Tuesday, November 17, 2009

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."

Friday, November 13, 2009

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'.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

doughnuts kill

man. now that this story's broken, i sure would hate to be the PR guy at krispy kreme.

Monday, July 27, 2009

whore news

times is tough up in the hood.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Tuesday, July 14, 2009


All you need to do it put an iDong on the other side and we can call technology a mutherfuckin' day.

thanks funniest blog eva

Monday, July 13, 2009

mysterious ways?

"I mean your love and infinite wisdom were great and all but they won't quite pay for culottes at the Fashion Bug."

horray CNN!

Tuesday, July 07, 2009

Sayonara, Sarah!

never have lyrics so perfectly articulated my sentiments about a woman so worthless.

plus cool video.

shit happens.

and thank the shit gods. because without it, there'd be nothing to read.

so pull up a chair and take off your pants. this one's a brain scorcher.

and yes it's all true

Thursday, June 25, 2009


i actually never read this site (yes, i had to say it) but a friend just sent me this link.

the only thing i find odd about this whole article is the only definition link is "family member." as if their reader base is so shallow, they gotta remind 'em to send grandma a fuckin' card already.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Sunday, June 21, 2009

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!"

Saturday, June 20, 2009

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.

Monday, June 01, 2009

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.

Friday, May 22, 2009

obama i love you, but fuck fair minded words.

Cheney, you seem to have a problem with time management lately. and you know what? i feel you. a lot of seniors struggle with retirement. without a career they experience a sense of loss, as life seems to have lost his purpose. like you, they take up a hobby, be it golfing, working at Starbucks, or undermining the efforts of restoring the nation. it’s not uncommon to sift through a few different hobbies before they finally uncover the one that fulfills the empty space their 9-5 once filled. maybe a senior tried golf, but finds sailing ultimately renders him more fulfilled. plus, the grand kids sure love it. or like you, first the hobby was circulating the talk shows and being a fucking moron, when it would really be more constructive for you to go die.

Saturday, May 09, 2009

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.


Tuesday, April 21, 2009


this is an example of un-targeted communications placement.

Sunday, April 19, 2009

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....

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

maybe that's where the term "pooped" comes from

I don't know if people say this because they're trying to sound southern, or folksy or cute or whatever. But when some people say "I'm tired" they squish it together to say, "I'm tird" which sounds remarkably close to, "turd." So while you could only be lamenting your fatigue, you run the risk of everyone else believing you crapped your pants.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Whiney Little Bitches

i'm out here in the trenches trying to make the world safe for ideas. it ain't exactly a part time occupation that leaves lots of time for bloggeriah. i'm workin' on a piece for my friend's blog that i'll also post on you favorite URL. but in the meantime, here's a little morsel to tie you over.

everybody's been bitchin' a bunch lately. you notice? The economy, the weather, the work is shit (well, that i'll give you) somebody went stuck a chopstick up my ass, waaa, waaa, WAAA.

as you know, i'm a pretty shit writer. so i'll let my buddy john prine take over from here.

Dear abby, dear abby ...
My feet are too long
My hairs falling out and my rights are all wrong
My friends they all tell me that Ive no friends at all
Wont you write me a letter, wont you give me a call
Signed bewildered

Bewildered, bewildered...

You have no complaint
You are what your are and you aint what you aint
So listen up buster, and listen up good
Stop wishing for bad luck and knocking on wood

Dear abby, dear abby...
My fountain pen leaks
My wife hollers at me and my kids are all freaks
Every side I get up on is the wrong side of bed
If it werent so expensive Id wish I were dead
Signed unhappy

Unhappy, unhappy...

You have no complaint
You are what your are and you aint what you aint
So listen up buster, and listen up good
Stop wishing for bad luck and knocking on wood

Dear abby, dear abby...
You wont believe this
But my stomach makes noises whenever I kiss
My girlfriend tells me its all in my head
But my stomach tells me to write you instead
Signed noise-maker

Noise-maker, noise-maker

You have no complaint
You are what your are and you aint what you aint
So listen up buster, and listen up good
Stop wishing for bad luck and knocking on wood

Dear abby, dear abby...
Well I never thought
That me and my girlfriend would ever get caught
We were sitting in the back seat just shooting the breeze
With her hair up in curlers and her pants to her knees
Signed just married

Just married, just married...
You have no complaint
You are what your are and you aint what you aint
So listen up buster, and listen up good
Stop wishing for bad luck and knocking on wood.


Monday, March 09, 2009

¡write n roll!

been away, but i'll never die.

god, i get gayer by the day

Saturday, February 14, 2009

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,


Wednesday, February 04, 2009

8 1/2 weeks preggers

my absence has no doubt been a burden on your soul. but fear not. because i got a bun in the oven and the ex-rican ain't the daddy, thank god.

it's more like an intellectual bun. a fruit of my creativity loins. a contribution for the website of another, of which i will provide you with the most libre link very soon.

until then, keep your conchas happy and free.

amor y wet sloppy besos,


Tuesday, January 27, 2009

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.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

And not even 20 bucks for Dominos

This is kind of like when you're seventeen and your parents finally pull out of the driveway for a weekend upstate. Except these people have to go clean up an already waiting mess, instead of inviting all their friends to spill Bud Light on the linoleum. At least Mr. You-Ain't-Nobodies-President-No-Mo! and his wife won't be pulling back in on Sunday afternoon. Well, as Obama has shown us, one can only hope.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

¡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,


Monday, January 19, 2009

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.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Make like your name and get the fuck outta here!

Napoleon. Washington. The Bolsheviks. History has seen its slew of coups, government takeovers and shifts in political rule. And while the coming change on Tuesday couldn’t color me happier in my pants, there’s a group I wouldn’t mind going down like a bitch named Palin. Despite the fact that Obama quietly deletes their emails, and the election results created a context that makes their name seem like they’re against the party they support, my fucking inbox is still clogged like a giant hairball in cat’s throat. We’ve moved on, .org. Leave me the fuck alone!

do they make this for email?

Oh sure, I appreciate the idea of a like-minded community of liberals as much as the next hippie. But after the country went the way the name suggests, do I really need to be hounded with thirty-seven emails a day? Let’s all take a trip into our imaginations and pretend another politician was just as send-happy, shall we?

Havana, June, 1978

’Sup Amigos, Fidel here. Sorry ‘bout the other 30 emails I sent esta mañana. I know I’m in power and everything, but just wanted to say qué pasa n stuff. It is true what they say about the top being how you say??… lonely? And de verdad, I’m just kinda bored. Can you make a donation of $25 or more today?

See you in six seconds,


Seriously, Fidel. Get a fucking life. And by Fidel, I mean you, MoveOn.org.

As you’ll see here in this screen shot lifted directly from one in my 78 billion emails, MoveOn is well aware we got what we came for:

But it’s never enough, is it? Because every time I think I’m getting an email from a friend, feedback from my boss, or some super sexy awesome Concha Libre fan mail, it’s just Nita, Eli, Carrie, Karin and the rest of the team asking me to stick $25 bucks or more into their grubby little palms. A group with a strategy about as crafty as mine at ten-years-old. “Yeah mom, I know I said I’d never ask for anything again if you bought me those Micromachines, but now I want a BMW. Seriously, Mom, what’s so funny? why are you laughing and slamming your bedroom door in my face?”

It’s a fucking recession, Nita, Eli, Carrie, Karin and the rest of the team. And while I’ve been lucky enough so far (knock on all the wood in the world) to escape the plunging numbers unscathed, as far as you know I’m as broke as the next Detroit pink slip. So (in an email that assumes I’m completely ignorant to different styles of get-togethers) you’re asking me to throw a party?

You want me vote again? Didn’t I already do that?

This is your rationale?

So, fuck me if I’m wrong, but you’re saying that if I don’t jump on the peace train, I can finally get a break? Because, if I correctly recall there were a lot of months I spent Sarah Palin bashing, republican convincing, and risking my relationship with my republican parents to well, move us all on. And maybe…maybe I need to get back to my life, instead of ending up like this:

Wanna know how I’m gonna move forward?

By making like your name, and moving the fuck on.

...and in the spirit of MLK day, I can’t help but feeling, “Free at last!”

Happy inauguration, ya'll.

aw. waaaa.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

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!

Sunday, January 11, 2009

wild weekend, but we shall overcome.

2009. the so called year of productivity, has so far rendered me useless on the kitchen tiles with a nearly empty bottle of vodka in hand. and while surprised at my behavior you are not, the lack of words can evoke severe disappointment in a loyal audience of 8. but fear not. the responsiblities of fame are great, but in their greatness they are impossible to ignore. stay tuned this week for concha's first 2009 post of many. i mean, the vodka's all gone....do i really have a choice?

not sure abut the bloomberg gaza post. it seems like i missed the topical boat on that one. but it will be gut wrenchingly funny. so if you want it, send me a digital thumbs up and the post will be done like the dishes, man. i love fan mail.