Under The Wagon

I haven’t been to the movies very much in the past few years. I used to go to the two dollar, second-run movie theater all the time. On a slow afternoon, I’d take 10 bucks and watch two or three movies in a row. And I’d still have enough for popcorn or nachos (it’s impossible for me to watch a movie without munchies). Nowadays it’s 8 bucks for a matinee, not to mention my popcorn or nachos. So I stopped going. I’d see commercials for all these movies I wanted to see, but never went.

Even when I finally got my cheap ass DVD player, I still had a huge list of “Movies I’ll eventually get around to.” But the man-friend bought me a Netflix subscription, and suddenly the list just got shorter. Woo! (I assume I don’t have to tell you how cool Netflix is? Most of their business is from their awesome and well deserved word-of-mouth. If you don’t have it, get it.) Suddenly, I am totally up to date with all the hottest films. Of two years ago.

Kill Bill Volume 2: I borrowed Volume 1 from a friend (about a year after the movie came out) and loved it. Then I just sat on my ass until a month ago, when I Netflixed V.2. Eh. I liked the first one better. I didn’t feel like any of the questions I had from the first one were answered. How am I gonna pretend to be a sword wielding, bad ass lady assassin if I don’t know how lady assassins are recruited by Bill? Or how Bill and the Bride fell in love? This is essential to my fantasy dream world. (Not that I’m itchin’ to bone David Carradine. In my version, Bill is played by Clive Owen.) But overall a good westerny, nicely violent flick. I hear it works best if you watch both movies back to back. But that would take up two spaces in my Netflix queue, and I know eventually Tarantino will come out with some big ultra-DVD with lots of extras and shit and psycho-commentary. I can wait.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind: Okay, this one I feel like I waited too long to see. It was a great and interesting story, some amazing performances, and yet…I was disappointed because I figured out the twist in the first 10 minutes. It’s one of those movies I wish I could have seen with no previous knowledge. Though I would like to know exactly when Kate Winslet stole all of Helena Bonham Carter’s roles. Used to be, you need a chick in a corset, Helena was your girl. Then Kate started sneaking in to all the Merchant-Ivory films. Helena breaks out and smokes it up as a spiky haired freak in “Fight Club.” And Kate becomes the kool-aid coiffed free-spirit in “Eternal Sunshine. Seems suspicious to me. Winslet and Jim Carrey were both awesome in it, though. Kirsten Dunst sucked.

28 Days Later: 28 Days Later scared the shit out of me.

Hero: Jet Li regrets deciding to do “Romeo Must Die” instead of “Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon,” and does this instead. I could leave it at that, but Hero really is a beautiful film. Gorgeous use of color, and all the fight scenes are these amazing ballet sequences. Which means there’s no blood and very little ass kicking. It’s a pretty movie. And I totally sound like a girl, writing this. I’m gonna go fart.

Shaun of the Dead: Hey, a movie that’s somewhat recent! Cool. Like 28 Days Later with a sense of humor. And nicely British. I dug it. The extras on the DVD are cool, because they fill in all the plot holes from the movie in an amusingly British fashion. Very good, even if you don’t like horror movies.

About a Boy: And even more Brits! Less zombies in this one, unless you want to use “zombie” as a metaphor for people going through life without purpose, or fighting the demons of depression or adversity in their lives. Which I really don’t want to, as this really was a sweet, funny, poignant film. Which makes it sound like a chick flick, but it isn’t. Nick Hornby does a good job of tapping into universal bachelor mindsets. That sentence will make sense if you watch the movie. And you should. Hugh Grant plays a self-centered prick instead of a bumbling but adorable goof-ball, and he does it well.

X-Men 2: X-Men United: I really want me some mutant superpowers, that’s all I’ve got to say. I don’t need to say much about this, if you’re into the series, you’ve probably already seen it. If you’re not, you might try giving it a shot. Well done action flicks with SUPERHEROS! Oh, and note to Bryan Singer: Yes, we know you’re gay. It’s all right.

Closer: Alrighty, we’ll wrap it up with a movie that IS fairly recent. Clive Owen, Jude Law, and Queen Amidala in a thong. Nice. I leave Julia Roberts out of this because I think she’s a horse faced gum-mouth, but she didn’t annoy me in this film, and she usually does. Closer is more of a “mentally” sexy film. You can certainly see its theater roots. It IS essentially a stage play on film, but it’s a fascinating look male-female relationships. It’s interesting because you never see “the action” of the story, just the aftermath. Some of the best dialogue I’ve ever watched, wickedly clever stuff. This might sound a bit boring, but it’s one of those rare movies you can actually talk about for hours afterwards, discussing character motivation and relationships and…Okay, it still sounds boring. But quite frankly, Clive Owen is all man, and Queen Amidala is wearing a thong. Goddamn.

And now I’m off to update my Netflix Queue. What will I watch next? Tune in to find out! Or just keep checking to see when I get drunk and make an ass of myself next. I gotta get out of the house, here.

Tags: Essays, Manifestos, & Unsolicited Opinions by Karla
Comments Off

It’s all Suzanne’s fault. Suzanne Fulton of Dayton, Ohio.

“Hey, I still don’t understand what the big deal was,” Suzanne starts, taking a drag from her Virginia Slim Ultra-Light. “Everyone acts like I’m Hitler or something.” She sips from her cup of “Parisienne Mocha Fantasia” instant coffee. Suzanne offered me a cup of the same earlier, but I politely declined. That stuff is crap.

I am sitting in the quiet, teddy bear adorned living room of Dave and Suzanne Fulton‘s ranch style home, trying to get to the bottom of the problem. I’m also trying to avoid knocking over any more Precious Moments figurines. I am on a quest for information. A holy pilgrimage for answers. Suzanne and I stare blankly at each other for a moment, before she sighs and begins again.

“It was 1981, I was a freshman at Ohio State.  Go Buckeyes, right?  They’d been doing some construction on one of the residence halls and I was just walking to class.  Honestly, I don’t know why I’m being crucified for this.”

I try to hide my disbelief. Suzanne ruined everything on that fateful September day.  How could she be so blind?

Construction was indeed underway at Canfield Hall during the mellow Indian Summer of 1981. But the carefree 18 year old Suzanne barely noticed the scaffolding as she waltzed past the building. “I was thinking about some assignments I had due, and about a party that my roommate told me was going to be “totally bitchin’,” you know, that sort of thing.”  Then it happened. As Suzanne’s pert young ass jiggled past Canfield Hall, a clarion call echoed over the campus.

“Shake it don’t break it, baby!”

“I looked up, I couldn’t quite figure out who said that. At first I thought it was God, or something, ha ha.”

It was not God (and Suzanne is not funny).  As Suzanne paused to shield her eyes against the September sun, her firm woman-child breasts quivering, the call was joined by another. And another.

“Daaaamn, I‘d like to saddle up those ponies for a ride around the park!”  “Them titties look good girl!”

The comments were coming from the construction workers high above Suzanne’s (newly frosted) head.

“Hubba huuuu-BA!” “Now that’s an ass I could bounce quarters off all night.” “You got some all day suckers on you, sweetheart.”

“Why don’t you come up here and suck my dick, baby!”

That’s when Suzanne betrayed all womankind. Because she did.

Her taught haunches barely constrained by her Olivia Newton-John-esque short shorts (“Hey, those were cute shorts! I had the matching headband, too.”), Suzanne made her way up 4 stories of scaffolding and presented herself to one Michael Rodriguez. Her moist, glistening lips had barely engulfed Rodriguez’s engorged member before the news began to spread. Spread like Suzanne’s gaping, cock-slobbering jaw.

“Holy shit, it WORKED!”

Like a crackling wildfire the news went down the line of bricklayers and carpenters.  The second string place-kicker for the Buckeyes glimpsed the scene from his dorm window and raced to pass it on to the rest of the team (presumably after furiously masturbating in a fit of voyeuristic passion). Within minutes, every male on campus knew. Knew that a guy got his dick sucked, merely by asking a total stranger 50 feet away from him to do so.

“I mean, it was just a BJ.” Suzanne takes another drag from her Virginia Slim (I swear to God, those don’t even look like real cigarettes. There can’t be more than a single thread of tobacco in the things.).

“But you had to know, didn’t you? There was no way that would be the end of it.“ I finally speak, trying to choke back my tears of frustration and rage. “How could you think that it would just stop there?”

Because it didn’t stop there, of course. Like a viral infection spread by an army of horny monkeys, the news swiftly went beyond the Ohio State campus. Into the city of Columbus, the account spread with the honking of cars in the street.  Businessmen in diners whispered it behind copies of the Wall-Street Journal. When it reached a truck stop on I-71, the damage was irrevocable. Truckers immediately left off fueling their diesel powered big-rigs and hopped on their CB radios. In less than three hours, the news was barreling down every highway, every interstate and toll-way.

Within 24 hours every man in the country knew there was a distinct possibility of sexual favors for anyone brave enough to yell “Do those legs go all the way up?” or “Shake them titties!”

Why, Suzanne, why?

“You know, I still don’t see what the fuss was all about. You know? I mean, I guess I knew there was a little buzz on campus, but I went to the party that night, and everyone was really sweet. All the guys were so cute, yelling across the room that they’d like to smother my sweater puppies.  That’s where I met Dave, even. We started talking, or you know, I was talking. He kept pointing to his crotch and grunting, but he was a good listener. We started dating, got married after graduation, he got the job in Dayton, and…Here we are!” Suzanne smiles, sighs a little. Stubs out her tiny, skinny cigarette.

“But did you even think about the consequences? Did you think what you were doing to every woman who wanted to walk down the street without hearing about the junk in her trunk, or the jiggle in her jello? You gave those men HOPE, Suzanne. Dirty, filthy hope.”

Suzanne looks at me brightly, nods. “You’ve gotta have hope, right?  That’s in the bible, I think.”

Once again, we just stare at each other blankly. The moment is lost when I get distracted by a powder blue teddy bear that I’m pretty sure is giving me the stink eye.

“Oh, you like Mr. Fluffington? Isn’t he cute? Dave bought him for me. I’ve got a great collection. Almost 300 bears. Did you want to see it?”

No, Suzanne. I do not want to see your bears. I just want to walk down the street without being whistled at.

It’s all Suzanne’s fault.

Tags: Filthy Lies & Fiction by Karla
Comments Off

I have a brand spankin’ new article is up at The National Lampoon.

I swear, I can practically smell the sweaty stench of internet success just around the corner. Any day now I’ll be snorting cybercoke off jpgs of hookers, I just know it!

Anyway, check it out HERE. It’s another filthy piece of work, all about blow jobs.

My mom’s gonna be so proud.

———

In other news, provided I don’t keep jetting off to LA to make sweet, sweet love to The Delicious One…Under The Wagon will now be updated every Friday, if not more often. Honest!

You have the word of a lazy, unreliable alcoholic. Really, what could possibly be more trustworthy than that?

Tags: Published Works by Karla
Comments Off

I just got back from a long weekend in LA, and I think I broke my liver.

Now I’m not exactly sure what my liver is supposed to do. I know it does something with booze, and considering how much booze I do…I assume it has its hands full. If it has hands. Do livers have hands? Like I said, I’m a little fuzzy on the actual biology.

Anyway, this morning I had evidence that my poor liver has in fact escaped my body, and is currently hitchhiking down a lonely highway, a tiny hobo bindle over its little shoulder.

Backing up a little:

Three days in LA. Much delicious booze consumed with a delicious companion. 13 hours in transit back to Chicago. Several gin and tonics consumed in transit, because transit SUCKS. A few hours sleep before I head to my weekly open mic gig at The Elbo Room. It’s a slow night, and I’m tired. I feel the need to “perk up” a little early, and begin drinking at 9pm, instead of 10:30 (my usual starting time). A couple of Hefe-Wiesen beers. Not doing too shabby. I decide to switch to Long Island Ice Teas, because they are tasty and good. Also because I’m pretty sure I have a death wish.

Long Island Ice Tea
One oz. each:
vodka
tequila
rum
gin
triple sec

Add a little sweet and sour mix, shake well, pour into a glass, then add a splash of cola and a twist of lemon. 

If you lined up all that liquor in individual shots, there’s now way in HELL I could down them all. At least not in an upright position. But mix them all up…

I drank 3 of the things.

Somehow I make my way home, call my delicious companion in LA to tell him how much I love him (at least I think I told him that), and then the inevitable collapse into a little, fully-clothed puddle.

And this morning I had the most disturbing bowel movement of my life.

Seriously. It’s disgusting, I know, but…wow. Just, WOW. Shit was literally falling out of me. I can’t figure out how a stomach full of nothing but ramen noodles and candy can produce what was came out of me. And HOW it came out of me. Frightening, really.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure it has something to do with my liver. I think livers have those powers, and the wretched results of this morning are the effects of my liver just throwing up its wee liver hands (I’m still convinced livers have hands) and going “Fuck you, Karla. Fuck you all to hell.”

So anyone know where I can get a new liver? Because I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be drinking without one. And right now, I’m totally drinking.

I’m so not looking forward to my next trip to the bathroom.

Tags: Early Wagon Archive: Sex, Drunk, & Rock n' Roll by Karla
Comments Off

Wednesday was the WNEP Theater Bowl-A-Thon, and while last year I bowled a record-breaking low of 126 over three games (36 Gutterballs!), this year I have to say…I fucking ROCKED. Rolled 200, with a couple of strikes, and a mere handful of tankers. This vast improvement was thanks to my new strategy of abandoning all pride and any hope of looking like a “real bowler.”

Every single shot…Granny style. There was no dainty ballerina-trot to the end of the lane, co-ordinated with a perfectly executed single handed launch of the ball. No. Every goddamn time, I walked up to that little line of arrows carved in the hardwood, hunched over, gripped the ball firmly with both hands (I didn’t need the little finger holes this year) and pitched it between my legs.

3 strikes, a couple of spares, and a total score of 200.

I’m pretty goddamn proud.

—————————

I was also pretty goddamn drunk.

The goal of the Bowl-a-Thon is for the participants to secure “pledges-per-pin.” Say someone donated 10 cents a pin to me. After my score of 200, they would have owed WNEP $20. Which, wouldn’t have been too shabby, if I’d had any confidence in my bowling ability. But since I was so god-awful last year, I didn’t even TRY to get per-pin pledges this year. I went with what I KNOW I’m good at.

I asked for per-BEER pledges.

4:30pm
Beers 1-2 are consumed in my house. I figured as long as I was drinking them on the same DAY as the Bowl-a-Thon, they count.

6:00pm
Beers 3-5 were enjoyed at a quaint German pub, with my buddy Tucker (also a WNEP company member) before we headed over to the bowling alley. Beers 3-5 were accompanied by much bitching about jobs and fathers.

7:45 pm
I eat 2 eggrolls on the walk over to Lincoln Square Lanes. I have not eaten anything else all day.

8:00pm
Bowl-A-Thon Commences. Beer 6 purchased.

After that…I kind of lost track of time. Beer 8 was free, I do remember that (God bless bartenders), and sometime around beer 9-10 I started calling my boyfriend after every shot “Becaush I’m sucsh a goooood bowlerrrrrrIloveyouuuuuOopsIshmyturnnowIgottagoIlovvvvveyou!”

This repeated after pretty much every shot. Yeah, I hate me too.

Midnight
Another successful WNEP Bowl-A-Thon was but a happy memory, as every other bowler in the company had gone home. The bowling alley was deserted, except for two of my compatriots as we discuss…I don’t know, philosophy or some shit, and I finish:

Beer 15.

—————–

For those thinking “15 beers over several hours…That’s not so bad. I’ve drank more than that!” well bully for you. I’m 4′10, female, and I hadn’t eaten anything ALL DAY except two egg rolls. I was completely shellacked.

But I did make a couple hundred bucks for a good cause, and I made about 300 double entendres involving “balls”, so all in all, good times.

Now I just need to find reasons for people to sponsor my drinking all the time.

I’m having a beer right now…Do I hear one dollar? One dollar?

Anybody?

Tags: Early Wagon Archive: Sex, Drunk, & Rock n' Roll by Karla
Comments Off