Pistola Whipped gets a life

Long break leads to riveting things...

2011-03-12T16:55:00.010-06:00

Hello,

We meet again. My, you look wonderful. These past few months have treated you well, dear readers, and I'm happy to call all of you my friends.

A few developments have...well, developed since I last blogged. Let's take a look, shall we?

1.) My cat Macea is in renal failure and has been given four months to live. Naturally, I am depressed and reduced to a near catatonic (no pun intended) state over this. Me and this cat are so close it's almost like she is a mole on my body. Or I'm one of the white spots on her paw. (Yep, I'm that crazy cat lady). I'm not quite sure how I navigated life before her and I'm not sure how I'll proceed once she's gone. I always half-joked that I'd have her stuffed when she died, but now that half-joke just brings tears to my eyes. I'm not sure how I ever found that funny.

2.) On the lighter side, Pistola Whipped Gets a Life celebrated its two-year anniversary back on March 3. Recall my first riveting post was about Morissey, the freakishly popular British crooner with a Brillo pad for a hairdo? Take a stroll down memory lane here.

And this blog has not stopped being riveting since its inception. And I can make a promise to you dear reader, that it won't stop being riveting in the upcoming posts. What I can't promise is that I'll increase my frequency of said posts.

3.) I recently read 'High on Arrival' by Mackenzie Phillips for my biography/memoir book club.

Hmmm...where to start? More importantly, where to end? Let me just say I had no idea who Mackenzie Phillips was before reading this book. Her claim to fame, the TV sitcom 'One Day at a Time' (not to mention her sexual relationship with her dad) rings very few bells. I have vague recollections of my brother watching this show and the maintenance guy Schneider, but as they say in the blogging business, this show was 'before my time.'

This all changed, of course, when I read her tell-all memoir. Whoa! Where has she been all my life? Good ol' Mack really knows how to have a swingin' time. She shoots coke, ODs and still goes to work on the same day, has a sexual affair with her biological father, gets high during her pregnancy and lives to write a goddamn scandalous book about it all. Ba-da-da-da-duh-da I'm loving it.

I'm sure you can just about imagine my unparalleled happiness when I contacted her and she agreed to give us an interview.

Pistola goes Intravenous with Mackenzie Phillips

Pistola Whipped Gets a Life (PWGAL): Mackenzie Phillips, how are you?

Mackenzie Phillips (MP): Hello. It's good to meet you, Pistola.

PWGAL: I'd offer you something to drink, but my guess is you can't have anything.

MP: I wouldn't mind a cup of coffee or tea or something.

PWGAL: Coffee? Tea? I'm not sure what those things are? Can you find those at a liquor store? Just kiddin', Ms. Phillips. (Signals at assistant to get MP a coffee).

MP: You know that I am a recovering drug addict? I never had a relationship with alcohol.

PWGAL: Right. Never had a relationship with alcohol? I'm not sure how that works. Can you help a sister out on that one?

MP: Well, my main drug of choice was cocaine. I always thought booze was for pussies. I like to shoot, snort, freebase cocaine. I don't fuck around with booze.

PWGAL: So, do you want a drink or don't you?

MP: No, but I'd take a syringe full of coke if you got one lying around. JUST KIDDING!

PWGAL: What's the policy on drinking around sober people?

MP: Doesn't bother me a bit. What are you drinking? Oh, Hamm's? I once drank a 12-pack of Hamm's, a fifth of Jim Beam, snorted about $300 worth of coke and shot six episodes of "One Day at a Time' all before noon. God, to be 21 again.

PWGAL: Seriously? I don't think most people could do that at 21 or at any age. That is some goddamn impressive shit, Mack. Can I call you Mack?

Mack: Sure, all my friends call me Mack. Yeah, back in the day I could put pretty much put anything into my body and survive.

PWGAL: Well, that leads us to our next question: you had sex with your dad. Can we talk about that?

Mack: Yep, my life is an open book.

PWGAL: What is it called when a husband cheats on his wife with his daughter?

Mack: Incest. It's called incest.

PWGAL: That word makes it sound so dirty.

Mack: Well, it's a pretty dirty thing. But I was on lots of drugs when it was happening as was my dad when it happened. I don't live for regrets, but it is a pretty hard fact to face.

PWGAL: Your dad is John Phillips from the rock band the Mamas and the Papas, right?

Mack: Fact.

PWGAL: Would you have still slept with your dad if he wasn't a super famous, rich rock star?

Mack: Umm...probably not, because if he wasn't a rock star he wouldn't have access to the drugs that led us down that road.

PWGAL: So, your sure it was a drug thing and wouldn't have happened if your dad was, say...an accountant?

Mack: Probably not. An accountant probably wouldn't sleep with me.

PWGAL: Yeah, probably not me either.

Mack and PWGAL both sit silently looking at their hands for awhile.

PWGAL: How has your success with Wilson Phillips affected your life? And what are they doing now?

Mack: My sister Chynna was in Wilson Phillips, not me.

PWGAL: Oh, sorry. Bummer. I love Wilson Phillips. I figured maybe you and I could do a few acoustic songs by them together.

Mack: No chance. Chynna is looking for any opportunity to sue the pants off of me right now. She'd get me for copyright infringement or something.

PWGAL: C'mon. Let's just do 'Hold On' for a minute or so. No one reads this blog and won't even know you did it (Pistola hands Mack a guitar).

Mack: Okay, fine. God, it's hard for me to say no.

PWGAL: Well, if it was easy for you, we wouldn't be here, would we?

PWGAL and Mack break into a rousing version of 'Hold On'.

Some day somebody's gonna make you want to
Turn around and say goodbye
Until then baby are you going to let them
Hold you down and make you cry
Don't you know?
Don't you know things can change
Things'll go your way
If you hold on for one more day
Can you hold on for one more day
Things'll go your way

Hold on for one more day,
Pistola Whipped

Pistola hands out Oscars...

2011-01-25T18:15:00.000-06:00

Hello,

In light of all the Oscar hoopla happening right now, I thought I would smack you upside the head with Pistola's take on the Hollywood haps. Put your bifocals on because here is:

Pistola hosts her own Academy Award party...and you're invited!

Please folks, spare us the vintage gowns and more-expensive-than-your-house diamond necklaces. Not to worry-we don't judge you based on what eating disorder got you in that Dolce & Gabbana, we're more concerned with eating just enough to keep our Hanes Her Way looking good.

Now that we got the dress code taken care of, let's take a look at the nominations.

In the first category:
Actress that most resembles Pistola Whipped

1.) Angelina Jolie-Salt
I haven't actually seen this movie, but I get compared to Angelina all the time.

2.) Natalie Portman-Black Swan. I also haven't seen this movie. If I'm not getting mistaken for Angelina then it's invariably for Nat.

Moving on...

Best picture of 2010 based on how hot the leading actor is

1.) Mark Ruffalo-The Kids are All Right.

2.) These three guys from Inception. From left: Tommy from the TV show Third Rock from the Sun, the hot guy from The Departed and some other hot guy who may or may not have been in this movie because I'm not sure if I saw this movie or if it was a dream that was planted in my brain.

3.) Ryan Gosling in Blue Valentine.

Yeah, so what? He made out with a blow-up doll once. I'll tell ya this, readers, what RG does for Levi jeans in this movie is what Patrick Swayze did for the mullet in another Oscar-caliber flick: Roadhouse.

4.) Jeff Bridges in Crazy Heart. Yes, I realize I'm a year late with this one, but I didn't actually see this movie until...yesterday?

An overweight, drunken, sad bastard gets my vote any day in the movies or in real life. Personally, I think that The Dude should be given some type of award every year.

And last but not least

Movies I want to see because the main character reminds me of my friends

1.) Nenette

And the friend that leaps to mind? Jenna!

Please post your picks.

Big shout-out to Smokey Jenz CMob for co-collaboratin'. Hopefully one day Gosling will pay you a visit.

Thanks for attending,
MC Pistola Whipped

Pistola admits to readers the most shameful of addictions...

2011-01-21T20:07:00.000-06:00

Hello,

How are you on this fine, cold winter night?

I'm well.

2011.

One thing that hasn't happened to me in 2011 is that I haven't lost my love for cheesy power pop songs.

In fact, just tonight, in a Amazon MP3 buying frenzy I bought more of it.

Pistola Whipped reveals her obsession with pop music:

It's no secret to the dedicated, almost cult-like fans of Pistola Whipped, that I have no real taste in music. My favorite band, after all, is Pearl Jam. But it goes deeper than that, dear readers. It encompasses those over-produced, hastily written pop songs you hear playing at your local mall and at, apparently, gas pumps.

PW loves that shit!

Whilst downloading even more of these songs to my iPod tonight I took a rather depressing scan of all the songs I downloaded in 2010.

Here they are (power pops ones):

Alicia Keys-Empire State of Mind
Pussycat Dolls-Don't Cha (have you listened to the lyrics? I think these are grown women singing them)
Mary J. Blige-Family Affair (or what I like to refer to as the Crunk song)

TLC-the entire catalog
Jordan Sparks-Battlefield
Beyonce-Halo (from the album she went all Garth Brooks on)
Justin Timberlake-Sexy Back
Kim Zolciak-Tardy for the Party
Rhianna-Umbrella
Lady Gaga-too many to list

and this is almost too painful to admit,

Kelly Clarkson-My Life Would Suck Without You

This is an abbreviated list, but revealing it to you makes me understand how Level III sex offenders probably feel when they have to introduce themselves to their neighbors.

Spin that record,
Pussycat Whiplarkson

An interview with a vampire...

2010-12-31T16:53:00.000-06:00

Hello,

Right. The last blog post was a little on the serious side. Let me say one thing about that, I was drinking...heavily. And I was feeling a little blue. So, that's two things, but those two things are facts. And facts are what matters. I think.

Moving on...

I figured I'd Pistola Whip another blog post out before this year goes the way of the years of years past. End on a high note, tie up a few loose ends, mend some fences...you get the general drift.

It has come to the recent attention at the offices of Pistola Whipped that one of our dear readers and good friends has recently underwent some trials of the heart. In fact, her heart was ripped out of her chest (whilst beating), put on a train track, run through a garbage disposal, used as a shot put in Olympic try-outs and then tossed back into her chest cavity in an attempt to sustain several life systems.

In order to at least vaguely attempt to right this wrong, Pistola Whipped has really gone deep...deeper than ever before to find the correct elements that could possibly put some salve on our dear reader's deep wound.

Here is Pistola Whipped's attempt at the impossible...

Edward Cullen (from Twilight) interviews Gilligan (from Gilligan's Island)

Edward Cullen (EC): Gilligan, pleasure to meet you.

Gilligan (G): It's actually Bob Denver. How did you do this? I'm dead.

EC: Okay, Bob Denver...Gilligan. I have no idea who you are either way. As far as you being dead, I'm a vampire. I can talk to the dead. That's what we do.

G: A vampire? Right.

EC: Yes, I'm a vampire for a very popular book and motion picture series called Twilight. What elusive, wondrous creature are you to not know who I am?

G: I'm a dead creature. Remember? I died back in 2005.

EC: And how is being dead work for you? Do you miss how your heart swells and pressurizes hot blood through your thirsty veins?

G: Given that I went through quadruple bypass surgery to correct that very issue, no. Being dead is pretty lame. Kinda boring. I spend a lot of time smoking pot.

EC: Being dead for me is like a frequency, a hum of consciousness that operates at a different pitch.

G: You're a strange and intense little man.

EC: I've been told that before. In fact, I'm often compared to the director Jean-Luc Godard.

G: Never heard of him. I mainly worked with Sherwood Schwartz.

EC: Hmmm...what is your philosophy on love?

G: I'd guess I'd have to say, all we need is love. The Beatles said it best, I guess.

EC: Mine is that I'm happy with the death I have, but I do not have a margin to let just anyone come into my life.

G: Not really changing my opinion that you're kind of a ball of nerves there buddy. You could use a nice vacation on a desert island with a few beautiful women and some hammocks.

EC: No, I fancy dark brews while reading a book from a stack of books I have at my disposal in a dark corner of some trendy restaurant. Such an approach can only lead to satisfaction. I need to act on what is immediately available to me, I reckon.

G: Suit yourself, buddy. But with that attitude your eternity might last longer than mind.

Interview abruptly ends.

And that is what Pistola has to offer for the heartbroken and the downtrodden. Look with clear eyes and open hearts into the new year, even if it's through the bottom of a bottle.

May god have mercy on your souls.

Pistola Whipped '10

Thoughs of mortality on a Saturday night...

2010-12-18T20:09:00.000-06:00

Good evening,

The night is a Saturday. The month December. The year is 2010.

I am 32 years old. Childless. Daughter to all or none or some. Single according to the government.

My backyard resembles a yard that a crater came shooting out of the night sky and sent snow flying into solid banks that encircle the patio. And that is where I lay. I don't feel the cold because I am not in a feeling mood. I stare up at the sky. There are stars, but they are faded and distant. If I were in California they would probably be magnificent and I could hang a dream or two on them. But here in Minnesota they are remote. Aloof. Dream free. They are winking at me. And I take it as an invitation to battle. Me vs. the stars.

Thoughts come rushing at me, it's like I'm not thinking them, but someone is throwing them at my brain like a bar dart. Aiming for the bulls eye, but hitting the peripheral instead. That bulls eye is protected like a national treasure.

Still laying here on the patio. Probably under this brick and this layer of clay and our plumbing and our foundation and then under this won't grow-a-fucking-thing soil are bones. I can see the bones like I can see the stars: dark matter and then a glowing light repeated like it's sewed into a quilt.

One day we will all be bones...or ashes, depending on your wishes. We go into the ground or on your mantel or scattered over a place you think matters to you. And those stars just keep on blinking. In one blink you're here and then you're not. Those bones are there with a steady stare. One big bone yard this country. Perhaps those bones will produce something that wars will be fought over one day. It doesn't matter to them because they are just watching, keeping time. They know we will join them soon. The stars just keep on winking, because they know the answer to the riddle and we lay on our patios trying to distract ourselves from the very thing that will kill us in the end.

Pistola goes south of the border in honor of Thanksgiving and Eva Longoria

2010-11-30T17:06:00.000-06:00

Hello,

How was your Thanksgiving?

If you want to know how mine was email me personally. Or don't. I don't care.

I had a few days off for Thanksgiving so I decided to secure a celebrity interview while I was away from the office. It was hard to find someone relevant, interesting and available on such an important holiday, so I decided to head south of the border where they don't celebrate Thanksgiving (I think). Yes, dear readers, instead of spending time with my family engaging in such familial traditions as sloth and gluttony, I went to el Mexico.

Pistola sits down for turkey dinner with Eva Longoria Parker (oops! should we still call her that?)

Pistola Whipped Gets a Life (PWGAL): Eva Longoria Parker! How in la hell are you? How is your show: the Real Housewives?

Eva Longoria Parker (ELP): Oh fine. Thanks. I am now going as just Eva Longoria and my show is actually Desperate Housewives.

PWGAL: Why did you drop the Parker? And yes! Desperate Housewives! That seems so much more fitting than Real Housewives.

Eva Longoria (EL): Ahem. Well, yes. I'm getting a divorce from Tony Parker.

PWGAL: Why would you divorce him? He's a hot piece of ass. And rich.

EL: He was cheating on me. You haven't heard? It's all over the press.

PWGAL: The only press I read is Midwest Fishing.

EL: Well, he was caught sexting another woman. Wouldn't you leave your husband if he cheated on you?

PWGAL: I'm not sure. I probably wouldn't be in that predicament because who would cheat on this? [Pistola pulls down sweatpants to reveal a pair of SPANX].

EL: Um, I thought this interview was supposed to be about my Mexican heritage?

PWGAL: OLE, senorita! Hold your horses! We'll get to that. What were we discussing before you interrupted me?...Tony cheating on you? So how is sexting cheating on you again?

EL: Sending images of your genitals and sexual suggestions via text isn't cheating?

PWGAL: Hell no. That's normal communication. What else is texting for? I send sexual suggestions out to my entire contact list at least cinco times a day.

EL: Well, that's disgusting.

PWGAL: Moving on then, is Thanksgiving sad this year now that your husband left you?

EL: No, it's not sad. I'm spending time with my family and friends. And for the record, I left Tony.

PWGAL: Eva, you don't have to be act so tough on this blog interview. Virtually no one reads it. Come on, remember back to when you and Tony were just starting off? What about all those years you spent together? Don't they mean anything now?

EL: Tony and I met about three years ago. What would you like to ask me about my Mexican heritage?

PWGAL: Right. Right. Do you know Antonio Banderas?

EL: I know him. He's Spanish though.

PWGAL: Is he single?

EL: No. He's married to Melanie Griffith.

PWGAL: Have you ever sexted him?

EL: NO! What else do you want to ask because I'm about to leave, you disgusting bitch.

PWGAL: Do you have that temper because you're a Mexican?

EL: Get me the hell out of here!

PWGAL: WAIT! One more question. Would it be weird if I asked you for Tony's phone number?

EL: Throws microphone at Pistola's head and leaves interview.

And there is Pistola's contribution to your Thanksgiving celebration.

De Nada,
La Pistola Whippedalez

The sun vacuum leads to lack of happy place...

2010-11-17T15:39:00.001-06:00

Hello,

Well, it is yet another gray day to add upon the many gray days ahead of us. Us being the fearless Minnesotans of Minnesota.

Days like this I rely upon my happy place to make it through. Y’all know what I mean: our sunny beaches, our love nooks, our ninth innings of the last World Series game right before the win…our happy places.

But when I drew upon my happy place today, it was simply no longer happy.

Yes, folks. Pistola has lost her happy place.

For the 32 years I’ve been walking (sometimes drunkenly) this earth, I’ve also been going to Ten Mile Lake in northern Minnesota. Our family has a small, Friday the 13th-esque cabin nestled among the pines, overlooking deep, mysterious blue waters. I spent every summer of my youth playing tennis, picking mushrooms, identifying birds, fishing, swimming, jumping off (getting pushed from) the dock, watching massive thunderstorms tumble across the waters. Naively believing that this place would always bring me to a place of contentment, a state of calm that matches the lake on a still, hot summer day.

No longer.

Now when I think of Ten Mile anxiety fills me.

Let me tell you why:

1.) White guilt. Some would say I have a 'gambling problem'. And let me assure you, dear readers, it isn't because of the rush of blood to my head when I hit on a slot or the surge of adrenaline from a challenging gaze across the poker table. No, it's because every time I enter a casino I feel the need to throw money at the very people we kicked off of Ten Mile in order to make ourselves happy.

2.) Guilt displacement. I blame Native Americans for my gambling problem and that seems wrong.

3.) Family. I haven't admitted to my family yet that I gambled away the deed to the cabin in a busted up game of 5-card stud behind the casino. Sorry about that.

4.) Skin cancer. You remember the days when the first thing you did in the morning was pop on your swimsuit, run out the front door, hop in the lake and get a sunburn that made your skin feel like it was about six sizes too small for your body? And you'd sleep like shit that night, but the next morning you'd do exactly the same thing? Well, those days are over. Now every mole on my body is already in stage four skin cancer.

And now my happy place has become the creation and solution to all my problems: the bar. So what can one do? I guess I'm off to my happy place. Bottoms up!

Pourin' one out for ya,
PBR Whipped

Voting leads to thinking...

2010-11-02T19:56:00.000-05:00

Buenos Noches!

So, I did this thing we Americans call vote tonight.

Whilst I was perusing the ballot a few thoughts crossed my mind, like:

'Who are these people?'

'I'm hungry for a bear claw right now.'

'Who are these people again?'

'Would a bear claw be fresh enough so late in the day to be good?'

And, last but not least,

'All these combination running mates makes me wonder what other combos I would vote for...'

Which leads us to our next bit, Pistola Whipped cracks the combination.
(I know, you come up with a better name).

Cheese and crackers

Gimme 20-year aged cheddar and some Pepperidge or straight up saltines and EZ Cheese, I don't care which way you serve it, that's a combination that would get stuff done in Congress.

Lady Gaga f. Beyonce in 'Telephone'
That Jamaican accent that L. Gaga uses when she sings 'party' and then when Beyonce rips in channeling Tina Turner in 'We Don't Need Another Hero' during the breakdown KILLS! Put those bitches on a ballot and you got my vote any November 2.

Ralph Nader and Winona LaDuke.
Check.

The long part of Dennis Miller's hair and Tyra Banks' forehead

Everyone's minds would be so blown by this powerful and glorious combination that things would just get done. And get done fiercely!

Pistola Whipped is a democratic nation and welcomes your entries...

Got out and voted,
P. Whipped

Pistola speaks nonsense and then in metaphors....

2010-10-27T17:36:00.000-05:00

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...

2010-10-26T15:44:00.000-05:00

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

Summer of '10 in pictures...

2010-09-08T17:56:00.000-05:00

Howdy,

I went for a walk today and it dawned on me that I should really update this blog. I keep forgetting that I need to tend to this blog. I should be watering it, feeding it, mothering it, smothering it and even bleeding it just to the point of death before resurrecting it. Kind of like how I treat my house plants and let's be honest, my romantic relationships.

I wasn't sure what to write about. I've been off trying to pack 12 months of living into three months of time as we're wont to do here in Minnesota. Thus my usual stalking, er speaking with fabulous celebrities hit a dead end on the first warm day of June.

And BAM! it's September. That crisp breeze blowing through our screen windows ushers in thoughts of dark brews, fuzzy sweaters and past domestic disputes brought on by Vikings' losses.

With all this nostalgia and changing of the season, I thought I would encapsulate the summer of '10 in pictures. Here ya are!

We kick things off right with a Sunday Funday at Casa de Hayes (after a drunken biking accident):

The party was fun even with a super huge chin (brought on by above mentioned drunken bike accident):

Oh, and then there is that danged new Target Field the Minnesota Twins are playing in. I feel it's an accurate summation to say I've ate about 300 cheese curds there and seen Joe Mauer hit into about $3 million worth of double plays over the past three months, but golly it is a great ol' time:

I got that little thing I liked to refer to as my dragon-shaped bruise covered up:

Into a beautiful Minnesota lady slipper:

My work had a fabulous fund-raising event that friends and family attended:

And then there was July. I didn't take any pictures myself, but I think I can paint an accurate portrayal of the month by stealing images from the Internet.

It started with this:

And felt like this a lot:

And was finally diagnosed by this handy little pattern:

Oh, and I started to look a lot like Mary Jo Buttafuoco after a certain Long Island Lolita got to her:

Naturally July cannot go unmentioned with the totally awesome Jewell Stock:

Shall we move onto August...?

There was a delightful pool party at Ma and Pa Charron's:

More Labe tattoos:

And a goddamn hootenanny at the goddamn Mohler's:

A little Wheeler bachelorette party:

And of course the cherry on top of this delicious hot fudge (and a little caramel) summer...the annual Labe pilgrimage to Ten Mile Lake:

Until next summer,
I remain,
Pistola Whipped

Pistola goes to first base with Justin Morneau...

2010-07-21T14:42:00.000-05:00

Hello,

How are you earthlings?

I’m well up here in the blogosphere. It’s been a little lonely, but I’ve been passing the time trying to find a blog post worthy of reading, by you, my dearest readers.

And I think it finally happened. I went out and interviewed many celebrities both alive and dead. I cured cancer. I re-wrote the American Constitution. Yet, after hours upon grueling hours of searching…I took it back to what I know. And what I know is Minnesotans.

So, with no further ado here is:

A little chatter with Minnesota Twins first baseman Canadian Justin Morneau:

PWGAL: Hi Justin!

JM: Hi there. How are ya?

PWGAL: Oh fine. And you? [cracks open a Labatt Blue and winks at Justin].

JM: Doing great.

PWGAL: On behalf of me and my fellow citizens welcome to America! [Pistola enunciating words slowly]

JM: Thanks. I’ve lived here for about six years now. I’m married to an American and I play baseball in America. Plus, Canada isn’t too far from here. So, I guess you could say I feel pretty American.

PWGAL: Right. If you’re so American name our current president?

JM: Barack Obama.

PWGAL: [checks with assistant to see if Justin is right] Yes that is correct. So, let’s get back to you being a first baseman. Do you ever dream of getting to second or third base?

JM: Well, not really. I’m comfortable at first base. I don’t think that getting to play second or third base is necessarily a measure of skill, but more a level of finding out what you're good at and sticking with it.

PWGAL: Doesn’t anyone apply pressure to you to round the bases?

JM: Well, perhaps when I’m at bat, but when I’m playing first base, no.

PWGAL: At bat, aye? Is that what they call it in Canada?

JM: Call what exactly?

PWGAL: You know.

JM: No, I don’t think I do.

PWGAL: Come on Justin. I know you’re Canadian and all, but really? We’re talking about SEX! You’re a first baseman: guy who likes a little kissing before scoring the big home run.

JM: Wow, you think that I’m a professional kisser?

PWGAL: Naturally.

JM: No, I play baseball, a sport, as a professional in Major League Baseball for the Minnesota Twins.

PWGAL: I’m really not familiar with baseball or sports.

JM: Listen. I need to head to batting practice. Can we wrap this up?

PWGAL: Sure, Justin. Here’s a little parting gift from me [Pistola leans in for a kiss].

JM: You’re nuts. [Justin takes can of Labatt out of Pistola’s hands and whips it at her head.]

Interview abruptly ends.

A year of domesticity....

2010-06-14T12:53:00.000-05:00

Hello dear readers,

I know it's been awhile. Sorry for the separation. I've really missed you all (Nate and Sarah).

The boyfriend and I recently celebrated one year in our new house. I'm publishing something I wrote prior to moving in with each other. It's good that I can look back over the past year and recall that it's been a fairly smooth ride...no restraining orders...yet.

Enjoy!

At what point in a relationship is it okay to throw romance, passion and the beauty and solace of one’s apartment or house for a shared living space?

I’m not exactly sure, but I have been thinking about it lately. And not just for fun but because it may be time. Yep, time to co-habitate with the boyfriend.

We’ve been dating roughly seven months, haven’t known each other even a year and yet here we are: I’m forwarding him house listings from MLS. We’re emailing about yards, square footage, mortgages and central air conditioning. And it’s fun…right now. Speculating about our future, dreaming of barbecues in the backyard with all of our perfect couple friends. Decorating to each of our own tastes, satisfying both of our odd collections. I can see myself now, shaking my head and fighting a smile as I re-wash the dishes that my boyfriend carelessly rinsed and threw in a pile next to the sink. Oh, good times. And I’m sure we can still maintain our interesting and exciting sex life after taking out the trash, weeding the garden, painting over the weird kitchen borders the previous owner chose to hang, paying bills and sending off the errant solicitor. I’m sure we won’t disagree or grow sick of each other. I’m sure we’re the exception to the rule.

So, why should we carry on the way we are? I mean what’s great about having a safe, solo haven where I can drink a bottle of Cabernet and listen to stupid songs and air sing at the top of my lungs and fall over and break my own stuff without having to feel guilty about it the next day? I actually don’t like standing in front of the open fridge door in my underwear dipping sweet and sour pickles into a jar of crunchy peanut butter. Well, I don’t actually like doing it in front of others. And I mean, I hate going on the annual weekend-long garage sale tour with my friends and picking up the grossest paintings I can find and hanging them on my walls immediately after getting home. I hate that.

And what do I do when the boyfriend and I get in a fight? It’s nice to go home and fling myself dramatically in my bed and shamelessly pound on the pillows with nobody watching except for the movie audience I am acting for in my mind. What bed can I do that in if he’s already doing it in ours?

I guess I’m struggling with a battle against the unknown. I know things right now are fantastic, awesome and truly fabulous. I still get smug when one of my imperfect couple friends (scratch them off the backyard barbecue list) complains about their boyfriend’s showering habits. Like that he doesn’t shower. And I know that mine does, because he has time alone in his own apartment where he showers and writes songs about me and emails all his friends about the super cool chick he is thinking about buying a house with. I can still imagine him doing all this independent stuff and that warm feeling surges through me. But is that warm feeling true affection or is it because he is doing stuff I don’t get to know about and do with him?

I imagine we’ll end up living together. It seems like the natural progression of this thing that I like to call a relationship. I suppose we’ll just end up being another couple, buying a house in order to play at being adults. Perhaps we’ll fail? Maybe we’ll succeed.

What if he comes home one night and I’m on my knees, earnestly air-singing along to Bob Seger’s ‘We've Got Tonight’ and he likes me for it? Even loves me for it? And what if he likes doing that too? Then perhaps we could listen to the Kenny Rogers/Sheena Easton duet version instead and fall down and accidentally break each other’s stuff (I’ve never liked his Ikea chairs anyway). Maybe it’s jaded to think too far ahead in the future and assume that all the day-to-day stuff can get in the way of the cool thing we have. I think Bob sums it up the best, ‘We’ve got tonight, who needs tomorrow, we’ve got tonight babe, why don’t we stay?’

Yours very truly,
PW

Much pondering on this day of rising...

2010-04-04T12:07:00.000-05:00

Hello!

And Happy Easter to you, too.

I've decided to take my fate into my own hands. If I can learn one lesson from the Jesus Bunny, it's to overcome my own demons and rise above. What better day to celebrate this new lease on life than Easter Sunday?

I guess, arguably, Arbor Day could count...

I digress.

Remember the list I made several weeks ago after being heartlessly rejected from graduate school? I barely do, so let's refresh. It was a list of the five things I would like to do with my life. I've considered the list and the reality of it is, well, it's not very realistic. The idea of being a detective is interesting, but the idea of being a cop in order to become a detective is not interesting. So, let's check that one off the list.

Alt-country singer/songwriter? I don't think I should mistake the facts on this one. Just because I can relate to a lot of the pinings of other sad bastards and own a few western-style shirts does not make me qualifed to write or sing alt-country songs. Crossed off the list.

The product of a trust fund made the list. This is an example of the way I think. Or more accurately, the way I don't think things through. I'm not the product of a trust fund nor will I ever be. That is something one is born into and after 32 years of life I've finally accepted this is not me.

Also, I included a Real Housewife of Minneapolis on that list. I actually wouldn't mind doing this so much, except for the fact that I'm a.) not married, b.) living at poverty level and c.) not into shopping, plastic surgery or anything that any of those Real Housewives broads are into. And also, this show does not exist, so once again...I'm kind of a moron.

But novelist was on there...I've been thinking on this one. I have no patience or the talent to write a great American novel, but I would feel comfortable being a series writer like Carolyn Keene or Louis L'Amour or Nora Roberts. And two of my favorite genres are mystery and western fiction...so to combine the two? I could even pull one of my alt-country western style shirts on to sit down and write...what do you think?

In the event the western meets the mystery in novel form...what would an appropriate crime be to kick off the series? Cowboy Jack in the barn with a noose? Harlot Lorraine in the saloon with a pistola?

Get back to me,
Pistola

Lists...

2010-03-27T21:09:00.000-05:00

Hello,

A lot of things have happened over the past week:

A lot. Of. Things.

1.) I graded my friends. Some, but not all, were happy with their grades. This is some sort of example of life, I think.

2.) I saw the move Crazy Heart, which I won't bore with my dear readers with all the wonderful and depressing things I felt after viewing it, except I felt wonderfully and depressingly affected during and after viewing it.

3.) I'm on my 8th Budweiser

4.) That has nothing to do with this list.

5.) Larry McMurtry. I'm a fan. Past Lonesome Dove. Read his memoir and loved it. LOVED IT.

6.) This has been a big week for Pistola Whipped. One big-ass week.

7.) Yours very truly,

8.) Pistola Whipped

Your final grades are in, ladies and one man...

2010-03-24T17:35:00.000-05:00

Hello,

Thank you for checking Pistola Whipped gets a life for your official grade from the Saturday night sauna party. People who did not attend are encouraged to read and start their work-outs for the next opportunity to party and be graded by yours truly.

Here we go:

Jenna 'my gray pussy hair is woven into a meaningful, Native American basket' N.:
A+ for first to arrive, last to leave
A+ for wearing a costume
A+ for drinking one bottle of wine, a half case of beer and a shot of Ny-Quil the night before and then drinking three times as much the rest of the weekend and still looking good, well as good as Jenna's ever gonna look
A+ for an A+ Papes game
A+ for partying on Sunday

Total Grade= A+

Anne 'why can't I grow pubic hair' R.
A+ for having the party
A+ for no ER visits
D for not putting lasagna in fridge overnight for post-party snacking
A+ for partying the next day

Total Grade= A+

Kiwi 'she earned her name by sucking every cock in New Zealand on a whistle-stop tour' B.:
A+ for driving the furthest for party time
A+ for having the 'oh shit moment of the night' when a frozen Guinness exploded in her face
A+ for sticking to only two mimosas on Sunday

Total Grade=A+

Jen 'do I need allergy meds or did someone just cum in my eye' MoMo:
A+ for edamame hummus
A+ for writing 'I wanna take you clown town Jenna...peen' in the nastiest, best semi-professional Papes game ever played
B- for almost choosing to watch TV and feeling sorry for herself on Sunday instead of partying

Total Grade=A

Aileen 'give it to me rough' Char-Char
A+ for bringing the Grain Belts and Crock Pot meatballs
A for kicking it in the sauna for a super long, almost unhealthily long time
A for marrying Justin and hanging with his sister's friends

Total Grade=A

Nichole 'do it to me one more time (in my ear)' K.:
A for doing dance party, sauna party and Papes party all in one night
A for staying until the wee hours of the night
A for diving right into the game of Papes and playing like a pro (see Jenna N. above)

Total Grade=A

Heather 'I wear tampons in my tear ducts' B.:
A for finally playing Papes like a champ and bringing more beer
C+ for coming late to the party
A+ for partying the next day

Total Grade=A

Nell 'she was dressed like she wanted it' B.:
A for bringing a little Martha Stewart to an otherwise prison inmate-like party
B- for not getting Dan to somehow take off his clothes
A- for putting the semi into semi-professional Papes

Total Grade=A-

Gina 'sweats VD' B.:
A+ for bringing a Diet Coke to the party in order to ease her hangover from the night before and only drinking one sip before switching to booze
A- for bringing Jenna's mom into a Papes round: in Barb's large and in charge vagina
B for partying the next day, albeit not with us

Total Grade=A

Leecy 'lick me left, I'll lick you right' Free-Free:
C for showing up, like, 11 or 12 hours late
A for last to leave
A for having the most remarkable hair change, or having in the words of Jen, 'spooge-white hair'

Total Grade=B+

Jessica C.
D for having only two drinks because she had to work at Gymboree the next morning
A for having only two drinks because she had to work at Gymboree the next morning
B+ for tolerating Kiwi's friends and liking us, I think

Total Grade=B+

Jen W.
C for being the first to leave
A for being one of the first to show
B for drinking six Coors Lites in one sitting

Total Grade=B+

Nikki W.
C for being late and leaving early
B+ for showing up wasted
B+ for having solo dance party

Total Grade=B+

Kimi L.
Didn't make it for legitimate reasons, can make up at later date.

Total Grade=I (incomplete)

Jennee 'should have, could have, sometimes on my lifepath' D.
B for funny, papes like pre-party email/text banter
D for not coming to the party

Total Grade=U (unexcused)

And our honorary party attendee:

Dan 'one pump, I mean one pape' K.
A for being the Cindrella story in the game of Papes
D for being the only male

Total Grade=C

And here is a little something to leave you with:
Jenna 'Gym Teacher' Nerb Nerb doing the ol' 'elastic riding up her butt, causing friction with her butt hair'.

Big money ideas have to start somewhere...

2010-03-20T11:56:00.000-05:00

Alfeederzane,

I think that's German for 'what's up fuckers?'

And I'm rather in a German state of mind after watching another riveting episode of Project Runway with German's very own pride and joy, the baby-making machine Heidi 'Boom Boom' Klum.

What if she started a show called Projects Runaway?

It could feature runaways from the projects making fashion forward outfits for situations like posing on a milk carton or what they will be wearing in 2018 when they do those age-projection picture deals.

Chew on it,
PW

Pearl Jam secret performance leads to meltdown leads to discovery...

2010-03-16T21:28:00.000-05:00

Hello,

Due to Pearl Jam playing a 'private' gig for Target-only employees at Target Center today...I had an official (Pearl Jam fanclub member) meltdown.

Un/fortunately, I'm not a Target employee so I could not see them play, but because my best friend is a Target employee I had play-by-play info via text messaging. I was so jealous I cried like those tween girls you see on Time info-mercials watching the Beatles.

How much Pearl Jam stalking did I do today thinking they would play at a local club instead of flying the private Target jet straight back to Seattle?

How much breathing did you do today?

There's your answer. Scared of me?

Yeah, pretty much everyone else is when I reveal the Pearl Jam obsession.

Guess what I did find out?

If you Google Pearl Jam and Minneapolis...

Pistola Whipped is the second thingie to come up!!!!

I think it's because of that interview I did with Charles Manson when he posed as Teddie Vedder, the lead singer of a Pearl Jam cover band, which is found earlier in this blog.

No matter what, this is truly one of my greatest achievements in life.

Yours very truly,
Pearljamola Whipped

WTF?

2010-03-14T18:47:00.000-05:00

Hello,

Another day in Minneapolis and another day closer to death.

This is where I'm at.

How about you?

Perhaps I should stop whining, but then where would that leave me?

Remember when growing up was a great and shiny thing?

I do.

Yours very truly,
PW

Rejection leads to top 5 list....

2010-03-11T16:38:00.001-06:00

Hello,

How is everyone?

I've had the recent pleasure of getting rejected from getting into graduate school. Rejection is delightful. It feels good to cry, scream at God and ask 'why me, Lord?' and then have a reason to go and get drunk with your friends.

Since my future is now squashed into smithereens, I've taken the past week to reflect, build character and stare at my ceiling.

Whilst staring and reflecting, the question 'what should I do with my life, Oprah/Suze Orman?' kept going through my head.

Constantly beating oneself up for failing invokes some interesting developments, such as the one I'm going to share with you, dear readers. I've decided, in list-form, to design my future by drafting my fantasy careers. Analyze carefully. This is a high-stakes league.

Here is Pistola Whipped finds a dream career:

5.) Homicide detective, but only if I could be on A&E's The First 48.
4.) Alt-country singer/songwriter. Like Lucinda Williams, not Sheryl Crow.
3.) Novelist. No qualifiers.
2.) The product of a trust fund.
1.) Real Housewife of Minneapolis...hook me up Bravo.

So, what do you think? Possible?
What are yours?

I need to get to work on my future.

Yours very truly,
Pistola Whipped

Pistola gets all Merriam on her readers...

2010-02-01T20:23:00.000-06:00

Hello again,

How is every one?

I couldn't sleep last night. Usually when the insomnia settles in I start thinking of various scenes from my past. These typically aren't pleasant; most often they're full of regret, shame and anxiety.

Last night was different. I thought of a new word:

Wonky tonk. Noun. An American sports bar where British people go to get schnockered.

i.e. Hooters

Or...

Wonky tonk. Adjective. Describing an action British people perform that is exceedingly American backwoods.

i.e. Lady Gaga looked all wonky tonk riding that horse.

Yours very truly,
Pistola Webster

Hello bloga, hello la la and hello dolly...

2010-01-28T16:58:00.000-06:00

Hello,

It's strange how this lonely blogosphere works. One quits blogging for a couple of months (the equivalent of centuries in blog time) and then suddenly decides to write again and readers come out of the blogwork.

For example: Barb. Barb posted a comment shortly after I blogged yesterday. It didn't appear that she was a Sexy Lady (I'm sure you're sexy Barb, just not in the Internet porn way) or someone trying to sell Viagra as most of my other comment authors have been. Quite frankly, I don't know anyone named Barb. So, Barb, hello! Hopefully you're legitimate and not Eric aka-ing as a female....again.

Let's move on, shall we?

As mentioned before I've taken a rather lengthy hiatus from blogging. Winter in Minnesota has a tendency to kill any creative thinking and since this blog is teeming with creativity, it died along with the first deep freeze. Now, ponderously, it has risen its roaring head and secured yet another riveting interview.

Today Pistola Whipped goes la-la with Lady Gaga:

Pistola Whipped (PW): Good day! Would you like a spot of tea?

Lady Gaga (LG): Hello. Sure, tea would be great.

PW: Oh, golly. I didn't think you'd actually want tea. I don't have any. I thought the British were more polite than to accept tea from a stranger.

LG: That's okay. Let me just text my assistant and he'll bring us some.

PW: Assistant-pfff. The British [Under breath].

LG: Excuse me?

PW: Nothing. Let's start the interview.

LG: I'm ready.

PW: You don't have much in the way of a British accent. Do you work with a trainer to sound more American when you're in America?

LG: I was actually born in New York City. I'm an American citizen.

PW: Oh right. Do they train you to say that too? Like you have this whole American rags to riches, rose to fame story, that sort of thing?

LG: No, I'm an American. Where did you get the impression that I'm British?

PW: Well, you're the offspring of Iman and David Bowie, right?

LG: NO! What? Are you for real?

PW: Yes, of course. I read the first two sentences of almost every article written about you. It invariably begins with, 'Lady Gaga and David Bowie....yadda.'

LG: If you cared to read further you'd discover that David Bowie is not my father. The press likes to compare my musical persona to that of David Bowie's.

PW: I think if the press compared me to a musical persona it would be Barbara Streisand. Don't you think?

LG: [Signs. Starts texting.]

PW: All right. Moving on, your music is almost as remarkable as your fashion style.

LG: I take some offense to that comment. My music is what I'm known for. My style comes second.

PW: Right. So, if you were wearing a pair of Lee jeans and a turtleneck and singing 'Poker Face' people would still listen?

LG: I believe so. Yes.

PW: Do you know Barbara Streisand?

LG: [Signals to assistant, takes of microphone and walks off interview.]

Once again another star interview folks! And I'm sure you all learned something: Lady Gaga is no relation to David Bowie.

Yours very truly,
Lady Pistola-ola

Clap your hands say what...

2010-01-27T15:32:00.000-06:00

Hello,

I am an American citizen.

I, like you, take my American rights seriously. And tonight we get to honor our American right to watch the State of the Union address on TV. Naturally I would watch the State of the Union even if it weren’t on every channel on TV, I think.

So, tonight we as a collective American people will sit on our chaise lounges and Barcaloungers and watch as President Barack Obama delivers his first freedom speech since taking office.

One thing I’ve noticed from year to year is that no matter whom the president, the viewing audience always claps after every sentence he says. I started to wonder this year, ‘who is the person responsible to keep the crowd energetic enough to keep clapping after every word the Prez says?’

In order to find out, I started a letter writing campaign. I wrote the White House. I wrote Hillary Clinton. I wrote Mario Lopez’s fan club. Oh wait, that was more of a personal matter. I never did get any responses, so I simply typed in ‘Who is the person responsible to keep the crowd energetic enough to keep clapping after every word the Prez says?’ And I still didn’t get any answers. So, I asked the Universe and found the guy.

With no further ado, Pistola Whipped shoots the breeze with State of the Union Address Audience Clap Guy.

Pistola Whipped (PW): Hello there [gives a big round of applause]!
Audience Clap Guy (ASG): You’re doing that all wrong.
PW: What?
ACG: Clapping. You’re clapping wrong [starts clapping].
PW: Really? That looks exactly like what I was just doing.
ACG: No, you had it all wrong.
PW: Okay. Well, thanks for the lesson. I suppose you should know. You’re the professional.
ACG: That’s right. I should know and I do know.
PW: Moving on. How did you know that you wanted to be the guy who gets an audience to clap?
ACG: Well, actually I just switch on a light that says, ‘APPLAUSE’ and then the audience kinda does the rest.
PW: You mean you flip on a light and the audience just does the rest?
ACG: Yeah, basically. I think that’s what I just said.
PW: So, you’re not behind the scenes mooning the audience or doing shadow puppets? It’s merely just flashing on a sign that says, ‘APPLAUSE’?
ACG: You hit the nail right on the head, missy.
PW: Even during the State of the Union address? You’re flashing an ‘APPLAUSE’ sign?
ACG: Oh yeah. They have a top notch one. Runs on nuclear energy. Real state of the art, if you know what I mean. Not even a switch on this one, just a big red button remotely hooked up to the sign. You don’t find that kind of apparatus on ‘American’s Funniest Videos’.
PW: Let me get this straight. You’re sitting near the president pushing a big red button that doesn’t look like it’s hooked up to anything? That doesn’t pose a security risk?
ACG: Nah, me and presidential security go way back. They know that after I got out of the pen the last time I put my criminal past behind me.
PW: You're a criminal?
ACG: Reformed. Now I'm in the business of Crowd Enthusiasm.
[A man in a black suit comes over to talk to ACG.]
ACG: Sorry. I gotta run. I have to go and do thumb calisthenics. It can be pretty draining to have to push that button down nearly 300 times in three hours.
PW: All right. See ya.

And that's it. I thought that the politicians had that much zest for the Presidential State of the Union address, but as it turns out, they are just duped by some phony sign.

Yours very truly,
Pistola Clapped

True Romance....

2009-10-05T19:31:00.000-05:00

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

2009-09-29T18:44:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-09-11T17:51:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-08-25T19:48:00.000-05:00

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....

2009-08-09T10:21:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-08-04T19:34:00.000-05:00

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

2009-07-28T20:01:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-07-15T22:13:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-07-10T17:08:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-07-08T21:19:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-07-07T21:44:00.001-05:00

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...

2009-06-10T14:57:00.000-05:00

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

2009-05-28T15:14:00.000-05:00

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

2009-05-19T12:07:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-05-16T10:51:00.001-05:00

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...

2009-05-11T21:43:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-05-11T19:22:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-05-09T20:27:00.000-05:00

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

2009-05-08T20:20:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-05-05T20:24:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-04-28T19:57:00.000-05:00

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

2009-04-23T17:01:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-04-01T18:13:00.000-05:00

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

2009-03-26T17:14:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-03-24T20:13:00.000-05:00

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

2009-03-19T17:06:00.000-05:00

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

2009-03-13T15:11:00.000-05:00

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

2009-03-12T19:32:00.000-05:00

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

2009-03-11T17:51:00.000-05:00

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...

2009-03-06T15:10:00.000-06:00

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...

2009-03-04T16:56:00.000-06:00

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...

2009-03-03T18:10:00.001-06:00

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...

2009-03-03T17:53:00.000-06:00

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.