Pistola speaks nonsense and then in metaphors....

Hello,

Are we all surviving?

Well, IT is here. You know it and I know it. Dang, we all knew it was coming. We could feel it in our bones. Some dimension is added in our perpetual depression. Our coffee tastes different. Instead of looking out the window to view our backyards hopefully we now look wistfully. And this thing's arrival sits heavily on our chests, like a small monkey might while picking lint out of a bellybutton. Our eyes droop as the television flashes images of better bodies, better kids, better lives and we fall asleep...

Wait, do you know what I'm talking about? Because I don't. Oops.

I'm doing some baking right now.

Yes! I know. I know. You are all asking how does lil' Pisty here find time in her busy schedule to bake?! Quite honestly it is hard to manage with a full schedule of Real Housewives of Atlanta, Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, Project Runway, Teen Mom, 16 and Pregnant, Judge Judy, The First 48 and, of course, The Tyra Banks' Show, but I'm managing.



As I was adding in a teaspoon of salt, a tablespoon of vanilla, a cup of sugar and a dash of love, I was thinking: baking is kind of like a relationship.



You add attraction, you fold in interest, you sift in a helluva lot of baggage, a pinch of this and that, mix it all up, heat it all up and you get this delightful treat. But sometimes it isn't all what it cracked up to be. And sometimes what looks like a cow paddy ends up being the tastiest morsel you've ever tasted. Sometimes it's lovely and sweet and lingers on. Sometimes it doesn't bake all the way through and you get a big fat mess where you keep finding dried up batter bubbles in your kitchen for years and you think how do I keep finding these things and it reminds you of that awful cake you had to throw out. Sometimes you get something that is so amazing, wonderful and fascinating that it's gone before you know you even had it so good. And sometimes you get a recipe that you keep coming back to because it's always fun and challenging to make and the outcome is consistently a fucking delight.

Off to frost the old standby.

Stay classy,
Pistola E. Whipped

Let's tackle complicated themes like civics, sobriety and sleaziness...

Hello,

How’s it hanging and banging?

Once again I’ve let my civic responsibility lapse.
My blog = my civic responsibility.
This is the kind of rationalizing I do in order to get out of voting in non-presidential elections.

Things are a-changin’ here in the life of Pistola Whipped.

Let’s have a look how, shall we?

1.) I’m dabbling in sobriety. And dear readers, it is a strange and new world. It feels weird to not be sick with a debilitating hangover at least once a week. I've had to find a new scale on how to base a person's merits since judging a person based on how they make a drink is no longer applicable. Oh, and the most unusual and positive change is to have some extra bucks in my wallet. Sobriety has created an alarmingly large amount of time in my life to pursue such hobbies as painting, writing, reading, staring at the ceiling, wondering what my friends are up to, watching even more reality TV than before and turning into a bore that obsesses over my eyebrow hairs. That being said, do my eyebrows look weird to any of you guys?

2.) I am going to write an article for a Minneapolis newspaper. Not the ‘Star Tribune’. Nope, not the ‘City Pages’. Negative on ‘The Onion’. Actually, in the likely event that I am rejected I’m just gonna go mum on the name of the publication. If they do publish my article then I’ll post that shit all over this blog. In fact, I’ll probably rent Conan O’Brien’s orange blimp and drive it all over the state with a banner that says, ‘I am the next CJ!’



And that is really about it.

Take it sleazy folks, because if you’re reading this blog, that’s probably the only way you can get it.

PW