At some point - at about four in the morning, six months ago - I have tried to send myself an email which says nothing other than: “I am skeptical about Cindy’s lesbianism.”
Writer, editor & gun for hire. Features at Kilimanjaro Magazine and Modern Matter. All commissions via Philippahelensnow [at] gmail.com.
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• VISUAL
• NOTES
• WORDS
• VISUAL
• NOTES
Gmail Discoveries, Volume Whatever.
Lance Boreham, The Limousine Accident (from a fanzine I put out in, I think, about 2010).
“Two-headed shark foetus killed by shark abortionist.”
Demi Moore on laughing gas; Kanye in Kim Kardashian’s ass. A tax check opened with the famous pelvis of the supermodel Anja Rubik, or a Twitter death hoax brought into being by sheer bloody-minded collective longing - the kind of frenzied fever dream in which Christ, moving in His mysterious ways, manifests Himself on the government-grilled-cheese sandwich of a super-believer. Gym, Tanning, Laundry and Eat, Pray Love, and the unbearable smugness of being James Franco: the sixteenth-birthday nose-job, and the thirteenth-birthday blowjob; Lady Gaga Recovers From Hip Surgery In 24 Karat Wheelchair.
Waking pop nightmares, vol. I: Justin Bieber covering Memo From Turner, with the amended lyric “I’m a swaggy little leather boy.”
“A garrulous, bitchy blond superstar was named Vulva and played vampishly by a female impersonator in a fright wig. Amanda Pork was a chubby prankster with a voracious appetite for drugs and sex. Like Brigid Polk, Amanda Pork occasionally scampered about topless, but she also cavorted with ‘the Pepsodent twins’, two nude men with pastel-covered genitals. She also assaulted herself with a syringe and masturbated with an egg beater to get attention.”
Currently: Porking Andy’s War Hole.
