Dear Reader,
As of this writing, I can tell you this about me, Paul McCartney, and Elvis Presley: Paul and I are alive, while Elvis is dead. I believe this, despite rumors to the contrary about both Paul and Elvis. No one makes rumors about my death, as far as I know.
Back in the 70s, when Paul was perhaps at the pinnacle of aliveness, rumors surfaced that he was dead. "Clues" as to his death were supposedly hidden in Beatle songs and album covers. "Oh No!" We rabid Beatle fans screamed, "Paul is dead. We miss 'im, miss 'im, miss 'im, miss 'im..." We played parts of songs backwards (because we could, back in the good ol' vinyl days), and searched the Abbey Road album cover, finding such evidence as "28 If (he hadn't blown his mind out in a car)" on a license plate, and the metaphorical pose and dress of the Beatles crossing the road, wherein John = God, Ringo = undertaker, George = grave digger, and Paul = Dead. Everyone knows, of course, that "bare feet = dead."
At the time, I found this mystery darkly intriguing, but looking back as an adult, I can't help but notice the vast lameness and implausibility of it all. I mean, if Paul had really died in a car crash at that point in history, we survivors would have been inundated with ALL PAUL ALL THE TIME for a year or more--just like with Lady Di--only worse. You could not have picked up a paper or magazine, or turned on the radio or TV without having seen or heard the latest about Paul's tragic death, his gigantic funeral, and the horrific toll his loss had taken on fans the world over. Girls would have been leaping off bridges en mass. I would have thought about it, but if I had actually reached the railing thought, "I am doing this WHY?"
Paul's death would not have been covered up and then "leaked" with stupid ass "clues." If it had been covered up and leaked, the clues would have been a lot more blatant. The music would have conspicuously lacked a melodic bass line, and the chorus to Yellow Submarine would have been, "We all live in a yellow Paul is dead."
So now, about Elvis, who John Lennon once said that Paul McCartney resembled. Elvis died in 1982 (I think, correct me if I'm wrong. I'm too lazy to check Wikipedia), but shortly thereafter, rumors started surfacing that he was still alive, and his death had been faked. The "clues" to this rumor included the misspelling of his middle name on his headstone (no one ever fakes death and spells their name correctly on a headstone; it's unlucky), and poorly recorded audio tapes of slurring Elvis impersonators blathering on about how they'd been hiding out in cabins, going to diners, talking to sobbing waitresses, eating fried food, and what not. I must say that "Elvis is alive" was a tad more believable than "Paul is dead."
At that time in the 80s, I really wanted to believe that Elvis was still alive, because it gave me some kind of weird hope. I reasoned that Elvis had become so famous, that his only option for having a "normal existence" at that point was to fake his death. I even wrote a song about it entitled, "EIA." The song was actually kind of catchy.
The idea of Elvis having risen from the dead is consistent with the religious power many people associated with him. Some fans had elevated him to sainthood, perhaps due to his musical crossover into the gospel genre. Religious Elvis fans looked right past his pulsating pumping pelvis into his eternal God and Mama lovin' soul. A righteous man like that simply cannot OD on the crapper!
I guess I should tie this all together now, since I have to go to work. Hmmm... Paul was alive but they said he was dead. Elvis was dead but they said he was alive. I am alive and I have to work at five. And some day we'll all know the root of this jive.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Monday, October 10, 2011
Me and Al Gore
First of all, when I typed the title just now, I wrote "Bore" instead of "Gore." Honest to God! No one would believe me, though, because it's too obvious a joke. Supposedly, one of Al's professors called him "the wooden Apollo." How many times has this poor guy been called "lackluster, dull, uninteresting, bland, (fill in your favorite synonym for 'boring' here), etc?" How many times? Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....drool.... zzzzzzzzzzzz...
Oh, excuse, me, Dear Reader, I seem to have nodded off while typing! Sorry. Uh... what was I typing about?
Oh yes. The entity known as Al Gore. Some folks find him boring, but I think that's irrelevant in his case, because he's smart, brave, and has done so many positive things with his life. He speaks the truth and drives Republicans crazy, which in my book, trumps "exciting" any day.
So why am I typing about Al Gore at all? Because I'm PISSED AT HIM, that's why! I'm also semi ticked at Nancy Pelosi, but Al is my whipping boy tonight, because he was the most hyped "prize" in the "dinner contest" which I LOST with a capital "L." To Al Gore, I am an unknown loser. I voted for him. I prayed for him. I gave him cash. I watched his little documentary. I read parts of his books (couldn't get into them--too boring).
Even as I type, Al Gore, Nancy Pelosi, and the "winner" of the contest, "Sarah from CA," are sitting down to a dinner in Menlo Park CA, sans Karen Kay Remus. Actually, it's 3 hours earlier there, so the guests are probably just walking through the body scanners at this point. You see, Dear Readers, DCCC.org ran a "contest" last Thursday, wherein if you contributed to the DCCC that day, you'd be entered to "win a chance to meet Al Gore and Nancy Pelosi" tonight.
All expenses would be paid for the lucky winner, including hotel and airfare. That means, if you were from the OTHER SIDE OF THE NATION, like me, they'd fly you out. I figured, "what have I got to lose (besides my contribution)?" So I entered.
I dug deep into my shallow pockets, and gave a generous (for me) contribution of $20.12. Get it? "DEMS 2012!" I figured that the sheer genius of the number should have made me "winner." But NO! I lost. My genius alone was not enough to win dinner with Al Gore. I had to be a rich genius. By the way, I still plan to change my last name to Genius-Billionaire; it's just too expensive right now. I'm pretty sure that it would have also helped to live in California, like the winner, who, depending on where she lived, might not have need airfare or hotel? Hmmm... Oh well, far worse things have been rigged.
Did anyone besides me give $20.12? I don't know, but I'd bet GOOD MONEY (as much as $5) that some rich Democrat(s) gave $2,012.00, and I have a sneaking suspicion they would have been closer to the winner's pool. Rich Democrats? That sounds like an oxymoron. In my 47 years on the planet, I've only met a handful of rich Democrats (using my definition of "rich;" not John McCain's), and I think it's sad that Democrats--the historically poorer of the two parties--are now being begged for money in an attempt to counter the unlimited political contributions allowed for corporations. How can we poor Dems compete?
But back to the dinner. Who came up with the idea initially? Who decided that meeting Al Gore = prize? Al himself? As in, "Pay me enough money, and you can WIN meeting ME!" And, "Pay a bit more, and you can win drinks with me afterwards." And, "Pay me just a little bit more, and..." Wait a minute. This is sounding less "Al Bore" and more "Al Whore." Hey, that's sort of weirdly exciting. Sort of.
But seriously, Dear Reader, Al is one of my heroes--right up there with William Shatner. Both Al and Bill are great in their own ways--and I'm sure they'd be the first ones to agree with that. Don't get me wrong. I truly respect the work Al has done on behalf of the planet and the Democratic Party, but he is really missing something. Me. I am the least boring person on the planet. I could give him lessons on how to be exciting. The last time I entered a contest to meet someone, I WON. It was in 1987. It was BILL SHATNER, and he didn't need lessons.
Oh, excuse, me, Dear Reader, I seem to have nodded off while typing! Sorry. Uh... what was I typing about?
Oh yes. The entity known as Al Gore. Some folks find him boring, but I think that's irrelevant in his case, because he's smart, brave, and has done so many positive things with his life. He speaks the truth and drives Republicans crazy, which in my book, trumps "exciting" any day.
So why am I typing about Al Gore at all? Because I'm PISSED AT HIM, that's why! I'm also semi ticked at Nancy Pelosi, but Al is my whipping boy tonight, because he was the most hyped "prize" in the "dinner contest" which I LOST with a capital "L." To Al Gore, I am an unknown loser. I voted for him. I prayed for him. I gave him cash. I watched his little documentary. I read parts of his books (couldn't get into them--too boring).
Even as I type, Al Gore, Nancy Pelosi, and the "winner" of the contest, "Sarah from CA," are sitting down to a dinner in Menlo Park CA, sans Karen Kay Remus. Actually, it's 3 hours earlier there, so the guests are probably just walking through the body scanners at this point. You see, Dear Readers, DCCC.org ran a "contest" last Thursday, wherein if you contributed to the DCCC that day, you'd be entered to "win a chance to meet Al Gore and Nancy Pelosi" tonight.
All expenses would be paid for the lucky winner, including hotel and airfare. That means, if you were from the OTHER SIDE OF THE NATION, like me, they'd fly you out. I figured, "what have I got to lose (besides my contribution)?" So I entered.
I dug deep into my shallow pockets, and gave a generous (for me) contribution of $20.12. Get it? "DEMS 2012!" I figured that the sheer genius of the number should have made me "winner." But NO! I lost. My genius alone was not enough to win dinner with Al Gore. I had to be a rich genius. By the way, I still plan to change my last name to Genius-Billionaire; it's just too expensive right now. I'm pretty sure that it would have also helped to live in California, like the winner, who, depending on where she lived, might not have need airfare or hotel? Hmmm... Oh well, far worse things have been rigged.
Did anyone besides me give $20.12? I don't know, but I'd bet GOOD MONEY (as much as $5) that some rich Democrat(s) gave $2,012.00, and I have a sneaking suspicion they would have been closer to the winner's pool. Rich Democrats? That sounds like an oxymoron. In my 47 years on the planet, I've only met a handful of rich Democrats (using my definition of "rich;" not John McCain's), and I think it's sad that Democrats--the historically poorer of the two parties--are now being begged for money in an attempt to counter the unlimited political contributions allowed for corporations. How can we poor Dems compete?
But back to the dinner. Who came up with the idea initially? Who decided that meeting Al Gore = prize? Al himself? As in, "Pay me enough money, and you can WIN meeting ME!" And, "Pay a bit more, and you can win drinks with me afterwards." And, "Pay me just a little bit more, and..." Wait a minute. This is sounding less "Al Bore" and more "Al Whore." Hey, that's sort of weirdly exciting. Sort of.
But seriously, Dear Reader, Al is one of my heroes--right up there with William Shatner. Both Al and Bill are great in their own ways--and I'm sure they'd be the first ones to agree with that. Don't get me wrong. I truly respect the work Al has done on behalf of the planet and the Democratic Party, but he is really missing something. Me. I am the least boring person on the planet. I could give him lessons on how to be exciting. The last time I entered a contest to meet someone, I WON. It was in 1987. It was BILL SHATNER, and he didn't need lessons.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Incubus
Incubus
A New Drawing by Karen Kay Remus, Copyright 2011
Conte crayon on paper, 8.5" x 10"
Incubus: 1) an evil spirit supposed to descend upon sleeping persons, esp. one fabled to have sexual intercourse with sleeping women. 2) A nightmare. 3) Something that oppresses one like a nightmare.
Friday, September 9, 2011
ME AND GOD
Me and God
By Karen Kay Remus © 2011
I’m on a first name basis with God. I talk to Him every day and I say, “God this and God that…” and He doesn’t have a problem with it. He doesn’t give me that, “It’s Mr. God to you,” or “Sir God,” or “Dr. God.” No, just “God” is fine. So I figure we’re pret-ty tight. Right? Pret-ty tight.
So the other day I’m talking to my best buddy, God, and I say, “Hey God, if we’re such great friends, how cum I always have to do all the talking?” And you know what he says? Nothing. Complete, utter, silence. And I say, “Oh, You’re giving me the silent treatment now, right?” Nothing. Not a peep.
The next day, I’m at my psychiatrist’s office—and this guy is “Dr. Dude.” No way would he ever let me call him “Jeff.” It’s totally professional—not all cozy and informal like with God. And he asks me, “Have you been hearing voices?” And I say, “Uh, yeah…otherwise I wouldn’t know you just asked me a stupid fucking question, now would I?”
He says, “I mean voices that other people can’t hear?” And I say, “Well, you’re my doctor, and we're in a session, and if anyone else besides me can hear your goddam voice right now, I’m gonna sue your Freudian ass.”
Then he gets all huffy and says, “If you continue to use that language with me, I’m going to dismiss you from my practice.” And I say, “English is the only language I know, so I guess you’re going to have to dismiss me.”
Then HE starts giving me the silent treatment. After about 20 minutes I say, “You’re about as chatty as God,” and you know what he says? Nothing.
So I say, “Fuck this, Jeff, I’m outta here.” And he says, “Indeed, you are.” And a few days later, I get a letter saying I’m dismissed from his practice.
So then I get to thinking about God, and I wonder if He’s going to pull the same shit. So I say, “God? Are you giving me the silent treatment as a prelude to dismissing me from your practice? Am I speaking the wrong language or something?”
And you know what he says?
“Shut thou the fuck up!”
By Karen Kay Remus © 2011
I’m on a first name basis with God. I talk to Him every day and I say, “God this and God that…” and He doesn’t have a problem with it. He doesn’t give me that, “It’s Mr. God to you,” or “Sir God,” or “Dr. God.” No, just “God” is fine. So I figure we’re pret-ty tight. Right? Pret-ty tight.
So the other day I’m talking to my best buddy, God, and I say, “Hey God, if we’re such great friends, how cum I always have to do all the talking?” And you know what he says? Nothing. Complete, utter, silence. And I say, “Oh, You’re giving me the silent treatment now, right?” Nothing. Not a peep.
The next day, I’m at my psychiatrist’s office—and this guy is “Dr. Dude.” No way would he ever let me call him “Jeff.” It’s totally professional—not all cozy and informal like with God. And he asks me, “Have you been hearing voices?” And I say, “Uh, yeah…otherwise I wouldn’t know you just asked me a stupid fucking question, now would I?”
He says, “I mean voices that other people can’t hear?” And I say, “Well, you’re my doctor, and we're in a session, and if anyone else besides me can hear your goddam voice right now, I’m gonna sue your Freudian ass.”
Then he gets all huffy and says, “If you continue to use that language with me, I’m going to dismiss you from my practice.” And I say, “English is the only language I know, so I guess you’re going to have to dismiss me.”
Then HE starts giving me the silent treatment. After about 20 minutes I say, “You’re about as chatty as God,” and you know what he says? Nothing.
So I say, “Fuck this, Jeff, I’m outta here.” And he says, “Indeed, you are.” And a few days later, I get a letter saying I’m dismissed from his practice.
So then I get to thinking about God, and I wonder if He’s going to pull the same shit. So I say, “God? Are you giving me the silent treatment as a prelude to dismissing me from your practice? Am I speaking the wrong language or something?”
And you know what he says?
“Shut thou the fuck up!”
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Attack of the Overly Made-Up Horse-Faced Bleached Blonde
Original Paintingby Karen Kay Remus Copyright 2011
9"x12" Gouache on Paper
While browsing the news today, I saw a photo of a famous woman considered "beautiful," by a large segment of the population that does not include me. I actually winced, because I could see that undernethe all of that processing, she was not attractive at all. In fact, I saw several photos of other female stars employing the exact same look, presumably in an attempt to be sexy, but actually (in my opinion) appearing cliche and frightening. It's the super-skinny, sun-baked, boob-boosting, ultra made-up, bleached-blonde look, and it's been around for AGES. Seriously, any woman can look this way, if she so desires (just add chemicals and subtract food)--but why would she want to? Am I the only one who's getting tired of this?
Thursday, June 16, 2011
What's Next in Wienerville?
What's Next in Wienerville?, Gouache on Paper, 9"x12"
by Karen Kay Remus, Copyright 2011
If you're like me, Dear Reader, you've been following the Wiener story with relish. Now that he's stepped down, my question is, "What will he do next?" I think he should become a comedic left-wing pundit like John Stewart. He's got the wit, the ego, and the political background--he'd be a shoe in! Yes, entertainment is the next logical career choice for this tantalizing tube steak. What do you think?
Friday, June 10, 2011
The Wiener Effect
By Karen Kay Remus, Copyright 2011
Dear Reader, if you have read and enjoyed this spotty, on-again-off-again blog, I would first like to apologize for its being mostly "off" in nature. Part of that is due to the fact that my head exploded (please see 4/1/11 entry). I would next like to apologize for what I am about to write...
The Multifaceted Wiener Effect and The Wienerization of Modern American Culture and Politics.
Eh hem... First, we all know that everybody loves a wiener, and especially a wiener scandal. Everyone also knows that a Congressman named Wiener twittered his boxer-clad wiener into digital immortality.
We cannot blame the congressman for his action, because his surname predestined him to do so. Furthermore, the begging and pleading of numerous women online to "SHOW US YOUR WIENER!" left him absolutely no option but to do just that. It is a confirmed law of nature that a man who is given such a request MUST comply or die trying.
If we cannot blame the man then who can we blame? Let's blame his ancestors who bore the name Wiener. Why would anyone keep such a name? Pride? As in, "I come from a long line of Wieners." Or, "I am Wiener, son of Frank." Or, "Polish the silver and get out the best china: the Wieners are coming," or "Weiner takes all." Personally speaking, if my last name were Weiner, I would change it. To "Smith" or something. Would somebody named Smith ever voluntarily change their name to Wiener? Not a chance. But there are those who claim to "wish they were an Oscar Meyer Wiener," so "everyone would be in love" with them (and eat them--but that's a whole nuther can of psychological worms). There is definitely a connection between name and destiny. Perhaps I should change my last name to Genius-Billionaire.
But back on the wiener track... What if Congressman Wiener's daughter grows up to marry a guy with the last name Schnitzel and chooses to have a hyphenated last name?
OK. Enough for now about the name. Let's look at the man. I mean REALLY SCRUTINIZE him and notice that he has a nice body and a decidedly goofy-looking face. The only things that can override a face like that in the attractiveness department are: power, money, success, popularity/fame, intelligence, and humor. Wiener has all of those things now, but back in high school, with his hormones at their raging worst, you can bet it was a different story entirely. He probably couldn't get a date to save his life. So now that he's paid his academic and political dues, worked hard, buffed up at the gym, gotten some nice suits, and attained all of those face-overriding qualities, he IS MAKING UP FOR LOST HIGH SCHOOL TIME. He has in fact regressed to high school mentality, sexting, and enjoying those naughty pleasures he'd been denied as a teenage dweeb named Wiener. This happens all the time.
To be continued...
Dear Reader, if you have read and enjoyed this spotty, on-again-off-again blog, I would first like to apologize for its being mostly "off" in nature. Part of that is due to the fact that my head exploded (please see 4/1/11 entry). I would next like to apologize for what I am about to write...
The Multifaceted Wiener Effect and The Wienerization of Modern American Culture and Politics.
Eh hem... First, we all know that everybody loves a wiener, and especially a wiener scandal. Everyone also knows that a Congressman named Wiener twittered his boxer-clad wiener into digital immortality.
We cannot blame the congressman for his action, because his surname predestined him to do so. Furthermore, the begging and pleading of numerous women online to "SHOW US YOUR WIENER!" left him absolutely no option but to do just that. It is a confirmed law of nature that a man who is given such a request MUST comply or die trying.
If we cannot blame the man then who can we blame? Let's blame his ancestors who bore the name Wiener. Why would anyone keep such a name? Pride? As in, "I come from a long line of Wieners." Or, "I am Wiener, son of Frank." Or, "Polish the silver and get out the best china: the Wieners are coming," or "Weiner takes all." Personally speaking, if my last name were Weiner, I would change it. To "Smith" or something. Would somebody named Smith ever voluntarily change their name to Wiener? Not a chance. But there are those who claim to "wish they were an Oscar Meyer Wiener," so "everyone would be in love" with them (and eat them--but that's a whole nuther can of psychological worms). There is definitely a connection between name and destiny. Perhaps I should change my last name to Genius-Billionaire.
But back on the wiener track... What if Congressman Wiener's daughter grows up to marry a guy with the last name Schnitzel and chooses to have a hyphenated last name?
OK. Enough for now about the name. Let's look at the man. I mean REALLY SCRUTINIZE him and notice that he has a nice body and a decidedly goofy-looking face. The only things that can override a face like that in the attractiveness department are: power, money, success, popularity/fame, intelligence, and humor. Wiener has all of those things now, but back in high school, with his hormones at their raging worst, you can bet it was a different story entirely. He probably couldn't get a date to save his life. So now that he's paid his academic and political dues, worked hard, buffed up at the gym, gotten some nice suits, and attained all of those face-overriding qualities, he IS MAKING UP FOR LOST HIGH SCHOOL TIME. He has in fact regressed to high school mentality, sexting, and enjoying those naughty pleasures he'd been denied as a teenage dweeb named Wiener. This happens all the time.
To be continued...
A Coed Writes Her Congressman
by Karen Kay Remus, Copyright 2011
Dear Congressman Wiener,
I am writing you with regard to sexual harassment policies at my university that are not stiff enough...please advise...
Sincerely,
Susie Q. Public
Dear Ms. Public,
Thank you for writing me about the troubling lack of stiffness in your university's policy. First, if it's stiffness you want, look no further than my boxer briefs (see attached photo)...
Sincerely,
Congressman Wiener
Dear Congressman Wiener,
I am writing you with regard to sexual harassment policies at my university that are not stiff enough...please advise...
Sincerely,
Susie Q. Public
Dear Ms. Public,
Thank you for writing me about the troubling lack of stiffness in your university's policy. First, if it's stiffness you want, look no further than my boxer briefs (see attached photo)...
Sincerely,
Congressman Wiener
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Must-See Shatner Music Video
I wish I could take credit for the above, but I can't.
"Common People," Original Song by Pulp
From the William Shatner Album, "Has Been," Produced by Ben Folds
Video by You Tube User, KirkSlashSpock
Friday, April 1, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Geek Scene of the Week
[Scene: Waiting room at multi-physician practice. A dorky looking guy (DLG) walks up to one of the receptionists.]
DLG: I am here to see the doctor.
Receptionist: Doctor who?
DLG: HE'S HERE?!
THE END
DLG: I am here to see the doctor.
Receptionist: Doctor who?
DLG: HE'S HERE?!
THE END
Dear Bill
Dear Bill,
It is a unique blend of intelligence, imagination, and sheer stupidity that allows someone to fall under your spell. You should have a warning label tattooed on your forehead: May cause weird euphoria, addiction, nightmares, nausea, vomiting, and more stupidity. Call a doctor and/or exorcist immediately, if you experience any of the following...(continued on back).
Love,
Karen
PS: My next post will list some of the main ways in which my husband totally kicks your ass. It will include photographic evidence.
It is a unique blend of intelligence, imagination, and sheer stupidity that allows someone to fall under your spell. You should have a warning label tattooed on your forehead: May cause weird euphoria, addiction, nightmares, nausea, vomiting, and more stupidity. Call a doctor and/or exorcist immediately, if you experience any of the following...(continued on back).
Love,
Karen
PS: My next post will list some of the main ways in which my husband totally kicks your ass. It will include photographic evidence.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Cataclysmic Computer Catastrophe
A One Act Play
by Karen K. Remus
Copyright 2011
[Scene: Best Buy Computer Repair Service Desk]
Best Buy Technician: Mr. Customer, I'm afraid that your computer is so seriously damaged, it might be beyond our capability to fix.
Mr. Customer: What's wrong? A virus?
Best Buy Technician: No. Worse.
Mr. Customer: A Trojan?
Best Buy Technician: No. Worse.
Mr. Customer: A Worm?
Best Buy Technician: No. Worse.
Mr. Customer: What could possibly be worse than those?
Best Buy Technician: A Beagle.
Mr. Customer: [Looking queasy, then projectile vomiting while shitting and pissing his pants, and finally collapsing on the floor. After two minutes of no one doing anything, he recovers, stands up slowly and screams in an incredibly loud voice for someone who has just totally purged from all orifices]
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Fade Out
The End
Thank you for your patience, Dear Reader. I've been away, but now I'm back, and I'm worse than ever. Please read my other new crap and let me know how it stinks.
by Karen K. Remus
Copyright 2011
[Scene: Best Buy Computer Repair Service Desk]
Best Buy Technician: Mr. Customer, I'm afraid that your computer is so seriously damaged, it might be beyond our capability to fix.
Mr. Customer: What's wrong? A virus?
Best Buy Technician: No. Worse.
Mr. Customer: A Trojan?
Best Buy Technician: No. Worse.
Mr. Customer: A Worm?
Best Buy Technician: No. Worse.
Mr. Customer: What could possibly be worse than those?
Best Buy Technician: A Beagle.
Mr. Customer: [Looking queasy, then projectile vomiting while shitting and pissing his pants, and finally collapsing on the floor. After two minutes of no one doing anything, he recovers, stands up slowly and screams in an incredibly loud voice for someone who has just totally purged from all orifices]
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Fade Out
The End
Thank you for your patience, Dear Reader. I've been away, but now I'm back, and I'm worse than ever. Please read my other new crap and let me know how it stinks.
Your Problem
A One Act Play
by Karen K. Remus
Copyright 2011
[Scene: a generic-looking man and a generic-looking woman stand facing each other in a completely white setting]
Woman: You know what your problem is?
Man: No.
Woman: Your problem is, you don't know what your problem is.
THE END
Eh? Eh? Am I the friggin' Mistress of Script or what? Weigh in, please.
by Karen K. Remus
Copyright 2011
[Scene: a generic-looking man and a generic-looking woman stand facing each other in a completely white setting]
Woman: You know what your problem is?
Man: No.
Woman: Your problem is, you don't know what your problem is.
THE END
Eh? Eh? Am I the friggin' Mistress of Script or what? Weigh in, please.
New Fragrance for Men
By Karen Kay Remus
Copyright 2011
New Fragrance for Men:
NIXON'S PITS
What do you think, people?
Can you top that?
Please try.
xo,
kr
Copyright 2011
New Fragrance for Men:
NIXON'S PITS
What do you think, people?
Can you top that?
Please try.
xo,
kr
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