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Tuesday, November 18, 2003


Feed Me

Due to aggravated sunspot activity over Southern California, my home WiFi network accidentally intercepted the pre-vocalized synaptic feed between Britney Spears' brain and mouth during her Monday Tonight Show appearance . It's recorded here, predictably presented in italics to distinguish the scattered feed from the stainless steel prose I bring to you on a daily basis.

OK, when the music stops I have to talk to Jay..Jay Leno...maybe I'll wait for him to ask a question first...I should probably set the record straight here...I so totally did not overdose over the weekend with some porn star...Good, he's laughing, no one thinks that I overdosed, which I so totally did not do, America...I'm so glad the virgin cat is out of the bag...I wish he'd ask me a question about that...there's got to be at least one 45 year old guy that hasn't gotten a boner from hearing about my virginity...maybe not anymore...if only Justin had been my first and not the dishwasher at the Crab Shack in Baton Rouge when I was 14 God I couldn't get that crabby smell out of my hair for like a week...Yeah I'll date older guys...the oldest guy I dated was 68 which by talk show math will come out as 38 but he totally didn't count because his yacht was in international waters and I threw up over the side immediately afterwards...Totally check out my feet! We're talking about my feet and my cute little feet tattoos! Foot tattoos? There's more than one so it's totally feet tattoos...God I hope the tattoo guy didn't write something dirty on my feet tattoos since I totally don't speak a word of Maori...I am now going to answer the most inane question in the history of interpersonal communications, regarding which food I would consume if I could consume only one food exclusively for the rest of my days...and I would totally eat only mashed taters! So totally...Yes, I want to get married and have kids and whatnot, but not for a couple of years until my therapist and I work through my crippling fear of tiny humans trying to escape my uterus...I am pretty sure that it's time that I take off my top and smash my goodies up against some glass or a wall with my nipples barely covered and have Rolling Stone or Vanity Fair or, whoa, Better Homes and Gardens snaps some pics and run some thematic variation on *not that innocent* I objectifying myself by referring to my breasts as goodies? Would I really think that? Has any woman ever labeled parts of her female anatomy as goodies? I might as well go all the way and think about smashing my "goodies" up against something totally transparent if I'm going to cater to adolescent male fantasies...or on something slathered in whip cream...somewhere there is a rerun of Suddenly Susan on...that John Allen Mohammed guy was so totally guilty, I mean come on...that Clay Aiken is about as sexy as tofu stir fry...It's been a really long time since I answered a question...Oh, that's because it's time for me to dance...I guess I better think something provocative about the Paris Hilton sex tapes before I go...but it's pretty funny that she's totally named after a hotel...if think the Paris Hilton would fuck the Marseilles Four Seasons if it had to choose one hotel to fuck for the rest of its life...Thank God for sunspot activity or the world would be a boring place, you know?

About this site

This is the internet home of Mark Lisanti, a Los Angeles writer sometimes known as Bunsen. He is the founding editor of Defamer, a weblog about Hollywood, where he now serves in the nebulous capacity of "editor-at-large."
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