Friday, November 9, 2007


Child, look close. Look at how her eyes dart from side to side as she walks through the market as though she is being followed. It is not the look of fear child. Make no mistake that is the licentious grasping gaze of the Antisemite.

If she holds yout gaze for too long you will fall prey to the lascivious trap her kind doth carry close like a hunter with his musket or a sailor with his scrimshaw. You will note how her bosom doth swing with pendulous regularity. Nay that is not like the pendulum in the clocks of grandmother's house, that is the debased metronome that mesmerizes the low instincts of her male kin and too many of our innocent young men. It bastardizes time with intemperance, leaving only the empty promise of amatory consummation in its wake.

Yess... Yess I can see she is pregnant--it is quite obvious to all--but is it quite so obvious what she is not showing? Her fine maternal glow does not betray her revolting secret. Our scientists have shown that during gestation the female Antisemite drops the fetus in a pouch in a special labial cavity formed by a droop ih her birthing apparratus. For four lunar weeks her offspring lay in this sac--a greedy monkey in its hammock--mouthj agape, lapping up the elixirs of lust that ooze from the gland found only in her kind that so many of our young men fall victim to. THe baby, if anything so tainted by birth can even be grated that name, will wail not for want of milk but for its narcotic, that vile honey its--and I'm sorry if I spit when I say this--mother secretes. Bisexuality and her siamese twin Sexuality are the flighty godmothers to all the young born to these people; for they are born orphans. As one and all know, a motherless child is like a soleless shoe; a cosmetic cover for infection and vermin that fester at its very base--at its very soul--hah!

Her eyes are set further apart in her visage to confound the eyes and make us perceive honesty and goodness wheree there is only hateful dissembling and malice. The epicanthis folds beckon recognition from our members like the desperate flyer of a proselytizer; unlike our faithful brethren these indelicate flaps are quite effectual. Her eyes seem beautiful as we follow mesmerized into the depraved lairs she reserves for the fatal encounter. She will offer wines and spirits to diminish our fear but this is to be the last act of unction. She will be merciless in our demise. In her passionate throes she clenches our daggers tight in a manner her father instructed her in (you blush but it is true) this erstwhile fair creature turns mureous monstr, and removes to discharge our weapons in our own faces.

And yet.. and yet their godless feral lust ends not with the consummation of flesh. They use their demonic prowess to garner opppostunites for advancement in our society. Our best cosmetic surgeons, entertainment lawyers, sporting agents, and yes even repectably agina businessmen provide only the steadiest supply of open vessels for their tricks. She will manipulate greed and envy as a sherpa with a finely honed staff. Expertly clinbing the highest reches of Mt. Success which is truly a tower built on the backs of the once willing but now lifeless backs of our men. After frolicking in public houses many a man finds himself parted from his fortune and in her vise-like grip. She will met you down part by part from your belt to the gelt in your teeth. Like a grinning mohel you will see her above you tantalizing you with your dismembered part in her clow. Her eyes will nbot seem beautiful then as she eyes you like the carrion you are. Then she will reinstate your body devoid of its soul and wealth, as her ventriloquist's dummy, to give her fraud a respectable face and to hide her true nature. Like the bloody merkin she is, she will in this guise, infiltrate the company of your peers with the same ruse until all of her society is lowered to her putrid and ignominious state. Then and only then will she be done with you. Look away child, look away before it is too late.

Monday, September 17, 2007

This Daft Gook Needs a Job: Scenes from a inbox

Bridgewater Associates(Assholes, etc.), Inc.
We're looking for people who can be the leaders of the company – starting on their very first day. (seek a few good dickheads)
Bridgewater manages $165 billion in global investments for a wide array of institutional clients, including foreign governments and central banks, corporate and public pension funds, university endowments and charitable foundations. (big primed uncut cocks with greasy hot nuts) Bridgewater has approximately 450 employees and is based in Westport, Connecticut. (conveniently located just off the Post Road at the corner of Cum in My Ass and Cum on My Chin) There are three ingredients behind Bridgewater's success: its process, its people, and its culture. (raw entry, uprocking reverse cowgirl, jackhammering doggystyle, with a little stinky pinky; teen sluts, horny bicurious wives, dirty old men; and biweekly swingers parties) At Bridgewater, we have invented, and keep inventing, superior approaches to investing and technology. We have fueled this innovation by recruiting talented, creative people from all backgrounds and promoting an invigorating and collaborative work environment. (mature broads who like double fisting, black dick in white pussy, horses, water sports, circle jerk lunch breaks) We are committed to the constant pursuit of excellence, and a meritocracy of ideas, not hierarchies, drives decision-making. (shut up and eat my cock you little cumslut)

Client Service Department Overview:
The Client Service Department is responsible for implementing Bridgewater's client strategy. (get that lube and squirt it all over my ass) Our global client base includes public and corporate pension funds, foreign governments and central banks, as well as university endowments and charitable foundations. (now shove that wine enema into my moist boyhole) We seek to be our clients' most trusted advisor, beyond providing excellent reporting and analytical services.(ooh yeah drink up bitch, suck it dry, and lick all the edges you little whore).
Client Advisors,
Portfolio Strategists, and Analysts introduce and teach institutional investors about (now lube me up and pound my ass like you mean it) Bridgewater's pioneering work in areas such as risk budgeting, alpha and beta separation, portable alpha, optimal beta, currency overlay, and global inflation-indexed bond investing. (oh yeah you fucking like that don't you, you ugly little cumwad, tell me you like
daddy's tight little stinkhole.) Our track record
(Daddy's going to cum) of innovative (oh yeah Daddy's going to--fu--cking cum) and objective thinking (Fuuuuck.) has established (Yeah. Unnngh) Bridgewater as one of the pre-eminent (Ohhhh. Ungh) investment management firms in the business. ( Unghhungohh)

Friday, September 7, 2007

My 26th Birthday Party Karaoke Songlist

It's very necessary that you help sate my appetite for destruction (self-, aurally). No doubt it'll be a bizarre ride II the pharcyde of Queens or K-town or the East Village (most likely). All the pathos or bathos won't get us back to black music's roots with my light-FM playlist but it most certainly won't be a night at the opera. Either which way, hell hath no fury like the bitter Asian birthday bunny scorned. Tone def ululations aside, it'll be all golden hits when I'm on golden pond hopefully my 2-6 will be bigger, better, faster, more , like a never ending supply of yay. Donations to that effect will be appreciated.


1.Shoop or Let's Talk about Sex - Salt 'n' Pepa (warmup, ensemble)
2.Paradise City- G'n'R (dolo, choral ensemble)
3.Passin' me By- Pharcyde (I do Fat Lip's verses)
4.You Know I'm No Good - A. Winehouse (dolo)
5.Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen (drunk ensemble obv)
6.Chinese New Year or Hello New World (someone's got to do Pharrell)- Clipse
7.I Say a Little Prayer- Dionne Warwick (maybe this will get cut)
8.What's Up- 4 Non Blondes ("my #38" Korean karaoke jargon for I'll house you on this shit)

Ensemble encore Rehab- A. Winehouse (might happen in rehab)

***FORBIDDEN songs: anything by the Cranberries, the entirety of Bohemian Rhapsody, Groove is in the Heart, anything that can be found on a Wes Anderson movie soundtrack.**

++Strongly Encouraged: Novelty rap songs, Frankie Valli, Ron Spector output, Dolly Parton, Op Ivy/Rancid


Mr Fat Lip's QUIZ:


image "A"-->

<--image "B"


2)Image "A"+ Viagra = Image "B" + Lesbian Bed Death [T/F]

3) Christa Hilhouse is the missing link between Boy George and Marshall Mathers [T/F]

4) Choose one of the following and write 250 words.
(a) "Leather pants are boner-inducing. No homo." No homo?
(b) Confusion-as-sex 80's glam became the early 90's alt-rock vagina dentata of castration-anxiety ridden freelance cultural critics who aided the proliferation of the term "PC" in the media. (c) Sim Simma. Who am I?
6)carpetmuncher : cracksmoker :: Talib Kweli : ___?___
7) Assume Image "A" actually depicts the wax effigies of those portrayed in Image "B" at a cut-rate Madame Tussaud's in the Belgian Congo (cropped from the picture is the adjacent exhibit of Duff Mc Kagan and Patrice Lumumba's grandmother at her spinning jenny). Yes/No? If not, how can Linda Perry have the same haberdasher as the Slasher? What does this signify? (possible dissertation)
8) Why am I brushing my teeth while peeing in the shower? Is this sexually aberrant?

Friday, August 24, 2007

Certain things cheer me up:

Wandering the Meatpacking District looking like the Unabomber knowing that I can look at
Christian Louboutin shoes in all their glory in a boutique window or on the pedicured feet of a Korean girl loudly overenunciating inane opinions at her white boyfriend like HE can't speak English. Dodging cesspools of vomit crossing 14th street, I realize its all Lotus and the Lotus eaters it attracts. A piece of scaffolding is the triage area where trannie guards play nurse. I blink and Ninth Ave transforms itself into Godard's Paris all 60s and left bank glistening with sweat, a cigarette dangling off its lower lip. The yellow wave of taxis ebbs and flows at the same time--equalizing in an uneasy stillness. Its ghostlike emanations are tendrils of smoke that push in and out doors of restaurants on Gansevoort. The buzz of all this activity has found its silence at last. Arrythymic honks of taxis like the feet of a couple awkwardly trying to dance are as equally impotent in stirring the sway of the dancefloor of West Chelsea as they are at getting the selfsame couple laid. A lot of money is being pushed around by a lot of people hoping to go home with the wrong people with the right amount of money. Handsome Midwestern boys head like cattle leering at two black girls fixing the heels of their blocky cheap shoes hoping its pay for play. I look too. No, they're just black. They just want to pass as much as you do.

The Dirty secret is of course that I love New York. That thought passes as a man and woman are the last to leave a clean well lighted place getting its last rush delivery of caviar for the night from Petrossian's. They enter his parked Camry. He eyes me suspiciously as he closes the door behind her and then proceeds with no haste all the technical aspects of courtship. I am sipping out of a paper bag in dirty sneakers and sweats pretending not to watch. Finally they drive off, license plate says New Jersey, that's a relief.
Thinking is a sure sign of insanity. Drama in New York is a plague. Not because it is infectious per se but because once you're infected you look around for another person who is--they are reliably a few inches away from you hoping you'll find them too. That's why this isn't really a lonely city. I've never been anywhere with a better sense of camaraderie. I've never felt more alone.

Friday, April 27, 2007

I met two gents at a publican on St Patrick's Day


Wednesday, April 25, 2007

I have a life-threatening Illness


what? is it because I am japanese?

Team Amewica will nevwa catch me deaw weada

I taught the Bitter Asian Bunny the word "masturbation" and now she can't stop doing it!

I am sorry

I am the archnemesis of Architeuthis--what you call "giant" --Ha!--now, meet ME --COLOSSUS...of...Squid!

I can suck a dick, get fucked in the ass, and rim your bitch at the same time.
I can suck a dick, get fucked in the ass, and rim your bitch at the same time.

a touching story of a boy and his log

Monday, April 23, 2007


As I was saying earlier "I am 25 years old, female, Harvard educated, Korean American. That's also a list of my allegiances in order of importance." This is not true. The second part. Or not entirely the truth, they are in order of importance to me as far as i can sort of understand what is normally the criteria for identity. The real je ne sais quoi of life that is brutally cut down to "A/S/L? [age sex location] on internet chat rooms (do those still exist? or are they soooo pre-millennial and/or middle-aged). I might describe myself as a
Smoking hot classy Asian babe with BIG tits and a great sense
of humor, into art. got pics will send. For sensual tete-a-tetes

call ( **redacted**)

(this is my personal ad for when I'm 56/F/NY/single in the back of Harvard magazine's Looking for Love/ Companionship/ Anything Please! section). It's an odd choice for me, since I never liked any of the twatty chaps there when I was actually matriculated. Minus two, one ex-boyfriend(the campus's emcee MC Absurd) and my current wonderful boyfriend Zach. Fortunately my twat experience was way better. These twats were nice and hopefully my lifelong friends. It's still a little early to say. They share few, if any, identity traits with me beyond their A/S/L --25/f/NY. They are smoking hot white chicks with small perky breasts a la model. They are into art and they are no dilettantes though they may be debutantes. More importantly, they have about four more inches on me sans heel. They would be upset for calling them twats (why dear friends? I mean it out of loving familiarity). That we went to Harvard is the least important thing to each of our precious sense of self; but the most important thing in what binds us together.

How else would I have come to know the daughter of one of America's most illustrious living painters? She is, by popular consensus, considered one of his "best" chef d'oeuvres-- the other being her older sister? Or the daughter of one of the wealthiest-least-maligned and unexpectedly-humble private equity men? They are beautiful, talented, and tan in that wonderful way only the WASPy or wealthy can get in St. Barth's in February (except they went in July—trés gauche). How would they become fast and best friends with a hardscrabble raver girl from queens (my freshman identity prop) without some enormous suspension of disbelief? There's something Harvard engenders in us all, a good faith in the greatness of anyone on campus you don't hate immediately. It's not guilt by association--it's sainthood by association. The secret they never let you non-Cantabs in on, is that the snobbishness doesn't really come out until after you've creeped out of the ivy gates and into this vulgar stupid world. It's as though the unchained man from Plato's Cave returned to the cave and was like "Fuck you guys. You're ugly and smell like horse shit. I'm going back to those picture-hurt-eyes-people and drinking a beer." And then upon finishing beer said "Fuck you're awful too. Get me some shades and a sombrero."

Dear Friends,

I need a blog.

I am 25 years old, female, Harvard educated, Korean American. That's also a list of my allegiances in order of importance with the list downgrading by powers of ten from left to right. I am drunk. I feel like last night was my 26th birthday, but I am sure it was not my 26th birthday.
It was more like this middle school slumber party at the bad kid's house (who you didn't know was a bad kid until she "discovered" the scotch in her father's liquor cabinet where she was "sure the UNO deck would be," and after passing a few nervous furtive sips around the room (she'd proceed to tell us about getting her period getting fingerbanged at camp and liking it and her uncle touching her and maybe liking it while we got aroused with excitement and nausea on two sips of scotch. In the morning we'd wake up with funny feelings everywhere (see adults: kids are not like you, they don't have hangovers but maybe it's because they don't properly know how to drink, except they do. They treat drinking as a symbolic transgression and let their actions follow mesmerized and orgiastic like Bacchic cultists in the woods throwing their naked bodies at trees.

One thing. I was never allowed to go to these slumber parties as a kid. And the bad kid in middle school was me, or I thought I was bad even though I probably was an incredible Asian stereotype, or good. I did well in school and wanted to make my parents happy. Just one more thing. I had an incredibly bad temper and no patience for bullies especially the Irish ones who dominated the middle school scene like it was Tammany Hall. Like affirmative action, i joined their ranks without ever really earning my stripes (I was never beat up by my dad or poor white trash like Doug McFuckerface my archrival). But I did bulk up to defend my honor, my race, my sex against the likes of McFuckerface. Our historic altercation happened when he made his best Ching Chong Chink face at me while mouthing those words. Maori warriors and Aussie soccer stars do a similar dance to warn off rivals. He looked to me not like the Samoan with stubby appendages he was, but exactly as if tapped by the magical wand of Disney, a cartoon bulldog that could talk—in short—appalling. To this day, I hate the conceit of animals that talk (but not if they're reptiles or amphibians) and must leave the theater when Pixar trailers play).

I started with a kick to the groin. He went down. Elbow drops in his adipose. Hair pulls and the infamous bite scratch combo I perfected on my dad. In short I was a chubby, maybe fat little Asian girl with a sharp tongue, lacerating anyone and everyone with it, imagine a komodo dragon with pigtails that can talk. Trés charmant.

In fifth grade I sat behind an Asian boy named Sue Lee and everyday for a month I for no good reason stood up and silently pulled his chair away (he had a strange habit of not really sitting in his chair but letting his butt hover in the air while leaning his torso on his desk). During his descent to the floor I kicked him through the ass in the balls. I might have been inspired by Lucy and Charlie Brown. Or at the very least Lucy taught me that repeat brutality when done deadpan is funny. He at first was very upset but strangely did nothing in retaliation besides silently pound his fist on his desk afterward. He was honestly kind of mute.[1]

This nonaggression doctrine of his, I took as a weakness and chalked it up to his being more fresh off the turnip boat than me which in turn made me feel more justified in the superiority of my action. Thinking that i would learn him a thing or two about the Western value of going out there and kicking some ass! or the Country- Western value of putting a Boot in your ass, Non-Americans!
It's pretty obvious now what it was all about. All the willful ignorance stripped away. Sue was the class' star artist, he drew the stunning bald eagle for the cover of our grade school yearbook in pen! He could draw all the Marvel, Sanrio, and Saturday morning cartoon characters to scale from memory. I thought I was the more deserving great artist languishing in obscurity. He was pure mimesis. I—I had invented something. I was able to draw in pencil almost abstract, bow-shaped women with bows in their hairs that were in the shape of bowshaped women with bows in their hair that were women wearing bow-shaped women as bows. It got fractal-like very quickly and I would do it until I got motion-sickness or vertigo. You see, even then I was a conceptual artist battling the pure aesthete except now I'm the aesthete who wishes to be more conceptual, or more talented. Who was more talented me or sue? Can you be the judge? Will you? I want you to be. JEALOUSY. That's what it boils down to. Vignette over.

[1] and now that I think of it he was probably nearsighted too which would explain why he sat in such a crazy way straining to see the blackboard from the front of the classroom. Oh well, youth doesn't come with a cruelty-free sticker on it, Vegetarians.