i was reading too much atheist literature and it was making me angry.

As much as I love a good blood boiling over the greatest lies of mankind, how many glasses can you drunkenly throw before you realize it's time to lighten the extracurricular entertainment a bit? Luckily the trusty bookstores of NYC and the near and dear to my heart Brooklyn offered up this gem in their storefronts, complete with glowing reviews and book-of-the-month discounts. But don't take their word for it, here's what I had to say in my Facebook virtual bookshelf review:

"This man has mastered language like a dominatrix driving a stiletto heel into the chest of Webster. Yes, Nick Harkaway, I will be slave to to your writing, wherever your career takes you."



So yeah. Read it. It rocks. And, as they said when naming my favorite Brooklyn bookstore, "Word."

it's the network

last night i had a dream. and in that dream, i discovered AT&T was not only a terrible cell phone service provider but an eeeeevil corporation. you see, i dreamed their corporate heads were the main organizers behind Bilderberg, or as my fellow conspiracy fanatics might know it as (cue dramatic music) The New World Order. I dreamed AT&T's shitty service was actually a purposely corrupt network built to interrupt mass communication and create a world where they could more easily facilitate world domination. put *that* in your pipe and ask me what i'm smokin'.

what, what?

ahem....

bloggin' for bengamins














aw sheet...

stoney, rainy sun(les)day

I've been pretty amused by a common comment I've been hearing from conversations about Iran: We should be ashamed. We just stood by and let W hijack the election (twice!) while these intrepid revolutionaries are inhaling more tear gas than we smoke marijuana. We've become pussies.

Become? Ha! (This is not meant to be taken as a criticism) liberals tend to favor things like education, art and sharing. You know, the kids who got beat up in high school. Yeah that's a little stereotypical but there's a general thread there. The pussies suffer through high school and get beat up by the thugs until graduation where they go to college and continue their ascent. Meanwhile the thugs stay home for community college, eventually dropping out and managing an Arby's. But the moment the "pussy" comes back in town from his relatively successful job to see his parents and decides he's hungry for a beef sandwich, who's the winner in that exchange? There are certainly a few people in high school I'd enjoy coming home to tell them to supersize my fuckin' chicken.

So pussies we may be, but so was the tortoise. And, as Mr. Lebowski enlightened us all "The bums will always lose!"

stoney, rainy saturday

you know when you keep trying to hook up with someone, but the connections keep getting missed? that's called fuck-tag. like phone tag, only a fuck of a lot more frustratin'.


entirely unrelated, 'cept for the fact i fuckin' love it.

the fast and amphibious

Everybody's all like, "It's 2009, where's the flying cars?" And while all you jokers stumble around searching the sky for a Camero with wings, this dude rolls by and is like ya'll is stoopid.

big birthday on the horizon

i've been a bad blogger lately. it's not that i'm lazy (entirely) but i've been blogging elsewhere for a brand. which is to say, i've been getting paid to do what i do here for you. i suppose that makes me, not only bad, but soulless. whoring myself out for consumerism what i'd normally do for free. but my soul is basically up there with every crappy gift the rican bought me. i'll sell it to the highest, or frankly, any bidder. good luck suing me, bc i'm rich, beotch! (well compared to the blog's early days.)

anyway, the contract's on my desk at work so i don't know if i'm legally permitted to claim authorship or what not. i wrote for them under a pen name. but i'm sure i can go as far to say it's for a brand i used to work on. the only relatively cool one i actually produced stuff for. and if you can solve that riddle and recognize my words there will be five essays for your reading pleasure. i am nothing if not industrious.

anyway, how've ya'll been? (if you're even still here.) i'm home drinking a beer on a saturday night bc the office beacons mañana. sucks. well that and i have no real interest in getting beyond a 1/4 mile radius from my apartment, and my friends are heading into deep brooklyn for a crazy party. if the approaching date weren't evidence enough, my stay at home ass is a pretty good indication i'm turning 30 in less than a fortnight. i can't say i'm amused. but then again, not as depressed as MTV thinks i should be. but fuck MTV. anybody who parades kelly clarkson isn't exactly an opinion i stick under a shrine. i got a specific finger with your name on it, if you don't agree.

but for the part of me that actually does morn for the death of my younger years, i've got a little dity that might just cheer me up: buy me somethin'. yes, your dear friend and blogger of all things concha loves her some presents. i'm an only child whose affection was purchased in frequent trinkets from her mom. And frankly, i feel a little off when my life isn't frequently wrapped in shiny gift wrap. bows are cool too, especially on larger ticket items like cars and hot boys.

so without further adieu, i present you my amazon wish list. it ain't the entire collection of what i most desire, but i'd take anything on it with all the glee of a gay parade. and if the beginning of my 4th decade isn't enough reason for you, then just think about all the hours of hilarity i've bestowed upon you all these years. i mean, don't i deserve just a little sumthin'? it's not like i do this shit for free.

by the way, you look great today.

¡viva la amazon! and ¡viva la concha!

ps, don't be afraid to write me a check.

DO IT

lesson.

this is an example of un-targeted communications placement.

today's assignment

go download "born under punches" by the talking heads. and dance.

(how the fuck did i forget about this song?)

breaking news

wow, the times, you know i love ya but this ain't exactly insightful reporting....

the miracle of life

if you have any kind of moral code, you will support equal rights, donate twenty bucks to this guy and do your part in despising this day halmark hath wrought upon us.

in this despisal...you may also want to join my friend's new site, where you can enjoy a true story
courtesy of moi.

if you do endeavor to take this journey with all of us, it helps if you listen to the song "once in a lifetime" (talking heads...duh) while reading. it takes about the same time to read, as the song is long.

retardedest day ever. mhmm.

also irrelevant oldie, but slightly relevant post

!viva la david byrne!

your amiga al fin,

¡concha!

Concha Libre’s hope in the spirit of humanity is also dead.

Yo, Death, get your bony skeleto-hands off my favorite writers!

First Vonnegut.



Then Wallace.





Now this?




What about a Wall street exec? Maybe you want to impale Paris Hilton? Or stick a big fat cancer rod up Tupegolvich’s ass. There are so many more deserving of the bony little tap of your index finger. How ‘bout Augusten Burroughs and his douchey little audience that funds him.


Do you think your little essay speculating on Updike’s death is funny now, douchey, douche?

I guess what I’m trying to say is, Updike is forever immortal, and Burroughs can die already.

¡viva la 'bama!

We, at Concha Libre® and company, would like to congratulate Mr. Obama and his family. We'd also like to note, this will probably be the only time we are happy about anything the entire year. So, let's savor the moment. hooray.

Until tomorrow,

Concha

Thank You, Bloomingdales

No, really. Let me express my utmost gratitude for giving me something to blog about, when we are hearing almost nothing from Satan Palin.

Thank you for employing sales associates who don’t believe a little courtesy and halfway decent grammar should be included in that $300 price tag. A little civility might make me feel too comfortable to go home and bang on my keyboard to avoid finding myself swimming among the cesspool of completely worthless employees that currently make up your staff.

Thank you for completely ignoring the tastes of the New Yorkers who make up your city. Thank you for instead catering to the banality and substandard fashions of the suburban American tourists who only want to buy something utterly worthless like a Coach keychain or pair of fucking argyles, so they can go back to fucking Akron and boast its purchase from your flagship store. Because the next time I have a momentary lapse in reason and decide to cross the East River, I’ll save myself a hell of a lot of time by remembering this motto: If Brooklyn doesn’t have it, THEY DON’T MAKE IT.


nothing quite says i'm a douchey girl, like this piece of garbage

And finally, thank you for completely underestimating about a third of my gender’s intelligence with displays like this.



Because the next time I start chastising myself for not being a size –87, I’ll remember that anyone who tries to live up to the ridiculous example you set, has a brain size about as big as the jeans snuggled around these unrealistic, plastic asses.

May the economy heap burning coals of bankruptcy upon your head.


no, fuck you!

By the way, Bloomingdales, Bloomies, Vomit, whatever fucking stupid name you're calling yourself these days, this is a display in a store called Future Perfect, a store whose coolness you will never reach, you utterly average, waste of precious New York real estate.

click here for free concha

While you eagerly wait for inspiration to strike me down to my focus chair and bestow upon you more adventures and unarguable theories from a life so libre, here are a few activities to keep you busy, and up to date with all things concha.

the funnest five seconds of your life ever #1:

facebookers all around the world can proclaim their amor de concha! membership indeed has its privileges on the facebook fan page, including special member's only updates so you're always in the know. and as long as you're super hot and not drinking one of these, members can score free makeouts!


look how much fun we're having!

don't delay, join today!

my concha runneth over:

double the fan, double the fun on the facebook blog page!



Click you some concha.

Finally, your amigo al fin concha libre has undertaken another quest.


git yer nutz

Read the manifesto here, get the all the balls you ever wanted here, become a fan here, and as we say in my head, ¡viva los blogs y viva la concha!