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Improvised Writing

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February 7, 2008

Imaginary Letter: Pubescent Baseball

Posted by j.j. under Improvised Writing, Letters, Sex
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So did you see Ted last night @ that kegger on 15th Ave? Hott!!! We were gonna kiss but he had serious garlic-breath, so I just sucked him off instead. (I know you’ll think I’m a slut, but that’s no worse than being a tease, I figure! Girl, please!)

So what did you do w/Russel? All the way this time, or you still stuck on 2nd base? You’re not gonna be 17 forever – you need to get laid before you get out of Garfield, and if you can score one of these college dipshits, that’s the way to go; if I’d known that I never would have fucked Kevin in the 9th grade. You know we were together for a year, fucking every weekend, before either of us knew “Doggy-Style” wasn’t anal! Whatever, it opened me up for being with Jared, you know what I’m sayin?

O.K., I need to go read this Jane Austen shit about prejudice or whatever. Let’s go to the movies, maybe see “You Got Served”? Call me!

-D.

February 6, 2008

Imaginary Letter: Forever is a Long Time

Posted by j.j. under Improvised Writing, Letters, Love, Violence
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Joanna-

You made me cry so hard that my face broke out. My tears had tiny claws and ripped up my face the way your words ripped up my heart.

Live with that forever! You ruined my life!

forever,

Jonas

February 6, 2008

Imaginary Letter: What is Real?

Posted by j.j. under Improvised Writing, Letters, Love, Places, Romance
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From Emma To my Love -

I dreamed we were walking through the city. Your fingers digging into my side, counting my ribs absentmindedly as the sky scrapers loomed overhead. Sour-faced glass panes reflecting back our shifting, sloppy grasp. Is there a reason I fit so well here? Tucked under your shoulder, shielded from the disapproving grey glares of these steel structures. Is this love, or just a distraction? Is what we have real, or just a shadow of someone else’s love, like those bobbing, sterile reflections in a cold, empty city.

Please don’t wake me.

Emma

February 1, 2008

Imaginary Letter: The Captain’s Toes

Posted by j.j. under Improvised Writing, Justice, Letters, Romance
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Dear Captain Andrew,

Why were you such a jerk to me? I can’t believe I spent so much time sucking on your nasty billy-goat toes just for you to call me out like that in front of Father Ricky and Sister Barbara. How will I show my face at youth group again? You will burn in hell with your whore mother and your glutton auntie.

We’re through!

Fuck off,

Cynthia

February 1, 2008

Imaginary Letter: Chess and Friendship Ultimatum

Posted by Ryan McGivern and J.J. under Found, Games, Improvised Writing, Letters, Politics
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[Written at The Blue Moon Tavern, Seattle] chess

14th Sept, 2005

Bilo,

I was very upset that you falsified my move. Playing chess by mail is a game that requires honor – I know you cheated, and I will be insulted if you try to dispute this, because you know I am smarter than any moron who wouldn’t notice that shit! Yeah I’m angry! BECAUSE: instead of actually giving you my next move, I have to write to chastise you for your tricks; instead of having a good week, and looking forward to relaxing with this game, I was fired and I have been cheated by my opponent; instead of bridging the East-West/U.S.A. divide, you are widening it! I am seriously considering reporting this to the CBMF for assessment. I don’t want to, but what choice do you leave me?!!…

Well, I left that hours ago, and now I’ve returned. Here’s my best offer, or I WILL report you to the chess federation: you will replace my bishop to F9, you will make your moved with an accurate board setup, and you will removed one of your pawns.

This, and only this will continue our game and the friendship it has begun. The choice if yours.

-Karl

January 27, 2008

Imaginary Letter: Found in a Laundromat

Posted by j.j. under Improvised Writing, Letters, Love, Romance
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[due to the low resolution image, the letter is transcribed below]

Dear Jim -
I know you think that I think you do not like me anymore, but it is simply untrue. I like your mom and I thought we got along well even though she thought my outfit was inappropriate. To me, yellow and blue do match. What is really going on? I really do still like you, too.

Give me a call back.
(I’ll give you a handjob.)

Sarah

[Help! They are blasting Bryan Adams in here! Let me out!]

January 3, 2008

“A School Boy’s Education In Love”

Posted by Ryan McGivern and J.J. under Blog, Comedy, Improvised Writing, Romance, Sex
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I was in kindergarten when I first learned about sex. My teacher, Mrs. Rudolph, an older lady who smelled like the Walgreens cosmetics department and wore only pink sweatsuits, fell asleep one day during nap time. Her slobbering face schmushed against her desk and she snored like a female Chinese baby being smothered to death. All my classmates were also asleep, but I peed my pants so I went to wake Mrs. Rudolph. I noticed she was reading something before she passed out, so I pried it from under her greasy double chin. It was a Hustler magazine. I quickly retreated to the cubby closet and got some fresh underwear from the “Clean Underwear For Paul” bin and stashed the magazine in my Alvin and the Chimpmunks backpack.

After naptime, Mrs. Rudolph sat us all in a circle and demanded to know where her “personal reading material” was. She said if someone didn’t speak up, she’d tear out all of our tongues, pin them to our jackets for us to take home to our parents. I didn’t bulge. I had found meaning in life and no empty threat could ever take that away from me. Over the next years, I waved this leverage like a German flag all over old Mrs. Rudolph, blackmailing her into being my sexual mentor. In fourth grade she showed me how to french kiss, which was difficult having only the stub of a tongue after her ad-lib removal of it. It was in seventh grade that she directed me in my ‘home economics’ class to sew a “tongue quilt”. She joked that while there were many with gilded tongues, I would be the first with a quilted tongue. Whenever she would make that joke, I would make a howling noise because I couldn’t properly laugh tongueless.

Years later I married Mrs. Rudolph. During our anniversaries, after I pass out on my annual Appletini binge, she removes another body part. These days I am limbless, facial feature-less and belly-buttonless. But I really do love her with all my heart, although she’ll probably take that next year.

People always told us we would never work out because of the age difference, her chronic vaginismis, and the fact that I was slowly becoming a tapeworm-like being consisting only of an esophagus and anus. But we’re still together after all these years. She is my lover, my friend, my kindergarten teacher, my mutilator, my next of kin, and the victim of my blackmail. But with all that binds us together, it’s still her sense of humor that I love the most.

JJ Stein and Ryan McGivern

October 24, 2007

How To: Special Grilled Cheese

Posted by Ryan McGivern and J.J. under Food, Improvised Writing
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Today was the best day of my life. Not only did I have sex with my brother for the first time (he is BIG! — don’t worry, we used birth control), but I also made the perfect grilled cheese sandwich!

Firstly, use one sheet of superfine sandpaper to scrub your non-stick frying pan until there is plenty of loose Teflon. This, my friends, is secret ingredient #1.
Melt an entire stick of butter in the frying pan. Pour in one liter of corn oil. We are gonna deep fry that cheesy bitch.
Secret ingredient #2, gasoline. Just a dash, for color.
Let frying pan soak in the sunlight for five hours, while you surf internet porn in the other room. This will work up your appetite and get your pan ‘sun-kissed’.
Go to the store and buy a loaf of gluten-free bread. If they don’t have any, make a huge scene breaking things and screaming: “This would never happen in Seattle!”
Throw that solar preheated pan in your pottery kiln, set the temp to: “Vase”
When you see the pan begin to melt, add loaf of bread. Let bake for 2 seconds. Remove pan and repeat step 4. This time, save watery ejaculate in a measuring beaker. This is obviously secret ingredient number #3.
In microwave, nuke String Cheese Incident vinyl records on top of loaf. Top with toe jam.

October 6, 2007

My Mother The Rebel

Posted by Ryan McGivern and J.J. under Diarrhea, Improvised Writing
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I can’t believe that my mother is going to become a professional skateboarder. I asked her repeatedly over Skype “mom why are you doing this?” and all she would reply was: “Ain’t your beeswax, honeymuffin. I’m eating muffins with hot sauce.”

But this shouldn’t surprise me. She’s always been a rebel.

When she was sixteen, she boned my dad, a married rabbi, on the top floor of the Swiss Army Knife factory. And have I mentioned how impressive her areola implants are?

In a recent email she wrote, “My crotch smells like rotting cabbage from having sex with Elian Gonzalez. He’s still not 18 so we did it on a raft off the coast of Miami. …. Some prick filmed it and I sued him for royalties. Maybe I’ll be able to buy you something nice like a Desert Eagle handgun.”

And today she texted me:

How is that Greyhound bus-driving job going, son? And when you gonna make me a goddamned grandchild?”

I love my mom dearly, but I’m worried. I’ve always felt like I’ve had to be the responsible one in the family. I’m the one who talked her out of drinking a dead man’s diarrhea. I’m the one who had to negotiate the hostage situation with her at the Vatican. I’m the one who always has to remind her that it’s tax season and that she should schedule an appointment with H&R Block.

But, she is the one who gave birth to me in a Taco Bell men’s bathroom, and for that gift of life I must always love her unconditionally.

Whether she fails at being the first 64 year old woman to do a 720 back flip over a cesspool on a skateboard or not, I’m going to love her, because she’s my Mom!

October 5, 2007

In America, money grows on trees like mold on cheese

Posted by Ryan McGivern and J.J. under Activities, Improvised Writing
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money Someone said the love of money is the root of all evil. They were probably poor and bitter. Screw that dribble with a philips head right up the yin yang. Money is the American way and I for one am gonna get mine, sucka. I loves me some cash money more than you love your wife. I’ll do anything or anyone to get it, because once I have it I can sleep with your wife. She is a milf! I hope you don’t take offense.

I remember the first big deal I brokered at the age of 8 when I sold my sister Pam’s cat Kitten Caboodle to a neighbor for 3 bucks and then told Pam that the cat had been eaten by a cougar. With that 3 bucks I bought a yo-yo which I then traded for a kite. I tried that old Ben Franklin trick flying the kite in a storm, which is why I can see through your first layer of clothes. Yep, them some funky Tabasco logo boxers you sportin’. And that is one piping hot shit stain.

I also am a live nude model at the local community college where the art teacher Mr. Ames gives me 8 bucks and some pot to pose naked for 3 hours. Not only do I rake in some cash-ola, I get to air out my crotch rot and dry out my anal sores.

Here is my new scheme, infallible! Yesterday I second-morgaged my parents house and sold my 91 Chevy Cavalier Convertible and bought Walmart stock (on a friends tip!), $40,000 bucks worth! I put an ad on craigslist to sell all my family’s heirloom furniture, including an oak table that once belonged to Ty Cobb and my grandfather’s grandfather clock, which is worth at least a grand! My plan is to buy all new furniture at Walmart! Just watch that stock price sore!

I’m not sure how I’m gonna get home without my car.

This is America baby, and I’m living the American Dream. Don’t ever try and wake me up!

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