Ode to the Vile of Nickelodeon Slime(!) That I Purchased at Target (I think) Two Months Ago

Aye, gooey slime, thou art so green!

I stick mine finger inside of thee and hear fart noises, most obscene.

In youth, I pined for thee whilst watching Nickelodeon.

Thou were’st manufactured in China, so thou art not Cambodian. 

Now that I have thee in mine Kung-Fu grip,

I must admit that thou art kind of a gyp. 

Even though thou only cost’th a mere two dollars,

thou art not a toy for people like me, people who consider themselves scholars!

Alas, it seems what was once an ode has become a curse.

I think thou should’st give back the two dollars thou stole’th from mine purse.

What am I supposed to do with thee? Stare at thee? Smell thee?

What is thine purpose, thine function, thine applicability?

What baffles most is the “slime” ball thee were’st packaged with.

It is supposed to stick to walls but that is clearly a myth!

I throw it across the room. Oh how it flies through the air!

But then it just falls to the ground, collecting specks of dust and cat hair.

‘Twas that sweet seductress Nostalgia who persuade me to buy thee.

But thou art a piece of crap and now I have a little less money. 

He's a ghost and he writes haikus for us, Ghosthaikuer.

The State

Because meta-jokes about dipping testicles into assorted things never go out of style, I—21^st century woman—spent the last couple of hours watching The State—20^th century MTV sketch comedy show—on DVD. Here are two thoughts that I thought in the midst of it all:

1. 90s jeans are yearn-worthy. They’re also yarn-worthy, whatever that means.

2. Michael Ian Black hasn’t aged. Just kidding. He totally has.

In addition to these two thoughts, I also had some other thoughts. Most were about burritos but some were about Michael Showalter. 

You see, he’s kind of a god to me. I love him because he’s funny but also because he has cat shoulders.

There’s something very quaint about Michael Showalter. If he weren’t a comedian I think he’d be a florist, specializing in rare hetero sporangium. Or a flautist, but only because that kind of sounds like florist. He’s like a sweet old man trapped in the body of a sweet not-quite-middle-aged man. Anyway, he was my favorite member of The State.

I wrote the following limerick as a tribute to the show.

The State is kinda like a pap smear,

conducted by Mr. Belvedere.

Dinga linga linga ling,

limericks really aren’t my thing,

my name’s Amber and I’m outta heeeere.

Synchronize This!

Yo, Parker Lewis!

You ain’t foolin’ nobody!

I know you can lose!

Klotz.

Hair looks like bacon.

I want to eat some of it.

Crunch. Chew. Swallow. Yum.

Mmm...Tastes Like Salvation Army

Star Trek mug is cool,

boldly holding hot liquids.

Your mug can suck it.

My B-day presents were in this rad bag

Look at this bag,

isn't it neat?

What do you think of her shell-covered teats?

Wouldn't you think she's the girl,

the girl who does... sexy things?

Ode to Ed Chigliak

I was born in Anchorage, Alaska but migrated to California when I was three years old (and before you ask, yes, I made the journey solo—I’ve always been a very industrious individual). Eager to reacquaint myself with Alaskan culture, I started watching Northern Exposure.

Ode to Ed Chigliak

Oh, Ed Chigliak, you blue-eyed Indian. You are my dreamboat.

I wish to run my hands through thine floppy 90s hair.

How I yearn to snuggle up to ye on an Alaskan night that lasts for days, to press my nose against thine ubiquitous leather jacket, to sniff. Aye, I will give thine jacket a thorough sniffing.

We shall eat cheeseburgers at The Brick and discuss'th the films of Peter Bogdanovich.

You will tell me about thine shaman lessons,

and I shall grow'th bored for a time.

 But then we shall eat several more cheeseburgers, continue our Bogdanovich conversation from earlier, and alas, I shall smile at ye once again, Ed Chigliak, my dreamboat, my blue-eyed Indian.