crocodiles—as though building a house on stilts so you don’t wind up without feet is a normal thing. Let me tell you, if I want to live with a scaly creature that has an unhinged jaw and jagged teeth I’ll move in with Lea Michele.
I hate the Plains states. They’re plain. There’s no color, everything is wheat and grain and barley and grass. The whole region is nothing more than a PotteryBarn with cows. The leading cause of death in Nebraska is people falling asleep. It’s so dull the kids go to Kansas for their senior proms.
I hate cities that fight the elements, like Chicago, whose mottos are “It’s great to be inside” and “Shut that fucking door, you idiot.” Their number one export is “things that fell off the truck.” Let’s just hope that one good gust of wind blows Chicago into a better climate and suddenly it’s Chicago, Bahamas.
I hate Austin, but it’s not Austin’s fault. Austin is a great city that’s stuck in Texas. You can always tell when you get inside the Austin city limits because the hair is smaller and you can understand what the people are saying.
I hate New Orleans, but I respect it. You’ve got to respect a city that doesn’t want to hear about building above sea level. Grandpa dies and he’s buried over you. Even hell is up. New Orleans is filthy and dirty; it’s the only city that looked better after it was hit by a category five hurricane.
Mardi Gras is fascinating—you can puke in front of all the really good hotels. In New Orleans you can wear anything and do anything and no one seems to notice; it’s like hanging out at the Braille Institute.
Some people do love New Orleans—Anne Rice loves it, vampires love it; even Lee Harvey Oswald loved it and he was quite the sourpuss.
I hate San Francisco because I not only left my heart there, but my hairdresser. San Francisco is the only city in the world that has a lisp. The whole town smells like lube. It’s built on hills that are so steep that when you get to the top of one of them in a taxi, you can’t see what’s on the other side. Going up a hill in San Francisco is like going down on Kathy Bates.
Enough with the good ol’ U. S. of A. There are whole countries I hate…
I hate Sweden. Well, I don’t actually hate Sweden, I hate
Mamma Mia
and all the acclaim Meryl Streep received for singing “Dancing Queen” slightly off-key. It’s enough with Meryl, it’s enough with ABBA and it’s enough with all the pretty, smooth-skinned, natural blondes. Give me a couple of skanky brunettes with pockmarks and gunshot wounds and maybe, just maybe, I’ll feel better about the place. Sweden is like the Plains states in that it is totally devoid of color. And I’m talking about the population, not the geography. Sweden is so white even the black people are white. It’s like being at a Klan meeting with supermodels.
I hate the northern lights. Sweden is in absolute daylight six months out of the year. Who needs that? I’m not in daylight for six hours a year. My best feature is total darkness. My plastic surgeon’s office is in the Howe Caverns. The northern lights are actually calledthe aurora borealis, and I hate that because Aurora Borealis is my porn name. I feel so violated.
The constant daylight has made the Swedes so crazy that there’s a mental illness named for them: Stockholm syndrome. This is when victims of kidnap and torture begin to identify with and protect their captors instead of turning them in to the authorities. Remember when newspaper heiress Patty Hearst was kidnapped by the Symbionese Liberation Army and forced to join their radical cult? They changed her name to Tania and made her wear a beret and forced her to help rob a bank at gunpoint and people were killed, and she protected her captors and went to jail.
And as this was playing out on the news every night, one thought kept going through my head over and over: What kind of idiot wears a beret in April?
I hate cities and countries
I hate the Plains states. They’re plain. There’s no color, everything is wheat and grain and barley and grass. The whole region is nothing more than a PotteryBarn with cows. The leading cause of death in Nebraska is people falling asleep. It’s so dull the kids go to Kansas for their senior proms.
I hate cities that fight the elements, like Chicago, whose mottos are “It’s great to be inside” and “Shut that fucking door, you idiot.” Their number one export is “things that fell off the truck.” Let’s just hope that one good gust of wind blows Chicago into a better climate and suddenly it’s Chicago, Bahamas.
I hate Austin, but it’s not Austin’s fault. Austin is a great city that’s stuck in Texas. You can always tell when you get inside the Austin city limits because the hair is smaller and you can understand what the people are saying.
I hate New Orleans, but I respect it. You’ve got to respect a city that doesn’t want to hear about building above sea level. Grandpa dies and he’s buried over you. Even hell is up. New Orleans is filthy and dirty; it’s the only city that looked better after it was hit by a category five hurricane.
Mardi Gras is fascinating—you can puke in front of all the really good hotels. In New Orleans you can wear anything and do anything and no one seems to notice; it’s like hanging out at the Braille Institute.
Some people do love New Orleans—Anne Rice loves it, vampires love it; even Lee Harvey Oswald loved it and he was quite the sourpuss.
I hate San Francisco because I not only left my heart there, but my hairdresser. San Francisco is the only city in the world that has a lisp. The whole town smells like lube. It’s built on hills that are so steep that when you get to the top of one of them in a taxi, you can’t see what’s on the other side. Going up a hill in San Francisco is like going down on Kathy Bates.
Enough with the good ol’ U. S. of A. There are whole countries I hate…
I hate Sweden. Well, I don’t actually hate Sweden, I hate
Mamma Mia
and all the acclaim Meryl Streep received for singing “Dancing Queen” slightly off-key. It’s enough with Meryl, it’s enough with ABBA and it’s enough with all the pretty, smooth-skinned, natural blondes. Give me a couple of skanky brunettes with pockmarks and gunshot wounds and maybe, just maybe, I’ll feel better about the place. Sweden is like the Plains states in that it is totally devoid of color. And I’m talking about the population, not the geography. Sweden is so white even the black people are white. It’s like being at a Klan meeting with supermodels.
I hate the northern lights. Sweden is in absolute daylight six months out of the year. Who needs that? I’m not in daylight for six hours a year. My best feature is total darkness. My plastic surgeon’s office is in the Howe Caverns. The northern lights are actually calledthe aurora borealis, and I hate that because Aurora Borealis is my porn name. I feel so violated.
The constant daylight has made the Swedes so crazy that there’s a mental illness named for them: Stockholm syndrome. This is when victims of kidnap and torture begin to identify with and protect their captors instead of turning them in to the authorities. Remember when newspaper heiress Patty Hearst was kidnapped by the Symbionese Liberation Army and forced to join their radical cult? They changed her name to Tania and made her wear a beret and forced her to help rob a bank at gunpoint and people were killed, and she protected her captors and went to jail.
And as this was playing out on the news every night, one thought kept going through my head over and over: What kind of idiot wears a beret in April?
I hate cities and countries
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