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Pooping on a Dream
my soul is a snow-flake
Created on 2004-07-26 14:36:04 (#3955105), last updated 2007-11-24
142 comments received, 298 comments posted
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82 Journal Entries, 0 Tags, 0 Memories, 0 Virtual Gifts, 3 Userpics
Basic Info| Name: | pumpkin_popeil |
|---|---|
| Birthdate: | 02-24 |
| Location: | Bloomington, Indiana, United States |
Bio Raised by his dour Polish immigrant grand-parents and plying his trade as a young man of 16 in first the harrowing mercantile straights of Chicago's famous Maxwell Street and then the now famous flagship department store: "Woolworth’s #1"-- inventor and multi-millionaire Ron Popeil has single-handedly invented the "info-mercial" format and forever enriched us all with such beloved inventions as the "Chop-o-matic", the "Pocket-Fisher Man", and the exciting new offering: the "Show-Time" Rotisserie & B.B.Q. oven. With his 70th birthday looming, Ron is still the premium American home and kitchen appliance innovator.
how infinitely sad then that such a man could never see clear, through a veil of corruption and power and a haze of methamphetamine to "invent" even a veneer of thin affection for his only bastard son.
as is so often the cruel case of genius, though Ron could invent his fabulous "Six-Star, 25 piece Ronco cutlery set" he couldn’t cut clean away the fact of a certain sour and sticky night on a lousy bare mattress of Paris's Red-Light district, where a drunken half crazed Ron saw fit to make a "one time offer" of his own special "solid flavor injector" into the "jerky dehydrator" of a drugged-up 13 year old French whore named Kitty.
the result, as you may have guessed was named "Pumpkin"-- a cruel joke-name perpetuated by the head courtizan of the whorehouse that would be his education and childhood home--the name making reference to the unwanted infants orangish hue, the result of an unfortunate allergy to douche-bags. Literally: douche-bags. they would be his only friends.
so here’s an "amazing testimonial" for ya pop: maybe im alcoholic, dyslexic[sic], aphasic, gender-dysphoric, and until recently was on the real "Sub-way diet", eating things I had found in the actual Subway--also, recently i was the first person ever diagnosed with
third-person narrative meno-acantho-phobia: the irrational intuition of inevitable death involving polar bear menstruation, coupled with the unshakable delusion that, to that end, the events of your life are being stirringly narrated by Along Came a Spider's Morgan Freeman--but at least i don’t sell lame crap on t.v.
although i did recently have the opportunity to actually take a crap ON a t.v. but i had to mark my territory as this blind accordion player was moving in on my refrigerator box.
how infinitely sad then that such a man could never see clear, through a veil of corruption and power and a haze of methamphetamine to "invent" even a veneer of thin affection for his only bastard son.
as is so often the cruel case of genius, though Ron could invent his fabulous "Six-Star, 25 piece Ronco cutlery set" he couldn’t cut clean away the fact of a certain sour and sticky night on a lousy bare mattress of Paris's Red-Light district, where a drunken half crazed Ron saw fit to make a "one time offer" of his own special "solid flavor injector" into the "jerky dehydrator" of a drugged-up 13 year old French whore named Kitty.
the result, as you may have guessed was named "Pumpkin"-- a cruel joke-name perpetuated by the head courtizan of the whorehouse that would be his education and childhood home--the name making reference to the unwanted infants orangish hue, the result of an unfortunate allergy to douche-bags. Literally: douche-bags. they would be his only friends.
so here’s an "amazing testimonial" for ya pop: maybe im alcoholic, dyslexic[sic], aphasic, gender-dysphoric, and until recently was on the real "Sub-way diet", eating things I had found in the actual Subway--also, recently i was the first person ever diagnosed with
third-person narrative meno-acantho-phobia: the irrational intuition of inevitable death involving polar bear menstruation, coupled with the unshakable delusion that, to that end, the events of your life are being stirringly narrated by Along Came a Spider's Morgan Freeman--but at least i don’t sell lame crap on t.v.
although i did recently have the opportunity to actually take a crap ON a t.v. but i had to mark my territory as this blind accordion player was moving in on my refrigerator box.
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cities chocolate, colonels sander, dodger blue, milk carton porno, notaries public, surgeons general, women unlike my coffee
External Services:
 | pumpkin_popeil@livejournal.com | |
 | bennywunderlick |  |
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