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,

Concha

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,

Fidel


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.