So there is a publication on the UCSC campus that I love and adore and while I was a student there most of the reading I completed was between it’s pages. I had an opportunity to write for Fish Rap Live on a couple occasions and was too drunk to seize the day and unleash the millionz on my fellow slugs. Now that I don’t have such easy access to the paper (it’s only distributed on campus as far as I can find) I miss it and I want it back in my life. In a big way. Here is the email I just sent them. I decided to go for the aesthetic appeal of minimal punctuation, mainly in the lack of capitalization. It makes it harder to read and I feel they need to work a little harder over there. I mean look at their website. Click around and notice all the error pages. It’s as though I made it. And if you’re doing as much work as The Millionizer, you really need to take it up a notch. Oh right, the email:

what’s up bitches. i just picked up a chp at the taqueria santa cruz on soquel. i was pissed that i had to get my ucsc news in a fact based format. so why don’t you get your punk ass newspaper over to my side of town? why not just pick it up while i’m on campus you ask? well i graduated two years ago and pay my student loans by mail. plus, we all know ucsc students are a bunch of pussies these days. my point is that frl is a far superior publication and i miss it and i want to get it while i pick up my munchies at 1145 on a tuesday. make it happen, the millionizer implores you. my other point is that i want to write for frl. how does one make that happen? i have ideas that people need to know about. i also have ideas that no one needs to know about. i suggest the latter. seriously though, i don’t want money just recognition.

tits and ass, love

I failed to mention that I’m just going to keep on emailing them until I get my way. There’s a phone number on their half-assed website, I might start calling that if I need to. Actually, I won’t start calling them because The Millionizer does not need people knowing her phone number. You win this one FRL.

The Millionizer in print, oh my!

See, here’s the thing. If I try to write this and then try to make it presentable, it’ll take me all day. So you’re getting the raw version. (almost) No editing. Capiche?

In many efforts to record my fucking AWESOME (screamy time!) weekend in SF last week, things have happened and somehow the post kept getting deleted. I even tried to write it in open office then paste it in here. Even that file disappeared into the ether. Obvs something does not want that post to be written. Fine, I give in, you win, Universe. (It might be all the shit I talked about TBU’s dad’s girlfriend or as I like to say, Skeletor)

But last weekend rocked my face and hands off. X is awesome. Saturday, we tried to go shopping but it somehow turned into an all day drinking session. I blame the teebs. He offered to buy us driinks. He knows the way to our hearts and underwear is some free alcohol and maybe a roofie or two. Friday night was the alien hoedown, which Sir Chinko, the teebs and I promptly rocked. X’s (super) gay brother was there and totally wanted a piece of TBU, I gave the go ahead for ass grabbing. The gay brother is so hot it’s not fair. You know what though, I’m gonna go ahead and assume he’s not 100% gay, there was some definite millionizer grabby grabbiness. Maybe The Mills is just that hot. I dunno, there was a lot of alcohol involved. TBU did say that if he was single he would go home with the questionably gay brother. And not even in a turn gay for one night kinda way, like just letting a beautiful thing happen between two beautiful people. We all know hot is hot whether it’s got a dick or not.

There were a bunch of wine bottles but we broke the corkscrew, so we got ghetto and used spoons to push the cork in. The only problem was that you had to put your finger in the bottle in order to make the wine flow. We were like little hamsters with wine bottles. I think you know what I mean.

Saturday night we got bamboozled into a fucking four course pretentious ass dinner with the parental units on TBU’s side. This is where I would have talked all kinds of shit about rich white people and sewing anuses shut. We’ll skip that part and go straight onto the fact that The Millionizer is not on her A game when there is pretension to be observed and interacted with. Jesus christ people lets be real here.

Also I blame this dinner on missing my drinking appointment with Mattman. I think he is over me and no longer wants to be my friend. Mattman, me love you long time! Call me, dudebrah. Although it was really my fault because I didn’t call him, I guess my feelings of inadequacy outweighed my excitement to see him.

But Saturday night something magical happened. Something so pure and beautiful it brings a tear to my eye as I type tthis. Time: 1am. Setting: Japantown, SF. TBU passed out, Sir Chinko and I drank two bottles of wine, topped it off with some crazy ass yogurt alcohol and rented a private karaoke booth. OH MY GOD. We fucking rock. All the world needs for peace is a karaoke machine, I guarantee it. We dueted all night, the highlight was Say It Ain’t So. You haven’t heard that song until we have sung it for you. Believe it bitches.

And now here we are, back in the present, with a laptop and a test on Tuesday.

The Millionizer wants to see you

L’amour got her power cord back. Now she is going to run off to Jamaica with a very hot but much younger hunk of a man, because she can. More later. I just had to share the good news.