"imagine all the things you'd be right now if lou reed's wife was your mother."
this is how i would write if i weren't self-conscious. this is how i would write if i had a penis. this is how i would write if i were as awesome as my long-lost mate brian flanagan.
the world is not my oyster, brian, because i still can't do power chords.
you don't know.
i am sharing with you one of brian f's most brilliant blogs, because, if McSweeney's has anything to say about it, you may never get the chance to read him. and you should.
Anything, anything,: a heartwrenching journey into vaunting self-importance, megalomania, conceit, vainglory, selfishness, self-admiration, egotism,self-absorption, self-interest, ostentation, egomania,boasting, presumption, assurance, haughtiness, insolence, self-possession, misplaced pride, arrogance, self-love, swellheadedness, superiority, boastfulness, vanity, overconfidence, self-worship, and narcissism.
By
Brian Flanagan
I swear it happened this way. I just wrote about 6 pages of commentary on people I've known, women I've slept with. None of it anonymous, all of it incredibly vicious, even by my standards. I was just about finished and about to hit send, when it disappeared from the screen. Now, sadly, I've thought better of it...
You would've loved the page and a half on Jeff Walenta.
In the interest of fairness, I'll include here a couple random lines that I can remember, without the names.
1. Your writing is awful. I wish you gave a decent enough blowjob to make up for it, but sadly, you don't. Maybe you should practice a few years, and try again. (at the blowjobs, not the writing. The writing is hopeless.)
2. I spat on the screen just now. I'm going to wipe it off with your favorite pair of underwear that you don't know I have.
3. Avant Garde.
4. I eventually tell everyone I meet about the time I threw up on your vagina. I wrote a story about it, using your real name, and sent it to tons of magazines. I haven't heard back yet, but if no one wants it, I'll self publish it, and distribute it in your neighborhood. Walt Whitman did.
the world is not my oyster, brian, because i still can't do power chords.
you don't know.
i am sharing with you one of brian f's most brilliant blogs, because, if McSweeney's has anything to say about it, you may never get the chance to read him. and you should.
Anything, anything,: a heartwrenching journey into vaunting self-importance, megalomania, conceit, vainglory, selfishness, self-admiration, egotism,self-absorption, self-interest, ostentation, egomania,boasting, presumption, assurance, haughtiness, insolence, self-possession, misplaced pride, arrogance, self-love, swellheadedness, superiority, boastfulness, vanity, overconfidence, self-worship, and narcissism.
By
Brian Flanagan
I swear it happened this way. I just wrote about 6 pages of commentary on people I've known, women I've slept with. None of it anonymous, all of it incredibly vicious, even by my standards. I was just about finished and about to hit send, when it disappeared from the screen. Now, sadly, I've thought better of it...
You would've loved the page and a half on Jeff Walenta.
In the interest of fairness, I'll include here a couple random lines that I can remember, without the names.
1. Your writing is awful. I wish you gave a decent enough blowjob to make up for it, but sadly, you don't. Maybe you should practice a few years, and try again. (at the blowjobs, not the writing. The writing is hopeless.)
2. I spat on the screen just now. I'm going to wipe it off with your favorite pair of underwear that you don't know I have.
3. Avant Garde.
4. I eventually tell everyone I meet about the time I threw up on your vagina. I wrote a story about it, using your real name, and sent it to tons of magazines. I haven't heard back yet, but if no one wants it, I'll self publish it, and distribute it in your neighborhood. Walt Whitman did.