The Greatest Blog In the World

Friday, December 12, 2003


Lines We Wish We'd Written, Then Realized, Oh, We Did, Just Now, Dead Horse Edition

ON THE FLU outbreak:

It's just God's way of thinning out the herd of the elderly, children, and people without health insurance.

ON THE RELATIVELY light publication schedule this week:

Get off my back. I'm a busy man. All you do is take, take, take. Those Hollywood starlets, such as Jennifer Connelly, Katie Holmes, and Rachel Bilson (Summer of The O.C. fame) aren't going to pretend to fuck themselves.


Excuse me. They're not going to pretend to zap themselves?


They're not going to pretend to make love to themselves?

That's better.

Well, it's not really love. We're not in love. Although Rose McGowan keeps sending me Ken dolls with those little corn on the cob holders jabbed into the spot where the genitalia would go.


To be fair, I could've handled that situation better.

Oooh, you didn't send her a bottle of "Bitch Be Gone," did you?

I may have.

Didn't you learn from the Demi Moore fiasco back in 1992?

What can I say? Sometimes I'm a naughty boy.

Sometimes I think you're a lost cause.

Really, I'm a romantic at heart. Just last Wednesday I covered myself in Nutella and surprised Angelie Jolie by sneaking into her bedroom through the window. She just goes insane for Nutella, let me tell you.

You told me you were out with the boys?

I was, baby, I was. It's all pretend, remember? I'm just making things up for the people, baby. No one wants to hear about my night playing Madden with the boys, a night that most definitely did not include having Nutella greedily slurped off my body by Angelina Jolie as her fifteen adopted Cambodian children slept like angels in the next room. And that Billy Bob tattoo right above her cooch certainly did not melt my tumescence like fudge on a frying pan.

It happens to every guy.

Not to this guy! And this is all pretend, remember? I have to go...

Go and pick up your pump? No, you strike me as an injection guy. You told me it was the whiskey!

This conversation is over.

You can't see me, but I'm wiggling a damp piece of spaghetti in the air.

I'm alredy gone! I can't hear you!

See you later, Mr. Wiggly.

I hate you, fake narrator, I hate you!

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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