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Posts Tagged ‘katie schwartz rants’

  1. No Shortage Of Stuffing Pie Hole Here, Metaphorically Speaking

    November 28, 2009 by Katie Schwartz

    I broke up with J Crew, but we got back together.

    I’ve noticed that a lot of Born Agains are starting to follow me on Twitter. To be clear, I don’t mean Christians or Catholics, I mean Zealarellas (zealots). I’m wondering… What part of me screams save me?

    One broad told me that she loved everyone. Shocked, I asked everyone, I mean, every single person?! Yes, everyone, and with conviction. In 140 characters, I couldn’t go into detail, so I will here. While I think it’s a lovely, altruistic notion to love everyone, in my mind, it’s literally impossible.

    I don’t love George Bush or what he did to this country and I think he should be tried for war crimes, along with his sick fuck side kick, Dick Cheney and Donald bottoming-for-Bush-and-loving-it Rumsfeld, et al. I don’t love the people cock blocking Universal Health Care from passing. They’re willing to spend our tax dollars on weapons, but not our health?! Can you spell fucktardsquared?! I don’t love hard core republicans. In fact, I hate what they stand for. I don’t love doctors who mistreat their patients and lie to them. I don’t love insurance companies — I hate them. I don’t love murderers, pedophiles, or rapists. I don’t love assholics. I don’t love people who embrace censorship and who want the government to determine what’s appropriate for me to view, listen to, and read. I don’t love people who want to infringe on my choice to have an abortion. My list is endless and I won’t bore you with it, but you get the gist of what I’m saying. I think love is a gift. I couldn’t love everyone, not because I’m a hate junky. It’s simply unrealistic.

    Another person told me that if I didn’t follow him back, I wouldn’t be saved from Armageddon. If I don’t believe in Armageddon, how will his 140 character tweets save me? What am I missing? Oh, did I mention that I’m a Jew? Aren’t we the chosen ones at the minute, the gateway or something? I can’t remember. I’ll have to email The Postal Service of the Saved for clarification.

    Someone else assured me that it wasn’t too late to be Born Again. Thanks. But, I’m willing to take my chances, I said.

    Why can’t I be a Jew? Perhaps that’s the issue I have with this lot of followers, intolerance and a lack of regard for my beliefs. Everything is cloaked in a threat, if you don’t, than you won’t. I digress… I intolerance.

    Now, let’s discuss the rectal warfare that took place in my intestines last Friday morning. My intestines weren’t arguing, they were waging “Shock and Awe”, careening towards my pucker pellet at the speed of light. I still can’t figure out why or what I ate that made my intestines have a, yes I’m going to go 80′s on your ass, COW. Everything came out just dandy, thanks for asking. Though, for a moment I thought that my intestines were going to fly out of my tuchas. Fortunately, we’re still together.

    Friday, I was at Cedars for blood work and there was no fucking parking. One of the lots closed due to construction. I have never seen so many cars trying to get into parking lots in my life. LA drivers don’t give a shit about who is behind them. They stop in the middle of the road, la-de-da’ng on the phone or talking to someone on the sidewalk, even though you’re behind them with ten other shmucks. Please, in NY, in less than a minute, baseball bats would be smashing these cars.

    After 30 minutes, I was ready to shoot myself (that would’ve cost a bundle, so I passed). Mind you, it only took me 10 minutes to get there. I finally found a lot that I was able to squeeze into, though it was a valet lot, I was Despy Desperalla and her twin sister Tranta Gavant.

    This super homeless guy, like scale of 1-10, definitely a 10 on the homelessesque scale, approaches me and says, “I’ll take your car.”

    Right. Cause I’m stupid.

    Meanwhile, there’s a guy in the booth at the valet stand, wearing a white shirt with the name of the p-lot co. on it and I was trying to get his attention. Homeless guy says, “What? You don’t trust me? Give me your car!”

    I kindly asked him to unzip his jacket and show me his shirt. If it was the same as the guy’s standing in the booth, great, I would’ve given him my car. Most valets don’t sit on the ground with their dressers duffel bags.

    He says, “Why I gotta unzip my jacket? I wouldn’t ask you to take your shirt off.”

    Um. Okay, let’s review. I’m now late for my blood draw. I need to get it done. I’ve been driving in circles for 30 minutes with shitty drivers who want to be FIRST, FIRST, FIRST. I’m profoundly irritated.

    “In this situation, I believe I’m entitled to ask to see your shirt before I hand you the keys to my car.” I said.

    He responds by saying “You don’t trust me because I’m black. You’re a racist.”

    I was so fucking angry at this point, I got out of my car and screamed, “HEY, I HAVE SYSTEMIC TRUST ISSUES. IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME, CALL MY PSYCHIATRIST AND ASK HIM. YOU THINK YOUR FUCKING RACE OR GENDER MATTERS TO ME? YOU COULD BE A PURPLE, HERMAPHRODITE GNOME AND I STILL WOULDN’T TRUST YOU.”

    Cedars security came out, and instead of asking what the problem was, he exacerbated the issue by telling us to take it elsewhere. Seriously, hospital-mall-cop?!

    I ended up at another lot because I bribed the gatekeeper with a $20 to get me in.

    You’d think I was trying to get into some hot restaurant, not that a $20 would cut it, but you get where this is going, right? Right.

    Caitlin will not stop emailing me. All week, I’ve been receiving emails from her:

    Hi!

    and

    Hey, I analyzed the name ‘caitlin’ using the iPhone Name Analyzer.

    It means:

    Cute

    Awesome

    Inspirational

    Tipsy

    Lovely

    Imperfect

    Naughty

    Seriously?! This improves the quality of my life?

    Someone signed me up for Millsberry.com as Justice4Ever. I can create my own buddy and join the city. The site is for tweeners at best, so of course I’m a perfect fit. I’m sure they’d welcome Justice4Ever calling CutsieTeenyTot snatch for moving into my crib and boosting my gluten free pretzels.

    This concludes my rant fest.

    If you haven’t read @SoyGoy‘s interview, check it out. Coming up next, Elissa Stein and her new book FLOW, followed by, In The Belly Of The Fail Whale. I’m plotzarella.

    Category Observational Humor | Tags: ,,,,,,,,, | 11 Comments

  2. The Semitard Who Went Pro in Creeptardaree

    June 1, 2009 by Katie Schwartz

    It’s no secret that I’m Jewish. Anyone who reads my Jewchives from All The Way From Oy to Vey or my new site/blog right here, knows that I’m a proud Heebalicious Heebareena. Certainly, it’s not written on my face. Though I’ve been told that I look Jewish on many occasions, whatever that means. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding, I can spot 90% of my people within a one mile radius. Still. Some of us really don’t look Jewish, but we remain the Jewiest of Jews.

    Recently, I had an opportunity to visit a place I hadn’t been to since I was a kid, a Schwartz landmark, if you will. After walking the grounds (patch a’ grass), the new owner, gem that he is, came outside to greet us. We met him at the bottom of his stoop.

    To say that I was rattled by his appearance would be an epic lie. I could get past the faded, trying-to-be-blue Dickie’s and the grey, green flannel shirt, as well as the baseball cap worn so high, it was flirting with his forehead. I even overlooked his tooth. Yes, tooth, not teeth, one single solitary tooth and the ginormous mole on his forehead with two protruding grey hairs. What I absolutely could not get past was the dire situation manifesting between his legs, which I am convinced wanted to come out for show-and-tell: Elephantitis penis (EllyPeen). Or, perhaps it was Elephantitis ball sack (EllyB-Sack-Relidhj). I really don’t know and didn’t think I should ask. Though, as you continue reading, you’ll probably think what I’m thinking right now, “Bitch, after the way he behaved, ya shoulda fuckin asked.”

    EllyB-Sack-Relidhj who hadn’t seen the light of day or spoken with humans outside of his four walls in at least 30-years, explained that he bought the SL (Schwartz Landmark) from a couple a’ Jews. “Lot’s of them Jew people were here before we arrived.” I wanted to scream, “Hey, fucknard, I hate to break it to you, but you happen to be standing in front of two a’ them, Jewesses, to be clear. Lil fuckin’ FYI for ya. Oh, and PS: instead of Jewhatin’, you might want to tend to that creepy fuckin Ellypeen protruding from your never-been-washed Dickie’s, OVERWHELMING and TRAUMATIZING my lady balls for life, I assure you.”

    Of course the writing on the wall screamed Don’t go into the house, don’t, don’t, don’t do it. History’s pull outweighed our intuition. And so we entered. Inching our way into the foyer, memories flooding back for one. Sport nausea for both. Fab. After decades some things remained intact, exactly as they were remembered, those elements were resplendent.

    As we ventured into another room, out popped the semitard who truly went pro in creeptardaree (SWWPIC). And I’m not kidding. Imagine a 5×5, 40-year-old man stuffed like a sausage casing into a white tank top designed for women. His only pair of Lee jeans, streaked with food stains, urine droplets and oil smudges, as well as, acne, backne and arm acne. And thank God, I will remain forever in the dark about his other body part acnefestations. Oh, and he had two teeth — that makes three between them. I have every confidence they jointly chewed and faught over who got the swallow.

    In a high pitched, I-never-talk-to-people-unless-I-force-them-to-so-I-can-kill-them-with-my-screwdrivers-hammers-and-wrenches-in-the-basement, hiding under at least 30 dead women, buried underneath concrete, he eerily repeated, Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, Hi, while folding his thick, unwashed clammy hand into mine.

    The tour didn’t end there.  Terrified, yet incapable of walking out, we peered into each room, until we hit a two-room pocket with no exit. The SWWPIC was inching so closely behind me, I could feel his unflossed, never been rinsed breath on my neck.

    Everything came to a halt when the other gazed at the ceiling and saw a ravishing, simple fixture, from their childhood. Memories as important to me to see and hear as they were to the other. Ellypeen reminded us that them Jews put it in, not them. After snapping multiple pictures, it became evidently clear that we needed to make like a leather clad republican, snorting Crystal Meth, while fucking two she-male hookers before getting caught. Or, in this case, killed.

    Traversing around them to extricate ourselves felt like we were playing the last game of the final 4. Worse, As they followed us out, Ellypeen said, “Them Jews left a Jew thing on the door. We smashed it with a hammer and burned the thing inside.” Seeing the front door before us, and seething from their audacious hatred, holding my tongue seemed moot. Stupidly, I said, “You are telling two JEWISH WOMEN that you destroyed a Mezuzah.” The Other looked at me with that what have you done, child, look.

    Of course Ellypeen didn’t care. Of course he didn’t hear me. He was preoccupied, flaunting his EllyB-Sack-Relidhj and spewing ignorance and hate. The Other grabbed my arm and dragged me out, willingly and gratefully, I’ll have you know.

    The house reeked of piss. I am convinced they dragged their cocks out for Daily Battle of the Urine Stream contests performed in each room, for variety sake, you know, to keep it fresh. And when they weren’t doing that, they were decpitating barbies, setting them aflame and jerking off in watermelons, gumming Hungry Mans and deuling for the final gulp.

    Safely in the car, the freakshows followed us out. The driver, a yummalicious Dominican, got behind the wheel as we drove off and ranted like banshees. Though he was quite familiar with cursing, he’d never quite heard cursing like this. Fortunately had a great sense of humor.

    In a weird way, I felt bad for the SWWPIC. He never really stood a chance. Raised in an insular, hateful world with no formal education, friends, or social skills, to speak of. What choices did he have?

    As far as that day goes, it was one of the most surreal, beautiful, haunting days of my life that I will treasure forever.

    –

    The Vey B-Roll (links) will be addd throughout the week, lovers, don’t break up with me and don’t think I’m dissin’ ya’s, cause I ain’t.

    Category Observational Humor | Tags: ,,,,, | 9 Comments