It's post-The Hills time. My hands are still shaking so terribly I can't believe I could turn on my laptop.

Welcome to...
Pistola Whipped recants everything from an earlier post.

Please allow me to state on this blog (which means 4-ever): I love The Hills shamelessly, unconditionally and unequivocally.

Good night,
Pisthillsola Whipped

Waiting/The Hills/Bug Splatter...

Hello,

I figured out that I spend a huge amount of my life waiting. Specifically waiting for reality TV shows to air.

The day is Monday. What terrible show might I be waiting for tonight?

Alas, it is The Hills, dear readers.

Oh, how does adulthood disappoint...



Sincerely,
Ms. Pistola Whipped

Home runs and the GST Awards...

Hello,

Two days of blogging in a row! I haven't achieved that astounding blogging feat, well...ever.

And to think, it's all inspired by the back-to-back home runs Joe Mauer and Justin Morneau just scored against the Seattle Mariners.

Too bad my back-to-back blogs don't rake in millions of dollars.

Last weekend I attended a three-day outing we refer to as the Garage Sale Trip. Since it is 2009, we creatively titled it GST '09. Essentially, we pile in an oversized vehicle (this year a purple conversion van) and tool along Highway 61, stopping at garage sales and bars all the while.



We all picked up some excellent, basement-bargain crap. However, some purchases were better than others and really deserve some recognition.

So, let's let the good times roll by rolling out a new bit on Pistola Whipped gets a life. A bit that shall only grace (or disgrace) us once a year.

We shall title it: Who bought the best crap on GST '09?
Let's get the party started!

In third place: Sal and Karen!



These cheaply made, blister-producing flip-flops were purchased not at a garage sale, but at the first of many bars we stopped at. How else to commemorate a lovely trip but with sandals bearing the bar's name?

And, moving on to second place: Karen!



For some reason, only to known to Karen, she purchased an ice cream maker.

Here's a conversation with Karen regarding the ice cream maker:

Me: An ice cream maker? Were you looking for one of those?
Karen: Not really (puzzled look on face).
Jenna: How are you going to get that back to LA? (Karen lives in LA and flew home)
Karen: I'm not sure. Do you want this?
Jenna: Does it work?
Karen: I don't know.
Jenna: No.
Me: No.
Karen: I'm not sure why I bought this.

I know that conversation was exciting, but after much postulating as to why Karen bought the ice cream maker it can only be surmised that this garage sale also sold a lot of this at the right price and possibly influenced Karen's state-of-mind:



And in first place for the best purchase on GST '09...Jenna! (as modeled by Karen)





No one is really sure what it is. Possible names that were thrown out: Snuggles, The Great Navy Blue Wonder and Jenna's Future. In any name, Jenna purchased this lovely (itchy) item in Read's Landing for a cool $1. A man with a conspicuous toupee sold it to her. His demeanor and general approach to the sale led us to believe that he probably had a lot of sex whilst wearing the item, most likely with himself.

Way to go, Jenna! This picture demonstrates Jenna's elation at winning first place:



You won this year's: Who bought the best crap of GST '09!

I'm off to count down the days 'til GST '10,
Prettycheapola Whipped

Milky Way bars, self-absorption and cats

Hello,

What are you doing this fine Friday evening?

Me? Well, thanks for asking. I just made a big pot of Shells and Cheese and ate it whilst in bed, with my cats at my feet. And then I ate dessert: fun size Milky Way bars. Is it so wrong to eat the entire bag when they're fun sized?



How much respect did you just lose for me?

Honestly, did you really have any to begin with?

As you all know I recently got drunk, passed out, hit my head, got a concussion, went to the emergency room, passed out six more times, puked on my favorite sweatshirt, got stitches and faced all my co-workers with said stitches. In conclusion of those events I am trying to play it along the straight and arrow, or narrow, or however the saying goes.

Basically, I'm a bore and I'm bored

So, let's mix it up on Pistola Whipped gets a life. My self-involvement is really starting to tire me out.

Shall we do a bit? For old time's sake?

Pistola Whipped would like to spend a day in the lives of these people/cats/porcupines...



Yeah, they're my cats so it's an easy bit, but it's kinda true. How many times do I look at them curled up on a sunny spot, snoozing while I'm rushing out the door to get to work and want to be them?

They spend their days eating, running around, sleeping and spooning. They crap in a box that is emptied for them and they puke where they want and it's cleaned up after them.

That is why I would like to spend a day in the lives of these cats...

Meow-Meow,
Pussyola Whipped

Cinco de Mayo letdown leads to fake tanning lotion...

Hello,

My God it's been so long, never dreamed you'd return...

Cinco de Mayo is upon us once again and once again I didn't learn what Cinco de Mayo actually celebrates.



So, let's move onto non-Mexican holiday related news.

It's the final countdown, da, duh, da, da, duh, da-da-da...

Yep, tonight's the night...the season finale of The Real Whorewives of New York City.



And I'm excited!

In preparation for this big event, I ate a bunch of sushi (sub par) and put fake tanning lotion on my legs. Actually these activities have nothing to do with the season finale, but if I don't tell my loyal reader(s) what I did today, then who would I tell?

RWofNYC airs in about a half hour and at that time it will be hard to discern if the stomachache I will inevitably experience will be caused from eating bad sushi or realizing the joy of my life comes from watching bad reality tv.

Ah, the struggle that is Pistola Whipped gets a life...

Folks, I'm off to apply my second round of fake tanning lotion.

Stay cool 4-ever,
Pistola Bronzed

If you threw a party, bled on all the people you knew...thank you for being a friend...

Hello,

Sometimes a blogger has to put the good times, irony and sarcasm away.

Sometimes.

In all my 31 years I never thought I would write the words: good times, irony and sarcasm in the same sentence with the words put and away in them. But alas, I never thought I would know a grown man who tends a crystal figurine collection either.

So, here we are now...
Both of us lonely...

Over the weekend I had the opportunity to get drunk at a bachelorette party with a lot of good friends. Not only did we get drunk, but we played games, danced and shared stories. Everybody was having a good time. I was having such a good time, I also passed out on, puked and bled over my three, very bestest friends. And to top it all off: we ended up in the emergency room while I got stitched up (and puked and passed out some more)!

What lucky girl gets to lay claim to that?

Furthermore, what lucky girl keeps her friends after subjecting them to that sort of degradation?

Let's roll out today's blogger bit on Pistola Whipped gets a life...

Pistola Whipped wouldn't be alive unless these three people weren't around to RULE!



KIWI!



JENNEE 'PF, JAVIER, SOUTHPAW, PONCHO Y LEFTY, DAL-DAL' DALAGER

And last but not least...



The most fabulous aspiring physician's assistant ever...KIMI LUSCHEN (she's the one receiving a kiss, naturally).

Thanks ladies! You are SIMPLY THE BEST! Here's a send-off photo of four other ladies who know a little something about friendship...



To my Golden Girls!

Pistola Whipped reads as a play...grows old

Hello,

Part I
My computer has its own personality.

Does yours?

Do you like your computer's personality?

Does your computer's personality reflect your own?

Do you have a personality?

I think my computer has more personality than Pistola Whipped.

Sometimes when I'm writing my blog or doing very important Internet searches about "The Hills" or on A.C. Slater images, my screen suddenly goes BLACK! I have to shut my laptop, cry softly and quit searching.

Hence the no blogging. Hence digging up my old issues of Teen Beat to find A.C. Slater images.

Part II
I spent a large portion of my day outdoors, enjoying the balmy, sunny, globally-warmed weather. I didn't use any sunscreen and now I think I have stage 4 skin cancer.

I'm not even sunburnt.

Being old = being paranoid about mortality.

Pistola Whipped gets a life by getting old.



Good times,
PistOLDa Whipped

Friends, blog criticism and countesses...

Hello,

How depressed are you?

Come on. I asked you first...

It's okay. You can tell me. I'm your friend, lover, compadre, bridge partner, flatmate, sidekick, confidante, the cup for your coffee, the ace in your hole. Did that last one sound a little dirty?

Listen, if we threw a party and invited everyone one we knew, you would see the biggest gift would be from and the card attached would say, 'thank you for being a friend'.

I had some negative criticism about Pistola Whipped gets a life the other day. Can you believe I actually got some feedback on this blog? I nearly dropped dead when someone acknowledged to me in person they had read this blog, or at least scanned it.

The negative criticism I received was this, 'it has too many words.' Let's not dwell too much on the fact that I specifically asked this person what they thought of my blog and before that it hadn't come up in the conversation. I wasn't even sure they had read it, so needless to say I was flattered that it had been read by anyone at all. Before this conversation I thought I could say with some certainty that I was the only person who viewed this blog.

But, I was wrong. And it feels good to be wrong, because it's the feeling I know the best (besides shame and guilt).

And it's really beside the point who this person was, although I have to admit they bore a strong resemblence to Jennee 'PF' Dalager's imaginary friend.

Here's today bit...

Pistola Whipped gets a life by wanting to be this person(s)...

Yeah, I'm not exactly sure I know who this person is other than she is a Countess and she's on the best (or worst) reality TV show EVER-The Real Whores of NYC. I guess her name is Countess LuAnn de Lesseps. Countess HoAnn de Lepers.

I want to be a total skank/socialite/drunk and marry into royalty then become a stuck-up skank/socialite/drunk with lots of money. My life would be complete.

Cold slash The Hills slash Cat Lady

H-h-h-h-e-l-l-o-o-o-o,

That was me using hyphens and extra letters to indicate how cold it is in Minneapolis today.

Kinda like b-r-r-r-r-r....and kinda like the cold makes me surly, mean and lame.

It's fucking cold.

Two thoughts crossed my mind today, which is a lot for me. If you don't mind, Mom, I'm gonna spit them out so I can go on with my day. I don't think I can fully enjoy season 2 of Dexter properly with any sort of thinking going on...

List of things Pistola needs to do tonight:
1. Watch Dexter season 2

K. I digress. Lists. Dexter. Thoughts.

Thought I:

Lucinda Williams wrote a song called "Minneapolis" and recorded it. This song is great. Mom, you should download it on iTunes insta-style. My friend and co-worker Jen talked about the song today and I made words like 'heart' and 'cherish' come out of my mouth to explain how I feel about that song. I heart Minneapolis the song. The actual city can suck it. I'm just kidding, MPLS. I just meant for today. I take it back! I normally heart you too. Don't snow 2 feet tonight and impound my car.

Jesus. This city is a ball-breaker.

Thought II:

The thought-provoking (as evidenced in the thoughts that were provoked in me) and revolutionary MTV show "The Hills" resumes on Monday, April 6. I will still be 30 when the first episode of the new season astounds and stupifies us all. I will be 31 by the time the next episode airs a week later. Can I be grandfathered in so I can watch the remainder of the season without feeling like a loser/phony/freak/cat lady? Or am I already past that point? Perhaps I am already those things because I simply watch "The Hills". Or maybe I was those things before I started watching "The Hills". Oh, the thoughts that are happening. OMG. I think tomorrow's post will be Pistola Whipped is ashamed because of the previous day's post.

FINE THEN!

Off to crawl into bed.

Sincerely,
Cat Lady

Remembrance of Prior Blogs/Down with Poppy...

Hello,

OMG!

I forgot that my very second post on Pistola Whipped gets a life was a bit. So, sit right back folk(s) as we take a stroll down the blogger lane of blogger bits.

Recall many, many, many weeks ago to March 3 when I busted Pistola Whipped gets a life onto the world. I've really shaken things up On Here, and by On Here, I mean Earth.

The first and by far the deepest bit on PWGAL was called Pistola Whipped gets a life by cutting down others. Morrissey was the big winner (or loser). I've found it most depressing that Morrissey has probably made enough money to buy a Brillo Pad factory since I posted that bit. Alas, the woe that is me in my Morrissey-inspired velvet smoking jacket.

But, as they say in the business, that's simply how the blogging cookie crumbles.

Fast forward to tonight whilst watching the British movie 'Happy-Go-Lucky'. I was so disturbed by the main character, Poppy, that I decided to crown the second person in Pistola Whipped gets a life by cutting down others...

What disturbed me the most was the little suck-in, inhalation noise Poppy made after she laughed. And she laughed through the whole goddamn movie.

Here's what I imagine the script for 'Happy-Go-Lucky' looked like:

Scene I

Masochistic Driving Instructor: Poppy, you're a fucking bitch-ass wanker. I hate your fucking stupid guts.

Poppy: Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, weird suck-in inhalation noise, ha, ha, ha.

Masochistic Driving Instructor: Poppy, I stalked you and your fucking wanker boyfriend and now I'm going to strangle your fucking neck.

Poppy: Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, weird suck-in inhalation noise, ha, ha, ha.

I think that movie won a Golden Globe. And by won a Golden Globe, I mean bought a Golden Globe with the money Poppy made from endorsing Breathe Right strips post-production.

Sincerely,
Pistola Wankered

Porcupines and Home Ownership

Hello Fellow Humans and Porcupines,

How are you today?

Once again I had to pull crusty, yellowed Pistola Whipped gets a life from my backseat and resurrect it to its former glory, prestige and mediocrity. Not an easy task, mind you...but with today's crisp, clean, Midwestern air blowing into my rotting lungs, I was faced with no other choice.

While I was digging around in my backseat today, tossing empty Funyon bags and plastic earring cards devoid of their 1992 earring splendor away, I realized there is a stark difference between this post and last Friday's post: Pistola became a home-owner.

I think that I may have moved a step in the right direction to finding a life.

Here are the questions I have so far:

1.) How am I going to pay for said house?
2.) Will I actually be able to tune Channel 45 in at my house?
3.) How will my crappy belongings look in my nice, new house?
4.) Will my friend Jennee Dalager give me a member of a crystal porcupine family as a house-warming gift?
5.) If so, what family member?
6.) Will my cats get along with it?
7.) How do I clean crystal, especially crystal with quills?

Hopefully I will find those answers, perhaps with the help from my dear reader(s).

At any rate, I am moving into my house with a person some people refer to as my boyfriend. We have this thing we call a relationship. We figured instead of piling up more and more of our junk in a space we rent, we should just do it in a place we owe lots of money on for the rest of our lives.

Why not?

The excitement is there regarding this whole home ownership thing: tangible, real, scary and big. I've always lived this life thinking I would own a home, be involved in a lovely and messy relationship, have a career, perhaps start a family...ya know, become an adult, but instead I've always just screwed things up. I make a wrong choice or make no choice at all and all just kinda passes me by. And now here I am, engaging in my own life. It's weird.

Somebody! Stick me with a porcupine quill to wake me up.

Loverboy really knows how to sum up life

Well, how-do-you-do strangers?

Friday finally came. I truly can't believe it. During the course of this week I managed to offend one of my best friends, slug through a Minnesota snowstorm, almost hit a bike rider, invest all my savings in Rax fast-food restaurants only to lose it and find out that a crystal porcupine family set costs roughly $500.

One could say that's a busy week. Pistola, one could go on to say, you deserve several dangerously cold ones...

So, let's crack right into the first one here on Pistola Whipped gets a life: 2-4-1s.

BEST SONG ABOUT THE WEEKEND and arguably by a CANADIAN:

Everybody's workin' for the weekend...
Everybody wants a little romance...
Everybody's goin' off the deep end...
Everybody needs a second chance
LEG KICK!

Why would I try to write anything better when those Canadian cut-ups Loverboy already wrote it best?!

And number two:



Had to do it! Now go out and make Loverboy proud!

P.Whipped

Apology leads to break-up to restoration of friendship

Hello,

The news I'm about to write about will probably shock all the loyal fans (Mom, it's good to have you back) of Pistola Whipped gets a life.

Do you remember Jennee Dalager? She was crowned yesterday's winner of Pistola Whipped gets a life by wanting to be this person(s)? Think of a Statement Headband...yes, her.

After I sent her 40 texts reminding her to check my blog she finally did and she texted me this, 'Hmmmm...I don't think I like you very much anymore!'

I'm not really sure what to do with this information. One of the voices in my head is saying, 'take the blog post down, Pistola, until you can talk with Jennee headband to headband'. Another voice is saying, 'what does poor Pistola have to worry about? Jennee can't kick my ass, she lives 100 miles away'. And yet another voice is saying, 'invest in Rax fast-food restaurant stock'. Strangely, all these voices resemble the voice of Jennee's spiritual advisor.

In any voice, I feel it's my responsibility to apologize to Jennee. So, here it is...a whole new Pistola Whipped bit. We shall call it Pistola Whipped apologizes to people she has offended...

Jennee, I am sorry.



Since I can't swing over and snap your headband to show you how sorry I am, this lovely picture of children doing penance for things like having fun and watching TV will have to do.

I'm logging off to say my Hail Marys.

PW'd.

Porcupine Family and Headbands

Hello,

Wow! I've learned a vitally important lesson: it is really easy to throw Pistola Whipped gets a life into the backseat and forget about it while it gets all crusty and yellowed. I had no idea I would shun this blog so fast. I will try to do better.

I. WILL. TRY.

Thanks to all (or none) of you who have checked in on Pistola Whipped gets a life despite my absence. Don't worry, I could definitely feel you as your rubbed your temples whilst chanting, 'come back', 'come back'. Truth be told, I've acted on that feeling before and it turned out people were actually wanting Rax fast food restaurants to come back. I'll admit, this blog is no comparison for a Rax roast beef sandwich.

It is Wednesday and in the long traditions of Wednesdays here at Pistola Whipped gets a life it is time to unveil this week's Pistola Whipped gets a life by wanting to be this person(s)...



Jennee 'Porcupine Family' Dalager! She's the chick on the left. I have no idea who the chick on the right is. If I were a gambling woman, I'd lay money on spiritual advisor or imaginary friend.

Either way, Dalager will soon be heiress to an expensive, unique and carefully preserved collection of crystal figurines and Precious Moments statuettes. Who wouldn't want those collections?

It may not be apparent from the above photo, but Jennee 'PF' Dalager can rock a headband like it's nobody's business, except perhaps, Sinead O'Conner's.

Here is an example of the Statement Headband Jennee's been stylin' lately. Notice the model is also wearing scrubs or a scrub-type top. Jennee often wears those too.



Rare, special collections and the ability to sport such a stylish headband are only two of the many (ten) reasons I crown Jennee 'Vertical Smile' Dalager as this week's Pistola Whipped gets a life by wanting to be this person(s). Jennee is also funny, smart, kind, loyal, generous, super fun, good-looking and easy!

Way to go Jennee!

Sober wagon leads to 2-4-1s...

Hello,

So, I skipped a day. So what?

Midnight Toker really took the wind outta my blogging sails with his slander and half-truths (my assistant is really my Mom and who doesn't yell at their Mom from time to time?) on his shameless, unpopular blog. Check it out here: http://midnighttoke.blogspot.com/

In order to make up for it, dear reader(s), (sorry 'bout Wednesday, Mom), I am going to offer up on Pistola Whipped gets a life one of my great, favorite American pastimes...2-4-1s.

Lamely, I put myself up on the ol' Sober Wagon after last week's five-day bender in which I lost my dignity, self-esteem and virginity (they say you gain it back if you don't do it after seven years). And yes, I'm lying...I never truly had any of those qualities at the start of the bender (except the virginity). Nevertheless, the bender took a toll on my mental, emotional and physical health. So, here I sit unable to attend a happy hour with my co-workers and instead of slugging twenty pairs of dangerously cold, casual ones I am going to cheaply replace them with 2-4-1s on Pistola Whipped gets a life.

Bartender...

The first foamy delight is Pistola Whipped would be complete if she was dating this celebrity...



What else can I say? Unfortunately I'm not dating Paul Rudd and even more unfortunately I'm blacklisted from interviewing any celebrities for my blog (Mom, please gimme back my phone privileges). So, I could make up an interview with Paul Rudd, but that would be lying and all my reader(s) know I'm an extremely honest individual.

Okay, now that I'm pretty much wasted drunk, let's start sipping on the next tasty tall one...

Pistola Whipped gets a life by replacing love with this...



Sorry. Had to do it. And now I've convinced myself to hop off this rickety wagon and go indulge in a frosty mug. I need love after all!

Peace out.

Pistola questions blog, finds answers with Salt-n-Pepa...

Hello,

So, in case you're wondering, day number two of Pistola Whipped gets a life hasn't brought me any closer to getting a life. Uninterestingly enough, if the distance between me and getting a life was somehow measurable, I believe I would be farther away than yesterday. Perhaps creating a blog isn't the solution to getting a life. Maybe I should just throw in the blog towel, call it a blog day, quit kicking a dead blog, etc.

But I'm not going to sit here and bore all/both of my readerz with a carefully constructed plea for encouragement and validation. NO! I'm only 75% that kind of person.

Instead, I'm going to soldier on in my quest to get a life by unveiling yet another bit. We shall call it Pistola Whipped gets a life by wanting to be like this person(s). And here is a picture of the first installment...



Awwwww....shit! That's right...Salt-n-Pepa! Girls?! What's my weakness? MEN! (and Funyons).

So, here I was chillin', chillin', mindin' my bizness, when Salt-n-Pepa showed up to answer a few questions from ol' Pistola Whipped.

PW: Hey Salt. What's up, Pepa?
SnP: Hey. Holla. Who are you again?
PW: Only your #1 fan! I once broke my ankle at a Y dance doing the 'Shoop'.
SnP: That's sad.
PW: Who was your fashion inspiration circa 1992?
SnP: We are really trying to embrace the present, ya know? We're reality stars now.
PW: So, you wouldn't know where I can get a pair of those earrings your rockin' in the photo above, would you?
SnP: Yo, this girl's a big dork. We're out. Peace.

Push that! Salt-n-Pepa stopped by this blog. I think I'm in the lead for the Most Popular Blog contest (take that Midnight Toker)! All right, I gotta dip. I need to update my look to Salt-n-Pepa c. 1992.

Pistola-n-Whipped

Blogging is a Competition slash Morrissey wins...

I know I just started this blog called Pistola Whipped gets a life so I should really go easy on topics like art, music, politics and preference of vase vs. vaas pronunciation. These topics can really alienate and polarize people. If I say something that someone doesn't agree with on Pistola Whipped gets a life then they may not re-visit my blog and then I won't win the Who has the Most Popular Blog competition.

That being said, the point of blogging is to win, right? Or am I totally way off?

K. K. I'm just kiddin'. The point of blogging is to alienate people by sounding off on the blogger's own, special opinions, so I thought I'd just dive right in and start pissing off all my readers (big shout out to Nayana and Mom, both/all my readerz). Please leave comments as I think that is how the Most Popular Blog competition is determined.

In order to really get things crackin' and smackin' I'm gonna roll out my very own weekly bit right here and right now. It shall be named: Pistola Whipped gets a life by cutting down others.

Let me speak candidly for a blogger minute, this weekly bit is very important in the process of Pistola Whipped getting a life. It's important because most of the people I will identify in Pistola Whipped gets a life by cutting down others will be more successful, better looking, smarter and all-around more likeable than me. People I need to emulate in order to get a life and now I will have a diainternetry to refer to in order to do just that. Perfect! And all/both readerz will get to see it too! Luckies!

Allright...are you ready, Mom? I mean, readers? This week's person in Pistola Whipped gets a life by cutting down others: MORRISSEY! (I know you're still applauding from stumbling upon this blog, so keep it up...KEEP IT UP!)

If I knew that using a Brillo pad for a pompadour and wearing Gramps' old, velvet smoking jacket would have been fashionable whilst crooning/whining drivel like 'I'm throwing my arms around Paris' I would have done it, too.

Way to go, Morrissey! You're successful, better looking, smart (smarmy) and a lot of people like you. And you're this week's Pistola Whipped gets a life by cutting down others pick.

A lifetime achievement to be sure.

Life on the Internet...

Because I lack a life I figured creating a blog would be the fastest, most successful way of finding one. And then I can know what it means when people talk about things like going out for coffee or having friends.

Watch out Inter Wide Web...here I come!

I'm gonna find a life on this here blog and for those of you who read it or stumble haphazardly upon it because of searching words like maladaptive, drunkard, LABIA (majora or minora) or hymen first broke at age 21... then you're going to help me, so thanks. Kinda.