Saturday, January 31, 2004

by Jessica Delfino

Hello Friends and Others

My name is Jessica Delfino. Some of you know me. Some of you love me.
Some of you hate me. Some of you
do not know me and do not love me and do not hate me. That's all up to y'all.

I am writing to you because of this:

I was in a relationship with my boyfriend for six years. We were supposed to
get married. We broke up. It threw my whole life into a strange orbit around
a planet that doesn't exist. Super deep. Then, I got laid off from my shitty job.

Then, I got an eviction notice that says I have to get evicted soon.
So, my life kind of sucks right now. I'm poor as fuck and sad, I guess, but mostly
just poor. So, I wrote a show.

Please come see it. It's called:

Jessica Delfino's One Woman Show starring Jessica Delfino


subtle; (pussy) - one woman, one vagina

written by me, Jessica Delfino
and directed by Touching You

Upright Citizen's Brigade Theater
307 W. 26th St. @ 8th Avenue
Monday, Feb. 2nd, 2004
9:30 PM

On the show will be some jokes, also some monologues, and a few shorts,
and you will enjoy a world premiere of my brand new video for my song
entitled, "Someone Who Loves Me" about a fictional rape fantasy, co-starring Todd Montessi.
Original piano music and dirty folk rock music is in the show.
My boobs are in it. They are in the show, too.

Special cameo appearances by: (I may have misused the word cameo here.)

Johanna Buccola
Gina Alietti
Mark Minetta
Tim Brennan
Adira Amram
Touching You

It is on the show called "SPANK" that runs new shows every Monday night, generally one or
two person shows. Come and support my show please so I can get a fucking god damn run at UCB and
maybe sell some stinking CD's.

Speaking of CD's, my new CD is called "Dirty Folk Rock" and was reviewed in this upcoming
month's issue of Jane Magazine. Please make a note of it.

For the hell of it, please visit my website:

Bye, thanks and hope to see you all there.
My Struggle For Ink
by Jessica Delfino

I tried to get my listing in NY Press and they wouldn't run it because they don't like me and Jeff thinks my writing is bad and I'm not funny. So, I sent them this e-mail.
So.....would it have killed you to list my show (Christopher's pick) in NY Press? I could have used the help, it is my first ever solo show, it's at one of the better small/independent theaters in town (UCB doesn't generally put up shitty shows) and Christopher told me he wrote a really good pick for me. Plus, I e-mailed both of you myself.

You guys couldn't have mustered those few lousy lines? You guys screwed me with the rape story, and you screwed me with the old people story, and I've sent you over a dozen listings over the years and not one has ever been listed! This one was important, dammit! I am guessing maybe you didn't want to give CXB too much ink or something since you'd written his book review (which I thought was fabulous by the way, [the book review you wrote] except for the part about his brains being blown out - that was a little bit harsh and came off as sounding malicious, almost petty) but honestly, would it have really hurt you people to be kind to me ONE fucking time? The fact is, you've never been FAIR to me, so you might have tried to be KIND, instead, for once.

I can't help but feel like we got off on the wrong foot maybe, or you guys just don't like me for whatever reason, maybe it's because I'm friends with Christopher and he gives you shit, but every time we've had an interaction, you guys have done me wrong, and I did nothing to deserve your backhanded dealings. I know it's nothing to you, but a few lines in your paper could have helped me a fucking lot. I got evicted from my apartment yesterday and I found out my fiance fucked my best friend a few weeks ago, not because I didn't fuck him, either, because I did, often, and with skill. So, as you can read, my life fucking sucks. And your measly shitty fucking pick was one lousy thing that might have been a small glimmer of hope in a life of dick. Fuck you, asshole, and pass it on. I don't mean to be so harsh, and probably, honestly, you didn't even think the pick would matter so much, or maybe you did and purposely didn't print it, but either way, it did matter to me. So, in the future, please try to treat me with a little bit of human decency and respect from time to fucking time. We're on the same team, essentially.

Jessica Delfino
Friend's Couch in Manhattan, NY

The next day, Jeff called me yelling into my voicemail that this was one of the rudest e-mails he ever recieved. Score one for Delfino! I doubt it, though, really. I think he hates me. Then, I called him and we had it out on the phone for a bit until we both got bored. But then, Christopher sent out this e-mail to him. Sometimes, I have to give Christopher credit for being sweet, even when it is essentially vicariously through his own ego.

Koyen Kills Support For Starving Artists!
Koyen Vs Delfino!

Dear All,

As per norm, Jeff Koyen chose to imitate a Clear Channel executive
rather than an honest, intelligent editor.

I don't submit many PICKS anymore because why bother when Jeff's
aethetic is to support the most obvious shit in town. (Hey, maybe he'll give a big
pick for the new Chuck Close exhibit! It's not enough in Koyen's mind that
Close's show will be written up in every conservative mainstream periodical
from the New Yorker and Newsweek to the Voice and Time OUt ---he thinks
NYPress has to jump on all bandwagons too. And yet AGAIN, he killed my
educational pick for one of the better performers in town, Jessica Delfino.
[I see a TON of shows and they're mostly shit.The kind of cliche-ridden
tripe Jeff loves.]


I said he supported middling indie rock and every single week since I
said this, he's printed PICKS for the most generic indie rock in town. (EX:
I've seen Les Savy Fav and they play faceless xerox-n-roll.)

That is of course when he's not busy promoting Dave Mathews and other
famous people.

Climbing the ladder is Jeff's main agenda, and if kissing ass to the
powers that be is what it takes, Koyen's tough enough for the job!




And exactly as I predicted about Jeff last year, he is afraid to debate
anyone, and afraid to challenge his shallow predjudice.

EX: Delfino challenged him to come to her special show at UCB on MOnday
at UCB, b/c she KNEW she could make him eat his words when he said she
isn't funny.

As always, Jeff choked.

Like all Right Wingers, his "opinions" are based on ignorance of the
facts. (EX: Vizzini slammed my music in NYPress WITHOUT HAVING EVER HEARD IT!
This shit should be illegal.)

PROCEEDS TO CHARITY---[no, the RNC doesn't count]---and it will be great
publicity for your terrible paper.

You weren't afraid to take Stedman on, so why chicken out with CXB??

Bring it on, homo!

I wonder if they will have a battle of words?

Monday, January 26, 2004

by Jessica Delfino

People wrote some reviews about my song on that website, I am pretty happy with the feedback I've gotten. I partially agree and I partially don't. These are some of the things people have said: (In the reviews, the first line is the title of the review and the rest is the body, at the end are any special awards they voted for my song to have.)

shame can't the lyrics over the guitar try another mix and maybe drop the
key or use a capo

I liked the lyrics
I liked the lyrics but I didn´t like the acoustic guitar (too simple).
The vocals are good and stand out in the music.
Extra Credit: Female Vocals, Lyrics

short... hmm deja-vu?
Waitasec, I've reviewed this before! Oh well here I go again.
Lead vocals are okay... I think the double-tracking is actually
detrimental in this case. Feel free to drop one of those tracks.
The acoustic guitar doesn't really sound much like an acoustic;
direct input by any chance? Lyrics... well, they're original.
Not many people sing about vaginas anyway. Heck, I obviously
remembered it, didn't I? I never forget a vagina.

Bleeding from my ears
This tune starts off with a real interesting Joni Mitchell feel.
After that it gets really tongue in cheek and, I guess that was
what you were going for. I am really really torn as to how to rate
this one, on one hand, I like the vocal inflection and the guitar
tones, yet, on the other hand, the lyrics are pretty foul. So, here we go......
Extra Credit: Female Vocals, Guitars

I don't like the effects on the vocals. I like clean girl vocals.
Whoa. What's with the lyrics. It doesn't feel like a funny song.
It's catchy though. I'll give you that. Strange song.

Girl power is played out, but at least this song had a little
meaning to it. It is really funn though
Extra Credit: Lyrics

period song..
the double tracked vocals at the beginning are great, wow crazy lyrics.
no holding back there. is that an acoustic guitar? sounds like an electric to me.
Extra Credit: Female Vocals
Special Award: Best Potential Movie Soundtrack

Nice Work!
This was a good song overall..I liked it. The lead vocals were sharp
and crisp, and out front where they should be in this type of tune.
The acoustic guitar was good...but I would have prefered a touch of
reverb on it (not an issue, just a personal preference). The lyrics
were a shocker in some aspects...not outrageous..but could lead to
some stations not playing it. But the msg was good and I understood it.
Overall I would say this is an excellent song.
Extra Credit: Female Vocals, Production, Lyrics

original lyrics
The production is a little weak on this track. I would like to hear these
vocals under some better sounding circumstances. They tend to fall flat at
different points throughout the song. The acoustic guitar doesn't sound as
full as i like either, but god damn I love the lyrics to this track... classic.
When i get done this review i'm going to check this artist out and see what else
you have up your sleeve...
Extra Credit: Lyrics

These are the truest lyrics I've heard yet! :)
Lead Vocals: She has a great voice, no doubt. I'm just not a fan of doubling up..
Acoustic Guitar: Talented
Lyrics: HAHAAH.. I love em. And it's all TRUE!!!!

YOU CAN HEAR the MP3 of SUDDEN CHANGE by going to my HEAR MY SONGS link or going to and searching for it under "Jessica Delfino."


My one woman show is next Monday, Feb 2nd at UCB Theater. It is my first solo show, I think, no, I guess my second if you count the one I did at CBGB's, but CBGB's was all music - this show is going to be a conglomeration of music, sketches, jokes, video and more, including free wine for all audience members. The show is a half-hour long and is paired up with another person's half-hour show (I'm not sure who that other person will be but I'm sure it will be good) making the total running time one hour. The show begins at 9:30 PM and so you'll be home by 11 pm. Not so bad. My show is on the SPANK! showcase, which is an event every Monday which reviews new (often solo) shows in consideration for a longer run at the theater, so let's hope I do good. (Is that how it's supposed to be written? Or is it do well? Kyle? Where are you to curse me out when I need you?) So, in closing, come to the show. It's $5 but I've tried to compensate for that by purchasing wine for the audience to drink and I'm putting a lot of work into this show and it will be $5 worth of entertainment, for sure. (Take that however you would like to.) RSVP for tickets at: 212-399-9176 (RSVP for the Spank Show on Mon, Feb 2nd at 9:30). UCB's website is UCB Theater is at 307 W. 26th Street below Gristede's. (Near the corner of 8th Avenue.) If you've never been to UCB, this is a good time to go check it out. It's a great theater that puts on a lot of funny, (really funny, not just shitty funny) sketch shows and houses improv comedy troupes that are actually very talented and subversive (and not shitty.) The Upright Citizen's Brigade used to have a tv show, and when the show got cancelled they got their own theater. Now, Amy Pohler (of Upright Citizen's Brigade) is working on Saturday Night Live (along with Horatio Sans who is also from Saturday Night Live.) Sometimes, they come back to the theater every Sunday night (along with other very funny better-known comedic alumni of UCB and other theaters) to put on a show called "ASSSCAT" which is an improv show based on the monologues of a funny (sometimes even famous) person. All their shows are cheap and most of them are very good. So, even if you can't see my one woman show, I do recommend you go there at some point to see something, but here is a perfect opportunity for you to kill two birds and all that stuff.

Friday, January 23, 2004

(a reality tv show where stand-up comics wait in a line outdoors when it's 5 degrees outside and the last one to drop dead wins)
by Jessica Delfino

I went to the Last Comic Standing auditions yesterday at the Comic Strip in NYC. I live just six blocks away from the Comic Strip so I thought it was going to be an easy cattle call. The audition started at 10 am, so I assumed if I got there by 6 or 6:30, I'd be first in line. I stayed up all night and colored, listening to music and eating snack-sized new Kit-Kat yummy mint candy bars. (They taste sort of like Andes candies but crunchy.) Around 5 am, I got myself up and together and was out of the door by 6:30 am. I walked slowly thinking I had time to kill. As I got closer to the 'strip', I noticed the line had already started. "Shit," I thought and sped up the pace. As I approached the line, I saw it stretched down to 82nd St and around the corner, spilling down the sidewalk. "Fuck," I said aloud. I got there in time to be number 99.

I was irritated when I did the math, figuring I'd be seen around 3 pm. It was very cold outside and I couldn't even imagine standing out there for 8 more hours. The people were pretty nice, though. They came out around 9 am and handed out application forms, gave us number slips with an estimated time on them and sent us on our way. They actually made us leave and come back half hour before our time. I haven't ever seen that before in the open call process. How advanced!

I went home and fell into a weird slumber. Every dream I had was interrupted by a phone call - first my landlord, then, Liz Laufer to see what she'd missed at the open call, then my boyfriend to check in on me, then some lady who had the wrong number, then some other lady who worked for a bill collecting company, then my friend Joanne. When Joanne called, I was so out of it I asked her 4 times what her name was. I slurred my words and couldn't properly speak. She said she was worried about me. I dragged my ass up and out of bed and splashed water in my face. I was so tired, but I wanted to go back to the audition for my time slot at 4 pm to find out if I was one of the funniest people in America or not.

I did end up getting myself together. It was cold out and I knew it was going to be, so I wore two hats, two pairs of gloves, two pairs of pants, two jackets, a scarf and two pairs of socks. One of my hats was also a face covering mask which I heard are illegal in NY but it's so cold my line of thinking is, at least if I get arrested I will get to be warm. I walked quickly back up to the Strip and they made us wait outside in small groups (my group being the 4 pm group.) I had my guitar strapped to my back with a sign safety pinned to the guitar case advertising my one woman show at UCB Theater with all the details (Feb 2nd at 9:30 PM) so that when the TV crews got there, my sign might be put up on live tv. I am so smart sometimes.

Finally, they let the 4 pm group in. Kurt's ex-girlfriend (I think her name is Kristen) works at the Strip, so she and I interact regularly. It's kind of annoying, especially because Kurt told me once on an angry phone message that he fucks her in the ass every night and she loves it (yeah, sure) and so now when I see her, all I can think of is him clambering around in her bunghole and how sorry I feel for her. She is always cordial to me, so I can't even hate her, and I certainly don't envy her, and anyway, they seem to be happy, so whatevereverever. As we filed into the joint, Kristen took my photo with a polaroid and stapled it to my application. She does have a slight air of something I think she tries to hold over me, like, "I'm fucking your ex-boyfriend and I'm sort of in a slight position of power over you because I work at the Comic Strip and you don't" kind of a thing, but I always ignore it because I'm prettier and funnier than her and probably smarter, too. But she's nice-ish to me in her own way, so, like I said, I can't even properly harbor hatred towards her the way that exes should.

We had to wait around for a few minutes and during that time, I made friends with one of the show's people. He was cute and we joked around for a few minutes while I waited to go try to be the funniest person in America. He kind of looked like David Blaine. I invited him to my one person show. I hand made all the invitations (300 by hand) and I'm hoping people will think they are so cute that they will come to the show. My line of thinking can be somewhat deranged or crooked sometimes, but I like to think one day I'll think of a great idea that will make me a gazillion bucks.

Finally, finally our group got called to go in and audition. I was not nervous at all because I know I'm not the funniest person in America and I was sort of hoping I didn't win because I am afraid to fly and I had plans that evening that I'd have to cancel if I had to come back for the second evening audition and I didn't really want to cancel those plans. As I stood in line waiting to go in, the producer lady interviewed me. I was super delirious from lack of sleep and a leftover painkiller buzz and I have never been unfunnier when it sort of probably mattered in all my life. I'm sure interviewing me was like listening to television static and I even bored myself. I got back into line and the guy two people in front of me was just coming out of his audition. He made it to the second evening audition and everyone was happy and patted him on the back. I think he was gay. I bet he was funny, he looked funny and gay people are usually pretty funny.

I went in and the moment I stepped into the room, every thing inside of me that was funny took a flying fuck out the window and I was left with nothing but my stupid guitar. The guys said, "Start with where you're from and your name," which I did, and it went downhill from there. I told the joke about me never getting to kiss the kid I wanted to kiss during the game spin the bottle (I'd always end up having to kiss my best friend's dad instead which was weird....) That joke got a small chuckle and then I played "No More War" and they sort of laughed but not really, then the two gay guys made jokes to eachother about licking pussy and the people who were sitting around watching the auditions laughed a lot about that, then I left feeling like a dumb dumb because I didn't really get why that was so funny, until later someone told me the auditioner guys were both gay.

As I came out, the producer lady wanted to interview me again and so I got interviewed again. (I should really work on making a point to remember people's names, and I should start with being able to remember semi-important industry related people's names.) She asked me how it went and I had to say on videotape (for all of eternity to remember me by) that I sucked, and that was humbling. Then, she said, "Will you do it again next year?" and I made some lame joke about how next year I'll probably be really busy with tour dates and managing all the money I'll be making and that they'll probably have to come to me...ha, ha, ha, I AM funny.

As I left, I imagined that Kurt's girlfriend was secretly happy that I didn't get picked, even though she didn't know yet, probably, or maybe she did. She was wearing a headset. She probably just assumed that I wouldn't get picked because Kurt has surely told her awful stories about me, certainly including stories about how unfunny I am, what a terrible person and lover I must have been, how I was a slutty go-go dancer, how I was a rotten girlfriend, and so on and so on. (He's really good at making his current girlfriends feel secure, he did it with me and the ex before me. He shit talked her so badly I couldn't even be jealous - I just pitied her terrificly instead. I can't hate him for that, I understand his line of thinking. It makes his life a lot easier probably if his current ladyfriend only feels sympathy for his current ex.) Maybe I could blame not getting picked as Ms. Funny American on any negative energy she might have directed subliminally towards me if I was a little bit more wiccan or something.

I went outside and it was snowing. I saw some comic friends who were out there waiting to go in and audition. We sang some songs that I played on my guitar and some guy came out of the place next door and asked me if I wanted to play there on Friday night for tips. I gave him my card. A female comic, Sharon, and I made up a funny dance to some songs and Bert Paseo's pseudo-twin who's name I always forget egged us on and sang along. I thought about how I'd be able to go see the show I had planned to see - a dance theater piece called dAMNATION rOAD by Miguel Gutierrez at The Kitchen. And thank goodness I didn't get picked, because dAMNATION rOAD was supposed to be a really good show.

Saturday, January 17, 2004

HOW I BECAME A GO-GO DANCER and related anecdotes
by Jessica Delfino

Today, I'm going to tell the story of how I became a go-go dancer.

This might get me in a little bit of trouble and it might make people look differently at me, but I don't care. I spent 4 years of my life dancing and it's kind of a big part of what made me the way I am. I learned so much about people as a dancer - I'd dare say I learned more dancing than I did in college, the only difference is, they paid me (to learn!)

I don't write or talk much about my go-go dancing days because, well, I'll admit it - people think that being a go-go dancer is cheap, and dancers are automatically assumed to be whores, but the fact is, most dancers are single mothers, drug addicts, abused women and college kids with the occasional foreigner thrown in. I feel like when people find out I used to dance it makes them think bad things about me and that they are more likely to discount anything I say or write or make, that it becomes somehow less valid to people, and quite honestly, I've got enough invalidation going on amongst my peers and enemies. Do I really need more?

But shit, fuck, I say. I haven't really talked that much about it to too many people, but I have told a lot of people I did dance. When I tell them, without fail, I get one of three specific reactions.

1. Cool girls (who might have been dancers themselves if only their parents were a little bit less something non-specific) and people who are interested in bizarre life experiences, (drug addicts, pot smokers, artists usually fall into this category) say, "Wow, neat! What was that like?"

2. Men get all gross on me and the way they look at me changes. I can notice it a million miles away. Sometimes their eyes shift, or they get fidgety or awkward, but even if they're good at disguising it and try to pull the, "Wow, cool, what was it like?" line, I can tell if they really are interested in the experience or if they are deviantly into it.

3. People get weirded out by it and ask me questions that make me feel like I am bad and dirty. They say things like, "Oh ---" followed by silence, and then they either try to change the subject or go to the bathroom and never return. Or they ask, "What was it like?" but I can hear the invisible translation, which is, "So, are you a slut?"

None of these reactions, by the way, is wrong. How are you supposed to react when someone tells you they used to go-go dance? I like the first reaction best because go-go dancing is so fun to talk about. As dark and seedy as it was, there were so many funny things about it and it was lots of fun, not to mention I made buttless underwear loads of cash in small amounts of time and was so popular because my teeth are kind of straight. I got sick of creeping people out by telling them I danced, hoping to get reaction number one and accidentally stumbling upon reactions number two and three, so I tucked it under the rug for awhile. Every once in a while someone will say, "I heard you used to dance," and then I will talk about it a little bit. Dancing has such a dark, gross stigma attached to it, really just a step above being a porn star or something and I guess it rightfully should. You should have seen some of the shitholes I worked in. But I feel like it could be done right, it could be okay, artful, something fun-ish to watch if not for all the really seedy shit that unfortunately comes along with seedy bars. However, I think the shit would come with the bar, no matter there were half naked girls dancing or not. But anyway....

Let me first explain what go-go dancing is, or what I did, anyway - Go-go dancing is like what they used to do on Laugh In or the 60's liberation dance or something like that. I was always dressed in a top that looked like a bikini with glitter (boobies covered) and a g-string thong (that's string up the butt underwear, butt not covered) and footed with six inch spike heels (the kind with see through Plexiglas soles and a metal rod going through the heel.) This outfit is not sexy, by the way. I have tried it on a few times since the old dancing days and I think I look like a gargantuan clown, almost medieval, like a Heavy Metal amazon woman. All I'm missing is a robot with a metallic tentacle penis who is lifting me up in its' arms while three suns set amidst a green and purple sky. I would get on stage and basically strut around (with the use of a pole, my only prop, my only friend) to jukebox hits such as Creed, Guns and Roses, Metallica and the Eagles. I know pole tricks because the other girls taught them to me. We would practice at night after the bar closed. Sometimes we'd also go to the park at dusk and practice on the playground. I can spin around the pole very gracefully (is that sexy???) and flip on my hands up against a wall and then spread my legs down towards the floor (again, sexy???) and maybe I could shimmy up a pole and flip upside down on that, too - need I use parenthesis? What's so sexy about a girl being upside down? It seemed to be a staple on the go-go circuit. Old stand-by tricks.

I guess I'll just tell the story of how I started dancing and you can make up your own opinions.

When I was 19, I lived in Maine with my boyfriend at the time, Alex Raye. Alex was super cute and sweet - he was a musician and artist who had long blonde hair and he was funny and just terrific. Living in Maine is really shitty because there are no jobs that don't suck and the weather is unbearably cold in the winter. There's nothing to do there but drugs and fuck, so that's what we did. I was going to school at the University of Maine for Fine Art and Alex and I had been dating for going on 2 years. I was starting to feel really bored and directionless. One day, I got a call from my father who I'd never really known. His name is Mark and he lives in California. I met him when I was 4 and again when I was 12. He supposedly was violent and abusive to my mom and did lots of speed. I don't know if any of it is true or how much truth there is to it, but I wanted to really get to meet him as an adult, so when he offered to let me move to California and live with him, I couldn't say no. I told Alex that I was going to move to LA to live with my dad and he was less than happy, but I was ready to get the hell out of Maine.

I talked Alex into going to school at the Art Institute of Denver where his cousin, Tim was already enrolled. I thought it would be good for him to bust out of Maine, too. So, together we packed up all his shit in a U-Haul trailer (I sold most of my belongings at a flea market all summer long to save up the money to go and so I could travel light) and we hitched it to his VW Jetta and drove to LA along with a friend, Matt Trescott and my cat, Spaz. He dropped me off at my dad's place and split. We didn't make any arrangements to keep dating or anything like that, easier not to, we agreed.

While in LA, I met this freaky rich couple at a Halloween party. The girl was 28 when I was 19 and her boyfriend was like 50. They invited me to come over all the time and would try to get me to do three ways with them. I was really scared and small town girl so I didn't know what to do with this kind of attention. They took me to a go-go bar one night and I was petrified. The guy bought me a lap dance from this black girl MUCH to my chagrin. I tried to protest, but he kept saying, the poor girl, just take the dance, she needs the money. My teeth chattered the whole time she danced in front of and on me, and I counted the seconds until it was over. I made them take me home immediately afterwards. When I got home, my dad screamed at me for being so stupid. He said, "Didn't you know that they want to fuck you? You are so naive!" My dad and I didn't have any kind of relationship to begin with so I figured we might as well sort of be friends to start with, but he wanted to jump right into being a dad and that didn't sit right with me since I felt if he'd wanted to be a dad so badly, he should have tried jumping in during the formulative years when I might have benefited from a screaming maniac father figure. It wasn't 6 months before I had bought myself a shitty car and driven myself back east to live with my mom in NJ, Spaz in tow.

On the way home, I stopped and visited Alex.

Christmas was coming up and I wanted to be near familiar familial surroundings. I wanted to see snow and get presents and see my mom beat up one of her siblings in the traditional Rizzo family holiday celebration spectaculars that went down like clockwork on a yearly basis. Something about snow and booze made everything fall onto the ears like fighting words. Though it sounds rough or sad, it was actually pretty entertaining in hindsight and I'd do anything to be able to see my mom splash a cup of coffee in my aunt's face just one more time. And I really do love my aunt. Christmas just isn't the same without the cops.

My mom had talked me through going to California and had been against it since the beginning. She said, "Don't do it, I left Mark Delfino for a good reason." But you can't tell a kid that. She might as well have bought me a ticket with those words written on the back. The whole time, I'd call her crying, asking her why my dad was so insane? She said, "Just come back to the East coast and you can live with me in NJ. You can get a job here and I'll buy you a few college courses for Christmas." Wanting some kind of stability in my life, I agreed and was there in 5 days. The ride was so fun. I befriended a bunch of truckers via my Citizen's Band radio (a gift from my LA boyfriend Brian Neustein who also gave me a small gun and had hallowed out a secret compartment in the back rest of the driver's seat of my car for me to hide it in. He later came to NJ to visit me and get his gun back and was arrested at JFK when he tried to board a plane with it in his pocket. What an idiot. Can I pick 'em or what? Who did he think he was, Jon Bon Jovi?)

I rolled into NJ on Christmas Eve, tired and relieved to be back in warm, fuzzy familiar dysfunction instead of the strange, lukewarm untested brand of family calamity my dad had offered up. Christmas came and went, and my mom told me that she wouldn't be able to buy me college classes because money was tight. She was living in Manasquan, NJ at the time (with my three youngest sisters also) and they all lived with her control freak boyfriend named Jim who would yell a lot.
My mom worked full-time then for the 2 River Times, a newspaper owned by Geraldo Rivera and his sister in Redbank, NJ. She depended on me to baby-sit my youngest sibs while she tried to bring home some bacon. Jim worked too, but I forget what he did. He wasn't that interesting.

I told my mom I wanted to get a job. She said, "You can only get a job if it doesn't interfere with you babysitting." I said, "But I don't want to babysit." She said, "But I need you." I said, "But can't you find a someone else who likes babysitting?" She didn't want to hire anyone else because she was afraid someone was going to cook her kids or something or steal them and so I kept the 'job', which, by the way, didn't pay. I had to figure out something or else I was going to go crazy. So, here I was in NJ. I couldn't get a job and I wasn't in school. I felt like I was going to be a fat toothless loser in a matter of months if I didn't do something drastic. I looked in the papers and saw the ad in the classifieds one day.

Be a professional go-go dancer! Make lots of cash! No experience necessary. Hours 9 PM - 2 AM.

It was perfect, because my mom generally worked from about 9 AM to 8 PM. I called and set up an interview, then I told her when she got home that I was going to be starting a new job as a bartender that night. I left for my 'interview'. The lady I spoke to had told me to bring some sexy outfits with me. I had nothing sexy, I was a 19 year old from Maine. I had the fashion sense of an idiot and the sense of sexy of a 19 year old from Maine. I collected a few pairs of underwear that didn't have period stains in them and a padded bra I'd bought once for a wedding. (???) I also had a pair of block heel white patent shoes which were awful, but they were the closest thing I had to sexy. I also had an ugly teddy that I don't even know what I was doing with, I think my ex-beau Steve had bought it for me when I was like, 12. I put it all into a plastic bag and went to the lady's apartment where she'd asked me to meet her. When I got there, I wasn't ready for what I saw. She was 300 lbs and breathed in more cigarette smoke than oxygen. Her apartment smelled like 15 cats had taken turns shitting into an ashtray. In a raspy voice she explained the rules. "You gotta buy a pager. I call you, then you call me back and go where I tell you to go. The shifts pay $20 plus tips. You give me $10 of your shift pay and keep your tips. No fucking. You start tonight."

She gave me directions of some shwag hole called "Jim's Paradise" or something somewhere in South Jersey. I drove there shaking the whole way. "Can I really do this?" I thought to myself. I got there and the place was crowded with slack-jawed firemen and a few dorks from Philadelphia out for a night of fun! The girls seemed prettier to me than I was to myself, and I felt intimidated by them all. I almost walked out. "I don't have to do this," I told myself. Somehow, my feet led me into the dressing room. I sat down for a long time with my plastic bag of ratty underwear in my lap. Finally, a girl came back to get me. She could see I was nervous and tried to make me feel better. "It'll be fun," she said. "You'll see." I went out and danced around for awhile, but I couldn't regular dance (still can't) much less sexy dance. Some fat bald guy yelled for me to get on a stairmaster. I was so shaken I almost started crying on stage. I had to take some deep breaths and muster back the tears. I was very sensitive back then. I still am, but I can hide it better now. I just ignored the fat jerk as best I could and tried to strut sexily around on stage, but really just ended up stumbling awkwardly. After dancing for two songs, I'd have to go down to the bar and talk to the guys. I'd hold my hand out for tips because I was too nervous to pull the side elastic of my underwear out or squeeze my boobies together to form a little money pocket the way the other girls were doing. I didn't know what to say to these creeps. Most of them seemed pretty nice, but shady, too. I just told them I was new, because I didn't know what else to say. They seemed very excited by that and were eager to celebrate this landmark event in my life with me by giving me a dollar.

At the end of the night, I counted up my tips. I couldn't believe it, so I counted again. I'd started dancing at about 9:45. It was about 2 am and I'd made close to $300. I had never been so happy in my life. I'd never made that much money doing anything ever. I drove home shaking and elated and couldn't wait to do it again the next night.

The next night the lady sent me to Trenton to dance at a scum shaft on the edge of town. I can't even remember the name of the place. A lady was in charge of that place. She had arthritic fingers. I told her I was new. She said, "Sure you are." The dressing room was a bathroom the size of a phone booth (remember those?) which five girls had to change in. One girl wore lots of make-up and everyone talked shit about her. One of the other dancers told me that once while the overly made-up girl was dancing on stage, her tampon had fallen out. She said in a thick Puerto Rican accent, "Yo, she stuck her finger up her asshole and shit on the stage. I swear to Christ on the holy bible." The Puerto Rican girl took me under her wing a little. She said, "Hey. You gotta look sexy if you want to get tips. Do this." She turned her head upside down and shook out her long, luscious hair. When she rose back up, she puckered her lips out, sucked her cheeks in and squinted her eyes. "Do this," she said. I felt like I was in a Sweet Valley High novel and I did it because I liked the idea of someone trying to help me look pretty.

That night I made something close to $250. My 'career' had been born.

My mother didn't seem to know that I was dancing, or if she did, she didn't let on. There's no way she didn't know though, an Italian big-mouth bad-ass mother - if she'd known, she couldn't have kept her mouth shut about it, no way, unless someone cut her tongue out. So, I worked and worked. Every night at 9 I'd go to the various dive bars that my den mom would send me to. At 2 am, I'd race home and hide my money. I devised a plan - I'd save up enough money so that I could move out, get an apartment in Philadephia and go to art school. I'd been talking to Alex and he was missing me a lot. He also missed the East Coast and was thinking about coming back. I told him to transfer to the Art Institute of Philadelphia and live with me near there. He said he would. So now that I had something to work towards, I just busted ass every night. I never did any kind of prostitution and I NEVER drank or used drugs, and I got offered drinks and drugs ALL THE TIME. One girl said to me, "You do coke?" The question itself freaked me out. "No," I said. "Well, you will," she said, non-chalantly dumping the white contents of a folded piece of paper onto a dirty counterspace. "Everyone here does." I got so pissed at her for just assuming I was going to follow the trailer whore pathway that unfortunately had been laid out for her like a map, so I said, "Well, I won't." She turned to me and stared at me for a long, awkward time. "I promise you, you will. If you aren't lying already." I stared back at her. "I promise you, I won't."

The weeks and months flew by and I don't know how this happened, but one day while my mom was at work I counted all my money. I had managed to save up nearly $10,000 in ones, tens and twenties, fifties and hundies. A dancer told me, "Don't put your money in the bank, then you won't have to pay taxes." So I'd kept it in my dresser. It filled up almost a whole drawer. My mom came home that night and was acting really weird. "I called the place you 'bartend' at today," she said. I knew what was coming. "Yeah?" I should have never given her the number. She had yelled at me though about not knowing where I was and so to blow her off I gave her the number of one of the go-go bars telling her I really couldn't take personal calls unless it was an emergency, then I just crossed my fingers and prayed that she wouldn't ever have to call. "So, you're a go-go dancer, huh?" My stomach exploded. "No," I lied. When my mom and I get along, we really get along. And when we don't, we bleed. Within a matter of minutes, hair and tears were everywhere. My mom kicked me out, screaming, "How would you feel if I did that? What would you think if I go-go danced?" It almost seemed like it was supposed to be a rhetorical question, but part of me at the time, and maybe even still today thinks that she was a little bit jealous. I made more money in four hours than she did in a week. I know she probably ached for me in a maternal way, also, and wished she could impart some knowledge into my eternally stubborn brain, but she was 37 at the time, and still hot. I hope that if she ever reads this, she forgives me for typing what I truly do believe, and that is that I bet, if only for a fleeting moment, the job option crossed her mind.


Jump to six months later. I had convinced my friend Lisa to move to NJ with me. She came down and we looked for an apartment together. The plan was, she, Alex, Alex's cousin Tim, Tim's girlfriend Erin and I were all going to try to find a place together. Lisa and I looked around and we found a house that was so beautiful we had to take it, even though it was in South Jersey. It was a three bedroom house with two floors, a huge living room and kitchen and garage and yard and deck and sliding glass doors and mirrored walls, three bathrooms, the works. It was only $800 per month - not so bad considering the rent I pay for a studio in NYC. Everyone came and moved in and Tim, Alex and I got enrolled in school at AIPH. Meanwhile, Lisa and Erin got jobs working at various restaurants together while Erin went to nursing school. I was starting to run low on money and decided to start dancing again. I looked through the classified ads and found a job at a bar called "Billy's Beef and Go-Go." I didnt' know it at the time, but age 23 would meet me at Billy's.

It was a GREAT job. If I worked a lunch, 12 to 4, I made a hundred dollars, guaranteed. If I worked a night shift, 4-8, I'd make $200. If I worked 8-12, $300. The most I ever made, one night I worked a double, 4-12 and I made $700. Not too fucking shabby for a 20 year old. Dancing at Billy's was so easy because at lunch there was only one dancer. I would dance three songs and then walk around to the guys and get my tips. In between sets, I'd read Milan Kundera in the dressing room. By then, I felt comfortable enough to pull out my underwear to collect a tip or make a little money holder out of my boobs. I never blew anyone, I never jerked anyone off, I never fucked anyone for tips. I'm sure it happens, but I never saw it happen with my own eyes.

Billy would fire me every few weeks because he said someone told him I was doing drugs. I'd protest, promising - and meaning it - that I wasn't doing drugs. I still to this day have never tried cocaine, though I've done acid a few hundred times. But I wasn't tripping while I was dancing, though I should have been, it would have probably been kind of fun. At the time I didn't smoke pot or drink on the job, ever, and rarely when I wasn't working. It freaked me out too much. Still, Billy would fire me, then I would call him in a few weeks and ask him to let me come back, or he'd call me if someone called out and say I could have my job back.

In between getting fired and re-hired from Billy's, I danced at a place in Philadephia called "Delilah's Den." It was supposed to be a fancy go-go bar, the kind they call, "Gentlemen's Clubs." Gentlemen, my ass. Those places are much more rowdy and gross than any of the shitty dive holes I danced in around New Jersey. Those guys are raunchy and nasty and will try anything to get you to give them a blow job or touch their dirty dicks. It was made very clear to me the first day that I better not get caught blowing anyone. I know that many of you just assume I must be a slut, but I really like to date one guy at a time, for a long time. I just don't like to fuck around. I'm scared of AIDS and stuff, I'm kind of a pussy. Anyway, the girl, whose name was Trixie, a "Jersey" girl with a raspy cigarette voice and way too much make up, super-skinny in a gross way with really awful fake boobs (they all had fake boobs there - it was a topless joint; many of their breasts were slanty eyed or misshapen, sadly, though they'd paid a small fortune for their operation) said to me, "You better not try to suck anyone off in the Champagne room." The Champagne room was a private room in the back where you were alone with a guy for an hour. He paid $100 for the privilege and had to buy a bottle of champagne also, at $50 a pop. I promised I wouldn't. "I mean it, because last week, Divine, she got caught blowing someone and we beat her ass good, didn't we, Vixen?" Vixen was putting on lipstick with a shovel. "Yeah, we smashed that bitch UP!" A shyer, sweeter girl, still with fake boobs whose name was "Apples" leaned over to me and said, "They break your shit, they rip up your clothes, they take one of all your shoes. It isn't worth it." How did she know, I wondered? "Why do they care so much?" I asked. Trixie overheard me and got up in my face. "Because if you suck someone off, they'll expect everyone to suck them off, and I don't want to have to suck anyone's dick, cause I'm married," she said, holding up a finger with nails like razor clams which showcased a diamond the size of a small planet. "So do me a favor and don't be a little whore," she said. "Noted," I replied. I didn't even think she wanted to hear me rebut. She just wanted to exert her authority. Authority noted.

I didn't last at Delilah's more than a week, and it wasn't because I didn't like dancing topless, though I didn't, (I made more money dancing not topless at Billy's though all the girls at Delilah's swore that you didn't make more money dancing topped) and it wasn't because working the required 9 hour shifts there wearing mandatory 6 inch heels was probably legally breaking the law, though I'm sure it was and I hated it, and it wasn't because I blew someone in the champagne room and got beat up, though I didn't, and it wasn't because I had to pay every single person there (DJ, coat check, house mom, den mom, make-up lady, costume lady, etc.) a $10 tip "If I knew what was good for me," according to Trixie, and after 9 hours had usually only made about $100, before tips. It was because one day I got sick of wearing a gown, which is what you had to wear at a fancy place like that. I hated wearing a gown. It got caught up in my feet as I was coming down the spiral staircase (what the fuck did they need a spiral staircase for???) and almost sent me down the stairs on several occasions. Plus, where the hell was I going to wear a gown after I was done working there? I'd already bought three because you had to change after every dance you did, and in a fancy set up like Delilah's, you only danced once an hour, so I'd just rotate my gowns every three hours. One day, I came down the spiral stairs in a pair of short shorts and a tank top with bare feet. The manager told the house mom to send me home at the end of my shift and tell me I was not welcome back. Thank God.

Also, one of the worst things that ever happened to me happened while I was dancing at Delilah's. This is the kind of thing that gives dancers a bad name and will make you all think I'm a slut, but I'm going to tell you anyway. One time during a lap dance, which the men paid $20 each for, this guy wanted more than a lap dance. He kept trying to get me to do more, touch him, let him touch me, etc. I kept saying no, citing the reason being not that I didn't want his dirty hands all over me, which was the truth, but that if I 'broke the rules' which we both knew involved no touching, the other girls would beat me up and break my things. He laughed. "Are you kidding? All these girls break the rules. They do whatever I want them to do." So. "Why don't you ask them to do it, then?" I said. "Because I like you," he said. I was flattered (yeah, right - it's at times like this when I wish I owned a filter for translating sarcasm over the computer [which I will invent sometime in the year 2035]). I ignored him and just begged the cd to play faster so the song would be over and I could get my $20. I turned around and shook my ass in the guys face and he stuck his finger right into my crotch, hard. It was like skeeball, he had one chance probably to get it right in, if the timing was perfect and all the stars were aligned, and he hit the bulls eye. It hurt and grossed me out and I was really freaked out, so I just ran off and didn't even get paid for the lapdance. Later that day, I got fired.

The worst thing to happen to me at Billy's was not so bad in comparison - One day I was getting tips and this drunk guy ripped my top off. I punched him in the stomach and grabbed one side of my top, trying to wrestle it away from him. A bouncer came and broke us up and kicked him out. It sucked, but it was no finger in the pussy trick. Sorry, I wish I had more awful gross stories to tell you, but there really weren't any. I pretty much just stayed to myself. In between sets, I'd read books in the dressing room and smoke cigarettes. I didn't drink or use drugs or really talk to anyone because all the girls were much different than me, and they actually separated themselves from me on their own. They were all pretty stereo-typical. They all had nice bodies, skinny, but covered with tattoos. They all had fake breasts except for one or two others and myself. They all wore too much make-up and used too much hairspray and smoked too many cigarettes and drank too much booze. They all had kids. They all had boyfriends who were addicted to drugs or locked up in jail. They all had nice houses and nice cars to make dancing seem worth it. They all had pocked skin and ugly faces and bad teeth. One night a local told me, "You are the hottest girl at Billy's, you know that?" I said, "I'm not trying to be vain, but I know."

So, I pretty much danced at Billy's on and off, fairly steadily until I met Kurt. He was a Jehovah's Witness when I met him and he wasn't really supposed to be dating anyone, but especially not a dancing whore slut. He told him mom that he would quit being a Jehovah's Witness if she didn't like him dating me, and she told him she'd quit paying for him to go to college and stop talking to him if he stopped being a witness. I was almost done with school anyway and I promised myself that I wasn't going to dance anymore once I got my degree, which, by the way was funded one half by the government and one half by my ass. I told Kurt that if it made things easier for him, I'd quit dancing, and I did. A few months later, I graduated from college and got a job as an Art Director at a dot-com where I made a good starting salary for someone right out of college, about $500 a week - half as much as I made when I was go-go dancing.

FINALLY - I have found a server which I can link to my site so that everyone can hear my songs again. So far, I've only put one up and it will take a day to activate the link and make it usable, so check it now and again until it is working. The website is called Garage Band ( and it is the same site which hosts the songs I reviewed, so it should be interesting to see what people write about me! I can't wait. I bet I'm gonna get a lot of shit talkers who want to get me back for giving them honest reviews of their crappy music. The song I've put up is a newish one called "Sudden Change" and it is on the new CD I made. If you haven't heard it, and even if you have, please listen to it and give me feedback, y'all!

It's a lovely song about a dark topic in my favorite genre - dirty folk rock. The link to my band page is below:

"Sudden Change" is over on the right somewhere. Also, here is a direct link to the song download page.

If you like it, please send the link to friends, even just one or two, and tell 'em it's a gift from me. Also, someone with Kazaa, put it on Kazaa, and also feel free to put it up anywhere else you want to or download it and save it for posterity's sake.

Love and hugs and kisses and vaginas,


Friday, January 16, 2004

Time To Live, Time To Die

Hey Everyone -

Have you heard that we are going to get nuked on Feb 2nd, 2004? I read it on a trustworthy site - my friend David Danzig's blog, y'all!

Check it out - - the entry of Monday, Jan 5th. Click here to see what I'm talking about.

Strangely, the American media is not covering it nor are other major media sources. I guess it must be a secret, so don't tell no one!!!

Also, interestingly, my one woman show is slated for the day of the bombing. Feb 2nd, y'all, so let's all burn together at UCB theater!!! See you there, bring marshmellows.
What Happened Last Night at Barramundi
by Jessica Delfino

I went to my friend Milton's 21st birthday party last night, but had to leave early when excitement broke out - my current beau Christopher Brodeur got hit in the head with something made of glass by uninteresting from afar and probably from anear as well, Nick Zedd.

The bottle cut Christopher's head open and I had to take him to the hospital. (My friend Adira gave us a ride to the hospital which was very sweet of her. She's super nice.) Christopher ended up getting five staples across his gaping headwound.

Of course everyone is wondering, well, what did he do? He must have done something to deserve it! I didn't actually see the good times occur, but I was in the next room and heard it all. Milton (the birthday boy) and Nick were having a little scuffle. Christopher called out, (he loves to do that) "I wanna see them fight! You're both pussy faggots!" or something along those lines. Nick grabbed something made of glass and bounced it off Christopher's head. (Maybe he really is a faggot.) Christopher said, "I was only joking!" The bartender and others broke up the fight and Raven and I investigated Christopher's head and found the back to be split open about two inches vertically and gushing blood. I took him immediately to the hospital. As we were leaving, Nick was standing on the sidewalk yelling, "Hey Brodeur! You like that? (or something like that) Bleed, Brodeur!" What a fucking lame ass. I yelled back that he had overreacted and called him a pussy and together, Christopher and I stumbled down the street to a frigid stoop where I could try to further examine his bleeding head.

Rev Jen called my cellphone while we were at the hospital to check in on Christopher (I guess she felt obligated as Nick's current girlfriend and Christopher's current ex-girlfriend) and again this morning and raised a good point on Christopher's answering machine and that was that he should press charges on Nick Zedd which I tried to get him to do all night last night and into the morning today, but I can understand why he won't, because I got attacked by a maniac while driving my car in mid-town Manhattan and I didn't press charges. It's more of a pain in the ass than anything and doesn't really solve anything most of the time. Plus, Nick will probably always be a violent dick bag, no matter he gets a ticket or not. I don't even know Nick, but I do know that what an idiot.

Also, I hope that Reverend Jen breaks up with him - not to serve him right or anything, but (I would like to say that I really do like Reverend Jen and I hope if she reads the above entry she understands my bad mouthing of her beau from one protective female to another [protective?] female) it makes me feel bad that she is involved with a person whose thought process is seemingly very limited (maybe only under the influence of alcohol and/or?) and whose actions tend toward violent instead of intelligent. Reverend Jen herself is a very intelligent, creative, talented and smart person from all accounts and from what I can see, and I am not sure if she knows this or not, (she must) but she is a role model for many women who come through Collective Unconscious and it is not okay to promote dating violent jerks by dating one. However, I don't know the details or any aspects whatsoever surrounding their relationship so I guess the old walk a mile in some shoes proverb applies to me here. But honestly, shoes or not, I hope that she is not being hurt by him.

So, in closing, Christopher is fine, he has a few staples in his head and everything is okay for now. Unfortunately, this kind of thing seems to happen to Christopher a lot, and it probably won't be the last time a sensitive but violent art fag tries to attack him.

PS. I have bad mouthed Nick a lot in this entry, and it is sort of unfair because I really don't know Nick Zedd, but of the work of his I have seen, I think it is not good, nor is he particularly handsome or interesting seeming from afar (as I mentioned before) and I hope he has something else good about him, like he's super sweet? or intelligent and creative to be dating someone so gentle and special as Reverend Jen.
Politics For The Politically Retarded
by Jessica Delfino

The super handsome and talented Christopher X. Brodeur has released his first book under the publishing company, Extreme NY. His book is entitled, "Perverted Little Creep" and all biases aside, it is really very good. I didn't want to like it at first, because I am somewhat confused and unclear about his obsession with hating Mayor Giuliani (which he certainly does) but after reading the first few pages I really couldn't stop. I read it just about straight through in one or four sittings. He is now selling his book at which is pretty neat-o. I tried searching for it and couldn't find it using the book's title or author info, but it did come up using the ISBN number, which is 0-9741593-0-1, so if you go to investigate, copy and paste that number into the search bar.

I wrote a little review of the book which I pasted below, and you will (hopefully) see it again if they allow it to be put up on the site. (They have rules and regulations which I didn't read, but I can almost ascertain that the rules involve not using words like, 'retarded' or 'rape' in your reviews, both of which I did use.)

Christopher is very interesting and his writing is good - I don't know if I'd go so far to say that it is as good as mine, but it actually quite similar in many ways. I guess one obvious way is that we both write with a lot of honesty and with a sense of a 'normal' speaking voice. He writes more political topical shit and some music and art related essays, he also writes "Information Updates" which I haven't seen him write in awhile, but they are way super interesting and if you get your hands on one I suggest you read it from top to bottom, photo-copy it and give it to a friend. Chances are you won't be able to stop yourself from finishing it in one smooth motion. He will run for mayor again in 2005 and has some really interesting ideas on his website - Check that shit out.

He's having a book release party on January 27th at 675 Hudson Street (near 14th St and 9th Ave) Buzzer 3N (in a really cool tango dance studio space) featuring performances by Corn Mo, The O'Debra Twins, Tom Ritchford and other performers (me, too) and free booze. The party is free and he will be selling and signing copies of his book (but he won't be signing them with his own name. (Last night he sold a book to a girl and signed it, All the best. Marilyn Manson.) He's funny. So come and buy a book and drink up the amount of free alcohol's worth that you spent on the book to even things out. ALSO -

Christopher is the genius behind intellectual art band The Tapedeck (featuring Michael Portnoy who was the star of the Soy Bomb stunt during Bob Dylan's set at the Grammy Awards, which, btw, was Christopher's idea.) He will be performing some of the Tapedeck's songs at The Sidewalk Cafe (Corner of Ave A and 6th St.) on January 17th at 7:30 SHARP to 8 PM SHARP in the back room. He has awesome songs - if you like my music at all, you will really love his music. The show is free and there are $2 beers and mixed drinks. The back room is comfy cozy with couches and tables and a nice ambiance so bring a friend and come see the FREE show and get liquored up on CHEAP drinks while listening to his innovative art rock. (And his music, unlike mine, really does rock.)


Politics For The Politically Retarded

Reviewer: Jessica Delfino - from NY, NY

Perverted Little Creep is the organized, detailed and insightfully intelligent ramblings of fascinating, handsome and charismatic madman, Christopher X. Brodeur. Christopher's writing is funny, witty, personable, addictive and thoroughly honest. A little bit of background information on CXB - Christopher is a prolific and talented artist, writer and musician who lives in Manhattan. He ran for Mayor of NYC in 2001 with a bag over his head because he didn't want to be elected based on anything besides his ideas, which, by the way, are stellar. He was arrested for this 'stunt' and before he knew it was wrapped up in an ongoing battle of Chris vs. Giuliani and the NYPD which included illegal arrests, searches and treatment of his belongings and his person. (If you want to read more about him, go to his website - Several of these accounts are detailed in his book, "Perverted Little Creep." He talks about being sent to Riker's Island, beating Giuliani (over and over again) in court, and proves that Giuliani was a bad man who did many bad things. I read his book in two days - I honestly couldn't put it down. I consider myself thoroughly politically ignorant but this book not only appeals to those interested in politics, it also appeals to artists, the working class, psychologists, sociologists, underdogs, anyone living in NYC, everyone who likes to read interesting writing, fans of Christopher's, and the list goes on, infinity, ad nauseum. After reading his book, I have better knowledge of the world around me and the city I live in (NYC). I am one of those people who likes to think everything is nicey nice, even when the facts point elsewhere. This book snapped me out of it a little. It said, "Hey, Jessica. Just because a man is wearing a business suit doesn't mean that he won't rape you." Buy and read this book, then when you are done, give it to a friend to read and tell them to pass it on. Thankfully, there are people like Christopher Brodeur who are fearless for those of us who are not.

Tuesday, January 13, 2004

Seasonal Depression: The Blog Entry
by Jessica Delfino

Well, I thought I'd outrun this Winter's case of the seeminly permanently inescapable blues (I hate using the word 'blues' but like the word 'boyfriend' it appropriately layers emotion and noun) but just as I was turning the corner to indifference and lightweight acceptance, whammo! Smacko! Right in the face-o! Honestly, I'd thought they'd have come sooner - they usually gift wrap themselves and surprise me with a drop-by, unannounced (uninvited) appearance on or around Christmas or swim into my dreams mid-hangover on the morn of the New Year. But this year, Christmas came and packed it's shit and left, and New Year's Eve and Day (the couple of whores that they are) stopped by and also took off right quickly with no trace of the usual seasonal depression. I thought I'd won the lottery or at the very least didn't even care about not getting any Christmas presents this year. I felt, "Well, if I got through the hardest, darkest part of the winter without being miserable, that is kind of like getting a present." It's similar to my views on the many kinds of sweeteners on the market - I don't like to use Sweet N' Low, it gives me migraines. I don't love to use Equal, it gives me cancer. But at least I don't get migraines. Sugar gives me calories. So, if I can get through a cup of coffee without getting a migraine headache, getting cancer or getting fat, it's kind of like getting through the winter without wanting to pitch myself off of the balcony and into the cars and firetrucks chugging through the streets below.

I don't know if depression runs in the family - oh, wait a minute, yes I do, and yes, it does. My father is manicly depressed (for some reason I actually like the way that sounds - it falls onto my ears like the expression 'heroin sheik') and I don't know if there is depression on my mother's side of the family, but she used to bite her nails until they cried blood, and now I do the same. (So, if you happen to see me and my nails are even so long as 1/8th an inch, you know my life is going well, because I have found an association between me biting my nails and being able to afford to eat at fast food restaurants.)

It settled in yesterday, like an annoying house guest but one I also knew was going to drop by and so then had prepared for with little distractions, like some CD's and a new boyfriend or whatever. It didn't even say "hello," which it usually does - gently, even. It sort of nestles up to my stomach and heart and neck and rubs along my spine like a cat, you know, and it gives me a few days to get into it. But this year, it popped up on me like getting my period on the subway, which, by the way, has happened to me before. (Interestingly, when I had gotten my period on the subway, I analogized it with depression settling in over night.) To be brash, I could even analogize it with other darker, more appropriate things, like losing your virginity anally, which I didn't but I know at least one person who did, or getting hit by the subway in the back of the head because you are looking down the tunnel in the wrong direction, which also never happened to me, but did happen to some poor schmuck in NYC just a few days ago. I guess he didn't die but what an idiot, and it's the kind of thing that strikes me as funny, almost funny enough for me to forget that I wish I was sailing fast towards the ground with only seconds to think about what I'd done (or hadn't done) with my life. I think seconds would be plenty of time to figure it out.

Performing isn't even helping, and usually it does. Usually, performing is one of the only things that can so blissfully distract and blind me from anything I don't want to experience, namely life or problems or what have me. But it isn't this time, and I am clueless as to why that might be.

I guess maybe I should give credit to my age. I'm 27. Don't people have breakdowns at this age? I think having a breakdown would be fun - it would give me a chance to say and do everything I always wanted to do and not be held accountable for it, or at least not fully, or at least that is how I imagine it would be in my fantasy. I see myself walking down Broadway. Maybe I'm going to a job interview, or I've just bought a cup of that hot ass chocolate at Starbucks. I'm blowing on the cup, about to take a sip and all of a sudden I drop the cup onto the ground. Starbucks hot chocolate is damn expensive, like 3 bucks a cup or something, but I don't even care, I hardly even notice. I step into it (if this were a made for tv movie, the camera would cut to my foot slopping down into the brown stain on the sidewalk) and continue through it. My feet become loosy goosy, I'm unsure footed, I sort of stagger down the sidewalk and maybe even into the street. A taxi cab beeps his horn at me and I give him the finger. Maybe I jump up on his hood and do a little dance. I think I laugh too, because isn't that what you're supposed to do when you lose your mind? Just laugh, but not in a way that people can laugh with you. They see you laugh like that and they get scared, because they know that you aren't laughing with them, and no one can laugh along with you. You are laughing at a joke with the universe and the universe only. And maybe Jesus.

I hate when I write things like this, because I have a hard time being honest with myself and I like to believe that I have difficulty emoting properly. But what is proper and all that shit, and what is right and who is crazy and bla bla bla!? I think the rules develop in your own brain when you are a little shit and you know and that's all there is to it. Right now, things are not right in my mind with me and me and I don't know if they ever will be. It just seems the older I get, the less I care about living, and it's not even because I'm so depressed and it's not even because my life is so hard, it's because I realize that living is really pretty overrated and for the most part, pretty god damn dumb. I guess that must be what it is like to get old. I remember I asked my grandfather if he was scared to die, and he said, "Scared? Jesus fucking Christ, I can't fucking wait to die!" I'm not paraphrasing here, either. I'm just quoting a brilliant man.

Thursday, January 8, 2004


OLDER BLOG FANS might remember the Believe Chicken e-mails I used to send out. I have decided that I am going to start sending out my e-mails again, even though I don't have a weekly show to promote. I have lots of other shows that could use promoting and some interesting things coming up. If you would like to be added to my weekly e-mail list, please send me an e-mail asking me to add your address. I am posting my e-mail that I sent out to my massive e-mail list on my blog as my entry for today, because you need to read it if you aren't on the mailing list yet but you are interested in shit that I've got coming up. It's not just about me, either, it's about other people and stuff, too. Some of it is a little bit redundant if you read my blog every day, but then again, some of it is not.

HAPPY READING, and get those quarters in.

Remember when I used to send you big long e-mails all the time?

Boy, those were the good old days. Back then, I was the co-host of a great weekly show called, "Believe Chicken." Though the show is gone and our lives have gone on, and many things have changed, one thing that has stayed the same is my massive, massive e-mail list.

If you know me, you know I love to write long, wordy e-mails to friends and strangers alike. If you don't know me, please make a note of the fact that I love to write long, wordy e-mails to friends and strangers alike.

I have a lot of good shows in the works and I want to write you all about it, but first, I am going to be doing a little spring cleaning of my e-mail list cuz it's kind of old. If you want to be taken off of this list, please e-mail me at and write the most obnoxious e-mail you can. It should say something like this, "Remove me from your e-mail list, I hate you," and my wish will be your command.

For those of you who love my e-mails, read on -

So MUCH stuff has happened in the past 6 months or so. Shit, I hardly know where to begin. My fiance and I broke up (the very talented and lazy Kurtus Metzger) and so that's that. So, if you know me and we haven't spoken for awhile, next time you see me, don't say, "So when's the big date?" Because we're having a hard time deciding on either Notember 57th or Neverember 36th. So, mark your calendars.

I have been updating my website almost daily with fun little blurbs and stories. Wil Wheaton (you might remember Wil Wheaton as the writer in Stand By Me or Wesley Crusher in Star Trek: The Next Generation, or the centerfold in Teen Beat I used to make out with until his face flaked off and the poster got ruined) linked my website to his and helped to make my website (almost) famous and read by blog nerds internationally. Super cool. Thanks, Wil! Thanks, Jesus!

What else, what else? I have been playing songs on stage even though I was warned by Jim Norton that if I ever brought a guitar on stage he would smash my face into a table. I play a genre of music which I like to believe I made up and certainly believe I coined the termage for, which is "Dirty Folk Rock." It is folk-like music with delightful songstressing and lovely melodies paired with dirty, filthy lyrics and dark song topics. (Some of my personal favorites are: "Someone Who Loves Me," a song I am singing to a hypothetical rapist as he is about to try to have his dirty way with me about how I was saving this rape for someone who loves me, as in my boyfriend or Edward Furlong, the current stars of my favorite rape fantasy scenarios, which by the way, include candles, wine and a bubble bath. I also really like "Sudden Change," a song about how women get their periods once a month and that's why we act bitchy sometimes, like you guys didn't know, but you pretend like you don't, so I laid it out for you. The lyrics say it all - "If you're ever feeling unsure about why your girlfriend is acting strange, and you don't understand what brought on the sudden cange - remember - once a month for a week, she BLEEDS from her VAGINA [for Christ's sake, you fuckers! So cut us some slack, dicks!]) I like playing songs on stage in addition to telling jokety jokes and have teamed up with the super-talented and blindingly handsome and charismatic Touching You (affiliated with The (Liquid) Tapedeck - read more about this super-delicious band at to create a wonderfully duper demo cd with several hot hot hits, a cover of "Run To The Hills" by Iron Maiden (first recorded for Touching You's "Songs of 9/11" CD) and a piggyback surprise track called, "Fuck The FCC" which is a classic Tapedeck masterpiece. My CD, entitled, "Dirty Folk Rock" sells for $5 and you can purchase it at one of my shows or on my website, I think you will enjoy it and whether you do or not, please email me at and tell me what you think of it.

(I put stars next to MANDATORY shows you HAVE to go to)

Sweet Paprika @ The Village Lantern
Bleecker bt. Thompson & Sullivan
Fri, Jan 9th at 8 PM
hosted by Alison Castillo and Ophira Eisenberg
I think it's free.

***Arlene's Grocery
95 Stanton St.
Tue, Jan 13th @ 8 PM
I'll be opening up for OH MY GOD! who go on at 9. I hear they are very good and The Telephones will be going on at 10 PM. Tickets to the show are $7.

Collective Unconscious
Ludlow bt Stanton & Rivington
Sat, Jan 17th @ 10 PM
I think it's $5 and last time there was free booze and candy
Lubka Bubkova hosts a great line-up of art stars.

Comic Strip
2nd Ave @ 82nd St.
Mon, Jan 19th
Show starts at 8:30 and I think
tickets are like $10 or something.

Rejection Show hosted by Jon Friedman
Wed, Jan 21
The Tank Theater @ 42nd bt 9th and 10th aves.
8 PM
The theme of this show is things that have
been rejected in one forum or another. I
will be doing some readings and perhaps
singing one song.

***Perverted Little Creep Book Release Party
Tue, Jan 27
7-10 PM
Triangulo (675 Hudson St. Buzzer 3N @14th St/9th Ave)
Should be lots of fun - Christopher Brodeur releases
his new (first) book that is mostly made up of compiled
anti-Giuliani essays and transcriptions of his battles with Giuliani
on Giuliani's weekly talk-radio show. It's a terrific book and
I strongly urge you to come, drink free liquor and purchase
a book. Live performances by Corn Mo, The O'Debra twins, ME and
other great guys and gals.

****One Woman Show (STILL UNNAMED)
@ UCB Theater
Mon, Feb 2nd on SPANK! @ 8 PM
Two half hour shows for the price of 1!!!
This is for the possibility of a longer-term run at UCB Theater.
I will be playing songs and doing funny sketches and there
will be some interesting surprises. The show hopefully will be
one of my better ones if all goes well within my brain.

All the other shows that aren't starred are going to be great
too, but I guess it's ridiculous to expect you to see every show
I am going to be in! Plus, the shows I've starred feature other
acts so you won't just be seeing me, but other very talented
performers as well.

Now, what else???

Hm...I told you to see my shows, told you about my cd, and told you to
go and visit my website Also, update your interest in this e-mail list, told you about how me and Kurt are through, what else, what else? My sister is coming to town tonight and I am very excited about that. She is hot and wants to be a model. If anyone can think of anything fun for us to do while she is here, please email me and let me know. Stuff that is free or cheap, preferably, I'm poor. (I know I spelled pref. wrong, and I don't even give. Is it two f's or two r's or both or neither?) If you or a friend would like to be added to this list, please email me at and tell me to add your shit. I will close off this massive letter with an excerpt from my website and finally, an old Believe Chicken e-mail. You used to love them so. This is kind of interesting: I have a friend who saved every single Believe Chicken e-mail and I will be compiling them into a book. I will probably sell them for cheap, less than $5, so if you want one, let me know.


Tuesday, January 06, 2004
A Joke out of the book, "1001 Unfunny Jesus Jokes"
by Jessica Delfino

(Note: For those of you who might not know, "1001 Unfunny Jesus Jokes" is a lesser known book in the bible which has been discontinued in most bibles and used to be located right next to Corinthains.)

Jesus walks into a bar with a parrot on his shoulder. He says to the bartender, "I bet you $2000 you can't get my parrot to tell you it's name."

The bartender says, "Well, what's it's name?"

Jesus says, "Moses."

The bartender says, "I think you owe me $2000 dollars."

Jesus says, "The parrot didn't tell you it's name, I did."

The bartender says, "Oh. You got me. Would you like a drink?"

Jesus says, "Yes."

The bartender says, "What will you be having?"

Jesus says, "A Bloody Mary."

The bartender says, "Will that be a virgin bloody Mary?"

So Jesus says, "Are you calling my mother a whore?"

So the bartender says, "Jesus, no, Jesus."

So then Jesus says, "I am the son of God, God Dammit!"


It's the most chickenist time of the year. There are people getting ready for the day when Jesus was born, or the twelve days that people burn candles, or whatever holiday you celebrate, you silly!

Everyone is hanging chickens from the tree. They're lighting chickens on
fire. They're cutting up chickens and cooking them. They're eating
chickens dipped in mustard sauce. They're frying up chickens in grease.
Chicken, chicken, chicken.

Some people don't like to mix their holidays with Chicken. And some do.
I happen to be one of the ones who DOES. I just mix it up into a big
mayonnaise jar - chicken parts and milk, right to the brim, with a big dose of holidays. Then I screw the lid on good and tight. Then, I put the jar somewhere it won't be found - like the inside of a grate at work or in a hole I dug out in the box spring, between my parent's mattresses. Then, I go about my holiday cheer, and forget about the jar for weeks, maybe even months. Around my birthday, the milk and chicken sitting together have created a chemical reaction that eventually make the jar explode! This is a gift that keeps on giving, long after it's been given. Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh!

Co Worker, Rob: What is that smell?
You: I don't know. It smells like, chicken-y, sort of.
Co Worker, Rob: No, I don't think that's chicken. I think it's a dead
You: No, Bob. I'm pretty sure it's chicken.
Co Worker, Rob: It's Rob.
You: Rob? That's what I said. Rob.
Co Worker, Rob: No, you said Bob. I distinctly heard you say, Bob.
My name is Rob.
You: Rob. Bob. I said Rob. I know what I said. I said Rob. And that
smell is chicken.
Co Worker, Rob: It's not chicken, dammit, it's something else! It's an
animal, dead in the wall, decaying! It's decaying as we speak! It's not
You: Maybe it's chicken decaying in the wall.
Co Worker, Rob: It's not chicken! What would chicken be doing decaying in
the wall? That doesn't even make any sense! How could chicken be in the
You: (long pause as you gain your composure, because you are trying HARD
not to laugh at this point) I don't know.


@ NIGHTINGALE - 13th Street and 2nd Ave (N,Q,R,W,4,5,6,L to Union Square)
Stewardesses of Comedy, delivering your jokes with a smile -
Jessica Delfino & Liz Laufer

Christian Finnegan (he rocked it on Shecky Eichman yesterday)
Ed Herro (I taught him how to dance)
Betsy Jay (Comedy Mom)
Sharif Corinaldi (First name reminds me of Sherriff)
Gilad Foss (a young Woody Harrelson)
Dane Hammack (visiting from out of town)
Rodney Laney (smells like very un-gay flowers)
Marybeth Murphy (had an interesting aliteration in her name)
Jimmy Sackel (taught me about the Staten Island Ferry, I'll forgive but
never forget)

And many special guests. I don't want to drop names but this show is so
good, Sarah Silverman said she wouldn't be able to make it!!! (overwhelmed
by the pressure)

OKAY! SO, pack up your lunch pails, give your sig o a kiss guh-bye and
trek on over to BELIEVE CHICKEN!!! Yay!!!

Be there. Believe Chicken.

Tuesday, January 6, 2004

A Joke out of the book, "1001 Unfunny Jesus Jokes" and more Music Reviews
by Jessica Delfino



The bartender says, "Well, what's it's name?"

Jesus says, "Moses."




Jesus says, "Yes."

The bartender says, "What will you be having?"

Jesus says, "A Bloody Mary."





Another Music Review: Isn't This Fun!!!!!!!???????

NOTE: You might find that in many of my music reviews I repeat myself. That is because everybody sounds the same! So, I have to write the same things over and over. I try to pick reviews that are a bit interesting or funny to read, unfortunately to you, the reader, it probably just seems like you're reading the same review over and over again. Think about how I feel listening to the same song over and over again!

This Song Sounds Like Type O Negative Fucking Led Zeppelin......

...sweating out Metallica scented body odor and perhaps shedding one INXS flavored tear. In other words, your influences are fairly clearly apparent, but I suggest you go out of your way to try not to mimic those you admire. Instead, you might try doing something different and interesting that if your predecessors/idols were to hear, they would say, "Shit - I wish we'd have thought of that!" Please go back to the drawing board and try again. Also - the arrangement is beautiful, but only because other bands did it before and I liked those bands. Finally, your lyrics are empty and bland and overall, this song is fairly boring.

Here's another -

Holy Shit -

Is that a jingle bell? I guess it's different-ish, so you get credit for that. I also like your dischordant sound. Nice overlap of vocals. Interesting so far...darkness will fill you up until you drown in it? Are you a goth band or are you just depressed? You are probably a talented artist who needs a little direction. Check out and click on brilliant lyrics for more details.
Not so bad. The musical intermission sounds like "Here Comes The Rain Again" by the Eurythmics. Do you like the Eurythmics? I don't know what you mean by asking me to comment on mix. The mood is sad and depressing, I have a feeling that is what you were going for, and the sound, albeit a bit derivitive, is somewhat different and interesting. The lyrics need help, though. Rhyming underrated and overstated is neither inventive or interesting.

Monday, January 5, 2004


I'm posting a couple of my reviews on here because people are saying my link isn't working. So, here they are, friends. Enjoy. I should have saved some of the replies, they were pretty funny. One country musician who I reviewed unfavorably wrote back, "You suck farts out of your fat momma's asshole."

I guess that means I won?

BAND: Aberrance
SONG: Karma Kills
HOMETOWN: Minneapolis, MN

One word: Boring

The song opens nicely enough but then it gets all gay as soon as the guy starts singing. This 'hard rock' is more like soft, limp rock. You sound like everything else I've ever heard and never wanted to. And when he whispers, it goes from gay to holy lord, this is gay. The music is more rockin than the vocals, but that doesn't make it not boring.

BAND: I.V. (Inner Voices) - (*Note - I didn't make up that name.)
SONG: Raining Roses (*Note - I wish I'd made this song title up.)
HOMETOWN: LA, CA (Hopefully that explains something)


I know that you are putting your heart and soul into this music, but if your heart and soul are empty then you don't have much to put into it, do you? Are your heart and soul empty? Because by the sounds of this song, the answer is "yes." Try not to be so typical. I heard this song on the radio 15 times today. Did you say, "It's Raining Roses?" Sheesh.

BAND: Faceless Gray
SONG: Far From Perfect

Um, did you know that the beginning of your song was blatantly ripped off from another band? And your musical stylings, also ripped off? And your vocals? You get the picture. If I were you guys, I would try to do something that hasn't been done, instead of going out of your way to mimic others. Also, the singer's voice albeit slightly endearing, is boring. No need to strain yourself so much, just sing. What is this song about? Ho, hum. You guys will be on the radio within a year, but I don't know if I'd consider that a compliment or not.

Their Reply:

"Your a real asshole dude"

Here's another review (anonymous)

BAND: Unsure
SONG: Unsure

I'm sorry, but yet again....

....this song lacked any memorable hooks or instrument use or really much of anything interesting.
The beginning pounding was remiscent of Led Zeppelin, the beginning intro tone reminiscent of Jefferson Airplane and then the keyboards screamed, "Rush!" As a matter of fact, that keyboard piece belongs to them. The lead guitar was a rip off of something else, too.

Though I like all of your obvious influences, they did it first, they did it best, they did it better and I think you should try again. This time, try to do something different - try do something that would impress your predecessors not flatter them by how intensely you can imitate them. They do say that imitation is the most sincere form of flattery and that may be true, but you aren't trying to flatter old rock stars, hopefully, you should be trying to make interesting and unique music that will educate and inspire generations for years to come.

In all honesty, I kind of like this song, but it's only because I really love Rush. If you guys were trying to be a cover band, you'd be doing okay, but that's not what you're trying to be....or is it?

You might have noted that all my reviews up to this point have been negative and you might assume that I am a jerk or agree with the country singer guy or think I'm just being a dick. But here is actually ONE favorable review - the only one I've written yet. Again, unfortunately, this one was anonymous. I'm sad, too, because I'd like to hear more of their stuff.

BAND: Unsure
SONG: Unsure

OK, the lyrics immediately caught my attention

(FUCKING) FINALLY, a song that has both interesting lyrics and a catchy melody. The music was even salty and saucy, which was a nice change [from all the other horseshit I've heard on this site.]

Though there were some reminiscent flavors of perhaps CSNY and Johnny Cash, and Steely Dan undertones even, maybe, there was something very endearing about this song and I would like to hear more of this band's stuff. Really interesting and charming lyrics. I am going to guess you are probably intellectuals, perhaps you went to William and Mary? I wish there were more smart song writers.

Best of luck to you, I hope this song ends up on the radio someday, but I doubt it ever will. It's too good.

Here's the country singer's review I wrote (the one who said I suck farts outta his momma's asshole)

I Don't Generally Like Country Music......

....and one of the reasons why is because EVERY SINGLE COUNTRY SONG starts off just like yours did and sounds exactly like yours does. Try to do something different. Sing with a European accent or something. Are you really from the south or is that just how you're supposed to sing a country song? Try to DO SOMETHING DIFFERENT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Johnny Cash was interesting and unique. Why can't you be?

*NOTE: INTERESTINGLY - people can rate your reviews of their songs and I either get a 1 or a 5 for every review I write, making spotting the poor sports way too easy.
by Jessica Delfino

*Note: The reason I call this one "Figurative Meal" is because a Jesus loving pamphlet I came across in the subway said, "Are you spiritually hungry?" And, as even my thoughts are sarcastic, my mental reply was, 'I am kind of spiritually hungry. I could probably go for a figurative meal right about now.' Later, that pamphlet inspired me to write:


Welcome everyone, to the Women's Collective sponsored by Christ. Here, women come
together in a peaceful, safe environment to discuss issues that are important to women.
If you are spiritually hungry, we will give you a delicious figurative meal. Let's all say
hello to everyone in the way that we do.

EVERYONE (singing as in up the scale)
Hello - hello - hello - hello!

Great. That was terrific.
(Everyone claps and cheers.)

And let's say hello to our new guest, Alice.

Hello - hello - hello - hello -
(yells out)

(a bit timid)

It is a custom that your first time here, you have to speak first.
So, GO.

What should I say?

I can't tell you what to say. Maybe you can ask Christ to tell you.
Or we can all ask Christ to tell her, right, ladies?

(nodding, yessing)

Would you like us to ask Christ to tell you what to say?

No, no, that's okay, he's probably busy or something. I'll just say
why I came here.

OK, go.

I'm here because my pussy is acting funny.


My pussy aches when I get fucked, and I've been geting cramps up in there, and I think I
have cancer in my cunt.

My, goodness. So, your vagin-

I prefer you use the word pussy or cunt.

OK, let me understand this, now. Your pubic ar-

(interrupting her)
Pussy or cunt.

Are you a christian?

Yes, ma'am!

Then you know, my child, that to use certain terms for one's anatomy
is a sin against Christ.

Why? He invented man and man invented the words, and now I'm using them.

I am sensing a lot of pain and anger in your voice.

Yeah, my pussy hurts, and I'm pissed off.

What would you like me to do for you?

Please, pray for me.

Would you like to lead us in prayer?

No, you, please.

Um, okay. Dear God, please let Alice feel better. She is hurting, Lord.

In my pussy.

She is hurting badly and she needs a spiritual shower to wash away
the pain.

Make sure he knows, the pain is in my pussy.

Please, Lord. Make the pain go away.

The pain in my pussy!

In your name we pray, amen.
OK, who would like to go next?

I would.

OK, wonderful. Let's all say hello to Beth.

Hello hello hello hello - BETH!

What would you like to talk about, Beth?

My asshole is itching a lot lately. Does that mean I have cancer in my asshole or
is it probably just from having too much anal sex?

Sunday, January 4, 2004

by Jessica Delfino

I used to write music reviews for back in college. I also wrote for a few shitty local music newspapers in the South Jersey/Philadelphia area. If you have ever heard the radio in that city then you can only imagine what the bands that come out of there sound like.

Anyway, a friend referred me to this website called You can go onto it and write reviews of people's music. I love writing reviews because I love being able to honestly emote, or more honestly, I enjoy being mean sometimes. Sorry, but it's true. So many people have been mean to me that I guess I have no choice but to give it back. I'm trying to save myself and all that shit.

So, if you like to listen to music and write reviews, check this out. I think I'll end up also putting my songs on this website, for, as you might have already discovered, the link to my 'songs' page is not working anymore because the site that was hosting my songs went out of business or whatever.

If you are curious, here are some reviews I wrote for other people's songs. I would like to add that, though I do enjoy being honest and mean, honesty is the key element of any review I write. I don't do this because I like to. OK, well, maybe I do, but I also am honest about this stuff because I do believe it is important to be. I have gotten some very brutally harsh and cruel reviews and feedback and I must say that it only has ever helped me to want to be better and work harder. Criticism, even cruel feedback, isn't unwarranted and it isn't inappropriate, especially if someone really does suck.|pe1|Z9-YInTRosb-NFy2YWpkAp43Nw