The Daily



Listen up, all you lovers and fuckers. I’ve got some killer news. I’m pleased to announce that I’ve been tapped to be the advice columnist for The Daily, Rupert Murdoch’s new iPad newspaper.

That’s right. I done sold the fuck out to the man.

I’ll be writing a Wednesday and Sunday column in the Arts & Life section called Dear Coquette that will be every bit as shady as Dear Coke Talk. It’s great. Not only do I get to stay anonymous, but they really are letting me do whatever the hell I want.

If you don’t have an iPad, now you gotta reason to go get one. If you do have an iPad, download The Daily app. Do it now. Don’t worry, it’s free for the first two weeks, and after that it’s only 99 cents a week. You know I’m worth it, bitches.

Go ahead, read my shit in today’s special Valentine’s edition. It’s a column about laziness, monogamy, and hot MILF action. Good times.

Just so you all know, I’m about to hop on a plane to New York City for fashion week. I’m gonna take a few days off from the blogs while I’m whore talking it up around Manhattan, but don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.

Happy V Day, bitches.


Coke Talk of the Day

My cab driver on the ride from the airport was Hosni Mubarak’s doppelganger in a soccer jersey. I didn’t waste much time before asking him if I could smoke. “Fourteen dollar,” he said.

“It’s fourteen dollars to smoke?”

“Yes, yes. They fine here, but fourteen dollar and you can smoke.”

I gave him a smirk. “I appreciate your take on capitalism, but that’s cool. I can wait.” We chatted for a few more seconds, just small talk about the city, the weather, and the usual opinions.

Ten minutes of silence later he looks back at me, shrugs his shoulders, and says, “Okay. Smoke. For free. I let you.” I cracked the window, lit the fuck up, and realized that I had just been welcomed to New York.

He dropped me off at a Starbucks where I’m posted up before my first appointment, and I gotta say, I enjoyed the hell out of my ride into Manhattan.

Of course, I tipped the guy fourteen dollars.


Coke Talk of the Day

If I pulled out my tampon and used it to sign headshots on the corner of Hollywood and Highland, I would be arrested and put on involuntary psychiatric hold.

If Marina Abramović did the same thing, she would be hailed a genius and get another write up in The New Yorker.

These are the things I think about when I’m stuck in traffic.

The Three Thoms



In the center is the original version of Thom Yorke from a high resolution publicity shot I pulled off the internet. On the left is a composite version of Thom using just the left side of his face, (his right.) On the right is a composite version of Thom using just the right side of his face, (his left.)

Yeah, I’ve always wanted to do this, and my curiosity finally got the better of me.


Miss America



Raise your hand if you’re an embarrassingly insignificant vestigial remnant of the protofeminist American experience whose only remaining cultural value will be in your dramatic potential as reality TV scandal fodder after having reached your life’s goal of winning a glorified slave auction a few months after graduating from high school.

Coke Talk of the Day

My favorite bitch in the world got a brand new pair of tits on Friday, and I had a blast putting together a rockin’ little boob job recovery gift basket.

Since she can’t shower for several days, she got a bottle of dry shampoo and a set of all-purpose wipes. To keep from getting bored in between painkiller naps, I brought her the full stack of complimentary magazines from the Roosevelt Hotel, and what the hell, also a Penthouse and a Playboy.

She also got a bunch of stuck-in-bed-all-day DVDs, including the Directors Cut of True Romance and 500 Days of Summer (her favorites), Neu Wave Hookers (an inside joke), and the first seasons of Breaking Bad and Community (shit she needs to catch up on.)

She did some arty modeling last year, and I knew the photographer. He hooked me up with a super-hot print of her “before” boobs that I put in a double picture frame, leaving the other space primed for the soon-to-be “after” shot.

I threw in a microbead neck pillow, a bunch of silly boob related adult store gag gifts to giggle at, and a gift card so she can start upgrading her underwear drawer. Last but not least, I got her a gorgeous cupless corset lingerie set. She’s always wanted to wear one, and this will be her very first.

I love putting together gift baskets, and hey, Christmas comes every year, but you only get your tits done once!

The Tell-Tale Fart



I love a good juxtaposition. This one is delicious. Here’s the next step. Everyone swap the dusk jackets.

I’m serious. Every last one of you should make your way to the local Barnes and Noble and swap the Snooki Polizzi dust jacket for whatever Edgar Allan Poe hardcover is nearby.

Don’t worry, Edgar would approve.

Let’s make this a thing.


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