Living In the Toilet #2
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Here it is, number 2, more of my hopefully amusing ramblings. If this sucks, remember at least it's free. Repeat, "At least it's free. At least it's free".
Relax. It's only Life
Some folks think the title is a bit of a downer. Here are some happy faces to prove that this isn't a doom and gloom zine. :-) :-) ;-) It is usually a doom or gloom zine, but never both.
Pity for the Princess (or is it former Princess?)
I wrote this before the car crash: I actually found myself feeling sorry for Princess Di recently. Usually I dismiss her as a moron who majorly bungled what should have been a fairy tale life. This time though, she is getting hosed. I know more about Di's billion dollar boyfriend Dodi than I want to. Two of Dodi's former girlfriends have disclosed that he is a terrible sex partner. The source you may ask, the evil Internet? The National Enquirer? No, the Pulitzer Prize winning Philadelphia Inquirer. Jeez, give the idiot-woman some privacy.
Post Crash: In hindsight, Princess Die did have many admirable qualities. Wearing seatbelts and not getting into a car driven by a drugged out drunk, of course weren't some of them. She seemed to genuinely care for society's cast offs, and she worked to instill those values in her sons in spite of the royal family. She was being chased by photographers not assassins. Her death was stupid and partially her own fault.
For me, the two most peculiar things to come out of Princess Die's death not surprisingly involve Liz Taylor and her buddy Michael Jackson. Michael had to cancel a concert in Belgium four days after the crash because he was still too devastated. Personally I had considered canceling my cleaning of the bar's toilets due to my devastation, but decided to work through my grief. The show must go on. A 300 lb. spiky blonde haired Liz Taylor (a good look for a pro wrestler - she should consider it) showed up on CNN. She was weeping over the death of "the world's princess" and cursing the damned paparazzi. First of all, Liz is hypocrite as well as a hippo. Second, Die was not my princess. I am an American; we rejected the concept of royalty over 200 years ago. I don't bow down to anyone merely due to marriage or luck of birth.
Heh heh. Heh heh. Fire.
During a pleasant lunch at Brigid's in Fairmount, Jim Anderson told me about a new euphemism he heard for female genitalia earlier that day. It seems that Massingil now comes in a spray bottle. The commercial encourages women to apply Massingil to "their site". Now I go into a Beavis thing whenever someone mentions their "Web Site". Thanks a lot Jim.
El Observation - No. 2
Even late at night, Philadelphia's eastbound Market Frankford El is usually very mellow with very little attitude or attempted intimidation. Accidental eye contact, while not encouraged, is a non-event. I rode a New York City subway from the World Trade Center to Penn Station. One would expect this to be one of NYC's most popular and safe runs. It was mid-afternoon and you could cut the tension with a knife. Which I guess is what most people were afraid of.
Bad Advertising - Part 2
You may recall last month's ish had a bit regarding a billboard on I-95 advertising a children's hospital. So I'm driving north on 95 and there's a billboard for another children's hospital. This one is advertising St. Christopher's Hospital. Now I picture frantic parents driving mini-vans up and down I-95, with sick children in back, trying to determine which children's hospital to go to. "Brittany's in a coma! Quick, let's jump in the car and cruise I-95!"
Living in the Toilet is a mostly monthly zine published by Scoats. Copyright: Scoats 1997. All rights reserved. Most wrongs unintentional. Reproduction permitted as long as it is accompanied by this entire paragraph.
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Last updated on 8 January 2003.
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