Jennifer Robbins bends crowbars with her meat ax!



I was tipped off to the Jenville Show today and I gotta pass it on. It’s so simple, so smart…

Jennifer Robbins interviews our fav musicians and in the process they cook together or share cooking secrets.

Damn it’s a great idea and I’m all about ideas these days. So go on, try a dorrito burrito or some peanut butter veggie sausage toast and feel like a star.

I know I’m not a rock star in your version of reality, but I’m going to share a food story anyway: Soon after moving out, one of my fav things to cook (really the only thing I *thought* I knew how to cook) was ground beef mixed in with a can of mushroom soup. It doesn’t get much more trailer than that… but it tasted good growing up and I wanted to recreate a “home” ritual.

The problem: when I first tried to make it on my own, I put the raw meat into the soup instead of adding the soup to the cooked meat. No roomate would eat my flesh goulash and I was sad. Yet, deep down I knew I made a major miscalculation somewhere. The whole thing stunk and no amount of boiling was going to fix it.

My pride made me eat it. And in the end, thank the food gods, I lived to tell.

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I steer my *own* GOD DAMN evolution!



I drank *the Devil* under 23 tables, I am too *intense* to die, I’m insured for acts o’ God *and* Satan! I’m a human being of the *first* GOD DAMN water, who’ll try to blow me down? They say a godzillion is the highest number there is. Well by God! I count to a godzillion and *one*! I’m a bacteriological weapon, I am *armed* and *loaded*! Who’ll tear flesh with me, whose candle will I fart out? I pick the fucking terror of the god damn slabs o’ wimp meat out of my *nose*!

now you try

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Dear Toilet Top Tinkler,



At our mutual place of work, I have a favourite washroom stall that I like to practise peeing into – second one from the left if you’re facing the sinks.

I have a hunch that it’s your favourite stall as well and I’d like to talk to you about it. I think you need more practise or something.

Some days are frantic. I run from meeting to meeting into a lunch meeting only to face an afternoon of more meetings. I simply don’t have time to inspect the toilet seat prior to a transaction. Do you know where I’m going with this? Does it need to be so forwardly addressed?

To me, work is a clean and pretty safe place. Maybe if I were needing to make a deposit at the Eaton Centre, I’d consider the erroneous squat’n’totter – but at work! No ma’am. I know the folks I work with well enough. I don’t mind that their bums have touched the seat I’m sitting on. It’s just a bum. And truthfully, even if some of them are the slutty girls we secretly wish we were, it’s doubtful that any of that sexiness will make the improbable journey from their bathing suit parts, to the toilet, to your bum. I’m positive it doesn’t work like that. So I don’t mind.

But what I do mind, what I very much do mind, is this: sitting on the toilet at our mutual place of work, second one from the left if you’re facing the sinks, only to realise that you’ve been there moments ago. It’s not long until I recognise that familiar wetness against my once clean bum and I feel anguish, knowing that when I stand the air will affirm the degree of wet – clammy or soused. I can only hope for clammy, but even then, it’s hardly consolation now that I know my underpants must mop up this mess. And then I think about my jeans – surely they’ll rub up against the parts of my bum that my panties do not. They’ll be contaminated now too. But I just did laundry…

Do you see how your imprudence quickly turns my world upside down?

Did you ever see the movie Falling Down?

Yours truly,
Lily Dustbin

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I (heart) My Vagina too.



“We support free speech, but when it does infringe on other people’s rights and our school policies, then we need to take a look at that.”

I love that kind of logic. You’re free as long as your thoughts are conformist and you don’t offend the majority or make them uncomfortable. Some Americans drive me bananas.

This week’s sad and pathetic moron of the week award goes to Nancy Wondrasch, principal of Winona Senior High School in Winona, Minnestoa. She’s responsible for that dough-head quote.

The statement was made in response to questions about her school’s decision to expel students who choose to wear “I (Heart) My Vagina” buttons/t-shirts to class.

It all started after Carrie Rethlefsen saw a performance of the play “The Vagina Monologues”. Inspired and wanting to draw awareness to violence against women, she and a friend wore buttons to school that read: “I [heart] My Vagina.”

In an interview with the StarTribune, Carrie said, “The principal said that by wearing the pin, I was giving people wrong ideas, that I was giving an open invitation [to guys].”

No one has quite been able to extract from Wondrasch exactly what those “wrong ideas” are, or precisely what the offense is at all.

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